Part 1

FRANCIS BEAUMONT

Born 1584 Died 1616

JOHN FLETCHER

Born 1579 Died 1625

_BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER_

THE MAID IN THE MILL THE KNIGHT OF MALTA LOVES CURE, OR THE MARTIAL MAID WOMEN PLEAS'D THE NIGHT-WALKER, OR THE LITTLE THIEF

THE TEXT EDITED BY A. R. WALLER, M.A.

Cambridge: at the University Press 1909

CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS

London: FETTER LANE, E.C.

C. F. CLAY, MANAGER

Edinburgh: 100, PRINCES STREET Berlin: A. ASHER AND CO. Leipzig: F. A. BROCKHAUS New York: G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS Bombay and Calcutta: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.

_All rights reserved_

CONTENTS

PAGE

The Maid in the Mill 1

The Knight of Malta 78

Loves Cure, or the Martial Maid 164

Women Pleas'd 237

The Night-Walker, or the Little Thief 311

Notes 385

THE

Maid in the Mill.

A COMEDY.

The Persons Represented in the Play.

_Don_ Philippo _King of_ Spain. Otrante _a Spanish Count, in love with_ Florimel. Julio, _A Noble Man, Uncle to_ Antonio. Bellides, _Father to_ Ismenia, _Enemy to_ Julio. Lisauro, _Brother to_ Ismenia, Bellides _Son_. Terzo, _Kinsman to_ Lisauro, _and friend to_ Bellides. Antonio, _In love with_ Ismenia, _an enemy to_ Bellides. Martino, _Friend to_ Antonio, _and his secret Rival_. Gerasto, _Friend to_ Otrante. Pedro. } _Two Courtiers._ Moncado. } Gostanzo, } _Three Gentlemen, Friends to_ Julio. Giraldo, } Philippo, } Vertigo, _A French Taylor_. _Lords, attending the King in progress._ Franio, _A Miller, supposed Father to_ Florimell. Bustopha, Franio _his Son, a Clown_. _Constable._ _Officers._ Pedro, _A Songster_. _Servants._

WOMEN.

Ismenia, _Daughter to_ Bellides, _Mistriss of_ Antonio. Aminta, _Cousen to_ Ismenia, _and her private competrix in_ Antonio's _love_. Florimell, _Supposed Daughter to_ Franio, _Daughter to_ Julio, _stolen from him a child_. Gillian, Franio _the Millers Wife_. _Countrey Maids._

The Scene Spaine.

The principal Actors were

_Joseph Tailor_, _John Lowin_, _John Underwood_, _William Rowly_, _John Thomson_, _Robert Benfield_, _Tho. Polard_.

_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Lisauro, Terzo, Ismenia, _and_ Aminta.

_Lis._ Let the Coach go round, we'll walk along these Meadows: And meet at Port again: Come my fair Sister, These cool shades will delight ye.

_Am._ Pray be merry, The Birds sing as they meant to entertain ye, Every thing smiles abroad; methinks the River (As he steals by) curles up his head, to view ye: Every thing is in love.

_Ism._ You would have it so. You that are fair, are easie of belief, Cosen, The theam slides from your tongue.

_Am._ I fair? I thank ye: Mine's but shadow when your Sun shines by me.

_Ism._ No more of this, you know your worth (_Aminta_) Where are we now?

_Am._ Hard by the Town (_Ismena_).

_Ter._ Close by the Gates.

_Ism._ 'Tis a fine Ayr.

_Lis._ A delicate; The way so sweet and even, that the Coach Would be a tumbling trouble to our pleasures: Methinks I am very merry:

_Ism._ I am sad:

_Am._ You are ever so when we entreat ye (Cosen)

_Ism._ I have no reason: such a trembling here Over my heart methinks:

_Am._ Sure you are fasting; Or not slept well to night; some dream (_Ismena_?)

_Ism._ My dreams are like my thoughts, honest and innocent, Yours are unhappy; who are these that coast us?

[_Enter Antonio and Martin._

You told me the walk was private.

