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THB 


or 


BEN   JONSON, 

AND 

BEAUMONT  AND  FLETCHER : 

THB  FIKST 
Aim 

WITH  THE  NOTES  OF  PETER  WHALLEY; 

THB  LAVrVR, 

vdBHK  lift  *^LttS«  2flD  DHB  fltt  ^VfluBtf 
©F 

Thk  Latb  GEOROE  COLBfAN^  Es^. 


EMBELUSHED  WnH  POtOnjOTS. 


IN  FOUR  TOLUMES. 

aMaMMaBBBBaBBMaaaBBaai 


VOL.  IV. 

PRINTED  FOB  JOHN  8T0CKDALB,  PICCADILLY. 

iln. 


0^ 


ll 


/^c.  y>V 


London  1  Printed  by  B.  M*MUlan,  > 
IluwSireci,  CoventCard«o.      S 


CONTENTS. 


VOLUME  THE  FOURTH. 


'L07FS.CURE:  OR,THE  MARTL\LBfAID:  ^(:bMe<fy 1 

WOlfEN  PLEAS'D;  Afragt-Comedy 31 

THE  NIGHT-WALKER:  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF;  A  Cmeijf  .    .  6$ 

THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS;  A  li-agi-Comeiy 95 

1HE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMD;  A  Comidg  .    .  131 

THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN;  AComedg 0  l67 

THE  CORONATION;  A  Comedy 196 

IHESEA-VOTAGE;  ACome^ 225 

THE  COXCOMB;  ACmedy 249 

WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS;  A  Comedy 285 

THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN;  ^7>-d^CoMe<fy      321 

y  CUPID'S  REVENGE;  yl7V<^y    /•    • 355 

VTHE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN 387 

VFHE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET 437 

THE  WOMAN-HATER 469 

THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR.  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN ; yf  C^MWify  507 

THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE;  A  Ti-aghComedy 533 

^  THE  MASQUE  OF  THE  INNER-TEMPLE  AND  GRAY'S  INN;  ■ 

GRAY'S  INN  AND  THE  INNER-TEMPLE 

.  FOUR  PLATS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTA'nONS,  IN  ONE   ...  575 


RAY'S  INN;  1 

(  569 

•       •        •       •         ^ 


\ 


a 


LOVE'S   CURE; 


OB> 


THE   MARTIAL   MAID^ 


A  COMEDY. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


This  Play  is  by  Gardiner^n  his  Commendatory  Verses,  ascribed  to  Fletcher  singly;  but 
the  Prologue  speaks  of  it  as  the  production  of  both  authors,  although  again  the  £)pilogue 
lakes  notice  of  but  one.  There  never  were  any  alterations  made  in  this  Comedy,  nor 
has  it  been  acted  for  many  years  past. 


PROLOGUE,  AT  THE  REVIVING  OF  THIS  PLAY. 


Statites  and  pictures  challenge  price  and 

&me. 
If  they  can  justly  boast  and  prove  they  came 
Fram  Phidias  or  Appelles.    >ione  deny. 
Poets  and  painters  hold  a  sympathy ;   [grace. 
Yet  their  works  may  decay,  and  lose  their 
Receiving  blemish  in  their  limbs  or  face; 
When  the  mind's  art  has  this  preheminence, 
She  still  retaineth  her  first  excellence. 
Then  why  sliould  Aot  this  dear  piece  be 

esteemxl 
Child  to  the  richest  fancies  that  e'erteem'd? 
Wlien  not  their  meanest  offspring,  tlmt  came 

forth,  « 

But  bore  the  image  of  their  fslthers'  worth. 


Beaumont's,  and  Fletcher's,  whose  desert 

out-weighs 
The  best  applause,  and  their  least  sprig  of 

bays 
Is  worthy  Phoebus;  and  who  comes  to  gather 
Tlieir  fruits  of  wit,  lie  shall  not  rob  the  trea- 

surcfc 
Nor  can  ypu  ever  surfbit  of  tlic  plenty, 
Nor  can  you  call  tiiem  rate,  though  they  bo 

dainty : 
The  more  you  take,  the  more  you  do  them 

right; 
And  wo  will  thank  you  for  your  own  delight. 


Mest. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

Pachieco,  a  Cohkry 


AssisTAHT,  or  Gaoemor. 

ViTELLi,  a  young  Gentleman,  enemy  to  AU 

Tarez, 
Iamokal,  a  fighting  Gallant,  friend  to  Vu- 

ielli, 
Av ASTRO,  an  honegl  Gentleman,   friend  to 

VitelU. 
Alvarez,  etiemy  to  Vitelli, 
Syavedra,  friend  to  Alvarez. 
Lccio,  Son  to  Alvarez,  brought  tip  as  a 

Woman, 
AiccAziEB,  a  sharking  panderly  Constable. 


Pachirco,  a  Cohler,  '\ 
MEND02A,  a  Botcher,  > 
Metaldi,  a  Smith,       j 


oftDorship^ 


Lazarillo,  Pachieco*s  hungry  Servant* 
Bobadilla,  Steward  to  Alvarez, 
Herald. 
Offici&r. 

Women. 

Eugenia,  a  virtuous  Lady,  Wife  to  DonAl^ 

varez, 
Clara,  the  Martial  Maid,  Daughter  to  Al- 
,    varez,  enamoured  i^' VitelU. 
Genevoba,  Sister  to    Vitelli,  in  love  with 

Lucio, 
Macroda^  a  wanton  MUtress  of  Vitelli. 


VOLIIL 


SCENE,  Sevik 
B 


LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAt  MAID.     [Act  t  Sc«iit  % 


ACT   L 


SCENE  t 


Enter  Vitelli,  tiamoral,  and  Jnoitro, 

TittlU.   ALVAREZpardon'd?     ' 
■"■    Ana,  And  return'd. 

Lam.  I  saw  him  land 
Ac  St.Lucar*s;  and  such  a  general  welcome 
Fame,  as  harbinger  to  his  brave  actions. 
Had  with  the  ea^y  people  prepard  for  bim, 
As  if  by  his  command  alone,  and  fortane, 
Holland,  with  tibose  Low  Provinces  tliat  hold 

out 
Against  the  arch-duke,  were  again  compell'd 
With  their  obedience  to  give  up  their  lives 
To  be  at  his  devotion. 

Vlt.  You  amaze  me !  [Se\il 

For  tho'  I've  heard,  that  when  he  fled  from 
To  save  his  life  (then  forfeited  to  law 
For  murdering  don  Pedro,  my  dear  uncle), 
His  extreme  wants  enforced  huii  to  tate  pay 
I'  th'army,  sat  down  then  before  Ostend; 
'Twas  never  yet  reported,  b^  whose  flavour 
He  durst  presume  to  entertain  a  thought 
Of  coming  home  witli  pardon. 

Ana*  'Tis  our  naturp 
Or  not  to  hear,  or  not  to  give  belief 
To  what  wc  wish  for  from  our  enemies. 

Lam,  Sir,  'tis  most  certain,  the  infanta's^ 

letters. 
Assisted  by  the  arch-duke's,  to  king  Philip, 
Have  not  alone  securM  him  from  the  rigour 
Of  our  Castilian  justice,  butretum'd  lum 
A  free  man,  and  in  grace. 

Vit,  By  what  curs'd  means 
Could  such  a  fugitive  arise  unto  [more 

The  knowledge  of  their  liighnesscs?    Much 
(Though  known),  to  stand  but  in  the  least  de- 
gree 
Offavour  with  them? 

Lam,  To  give  satisfaction 
To  your  demand  (tho'  to  praise  him  I  hate, 
Ciui  yield  me  small  contentment),  I  will  tcU 

you, 
And  truly;  since,  should  I  detract  his  worth, 
Twocdd  argue  want  of  merit  in  myself. 
Briefly  to  pass  his  tedious  pilgrimage 
For  sixteen  3^ears,  a  banish'd  guilU  man. 
And  to  forget  the  storms,  th'  affirlghts,  the 

horrors, 
Ills  constancy,  not  fortune  overcame^ 
I  bring  him,  with  his  little  son,  grown  man 
(Tho'°twas  said  here  he  took  a  daughter 

with  him). 
To  Ostend's  bloody  siege,j  that  stage  of  war, 
Wherein  tlie  flower  of  many  nations  acted, 
V^nd  the  whole  Christian  world  spectators 


Thereby  his  son  (or  were  he  by  adoption 
Or  Nature  liis)  a  brave  scene  was  presented. 
Which  I  make  choice  to  speak  of,  since  fron 

tliat 
The  good  success  of  Alvarez  had  beginning. 

Vn,  So  r  love  virtue  ia  an  enemy, 
That  I  desire  in  the  relation  of        [yourself 
This  young  man's  gIoriou&  deed,  youH  keep 
A  friend  tos^  truth,  and  it. 

Lam,  Such  was  my  purpose. 
The  town  being  oft  assaulted,  but  in  vain, 
To  dare  the  proud  defendants  to  a  sally. 
Weary  of  ease,  don  Inigo  Peralta, 
Son  to  the  general  of  our  Castile  forces,. 
All  arm'd,  advanc'd  within  shot  of  tlieir  wallis 
From  whence  the  musqueteers  ptay'd  liiick 

upon  him;  fger 

Yet  he,  brave  youth,  as  careless  of  the  dan-* 
As  careful  of  his  honour,  drew  his  sword. 
And  waving  it  about  his  head,  as  if 
He  dar'd  one  spirited  like  himself  to  trial 
Of  single  valour,  he  made  iiis  retreat. 
With  sucli  a  slow,  and  yet  majestic '  pace. 
As  if  he  still  caird  loud,  ^  Dare  none  come 

on?" 
When  suddenly,  from  a  postern  of  the  town 
Two  gallant  horsemen  issued,  and  o'ertook 
The  army  looking  on,  yet  not  a  man     [him^ 
That  durst  reheve  the  rash  adventurer; 
Which  Lucio,  son  to  Alvarez,  then  seeing. 
As  in  the  vant-guard  he  sat  bravely  mounted^ 
(Or  were  it  pity  of  the  youth's  misfortune, 
Care  to  preserve  tlie  honour  of  his  country. 
Or  bokl  desire  to  get  himself  »  name). 
He  made  his  brave  horse  like  a  whirlwind 

bear  him 
Among  the  combatants;  and  in  a  momeni 
Discharg'd  his  pctronel,  with  such  sure  aim, 
Tluit  of  tlie  adverse  party  from  his  horse 
One  tiunbied  dead;  then  wheeling  rounds 

and  drawing 
A  falchion,  swift  as  lightning  he  came  oq 
Upon  the  other,  and  with  one  strong  blow. 
In  view  of  the  amazed  town  and  camp, 
He  struck  him  dead,  and  brought  Peralta  olK 
With  double  honour  to  himself. 

Fif.  Twas  brave! 
But  the  success  of  this? 

Lam,  The  camp  receiv*d  him 
With  acclamations  of  joy  and  welcome; 
And  for  addition  to'  the  fair  reward 
(Being  a  massy  chain  of  gold  giv*n  to  him 
By  young  Feral  ta's  father),  he  was  brougiit 
To  the  infauta's  presence,  kiss'd  her  hand. 
And  from  tliat  lady  (greater  in  her  goodness 
Than   her  high  birth)  had  this  encourage* 

ment: 


And  yet  mi^etiie  pace.]    SympsoB  objects  to  the  word  yet^  and  would  rt^d, 
>■■ '    ■' '  a  sloW|  fuid  that  majestic,  pace. 


G(^ 


A€t  1  Scttm  t.)     lOVBS  CURE  J  OR,  tHE  MARTIAL  MAID- 

•»  Go  OB,  joong  man!   Yet,  not  to  feed  thy 
valour 

•  With  hope  ofrecompense  to  come  from  me, 

•  For  present  satisfaction  of  wiiat's  past, 
^  Ask  any  thing  that's  fit  for  me  to  give    « 

•  An^  thee  to  take,  and  be  assured  of  it.*' 
Anm.  Excellent  princess! 
Fh.  And  stil'd  worthily 

The  heart-blood,  nay,  the  soul  of  soldiers. 
But  what  was  his  request? 

Lam.  That  the  repeal 
Of  Alvarez  makes  plain :  He  humbly  begg'd 
His  father's  pardon,  and  so  movingly 
Told  the  sad  story  of  your  uncle's  death, 
Tliat  the  infanta  wept;  and  instantly 
Grsinttng  liis  suit,  working  the  archrduke  to  it, 
Their  letters  were  directed  to  the  king. 
With  whom  they  so  prevailed,  that  Alvarez 
Was  freely  pardon'd.   . 

VU.  ^is  not  in  the  king 
To  make  that  good. 

Ana,  Not  in  the  king?  Wliat  subject 
Dares  contradict  his  poVr  ? 

Vit,  In  this  I  dare, 
And  will;  and  not  call  his  prerogative 
In  question,  nor  presume  to  limit  it. 
I  know  he  b  the  master  of  his  laws, 
And  may  foi^ve  the  forfeits  made  to  them, 
But  not  tlie  injur^f  done  to  my  honour : 
And  8ince(forgetting my  brave  uncle's  merits. 
And  many  services,  under  duke  d-'Alva) 
He  suffers  him  to  fall,  wresting  from  justice 
The  powerful  sword,  that  would  revenge  his 

death, 
ni  fill  with  this  Astrea*s  empty  hand,  [king's. 
And  in  my  just  wreak  make  this  arm  the 
My  deadly  hate  to  Alvarez,  and  his  house, 
Whidi  as  I  crew  in  years  hath  still  encreas'd 
{As  if  it  calld  on  Time  to  make  me  man), 
Sept  while  it  had  no  object  for  her  fury. 
Bat  a  weak  woman,  and  her  talk*d«of  daugh- 
ter; [sight*, 
But  now,  since  there  are  quarries  worth  her 
Both  in  the  father  and  his  hopeful  son, 
PH  boldly  cast  her  oil^  and  gorge  her  full 
With  both  their  hearts:  to  further  which, 

your  friendship,  [deeds 

And  oaths' !  Will  your  assistance  let  ydur 


Make  answer  to  me?  Useless  are  all  words, 
'Till  you  have  writ  performance  with  your 
svrords.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  II. 

Enter  Bobadilla  and  Lu^io, 

Lncio.  Go,  fetch  my  work.   This  ruff  was 

not  vi'eU  starch'd. 
So  tell  the  maid ;  't  has  too  much  blue  in  it: 
And  look  you  that  the  partridge  and  the  pul- 

len  [ther 

Have  clean  meat  and  firesh  water,  or  my  mo- 
Is  like  to  he4r  on't.  [there  ever 

Bob^  Oh,  good  St.  Jaques,  help  me  J  Was 
Such  an  hermaphrodite  heard  of?  Would  any 
Wench  living,  that  should  hoar  and  see  what 

I  do,  [man  lies 

Be  wrought  to  believe^  that  the  best  of  a 
Under  this  petticoat,  and  that  a  cod-piece 
Were  far  fitter  here,  than  a  pinn'd  placket? 

Lucio»  You  had  best  talk  filthily,  do;  t 

have  a  tongue 
To  tell  mv  mother,  a|  well  as  ears  to  hear 
Your  ribaldry. 

Bob.  Nay,  you  liave  ten  women's  tongues 
That  way,  I  am  sure !  Why,  my  voung  master. 
Or  mistress,  madam,  don,  or  what  you  will. 
What  the  devil  have  you  to  do  with  pullen 

or  partridge? 
Or  to  sit  pricking  on  a  clout  all  day? 
You  have  a  better  needle,  I  know,  and  might 
Make  better  work,  if  you  had  grace  to  use  it. 
I  Lticio.  Why,  how  dare  you  speak  thi«>  be- 
fore me,  sirrah?  [what  I  speak? 

Bob.  Nay,  rather,  why  dare  not  you  do 
Tho'  my  ladjr,  your  mother,  for  fear  of 
Vitelli  and  bis  faction,  liath  [kept  you 

Brought  you  up  like  her  daughter,  and  ha» 
These  twenty  years  (which  is  ever  since 
You  were  bom)  a  ctose  prisoner  within  doors  ; 
Yet  since*you  are  a  man,  and  are  as  well 
Provided  as  other  men  are,  mcthinks  [flesh 
You  should  have  the  same  motions  of  the 
As  other  cavaliers  of  us  are  indin'd  unto. 

Lucio.  Indeed,  you  have  cause  to  (bve 

those  wanton  motions, 
They  having  holpe  you  to  an  excellent  whip* 

ping** 


*  Qnarria^  worth  her  sight]  "  This  nght,  though  it  is  not  altogether  void  of  sense,  dijt- 
continues  tlie  chain  of  metaphors  taken  from  falconry.  Our  business  then  musit  be  to  join 
ita^n  (a  thing  not  hard  to  be  done),  by  changing  one  letter,  and  adding  another,  thus: 

But  now,  since  there  arc  quarries,  worth  her  Jiight. 
Mr.  Seward  concurred  too  in  the  same  correeti(^n.  Sytnpson, 

^  • to  further  whichj  yourfriendihip^ 

Andoatht;  mil  your  assUtanee,  let  your  deeds,']  Thus  point  the  two  last  edi- 
tions, and  the  first  not  a  great  deal  better.  Had  tlie  editors  of  any  ot  the  copies  understood 
this  passage,  they  would  have  talcen  better  care  in  the  punctuation,  and  given  tho-texi  as 
Mr.  Seward  and  myself  have  done  in  the  present  edition.  Sympson, 

These  gentlemen  point, 

—to  further  which,  your  friendship. 
And  oaths,  will  your  assistance :  let,  &c. 
We  think  they  have  quite  mistaken  tlie  passage,  and  hope  we  have  been  moie  sttccessful  in 
ffpseoting  the  meaning  of  the  poet. 

*  I'hey  having  Iwpe  you  to  «rn— -}  Amended  in  1750* 

B  2  '  For 


LOVE'S  CURS;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.     t^<:<^  1-  ^^^  ^ 

Evig.  Thoushalt:  bat  first  kaeel  witli  me^ 

Lucio, 
No  more  Posthumia  now !  thou  hast  a  father^ 
A  tather  living  to  take  off  that  name,  [dead^ 
Which  my  too-credulous  fears,  tliat  he  was 
Bestow'd  upon  thee.    Thou  shalt  see  hint) 

Lucio, 
And  make  Iiim  youn^  again  by  seeing  thee^ 
Who  only  hadst  a  bemg  in  my  womb 
When  he  went  from  me,  Lucio.  Oh,  my  joys 
So  far  transport  me,  that  I  must  forget ' 
The  ornaments  of  matrons,  modesty, 
And  grave  behaviour!  But  let  all  forgive  me. 
If  in  tir  expression  ofnw  soul's  best  comfort^ 
Tho'  old,  I  do  a  while  foiiget  mine  age. 
And  play  the  wanton  in  tbe  entertainnient 
Of  those  delights  I  have  so  long  despaired  of! 

Lucio,  Shall  I  tlien  see  my  fatlier? 

Eug.  This  hour,  Lucio; 
Wliich  reckon  the  hcgiuuing  of  thy  life, 
I  mean  that  life  in  which  thou  shalt  appear 
To  be  such  as  I  brought  thee  forth,  a  man. 
This  womanish  disguise,  in  wliich  I  have 
So  long  concealed  thee,  thou  shalt  now  cast 

off,  [from  me, 

And  change  those  qualities  thou  didst  ieam 
For  masculine  virtues;  for  which  seek  no  tutor. 
But  let  thy  fatlier's  actions  be  thy  precepts. 
And  for  thee,  Zancho,  now  expect  reward 
tor  thy  true  service  [learn 

Bob,  Shalll? — You  hear,  fellow Stephano? 
To  know  me  more  respectively !  How  dost 
Thou  think  I  shall  become  the  steward's 

chair?  ha! 
Will  not  tliese  slender  liaunches  shew  well 

with 
A  gold  chain  ^  and  a  night-cap  afler  supper'. 
When  I  take  the  accounts? 

Eug.  Haste,  and  take  down  those  blacks 

with  which  iny  chamber  [moum'd. 

Hath   like  the  widow,   her  said    mistress. 
And  hang  up  for  it  tin*  rich  Persian  ari*as, 
Us'd  on  my  wedding-night ;  for  this  to  me 
Shall  be  a  second  inarringe !  Send  for  music. 
And  will  the  cooks  to  use  their  best  of  cun- 
To  please  t\\t  palate.  [nijig 

hob.  Will  your  ladyship  have 
A  potatoe-pie'?  'lis  a  goo<l  stirring  dish 
For  an  old  lady,  after  a  long  Lent, 


For  doing  somediing  (I  but  put  you  in  mind 

of  it)  [mother 

With  th*  Indian  maid,  the  governor  sent  my 
From  Mexico. 
•     Bob.  Why,  I  but 

Taught  her  a  Spanish  trick  in  charity,  [live 
And  holpe  the  king  to  a  subject,  that  may 
To  take  grave  Maurice  prisoner^,  and  that 

was  [as  you 

More  good  to  the  state  than  a  thousand  such 
Are  ever  like  to  do.    And  I  will  tell  you 
(In  a  fatherly  care  of  the  infant,  I  speak  it) 
If  he  live  (as  bless  the  babe,  in  passion  I 
Remember  him!)  to  your  years,  shall  he 

sftend  his  time 
In  pinning,  painting,  purling,  and  perfuming, 
As  you  do  ? '  No;  he  shall  to  the  wars. 
Use  his  Spanish  pike,  tho*  with  die  danger 

of  the  lash,  [vok'd, 

As  his  father  has  done;  and  when  he  is  pro- 
As  I  am  now,  draw  his  tolcdo  desperately. 
As 

Lucio.  You  will  not  kiU  me?    Oh ! 

Bob.  I  knew  this 
Would  silence  him.  How  he  hides  his  eyes ! 
.  If  he  were  a  wench  now,  as  he  seems,  what  an 
Advantage  had  I,  drawing  two  toledos 
'When  one  can  do  this!    But— Oh  me,  my 

lady!  [jest. 

I  must  put  up. — ^Young  master,  I  did  but 
Oh,  Custom,  what  hast  thou  made  of  him  ! 

Enter  Eugenia  and  Servant. 

Eng,  For  bringing  this,  be  still  my  friend; 

no  more 
A  ser\'ant  to  me. 

Bob,  What's  the  matter? 

Eug,  Here, 
.  Ecn  here,  where  I  am  happy  to  receive 
Assurance  of  my  Alvarez:  return,  [thoughts 
I  will  kneel  down;  and  may  those  holy 
That  now  possess  me  wholly,  make  this  place 
A  temple  to  me,  where  I  may  give  thanks 
For  this  unhop'd-for  blesung,  HeavVs  kind 
Ilhth  pour'd  upon  me !  [hand 

Lucio.  Im  t  my  duty,  madam. 
Presume,  if  you  have  cause  of  joy,  to  entreat 
I  may  share  in  it.  [hhu  yet^. 

Bob,  Tis  well,  he  has  forgot  how  I  frighted 


'  To  take  grave  Maurice  prisoner.']  Crave  is  printed  in  the  last  editions  witn  a  great 
letter  and  in  Italia^  as  if  it  was  a  proper  name,  whereas  it  is  an  epithet  only,  and  a  elm- 
racteristic  of  prince  Maurice  of  Nassau^,  who  after  performing  great  actions  against  the 
Spaniards,  is  said  to  have  died  of  grief,  on  account  of  the  siege  of  Breda.  Strada  de  Belfo 
BdgicOf  though  a  bigotted  Jesuit,  and  extremely  prejudiced  against  the  Protestants,  gives 
prince  Maurice  the  following  character:  Hie  iili  Mauritius  estf  a  nobis  sape,  nee  sinejbrtis 
et  eauti  Ducis  laude  memorandus;  i.  e.  This  is  that  Maurice  whom  >ve  shall  often  speak  of, 
and  never  without  the  character  of  a  brave  and  cautious  general.  Seicard, 

*  ■  how  I  frighted  him  yet. 

Eug.  Thou  shalt.]    Sampson  thinks  it  undoubted  that  we  should  read, 
*  how  I  frighted  him. 

Eug.\  That  thou  shalt. 


'  Chain.]    See  note  3,  on  jthe  Lovers'  Progress, 

•  With  a  chain,  and  gold  nighi^cap.]    Corrected  from  S^mpsotfs  cpnjecture* 

*  FoTAiot-pie,]  See  note  36,  ou  the  Loyal  Subject, 


jEug. 


jkct  1.  Scene  S.]      LOVE'S  CXTBE ;  OR,  THB  MARTIAL  MAID. 

JSitf.  Bemjoej  I  say!    Why,  sir,  you  can 

go  SaterF  [practise 

Bab,  I  could,  madain;  but  I  am  now  to 
The  steward's  pace;  that*s  the  reward  I  look 

for. 
ETerf  man  must  fashion  his  gait  according 
To  his  calling:  you,  fellow  Stcphano,,  may 

walk  faster, 
To  overtake  preferment;  so,  usher  me. 

LttOih  I^ray,  madam,  let  the  waistcoat  I 

last  wrought 
fie  made  up  for  my  father !  I  will  have 
A  cap,  and  boot-hose,  Miitable  to  it. 

Eug.  Of  that  [now 

We'll  think  hereafter,  Lucio;  our  thoughts 
Mast  have  no  object  but  thy  father's  wel- 
To  which,  thy  help !  [come; 

Lucio.  With  humble  gladness,  madam. 

[Eseunt. 

SCENE  TIL 

Enter  Alvarez  and  Clara, 


Ah,  Where  lost  we  Syavedra? 

Chra.  He  was  met, 
Ent'ring  the  city,  by  some  gentlemen. 
Kinsmen,  as  he  said,  of  liis  own,  with  whom 
For  compliment-sake  (for  so  I   tliink  he 

term'd  it) 
He  was  compeird  to  stay;  tho'I  much  wonder. 
A  man  that  knows  to  do,  and  has  done  well 
r  th'  head  of  his  troop,  when  the  bold  foe 

charg'd  home,  ' 

Can  learn  so  suddenly  t'  abdse  his  time 
In  apish  entertainment.    For  my  part, 
(By  all  the  glorious  rewards  of  war), 
rd  rather  meet  ten  enemies  i'  th'  field,      [on 
All  sworn  to  fetch  my  head,  than  be  brought 
To  change  an  hour's  discourse  with  one  of 
Smooth  city-fools,  or  tissue-cavaliers  /these 
(The  only  galUnts,  as  they  wisely  think). 
To  get  a  jewel,  or  a  wanton  kiss 
From  a  court- lip,  tho'  paiuted.    ^ 

Ah.  My  love  Clara, 
(For  Lucio  is  a  name  thou  must  forget,, 
WithLucio'sbold  behaviour),  tlio'  thy  breed- 
ing [cuse 
r  th'  camp,  may  plead  something  in  the  ex- 
Of  thorough  manners,  custom  having  changed 
(Tho  not  thy  sex)  the  softness  of  thy  nature. 
And  Fortune,  then  a  cruel  step-dame  to  thee, 
Imposed  upon  thy  tender  sweetness  burdens 
Of  buneer,  cold^  wounds,  waiit^   such  as 

wotilo  crack 
The  sinews  of  a  man,  not  bom  a  soldier; 
Yet,  now  she  smiles,  and  like  a  natural  mother 
Looks  gently  on  thee,  Clara,  entertain 
Her  proffer'd  bounties  with  a  willing  bosom : 
Thou  sbalt  no  more  have  need  to  use  thy 

sword ;  [alter'cf) 

Thy  beauty  (which  e'en  Belgia  hath  not 
Shall  be  a  stronger  guard,  to  keep  my  Clara, 
Than  that  has  been  (tho'  never  us'd  but  no- 
And  know  thus  much [^'y)* 

Clara.  Sir,  I  know  only  that 
It  stands  not  with  my  duty  to  gain*say  you 


In  any  thing:  I  must  and  will  put  on  [wish 
What  fashion  you  think  best,  tho'  I  could 
I  were  what  I  appear. 

Ah.  Endeavour  rather  ^   [Mutick. 

To  be  what  you  are,  Clara;  entring  here. 
As  you  were  bom,  a  woman. 

Enter  Eugenia,  Lucioy  and  Servunt^ 

Eug.  Let  choice  musick, 
In  the  best  voice  that  e*er  touched  human  ear 
(For  joy  hath  tied  my  tongue  up),  speak  your 

welcome ! 

Ah.  My  soul  (for  thou  giv'st  new  life  to 

my  spirit^  [Embraces  her. 

Myriads  of  joy,  though  short  in  number  of 
Thy  virtues,  fall  on  thee !     Oh,  my  Eugenia, 
Th^  assurance  that  I  do  embrace  thee,  make* 
My  twenty  years  of  sorrow  but  a  dream ; 
And  by  the  nectar  which  I  take  from  these, 
I  feel  my  age  restored,  and,  like  old  iEsou, 
Grow  young  again. 

Eug.  My  lord,  long  wish'd-for,  welcome! 
Tis  a  sweet  briefness!  yet  in  that  short  word 
All  pleasures  which  I  may  call  mine  begin. 
Ana  may  they  long  encrease,  before  they  find 
A  second  period !  Let  mine  eyes  now  surfeit 
On  this  so  wish'd-for  object,  and  my  lips 
Yet  modestly  pay  back  the  parting  kiss 
You  tmsted  with  them,  when  you^  fled  from 

Sevil,  [she? 

With  litde  Ckra,  my  sweet  daughter!  lives 
Yet  I  could  chide  myself,  having  you  here^ 
For  being  so  covetous  of  all  joys  at  once, 
T' enquire  for  her;  you  being,  alone,  to  me 
My  Clnra,  Lucio,  my  lord,  myself, 
Nay»  more  than  all  the  world! 

Ah.  As  you  to  me  are. 

Eug,  Sit  down,  and  let  me  feed  upon  the 

story  [safetj^ ! 

Of  your  past  dangers,  now  you're  liere  in 
It  viill  give  relish,  and  fresh  appetite 
To  my  delights,  if  such  dehghts  can  cloy  me. 
Yet  do  not,  Alvarez !  let  me  first  yield  you 
Account  of  my  life  in  your  absence,  and 
Make  you  acquainted  how  I  have  preser\'*d 
The  jewel  left  lock'd  up  within  my  womb. 
When  you,  in  being  forc'd  to  leave  your 
Suffered  a  civil  death.  [country, 

Ah.  Do,  ray  Eugenia ; 
'Tis  that  I  most  desire  to  hear. 

Eug.  Then  know 

Ah,  >Vhat  noise  is  that? 

\lVithin  clashing  ofscords. 

S^av.  [witlUn']  If  you  .are  noble  enemies, 
'  Oppress  me  not  with  odds,  but  kill  me  fairly! 

Vit.  [a:ithin'\  Stand  off!    I  am  too  many 

of  myself. 

Enter  Bobadilla. 

Bob,    Murder,  murder,  murder!     Your 

friend,  my  lord, 
Don  Syavedra  is  set  upon  in  the  streets. 
By  your  enemies,  Vitelli  and  his  faction : 
I  am  almost  kill'd  with  looking  on  tliem. 

Ah.  I'll  free  him,  or  fall  wiSi  him  I  Draw 

thy  sword. 
And  follow  me  {  [EjU, 

Clartf, 


LOVFS  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  UAIO.     [Act  1.  Scene  S. 


Clara,  Fortunei  I  give  thee  thanks 

For  this  occasion  once  more  to  use  it,  [ExiL 
Bob,  Nay,  hold  not  me,  madam !  If  I  do 
any  hurt,  hang  me.  Hnto 

Luc.  Oh,  1  am  dead  with  fear!   Lets  fly 

Your  closet,  mother. 
Eug,  No  hour  of  my  life 

Secure  of  danger?  Heav'n  be  merciful. 

Or  now  at  once  dispatch  me ! 

Enter  ViteUi,  nurtued  hf  Alvare$  and  Sj^a^ 
vedrOf  Clara  heating  off  Anastro* 

Clara,  Follow  Um! 
Leave  me  to  keep  these  ofl^ 

Ah.  Assault  my  friend. 
So  near  my  house? 

Vit,  Nor  in  it  will  spare  thee, 
Tho'  'twere  a  temple;  and  111  make  it  one, 
I  being  the  priest,  andtliou  the  sacrifice, 
ril  ofl^r  to  my  nncle. 

Alv.  Haste  thqa  to  him. 
And  say  I  sent  thee ! 

Clara,  Twas  put  bravely  by— —*- 
And  that;  yet  he  comes  on,  and  boldly;  rare 
I'  th'  wars,  where  emulation  and  example 
Join  to  encrease  the  courage,  and  make  less 
The  dangerlr  valour,  and  true  resolution 
Never  appeared  so  lovely — ^brave  min  ! 
Sure  he  is  more  than  man;  and  if  he  fall, 
The  best  of  virtue,  fortitude,  wotdd  die  with 
And  can  I  soiier  it?  for^ve  me,  duty !  [him : 
So  I  love  valour,  as  I  will  protect  it 
A^nst  my  father,  and  redeem  it,  thc^ 
Tis  forfeited  by  one  I  hate. 

Vii,  Come  on ! 
All  is  not  lost  yet:  yon  shall  buy  me  dearer 
Before  you  have  me;  keep  off, 

Clara.  Fear  me  not!  [sword 

Thy  worth  has  took  me  prisoner,   and  my 
For  this  time  knows  thee  only  for  a  friend, 
And  to  all  else  I  turn  the  point  of  it. 

Sya^*  Defend  your  father's  enemy? 

Ah,  Art  thou  mad  ?  J!'^^^'  which 

Clara,  Are  ye  men  rather?   Shall  thatva- 
Begot  you  lawiiil  honour  in  the  wars,    [tard 
Prove  now  the  parent  of  an  infamous  bas- 
So  foul,  yet  so  long-liv'd,  as  murder  will 
Be  to  your  shames  r  Have  each  of  you,  alone. 
With  your  own  dangers  only,  purchas'd  glory 
From  multitudes  of  enemies,  not  allowing 
Those  nearest  to  ;^ou  to  have  part  in  it. 
And  do  you  now  join,  and  lend  mutual  help 
Against  k  single  opposite?  Hatli  the  mercy 
Of  the  great  king,  but  newly  wash'd  away 
The  blood,  that  with  the  forfeit  of  your  life 
CleaVd  to  your  name  and  family,  like  an 
In  this  again  to  set  a  deeper  dye  upon  [ulcer. 
Your  infamy?  You'll  say  he  is  your  foe. 
And  by  his  rashness  call  d  on  his  own  ruin ; 
>  liemember  yet,  he  was  first  wrong'd,  and 

honour  [place 

SpnrrM  liim  to  what  he  did ;  and  next  the 
Wliert  now  he  is,  your  house,  which  by  the 
Of  ho^itable  duty  should  protect  him;[taws 
Have  yott  been  twenty  years  a  stranger  to*t, 


To  make  yonr  entrance  now  in  blood?  or 

think  you  [be 

Your  countrvman,  a  true-born  Spaniard,  will 
An  off'rin^  nt  to  please  the  genius  of  it  ? 
No;  in  thra  FU  presume  to  teach  my  father. 
And  this  first  act  of  disobedience  shall 
Confirm  I  am  most  dutiful* 

Ah,  Fm  pleasM 
With  what  I  dare  not  give  allowance  to.— 
Unnatural  wretch,  what  wilt  thou  do? 

Clara.  Set  free 
A  noble  enemy:  come  not  on!  by  Heaven, 
You  pass  to  him  thro*  me!  The  way  is  opei>. 
Farewell !  when  next  I  meet  you,  do  not 

look  for 
A  friend,  but  a  voVd  foe;  I  see  you  worthy. 
And  therefore  now  preserve  you,  for  the  ho» 
Of  my  sword  only.  [nour 

Vit,  Were  this  man  a  friend,  [foe 

How  would  he  win  me,  tlmt  being  my  vow*d 
Deserves  so  well !  I  thank  you  for  my  life; 
But  how  I  shall  deserve  it,  give  me  leave 
Hereafter  to  consider.  [J&rtV • 

Ah,  Quit  thy  fear ; 
All  danger  is  blown  overt  I  have  letters 
To  th'  governor,  i*th'king*s  name,  to  secure  xx% 
From  such  attempts  hereafter;  yet  we  need 
^    not  [dread  others; 

That  have  such  strong  guards  of  our  own. 
And,  to  encrease  thy  comfort,  know,  this 

young  man, 
Whom  with  such  fervent  earnestness  you  eye^ 
Is  not  what  he  appears,  but  such  a  one 
As  thou^with  joy  wilt  bless,  .tliy  daughter 

Clara. 

Eug,  A  thousand  blessings  in  that  word  f 

Ah,  The  reason 
Why  I  have  bred  her  up  thus,  at  more  leisure 
I  will  impart  unto  you :  wonder  not 
At  what  you've  seen  her  do,  it  being  the  least 
Of  many  great  and  valiant  underbiking!^ 
She  hath  made  gpod  with  honour. 

Eug.  Fll  return 
The  joy  I  have  in  her,  with  one  as  great 
To  you,  my  Alvarez ;  you,  in  a  man, 
Have  giv'n  to  roe  a  daughter ;  in  a  woman,^ 
I  give  to  you  a  son  :  this  was  the  pledge 
You  lefl  here  with  roe,  whom  I  have  brought 

I>in*rent  from  what  he  was,  as  yr>u  did  Clam^ 
And  with  the  like  success;  as  she  appears 
Alter*d  by  custom,  more  than  woman,  he, 
Transfbrm'd  by  his  soft  life,  is  less  than  man* 

Ah.  Fortune  in  this  gives  ample  satis&ction 
For  all  our  sorrows  past. 

Lucio.  My  dearest  sister ! 

Clara.  Kind  brother ! 

Ah.  Now  our  mutual  cara  must  be 
Employed  to  help  wrongM  Nature,  to  recover 
Her  right  in  either  of  tliem^  lost  by  custom  : 
To  you  I  give  my  Cliira,  and  receive 
My  Lucio  to  my  charge;  and  we'll  contend. 
With  loving  industry,  who  soonest  can 
Turn  this  man  woni[an,  or  this  woman  ma^. 

[Exeunt. 
ACT 


AetiScttet.}    I/0VES  CUBE;  OB,  IHfi  ICAKHAL  MAin. 


ACT  IL 


SCENE  L 

Enter  Pachkco  and  Lasarillo, 

f oeiL  l^OYy  my  cloak  and  rapier!  it  fita 
^    not 

A  geniieman  of  my  rank  to  walk  the  streets 
hkfuerpo. 

Laz,  Nay,  you  are  a  very  rank  gentleman, 
S^oor.    I  am  very  hungry;  they  tell  me 
In  Sevii  here,  I  look  like  an  eel,         [smith 
With  a  man*s  head;  and  your  neighbour  the 
Here  hard  by,  would  have  borrowed  me  the 

other  day  [angle-rod. 

To  have  fish'd  with  me,  because  h!  bad  lost  his 

Pack.  Oh,  happy  thou,   Lazarillo,  being 

the  cause  [lean 

Of  other  men's  wits,  as  in  thine  own  1    Live 
And  witty  still:  oppress  not  thy  stomach 
Too  mnch:   gross  feeders,  great  sleepers; 

great  sleepers,  fet  bodies ; 
Fat  bodies,  lean  brains !    No,  I^oarillo ; 
I  will  make  thee  immortal,  change  thy  ho^ 

manity 
loco  deity,  for  i  will  teach  thee 
To  live  upon  nothing. 

Lot,  Faith,  signor, 
I  am  inmiortal  then  already,  or  very 
Near  it,  for  I  do  live  upon  little  or  nothing. 
Belike  that  is  the  reason  the  poets  are  said 
To  be  immortal;  for  some  or  them  live 
Upon  their  wits,  which  is  indeed  as  good 
As  little  or  nothing.  Dot,  good  master,  let  me 
Be  mortal  still,  and  let  us  go  to  supper. 

Pack.  Be  abstinent;  shew  not  the  corrup- 
tion of 
Hiy  generation :  he  that  feeds  shall  die, 
Theivfbre,  he  that  feeds  not  sliall  live. 

Laz.  Ay,  but  how  long 
Shall  be  IK-eP  There's  Uic  question. 

Pack.  As  long  as  he 
Can  without  feeding.  Didst  thou  read  of  the 
liiraculous  maid  in  Flanders — 
•  Laz.  No,  nor  of 

Any  maid  else;  for  the  miracle  of  virginity 
Now-*-days  ceases,  ere  the  virgin 
Can  read  virginity ! 

PadL  She  that  livM  three  years 
Witboat  any  otlier  sustenance  than 
Hft  noell  of  a  rose  ?  [her  gut»  shrunk 

Laz.  I  heard  of  her,  signor;  but  they  say 
All  into  lutcstrines,  and  her  nether  parts 
Clingfd  together  hkc  a  serpent's  tail ;  so  that 
'ThttTahe  continued  a  woman  still         [ster. 
Above  the  girdle,  beneath  yet  she  was  monr- 

Pach,  So  are  mo|t  women,  believe  it. 

Imz.  Nay  all  women,  signor, 
That  can  live  only  upon  the  smell  of  a  rose. 

Pack,  No  part  of  the  history  is  fabulous. 

LaZn  I  think  rather. 


No  part  of  tite  (Me  Is  historical. 
But  for  an  this,  sir,  my  rebellious  stomach 
Will  not  let  me  i>e  immortal :  I  will  be 
As  immortal  as  mortal  hunger  will  suffer. 
Put  me  to  a  certain  stint,  sir !  allow  me 
But  a  red  herring  a  day ! 

Paeh.  O,  dcDioif 
Wouldst  thou  be  gluttonous  in  thy  delicacies  ? 

Laz.  He  that  e^ts  nothing  but  a  red  her« 

ring  a-day 
Shall  ne*er  be  broiled  for  the  devil's  rasher ; 
A  p^chaM,  signor,  a  sardina'^  an  olive, 
TlAt  I  may  be  a  philosopher  first. 
And  immortal  after. 

Paeh.  Patience,  Lazaiillo! 
Let  contemplation  be  thy  food  awhile : 
I  say  unto  thee. 

One  pease  was  a  sddier^sprovant  a  whole  day 
At  the  destruction  of  Jerusalem. 

Enter  Metaldi  and  Mendoza, 

Laz.  Ay,  an  it  were  any  where  but  at ' 
The  destruction  of  a  place,  FU  be  haog'd. 

Met.  Signor  Pachieco  AlastOy 
My  most  ingenioos  cobler  of  Sevil, 
The  banos  naxioi  to  your  signory ! 

Pack.  Signor  Metaldi  de  Forgio ! 
My  most  ft^ous  smith,  and  man  of  metal,  I 
Return  your  courtesy  ten-fold,  and  do 
Humble  my  bonnet  beneath  tlie  slioe-solo 
Of  your  congie.    Tlie  like  to  you, 
Signor  Mendoza  Pediculo  de  Vermuu^ 
My  most  exquisite  hose-heeler ! 

Imz.  Here's  a  greeting 
^twixt  a  cobler,  a  smith,  and  a  botcher  t 
They  all  bek>n|(  ta  the  foot,  which  makes 

them  stand 
So  much  upon  their  gentry. 
Mend.  Sigpor  Lazarillo! 
Laz.  Ah,  sigpor,  si/  Nay,  we  are  all  signers 
Here  in  Spai%  fiom  the  jakes^farmer  to  tlie 

grandee. 
Or  adelantadob  This  botcher  looks  [now^ 
As  if  he  were  dough4>ak*d;  a  little  butter 
And  I  could  eat  him  like  an  oaten  cake! 
His  iatber's-diet  was  new  cheese  and  onions 
When  he  got  him :  what  a  scalliou-fac'd  ras« 
ca)  lis  ?  *  [stand 

Met.  But  why,  n^nor  Pachieco,  do  you 
So  moch  on  the  prionty,  and  antiquity 
Of  your  qoality  (aa  you  call  itj  in  comparisoii 
Ofours? 

Mend.  Ay ;  your  reason  for  that. 
PocA.  Why,  thou  iron-pated  smith,  uid  thorn 
-  Woollen-witted  hose-heeler,  hear  wimt  I 
Will  8|>eak  indifferently,  and  according 
To  antient  writers,  of  our  tiiree  profesMont; 
And  let  die  upright  Lazarillo  be 
Both  judge  and  moderator ! 


**  A  surdiny.]  See  note  i  on  Lore's  Filgrimage.  Sym^^son^ 


Jmz. 


9 


' lOVE*  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAtD.      [Act  a.  Scene  t 


Laz.  Still  am  I 
The  most  immortally  hungry  that  may  be ! 
Fach.  Suppose  thou  wilt  derive  tliy  pedi- 

Like  some  of  the  old  heroes  (as  Hercules, 

MnevtSy  Achilles),  lineally  from  [father, 

The  gods,  making  Saturn  thy  great-grand- 

And  Vulcan  thy  father — Vulcan  was  a  go<i — 

Laz»  He'll  make  VuldUi  your  god  tat  her 

bv-and-by.  [block-head, 

Ifach,  Yet,  I  saj^,  Saturn  was  a  crabbed 

And  Vulcan  a  limping  hum-head  ;  for  Venus 

his  wife  [dren : 

Was  a  strumpet,  and  Mars  be^at  all  her  chil- 

Therefore,  however,  thy  origmal       Fther", 

Must  of  necessity  spring  from  bastarcfy.  Fur- 

What  can  shew  a  more  deject  spirit  in  man, 

than  [feet, 

To  lay  his  hands  under  every  one's  horses' 

To  do  him  service,  as  thou  dost  ? — For  thee, 

I  will  be  brief;  thou  dost  botch,  and  not  mend, 

Thou  art  a  hider  of  enormities, 

Vizu  scabs,  chilblains,  and  kib'd  heels; 

Much  prone  thou  art  to  sects,  and  heresies, 

Disturbing  state  and  govcrmuent;  for  how 

canst  thou 
fie  a  somid  member  in  the  commonwealth. 
That  art  so  subject  to  stitches  in  the  ankles? 
Blush  and  be  silent  then,  oh,  ye  mechanicks ! 
Compare  np  more  with  the  politick  cobler ! 
For  coblers,  in  old  time,  have  prophesied; 
What  may  they  do  now  then,  that  have 
Every  day  waxed  better  and  better? 
Have  we  not  the  length  of  every  man's  foot? 
Are  we  not  daily  menders?    Yea,  and  what 
Not  horse-menders —  [menders? 

Laz.  Nor  manners-menders. 
Pack,  But  soal-menders:  [man. 

Oh,  divine  coblers!  Do  we  not,  hke  the  wise 
Spin  our  own  threads  (or  our  wives  for  us)? 
Do  we  not,  by  our  sowing  the  iiidc,  reap  the 

beef? 
Are  not  we  of  the  gentle-craft,  wliilst  both  you 
Are  but  craf)^s-men  ?  You  wil  say,  you  fear 
Neitlier  iron  nor  steel,  and  what  you  get  is 

wrought 
Out  of  the  fire ;  I  must  answer  you  again  tho'. 
All  this  is  but  foi^ery.  You  may  likewise  say, 
A  man's  a  man,  that  has  but  a  hose  on  lus 

head : 
I  must  likewise  answer,  that  man  is  a  botcher 
That  has  a  heclM  hose  on  his  head.   To  con- 
clude. 


There  can  be  no  comparison  with 
The  cobler,  who  is  all  in  all  [and  ends 

In  tlie  commonwealth,  has  his  politick  eye 
On  every  man's  steps  tliat  walks,  and  whose 

course  shall 
Be  lasting  to  the 'World's  end*     * 

Met,  f^ive  place: 
The  wit  ot  man  is  wonderful !    Thou  Cthee 
Hast  hit  the  nail  on  the  head,  and  I  will  give 
Six  pots  foi-^t,  tho*  I  ne'er  clinch  shoe  again. 

Enter  Vitelli  and  Alguazier. 

Pack.  Who's  tliis?  Oh,  our  Alguazier;  a* 

arrant  a  knave 
As  e'er  wore  one  head  under  two  offices; 
He  is  one  side  Alguazier. 

Met,  The  other  side  Seijeant 

Mend,  That's  both  sides  carrion,  I  am  sure. 

PacL  Tliis  is  he  [and  lodees  'em 

Apprehends  whores  in  the  way  of  justice, 
lu^his  own  house,  in  the  way  of  pront.    He 

with  liim 
Is  the  grand  don  Vitelli,  'twixt  whom  and 
Fernando  Alvarez  the  mortal  hatred  is : 
He  is  indeed  my  don's  bawd,  and  does 
At  this  present  lodge  a  famous  courtezan 
Of  his,  lately  come  from  Madrid.  [ask : 

VU,  Let  her  want  nothing,  signer,  she  can 
What  loss  or  injury  you  may  sustain 
I  will  repair,  and  recompense  your  love : 
Onlv  tliat  fellow's  coming  I  mislike. 
And  did  fore-warn  her  ef  him.  Bear  her  this, 
VVith  my  best  love ;  at  nifjat  111  visit  her. 

Afg,  I  rest  your  lordship's  servant ! 

Fit.  Good  ev'n,  signers ! —  [thee 

Oh,  Alvarez,  thou  hast  brought  a  son  with 
Both  brightens  and  obscures  our  nation. 
Whose  pure  strong  beams  on  us  shoot  like 

the  suu's 
On  baser  fires.  I  would  to  Heaven  my  blood 
Had  never  stain*d  thy  bold  unfortunate  hand. 
That  with  mine  honour  I  might  emulate. 
Not  persecute  such  virtue !  I  will  see  him, 
Tho'  with  the  hazard  of  my  life ;  no  rest 
In  my  contentious  spirits  can  I  find 
'Till  I  have  gratified  him  in  like  kind.  [Exit^ 

A/g.  I  know  ye  not !  what  are  ye?  Hence, 

ye  base  besoguios'^l 

I^ath,    Marry,  Cazzo !   Signor  Alguazier, 

d'you  not  know  us? 
Why,  we  are  your  honest  neighbour. 
The  cobler,  smith,  and  botcher,  that  have  so 

often 


"  Fur t her f  what  can  be  a  more  deject  $pirit.'\  I  cannot  help  thinking  but  the  judicious 
reader  will  wish,  with  me,  that  the  authors  had  wrote,  what  can  shewy  6cc.         S^tpwn. 

'^  Betog^ios,']  This  appears  to  be  a  word  of  contempt,  whicli  perliaps  will  receive  some 
explanation  from  the  following  passage  in  Churchyard's  Challenge,  1593,  p.  85,.  ^'  It  majr 
'^  Dee  thought  that  every  mercinarie  man  and  common  hireling  (taken  up  tor  a  while,  or 
^  serving  a  smaH  season)  is  a  souldier  fit  to  be  rei;istred,  or  liououred  among  the  renouned 
*'  sort  of  warlike  people.  For  such  numbers  of  bezoingnics  or  neccssarie  instruments  folr 
"  the  time,  are  to  fall  to  their  occupation  when  the  service  is  ended,  and  not  to  live  idely 
**  or  looke  for  imbrasing.*'        R» 

Be$ognio9  ieem  to  mean  tlie  lower  rank,  people  ia  want,  and  of  base  condition ;  so,  he^ 
win,  French,  ti€ed,  want. 

Sat 


Act«.  Scene 3.]      lOVfiTS  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID. 


9 


Sat  snoring  cheek  by  jolt,  witji  your  signory, 
In  rug  a(  midnight. 

Lttz.  Nay,  good  Bignor, 
Be  not  angry ;  you  must  understand,  a  cat 
Aod  SQch  an  officer  see  best  in  the  dark. 

Mei.  By  this  band, 
I  couki  find  in  my  heart  to  shoe  his  head ! 

Pack,  Why  then  we  know  you,  signor! 

ThcMfr  mongril,  [beadle, 

ficgpt  at  midnight,  at  the  gaol-gate,  by  a 
On  a  catcbpole^s  wife,  are  not  you  he  tliat  was 
Whipt  out  of  Toledo  for  perjury?  - 

MauL  Next, 
Condemn'd  to  the  gallies  for  pilfery, 
To  the  bull's  pizzle? 

Met.  And  after  call'd 
To  the  Inqoimtion,  for  apottacyf        [durst 

Pack.  Are  not  yon  li^  that,  ratherthan  you 
Go  an  industrious  Toyage,  being  press'd. 
To  the  island?^  skuird  till  the  fleet  was  gone, 

and  then 
EarnM  your  rial  a-day  by  squiring  punks    . 
And  poaklings  up  and  down  the  city } 

1mm.  Are  not  you 
A  Portuguese  bovn,  descended  o'  the  Moors, 
And  came  hither  intoSevil  with  your  master, 
An  arrant  tailor,  in  your  red  bonnet. 
And  your  bluejacket  lousy;  tho*  now 
Tour  block-head  be  cover*d  with  the  Spanish 

hk)ck. 
And  your  lashed  shoulders  with  a  yelvet-pee. 
I        Pack.  Are  not  you  he  that  have  been  of 

thirtjr  callings,  [first, 

Tet  ne^  a  one  h&wfol?  that  being  a  chandler 
Pioiess^d  sincerity,  and  would  sell  no  man 
Mustard  to  his  beef  on  the  Sabbath,  and  yet 
Byoocnsy  all  your  life-time  ?  [sold 

MeL.  Are  not  you  he,  that  were  since 
A  surgeon  to  the  stews,  and  undertook 
J  To  cure,  what  the  church  itself  could  not, 
^        strumpets? 

That  rise  to  yqar  joffice  by  being  a  great 

don's  bawd  f 

Las.  That  commit  men  nightly,  o£fenoe- 

lesm  for  the  gain 
Of  a  groat  a  prisoner,  whidi  yonr  beadle  seems 
To  put  up,  when  you  share  three-pence? 

Mend.  Are  not  you  he 
That  is  a  kisser  of  men,  in  drunkenness, 
And  a  betrayer  in  sobriety  ? 

A^.  Dialolo/  They'll  rail  me  into  tlie 
Again.  [gallies 

Pack.  Yes,  signor,  thou  art  even  lie 
[    We  speak  of  ali  this  while.  Thou  mayst,  by 

thy  place  now. 
Lay  us  by  tkt  heels,  'tis  true  ;  bu  t  take  heed ; 
Be  wiaer,  pluck  not  ruin  on  thine  own  head ; 
For  B0fer  was  there  at|$ih  an  anatomy,  [fore, 
J»  we  shall  make  thee  then;  be  wise  there- 
Ob,  thott  child,  of  the  night!  Be  friends,  and 

^ake  hands.  [redder: 

Tbott  art  a  fpoper  man,  if  thy -beard  were  I 


Remember  thy  worshipful  function, 
A  constable;  tho' thou  tum'st  day  into  night, 
And  night  into  day,  what  of  that?  Watch  less. 
And  pray  more :  gird  thy  bear-skin  (viz.  thy 

rug-gown)  [go 

To  thy  loins;  take  thy  sUfTin  thy  hand,  and 
Forth  at  midnight' 3;  let  not  thy  mittens  abate 
The  talons  of  3iy  authority**,  but  gripe 
Thefl  and  whoredom,    wlieresoever    thou 

meet'stVm;  [safely 

Bear  'em  awav  like  a  tempest,  and  lodge  'em 
In  thine  own  house. 

Laz.  Would  you  have  whores  and  thieves 
Lodg'd  in  such  a  house  ? 

Pack.  Tljey  ever  do  so ; 
I  have  found  a  thief  or  a -whore  there,    [me. 
When  the  whole  suburbs  could  not  furnish 

Laz.  But  why  do  they  lodge  there? 

Pack.  That  they  may  be  [usually. 

Safe  and  forth-coming;  for  in  the  morning 
The  thief  is  sent  to  the  gaol,  and  the  whore 

prostrates 
Herself  to  the  justice. 

Mend.  Admirable  Pachieco ! 

Met.  Thou  cobler  of  Christendom ! 

Alg.  There  is  no  railing  with  these  rogues : 
I  will  close  with  'em,  'till  I  can  cry  quittance. 
Wh^,  signors,   and  my  honest  neighbours, 

will  ye  [is 

Impute  that  as  a  neglect  of  my  ffiends,  which 
An  imperfection  in  me?    I  have  been 
Sand-blind  from  my  infimcy ;  to  make  yon 
You  sliall  sup  with  me.  [amends 

Xctf.  Shall  we  sup  with  yoi  sir?  [tleman 
O' my  conscience,  they  have  wrong'd  the  gen* 
Extremely. 

Alg.  And  after  supper,  I  have 
A  project  to  employ  you  in,  shall  make  you 
Dnnk  and  eat  merrily  this  month.    I  am 
A  little  knavisK;  why,  and  do  not  I  know  ali 
You  to  be  knaves  ? 

Pack,  I  grant  you,  <  we  are  all 
Knaves,  and  will  be  your  knaves;  but  oh, 

while  you  live, 
Take  heed  of  being  a  proud  knave  I 

Ale.  On  then,  pass;  [bear  out  me. 

(  will  bear  out  my  staff,  and  my  staff  shall 

Laz.  Oh,  Lazardlo,  thou  art  going  to  sup- 


per! 


SCENE  11. 


[Exeunt. 


Enter  Lucio  and  Bobadilla. 


Lueio.  Pray  be  not  angry. 
Bob.  I  am  angry,  and  I  will  be^angry. 
Diabolo !  what  should  you  do  in  the  kitchen  ? 
Cannot  the  cooks  lick  their  fingers  without 
Your  overseeing?  nor  the  maids  make  pot- 
tage, [Lucio? 
Except  your  dog's  head  be  in  the  pot?  Don 
Don  Quot-Quean,  don  Spinster;  wear 
A  petticoat  still,  an^  put  cm  your  smock  a' 
'  Monday; 


"^  ^^.'A?  fcfflr-ife'n  (»•  %  nt^gamn)  t$  tl^  hins  ;  take  iky  xtaffin  iky  hand,  and  go 
rds  are  foundry  in  the  first  folio. 


fertk  at  midnight.]  These  woi 
•♦  That  i$,  Let  sof  thy  mitt 
VOLm. 


mittens  be  the  same  to  thy  talons,  as  a  button  is  to  a  foil.  Sympwn. 
C  I  TviU 


10 


LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.     [Act  2.  Scene  ^ 


1  will  have  a  baby  o^cloufo  made  for  it,  like 
A  ^reat  girl !  Nay,  if  }ou  will  needs  be  starch- 
ing 
Of  rufifi,  and  sowing  of  black-work,  I  will 
Of  a  mild  and  loving  tutor,  become  a  tt rant: 
Your  father  has  committed  you  to  my  charge, 
And  I  will  make  a  man  or  a  mouse  on  you. 

Lucio,  What  would  you  have  me  do?  This 

scurvy  sword  [Pish!  look, 

So  gaUs  my  thigh,  I  would  it  were  burnt ! — 
This  cloak  will  ne'er  keep  on;  these  boots  too 

hide-bound. 
Make  me  walk  stiff,  as  if  my  legs  were  frozen, 
And  mv  spurs  jingle  like  a  morris-dancer: 
Lord,  how  my  h^ul  aches  with  this  roguish 
This  masculine  attire  is  most  uneasy;    [hat! 
Vm  bound  up  in  it;  I  liad  rather  walk 
In  folio  again,  loose,  like  a  woman. 

Bob,  In  foolio,  had  you  not?       [parents! 
Thou  mock  to  Heav'n,  and  Nature,  and  thy 
Thou  tender  leg  of  lamb !  Oh,  how  he  walks 
As  if  he  had  bepiss'd  himself,  and  fleers! 
Is  this  a  gait  for  the  young  cavalier, 
Don  Lucio,  son  and  heir  to  Alvarez  ? 
Has  it  a  com  ?  or  does  it  walk  on  conscience. 
It  treads  so  gingerly?  Com^  on  your  wavs! 
Suppose  me  now  your  father's  foe,  ViteUi, 
And  spying  you  i'th'  street,  thus  I  advance: 
I  twist  my  beard,  and  then  I  draw  my  sword. 

Lucio,  Alas! 

Bo6.  And  thus  accost  thee :  Traiterousbrat, 
How  durst  thou  thus  confront  me?  impious 

twig 
Of  that  old  stock,  dew'd  with  my  kinsman's 

gore. 
Draw !  for  III  quarter  thee  in  pieces  four. 

Zkcio.  Nay,  prithee  Bobadiua,  leaving  thy 

fooling. 
Put  up  thjr  sword.  I  will  not  meddle  with  you. 
Ay,  jusUe  me,  I  care  not,  I'll  not  draw ; 
Pray  be  a  quiet  man. 

Sob.  D'ye  hear?  answer  me. 
As  you  would  do  don  Vitelli,  or  Fll  be 
So  bold  as  to  lay  the  pommel  of  my  sword 
Over  the  hilts  of  your  head ! — My  name's 
And  m  have  the  wall.  [Vitelli, 

Lucio,  Why  then, 
111  have  the  kennel:  what  a  coil  you  keep  ? 
Signer,  whathappen'd  'twixt  my  sire  and  your 
Kmsman,  was  tong  before  I  saw  the  world; 
No  fault  of  mine,  nor  will  I  justify 
My  father's  crimes :  forget,  sir,  and  forgive, 
Tis  Christianity.  I  pray  put  up  your  sword; 
I'll  give  you  any  satisfaction. 
That  may  become  a  gentleman.  However, 
I  hope  you're  bred  to  more  humanity, 
Than  to  revenge  my  father's  wrong  on  me, 
That  crave  your  love  and  peace.    Law-yoQ- 

now,  Zancho, 
Would  not  this  quiet  him,  were  he  tenVitellis? 

Bob,  Oh,  craven-chicken  of  a  cock  o'  th' 

game! 
W^ell,  what  remedy?  Did  thy  father  see  this, 
O'  my  conscience,  he  would  cut  off  thy  mas- 
culine 
Gender,  crap  thiae  ears,  beat  out  thine  eyes, 


And  set  the^  in  one  of  the  pear-trees  for  a 

scare-crow ! 
As  I  am  Vitell^  I  am  satisfied; 
But  as  I  amBobadillaSpindola  Zancho, 
Steward  of  the  house,  and  thy  father's  servant, 
I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  lop  off 
The  hinder  part  of  thy  face,  or  to 
Beat  all  thy  teeth  into  thy  mouth!  Ob,  thou 
Wliey-blooded  milksop,  I'll  wait  upon  thee 

no  longer;  [ways,  sir; 

Thou  sh^t  ev'n  wait  upon  me.    Come  your 
I  shall  take  a  little  pains  with  you  else. 

Enter  Clara. 

Clanu  Where  art  thou,  brother  Lucio?— 

Ran,  tan  tan  ta, 
Ran  tan  ran  tan  tan  ta,  ta  ran  tan  tan  tan ! 
Oil,  I  shall  no  more  see  those  golden  days  ! 
These  cloaths  will  never  fadge  with  me:  a  pox 
O'  this  filthy  fardingale,   this  hip-hape ! — 

Brother,  Tfin'd, 

Why  arc  women's  haunches  only  limited,  coo- 
Hoop'd  in  as  'twere,  with  these  same  scurvy 

vardingales  ?  [most  subject 

B(A.  &causo  women's  haunclies  only  are 
To  display  and  flv  out. 

Clara.  BobadiUa,  rogue,  ten  ducats, 
I  hit  the  prepuce  of  thy  cod-piece ! 

Lucio.  Hold, 
If  you  love  my  life,  sister !  I  am  not 
Zancho  Bobadilla ;  I  am  your  brother,Lucio. 
What  a  fright  you  have  put  me  in ! 

Clara.  Brother?  and  wherefore  thus? 

Lucio,  Why,  master  steward  here,  signor 

Zancho,  fuse  me. 

Made  me  change:  he  does  notliing  but  inia* 
And  call  me  coward,  and  swears  1  shall 
Wait  upon  him. 

Bob.  Well!  I  do  no  more        [away  tlio'! 
Than  I  have  authority  for. — 'Would  1  were 
For  she's  as  much  too  manish,  as  he 
Too  womanish :  I  dare  not  meddle  with  her; 
Yet  I  must  set  a  good  face  ou  it,  if  I  had  it.— 
I  have  like  charge  of  you,  madam ;  I 
Am  as  well  to  mollify  you,  as  to 
Qualify  him.    What  have  you  to  do  with 
Armors,  and  pistols,  and  javelins,  and  swords^ 
And  such  tools?  Remember,  mistress,Nature 
Hath  given  you  a  sheath  only,  to  signify 
Women  are  to  put  up  men's  weapons,  not 
To  draw  them ! — Look  you  now,  is  tliis  a  fit 
Tr5t  for  a  gentlewoman?  You  shall  see 
The  court-kdies  move  like  goddesses,  as  i£ 
They  trod  air;   they  will  swim  you  their 

measures 
Like  whiting-mops,  as  if  their  feet ^vere  fin ns. 
And  the  hinges  of  their  knees  oil'd.  Do  th«^ 
Love  to  ride  great  horses,  as  you  do  ?  no ; 
They  love  to  ride  great  asses  sooner.   Faith, 
I  know  not  what  to  say  t'ye  both:  custom. 

hath 
TuruM  Nature  topsy-turvy  in  you, 

Clara.  Nay, 
But,  master  steward ! 

B<A*  You  cannot  trot  so  ias^ 
Bus  he  ambles  a«  :>lowly. 

^  Clara. 


Act  2.  Sceac  S.]      LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID. 


11 


Ctora.  SigDor  Spiodle  f 
W)U  jou  hc»r  me  r 

B06.  He  that  shall  come  to 
Bestride  Yoar  Tii^ity,  had  better  be 
A-foot  o^r  the  draeon. 

C/aro.  Very  well! 

Bob.  Did  ever 
Spanish  lady  pace  so  ? 

C/oro.  Hold  tlwse  a  little ! 

Xtrcto.  Ill  not  touch  'cm,  I.     [yoar  pate, 

Clara,  First  do  I  bretdc  your  office  o'er 
Yoii  doe-skin-fai^d  rogue,  piKcher,  you  Poor* 
Which  I  will  beat  to  stock-fish.  [Jolm ! 

Xacao.  Sister! 

Bob.  Madam!  [talk'd  to,  ha? 

Ciam,  You  cittern-head !  who  have  you 
You  nasty,  stinking,  and  iH-<5ounteiianc'd  cur ! 

Bob.  By  this  hand,  I'll  Inmir  your  brother 
I  get  him  alone.  [for4;his,  when 

Chra,  How  !  Kick  him,  Lucio ! 
He  shall  kick  you.  Bob,  spite  o'  thy  nose ; 

that's  flat. 
Rick  him,  I  say,  or  I  will  cut  thy  head  off! 

Biib.  Softly,  you  had  best ! 

Clara,  Now,  thou  lean,  dried>  andominous- 

vTsaf^d  knave, 
Tbov  &lse  and  peremptory  steward,  pray ! 
For  I  will  hang  thee  up  in  thine  own  chatn ! 

Xaido.  Good  sister,  do  not  choak  hun. 

Bob.  Murder!  murder!  '     [£71^. 

CianL  Well !  I  shall  meet  w'  ye.— Lucio, 

who  bought  this  ?  [one, 

lis  a  reasonable  good  one ;  but  tliere  han^ 
Spain's  champion  ne'er  us'd  truer;  with  this 

staff 
Old  Ahrarez  has  ted  op  men  so- close. 
They  could  almost  spit  in  the  cannon'smouth; 
WinlstI  with  that,  and  this,  well  mounted'^, 

skin'd  [sire, 

A  faorse^troop  thro'  and  thro',  like  switt  de- 


And  seen  poor  rogues  retire,  all  gore,  and 
Like  bleedmg  shads.  [gash'd 

Lucio.  Bless  us,  sister  Clara, 
How  desperately  you  talk !  What  d'ye  call 
This  gun?  a  dasi;? 

Clara.  Fll  give't  thee ;  a  French  petronel. 
You  never  saw  my  Barbiary,  the  infanta 
Bestow'd  upon  ine,  as  yet,  Lucio : 
Walk  down,  and  see  it. 

Lucia,  What,  into  the  stable  ?  [there 
Not  I;  the  jades  will  kick :  the  poor  groom 
Was  almost  spoil'd  the  other  day. 

Clara.  Fy  on  thee ! 
Thou  wilt  scarce  be  a  man  before  thy  mother. 

Xttcio.  When  will  you  be  a  woman  ? 

Enter  Alvarez  and  Bobadilla, 

Clara.  'Would  I  were  none  I 
But  Nature's  privy  seal  assures  me  one. 
Abh  Thou  anger'st  me !  Can  strong  ha- 
bitual custom  [manners, 
Work  vrilh  such  magick  on  the  mind  and 
In  spite  of  sex  and  Nature?  Find  out,  sirrah. 
Some  skilful  fighter. 
Bob.  Yes,  sir. 
Alv,  1  will  rectify 
And  redeem  either^  proper  inclination, 
Or  bray  'em  in  a  mortar,  and  new-mould  'em. 
Bob.  Believe  your  eyes,  sir;  I  tell  you,  we 
wash  an  Ethiop.  lEx'U. 
Clara.  I  strike  it,  for  ten  ducats. 
Alv.  How  now,  Clara, 
Your  breeches  on  still  ?  and  your  petticoat 
Not  yet  off,  Lucio?  art  thou  not  gelt? 
Or  did  the  cold  Muscovite  beget  thee. 
That  lay  here  lieger'^,  in  the  last  great  frost? 
Art  not  thou,  Clara,  tum'd  a  man  indeed 
Beneath  the  girdle?  and  a  woman  thou? 
I'll  have  you  search'd ;  by  Heaven,  I  strongly 
doubt! 


"  ^-aTidthiSy  tcell  mounted^  scour*d 
A  hor^e-troap  ihtoHgU  and  throHgh,r^]  The  old  folio  reads  scurr'd^  which  I  take  to  be  only 
afidse  spellingof  a  better  word,  viz.  skirrd :  thus  Shakespear  in  Macbeth,  act  v.  scene  3. 

Send  out  more  horses;  ikir  the  country  round. 
To  skir  is  teUtariy  to  fight  as  the  light-horse  do,  from  whence  the  substantive  9kirmish* 

In  Henry  V.  Shakespear  uses  the  word  for  flying  wiftfyy  tho'  from  an  enemy.  The  king 
sajs  of  the' French  horse,  act  iv.  scene  13. 

HeU  make  'em  $kir  away,  as  swift  as  stones 
Enforced  from  the  old  Assyrian  slings. 
No  reader  of  taste  wou'd  bear  the  change  of  the  word  ikir,  which  is  perfectly  poetical,  us 
the  sound  is  an  echo  to  the  sense,  for  icour;  and  Fletcher  has  not  suffered  much  less  by  the 
change.  Seward. 

**  That  lay  here  lieger.]  So,  in  Greene's  Quip  for  an  Upsurt  Courtier,  4to.  1592.  "  In- 
^  deed,  I  liave  been  lieger  in  my  time  in  London,  and  l»ve  play'd  many  madde  pranckes, 
*'  fbrwhidi  cause  you  may  i4>parently  see  I  am  made  a  curtail;  tor  the  pillory  (in  the  sight 
"  of  a  mat  m«9y  good  and  sufficient  witnesses)  hath  eaten  off  booth  my  cares,  and  now, 
"  sir,  this  jope^naker  Iwnteth  me  heere  with  his  halters." — And  in  the  lioaring  Girle,  or 
MoQ  Cutporsc,  by  Middleton  and  Dekkar, 
^  What  durst  move  you,  sir, 

**  To  think  me  whootish  ?  a  name  which  I'de  teare  out 
**  From  the  hye  Germaine's  throat,  if  it  lay  ledger  there ! 
"  To  dispatch  privy  sUnders  against  meer  R* 

Dr.  Johnson  says,./€^er  is  derived  from  the  Dutch  Ugger;  and  signifies,  ''Any  tiling  that 
^  lies  in  a  place ;  as,  a  leger  ambassador,  a  resident;  a  ^^'cr-book;  a  book  that  lie^  in  the 
"^  compting^hoose.'' 

C2  ^  We 


13 


LOVETS  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.      [Act  2.  Scene  2. 


We  most  bttve  these  thiogii  mended.  Come, 
gQin!  [Exit. 

Enter  VUelli  and  Bobadilia, 

Bob.  WithLucio,  say  you?  There  he*8  for 

Vit.  And  there's  for  thee.  [you. 

Bob.  1  thank  you.  You  have  now  bought 
A  little  advice  oftne:  if  you  chance 
To  have  conference  with  that  lady  there. 
Be  very  civil,  or  look  to  your  head ! 
She  ha«  ten  nails,  and  you  have  but  two  eyes : 
If  any  foolish  hot  motions  should  chance 
To  rise  in  the  horizon,  under  your  equinoc- 
tial there. 
Qualify  it  as  well  as  you  can,  for  I  fear 
The  elevation  of  your  pole  will  not 
Agree  with  the  horoscope  of  her  constitution : 
She  is  Bell  and  the  Dragon,  I  assure  you. 

[Exit. 

Vit.  Are  you  the  Lucio,  sir,  tliat  sav  d  Vi- 

t^Ui? 

Lucio.  Not  I,  indeed,  sir;   I  did  never 

brabble; 
There  walks  that  Lucio  metamorphosed. 

[Exit. 

Vit.  D'  you  mock  me? 

Clara.  No,  he  does  not:  I  am  that 
Supposed  Lucio  that  was,  but  Clara 
Thai  is,  and  daughter  unto  Alvarez. 

Vit.  Amazement  daunts  me !  'Would  my 

life  were  riddles. 
So  you  were  still  my  fair  expositor ! 
Protected  by  a  lady  from  my  death  ? 
Oh,  I  shall  wear  an  everlasting.blush 
Upon  my  cheek  from  this  discovery ! 
Oh,  you,  the  fairest  soldier  I  e*er  saw, 
Each  of  whose  eyes,  like  a  bright  beamy 

shield. 
Conquers  without  blows,  the  contentious — 

Clura.  Sir,  guard  yourself;  you're  in  your 
And  may  be  injur'd.  [enemies  house, 

Vit.  Tis  impossible : 
Foe,  nor  oppressing  odds,  dares  prove Vitelli, 
If  Clara  side  him,  and  will  call  nim  friend. 
I  would  the  difference  of  our  bloods  were  such 
As  might  with  any  shift  be  wip'd  away ! 
Or  'would  to  Heav'n  yoursell  were  all  your 

name; 
That,  having  lost  blood  by  vou,  I  might  hope 
To  raise  blood  from  you!  But  my  black- 

wingf d  fate    ^ 
Hovers  aversely  over  that  fond  hope; 
And  he    whose   tongue    thus  gratifies  the 

daughter '7 
And  sister  of  his  enemy,  wears  a  sword 
To  rip  the  father  and  the  brother  up :  [mine, 
Thus  you,  that  sav'd  this  wretched  life  of 
Have  sav'd  it  to  the  ruin  of  your  fineuds. 
That  my  affections  should  promiscuously 
Dart  love  and  hate  at  once,  both  worthily ! 
Pray  let  me  kiss  your  band ! 


Clara.  You're  trenclierous. 
And  come  to  do  me  mischief. 

Vit.  Speak  on  still; 
Your  words  are  falser,  fair,  than  my  intents. 
And  each  sweet  acceAt  far  more  treach'rous; 

for 
Tho'  you  speak  ill  of  me,  ypu  speak  so  well 
I  do  desire  to  hear  you. 

Clara.  Pray  be  gone ; 
Or,  kill  me  it  you  please. 

Vit,  Ohy  neither  can  I : 
For,  to  be  gone  were  to  destroy  my  life ; 
And  to  kill  you  were  to  destroy  mv  soul. 
I  am  in  love,  yet  must  not  be  in  love  ! 
I'll  e et  away  apace.    Yet,  valiant  lady. 
Such  gratitude  to  honour  I  do  owe. 
And  such  obedience  to  your  memory. 
That  if  you  will  bestow  something,  that  I 
May  wear  about  me,  it  shall  bind  my  wrath. 
My  most  invet'rate  wrath,  firora  all  attempts, 
Tall  you  and  I  meet  ne^U 

Clara.  A  favour,  sir  ? 
Why,  I'll  give  you  good  counsel 

Vit.  That  already 
You  have  bestow'd ;  a  ribbon,  or  a  glove-^ 

Clara.  Nay,  those  are  tokens  for  a  wait- 
To  trim  the  butler  with.  [ing-maid 

Vit.  Your  feather— 

Clara.  Fy! 
The  wenches  give  them  to  the  servingHooen. 

Vit.  That  little  ring— 

Clara.  Ttvill  hold  you  but  by  tli'  finger; 
And  I  would  have  you  faster. 

Vit.  Any  thing 
That  I  may  wear,  and  but  remember  you. 

Clara.  This  smile;  my  good  opinion;  br 
But  that,  it  seems,  you  like  not.      [myself! 

Vit.  Yes;  so  well. 
When  any  smiles,  I  will  remember  yours; 
Your  good  opinion  shall  in  weight  poise  me 
Against  a  thousand  ill;  lastly,  yoimel^ 
Mv  curious  eye  now  figures  m  my  heart. 
Where  I  will  wear  you  till  the  table  break. 
So,  whitest  angels  guard  you! 

Clara.  Stay,  sir;  I 
I  have  fitly  thought  to  give,  what  you  as  fitly 
May  not  ditsdain  to  wear. 

Vit.  What's  that? 

Clara.  This  sword. — 
I  never  heard  a  man  speak  till  this  hour: 
His  words  are  eolden  chains,  and  now  I  fear 
The  lioness  haUi  met  a  tamer  liere :      f  lug? 
Fy,  how  his  tongue  chimes! — What  wastsay- 
Oh,  this  favour  I  bequeath  you,  which  I  tie 
In  a  love-knot,  fisst,  ne'er  to  hurt  my  friends; 
Yet  be  it  fortunate  '^nst  all  yoor  foes 
(For  I  have  neither  fnend,  nut  foe,  but  yours) 
As  e'er  it  was  to  me!  IVe  k'fept  it  long. 
And  value  it,  next  my  vireimty. — 
But^  good,  return  it;  for  f  now  remember 
I  vow  d,  who  purclWd  itfihould  have  me  too. 


*'  Thu$  gratifies  the  daughter.']  TlnBgratiJia  seems  to  come  in  oddly ;  for  what  |;ratifica* 
3on  does  Vitelli  make  Clara  here?  He  gives  her  good  words,  'tis  true,  and  sets  ofi  the  sep- 


tion 


vice  she  had  done  him  at  her  first  appearance  on  the  stage;  but  this  ou^it  rather  to  be 
called  a  panegyrick,  than  a  gratification,  and  who  knows  but  the  authors  might  have  given  it 
■    ■     '   ■>  thus  glorifiei  the  daughter.  StfmpMon. 

ViU 


Acta.  Scene-!-]      LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID. 


19 


FU, '  W^ould  Uiat  were  posuble ;  But,  aks, 

'qs  not: 
Yet  this  aasare  yourself,  most-honoui'd Clara, 
QI  not  mfiringe  an  article  of  breath 
Mjvow  hath  ofiSer'd  t'  you;  nor  from  this 

part 
VVhiJst  it  hath  edge,  or  point,  or  I  a  heart. 

[Exit. 

Clara.  Oh,  leaye  me  living ! — What  new 

exercise 
Is  crept  into  my  breast,  that  blancheth  clean 


My  former  nature?    I  begin  to  find 
I  am  a  woman,  and  must  learn  to  fight 
A  softer  sweeter  battle  than  with  swords. 
I'm^iickmethinks;  but  the  disease  I  feel 
Pleasethj  and  punisheth.    I  warrant,  love 
Is  very  like  this,  that  folks  talk  of  so ; 
I  skill  not  what  it  is,  yet  sure  e'en  here, 
E'en  in  my  heart,  I  sensibly  perceive 
It  glows,  and  riseth  like  a  glimmering  flame, 
But  know  not  yet  the  essence  on%  nor  name. 

[ExU. 


ACT    III. 


SCENE  L 

Enter  Malroda  and  AlguazUr. 

Malr.  fJE  must  not?  nor  he  shall  not  ? 
■"■     who  shall  let  him?  [dom ! 

You,  politick  Diei^o,  with  your  face  of  wis- 
Don  Blirt !  The  pox  upon  your  aphorisms. 
Your  grave  and  sage-ale  physiognomy ! 
Do  not  I  know  thee  for  the  Alguazier, 
Whose  dunghill  all  the  parish  scavengers 
Couki  never  rid?  Thou  comedy  to  men,  • 
Whose  serious  folly  is  a  butt  for  all       \%rit^ 
To  shoot  their  wits  at;  whilst  thou  hast  not 
Nor  heart,  to  answer,  or  be  aisry! 
Aig.  Lady!  [supported  by 

Malr.    Peace,  peace,  you  rotten  rogue, 
A  staff  of  rott'ner  office  1  Dare  yoo  check 
An/s  accesses  that  I  will  allow  ? 
Piorato  is  my  friend,  and  visits  me 

'  In  lawful  sort,  tf  espouse  me  as  his  wife ; 

I    And  who  will  cross,  or  shall,  our  interviews? 

I    Yoa  know  me,  sirrah,  for  no  chambermaid, 

i    That  cast  her  belly  and  her  wastecoat  lately. 

I    Thoa  think'st  thy  constableahip  is  much ! 
not  so; 
I  am  ten  offices  to  thee:  ay,  thy  house, 

,    Thy  house  and  office  is  mam^n'd  by  me. 
Alg,  My  house-ofoffice  is  maintam'd  iW 
garden! 
Go  to!  I  know  you;  and  I  have  cilntnT'd 
(You're  a  delinquent),  but  I  have  contriv'd 
A  poison,  tho*  not  in  the  third  degree: 
I  can  say,  black's  your  eye,  though  it  be  grey ; 
I  have  conorv'd  at  this  your  friend,  and  you; 
But  what  is  got  by  this  connivency  ? 
1  like  his  feature  well'* ;  a  proper  man, 
Of  |ood  diseoorsc,  fine  conversation, 
Vahaat,  and  a  great  carrier  of  the  business, 
S«€et-bKflflted'^  as  the  niditingale  or  thrush : 
Yet  I  must  tell  you,  yon  forget  yourself; 
My  lord  Vilelli's  love,  and  maintenance, 
DeKrves  no  other  Jack  i'th*  box,  but  he. 

I  What  tfaNy  be  gathered  first  the  golden  fruit,^ 
And  blew  your  pigs-coat  up  into  a  bhster,  * 
Wbenyott  did  wait  at  court  upon  his  mother; 


Has  he  not  well  provided  for  the  bairn? 
Beside,  what  profit  reap  I  by  the  other? 
If  you  will  have  me  serve  your  pleasure,  lady> 
Your  pleasure  must  accommodate  my  service ; 
As  ^ood  be  virtuous  and  poor,  as  not 
Thrive  by  my  knav'ry ;  all  the  world  would  be 
Good,  prosper'd  goodness  like  to  villainy. 
I  arn  the  king's  vicegerent  by  my  place; 
His  right  lieutenant  m  mine  own  precinct. 
Mair.  Thou'rt  a  right  rascal  in  all  menV 
precincts ! 
Yet  now,  my  pair  of  twins,  of  fool  and  knave. 
Look,  we  are  friends ;  there's  gold  for  thee : 
'  admit 

Whom  1  will  have,  and  keep  it  from  my  don, 
And  I  will  make  thee  richer  than  thou'rt 

wise: 
Thou  shalt  be  my  bawd,  and  my  officer; 
Thy  children  shall  eat  still,  my  good  night- 
owl, 
And  thy  old  wife  sell  andirons  to  the  court. 
Be  countenanced  by  the  dons,  and  wear  a 
hood,  [mother,, 

Nay,  keep  my  garden-house;  111  call  her 
Tliee  father,  my  |ood  poisonous  red-hair'd 
And  gold  shall  daily  be  thy  sacrifice,  [deel, 
Wrought  from  a  fertile  island  of  mine  own. 
Which  I  will  offer,  like  an  Indian  queen. 

Alg.  And  I  will  be  thy  devil,  thou  my 
With  which  I'll  catch  the  worid.  [flesli 

Malr.  Fill  some  tobacco,  * 

And  bring  it  in.    If  Piorato  come 
Before  my  don,  admit  him;  if  my  don 
Before  my  love,  conduct  liim,  my  dear  de- 
vil! {Exit. 
Alg.  I  will,  my  dear  flesh.— First  coine^ 
first  serv'd :  well  said  ! — 
Oh,  equal  Heaven,  how  wisely  thou  disposest 
Thy  several  gifts!    One's  bom  a  great  rich 

For  the  subordinate  knave  to  work  upon; 
Another's  poor,  with  wit's  addition, 
Which  well  or  ill  us'd,  builds  a  living  \ip, 
And  that  too  from  the  sire  oft  descends; 
I  Only  fair  Virtue,  by  traduction 


■'  I  Hke  ki$  feather  well]    Amended  in  1750. 
»»  Sweet  breasted.]    See  note  28,  on  the  Pilgrim. 


Never 


LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.     [Act  3,  Scene  2. 

Bob.  A  receipt  for  a  coWard !  Fll  be  bold. 
To  write  jour  good  prescription.  [sir, 

Pio.  Sir,  hereafter 
You  shall,  and  underneath  it  put  jiro^ofum. — 
Is  your  chain  risht? 

Bob*  It  is  both  right  and  just,  sir; 
For,  tho'  I  am  a  steward,  I  did  get  it 
With  DO  man's  wrong. 

Pio.  Ytfu  are  witty. 

Bob.  So,  80.  [ra«h. 

Could  you  not  cure  one,  sir,  of  being  too 
And  over-darinj;?  (there  now's  my  disease) 
Fool-hardy,  as  they  say?  for  that  in  sooth 
I  am. 

Fio»  Most  easily. 

Bob.  How? 

Pio,  To  make  you  drunk,  sir,  [twice. 
With  small  beer  once  a  day,  and  beat  you 
Till  you  be  bruised  all  over;  if  that  help  not. 
Knock  out  your  brains. 

Bob.  This  is  strong  phyaick,  signor. 
And  never  will  agree  with  my  weak  body: 
I  find  the  medicine  worse  than  the  malady. 
And  therefore  will  remain  fool-hardy  stilL 
You'll  come,  sir  ? 

Pio.  As  I  am  a  gentleman.        [his  woitl. 

Bob.  A  man  o'  th'  sword  should  never  break 

Pio,  I'll  overtake  you:  I  have  only,  sir, 
A  complimental  visitation 
To  ofier  to  a  mistress  lodg'd  here  by. 

Bob.  A  genttewomaa? 

Pio.  Yes,  sir. 

Bob.  Fair,  and  comely  ? 

Pio.  Oh,  sir,  the  paragon,  the  nonpareil 
Of  Sevil,  the  most  wealthy  mine  of  Spain, 
For  beauty  and  perfection. 

Bob.  Say  you  so? 
Might  not  a  man  entreat  a  courtesy, 
To  walk  alonij  with  you,  signer,  to  peruse 
This  dainty  mine,  tho' not  to  dig  in%  signer  ? 
Hauh— I  hope  you'll  not  deny  me,  being  a 

stranger; 
Tho'  I'm  a  steward,  I  am  flesh  and  blood. 
And  frail  as  other  men. 

Pio.  Sir,  blow  your  nose ! 
I  dare  not,  for  the  world :  no ;  she  is  kept 
By  a  great  don,  Vitelii. 

Ba6.  How! 

Pio.  T'ls  true.  J!^'**^^*^ 

Bob.  See,  things  will  veer  about !  This  doa 
Am  I  to  seek  now,  to  deliver  letters    [you^ 
From  my  young  mistress  Clara ;  and,  I  tell 
Under  the  rose  (because  you  are  a  stranger, 
And  ray  especial  friend),  I  doubt  there  is 
A  little  foolish  love  betwixt  the  parties, 
Unknown  uuto  my  lord. 

Pio,  Happy  discovery ! 
My  fruit  begins  to  ripen. — Hark  you,  sir ! 
I  would  not  wish  you  now  to  give  those  let- 
ters; 
But  home,  and  ope  this  to  madonna  Clara, 
Which  when  I  come  I'll  justify,  and  relate 
More  amply  .and  particularly. 


14 


Neversucceeds^^,  and  seldom  meets  success : 
What  have  I  then  to  do  with't?  My  free  will, 
Left  me  by  Heaven,  makes  me  or  good  or  ill. 
Now  since  vice  gets  more  in  this  vicious  world 
Than  piety,  and  my  star's  confluence 
Enforce  my  disposition  to  affect  [tise 

Gain,  and  the  name  of  rich,  let  who  will  prac- 
War,  and  grow  that  way  great;  religious, 
And  that  vray  good!  My  chief  felicity 
Is  wealthy  the  nurse  of  sensuality ; 
And  he  that  mainly  labours  to  be  rich. 
Must  scratch  great  scabs,  and  claw  a  strum- 
pet's itch.  lExit. 

SCENE  II. 
Enter  Piorato  and  BobadUla. 

Pio.  To  say,  sir,  I  will  wait  upon  vour 
Were  not  to  understand  myself.  [lord, 

.  Bob.  To  say,  sir. 

You  will  do  any  thing  but  wait  upon  hkn. 
Were  not  to  understand  my  lord. 

Pto.  I'll  meet  him  [to  render 

Some  half-hour  !ience,  and  doubt  not  but 
His  son  a  man  again:  the  cure  is  easy; 
I  have  done  divers. 

Bob.  Women  do  you  mean,  sir?      [spark 

Pio.  Cures  I  do  mean.    Be  there  but  one 
Of  fire  remaining  in  him  unextinct. 
With  my  discourse  I'll  blow  it  to  a  flame, 
And  with  my  practice  into  action. 
I  have  had  one  so  full  of  childish  fear. 
And  womanish-hearted,  sent  to  my  advice, 
He  durst  not  draw  a  knife  to  cut  his  meat. 

Bob,  And  how,  sir,  did  you  help  him  ? 

Pio.  Sir,  I  kept  him 
Seven  days  in  a  dark  room  by  candle-light, 
A  plenteous  table  spread,  with  all  good  meats. 
Before  his  eyes,  a  case  of  keen  broad  knives 
Upon  the  board,  and  he  so  watch'd  he  might 

not 
Touch  the  least  modicum,  unless  he  cut  it : 
And  thus  I  brougjit  him  first  to  draw  a  knife. 

Bob.  Good! 

Pio.  Then  for  ten  days  did  I  diet  him 
Only  with  burnt  pork,  sir,  and  gammons  of 
A  pill  of  caviare  now  and  then,        [bacon ; 
Which  breeds  choler  adust,  vou  know-- 

Bob.  'Tis  true.  [and  cold  crudities, 

Pto.  And  to  pui^e  phlegmatick  humour. 
In  all  that  time  he  drank  me  aqua-foriis, 
And  nothing  else  but— 

Bob.  Agua^itiEf  signor ; 
For  aquorfortii  poisons. 

Pio.  Aguo'fortis, 
1  say  again :  What's  one  man's  poison,  signor, 
Is  another's  meat  or  drink. 

Bob.  Your  patience,  sir !  [stomach. 

By  your  gooa  patience,  h'  had  a  huge  cold 

Pto.  I  fired  it,  and  gave  him  then  three 

sweats 
In  the  Artillcry-Yard,  three  drilling  days; 
And  now  hell  shoot  a  gun,  and  draw  a  sword, 
e\nd  fight,  with  any  man  in  Clurlstendem. 


ao  ^c^ff,  succeeds.]    I.  i.  Never  follows  bv  succ€S.non. 


Bob. 


Acts.  Scene  2.]      LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  TIIE  MARTIAL  MAID. 

J&j6.  I  approve  \manosf  Enter  Malroda. 

Yoar  counsel,  and  wOl  practise  it.  Bazi  Im 
Here's  two  chewres,  chewi^d*"!  When  Wis- 
dom is  employ'd,  [signer ! 
Tia  ever  thus. — Your  more  acquaintance, 
I  tajnot  hetxjttj  lest  you  think  I  thought  not 
Yours  good  enough.  [£jri^ 
Enter  Alguaner, 

Pao.  Tour  servant,  excellent  steward ! 
'Would  all  Uie  dons  in  Spain  had  no  more 

hnins!  \fnondeur! 

Here  comes  the  Alguazier:  Dieuvousguarde, 
Is  anr  cos  stirring  yet? 

Mg,  Your  cuz,  good  cousin? 
A  wbore  is  like  a  lool^  a-kin  to  all    [signor. 
The  gallants  in  the  town.    Your  cuz,  good 
Is  gone  abroad,  sir,  witli  her  other  cousin, 
MylordVitelli;  since  when  there  hath  been 
Some  dozen  cousins  here  to  enquire  for  her. 

Fio.  She's  greatly  allied,  sir. 

Alg.  Marry  is  slie,  sir ; 
Come  of  a  lusty  kindred!  The  truth  is, 
Imostconnivenomore;  no  more  admittance 
Most  I  consent    to;    my  good    lord    has 

threatened  me, 
And  you  must  pardon 

Fh.  Out  upon  thee,  man !  [grave  ? 

Tun  hcMiest  in  thine  age?  one  foot  i'  th* 
Thou  shalt  not  wrong  thyself  so  for  a  mil- 
lion, 
liook,  thou  three-headed  Cerberus  (for  wit 
I  mean),  here  is  one  sop,  and  two,  and  three; 
For  ev'ry  chap  a  bit ! 

Alg.  Ay,  marry,  sir ! — 
Well,  the  poor  heart  loves  you  but  too  well. 
We  have  been  talking  on  you,  'faith,  tliis  hour, 
Where,  wliat  I  said — Go  to  !  she  loves  your 

valour; 
Oh,  and  your  musick  most  abominably  ! 
She  is  within,  sir,  and  alone. — What  mean 

you  f  [Piorato  changes  sides, 

rion  That  is  your  sergeant's  side,  I  take 

it,  sir; 
Now  I  endure  your  constable's  much  better: 
There  is  less  danger  in't;  for  one,  you  know, 
Is  a  tame  harmless  monster  in  the  light. 
The  sergeant,  salvage  both  by  day  and  night. 

Alg,  I  will  call  l^r  to  you  for  that. 

pS.  No,  ru 

Chann  her.. 
AJ^.  She^scome. 
Pio.  My  spirit! 


15 


Malr,  Oh,  my  sweet ! 
Leap  hearts  to  lips,  and  in  our  kisses  meet ! 

SONG. 

Pio.  Turn,  turn,  thy  beauteous  foce  away, 
How  pale  and  sickl;^  looks  the  day. 
In  emulatioo  of  thy  brighter  beams! 
Oh,  envious  light,  fly,  fly,  begone. 
Come,  night,  and  piece  two  breasts  as 
one;  [dreams. 

"When  what  lore  does,  we  will  repeat  in 
Yet,  thy  eyes  open,  who  can  day  hence 
friffht?  [nightl 

Let  but  their  lids  flilt,  and  it  will  be 

Alg,  Well,  I  will  leave  you  to  your  forti- 
tude. 
And  you  to  temperance.  AU,  ye  pretty  pair! 
'Twere  sin  to  sunder  you.  Lovers  oeing  alone 
Make  one  of  two,  and  day  and  night  all  one. 
But  fall  not  ou^  I  charge  you,  keep  the 

peace ; 
You  know  my  place  else.     ^  [Exit. 

Malr,  No,  yon  will  not  marry ; 
You  are  a  courtier,  and  can  sing,  my  love. 
And  want  no  mistresses;  but  yet  I  care  not. 
I'll  love  you  still,  and  when  I'm  dead  for  you. 
Then  you'll  believe  my  truth. 

Pio,  You  kill  me,  fair ! 
It  is  my  lesson  that  you  speak.     Have  I 
In  any  circumstance  deseiVd  this  doobt? ' 
I  am  not  like  your  fidse  and  perjur'd  don. 
That  here  mamtains  you,  and  has  vow'd  iiis 
And  yet  attempts  in  way  of  marrii^e  [faith; 
A  lady  not  far  off. 

Malr,  How's  that? 

Pio,  *Tis  so;         ' 
And  therefore,  mistress, now  tlje  time  is  come 
You  may  demand  his  promise;  and  I  swear 
To  marry  you  with  speed. 

Malr,  And  with  that  gold 
Wliich  don  Vitelii  gives,  you'll  walk  some 

voyage". 
And  leave  me  to  my  trade;  and  laugh,  and 

brag,  [lord. 

