act ii. sc. 1--

"To-morrow morning I'll send you a perfume, first to resolve And procure sweat, and then prepare a bath To cleanse and clear the cutis; against when I'll have an excellent new _fucus_ made, Resistive 'gainst the sun, the rain, or wind, Which you shall lay on with a breath or oil, As you best like, and last some fourteen hours."

["Works," by Gifford, 1816, iii. 45, where _breath_ seems to be an error--forsaw, _brush_.]

[327] A _laundress_ is the name still preserved at the Inns of Court for the women, who attend to the men in chambers.

[328] The 4o of 1636 has it _If I spend_, which was followed by Mr Reed, but the first 4o of 1611 gives the true reading, _If I speed_.--_Collier_.

[329] Meaning Constantia, so disguised.--_Collier._

[330] See note to "The Antiquary," act iv. sc. I (vol. 13.)

[331] See note at p. 277 _suprá_.

[332] [Old copies, _man's_.]

[333] [Edits., _and much_. This seems to have been introduced as a playful allusion by Widow Taffata to herself], unless these words should be given to Adriana.

[334] [Edits., _five_.]

[335] [This part of the dialogue is conducted by Adriana and Taffata above, while the other persons enter and converse below.]

[336] Bring it back.

[337] _i.e._, Puppet-shows. See note to "The Antiquary," act i. sc. I (vol. 13.)

[338] [Properly the stick to hold the gunner's match; but here the meaning is _figurative_.]

[339] _i.e._, Whip thee.

[340] Tiresias, the blind prophet of Thebes. Sec "The OEdipus" of Sophocles, and that of Dryden and Lee.

[341] [Edits., '_Tis_.]

[342] Absolutely. So in "The Honest Man's Fortune," by Beaumont and Fletcher--

"I am as happy In my friend's good, as if 'twere _merely_ mine."

[343] Perhaps we ought to read _Now he returns_, and not _Now he retires_; but both the old copies are uniform in favour of _retires_.--_Collier_. [_Retire_ may be right, as it is justifiable to interpret it in its original sense of draw back, in which it is almost equivalent to _return_.]

[344] [Old copies, _a power_.]

[345] Barry uses this word _garboils_ in a sense to which it was not usually applied. The Rev. Mr Todd, in his edition of Dr Johnson's Dictionary, says, "Bishop Hall has rendered Virgil's _arma_, _i.e._, _battles_, by the word _garboil_." This is a mistake, for Hall is laughing at Stanihurst for having so done in his attempted _hexameter_ translation of the Æneid--

"Give me the number'd verse that Virgil sung, And Virgil's self shall speak the English tongue; Manhood and _garboiles_ shall he chaunt with changed feet," &c.

--B. i. sat. 6.

But there are many authorities besides Shakespeare, in his "Antony and Cleopatra," for its employment. Gascoigne inserts it in the speech of Hercules in the "Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth": "A _garboyel_ this in deede," ["Works" by Hazlitt, ii. 93]. Drayton also uses it in [his "Mortimeriados," 1596,] quoted in "England's Parnassus," p. 444--

"Such is the _garboyle_ of this conflict then; Brave Englishmen encountering Englishmen."

and T. Heywood, in his "Rape of Lucrece," 1608, talks of "the head of all these garboyles, the chief actor of that black sin," &c.--_Collier._

[346] [Ride, perhaps a form of _prick_.]

[347] Formerly printed _studient_, and for the measure it must be read so.--_Collier._ [The form _studient_ is legitimate, though uncommon, and has been restored.]

[348] [This form of address was borrowed from the university.]

[349] _i.e._, Subtleties. So in "Every Woman in her Humour," 1609, sig. H 4: "He has his pols and his oedypols, his times and his tricks, his quirks, and _his quilits_," &c.

Again, in Lyly's "Euphues," 1581, p. 56: "Not only the, quirks and _quiddities_ of the Logicians, but also," &c.

See also Mr Steevens's note on "Hamlet," act v. sc. I.

[350] [Edits., _fecks-law_, of which I fail to comprehend the meaning, if any. Tha phrase _firk of law_ occurs again at p. 329, and in the sense of a trick or sleight.]

ACTUS II., SCÆNA 1.

_Enter_ OLIVER SMALL-SHANKS, THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS.

O. SMALL. Is this the place you were appointed to meet him?

T. SMALL. So Boutcher sent me word.

O. SMALL. I find it true, That wine, good news, and a young wholesome wench Cheer up an old man's blood. I tell thee, boy, I am right hearty glad to hear thy brother Hath got so great an heir: now were myself So well bestow'd, I should rejoice, i' faith.

T. SMALL. I hope you shall do well.

O. SMALL. No doubt, no doubt; Ah, sirrah! has a' borne the wench away! My son, i' faith, my very son, i' faith! When I was young, and had an able back, And wore the bristle on my upper-lip, In good decorum I had as good conveyance, And could have ferk'd, and ferk'd y' away a wench, As soon as e'er a man alive. Tut, boy, I had my winks, my becks, treads on the toe, Wrings by the fingers, smiles, and other quirks-- No courtier like me; your courtiers all are fools, To that which I could do. I could have done it, boy, Even to a hair, and that some ladies know.

T. SMALL. Sir, I am glad this match may reconcile Your love unto my brother.

O. SMALL. O, 'tis more than so. [Yet] I'll seem offended still, though I am glad [_Aside._

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, FRANCES, BEARD, _booted_.

H' has got rich Sommerfield's heir,

W. SMALL. Come, wench of gold! For thou shalt get me gold, besides odd ends Of silver: we'll purchase house and land By thy bare gettings, wench, by thy bare gettings. How say'st, Lieutenant Beard; does she not look Like a wench newly stole from a window?

BEARD. Exceeding well she carries it, by Jove; And if she can forbear her rampant tricks, And but hold close a while, 'twill take, by Mars.

FRAN. How now, you slave? my rampant tricks, you rogue! Nay, fear not me: my only fear is still, Thy filthy face betrays us; for all men know, Thy nose stands compass like a bow, Which is three quarters drawn; thy head Which is with greasy hair o'erspread, And being uncurl'd and black as coal, Doth show some scullion in a hole Begot thee on a gipsy, or Thy mother was some collier's whore: My rampant tricks, you rogue! thou'lt be descried, Before our plot be ended.

W. SMALL. What should descry him, Unless it be his nose? and as for that, Thou may'st protest he was thy father's butler, And for thy love is likewise run away. Nay, sweet lieutenant, now forbear to puff, And let the bristles of thy beard grow downward: Reverence my punk, and pandarise a little, There's many of thy rank that do profess it, Yet hold it no disparagement.

BEARD. I shall do What fits an honest man.

W. SMALL. Why, that's enough: 'Foot, my father and the goose my brother:-- Back you two.--

BEARD. Back.

[_Enter_ WILLIAM _and_ OLIVER SMALL-SHANKS.]

W. SMALL. Retire, sweet lieutenant, And come not on till I shall wave you on.

O. SMALL. Is not that he?

T. SMALL. 'Tis he.

O. SMALL. But where's the wench![351]

W. SMALL. It shall be so, I'll cheat him, that's flat.

O. SMALL. You are well met: know ye me, good sir? Belike you think I have no eyes, no ears, No nose to smell, and wind out all your tricks, Y' have stole Sir Sommerfield's heir: nay, we can find Your wildest parts, your turnings and returns, Your traces, squats, the mussers, forms, and holes[352] You young men use, if once our sagest wits Be set a-hunting. Are you now crept forth? Have you hid your head within a suburb-hole All this while, and are you now crept forth?

W. SMALL. 'Tis a stark lie.

O. SMALL. How?

W. SMALL. Who told you so did lie; 'Foot! a gentleman cannot leave the city, And keep the suburbs to take a little physic, But straight some slave will say he hides his head. I hide my head within a suburb-hole! I could have holes at court to hide my head, Were I but so dispos'd.

O. SMALL. Thou varlet knave, Th' hast stolen away Sir John Sommerfield's heir; But never look for countenance from me, Carry her whither thou wilt.

W. SMALL. Father, father, Heart! will you undo your posterity? Will you, sir, undo your posterity? I can but kill my brother, then hang myself, And where is then your house? Make me not despair, 'Foot, now I have got a wench, worth by the year Two thousand pound and upwards, to cross my hopes! Would e'er a clown in Christendom do't but you?

T. SMALL. Good father, let him leave this thundering, And give him grace.

W. SMALL. Why, la, my brother knows Reason, and what an honest man should do.

O. SMALL. Well, where's your wife?

W. SMALL. She's coming here behind.

O. SMALL. I'll give her somewhat, though I love not thee.

W. SMALL. My father, right: I knew you could not hold Out long with a woman; but give something Worthy your gift and her acceptance, father. This chain were excellent, by this good light, She shall give you as good, if once her lands

_Enter_ FRANCES _and_ BEARD.

Come to my fingering.

O. SMALL. Peace, knave! what, 's she your wife?

W. SMALL. That shall be, sir.

O. SMALL. And what's he?

W. SMALL. My man.

O. SMALL. A ruffian knave he is.

W. SMALL. A ruffian, sir! By heaven! as tall a man[353] as e'er drew sword, Not being counted of the damned crew. He was her father's butler, his name is Beard; Off with your mask, now shall you find me true, And that I am a son unto a knight: This is my father. [To FRANCES.

O. SMALL. I am indeed, fair maid; My style is knight: come, let me kiss your lips.

W. SMALL. That kiss shall cost your chain.

[_Aside._

O. SMALL. It smacks, i' faith: I must commend your choice.

FRAN. Sir, I have given A larger venture than true modesty Will well allow, or your more graver wit Commend.

W. SMALL. I dare be sworn she has.

O. SMALL. Not so. The foolish knave has been accounted wild, And so have I; but I am now come home, And so will he.

FRAN. I must believe it now.

W. SMALL. Beg his chain, wench. [Aside.

BEARD. Will you cheat your father?

W. SMALL. Ay, by this light, will I.

O. SMALL. Nay, sigh not; For you shall find him loving and me thankful; And were it not a scandal to my honour To be consenting to my son's attempt, You should unto my house: meanwhile, take this [_To_ FRANCES. As pledge and token of my after-love! [_Gives her a chain._ How long since died your father?

FRAN. Some six weeks since------

W. SMALL. We cannot stay to talk, for slaves pursue. I have a house shall lodge us, till the priest May make us sure.

O. SMALL. Well, sirrah, love this woman, And when you are man and wife, bring her to me: She shall be welcome.

W. SMALL. I humbly thank you, sir.

O. SMALL. I must be gone; I must a-wooing too.

W. SMALL. Jove and Priapus speed you! You'll return?

T. SMALL. Instantly.

[_Exeunt_ SIR OLIVER _and_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS.

W. SMALL. Why, this came cleanly off, Give me the chain, you little cockatrice; Why, this was luck; 'foot! four hundred crowns Got at a clap! hold still your own, you whore, And we shall thrive.

BEARD. 'Twas bravely fetch'd about.

W. SMALL. Ay, when will your nose and beard perform as much?

FRAN. I am glad he is gone; he put me to the blush When he did ask me of rich Sommerfield's death.

W. SMALL. And took not I my cue?[354] was't not good? Did I not bring you off, you arrant drab, Without a counter-buff?[355] look who comes here-- [_Sings._] _And three merry men, and three merry men,_ _And three merry men be we-a._[356]

_Enter_ BOUTCHER _and_ CONSTANTIA.

BOUT. Still in this vein? I have done you service; The lawyer's house will give you entertainment, Bountiful and free.

W. SMALL. O my second self! Come, let me buss thy beard, we are all made! Why art so melancholy, dost want money? Look, here's gold, and as we pass along, I'll tell thee how I got it: not a word, But that she's Sommerfield's heir; my brother Swallows it with more ease than a Dutchman Does flap-dragons: he comes; now to my lawyers.

_Enter_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS.

Kiss my wife, good brother; she is a wench Was born to make us all.

T. SMALL. I hope no less, You are welcome, sister, into these our parts, As I may say.

FRAN. Thanks, gentle brother.

W. SMALL. Come now to Ram Alley. There shalt thou lie, Till I provide a priest.

BOUT. O villany! I think he will gull his whole generation; I must make one, since 'tis so well begun: I'll not forsake him, till his hopes be won. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ THROAT _and two Citizens_.

THROAT. Then y' are friends?

BOTH. We are, so please your worship.

THROAT. 'Tis well, I am glad: keep your money, for law Is like a butler's box:[357] while you two strive, That picks up all your money. You are friends?

BOTH. We are, so please you, perfect friends.

THROAT. Why so. Now to the next tap-house; there drink down this, And by the operation of the third pot Quarrel again, and come to me for law: [_Aside._ Fare you well.

BOTH. The gods conserve your wisdom. [_Exeunt Citizens._

THROAT. Why so: these are tricks[358] of the long fifteens:[359] To give counsel, and to take fees on both sides; To make 'em friends, and then to laugh at them! Why, this thrives well, this is a common trick. When men have spent a deal of money in law, Then lawyers make them friends. I have a trick To go beyond all these. If Small-shanks come, And bring rich Somerfield's heir ---- I say no more; But 'tis within this sconce[360] to go beyond them.

_Enter_ DASH.

DASH. Here are gentlemen in haste would speak with you.

THROAT. What are they?

DASH. I cannot know them, sir, They are so wrapp'd in cloaks.

THROAT. Have they a woman?

DASH. Yes, sir; but she's mask'd, and in her riding suit.

THROAT. Go, make haste, bring them up with reverence. Who[361] are they, i' faith? h' has brought the wealthy heir? These stools and cushions stand not handsomely.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, BOUTCHER, THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, FRANCES, _and_ BEARD.

W. SMALL. Bless thee, Throat.

THROAT. Master Small-shanks, welcome.

W. SMALL. Welcome, love; kiss this gentle woman, Throat.

THROAT. Your worship shall command me.

W. SMALL. Art not weary?

BOUT. Can you blame her, since she has rid so hard?

THROAT. You are welcome, gentlemen. Dash!

DASH. Sir.

THROAT. A fire in the great chamber quickly.

W. SMALL. Ay, that's well-said; we are almost weary. But, Master Throat, if any come to inquire For me, my brother, or this gentlewoman, We are not here, nor have you heard of us.

THROAT. Not a word, sir; here you are as safe As in your father's house.

T. SMALL. And he shall thank you.

W. SMALL. Th' art not merry, love? Good Master Throat, Bid this gentlewoman welcome: she is one, Of whom you may receive some courtesy In time.

THROAT. She is most hearty welcome. Wilt please you walk into another room, Where is both bed and fire?

W. SMALL. Ay, ay, that, that. Good brother, lead her in: Master Throat and I Will follow instantly. Now, Master Throat, [_Exeunt_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, FRANCES, _and_ BEARD. It rests within your power to pleasure me: Know that this same is Sir John Sommerfield's heir; Now if she chance to question what I am, Say, son unto a lord: I pray thee, tell her I have a world of land, and stand in hope To be created baron; for I protest I was constrain'd to swear it forty times, And yet she'll scarce believe me.

THROAT. _Pauca sapienti_: Let me alone to set you out in length And breadth.

W. SMALL. I prythee, do't effectually; Shalt have a quarter share, by this good light, In all she has. I prythee, forget not To tell her the Small-shanks have been dancers, Tilters, and very ancient courtiers, And in request at court since Sir John Short-hose With his long silk stockings was beheaded. Wilt thou do this?

THROAT. Refer it to my care.

W. SMALL. Excellent! I'll but shift my boots, and then Go seek a priest; this night I will be sure. If we be sure, it cannot be undone; Can it, Master Throat?