_Ter._ 'Tis most commonly:

_Ism._ Two proper men: It seems they have some business, With me none sure; I do not like their faces; They are not of our Company:

_Ter._ No Cosen: _Lisauro_, we are dog'd.

_Lis._ I find it (Cosen)

_Ant._ What handsome Lady?

_Mar._ Yes, she's very handsome. They are handsome both.

_Ant. Martin_, stay we are cosen'd.

_Mar._ I will go up; a woman is no wild-fire.

_Ant._ Now by my life she is sweet: Stay good _Martin_, They are of our enemies; the house of _Bellides_. Our mortal enemies:

_Mar._ Let 'em be devils, They appear so handsomly, I will go forward; If these be enemies, I'll ne'r seek friends more.

_Ant._ Prethee forbear, the Gentlewomen.

_Mar._ That's it (man) That moves me like a Gin. 'Pray ye stand off Ladies:

_Lis._ They are both our enemies: both hate us equally; By this fair day our mortal foes.

_Ter._ I know 'em, And come here to affront: how they gape at us! They shall have gaping work.

_Ism._ Why your swords, Gentlemen?

_Ter._ Pray ye stand you off, Cosen, And good now leave your whistling: we are abus'd all: Back, back I say:

_Lis._ Go back.

_Ant._ We are no dogs Sir, To run back on command.

_Ter._ We'll make ye run, Sir.

_Ant._ Having a civil charge of handsome Ladies, We are your servants: pray ye no quarrel Gentlemen. There's way enough for both.

_Lis._ We'll make it wider.

_Ant._ If you will fight, arm'd from this Saint; have at ye.

_Ism._ O me unhappy, are ye Gentlemen? Discreet, and Civil, and in open view thus?

_Am._ What will men think of us; nay you may kill us; Mercy o'me; through my petticoat; what bloody Gentlemen!

_Ism._ Make way through me, ye had best, and kill an innocent: Brother, why Cosen: by this light I'll dye too: This Gentleman is temperate: be you merciful: Alass, the Swords.

_Am._ You had best run me through [the belly] 'Twill be a valiant thrust.

_Ism._ I faint amongst ye.

_Ant._ Pray ye be not fearful: I have done (sweet Lady) My swords already aw'd, and shall obey ye: I come not here to violate sweet beauty, I bow to that.

_Ism._ Brother, you see this Gentleman, This noble Gentleman.

_Lis._ Let him avoid then, And leave our Walk.

_Ant._ The Lady may command Sir, She bears an eye more dreadful than your weapon.

_Ism._ What a sweet nature this man has! dear brother, Put up your sword.

_Ter._ Let them put up and walk then:

_Ant._ No more loud words: there's time enough before us: For shame put up, do honor to these beauties:

_Mar._ Our way is this, We will not be denyed it.

_Ter._ And ours is this, we will not be cross'd in it.

_Ant._ What ere your way is (Lady) 'tis a fair one; And may it never meet with rude hands more, Nor rough uncivil Tongues. [_Exeunt._

_Ism._ I thank ye Sir, Indeed I thank ye nobly: a brave Enemy, Here's a sweet temper now: This is a man (Brother) This Gentleman's anger is so nobly seated, That it becomes him: Yours proclaim ye Monsters. What if he be our House-Foe? we may brag on't: We have ne'er a friend in all our House so honorable: I had rather from an Enemy, my Brother, Learn worthy distances and modest difference, Than from a race of empty friends, loud nothings: I am hurt between ye.

_Am._ So am I, I fear too: [I am sure their swords were between my leggs]: Dear Cosen Why look ye pale? where are ye hurt?

_Ism._ I know not, But here methinks.

_Lis._ Unlace her gentle Cousen.

_Ism._ My heart, my heart, and yet I bless the Hurter.

_Am._ Is it so dangerous?

_Ism._ Nay, nay, I faint not.

_Am._ Here is no blood that I find, sure 'tis inward:

_Ism._ Yes, yes, 'tis inward: 'twas a subtle weapon, The hurt not to be cur'd I fear.

_Lis._ The Coach there.

_Am._ May be a fright.