How  you  o*er-reach*d  a  whore,  and  guU'd  a 

Pio,  You  anger  me  extremely !  Fare  you 

well !  [me 

What  should  I  say  to  be  believ'd?    Expose 
To  .any  hazard;  or,  like  jealous  Juno, 
Th'  incensed  step-mother  of  Hercules, 

**  flm^i  ^870  cbewres  chewT^d.]    That  is.  Here  are  two  businesses  dispatched,    Chewre 
may  be  a  South  Country  word  for  business;  but  in  the  North  we  should  say, 

Here's  two  chares  ehar*d. 
So  in  Noble  Kinsmen  we  have  the  same  word,  act  iii.  scene  2.  the  Gaoler's  Daughter^ 
speaking  of  Palamon,  says, 

All's  chared  when  he  is  gone.    No,  no,  I  lie. 
My  Other's  to  be  hang'd  for  his  escape,  &:c.  Sympson, 

^  Walk  tome  voyage.]  Voyage  is  now  improperly  applied  only  to  ioutnies  at  sea;  but  it 
property  signifies  a  journey  either  by  land  or  sea,  as  the  French  use  the  word  voyage.  The 
WM  Journey  is  derived  mm  jour,  the  day;  voyage  is  from  voye,  via,  tlie  way;  and  here  is 
i  in  its  proper  signification*  Sevard. 

Design 


16 


LOVERS  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.     [Act  S.  Scene  3. 


Design  me  labours  most  impossible ^^, 
FIl  do  *em,  or  die  in  'em ;  so  at  last 
You  will  believe  me. 

Malr.  Come;  we're  friends;  I  do! 
I'm  thine;  walk  in.     My  lord  has  sent  me 

outsides,  [sad. 

But  thou  sbalt  have  'em;  the  colours  are  too 

Pio.  'Faith,  mistress,  I  want  cloaths  in- 

Malr.  I  have  [deed. 

Some  gold  too,  for  my  servant. 

Fio.  And  I  have 
A  better  metal  for  my  mistress.       [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

Enter  VttelU  and  Alguazier,  at  several  doors. 

Alg.  Undone! — Wit,  now  or  never  help 

me ! — My  master.' 
He'll  cut  my  throat! — I'm  a  dead  constable! 
And  he'll  not  be  bang'd  neitlier;  there's  the 

grief.— 
The  party,  sir,  is  here— — - 

Vit.  What? 

A1^.  He  was  here  [him ; 

(I  cry  your  lordship  mercy !)  but  I  rattled 
I  told  liim  here  were  no  companions 
For  such  debaoch'd,  and  poor-condition'd  fel- 
lows; 
I  bid  him  venture  not  so  desperately 
The  cropping  of  his  ears,  slitting  his  nose. 
Or  being  gelt 

Vit.  T'was  well  done. 

Alg.  Please  your  honour, 
I  tola  him  there  were  stews;  and  then  at  last 
Swore  three  or  four  great  oaths  she  vras  re- 

mov'd,. 
Which  r  did  think  I  mighty  in  conscience^ 
Being  for  your  lordship. 

PiV.  What  became  of  hiin? 

Alg*  Faith,  sir,  he  went  away  with  a  flea 

in's  ear, 
like  a  poor  cur,  clapping  his  trundle  tail 
Betwixt  his  legs. — A  chi  ha,  a  cfai  ha,  a  chi 

hal—Now,  luck! 


Enter  Malroda  and  Fiorato. 

Malr,  Tis  he;  do  as  I  told  thee;  bless 
thee,  signor! — 
Oh,  ray  dear  lord. 

lit.  Malroda?  what,  alone?  [panied 

Malr,  She  never  is  alone,  that  is  accom- 
With  noble  thoughts,  my  lord ;  and  mine  are 
Being  only  of  your  lordship.  [such^ 

Vit.  Pretty  lass!  [done;  but 'faith, 

Malr.  Oh,  my  good  lord,  my  picture'* 
It  is  not  lijie.  Naj,  this  way,  sir !  the  light 
Strikes  best  upon  it  here. 
Fio.  Excellent  wench !  [Exit, 

Alg.  I  am  giad^the  danger's  o'er.     [Exit. 
Vit.  Tis  wondrous  like, 
But  tliat  Art  cannot  counterfeit  what  Nature 
Could  make  but  once. 

Malr.  All's  clear;  another  tune 
You  must  hear  from  me  now. — Vitelli,  thou*rt 
A  most  perfidious  and  a  perjured  man, 
As  ever  did  usurp  nobility  1 
Vit.  What  mean'st  thou,  Mai? 
Malr.  Leave  your  betraying  smiles, 
And  change  the  tunes  of  your  enticing  tongue 
To  penitential  prayers ;  for  I  am  great 
In  labout*,  e'en  with  anger,  big  with-cliild 
Of  woman's  rage**,  bigger  than  when  my 

womb 
Was  pregnant  by  thee !    Go,  seducer,  fly 
Out  of  x£e  worlcl ;  let  me  the  last  wretch  be 
Dishonour'd  by  thee !  Touch  me  not :  I  loath 
My  very  heart,  because  thou  la/st  there  long. 
A  woman's  well  belp*d  up,  that's  confident 
In  Ver  a  dittering  outsiae  of  you  all ! 
'Would  I  had  honestly  been  match'd  to  some 
Poor  country  swain,  ere  known  th^  vanity 
Of  court !  peace  then  had  been  my  portion^ 
Nor  had  been  cozened  by  an  hour's  pomp. 
To  be  a  whore  unto  nay  dying  day ! 

Vit.  Oh,  th'  uncomfortable  ways  such  wo- 
men have*' !  [suranoe 
Their  different  speech  and  meaning,  no   as- 
In  what  they  say  or  do :  dissemblers 


^3  Labours  most  impomhl€.\  This  place,  at  first  sight,  appears  to  be  a  contradiction  ; 
for  if  the  labours  were  impossinle,  they  could  not  be  done  either  by  Piorato  or  Hercules.* 
Afos/,  I  take  it  here,  should  be  wrote  thus: 

■   ■     ■  Labours  'most  impossible, 
i.  e.  almost.    The  using  of  a  simple  for  a  compound  word,  is  frequent  in  our  poets;  and  wc^ 
have  it  again  in  this  very  play,  act  v.  scene  2. 

■  ■  being  by  your  beams  of  beauty /orm'flf,  t.  e.  infbrm'd.  Sympson. 

This  is  refinement.    The  labours  of  Hercules  were  enjoined  as  supposed  impossibilities. 
Almost  impossible^  is  a  poor  phrase  indeed.    Poetry  is  not  logick  or  mathematicks. 
*♦  for  lam  great 

In  labour,  e*0i  with  anger,  big  with  child 

Of  woman* s  ra^e.  1  Here  we  have  a  strange  anticlimax,  she  is  in  labour  with  anger, 
and  yet  only  big  with  child  of  rage.  The  editor  possibly  might  be  the  author  of  this  incon-- 
tistencyi  who  seeing  the  line  wrote 

E'en  with  anger  big  with  child,  &c. 

thought  that  the  measure  was  deficient,  and  so  might  out  of  his  own  head  give  us  in  labour, 
to  nmke  up  the  deficiency :  but  he  did  not  see  the  inconsistency  of  this  addition,  which 
makes  the  place  nonsense.         -  Sympson. 

*'  Oh,  tV  uncomfortable  ways  such  wtmen  haoe.l  Seward  thinks  unccurfortahlt  a  cortup- 
tioD,  and  that  we  should  read  unstable, 

E'ea 


UNIVEfRSITY 


Act  3.  Scene  4.]       LOVE'S  CURB;  OR,  THE  MAI 


lAlD. 


17 


E'en  in  their  prayers,  as  if  the  weeping  Greek 
That  flattcf'd  Troj  a-fiie,   had  been  tkeir 

Adam; 
liars,  as  if  their  mother  had  been  made 
Oaly  of  all  the  falshood  of  the  man, 
DisDOs'd  into  that  rib  ?    Do  I  know  this, ' 
Apa  more ;  nay,  all  that  can  concern  this  sex, 
With  the  true  end  of  mjr  creation? 
Can  I  with  rational  discourse  sometimes 
Advance  my  spirit  into  Heav'n,  before 
It  has  shook  hands  with  my  body,  and  ^et 
Su&r  mv  filthy  flesh  to  master  it,     [blindly 
With  sight  of  such  fair  frail  beguiling  objects  ? 
When  I  am  absent,  easily  I  resolve 
Ne'er  more  to  entertain  those  strong  desires 
That  triuDoph  o'er  me,  e'en  to  actad  sin ; 
Yet  when  1  meet  again  those  aorcerei^s  eyeSy 
Their  beams  my  hu-dest  resolhtions  tna% 
As  if  that  cakes  of  ice  and  July  met ; 
Aad  her  sighs,  powerful  as  the  violent  norths 
like  a  light  feather  twirl  me  round  about, 
And  leave  me  in  mine  own  low  state  again. — 
What  ail'st  thou?  Pritliee,  weep  not  1— Oli, 
those  tears,  [raise 

If  they  were  true,  and  riehtly  spent,  would 
A  flowery  spring  i'  th'  midst  of  January ; 
Celestial  nunisters  with  clirystal  cups 
Would  iitoop  to  save  'em  for  inmiortal  drink ! 

I    But  from  this  passion — Why  all  this  ? 
Bialr.  IVyou  ask? 
You're  marrying !  having  made  me  unfit 
For  any  man,  yon  leave  me  fit  for  all : 
Porters  must  tie  my  burdens  now,  to  live; 
And  fitting  me  yourself  for  carts  and  beadles^^ 

,    Yoo  leave  me  to  'em !  And  who,  of  all  the 

world. 

Bat  the  virago,  your  great  arch-foe's  daughter? 

But  on !   I  care  not,  this  poor  rush !  Twill 

breed  [laugh; 

I   An  excellent  comedy ;  ha !  ha !  It  makes  me 

:    I  cannot  chuse.    The  best  is,  some  report 

\   It  is  a  match  for  fear,  not  love,  o*  your  side. 

\      Vit.  Why^  how  the  devil  knows  she  that  I 

«iw  [witch? 

This  lady  ?  are  all  whores  piec'd  with  some 

I  will  be  merry. — 'Faith,  'tis  true,  sweetheart, 

I   I  am  to  marry— 

Afo/r.  Are  you  ?  You  base  lord ! 
By  Heaven,  I'll  pistol  thee. 

'       Fit»  A  roaring  whore  ? —  [by. 

Take  heed !  there's  ^  correction-house  hard 
Yon  ha'  leam'd  this  o'  your  swordman,  that  I 
warn*d  you  of,  [whereas 

Your  fencers,  and   your  drunkards.     But 
Yon  upbraid  me  with  oaths,  why,  I  must 

I      tell  you  [vow^d, 

I  ne'er  promis'd  yon  marriage,  nor  have 

I   ^t  said  I'd  love  you,  long  as  you  remained 

'  The  woman  I  expected,  or  you  swore : 
And  how  you've  fkufd  of  that,  sweetheart, 
you  know.  [you  well ! 

You  fiiin  would  shew  your  power ;  jbut,  fare 
ni  keep  no  more  faith  with  an  infidel. 
Ma/r,  Nor  I  my  bosom  for  a  Turk.    D'ye 
hear? 

VOL.  ra.  • 


Go !  and  tlie  devil  take  me,  if  ever 
I  see  you  more !  I  was  too  true. 

Vit,  Come  ;  pish  I 
That  devil  take  the  falsest  of  us  two ! 

ilffl/r.  Amen!  [self: 

Vit.  You're  an  ill  clerk,  and  curse  youi^ 
Madness  transports  you.     I  confess,  I  drew 

you  [not 

Unto  my  will ;  but  you  must  know  that  must 
Make  me  dote  on  the  habit  of  my  sin: 
I  will,  to  settle  you  to  your  content. 
Be  master  of  my  word.     And  yet  he  lied, 
That  told  you  I  was  marrying,  but  in  thought : 
But  will  you  slave  me  to  your  tyranny 
So  cruelly,  I  shall  not  dare  to  look 
Or  speak  to  otlier  women  ?  make  me  not 
Your  smock's  monopoly.    Come,  let's  be 

friends ! 
Look,  here's  a  jewel  for  thee:  I  will  come 
At  night,  and 

Malr.  What?  Tfaith  you  shall  not,«ir. 

Vit.  r&ith  and  trotli,  and  verily,  but  I 
will.  [rail? 

Malr,  Ualf-drunk,  to  make  a  noise,  and 

Vit.  No,  no; 
Sober,  and  dieted  for  th'  nonce.    Fm  thine ! 
I've  won  the  day. 

Malr,  The  night,  tho',  shall  he  mine. 

[Exeunt* 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Clara  and  Bobadilla. 

Clara,  What  said  he,  sirrah?  [not, 

Bab,  Little  or  nothing.    Faith,  I  saw  him 
Nor  will  not:   He  doUi  love  a  strumpet, 

mistress,  [stable's  nose : 

Nay,  keeps  her  spitefully,  under  the  con* 
It  shall  be  justified  by  the  gentleman,  . 
Your  brother's  master,  that  is  now  within 
A*practising.  There  are  your  letters !  Come, 
You  shall  not  cast  yourself  away,  while  I  live; 
Nor  will  I  venture  my  right-worshipful  place 
In  such  a  business.    Here's  your  mother 

(down !)  [low — I  ^ishy 

And  he  that  loves  you;  another  'gates  fel- 
If  you  liad  any  grace 

Clara.  Well,  rogue! 

Bob.  ni  in, 
To  see  don  Lucio  manage:  He  will  make 
A  pretty  piece  of  flesh,  I  promise  you; 
He  does  already  handle's  weapon  finely.  \Exitm 

Enter  Eugenia  and  Si/avedra, 

Eug,  She  knows  your  love,  sir,  and  the 
fuU  allowance 
Her  fiither  and  myself  approve  it  with ; 
And  I  must  tell  you,  I  much  hope  it  hath 
Wrought  some  impression  by  her  alteration: 
She  sighs,  and  says  Vbrsoof  A,  aod  cries  heigh-ho! 
She'll  take  ill  words  o'  th'  steward,  and  the 
-Yet  answer  affiibly,and  modestly;  [servants. 
Tilings,  sir,  not  usual  with  her.    There  she  is; 
Change  some  few  words. 

S^ffv.  Madam,  I  am  bound  t'you. 
How  now,  fiur  mistress?  working? 

D  .     CkrcL 


18 


LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.        [Act  3.  Scene 4. 


Clara.  Yes,  forsooth ; 
Learning  to  live  another  day. 

Syav.  That  needs  not.  [does; 

Vlara,  No,  forsooth?  by  my  troly,  but  it 
We  know  not  what  we  may  come  to. 

Eug»  Tis  strange !  [pM* 

Svav,  Come,  Tve  beggfd  leave  for  you  to 

Clora.  Forsooth, 
'Tis  ill  for  a  fair  lady  to  be  idle.  [that. 

Syav,  SW  bad  better  be  well  busied,  I  know 
Turtle,  methinks  you  mourn;  shall  I  sit  by 

you?  [gone; 

Clara.  If  you  be  weary,  sir,  y*  bad  bint  be 
I  work  not  a  true  stitch,  now  you're  my  mate. 

Si^v.  If  I  be  so,  I  must  do  more  tlien  side 

YOU**. 

C/ara.  Ev'n  what  you  will,  but  tread  me. 

Syav.  Shall  we  bill  ? 

Clara,  Oh,  no,  forsooth. 

Syav.  Being  so  lair,  my  Clara, 
Whv  d'you  delight  in  black-work? 

Clara,  Oh,  w-hite  sir. 
The  fairest  ladies  like  the  blackest  men: 
I  ever  lov'd  the  colour;  all  black  things 
Are  least  subject  to  change. 

Svav,  Why,  I  do  love  [faces 

A  black  thing  too ;  and  the  most  beauteous 
Have  oftnest  of  them ;  as  the  blackest  eyes. 
Jet-arched  brows,  such  hair.    FU  kiss  your 

hand.  [my  mother 

Clara.  Twill  hinder  me  my  work,  sir;  and 
Will  chide  me  if  I  do  not  do  my  task. 

Syav,  Your  mother^  nor  your  father  shall 

chide. — You  [rul'd. 

Might  have  a  prettier  task,  would  you  be 
And  look  with  open  eyes. 

Clara,  I  stare  upon  you, 
And  broadly  see  you;  a  wondrous  proper  man! 
Yet  ^twere  a  greater  task  for  me  to  love  you, 
Than  I  shall  ever  work,  sir,  in  seven  year. 
Plague  o'  this  stitching !  I  had  rather  feel 
Two,  than  sow  one. — This  rogue  has  given 

me  a  stitch  [shall  prick  you ! 

Clean  cross  my  heart.    Good  faith,  sir,  I 

SyoT),  In  gooder  faith,  I  would  prick  you 

wun !  [the  man  s  foolish ! 

Glara,  Now  you  grow  troublesome!  Fish, 

Syav,  Pra^.wear  these  trifles. 

Clara,  Neither  you,  nor  trifles : 
You  are  a  trifle ;  wear  yourself,  sir,  out, 
And  here  no  more  trifle  the  time  away. 

Si/av,  Come,  youVe  deceiv'd  in  me ;  I  will 
Nor  fast,  nor  die  for  you.  {not  wake, 

Clara,  Goose,  be  not  you  deceiv'd  ! 
I  cannot  like,  nor  love,  nof  live  with  you, 
Nor  ^t,  nor  watch,  nor  pray  for  you. 

Eug,  Her  old  fit!  [will  break 

Si/av,  Sure,  this  is  not  the  way. Nay,  I 

Your  melancholy > 

Clara,  I  shall  break  your  pate  then. 
Away,  you  sanguine  scabbaitl ! 


Ens,  Out  upon  thee! 
Thou*Tt  break  my  heart,  Fm  sure. 

Enter  Alvarez,  PioratOf  Xucio,  and  BdbadiUa, 

Sifav,  She's  not  yet  tame.  [yon  here 

Jlv,  On,  sir !  put  home !  or  I  shall  goa4 
With  this  old  fox  of  mine,  that  will  bite  better. 
Oh,  the  brave  age  b  gone !  In  my  young  days 
A  chevalier  would  stock  *'  a  needle's  point 
Three  times  together  strait  i'  th'hams;  or 
Give  you  new  garters?  [shall  I 

Bob,  Faich,  old  master,  there 
Is  little  hope;  the  linen  sure  was  dank 
He  was  begot  in,  he's  so  faint  and  cold ! 
Ev'n  send  him  to  Toledo,  there  to  study ; 
For  he  will  never  fadge  with  these  Toledos. 
Bear  /  up  your  point  there,  pick  his  teeth ! 

Oh,-base!  [—Bear 

Tio,  Fy !  you're  the  most  untoward  scholar ! 
Your  body  gracefully ;  what  a  posture's  there ! 
You  lie  too  open-breasted. 

Lucio,  Oh! 

Fio.  You  would 
Never  make  a  good  statesman. 

Lucio,  Pray  no  more !  [need  not 

I  hope  to  breathe  in  peace,  and  therefore 
The  practice  of  these  dang'rous  qualities: 
I  do  not  mean  to  live  b/t,  for  I  trust 
You'll  leave  me  better  able. 

Alv,  Not  a  button! 
Eugenia,  let's  go  get  us  a  new  heir. 

Sug,  Ay,  by  my  troth,  your  daughter's  as 

untoward.  [thee,  ere 

Alv,  FU  break  thee  bone  by  bone,  and  bake 
I  will  ha'  such  a  wooden  son  to  inherit. — 
Take  him  a  good  knock ;  see  how  that  will 

work. 

Pio.  Now  for  your  life,  signer ! 

Lucto.  Oh,  alas,  Fm  kill'd ! 
My  eye  is  out !  Look,  fatlier !  Zancho ! 
Fll  play  the  fool  no  more  thus,  that  I  will  not. 

Clara,  'Heart,  ne'er  a  rogue  in  Spain  shall 

wrong  my  brother. 
Whilst  I  can  hold  a  sword. 

Pio,  Hold,  madam,  madam ! 

Alv,  Clara! 

Eug.  Dahghter! 

IkS.  Mistress! 

Pio,  Bradamante! 
Hold,  hold,  I  pray.  [sure  \ — 

Alv,  The  devil's  in  her,  o'  tli'  other  sudm 
Thei^'s  gold  for  you.— They  have  cliang'd 

what-ye-cal't's.  [meut. 

Will  no  cure  help?  Well,  I  have  one  experi* 
And  if  that  ^il,  FU  hang  him ;  there's  an  end 

on't. 
Come  you  along  with  me !  and  you,  sir! 

Bob,  Now  are  you  going  to  drowning. 

i  Exeunt  Alv,  Eu^.  Lucio,  andBoh^ 
'U  e'en  along  with  ye;  she's  too 
great  a  lady, 

** 1  mu$i  do  more  then,  tide  you,"]  We  should  certainly  read,  I  must  do  more  tbaa 

side  you, 
*'  Stock  a  needles  point.]  Seward  would  read  strike  for  stock;  and  Sympson,  stick. 

•  For 


Act  4.  S6ene  S.]     LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID. 


19 


For  me,  and  would  prove  more  than  my 
match.  [ExiL 

Ciara.  Toii^re  he,  spoke  of  Vitelli  to  the 
steward  ?  [me  fbr^t. 

Pm.  Yes;  and,  I  thank  you,  you  have  beat 
Clara,  But  are  you  sure  you  do  not  wrong 
Pio,  Sure?  [himf 

So  sore,  that  if  you  please  venture  yourself^ 

rU  shew  you  him  and  his  cockatrice  together, 

Aod  you  shall  hear  'em  talk. 
Clara,  Will  you?  By  Heaven,  sir, 

Yoa  shall  endear  me  ever;  and  I  ask 

Yon  mercy ! 
Fia,  You  were  somewlmt  boisterous. 
Clara.  There's  gold  to  make  f  amends; 
aod  for  this  pains, 

ni  gratify  you  further.  -Ill  but  mask  me, 

Aad  walk  along  w'ye.    Faith,  let's  make  a 
night  on't !  [  Exeunt. 

SCENE  V. 

Eater  AlguazitTf  Tachieco^Men^otaj  Metaldi, 
and  LazanUo, 

Alg,  Come  OD^  my  brave  water-spaniels ! 
you 
That  hunt  ducks  in  the  night,  and  hide  more 
knavery 


Under  your  gowns  than  your  betters!  Observe 

my  precepts. 
And  edify  by  my  doctrine.    At  yond  corner 
Will  I  set  you :  If  drunkards  molest  the  street, 
And  fall  to  brabbling,  knock  you  down  the 

malefactors,  [bring  them 

And  take  you  up  their  cloaks  and  hats,  and 
To  me ;  they  are  lawful  prisoners,  and  must 
Be  ransom'd'^  ere  they  receive  liberty.  What 
You  are  to  execute  upon  occasion,  [else 
You  sufficiently  know,  and  therefore  I 
Abbreviate  my  lecture. 

Met,  We 
Are  wise  enough,  and  warm  enough. 

Mend,  Vice  this  night 
Shall  be  apprehended  i 

Pack,  The  terror  of  rug-gowns 
Shall  be  known,  and  our  buls  discharge  us 
Of  aflei^reckouings. 

Lat,  I  will  do  any  thing. 
So  I  may  eat! 

Pack,  Lazarillo,  we  will  spend  no  more; 
Now  we  are  grown  worse,  we  will  live  better ; 
Follow  our  calling  faithfully.  [let  us 

Alg,  Away  then !  [would  serve 

The  commonwealth  is  our  mistress;  and  who 
A  common  mistress,  but  to  gain  by  her? 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  IV. 


SCENE  L 
Enter  Vitelli^  Lamaral,  Genewra,  AnastrOy 

«»d  ttfo  Paget  with  Hghti. 
Lam,  T  PRAY  you  see  the  masque^  my 
■■-     lord. 

Ana.  Tis  early  night  yet. 

Gen.  Oh,  if  it  be  so  late,  take  me  along; 
I  would  not  give  advantage  to  ill  tongues 
To  tax  my  being  here,  wiuiout  your  presence 
To  be  my  warrant. 

Fit,  You  might  spare  tliis,  sister, 
Knowing  ]vith  whom  I  leave  you;  one  that 

is,  [vant. 

By  your  allowance,  and  his  choice,  your  ser- 
Aud,  may  my  counsel  and  persuasion  work 

it,  [ment 

Your  husband  speedily. — For  your  entertain- 
My  thanks!  I  will  not  rob  you  of  the  means 
To  dolour  mistress  some  acceptable  service, 
1b  watting  on  her  to  my  house. 

Geo,  My  lord — 

VU,  As  you  respect  me,  without  further 

trouble  [for  you, 

Bedre,  and  taste  those  pleasuses  prepar*d 
And  leave  me  to  ray  own  ways. 

Lam,  When  yon  please,  sir.        l^Exeunt. 

SCENE  n. 

Enter  Malroda  and  Alguazier, 
Malr.  Youll  leave  my  chamber? 
Alg,  Let  us  but  bill  once, 


My  dove,   my  sparrow,   and  I,   with  my 
Will  be  thy  slaves  for  ever.  [office, 

Malr.  Are  you  so  hot  ? 

Alg.  But  taste  the  difference  of  a  man  in 

place :  [forward. 

You'll  find  that,  when  authority  pncks  him 
Your  don,  nor  yet  your  Diego,  comes  not 

near  him, 
To  do  aiady  right !  No  men  pay  dearer 
For  their  stol'n  sweets  than  we;  three  mi- 
nutes' trading 
Affords  to  any  sinner  a  protection. 
For  three  years  after;  think  on  that.  I  burn  I 
But  one  drop  of  your  bounty—* 

Malr.  Hence,  you  rogue ! 
Am  I  fit  for  you?  is't  not  grace  siifficient 
To  have  your  staff  a  bolt  to  bar  the  door 
Where  a  don  enters,  but  tliatyoull  presume 
To  be  his  taster  ? 

Aig.  Is  no  mote  respect 
Due  to  this  rod  of  justice? 

ilia/r.  Do  you  dispute?  [more! 

Good  doctor  of  the  dungeon,  not  a  word 
Pox !  if  you  do,  my  lord  Vitelli  knows  it. 

Alg.  \V  by,  I  am  big  enough  to  answer  him^ 
Or  any  man. 

Malr.  Tis  well ! 

Vit.  Uaithin]  Malroda! 

Aig.  ilow? 

Malr,  You  know  the  voice;   and  now 

crouch  like  a  cur 
D  9  Ta'eu 


LOVE'S  CUREr  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.      [Act  4.  Scene  2. 


Ta'en  worrying  sheep:  I  now  could  have 

you  gelded 
For  a  hawd  rampant;  but,  on  tlus  submis- 
For  once  I  spare  you.  [sion, 

Alg.  I  will  be  reveng'd ! — 
My  honourable  lord. 

Enter  VitellL 

Vit.  There's  for  thy  care. 

Alg,  Vm  mad,  stark  mad !  Proud  Pagan! 

scorn  her  host? 

Enter  Piorato  and  Clara,  above. 

I  would  I  were  but  valiant  enough  to  kick 
I'd  wish  no  manlrood  else.  [her ! 

Malr.  What's  that? 

Alg.  I'm  gone.  [Exit. 

Fio.  You  see  I've  kei>t  my  word, 

Clara,  But  in  this  object 
Hardly  descrv'd  my  thanks. 

Pio.  Is  there  aught  else 
You  will  command  me  ? 

Clara,  >  Only  your  sword,  [know 

Which  I  must  have.     Nay,  willingly!  I  yet 
To  force  it,  and  to  use  it. 

Pio.  Tis  yours,  lady. 

Clara.  I  usk  no  other  guard. 

JPio,  If  so,  I  leave  you.  [word, 

And  now,  if  tliat  the  constable   keep  his 
A  poorer  man  may  chance  to  eull  a  lord.   > 

Malr.  By  this  good  kiss,  you  shall  not. 

Vit.  By  this  kiss,  [make 

I  must,  and  will,  Malroda !    What,  d'you 
A  stranger  of  me  ? 

Malr.  I'll  be  so  to  you. 
And  you  shall  find  it. 

Vit,  These  are  your  old  arts,  [hunt  for ; 
T*  endear  the  game  you  know  I  come  to 
Which  I  have  borne  too  coldly. 

Malr,  Do  so  still ! 
For  if  I  heat  you,  hang  me ! 

Vit.  If  you  do  not, 
J  know   who'll  starve   for't.      Why,    thou 

shame  of  women, 
Whose  folly  or  whose  impudence  is  greater 
Is  doubtful  to  determine!  this  to  me. 
That  know  thee  for  a  whore  I 

Malr.  And  made  me  one ;  " 

Remember  that ! 

Vit*  Why,  should  I  but  ^row  wise, 
And  tie  that  bounty  up,  which  nor  discretion 
Nor  honour  can  give  way  to,  thou  wouldst  be 
A  bawd  ere  twenty;  and,  witliina  month, 
A  barefoot,  lowsv,  and  diseased  whore, 
And  shift  tliy  lodgings  oflner  than  a  rogue 
That's  whipt  from  post  to  post. 

Malr.  Pish  I  ail  our  college 
Know  you  can  rail  well  in  tliis  kind. 

Clara,  'Fore  me, 
Uc  never  spake  so  well  1 

Vit.  I  have  maintained  thee  [shine 

Tlie  envy  of  great  fortunes;  made  thee 


As  if  thy  name  were  glorious;  stuck  thee  full 

Of  jewels,  as  the  firmament  of  stars ; 

And  in  it  made  thee  so  remarkable,    [poor, 

That  it  grew  questiouablQ  whether  Virtue 

Or  Vice  so  set  forth  as  it  is  in  thee. 

Were  ev'n  by  Modesty's  self  to  be  preferr'd : 

And  ain  I  thus  repaid  ? 

Malr,  YouVe  still  my  debtor !  [honour. 
Can  this,  tho'  true»  be  weigh'd  with  my  lost 
Much  less  my  faitli?  I  have  iiv'd  private  to 

you,  .    [was, 

And  but  for  you  had  ne'er  known  what  lost 
Nor  what  the  sorrow  for't. 

Vit,  'Tis  false ! 

Malr.  Tis  true !  [ing 

But  how  rctum'd  by  you?  thy  whole  life  t>e-  - 
But  one  continued  act  of  lust,  and  shipwreck 
Of  women's  chastities. 

Vit,  But  that  I  know  [tbinp, 

That  she  that  dares  be  damn'd  dares  any 
I  should  admire  thy  tempting  me ;  but  pre- 
sume not  faflections ; 
O'  th'  power  you  think  you  hold  o'er  my 
It  will  deceive  you  !  Yield,  and  presently,' 
Or  by  the  inflamed  blood,  which  thou  must 
I'll  make  a  forcible  entry.  [quench, 

Malr,  Touch  me  not  I  ly^u  do. 

You  know  I  have  a  throat:  by  Heaven,  ii' 
I  will  cry  out  a  rape,  or  sheath  this  here, 
Ere  ril  be  kept,  and  us'd  for  juUp-watcr, 
T*  allay  the  heat  which  luscious  meats  and 
And  not  desire,  hath  rais'd.  [wine, 

Vit.  A  desp'rate  devil ! 
My  blood  commands  my  reason;  I  must  take 
Some  milder  way^ 

Malr,  I  hope,  dear  don,  I  fit  you: 
The  night  is  mine,  altho'  the  day  was  yours  I 
You  are  not  fasting  now.  Tliis  speeding  trick 
(Which  I  would  as  a  principle  leave  to  all 
That  make  their  maintenance  out  of  their 

own  Indies, 
As  I  do  now)  my  good  old  mother  taught  me: 
Daughter,  quoth  she,  contest  not  with  your 

lover, 
His  stomach  being  empty ;  let  wine  heat  hhn. 
And  then  you  may  command  him :  'tis  a  sure 
His  looks  shew  he  is  coming.         *      [one ! 

Vit.  Come,  this  needs  not, 
Especially  to  me :  you  know  how  dear 
I  ever  have  esteem  d  you — 

CUura,  Lost  again  1  [to  change 

Vit.  That  any  sigh^'  of  yours  liath  pow^er 
My  strongest  resolution ;  and  one  tear 
Sutlicient  to  command  a  pardon  from  me. 
For  any  wrong  from  you,  which  all  mankind  , 
Should  kneel  in  vain  for. 

Malr.  Pray  you  pardon  those 
That  need  your  favour,  or  desire  it. 

Vit,  Prithee 
Be  better  temper'd :  I'!l^pay,  as  a  forfeit 
For  my  rasli  anger,  this  purse  fill'd  with  gold. 
Thon  shalt  hav€<  servants,  gowns,  attires ; 
Only  continue  mine.  [what  not  ? 


**  That  any  sight  vfywrs.']    Amended  from  Syfnpson's  conjecture. 


Mair. 


Act 4.  Scene  S.]      LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID. 


2i 


ibir.  TwBS  this  I  fish*d  for. 

fit.  Look  on  me,  and  receive  it. 

Mndr.  Well,  700  know 
My  gentle  nature,  and  take  pride  t'  abuse  it. . 
Yoo  see  a  trifle  pleases  me:  we*re  friends; 
This  kiss,  and  this,  confirms  it. 

CUtnt.  With  my  ruin ! 

ifalr.  rii  have  this  diamond,  and  this  pearl. 

Fi7.  They're  youi's. 

Mulr.  But  Will  YOU  not,  when  you  have 

what  you  came  tor,  [shion 

Take  them  from  me  to-morrow?  Tis  a  far 
Your  loids  of  late  have  us'd. 

Ftt.  But  rU  not  follow. 

Ciara.  That  any  man  at  such  a  rate  as  this 
Should  pay  for  his  repentance  ! 

Fa.  Shall  we  to-hed  now? 

Malr.  Instantly,  sweet.   Yet,  now  I  think 

on't  better, 
There's  something  first,  that  in  a  word  or  two- 
I  must  acquaint  you  with. 

Clara,  Can  I  cry  aim*' 
To  this,  R^nst  myself?  Til  break  this  match. 
Or  make  it  stronger  with  my  blood  ! 

[Deictnda. 

Enier  Alguaziery  Piorato,  Pachieco,  Metaldi, 
Mendoza,  LazariUo,  4'C- 

Alg.  Vva  yours !  [self: 

A  don's  not  privileged  here  more  than  your- 
Win  her,  and  wear  her. 

Puk  Have  yon  a  priest  read?  ? 

Alg,  I  have  him  for  thee,  lad. — And  when 

Itove  ,  [Innt, 

Married  this  sconiful  whore  Co  this  poor  gal- 
She  will  make  suit  to  me :  there  is  a  trick 
To  bring   a   high-pric'd  wench   upon    her 

knees.'  [talons, 

For  you,  my  fine  neat  harpies,  stretcli  your 
And  prove  yourselves  true  night-birds. 

Pack.  Take  my  word 
For  me  and  all  the  rest. 

Lbz,  If  there  be  meat 
Or  any  banquet  stirring,  you  shall  see. 
How  rll  bestow  myselE 

Alg.  When  they  are  drawn,  [on. 

Rash  ih  upon  'em;  all'  fair  prize  you  hsht 
I  must  awav:  your  officer  may  give  way  [it. 
To  th'  knav  ry  of  his  watch,  but  must  not  see 
Too  all  know  where  to  find  me«  [Exit, 

Ma.  There  look  for  us. 
ru.  Who's  that? 

Malr.  My  Piorato?  Welcome,  welcome ! 
Faith,  had  you  not  come  when  you  did,  my 
Had  done  I  know  not  what  to  me.        [lord 
Pi7.  Frngull'd!  [at! 

First  cheated  of  my  jewels,  and  then  laugh'd 
Sirrah,  what  makes  you  here  ? 
Pio,  A  business  brings  me. 
More  Uwful  than  youAwn. 
VU.  How*s  that,  you  slave  ?         [a  whore, 
Malr,  He's  such,  that  would  continue  her 
Whom  he  would  make  a  wife  of! 


'     Vii.  rU  tread  upon 

The  fiice  you  doat  on,  strumpet ! 

Enter  Clara. 

Pack.  Keep  the  peace  there ! 

Vit.  A  plot  upon  my  life  too? 

Met,  Down  with  him ! 

Clara,  Shew  your  old  valour,  and  learn 

from  a  woman ! 
One  eagle  has  a  world  of  odds  against  .^ 

A  flight  of  daws,  as  these  are. 

Pio.  Get  you  off; 
I'll  follow  instantly. 

Pach.  Run  for  more  help  there ! 

[Eseunt  all  but  Vit,  and  Clara, 

Vit.  Loss  of  my  gold,  and  jewels,  and  the 

wench  too, 
AfHicts  me  not  so  much  as  the  having  Clara 
The  witness  of  my  weakness. 

Ciara,  lie  turns  from  me ! 
And  yet  I  may  ui^e  merit;  since  his  life 
Is  made  my  second  gift.       ' 

Vit,  May  I  ne'er  prosper  ^ 
If  I  know  how  to  tliank  her ! 

Clara,  Sir,  your  pardon 
For  pressing  thus,  beyond  a  virgin's  bounds. 
Upon  your  privacies ;  ahd  let  my  being 
Like  to  a  man,  as  you  are,  be  th'  excuse 
Of  my  soliciting  that  from  you,  which  shall 
Be  granted  on  m]^  part,  altho'  desir'd      [not 
By  any  otlier.     Sir,  you  understand  me ; 
And  'twould  shew  nobly  in  you,  to  prevent 
From  me  a  further  boldness,  which  I  must 
Proceed  in,  if  you  prove  not  merciful, 
Tho'  with  my  loss  of  blushes  and  good  name. 

Vit.  Madam,  I  know  your  wil^  and  would 

be  thankful. 
If  it  were  possible  I  could  affect 
The  daughter  of  an  enemy. 

Clara.  That  fair  false  one,  [sued. 

Whom  with  fond  dotage  you  have  long  pur« 
Had  such  a  father ;  she  to  wliom  you  pay 
Dearer  fur  your  dishonour,  than  all  titles 
Ambitious  men  hunt  for  are  worth. 

Vit,  'Tis  truth.  [exchange 

Clara.  Yet  witli  her,  as  a  friend,  you  still 
Health  for  diseases,  and,  to  your  disgrace, 
Nourish  the  rivals  to  your  present  pleasures. 
At  your  own  charij^e ;  us'd  as  a  property 
To  give  a  safe  protection,  to  her  lust. 
Yet  share  in  nothing  but  tlie  shame  of  it. 

Vit.  Grant  all  this  so,  to  take  yoii  for  a 

wife 
Were  greater  hazard;  for  should  I  offend  you 
(As  'tis  not  easy  still  to  please  a  woman). 
You're  of  so  great  a  spirit,  that  I  must  learn 
To  wear  your  petticoat,  for  you  will  have 
My  breeches  from  me. 

Clara.  Ratlier  from  diis  hour 
I  here  abjure  all  actions  of  a  man. 
And  will  esteem  it  happiness  from  you 
To  suffer  like  a  wom^.    Love,  true  love. 
Hath  made  a  search  within  me,  and  expell'd 


*5  Can  I  cry  ayme.]    See  note  71  on  the  Fabc  One, 


AU 


LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  lilARTIAL  MAID.      [Act  4.  Scene  S. 


All  but  my  natural  softness,  and  made  perfect 
That  wkich  my  parents'  care  could  not  begin. 
Tvr'rll  shew  strength  in  nothing,  but  my  duty 
And  glad  desire  to  please  you,  and  in  that 
Grow  every  day  more  able. 

Fil^  Could  thi9  be, 
What  a  brave  race  might  I  beget !  I  find 
A  kind  of  yielding;  and  no  reason  why 
I  should  hold  longer  out:  she's  young,  and 

iair,  [devil 

And  chaste,  for  sure;  but  with  her  leave,  the 
Durst  not  attempt  her.  Madam,  tho*  ^ou  have 
A  soldier's  arm,  your  lips  appear  as.if 
They  were  a  lady's. 

Ciaru.  They  dare,  sir,  from  you 
Endure  the  trial. 

Vit.  Ha !  once  more,  I  pray  you! 
The  best  I  ever  tasted ;  and  'tis  said 
I  have  prov'd  many.    'Tis  not  safe,  I  fear. 
To  ask  the  rest  now.    Well,  I  will  leave 

whoring. 
And  luck  herek  send  me  with  her! — Wor- 
thiest lady,  • 
I'll  wait  upon  you  home,  and  by  the  way 
(If  e^er  I  marry,  as  111  not  forswear  it) 
Tell  you,  you  are  my  wife. 

Ciara.  Which  if  you  do. 
From  me,   all  mankind  women  learn  to 

wooe!»«  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  HI. 

Mntcr  Alguaxier^  Packieco,  Metaidi^  Menr 

doza,  and  LaviriHo, 

Alg.  A  cloak  ?  Good  purchase !  And  rich 

hangers?  well! 
We'll  share  ten  pistolets  a^man. 

Laz,  Yet  still  [duct 

Fm  monstrous  hungry !  Could  you  not  de« 
So  much  out  of  the  gross  sum,  as  would  pur- 
chase [capons? 
Eight  loins  of  veal,  and  some  two  dozen  of 

Fach.  Oh,  stranee  proportion  for  i^ve ! 

Laz.  For  five?  I  have 
A  legion  in  my  stomach,  that  have  kept 
Perpetual  fast  these  ten  years :  for  the  capons. 
They  arc  to  me  but  as  so  many  black-birds. 
May  r  but  eat  once,  and  be  satisfied. 
Let  the  fktes  call  me,  when  my  ship  is  fraught, 
And  I  shall  hang  in  peace. 

A^,  Steal  well  to-night. 


And  thou  shalt  feed  to-morrow.  So !  now  yoa 

are 
Yourselves  again,  111  raise  another  watch 
To  free  you  from  suspicion :  set  on  any 
You  meet  with  boldly;  FU  not  be  far  oflF, 
T'  assist  you,  and  protect  you.  [Exit. 

Met,  Oh,  brave  officer! 

Enter  Alvarez j  LuciOf  and  Bobadilla.^ 

Pack,  'Would  every  ward  had  one  but  so 

well  given,  [velvet ! 

And  we  would  watch,  'for  rug,  in  gowns  of 

Mend.  Stand  close ;  a  prize ! 

Met,  Sattin,  and  gold  lace,  lads  ! 

Ah.  Why  dost  thou  hang  upon  me? 

Lucio.  Tis  so  dark  [ther, 

I  dare  not  see  my  way;  for  Heav'n  sake,  fa- 
Let  us  go  home  f 

Bob.  No,  even  here  we'll  leave  you — 
Let*s  run  away  from  him,  my  lord. 

Lucio,  Oh,''las! 

Alv,  Th'  hast  made  me  mad,  and  I  will 

beat  thee  dead,  [thee. 

Then  bray  thee  in  a  mortar,  and  new-mould 
But  I  will  alter  thee. 

Bob.  Twill  never  be : 
He  has  been  three  days  practising  to  drink. 
Yet  still  he  sips  like  to  a  waiting-woman. 
And  looks  as  he  were  murd'ring  of  a  fart 
Among  wild  Irish  swaggerers. 

Lttcio.  I  have  still 
Your  good  word,  Zancho.    Father>- 

Alv.  Milk*8op,  coward !  [thee ; 

No  house  of  mine  receives  thee ;  I  disclaim 
Thy  mother  on  her  knees  shall  not  entreat  me 
Hereafter  to  acknowlodse  thee ! 

Lucio.  Pray  you  spesik  for  me ! 

Bob.  I  would,  but  now  I  cannot  with  mine 

honour. 

Ah.  I'here's  only  one  course  lef^  that 

may  redeem  thee ;  [meet ; 

Which  is,  to  strike  the  next  man  that  you 
And  if  we  chance  to  light  upon  a  woman. 
Take  her  away,  and  use  her  like  a  man. 
Or  I  will  cut  thy  hamstrings. 

Pach.  This  nudtes  for  us. 

Ah.  What  dost  thou  do  now  ? 

Lucio,  Sir,  Fm  saying  my  prayers;  [me. 
For  being  to  undertake  what  you  would  have 
I  know  I  cannot  live. 


3^  Mankind  women."]  In  Slwkespeare's  Coriolanus,  Sicinius  asks  Voluninia, '  Are  yoa 
mankind  f^  On  which  Dr.  Johnson  remarks,  that  ^  A  mankind  woman  is  a  woman  with  the 
*  roughness  of  a  man,  and,  in  an  aggravated  sense,  a  woman  ferocious,  violent,  and  eager  to 
'  shed  blood.'    Mr.  Upton  says,  mankind  means  wicked,  and  gives  the  following  examples : 

*  See,  see,  this  mankinde  strumpet,  see  (he  cride) 

'  This  shamelesse  whore.'  Fairfax's  Tasso,  xx.  95. 

*  Out !  a  mankind  witch !'  ,  Winter's  Tale,  act  ii. 

Morose,  being  interrupted  by  the  intrusion  and  noise  of  men  and  women,  cries  out, 

'  O  mankind  generation !' 
And  Mr.  Steevens  adds  the  following  from  Ben  Jonson: 

*  Pallas,  nor  thee  I  call  on,  mankind  maid.' 

See  Upton's  Remarks  on  Ben  Jonson,  p.  92,  and  Johnson  and  Steevens's  Shakespeare,  voL 
\ij.  p^393.        R. 

Mankind^  applied  to  women,  both  here  and  in  Ben  Jonson,  plainly  signifies  masculine. 

Enter 


-Act  4.  Scene  3.]      LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID. 


Enter  Lamoral^  Genevora,  Anastro,  and 

Pages  with  lights. 
Lam,  Madun,  I  fear  Tthcr's  house 

You'll  wish  /  had  us*d  your  cobgIi  ;  your  bro- 
Is  yet  f^T  off. 

Gen,  The  better,  sir;  this  walk 
Will  help  digestion  after  your  great  supper. 
Of  which  I  have  fed  largely. 

Ah,  To  your  task ! 
Or  else  you  know  what  follows. 

Ludo,  I  am  dying  !  [vour, 

Now,  Lord  have  mercy  on  me ! — By  your  la- 
Sir,  I  must  strike  you. 
Lam,  For  what  cause  ? 
Lttcio.  I  know  not. 
And  I  mustlikewise  talk  with  that  young  lady, 
An  hoar  in  private. 

Lam,  What  you  must,  b  doubtful; 
But  I  am  certain,  sir,  I  must  beat  yoii. 
Ludo,  Help,  help! 
I  Ah,  Not  strike  again  ? 

Lam,  How!  Alvarez? 
Ana,  This  for  my  lord  Vitelli's  love ! 
Pach,  Break  out;  [side, 

I       And,  like  true  thieves,  make  prey  on  either 
I       But  seem  to  help  the  stronger  3'. 
Bo6.  Oh,m)rlozdf 
Tbe/ve  beat  him  on  his  knees. 
Ijtch.  Tho'  I  want  courage, 
I  yet  have  a  son's  duty  in  me,  and 
Compassion  of  a  father's  danger;  that, 
That  wholly  now  possesses  me. 

Ah,  Lacio, 
This  is  beyond  my  hope. 

Met.  So !  Lazarillo, 
Take  up  all,  boy!  Well  done! 

PaciL  And  now  steal  off 
Closely  and  cunningly. 
I  Ana,  How!  have  I  found  you? 

Why,  gentlemen,  are  you  mad,  to  make 
A  piey  to  rogues  ?  [yourselves 

Lam,  '  Wopld  we  were  off ! 
Bob,  Thieves,  thieves !  [with  them. 

I  Lam,  Deferourown  contention,  and  down 

;  Lueio,  I'll  make  you  sure ! 

Boh,  Now  he  plays  the  devil. 
Gen,  This  pi^ce  is  not  for  me.        [Esit, 
Lncio,  111  follow  her: 
Half  of  my  penance  is  past  o'er.  [Exit, 

Enter  Alguazier,  Assistant,  ^  othi^  Watches, 
Afg.  What  noise,  [I  charge  you. 

What  tumult's  there?  Keep  the  king's  peace, 
Paeh.  I'm  glad  he's  come  yet. 
Ah,  Oh,  you  keep  good  guard 
Upon  the  city,  when  men'x>f  our  rank 
Are  set  ujjon  in  the  streets. 

Lam,  The  Assistant 
Shall  hear  on't,  be  assur'd. 
Ana,  And  if  he  be 
i      That  careftd  governor  he  is  reported, 

You  will  smart  for  it. 
!         Alg,  Patience,  good  signors! 


Let  me  survey  the  rascals.  Oh,  I  know  them. 
And  thank  you  for  them :  they  are  pilfriog 
Of  Andaluzia,  that  have  perused  [rogues 
All  prisons  in  Castile.  I  dare  not  trust 
The  dungeon  with  them;  no,  I'll  have  them 
To  my  own  house.  [home 

Pach.  We'd  rather  go  to  prison. 
Alg,  Had  you  so,  dog-bolts?  yes,  I  know 
you  had !  (<>n 

You  there  would  use  your  cunning  ^neen 
The  simple  locks,  you  would;  but  FU  pre- 
vent you. 

iaw."  My  mistress  lost?  good  night  ![£jrir. 
Bob,  Your  son's  gone  too ; 
What  should  become  of  him  ? 

Ah,  Come  of  him  what  will. 
Now  he  dares  a^ht,  I  care  not:  I'll  to  bed. 
Look  to  your  prisoners,  Alguazier. 

Jl     Aiv     1    ^^  lExU  with  Bob. 

Alg.  All's  cleared. 
Droop  not  for  one  disaster ;  let  us  hug, 
And  triumph  in  our  knav'ries. 

Assist.  This  confirms 
What  was  reported  of  him. 

Met,  Twas  done  bravely ! 

Alg.  1  must  a  little  glory  in  the  means 
We  officers  liave  to  play  tlie  knaveS,  and 

safely;  'n^^ 

How  we  break  thro'  the  toils  pitch'd  by  the 
Yet  hang  up  them*  that  are  far  less  delin- 
quents ! 
A  simple  shopkeeper's  carted  for  a  bawd. 
For  lodging,  tho'  unwittingly,  a  mnock-game- 

Where,  with  rewards,  and  credit,  I  have  kept 
Malroda  m  my  house,  as  in  a  cloister. 
Without  taint  or  suspicion. 

Pach,  But  suppose 
The  eovernor  should  know  it  ? 

Alg,  He?  Good  gentleman, 
Let  him  perplex  himself  with  prying  into 
The  measures  in  the  market,  and  th'  abuses 
The  day  stonds  guilty  of:  the  piUage  of 
The  night  is  only  mine,  mine  own  fee^imple. 
Which  you  shall  holdfrom  me,  tenants  at  will. 
And  pay  no  rent  for't. 

Pach.  Admirable  landlord !  [commit  such 
A  "^-^'^^^  .'^^'^  go  sea«:li  the  taverns, 
As  we  find  dnnkmg,  and  be  drunk  ourselves 
With  what  we  take  from  them.    These  siUy 

wretches,  [hither 

Whom  I  for  form-sake  only  have  brought 
bhall  watch  without,  and  guard  us. 

Assist,  And  we  will 
See  you  safe  lodg'd,  most  worthy  Alguazier, 
With  all  of  you,  his  comrades.  '    i 

Met,  Tin  the  governor. 

Alg,  We  are  betray'd. 

Assist.  My  guard  there!— Bind  them  fast. 
Enter  Guard. 
How  men  in  liigh  place  and  autliority 
Are  m  their  lives  and  estimations  wrong'd 


3'  But  seem  to  help  the  stranger.]  Corrected  from  Sympson's  conjecture. 


^T 


u 


LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAtD.      [Act  4.  Scene  4. 


By  their  sabord'oate  ministers ;  yet  such 
They  cannot  but  employ ;  wrong'd  Justice 

finding 
Scai'ce  one  true  seniint  in  ten  officers. 
T'expostulat^  with  you,  were  but  to  delay 
Your  crimes^  due  punishment,  which  shall 

fall  upon  you 
So  speedily,  and  severely,  that  it  shall 
Frignt  others  by  th'  example ;  and  confirm^ 
Uowevec  corrupt  officers  may  disgrace 
Themselves,  'tis  not  in  them  to  wrong  their 

place. 
Brmg  them  away.      , 

Alg:  We'll  sufTer  noble  yet, 
And  like  to  Spanish  gallants. 

Pach.  And  weUl  hang  so. 

Laz,   I  have  no  stomach 

endeavour. 


to't;  but  ni 
lExeunt, 


SCENE  IV. 


Enter  Lucio  and  Genevora. 

Gen,  Nay,  you  are  rude !  pray  you  forbear! 

you  offer  now 
More  tlian  the  tireeding  of  a  gentleman 
Can  give  you  warrant  tor. 

Lucio,  ^is  but  to  kiss  you ; 
Aiid  think  not  I'll  receive  that  for  a  fovour 
Which  was  enjoin'd  me  for  a  penance,  lady. 

Gen.  You've  met  a  gentle  confessor;  and, 

for  once, 
(So  then  you  will  rest  satisfied)  I  vouchsafe  it. 

Ludo.  Rest  satisfied  with  a  kiss?  Why, 

can  a  man 
Desire  more  from  a  woman  ?  is  there  any 
Pleasure  beypnd  it?  may  I  never  live 
If  I  know  what  it  is ! 

Gen.  Sweet  innocence !  [ — My  veins 

Lucio.  What  strange  new  modons  do  I  feel ! 
Bum  with  an  unknown  fire;  in  ev'ry  part 
I  suffer  alteration ;  I  am  poisou'd, 
Yet  languish  with  desire  again  to  taste  it, 
So  sweetly  it  works  on  me. 

Gen,  I  ne'er  saw 
A  lovely  man,  'till  now. 

Lucio.  How  can  this  be  ? 
She  is  a  woman,  as  my  mother  is. 
And  her  I  have  kiss'd  often,  and  brought  off 
My  lips  unscorch'd  :  Yours  are  more  lovely, 

lady,  [vouchsafe 

And  so  should  be  less  hurtful.  Pray  you 
Your  hand,  to  quench  the  heat  ta'en  from 
Perhaps  that  may  restore  me.        [your  lip ! 

Gen,  W^illingly.  [you  burn  thus, 

Lucio*  The  flame  encreases !  If  to  touch 


What  would  more  strict  embraces  do  ?  I  know 

not: 
And  yet,  methinks,  to  die  so  were  to  ascend 
To  Heav*n,  thro'  Paradise. 

Gen,  I'm  wounded  too; 
Tlio'  modesty  forbids  that  I  should  speak 
W^hat  ignorance  makes  him  bold  in. — ^Why 
Your  eyes  so  strongly  on  me?  [d'you  fix, 

Lucio,  Pray  you  stand  still !  [on  : 

There's  nothing  else  that's  worth  the  looking 
I  could  adore  you,  lady. 

Gen,  Can  you  love  me?  [but  touch 

Lucio.  To  wait  on  you  in  your  cl^ambcr, and 
What  you^  by  wearing  it,  have  made  divine. 
Were  such  a  happiness — I  am  resolv'd, 
I'll  sell  my  liberty  to  you  for  tliis  glove, 
And  write  myself  your  slave. 

Enter  LamoraL 

Gen.  On  easier  terms 
Receive  it,  as  a  friend. 

Lam.  How!  giving  favour ?«- 
Ill  have  it,  with  his  heart*  ^ . 

Gen.  What  will  you  do?  #[rather ! 

Lucio.  As  you  are  mierciful,  take  my  life 
•   Gen.  Will  you  depart  with  it  so  3^? 

Lucio.  Does  tKat  grieve  you  ?       [valiant. 

Gen.  I  know  not;  but  ev'n  now  \ou  appeared 

Lucio.  'Twas  to  preserve  my -father;  in 
I  could  be  so  again.  [his  <^nse 

Gen,  Not  in  your  own  ? 
Kneel  to  thy  rival,  and  thine  enemy?    * 
Away,  unworthy  creature !  I  begin 
To  hate  mjrself,  for  giving  entrance  tn 
A  good  opinion  of  Uiee.    For  thy  torment,    . 
If  ray  poor  beauty  be  of  any  power, 
Mayst  thou  dote  on  it  desp'rately !  but  never 
Presume  to  hope  for  grace,  till  tliou  recover 
And  wear  the  favour  that  was  ravish'd  from 

thee. 

Lam.  He  wears  my  head  too  then.   [Exit, 

Gen.  Poor  fool,  farewell!  [Exit, 

Lucio,  My  womanish  soul,  which  hitherto 

hath  governed 
This  coward  flesh,  I  feel  departing  from  ine; 
And  in  me  by  her  beauty  is  inspird 
A  new  and  masculine  one,  instructing  me 
What's  fit  to  do  or  suffer.    Powerful  Love ! 
That  hast  with  loud,  and  yet  a  pleasing 

thunder  [creature, 

RousM  sleeping  manhood  in  me,  thy  new 
Perfect  thv  work ;  so  that  I  may  make  known 
Nature  (tho'  long  kept  back)  will  have  her 

own !  lExit. 


3*  Depart.]  This  word  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  part. 


ACT 


Mt  6.  Scene  1-] '     itoVE'S  CURE ;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  itfAID. 


» 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  L 

Enter  Lamorul  and  Lucie. 


Xrt'i./^AN  it  be  possible,  that  in  six  short 

^     hours, 
T\te  subject  still  the  same,  so  many  habits 
Should  be  remov'd?  or  this  new  Liicio  (he 
Ihat  yesternight  was  baiiled  and  disgracM, 
v!\nd  thAnk'd  the  man  that  did  it ;  that  then 

kneefd 
And  blobber'd  like  a  woman)  should  now  dare 
On  terms  of  lionour  to  seek  reparation, 
For  what  he  then  appeared  not  capable  of? 

iMcio,  Sttch  miracles,  men  tliat  dare  do 

injuries 
lAve  to  their  shames  to  see,  for  punishment 
And  scourge  to  their  proad  follies. 

/>//«.  Prithee  leave  me : 
Had  I  my  page  or  footman  here  to  flesh  thee, 
I  durst  the  better  hear  rliee. 

LmcIo,  This  scorn  needs  not ; 
And  oifer  such  no  more ! 

Idtm,  Why,  say  I  should. 
You'll  not  be  angry  ? 

Ijueio,  Indeed,  \  think  1  shall !  [tain. 

Would  you  vouchsafe  to  shew  yourself  a  cap- 
And  lead  a  little  further,  to  some  place 
XJiat's  less  frequented • 

/■am.  He  looks  pale. 

JLucio.  If  not, 
3Iake  use  of  this. 

Lam.  There's  anger  in  his  eyes  too : 
Hisgesture,  voice,  bcliaviour,alf  new  fashion^, 
Wefi,  if  it  does*endure  in  act  tlic  trial 
Of  what  in  show  it  promises  to  make  good, 
UUsses*  Cyclops,  lo's  transformation, 
Korvdice  fetch*d  from  hell,  witli  all  the  rest 
Of  Ovid's  fables,  I'll  put  in  my  creed; 
And,  tor  proof  ail  incredible  things  may  be. 
Write  down  tliat  liiicio,  the  cowtu^  Lucio, 
Xhe  womanifth  Lucio,  fought. 

Lucio.  And  L:miond« 
The  still  employM  great  duellist  Immoral, 
Xook  his  life  from  him. 

Lam.  Twill  not  come  to  that  sure ! 
Metlnnks  the  only  drawing  of  my  sword 
Should  friglit  that  confidence. 

Lucio.  It  confinub  it  nither : 
TkO  make  which  good,  know  you  stand  now 

oppos'd 
By  one  that  is  your  rival;  one  that  wishes 
If  our  name  and  title  greater,  to  raise  his ; 
The  wrong  you  did  less  pardonable  than  it  is. 
Silt  yow  strength  to  defend  it  more  than  ever 
It  WAS  when  justice  friended  it;  the  lady 
For  whom  we  now  contend,  Genevora, 
Qf  more  desert,  (if  snch  incomparable  beauty 
Could  suffer  an  addition) ;  your  love 
To  dcHi  Vitelfi  nmltipHed,  and  your  hate 
Aps:nst  my  father  siud  his  house  encrea5*d: 

VOL.  III. 


And  lastly,  that  the  glore  which  you  there- 

wear,  [you) 

To  my  dishonour !  (which  I  roust  force  from 
Were  dearer  to  you  than  your  life. 

L<m.  You'll  find 
It  is,  and  so  Fll  guard  it. 

Lucio.  All  these  meet  then, 
Witii  the  black  infamy  to  be  foil'd  by  one 
That's  notallov^^d  anian,  to  help  your  valour; 
That,  fidling  by  your  bund,  I  may  or  die 
Or  win  in  this  one  single  opposition 
My  misti-ess,  and  such  honour  as  I  may 
Enrich  my  lather's  anns  with! 

Lam.  'Tis  said  nobly ; 
My  life  with  them  are  at  the  stake. 

Lucio.  At  all  then!  [Fight. 

Ltan.  She's  your's !  this,  and  my  hfe  too, 

follow  your  fortune ! 
And  give  not  only  back  that  part  the  loser 
Scorns  to  accept  of! 

Luciti.  What's  that  ? 

La?n.  My  poor  life; 
Which  do  not  leave  me  as  a  further  torment, 
I  laving  despoil'd  me  of  my  sword,mine  honour, 
Hope  of  my  lady's  gnice,  fame,  aivd  all  else 
That  made  it  worth  the  keeping. 

Lucio,  1  take  back  [me. 

No  more  from  you  than  what  you  forc'd  from 
And  with  a  worser  title.    Yet  think  not 
That  I'll  dispute  this,  as  made  insolent 
Hy  my  success,  but  as  one  equal  with  you, 
If*s>o  yon  will  accept  me.   That  newcuun^e 
(Or  call  it  fortune  if  you  please)  that  is 
Confen'd  upbn "ine  by  the  only  sidit 
Of  fair  Genevora,  was  not  bestow M  on  me 
To  bloody  purposes;  nor  did  her  command 
Deprive  me  of  the  happiness  to  see  her, 
But  'till  I  did  redeem  her  favour  from  you ; 
Which  oidy  I  rejoice  in,  and  share  with  you 
In  all  you  sufler  else. 

L/im.  This  courtesy  [own: 

Wounds  deeper  than  your  sword  can,  or  mine 
Pra^'  you  make  use  of  either,  and  di&patch  me ! 

Lucio.  The  barbiu-ous  Turk  is  sutisfied  with 

spoil ;  .  [for. 

And  shall  I,  being  possess'd  of  what  J  came 
Prove  the  more  infidel? 

Lam.  You  were  better  be  5=0 
Than  publish  my  disgrace,  as  'tis  the  custom. 
And  which  I  must  expect. 

LiiCio.  Judge  belter  of  me: 
I  have  no  tongue  to  trumpet  mine  own  praise 
To  your  dishonour;  'tis  a  bastard  oouraffe 
That  seeks  a  name  out  that  way,  no  true-bom 

one. 
Pray  you  be  comforted !  for,  by  all  gopdness^ 
But  to  her  virtuous  self  (the  best  part  of  it; 
1  never  will  discover  on  what  terms       [vou, 

^I  came  by  these :  which  yet  I  take  not  from 
But  leicve  yon,io  exchange ofthem,  mine  own, 
Ifi  With 


» 


)/>VE'S  CURE;  OR,  tllE  MARTIAL  MAID«     [Act  5.  Soeoe  %, 


Fit.  Spoke  like  that  true  friend 
That  loves  not  only  for  his  private  end ! 

[Eafeunt* 

SCENE  n. 

Enter  Cenevora  tnth  n  Letter,  and  Bokir 

dilla. 

Oen.  This  from  madonna  Clara? 

Bob.  Yes,  an't  please  you. 

Gen.  Alvarez' daughter? 

Bob.  The  same,  lady. 

Gen.  She 
That  sav'd  my  brotber^s  life  ? 

Bob.  You're  still  i'  th'  right :        pcnowin|{ 
She  will'd  me  wait  your  waking  forth,  and, 
ilow  necessary  a  discreet  wise  man 
Was,  in  a  business  of  such  weight,  she  pleasM 
To  think  on  me.    It  may  be,  in  my  face 
Your  ladyship,  not  acquainted  with  my  wi»- 

dom, 
Finds  no  such  matter;  what  I  am,  I  am; 
Thought's  free,  and  think  yon   what   you 

Gen.  Tis  strange —  [please. 

Bob.  That  I  should  be  wise,  madam  ? 

Gen.  No,  thou  art  so.  [^f^^y 

There's  for  thy  pains ;  and  prithee  tell  thy 
I  will  not  (ail  to  meet  her :  ril  receive 
Thy  thanks  and  dyty  in  thy  present  absence* 
Farewell,  farewell,  I  say !  Now  thou  art  wise. 

lExit.  Boh, 
She  writes  here,  she  hath  something  to  im<* 

part  [not  i 

Tliat  may  concern  my  brother's  life:  I  know 
But  general  fame  does  give  her  out  so  worthy. 
That  I  dare  not  suspect  her;  yet  wish  Lucia 

Enter  Lucio. 

Were  master  of  her  mind  *.  but,  fy  upon't ! 
Why  do  I  think  on  him  ? — See,  I  am  punished 

for't. 
In  his  unlook'd-for  presence:  now  I  must 
Endure  another  teoious  piece  of  coortship. 
Would  make  one  forswear  courtesy. 

Lucio.  Gracious  madam,  [Kneels, 

The  sorrow  paid,  for  your  just  anger  tow'rda 

me. 
Arising  from  my  weakness,  I  presume 
To  press  into  your  presence,  and  despair  not 
An  easy  bardon. 

Gen.  He  speaks  sense :  Oh,  strange ! 

Lucio.  And  yet  believe,  that  no  desires  of 

mine, 
Thp'  all  are  too  strong  in  rae,  had  the  power, 
Fo^  their  delight,  to  force  me  to  infringe 
What  you  commanded ;  it  being  in  your  part 
To  lessen  your  great  rigor  when  you  please, 

3'  Tiat  there  wot  musick  tit  tV.]  The  editon  of  1750  object  lo  the  expession,  mutiek  efa 
ttrord,  and  substitote  majgicky  saymg,  '  We  suppose  the  line  might  originaUy  run  thus : 

<  ■  there  ne'er  was  magickfn  it, 

'-  i.  c.  the  wonders  of  his  sword  were  not  owing  to  any  charm  or  enchantment,  like  the 
^  swords  of  kniehts-crrant,  but  only  to  the  powerful  arm  that  wielded  it.'  We  heartily 
agree  with  themin  the  variation  to magkk,  but  can  scarce  belit^ve  tlrnt  the  authprs meant 
any' allusion  to  knight-^Itaiitry. 

An4 


With  the  desire  of  beine  a  friend ;  which  if 
You  will  not  grant  me,  but  on  further  trial 
Of  manhood  in  ine,  seek  me  when  you  please, 
(And  tho'  I  mieht  refuse  it  with  mine  honour) 
Win  them  again  and  wear  them.    So,  ^od 
.  morrow!  [Exit. 

Lam,  I  ne*er  knew  what  true  valour  was 
'till  now;  [all 

And  liave  gaiti'd  more  by  tliis  disgrace,  than 
llie  honours  I  have  won :  they  made  me 

proud, 
Presumptuous  of  my  fortune,  a  mere  beast, 
Fnsliion  d  by  them,  only  to  dare  and  do, 
yielding  no  reasons  fortny  wilful  actions 
But  what  I  stuck  on  my  sword's  point,  pre- 
suming 
It  was  the  best  revenue.     How  unequal 
Wrongs  well  maintain'd  make  us  to  others, 
which  [selves ! 

Ending  with  shame,  teach  us  to  know  our- 
I  will  think  more  on*t. 

Enter  Vitelli. 

Vit.  Lamoral! 

Lum.  My  lord? 

Vit.  I  came  to  seek  you. 

L<im.' And  unwillingly  [sir? 

You  ne'er  found  me  'tiU  now  ?  Your  pleasure, 

Vit,  That  which  will  pleuse  thee,  friend  ! 

Thy  vow'd  love  to  me 
Shall  nowl)e  put  in  action ;  means  are  ofier'd 
To  use  thy  good  sword  for  me,  that  which  still 
Thou  wear'st  as  if  it  were  a  jpart  of  thee. 
Where  is^? 

Ltttn.  Tis  chang'd  for  one  more  fortunate: 
Pray  you  enquire  not  how. 

Vit.  Why,  I  ne'er  thought 
That  there  ivas  mi^ick  in  it*  3,  but  ascribed 
The  fortune  of  it  to  the  arm. 

Lam.  W^hich  is 
Grown  weaker  too.    I  am  not  (in  a  word) 
Worthy  youf  friendship:,  I  am  one  new  van- 
Yet  shame  to  tell  by  whom !  [quisb*d, 

jy.  But  I'll  tell  thee  [deem 

'Gainst  whom  thou  an  to  fight,  and  there  re- 
Thy  honour  lost,  if  there  be  any  such. 
The  king,  by  my  long  suit,  at  length  is  pleased 
That  Alvarez  and  myself,  with  either's  second. 
Shall  end  the  difference  between  our  bouses, 
Which  he  accepts  of:  I  make  choice  of  thee; 
And,  where  you  speak  of  a  disgrace,  the  means 
To  blot  rt  out,  by  such,  a  publick  trial 
Of  thy  approved  valour,  will  revive 
Thy  ancient  courage.  If  you  embrace  it,  do; 
If  not,  m  seek  some  other. 

Lam,  As  I  am, 
You  may  command  me. 


Act 5.  Scene  3.]      LOVITS  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID. 


2T 


And  mme  to  suffer  with  an  humble  patience 
What  you'll  impose  upon  it. 

Gen.  Courtly  too  !  [Lucio^  madam, 

Ludo.  Yet  liath  tlie  poor  and  contemn'd 
(Made  able  only  by  his  hope  to  serve  you), 
Eecover'd  what  with  violence,  not  justice, 
Was  taken  from  him ;  and  here  at  your  feet, 
With  these,  he  could  have  laid  tlie  conquer*d 

head 
Of  lamoral  (*tis  all  I  say  of  him) 
For  rudely  touching  that,  which,  as  a  relick, 
I  ever  would  have  wors^pp*d,  since  'twas 

yours. 

Ceun  Valiant,  and  every  thing  a  lady  could 
Wish  in  her  servant! 

Imcw.  All  that's  good  in  me, 
That  Keav'nly  love,  tlie  opposite  to  base  lust 
(Wbicli  would  have  all  men  wortliy),  hath 

created; 
W'hich  being  by  your  beams  of  beauty  form'd, 
Cherish  as  your  own  creature ! 

Got.  I  am  gone 
Too  fitf  now  to  dissemble. — Rise,  or  sure 
I  must  kneel  with  you  too:  let  this  one  kiss 
Speak  the  rest  for  me!  'tis  too  much  I  do, 
And  yet,  if  chastity  would,  I  could  wish  more. 

Lttcio.  lo  overjoying  me.  you  are  grown  sad! 
What  is  it,  ma£un  ?  by  lijuiv'n,  [yet. 

There's  nothing  that's  withm  my  nerves  (and 
Pavour'd  by  you,  I  should  as  much  as  man) 
But  when  you  please,  now,  or  on  all  occasions 
Ton  can  tmnk  of  hereafter,  but  you  may 
Dispose  of  at  your  pleasiue, 

Gen,  Ifyoqbieak 
Tha(  oath  again,  vou  |os^  me :  yet,  so  well 
I  ioye  you,  I  shall  never  put  you  to't; 
And  yet,  forget  it  not.    Kest  satisfied  [eyes 
With  that  you  have  recciv'd  now!  theTe  are 
May  be  upon  us;  iill  the  difference 
Between  our  friepds  are  ended,  I  would  not 
Be  seen  so  private  with  you. 

Lueio.  I  obey  you,  [remember 

Gen,  But  let  me  hear  Q^  from  you^  and 
I  am  Vitelli's  sister ! 

Lucio.  What's  that,  madam  ? 
Gen,  Nay,  nothing.    Fare  you  well !  who 
feels  love's  fire, 
Would  ever  ask  to  have  means  to  desire'^. 

[Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 

tnttr  Auiitanty  Syatfedroy  4nMStr0j^  Herald, 

and  Aitendants, 

Assist.  Are  they  come  in? 

Herald.  Yes. 

Asnst.  Read  tlbe  proclamation,. 
That  all  the  people  Here  assembled  may 
Have  satis&ction,  what  the  king's  dear  love. 
In  care  of  the  republick,  hath  ordained* 
Attend  with  silence^    Read  aloud. 


Herald  [reaiing].  Forasmuch  at  our  high 
and  mighty  master,  Philip,  the  potent  and 
most  Catholick  king  of  Spain,  hath  not  only 
in  his  own  royal  person,  been  long  and  often 
solicited,  and  grieved,  with  the  deadly  and 
incurable  hatred  sprung  up  betwixt  the  two 
ancient  and  most  honourably-descended 
houses  of  these  his  two  dearly  and  equally- 
beloved  subjects,  don  Ferdinando  de  Alva- 
rez, and  don  Pedro  de  Vitelli  (all  which  in 
vain  his  miyesty  hath  often  endeavoured  to 
reconcile  and  qualify^;  but  that  also  through 
the  debates,  quarrels,  and  outrages  daily 
arising,  falling,  and  flowing  from  tliese  great 
heads,  his  publick  civil  government  is  sedi- 
tiously and  barbarously  molested  and  wound- 
ed, and  many  of  his  cliief  gentry  (no  less 
tender  to  his  royal  majesty  than  the  very 
branches  of  his  own  sacred  blood),  spoiled, 
lost,  and  submerg'd,  in  tlie  impious  inunda- 
tion and  torrent  of  their  still-growing  malice ; 
it  hath  therefore  pleased  his  sacred  majesty, 
out  of  his  infinite, affection  tc^preserve  his 
commonwealth,  and  general  peace,  from  fur- 
ther violation  (as  a  sweet  and  heartily-4oving 
father  of  his  people),  and  on  the  earnest  pe- 
titions of  these  arcli-enemies,  to  order  and 
ordain,  that  they  be  read^,  each  with  his 
well-chosen  and  oeloved  friend,  armed  at  all 

Joints  like  gentlemen,  in  the  castle  of  Sl 
a^o,  on  this  present  Monday  morning,  be- 
twixt eight  and  nine  of  the  clock,  where  (be- 
fore the  combatants  be  allowed  to  commence 
this  granted  dueH  this  to  be  read  aloud  for 
the  publick  satisraction  of  his  miyest/s  weUr 
beloved  subjects*    'Save  the  king ! 

[Drums  within. 
Syav,  Hark,  how  their  ixums  speak  theia 
insatiate  thirst  ^    [peace. 

Of  blood,  and  stop  tlieir  ears  'gainst  pious 
Who,  gently  whispering,  implores  their  friend- 
ship I 

A^t^  Ki^gs  nor  authority  can  master  fate: 
Admit  'em  then;  and  blood  extinguish  hate  f 

Enter  sfvcralfyf  Alvarez  and  Ludo,  Vitelli 
and  Lamoral. 

Syav,  Stay !  yet  be  pleas'd  to  think,  and. 
let  not  daring 
(Wherein  men  no w-a-days  exceed  e'en  beasts, 
And  think  themselves  not  men  else)  so  tran- 
sport you 
Beyond  the  bounds  of  Christianity! 
Lord  Alvarez,  Vitelli,  gentlemen. 
No  town  in  Spain,  from  our  metropolis 
Unto  the  rudest  hovel,,  but  is  ereat 
With  your  assured  valours'  dafly  proofs: 
Oh,  will  you  then,  for  a  superfluous  fame, 
A  sound  of  honour,  which,  in  these  times,  all 
Like  hereticks  profess  (with  obstinacy,  * 

^  To  have  means  to  desire.']  i,  e,  to  hjave  the  mieans  to  compass  his  desire.     Sjfmpson. 

Surely,  this  b  wrongly  interpreted  :—the  meaning  is,  *  All  who  feci  the  pleasure  of  love, 
"*  would  wish  always  to  have  the  means  of  loving.'  2b  have  means  to  desire^  cannot  be  con* 
Knied  means  to  eompass  his  desire.  _ 

Eg  But 


LOVE'S  CXJRE;  OA,  THEl^IAKTIAL  MAID.     [Act  5.  Scene  9. 


But  most  crroneoasly)*  r^ture  vour  souls? 
It  is  a  hard  task,  thro*  a  sen  of  blood 
To  sail,  and  land  at  Heaven. 

Vit,  I  hope  not, 
If  justice  be  my  pilot.     But,  my  lord. 
You  know  if  argument,  or  time,  or  love, 
Could  reconcile,  long  siuce  we  had  bhook 

hands : 
I  dare  protest,  your  breath  cools  not  a  vein 
In  anv  one  of  us;  but  blows  the  fire, 
Which  nought  but    blood    reciprocal    can 

quench.  [right ; 

Ah.  Vitclli,  thou  say'st  bravely,  and  say^st 
And  I  will  kill  thee  for\  I  love  thee  so. 

Vit.  11a,  ha !  Old  mau,  upon  thy  death  Til 

build 
A  story  with  this  arm,  for  thy  old  wife 
To  tell  thy  dau^rhter  Clara  seven  years  hence, 
As  she  sits  weeping  by  a  winter-fire, 
How  such  a  time  \  itelli  slew  her  husband 
With  the  same  bword  his  daughter  favour'd 

liim. 
And  lives,  an^wears  it  yet.  Come,  Lnroora], 
Kedecm  thyself! 

Lam.  Lucio,  Gencvora 
Shall  on  this  Sword  receive  thy  bleeding  heart, 
for  my  presented  hat,  laid  at  her  feet. 

Lucio.  Thou  talk'st  well,  Lamoral ;  but 'tis 

thy  head 
That  I  will  carry  to  her  to  thy  hat. 
Py,  father !  I  do  cool  too  much. 

Ah.  Oh,  boy !  thy  father's  true  son  ! 
Beat  drums !  And  so,  good-morrow  to  your 

lordship ! 

Enter  above,  Eugenia,  Clara,  and  Gencvora, 

Syav.  Brave  resolutions !; 
A7ta.  Brave,  and  Spanish,  right !. 
Gen.  Lucio ! 
Clara,  Vitelli ! 
Eug.  Alvarez! 
Ah.  llow  the  devil 
Cot  these  cats  into  th'  gutter?  my  puss  too? 

•  Eug,  Hear  u»\ 
Gen.  Wc  must  be  heard ! 
Clara.  We  will  be  heard  j 

Vitelli,  look ;  see  Clara  on  her  knees, 
Imploring  tliy  compassion! — Heav*n,   how 
sternly 

3*  A  lad^i  tears  are  silent  orators.']  So  Crashaw, 

.  *  Sententious  show'rs !  O!  let  them  fall! 

*  Their  cadence  is  rhetorical.* 
Agaiu;  in  D^ieFs  Complaint  of  Kosamond  ; 

*  Ah,  beaut}j,  syren,  fair  enchanting  good ! 

'  Sweet,  silent  rhetorick  of  persuadmg  eyes! 

*  Dumb  eloquence,  whose  power  doth  move  the  blood, 
'  More  than  the  words  or  wisdom  of  the  wise.* 

Vid€  Stcevcns's  Notes  on  Shakespeare,  vol.  vii.  p.  335. 

3<^  The  honcstrtongu'drhetoricmt.]  Seward  proposes  substituting  loudest  for  honest.    Th^ 
correction  is  troiQ  Syinpson's  conjecture,  who  sa;^s,  *  Our  poets,  who  were  admirers  of  tlie 

*  classics,  might  possibly  have  had  Nestor  in  their  eye,  who  is  thus  described  by  Homer; 

*  Experienc'd  Nestor,  in  persuasion  skilFd, 


They  dart  their  emulous  eyes,  as  if  each 

scorn'd 
To  be  behind  the  other  in  a  look  !        [sister 
Mother,  dcutli  needs  no  sw  ord  here  ?  Oli,  my 
(Fate  fsiin  would  have  it  so),  persuade,  ei>-»^ 

treat ! 
A  lady's  tears  are  silent  orators' ', 
Or  should  be  so  at  least,  to  move  beyond 
The  honiest-tongued  rhetorician'^;     [death. 
Why  will  you  fight?     Why  does  an  uncle*9 
Twenty  year  old,  exceed  your  love  to  me. 
But  twenty  days?    Whose* forc'd  cause,  and 

fair  manner 
You  could  not  understand,  only  have  heawl. 
Custmn,  that  wrought  so  cunningly  on  Na- 
ture 
In  me,  that  I  forcot  my  sex,  and  knew  not  - 
Whether  my  body  female  were  or  nuilc, 
You  did  unweave,  and  had  the  power  to  charm 
A  new  creation  in  me,  made  me  fear 
To  think  on  those  deeds  I  did  perpetrate. 
How  little. powV  tho*  you  allow  to  mc. 
That  cannot  with  my  sighs,   my  tears,  my 

praters,  [jiinin ! 

Move  you  from  your  own  loss,  if  yon  should 

Vit.  I  must  forget  you,  Clara  :  'till  I  have 
Redeem'd  my  uncle's  blood,  that  brands  my* 

fiice 
Like  a  pestif 'rouAcnrbuncle,  I'm  blind 
To  \>hut  you  do,  deaf  to  your  cries,  and 
To  all  impulsive  exorations.  [marble 

When  on  this  poiiit  rve-perch'd  thy  father's 

soul, 
ril  tender  tliee  this  bloody  reeking  hand, 
Drawn  forth  the  bowels  of  that  murderer : 
If  thon  canst  love  me  then,  I'll  marry  thee, 
And,  for  thy  father  lost,  get  thee  a  son  : 
On  no  condition  else ! 

Assist.  Most  barbarous! 
'^  Si/ar.  Savai^e! 

Jina.  Irreligious! 

Otn.  Oh,  Lucio,  b'^a"** 

Be  thou  more  merciful!  thou  bear'st  fewer 
Art  lately  wean'd  from  soft  eflcminacy; 
A  maiden's  manners,  and  a  maiden's  heart  ^* 
Are  neighbours  sjtill  to  thee:  be  then  more 

mild ;  [rate 

Proceed  not  to  this  combat;  Be'>t  thou  desp*- 
Of  thine  own  life?  Yet,  dearest,. pity  mine!  * 
Thy  valour's  not  thine  own ;  1  gave  it  thee  j 


^  Words  sweet  as  honey,  from  liis  lips  distill'd/ 


Afr.  Pop^s  Translation^ 
Tliesr- 


Act. 5.  Scenes.]     LOVE'S  CURE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID, 


Tbew  ejes  begot  it,  this  tongue  bred  it  up. 
This  breast  would  lodge  it :  do  not  use  my 

To  mine  own  ruin!  I  have  made  thee  rich; 
fie  not  so  thankless,  to  undo  me  for*t! 
iMcio.  Mistress,  you  know  I  do  not  wear 
a  vein 
I  would  not  rip  for  you^  to  do  you  service: 
Life's  but  a  word,  a  sliadow,  a  melting  dream, 
Compar'd  to  essential  and  eternal  honour. 
Why,  would  you  have  me  value  it  beyond 
Your  brother?  If  I  first  cast  down  my  sword. 
May  all  my  body  here  be  made  one  wound. 
And  yet  my  soul  not  find  lleav'n  tboro'  it ! 
Ah,  You  would  be  catterwauliug  too;  but, 
peace f 
Go,  get  you  home,  and  provide  dinner  for 
Tour  son,  and  me ;  we'll  be  exceeding  merry. 
Oh,  Lucio,  I  will  have  thee  cock  of  all 
The  proud  Vitellis  that  do  live  in  Spain ! 
Fy,  we  shall  take  cold !  Hunch !  By  Keav'n, 
Already.  [I'm  hoarse 

LaoL  How  your  sister  whets  my  spleen! 
I  could  eat  Lucio  now. 

Got.  Vitelli!  brotlier! 
Ev'n  for  your  father's  soul,  your  uncle's  blood. 
As  jbu  do  love  my  life;  hut  last,  and  most. 
As  you  respect  your  own  honour  and  tame, 
Tlirow  down  your  sword !  1*  is  most  valiant 
That  herein  yields  first. 
lit.  Peace,  you  fool! 
Clara.  Why,  Lucio, 
Do  thou  b^in:  'tis  no  disparagement; 
lie's  elder,  and  thy  better,  and  thy  valour 
Is  in  his  infiuicy. 

Gen,  Or  pay  it  me,  [time 

To  whom  tliou  ow'st  it.    Oh,  that  constant 
Would  but  go  back  a  week;  then  Lucio, 
Thou  wouldst  not  dare  to  fight! 

Eug,  Lucio,  thy  mother,  [first. 

Thy  mother  begs  it!  throw  tliy  sword  down 
Ah,  I'll  throw  his  head  dowu  after  then. 
Gen,  Lamoral,  [me. 

You're  often  swore  you'd  be  commanded  by 
Lam,  Never  to  this;  your  spite  and  scorn, 
Hare  lost  all  power  on  nic !  [Genevora, 

Gen,  Your  hearing  for  six  wonis! 
Attisi,  S^av,  Ana,  Strange  obstinacy! 
Ah,  VU.  Jjucio.  Lam,  We'll  stay  no  longer. 
Clara,  Then,  by  thy  oatli,  Vitelli,  [sword 
Thy  dreadful  oath,  thou  wouldst  return  tlmt 
VTben  I  should  ask  it,  give  it  to  me  uow ; 
Thi$  instant  I  require  it! 

Gen,  By  thy  vow. 
As  dreadful,  Lucio,  to  obey  my  will 
Ja  any  oi^e  thing  I  would  watch  to  challenge, 
I  cbajrge  thee  not*  to  strike  a  stroke!  Now,  he 
Of  our  two  brodiers  that  loves  perjury  [vow! 
Best,  and  dares  first  be  dmnn'd,  infringe  hi^ 
Svffv.  Excellent  ladies ! 
wit.  Pish,  you  tyrannize, 
Xttcio.  We  did  equivocatet 
Ah,  On! 

Clara,  Then,  I-4icio, 
iff  p^i\  I  love  my  husband  (for  he  is  noi. 


Wanting  but  ceremony),  that  I  pray 

His  Vengeful  sword  may  fkil  upon  thy  head . 

Successfully,  for  falshood  to  his  sister. 

Gen,  I  likewise  pray, Vitelli,  Lucio's  sword 
(Who  eouall/s  my  husband  as  tlieu  hers) 
May  find  tliy  fi&lse  heart,  that  durst  'gas;e  tliy 
And  durst  not  keep  it!  \  [ifaitlv 

Assist.  Are  you  men,  or  stone? 

Alv.  Men,  and  we'll  prove  it  with  our 

swords.  [have  done! 

Eitg,  Your  hearing  for  six  words,  and  we 
Zaucho,  come  fortli! — We'll  fight  our  chal* 
Now  speak  your  resolutions.        [lenge  too ; 

Enter    Bobadilla,    with  two  Swords  and  a 
Pistol, 

Gen,  These  tliey  are ;  [swords 

The  fu^t  blow  giv'u  betwixt  you,8heaths  these 
In  one  another's  bosoms. 

Eug.  And,  rogue,  look 
You  at  that  instant  do  discliarge  that  pistol 
Into  mv  hrcsist :  if  you  start  hgk,  or  quake, 
I'll  stick  you  like  a  pig.         ^f 

Alv.  Hold!  you  are, mad.  [ofbliss^ 

Gen,  This  wo  have  said ;  and,  by  our  hope 
Tliis  we  will  do !  Speak  your  intents.     - 

Cfara,  Gen.  Strike! 

Eug,  Shoot!  [friends! 

Alv.    Vit.   Lueio.   Lam,    Hold!  hold!  all 

Assist.  Come  down. 

Alv,  These  devlish  women  [they  list! 
Can  make  men  friends  and  enemies  wlien. 

S^av,  A  pliant  undertaking,  and  a  happy! 
Why,  this  is  noble  in  you ;  and  will  be 
A  welcoiner  present  to  our  master 
Philip,  than  the  return  from  bis  Indies. 

Enter  Clara,  Genevora,  Eugenia,  and  Boha-' 
•       •   dilla, 

Clara.  Father,  your  blessing! 

Alv.  Take  her:  if  ye  bring  not  [worlds. 
Betwixt  you  boys  that  will  find  out  new 
And  win  ^ein  too,  Fm  a  fiilse  prophet. 

Vit,  Brother, 
There  is  a  sister.  Long-divided  streama 
Mix  now  at  length,  by  fate. 

Bob.  I'm  not  regarded ! 
I  was  the  careful  steward  that  provided 
These  instruments  of  peace;  I  put 
The  longest  weapon  in  your  sister's  hand, .     • 
My  lord,  because  she  was  the  shortest  Ijuly; 
For  likely  the  shortest  ladies  love  the  longc'st 

men.  [chan^'d  it  z 

And,  for  mine  own  part,  I  could  liave  dis- 
My  pistol  is  no  ordinary  pistol ; 
It  has  two  ramming  bullets;  but,  thought  I, 
Why  should  I  shoot  iny  two  bullets  into 
My  old  lady?  If  they  Imd  gone,  I  would  not 
Have  stay'd  iong  alter;  I  would  ev'n  have 

died  too. 
Bravely,  i'faith,  like  a  Roinan  steward ;  hung 
Myselt'inmine  own  chain,  and  there  liad 

beei> 
A  story  of  Bobadilla  Spindola  Zancho, 
For  after-ages  to  lament.    UumJ 


iOVE'S  CtTRE;  OR,  THE  MARTIAL  MAID.      {Acts.  ScemrS. 

With  this  your  brother  botdier,  there  for 

nothing 
To  cobblei  and  heeUhose  for  the  poor  friars; 
'Till  they  allow  yoor  penance  for  safficient. 
And  your  amendment;  then  you  shall  be 
And  may  set  up  again.  [ijeed, 

Fach,  Mendoza,  come : 
Our  souls  have  trod  awry  in  all  men's  sight ; 
We'll  under-hiy  'em,  till  they  go  upright. 

[Exeunt  Paeh.  and  Mend^ 

Anitt.  Smithy  in  those  shackles  you;  for 

yoar  hard  heart. 
Must  lie  by  th'  heels  a  year. 

Met,  Fve  shod  your  horse,  my  lord.  [Exk, 

A$sUt,  Away!  For  you,  my  hungry,  whito- 

loaf  d  face,  [sure 

You  must  to  th'  gallieS|  where  you  shall  be 
To  have  no  more  oits  than  you  shall  have 

blows.  [have  rows. ' 

LfiZ.  Well ;  tho'  £  herrings  want,  I  shall 

Assist.  Signor,  you  have  prevented  us,  and 

punish'd 
Yourself  severelier  than  we  would  have  donet 
You  liave  married  a  whore ;  may  she  prove 

honest! 

P«o.  It  is  better,  my  lord,  than  to  raarrf^ 
An  honest  woman,  that  may  prove  a  whore. 

Vit,  It  is  a  handsome  wench,  an  thoa 

canst  keep  her  tame, 
m  send  you  what  I  promis'd. 

Pio.  Joy  to  your  lordships!  ffoes 

Ak,  Here  may  all  ladies  learn,  to  maite  of 
The  perfect*st  friends;  and  not  the  perfect^Rt 

foes 
Of  dearest  friends,  as  some  do  now-a-days! 

Vit,  Behold  the  pow'r  of  love'^l  Nature^ 

tho'  lost 
By  custom  irreooverably,  past  the  hope 
Of  friends' restoring,  love  hath  here  retrieved 
To  her  own  liabit;  made  lier  blush  to  see 
Her  so-long  monstrous  metamorphoses : 
May  strange  afiairs  never  have  worse  success ! 

[Exeunt, 


I  pereehe,  I  am  not  only  not  regMedi 
But  also  no^  rewarded. 

Ah.  Prithee,  peiMsef 
'Shalt  have  a  new  chain,  next  St.  JaqueaT  day, 
Or  this  new  gilt. 

Bob.  Fm  satisfied;  let  virtue  baive  her  due. 
And  yet  I'm  melancholy  upon  this  atonement; 
Pray  Heaven  the  state  rue  it  not!  I  would 
My  lord  Vitelli's  steward  and  I  could  meet; 
They  should  find  it  should  cost  'em  a  little 

more 
To  make  us  friends.    Well,  I  will  forswear 
Wine  and  woinen  for  a  year;  and  then 
I  will  be  drunk  to-morrow,  and  run  a-whoring 
Like  a  dog  with  a  broken  bottle  at's  tail; 
Then  will!  repent  next  day,  and  forswear 'em 
Ag^in  more  vehemently;  be  forsworn 
Next  day  again,  and  repent  my  repentance: 
Tor  thus  a  melancholy  gentleman  doth 
And  ought  to  live. 

Assist .  Nf|y,  you  shall  dine  with  me; 
And  afUrw^lll' 11  with  you  to  the  king. 
But  first,  I  iWispatch  the  castle's  business 
That  this  day  may  be  complete.  Bring  forth 

Uie  malefactors! 

Enter  Alguasier^  Pachieco,  MetakU,  JWaw- 

dosa,  Lazarillo,   Piorato,   Malrodfh  i^d 

Guard. 
Yon,  Alguaner,  the  ring-leader  of  these 
Poor  fellows,  are  degraded  from  your  office ; 
You  must  restore  all  stol'n  goods  you  re- 
.  ceiv*d. 

And  watch  a  twelvemonth  without  any  pay: 
This,  if  you  fail  of  (all  your  goods  confiscate), 
You*re  to  be  whipt,  and  sent  into  the  gailies. 

Aig.  I  like  all,  but  restoring;  that  catho- 
'  lick  doctrine 

I  do  dislike.    Learn,  all  ye  officers. 
By  this,  to  live  uprightly— if  you  can!  [Exit, 

Assist,  You  cobler,  to  translate  your  man^ 

ners  new. 
Axe  doom'd  to  th'  cloisters  of  the  Mendicaqts, 


37  Behold  the  power  of  love,  to  Nature  lost^ 

Love  hath  here  retriei^d.]  Here  is  another  difficult  passage,  at  least 

to  me,  BehM  the  power  of  love,  which  (love)  hath  here'  to  lost  Nature  retrieved  to  her  own 
habit.  This  the  reader  may  make  sense  of  if  he  can,  while  I  endeavour  to  set  the  plaee 
right  thus: 

Behold  the  power  of  love.  Nature  #W  lost, 


'  Love  hatli  retrieved 


To  her  own  habit,  &c. 

Heie  we  have  a  glimmering  of  sense  and  reason,  and  the  poets  are  cleai^d  from  a  bkioder 
they  could  hardly  be  guilty  of.  Sympson. 

EPILOGUE. 


Our  author  fears  there  arc  some  rebel  hearts, 
Whose  dullness  doth  oppose  love's  piercing 

darts; 
jSuch  will  be  apt  to  say  there  wanted  wit,  ^ 
Tlie.  Isnguage  low,  very  few  scenes  are  writ 


With  spirit  and  Fife ;  such  odd  tbihgs  as  these 
He  cares  not  for,  nor  ever  means  to  pleaiie; 
For  if  yonrseWes,  a  mistress,  or  love's  friends,^ 
Are  lik'd^'  with  this  smooth  play,  he  hath 
his  ends. 


3*  L*/cU]  i.  e.  Pleased.  Symifson, 


WOMEJI 


WOMEN   PLEAS'D, 


A  TRAGICOMEDY. 


The  Commendatory  Verses  bj  Gardiner  and  Hills  ascribe  this  Play  (which  was  first  pria^d 
JO  the  folio  of  1647)  to  Fletcher  alone.  Part  of  it  is  founded  on  Boccace's  Decameron^ 
ton  which  Cfaftucer.  has  built  a  Tale,  which  Dryden  has  modernized :  there  has  been  nn 
lepresentation  of  it  at  either  Theatre  for  many  years,  nor  do  we  know  of  any  alteration 
iifit 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 


Dvxt  ^StoMO,  Suitor  to  Behidere. 
Silvio,  a  Gemiicman  rfQuakty,  Servant  to 

Betoidere, 
CLADDiOy  SUvufs  Friendj  Brother  to  Iw- 

h^lof  kU  disguU^d  to  her,  under  the  neme 

ofRugio. 
Babtello,  Ct^tom  of  the  Citadel^  Uncle  to 

Lopez,  a  sordid  Usurer,  thejeuioue  Husband 

^habeUa. 
PtiiORiQy  a  hungry  Servant  to  Lopez, 
Soto,  a  merry  Servant  to  Claudio, 
Lnm  of  Florence. 
lo%D%  of  Sienna, 

C0Utf8£LX.OBS. 


COURTJEBS.  * 

A  Farmer,  Father  to  Sota»     ^ 

Captain. 

Soldiers  of  the  Guard. 

