ACT V. SCENE I.

_A street._

_Enter_ FRANKLIN _senior in mourning_, GEORGE CRESSINGHAM, _and_ FRANKLIN _junior disguised as an old Serving-man_.

G. CRES. Sir, your son’s death, which has apparell’d you In this darker wearing, is a loss wherein I've ample share; he was my friend. FRANK. SEN. He was my nearest And dearest[966] enemy; and the perpetual Fear of a worse end, had he continuèd His former dissolute course[s], makes me weigh His death the lighter. G. CRES. Yet, sir, with your pardon, If you value him every way as he deserv’d, It will appear your scanting of his means, And the lord Beaufort’s most unlordly breach Of promise to him, made him fall upon Some courses, to which his nature and mine own— Made desperate likewise by the cruelty of A mother-in-law—would else have been as strange As insolent greatness is to distress’d virtue. FRANK. SEN. Yes, I have heard of that too; your defeat[967] Made upon a mercer; I style’t modestly, The law intends it plain cozenage. G. CRES. ’Twas no less; But my penitence and restitution may Come fairly off from’t: it was no impeachment To the glory won at Agincourt’s great battle, That the achiever of it in his youth Had been a purse-taker; this with all reverence To the great example. Now to my business, Wherein you’ve made such noble trial of Your worth, that in a world so dull as this, Where faith is almost grown to be a miracle, I've found a friend so worthy as yourself, To purchase all the land my father sold At the persuasion of a riotous woman, And charitable, to reserve it for his use And the good of his three children; this, I say, Is such a deed shall style you our preserver, And owe the memory of your worth, and pay it To all posterity. FRANK. SEN. Sir, what I've done Looks to the end of the good deed itself, No other way i' the world. G. CRES. But would you please, Out of a friendly reprehension, To make him sensible of the weighty wrong He has done his children? yet I would not have’t Too bitter, for he undergoes already Such torment in a woman’s naughty pride, Too harsh reproof would kill him. FRANK. SEN. Leave you that To my discretion: I have made myself My son’s executor, and am come up On purpose to collect his creditors; And where I find his pennyworth conscionable, I'll make them in part satisfaction.

_Enter_ GEORGE.

O, this fellow was born near me, and his trading here i' the city may bring me to the knowledge of the men my son ought[968] money to. GEO. Your worship’s welcome to London; and I pray, how do[969] all our good friends i' the country? FRANK. SEN. They are well, George: how thou art shot up since I saw thee! what, I think thou art almost out of thy time? GEO. I am out of my wits, sir; I have lived in a kind of bedlam these four years; how can I be mine own man then? FRANK. SEN. Why, what’s the matter? GEO. I may turn soap-boiler, I have a loose body: I am turned away from my master. FRANK. SEN. How! turned away? GEO. I am gone, sir, not in drink, and yet you may behold my indentures [_shewing indenture_]. O the wicked wit of woman! for the good turn I did bringing her home, she ne’er left sucking my master’s breath, like a cat, kissing him, I mean, till I was turned away. FRANK. SEN. I have heard she’s a terrible woman. GEO. Yes, and the miserablest! her sparing in housekeeping has cost him somewhat—the Dagger-pies[970] can testify: she has stood in’s light most miserably, like your fasting days before red letters in the almanac; saying the pinching of our bellies would be a mean to make him wear scarlet the sooner. She had once persuaded him to have bought spectacles for all his servants, that they might have worn ’em dinner and supper. FRANK. SEN. To what purpose? GEO. Marry, to have made our victuals seem bigger than ’t was: she shews from whence she came, that my wind-colic can witness. FRANK. SEN. Why, whence came she? GEO. Marry, from a courtier, and an officer too, that was up and down I know not how often. FRANK. SEN. Had he any great place? GEO. Yes, and a very high one, but he got little by it; he was one that blew the organ in the court chapel; our Puritans,[971] especially your Puritans in Scotland, could ne’er away with[972] him. FRANK. SEN. Is she one of the sect? GEO. Faith, I think not, for I am certain she denies her husband the supremacy. FRANK. SEN. Well, George, your difference may be reconciled. I am now to use your help in a business that concerns me; here’s a note of men’s names here i' the city unto whom my son ought[973] money, but I do not know their dwelling. GEO. [_taking note from_ FRANK. SEN.] Let me see, sir: [_reads_] _Fifty pound ta’en up at use of Master Waterthin the brewer._ FRANK. SEN. What’s he? GEO. An obstinate fellow, and one that denied payment of the groats till he lay by the heels for’t; I know him: [_reads_] _Item, fourscore pair of provant breeches,[974] a' the new fashion, to Pinchbuttock, a hosier in Birchen Lane_, so much. FRANK. SEN. What the devil did he with so many pair of breeches? FRANK. JUN. Supply a captain, sir; a friend of his went over to the Palatinate. GEO. [_reads_] _Item, to my tailor, master Weatherwise, by St. Clement’s church._ G. CRES. Who should that be? it may be ’tis the new prophet, the astrological tailor. FRANK. JUN. No, no, no, sir, we have nothing to do with him. GEO. Well, I'll read no further; leave the note to my discretion, do not fear but I'll inquire them all. FRANK. SEN. Why, I thank thee, George.[975]—Sir, rest assured I shall in all your business be faithful to you, and at better leisure find time to imprint deeply in your father the wrong he has done you. G. CRES. You are worthy in all things.— [_Exeunt._ FRANKLIN _senior_, FRANKLIN _junior_, _and_ GEORGE.

