Part 25

_Mer._ You understand it not, and to your ears 'twill goe like an unshod cart upon the stones, only a rough unhandsome sound.

_Moth._ [Faith] I would fain hear some _French_.

_Alex._ Good Sir, speak some _French_ to my Mistriss.

_Mer._ At your intreaty _Alexander_, I will, who shall I speak to?

_Alex._ If your worship will do me the favour Sir, to me.

_Mer._ _Mounseir_, _Poultron_, _Coukew_, _Cullione_, _Besay_, _Man cur_.

_Alex._ _Awe Mounseir._

_Moth._ Ha, ha, ha, this fine indeed, gods blessing 'on thy heart Son, by my troth thou art grown a proper Gentleman, cullen and pullen, good god what [saucey] words they use beyond the seas, ha, ha, ha!

_Alex._ Did not [you sweare] right.

_Mer._ Yes good _Alexander_, if you had done so too, But good Mother, I am very hungry, and have rid far to day, and am fasting.

_Moth._ You shall have your supper presently, my sweet Son.

_Mer._ As soon as you please, which once ended, I'll go and visit yo[n] sick Gentlewoman.

_Moth._ Come then. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Antonio _like a Post, with a Letter_.

_Ant._ I have ridden like a fury, to make up this work, and I will do it bravely, e'r I leave it; this is the house I am sure.

_Enter_ Alexander.

_Alex._ Who wou'd you speak with, Sir?

_Ant._ Marry Sir, I would speak with a Gentlewoman, came this night late here from the City, I have some Letters of importance to her, I am a Post Sir, and would be dispa[t]ch'd in haste.

_Alex._ Sir, cannot I deliver 'em? for the truth is, she's ill, and in her chamber.

_Ant._ Pray pardon me, I must needs speak with her, my business is so weighty.

_Alex._ I'll tell her so, and bring you present word.

_Ant._ Pray do so, and I'll attend her, pray god the grief of my imagined death, spoil not what I intend, I hope it will not.

_Alex._ Though she be very ill, and desires no trouble, Yet if your business be so urgent, you may come up and speak with her.

_Ant._ I thank you Sir, I follow you. [_Exit_ Alex.

_Enter Wife._

_Wife._ What should this fellow be i'th' name of Heaven, that comes with such post business? sure my Husband hath reveal'd himself, and in this haste sent after me, are you the Post my friend?

_Enter_ Anto[n]io.

_Ant._ Yes forsooth Mistriss.

_Wife._ What good news hast thou brought me gentle Post? For I have woe and grief too much already.

_Ant._ I would you had less, Mistriss, I could wish it, beshrew my heart she moves me cruelly.

_Wife._ Have I found you once more Jugler? well Jewel, thou hast only virtue in thee, of all I read of yet; what ears has this ass to betray him with? well, what's your business then?

_Ant._ I have brought a Letter from your servant, Mistriss, in haste.

_Wife._ Pray give it me, I hope the best still.

_Ant._ This is the upshot, and I know I have hit it, Well, if the spirits of the dead do walk, I shall Hear more of this one hundred years hence.

_Wife._ By any means you must have special care, for now the City is possest for certain, my Master is made away, which for ought I know is [a] truth indeed; good Mistriss leave your grief, and see your danger, and let that wise and noble Gentleman with whom you are, be your right hand in all things.

_Ant._ Now do I know I have the better on't, by the languishing of her eye at this near instant, 'tis still simming in her blood, in coyning somewhat to turn _Mercury_, I know it.

_Wife._ He is my Husband, and 'tis reasonable he should command in all things, since he will be an ass against the hair, at his own peril be it, in the morn you shall have a pacquet, till when, I must intreat you stay, you shall not lose by it.

_Ant._ I do not doubt it, Mistriss; I'll leave you to your rest, and wait your pleasure.

_Wife._ Do, and seek out the Gentleman of the house, bid him come to me presently.

_Ant._ Who, Mr. _Mercury_?

_Wife._ Do you know him, Post?

_Ant._ Only by sight forsooth, now I remember your servant will'd me to let you know he is the only man, you [and] your fortunes, are now to rest upon.

_Wife._ Prethee no more, I know all this already.

_Ant._ I'll take my leave now, I am made for ever. [_Exit._

_Wife._ Good night, I am provided for you, my fine youth. [_Exit._

_Enter Mother, beating_ Viola, Alexander _with a broken Glass_.

_Mother._ I'll make thee have more care.

_Viola._ Good Mistriss pardon me.

