SCENE II.--_The same_.

_Enter_ Spencer.

Spencer. This day the king ascends his royal throne. The honest merchant, in whose ship I came, Hath, by a cunning quiddit[2.64] in the law, Both ship and goods made forfeit to the king, To whom I will petition. But no more; He’s now upon his entrance.

[_Hautboys_.

_Enter_ Mullisheg, Bess, Captain Goodlack, Roughman, Alcade, Joffer, _with all the other train_.

Mullisheg. Here seat thee, maid of England, like a queen-- The style we’ll give thee, wilt thou deign us love.

Bess. Bless me, you holy angels!

Mullisheg. What is’t offends you, sweet?

Spencer. I am amazed, and know not what to think on’t.

Bess. Captain, dost not see? Is not that Spencer’s ghost?

Goodlack. I see, and, like you, I am ecstasied.

Spencer. If mine eyes mistake not, That should be Captain Goodlack, and that Bess. But oh! I cannot be so happy.

Goodlack. ’Tis he, and I’ll salute him.

Bess. Captain, stay. You shall be swayed by me.

Spencer. Him I well know; but how should she come hither?

Mullisheg. What is’t that troubles you?

Bess. Most mighty king, Spare me no longer time but to bestow My captain on a message.

Mullisheg. Thou shalt command my silence, and his ear.

Bess. [_To_ Goodlack.] Go wind about, and when you see least eyes Are fixed on you, single him out, and see If we mistake not. If he be the man, Give me some private note.

Goodlack. This. [_Making a sign_.

Bess. Enough.--What said your highness?

Mullisheg. Hark what I proffer thee. Continue here, And grant me full fruition of thy love.----

Bess. Good.

Mullisheg. Thou shalt have all my peers to honour thee, Next our great prophet.

Bess. Well.

Mullisheg. And when thou’rt weary of our sun-burnt clime, Thy Negro shall be ballast home with gold.

Bess. I am eternized ever! Now, all you sad disasters, dare your worst; I neither care nor fear: my Spencer lives!

Mullisheg. You mind me not, sweet virgin.

Bess. You talk of love: My lord, I’ll tell you more of that hereafter; But now to your state-business.--Bid him do thus No more, and not to be seen till then.

Goodlack. Enough.--Come, sir, you must along with me.

[_Exeunt_ Goodlack _and_ Spencer.

Bess. Now, stood a thousand deaths before my face, I would not change my cheer, since Spencer’s safe.

_Enter_ Clem _with the French and Italian_ Merchants; _and a_ Preacher.

Clem. By your leave, my masters; room for generosity.[2.65]

1st Merchant. Pray, sir, remember me.

2nd Merchant. Good sir, my suit.

Clem. I am perfect in both your parts, without prompting. Mistress, here are two Christen friends of mine have forfeited ships and men to the black-a-morian king: now, one sweet word from your lips might get their release. I have had a feeling of the business already.

Mullisheg. For dealing in commodities forbid, You’re fined a thousand ducats.

Bess. Cast off the burden of your heavy doom: A follower of my train petitions for him.

Mullisheg. One of thy train, sweet Bess?

Clem. And no worse man than myself, sir.

Mullisheg. Well, sirrah, for your lady’s sake His ship and goods shall be restored again.

1st Merchant. Long live the King of Fez!

Clem. Mayst thou never want sweet water to wash thy black face in, most mighty monarch of Morocco.--Mistress, another friend; ay, and paid beforehand.

Mullisheg. Sirrah, your men, for outrage and contempt, Are doomed unto the gallies.

Bess. A censure too severe for Christians. Great king, I’ll pay their ransom.

Mullisheg. Thou, my Bess! Thy word shall be their ransom: they’re discharged. What grave old man is that?

Joffer. A Christian preacher; one that would convert Your Moors, and turn them to a new belief.

Mullisheg. Then he shall die, as we are king of Fez.

Bess. For these I only spake; for him I kneel, If I have any grace with mighty Fez.

Mullisheg. We can deny thee nothing, beauteous maid. A kiss shall be his pardon.

Bess. Thus I pay’t.

Clem. Must your black face be smouching my mistress’ white lips with a moorian![2.66] I would you had kissed her a--

Alcade. Hah! how is that, sir?

