ACT III. SCENE I.

_Gray’s Inn Fields._

_Enter_ LAXTON _and Coachman_.

LAX. Coachman. COACH. Here, sir. LAX. There’s a tester[1015] more; prithee drive thy coach to the hither end of Marybone-park, a fit place for Moll to get in. COACH. Marybone-park, sir? LAX. Ay, it’s in our way, thou knowest. COACH. It shall be done, sir. LAX. Coachman. COACH. Anon, sir. LAX. Are we fitted with good phrampel[1016] jades? COACH. The best in Smithfield, I warrant you, sir. LAX. May we safely take the upper hand of any coached velvet cap, or tuftaffety jacket? for they keep a vild[1017] swaggering in coaches now-a-days; the highways are stopt with them. COACH. My life for yours, and baffle[1018] ’em too, sir: why, they are the same jades believe it, sir, that have drawn all your famous whores to Ware. LAX. Nay, then they know their business; they need no more instructions. COACH. They’re so used to such journeys, sir, I never use whip to ’em; for if they catch but the scent of a wench once, they run like devils. [_Exit._[1019] LAX. Fine Cerberus! that rogue will have the start of a thousand ones; for whilst others trot a’ foot, he’ll ride prancing to hell upon a coach-horse. Stay, ’tis now about the hour of her appointment, but yet I see her not. [_The clock strikes three._] Hark! what’s this? one, two, three: three by the clock at Savoy; this is the hour, and Gray’s Inn Fields the place, she swore she’d meet me. Ha! yonder’s two Inns-a’-court men with one wench, but that’s not she; they walk toward Islington out of my way. I see none yet drest like her; I must look for a shag ruff, a freize jerken, a short sword, and a safeguard,[1020] or I get none. Why, Moll, prithee, make haste, or the coachman will curse us anon.

_Enter_ MOLL, _dressed as a man_.

MOLL. O, here’s my gentleman! If they would keep their days as well with their mercers as their hours with their harlots, no bankrout[1021] would give seven score pound for a sergeant’s place; for would you know a catchpoll rightly derived, the corruption of a citizen is the generation of a sergeant. How his eye hawks for venery! [_Aside._]—Come, are you ready, sir? LAX. Ready? for what, sir? MOLL. Do you ask that now, sir? Why was this meeting ’pointed? LAX. I thought you mistook me, sir: you seem to be some young barrister; I have no suit in law, all my land’s sold; I praise heaven for’t, ’t has rid me of much trouble. MOLL. Then I must wake you, sir; where stands the coach? LAX. Who’s this? Moll, honest Moll? MOLL. So young, and purblind? You’re an old wanton in your eyes, I see that. LAX. Thou’rt admirably suited for the Three Pigeons at Brainford.[1022] I’ll swear I knew thee not. MOLL. I’ll swear you did not; but you shall know me now. LAX. No, not here; we shall be spied, i’faith; the coach is better: come. MOLL. Stay. [_Puts off her cloak._ LAX. What, wilt thou untruss a point,[1023] Moll? MOLL. Yes; here’s the point [_Draws her sword._ That I untruss; ’t has but one tag, ’t will serve though To tie up a rogue’s tongue. LAX. How! MOLL. There’s the gold With which you hir’d your hackney, here’s her pace; She racks hard, and perhaps your bones will feel it: Ten angels[1024] of mine own I’ve put to thine; Win ’em, and wear ’em. LAX. Hold, Moll! mistress Mary—— MOLL. Draw, or I’ll serve an execution on thee, Shall lay thee up till doomsday. LAX. Draw upon a woman! why, what dost mean, Moll?

