SCENE II.[135

_Enter old_ COUNT, _wrapped in furs; the_ LADY HONOUR, _dressed like a bride; the_ LORD PROUDLY, WELLTRIED, BOLD, _leading_ FEESIMPLE _like a lady masqued;_ HUSBAND, WIFE, SUBTLE, WIDOW; _to them_ BROTHER, _with a letter;_[136] SELDOM _with his wife_.

BRO. Health and all joy unto this fair assembly. My brother, who last tide is gone for France, A branch of willow feathering his hat, Bad me salute you, lady, and present you With this same letter written in his blood. He prays no man, for his sake, evermore To credit woman, nor no lady ever To believe man; so either sex shall rest Uninjur'd by the other. This is all, And this I have deliver'd.

PROUDLY. Ay, and well. You pronounce rarely, did you never play?

BRO. Yes, that I have--the fool, as some lords do.

WELL. Set forward there.

COUNT. O, O, O! a pox o' this cold!

WELL. A cold o' this pox, you might say, I am afraid.

MAID. How full of ghastly wounds this letter shows. O, O! [_Swoons._

PROUDLY. Look to my sister.

BOLD. 'Sheart! the lady swoons.

WIFE. Strong water there.

FEE. If strong breath would recover her, I am for her.

COUNT. Alas, good lady! hum, hum, hum. [_Coughs perpetually._

SUB. He has fetch'd her again with coughing.

MAID. Convey me to my bed; send for a priest And a physician; your bride, I fear, Instead of epithalamions shall need A dirge or epitaph. O, lead me in: My body dies for my soul's perjur'd sin. [_Exeunt_ MAID, GRACE, WIFE, HUSBAND, SUBTLE.

BOLD. Hymen comes towards us in a mourning robe.

WELL. I hope, friend, we shall have the better day.

PROUDLY. I'll fetch the parson and physician. [_Exit_ LORD PROUDLY.

BRO. They are both ready for you. [_Exit_ BROTHER.

WELL. Madam, this is the gentlewoman Who, something bashful, does desire your pardon, That she does not unmask.

WID. Good Master Welltried, I would not buy her face; and for her manners, If they were worse, they shall not displease me.

WELL. I thank your ladyship.

FEE. Look how the old ass, my father, stands: he looks like the bear in the play; he has killed the lady with his very sight.[137] As God help me, I have the most to do to forbear unmasking me, that I might tell him his own, as can be.

BOLD. Fie! by no means. The widow comes towards you.

COUNT. O, O, O, O!

WID. Servant, God give you joy; and, gentlewoman Or lady, as full joy I wish to you: Nor doubt that I will hinder you your love, But here am come to do all courtesy To your fair self, and husband that shall be.

FEE. I thank you heartily.

WELL. 'Sheart! speak smaller, man.

FEE. I thank you heartily.

COUNT. You're going to this gear too, Master Bold? Um, um, um!

BOLD. Not to your coughing[138] gear, My lord. Though I be not so old or rich As your lordship, yet I love a young wench as well.

WELL. As well as my lord? nay by my faith, That you do not love a young wench as well as he: I wonder you will be unmannerly to say so.

COUNT. Faith, Master Welltried, troth is I love them well, but they love not me, um, um. You see what ill-luck I have with them, um, um. A pox o' this cold, still say I.

WELL. Where got you this cold, my lord? it can get in nowhere, that I can see, but at your nostrils or eyes; all the other parts are so barricadoed with fur.

FEE. It got In at his eyes, and made that birdlime there, Where Cupid's wings do hang entangled.

COUNT. Is this your wife, that, um, um, um--shall be? Master Bold, I'll be so bold as kiss her. [WIDOW _and_ BOLD _whisper aside_.

FEE. Sir, forbear: I have one bold enough to kiss my lips. O old coxcomb! kiss thine own natural son: 'tis worse than a Justice's lying with his own daughter. But, Master Welltried, when will the widow break this matter to me? [COUNT _sits in a chair, and falls asleep_.

WELL. Not till the very close of all: she dissembles it yet, because my lord, your father, is here, and her other suitor Bold.

FEE. That's all one; he's o' th' plot o' my side.

WID. 'Tis needless, Master Bold; but I will do Anything you require to satisfy you. Why should you doubt I will forbid the banns, For so your friend here told me? I should rather Doubt that you will not marry.

BOLD. Madam, by heaven, As fully I am resolv'd to marry now, And will too, if you do not hinder it, As ever lover was; only because The world has taken notice of some passage 'Twixt you and me, and then to satisfy My sweetheart here, who (poor soul!) is afraid, To have some public disgrace put upon her, I do require some small thing at your hands.

WID. Well, I will do it; and this profess besides; Married, you shall as welcome be to me As mine own brother; and yourself, fair lady, Even as myself, both to my board and bed.

WELL. Ah, ah! how like you that?

FEE. Now she begins. Abundant thanks unto your widowhood. Zounds! my father's asleep on's wedding-day: I wonder'd, where his cough was all this while.

_Enter_ INGEN, _like a doctor: a_ PARSON, BROTHER, LORD PROUDLY, SELDOM, MISTRESS SELDOM, HUSBAND, WIFE, _and_ SUBTLE.

INGEN. I pray, forbear the chamber: noise does hurt her; Her sickness I guess rather of the mind Than of her body, for her pulse beats well; Her vital functions not decay'd a whit, But have their natural life and operation. My lord, be cheer'd, I have an ingredient About me shall make her well, I doubt not. In, master parson: it shall be yours to[139] pray; The soul's physician should have still the way. [_Exit_ INGEN; PARSON _shuts the door_.

WID. How cheers she, pray?

WIFE. In troth, exceeding ill.

MRS SEL. A very weak woman indeed she is, and surely I think cannot 'scape it.

HUS. Did you mark how she eyed the physician?

WIFE. O God, ay, she is very loth to die.

MRS SEL. Ay; that's ne'er the better sign, I can tell you.

SUB. And when the parson came to her, she turned Away, and still let the physician hold Her by the hand.

BOLD. But see what thought the bridegroom takes. My conscience knows, now, this is A most preposterous match; yet for the commodity, We wink at all inconveniency. My lord! my lord!

COUNT. Um, um, um! I beshrew you for waking of me; now shall I have such a fit of coughing, um, um!--

BOLD. O hapless wife, that shall have thee, that either must let thee sleep continually, or be kept waking herself by the cough.

WID. You have a proper gentleman to your son, my lord: he were fitter for this young lady than you.

WELL. D'ye mark that again?

FEE. O sweet widow!

COUNT. He a wife! he a fool's head of his own.

FEE. No, of my father's.

COUNT. What should he do with a ---- um, um!

WIFE. What, with a cough? why, he would spit, and that's more than you can do.

PROUDLY. Your bride, my lord, is dead.

COUNT. Marry, ev'n God be with her; grief will not help it: um, um, um!

BRO. A most excellent spouse.

PROUDLY. How fares she, master doctor? Zounds! what's here?

BOLD, WID., WELL., FEE. Heyday!

HUS., WIFE, SEL., MRS SEL., SUB. How now? [_Looking in at the window._

FEE. Look, look! the parson joins the doctor's hand and hers: now the doctor kisses her, by this light! [_Omnes whoop._] Now goes his gown off. Heyday! he has red breeches on. Zounds! the physician is got o' th' top of her: belike, it is the mother she has. Hark! the bed creaks.[140]

PROUDLY. 'Sheart, the door's fast! break 'em open! We are betrayed.

BRO. No breaking open doors: he that stirs first, [_Draws and holds out a pistol._ I'll pop a leaden pill into his guts, Shall purge him quite away. No haste, good friends: When they have done what's fit, you shall not need To break the door; they'll open it themselves.

[_A curtain drawn, a bed discovered:_ INGEN _with his sword in his hand and a pistol: the lady in her petticoat: the_ PARSON.

PROUDLY. Thy blood, base villain, shall answer this. [_The brothers set back to back._ I'll dye thy nuptial bed in thy heart's gore.

INGEN. Come, come, my lord; 'tis not so easily done. You know it is not. Forgive[141] this my attempt Upon your sister; before God and man She was my wife, and ne'er a bedrid gout Shall have my wench to get diseases on.

PROUDLY. Well may'st thou term her so, that has consented Even with her will to be dishonoured.

INGEN. Not so, yet have I lain with her--

MAID. But first, Witness this priest, we both were married.

PRIEST. True it is, Domine; Their contract's run into a marriage, And that, my lord, into a carriage.

PROUDLY. I will undo thee, priest.

PRIEST. It is too late. I am undone Already [by] wine and tobacco. I defy thee, Thou temporal lord: perdy, thou never shalt Keep me in jail, and hence springs my reason: My act is neither felony nor treason.

FEE. Ay, sir; but you do not know what kindred she may have.

OMNES. Come, come, there is no remedy.

WIFE. And weigh't right, In my opinion, my honour'd lord, And everybody's else, this is a match, Fitter ten thousand times than your intent.

OMNES. Most certain 'tis.

WID. Besides, this gentleman Your brother-in-law['s] well-parted and fair-mean'd; And all this come about (you must conceive) By your own sister's wit, as well as his.

INGEN. Come, come, 'tis but getting of me knighted, my lord, and I shall become your brother well enough.

PROUDLY. Brother, your hand. Lords may have projects still, But there's a greater Lord will have his will.

BOLD. This is despatch, Now, madam, is the time, For I long to be at it. Your hand, sweetheart.

FEE. Now, boys.

WID. My lord and gentlemen, I crave your witness, To what I now shall utter. 'Twixt this gentleman and myself There have been some love-passages, from which Here I do free him, and [he] take this lady----[142]

WELL. La ye! and pray him take this lady.

WID. Which with a mother's love I give to him, And wish all joy may crown their marriage.

BOLD. Nay, madam, yet she is not satisfied. [BOLD _gives her a ring, and she puts it on her thumb_.

WID. Further, before ye all I take this ring, As an assumpsit, by the virtue of which I bind myself in all my lands and goods, That in his choice I'll be no hindrance; Or by forbidding banns, or claiming him Myself for mine, but let the match go on Without my check, which he intendeth now: And once again I say, I bind myself.

BOLD. Then, once again I say, widow, thou'rt mine! Priest, marry us: this match I did intend: Ye all are witnesses; if thou hinder it, Widow, your lands and goods are forfeit mine.

WID. Ha! nay, take me too, since there's no remedy. Your widow (without goods) sells scurvily.

OMNES. Whoop! God give you joy.

COUNT. 'Slight! I am cosened of all sides; I had good hope of the widow myself; but now I see everybody leaves me, saving um, um, um!

BOLD. Troth, my lord, and that will stick by you, I warrant.

WID. But how, sir, shall we salve this gentlewoman?

BOLD. Hang her, whore.

WELL. Fie! you are too uncivil.

FEE. Whore in thy face, I do defy thy taunts.

BOLD. Nay, hold, fair lady: now I think upon't, The old Count has no wife; let's make a match.

OMNES. If he be so contented.

COUNT. With all my heart.

BOLD. Then kiss your spouse.

COUNT. 'Sfoot! she has a beard. How now! my son?

OMNES. 'Tis the Lord Feesimple! [FEESIMPLE _unmasks_.

FEE. Father, lend me your sword. You and I are made a couple of fine fools, are we not? If I were not valiant now, and meant to beat 'em all, here would lie a simple disgrace upon us, a Feesimple one, indeed. Mark now, what I'll say to 'em. D'ye hear me, my masters? Damn me, ye are all the son of a whore, and ye lie, and I will make it good with my sword. This is called roaring, father.

SUB. I'll not meddle with you, sir.

PROUDLY. You are my blood.

WELL. And I flesh'd you, you know.

BOLD. And I have a charge coming, I must not fight now.

FEE. Has either of you anything to say to me?

HUS. Not we, sir.

FEE. Then have I something to say to you. Have you anything to say to me?

BRO. Yes, marry have I, sir.

FEE. Then I have nothing to say to you, for that's the fashion. Father, if you will come away with your cough, do. Let me see, how many challenges I must get writ. You shall hear on me, believe it.

PROUDLY. Nay, we'll not now part angry: stay the feasts, That must attend the weddings. You shall stay.

FEE. Why, then, all friends. I thought you would not have had the manners to bid us stay dinner neither.

HUS. Then all are friends: and lady-wife, I crown Thy virtues with this wreath, that 't may be said, There's a good wife.

BOLD. A widow.

INGEN. And a maid. [_They set garlands on their heads._

WIFE. Yet mine is now approv'd the happiest life, Since each of you hath chang'd to be a wife. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[132] [Edits., _in_.]

[133] _Readiness_, second edit.

[134] Ovid. "Amor." lib. i. el. 5.

[135] In the old copies, by an error, act v. is said again to begin here; it is in fact the second scene of the last act.

[136] The old stage direction states that Subtle enters, _with a letter_, but the words have been misplaced, and should have followed _Brother_, who delivers it to the Lady Honour.

[137] This refers, no doubt, to the scene in the old "most pleasant comedy of 'Mucedorus,'" 1598, when Amadine is pursued by the bear, [vii. 208.]

[138] Old copies, _couching_.

[139] Edits., _I_.

[140] In the margin, opposite what Feesimple says, are inserted the words _Pistols for Bro._, meaning merely to remind the keeper of the properties that at this point it was necessary that Frank, the brother, should be provided with pistols.

[141] [Edits., _For_.]

[142] Old copies read--

"'Twixt this gentleman There have been some love-passages, and myself, Which here I free him, and take this lady."

GREEN'S TU QUOQUE;

OR,

THE CITY GALLANT.

_EDITIONS._

(1.) _Greenes Tu quoque, Or, the Cittie Gallant. As it hath beene diuers times acted by the Queenes Maiesties Seruants. Written by Io. Cooke Gent. Printed at London for Iohn Trundle. 1614. 4º. Woodcut on title._

(2.) _Greenes Tu quoque, Or the Cittie Gallant ... Printed at London for Thomas Dewe and are to be sold at his Shop in Saint Dunstons Church-yard in Fleetstreet. 1622. 4º._

(3.) _Greenes Tu Quoque, Or, the Cittie Gallant. As it hath beene divers times acted by the Queenes Majesties Servants. Written by Jo. Cooke Gent. Printed at London by M. Flesher. 4º_.[143]

[143] This edition, without a date, was obviously printed after that of 1614, although it has been hitherto placed first on the list of editions, as if it might be that mentioned by Chetwood, and supposed to have been published in 1599.--_Collier._ [Mr Collier does not cite the 4º of 1622.]

INTRODUCTION.

John Cook, the author of this play, is totally unknown. No contemporary writer has taken the least notice of him, nor has any biographer since given the slightest account of his life. All that we are informed of is, that he wrote the following dramatic performance. Langbaine,[144] and the writers since, ascribe the first title of it to the excellent performance of Thomas Green in the part of Bubble, whose universal repartee to all compliments is _Tu quoque_. Green was both a writer and actor,[145] and with great probability[146] is supposed to have been a relation of Shakespeare's, and the person by whom he was introduced to the theatre. He was born at Stratford-upon-Avon, which is ascertained by the following lines,[147] spoken by him in one of the old comedies, in the character of a clown:--

"I prattled poesy in my nurse's arms, And, born where late our swan of Avon sung, In Avon's streams we both of us have lav'd, And both came out together."

This passage is quoted by Chetwood from the "Two Maids of Moreclack," where it is not to be found, though it seems to be a genuine extract; and the writer, by whom it was produced, had perhaps forgotten whence he transcribed it. Heywood, who published this play, says in the preface to it:--"As for Master Greene, all that I will speak of him (and that without flattery) is this: there was not an actor of his nature in his time of better ability in performance of what he undertook, more applauded by the audience, of greater grace at the court, or of more general love in the city." From this preface it appears Green was dead when it was written, and Oldys[148] says there are three epitaphs upon him in Braithwaite's "Remains after Death," 1618, by which it seems that he died after being newly arrived from sea.[149] He was the author of "A Poets Vision and a Princes Glorie. Dedicated to the high and mightie Prince James, King of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland," 4º, 1603; and some verses prefixed to [the reprint in octavo of] Drayton's poem on the Barons' Wars. I have seen only two editions of this comedy, one without a date, and the other in 1614, which I apprehend was about the time it was originally published. Chetwood, upon whom no dependence is to be had with respect to dates, asserts it was printed in 1599.[150] As it is said to have been acted by the Queen's servants, it probably appeared on the stage in the reign of Queen Elizabeth. [There is an entry in the office-book of the Master of the Revels under date of Twelfth Night, 1624, showing that "the masque being put off, and the Prince only there," Tu Quoque, "by the Queen of Bohemia's servants, was acted in its stead."[151]] Langbaine says it was revived after the Restoration at the theatre in Little Lincoln's-Inn-Fields.

"Green's Tu Quoque" is mentioned in "The World's Folly," by I. H., 1615, which contains a general attack on the stage. It would also seem, from the subsequent passage, as if Green the actor had performed the part of a baboon:--

"'Vos quoque' *[or, 'Tu quoque,' opposite the asterisk in the margin] and you also who, with Scylla-barking, Stentor-throated bellowings, flash-choaking squibbles of absurd vanities into the nosthrils of your spectators; barbarously diverting nature and defacing Gods owne image by metamorphosing humane shape* [_Greenes Baboon_ in the margin opposite the asterisk] into bestiall forme."

FOOTNOTES:

[144] P. 73.

[145] He was an actor at the Red Bull Theatre, as appears by a rather curious scene in the course of this play, where Green is spoken of by name--

"GERALDINE. Why then we'll go to the Red Bull: they say Green's a good clown.

BUBBLE. Green! Green's an ass.

SCATTERGOOD. Wherefore do you say so?

BUBBLE. Indeed. I ha' no reason; for they say he is as like me as ever he can look."

There seems every probability that the play when originally produced had some other title, until the excellence of Green's performance, and his mode of delivering _Tu quoque_, gave it his name. It could scarcely be brought out in the first instance under the appellation of "Green's 'Tu Quoque,'" before it was known how it would succeed, and how his acting would tell in the part of Bubble. In this respect perhaps Langbaine was mistaken.--_Collier._ [It appears likely that the title under which the piece was originally brought on the stage was simply _The City Gallant_.]

[146] "Attempt to Ascertain the Order of Shakespeare's Plays," by Mr Malone, p. 275. [See Dyce's "Shakespeare," 1868, i. 114, 115. There seems to be some confusion between two persons of the name of Green, living at this time, one an actor and the author of a little poem printed in 1603, the other a relation to Shakespeare, and clerk to the corporation of Stratford.]

[147] "The British Theatre," p. 9.

[148] MSS. additions to Langbaine, p. 73.

[149] The following are the epitaphs mentioned by Oldys, from Braithwaite's Remains--

"_Upon an actor now of late deceased: and upon his action Tu Quoque: and first upon his travel._

Hee whom this mouldered clod of earth doth hide, New come from sea, made but one face and dide.

_Upon his creditors._

His debtors now no fault with him can finde, Sith he has paid to nature all's behinde.

_Upon his fellow actors._

What can you crave of your poore fellow more? He does but what _Tu Quoque_ did before: Then give him dying, actions second wreath, That second'd him in action and in death."

In actorem Mimicum cui vix parem cernimus superstitem. _Quæcunque orta sunt occidunt_. Sallust.

Ver vireat quod te peperit (viridissima proles) Quæque tegit cineres, ipsa virescat humus. Transis ab exiguis nunquam periture theatris Ut repetas sacri pulchra theatru Jovis

--"Remains after Death," 8vo. 1618, Sig. G 5.

[150] Heywood speaks of it as "just published in print." The date of his epistle "to the Reader," however, may be older than 1614, the year of the earliest printed copy now known.--_Collier._ [Heywood merely says that he was "in the way just when this play was to be published in print."]

[151] [Mr Collier's addition.]

