Part 10

_An[g]_. Then we may walk. _Cha_. And talk of any thing, Any thing fit for your eares, and my language; Though I was bred up dull I was ever civil; Tis true, I have found it hard to looke on you, And not desire; Twil prove a wise mans task; Yet those desires I have so mingled still And tempered with the quality of honour, That if you should yeeld, I should hate you for't. I am no Courtier of a light condition, Apt to take fire at every beautious face. That onely serves his will and wantonness, And lets the serious part run by As thin neglected sand. Whitness of name, You must be mine; why should I robbe my selfe Of that that lawfully must make me happy? Why should I seeke to cuckold my delights, And widow all those sweets I aime at in you? We'l loose our selves in _Venus_ groves of mirtle Where every little bird shall be a _Cupid_, And sing of love and youth, each winde that blowes And curles the velvet leaves shall breed delights, The wanton springs shall call us to their bankes, And on the perfum'd flowers wee'l feast our senses, Yet wee'l walk by untainted of their pleasures, And as they were pure Temples wee'l talk in them.

_Ang_. To bed, and pray then, we may have a faire end Of our faire loves; would I [w]ere worthy of you, Or of such parents that might give you thankes; But I am poore in all but in your love. Once more, good night. _Cha_. A good night t'ye, and may The dew of sleepe fall gently on you, sweet one, And lock up those faire lights in pleasing slumbers; No dreames but chast and cleare attempt your fancie, And break betimes sweet morne, I've lost my light else.

_Ang_. Let it be ever night when I lose you.

_Syl_. This Scholar never went to a Free-Schoo[le], he's so simple

[Enter a servant.]

_Ser_. Your brother with two Gallants is at dore, Sir And they're so violent, they'l take no denial.

_Ang_. this is no time of night. _Cha_. Let 'em in Mistresse.

_Serv_. They stay no leave; Shall I raise the house on 'm?

_Cha_. Not a man, nor make no murmur of't, I charge ye.

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

Th'are here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. How doe you brother with your curious story? Have you not read her yet sufficiently?

_Cha_. No, brother, no, I stay yet in the Preface; The stile's too hard for you. _Eust_. I must entreat her. Shee's parcel of my goods. _Cha_. Shee's all when you have her.

_Ang._ Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir; Nor I, nor what I have depend on you.

_Cha._ Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; doe not Trouble your selfe with Ladies, they are too light; Let out your land, and get a provident Steward.

_Ang._ I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you; Such vanities as you are to be laught at.

_Eust._ Nay, Then you must goe, I must claime mine owne.

_Both._ A way, a way with her. _Cha._ Let her alone, [_She strikes off Eustace's hat_] Pray let her alone, and take your coxcombe up: Let me talk civilly a while with you brother. It may be on some termes I may part with her.

_Eust._ O; is your heart come downe? what are your termes, Sir? Put up, put up. _Cha._ This is the first and cheifest, [_Snatches away his sword._] Let's walk a turne; now stand off fooles, I advise ye, Stand as far off as you would hope for mercy: This is the first sword yet I ever handled, And a sword's a beauteous thing to looke upon, And if it hold, I shall so hunt your insolence: Tis sharp I'm sure, and if I put it home, Tis ten to one I shall new pink your Sattins: I find I have spirit enough to dispose of it, And will enough to make ye all examples; Let me tosse it round, I have the full command on't: Fetch me a native Fencer, I defie him; I feele the fire of ten strong spirits in me. Doe you watch me when my Uncle is absent? This is my griefe, I shall be flesht on Cowards; Teach me to fight, I willing am to learne. Are ye all gilded flies, nothing but shew in ye? Why stand ye gaping? who now touches her? Who calls her his, or who dares name her to me? But name her as his owne; who dares look on her? That shall be mortal too; but think, 'tis dangerous. Art thou a fit man to inherit land, And hast no wit nor spirit to maintaine it? Stand still thou signe of man, and pray for thy friends, Pray heartilie, good prayers may restore ye.

_Ang._ But doe not kill 'em Sir. _Cha._ You speak too late, Deare, It is my first fight, and I must doe bravely, I must not looke with partial eyes on any; I cannot spare a button of these Gentlemen; Did life lye in their heel _Achilles_ like, Ide shoot my anger at those parts and kill 'um. Who waits within? _Ser._ Sir. _Cha._ View all these, view 'em well Goe round a bout 'em and still view their faces, Round about yet; See how death waits upon 'em, For thou shall never view 'em more. _Eust._ Pray hold, Sir.

_Cha._ I cannot hold, you stand so fair before me, I must not hold 'twill darken all my glories. Goe to my Uncle, bid him poste to the King, And get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.