MOLL. To teach thy base thoughts manners: thou’rt one of those That thinks each woman thy fond flexible whore; If she but cast a liberal[1025] eye upon thee, Turn back her head, she’s thine; or amongst company By chance drink first to thee, then she’s quite gone, There is no means to help her: nay, for a need, Wilt swear unto thy credulous fellow-lechers, That thou art more in favour with a lady At first sight than her monkey all her lifetime. How many of our sex, by such as thou, Have their good thoughts paid with a blasted name That never deserv’d loosely, or did trip In path of whoredom beyond cup and lip! But for the stain of conscience and of soul, Better had women fall into the hands Of an act silent than a bragging nothing; There is no mercy in’t. What durst move you, sir, To think me whorish? a name which I’d tear out From the high German’s throat,[1026] if it lay leiger[1027] there To despatch privy slanders against me. In thee I defy all men, their worst hates And their best flatteries, all their golden witchcrafts, With which they entangle the poor spirits of fools, Distressed needle-women and trade-fallen wives; Fish that must needs bite, or themselves be bitten: Such hungry things as these may soon be took With a worm fasten’d on a golden hook: Those are the lecher’s food, his prey; he watches For quarrelling wedlocks[1028] and poor shifting sisters; ’Tis the best fish he takes. But why, good fisherman, Am I thought meat for you, that never yet Had angling rod cast towards me? ’cause, you’ll say, I’m given to sport, I’m often merry, jest: Had mirth no kindred in the world but lust, O shame take all her friends then! but howe’er Thou and the baser world censure my life, I’ll send ’em word by thee, and write so much Upon thy breast, ’cause thou shalt bear’t in mind, Tell them ’twere base to yield where I have conquer’d; I scorn to prostitute myself to a man, I that can prostitute a man to me; And so I greet thee. LAX. Hear me—— MOLL. Would the spirits Of all my sland[er]ers were clasp’d in thine, That I might vex an army at one time! [_They fight._ LAX. I do repent me; hold! MOLL. You’ll die the better Christian then. LAX. I do confess I have wronged thee, Moll. MOLL. Confession is but poor amends for wrong, Unless a rope would follow. LAX. I ask thee pardon. MOLL. I’m your hir’d whore, sir! LAX. I yield both purse and body. MOLL. Both are mine, And now at my disposing. LAX. Spare my life! MOLL. I scorn to strike thee basely. LAX. Spoke like a noble girl, i’faith!—Heart, I think I fight with a familiar,[1029] or the ghost of a fencer. Sh’as wounded me gallantly. Call you this a lecherous viage?[1030] here’s blood would have served me this seven year in broken heads and cut fingers; and it now runs all out together. Pox a’ the Three Pigeons![1031] I would the coach were here now to carry me to the chirurgeon’s. [_Aside, and exit._ MOLL. If I could meet my enemies one by one thus, I might make pretty shift with ’em in time, And make ’em know she that has wit and spirit, May scorn To live beholding[1032] to her body for meat; Or for apparel, like your common dame, That makes shame get her clothes to cover shame. Base is that mind that kneels unto her body, As if a husband stood in awe on’s wife: My spirit shall be mistress of this house As long as I have time in’t.—O,

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

Here comes my man that would be: ’tis his hour. Faith, a good well-set fellow, if his spirit Be answerable to his umbles:[1033] he walks stiff, But whether he’ll stand to’t stiffly, there’s the point: Has a good calf for’t; and ye shall have many a woman Choose him she means to make her head by his calf: I do not know their tricks in’t. Faith, he seems A man without; I’ll try what he’s within. TRAP. She told me Gray’s Inn Fields, ’twixt three and four; I’ll fit her mistress-ship with a piece of service: I’m hir’d to rid the town of one mad girl. [MOLL _jostles him_. What a pox ails you, sir? MOLL. He begins like a gentleman. TRAP. Heart, is the field so narrow, or your eyesight— Life, he comes back again! MOLL. Was this spoke to me, sir? TRAP. I cannot tell, sir. MOLL. Go, you’re a coxcomb! TRAP. Coxcomb? MOLL. You’re a slave! TRAP. I hope there’s law for you, sir. MOLL. Yea, do you see, sir? [_Turns his hat._ TRAP. Heart, this is no good dealing! pray, let me know what house you’re of. MOLL. One of the Temple, sir. [_Fillips him._ TRAP. Mass, so methinks. MOLL. And yet sometime I lie about Chick Lane. TRAP. I like you the worse because you shift your lodging so often: I’ll not meddle with you for that trick, sir. MOLL. A good shift; but it shall not serve your turn. TRAP. You’ll give me leave to pass about my business, sir? MOLL. Your business? I’ll make you wait on me Before I ha’ done, and glad to serve me too. TRAP. How, sir? serve you? not if there were no more men in England. MOLL. But if there were no more women in England, I hope you’d wait upon your mistress then? TRAP. Mistress? MOLL. O, you’re a tried spirit at a push, sir! TRAP. What would your worship have me do? MOLL. You a fighter! TRAP. No, I praise heaven, I had better grace and more manners. MOLL. As how, I pray, sir? TRAP. Life, ’thad been a beastly part of me to have drawn my weapons upon my mistress; all the world would ’a cried shame of me for that. MOLL. Why, but you knew me not. TRAP. Do not say so, mistress; I knew you by your wide straddle, as well as if I had been in your belly. MOLL. Well, we shall try you further; i’ th’ mean time We give you entertainment. TRAP. Thank your good mistress-ship. MOLL. How many suits have you? TRAP. No more suits than backs, mistress. MOLL. Well, if you deserve, I cast off this, next week, And you may creep into’t. TRAP. Thank your good worship. MOLL. Come, follow me to St. Thomas Apostle’s: I’ll put a livery cloak upon your back The first thing I do. TRAP. I follow, my dear mistress. [_Exeunt._