_Moth._ Thou'lt ne'r be good I warrant thee, can your fine fingers hold no faster?

_Viola._ Indeed it was against my will.

_Moth._ _Alexander_, let's see the glass, as I am true kirsome woman, it is one of the chrystal glasses my Cosin sent me, and the baggage hath broke it where it cannot be mended, _Alexander_, can _Humphrey_ mend this think you?

_Alex._ No truly, this will ne'er be mended.

_Vio._ Truly I meant but to wash it for the Gentlewoman that is sick above, and shaking out the water, knockt it against the pail side.

_Moth._ Did you so? be sure I'll stop it, 'twill make a good gap in your quarters wages, I can tell you.

_Viola._ I pray forgive me, and let me have no wages this first quarter.

_Moth._ Go whimling, and fetch two or three grating loaves out of the Kitching, to make Ginger-bread of, 'tis such an untoward thing. [_Exit_ Viola.

_Alex._ She's somewhat simple indeed, she knew not what a kimnel was, she wants good nurture mightily.

_Moth._ My Son tells me, _Alexander_, that this young widow means to sojourn here, she offers largely for her board, I may offer her good cheer, prethee make a step i'th' morning down to the Parsonage for some Pigeons; what are you mad there? what noise is that? are you at bowls within? why do you whine?

_Enter_ Viola _weeping_.

_Vio._ I have done another fault, I beseech you sweet Mistriss forgive me.

_Moth._ What's the matter?

_Vio._ As I was reaching for the bread that lay upon the shelf, I have thrown down the minc'd meat, that should have made the pies to morrow.

_Moth._ Get thee out of my house, thou filthy destroying Harlot, thou, I'll not keep thee an hour longer.

_Vio._ Good Mistriss, beat me rather for my fault, as much as it deserves, I do not know whither to go.

_Moth._ No I warrant thee, out of my doors.

_Vio._ Indeed I'll mend, I pray speak you for me.

_Alex._ If thou hadst hurl'd down any thing but the Pie-meat, I would have spoke for thee, but I cannot find in my heart now.

_Moth._ Art thou here yet? I think I must have an Officer to thrust thee out of my doors, must I?

_Vio._ Why, you may stop this in my wages too, For God's sake do, I'll find my self this year; And let me stay.

_Mer._ Thou't spoil ten times as much, I'll cudgel thee out of my doors.

_Vio._ I am assur'd you are more merciful, Than thus to beat me and discharge me too.

_Moth._ Dost thou dispute with me, _Alexander_ carry the prating hilding forth.

_Vio._ Good Mistriss hear me, I have here a Jewel, My Mother left me, and 'tis something worth: Receive it, and when all my faults together Come to the worth of that, then turn me forth, Till then I pray you keep me.

_Moth._ What giggombob have we here? pray god you have not pilfred this somewhere, th'art such a puling thing, wipe your eyes, and rise, go your ways, _Alexander_, bid the Cook mince some more meat, come, and get you to bed quickly, that you may up betime i'th' morning a milking, or you and I shall fall out worse yet. [_Exit Moth, and_ Alex.

_Vio._ She has hurt my arm; I am afraid she is a very angry woman, but bless him heaven that did me the most wrong, I am afraid _Antonio's_ wife should see me, she will know me.

_Mother within._ _Melvia._

_Vio._ I am coming, she's not angry agen I hope. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Mercury.

_Mer._ Now what am I the better for enjoying This woman that I lov'd so? all I find, That I before imagined to be happy: Now I have done, it turns to nothing else But a poor pitied, and a base repentance, Udsfoot, I am monstrous angry with my self: Why should a man that has discourse and reason, And knows how near he loses all in these things, Covet to have his wishes satisfied; Which when they are, are nothing but the shame I do begin to loath this woman strangely, And I think justly too, that durst adventure, Flinging away her modesty to take A stranger to her bed, her Husbands body Being scarce cold in the earth for her content, It was no more to take my senses with Than if I had an idle dream in sleep Yet I have made her promises: which grieves me, And I must keep 'em too, I think she hunts me: The devil cannot keep these women off, When they are fletched once.

_Enter Wife in night attire._

_Wife._ To bed for gods sake Sir, why do you stay here? Some are up i'th' house, I heard the wife, Good dear sweet-heart to bed.

_Mer._ Why, I am going! why do you follow me? You would not have it known I hope, pray get you Back to your chamber, the doors hard by for me, Let me alone, I warrant you this it is To thresh well, I have got a customer, Will you go to bed?