_Ism. Aminta_, 'twas a sweet one, And yet a cruel.

_Am._ Now I find the wound plain: A wondrous handsome Gentleman.

_Ism._ Oh no deeper: Prethee be silent, (wench) it may be thy case.

_Am._ You must be searched; the wound will rancle, Cosen And of so sweet a nature.

_Ism._ Dear _Aminta_: Make it not sorer.

_Am._ And on my life admires ye.

_Ism._ Call the Coach, Cosen.

_Am._ The Coach, the Coach.

_Ter._ 'Tis ready bring the Coach there.

_Lis._ Well my brave Enemies, we shall yet meet ye, And our old hate shall testifie.

_Ter._ It shall (Cosen.) [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Secunda._

_Enter_ Antonio _and_ Martine.

_Ant._ Their swords, alass, I weigh 'em not (dear Friend) The indiscretion of the Owners blunts 'em; The fury of the House affrights not me, It spends it self in words: (Oh me _Martine_) There was a two edg'd eye, a Lady carried A weapon that no valor can avoyd, Nor Art (the hand of Spirit) put aside. O Friend, it broke out on me like a bullet Wrapt in a cloud of fire: that point (_Martine_) Dazled my sence, and was too subtle for me, Shot like a Comet in my face, and wounded (To my eternal ruine,) my hearts valor.

_Mar._ Methinks she was no such piece.

_Ant._ Blaspheme not Sir, She is so far beyond weak commendation, That impudence will blush to think ill of her.

_Mar._ I see it not, and yet I have both eyes open: And I could judge, I know there is no beauty Till our eyes give it 'em, and make 'em handsome; What's red and white, unless we do allow 'em? A green face else; and me-thinks such an other.

_Ant._ Peace thou leud Heretick; Thou judge of beauties? Thou hast an excellent sense for a sign-post (Friend) Dost thou not see? I'll swear thou art soon blind else, As blind as ignorance; when she appeared first _Aurora_ breaking in the east, and through her face, As if the hours and graces had strew'd Roses, A blush of wonder flying; when she was frighted At our uncivil swords, didst thou not mark How far beyond the purity of snow The soft wind drives, whiteness of innocence, Or any thing that bears Celestial paleness, She appear'd o'th'sodain? Didst thou not see her tears When she intreated? O thou Reprobate! Didst thou not see those orient tears flow'd from her, The little Worlds of Love? A set (_Martine_) Of such sanctified Beads, and a holy heart to love I could live ever a Religious Hermite.

_M[a]r._ I do believe a little, and yet methinks She was of the lowest stature.

_Ant._ A rich Diamond Set neat and deep, Natures chief Art (_Martine_) Is to reserve her Models curious, Not cumbersome and great; and such an one For fear she should exceed, upon her matter Has she fram'd this; Oh 'tis a spark of beauty, And where they appear so excellent in little, They will but flame in great; Extention spoils 'em: _Martine_ learn this, the narrower that our eyes Keep way unto our object, still the sweeter That comes unto us: Great bodies are like Countries, Discovering still, toyl and no pleasure finds 'em.

_Mar._ A rare Cosmographer for a small Island, Now I believe she is handsome.

_Ant._ Believe heartily, Let thy belief, though long a coming, save thee.

_Mar._ She was (certain) fair.

_Ant._ But heark ye (friend _Martine_) Do not believe your self too far before me, For then you may wrong me, Sir.

_Mar._ Who bid ye teach me? Do you show me meat, and stitch my lips (_Antonio_?) Is that fair play?

_Ant._ Now if thou shouldst abuse me, And yet I know thee for an errant wencher, A most immoderate thing, thou canst not love long.

_Mar._ A little serves my turn, I fly at all games, But I believe.

_Ant._ How if we never see her more? She is our enemy.

_Mar._ Why are you jealous then? As far as I conceive she hates our whole House.

_Ant._ Yet (good _Martine_)

_Mar._ Come, come, I have mercy on ye: You shall enjoy her in your dream (_Antonio_) And I'll not hinder: though now I perswade my self.

_Enter_ Aminta _with a Letter_.