THROAT. O, sir, not possible; You have many precedents and book-cases for't, Be you but sure, and then let me alone. _Vivat Rex, currat Lex_; and I'll defend you.

W. SMALL. Nay, then, hang care: come, let's in.

[_Exit_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS.

THROAT. Ha, ha! Have you stole her? _fallere fallentem non est fraus_. It shall go hard but I will strip you, boy: You stole the wench, but I must her enjoy. [_Exit._

_Enter_ MISTRESS TAFFATA _and_ ADRIANA, _below_.

TAF. Come, Adriana, tell me what thou think'st. I am tickled with conceit of marriage, And whom think'st thou for me the fittest husband? What say'st thou to young Boutcher?

ADRI. A pretty fellow; But that his back is weak.

TAF. What dost thou say To Throat the lawyer?

ADRI. I like that well, Were the rogue a lawyer; but he is none. He never was of any inn-of-court, But [of an] inn-of-chancery, where a' was known But only for a swaggering whiffler, To keep out rogues and prentices: I saw him, When he was stock'd for stealing the cook's fees. A lawyer I could like, for 'tis a thing Used by your citizens' wives. Your husband's dead: To get French hoods you straight must lawyers wed.

TAF. What say'st thou then to nimble Sir Oliver Small-shanks?

ADRI. Faith, he must hit the hair; a fellow fit To make a pretty cuckold. Take an old man: 'Tis now the newest fashion: better be An old man's darling than a young man's warling.[362] Take me the old brisk knight: the fool is rich, And will be strong enough to father children, Though not to get them.

TAF. 'Tis true: he is the man. Yet will I bear some dozen more in hand,[363] And make them all my gulls.

ADRI. Mistress, stand aside.

_Enter_ BOUTCHER _and_ CONSTANTIA.

Young Boutcher comes: let me alone to touch him.

BOUT. This is the house.

CON. And that's the chamber-maid.

BOUT. Where's the widow, gentle Adriana?

ADRI. The widow, sir, is not to be spoken to.

BOUT. Not spoke to? I must speak with her.

ADRI. Must you? Come you with authority, or do you come To sue her with a warrant, that you must speak with her?

BOUT. I would entreat it.

ADRI. O, you would entreat it? May not I serve your turn? may not I unfold Your secrets to my mistress? Love is your suit?

BOUT. It is, fair creature.

ADRI. And why did you fall off, When you perceived my mistress was so coming?[364] D' you think she is still the same?

BOUT. I do.

ADRI. Why so! I took you for a novice: and I must think You know not yet the inwards of a woman. Do you not know that women are like fish, Which must be struck, when they are prone to bite, Or all your labour's lost? But, sir, walk here; And I'll inform my mistress your desires. [_Exit._

CON. Master.

BOUT. Boy.

CON. Come not you for love?

BOUT. I do, boy.

CON. And you would have the widow?

BOUT. I would.

CON. By Jove, I never saw one go about his business More untowardly: why, sir, do not you know, That he which would be inward[365] with the mistress, Must make a way first through the waiting-maid? If you will know the widow's affections, Feel first the waiting gentlewoman; do it, master: Some half a dozen kisses were not lost Upon this gentlewoman; for you must know, These waiting-maids are to their mistresses, Like porches unto doors; you pass the one, Before you can have entrance at the other. Or like your mustard to your piece of brawn, If you'll have one taste well, you must not scorn To be dipping in the other. I tell you, master. 'Tis not a few men's tales which they prefer Unto their mistresses in compass of a year. Be rul'd by me; untruss yourself to her, Out with all your lovesick thoughts to her, Kiss her, and give her an angel to buy pins, And this shall sooner win her mistress' love, Than all your protestations, sighs, and tears.

_Enter_ TAFFATA _and_ ADRIANA.

Here they come. To her boldly, master. Do, but dally not; that's the widow's phrase.[366]

BOUT. Most worthy fair, such is the power of love, That now I come t'accept your proffer'd grace; And with submissive thoughts t'entreat a pardon For my so gross neglect.

TAF. There's no offence; My mind is changed.

ADRI. I told you as much before.

CON. With a hey-pass--with a repass.[367] [_Aside._

BOUT. Dearest of women! The constant virtue of your nobler mind Speaks in your looks: nor can you entertain Both love and hate at once.

TAF. 'Tis all in vain.

ADRI. You strive against the stream.

CON. Fee the waiting-maid, master! [_Whispers._

BOUT. Stand thou propitious; endear me to my love.

[BOUTCHER _gives_ ADRIANA _his purse secretly_.

ADRI. Dear mistress, turn to this gentleman; I protest I have some feeling of his constant love. Cast him not away; try his love.

TAF. Why, sir, With what audacious front can you entreat To enjoy my love, which yet not two hours since You scornfully refus'd?

CON. Well fare the waiting-maid. [_Aside._

BOUT. My fate compell'd me; but now farewell, fond fear: My soul, my life, my lands, and reputation-- I'll hazard all, and prize them all beneath thee.

TAF. Which I shall put to trial; lend me thy ear.

[_They talk apart._

ADRI. Can you love, boy?

CON. Yes.

ADRI. What or whom?

CON. My victuals.

ADRI. A pretty knave, i' faith! come home tonight, Shalt have a posset and candied eringoes. A bed, if need be, too: I love, a' [my] life, To play with such baboons as thou.

CON. Indeed! But dost thou think the widow will have my master?

ADRI. I'll tell thee then: wo't come?

CON. I will.

ADRI. Remember!

TAF. Will you perform so much?

BOUT. Or lose my blood.

TAF. Make him subscribe it; and then I vow, By sacred Vesta's ever-hallowed fire, To take thee to my bed.

BOUT. Till then, farewell.

TAF. He's worthy love, whose virtues most excel.

ADRI. Remember! [_to_ CON.] What, is't a match betwixt you, mistress?

[_Exit_ BOUTCHER _and_ CONSTANTIA.

TAF. I have set the fool in hope: h' has undertook To rid me of that fleshly Captain Face; Which swears in taverns and all ordinaries I am his lawful wife. He shall allay The fury of the captain, and I (secure) Will laugh at the disgrace they both endure. [_Exeunt._

THROAT. Open your case, and I shall soon resolve you.

FRAN. But will you do it, truly?

THROAT. As I am honest.

FRAN. This gentleman, whom I so much affect, I scarce yet do know; so blind is love In things which most concerns it. As y' are honest, Tell me his birth, his state, and farthest hopes.

THROAT. He is my friend, and I will speak him truly. He is by birth son to a foolish knight; His present state, I think, will be the prison, And farthest hope, to be bail'd out again By sale of all your land.

FRAN. O me accurs'd! Has he no credit, lands, and manors?

THROAT. That land he has lies in a fair churchyard; And for his manners, they are so rude and vile, That scarce an honest man will keep him company.

FRAN. I am abus'd, cosen'd, and deceived.

THROAT. Why, that's his occupation: he will cheat In a cloak lin'd with velvet: he will prate Faster than five barbers and a tailor; Lie faster than ten city occupiers[368] Or cunning tradesmen: goes a-trust In every tavern, where h' has spent a fagot; Swears love to every whore, squires bawds, And takes up houses for them as their husband: He is a man I love, and have done much To bring him to preferment.

FRAN. Is there no trust, no honesty in men?

THROAT. Faith, some there is, And 'tis all in the hands of us lawyers And women: and those women which have it, Keep their honesty so close, that not one Amongst a hundred is perceiv'd to have it.

FRAN. Good sir, may I not by law forsake him, And wed another, though my word be pass'd To be his wife?

THROAT. O, questionless, you may! You have many precedents and bookcases for't: Nay, though you were married by a bookcase Of _Millesimo sexcentessimo_, &c. You may forsake your husband, and wed another, Provided that some fault be in the husband, As none of them are clear.

FRAN. I am resolv'd. I will not wed him, though I beg my bread.

THROAT. All that I have is yours; and were I worthy To be your husband------

FRAN. I thank you, sir; I will rather wed a most perfidious Red-shanks A noted Jew, or some mechanic slave, Than let him joy my sheets.

THROAT. He comes, he comes.

_Enter_ W. SMALL-SHANKS, BOUTCHER, T. SMALL-SHANKS, BEARD.

W. SMALL. Now, my virago, 'tis done: all's cock-sure. I have a priest will mumble up a marriage Without bell, book, or candle:[369] a nimble slave, An honest Welshman, that was a tailor, But now is made a curate.

BEARD. Nay, y' are fitted.

BOUT. Now, Master Throat.

T. SMALL. Where's your spirit, sister?

W. SMALL. What, all amort?[370] what's the matter? do you hear?

BOUT. What's the reason of this melancholy?

THROAT. By heaven, I know not?

W. SMALL. Has the gudgeon bit? [_Aside._

FRAN. He has been nibbling. [_Aside._

W. SMALL. Hold him to it, wench, And it will hit, by heaven. [_Aside._] Why art so sad? 'Foot, wench, we will be married to-night, We'll sup at th' Mitre, and from thence My brother and we three will to the Savoy; Which done, I tell thee, girl, we'll, hand o'er head, Go to it pell-mell for a maidenhead. Come, you are lusty: you wenches are like bells, You give no music till you feel the clapper. Come, Throat: a torch. We must be gone. [_Exit._

FRAN. Servant.

BEARD. Mistress.

FRAN. We are undone.

BEARD. Now Jove forfend![371]

FRAN. This fellow has no land; and which is worse, He has no credit.

BEARD. How! are we outstripp'd? Blown up by wit of man? Let us be gone Home again, home again: our market now is done.

FRAN. That were too great a scandal.

THROAT. Most true! Better to wed another, than to return With scandal and defame: wed me a man, Whose wealth may reconcile your mother's love. And make the action lawful.

BEARD. But where's the man? I like your counsel, could you show the man.

THROAT. Myself am he, might I but dare aspire Unto so high a fortune.

BEARD. Mistress, take the man: Shall we be baffled with fair promises. Or shall we trudge like beggars back again? No, take this wise and virtuous man Who, should he lose his legs, his arms, his ears, His nose, and all his other members, Yet if his tongue be left, 'twill get his living. Take me this man.

THROAT. Thanks, gentle Master Beard.

FRAN. 'Tis impossible; this night he means to wed me.

THROAT. If not by law, we will with pow'r prevent it, So you but give consent.

FRAN. Let's hear the means.

THROAT. I'll muster up my friends, and thus I cast it:[372] Whilst they are busy, you and I will hence Directly to a chapel, where a priest Shall knit the nuptial knot, ere they pursue us.

BEARD. O rare invention! I will act my part; He owes me thirteen pound, I say no more, But there be catchpoles [_Aside_]; speak, is't a match?[373]

FRAN. I give my liking.

THROAT. Dash!

DASH. Sir.

THROAT. Get your sword, [_Exeunt_ FRANCES _and_ BEARD. And me my buckler: nay, you shall know We are _Tam Marti quam Mercurio_. Bring my cloak: you shall thither: I'll for friends. Worship and wealth the lawyer's state attends. Dash, we must bear some brain[374] to Saint John's Street, Go, run, fly: and afar off inquire, If that the Lady Sommerfield be there, If there, know what news; and meet me straight At the Mitre door,[375] in Fleet Street. Away! "To get rich wives, men must not use delay."

FOOTNOTES:

[351] The edition of this play in 1636 omits the word _wench_, and therefore it was not found in the last reprint under the care of Mr Reed. It is now inserted from the copy of 1611.--_Collier._

[352] Terms of the chase. _Mussers_ are hiding-holes, or lurking-places; from the Fr. _musser_, to hide, conceal, &c.

[353] _i.e._, As brave a man.

[354] [Edits., Q, the letter having been written probably by the transcriber of the play for press to save trouble. A Q is a farthing in the old college books.]

[355] I imagine an allusion is here intended to the _buff_ coats of the Serjeants belonging to the Counter. See p. 330.

[356] These lines are the conclusion of many old songs. Several instances are produced by Mr Steevens, Sir John Hawkins, and Mr Tyrwhit, in their notes on "Twelfth Night," act ii. sc. 3.

Again, in "Laugh and Lie Downe," 1605, sig. E 4: "He plaied such a song of the _three merry men_, that had the dittie beene in a strange language, I should have been puzzled in the musick."

[357] [This allusion occurs also in Wybarne's "New Age of Old Names," 1609, p. 12, and in "The Return from Parnassus," 1606, (ix. 103).]

[358] Another proof that the edit. of 1636 only was followed by Mr Reed. The first 4o has it--"Why so: _these_ are tricks," &c., and not "_there_ are tricks," as in the second 4o.--_Collier._

[359] [See Dyce's Shakespeare, 1868, v. 178, and "Glossary," _v._ Fifteens. A _fifteen_ was a levy made in subsidies, amounting to a fifteenth of the personalty; but here the phrase almost seems to be used loosely, in the sense of extortion.]

[360] _i.e._, Head.

[361] [Old copies, _O_.]

[362] This is proverbial. [See Hazlitt'e "Proverbs," 1869, p. 84], The Scots say, a young man's _wonderling_. See "Collection of Scots Proverbs," 8o, 1721, by James Kelly, who observes it is used as an argument to induce a young girl to marry an old man.

[363] _To bear in hand_ was a common phrase, signifying _to keep in expectation or dependence_. In Dr Walter Pope's "Life of Bishop Seth Ward," 1697, p. 104, is the following passage: "My Lord, I _might bear you in hand_; a western phrase, signifying _to delay or keep in expectation_, and feed you with promises, or at least hopes, that I should cure you in some competent time," &c.

Again, in Fennor's "Compter's Commonwealth," p. 47: "I have seen divers gentlemen come into prison (after they have laine a fortnight or three weekes at some of their houses, at an excessive rate) without either cloake, sword, or hat, which the sergeants have got from them, onely _bearing them in hand_ that they will get them baile."

And in Ben Jonson's "Volpone," act i. sc. 1--

"_Still bearing them in hand_, Letting the cherry knock against their lips. And draw it by their mouths and back again."

The phrase frequently occurs in Shakespeare.

[364] [So forward.]

[365] Intimate, on familiar terms. See note to "The Spanish Tragedy" [v. 168]

[366] An allusion, seemingly, to a popular saying. See Hazlitt's" Proverbs," p. 190.

[367] Terms of legerdemain.

[368] [Merchants.]

[369] These words, _bell, book, and candle_, refer to the mode of excommunication in the Romish Church. In "King John," act iii. sc. 3, the Bastard says--

"_Bell, book, and candle_ shall not drive me back, When gold and silver becks me to come on."

Dr Grey, in his "Notes on Shakespeare," i. 284, has given the ceremonial on pronouncing an excommunication, by which it appears that in the performance of this office three candles were to be extinguished in the different parts of it. In Archbishop Winchelsea's sentences of excommunication, anno 1298 (see Johnson's "Ecclesiastical Laws," vol. ii.), it is directed that the sentence against infringers of certain articles should be "throughout explained _in order in English_, with _bells tolling and candles lighted_, that it may cause the greater dread; for Laymen have greater regard to this solemnity than to the effect of such sentences."

[370] _All amort_ here and in other places signifies _melancholy_. So in Greene's "History of Friar Bacon," 1594--

"Shall he thus _all amort_ live malecontent."

Again, in "Wily Beguiled," 1606--

"Why, how now, Sophos, _all amort_? still languish in love?"

[ix. 305]. And in the "Contention between Liberality and Prodigality," 1602, the author makes an addition to this French expression not usually found in English--

"What, is there none that answers? _Tout a-la-mort?_"

[viii. 335.]--_Collier._

[371] [Prevent. See note at p. 18 of vol. vii.]

[372] _i.e._, Contrive it. The word is still sometimes used in the same sense.