TO THE READER

To gratulate the love and memory of my worthy friend the author, and my entirely beloved fellow the actor, I could not choose, being in the way just when this play was to be published in print, but to prefix some token of my affection to either in the frontispiece of the book. For the gentleman that wrote it, his poem itself can better speak his praise than any oratory from me. Nor can I tell whether this work was divulged with his consent or no; but, howsoever, it hath passed the test of the stage with so general an applause, pity it were but it should likewise have the honour of the press. As for Master Green, all that I will speak of him (and that without flattery) is this (if I were worthy to censure), there was not an actor of his nature, in his time, of better ability in performance of what he undertook, more applauded by the audience, of greater grace at the court, or of more general love in the city: and so with this brief character of his memory I commit him to his rest.

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

UPON THE DEATH OF THOMAS GREEN.

How fast bleak Autumn changeth Flora's dye! What yesterday was Green, now's sear and dry.

W.R.[152]

[152] Probably William Rowley.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

SIR LIONEL RASH.} { FOX. OLD GERALDINE. } { GATHERSCRAP. GERALDINE. } { BASKETHILT. WILL RASH. } { SPRINKLE. SPENDALL. } { PRISONERS. STAINES. } { DRAWERS, _&c._ BUBBLE. } { LONGFIELD. } { WOMEN. BALANCE. } { SCATTERGOOD. } { GERTRUDE. NINNIHAMMER. } { JOYCE. MASTER BLANK. } { PHILLIS. PURSENET. } { WIDOW. LODGE. } { SWEATMAN, _a bawd_. HOLDFAST. } { NAN TICKLEMAN, _a whore_.

THE CITY GALLANT.

_A mercer's shop discovered_, GERTRUDE _working in it;_ SPENDALL _walking by the shop_. MASTER BALANCE _walking over the stage. After him_ LONGFIELD _and_ GERALDINE.

SPEND. What lack you, sir? fair stuffs or velvets?

BAL. Good morrow, Frank.

SPEND. Good morrow, Master Balance.

GERA. Save you, Master Longfield.

LONG. And you, sir. What business draws you towards this end o' th' town?

GERA. Faith, no great serious affairs; only a stirring humour to walk, and partly to see the beauties of the city: but it may be you can instruct me. Pray, whose shop's this?

LONG. Why, 'tis Will Rash's father's: a man you are well acquainted with.

_Enter a_ WENCH _with a basket of linen_.

GERA. As with yourself: and is that his sister?

LONG. Marry, is it, sir?

GERA. Pray, let us walk: I would behold her better.

WENCH. Buy some coifs, handkerchiefs, or very good bonelace, mistress?

GERT. None.

WENCH. Will you buy any handkerchiefs, sir?

SPEND. Yes. Have you any fine ones?

WENCH. I'll show you choice: please you look, sir?

SPEND. How now! what news?

WENCH. Mistress Tickleman has sent you a letter, and expects your company at night: and entreats you to send her an angel, whether you can come, or whether you cannot.

[SPENDALL _reads_.

_Sweet rascal; if your love be as earnest as your protestation, you will meet me this night at supper: you know the rendezvous. There will be good company; a noise of choice fiddlers;[153] a fine boy with an excellent voice; very good songs, and bawdy; and, which is more, I do purpose myself to be exceeding merry; but if you come not, I shall pout myself sick, and not eat one bit to-night,_

_Your continual close friend_, NAN TICKLEMAN.

_I pray send me an angel by the bearer, whether ye can come, or whether ye cannot._

SPEND. What's the price of these two?

WENCH. Half a crown, in truth.

SPEND. Hold thee; there's an angel, and commend me to my delight; tell her I will not fail her, though I lose my freedom by't. [_Aside._

WENCH. I thank you, sir. Buy any fine handkerchiefs?

[_Exit_ WENCH.

LONG. You are taken, sir, extremely: what's the object?

GERA. She's wondrous fair.

LONG. Nay, and your thoughts be on wenching, I'll leave you.

GERA. You shall not be so unfriendly; pray, assist me: We'll to the shop, and cheapen stuffs or satins.

SPEND. What lack you, gentlemen? fine stuffs, velvets, or satins? pray, come near.

GERA. Let me see a good satin.

SPEND. You shall, sir. What colour?

GERA. Faith, I am indifferent. What colour most affects you, lady?

GERT. Sir!

GERA. Without offence, fair creature, I demand it.

GERT. Sir, I believe it; but I never did Tie my affection unto any colour.

GERA. But my affection, fairest, is fast tied Unto the crimson colour of your cheek.

GERT. You relish too much courtier, sir.

LONG. What's the price of this?

SPEND. Fifteen,[154] indeed, sir.

LONG. You set a high rate on't; it had need be good.

SPEND. Good! if you find a better i' th' town, I'll give you mine for nothing. If you were my own brother, I'd put it into your hands. Look upon't; 'tis close-wrought, and has an excellent gloss.

LONG. Ay, I see't.

SPEND. Pray, sir, come into the next room: I'll show you that of a lower price shall perhaps better please you.

LONG. This fellow has an excellent tongue: sure, he was brought up in the Exchange.

SPEND. Will you come in, sir?

LONG. No; 'tis no matter, for I mean to buy none.

GERA. Prythee, walk in; what you bargain for, I'll discharge.

LONG. Say so? fall to your work, I'll be your chapman. [_Exeunt_ SPENDALL, LONGFIELD.

GERA. Why do you say I flatter?

GERT. Why! you do; And so do all men when they women woo.

GERA. Who looks on heaven, and not admires the work? Who views a well-cut diamond does not praise The beauty of the stone? if these deserve The name of excellent, I lack a word For thee, which merit'st more-- More than the tongue of man can attribute.

GERT. This is pretty poetry: good fiction, this. Sir, I must leave you.

GERA. Leave with me first some comfort.

GERT. What would you crave?

GERA. That which I fear you will not let me have.

GERT. You do not know my bounty. Say what 'tis?

GERA. No more, fair creature, than a modest kiss.

GERT. If I should give you one, would you refrain, On that condition, ne'er to beg again?

GERA. I dare not grant to that.

GERT. Then't seems you have, Though you get nothing, a delight to crave. One will not hurt my lip, which you may take, Not for your love, but for your absence sake. So farewell, sir. [_Exit_ GERTRUDE.

GERA. O, fare thee well, fair regent of my soul! Never let ill sit near thee, unless it come To purge itself. Be, as thou ever seemest, An angel of thy sex, born to make happy The man that shall possess thee for his bride.

_Enter_ SPENDALL _and_ LONGFIELD.

SPEND. Will you have it for thirteen shillings and sixpence? I'll fall to as low a price as I can, because I'll buy your custom.

LONG. How now, man? what, entranced?

GERA. Good sir, ha' you done?

LONG. Yes, faith, I think as much as you, and 'tis just nothing. Where's the wench?

GERA. She's here, sir, here.

[_Points to his heart._

LONG. Ud's pity! unbutton, man, thou'lt stifle her else.

GERA. Nay, good sir, will you go?

LONG. With all my heart; I stay but for you.

SPEND. Do you hear, sir?

LONG. What say you?

SPEND. Will you take it for thirteen?

LONG. Not a penny more than I bid. [_Exeunt_ GERALDINE _and_ LONGFIELD.

SPEND. Why, then, say you might have had a good bargain. Where's this boy to make up the wares? Here's some ten pieces opened, and all to no purpose.

_Enter_ BOY.

BOY. O Frank! shut up shop, shut up shop!

SPEND. Shut up shop, boy? Why?

BOY. My master is come from the court knighted, and bid us; for he says he will have the first year of the reign of his knighthood kept holiday: here he comes.

_Enter_ SIR LIONEL RASH.

SPEND. God give your worship joy, sir.

SIR L. RASH. O Frank! I have the worship now in the right kind; the sword of my knighthood sticks still upon my shoulders, and I feel the blow in my purse; it has cut two leather bags asunder. But all's one, honour must be purchased. I will give over my city coat, and betake myself to the court jacket. As for trade, I will deal in't no longer; I will seat thee in my shop, and it shall be thy care to ask men what they lack: my stock shall be summed up, and I will call thee to an account for it.

SPEND. My service, sir, never deserved so much; Nor could I ever hope so large a bounty Could spring out of your love.

SIR L. RASH. That's all one. I do love to do things beyond men's hopes. To-morrow I remove into the Strand: There for this quarter dwell, the next at Fulham. He that hath choice, may shift; the whilst shalt thou Be master of this house, and rent it free.

SPEND. I thank you, sir.

SIR L. RASH. To-day I'll go dine with my Lord Mayor, To-morrow with the sheriffs, and next day With th' aldermen. I will spread the ensign Of my knighthood over the face of the city, Which shall strike as great a terror to my enemies As ever Tamerlane [did] to the Turks. Come, Frank, come in with me, and see the meat, Upon the which my knighthood first shall eat. [_Exeunt omnes._

_Enter_ STAINES.

STAINES. There is a devil has haunted me these three years, in likeness of an usurer: a fellow that in all his life never ate three groat loaves out of his own purse, nor ever warmed him but at other men's fires; never saw a joint of mutton in his own house these four-and-twenty years, but always cosened the poor prisoners, for he always bought his victuals out of the alms-basket; and yet this rogue now feeds upon capons, which my tenants send him out of the country; he is landlord, forsooth, over all my possessions. Well, I am spent; and this rogue has consumed me. I dare not walk abroad to see my friends, for fear the serjeants should take acquaintance of me: my refuge is Ireland or Virginia:[155] necessity cries out, and I will presently to West Chester.

_Enter_ BUBBLE.

How now, Bubble! hast thou pack'd up all thy things? Our parting-time is come: nay, prythee, do not weep.

BUB. Affection, sir, will burst out.

STAINES. Thou hast been a faithful servant to me. Go to thy uncle, he'll give thee entertainment: tell him, upon the stony rock of his merciless heart my fortunes suffer shipwreck.

BUB. I will tell him he is an usuring rascal, and one that would do the commonwealth good if he were hanged.

STAINES. Which thou hast cause to wish for; thou art his heir, my affectionate Bubble.

BUB. But, master, wherefore should we be parted?

STAINES. Because my fortunes are desperate, thine are hopeful.

BUB. Why, but whither do you mean to go, master?

STAINES. Why, to sea.

BUB. To sea! Lord bless us, methinks I hear of a tempest already. But what will you do at sea?

STAINES. Why, as other gallants do that are spent, turn pirate.

BUB. O master, have the grace of Wapping before your eyes, remember a high tide;[156] give not your friends cause to wet their handkerchiefs. Nay, master, I'll tell you a better course than so; you and I will go and rob my uncle; if we 'scape, we'll domineer together; if we be taken, we'll be hanged together at Tyburn; that's the warmer gallows of the two.

_Enter_ MESSENGER.

MES. By your leave, sir, whereabouts dwells one Master Bubble?

BUB. Do you hear, my friend? do you know Master Bubble, if you do see him?

MES. No, in truth, do I not.

BUB. What is your business with Master Bubble?

MES. Marry, sir, I come with welcome news to him.

BUB. Tell it, my friend: I am the man.

MES. May I be assured, sir, that your name is Master Bubble?

BUB. I tell thee, honest friend, my name is Master Bubble, Master Bartholomew Bubble.

MES. Why then, sir, you are heir to a million; for your uncle, the rich usurer, is dead.

BUB. Pray thee, honest friend, go to the next haberdasher's, and bid him send me a new melancholy hat, and take thou that for thy labour.

MES. I will, sir. [_Exit._

_Enter another_ MESSENGER _hastily, and knocks_.

BUB. Umh. umh, umh!

STAINES. I would the news were true: see how my little Bubble is blown up with't!

BUB. Do you hear, my friend; for what do you knock there?

2D MES. Marry, sir, I would speak with the worshipful Master Bubble.

BUB. The worshipful! and what would you do with the worshipful Master Bubble? I am the man.

2D MES. I cry your worship mercy then: Master Thong, the belt-maker, sent me to your worship, to give you notice that your uncle is dead, and that you are his only heir. [_Exit._

BUB. Thy news is good, and I have look'd for't long; Thanks unto thee, my friend, and goodman Thong.

_Enter_ MASTER BLANK.

STAINES. Certainly this news is true; for see another: by this light, his scrivener! Now, Master Blank, whither away so fast?

BLANK. Master Staines, God save you. Where is your man?

STAINES. Why, look you, sir; do you not see him?

BLANK. God save the right worshipful Master Bubble; I bring you heavy news with a light heart.

BUB. What are you?

BLANK. I am your worship's poor scrivener.

BUB. He is an honest man, it seems, for he hath both his ears.

BLANK. I am one that your worship's uncle committed some trust in for the putting out of his money, and I hope I shall have the putting out of yours.

BUB. The putting out of mine! Would you have the putting out of my money?

BLANK. Yea, sir.

BUB. No, sir, I am old enough to put out my own money.

BLANK. I have writings of your worship's.

STAINES. As thou lov'st thy profit, hold thy tongue; thou and I will confer. [_Aside._]

BUB. Do you hear, my friend? Can you tell me when and how my uncle died?

BLANK. Yes, sir; he died this morning, and he was killed by a butcher.

BUB. How! by a butcher?

BLANK. Yes indeed, sir; for going this morning into the market to cheapen meat, he fell down stark dead, because a butcher asked him four shillings for a shoulder of mutton.

BUB. How, stark dead! and could not _aqua vitæ_ fetch him again?

BLANK. No, sir; nor _rosa solis_ neither; and yet there was trial made of both.

BUB. I shall love _aqua vitæ_ and _rosa solis_ the better while I live.

[_Aside._

STAINES. Will it please your worship to accept of my poor service? you know my case is desperate; I beseech you that I may feed upon your bread, though it be of the brownest, and drink of your drink, though it may be of the smallest; for I am humble in body and dejected in mind, and will do your worship as good service for forty shillings a year as another shall for three pounds.

BUB. I will not stand with you for such a matter, because you have been my master; but otherwise I will entertain no man without some knight's or lady's letter for their behaviour. Gervase, I take it, is your Christian name?

STAINES. Yes, if it please your worship.

BUB. Well, Gervase, be a good servant, and you shall find me a dutiful master; and because you have been a gentleman, I will entertain you for my tutor in behaviour. Conduct me to my palace.

[_Exeunt omnes._

_Enter_ GERALDINE, _as in his study, reading_.

GERA. _As little children love to play with fire, And will not leave till they themselves do burn; So did I fondly dally with desire, Until love's flame grew hot; I could not turn, Nor well avoid, but sigh, and sob, and mourn, As children do, when as they feel the pain, Till tender mothers kiss them whole again._ Fie! what unsavoury stuff is this! but she, Whose mature judgment can distinguish things, Will thus conceit: tales, that are harshest told, Have smoothest meanings, and to speak are bold. It is the first-born sonnet of my brain; Why[157] suck'd a white leaf from my black-lipp'd pen So sad employment?

_Enter_ WILL RASH _and_ LONGFIELD.

Yet the dry paper drinks it up as deep, As if it flow'd from Petrarch's cunning quill.

W. RASH. How now! what have we here? a sonnet and a satire, coupled together like my lady's dog and her monkey?

_As little children, &c._

GERA. Prythee, away: by the deepest oath that can be sworn, thou shalt not read it; by our friendship I conjure thee! prythee, let go.

W. RASH. Now, in the name of Cupid, what want'st thou? a pigeon, a dove, a mate, a turtle? Dost thou love fowl, ha?

_O no; she's fairer thrice than is the queen,_ _Who beauteous Venus called is by name._

Prythee, let me know what she is thou lovest, that I may shun her if I should chance to meet her.

LONG. Why, I'll tell you, sir, what she is, if you do not know.

W. RASH. No, not I, I protest.

LONG. Why, 'tis your sister.

W. RASH. How! my sister?

LONG. Yes, your eldest sister.

W. RASH. Now God bless the man: he had better choose a wench that has been bred and born in an alley: her tongue is a perpetual motion; thought is not so swift as it is; and, for pride, the woman that had her ruff poked by the devil is but a puritan to her.[158] Thou couldst never have fastened thy affection on a worse subject; she'll flout faster than a court waiting-woman in progress[159]; any man that comes in the way of honesty does she set her mark upon, that is, a villanous jest; for she is a kind of poetess, and will make ballads upon the calves of your legs. I prythee, let her alone, she'll never make a good wife for any man, unless it be a leather-dresser; for perhaps he in time may turn her.

GERA. Thou hast a privilege to utter this: But, by my life, my own blood could not 'scape A chastisement for thus profaning her Whose virtues sit above men's calumnies. Had mine own brother spoke thus liberally,[160] My fury should have taught him better manners.

LONG. No more words, as you fear a challenge.

W. RASH. I may tell thee in thine ear, I am glad to hear what I do; I pray God send her no worse husband, nor he no worse wife.

Do you hear, love, will you take your cloak and rapier, And walk abroad into some wholesome air? I do much fear thy infection: good counsel, I see, will do no good on thee; but pursue the end, And to thy thoughts I'll prove a faithful friend. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SPENDALL, NAN TICKLEMAN, SWEATMAN, PURSENET, _and a_ DRAWER.

SPEND. Here's a spacious room to walk in: sirrah, set down the candle, and fetch us a quart of ipocras[161], and so we'll part.

SWEAT. Nay, faith, son, we'll have a pottle; let's ne'er be covetous in our young days.

SPEND. A pottle, sirrah; do you hear?

DRAWER. Yes, sir, you shall.

SPEND. How now, wench! how dost?

TICKLE. Faith, I am somewhat sick; yet I should be well enough if I had a new gown.

SPEND. Why, here's my hand; within these three days thou shalt have one.

SWEAT. And will you, son, remember me for a new forepart? by my troth, my old one is worn so bare, I am ashamed anybody should see't.

SPEND. Why, did I ever fail of my promise?

SWEAT. No, in sincerity, didst thou not.

_Enter_ DRAWER.

DRAWER. Here's a cup of rich ipocras. [_Exit._

SPEND. Here, sister, mother, and Master Pursenet: nay, good sir, be not so dejected; for, by this wine, to-morrow I will send you stuff for a new suit, and as much as shall line you a cloak clean through.

PURSE. I thank you, and shall study to deserve----

SPEND. Here, boy, fill, and hang that curmudgeon, that's good for nobody but himself.

PURSE. Heroicly spoken, by this candle! 'tis pity thou wert not made a lord.

SPEND. A lord? by this light, I do not think but to be Lord Mayor of London before I die, and have three pageants carried before me, besides a ship and an unicorn. 'Prentices may pray for that time; for whenever it happens, I will make another Shrove Tuesday[162] for them.

_Enter_ DRAWER.

DRAWER. Young Master Rash has sent you a quart of Malaga[163].

SPEND. Master Rash! zounds! how does he know that I am here?

DRAWER. Nay, I know not, sir.

SPEND. Know not! it comes through you and your rascally glib-tongued companions. 'Tis my master's son: a fine gentleman he is, and a boon companion: I must go see him.

[_Exit_ SPENDALL.

SWEAT. Boy, fill us a cup of your malaga, we'll drink to Master Spendall in his absence: there's not a finer spirit of a citizen within the walls. Here, Master Pursenet, you shall pledge him.

PURSE. I'll not refuse it, were it puddle: by Styx, he is a bountiful gentleman, and I shall report him so. Here, Mistress Tickleman, shall I charge you?

TICKLE. Do your worst, serjeant: I'll pledge my young Spendall a whole sea, as they say: fa, la, la, la, la! Would the music were here again; I do begin to be wanton. Ipocras, sirrah, and a dry biscuit! Here, bawd, a carouse!

SWEAT. Bawd, i' faith! you begin to grow light i' the head. I pray no more such words; for, if you do, I shall grow into distempers.

TICKLE. Distempers! hang your distempers; be angry with me, and thou dar'st. I pray, who feeds you, but I? who keeps thy feather-beds from the brokers, but I? 'tis not your sausage-face, thick, clouted[164] cream-rampallion[165] at home, that snuffles in the nose like a decayed bagpipe.

PURSE. Nay, sweet Mistress Tickleman, be concordant; reverence antiquity.

