Part 13

_Bew._ It is without all question, being private, And held as needful as intelligence, But being once discover'd, blown abroad, And known to common senses, 'tis no more Than geometrical rules in Carpenters, That only know some measure of an Art, But are not grounded: be no more deceived, I have a conscience to reclaim you, Sir. Mistake me not: I do not bid you leave your whore Or less to love her; forbid it, I should be such a villain to my friend, Or so unnatural: 'twas never harbor'd here, Learn to be secret first, then strike your Deer.

_Lon._ Your fair instructions, _Mo[n]sieur_, I shall learn.

_Bew._ And you shall have them; I desire your care.

_Lon._ They are your servants.

_Bew._ You must not love.

_Lon._ How Sir?

_Bew._ I mean a Lady, there's danger. She hath an Usher and a Waiting Gentlewoman, A Page, a Coach-man, these are fee'd and fee'd And yet for all that will be prating.

_Lon._ So.

_Bew._ You understand me Sir, they will discover't, And there is a loss of credit, Table-talk Will be the end of this, or worse, than that; Will this be worthy of a Gentleman?

_Long._ Proceed good Sir.

_Bew._ Next leave your City Dame; The best of that Tribe, are most meerly coy, Or most extreamly foolish, both which vices Are no great stirrers up, unless in Husbands That owe this Cattle, fearing her that's coy To be but seeming, her that's fool too forward.

_Lon._ This is the rarest fellow, and the soundest, I mean in knowledge, that e'r wore a Codpiece, H'as found out that will pass all _Italy_, All _France_ and _England_; to their shames I speak, And to the griefs of all their Gentlemen, The noble Theory of Luxury.

_Bew._ Your patience, And I will lay before your eyes a course That I my self found out, 'tis excellent, Easie, and full of freedome.

_Long._ O good Sir, You rack me till I know it.

_Bew._ This it is, When your desire is up, your blood well heated And apt for sweet encounter, chuse the night, And with the night your Wench, the streets have store, There seize upon her, get her to your chamber, Give her a cardecew, 'tis royal payment; When ye are dull, dismiss her, no man knows, Nor she her self, who hath encountred her.

_Lon._ O but their faces.

_Bew._ Nere talke of faces: The night allows her equal with a Dutchess, Imagination doth all think her fair, And great, clapt in Velvet, she is so, Sir, I have tryed those, and do find it certain It never failes me, 'tis but twelve nights since My last experience.

_Lon._ O my meiching Varlet, I'll fit ye as I live. 'Tis excellent, I'll be your Scholar Sir.

_Enter_ Lady _and_ Servant.

_Wife._ You are fairly welcome both: troth Gentlemen You have been strangers, I could chide you for't, And taxe ye with unkindness, What's the news? The Town was never empty of some novelty; Servant, What's your intelligence?

_Ser._ Faith nothing. I have not heard of any worth relating.

_Bew._ Nor I sweet Lady.

_Lon._ Then give me attention, _Monsieur Shattillion's_ mad.

_Wife._ Mad?

_Lon._ Mad as May-butter, And which is more, mad for a Wench.

_Lady._ 'Tis strange, and full of pity.

_Lon._ All that comes near him He thinks are come of purpose to betray him, Being full of strange conceit: the wench he loved Stood very near the Crown.

_Lady._ Alass good _Monsieur_; A' was a proper man, and fair demean'd, A Person worthy of a better temper.

_Lon._ He is strong opinion'd that the Wench he lov'd Remains close prisoner by the Kings command: Fearing her title, when the poor grieved Gentlewoman Follows him much lamenting, and much loving In hope to make him well, he knows her not, Nor any else that comes to visit him.

_Lady._ Let's walk in Gentlemen, and there discourse His further miseries, you shall stay dinner, In truth you must obey.

_Om._ We are your servants. [_Exeunt._

_Enter Couzen._

_Cous._ There's no good to be done, no cure to be wrought Upon my desperate Kinsman: I'll to horse And leave him to the fools whip, misery. I shall recover twenty miles this night, My horse stands ready, I'll away with speed.

_Enter_ Shattillion.

_Shat._ Sir, may I crave your name?

_Cous._ Yes Sir you may: My name is _Cleremont_.

_Shat._ 'Tis well, your faction? What party knit you with?

_Cous._ I know no parties, Nor no Factions, Sir.

_Shat._ Then weare this Cross of white: And where you see the like they are my friends, Observe them well, the time is dangerous.

_Cous._ Sir keep your cross, I'll weare none, sure this fellow Is much beside himself, grown mad.