A  Clerk. 

BoMBY,  an  Enemy  to  Waka  and  May-pole$^ 

Morruniancers,  Masquers, 

WOKBK. 

DvcBESs  of  Florence, 

B£LviD£RE>  a  virttumt  Prineeu,  Daughtetf 

to  the  Duchess,  in  love  with  SUviom 
RoDOPE,  Wife  to  Bartello, 
Isabella,  WifetoLopet, 
Jaqvehet,  Servant  to  habella* 
Two  Gentlewomen. 


SCENE,  Florence, 


ACT   I. 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  Bartello  and  ^vio. 


SMo,  '^T^S  true,    ^  fyi^^  one, 

*^  She  is  a  right  good  princess,  and 

And  Floieiice,  when  she  sets,  has  lost  a  pla^- 

neL  [nephew, 

Bart,  My  mistress?  I  tell  thee,  gentle 
There  is  not  such  another  fiiend  to  goodness^ 
To  downright  dealing,  to  fhith,  and  true 

heart,  [blessed  us, 

Within  die  ChristiaA  confines.  Before  she 
lastice  was  a  cheesei^onger,  a  mere  cheese- 

moofler,  [nn^gots, 

Weig^  nothine  to  the  world  but  mites  and 
And  a  main  stink:  L^w,  like  a  horse-coutier. 
H^  rales  and  precepts  huiq^  with  gaads  and 

lUibands^ 
And  pampcrU  up  to  coeen  him  that  bongbt 


When  she  hersetf  was  hackney^  hune,  and 

founder*d. 

Sil,   But  the  sweet  lady  Belvideie,  tho 

bri^t  one—--  *       [dear  nephew, 

Bart,  Ay,  there's  a  face  indeed!    Oh,  my 
Could  a  youHfl  follow  of  th^  fi^ry  mettle 
Freeze,  and  tmt  lady  in  hit  armsf 

Sil.  Ithinknot*  [let  that  pass; 

Bart,  Thott  hast  a  parlous  j advent!  But 
She  is  as  truly  virtooos,  foir,  and  noble. 
As  her  great  mothai's  good;  and  tlmt's  not 

ordinary.  [ones, 

Sil,  But  why  (so  many  priBces,and  so  great 
Bemg  Buit6rs)  should  the  duchess  deny  to 

match  h^r?  [bosom; 

.     Bart,  She  is  a  jewel,  mRn,  hangs  in  hev 
Her  only  child:  with  her  eyes  she  sees  all 

things,       ^  [from  her. 

Discounts  with  her  tongue ;  and .  pluck  her 
(Sodotingly  the  old  one  loves  her  youpg  one). 

You 


«e 


WOMEN  PLEASED. 


[Act  1.  Scene  1« 


Vou  pla<^  her  heart  out  too:  besides^  of  late 

days, 
The  dake  of  Milan,  who  could  never  win  her 
By  love,  nor  treaty,  laid  a  close  tmin  for  her 
lu  her  own  private  ^alks,  some  forty  horse- 
men, [with ; 
So  to  surprise  her,  which  we  found,  and  dealt 
And  sent  'em  running  home  to  the  duke 

their  master, 
like  do^  with  bottles  at  their  tails. 

Sil,  Since  that,  I  heard,  sir^ 
Sli'  has  sent  her  to  your  citadel  to  secure  her, 
My  consul  Rodope',  your  wife,  attending  her. 

Bartf  Yqu  liear  a  truth;  and  all  conveni- 
ent pleasures 
Are  there  proportioned  for  her. 

Sii.  I  would  fain,  sir. 
Like  one,  that  owes  a  duteous  service  to  her, 
Sometimes,  so  please  you— 

Bitrt,  Gentle  cousin,  pardon  me! 
I  must  not,  nor  you  must  not  dare  to  offer: 
The  last  cdibt  lies  on  his  life  pursues  it. 
Your  friend,  sir,  to  command  abroad,  to  love 

yon,  fyou; 

To  lend  you  any  thing  I  have,  to  wait  upon 
But,  in  the  citadd  where  I  stand  ctiar^d, 
Not  a  bit  upon  a  march :  no  service,  sir. 
No,  good  sir,  by  no  means !    I  kiss  your 

hands,  sir.  [JEsit, 

Sil.  To  your  keeping  only?  none  else  to 

look  upon  her? 
None  but  Bartcllo  worthy  her  attendance  ? 
No  feiih  but  his  to  serve  lier  ?  Oh,  Belvidere, 
Thou  saint  to  whom  my  youth  is  sacrific'd. 
Thou  point  to  which  my  life  turns,  and  my 

fortune !  [comforts, 

Art  thou  lock'd  from  me  no%v  ?  from  alt  my 
Art  thou  snatch'd  violently*?    Thou  hear'st 

me  not ; 
Nor  canst  tliou  see,  fair  soul,  thy  servant's 

mournings ;  i 

Yet  let  thy  gentle  heart  feel  what  is  absence', 
The  great  divorce  of  minds  so  truly  loving, 
So  long,  and  nurs'd  in  one  allbction, 
Ev'n  from  our  infant  eyes  6uck*d  in,  and  non* 

rish*d—  [constant, 

Oh!  let  it  feel  but  that,  and  there  stand 
And  r  am  blest.    My  dear  aunt  liodope, 
Tliat  is  her  g<ivemcss,  did  love  me  dearly; 
There's  one  hope  yet  to  see  her:  When  he's 

absent,  [closely. 

It  may  be  ventur'd,  and  she  may  work  it 


I  know  the  lady^swiU  goes  equal  with  me. 
And  so  the  dai^er  o'  th*  edict  avoided: 
Let  me  think  more !  for  I  must  try  all  b«* 
zards. 

Enter  Claudia  and  Solo. 

Soto,  Will  you  go  yonder,  sir? 

Cltm,  Yes,  marry  will  V,  sir, 

Soto.  And  by  this  ladder  ? 

Clau,  By  that  ladder,  coxcomb.     . 

Soto,  Have  you  any  moie  necks  at  bone 

when  this  is  broken?  Fhas,  i>ir; 

For  this  will  crack  with  the  best  mend  he 
Or,  can  you  pitch  of  all  four,  like  an  ape  now  ? 
Let  me  see  you  tumble. 

Chu.  You  arc  very  pleasant,  sir. 

Soto.  No,  truly,  sir;  I  should  be  loath  to 

see  you  [cry  s^uff6. 

Come  fluttering  down  like  a  young  rook, 
And  take  you  up  with  your  lirains  beaten 

into  your  buttocks,   [stands  musing  here  ? 

Clau,  Hold  your,  peace,  iiss ! — ^^Who's  tliis 
Silvio? 

SiL  Wlio  calls  me? 

Clau,  One  most  glad  to  see  you,  sir. 

SiL  JSIy  dearest  Claudio  ?  What  makes  you 

thus  private. 
And  with  a  preparation  of  this  nature? 

Soto,  We've  leave  to  play,  and  are  goin*; 

to  climb  birds'  nests.       *    [you  from  me  ? 

Sil.  Prithee  what  is  it,  friend  ?  Why  stsirt 
Is  your  old  mistress  crown  so  coy  and  cruel. 
She  must  be  scal'd  ?  It  seems  you're  loath  to 

tell  me.  [ship 

Since  twenty  years'  continuance  of  our  fhcnd* 
May  not  be  worth  the  weight  of  such  a  se- 
cret, 
'Twill  be  but  rude  to  ask  again.    Save  you ! 

Clau.  Nay,  stay,  dear  Suvio  !  if  you  love 

me,  take  it; 
For,  'till  you  know  it,  never  woman  labourM 
As  I  do  now. 

Sil.  I'll  do  my  best  to  ease  it. 

Clau.  You've  heard,  the  lady  Belvidere— 

Sil,  What  heard,  sir?  [fears, 

Clau.  Heard,  to  the  citadel,  upon  souie 
She  is  conliifd.  [Aside. 

SiL  Why,  dreams  \\e  on  this  beauty  r — 
*Ti»  true,  l\  e  heard  it. 

CVaa,  And  that  no  access,  [hazard, 

No  blessing  from  those  eyes,  but  with  much 
Ev'n  hazard  of  a  life-  -  • 


'  My  cousin  Hudbpe,  your  wife,  &c.]    We  have  a  miglity  jumble  through  the  play,  of  con-> 
tin  and  aunt,  as  the  reader  wiU  easily  perceive.        Sympson* 
^  From  all  my  comfijrt$ 
Art  thou  inatdi*d  violent lyf]  Silvio  is  not  lamenting  tho  lady's  condition,  but  hb  own, 
and  therefore  I  should  think  it  would  be  better  to  read, 
'  ■'?  From  me  all  my  comforts 
Arc  they  snatched  violently.        Sympion. 
The  text  is  much  best;  and  though  loosely*  expressed,  means  to  represent  iSi/vio  lamenting 
hii  own  coiidiiion.  .    . 

^  Yet  let  tkif  gentle  heart  feci  what  his  ah$enct.'\  A  letter  too  much  in  Aw,  makes  stran'-e 
9tafl'  in  this  passage;  our  authors. possibly  wrote,  ^ 

■  '<>■        feel  what  is  absence.        Sympton, 

Sik 


Ad  1.  Scene !?.] 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


53 


St/.  He  dares  not  love  her! —   [purpose? 
Tre  bmrd  that  too :  But  whither  points  your 

Ciau,  Oil,  Silvio,  let  me  speak  that  none 

may  hear  roe,  [long, 

NoimT  but  thy  troth!    I've  loVd   this  lady 
Long  giv'n  away  mv  life  to  her  devotion, 
Long  dwelt  npon  that  beauty  to  my  ruin. 

Su.  Does  she  know  this? 

Cinu.  No ;  there  begins  my  misery  ! 
IxioQ-Iike»  Tve  only  yet  clasp'd  clouds,    [me. 
And  fed  upon  poor  empty  dreams  that  starve 

Sil.  And  what  d'  you  mean  to  do  now? 

Oau,  Tho'IdieWt, 
IW  all  the  tortures  in  the  world  hung  on  me, 
Ami'd  with  imperious  Love,  I  stand  prepar*d 

now  [lier. 

With  this  to  reach  her  chamber;  there  to  see 
And  tell  her  boldly  with  what  truth  I  love  her. 

SU.  Twill  not  be  easily  done,  sir — 

C/tftt.  Ob,  my  Silvio, 
The  hardest  things  are  sweetest  in  possession. 

SU.  Nor  will  shew  much  discretion. 

Clau.  Love  is  blind,  man; 
And  he  that  looksfor  reason  there,  far  blinder. 

SU,  Have  you  considered  ripely? 

Cku.  AU  that  may  fall, 
And  arm'd  against  that  all. 

SiL  Her  honour  too? 
What  she  may  snfier  in  this  rash  adventore? 
The  beauty  of  her  name? 

Clau.  ril  do  it  cbsely,  [tion — 

And  only   at  her  window  with  that  cau- 

SU,  Are  there  no  gaards? 

Clau.  Corraption  chokes  their  service. 

SU.  Or  do  you  hold  her  bred  so  light  a 

woman. 
To  hold  commerce  with  strange  tongues? 

Ciau.  Why,  this  service. 
This  only  hazard  of  my  life,  must  tell  her, 
Tbo*  she  were  Vesta's  self,  I  must  deserve 

ber,  [sink  here, 

SU,  I  would  not  have  you  go;  pray  let  it 
And  think  a  nobler  way  to  raise  your  service, 
A  safer  and  a  wiser ! 

Clau.  Tb  too  late,  sir. 

SU.  Then  I  must  say,  you  shall  not  go. 

Clau,  I  shall  not? 

&L  You  shall  not  go:  that  part   bred 

with  you,  friendship. 
Bids  me  say  boldly  so,  and  you  observe  me. 

Clau,  You  stretch  that  tie  too  far* 

SU.  ru  stretch  it  further: 
The  honour  that  I  bear  that  spotless  virtue 
Too  fbolly  seek  to  taint,  unnobly  covet. 
Bids  me  command  you  stay ;  if  not,  thus 

force  you! 

Stia,  This  will  be  worse  than  climbing. 

Clau.  Why  d*  you  draw,  sir?        [master. 

&X  To  kill  thee,  if  thy  base  will  be  thy 

Clau.  I  ever  was  your  friend. 

SU.  Whilst  thou  wert  honest, 
And  not  a  night-thief  of  another's  honour: 
Jiwver  odl'd  a  fool  mv  friend,  a  mad  man, 
That  dnrst  expose  his  iame  to  all  opinions. 
His  life  t*  unhonest  dangers:  I  ne'er  lov'd  him, 

VOLIU. 


Durst  know  his  name,  that  sought  a  viiigin*s 

roin; 
Nor  ever  took  I  pleasore  in  acquaintance 
With  men,  that  give  as  loose  reins  to  their 

fimcies 
As  the  wild  ocean  to  his  raging  fluxes : 
A  noble  soul  I  twin  with,  and  my  love 
Follows  his  life  dards  master  his  affections. 
Will  you  give  off,  or  fight? 

Clau.  I  will  not  fi^ht  with  you ;  [ger : 
The  sacred  name  offriend  ties  up  that  an- 
Rather  PU  study^ 

SU  Do,  to  be  a  friend  still. 

Clau,  If  this  way,  I  shall  never  hold. 

SU.  ril  watch  you :  [for't. 

And,  if  I  catch  you  false,  by  Heav*n  you  die 
All  love  foi^ot! 

Clau.  When  I  fear  that,  I'm  fit  for'L 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  II. 

Lopez  at  a  Table  wUh  Jewels'  and  Money 

upon  itf  an  Egg  roasting  bif  a  Candle. 

Lopez.  Whilst  prodigal  young  gaudy  fools 

are  banqueting,  l&^^Jf 

And  launching  out  theirstates  to  catch  the 

Thus  do  I  study  to  preserve  my  fortune. 

And  hatch  with  care  at  home  the  wealth  that 

saints  me. 
Here's  rubies  of  Beng^la,  rich,  rich,  glorious ! 
These  diamonds  of  Ormus,  bou^t  for  little. 
Here  vented  at  the  price  of  princes'  ransoms ; 
How  bright  they  shine,  like  constellations  I 
The  South-sea's  treasure  here,  pearl,  fair  and 
Able  to  equal  Cleopatra's  banquet  I    [orient^ 
Here  chains  of  lesser  stones  for  ladies*  lustres. 
Ingots  of  gold,  rin^i  brooches,  bars  of  silver, 
Tl^se  are  my  studies  to  set  off  in  sale  well. 
And  not  in  sensual  surfeits  to  consume  'cm. 
How  roasts  mine  egg?  he  heats  apace ;  I'll 
turn  him.  [Penurio, 

Penurio;  where,  you  knave,  d' you  waitT 
You  lazy  knave ! 

Enter  Penurio. 

Fen.  Did  you  call,  sir? 
Lopez.  Where's  your  mistress  ? 

What  vanity  holds  her  from  her  attendance? 
Pen.  The  very  sight  of  this  e^  has  made 
him  cockish;  ^ithin,  sir. 

What  would  a  dozen  butter'd  do?  She  is 
Lopez.  Within,  sir?   at  what  tlirift,  you 
knave?  what  getting? 
Pen.  Getting  a  good  stomach,  sir,  an  she 
knew  where  to  get  meat  to't; 

She's  praying  heartily  upon  her  knees,  sir. 

That  Heav'n  would  send  her  a  good  bearing 
dinner.  [thought  on^ 

Lopez.  Nothing  but  gluttony  and  surfeit 

Health  flung  behind!  had  she  not  yester- 
night, sirrah. 

Two  sprats  to  supper,  and  the  oil  allowable? 

Was  she  not  sick  with  eating  ?  Hadst  not 
thou  [satisfies) 

(Thou  most  ungrateful  knave,  that  nothing 
r  The 


WOMEN  PLEASD. 


The  water  that  I  boird  my  other  egg  in. 
To  make  thee  hearty  broth? 

Pen.  Tis  true,  I  had,  sir;  fstone  oiit; 
But  I  might  as  soon  make  the  philosopher's 
You  gave  it  me  ia  water,  and,  but  for  man- 
ner's sake,  *  [so  hearty. 
I  could  give  it  you  again,  in  wmd,  it  was 
I  shall  turn  pissing-conduit  shortly. — My 
mistress  comes)  sir. 

Enter  Isabella. 

Lopez.  Welcome,  my  dove ! 
Isab.  Pray  yon  keep  your  welcome  to  yon, 
Unless  it  carries  more  than  words  to  please 
me.  [me, 

Is  this  the  joy  to  be  a  wife  ?  to  bring  with 
Besides  the  nobleness  of  blood  I  spring  from, 
A  full  and  able  portion  to  maintain  me  ? 
Is  this  the  happmess  of  youth  and 'beauty. 
The  great  content  of  bemg  made  a  mistress, 
To  live  a  slave  subject  to  wants  and  hungers, 
To  jealousies  for  every  eye  that  wanders, 
Unmanly  jealousy  ? 

Lopez.  Good  Isabella—  [famish  me, 

Isab.  Too  good  for  you !  D*  yon  think  to 
Or  keep  me  like  an  aims-woman  in  such  rai- 
ment, ["gJy  ? 
Such  poor  unhandsome  weeds  ?  am  I  old  or 
I  never  was  bred  thus;  and  if  your  misery 
Will  suffer  wilful  blindness  to  abuse  me, 
lyiy  patience  shall  be  no  bawd  to  mine  own 
nun. 

Fen.  Tickle  him,  mistress;  to  him! 
I$ab,  Had  yon  love  in  you, 
Or  any  part  of  man — 
Pen.  Follow  that,  mistress ! 
Isab.  Or  had  humanity  but  ever  known  you, 
You'd  shame  to  use  a  woman  of  my  wav  thus. 
So  poor,  and  basely !  You're  strangely  jea- 
If  I  should  give  you  cause—     '  [lous  of  me ; 
Lopez.  How,  Isabella  ?  [voke  me — 

Isab.  As  do  not  venture  this  way  to  pro- 
Pen.  Excellent  well,  mistress! 
Lopez.  Ho w^s  this,  Isabella? 
Isab.  Twill  stir  a  saint,  and  I  am  but  a 
woman, 
And  by  that  tenure  may — 


(Act  1.  Scene  9. 

Lopez.  By  no  means,  chicken! 
You  know  I  love  you.    Fy,  take  no  example  ' 
By  those  young  gadding  dames,  (you're  noted 

virtuous)  [on  *em, 

That  stick  their  husbands'  wealth  m  trifles 
And  point  'em  but  the  way  to  their  own  mi- 
series. 
I  am  not  jealous.  Kiss  me.  Faith,  I  am  not. 
And  for  your  diet,  'tis  to  keep  you  heaithfnl 
(Surfeits  destroy  more  than  the  sword)  that 

I'm,  careful  '  [handled; 

Your  meat  should  be  both  neat,  and  cleanly 
See,  sweety  I'm  cook  mysclt^  and  mine  own 

cater*.  [fingers ! 

Pen.  A  pox  of  that  cook  cannot  lick  liis 

Lopez,  ril  add  another  dish ;  you  shall  have 
Tis  nourishing  and  good.  [milk  to't; 

Pen.  \yith  butter  in't,  sir? 

Lopez.  (This  knave  would  breed  a  famine 

in  a  kingdom  1)  [must  be  wise  then. 

And  cloatfas  tliat  shall  content  you;   yon 
And  live  sequester'd  to  yourSelf  and  me^ 
Not  wandring  after  every  toy  comes  cross  to«. 
Nor  struck  with  every  spleen'. — What's  the 

knave  doing  ?  Penurio !  [flies  here ; 

Pen.  Hunting,  sir,  for  a  second  course  of 
They're  rare  new  sallads. 

Lopez.  For  certain,  Isabella, 
This  rav'ning  fellow  has  a  wolf  in's  belly. 
UntempVate  knave,  wiilnothing  quench  thy 

appetite  ? 
I  saw  him  eat  two  apples,  which  is  monstrous. 

Pen,  If  you  had  giv'n  me  those,  't  had  been 

more  monstrous.  [lain. 

Lopez.  'Tis  a  main  miracle  to  feed  this  vil- 
Come,  Isabella,  let  us  in  to  supper. 
And  think  the  Iloman  dainties  at  our  table ! 
•Tis  all  but  thought.  [Exeunt. 

Pen.,  Would  all  my  thoughts  would  do  it! 
The  devil  should  think  of  purchasing  tliat 

egg-shell. 
To  victual  out  a  witch  for  the  Bunnoothes* : 
Tis  treason  to  any  good  stomach  living  now 
To  hear  a  tedious  grace  said,  and  no  meat 

to't. 
I  have  a  radish  yet,  but  tlmt's  but  transitory. 


♦  Ctf/<T.]  Probably  we  should  read,  caterer. 

'  Nor  struck  with  even/  spleen.]  Seward  would  alter  spleen  to  sheen,  which,  says  he,  is 
the  same  as  bright  or  brtghtness.  The  alteration  proposed  is,  we  think,  a  very  poor  <Mie; 
and  we  do  not  remember  sheen  as  a  substantive,  lior  struck  mlhevery  spleen,  we  conceive, 
signifies,  not  put  out  of  humour  with  trifles. 

^  Bermoothes.l  i.  c.  Bummdas. — Dr.  Warburton  remarks,  that '  Smith,  in  his  account  of 

*  these  islands,  p.  173,  says,  that  tlie  Burmudas  were  so  fearful  to  the  worlds  that  many  culled 

*  them,  The  Isle  of  Devils — P  174 — to  all  seamen  no  less  terrible  than  an  inchanted  den  of 
^furies.    And  no  wonder,  for  the  clime  was  extremely  subject  to  storms  and  hurricanes; 

*  and  the  islands  were  surrounded  with  scattered  rocks  lying  shallowly  hid  under  the  surfisce 

*  of  the  water.' 

The  opinion  that  Bermudas  was  haonted  with  evil  spirits  continued  so^late  as  the  civil 
wars.  In  a  little  piece  of  Sir  John  Berkinhead*s,  intitled,  Two  Centuries  of  Paul's  Ckureh- 
yard,  una  cum  indice  expurgatorio,  &t.  12°.  in  page  62,  under  tlic  title  of  Cases  of  Conzci^ 
ence,  is  this, 

34.  '  Whether  Bermudas  and  the  parliament-house  lie  under  one  planet^  seeing  both  are 
haunted  with  devils.'  Percy* 

SCENE 


Act  1.  Scene  8.} 


WOMEN  PLEMD. 


95 


%£N£  ni. 


Enter  Soio. 

Stto,  Can  any  living  man,  unless  a  rascal 
Hit  neither  knows  hLuself,  nor  a  fashiou'd 

rdeman,  [now  ? 

me  for  a  worse  man  than  my  master 

Fm  asturally  proud  in  these  cloaths :  but  if 
pride  now 

Suwld  catch  a  fell  in  what  I  am  attempting ! 

Jii  bttt  a  |HO?erb  sound,  and  a  neck  broken, 

Ibat's  the  worst  can  come  on't:  ageutie- 
nan's  gone  then.  [end  on*t ! 

A  gentleman  o'  th'  first  house,  there's  tlie 

Uj  luaster  lies  most  pitifully  complaining, 

WoDg^^  and  kicking  up  to  th'  ears  in  love 
jwAetf  [kills  roe: 

And  such  a  lamentable  noise  he  keeps,  it 

Tfe  got  his  cloaths,  and  if  I  can  get  to  ner, 

fijr  hook  or  crook  here',  such  a  song  V\\  sine 
her—  [ter! 

I  think  I  shall  be  bang'd ;  but  that's  no  mat- 

Wbtt's  a  hanging  among  friends?  I  am  va- 
liant now^ 

Ai  an  elq>hant.    I  have  conaider'd  what 

To  say  too.  Let  me  see  now !  this  b  the 
place;  [dow 

I'm  piagny  high !  Stay;  at  that  lower  win- 
Let  me  aim  finely  now,  like  a  good  gunner, 

It  may  prove  but  a  whipping. 

Enter  Silvio, 

SU,  I  saw  soroebod  V  [mcthought  yet 

Ptts  by  me  now.  and,  though't  were  dark, 
I  knew  the  doaths.    Ha !  let  me  not  be  co- 

icn'^! 
The  ladder  too,  ready  to  fling  it  ?  Monstrous ! 
Tishe,  'tis  Claudiof  most  voluptuous  villain. 
Scandal  to  woman's  credit !  Love,  I  forget 

thee— 

SUo.  What  will  he  do,  i'  th'  name  of 

HeaVn !  What's  that  there  ? 

iSil  And  all  the  friendship  that  I  bore 

thee,  bury  here — 

'  By  hook  or  crook  hereJ]  Mr.  Warton  observes,  (Observations  on  Spenser,  vol.  ii.)  that 
die  proverb  of  getting  any  tiling  by  hooke  or  by  crooke  was  supposed  to  have  arisen  in  the 
dme  of  Charles  L  when  there  were  two  learned  judges,  named  Hooke  and  Crooke;  and  a 
difficult  cause  was  to  be  gotten  either  by  Hooke  or  hy^Crooke,  This  notion  he  shews  to  be 
poondless,  and  that  the  form  was  not  then  invented  as  a  proverb,  but  applied  as  a  pun. 
He  is,  however,  mistaken  in' imagining  there  was  any  judge  of  that  time,  of  the  name  of 
Booke,  In  Hiuiibras,  part  iii.  c.  ii.  are  the  following  lines: 
'  These  are  the  courses  that  we  took 
'  To  carry  things  by  Hook  or  Crook,*  line  938. 

Which,  Dr.  Gray  says,  alludes  to  the  judgment  of  judge  Crook  and  Huttony  who  dissented 
fioffl  their  brethren  m  the  determination  of  tlie  cause  about  ship-money,  and  occasioned  the 
ng$  to  say  that  tlie  king  carried  it  b;^  Hook,  but  not  by  Crook,  The  phrase,  however,  is 
ccrtainlj  (as  Mc  VVarton  proves)  of  higher  antiquity  than  the  time  of  Charles  I.  as  may  an* 
pear  by  several  passages  in  our  ancient  writers.  In  Lodge's  '  Wit's  Miserie  and  the  World's 
'  Madnesse,'  1596,  p.  7, '  He  matcheth  not  according  to  his  birth,  but  the  increase  of  Iris 
'  fortane :  and  by  hooke  or  crooke  so  stirreth  in  tlie  world,  that  not  only  be  attaineth  pre- 

*  beminence  in  the  city,  but  some  place  m  court.' — Again,  in  the  Life  of  Jasper  Cotignie,  B.  L. 
'Therefore,  having  afwaj^es  this  saying  ni  his  mouth,  what  skUls  it  whither  a  man  use  mau<* 
'liaeiae  or  wyliucsse  ageinst  his  enemie?  he  determined  to  go  intoo  his  camp  as  a  revolter, 

*  ud  to  hunt  for  opportunitie  to  accomplish  his  device  by  hooke  or  by  crooke?        R* 

F  2  Ciau. 


Sotq.  What  has  be  in's  liand?  I  hope  but 
a  cudgel. 

Sil.  Thy  fiiults  forgive,  oh,  Heav'n !  Fare- 
well, thou  traitor !  IFires  a  pi$toL 
Soto,  I'm  slain,  I'm  slain ! 
SiL  He's  down,  and  dead,  dead  certain, 

(It  was  too  rash,  too  full  of  spleen)  stark 
dead: 

This  is  no  phice  now  to  repent  in ;  only, 

'Would  I  mid  given  this  hand  that  shot  the 
pistol  [Claudio ! 

I  had  misa'd  thee,  and  thou  wert  once  more 

[Exit. 

Enter  Ciaudio. 

Clau.  Why  should  I  love  thus  foolishly? 

thus  desp'rately  ? 
And  give  away  my  heart  where  no  hope's 

left  me  ? 
Why  should  not  the  true  counsel  of  a  friend 

restrain  me  ? 
Tlie  devil's  mouth  Lrun  into,  affright  me? 
The  honour  of  the  lady,  charm  my  wildness  ? 
I  have  no  power,  no  being  of  myself, 
No  reason  strong  enough  now  left  within  me 
To  bind  my  wiU.    Oh,  love,  thou  god,  or 

devil,  [me — 

Or  what  thou  art,  that  plays  the  tyrant  in 

iSo^o..  Oh! 

Claik.  What's  tliat  cry? 

Soto,  A  suigeon,  a  surgeon, 
Twenty  good  surgeons ! 

Clau,  Tis  not  far  from  me: 
Some  murder,  o'  my  life ! 

Soto,  Will  you  let  me  die  here? 
No  drink  come,  nor  no  surgeon  ? 

Clau.  Tis  my  man,  sure.  [thee  ? 

His  voice,  and  here  he  lies.    How  is  it  with 

Soto.  Fm  slain,  sir,  I  am  slain. 

Clau.  Slain?  Who  has  slnin  thee? 

Soto.  KiU'd,  kill'd,  out-right  kill'd! 

CUm.  Where's  thy  hurt? 

Soto,  I  know  not; 
But  I  am  sure  Fm  kill'd. 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


[Act  9*  Scene  1. 


Gau,  Canst  thou  sit  up. 
That  I  may  find  the  hurt  oat? 
-     Soto,  I  can  sit  up ; 
But,  nevertheless,  1  m  slain. 

CUu.  'lis  not  o*  this  side/? 

Soto.  No,  sir,  I  think  it  be  not. 

Ciau,  Nor  o*  this  side. 
Was  it  done  with  a  sword  ? 

Soio.  A  gun,  a  gun,  sweet  master. 

Clan.  Die  devil  a  bullet  has  been  here; 

thou'rt  well,  man. 

Soto,  No,  sure,  Vm  kilFd. 

Ciau,  Let  me  see  thy  thighs,  and  belly: 
As  whole  as  a  fish,  for  any  thing  I  see  yet ; 
Thou  bleed'st  no  where. 

Soto.  I  think  I  do  not  bleed,  sir, 
But  vet,  I  am  afraid  I'm  slain. 

Cutu.  Stand  up,  fool !  [shot  thee? 

Thou  hast  as  much  hurt  as  my  nail.    Who 
A  pottle,  or  a  pint? 

Soto.  Signor  Silvio  shot  me,  [seeing. 

In  these  cloaths,  taking  me  for  you,  and 
The  ladder  in  my  hand  here,  which  I  stole 

from  you,  [and  have  spoke  for  you. 

Thinking  to  have  gone  to  the  lady  myself, 

Ciau,   If  he   had  hit  you  home,  h  had 

serv'd  you  right,  sirrah,  [shews  to  me, 
You  saucy  rogue! — How  poor  my  intent 
Uow  naked  now,  and  foolish ! 


Soto.  Are  you  sure  he  ha«  not  hit  m«? 
It  0ive  a  monstrous  bounce. 

Ciau.  You  rose  o'  your  right  side. 
And  said  your  prayers  too,  you  had  been 

paid  else :  [fear  kills  thee? 

But  what  need'st  thou  a  bullet,  when  thy 
Sirral),  keep  your  own  counsel  for  all  this; 

you'll  be  nang'd  else, 
If  It  be  known. 

Soto.  IfH  be  by  mv  means,  let  me ; 
I'm  glad  I  am  not  kill*d,  and  far  more  gladder 
My  gentleman^like  humours  out ;  I  feel  *tis 

dangerous,  [ar-week. 

And  to  be  a  gentleman  is  to  be  kill'd  twice 

Ciau.  Keep  yourself  close  i*  th'  country 

for  a  w^hile,  sirrah ! 
There's  money:  Walk  to  your  friends. 

Soto.  They  have  no  pistols. 
Nor  are  no  gentlemen,  that  is  my  comfort. 

[Exit. 

Cluu.  I  will 
Retire  too,  and  live  private  (for  this  Silvio, 
InflamM  with  noblenes6,wiU  be  my  death  else); 
And,  if  I  can,  forget  tliis  love  that  loads  me. 
At  least  the  danger. — And,  now  I  thiak  on*t 

better, 
I've  some  conclusions  else  invite  me  to  it. 

[EtU. 


ACT    IL 


SCENES 
Enter  Rodope  aud  Silvio,  at  several  doon. 

Rod. -KlEPllEWl 

■^^      Sil.  My  dear  aunt ! 

Rod.  Would  you  go  by  thus  slily. 
And  never  see  me  !  not  once  send  in  to  me. 
Your  loving  aunt?  she  that,  above  all  those 
I  call  my  kindred,  honoured  you,  aud  plac'd 

you 
Nearest  my  heart? 

Sil.  1  thank  you,  wortliy  aunt. 
But  such  at  this  time  are  my  occasions — 

Rod.  You  shall  not  go  yet;  by  my  faith, 

you  shall  not!  [nephew? 

I  will  not  be  denied.    Why  look  you  sad, 

Sil.  I*m  seldom  other. — Oh,  this  blood  sits 

heavy  !-^ 
As  I  walkkl  this  way  late  last  night, 
In  meditation  of  some  tilings  concem'd  me — 

Rod.  What,  nephew  ? 

iSi7.  Why,  methought  I  heard  a  piece,  lady, 
A  piece  shot  off,  much  about  this  pldce  too, 
(But  could  not  judge  the  cause,  nor  what  it 

bonded) 
Under  the  castle-wall. 

Rod.  We  heard  it  too ;  [nothing. 

And  the  watch  pursu'd  it  presently,  but  found 
Not  any  track. 

Sil*  i  am  right  glad  to  hear  it  !— 


The  ruffians  surely  tliat  command  the  night 
Have  found  him,  stript  him,  and  into  the  river 
Convey'd  the  body. 

Rod.  You  look  still  sadder,  nephew. 
Is  any  thing  witliin  these  walls  to  comfort 

you? 
Speak,  and  be  master  oft.  ^ 

Sil.  You're  a  right  courtier ; 
A  great  professor,  but  a  poor  performer. 

Rod.  D'you  doubt  iny  faith  ?  You  never 

found  me  that  way,  [friend. 

(I  dare  well  speak  it  boldly)   but   a   true 

Sil.  Continue  then. 

Rod.  Try  me,  and  see  who  falters. 

Sil.  I  will,    and  presently:  ^tis  in  your 

power  [courtesy. 

To  make  me  the  most  bound  man  to  your 

Rod.  Let  me  know  how,  and  if  I  fail — 

Sil.  'TIS  thus  then : 
Get  me  access  to  th'  lady  Belvidere, 
But  for  a  minute,  but  to  see  her;  your  husband 
Now's  safe  at  court;  I  left  him  full  employ'd 

there.  [power  to  grant  you. 

Rod.  You've  ask'd  the  thing  without  my 
The  law  lies,  on  the  danger :  If  I  lov'd  yoa 

not,  [for't. 

I'd  bid  you  go,  and  there  be  found,  and  die 

Sil.  I  knew  your  love,  and  where  there 

shew'd  a  danger  ['*'"?  friend. 

How  far  you  durst  step  for  me  t  Give  roe  a 

That, 


Act  S.  Scene  3.] 


WOMEN  PLEASED. 


W 


Thai,  where  occaaon  is  to  do  a  benefit, 
A*ms  at  the  end,  and  not  the  rube  before  it. 
I  was  a  fool  to  ask  ^rou  this !  a  more  fooi 
To  think  a  woman  liad  so  mach  noble  nature 
To  entertain  a  secret  of  this  burthen  : 
You'd  best  to  tell  tlie  duchess  I  persuaded 

you,  [credit ; 

That*s  a  fine  course,  and  one  will  win  you 
Forget  the  name  of  cousin,  blot  rny  blood 

out^    ■  [shorter! 

And,  so   you  raise  yourself,  let  me  grow 
A  woman-friend?    He  that  believes   that 

weakness, 
Steers  in  a  stormy  n^ht  without  a  compass. 

Rod,  What  is't  I  durst  not  do  mieht  not 

impeach  you?  [not  thmk  of! 

Sili  Why,  this  3rou  dare  not  do,  you  dare 

Bod,  ^is  a  main  hazard. 

SU,  If  it  were  not  so, 
I  frottld  iK>t  come  to  you  to  seek  a  favour. 

Rod.  You'll  lose  yourself. 

Sil.  The  loss  ends  with  myself  then. 

Rod.  You  will  but  see  her? 

Sii.  Only  look  upon  her. 

RmL  Not  stay? 

SiL  Prescribe  your  time. 

Rod,  Not  trafBck  with  her, 
In  any  close  dishonourable  action  ? 

SiL  Stand  you  yourself  by. 

Rod.  I  will  venture  for  you  :  [friend, 
Because  you  shall  be  sure  I  am  a  touch'd 
111  bring  her  to  you.    Come,  walk;  you 

know  the  garden, 
And  take  this  key  to  open  the  little  postern ; 
There  stand  no  guards. 

Sil,  I  shall  soon  find  it,  aunt      [Exeunt, 

SCENE  II. 
Enter  two  Sddien. 

1  Sold,  Is  the  capt^n  come  home  ? 

2  Sold,  No ;  who  commands  the  ^uard 
1  Sold,  I  think  Petruchio.  [to-night? 
2&R  What's  the  won!? 

•     1  Sold,  None  knows  yet. 

i  Sold,  I  would  this  lady  were  married 

out  o'  th'  way  once, 

Or  out  of  our  cuiitodies !  I  wish  they  would 

take  in  more  companies,  [shrewdly. 

For  I  am  sure  we  feel  her  in  our  duties 

1  SM,  Tis  not  her  faulty  I  warrant  you; 
she's  ready  for't ; 

And  tha^s  tne  plague ;  when  they  grow  ripe 

for  marriage. 
They  must  fa^  slipt  like  hawks. 

2  Sold,  Give  me  a  mean  wench !  [ready. 
No  state-doubt  lies  on  her,  slie's  always 

1  Sold,  Come  to  the  guard ;  'tis  late,  and 
Cannot  l)e  long  away.        [sure  the  captain 

2  SM.  I've  watch'd  these  three  nights; 
To-morrow  they  may  keep  me  tame  for 

nothing.  [Exeunt. 


SCENE  m. 


Enter  Silvio,  Belvidere,  and  Rodope  with  a 
light. 

SiL  This  is  the  place,  I  think.      What 

light  is  that  there  ? 
The  lady  and  my  cousin ! 

Bel.  Is  this  the  garden  ? 

Rod.  Yes,  madam. 

SU.  Oh,  my  blessed  mistress, 
Saint  of  my  soul!   ' 

Bel.  Speak  softly ! — ^Take  me  to  you ! 
Oh,  Silvio,  1  am  tliine,  thine  ever,  Silvio ! 

Rod,  ]js  this  your  promise,  sir?  Lady,  your 

honour! 
I  am  undone  if  this  be  seen,  disgrac'd. 
Fallen  under  all  discredit ! 

BeL  Do  you  love  still? 
Dear,  do  you  keep  your  old  faith  ? 

Si/.  Ever,  lady;  [sake  me! 

And,  when  that  fails  me,  all  that's  good  for- 

Rod.  Do  not  you  shame  ^Jfadam,  I  must 

not  suffer  this,  ^^ 

I  will  not  suffer  it!  Men  call  you  virtuous: 
What  do  you  mean,  to  lose  yourself  thus  ? 
.  Silvio, 

I  char8;e  thee  get  away,  charge  you  retire  you ; 
I'll  call  the  watch  else. 

SiL  Call  all  the  world  to  see  us! 
We  live  in  one. another's  happiness, 
And  so  will  die. 

BeL  Here  will  I  hang  for  ever!   [madam, 

Rod.  As  you  respect  me,  as  hereafter, 
You  would  enjoy  his  love — Nothing  prevail 

with  you  ?  [thou  villain, 

ni  try  my  strength  then:   get  thee  gone, 
Thou  promise-breaker ! 

SiL  I  am  tied ;  I  cannot. 

Rod.  I'll  ring  the  bell  then  ? 

SiL  Ring  it  to  death,  I'm  fix'd  here. 

Enter  BarteUo,  and  two  Soldiers  with  lights. 

Bart.  I  saw  a  light  over  tlie  garden  wall  ^, 
Hard  by  the  ladies  chamber :  Here's  some 
As  I  live,  I  saw  it  twice.  [knavery ! 

R/hL  The  guard,  the  ^uard  there  ! 
I  must  not  suffer  this,  it  is  too  mischievous. 
Bart.  Light  up  the  torch !  I  fear'd  this. 
Ha!  young  Silvio? 
How  got  he  in  ? 

1  Sold.  The  devil  brought  him  in  sure; 
He  came  not  by  us. 

Bart.  My  wife  between  'em  bustling? 
Guard,  pull  him  off ! 

Rxfd.  Now,  now,  ye  feel  the  misery. 
Bart.  You,  madam,  at  an  hour  so  far 
,     undecent  ? 

Death  o'  iny  soul!  This  is  a  foul  fault  in  you ! 
Your  mother's  care  abus'd  too !  Light  us  to 

her  chamber'. 
I'm  sorry  to  see  this. 
» 
'  Cher  the  garden  walk.]  Mr.  Seward  thinks  with  me,  that  it  might  be  better  read^ 
garden  walL  ;^mpso7i. 

^  Light's  to  her  chamber,]  So  the  former  editions. 

Bel. 


08 


WOMEN  PLEASD. 


[Act  S.  Scene  5. 


Bel  Farew«Uy  my  Silvio, 

And  let  no  danger  sink  thee ! 

jli/.  Nor  death,  lady.  [Exeunt  Bd.andRod, 
Bart.  Are  you  so  hot  ?  I  shall  prepare  you 
physick  [fieiy: 

Will  purge  you  finely,  neatly;  you're  too 

Think  of  your  pmyers,  sir,  an  you've  not 
forgot 'em!  .   [holes? 

Cai^  you  fly  i*  th'  air,  or  creep  you  in  at  key- 

I  have  a  gin  will  catch  you,  tho  you  conjur'd. 

Take  him  to  guard  to-night,  to  strong  and 
sure  guard ;  [sport  serve  you, 

111  back  to  th'  duchess  presently.    No  less 

Than  th'  heir  to  a  dukedom  ?  Play  at  push- 
pin Uiere,  sir  ?  [shot  slwrt, 

Itwafiwellaim'd;  but,  phigueoipou't,  you 

And  that  will  lose  your  wne. 
Sil.  I  know  the  loss  then.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  IV. 

Enter  Claudio,  like  a  Merchant, 
Clou,  Now,iii  tliis  habit,  may  I  safely  see 
How  my  incedH  friend  carries  my  murder; 
Who  little  I  imagin'd  had  been  wrought 
To  such  a  height  of  rage:  and  much  I  grieve 

now 
Mine  own  blind  passion  had  so  master  d  me 
I  could  not  see  his  love;  for  sure  he  loves  her, 
And  on  a  nobler  ground  than  I  pretended. 

Enter  Penurio, 

It  must  be  so,  it  ia  so.— What,  Penurio, . 
My  shotten  friend,  what  wind  blew  you? 

Ten,  Faith,  'tis  true, 
Any  strong  wind  will  blow  me  like  a  feather: 
I  am  all  air,  nothing  of  earth  within  me, 
Nor  have  not  ha^d  this  month,  but  that  good 

dinner  [by  me. 

Your  worsWp  gave  me  yesterday;  that  stays 
And  gives  me  bidlast,  else  the  sun  would 

drawmc.    *  ,     t!?^?. 

Clau,  But  does  my  mistress  ^eak  still  of 

Pen.  Yes,  sir,  [«>o, 

And  in  her  sleep,  that  makes  my  master  mad 
And  turn  and  fart  for  anger. 

Clau,  Art  sure  she  saw  me? 

"Pen,  She  saw  you  at  a  window. 

Clau,  Tis  most  true. 
In  such  a  place  I  saw  a  gentlewoman, 
A  young,  sweet,  handsome  woman— 

Pen.  That's  she,  that's  she,  sir.       [her— 

Clau.  And  well  she  view'd  me :  I  vicw'd 

Pen.  Still  she,  sir. 

Clau.  Atla8tslieblush'd,andthenlooVdo(F. 

Pen.  That  blush,  sir. 
If  you  can  read  it  truly — 

Clau.  But  didst  tlwu  tell  her,  [one  ? 

Or  didst  thou  fool  me,  thou  knew'st  such  a 

Pen.  I  told  her,  and  I  told  her  such  a 

sweet  tale — 

Clau.  But  did  she  hear  thee  ? 

Pen.  With  a  thousand  ears,  sir, 
And  swallow'd  what  I  said  as  greedily 
As  great-bellied  women  do  cherries,  stones 

and  all,  sir. 


Clou*  Methinkt  she  should  not  love  thy 

master? 

Pen.  Hang  him,  pitcher  !  [endure  him. 
There's  nothmg  loves  him;  his  own  cat  can't 
Sh'  had  better  lie  with  a  bear ;  for  he's  so 

hairy,  [him. 

That  a  tame  warren  of  fleas  frisk  round  about 

Clau.  And  wilt  tbou  work  still  ? 

Pen.  Like  a  miner  for  you. 

Clau.  And  get  access  ? 

Pen.  Or  conjure  you  together;  [Ijim, 
Tis  her  desire  to  meet :  she's  poison'd  with 
And  'till  she  take  a  sweet  fresh  air— that's 

you,  sir —  [precious  varlet ! 

CUni.  There's  money  for  thee ;  thou'rt  a 
Be  fat,  be  fat,  and  blow  thy  master  backward. 

Pen.  Blow  you  my  mistress,  sir,  as  flat  as 

a  flounder,  [their  veals  s 

Then  blow  her  up  again^  as  butcliers  blow 

If  she  die  upon  the  same. 

Bury  her,  bury  her,  in  God'>  name ! 

Clau.  ThcMi  art  a  merry  knave !   By  tliia 

hand,  111  feed  thee,  [do  tliis  ! 

Tin  tliou  crack'^  at  both  ends,  if  thou  dar'st 
Thou  slialt  eat  no  fhntasUcal  porridge. 
Nor  lick  the  dish  where  oil  was  yesterday. 
Dust,  and  dead  flies  to-day;  capons,  fat 

capons — 

Pen.  Oh,  hearty  sound  ! 

Clau.  Crani'd  full  of  itching  oysters— 

Pen,  Will  you  have  the  duchess? 

Clau.  And  lobsters  big  as  gauntlets; 
Thou  shalt  despise  base  beef- 
Pea.  I  do  despise  it !  [sliding — 
And  now,  metliinks,  I  feel  a  Urt  come 

Clau.  Leaping  into  thy  mouth;  but  first 

d^  faithfully. 

Pern  When  will  you  come? 

Clau,  To-morrow. 

Pen.  I'll  attend  you; 
For  then  niv  master  will  be  out  in  business. 

Clau,  What  news  abroad  ? 

Pen,  'Mass,  as  I  was  coming  to  you, 
I  heard  that  signor  Silvio,  a  good  gentleman, 
(Many  a  good  meal  I  have  eaten  with  him) — 

Clau.  What  of  him?  [the  duchess; 

Pen.  Was  this  day  to  be  arraign'd  before 
But  why,  I  could  not*hear. 

Clau.  Silvio  arraign'd?— 
Go,  get  you  gone,  and  think  of  me» 

Pen.  I  fly,  sir.  [Exit. 

Clau.  Arraign'd?  for  what?  for  my  sup- 

pos'd  death?  No, 
That  cannot  be  sure,  there's  no  rumour  of  it. 
Be't  what  it  will,  I  will  be  there  and  see  it. 
And,  if  my  help  will  bring  him  off,  he  bas 

it.  [ExU. 

SCENE  V. 
Enter  Duchesh  Lords,   Silvio  ( prisoner)  ^ 
Belvidere,  Bartello,  Rodopcy  Clerky  Coun- 
sellors, and  Attendants. 
Duch.  Read  the  edict  last  made;  keep 
silence  there ! 

Clcrh  [reading].  If  any  man,  of  what 

condition 


Ace  S.  Scent  6.] 


WOMEN  PLfiAS'O. 


eooditioD  soever,  and  a  subject,  after  the 
fmblisfaing  of  t\ds  edict,  shall,  without  special 
licence  from  the  great  dnchess,  attempt  or 
boT'^,  offer,  or  make  an  attempt  to  solicit, 
the  love  of  the  princess  Belvidere,  the  per- 
son so  offendiog  shall  forfeit  hifi  lite,    [here, 

Coun.  The  reason  why  my  roval  mistress 
In  her  last  treaty  with  Sienna*s  duke, 
Promb'd  her  beauteous  daughter  there  in 

marriage ; 
The  duke  of  Milan,  rival  in  this  fortune", 
Unnobly  sought  by  practice  to  betray  her; 
Which  foand,  and  cross'd,  the  citadel  re- 
ceived her,  [last  cause, 
There  to  secure  her  mother's  word;   the 
So  many  gentlemen  of  late  enamoured 
On  this  most  beauteous  princess,  and  not 

brooking 
One  more  than  other,  to  deserve  a  favour, 
filood  has  been  spilt,  many  brave  spirits  lost. 
And  nlore,  unless  sh'  had  been  kept  close 

from  their  violence,  [prevention 

Had  like  to  have  foUowM :  theiretbre  for  due 
Of  all  such  hazards  and  unnoble  actions. 
This  last  edict  was  published  *  which  thou, 

Silvio, 
like  a  fidse  man,  a  bad  man,  and  a  traitor. 
Hast   rent    a-pieces,  and  contemnM;    for 

which  cause 
Thou  stand'st  a  guilty  man  here  now. 

Enter  Claudio, 

Clerk,  Speak,  Silvio !  [justice? 

What'  canst  thou  say  t*avoid  the  nand  of 

8iL  Nothing,  but  I  confess,  submit,  and 

lay  mv  head  to't.  [standings? 

£a.  Have  ye  no  eyes,  my  lords,  no  under- 
The  gentleman  will  cast  himself  away. 
Cast  himself  wilfully !    Are  you,  or  you, 

guilty  ?  [him : 

No  more  is  he,  no  more  taint  sticks  upon 
1  drew  him  thither, 'twas  my  way  betray 'd  him; 
I  got  the  entrance  kept,  I  entertained  him, 
I  hid  the  danger  from  limi,  forc'd  him  to  me ; 
Poor  gentle  soul,  he's  in  no  part  trvisgress- 

ing: 
I  wrote  unto  him— 

SU»  Do  not  wrong  that  honour,     [sions ! 
Cast  not  upon  that  pnreness  these  asper- 
H^  Heav'n,  it  was  my  love,  my  violence ; 
My  life  must  answer  it :  I  broke  in  to  her, 
Tempted  the  law,  solicited  unjustly-— 

Hd,  As  there  is  truth  in  Hearn,  I  was 

the  first  cause !  [naked'% 

How  could  tins  man  have  come  to  me,  left 


Without  my  counsel  and  provision  ? 
What  hour  could  he  find  out  to  pass  the 
watches,  [judges. 

But  I  must  make  it  sure  first?   Reverend 
Be  not  abns'd,  nor  let  an  innocent  life  lie 
Upon  your  shaking  consciences !  I  did  it ; 
My  love  the  main  wheel  that  set  him  a-going; 
Ilis  motion  but  compeird. 

jSi/.    Can  j^e  believe  tliis,  [ness 

And  know  with  what  a  modesty  and  white- 
Her  life  was  ever  rank'd?  Can  ye  believe 
this,  [ful? 

And  see  me  here  before  ye,  young  and  wil* 
Apt  to  what  danger  love  dares  uirust  me 
on,  [temnit? 

And,  where  law  stops  my  way,  apt  to  con« 
If  I  were  bashful,  old,  or  dull,  and  sleepy 
In  love*s  alarms,  a  woman  might  awake  me. 
Direct,  and  clew  me  out  the  way  to  happi- 
ness; [boauty. 
But  I,  like  fire,  kindled  with  that  bright 
Catch  hold  of  all  occasions;  and  run  thro' 
'em.                                        [answer  it — 
BeL  I  charge  ye,  as  your  honest  souls  will 
iSi/-  I  charge  ye,  as  ye  are  the  friends  to 
virtue. 
That  has  no  pattern  living  but  this  lady — 
BeL  Let  not  his  blood — 
Sil,  Let  not  her  wilfulness  [at) — 
(For  then  you  act  a  scene  hell  will  rejoice 
BeL  He's  clear. 

SiL  She  is  as  white  in  this  as  infants. 
C/atf .  The  god  of  love  protect  your  cause, 
and  help  ye ! 
Two  nobler  pieces  of  affection 
These  eyes  ne'er  look'd  on;  if  such  good- 
ness perish, 
Let  never  true  hearts  meet  again,  but  break! 

[Exit. 

1  Lord,  A  strange  example  of  strong  love, 
a  rare  one !  [say,  to  think  on. 

2  Lurd.  Madam,  we  know  not  wliat  to 
Duch,  I  must  confess  it  strikes  me  tender 
too,  [there? 

Searches  my  motlier*s  heart.  You  fisund  'em 
Bart.  Yes,  certain,  madam. 
Duch,  And  so  link'd  together  ?     [hasten 
Bart,  As  they  had  been  one  piece  of  ala* 
Duch,  Nothing  dishonourable  ? 
SiL  So  let  my  soul  have  happiness, 

As  that  tliought  yet  durst  never  seek  this 
bosom !  [law,  abus'd  me ; 

Duch,  What  shall  I  do?  H*  has  broke  my 

Fain  would  I  know  the  truth:  either  con- 
fess it. 


'°  Attempt  or  6t(y,  offer  or  make  an  attempt]    This  nonsensical  place  has  been  thus 


I  thus, 

Great  Ducheu  attained,  try,  offer,  or  make  an  attempt,  Sf€,        Sympton. 
"  Rhal  in  tim/ortune.]  The  sense  seems  to  demand  Ats,  i.  e*  Sienna's  fortune.  Svmpson. 
We  think  thki»  genuine;  and  the  whole  line  signifies,  that  the  duke  of  Mihm  was 
Siennai's  rival  in  Belvidere,  ints/ortnne.    The  next  hoe  confirms  this  explanation. 
f*  (km  tome,  left  naked.]  Sympson  tufp«cts  wc  should  read,  lbss  naked, 

SU. 


40 


WOMEN  PLEASED. 


[Act  2.  Scene  6. 


And  let  mc  itnderfttand  the  main  offender. 
Or  both  shall  feel  the  torture. 

5*7.  Are  you  a  mother, 
The  mother  of  so  sweet  a  rose  as  this  is, 
So  pure  a  flower,  and  dare  you  lose  that 

nature  ?  [edness. 

Dare  you  take  to  yourself  so  great  «  wick- 
(Oh,  holy  Heav'n!)  of  thinking  what  may 

ruin  [gods  dwell  ? 

This  goodly  building  ?  this  temple,  where  the 
Give  me  a  thousand  tortui'es,  I  deserve  'em, 
And  shew  me  death  in  all  the  shapes  ima- 

gin'd —  [it,  seek. it; 

Bel,  No  death  but  I  will  answer't,  meet 
No  torture  but  Til  laugh  upon't,  and  kiss  it. 

1  Lord,  This  is  no  way. 

2  Lord,  They  say  no  more,  for  certain, 
Than  their  strong  hearts  will  suffer. 

Duch,  I've  bethought  me : 
No,  lords,  altho'  I  have  a  child  offendine, 
Nature  dares  not  forget  she  is  a  child  still: 
Till  now,  I'never  look'd  on  love  imperious. 
I  have  bethought  me  of  a  way  to  break  vou, 
To  separate,  tho*  not  your  loves,  your  bodies: 
Silvio,  attend !  Til  be  your  judge  myself  now. 
The  sentence  of  your  death  (because  my 

daughter 
"Will  bear  an  equal  part  in  your  afflictions) 
I  take  avvay,  and  pardon :  this  remains  then. 
An  easy  and  a  gentle  punishment. 
And  this  shall  bo  fulfiU'd:   because  unnobly 
YouVe  sought  the  love  and  marriage  of  a 

princess, 
The  absolute  and  sole  heir  of  this  dukedom, 
By  that  means,  as  we  must  imagine  strongly, 
To  plant  yourself  into  this  rule  hereafter. 
We   here*  pronounce  you  a  man  banisli'd 

from  us. 

Sil.  For  ever  banish Vl,  lady  ? 

Thick.  Yet  more  mercy  !    - 
But  for  a  year,  and  then  tigain  in  this  place 
To  make  your  full  appearance.  Yet  more  pity ! 
If  in  that  time  ^ou  can  absolve  a  question. 
Writ  down   within   this  scroll,  absolve  it 

rightly,  %ou : 

This  lady  is  your  wife,  and  shall  live  with 
If  not,  you  lose  your  head, 

SiL  I  take  this  honour. 
And  humbly  kiss  those  royal  hands. 

Dtich,  Receive  it. 
Bartello,  to  your  old  guard  take  t^e  princess. 
And  so,  the  court  break  up ! 

Sil.  Farewell  to  all, 
And  to  that  spotless  heart  my  endless  ser- 
vice! [Exit, 

1  Lcfrd,  What  will  tliis  prove  ? 

2  Lord,  I'll  tell  you  a  year  hence,  sir. 

[Exeunt, 

SCENE  VI. 
Enter  Penurio,  Isabcllu,  and  Claudio, 

Ten,  Are  you  pleas'd  now  ?  Have  I  not 
wrought  this  wonder } 
Non  €  henfatto,  tignor  9 
Clau,  Rarely,  Fenurio.  | 


Pen.  Close,  close  then,  and  work,  wax ! 

Clau,  I'm  Btadying  for  thee  [year. 

A  dinner,  that  shaU  victual  thee  for  ten 

Pen,  Do  you  hear,  mistress  ?  [is. 

You  know  what  a  dunderwwhelp  my  master 

(I  need  not  preach  to  you)  how  unfit  and 

wanting 
To  give  a  woman  satisfaction:  how  [fellow; 
He  stinks,  and  snores,  a  bull's  a  better  bed- 
And,  for  his  love,  never  let  that  deceive. 
Isab.  Nay,  sure  he  loves  me  noc 

Pen,  If  he  could  coin  you. 
Or  turn  you  into  metal,  much  might  be  then ; 
He  loves  not  any  thing  but  wliat  is  traffic : 
I've  heard  him  swear,  he'd  sell  you  to  the 

^nd  signor. 

Lfl6.  The  Turk?  [you— 

Pen.  The  very  Turk,  and  how  they'd  use 

Isab,  111  fit  him  fbr't :  the  Turk  ? 

Pen.  I  know  the  price  too :  [mistress, 
Now  you  have  time  to  pay  him,  pay  him  liomey 
Pay  him  o' th' pate,  clout  lum  for  all  his 

courtesies:  [delicate. 

Here's  one  that  dances  in  your  eyes,  young, 
To  work  thiiT  vengeance ;  if  you  let  it  slip 

now,  [mistress. 

There  is  no  pit^ng  of  you.    Od's  precious, 
Were  I  his  wife,  I  would  so  maul  his  ma- 

zard — 
'TIS  charity,'mcre  charity,  pure  charity! 
Are  you  the  first?   Has  it  not  been  from 

Eve's  time,  [way  ? 

Women  would  have  their  safe  revenges  this 
And  good  and  gracious  women,  excellent 

women  ? 
Is't  not  a  handsome  gentleman,  a  sweet  gen- 
tleman? 
View  him  from  head  to  foot,  a  complete 

gentleman  ?  fyou. 

When  can  you  hope  the  like  again?  I  leave 
And  my  revenge  too,  with  you :  I  know  my 

office ; 
I'll  not  be  far  off.    Be  not  long  arfumbling ! 
When  danger  shall  appear,  I'll  give  th*  alarm. 

[Exit. 

Isab,  You're  welcome,  sir!   and  Vould  it 

were  my  fortune 
T'  afford  a  gentleman  of  your  fair  seeming 
A  freer  entertainment  than  this  house  has: 
You  partly  know,  sir — 

C/flw.  Know,  and  pity,  lady,  [blasted: 
Such  sweetness  in  the  bud  should  be  an 
Dare  vou  make  me  your  sen^ant? 

leai.  Dare  you  make,  sir, 
That  service  worthy  of  a  woman's  &vour 
By  constancy  and  goodness  ? 

Clou,  Here  I  swear  to  you, 
By  the  unvalued  love  I  bear  this  beauty, 
(And  kiss  the  book  too^  never  to  be  recreant; 
To  lionour  you,  to  truly  love  and  serve  you. 
My  youth  to  waicupon  you,  what  my  wealth 

has—  [aflfection ! 

Isab*  Oh,  make  me  not  so  poor  to  sell 
Those  bought  loves,  sir,  wear  fester  than  the 
.  monies. 

A  hand- 


Act!  Scenes.] 

A  fagodsome  (^ntleman!   a  most  delicate 

iwcetone'^! 

Clou,  Let  my  truth  purchase  then! 

hob,  I  should  first  try  it ; 
Bat  TOQ  may  happily-* 

CiSm.  Yon  ishaU  not  doubt  me: 
(I  hope  she  loves  me)  When  I  prove  false, 
Will  you  believe  a  litUe?   ^shame  take  me ! 

Jm.  I  fear,  too  much,  sir. 

dttu.  And  will  vou  love  a  little? 

lub.  That  should  be  your  part. 

Ciau.  Thus  I  begin  then;  thus,  and  thus. 

hab.  A  good  beginning,  [ing. 

We  ha?e  a  proverb  says,  makes  a  good  end- 

Cku.  Say  you  so?  'tis  well  inferr'd. 

liob.  Good  sir,  your  patience  ! 
Methinks  IVe  ventured  now,  like  a  weak 

bark. 
Upon  a  broken  billow,  that  will  swallow  pie, 
Upon  a  roo^h  sea  of  suspicions, 
Stuck  round  with  jealous  rocks. 

Fen,  fwUkin]  A-hem,  a-hem  there ! 

hab.  This  is  my  man !  my  fears  too  soon 

have  found  me. 

Enter  Penurio. 

Now,  what's  the  news? 

Pen,  A  pox  of  yond  old  tmcl. 
The  captain,  the  old  captain  f 

bob.  What  old  captain?  .   [castle. 

Pen.  Captain  Courageous  yonder^iof  the 
Captain,  don  Diego,  old  Bartello. 

Imb.  Where 
Is  he?  [devil. 

Pen,  He's   coming  in:    'twould  vex  the 
That  such  an  old  potgun  as  this,  that 
Can  make  no  sport,  should  hinder  them  that 

can  do't.  [tleinan 

bob,  I  would  not  have  him  see  the  geif- 
Forall  the  world;    my  predit  were  undone 

then.  [comes  in. 

Pen,  Shall  I  fling  a  piss-pot  on's  tiead  as  he 
Aad  take  him  into  the  kitchen,  there  to  dry 

him?  [morous  too, 

Isah.  That  will  not  do.    And  he's  so  hu- 
He  will  come  in. 

Clau.  What  is  he? 

liab.  One  much  troubles  me. 

Pen,  And  can  do  nothing,  cannot  eat. 

Iktb.  Your  sight  now. 
Oat  of  a  driveling  dotage  he  bears  to  me, 
May  make  him  tell  my  husband,  and  undo 

me. 

Clau,  What  would  you  have  me  do? 

hab.  But  for  a  while,  sir, 
Step  here  behind  thb  hanging ;   presently 
I'll  answer  him,  and  then — 

Clau.  I  will  obey  you. 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


41 


Enter  Bartello. 


Bart.  Where's  my  rich  jeweller?  Fvc  stones 

to  set. 

Fen.  He  is  abroad,  and  sure,  ^r. 

'Bart.  There*^ for  your  service!  [beauty? 
Where's  the  fair  lacly?    All  alone,   sweet 

Isab.  She's  never  much  alone,  sir,  that's 

acquainted  [thoughts  are. 

With    such    companions   as    good    honest 

Bart.  I'll  sit  down  by  thee,  and  Til  kiss 

th^  hand  too,  [thee. 

And  in  thine  ear  swear,  by  my  life,  I  love 

Isab.  You're  a  merry  captain. 

Bart,  And  a  mad  one,  lady,  [eyes,  wench  f 
By  th'  mass,  th*  hast  goodly  eyes,  excellent 
Ye  twinkling  rogues !  look  what  thy  captain 

brings  thee ! 
Thou  must  needs  love  me,  love  me  iieartily, 
Hue  me,  and  love  me,  hue  me  close. 

Tsab.  Fy,  captain !        [strain  you,  sirrah, 

Bart.  Nay,  I  have  strength,  and  I  can 
And  vauk  into  my  seat  as  nimbly,  little  one. 
As  any  of  your  smooth-chin'd  boys  in  Flo« 

reuce.  ^ 

I  must  needs  commit  a  little  folly  with  you ; 
I'll  not  be  long;  a  bridling  cast,  and  away, 

wench !  [way  now — 

Th'  hob-hail  thy  husband's  as  fitly  out  o*  th' 

Isab.  D'  YOU  think  he  keeps  a  bawdy-house  ? 

Bart.  That  all  one.  [my  carriage, 

Isab,  Or  did  you  e'er  see  that  lightness  in 
That  you  might  promise  to  yourself^— 

Bart.  Away,  fool!  [fellow. 

A  |ood  turn's  a  good  turn ;  I'm  an  honest 

Isab.  You've  a  handsome  wife,  a  virtuous 

eentlewoman — 

Bart,  They  are  not  for  this  time  o*  th'  year. 

Isab.  A  lady. 
That  ever  bore  that  great  respect  to  you, 
That  noble  constancy — 

Bart.  That'9  more  than  I  know. 

Enter  Maid  and  Penurh. 

Maid.  Oh,  misttf^ss,  you're  undone!   my 

master's  coining. 

Pen.  Coming  hard  by  here. 

Bart.  Plague  consume  the  rascal ! 
Shiilll  make  petty-pa ttieb  of  him? 

Isab.  Now  what  love,  sir? 
Fear  of  your  coming  made  him  jealous  first; 
Your  finding  here  will  make  him  mad  and 

desperate; 
And  what  in  tliat  wild  mood  he'll  execute — 

Bart.  1  can  think  of  nothing;  I  have  uo 

wit  left  me ; 
Certain  my  head's  a  mustard-pot'* ! 

Isab.  I've  thought,  sir; 


"  A  mast  delicate  sweet  one.]  These  words  have  liitherto  been  given  to  Claudio. 

'* 1  have  no  wit  l^  me: 

Certain  mtf  head*s  a  mustard  pot.]  So  in  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.  act  ii.  scene  4, 
Fabtaff  says,  in  answer  to  Doll  Tearsheet's  observation  that  Poius  liad  a  good  wit,  '  He  a 
'good  wit?  bang  him,  baboon!  his  zoit  is  as  thick  as  Tcwke<jbury  miaf arc/;  there  is  no 
'  oiore  conceit  in  hijn  than  is  in  a  maUet/        H, 

VOL.  III.  G  And, 


4f 


WOMEN  PLEASED. 


[Act  d.  Scene  1« 


And,  if  you'll  please  to  put  in  execution 
What  I  conceive — 

Bart,  111  do  it;  tell  it  quickly. 

Isab,  Draw  your  sworcl  quickly,  and  go 

down  enrag'ci, 
As  if  you  liad  pursu'd  some  foe  up  hither, 
And  grumble  to  yourself  extremely,  terribly. 
Bat  not  a  word  to  him;  and  so  pass  by  him. 

Bart,  ril  do  it  perfectly. 

Enter  Lopez. 

Iwb.  Stand  you  still,  good  sir.  [so  poorly, 

Bart.  Rascal,  slave,  villain !  take  a  house 
After  th*  hast  wrong'd  a  gentleman,  a  soldier? 
Base  poltroon  boy!  you  will   forsake  your 

nest,  sirrah? 

Lopez,  The  matter,  good  sweet  captain  ? 

Bart.  Run-away  rogue !  [ardice  ? 

And  take  a  house  to  cover  thy  base  cow- 
1*11  whip  you,  I'll  so  scourge  you —     lExit. 

Lopez,  Mercy  upon  me, 
What's  all  this  matter,  wife  ? 

J$ah.  Did  you  meet  the  mad  man ''  ? 

Lopez,  I  never  saw  the  captain  so  pro- 
voked yet.  [devil ! 

Isah.  Oh,  he*$  a  devil  sure,  a  most  oloody 
lie  follow'd  a  young  gentleman,  his  sword 

drawn, 
W*ith  such  a  fury — how  I  shake  to  think  on't! 
And  foin'd,  ancl  slash'd  at  him,  and  swore 

he'd  kill  him ; 
Drove   him   up  hither,    follow'd  him  still 

bloodily^ 


And,  if  I  bad  not  hid  bim,  sure  had  slain  bim. 
A  merciless  old  man!         [Claudia  appears. 

Clou.  Most  virtuous  lady, 
Even  as  the  giver  of  my  lire,  I  thank  you  ! 
Lopez.  This  fellow  must  not  stay  here,  he's 
too  handsome. —  [all  security; 

He's  gone,  sir,  and  you  may  pass  now  witli 
I'll  be  your  guide  myself,  and  such  a  way 
ril  lead  you,  none  shall  cross,  nor  none  shall 
know  you.  [for  this  trick  ! 

The  doors  left  open,  sirrah  ?   I'll  starve  you 
rU  make  thee  fast  o'  Sundays :  and  for  you, 

lady, 

ni  have  your  lodgings  further  off,  and  closer; 

Y\\  have  no  street-lights  to  you!    Will  you 

go,  sir  ?  (this  fortune  ! — 

Clau.  I  tliank  you,  sir !— -The  devil  take 

And,    once  more,  all  my  service  to  yonr 

goodness !  [ExiU 

Pen.  Now  could  I  eat  my  very  arms  for 

madness !  [take  it, 

Cross'd  in  the  nick  o'  th'  matter?  Vengeance 

And  that  old  cavalier  that  spoiFd  our  cock- 

I'll  lay  the  ne«t  plot  surer.  [%1>^* 

Isab.  Fm  glad,  and  sorry : 
Glad  that  I  got  so  fairly  off  suspicion  ; 
Sorry,  I  lost  my  new»lov'd  friend. 

Fen.  Not  lost,  mistress ; 
I'll  conjure  once  aeain  to  raise  that  spirit. 
In,  an^  look  soberly  upon  the  matter!  [fa  11^ 
We'll  ring  him  one  peal  more;  and  if  Uiat 
The  devil  take  tlie  clappers,  bells,  and  all! 

[ExeunU 


ACT  III. 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  Ducheu,  Lords,  and  Badope. 

Duch.  "VrOW,  RoHope,  how  do  you  find 
■^^      my  daughwi*  ? 
Bjod.  Madam,  I  find  her  now  what  you 
would  have  her,  [to  her, 

What  the  state  wishes  her ;  I  urg'd  l»er  fault 

Open'd  her  eyes,  and  made  her  see  the  mis- 
chief 

She  was  running  vrith  a  headlong  will  into ; 

Made  licr  start  at  her  folly,  shake  and  tremble. 

At  the  mere  memory  of  such  an  ignorance. 

She  now  contemns  his   love,  hates  his  re- 
membrance, 

Cannot  endure  to  hear  the  name  of  Silvio; 

His  person  spits  at — 

IJtich,  I  am  glad  to  hear  thi.'. 

Bod.  And  humbly  now  to  your  will,  your 

ciire,  madam,  [ence; 

Bends  her  affections,  bows  her  best  obcdi- 


Sienna's  duke  with  new  eyes  now  she  looks 

on. 
And  with  a  princely  lore,  fit  for  his  person. 
Returns  that  happiness  and  joy  he  look'd  for; 
The  general  good-  of  both  the  neighbour 

dukedoms, 
Not  any  private  end,  or  rash  affection. 
She  aims  at  now.  Hearing  the  duke  arrival 
too  fvice)^ 

(To  whom  she  owes  all  honour,  and  all  eer- 
She  charged  me  kneel  thus  at  your  graced 

feet, 
And  not  to  rise  without  a  general  pardon. 
Duch.  She  has  it,  and  my  love  again,  my 
old  love;  [ten CO, 

And  with  more  tenderness  I  meet  this  pcni- 
TlKin  if  she  ne'er  had  staried  from  her  ho- 
nour, [vou, 
I  thank  you,  Rodopc,  am  bound  to  uiank 
And  daily  to  remeraoer  this  great  service. 
This  honest  faithful  service !  Go  in  peace. 


'5  Bidyoii  vtcet,  kc]  This  scene  was  afterwnrds  introduced  by  Ravenscroft,  into  a  co^i- 
teniptible  play  written  by  him,  which,  however,  liath  been  acted  within  these  tew  vears, 
called  The  London  Cuckolds.         It.  .  *        • 

And 


Att3.  Scene  1-1 


WOMEN  PLEASED. 


43 


And  by  this  ring,  deliirer'd  to  Bartello, 
Let  her  enjoy  our  favour,  and  her  liberty; 
And  presently  to  this  place^  with  all  honour. 
See  her  conducted. 


Rod.  Your  grace  has  made  me  happy. 


Exit. 


Enter  a  Lord. 


lord.  Siensa's  noble  duke  craves  his  ad- 
suttaoce. 

Eakr  Duke  tf  Sienna,  with  Attendants. 

Dm*.  Go,  wait  upon  liis  grace ! — Fair  sir, 
you're  welcome, 
Welcome  to  her  ever  admir'd  your  virtues ! 
And  DOW,  methinks,  my  court  looks  truly 
YoaVe  taken  too  much  pains,  sir.        [noble. 

Duke.  Royal  lady, 
To  wait  upQn  your  grace  is  but  my  service. 
DacA,  keep  that,  sir,  for  the  saint  youVe 
vov'd  it  to.  [pleases 

Duke.  I  keep  a  life  for  her.  Since  your  grace 
To  jump  so  happily  into  the  matter, 
I  come  indeed  to  claim  your  royal  promise. 
The  beauteous  Belvidere  in  marriage : 
I  come  to  tender  her  my  youth,  my  fortune. 
My  everlasting  love. 

Inter  Bdtidere,  Bartello,  Rodope,  and  At^ 
tendants. 

Duck.  You're  like  to  win,  sir. — 
All  is  forgot,  forgiven  too.    No  sadness^ 
Mjreood  child!  you  have  the  same  heart 

siul  here.  [nobly. 

The  dake  of  Sienna,  child !  Pray,  use  him 

Duke.  An  angel  beauty! 

Bel  Your  grace  is  fairly  welcome ! 
ADd  what  in  modesty  a  blushing  maid  may 
Wish  to  a  gentleman  of  your  great  goodness — 
Bat  wi^es  are  too  poor  a  pay  for  princes. 

Duke.  You've  made  me  richer  than  all 

states  and  titles !  [nours  -. 

One  kiss  of  this  white  hand's  above  all  ho- 
My  fiiith,  dear  lady,  and  my  fruitful  service, 
My  duteous  zeal — 

BeL  Your  grace  is  a  great  master. 
And  speak  too  powVfully  to  be  resisted. 
Once  more,  you're  welcome,    sir:    to  me 

you're  welcome,  [sir; 

To  her  that  honours  you !  I  could  say  more. 
But  in  another's  tongue  'twere  better  spoken. 

Duke.  As  wise  as  fair !  you've  made  your 

servant  happy. 
I  never  saw  so  rich  a  mine  of  sweetness. 

Duck,  Will  your  grace  please,  after  your 

painiul  journey,  [ready? 

To  take  some  rest?  Are  the  duke's  lodgings 

Lord,  All,  madam.  [to-morrow,  sir, 

Duck.  Then  wait  upon  his  grace,  all !  And 
WeH  sliew  you  in  what  high  esteem  we  hold 
Till  then,  a  fair  repose  !  ^    [you : 

Duke,  My  fairest  service ! 

[Knt  Duke,  8fc. 


Duck.   You  have   so   honoured  me,  my 

dearest  daughter, 
So  truly  pleas'd  me  in  this  entertainment, 
I  mean  your  loving  carriage  to  Sienna, 
That  both  forever  I  forget  all  trespasses, 
And  to  secure  you  next  of  my  full  favour, 
Ask  what  you  will  within  my  power  to  grant 

you, 
Ask  freely;  and  if  I  forget  my  promise — 
Ask  confidently ! 

Bel.  You're  too  royal  to  me ; 
To  me  that  have  so  foolishly  transgress'd  you. 
So  like  a  girl,  so  far  forgot  my  virtue, 
Which  now  appears  as  base  and  ugly  to  me, 
As  did  his  dream,   that  jtliought  he  was  in 

Paradise,  [der'd ! 

Awak'd  and  saw  the  devil.  How  was  I  wan- 


And  lose  an  object  of  that  graceful  sweetness. 
That  god-like  presence,  as  Sienna  is ! 
Darkness  and  cheerful  day  had  not  such  dif- 
ference. 
But  I  must  ever  bless  your  care,  your  wisdom, 
That  led  me  from  this  labyrinth  of  folly : 
How  had  I  sunk  else!  what  example  given! 

Duck.  Prithee  no  more;  and  as  tliou  art 

my  best  one,  [ness ! 

Ask  something  that  may  equ:d  such  a  good-^ 

BeL  Why  did  you  let  him  go  so  slightly 

from  you. 
More  like  a  man  in  triumph,  than  condemn'd  ? 
Why  did  you  make  his  penance  but  a  qucs- 
A  riddle,  every  idle  wit  unlocks !  [tion, 

Duck.  'Tis  not  so, 
Nor  do  not  fear  it  so ;  he  will  not  find  it : 
I  have  given  that  (unless  mjjQ^lf  discover  it) 
Will  cost  his  head. 

Bel.  'TIS  subject  to  construction  ? 

Duch.  That  it  is  too. 

Bel.  It  may  be  then  absolv'd,      [madam: 
Aiul  then  are  we  both  scorn'd  and  luugh'd  at. 
Beside  the  promise  you  h^ve  tied  upon  it, 
Which  you  must  never  keep — 

Duch.  1  never  meant  it.  [my  suit  to  you, 

Bel.  For  Heav'n's  sake,  let  rae  know't  ?  'tis 
The  boon  you'd  have  me  ask :  let  me  but  see 

it. 
That,  if  there  be  a  way  to  make't  so  strong 
No  wit  nor  powerful  reason  can  run  thro'  it 
For  my  disgrace,  I  may  beg  of  Heav'n  to 

grant  it.  [judgments 

l)ucA.  Fear  not !  it  has  been  put  to  sharper 
Than  e'er  he  shall  arrive  at :  my  dear  father, 
That  -was  as  fiery  in  his  understanding 
And  ready  in  his  wit  as  any  living. 
Had  it  two  yeai*s,  and  studied  it,  yet  lost  it : 
Tfiis  night  you  are  my  bedfellow!  there, 

daughter, 
Into  your  bosom  I'll  commit  this  secret. 
And  there  we'll  both  take  counsel. 

Bel.  I  shall  find 
Some  trick  I  hope   too  strong  yet  for  hi» 

mind.       /  {KnewiH, 

G  2  I5C£NJB 


u 


W  OMEN  PLEAS'D. 


[Act  3.  Scene  2« 


SCENE  IL 
Enter  Penurio. 


Pen.    Methinks  I'm  batten'd  well  of  late, 
grown  lusty,  [teous  Rugjo  ! 

Tat,  high,  and  kicking,  thanks  to  the  boun- 
And  now,  methinks,  I  scorn  these  poor  re- 
pasts, [pilchers: 
Cheese-parings,  and  the  stinking  tongues  of 
But  why  should  I  remember  these?   they're 
odious,  [now, 
They're  odious  in  mine  eyes;  the  full  fat  dish 
The  bearing  dish,  is  that  I  reverence. 
The  dish  an  able  serving-man  sweats  under. 
And  bends  i'  th'  hams,  as  if  the  house  hung 
on  hiiD,                                              quets. 
That  dish  is  the  dish ;  hang  your  bladder  ban- 
Or  half  a  dozen  of  turnips  and  two  mush- 
rooms!                           [but  two  belches : 
These,  when  they  breed  their  best,  hatch 
The  state  of  a  fat  turkey,  the  decorum 
He  marches  in  with,  all  the  train  and  cir- 
cumstance ; 
'Tis  such  a  matter,  such  a  glorious  matter ! 
And  then  Ids  sauce  with  oranges  and  onions. 
And  he  display'd  in  all  parts!  for  such  a 

dish  now. 
And  at  my  need,  I  would  betray  my  father, 
And,  for  a  roasted  conger,  all  my  country*^. 

Enter  Bartello. 

Bart,  What,  ray  friend  Lean-gut!  how 

docs  thy  beauteous  mistress? 
Aiid  wherc*s  your  master,  sirrah?  where's 

that  hornpipe  ? 

Pen.  My  mistress,   sir,  does  as  a  poor 

wrong'd  gentlewoman  [injuries) 

(Too  much,   Heav'n  knows,  oppress*d  witii 
Mav  do,  and  live. 

A/r^  Is  tlie  old  fool  still  jealous? 

Pen,  As  old  fools  are  and  will  be,  still  the 

S!une,  sir.  [cause. 

Bart.  He  must  have  cause,  he  must  have 

Pen.  'Tis  true,  sir ; 
And  would  he  had  with  all  my  heart ! 

Bart,  He  shall  have.  [porridge. 

Pen.  For  then  he  had  salt  to  his  saiTron 

Bart.  Why  [rascal? 

Don't  I  see  thee  sometime?  why,  thou  starved 
Why  don*c  you  come  to  me,  you  precious 

bow-case  ? 
I  keep  good  meat  at  home,  good  store. 


Pen.  Yes,  sir; 
I  will  not  fail  you  all  next  week. 

Bart.  ThoiiVt  welcome : 
I  have  a  secret  I  would  fain  impart  to  thee ; 
But  thou*rt  so  thin,  the  wind  will  blow  it 

from  thee, 
Or  men  will  read  it  thro*  thee. 

Pen.  Wrapt  up  in  beef,  sir,  [me  ! 

In  good  gross  beef,  let  all  the  world  look  on 
The  Englisli  have  that  trick  to  keep  intelli- 
gence, [tie  your  tongue  up. 
Bart,  A  witty  knave !    First,  there's  to 
Pen.  Dumb  as  a  dog,  sir. 
Bart,  Next,  hark  in  your  ear,  sirrah! 
Pen,  Well,  very  well,  excellent  well !  Tis 
done,  sir ; 
Say  no  more  to  me. 
Bart.  Say,  and  hold.' 
Pen,  'Tis  done,  sir. 

Bart.  As  thou  lov*st  butter'd  eggs,  swear. 
Pen.  Let  me  kiss  the  book  first : 
But  here's  my  hand,  brave  captafai.  ^ 

Bart.  Look  you  hold,  sirran.  [Eril. 

Pen,  Oh,  the  most  precious  vanity  of  this 
world !  [and  larded 

When  such  dry  neats*  tongues  must  be  8oak*d 
With  voung  fat  supple  wenclies!  Oh,  the 

devil. 
What  can  he  do?  he  cannot  suck  an  ^igofT, 
But  his  back's  loose  i'  th' hilts :  go  thy  ways, 

captain  I 
Well  may  thy  warlike  name  work  miracles; 
But  if  e'er  thy  founder'd  courser  win  match 
Or  stand  right  but  one  train —  [more. 

Enter  Three  Gentlemen, 

1  Gent.  Now,  signor  Shadow, 

What  art  thou  thinking  of?  how  to  rob  tky 
master —  [undertakes  that. 

Pen.  Of  his  good  deeds  f  The  thief  that 

Must  have  a  hook  will  poze  all  hell  to  ham^ 
roer.  [pose*^ 

Have  you  din'd,  gentlemen,  or  do  you  pur* 

2  Gent.  Din'd,  two  long  hours  ago. 
Pen,  Pi-ay  ye  take  me  with  ye. 

3  Gent,  To  supper,  dost  thou  mean  ? 
Pen.  To  any  tlung         [true,  gentlemen; 

That  has  the  smell  of  meat  in't.    Tell  me 
Arc  not  you  three  now  going  to  be  sinful  ? 
To  jeopard  a  joint,  or  so?  I've  found  your 
faces' 7, 


I   And  sec  tchore  written  in  your  eyes. 

iGeni^ 

^  All  tny  cmntrv.']  To  betray  a  father,  and  all  a  country,  sounds  something  harsh.     I 
would  suppose  the  line  once  run  so,  , 

And  for  a  roasted  conger  sell  my  country.  Sympson, 

*'  To  iropard  a  point. ^  Mr.  Theobald  and  Mr.  Seward  read  witlime  je^flrrf,  and  the  old- 
est folio  retains  pretty  near  the  same  reading, 

.    Tbjeabard  apoinf. 
But  what  are  we  to  make  of,  Pve  fovnd  your  fices?  The  reader  may  put  what  sense  he 
pleases  to  this  place.     But  I  cannot  help  tliinking  but  we  ought  to  read, 

I've  con'd  your  faces, 
t.  e.  consider'd,  viow'd,  study'd  'em.  Sj/mpson. 

\\  hy  Mr.  Syrapson,  in  his  quotations  in  this  note,  substitutes  jjoi/i/  for  joint,  we  are  at  a 
lost  ^o  know;  and  so  we  ar§  to  find  out  v  here  the  difliculty  of,  i'r*  found  ^our  facet,  lies: 

Feuuritf 


AfitlSceittS.] 


WOMEN  PLEAST3. 


4« 


.  1  Gent.  A  parions  rascal! 

liioo'it  much  upon  the  matter. 
Pen.  Mave  a  care,  gentlemen ! 

Ttt  a  sore  age,  very  sore  age,  lewd  age ; 

And  women  now  are  like  old  knights'  ad- 
ventures. 

Foil  of  enchanted  flames,  and  daqgerous. 
S  Gent.  Where  the  most  danger  is,  there's 
the  most  honour.  [sufferance; 

Pen.  I  grant  ye,  honour  most  consists  in 

And  by  tlmt  role  you  three  should  be  most 
honourable.  J^^^>  Penurio, 

3  Gent,  A  subtle  rogue!   But  canst  thou 

Where  we  may  lieht  upon — 
Pen.  A  learned  sui^eon  ? 
3  Gent,  Pox  take  ye,  fool !  I  mean  good 
wholesome  wenches.  [spoil  ye  too. 

Pen.  'Faith,  wholesome  women  will  but 

For  you  are  so  us'd  to  snap-haunches'^ — 
Bat  take  my  counsel; 

Take  &t  old  women,  fat,  and  five  and  fifty; 

The  do^ays  are  come  in. 
S  Gent.  Take  fat  old  women?      [better ! 
Pen.  The  fatter  and  the  older,  still  the 

Too  do  not  know  the  pleasure  of  an  old 
dame,  [knack  on*t : 

A  fat  old  dame;  you  do  not  know  the 

They're  like  our  country  grots^  as  cool  as 
CbristmAS, 

And  sore  i'  th'  keels.  [os ! 

1  Gent.  Hang  him,  starv'd  fool,  he  mocks 
3  Gent.  Penurio,  thou  know^st  all  the 
handsome  wenches :  [ now  ? 

^'hat  shall  I  give  thee  for  a  merchant's  wife 
Pen.  I  take  no  money,  gentlemen ;  that's 
base!  [ye — 

I  trade  in  meat :  A  merchant's  wife  will  cost 

A  glorious  capon,  a  great  shoulder  of  mutton^ 

And  a  tart  as  big  as  a  conjurer's  circle. 
3  Gent.  That's  cheap  enough. 
1  Gent.  And  what  a  (abei^asher's? 
Fen.  Worse  meat  will  serve  for  her:  a 
great  goose-pie— 


(But  you  must  send  it  out  o'  di*  country  to 

me. 
It  will  not  do  else)  with  a  piece  of  bacooi 
And,  if  you  can,  a  pot  of  lAitter  with  it. 

2  Genf.  Now  do   I  aim  at  horse-flesh  s 

what  a  parson's  ?  [her; 

Pen.  A  titl)e-pig  has  no  fellow,  if  I  tetch 
If  she  be  puritan '',  plumb  porridge  does  it. 
And  a  fat  loin  of  veal,  well  sauc'd  and  roasted. 

2  Gent.  We'll  meet  one  night,  and  tliou 

shalt  liave  all  these, 
O'  that  condition  we  may  have  the  wenches^ 
A  dainty  rascal ! 

Pen.  When  your  stomachs  serve  ye, 
(For  mine  is  ever  ready)  1*11  supply  ye. 

1  Gent.  Farewell !  and  there  s  to  fill  thj 
Pen.  Brave  gentleman —  [paunco, 

2  Gent.  Hold,  sirrah !  there.      ' 

Pen,  Any  young  wench  i*  th*  town,  sir— 

3  Gent,  it  shall  go  round.  [Exeunt  Qent. 
Pen.  Most  honourable  gentlemen  ! 

All  these  are  courtiers;  bat  they  are  mere 

coxcombs, 
And  only  for  a  wench  their  purses  open; 
Nor  have  they  so  much  judgment  left  to 

chuse  her. 
If  e'er  they  call  upon  me,  I'll  so  fit  'em-- 
I  have  a  pack  ofwry-mouth'dmackrelladieSy 
Stink  like  a  standing  ditch,  and  those  dear 

damsels —  [monsieurs ! 

But  I  forgot  my  business;  I  thank  you, 
I  have  a  thousand  whimsies  in  my  brains 

now.  [Ikit* 

SCENE  III. 

Enter  (to  a  banquet)  Ducheis,  Duke  of  5*- 
enna,  Lordt^  and  Attendants. 

Duch.  Your  grace  shallnow  perceive  how 

much  we  honour  you,  [ship. 

And  in  what  dear  regard  we  hold  your  fnend- 
Will  you  sit^  sir,  and  grace  this  homely  ban« 

quet  ?  [too  magnificent. 

Vuke.  Madam,  to  your  poor  friend  you're 


Penurio  asks  them  coarsely.  Are  not  you  three  going  to  be  sinful?  and  aflerwards  adds,  Fvs 
hand  yonr  faces;  i.e.    *I  have  discovered  .the  meaning  of  your  looks,  and  see  whore 
written  in  your  eyes.'    This  interpretation  is  unforced,  and  shews  found  to  be  the  betteiy 
as  well  as  the  older  reading.     Corid  conveys  a  weaker  sense. 
'*  Snap-haunces.]  So  the  former  editions. 
*^  If  she  be  Puritan,  plumb  porridge^  I  read,  ^ 

If  she  ben't  Puritan,  ^c. 
The  Puritans  have  several  of  them  very  warmly  opposed  the  observance  of  church  festivals, 
and  of  consequence  the  feasting  upon  tliem,  which  Hudibras  has  finely  burlesqued,  in  part  i« 
eanto  i. 

»  Rather  than  fail,  they  will  defy 

That  which  they  love  most  tenderly; 
Quarrel  with  minc*d  pies,  and  disparage 
Their  best  and  dearest  friend  plum  porridge; 
Fntpig  and  goose  itself  oppose, 
Ana  blaspheme  ctafar</  thro'  the  nose. 
From  whence  it  vrill  appear  that  a  ne^tive  is  wanting  in  the  line  above,  which  I  have  in« 
Berted.    The  reader  wiA  observe  that  in  this  and  another  banter  on  the  fanatics,  our  poets 
have  brought  their  scene  back  to  England ;  for  I  believe  there  was  never  any  sect  of  them) 
ihat  held  these  doctrines  on  tlie  other  side  the  Alps.  Seward. 

This  note  cobfirms,  we  think,  instead  of  s)iaking  the  text. 

Duch. 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


[Act  3.  Scene  4^ 


JDiicL  To  the  duke's  healtb,  and  all  the 

joys  I  wish  him !  [sic  ? 

Let  no  man  miss  this  cap.   Have  we  no  mu- 

Duke.  Your  noble  favoars  still  jfou  heap 

upon  me !  [feast. 

But  wherc's  my  virtuous  mistress?   such  a 

And  not  her  sparkling  beauty  here  to  bless  it? 

Methinks  it   should  not  t>e ;  it  shews  not 

fully. 

DucA.  Young  ladies,  sir,  are  long  aud  cu- 
rious [goes, 
In  putting  on  their  trims  ^°,  forget  how  day 
And  then'tis  their  good-4norrow  when  they're 
ready.—                                          [hither; 
Go  some  and  call  lier,  and  wait  upon  her 
Tell  her  the  dukeand  I  desireher  company. — 
I  warrant  you,  a  hundred  dressings  now 
She  hassurvey'd;  this  and  that  fashion  looked 
on,                                                    [jewels 
For  ruiTs  and  gowns ;  cast  this  away,  these 
Suited  to  these  and  these  knots:  O'  my  life, 
sir,                                                   [else. — 
She  fears  your  curious  eye  will  soon  discover 
"Why  stand  ye  still  ?  why  gape  ye  on  one  ano- 
ther? 
Did  I  not  bid  ye  go,  and  tell  my  daughter? 
Arc  you  nail'df  here?  Nor  stir,  nor  speak? 
And  who  are  you ?                      [Who  am  I? 
1  Lord.  Pardon  me,  gracious  lady!      [of, 
The  fear  to  tell  you  that  you  would  not  hear 
Makes  us  all  dumb:  the  princess  is  gone, 
madam.                        [fellow  answer  me  ! 
Duck.  Gone?  whither  gone?  Some  wiser 
St  Lord.  We  sought  the  court  all  over; 
aud,  believe,  lady,                           [hence. 
No  news  of  where  she  is,  nor  how  conveyed 
Duch.  It  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be! 
1  Lord.  Tis  true,  madam;           [thro*  it. 
Ko  room  in  air  the  court,  but  we  seai-ch'd 
Her  women  found  her  want  first,  and  they 
cried  to  us.                            [dishonoured. 
Duck.  Gone?  stol'n  away?  I  am  abus'd, 
Duke.  Tis  I  that  am  abus*d,  'tis  I  dis- 
honoured!                                          [me? 
Is  this  your  welcome?  this  your  favour  to 
To  foist  a  trick  upon  me?  this  trick  too, 
To  cheat  me  of  my  love?  Am  I  not  worthy? 
Or,  since  I  was  your  guest,  am  I  grown 
odious? 

Duch.  Your  grace  mistakes  me;  as  I  have 
a  life,  sir —  [this, 

Duke.  And  I  another,  I  will  ne\'er  bear 
Never  endure  this  dor** ! 

Duch.  But  hear  me  patiently! 
Duke.  Give  me  my  love ! 
Duch.  As  soon  as  care  can  find  her; 
And  all  care  shall  be  us'd. 

Dluke.  And  all  my  care  too,  [rank ; 

To  be  revcng'd :  I  smell  the  trick ;  'tis  too 
Fy,  how  it  smells  o'  th'  motJier ! 


Duch.  You  wrong  me,  duke. 

Duke.  For  this  disgrace,   ten  thousand 

Florentines 
Shall  pay  their  dearest  bloods,  and  dying 

curse  you! 
And  so  I  turn  away  your  mortal  ^em y ! 

[Ejrit. 

Duch,  Since  you're  so  high  and  hot,  sir, 

you've  half  arm'd  us. 
Be  careful  of  the  town,  of  all  the  castles^ 
And  see  supplies  of  soldiers  every  where. 
And  musters  for  the  field  when  he  invites  us; 
For  he  shall  know,  'tis  not  high  words  can 

fright  us.  [me  ^ 

My  daughter  gone?  Has  she  so  finely  co2en.'d 
This  is  for  Silvio's  sake  sure ;  oh,  cunning 

false  one  1 
Publish  a  proclamation  thro*  the  dukedom. 
That  whosoe'er  can  bring  to  the  court  young 

Silvio, 
Alive  or  dead,  beside  our  tJianks  and  favour. 
Shall  have  two  thousand  ducats  for  his  labour ! 
See  it  dispatch'd  and  sent  in  haste.  Oh,  base 

one!  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Jschella,  and  Penurio  with  a  light. 

Isab,  Wast  thou  with  Rugio  ? 

Fen.  Yes,  marry  was  1,  closely » 

Isab.  And  does  he  still  remember  his  poor 
Does  he  desire  to  see  me?  [mistress? 

Fen.  Yes,  and  presently;  [mory; 

Puts  oif  all  business  else ;  lives  in  that  me* 
And  will  be  here  according  to  directions. 

Isab.  But  where's  thy  master  ? 

Fen.  Where  ja.  coxcomb  should  be ; 
VVaiting  at  court  with  his  jewels;  safe  for 
This  night,  I  warrant  you. 

Isab.  I  am  bound  to  thee.  [tie  you. 

Fen.  I  would  you  v^  ere,  as  close  as  I  could 

Isab.  Thou  art  my  best,  my  truest  friend-— 

Fen.  I  labour, 
I  moil  and  toil  for  you;  I  am  yourhacknej. 

Isab,  If  ever  I  be  able — 

Fen.  Steal  the  great  cheese,  mistress^ 
Was  sent  him  out  o'  th*  country. 