[373] All after the words _O rare invention_ has been hitherto given to Throat without any notice, and although both the quartos assign it to Beard, who, as appears subsequently, had advanced the sum he mentions.--_Collier._

[374] So in "The Country Captain," by the Duke of Newcastle, 1649, p. 51: "When these wordes of command are rotten, we will sow some other military seedes; _you beare a braine_ and memory."

Again, the Nurse, in "Romeo and Juliet," says--

"Well _I do bear a brain_."

See Mr Steevens's note on this last passage.

ACTUS III., SCÆNA 1.

Enter SIR OLIVER SMALL-SHANKS, JUSTICE TUTCHIN.

JUS. TUT. A-hunting, Sir Oliver, and dry-foot too!

O. SMALL. We old men have our crotchets, our conundrums. Our figaries, quirks, and quibbles, As well as youth. Justice Tutchin, I go To hunt no buck, but prick a lusty doe. I go, in truth, a-wooing.

JUS. TUT. Then ride with me, I'll bring you to my sister Sommerfield.

O. SMALL. Justice, not so; by her there hangs a tale.

JUS. TUT. That's true indeed.

O. SMALL. She has a daughter.

JUS. TUT. And what of that?

O. SMALL. I likewise have a son, A villanous boy, his father up and down;[376] What should I say? these velvet-bearded boys Will still be doing, say what we old men can.

JUS. TUT. And what of this, Sir Oliver? be plain.

O. SMALL. A nimble-spirited knave, the villain boy Has one trick of his sire, has got the wench, Stol'n your rich sister's heir.

JUS. TUT. Sommerfield's heir?

O. SMALL. Has done the deed, has pierc'd the vessel's head, And knows by this the vintage.

JUS. TUT. When should this be?

O. SMALL. As I am by my counsel well-informed, This very day.

JUS. TUT. Tut, it cannot be, Some ten miles hence I saw the maid last night.

O. SMALL. Maids may be maids to-night, and not to-morrow. Women are free, and sell their maidenheads, As men sell cloth by yard and handful; But if you chance to see your sister widow, Comfort her tears, and say her daughter's match'd With one that has a knocker to his father-- An honest, noble knight.

JUS. TUT. Stand close, knight, close, And mark this captain's humour. His name is Puff. He dreams as he walks, and thinks no woman

_Enter_ CAPTAIN PUFF.

Sees, him, but is in love with him.

PUFF. 'Twere brave, If some great lady through a window spied me, And straight should love me. Say, she should send Five thousand pound unto my lodging, And crave my company! with that money I would make three several cloaks, and line them With black, crimson, and tawny three-pil'd velvet; I would eat at Chare's ordinary, and dice At Antony's: then would I keep my whore In beaten velvet, and have two slaves to tend her.

O. SMALL. Ha, ha, ha!

PUFF. What, my case of Justices? What, are you eavesdropping? or do you think Your tawny coats with greasy facings here Shall carry it? Sir Oliver Small-shanks, Know my name is Puff, knight; thee have I sought To fright thee from thy wits.

JUS. TUT. Nay, good Sir Puff, We have too many madmen already.

PUFF. How? I tell thee, Justice Tutchin, not all Thy bailiffs, serjeants, busy constables, Defeasants, warrants, or thy mittimuses, Shall save his throat from cutting, if he presume To woo the widow yclipped[377] Taffata: She is my wife by oath. Therefore, take heed: Let me not catch thee in the widow's house: If I do, I'll pick thy head upon my sword, And piss in thy very visnomy; beware, beware! Come there no more; a captain's word Flies not so fierce as doth his fatal sword. [_Exit_ PUFF.

O. SMALL. How like you this? shall we endure this thunder, Or go no further?

JUS. TUT. We will on, Sir Oliver, We will on; let me alone to touch him. I wonder how my spirit did forbear To strike him on the face: had this been spoke Within my liberties, h' had died for it.

_Re-enter_ CAPTAIN PUFF.

O. SMALL. I was about to draw.

PUFF. If you come there, Thy beard shall serve to stuff those balls, by which I get me heat at tennis.

JUS. TUT. Is he gone? [_Exit_ PUFF. I would he durst ha' stood to this a while. Well, I shall catch him in a narrow room, Where neither of us can flinch: if I do, I'll make him dance-a trenchmoor[378] to my sword. Come, I'll along with you to the widow. We will not be outbraved, take my word, We'll not be wrong'd, while I can draw a sword. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ THROAT _and two other_ GENTLEMEN.

THROAT. Let the coach stay at Shoe Lane end; be ready. Let the boot stand open; and when she's in, Hurry towards Saint Giles's in the Fields, As if the devil himself were waggoner. Now for an arm of oak and heart of steel, To bear away the wench, to get a wife, A gentlewoman, a maid--nay, which is more, An honest maid and, which is most of all, A rich and honest maid: O Jove! O Jove! For a man to wed such a wife as this Is to dwell in the suburbs of heaven.

1ST GENT. Is she so exquisite?

THROAT. Sir, she is rich, And a great heir.

2D GENT. 'Tis the more dangerous.

THROAT. Dangerous? Lord! where be those gallant spirits? The time has been, when scarce an honest woman, Much less a wench, could pass an inn-of-court, But some of the fry would have been doing With her. I knew the day, when Shreds, a tailor, Coming once late by an inn-of-chancery, Was laid along, and muffled in his cloak, His wife took in, stitch'd-up, turn'd out again, And he persuaded all was but in jest. Tut, those brave boys are gone; these which are left Are wary lads, live poring on their books, And give their linen to their laundresses; By tail they now can save their purses:[379] I knew, when every gallant had his man, But now a twelvepenny weekly laundress Will serve the turn to half a dozen of them.

_Enter_ DASH.

Here comes my man; what news?

DASH. As you would wish; The Lady Sommerfield is come to town. Her horses yet are walking, and her men say Her only daughter is conveyed away-- No man knows how. Now to it, master! You and your servant Dash are made for ever, If you but stick to it now.

THROAT. Gentlemen, Now show yourselves at full, and not a man But shares a fortune with me, if I speed.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, BOUTCHER, THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, FRANCES, _and_ BEARD _with_ _a torch_.

1ST GENT. Tut, fear not us; be sure you run away, And we'll perform the quarrel.

THROAT. Stand close: they come.

W. SMALL. Art sure he will be here?

FRAN. Most sure.

W. SMALL. Beard.

BEARD. Sir.

W. SMALL. Bear up the torch, and keep your way apace Directly to the Savoy.

T. SMALL. Have you a licence? Look to that, brother, before you marry, For fear the parson lose his benefice.

W. SMALL. Tut, our curate craves no licence; he swears His living came to him by a miracle.

BOUT. How by [a] miracle?

W. SMALL. Why, he paid nothing for't: He swears that few be free from simony, But only Welshmen, and those he says, too, Are but mountain priests.

BOUT. But hang him, fool, he lies: What's his reason?

W. SMALL. His reason is this; That all their livings are so rude and bare, That not a man will venture his damnation By giving money for them: he does protest, There is but two pair of hose and shoes In all his parish.

1ST GENT. Hold up your light, sir.

BEARD. Shall I be taught how to advance my torch?

W. SMALL. What's the matter, lieutenant?

2D GENT. Your lieutenant's an ass.

BEARD. How, an ass? die, men, like dogs?[380] [_Draws._

W. SMALL. Hold, gentlemen.

BEARD. An ass! an ass!

THROAT. Hold, brother, hold! lieutenant. Put up, as you are men; your wife is gone.

W. SMALL. Gone?

BOUT. Gone.

W. SMALL. How? which way? this is some plot.

T. SMALL. Down toward Fleet Bridge.

ALL. Follow, follow, follow!

1ST GENT. So has the wench; let us pursue aloof,[381] And see the event. This will prove good mirth, When things unshap'd shall have a perfect birth. [_Exit._

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, BOUTCHER, THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, _and_ BEARD, _their swords drawn_.

W. SMALL. 'Tis a thing impossible they should be gone Thus far, and we not see them.

T. SMALL. Upon my life, They went in by the Greyhound, and so struck Into Bridewell.

BOUT. What should she make there?

T. SMALL. Take water at the dock.

BEARD. Water at dock! A fico for her dock! you'll not be rul'd, You'll still be obstinate, I'll pawn my fate, She took along Shoe Lane, and so went home.

W. SMALL. Home?

BEARD. Ay, home; how could she choose but go, Seeing so many naked tools at once Drawn in the street?

T. SMALL. What scurvy luck was this?

W. SMALL. Come, we will find her, or we'll fire the suburbs. Put up your tools; let's first along Shoe Lane, Then straight up Holborn; if we find her not, We'll thence direct to Throat's; if she be lost, I am undone, and all your hopes are cross'd. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR OLIVER SMALL-SHANKS, JUSTICE TUTCHIN, MISTRESS TAFFATA, ADRIANA.

O. SMALL. Widow, I must be short.

JUS. TUT. Sir Oliver, Will you shame yourself, ha? you must be short! Why, what a word was that to tell a widow?

O. SMALL. I meant I must be brief.

JUS. TUT. Why say so, then, Yet that's almost as ill; go to, speak on.

O. SMALL. Widow, I must be brief; what old men do, They must do quickly.

TAF. Then, good sir, do it; Widows are seldom slow to put men to it.

O. SMALL. And old men know their cues: my love, you know, Has been protested long, and now I come To make my latest tender; an old-grown oak Can keep you from the rain, and stands as fair And portly as the best.

TAF. Yet search him well, And we shall find no pith or hearty timber To underlay a building. [_Aside._

JUS. TUT. I would that oak Had been a-fire: forward, good Sir Oliver, Your oak is nought: stick not too much to that.

[_Aside._

O. SMALL. If you can like, you shall be ladyfied, Live at the court, and soon be got with child. What, do you think we old men can do nothing?

JUS. TUT. This was somewhat like.

O. SMALL. You shall have jewels, A baboon, parrot, and an Iceland[382] dog, And I myself to bear you company. Your jointure is five hundred pound by year, Besides your plate, your chains, and household-stuff, When envious fate shall change this mortal life.

TAF. But shall I not be overcloy'd with love? Will you not be too busy? shall I keep My chamber by the month, if I be pleas'd To take physic, to send for visitants, To have my maid read Amadis de Gaul Or Donzel del Phoebo[383] to me I shall I have A coach of the last edition-- The coachman's seat a good way from the coach, That, if some other ladies and myself Chance to talk bawdy, he may not o'erhear us?

O. SMALL. All this, and more.

TAF. Shall we have two chambers? And will you not presume unto my bed, Till I shall call you by my waiting-maid?

O. SMALL. Not I, by heaven!

TAF. And when I send her, Will you not entice her to your lust, Nor tumble her, before you come to me?

ADRI. Nay, let him do his worst, make your match sure, And fear not me; I never yet did fear [_Aside._ Anything my master could do to me. [_Knock._

TAF. What noise is that? go, see, Adriana, And bring me word: I am so haunted With a swaggering captain, that swears, God bless us,

_Enter_ ADRIANA.

Like a very termagant:[384]--a rascal knave, That says he will kill all men which seek to wed me.

ADRI. O mistress! Captain Puff, half-drunk, is now Coming up-stairs.

O. SMALL. O God! have you no room Beyond this chamber? h' has sworn to kill me, And piss in my very visnomy.

TAF. What, are you afraid, Sir Oliver?

O. SMALL. Not afraid; But of all men I love not to meddle with a drunkard: Have you any room backwards?

TAF. None, sir.

JUS. TUT. Is there ne'er a trunk or cupboard for him? Is there ne'er a hole backwards to hide him in?

CAPT. PUFF [_without_]. I must speak with her.

O. SMALL. O God! he comes!

ADRI. Creep under my mistress's farthingale, knight. That's the best and safest place in the chamber. Jus. TUT. Ay, there, there--that lie will never mistrust.

ADRI. Enter, knight, keep close; gather yourself Round like a hedgehog; stir not, whate'er you hear See, or smell, knight. God bless us! here he comes.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN PUFF.

CAPT. PUFF. Bless thee, widow and wife.

TAF. Sir, get you gone, Leave my house, or I will have you conjur'd With such a spell you never yet have heard of. Have you no other place to vent your froth But in my house? is this the fittest place Your captainship can find to puff in, ha?

CAPT. PUFF. How? am I not thy spouse? didst thou not say These arms should clip[385] thy naked body fast Betwixt two linen sheets, and be sole lord Of all thy pewter-work? Thy word is pass'd: And know, that man is powder, dust and earth, That shall once dare to think thee for his wife!

TAF. How now, you slave? One call the constable.

CAPT. PUFF. No constable with all his halberdiers Dare once advance his head or peep up stairs, If I cry but, keep down: have I not liv'd, And march'd on sieged walls, In thunder, lightning, rain, and snow, And eke in shot of powdered balls, Whose costly marks are yet to show?

TAF. Captain Puff, for my last husband's sake, With whom you were so familiarly acquainted, I am content to wink at these rude tricks; But hence! trouble me no more; if you do, I shall lay you fast, where you shall see No sun or moon.

CAPT. PUFF. Nor yet the northern pole! A fico for the sun and moon: let me live in a hole, So these two stars may shine.

TAF. Sir, get you gone, You swaggering cheating Turnbull Street[386] rogue, Or I will hale you to the common gaol, Where lice shall eat you.

CAPT. PUFF. Go to, I shall spurn And flesh[387] your petticoat.

TAF. Run to the Counter, Fetch me a red-bearded Serjeant:[388] I'll make You, captain, think the devil of hell is come To fetch you, if he once fasten on you.

CAPT. PUFF. Damn thee and thy Serjeants, thou mercer's punk, Thus will I kick thee and thy farthingales.

[_Kicks at her petticoat._]

O. SMALL. Hold, captain!

CAPT. PUFF. What, do you cast your whelps? What, have I found you, sir? have not I plac'd My sakers, culverings, demi-culverings, My cannons, demi-cannons, basilisks, Upon her breach, and do I not stand Ready with my pike to make my entry, And are you come to man her?

O. SMALL. Good captain, hold.

CAPT. PUFF. Are not her bulwarks, parapets, trenches, Scarps, counter-scarps,[389] fortifications, Curtains, shadows, mines, counter-mines, Rampiers,[390] forts, ditches, works, water-works, And is not her half-moon mine? and do you bring A rescue, goodman knight?

TAF. Call up my men.

_Enter_ O. SMALL, _and two or three others with clubs_.

Where be these knaves? bare they no ears or hearts? Bear hence this rascal; some other fetch a warrant: I'll teach him to know himself.

JUS. TUT. Down with the slave.

O. SMALL. Tis not your beard shall carry it; down with the rogue.

CAPT. PUFF. Not Hercules 'gainst twenty.

[_Exit_ PUFF.

JUS. TUT. Ah, sirrah! I knew[391] my hands no longer could forbear him: Why did you not strike the knave, Sir Oliver?

O. SMALL. Why, so I did.

JUS. TUT. But then it was too late.

O. SMALL. What would you have me do, when I was down, And he stood thundering with his weapon drawn,

_Enter_ ADRIANA.

Ready to cut my throat?

ADRI. The rogue is gone, And here's one from the lady Sommerfield. To intreat you come with all the speed you can To Saint John's Street.

JUS. TUT. Which I will do.

TAF. Gentlemen, I am sorry you should be thus disturb'd Within my house; but now all fear is pass'd, You are most welcome: supper ended, I'll give a gracious answer to your suit; Meanwhile, let nought dismay or keep you mute. [_Exit._

_Enter_ THROAT, FRANCES, _and_ DASH.