_Shat._ A word Sir; You can pick nothing out of this, this cross Is nothing but a cross, a very cross, Plain, without spell, or witchcraft, search it, You may suspect, and well, there's poyson in't, Powder, or wild-fire, but 'tis nothing so.

_Cous._ I do believe you, Sir, 'tis a plain cross.

_Shat._ Then do your worst, I care not, tell the King, Let him know all this, as I am sure he shall; When you have spit your venome, then will I Stand up a faithful, and a loyal Subject, And so God save His Grace, this is no Treason.

_Cous._ He is March mad, farewell _Monsieur_. [_Exit Couzen._

_Shat._ Farewel; I shall be here attending, 'tis my life They aime at, there's no way to save it, well Let 'em spread all their nets: they shall not draw me Into any open Treason, I can see, And can beware, I have my wits about me, I thank heaven for't.

_Enter_ Love.

_Love._ There he goes, That was the fairest hope the _French_ Court bred, The worthiest and the sweetest temper'd spirit, The truest, and the valiantest, the best of judgment, Till most unhappy I: sever'd those virtues, And turn'd his wit wild with a coy denial, Which heaven forgive me, and be pleas'd, O heaven To give again his senses: that my love May strike off all my follies.

_Shat._ Lady.

_Love._ I Sir.

_Shat._ Your will with me sweet Lady.

_Love._ Sir, I come.

_Shat._ From the dread sovereign King, I know it Lady, He is a gracious Prince, long may he live, Pertain you to his chamber?

_Lov._ No indeed Sir, That place is not for women, Do you know me?

_Shat._ Yes, I do know you.

_Lov._ What's my name? pray you speak.

_Shat._ That's all one, I do know you and your business, You are discover'd Lady, I am wary, It stands upon my life; pray excuse me, The best man of this Kingdom sent you hither, To dive into me, have I toucht you? ha?

_Lov._ You are deceiv'd Sir, I come from your love, That sends you fair commends, and many kisses.

_Shat._ Alass, poor soul, How does she? Is she living? Keeps she her bed still?

_Lov._ Still Sir, She is living, And well, and shall do so.

_Shat._ Are ye in counsel?

_Lov._ No Sir, nor any of my sex.

_Shat._ Why so, If you had been in counsel, you would know, Her time to be but slender; she must die.

_Lov._ I do believe it, Sir.

_Shat._ And suddenly, She stands too near a fortune.

_Lov._ Sir?

_Shat._ 'Tis so, There is no jesting with a Princes Title, Would we had both been born of common parents, And liv'd a private and retir'd life, In homely cottage, we had then enjoyed, Our loves, and our embraces, these are things, That cannot tend to Treason--

_Lov._ I am wretched.

_Shat._ O I pray as often for the King as any, And with as true a heart, for's continuance, And do moreover pray his heirs may live; And their fair issues, then as I am bound For all the states and commons: if these prayers Be any wayes ambitious, I submit, And lay my head down, let 'em take it off; You may informe against me, but withall Remember my obedience to the Crown, And service to the State.

_Lov._ Good Sir, I love ye.

_Shat._ Then love the gracious King, and say with me.

_Lov._ Heaven save his Grace.

_Shat._ This is strange-- A woman should be sent to undermine me, And buz love into me to try my spirit; Offer me kisses, and enticing follies, To make me open, and betray my self; It was a subtile and a dangerous plot, And very soundly followed, farewel Lady, Let me have equal hearing, and relate I am an honest Man. Heaven save the King. [_Exit._

_Love._ I'll never leave him, till, by art or prayer, I have restor'd his senses, If I make Him perfect Man again, he's mine, till when, I here abjure all loves of other men. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Cozen, _and_ Jaques.

_Jaques._ Nay, good Sir be perswaded, go but back, And tell him hee's undone, say nothing else; And you shall see how things will work upon't.

_Cozen._ Not so good _Jaques_, I am held an asse, A Countrey Fool, good to converse with dirt, And eate course bread, weare the worst Wooll, Know nothing but the high-way to _Paris_, And wouldst thou have me bring these stains, And imperfections to the rising view Of the right worshipful thy worthy Master? They must be bright, and shine, their cloaths Soft Velvet, and the _Tyrian_ Purple Like the _Arabian_ gums, hung like the Sun, Their golden beames on all sides; Such as these may come and know Thy Master, I am base, and dare not speak unto him, Hee's above me.