_Eust._ Are you so unnatural? _Cha._ You shall die last Sir, Ile talke thee dead, thou art no man to fight with. Come, will ye come? me thinkes I've fought whole battailes.

_Cow_. We have no quarel to you, that we know on, Sir.

_Egre_. Wee'l quit the house and ask ye mercie too: Good Ladie, let no murther be done here; We came but to parly. _Cha_. How my sword Thirsts after them? stand away Sweet. _Eust._ Pray Sir, Take my submission, and I disclaime for ever.

_Cha_. Away ye poore things, ye despicable Creatures! Doe you come poste to fetch a Ladie from me, From a poore Schoole-boy that ye scorn'd of late? And grow lame in your hearts when you should execute? Pray take her, take her, I am weary of her; What did ye bring to carrie her. _Egre_. A Coach and four horses.

_Cha_. But are they good? _Egre_. As good as _France_ can shew Sir.

_Cha_. Are you willing to leave those, and take your safeties? Speak quickly. _Eust_. Yes with all our hearts. _Cha_. Tis done then. Many have got one horse, I've got foure by th' bargaine.

_Enter_ Miramont.

_Mi._ How Now, who's here. _Ser_. Nay Now, y'are gon without bail.

_Mir_. What, drawne my friends! Fetch me my two-hand sword; I will not leave a head on your shoulders, Wretches.

_Eust_. In troth Sir, I came but to doe my dutie.

_Both_. And we to renew our loves. _Mir_. Bring me a blanket. What came they for? _Ang_. To borrow me a while, Sir; But one that never fought yet has so curried, So bastina[d]o'd them with manly carriage, They stand like things _Gorgon_ had turn'd to stone; They watch'd your being absent, and then thought They might doe wonders here, and they have done so? For by my troth, I wonder at their coldness, The nipping North or frost never came neere them, St. _George_ upon a Signe would grow more sensible: If the name of honour were for ever to be lost, These were the most sufficient men to doe it In all the world, and yet they are but young, What will they rise to? They're as full of fire As a frozen Glo-wormes ratle, and shine as goodly; Nobilitie and patience are match'd rarely In these three Gentlemen, they have right use on't; They'l stand still for an houre and be beaten. These are the Anagrammes of three great Worthies.

_Mir_. They will infect my house with cowardize, If they breathe longer in it; my roofe covers No baffl'd Monsieurs, walk and aire your selves; As I live, they stay not here, while liver'd wretches Without one word to ask a reason why, Vanish, 'tis the last warning, and with speed, For if I take ye in hand I shall dissect you, And read upon your flegmatick dull carcases. My horse againe there: I have other business, Which you shall heare hereafter and laugh at it. Good night _Charles_, faire goodness to you dear Ladie Tis late, 'tis late. _Ang._ Pray Sir be careful of us.

_Mir._ It is enough, my best care shall attend ye. _Exeunt._

_Actus IV. Scaena IV._

_Enter_ Andrew.

Are you come old Master? very good, your horse Is well set up, but ere ye part, Ile ride you And spur your reverend Justiceship such a question, As I shall make the sides of your reputation bleed, Trulie I will. Now must I play at Bo-peep-- A banquet--well, Potatoes and Eringoes, And as I take it, Cantharides,--Excellent, A Priapisme followes, and as Ile handle it, It shall old lecherous Goat in authoritie. Now they begin to bill; how he slavers her! [G]ramercie _Lilly_, she spits his kisses out, And now he offers to fumble she fals off, (That's a good Wench) and cries fair play above boord Who are they in the corner? As I live, A covey of _Fidlers_; I shall have some musick yet At my making free oth' Companie of Horners; There's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one-- Sure 'tis no Anthem nor no borrowed rhymes Out of the Schoole of vertue; I will listen-- A _Song._ This was never penn'd at _Geneva_, the note's too spritely. So, so, the musicke's paid for, and now what followes? O that Monsieur _Miramont_ would but keep his word. Here were a feast to make him fat with laughter, At the most 'tis not six minutes riding from his house, Nor will he break I hope--O are you come Sir? The prey is in the net and will break in Upon occasion. _Mir._ Thou shall rule me _Andrew_. O th' infinite fright that will assaile this Gentleman! The quarterns, tertians, and quotidians That will hang like Sargeants on his worships shoulders! The humiliation of the flesh of this man! This grave austere man will be wondred at. How will those solemne lookes appeare to me; And that severe face, that speak chaines and shackles? Now I take him in the nick, ere I done with him, He had better have stood between two panes of wainscot; And made his recantation in the market, Than heare me conjure him. _And._ He must passe this way, To th' onely bed I have, he comes, stand close.