_Wife._ Will you?

_Mer._ Yes, I am going.

_Wife._ Then remember your promise you made to marry me.

_Mer._ I will, but it was your fault, that it came To this pinch now, that it must need remembrance: For out of honesty I offer'd you To marry you first, why did you slack that offer?

_Wife._ Alas I told you the inconvenience of it, And what wrong it would appear to the world If I had married [you] in such post-haste After his death: beside, the foolish people Would have been bold to have thought we had lain together in his time, and like enough imagin'd We two had murther'd him.

_Mer._ I love her tongue yet, If I were a Saint A gilded Saint, and such a thing as this Should prate thus wittily and feelingly Unto my Holiness, I cannot tell, But I fear shrewdly I should do something That would quite scratch me out o'th' Kalender, And if I stay longer talking with her, Though I am mad at what I have done already, Yet I shall forget my self again; I feel the Devil Ready to hold my stirrop; pray to bed, good night.

_Wife._ This kiss, good night sweet Love, And peace goe with thee: thou hast prov'd thy self The honestest man that ever was entic'd To that sweet sin as people please to call it, Of lying with anothers wife, and I, I think the honestest woman without blushing, That ever lay with another man, I sent my Husband Into a Cellar, post, fearing, and justly He should have known him, which I did not purpose Till I had had my end. Well, now this plot is perfect, let him brag on't. [_Exit._

_Actus Quintus. Scaena Prima._

_Enter Justice and_ Curio _with a Paper_.

_Just._ Birlady Sir, you have rid hard that you have.

_Cur._ They that have business, must do so, I take it.

_Just._ You say true, when set you out my friend?

_Cur._ About ten a clock, and I have rid all night.

_Just._ By the mass you are tough indeed, I have seen the day, I would have rid too with the proudest of them, and fling dirt in their faces, and I have don't with this foolish boy, Sir, many a time; but what can last always? 'tis done, 'tis done now, Sir, age, care, and office, brings us to our footcloaths, the more the pity.

_Curio._ I believe that, Sir, but will it please you to read the business?

_Just._ My friend, I can read, and I can tell you when.

_Cur._ Would I could too Sir, for my haste requires it.

_Just._ Whence comes it do you say?

_Cur._ Sir from the City.

_Just._ Oh from the City, 'tis a reverent place.

_Curio._ And his justice be as short as his memory, A Dudgion Dagger will serve him to mow down sin withal, What clod-pole Commissioner is this?

_Just._ And by my faith, govern'd by worthy members, Discreet and upright.

_Cur._ Sir, they are beholding to you, you have given some of them a commendations, they were not worthy of this twenty years.

_Just._ Go to, go to, you have a merry meaning, I have found you Sir, i' faith, you are a wag, away, fie now I'll read Your Letter.

_Cur._ Pray do Sir; what a misery 'tis To have an urgent business wait the Justice Of such an old Tuff-taffata that knows not, Nor can be brought to understand more sence, Than how to restore supprest Alehouses, And have his man compound small trespasses, For ten groats.

_Just._ Sir, it seems here your business is of a deeper circumstance than I conceiv'd it for; what do you mean, Sir?

_Cur._ 'Tis for mine own ease I'll assure your Worship.

_Just._ It shall not be i' faith friend, here I have it, That one _Antonio_ a Gentleman, I take it so, Yes, it is so, a Gentleman is lately thought to Have been made away, and by my faith, upon a Pearls ground too, if you consider; well, there's Knavery in't, I see that without spectacles.

_Cur._ Sure this fellow deals in revelation, he's so hidden, Goe thy ways, thou wilt stick a bench spit as formally, And shew thy Agot, and hatch'd chain As well as the best of them.

_Just._ And now I have consider'd, I believe it.

_Cur._ What Sir?

_Just._ That he was murdered.

_Cur._ Did you know him?

_Just._ No.

_Cur._ Nor how it is suppos'd.

_Just._ No, nor I care not two-pence, those are toys and yet I verily believe he was murdered, as sure as I believe thou art a man, I never fail'd in these things yet, w'are a man that's beaten to these matters, experience is a certain conceal'd thing that fails not: pray let me ask you one thing, why do you come to me?

_Cur._ Because the Letter is addrest to you, being the nearest Justice.

_Just._ The nearest? is that all?

_Cur._ I think it be Sir, I would be loth you should be the wisest.