_Ant._ Sit with perswasion down, and you deal honestly: I will look better on her.

_Mar._ Stay, who's this, Friend?

_Ant._ Is't not the other Gentlewoman?

_Mar._ Yes, a Letter. She brings [no] challenge sure: if she do (_Antonio_) I hope she'll be a Second too; I am for her.

_Am._ A good hour Gentlemen.

_Ant._ You are welcome Lady; 'Tis like our late rude passage has powr'd on us Some reprehension.

_Am._ No I bring no anger, Though some deserv'd it.

_Ant._ Sure we were all to blame, Lady; But for my part (in all humility And with no little shame) I ask your pardons, Indeed I wear no sword to fright sweet beauties.

_Am._ You have it, and this Letter; pray ye Sir view it, And my Commission's done.

_Mar._ Have ye none for me Lady?

_Am._ Not at this time.

_Mar._ I am sorry for't; I can read too.

_Am._ I am glad: but Sir, to keep you in your exercise, You may chance meet with one ill written.

_Mar._ Thank ye, So it be a womans, I can pick the meaning, For likely they have but one end.

_Am._ You say true Sir. [_Exit._

_Ant. Martine_, my wishes are come home and loaden, Loaden with brave return: most happy, happy: I am a blessed man: where's the Gentlewoman?

_Mar._ Gone, the spirit's gone, what news?

_Ant._ 'Tis from the Lady; From her we saw: from that same miracle, I know her name now: read but these three lines; Read with devotion, friend, the lines are holy.

_Martine_ reads.

_I dare not chide ye in my Letter, (Sir)_ _'Twill be too gentle: If you please to look me_ _In the West-street, and find a fair Stone window,_ _Carved with white Cupids; there I'll entertain ye:_ _Night and discretion guide ye._

_Call me_ Ismena.

_Ant._ Give it me again: Come, come, fly, fly, I am all fire.

_Mar._ There may be danger.

_Ant._ So there is to drink When men are thirsty, to eat hastily When we are hungry: so there is in sleep, Friend, Obstructions then may rise and smother us, We may dye laughing, choak'd even at devotions: An Apoplexie, or a sodain Palsey May strike us down.

_Mar._ May be a train to catch ye.

_Ant._ Then I am caught: and let Love answer for it. 'Tis not my folly, but his infamy, And if he be ador'd, and dare do vild things.--

_Mar._ Well, I will go.

_Ant._ She is a Lady, Sir, A Maid, I think, and where that holy spell Is flung about me, I ne're fear a villany, 'Tis almost night: away friend.

_Mar._ I am ready, I think I know the house too.

_Ant._ Then are we happy. [_Exeunt._

_Scæna Tertia._

_Enter_ Ismena, _and_ Aminta.

_Ism._ Did you meet him?

_Am._ Yes.

_Ism._ And did you give my Letter?

_Am._ To what end went I?

_Ism._ Are ye sure it was he? Was it that Gentleman?

_Am._ Do you think I was blind? I went to seek no Carrier, nor no Midwife.

_Ism._ What kind of man was he? thou mayst be deceiv'd Friend.

_Am._ A man with a nose on's face: I think he had eyes too, And hands: for sure he took it.

_Ism._ What an answer!

_Am._ What questions are these to one that's hot and troubled? Do you think me a Babe? am I not able (Cosin) At my years and discretion, to deliver A Letter handsomely? Is that such a hard thing? Why every Wafer-woman will undertake it: A Sempsters girl, or a Tailors wife will not miss it: A Puritan Hostess (Cosin) would scorn these questions. My legs are weary.

_Ism._ I'll make 'em well again.

_Am._ Are they at supper?

_Ism._ Yes, and I am not well, Nor desire no company: look out, 'tis darkish.

_Am._ I see nothing yet: assure your self, _Ismena_, If he be a man, he will not miss.

_Ism._ It may be he is modest, And that may pull him back from seeing me; Or has made some wild construction of my easiness: I blush to think what I writ.

