Part 11

_Witty._ Faith Sir I must excuse my Cosin in this act, If you can excuse your self for making him A Priest, there's the most difficult answer. I put this practise on him, as from your desire, A truth, a truth, Father.

_Cred._ I protest, Sir, he tells you truth, he mov'd me to't in your nam[e].

_Old K._ I protest, Sir, he told you a lye in my name, and were you so easie, Mr. _Credulous_, to believe him?

_Cred._ If a man should not believe his Cosin, Sir, whom should he believe?

_Old K._ Good'en to you, good Mr. Cosin _Cuningam_, And your fair Bride, my Cosin _Cuningam_ too, And how do you Sir _Gregory_, with your fair Lady?

_Sir Greg._ A little better than you would have had me, I thank you Sir, the days of Puppy, and Slave, and Rascal, are pretty well blown over now, I know Crabs from Verjuyce, I have tryed both, and thou'dst give me thy Neece for nothing, I'd not have her.

_Cun._ I think so Sir _Gregory_, for my sake you would not.

_Sir Gr._ I wou'd thou hadst scap'd her too, and then she had died of the Green sickness: know this, that I did marry in spight, and I will kiss my Lady in spight, and love her in spight, and beget children of her in spight, and when I dye, they shall have my Lands in spight; this was my resolution, and now 'tis out.

_Nee._ How spightful are you now, Sir _Gregory_! Why look you, I can love my dearest Husband, With all the honors, duties, sweet embraces, That can be thrown upon a loving man.

_Sir Gr._----This is afore your Uncles face, but behind his back, in private, you'll shew him another tale--

_Cun._ You see, Sir, now the irrecoverable state of all these things before you: come out of your muse, they have been but Wit-weapons, you were wont to love the Play.

_Enter Clown._

_Old K._ Let me alone in my muse a little, Sir, I will wake to you anon.

_Cun._ U'd so, your friend _Pompey_, how will you answer him?

_Nee._ Very well, if you'll but second it, and help me.

_Clow._ I do hear strange stories, are Ladies things obnoxious?

_Nee._ Oh, the dissembling falsest wretch is come.

_Cun._ How now Lady?

_Nee._ Let me come to him, and instead of love Let me have revenge.

_Witty._ Pray you now, will you first examine, whether he be guilty or no.

_Nee._ He cannot be excus'd, How many Messengers (thou perjur'd man) Hast thou return'd with Vows and Oaths, that thou Wouldst follow, and never till this unhappy hour Could I set eye of thee, since thy false eye Drew my heart to it? oh I could tear thee now, Instead of soft embraces, pray give me leave--

_Witty._ Faith this was ill done of you Sir, if you promis'd otherwise.

_Clow._ By this hand, never any Messenger came at me, since the first time I came into her company; that a man should be wrong'd thus!

_Nee._ Did not I send thee Scarfs and Diamonds? And thou return'dst me Letters, one with a false heart in't.

_Witty._ Oh fie, to receive favours, return falshoods, and hold a Lady in hand--

_Clow._ Will you believe me, Sir? if ever I receiv'd Diamonds, or Scarf, or sent any Letter to her, would this sword might ne'er go through me.

_Witty._ Some bad Messengers have gone between you then.

_Nee._ Take him from my sight if I shall see to morrow.

_Witty._ Pray you forbear the place, this discontent may impair her health much.

_Clow._ 'Foot, if a man had been in any fault, 'twould ne'er a griev'd him, Sir, if you'll believe.

_Witty._ Nay, nay, protest no more, I do believe you, But you see how the Lady is wrong'd by't; She has cast away her self, it is to be fear'd, Against her Uncles Will, nay, any consent, But out of a mere neglect, and spight to her self, Married suddainly without any advice.

_Clow._ Why, who can help it? if she be cast away, she may thank her self, she might have gone farther and far'd worse; I could do no more than I could do: 'twas her own pleasure to command me, that I should not come, till I was sent for, I had been with her every minute of an hour else.

_Witty._ Truly I believe you.

_Clow._ Night and day she might have commanded me, and that she knew well enough; I said as much to her between her and I; yet I protest, she's as honest a Lady for my part, that I'd say, if she would see me hang'd: if she be cast away I cannot help it, she might have stay'd to have spoke with a man.

_Witty._ Well, 'twas a hard miss on both parts.