_Enter_ RASH, LONGFIELD, _and_ SPENDALL.

RASH. Save you, sweet creatures of beauty, save you: how now, old Beelzebub, how dost thou?

SWEAT. Beelzebub! Beelzebub in thy face!

SPEND. Nay, good words, Mistress Sweatman: he's a young gallant; you must not weigh what he says.

RASH. I would my lamentable complaining lover had been here: here had been a supersedeas for his melancholy; and, i' faith, Frank, I am glad my father has turned over his shop to thee. I hope I, or any friend of mine, shall have so much credit with thee, as to stand in thy books for a suit of satin.

SPEND. For a whole piece, if you please; any friend of yours shall command me to the last remnant.

RASH. Why, God-a-mercy, Frank; what, shall's to dice?

SPEND. Dice or drink: here's forty crowns: as long as that will last--anything.

RASH. Why, there spoke a gingling boy.

SPEND. A pox of money! 'tis but rubbish; and he that hoards it up is but a scavenger. If there be cards i' the house, let's go to primero.

RASH. Primero! why, I thought thou hadst not been so much gamester as to play at it.

SPEND. Gamester! to say truth, I am none; but what is it I will not be in good company? I will fit myself to all humours; I will game with a gamester, drink with a drunkard, be civil with a citizen, fight with a swaggerer, and drab with a whoremaster.

_Enter a_ SWAGGERER, _puffing_.

RASH. An excellent humour, i' faith.

LONG. Zounds! what have we here?

SPEND. A land-porpoise, I think.

RASH. This is no angry, nor no roaring boy, but a blustering boy: now, Æolus defend us! what puffs are these?

SWAG. I do smell a whore.

DRAWER. O gentlemen, give him good words; he's one of the roaring boys.

SWAG. Rogue!

DRAWER. Here, sir.

SWAG. Take my cloak, I must unbuckle; my pickled oysters work; puff, puff!

SPEND. Puff, puff!

SWAG. Dost thou retort--in opposition stand?

SPEND. Out, you swaggering rogue! zounds, I'll kick him out of the room!

[_Beats him away._

TICKLE. Out, alas! their naked tools are out.

SPEND. Fear not, sweetheart; come along with me. [_Exeunt omnes._

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _sola_.

GERT. Thrice-happy days they were, and too soon gone, When as the heart was coupled with the tongue; And no deceitful flattery or guile Hung on the lover's tear-commixed smile. Could women learn but that imperiousness, By which men use to stint our happiness, When they have purchas'd us for to be theirs By customary sighs and forced tears: To give us bits of kindness, lest we faint, But no abundance that we ever want, And still are begging; which too well they know Endears affection, and doth make it grow: Had we these sleights, how happy were we then, That we might glory over lovesick men! But arts we know not, nor have any skill To feign a sour look to a pleasing will;

_Enter_ JOYCE.

Nor couch a secret love in show of hate: But, if we like, must be compassionate. Yet I will strive to bridle and conceal The hid affection which my heart doth feel.

JOYCE. Now the boy with the bird-bolt[166] be praised! Nay, faith, sister, forward: 'twas an excellent passion.[167] Come, let's hear, what is he? If he be a proper man, and have a black eye, a smooth chin, and a curled pate, take him, wench; if my father will not consent, run away with him, I'll help to convey you.

GERT. You talk strangely, sister.

JOYCE. Sister, sister, dissemble not with me, though you do mean to dissemble with your lover. Though you have protested to conceal your affection, by this tongue, you shall not; for I'll discover all, as soon as I know the gentleman.

GERT. Discover! what will you discover?

JOYCE. Marry, enough, I'll warrant thee. First and foremost, I'll tell him thou read'st love-passions in print, and speakest every morning without book to thy looking-glass: next, that thou never sleepest till an hour after the bellman: that, as soon as thou art asleep, thou art in a dream, and in a dream thou art the kindest and comfortablest bed-fellow for kissings and embracings: by this hand, I cannot rest for thee: but our father----

_Enter_ SIR LIONEL.

SIR LIONEL. How now! what are you two consulting on? On husbands? You think you lose time, I am sure; but hold your own a little, girls; it shall not be long ere I'll provide for you: and for you, Gertrude, I have bethought myself already.

Whirlpit, the usurer, is late deceas'd: A man of unknown wealth, which he has left Unto a provident kinsman, as I hear, That was once servant to that unthrift Staines. A prudent gentleman they say he is, And, as I take it, called Master Bubble.

JOYCE. Bubble! [_She makes a grimace._

SIR LIONEL. Yes, nimble-chaps; what say you to that?

JOYCE. Nothing; but that I wish his Christian name were Water.[168]

GERT. Sir, I'm at your disposing; but my mind Stands not as yet towards marriage. Were you so pleas'd, I would a little longer Enjoy the quiet of a single bed.

SIR LIONEL. Here's the right trick of them all: let a man Be motion'd to 'em, they could be content To lead a single life, forsooth: when the harlots Do pine and run into diseases, Eat chalk and oatmeal, cry and creep in corners, Which are manifest tokens of their longings; And yet they will dissemble. [_Aside._] But, Gertude, As you do owe me reverence, and will pay it, Prepare yourself to like this gentleman, Who can maintain thee in thy choice of gowns, Of tires, of servants, and of costly jewels; Nay for a need, out of his easy nature, May'st draw him to the keeping of a coach For country, and caroch[169] for London: Indeed, what might'st thou not?

_Enter a_ SERVANT.

SER. Sir, here's one come from Master Bubble. To invite you to the funeral of his uncle.

SIR LIONEL. Thank the messenger, and make him drink. Tell him, I will not fail to wait the corse: Yet stay, I will go talk with him myself. Gertrude, think upon what I have told you, And let me, ere it be long, receive your answer. [_Exeunt_ SIR LIONEL _and_ SERVANT.

JOYCE. Sister, sister!

GERT. What say you, sister?

JOYCE. Shall I provide a cord?

GERT. A cord! what to do?

JOYCE. Why, to let thee out at the window. Do not I know that thou wilt run away with the gentleman for whom you made the passion, rather than endure this same Bubble that my father talks of? 'Twere good you would let me be of your counsel, lest I break the neck of your plot.

GERT. Sister, [you] know I love thee, And I'll not think a thought thou shalt not know. I love a gentleman, that answers me In all the rights of love as faithfully: Has woo'd me oft with sonnets and with tears: Yet I seem still to slight him. Experience tells, The jewel that's enjoy'd is not esteem'd; Things hardly got are always highest deem'd.

JOYCE. You say well, sister; but it is not good to linger out too long; continuance of time will take away any man's stomach in the world. I hope the next time that he comes to you I shall see him.

GERT. You shall.

JOYCE. Why, go to then: you shall have my opinion of him. If he deserve thee, thou shalt delay him no longer; for if you cannot find in your heart to tell him you love him, I'll sigh it out for you. Come, we little creatures must help one another. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ GERALDINE.

GERA. How cheerfully things look in this place! 'Tis always spring-time here; such is the grace And potency of her who has the bliss To make it still Elysium where she is. Nor doth the king of flames in's golden fires, After a tempest, answer men's desires, When as he casts his comfortable beams Over the flowery fields and silver streams, As her illustrate beauty strikes in me, And wraps my soul up to felicity.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _and_ JOYCE _aloft_.

JOYCE. Do you hear, sir?

GERT. Why, sister, what will you do?

JOYCE. By my maidenhead, an oath which I ne'er took in vain, either go down and comfort him, or I'll call him up and disclose all. What, will you have no mercy, but let a proper man, that might spend the spirit of his youth upon yourself, fall into a consumption? for shame, sister!

GERT. You are the strangest creature--what would you have me do?

JOYCE. Marry, I would have you go to him, take him by the hand, and gripe him; say, You are welcome, I love you with all my heart, you are the man must do the feat; and take him about the neck, and kiss upon the bargain.

GERT. Fie, how you talk! 'tis mere immodesty; The common'st strumpet would not do so much.

JOYCE. Marry, the better; for such as are honest Should still do what the common strumpet will not. Speak, will you do it?

GERT. I'll lose his company for ever first.

JOYCE. Do you hear, sir? here is a gentlewoman would speak with you.

GERT. Why, sister! pray, sister----

JOYCE. One that loves you with all her heart, yet is ashamed to confess it.

GERT. Good sister, hold your tongue: I will go down to him.

JOYCE. Do not jest with me; for, by this hand, I'll either get him up, or go down myself, and read the whole history of your love to him.

GERT. If you forbear to call, I will go down.

JOYCE. Let me see your back, then; and hear you, do not use him scurvily: you were best unset all your tyrannical looks, and bid him lovingly welcome, or, as I live, I'll stretch out my voice again. Ud's foot, I must take some pains, I see, or we shall never have this gear cotten;[170] but, to say truth, the fault is in my melancholy monsieur; for if he had but half so much spirit as he has flesh, he might have boarded her by this. But see, yonder she marches; now a passion on his side of half an hour long: his hat is off already, as if he were begging one poor pennyworth of kindness.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _below_.

GERA. Shall I presume, fair mistress, on your hand to lay my unworthy lip?

JOYCE. Fie upon him! I am ashamed to hear him; you shall have a country fellow at a maypole go better to his work. He had need to be constant, for he is able to spoil as many maids as he shall fall in love withal.

GERT. Sir, you profess love unto me; let me entreat you it may appear but in some small request.

GERA. Let me know it, lady, and I shall soon effect it.

GERT. But for this present to forbear this place, Because my father is expected here.

GERA. I am gone, lady.

JOYCE. Do you hear, sir?

GERA. Did you call?

JOYCE. Look up to the window.

GERA. What say you, gentlewoman?

GERT. Nay, pray sir, go; it is my sister calls to hasten you.

JOYCE. I call to speak with you; pray, stay a little.

GERA. The gentlewoman has something to say to me.

GERT. She has nothing. I do conjure you, as you love me, stay not.

[_Exit_ JOYCE.

GERA. The power of magic cannot fasten me; I am gone.

GERT. Good sir, look back no more, what voice e'er call you. Imagine going from me, you were coming, And use the same speed, as you love my safety. [_Exit_ GERALDINE. Wild-witted sister, I have prevented you: I will not have my love yet open'd to him. By how much longer 'tis, ere it be known, By so much dearer 'twill be when 'tis purchas'd. But I must use my strength to stop her journey, For she will after him: and see, she comes.

_Enter_ JOYCE _below_.

Nay, sister, you are at farthest.

JOYCE. Let me go, you were best; For if you wrestle with me, I shall throw you. Passion! come back, fool; lover, turn again, And kiss your bellyful; For here she is will stand you, do your worst. Will you let me go?

GERT. Yes, if you'll stay.

JOYCE. If I stir a foot, hang me; you shall come together yourselves, and be naught. Do what you will; for if e'er I trouble myself again, let me want help in such a case when I need.

GERT. Nay, but prythee, sister, be not angry.

JOYCE. I will be angry. Ud's foot! I cannot endure such foolery, I! Two bashful fools that would couple together, and yet ha' not the faces.

GERT. Nay, prythee, sweet sister!

JOYCE. Come, come, let me go. Birds, that want the use of reason and speech, can couple together in one day; and yet you, that have both, cannot conclude in twenty.

GERT. Why, what good would it do you to tell him?

JOYCE. Do not talk to me, for I am deaf to anything you say. Go, weep and cry.

GERT. Nay, but sister---- [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ STAINES _and_ DRAWER _with wine_.

STAINES. Drawer, bid them make haste at home. Tell them they are coming from church.

DRAWER. I will, sir. [_Exit_ DRAWER.

STAINES. That I should live to be a serving-man! a fellow which scalds his mouth with another man's porridge; brings up meat for other men's bellies, and carries away the bones for his own; changes his clean trencher for a foul one, and is glad of it. And yet did I never live so merry a life when I was my master's master as now I do, being man to my man. And I will stand to't, for all my former speeches, a serving-man lives a better life than his master; and thus I prove it: The saying is, the nearer the bone the sweeter the flesh; then must the serving-man needs eat the sweeter flesh, for he always picks the bones. And again, the proverb says, the deeper the sweeter. There has the serving-man the advantage again, for he drinks still in the bottom of the pot. He fills his belly, and never asks what's to pay; wears broadcloth, and yet dares walk Watling Street,[171] without any fear of his draper. And for his colours, they are according to the season; in the summer, he is apparelled (for the most part) like the heavens, in blue; in winter, like the earth, in frieze.

_Enter_ BUBBLE, SIR LIONEL LONGFIELD, _and_ SPRINKLE.

But see, I am prevented in my encomium. I could have maintained this theme this two hours.

SIR LIONEL. Well, God rest his soul, he is gone, and we must all follow him.

BUB. Ay, ay, he's gone, Sir Lionel, he's gone.

SIR LIONEL. Why, though he be gone, what then? 'Tis not you that can fetch him back again, with all your cunning. It must be your comfort that he died well.

BUB. Truly, and so it is. I would to God I had e'en another uncle that would die no worse; surely I shall weep again, if I should find my handkerchief.

LONG. How now! what are these, onions?

BUB. Ay, ay, Sir Lionel, they are my onions; I thought to have had them roasted this morning for my cold. Gervase, you have not wept to-day; pray, take your onions. Gentlemen, the remembrance of death is sharp, therefore there is a banquet within to sweeten your conceits. I pray, walk in, gentlemen, walk you in; you know I must needs be melancholy, and keep my chamber. Gervase, usher them to the banquet.

STAINES. I shall, sir. Please you, Sir Lionel?

SIR LIONEL. Well, Master Bubble, we'll go in and taste of your bounty. In the meantime, you must be of good cheer.

[GENTLEMEN _and_ GERVASE _go out_.

BUB. If grief take not away my stomach, I will have good cheer, I warrant you. Sprinkle!

SPRIN. Sir.

BUB. Had the women puddings to their dole?[172]

SPRIN. Yes, sir.

BUB. And how did they take 'em?

SPRIN. Why, with their hands. How should they take 'em?

BUB. O thou Hercules of ignorance! I mean, how were they satisfied?

SPRIN. By my troth, sir, but so-so; and yet some of them had two.

BUB. O insatiable women, whom two puddings would not satisfy! But vanish, Sprinkle; bid your fellow Gervase come hither.

[_Exit_ SPRINKLE.

And off, my mourning-robes: grief, to the grave, For I have gold, and therefore will be brave:[173] In silks I'll rattle it of every colour, And, when I go by water, scorn a sculler.

_Enter_ STAINES.

In black carnation velvet I will cloak me, And when men bid God save me, cry, _Tu quoque_.

It is needful a gentleman should speak Latin sometimes, is it not, Gervase?

STAINES. O, very graceful, sir; your most accomplished gentlemen are known by it.

BUB. Why, then will I make use of that little I have upon times and occasions. Here, Gervase, take this bag, and run presently to the mercer's; buy me seven ells of horse-flesh-coloured taffata, nine yards of yellow satin, and eight yards of orange-tawny velvet. Then run to the tailor's, the haberdasher's, the sempster's, the cutler's, the perfumer's, and to all trades whatsoever, that belong to the making up of a gentleman; and, amongst the rest, let not the barber be forgotten: and look that he be an excellent fellow, and one that can snap his fingers with dexterity.[174]

STAINES. I shall fit you, sir.

BUB. Do so, good Gervase: it is time my beard were corrected, for it is grown so saucy, as it begins to play with my nose.

STAINES. Your nose, sir, must endure it; for it is in part the fashion.

BUB. Is it in fashion? why, then my nose shall endure it, let it tickle his worst.

STAINES. Why, now y' are i' the right, sir; if you will be a true gallant, you must bear things resolute. As thus, sir; if you be at an ordinary, and chance to lose your money at play, you must not fret and fume, tear cards, and fling away dice, as your ignorant gamester or country-gentleman does; but you must put on a calm, temperate action, with a kind of careless smile in contempt of fortune, as not being able with all her engines to batter down one piece of your estate, that your means may be thought invincible. Never tell your money: nor what you have won, nor what you have lost. If a question be made, your answer must be: What I have lost, I have lost; what I have won, I have won. A close heart and free hand make a man admired: a testern or a shilling to a servant that brings you a glass of beer, binds his hands to his lips: you shall have more service of him than his master; he will be more humble to you than a cheater before a magistrate.

BUB. Gervase, give me thy hand: I think thou hast more wit than I, that am thy master; and for this speech only I do here create thee my steward. I do long, methinks, to be at an ordinary: to smile at fortune, and to be bountiful. Gervase, about your business, good Gervase, whilst I go and meditate upon a gentleman-like behaviour. I have an excellent gait already, Gervase, have I not?

STAINES. Hercules himself, sir, had never a better gait.

BUB. But despatch, Gervase: the satin and the velvet must be thought upon, and the _Tu quoque_ must not be forgotten; for whensoever I give arms, that shall be my motto. [_Exit_ BUBBLE.

STAINES. What a fortune had I thrown upon me when I preferred myself into this fellow's service! Indeed, I serve myself, and not him; for this gold here is my own, truly purchased: he has credit, and shall run i' th' books for't. I'll carry things so cunningly, that he shall not be able to look into my actions. My mortgage I have already got into my hands: the rent he shall enjoy awhile, till his riot constrain him to sell it; which I will purchase with his own money. I must cheat a little: I have been cheated upon. Therefore I hope the world will a little the better excuse me. What his uncle craftily got from me, I will knavishly recover of him. To come by it, I must vary shapes, and my first shift shall be in satin.

Proteus, propitious be to my disguise, And I shall prosper in my enterprise. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SPENDALL, PURSENET, _and a_ BOY _with rackets_.

SPEND. A rubber, sirrah.

BOY. You shall, sir.

SPEND. And bid those two men you said would speak with me come in.

BOY. I will, sir. [_Exit_ BOY.

SPEND. Did I not play this set well?

_Enter_ BLANK _and another_.

PURSE. Excellent well: by Phaeton, by Erebus, it went as if it had cut the line.

BLANK. God bless you, sir.

SPEND. Master Blank, welcome.

BLANK. Here's the gentleman's man, sir, has brought the money.

SER. Will't please you tell it, sir?

SPEND. Have you the bond ready, Master Blank?

BLANK. Yes, sir.

SPEND. 'Tis well. Pursenet, help to tell--10, 11, 12. What time have you given?

BLANK. The thirteenth of the next month.

SPEND. 'Tis well: here's light gold.

SER. 'Twill be the less troublesome to carry.

SPEND. You say well, sir; how much hast thou told?

PURSE. In gold and silver, here is twenty pounds.

BLANK. 'Tis right, Master Spendall, I'll warrant you.

SPEND. I'll take your warrant, sir, and tell no farther. Come, let me see the condition of this obligation.

PURSE. A man may win from him that cares not for't. This royal Cæsar doth regard no cash; Has thrown away as much in ducks and drakes, As would have bought some 50,000 capons. [_Aside._]

SPEND. 'Tis very well; so lend me your pen.

PURSE. This is the captain of brave citizens; The Agamemnon of all merry Greeks. A Stukeley or a Sherley for his spirit,[175] Bounty and royalty to men-at-arms.

BLANK. You give this as your deed?

SPEND. Marry do I, sir.

BLANK. Pleaseth this gentleman to be a witness?

SPEND. Yes, marry shall he. Pursenet, your hand.

PURSE. My hand is at thy service, noble Brutus.

SPEND. There's for your kindness, Master Blank.

BLANK. I thank you, sir.

SPEND. There's for your pains. [_To_ SERVANT.]

SER. I thank you, sir. [_Exit._]

BLANK. I'll take my leave of you.[176]

SPEND. What, must you be gone too, Master Blank?

BLANK. Yes, indeed, sir; I must to the Exchange. [_Exit._

SPEND. Farewell to both. Pursenet, Take that twenty pounds, and give it Mistress Sweatman: Bid her pay her landlord and apothecary, And let her butcher and her baker stay; They're honest men, and I'll take order with them.

PURSE. The butcher and the baker then shall stay.