_Am._ What should ye blush at? Blush when you act your thoughts, not when you write 'em; Blush soft between a pair of sheets, sweet Cosin, Though he be a curious carried Gentleman, I cannot think He's so unnatural to leave a woman, A young, a noble, and a beauteous woman, Leave her in her desires: Men of this age Are rather prone to come before they are sent for. Hark, I hear something: up to th' Chamber, Cosin, You may spoil all else.

_Enter_ Antonio _and_ Martine.

_Ism._ Let me see, they are Gentlemen; It may be they.

_Am._ They are they: get ye up, And like a Land-star draw him.

_Ism._ I am shame-fac'd. [_Exit._

_Ant._ This is the street.

_Mar._ I am looking for the house: Close, close, pray ye close here.

_Ant._ No, this is a Merchants; I know the man well:

_Mar._ And this a Pothecaries: I have lain here many times For a looseness in my hilts.

_A[n]t._ Have ye not past it?

_Mar._ No sure: There is no house of mark that we have scaped yet.

_Ant._ What place is this?

_Mar._ Speak softer: 'may be spies; If any, this, a goodly window too, Carv'd far above, that I perceive: 'tis dark, But she has such a lustre.

_Enter_ Ismena _and_ Aminta _above with a Taper_.

_Ant._ Yes _Martine_, So radiant she appears.

_Mar._ Else we may miss, Sir: The night grows vengeance black, pray heaven she shine clear: Hark, hark, a window, and a candle too.

_Ant._ Step close, 'tis she: I see the cloud disperse, And now the beauteous Planet.

_Mar._ Ha, 'tis indeed, Now by the soul of love a Divine Creature.

_Ism._ Sir, Sir.

_Ant._ Most blessed Lady.

_Ism._ 'Pray ye stand out.

_Am._ You need not fear, there's no body now stirring.

_Mar._ Beyond his commendation I am taken, Infinite strangely taken.

_Am._ I love that Gentleman, Methinks he has a dainty nimble body: I love him heartily.

_Ism._ 'Tis the right Gentleman: But what to say to him, Sir.

_Am._ Speak.

_Ant._ I wait still, And will do till I grow another Pillar, To prop this house, so it please you.

_Ism._ Speak softly, And 'pray ye speak truly too.

_Ant._ I never ly'd, Lady.

_Ism._ And don't think me impudent to ask ye, I know ye are an enemy, speak low, But I would make ye a friend.

_Ant._ I am friend to beauty; There's no handsomness, I dare be foe to.

_Ism._ Are ye married?

_Ant._ No.

_Ism._ Are ye betroth'd?

_Ant._ No, neither.

_Ism._ Indeed (fair Sir.)

_Ant._ Indeed (fair sweet) I am not. Most beauteous Virgin, I am free as you are.

_Ism._ That may be, Sir, then ye are miserable, For I am bound.

_Ant._ Happy the bonds that hold ye; Or do you put them on your self for pleasure? Sure they be sweeter far than liberty: There is no blessedness but in such bondage: Give me that freedom (Madam) I beseech ye, (Since you have question'd me so cunningly) To ask you whom you are bound to, he must be certain More than humane, that bounds in such a beauty: Happy that happy chain, such links are heavenly.

_Ism._ Pray ye do not mock me, Sir.

_Ant._ Pray ye (Lady) tell me.

_Ism._ Will ye believe, and will ye keep it to ye? And not scorn what I speak?

_Ant._ I dare not, Madam, As Oracle what you say, I dare swear to.

_Ism._ I'll set the candle by: for I shall blush now; Fie, how it doubles in my mouth! it must out, 'Tis you I am bound to.

_Ant._ Speak that word again. I understand ye not.

_Ism._ 'Tis you I am bound to.

_Ant._ Here is another Gentleman.

_Ism._ 'Tis you, Sir.

_Am._ He may be lov'd too.

_Mar._ Not by thee, first curse me.

_Ism._ And if I knew your name.

_Ant. Antonio_ (Madam)

_Ism. Antonio_, take this kiss, 'tis you I am bound to.

_Ant._ And when I set ye free, may heaven forsake me, _Ismena_.