_Clow._ So 'twas, I was within one of her, for all this cross luck, I was sure I was between the Knight and home.

_Nee._ Not gone yet? oh my heart! none regard my health?

_Witty._ Good Sir, forbear her sight awhile, you hear how ill she brooks it.

_Clow._ Foolish woman, to overthrow her fortunes so; I shall think the worse of a Ladies wit, while I live for't--I could almost cry for anger, if she should miscarry now; 'twould touch my conscience a little, and who knows what love and conceit may do? what would people say, as I go along? there goes he that the Lady died for love on, I am sure to hear on't i'th' streets, I shall weep before hand; foolish woman, I do grieve more for thee now, than I did love thee before; well, go thy ways, wouldst thou spare thy Husbands head, and break thine own heart? if thou hadst any wit, I would some other had been the cause of thy undoing, I shall be twitted i'th' teeth with it, I'm sure of that, foolish Lady. [_Exit._

_Nee._ So, so, this trouble's well shook off, Uncle, how d'ye? there's a Dowrie due, Sir.

_Cun._ We have agreed it sweetest, And find your Uncle fully recover'd, kind to both of us.

_Witty._ To all the rest I hope.

_Old K._ Never to thee, nor thee, easie cosin _Credulous_, Was your wit so raw?

_Cred._ Faith yours Sir, so long season'd Has been faulty too, and very much to blame, Speaking it with reverence, Uncle.

_Sir Gr._ Yes faith, Sir, you have paid as dear for your time, as any man here.

_Witty._ I Sir, and I'll reckon it to him. _Imprimis_, The first preface cheat of a pair of pieces to the Beggars, you remember that I was the example to your bounty there, I spake _Greek_ and _Syriack_, Sir, you understand me now. Next, the Robbery put upon your indulgent Cosin, which indeed was no Robbery, no Constable, no Justice, no Thief, but all Cheaters; there was a hunder'd Mark, mark you that: Lastly, this memorable 100 pounds worth of Musick, this was [but] cheats and wit too, and for the assistance of this Gentleman to my Cosin (for which I am to have a Fee) that was a little practice of my wit too, Father; will you come to composition yet, Father?

_Cun._ Yes faith Sir, do, two hundr'd a year will be easier than so much weekly, I do not think he's barren if he should be put to't agen.

_Old K._ Why this was the day I look'd for, thou shalt have't, And the next cheat makes it up three hundr'd; Live thou upon thy ten pound Vicarage, Thou get'st not a penny more, here's thy full Hire now.

_Cred._ I thank you, Sir.

_Witty._ Why there was the sum of all my Wit, Father, To shuve him out of your favour, which I fear'd Would have disinherited me.

_Old K._ Most certain it had, Had not thy wit recover'd it; is there any here That had a hand with thee?

_Witty._ Yes, all these, Sir.

_Old K._ Nephew, part a hundr'd pound amongst 'em, I'll repay it; wealth, love me as I love wit; When I die, I'll build an Alms-house for decay'd wits.

_Sir Gr._ I'll entertain one in my life time; Scholar, you shall be my Chaplain, I have the gift of twenty Benefices, simple as I am here.

_Pris._ Thanks my great Patron.

_Cun._ Sir your Gentry and your name shall both be rais'd as high as my fortunes can reach 'em, for your friends sake.

_Witty._ Something will be in my present power, the future more, You shall share with me.

_Ruin and Wife._ Thanks worthy Gentlemen.

_Nee._ Sir, I would beg one thing of you.

_Sir Gr._ You can beg nothing of me.

_Witty._ Oh Sir, if she begs, there's your power over her.

_Sir Gr._ She has begg'd me for a fool already, but 'tis no matter. I have begg'd her for a Lady, that she might have been, That's one for another.

_Witty._ Nay, but if she beg--

_Sir Gr._ Let her beg agen then.

_Nee._ That your man _Pompey's_ Coat may come over his ears back agen, I would not he should be lost for my sake.

_Sir Gr._ Well, 'tis granted, for mine own sake.

_Mirab._ I'll intreat it Sir.

_Sir Gr._ Why then 'tis granted for your sake.

_Old K._ Come, come, down with all weapons now, 'tis Musick time, So it be purchas'd at an easie rate; Some have receiv'd the knocks, some giv'n the hits, And all concludes in love, there's happy wits. [_Exeunt._

The Epilogue at the reviving of this Play.

