Chapter 3

_Enter_ Wellborn, Tapwell, _and_ Froth, _from the House._

_Wellb._ No liquor? nor no credit?

_Tap._ None, sir, for you; Not the remainder of a single can, Left by a drunken porter.

_Froth._ Not the dropping of the tap for your morning's draught, sir: 'Tis verity, I assure you.

_Wellb._ Verity, you brach! The devil turn'd precisian! Rogue, what am I?

_Tap._ Troth! durst I trust you with a looking-glass, To let you see your trim shape, you would quit me, And take the name yourself.

_Wellb._ How? dog!

_Tap._ Even so, sir. And I must tell you, if you but advance a foot, There dwells, and within call (if it please your worship,) A potent monarch, call'd the constable, That does command a citadel, call'd the stocks; Such as with great dexterity will haul Your poor tatter'd----

_Wellb._ Rascal! slave!

_Froth._ No rage, sir.

_Tap._ At his own peril! Do not put yourself In too much heat; there being no water near To quench your thirst: and sure, for other liquor, I take it, You must no more remember; not in a dream, sir.

_Wellb._ Why, thou unthankful villain, dar'st thou talk thus? Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift?

_Tap._ I find it not in chalk; and Timothy Tapwell Does keep no other register.

_Wellb._ Am not I he Whose riots fed and cloth'd thee? Wert thou not Born on my father's land, and proud to be A drudge in his house?

_Tap._ What I was, sir, it skills not; What you are, is apparent. Now, for a farewell: Since you talk of father, in my hope it will torment you, I'll briefly tell your story. Your dead father, My quondam master, was a man of worship; Old Sir John Wellborn, justice of peace, and quorum; And stood fair to be custos rotulorum: Bore the whole sway of the shire; kept a great house: Reliev'd the poor, and so forth: but he dying, And the twelve hundred a-year coming to you, Late Mr. Francis, but now forlorn Wellborn----

_Wellb._ Slave, stop! or I shall lose myself.

_Froth._ Very hardly, You cannot be out of your way.

_Tap._ But to my story; I shall proceed, sir: You were then a lord of acres, the prime gallant, And I your under-butler: note the change now; You had a merry time of't: Hawks and hounds; With choice of running horses; mistresses, And other such extravagancies; Which your uncle, Sir Giles Overreach, observing, Resolving not to lose so fair an opportunity, On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds, For a while supplied your lavishness; and Having got your land, then left you. While I, honest Tim Tapwell, with a little stock, Some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage; Humbled myself to marriage with my Froth here; Gave entertainment----

_Wellb._ Yes, to whores and pickpockets.

_Tap._ True; but they brought in profit; And had a gift to pay what they call'd for; And stuck not like your mastership. The poor income I glean'd from them, hath made me, in my parish, Thought worthy to be scavenger; and, in time, May rise to be overseer of the poor: Which if I do, on your petition, Wellborn, I may allow you thirteen-pence a quarter; And you shall thank my worship.

_Wellb._ Thus, you dog-bolt---- And thus---- [_Beats him._

_Tap._ Cry out for help!

_Wellb._ Stir, and thou diest: Your potent prince, the constable, shall not save you. Hear me, ungrateful hell-hound! Did not I Make purses for you? Then you lick'd my boots And thought your holiday coat too coarse to clean them. 'Twas I, that when I heard thee swear, if ever Thou couldst arrive at forty pounds, thou wouldst Live like an emperor; 'twas I that gave it, In ready gold. Deny this, wretch!

_Tap._ I cannot, sir.

_Wellb._ They are well rewarded That beggar themselves to make such rascals rich. Thou viper, thankless viper! But since you are grown forgetful, I will help Your memory, and beat thee into remembrance; Not leave one bone unbroken.

_Tap._ Oh!

_Enter_ Allworth.

_Allw._ Hold; for my sake, hold! Deny me, Frank? they are not worth your anger?

_Wellb._ For once thou hast redeem'd them from this sceptre: [_Shaking his Cudgel._ But let them vanish; For if they grumble, I revoke my pardon.

_Froth._ This comes of your prating, husband! you presum'd On your ambling wit, and must use your glib tongue, Though you are beaten lame for't.

_Tap._ Patience, Froth, There's no law to cure our bruises.

[_They go off into the House._

_Wellb._ Sent for to your mother?

_Allw._ My lady, Frank! my patroness! my all! She's such a mourner for my father's death, And, in her love to him, so favours me, That I cannot pay too much observance to her. There are few such stepdames.

_Wellb._ 'Tis a noble widow, And keeps her reputation pure, and clear From the least taint. Pr'ythee, tell me Has she no suitors?

_Allw._ Even the best of the shire, Frank, My lord excepted: such as sue, and send, And send, and sue again; but to no purpose. Their frequent visits have not gain'd her presence; Yet, she's so far from sullenness and pride, That, I dare undertake, you shall meet from her A liberal entertainment.

_Wellb._ I doubt it not: but hear me, Allworth, And take from me good counsel, I am bound to give it.---- Thy father was my friend; and that affection I bore to him, in right descends to thee: Thou art a handsome, and a hopeful youth, Nor will I have the least affront stick on thee, If I with any danger can prevent it.

_Allw._ I thank your noble care; but, pray you, in what Do I run the hazard?

_Wellb._ Art thou not in love? Put it not off with wonder.

_Allw._ In love?

_Wellb._ You think you walk in clouds, but are transparent. I have heard all, and the choice that you have made; And with my finger, can point out the north star, By which the loadstone of your folly's guided. And, to confirm this true, what think you of Fair Margaret, the only child, and heir Of cormorant Overreach? Dost blush and start, To hear her only nam'd? Blush at your want Of wit and reason.

_Allw._ Howe'er you have discovered my intents, You know my aims are lawful; and if ever The queen of flowers, the glory of the Spring, The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose, Sprang from an envious briar, I may infer, There's such disparity in their conditions, Between the goddess of my soul, the daughter, And the base churl her father.

_Wellb._ Grant this true, As I believe it; canst thou ever hope To enjoy a quiet bed with her, whose father Ruin'd thy state?

_Allw._ And yours, too.

_Wellb._ I confess it, Allworth. But, I must tell you as a friend, and freely, Where impossibilities are apparent. Canst thou imagine (let not self-love blind thee) That Sir Giles Overreach (that, to make her great In swelling titles, without touch of conscience, Will cut his neighbour's throat, and, I hope, his own too) Will e'er consent to make her thine? Give o'er, And think of some course suitable to thy rank, And prosper in it.

_Allw._ You have well advis'd me. But, in the meantime, you that are so studious Of my affairs, wholly neglect your own. Remember yourself, and in what plight you are.

_Wellb._ No matter! no matter!

_Allw._ Yes, 'tis much material: You know my fortune, and my means; yet something I can spare from myself, to help your wants.

_Wellb._ How's this?

_Allw._ Nay, be not angry. There's eight pieces To put you in better fashion.

_Wellb._ Money from thee? From a boy? a dependant? one that lives At the devotion of a step-mother, And the uncertain favour of a lord? I'll eat my arms first. Howsoe'er blind Fortune Hath spent the utmost of her malice on me; Though I am thrust out of an alehouse, And thus accoutred; know not where to eat, Or drink, or sleep, but underneath this canopy; Although I thank thee, I disdain thy offer. And as I, in my madness, broke my state, Without the assistance of another's brain, In my right wits I'll piece it. At the worst, Die thus, and be forgotten. [_Exeunt severally._