SPEND. They must, till I am somewhat stronger pursed.

PURSE. If this be all, I have my errand perfect. [_Exit_ PURSENET.

SPEND. Here, sirrah, here's for balls; there's for yourself.

BOY. I thank your worship.

SPEND. Commend me to your mistress. [_Exit._

BOY. I will, sir. In good faith, 'tis the liberall'st gentleman that comes into our court: why, he cares no more for a shilling than I do for a box o' th' ear, God bless him. [_Exit._

_Enter_ STAINES _gallant_, LONGFIELD, _and a_ SERVANT.

STAINES. Sirrah, what o'clock is't?

SER. Past ten, sir.

STAINES. Here will not be a gallant seen this hour.

SER. Within this quarter, sir, and less: they meet here as soon as at any ordinary in th' town.

STAINES. Hast any tobacco?

SER. Yes, sir.

STAINES. Fill.

LONG. Why, thou report'st miracles, things not to be believed: I protest to thee, hadst thou not unripped thyself to me, I should never have known thee.

STAINES. I tell you true, sir; I was so far gone, that desperation knocked at my elbow, and whispered news to me out of Barbary.[177]

LONG. Well, I am glad so good an occasion stay'd thee at home. And may'st thou prosper in thy project, and go on With best success of thy invention.

STAINES. False dice say amen; for that's my induction: I do mean to cheat to-day without respect of persons. When saw'st thou Will Rash?

LONG. This morning at his chamber; he'll be here.

STAINES. Why, then, do thou give him my name and character, for my aim is wholly at my worshipful master.

LONG. Nay, thou shalt take another into him: one that laughs out his life in this ordinary, thanks any man that wins his money: all the while his money is losing, he swears by the cross of this silver; and, when it is gone, he changeth it to the hilts of his sword.

_Enter_ SCATTERGOOD _and_ NINNIHAMMER.

STAINES. He'll be an excellent coach-horse for my captain.

SCAT. Save you, gallants, save you.

LONG. How think you now? have I not carved him out to you?

STAINES. Thou hast lighted me into his heart; I see him thoroughly.

SCAT. Ninnihammer!

NIN. Sir.

SCAT. Take my cloak and rapier also: I think it be early. Gentlemen, what time do you take it to be?

STAINES. Inclining to eleven, sir.

SCAT. Inclining! a good word. I would it were inclining to twelve, for by my stomach it should be high noon. But what shall we do, gallants? shall we to cards till our company come?

LONG. Please you, sir.

SCAT. Harry, fetch some cards; methinks 'tis an unseemly sight to see gentlemen stand idle. Please you to impart your smoke?

LONG. Very willingly, sir.

SCAT. In good faith, a pipe of excellent vapour.

LONG. The best the house yields.

SCAT. Had you it in the house? I thought it had been your own: 'tis not so good now as I took it to be.[178] Come, gentlemen, what's your game?

STAINES. Why, gleek; that's your only game.

SCAT. Gleek let it be, for I am persuaded I shall gleek some of you. Cut, sir.

LONG. What play we? twelvepence gleek?

SCAT. Twelvepence? a crown: ud's foot! I will not spoil my memory for twelvepence.

LONG. With all my heart.

STAINES. Honour.

SCAT. What is't, hearts?

STAINES. The king! what say you?

LONG. You must speak, sir.

SCAT. Why, I bid thirteen.

STAINES. Fourteen.

SCAT. Fifteen.

STAINES. Sixteen.

LONG. Sixteen, seventeen.

STAINES. You shall ha't for me.

SCAT. Eighteen.

LONG. Take it to you, sir.

SCAT. Ud's life! I'll not be outbraved.

STAINES. I vie it.

LONG. I'll none of it.

SCAT. Nor I.

STAINES. Give me a murnival of aces and a gleek of queens.

LONG. And me a gleek of knaves.

SCAT. Ud's life! I'm gleeked this time.

_Enter_ WILL RASH.

STAINES. Play.

W. RASH. Equal fortunes befall you, gallants.

SCAT. Will Rash: well, I pray see what a vile game I have.

W. RASH. What's your game--gleek?

SCAT. Yes, faith, gleek; and I have not one court card but the knave of clubs.

W. RASH. Thou hast a wild hand, indeed. Thy small cards show like a troop of rebels, and the knave of clubs their chief leader.

SCAT. And so they do, as God save me: by the cross of this silver, he says true.

_Enter_ SPENDALL.

STAINES. Pray, play, sir.

LONG. Honour.

W. RASH. How go the stocks, gentlemen? what's won or lost?

STAINES. This is the first game.

SCAT. Yes, this is the first game; but, by the cross of this silver, here's all of five pounds.

SPEND. Good day to you, gentlemen.

W. RASH. Frank, welcome, by this hand; how dost, lad?

SPEND. And how does thy wench, faith?

W. RASH. Why, fat and plump, like thy geldings; thou giv'st them both good provender, it seems. Go to, thou art one of the madd'st wags of a citizen i' th' town: the whole company talks of thee already.

SPEND. Talk! why, let 'em talk; ud's foot! I pay scot and lot, and all manner of duties else, as well as the best of 'em. It may be they understand I keep a whore, a horse, and a kennel of hounds; what's that to them? no man's purse opens for it but mine own; and so long my hounds shall eat flesh, my horse bread, and my whore wear velvet.

W. RASH. Why, there spoke a courageous boy.

SPEND. Ud's foot! shall I be confined all the days of my life to walk under a pent-house? No, I'll take my pleasure whilst my youth affords it.

SCAT. By the cross of these hilts, I'll never play at gleek again, whilst I have a nose on my face: I smell the knavery of the game.

SPEND. Why, what's the matter? who has lost?

SCAT. Marry, that have I. By the hilts of my sword, I have lost forty crowns in as small time almost as a man might tell it.

SPEND. Change your game for dice: we are a full number for Novem.[179]

SCAT. With all my heart. Where's Master Ambush the broker? Ninnihammer.

NIN. Sir.

SCAT. Go to Master Ambush, and bid him send me twenty marks upon this diamond.

_Enter_ BUBBLE.

NIN. I will, sir.

LONG. Look ye, to make us merrier, who comes here?

W. RASH. A fresh gamester? Master Bubble, God save you.

BUB. _Tu quoque_.

STAINES. Save you, sir.

BUB. _Et tu quoque_.

LONG. Good Master Bubble.

BUB. _Et tu quoque_.

SCAT. Is your name Master Bubble?

BUB. Master Bubble is my name, sir.

SCAT. God save you, sir.

BUB. _Et tu quoque_.

SCAT. I would be better acquainted with you.

BUB. And I with you.

SCAT. Pray, let us salute again.

BUB. With all my heart, sir.

LONG. Behold yonder the oak and the ivy, how they embrace.

W. RASH. Excellent acquaintance! they shall be the Gemini.

BUB. Shall I desire your name, sir.

SCAT. Master Scattergood.

BUB. Of the Scattergoods of London.

SCAT. No indeed, sir. Of the Scattergoods of Hampshire.

BUB. Good Master Scattergood.

STAINES. Come, gentlemen, here's dice.

SCAT. Please you, advance to the table?

BUB. No indeed, sir.

SCAT. Pray, will you go?

BUB. I will go, sir, over the world for your sake, but in courtesy I will not budge a foot.

_Enter_ NINNIHAMMER.

NIN. Here is the cash you sent me for: and, Master Rash, here is a letter from one of your sisters.

SPEND. I have the dice; set, gentlemen.

LONG. From which sister?

W. RASH. From the madcap, I know by the hand.

SPEND. For me, six.

OMNES. And six that.

STAINES. Nine; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, and 8: eighteen shillings.

SPEND. What's yours, sir?

SCAT. Mine's a baker's dozen. Master Bubble, tell your money.

BUB. In good faith, I am but a simple gamester, and do not know what to do.

SCAT. Why, you must tell your money, and he'll pay you.

BUB. My money! I do know how much my money is, but he shall not pay me; I have a better conscience than so: what, for throwing the dice twice? i' faith, he should have but a hard bargain of it.

W. RASH. Witty rascal! I must needs away.

LONG. Why, what's the matter?

W. RASH. Why, the lovers cannot agree: thou shalt along with me, and know all.

LONG. But first let me instruct thee in the condition of this gentleman: whom dost thou take him to be?

W. RASH. Nay, he's a stranger, I know him not.

LONG. By this light, but you do, if his beard were off: 'tis Staines.

W. RASH. The devil it is as soon! and what's his purpose in this disguise?

LONG. Why, cheating; do you not see how he plays upon his worshipful master and the rest?

W. RASH. By my faith, he draws apace.

SPEND. A pox upon these dice! give's a fresh bale.[180]

BUB. Ha, ha! the dice are not to be blamed; a man may perceive this is no gentlemanly gamester, by his chafing. Do you hear, my friend? fill me a glass of beer, and there's a shilling for your pains.

DRAWER. Your worship shall, sir.

W. RASH. Why, how now, Frank! what hast lost?

SPEND. Fifteen pounds and upwards: is there never an honest fellow?

AMB. What, do you lack money, sir?

SPEND. Yes, canst furnish me?

AMB. Upon a sufficient pawn, sir.

SPEND. You know my shop; bid my man deliver you a piece of three-pile velvet, and let me have as much money as you dare adventure upon't.

AMB. You shall, sir.

SPEND. A pox of this luck! it will not last [for] ever. Play, sir, I'll set you.

W. RASH. Frank, better fortune befall thee; and, gentlemen, I must take my leave, for I must leave you.

SCAT. Must you needs be gone?

W. RASH. Indeed I must.

BUB. _Et tu quoque?_

LONG. Yes, truly.

SCAT. At your discretions, gentlemen.

W. RASH. Farewell. [_Exeunt_ RASH _and_ LONGFIELD.

STAINES. Cry you mercy, sir. I am chanced with you all. Gentlemen: here I have 7, here 7, and here 10.

SPEND. 'Tis right, sir, and ten that.

BUB. And nine that.

STAINES. Two fives at all. [_Draws all._

BUB. One and five that.

SPEND. Hum! and can a suit of satin cheat so grossly? By this light, there's nought on one die but fives and sixes. I must not be thus gulled. [_Aside._

BUB. Come, Master Spendall, set.

SPEND. No, sir, I have done.

SCAT. Why, then let us all leave, for I think dinner's near ready.

DRAWER. Your meat's upon the table.

SCAT. On the table! come, gentlemen, we do our stomachs wrong. Master Bubble, what have you lost.

BUB. That's no matter: what I have lost, I have lost; nor can I choose but smile at the foolishness of the dice.

STAINES. I am but your steward, gentlemen; for after dinner I may restore it again.

BUB. Master Scattergood, will you walk in?

SCAT. I'll wait upon you, sir. Come, gentlemen, will you follow?

[_Exeunt._

_Manent_ SPENDALL _and_ STAINES.

STAINES. Yes, sir, I'll follow you.

SPEND. Hear you, sir, a word.

STAINES. Ten, if you please.

SPEND. I have lost fifteen pounds.

STAINES. And I have found it.

SPEND. You say right; found it you have, indeed, But never won it. Do you know this die?

STAINES. Not I, sir.

SPEND. You seem a gentleman, and you may perceive I have some respect unto your credit To take you thus aside. Will you restore What you have drawn from me unlawfully?

STAINES. Sirrah, by your outside you seem a citizen, Whose cock's-comb I were apt enough to break, But for the law. Go, y' are a prating jack: Nor is't your hopes of crying out for clubs Can save you from my chastisement, if once You shall but dare to utter this again.

SPEND. You lie; you dare not.

STAINES. Lie! nay, villain, now Thou tempt'st me to thy death.

SPEND. Soft, you must buy it dearer; The best blood flows within you is the price.

STAINES. Dar'st thou resist? thou art no citizen.

SPEND. I am a citizen.

STAINES. Say thou art a gentleman, and I am satisfied; For then I know thou'lt answer me in field.

SPEND. I'll say directly what I am, a citizen; And I will meet thee in the field as fairly As the best gentleman that wears a sword.[181]

STAINES. I accept it: the meeting-place?

SPEND. Beyond the Maze in Tuttle.[182]

STAINES. What weapon?

SPEND. Single rapier.

STAINES. The time?

SPEND. To-morrow.

STAINES. The hour?

SPEND. 'Twixt nine and ten.

STAINES. 'Tis good; I shall expect you. Farewell.

SPEND. Farewell, sir. [_Exeunt omnes._

_Enter_ WILL RASH, LONGFIELD, _and_ JOYCE.

W. RASH. Why, I commend thee, girl; thou speak'st as thou think'st. Thy tongue and thy heart are relatives; and thou wert not my sister, I should at this time fall in love with thee.

JOYCE. You should not need, for, and you were not my brother, I should fall in love with you, for I love a proper man with my heart, and so does all the sex of us, let my sister dissemble never so much. I am out of charity with these nice and squeamish tricks. We were born for men, and men for us; and we must together.

W. RASH. This same plain-dealing is a jewel in thee.

JOYCE. And let me enjoy that jewel, for I love plain-dealing with my heart.

W. RASH. Th' art a good wench, i' faith. I should never be ashamed to call thee sister, though thou shouldst marry a broom-man. But your lover, methinks, is over-tedious.

_Enter_ GERALDINE.

JOYCE. No, look ye, sir; could you wish a man to come better upon his cue?[183] Let us withdraw.

W. RASH. Close, close, for the prosecution of the plot, wench. See, he prepares.

JOYCE. Silence.

GERA. The sun is yet wrapp'd in Aurora's arms, And, lull'd with her delight, forgets us[184] creatures. Awake, thou god of heat, I call thee up, and task[185] thee for thy slowness. Point all thy beams through yonder flaring glass, And raise a beauty brighter than thyself. [_Music._ Musicians, give each instrument a tongue, To breathe sweet music in the ears of her To whom I send it as a messenger.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _aloft_.

GERT. Sir, your music is so good, that I must say I like it: but the bringer so ill-welcome, that I could be content to lose it. If you played for money, there 'tis; if for love, here's none; if for goodwill, I thank you, and, when you will, you may be gone.

GERA. Leave me not entranc'd; sing not my death; Thy voice is able to make satyrs tame, And call rough winds to her obedience.

GERT. Sir, sir, our ears itch not for flattery. Here you besiege my window, and[186] I dare not Put forth myself to take the gentle air, But you are in the fields, and volley out Your woes, your plaints, your loves, your injuries.

GERA. Since you have heard, and know them, give redress; True beauty never yet was merciless.

GERT. Sir, rest thus satisfied; my mind was never woman, never altered; nor shall it now begin: so fare you well.

[_Exit_ GERTRUDE.

W. RASH. 'Sfoot, she plays the terrible tyrannising Tamberlane over him. This it is to turn Turk; from a most absolute, complete gentleman to a most absurd, ridiculous, and fond lover. [_Aside._]

LONG. O, when a woman knows the power and authority of her eye!----

[_Aside._]

JOYCE. Fie upon her! she's good for nothing then, no more than a jade that knows his own strength. The window is clasped; now, brother, pursue your project, and deliver your friend from the tyranny of my domineering sister. [_Aside._]

W. RASH. Do you hear, you drunkard in love? Come into us, and be ruled. You would little think that the wench that talked so scurvily out of the window there is more enamoured on thee than thou on her. Nay, look you now: see if he turn not away, slighting our good counsel. I am no Christian if she do not sigh, whine, and grow sick for thee. Look you, sir: I will bring you in good witness against her.

JOYCE. Sir, you are My brother's friend, and I'll be plain with you. You do not take the course to win my sister, But indirectly go about the bush; you come And fiddle here, and keep a coil in verse; Hold off your hat, and beg to kiss her hand; Which makes her proud. But, to be short; in two lines, thus it is-- Who most doth love, must seem most to neglect it; For those that show most love, are least respected.

LONG. A good observation, by my faith.

W. RASH. Well, this instruction comes too late now. Stand you close, and let me prosecute my invention.--[187] Sister, O sister! wake, arise, sister.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _above_.

GERT. How now, brother; why call you with such terror?

W. RASH. How can you sleep so sound, and hear such groans, So horrid and so tedious to the ear, that I Was frighted hither by the sound? O sister, Here lies a gentleman that lov'd you too dearly And himself too ill, as by his death appears. I can report no farther without tears. Assist me now. [_Aside to_ LONGFIELD.

LONG. When he came first, death startled in his eyes; His hand had not forsook the dagger-hilt, But still he gave it strength, as if he fear'd He had not sent it home unto his heart.

GERT. Enough, enough! If you will have me live, give him no name; Suspicion tells me 'tis my Geraldine: But be it whom it will, I'll come to him, To suffer death as resolute as he. [_Exit_ GERTRUDE.

W. RASH. Did not I tell you 'twould take? Down, sir, down.[188]

GERA. I guess what you'd have me do.

LONG. O, for a little blood to besprinkle him!

W. RASH. No matter for blood, I'll not suffer her to come near him till the plot have ta'en his full height.

GERA. A scarf o'er my face, lest I betray myself.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _below_.

W. RASH. Here, here, lie still, she comes. Now, Mercury, be propitious.

GERT. Where lies this spectacle of blood? This tragic scene?

W. RASH. Yonder lies Geraldine.

GERT. O, let me see him with his face of death! Why do you stay me from my Geraldine?

W. RASH. Because, unworthy as thou art, thou shalt not see The man now dead, whom living thou didst scorn. The worst part that he had deserv'd thy best; But yet contemn'd, deluded, mock'd, despis'd by you, Unfit for aught but for the general work Which you were made for, man's creation.

GERT. Burst not my heart, before I see my love, Brother, upon my knees, I beg your leave, That I may see the wound of Geraldine: I will embalm his body with my tears, And carry him unto his sepulchre. From whence I'll never rise, but be interr'd In the same dust he shall be buried in.

LONG. I do protest she draws sad tears from me. I prythee, let her see her Geraldine. [_Aside._

GERT. Brother, if e'er you lov'd me as a sister, Deprive me not the sight of Geraldine.

W. RASH. Well, I am contented you shall touch his lips, But neither see his face nor yet his wound.

GERT. Not see his face?

W. RASH. Nay, I have sworn it to the contrary: Nay, hark you, farther yet.

GERT. What now?

W. RASH. But one kiss--no more.

GERT. Why, then, no more.

W. RASH. Marry, this liberty I'll give you: If you intend to make any speech of repentance Over him, I am content, so it be short.

GERT. What you command is law, and I obey.

JOYCE. Peace, give ear to the passion. [_Aside._]

GERT. Before I touch thy body, I implore Thy discontented ghost to be appeas'd. Send not unto me, till I come myself; Then shalt thou know how much I honour'd thee, O, see the colour of his coral lip Which, in despite of death, lives full and fresh, As when he was the beauty of his sex! 'Twere sin worthy the worst of plagues to leave thee; Not all the strength and policy of man Shall snatch me from thy bosom.

LONG. Look, look; I think she'll ravish him! [_Aside._

W. RASH. Why, how now, sister?

GERT. Shall we have both one grave; here I am chain'd; Thunder nor earthquakes shall e'er shake me off.

W. RASH. No? I'll try that. [_Aside._] Come, dead man, awake! up with your bag and baggage, and let's have no more fooling.

GERT. And lives my Geraldine?

W. RASH. Live! faith, ay; Why should he not? he was never dead That I know on.

GERA. It is no wonder Geraldine should live, Though he had emptied all his vital spirits. The lute of Orpheus spake not half so sweet, When he descended to th' infernal vaults, To fetch again his fair Eurydice, As did thy sweet voice unto Geraldine.

GERT. I'll exercise that voice, since it doth please My better self, my constant Geraldine.

JOYCE. Why so, la, here's an end of an old song! Why could not this have been done before, I pray?

GERT. O, y' are a goodly sister, this is your plot. Well, I shall live one day to requite you.

JOYCE. Spare me not: for wheresoever I set my affection, although it be upon a collier, if I fall back, unless it be in the right kind, bind me to a stake, and let me be burned to death with charcoal.