_We need not tell you Gallants, that this night_ _The Wits have jumpt, or that the Scenes hit right_ _'Twould be but labor lost for to excuse_ _What_ Fletcher _had to do in: his brisk Muse_ _Was so Mercurial, that if he but writ_ _An Act, or two, the whole Play rose up wit._ _We'll not appeal unto those Gentlemen_ _Judge by their Cloaths, if they sit right, nor when_ _The Ladies smile, and with their Fanns delight_ _To whisk a clinch aside, then all goes right:_ _'Twas well receiv'd before, and we dare say,_ _You now are welcome to no vulgar Play._

The Fair Maid of the Inn.

A TRAGI-COMEDY.

The Persons represented in the Play.

Duke _of_ Florence. Cesario, _a young Gentleman of a fiery nature, Son to_ Alberto, Albertus, _Father to_ Cesario, _Admiral of_ Florence. Baptista, _a brave Sea-Commander_, _antient friend to_ Albertus, _and Father to_ Mentivole _and_ Biancha. Mentivole, _Son to_ Baptista, _Lover of_ Clarissa. Prospero, _a noble friend to_ Baptista. Two Magistrates _of_ Florence. Host, _the supposed Father to_ Biancha. Forobosco, _a cheating Mountebank_. Clown, _the Mountebanks man, and setter_. Three Gentlemen. Secretary _to the Duke_. Dancer, } _Four fools and knaves_, Taylor, } _who pretend love_ Mulitteer, } Biancha, _the Fair_ Pedant, } _Maid of the Inn_. Sailors.

WOMEN.

Mariana, _Wife to_ Albertus, _a virtuous Lady_. Clarissa, _Mariana's Daughter, in love with_ Mentivole. Juliana, _Neece to the Duke of_ Genoa, Baptista's _second wife_. Biancha, _the Fair Maid of the Inn_, _beloved of_ Cesario, _and Daughter to_ Baptista _and_ Juliana. Hostess, _the supposed Mother of_ Biancha.

The Scene, Florence.

PROLOGUE.

_Plays have their fates, not as in their true sence_ _They're understood, but as the influence_ _Of idle custom, madly works upon_ _The dross of many tongu'd opinion._ _A worthy story, howsoever writ_ _For Language, modest Mirth, Conceit or Wit,_ _Meets oftentimes with the sweet commendation_ _Of hang't, 'tis scurvy, when for approbation_ _A Jigg shall be clapt at, and every rhime_ _Prais'd and applauded by a clamorous chime._ _Let ignorance and laughter dwell together,_ _They are beneath the Muses pity. Hither_ _Come nobler Judgements, and to those the strain_ _Of our invention is not bent in vain,_ _The_ Fair Maid of the Inn _to you commends_ _Her hopes and welcomes, and withal intends_ _In th' Entertains to which she doth invite ye,_ _All things to please, a[n]d some things to delight ye._

Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.

_Enter_ Cesario, _and_ Clarissa.

_Cesario._ Interpret not _Clarissa_, my true zeal In giving you counsel, to transcend the bounds That should confine a brother; 'tis your honor, And peace of mind (which honor last will leave you) I labor to preserve, and though you yet are Pure and untainted, and resolve to be so: Having a Fathers eye, and Mothers care In all your ways to keep you fair, and upright. In which respects my best advices must Appear superfluous; yet since love, dear Sister Will sometimes tender things unnecessary, Misconstrue not my purpose.

_Claris._ Sir, I dare not: But still receive it as a large addition, To the much that I already stand ingag'd for, Yet pardon me, though I profess upon A true examination of my self, Even to my private thoughts I cannot find (Having such strong supporters to uphold me) On what slight ground the least doubt can be rais'd To render me suspected, I can fall, Or from my Fame or Virtue.

_Cæsar._ Far be it from me, To nourish such a thought; and yet excuse me, As you would do a Lapidary, whose whole fortunes Depend upon the safety of one Jewel, If he think no case precious enough To keep it in full lustre, nor no locks, Though lending strength to Iron doors sufficient To guard it, and secure him; you to me are A Gemm of more esteem, and priz'd higher Than Usurers do their Muck, or great men Title. And any flaw (which heaven avert) in you, (Whose reputation like a Diamond Cut newly from the rock, women with envie, And men with covetous desires look up at) By prying eies discovered in a moment Would render what the braveries of _Florence_ For want of counterpoize, forbear to cheapen, Of little or no value.