Isab.  Any  thing — 

Fen.  That's  meat;  'tis  lawful,  mistress. 

Where's  the  castle-custard. 
He  got  at  court  ? 

Isab.  He  has  lock'd  it  in  his  study. 

Fen.  Get  a  warrant 
To  search  for  counterfeit  gold. 

Isab.  Give  me  thy  candle; 
I'll  find  a  time  to  be  tliy  careful  cajfj^r. 

Fen.  And  many  a  time  I'll  find  to  be  his 

cook,  [sauce,  mistress ! 

And  dress  his  calf's  head  to  the  sweetest 

Isab.  To  bed,  Penurio!  go;  tl;e  rest  is 
I'll  keep  the  watch  out  [my  charge  j 


*®  Triws.'l  In  our  ancient  writers,  trim  almost  always  signifies  dress.    It  plainly  does  so 
here,  and  in  another  passage  in  act  v.     So,  in  Shakespeare's  King  John,  a  bride  undrat  is 


called  an  unt rimmed  bride.     See  act  iii.  scene  1. 
*'  Dor.'\  See  note  35  on  Love's  Pilgrimage, 


R. 


Fen. 


Act  5.  Scene  4] 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


4f 


•  Pen.  Now  if  you  spare  him-^         lExit. 

Lab,  Peace,  fool!—  [me. 

I  hope  my  Ru^o  will  not  foil  *  'twould  vex 
Xiow  to  my  stnng !  so ;  sore  he  camiot  miss 

now; 
And  this  end  to  my  £nger.    FIl  He  down, 
For  on  a  sadden  I  am  wondrous  heavy ; 
Tis  very  late  too ;  if  he  come  and  find  this, 
And  pull  it,  tho*  it  be  with  easy  motion, 
I  sbafl  soon  waken,  and  as  soon  be  with  him. 

Enter  Lopez, 

Lopez,  Thon  secret  friend  ^%  how  am  I 
bound  to  love  thee ! 
And  how  to  hug  thee  for  thy  private  service ! 
Thou  art  the  star  all  my  suspicions  sail  by, 
The  fixed  point  my  wronged  honour  turns  to : 
By  thee  I  shall  know  all,  find  all  the  subtilties 
W  devilish  women,  that  torment  me  /laily : 
Thoa  artrnv  conjurer,  my  spell,  my  spirit!— 
Alfs  httsfa'd  and  still,  no  sound  of  any  stir- 
ring, [stUl; 
No  tread  of  living  thing !  The  light  is  in 
And  there's  my  wife  ^  hnw  prettily  the  fool 
iies,  [too ! 
How  sweetand  handsomely;  and  in  hercloaths 
Waiting  for  me,  upon  my  life !  her  fondness 
Would  not  admit  her  rest  till  I  came  to  her : 
Oh,  careful  fool,  why  am  I  angry  with  thee  ? 
Why  do  I  think  tlion  hat'st  thy  loving  husband? 
I  am  an  ass,  an  over-^loting  coxcomb ; 
And  this  sweet  soul  the  mirror  of  perfection. 
How  admirable  lair  and  delicate !  [requiem. 
And  how  it  stirs  me  I  1*11  sing  thy  sweets  a 
But  will  not  waken  thee. 

SONG. 

Oh,  fair  sweet  face,  oh,  eyes  celestial  bright, 
Twin  stars  in  Heav'n,  tliat  now  adorn  the 

night;  ^ 

Oh,  fruitful  lips,  where  cherries  ever  grow. 
And  damask  cheeks^  where  all  sweet  beauties 

blow;  ^ 

Oh  thou,  from  head  to  foot  divinely  fair ! 
Cupid's  most  cunning  net's  made  of  that  hair; 
And,  as  he  weaves  himself  for  curious  eyes. 
Oh  me,  oh  me,  Fm  caught  myseU^  he  cries: 
Sweet  rest  about  thee^  sweetand  golden  sleep, 
Soft  peaceful  thoughts,  your  hourly  watches 

teep. 
Whilst  I  in  wonder  sing  this  sacrifice. 
To  beauty  sacred,  and  tliose  angel-eyes! 

Kow  will  I  steal  a  kiss,  a  dear  kiss  from  her, 
And  suck  the  rosy  breath  of  this  bright 

beauty. — 
What  a  devil's  this  ?  tied  to  her  finger  too  ? 
A  string,  a  damned  string,  to  give  intelligence ! 
Oh,  my  loT'd  key,  how  t^u^y  hast  thou  aerv*d 

me!  [goes, 

ni  follow  this:  soft,   soft!    to  th'  door  it 
And  thro'  to  th^  other  side !  a  daran'd  string 

'tis! 
I  am  abus'd,  topt,  cuckolded,  fool'd,  jaded. 


Ridden  to  deadi,  to  madness !  Stay,  thit 

helps  not ; 
Stay,  stay]  and  now  invention  help  me! 
rU  sit  down  by  her,  take  this  from  her  easily, 
And  thus  upon  mine  own.  Dog,  I  shall  catch 

you;  [y^^ 

With  all  vour  cunning,  sir,  I  shall  light  on 
I  felt  it  pull  sure ;  yes,  but  wondrous  softly; 
'Tis  there  again,  and  harder  now :  have  at  you ! 
Now  an  thou  scap'st,  the  devil's  thy  ehostlv 

father!  [Exd. 

Itah.  Sure 'twas  my  husband's  voice  I  The 
rJ^^}^  6one  too ;  (betra/d, 

H  has  found  the  trick  on't!  Tm  undone. 
And  if  he  meet  my  friend,  he  perishes; 
What  fortune  follows  me,  what  spiteful  forr 
Hoa,  Jaquenet !  [tune ! 

Enter  Jaquenet, 

Jaq,  Here,  mistress;  do  you  call  me? 

I$ab,  Did'st  thou  hear  no  noise? 

Jac,  I  hear  my  master  mad  yonder. 
And  swears  and  nhafpx^ 

laab,  Dar'st  thou  do  one  thing  for  me? 
One  thing  concerns  mine  honour?  all  is  lost. 

Jaq,  Name  what  you  will.  [else, 

l»ab.  It  can  bring  but  a  beating. 
Which  I  will  recompense  so  largely-^ 

Jaq.  Name  it. 

Itah.  Sit  here  as  if  thou  wert  asleep. 

Jaq,  Is  that  all!  [unto  thee, 

liab.  When  he  comes  in,  whatever  he  do 
(The  worst  will  be  but  beating)  speak  not  a 
Not  one  word,  as  thou  lov'st  me.         [word 

J«9.  I'll  run  thro*  it.  ' 

hub,  I'll  carry  away  the  candle.      [Exit. 

Jaq,  And  I  the  blows,  mistress.  ^  . 

Enter  Lopez. 

Lopez,  Have  you  put  your  light  out?  I 

shall  stumble  to  you,  [your  rogue  too  s 
1  ou  whore,  you  cunniue  whore !  I  sliall  catch 
li' has  light  legs,  else  I  had  so  ferretrclaw*d 
OK  r  rr  A  ,^[^eep  still,  whore? 
Uh,  have  I  found  you?  Do  you  play  at  dog- 
D  you  think  that  can  protect  you?  Yes,  1*1 

kill  thee ;  [lainies. 

But  first  rU  bring  thy  friends  to  view  thy  vil- 
Thy  whorish  villainies :  and  first  I'll  beat  thee, 
Beat  thee  to  pin-dust,  thou  salt  whore,  thou 

varlet,  [i„g  yig^^g  j 

Scratch  out  thine  eyes :  I'll  spoil  your  tempt- 
Are  you  so  patient?    Til  put  my  naiis  in 

deeper. 
Is  it  good  whoring?  whoring,  ye  base  rascal? 
Is  It  good  tempting  men  with  strings  to  ride 

y*^V^  [whore; 
So!  ril  fetch  your  kindred,  and  your  friend^ 
And  auch  a  justice  I  will  act  upon  thee 

lExik 
Enter  Isabella. 

'  Isah,  What,  is  he  gone? 

Jaq.  The  devil  go  with  him,  laistrcss  I 


**  ITiott  secret  frieiid.]  Hi&  private  key.  Sampson, 


H'haa 


48 


WOMEN  PLEASED. 


[Act  a.  Scene  4. 


H'has  harrow'd  me^  plougVd  land  was  ne*er 

so  harrow'd; 
I'd  the  most  ado  to  save  mine  eyes. 

Itab.  H'  has  paid  thee ;  [net 

But  rU  heal  all  a^in  with  good  gold,  Jaque- 
H*  has  damned  nails.  [tress ; 

Jaq.  They're  tenpenny  nails,  I  think,  mis- 
Ill  undertake  be  shall  strike 'em  thro' an  inch 

board.  [matum; 

l9ttb.  Go  up  and  wash  thyself;  takpmypo- 
And  now  let  me  alone  to  end  the  tragedy. 

Jaq.  You'd  best  beware. 

Itab.  I  shall  deal  stoutly  with  him; 
Reach  me  my  book,  and  see  the  door  made 

fast,  wench ;  [litick ! 

And  so,  good  night !  Now  to  the  matter  po- 

[Lopez  knocks  within. 

Lopes,  [within]  You  shall  see  what  she  is, 

what  a  sweet  iewel. 

Itab.  Who's  there  ?  what  madman  knocks? 

is  this  an  hour. 
And  in  mine  husband's  absence  ? 

Lopez,  [within^  Will  you  open? 
You  know  my  voice,  you  whore!  I  am  that 

husband.  [her ; 

D^you  mark  her  subtilty?  But  I  have  paid 
I  have  so  ferk'd  her  face — Here's  the  blood, 

gentlemen!  [ty; 

Ecce  signutn  !  I  have  spoil'd  her  goatish  beau- 
Observe  her  how  she  looks  now,  how  she's 

painted !  [most  treacherous — 

Oh,  'tis  the  most  wicked'^st  whore  *3,  and  the 

JE^nter  Lopez,  Bartello,  Gentlanen,  and  two 
CentUaomen. 

Gent.  Here  walks  my  cousin,  full  of  me- 
Arm'd  with  religious  thoughts.        [ditadon, 

Bart.  Is  this  the  monster?    [you  talk'd  of, 

1  Gentlew.  Is  this  the  subject  of  that  rage 
That  naughty  woman  you  had  puU'd  a-pieces? 

Bart.  Here's  no  such  thing.  [beaut)r  I 

1  Gentlew.  How  have  you  wrong'd   this 
Are  you  not  mad,  my  friend  ?  What  time  o' 

th' moon  is't? 
Have  not  you  ma^ots  in  your  brains  ? 

Lopez.  Tie  she  sure  I 

Gent.    Where's  the  scratch'd  face  you 

spoke  of,  the  torn  garments. 
And  all  tlie  hair  pluck'd  off  her  head  ? 

Bart,  Believe  me,  [pebbles, 

'Twere  better  far  you'd  lost  ^our  pair  of 
Than  she  the  least  ailomment  of  that  sweet- 

Lopez.  Is  not  this  blood  ?  [ness. 

1  Gentiew.  This  is  a  monstrous  folly, 
A  base  abuse! 

Itab.  Thus  he  docs  ever  use  me, 
And  sticks  me  up  a  wonder,  not  a  woman : 
Nothing  I  do,  hut's  subject  to  suspicion ; 
Nothing  I  can  do,  able  to  content  liim. 

*'  QA,  'tis  the  most  wicked'st  whore,']  The  putting  the  sign  of  the  superlative  degree,  to 
the  superlative  degree  itself,  as  the  comparative  sign  to  the  comparative  degree  a  little 
above,  is  a  practice  in  which  our  authors  are  not  sin'^uiar,     Sj/mpson. 

*♦  Flaws.]  This  word,  in  our  authors'  time,  signihed  stornis,  or  gusts.  Several  instances 
might  be  produced.        R, 

t  Gentlew. 


Bart.  Lopez,  you  must  not  use  this. 

2  Gentlew.  'Twere  not  amiss,  sir,  [ly— 
To  give  ye  sauce  t'  your  meat ;  and  sudden- 

1  Gentlew,  You  that  dare  wrong  a  wo- 
man of  her  goodness —  [to  thee. 
Thou  have  a  wife !   thou  have  a  bear  tied 
To  scratch  thy  jealous  itch!  Were  all  o'  my 

mind,  [then  yoa 

I  mean  all  women,  we  would  soon  disbur- 
Of  that  that  breeds  these  fits,  these  dog« 

flaws**  in  ye; 
A  sow-gelder  should  trim  you. 

Bart.  A  rare  cure,  lady,  [ter ! — 

And  one  as  fit  for  him  as  a  thief  for  a  hal- 
You  see  this  youth;  will  you  not  cry  lum 

quittance? 
Body  o'  me,  I'd  pine,  but  I  would  pepper  him; 
I'll  come  anon.^-£Le,  hang  him,  ipoor  pout* 

pillion !  [laay*—* 

How  hke  a  wench  bepist  he  looks  1 — i'U  canoe 
Lopez,  the  law  must  teach  you  what  a  wife  is. 
A  good,  a  virtuous  wife — 

Itab.  I'll  ne'er  live  with  him !  [cause, 
I  crave  your  loves  aU  to  make  known  my 
That  so  tair  a  divorce  may  pass  between  us : 
I'm  weary  of  my  life;  in  danger  hourly. 

Bart.  You  see  how  rude  you  are— I  will 

not  miss  you — 
Unsufferable  rude— I'll  pay  him  soundly — 
You  should  be  whipt  in  Bedlam— I'll  reward 

him — 

S  Gentlew.  Whippings  tao  ^d— • 

Lopez.  I  think  I  am  alive  stiU, 
And  m  my  wits  1 

Bart.  I'll  put  a  trick  upon  him—  ['em* 
And  get  his  goods  confiscate;  you  shall  have 
I  will  not  &il  at  nine — 

Lopez.  I  think  I'm  here  too ;  {napping. 
And  once  I  would  have  sworn  I'd  ta'en  her 
I  tliink  my  name  is  Lopez. 

Gent.  Fy  for  shame,  sir!  [her; 

You  see  you  have  abus'd  her,  foully  wronged 
Hung  scandalous  and  coarse  opinions  on  her. 
Which  now  you  find  but  children  of  suspicion  r 
Ask  her  forgiveness,  shew  a  penitence ! 
She  is  my  kinswoman ;  and  what  she  sufifera 
Under  so  base  and  beastly  jealousies, 
I  will  redress,  else  I'll  seek  satisiaction. 

Bart.  Why  every  boy  'i  th'  town  will  piss 

Lopez.  I'm  sorry  for't— «  [upon  thee. 

1  Gentlew,  Down  o'  your  marrow-bones ! 

Lopez.   E'en  sorry  from  my  heart:  for* 

give  me,  sweet  wife !  [you; 

Here  I  confess  most  freely  I  have  wrong'il 
As  freely  here  I  beg  a  pardon  of  you  I 
From  this  hour  no  debate,  no  cros5>  suspi- 
cion—  [wife's  part, 

Isah,  To  shew  you,  sir,  I  understand  a 
Thus  I  asbure  my  love,  and  seal  your  pardon. 


Id  4.  Scene  1.] 


WOMEN  PLEASE. 


S  Genilem.  Tis  tvett  doae:  bow  to  bed, 

and  there  confina  it ! 

Cotf.  And  so  good  ni^t ! 

BarL  Aware  relapses/Lopez.      [Exeunt. 

Lovez.  Now  Isabella,  tell  me  truth,  and 

saadenljy 
And  do  not  jug^e  with  me,  nor  dissemble, 
(For,  as  I  have  a  life,  you  die  then !  tm  not 


(Nor  does  the  deyil  work  opon  my  weakness) 
Tell  me  the  trick  of  this,  and  tell  me  freely. 

liob.  Will  then  that  satisfy  yon? 

Lopez.  If  you  deal  ingenuously,      [freely. 

Lib,  m  tell  you  all,  and  tell  you  true  and 
Butetto  was  the  end  of  all  this  jealousy ; 
His  often  visitations  brought  by  )roii,  first 
Bred  all  these  fits,  and  tfa^  suspicions ; 
I  knew  yoor  fidse  key,  and  accordingly 
1 6am'd  my  plot,  to  have  you  take  him  finely. 
Too  poor  a  penance  for  the  wrong  his  wife 

Wan, 


His  worthy  virtuous  wife !  I  felt  it  sensibly. 
When  you  took  off  the  string,  and  was  much 
pleasMin't,  [well; 

Because  I  wish*d  his  importunate  dotage  oaid 
And  had  you  staid  two  minutes  more  y  had 
had  him. 

Lopez.  This  sounds  like  truth. 
I$ab.  Because  this  3hail  be  certain. 
Next  time  he  comes  (as  long  he  cannot  tarry) 
Yourself  sliall  see,  and  hear,  his  lewd  temp- 
tations, [prove  true, 
Lopez.  Till  then  I'm  satisfied :  and  if  this 
Henceforward  mistress  of  yourself  I  give  you. 
And  I  to  serve  you.    For  my  lusty  captain, 
ril  make  himciance,  and  make  him  think  the 
devil  [him. 
Claws  at  his  breech,  and  yet  I  will  not  hurt 
Come  now  to  bed;  and  prove  but  constant 

this  way, 
ril  prove  the  man  you  ever  wish'd. 

Itabi  You've  blest  me.  lExeunL 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I. 


Enter  Silvio. 

Si/.  'IX7HAT  labour  and  what  travel  have  I 

""     mnthro*,  \ 

And  thro*  what  cities,  to  absolve  this  riddle ! 
IKviners,  dreamers,  schoolmen,  deep  magi- 

dans,  [ings, 

AU  have  I  tried ;  and  all  give  several  mean- 
And  from  all  hope  of  any  future  happiness : 
To  Uusplace  am  I  come  at  length,  the  country; 
The  people  simple^  plain,  and  harmless  witty. 
Whose  honest  labours  Heav'n  rewards  with 

plenty  [thankful 

Of  com,  wine,  oil,  which  they   again,  as 
Todttir  new  crops  new  pastimes  celebrate, 
And  crown  their  joyful  harvests  with  new 

voices. 
By  a  rich  farmer  here  Fm  entertain'd, 
And  raok'd  among  the  number  -of  his  sen- 

▼ants,  [me. 

^ot  guessing  what  I  am,  but  what  he*d  have 
aere  may  be  so  much  wit(tho'  much  I  fear  it) 
T'  oodo  this  knotty  question;  and  Vouid  to 

Heav'n— 

Enter  Soto,  with  a  Proclamation. 

%  fortunes  had  been  hatched  with  tljeirs, 
as  innocent,  [ness! 

^  never  known  a  pitch  above  their  plain- 
Sd/o.  That  it  is,  that  it  is.     What^s  this 

^isapla^uy  word,  that  it  is ;    [word  now? 

*»«>fl,tiiatitis,reflioii.   By  your  leave,    [sir; 

*f.Soto,  by  your  leave,  yon  are  too  quick, 

Asere'j  a  strange  parlous  T  befbre  the  reason^ 


A  very  tall  T,  which  makes  the  word  higk-^ 
treason.     .  [understand  himself^ 

Sil.  What  treason's  tha,t?  does  this  fellow 
Soto,  Pitch  will  infect;  I'll  meddle  no  more 
•  with  this  ^eer.-^  [low? 

What  a  devd  ails  tliis  fellow;  this  fqolish  fel- 
Being  admitted  to  be  one  oi^  us  too,       [ino;^ 
That  are  the  masters  of  the  -sports  proceed- 
Thus  to  appear  before  me  too,  unmorris*d? 
D' you  know  me,  friend  ? 

oil.  You  are  my  master's  son,  sir. 
Soto.  And  do  vou  know  what  sports  are 
now  in  season  r 

Sil.  1  hear  there  are  some  a-footl 
Soto.  Where  are  your  bells  then? 
Your  rings,  your  ribbands,  friend  ?  and  your 
clean  napkins?  flhere 

Your  nosegay  in  your  hat,  pinned  up  r  An'C 
My  father*s  eldest'sou  ?  and  at  this  time,  sir, 
I  would  ha\>e  you  know  it,  though  you  be  ten 
tiifkes  his  servant,  [harvest,  sir; 

A  better  man  than  my  father  far,  lord  of  tliis 
And  shall  a  man  of  my  place  want  attend- 
ance ?  [^uty,  bred  this ; 
Sil.  Twas  want  of  knowledge,  sir,  not 
rd  have  made  suit  else  for  your  lordship's 
service.                    [mend  your  manners ! 
Soto.  In  some  sort  I  am  satisfied  now; 
But  thou  art  a  melancholy  fellow,  vengeance 
melancholy,  [us  i 
And  that  may  breed  an  insurrection  amongst 
Go  to !  I'll  lay  the  best  part  of  two  pots  now 
Thoii  art  in  love,  and  I  can  guess  with  whom 
too;.                                              [at  thee, 
I  saw  .the  wench  that  twir^d^^  ax«i  twinkled 


Twir^d.]  So  Ben  Jonson  in  his  Sad  Shepherd,  act  ii.  scene  3. 

xj^,  ,  Which  maids  will  twirc  ai  thro'  their  fiiiaera, 

VOL  UL  I£  * 


Sj/mpson* 


The 


60 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


[Aot4.  S€CDe  1. 


The  other  dny;  the  wencb  that's  new  come 
The  Young  smug  wench.  [hither, 

Sit.  You  know  more  than  I  feel,  sir. 

Soto.  Go  to!  m  be  thy  friend.  111  spenk 

a  good  word  for  thee,  [to  her. 

And^houfthait  have  my  lordshio's  countenance 
May  be  JVe  had  a  snap  myself;  may  be  ay, 

may  be  no; 
We  lords  are  allowed  a  little  more. 

SiL  Tisfit,  sir:  [derofmc. 

I  humbly  thank  you!  you're  too,  too  ten- 
But  tvhat,  sir,  I  beseecli  you,  was  that  paper, 
Your  lordship  was  so  studiously  employed  in. 
When  you  came  out  a-doors  ? 

Soto.  Thou  meanest  this  paper? 

SiL  That,  sir,  I  think. 

Soto.  Why,  'tis  a  proclamation, 
A   notable  piece  of  villainy,  as  ever  thou 

heard'st  in  thy  life ; 
By  mine  honour  'tis. 

SiL  How,  sir,  or  what  concerns  it  ?/ 

Soto.  It  comes  you  from  the  duchess,  a 

plaguy  wise  woman,  '^ 

To  apprehend  the  body  of  one  Silvio,  [post) 
(As  arrant  a  rascal  as  ever  piss'd  asamst  a 
And  this  same  Silvio,  or  this  foresaid  rascal, 
To  bring  before  her,  live  or  dead;  for  which 

good  service  [ducats : 

The  man  that  brmgs  him  has  two  tLousand 
Is  not  this  notable  matter  nowP 

SiL  Tis  so  indeed'. — 
Tins  proclanuition  bears  my  bane  about  it  I 
Can  no  rest  find  me,  no  pnvate  place  secure 

me,  [toe  ? 

But  still  my  miseries  like  blood-hounds  haunt 
Unfortunate  young  man,  which  way  now 

guides  thee,  [round  for  thee. 

Guides  thee  from  death?  the  country's  laid 
Oh,  Claudio,  now  I  feel  thy  blood  upon  me; 
Now  it  speaks  loudly  here,  I'm  sure,  against 

me;  [claim'd  it. 

Time  now  has  found  it  out,  and  truth  pro- 
And  justice  now  cries  out,  I  mast  die  for  it. 

Soto.  Hastthoureadit? 

SiL  Yes. 

Soto.  And  dost  thou  know  that  SiKio  f 

SiJ.  I  never  saw  him,  sir. 

Soto.  I  have,  and  know  him  too,  [ter ; 
I  know  him  as  well  as  I  know  thee,  and  bet- 
And,  if  I  light  upon^him,  for  a  trick  he  play 'd 

me  once,  •  [him ! 

A  certain  kind  of  dog-trick,  Fll  so  fiddle 
Two  thousand  ducats?  1*11  so  pepper  him! 
.  And  with  that  money  I'll  turn  gentleman, 
Worth  a  brown  baker*sd(izen  of  such  Silvios. 

SiL  There  is  no  staying  here;  this  rogue 

will  know  me. 
And  for  the  money's  sake  betray  me  too: 
I  must  bethink  me  suddenly  and  safely. 

Enter  Morris-dancers. 

Stfto.  Mine  own  dear  lady,  have  at  thy  ho- 
neycomb !  .  [trace  sweetly  \ 
Now,  for  die   honour  of  our  town,  bqys, 
{Cry  within  qf^  Avm^  arm  ! 


What  a  veageanoe  aib  thb  wbobub?  pox  re- 
fuse em!  [here? 
Cannot  they  let's  dance  in  our  own  defence 

Enter  Farmer  and  Captain. 

Copt,  Arm,  honest  friends,  arm  suddenly 

and  bravely,  [me  • 

And  with  your  ancient  resolutions  follow 
Look  how  the  beacons  shew  like  cocaets; 

your  poor  neighbours 
Run  maddingly  affrighted  thro'  the  villages; 
Sienna's  duke  is  up,  bums  all  before  hina. 
And  with  his  sword  makes  thousand  mothers 

cliildless. 

Soto.  What's  this  to  our  morri*Klancers? 

m.  This 
May  serve  my  turn. 

Soto,  There's  ne'er  a  dake  in  chnsteadom 
But  loves  a  May-game, 

Capt.  At  a  horse 
You  were  always  cess'd ;  put  your  son  on  him. 
And  arm  him  well!  i' th' state's  name,  I  cojur* 

mand  you : 
And  tliey  that  dare  go  Toluntary  shall 
Receive  reward. 

Soto,  I  dai-e  go  no  way,  sir. 
This  is  strange,  master  captain^  [here^ 

You  cannot  be  content  to  spoil  our  sport 
(Which  I  dont  thiiJt  your  worship's  able  to 

answer) 
But  you  mast  set  ms  together  by  the  earsy 
With  I  know  not  who  too  ?  We  are  for 
The  bodily  part  o'th' dance. 

CapU  Ann  him  suddenly !  [elae 

(This  is  no  time  to  fool)  I  shall  return  you 
A  rebel  to  the  general  state,  and  duchess  ^ 
And  how  you'll  answer  then — 

Farmer.  I've  no  more  sons,  sir ; 
This  is  my  only  boy;  I  beseech  you,  master 

captain—  [truth,  sir; 

Soto.  Fm  a  rank  coward  too,  to  say  the 
I  never  hud  good  luck  at  buBets  neither. 

Farmer.  Here's  vorty  sliillings,  spare  the 

child. 

Capt.  I  cannot.  [a  May-lord  ? 

Soto.  Arc  you  a  man?  will  you  cast  awaj 
^Shall  all  the  wenches  in  the  country  curse 

you  ?  [his  person ; 

SiL  An't  please  you,  captain.  111  supply 
CTis  pity  their  old  custom  should  be  frighted) 
Let  me  have  horse,  and  good  arms,  I'll  serve 

willinirly,  [liie ! 

And,  if  I  shrink  ft  foot  of  ground,  hell  take 

Capt.   A  promising  aspect,  face  full   of 

courage. 
,  I'll  take  tliis  man,  and  thank  you  too — 

Farmer.  There's  for  thee ; 
'Tis  in  a  clout,  but  good  old  gold. 

SiL  I  thank  you,  sir.         [feather  on  too^ 

Farmer.  Go,  saddle  my  forehorse,  put  his 
(He'll  praunce  it  bravely,  friend;  he  fears  no 

colours)  [dizeu'd. 

And  take  the  armour  down,  and  sec  him 

Soto.  Farewell !  asd  if  thou  cacriest  thyself 
Well  in  \U\%  matter— I  s^y  no  more,  but  this 

'I  here 


WOMEN  PLEASD. 


U 


Act  4b  Sonfe  s*j 

There  most  be  mora  MttJ-^n1%  «nd  I  know 
Are  fit.  [who 

SiL  Danee  you ;  Fll  fig^t,  sir. 

Cap/.  Away,  away  I 

SU,  Farewell !  I'm  for  the  captain  ^^ 

[EseunL 

Formfr.  Now  to  this  matter  again^  my 

honest  fellows ! 
For,  if  this  go  not  forward,  I  foresee,  friends, 
Tlus  war  wul  fii^t  our  neighboars  out  o' 

•  th*  villages :  [news,  boys. 

Cheer  up  your  hearts !  we  shall  hear  better 

Bomhy,  Surely  Til  dance  no  more*^,  'tis 

most  ridiculous : 
I  find  ray  wife's  instructions  now  mere  ve- 
rities, 
Mj learned  wife's;  ^e  often  hath  pronounced 

to  me  [damnM  else.' 

Mjaafety:  <Boraby,  defy  these  siJorts;  thou'rt 
IliiB  beast  of  Babylon  I  will  ne'er  back 

igwn, 
ms  pace  is  nue  prophane,  and  lus  lewd 

The  song!  of  Hymyn*'  and  Gymyn,  in  the 

vildemeit,  [again^'f 

Farmer*  Fy,  iieithbourBomby,  in  vour  fits 
Tour  zeal  sweats.  This  is  not  carcRu,  neigl> 

bour; 
Tli^  hobby-horse  n  a  seemly  hobby-horse—  ^ 

Soto,  And  as  pcetty  a  beast  on's  inches,  ^ 

tho*  I  say  it—  [lewd  beast, 

Bomby.  The  beast  is  an  unseemly  and  a 
And  got  at  Rome  by  the  pope's  coach-horses ; 
His  mother  was  the  mare  of  Ignorance. 

8(^0,  Cobler,  thou  llest,  an  thou  wert  a 

thousand  coblers !  [of  good  credit ; 

His  mother  was  an  honest  mare,  and  a  mare 
I  know  the  mare,  and^  if  need  be,  can  bring 

witness; 
And,  in  the  way  of  honesty  I  tell  thee, 
Scom'd  any  coach-horse  the  pope  had;  thou'rt 

foolish,  [beast, 

And  diy  blind  zeal  makes  thee  abuse  the 

Bombtf,  I  do  defy  thee,  and  thy  foot-cloth 

too; 
And  tell  thee  to  thy  iace,  this  prophane  riding, 

**  Tm  for  the  cimtainJ]  Theobald's  margin  says,  for  thee,  captain, 
*'  Hob.  Surely  PU dance,  ^c]  As  there  is  no  such  name  as  Hob  in  the  dromatig  perumS, 
"od  as  he  is  call^,  and  calls  himself  here  and  through  the  scene,  by  the  name  of  Boniby; 
nethinks  we  ought  to  displace  this  nonsensical  Hoby  and  iuscrt  Bomby  in  its  place.  Stfmpson. 
*•  The  sons  ^  4"^,]  Corrected  by  Theobald. 

**  • in  your  Jit$  again. 

Your  zeai  sweats,]  For  the  want  only  of  a  single  hyphen,  how  difficult  is  it  to  under- 
'Ind  &e  humour  of  the  Farmer  here  f  Sure  ^e  should  write  thus, 

your  fits  again^ 

Your  leal-sweats?  Sympson, 

The  old  reading  is  most  easy  and  natural. 
^I^hobby-horse.].Among8tthecountry  May-games  there  was  an  hMy^hor$ey  which, 
♦hen  the  puritanical  humour  of  those  times  opposed,  and  discredited  these  games,  was 
htooght  by  the  poets  and  ballad-makers  as  an  instance  of  the  ridiculous  zeal  of  tVm, 
ketones:  firom  the.se  ballads  Hamlet  quotes  a  line  or  two.  Warburton, 

In  the  hat  edition  of  Shakespeare,  Mr.  Sieevens  produces  some  quotations  (among  tba 
*«  our  present  text)  which  prove  the  truth,  of  Warburton's  explanation. 
.  !!  fi**  V«S^'}  Corrected  by  Sympson, 

H  %  Agau}9( 


(I  feel  it  in  my  conscience^  abd  I  dare  speidc  it) 
This  unredihed  ambling,    hack  brought  a 

scourge  upon  us ; 
This  hobby-norse  Sincerity  we  H?'d  in,  [it, 
War,  and  the  sword  of  Slaughter :  I  renounce 
And  put  the  beast  off,  thus,  the  beast  polluted. 
And  now  no  more  shall  Hope-on-high  Bomby 
Follow  the  painted  pipes  of  woridly  pleasures, 
And,  with  the  wicked,  dance   tlie  devil's 

measures. 
Away,  thou  pamper  d  jade  of  vanity, 
Stand  at  the  livery  of  lewd  delights  now, 
And  eat  the  provender  of  prick-ear'd  folly ! 
My  dance  shall  be  to  th'  pipe  of  persecution. 

Farmer,  Will  you  dance  no  more,  neigh- 

Boniby,  Surely,  no :  [hour  ? 

Carry  the  beast  to  his  crib;  I  have  renonnc'd 
And  all  his  works.  [him, 

Soto.  Shall th' hobby-horse beforgotthen^°^ 
The  hopeful  hobby-horse,  shall  he  lie  foun- 

der'd?  [coWer. 

If  thou  dost  this,  thou'rt  but  acast^-away 
My  anger'sup;  think  wisely,and  think  quickly. 
And  look  upon  the  ^iioiuiiiffi  beast  of  pleasure! 
If  thou  dost  this  (mark  me,   thou  serious 

sowter, 
Thou  bench-whistlep>  of  the  old  tribe  of  toe- 
pieces  !)  [mending ; 
If  thott  dost  this,  there  shall  be  no  more  shoe- 
Every  man  shall  have  a  special  care  of  his 

own  soal. 
And  in  his  pocket  carry  his  t%vo  confessors, 
His  lingeP',  and  his  nawl.    If  thou  dost 

this— 

Farmer,  Hell  dance  again,  for  certain. 

Bomby,  I  cry  ouv  on't  f  [tilt-stavefr 

'Twas  the  fore-running  sin  brought  in  those 
They  brandish  Against  the  church,  the  devil 

calls  May-poles.  [him  to  ye, 

Soto,  Take  up  your  horse  again,  and  girth 
And  girth  him  handsomely,  good  neii^hbour 

Bomby,  I  spit  at  him  !  [Bomby ! 

Soto,  Spit  in  the  horse'  face,  cobler  ? 
Thou  out-of-tune,  psalm-singing  slave !  Spit 

in  his  visnomy  }  [him, 

Bomby,  I  spit  again ;  and  thus  I  rise  against 


6t 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


[Aut  4,  SoeM  %' 


Against  this  beast,  (liatfigiiified  destruction  ^*, 
lore-shew'd  falle  of  monarchies. 

Soto,  rth'faceorhim? 
Sjiit  such  another  spit,  by  this  hand,  eohkr, 
ril  make  ye  set  a  new  piece  o' your  nose  there. 
Take't  up,  I  say,  and  dance  without  more 

bidding,  [excellent. 

And  dance  as  you  were  wont;  you  nave  been 
And  art  still,  but  for  this  new  nicety. 
And  your  wife's  learned  lectures:  take  up 

th*  hobby-horse !  [heart,  Bomby, 

Come,  'tis  a  thing  th'hast  lov*d  with  all  thy 
And  wouldst  do  still  but  for  the  round- 

breech'd  brothers:  [I  say; 

You  were  not  thus  i'th'  morning.  Take't  up, 
Do  not  delay,  but  do't !  You  know  Fm  officer; 
And  I  know  'tis  unfit  all  these  good  fellows 
Should  wait   the   cooling  of  your  zealous 

porridge.  [execute : 

Chuse  whether  you  will  dance,  or  have  me 
ni  clap  your  neck  i'th'  stocks,  and  there  I'll 

make  ye  [night  too. 

Dance  a  whole  day,  and  dance  with  these  at 
You  mend  old  shoes  i^ell,  mend  your  old 

manners  better;  [ness. 

And  suddenly  see  you  leave  off  this  sincere- 
This  new  hot  batch,  borrow'd  from  some 

brown  baker,  [for't^^ — 

Some  learned  brotheri  or  111  so  bait  you 
Take  *t  quickly  up. 

Bomby.  I  take  my  persecution,       [thren. 
And  thus  I'm  forcM,  a  bye-word  to  my  bre- 

5oto.  Strike  up,  strike  up,  strike  merrily ! 

Farmtr,  To't  roundly. 
Now  to  the  harvest-feast ;  then  sport  again, 

boys!  [Exeunt^ 

SCENE  II. 
Enter  Silvio,  amCd, 

Sil.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Live  thus  unknown, 

and  base  still, 
Or  thrust  myself  into  the  head  o'th^  battle^ 
And  there,  like  that  I  am,  a  gentleman, 
And  one  that  never  fear'd  tlie  face  of  danger, 
(So  in  her  angry  e^«s  she  carried  honour) 
l^ight  nobly,  and  (to  end  my  cares)  die 

nobly  ? 

SONG    [withinl 

Sihrio,  go  on,  and  raise  thy  noble  mind 
To  noble  ends;  fling  coarse  base  thoughts 
behind! 


Silvio,  thou  son  of  erer-tiving  feme, 
Now  aim  at  virtue,  and  a  noble  name. 
Silvio,  consider,  honour  is  not  wen,     [done. 
Nor  virtue  reach*d,  'till  some  brave  thing  be 
Thy  country  calls  thee  now,  she  bums  and 

bleeds. 
Now  raise  thyself,  ^oungman,  to  noble  decdi ! 
Into  the  battle,  Silvio!  there  seek  forth 
Danger,  and  blood ;  by  them  stands  sacred 

worth.  [lows  me? 

iSi7.  What  heav'nly  voice  is  this  that  fbl- 
This  is  the  second  time 't  has  waited  on  me„ 
Since  I  was  arm'd,  and  ready  for  the  battle: 
It  names  me  ofben,  steels  my  heart  vrith 

courage. 

Enter  BehiderCf  drformed. 

And  in  a  thousand  sweet  notes  comforts  me. 
What  beldam's  this  ?  How  old  she  is,  and 

Why  does  she  follow  me  ?  [^^y  - 

BeL  Be.  not  disma/d,  son ; 
I  wait  upon  thee  for  thy  good  and  honour : 
Twas  I  that  now  sung  to  thee,  stirr'd  thy 

mind  up. 
And  rais'd  thy  spirits  to  the  pitch  of  nobleness. 

SU.  Tho'  she  be  old,  and  of  a  ccooked 

carcase. 
Her  ^oice  is  like  the  harmony  of  angels. 

Bel-  Thou  art  my  darling;  all  my  love- 

dwells  on  thee, 
The  son  of  virtue]  therefore  I  attend  thee. 
Enquire  not  what  I  am ;  I  come  to  serve  thee ; 
For  if  thou  be'st  inquisitive,  th^hast  lost  me. 
A  thousand  long  miles  hence  my  dwelling  is. 
Deep  in  a  cave^  where,  but  mine  own,  no 

foot  treads;  [Silvio^ 

There,  by  mine  art,  I  fQnnd  what  danger. 
And  deep  distress  of  heart,  thou  wert  grown 

into; 
A  thousand  leagues  I've  cut  thro'  empty  air. 
Far  swifter  than  the  sailing  rack  3^,   that 

gallops 
Upon  the  wings  of  angry  winds,  to  seek  thee. 
Sometimes  o'er  a  swelling  tide. 
On  a  dolphin's  back  1  ride ; 
Sometimes  pass  the  earth  below, 
And  thro'  tn  unmov'd  center  go  ; 
Sometimes  in  aflame  of  fire, 
Like  a  meteor  I  aspire ; 
JSometimes  in  mine  own  shape,  thcu^ 
When  I  help  the  virtuous: 


'*  — —  ngnifffd  destruction,  * 

Forershew^d  i^th-  falU  of  monarchies, 

Soto.  Tth*  face  qf  him.']  The,»W  ^n  the  second  line  is  evidently  crept  in  fronx 
the  third,  and  spoils  both  sense  and  measure,  for  the  third  line  completes  the  secqnd  verse, 
•^udibras  took  several  hints  from  this  passage.  Seward. 

**  This  new  hot  hatch,  borrowed  from  some  brgtitn  baker. 

Or  ril  so  bait  ye  /or'f— -— J  I  don't  discard  the  word  bait,  but  to  preserve  that 
playing  upon  the  woras  here,  which  the  poet  seems  to  have  design'd,  I  suspect  we  ought  te^ 
Tcad, 

>  or  Fll  so  bake  you  for't, 

^is  scarce  worth  observing,  that  the  Brownists  are  the  people,  against  whom  the  satire  here 
was  principally  levell'd.  Sympsmi. 

^^  ^c/c.]  See  note  78  on  the  Faithfia)  Shepherdess. 

Men 


Aet4toiie3.} 


WOMEN  PLEASD. 


^ 


3fen  of  hoQoomble  mindcy 
Commaad  loy  art  in  aU  his  kinds : 
Punne  the  noble  thought  of  war; 
from  thy  guaitl  111  not  be  far. 
Get  thee  worship  on  thy  foe; 
Lasting  fame  is  gotten  so. 
Single  Sienna*s  duke  alone; 
Hear  thy  friends,  thy  conotr^  groaOy 
AaA  with  thy  manly  ann  stnke  sune ; 
Then  th'hast  wrought  thine  own  free  Qure* 
&L  Some  sibil  sure^  some  soul  Heav*n 
lavesy  and  favours,  [wonders ! 

And  lends  her  their  free  powers  to  work  their 
JSbw  she  incites  my  courage ! 

BeL  Silvio, 
I  knew  thee  many  di^  ago ; 
Porcsaw  thy  love  to  Belvidere, 
The  duchess'  daoghter,  and  l)er  heir; 
Knew  she  loVd  thee,  and  know  what  past. 
When  you  were  foand  i'  th'  castle  fast 
In  one  another's  arms;  foresaw 
The  taking  of  you,  and  the  law; 
And  «o  thy  innocence  I  lov'd, 
Tlie  deepest  of  my  skill  I  prov'd  i 
Be  niFd  by  me ;  for,  to  this  hour, 
Fve  dwelt  about  thee  with  my  power,  [thee ; 
SiL  I  will,  and  in  the  course  of  all  observe 
For  thon  art  sure  an  angel  good  sent  to  me. 

Bel.  Get  thee  gone  then  to  the  fight! 
Longer  stay  but  robs  thy  right: 
When  thoH  grow'st  weary,  I'll  be  near ; 
Then  think  on  beauteous  Belvidere! 
For  every  precious  thought  of  her 
"WiU  lend  thine  honour  a  new  spur'^ ; 
"When  all  is  done,  meet  here  at  night; 
Go,  and  be  happy  in  the  fi^ht!  [Exit. 

SiL  I  certainly  believe  i  shall  do  nobly ; 
JLnd  that  I'll  bravely  reach  at  too,  or  die. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  m. 
Enter  Claudlo  and  Penurio^ 

Clau.  Is  she  so  loving  still  ? 
Pen.  She's  mad  with  love. 
As  mad  as  ever  unworm'd  dog  was,  signor; 
And  does  so  weep,  and  curse,  for  your  pre- 
vention, 
Tonr  crosses  in  your  love — It  fi:ets  me  too; 
I'm  fall'n  away  to  nothing,  to  a  spindle. 
Grown  a  mere  man  of  n^at,  no  soul  within 

roe: 
Pox  o'  mymaster !  Sir,  will  that  content  you  ? 
CUiu,  This  rogue  but  cozens  me,  and  she 
nc^ects  me ;  [sters. 

Upon  my  life,  there  are  some  other  game- 
Kearer  the  wind  than  I,  apd  that  prevents 
.   me. —  [her? 

Is  there  no  other  holds  acquaintance  with 
(Prithee  be  true,  be  honest;  do  not  mock  me ; 
Thon  know'st  her  heart)  no  former  interest 
Sfa'  has  vow'd  ^  favour  to,  and  cannot  hand* 

somelv 
Go  oS,  bQt  by  regainii^  such  afiriendsliip? 


There  arc  a  tliousaDdhandfomemea^  7oaig,t 

wealthy, 
That  will  not'  stick  at  any  rate,  nor  danger. 
To  gain  so  sweet  a  prize;  nor  can  I  blame  her. 
If,  where  she  finds  a  comfort^  she  deal  cun<- 
I  am  a  stranger  yet.  [ningly : 

Pen.  You  re  all  she  looks  for ; 
And,  if  there  be  any  other,  she  neglects  all. 
And  all  for  you:  I  would  you  saw  bow  griev- 
ously 
And  \vith  what  hourly  lamentations— 

Clau,  1  know  thou  flatter'st  ipe ;  tell  me« 

bujt  truth—  [dukcdoiu. 

Look  here,  look  well;  the  best  meat  in  tiie 
The  rarest,  and  the  choicest  of  all  diets ! 
This  will  I  give  thee,  but  to  satisfy  me 
(That  is,  pot  to  dissemble),  this  rare  lobster. 
This  pheasant  of  the  sea,  this  dish  for  princes. 
And  all  this  thou  shalt  enjoy,  eat  all  thyself; 
Have  good  Greek  wine,  or  any  thing  belongs 
A  wench,  if  it  desire  one.  [tot, 

Pen,  All  this,  signor? 

Clau.  All,  and  a  greater  far  than  this — 

Pen.  A  greater? 

Clau.  If  thou  deserve  by  telling  truth. 

Pen.  A  wench  too?  [knave  now, 

C/flw.  Or  any  thing;  but  if  you  play  the 
The  cozening  knave,  besides  the  loss  of  thift^ 
(In  which  th'  hast  parted  with  a  paradise), 
I  ne'er  will  give  thee  meat  more,  not  a  morsel; 
No  smell  of  meat,  by  my  means,  sliall  come 

near  thee. 
Nor  name  of  any  thing  that's  nourishing; 
But  to  thy  old  part,  Tantalus,  again 
Thou  shalt  return,  and  there  snap  at  a  shadow? 

Pen.  Upon  this  point,    had  I  intended 

treason, 
Or,  any  thin^  might  call  my  life  in  question. 
Followed  with  all  the  tortures  time  could 

think  on 
(Give  me  hut  tim^  to  eat  this  lovely  lobster. 
This  alderman  o'  th'  sea,  and  give  me  wiiie 

to  him'), 
Fd  reveal  all ;  and  if  that  all  were  too  little. 
More  tlian  I  know.  &artelio  holds  in  with  her. 
The  captain  of  the  citadel;  but  you  need 

not  fear  him,  [ries. 

His  tongue's  the  stiffest  weapon  that  he  car- 
He's  oldand  out  of  use:  there  are  some  other, 
Men  young  enough,    handsome,  and  bold 

enough,  [but  they  want,  sir, 

Co^ld  they  come  but  to  make  theirgame  once; 
They  want  the  unde  guare,  tlieyVe  laid  by 

then. 

Enter  Bartello, 

You  only  are  the  man  sliall  knock  the  nail 
Bart.  Hownow,Penurio?  [in — 

Pen.  Yoiir  worship's  fairly  met,  sir. — 

You  shall  hear  further  from  me :  steal  aside, 
sir. 

Clau.  Remember  your  master  for  those, 
chains.  [ExU. 


f  5  rU  lend  thine  honour.']  The  variation  proposed  1^  Sympson, 


Pen. 


WOMEN  PLEAffD. 


[Act  4.  8o«ie  S. 


Ten.  TlevVe  fMd /» fir. 

J5«r^  What  young  thing*^  ^s?    By  bis 

babltbe's  a  merchant;  ^    [fishy 

I  fear  he  trades  my  way  too. — ^Yoa  dried  do^ 
What  bait  was  that? 

Fen,  Who,  sir?  the  thing  went  hence  now? 

A  notable  young  whelp — 

'  Bart.  To  what  end,  sirrah?    The  married; 

'  Pc7t.  Came  to  buy  chains  and  rings,  is  to 

An  ass^  a  coxcomb  I  h'has  nothing  in  his 

bouse,  sir.  [tress  ? 

I  warrant,  you  think  he  came  to  see  my  mis- 

BarU  I  doubt  it  shrewdly. 

Pen.  Away,  away,  'tis  foolish!  [man; 
B'  bas  not  the  face  to  look  upon  a  gen  tie  wo- 
A  poor  skimm'd  thing!  bis  mother's  maids 

are  fain,  sir,  [married. 

To  teach  him  how  to  kiss;  and,  Against  he's 
To  shew  him  on  which  side  the  stirrop  stands. 

Bart^  That  is  a  fine  youth. 
'  Fen.  Thou  wouldst  hang  thyself. 
That  thou  hadst  half  his  power,  thou  empty 

potgiin. 

Bari,  Am  I  come  fit,  Feunrio? 

Pen.  As  fit  as  a  fiddle; 
Itfy  master's  now  abroad  about  his  business. 

Bart.  When  thou 
Cam'st  to  me  home  to-day,  I  half  suspected 
My  wife  was  jealous,  that  she  whisper'd  to 

thee.  [no  sucii  matter; 

Fen,  Yoo  deserve  well  the  whilst.  There's 
She  talk'd  about  some  toys  my  master  must 
Yon  must  not  know  of.  [bring  to  her, 

Bart,  ni  take  no  note,  Penurio. 
*  Fen,  No,  nor  you  shall  not,  'till  you  have  it 

soundly. 
This  is  the  bravest  eapitanopompof 

Enter  hahelia. 

But  I  shall  pump  you  anon,  sir. 
'.Jsab,  Oh,myBartello!  [you  sweet  rogue ! 
Bart.  You  pretty  rogue,  yon  little  rogue, 
Away,  Penurio;  go  and  walk  i'  th'Horse-niir. 

Ist^,  Yon  don't  love  me. 
•  Bart,  Thou  liest,  thon  Kttlc  rascal ! 
There,  sirrah;  to  your  centry! 

Pen.  How  the  colt  itches! 
m  help  you  to  a  curry-comb  shall  claw  yon. 

Isab,  And  how  much  dost  thou  love  me? 

Bart,  Let's  go  in  quickly ; 
Pll  tell  thee  presently,  I'll  measure't  to  thee. 

JsbA.^No  busses  first?  Sit  o*  my^knee,  my 

brave  boy,  •   me ; 

My  valiant  boy!  Don't  look  so  fiercely  on 
Thou'lt  fright  me  with  thy  face.  Come^  buss 

i^ain,  chick! 
Smile  in  my  face,  you  mad  thing  ? 

Bart.  I'm  mad  indeed,  wench ! 
precious?  I'm  all  o*  fire. 

Isab.  I'll  warm  thee  better.         [bellows: 

Bart,  Pll  warm  thee  too,  or  Til  blow  outmy 


Ha,  you  sweet  rogoe,  yoa  loriog  rogoel  % 

boy  now, 
A  soldier  I  will  get,  jbail  prove  a  fellow* 

Enter  Jaquenet  and  Fenurio. 

Jag.  Mistress,  4ook  to  yourseli^  my  mas- 
ter's coming ! 

Bart,  The  devil  come  and  go  with  him ! 
Pen.  Tbe  devil's  come  indeed ;  he  briogii. 
your  wife,  sir. 

liab.  We  are  undone,  undone  then ! 
Bart.  My  wife  with  him  ? 
Why,  this  is  a  dismal  day. 
Fen.  They  Ve  hard  by  too,  sir. 
Bart,  I  must  not,  dare  not  see  her. 
Jjab,  Nor  my  husband, 
For  twenty  thousand  pound. 

Bart.  That  I  were  a  cat  now. 
Or  anything  could  run  into  a  bench-hole ! 
Saint  Anthony's  fire  upon   the    rogue  ha* 
brought  her !  [matter  i 

Where  shall  I  be?«— Just  ia  the  nick  o'  th' 
When  I  had  her  at  my  mercy ! — ^Tbink,  for 

Heav'n's  sake  I 
My  wife  ?  All  the  wild  furies  bell  ha»— 
Fen,  Up  the  chimney  !  [seutlj. 

Bart.  They'll  smoke  me  out  there  pre^ 
Isab.  There,  there,  it  must  be  there, 
We're  all  undone  else; 'it  must  be  up  the 
Bart.  Give  me  a  ladder.  [chimaey. . 

^    Isab.  You  must  use  your  art,  siri 
Alas,  we  have  no  ladders. 

Bart.  Pox  o'  thy  husband ! 
Does  he  ne'er  mend  his  house  ? 

Fen.  No,  nor  himself  neither. 
Up  nimbly,  sir,  up  nimbly ! 

Bart.  Ttiou  know'st  I  am  fet. 
Thou  merciless  lean  rogue. 
Fen.  WiUyoubekili'd? 
For  if  he  take  you — 

Bart.  Lend  me  thy  shoulder. 
Fen.  Soft,  sir!  \  [elso. 

You'll  tread  my  slioulder-boncs  into  my  sides 
Have  you  fast  hold  o'  th'  bars? 
Bart.  A  vengeance  bar  'em ! 
Isab,  Patiepee. ^ood  captain,  patience; 
quickly,  quickly !    v. 
Bart.  D*you  think  t%  made  of  smoke? 
Fen.  Nqw  he  talks  of  ^loke. 
What  if  my  master  sliould  call  for  filre? 
Bart.  VVill  you  martyr  me  ? 
Isah.  He  must  needs  have  it 
Bart,  Will  you  make  me  bacon  ? 
Isab.  We'll  do  the  best  we  can.    Are  all 
things  ready? 

Fen.  All,  all;  I  have  'em  all. 
Isab.  Go  let  'cm  in  then^^.        [Exit  Peru 
Not  a  word  now  on  your  life ! 
Bart,  I  han|;  like  a  meteor. 

Enter  Lopeg  and  Bodope. 
lapez.  You^re  welcome,  lady. 


gm 


^  Bar.  Go  kt  'em  in,  &c.]  The  clnnge  of  the  speakers  here  is  from  Mr.  Theobald's  maiw 
The  readdr  will  easily  see  the  necessity  of  it.  Syinpeon. 

Mod. 


Aci4.  Scenes.] 


WOMEN  PLEASU 


Rfi,  Yott  afe  too,  too  coii^rteous; 
Bttt  I  shall  make  amends.  Fair  IsabelUh— 

hak  Welcome,  my  worthy  iriciid,  most 

kindly  welcome !  [foolery. 

Rod,  I  hear  on%  and  Fll  fit  him  for  his 

Lopes,  Some  sweet^meata^   wile;    tome 

sweet-meats  presently ! 

Bart,  Oh,  my  sour  sanoe ! 

Lopez,  Away  quick,  Isabella.  [Exit  liob. 
Did  y  hear  Uim? 

Rod,  Yes,  yes,  perfectly;  proceed,  sir. 

Lopei,  Speak  load  enough.— Dare  you  at 

length  imt  pitjr  me  ?  [sons  to  me, 

Rod,  'Faith,  sir,  yonVe  osTd  so  many  rea- 
And  those  to  poweniilly-^ 

Lopez,  Keep  this  kiss  for  me. 

Bart,  And  do  I  stand  and  hear  this? 

Rod,  This  for  me,  sir.  [band — 

This  is  some  comfoit  now:  alas,  my  ht»- 
Bat  why  do  I  think  of  so  poor  a  ftUow, 
So  wretched,  so  debauch'd  ? 

Bart.  Thatfsl:  I'm  bound 
To  hear  It. 

Rod,  I  dare  n't  lie  with  him|  he  is 
So  rank  a  whore-mastef^-* 

Lapez,  And  that's 
A  dangerous  point. 

Rod,  Upon  my  oonscienoe,  sir, 
He^d  srck  a  thousand  base  diseases  on  me. 

JBlsr     And  now  must  I  say  nothing! 

Lopet,  Fm  sound,  lady. 

Mod,  That's  it  that  makes  me  love  you. 

Lopez.  Let's  kiss  again  then! 

Rod,  Do,  do! 

Bart.  Do?  the  devil 
And  the  grand  pox  do  with  you ! 

Lopez,  Do  you  hear  him?  well*« 

Enter  Penurio  and  haheUa, 

How,  what's  the  news  with  yon  ? 
Pen,  The  sound  of  war,  sir,  [city; 

Comes  still  along:  the  duke  will  charge  the 

We've  lost,  they  say. 
Lopez,  What  shall  become  of  me  then, 

And  my  poor  wealth  ? 
Bart,  Even  hang'd,  J  hope.  [what 

Rod,  Remove  your  jewels  presently,  and 

Yoa  have  of  wealthy  into  the  citadel; 

There  all's  secure. 
Lopez,  I  humbly  thank  you,  lady. 

Penurio,  get  me  some  can  climb  the  chimney, 

For  there  my  jewels  are,  my  best,  my  richest; 

I  hid  'em,  fearing  such  a  blow. 
Pen,  Mostliappily  [nies; 

I  have  two  boys,  that  use  to  sweep  foul  chiin- 

Tnily,  I  brought  'em,  sir,  to  moclc  your  wor- 
kup. 

For  the  great  fires  you  keep,  and  the  full  diet. 
Ijopez,  I  forgive  thee,  tnave^  Where  are 
Pen.  Here,  sir,  here.  [they? 

Moosieur  Black,  will  your  small  worship 
mount? 

Enter  two  Boyt. 

1  Boy,  Madam,  ^  be  com  to  creep^  op  into 
your  chimney,  and  make  you   [Bo^  $mg9^ 


Cleane,  as  any  liidy  ia  dewoiid:  ma  liUa, 
Chanta,  frere,  chanta.  [litla  frera,  and  h. 
Pen,  Come,  monsieur,  mounts,  mounts  I 
mount,  monsieur  Mu!^ard-pot!  [Boy  singu 
1  Boy.  Monsieur,  ^  have  dis  for  votra 
barbcu  pie  ta  vou,  monsieur. 
Pen,  Mounts,  monsieur^  mounts ;  dere  be 
some  fine  tin^—  [sieur. 

1  Boy.  Me  will  creep  like  de  ferret,  moo* 
Pen.  Dere  in  de  chimnev. 

[The  6qy  above  $inging, 
1  Boy,  Here  be  de  sheilde  due  shason,  msf 
dam,  [Boy  goes  in  behind  the  Arras, 

Pen.  Therc^s  a  bird's  nest;  I  would  have 
you  climb  it,  monsieur^  [monsieur  I 

Up,  my  fine  singing  monsieur.  That's  a  fine 
Lopez,  Watch  hiro,  he  do  not  steaL 
Pen,  I  warrant  you,  sir. 
L(^>ez,  These  boys  are  knavi^ 
Pen,  riHook  to  him  tightlv. 
Boy  [within],  Madam^here  be  de  rat,de  nl, 
madam! 

Enter  Bartelh,  with  the  Boy  singing  on  hk 
shoulder, 

Lopez,  Lord!  what  comes  here? 

A  walking  apparition  ? 
I$ab.  Saint  Christopher ! 
Rod.  Mercy  o'  me,  what  is  it  ? 

How  like  my  husband  it  looks ! 

Bart.  Get  you  down,  devil;     [chimniedf 

Fll  break  your  neck  else.  Was  e'er  man  thus 
Lopez,  Go,  pay  the  boys  well ;  see  them 
satisfied.  {blackberries ! 

Pen.  Come,  monsieur  Devils;  come,  my 

Fll  butter  you  o^  both  sides. 

Boy.  Adieu,  madame !  adieu,  madame ! 

[Ex^, 
Isab,  -Nay,  even  look,  sir«  Are  you  cooi'd 
now,  captain?  [tool- 

far/.  I  am  cuckolded,  aqd  fooFd  to  ooo^ 

Fool'd  fearfiiliy,  fool'd  shamefully. 
Lopez.  YouTe  welcome,  sir. 

Fm  glad  I've  any  thing  within  these  doors,  ur. 

To  make  you  merry.    You  love  my  wife,  I 

You've  sliew'd  your  love.  [thank  you ; 

Bart.  Wife,  am  I  this?  this  odd  matter^ 

Tliis  monstrous  thing  ? 

Rod.  You  ought,  but  yet  you  are  not : 

Fve  been  bold  with  you,  sir,  but  vet  not 

As  I  luive  fi#tb,  I  have  not.  foasely ; 

Lopez.  Sir,  believe  it.  [trespass  t 

Twas  all  meant  but  to  make  you  feel  youn 

We  knew  your  hour,  and  all  this  iashion'd 
Bart.  Were  you  o'th'plot  too?       [for  it« 
Isab.  Yes,  by  my  troth,  vftteX.  captain* 
Bart.  You  will  forgive  me^  wife  ? 
Rod.  You  will  deser\'e  it  ? 
Bart.  Put  that  to  th'  venture. 
Rod,  Thus  am  I  firiends  again  then;  [you. 

And,  as  you  ne  er  had  gone  astray,  thus\is» 
Bart.  And  Fll  kbs  you;  and  you  too  ask 
forgiveness.  [bei. 

Kiss  v^y  wife,  Lopee;  'tis  but  in  jest,  remem- 

Ajid  &0W,  nil  ikiczftds  together  to  my  castle. 

Where 


^6 


WOMEN  PLEAMI. 


[Act  5.  Scene  1/ 


Where  treH  all  dine,  and  there  discourse 

these  stories ; 
And  let  him  be  chimney-swept,  in's  lost  that 

glories!  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV.  ^ 
Enter  Silvio  and  Belviderey  teoerally, 

Sil,  Hail,   reverend  dajne!    Heav'n  wait 

upon  thy  studies !  [battle  ended  ? 

Bel.  You  are  well  met,  son.  What,  is  the 

Sil.  Mother,  'tis  done. 

Bel.  How  has  thy  honour  prospered  ? 

Sil.  The  duchess  has  the  day;   Sienna's 

prisoner ;    .  [mounted  him, 

Ann*d  with  tliy  powerful  art,  this  arm  dis- 
Recciv'd  him  then  on  foot,  and  in  fair  valour 
Forc'd  him  mine  own :  this  jewel  I  took  from 

(It  hung  upon  his  casque),  the  victor's  tri- 
umph; 
And  to  the  duchess  now  a  prisoner  [mother. 
I've  rendered  him;  come  (^  again  unknown, 

Bel.  lis  well  done:  let  me  see  the  jewel, 

son! 
Tis  a  rich  one,  curious  set. 
Fit  a  prince's  burgonet^'. 
This  rich  token  late  was  sent 
By  the  duchess,  with  intent 
The  marri^e  next  day  to  begin. 
Dost  thou  know  wliat's  hid  within  ? 
Wipe  thine  eyes,  and  then  come  near; 
See  the  beauteous  Belvidere ! 
Now  behold  it. 

Sil.  Oh,  my  saint! 

Bel.  Wear  it  nobly ;  do  not  faint. 

Sil.  How  blest  ami  in  this  rich  spoil,  this 

picture ! 
For  ever  will  I  keep  it  here,  here,  mother. 


For  ever  honour  it:  how  oft,  how  chastly 
Have  I  «mbrac'd  the  life  of  this,  and  kiss'd  it? 

Bel.   The  day  draws  on  that  thou  must 

home  return,  [tion  ; 

And  make  thy  answer  to  the  duchess'  ques- 
I  know  it  troubles  thee;  for  if  thou  fail  irft-^ 

SU.  Oh,  I  must  die! 

Bel.  Fear  not,  fear  not;  Tllbenig^! 
Cast  thy  trouble  on  my  back! 
Art  nor  cunning  shall  not  lack. 
To  preserve  thee,  still  to  keep 
What  thv  envious  foemen  seek. 
Go  boldly  home,  and  let  thy  mind 
No  distrustful  crosses  find !  i 

All  shall  happen  for  the  best; 
Souls  walk  thro'  sorrows  that  are  blest«. 

iSt7.  Then  I  go  confidenL 

BeL  But  first,  my  son,   ' 
A  thankful  service  must  be  done : 
The  good  old  woman  for  her  pain, 
Wlien  evf  ry  thing  stands  fair  again. 
Must  ask  a  [)oor  boon,  and  that  granting. 
There's  nothing  to  thy  journey  wanting. 

SU.  Except  the  tnal  of  my  soul  to  niis- 

chief,  .  [nour. 

And,  as  I  am  a  knight,  and  love  mine  ho- 
I  grant  it,  whatsoever — 

BeL  Thy  pure  soul 
Shall  never  smk  for  me,  nor  faowL 

Sil.  Then  any  thing. 

Be/.  When  I  shall  ask,  remember!   [me! 

SiL  If  I  forget.  Heaven's  goodness  forget 

Bel.  On  thy  journey  then  awhile ! 
To  the  next  cross-way  and  stile 
rU  conduct  thee ;  keej)  thee  true. 
To  thy  mistress  and  thy  vow. 
And,  let  ail  their  envies  fall ! 
I'll  be  with  thee,  and  quench  all.    lExeunt* 


ACT    V. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Ducheu,  Duke  of  Sienna,  and  Lords. 

Duke.  T  ADY,  the  stubborn  war's  more 
■"    mild  than  you  are, 

Thft  allows  ransom,  and  the  prisoner  taken — 
Ditch.  We  must  not  be  too  hasty:  remem- 
ber, Mr,  . 

The  wrong  and  violence  you've  offered  us; 

Burnt  up  our  frontier  towns,  made  prey  be- 
ibreyou  [subjects; 

3oth  ot  our  beasts  and  corn ;  slain  our  dear 

Open'd  the  fountain  eyes  of  thousand  widows, 

Tnat  daily  fling  their  curses  on  your  fury: 

Wliat  ordinary  satisfaction  can  salve  this? 

What  hasty-thongbt-ou  ransom  give  a  re- 
medy? [counsel: 

You  must  excuse  ns  yet;  we'll  take  more 


In  the  mean  time,  not  as  a  prisoner. 
But  as  a  noble  prince,  we  entertain  you. 
Duke.  I^  at  your  mercy,  lady;  'tis  my 
fortune,  [have  me; 

My  stubborn  fate!  the  day  is  yours,  you 
The  valour  of  one  single  man  has  cross'd  nie, 
Cross'd  me  and  ail  my  hope ;  for  when  the 

battles 
Were  at  the  hottest  game  of  all  their  furies 
(And  conquest  ready  then  to  crown  me  vic- 
tor), [virtue, 
One  single  man  broke  in,  one  sword,  one 
(And  by  his  great  example  thousands  fbl- 
'  low'd)  [me! 
Oh,  how  I  shame  to  think  on't !  how  it  shaken 
Nor  could  our  strongest  head  then  stop  hiS 

fury, 
But,  like  a  tempest,  bore  the  field  before  him. 


^  A  princes&e  burgonet."]  Corrected  by  Sympson, 


Till 


Act  5.  Scene  1<] 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D^ 


57 


^1  he  arrived  at  me;  with  me  he  hackled; 

Awhile  I  held  him  play;  at  length  bis  vio- 
lence [su*d  me ; 

Beat  me  from  my  saddle,  then  on  foot  pur- 

Tliere  triomphM  once  again,  then  took  me 
prisoners 

When  I  was  gone,  a  fear  possessed  my  people. 
Duek,  One  single  aim,  in  a  just  cause, 
Heav'n  prospers. — 

Is  not  this  stranger-knight  as  yet  discovered. 

That  we  may  give  his  virtue  a  due  honour  ? 
Lord,  Not  yet,  that  we  hear,  madam;  but 
to  that  purpose 

Two  days  ago  we  published  proclamations. 

Ento'  Sato  tcitk  a  Trumpet,  and  Silvio. 

Soto,  Oh,  dainty  duchess,  here  I  bring 

that  knight 
Before  thy  framnt  &cev  that  wariike  wight. 
He  that  Sienna's  duke,  and  all  his  louts, 
Beat  (ob  the  proverb  seepaly  says)  to  clouts; 
He  tint  nnhora'd  the  man  o'  fiime  to  boot. 
And  bootless  taught  his  grace  to  walk  afoot; 
He  diat  yonr  writings,  pack'd  to  every  pillar, 
Pramis'd  promotion  to,  and  store  of  siller; 
That  veiy  man  I  set  before  thy  grace, 
AjxI  once  again  pronounce,  this  man  it  was. 

Buck,  A  pretty  foolish  squire !  what  must 

the  knight  be  ? 

Duke,  Some  juggler,  or  some  mad-man. 

SiL  I  was  not  so,  -  —    f  me ; 

Wheu  thy  faint  troops  in  flocks  I  beat  before 
When,  thro'tlie  thickest  of  thy  warlike  lK>rse, 
I  shot  myself  e'en  to  thy  standard,  duke. 
And  there  found  tliee,  there  singled  thee, 

there  sbew'd  thee  [stood'st  me. 

The  temper  of  my  sword.  Tis  true,  'thou 
And  like  a  noble  soldier  bidst  me  welcome ; 
And  tins  HI  say,  more  honour^ ^  in  that  arm 
I  found  and  tried,  than  all  thy  aimy  carried; 
What  follows,  th^  imprisonment  can  tell  thee, 

^tt^.  His  fair  relation  carries  truth  and 

virtue; 
And  by  those  arms  I  see  (for  such  were  his, 
So  old,  80  rusty),  this  may  be  he  that  forc'd 

me.  [casque  I  rent  it, 

SU,  D'yon  know  this  jewel?  from  your 


I  felt  his  strokes,  and  felt  him  take  it  from 

me; 
I  wore  it  in  my  cas(jue.  Take  it  again,  sir ; 
You  won  it  nobly,  *tis  the  prize  of  lionour. 

Sot04  My  father  and  myself  are  made  for 

ever !  [knight  first  I  raise  you; 

Duck,  Kneel  down,  brave  sir.  Thus,  my 
(Gird  on  a  sword) ;  next,  general  of  my  army 
(Give  him  a  staff);  last,  one  in  counsel  near 

me< 
Now,  make  us  happy  with  your  sight. — How ! 

Silvio?  lDiscover$  himself* 

Have  I  on  thee  bestowed  this  love,  Uiis  ho« 

nour?  [favours? 

The  treasons  thou  hast  wrought  set  off  with 
Unarm  him  presently  I — Oh,  £ou  foul  traitor, 
Traitor  to  me,  mine  honour,  and  my  country. 
Thou  kindler  of  these  wars — 

SU,  Mistake  not,  madami 

DttcA.  Away  with  him  to  prison,  [sirrah. 
See  him  safe  kept. — ^The  law  shall  shortly. 
Find  fitter  titles  for  you  than  I  gave  you. 

Soto,  This  is  the  youth  that  kill'd  me ;  TJl 

be  quit  with  him.  [him ! 

What  a  blind  rogue  was  I,  I  could  ne*er  know 
An't  please  your  grace,  I  claim  the  benefit 
O'  th'  proclamation  that  proclaim*d  him  trai- 
I  brought  him  in.  [tor; 

Duch,  Thou  slialt  have  thy  reward  for't. 

Soto.  Let  him  be  hangM,  or  drown'd  then. 

Duch,  Away  with  him !  [you're  tied  to  it, 

SiL  Madam,  I  crave  your  promise  first; 
YotiVe  pass'd  yonr  princely  word* 

Duch,  Pi*ove  it,  and  take  it. 

SiL  This  is  the  day  appointed, 
Appointed  by  your  grace,  for  my  appearance, 
To  answer  to  the  question. 

DttcA.  I  remember  it. 

SiL  I  claim  it  then. 

Duch,  If  you  perfonn  it  not. 
The  Oenalty  you  claim  too. 

Sit,  I  not  repent  it. 
If  I  absolve  the  words — 

Dttch.  Your  life  is  free  then,         [wishes, 
You've  drawn  a  speedy  course  above  my 
To  my  revenge :  be  sure  you  hit  it  right. 
Or  111  be  sure  you  shall  not  scape  the  danger. 

'SiL  My  rest  is  up  now,  madam  3'. 

Duch,  Then  pla/t  cunningly. 

SiL  Now,  where  s  the  hag?  where  now  are 

all  her  promises  [me  ? 

She  would  be  with  me,  strenirtlien  me,  imbnn 
My  death  will  now  be  duuble  death,  ridicu- 
lous. 
She  was  wont  still  to  be  near,  to  feel  n^ 

miseries, 

^^  Mart  hononr  in  that  arm*]  Sympson  (thinking  the  arm  an  improper  situation  for  ho* 
*MrJ  would  substitute  valour  for  honour y  which  we  think  quite  unnecessary. 
^'  My  rest  is  «p.J  From  the  duchess's  answer,  this  appears  to  be  a  j^hrase  used  at  some 
nod  of  game.    So  m  Churchyard*s  Challenge,  p.  G€,  '  On  wliich  resolution  tlie  sonldier  sets 
'  ^p  his  rest,  and  commonly  hazards  the  winning  or  loosing  of  as  great  a  thing  as  life  may 

he  worth,  &c'    AHiin,  p.  115, 

'  Spoyle  brings  home  plagues  to  wife  and  children  both, 

__  '  When  husbwkd  hath  at  plajset  up  his  rest,*  R, 

VOL.  m.  /^  1  And 


B^'en  as  I  dos'd,  and  foic'd  you  fr«an  ^our 
ly  YOU  now  remember  me? 
Ihike,  This  is  the  valour, 


"om  Vi 
[sacfd 


Idle: 


Madam;  for  certain,  he;  it  must  be  he; 
That  day  I  wore  this  jewel :  you  remember  it. 

Buck,  Yes,  very  well:  not  long  before,  I 

•eat  it 

Buke,  That  day  I  lost  this  jewel,  in  fight  I  I 

kwtit;  I 


5d 


WOMEN  PLEA.9D. 


[Act  5.  Scene  1. 


And  with  her  art^I  see  her  no  where  now  ! 
What  have  I  undertaken  ?  Now  she  fails  me ; 
No  comfort  now  I  find ;  how  my  soul  stag« 


gersl 


[me: 


TjH  this  hour  never  fear  nor  doubt  possessed 

She  cannot  come,  she  will  not  come,  sh'  has 
fool'd  me,  ,       [ruin, 

(Sure  she's  the  devil)  has  drawn  me  on  to 

And  now  to  deatli  bequeaths  me  in  my  dan- 
cer. •  [changes. 
jDuke,  He  stands  distracted,  and  his  colour 
Duch,  I've  given  him  that  will  make  his 

Shortly  liis  life.  [blood  forsake  him, 

Duke,  His  hands  and  contemplation 

Have  motion  still;  the  rest  is  earth  already. 
'  Duch,  Come,  will  you  speak,  or  pray? 
Your  time  grows  out,  sir. 

How  ev'ry  where  he  looks !  He's  at  last  cast 

Enter  Belvidere,  who  secretly  gives  kim  a  pa- 
pery and  exit, 
Duke,  His  colour  comes  again  fresh. 
Duch,  Tis  a  flash,  sir,  [answer  ? 

Before  the  flame  burns  out.    Can  you  yet 
SU,  Yes,  madam,  now  I  can. 
Duch,  I  fear  you'll  fail  in't. 
SiL  And  do  not  think  my  silence  a  presage, 
Or  omen  to  my  end ;  you  shall  not  find  it; 
I'm  bred  a  soldier,  not  an  orator,     [for  me. 
Madam,  peruse  this  scrawl;  let  that  speak 
And,  as  you're  royal^  wrong  not  the  construc- 
tion 1 

Duch,  By  Heav'n,  you  shall  have  fair  play ! 
Sil,  IshaUlookfor't. 

QUESTION. 
Tell  me  what  is  that  only  thing, 

For  which  all  women  long ; 
Yet  having  what  they  most  desire, 
To  have  it  does  tliem  wrong? 

ANSWER. 

Tis  not  to  be  chaste,  nor  fair, 
(Such  gifts  malice  may  impair) 
Richly  trimm'd"^,  to  walk  or  ride, 
Or  to  wanton  unespied ; 
To  preserve  ah  honest  name, 
And  so  to  give  it  up  to  fame; 
These  are  toys.    In  good  or  ill, 
They  desire  to  have  their  will : 
Yet,  when  they  have  it,  they  abuse  it. 
For  they  knownot-^how  to  use  it. 

Duch.  You've  answei'd  right,  and  gahi'd 
your  life ;  I  give  it.  [madam, 

Sil,  Oh,  happy  hag! — But  my  most  gracious 
Your  promise  ued  a  nobler  favour  to  me. 
Duch.  Tis  true;  my  daughter  too. 
Sil,  I  hone  you'll  keep  it. 
Duch,  Tis  not  in  my  power  now :  she's 
long  since  wandcr*d,  [have  not 

Stol'n  from  the  court  and  me;  and  vhat  I 
I  cannot  give.    No  man  can  tell  me  '^  f  ner. 
Nor  no  search  find  her  out;  and  if  not  Silvio, 
Which  strongly  I  believe — 


Sil,  Mock  me  not,  lady ! 
For,  a«  I  am  a  servant  to  her  Tirtue, 
Since  my  first  hour  of  exile,  I  ne'er  saw  her  ! 

Lord,  That  she  b  gone,  'tis  too;  too  true, 

and  lamentable  : 
Our  last  hope  was  in  you. 

iSi/.  What  do  I  here  then,  [honour  ? 

And  wherefore  have/  I  life  bestow*d  and 
To  what  end  do  I  walk?  for  men  to  wo^er 

at  ?  [honours  from  me. 

And  fight,  and  fool?  Pray  you  take  jour 
(My  sorrows  a):e  not  fit  companions  for  ^em) 
And,  when  you  please,  niy  life. — Art  thou 

gone,  mistress?  (vow  I  make  thee. 

And  wander'st  Heav'n  knows  where — This 
That  'till  I  find  thee  out,  and  see  those  fair 

eyes,  [into  me. 

Those  eyes  that  elied  their  lights  and  life 
Never  to  know  a  friend,  to  seek  a  kindred; 
To  rest  where  pleasure  dwells,  and  painted 

glory ;  [wander. 

But  thro'  the  world,  the  wide  world,  thus  to 
The  wretched  world,  alone,  no  comfort  v«-ith 

me; 
But  the  mere  meditations  of  ^y  goodness  ! 
Honour  and  greatness,  thus  adieu ! 

Enter  Belvidere. 

Bel  Stay,  Silvio! 
And,  lady,  sit  again !  I  come  for  justice. 

5i7.  W'hat  would  she  now  ? 

Bel,  To  claim  thy  promise,  Silvio; 
The  boon  thou  sworst  to  give  mc. 

Duke.  What  may  this  be? 
A  woman  or  a  devil? 

Dwf A.  Tis  a  witch  sure;  [riddle. 

And  by  her  means  he  came  t'  untwist  this 

iSi7.  That  Fm  bound  to  her  for  my  life, 

mine  honour. 
And  many  other  tliousand  ways  for  comfort, 
I  here  confess ;  confess  a  promise  too,  [vours. 
That  what  she'd  ask  me  to  requite  these  fa* 
Within  th'  endeavour  of  my  lite  to  grant, 
I  would ;  and  here  I  stand,  my  word's  full 

master  [with  me: 

Bel.  I  wish  no  more !  Great  lady,  witness 
The  boon  I  crave  for  all  my  service  to  thee. 
Is  now  to  be  thy  wife,  to  grant  me  marriage. 

SU.  How!  for  to  marry  tliee?  Ask  again, 
Thou  wilful  woman,  ask  again !       [woman; 

Bel,  No  more,  sir. 

SU.  Ask  land,  and  hfe! 

Bel,  I  ask  thee,  for  a  husband,    [powder; 

Soto.  Marry  her,  and  beat  her  into  gun- 
$lie*d  make  rare  crackers. 

Sil,  Ask  a  better  fisrtune; 
Thou  art  too  old  to  marry ;  J  a  soldier. 
And  always  married  to  mv  sword. 

Bel.  Thy  word,  tool !   '  [yet! 

Break  that,  and  I'll  break  all  thy  fortunes 

Duch,  He  shall  not; 
Fm  witness  to  hrs  faith,  and  I'll  compel  it. 

Duke,  Tis  fit  yen  hold  your  word^  sir. 


^  Biddy  trimnCd,]  i.  c.  Sickly  drctfd*    Sec  note  20,  p.  46  of  this  vol. 


Sil 


Act&  Scenes.] 


WOMEN  PLEASD. 


^ 


SiL  Ohy  most  wielchcd !  [wishes; 

DueL  This  was  a  fortune  npw  bejoad  my 
For  DOW  my  daughter's  free,  if  e'er  I  find  her. 

Duke.  But  not  fronfme. 

Duck,  You're  sharer  in  this  happinesi^ 
Myself  will  wait  upon  this  marriage, 
Aad  do  th'  old  woman  ail  the  honour  possible. 

Duke,    ril  lead  the  knight;  and  what 

there  wants  in  dalliance,     - 
Well  tfldce  it  out  in  drink. 

SiL  Oh,  wretched  SUvio !  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  n. 

Enter  Lopez  and  Isabella, 

Lopez.  Hast  thou  sent  for  him? 

hob.  Yes. 

Lopez.  A  young  man,  sayst  thou  ? 

I»b.  Yes,  very  young,  and  very  amorous. 

Li^€X.  And  handsome  ? 

hab.  As  the  town  aftbrds. 

Lspet.  And  dar'st  thou 
Be  so  far  good,  and  mistress  of  thine  honour. 
To  slight  these  ? 

J;mb.  YoT  my  husband's  sake,  to  curse  'em : 
And,  since  you've  made  me  mistress  of  my 

fortune,  4 

Never  to  point  at  any  joy,  but  husband. 
I  could  have  cozen'd  you ;  but  so  much  I 

love  you. 
And  now  so  much  I  weigh  the  estunation 
Of  an  unspotted  wife — 

Lopez.  I  dare  believe  thee ;  [spirit. 

And  never  more  shall  doubt  torment  my 

Enter  Fenurio, 

Jjo&.  How  now,  Penurio? 

Fen.  The  thing's  coming,  mistress, 

Lopez.  Ill  take  my  standing.  [Ezit. 

Fen.  Do,  and  FU  take  mine. 

Lai.  Where  didst  thou  leave  him? 

Pen.  I  left  him  in  a  cellar,  [mistress ; 
Where  he  has  paid  me  tightly,  paid  me  home, 
WeM  an  hundred  and  filly  healths  to  you, 

sweet  mistress,  [master. 

And  threescore  and  ten  damnations  tojny 
liifltress,  shall  I  speak  a  fbolisli  word  to  you? 

hab.  What's  that,  Penurio?  The  fellow's 

drunki. 

Fen.  I  would  feign  know  your  bodv. 

Lab.  How's  that?  how's  that,  prithee? 

Pea.  I  would  know  it  carnally;  I  would 

cQiitfkitinate. 

ItaL  The  reason,  sinrah  ? 

Pea.  Lobster,  sweet  mistress^  lobster ! 

Jsak  Thv  master  hears. 

Fen.  Lobster,  sweet  master,  lobster! 

isoA.  Thon  art  the  most  precious  rogue. 

Enter  ClauduK 
Pen.  Mo6t  precious  lobster ! 
hob.  lyvou  see  who's  here?  Go  sleep, 
you  drunken  rascal ! 

Pa.  Remember  you  refuse  xoe,  Mtu'd  in 
W»ter!  [Ejfit. 


hab.  Oh,  my  lost  Rugto !  welcome,  wel- 
come' welcome ! 
A  thousand  welcomes  here  I'll  seal. 

Clau,  Pray  you  stay,  lady:  [fit  now, 

D'  you  love  me  ever  at  this  rate  ?  -or  is  the 
By  reason  of  some  wrong  done  by  your 
More  fervent  on  you  ?  [husbana, 

luih.  Can  I  chuse  but  love  thee  ?  [me. 
Thou  art  my  martyr ;  thou  hast  suffered  for 
My  sweet,  sweet  Rugiol 

Cla^i.  Do  you  do  this  seriously? 
Tis  true,  I  would  be  eotertain'd  thus. 

Isub.  These  are  nothing, 
No  kisses,  no  embraces,  no  endearments^ 
To  those— 

Clau.  Do  what  you  will. 

liab.  Those  that  shall  follow,  [you? 

Those  I  will  crown  our  love  withal.  Why  sigh 
Whv  look  you  sad,  my  dear  one  ? 

Clau.  Nay,  faith,  nothing ;  [to  me. 

But  me  thinks  so  sweeta  beauty  as  yours  shews 
And  such  an  innocence  as  you  may  make  it, 
Should  hold  a  longer  siege. 

liob.  Ha !  you  speak  truth,  sir. 

Clau.    I  would  not  have  it  so. 

Isab.  And  now  methinks, 
Now  I  consider  truly  what  becomes  me, 
I  have  been  cozen'd,  fearfully  abus'd, 
My  reason  blinded^— - 

Clau.  Nay,  I  did  but  jest  with  you. 

hab.  I'll  take  you  at  your  word,  and  thank 

you  for't,  sir ; 
And  now,  I  see  no  sweetness  in  that  person, 
Nothing  to  stir  me  to  abuse  a  husband, 
To  ruin  my  fair  fame 

Clau*  Good  Isabella!  [dote  on; 

hah.  No  handsome  man,  no  any  tiling  to 
No  face,  no  tongue  to  catch  me ;  poor  at  all 
And  I  an  ass  I  [points, 

Clau.  Why  do  you  wrong  me,  lady? 
If  I  were  thus,  and  had  no  youth  upon  me; 
My  service  of  so  mean  a  way  to  wm  you ; 
(Wliich  you  yourself  are  conscious  must 

deserve  you,  [reach  yoli) 

If  y*  had  thrice  the  beauty  you  possess,  must 
If  m  my  tongue  your  fame  lay  wreck'd,  and 

ruin'd 
With  every  cup  I  drink;  if  in  opinion 
I  were  a  lost,  defam'd  man — But^tisconmion, 
Where  we  love  most,  where  most  we  stake 

Qur  fortunes,  [you  well ! 

There  teast  and  basest  we're  rewarded !  Fare 
Know  now,  I  hate  you  too  as  much,  contemn 

you. 
And  weigh  mv  credit  at  as  high  a  value-*- 

Isab.  May  be  I  did  but  jest. 

Clau.  You  are  a  woman;  [follies, 

And  now  I  see  your  wants,  and  mine  own 
And^task  myself  vrith  indiscretion. 
For  doting  on  a  face  so  poor ! 

Isab.  Say  you  so,  sir?  [you, 

I  must  not  lose  my  end. — ^I  did  but  jest  witli 
Only  fool'd  thus  to  try  your&ith:  my  Kugio, 
D'you  think  I  could  foiget? 

Clau.  Nay,  'tis  no  matter. 

I «  hah. 


60 


WOMEN  PLEASED. 


liob.  Is't  possible  I  should  forsake  a  con- 
So  strong,  so  good,  so  sweet?  [stancjr, 

Clau,  A  subtle  woman  !  [try  you: 

Isab,  You  shall  forgive  me ;  'twas  a  trick  to 
And,  were  I  sure  you  loVd'  me— ^ 
r  Clau.  Do  you  doubt  how?    [profess  this, 

Isab,  1  do  not  doubt;  but  he  that  would 
And  bear  that  full  affection  you  make  show 
Should  do —  [of, 

CUtu.  What  should  I  do? 

Isab.  I  cannot  shew  you.  [ye,  lady ! 

Clau.  ril  try  thee,  damned^t  devi  1 ! — Hark 
No  man  shall  dare  do  more,  no  service  top 
ril  marry  you.  )["*?5 

Isab.  How,  sir? 

Clau.  Your  husband's  sentenced. 
And  he  shall  die-^ 

Isab.  Die? 

Clau.  Die  for  ever  to  you; 
The  danger  is  mine  own. 

Isab,  Die,  did  you  tell  me? 

Clau.  He  shall  die ;  I  liave  east  the  way. 

Isab,  Oh,  foul  man. 
Malicious,  bloody  man ! 

Enter  Lopez, 

,  LopeM.  When  shall  he  die,  sir  ? 
By  whom,  and  how? 

Clau.  Hast  thou  betray'd  me,  woman? 

Isab.  Base  man,  thou  wouldst  have  ruin'd 

me,  my  name  too,  [mory ! 

And,  like  a  toad,  poisoned  my  virtuous  me- 
Further  than  all  this,  dost   thou  see  this 

friend  here,  [thec^ 

This  onlv  friend  ?  (Shame  take  thy  lust  and 
And  shake  thy  soul !)  his  life,  tlie  life  I  love 

thus. 
My  life  in  him,  my  only  life,  thou  aimfst  at! 

Clau,  Am  I  catch*d  thus  ? 

Lopez.  The  law  shall  catch  you  better. 

Isab,  You  make  a  trade  of  betraying 

women's  honours. 
And  think  it  noble  in  you  to  be  lustful ! 
Report  of  me  heroafter—  ' 
.    Clau,  Fool'd  tnus-ftnely?  pustice; 

Lopez,  I  must  entreat  ;^ou  walk,  sir,  to  the 
Where,  if  he'll  "bid  you  kill  me — 

Clau,  Pray  stay  a  while,  sir; 
I  must  use  a  pkiyer's  shift.    Do  you  know 

me  now,  lady? 

Lopez.  Your  brotlier  Claudio^  sure ! 

hab.  0\l  me,  'tis  he,  sir  f 
Ob,  my  best  brother! 

Clau,  My  best  sister  now  too !  [you, 
Tve  tried  you,  found  you  so;  f^nd  now  I  love 
Love  you  so  truly,  nobly— 

Lopez.  Sir,  I  thank  yuu; 
youVe  made  me  a  most  happy  man.    . 

Clau.  Thank  lier,  sir; 
And  from  this  hour  preserve  that  happiness; 
Be  no  more  fooFd  with  jealousy ! 

Lopez.  I've  lost  it ; 
And  take  me  now^  new-bom  again,  new- 

natur'd! 


(Act  5.  Scene  3. 

Isab.  I  dQ;  and  to  that  promise  tie  this 
faith,  [virtue. 

Never  to  have  a  false  thought  tempt  my 
Lopez.  Enough,  enough!  I  must  desire 
your  presence ;  [us : 

My  cousin  Rodope  has  sent  in  all  haste  for 

I'm  sure  you  will  be  welcome. 
Clau.  I'll  wait  on  you. 
Lopez.  What  the  project  is— 
Isab,  We  shall  know  when  we're  there, 
sir.  [Exeunt, 

SCE^^E  III. 
E^er  Duehessy  Siennuy  Lords,  and  Silvio, 

Duck.  Joy  to  you,  Silvio,  and  your  younc 

fair  bride !  [wooe,  sir  I 

Ybu've  stol'n  a  day  upon's;  you  cauuot 

Sil.  The  joys  of  he)l  hang  over  me :  oh, 

mischief! 
To  what  a  fortune  has  the  devil  driv'n  me ! 
Am  I  reserv'd  for  this  ? 

Duke.  Beshrew  me,  sir,  [fellow; 

But  you  liave  gotten  yon  a  right  mir  bed* 
Let  you  alone  to  chuse ! 

Sil.  1  beseech  yoiir  grace — 
'TIS  misery  enough  t'liave  met  the  devil. 
Not  men's  reproaches  too. 

Duke,    How  old  is  she? 

Duch.  A  very  girl;  her  eye  delivers  it. 

Duke.  Her  teeth  are  scarce  come^  yet. 

Lord,  What  goodly  children 
Will  they  two  l^ve  now !  She's  rarely  made 

to  breed  on ; 
What  a  sweet-timber'd  body! 

Duch.  Knotty  i'th' back;  [nose! 

But  will  hold  out  the  stronger,     what   a 

Duke,  Ay,  mairy,  such  a  nose,  so  rarely 

mounted  f  [on. 

Upon  my  coiiscience, 'twas  the  part  he  doted 

Duch,  And  that  nne  little  eye  to't,  like 

an  elephant?s  f  [her  ears  sachels — 

Lord.  Yes,  if  her  feet  were  round,  and 

Duke.  For  any  thing  we  know—' 

Sil,  Have  ye  no  mercy? 
No  pity  in  your  bloods,  to  use  a  wretch  thus? 
You  princes,  in  whose  hearts  the  best  com- 
passions, [places. 
Nearest  to  those  in  Heav'n,  should  find  fit 
Why  d'you  mock  at  misery?  fling  scorns  and 

baseness  [rows? 

Upon  his  broken  neck,  that  sinks  with  sop- 
Heav'n  may  reward  you  too ;  and  an  hour 

come,  [cuiousy 

When  all  your  great  designs  shall  shew  ridi- 
And  your  hearts  pinch'd  Tike  mine^ — 

[Muzic  in  diviers  places,. 

Duch.  Fy,  sir!  so  angry 
Upon  your  wedding-day?  go  smug  yourself; 
The  maid  will  come  anon.     What  music's 

this?  [tion. 

Duke.  I  warrant  you  some  noble  prepara- 

Duch,  Let's  take  our  places  then. 

SiL  More  of  these  devil's  dumps? 
Must  I  be  ever  haunted  with  these  witch-> 

crafts? 

Enter 


Aa  5.  Scene  3  J 


WOMEN  PLEAS'D. 


'6i 


Enter  a  Mutqua-adt  of  $everal  Mkapa^  and 

dances;  after  which.  Enter  Behidere  and 

dUftenes  tkem^     J^wer  twa  Presenters; 

then    the  Masken^f   among  which    are 

Bartelloy  I/fpe^,  ClaudiOy  Iscicllaf  Bodope, 

Suto,  Penuno,  and  Jaquenet, 

iPre.  Room,  room  for  merry  spirits^  room ! 
Hither  on  command  we  come; 
From  the  good  old  beldam  sent. 
Cues  and  sorrows  to  prevent. 

2  Prf.  liook  up,  Silvio,  smile,  and  sing ! 
After  winter  comes  a  spring. « 

1  Pre,  Fear  not,  faint  fool,  what  may  follow ; 
Eyes,  that  now  are  sank  and  hollow. 
By  her  art  may  quick  return 
To  their  flames  again,  and  bum, 

S  Pre.  Art  commands  all  youth  and  blood ; 
Strength  and  beauty  it  makes  ^od. 

1  Pre.  Fear  not  then,  despair  not,  sing, 
Kound  about  as  we  do  spring ; 
Cares  and  sorrows  cast  away! 
This  is  th'  old  wives  holiday. 

[Dance  here,  then  enter  Behidere* 

Dueh.  Who's  this? 

DuJ^.  The  shape  of  Bclvidere ! 

BeL  Now,  Silvio, 
How  dost  thou  like  me  now  ? 

SU.  Thus  I  kneel  to  thee,     [me  well  too; 

BeL  Stand  up,  and  come  no  nearer;  mark 
For  if  tliou  troublest  me,  I  vanish  instantly: 
Now  chuse  wisely,  or  chuse  never, 
One  thou  must  enjoy  for  ever! 
post  thou  love  me  thus  f 

SU.  Most  dearly.  [neariy. 

Bel.  Take  heed,  fool!  it  concerns  thee 
If  thou  It  have  me  young  and  bright, 
Pleasing  to  thine  eye  and  sight, 
Courtly,  and  admird  of  all, 
Take  heed,  lest  thy  fiune  do  fall! 
I  shall  then  be  full  of  scorn, 
Wanton,  proud,  (beware  the  horn!) 
Hating  wnat  I  lov'd  before. 
Flattery  apt  to  fall  before. 
All  consuming,  nothing  getting; 
Thus  thy  fair  name  comes  to  setting!— 
Boc  if  old,  and  free  from  these. 
Thou  shalt  chuse  me,  I  shall  please; 
I  iball  then  maintain  thee  still, 
With  my  virtue  and  my  skill, 
Still  encrease  and  build  thy  name; 
Chose  me  now,  Silvio !  here  I  am. 

&L  I  know  not  what  to  say,  which  way  to 

tumme; 
Into  thy  sovereign  will  I  put  my  answer. 

BeL  I  thank  you,  sir,  and  my  will  thus 

rewards  you ;  [Silvio  I 

Take  your  old  love,  your  best,  your  oearest, 


No  more  spells  now,  por  further  shapes  tu 

alter  me ; 
I  am  thy  Belvidere  indeed.    Dear  mother. 
There  is  no  altering  t^s,  Heav'n's  hand  is 

with  it;  [won  me. 

And  now  you  ought  to  give  me;  he  has  fairiy 

SiL  But  why  that  hag  P 

BeL  In  that  shape  most  secure  still, 
I  follow'd  all  your  fortunes,    served,  and 

counseled  you.  [wench ; 

I  met  you  at  the  farmei's  first,  a  country* 
Where  fearing  to  be  known,  I  took  th^t  habit. 
And,  to  make  you  laughing-sport  at  this 

nuul  marriage. 
By  secret  aid  of  my  fnend  Rodope, 
We  sot  this  masque. 

Su.  And  I  am  sure  I  have  you  ? 

BeL  For  ever  now,  for  ever. 

Duch.  You  see  it  must  be; 
The  wheel  of  destiny  hath  tuni*d  it  round  so. 