W. RASH. Well, thou art a mad wench, and there's no more to be done at this time, but, as we brought you together, so to part you: you must not lie at rack and manger; there be those within that will forbid the banns: time must shake good-fortune by the hand before you two must be great; 'specially you, sister. Come, leave swearing.

GERT. Must we then part?

W. RASH. Must you part! why, how think you? ud's foot! I do think we shall have as much to do to get her from him as we had to bring her to him. This love of women is of strange quality, and has more tricks than a juggler. [_Aside._]

GERT. But this, and then farewell.

GERA. Thy company[189] is heaven, thy absence hell.

W. RASH. Lord, who'd think it? [_Aside._]

JOYCE. Come, wench. [_Exeunt omnes._

_Enter_ SPENDALL _and_ STAINES. _Tothill Fields_.

SPEND. This ground is firm and even, I'll go no farther.

STAINES. This be the place then; and prepare you, sir; You shall have fair play for your life of me, For, look, sir, I'll be open-breasted to you.

SPEND. Shame light on him that thinks His safety lieth in a French doublet. Nay, I would strip myself, would comeliness Give sufferance to the deed, and fight with thee As naked as a Mauritanian Moor.

STAINES. Give me thy hand; by my heart, I love thee. Thou art the highest-spirited citizen That ever Guildhall took notice of.

SPEND. Talk not what I am, until you have tried me.

STAINES. Come on, sir. [_They fight._

SPEND. Now, sir, your life is mine.

STAINES. Why then, take it, for I'll not beg it of thee.

SPEND. Nobly resolv'd, I love thee for those words. Here, take thy arms again, and, if thy malice Have spent itself like mine, then let us part More friendly than we met at first encounter.

STAINES. Sir, I accept This gift of you, but not your friendship, Until I shall recover 't with my honour.

SPEND. Will you fight again, then?

STAINES. Yes.

SPEND. Faith, thou dost well, then, Justly to whip my folly. But come, sir.

STAINES. Hold: y' are hurt, I take it.

SPEND. Hurt! where? zounds, I feel it not.

STAINES. You bleed, I am sure.

SPEND. 'Sblood, I think you wear a cat's-claw upon your rapier's point: I am scratched indeed: but, small as 'tis, I must have blood for blood.

STAINES. Y' are bent to kill, I see.

SPEND. No, by my hopes; if I can 'scape that sin, And keep my good name, I'll never offer't.

STAINES. Well, sir, your worst.

SPEND. We both bleed now, I take it; And, if the motion may be equal thought To part with clasp'd hands, I shall first subscribe.

STAINES. 'Twere unmanliness in me to refuse The safety of us both; my hand shall never fall From such a charitable motion.

SPEND. Then join we both, and here our malice ends: Though foes we came to th' field, we'll depart friends. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR LIONEL _and a_ SERVANT.

SIR LIONEL. Come, come, follow me, knave, follow me; I have the best nose i' the house, I think: either we shall have rainy weather, or the vault's unstopped. Sirrah, go see; I would not have my guests smell out any such inconvenience. Do you hear, sirrah Simon?

SER. Sir.

SIR LIONEL. Bid the kitchen-maid scour the sink, and make clean her backside, for the wind lies just upon't.

SER. I will, sir.

SIR LIONEL. And bid Anthony put on his white fustian doublet, for he must wait to-day. [_Exit_ SERVANT.] It doth me so much good to stir and talk, to place this and displace that, that I shall need no apothecaries' prescriptions. I have sent my daughter this morning as far as Pimlico,[190] to fetch a draught of Derby ale,[191] that it may fetch a colour in her cheeks: the puling harlotry looks so pale, and it is all for want of a man, for so their mother would say (God rest her soul) before she died. [_Exit._

_Enter_ BUBBLE, SCATTERGOOD, STAINES, _and_ SERVANT.

SER. Sir, the gentlemen are come already.

SIR LIONEL. How, knave? the gentlemen?

SER. Yes, sir: yonder they are.

SIR LIONEL. God's precious! we are too tardy: let one be sent presently to meet the girls, and hasten their coming home quickly. How, dost thou stand dreaming! [_Exit_ SERVANT.] Gentlemen, I see you love me, you are careful of your hour; you may be deceived in your cheer, but not in your welcome.

BUB. Thanks, and _Tu quoque_ is a word for all.

SCAT. A pretty concise room; Sir Lionel, where are your daughters?

SIR LIONEL. They are at your service, sir, and forthcoming.

BUB. God's will, Gervase! how shall I behave myself to the gentlewomen?

STAINES. Why, advance yourself toward them with a comely step; and in your salute be careful you strike not too high nor too low: and afterward, for your discourse, your _Tu quoque_ will bear you out.

BUB. Nay, and that be all, I care not, for I'll set a good face on't, that's flat: and for my nether parts, let them speak for themselves. Here's a leg; and ever a baker in England show a better, I'll give him mine for nothing.

STAINES. O, that's a special thing that I must caution you of.

BUB. What, sweet Gervase?

STAINES. Why, for commending yourself: never, whilst you live, commend yourself; and then you shall have the ladies themselves commend you.

BUB. I would they would else.

STAINES. Why, they will, I'll assure you, sir; and the more vilely you speak of yourself, the more will they strive to collaud you.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _and_ JOYCE.

BUB. Let me alone to dispraise myself: I'll make myself the errantest coxcomb within a whole country.

SIR LIONEL. Here come the gipsies, the sun-burnt girls, Whose beauties will not utter them alone; They must have bags, although my credit crack for't.

BUB. Is this the eldest, sir?

SIR LIONEL. Yes, marry is she, sir.

BUB. I'll kiss the youngest first, because she likes me best.[192]

SCAT. Marry, sir, and whilst you are there, I'll be here. [_Kisses the elder._] O delicious touch! I think in conscience her lips are lined quite through with orange-tawny velvet.

BUB. They kiss exceeding well; I do not think but they have been brought up to't. I will begin to her, like a gentleman, in a set speech. Fair lady, shall I speak a word with you?

JOYCE. With me, sir?

BUB. With you, lady;--this way,--a little more,-- So, now 'tis well; umh-- Even as a drummer,--or a pewterer----

JOYCE. Which of the two, no matter, For one beats on a drum, t'other a platter.

BUB. In good faith, sweet lady, you say true; But pray, mark me farther: I will begin again.

JOYCE. I pray, sir, do.

BUB. Even as a drummer, as I said before, Or as a pewterer----

JOYCE. Very good, sir.

BUB. Do--do--do.

JOYCE. What do they do?

BUB. By my troth, lady, I do not know; for to say truth, I am a kind of an ass.

JOYCE. How, sir? an ass?

BUB. Yes, indeed, lady.

JOYCE. Nay, that you are not.

BUB. So God ha' me, I am, lady: you never saw An erranter ass in your life.

JOYCE. Why, here's a gentleman, your friend, will not say so.

BUB. I' faith, but he shall: how say you, sir? Am not I an ass?

SCAT. Yes, by my troth, lady, is he. Why, I'll say anything my brother Bubble says. [_Aside._]

GERT. Is this the man my father chose for me, To make a husband of? O God, how blind Are parents in our loves! so they have wealth, They care not to what things they marry us.

BUB. Pray, look upon me, lady.

JOYCE. So I do, sir.

BUB. Ay, but look upon me well, and tell me if ever you saw any man look so scurvily as I do?

JOYCE. The fellow, sure, is frantic. [_Aside._]

BUB. You do not mark me.

JOYCE. Yes, indeed, sir.

BUB. Ay, but look upon me well: Did you ever see a worse-timber'd leg?

JOYCE. By my faith, 'tis a pretty four-square leg.

BUB. Ay, but your four-square legs are none of the best. O Gervase, Gervase! [_Aside._]

STAINES. Excellent well, sir.

BUB. What say you now to me, lady? Can you find E'er a good inch about me?

JOYCE. Yes, that I can, sir.

BUB. Find it and take it, sweet lady. There I think I bobbed her, Gervase. [_Aside._]

JOYCE. Well, sir, disparage not yourself so: For, if you were the man you'd make yourself, Yet out of your behaviour and discourse I could find cause enough to love you.

BUB. Ah! now she comes to me. [_Aside._] My behaviour! alas, alas! 'tis clownical; and my discourse is very bald--bald; you shall not hear me break a good jest in a twelvemonth.

JOYCE. No, sir? why, now you break a good jest.

BUB. No, I want the _bon jour_ and the _Tu quoques_ which yonder gentleman has. There's a bob for him too. [_Aside._] There's a gentleman, an you talk of a gentleman!

JOYCE. Who, he? he's a coxcomb, indeed.

BUB. We are sworn brothers, in good faith, lady.

_Enter_ SERVANT.

SCAT. Yes, in truth, we are sworn brothers, and do mean to go both alike, and to have horses alike.

JOYCE. And they shall be sworn brothers, too?

SCAT. If it please them, lady.

SER. Master Balance the goldsmith desires to speak with you.

SIR LIONEL. Bid him come, knave.

SCAT. I wonder, Sir Lionel, your son, Will Rash, is not here.

SIR LIONEL. Is he of your acquaintance, sir?

SCAT. O, very familiar: he struck me a box o' th' ear once, and from thence grew my love to him.

_Enter_ BALANCE.

SIR LIONEL. It was a sign of virtue in you, sir; but he'll be here at dinner. Master Balance, what makes you so strange? Come, you're welcome; what's the news?

BAL. Why, sir, the old news: your man Francis riots still; And little hope of thrift there is in him. Therefore I come to advise your worship To take some order while there's something left: The better part of his best ware's consum'd.

SIR LIONEL. Speak softly, Master Balance. But is there no hope of his recovery?

BAL. None at all, sir; for he's already laid to be arrested by some that I know.

SIR LIONEL. Well, I do suffer for him, and am loth Indeed to do what I'm constrain'd to do: Well, sir, I mean to seize on what is left. And, hark ye--one word more. [_Whispers._

JOYCE. What heinous sin has yonder man committed, To have so great a punishment, as wait Upon the humours of an idle fool? A very proper fellow, good leg, good face, A body well-proportioned; but his mind Bewrays he never came of generous kind.

_Enter_ WILL RASH _and_ GERALDINE.

SIR LIONEL. Go to; no more of this at this time. What, sir, are you come?

W. RASH. Yes, sir; and have made bold to bring a guest along.

SIR LIONEL. Master Geraldine's son of Essex?

GERA. The same, sir.

SIR LIONEL. You're welcome, sir; when will your father be in town?

GERA. 'Twill not be long, sir.

SIR LIONEL. I shall be glad to see him when he comes.

GERA. I thank you, sir.

SIR LIONEL. In the meantime, you're welcome; pray, be not strange. I'll leave my son amongst you, gentlemen. I have some business. Hark you, Master Balance--Dinner will soon be ready. One word more----

[_Exeunt_ SIR LIONEL _and_ BALANCE.

W. RASH. And how does my little Asinus and his _Tu quoque_, here? O, you pretty sweet-faced rogues! that for your countenances might be Alexander and Lodwick.[193] What says the old man to you! will't be a match? shall we call brothers?

SCAT. I' faith, with all my heart: if Mistress Gertrude will, we will be married to-morrow.

BUB. 'Sfoot, if Mistress Joyce will, we'll be married to-night.

W. RASH. Why, you courageous boys, and worthy wenches made out of wax! But what shall's do when we have dined? shall's go see a play?

SCAT. Yes, faith, brother, if it please you: let's go see a play at the Globe.

BUB. I care not; any whither, so the clown have a part; for, i' faith, I am nobody without a fool.

GERA. Why, then, we'll go to the Red Bull: they say Green's a good clown.

BUB. Green! Green's an ass.

SCAT. Wherefore do you say so?

BUB. Indeed, I ha' no reason; for they say he is as like me as ever he can look.

SCAT. Well, then, to the Bull.

W. RASH. A good resolution!--continue it: nay, on.

BUB. Not before the gentlewomen; not I, never.

W. RASH. O, while you live, men before women: custom hath placed it so.

BUB. Why, then, custom is not so mannerly as I would be.

[_Exeunt_ BUBBLE _and_ SCATTERGOOD.

W. RASH. Farewell, Master Scattergood. Come, lover, you're too busy here. I must tutor ye: cast not your eye at the table on each other; my father will spy you without spectacles; he is a shrewd observer. Do you hear me?

GERA. Very well, sir.

W. RASH. Come, then, go we together; let the wenches alone. Do you see yonder fellow?

GERA. Yes; prythee, what is he?

W. RASH. I'll give you him within: he must Not now be thought on; but you shall know him. [_Exeunt_ WILL RASH _and_ GERALDINE.

GERT. I have observ'd my sister, and her eye Is much inquisitive after yond' fellow; She has examin'd him from head to foot: I'll stay and see the issue. [_Withdraws a little._]

JOYCE. To wrastle 'gainst the stream of our affection, Is to strike air, or buffet with the wind That plays upon us. I have striv'd to cast This fellow from my thoughts, but still he grows More comely in my sight: yet [is] a slave, Unto one worse-condition'd than a slave. They are all gone; here's none but he and I: Now I will speak to him--and yet I will not. O, I [do] wrong myself; I will suppress That insurrection love hath train'd in me, And leave him as he is. Once my bold spirit Had vow'd to utter all my thoughts to him, On whom I settled my affection, And why retires it now?

STAINES. Fight, love, on both sides; for on me thou strik'st Strokes that have beat my heart into a flame. She hath sent amorous glances from her eye, Which I have back return'd as faithfully. I would make to her, but these servile robes Curb that suggestion, till some fitter time Shall bring me more persuadingly unto her. [_Aside._

JOYCE. I wonder why he stays; I fear he notes me, For I have publicly betray'd myself By too much gazing on him. I will leave him. [_Aside._

GERT. But you shall not: I'll make you speak to him Before you go. Do you hear, sir?

JOYCE. What mean you, sister?

GERT. To fit you in your kind, sister. Do you remember How you once tyrannis'd o'er me?

JOYCE. Nay, prythee, leave this jesting; I am out of the vein.[194]

GERT. Ay, but I am in. Go and speak to your lover.

JOYCE. I'll first be buried quick.

GERT. How! ashamed? 'Sfoot, I trow, "if I had set my affection on a collier, I'd ne'er fall back, unless it were in the right kind: if I did, let me be tied to a stake, and burnt to death with charcoal."[195]

JOYCE. Nay, then, we shall have't.

GERT. Yes, marry shall you, sister: will you speak to him?

JOYCE. No.

GERT. Do you hear, sir? here's a gentlewoman would speak with you.

JOYCE. Why, sister! I pray, sister----

GERT. One that loves you with all her heart, yet is ashamed to confess it.

STAINES. Did you call, ladies?

JOYCE. No, sir; here's no one called.

GERT. Yes, sir, 'twas I; I called to speak with you.

JOYCE. My sister's somewhat frantic; there's no regard to be had unto her clamours. Will you yet leave? I' faith, you'll anger me.

GERT. Passion: "come back, fool; lover, turn again and kiss your bellyful; here's one will stand ye."[196]

STAINES. What does this mean, trow?

JOYCE. Yet is your humour spent?

GERT. Come, let me go: "birds that want the use of reason and of speech can couple together in one day; and yet you, that have both, cannot conclude in twenty."[197] Now, sister, I am even with you, my venom is spit. As much happiness may you enjoy with your lover as I with mine. And droop not, wench, nor never be ashamed of him; the man will serve the turn, though he be wrapped in a blue coat, I'll warrant him; come.

JOYCE. You are merrily disposed, sister. [_Exeunt wenches._

STAINES. I needs Must prosper: fortune and love work for me. Be moderate, my joys; for, as you grow To your full height, so Bubble's waxeth low. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SPENDALL, SWEATMAN, _and_ TICKLEMAN.

TICKLE. Will my sweet Spendall be gone, then?

SPEND. I must, upon promise; but I'll be here at supper: therefore, Mistress Sweatman, provide us some good cheer.

SWEAT. The best the market will yield.

SPEND. Here's twenty shillings; I protest I have left myself but a crown for my spending-money: for indeed I intend to be frugal, and turn good husband.

TICKLE. Ay, marry will you; you'll to play again and lose your money, and fall to fighting; my very heart trembles to think on it; how, if you had been killed in the quarrel? of my faith, I had been but a dead woman.

SPEND. Come, come, no more of this; thou dost but dissemble.

TICKLE. Dissemble! do not you say so; for if you do, God is my judge, I'll give myself a gash.

SPEND. Away, away; prythee, no more. Farewell.

TICKLE. Nay, buss first; well, There's no adversity in the world shall part us.

SPEND. Thou art a loving rascal; farewell.

SWEAT. You will not fail supper?

SPEND. You have my word; farewell. [_Exit._

_The street. Enter_ SERJEANTS.

1ST SER. Sir, we arrest you.

SPEND. Arrest me! at whose suit?

2D SER. Marry, there's suits enough against you, I'll warrant you.

1ST SER. Come, away with him.

SPEND. Stay, hear me a word.

2D SER. What do you say?

SWEATMAN'S _house. Another part of the street_.

_Enter_ PURSENET.

TICKLE. How now, Pursenet? why com'st in such haste?

PURSE. Shut up your doors, and bar young Spendall out; And let him be cashier'd your company. He's turn'd bankrout; his wares are seiz'd on; And's shop shut up.

TICKLE. How! his ware seized on? Thou dost but jest, I hope.

PURSE. What this tongue doth report, these eyes have seen; It is no Æsop's fable that I tell; But it is true, as I am faithful pander.

SWEAT. Nay, I did ever think the prodigal would prove A bankrupt: but, hang him, let him rot In prison; he comes no more within these doors, I warrant him.

TICKLE. Come hither! I would he would but offer it; We'll fire him out, with a pox to him.

SPEND. Will you do it? To carry me to prison but undoes me.

1ST SER. What say you, fellow Gripe, shall we take his forty shillings?

2D SER. Yes, faith; we shall have him again within this week. [_Aside._

1ST SER. Well, sir, your forty shillings; and we'll have some compassion on you.

SPEND. Will you but walk with me unto that house, And there you shall receive it.

SER. What, where the women are?

SPEND. Yes, sir. [_They walk together to the house._

SWEAT. Look yonder, if the ungracious rascal be not coming hither betwixt two serjeants: he thinks, belike, that we'll relieve him; let us go in and clap the doors against him.

PURSE. It is the best course, Mistress Tickleman.

TICKLE. But I say no, you shall not stir a foot; For I will talk with him.

SPEND. Nan, I am come, Even in the minute that thou didst profess Kindness unto me, to make trial of it. Adversity, thou seest, lays hands upon me: But forty shillings will deliver me.

TICKLE. Why, you impudent rogue, do you come to me for money? Or do I know you? what acquaintance, pray, Hath ever pass'd betwixt yourself and me?

SER. Zounds, do you mock us, to bring us to these women, that do not know you?

SWEAT. Yes, in good sooth (officers, I take't you are)

He's a mere stranger here; only in charity Sometimes we have reliev'd him with a meal.

SPEND. This is not earnest in you? Come, I know, My gifts and bounty cannot so soon be buried. Go, prythee, fetch forty shillings.

TICKLE. Talk not to me, you slave, of forty shillings; For by this light that shines, ask it again, I'll send my knife of an errand in your guts. A shameless rogue, to come to me for money!

SWEAT. Is he your prisoner, gentlemen?

SER. Yes, marry is he.

SWEAT. Pray, carry him then to prison, let him smart for't: Perhaps 'twill tame the wildness of his youth, And teach him how to lead a better life. He had good counsel here, I can assure you, And if he would have took it.

PURSE. I told him still myself what would ensue.

SPEND. Furies break loose in me: serjeants, let me go; I'll give you all I have to purchase freedom But for a lightning while, to tear yond whore, Bawd, pander, and in them the devil; for there's His hell, his local habitation; Nor has he any other place.[198]

SER. No, sir, we'll take no bribes. [_Takes_ SPENDALL'S _cloak_.