_Bri._ Well done, well done, give me my night-cap. So. Quick, quick, untruss me; I will truss and trounce thee; Come Wench a kiss between each point; kiss close; It is a sweet Parenthesis. _Lil._ Y'are merry Sir.

_Bri._ Merry I will be anon, and thou shall feele it, Thou shall my _Lilly_. _Lil._ Shall I aire your bed, Sir?

_Bri._ No, no, Ile use no warming pan but thine, Girle; That's all; Come kiss me again. _Lil._ Ha'ye done yet?

_Bri._ No, but I will doe, and doe wonders, _Lilly_. Shew me the way. _Lil._ You cannot misse it, Sir; You shall have a Cawdle in the morning, for Your worships breakfast. _Bri._ How, ith' morning. _Lilly_? Th'art such a wittie thing to draw me on. Leave fooling, _Lilly_, I am hungry now, And th' hast another Kickshaw, I must tast it.

_Lil._ Twill make you surfet, I am tender of you: Y'have all y'are like to have. _And._ And can this be earnest?

_Mir._ it seemes so, and she honest. _Bri._ Have I not Thy promise _Lilly_? _Lil._ Yes and I have performed Enough to a man of your yeares, this is truth, And you shall find Sir, you have kist and tows'd me, Handled my legg and foote, what would you more, Sir,? As for the rest, it requires youth and strength, And the labour in an old man would breed Agues, Sciaticaes, and Cramps; you shall not curse me, For taking from you what you cannot spare, Sir: Be good unto your selfe, y'ave tane alreadie All you can take with ease; you are past threshing, It is a worke too boisterous for you; leave Such drudgerie to _Andrew_. _Mir._ How she jeeres him?

_Lil._ Let _Andrew_ alone with his owne tillage, Hee's tough, and can manure it. _Bri._ Y'are a queane, A scoffing jeering quean. _Lil._ It may be so, but I'me sure, Ile nere be yours. _Bri._ Doe not provoke me, If thou do'st, Ile have my Farm againe, and turne Thee out a begging. _Lil._ Though you have the will, And want of honestie to deny your Deed, Sir, Yet I hope _Andrew_ has got so much learning From my young Master, as to keep his own; At the worst, Ile tell a short tale to the Judges, For what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on What termes you would revoke it. _Bri._ Whore thou dar'st not. Yeeld or Ile have thee whipt; How my bloud boiles, As if t'were ore a furnace! _Mir._ I shall coole it.

_Bri._ Yet gentle _Lilly_, pitie and forgive me, Ile be a friend t'ye, such a loving bountiful friend--

_Lil._ To avoid suites in Law, I would grant a litle, But should fierce _Andrew_ know it, what would become Of me? _And._ A whore, a whore! _Bri._ Nothing but well Wench, I will put such a strong bit in his mouth, As thou shalt ride him how thou wilt, my _Lilly_: Nay, he shall hold the doore, as I will worke him, And thank thee for the office. _Mir._ Take heed _Andrew_, These are shrewd temptations. _And._ Pray you know Your Cue, and second me Sir; By your Worships favour.

_Bri._ _Andrew_! _And._ I come in time to take possession Of th' office you assigne me; hold the doore, Alas 'tis nothing for a simple man To stay without when a deepe understanding Holds conference within, say with his wife: A trifle Sir, I know I hold my farme In Cuckolds Tenure: you are Lord o'the soile Sir, _Lilly_ is a Weft, a Straie shee's yours, to use Sir, I claime no interest in her. _Bri._ Art thou serious? Speak honest _Andrew_, since thou hast oreheard us, And wink at small faults, man; I'me but a pidler, A little will serve my turne; thou'lt finde enough When I've my bellyfull; wilt thou be private And silent? _And._ By all meanes, Ile onely have A Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune, And the name of it shall be _Justice Trap_, It will sell rarely with your Worships name, And _Lillies_ on the top. _Bri._ Seek not the ruine O' my reputation, _Andrew_. _And._ Tis for your credit, Monsieur _Brisac_ printed in capital letters, Then pasted upon all the posts in _Paris_.

_Bri._ No mercy, _Andrew_? _And._ O, it will proclaim you From th' Citie to the Court, and prove sport royal.

_Bri._ Thou shall keep thy Farm. _Mir._ He does afflict him rarely.

_And._ You trouble me. Then his intent arriving, The vizard of his hypocrisie poll'd off To the Judge criminal. _Bri._ O, I am undone.