_Ja._ If ever you did love him, or his state, His name, his issue, or your self, go back: 'Twill be an honest and a noble part Worthy a Kinsman; save 300 Acres From present execution; they have had sentence, And cannot be repriev'd, be merciful.

_Co._ Have I not urg'd already all the reasons, I had to draw him from his will? his ruin? But all in vain, no counsel will prevail; H'as fixt himself, there's no removing, _Jaques_, 'Twill prove but breath and labor spent in vain, I'll to my horse, farewell.

_Ja._ For Gods sake, Sir, As ever you have hope of joy, turn back; I'll be your slave for ever, do but go, And I will lay such fair directions to you That if he be not doting on his fall, He shall recover sight, and see his danger, And ye shall tell him of his Wives abuses, I fear, too foul against him; how she plots, With our young Mounsiers, to milk-dry her husband, And lay it on their backs; the next her pride; Then what his debts are, and how infinite The curses of his Tenants, this will work I'll pawn my life and head, he cries away, I'll to my house in the Countrey.

_Co._ Come, I'll go, and once more try him, If he yield not, so, The next that tryes him shall be want and woe. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Secundus. Scaena Prima._

_Enter Gentleman, Solus._

_Gent._ _Jaques._

_Jaq._ Sir. [_Within._

_Gent._ Rise _Jaques_ 'tis grown day, The Country life is best, where quietly, Free from the clamor of the troubled Court, We may enjoy our own green shadowed walks, And keep a moderate diet without art. Why did I leave my house, and bring my Wife, To know the manner of this subtile place? I would, when first the lust to fame and honor, Possest me, I had met with any evil, But that; had I been tied to stay at home, And earn the bread for the whole family, With my own hand, happy had I been.

_Enter_ Jaques.

_Jaq._ Sir, this is from your wonted course at home, When did ye there keep such inordinate hours? Goe to bed late? start thrice? and call on me? Would you were from this place; our Countrey sleeps, Although they were but of that moderate length That might maintain us in our daily work, Yet were they sound and sweet.

_Gent._ I _Jaques_, there we dreamt not of our Wives, we lay together; And needed not; now at length my Cozens words, So truly meant, mixt with thy timely prayers So often urged, to keep me at my home, Condemn me quite.

_Ja._ 'Twas not your fathers course: He liv'd and dy'd in _Orleance_, where he had His Vines as fruitful as experience (Which is the art of Husbandry) could make; He had his presses for 'em, and his wines Were held the best, and out-sold other Mens, His corn and cattel serv'd the neighbor Towns With plentiful provision, yet his thrift Could miss one Beast amongst the heard; He rul'd more where he liv'd, than ever you will here.

_Gent._ 'Tis true, why should my Wife then, 'gainst my good, Perswade me to continue in this course?

_Ja._ Why did you bring her hither at the first, Before you warm'd her blood with new delights? Our Countrey sports could have contented her; When you first married her a puppet-play Pleas'd her as well as now the tilting doth. She thought her self brave in a bugle chain, Where Orient pearl will scarce content her now.

_Gent._ Sure _Jaques_, she sees something for my good More than I do; she oft will talk to me Of Offices, and that she shortly hopes, By her acquaintance with the friends she hath, To get a place shall many times outweigh Our great expences, and if this be so--

_Ja._ Think better of her words, she doth deceive you, And only for her vain and sensual ends Perswade ye thus. Let me be set to dwell For ever naked in the barest soil, So you will dwell from hence.

_Gent._ I see my folly, Pack up my stuffe, I will away this morne. Haste--haste.

_Ja._ I, now I see your Father's honors Trebling upon you, and the many prayers The Countrey spent for him, which almost now Begun to turn to curses, turning back, And falling like a [timely] shower Upon ye.

_Gent._ Goe, call [up] my Wife.

_Ja._ But shall she not prevail, And sway you, as she oft hath done before?

_Gent._ I will not hear her, but raile on her, Till I be ten miles off.

_Ja._ If you be forty, 'Twill not be worse Sir:

_Gent._ Call her up.

_Ja._ I will Sir. [_Exit._

_Gent._ Why what an Ass was I that such a thing As a Wife is could rule me! Know not I that woman was created for the man, That her desires, nay all her thoughts should be As his are? is my sense restor'd at length? Now she shall know, that which she should desire, She hath a husband that can govern her,

_Enter Wife._

If her desires leads me against my will; Are you come?

_Wife._ What sad unwonted course Makes you raise me so soon, that went to bed So late last-night.