Clem. I know what I say, sir; I would he had kissed her a--

Alcade. A--what?

Clem. A thousand times, to have done him a pleasure!

_Re-enter_ Spencer _and_ Captain Goodlack.

Mullisheg. That kiss was worth the ransom of a king.-- What’s he, of that brave presence?

Bess. A gentleman of England, and my friend. Do him some grace, for my sake.

Mullisheg. For thy sake what would not I perform? He shall have grace and honour.--Joffer, go And see him gelded to attend on us: He shall be our chief eunuch.

Bess. Not for ten worlds! Behold, great king, I stand Betwixt him and all danger.--Have I found thee?-- Seize what I have; take both my ship and goods; Leave nought that’s mine unrifled: spare me him.-- And have I found my Spencer?

Clem. Please your majesty, I see all men are not capable of honour: what he refuseth, may it please you to bestow on me.

Mullisheg. With all my heart. Go, bear him hence, Alcade, Into our Alkedavy: honour him, And let him taste the razor.

Clem. There’s honour for me!

Alcade. Come, follow.

Clem. No, sir; I’ll go before you, for mine honour.

[_Exeunt_ Clem _and_ Alcade.

Spencer. Oh! show yourself, renownèd king, the same Fame blazons you. Bestow this maid on me: ’Tis such a gift as kingdoms cannot buy. She is a precedent of all true love, And shall be registered to after-times, That ne’er shall pattern her.

Goodlack. Heard you the story of their constant love, ’Twould move in you compassion.

Roughman. Let not intemperate love sway you ’bove pity. That foreign nation, that ne’er heard your name, May chronicle your virtues.

Mullisheg. You have wakened in me an heroic spirit: Lust shall not conquer virtue.--Till this hour, We graced thee for thy beauty, English woman; But now we wonder at thy constancy.

Bess. Oh! were you of our faith, I’d swear great Mullisheg To be a god on earth.--And lives my Spencer? In troth I thought thee dead.

Spencer. In hope of thee, I lived to gain both life and liberty.

_Re-enter_ Clem, _running_.

Clem. No more of your honour, if you love me! Is this your Moorish preferment, to rob a man of his best jewels?

Mullisheg. Hast thou seen our Alkedavy?

Clem. Davy do you call him? he may be called shavy; I am sure he hath tickled my current commodity. No more of your cutting honour, if you love me.

Mullisheg. [_To_ Spencer.] All your strange fortunes we will hear discoursed, And after that your fair espousals grace, If you can find a man of your belief To do that grateful office.

Spencer. None more fit Than this religious and brave gentleman, Late rescued from death’s sentence.

Preacher. None more proud To do you that poor service.

Mullisheg. Noble Englishman, I cannot fasten bounty to my will Worthy thy merit: move some suit to us.

Spencer. To make you more renowned, great king, and us The more indebted, there’s an Englishman Hath forfeited his ship for goods uncustomed.--

Mullisheg. Thy suit is granted ere it be half begged: Dispose them at thy pleasure.

Spencer. Mighty king, We are your highness’ servants.

Mullisheg. Come, beauteous maid; we’ll see thee crowned a bride. At all our pompous banquets these shall wait. Thy followers and thy servants press with gold; And not the mean’st that to thy train belongs, But shall approve our bounty. Lead in state, And, wheresoe’er thy fame shall be enrolled, The world report thou art a Girl worth Gold.

[_Exeunt_.

THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER.

_The English Traveller_ was first printed in 1633, and from the preface it would seem that the publication of the play was an accident; the date of its production (at the Cockpit in Drury Lane) we do not know. The bye-plot of the prodigal Lionel and his servant is borrowed from Plautus’ _Mostellaria_, which a century or more later was laid under contribution by Fielding in his _Intriguing Chambermaid_. Heywood may have known Plautus’ comedy in the original or in one of the Italian versions. The character of Young Geraldine deserves study: “he is,” says Professor Ward, “one of the truest gentlemen of Elizabethan comedy.” Mr. Saintsbury (_Elizabethan Literature_, p. 284) ranks _The English Traveller_ with _A Woman Killed with Kindness_ as Heywood’s best plays.

In the old editions the scenes are only partially indicated.