(_Scene changes[976] to a room in_ SIR F. CRESSINGHAM’S _house_.)

_Enter_ SAUNDER.

Is my father stirring? SAUN. Yes, sir: my lady wonders you are thus chargeable to your father, and will not direct yourself unto some gainful study, may quit him of your dependance. G. CRES. What study? SAUN. Why, the law; that law that takes up most a' the wits i' the kingdom, not for most good but most gain; or divinity, I have heard you talk well, and I do not think but you’d prove a singular fine churchman. G. CRES. I should prove a plural better, if I could attain to fine benefices. SAUN. My lady, now she has money, is studying to do good works; she talked last night what a goodly act it was of a countess[977]—Northamptonshire breed belike, or thereabouts—that to make Coventry a corporation, rode through the city naked, and by daylight. G. CRES. I do not think but you have ladies living would discover as much in private, to advance but some member of a corporation. SAUN. Well, sir, your wit is still goring at my lady’s projects: here’s your father.

_Enter_ SIR FRANCIS CRESSINGHAM.

SIR F. CRES. Thou comest to chide me, hearing how like a ward I am handled since the sale of my land. G. CRES. No, sir, but to turn your eyes into your own bosom. SIR F. CRES. Why, I am become my wife’s pensioner; am confined to a hundred mark[978] a-year, t' one suit, and one man to attend me. SAUN. And is not that enough for a private gentleman? SIR F. CRES. Peace, sirrah, there is nothing but knave speaks in thee:—and my two poor children must be put forth to ’prentice! G. CRES. Ha! to ’prentice? sir, I do not come to grieve you, but to shew how wretched your estate was, that you could not come to see order until foul disorder pointed the way to’t; So inconsiderate,[979] yet so fruitful still Is dotage to beget its own destruction. SIR F. CRES. Surely I am nothing, and desire[980] to be so.—Pray thee, fellow, entreat her only to be quiet; I have given her all my estate on that condition. SAUN. Yes, sir, her coffers are well lin’d, believe me. SIR F. CRES. And yet she’s not contented: we observe The moon is ne’er so pleasant and so clear As when she’s at the full. G. CRES. You did not use My mother with this observance; you are like The frogs, who, weary of their quiet king, Consented to th' election of the stork, Who in the end devour’d them. SIR F. CRES. You may see How apt man is to forfeit all his judgment Upon the instant of his fall. G. CRES. Look up, sir. SIR F. CRES. O, my heart’s broke! weighty are injuries That come from an enemy, but those are deadly That come from a friend, for we see commonly Those are ta’en most to heart. She comes. G. CRES. What a terrible eye she darts on us!

_Enter_ LADY CRESSINGHAM.