_Gent._ O you shall goe to bed sooner hereafter, And be rais'd again at thrifty hours: In Summer time wee'l walk An hour after our Supper, and to bed, In Winter you shall have a set at Cards, And set your Maids to work.

_Wife._ What do you mean?

_Gent._ I will no more of your new tricks, your honors, Your Offices, and all your large preferments, Which still you beat into my ears, hang o'er me, I'll leave behind for others, the great sway Which I shall bear at Court: my living here With countenance of your honoured friends, I'll be content to lose: for you speak this Only that you may still continue here In wanton ease: and draw me to consume, In cloaths and other things idle for shew, That which my Father got with honest thrift.

_Wife._ Why, who hath been with you Sir, That you talk thus out of Frame.

_Gent._ You make a fool of me: You provide one to bid me forth to supper, And make me promise; then must some one or other Invite you forth, if you have born your self Loosely to any Gentleman in my sight At home, you ask me how I like the carriage, Whether it were not rarely for my good, And open'd not a way to my preferment? Come, I perceive all: talk not, we'll away.

_Wife._ Why Sir, you'll stay till the next triumph Day be past?

_Gent._ I, you have kept me here triumphing This seven years, and I have ridden through the streets, And bought embroyder'd hose and foot-cloths too, To shew a subjects zeal, I rode before In this most gorgeous habit, and saluted All the acquaintance I could espie From any window, these are wayes ye told me To raise me; I see all: make you ready straight, And in that Gown which you came first to Town in, Your safe-guard, cloak, and your hood sutable: Thus on a double gelding shall you amble, And my man _Jaques_ shall be set before you.

_Wife._ But will you goe?

_Gent._ I will.

_Wife._ And shall I too?

_Gent._ And you shall too.

_Wife._ But shall I by this light?

_Gent._ Why by this light you shall.

_Wife._ Then by this light You have no care of your Estate, and mine. Have we been seven years venturing in a Ship, And now upon return, with a fair wind, And a calm Sea, full fraught with our own wishes, Laden with wealth and honor to the brim, And shall we flye away and not receive it? Have we been tilling, sowing, labouring, With pain and charge a long and tedious winter, And when we see the corn above the ground, Youthful as is the Morn and the full eare, That promises to stuffe our spacious garners, Shall we then let it rot, and never reap it?

_Gent._ Wife talke no more, your Rhetorick comes too late, I am inflixible; and how dare you Adventure to direct my course of life? Was not the husband made to rule the Wife?

_Wife._ 'Tis true: but where the man doth miss his way, It is the Womans part to set him right; So Fathers have a power to guide their Sons In all their courses, yet you oft have seen Poor little children, that have both their eyes, Lead their blind Fathers.

_Gen._ She has a plaguy wit, I say you'r but a little piece of man.

_Wife._ But such a piece, as being tane away, Man cannot last: the fairest and tallest ship, That ever sail'd, is by a little piece of the same Wood, steer'd right, and turn'd about.

_Gen._ 'Tis true she sayes, her answers stand with reason.

_Wife._ But Sir, your Cozin put this in your head, Who is an enemy to your preferment, Because I should not take place of his wife; Come, by this kiss, thou shalt not go sweet heart.

_Gen._ Come, by this kiss I will go Sweet-heart, On with your riding stuffe: I know your tricks, And if preferment fall ere you be ready, 'Tis welcome, else adieu the City life.

_Wife._ Well, Sir, I will obey.

_Gent._ About it then.

_Wife._ To please your humor I would dress my self, In the most loathsome habit you could name, Or travel any whether o're the World, If you command me, it shall ne'r be said, The frailty of a woman, whose weak mind, Is often set on loose delights, and shews, Hath drawn her husband to consume his state, In the vain hope of that which never fell.

_Gen._ About it then, women are pleasant creatures, When once a man begins to know himself.

_Wife._ But hark you Sir, because I will be sure, You shall have no excuse, no word to say In your defence hereafter; when you see What honors were prepar'd for you and me, Which you thus willingly have thrown away, I tell you I did look for present honor, This morning for you, which I know had come: But if they do not come ere I am ready (Which I will be the sooner least they should) When I am once set in a countrey life, Not all the power of earth shall alter me, Not all your prayers or threats shall make me speak The least words to my honorable friends, To do you any grace.

_Gent._ I will not wish it.

_Wife._ And never more hope to be honorable.

_Gent._ My hopes are lower.

_Wife._ As I live you shall not, You shall be so far from the name of noble That you shall never see a Lord again; You shall not see a Maske, or Barriers, Or Tilting, or a solemn Christning, Or a great Marriage, or new Fire-works, Or any bravery; but you shall live At home, bespotted with your own lov'd durt, In scurvy cloaths, as you were wont to doe, And to content you, I will live so too.