_And._ Hee's put out of Commission with disgrace, And held uncapable of bearing Office Ever hereafter. This is my revenge, And this Ile put in practice. _Bri._ Doe but heare me.

_And._ To bring me back from my Grammer to my horne-book, It is unpardonable. _Bri._ Do not play the Tyrant; Accept of composition. _Lil._ Heare him, _Andrew_.

_And._ What composition? _Bri._ Ile confirme thy farme, And add unto't an hundred acres more Adjoyning to it. _And._ Umb, This mollifies, But y'are so fickle: and will again denie this, There being no witness by. _Bri._ Call any witness, Ile presently assure it. _And._ Say you so, Troth there's a friend of mine Sir, within hearing, That is familiar with all that's past, His testimonie will be authentical.

_Bri._ will he be secret? _And._ You may tye his tongue up. As you would doe your purse-strings. _Br._ _Miramont. M._ Ha, Ha, Ha.

_And._ this is my witness. Lord how you are troubled? Sure, y'have an ague, you shake so with choler; Hee's your loving brother Sir, and will tell no bodie But all he meets, that you have eate a snake, And are grown young, gamesom, and rampant. _Bri._ Caught thus?

_And._ If he were one that would make jests of you, Or plague ye with making your religious gravitie Ridiculous to your neighbours, Then you had Some cause to be perplex'd. _Bri._ I shall become Discourse for Clowns and Tapsters. _And._ Quick, _Lilly_, Quick, Hee's now past kissing, between point and point. He swounds, fetch him some Cordiall--Now put in Sir.

_Mir._ Who may this be? sure this is some mistake: Let me see his face, weares he not a false beard? It cannot be _Brisac_ that worthie Gentleman, The pillar and the patron of his Countrie; He is too prudent and too cautelous, Experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries, He is the punisher and not the doer, Besides hee's old and cold, unfit for woman; This is some Counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't, Some base abuser of my worthie brother.

_Bri._ Open the doores, will ye'imprison me? are ye my Judges?

_Mir._ The man raves! This is not judicious _Brisac_: Yet now I think on't, a' has a kinde of dog looke Like my brother, a guiltie hanging face.

_Bri._ Ile suffer bravely, doe your worst, doe, doe.

_Mir._ Why, it's manly in you. _Bri._ Nor will I raile nor curse, You slave, you whore, I will not meddle with you, But all the torments that ere fell on men, That fed on mischiefe, fall heavily on you all. _Exit._

_Lil._ You have giv'n him a heat, Sir. _Mir._ He will ride you The better, Lil. _And._ Wee'l teach him to meddle with Scholars.

_Mir._ he shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, _Andrew_ Or Ile jeere him to death, feare nothing _Lilly_, I am thy Champion. This jeast goes to _Charles_, And then Ile hunt him out, and Monsieur _Eustace_ The gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily To see'm mourne together. _And._ Twill be rare, Sir. _Exeunt._

_Actus 5. Scaena 1._

Eustace, Egremont. Cowsy.

Turn'd out of doores and baffled! _Egre._ We share with you In the affront. _Cow._ Yet beare it not like you With such dejection. _Eust._ My Coach and horses made The ransome of our cowardize. _Lew._ _Cow._ Pish, that's nothing, Tis _Damnum reparabile_, and soone recover'd.

_Egre._ It is but feeding a suitor with false hopes, And after squeeze him with a dozen of oathes. You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred.

_Eust._ And does the Court that should be the example And Oracle of the Kingdome, read to us No other doctrine! _Egre._ None that thrives so well As that, within my knowledge. _Cow._ Flatterie rubbes out, But since great men learne to admire themselves, Tis something crest-falne. _Egre._ To be of no Religion, Argues a subtle moral understanding, And it is often cherisht. _Eust._ Pietie then, And valour, nor to doe nor suffer wrong, Are they no vertues? _Egre._ Rather vices, _Eustace_; Fighting! What's fighting? It may be in fashion, Among Provant swords, and buffe-jerkin men: But w'us that swim in choice of silkes and Tissues; Though in defence of that word reputation, Which is indeed a kind of glorious nothing, To lose a dram of blood must needs appeare As coarse as to be honest. _Eust._ And all this You seriously beleeve. _Cow._ It is a faith, That we will die in, since from the black guard To the grim Sir in office, there are few Hold other Tenets. _Eust._ [N]ow my eyes are open, And I behold a strong necessity That keepes me knave and coward. _Cow._ Y'are the wiser.

_Eust._ Nor can I change my copy, if I purpose To be of your society. _Egre._ By no meanes.

_Eust._ Honour is nothing with you? _Cow._ A meere bubble, For what's growne common, is no more regarded.