_Just._ Well Sir, as it is, I will endeavour in it; yet if it had come to me by name, I know not, but I think it had been as soon dispatcht as by another, and with as round a wisdom, I, and as happily, but that's all one: I have born this place this thirty years, and upwards, and with sufficient credit, and they may when they please, know me better; to the nearest? well.

_Cur._ Sir, it is not my fault, for had I known you sooner--

_Just._ I thank you Sir, I know it.

_Cur._ I'll be sworn you should have plaid for [any] business now.

_Just._ And further, they have specified unto me, his Wife is sorely suspected in this matter, as a main cause.

_Cur._ I think she be Sir, for no other cause can be yet found.

_Just._ And one _Mercury_ a traveller, with whom they say directly she is run away, and as they think this way.

_Cur._ I knew all this before.

_Just._ Well Sir, this _Mercury_ I know, and his breeding, a neighbors child hard by, you have been happy, Sir, in coming hither.

_Cur._ Then you know where to have him, Sir?

_Just._ I do Sir, he dwells near me.

_Cur._ I doubt your Worship dwels near a knave then.

_Just._ I think so; pray put on: but 'tis a wonder To see how graceless people are now given, And how base virtue is accounted with them That should be all in all, as says a wise man.

I tell you Sir, and it is true, that there have been such murthers, and of late days, as 'twould make your very heart bleed in you, and some of them as I shall be enabled, I will tell you, it fell out of late days.

_Cur._ It may be so, but will it please you to proceed in this?

_Just._ An honest Weaver, and as good a workman, as e'er shot shuttle, and as close: but every man must dye; this honest Weaver being a little mellow in his Ale, that was the evidence _verbatim_, Sir, God bless the mark, sprung his neck just in this place: well _Jarvis_, thou hadst wrongs, and if I live some of the best shall sweat for't, then a wench--

_Cur._ But Sir, you have forgot my business.

_Just._ A sober pretty maid about 17, they say, certainly, howsoever 'tis shuffled, she burst her self, and fondly, if it be so, with Furmety at a Churching, but I think the Devil had another agent in't: either of which, if I can catch, shall stretch for't.

_Cur._ This is a mad Justice that will hang the Devil; but I would you would be short in this, before that other notice can be given.

_Just._ Sir, I will doe discreetly what is fitting; what, _Antonio_?

_Ant. within._ Your Worship.

_Just._ Put on your best coat, and let your fellow _Mark_ goe to the Constable, and bid him aid me with all the speed he can, and all the power, and provide Pen and Ink to take their confessions, and my long sword: I cannot tell what danger we may meet with; you'll go with us?

_Cur._ Yes, what else? I came to that end to accuse both parties.

_Just._ May I crave what you are?

_Cur._ Faith Sir, one that to be known would not profit you, more than a near kinsman of the dead _Antonio's_.

_Just._ 'Tis well, I am sorry for my neighbor, truly, that he had no more grace, 'twill kill his Mother; she's a good old woman, will you walk in? I'll but put my cloak on, and my chain off, and a clean band, and have my shooes blackt over, and shift my Jerkin, and we'll to our business, and you shall see how I can bolt these matters.

_Cur._ As soon as't please you, Sir. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Valerio, _and_ Richardo.

_Val._ This is the place; here did I leave the Maid Alone last night, drying her tender eyes, Uncertain what to do, and yet desirous To have me gone.

_Rich._ How rude are all we men, That take the name of _Civil_ to our selves! If she had set her foot upon an earth Where people live that we call barbarous; Though they had had no house to bring her to, They would have spoil'd the glory, that the spring Has deckt the trees in, and with willing hands Have torn their branches down, and every man Would have become a builder for her sake. What time left you her there?

_Val._ I left her, when the Sun had so much to sett, As he is now got from his place of rise.

_Rich._ So near the night she could not wander far; Fair _Viola_!

_Val._ It is in vain to call, she sought a house Without all question.

_Rich._ Peace, fair _Viola_? Fair _Viola_? who should have left her here On such a ground? if you had meant to lose her, You might have found there were no ecchos here To take her name, and carry it about, When her true Lover came to mourn for her, Till all the neighboring valleys and the hills, Resounded _Viola_,-- And such a place, You should have chose-- You pity us because The dew a little wets our feet, Unworthy far to seek her in the wet; And what becomes of her? where wandred she, With two showers raining on her, from her eyes Continually, abundantly, from which There's neither tree nor house to shelter her; Will you go with me to travel?

_Val._ Whither?

_Rich._ Over all the world.

_Val._ No by my faith, I'll make a shorter journey When I do travel.