SPEND. Honest serjeants, give me leave to unlade A heart o'ercharg'd with grief; as I have a soul, I'll not break from you. [_They loose him._] Thou strumpet, that wert born to ruin me,[199] My fame and fortune, be subject to my curse, And hear me speak it. May'st thou in thy youth Feel the sharp whip, and in thy beldam age The cart: when thou art grown to be An old upholster unto venery, (A bawd, I mean, to live by feather-beds) May'st thou be driven to sell all thou hast, Unto thy _aqua-vitæ_ bottle (that's the last A bawd will part withal) and live so poor That, being turn'd forth thy house, may'st die at door!

SER. Come, sir, ha' you done?

SPEND. A little farther give me leave, I pray; I have a charitable prayer to end with. May the French cannibal[200] eat into thy flesh, And pick thy bones so clean, that the report Of thy calamity may draw resort Of all the common sinners in the town, To see thy mangl'd carcass; and that then They may upon't turn honest; bawd, say amen. [_Exit._

SWEAT. Out upon him, wicked villain, how he blasphemes!

PURSE. He will be damn'd for turning heretic.

TICKLE. Hang him, bankrout rascal, let him talk in prison, The whilst we'll spend his goods; for I did never Hear that men took example by each other.

SWEAT. Well, if men did rightly consider't, they should find that whores and bawds are profitable members in a commonwealth; for indeed, though we somewhat impair their bodies, yet we do good to their souls; for I am sure, we still bring them to repentance.

PURSE. By Dis, and so we do.

SWEAT. Come, come, will you dis before? thou art one of them that I warrant thee will, be hanged, before thou wilt repent. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ WILL RASH, STAINES, _and_ GERALDINE.

W. RASH. Well, this love is a troublesome thing. Jupiter, bless me out of his fingers; there's no estate can rest for him: he runs through all countries, will travel through the Isle of Man in a minute; but never is quiet till he comes into Middlesex, and there keeps his Christmas: 'tis his habitation, his mansion, from whence he'll never out till he be fired.

GERA. Well, do not tyrannise too much, lest one day he make you know his deity, by sending a shaft out of a sparkling eye shall strike so deep into your heart, that it shall make you fetch your breath short again.

W. RASH. And make me cry, _O eyes, no eyes, but two celestial stars!_[201] A pox on't, I'd as lief hear a fellow sing through the nose. How now, wench?

_Enter_ GERTRUDE.

GERT. Keep your station: you stand as well for the encounter as may be: she is coming on; but as melancholy as a bass-viol in concert.

W. RASH. Which makes thee as sprightly as the treble. Now dost thou play thy prize: here's the honourable science, one against another. Do you hear, lover; the thing is done you wot of; you shall have your wench alone without any disturbance; now if you can do any good, why so; the silver game be yours; we'll stand by and give aim,[202] and halloo, if you hit the clout.

STAINES. 'Tis all the assistance I request of you. Bring me but opportunely to her presence, And I desire no more; and if I cannot win her, Let me lose her.

GERT. Well, sir, let me tell you, perhaps you undertake A harder task than yet you do imagine.

STAINES. A task! what, to win a woman, and have opportunity? I would that were a task, i' faith, for any man that wears his wits about him. Give me but half an hour's conference with the coldest creature of them all; and if I bring her not into a fool's paradise, I'll pull out my tongue, and hang it at her door for a draw-latch. Ud's foot! I'd ne'er stand thrumming of caps for the matter; I'll quickly make trial of her. If she love to have her beauty praised, I'll praise it; if her wit, I'll commend it; if her good parts, I'll exalt them. No course shall 'scape me; for to whatsoever I saw her inclined, to that would I fit her.

W. RASH. But you must not do thus to her; for she's a subtle, flouting rogue, that will laugh you out of countenance, if you solicit her seriously. No, talk me to her wantonly, slightly, and carelessly, and perhaps so you may prevail as much with her as wind does with a sail--carry her whither thou wilt, bully.

_Enter_ JOYCE.

STAINES. Well, sir, I'll follow your instruction.

W. RASH. Do so: and see, she appears. Fall you two off from us; let us two walk together.

JOYCE. Why did my inquiring eye take in this fellow, And let him down so easy to my heart, Where, like a conqueror, he seizes on it, And beats all other men out of my bosom?

W. RASH. Sister, you're well met. Here's a gentleman desires to be acquainted with you.

JOYCE. See, the servingman is turned a gentleman! That villanous wench, my sister, has no mercy. She and my brother have conspired together to play upon me; but I'll prevent their sport; for, rather than my tongue shall have scope to speak matter to give them mirth, my heart shall break. [_Aside._]

W. RASH. You have your desire, sir; I'll leave you; Grapple with her as you can. [_Aside. Exit._]

STAINES. Lady, God save you.-- She turns back upon the motion; There's no good to be done by praying for her, I see that; I must plunge into a passion: Now for a piece of Hero and Leander; 'Twere excellent, and (praise be to my memory), It has reach'd half a dozen lines for the purpose: Well, she shall have them-- "One is no number, maids are nothing, then,[203] Without the sweet society of men. Wilt thou live single still? one shalt thou be, Though never singling Hymen couple thee. Wild savages, that drink of running springs, Think water far excels all earthly things: But they that daily taste neat wine, despise it. Virginity, albeit some highly prize it, Compar'd with marriage, had you tried them both, Differs as much as wine and water doth." No? Why then, have at you in another kind.

"By the faith of a soldier, lady, I do reverence the ground that you walk upon. I will fight with him that dares say you are not fair; stab him that will not pledge your health, and with a dagger pierce a vein,[204] to drink a full health to you; but it shall be on this condition, that you shall speak first." Ud's foot! if I could but get her to talk once half my labour were over; but I'll try her in another vein. "What an excellent creature is a woman without a tongue! but what a more excellent creature is a woman that has a tongue, and can hold her peace! but how much more excellent and fortunate a creature is that man that has that woman to his wife!" This cannot choose but mad her; and if anything make a woman talk, 'tis this. It will not do, though, yet. I pray God they have not gulled me. But I'll try once again--"When will that tongue take liberty to talk? Speak but one word, and I'm satisfied: Or do but say but mum, and I am answer'd." No sound? no accent? Is there no noise in women? Nay, then without direction I ha' done. I must go call for help. [_Leaves her._

W. RASH. How! not speak?

STAINES. Not a syllable. Night nor sleep is not more silent. She's as dumb as Westminster Hall in the long vacation.

W. RASH. Well, and what would you have me do?

STAINES. Why, make her speak.

W. RASH. And what then?

STAINES. Why, let me alone with her.

W. RASH. Ay, so you said before; give you but opportunity, and let you alone--you'd desire no more. But come, I'll try my cunning for you; see what I can do. How do you, sister? I am sorry to hear you are not well. This gentleman tells me you have lost your tongue; I pray, let's see. If you can but make signs whereabout you lost it, we'll go and look for't. In good faith, sister, you look very pale; in my conscience, 'tis for grief. Will you have any comfortable drinks sent for? This is not the way [_aside_]; come, walk, seem earnest in discourse, cast not an eye towards her, and you shall see weakness work itself.

JOYCE. My heart is swoll'n so big that it must vent, Or it will burst. [_Aside._] Are you a brother?

W. RASH. Look to yourself, sir; The brazen head has spoke,[205] and I must leave you.

JOYCE. Has shame that power in him, to make him fly, And dare you be so impudent to stand Just in the face of my incensed anger? What are you? why do you stay? who sent for you? You were in garments yesterday, befitting A fellow of your fashion: has a crown Purchased that shining satin of the brokers? Or is't a cast suit of your goodly master's?

STAINES. A cast suit, lady?

JOYCE. You think it does become you? Faith, it does not. A blue coat[206] with a badge does better with you. Go, untruss your master's points, and do not dare To stop your nose when as his worship stinks: 'T has been your breeding.

STAINES. Ud's life! this is excellent: now she talks. [_Aside._

JOYCE. Nay, were you a gentleman, and (which is more) Well-landed, I should hardly love you; For, for your face, I never saw a worse: It looks as if 'twere drawn with yellow ochre Upon black buckram; and that hair That's on your chin looks not like beard, But as if't had been smear'd with shoemakers' wax.

STAINES. Ud's foot! she'll make me out of love with myself. [_Aside._

JOYCE. How dares your baseness once aspire unto So high a fortune, as to reach at me? Because you have heard that some have run away With butlers, horsekeepers, and their father's clerks, You, forsooth, cocker'd with your own suggestion, Take heart upon't, and think me (that am meet, And set up for your master) fit for you.

STAINES. I would I could get her now to hold her tongue. [_Aside_

JOYCE. Or, 'cause sometimes as I have pass'd along, And have return'd a courtesy for your hat, You, as the common trick is, straight suppose 'Tis love (sir reverence, which makes the word more beastly).

STAINES. Why, this is worse than silence. [_Aside._

JOYCE. But we are fools, and in our reputations We find the smart on't: Kindness is termed lightness in our sex; And when we give a favour or a kiss, We give our good names too.

STAINES. Will you be dumb again?

JOYCE. Men you are call'd, but you're a viperous brood, Whom we in charity take into our bosoms, And cherish with our heart; for which you sting us.

STAINES. Ud's foot! I'll fetch him that wak'd your tongue, To lay it down again. [_Fetches_ WILL RASH.

W. RASH. Why, how now, man?

STAINES. O, relieve me, or I shall lose my hearing! You have rais'd a fury up into her tongue: A parliament of women could not make Such a confused noise as that she utters.

W. RASH. Well, what would you have me do?

STAINES. Why, make her hold her tongue.

W. RASH. And what then?

STAINES. Why, then, let me alone again.

W. RASH. This is very good, i' faith: first give thee but opportunity, and let thee alone; then make her but speak, and let thee alone; now make her hold her tongue, and then let thee alone By my troth, I think I were best to let thee alone indeed: but come, follow me; the wild cat shall not carry it so away. Walk, walk, as we did.

JOYCE. What, have you fetched your champion? What can he do? Not have you nor himself from out the storm Of my incensed rage: I will thunder into your ears The wrongs that you have done an innocent maid: O, you're a couple of sweet----what shall I call you? Men you are not; for, if you were, You would not offer this unto a maid. Wherein have I deserved it at your hands?

Have I not been always a kind sister to you, and in signs and tokens showed it? Did I not send money to you at Cambridge, when you were but a freshman? wrought you purses and bands; and since you came to th' inns-o'-court, a fair pair of hangers? Have you not taken rings from me, which I have been fain to say I have lost when you had pawned them; and yet was never beholden to you for a pair of gloves?

W. RASH. A woman's tongue, I see, is like a bell, That, once being set agoing, goes itself.

JOYCE. And yet you, to join with my sister against me, send one here to play upon me, whilst you laugh and leer, and make a pastime on me. Is this brotherly done? No, it is barbarous; and a Turk would blush to offer it to a Christian. But I will think on't, and have it written in my heart, when it hath slipped your memories.

W. RASH. When will your tongue be weary?

JOYCE. Never.

W. RASH. How! never? Come, talk, and I'll talk with you: I'll try the nimble footmanship of your tongue; And if you can out-talk me, your's be the victory. [_Here they two talk and rail what they list; and then_ WILL RASH _speaks to_ STAINES.

ALL SPEAK. Ud's foot! dost thou stand by, and do nothing? Come, talk, and drown her clamours. [_Here they all three, talk, and_ JOYCE _gives over, weeping, and Exit_.

_Enter_ GERTRUDE _and_ GERALDINE.

GERA. Alas! she's spent, i' faith: now the storm's over.

W. RASH. Ud's foot! I'll follow her, as long as I have any breath.

GERT. Nay, no more now, brother; you have no compassion; you see she cries.

STAINES. If I do not wonder she could talk so long, I am a villain. She eats no nuts, I warrant her; 'sfoot, I am almost out of breath with that little I talked: well, gentle brothers, I might say (for she and I must clap hands upon't) a match for all this. Pray, go in; and, sister, salve the matter, collogue with her again, and all shall be well: I have a little business that must be thought upon, and 'tis partly for your mirth, therefore let me not (though absent) be forgotten: farewell.

W. RASH. We will be mindful of you, sir; fare you well.

GERA. How now, man! what, tired, tired?

W. RASH. Zounds, and you had talked as much as I did, you would be tired, I warrant. What, is she gone in? I'll to her again, whilst my tongue is warm: and if I thought I should be used to this exercise, I would eat every morning an ounce of licorish.[207] [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ LODGE, _the master of the prison, and_ HOLDFAST, _his man_.

LODGE. Have you summed up those reckonings?

HOLD. Yes, sir.

LODGE. And what is owing me?

HOLD. Thirty-seven pound, odd money.

LODGE. How much owes the Frenchman?

HOLD. A fortnight's commons.

LODGE. Has Spendall any money?

HOLD. Not any, sir; and he has sold all his clothes.

_Enter_ SPENDALL.

LODGE. That fellow would waste millions if he had 'em: Whilst he has money, no man spends a penny. Ask him money, and if he say he has none, Be plain with him, and turn him out o' th' ward. [_Exit_ LODGE.

HOLD. I will, sir. Master Spendall, my master has sent to you for money.

SPEND. Money! why does he send to me? Does he think I have the philosopher's stone, or I can clip, or coin? How does he think I can come by money?

HOLD. Faith, sir, his occasions are so great, that he must have money, or else he can buy no victuals.

SPEND. Then we must starve, belike. Ud's foot, thou see'st I have nothing left that will yield me two shillings.

HOLD. If you have no money, you'd best remove into some cheaper ward.

SPEND. What ward should I remove in?

HOLD. Why, to the twopenny ward; it's likeliest to hold out with your means; or, if you will, you may go into the hole, and there you may feed, for nothing.

SPEND. Ay, out of the alms-basket, where charity appears in likeness of a piece of stinking fish, such as they beat bawds with when they are carted.

HOLD. Why, sir, do not scorn it; as good men as yourself have been glad to eat scraps out of the alms-basket.

SPEND. And yet, slave, thou in pride wilt stop thy nose, Screw, and make faces, talk contemptibly of it, And of the feeders, surly groom.

_Enter_ FOX.

HOLD. Well, sir, your malapertness will get you nothing.--Fox!

FOX. Here.

HOLD. A prisoner to the hole: take charge of him, and use him as scurvily as thou canst. You shall be taught your duty, sir, I warrant you.

SPEND. Hence, slavish tyrants, instruments of torture! There is more kindness yet in whores than you; For when a man hath spent all, he may go And seek his way, they'll kick him out of doors, Not keep him in as you do, and enforce him To be the subject of their cruelty. You have no mercy; but be this your comfort, The punishment and tortures which you do Inflict on men, the devils shall on you.

HOLD. Well, sir, you may talk, but you shall see the end, and who shall have the worst of it.

[_Exit_ HOLDFAST.

SPEND. Why, villain, I shall have the worst, I know it, And am prepar'd to suffer like a stoic; Or else (to speak more properly) like a stock; For I have no sense left. Dost thou think I have?

FOX. Zounds, I think he's mad.

SPEND. Why, thou art in the right; for I am mad, indeed, And have been mad these two years. Dost thou think I could have spent so much as I have done In wares and credit, had I not been mad? Why, thou must know, I had a fair estate Which, through my riot, I have torn in pieces, And scatter'd amongst bawds, buffoons, and whores, That fawn'd on me, and by their flatteries Rock'd all my understanding faculties Into a pleasant slumber; where I dreamt Of nought but joy and pleasure: never felt How I was lull'd in sensuality, Until at last affliction waked me, And, lighting up the taper of my soul, Led me unto myself, where I might see A mind and body rent with misery. [_A prisoner within._

PRIS. Harry Fox! Harry Fox!

FOX. Who calls?

_Enter_ PRISONER.

PRIS. Here's the bread-and-meat-man come.

FOX. Well, the bread-and-meat-man may stay a little.

PRIS. Yes, indeed, Harry, the bread-and-meat-man may stay; but you know our stomachs cannot stay.

_Enter_ GATHERSCRAP _with the basket_.

FOX. Indeed your stomach is always first up.

PRIS. And therefore by right should be first served: I have a stomach like _aqua fortis_, it will eat anything; O father Gatherscrap, here are excellent bits in the basket.

FOX. Will you hold your chaps farther? By and by, you'll drivel into the basket.

PRIS. Perhaps it may do some good; for there may be a piece of powdered beef that wants watering.

FOX. Here, sir, here's your share.

PRIS. Here's a bit indeed: what's this to a Gargantua stomach?

FOX. Thou art ever grumbling.

PRIS. Zounds! it would make a dog grumble to want his victuals: I pray, give Spendall none; he came into the hole but yesternight.

FOX. What, do you refuse it?

SPEND. I cannot eat, I thank you.

PRIS. No, no, give it me, he's not yet seasoned for our company.

FOX. Divide it then amongst you. [_Exit_ FOX _and_ PRISONER.

SPEND. To such a one as these are must I come; Hunger will draw me into their fellowship, To fight and scramble for unsavoury scraps, That come from unknown hands, perhaps unwash'd: And would that were the worst; for I have noted That nought goes to the prisoners, but such food As either by the weather has been tainted, Or children, nay, sometimes full-paunched dogs Have overlick'd; as if men had determin'd That the worst sustenance which is God's creatures'-- However they're abus'd--is[208] good enough For such vild creatures as abuse themselves. O, what a slave was I unto my pleasures! How drown'd in sin, and overwhelm'd in lust! That I could write my repentance to the world, And force th' impression of it in the hearts Of you of[209] my acquaintance: I might teach them By my example, to look home to thrift, And not to range abroad to seek out ruin. Experience shows, his purse shall soon grow light, Whom dice wastes in the day, drabs in the night. Let all avoid false strumpets, dice and drink; For he that leaps i' th' mud, shall quickly sink.

_Enter_ FOX _and_ LONGFIELD.

FOX. Yonder's the man.

LONG. I thank you. How is it with you, sir? What, on the ground? Look up, there's comfort towards you.

SPEND. Belike, some charitable friend has sent a shilling. What is your business?

LONG. Liberty.

SPEND. There's virtue in that word; I'll rise up to you. Pray, let me hear that cheerful word again.

LONG. The able and well-minded widow Raysby, Whose hand is still upon the poor man's box, Hath in her charity remember'd you; And, being by your master seconded, Hath taken order with your creditors For day and payment; and freely from her purse, By me her deputy, she hath discharg'd All duties in the house: besides, to your necessities This is bequeath'd, to furnish you with clothes.

SPEND. Speak you this seriously?

LONG. 'Tis not my practice to mock misery.

SPEND. Be ever praised that divinity, That has to my oppressed state rais'd friends, Still be his blessings pour'd upon their heads. Your hand, I pray, That have so faithfully perform'd their wills. If e'er my industry, join'd with their loves, Shall raise me to a competent estate, Your name shall ever be to me a friend.

LONG. In your good wishes you requite me amply.

SPEND. All fees, you say, are paid? There's for your love.

FOX. I thank you, sir, and am glad you are releas'd. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ BUBBLE, _gallanted_.

BUB. How apparel makes a man respected! the very children in the street do adore me: for if a boy, that is throwing at his jack-a-lent,[210] chance to hit me on the shins, why, I say nothing but _Tu quoque_, smile, and forgive the child with a beck of my hand, or some such like token: so by that means I do seldom go without broken shins.

_Enter_ STAINES, _like an Italian_.

STAINES. The blessings of your mistress fall upon you; And may the heat and spirit of her lip Endue her with matter above her understanding, That she may only live to admire you, or, as the Italian says: _Que que dell fogo Ginni coxcombie_.

BUB. I do wonder what language he speaks. Do you hear, my friend; are not you a conjuror?

STAINES. I am, sir, a perfect traveller, that have trampled over the face of the universe, and can speak Greek and Latin as promptly as my own natural language. I have composed a book, wherein I have set down all the wonders of the world that I have seen, and the whole scope of my journeys, together with the miseries and lousy fortunes I have endured therein.[211]

BUB. O Lord, sir, are you the man? give me your hand: how do ye? in good faith, I think I have heard of you.