_Claris._ I see brother The mark you shoot at, and much thank your love; But for my Virgin Jewel which is brought In comparison with your Diamond, rest assur'd It shall not fall in such a workmans hands Whose ignorance or malice shall have power To cast one cloud upon it, but still keep Her native splendor.

_Cesa._ 'Tis well, I commend you; And study your advancement with that care As I would do a Sisters, whom I love With more than common order.

_Claris._ That from me, I hope's return'd to you.

_Cesar._ I do confess it, Yet let me tell you, (but still with that love, I wish to increase between us) that you are Observ'd against the gravity long maintain'd In _Italy_ (where to see a maid unmasqu'd Is [h]eld a blemish) to be over-frequent In giving or receiving visits.

_Clari._ How?

_Cesar._ Whereas the custom is here to wooe by Picture, And never see the substance: you are fair, And beauty draws temptations on; You know it, I would not live to see a willing grant From you, to one unworthy of your birth, Feature or fortune; yet there have been Ladies Of rank, proportion, and of means beyond you, That have prov'd this no miracle.

_Claris._ One unworthy? Why, pray you gentle brother, who are they That I vouchsafe these bounties to? I hope In your strict Criticisme of me, and my manners, That you will not deny they are your equals.

_Cesar._ Angry?

_Claris._ I have reason, but in cold blood tell me, Had we not one Father?

_Cesar._ Yes, and Mother too.

_Claris._ And he a Soldier.

_Cesar._ True.

_Claris._ If I then borrow A little of the boldness of his temper, Imparting it to such as may deserve it; (However indulgent to your selves, you brothers Allow no part of freedom to your Sisters) I hope 'twill not pass for a crime in me, To grant access and speech to noble suitors; And you escape for innocent, that descend To a thing so far beneath you. Are you touch'd? Why did you think that you had _Giges_ Ring, Or the Herb that gives invisibility? Or that _Biancha's_ name had ne'er been mention'd; The fair Maid of the grand _Osteria_, brother.

_Cesar._ No more.

_Claris._ A little, brother. Your night walks, And offer'd presents; which coy she, contemn'd, Your combats in disguises with your Rivals, Brave _Muletiers_. Scullions perfum'd with grease, And such as [cry] meat for Cats must be remembred; And all this pother for a common trull, A tempting sign, and curiously set forth, To draw in riotous guests, a thing expos'd To every Ruffians rude assault; and subject For a poor salary, to a rich mans lust, Though made up of diseases.

_Cesar._ Will you end yet?

_Claris._ And this a Mistriss for _Albertus_ Son, One that I should call Sister?

_Cesar._ Part not with Your modesty in this violent heat; the truth is, (For you shall be my Confessor) I love her, But virtuously; report that gives her out Only for fair, and adds not she is chaste, Detracts much from her: for indeed she is, Though of a low condition; compos'd Of all those graces, dames of highest birth, Though rich in natures bounties, should be proud of; But leave her, and to you my nearest care, My dearest best _Clarissa_. Do not think (For then you wrong me) I wish you should live A barren Virgin life; I rather aim at A noble Husband, that may make you mother Of many children, one that when I know him Worth your embraces, I may serve, and sue [to]: And therefore scorn not to acquaint me with That man, that happy man; you please to favour.

_Claris._ I ever purpos'd it, for I will like With your allowance:

_Cesa._ As a pawn of this; Receive this Ring, but e'r you part with it On any terms, be certain of your choice; And make it known to me.

_Enter Servants with Lights_, Alberto, Baptista, Mariana, Mentivole.

_Claris._ You have my hand for't.

_Cesar._ Which were it not my Sisters, I should kiss: With too much heat.

_Claris._ My Father and his guests, Sir.

_Alber._ Oh my old friend, my tri'd friend, my _Baptista_: These days of rest and feasting, sute not with Our tougher natures, those were golden ones, Which were enjoy'd at Sea; that's our true Mother: The Land's to us a step-dame; there we sought Honor, and wealth through dangers: yet those dangers Delighted more than their rewards, though great ones, And worth the undertakers: here we study The Kitchin Arts, to sharpen appetite, Dull'd with abundance; and dispute with Heaven; If that the least puff of the rough North-wind, Blast our times burthen, rendring to our Palats The charming juice less pleasing; whereas there If we had Bisket, powder'd flesh, fresh water, We thought them _Persian_ delicates, and for Musick If a strong gale but made the main yard crack, We danc'd to the loud Minstrel.