THROAT. Pay the coachman, Dash, pay him well, And thank him for his speed. Now _Vivat Rex_, The knot is knit, which not the law itself, With all his Hydra-heads and strongest nerves. Is able to disjoin: now let him hang, Fret out his guts, and swear the stars from heaven-- He never shall enjoy you; you shall be rich. Your lady-mother this day came to town In your pursuit: we will but shift some rags, And straight go take her blessing.

FRAN. That must not be; Furnish me with jewels, and then myself, Attended by your man and honest Beard, Will thither first, and with my lady-mother Crave a peace for you.

THROAT. I like that well; Her anger somewhat calm'd, I brisk and fine, Some half hour after will present myself As son-in-law unto her, which she must needs Accept with gracious looks.

FRAN. Ay, when she knows Before by me, from what an eminent plague Your wisdom has preserv'd me.

THROAT. Ay, that, that-- That will strike it dead. But here comes Beard.

_Enter_ BEARD.

BEARD. What, are you sure I tied fast by heart and hand?

THROAT. I now do call her wife, she now is mine, Seal'd and deliver'd by an honest priest At Saint Giles's in the Fields.

BEARD. God give you joy, sir.

THROAT. But where's mad Small-shanks?

BEARD. O, hard at hand, And almost mad with loss of his fair bride; Let not my lovely mistress be seen; And see, if you can draw him to compound For all his title to her: I have serjeants, Ready to do the feat, when time shall serve.

THROAT. Stand you aside, dear love[392]; nay, I will firk My silly novice, as he was never firk'd, Since midwives bound his noddle: here they come.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, _and_ BOUTCHER.

W. SMALL. O Master Throat, unless you speak good news, My hopes are cross'd, and I undone for ever!

THROAT. I never thought you'd come to other end; Your courses have been always so profane, Extravagant and base.

W. SMALL. Nay, good sir, hear: Did not my love return? came she not hither? For Jove's love, speak.

THROAT. Sir, will you get you gone, And seek your love elsewhere? for know, my house Is not to entertain such customers As you and your comrades.

W. SMALL. Is the man mad Or drunk? Why, Master Throat, know you to whom You talk so saucily?

THROAT. Why, unto you And to your brother Small-shanks: will you be gone?

BOUT. Nay, good sir, hold us not in this suspense; Answer directly: came not the virgin hither?

THROAT. Will you be gone directly? are you mad? Come you to seek a virgin in Ram-Alley, So near an inn-of-court, and amongst cooks, Ale-men, and laundresses? why, are you fools?

W. SMALL. Sir, leave this firk of law, or, by this light, I'll give your throat a slit. Came she not hither? Answer to that point.

THROAT. What, have you lost her? Come, do not gull your friends.

W. SMALL. By heaven, she's gone, Unless she be return'd since we last left you.

THROAT. Nay, then, I cry you mercy; she came not hither, As I am an honest man: is't possible, A maid so lovely fair, so well-demean'd, Should be took from you? what, you three-- So young, so brave, and valiant gentlemen-- Sure, it cannot be!

T. SMALL. Afore God, 'tis true.

W. SMALL. To our perpetual shame, 'tis now too true.

THROAT. Is she not left behind you in the tavern? Are you sure you brought her out? were you not drunk, And so forgot her?

W. SMALL. A pox on all such luck! I will find her, or, by this good light, I'll fire all the city. Come, let's go: Whoever has her shall not long enjoy her, I'll prove a contract; let us walk the round. I'll have her, if she keep above the ground. [_Exit._

THROAT. Ha, ha, ha! he makes me sport, i' faith. The gull is mad, stark-mad. Dash, draw the bond, And a release of all his interest In this my loved wife.

BEARD. Ay, be sure of that, For I have certain goblins in buff jerkins[393]

_Re-enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS _with the Serjeants_.

Lie in ambuscado for him.

OFFICER. I arrest you, sir.

W. SMALL. Rescue! rescue!

THROAT. O, he is caught.

W. SMALL. I'll give you bail: Hang off, honest catchpoles. Master Throat, good, wise, Learned and honest Master Throat, now, now-- Now or never, help me.

THROAT. What's the matter?

W. SMALL. Here are two retainers, hangers-on, sir, Which will consume more than ten liveries; If by your means they be not straight shook off-- I am arrested.

THROAT. Arrested! what's the sum?

W. SMALL. But thirteen pounds, due to Beard the butler: Do but bail me, and I will save you harmless.

THROAT. Why, here's the end of it[394]: I know the law; If you be bail'd by me, the debt is mine, Which I will undertake--

W. SMALL. La[395] there, rogues: Foot! I knew he would not let me want For thirteen pounds.

THROAT. Provided you seal a release Of all your claim to Mistress Sommerfield.

W. SMALL. Serjeants, do your kind: hale me to the hole. Seal a release? Serjeants, come: to prison! Seal a release for Mistress Sommerfield? First I will stink in jail, be eat with lice, Endure an object worse than the devil himself, And that's ten Serjeants peeping through the grates Upon my lousy linen. Come to jail: Foot, a release!

T. SMALL. There's no conscience in it.

BOUT. 'Tis a demand uncharitable.

THROAT. Nay, choose.

_Enter_ FRANCES.

FRAN. I can hold no longer; impudent man--

W. SMALL. My wife! foot! my wife! let me go, serjeants.

FRAN. O thou perfidious man! dar'st thou presume To call her wife, whom thou so much hast wrong'd? What conquest hast thou got to wrong a maid, A silly harmless maid? what glory is't, That thou hast thus deceived a simple virgin, And brought her from her friends? what honour was't For thee to make the butler lose his office, And run away with thee! Your tricks are known; Didst thou not swear thou shouldst be baronis'd? And hadst both lands and fortunes, both which thou want'st?

W. SMALL. Foot, that's not my fault: I would have lands, If I could get 'em.

FRAN. I know your tricks; And know I now am wife unto this man.

OMNES. How?

THROAT. I thank her, sir, she has now vouchsaf'd To cast herself on me.

FRAN. Therefore subscribe; Take somewhat of him for a full release, And pray to God to make you an honest man: If not, I do protest by earth and heaven, Although I starve, thou never shalt enjoy me.

BEARD. Her vow is pass'd, nor will she break her word; Look to it, micher.

FRAN. I hope he will compound.

W. SMALL. Foot, shall I give two thousand pounds a year For nothing?

T. SMALL. Brother, come: be rul'd by me. Better to take a little than lose all.

BOUT. You see she's resolute; y'had best compound.

W. SMALL. I'll first be damn'd, ere I will lose my right, Unless he give me up my forfeit mortgage, And bail me of this action.

FRAN. Sir, you may choose: What is the mortgage worth?

W. SMALL. Let's have no whispering.

THROAT. Some forty pounds a year.

FRAN. Do it, do it. Come, you shall do it, we will be rid of him At any rate.

THROAT. Dash, go fetch his mortgage. [_Exit_ DASH. So that your friends be bound, you shall not claim Title, right, possession, in part or whole, In time to come, in this my loved wife: I will restore the mortgage, pay this debt, And set you free.

W. SMALL. They shall not.

BOUT. We will. Come, draw the bonds, and we will soon subscribe them.

_Enter_ DASH.

THROAT. They're ready-drawn; here's his release: Serjeants, let him go.

DASH. Here's the mortgage, sir.

W. SMALL. Was ever man thus cheated of a wife! Is this my mortgage?

THROAT. The very same, sir.

W. SMALL. Well, I will subscribe. God give you joy, Although I have but little cause to wish it, My heart will scarce consent unto my hand. 'Tis done.

THROAT. You give this as your deed?

OMNES. We do.

THROAT. Certify them, Dash.

W. SMALL. What! am I free?

THROAT. You are: serjeants, I discharge you. There's your fees.

BEARD. Not so; I must have money.

THROAT. I'll pass my word.

BEARD. _Foutre!_ words are wind: I say, I must have money.

THROAT. How much, sir?

BEARD. Three pounds in hand, and all the rest to-morrow.

THROAT. There's your sum. Now, officers, be gone, Each take his way; I must to Saint John's Street, And see my lady-mother: she's now in town, And we to her shall straight present our duties.

T. SMALL. O Jove! shall we lose the wench thus?

W. SMALL. Even thus. Throat, farewell: since 'tis thy luck to have her, I still shall pray you long may live together. Now each to his affairs.

THROAT. Good night to all. [_Exeunt_ W.S., T.S., _and_ BOUT. Dear wife, step in. Beard and Dash, come hither: Here take this money: go borrow jewels Of the next goldsmith: Beard, take thou these books, Go both to the broker's in Fetter Lane, Lay them in pawn for a velvet jerkin And a double ruff: tell him, he shall have As much for a loan to-night, as I do give Usury for a whole circuit; which done, You two shall man her to her mother's: go. [_Exeunt_ BEARD _and_ DASH. My fate looks big! methinks I see already Nineteen gold chains, seventeen great beards, and ten Reverend bald heads, proclaim my way before me. My coach shall now go prancing through Cheapside, And not be forc'd to hurry through the streets For fear of serjeants; nor shall I need to try, Whether my well-grass'd tumbling foot-cloth nag Be able to outrun a well-breath'd catch-pole. I now in pomp will ride, for 'tis most fit, He should have state, that riseth by his wit. [_Exit._

FOOTNOTES:

[375] [The Mitre Tavern in Bread Street, Cheapside, was a celebrated tavern at this time. From the present passage we learn that there was a second house so called in Fleet Street thus early.]

[376] [The image of his father.]

[377] _i.e._, Called.

[378] _Trenchmore_ was a dance, of which (says Sir John Hawkins, in his "History of Music," iv. 391) "frequent mention is made by our old dramatic writers. Thus, in the 'Island Princess' of Beaumont and Fletcher, act v., one of the Townsmen says--

'All the windows of the town dance a new _trenchmore._'

In the 'Table Talk' of Selden, title _King of England_, is the following humorous passage:--'The Court of England is much altered. At a solemn dancing, first, you had the grave measures, then the corantoes and the galliards, and this is kept up with ceremony; at length to _trenchmore_ and the cushion-dance: and then all the company dance, lord and groom, lady and kitchen-maid, no distinction. So in our Court ... in King Charles's time, there has been nothing but _trenchmore_ and the cushion-dance, omnium gatherum, tolly polly, hoite cum toite.' And in the comedy of 'The Rehearsal,' the earth, sun, and moon are made to dance the hey to the tune of _trenchmore_. From all which it may be inferred that the _trenchmore_ was a lively movement."

The _trenchmore_ is also mentioned in Beaumont and Fletcher's "Pilgrim," act iv. sc. 3.

[379] [A double meaning is intended here, as the laundresses of the inns were not always very remarkable for chastity.]

[380] This expression is used by Pistol in the "Second Part of Henry IV.," act ii. sc. 4--

"_Die men like dogs_; give crowns like pins, Have we not Hiren here?"

[381] [At a distance.]

[382] Or, as it was sometimes called, an _Island_, or _Isling_. So in "The Queen of Corinth," act iv. sc. 1--

"Hang, hair, like hemp, or like the _Isling cur's_."

Again, in Massinger's "Picture," act v. sc. 1--

"Would I might lie Like a dog under her table, and serve for a footstool, So I might have my belly full of that Her _Iceland cur_ refuses."

Abraham Fleming, in his tract "Of Englishe Dogges, the diversities, the names, the natures, and the properties," 1576, speaks of the introduction of _Iceland dogs_, and describes them. "Use and custome hath intertained other dogges of an outlandish kinde, but a few, and the same being of a pretty bygnesse, I meane _Iseland dogges_, curled and rough al over, which by reason of the length of their heare, make showe neither of face nor of body. And yet these curres, forsoothe, because they are so straunge, are greatly set by, esteemed, taken vp, and made of, many times in the roome of the Spaniell, gentle or comforter."--_Collier._ [Sig. F 4. Fleming's book is, however, only a translation from Caius, "De Canibus Britannicis."]

[383] Heroes of romance. [By "Donzel del Phoebo" the lady intends, I conclude, the "Knight of the Sun," or the "Mirror of Knighthood."]

[384] Tarmagant or Termagant was, as Dr Percy observes, a Saracen deity, very clamorous and violent in the old moralities. He is frequently mentioned and alluded to in our ancient dramas and poems. Bishop Hall's "Satires" begin thus--

"Not Ladies' wanton love, nor wand'ring knight, Legend I out in rhimes all richly dight; Nor fright the reader with the Pagan vaunt Of mightie _Mahound_ and great _Termagaunt_."

Mr Tyrwhitt says, the character is to be met with in an old romance, MSS. Bod. 1624, where it is constantly spelt _Tervagan_. (See notes to Chaucer, v. 13,741.)

See also "King and no King," act iv., and "Rule a Wife and have a Wife," act v.

Again, Hamlet says, "I would have such a fellow whipt for o'erdoing _Termagant_."

See notes on this passage, edit. 1778; also Warton's Observations on Spenser, ii. 226; [Bishop Percy's folio MS., ii. 467; and Nares, 1859, arts. Termagant and Trivigant.]

[385] Embrace.

[386] [A locality notorious for bad characters.]

[387] [Pierce it with my sword. Edits., _slash_.]

[388] See note to "The Spanish Tragedy," [v. 121.]

[389] [Edits., _scarfs, counter-scarfs_.]

[390] [Ramparts. A common form.]

[391] Before printed _know_, adhering to the error of the edition of 1636.--_Collier._

[392] To Frances, who probably places herself out of view, or perhaps makes her _exit_, which, however, is not marked.--_Collier._

[393] The dress of the serjeants at that time.

[394] [Edits., _riot_.]

[395] [Edits., _Law_.]

ACTUS IV., SCÆNA 1.

_Enter_ SIR OLIVER, JUSTICE TUTCHIN, TAFFATA, _and_ ADRIANA.

OLIVER. Good meat the belly fills, good wine the brain; Women please men, men pleasure them again: Ka me, ka thee: one thing must rub another: English love Scots, Welshmen love each other.

JUS. TUT. You say very right, Sir Oliver, very right; I have't in my noddle, i' faith. That's all the fault Old justices have; when they are at feasts, They will bib[396] hard; they will be fine sunburnt, Sufficient fox'd or columber'd, now and then. Now could I sit in my chair at home, and nod A drunkard to the stocks by virtue of The last statute rarely[397].

TAF. Sir, you are merry.

JUS. TUT. I am indeed.

TAF. Your supper, sir, was light; But I hope you think you're welcome.

JUS. TUT. I do. A light supper; quoth you? pray God it be, Pray God I carry it cleanly, I am sure it lies As heavy in my belly as molt lead; Yet I'll go see my sister Sommerfield.

OLIVER. So late, good Justice?

JUS. TUT. Aye, even so late. Night is the mother of wit, as you may see By poets or rather constables In their examinations at midnight. We'll lie together without marrying, Save the curate's fees[398] and the parish a labour; 'Tis a thriving course.

OLIVER. That may not be, For excommunications then will flee.

JUS. TUT. That's true, they fly indeed like wild geese In flocks, one in the breech of another; But the best is, a small matter stays them. And so farewell.

OLIVER. Farewell, good Justice Tutchin. [_Exit_ JUSTICE TUTCHIN. Alas, good gentleman, his brains are crazed, But let that pass. Speak, widow, is't a match? Shall we clap it up?

ADRI. Nay, if't come to clapping, Good night, i' faith. Mistress, look before you, There's nothing more dangerous to maid or widow Than sudden clappings-up; nothing hath spoiled So many proper ladies as clappings-up. Your shittle-cock, striding from tables to ground, Only to try the strength of the back: Your riding a hunting--ay, though they fall With their heels upward, and lay as if They were taking the height of some high star With a cross-staff; no, nor your jumblings In horselitters, coaches or carouches[399], Have spoiled so many women as clappings-up.