STAINES. No, sir, you never heard of me; I set this day footing upon the wharf; I came in with the last peal of ordnance, and dined this day in the Exchange amongst the merchants. But this is frivolous, and from the matter: you do seem to be one of our gentile spirits that do affect generosity: pleaseth you to be instituted in the nature, garb, and habit of the most exactest nation in the world, the Italian? whose language is sweetest, clothes neatest, and behaviour most accomplished. I am one that have spent much money, and time, which to me is more dear than money, in the observation of these things: and, now I am come, I will sit me down and rest; and make no doubt but to purchase and build, by professing this art or human science (as I may term it) to such honourable and worshipful personages as mean to be peculiar.

BUB. This fellow has his tongue at his fingers' ends. But, hark ye, sir; is your Italian the finest gentleman?

STAINES. In the world, signior; your Spaniard is a mere bumbard to him: he will bounce, indeed, but he will burst. But your Italian is smooth and lofty, and his language is cousin-german to the Latin.

BUB. Why, then he has his _Tu quoque_ in his salute?

STAINES. Yes, sir, for it is an Italian word as well as a Latin, and enfolds a double sense; for one way spoken, it includes a fine gentleman, like yourself; and another way it imports an ass, like whom you will.

BUB. I would my man Gervase were here, for he understands these things better than I. [_Aside._] You will not serve?

STAINES. Serve! no, sir; I have talked with the great Sophy.

BUB. I pray, sir, what's the lowest price of being Italianated?

STAINES. Sir, if it please you, I will stand to your bounty: and, mark me, I will set your face like a grand signior's, and you shall march a whole day, until you come opunctly[212] to your mistress, and not disrank one hair of your physiognomy.

BUB. I would you would do it, sir; if you will stand to my bounty, I will pay you, as I am an Italian, _Tu quoque_.

STAINES. Then, sir, I will first disburthen you of your cloak; you will be the nimbler to practise. Now, sir, observe me: go you directly to the lady to whom you devote yourself.

BUB. Yes, sir.

STAINES. You shall set a good staid face upon the matter then. Your band is not to your shirt, is it?

BUB. No, sir, 'tis loose.

STAINES. It is the fitter for my purpose. I will first remove your hat. It has been the fashion (as I have heard) in England to wear your hat thus, in your eyes; but it is gross, naught, inconvenient, and proclaims with a loud voice that he that brought it up first stood in fear of serjeants. Your Italian is contrary: he doth advance his hat, and sets it thus.

BUB. Excellent well: I would you would set it on my head so.

STAINES. Soft; I will first remove your band, and set it out of the reach of your eyes; it must lie altogether backward. So: your band is well.

BUB. Is it as you would have it?

STAINES. It is as I would wish; only, sir, this I must caution you of, in your affront[213] or salute, never to move your hat; but here, here is your courtesy.

BUB. Nay, I warrant you; let me alone, if I perceive a thing once, I'll carry it away. Now, pray, sir, reach my cloak.

STAINES. Never, whilst you live, sir.

BUB. No! what, do you Italians wear no cloaks!

STAINES. Your signiors, never: you see I am unfurnished myself.

_Enter_ Sir Lionel, WILL RASH, GERALDINE, WIDOW, GERTRUDE, _and_ JOYCE.

BUB. Say ye so? prythee, keep it, then. See! yonder's the company that I look for; therefore, if you will set my face of any fashion, pray do it quickly.

STAINES. You carry your face as well as e'er an Italian in the world; only enrich it with a smile, and 'tis incomparable: and thus much more--at your first appearance, you shall perhaps strike your acquaintance into an ecstasy, or perhaps a laughter; but 'tis ignorance in them, which will soon be overcome, if you persevere.

BUB. I will persevere, I warrant thee: only do thou stand aloof, and be not seen; because I would not have them think but I fetch it out of my own practice.

STAINES. Do not you fear; I'll not be seen, I warrant you. [_Exit._

SIR LIONEL. Now, widow, you are welcome to my house, And to your own house too, so you may call it; For what is mine is yours: you may command here As at home, and be as soon obey'd.

WID. May I deserve this kindness of you, sir?

BUB. Save you, gentlemen. I salute you after the Italian fashion.

W. RASH. How! the Italian fashion? Zounds! he has dressed him rarely.

SIR LIONEL. My son Bubble, I take it?

W. RASH. The nether part of him I think is he; But what the upper part is, I know not. [GER.] By my troth, he's a rare fellow.

BUB. He said true; They are all in an ecstasy. [_Aside._]

GERT. I think he's mad. [_Aside._]

JOYCE. Nay, that cannot be; for they say, they that are mad lose their wits, and I am sure he had none to lose. [_Aside._]

_Enter_ SCATTERGOOD.

SIR LIONEL. How now, son Bubble? how come you thus attir'd? What! do you mean to make yourself a laughing-stock, ha?

BUB. Um! Ignorance, ignorance. [_Aside._]

GERA. For the love of laughter, look yonder: Another herring in the same pickle.

W. RASH. T'other hobby-horse, I perceive, is not forgotten.[214]

BUB. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

SCAT. Ha, ha, ha, ha!

BUB. Who has made him such a coxcomb, trow? An Italian _Tu quoque_?

SCAT. I salute you according to the Italian fashion.

BUB. Puh! the Italian fashion! The tattered-demalian fashion he means.

SCAT. Save you, sweet bloods, save you.

SIR LIONEL. Why, but what jig is this?

SCAT. Nay, if I know, father, would I were hanged. I am e'en as innocent as the child new-born.

SIR LIONEL. Ay, but son Bubble, where did you two buy your felts?

SCAT. Felts! By this light, mine is a good beaver: It cost me three pounds this morning upon trust.

SIR LIONEL. Nay, I think you had it upon trust, for no man that has any shame in him would take money for it. Behold, sir.

BUB. Ha, ha, ha!

SIR LIONEL. Nay, never do you laugh, for you're i' th' same block.

BUB. Is this the Italian fashion?

SCAT. No, it is the fool's fashion: And we two are the first that follow it.

BUB. _Et tu quoque_. Are we both cosened? Then let's show ourselves brothers in adversity, and embrace.

SIR LIONEL. What was he that cheated you?

BUB. Marry, sir, he was a knave that cheated me.

SCAT. And I think he was no honest man that cheated me.

SIR LIONEL. Do you know him again if you see him?

_Enter_ STAINES [_in his own costume._]

BUB. Yes, I know him again, if I see him; but I do not know how I should come to see him. O Gervase, Gervase! Do you see us two, Gervase?

STAINES. Yes, sir, very well.

BUB. No, you do not see us very well, for we have been horribly abused. Never were Englishmen so gulled in Italian as we have been.

STAINES. Why, sir, you have not lost your cloak and hat?

BUB. Gervase, you lie; I have lost my cloak and hat; and therefore you must use your credit for another.

SCAT. I think my old cloak and hat must be glad to serve me till next quarter-day.

SIR LIONEL. Come, take no care for cloaks: I'll furnish you. To-night you lodge with me; to-morrow morn, Before the sun be up, prepare for church; The widow and I have so concluded on't. The wenches understand not yet so much, Nor shall not until bedtime: then will they Not sleep a wink all night for very joy.

SCAT. And I'll promise the next night they shall not sleep for joy neither. [_Aside._]

SIR LIONEL. O Master Geraldine, I saw you not before: Your father now is come to town, I hear.

GERA. Yes, sir.

SIR LIONEL. Were not my business earnest, I would see him: But pray entreat him break an hour's sleep To-morrow morn t'accompany me to church; And come yourself, I pray, along with him.

_Enter_ SPENDALL.

GERA. Sir, I thank you.

SIR LIONEL. But look, here comes one, That has but lately shook off his shackles.-- How now, sirrah! wherefore come you?

SPEND. I come to crave a pardon, sir, of you; And with hearty and zealous thanks Unto this worthy lady, that hath given me More than I e'er could hope for--liberty.

WID. Be thankful unto heaven and your master: Nor let your heart grow bigger than your purse, But live within a limit, lest you burst out To riot and to misery again: For then 'twould lose the benefit I mean it.

SIR LIONEL. O, you do graciously; 'tis good advice: Let it take root, sirrah, let it take root. But come, widow, come and see your chamber: Nay, your company too, for I must speak with you. [_Exeunt._

SPEND. 'Tis bound unto you, sir.

BUB. And I have to talk with you too, Mistress Joyce. Pray, a word.

JOYCE. What would you, sir?

BUB. Pray, let me see your hand. The line of your maidenhead is out. Now for your fingers. Upon which finger will you wear your wedding-ring?

JOYCE. Upon no finger.

BUB. Then I perceive you mean to wear it on your thumb. Well, the time is come, sweet Joyce; the time is come.

JOYCE. What to do, sir?

BUB. For me to tickle thy _Tu quoque;_ to do the act Of our forefathers: therefore prepare, provide, To-morrow morn to meet me as my bride. [_Exit._

JOYCE. I'll meet thee like a ghost first.

GERT. How now, what matter have you fished out of that fool?

JOYCE. Matter as poisoning as corruption, That will without some antidote strike home, Like blue infection, to the very heart.

W. RASH. As how, for God's sake?

JOYCE. To-morrow is the appointed wedding-day.

GERT. The day of doom, it is?

GERA. 'Twould be a dismal day indeed to some of us.

JOYCE. Sir, I do know you love me; and the time Will not be dallied with: be what you seem, Or not the same; I am your wife, your mistress, Or your servant--indeed, what you will make me. Let us no longer wrangle with our wits, Or dally with our fortunes; lead me hence, And carry me into a wilderness: I'll fast with you, rather than feast with him.

STAINES. What can be welcomer unto these arms? Not my estate recover'd is more sweet, Nor strikes more joy in me than does your love.

W. RASH. Will you both kiss then upon the bargain? Here's two couple on you, God give you joy; I wish well to you, And I see 'tis all the good that I can do you: And so to your shifts I leave you.

JOYCE. Nay, brother, you will not leave us thus, I hope.

W. RASH. Why, what would you have me do? you mean to run away together: would you have me run with you, and so lose my inheritance? no, trudge, trudge with your backs to me, and your bellies to them. Away!

GERA. Nay, I prythee, be not thus unseasonable: Without thee we are nothing.

W. RASH. By my troth, and I think so too. You love one another in the way of matrimony, do you not?

GERA. What else, man?

W. RASH. What else, man? Why, 'tis a question to be asked; for I can assure you, there is another kind of love. But come, follow me; I must be your good angel still: 'tis in this brain how to prevent my father and his brace of beagles; you shall none of you be bid to-night: follow but my direction, if I bring you not, _To have and to hold, for better for worse_, let me be held an eunuch in wit, and one that was never father to a good jest.

GERT. We'll be instructed by you.

W. RASH. Well, if you be, it will be your own another day. Come, follow me. [SPENDALL _meets them, and they look strangely upon him, and go off_.

SPEND. How ruthless men are to adversity! My acquaintance scarce will know me; when we meet, They cannot stay to talk, they must be gone, And shake me by the hand as if I burnt them. A man must trust unto himself, I see; For if he once but halt in his estate, Friendship will prove but broken crutches to him. Well, I will lean to none of them, but stand Free of myself: and if I had a spirit Daring to act what I am prompted to, I might thrust out into the world again, Full-blossom'd, with a sweet and golden spring. It was an argument of love in her To fetch me out of prison; and this night She clasp'd my hand in hers, as who should say, Thou art my purchase, and I hold thee thus. The worst is but repulse, if I attempt it. I am resolv'd: my genius whispers to me, Go on, and win her; thou art young and active, Which she is apt to catch at; for there's nought That's more unsteadfast than a woman's thought. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SIR LIONEL, WILL RASH, SCATTERGOOD, BUBBLE, WIDOW, GERTRUDE, JOYCE, PHILLIS, _and_ SERVANT.

SIR LIONEL. Here's ill-lodging, widow; but you must know, If we had better, we'd afford it you.

WID. The lodging, sir, might serve better guests.

SIR LIONEL. Not better, widow, nor yet welcomer: But we will leave you to it and the rest. Phillis, pray let your mistress not want anything. Once more, good night; I'll leave a kiss with you, As earnest of a better gift to-morrow. Sirrah, a light.

WID. Good rest to all.

BUB. _Et tu quoque_, forsooth.

SCAT. God give you good night, forsooth, And send you an early resurrection.

WID. Good night to both.

SIR LIONEL. Come, come away, each bird unto his nest; To-morrow night's a time of little rest. [_Exeunt. Manent_ WIDOW _and_ PHILLIS.

WID. Here, untie: soft, let it alone; I have no disposition to sleep yet: Give me a book, and leave me for a while, Some half-hour hence look in to me.

PHIL. I shall, forsooth. [_Exit_ PHILLIS.

_Enter_ SPENDALL.

WID. How now! what makes this bold intrusion?

SPEND. Pardon me, lady, I have business to you.

WID. Business! from whom? Is it of such importance, That it craves present hearing?

SPEND. It does.

WID. Then speak it, and be brief.

SPEND. Nay, gentle widow, be more pliant to me: My suit is soft and courteous; full of love.

WID. Of love?

SPEND. Of love.

WID. Why, sure, the man is mad! bethink thyself; Thou hast forgot thy errand.

SPEND. I have indeed, fair lady; for my errand Should first have been deliver'd on your lips.

WID. Why, thou impudent fellow, unthrift of shame, As well as of thy purse. What has mov'd thee To prosecute thy ruin? hath my bounty, For which thy master was an orator, Importun'd thee to pay me with abuse? Sirrah, retire, or I will, to your shame, With clamours raise the house, and make your master For this attempt return you to the dungeon, From whence you came.

SPEND. Nay, then I must be desperate: Widow, hold your clapdish,[215] fasten your tongue Unto your roof, and do not dare to call; But give me audience with fear and silence. Come, kiss me--No? This dagger has a point, do you see it? And be unto my suit obedient, Or you shall feel it too: For I will rather totter, hang in clean linen, Than live to scrub it out in lousy linings. Go to, kiss: you will! why, so: again, the third time; Good; 'tis a sufficient charm: now hear me. You are rich in money, lands, and lordships, Manors and fair possessions, and I have not so much As one poor copyhold to thrust my head in. Why should you not then have compassion Upon a reasonable handsome fellow, That has both youth and liveliness upon him, And can at midnight quicken and refresh Pleasures decay'd in you? You want children; And I am strong, lusty, and have a back Like Hercules; able to get them Without the help of muscadine and eggs, And will you then, that have enough, Take to your bed a bundle of diseases, Wrapp'd up in threescore years, to lie a-hawking, Spitting and coughing backwards and forwards, That you shall not sleep; but, thrusting forth Your face out of the bed, be glad to draw The curtains, such a steam shall reek Out of this dunghill? Now, what say you? Shall we, without farther wrangling, clap it up, And go to bed together?

WID. Will you hear me?

SPEND. Yes, with all my heart, So the first word may be, untruss your points-- Zounds, one knocks; do not stir, I charge you, [_Knock within._ Nor speak, but what I bid you: For, by these lips which now in love I kiss, If you but struggle or but raise your voice, My arm shall rise with it, and strike you dead. Go to, come on with me, and ask who's there!

WID. It is my maid.

SPEND. No matter; do as I bid you: say, who's there?

WID. Who's there?

PHIL. (_Within._) 'Tis I, forsooth.

SPEND. If it be you, forsooth, then pray you stay, Till I shall call upon you.

WID. [_Repeats._] If it be you, forsooth, then pray you stay, Till I shall call upon you.

SPEND. Very well: why, now I see Thou'lt prove an obedient wife. Come, let's undress.

WID. Will you put up your naked weapon, sir?

SPEND. You shall pardon me, widow, I must have you grant first.

WID. You will not put it up?

SPEND. Not till I have some token of your love.

WID. If this may be a testimony, take it. [_Kisses him._ By all my hopes, I love thee: thou art worthy Of the best widow living: thou tak'st the course: And those that will win widows must do thus.

SPEND. Nay, I knew what I did when I came with my naked weapon in my hand; but come, unlace.

WID. Nay, my dear love: know that I will not yield My body unto lust, until the priest Shall join us in Hymen's sacred nuptial rites.

SPEND. Then set your hand to this: nay, 'tis a contract Strong and sufficient, and will hold in law. Here, here's pen and ink; you see I come provided.

WID. Give me the pen.

SPEND. Why, here's some comfort. Yet write your name fair, I pray, and at large. Why, now 'tis very well. Now, widow, You may admit your maid, For i' th' next room I'll go fetch a nap.

WID. Thou shalt not leave me so: come, prythee, sit, We'll talk awhile, for thou hast made my heart Dance in my bosom, I receive such joy.

SPEND. Thou art a good wench, i' faith; come, kiss upon't.

WID. But will you be a loving husband to me? Avoid all naughty company, and be true To me and to my bed?

SPEND. As true to thee as steel to adamant. [_Binds him to the post._

WID. I'll bind you to your word: see that you be, Or I'll conceal my bags. I have kinsfolk, To whom I'll make't over, you shall not have a penny.

SPEND. Pish, prythee, do not doubt me. How now! what means this?

WID. It means my vengeance; nay, sir, you are fast, Nor do not dare to struggle: I have liberty Both of my tongue and feet; I'll call my maid.

_Enter_ PHILLIS.

Phillis, come in, and help to triumph Over this bold intruder. Wonder not, wench, But go unto him, and ransack all his pockets, And take from thence a contract which he forc'd From my unwilling fingers.

SPEND. Is this according to your oath?

PHIL. Come, sir, I must search you.

SPEND. I prythee, do. And when thou tak'st that from me, take my life too.

WID. Hast thou it, girl?

PHIL. I have a paper here.

WID. It is the same: give it me. Look you, sir, Thus your new-fancied hopes I tear asunder. Poor wretched man! thou'st had a golden dream, Which gilded over thy calamity; But, being awake, thou find'st it ill-laid on, For with one finger I have wip'd it off. Go, fetch me hither the casket that contains My choicest jewels, and spread them here before him. Look you, sir; Here's gold, pearls, rubies, sapphires, diamonds; These would be goodly things for you to pawn, Or revel with amongst your courtesans, Whilst I and mine did starve. Why dost not curse, And utter all the mischiefs of thy heart, Which I know swells within thee? pour it out, And let me hear thy fury.

SPEND. Never, never! Whene'er my tongue shall speak but well of thee, It proves no faithful servant to my heart.

WID. False traitor to thy master and to me, Thou liest, there's no such thing within thee.

SPEND. May I be burn'd to ugliness, to that Which you and all men hate, but I speak truth.

WID. May I be turn'd a monster, and the shame Of all my sex, and if I not believe thee. Take me unto thee: these and all that's mine. Were it thrice trebled, thou wert worthy all. And do not blame this trial, 'cause it shows I give myself unto thee, am not forc'd, And with it love, that ne'er shall be divorc'd.

SPEND. I am glad 'tis come to this; yet, by this light, Thou putt'st me into a horrible fear. But this is my excuse: know that my thoughts Were not so desperate as my action seem'd; For, 'fore my dagger should ha' drawn one drop Of thy chaste blood, it should have sluic'd out mine, And the cold point stuck deep into my heart. Nor better be my fate, if I shall move To any other pleasure but thy love.

WID. It shall be in my creed: but let's away. For night with her black steeds draws up the day. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ WILL RASH, STAINES, GERALDINE, GERTRUDE, JOYCE, _and a boy with a lanthorn_.

W. RASH. Softly, boy, softly; you think you are upon firm ground; but it is dangerous. You'll never make a good thief, you rogue, till you learn to creep upon all four. If I do not sweat with going this pace! everything I see, methinks, should be my father in his white beard.

STAINES. It is the property of that passion; for fear Still shapes all things we see to that we fear.

W. RASH. Well said, logic: sister, I pray, lay hold of him; for the man, I see, is able to give the watch an answer if they should come upon him with interrogatories.