Duke.  It  must,  it  is ;  and  curs'd  be  he  that 

breaks  it!  [my  prisoner-— 

Duch.  Ill  put  a  choide  t^ypu,  sir:  you  are 

Duke.  I  am  so,  and  I  must  be  so,  till't 

please  you —  [ransom 

Duch,  Chuse  one  of  these;  either  to  pay  a 
At  what  rate  I  shall  set  it,  (which  shall  be 

high  enough) 
And  so  return  a  firee-man,  and  a  bachelor; 
Or  give  me  leave  to  give  you  a  fit  wife. 
In  honour  ev'ry  way  your  grace's  equal. 
And  so  your  ransonr  s  paid. 

Duke.  You  say  naost  nobly!  [me. 

Silvio's  example's  mine ;  pray  chuse  you  for 

Duch.  I  thank  you,  sir!  IVe  got  the 

mast'ry  too ;  [freedom : 

And  here  I  give  your  grace  a  husband's 
Give  me  your  hand,  my  husband ! 

Duke.  You  much  honour  me ; 
And  I  shall  ever  serve  you  for  this  favour. 

Bart.  Come,  Lopez,  let's  give  o«r  wives 

the  breeches  too ! 
For  they  will  have  'em. 

Lopez.  Whilst  they  rule  with  virtue, 
111  give  'em,  skin  and  all.      ^ 

Lab.  We'll  scratch  it  off  else. 

SiL  [turning  to  Claudio].   I'm  glad  you 

live ;  more  glad  you  live  to  honour ; 
And  from  this  hour  a  stronger  love  dwell  with 
Pray  you  take  your  man  a^n.  ^  [us ! 

Clau.  He  knows  my  house,  sir.       [loves: 

Duch.  Tis  sin  to  keep  you  longer  from  your 
We'll  lead  the  way.    Aiid  you,  young  men, 

that  know  not 
How  to  preserve  a  wife,  and  keep  her  &ir. 
Give  'em  their  sovereign  wills,  andpleasTd 

thqy  are.  [Exeunt. 


^'  Btfore  the  masken^  enter  two  pretcnters,  among  which^  4rc*]  So  the  fonner  editions. 


THE 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER; 


oi. 


THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


A  COMEDY. 


The  iirst  edition  oPthis  Play,  in  1640,  has  the  name  of  Fletcher  alone  to  it,  and  it  was  pro. 
bably  therefore  his  production,  without  any  assistance  from  lus  partner  Beaumont^  It 
used  to  be  acted  frequently  in  the  last  century ;  but  we  have  not  heard  of  any  alteration 
or  representation  of  it  these  many  years. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Mex. 


ToK  LuRCUERy  a  wildtfoung  Man,  Brother 

toAlatke. 
Jack  Wildbrain,  Nephew  to  the  Ladt/, 
Justice  Alcripe,  married  to  Maria, 
Frauk  Heartlove,  enamoured  of  Maria, 
Toby,  Coachman  to  the  iMdy. 
Gentlemen. 
Servants. 
Sexton. 
Bell-Rincers. 


Women. 


Lady,  Mother  to  Maria, 

Marta,  in  lave  with  Heartlove. 

Ala  THE,  contracted  to  Algripe,  disguised  at 

a  Boy, 
Nurse. 

Mistress  Newlove. 
Women. 
Mistress,  a  Courtezan  to  Lurcher. 


ACT  I. 


Enter  Lurcher  and  Wik^ain, 

!««.  TACK!  [hither? 

**  ^^'ddb.  What  wind  brought  thee 
In  what  old  hollow  tree,  or  rotten  wall, 
Htst  thou  been,  like  a  swallow,  all  this  win- 
Where  hast  thou  been,  man?  [ter? 

Larc,'  Following  the  plough. 

Wddh.  What  plough?  Thou  hast  no  land ; 

stealingjs  tliy  own  purchase. 

lure  The  best  inheritance. 

Wildb,  Not  in  my  opinion ; 
Tboa  hadst  five  hundred  pound  a  year. 

Lsrc,  rrisgone:     - 
Pridi6e,no  more  on't !  Have  I  not  told  thee. 
And  oftentimes,  Nature  made  all  men  equal. 
Her  distribution  to  each  child  alike; 
l^ill  labour  came  and  thrust  a  new  will  in, 
Which  I  allow  not:  ^till  men  won  a  privilege 
Bj  that  they  call  cndeavQur,  wiiich  mdeed 


Is  nothing  but  a  lawful  cozenage,  [neighbour. 
An  allowM  way  to  cheat  ?  Why  should  my 
That  hath  no  more  soul  than  his  horsekeepcr. 
Nor  bounteous  faculties  above  a  broom-man^ 
Have  forty  thousand  pounds,  and  I  four 
Why  should  he  keep  it  ?  [groats  ? 

nildb.  Thy  old  opinion  still. 

Lure,  Why  should  that  scriv'ncr,     [thing 
That  ne'er  writ  reason  in  his  life,  nor  any 
That  time  e*er  gloried  in  ;  that  never  knew 
How  to  keep  any  courtesy  conceal'd, 
But  noverint  umversi  must  proclaim  it. 
Purchase  perpetually,  and  I  a  rascal  ?     per 
Con&ider  this;  why  should  that  moijJdycobi 
Marry  his  daugliter  to  a  wealthy  merchant. 
And  give  five  thousand  pounds?  is  tliis  good 

justice  ? 
Because  he  has  a  tougher  constitution. 
Can  feed  upon  old  songs,  and  save  his  money, 
Therefore  must  I  go  l^g  ? 

*  Wild6. 


64 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


[Act  1. 


WUdh.  What's  this  to  thee  ?  [min'd 

Thou  canst  not  mend  it:  if  thou  be'ist  deter- 
To  rob  ail,  like  a  tyrant,  yet  take  heed 
A  keener  justice  do  not  overtake  tliee. 
And  catch  you  in  a  noose. 

Lure.  I  am  no  woodcock ;  [foolery, 

He  that  shall  sit  down  frighted  with  that 
Is  not  worth  pity;  let  me  alone  to  shuffle! 
Thou  art  for  wenchine;. 

Wildb*  For  beauty  I,  a  safe  course  j 
No  halter  hangs  in  my  way ;  I  defy  it. 

Lure,  But  a  worse  fate,  a  wilful  poverty ; 
For  where  thou  gain'st  by  one  that  indeed 

loves  thee,  [destiny ! 

A  thousand  will    draw  from  thee ;  'tis  thy 
One  is  a  kind  of  weeping  cross,  Jack, 
A  gentle  purgatory:  do  not  fling  at  all ;   - 
Youll  pay  the  box  so  often,  'till  you  perish. 

Wildb,  Take  you  no  care  for  that,  sir,  'tis 

my  pleasure : 
I  will  employ  my  wits  a  great  deal  faster 
Than  you  shall  do  your  fingers ;  and  my  loves. 
If  I  mistake  not,  shall  prove  riper  harvest 
And  handsomer,  and  come  within  less  dan- 
Where's  thy  young  sister  ?  [ger. 

Lure.  I  know  not  where  she  is;  she's  not 

worth  caring  for,  [her ! 

She  has  no  wit.   Oh,  you'd  be  nibbling  with 
She*s  far  enough,  I  hope;  I  know  not  where; 
She*s  not  worui  caring  for,  a  sullen  thing, 
She  would  not  take  my  counsel.  Jack ;  and  so 
I  parted  from  her. 

Wildb,  Leave  her  to  her  wants  ? 

Xtirc.  I  gave  her  a  little  money,  what  I 

could  spare ; 
She  had  a  mind  to  th'  country;  she  is  tum'd, 
By  this,  some  farmer's  dairy-maid';  I  may 

meet  her  [sers* ; 

Riding  from  market  one  day,  'twixt  her  dor- 
If  I  do,  by  this  hand  I  wo'  not  spare 
Her  butter-pence. 

Wildb.  Thou  wilt  not  rob  thy  sister  ? 

Lure.  She  shall  account  me  for  her  eggs 

and  cheeses  Hove  ber  ? 

Wildb,  A  pretty  girl. — Did  not  old  iUgripe 
A  very  pretty  girl  she  was. 

Lure,  Some  such  tiling ; 
But  he  was  too  wise  to  fasten.    Let  her  pass. 

Wildb,  Then  where's  thy  mistress? 

Lure,  Where  you  sha'  not  find  her. 
Nor  know  what  sttt£f  slie  is  made  on;  no,  in- 
deed, sir, 
t  chose  her  not  for  your  use. 

Wilb,  Sure  she's  handsome,     [handsome ; 

Lure.  Yes,  indeed  is  she;   she  is  very 
But  that's  all  one. 

Wildb.  You'll  come  to  th*  marriage? 

Lure,  Is  it 
To-day  ?  [church  now. 

Wildb,  Now,  now,  they  are  come  from 


Zttrc.  Any  great  preparation? 
Does  justice  Algripe  shew  his  power? 

Wildb.  Very  glorious. 
And  glorious  people  there. 

Lure.  I  may  meet  with  him 
Yet  ere  I  die,  as  cunning  as  he  is.   [marriage ; 

Wildb.  You  may  do  good,  Tom,  at  5ie 
We've  plate  and  dainty  things. 

Lure.  Do  you  no  harm,  sir ;  [be  marr'd 
For  yet  methinks  the  marris^c  should  be 
If  thou  may'st  have  thy  will :  farewell !  say 

nothiiig  f  [Exit, 

Enter  Gentlemen. 

Wildb.  You're  welcome,  noble  friends. 

1  Gent.  I  thank  you,  sir. —  [brain, 

Nephew  to  the  old  lad]^;    his  name's  Wild-* 
And  wild  his  best  condition. 

3  Gent,  I  have  heard  of  him. — 
I  pray  you  tell  me,  sir,  is  young  Maria  merry 
After  her  marriage-rites  ?  Does  she  look  lively? 
How  does  she  like  her  man? 

Wildb.  Very  scurvily; 
And  as  nntowardly  she  prepares  herself: 
But  it  is  mine  aunt's  will,  that  this  dull  me- 
tal [someness. 
Must  be  mix'd  with  her,  to  allay  her  hand- 

1  Gent.  Had  Heartlove  no  fast  friends? 

Wildb,  His  means  are  liltle; 
And  where  those  littles  are,  as  little  comfoijts 
Ever  keep  company:  I- know  she  loves  him,' 
His  memory  beyond  the  hopes  of-* 
Beyond  the  Inifies  in  his  mouldy  cabinets ; 
But  'tis  her  unhandsome  fate — 

Enter  Heartlove. 

1  Cent.  I'm  sorry  for't.        [start  not,  sir! 

Here  comes  poor  Frank.-^Nay,  we're  friends; 

We  see  your  willow,  and  arc  sorry  fbr't ; 

And,  tho'  it  be  a  wedding,  we're  half  mourn- 
ers, [my  fortunes: 
Heartl.  Good  gentlemen,  remember   not 

They  arc  not  to  be  help'd  with  words. 

Wildb,  Look  up,  man !  [a  wench  f 

A  proper  sensible  fellow,  and  shrink  for  a 

Are  there  no  more?  or  is  she  all  the  hand- 
Heartl,  Pritliee,leave fooling.  ^  [someness? 
Wildb.  Prithee,  leave  thou  whining ! 

Have  maids  forgot  to  love  ? 

Heartl.  You  are  injurious.         [low  thee. 
Wildb.  Let  'em  alone  a  while,  they'll  fol- 

1  Gent,  Come,  good  Frank, 
Forget  now,  since  there  is  no  remedy,    [do. 
And  shew  a  merry  face,  as  wise  men  would 

2  Gent.  Be  a  free  guest,  and  think  not  of 
those  passages. 

Wildb.  Think  how  to  nick  him  home;  thou 
know'st  she  dotes  on  thee; 

Graft  me  a  daintjr  medlar  on  his  crabstock ; 
Pay  me  the  dreaming  puppy. 

'  Some  farrier's  dairy  maid.']  That  this  is  sense,  and  may  be  true,  f  won't  dispute;  but  I 
can't  yet  help  thinking  that  the  better  reading  is, 

Afarmer^i  dairy  maid.  Sympson, 

*  Dorsen.']  L  e.  Panniers,    Sec  Johnson's  Dictionary. 

HeartL 


Act!.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OE,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF, 


65 


Heard,  Well,  make  your  mirtb,  the  whilst 

I  bear  my  misery : 
Honest  m){fds  would  have  better  thoaghts. 

WildbJ  I  am  her  kinsman, 
And  love  her  well,  am  tender  of  her  youth; 
Yet,  honest  Frank,  before  I'd  have  that  stink- 
ard, [head — 
That  walking  rotten  tomb,  enjoy  her  maiden- 

HeartL  Prithee,  leave  mocking ! 

Wildb.  Prithee,  Frank,  believe  me ; 
Go  to,  consider.  Hark,  they  knock  to  dinner ! 
[Knock  within. 
Come,  wo't  thoQ  go  ? 

9  Gent.  I  prithee,  Frank,  go  with  us, 
And  laugh  and  dance  as  we  do. 

Hearil.  You're  light,  gentlemen,  [leave  ! 
Nothing  to  weigh  your  hearts;  pray  give  me 
ril  come  and  see,  and  take  my  leave. 

Wildb.  We'll  look  for  you. 
'  Do  not  despair;  I  have  a  trick  yet. 

[Exit. 

UeartL  Yes,  ^*  [j^cts.. 

When  Fm  mischievous  111  believe  your  pro- 
Siie'sgone,  for  ever  gone^  (I  cannot  help  it) 
Mr  hopes  and  all  my  happiness  gone  with 

her,  [jollity 

Gone  like  a  pleasing  dream  !  What  mirth  and 
Beigns  round  about  this  house !  how  every 

office 
Sweats  withnew  joys !  Can  she  be  metry  too  ? 
Is  all  this  pleasure  set  by  her  appointment? 
Sore  sh'has  a  false  heart  then.  Stdi  they  grow 
louder.  [her, 

The  old  man's  god,  his  gold,  has  won  upon 
(£j|^ht-hearted,  cordial  gold!)  and  all  my  ser* 
I         vices, 

I      That  offered  naked  truth,  are  clean  forcotten : 
I      Yet  if  slie  were  compell'd — but  it  can  t  be — 
I      If  I  could  but  imagine  her  will  mine, 
Altho'  he  bad  her  body— 

Enter  Lady  and  Wildlfrain. 

Lady,  He  shall  come  in !    ■  [enemy. 

Walk  without  doors  o'this  day?  Tho'  an 
ft  must  not  be. 

WUdb,  You  must  compel  him,  madam. 

Lady.  JEfOy  she  shall  fetch  him  in,  nephew; 

it  shall  be  so. 

WUdb.  It  will  be  fittest.    [ Exit  with  Ludy, 

HeartL  Can  fair  Maria  took  again  upon 

me?  [ness? 

Can  there  be  so  much  impudence  in  sweet- 

Enter  Maria. 

Or  has  she  got  a  strong  heart  to  defy  me? 
She  comes  herself:  how  rich  she  is  in  jewels! 
Methinks  they  shew  like  frozen  isicles. 
Cold  winter  had  hung  on  her.  How  the  roses, 
That  (ept  continual  spring  within  her  cheeks, 
Are wither'd  with  theold  man's dullembraces  ! 
She  would  speak  to  me. — I  can  sigh  too  lady ; 


But  from  a  sounder  heart :  yes,  and  can  weep 
But  'tis  for  you,  that  ever  I  believ'd  you,    [too ; 
Tears  of  more  pious  value  than  your  marriage! 
You  would  encase  yourself^,  and  I  must  cre- 
dit you, 
So  much  my  old  obedience  compels  from  me  I 
Go,  and  forget  me,  and  my  poverty — 
I  need  notbid  you,  you're  too  perfect  that  way : 
But  still  remember  that  I  iovrd,  Maria,  fine  ! 
Lov'd  with  a  loyal  love.    Nay,  turn  notTrom 
I  will  not  ask  a  tear  more,  you  arc  bountiful  ; 
Go,  and  rejoice,  and  I  will  wait  upon  you 
That  little  of  mv  life  left! 

Maria.  Good  sir,  hear  me  I       [obedience 
What  has  been   done,  was   th'  act  of  my 
And  not  my  will,  forc'd  from  me  by  my  pa- 
rents : 
Now  'tis  done;  do  as  I  do,bear  ithandsomely ; 
And  if  there  can  be  more  society, 
Without  dishonour  to  my  tie  of  marriage. 
Or  place  for  noble  love,  1  shall  love  you  still. 
You  had  the  first;  the  last,  had  my  will  pro*- 

per'd. 
You  talk  of  little  time  of  life,  dear  Frank ; 
Certain,  I  am  not  married  for  eternity: 
The  joy  my  marriage  brings,   tells  nie  Fm 
mortal,  [seruble; 

And  shorter-liv'd  than  you,  else  I  were  mi- 
Nor  can   the  gold  and  case  his  age  hath 

brought  me 
Add  what  I  coveted,  content    Go  with  me; 
They  seek  a  day  of  joy;  prithee  let's  shew  it, 
Tho  it  be  forc'd ;  and,  by  this  kiss  believe  me. 
However  I  must  live  at  his  command  now, 
I'lUdie  at  yours. 

HeartL  I  have  enough;  111  honour  you! 

[Eidunt. 
Enter  Lurcher. 

Lure.  Here  are  my  trinkets,  and  this  lusty 

marriage 
I  mean  to  visit;  I  have  shifts  of  all  sorts, 
And    here  are  thousand  wheels  to  set  'em 

working. 
I'm  very  merry,  for  I  know  this  wedding 
Will  yield  me  lusty  pillage :  if  mad  Wildgoose, 
That  debauch'd  rogue,  keep  but  his  ancieot 

revels, 
And  breed  a  hubbub  in  the  house,  I'm  happy. 

Enter  Alathe. 
Now,  \^hat  are  you? 

Alathe.  A  poor  distressed  boy,  sir,  [treat 
Friendless  and  comfortless,  that  would  en- 
Some  charity  and  kindness  from  your  worship, 
I  would  fain  serve,  sir,  and  as  fain  endeavour 
With  duteous  labour  to  deserve  the  love 
Of  that  good  gentleman  shall  entertain  me. 

Lure.  A   pretty   boy,  but  of  too  mild  a 

brceding, 
Too  tender,  and  too  basliful  a  behaviour. 
What  canst  thou  do? 


'  You  would  encase  yourself."]  Sympson  supposes  encase  a  corruption,  and  would  substitute 
einte.  We  think  encase  may  be  geuuinc,  and  used  in  the  sense  uf  defend,  arm  yourbclf 
^ith  an  excuse. 

VOL.IU.  K    •  Alathe. 


65 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEr. 


[Act  1. 


Alathe,  I  can  learn  any  thing       [master. 
That's  good  and  honest,  and  f^hall  please  a 

Lure.  He  blushet  as  he  speaks,  abd  that 

I  like  not; 
I  love  a  bold  and  secure  confidence,    [now, 
An  impudence  that  one  may  trust:  this  boy 
Had  I  instructed  him«  had  been  a  jewel, 
A  treasure  for  my  use.    Thou  canst  not  lie  ? 

Ahithe.  I  would  not  willingly. 

Lure.  Nor  thou  hast  no  wit 
To  dissemble  neatly  \ 

Alathe.  Do  you  love  such  bovs,  sir  ? 

Litre.  Oh,  mainly,  mainly;  I'd  have  my 

boy  impudent, 
Out-face  all  truth,  yet  do  it  piously ; 
Like  Proteus,  cast  Limsclf  into  all  forms, 
As  sudden  and  as  nimble  as  his  thoughts ; 
Blench  at  no  danger,  tiio'  it  be  the  gallows, 
Nor  make  no  conscience  of  a  cozenage, 
Though'tbe  i'  th'  church.  Your  soft,  demure, 

still  children 
Are  good  for  nothing,  but  to  get  long  graces, 
And  sing  songs  to  dull  tunes :  I  would  keep 

Uiee, ,  [lity, 

And  cherish  thee,  liadst  thou  any  active  qua- 
And  be  a  tender  master  to  thy  knavery; 
But  thou  art  not  for  my  use. . 

Alathe^  Do  you  speak  this  seriously  ? 

lAirc.  Yes,  indeed  do  I. 

Atotke*  Would  you  have  your  boy,  sir. 
Read  in  these  moral  mischieA>? 

Lure.  Now  thou  mov'st  me.    [activities? 

Alathe.  And  be  a  well-train'd  youth  in  all 

Jjure.  By  any  means. 

Alathe.  Or  do  you  this  to  try  me. 
Fearing  a  proneness  ? 

Lure.  I  speak  this  to  make  tliee. 

Ataihe.  Then  take  me,  sir,  and  cherish  me, 

and  love  me ;  [sir, 

You  have  me  what  you  would :  believe  me, 
I  can  do  any  thing  for  your  advHUbige. 
I  guess  at  what  you  mean ;  I  can  lie  naturally. 
As  easily  as  I  can  sleep,  sir,  and  securely  ; 
As  naturally  I  can  steal  too — 

Lure,  That  Fm glad  on,  fthouVt  excellent. 
Right  heartily  glad  on;    bold  thee  there, 

Alathe,  Steal  any  thing  from  any  body  liv- 

Lurch,  Not  from  thy  miister?  [ing. 

Alathe.  Tiuit  is  mine  own  body. 
And  must  not  be. 

Lure,  The  boy  mends  mightily. 

Alathe.  A  rich  man,  that  like  snow  heaps 

up  his  monies, 
I  have  a  kind  of  pioui  zeal  to  meet  still; 
A  fool,  that  not  deserves  em,  I  tiike  pity  on. 
For  fear  he  should  run  mad,  and  so  I  ease 

him.  [me ! 

Lure.  Excellent  boy,  and  able  to  instruct 
Of  mine  own  nature  just ! 

Aiutltr.  I  scorn  all  hazard. 


And  on  the  edge  of  danger  I  do  best,  sir. 
I  have  a  thousand  faces  to  deceive,       [ter: 
And,  to  those,  twice  so  many  tongues  to  flat- 
An  impudence,  no  bniss  was  ever  tougher; 
And  for  my  conscience — 

Lure.  Peace!  I've  found  a  jewel, 
A  jewel  all  the  Indies  cannot  match ! 
And  thou  shalt  feel — 

Alathe.  This  tittle,  and  Fve  done,  sir: 
I  never  can  confess,  Fve  that  spell  on  me; 
And  such  rare  modesties  before-  a  magistrate. 
Such  innocence  to  catch  a  judge,  such  igno- 
rance—  [Come,  boy ! 

Lure.  I'll  learn  of  thee;  thou  art  mine  own* 
I'll  give  thee  action  presently. 

Alathe.  Have  at  you! 

Lure.  What  must  I  call  thee  ? 

Alathe.  Snap,  sir. 

Lure.  'Tis  most  natural ; 
A  name  born  to  thee:  sure  thou  art  a  fiiiry ! 
Shew  but  thy  skill^^  and  I  shall  make  thee 

happy.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Lady^  NursCy  Mrs.Newhve,  and  Toby, 

Lady.  Where  be  these  knaves  ?  who  strewa 

up  all  the  liveries? 
Is  the  bride's  bed  made? 

Tobi/.  Yes,  madam,  and  a  bell 
Hung  under  it  artificially. 

7  ady.  Out,  knave,  out! 
Must  we  have  larums  now  ? 

2'oby.  A  little  warning,    [healths,  madam. 
That  we  may   know   when   to   begin    our 
The  justice  is  a  kind  of  old  jade,  madam, 
That  will  go  merriest  with  a  bell. 

Lady.  All  the  house  drunk? 

Toby.  This  is  a  day  of  jubilee.  . 

Lady.  Are  the  best  hangings  up?  and  the 

plate  set  out? 
Who  makes  the  posset.  Nurse? 

Nurse.  The  dairy-maid,  [p^r. — 

And  she  will  put  that  in  will  make  lum  ca- 
Weli,  madam,  well,  you  might  ha' chose  ano- 
A  handsomer,  for  her  years*.  [^ber. 

Lady,  Peace!  he  is  rich,  Nurse; 
He's  rich,  and  tiiat  is  beauty. 

Nurse.  I  am  sure  he's  rotten;    [saw  her*  ? 
'Would   h'had  been  hang'd  when   he   first 

Lady.  Termagant !  [looks  to  Iiim  ? 

What  an  angry  quean  is  this !     Where,  who 

Ibby,  He's  very  merry,  madam;    mascer 

Wildbrain 
Has  him  in  hand, i'th' bottom  o'the  cellar; 
He  sighs  and  tipples — 

Nurse.  Alas,  good  gentleman! 
My  heart's  sore  for  tljee.  [rah, 

Lad^.  Sorrow  must  have  his  course.     Sir- 
Give  him  some  sack  to  dry  up  his  remem- 
brance, [him. 
How  does  the  bridegroom  ?  I  am  afraid  of 


*  A  handsomer  for  your  years."]  The  amendment  proposed  by  Sympson. 

^  Wlten  he  first  saw  her.  Termagant.]  The  word  termagant  lias  hitherto  been,  ronde  a 
partoftlic  iV</r»e'<  speech.  It  undoubtedly  (as  Sympson  supposes)  belongs  to  the  Ladyi 
though  he  would  omit  the  words  angry  qu€<m-  in  the  next  line^  «nd  put  termagant  in  their 
place.  Nurse 


Actl.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  Oil,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


67 


Nunc.  He's  a  trim  youth  to  be  tender  of, 

llemp  take  him  !  [winter 

Must  my  sweet  newblown  rose  find  such  a 
Before  lier  spring  be  near? 

Ladtf.  Peace,  peace  !  thou'rt  foolish. 

Tohf,  And  dances  like  a  town-top^,  and 

reels  and  hobbles.  [wine. 

Alas,  good  gentlemen !  give  him  not  much 

Toby,  He  sihall  ha'  none  by  my  consent. 

Ladjf.  Are  the  women  comfortingmy  daugh- 

Mrt.  NewL  Yes,  yes,  madam,  [ter? 

And  reading  to  her  a  pattern  of  true  patience; 
They  read,  and  pray  for  her  too. 

Avrse.  They  had  need  f     s  [deal ; 

You  had  better  marry  her  to  her  grave  a  great 
There  will  be  peace  and  rest.    Alas,  poor 

gentlewoman  I  [ness  ? 

Most  she  become  a  nurse,  now  in  her  tender- 
Well,  madam,  well !  my  heart  bleeds ! 

Lady.  Thou'rt  a  fool  still— 

A'ttrse.  Pray  Heav'n  I  be ! 

Lady,  And  an  old  fool,  to  be  vex'd  thus ! 
Tis  late ;  she  must  to  bed.     Go  knave ;  be 

menr; 
Driiik  ibr  a  boy :  away  to  all  your  chaiges ! 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Wildhrain  and  Heartlove, 

Wildb,  Do  as  thou  wo't;  but,  if  thou  dost 
refuse  it,  [arguing ; 

Thou  art  the  stupidest  ass — ^There's  no  long 

Time  is  too  precious,  Frank. 


Had  slie  not  swooned  if  I  had  not  caught  her? 
Canst  thou  have  more  ? 

Heart L  I  must  confess  all  this. 

Wiidb,  Do  not  stand  prating,  and  mis* 

doubting,  casting! 
If  she  go- from  thee  now,  she's  lost  for  ever; 
Now,  now  she's  going,  she  that  loves  thee. 
She  whom  thou  lov'st—  [g<jing- 

Heartt  Pray  let  me  think  a  little. 

Wildb.  There  is  no  leisure;  think  when 

th'  hast  embrac'd  her. 
Can  she  imagine  thou  didst  ever  honour  her? 
Ever  believe  thy  oaths,  that  tamely  sutfer'st 
An  old  dry  ham  of  horse-flesh  to  enjoy  her. 
Enjoy  her  maidenhead  ?  Take  but  tha  t  from  her. 
That  we  may  tell  posterity  a  man  had  it, 
A  handsome  man,  a  gentleman,  a  young  man. 
To  save  the  honour  of  our  bouse,  the  credit! 
Tis  no  great  matter  I  desire. 
•   Heart L  I  hear  you. 

Wildb,  Free  us   both  from  the  fear*"  of 

breeding  fools  [long. 

And  oafs,  got  by  this  shadow :  we  talk  too 

Heart i.  She's  going  now  to-bed,  amongithe 

women ; 
What  opportunity  can  I  have  to  meet  her? 

Wildb.  Let  me  alone !   Hast  thou  a  Will? 

speak  soundly,  [somely; 

Speak  discretely,  speak  home  and  hand- 
Is't  not  pity,  nay  misery,  nay  infamy,  to  leave 
So  rare  a  pie  to  be  cut  up  by  a  rascal  ? 

HcartL  I  will  go  presently ;  now^  now,  I 

stay  thee^. 

Wildb,  Such  a  dainty  doe  to  be  taken 
By  one  that  knows  not  neck-beef  from  a 

pheasant, 
Nor  cannot  relish  braggat  from  ambrosia'  ? 
Is  it  not  conscience  ? 


HeartL  I'm  hot  with  wine^ 
And  apt  now  to  believe ;  but  if  thou  dost  this 
Out  of  a  villainy,  to  make  me  wrong  her. 
As  tlK>u  art  prone  enough — 

Wildb.  Does  she  not  love  thee? [with  thee? 
Did  she  not  cry  down-right,  e'en  now,  to  part 

^  Nurse.  And  dances  like  a  tmvrt'top.']  The  putting  this  line  in  the  Nur»e*s  mouth  is 
seainst  all  sense  and  reason,  and  confounds  the  discourse :  I  suspect  these  words  belong  to 
'Tabyy  whose  speech  at  sighs  and  tipples  being  interrupted  by  the  Lady  and.  the  Nurse,  is 
here  resumed  and  finished.  Sympson, 

'  Frank.  I  trill  go,  &c.]  Sympson  supposes  we  should  both  alter  and  divide  tliis  speech, 
making  Wildbrain  say. 

Now,  now,  I  say. 
*  If  or  cannot  relish  hm^t  from  ambrosia.]  Braggat,  t.  e,  mead  and  ale  sweetened  with 
hottc^.  Our  authors  in  this  place  have  receded  from  the  common  acceptation  of  ambrosia^ 
makmg  that  the  liquor  here,  which  the  general  nm  of  the  classics  call  tlie  meat  of  the  gods. 
But  they  are  not  destitute  of  good  authority  for  so  doing.  Thus  in  Atiien«us,  b.  ii.  c.  ft. 
Anaxandrides  introduces  one  saying,  that  he  eats  nectar  and  drinks  ambrosia,  &c.  And 
Sappho  too  to  the  same  purpose,  a  little  lower,  says  in  one  of  her  pOems, 

A  bowl  ambrosial  was  mixed. 
Apuleius,  b.  vi.  among  the  Latins,  takes  tlie  same  hberty,  when  Psyche  is  to  be  made  inu> 
mortal.  Mercury  holds  out  a  cup  of  ambrosia  to  her,  and  bids  her  drmk  of  it,  &c. 

After  I  had  wrote  tliis,  I  found  the  same  observation  had  been  made  by  Le  Clere,  in  his 
notes  upon  Hesiod's  Theogony,  verse  640.  Neither  are  our  authors  the  only  English  poets 
who  make  ambrosia  the  ^ds  drink ;  Taylor,  the  Water-poet,  has  done  tiie  same  in  his 
PeonylesB  Pilgrimage, 

And  I  intreat  you  take  these  words  for  no-lies; 
I  had  good  aqtM'>vita,  rosa  so-lies, 
With  sweet  ambrosia  (the  gods*  own  drink) 
Most  excellent  geere  for  moftals  as  I  tliink. 
But  bow  this  person' came  by  the  knowledge  of  such  a  thing,  I  have  neither  will  nor  leisure 
to  examine  at  present.  Sympson, 

K  9  Heartl. 


68 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


[Actl. 


Hearth  Yes,  yes;  now  I  feel  it. 

Wildb,  A  meritorious  thing? 

Heart L  Good  father  Wildgoose, 
I  do  confess  it. 

Wildh,  Come  then,  follow  me,  [privately, 
And  pluck  a  man's  heart  up;  FU  lock  thee 
Where  she  alone  shall  presently  pass  by, 
None  near  to  interrupt  thee :  but  be  sure — 

Hearth  I  shall  be  sure  enough;  lead  on, 

and  crown  me. 

Wildh.  No  wringings  in  your  mind  now, 

as  you  love  me !  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Lady,  Maria,  Af gripe,  Genilacovien, 
jSiurse,  and  Mrs.  Newlove. 

Lady,  rris  time  you  were  a-bed. 

Al^,  1  prithee,  sweetheart. 
Consider  my  necessity ! — Why  art  sad  ? 
I  must  tell  you  a  tale  in  your  ear  anon-— 

Ntirse.  Of  Tom  Thumb; 
I  believe  that  will  prove  your  stifTest  story, 

Mrs.  Neul.  I  pity  the  young  wench ! 

1  Gentiew.  And  so  do  I  too. 

2  Gentiew,  Come,  old  sticks  take  fire. 

1  Gentiew.  But  the  plague  is,  he'll  burn  out 
Give  him  another  cup.  [instantly. 

2  Gentleic.  Those  are  but  flashes ; 

A  ton  of  sack  won't  set  him  high  enough. — 
Will  you  to  bed  ? 

Maria.  I  must. 

1  Gentiew.  Coine,  have  a  good  heart, 
And  win  him  like  a  bowl  to  lie  close  to  you^; 
Make  your  best  use ! 

Alg.  Nay,  prithee,  duck,  go  instantly : 
Y1X  dance  a  jig  or  two  to  warm  my  body. 

Enter  Wildhrain. 

Wildh.  'Tis  almost  midnight. 

Ijidy.  Prithee  to  bed,  Maria.        [follow, 

Wiidh.  Go  you  afore,  and  let  the  ladies 
And  leave  her  to  her  thoughts  awhile;  there 

must  be 
A  time  of  taking  leave  of  tliese  same  fooleries. 
Bewailing  o*  their  maidenheads'^. 

Lady.  Come  then, 
We'll  wait  i'  th'  next  room. 

Alg.  Do  not  tarry ;  for  if 
Thou  dost,  by  my  troth  I  shall  fall  asleep, 

Mall.  [Exeunt. 

Wildh.  Do,  do,  and  dream  of  dottrels ! — 

Get  you  to-bed  quickly. 
And  lets  ha*  no  more  stir;  come,  no  crying! 
TTis  too  late  now;  carry  yourself  discretely : 
The  old  thief  loves  thee  dearly,  that's  the  be- 
nefit; [Nay,  not  that  way ! 
Por  the  rest,  you  must  make  your  own  play. 
They'll  pull  you  all  to-pieces  for  your  whim- 

whains, 
Your  garters  and  your  gloves;  go  modestly, 
And  privately  steal  to  bcS;  'tis  very  late,  Mall; 
i  or  if  you  go  by  them,  such  a  new  larum — 


Maria.  I  know  not  whicli  way  to  avoid  'em. 

Wildb.  This  way, 
This  thro'  the  cloisters,  and  so  steal  to-bed  ! 
When  you  are  there  once,  all  will  separate, 
And  give  you  rest :  I  came  out  of  my  pity 
To  shew  you  this. 

Maria.  I  thank  you. 

Wildh.  Here's  the  keys ;  [yoa. 

Go  presently,  and  lock  the  doors  fast  suter 
That  none  shall  follow. 

Maria.  Good  night! 

Wildb,  Good  night,  sweet  cousin  ! 
A  good  and  sweet  night — or  Til  curse  thee, 

I^rank.  '  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Heartlcroe. 

Hearth  She  stays  long:  sure  young  Wild* 

goose  has  abus'd  mc,  [&g<uiV 

H'  has  made  sport  wi'  me.  I  may  yet  get  out 

And  I  may  see  his  face  once  more:  I  ha'  fool 

intentions ; 
But  they  are  drawn  on  by  a  fouler  dealing. 

Enter  Maria, 

Hark,  hark !  it  was  the  door !  [stealing ! 
Something  comes  this  way,  wondrous  still  and 
May  be,  some  walking  spirit  to  afiVight  me. 

Maria.  Oh,  Heav'n,  my  fortune  ! 

Hearth  'Tis  her  voice  I  stay. 

Maria.  Save  roe, 
Bless  me,  you  better  powers  I 

Hearth  I'm  no  devil.  [now. 

Maria.  You're  little  better,  to  disturb  me 

Hearth  My  name  is  Heartlove. 

Maria,  Fy,  fy,  worthy  friend  I 
Fy,  noble  sir ! 

Hearth  I  must  talk  further  with  you  : 
You  know  my  feir  affection — 

Maria.  So  preserve  it;  "[ci viler! 

You  know  I'm  married  now.  For  shame,  be 
Not  all  the  earth  shall  make  me — 

Hearth  Pray  walk  this  way; 
And  if  you  ever  lov'd  mc — 

Maria.  Take  heed,  Frank,  [prithee. 

How  you  divert  that  love  to  hate:  go  home, 

Hearth  Shall  he  enjoy  that  sweet — 

Maria.  Nay,  pray  unhand  me. 

Hearth  He  that  never  felt  what  love  was? 

Maria.  Then  I  cliarge  you 
Stand  further  dff! 

Hearth  I'm  tame;  but  let  me  walk  w*  you; 
Talk  but  a  minute. 

Maria.  So  your  talk  be  honest, 
And  mv  untainted  honour  suffer  uot^ 
ril  walk  a  turn  or  two. 

Hearth  Give  me  your  hand  then.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Wildhrain,  Algripe,  Lady,  Nurie^ 
^        Gentlewomen,  apd  Mrs,  Newlove^ 

Alg.  She  is  not  in  her  chamber.  . 
Lwiy.  She's  not  here. 


^  And  win  him  like  a  howh"]  A  single  letter  seems  wanting  here. 

And  wind  him  like  a  bowi.  Sympson, 

*°  Bezeailing  others  maiden  heads.]  Corrected  in  1750. 


Wildb, 


A«tl.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


€9 


Wildb.  And  Til  tell  you  what  I  dream'd— 

Alg,  Give  me  a  torch ! 

1  Gentlew,  Be  not  too  hasty,  sir, 

Wildb.  Nay,  let  him  go; 
For  if  my  dream  be  true  he  must  be  speedy; 
He  will  be  trickt,  and  biaz'd  else**. 

^«rse.  As  I  am  a  woman, 
I  cannot  blame  her  if  she  take  her  liberty! 
'Would  she  would  make  tliee  cuckold,  thou 

old  bully, 
A  notorious  cuckold,  for  tormenting  her ! 

Lady.  Vi\  hang  her  then. 

Nurse.  I'll  bless  her  then !  she  does  justice : 
Is  this  old  stinking  dogs-flesh  for  her  diet  ? 

Wildb.  Prithee,  honest  Nurse,  do  not  fret 

too  much ; 
For  fear  I  dream  you'll  hang  yourself  too. 

JJ^.  The  cloister?    [Wudl.  whispers Alg. 

Wudb.  Such  was  my  fancy ;  I  don't  say 

'tis  true. 
Nor  do  I  bid  you  be  too  confident. 

Alg.  Where  are  the  keys?  the  keys,  I  say! 

Wildb.  I  dream'd  she 
Had  *em  to  lock  herself  in. 

Kurse,  What  a  devil 
Do  you  mean  ? 

Enter  Servant* 

Wildb.  No  harm;  good  nurse,  be  patient ! 

Serv.  They  are  not  in  the  window,  where 

they  use  to  be. 

Wildb,  What  foolish  dreams  are  these  ! 

Alg.  I'm  mad. 

mldb.  I  hope  so;  [you. 

If  you  ben*t  mad,  III  do  my  best  to  make 

1  Gentlew.  This  is  some  trick. 

S  Gentlew.  I  smell  tlie  Wildgoose. 

Alg.  Come,  gentlemen ;  come  quickly,  I 

beseech  you,  [gentlemen. 

Quick  as  you  can !  this  may  be  your  case, 
And  bring  some  lights,  some  lights !    [Exit, 

WUdb.  Move  faster,  faster!  you*il  come 

too  late  else. 
FD  stay  beliind  and  pray  for  you.  I  had  rather 
She  were  dishonest  than' thou  shouldst  have 

her.  [Ejfeunt. 

Enter  Maria  and  Heartlaoe, 

Maria.  You're  most  unmanly!  Yet  I  have 
some  breath  left,  [me ! 

And  this  steel  to  defend  me :  come  not  neaf 
For  if  you  oflfer  but  another  violence, 
As  I  have  life  Fll  kill  you !  if  I  miss  that, 


Upon  my  own  heart  will  I  execute, 
And  let  that  fair  belief  out,  I  had  of  you. 
Heartl.  Most  virtuous  maid,  I've  done: 
forgive  my  follies ;  [ness. 

Pardon,  oh,  pardon !  I  now  see  my  wicked- 
And  what  a  monstrous  shape  it  puts  upon  me. 
On  your  fair  hand  I  seal. 

Alg,  [within']  Down  with  the  door ! 
Maria.   We   are  betray'd!    Oh,   Frank, 
Heartl.  Vi\  die  for  you ;  [Frank ! 

Rather  than  you  shall  suffer,  I'll — 

Enter  Algripe^  Lady^  Sfc, 

Alg.  Now  enter,  [eyes ! 

Enter,  sweet  gentlemen.  Mine  eyes^  mine 
Oh,  how  my  head  aches  ! 

1  Gentlew.  Is  it  possible? 

2  Gentlew.  Hold  her ;  she  sinks. 
'  Maria.  A  plot  upon  my  honour! 

To  poison  my  fair  name,  a  studied  villainy  ! 

Farewell !  As  I  have  hope  of  peace,  I'm  ho- 
nest, [brains,  they  bud  sure. 
Alg.  My  brains,  my  brains,  my  monstrous 
Nursed  She's  gone,  she's  gone ! 
Alg,  A  handsome  riddance  o/her. 

'Would  I  could  as  easiJy  lose  her  memory  ? 
Nurse.  Is  this  the  sweet  of  marriage  ?  have 

For  this  reward  ?  f  I  bred  thee 

1  Gentlew.  Hold,  hold !  He's  dtbperate  too« 
Alg.  Be  sure  you  hold  him  fast!  we'll 
bind  lihn  over  [him. 

To  the  next  sessions,  and,  if  I  can,  III  hang 
Heartl.  Na^  then,  I'll  live  to-  be  a  terror 
to  thee.-^—  [beauty,. 

Sweet  virgin  rose,  farewell !    Heiiv'n  has  thy 

That's  only  fit  for  Heav'n.  I'll  live  a  little. 

To  find  the  villain  out  that  wrou  ght  this  in« 
jury,  [thee. 

And  then,  most  blessed  soul,  Fll  climb  up  to 

Farewell!  I  feel  myself  another  creature,  . 

[ExU, 
Lady.  Oh,  misery  of  miseries ! 
Nurse.  I  told  you,  madam.         jrportion? 
Lady.  Carry  her  in.  You  will  pay  hacklier 
Al^.  No,  not  a  penny :  pay  me   back  my 

And  I'll  condition  wi'  ye.  [credit^ 

Lady.  A  sad  wedding !  ^ 

Her  grave  must  be  her  bridal-bed.  O.b,  Mall, 

'Would  1  had  wed  thee  to  thy  own  content! 

Then  I  had  had  thee  still. 
Alg.  Vm  mad !  Farewell ! 

Anotiber  wanton  wife  will  prove  a  he!  I. 

[JExcwnf. 


"  Trickt,  and  blai'd.]^  IHcking  is  drawing  any  person's  arms,  with  pen  and  ink ;   llazonr 
ing  them  is  to  set  tfaem  torth  in  their  proper  colours.  Sympson. 


ACT 


THE  NIGHT-WAIiUBR;  OR,  THE  IJTTLE  THIEF. 


(Actft 


ACT    11. 


Inter  Lurcher  and  Alathe. 

Xtrrc.  TXTHAT  hast  thou  done  ? 

▼  ▼     Alathe.  I've  walk'd  thro*  aU  the 

lodgings : 
A  filcnce,  as  if  death  dwelt  there,  inhabits. 

Lure.  What  hast  thou  seen? 

Alathe,  Nought  but  a  sad  confusion; 
£very  thing  left  in  such  a  loose  disorder. 
That,  were  there  twenty  thieves,  they  would 

be  laden.  ['tis  strange 

Lure.  Tis  very  well ;  I  like  thy  care :  but 
A  we<fding-night  should  be  so  solitary. 

Alathe,   Certainly  there's  some    cause; 

some  death  or  sickness 
Is  falien  suddenly  upon  some  friend, 
Or  some  strange  news  is  come. 

Lure.  Are  they  all  a-bed?  [it  be 

Alcthe.  I  think  so,aiid  sound  asleep,  unless 
Some  women  thatkeop  watch  in  a  lov.  parlour, 
And  drink,  and  weep,  I  know  not  to  what  end. 

Lure.  Where's  all  the  plate? 

Alathe,  Why,  lock'd  up  in  that  room : 
I  saw  th'  old  lady,  ere  she  went  to  bed, 
I'Dt  up  her  plate,  and  some  of  the  rich 

hangings,  [are  there  too : 

In  a  small  long  chest ;  her  chains  and  rings 
It  stands  close  by  the  table,  on  a  form. 

Lure.  Twas  a  good  notice;  didst  thou 

see  the  men  f  [tlusir  leaves ; 

Alathe.  1  saw  them  sad  too,  and  all  take 
BqC  what  they  said  I  was  too  far  to  hear,  sir. 

Lure,  'TIS  daintily  discover'd;  we  shall 

certainly 
Have  a  roost  prosp'roas  nigfat.    Which  way? 

Alathe,  A  close  one, 
A  back-door,  that  the  women  have  left  open, 
To  go  in  and  out  to  fetch  necessaries, 
Close  on  the  gai*dcn  side. 

Lure,  I  love  tliy  diligence: 
Wert  tliou  not  fearful  ? 

Alaihe,  Fearful  ?  Ill  be  hang'd  first. 

Lure,  Say  they  had  spied  thee  ? 

Alathe.  1  was  tlien  detennin'd 
T'  have  cried  downright  too,  and  have  kept 

'em  company, 
As  one  that  had  ah  interest  in  their  sadness; 
Or  made  an  errand  to  I  know  not  whom,  sir. 

Lure.  My  dainty  boy !  Let  us  dischai]ge ; 

tliat  plate 
Makes  a  perpetual  motion  in  my  fingers 
^fill  I  have  fast  hold  of  iL       [ben't  greedy; 

Alathe,  Pray  be  wise,  air;  do  t  handsomely, 
Let*s  handle  it  with  such  an  excellence 
As  if  we  would  bring  Uiieving  into  honour: 
We  must  disguise,  to  flight  these  reverend 

Lure,  Still  my  blest  boy!         [watches — 

Alaihe,  And  clear  die  room  of  drunken 

jealousies.  [make 

The  chest  ii  of  some  weiglit,  and  we  may 


Such  noise   i'th'    carriage    we    may    be 

snap'd. 

Lure.  Come,  open :  here's  a  devil's  fiice. 

Alathe.  No,  no,  sir,  we'll  have  no  shi^ 

so  terrible; 
We  will  not  do  the  devil  so  much  pleasure 
To  have  him  face  our  plot. 

Lure,  A  winding-sheet  then ! 

Alathe,  That*s  too  cold  a  shifl, 
I  would  not  wear  the  reward  of  my  wickedness : 
I  wonder  you  're  an  old  thief,  and  no  cunnioger. 
Where's  the  long  cloak?      •  • 

Lure.  Here,  here. 

Alathe.  Give  me  the  turbant  [this  way ! 
And  the  false  beard.  I  hear  some  coming 
Stoop,  stoop,  and  let  me  sit  upon  your 

shoulders, 
And  now  as  I  direct — Stay,  let  them  enter. 
And  when  I  touch  move  forward ;  make  no 

noise! 

Enter  Nurse  and  Toby. 

Nurse,  Oh,  'tis  a  sad  time !  All  the  bnmt 

wine*s  drunk,  Nick. 

Ihby.  We  may  thank  your  dry  chaps  fbr*t. 

The  canary's  gone  too ;  [upon  ; 

No  substance  for  a  sorrowful  mind  to  work 
I  cannot  mourn  in  beer:  if  she  should  walk 

now. 
As  discontented  spirits  are  wont  to  dO'— 

Nurse,  And  meet  us  in  the  cellar? 

Toby,  What  fence  have  we  with  single 

beer  against  her? 
What  heart  can  we  defy  the  devil  with? 

Nurse,  The  March  beer's  open.        [well; 

Toby.  A  fortification  of  March  beer  will  do 
I  must  confess  'tis  a  most  mighty  annoar. 
For  I  presume  I  cannot  pray. 

Nurse,  Why,  Nicholas  ? 

Toby.  We  coachmen  have  such  tumbling   ' 

faitus,  nu  prayers 
Can  go  an  even  pace. 

Nurse.  Hold  up  your  candle. 

Toby,  Verily,  Nurse,  I  have  cried  so  mudi 
For  my  young  mistress  that  is  mortified. 
That  if  1  have  not  more  sack  to  support  me, 
I   shall    e'en  sleep:    hey  ho,  for  another 

fiaggon !  [ful'st  mattery 

These  burials  and  christnxngs  are  the  monm- 
And  they  ask  more  drink-— 

Nurse.  Drink  to  a  sad  heart's  needfol. 

Toby,  Mine's  ever  sad,  for  I. am  ever  dry^ 

Nurse.  fpritliee  snuff  it } 

Nurse,  Methinks  the  light  bums  bine ;  I 
There's  a  thief  in 't,  I  think. 

jf  b^.  There  may  be  one  near  it. 

Nurse,   What's    that  that  moves  tliere^ 

i'th*  name  of — ^Nicliolas? 
That  thing  that  walks? 
Toby.  'Would  I  had  a  ladder  to  behold  it> 

Mercy 


Actl] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OB,  THE  UTTLE  THIEF. 


n 


Mercy  upon  me,  the  gbost  of  one  of  the 

goard  sure ;  [brimstone ; 

Tis  the  devil  bj  his  chtwa,  he  smells  of 
Sore  he  fiuts  fire,  what  an  earthquake  I  have 

in  me! 
Oot  with  thy  prayer-hook.  Nurse!       [eat  it. 

Nune.  It  fell  i'th'  frying-pan,  and  the  cats 

Tobtf,  I  have  no  power  to  pray !  It  grows 

still  longCfT,  [Nurse. 

*Tu  steeple-high  now ;  ^and  it  sails  away. 
Let's  call  the  butler  up,  for^  speaks  Latin  ", 
And  thatvrill  daunt  the  devil.'  I  am  blasted; 
My  belly's  grown  to  nothine. 

Nurse,  iSy,  fly,  Toby !    \Esit  with  Tobj/. 

Akthe.  So,  let  them  go !  And  whilst  they 

are  asconish'd. 
Let's  presentlyupon  the  rest  now,  suddenly. 

Lure  OSj  off,  and  up  again  when  we're 

near  tlie  parlour ! 
Alt  sure  thou  know'st  the  chest  ? 

Alathe.  Tho*  it  were  i'th'  dark,  sir, 
I  can  go  to  it. 

Lure  On  then,  and  be  Imppy.    [Exainl, 

Enter  Toby. 

Tobi/.  How  my  haunciies  quake!  Is  the 
Aing  here  still  f  [own  trade; 

Now  can  I  out-do  any  button-maker  at  his 

I  hare  fifteen  fits  of  an  ague.    Nurse !  'tis 
gone,  I  hope :  [Nurse ! 

The  hard-hearted  woman  has  left  roe  alone. 

And  she  knows  too  I  ha*  but  a  lean  con- 
science to  keep  me  company. 

^  iNoise  witfUn, 

The  deviPs  among  'em  in  the  pariour  sure, 

The  ghost  diree  stories  high,  he  has  the 
Nurse  sure,  [she  whistles ! 

He's  boiling  of  her  bones  now;  hark,  how 

There's  gentlewomen  within  tooj;  how  will 
they  do? 

I'll  to  the  cook,  ibr  he  was  drunk  last  night, 

And  now  he's  valiant;  he's  a-kin  to  ch'  devil 

And  fears  no  fire.  [too, 

Enter  Lurcher  and  Alaihe,  with  a  Coffin, 

Lure.  No  light? 

Almthe.  None  left,  sir;  [*em. 

The^'^re  gone,  and  carried  all  the  candles  with 
Their  fright  is  infinite;  let's  make  good  use 

on't:  [rise  else. 

We  must  be  quick,  sir,  quick,  or  th'  house  will 

Lure.  Was  this  the  chest? 

Alathe.  Yes,  yes. 

Iftrc«  There  were  two  of  'em. 
Or  I  mistake. 

Alathe.  I  know  the  right    No  stay,  sir, 
N<ir  no  discourse,  but  to  our  labour  lustily ! 
Pnt-toyour  strength,  and  make  as  little  noise— ^ 
Then  presently  out  at  the  back  door.  j 

lure.  Come,  boy;  | 

'^  He  9peuks  Latin.]  Tlie  wonderful  efiect  of  speaking  Latin  to  ghosts,  and  other  super* 
astora!  bein^,  hath  at  all  times  uuiforinly  been  the  prevailing  notion  of  the  common 
people.  In  like  manner,  the  honest  Butler,  in  Mr.  Addison's  Drummer,  recommends  that 
Ihe  ^ward  shall  speak  Latin  to  the  ghost  in  that  play.        A. 

For 


Come,  happy  child,  and  let  me  hog  thy 
excellence !  [fiminl. 

Enter  Wildhndn. 

Wildb.  What  thousand  noises  pass  tliro* 
all  the  rooms !  [drunk. 

What  cries  and  hurries!   Sure  tlie   devil's 
And  tumbles  thro'  the  house.    My  villainiea^ 
That  never  made  me  apprehend  before 
Danger  or  fear,  a  little  now  molest  me : 
My  cousin's  death  sits  heavy  o'  my  con- 
science; [mer'dit! 
'Would  I  'd  been  lialf-hang'd  when  I  ham* 
I  aim'd  at  a  liviug  divorce,  not  a  burial. 
That  Frank  might  have  had  some   liope. 

Hark!  still 
In  every  room  confusion ;  they're  all  mad. 
Most  certain  all  stark-mad  within  tlie  house; 
A  punishment  inflicted  for  my  lewdness. 
That  I  might  have  the  more  sense  of  my 
mischief,  [hang'd  sure. 

And  run  the  more  mad  too.    My  aunt  is 
Sure  hang'd  herself  or  else  the  fiend  has 

fetch'd  her. 
I  heard  a  hundred  cries, '  the  devil,  the  devil  T 
Then  roaring,  and  then  tumbling;  all  tb« 

chambers 
Are  a  mere  Babel,  or  another  Bedlam. 
What,  should  I  think?  I  shake  myself  toos 

can  the 
Devil  fiiid  no  time,  but  when  we  are  merry? 
Here's  something  comes. 

Enter  Mrt.  Newhve, 

NewL  Oh,  that  I  had  some  -company, 
(I   care  not  what  they  were)  to  ease  wtf 
To  comfort  me !  [misery. 

Wildb.  Who's  that? 

NewL  Again?  Nay  tlicn,  reoeiTe— 

Wildb.  Hold,  hold  !  I  am  no  fury.— 
The  merchant's  wife !  [be ! 

NeicL  Are  you  a  man  ?  Pray  Heav'n  you 

Wildb.  lam. 

NewL  Alas,  I  have  met,  sir. 
The  strangest  things  to-night. 

Wildb.  Why  do  you  stare?     [candle  out; 

NewL  Pray  comfort  me,  aiid  pot  your 
For  if  I  see  tlie  spirit  again  I  die  for't. 
And  hold  me  fast,  for  I  shall  shake  to  pieces 

else. 

Wildb.  I'll  warrant  you,  I'll  hold  you. 
Hold  you  as  tenderly — I've  put  the  light  put; 
Ketire  into  my  chamber,  there  I'll  watch  wi'ye, 
ni  keep  you  from  all  frights. 

NewL  And  will  you  keep  me? 

Wildb.  Keep  you  as  secure,  lady-*- 

NewL  You  must  not  wrong  me;  then  th# 

devil  will  have  t)s.  [will. fear  us| 

Wildb.  No,  no,  I'll  love  you;  then  the  devil 


n 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  UTTLE  THIEF. 


[Act «. 


Alg.  Fool,  to  ask  that  question! 
To  keep  out  women.    I  expect  her  mother 
Will  visit  me  with  her  clamours :  Oh,  I  hate 
Their  noise,  and  do  abhor  the  whole  sex 

heartily !  ^       rstudy 

They  are  all  walking  devils^  harpies:  I  will 
A  week  together  how  to  rail  sufficiently 
Upon  'cm  all :  and,  that  I  may  be  furnish'd, 
Ihou  shaltbuy  all  the  railing  books  and  bat> 

lads    .  •  I 

That  malice  hath  invented  against  women ; 
I  will  read  nothing  else,  and  practise  'em,       1 
Till  I  grow  fat  with  curses,     .  | 

Sero.  If  you'll  go  [books  !— 

To  th*  charge,  let  me  alone  to  find,  you 
What's  tliat?  They  come  near  us''. 

Alg,  Where?  hold  up  the  torch,  knave! 

Sero.  Did  you  hear  nothing?  'tis  a— » 

Alg,  Why  dost  make  a  stand? 

Scrv,  What's  that? 

Alg,  Where,  where?  dost  sec  any  thing? 
We  are  hard  by  th*  church-yard,  and  I  was 

never 
Valiant  at  midnight  in  such  irksome  places*®; 
They  say  ghosts  walk  sometimes.  Hark !  d'ye 
hear  nothing? 

Enter  Lurcher ^  Alathe,  and  J^fistress, 

Mistress.  No  further;  dig  here,  and  lay  her 

in  quickly.  fbe  discover'd ! 

Lure,  What  light  is  that,  Doy?  we  shall 
Set  the  coffin  up  an  end,  and  get  behind  me; 
There's  no  avoiding. 

Alathe.  Oh  I 

Al^.  Where  is  that  groan? 
I  begm  to  be  afraid. 

Sere.  What  shall  we  do,  sir? 

Aig.  We  are  almost  at  home  now;  thou 

must  go  forward; 
Perhaps  'twas  niv  imagination. 

Lure,  'Tis  he ! 

Aluthe,  I  know  him  too;  let  me  alone !  ' 

Serv,  Oh,  sir,  ~  . 

A  ghost,  the  very  ghost  of  mistress  bride! 
I  have  no  power  to  run  away.  [me ! 

Alg.  Curst  ghust !    bless  me !    preserve 
I  do  comii:and  tliee,  whatsoe'er  thou  art, 
1  do  conjure  thee,  leave  me;  do  not  fright  me. 
If  thou  be*st  a  devil,  vex  me  not  so  soon, 
If  thou  be'st — the  spirit  of  my  wife— 

A  f (I the.  Thy  wife. 

Ali;.  I  shall  be  tormented! 

Aluthe,  Thy  abused  wife, 


That  cannot  peaceably  enjoy  her  death* 
Thou  hast  an  evil  conscience. 

Alg,  I  know  it.  [thy  soul, 

Aiathe,  Among  thy  other  sins  which  black 
Call  to  thy  mind  thy' vow  made  to  another. 
Whom  thou  bast  wrongfd,  and  make  ber  sa- 

tis&ction 
Now  I  am  dead,  thou  peijnrM  man  I  or  else 
Athousand  black  tormcntorsshall  pursue  the«. 
Until  thou  leap  into  eternal  flames ; 
Where  gold,  wnich  thou  adorest  here  on  earth. 
Melted,  tlie  fiends  shall  pour  into  thy  throat  f 
For  this  time,  pass ;  go  home  and  tlunk  upon 
Lure,  Away  !  [me  I 

Serv,  There  are  more  spirits  I 
Alg,  Thank  you,  dear  wife  ! 
Ill  bestow  twentynoblesonatomb  for  thee; 
Thou  shalt  not  walk  and  catch  cold  after 
death.  [Theif  go  backward  in. 

Lure,  So,  so  ;^  they're  gone ;  'twas  my  in* 
genious  rascal ! 
But  how  dost  know  he  made  vows  to  another? 
Aiathe,  I  overhearci  the  women  talk  to- 
night on't;  [bury 
But  now  let's  lose  no  time,  sir !   pray  let's 
l*his  gentlewoman.     Where*s  my  mistress  ? 

Enter  JB^Iistress, 

Mistress,  Here;  I  durst  not  tarry. 

Lure,  We  ha'  so  cozen'd  the  old  forty  i'th' 

hundred  [grimage; 

An  the  devil  hinder  hhn  not,  he'll  go  a  pil- 
But  come,  about  our  business!  set  her  down 

Maria,  Oh!  [again. 

Lure,  She  groans!  ha!  ^ 

Maria,  Oh ! 

Lure.  Again!  she  stirs!  [in  pieces. 

Mistress,  Let's  fly,  or  el&e  wc  shall  be  torn 

Lure,  An  you  be  good  at  that,  bury  your- 
Or  let  the  sexton  take  you  for  liis  fee.  [self. 
Away,  boy !  '     \Ejctunt, 

Maria,  I  am  very  cold,  dead-cola  ! 
Where  am  I?  wiiat's  this?   a  coffin?  where 

have  I  been? 
Mercy  defend  me !  Ha!  I  do  remember 
I  wusbctray'd,  and  swooned.  My  heart  aches; 
Fuiwoud^rous  hungry  too:  dead  bodies  cat 

not: 
Sure  I  was  meant  for  burial;  I  am  frozen; 
Death,  like  a  cake  of  ice,  dwells  round  about 

me ;  [what  path  ? 

Darkness  spreads  o'er  the  world  too.  \V  hiM-c  ? 
Best  Pro\ idencc,  direct  me *' !  [E^^t» 


'5*  Just.  They  cotne  near  us.9 

StTV.  Mhat^s  that  f]  So  the  fonncr  editions. 
'^  Irksom..'  pfaces,'\  Probably  we  should  read,  darksome^ 
**  iics/.]  Ferhups  the  original  exhibited  lltst. 


ACT' 


Acts.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER; 


HEF. 


75 


ACT  III. 


Inter  Lady^  Wildbrain^  Women,  and  Toby, 
Lady.nr^OV  art  the  most  unfortunate  fel- 
-■•      Wildb.  Why,  aunt,  riow— 

What  have  I  done? 

Lady,  Tlie  most  malicious  varlct—  [ing 
Thy  wicked  head  never  at  rest,  but  hammeiv. 
And  batching  hellish  things,  and  to  no  pur- 
60  thou  mayst  have  thy  base  will.         fpose, 

Wildb.  Why  do  you  rail  thus  ? 
Cannot  a  scurvy  accident  fall  out. 
But  I  must  be  at  one  end  on*t? 

Lady.  Thou  art  at  both  ends,      the  fools, 

Wiidb.  Cannot  young  sullen  wenches  play 
And  marry,  and  die,  but  I  must  be  the  agent? 
All  that  I  did  (and  if  that  be  aa  injury,  [her. 
Let  the  world  judge  it)  was  but  to  persuade 
(And,  as  I  take  it,  I  was  bound  to*t  too) 
To  make  the  reverend  coxcomb  her  husband 

cuckold:  [harm  i*  this? 

What  elae  could  I  advise  her?  was  there 
You  are  of  years,  and  have  run  thro'  experi- 
^nce;  [again, 

would  yoa  be  content,  if  you  were  young 
To  have  a  continual  cough  grow  to  your  pil- 
low ?| 
A  rottenness,  that  vaults  are  perfumes  to. 
Hang  in  your  roof,  and  like  a  fog  infect  you? 
Anointed  hams,  to  keep  his  hinges  turning. 
Reek  ever  in  your  nose,  and  twenty  night- 
With  twenty  several  sweats?  [caps, 

To^.  Come  Jew,  some  justice,    [madam; 
A  thousand  heathen-smells,  to  say  truth, 
And  would  ^u  mallow  my  young  pretty  mis- 
If  such  a  mi&pken  ?  [  tress 

iMdy.  Sirrah, 
Where  is  the  body  of  my  girl? 

Wildb.  I  know  not; 
I  am  no  conjurer:  you  may  look  tlie  body! 
I  was  like  to  be  stol  n  ^way  myself;  the  spirit 
Had  like  to  ha*  surpriz'd  me  in  the  shape  of 

a  woman,  [dangerous. 

Of  a  young  woman,  and  you  know  those  are 

Toby.  Sq  had  I,  madam,  simply  tho'I  stand 

here, 
I  had  been  ravish'd  too:  I  had  twenty  spirits; 
In  every  corner  of  the  house  a  fiend  met  me. 

Lady.  You  lie  like  rascals!   Was  mistress 

Newlove  such 
A  ipirit,  sir,  to  fright  your  worship?  Well, 
I  discharge  you,  sir;  you  are  now  at  liberty; 
"ve  where  you  please,  and  do  what  pranks 

yoa  fancy  ;  [niy  nephew, 

loa  know  your  substance:  iho*  you  are 
lam  no  way  bound,  sir,  to  protect  your  mis- 
So,  fere  you  well !  [chief: 

Wildb.  Farewell,  good  aunt !  I  tljank  you ! 

"  Automedon.]  Automedon  wag  the  charioteer  of  Achillea,  and  is  now  a  name  applied  to 
*»ery  one  01  that  caUing. 

^ «  EnUr 


Adieu,  honest  Nick!  The  devil,  if  h*have 
power,  [ria«;e. 

Will  persecute  yoor  old  bones  for  this  mai- 
Farewell,  mistress  Win ! 

Toby.  And  sliall  we  part  with  dry  lips  ? 
Shall  we,  that  have  been  fellow-devils  together. 
Flinch  for  an  old  woman*s  fart? 

Wildb.  Tis  a  fine  time  o*  night  too;  but 
we  must  part,  Nick.  [the  tenor, 

loby.  Shall  we  never  ring  again  ?  ne'er  toss 
And  roll  the  changes  in  a  cup  of  claret?  [on 
You  shjdl  not  want ;  whate'er  Hay  my  hands 
(As  I  am  sure  Automedon  the  coachman**) 
Shall  be  distributed:  bear  up,  I  say,  lian^  sor- 
row! .  [sure. 
Give  me  that  bird,  abroad  that  lives  at  plea- 
Sam  the  butler's  true,  the  cook  a  reverend 
Trojan ;  [they  were  rotten ; 
The  falkuer  shall  sell  his  liavvks,  and  swear 
There  be  some  wandring  spoons,  they  may 
be  met  with;  [sentences! 
I'll  pawn  a  coach-horse.  Peace,  utter  no 
The  harness  shall  be  us'd  in  our  wars  also; 
Or  shall  I  drive  her  (tell  me  but  your  will  now; 
Say  but  the  word)  over  some  rotten  bridge. 
Or  by  a  marl-pit  side?  she  may  slip  in  da  in- 
Let  me  alone  for  myself!  [tily; 

Wildb.  No,  no;  farewell,  Toby ! 
Farewell,  spiny  Nicholas!  no  such  thing; 
There  be  ways  i'th*  world — If  you  sec  me 
A  day  or  two  hence,  mrCy  be  we'll  crack  a 
quart  vet,   «  •  [hold! 

And  pull  a  bell.   Commend  me  to  the  hous- 
Nay,  cry  not,  Toby;  'twill  make  thy   head 
Toby,  Sweet  master  Wildbrain!      [giddy. 
Wildb.  No  more,  Toby;  go. 
The  times  may  ajjter. — 
But  Where's  the  corse  of  my  dead  cousin, 
(If  she  be  dead)?  1  hop'd'thad  but  dissembled: 
That  sits  heavy  here.     Toby,  honest  Toby, 
Lend  me  thy  lanthorn;  I  foi-got  'twas  dark; 
I  had  need  look  to  my  ways  now. 

Toby.  Take  a  lodging  with  me  to-ni^ht  in 
the  stable,  [hor«es. 

And  ride  away  to-morrow  with  one  of  the 
Next  your  heart,  pray  do ! 

Wildb.  No.  [wander; 

Good  night,  good  neighbour  Toby!  I  will 
I  scorn  to  submit  myselt;  ere  I  have  ram- 
bled— [terial; 
But  whither,  or  Avith  what?  that's  more  ma- 
No  matter;  and,  the  worst  come,  'tis  but 
stealing,  [credir; 
And  my  aunt  won't  see  me  hang'd,  for  her  own 
And  farewell  iu  a  halter  costs,  me  noiliing. 

[Exeunt. 


76 


THE  NIGHT-W^VLKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THiEf. 


[Act  S' 


Enter  Heartlote. 


Hearth  The  night,  and  all  the  evils  the 

night  covers,  [darkncbs, 

The  goblins,  hags,  and  the  black  spawn  of 

Cannot  fright  me.    No,  Death,  I  dare  thy 

cruelty ! 
For  I  am  weary  both  of  life  and  light  too. 
Keep  my  wits,  Heav'n !  They  say  spirits  ap- 
pear 
To  melancholy  minds,  and  the  graves  open : 
I  would  fain  see  the  ^ir  Maria's  shadow, 
But  speak  unto  her  spirit,  ere  I  died, 
But  ask  upon  ray  knees  a  mercy  from  her. 
I  was  a  villain;  but  her  wretched  kinsman, 
That  set  this  plot,  shall  with  his  heart-blood 
satisfy  [this? 

Her  injur'd  life  and  honour. — ^What  light's 

Enter  WUdbrain  with  a  Lanthom, 

Wildb.  It  is  but  melancholy  walking  thus ; 
The  tavern-doors  are  barricado'd  too,  [tion ; 
Where  I  might  drink  *till  morn,  in  expecta- 
I  cannot  meet  the  watch  neither;  nothing  in 
The  likeness  of  a  constable,  whom  I  might. 
In  my  distress,  abuse,  and  so  be  carried, 
Por  want  of  other  lodging,  to  the  Counter. 

HeartL  *Tis  his  voice ;  Fate,  I  thank  thee! 

Wildb.  Ha !  who  is  tliat  ?  An  thou  be'st 

a  man,  speak: 
Frank  lieartlove?  then  I  bear  my  destinies! 
Thou  art  the  man  of  all  the  world  I  wish'd 

for: 
My  aunt  has  tum*d  mcouta-doors;  she  has, 
At  this  unchristian  hour;  and  I  do  walk 
Methinks  like  Guido  Vaux,  with  my  dark 

lanthorn, 
Stealing  to  set  the  town  o'  iirc ;  i'  th'  country 
I  should  be  ta*en  for  William  o'  th*  Wisp, 
Or  Robin   Good-Pillow.    And   how  dost, 

Ilrartl,  The  worse  for  you  !  [Frank? 

Wildb.  Come,  thouVt  a  fool.  Art  going  to 

thy  lodging? 
I'll  he  with  thee  to-night,  and  tell  thee  stories, 
How  many  devils  we  ha'  met  withal ; 
Our  house  is  haunted,  Frank,  whole  ie^^ions — 
I  saw  fifty  for  my  share. 

limrtt.  Didst  not  fright  *em  ? 

yS'ildb,  How  !  fright 'em?  Ko,  they  frighted 

me  sufficiently.  [make  tliem  stare, 

Hearif,  Thou  hadst  wickedness  enough  to 
And  be  afraid  o'thee,  malicious  devil ! 
And  draw  thy  sword ;  for,  by  Maria's  soul, 
I  will  not  let  thee  scape,  to  do  more  mischief. 

Wildh.  Thou  art  mad ;  what  dost  mean  ? 

Heart  I.  Tw   kill  thee;    nothing  else  will 

ease  my  anger; 
The  injury  is  fresh  I  bleed  withal ;  [in't, 

Mor  can  that  word  express  it,  there*s  no  peace 


Nor  must  it  be  forpvcn,  but  in  death : 
Therefore  call  up  thy  valour,  if  th'  hast  any* 
And  summon  up  thy  spirits  to  defend  thee ! 
Thy  heart  must  suflter  for  thy  damned  prac- 
tices 
Against  thy  noble  cousin,  and  my  innocence. 
Wildb.  Hold !  hear  a  word !  did  I  do  any 
thing  [her? 

But  for  your  good?  That  you  mifj^t  bare 
That  in  that  desp'rate  time  I  might  redeem 
Altho*  with  show  of  loss  ?  [her, 

HeartL  Out,  ugly  villain! 
Fling  on  her  the  most  hated  name  of  w?ufre 
To  tne  world's  eye,  and  face  it  out  in  couri- 
tesy?  [tempt  it? 

Bring  him  to  see't,  and  make  me  drunk  t'  at- 

Enter  Maria. 

Maria.  1  hear  some  voices  this  way. 

HeartL  No  more  1  if  you  can  pray, 
Do't  as  you  fight. 

Maria,  What  new  frights  oppose  me  ? 
I  have  heard  that  tongue. 

Wildb.  Tis  my  fortune : 
You  could  not  take  me  in  abetter  time,  sir; 
I  have  nothing  to  lose,  but  the  love  I  lent  thee. 
My  life  my  sword  protect !  [their  ruins, 

Maria.  I  know  'em  both;  but,  to  prevent 
Must  not  discover — Stay,  men  most  desp'- 
rate! 
The  mischief  you  are  forward  to  commit 
Will  keep  me  from  my  grave ;  and  tie  my 
To  endless  troubles  else.  [spint 

Wildb.  Hal  'tis  her  ghost ! 

HeartL  Maria?  [make 

Maria.  Hear  me  both !    Each  wound  you 
Runs  thro'  my  soul,  and  is  a  new  death  to 

me; 
Each  threatning  danger  will  affright  my  rest. 
Look  on  me,  lieartlove,  and,  my  kinsman, 

view  me ! 
Was  I  not  late,  in  my  unhappy  marriage. 
Sufficient  miserable,  full  of  all  misfortunes. 
But  ycKi  must  add,  witli  your  most  impious 

angers. 
Unto  my  sleeping  dust  this  insolence? 
Would  you  teach  Time  to  speak  eternally 
Of  my  disgraces?  make  records  to  kcep'emy 
Keep  them  in  brass  ?  Fight  then^  and  kill  my 

honour !  [swords. 

Fight  deadly  both;   and   let  your  bloody 
Thro*  my  reviv'd  and  reeking  infamy,  [ruins! 
(That  never  shall  be  purg'd)  find  your  own 
lieartlove,  I  lov'd  thee  once ;  and  hop'd  again 
In  a  more  bkssed  love  to  meet  thy  spirit: 
If  thou  kiirst  him,  thou  art  a  mundercr  ; 
And  murder  never  shall  inherit  Heav'u*' : 
My  time  is  come,  my  conceal'd  grave  expects 

me: 


*5  And  murder  shall  never  inherit  Heaven.] 

Theobald  reads,  And  murderers  shall  ne'er  inherit  Heaven; 
And  Sympson,  And  a  murderer  shall  ne'er  inherit  Heavers. 
For  the  ease  of  the  verse,  we' have  made  a  small  transposition ;  though  it  is  not  improbable 
that  the  old  line  is  genuine. 

Farewell, 


Acts.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LJTTLE  THIER 


TT 


Farewell)  and  follow  not!  your  feet  arc 
blood  V,  [melted : 

A&d  will  pollute  my  peace.— I  hope  they  are 

This  is  my  way  sure.  [Exit, 

HeartL  Stay,  blesfiiM  soul ! 
Wiidb.  'Would  she  had 

Come  sooner,  f^d  ha'  sav'd  some  blood ! 
HeartL  Dost  bleed  ?  [feel  it. 

Wildb,  Yes,  certainly;  lean  both  see  and 
HeartL  Now  I  well  hope  it  is  not  dan- 
gerous, [me, 

Give  me  thy  hand ;  as  far  as  honour  guides 

I  will  know  thee  again.  (Exit, 

WUdb.  I  thank  thee  heartily ! 

I  know  not  where  to  get  a  surgeon. 

This  vision  troubles  me ;  sure  she  is  living, 

And  I  was  foolish  blind,  I  could  not  ^nd  it. 

I  bleed  apace  still,  and  my  heart  grows 
bfiavy; 

If  I  go  far  I  faint;  Til  knock  at  this  house. 

They  may  be  charitable.  'Would  'twere  per- 
fect day! 

Enter  Mistress, 

Ji>Jhtre$u  Tis  not  he. — What  would  you, 

sir? 

WiUb,  I  would  crave  a  little  rest,  lady, 

And  for  my  hurte  some  surgery ;  I  am 

A  gentleman  that  fortune  of  a  fight — 
Mistress.  A  handsome  gentleman ! 

Alas,  he  bleeds;  a  very  handsome  gentleman! 
Wildb,  A  sweet  young  wench !  beshrew 
my  heart,  a  fair  one  ! 

Fortune  has  made  me  some  recompense. 
Mistress.  Pray,  come  in ;  the  air  is  hurt- 
ful for  you;  fpresently; 

Prav,  let  me  lead  you ;  Vfi  have  a  bed  for  you 

III  be  your  suigeon  too.  Alas,  sweet  gentle- 
man !  [too  fast  now. 
WiM.  I  feel  no  hurts;  the  morning  comes 
Mistress.  Softly,  I  beseech  you !  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Lady  and  Toby, 

Toby.  He  is  not  up  yet,  madam;  what 
To  come  forth  sq  early  ?  [mpant  'you 

lady.  You  blockhead ! 
Toor  eyes  are  sow'd  up  still ;  they  cannot  see 
When  It  is  day.    Oh,  my  poor  Maria ! 
Where  be  the  women  ? 

Toby.  They  said  they  would  follow  us. 

Lady.  He  shall  not  laugh    thus  at  my 

misery; 
And  kill  my  child,  and  steal  away  her  body. 
And  keep  her  portion  too. 

Toby.  Let  hun  be  haog'd  for't ; 
Yoa  have  my  voice. 

Lady.  These  women  not  come  yet? 

*♦  Sanncc-^/2.]  Sanctus-heW,  wont  to  be  run»  when  the  priest  said,  Sanctus,  Sanctvs, 
SanciuSy  Daminus,  Deus  Sabbaoth.    Coles's  English  Dictionary,  8vo.  J 677. 
*'  My  daughter  that  thou  kiWdst."]  Sympson  would  make  this  a  question,  and  r^ad, 
Whert^s  my  daughter,  &c. 
fiot  sorely  the  poet  meant  she  shoqld  demand  her  daughter,  which  is  much  better  than  iV 
^tirogatitig. 

EntfT 


A  son-in-law !  I'll  keep  a  conjurer, 
But  ni  find  out  his  knavery. 

Toby,  Do,  and  I'll  help  him.  [jure  him; 
And  if  he  were  here,  tliis  whip  should  con- 
Here's  a  capiaty  an  it  catch  hold  on's  breech, 
I'd  make  him  sion  believe  the  devil  were 

Lady.  An  old  usurer !  [there. 

Toby,  He  married  the  money;  that  is  all 

he  iook'd  for; 
For  your  daughter,  let  her  sink  or  swim. 

Lady.  I'll  swim  him  ! 
This  is  his  house :  I  wonder  they  stay  thus. 
That  we  might  rail  hito  out  on's  wits  ! 

Toby,  They'll  come,  P^m, 

Fear  not,  madam,  and  bring  clappers  with 
Or  some  have  lost  their  old  wont :  I  hav« 

heard  [o*  their  tongues 

(No  disparagement  to  your  ladyship)  some 
Like  Toro-ar Lincoln,  three  miles  on. 

Lady,  Oh  fy ! 
How  tedious  are  they ! 

Toby,  What  an  we  lost  no  time  ?  [him. 
You  and  I  shall  make  a  shift  to  begin  with 
And  tune  our  instruments 'till  th' consort  come 
To  make  up  the  full  noise :  I'll  knock. 

Alg.  [above']  Who  is  that  raps  so  saucily  ? 

Toby,  'lis  I ;  [down. 

Toby :  come  down,  or  else  we'll  fetch  you 
Alas,  this  is  but  the  sance-bell**;  here's  « 

gentlewoman 
Will  ring  y'  another  peal :  come  down,  I  say ! 

Aig,  ^me  new  fortifications !  look  to  my 

doors ! 
Put  double  bars»!  I  will  not  hare  her  enter. 
Nor  any  of  her  tribe:  they  come  to  terrify  me. 
Keep  out  her  tongue  too,  if  you  can! 

iMdy,  I  hear  you,  [ship  ; 

A  nd  I  will  send  my  toneue  up  to  your  wox^ 
The  echo  of  it  shall  fly  o  er  the  street. 
My  daughter,  that  thou  kill'dst  with  kind- 

ness*5,  Jew,  [Jew, 

Tliat  thou  betray'dst  to  death,   thou  double 
And  after  stol'st  her  body ! 

Toby,  Jew's  too  good  for  him. 

Ais,  I  defy  you  both !  [me, 

Thy  daughter  play'd  the  villain,  and  betray'd 
fictray'd  my  honour. 

Lady.  Honour,  rascal?  [tliee. 

And  let  that  bear  an  action,  FU  try't  with 
Honour? 

Toby.  Oh,  reprobate! 

Lady,  Thou  musty  justice, 
Buy  an  lionourable  halter,  and  hang  thyself! 

Tobv*  A  worshipful  rope's  end  is  too  good 

for  him.  [dog  else. 

Lady,  Get  honour  that  way ;  thou  wot  die  a 

I'oby.  Come,  and  be  whipt  first! 

Lady.  Where's  her  portion  ? 


rd 


Enter  Nurse  and  Women, 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF.  [Act  5. 

Lady.  Fll  buy  that 

Lure.  A  little,  very  little  book, 
Of  good  and  godly  women,  a  very  little  olie. 
So  little  you  may  put  it  in  a  nutshell ! 

2'oby-  With  a  small  print  that  no  body  can 

read  it. 

Nurse.  Peace,  sirrah,  or  I'll  tear  your  books. 

Alg.  Open  the  door  and  let  him  in;  I  love 

him. 

Lure,  A  book  of  evil  magistrates! 

Ladi/.  Ay,  maijy! 
D'ye  hear  that,  justice? 

Lure,  And  their  evillcr  wives. 
That  wear  their  places  in  their  petticoats  ! 

Alg.  D'ye  hear  that,  lady?  [dancing, 

Ainthe.  A  book  new  printed  against  playing. 
Masking,  May-poles;    a   zeiUous  brother's 

book, 
And  full  of  fables !  [women. 

Lure.  Another  book  of  women,  of  mad 
Women  that  were  born  in  March  ! 

[EjlU  uithAlatkc. 

Lady.  Are  you  cot  in  ?  [This  fellow 

We  would  ha*" pull  d  your  knave  s  hide  else ! 
Was  sent  t' abuse  us;  but  we  shall  have  time 
To  talk  more  with  this  justice. 

Alg,  Farewell,  madam ! 
As  you  like  this,. come  visit  me  again. 
You   and  your  treble-strings.    Now   scold 

your  hearts  out! 

Worn.  Shall  he  carry 't  tlms  away? 

Nurse.  Go  to  the  judge. 
And  what  you'll  have  us  swear — 

Lady.  I  thank  ye  heartily; 
Fll  keep  that  for  the  last,     I  will  go  hom«. 
And   leave    him  to  his  conscience   for  a 

while; 
If  it  sleep  long,  Fll  wake  it  with  a  ven- 
geance J  [Exeunt* 


Alg.  Where 
ril  keep  it  safely.  ^ 

Nurse,  Traitor,  thou  shaVt  keep  it! 
Alg.  More  of  the  kennel  ?  Put  more  bolts 
to  th*  doors  there,  [upon  us. 

And  arm  yourselves!   Hell  is  broke  loose 

Toby.  I  am  glad  ye're  conic ;  we'll  blow 
the  house  down. 

Lady.  Oh,  Nurse,  I  have  such  cause— 

Women.  Villain,  viper  !— 
Altho'  you  bad  no  cause,  we're  bound  to  help. 

Nurse.   Yes,  and  believe,  we  come  not 

here  t'  examine ; 
And,  if  you  please,  well  fire  the  house. 

Alg.  Call  the  constable !  {fortable. 

Tolm.  A  cliaritable  motion!  fire  is  com- 

Lady.  No,  no ;  weUl  only  let  him  know 

our  minds ; 
We. Will  commit  no  outrage ;  he's  a  lawyer. 

Alg.  Give  me  my  mus<^uct!N 

Lady.  Where's  my  daughter's  body, 
Tfhat  I  may  bury  it? 

Women.  Speak,  or  well  bury  thee ! 

Nurse.  Alive  we'll  bury  thee;  speak,  old 

iniquitv!  [testimony. 

Toby.  Bury  him  alive  by  all  means,  for  a 

Alg.  Their  voices  make  my  house  reel ; 

oh,  for  officers ! 
Tm  in  a  dream  !  Thy  daughter's  spirit  walks 
A-nights,  and  troubles  jUI  the  neighbours: 
Hire  a  conjurer;  I'll  say  no  more.  [go 

Lady.  The  law  shall  say  more! 

Women.  Nurse.  We  are  wiuiesscs; 
And,  if  thou  be'st  not  hang'd— 

Enter  Lurcher  and  Alathe. 

Lure.  Buy  a  book  of  good  manuers, 
A  slK>rt  book  of  good  manners. 

Alathe.  Buy  a  ballad, 
A  ballad  of  the  maid  was  got  with  child  ! 

Tohy.  That  might  ha*  been  ray  case  last 
Whate'er  it  cost  me.  [night;  Fll  ha't, 

Alathe.  A  ballad  of  the  witches  hang'd  at 

Toby.  Ill  have  that  too ;  [Ludlow ! 

There  was  an  aunt  of  mine,  I  think,  amongst 

'em; 
I  would  be  glad  to  hear  her  testament. 

Lure.  A  new  book  of  women!  [him! 

Alg.  The  thunder's  laid ;  how  they  stare  at 

Lure.  A  new  book   of  fools,  a  strange 

book. 
Very  strange  fools !  [thou  art. 

Alg,  Fll  owe  thee  a  good  turn,  whate'er 

Lure.  A  book  of  walking  spirits ! 

Alg.  That  I  like  not.  [morris. 

Toby.  Nor  I;  they  walk'd  me  tlie  fools' 

Lure.  A  book  of  wicked  women ! 

Alg.  That's  well  thought  on.        [women, 

Lure.  Of  rude,  malicious  women,  of  proud 
Of  scolding  women!— We  shall  ne'ei  get 

in. 

Alathe,  A  ballad  of  wrong'd  maids! 


Enter  Servants, 

1  Sere.  What  book  has  he  given  thee  ? 

2  Serv.  A  dainty  book;  a  book  of  tb# 
great  navy. 

Of  fifteen  hundred  ships  of  cannon-proof^ 
Built  upon  whales  to  keep'tlieir  keels  £rom 

sinking. 
And  dragons  in  'em,  that  spit  fire  ten  mile. 
And  elephants  that  carry  goodly  castles. 

1  Serv.,  Dost  thou  believe  it? 

2  Serv.  Shall  we  not  believe  books  in  print? 

1  Serv,    I  have  John  Taylor's  book   of 
hempseed  too,      « 

Which,  for  two  lineslhappen'd  on  by  chance, 
I  reverence. 

2  Serv.  I  prithee  what  are  they  ? 

1  Serv.  They  are  so  pat  upon  the  time, 

as  if 
He  studied  to  answer  the  late  Ilistriomastix  ; 
Talking  of  change  and  transformations. 
That  wittily  and  learnedly  he  bangs  him; 

*  So  may  a  Puritan's  ruft,  tho'  stare h'd,   in 

print, 

*  Be  turn'd  to  paper,  and  a  play  writ  in't,' 

And 


Acts.] 


THE  NIGHT-WilLKER;  OR,  THE  liTTLE  THIEP. 


Tjl 


And  confute  Horace  with  «  Water-Poet*^: 

A  plaj  in  the  Puritan's  ruff?  I'll  buy  liis 
works  for't. 

What  hast  there  ?  a  ballad  too  ? 
2&n?.  This?  This  is  - 

A  piece  of  poetry  indeed ! — What  noise  is 
that  ?  [He  iir^i;  Algripe  cries  within, 

1  Serv,  Some  cry  i  W  streets :  prithee  sing 
on!  iSing  again. 

iServ,  Agsun!  dost  not  hear?  'lis  i'th* 
house  certainly.  [o'th'  justice. 

1  Serv.  Tis  a  strange  noise !  and  has  a  tang 

2  Sero.  Let's  see?  [Ejceunt. 

Re-enter  Servants,  bringing  in  their  Master 
bound  and  gagged, 

1  Serv.  Unty  his  feet ;  pull  out  his  gag, 
He  will  choak  else  !  What  desp'rate  rogues 

were  these ! 

S  Serv,  Give  him  fresh  air. 

Alg,  m  never  study  books  more ! 
lam  uiidone ;  these  villains  have  undone  me ! 
fiifled    my   desk;   they  have   undone,  me, 

learnedly ! 
A  flro  take  all  their  books !  I'll  bum  my  study. 
Where  were  you,  rascals,  when  the  villains 
You  could  not  hear  ?  [bound  me, 

1  Serv.  He   gave   us  books,   sir,  da'uity 
books  to  busy  us;  [brewhouse. 

And  we  were  i-eading,  in  that  which  was  the 
A  great  way  off ;  we  were  singing  ballads  too, 
And  coald  not  hear. 

Alg.  Thi;  was  a  precious  thief; 
A  subtle  trick  to  keep  mv  servants  safe ! 

2  Serv.  What  ha'  you  lost,  sir  ? 

Alg.  They  ransack'd  all  bt'fore  my  face, 

and  threatened  » 

To  kill  me  if  I  cough'd;  they  have  a  chain, 
My  rings,  my  box  of  casting  gold,  my  purse 

too.  [most  grieves  me, 

ITiey  robb'd  jne  miserably;  but  that  which 
They  took  away  some  writings ;  'twas  a  rogue 
That  knew  me,  and  set  on  by  the  old  Lady; 
I  will  indite  her  for^t. 


1  Serv*  Shall  we  pursue  'em  ? 
Alg.  Run,  run,  cursed  rascals ! 

I  am  out  of  my  wits !  Let  not  a  creature  in. 
No,  not  with  necessaries ! 

2  jS^.  We  shall  be  starv'd.  [pass  by, 
Alg,  111  buy  my  meat  at  window,  as  diey 

(I  wonot  trust  myscnv*ner,lie  has  books  too) 
And  bread  I'll  ha'  ffung  up :  I  charge  ye  all 
Bum  all  the  book?  i'th'  house ! 

1  Serv.  Your  little  prayer  book  ? 

Alg,  ni  never  pray  again!  I'll  have  my  doors 
Made  up,  notliing  but  walls,  and  tliick  ones 

too: 
No  sound  sliaU  tempt  pae again !  Remember,! 
Have  forswore  books.  [.V^^  ^'^th  f 

2  Serv.  If  you  should  be  cali'd  to  take 
Alg.  1  will  forswear  all  oaths,  ratlier  thao 
see 

A  thing  but  in  the  likeness  of  a  book ; 

An  I  were  condemn'd,  I'll  rather  chuse  to 

hang  [places ; 

Tlian  read  again.    Come  in,  and  search  all 
They  may  be  about  the  house :  were  the 

doors  lock'd  ?  [be  gone, 

1  Serv.  But  the  keys  in  'em ;  and  if  they 
They  could  not  want  wit  to  lock  us  in,  sir. 

Alg.  Never  was  man  so  miserably  midoue; 
I'd  lose  a  limb,    to   see   their  ros^ueships 

totter  ?_  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Ladjf  and  Nurse, 

Lady.  Thy  brother's  daughter,  say'st,  and 
bora  in  Wales  ?  [and  I  hope 

JNurse.  I  have  long  timedesir'd  to  see  lier. 
Your  ladyship  will  not  be  offended. 

Ladif.  No,  no.  [semcenble 

Nurse.  I  should  be  happy,  if  she  might  be 
To  you,  madam.  [me  much, 

Jbadi/.  Beshrew  me,  but  at  first  she  touk 
Is  she  not  like  Maria^^  I  setting  aside 
Her  language,  very  like  her !  and  I  love  her 
The  better  for't.    I  prithee  call  her  hitlier. 
She  speaks  feat  English,      [mah,  Guennith ! 
Nurse.  Why,  Guennith,  Guennith !  duhuui- 


**  &  may  a  Puritan's  ruff^  &c.]  Our  poets,  here,  wrote  by  memory,  without  having 
lecoorse  to  Taylor's  book,  where  the  lines  run  thus, 

'  Tims  may  a  Brownish s  zealous  ruff,  in  print, 
*  Be  tura*d  to  paper,  and  a  play  writ  in't.' 
But  this  is  not  the  only  fault ;  the  two  lines  that  follow  seem  to  have  suffer'd  a  change  of 
places,  as  well  as  undergone  the  loss  of  a  speaker;  for  'tis  plain,  And  confute  Horace,  SfC. 
oas  no  connection  with  the  preceding  lines  of  Taylor.    To  set  the  place  right,  I  suppose 
the  2d  Servant's  speech  to  end  full  with  the  Water-Poet's  lines,  winch  strikes  the  1st  Ser« 
vant  so  smartly,  that- he  cries  out, 
1  Serv,  A  play  in  a  Puritan's  ruff?  I'll  buy  his  works  for't, 

And  confute  Horace  with  a  Water-Poet.        Sympson. 
We  think  no  change  is  necessary,  except  placing  inverted  commas  before  Taylor's  lines, 
to  which  the  Servant  archly  connects, 

And  confute  Horace  with  a  Water-Poet; 
then  comments  on  the  passage  quoted,  A  ptay  in  a  Puritan*s  ruff'? — Even  were  a  trans- 
position advi:$able,  no  additioiuil  speaker  is  requisite. 

*'  Is  she  not  like  Maria?]  I  wou'd  propose  putting  the  words  that  follow  these,  in  the 
Nurit*9  mouth,  otherwise  the  Xo^y  will  ask  the  question,  and  give  herself  the  at.aw.T. 

Hympson, 
Which  is  extremely  natural,  and  much  better  than  the  proposed  alteratis/n. 

She 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  UTTLE  THIEP. 


80 

She  is  coarse,  madam,  after  her  country  guise; 
And  were  she  in  fine  cloaths — 
Lady,  1*11  have  her  handsome, 

'Enter  Maria. 

What  part  of  Wales  were  yon  born  in? 

JAaria,  In  Ahehundis,  madams. 

JVurse.  She  speaks  that  name  in  Welsh, 

which  we  call  Brecknock. 

Xflrfy.  What  can  you  do?  [know  not 

Maria,  Her  was  toe  many  tings  in  Walls; 
The  fashion  in  Londons.  Her  was  milk  the 

cows. 
Make  seeze  and  buttery  and  spin  very  well 
The  Welsh  freeze;   her  was  cookc  to  te 

mountain  cots,  [good  ales 

And  sing  very  fine  Pritdsh  tunes;  was  mage 
And  breds;  and  her  know  to  dance  on  Sun- 
Marge  you  now,  madams!  iA^y^ 

Lady.  A  pretty  innocence! 
I  do  like  her  infiwtely,  Nurse ;  and  if  I  live — 

Enter  Servant. 
Serv.  Here's  Mr.  Heartlove,  madam,  como 
to  see  yon.  [mit  him. 

Lady,  Alas,  poor  gentleman !  Pnthee  ad- 

Enter  Heart  lave  and  Gentlemen, 

Heart!.  Madam,  I'm  come  to  take  my  last 
Lady.  How^sir!  [leave — 

HeartL  Of  all  my  home  affections,  and  my 
friends: 
For  th*  interest  you  had  once  in  Maria, 
I  would  acquaint  you  when  I  leave  the  king- 
dom, [poor  power 
Lady,  ^ould  there  were  any  thing  m  my 
That  might  divert  your  will,  and  make  you 
happy !  [pardon 
Fm  sure  Fve  wrong'd  her  too;  but  let  your 
Assure  me  you  are  charitable:  she  is  dead^ 
Which  makes  us  both  sad.    What  do  you 
look  on? 

1  Gent.  The  likest  face**—  [tilman 

Maria.  Pless  us  awle !  why  doe^  tliat  sen- 
Make  such  undets  and  mazements  at  her? 
I  know  her  not. 

HeartL  Be  not  offended,  maid! 

Lady,  How  the  wench  blushes! 

She  represents  Maria's  loss  to  him. 

Maria,  Will  the  sentilman  hurt  her?  Pray 
you  be  her  defences ! 
Was  have  mad  phisnomies;  is  her  troubled 
With  lunatics  in  her  praiii-pans?  Pless  us 
awlc ! 