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY.

To the Right Worshipful SIR HENRY APPLETON, Knight Baronet, etc.

Noble Sir,

For many reasons I am induced to present this Poem to your favourable acceptance; and not the least of them that alternate love and those frequent courtesies which interchangeably passed betwixt yourself and that good old gentleman, mine uncle (Master Edmund Heywood), whom you pleased to grace by the title of father. I must confess I had altogether slept (my weakliness and bashfulness discouraging me) had they not been wakened and animated by that worthy gentleman your friend and my countryman, Sir William Elvish, whom (who for his unmerited love many ways extended towards me,) I much honour; neither, sir, need you to think it any undervaluing of your worth to undertake the patronage of a poem in this nature, since the like hath been done by Roman Lælius, Scipio, Mæcenas, and many other mighty princes and captains; nay, even by Augustus Cæsar himself, concerning whom Ovid is thus read (_De Tristi_, lib. 2):

Inspice ludorum sumptus, Auguste, tuorum: Empta tibi magno talia multa leges. Hæc tu spectasti, spectandaque sæpe dedisti. Majestas adeo comis ubique tua est.

So highly were they respected in the most flourishing estate of the Roman Empire; and if they have been vilified of late by any separistical humorist (as in the now questioned _Histrio-Mastix_),[3.01] I hope by the next term (Minerva assistente) to give such satisfaction to the world, by vindicating many particulars in that work maliciously exploded and condemned, as that no gentleman of quality and judgment but shall therein receive a reasonable satisfaction. I am loth by tediousness to grow troublesome, therefore conclude with a grateful remembrance of my service, intermixed with myriads of zealous wishes for your health of body and peace of mind, with superabundance of earth’s blessings and Heaven’s graces, ever remaining,

Yours most observant, Thomas Heywood.

TO THE READER.

If, Reader, thou hast of this play been an auditor, there is less apology to be used by entreating thy patience. This tragi-comedy (being one reserved amongst two hundred and twenty in which I have had either an entire hand, or at the least a main finger) coming accidentally to the press, and I having intelligence thereof, thought it not fit that it should pass as _filius populi_, a bastard without a father to acknowledge it. True it is, that my plays are not exposed unto the world in volumes, to bear the title of works, (as others); one reason is, that many of them by shifting and change of companies have been negligently lost; others of them are still retained in the hands of some actors, who think it against their peculiar profit to have them come in print; and a third, that it never was any great ambition in me, to be in this kind voluminously read. All that I have further to say at this time is only this: censure[3.02] I entreat as favourably as it is exposed to thy view freely. Ever

Studious of thy pleasure and profit, Thomas Heywood.

PROLOGUE.

A strange play you are like to have, for know, We use no drum, nor trumpet, nor dumb show; No combat, marriage, not so much to-day As song, dance, masque, to bombast out a play; Yet these all good, and still in frequent use With our best poets; nor is this excuse Made by our author, as if want of skill Caused this defect; it’s rather his self will. Will you the reason know? There have so many Been in that kind, that he desires not any At this time in his scene, no help, no strain, Or flash that’s borrowed from another’s brain; Nor speaks he this that he would have you fear it, He only tries if once bare lines will bear it: Yet may’t afford, so please you silent sit, Some mirth, some matter, and perhaps some wit.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

Two young Gentlemen:

Geraldine, Delavil,

Old Wincott.

Young Lionel, a riotous Citizen.

Old Geraldine, Father of Young Geraldine.

Old Lionel, a Merchant, Father of Young Lionel.

Reignald, a parasitical Serving-man.

Robin, an old country Serving-man.

Roger the Clown, Servant to Old Wincott.

Rioter, a Spendthrift.

Two Gallants, his Companions.

Master Ricott, a Merchant.

A Gentleman, Companion to Delavil.

A Usurer and his Man.

The Owner of the House, supposed to be possessed.

A Tavern Drawer.

Servants.

Wincott’s Wife, a young Gentlewoman.

Prudentilla, her Sister.

Blanda, a Whore.

Scapha, a Bawd.

Two Wenches, Companions to Blanda.

Bess, Chambermaid to Mistress Wincott.

SCENE--London and Barnet.

THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER.

ACT THE FIRST.