OLIVER. Why, then, we'll chop it up.

TAF. That's not allowed, Unless you were son to a Welsh curate. But faith, sir knight, I have a kind of itching To be a lady; that, I can tell you, wooes, And can persuade with better rhetoric Than oaths, wit, wealth, valour, lands, or person: I have some debts at Court, and, marrying you, I hope the courtiers will not stick to pay me.

OLIVER. Never fear thy payment. This I will say For courtiers, they'll be sure to pay each other, Howe'er they deal with citizens.

TAF. Then here's my hand; I am your wife, condition we be joined Before to-morrow's sun.

OLIVER. Nay, even to-night, So you be pleas'd. With little warning, widow, We old men can be ready, and thou shalt see, Before the time that chanticleer Shall call, and tell the day is near: When wenches, lying on their backs, Receive with joy their love-stol'n smacks; When maids, awak'd from their first sleep, Deceiv'd with dreams, begin to weep, And think, if dreams such pleasure know, What sport the substance them would show; When a lady 'gins[400] white limbs to spread, Her love but new-stol'n to her bed, His cotton shoes yet scarce put off, And dares not laugh, speak, sneeze, or cough; When precise dames begin to think, Why their gross louring[401] husbands stink; What pleasure 'twere then to enjoy, A nimble vicar or a boy; Before this time thou shalt behold Me quaffing out our bridal bowl[402].

ADRI. Then, belike, before the morning sun You will be coupled?

TAF. Yes, faith, Adriana.

ADRI. Well, I will look you shall have a clean smock, Provided that you pay the fee, Sir Oliver. Since my mistress, sir, will be a lady, I'll lose no fees due to the waiting-maid.

OLIVER. Why, is there a fee belonging to it?

ADRI. A knight, and never heard of smock-fees? I would I had the monopoly of them, So there were no impost set upon them.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS.

OLIVER. Whom have we here? what, my mad-headed son; What makes he here so late? Say I am gone; And I the whilst will step behind the hangings.

W. SMALL. God bless thee, parcel of man's flesh.

TAF. How, sir?

W. SMALL. Why, parcel of man's flesh! art not a woman? But, widow, where's the old stinkard my father? They say, widow, you dance altogether After his pipe.

TAF. What then?

W. SMALL. Th' art a fool, I'll assure thee there's no music in it.

TAF. Can you play better?

W. SMALL. Better, widow? Blood, dost think I have not learnt my prick-song? What, not the court prick-song? One up and another down: Why, I have't to a hair; by this light, I hope thou lovest him not.

TAF. I'll marry him, sir.

W. SMALL. How? marry him! foot, art mad, widow? Woo't marry an old crazed man With meagre looks, with visage wan, With little legs and crinkled thighs, With chap-fall'n gums and deep-sunk eyes? Why, a dog, seiz'd on ten days by death, Stinks not so loathsome as his breath; Nor can a city common jakes, Which all mens' breeches undertakes, Yield fasting stomachs such a savour, As doth his breath and ugly favour.

OLIVER. Rogue! [_Aside._

ADRI. That's all one, sir; she means to be a lady.

W. SMALL. Does she so? and thou must be her waiting-woman? Faith, thou wilt make a fine dainty creature, To sit at a chamber-door, and look fleas In my lady's dog, while she is shewing Some slippery-breech'd courtier rare faces In a bay[403]-window. Foot, widow, Marry me--a young and complete gallant.

TAF. How a complete gallant? what? a fellow With a hat tuck'd up behind, and, what we use About our hips to keep our coats from dabbling, He wears about his neck--a farthingale! A standing collar to keep his neat band clean, The whilst his shirt doth stink, and is more foul Than an inn-of-chancery table-cloth: His breeches must be plaited, as if he had Some thirty pockets, when one poor half-penny purse Will carry all his treasure; his knees all points, As if his legs and hams were tied together; A fellow that has no inside, but prates By rote, as players and parrots use to do, And, to define a complete gallant right, A mercer form'd him, a tailor makes him, A player gives him spirit.

W. SMALL. Why, so in my conscience to be a countess Thou wouldst marry a hedge-hog: I must confess, 'Tis state to have a coxcomb kiss your hands, While yet the chamber-lie[404] is scarce wip'd off; To have an upright usher march before you Bare-headed in a tuftafata jerkin, Made of your old cast gown, shows passing well, But when you feel your husband's pulse, that's hell; Then you fly out, and bid strait smocks farewell.

TAF. I hope, sir, whate'er our husbands be, We may be honest.

W. SMALL. May be! may, y' are: Women and honesty are so near allied, As parsons' lives are to their doctrines-- One and the same. But, widow, now be rul'd; I hope the heavens will give thee better grace Than to accept the father, and I yet live To be bestowed: if you wed the stinkard, You shall find the tale of Tantalus To be no fable, widow.

OLIVER. How I sweat! [_Aside._ I can hold no longer. [_Comes out._] Degenerate bastard! I here disclaim thee, cashier thee; nay, more, I disinherit thee both of my love And living: get thee a grey cloak and hat, And walk in Paul's[405] among thy cashier'd mates As melancholy as the best.

TAF. Come not near me, I forbid thee my house, my out-houses, My garden, orchard, and my back-side[406]; Thou shalt not harbour near me.

[_Exeunt_ TAFFATA _and_ ADRIANA.

OLIVER. Nay, to thy grief Know, varlet, I will be wed this morning, Thou shalt not be there, nor once be grac'd With a piece of rosemary[407]. I[408] cashier thee. Do not reply: I will not stay to hear thee.

[_Exit_ SIR OLIVER.

W. SMALL. Now may I go put me on a clean shirt, And hang myself. Foot, who would have thought The fox had earth'd so near me; what's to be done? What miracle shall I now undertake To win respective[409] grace with God and men? What, if I turn'd courtier and liv'd honest? Sure, that would do: I dare not walk the streets, For I dwindle at a serjeant in buff Almost as much as a new player does At a plague-bill certified forty.[410] Well, I like this widow: a lusty plump drab: Has substance both in breech and purse, And pity and sin it were she should be wed To a furr'd cloak and a night-cap. I'll have her: This widow I will have: her money Shall pay my debts, and set me up again. 'Tis here, 'tis almost forg'd, which if it take, The world shall praise my wit, admire my fate. [_Exit._

_Enter_ BEARD, DASH, FRANCES, SERJEANT, DRAWER.

BEARD. Serjeants, beware; be sure you not mistake, For if you do--

DASH. She shall be quickly bail'd, She shall _corpus cum causa_ be remov'd; Your action entered first below shall shrink, And you shall find, sir serjeant, she has friends Will stick to her in the common place.

SER. Sir, Will you procure her bail?

BEARD. She shall be bail'd. Drawer, bring up some wine, use her well, Her husband is a gentleman of sort.

SER. A gentleman of sort! why, what care I? A woman of her fashion shall find More kindness at a lusty serjeant's hand Than ten of your gentlemen of sort.

DASH. Sir, use her well: she's wife to Master Throat.

SER. I'll use her, sir, as if she were my wife: Would you have any more?

BEARD. Drink upon that, Whilst we go fetch her bail. Dash, fellow Dash, With all the speed thou hast, run for our master; Make haste, lest he be gone, before thou comest, To Lady Sommerfield's: I'll fetch another; She shall have bail.

DASH. And a firking writ Of false imprisonment; she shall be sure Of twelvepence damage, and five-and-twenty pound For suits in law: I'll go fetch my master.

BEARD. And I another.

[_Exeunt_ BEARD _and_ DASH.

SER. Drawer, leave the room. Here, mistress, a health!

FRAN. Let it come, sweet rogue.

[_The_ DRAWER _stands aside_.

DRAWER. Ay, say you so? then must I have an eye; These serjeants feed on very good reversions, On capons, teals, and sometimes on a woodcock, Hot from the shrieve's own table[411]; the knaves feed well, Which makes them horrid lechers.

FRAN. This health is pledg'd; And, honest serjeant, how does Master Gripe, The keeper of the Counter? I do protest, I found him always favourable to me, He is an honest man; has often stood to me, And been my friend; and let me go o' trust For victual, when he has denied it knights. But come, Let's pay, and then be gone: th' arrest, you know, Was but a trick to get from nimble Dash, My husband's man.

SER. True: but I have an action At suit of Mistress Smell-smock, your quondam bawd: The sum is eight good pound for six weeks' board, And five weeks' loan for a red taffata gown, Bound with a silver lace.

FRAN. I do protest, By all the honesty 'twixt thee and me, I got her in that gown in six weeks' space Four pound, and fourteen pence given by a clerk Of an inn-of-chancery that night I came Out of her house; and does the filthy jade Send to me for money?[412] But, honest serjeant, Let me go, and say thou didst not see me, I'll do thee as great a pleasure shortly.

SER. Shall we embrace to-night?

FRAN. With all my heart.

SER. Sit on my knee, and kiss.

_Enter_ BEARD.

BEARD. What news, boy? why stand you sentinel?

DRAWER. Do but conceal yourself, and we shall catch My serjeant napping.

BEARD. Shall maids be here deflowered?

SER. Now kiss again.

DRAWER. Now, now.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN, _and seeing the hurly-burly, runs away_.

BEARD. Deflower virgins! rogue I avaunt, ye slave, Are maids fit subjects for a serjeant's mace? So now are we once more free: there's for the wine.

[_Exit_ SERJEANT.

Now to our rendezvous: three pounds in gold These slops[413] contain; we'll quaff in Venice glasses[414], And swear some lawyers are but silly asses.

[_Exeunt_ BEARD _and_ FRANCES.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN FACE.

CAPT. FACE. Is the coast clear? Are these combustions ceas'd? And may we drink canary sack in peace? Shall we have no attendance here, you rogues? Where be these rascals that skip up and down Faster than virginal jacks?[415] Drawers!

DRAWER. Sir!

CAPT. FACE. On whom wait you, sir rogue?

DRAWER. Faith, captain, I attend a conventicle of players.

CAPT. FACE. How, players? what is there e'er a cuckold among them?

DRAWER. Jove defend else; it stands with policy, That one should be a notorious cuckold, If it be but for the better keeping The rest of his company together.

CAPT. FACE. When did you see Sir Theophrastus Slop, The city dog-master?

DRAWER. Not to-day, sir.

CAPT. FACE. What have you for my supper?

DRAWER. Nothing ready, Unless you please to stay the dressing, captain.

CAPT. FACE. Zounds! stay the dressing! you damned rogue, What, shall I wait upon your greasy cook, And wait his leisure? go down stairs, rogue; Now all her other customers be serv'd, Ask, if your mistress have a snip of mutton Yet left for me.

DRAWER. Yes, sir.

CAPT. FACE. And, good-man rogue, See what good thing your kitchen-maid has left For me to work upon; my barrow-guttlings grumble And would have food: [_Exit Drawer._] Say now, the vintner's wife Should bring me up a pheasant, partridge, quail; A pleasant banquet, and extremely love me, Desire me to eat, kiss, and protest, I should pay nothing for it; say she should drink Herself three-quarters drunk to win my love, Then give me a chain worth some three score pounds; Say 'twere worth but forty--say, but twenty, For citizens do seldom in their wooing Give above twenty pounds--say then, 'tis twenty, I'll go sell some fifteen pounds' worth of the chain To buy some clothes, and shift my lousy linen. And wear the rest as a perpetual favour About my arm in fashion of a bracelet. Say then her husband should grow jealous, I'd make him drunk, and then I'll cuckold him. But then a vintner's wife, some rogue will say, Which sits at bar for the receipt of custom, That smells of chippings and of broken fish, Is love to Captain Face; which to prevent, I'll never come but when her best-stitch'd hat, Her bugle-gown, and best-wrought smock is on; Then does she neither smell of bread, of meat, Or droppings of the tap; it shall be so.

_Enter_ BOUTCHER, WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, _and_ CONSTANTIA.

BOUT. Now leave us, boy; bless you, Captain Face.

CAPT. FACE. I'll have no music[416].

W. SMALL. Foot, dost take us for fiddlers?

CAPT. FACE. Then turn straight. Drawer, run down the stairs, And thank the gods a gave me that great patience Not to strike you.

BOUT. Your patience, sir, is great: For you dare seldom strike. Sirrah, they say, You needs will wed the widow Taffata, _Nolens volens?_

CAPT. FACE. Do not urge my patience, Awake not fury new-rak'd up in embers! I give you leave to live.

W. SMALL. Men say y'have tricks, Y'are an admirable ape, and you can do More feats than three baboons: we must have some.

CAPT. FACE. My patience yet is great; I say, begone, My tricks are dangerous.

BOUT. That's nothing, I have brought you furniture. Come, get up Upon this table: do your feats, Or I will whip you to them; do not I know You are a lousy knave?

CAPT. FACE. How! lousy knave; Are we not English bred?

BOUT. Y'are a coward rogue, That dares not look a kitling in the face, If she but stare or mew.

CAPT. FACE. My patience yet is great: Do you bandy tropes? by Dis, I will be knight, Wear a blue coat on great Saint George's day,[417] And with my fellows drive you all from Paul's For this attempt.

BOUT. Will you yet get up? I must lash you to it.

CAPT. FACE. By Pluto, gentlemen, To do you pleasure, and to make you sport, I'll do't.

W. SMALL. Come, get up then quick.

BOUT. I'll dress you, sir.

CAPT. FACE. By Jove, 'tis not for fear, But for a love I bear unto these tricks, That I perform it.

BOUT. Hold up your snout, sir: Sit handsomely; by heaven, sir, you must do it. Come, boy.

W. SMALL. No, by this good light, I'll play Him that goes with the motions.

DRAWER. Where's the captain, gentlemen?

W. SMALL. Stand back, boy, and be a spectator. Gentlemen, You shall see the strange nature of an outlandish beast, That has but two legs, bearded like a man, Nosed like a goose, and tongued like a woman, Lately brought from the land of Cataia.[418] A beast of much understanding, were it not given Too much to the love of venery. Do I not do it well?

BOUT. Admirably!

W. SMALL. Remember, noble captain, You skip, when I shall shake my whip. Now, sir, What can you do for the great Turk? What can you do for the Pope of Rome? Hark! he stirreth not, he moveth not, he waggeth not; What can you do for the town of Geneva, sirrah?

[_He holds up his hands instead of praying._

CON. Sure, this baboon is a great Puritan,

BOUT. Is not this strange?

W. SMALL. Not a whit; by this light Banks[419] his horse and he were taught both in a stable.

DRAWER. O, rare!

CAPT. FACE. Zounds! I'll first be damn'd: shall [my] sport Be laugh'd at? by Dis, by Pluto, and great Proserpine, My fatal blade, once drawn, falls but with death: Yet if you'll let me go, I vow, by Jove, No widow, maid, wife, punk, or cockatrice, Shall make me haunt your ghosts.

BOUT. 'Twill not serve, sir, You must show more.

CAPT. FACE. I'll first be hang'd and damn'd.[420]

W. SMALL. Foot, can he jump so well?

BOUT. Is he so quick? I hope the slave will haunt no more the widow.

W. SMALL. As for that take no care, for by this light She'll not have thee.

BOUT. Not have me?

W. SMALL. No, not have thee. By this hand, flesh, and blood, she is resolv'd To make my father a most fearful cuckold, And he's resolv'd to save his soul by her.

BOUT. How, by her?

W. SMALL. Thus: all old men, which marry Young wives, shall questionless be sav'd, For while they're young, they keep other men's wives, And when they're old, they keep wives for other men, And so by satisfaction procure salvation. Why, thou dejected tail of a crab! Does not the fair Constantia Sommerfield[421] Doat on thy filthy face? and wilt thou wed A wanton widow? what can'st thou see, To doat on her?