HeartL  Where  had  you  this  face?     [her. 
Maria.  Her  faces  be  our  nowne,  I  warrant 


[Act  8« 


HeartL  I  wonot  hurt  you. — All  the  Hnea^ 

ments  [beauties^ 

Tliat  built  Maria  up,  all  those  springinf; 
Dwell  on  this  thing;  change  bather  tongue, 

I  know  her. 
Let  me  see  your  hand !         [and  robberies ; 

Maria,  JDuGuin^^/  Was  never  thieves 
Here  is  no  sindge  in  lier  hands,  waiVant  her. 

HeartL  Trust  me,  the  self-same  white 
And  sofbness !  Prithee  speak  our  English  dia* 

lect.  [hard  urds  to  her, 

Maria,  Ha  leges?  what,  does  her  speage 
To  make  poor  Guennith  ridicles?  was  do 
Sentilman  to  abuse  her.  [mannerly 

HeartL  Bjr  the  love, 
Tliat  everlasting  love  I  bear  Maria— 

Maria,  Maria?  her  name  was  Guennith; 

and  good  names;  [fine  kanags. 

Was  poor  else,  oman  maid ;  her  have  no 
To  mage  her  tricsy ;  yet  in  her  own  cuntries^ 
Was  held  a  fine  ense,  her  can  tell  her,  and 

honest 
Ense  too,  mai^g  you  dat  now:  her  can  keep 
Her  little  legs  close  enou^  warrant  her. 

Lady.  How  prettily  this  anger  shews! 

1  Gent.  She  gabbles  innocently. 
HeartL  Madam,  farewell;  and  all  goocf 
fortune  dwell  wi'ye! 

With  me  my  own  affections !  Fiu«well,maid, 
Fair  gentle  maid! 

2  Gent,  She  siglis. 

Maria,  Du  cut  a  whee^^!  [me  back* 

HeartL  I  cannot  go;  there's  somewhatcalls 

Maria,  Poor  Frank, 
How  gladly  would  I  entertain  thy  love. 
And  meet  tliy  worthy  flame^  but  shame  for* 

bids  me!  [Aside., 

If  please  her  ladyships,  dwell  here  with 

Guennith,  [nels. 

And  learn  to  spin  and  card  ull,  to  mage  flan« 
And  Hnseyes-ulseis,  sal  tawge  cood  urds 
To  her  ladyships  urships  for  her. 

J]The  tean  flow  from  him, 
ection  \  woe  is  me ! 
Oh,  cursed  love,  thatglories  in  maids' miseries. 
And  true  men's  broken  hearts ! 


Lady,  Alas,  I  pity  him! 
'he  wench  " 
give  her. 


i  pit 
ude, 


The  wench  is  rude,  and  knows  you  not!  for- 


Maria.  Wipe  your  nyes,  pray  you !  tho* 

was  born  in  Walls,  [heart  is  soft : 

'Mong  craggy   rocks  and    mountains,    yet 
Look  you,  hur  can  weep  too,  when  hur  see 

men  mage 
Prinie  tears  and  lamentations. 

Htarti.  liow  hard  she  holds  me ! 

*•  The  likest  face—]  This,  as  it  here  st"|ids,  is  the  end  of  the  Lady's  speech;  but  sure  it 
can't  be  so,  as  the  least  attention  will  make  evident.  I  suspect  with  Air.  Iheobaid,  that. 
Frank  Heartlove's  name  ought  to  be  prefix'd  here,  or  else  write  with  the  oldest  quarto, 
which  Mr.  Theobald  overlook'd,  thiis, 

1  Gent.  Tlie  likest  face.        Sympson. 
*'  Bit  Gtfin.]  The  very  ingenious  editor  of  1750  varies,  tacitlt/,   to  Guennith  vtu  never, 
fitc.    The  reader  is   requested  to  consult  note  48  on  Monsieur  Thomas. 
>°  jDm  cat  a  ukee,]  See  note  4  on  Monsieur  Thomas. 

Just 


Act  4] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEP. 


81 


Jmt  as  Maria  did;  weeps  the  same  drops, 
Now,  as  I  have  a  living  soul,  her  sigh  too ! 
What  shall  i  think  ?  Is  not  your  name  Maria? 
If  it  be  not,  delude  me  with  so  much  charity 
To  say  it  is.  [deal  in  love 

Maria,  Upon  her  life,  vou  was  mighiv 
With  some  podies;  your  pate  seekcs  and  hol- 
low nyes, 
And  pantingsupon  herposom,  know  very  well. 
Because,  look  you,  her  think  her  honest  scn- 
You  sail  call  her  Maria.  [tilman, 

HeartL  Good  madam,  think  not  ill  I  am 

thus  saucy.  [the  wench. 

Lady,  On,  no,  sir ;  be  you  not  angry  with 

HeartL  I  am  most  pleas'd. 

1  Gent.  Let's  interrupt  him;  he'll  be  mad 

outright  else. 

8  Gent.  Observe  a  little  more,  [beg  a  kiss ! 

HeartL  'Would  I  could  in  ^our  language 

Biaria.  If  her  have  necessities  of  a  kiss, 
'Dere  is  one  in  sarities  ^' !  .  [look  you> 

HeartL  Let  me  suffer  death, 
If  in  my  apfirebension  two  twinned  cherries 
Be  more  a-kin,  than  her  lips  to  Maria's : 
And,  if  this  harsh  illusion  would  but  leave  her, 
She  were  the  same.    Good  madam,  shall  I 
Your  consent  now —  [have 

La^.  To  what? 

HeartL  To  give  this  virgin 
To  me.  [woman, 

Loify,  She  is  not  mine;  this  is  her  kins- 
Asd  has  more  power  to  dispose.-^-Alas,  I 

pity  him! 
Pray,  gentlemen,  prevail  with  him  to  go ; 
More  that  I  wish  his  comfort  than  his  absence. 

HeartL  Yon  have  been  always  kind  to  me; 

will  you 
Deny  me  your  fair  cousin? 


Nurse.  'Twere  fit  you  first  obtain'd  her  own 

consent.  [departure; 

HeartL  He  is  no  friend  that  washes  my 
I  do  not  trouble  you ! 

1  Gent.  Tis  not  Maria.  [with  that. 

HeartL  Her  shadow  is  enough;  I'll  dwell 
Pursue  your  own  ways !  Shall  we  live  toge* 

ther?  [tauge  to  her, 

Maria.  If  her  will  come  to-morrow  and 
Her  will  tell  her  more  of  her  meanings;  and 

then 
If  her  be  melancholy,  her  will  sing  her 
A  Welsh  song  too,  to  make  her  merries:  but 

Guennith 
Was  very  honest;  her  was  never  love 
But  one  sentilman,  and  he  was  bear  her 
Great  teal  of  good-ills  too.    Was  marry  one 

day :  [gloves 

St  Davy !  her  give  her  five  pair  of  white 
If  her  will  dance  at  her  weddines.  ^ 

HeartL  All  I'm  worth,  [forsake  hei^ 

And  all  my  hopes,  this  strange  voice  would 
For  then  she  should  be — Prithee  stay  a  little! 
Hark  in  thine  ear !  dissemble  not,  but  tell  iue. 
And  save  my  life:  I  know  you  are  Maria: 
Speak  but  as  I  do,  ten  words  to  confirm  me. 
You  have  an  English  soul ;  do  not  disguise  it 
From  me  with  these  stnuige  accents — She 

pinch'd  hard 
Again,  and  sigh'd.  [Exit  Maria, 

Latfy.  What  ails  the  wench?  [Exit. 

Nurse.  Why,  Guennith ! 

HeartL  She  is  gone  too ! 

S  Gent.  Come,  leave  this  dream. 

HeartL  A  dream?  I  tliink  so; 
But  'twas  a  pleasing  one.    Now  I'll  obey, 
And  forget  all  these  wonders;  lead  the  way! 

[Exeunt. 


4CT  IV. 


Enter  WUdbrmn  and  T<Ay, 
Wildb.  -LTONESTToby!  [glad 

-"■  Toby.  Sweet  Mr.  Wildbrainl  I'm 
I  ha  met  w'ye. 

WHdb/ Vfhy}  did  my  aunt  send  for  me? 

Toby.  Your  aunt's  a  mortal;    and  thinks 
For  aneht  I  can  perceive.  [not  on  you, 

Wil&.  Is  my  cousin 
Alive  again? 

Toby.  Neither;  and  yet  we  do  not 
Hear  that  she's  buried. 

Wiidb.  What  should  make  thee  glad  then  ? 

T^ty,  What  should  make  me  glad?  Have 

•  I  not  caose?  [thus, 

To  see  your  princely  body  well,  and  walk 

Look  blithe  and  bonny,  and  your  wardrobe 

whole  still !  [a  mine, 

Wildb,  The  case  is  clear;  and  I  ha' found 


A  perfect  Indie,  since  my  aunt  cashiei^dme: 
what  think'st  of  this  ?         [Chinking  money, 

Tobv.  Oh,  delicate  beUs! 

Wildb.  Thou  puttest  me  in  mind,  [thee: 
We  are  to  ring  anon ;  I  meant  to  send  for 
Meet  me  at  the  old  parish-churoh. 

Toby.  Say  no  more.  [conspir'd 

Wildb.  When  thy  lady  is  a-bed,  we  h»* 
A  midnight  peal,  for  joy. 

Toby.  If  I  fail. 
Hang  me  i'th*  bell-ropes ! 

Wildb.  And  how?  and  how 
Does  my  aunt? 

Ihby.  She's  up  to  th*  ears  in  law: 
I  do  so  whirl  her  to  the  counsellors'  chambers. 
And  back  again,  and  bounce  her  for  more 

money,  [her. 

And  to  again — I  know  not  what  they  do  with 


VOL.  ra. 


^*  Jn  sarities.]  f .  e.  In  charity.        Sympson, 
M 


But 


■HIE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


[Act  4. 


But  she's  the  merriest  thing  among  these  law- 
drivers, 
And  in  their  studies  half  a  day  together. 
If  they  do  get  her  with  Magna  Ckaria,  she 
By  all  th'  ability  of  her  old  body,      [swears. 
She  will  so  claw  the  justice — she  will  sell 
The  tiles  of  th'  house,  she  vows,  and  sack  out 

o'  th'  cellar,  [him. 

(That  she  worships  to  idolatry)  but  she'll  hang 

Wildb.  I  would  she  could]  But  hark  thee, 

honest  Toby ! 
If  a  man  have  a  mistress,  may  we  not, 
Without  my  aunt's  leaver  borrow  now  and  then 
A  coach  to  tumble  in,  toward  th' Exchange, 
And  so  forth? 

Tobif.  A  mistress  ? 

Wildb.  She  may  be  thine  when  we  are 

married. 

Toby.  Command,  Til  carry  ye  both  in  pomp; 
And  let  my  lady  go  a-foot  a  law-catching. 
And  exercise  her  corns.  Where  is  she,  mas- 

Wildb.  'Sha't  see  her.  [ter  John  ? 

Tobv.  Shall  we  ring  for  her  ? 

Witdb.  And  drink  her  health. 

Toby,  Drink  stiffly  for  five  hours? 

Wildb.  We'll  drink  fifteen.  [then, 

Toby,  To-night  ?  We  will  ha'  twenty  torches 
And  thro*  the  streets  drive  on  triumphantly, 
Triumphantly  we'll  drive :  by  my  lady's  door, 
As  I'm  a  Christian  coachman,!  will  rattle  you, 
And  urine  in  her  porch,  and  she  shall  fearme. 
If  jou  say  more,  I  shall  run  mad  outright  I 
I  will  drink  sack,  and  sucfeit  instantly ; 
I  know  not  where  I  am  now ! 

[Exit. 

Enter  Lurcher. 

Wildb.  Hold,  for  thy  buttons'  sake !  The 

knave's  transported. 

Lure.  Jack  Wildbrain  ? 
'  Wildb.  Honest  Tom,  how  thrives 
The  felonious  world  with  thee  now  ? 

Lure.  Yon  look  and  talk  as  you  were  much 

exalted.  [tell  thee:  first, 

Wildb.  Thou  art  i'  th'  right,  Tom.     I  will 
I  ha*  shook  off  my  aunt,  and  yet  I  live  still. 
And  drink,  and  sing;  her  house  had  like  to 

ba'  spoil'd  me; 
I  keep  no  hours  now ;  nor  need  any  false  key 
To  the  old  woman's  cabinets;  I  ha'  money 
Upon  my  word,  and  pawn  no  oaths  to  th* 

butler ; 
No  matrimonial  protestations 
For  sack-possets,  to  the  chambermaid;  I 

praise  [Tom. 

My  fete,  there  be  more  ways  to  th'  wood. 

Lure.  Prithee 
Release  my  wonder. 

Wildb.  I'll  encrease  it :  wipe  thine  eyes; 
Here  is  <a  chain  worth  money,  an  some  man 

had  it, 
A  foolish  diamond,  and  other  trifles — 

Lure.  Tlie  very  same !  Oh,  gipsey !  infidel ! 


All  that  I  sweat,  and  ventur'd  my  neck  for, 
H'  has  got  already :  who  would  trust  a  strum- 
pet ?  [sesb 

Wildb.  This  ?  this  is  nothing  to  wliat  I  pos- 
At  home. 

Lure.  Wliat  home  ? 

Wildb,  A  house  that  shall  be  nameless. 
The  mistress  of  it  mine  too ;  such  a  piece 
Of  flesh  and  blood  [  added  to  that  so  loving ! 

Lmtc.  Is  she  married  ? 

Wildb.  I  know  not,  nor  I  care  not : 
But  such  a  prize,  so  mounting,  so  delicious ! 
Thou  wilt  run  mad :  I'll  tell  thee  more  here- 

Lure,  Nay,  prithee  a  word  more,     [after. 

WUdb.  I  took 
No  pains  to  find  out  all  this  Paradise ; 
My  destiny  threw  me  upon't  i'th'dark;    I 
Wanting  a  lodging  too.  [found  it^ 

Lure.  No  old  acquaintance  ? 

Wildb.  Never,  never  saw  her : 
But  these  things  happen  not  in  ev'ry  age. 
I  cannot  stay ;  if  thou  wilt  meet  anon 
At  my  own  rendezvous,  (thou  know'st  the 

tavern) 
We'll  sup  toeether ;  after  that,  a  company 
Of  merry  lads  have  made  a  match  to  ring. 

L%ire.  You  keep  your  exercise  i'  th*  old 

Ift/</ft.  No  other ;  [church? 

There  is  no  music  to  tlie  bells  :  we  -would 
Have  bonfires,  if  we  durst.    An  thou  would 

come,  [iiig. 

It  shall  cost  thee  nothins;,  Tom:  hang  pilfer- 
And  keep  me  company  \  In  time  I  may 
Shew  thee  my  wench  too.  [there  ? 

Lure.  I  cannot  promise;  but  you  will  be 

Wildb,  We'll  toss  the  bells,  and  make  the 

steeple  roar,  boy : 
But  come  to  supper  then  ! 

Lure,  My  liand ;  and  expect  me. 

{ExU  Wildb. 
Yes,  I  will  come  or  send,  and  to  some  pur- 
Art  come,  boy?  [pose. 

Enter  Alathe^  with  Gown,  Beard,  and  Con" 
itable't  Staff.    ' 

Excellent  knave !  How  didst  thou  purchase 

these  ?  [a  sleeping  constable; 

Alathe,  The  staff  I  stole  last  night  from 

The  rest  I  borrow'd  by  my  acquamtance  with 

The  players*  boys.  You  were  best  to  lose  no 

time,  sir.  '  [do  I  not  look 

Lure,  So,  so;   help,  boy !    tis  very  well ; 

Like  one  tliat  breaks  the  king's  peace  with 

authority  ?  [somely. 

You  know  your  charge;  prepare  things  hand- 

My  diligent  boy,  and  leave  me  to  my  office. 

Alathe,  There  wants  nothing'*;  all  ready: 

but  I  fly,  sir.  [Exit, 

Lure.  Now,  Fortune,  prove  no  slut,  and 

I'll  adore  thee !  [Knockt, 

Serv,  [within]  Who's  there  ?  justice. 

Lure.  A  friend  would  speak  with  master 

Serv.  Who  are  you? 

•*  I%ere  wants  nothing  already*]  So  the  former  copies.  Sympson  proposes,  all's  reod^. 

Lure. 


Act  4.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


srr 


Xvrr.  Fm  the  constable.  [business. 

Serr.  My  master's  not  at  leisure  to  hear 
Lure,  How !  not  at  leisure  to  do  the 
king  service  ?  Fworship, 

Take  heed  wliat  you  say,  sir !   I  kdow  his 
If  he  knew  my  business,  would  make  no  ex- 
cuse, ffissure  you 
Sen.  You  must  go  to  anotherjustice;  111 
My  master  is  not  well  in  health. 

Lure,  I  know  not ; 
But  if  your  worshipful  be  not  at  leisure 
To  do  nimself  a  benefit — I  am  gone,  sir — 
Ad  infinite  benefit,  and  the  state  shall  thank 
him  for't;  [an  officer, 

Thank  him,  and  think  on  him  too.  I  am 
And  know  my  place ;  but  I  do  love  the  jus- 
I  honour  any  authority  above  me :  [tice ; 
Beside,  ue  is  my  neighbour,  and  I  worship 
him.  [Mr.  Constable, 

Sera.  You  have  no  books,  nor  ballads. 
About  you  ?  [it  become 

Xorc  VVliat  should  I  do  with  books  ?  does 
A  man  of  my  place  to  understand  such  mat- 
ters? fme, 
Pray  call  your  master;  if  he  please  to  follow 
I  shall  discover  to  him  such  a  plot,      [for't, 
Shall  get  him  everlastine  fiime :  I'll  be  hang'd 
An  be  be  not  knighted  instantly,  and  for 
Reward  have  some  of  the  malefactors'  lands 
111  bring  him  to ;  but  I  can't  dally  time ! 
Aig,[wUhin]  Who's  that? 
Sen,  A  constable,  sir, 
Would  speak  about  some  business,  he  says 
Will  bring  you  fame,  and  mighty  profit. 

Lure,  please  [f'^PPy: 

Your  worship  come  down,  i  will  make  you 
The  notablest  piece  of  villainy  I  have  in 

hand,  sir. 
And  you  shall  find  it  out:  I  ha*  made  choice 
To  brii^  your  worship  to   the  first  know- 
ledge, and  [wards. 
Thank  me,  as  you  find  the  good  on  t  aftei^ 
Alg,  What  is  it?  treason?       [I've  lodg'd 
Lure,  Tis  little  better,  I  can  tell  you ; 
A  crew  of  the  most  rank  and  d^perate  vil- 
lains—  ['em. 
They  talk  of  robberies,  and  ways  they  did 
And  how  they  left  men  bound  in  their  studies. 
Aig,  With  books  and  ballads  ? 
IttTC.  That,  sir,  that,  and  murders, 
And  thousand  knaveries  more ;  they're  very 
rich,  sir,                                            [more 
lu  money,  jewels,  chains,  and  a  hundred 
Devices. 

J/^.  Happy,  happy  constable  !    [knaves! 
ril  meet  vou  at  the  back  door.  .  Get  ready. 

Lure.  Not  a  man,  I  beseech  you ! 
Pve  prii'ately-^ppointed  strength  about  me : 
They  cannot  start;  your  men  would  breed 

suspicion: 
All  my  desire  is,  you  would  come  alone,    * 
That  you  might  have  tiie  hope  o'  th'  enter- 
prise, [ceed,  sir. 
That  yon  might  hear  'em  first,  and  then  pro- 
Aig^  1  come,  I  come  ! 


Lvrc,  Tis  '.ery  well.  [tiling  late. 

Afg,  Keep  all  my  doors  fiist.  It  is  some- 
Lurc.  So,  so!  An  please  your  worship, 
I'll  direct  you.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Alaihe. 

Alatht,  My  master  stays;    I  doubt  his 

lime-twigs  catch  not : 
If  tliey  do,  all's  provided.    But  I  all 
This  while  foiget  my  own  state :  fair  Maria 
Is  certainly  alive ;  I  met  her  in 
Another  habit,  with  her  Nurse ;  'twas  she  ! 
There  is  some  trick  in't:  but  when  this  is  over 
I'll  find  it  out.  This  project  for  tlie  usurer 
May  have  good  effect;  however, 'twill  be  sport 

Enter  Lurcher. 

To  mortify  him  a  little.  He  is  come  without 
Have  you  fail'd,  sir?  [him: 

Lure,  Prosper'd,  my  little  engineer:  away ! 
He  is  i'  th'  next  room;   be  not  you  seen, 

sirrah !  j^Exit, 

Alathe,  Tlie  pit-fiiU's  ready ;  never  justice 
Was  caught  in  such  a  noose :  ere  he  get  out. 
He  shall  run  thro'  a'scouring  purgatory, 
Shall  purge  him  to  the  quick.    Tis  night 

already.  [Retires, 

/  Enter  Algripe  and  Lurcher, 

Lure,  Come  softly;  yet,  sir,  softly !  ar'n't 
you  weary?  [choly  place ; 

Aig.  Th' bast  brought  me  into  a  melan- 

I  see  no  creature. 

Lure.  1  his  is,  sir,  their  den,  [faint 

Where  they  suppose  themselves  secure.  I'm 

With  makmg  haste;  but  I  must  be  thus 
troubled, 

And  tFierefore  never  go  without  a  cordial ; 

Without  this  I  should  die :  how  it  refreshes 
me  [Seems  to  drink. 

Already!  Will't  please  your  worship-^I 
might  have  had  ' 

The  manners  to  ha'  let  you  drink  before  me. 

Now  am  I  lusty. 
Aig.  'T  lias  a  good  taste. 
Lure.  Taste  ?  [it  not ! 

How  d'you  find  tlie  virtue  ?   Nay,  sir,  spare 

My  wife  has  the  receipt.    Does  it  not  stir 

Your  worship's  body  ?  When  you  come  t'  ex- 
amine. 

Twill  make  you  speak  like  thunder. 
^%.  Hoy  he!  [He yawns. 

Lure.  It  works  already,  [than  I  tliooght* 
Aig.  Is  there  ne'er  a  chair?  I  was  wearier 

But  who  shall  we  have  to  take  *em,  Mr.  Con- 
stable ?  [watch-word. 
Lure.  Let  me  alone !  when  I  but  give  the 

We  will  ha\e  men  enough  to  surprize  an 
nrmy.  [chair  ? 

Aig.  I  begin  to  be  sleepy :  what,  hast  a 

Enter  another  ipith  a  Chair, 

Lure.    They  do  not  dream  of  us. — Tis 

early  rising,  [men 

Care, care,  and  early  rising!  commonwealth's 

M  2  iVre 


84 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LTITLE  THIEF. 


[Act  4. 


Are  ^er  subjects  to  the  nods:  -sitdowiiy  sir; 
A  short  nap  is  not  much  amiss.— So,  so !  he's 

fast,  [der 

Fast  as  a  fish  i*  th'  net;  h6  has  winking  pow- 
Shall  work  upon  him  to  our  wish.    Remove 

him ! 
Nay,  we  may  cut  him  into  collops  now, 
And  he  ne'er  feel.    Have  you  prepared  the 

vault,  sirrah? 

Alathe.  Yes,  yes,  sir;  evVytlungin*s  place. 

Lure,  When  we  have  placed  nim,  you  and 

I,  boy,  must 
About  another  project  hard  bv :  his  potion 
Will  bind^  liim  sure  enough  'till  we  return. 
This  villainy  weighs  mainly ;  but  we'll  purge 

you.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Sexton.    [BelU  ring]. 

Sexton.  Now  for  mine  ears !  mine  ears, 

be  constant  to  me ! 
They  ring  a  wager,  and  I  must  deal  justly ; 
Ha,  boys! 

Enter  Lurcher  and  Alathe, 
Lure.  Dost  hear  'em  ?  hark !  these  be  the 
ringers. 

Alathe.  Are  you  sure  the  same?      [cleai;: 
Lure.  Or  my  directions  fail.   The  coast  is 

How  the  beUs  go !  how  daintily  they  tumMe! 

And  methinks  they  seem  to  say,  Fine  fools, 
I'll  fit  you !  [tljat  was  naught. 

Sexton.  Excellent  again,  good  boys ! — Oh, 
Lure.  Who's  that?  [Hark ! 

Alathe.  Be  you  coBceal'dby  any  means  yet. 

They  stop:  I  hope  they'll  to*t  again.   Close, 
fdr! 

Enter  Wildbrain,  Tohyy  and  Ringers. 

Wildb.  Apalpable  knock ! 

Ringer.  Twas  none ! 

Toffy,  fiejudg'd  by  th'  Sexton  then  ! 
If  I  have  cars — 
.  Sexton.  A  knock,  a  knock,  a  gross  one ! 

Toby.  Carman,  your  gallon  of  wine !  you 

ring  most  impiously ! 
Art  thou  o'  th'  worslupful  company  of 
The  knights  o'  th'  West,  and  handle  a  bell 

with  no  more  [street, 

Dexterity  ?     You  think  you  are  in  Tnaines- 
Jusding  the  carts:  oh,  a  clean  hand^s  a  jewel ! 

AUtihe.  Good  speed  t6  your  good  exercise ! 

Toby.  You*re  welcome  !  [neighbour 

Alathe.  I  come,  sir,  from  a  gentleman,  and 
Hard  by,  one  that  loves  your  music  well — 

Toby.  He  may  liave  more  on't. — 
Handle  a  bell  as  you  were  haling  timber  ? 
Gross,  gro^s,  and  base,  absurd  f 

Ringer.  I'll  mend  it  next  peal. 

Alathe.  T' entreat  a    knowledge  of  you, 

whether  it  be  fth'  eye ; 

By  th*  ear  you  ring  thus  cunningly,  or  by 
For,  to  be  plain,  he  has  laid  ten  pounds  upon't. 

Wildb.  But  which  way  has  he  laid  ? 

Alathe.  That  your  ear  guides  you^ 
And  not  your  eye. 


Toby.  H'  has  won,  h'  has  woo ;  the  eai^s 
Our  only  instrument. 

Alathe.  But  how  shall  we 
Be  sure  on't^ 

Toby.  Put  all  the  lights  out;  to  what  end 
Serve  our  eyes  then  ? 

Wildb.  A  plain  case ! 

Alathe.  You  say  true.  [sure ! 

Tis  a  fine  cunning  thine  to  ring  by  th'  ear 
And  can  you  ring  i'  th*  dark  so  ? 

Wildb.  All  night  long,  boy. 

Alathe.  Tis  wonderful  I  Let  this  be  cer- 
tain, ffcntlemen. 
And  half  his  wager  he  allows  among  ye : 
Is'tpossible  you  should  ring  so? 

JUy.  Possible?  [druok. 

Thou  art  a  child !   I'll  ring  when  I'm  dead* 
Out  with  the  lights !  no  twinkling  of  a  candle! 
I  know  my  rope  too,  as  I  know  my  nose. 
And  can  bang  it  soundly  in  the  dark,  I  vrar- 

rant  you. 

Wildb.  Come,  let's  confirm  him  straight, 

and  win  the  wager !  [Exeunt. 

Alathe.  Let  me  hear,  to  strengthen  me; 

and,  when  ye^e  rung, 
111  bring  the  money  to  you. 

Lure.  So,  so,  follow  'em:      [Exit  Alathe. 
They  shall  have  a  cool  reward ;  one  hath 

gold  of  mine. 
Good  store  in's  pocket ;  [R^ng* 

But  this  will  be  reveng'd  in  a  short  warning. 
Tliey  Vc  at  it  lustily :  hey,  how  wantonly 
They  ring  away  their  cloaths !  how  it  delights 


me! 


Enter  Alathe  toith  Cloaths. 


Alathe.  Here,  here,  sir! 

Lure.  HastWildbrain's? 

Alathe.  His  whole 
Case,  sir;  I  felt  it  out;  aud,  by  the  guards. 
This  should  be  the  coachman's ;  anodier  suit 

too.  [usureij 

Lure.    Away,    boy,   quickly  now  to  th' 
His  hour  to  wake  approaches.   . 

Alathe.  That  once  finish'd. 
You'll  give  me  leave  to  play,  sir.  Here  they 

come.  [Exeunt. 

'  Enter  Wildbrain,  Toby,  and  Ringers. 

Wildb.  Fm  monstrous  weai^ ! 

7b^.  Fy,  how  I  sweat !    Keach  me  my 

cloak  to  cover  me.  [peal! 

I  run  to  oil,  like  a  porpoise!    Twas  a  brave 

Sexton.  Let  me   light  my  candle,  first; 

then  I'll  wait  on  you.  [Exit  Sexton. 

Wildb.  A  very  brave  peal ! 

Tohf.  Carman,  you  came  in  close  now, 

Wildb.  Sure  'tis  past  midnight. 

Ringer.  No  stirring  in  the  streets  I  hear. 

Toby.  Walk  further! 
Was  that  a  pillar  ?  'tis  harder  than  my  nose. 
Where's  the  boy  promis'd  us  five  pounds  ? 

Wildb.  Room  .r  I  sweat  Still; 
Come,  come,  my  cloak !  I  shall  take  cold* 

Enter 


Act  4] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


85 


Enitr  Sexton. 


Sexton,  Where  lies  it?' 

Wildk  Here,  here,  and  all  our  cloaths. 

Sexton,  Where,  where? 

Eingei-.  V  th'  comer.  ■    [the  bottle ! 

Tcby,  Is  thy  candle  blind  toor    Gi^e  me 
I  can  drink  like  a  fish  now,  like  an  elephant. 

Sexton,  Here  are  the  corners,  but  here  are 
Yes,  here's  a  cuff.  [no  cloaths; 

WUdb,  A  cuff?  give  me  the  candle ! 
Caflb  wo'not  cover  me. — I  smell  a  knavery. 

Toby.  Is*t  come  to  a  cuff?  my  whole  suit 

tnra'd  to  a  button  ?        ['twere  Christmas, 

WM,  Now  am  I  as  cold  again  as  tho* 
Cold  vrtth  my  fear;  Fll  never  ring  by  tli'  car 

Toby,  My  new  cloaths  vanish'd?     [more. 

Wm,  All  my  cloaths,  Toby ! 

Rmger,  Here's  none.  |u>  adorn  me ? 

7*069.  Not  one  of  my  dragon's  wings  left 
Have  I  mew'd  all  my  feathers'^  ? 

WUdb,  Cheated  by  th'  ear;  a  plot  to  put 

out  the  candle !  [the  gold  ! 

I  could  be  mad !  my  chain,  my  rings,  the  gold, 

Toby.  The  cold,  the  cold,  I  cry,  and  I  cry 

truly ;  [me ! 

Not  one  sleeve,  nor  a  gape  of  a  cloak  to  warm 

Wildb,  What  miserable  fools  were  we ! 

Toby,  We  had  e'en  best,  gentlemen, 
£?ery  man  chuse  his  rope  again,  and  fsLSten  it, 
And  take  a  short  turn  to  a  better  fortune. 
To  be  bawds  to  our  miseries,  and  put  our 

own  lights  out !  [thy  house, 

WUdb,  Prithee,  Sexton,  let's  have  a  fire  at 
A  gpod  fire ;  we'll  pay  thee  some  way  for't; 

I  am  stone-cold.  [gentlemen. 

Sexton,  Alas,  I  pity  you !   Come  auickly, 

WUdb,  Sore  I've  been  in  a  dream !  I  had 

nomistresB, 
Nor  gold,  uor  cloaths,  but  am  a  ringing  rascal. 

Tqify.  Fellows  in    affliction,  let  us  take 

bands  all! 
Now  are  we  fit  for  tumblers.  [Exeunt, 

Emter  Lurcher  and  others,  bringing  in  Alf 
gripe. 

Lure,  So,  so !  Presently  [upon  him : 
His  sleep  will  leave  him,  and  wonder  seize 
Bid 'em  within  be  ready. 

Alg.  What  sound's  this? 
WInt  horrid  din?  Wliat  dismal  place  is  this 
I  never, saw  before  ?  and  now  behold  it 
But  by  the  half-light  of  a  lamp,  that  bums 

bere? 
Mj  spirits  shake^  and  tremble  thro'  my  body. 

2nter  two  Fiiries  with  black  Tapers, 

Help,  help!'  Mercy  protect^iae!   my  soul 

quakes. 
What  dreadful  apparitions!  How  I  shudder! 

l^^Fury,  Algripe! 

Alg.  What  are  you? 

1  tmry.  We  are  helUhoonds,  heli«hounds, 


That  have  commission  from  the  prince  of 

darkness. 
To  fetch  thy  black  soul  to  him. 

Alg,  Am  I  not  alive  still? 

1  Fury,  Thou  art;  but  we  have  brought 
thee  instruments 

Will  quickly  rid  thy  miserable  hfe. 
Stab! 

2  Fury,  Poison ! 

1  Fury,  Hang  thyself!  thischoice  isoflfer'd. 

2  Fury.  Thou  canst  not  hope  for  Heaven; 
thy  base  soul  is 

Lost  to  all  hope  of  mercy. 
*  1  Fury.  Quickly,  quickly  ! 
The  torments  cool. 

8  Fwy,  And  all  the  fiends  expect  thee. 
Come  with  us  to  that  pit  of  endless  horror. 
Or  we  will  force  thee. 

Alg,  Oh,  oh,  oh!  [ravisher, 

1  Fufy.  Groans  are  too  late:  sooner  the 
Whose  soul  is  huri'd  into  eternal  firest. 
Stung  with  the  force  of  twenty  thousand 

winters, 
To  Dunish  the  distempers  of  his  blood. 
Shall  hope  to  get  from  thence,  than  thou  avoid 
The  certainty  of  meeting  hell  where  he  is. 
Shall  murderers  be  there  for  ever  dying, 
Their  souls  shot  thro'  with  adders,  torn  on 

engines. 
Dying  as  many  deaths  for  killing  one, 
(Could  any  imagination  number  them) 
As  there  be  moments  in  eternity ;        [slain. 
And  shall  that  justice  spare  thee,  that  hast 
Murdefd  by  thy  extortion,  so  many  ? 

Alg.  Oh,  oh!  [carry  thee 

2  Fury.  Do  execution  quickly  !  or  we'll 
Alive  to  hell.  [me 

Al^.  Gently,  gentle  devils !  do  not  force 

To  kill  myself,  nor  do  not  you  do't  for  me ! 

Oh,  let  me  live !  I'll  make  amends  for  all. 
1  Furif,  Tell  us  of  thy  repentance  ?  per- 
jur'd  villain !  [and  whipt. 

Pinch  off  his  flesh !  he  must  be  whipt,  salted 
Alg,  Oh,  misery  of  miseries!  [Kecorders, 
1  4^  2  Fury.  Tear  his  accurs'd  limbs,  to 
hell  with  him — Ha ! 

A  mischief  on  that  innocent  face  !  away! 

[Creep  in. 

Enter  Alathe  like  bh  AngeU 

Alathe,  Malicious  furies,  hence!    choak 
Of  holy  penitence.  [not  the  seeds 

Alg.  This  must  be  an  angel: 
^riow  at  his  presence  the  fiends  crawl  away ! 
Here  is  some  light  of  mercy.     ; 

Alathe.  Be  thou  wise, 
And  entertain  it,  wretched,  wretched  man ! 
What  poor  defence  hath  all  thy  wealth  been 
What  says  thy  conscience  now  ?      [to  thee ! 

^^.'Be  my  good  angel,  here  I  promise 

thee  [lainy : 

To  become  honest,  and  renounce  all  vil- 


33 


Ham  I  muted  all  my  feathers.]  Corrected  from  Theobald's  suggestion. 


EnjoiQ 


86 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LTTTLE  THIEF.  [Act  4. 


Enter  Lady^  Nurse,  and  Maria, 

Lady.  Didst  think,  Maria^  this  poor  out-* 

side,  and  ^ 

Dissembling  of  thy  voice,  could  hide  thee  from 
A  mother's  searching  eye,  tho'  too  mudi  fear. 
Lest  thou  wert  not  the  same,  might  blind  a 

lover,  [Maria, 

Tliat  thought  thee  dead  too  ?    Oh,  my  dear 
I  hardly  kept  my  joys  in  from  betraying  thee : 
Welcome  again  to  life !    We  shall  find  out 
The  mystery  of  thy  absence.  Conceal  [thee) 
Thy  person  still  (ror  Algripe  must  not  know 
And  exercise  this  pretty  dia.lect: 
If  there  be  any  course  in  law  to  free  thee. 
Thou  shalt  not  be  so  miserable.  Be  silent, 
Good  Nurse !  [madnm  ; 

Nurse.  You  shall  not  need  to  fear  me, 
I  do  not  love  the  usuring  Jew  so  well ; 
Beside, 'twas  my  trick  to  disguise  her  so.- 

Lady,  Be  not  dejected,  Mall. 

Maria.  Your  care  may  comfort  me ; 
But  I  despair  of  happiness. — 
Heartlove  ?  I  dare  not  see  him. 

Nurse,  We'll  withdraw.  [too. 

Lady,  I  shall  but  grieve  to  see  his  passions 
Since  there's  no  possibility  to  relieve  him. 

[Eaeunt. 

Enter  Heartlaoe. 

Hearil,  The  world's  a  labyrinth,  where 

unguided  men 
Walk  up  and  down  to  find  their  weariness : 
No  sooner  have  we  measur'd  with  much  toil 
One  crooked  path,  with  hope  to  gain  our 

freedom, 
But  it  betrays  us  to  a  new  afifliction. 
What  a  strange  mockery  will  man  become 
Shortly  to  all  the  creatures!  Oh,  Maria! 
If  thou  be'st  dead,  why  does  thy  shadow 

fright  me  ? 
Sure  'tis  because  I  live :  were  I  but  certain 
To  meet  thee  in  one  grave,  and  that  our  dust 
Might  have  the  privilege  to  mix  in  silence. 
How  ouickly  should  my  soul  shake  off  this 

burthen ! 

Enter  Alathe, 

Alathe,  Thus  far  my  wishes  have  success  r 

ril  lose  [love  ? 

No  time.  Sir,  are  not  you  call'd  Mr.  Ilean- 
Pardon  my  rudeness '♦! 

Hearth  What  docs  that  concern  tliee  } 
Boy,  'tis  a  name  cannot  advantage  thee; 
And  I  am  weary  on't. 

Alathe.  Had  yon  conceai'd. 
Or  I  forgot  it,  sir,  so  lai^e  were  my 
Directions,  that  you  could  not  speak  this 

language. 
But  I  should  know  you  by  your  sorrow. 

Heart L  Thou  [your  business? 

Wert  well  inform'd,  it  seems.    Well,  what's 

3^  Thus  far,  &c.]  This  speech  is  made  a  continuation  of  Heartlace's  in  every  edition 
but  tlie  first. 

Aiathe. 


Enjoin  me  any  nenance ;  FU  build  churches, 
A  whole  city  ot  hospitals. 

AUuhe.  Take  heed ! 
There  is  no  dallying ;  nor  are  these  imposed. 

Alg,  Name  any  thing  witliin  my  power, 

sweet  angel ; 
And,  if  I  do  not  faithfully  perform  it,  [nnte, 
Then  whip  me  every  day,  burn  me  each  mi- 
Wbele  years  together  let  roe  freeze  to  isicles ! 

Alathe.  V  th'number  of  thy  foul  oppressions. 
Thou  hast  undone  a  faithful  gentleman. 
By  taking  forfeit  of  his  land. 

Alg.  Young  Lurcher ! 
I  do  confess. 

Alathe.  He  lives  most  miserable, 
And  in  despair  may  bans  or  drown  himself  : 
Prevent  his  ruin !  or  his  blood  will  be 
More  sin  in  thy  account.  Hast  thou  forgotten 
He  had  a  sister  ?  * 

Aif.  1  do  well  remember  it. 

AuLthe.  Couldst  thou  for  Mammon  break 

thy  solemn  vow 
Made  once  to  tliat  unhappy  maid,  that  weeps 
A  thousand  tears  a-day  for  thy  unkindness? 
Was  not  thy  faith  contracted,  and  thy  heart? 
And  couldst  thou  marry  another  ? 

Alg.  But  she's  dead ; 
And  I  will  make  true  satisfaction. 

Alathe.  What  do  I  instance  these,  that  lias 
To  all  the  world  ?  [been  false 

Alg.  I  know  it,  and  will  henceforth  [an8;el ! 
Practise  repentance.    Do  not  frown,  sweet 
I  will  restore  all  mortgages,  forswear 
Abomin^^ble  usury,  live  chaste ; 
For  I've  been  wanton  in  my  shroud,  my  age : 
And  if  that  poor  innocent  maid,  I  so  abu&'d. 
Be  living,  I  will  marry  her,  and  spend 
IVIy  days  to  come  religiously. 

Alathe.  I  was  commanded  but  a  messenger 
To  tell  thee  this,  and  rescue  thee  from  those 
Whose  malice  would  have  dragg'd  thee  quick 

to  hell: 
If  thou  abuse  this  mercy,  and  repent  not, 
Double  damnation  will  expect  thee  for  it; 
But  if  thy  life  be  virtuous  hereafter, 
A  blessedness  shall  reward  thy  good  example. 
Thy  fright  hatli  much  distracted  thy  weak 

senses; 
Drink  of  this  viol,  and  renew  thy  spirits  I 
I  ha' done  my  office;  think  on't,  and  be  happy! 

Enter  Lurcher, 

Lure,  So,  so!  He  gapes  already;  nowhe^s 

fast. 
Th'hast  acted  rarely;  but  this  is  not  all: 
First,  help  to  convey  him  out  o'  th'  vault. 

Alathe,  You  will 
Dispense  with  me  now,  as  you  promis'd,  sir  ? 

Lure.  We  will  make  shift  without  U^iee ; 

th'  hast  done  well. 
By  our  device,  this  bandog  may  'scape  hell. 

[Exeunt, 


Act  4.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  TIHEF. 


BT 


Alatht.  I  come  to  briog  you  comfort. 

HeartL  Is  Maria 
Alive  again?  that's  somewhat;  and  yet  not 
£ooagh  to  make  my  expectation  rise  to 
Past  half  a  blessing;  since  we  cannot  meet 
To  make  it  up  a  full  one !  ThouVt  mistaken. 

Alathe.  When  you  have  heard  me,  you'll 

diink  otherwise: 
In  rain  I  should  report  jMaria  living  ; 
The  ccMiifort  that  I  bring  you  must  depend 
Upou  her  death. 

UeurtL  Thou'rt  a  dissembhng  boy! 
Some  one  lias  sent  thee  to  mock  me;  tho'my 

anger 
Stoop  not  to  punish  thy  green  years,  unripe 
P'or  malice,  flid  I  kntiw  what  persou  seoi  thee 
To  tempt  my  sorrow  thu»^%  I  siiouid  re- 
venge it.  [charitable, 

Alathe,   Indeed  I've  no   thought  so  un- 
Nor  am  I  sent  to  grieve  you ;  let  mc  suffer 
More  puniithment  than  ever  boy  deserv'd. 
If  you  do  iind  me  false  !  £  serve  a  mistress 
Would  rather  die  tlian  play  with  your  mis- 
'       Then,  good  sir,  hear  me  out !  [fortunes; 

HeartL  Who  is  your  mistress? 

Aiaihe,  Before  I  name  her,  give  me  some 

encoaragement, 
That  jTOu'll  receive  her  message :  she  is  one 
Tliat's  full  acquainted  mth  yoUr  misery. 
And  can  bring  such  a  portion  of  her  sorrow. 
In  every  circumstance  so  like  your  own, 
You'll  love  and  pity  her,  and  wish  yourgriefs 
Might  marry  one  anothers*. 

HeartL  Thou  art  wild  : 
I       Canst  thou  bring  comfort   from  so  sad  a 

crenture  ? 
Her  Diisemble  story  can,  at  best, 
But  swell  my  volume,  large  enough  already. 

Alathe,  She  was  late  belov'd,  as  you  were; 

promis'd  faith, 
And  marriage;  and  ^vas  worthy  of  a  better 
Than  he,  that  stole  Maria's  heart. 

HeartL  How  is  that  ?  [fection, 

Alathe.  Just  as  Maria  dealt  with  your  af- 
Did  hethatmarried  her  deal  with  my  mistress; 
When,  careless  both  of  honour  and  religion, ' 
They    cruelly   gave  away   their   hearts    to 

strangers.  [prithee,  boy, 

HeartL  Part  of  this  truth  I  know;  but 
Proceed  to  tliat  thou  cam'st  for !  thou  didst 

promise 
Something,  thy  language  cannot  hitherto 
£ncoar!ige  me  to  hope  for. 

Aialke.  That  I  come  to : 
My  mistress  thus  unkindly  dealt  withal. 
Yon  may  imagine,  wanted  no  affliction ; 
And  Ijad,  ere  this,  wept  herself  dry  as  marble, 
Had  not  your  fortune  come  to  her  relief. 
And,  twin  to  her  own  sorrow,  brought  her 

comfort.  [equal, 

HeartL  Could  the  condition  of  my  fate  so 
Lessen  her  sufferings  ? 


•     Alatke,  I  know  not  how, 
Companions  in  grief  sometimes  diminish 
And  make  tlie  pressure  easy :  by  de>j.rees 
She  tlu"ew  her  troubles  off,  reuiembruig  yours; 
And,  fir«m  her  pity  of  your  wrongs,  there  grew 
Affection  to  your  person ;  this  encreas'd. 
And,  witl)  it,  conhdeuce  that  those  whom 

nature 
Had  made  so  even  in  their  weight  of  sorrow. 
Could  not  but  love  as  equally  one  anotlier, 
Were  things  hut  well  prepar'd :  this  gave  her 
T*  employ  me  thus  far.  [boldness 

HeartL  A  strange  message,  boy  j       [love, 

Alathe,  If  you  incline  to  meet  my  mistress' 
It  may  beget  your  comtbrts :  besides  that, 
'Tis  some  revenge  that  you,  above  their  scorn 
And  pride,  can  laugh  at  them,  whose  perjury 
Hath  made  you  happy,  and  undone  themselves. 

HeartL  Have  you  done,  boy  ? 

AUitlie.  Only  this  little  more, 
Wlien  you  but  see,  and  know  my  mistress  well. 
You  wdl  forgive  my  tediousness ;  she's  fair. 
Fair  as  Maria  was — 

HeartL  i'ii  hear  no  more! 
Go,  foolish  boy,  and  tell  thy  fonder  mistress 
She  has  no  second  faith  to  give  away ; 
And  mine  was  given  to  Maria.    Iho'  her 

death 
Allow  me  freedom — See  the  picture  of  her !, 

Enter  JMaria  and  Nurse. 

I'd  give  ten  thousand  empires  for  tlie  sub- 
stance: '  « 
Yet,  for  Maria's  sake,  whose  divine  figure 
That  rude   ir^mie  carries,  I  will  love  this 

counterfeit  [all 

Above  all  the  world ;  and  had  thy  mistress 
The  grace  and  blossom  of  her  sex,  now  she 
Is  gone,  that  was  a  walking  spring  of  beauty, 
I  would  not  look  upon  her. 

Alathe,  Sir,  your  pardon ! 
L  have  but  done  a  message,  as  becomes 
A  servant;  nor  did  she  on  whose  commands 
I  gladly  waited,  bid  me  urge  her  love 
To  your  disquiet ;  she  would  chide  my  diligence 
If  I  should  make  you  angry. 

HeartL  Pretty  boy ! 

Alathe,  Indeed  I  fear  I  have  offended  you ; 
Pray,  If  I  have,  enjoin  me  any  penance  tor't : 
I  have  perform'd  one  duty,  and   could   as 

willingly,  [yo"> 

To  purge  my  fault,  and  shew  I  suffer  with 
Plead  your  cause  to  another. 

HeartL  And  I'll  take  thee  [giiage : 

At  thy  word,  boy ;  thou  hast  a  movmg  laa- 
That  pretty  innocent  copy  of  Mada 
Is  all  I  love ;  I  know  not  how  to  speak ; 
Win  her  to  think  well  of  me,  and  I  will 
Reward  thee  to  thy  wishes. 

Alathe.  I  undertake 
Nothing  for  gain;  but  since  you  have  resolv'd 
To  love  no  other,  I'll  be  faithful  to  you; 


'^  To  tempt  my  stfrrow  thus.]  Sympson  would  substitute  tauTU  for  tertqit ;  but  the  text  is 
very  good,  more  elegit  tiian  the  variation;  and  requires  no  change. 

And 


88 


THE  NIGHT-WALKERi  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF. 


[^ct  5. 


And  my  prophetic  thoughts  bid  axe  already 
Sayl  shsll  prosper. 

Heart L  Thou  wert  sent  to  bless  roe! 

Alathe.  Pray  give  as  opportunity. 
HeartL  Be  happy!  [ExiU 

Nurte.  He*sgone. 

Alathe,  With  your  fair  leave,  mistress! 

Maria.  Have  you  pusiness  with  her,  pray 

you? 

Alathe.  I  have  a  message  from  a  gentleman ; 
Please  you  vouchsafe  your  ear  more  private ! 

Nurie.  You 
Shall  have  my  absence,  niece.  [Exit. 

Maria,  Was  the  sentleman 
Afeard  to  declare  his  matters  openly  ? 
Here  was  no  podies  was  not  very  honest: 
If  her  like  not  her  errands  the  petter,  was 

wist 
To  keep  her  preaths  to  cool  her  porridges. 
Can  tell  her  that  now,  for  aule  her  private 
And  tawgings.  |  hearings 

Alathe.  You  may,    if  please  you,  find 

another  languajge; 
And  with  less  pains  be  understood. 

Maria.  What  is  her  meaning  ? 

Alathe,  Come,pray  speak  your  ownEnglish. 

Maria.  Have  poys  lost  ner  itts  andme- 

mories  ?  Pless  us  aule !  [you  are 

Alathe.  I  must  be  plain  then:  come,  I  know 
Maria;  this  thin  veil  cannot  obscure  you: 
1*11  teU  the  world  you  live.  I  have  not  lost  you, 
Since  first,  with  gnef  and  shame  to  be  surpnz'd, 
A  violent  trance  took  away  show  pf  life : 
I  could  discover  by  what  accident 
You  were  conveyed  away  at  midnight,  in 
Your  coffin;  could  declare  the  place  and 

minute 


When  you  reviv'd ;  and  what  you  have  done 
since,  as  perfectly — 

Maria.  Alas,  I  am  betrayed  to  new  mis* 

fortunes!  [I'll  be  duml> 

Alathe.  You  are  not,  for  my  knowledge; 

For  ever,  rather  than  be  such  a  traitor. 

Indeed  I  pity  you;  and  bring  no  thoughts. 

But  full  of  peace.    Call  home  your  modest 

blood! 
Pale  hath  too  long  usurp'd  upon  your  face: 
Think  upon  love  again,  and  the  possession 
Of  full-blown  joys,  now  ready  to  salute  you  t 
Maria.  These  words  undo  me  more  than 
my  own  griefs.  [with  yoo, 

Alathe,  I  see  how  fear  would  play  the  tyrant 
But  ril  remove  suspicion :  have  you  in 
Your  heart  an  entertainment  for  his  love 
To  v^rbom  your  virgin  faith  made  the  first 
promise?  [wound  me  still  ! 

Maria.  Ifthoumean'stHeartlove, thou  dost 
I  have  no  life  without  his  memory. 
Nor  with  it  any  hope  to  keep  it  long. 
Thou  seest  I  walk  m  dairkness,  like  a  thief^ 
That  fears  to  see  the  world  in  his  own  shape; 
My  very  shadow  frights  me;  'tis  a  death 
To  live  thus,  and  not  look  day  in  the  face. 
Away,  I  know  thee  not!  [me,  lady : 

Alathe.  You  shall  hereafter  know,  and  thank 
I'll  bring  you  a  discharge  at  my  next  visit. 
Of  all  your  fears :  be  content,  rair  Maria ! 
Tis  worth  your  wonder. 

Maria.  Impossible!  [self^: 

Alathe.  Be  wise,  alid  silent'!  Dress  your- 
You  shall  be  what  you  wish. 

Maria.  Do  this,  and  be 
My  better  angel ! 
Alathe,  All  your  cares  on  me  I     [Exeunt. 


ACT   V, 


Enter  Lurcher  and  Alathe. 

JLurc.  T  MUST  applaud  thy  diligence. 
■^    Alathe.  It  had  been  nothing- 

V  have  left  him  in  the  porch.    I  call*d  his 
servants;  fpretended 

With  wonders  they  acknowledged   him;   I 

It  was  some  spice  sure  of  the  falling  sick- 
ness, 

And  that  'twas  diaritv  to  bring  him  home; 

They  rubb'd  and  chaf'd  him,  plied  him  with 
strong-water;  [wake  him; 

Still  he  was  senseless,  clamours  could  not 

I  wished  'cm  then  get  him  to  bed ;  they  did  so, 

^*  Dress  yourtelf, 

You  shall  he  what  you  wiah.'\  Dreu  here  seems  to  confound  the  sense  greatly,  and  I 
propose  reading,  if  tlie  place  is  wrong,  rest  yourself—X.  e.  rest  and  repose  yourself,  and  all 
your  cares  on  me.        Sympton. 

Dresi  is  right;  and,  accordingly,  she  comes  in  (p.  92)  dressed  as  Maria. 
^7  I  watched  'em  till  he  uaKdJ]  The  variation  proposed  by  Symps6n. 

How 


And  almost  smother'd  him  with  rugs  and 

pillows;  '  [pect  me. 

And,  'cause  they  should  have  no  cause  to  sub- 

I  watch'd  him  'till  he  wak'd  ^\ 

Lure.  'T  was  excellent!     [stretch  himself, 

Alathe.  When  his  time  came  to  yawn,  and 

I  bid  'em  not  be  hasty  to  discover 

How  he  was  brought  home;  his  eyes  fully 

open, 
With  trembling  he  began  to  call  his  servants. 
And  told  'em  he  had  seen  strange  visions, 
That  should  convert  him  from  his  heathen 
courses ;  [prcach'd 

They  wonder'd,  and  were  silent;  there  he 


Acts.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LITTLE  THIEF; 


How  sweet  the  air  of  a  contented  conscience 
Smelt  in  his  nose  now,  ask'd  'em  all  for- 
giveness fhlm; 
For  their  hard  pasture  since  they  liv'awith 
fiid  'em  believe,  and  fetch  out  the  cold  sur> 

bin,  [.joyin't; 

Pierce  the  strong  hecr^  and  let  the  neighbours 
The  conceal'd  moskadme  should  now  lie  open 
To  every  mouth;  that  he  would  give  to  th' 

poor,  [be 

Anid  mend  their  wages ;  that  his  doors  should 
Open  to  every  miserable  suitor. 

Lure,  What  said  his  servants  then  ? 

Alathe.  They  durst  not  speak,     [that  had 
Bat  bless'd  themselves,  and  the  strange  means 
Made  him  a  Christian :  in  this  over-joy 
I  took  my  leave,  and  bad  'em  say  their 

prayers. 
And  Qumoor  him,  lest  he  tum*d  Jew  (^ain. 

Lure,  Enough,  enough ! — Who's  this  ? 

Enter  Toby. 

"Tis  one  of  my  ringers,  (titand  close !)  my 

lady's  coachman ! 
,Tatm,  Bay  a  mat  for  a  bed,  buy  a  mat! 
n^oufd  I  were  at  rack  and  manger  among 

mv  horses! 
We  nave  divided  tlie  sexton's  houshold^stuff 
Among  us;  one  has  the  rug,  and  he's  turned 

Irish; 
Another  has  a  blanket,  and  he  must  beg  in't; 
The  sheets  serve  another  for  a  frock. 
And  with  the  bed^cord  he  may  pass  for  a 

porter;  [which, 

Nothing  but  the  mat  would  fell  to  my  share. 
With  the  help  of  a  tunfe,  and  a  hassock  out 

o'  th'  church. 
May  disguise  me  'till  I  get  home.    A  pox 
0*  bell-nnging  by  the  ear !  if  any  man 
Take  me  at  it  again,  let  him  pull  mine 
To  the  pillory.    I  could  wish  I  had  lost 
Mine  eard,  so  I  had  my  cloaths  again :  the 

weather. 
Wo' not  allow  this  fashion;  I  do  look 
for  an  ague  besides. 

Lure.  How  the  rascal  shakes  ! 

Tobif.  Here  are  company ! 
Boy  a  mat  for  a  bed,  buy  a  mat !      [sweet ! 
A  hassock  for  your  feet,  or  a  piss  clean  and 
Boy  a  nmt  for  a  bed,  buy  a  mat ! 
Ringing,  I  renounce  thee !  I'll  never  come 

to  church  more. 

Lure.  You  with  a  mat ! 

Toby,  I'm  callU    If  any  one  [I  in  ! 

Should  offer  to  buy  my  mat,  what  a  case  were 
Oh,  that  I  were  in  my  oa)>tub  with  a  horse- 
loaf. 
Something  to  hearten  me  1 1  dare  not  hear  'em. 
Bay  a  mat  for  a  bed,  buy  a  mat  I 

iMrc.  He's  deaf. 


Toby.  1  Qfa  glad  I  am :  buy  amat  for  a  bed ! 

Lure.  How   the   rascal  sweats !  what  a 

pickle  he  is  in !  [torment. 

Every  street  he  goes  thro'  will  be  a  new 

Toby.  If  ever  X  meet  at  midnight  more 

a-jangling— 
I  am  cold,  and  yet  I  drop.    Buy  a  mat  for 

a  bed,  buy  a  mat ! 

Lure.  He  has  punishment  enous;h. 

(Exit  toby. 

Enter  Wildhrain. 

Who's  this?  my  t'other  youth?  he  is  tiiru'd 

bear.  [poor  shift 

Wildb.  I  am  half  afraid  df  myself:   this 

I  got  o*th'  sexton,  to  convey  me  handsomely 

To  some  harbour;  the   wench  will  hardly 

know  me;  [parish. 

They'll  take  me  for  some  watchman  of  tlie 

I  lia'  ne'er  a  penny  left  me,  that's  one  com« 

fort ; 
And  ringing  has  begot  a  monstrous  stomach, 
And  that's  another  mischief:  I  were  best  go 

home, 
For  every  thing  will  scorn  me  in  this  habit. 
Besides/ 1  am  so  full  of  these  young  bell* 
ringers —  [oouutry. 

If  I  get  in   ardoors,  not  the  power  o'ta 
Nor  all  my  aunt's  curses,  shall  disembogue 
me. 

Lure.    Bid    her   come  hither  presently* 

Hum  I  *tis  he.  [Exit  Servant. 

Wildb.  Vm    betray'd    to    one    that  will 

eternally  laugh  at  me  !  [death. 

Three  of  these  rogues  will  jeer  a  horse  to  ' 

Lure.  *Tis  Mr.  Wildbrain  sure;  and  yet, 

methinks,  [mah ! 

His  fushion*s  strangely  alter'd.  Sirrah,  watcli- 

You  ragamuffin !  turn,  you  lousy  bear*s  skin. 

You  with  the  bed-rid  bill ! 

Wildb.  IV  has  found  me  out ; 
There's  no  avoiding  him :  I'd  rather  now 
Be  arraigii'd  at  Newgate  for  a  robbery, 
Than  answer  to  his  articles.    Your  will,  sir? 
I  am  in  haste. 

Lure.    Nay,  then  I  will  make  bold  wi'ye. 
A  watchman,  and  asham'd  to  shew  his  coun* 
tenance,  [physiognomy: 

His  face  of  authority? — I   have   seen   that 
Were  you  never  in  prison  for  pilfering  ? 
Wildb.  How  the  rogue  worries  me  I 
Lure.  Why  may  not  this 
Be  th'  villain  robb'd  my  house  hist  night. 
And  walks  disguis*d'in  this  malignant  rug, 
Arm'd  with  a  ton  of  iron?  I  will  have  you 
Before  a  magistrate. 

Wildb.  What  will  become  of  me  I 
Lure.  What  art  thou?  speak! 
Wildb.  I  am  the  Wandering  Jew^',  an't 
please  your  worship. 

Lure. 

"  The  Wandering  Jew.]  The  following  very  entertaining  passage  is  extracted  from  Dr, 
Percy's  Reliques  of  Ancient  Poetry,  vol.  ii.  p.  2P5,  Sf  seg. 
*  The  story  of  the  Wandering  Jem  is  of  considerable  antiquity:  it  had  obtained  full  eredit 
V0L.1IL  N  «m 


§0 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  LTITLE  THtEt. 


lA6i^ 


Lure,  By  your  leave,  rabbi,  I  will  shew  you 

then 
A  synagogue,  yclept  Bridewell,  where  you, 
Thider  correction,  may  rest  yourself. 
You  have  brought  a  bill  to  guard  you ;  there 

be  dog-whips 
To,  firk  such  rugg'd  curs,  whips. without  bells 
Indeed. 

Wildb,  Bells? 

Lurc^  How  he  sweats !        [Now  jeer  on, 

Wildb.  I  must  be  known;  as  good  at  first. — 
But  do  not  anger  me  too  impudently; 
The  nibbi  will  be  mov'd  then. 

Lure.  How!  Jack  VVildbrain?  [bells 

What  time  o'th'  moon,  man,  ha?  What  strange 
Ihmt  in  thy  brains? 

Wildb.  No  more  bells, 
No  more  bells !  they  ring  backwards. 

Lure,   Why,    where's    the    wench,    the 

blessing  that  befel  thee  ?  [Jack  ? 

The  unexpected   happiness?  where's  that. 
Where  are  thy  golden  days  ?  [lousy ! 

Wildb,  It  was  his  trick,  as  sure  as  I  am 
But  how  p  be  reveng'd — 

Lure,  Fy,  fy.  Jack  !  marry  [with  a 

A  watchn^an's  widow  in   thy  young  days. 
Revenue  of  old  iron  and  a  rug? 
Is  this  the  paragon,  the  dainty  piece, 
The  delicate  divine  n^ue? 

Wildb.  Tis  enough  f  I  am  undone, 
^lark'd  for  a  misery,  and  so  leave  pmtii^. 
Gi%-e  me  my  bill. 

Lure,  You  need  not  ask  your  taylor*s, 
Unless  you  had  better  linings.    It  may  be, 
To  avoid  suspicion,  you  are  going  thus 
Disguised  to  your  fair  mistress. 

Wildb,  Mock  no  further, 
Or,  as  I  live,  111  lay  my  bill  o'  thy  pate ; 


111  take  a  watchman's  fury  into  my  fingers^ 
To  ha'  no  judgment  to  distinguish  persons. 
And  knock  thee  down. 

Lure,  Come,  I  ha'  done ;  and  now 
Will  speak  some  comfort  to  thee:  I  wifi 

lead  thee 
Now  to  my  mistress,  hitherto  conceal'd. 
She  shall  take  pity  on  thee  too ;  she  loves 
A  handsome  man ;  thy  misery  mvites  me 
To  do  thee  good:  111  not  be  jealous,  Jack; 
Her  beauty  shall  commend  itself:  but  do  not. 
When  I  have  brought  you  into  grace,  Bap»- 
plant  me  !  [^^^ — 

Wildb,  Art  thou  in  earnest  ?  by  this  cold 
Lure.  No  oaths;  I  am  not  costive.  Here 
she  comes. 

Enter  Misireit. 

Sweetheart,  I  have  brought  a  gentlemair, 
A  friend  of  mine,  to  be  acquainted  with  yoo; 
He*s  other  than  he  seems.     Why  do  ye  stare 
thus  ? 

Mistress.  Oh,  sir,  forgive  me!  I  have  done 
you  wrong.  [lb  Lurcher, 

Lure.  What  is  the  matter?  didst  e'er  see 
her  afore,  Jack  ?  [thou  hast 

Wildb,  Prithee  do  what  thou  wot  wi'  me;  if 
A  mind,  hang  me  up  quickly!  [rather: 

Lure,  Never  despair ;  I'll  give  thee  my  share 
Take  her ;  I  hope  she  loves  thee  at  first  si^ht, 
Sh'has  petticoats  will  patch  thee  up  a  suit; 
I  resign  all,  only  I'll  keep  these  trifles; 
I  took  some  pains  for  'em,  I  take  it.  Jack. 
What  tlunk  you,  pink  of  beauty?  Come,  let 

me 
Counsel  you  both  to  many;  ah'  has  a  trede. 
If  you've  audacity  to  hook  in  gamesters : 
Let's  ha'  a  wedding  I  You'll  be  wondrous  ricb; 


^  in  tliis  part  of  the  world  before  the  year  1228,  as  we  learn  from  Mat.  Parie.    For  ift  that 

*  year,  it  seems,  there  came  an  Armenian  archbishop  uito  England,  to  visit  the  shrines  and 

*  reliques  preseiTed  in  our  churches;  who  being  entertained  at  the  monastery  of  St.  Albans^ 

*  was  asked  several  questions  relating  to  his  country,  &:c.  Among  the  rebt  a  monk,  who 
^  sat  near  liim,  inquired  '  if  he  had  ever  seeu  or  heard  of  the  famous  person  named  Joseph, 
**  that  was  so  much  talked  of;  who  was  present  at  our  Lord's  crucifixion  and  conversed 
**  with  him,  and  who  was  still  alive  in  confirmation  of  the  Cluristian  faith?'  The  archbishop 
<  answered.  That  the  fact  was  true.    And  alierwards  one  of  his  train,  who  was  well  known 

*  to  a  -servant  of  the  abbot's,  interpreting  his  master's  words,  told  them  in  French,  *"  That 

*  his  lord  knew  the  person  they  spoke  of  very  well :  that  he  had  dined  at  his  table  but  a 

*  little  while  before  he  left  tlie  East :  that  he  had  been  Pontius  Pilate's  porter,  by  name 

*  Cartaphilus ;  who,  when  they  were  dragging  Jesus  out  of  the  door  of  the  Judgment-hall, 
'  struck  him  with  his  fist  on  the  back,  saying,  *  Go  faster,  Jesus,  go  faster ;  why  dost  thou 
*'  linger?'  Upon  which  Jesus  looked  at  hmi  with  a  frown  and  said,  *  I  indeed  am  going,  but 
•'  thou  sljalt  tarry  jill  I  coiue.'    Soon  after  he  was  converted,  and  baptized  by  the  name  of 

*  Joseph.  He  lives  for  ever,  but  at  the  end  of  every  hundred  years  tails  into  an  incunible 
'  illness,  and  at  len&tli  into  a  fit  or  ecstasy,  out  of  which  when  he  recovers,  he  returns  to  the 
'  same  state  of  youth  he  was  in  when  Jesus  bulVertd,  being  tben  about  30  years  of  i^.  He 
'  remembers  all  the  circumstances  of'  the  death  and  resurrection  of  Christ,  the  saints  that 

•  *  arose  with  hiro,  the  composing  of  the  apostU  s  ci-eed,  tiieir  preachjDfr,  aud  dispersion ;  aad 

*  is  himself  a  very  grave  and  holy  person.'  Thjs  is  the  bubstance  of  Matthew  Paris's 
^  account,  who  was  himself  a  monk  of  St.  ^Xlbans,  and  was  liviug  at  the  time  wlieu  tliis 

*  Armenian  archbishop  made  Uie  above  relation. 

,•  *  Since  his  time  several  impostors  have  appeared  at  intervals  under  the  name  and  cha- 
'  ractcr  of  the  Wandering  Jew;  whose  se\eral  histories  may  Le  settu  iu  Cakuet's  Diclioi.ary 
^  of  tho  Bible.    See  also  the  Turkifth  Spy,  vol.  ii.  book  iii.  let.  1.' 

For 


^ctS.] 


TH£  NIGHT-WALKER;  0R»  THE  LTITLE  THIEF. 


Tor  she  is  impodent,  and  thou  art  miserable; 

Twill  be  a  rare  match.  [redeem  all. 

His^fiess.  As  you're  a  man,  forgive  me  1  1*1 1 
Xtirc.  You  wo'not  to  thisgeer  of  marriage 
iheu?  [watch  for 

WUdb.  No,  nOy  I  thank  jou,  Tom!  I  can 

A  groat  a-nighty  and  be  evVy  gentleman's 

Lure.  Rise,  and  be  good ;  keep  home,  and 
tend  Toor  business?  [Exit  Mistreu, 

Wildb.  Th'  hast  done*t  to  purpose.  Give 
me  thy  hand,  Tom :  [I*m  in ; 

^all  we  be  friends?  Thou  see'st  what  state 

ril  undertake  this  penance  to  my  aunt. 

Just  as  I  am,  and  openly  1*11  go ; 

Where,  if  I  be  received  again  for  current. 

And  Fortune  smile  once  more — 
Lure*  Nay,  nay,  I'm  satisfied ; 

So,  farewell,  honest,  lousy  Jack ! 

WUdb,  1  caimot  fnies. 

Help  it;  some  men  meet  with  strange  desti* 

1/  toiims  go  right,   thou  mayst  be  hang*d. 

May  live  to  see't,  and  purchase  thy  apparel : 

SOf  fiirewel^  Tom!  Commend  me  to  thy 

pokat  1  [Ejeeunt. 

Enter  Lady f  Nurde^  and  Servant. 

Lady,  Now,  that  I  liave  my  counsel  ready, 

and  my  cause  ripe; 
The  judges  aU  informed  of  the  abuses; 
Now  that  he  should  be  gone — 

Nana.  No  man  knows  whither;  [stable 
And  yet  they  talk  he  went  forth  with  a  con- 
TJuit  told  him  of  strange  business,  that  would 

bring  him  [but  they 

Money  uid  lands,  and  Heav'n  knows  what; 
Have  searched,  and  cannot  find  out  such  an 

officer: 
And  as  a  secret,  madam,  they  told  your  man 
Nidu>las,  whom  you  sent  thither  as  a  spv, 
Tiuy  had  a  shrewd  suspicion  *twas  the  devil 
rth^likenesBof  a  constable,  that  has  teitipted 

him  [been  men, 

By  this  time  to  strange  things:  there  have 
As  rich  as  he,  have  met  convenient  rivers. 
And  so  forth;  many  trees  have  borne  strange 

fiuits; 
I>*ye  tiui^k  he  has  not  hang'd  himself? 

Lady.  If  he 
Be  faang*d,  who  has  his  ^oods  f 

Nurse.  They  are  forfeited. 
They  say.  [then. 

Lady.  He  has  hang'd  himself  for  certain 
Only  to  coxen  me  of  my  girl's  portion. 

Nune.  Very  likely!         [to  some  prison? 

Lady*  Or  did  not  th'  constable  carry  him 

Nune.  They  thought  on  that  too,  and 

searched  every  where.  [executed. 

Xa^.  He  may  be  close  for  treason,  perhaps 

Nurte.  Nay,  they  did  look  among  the 

<|aarter»  too, 
And  moster'd  all  the  bridge-house  for  his  I 

night-cap,  I 


Einter  Servant* 

Serv.  Madam,  here  is  the  gentleman  again^ 

Lady,  What  gentleman? 

Serv.  He  that  lov'd  mv  young  mistress. 

Ludy.  Alas,  'tis  Heartlove;  'twill  but  feed 

his  melancholy 
To  let  him  see  Maria,  since  we  dare  not 
Yet  tell  the  world  she  lives;  and  certainly, 
Did  not  the  violence  of  his  passion  blind  him. 
He  would  see  past  her  borrowed  tongue  nnd 

habit.  [inadaiii. 

Nurse.  Please  you  entertain  him  awhile, 
111  cast  about  for  something  with  your  daugh« 

ter.  [Ileartloye  enter.. 

Lady.   Do  what  thou  wo't! — Pray  Mr. 
[Rreunt  Servant  and  Nurse  severaUy,  * 

Enter  Heartlove^ 

Hearth  Madam,!  come  to  ask  your  gentle 

pardon.  [me. 

Lady.  Pardon?  for  wliat  ?  yon  ne'er  offended 

HeurtL  Yes,  if  you  be  the  motlier  of  Maria. 

Lady.  I  was  her  mother,  but  that  word  is 

canceU*d,  # 

And  buried  with  her  -.  in  tliat  very  minute 
Her  soul  fied  from  her,  we  lost  both  our  names 
Of  mother  and  of  daughter. 

HeartL  Alas,  madam. 
If  your  relation  did  consist  but  in 
Those  naked  terms,  I  had  a  title  nearer, 
Since  Love  unites  more  than  the  tie  of  bloody 
No  matter  for  the  empty  voice  of  mother ! 
Your  nature  still  is  lef^  which  in  her  absence 
Must  love  Maria,  and  not  see  her  ashes 
And  memory  polluted. 

Lady*  You  amaze  mc ! 
By  whom? 

HeartL  By  me ;  I  am  the  vile  profaner. 

Lady,  Why  do  you  speak  thusiudiscreteiy. 
You  ever  honour'd  her.  [sir? 

HeartL  I  did,  ali^e ; 
But,  since  she  died,  I W  been  a  villain  to  her* 

Lady*  I  do  beseech  you  say  not  so ;  ail  this 
Is  but  to  make  me  know  how  much  I  sinu'd. 
In  forcing  her  to  marry. 

HeartL  Do  not  mock  me, 
I  charge  you  by  the  virgin  you  have  wept  for; 
For  I  have  done  an  impious  ace  against  her, 
A  deed  able  to  fright  her  from  her  sleep, 
And  thro'  her  marble  ought  to  be  reveng'd; 
A  wickedness,  that,  if  I  should  be  silent. 
You  as  a  witness  must  accuse  me  for't, 

Lady.  Was  I  a  witness? 

HeartL  Yes ;  you  knew  I  lov'd 
Maria  once;  or,  grant  vou  did  but  think  so, 
By  what  I  ha'  profess'd,  or  h\\e  has  told  you, 
Was't  not  a  fault  unpardonable  in  me, 
When  I  should  drop  my  tears  upon  her  grave; 
Yes,  and  proof  sutticient-^ 

Lady.  To  what?  [vows 

HeartL  That  I,  forgetful  of  my  fame  and 
To  fair  Maria,  ere  the  worm  could  pierce 
Her  tender  shrowd^  had  chaug'd  lu;r  for  an- 
other. 
N2  Did. 


^ 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OH,  THE  UTTLE  THIEP/ 


[Act  5» 


Did  you  not  blush  to  see  me  turn  a  rebel  ? 
80  soon  to  court  a  shadow,  a  strange  thing, 
Without  a  name?  Did  you  not  curse  my 

levity, 
Or  think  upon  her  death  with  the  less  sorrow, 
That  she  had  'scap'd  a  punishment  more 

kilting? 
Oh,  how  I  shame  to  think  on't ! 

Lady.  Sir,  in  my 
Opinion,  'twas  an  argument  of  love 
To  your  Maria,  for  whose  sake  you  could 
Affect  one  that  but  carried  her  small  likeness. 

HeartL  No  more !  you  are  too  charitable : 

but  [never 

I  know  my  guilt,  and  will  from  henceforth 
Change  words  with  that  strange  maid,  whose 

innocent  face, 
Like  your  Maria's,  won  so  late  upon  me: 
My  passions  are  corrected,  and  I  can 
Look  on  her  now,  and  woman-kind,  without 
Love  in  a  thought.  Tis  this  I  came  to  tell  you ; 
If,  after  this  acknowledgment,  youll  be 
So  kind  to  shew  me  in  what  silent  grave 
You  have  ^pos'd  your  daughter,  I  will  ask 
Forgiveneaof  her  dust,  and  never  leave, 
Till,  with  a  loud  confession  of  my  shame, 
I  wake  her  ghost,  and  that  pronounce  my 

pardon. 
Will  you  deny  this  favour?  Then,  farewell! 
I'll  never  see  you  more.    Ha !  f 

Enter  Nurse,  and  Maria  in  her  own  apparel 
After  some  show  oj  wonder^  Heart  love  goes 
towards  her. 
Lady,  Be  not  deluded,  sir !  ujjon  mv  life, 

This  is  the  soul  whom  you  but  thought  Maria, 

In  my  daughter's  habit.  What  did  you  mean. 
Nurse?  [like  now? 

I  l^new  she  would  but  cozen  you :  is  she  not 
Heart L  One  dew  unto  another  is  not 
nearer^'.  [and  that 

Nurse.  She  thinks  she  is  a  gentlewoman ; 

Imagination  has  so  taken  her, 

She  scorns  to  speak.  How  handsomely  she 
carries  it. 

As  if  she  were  a  well-bred  thing,  her  body! 

And,  I  warrant  you,  what  looks ! 

Ladi/.  Pray,  be  not  foolish.  [a  word, 

HeartL  I  disturb  nobody.   Speak  but  half 

And  I  am  satisfied!  But  wW  needs  that? 

1*11  swear  'tis  she. 

Ladtf,  But  do  not,  I  beseech  you; 

For,  trust  me,  sir,  you  know  not  what  I  know. 
Heartl  Peace  "then,  [with  me. 

And  let  me  pray !  She  holds  up  her  hands 


Lady,  This  wfll  betray  alL 

Heartl.  Love,  ever  honoured. 
And  ever  young,  thou  sovereign  of  all  hearts. 
Of  all  our  sorrows  the  sweet  ease — She  weeps 
Does  she  still  cozen  me?  [now^  ! 

Nurse.  Youll  see  anon. 
Twas  her  desire ;  expect  the  issue,  madam. 

Heartl.  My  souVs  so  big,  I  cannot  pray  I 

Tisshe! 
I  will  go  nearer. 

Enter  Algripe,  Lurcher^  and  Alathe, 

Nurse.  Here  is  Mr.  Algripe, 
And  other  strangers,  madam. 

Alg.  Here,  good  lady; 
Upon  my  knees,  I  ask  thy  worship's  pardon  ! 
Here's  tJie  whole  sum  I  had  with  thy  fair- 
daughter:  [peace  too, 
'Would  she  were  living,  I  might  have  hep 
And  yield  her  up  again  to  her  old  liberty ! 
I  had  a  wife  before,  and  could  not  marry : 
My  penance  shall  be,  on  that  man  that 
To  confer  some  land.               [honoured  he^ 

iMdy.  This  is  incredible ! 

Alg.  Tis  truth. 

Lure.  Do  you  know  me,  sir  ? 

Alg.  Ha!  the  gentleman  I  deceived? 

Lure.  My  name  is  Lurcher. 

Alg.  Sha  t  have  thy  mortgage. 

Lure.  I  ha'  that  already; 
No  matter  for  th^  deed,  if  you  release  iL 

Algi  I'll  do't  before  thy  witness. 
Butwhere's  thy  sister?  ^fshe  live,  I'm  happy, 
Tho'  I  conceaf'd  our  contract**,  which  was 

stol'n  from  me 
With  the  evidence  of  this  land. 

Alathe  goes  to  Maria,  and  gives  her  a  paper; 
she  nonders,  and  smiles  upon  Heartlaoe; 
he,  amaz^dy  approaches  her;  afterwards  sha 
shews  it  her  Mother,  and  then  gtoes  it  to, 
Heartlove. 

Nurse.  Your  daughter  smiles.       [tell,  sir. 

Lure.  I  hope  she  lives;  but  where  I  cannd 

Alat/ie.  E'en  here,  an  please  you,  sir. 

Alg.  How! 

Alathe.  Nay,  'tis  she. 
To  work  thv  fair  way,  I  pre^erv'd  you,  brotherj^ 
That  would    (lave  lost  me  willingly,  and 

serv'd  you 
Thus  like  a  boy:  I  sen''d  you  foitlifuUy, 
And  cast  your  plots  but  to  preserve  your 

credit; 
Your  foul  ones  I  diverted  to  fair  uses, 
So  fieu:  as  you  would  hearken  to  my  couDsel. 


39 


—  f«  she  not  like  now  f 


One  dew  unto  another  is  not  nearer.']  Mr.  Theobald  saw  with  me,  that  Frank  Htartn 
love\  name  was  dropthere,  which  I  have  made  no  scruple  to  insert  in  the  text.        Synipton, 
^  Of  all  our  sorrows  the  sweet  ease.  She  weeps  now.]  Mr.  Theobald  says  in  his 

margin,  5^^  weeps  now,  which  is  here  only  made  a  stage  direction,  must  be  part  of  the  text. 
However,  I  have  not  dar'd  to  follow  his  opinion,  as  it  either  might  or  might  hot  have  been, 
so  the  reader  is  left  to  his  own  judgment  either  to  admit  or  reject  it.        Sympson. 
The  measure  and  sense  both  declaring  for  it,  we  have  inserted  the  words  in  the  text. 
♦»  J%o' I  conceal  <wr  con*racr.]  So  former  .editions, 

Thut 


Aet5.] 


THE  NIGHT-WALKER;  OR,  THE  UTILE  THIEF. 


93 


ThBt  all  the  worid  may  know  how  much  you 

owe  me.  [Alathe ! 

Alg,  Welcome,  entirely !  welcome,  my  dear 
And,  when  I  lose  thee  again,  blessing  for- 
sake me! 
Kar,  let  me  kiss  thee  in  these  cloaths ! 

Litre,  And  I  too. 
And  bless  the  time  I  had  so  wise  a  sister! 
Wert  thott  the  Little  Thief? 

Alathe,  I  stole  the  contract, 
I  most  confess,  and  kept  it  to  myself; 
It  most  concem'd  me. 

Heart L  Contracted?  this  destroys 
His  after-marriage. 

Maria,  Dare  yon  give  this  hand  [it. 

To  this  young  gentleman  ?  my  heart  goes  wicli 

A^,  Maria  alive?  how  my  heart's  exalted ! 

Tis  my  duty:  [all  joys 

Take  her,  Frank  Heartlove,  take  her;  and 
With  her;  besides  some  land  t'  advance  her 

jointure !  [blessings  crown  ye ! 

Jjudy.  What  I  have  is  your  own;  and 

Hearti,  Give  roe  room. 
And  fresh  air  to  consider,  gentlemex^ 
JIf  y  hopes  are  too  high.   ^ 

"Maria,  Be  more  temperate. 
Or  rii  be  Welsh  again ! 

Alg,  A  day  of  wonder! 

Alathe,  Lady,  your  love !  I  ha'  kept  my 

word;  there  was  [hate  you, 

A  time,  when  my  much  suffering  made  me 
And  to  that  end  I  did  my  best  to  cross  you; 
And  hearing  you  were  dead,  I  stole  your  coffin, 
That  you  might  never  more  usurp  my  office. 
Nany  more  knacks  I  did,  wluch  at  the 

weddings 
Shall  be  to)d  of  as  harmless  tales  ^\ 

[Shout  tcithin. 

Enter  Wildbram. 

Wildb,  Hollow  your  tliroatsapieces!  Fm 
at  home ; 
If  yon  can  roar  me  out  again — 
Liufy.  What  thing  is  this? 


Lure,  A  continent  of  fleas :  room  for  the 

pageant! 
Make  room  afore  there!    Your  kinsman, 

madam. 

Lady,  My  kinsman  ?  let  me  wonder ! 

Wildb,  Do,  and 
111  wonder  too,  to  see  this  company 
At  peace  one  with  another. 

Maria,  Tis  not  worth 
Your  admiration ;  I  was  never  dead  yet*', 

Wildb.  YouVe  merry,  aunt,  I  see,  and  all 

your  company : 
If  ye  be  not,  I'll  fool  up,  and  provoke  ye ; 
I  will  do  any  thing  to  get  your  love  again : 
I'll  forswear  midnight,  taverns,  and  tempta* 

tions ;  [maids 

Give  good  example  tQ  your  grooms;  the 
Shall  go  to  bed,  and  take  their  rest  this  year; 
None  shall  appear  with  blistersin  their  bellies. 

Lure,  And,  when  youll  fool  again,  you 

may  go  ring. 

Wildb,  Madam,  have  mercy ! 

Lady,  Your  submission,  sir, 
I  gladfy  take  (we  ^%'ill  % 

Enquire  the  reason  of  this  habit  aftcrwards% 
Now  you  are  soundly  sham'd;    well,  we 

restorcyou. 
Where's  Toby?  where's  the  coachman? 

JVurs^.  He  sa-bed,  madam. 
And  has  an  ague,  he  says. 

Lure.  I'll  be  his  physician. 

Lady,  We  must  afoot  then. 

Lure,  Ere  the  priest  ha'  done, 
Toby  shall  wait  upon  you  with  his  coach. 
And  make  your  I  landers  mares  dance  back 

again  wi'  ye, 
I  warrant  you,  madam.— You  are  mortified; 
Your  suit  shall  be  granted  too. 

Wildb.  Make,  make  room  af(9rc  there ! 

Lady,  Home  forward  with  elad  hearts! 

Maria,  1  wait  you.  [home,  child, 

Hcartl,  On  joyfully ! — ^The  cure  of  all  our 

grief, 
Is  owing  to  this  pretty  Little  Tliief. 

[Exeunt  omnet^ 

*•*  Lady,  your  lone,  6cc.]  This  speech  has  been  hitherto  given  to  Lurcher;  tho'  the 
circamstances  recited  in  it  prove  that  it  belongs  to  Alathe,  The  fourth  line  of  it,  however, 
Teqoires  some  amendment :  we  should  either  read.  And  hearing  you  were  dead,  or,  And 
fearingyou  wem't  dead.    We  prefer  the  former. 

«  *jii  not  worth 

Your  admiration;  I  was  never  dead  yet,}  These  words  (though  so  obyioosly  belonging 
(o  Maria)  have  hitherto  stood  as  part  of  Wildbrain*9  speech. 


TH£ 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


A  TRAGI-COMEDY. 


The  Commendatory  Verses  b  j  Gardiner  attribute  this  Play  wholly  to  Fletcher.  Its  first  |mb« 
licadon  was  in  the  folio  of  1647.  In  the  year  1687^  Tate  made  some  alterations  in  this 
piece^  with  which  it  was  printed;  and  Peter  Motteoz,  about  ten  years  aftcrwardi^brooghl 
it  forward  as  an  Opert,  under  the  title  of  ^  The  Island  Princess,  or  the  Gencroui 
*  Portngnese.' 


Mbv. 


SmtantoQui' 


KnroofTidore. 
KiKO  of  Bakam^ 
PaiHCs  of  Syana, 

GoTERxoK  of  Ternata,      j 
'?ttimtM,Mepkem  to  Buy  Dia$. 

fcnuEL,    \  friend*  to  Jfmma. 
pLT'""'  l^riend^toFinUro. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED, 


Moors. 

Guard. 

Captain. 

Citizens. 

Townsmen, 


Women. 

QuiSARAy  the  Ishmd  Princess,  SUter  to  tU 

•    Kingo/Tidore. 

QuiSANAy  Aunt  to  the  Princeu» 

Panura,  Waitm^Woman  to  the  Princmi 

QumrtL 
Citizens^  Wives. 


SCENE,  India. 


ACT   L 


.     A  bell  rmgu 
Enter  PinierOf  Christophero^  and  Pedro, 

Puuero.f\VES  the  ports,  and  see  the  watch 

^^  reHev'd, 
And  let  tlie  guards  be  careful  of  their  business. 
Their  vigilant  eyes  fi&*d  on  these  islanders ! 
They're  false  and  desp'rate  people;    when 

tliey  find 
The  lea&t  occasion  open  to  encouragement, 
Cruel  and  cratty  souls.    Believe  me,  gentle- 
-    men,  [us. 

Their  late  attempt,  wliich  is  too  fresh  amongst 
Id  which,  against  all  arms  and  honesty, 
The  guvenior  of  Ternata  made  surprize 
Ot'our  confederate*,  the  king  of  Tidore, 
(As  for  liis  recreation  he  was  rowing 

^  Governor  of  Tema,  &c.]  Ternata  (or  Ternate,  as  Milton  calls  it),  Tidore,  and  Bakan 
sr  JBocAoM,  are  three  ut  thv  Molucco  islands.        i>j,mpion. 

As 


Between  both  lands)  bidi  ns  be  wise  and  di" 

cumspect. 

Chrit,  It  was  a  mischief  suddenly  imagin'd^ 
And  as  soon  done:  that  governor  is  a  herce 

knave ;  [ing. 

Unfaithful  as  he*s  fierce  too;  tliere'sno  trust- 
But  I  wonder  much,  how  such  poor  and  base 

pleasures 
As  tueging  at  an  oar,  or  skill  in  steerage, 
Shouldbecome  princes. 

Pin.  Base  breedings  love  base  pleasures 
They  take  as  much  delight  in  a  baratto, 
(A  little  scurvy  boat)  to  row  l»er  tightly, 
And  have  the  art  to  turn  and  wind  her  niajh 

bly, 
Think  it  as  noble  too,  tho'  it  be  slavish, 
And  a  dull  labour  that  declines  a  gentleman) 


96 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS^ 


[Act  14 


As  we  Portogals,  or  th'  Spaniards,  do  in  riding, 
In  managing  a  great  horse,  (which  is  princely) 
The  French  in  courtship*,  or  the  dancing 

English 
In  carrying  a  fair  presence.  . 

Pedro.  He  was  strangely  taVen ; 
But  where  no  faith  is,  there's  no  trust;  h'has 

paid  for't. 
His  sister  yet,  the  fair  and  great  Quisara, 
Has  shewed  a  noble  mind,  and  much  love  in't 
To  her  afflicted  brother;  and  the  nobler 
Still  it  appears,  and  seasons  of  more  tender* 

ness. 
Because  his  ruin  stiles  her  absolute, 
And  his  imprisonment  adds  to  her  profit* 
Feeling  all  this,  which  makes  all  men  admire 

her,  [her, 

The  warm  beams  of  this  fortune  that  fall  on 
Yet  she  has  made  divers  and  noble  treaties. 
And  propositions  for  lier  brother's  freedom. 
If  wealth  or  honour — 

Tin,  Peace,  peace !  you  are  fool'd,  sir: 
Things  of  these  natures  have  sti-ange  outsides, 

Pedro, 
And  canning  shadovirg,  set  'em  far  from  us; 
Draw  'em  but  near,  the/re  gross,  and  they 

abuse  us :  [ture, 

Tiievthat  observe  her  close  shall  find  herna- 
Whicb,  I  doubt  mainly,  will  not  prove  so  ex- 
cellent.* 
She  i»  a  princess,  and  she  must  be  fair. 
That's  the  prerogative  of  being  royal ; 
Let  her  want  eyes  and  nose,  she  must  be 

beauteous. 
And  she  most  know  it  too,  and  the  use  of  it, 
And  people  must  believe  it,  they  are  damn'd 

else:  ^  [her. 

Why,  all  the  neighbour  princes  are  mad  for 

Chris,  Is  she  not  fair  then? 

Tin,  But  her  hopes  are  fairer. 
And  there's  a  haughty  master,  the  king  of  Ba- 

kam, 
That  lofty  sir,  that  speaks  far  more  and  loUder, 
In  his  own  commendations,  than  a  cannon; 
He  is  strucken  dun^b  with  her. 
•    Pedro,  Beshrew  me,  she  is  a  sweet  one. 

Tin,  And  there's  that  hopeful  man  of  Sy- 

ana. 


That  sprightly  fellow,  he  that's  wise  and  tonJ' 
He  is  a  lover  too.  [penite^ 

Chris,  'V\'onld  I  were  worth  her  loekiag! 
For,  by  my  life,  I  hold  her  a  complete  one : 
The  very  sun,  I  think,  aflfects  her  sweetneas. 
And  dares  not,  as  he  does  to  all  else,  dye  it 
Into  his  tawny  livery. 

Tin,  She  dares  not  see  him. 
But  keeps  herself  at  distance  from  his  kisses. 
And  her  complexion  in  a  case ' :  let  him  but 
like  it  *     [a  lion* 

A  week^,  or  two,  or  three,  she  would  look  like 
But  the  main  sport  on't  is,  or  rather  wonder. 
The  governor  of  Temata,  her  mortal  enemy^ 
He  that  has  catch'd  her  brother-king,  is  struck 

too, 
And  is  arrivM  under  safe  conduct  also. 
And  hostages  of  worth  delivered  for  him  ; 
And  he  brought  a  letter  from  his  prisoner  ', 
(Whether  compelled,  or  willingly  deliver'd) 
From  the  poor  king;  or  whatelsedare  be  in*t — 
Chris,  So  it  be  honourable,  any  thing,  'tis 
all  one ; 
For  I  dare  think  she'll  do  the  best. 

Tin,  Tis  certain 
He  has  admittance,  and  solicits  hourly. 
Now  if  we  have  the  trick-^ 
Pedro,  What  trick? 

Tin,  The  true  one,  f^owling^ 

To  take  her  too:  if  he  be  but  skill'd  in  ba^ 
And  lime  his  bush  right — 

Chris,  rU  be  hangM  when  thathits ; 
For  'tis  not  a  compellVi  or  forcM  affection 
'  Tliat  must  take  her:  I  guess  lier  stout  and 
virtuous.  (tain. 

But  \\  here*s  your  uncle,  sir,  our  valiant  cap- 
The  brave  Ruy  Dias,  all  this  while  ? 

Tin.  Ay,  marry. 
He  is  amongst  'em  too* 
Tedro.  A  lover? 
Tin,  Nay, 
I  know  not  that;  but  sure  he  stands  in  fa* 
vour,  [else. 

Or  would  stand  stiffly;    he's  no  Portugal 
Chris,  The  voice  says  in  good  favour;  in 
the  list  too 
Of  the  privy  wooers.    How  canningly  of  late 
(I  have  observ'd  him)  and  how  privately 


^  TA6  French  in  courtship^  or  the  dancing  English.]  If  the  English  were  as  fbnd  i}£ dancing 
in  the  tune  of  the  Poets,  as  they  are  now,  the  common  lection  is  right;  otherwise  I  should 
chuse  to  read  so. 

The  French  in  courtship,  dancing,  or  the  English^  &c.        S^pdon, 
3  And  her  complexion,]  First  folio  and  Sympson  read. 

And  wears  her  complexion,  &c. 
♦  Let  him  but  like  it,  4-c.]  The  editors  of  1750  propose  varying  to,  let  him  but  lick  it ;  or, 
let  him  hut  kissif;  or^  let  him  but  look  on't:  '  So,  (says Sympson)  in  Solomon's  Song;  Look 
*  not  upon  me  because  i  am  blacky  because  the  Sun  hath  look'd  upon  me  J 

'  And  he  brought,  &c.l  I  read  and  point  the  latter  part  of  tnis  speech  tlms : 
And  he  hath  brought  a  letter  from  his  prisoner. 
Whether  compeH'cl,  or  willingly  deliver'd 
From  the  poor  king :  and  what  else  be  in't— 
The  add  t  ion  ofamonos-yllable  m  the  first  line,  and  the  change  of  the  points,  is  required  by 
the  sense  and  the  measure :  The  or  in  the  third  got  there  from  the  line  above,  and  excluded 
the  proper  inonosyiiabb.        Seward, 

H'has 


Att  1.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


W 


IT  has  stolen  at  all  boun  from  us,  and  how 
readily  [well 

H*  has  feignM  a  business  to  bid  the  fort  fare- 
For  five  or  six  days,  or  a  month  together ! 
Sore  there  is  something — 

Pin.  Yes^yes,  there's  a  thing  in%  fflfterit, 
A  thix^  would  make  the  best  on's  all  dance 
A  dainty  thing !  Lord,  how  this  uncle  ofraine 
lias  read  to  me,  and  rated  me  for  wenchini:, 
And  told  me  in  what  desperate  case  'twould 

leave  me. 
And  how  'twould  stew  my  bones-- 

Pedro.  You  car'd  not  for  it.  [easily, 

Pin.  Pikitb,  not  much;  I  ventured  on  stitl 
And  took  my  chance;   danger's  a  soldier*s 
honour.    ^  [Dias, 

But  that  this  man,  this  herb  of  grace,  Ruy 
This  father  of  our  fnculties,  should  slip  thus  ! 
(For  sure  he  is  a-ferreting)  that  he  [rit. 

That  would  drink  nothing,  to  depress  the  spi- 
Bat  milk  and  water,  eat  nothing  but  thin  air, 
To  make  his  blood  obedient ;  that  his  youth, 
In  spite  of  all  his  temperance,  should  tickle. 
And  have  a  love-man^e  on  him — 

Chis,  Tis  in  him,  sir,  [rank  too. 

But  honourable  courtship,  anil  becomes  his 

Ptn.  In  nie  it  were  abominable  lechery,  or 

would  be ;  [their  level, 

For  when  our  thoughts  are  on't*i  and  miss 

We  must  hit  something. 

Pedro.  Well,  he's  a  noble  gentleman ; 
And,  if  he  be  a  suitor,  may  he  speed  in't ! 
Pin.  Let  him  alone;  our  family  ne^er  failed 
yet.  [niero. 

Chris.  Our  mad  lieutenant  still,  merry  Pi- 
Thus  would  he  do,  if  the  surgeon  were  searcli- 
ingofhim.  [shot  him. 