_Rich._ But there's no hope To gain my end in any shorter way.

_Val._ Why, what's your end?

_Rich._ It is to search the earth, Till we have found two in the shapes of men, As wicked as our selves.

_Val._ 'Twere not so hard to find out those.

_Rich._ Why, if we find them out, It were the better, for what brave villany, Might we four do? we wou'd not keep together: For every one has treachery enough For twenty countreys, one should trouble _Asia_, Another should sow strife in _Africa_; But you should play the knave, in at home in _Europe_, And for _America_ let me alone.

_Val._ Sir, I am honester, Than you know how to be, and can no more Be wrong'd, but I shall find my self aright.

_Rich._ If you had any spark of honesty, You would not think that honester than I, Were a praise high enough to serve your turn: If men were commonly so bad as I, Thieves would be put in Calendars for Saints; And bones of murderers would work miracles. I am a kind of knave, of knave so much There is betwixt me, and the vilest else-- But the next place of all to mine is yours.

_Enter two Milk-maids and_ Viola _with pails_.

_Val._ That last is she, 'tis she.

_Rich._ Let us away, we shall infect her, let her have the wind, And we will kneel down here.

_Vio._ Wenches away, for here are men.

_Val._ Fair maid, I pray you stay.

_Vio._ Alas, agen?

_Rich._ Why do you lay hold on her? I pray heartily let her go.

_Val._ With all my heart, I do not mean to hurt her.

_Rich._ But stand away then for the purest bodies Will soonest take infection, stand away, But for infecting her my self, by heaven, I would come there, and beat thee further off.

_Vio._ I know that voice and face.

_Val._ You are finely mad, g[o]dbwy Sir, now you are here together, I'll leave [y]ou so, god send you good luck, both; when you are soberer, you'll give me thanks. [_Exit._

_Madg._ Wilt thou go milk? come.

_Nan._ Why dost not come?

_Madge._ She nods, she's asleep.

_Nan._ What wert up so early?

_Madge._ I think yon man's mad to kneel there, nay [come] away, uds body, _Nan_, help, she looks black i'th face, She's in a sound.

_Nan._ And you be a man, come hither, and help a woman.

_Rich._ Come thither? you are a fool.

_Nan._ And you a knave and a beast that you are.

_Rich._ Come hither, 'twas my being now so near, That made [her] swound, and you are wicked people, Or you wou'd do so too; my venom eyes Strike innocency dead at such a distance, Here I'll kneel, for this is out of distance.

_Nan._ Th'art a prating ass, there's no goodness in thee, I warrant, how dost thou?

_Vio._ Why? well.

_Madge._ Art thou able to go?

_Vio._ No, pray go you and milk, if I be able to come I'll follow you, if not, Til sit here, Till you come back.

_Nan._ I am loth to leave thee here with yon wild fool.

_Vio._ I know him well, I warrant thee he will not hurt me.

_Madge._ Come then _Nan_. [_Exeunt Maids._

_Rich._ How do you? be not fearfull, for I hold my hands Before my mouth, and speak, and so My breath can never blast you.

_Vio._ 'Twas enough to use me ill, though you had never sought me to mock me, why kneel you so far off, were not that gesture better us'd in prayer, had I dealt so with you, I should not sleep, till [God] and you had both forgiven me.

_Rich._ I do not mock, nor lives there such a villain That can do any thing contemptible To you, but I do kneel, because it is An action very fit and reverent, In presence of so pure a creature, And so far off, as fearful to offend, One too much wrong'd already.

_Vio._ You confess you did the fault, yet scorn to come, So far as hither, to ask pardon for't; Which I could willingly afford to come, To you to grant, good Sir if you have A better love, may you be blest together. She shall not wish you better than I will, I but offend you, there are all the Jewels I stole, and all the love I ever had, I leave behind with you, I'll carry none To give another may the next maid you try Love you no worse, nor be no worse than I.

_Rich._ Do not leave me yet for all my fault, Search out the next things to impossible, And put me on them when they are effected, I may with better modesty receive Forgiveness from you.

_Vio._ I will set no pennance, To gain the great forgiveness you desire: But to come hither and take me and it, Or else I'll come and beg, so you will grant, That you will be content to be forgiven.

_Rich._ Nay, I will come since you [will] have it so, And since you please to pardon me I hope Free from infection, here I am by you; A careless man, a breaker of my faith, A lothsome drunkard; and in that wild fury: A hunter after whores: I do beseech you, To pardon all these faults, and take me up An honest, sober, and a faithful man.