_Gen._ Tis all I wish, make haste, the day draws on, It shall be my care to see your Stuffe packt up.

_Wife._ It shall be my care to gull you: you shall stay. [_Ex. Gen._ And more than so, intreat me humbly too, You shall have honors presently; _Maria_.

_Enter_ Maria.

_Mar._ Madam.

_Wife._ Bring hither, pen, ink, and paper.

_Ma._ 'Tis here.

_Wife._ Your Master will not stay, Unless preferment come within an hour.

_Mar._ Let him command one of the City gates, In time of mutiny, or you may provide him, To be one of the counsel for invading, Some savage Countrey to plant Christian faith.

_Wife._ No, no, I have it for him, call my page; Now, my dear husband, there it is will fit you. [_Ex._ Maria. And when the world shall see what I have done, Let it not move the spleen of any Wife, To make an Ass of her beloved husband, Without good ground, but if they will be drawn To any reason by you, do not gull them; But if they grow conceited of themselves, And be fine Gentlemen, have no mercy, Publish them to the World, 'twill do them good When they shall see their follies understood, Go bear these Letters to my servant, And bid him make haste, I will dress my self, In all the Journey-Cloaths I us'd before, Not to ride, but to make the Laughter more. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Gentleman, _and_ Jaques.

_Gent._ Is all packt up?

_Ja._ All, all Sir, there is no tumbler Runs through his hoop with more dexterity, Then I about this business: 'Tis a day, That I have long long'd to see.

_Gent._ Come, Where's my Spurs?

_Ja._ Here, Sir, and now 'tis come.

_Gent._ I, _Jaques_, now, I thank my fates, I can command my Wife.

_Ja._ I am glad to see it, Sir.

_Gent._ I do not love alwayes, To be made a puppie, _Jaques_.

_Ja._ But, yet me thinks your Worship does not look, Right like a Countrey Gentleman.

_Gent._ I will, give me my t'other hat.

_Ja._ Here.

_Gent._ So, my Jerkin.

_Ja._ Yes, Sir.

_Gent._ On with it _Jaques_, thou and I Will live so finely in the Countrey, _Jaques_, And have such pleasant walks into the Woods A mornings, and then bring home riding-rods, And walking staves--

_Ja._ And I will bear them, Sir, And Skurdge-sticks for the children.

_Gent._ So thou shalt, And thou shalt do all, over-see my Work-folkes, And at the weeks end pay them all their wages.

_Ja._ I will, Sir, so your Worship give me Money.

_Gent._ Thou shalt receive all too: give me my Drawers.

_Ja._ They are ready, Sir.

_Gent._ And I will make thy Mistriss, My wife, look to her landrie, and her dairy, That we may have our linnen clean on Sundayes.

_Ja._ And Holy-dayes.

_Gent._ I, and ere we walk about the Grounds Provide our break-fast, Or she shall smoke, I'll have her a good huswife; She shall not make a voyage to her Sisters, But she shall live at home, And feed her pullen fat, and see her Maides In bed before her, and lock all the doors.

_Ja._ Why that will be a life for Kings and Queens.

_Gen._ Give me my Scarfe with the great Button quickly.

_Ja._ 'Tis done, Sir.

_Gen._ Now my Mittens.

_Ja._ Here they are, Sir.

_Gen._ 'Tis well: now my great dagger.

_Ja._ There.

_Gen._ Why so; thus it should be, now my riding rod.

_Ja._ There's nothing wanting, Sir.

_Gen._ Another, man, to stick under my girdle.

_Ja._ There it is.

_Gent._ All is well.

_Ja._ Why now methinks your Worship looks Like to your self, a Man of means and credit, So did your grave and famous Ancestors, Ride up and down to Fairs, and cheapen cattel.

_Gent._ Goe, hasten your Mistriss, Sirra.

_Ja._ It shall be done. [_Ex._ Jaques.

_Enter_ Servant _and_ Page.

_Ser._ Who's that? who's that Boy?

_Page._ I think it be my Master.

_Ser._ Who, he that walkes in gray, whisking his riding rod?

_Pag._ Yes, Sir, 'tis he.

_Ser._ 'Tis he indeed; he is prepar'd For his new journey; when I wink upon you, Run out and tell the Gentleman 'tis time-- _Monsieur_ good day.

_Gen._ _Monsieur_, your Mistriss is within, but yet not ready.