_Ism._ Yes, now I perceive ye love me, You have learn'd my name.

_Ant._ Hear but some vows I make to ye: Hear but the protestations of a true love.

_Ism._ No, no, not now: vows should be cheerful things, Done in the cleerest light, and noblest testimony: No vow, dear Sir, tie not my fair belief To such strict terms: those men have broken credits, Loose and dismembred faiths (my dear _Antonio_) That splinter 'em with vows: am I not too bold? Correct me when you please.

_Ant._ I had rather hear ye, For so sweet Musick never stru[c]k mine ears yet: Will you believe now?

_Ism._ Yes.

_Ant._ I am yours.

_Ism._ Speak louder, If ye answer the Priest so low, you will lose your wedding.

_Mar._ Would I might speak, I would holloa.

_Ant._ Take my heart, And if it be not firm and honest to you, Heaven--

_Ism._ Peace, no more: I'll keep your heart, and credit it. Keep you your word: [when] will you come again (Friend?) For this time we have woo'd indifferently. I would fain see ye, when I dare be bolder.

_Ant._ Why any night: only (dear noble Mistriss) Pardon three daies: my Uncle _Julio_ Has bound me to attend him upon promise, Upon expectation too: we have rare sports there, Rare Countrey sports, I would you could but see 'em. Dare ye so honor me?

_Ism._ I dare not be there, You know I dare not, no, I must not (Friend) Where I may come with honourable freedom: Alas, I am ill too; we in love.

_Ant._ You flout me.

_Ism._ Trust me I do not: I speak truth, I am sickly, And am in love: but you must be Physician.

_Ant._ I'll make a plaister of my best affection.

_Ism._ Be gone, we have supp'd, I hear the people stir, Take my best wishes: give me no cause (_Antonio_) To curse this happy night.

_Ant._ I'll lose my life first, A thousand kisses.

_Ism._ Take ten thousand back again.

_Mar._ I am dumb with admiration: shall we goe, Sir? [_Exeunt._

_Ism._ Dost thou know his Uncle?

_Am._ No, but I can ask, Cosin.

_Ism._ I'll tell thee more of that, come, let's to bed both, And give me handsome dreams, Love, I beseech thee.

_Am._ 'Has given ye a handsome subject.

_Ism._ Pluck to the windows. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Bustofa.

_Bust._ The thundring Seas, whose watry fire washes The whiting mops: The gentle Whale whose feet so fell Flies o'r the Mountains tops. [_within_ Franio.

_Fra._ Boy.

_Bust._ The thundring.

_Fra._ Why boy _Bustofa_.

_Bust._ Here I am, the gentle Whale.

_Enter_ Franio.

_Fra._ Oh, are you here, Sir? where's your Sister?

_Bust._ The gentle Whale flies o'r the Mountain tops.

_Fra._ Where's your sister (man)?

_Bust._ Washes the whiting-Mops.

_Fra._ Thou ly'st, she has none to wash Mops? The boy is half way out of his wits, sure: Sirrah, who am I?

_Bust._ The thundring Seas.

_Fra._ Mad, stark mad.

_Bust._ Will you not give a man leave to con?

_Fra._ Yes, and fesse too, e'r I have done with you Sirrah, Am I your father?

_Bust._ The question is too hard for a child, ask me any thing That I have learn'd, and I'll answer you.

_Fra._ Is that a hard question? Sirrah, am not I your Father?

_Bust._ If I had my Mother-wit I could tell you.

_Fra._ Are you a thief?

_Bust._ So far forth as the Son of a Miller.

_Fra._ Will you be hang'd?

_Bust._ Let it go by eldership. The gentle Whale.--

_Fra._ Sirrah, lay by your foolish study there, And beat your brains about your own affairs: or--

_Bust._ I thank you; you'ld have me goe under the sails And beat my brains about your Mill? a natural Father you are.--

_Fra._ I charge you goe not to the sports to day: Last night I gave you leave, now I recant.

_Bust._ Is the wind turn'd since last night?

_Fra._ Marry is it, Sir, go no farther than my Mill; There's my command upon you.