SIR F. CRES. O, most natural for lightning to go before the thunder. L. CRES. What! are you in council? are ye levying faction against us? SIR F. CRES. Good friend—— L. CRES. Sir, sir, pray, come hither; there is winter in your looks, a latter winter; do you complain to your kindred? I'll make you fear extremely, to shew you have any cause to fear.—Are the bonds sealed for the six thousand pounds I put forth to use? SAUN. Yes, madam. L. CRES. The bonds were made in my uncle’s name? SAUN. Yes. L. CRES. ’Tis well. SIR F. CRES. ’Tis strange though. L. CRES. Nothing strange; you’ll think the allowance I have put you to as strange, but your judgment cannot reach the aim I have in’t: you were pricked last year to be high sheriff, and what it would have cost you I understand now; all this charge, and the other by the sale of your land, and the money at my dispose, and your pension so small, will settle you in quiet, make you master of a retired life; and our great ones may think you a politic man, and that you are aiming at some strange business, having made all over. SIR F. CRES. I must leave you: man is never truly awake till he be dead! [_Exeunt._ SIR F. CRESSINGHAM _and_ SAUNDER./ G. CRES. What a dream have you made of my father! L. CRES. Let him be so, and keep the proper place of dreams, his bed, until I raise him. G. CRES. Raise him! not unlikely; ’tis you have ruined him. L. CRES. You do not come to quarrel? G. CRES. No, certain, but to persuade you to a thing, that, in the virtue of it, nobly carries its own commendation, and you shall gain much honour by it, which is the recompence of all virtuous actions,—to use my father kindly. L. CRES. Why, does he complain to you, sir? G. CRES. Complain? why should a king complain for any thing, but for his sins to heaven? the prerogative of husband is like to his over his wife. L. CRES. I'm full of business, sir, and will not mind you. G. CRES. I must not leave you thus; I tell you, mother, ’tis dangerous to a woman when her mind raises her to such height, it makes her only capable of her own merit, nothing of duty. O, ’twas a strange, unfortunate o’erprizing your beauty, brought him, otherwise discreet, into the fatal neglect of his poor children! What will you give us of the late sum you received? L. CRES. Not a penny; away, you are troublesome and saucy. G. CRES. You are too cruel: denials even from princes, who may do what they list, should be supplied with a gracious verbal usage, that, though they do not cure the sore, they may abate the sense of’t: the wealth you seem to command over is his, and he, I hope, will dispose of’t to our use. L. CRES. When he can command my will. G. CRES. Have you made him so miserable, that he must take a law from his wife? L. CRES. Have you not had some lawyers forced to groan under the burden? G. CRES. O, but the greater the women, the more visible are their vices! L. CRES. So, sir, You’ve been so bold: by all can bind an oath, And I'll not break it, I'll not be the woman To you hereafter you expected. G. CRES. Be not; Be not yourself, be not my father’s wife, Be not my lady Cressingham, and then I'll thus speak to you, but you must not answer In your own person. L. CRES. A fine puppet-play! G. CRES. Good madam, please you, pity the distress of a poor gentleman, that is undone by a cruel mother-in-law; you do not know her, nor does she deserve the knowledge of any good one, for she does not know herself; you would sigh for her that e’er she took you[r] sex, if you but heard her qualities. L. CRES. This is a fine crotchet. G. CRES. Envy and pride flow in her painted breasts, she gives no other suck; all her attendants do not belong to her husband; his money is hers, marry, his debts are his own: she bears such sway, she will not suffer his religion be his own, but what she please to turn it to. L. CRES. And all this while I am the woman you libel against. G. CRES. I remember, ere the land was sold, you talked of going to Ireland; but should you touch there, you would die presently. L. CRES. Why, man? G. CRES. The country brooks no poison:[981] go, You’ll find how difficult a thing it is To make a settled or assur’d estate Of things ill-gotten: when my father’s dead, The curse of lust and riot follow you! Marry some young gallant that may rifle you; Yet add one blessing to your needy age, That you may die full of repentance. L. CRES. Ha, ha, ha! G. CRES. O, she is lost to any kind of goodness! [_Exeunt severally._