_Eust._ My sword forc'd from me too, and still detain'd, You think's no blemish. _Egre._ Get me a battoone? Tis twenty times more courtlike, and less trouble.

_Eust._ And yet you weare a sword. _Cow._ Yes, and a good one, A Millan hilt, and a Damasco blade, For ornament, no use the Court allowes it.

_Eust._ Wil't not fight of it selfe? _Cow._ I nere tri'd this, Yet I have worne as faire as any man, I'me sure I've made my Cutler rich, and paid For several weapons, Turkish and Toledo's, Two thousand Crownes, and yet could never light Upon a fighting one. _Eust._ Ile borrow this, I like it well. _Cow._ Tis at your service Sir, A lath in a velvet scabbard will serve my turne.

_Eust._ And now I have it leave me; y'are infectious, The plague and leprosie of your baseness spreading On all that doe come neere you; such as you Render the Throne of Majesty, the Court Suspected and contemptible, you are Scarabee's That batten in her dung, and have no pallats To taste her curious viands, and like Owles Can onely see her night deformities, But with the glorious splendor of her beauties You are struck blinde as Moles, that undermine The sumptuous building that allow'd you shelter, You stick like running ulcers on her face, And taint the pureness of her native candor, And being bad servants, cause your masters goodness To be disputed of; you make the Court That is the abstract of all Academies, To teach and practice noble undertakings, (Where courage sits triumphant crown'd with Lawrel, And wisedome loaded with the weight of honour) A Schoole of vices. _Egre._ What sudden rapture's this?

_Eust._ A heavenly one that raising me from sloth and ignorance, (In which your conversation long hath charm'd me) Carries me up into the aire of action, And knowledge of my selfe; even now I feele But pleading onely in the Courts defence, (Though far[r]e short of her merits and bright lustre) A happy alteration, and full strength To stand her Champion against all the world, That throw aspersions on her. _Cow._ Sure hee'l beat us, I see it in his eyes. _Egre._ A second _Charles_; Pray look not Sir so furiously. _Eust._ Recant What you have said, ye Mungrils, and licke up The vomit you have cast upon the Court, Where you unworthily have had warmth and breeding, And sweare that you like Spiders, have made poyson Of that which was a saving antidote.

_Egre._ We will sweare any thing. _Cow._ We honour the Court As a most sacred place. _Egre._ And will make oath, If you enjoyne us to't, nor knave nor fool, Nor Coward living in it. _Eust._ Except you two, You Rascals! _Cow._ Yes, we are all these, and more, If you will have it so. _Eust._ And that until You are again reform'd and growne new men, You nere presume to name the Court, or presse Into the Porters Lodge but for a penance, To be disciplin'd for your roguery, and this done With true contrition. _Both._ Yes Sir. _Eust._ You againe May eat scraps and be thankful. _Cow._ Here's a cold breakfast After a sharpe nights walking. _Eust._ Keepe your oathes, And without grumbling vanish. _Both._ We are gone, Sir. _Exeunt._

_Eust._ May all the poorenesse of my spirit goe with you, The fetters of my thraldome are filed off: And I at libertie to right my selfe, And though my hope in _Angellina's_ little, My honour (unto which compar'd shee's nothing) Shall like the Sun disperse those lowring Clouds That yet obscure and dimme it; not the name Of brother shall divert me, but from him, That in the worlds opinion ruin'd me, I will seek reparation, and call him Unto a strict accompt. Ha! 'tis neere day, And if the Muses friend rose-cheek'd _Aurora_, Invite him to this solitary grove, As I much hope she will, he seldome missing To pay his vowes here to her, I shall hazard To hinder his devotions--The doore opens-- _Enter Charles._ Tis he most certain, and by's side my sword, Blest opportunity. _Cha._ I have oreslept my selfe, And lost part of the morne, but Ile recover it: Before I went to bed, I wrote some notes Within my table-book, which I will now consider. Ha! What meanes this? What do I with a sword? Learn'd _Mercurie_ needs not th'aide of _Mars_, and innocence Is to it selfe a guard, yet since armes ever Protect arts, I may justly weare and use it; For since't was made my prize, I know not how I'me growne in love with't and cannot eate nor study, And much lesse walke without it: but I trifle, Matters of more weight ask my judgement. _Eust._ Now Sir, Treate of no other Theme, Ile keep you to it, And see y'expound it well. _Cha._ _Eustace_! _Eust._ The same Sir, Your younger brother, who as duty bindes him, Hath all this night (turn'd out of doores) attended, To bid good morrow t'ye. _Cha._ This not in scorne, Commands me to returne it; Would you ought else?