BOUT. Only this--I love her.

W. SMALL. Dost love her? then take a purgation, For love, I'll assure thee, is a binder. Of all things under heaven, there's no fitter Parallels than a drunkard and a lover; For a drunkard loses his senses, so does your lover; Your drunkard is quarrelsome, so is your lover; Your drunkard will swear, lie, and speak great Words--so will your lover; your drunkard is most Desirous of his lechery, and so is your lover. Well, the night grows old; farewell. I am so much thy friend, that none shall bed thee, While fair Constantia is resolv'd to wed thee. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, _and others_.

T. SMALL. Foot, shall we let the wench go thus? My masters, now show yourselves gentlemen, And take away the lawyer's wife. Foot, though I have no wit, yet I can Love a wench, and choose a wife.

GENT. Why, sir, what should you do with a wife, that are held none of the wisest? you'll get none but fools.

T. SMALL. How! fools? why may not I, a fool, get a wise child, as well as wise men get fools[422]; all lies but in the agility of the woman. In troth, I think all fools are got when their mothers sleep; therefore I'll never lie with my wife, but when she is broad waking. Stand to't, honest friends; knock down the lieutenant, and then hurry the wench to Fleet Street; there my father and I will this morning be married.

_Enter_ BEARD _and_ FRANCES.

GENT. Stand close: they come.

BEARD. By Jove, the night grows dark, and Luna looks As if this hour some fifty cuckolds were making. Then let us trudge.

GENT. Down with 'em, down with 'em: away with her, Master Small-shanks, to Fleet Street; go, the curate there stays for you. [_Exeunt._

BEARD. And stays the curate? What's here? knock'd down, and blood of men let out? Must men in darkness bleed? then, Erebus, look big, And, Boreas, blow the fire of all my rage Into his nose. Night, thou art a whore, Small-shanks a rogue; and is my wench took from me? Sure, I am gull'd; this was no cockatrice. I never saw her, before this daylight peep'd: What, dropp'st thou, head? this surely is the heir, And mad Will Small-shanks lay in ambuscado, To get her now from me. Beard! Lieutenant Beard, Thou art an ass; what a dull slave was I, That all this while smelt not her honesty! Pate, I do not pity thee: hadst thou brains, Lieutenant Beard had got this wealthy heir From all these rogues. Blood! to be thus o'er-reach'd, In pate and wench! revenge! revenge! come up, And with thy curled locks cling to my beard. Small-shanks, I will betray thee. I will[423] trudge To Saint John Street, to inform the Lady Sommerfield, Where thou art; I will prevent the match. Thou art to Fleet Street gone, revenge shall follow; And my incensed wrath shall, like great thunder, Disperse thy hopes and thy brave wife asunder. [_Exit._

_Enter_ LADY SOMMERFIELD _and_ JUSTICE TUTCHIN.

JUS. TUT. Say as I say, widow; the wench is gone, But I know whither stol'n she is; well-- I know by whom; say as I say, widow. I have been drinking hard--why, say so too, Old men they can be fine with small ado. The law is not offended. I had no punk; Nor in an alehouse have I made me drunk. The statute is not broke[424], I have the skill To drink by law; then say as I say still.

LADY SOM. To what extremes doth this licentious time Hurry unstayed youth! Nor gods nor laws, Whose penal scourges are enough to save Ev'n damn'd fiends, can in this looser age Confine unbounded youth. Who durst presume To steal my youth's delight, my age's hope, Her father's heir and the last noble stem Of all her ancestors? fear they or gods or laws?

JUS. TUT. I say as you say, sister; but for the laws, There are so many, that men do stand in awe Of none at all. Take heed they steal not you. Who woos a widow with a fair full moon Shall surely speed; beware of full moons, widow: Will Small-shanks has your daughter--no word but mum? My warrant you shall have, when time shall come.

LADY SOM. Your warrant?

JUS. TUT. Aye, my warrant, widow; My warrant can stretch far; no more, but so, 'Twill serve to catch a knave or fetch a doe.

_Enter_ SERVING-MAN.

SERV.-MAN. Here's a gentleman much desirous to see you, madam.

LADY SOM. What is he for a man?

SERV.-MAN. Nothing for a man, but much for a beast. I think him lunatic; for he demands What plate of his is stirring i' the house! He calls your men his butlers, cooks, and stewards: Kisses your women, and makes exceeding much Of your coachman's wife.

JUS. TUT. Then he's a gentleman, for 'tis a true note of a gentleman to make much of other men's wives: bring him up. Ah, sirrah, makes he much of your coachman's wife? This gear will run a-wheels then shortly: a man may make much more of another man's wife than he can do of's own.

LADY SOM. How much, brother?

JUS. TUT. A man may make with ease a punk, a child, a bastard, a cuckold, of another man's wife all at a clap; and that is much, I think.

_Enter_ SERVING-MAN _and_ THROAT.

SERV.-MAN. That's my lady.

THROAT. For that thou first hast brought me to her sight, I here create thee clerk of the kitchen: No man shall beg it from thee.

SERV.-MAN. Sure, the fellow's mad.

LADY SOM. What would you, sir? I guess your long profession[425] By your scant suit; your habit seems to turn Your inside outward to me; y'are, I think, Some turner of the law.

THROAT. Law is my living, And on that ancient mould I wear this outside: Suit upon suit wastes some, yet makes me thrive, First law, then gold, then love; and then we wive.

JUST. TUT. A man of form, like me. But what's your business?

LADY SOM. Be brief, good sir; what makes this bold intrusion?

THROAT. Intrude I do not, for I know the law; It is the rule that squares out all our actions, Those actions bring in coin, coin gets me friends, Your son-in-law hath law at's fingers' ends.

LADY SOM. My son-in-law!

THROAT. Madam, your son-in-law. Mother, I come (be glad I call you so), To make a gentle breach into your favour, And win your approbation of my choice: Your cherry-ripe sweet daughter (so renown'd For beauty, virtue and a wealthy dower) I have espous'd.

LADY SOM. How? you espouse my daughter?

THROAT. _Noverint universi_, the laws of heaven, Of nature, church, and chance, have made her mine; Therefore deliver her by these presents.

JUST. TUT. How's this? made her yours, sir, _per quam regulam_? Nay, we are letter'd, sir, as well as you, _Redde rationem; per quam regulam?_

THROAT. _Fæminæ[426] ludificantur viros:_ By that same rule these lips have taken seizin: Tut, I do all by statute-law and reason.

LADY SOM. Hence, you base knave! you petty-fogging groom! Clad in old ends, and piec'd with brokery: You wed my daughter!

JUST. TUT. You, sir Ambi-dexter! A sumner's[427] son, and learn'd in Norfolk wiles: Some common bail or counter-lawyer, Marry my niece! your half-sleeves shall not carry her.

THROAT. These storms will be dissolv'd in tears of joy, Mother, I doubt it not. Justice, to you, That jerk at my half-sleeves, and yet yourself Do never wear but buckram out of sight: A flannel waist-coat or a canvas truss, A shift of thrift, I use it: let's be friends, You know the law has tricks--ka me, ka thee! _Viderit utilitas_, the mot to these half-arms, _Corpus cum causa_, need no bumbasting: We wear small hair, yet have we tongue and wit, Lawyers close-breech'd have bodies politic.

LADY SOM. Speak, answer me, sir Jack: stole you my daughter?

THROAT. Short tale to make, I fingered have your daughter: I have ta'en livery and seisin of the wench. Deliver her then: you know the statute-laws; She's mine without exception, bar, or clause; Come, come, restore.

LADY SOM. The fellow's mad, I think.

THROAT. I was not mad before I married; But, _ipso facto_, what the act may make me, That know I not.

JUST. TUT. Fellows, come in there.

_Enter two or three_ SERVANTS.

By this, sir, you confess you stole my niece, And I attach you here of felony. Lay hold on him! I'll make my mittimus, And send him to the gaol; have we no bar Nor clause to hamper you? away with him, Those claws shall claw you to a bar of shame, Where thou shalt show thy goll[428]. I'll bar your claim, If I be Justice Tutchin.

THROAT. Hands off, you slaves! O, favour my jerkin, though you tear my flesh. I set more store by that: my _Audita_ _Querela_ shall be heard, and with a _Certiorari_ I'll fetch her from you with a pox.

_Enter_ BEARD.

BEARD. What's here to do? is all the world in arms? More tumults, brawls, and insurrections? Is blood the theme, whereon our time must treat?

THROAT. Here's Beard your butler: a rescue, Beard; draw.

BEARD. Draw I not so: my blade's as ominously drawn Unto the death of nine or ten such grooms, As is a knife unsheath'd, with th' hungry maw, Threat'ning the ruin of a chine of beef: But for the restless toil it took of late, My blade shall sleep awhile.

THROAT. Help.

BEARD. Stop thy throat. And hear me speak, whose bloody characters Will show I have been scuffling. Briefly thus: Thy wife, your daughter, and your lovely niece, Is hurri'd now to Fleet Street: the damn'd crew With glaves and clubs have rapt her from these arms. Throat, thou art bobb'd; although thou bought'st the heir, Yet hath the slave made a re-entry.

JUS. TUT. Sirrah, what are you?

THROAT. My lady's butler, sir.

BEARD. Not I, by heaven!

THROAT. By this good light, he swore it, And for your daughter's love he ran away.

BEARD. By Jove, I gull'd thee, Throat.

JUS. TUT. More knavery yet? Lay hands on him, pinion them both, And guard them hence towards Fleet Street: come away!

BEARD. Must we be led like thieves, and pinion'd walk? Spent I my blood for this? is this my hire? Why then burn, rage: set Beard and Nose on fire.

JUS. TUT. On, on, I say.

THROAT. Justice, the law shall firk you.

FOOTNOTES:

[396] These are cant phrases for being intoxicated.

[397] The statute here referred to is the 4th of James the First, 1606, which directs that any persons convicted of being drunk shall pay five shillings, or be set in the stocks during the space of six hours for the first offence; and for the second be bound in a recognizance for his good behaviour.

[398] The word _fees_ was till now accidentally omitted, though inserted in both the old copies.--_Collier._

[399] These names, which are generally considered as synonymous, appear from this passage to signify different kinds of vehicles, or different sizes of the same. About this time they were come into general use. Dr Percy, in his Notes to the "Northumberland Household Book," p. 448, says, from Anderson's "Origin of Commerce," that coaches were introduced into England by Fitz-Alan, Earl of Arundel, A.D. 1580; but from the following passage in the works of Taylor the Water-Poet, 1630, p. 240, they appear to have been used some years earlier:--"For in the yeere 1564, one William Boonen, a Dutchman, brought first the use of coaches hither, and the said Boonen was Queene Elizabeth's coachman; for indeede a coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of them put both horse and man into amazement: some said it was a great crabshell brought out of China, and some imagin'd it to be one of the pagan temples, in which the cannibals adored the divell: but at last those doubts were cleared, and coach-making became a substantial trade: so that now all the world may see they are as common as whores, and may be hired as easie as knights of the post." Dr Percy observes, they were first drawn with two horses, and that it was the favourite Buckingham who, about 1619, began to draw with six horses which, Wilson tells us ("Life of King James," 1653, fol. p. 130), "was wondered at then as a novelty, and imputed to him as a mastering pride." About the same time, he introduced sedan chairs.

[400] [Edits., _ladies 'gin_.]

[401] The 4to of 1611 reads--

"Why their gross _souring_ husbands stink;"

which is perhaps right.--_Collier._

[402] _Bridal bowl_ is the reading of 1611, and not _bride alebowl_, as Mr Reed gave it.--_Collier._

[403] [Edits., _by_.]

[404] [_Lie_ is strictly a mixture of water and alkaline salt; see the "Merie Tales of Skelton," No. 2 (Old English Jest-Books ii. 6). But here it signifies the water of the _pot de chambre_.]

[405] St Paul's Cathedral, which at this period was open all day, and the resort of all the idle, profligate, or necessitous people in town.

Bishop Carleton tells us ("Thankful Deliverance," 1625, p. 101), that Babington'a and Ballard's Conspiracy was "conferred upon in Paul's Church."--_Gilchrist._

[406] [Back-yard.]

[407] See ["Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 71.]

[408] [Old copies, _I'll_.]

[409] _i.e._, Respectful. So, in "The Second Part of Amonio and Mellida," act iii. sc. 4--

"I give the noble duke _respective_ thankes."

In "Every Man out of his Humour," act v. sc. 4--

"I am bound to pledge it _respectively_, sir,"

and in "Cynthia's Revels"--

"Methinks he did not this _respectively_ enough."

[410] Meaning a bill announcing that the plague had occasioned forty deaths. During the plague, the theatres were closed; and, to a _new player_ such an event was doubly calamitous.--_Collier._

[411] It was formerly customary for the counters in London to receive the remains of the sheriffs' dinners, for the use of the prisoners confined there.--See Stow's "Survey," vol. i. b. iii. p. 51. edit. 1720.

[412] [Mistress Smell-smock advanced Frances the dress, the cost of which was to be repaid, and Frances says that she made up the money in six weeks.]

[413] Breeches. The term occurs in almost every writer of the times.

[414] In "Philocothonista," 1635, p. 46, it is said: "Of glasses to qnaffe in, the fashions and sizes be almost without number, some transported hither from _Venice_ and other places, some made in the Citie by strangers." The manufactory of glass at _Venice_ was then very considerable. See Howell's "Letters," 1754, p. 56.

[415] [See Nares, edit. 1859, p. 923.]

[416] Formerly there were a set of itinerant musicians who used to earn a scanty pittance by going about in winter evenings to taverns and inns, playing for the entertainment of the company they found there. Sir John Hawkins ("History of Music," v. 66) mentions a person who was an excellent performer, and yet submitted to get his living by this practice so late as the year 1735. It is said that some musicians attended the greater inns so constantly that they might in some sort be styled retainers to the houses. A very curious and rare tract, with the title of "The Actors Remonstrance or Complaint for the Silencing of their Profession," 1643, has the following apposite passage:--"Our Musike that was held so delectable and precious that they scorned to come to a Taverne under twenty shillings salary for two houres, now wander with their Instruments under their cloaks, I meane such as haue any, into all houses of good fellowship, saluting every roome where there is company with _Will you have any musike, Gentlemen?_" Such was one consequence of the severity of Puritan discipline.--_Collier._ [Hazlitt's "English Drama and Stage," 1869, p. 263.]

[417] I find _blue coats_ used to be worn on St George's day, but what order of people the fashion was confined to, I have not been able to discover. It is mentioned in epigram 33 of _Rubbe and a great cast. The second bowle, by Thomas Freeman_, 4to, 1614.

"With's coram nomine keeping greater sway, Then a _court blue coat_ on _Saint George's day_."

[Blue coats were worn by beadles. See Dyce's Middleton, i. 485.]

[418] Both the old copies name this country Catita, but the change is probably right.--_Collier._

[419] See note to "The Parson's Wedding," act v. sc. 2.

[420] Here the Captain most likely jumped from the table, and made his escape; but we are left to infer it.--_Collier._

[421] The metre of this line was spoiled by the omission of the article in it, arising from a non-attention to the old copy.--_Collier._

[422] Till now it ran "Why may not I, a fool, get a wise child, as a wise man get fools," according to the corrupt reading of the copy of 1636.--_Collier._

[423] [Old copies, _now will_.]

[424] In the statute of 4 James I., cap. 5, sect. 4, is a penalty on any person continuing drinking or tippling in inns, victualling-houses, or ale-houses, &c.

[425] [Lawyers are still called gentlemen of the long-robe.]

[426] [Edits., _Femini_.]

[427] [Edits., _summer's_; but compare p. 378.]