Pedro.  Especially  if  a  warm  wench  had 
Pin.  But  hark,  Christophero;  come  hither, 
Pedro;  [sia, 

When  saw  you  our  brave  countryman,  Armu- 
He  that's  arrived  here  lately,  and  his  gallants.? 
A  goodly  fellow,  and  a  brave  companion 
Methink  he  is,  and  no  doubt  truly  valiant; 
For  he  that  dares  come  hither  dares  figlit  any 
where.  ^  [tlemau 

Chris.  I  saw  him  not  of  late.  A  sober  gen- 
Fm  sure  he  is ;  and  no  doubt  bravely  sprung, 
And  promises  much  nobleness. 

Pin.  I  love  him,  [him. 

And  by  my  troth  woald  fain  be  inward  with 
Pray  let's  go  seek  him. 

Pedro,  We'll  attend  you,  sir. 

Pin.  By  that  time,  we  shall  hear  the  burst 

of  business.  \Exeunt. 

Enter  Ruy  DiaSy  Quisara,  Quisana,  and  Pa- 

nura. 


Q»isar.  Auut|  I  much  thank  you  for  your 
coartesy. 


And  the  fair  liberty  you  still  allonir  me, 
Both  of  your  house  and  service.     Tho'  I  he 
A  princess,  and  by  that  prerogative  stand 

4ee 
From  the  poor  malice  of  opinion, 
And  no  ways  bound  to  render  up  my  actions. 
Because  no  povver  above  me  can  examine  me; 
Yet,  my  dear  brother  being  btill  a  priboner. 
And  many  wand  ring  eyes  upon  my  ways, 
Being  left  alone  a  sea-mark,  it  behoves  ine 
To  use  a  little  caution,  and  be  circumspect- 

Quisan.  You're  wise  and  noble,  lady. 

Quisar.  Oflen,  aunt, 
I  resort  hither,  and  privately  to  see  you. 
It  may  be  to  converse  with  some  I  fevour: 
I  would  not  have  it  known  as  oft,  nor  con-^ 
It  stands  not  with  my  care.  [stru'd; 

Quisan.  You  speak  most  fairly; 
For  ev'n  Out  pure  devotions  are  examinM. 

Quisar.  So  mad  are  men's  minds  now. 

Rfii/.  Or  rather  monstrous; 
They're  thick  dreams  bred  in  fogs,  that  know 

no  fairness.  [yours,  (pray  use  mc) 

Quisan.  Madam,  the  house  is  yours,  I'm 
And  at  your  service  all  I  have  lies  prostrate; 
My  care  shall  ever  be  to  yield  you  honour. 
And,  when  your  fame  fallshere,*tis  my  faulty 

lady; 
A  poor  and  simple  banquet  I've  provided, 
Which  if  you  please  to  honour  with  your  pre-^ 

sence —  [yoU  instandy. 

Quisar.  I  thank  you,  aunt!  I  shall  be  with 
A  few  words  with  this  gentleman ! 

Quisan.  1*11  leave  you ;  [youi 

And  when  you  please  retire.  Til  wait  upon 

[Exeunt  Quisa7i.  and  Pan. 

Qvisar.  Why,  how  now,  captain?   what, 

afraid  to  speak  to  me? 
A  man  of  arms,  and  daunted  with  a  lady? 
Commanded  have  the  power  to  parle  with 

princes.  [showr'd  on  me, 

Jiuy.  Madam,  the  fevours  you  have  still 
(Which  are  so  high  above  ray  means  of  meritj 
So  infinite,  that  nought  can  vahie  *em 
But  their  own  goodness;  no  eyes  look  up 

to  'em 
But  those  that  are  of  equal  light  and  lustre)  . 
Strike  me  thus  mute  1  You  are  my  royal  mis- 
tress, 
And  all  my  services,  that  aim  at  honour. 
Take  life  from  you,  the  saiiitof  ray  devotions. 
Pardon  my  wish !  it  is  a  fair  ambition, 
And  well  becomes  the  man  that  honours  you ; 
I  would  I  were  of  worth,  of  something  near 

YOU, 

Of  such  a  royal  piece' !  a  king  I  would  be, 
A  mighty  king  that  might  Command  affection  ^4 
And  bring  a  youth  upon  me  might  bewitch 


youj 
And  you  a  sweet-sour d  Christian. 

Quisor^ 
*  Our  thoughts  are  on't.]  Sympson  would  read. 

Our  thoughts  arc  out. 
^  Of  such  a  royal  piece.]  Seward  proposes,  royal  price. 
'  "  command  ajfection, 

And  bring  a  youth  upon  me  mght  bevitch  you.]  To  wish  to  bring  a  youth  updn  him,  is  an 
VOL.  III.  0  expression, 


98 


THE  ISLANl)  PRINCESS. 


tAcl  Is 


Quisar.  Now  you  talk,  sir!  [diers, 

You  Portugals,  though  you  he  rueged  sol- 
Yct,  when  you  list  to  flatter,  you're  plain 

courtiers.  Bias  ? 

And  couldyoQ  wish  roe  Christian,  brave  Ruy 

Rtty.  At  all  the  danger  of  my  life,  great 
At  all  my  hopes,  at  all —  [l^dy, 

Quisar.  Pray  you  stay  a  little; 
To  what  end  runs  your  wish? 

Ruy.  Oh,  glorious  lady, 
That  1  might— But  I  dare  not  speak. 

Quisar,  I  dare  then;  [blush  not; 

That  you  might  hope  to  marry  me:   nay. 
An  honourable  end  needs  no  excuse. 
And  would  you  love  me  then  ? 

Ruy,  My  soul  not  dearer. 

Quisar,  Do  some  brave  thing  that  may 

entice  me  that  way, 
Something  of  such  a  meritorious  goodness,- 
Of  buch  an  unmatchM  nobleness,  that  I  may 

know  [30U. 

You  have  a  power  beyond  ours  that  preserves 
Tis  not  the  person,  nor  the  royal  title. 
Nor  wealth,  nor  glory,  that  I  Took  upon ; 
That  inward  man  I  love  tliat's  lin'd  with  vir- 

tne, 
That  wcll-deser^ing  soul  works  out  a  favour. 
V\c  many  princes  suitors,  many  great  ones, 
Yet  above  these  I  love  you;  you  are  valiant, 
An  active  man,  able  to  build  a  fortune: 
I  do  not  say  I  dote,  nor  mean  to  marry ; 
Only  the  hope  is,  something  may  be  done 
That  may  compel  my  faith,  and  ask  my  free* 
And  leave  opinion  fair.  [dom, 

Rvy*  Command,  dear  lady ! 
And  let  the  danger  be  as  deep  as  hell^ 
As  direful  to  attempt — 

Quisar.  You  are  too  sadden ; 
I  must  be  rul'd  by  you :  find  out  a  fortune, 
Wisely  and  handsomely;  examine  time, 
And  court  occasion  that  she  may  be  ready! 
A  thousand  uses  for  your  forward  spirit 
Yon  may  find  daily ;  be  sure  you  take  a  good 

one !  [you ! 

A  brave  and  worthy  one,  that  may  advance 
Forc*d  smiles  reward  poor  dangers:  you're  a 

soldier, 
(I'd  not  talk  so  else)  ancl  I  love  a  soldier, 
And  that  that  speaks  him  true  and  gretft,  his 

valour :  [lies. 

Yet  for  all  these,  which  are  but  women's  fol- 
You  may  do  what  you  please ;  I  sliall  still 

know  you. 
And,  tbo'  you  wear  no  sword— 

Rvi^,  Excellent  lady ! 
When  I  grow  so  cold,  and  disgrace  my  nation, 
Tliat  from  their  hardy  nurses  suck  adventures, 


Twere  fit  I  wore  a  tombstone.  YouVe  ireMl 

to  me 
The  story  of  your  favour :  if  I  mistake  it^ 
Or  grow  a  truant  in  the  study  of  it, 
A  great  correction,  lady — 

Quisar,  Let's  to  th'  banquet,  [court. 

And  have  some  merrier  talk,  and  tlien  tt> 
Where  I  give  audience  to  my  general  suitors  I 
Pray  lieav'n  my  woman's  wit  hold !    There, 

brave  captain,  [startle  you  i 

You  may  perchance  meet  somethmg  that  may 
I'll  say  no  more:  come,  be  not  sad  !  I  love 

you.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Piniero,  Armmia,  Soxa,  Chrisiopkero, 
and  Emanuel, 

Pin.   Yov're  welcome,  gentlemen,  most 

worthy  welcome  I  [scr\'e  ye. 

And  know,  there's  nothing  in  our  power  may 
But  you  may  frcely  challenge. 

Arm.  Sir,  \^e  thank  you. 
And  rest  your  ser\'ants  too. 

Pitt.  YeVc  worthy  Portugals;  fspiritis. 
You  shew  the  bravery  of  your  minds  and 
The  nature  of  our  country  too,  that  brings 

fbr.th  V 

Stirring  nnwearied  souls  to  seek  adventures^ 
Minds  never  satisfied  with  search  of  honour: 
Where  time  is,  and  the  sun  gives  light,  brave 

countrymen,  [their  riches^ 

Our  names  are  known ;  new  worlds  disclose 
Their  beauties  and  their  prides,   to  our  em* 

braces. 
And  we  the  first  of  nations  find  these  wonders. 

Arm,  These  noble  tlioughts,  sir,  -have  en- 

tic'd  us  forward,  [racles. 

And  minds  unapt  for  ease,  to  see  these  mi* 
In  which  we  find  report  a  poor  relater : 
We  are  arriv'd  among  the  blessed  islands. 
Where  every  wind  that  rises  blows  perfimies. 
And  every  breath  of  air  is  like  an  incense; 
The  treasure  of  the  sun  dwells  here ;  each 
As  if  it  envied  the  old  Paradise,  [tree^ 

Strives  to  bring  forth  inunortai  fruit;  tlie 

spices 
Renewing  nature,  tho'  not  deifying ;   [earth. 
And  when  tliat  falls  by  time,  scorning  the 
The  sullen  earth,  should  taint  or  suck  their 

beauties; 
But  as  we  dream'd,  for  ever  so  preserve  as: 
Nothing  we  see,  but  breeds  an  admiration; 
The  very  rivers,  as  we  float  along,  [court  u&; 
Throw  up  their  pearls,  and  curl  their  heads  to 
The  boweb  of  the  earth  swell  with  the  births 
Of  thousand  unknown  gems,  and  thousand 

riches;  [sure. 

Nothing  that  bears  a  life,  but  brings  a  treap 


expression,  I  fancy,  nor  easily  to  be  exam  pled.    To  preserve  the  delicacy,  as  well  as  pro* 
pnety  of  the  sentiment  here  intended,  I  suspect  the  passage  once  run  thus, 

— a  king  I  would  be, 

A  mighty  king  iDiat  might  command  aflection, 
A  spring  cf'ywik  upon  me  migiit  bewitch  ye,  &c.         Sympson, 
This  is  a  happy  emendation:    and  we  think  meets  confirmation  from  a  passage  in  the 
Night- Walker,  (p.  87;  where  ileartlove,  speaking  of  Maria,  calls  her  «  walking  spring  cf 

*  The 


Aetl.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


99 


The  people  tliey  shew  brave  too,  civil  maiw 

ner'd, 
Proportion'd  like  tlie  masters  of  great  minds; 
The  women,  which  I  wonder  at — 

Fin*  You  speak  well.  [beauteous. 

Arm,   Of  aelicate  aspects,    fair,    clearly 
And,  to  that  admiration,  sweet  and  courteous. 

Fin.  And  is  not  that  a  good  thing?  Brave 

Armusia, 
You  never  saiv  the  court  before  ? 

Am.  No,  certain; 
But  tiiat  I  see  a  wonder  too,  all  excellent. 
The  government  exact — 

Ch-U.  YuQ  shall  9/te  anon  [beauties. 

That  tliat  will  make  you  start  indeed  !  such 
Such  riches,  and  such  form — 

Enter  Bakam,  Sj/ana,  and  Governor. 

Soza,  We're  fire  already ; 
The  wealthy  magazine  of  Aatore  sure 
Inhabita  here. 

Arm.  These  sure  are  all  islanders,  [lovers. 

Jf^'n.  Yes,  and  great  princes  too,  and  lusty 

Arm.  They're  goodly  persons.  What  might 

he  be,  siguor, 
That  bears  so  proud  a  state? 

Pin.  King  of  Bakam, 
A  fellow  tliat  farts  terror. 

Eman.  He  looks  highly; 
Sore  he  was  b^ot  o'th'  top  of  a  steeple. 

Ckris.  It  may  well  be ; 
For  you  shall  hear  him  ring  anon. 

Fin.  That  is  Syana,  [liant. 

And  a  brave-teinper'd  fellow,  and  more  va- 

Soza.  What  rugged  face  is  that? 

Fin.  That's  the  great  governor,         [him. 
The  man  surpriz'd  our  fhend ;  I  told  you  of 

Ann.  H'  has  dangerous  eyes. 

Fin.  A  perilous  tliiefV  and  subtle ! 

Chris.  And,  to  that  subtilty,  a  heart  of  iron. 

Fin.  Yet  the  young  lady  makes  it  melt. 

Arm.  They  start  all, 
And  thander  in  the  eyes. 

Bakam.  Away,  ye  poor  ones ! 
Am  I  in  competition  with  such  bubbles? 
My  virtue  and  my  name  rank*d  with  such 

Svana.  You  speak  loud.  [trifles  ? 

Joakam.  Young  man,  I  will  speak  louder ! 
Can  any  man  but  I  deserve  her  favour, 
You  petty  princes  ? 

Pin.  He  will  put  'em  all  in's  pocket. 

[Princes  Jly  at  one  another. 

Syana.  Thou  pj'oud  mad  thing,  be  not  so 
So  full  of  vanity!  [tuU  of  glory, 

Bakam.  How !  I  contemn  tliee. 
And  time  fort-keeping  fellow ! 


Vin.  How  the  dog  looks. 
The  bandog  governor ! 
Gov.  Ha!  Why? 

Bakam.  Away,  thing,  [royalty  ! 

And  keep  your  rank  with  those  that  fit  your 
Cull  out  the  princess^. 

Gov.  Dost  thou  know  me,  bladder. 
Thou  insolent  imposthume? 

Bakam.  I  despise  tlice.     "^  [baby  ? 

Gov.  Art  thou  acquainted  with  ray  nature, 

With  my  revenge  for  injuries?    Dur'st  tliou 

hold  me 
So  far  behind  rhy  file,  I  cannot  reach  thee  ? 
WImt  canst  thou  merit? 

Bakam.  Merit?  I'm  above  it; 
Tm  equal  w  itli  all  honours,  all  atchievements, 
And  what  is  great  and  worthy;  the  best  doer 
I  keep  at  my  cummand ;  Fortune's  my  servant : 
Tisiftray  power  now  to  despisesuch  wretches. 
To  look  upon  ye  slightly,  and  neglect  ye ; 
And,  but  she  deigns  at  some  hours  to  re- 
member ye. 
And  people  have  bestow'd  some  titles  on  ye, 
I  should  ft>rget  your  nanieSk 

Syana.  Mercy  of  ine  ! 
What  a  blown  tool  luis  self-affection  [mother 
Made  of  this  fellow !  Did  not  the  queen  your 
Long  for  bellows  and  bagpipes  when  she  was 

great  with  you. 
She  brou)j:ht  torth  such  a  windy  birth  ? 

Gov.  'Tis  ten  to  one 
She  eat  a  drum,  and  was  delivered  of  alarum; 
Or  else  lie  was  swaddled  in  an  old  sail  when 

he  was  young'^.  [ditations : 

Sj/ana.  He  swells  too  mainly  with  his  me* 
Faith,  talk  a  littl^  handsomer,  ride  softly 
'I'hat  we  may  be  able  to  hold  way  with  you  ! 
^VeVe  princes ;  [wiser ! 

Hut  those  are  but  poor  things  to  you:  ttilk 
'Vwill  welfbecomc  your  mightiness :  talkiess, 
Jl'hat  men  may  think  you  can  do  more ! 

Gov.  Talk  truth,  [lieve  you  ! 

That  met)  mav  think  you're  honest,  and  be- 
Oi;  talk  yourself  asleep,  for  I  am  weary  of  you, 

Bakam.  Why,  I  can  talk  and  do— 

Girv,  That  would  do  excellent,  [princess,* 

Bakam.  And  tell  you,  only  I  deserve  the 
And  make  good  a/i/y  7,  if  you  dare;  you,  sir; 
Or  you,  Syana*s  prince  ! 

Pin.  Here's  a  storm  toward ; 
Methinks  it  sings  already.  To  him,  governor ! 

Gov.  Here  lies  my  proof.  [Draw. 

Sj/ana.  And  mine. 

Gov.  I'll  he  short  with  you; 
For  these  long  argumenis  i  was  ne'er  good  at. 

Pin,  How  wliite  the  boaster  looks ! 


'  Call  out  the  princess.]  Tis  possible  this  place  may  seem  intire  in  the  judgment  of  my 
readers,  and  so  any  correction  or  attempt  towards  one  needless;  yet,  I  own,  I  don't  think 
so,  but  imagine  the  line  once  run  thus, 

Cull  out  Uie  princess, 
t.  e.  Do  you  pick  out  the  princess  to  tlisgrace  her  with  the  love  of  a  person  so  ev*ry  way  ua« 
worthy  of  her  as  you  are?  Syntpson.  — 

'°  Or  else — ]  Syana  should  begin  here,  and  too  in  the  second  line  should  be  so,    Seward. 
We  cannot  think  so. 

O «  Enter 


100 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS; 


[Acll. 


JE^nter  Uuy  Bias,    QuUaray  Ctuisana^   and 
Panura, 

Arm.  I  see  he  Ucks  faith. 

Ryi/.  For  shame,  forbear,  great  princes; 

rule  your  angers ! 
You  violate  the  freedom  of  this  placft, 
The  state  and  royalty — 

Gov.  He's  well  contented, 
It  seems;  and  &o  I've  done. 

Arm.  Is  this  she,  signor? 

Fin.  This  ib  the  princess,  sir. 

Arm.  She's  sweet  find  goodly. 
An  admirable  fonn;  theyVe  cause  to  justle. 

Quiiar.  Ye  wrong  me  and  my  court,  ye 

fro  ward  princes  I 
Comrs  your  love  wrapt  in  violence  to  seek  us? 
Is't  ti»,  tho'  you  be  great,  my  presence  should 

be 
Stain'd  and  polluted  with^/our  bloody  rages? 
My  privacies  affrighted  wfth  your  swords? 
He  that  Iov«b  me,  loves  my  command :  be 

temper'd, 
Or  be  no  more  what  ye  profess,  my  servants ! 

Omnes.  We're  calm  as  peace. 

Arm.  What  command  she  carries ! 
And  what  a  sparkling  majesty  flies  from  her! 

Quimr.  Is  U  ye  love  to  do?  Ye  shall  find 

danier, 
And  danger  that  shall  start  your  resolutions?* 
But  not  tins  way.    ^is  not  contention  who 

loves 
Me  xxi  my  face  best,  or  who  can  flatter  most, 
Can  carry  me :  he  tliat  deserves  my  favour. 
And  will  enjoy  what  I  bring/  love  and  ma- 
jesty, Fine, 
Must  win  mc  with  his  worth,  must  travel  for 
.  Must  put  his  hasty  rage  ofl^  and  put  on 
A  welj-coqlinn'd,  a  temperate,  and  true  va- 

Omnes.  But  shew  the  way.  [lour. 

Quiwr^  And  will ;  and  tlien  shew  you 
A  will  to  tread  the  way,  I'll  say  ye're  worthy! 

Pin.  What  task  nqw  will  she  turn'em  to? 

These  hot  youths  [eyes„ 

I  fear  will  find  a  cooling  card :  I  read  m  her 
Somethinii;  that  has  some  swinge  must  fly 

amongst  'em : 
By  this  hand,  I  love  her  a  little  now ! 

Quisar.  'Tis  not  unkiiown  to  you 
I  had  a  royal  brother,  now  miserable,  [tious. 
And  prisoner  to  that  man  :  if  I  were  ambir 
Gap'd  f(M'  that  «!;Iory  was  ne'er  born  with  me. 
There  he  should  lie,  i)is  miseries  upon  him; 
If  I  were  covetous,  and  my  heart  set 
On  riches,  and  those  base  effects  that  follow 
On  pleasures  uncontrord,  or  safe  revenges, 
t^        Thejc  he  should  die,  his  death  would  give 
me  all  these ; 
For  then  stood  I  up  absolute  to  do  all : 


Yet  all  these  flatteriag  shows  of  dignity. 
These  golden  dreams  of  greatness,  cannot 

force  me 
To  forget  nature  and  roy  fair  affection : 
Therefore,  that  man  tliat  woald  be  known 

my  lo\"er  fhim. 

Must  be  known  his  redeemer,  and  must  oring 
Either  alive  or  dead,  to  my  embraces 
(For  e'en  his  bones  I  scorn  shall  feel  suck 

slavery), 
Or  seek  another  mistress.  Twill  be  hard 
To  do  tliis,  wondrous  hard,  a  great  adventure. 
Fit  for  a  spirit  of  an  equal  £;reatness ! 
But  being  done,  the  reward  is  worthy  of  it. 

Chris.  How  the^  stand  gaping  all ! 

Quisar.  Ruy  Dias  cold!  [me: 

Not  fly  like  fire  into  it?  May  be,  you  doubt 
He  that  shall  do  this  is  my  husband,  prince' ', 
By  tlie  bright  heavens,  he  is!  by  whose  jus» 
I  openly  proclaim  it:  if  I  lie,  [tice 

Or  seek  to  set  you  on  with  subtilty,  [hood! 
Let  tliat  meet  with  me,  and  reward  my  &1»- 
No  stirring  yet?  no  start  into  a  braverjr? 

Ru^.  Madam,  it  may  be;   but  being  ft 

main  danger,  [u^e. 

Your  grace  must  give  me  leave  to  look  about 
And  take  a  little  time :  the  cause  will  ask  it; 
Great  acts  require  great  counsels. 

Quisar,  Take  your  pleasure ! 
I  fear  the  Portugal. 

Bakam.  Fll  raise  an  anny 
That  shall  bring  back  his  island,  fort  aod  all. 
And  fix  it  here. 

Gov.  How  long  will  this  be  doing?  [days. 
You  should  have  begun  in  your  grand  lather's 

S^ana.  What  niay  be,  [lady — 

And  wh.tt  my  power  can  promise,  noblest 
My  will  I'm  sure  stands  fair. 

Quisar.  Fair  be  your  fortune ! 
Few  promises  are  best,  and  fair  performance. 

G(/o.  These  cannot  do ;  their  power  and 

arts  are  weak  ones  !  [ther, 

Tis'  in  my  will;  I  have  this  king  your  bro» 
He  is  roy  prisoner;  I  accept  your  proffer, 
And  bless  the  fair  occasion  tliat  atchiev*d  him : 
I  love  you,  and  I  honour  you.  But  speak, 
Whetljcr  alive  or  dead  he  shall  be  render'd. 
And  see  how  readily,  how  in  an  instant. 
Quick  as  your  wishes,  lady — 

Quisar.  No;  I  scorn  you, 
You  and  your  courtesy !  I  hate  your  love,  sir ; 
And  ere  I  would  so  basely  win  his  liberty, 
rd  study  to  forget  he  was  my  brother. 
By  force  he  was  ta'en ;  he  that  shall  enjoy 

mc,  [me. 

Shall  fetch  him  back  by  forced  orneverkuow 

Pin.  As  I  live,  a  rare  wench  ! 

Arm.  She  has  a  noble  spirit. 

Gov.  By  force? 


"  Is  my  husband  prince.]  Ruy  Dias  appears  only  to  have  been  the  general  of  the  Portu- 
gals,  not  a  prince:  this  speech  therefore  is  made  to  all  xhe  suitors,  and  should  run. 
Is  my  husband,  princes.  Scicard. 

The  whole  speech  is  apparently  addressed  to  Ruy  Dias;  and  Quisara  certainly  meansi, 
though  perhaps  not  very  correctly,  to  call  him/;ri7?cc. 

Quisar^ 


Aett] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


101 


Qfttsar,  Yes,  ait,  by  ibrce^  and  make  you 

To  let  him  gQ.  [glad  too 

Gov.  U  w!  You  may  look  nobler  on  me, 

Aod  think  me  no  such  boy :  by  force  he  must 

For  your  love  much  may  be.  [not ; 

Q^itar»  Put  up  your  passion, 
Aodfiack  you  home!  I  say,  byforce,  and 

suddenly; 

He  lies  there  till  he  rots  else !  Tho'  I  love  him 

Most  tendorly  and  dearly,  as  a  brother^ 

Ajid  out  of  these  respects  wouid  joy  to  see  liim , 

j    Yet,  to  re«^eive  him  as  thy  courtesy,       [him, 

i    With  all  the  honour  thou  couldst  add  unto 

'    From  his  hands  that  most  hates  him,  I  bad 

rather 
i    (Tbo*  no  condition  were  propounded  for  Um) 
'    See  him  far  sunk  i*  th'  earth,  and  there  forget 

him! 
I       Pin,  Your  hopes  are  gelt,  good  governor. 
I       Arm,  A  rare  woman ! 
I       Gov,  Lady, 
ni  pfdl  this  pride,  Fll  quench  this  bravery, 
And  turn  your  glorious  scorn  to  tears  and 
bowlings; 
'    I  will,  proud  princess!  This  neglect  of  me 
I    Shall  make  thy  brother-king  most  miserable, 
;    Shall  tarn  him  into  curses 'gainst  thy  cruelty : 
I    For  where  before  I  us'd  him  like  a  king, 
And  did  those  royal  offices  unto  him, 
Now  he  shall  lie  a  sad  lump  in  a  dungeon, 
Loaden  with  chains  and  fetters;  cold  and 
hunger,     ^  [nions. 

I    Darkness,  and  lingring  death,  for  his  compa- 
And  let  me  see  who  dare  attempt  his  rescue, 
What  desp'rate  fool  look  toward  it!  Farewell, 
And  when  thou  know'st  him  thus,  lament 
I       thy  follies! 

I  Nay,  I  will  make  thee  kneel  to  take  my  offer: 
'  Once  more  farewell,  and  put  thy  trust  m  pup- 
fils!  [Exit. 


Quimr.  If  none  dare  undertake*t,  111  live 

Bakam.  You  cannot  want.       [a  mourner. 

Smna.  You  must  not. 

Huy,  Tis  most  dangerous^  [counsel; 

And  wise  men  would  proceed  with  care  ahd 
Yet  some  way  'would  I  knew.    Walk   with 

me,  gentlemen!  [Exeunt* 

Manent  Armusia  and  his  Companions, 

Arm,  How  do  you  like  her  spirit? 

Soza.  'Tis  a  clear  one,  [honour. 

Clogg'd  with   no  dirty  stuff;  she's  all  pure 

Eman^  The  bravest  wench  I  ever  look'd  upon, 

And  of  the  strongest  parts!  She  is  most  fair; 

Yet  her  mind  such  a  mirror — 

Arm,  What  an  action  {^^^Jt 

Would  this  be  to  put  forward  on,  what  a 
And  what  an  everlasting  wealth  to  end  it! 
Methinks  my  soul  is  strangely  rais'd. 

Soza,  To  step  into't,  [terraiu'd. 

Just  while  they  think ;  and,  ere  they  liave  de- 
To  bring  the  king  off! 

Arm.  Things  have  been  done  as  dangerous. 

Eman.    And  prospered   best,   when  they 

were  least  considerd.    [friends,  assist  me ! 

Arm,  Bless  in^?,  my  hopes !  and  you,  my 
None  but  our  companions — 

Soza,  You  deal  wisely,  [with  us! 

A4|d,  if  we  shrink,  tlie  name  of  slaves  die 

jSman,  Stay  not  for  second  thoughts. 

Arm,  I  am  detenninM :  [ant. 

And,  tho'  I  lose,  it  shall  be  sung,  I  was  vali-. . 
And  my  brave  offer  shall  be  turn'd  to  story. 
Worthy  the  princess*  tongue.  A  boat!  that's 

all  [chants! 

That's  unprovided;  and  habits  like  to  m<^r» 
The  rest  wc'l!  counsel  as  we  go, 

Soza.  Away  then !  [win  her. 

Fortune  looks  fair  on  those  make  haste  to 

[Exeunt, 


ACT    II. 


Enter  Keeper  and  two  or  three  Moors. 

Keeper.  T  HAVE  kept  many  a  man,  and 

'-     many  a  great  one. 
Yet,  I  confess,  I  never  saw  before 
A  man  of  such  a  sufferance :  he  lies  now 
Where  I'd  not  lay  my  dog  (for  sure  'twould 

kill  him;,  [him. 

Where  neither  light  or  comfort  can  come  near 
Nor  air  nor  earth  that's  wholesome.     It 

grieves  me 
To  see  a  mighty  king,  with  all  his  glory, 
Sank  o*th'  sudden  to  the  bottom  of  a  dungeon. 
Whither  should  We  descend,  that  are  poor 

rascals. 
If  we  had  our  deserts^ 

1  Afoor.  'TIS  a  strange  wonder !    [tempts, 
I^^ad  him  with  irons^  oppress  him  ]/vith  cou- 


(Which  are  the  governor's  commands)  give 

him  nothing, 
Or  so  little,  to  sustain  life,  'tis  next  nothing. 
They  stir  not  him ;  he  smiles  upon  his  mise- 
ries, [nature 
And  bears  'em  with  such  strength  as  if  his 
Had  been  nurs'd  up  and  fostcr'd  with  cala- 
mities,                                      [repines  not, 
2  Jlioor.  He  gives  no  ill  words,  curses,  nor 
Blames  nothing,  hopes  in  nothing,  we  can 
hear  of;                                           [nothing. 
And,  in  the  midst  of  all  these  frights,  fears 

Keeper,  Fll  be  sworn 
He  fears  not;  for  e'en  when  I  shake  for  him, 
(As  many  times  my  pity  will  compel  me) 
When  other  souls^  that  bear  not  half  his  bur- 
'    den,  [oppressions. 

Shrink  in  their  poi^-crs^  and  burst  with  their 

Tlien 


lOS 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


[Act  2. 


Hien  will  he  sin^  wooe  his  afflictions, 
AimI  court  ^em  in  sad  airs,  as  if  he  would 
wed  'em.  [y^>  ^^  *<*  only 

1  Moor.  That's  more  than  we  have  heard 
Appointed  for  his  guard,  but  not  so  near  him : 
If  we  CQuld  hear  that  wonder — 

Keeper.  Many  times 
I  fear  the  ^vemor  should  come  to  know  it; 
For  his  voice  su  affects  me,  so  delights  me, 
Tliat  when  I  find  his  hour,  Fve  music  ready, 
And  it  stirs  roe  infinitely.    Be  but  still  and 
And  you  may  chan ce  to  hear.  [private, 

[King  appears  loaden  with  ciaifU,  his 
head  and  arms  only  above. 
5  Moor.  We  will  not  stir,  sir.    [blame  it? 
Tliis  is  a  sudden  change;   but  who  dares 
Keeper.  Now  hark  end  melt!  for  I  am  sure 
I  shall. 
Stand  silent !  what  stubborn  weight  of  chains— 

1  Moor.  Yet  he  looks  temperately. 
,  2  Moor.  His  eyes  not  sunk,  and  his  com- 
plexion finn  still, 
No  wildness,  no  distempered  touch  upon  him  : 
How  constantly  he  smues,  and  how  undaunt- 
ed! : 
Witli  what  a  majesty  he  heaves  his  head  up! 

[Music. 

Keeper.  Now,  mark!  I  know  hell  sing;  do 

not  disturb  him. —         [it  were  morefipir, 

Your  allowance  firom  the  governor !    'Would 

Or  in  my  power  to  make  it  handsomer ! 

King.  Do  not  transgress  thy  charge !  I  take 

liis  bounty. 

And,  Fortune,  whilst  I  bear  a  mind  contented. 

Not  leaven'd  with  the  glory  I  am  fallen  from. 

Nor  hang  upon  vain  hopes  that  may  corrupt 

me, 
Thou  art  my  slave,  and  I  appear  above  thee  '^  I 
Enter  Governor. 


Keeper.  The  governor  himself! 


[service? 


JKi'jt^.  Mock,  mopk!  it  mores  not  me,  si|^ 

Thy  mirths,  as  do  thy  mischiefii,  fly  behind  me. 

Uov.  Yon  carr/t  handsomely.    But  teU 

me,  patience. 
Do  not  yon  curse  the  brave  and  royal  hdr. 
Your  gracious  sister  ?  don't  yon  damn  herpity^ 
Damn  twenty  times  a-day,  and  damn  it  se^ 

riously? 
Do  not  you  swear  aloud  too,  cry  and  kickF 
The  very  soul  sweat  in  thee  with  the  agony 
Of  her  contempt  of  me?  Couldst  not  thou 

eat  her 
•  For  being  so  injurious  to  thy  fortune. 
Thy  lair  and  happy  fortune?  Couldst  not 

thou  wish  her  [her, 

A  bastard,  or  a  whore  Fame  might  proclaim 
Black  ugly  Fame,  or  that  th'hadst  no  sister? 
Snitting  the  general  name  out,  and  the  nature, 
Blaspheming  Heav'n  for  roalung  such  a  mis- 
chief. 
For  ^vine  power  to  pride, and  will  to  woman? 

Ktn0.  No,  tyrant,  no  1  I  bless  and  love  her 

for  It: 
And,  tho*  her  scorn  of  thee  had  laid  up  forme 
As  many  plagues  as  the  corrupted  air  breeds, 
As  many  miscliiefs  as  the  hours  have  minutes, 
As  many  forms  of  death  as  doubt  can  figure; 
Tet  I  should  love  her  more  still,  and  more  ho- 
nour her. 
All  thou  canst  lay  upon  me  cannot  bend  me; 
No,  not  the  stroke  of  death,  that  I  despise  too; 
For  if  fear  could  possess  me,  thou  hadst  won 

me:  ^ 

As  little  finom  this  hour  I  prize  thy  flatteries. 
And  less  than  those  thy  prayers,  tho'  thou 

wouldst  kneel  to  me ! 
And  if  she  be  not  mistress  of  this  nature. 
She's  none  of  mine,  no  kin,  and  I  contemnher. 
.   Gov.  Are  you  so  valiant,  sir? 

King,  Yes,  and  so  fortunate ; 
For  he  that  holds  his  constancy,  still  conquers. 
Hadst  thou  preserv'xi  me  as  a  noble  enemy. 
And,  as  at  first,,  made  my  restraint  seem  to 
But  only  as  the  shadow  of  captivity,  [me 
I  had  still  spoke  thee  noble,  still  declared  thee 
A  valiant,  great,  and  worthy  man,  still  lov'd 

thee. 
And  still  preferred  thy  fair  love  to  my  sister; 
But  to  compel  this  from  me  with  a  misery, 
A  most  inhuman  and  unhandsome  slavery — 

Gov.  You  will  relent,  for  all  this  talk,  I 
And  put  your  wits  a-work  again,    [fear  not. 


Gov.  What,  at  your  banoaet? 
And  in  such  state,  and  witli  bUch  cliange  of 

King.  Nature's  no  glutton,  sir;  a  little 

serves  her. 

Gov.  This  diet's  wholesome  then  ? 

King.  1  beg  no  better.  [less  next ; 

Gov.  A  calm  contented  mind  I  Give  him 
These  full  meals  will  oppress  his  health;  his 

grace 
Is  of  a  tender  and  pure  constitution  ; 
And  such  repletions— 

'*  King.  Do  not  transgreu  thy  charge,  I  take  his  bounty, 
Andjortune,  whilst  I  bear  a  mind  contented. 
Not  leaven'dwith  the  glory  I  am  fallen  from. 
Nor  hang  upon  vain  hopes,  that  may  corrupt  me. 

Enter  Governor.  " 

Gov.  Thou  art  my  slave,  and  I  appear  above  thee.]  The  editors  of  1750  propose  different 
vamtions  in  the  speech  of  tlie  King;  but  they  need  no  recital  when  the  real  cause  of  tl« 
obscurity  is  discovered,  which  is,  tliat  the  Governor  has  been  hitherto  set  down  to  speak  the 
last  line  of  the  King's  apostrophe  to  JForfiine.— What  a  contemptible  boast  does  this  lin« 
appear  when  commg  from  the  Governor,  (who  is  in  no  other  place  held  forth  as  aJhoL 
tliough  a  tyrant)  but  how  finely  does  it  conclude  the  unfortunate  monarch's  address !     jr.  N. 

King, 


id  9.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


loa 


JGtf.  You're  oozen'd: 
Or,  if  I  were  so  weak  to  be  wrought  to  it, 
5o  feuiiil  to  give  way  to  so  much  poverty, 
Hoirlafaoold  curse  berhear^if  she  consented ! 

God,  You  shall  write,  and  entreat,  or — 

Kmg,  Do  thy  utmost,  [thee. 

AsdeVa  in  au  tliy  tortures,  ni  laugh  at 
m  tittuk  thee  no  more  valiant,  but  a  vfllain ; 
NoduDg  thou  hast  done  hrave,  but  like  a  thief, 
Atcbiev'd  by  craft,  and  kept  by  cruelty; 
Nothing  tliou  canst  deserve,  thou  art  unho- 

Dest;  [barous. 

Nor  no  way  live  to  build  a  name,  thou'rt  bar- 

Gon.  Down  widi  him  low  enoc^h,  there 

let  him  murmur ! 
And  see  his  diet  be  so  light  and  little,  [you, 
He  erow  not  thus  hieh^hearted  on*t !  Ill  cool 
And  make  you  cry  for  mercy,  and  be  ready 
To  work  my  ends  and  willingly:  and  your 

sister  ta'eo  down. 
Your  scornful,  cruel  sister,  shall  repent  too, 
And  sue  to  me  for  grace.  Give  him  no  liberty. 
Bat  let  his  bands  be  doubled,  his  ease  lessen'd, 
Notfaioe  bis  heart  desires,  but  vex  and  tor- 
tare  bim!  [ture 
let  him  not  sleep;  nothing  that's  dear  to  na- 
let  him  enjoy ;  yet  take  heed  thi^  he  die  not; 
Keep  him  as  near  death,  and  as  willing  to  em-< 

hraceit, 
latsee  be  arrive  not  at  it !  I  will  humbte  him. 
And  her  stout  heart  that  stands  on  such  de- 
fiance: .  [ture, 
And  let  me  s^  her  champions  that  dare  ven- 
Her  high  aaSbiighty  wooers !  Keep  your 
I     goards  close, 

I  And  as  you  love  your  lives,  be  diligent, 
I  And  what  I  chai«;e  obser\e ! 

Onm.  We  shall  be  dutiful. 
.  Gov,  III  pull  your  courage,  king,  and  all 

your  bravery!         .  ]^ExU. 

'     XMoor.  Mwcertain  he's  resolv'd,  nothing 

cin  stir  him; 
f  For,  if  he  had  but  any  part  about  him  [thus, 
!  Cave  way  to  fear  or  hope,  he  durst  not  talk 
And  do  thus  stoutly  too:  as  willingly, 
Aod  quietly  he  sunk  down  to  his  sorrows, 
A$  some  men  to  their  sleeps. 
'     J^iUper,  Yesj  and  sleeps  with 'em, 
(80  little  he  regards  thera,  there's  the  wonder) 
And  often  soundly  sleeps.    'Would  I  durst 

pity  him,  [vants, 

■  Or 'would  'twere  in  my  will — But  we  are  ser- 
And  tied  anto  command. 

8  Moor,  I  wish  him  belter, 
Bntmuch  I  fear  h'  has  found  hib  tomb  already. 
"C  must  observe  our  guards. 

I  ^foor.  He  cannot  lust  long; 
And  when  he's  dead,  lie's  free. 

^per.  That's  the  most  cruelty, 
TlatVe  must  keep  him  living. 

*'  Than  ifxce  led  our  armks!\  As  these  are  private  adventurers,  not  generals  of  armies, 
^  seeiaj  a  flattening  e;spletive,  and  was  probably'  a  mistake  for  o'er,  they  having  croto'd 
*«5ca.        Seword. 

^^e  have  varied  our  to  ouf,  wliich  we  do  not  doubt  is  genuine. 

The 


S  Moor.  That's  as  he  please; 
For  that  man  that  resolves  needs  no  physi- 
cian. [JSrcttnf. 

Enter  ArrnimOy  Soza,  and  Emanuel,  like  Mer* 
'      chant9,  am! d  underneath. 

Arm,  Our  prosperous  passage  was  an  omen 
A  lucky  and  a  fair  omen.  [to  us^ 

Onrnes.  We  believe  it. 
Arm,  The  sea  and  wind  strove  who  should 
most  befriend  us; 
And,  as  they  farour'd  our  design,  and  lovM  us. 
So  lead  us  forth — ^Where  lies  the  boat  that 
brought  us?  [the  castle, 

Soza,  Safe  lodg'd  within  the  reeds,  close  by 
That  no  eye  can  suspect,  nor  thought  come 
near  it. 

Eman,  But  where  ha*^ou  been,  brave  sir  ? 
Arm,  l\e  broke  the  ice,  boys,  [it ! 

I  have  begun  the  game ;  fair  fortune  guide 
Suspectless  have  T  travell'dvall  the  town  thro'. 
And  in  this  merchant's  shape  won  much  ac- 
quaintance, [befriend  us, 
Snrvey'd  each  strengdi  and  place  that  may 
ViewM  all  his  magazines,  got  perfect  know- 
ledge [it. 
Of  where  the  prison  is,  and  what  powerguards 
Soza.  These  will  be  strong  attempts. 
Arm,  Courage  is  strong : 
WHit  we  began  with  policy,  ii^  dear  friends. 
Let's  end  with  manly  force  I  There's  no  re-* 
Unless  It  be  with  shi^ne.                     [tiring, 
Eman.  Shame's  his  that  hopes  it.    . 
Arm,  Better  a  few,  and  clearer  fione  will 
follow  us,                                             [ries, 
However,  lose  or  win,  and  speak  our  memo- 
Thau  if  we  led  out  armies'-' :  things  done  thus. 
And  of  this  noble  weight,  will  stile  us  worthies. 
Soza.  Direct,  and  we  have  done;  bring  us 
And  if  wc  flinch,  or  fail—          [to  execute. 
Arm.  I'm  sure  ye  dare  not :                   [us 
Then  furtlier  know,  and  let  no  ear  be  near 
That  may  be  fiUse — 

Eman. '  Speak  boldly  on ;  we*re  honest. 
Our  lives  and  fortunes  yours. 

ArtH.  Hard  by  the  place  then  [men, 

Where  alibis  treasure  lies,  his  arms,  his  wo- 
Close  by  the  prison  too  where  he  keeps  tlie 

king,  ^ 

I've  hir'd  a  lodging,  as  a  trading  merchant; 
A  cellar  to  that  too,  to  stow  ray  wares  in. 
The  very  wall  of  which  joins  to  his  storehouse. 
Soza.  What  of  all  this? 
Arm.  Yfc*re  dull,  if  y' apprehend  not. 
Into  that  cellar,  elected  friends,  I  have  con- 
vey'd, 
And  unsuspected  too,  that  that  will  do  it, 
Tliat  that  will  make  all  shake,  and  smoke  too. 
Eman.  Ha!  [my  practice: 

Arm.  My  thoughts  have  not  oeea  idle,  nur 


104 


TBE  ISLAND  PBINCBSS. 


[Act% 


The  fire  I  brought  here  with  me  shall  do 
8oinethin|,  [ones, 

Shall  burst  into  material  flames,  and  bright 
That  all  the  island  shall  stand  wondring  at  it, 
As  if  they  had  been  stricken  with  a  comet. 
Powder  is  ready,  and  enough,  to  work  it; 
The  match  is  left  a-fire,  all,  all  hush'd^  and 

lock'd  close. 
No  man  suspecting  what  I  am,  but  merchant. 
An  hour  lieuce,  my  brave  friends^  look  for 

the  fury, 
,  The  fire  to  light  bs  to  our  honour'd  purpose ; 
For  by  that  time  'twill  take! 
Soza,  What  are  our  duties? 
Arm,  When  all  are  full  of  fear  and  firight, 
thegovemor 
Out  of  his  wits,  to  see  the  flames  so  iniperious^ 
Ready  to  turn  to  ashes  all  he  \Yorships, 
And  all  the  people  there  to  stop  these  ruins^ 
No  man  regarding  auy  private  office. 
Then  fly  we  to  the  prison  suddenly ! 
Here's  one  has  found  the  way,  and  dares  di- 
rect us.  \l  long  for  it. 
Eman.  Then  to  our  swords  ana  good  hearts! 
Arm,  Certain  we  shall  not  find  much  op- 
But  what  is,  must  be  forc'd.  [position; 

Soza,  Tis  bravely  cast,  sir; 
And  surely  too,  I  hope. 

Arm,  It  the  fire  fail  not,  [presently. 

And  powder  hold  his  nature.    Some  must 
Upon  the  first  cry  of  th'  amazed  people, 
(For  nothing  will  be  mark'd  then,  but  the 

misery) 
Be  ready  with  the  boat  upon  an  instant; 
And  then  all's  right  and  fair. 
Efnan,  Bless  us,  dear  Fortune! 
Arm.  Let  us  be  worthy  of  it  in  our  cou- 
rage, [sever; 
And  Fortune  must  befriend  us.    Come,  all 
But  keep  still  within  sight  t  when  the  fltame 
Let's  meet,  and  either  do,  or  die !        [rises, 
Soza,  So  be  it!                             [Exeunt, 

Enter  Governor  and  Captain, 

Gov.    No,  captain,  for  those  troops,  we 

need 'em  not;  [furies: 

The  town  is  strong  enougn  to  stand  their 

I'd  see  them  come,  and  ofler  to  do  some- 

They're  high  in  words.  [thing. 

Capt.  'Tis  safer,  sir,  than  doing. 

Gov.  Dost  think  they  dare  attempt? 

Capt.  May  be  by  treaty,  [ward. 

But  sure  by  force  they  will  not  prove  so  for- 

Gov.  No,  faith, 
I  warrant  thee,  they  know  mc  well  enough, 
And  know  they  have  no  child  in  hand  to  play 
with.  [of  em, 

Thev  know  my  nature  too ;  I  have  bit  some 
And  to  the  bones;  tiiey've  reason  to  remem- 
ber me. 
It  makes  me  laugh  to  think  how  glorious 
The  fooU  are  in  their  promises,  and  how  preg- 
nant 


Their  wits  and  powers  are  to  brmg  things  to 

pass: 
Am  I  not  grown  lean  with  loss  of  sleep,  anii 

care 
To  prevent  these  threatnings,  captain? 

Capt.  You  look  well,  sir: 
Upon  my  conscience,  youre  not  like  to  sickeri 
Upoivany  such  conceit. 

Gov.  1  hope  I  shall  not. —  [have  her^ 
Well,  'would  I  had  this  wench!  for  I  must 
She  must  be  mine:  and  there's  another  chai^ge, 

captain;  [thing '«; 

What  betwixt  love  and  brawling,  1  gel  no- 
AIL  goes  in  maintenance — ^Hark!  What  was 

that,  [The  train  taktt. 

That  noise  there  ?  It  went  with  a  violence. 

Capt.  Some  old  wall  belike,  sir^ 
That  had  no  neighbour^help  to  hold  it  Dp, 
Is  fisillen  suddenly. 

Gov.  I  must  discard  these  rascafs. 
That  are  not  able  to  maintain  their  buildings; 
They  blur  the  beauty  of  the  town. 

Within,  Fire,  fire! 

Gov,  I  hear  another  tune,  good  captain ! 
It  comes  on  fresher  still  ;^  'tis  loud  and  fearful. 
Look  up  into  the  town;  how  bright  the  air 

shews!  [too? 

I^pon  my  life,  some  sudden  fire!  The  bell 
[Exit  Captain,  Beil  rings. 
I  hear  the  noise  more  clear. 

Enter  Citizens, 
Cit,  Fire,  fire !   . 

Gov.  Where?  where?  #  [sir. 

Cit,  Suddenly  taken  in  amerdiant'shouse. 

Fearful  and  high  it  blazes.  Help,  tood  peo- 
ple! [smother! 
Gap.  Pox  o' their  paper-houses !  how  they 

They  light  like  candles!  How  the  roar  still 
rises! 

Enter  Captain. 

Capt.  Your  magazine's  a-fire,  sir ;  heFp, 

help  suddenly ! 
Tlie  castle  too  is  in  danger,  in  much  danger: 
All  will  be  lost !  Get  the  people  presently. 
And  ail  that  are  your  guard.'  and  all  help, 

all  hands,  sir !  [town  pcrish'd. 

Your  wealth,  your  strength,  is  burnt  else,  the 
The  castle  now  begins  to  flame. 

Gov.  My  soul  siiakes! 

Capt.  A  merchant's  house  next  joining? 

Shame  light  on  him ! 
That  ever  such  a  neighbour,  such  a  villain— 

Gov.  llai.se   all  the  garrison,  and  bring 

'em  up, 

Enter  other  Citizens, 

And  beat  the  people  forward  !--0h,  Fvc 
lost  all  [citizens, 

In  one  house,  all  my  hopes.    Good  worthy 

Follow  roe  all,  and  all  your  powers  give  to 
me! 

I  will  reward  you  all.    Oh !  cursed  fi:>rtQnc! 


*♦  I  got  nothing.]  Corrected  by  Sympson* 


The 


Act  8.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


t05 
Put  your  l^a 


The  flame^s  more  violent  f^ A  ri9t!^StilI 

help,  help,  citizens !  foh,  follow ! 

Freedamand  wealth  to  him  that  helps !  Follow, 
fling  wine,  or  any  thing;  1*11  sec  it  recOm- 

penft'd. 
Backets^  more  buckets !  Fire,  fire,  fire ! 

[Exeunt  cnrntt. 

Enter  Armusia  and  his  Compimy. 

Arm,  IdBi  it  flame  on  i  a  comely  light  it 
To  our  discovery.  [e^vea  ap 

Sua.  Hark,  [ward  fairly! 

What  a  merry  erf  these  hounds  make!  For- 
We  are  not  seem  iW  mist,  we  are  not  noted. 
Away,  asray !  Now  if  we  lose  our  fortune  — 

[Exeunt, 

Enter  Captain  and  Citizens, 

Capt.  Up,  soldiers,  up,  and  deal  like  men ! 

Cit,  More  water,  more  water !  all  is  con« 

sum'd  else.  ~  .        fstmight ; 

Ctq)t,  All's  t(one,  unless  you  undertake  it 
Yov  wealth  too,  that  must  preserve,  and 
*  pay  your  labour  '^. 
Bnvely.    Up, up,  away!  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Armmia  and  his  Company,  breaking 
open  a  door. 

Arm,  So,  tliou  arc  open.    Keep  the  miy 

clear  behind  still ! 
Now  for  the  place ! 

Sold.  Tis  here,  sir. 

Arm.  Surq  this  is  it. 
Force  ope^he  door! — A  miserable  creature ! 
Yet,  by  his  manly  face —  [The  king  discovered. 

King,  Why  stare  ve  on  me  ? 
You  cannot  pnt  on  nces  to  affright  me ; 
In  death  I  am  a  king  still,  and  contemn  ye. 
Where  is  that  goveraor?  Methinks  his  man- 
hood 
Should  be  well  pleased  to  see  my  tragedy. 
And  come  to  oathe  his  stem  eyes  in  my 

BQRowrc  [with  him^ 

I  dare  him  tb  the  sight ;  bring  his  scorns 
Asd  all  his  ragged  threats.*  Here's  a  throat, 

soldiers: 
Come,  see  who  can  strike  deepest ! 

£iiaii.  Break  the  chain  there. 

Wmg,  What  does  this  mean  ? 

Amu  Come,  talk  of  no  more  governors ! 

'^  The  flames  more  violent;  arise  stilly  help,  &c.]  This  appears  to  be  a  very  confus'd  pas-^ 
sage,  what  is  Arise  still,  help  f  To  set  the  place  right,  I  propose  reading,  by  only  dashing  out 
an  apostrophe  mid  removing  a  semicolon,  thus; 

The  fLunes  more  violent  arise  still;  help,  help,— 
And  then  the  whole  appears  easy  and  natural.        Sympson, 

We  think  the  present  punctuation  obviates  every  ditiiculty. 

'• straight;    . 

Your  wealth  too,  that  must  preserve  and  pay  your  labour — ]  Tis  evident  at  first  sight, 
diat  this  passage  is  r.onsense :  '  All's  consumed  and  gone,  says  the  Captain,  unless  you 
'  undertake  the  extinEuishiiig  of  tlic  fire ;  nay  your  wealth  too  is  perislixi,  which  must  pre- 
'  serve  and  pay  your  labour.'  "  Your,  wealth  that  must  preserve  your  labour.''  The  poets 
•extaioly  never  wrote  so,  but  possibly  might  express  themselves  thus,      • 

Your  wealth  too,  that  preserved  must  pay  your  labours.        Sytnpson, 

'^  Tkdu  liesty  I  think  abominably, ^  Amended  in  1759. 

VOL.IIL  P  .  Beea 


H'has  other  busintity 

forward. 

And  eather  up  your  courage,  like  a  man  I 
We'll  Gsurry  off  your  head  else.     We  ara 

friendsy 
And  come  to  give  your  soirowt  ease. 

Soza.  On  bravely.'' 
Delays  may  lose  again. 

Enter  Guard, 

Arm,  I'he  guard  I 

Soz^  Upon  'em  I 

Arm,  Make  speedy  and  sure  work. 

Eman.  They  fly. 

ilrm.  Up  withhim,         ^  [speedy! 

And  to  the  boat.  Stand  fast!  Now  bo 
When  this  heat's  past,  we'll  sing  our  history. 
Away,  like    thoughts !  sudden  as  desires, 

friends ! 
Now,  sacred  chance,  be  ours ! 

Soza.  Pray  when  we've  done,  sir. 

[Exeunt, 

Enter  three  or  four  Citizens  severally, 

1  Cit,  Wliat,  is  the  fire  aUa/d? 

2  Cit,  Tis  out,  'tis  out. 

Or  past  the  worst.    I  never  did  so  stoutly, 
I'll  assure  you,  neighbours,  since  I  was  a  man: 
I  have  been  burnt  at  both  ends  like  a  squib; 
I  liv'd  two  hours  i'  th'  fire.    Twas  a  hideous 

matter; 
But  when  men  of  understanding  come  about 

it,         ^  [over, 

Men  that  judge  of  things— My  wife  gave  me 
And  took  her  leave  a  hundred  times;  I  bore 
And  toss'd  the  buckets,  boys !  [up  stilly 

3  Cit,  We're  all  mere  martins.       (nurry, 
1  Cit,  I  heard  a  voice  at  latter  end  o'  th' 

(Or  else  I  dream'd  I  heard  it)  that  said 

2  Cit,  Tis  like  enough  [treason. 
It  might  cry  murder  too;  for  there  were  many 
Wit]K>ut  a  joint:  but  what  is  that  to  us? 
Let's  home  and  Aright  our  wives !  for  we  look 
Like  devils. 

Enter  three  Women, 

3  Cit,  Here  com^  some  of 'em  to  fright  us. 

1  Worn,    Mine's'  alive,    neighbour. — Oh, 
sweet  honey  husband !  £tliou  hadst 

2  Cit,  Thou  liest !  I  stink  abonunably ' ^ :  an 


106 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


Been  in  my  place,  thou  wouldst  have  stunk 
at  both  ends.  [drink, 

Get  me  sotne  drink,  gite  me  whole  tuns  of 

Vf^4)ole  cisterns!  for  I  have  four  dozen  of  fine 
firebrands  Jthan  would 

In  my  belly:  I  havejnore  smoke  in  my  mouth 

Biote  a  hundred  herrings. 
-  2  Worn.  Art  thou  come  safe  again  ? 
3  Worn,  I  pray  you  what  became  of  my 
man?  Is  he  welP^f         [well,  neighbour: 
2  Cit.  At  heart's  ease  in  a  well;  is  very 

We  left  him  drinking  of  a  new  dozen  of 
buckets.  fn  asted, 

Thy  husband's    happy,    he  was    thorough 

And  now  he's  basting  of  himself  at  all  points: 

The  clerk  and  he  are  cooling  their  peri- 
craniums.  [codpiece. 

Bodyo'  me,  neighbours,  there's  hre  mmy 
t  WoiTL  filcss  my  husband  ! 

2  Cit.  Blow  it  out,  wife !  Blow,  blow,  the 
gable  end  o'  th'  story-house  ! 

Women.  Some  water,  water,  water ! 

3  Cit.  Peace  !  'tis  hut  a  sparkle ; 

Raise  not  the  town  again ;  'twill  be  a  great 

hindrance.  [lolt — 

I'm  glad  'tis  out;  an't  had  ta'en  in  my  hay- 
What  frights  are  these**?  marry.   Heaven 

bless  thy  modicum  !  [put  me 

.     3  WomJ  But  is  a  drown'd  outright^  pray 
Out  of  fear,  neighbour. 

2  Cit.  Thou  wonldst  have  it  so; 
But  after  a  hundred  fii-cs  more,  he'll  live  to 

see  thee 
Burnt  for  brewing  musty  liquor. 

1  Cit,  Come,  let's  go,  neighbour! 

2  Cit.  For  I  would  very  fein  turn  down 
this  liquor. 

Come,  come ;  I  fry  like  a  burnt  marrowbone. 
Women, ^et you  afore,  and. draw  upon  us! 
Run,  wenches,  run,  and  let  your  taps  run 

with  ye ; 
Run  as  the  fire  were  in  your  tails,  cry  ale,  ale ! 

Won,en,   Away;   lets    nourish   the   poor 

wretches ! 

2  Cit,  We'll  rally  up  the  rest  of  the  burnt 

regiment.  [Exeunt, 

Enter    Governor,    Captainy    Soldiers,   and 
Guard, 

Gov,  The  fire's  qucnch'd,  captain,  but  the 
mischief  hangs  still : 

The  king's  redeem'd,  and  gone  too !  A  trick, 
a  damn'd  one ! 

*0h,  I  am  overtaken  poorly,  tamely! 

Cnpt,  Where  were  the  guard  that  waited 
upon  the  prison  ?  [and  they  deliver. 

Sold.  Most  of 'em  slain;  yet  some  scap'd,sir, 


{Act  2. 

They  saw  a  little  boat  ready  to  receive  him. 
And  those  redeem'd  him,  making  such  haste 

and  fighl^Dg, 
Fighting  beyond  the  force  of  men-^ 

Gov,  I'm  lost,  captain,  [scorn  me; 

And  all  the  world  will  laugh  at  this,  and 
Count  me  a  heavy  sleepy  fool,  a  cowaitl, 
A  coward  past  recovery,  aconfinn'd  coward. 
One  without  carriage,  or  common  sense ! 

Sold.  He's  gone,  sir. 
And  put  to  sea  amain,  past  our  recovery; 
Not  a  boat  ready  to  pursue :  if  there  were 

any, 
The  people  stand  amaz'd  so  at  their  valour, ' 
And  the  sudden  flight  of  fire,  none  knows  to 

execute.  [my  hoys'  brains 

Gov.  Oh,  I  could  tear  my  umbs,  and  knock 
'Gainst  every  post  I  meet  f  FoolM  with  a  fire? 

Capt,  It  was  a  crafty  trick. 

Gov,  No,  I  was  lazy. 
Confident,  sluggish  lazy :  had  I  but  met  'em. 
And  chane'd  a  dozen  blows,!  had  forgiv'n  "em. 
By  both  uiese  hands  held  up^  and  by  that 

brightness  [worships, 

That  ^ilds  the  world  with  light,  by  all  our 
The  hidden  ebbs  and  flows  of  the  blue  ocean, 
I  will  not  rest,  no  mirth  shall  dwell  upon  me, 
^fjj^c  touch  my  mguth,  nor  any  thing  refresh 

The, 
'Till  I  be  wholly  quit  of  this  dishonour  I 
Make  ready  my  barratos  instantly. 
And  what  1  shall  intend — 

Capt.  We  are  your  servants.        [Exeunt, 

Enter  Quisara  and  Ruy  Bias. 

Quisar.  Never  tell  me!  you  never  car'd 

to  win  me; 
Never,  for  my  sake,  to  attempt  a  deed 
Might  draw  me  to  a  thought  you  sought  my 

favour: 
[f  not  for  love  of  me,  for  love  of  anns,  sir. 
For  that  cause  you  profess,  for  love  of  honour, 
Of  which  you  stile  yourself  the  mighty  master. 
You  might  have  stept  out  nobly,  and  made 

an  ouer, 
(As  if  you  had  intended  something  excellent) 
Put  on  a  forward  face — 

Ruy.  Dear  lady,  hold  me—         [servant. 

Quisar,  1  hold  you,  as  I  find  you,  a  faint 

Ruy.  By  Heaven,  I  dare  do~- 

Quisar,  In  a  lady's  chamber, 
I  dare  believe  you;  there's  no  mortal  danger: 
Give  me  the  man  that  dares  do,  to  deser\e 

that  I  [wonders, 

I  thoueht  you  Portugals  had  been  rare 
Men  of  those  haughty  courages  and  credits 


.**  3  Worn.  I  pray  whaVs  become  of!  my  husband?  is  hem  &  well?!  The  pleasant  answer 
which  the  man  makes  to  this  question,  evidently  supposes  it  to  have  been  wrote  thus, 
Wlwt's  become  of  my  husband  ?  Is  he  wellf 
2  Cii.  At  heart's  ease  in  a  tvdt,  is  very  well  neighbour.       '  Sympton. 
*•  What  frights  art  theset']  Mr.  Seward  suspects  that  this  line  belongs  to  the  first  woman, 
and  that  the  dialogue  will  then  be  more  natural.        Sympson. 
We  tliink  it  much  best  as  it  stands. 

That 


Act  2.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


tor 


That  all  thinf^  were  coniin'd  witliin  your 

promises; 
The  lords  of  fate  and  fortune  I  believ'd  you; 
Bat  well  I  see  1  am  deceiv'd,  Roy  Dias, 
And  blame,  too  late,  mv  much  belief! 

Ruy,  I  am  asham'd,  lady, 
I  was  so  dull,  so  stupid  to  your  offer: 
Now  you  have  once  more  school'd  me,  I  am 

right, 
And  soniething  shall  be  thought  on  suddenly, 
And  put  in  act  as  soon,  some  preparation — 

Quisar.  And  give  it  out  ? 

Rtt  V.  Yes,  lady,  and  so  great  too ; 
In  which***,  the  noise  of  all  my  countrymen — 

Quitar.  Those  %viil  do  well,  for  they  are 

all  approved  ones, 
And,  tho*  he  be  restored  alive^'— 

Ruy.  I  have  you. 

Quisar.  For  then  we  are  both  servants. 

Ruy,  I  conceive  you ;  [fancies. 

Good  madam,  give  roe  leave  to  turn  my 

Quitar.  Do,  and  make  all  things  fit,  and 

tlien  ni  visit  you**.  [ExU. 

Rtty,  Myself,  my  cousin,  and  the  garrison, 
The  neighbours  of  the  out-isles  of  our  nation, 
^jruiaVstrength,  (for  I  can  humour  hiiu) 
And  proud  nokamus,  I   shall  deceive  his 

glory —  [A  th^. 

What  ringing  sound  of  joy  is  this?  whence 

comes  it? 
May  be,  the  princes  are  in  sport. 

Enter  Finiero  and  Chr'utophero. 

Pin.  Where  are  you  ?  [seek  me  ? 

Ruy.  Now,  Piniero,  what's  the  haste  you 
Pin.  Do  you  know  tliis  sign,  sir  ? 
Ruy.  Ha! 

Pin,  Do  you  know  this  emblem  ? 
Your  nose  is  bor'd. 
Ruy,  fior'd?  what  is  that? 


Pin.  You're  topt,  sir  i 
The  kiug*s  come  home  again,  the  king*^  I 

Bjuy\  The  devil !  [lK)roe ; 

Pin»  Nay,  sure  he  came  a  GodV  name 
He*s  return'd,  sir. 

Chris.  And  all  this  joy  you  iiear^ 

JRtty.  Who  durst  attempt  him  ? 
The  princes  are  all  here. 

Ckrii.  They're  wortliy  princes,  [ounces. 
They're  special  princes !  all  they,  love  by 
Believe  it,  sir,  'tis  done,  and  done  most  bravely 
And  easily.  What  fortune  have  you  lost,  sir ! 
What  justice  have  you  now  unto  this  lady*^? 

Pin.  How  stands  your  claim?  Tliat  e'er 

man  should  be  foord  so,  [protesting. 

When   he  should   do  and  prosper!   stand 
Kissing  the  hand,  and  farting  for  a  favour. 
When  he  should  be  about  his  business  sweat- 

ing!  [pose, 

She  bid  you  go,  and  pick'd  you  out  a  pur- 
To  make  yourself  a  fortune  by,  a  lady, 
A  lady,  and  a  lusty  one,  a  lovely, 
That  now  you  nuiygo  look:  she  pointed  you, 
Knowing  you  were  a  man  of  wortii  and  merit, 
And  bid  you  fly :  you've  made  a  fair  flight  on't ; 
YouVe  caught  a  goose. 

Ruy.  How  dare  you  thus  molest  me  ? 

'  [A  shout. 
It  cannot  be ! 

Chris.  Hark'  how  the  general  joy  rings ! 

Pin,  Have  you  your  hearing  left  ?  is  not 

tliat  drunk  too  ?  [sure. 

For,  if  you  had  been  sober,  vou'd  been  wise, 

JRuy.  Done  ?  who  d^ires  do  ? 

Pin.  It  seems  an  honest  fellow, 
That  has  ended  his  market  before  you  be  up. 

Chris.  The  shame  on't,  is  a  stranger  too. 

Pin.  Tis  no  shame ; 
He  took  her  at  her  word,  and  tied  the  bargain. 
Dealt  like  a  man   indeed,  stood   not  de- 
murring, 

*®  In  which,  the  noise  of  all  my  countrymen^  Instead  of  noise,  Mr.  Seward  supposes 
choice,  or  with  equal  probability,  as  I  imagiue,  voice,  i.  e.  approhation,  consent^  &c.  was 
originally  wrote  in  our  poets'  manuscript.        Sympton,  " 

*'  And  though  he  he  restored  alive.]  A  negative  seems  evidently  lost  here,  which  makes 
the  hint  very  plain. 

And  though  he  hen*t  restored  alive. 
The  mixture  of  character  in  Quisara  is  finely  drawn,  and  from  great  insight  into  human 
nature.        Seward. 

**  Quisar.  Do,  and  make  all  things  Jit,  and  then  Fll  visit  you.'l  As  we  oft  have  no  iwmee 
where  they  ought  to  be,  so  here  we  have  probably  one  more  than  there  is  occasion  for. 
The  princess  hardly  can  be  supposed  to  make  iierself  so  cheap,  as  to  say,  that  she  would 
visit  or  wait  upon  "Rjiy  Dias;  no  surely,  tliat  duty  was  owing  to  her  from  him.  And  I  can't 
for  thi*>  reason  help  thinking,  but  Quisara'a  n^me  has  been  inadvertently  put  before  Do,  and 
make,  &c.  and  that  the  whole  ran  formerly  thus. 

Good  nxadam,  give  me  leave  to  turn  my  fiincies. 

Do,  and  make  all  things  fit ;  and  then  I'll  vibit  you,  [Exit. 

Ruy  Dias,  solus. 
My  self,  &c.        Sympson. 
*^  J%e  king's  come  home,  the  kkng^^ 

Rity.  The  devilf]  The  poets  might  possibly,  with  more  emphasis^  kaye  wrote  thus, 
The  king's  come  home— 
Ruy.  The  king?  the  devil^        Sympson. 
i*  Justice.'l  i.  e.  Right,  clainh  or  pretence.       Syfr^son* 

P9  ltt» 


loa 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


[Act  a. 


But  clapt  dose  to  th'  canse>  m  he  will  do  to 
th'  lady: 

'Is  a  fellow  of  that  speed  and  handsomeness. 

He'll  get  her  with  child  too,  ere  you  shall 
come  to  know  him. 

Is  it  not  hrave,  a  gentleman  scarce  landed^ 

Scarce  eating  of  the  air  here,  not  acquainted, 

No  circumstance  of  love  depending  on  him, 

Nor  no  command  to  shew  him,  must  start 

-At  th'  first  sight  too —  [forth, 

Ruy.  Vm  undone ! 
Pin.  like  an  oyster. — 

She  neither  taking  view,  nor  value  of  him, 

Unto  such  deeds  as  these  ? — Pox  o'  tliese, 

These  wise  delayings !  they  make  men  cow- 
ards, [egg, 

Yon're  undone,  as  a  man  would  undo  an 

A  hundred  shames  about  you ! 

Enter  QuisarOf  Panura,  and  Train. 

Quisar,  Can  it  he  possible  ?  [yet, 

A  stranger  that  I  have  not  known,  not  s^n 
A  man  Inevergrac'd?  Oh,  captain,  captain. 
What  shall  I  do  ?  I  am  betrayM  by  fortune ; 
It  cannot  be,  it  must  not  be. 

Pin.  It  is,  lady; 
And,  by  my  iaitl^  a  handsome  gentleman ! 
'Tis  his  poor  scholar's  prize. 

Quisar.  Must  I  be  given 
Unto  a  man  I  never  saw,  ne'er  spoke  with, 
I  know  not  of  what  nation  f 

Pin.  He*s  a  Portugal,  [you,  lady. 

And  of  as  good  a  pitctv—He'll  b^  given  to 
For  he*s  given  much  to  handsome  ilesh. 

Quisar.  Oh,  Ruy  Dias,  [Ruy  Dias ! 

This  was  your  sloth,  your  sloth,  your  sloth. 

Pin.  Your  love-&loth,  uncle ;  do  you  find 

it  now  ? 
You  should  have  done  at  first,  and  faithfully, 

!A  shout. 
or  you. 
Madam,  the  general  joy  comes. 

Quisar,  We  must  meet  it ; 
But  with  what  comfort } 

Enter  Citizens  carrying  Baughy  Bays  sing-^ 
ing  after  them;  then  King,  Armusia,  SozOy 
Emanuel;  the  Princes  and  Train  following. 

Quisar.  Oh,  my  dear  brother,  what  a  joy 

runs  thro'  me. 
To  see  you  safe  again,  yourself,  and  mighty ! 
What  a  blest  day  is  this ! 

King.  Rise  up,  fair  sister !  [me. 

I  am  not  welcome  'till  you  have  embrac'd 

Rtiy.  A  general  gladness,  sir,  flies  thro' 

the  city,  [riv'd. 

And  mirth  possesses  all  to  see  your  erace  ar- 
Thus  happily  arriv'd  again,  and  fairly. 

*5  Something  set  off  to  beautify  it.]  Amended  by  Seward. 

*<s  But  this  many  princess.]  The  editors  of  1760  sagely  con;«c<ttre  that  wc  should  read 
princes  for  princess.    The  first  folio  exhibits  that  lection ! 

^'  My  countenance,  it  shames  me.]  To  make  Ruy  Dias,  or  any  one  else,  to  protest  by 
his  countenance^  is  seemingly  odd;  I  would  propose  my  conscience,  as  a  more  natural  and 
sensible  rending.  Sympson. 

Pot 


Twas  a  brave  yentnre,  whosoever  nnt  for  it, 
A  high  and  noble  one,  worthy  much  honour; 
And  had  it  fail'd.  We  had  not  fail'd,  great  sir. 
And  in  short  time  too,  to  have  forc'd  the 

governor. 
In  spite  of  all  his  threats- 
Jung.  I  thank  ye,  gentlemen* 
Ruy.  And  all  his  subtilties,  to  set  you  finee. 
With  all  his  heart  and  will  too. 

King.  I  know  ye  love  me.  [done  before  it. 
Pin.  This  had  been  good,  with  something 
Something  to  set  it  oflP',  to  beautify  it : 
Now  it  sounds  empty,  like  a  barber's  bason. 
Pox,  there's  no  metal  in%  nc^  noble  mar* 
row !  [governor, 

Bakam.  I  have  an  army,  sir  (but  that  the 
The  foohsh  fellow,  was  a  little  provident. 
And  wise  in  letting  slip  no  time,  became  him 
too)  [confines; 

That  would  have  scoured  him  else,  and  all  his 
That  would  have  rung  him  such  a  peal — 

Pin.  Yes,  backwani,  [^^g; 

T«)  make  dogs  howl.  I  know  thte  to  a  far- 
Thy  army's  good  [in  it. 

For  hawks ;  there's  nothing  but  sheep's  hearts 
Syana.  I  have  done  nothing,  sir;  therefore 
I  think  it 
Convenient  I  say  little  what  I  purpos'd. 
And  what  mv  love  intended. 

King.  I  like  your  modesty,  [griev'd  yre 
And,  thank  ye,  royal  friends !  T  know  it 
To  know  my  misery:  but  this  man,  princes^^, 
I  must  thank  heartily,  indeed,  and  truly. 
For  this  man  saw  me  in  it,  and  redeem*d  me: 
He  look'd  upon  me  sinking,  and  then  caught 

me. 
This,  sister,  this,  this  all  man,  this  all  valour. 
This  pious  m^n — 

Ruy.  My  countenance,  it  shames  me^^  ! 
One  scarce  arriv'd,  not  harden'd  ^et,  not  read 
In  dangers  and  great  deeds,  sea-sick,  not  sea- 
Oh,  I  have  boy'd  myself!  [son'd — 

King.  This  noble  bulwark,  [dom. 

This  lance  and  honour  of  our  age  and  Jting- 
This  that  I  never  can  rewi^rd,  nor  hope 
To  beK>nce  worthy  of  the  name  of  friend  to, 
This,  this  man  from  the  bowels  of  my  sor- 
rows ,  "  [made  me! 
Has  new-begot  my  name,  and  jonoe  more 
Oh,  sister,  if  there  may  be  thanks  for  tliis. 
Or  any  thing  near  recompense  invented — 

Arm.  You  are  too  noble,  sir ;  there  is  re* 
Above  my  action  too  by  millions:  [ward, 
A  recompense  so  rich  and  glorious,  [mis'd ; 
I  durst  not  dream  it  mine,  but  that 'twas  pro* 
But  that  it  was  propounded,  sworn,  and  seai'd 
Before  the  foce  ofHeav'n,  I  durst  not  hope 


Act  5.] 


For  notfaiDg  in  the  Hie  of  man  or  merit 
(It  is  so  traly  great)  can  else  embrace  it, 

Eimg,  Oh,  speak  it,  speak  it;  bless  mine 

ears  to  hear  it ! 
Make  me  a  happy  man,  to  know  it  may  be ! 
For  still  methinks  I  am  a  prisoner, 
And  ieel  no  liberty  before  I  find  it. 

Amu  Then  know,  it  is  your  sister;  she  is 

mine,  sir; 
I  daim  her  by  her  own  word,  and  her  honour. 
It  was  her  open  promise  to  that  man 
That  durst  redeem  you :  beauty  set  me  on, 
And  fortune  crowns  me  fair,  if  she  receive 

me.  [so  backward  ? 

King,  Receive  you,  sir? — Wny,  sister!  ha! 
Stand  aa  yoo  knew  me  not?  nor  what  h'  has 
My  dearest  sister !  [ventured  ? 

Arm.  Good  sir,  pardon  me ! 
There  is  a  blushing  modesty  becomes  her, 
That  holds  her  back:  women  are  nice  to 

wooe,  sir.  [liberty ! 

I  would  not  have  her  forc'd ;  give  her  fair 
For  things  compell'd  and  frighted,  of  sof^  na- 
tures. 
Turn  into  fears,  and  fly  from  their  own  wishes. 

King,  Look  on  lum,  my  Quisara:  such 

another, 
(Oh,  all  ye  powers!)  so  excellent  in  nature. 
In  hononr  so  abundant— 

Qmiar,  I  confess,  sir ;  [chas'd : 

Confess  my  word  is  ymt  too;  he  has  pur- 
Yet,  good  sir,  give  me  leave  to  think,  but 

time 
To  be  acquainted  with  his  worth  and  person; 
To  make  me  fit  to  know  it:  we*re  both 

strangers, 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


109 


And  how  we  should  believe  so  suddenly. 

Or  come  to  fasten  our  affections — 

Alas,  Love  has  his  compliments. 

King.  Be  sudden  *  [doubles^ 

And  certain  in    your    way;   no  woman's 

Nor  coy  delays!  you're  his,  and  so  assure  it, 

Or  cast  from  me  and  my  remembrance  ever. 

Respect  your  word !  I  know  you  will.  Come, 
sister, 

Let's  see  what  welcome  ^on  can  giv^  a  pri- 
soner. 

And  what  fair  looks  a  friend.<*-Ob,  my  most 
noble 

Princes,  no  discontents,  but  all  be  lusty ! 

He  that  frowns  this  day  is  an  open  enemy. 

Thus  in  my  arms,  my  dear ! 
Arm.  You  make  me  blush,  sir. 
King.  And  now,  lead  on 

Our  whole  court  crown'd  with  pleasure ! 
Ruy.   Madam,   despair  not;    some  tiling 
shall  be  done  yet. 

And  suddenly,  and  wisely. 
Quitar.  On,  Ruy  Diss! 

[Exeunt  King^  SfC. 
Pin.  Well,  he*s  a  brave  fellow,  and  h'has 
deserv'd  her  richly.  [gentlemen. 

And  you  have  had  your  hands  full  I  dare  swear, 
Soza.  We  have  done  something,  sir,  if  it 
hit  right.  [no  honesty ; 

Chris,  The  woman  has  no  eyes  else,  nor 

So  much  I  tliijik. 

Fin,  Come,  let's  go  bounce  amongst  'em. 

To  the  King's  health,  and  my  brave  country- 
man's !    " 

My  uncle  looks  as  tho'  he  were  sick  o*  th' 
worms,  friends.  [Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


Enter  Piniero. 

Pin.lUiY  uncle  haunts  me  up  and  down, 

-*•""*•     looks  melancholy,  [swears. 

Wondrous    proof- melancholy;     sometimes 

Then  whistles^  starts,  cries,  and  groans  as  if 

h*had  the  hots, 
(As,  to  say  truth,  I  think  h'has  little  better  j. 
And  would  fain  speak;  bids  me  ^;ood  mor- 
row at  midnight,  [thing  hovers 
And  good  night  whtfn  'tis  noon :  h'has  some- 
About  his  brains  that  would  fain  find  an  issue. 
Bat  cannot  out,  or  daa^  not.  Still  he  follows. 

Enter  Ruy  Diae. 
How  he  looks  still,  and  how  he  beats  about, 
Like  an  old  dog  at  a  dead  scent  !-^Ay  marry, 
There  was  a  si|fa  would  set  a  ship  arsailing ! 
These  vriads  of  love  and  honour  blow  at  all 

ends. 
Nowspeaky  an't  be  thy  will. — Good  morrow, 

nnclel 


Ruy.  Good  morrow,  sir ! 

Pin,  This  is  a  new  salute ! 
Sure  h'  has  forgot  me ;  this  is  purblind  Cupid ! 

Ruy,  My  nephew  ? 

Pin.  Yes,  sir,  if  I  be  not  chaag'd. 

Ruy.  I  would  fain  speak  witli  you. 

Pin.  I  would  fain  have  yon,  sir; 
For  to  that  end  I  stay. 

Rum,  You  know  I  love  you. 
And  i  have  lov'd  you  long,  my  dear  Piniero, 
Bred  and  supplied  you — 

Pin.  Whither  walks  this  preamble  ? 

Ruy,  You  may  remember,  tho'  I  am  but 

your  uncle, 
I  sure  had  a  fatlier's  care,  a  father's  tender* 


Pin.  Sure  he  would  wrap  me  into  some* 

thing  now  suddenly, 
He  doubts  my  nature  in  (for  mine  is  honest). 
He  winds  about  me  so. 

Ruy.  A  fotber's  diligence.  * 

My 


110 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


My  private  benefits  I  bave  forgot,  sir**, 
But  those  yoa  niight  lay  claim  to  as  my  fol- 
lower ; 
Yet  some  men  would  remember — 

Pin.  I  do' daily. 

Rutf,  The  place  [one: 

Whicli  I  have  put  you  in,  which  is  no  weak 
Next  to  myself  you  stand  in  all  employments. 
Your  counsels,  cares,  assignments  with  me 
'   equal ; 

So  is  my  study  still  to  plant  your  person : 
I'bese  are  small  testimonies  I've  not  forgot 
Nor  would  not  be  forgotten.  [y^^? 

Pin.  Sure  yon  cannot. 

Rut/,  Oh,  Piniero— 

Piti.  Sir,  what  liangs  upon  you  ?  [lost 
What  heavy  weight  oppresses  you  ?  You've 
(I  must  confess,  in  tliose  tliat  understand  yon) 
Some  little  of  your  credit;  but  time  will  cure 
The  best  may  slip  sometimes.  [that; 

Ruy.  Oh,  my  best  nephew —  [turbs  you). 

Pin.  It  may  be,  you  fear  her  too  (that  dis- 
That  she  may  fall  herself,  or  be  forced  from 

you.  [ever ! 

Ruif.  She's  ever  true,  but  I  undone  for 
Oh,  that  Armusia,    that  new   thing,   that 

stranger. 
That  flag  stuck  up  to  rob  me  of  mine  honour, 
That  murd'ring  chain  shot  at  me  from  my 

country,  [me ! 

That  goodly  plague  that  I  must  court  to  kill 

Pin.  Now  it  comes  flowing  from  him !  I 

fear*d  this. 
Knew,  he  that  durst  be  idle  durst  be  ill  too. — 
Has  he  not  done  a  brave  thing?      [allow  it : 

Ruy.  I  must  confess  it,  nephew,  mux 
But  that  brave  thing  has  undone  me,  has 

sunk  me,  [^i^gy 

Has  trod  me,  like  a  name  in  sand,  to  no- 
Hangs  betwixt  hope  and  me,  and  threatens 

my  ruin ;  [tune ! 

And,  if  he  rise  and  blaze,  farewell  my  for- 
And  when  that's  set,  whcre*s  thy  advance- 
ment, cousin?  [man. 
That  were  a  friend,  that  weie  a  noble  kins- 
That  would  consider  these :  that  men  were 

grateful ;  .  [love  me. 

And  he  that  durst  do  sometliing  here,  durst 

Pin,  You  say  true ;  'tis  worth  considera- 
tion; [uncle, 
Your  reasons  are  of  weight:  and,  mark  me, 

^'  My  private  benefitt  1  hoeoeforgot^  «r. 

But  those  you  might  lay  claim  to  as  my  follower; 

Yet  some  men  wtmld  remember^  The  bene6ts  Ruy  Dias  means  here,  seem  to  be  pub" 
lick  ones,  which  he  had  conferred  upon  Piniero  in  his  publick  capacity  as  governor  of  the 
fort,  and  for  diis  cause  one  should  think  the  place  should  be  read  thus. 
My  pttblick  bene6t8  I  have  forgot, 
Be  it  those  you  might  lay  claim  to  as,  &c. 
The  meaning  is,  ^  My  publick  benefits  (viz.  the  places  you  hold  under  roe)  I  omit  to  men- 

*  tion.    Say  that  being  my  follower  gives  you  a  sort  of  right  to  'em ;  yet  for  all  that,  a  grate-" 

*  ful  man  would  remember  how  carefiil  I  nave  been  of  your  interests ;  that  I  have  plac*d  you 

*  next  myself  in  rank  and  power,  and  that  your  assignments  are  equal  with  mine.'  I  must 
confess  the  change  here  made  is  great  enough,  but,  seemingly,  it  appears  no  more  than  is 
aeoessary.  Syn^pton. 

And 


[Act  3. 

(For  111  be  sudden,  and  to  th' purpose  with 

you) 
Say  this  Armusia  then  were  taken  off 
(As*t  may  be  easily  done). 
How  stands  tlie  woman  ? 

Ruy.  She  is  mine  for  ever; 
For  she  contemns  his  deed  and  him. 

Pin.  Pox  on  him ! 
Or  if  the  single  pox  be  not  sufficient,  [him ! — 
The  hog's,  the  dog's,  and  devii*a  pox  possess 
Faith,   this  Armusia  stumbles  me;    'tis  a 

brave  fellow ; 
And  if  he  could  he  spared,  uncle — 

Ruy.  I  must  perish : 
Had  he  set  up  at  any  rest  but  this,. 
Done  any  thing  but  what  concem'd  my  cre- 
dit. 
The  everlasting  losing  of  my  worth — 

Pin.  I  understand  you  now,   who  set  you 

on  too; 
I  had  a  reasonable  good  opinion  of  the  devil 
*TiU  this  hour;  and  I  see  he  is  a  knave  in- 
deed, [him.— 
All  arrant,  stinking  knave,  for  now  I  smell 
I'll  see  what  may  be  done  then ;  you  shall 

know 
You  have  a  kinsman  (but  no  villain,  unoie, 
Nor  no  betrayer  of  fair  fiime,  I  scorn  it ; 
I  love  and  honour  virtue).  I  must  have 
Access  unto  the  lady,  to  know  her  mind  too: 
A  good  word  firom  her  mouth  you  know  may 

stir  me ; 
A  lady's  look  at  setting-on — 

Ruy,  You  say  well  [ 
Here,  cousin,  here's  a  letter  ready  for  you, 
And  you  shall  see  how  nobly  sheHl  receive 
And  with  what  care  direct.  [you, 

Pin,  Farewell  then,  uncle !  [vant — 

After  I've  talk'd  with  her,  I  am  your  sei^ 
T6  make  you  honest,  if  I  can,  else  hate 

you.—  [busy. 

*  Pray  vou  no  more  compliments !  my  head  is 

Heaven  bless  me,  [Exit  Ruy  Dias. 

What  a  malicious  soul  does  this  man  carry ! 

And  to  what  scurvy  things  this  love  converts 

us,  [become  us ! 

What  stinking  things;  and  how  sweetly  they 
Murder's  a  moral  virtue  with  these  lovers, 
A  special  piece  of  divinity,  I  take  it. 
I  may  be  mad,  or  violently  drunk,  [covetous^ 
Which  is  a  whelp  of  that  litter;  or  I  may  be 


Act  5.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


Ill 


Andleani  to  murder  men's  estates,  that's 

base  too; 
Or  proud,  bat  that's  a  paradise  to  this ; 
Or  eat  ious,  and  sit  eatmg  of  myself 
At  others'  fortuues ;  1  may  lie,  and  damnably, 
Beyond  the  patience  ot  an  honest  hearer; 
Cozen,  cut  purses,  sit  i'  tli'  stocks  for  apples : 
But  when  I  am  a  hiver.  Lord  have  mercy  ! 
These    are    poor    pelting    sins,   or    ratl^er 

plagues-5»; 
Love  and  Ambition  draw  the  deviFs  coach. 

Ent^r  Quisana  and  Panura, 

Uow  now !    who  are  these  ?  Oh,  my  great 

lady's  followers, 
Her  riddle-founders,  and  her  fortune-tellers, 
Iler  rcadersof  her  love-lectures,  her  inflamers. 
These  doors  I  must  pass  thro^;  I  hope  they're 

Hide.  [itto'em! 

Good  day  to  your  beauties !  How  they  take 
As  if  they  were  fair  indeed ! 

Quisen.  Good  morrow  to  you,  sir  I 

Pin,  That's  the  old  hen,  tlie  brood*bird ; 

how  she  brusles^^ ! 
How  like  an  inventory  of  lechery  she  looks ! 
Many  a  good  piece  of  iniquity  [you, 

Ha^  past  her  hands,  I  warrant  her.— I  beseech 
Is  tlie  fair  princess  stirring? 

Pan,  Yes,  marry  is  she,  sir,      [with  her? 
Bot  somewhat  private:  have  you  a  business 

Pin.  Yy,  forsooth  have  I,  and  a  serious 

Pan,  May  not  we  know  ?  [business. 

Pin,  Yes,  when  you  can  keep  counsel. 

Pan,  How  prettily  he  looks  1  he's  a  soldier 

sure. 
His  rudeness  sits  so  handsomely  upon  him. 

Quisan,  A  good  blunt  gentleman  ! 

Pin,  Yes,  marry  am  I :  [you — 

Yet,  for  a  push  or  two  at  sharp,  an  please 

Pan,  My  honest  friend,  you  know  not  who 

you  speak  to; 
Ims  is  the  princess'  aunt. 

Pin.  I  like  her  the  better ;  [mother, 

An  she  were  her  mother,  lady,  or  her  grand- 
Tin  not  so  bashful,  but  I  can  buckle  with  her. 

Pan,  Of  what  size  is  your  business  ? 


Pin,  O*  th'  long  sixteens, 
And  will  make  way,  I  warrant  you. 

Pan.  How  fine  he  talks !  [lady; 

Pin.  Nay,  in  troth  I  talk  but  coarsely. 
But  I  hold  It  comfortable  for  the  understand- 
ing.— 
How  fain  they'd  draw  me  into  ribaldry ! 
These  weuclics  that  live  easily,  live  higli. 
Love  these  broad  discourses,  as  they  love 

possets ; 
These  dry  delights  serve  for  preparatives. 

Pan.  Wljy  do  you  look  so  on  me? 

Pi/i,  I  am  fruessing, 
By  the  cast  of  your  face,  what  the  property 

of  your  place  should  be ; 
For  I  presume  you  turn  a  key,  sweet  beauty; 
And  you  anoUier,  gravity,  under  the  princess : 
And,  by  my  soul,  I  warrant  you  good  places. 
Comely  commodious  seats  i 

Quisun.  Prithee  let  him  talk  still. 
For  methinks  he  talks  handsomely ! 

Pin,  -^ind  truly. 
As  near  as  my  understanding  shall  enable  ms^ 
You  look  as  if  you  kept  my  lady's  secrets. 
Nay,  do  not  laugh!  for  I  mean  honestly.— 
How  these  young  things  tattle,  when  they 

get  a  toy  by  th*  end  I  [for't ! 

And  how  their  hearts  go  pit-arpat,  and  look 
Would  it  not  dance  too,  if  it  had  a  fiddle? 
Your  gravity,  I  guess,  to  take  the  petitions. 
And  hear  the  lingring  suits  in  love  dispos'd. 
Their  sighs  and  sorrows  in  their  proper  place: 
You  keep  the  Ah-meothce^'. 

Qmtan.  Prithee  suffer  him. 
For,  as  I  live,  he  is  a  pretty  fellow !       [us; 
I  love  to  hear  sometimes  what  men  think  of 

And  thus  delivered  freely,  'tis  no  malice. 

Proceed,  good  honest  man ! 

Pin.  I  will,  good  madam. 
According  to  men's  states  and  dignities, 
Monies  and  moveables,  you  rate  their  dreams, 
And  cast  the  nativity  of  their  desires. 
If  he  reward  well,  all  he  thinks  is  prosperous; 
And  if  he  promise  place,  his  dreams  are 
oracles ;  [coveries, 

Xour  ancient  practique  art  too  in  these  dis- 


^'  But  when  lama  loveTf  Lord  have  tnercyj 

I'ke^  are  poor  pelting  sins,  or  rather  plagues.]  To  make  way  for  a  pretty  bold  emen- 
dation, the  reader  will  please  to  observe,  that  tliere  is  a  fine  sentiment  aim'd  at  here  but 
notcompleated.  Lard  have  mercy,  in  the  first  line,  refers  to  the  writing  over  the  doors  of 
houses  mfected  by  the  plague;  the  former  sins  therefore  are  compared  to  common  diseases, 
and  when  love,  in  comparison  of  rfiem,  should  be  called  the  plague,  the  metophor  is  spoilt 
by  caUmg  them  plague^.  It  is  highly  probable  that  this  has  happened  by  an  error  either  of 
fnnaenber  or  pnnter,  and  as  the  sense  may  be  easily  restored,  though  wehave  no  trace  to 
tod  us  to  any  certainty  of  the  true  words,  yet  I  think  we  should  venture  tochanee  the  text 
mber  than  suffer  so  beautiful  a  passage  to  remain  so  mangled.  I  propose,  therefore,  eitheJ 
Tliese  are  poor  pelting  sins,  but  that  the  plague; 
Or, 

**rhesc  ere  poor  pelting  sins,  the  other  plagues, 
.  Love  and  Ambition,  draw  the  devil's^ach. 

Tbs  latter^being  n^rer  the  trace  of  the  letters  than  the  former,  bids  &irest  for  havine  been 
« ongmaL  Seward.  .  .  ^ 

^^  Bow  she  busies  J  So  the  former  copies. 
"  i^y-me  offiu,^  So  former  copies. 

Who 


lie 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


[Acta. 


Who  loves  at  such  a  length,  who  a  ipan  far- 
ther, [profit; 

And  who  draws  home,  yields  you  no  little 

For  tliese  you  milk  by  circumstance. 
Quuan.  You^re  cunning.      [your  spindle, 
Fin,  And  as  they  oil  you,  and  advance 

So  you  draw  out  the  lines  of  love.    Your 
doore  too,  [thro*: 

The  doors  of  destiny,  that  men  must  pass 

These  are  fair  places ! 
Pan.  He  knows  all. 
Pin.  Your  trap-doors, 

To  pop  fools  in  at,  that  have  no  providence; 

Your  little  wickets,  to  work  wise  men,  like 
wires,  thro*  at,  [webs ; 

And  draw  their  states  and  bodies  into  cob- 

Your  postern  doors,  to  catch  those  that  are 
cautelous,  [tlieir  knaveries ; 

And  would  not  have  the  world's  eye  find 

Your  dooiB  of  dan};er  (some  men  hate  a  plear 
sure,  [doors : 

Unless  that  may  be  full  of  fears)  your  hope- 

And  those  are  fine  commodities,  where  fools 
pay 

For  every  new  encouragement  a  new  custom : 

You  have  your  doors  of  honour,  and  of  plea- 
sure; [nities, 

But  those  are  for  great  princes,  glorious  va- 

That  travel  to  be  famous  thro'  diseases. 

There  be  the  doors  of  poverty  and  death  too, 

But  these  you  do  the  best  you  can  to  dam  up. 

For  then  your  gain  goes  out. 
Quiian.  This  is  a  rare  lecture! 
Pin,  Read  to  them  that  understand. 
Pan.  Beshrew  me,  [keen,  sir, 

X  dans  not  venture  on  you;  you  cut  too 

Enter  Quisara, 

Quisan*  We  thank  you,  sir,  for  your  good 

mirth; 
Yoa  are  a  good  companion.  [business. 

Here  comes  the  princess  now ;  attend^our 

Quimr.  Is  tliere  no  remedy,  no  hopes  can 

helprae? 
No  wit  to  set  me  free? — Who's  there,  ho? 

Quisan.  Troubled?  [princess? 

Her  looks  are  almost  wild:  what  ails  the 
I  know  nothing  she  wants. 

Quisar,  Who's  that  there  with  you? 
Oh,  Siguier  jPiniero,  you're  most  welcome! 
How  does  your  noble  uncle? 

Put.  ^  as  you  are,  madam : 
Bat  be  commends  his  service,  and  this  letter. 

Qui$ar,  Go  off;  attend  within. -» Fair,  sir, 

I  thank  you:  [come; 

Pray  be  no  stranger,  for  indeed  you're  weU 
For  your  own  virtues,  welcome. 

Quisan,  We're  mistaken; 
This  is  some  brave  fellow  sure. 


Pan,  I'm  sure  he's  a  bold  fellow; 
But  if  she  hold  him  so,  we  must  believe  iL 

[HxeunU 
Quimr,  Do  you  know  of  this,  fiur  sir? 
Pin,  I  guess  it  madam. 
And  whitMr  it  intends:  I  had  not bionght  it 
else.  [koning. 

Quisar,  It  is  a  busmess  of  no  common  reo 
Pin.  The  handsomer  for  him  that  goes 
about  it ; 
Siijght  actions  are  rewarded  witli  slight  thanks: 
Give  me  a  matter  of  some  weight  to  wade  in ! 
Quisar,  And  can  you  love  your  uncle  so 
directly, 
So  seriously  and  so  full^  to  undertake  this? 
Can  there  be  such  a  fhitli? 