_Bapt._ And fear'd less, (So far we were in love with noble action) A tempest than a calm.

_Alber._ 'Tis true _Baptista_; There, there, from mutual aids lent to each other, And virtuous emulation to exceed In manly daring, the true School of friendship, We learnt those principles, which confirm'd us friends Never to be forgot.

_Baptist._ Never I hope.

_Alber._ We were married there, for bells the roaring Canon, Aloud proclaim'd it lawful, and a prize Then newly ta'en, and equally divided, Serv'd as a dowry to you, then stil'd my wife; And did enable me to be a Husband, Fit to encounter so much wealth, though got With bloud and horror.

_Maria._ If so got, 'tis fit Sir Now you possess it, that you should enjoy it In peace, and quiet; I, your Son, and Daughter That reap the harvest of your winters labour, Though debtors for it yet have often trembled, When, in way of discourse, you have related How you came by it.

_Alber._ Trembled? how the softness Of your sex may excuse you, I'll not argue, But to the world, howe'er I hold thee noble I should proclaim this boy some cowards bastard, And not the Image of _Albertus_ youth: If when some wish'd occasion calls him forth, To a brave trial, one weak artery Of his, should show a fever, though grim death Put on a thousand dreadful shapes to fright him; The Elements, the Sea, and all the Winds We number on our compass, then conspiring To make the Scæne more ghastly; I must have thee Sirrah, I must, If once you grapple with An enemies ship, to board her, though you see The desperate Gunner ready to give fire, And blow the deck up, or like _Cæsar's_ Soldier Thy hands like his cut off, hang by the teeth, And die undaunted.

_Maria._ I even die to hear you: My son, my lov'd _Cesario_ run such hazards? Bless'd Saints forbid it: you have done enough Already for one family, that rude way; I'll keep him safe at home, and train him up A compleat Courtier: may I live to see him, By sweet discourse, and gracious demeanor, Winn, and bring home a fair Wife, and a rich; 'Tis all I rest ambitious of.

_Alber._ A Wife! As if there were a course to purchase one Prevailing more than honourable action! Or any Intercessors move so far, To take a Mistriss of a noble spirit, As the true fame of glorious victories, Atchiev'd by sweat and bloud! Oh the brave dames Of warlike _Genoua_! they had eyes to see The inward man, and only from his worth, Courage, and conquests: the blind Archer knew To head his shafts, or light his quenched Torch, They were proof against them else. No Carpet Knight That spent his youth in Groves, or pleasant Bowers; Or stretching on a Couch his lazy limbs, Sung to his Lute such soft and melting Notes, As _Ovid_, nor _Anacreon_ ever knew, Could work on them, nor once bewitch'd their sense; Though he came so perfum'd as he had robb'd _Sabæa_, or _Arabia_, of their wealth; And stor'd it in one sute: I still remember, And still remember it with joy, _Baptista_, When from the rescue of the _Genoua_ Fleet, Almost surpriz'd by the _Venetian_ Gallies, Thou didst return, and wert receiv'd in triumph. How lovely in thy honor'd wounds and scars Thou didst appear! what worlds of amorous glances The beauties of the City (where they stood, Fix'd like so many of the fairest stars) Shot from their windows at thee! how it fir'd Their blouds to see the enemies captive streams Born through the streets! nor could chaste _Juliana_ The Duke's fair Neece, though guarded with her greatness Resist this gallant charge, but laying by Desparity of fortune from the object, Yielded her self thy prisoner.

_Bap._ Pray you chuse some other theme.

_Mari._ Can there be one more pleasing?

_Bap._ That triumph drew on me a greater torture, And 'tis in the remembrance little less Than ever Captive suffer'd.

_Mari._ How? to gain the favour of so great a Lady?

_Bap._ Yes, since it prov'd fatal, t'have been happy, Madam, Adds to calamity, and the heavy loss Of her I durst not hope for, once enjoy'd, Turns what you think a blessing to a curse, Which grief would have forgotten.

_Alber._ I am sorry I touch'd upon it.

_Maria._ I burn rather, Sir, With a desire to hear the story of Your loves, and shall receive it as a favour, Which you may grant.