[428] Hand.

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 1.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS.

W. SMALL. On this one hour depends my hopes and fortunes. Foot, I must have this widow: what should my dad Make with a wife that scarce can wipe his nose, Untruss his points, or hold a chamber-pot Steady, till he pisses? the doors are fast; 'Tis now the midst of night; yet shall this chain Procure access, and conference with the widow. What, though I cheat my father; all men have sins, Though in their several kinds: all ends in this-- So they get gold, they care not whose it is. Begging the court, use bears the city out, Lawyers their quirks: thus goes the world about. So that our villainies have but different shapes, Th' effects all one, and poor men are but apes To imitate their betters: this is the difference-- All great men's sins must still be humoured, And poor men's vices largely punished. The privilege that great men have in evil, Is this, they go unpunish'd to the devil. Therefore I'll in; this chain I know will move; Gold and rich stones win coyest ladies' love. [_Knocks._

_Enter_ ADRIANA [_above_].

ADR. What would you, sir, that you do knock so boldly?

W. SMALL. I must come in to the widow.

ADR. How! come in? The widow has no entrance for such mates.

W. SMALL. Dost hear, sweet chambermaid? by heaven, I come With letters from my father; I have brought her stones, Jewels and chains, which she must use to-morrow.

ADR. Y'are a needy knave, and will lie: Your father has cashier'd you, nor will he trust you, Be gone, lest I do wash you hence[429].

W. SMALL. Dost hear? By this good night, my father and I are friends, Take but this chain for token, give her that, And tell her I have other things for her, Which by my father's will I am commanded To give to her own hands.

ADR. Say you so? In troth, I think you'll prove an honest man, Had you once got a beard; let me see the chain.

W. SMALL. Dost think I lie? By this light, Adriana, I love her with my soul; here's letters And other jewels sent her from my father. Is she a-bed?

ADR. By my virginity, She is uncas'd, and ready to slip in Betwixt the sheets; but I will bear her this, And tell her what you say. [_Exit._

W. SMALL. But make some haste. Why so, 'twill take: heart! how a waiting-maid Can shake a fellow up, that is cashier'd, And has no money? Foot, should she keep the chain, And not come down, I must turn citizen, Be bankrout, and crave the king's protection. But here she comes.

_Enter_ TAFFATA [_in her smock_] _and_ ADRIANA.

TAF. What would you, sir, with us, That on the sudden and so late you come?

W. SMALL. I have some secrets to acquaint you with; Please you to let the chamber-maid shake off, And stand as sentinel.

TAF. It shall not need. I hope I have not brought her up so ill, But that she knows how to contain your secrets, As well as I her mistress: therefore on.

W. SMALL. It is not fit, forsooth, that I should on, Before she leave the room.

ADR. 'Tis not indeed, Therefore I'll wait in the with-drawing room, Until you call. [_Exit._

TAF. Now, sir, what's your will?

W. SMALL. Dear widow, pity the state of a young, Poor, yet proper gentleman: by Venus' pap, Upon my knees I'd creep unto your lap For one small drop of favour: and though this face Is not the finest face, yet t'as been prais'd By ladies of good judgment in faces.

TAF. Are these your secrets?

W. SMALL. You shall have secrets More pleasing: nay hear, sweet widow; Some wantons do delight to see men creep, And on their knees to woo them.

TAF. I am none of those; Stand up, I more desire a man should stand, Than cringe and creep, that means to win my love: I say, stand up, and let me go, ye had best.

W. SMALL. For ever let me creep upon the ground, Unless you hear my suit.

TAF. How now, sir sauce? Would you be cap'ring in your father's saddle? Away, you cashier'd younger brother, be gone! Do not I know the fashions of you all? When a poor woman has laid open all Her thoughts to you, then you grow proud and coy; But when wise maids dissemble, and keep close, Then you poor snakes come creeping on your bellies, And with all oiled looks prostrate yourselves Before our beauties' sun where, once but warm, Like hateful snakes you strike us with your stings, And then forsake us. I know your tricks--be gone!

W. SMALL. Foot, I'll first be hang'd: nay, if you go, You shall leave your smock behind you, widow; Keep close your womanish weapon, hold your tongue, Nor speak, cough, sneeze, or stamp; for, if you do, By this good blade I'll cut your throat directly. Peace! stir not, by heaven I'll cut your throat If you but stir; speak not, stand still, go to, I'll teach coy widows a new way to woe. Come, you shall kiss; why so; I'll stab, by heaven, If you but stir; now hear--first kiss again. Why so; stir not. Now come I to the point. My hopes are past, nor can my present state Afford a single halfpenny: my father Hates me deadly; to beg, my birth forbids; To steal, the law, the hangman and the rope With one consent deny: to go o'trust, The city common-council has forbid it, Therefore my state is desperate--stir not-- And I by much will rather choose to hang, Than in a ditch or prison-hole to starve. Resolve, wed me, and take me to your bed, Or by my soul I'll straight cut off your head, Then kill myself; for I had rather die, Than in a street live poor and lousily. You don't--I know, you cannot[430]--love my father? A widow that has known the _quid_ of things, To doat upon an old and crazed man, That stinks at both ends worse than an elder-pipe! Who, when his blood and spirit are at the height, Hath not a member to his palsy body, But is more limber than a King's-head pudding, Took from the pot half-sod; do I not know this? Have you not wealth enough to serve us both? And am not I a pretty handsome fellow To do your drudgery? Come, come, resolve. For, by my blood, if you deny your bed, I'll cut your throat without equivocation. If you be pleas'd, hold up your finger; if not, By heaven I'll gar my whinyard[431] through your womb! Is't a match?

TAF. Hear me but speak.

W. SMALL. You'll prate too loud.

TAF. No.

W. SMALL. Nor speak one word against my honest suit?

TAF. No, by my worth.

W. SMALL. Kiss upon that, and speak.

TAF. I dare not wed; men say y'are naught, you'll cheat, And you do keep a whore.

W. SMALL. That is a lie; She keeps herself and me; yet I protest, She's not dishonest.

TAF. How could she maintain you?

W. SMALL. Why, by her comings-in; a little thing Her friends have left her, which with putting to best use, And often turning, yields her a poor living. But what of that? she's now shook off; to thee I'll only cleave: I'll be thy merchant, And to this wealthy fair I'll bring my ware, And here set up my standing: therefore resolve. Nought but my sword is left: if't be a match, Clap hands, contract, and straight to bed: If not, pray, forgive, and straight goes off your head.

TAF. I take thy love.

W. SMALL. Then straight let's both to bed.

TAF. I'll wed to-morrow.

W. SMALL. You shall not sleep upon't. An honest contract is as good as marriage. A bird in hand--you know the proverb, widow.

TAF. O[432], let me tell thee, I'll love thee, while I live, For this attempt; give me that lusty lad, That wins his widow with his well-drawn blade, And not with oaths and words: a widow's wooing, Not in bare words, but should consist in doing-- I take thee to my husband--

SMALL. I thee to wife. Now to thy bed, and there we'll end this strife. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR OLIVER _and Fiddlers_.

OLIVER. Warm blood, the young man's slave, the old man's god, Makes me to stir thus soon; it stirs, i' faith, And with a kind of itching pricks me on To bid my bride _bon jour_; O, this desire Is even another filch'd Promethean fire, By which we old men live; performance, then, Is that poor old men's bane, that in old men Comes limping off more lame, God knows, than he Which in a close, a hot, and dangerous fight, Has been dismembered, and craves by letters patents. Yet scarce a woman that considers this, Women have tricks, firks and farthingales: A generation are they full of subtlety, And all most honest, where they want the means To be otherwise. Therefore, I'll have an eye, My widow goes not oft to visit kinsfolk: By birth she is a Ninny; and that I know Is not in London held the smallest kindred. I must have wits and brains; come on, my friends. Out with your tools, and to't! a strain of mirth, And a pleasant song to wake the widow.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS _above, in his shirt_.

W. SMALL. Musicians! minstrels! foot, rogues, For God's love, leave your filthy squeaking noise, And get you gone: the widow and myself Will scamble out the shaking of the sheets[433] Without music; we have no need of fiddlers To our dancing. Foot, have you no manners? Cannot a man take his natural rest For your scraping? I shall wash your gut-strings, If you but stay a while: yet, honest rascals, If you'll let us have t'other crash, The widow and I'll keep time; there's for your pains.

[_Throws them down money._

OLIVER. How's this? will the widow and you keep time? What trick? what quiddit? what fegary is this? My cashier'd son speak from the widow's chamber, And in his shirt? ha! sure she is not there! 'Tis so; she has took him in for pity, And now removes her chamber. I will home, On with my neatest robes, perfume my beard, Eat cloves, eringoes, and drink some _aqua vitæ_ To sweeten breath, and keep my weam from wambling; Then, like the month of March, come blust'ring in, Marry the widow, shake up this springal, And then, as quiet as a sucking lamb, Close by the widow will I rest all night[434]. As for my breath I have crotches and devices, "Ladies' rank breaths are often help'd with spices."

_Enter_ ADRIANA _and another, strawing herbs_.[435]

ADR. Come, straw apace; Lord, shall I never live To walk to church on flowers? O, 'tis fine, To see a bride trip it to church so lightly, As if her new chopines[436] would scorn to bruise A silly flower: and now, I pr'ythee, tell me, What flower thinkest thou is likest to a woman?

1ST WOMAN. A mary-gold, I think.

ADR. Why a mary-gold?

1ST WOMAN. Because a little heat makes it to spread, And open wide his leaves.

ADR. Th'art quite wide: A mary-gold doth open wide all day, And shuts most close at night: I hope thou knowest All wenches do the contrary: but, sirrah, How does thy uncle the old doctor? Dost think he'll be a bishop?

1ST WOMAN. O, questionless! For h'as got him a young wife, and carried her To court already: but now, I pr'ythee, say, Why will the widow wed so old a knight?

ADR. Why? for his riches.

1ST WOMAN. For riches only? Why, riches cannot give her her delight.

ADR. Riches, I hope, can soon procure her one Shall give her her delight: that's the devil. That's it, i'faith, makes us waiting-gentlewomen Live maids so long.

1ST WOMAN. Think you so?

ADR. Yes, in faith. Married women quite have spoiled the market, By having secret friends besides their husbands; For if these married wives would be content To have but one a piece, I think, in troth, There would be doings enough for us all; And, till we get an act of parliament For that, our states are desperate.

_Enter_ BOUTCHER _and_ CONSTANTIA.

Come, straw apace.

CON. So-ho-ho, master.

BOUT. Boy.

CON. In troth, I thought y' had been more fast asleep Than a midwife or a Puritan tailor At a Sunday evening's lecture: but, sir, Why do you rise so soon?

BOUT. To see the widow.

CON. The weaker you; you are forbid a widow, And 'tis the first thing you will fall into. Me thinks a young clear-skinn'd country gentlewoman, That never saw baboons, lions, or courtiers, Might prove a handsome wife; or what do you say To a citizen's daughter, that never was in love With a player, that never learnt to dance, That never dwelt near any inn-of-court-- Might not she in time prove an honest wife? Faith, take a maid, and leave the widow, master: Of all meats I love not a gaping oyster.

BOUT. God speed your works, fair maids.

ADR. You much mistake: 'Tis no work.

BOUT. What then?

ADR. A preparation To a work, sir.

BOUT. What work, sweet ladies?

ADR. Why, to a marriage; that's a work, I think.

BOUT. How? a preparation to a marriage? Of whom, kind maids, of whom?

ADR. And why kind maids? I hope you have had no kindness at our hand To make you say so: but, sir, understand That Sir Oliver Small-shanks, the noble knight, And Mistress Taffata, the rich widow, Must this day be coupled, conjoined, Married, espoused, wedded, contracted. Or, as the Puritan says, put together; And so, sir, to the shifting of our clean smocks We leave you.

[_Exeunt_ ADRIANA _and the other women_.

BOUT. Married! and to-day? Dissension, jealousy, hate, beggary, With all the dire events which breed dislike In nuptial beds, attend her bridal steps! Can vows and oaths with such protesting action, As if their hearts were spit forth with their words, As if their souls were darted through their eyes, Be of no more validity with women? Have I for her contemn'd my fixéd fate, Neglected my fair hopes, and scorn'd the love Of beauteous, virtuous, and honour'd Constantia?

CON. Now works it with my wish: my hopes are full. [_Aside._

BOUT. And I engag'd my worth, and ventur'd life On yonder buffling[437] face, to have men scorn, And point at my disgrace? first will I leave to live! There take my purse, live thou to better fate, [BOUTCHER _hangs himself_. Better thus die than live unfortunate.

CON. Ay me accurs'd! help, help, murther! murther! Curs'd be the day and hour that gave me breath! Murther, murther! if any gentleman Can hear my plaints, come forth, and assist me.

W. SMALL.[438] _What out-cries call me from my naked bed?_ _Who calls Jeronimo?_ speak, here I am.

CON. Good sir, leave your struggling and acting, And help to save the life of a distressed man; O, help, if you be gentlemen!

W. SMALL. _What's here?_ _A man hang'd up, and all the murtherers gone,_ _And at my door, to lay the guilt on me?_ _This place was made to pleasure citizens' wives,_ And not to hang up honest gentlemen.

_Enter_ TAFFATA.

TAF. Where be these lazy knaves? some raise the house. What meant the cry of murther? where's my love?

W. SMALL. _Come, Isabella, help me to lament,_ _For sighs are stopp'd, and all my tears are spent._ _These clothes I oft have seen, ay me, my friend!_ Pursue the murtherers, raise all the street.

CON. It shall not need; he stirs; give him breath.

W. SMALL. _Is there yet life? Horatio, my dear boy:_ _Horatio, Horatio, what hast thou misdone,_ _To lose thy life, when life was new-begun?_

BOUT. 'S heart! a man had as good be hang'd outright, As to endure this clapping. Shame to thy sex, Perfidious perjur'd woman, where's thy shame? How can thy modesty forbear to blush, And know'st I know thee an adulteress? Have not thy vows made thee my lawful wife Before the face of heaven? where is thy shame? But why speak I of shame to thee, whose face Is steel'd with custom'd sin; whose thoughts want grace, The custom of thy sin so lulls thy sense. Women ne'er blush, though ne'er so foul th' offence. To break thy vow to me, and straight to wed A doating stinkard!

W. SMALL. But hold your tongue, Or by this light I'll truss you up again. 'Heart! rail on my wife! am I[439] a stinkard, Or do I doat? speak such another word, And up you truss again. Am I a stinkard?

BOUT. The knight your father is.

W. SMALL. Why, who denies it? He supplanted[440] thee, and I supplanted him. Come, come, you shall be friends: come, forgive her; For by this light there is no remedy, Unless you will betake you to my leavings.

CON. Rather than so, I'll help you to a wife, Rich, well-born, and by some accounted fair; And for the worth of her virginity, I dare presume to pawn my honesty: What say you to Constantia Sommerfield?

W. SMALL. Dost know where she is, boy?

CON. I do; nay more, If he but swear to embrace her constant love, I'll fetch her to this place.

W. SMALL. He shall do it, boy.

_Enter_ Sir OLIVER _and fiddlers_.

He shall do it, go fetch her, boy. Foot, my father. [_Exit_ CONSTANTIA. Stand to't now, old wench, stand to't now.

OLIVER. Now fresh and youthful as the month of May, I'll bid my bride good-morrow. Musicians, on: Lightly, lightly; and by my knighthood-spurs, This year you shall have my protection, And yet not buy your livery coat yourselves. Good morrow, bride, fresh[441] as the month of May, I come to kiss thee on thy wedding-day.