_Enter_ SPENDALL, WIDOW, _and_ PHILLIS.

Zounds, we are discovered! boy, come up close, and use the property of your lanthorn. What dumb show should this be?

GERA. They take their way directly, [and] intend nothing against us.

STAINES. Can you not discern who they are?

JOYCE. One is Spendall.

GERT. The other is the widow, as I take it.

STAINES. 'Tis true, and that's her maid before her.

W. RASH. What a night of conspiracy is here! more villany? there's another goodly mutton going: my father is fleeced of all; grief will give him a box, i' faith--but 'tis no great matter; I shall inherit the sooner. Nay, soft, sir; you shall not pass so current with the matter, I'll shake you a little. Who goes there?

SPEND. Out with the candle [_Aside._]: who's that asks the question?

W. RASH. One that has some reason for't.

SPEND. It should be, by the voice, young Rash. Why, we are honest folks.

W. RASH. Pray, where do you dwell? Not in town, I hope?

SPEND. Why, we dwell--zounds! where do we dwell? I know not where.

W. RASH. And you'll be married, you know not when--zounds, it were a Christian deed to stop thee in thy journey: hast thou no more spirit in thee, but to let thy tongue betray thee? Suppose I had been a constable, you had been in a fine taking, had you not?

SPEND. But, my still worthy friend, Is there no worse face of ill bent towards me Than that thou merrily putt'st on?

W. RASH. Yes, here's four or five faces more, but ne'er an ill one, though never an excellent good one. Boy, up with your lanthorn of light, and show him his associates, all running away with the flesh, as thou art. Go, yoke together, you may be oxen one day, and draw altogether in a plough; go, march together, the parson stays for you; pay him royally. Come, give me the lanthorns, for you have light sufficient, for night has put off his black cap, and salutes the morn. Now farewell, my little children of Cupid, that walk by two and two, as if you went a-feasting: let me hear no more words, but be gone.

SPEND. _and_ STAINES. Farewell.

GERT. _and_ JOYCE. Farewell, brother.

[_Exeunt. Manet_ WILL RASH.

W. RASH. Ay, you may cry farewell; but if my father should know of my villany, how should I fare then? But all's one, I ha' done my sisters good, my friends good, and myself good; and a general good is always to be respected before a particular. There's eightscore pounds a year saved by the conveyance of this widow. I hear footsteps: now, darkness, take me into thy arms, and deliver me from discovery. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SIR LIONEL.

SIR LIONEL. Lord, Lord, what a careless world is this! neither bride nor bridegroom ready; time to go to church, and not a man unroosted: this age has not seen a young gallant rise with a candle; we live drowned in feather-beds, and dream of no other felicity. This was not the life when I was a young man. What makes us so weak as we are now? A feather-bed. What so unapt for exercise? A feather-bed. What breeds such pains and aches in our bones? why, a feather-bed or a wench--or at least a wench in a feather-bed. Is it not a shame that an old man as I am should be up first, and in a wedding-day? I think, in my conscience, there's more mettle in lads of threescore than in boys of one-and-twenty.

_Enter_ BASKETHILT.

Why, Baskethilt!

BAS. Here, sir.

SIR LIONEL. Shall I not be trussed to-day?

BAS. Yes, sir; but I went for water.

SIR LIONEL. Is Will Rash up yet?

BAS. I think not, sir; for I heard nobody stirring in the house.

SIR LIONEL. Knock, sirrah, at his chamber. [_Knock within._

The house might be pluck'd down and builded again Before he'd wake with the noise. [WILL RASH _aloft_.

W. RASH. Who's that keeps such a knocking; are you mad?

SIR LIONEL. Rather thou art drunk, thou lazy slouch, That mak'st thy bed thy grave, and in it buryest All thy youth and vigour: up, for shame.

W. RASH. Why, 'tis not two a-clock yet.

SIR LIONEL. Out, sluggish knave; 'tis nearer unto five: The whole house has outslept themselves, as if they had drunk wild poppy. Sirrah, go you and raise the maids, and let them call upon their mistresses.

BAS. Well, sir, I shall. [_Exit._

_Enter_ SCATTERGOOD _and_ BUBBLE.

SCAT. Did I eat any lettuce to supper last night, that I am so sleepy? I think it be daylight, brother Bubble.

BUB. What sayest thou, brother? heigh-ho!

SIR LIONEL. Fie, fie! not ready yet? what sluggishness Hath seiz'd upon you? why, thine eyes are close still.

BUB. As fast as a Kentish oyster. Surely I was begotten in a plum-tree, I ha' such a deal of gum about mine eyes.

SIR LIONEL. Lord, how you stand! I am asham'd to see The sun should be a witness of your sloth.

[_Enter_ BASKETHILT.]

Now, sir, your haste?

BAS. Marry, sir, there are guests coming to accompany you to church.

SIR LIONEL. Why, this is excellent; men, whom it not concerns, Are more respective than we, that are main actors.

BUB. Father Rash, be not so outrageous: we will go in and buckle ourselves all in good time. How now! what's this about my shins?

_Enter_ OLD GERALDINE _and_ LONGFIELD.

SCAT. Methought our shanks were not fellows: we have metamorphosed our stockings for want of splendour.

BUB. Pray, what's that _splendour_?

SCAT. Why, 'tis the Latin word for a Christmas candle. [_Exeunt._

SIR LIONEL. O gentlemen, you love, you honour me. Welcome, welcome, good Master Geraldine; you have taken pains to accompany an undeserving friend.

_Enter_ PHILLIS.

OLD GERA. You put us to a needless labour, sir, To run and wind about for circumstance;[216] When the plain word, "I thank you," would have serv'd.

SIR LIONEL. How now, wench; are the females ready yet? The time comes on upon us, and we run backward: We are so untoward in our business, We think not what we have to do, nor what we do.

PHIL. I know not, sir, whether they know what to do; but I am sure they have been at church well-nigh an hour. They were afraid you had got the start of them, which made them make such haste.

SIR LIONEL. Is't possible? what think you, gentlemen, Are not these wenches forward? is there not virtue in a man Can make young virgins leave their beds so soon? But is the widow gone along with them?

PHIL. Yes, sir; why, she was the ringleader.

SIR LIONEL. I thought as much, for she knows what belongs to't. Come, gentlemen; methinks 'tis sport to see Young wenches run to church before their husbands.

_Enter_ WILL RASH.

Faith, we shall make them blush for this ere night. Ah, sirrah, are you come? why, that's well-said: I marl'd indeed that all things were so quiet, Which made me think th' had not unwrapp'd their sheets;

_Enter Servant, with a cloak._

And then were they at church, I hold my life: Maids think it long, till each be made a wife. Hast thou my cloak, knave? well-said, put it on; We'll after them: let me go, hasten both, Both the bridegrooms forward; we'll walk a little Softly on afore. But see, see, if they be not come To fetch us now! We come, we come. Bid them return, and save themselves this labour.

_Enter_ SPENDALL, STAINES, GERALDINE, WIDOW, GERTRUDE, _and_ JOYCE.

W. RASH. Now have I a quartan ague upon me.

SIR LIONEL. Why, how now! why come you from church to kneel thus publicly? what's the matter?

GERA. We kneel, sir, for your blessing.

SIR LIONEL. How! my blessing? Master Geraldine, is not that your son?

OLD GERA. Yes, sir; and that, I take it, is your daughter.

SIR LIONEL. I suspect knavery. What are you? Why do you kneel hand-in-hand with her?

STAINES. For a fatherly blessing too, sir.

SIR LIONEL. Heyday! 'tis palpable, I am gull'd, and my sons Scattergood and Bubble fooled. You are married.

SPEND. Yes, sir, we are married.

SIR LIONEL. More villany! everything goes the wrong way.

SPEND. We shall go the right way anon, I hope.

SIR LIONEL. Yes, marry shall you; you shall e'en to the Compter again, and that's the right way for you.

WID. O, you are wrong; The prison that shall hold him are these arms.

SIR LIONEL. I do fear that I shall turn stinkard, I do smell such a matter. You are married then?

_Enter_ SCATTERGOOD _and_ BUBBLE.

SPEND. _Ecce signum!_ here's the wedding-ring t' affirm it.

SIR LIONEL. I believe the knave has drunk ipocras, He is so pleasant.

SCAT. Good-morrow, gentlemen.

BUB. _Tu quoque_ to all: what, shall we go to church? Come, I long to be about this gear.

SIR LIONEL. Do you hear me; will you two go sleep again I take out the t'other nap; for you are both made coxcombs, and so am I.

SCAT. How! coxcombs?

SIR LIONEL. Yes, coxcombs.

SCAT. Father, that word coxcomb goes against my stomach.

BUB. And against mine; a man might ha' digested a woodcock better.

SIR LIONEL. You two come now to go to church to be married; And they two come from church, and are married.

BUB. How! married? I would see that man durst marry her.

GERA. Why, sir, what would you do?

BUB. Why, sir, I would forbid the banns.

SCAT. And so would I.

SIR LIONEL. Do you know that youth in satin? he's the pen that belongs to that inkhorn.

BUB. How! let me see; are not you my man Gervase?

STAINES. Yes, sir.

_Enter a_ SERJEANT.

BUB. And have you married her?

STAINES. Yes, sir.

BUB. And do you think you have us'd me well?

STAINES. Yes, sir.

BUB. O intolerable rascal! I will presently be made a justice of peace, and have thee whipped. Go, fetch a constable.

STAINES. Come, y' are a flourishing ass: serjeant, take him to thee, he has had a long time of his pageantry.

SIR LIONEL. Sirrah, let him go; I'll be his bail for all debts which come against him.

STAINES. Reverend sir, to whom I owe the duty of a son, Which I shall ever pay in my obedience; Know, that which made him gracious in your eyes, And gilded over his imperfections, Is wasted and consumed even like ice, Which by the vehemence of heat dissolves, And glides to many rivers: so his wealth, That felt a prodigal hand, hot in expense, Melted within his gripe, and from his coffers Ran like a violent stream to other men's. What was my own, I catch'd at.

SIR LIONEL. Have you your mortgage in?

STAINES. Yes, sir.

SIR LIONEL. Stand up: the matter is well amended. Master Geraldine, give you sufferance to this match?

OLD GERA. Yes, marry do I, sir; for, since they love, I'll not have the crime lie on my head, To divide man and wife.

SIR LIONEL. Why, you say well: my blessing fall upon you.

WID. And upon us that love, Sir Lionel.

SIR LIONEL. By my troth, since thou hast ta'en the young knave, God give thee joy of him, and may he prove A wiser man than his master.

STAINES. Serjeant, why dost not carry him to prison?

SER. Sir Lionel Rash will bail him.

SIR LIONEL. I bail him, knave! wherefore should I bail him? No, carry him away, I'll relieve no prodigals.

BUB. Good Sir Lionel, I beseech you, sir! gentlemen, I pray, make a purse for me.

SER. Come, sir, come, are you begging?

BUB. Why, that does you no harm. Gervase--master, I should say--some compassion.

STAINES. Serjeants, come back with him. Look, sir, here is Your livery; If you can put off all your former pride, And put on this with that humility That you first wore it, I will pay your debts, Free you of all encumbrances, And take you again into my service.

BUB. Tenterhook, let me go. I will take his worship's offer without wages, rather than come into your clutches again: a man in a blue coat may have some colour for his knavery; in the Compter he can have none.

SIR LIONEL. But now, Master Scattergood, what say you to this?

SCAT. Marry, I say, 'tis scarce honest dealing, for any man to coneycatch another man's wife: I protest we'll not put it up.

STAINES. No! which _we_?

SCAT. Why, Gertrude and I.

STAINES. Gertrude! why, she'll put it up.

SCAT. Will she?

GERA. Ay, that she will, and so must you.

SCAT. Must I?

GERA. Yes, that you must.

SCAT. Well, if I must, I must; but I protest I would not, But that I must: so _vale, vale: et tu quoque_. [_Exit._

SIR LIONEL. Why, that's well said: Then I perceive we shall wind up all wrong. Come, gentlemen, and all our other guests, Let our well-temper'd bloods taste Bacchus' feasts; But let us know first how these sports delight, And to these gentlemen each bid good night.[217]

W. RASH. Gentles, I hope, that well my labour ends; All that I did was but to please my friends.

GERA. A kind enamoret I did strive to prove, But now I leave that and pursue your love.

GERT. My part I have performed with the rest, And, though I have not, yet I would do best.

STAINES. That I have cheated through the play, 'tis true: But yet I hope I have not cheated you.

JOYCE. If with my clamours I have done you wrong, Ever hereafter I will hold my tongue.

SPEND. If through my riot I have offensive been, Henceforth I'll play the civil citizen.

WID. Faith, all that I say is, howe'er it hap, Widows, like maids, sometimes may catch a clap.

BUB. To mirth and laughter henceforth I'll provoke ye, If you but please to like of Green's _Tu quoque_.[218]

FOOTNOTES:

[153]: See note 76 to "The Ordinary," [vol. xii.]

[154] [_i.e._, shillings. See the next page.]

[155] At the time this play was written, the same endeavours were used, and the same lures thrown out, to tempt adventurers to migrate to each of these places.

[156] Pirates are always hanged at Execution Dock, Wapping; and at the moment when the tide is at the [ebb].--_Steevens_.

The following passage is from Stow's "Survey," vol. ii. b. 4, p. 37, edit. 1720: "From this Precinct of St Katharine to Wappin in the Wose, and Wappin it self, the usual Place of Execution for hanging of Pirates and Sea-Rovers _at the low-Water Mark_, there to remain till three Tides had overflowed them, was never a House standing within these Forty Years (_i.e._, from the year 1598), but (since the Gallows being after removed further off) is now a continual Street, or rather a filthy straight Passage, with Lanes and Alleys of small Tenements or Cottages, inhabited by Saylors and Victuallers along by the River of Thames almost to Radcliff, a good Mile from the Tower."

[157] The old copies give it--

"_We_ suck'd a white leaf from my black-lipp'd pen."

--_Collier._

[158] The story here alluded to (for the notice of which I am obliged to the kindness of Mr Steevens) is to be found in Stubbes's "Anatomie of Abuses," 1595, p. 43. The reader will excuse the length of the quotation. "But amongst many other fearful examples of Gods wrath against pride, I would wish them to set before their eies the fearful judgment of God showed upon a gentlewoman of Antwerpe of late, even the 27 of Maie, 1582, the fearful sound whereof is blowne through all the world, and is yet fresh in every mans memory. This gentlewoman, being a very rich merchantmans daughter, upon a time was invited to a bridal or wedding, which was solemnised in that towne, against which day she made great preparation for the pluming of herself in gorgeous aray: that as her body was most beautiful, faire, and proper, so her attire in every respect might be answerable to the same. For the accomplishment whereof, she curled her haire, she died her lockes, and laid them out after the best manner: she colloured her face with waters and ointments; but in no case could she get any (so curious and dainty she was) that could startch and set her ruffes and neckerchers to her minde: wherefore she sent for a couple of laundresses, who did the best they could to please her humors, but in any wise they could not: then fell she to sweare and teare, to curse and ban, casting the ruffes under feete, and wishing that the devill might take her when shee did weare any neckerchers againe. In the meane time (through the sufferance of God) the devill transforming himselfe into the shape of a young man, as brave and proper as she in every point, in outward appearance, came in, faining himself to be a woer or sutor unto her: and seeing her thus agonized, and in such a pelting chafe, he demaunded of her the cause thereof, who straight way told him (as women can conceal nothing that lieth upon their stomacks) how she was abused in the setting of her ruffes; which thing being heard of him, he promissed to please her mind, and so tooke in hande the setting of her ruffes, which he performed to her great contentation and liking; insomuch as she, looking herselfe in a glasse (as the devill bad her) became greatly inamoured with him. This done, the young man kissed her, in the doing whereof, hee writh her neck in sunder, so she dyed miserably; her body being straight waies changed into blew and black colours, most ugglesome to beholde, and her face (which before was so amorous) became most deformed and fearfull to looke upon. This being knowne in the cittie, great preparation was made for her buriall, and a rich coffin was provided, and her fearfull body was laid therein, and covered very sumptuously. Foure men immediately assayed to lift up the corpes, but could not moove it; then sixe attempted the like, but could not once stirre it from the place where it stood. Whereat the standers by marvelling, caused the coffin to be opened to see the cause thereof: where they found the body to be taken away, and a blacke catte, very leane and deformed, sitting in the coffin, setting of great ruffes, and frizling of haire, to the greate feare and woonder of all the beholders."--_Reed._ [Stubbes was fond of these examples. Compare "Shakespeare Society's Papers," iv. 71-88.]

[159] _i.e._, During the Court's progress, when the king or queen visited the different counties.--_Steevens._

[160] _i.e._, Licentiously.

[161] A wine mentioned in the metrical romance of the "Squyr of Low Degre"--

"Malmesyne, Both _ypocrasse_ and vernage wine."

--_Steevens._ [See Hazlitt's "Popular Poetry," ii. 51.]

[162] _Shrove Tuesday_ was formerly a holiday for apprentices. So in Ben Jonson's "Epicæne," act i. sc. 1, it is said of Morose, "he would have hanged a pewterer's _'prentice_ on a _Shrove Tuesday's_ riot, for being o' that trade, when the rest were quit."

On _Shrove Tuesday_ in the County of Sussex (and I suppose in many others) apprentices are always permitted to visit their families or friends, to eat pancakes, &c. This practice is called _shroving_. "Apollo Shroving" is the name of an old comedy, written by a schoolmaster in Suffolk [William Hawkins], to be performed by his scholars on _Shrove Tuesday_, Feb. 6, 1626-7.

See note 6 to "The Hog hath lost his Pearl," _post_. The custom in London, I believe, is almost abolished; it is, however, still retained in many parts of the kingdom. [See "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," by Hazlitt, i. 47, where it is said] that "at Newcastle upon Tyne the great bell of St Nicholas' Church is tolled at twelve o'clock at noon on this day; shops are immediately shut up, offices closed, and all kinds of business ceases; a sort of little carnival ensuing for the remaining part of the day." Again: the custom of frying pancakes (in turning of which in the pan there is usually a good deal of pleasantry in the kitchen) is still retained in many families in the north, but seems, if the present fashionable contempt of old custom continues, not likely to last another century. The apprentices whose particular holiday this day is now called, and who are on several accounts so much interested in the observation of it, ought, with that watchful jealousy of their ancient rights and liberties (typified here by pudding and play) which becomes young Englishmen, to guard against every infringement of its ceremonies, and transmit them entire and unadulterated to posterity!" [A copious account of this subject will be found in "Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," i. 37-54.]

[163] [Edits., here and below, _Mal go_.]

[164] [Clotted].

[165] A term of vulgar abuse. So Falstaff says, "Away, you scullion! you _rampallian_! you fustilarian!"--"2d Part of Henry IV." act ii. sc. i. See also Mr Steevens's note on the passage.

[166] _i.e._, Cupid. "_The bird-bolt_," Mr Steevens observes (note on "Much Ado about Nothing," act i. sc. 1), "is a short, thick arrow, without point, and spreading at the extremity so much as to leave a flat surface, about the breadth of a shilling. Such are to this day in use to kill rooks with, and are shot from a cross-bow."

[167] A _passion_ was formerly a name given to love-poems of the plaintive species. Many of them are preserved in the miscellanies of the times. See in "England's Helicon," 1600, "The Shepherd Damon's _Passion_," and others.

[168] [A common form of _Walter_ in old plays and poetry. Joyce intends, of course, a _jeu-de-mot_.]

[169] [This passage seems to fix with tolerable clearness the meaning of the word _caroch_ and the kind of vehicle which was intended. Compare Nares, 1859, in _v._]

[170] [_i.e._, This business succeed.]

[171] This street, Stow observes, in his time, was inhabited by wealthy drapers, retailers of woollen cloths, both broad and narrow, of all sorts, more than any one of the city.

[172] "_Dole_ was the term for the allowance of provision given to the poor in great families" (Mr Steevens's note to "The Winter's Tale,"