W. SMALL. Saving your tale, sir, I'll show you how April showers bring May flowers, So merrily sings the cuckoo. The truth is, I have laid my knife aboard. The widow, sir, is wedded.

OLIVER. Ha!

W. SMALL. Bedded.

OLIVER. Ha!

W. SMALL. Why, my good father, what should you do with a wife? Would you be crested? Will you needs thrust your head In one of Vulcan's helmets? Will you perforce Wear a city cap and a court feather?

OLIVER. Villain, slave, thou hast wrong'd my wife.

W. SMALL. Not so; Speak, my good wench, have I not done thee right?

TAF. I find no fault; and I protest, Sir Oliver, I'd not have lost the last two hours' sleep I had by him for all the wealth you have.

OLIVER. Villain--slave, I'll hang thee by the statute; Thou hast two wives.

W. SMALL. Be not so furious, sir. I have but this: the other was my whore, Which now is married to an honest lawyer.

OLIVER. Thou villain--slave, thou hast abus'd thy father.

BOUT. "Your son, i' faith, your very son, i' faith! The villain-boy has one trick of his sire, Has firk'd away the wench, has pierc'd the hogshead, And knows by this the vintage."[442]

OLIVER. I am undone.

BOUT. You could not love the widow, but her wealth.

OLIVER. The devil take my soul, but I did love her.

TAF. That oath doth show you are a Northern knight, And of all men alive, I'll never trust A northern man in love.

OLIVER. And why, and why, slut?

TAF. Because the first word he speaks is, the devil Take his soul; and who will give him trust, That once has given his soul unto the devil?

W. SMALL. She says most true, father; the soul once gone, The best part of man is gone.

TAF. And, i' faith, If the best part of a man is gone, The rest of the body is not worth a rush, Though it be ne'er so handsome.

_Enter_ LADY SOMMERFIELD, THROAT _and_ BEARD _bound, and_ JUSTICE TUTCHIN.

LADY SOM. Bring them away.

W. SMALL. How now? My lawyer pinion'd! I begin to stink Already.

LADY SOM. Cheater, my daughter!

W. SMALL. She's mad.

THROAT. My wife, sir, my wife!

W. SMALL. They're mad, stark mad: I am sorry, sir, you have lost those happy wits, By which you liv'd so well. The air grows cold: Therefore I'll take my leave.

LADY SOM. So, stay him, officers. Sir, 'tis not your tricks of wit can carry it. Officers, attach him and this gentleman For stealing away my heir.

W. SMALL. You do me wrong; Heart! I never saw your heir.

THROAT. That's a lie: You stole her, and by chance I married her.

W. SMALL. God give you joy, sir.

THROAT. Ask the butler else. Therefore, widow, release me; for by no law, Statute, or book-case of _Vicesimo_ _Edwardi secundi_, nor by the statute Of _Tricesimo Henrici sexti_, Nor by any book-case of _decimo_ Of the late queen, am I accessory, Part, or party-confederate, abettor, Helper, seconder, persuader, forwarder, Principal, or maintainer of this late theft, But by law. I forward, and she willing, Clapp'd up the match, and by a good statute Of _Decimo tertio Richardi quarti_, She is my leeful, lawful, and my true Married wife, _teste_ Lieutenant Beard.

W. SMALL. Who lives would think that you could prate so fast, Your hands being bound behind you? foot, he talks With as much ease, as if he were in's shirt.

OLIVER. I am witness thou hadst the heir.

JUS. TUT. So am I.

THROAT. And so is my man Dash.

BOUT. Hear me but speak; Sit you as judges. Undo the lawyer's hands, That he may freely act, and I'll be bound That William Small-shanks shall put your throat to silence, And overthrow him at his own weapon.

JUS. TUT. Agreed: take each his place, and hear the case Argued betwixt them two.

OMNES. Agreed, agreed.

JUS. TUT. Now, Throat, or never, stretch yourself.

THROAT. Fear not.

W. SMALL. Here stand I for my client this gentleman.

THROAT. I for the widow.

W. SMALL. Begin.

THROAT. Right worshipful, I say that William Small-shanks, madman, Is by a statute made in Octavo Of Richard Cordelion guilty to the law Of felony for stealing this lady's heir. That he stole her, the proof is most pregnant-- He brought her to my house, confessed himself He made great means to steal her. I lik'd her, And finding him a novice (truth to tell), Married her myself, and (as I said), By a statute Richardi Quarti, She is my lawful wife.

W. SMALL. For my client I say, the wench I brought unto your house Was not the daughter to rich Sommerfield.

OLIVER. What proof of that?

W. SMALL. This gentleman.

THROAT. Tut, tut, He is a party in the cause. But, sir, If't were not the daughter to this good widow, Who was it? answer that.

W. SMALL. An arrant whore, Which you have married, and she is run Away with all your jewels--this is true; And this Lieutenant Beard can testify: It was the wench I kept in Hosier Lane.

BEARD. What, was it she?

W. SMALL. The very same.

JUS. TUT. Speak, sirrah Beard, if all he says be true?

BEARD. She said she was a punk, a rampant whore, Which in her time had been the cause of parting Some fourteen bawds; he kept her in the suburbs. Yet I do think this wench was not the same.

BOUT. The case is clear with me.

OMNES. O strange!

THROAT. Sir, sir. This is not true: how liv'd you in the suburbs, And scap'd so many searches?

W. SMALL. I answer, That most constables in our out-parishes Are bawds themselves, by which we scap'd the searches.

OLIVER. This is most strange!

LADY SOM. What's become of this woman?

BEARD. That know not I. As I was squiring her Along the street, Master Small-shanks set upon me, Beat me down, and took away the maid, Which I suppose was daughter to the widow.

W. SMALL. He lies; let me be hanged, if he lie not.

OLIVER. What confusion is this?

_Enter_ CONSTABLE.

CON. Bring them forward.

_Enter_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS _and_ FRANCES.

[443]God preserve your worship. [_To_ L. SOM.] And it like you, madam? [_To_ SIR O.] We were commanded by your[443] deputy That, if we took a woman in the watch, To bring her straight to you: and hearing there You were come hither, hither we brought them.

OLIVER. The one is my son; I do acknowledge him. What woman's that?

T. SMALL. The widow's daughter, sir.

W. SMALL. Blood! is he gull'd too.

T. SMALL. My brother stole her first, Throat cosen'd him, and I had cosen'd Throat, Had not the constable took us in the watch. She is the widow's daughter, had I had luck.

THROAT. And my espoused wife.

LADY SOM. Unmask her face. My daughter? I defy her.

W. SMALL. Your worship's wife.

THROAT. I am gull'd and abus'd; and by a statute Of _Tricesimo_ of the late Queen I will star-chamber you all for cosenage, And be by law divorc'd.

W. SMALL. Sir, 'twill not hold: She's your leeful, lawful, and true-wedded wife, _Teste_ Lieutenant Beard.

BEARD. Was't you that brake my head?

W. SMALL. But why shouldst think much to die a cuckold, Being born a knave? As good lawyers as you Scorn not horns.

THROAT. I am gull'd, ay me accurs'd! Why should the harmless men be vex'd with horns, When women most deserve them?

W. SMALL. I'll show you, sir: The husband is the wife's head, and, I pray, Where should the horns stand but upon the head? Why, wert not thou begot (thou foolish knave) By a poor sumner on a serjeant's widow? Wert not thou a Puritan, and put in trust To gather relief for the distress'd Geneva[ns]? And didst not thou leave thy poor brethren, And run away with all the money? Speak, Was not that thy first rising? Go, Y' are well-coupled: by Jove, ye are. She is But a younger sister newly come to town: She's current metal, not a penny the worse For a little use: whole within the ring, By my soul.

BEARD. Will he take her, think'st thou?

BOUT. Yes, faith upon her promise of amendment.

JUS. TUT. The lawyer is gull'd.

THROAT. Am I thus over-reach'd to have a wife, And not of the best neither?

FRANCES. Good sir, be content, A lawyer should make all things right and straight; All lies but in the handling; I may prove A wife that shall deserve your best of love.

OLIVER. Take her, Throat, you have a better jewel now Than ever. Kiss her, kiss her, man; all friends.

LADY SOM. Yet, in this happy close, I still have lost My only daughter.

W. SMALL. Where's thy page, Boutcher?

_Enter_ CONSTANTIA.

CON. Here I present the page: and that all doubt May here be cleared, here in my proper shape, That all your joys may be complete and full, I must make one. With pardon, gentle mother, Since all our friends so happily are met, Here will I choose a husband: this be the man Whom, since I left your house in shape of page, I still have followed.

W. SMALL. Foot, would I had known so much, I would have been bold to have lain with your page.

CON. Say, am I welcome?

BOUT. As is my life and soul.

LADY SOM. Heaven give you joy, Since all so well succeeds, take my consent.

W. SMALL. Then are we all pair'd: I and my lass; You and your wife; the lawyer and his wench; And, father, fall you aboard of the widow: But then my brother----

T. SMALL. Faith, I am a fool.

W. SMALL. That's all one: if God had not made Some elder brothers fools, how should witty Younger brothers be maintain'd? Strike up, music; let's have an old song: Since all my tricks have found so good success, We'll sing, dance, dice, and drink down heaviness.

FOOTNOTES:

[429] [Meaning that she will throw something on his head.]

[430] [Edits., _Do not, I know you cannot._]

[431] Sword.

[432] [Edits., _To._]

[433] _The shaking of the sheets_ was a dance. A _double-entendre_ is designed here, and the same is often to be found in old plays. See "How to choose a good Wife from a bad," 1602; Massinger's "City Madam," act ii. sc. 1; "A Woman kill'd with Kindness," act i. sc. 1.

[434] The copy of 1636 makes nonsense of these two lines, thus--

"And then _lie_ as quiet as a sucking lamb, Close by the widow _will I rest_ all night:"

and thus it stood till now.--_Collier._

[435] It was formerly a custom to strew herbs and flowers from the house where persons betrothed resided to the church where they were married. See ["Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 69, 70.]

[436] A _choppine_, or _chioppine_, was a high shoe worn by the Italians. Tom Coriate calls them _chapineys_, and gives the following account of them: "There is one thing used of the Venetian women, and some others dwelling in the cities and townes subject to the Signiory of Venice, that is not to be observed (I thinke) amongst any other women in Christendome; which is so common in Venice, that no woman whatsoever goeth without it, either in her house or abroad, _a thing made of wood, and covered with leather of sundry colors, some with white, some redde, some yellow. It is called a chapiney, which they wears under their shoes._ Many of them are curiously painted; some also I have seene fairly gilt; so uncomely a thing (in my opinion) that it is pitty this foolish custom is not cleane banished and exterminated out of the citie. _There are many of these chapineys of a great heighth, even half a yard high_, which maketh many of their women that are very short seeme much taller than the tallest women we have in England. Also I have heard that this is observed among them, that by how much the nobler a women is, by so much the higher are her chapineys. All their gentlewomen, and most of their wives and widowes that are of any wealth, are assisted and supported eyther by men or women when they walke abroad, to the end they may not fall. They are borne up most commonly by the left arme, otherwise they might quickly take a fall."--"Crudities," 1611, p. 262. See also Mr Steevens's note on "Hamlet," act ii. sc. 2, [and Hazlitt's "Venice," iv. 284.]

[437] [Edits., _buffolne_.]

[438] The lines printed in italics are taken from "The Spanish Tragedy," [v. 54.]

[439] [Not in Edits.]

[440] [Edits., _supplants_.]

[441] [Edits. unnecessarily repeat _fresh_, to the injury of the metre.]

[442] [He quotes Sir Oliver's own words against him. See p. 314.]

[443] [Edits., _our_.]

EPILOGUS.

Thus two hours have brought to end What many tedious hours have penn'd: He dares not glory nor distrust; But he (as other writers must) Submits the tensures[444] of his pains To those, whose wit and nimble brains Are able best to judge: and as for some Who, filled with malice, hither come To belch their poison on his labour, Of them he doth entreat no favour; But bids them hang or soon amend, For worth shall still itself defend. And for ourselves we do desire, You'll breathe on us that glowing[445] fire, By which in time we may obtain Like favours which some others gain; For be assur'd our loves shall tend To equal theirs, if not transcend.

FOOTNOTES:

[444] [Exertions.]

[445] [Old copies, _growing_.]

THE SECOND MAIDEN'S TRAGEDY.

PREFACE TO THE FORMER EDITION[446].

This is one of the MSS. plays which escaped the fatal hands of Warburton's cook, and is printed from a manuscript book of that gentleman in the Lansdowne Collection. No title page is prefixed to the manuscript, nor is the name of "The Second Maiden's Tragedy" in the same handwriting as the play. From the tenor of the licence to act, indeed, it is probable that this name was given to it by the Master of the Revels; that licence is in the following words: "This Second Maiden's Tragedy (for it hath no name inscribed) may, with the reformations, bee acted publickly. 31 October, 1611, G. Buc." Why it is called "The Second Maiden's Tragedy" does not appear; there is no trace of any drama having the title of "The First Maiden's Tragedy," and it does not bear any resemblance to the "Maid's Tragedy" of Beaumont and Fletcher. There is reason therefore to believe that the name, by which it is now known, was adopted merely for the purpose of distinguishing it from other plays licensed to be acted, as the words, "for it hath no name inscribed," can hardly be supposed to refer to the want of the author's name, which is as difficult to be ascertained as that of his play. At the back of the manuscript, it is said to be by a person whose name, on a close inspection, appears to have been William (afterwards altered to Thomas) Goughe. This name has been nearly obliterated, and that of "George Chapman" substituted, which in its turn has been scored through, for the purpose of making room for "Will. Shakspear." That it does not belong to Thomas Goff,[447] the author of the "Raging Turk," is abundantly obvious. He was at the time it was licensed not more than nineteen years of age, and besides was totally incapable of producing anything of the kind; nor has Chapman, in our opinion, a better title to it. Many of the scenes are distinguished by a tenderness and pathos which are not to be found in the productions of either of those authors; but although it possesses merits of no ordinary kind, it cannot be pretended that it approaches the character of the dramas of Shakespeare, whose name indeed is written in a much more modern hand. The subordinate plot is founded upon the story of the _Curious Impertinent_ in "Don Quixote," from which it differs very little, except in the catastrophe. Various parts of the play have been struck out, some for the purpose of being omitted in the representation, and others, which were probably considered dangerous or offensive to royalty, apparently by Sir George Buc; for example, in the second scene of the last act, the exclamation of the Tyrant, "Your King's poisoned!" is altered to "I am poisoned;" the _propriety_ of which reformation is manifest from the answer of Memphonius, viz., "The King of Heaven be praised for it!" In both cases the original text has been restored in the present publication.

FOOTNOTES:

[446] [This piece was first printed (very incorrectly) from Lansdowne MS., 807, in Baldwin's "Old English Drama," 1824-5, 2 vols. 12o.]

[447] Mr Robert Goughe appears from the MS. to have acted the part of the Tyrant in this play. [John Gough, author of the "Strange Discovery," 1640, and, according to Bliss, editor of the "Academy of Compliments," 1640, is not known to have written so early as 1611.]

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.[448]

THE USURPING TYRANT. GOVIANUS, _the deposed King_. ANSELMUS, _his Brother_. VOTARIUS, _the friend of Anselmus_. HELVETIUS, } MEMPHONIUS, } _Nobles_. SOPHONIRUS, } BELLARIUS, _the lover of Leonella_.

THE LADY, _the Daughter of Helvetius_. THE WIFE OF VOTARIUS. LEONELLA, _her Woman_.

_Nobles, Soldiers, and Attendants._

FOOTNOTES:

[448] [Not in the MS.]

THE SECOND MAIDEN'S TRAGEDY.