Pin.  Dare  you  say  cy  to  it'% 
And  set  me  on?  Tis  no  matter  for  my  uncle. 
Or  what  I  owe  to  him,  dare  you  but  wish  it  ? 
Quisar.  I  would  fain— 
Pin.  Have  it  done?  Say  but  so,  lady. 
Quisar,  Conceive  it  so. 
Pin.  I  will;  'tis  that  I'm  bound  to: 
Your  will  that  must  command  me,  and  your 
pleasure,  [rect  me. 

The  fair  aspects  of  those  eyes  tliat  must  di- 
I  am  no  uncle's  agent;  I'm  mine  own,  lady; 
I  scorn  my  able  youth  should  plow  for  others, 
Or  my  ambition  serve  for  pay :  I  aim^ 
Altho'  I  never  hit,  as  high  as  any  man. 
And  the  reward  I  reach  at  shall  jke  equal. 
And  what  love  spurs  me  on  to :  tiiis  desire 
Makes  me  forget  an  honest  man,  a  brave  man, 
A  valiant  and  a  virtuous  mai:,  my  country- 
man^ 
Armusia,  the  delight  of  all,  the  minion^': 
This  love  of  you,  doting  upon  your  beauty. 
The  admiration  of  your  excellence, 
Make  me  but  servant  to  the  poorest  smile. 
Or  the  least  grace  you  liave  bestow'd  on 

others. 
And  see  how  soddenlv  FU  work  your  safety. 
And  sec  your  thoughts  at  peace !  I  am  no 
flatterer,  [gers; 

To  promise  infinitely,  and  out-dream  dan- 
To  he  a-bed,  and  swear  men  into  fevers, 
like  some  of  your  trim  suitors ;  when  I  pro- 
mise. 
The  light  is  not  more  constant  to  the  world 
Than  I  am  to  my  word. — She  turns,  for  mil- 
lions! [coujvge. 
Quisar.  I  have  not  seen  a  braver  confirm'd 
Pin.  For  a  tun  of  crowns  she  turns !  she 
is  a  woma^; 
And,  much  I  fear,  a  worse  than  I  expected.— 
You  are  the  object,  lady,  you're  the  eye 
In  wliich  all  excellence  appears,  all  wonder. 
From  which  all  hearts  take  fire,  all  hands 
their  valour: 

3*  Dare  you  say  ay  to  it  f]  Tis  not  impossible  but  this  might  come  from  our  poets*  pen, 
but  the  general  wore  on  such  occasions  is  mostly  atm,  as  the  reader  can't  but  remember  in 
several  places  in  these  plays,  and  so  I  conjecture  they  wrote  here.        Sympson. 

33  Armusioy  the  delight  of  all  the  minions.]  The  addition  of  a  point,  and  omission  of  a  letter, 
seem  greatly  to  improve  this  Line,  and  we  do  not  doubt  are  genuine. 

And 


Act  3.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


113 


And  when  he  stands  disputing,  When  you  bid 

him. 
Or  bot  thinks  of  his  estate,  father,  mother. 
Friends,  wife,  and  children,  is  a  fool,  and  I 

scorn  him ;  [ard. 

An't  be  but  to  make  clean  his  sword,  a  cow- 
Men  bare  forgot  their  fealty  to  beauty ! 
Had  I  the  place  in  your  affections. 
My  most  unworthy  uncle's  fit  to  fell  from, 
lir'd  in- those  blessed  eyes,  and  read  the  sto- 
Of  everlasting  pleasures  figur'd  there,    [ries 
Pd  find  out  your  commands  before  you 

thought  'em,  fof  'em . 

And  bring  'em  to  you  done,  ere  you  dream'd 

Qttisar,  I  admire  his  boldness ! 

Pta.  This,  or  any  thing;  [man's, 

Yoar  brother's  death,  mine  uncle's,  any 
No  state  that  stands  secure,  if  you  frown  on 

it.  [you) 

Look  on  my  youth,  (I  bring  no  blastings  to 
The  first  flower  of  my  strength,  my  faith. 

Quisar.  No  more,  sir ! 
I  am  too  willing  to  believe :  rest  satisfied. 
If  vou  dare  do  for  me,  I  shall  be  thankful, 
Toa  area  handsome  gentleman,  a  fair  one; 
M^  servant  if  you  please ;  I  seal  it  thus,  sir. 
No  more,  till  you  deserve  more.  [Exit, 

Pin.  I'm  rewarded. 
This  woman's  cunning,  but  she's  bloody  too : 
Altho'  she  pulls  her  talons  in,  she's  mischie- 
vous ;  [transparent. 
Form'd  like  the  face  of  Heaven,  clear  and 
I  must  pretend  still,  bear  'em  both  in  hopes, 
For  fear  some  bloody  slave  thrust  in  indeed, 
Fashion'd   and  flesh'd  to  what  they  wish. 

Wett  uncle,  [nour 

What  will  become  of  this,  and  what  disho- 
Follow  this  fatal  shaft,  if  shot,  let  time  tell ! 
lean  but  only  fear,  and  strive  to  cross  it'*. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Armuna^  Emanuel^  and  Soza. 

Eman.  Why  are  you  thus  sad  ?  What  can 
grieve  or  vex  you, 

Tmt  have  the  pleasures  of  the  world,  the  pro- 
fits, 

The  honour,  and  the  loves  at  your  disposes? 

Why  should  a  man  that  wants  nothing  want 
his  quiet  ?  [content ; 

Arm.  I  want  what  beggars  are  above  me  in, 

I  want  llie  grace  I've  merited,  the  favour. 

The  due  res|.ect. 
Soza.  Does  not  the  king  allow  it?      [ask. 
Arm.  Yes,  and  all  honours  else,  all  Lean 
.  That  be  has  power  to  give;  but  from  his 
sister, 


The  scornful  cruelty,  (forgive  "me,  beauty, 
That  I  transgress)  from  her  that  should  look 

on  me. 
That  should  a  little  smile  upon  my  service. 
And  foster  my  deserts  for  her  own  faith's 

sake;  [to  me — 

That  should  at  least  acknowledge  me,  speak 

Soza.  And  you  go  whining  up  and  aown 

for  this,  sir  ? 
Lamenting  and  disputing  of  your  grievances  ? 
Sighing  and  sobbing,  like  a  sullen  school-bovy 
And  cursing  good-wife  Fortune  for  this  fa- 
vour? 

Arm.  What  would  you  have  me  do? 

Soza.  Do  what  you  should  do,  [man. 

What  a  man  would  do  in  this  case,  a  wise 
An  understanding  man  that  knows  a  woman, 
Knows  her  and  jJl  her  tricks,  her  scorns,  and 

all  her  trifles ;  [shake  her; 

Go  to  her,  and  take  her  in  your  arms,  and 
Take  her  and  toss  her  like  a  bar ! 

Eman.  But  be  sure  you  pitch  her  upon  a 

feather-bed>  [shake 

Shake  her  between  a  pair  of  sheets,  sir;  there 
These  sullen  fits  out  of  her,  spare  her  not 

there!  [bone,  sir. 

There  you  may  break  her  will,  and  bruise  no 

Soza.  Go  to  her — 

Eman.  That's  the  way. 

Soza.  And  tell  her,  and  boldly,  [yourself, 
And  do  not  mince   the  matter,  nor  mock 
With  being  too  indulgent  to  her  pride ; 
Let  her  hear  roundly  from  you,  what  you  are. 
And  what  you  have  deserved,  and  what  she 

must  be.  >        [fellow, 

Eman.  And  be  not  put  off,  like  a  common 
With*  The  princess  would  be  private;' 
Or,  that  sh'  has  taken  physic,  and  admits  none: 
I  would  talk  to  her  any  where. 

Arm.  It  makes  me  smile! 

Eman.  Now  you  look  handsomely : 
Had  I  a  wench  to  win,  I  would  so  flutter  her ! 
They  love  a  man  that  crushes  'em  to  verjuice ; 
A  woman  held  at  hard  meat  is  your  spaniel. 

Soza.  Pray  take  our  counsel,  sir. 

Ann.  I  shall  do  something; 
But  not  your  way;  it  shews  too  boisterous; 
For  my  affections  are  as  fair  and  gentle 
As  her  they  serve. 

Enter  King. 

Soza.  The  king ! 

King.  Why,  how  now,  friend? 
Why  do  you  rob  me  of  the  company 
I  love  so  dearly,  sir  ?  I  have  been  seeking  you. 
For  when  I  want  you,  I  want  all  my  pleasure. 


^  And  strive  to  cross  it.]  The  reader  may  be  surprised  to  find  this  line  run  otherwise  in 
the  1647  edition. 

■  and  croxs  to  cross  it. 

For  though  strive  be  the  sense  of  the  place  here  cited,  and  cross  to  cross  it  be  but  an  odd  ex- 
pression, yet  I  fancy  the  original  word,  of  which  cross  is  but  a  corruption^  might  be  once 
wrote  thus, 

I  can  but  only  fear,  and  course — 
i.  e.  run,  strive,  endeavour  to  cross  it.        Svmpson, 
VOL.  Ill,  "^Q  Why 


IH 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


[Act  3. 


Why  sad  ?  thus  sad  still,  man  ?  I  wiU  not  have  it; 
I  must  not  see  the  face  I  love  thus  shadow*d. 

Eman,  A  n't  please  your  grace,  methinks 

it  ill  becomes  him ; 
A  soldier  should  be  jovial,  high  and  lusty. 

King,  He  shall   be   so:    come,  come,   I 

know  your  reason;  [have  her : 

It  shall   be   none  to  cross/ you;  you  shall 
Take  my  word,  ('tis  a  king's  word)  you  shall 

have  her; 
She  shall  be  yours  or  nothing.   Pray  be  merry ! 

Arm*  Your  grace  has  given  me  cause ;  I 

sliall  be,  sir. 
And  ever  your  poor  servant. 

King.  Me  myself,  sir,  [dcnly. 

My  better  self.    I  shall  find  time,  and  sud- 
To  gratify  your  loves  too,  gentlemen, 
And  make  you   know  how  much  I  stand 

bound  to  you.  [compliment! 

Nay,  *tis  not  worth  your  thanks ;  no  further 
Will  you  go  witi)  me,  friend? 

Arm.  1  beseech  your  grace. 
Spare  me  an  hour  or  two,  I  shall  wait  on  you : 
S(jme  little  private  business  with  myself^  sir. 
Tor  such  a  time. 

King.  Ill  hinder  no  devotion,  [gentlemen. 
For  I  know  you're  regular,  riltake  you, 
Because  he  shall  have  notliing  to  disturb  him. 
I  shall  look  for  you,  friend.  [Exeunt. 

Manet  Armusia.     Enter  Tanura. 

Arm.  1  dare  nop  fail,  sir. 

What  shall  I  do  to  make  her  know  my  misery? 

To  make  her  sensible? — This  is  her  woman: 

J  have  a  toy  come  to  me  suddenly ;       [me, 

It  may  work  for  the  best ;  she  can  but  scorn 

And  lower  than  I  am  I  cannot  tumble; 

I'll  try,  whate'er  my  fate  be. — Good  ev'n 
fair  one!  [night  to  you,  sir! 

Paw.  Tis   the   brave  stranger.— A  good 

Now,  by  my  lady*s  hand,  a  goodly  gentleman  I 

How  happy  shall  she  be  in  such  a  husband! 

'Would  I  were  so  provided  too! 
Arm.  Good  pretty  one. 

Shall  I  keep  you  com  j)any  for  an  hour  or  two  ? 

I  want  employment  for  this  evening: 

I  am  an  honest  man. 

Pflw.  I  dare  believe  you;  [matter; 

Or,  if  you  were   not,  sir,  there's  no  great 

We  take  men*s  promises.     Would  you  stay 
with  me,  sir  ?  [ucauainted ; 

Arm.  So  it  please  you;  pray]et*sbe  better 

[  know  you  arc  the  princcss'^^gentlewoman^ 

And  wait  upon  her  near — 
Pan,  'TIS  like  I  do  so.       [fair  courtesies. 
Arm.  And  may  befriend  a  man,  do  him 

If  he  have  business  your  way- 
Pan.  I  understand  you.        [a  gentleman 
Arm.  So  kind  an  otfice,  that  you  may  bind 

Hereafter  to  be  yours,  and  your  way  too : 


And  you  may  bless  the  hour  you  did  this  be- 
nefit :  [teous  minds, 

Sweet  handsome  faces  should  -have  cout'^ 

And  ready  faculties. 

Pan.  lell  me  your  business:    * 

Yet  if,  I  think,  it  be  to  her,  yourself,  sir, 

(For  I  know  what  you  are,  and  what  we  hold 
you,  [condy 

Aud  in  what  grace  you  stand)  without  a  se* 

(For  that  but  darkens  you)  would  doit  better  ; 

The  princess  must  be  pleas'd  with  your  ac- 

Tm  sure  I  should.  [cesses  ; 

Arm.  I  want  a  courtier's  boldness, 

And  am  yet  but  a  stranger :  I'd  fain  speak 
with  her.  [sleep,  sic* 

Pan.  'Tis  very  late,  and  upon  her  hour  of 
Arm.  PrajT  you  wear  this,  and  believe  my 
meaning  civil,  [Groes  her  a  jewel* 

My  business  of  that  fair  respect  and  carriage. 

This  for  our  more  acquaintance !  [sible 

Pail.  How  close  he  kisses!  and  how  sen- 

The  passings  of  his  lips  are !  I  must  do  it, 

An  I  were  to  hang  now,  and  I  will  do't : 

He  may  do  as  much  for  me ;  that's  all  I  aim 
at:  [do  it. 

And  come  what  will  on't,  life  or  death,  I'll 

For  ten  such  kisses  more,  an  'twere  high- 
treason. 

Arm.  I  would  be  private  with  her. 
Pan.  So  you  shall ;  it  is  [quick. 

Not  worth  thanks  else.    You  must  dispatch 
Arm.  Suddenly.  Tsir, 

Pan.  And  I  must  leave  you  in  my  chamoer, 

Where  you  must  lock  yourself,  tliat  none 
may  sec  you ;  [trance, 

'Tis  close  to  her's.     You  cannot  miss  the  evt- 

When  she  comes  down  to  bed. 
Arm.  I  understand  you, 

And  once  more  thank  you,  lady. 
Pan.  Thank  me  but  thus. 
Arm.  Jf  I  fail  thee — 
Pan.  Come  close  then '' !  [£wan^ 

Enter  Quisara  and  Quisana. 

Quisar.  Tis  late ;  good  aunt,  to  bed !  I'm 

e'en  unready: 
My  woman  won't  he  long  away. 

Quisan.  I*d  have  you 
A  little  merrier  first:  let  me  sit  by  you. 
And  read  or  discourse  something  that  you 
Or  takd* my  instrument.  [fancy; 

Quisar.  No,  no,  I  thank  you; 
I  shall  sleep  witiiout  these.  I  wrong  your  age, 

aunt,  [you ! 

To  make  you  wait  thus;  pray  let  me  entreat 
To-morrow  I  will  see  you;  I  know  you're 

^eepy,  [not, 

And  rest  will  be  a  welcome  guest:  you  shall 
Indeed  you  shall  not  stay.    Oh,  liere's  my 

woman ! 


"Arm.  Jflfailthe^ 


me  clwe  ihen.'\  Mr.  Seward  supposes  with  me,  that  Panura^s  name  is  unhap- 
pily dropt  here;  for  who  canimagine  these  words  could  be  spoke  with  the  le^st  propriety 
by  Armusia  f        St/mpson, 

Enter 


Acta] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


115 


Enter  Panura, 


Good  nighty  good  night!  and  good  rest,  aant, 

attend  you ! 

Quitan'  Sleep  dwell  upon  your  eyes,  and 

ikir  dreams  court  you  [ 

Quitar.  Come,   where  have    you  been, 

wmch?  Make  me  unready; 
I  slept  but  ill  last  night. 

Pm.  You'll  sleep  the  better 
I  hope  to-night,  madam. 

QMitar.  A  little  rest  contents  me ;         « 
Tboa  lovV  thy  bed,  Panura. 

Pan.  I'm  not  in  love,  lady,. 
Nor  seldom  dream  of  devils;  I  sleep  soundly. 

QatMr.  I'll  swear  thou  dost;  thy  husband 

would  not  take't  so  well. 
If  thou  wert  married,  wench. 

Fan.  Let  him  take,  madam. 
The  way  to  waken  me !  I  am  no  dormouse : 
Husbands  have  larum -bells,  if  they  but  ring 

once. 

Quitar,  Tboo  art  a  merry  wench. 

Pan.  1  sliall  live  the  longer. 

Qtttsor.  Prithee  fetch  my  book  I 

Pen.  I'm  glad  of  that. 

Quisar.  Fll  read  a  while  before  I  sleep. 

Pan.  I  will,  madam.  [importunate, 

Quisar.  And  if  Ruy  Dias  meet  you,  and  be 
He  may  come  in. 

Pan.  I  have  a  better  fare  for  you. 
Xow  least  in  sight  play  L  [Exit, 

Enter  Armusia,  locks  the  door, 

Quisar.  Why  should  I  love  him? 
yfhj  should  I  dote  upon  a  man  deserves  not, 
Nor  has  no  will  to  work  it? — Who's  there, 

wench  ? — 
What  are  you  ?  or  wlience  come  you  ? 

Amu  You  may  know  me : 
I  bring  not  such  amazement,  noble  lady. 

Qiritar.  Who  let  you  in  ? 

Arm.  My  restless  love,  that  serves  you. 

Quisar.  This  is  an  impudence  I  have  not 

beard  o^ 
A  radeness  that  becomes  a  thief  or  rnffian ; 
Nor  shall  my  brother's  love  protect   this 

boldne5!t,  [sanctuaries. 

Yon  build   so  strongly  on :  my  rooms  are 
And  with  that  reverence,  they  that  seek  my 

favours,  [proaches. 

And   humble   fears,   shall  render  their  ap- 

Arm.  Mine  are  no  less. 

Quisar.  I'm  mistress  of  myself,  sir. 
And  will  be  so :  I  will  not  be  thus  visited, 
These  fears  and  dangers  thrust  into  my  privacy. 
Stand  further  off!  I'll  cry  out  else. 

Arm.  Oh,  dear  lady ! 

Quisar.  I  see  dishonour  in  your  eyes. 


Ann.  There's  none: 
By  all  that  beauty,  th^y  are  innocent! 
Pray  you  tremble  not !  you  have  no  cause. 

Quisar.  Ill  die  first; 
Before  you  have  your  will,  be  torn  in  pieces. 
The  little  strength  IVeleft  me  to  resist  you. 
The  gods  will  give  me  more,  before  I'm  forc'd 
To  that  I  hate,  or  sufier —     ^ 
Arm.  You  wrong  my  duty. 
Quisar.  So  baae  a  violation  of  my  liberty! 
I  know  you're  bent  unnobly;  Fll  take  to  me 
The  spirit  of  a  man,  borrow  his  boldness, 
And  force  my  woman's  fears  into  a  madness. 
And  ere  you  arrive  at  what  you  aim  at — 

Arm.  Lafly, 
If  there  be  in  you  any  woman's  pity. 
And  if  your  fears  have  not  proclaimed  me 

monstrous. 
Look  on  me,  and  believe  me !  Is  this  violence? 
Is  it,  to  fall  thus  prostrate  to  your  beauty, 
A  ruffian's  boldness?  is  humility  a  rudeness? 
The  griefit  and  sorrows  tbat  grow  here,  an 
impudence  ?  [with  me. 

These  forcings,  and  these  fears  I  bnng  along 
These  impudent  abuses  offer'd  you  ? 
And   thus  high  has  your  brother's   favour 

blown  me.  ' 
Alas,  dear  lady  of  my  life,  I  came  not 
With  any  purpose  rough  or  desperate, 
With  any  thought  that  was  not  smooth  and 

gentle 
As  your  fair  hand,  with  any  doubt  or  danger ; 
Far  be  it  from  my  heart  to  fright  ^our  quiet ! 
A  heavy  curse  light  on't,  when  I  intend  it ! 
Quisar,  Now  I  dare  hear  you. 
Arm.  If  I  had  been  mischievous, 
As  then  I  must  be  mad,  or  were  a  monster, 
If  any  such  base  thought  had  harbour'd  here. 
Or  violeuce  that  became  not  man  3^, 
You  have  a  thousand  bulwarks  to  assure  you. 
The   holy  powers   bear  sliields   to  defend 
chastity;  [armours. 

Your  honour  and    your   virtues  are  such 
Your  clear  thoughts  such  defences.    If  you 

misdoubt  still. 
And  yet  retain  a  fear  I  am  not  honest, 
Come  with  impure  thoughts  to  this  place, 
Take  this,  and  sheath  it  here;  be  your  own 
pnfety;  ^ 

Be  wise,  and  rid  your  fears,  and  let  me  pensh ! 
How  willing  shall  I  sleep  to  satisfy  you! 

Quisar.  No;  I  believe   now,   you   speak 
What  came  you  then  for?  [worthily : 

Arm.  To  complain  me,  beauty; 
But  modestly. 
Quisar.  Of  what? 
Arm.  Of  your  fierce  cruelty; 
(For,  th(/  I  die,  I  will  not  blame  the  doer) 
Humbly  to  tell  your  grace  you  had  fprgot  me; 

**  If  any  such  base  thought  had  harbour'd  here. 

Or  violence  that  became  not  man."]  It  has  been  often  observ'd,  that  words  belonging 
to  one  line  have  been  repeated  in  that  above  or  below,  but  here  the  reverse  has  hap- 
pened; for  when  the  same  adjective  should  have  been  repeated,  it  was  in  the  second  line 
tmitted.  Seward. 

Q  2  A  little 


116 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


[Act  4. 


A  little  to  have  toucliM  at,  not  accus*d, 
(For  that  I  dare  not  do)  your  Mcorns:  pray 

pardon  lae, 
And  be  not  angry  that  I  use  the  liberty 
To  urge  that  word  !  A  little  to  have  shew'd 

you  [you, 

AVhat  I  have  been,  and  what  done  to  deserve 
If  any  thing  that  love  commands  may  reach 

you; 
To  Imvc  remember*d  you,  (but  I*ra  unworthy, 
And  to  that  misery  falls  all  my  fortunes) 
To  have  told  you,  and  by  my  life  you  may 

believe  me, 
That  I  am  honest,  and  will  only  marry 
You  or  your  memory:  pmy  be  not  ani;ry ! 

Quisar,  I  thank  you,  sir;  and  let  me  tell 

you  seriously,  [^'^^» 

You  have  taken  now  tlie  right  way  to  befriend 
And  to  beget  a  fair  and  clear  opmion. 
Yet,  to  try  your  obedience — 

^717].  I  stand  ready,  lady, 
Without  presuming  to  ask  any  thing ^^. 

Quisar,  Or  at  this  time  to  hope  for  furtlier 

favour; 
Or  to  remember  services  or  smiles ; 
Dangers  you  have  past  thro\  and  rewards 

due  to  cm ; 
Xx>ves  or  despairs ;  but,  leaving  all  to  me. 
Quit  this  place  presently. 

Arm,  1  shall  obey  you. 

Enter  Kuy  Dias, 

Ruy,  Ha! 

AtiTi.  Who's  this  ?  What  art  thou  ? 

Jitty,  A  gentleman.  [Ruy  I^i«8  : 

Arm,  Thou  art  no  more,  I'm  sure.  Oh,  'tis 
IIow  high  he  looks,  and  harsh ! 

Bwy.  Is  there  not  3oor  enough. 
You  tiike  such  elbow-room? 

Ann.  If  I  take  it.  Til  carry  it. 

Huy,  Does  this  become  you,  princess? 

Arm.  The  captain's  jealous. 
Jealous  of  that  he  never  durst  deserve  yet. 
Go  freely,  go !  I'll  give  thee  leave. 

Ruy,  Your  leave,  sir? 

Arm,    Yes,  my  leave,  sir.      I'll   not  be 

troubled  neither,  [jealous, 

Nor  shall  my  heart  ache,   or  my  head  be 
Nor  strange  suspicious  tlioughts  reign  in  my 

memory ; 

00  on,  and  do  thy  worst,  I'll  smile  at  thee. 

1  kiss  your  fair  hand  first;  tlien,  farewell, 
captain !  [Exii. 
Quisar,  What  a  pure  soul  inherits  here  I 
what  innocence ! 

Sure  I  was  blind  when  I  first  lov'd  this  fellow. 


And  long  to  live  in  that  fog  still :  bow  he 
•    blusters !  [flatteries 

Huy.  Am  I  your  property?  or  those  your 
The  banquets  that  you  bid  me  to,  the  trust 
I  build  my  goodly  hopes  on  ? 

Quitar,  Be  more  temperate ! 

jRttV.  Are  these  the  snows  of  your  respect 

andf  favour?  [with  you? 

What  did  he  here,  what  language  had  he 
Did  you  invite  him?  could  you  stay  no  longer? 
Is  he  so  gracious  in  your  eye? 

Quitar.  You  are  too  forward. 

Huy,  Why  at  these  private  hours  ? 

Quisar,  You  are  too  saucy, 
Too  impudent,  to  task  me  with  those  errors. 
Do    you   know   what  I   am,  sir?  and  my 

prerogative?  [of  friend, 

Tho'  you  be  a  thing  I've  call'd  by  th'  name 
I  never  taught  you  to  dispose  my  liberty; 
IIow  durst  you  touch  mine  honour?  blot  my 

meanings  ? 
And  name  an  action,  and  of  mine,  but  noble? 
Thou    poor  unworthy  tiling,  how   ha\e    I 

grac'd  thee !  [hourly ! 

IIow  have  I  nourish'd  thee,  and  rais'd  thee 
Are  these  the  gratitudes  you  bring,  Ruy  Dias  ? 
The  thanks?  the  services?  I'm  fairly  paid  ! 
\\'ab't  not  enough  I  saw  thou  wert  a  coward. 
And  bhadow'd  thee?  no  noble  spark  in  thee? 
Daily  provok'd  thee,   and   still  fotfnd  thee 

coward  ?  [at ; 

Rais'd  noble  causes  for  thee,  strangers  started 
Yet  still,  still,  still  a  coward,  ever  coward ! 
And,  with  those  taints,  dost  thou  upbraid 

my  virtues? 

Jluy.  I  was  to  blame,  lady. 

Quisar.  So  blindly  bold  [look 

To  touch  at  my  behaviour  ?  Durst  thou  but 
Amiss  at  my  allowance  ? — If  thou  hadst 
Been  a  brave  fellow,  thou  hadst  had  some 

licence, 
Some  hberty;  I  might  have  then  allow'd  thee. 
For  thy   good   face,   some  scope   to   have 

aligned  with  me; 
But  being  notliing  but  a  sound,  a  shape. 
The  mere  sign  of  a  soldier,  of  a  lover 
The  dregs  and  drafi'y  part,  disgrace  and  jea* 
I  scorn  Uiee,  and  contemn  thee !  [lousy, 

Ruy,  Dearest  lady. 
If  I  have  been  too  free — 

Quisar,  Th'hast  been  too  foolish; 
And  go  on  still;  I'll  study  to  forget  thee. 
I  would  I  could !  and  yet  I  pity  thee.  [Exit, 

Ryy.  I  am  not  worth  it;  if  I  were,  that's 

misery ! 
The  next  door  is  but  death ;  I  must  aim  at 

it-  [JEM. 


3^  J  stand  ready,  lady, 

JVitfiout  presuming  to  ask  any  thing.]   This  second   hne   evidently  belongs   to  the 
princess,  or  ehe  he  r  speech  will  not  be  grammar.         Si,Mpson. 

It  will  be  grammar,  supposing  her  to  Uke  up  the  sense  of  what  he  has  said,  which  it  is 
plain  slie  does. 


ACT 


Act  4.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


iir 


ACT    IV. 


Ejiter  King,   and  Governor  like  a  Moor^ 
Priest, 

Kiag,  QO  &r  and  truly  you've  discovered 

^     to  me 
The  fonnpr  currents  of  my  life  and  fortune, 
That  I  am  bound  t' acknowledge  you  most 

And  certainly  to  credit  your  predictions 
Of  what  are  yet  to  come. 

Gov.  I  am  no  liar. —  [neighbour: 

Tis  strange  I  should,  and  live  so  near  a 
Bat  tliese  are  not  my  ends. 

King.  Pray  you  sit,  good  fattier ! 
Certain  a  reverend  man,  and  most-religious. 
Gov.  Ay,  that  belief's  well  now;  and  let 
mc  work  then, 
m  make  you  curse  religion  ere  I  leave  you. — 
Fve  liv'd  a  long  time,  son,  a  mew'd-up  man^ 
Sequester'd  by  the  special  hand  of  Heaven 
From  the  world's  vanities,  bid  farewell  to 
lollies,  [pleasures. 

And  shook  hands  with.all  heats  of  youth  and 
As  in  a  dream,  these  twenty  years  I've  slum- 

ber'd; 
Many  a  cold  moon  have  I,  in  meditation 
And  searching  out  the  hidden  wills  of  Hea- 
ven, 
Iain  shaking  under;  many  a  burning  sun 
Has  seared  my  body,  and  boiPd  up  my  blood, 
Feebled  my  knees,  and  stamp*d  ameagreness 
Upon  my  figure,  all  to  find  out  knowledge ; 
Which  I  have  now  attain'd  to,  thanks  to 
Heaven,  [vision, 

All  for  my  country's  good  too:  and  many  a 
Many  a  mystic  vision,  have  I  seen,  son. 
And  many  a  sight  from  Heav'n  which  has 

been  terrible, 
therein  the  goods  and  evils  of  these  islands 
Were  lively  shadow'd ;  many  a  charge  I've 

had  too. 
Still  as  the  time  grew  ripe  to  reveal  these. 
To  travel  and  discover :  now  Fm  eome,  son. 
The  hour's   now  appointed,    my  tongue's 
And  now  I  speak.  [touch'd. 

King,  Do,  holy  man !  I'll  hear  yon.  ['em  ! 
Gov,  Beware  these  Portugals,  I  say  beware 
These  smooth-fac'd  strangers,  have  an  eye 
upon  'em  !  [king  ! 

The  cause  is  now  the  gods !  hear,  and  believe. 
King.  I  do  hear;  but^  before  I  ghre  rash 
credit,  or 
Hang  too  light  on  belief,  which  is  a  sin,  father. 
Know  I  have  found  'em  gentle,  faithful,  va- 
liant, 
And  am  in  my  particular  bound  to  ^em, 
I  mean  to  some,  for  my  most  strange  deli- 
verance, [serve  me), 
Gov.  Oh,  son,  the  future  aims  of  men  (ob- 
Above  their  present  actions,  and  their  glory, 


Are  to  be  look'd  at :  the  stars  show  many 

turnings. 
If  you  could  see,  mark  but^  with  my  eyes, 

pupil. 
These  men  came  hither,  as  my  vision  tells 

me,  [feebled, 

Poor,  weather-beaten,  almost  lost,  starv'd, 
Their  vessels  like  themselves,  most  miserable ; 
Made  a  long  suit  for  traffick,  and  for  com- 
fort, [eases: 
To  vent  their  children's  toys,  cure  their  dis- 
They  had  their  suit,  they  landed,  and  to  th' 

rate  [freedom 

Grew  rich  and  powerful,  suck'd  the  fat  and 
Of  this  most  blessed  is4e,  taught  her  to  trem* 

ble,  ^ 

Witness  the  castle  here,  the  citadel. 
They've  dapt  upon  the  neck  of  your  Tidore 
(This  happy  town,  'till  that  she  knew  these 

strangers), 
To  check  hevwhen  she's  jolly. 

King,  They  have  so  indeed,  father. 

Gov.  Take  heed,  take  heed !  I  find  your 

fair  delivery, 
(Tho'  you  be  pleas'd  to  glorify  that  fortune, 
And  think  these  strangers  gods,  take  heed^ 

I  say!) 
I  find  It  but  a  handsome  preparation, 
A  fair-fac'd  prologue  to  a  further  miscliief : 
Mark  but  the  end,  good  king,  the  pin  he 

shoots  at! 


That  was  the  man  delivered  you,  the  mirror; 
:  wha " 
heir,  sir. 


Your  sister  is  his  due:  what's  she?  your 


And  what  is  he  a-kin  then  to  the  kingdom } 

But  heirs  are  not  ambitious;  who  then  sufiers  f 

What  rev'rence  shall  the  gods  have^  and 
what  justice 

The  miserable  people  ?  what  shall  they  do  ? 
King,  He  points  at  truth  directly. 
Gov.  Think  of  these,  son  ! 

The  person,  nor  the  manner  I  mislike  not 

Of  your  preserver,  nor  the  whole  man  to« 
gether. 

Were  he  but  season'd  in  the  faith  we  are^ 

In  our  devotions  leam'd. 

King,  You  say  right,  father.       [religion  ^ 
Gov.  To  change  our  worships  now,  and  our 

To  be  traitor  to  our  gods  ? 
King.  You've  well  advis'd  me. 

And  I  will  seriously  consider,  father. 

r  th'  mean  time,  you  shall  have  your  fair  ac« 
cess 

Unto  my  sister,  advise  her  to  vour  purpose, 

And  let  me  still  know  how  the  gods  deter- 
mine, [vise 
Gov,  I  will. — But  my  main  end  is  to  ad- 

The  destruction  of  you  all,  a  general  ruin; 

And  then  I  am  reveng'd,  let  the  gods  whistle ! 

[Exeunt. 
Entert 


118 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


Enter  Ruy  Dias  and  Piniero. 

Ruy.  Indeed;  I  am  right  glad  you  were 

not  greedy, 
And  sudden  in  performing  what  I  wilFd  you. 
Upon  the  fersQu  of  Ammsia; 
I  was  afraid,  for  I  well  knew  your  valour, 
And  love  to  me — 

Pin,  Twas  not  a  fair  thin^  uncle ; 
It  shew'd  not  handsome;  carried  no  man  in  it. 

JRtty.  I  must  confess  'twas  ill,  and  I  abhor 

Only  this  good  has  risen  from  this  evil, 
I've  tried  your  honesty,  4ind  find  it  proof, 
A  constancy  that  will  not  be  corrupted, 
And  I  much  honour  it. 

Fin.  This  bell  sofinds  better.       [suffer'd, 
JRuy.  My  anger  now,  and  that  disgrace  I've 
Shall  be  more  manly  vented,  and  wip*d  off, 
And  my  sick  honour  cur'd  the  right  and 

straight  way : 
My  sword's  in  my  hand  now,  nephew,  my 

cause  upon  it, 
And  man  to  man,  one  valoar  lo  another. 
My  hope  to  his — 

Fin,  Why,  this  is  like  Ruy  Dias !         [it, 
This  carries  something  of  some  substance  in 
Some  mettle  and  some  man ;  this  sounds  a 
gentleman ;  [you : 

And  now  methinks  you  utter  what  becomes 
To  kill  men  scurvily,  'tis  sue  h  a  dog«trick, 
Such  a  rat-catcher's  occupation — 

Ruy,  Tis  ne  better. 
But,  Piniero,  now — 
Fin.  Now  you  do  bravely,  [by,  forgotten, 
Ruy.  The  difTrcnoe  of  our  states  flung 
The  full  opinion  I  have  won  in  service. 
And  such  respects  that  may  not  shew  us 

equal, 
Laid  handsomely  aside,  only  our  fortunes. 
And  single  manhoods-- 
Pi/ij.  In  a  service,  sir, 
Of  this  most  noble  nature,  all  I  am. 
If  I  had  ten  lives  more,  those  and  my  for- 
tunes 
Are  ready  for  you.    I  bad  thought  you  had 
Forsworn  fightmg,  or  banish'd  those  brave 

thoughts 
Were  wont  to  wait  upon  you ;  I  am  glad 
To  see  'em  call'd  home  again. 

Ruy.  They  are,  nephew,  [them: 

>nd  thou  shalt  see  what  fire  they  carry  in 
Here,  you  guess  what  this  means  ? 

[Shcvs  a  challenge. 
Pin.  Yes,  Vjery  well,  sir.    A  portion  of 
scripture 
That  puzzles  many  an  interpreter. 
Ruy.  As  soon  as  you  can  find  him — 
Fin.  Thut  will  not  be  lone,  uncle ; 
And,  o'my  conscience,  hell  be  ready  as 
quickly.  [Carry't  so, 

Ruy.  I  makp  no  doubt,  good   nepliew. 
If  you  can  possible,  that  we  may  fight- 
Pin.  Nay,  you  shall  fight,  assure  yourself. 
Ruy.  Pray  you  hear  mc ! — 


[Act  4. 

In  some  such  place  where  it  may  be  possible 
The  princess  may  behold  us. 

Fin.  I  conceive  you : 
Upon  the  sand  behind  the  castle,  ^r;  [dows 
A  place  remote  enough,  and  there  be  win- 
Out  of  her  lodgings  too,  or  I'm  mistaken. 

Ruy.  You're  i'tli' right;  if  you  can  work 

that  handsomely —  [par*d 

Fin.  Let  me  alone !  and  pray  be  you  pre* 
Some  three  hours  hence. 

Ruy.  rU  not  fail. 

Fin.  Get  you  home ; 
And  if  you  have  any  thing^s  to  dispose  of. 
Or  a  few  light  prayers  that  may  befriend  you. 
Run  'em  over  quickly !  I  warrant  I'll  bring 

him  on. 

Ruy.  Farewell,  nephew  j 
And,  when  we  meet  again —  [Ejeit. 

Pin,  Ay,  ay,  fight  handsomely :  [you; 
Take  a  good  draught  or  two  of  wine  to  settle 
'Ti^  an  ei^celLent  armour  for  an  ill  conscience, 

uncle. 
I  am  glad  to  see  this  man's  conversion ; 
I  was  afraid  fair  honour  had  been  bed-rid, 
Or  beaten  out  o*  th'  island,  soldiers,  and  good 

ones,  [now, 

Intended  such  base  courses.    He  will  fi^lit 
And  I  believe  too  bravely ;  I  have  seen  him 
Curry  a  fellow's  carcase  handsomely; 
And  i'  th'head  of  a  troop,  stand  as  if  he  had 
Been  rooted  there,   dealing  large  doles  of 

death. —  [drawn  I 

What  a  rascal  was  I,  I  did  not  see  his  will 

Enter  Quisara. 

What  does  she  here  ?  If  there  be  any  mis- 
chief towards,  [business 
A  woman  makes  one  still:  now  what  new 
Is  for  me  ? 

Quisar.  I  was  sending  for  you,  but  since 
We've  met  so  fair,  youVe  sav'd  that  labour : 
Entreat  you,  sir —  [I  must 

Pin.  Any  thing,  madam ;  your  wills 
Are  my  commands. 

Quisar.  YouVe  nobly  courteous. 
Upon  my  better  thoughts,  signor  Piniero, 
Aud  my  more  peaceable  considerations, 
(Which  now  I  find  the  richer  ornaments) 
I  would  desire  you  to  attempt  no  iUrther 
Against  the  person  of  the  noble  stranger, 
(In  truth,  I  am  asham'd  of  my  share  in  it) 
Nor  be  incited  further  by  your  uncle ; 
I  see  it  will  sit  ill  upon  your  person. 
I  have  considered,  and  it  will  shew  ugly, 
Carried  at  best,  a  most  uhheard-of  cruc^lty : 
Good  sir,  desist ! 

Pin.  You  speak  now  like  a  wonum. 
And  wondrous  well  this  tenderness  becomes 

you: 
But  this  you  must  remember,  your  command 
Was  laid  on  with  a  kiss;  and  seriously 
It  must  be  taken  off  tlie  same  way,  madam, 
Or  I  stand  bound  still. 

Quisar.  That  shall  not  endanger  you: 
Look  you,  fair  sir,  thus  I  take  off  tlmt  duty. 

Pi«. 


Act  4.1 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


no 


Pin.  By  tb'  mftsd,  'twas  soft  and  sweet! 

Some  bloods  would  bound  now,  [beauty, 
And  nm  a-tilt.  Do  not  you  think,  bright 
YoaVedone  me,  in  this  kiss,  a  mighty  favour, 
And  tliat  I  stand  bound,  by  virtue  of  this  ho- ' 

nour,  '^ 

To  do  whatever  you  command  me  ? 

Quiutn  I  think,  sir, 
From  me  these  are  unusual  courtesies, 
And  ought  to  be  respected  so :  there  are  some, 
And  men  of  no  mean  rank,  would  hold  them- 
selves 
Nor  poorly  blcss'd  to  taste  of  such  a  bounty. 

Pin,  I  know   there  are,  that  would  do 

many  unjust  things 
For  such  a  kiss,  (and  yet  I  hold  this  modest) 
All  villainies,  body  and  soul  dispense  with ; 
For  such  a  provocation,  kill  their  kindred, 
Demolish  the  fair  credits  of  their  parents; 
Those  kisses  I  am  not  acquainted  with : 
Most  certain,  madam,  [voke  me 

Th*  appurtenance  of  this  kiss  would  not  pro* 
To  do  a  mischief;  'tis  the  devil's  own  dance 
To  be  kissM  into  cruelty. 
'Qirnar.  Vm  glad  you  make  that  use,  sir. 

Pin.  I  am  eladder 
That  you  made  me  believe  you  were  cruel  ^*; 
For,  by  this  hand,  I  know  I  am  so  honest. 
However  I  deceived  you,  ('twas  high  time  too; 
Some  common  slave  tnight  have  been  set 

upon  it  else) 
That  willingly  I  would  not  kill  a  dog 
That  could  but  fetch  and  carry  for  a  woman; 
She  must  be  a  good  woman  made  me  kick 

him. 
And  that  will  be  hard  to  6nd :  to  kill  a  man  ? 
If  you  will  give  me  leave  to  get  another, 
Or  toy  she  that  pla/d  the  best  game  at  it. 
And 'fore  a  woman's  anger,  prefer  her  ^ncy — 

Quisar.  I  take  it  in  you  well. 

Pin,  I  thank  you,  lady ; 
And  I  shall  study  to  confirm  it 

Quisar,  Do,  sir ; 
For  this  time,  aad  this  present  cause,  I  al- 
low it.  [Exit  Pin. 
Host  holy  sir! 

Enter  Governor,  Quuanoy  and  Panura. 

God.  Bless  yon,  my  royal  daughter! 
And j  in  you,  bless  tliis  island,  Heav*n! 

Qiosar.  Good  aunt. 
What  think  yoa  of  this  man  ? 

Qiaum.  Sure  he's  a  wise  man,         [pen'd 
And  a  religions :  he  tells  us  tilings  have  hap- 
So  many  years  ago,  almost  forgotten. 
As  reaclily  as  if  they  were  done  this  hour. 

Qnmr.  Does  he  not  meet  with  your  sharp  I 

tongue  ?  I 


Pan,  He  tells  me,  madam,  [tamer. 

Marriage  and  mouldy  cheese  will  make  me 
Gov,  A  stubborn  keeper,,  and  worse  fape. 
An  open  stable,  and  cold  care. 
Will  tame  a  jade,  may  be  your  share. 
Pan.  ByV  lady,  a  shai-p  prophet !  Wlien 
this  proves  good, 
111  bequeath  you  a  skin  to  make  you  a  hood. 
Gov.  Lady,  Fd  talk  with  you. 
Quisar.  Do,  reverend  sir !  ^ 

Gov.  And  for  your  good,  for  that  that  must 
concern  you; 
And  give  ear  wisely  to  me ! 

Quisftr.  I  shall,  father.  [lence. 

Gov.  You  are  a  princess  of  tlmt  excel- 
Sweetness  and  grace,  that  angel-like  £ur  fea- 
ture, 
(Nay,  do  not  blush,  I  do  not  flatter  you. 
Nor  do  I  dote  in  telling  this)  I  am  amazed 3', 

lady. 
And  as  I  think  the  gods  bestowM  these  on  you, 
The  gods  that  love  you — 

Quimr.  I  confess  their  bounty.        fnour. 
Gov.  Apply  it  then  to  their  use,  to  their  ho- 
To  them,  and  to  their  service  give  this  sweet* 
ness !  [ness; 

They  have  an  instant  great  use  of  your  good- 
You  areasaint  eeteem'd  here  for  your  beauty, 
And  many  a  longing  heart—- 

Qtttsar.  I  seek  no  fealty;  fme; 

Nor  wilt  I  blemish  that  Heaven  has  sealed  on 
I  know  my  worth.    Indeed  the  Portugals 
I  have  at  those  commands,  and  their  last  ser* 
vices,  [someness, 

Nay  e'en  tbei  r  lives,  so  much  I  think  my  hand- 
That  what  I  shall  enjoin— 
Gov.  Use  it  discretely! 
(For  I  perceive  you  understand  me  rightly) 
For  here  the  gods  regard  your  help  and  sud- 
denly: [lady) 
The  Portugals,  like  sharp  thorns  (mark  me. 
Stick  in  our  sides;  like  razors,  wound  reli- 
gion;                                   [blood  follows; 
Drawn  deep  they    wound,   until  the  life 
Our  gods  they  spurn  at,  and  their  worships 
scorn,                                                [ment: 
A  mighty  hand  diey  bear  upon  our  govern- 
These  are  the  men  yourmiracle  mustwork  on. 
Your  heavenly  form,  either  to  root  them  out, 
(Which,  as  you  may  endeavour,  will  be  easy. 
Remember  whose  great  cause  you  have  to 
execute)^                                          [more, 
To  nip  their  memory,  that  may  not  spring  ^ 
Or  fairly  bring  'em  home  to  our  devotions; 
Which  wiU  te  blessed,  and  for  which  you 

sainted. 
But  cannot  be,  and  they  go ;  let  me  bustle ! 
Qttuar.  Go  up  with  me. 


^*  Thai  you  made  me  believe  you  were  cruel.]  I  read  this  line  so^ 

You  made  me  but  believe  that  you  were  cruel.        Setvard. 
^^  lam  amazed,  /oify— r]  Amazement  at  beauty,  tho'  it  does  not  necessarily  imply  dotage, 
jet  often  both  foreruns  and  accompanies  it,  and  would  certainly  be  rather  a  cause  why  be 
sittoki  not  dote:  the  most  natural  reason  for  him  to  give  is, 

Nor  do  I  dote  in  telling  this,  I  am  aged,  lady.        Seward. 

Where 


ISO 


THE  ISLAND  PIONCESS. 


[Act  *. 


Where  well  converse  more  privately : 

I'll  shew  yoa  shortly  hoiv  I  hold  their  temper, 

And  in  what  chain  their  souls. 

Gov.  Keep  fast  that  hold  still!  [in  it, 
And  either  bring  that  chain,  ahd  those  bound 
And  link  it  to  our  gods  and  their  fair  wor- 
ships, [it. 
Or,  daughter,  pinch  their  hearts  a^^pieces  with 
111  wait  upon  your  grace. 

Quisar,  Come,  reverend  father! — 
Wait  you  below.        [Exe.  Quisar.  and  Gov. 

Pan,  If  this  prophet  were  a  young  thing, 
I  should  suspect  him  now,  he  cleaves  so  close, 

to  her; 
These  holy  coats  are  long,  and  hide  iniquities. 

Quisan,  Away,  away,  fool !  a  poor  wretch ! 
.    Pan.  These  poor  ones, 
Warm  but  their  stomachs  once— 

Quisan.  Come  in;  thou'rt  foolish. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Armuda,  Emanuel,  and  Piniero. 

Arm.  Vm  sorry,  sir,  my  fortune  is  so  stub- 
bom. 
To  court  my  sword  against  my  countryman : 
I  love  my  nation  well;  and  where  I  find 
A  Portugal  of  noble  name  and  virtue, 
I  am  his  humble  servant.    Signer  Piniero, 
Your  person,  nor  your  uncle's,  am  I  angry 

with; 
You're  both  fair  gentlemen  in  my  opinion, 
And,  [  protest,  Fd  rather  use  my  sword 
In  your  defences  than  against  your  safeties : 
It  IS,  methinks,  a  strange  dearth  of  enemies, 
When  we  seek  foes  among  ourselves. 

Etnan.  You're  injur'd,  [readiest — 

And  you  must  make  the  best  on't  now,  and 

Arm.  You  see  i*ra  ready  in  the  place,  and 

arm'd 
To  his  desire  that  call'd  me. 

Pin.  You  speak  honestly,  [friendly; 

And  I  could  wish  you'd  met  on  terms  more 
Bat  it  can't  now  be  so. 

Enter  JRuy  Dias. 

Eman.  Turn,  sir,  and  see ! 
Pttt.  I  have  kept  my  word  with  you,  uncle : 
The  gentleman  is  ready. 

Enter  Gaoemor  and  Quisara  above. 

Arm.  Ye  are  welcome. 
Jitty.  Bid  those  fools  welcome  that  affect 
your  courtesy  I  [me ; 

I  come  not  to  use  compliment:  you*ve  wrong'd 

^  Quisar.  No  more,  be  quiet  yet.]    Possibly  these  words  belong  to  the  Governor, 

Syn^son, 
♦*  Gov.  Pot  sorry  for*t. 

Eman.  But  since  youHl  have  it  so — ^1  The  same  cause  of  complaint  returns  upon  us 
again  which  was  mentToned  above,  viz.  the  multiplication  of  names,  for  here  the  Governor 
has  nothing  to  do.  But  these  lines  belong  to  Emanuel,  sorry  that  the  seconds  are  not  per- 
mitted to  ^;ht ;  or  both  to  Armusia,  for  the  unliappy  necessity  he  lay  under  of  fighting  with 
bis  coantryman.    If  it  was  lef^  to  me,  I  believe  I  should  determine  in  favour  of  Emanuel. 

Sympson. 
The  old  books  surely  are  right :  the  Governor  avows  his  sorrow  that  they  are  to  stand  idle. 

Pin. 


And  you  shall  feel,  proud  man,  ere  I  part 

from  you, 
Th*  effects  of  that :  if  Fortnne  do  not  fool  me. 
Thy  life  is  mine,  and  no  hope  shall  redeem 

thee.  [feith  can  justify. 

Arm.  That's  a  proud  word;  more  than  your 

Quisar,  Sure  they  will  fight ! 

Ruy.  She  is  there ;  I  am  happy.      [ther; 

Gov.  Let  'em  alone !  let  'era  kill  one  ano- 
These  are  the  main  posts;  if  they  fall,  the 
Will  tumble  quickly.  [buildings 

Quisar.  How  temperate  Armusia  I 

Gov.  No  more;  be  quiet  yet'°. 

Arm.  I  am  not  bloody. 
Nor  do  not  feel  such  mortal  malice  in  me; 
But  since  we  cannot  both  enjoy  the  princess, 
I  am  resolvM  to  fight. 

Ruy.  Fight  home,  Armusia ! 
For,  if  thou  faint'st  or  fall'st — 

Arm.  D'you  make  all  vantages? 

Ruy.  All  ways,  unto  thy  life:  I  will  not 

spare  thee. 
Nor  look  not  for  thy  mercy. 

Amu  I  am  arm'd  then. 

Ruy.  Stand  still,  I  charge  you,  nephew,  as 

you  honour  me ! 

Arm.  And,  good  Emanuel,  stir  not. 

Pin.  Ye  speak  fitly; 
For  we  had  not  stood  idle  else. 

Gov.  I'm  sorry  for't**. 

Eman.  But  since  you'll  have  it  so~ 

Ruy.  Come,  sir  I 

Arm.  I  wait  you. 

Pin.  Ay,  marry,  this  looks  handsomely  ! 
This  is  warm  work  I 

Gov.  Both  fall,  au't  be  thy  will! 

[Ruy  falls. 

Pin,  My  uncle  dead ! 

Eman.  §tand  still,  or  my  sword's  in — 

Arm,  Now,  brave  Ruy  Dias, 
Now, Where's  y our confidience?  Your  prayers, 

quickly ! 
Your  own  spite  has  condemn'd  you% 

Quisar.  Hold,  Armusia ! 

Arm.  Most  happy  lady! 

Quisar.  Hold,  and  let  him  rise ; 
Spare  him  forme! 

Arm.  A  long  life  may  he,  enjoy,  lady  ? 
Gov.  What  ha'you  done?  Tis  better  they'd 

all  perish'd.  [Armusia, 

Qutsar.  Peace,  fiither !  I  work  for  the  best. 
Be  in  the  garden  an  hour  hence. 

[Exeunt  Quisar.  and  Gob. 

Arm.  I  shall,  madam. 


Ac(4} 


tES,  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


Itl 


Fin.  Now,  as  I  live,  a  gentleman  at  all 

inches! 
80  hrave  a  mingled  temper  saw  I  never. 

Arm.  Why  are  you  sad,  sir?  How  would 

this  have  grieved  you. 
If  ;oa  had  MCn  under  a  profess^  enemy? 
Under  one  had  taken  vantage  of  your  smune 

too  ?  [wronging  you, 

Frey  you  be  at  peace!  I  am  so  far  from 
Or  gb^ing  in  the  pride  of  such  a  victorvy 
That  X  desire   to    serve    you:  pray  look 

cfaearfolly ! 

Pim.  Do  you  hear  this,  nr  ? 
This  love,  sir?  Do  you  see  this  gentleman. 
How  he  courts  you?  Why  do  you  hold  your 

head  down? 
Ti$  no  high-treason,  I  take  it,  to  be  equall'd; 
To  have    a   slip  i'th'  £eld,   no  sin  that's 

mortal: 
Come,  come ;  thank  fortune  and  your  friend ! 

Arm,  It  may  be 
YoD  think  my  tongue  may  prove  your  enemy, 
And  tho'  restrained,   sometimes,   out  of  a 

bravery,     . 
May  take  a  licence  to  disable  you^^: 
Beheve  me,  sir,  so  much  I  hate  that  liberty, 
That  in  a  stranger^s  tongue  'twill  prove  an 
And  I  shall  right  you  in't.  [injury ; 

Pin»  Can  you  have  more,  uncle? 

Ruy.  Sir,  vou  have  beat  me  both  ways; 

yet  so  nobly, 
Huit  I  shall  ever  love  the  hand  that  did  it : 
Fortune  may  make  me  worthy  of  some  title 
That  may  be  near  your  firiend. 

Amu  Sir,  I  must  leave  you,  [fident. 

Bat  with  so  hearty  love — ^And  pray  be  con- 
I  cany  nothing  from  this  place  shall  wrong 

you.  [Exe.  Amu  and  Eman, 

Fm,  Come,  come;  you're  right  ag^in,  sir: 

love  your  honour,  [purposes, 

And  love  your  friend;  take  heed  of  bloody 
And  unjust  ends!  good  Heav'n  is  angry  with 

'em; 


Make  your  fair  virtues  and  yoiit  &me  your 

mistress; 
And  let  these  trinkets  eo ! 

Utty.  You  teach  weU,  nephew:  [man+% 
Now  to  be  honourable  even  with  this  gentle- 
Shall  be  my  business,  and  my  euds  his. 

[Egeunt. 

Enter  Qovemor  and  King, 

GffD,  Sir,  sir! 
You  must  do  something  suddenly,  to  atop 
His  pride,  so  great  and  high  he  is  shot  up ; 
Upon  his  person  too,  your  state  is  sunk  else: 
You  must  not  stana  now  upon  terms  of 

gratitude. 
And  let  a  simple  tenderness  besot  you.      ' 
111  bring  you  suddenly  where  you  shall  see 

him, 
Attempting  your  brave  sister,  privately; 
Mark  but  his  high  beliaviour  then. 

King.  I  will,  rather.  [too. 

Gov.  And  with  scorn;  I  fear,  contempt 

Xing.  I  hope  not**. 

Gov,  1  will  not  name  a  lust;  it  may  b^ 

that  also. 
A  little  force  most  be  applied  upon' him, 
Now,  now  applied,  a  litde  force  to  humble 

him:  [wanton. 

These  sweet  entreaties  do  but  make  him 

King.  Take  heed,  you  wrong  him  not ! 

Gov.  Take  heed  to  your  safety!  [me, 
I  but  forewarn  you,  king;  if  you  mistrust 
Or  think  I  come  unsent— 

King*  No,  ril  go  with  you.  lExeunt. 

Enter  Arnnma  and  Quitora, 

Arm.  Madam,  you  see  there*s  nothing  I, 

can  reach  at, 
Either  in  my  obedience,  or  my  service, 
That  may  deserve    your  lovoi    or  win  a 

liking, 


^  To  disable  you.']  Sympson  objects  to  the  word  disable;  for  which  we  see  no  reason,  as 
Usable  is  frequently  used  in  the  sense  of  disparage. 

*^  Now  to  be  honourable  even  with  this  gentlemun.']  I  have  I  believe  shewn  before,  that 
oor  authors  take  the  same  liberty  in  our  language  that  the  Greeks  and  Latins  do  in  iheirs, 
vis.  of  using  an  adjective  adverbially;  so  at  tlie  end  almost  of  tins  play  we  have  the  same 
licence  took  again.' 
Quisar.  Which  way  you  go,  sir, 

I  must  follow  necessary,  i.  e.  necessarily*        Sympson* 
^  A^nd  with  scorn,  I  fear  contempt  too. 
King.  I  hope  not. 
Gov,  I  will  not  name  a  lust; 

Jt  fnay  be  that  also.]  This  odd  passage  I  would  reform  thus, 
Gofo.  And  with  what  scorn  I  fear  too — 
King.  I  hope  not. 

Gov.  I  will  not  name  a  lust ;  it  may  be  that  also. 
That  what  is  drojpt  in  the  first  line  seems  evident ;  but  how  comes  contempt  to  be  inserted 
after  scorn,  as  if^  that  was  to  be  fear'd  much  moi'e  than  the  other  when  it  is  so  nearly  the 
same  tiling?  I  take  the  wh(»le  passage  to  have  been  confus'd  in  the  manuscript,  and  that 
contempt  was  put  in  by  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  restore  it ;  for  its  absence  with  a  change 
of  the  points,  aud  a  proper  disposition  of  the  words,  restores  both  sense  and  measure. 

Sevcurd, 
VOL.  m.  R  But 


m 


HIE  ISLAND  PRINCfeSS. 


But  a  poor  thought,  but  I  pursue  it  seriously**, 
Tnke  pleasure  in  your  wills,  e'en  in  your  an^^er, 
Which  other  men  would  grudge  at^  and  grow 

btormy: 
I  study  new  humility  to  please  you, 
And  take  a  kind  of 'joy  in  roy  afllictions; 
Because  tliey  come  from  you,  I  love  my  sop- 
Pray,  madam,  but  consider —  [rows. 

CjtfiVar.  Yes,  I  do,  sir; 
Aiid  to  that  honest  end  I  drew  you  hither. 
I  know  you  have  deserv'd  as  much  as  man  can, 
And  know  it  is  a  justice  to  requite  you : 
I  know  you  love. 

Ann,  If  ever  love  was  mortal,  [me, 

And  dwelt  in  man:  and  for  that  love  command 
(So  strong  I  find  it,  and  so  true,  here,  lady) 
Somcthine;  of  such  a  greatness  to  allow  me, 
Those  things  I've  done  already  may  seem 

foils  to : 
Tis  equity,  that  man  aspires  to  Heaven 
Should  win  it  by  his  worth,  and  not  sleep 

to  it. 

Enter  Gaoemor  and  King, 

:  Gov*  Now  stend  close,  king,  and  hear; 

and,  as  you  find  him, 
Believe  mc  right,  or  let  religion  suffer ! 

Quisar,  I  dare  believe  your  worth,  without 

additions ; 
But  since  you  are  so  liberal  of  your  love,  sir, 
And  would  be  further  tried,  I  do  irftend  it. 
Because  you  shall  not,  or  you  would  not  win 
At  such  an  easy  rate —  [me 

Arm,  I  am  prepar'd  still. 
And  if  I  shrink — 

Quisar,  I  know  you  are  no  coward: 
This  is  the  utmost  trial  of  your  constancy; 
And  if  you  stand  fast  now,  I'm  yours,  your 

wife,  sir.  [atchieve  me. 

You  hold  there's  nothing  deur,  that  may 
Doubted,  or  dangerous. 

Arm.  There's  nothing,  nothing : 
Let  me  but  know,  that  I  may  straight  fly  to  it! 

Quisar.  I'll  tell  you  then :  change  your 
/        religion. 

And  be  of  one  belief  with  me ! 

Arm,  How ! 

Quisar,  Mark  !  [bred  in. 

Worship  our  gods,  renounce  that  faith  you're 
(Tis  easily  done ;  I'll  teach  you  suddenly) 
And  humbly  on  your  knees — 

Arm.  Ha!  Fll  be  hang'd  first. 

Quisar,  Offer  as  we  do. 

Arm,  To  the  devil,  lady  ? 
Offer  to  him  I  hate ?  I  know  the  devil! 
To  dogs  and  cats?  you  do  make  offer  to 

them*^; 


(Act  4. 


To  every  bird  that  flies,  and  every  worm. 
How  terribly  I  shake !  Is  this  tlie  venture, 
The  trial,  tlmt  you  talk'd  of  ?— Where  have  I 

been, 
A  nd  how  forgot  ihy self,  how  lost  my  memory  ? 
When  did  I  pray,  or  look  up  stedtitstly, 
Had  any  goodness  in  my  heart  to  guicfc  me. 
That  I  should  give  this  Vantage  to  mine 

enemy. 
The  enemy  to  my  peace?  Forsake  my  faitb^ 

Quisar.  Come,  come,  I  know  you  lo%'e  me. 

Arm.  Love  you  this  way  ?  [lady. 

Tliis  most  destroying  way?  Sure  you  but  jest^ 

Quisar.  My  love  and  life  are  one  way. 

Arm,  Love  alone  then ! 
And  mine  another  way:  I'llloire  diseases  first. 
Dote  on  a  villain  that  would  cut  my  throat, 
Wooe  all  afflictions  of  all  sorts,  kiss  cruelty. 
Have  mercy.  Heaven !   How  have  I   been 

wand'ring,  [Maker  ? 

Wand'ring  the  way  of  lust,  and   left  my 
How  have  I  slept  like  cork  upon  a  water. 
And  had  no  feeling  of  the  storm  that  toss'd 

me !  [surance. 

Trod  the  blind  paths  of  death,  forsook  as- 
Eternity  of  blessedness,  for  a  woman ! 
For  a  ^oung  handsome  face,  hazard  my  being? 

Quisar.  Are  not  oar  powers  eternal,  vt 

their  comforts  ? 
As  great  and  full  of  hopes  as  yours  ? 

Arm.  They're  puppets — 

Gov.  Now  mark  him,  sir,  and  but  observe 

him  nearly!  [senseless  outsides; 

'    Arm.  Their  comforts  like  themselves,  cold. 
You  make  'em  sick,  as  we  are,  peevish, 

mad, 
Subject  to  age :  and  how  can  they  cure  U9> 
That  are  not  able  to  refine  themselves  ? 

Quisar.  The  son  and  moon  we  worship, 

(those  are  heav'nly) 
And  their  bright  influences  we  believe. 

Arm.  Away,  fool ! 
I  adore  the  Maker  of  tliat  sun  and  moon. 
That  gives  those  bodies  light  and  influence. 
That  point*  d  out  their  paths,  and  taughi 

their  motions;  [servants, 

They're  not  so  great  as  we,  they  are  our 
Plac'd  there  to  teach  us  time,  to  |ive  us 

knowledge  [mam  are, 

Of  when,  and   how,  the  swellings  of  the 
And   their  returns  again;  they're  but  oar 

stewards 
To  make  the  earth  fat,  with  their  influence. 
That  she  may  bring  forth  her  increase,  aud 

feed  us. 
Shall  I  full  from  tliis  faith  to  please  a  woman? 
For  her  embraces  bring  my  soul  to  ruin  ? 


♦*  But  a />oor  thought ,  but  I  pursue  U  seriously.]  I  wish  the  authors  had  wrote  here, 
^'ot  a  poor  tliought,  or 
Be*t  a  pour  thought. 
The  sense  of  the  place  manilestly  requires  some  such  alteration.        Sympson, 
But  here  is  iukeii  in  the  sense  of  cieu, 

^  To  dogs  and  catnY  t/ou  make  offer  to  them;]  Sympson  would  read  axul  point, 
To  dogs  uud  cuts  ?  you  make  me  oher  to  them? 

llook'd 


Ad  I.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS* 


1C» 


I  looked  yott  sbottld  have  said^  make  me  a 

Christian !  [womna ; 

Work  that  great  cure ;  for  'tis  a  great  one, 
That  labour  truly  to  perform,  that  venture, 
The  crown  of  all  great  trial,  and  the  fairest ; 
I  ]ook*d  you  should  have  wept  and  knecl'd  to 

beg  it,  [ters 

Wasii'd  off  your  roist  of  ignorance,  with  wa- 
Pure  and  repentant,  from  those  eyes;  I  look'd 
You  should  have  brought  me  your  chief  god 

ye  worship. 
He  that  you  offer  human  blood  and  life  to, 
And  made  a  sacrifice  of  him  to  memory, 
Beat  down  Iiis  altars,  ruiu*d  liis  false  temples. 

Guv.  Now  you  may  see ! 

Quitttr.  Take  heed;  you  go  too  far,  sir. — 
And  yet  I  love  to  hear  him:  I  must  have  you, 
And  to  that  end  I  let  you  storm  a  little. — 
I  know  there  must  be  some  strife  in  your  bo- 
som [back; 
To  cool  and  quiet  you,  ere  you  can  come 
I  know  old  friends  cannot  part  suddenly; 
There  will  be  some  lett  still:  yet  I  must  have 

you, 
Have  you  of  my  faith  too,  and  so  enjoy  you. 

Arm.  Now  I  contemn  you !   and  I  hate 

myself 
For  looking  on  that  face  lasciviously ! 
Aod  it  looks  ugly  now,  roethinks. 

Quisar.  Iiow,*Porti^  ? 

Arm,  It  looks  like  death  itself,  to  which 

'twould  lead  me  :  [me !) 

Your  eyes  resembje  pale  despair,  (they  fright 
And  in  their  rounds  a  thousand  horrid  ruins 
Methinks  I  see;  and  in  your  tongue  hear 

fearfully  [sufferM. 

The  hideous  murmurs  of  weak  souls  have 
Get  firom  me !  I  despise  you.    And  know, 

woman,  [life'  in, 

That  for  all  this  trap  youVe  laid  to  catch  my 
To  catch  my  immortal  life,  I  hate  and  curse 

Cofltemnyoor  deities^  spurn  at  their  powers, 


And  where  I  meet  your  Maumet  gods  ^7,  111 

swing  'em  [dies ; 

Thus  oVr  my  head,  and  kick  'era  into  pud- 
Nay,  I  will  out  of  vengeance  search  your 

temples,  [demolibb 

And,  with  those  hearts  that  serve  ray  god. 
Your  shambles  of  wild  worships. 

Gov,  Now,  now  you  hear,  sir !       [crafty. 

Arm,  I  will  have  my  faith,  since  you  are  so 
The  glorious  cross,  allho'  I  love  your  brotlier; 
Let  him  frown  too,  I  will  have  my  dcvutiou. 
And  let  your  whole  state  storm ! 

King.  Enter,  and  take  him ! — 
I*m  sorry,  friend,  that  1  am  f(irc*(l  to  do  this. 

Gov.  Be  sure  ye  hind  him  fast. 

Quiaar,  But  use  him  nobly. 

Kiifg.  Had  it  to  me  been  done,  I  had  fur- 

giv'n  it. 
And  still  preserved  you  fiiir;  but  to  our  gods, 

Quisar.  Metliinks  I  liate  'em  now.   [sir-* 

King*  To  our  religion, 
To  these  to  be  thus  stubborn,  thus  rebellious, 
To  threaten  them — 

Arm.  Use  all  your  violence: 
I  *ask  no  mercv,  nor  repent  my  words; 
I  spit  at  your  Lest  powers;  I  sep-e  one 
Will  give  me  strength  to  scourge  your  godsr-v 

Gov,  Away  with  him!  [perse 'em, 

Arm.  To  grind  'em  into  base  dust,  and  dis- 
Thnt  never  more  tlieir  bloody  memories — 

Gov.  Clap  him  close  up ! 

King.  Good  friend,  be  cooler ! 

Arm.  Never; 
Your  painted  sister  I  despise  too — 

King.  Softly !  [scorn  at, 

Ann.  And  all  her  devilish  arts  I  laugh  and 
Mock  her  blind  purposes. 

Kin^.  You  must  be  temperate. 
Oilor  him  no  violence,  I  command  you  strictly* 

Gov.  Now  thou  art  up,  I  shall  have  timt 

to  speak  too. 

Quisar.  Oh,  howl  lov«  this  man,  how  truly 

honour  him!  [Exiunt, 


ACT    V. 


iEnter  ChrUtophero  and  Pedro  at  one  door, 

Emanuel  and  Soza  at  another. 
Chit.  T\'  YOU  know  th'  news,  gentlemen  ? 
■*-^     Eman.  'Would  we  knew  as  well. 
How  to  prevent  it!  [sir, 

Soza.  Is  tliis  the  love  tliey  bear  ns. 
For  our  late  benefit?  Taken  so  maliciously. 
And  ciap'd  up  close?  is  that  the  thanks  they 

reader?  [tfaer'd  slightly; 

Chris.  It  must  not  be  put  up  tlms,  smo- 
I'is  such  a  base  unnatural  wrong— 


Pedro,  I  know, 
They  may  think  to  do  wonders,  aim  at  all, 
And  to  blow  us  with  a  vengeance  out  o*  th* 

islands ; 
But  if  we  be  ourselves,  honest  and  resolute. 
And  continue   but  masters  of  our  ancient 

courages,  [lainies — 

Stick  close,  and.  give  no  vantage  to  their  vil- 

Sosa,  Nay,  if  we  faint  or  fall  a-pieces  uow. 
We're  fools,  and  worthy  to  be  mark'd  tor  mi«. 

sery. 


^^  Meet' your  Maumet  godt."]  This  is  the  writing  of  this  word  in  the  old  copy  of  164r;  in 
die  rest  'tis  thas^ 

Meet  your  Makumet  gods..       Sj/mpson. 

11 Q  Begin 


1S4 


THE  ISLAND  PBINCESS. 


[Aet«» 


Begin  to  strike  at  him,  they  we  all  bound  to? 
To  cancel  his  deserts?  What  must  we  look 
If  they  can  carry  this?  [for, 

Eman,  111  carry  coab  then.  [men, 

I  have  but  one  life,  and  one  fortune,  gentle- 
But  ril  so  husband  it  to  vex  these  rascals, 
These  barbarons  slaves*— 

Chris.  Sludl  we  go  charge  'em  presently? 

Soga.  No,  that  will  be  too  weak,  and  too 

fool-hardy;  [friends. 

We  must  have  grounds  that  promise  safety. 
And  sure  o6fence;  we  lose  our  angers  else, 
And,  worse  than  that,  venture  our  lives  too 

lightly, 

JEJitf  «r  Ptaiero. 

Pin,  Did  you  see  mine  uncle?  Plague  o' 

these  barbarians !  [ye're  angry : 

How  the  rogues  stick  i'my  teeth!  I  know 
So  I  am  too,  monstrous  an^ry,  gentlemen; 
I'm  angry,  that  I  choke  again. 
You  hear  Armusia's  np,  honest  Armu^a, 
CUp'd  up  in  prison,  tnendsy  the  brave  Aiw 

musiar 
Here  are  fine  boys! 

Eman,  We  hope  he  shall  not  stay  there. 

Pin,  Stay?  no,  he  must  not  stay,  no  talk 

of  staying,  [rascals? 

These  are  no  times  to  stay.  Are  not  these 
Speak,  I  beseech  you  speak,  are  they  not 

rogues?  [devils? 

Tliink  some  abominable  names — areth^y  not 
But  the  devil's  a  ereat  deal  too  good  for  'em 

— fusty  villains  1 

Chris,  They  are  a  kind  of  hounds. 

PcTi.  Houndi  were  their  fathers ; 
Old  blear-eyM  bob-tail'd  hounds.— Lord, 

wliere's  my  uncle? 

Soza,  But  what  shall  be  done,  sir? 

Pin.  Done? 

Soga,  Yes,  to  relieve  him? 
If  it  bcn't  sudden,  they  may  take  his  life  too. 

Pin.  They  dare  as  soon  take  fire  and  swal- 
low it^  [ters. 
Take  stakes  and  thrust  into  their  tails  for  dis- 
His  life?    why,  *tis  a  thing  worth  ail  the 

islands, 
And  they  know  will  be  rated  at  that  value : 
His  very  imprisonment  will  make  the  town 

stink,  [for  'em, 

And  shake  and  stink ;  Tve  physic  in  my  hand 
Shall  give  the  goblins  such  a  purge-— 

Enter  Ruy  Dias. 

Pcrfro.  Your  uncle !  [seeking  vou: 

Rui/.  I  hear  strange  news,  and  have  been 
They  say  Armusia*s  prisoner. 

Fin.  Tis  most  certain. 

jRtfy.  Upon  what  cause  ? 

Pin.  He  has  deserv'd  too  much,  sir* 
The  old  heathen  policy  has  ht  upon  him, 
And  paid  him  home, 

Ruy.  A  most  unnoble  dealing  I    [tarael]^. 

Pin,  You  arc  tlie  next;  if  you  can  carry  it 
He  has  (leserv*d  of  all, 


Ruy.  I  must  confess  it  j 
Of  me  so  nobly  too ! 

Ptn.  Tm  glad  to  hear  it;  [fessioi^ 

You've  a  time  now  to  make  good  yoor^vn* 
(Your  faith  will  shew  but  coldiOiKy  -and  Cur 

fashion).  [sj. 

Now  to  redeem  all,  now  to  thank  his  coorte* 
Now  to  make  those  believe,  that  held  yoa 

backward 
And  an  ill  instvument,  yon  are  a  gentlemaiiy 
An  honest  man,  and  you  dare  love  your  na- 
tion, 
Dare  stick  to  Virtue,  tho'  she  be  opprest. 
And,  for  her  own  fair  sake,  step  to  her  rescue  : 
If  you  live  ages,  sir,  and  lose  this  hour, 
Not  now  redeem  and  vindicate  your  honour. 
Your  life  will  be  a  murmur,  and  no  man  in't. 

Ruy.  I  tliank  you,  nephew,^— Come  alon|; 

*with  mc,  gentlemen ! 
We'll  make  'em  dancing  sport  immediately; 
We're  masters  of  the  fort  yet;  we  shall  see 
What  that  can  do. 

Ptn.  Let  it  but  spit  fire  finely,  [laces^ 
And  play  their  turrets,  and  their  painted  pa* 
A  frisking  round  or  two,  that  they  may  trip 
And  caper  in  the  air !  [it, . 

Ruy.  Come;  we'll  do  something  [plums. 
Shall  make  'em  look  about;  we'll  send  'em 
If  tliey  ben't  too  hard  for  their  teeth. 

Ptn.  And  fine  potatoes 
Roasted  in  gunpowder:  such  a  banquet,  sir^ 
We'll  prepare  their  unmannerly  stomachs-^ 

Ruy,  They  shall  see 
There  is  no  safe  retreat  in  villainy. 
Come,  be  high-hearted  all ! 

Omnes.  We're  all  on  fire,  sir.        [Exeunt^ 

Enter  King  and  Governor, 

King,  I  am  ungrateful,  and  a  wretch  (perr 
suade  me  not !) 
Forgetful  of  the  mercy  he  shew'd  me. 
The  timely  noble  pity.    Why  should  I 
See  him  £iist  bound  and  fetter'd,  whose  true 
courtesy,  [me  free? 

Whose  manhood,  an4  whose  mighty  hand,  set 
Why  should  it  come  from  me?  why  I  com- 
mand this?  [Uiankfnl? 
Sh-<11  not  all  tongues  and  (ruths  call  me  un- 
Gofo,  Had  tlieofienoe  been  thrown  on  ]ron, 
'tis  certain  [don. 
It  had  been  in  your  power,  and  vonr  discr^ 
To  have  it  turn  d  into  mercy,  and  forgiven  it. 
And  then  it  had  shew'd  a  virtuous  point  of  gra» 

titude, 
Timely,  and  nobly  ta'en;  but  since  the  cause 
Concerns  the  honour  of  our  gods,  and  their 
title,  [passion, 

And  so  transcends  your  power,  and  yourcomr 
(A  little  your  own  safety,  if  you  saw't  too. 
If  your  too-fond  indulgence  did  not  dazzle 

It  cnunot  now  admit  a  private  pity : 

I  Tis  in  their  wills,  their  mercies,  or  revenges. 
And  these  revolts  in  ^ou  shewmere  rebellious. 
King,  They're  mild  and  pitiful— 

Gov, 


Acts.} 


THE  ISLAND  TRDSCEB& 


Its 


Goo.  To  thoae  repent 

JBi^.  Their  nature's  soft  «nd  tender-^- 

Gov.  To  true  hearts, 
Tint  ieel  compunction  for  dieir  treepasses: 
Tfab  man  defies  'em  still,  threatens  destruc- 
tion 
And  dem<^tioo  of  their  arms  and  worship. 
Spits  at  their  powers:  take  heed  you  be  not 

found,  sir. 
And  mark'd  a  favourer  of  their  dishonour ! 
Iher  use  no  common  justice. 

King.  What  shall  I  do 
To  deserve  of  this  man  f 

Gcv.  If  you  more  bemoan  him. 
Or  mit^ate  your  power  to  preserve  him, 
FU  ciir&  you  from  the  gods,  call  up  their 

vengeance. 

Xnter  Quitara  zoith  ker  hands  hcundf  Qui" 
iana  and  Panurcu 

Andflingitonyourlandandyou:  Tve  charge 
I  hope  to  wrack  you  aU.  [for't,— - 

Minf.  What  ails  my  sister  ^ 
Why  is  she  bound  ?  why  looks  she  so  difr- 

tiactedly? 
Who  dares  do  this? 

QausBR.  We  did  it  (pardon,  sir!) 
And  for  her  preservation :  she's  grown  wild, 
And  raving  on  tb<}  stranger's  love  and  honour, 
Sometimes  crying  out  *  Help,  help,  they'll 

torture  him,  [presently!' 

'  They'll  take  his  life,  they'll  murder  him 
If  we  had  not  prevented  violently — 
Have  laid  hands  on  her  own  life'*^. 

Goo.  These  are  tokens 
The  godt^  displeasure  is  gone  out :  be  quick. 
And,  ere  it  fall,  do  something  to  appease 

'em!  [thus. 

Yon  know  the  sacrifice.— I'm  glad  it  works 

Ctaisor.  How  low  and  base  thou  look'st 

now,  that wert  noble! 
Ko  figure  of  a  king,  methinks,  shews  on  you. 
No  fiu«  of  mijesty :  foul  swarth  insratitude 
Has  taken  off  thy  sweetness;  base  migetfol- 

ness 
Of  mighty  benefits,  has  tum'd  thee  devil ! 
Tb' hut  persecuted  goodness,  innocence. 
And  laid  a  hard  and  violent  hand  on  virtue, 
On  that  fair  virtue  thai  should  teach  and 

guide  us;  [least  merit, 

IV  halt  wronged  thine  own  preserver,  wliose 
Pois'd  with  thy  main  estate,  thou  canst  not 

ntisfy ;  [still. 

Nay,  put  thy  life  in  too,  'twill  be  too  light 
What  hast  thon  done? 

Gov.  Go  for  him  presently. 
And  once  more  we'll  try  if  we  can  win  him 

fiiirly; 


Knot,  kt  nothing  she  nya  hinder  yon,  or 
stir  you !  [command  you* 

She  speaks  distractedly:  do  that  the  goda 
Do  you  know  what  you  say,  lady  f 
Qiitisr.  I  could  curse  thee  too ! 
Religion  and  severity  have  steel'd  thee^ 
Have  tum'd  thy  heart  to  stone ;  th'  liast  i 

the  gods  hard  too. 
Against  their  sweet  and  patien  t  natures,  craeL 
None  of  ye  feel  what  bravery  ye  tread  tmf 
What  innocence  ?  what  beauty— 
£111^.  Pray,  be  patient!         [behind  ye ^ 
Qttuar.  What  honourable  thing?  ye  casC 
Wlmt  monuments  of  man? 

Enter  Armuna  and  Giuird. 

King.  Once  more,  Armusia, 
Because  I  love  you  tenderly  and  dearljy 
And  would  be  glad  to  win  you  mine^  I  widi 

you. 
E'en  from  my  heart  I  wish  and  wooe  yon-** 

Arm.  What,  sir?  [you  hate  me| 

Take  heed  how  you  persuade  me  fiUsely !  the* 
Take  heed  how  you  entrap  me ! 

King.  I  advise  you, 
And  tenderly  and  truly  I  advise  you. 
Both    for    your   souls    health,    and   your 

Arm.  Stay !  [safety— 

And  name  my  soul  no  more!  she  is  too  pre- 
cious, (loo. 
Too  glorious  for  your  flatt'ries,  too  secura 

Goo.  Consider  the  reward,  sir,  and  tha 

honour 
That  is  prepar'd,  the  glory  you  shall  |rowt0w 

Arm.  They're  not  to  be  consider'dm  these 

cases. 
Not  to  be  nam'd;  when  souls  are  questioned. 
They're  vain  and  flying  vapours.   Touch  mj 

Tis  ready  for  you ;  nut  it  to  what  test 

It  shall  please  you,  I'm  patient ;  but  for  tha 

rest. 
You  may  remoye  rocks  with  yourlitde  finger% 
Or  blow  a  mountain  out  o'th'  way  with  bel* 

lows,  [meats. 

As  soon  as  stir  my  faith:  use  no  more  aigu* 

Gcro.  We  must  use  tortures  then. 

Arm.  Your  worst  and  painfull'st 
I'm  joyful  to  accept. 

Gov.  You  must  the  sharpest,  [tiM, 

For  sudh  has  been  your  hate  against  our  dei* 
Deliver'd  openly,  your  threats  and  scomings; 
And  either  your  repentance  must  be  mighQr, 
Which  is  your  free  conversion  to  our  cus* 

toms. 
Or  equid  punishment,  which  is  your  life,  sir^ 

Arm.  I  m  glad  I  have  it  for  you ;  take  it^ 

priest. 


^  'Hwe  had  not  prevented  violenify 
Have  laid  hands  on  her  own  life,^  Something  (perhaps  a  whole  line)  seems  lost  here. 
The  line  dropt  probably  also  endetl  with  tlie  word  violent ly,  which  occasioned  the  omission, 
the  printer  thinking  he  had  already  composed  it.  The  sense  required  seems  to  be,  '  If  we 
'  had  not  used  viokni  means  to  prevent  it,  she  would  before  now  have  laid  violent  hands  on 
'  her  own  liie.' 

And 


126 


THE  ISLAND  PSINCESS. 


[Act^L 


And  ail  the  mncries  tliat  shall  attend  it! 
Let  the  gods  glut  themselves  with  Christian 

blood; 
It  will  be  ask'd  again,  and  so  far  followed, 
So  far  revenged,  and  with  such  holy  justice. 
Your  gods  of  gold  shall  melt  and  smk  before 

it;  [thing; 

Your  altars  and  jour  temples  shake  to  no- 
And  you,  false  worshippers,  blind  fools  of 

ceremony,  [fears  in. 

Shall  seek  for  holes  to  hide  your  heads  and 
For  seas  to  swallow  you  from  this  destniction. 
Darkness  to  dwell  about  you,  and  conceal 
Your  motiier*s  wombs  again —  [y^^ 

Gov.  Make  the  fires  ready, 
And  bring  the  several  tortures  out ! 

Quisar,  Stand  fast,  sir,  [nobly 

And  fear  'em  not !  You  that  have  stept  so 
Into  this  pious  trial,  start  not  now ; 
Keep  on  your  way ;  a  virgin  will  assist  you, 
A  virgin  won  by  your  fair  constancy,  [you ! 
And,  glorying  that  she's  won  so,  will  diel  by 
I\-e  touch*d  you  every  way,  tried  you  most 

honest,  [and  temperate^ 

Perfect,  and  good,  chaste,  blushing-chaste, 
Valiant,  without  vain-^lory,  modest,  staid. 
No  rage  or  light  affection  ruling  in  you; 
Indeed,  the  perfect  school  of  worth  I  find  you, 
.  The  temple  of  true  honour. 

Arm,  Whither  will  she?  [lady? 

What  do  you  infer  by  this  fair  ai]gument, 

Qm$ar.  Your  faith  and  your  religion  must 

be  like  you ;  [mirrors : 

They  that  can  shew  you  these  must  be  pure 
When  the  streams  fiow  clear  and  fair,  what 

are  the  fountains  ?  [tune :  go  on ! 

I  do  embrace  your  faith,  sir,  and  your  for- 
I  will  assist  you ;  I  feel  a  sparkle  here, 
A  lively  spark  that  kindles  my  affection, 
And  tells  me  it  will  rise  to  fiames  of  glory. 
Let  'em  put  on  their  angers !  suffer  nobly ; 
Shew  me  the  way,  and  when  I  faint,  instruct 
And  if  I  follow  not —  ,  [me; 

Ai^,  Oh,  blessed  lady,  [umph ! — 

Since  thou  art  won,  let  roe  begin  my  tri- 
Come,  clap  your  terrors  on ! 

Qiiisar,  All  your  fell  tortures ! 
For  there  is  notliing  he  shall  suffer,  brother, 
I  swear  by  my  new  faith  (which  is  moat  sa- 
cred. 
And  I  will  keep  it  so),  but  I  will  follow  in. 
And  follow  to  a  scruple  of  affliction, 
In  spite  of  all  your  gods,  without  prevention. 

CfOV.  Death  I  she  amazes  me. 

King.  What  shall  be  done  now? 

Gov,  They  must  die  both. 
And  suddenly;  they  will  corrupt  all  else. — 
This  woman  makes  me  weary  of  my  mis- 
chief; 
She  shakes  me,  and  she  staggers  mc. — Go 

in,  sir; 
rU  see  the  execution. 


King.  Not  so  stidden^: 
If  they  go,  all  my  friends  and  sisters  perisb. 
Gov,  'Would  I  were  safe  at  home  again  I 

Enter  Messenger, 

Mess,  Arm,  arm,  sir!  [ders. 

Seek  for  defence;  the  castle  plays  and  thuor 
The  town  rocks,  and  the  houses  fly  i'tU'  air^ 
The  people  die  for  fear.  Captain  Ruy  Dias 
Has  macle  an  oath  he  will  not  leave  a  stone 

here, 
No,  not  the  memory  here  has  stood  a  city. 
Unless  Armusia  be  deliver'd  fairly. 

King,  I  have  my  fears:  what  can  our  gods 
Gov,  Be  patient !  [do  now  for  us? 

^  But  keep  him  still.    Ke*s  a  cure,  sir,  i^ainst 
'  Both  rage  and  cannon.     Go  and  fortify  ; 
Call  in  the  princes^^,  make  the  palace  sure. 
And  let  'em  know  yon  are  a  king;  look 
nobly,  [the  prisoner. 

And  take  you  courage  to  you ! — Keep  close 
And  under  command;  we* are  betray  d  else. 
Arm.  How  joyfully  I  go! 
Quisar.  Take  my  heart  with  thee. 
Gov.  1  hold  a  wolf  by  the  ear :  now.  For- 
tune, free  me  I  [Exeunt* 

Enter  four  Townsmen, 

1  Towns.  Heav*n  bless  us,  what  a  thon- 
d'ring*s  here?  what  fire-spitting? 

We  can't  drink,  bat  our  cans  are  manl'd 
amongst  us. 

2  Toams,  I  would  they  would  maul  our 
scores  too!  Shame  o' their  guns. 

I  thought  they  had  been  bird-pots,  or  great 
candle-cases ;  [billets 

How  devilishly  they  bounce,  and  now  the 
Borrow  a  piece  of  a  house  here,  there  ano- 
ther, [rish ! 
And  mend  those  up  again  with  another  pa- 
Here  flies  a  powdring-tub,  the  meat  ready 

roasted. 
And  there  a  barrel  pissing  vinegar;  [steeple. 
And  they  two,  over-taking  tlie  top  of  a  high 
Newly  slic'd  off  for  a  sallad — 

3  Towns,  A  vengeance  fire  'em  ! 

2  Towns.  Nay,  they  fire  fast  enough ;  you 
need  not  help  'em.  [How  loud  they  bellow ! 

4  Towns.  Are  these  the  Poftugal  bulh»? 
2  Towns.  Their  horns  are  plaguy  strong; 
they  push  down  palaces ; 

They  toss  our  little  habitat^ns  [upward ; 
Like  whelps,  likegrindle-tails,  with  their  heels 
All  the  windows  o'th'town  dance  a  new 

trenchmore'° : 
'Tis  like  to  prove  a  blessed  age  for  glasiers ! 
I  met  a  liand,  and  a  letter  in%  in  great  baste^ 
And  by-and-by  a  single  leg  running  after  it, 
As  if  the  arm  had  forgot  part  of  his  errand ; 
Heads  fly  like  foot-balls  every  where. 

1  Towns.  What  shall  we  do? 

8  Towns.  I  care  not;  my  shop's  canc«U*d, 


^  Call  in  the  princess.]  Amended  by  Sympson. 
'°  Trenchmore.}  See  note  41  on  the  Pilgrim. 


An4' 


Act  5.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


i3f 


Aod  all  the  pott  and  eaxthen  pans  in't  va- 
nish'd :  [by  the  cars; 

There  was  a  single  bullet  and  they  together 
Yoa  woold  have  thought  Tom  Tambler  had 
And  all  his  troops  of  devils.        [been  there^ 

3  Torni.  Let^s  to  th*  king, 

And  get  this  gentleman  delivered  handsomely ! 

Bj  this  hand,    there^s  no  walking  above 

groand  eke.  [^by  it, 

S  Toums.  By  this  leg  Qet  me  swear  nimbly 

For  I  know  not  how  long  I  shall  owe''  it),  if 

I  were 
Oat  of  the  town  once,  if  I  came  in  again 
To  fetch  ray  breakfast,  I  will  give  *em  leave 
To  cram  me  with  a  Portugal  pudding.  Come, 
1^*5  do  any  thing  to  appease  this  thunder ! 

[Exettnt. 

Enter  Piniero  and  Tanura. 

Pin.  Art  sure  it  was  that  blind  priest? 
-  Pint.  Yes,  must  certain;  [ciful, 

He  has  provok'd  all  this.  The  king  is  merci- 
And  wondVous  loving;  but  he  fii^  him  on 

stiU, 
And,  when  he  cools,  enrages  him;  I  know  it; 
Threatens  new  vengeance,   and   the  gods^ 

fierce  justice,  [sia; 

When  he  but  looks  with  finir  eyes  on  Armu- 
Will  lend  him  no  time  to  relent.    My  royal 

mistress, 
Sb'has  entertained  a  Christian  }iope. 

Pin.  Speak  truly  !  [he  lies  at  her. 

Pan.  Nay,  'tis  most  true;  but.  Lord!  how 
And  threatens  her,  and  flatters  her,  and 

damns  her! 
And,  I  fear,  if  not  speedily  prevented. 
If  she  continue  stout,  both  shall  be  executed. 

Pin.  ril  kiss  thee  for  this  news !  Nay, 


more,  Panura; 


[Clu-istian, 


If  thou  wilt  give  me  leave,  Til  get  thee  with 
Hie  best  way  to  convert  thee. 

Pan.  Make  me  believe  so. 

Pin.  I  will,    i'faith.   •  But   which    way 
■  cam'st  thou  hither? 
The  palace  is  close  guarded,  and  barricado*d. 

Pan.  I  came  thro*  a  private  vault,  wliich 

few  there  know  of; 
It  rises  in  a  temple  not  far  hence, 
Cktte  by  the  castle  here. 

Pin.  How?  to  what  end? 

Pan.  A  good  one:  [mistress. 

To  give  you  knowledge  of  my  uew-bprn 
And  ia  what-  doubt  Annusia  stands : 
Think  any  present  means,  or  hope  to  stop  *em 
From  their  fell  ends.    The  princes  are  come 
And  they  are  Imrden'd  also.  [in  too, 

Pm.  Tl*e  dsuuu'd  priest —  [religion 

Pan.  Sure  he's  a*  cruel  roan  I   Methinks 
Should  teach  moi-c  temperate  lessons. 

P»i.  lie  the  firebrand ?  [are? 

He  dare  Ut  touch  at  such  fair  lives  as  Uieirs 
Veil,  prophet,  I  shall  prophesy^  I  shall  catch 

you, 


When  all  your  prophecies  will  notredeem  you. 
Wilt  thou  do  one  thing  bravely? 

Pun.  Any  good  I  am  able. 

Pin.  And,  by  thine  own  white  hand,  111 

swear  thou*rt  virtuous. 
And  a  brave  wench.    Durst  thou  but  guide 

me  presently  [p^ace^ 

Thro*  the  same  vauU  thou  cam'st.  Into  tho 
And  those  I  sliaH  appoint,  such  as  I  think  fit? 

Pan.  Yes,  I  will  do*t,  and  suddenly,  and 

truly. 

Pin.  Pd  fain  behold  this  prophet. 

Pan.  Now  I  have  you,  (htoip 

And  shall  bring  you  where  you  sliall  behold 
Alone  too,  anaunfurnish'd  of  defences; 
That  shall  be  my  care :  but  you  must  not 

betray  me.  [slaves,  rogues? 

Pin.  Dost  thou  think  w^rc  so  base,  such 

Pan.  I  do  not : 
And  you  shall  see  how  fairly  PU  work  for  you. 

Pin.  I  must  needs  steal  that  priest,  steal 

him,  and  liang  him.  [strangle  him  J 

Pan.  Do  any  thing  to  remove  his  mischief; 

Pin.  Come,  prithee,  love ! 

Pan.  You'll  offer  me  no  foul  play? 
The  vault  is  dark. 

Pin.  Twas  well  remembered. 

Pan.  And  you  may — 
But  I  hold  you  honest. 

Pin.  Honest  enough,  I  warrant  thee. 

Pan.  I'm  but  a  poor  weak  wench;  and 

what  with  the  place,  [will  not — 

And  your  persuasions,  sir — but  I  hope  yoa 
You  know  we're  of^en  cozen'd. 

Pin.  If  thou  dost  fear  me, 
Why  dost  thou  put  me  in  mind  ? 

Pan  To  let  you  know,  sir,  Tto  it, 

Tho'  it  be  in  your  power,  and  things  htting 
Yet  a  true  gentleman — 

Pin.  I  know  what  lie'll  do : 
Come,  and  remember  me^  and  I  will  answer 

thee,  *  [castle, 

ni  answer  thee  to  th'  full;  we'll  call  at  the 
And  then,  my  good  guide,  do  thy  will !  sha't 
A  very  tractable  man.  [find  me 

Pan.  I  hope  I  shall,  sir.  [ExeujU. 

Enter  Bakam,  Syana,  and  Soldiers. 

Bakam.  Let  my  men  guard  the  gates ! 

Si/ana.  And  mine  the  temple, 
For  fear  the  honour  of  our  gods  shouki  suffer? 
And  ou  your  lives  be  watchful ! 

Bakam.  And  be  valiant; 
And  let's  see,  if  these  Fortugals  dare  enter, 
What  their  high  hearts  dare  do !  Let's  see 

how  readily  [man  I 

The  great  lluy  Dias  will  redeem  his  country- 
He  speaks  proud  words,  and  threatens. 

Stfaiw.  he's  approv'd,  sir, 
And  will  put  fair  for  what  he  promises. 
I  could  wish  friendlier  terms;  yet,  for  our 

liberties 


?«  Oa?e.]  i.  e.  Owm 


And 


t» 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


(AttS. 


And  for  our  gocb^  we*re  bou«d  ia  our  best 

aerviccy 
Bv'ii  in  the  hazard  of  our  lives — 

Enter  the  King  above. 

King.  Come  up,  princes,  [fort  still 

And  give  your  counsels,  and  your  helps :  the 
Plays  feaituUy  upon  us,  beats  our  buildings 
And  turns  our  people  wild  with  fears. 

Bakam.  Send  for 
The  prisoner^  and  give  us  leave  to  argue. 

l&eeunt  Bakam  and  Syana. 

J^er  Ruy  Bias,  Emanuel^  CkrUtophero, 
and  Pedro,  with  Soldiers. 

JRi^.  Come  on  noblv, 
And  let  the  fort  play  still!  we're  strong  enough 
To  look  upon  'em,  and  return  at  pleasure : 
It  may  be  on  our  view  they  will  return  him. 

CAris,  We  will  return  ''em  such  thanks 

else  shall  make  *em 
Scratch  where  it  itches  not. 

Eman,  How  the  people  stare ! 
And  some  cry,  some  pray,  and  some  curse 

heartily ; 
But  it  is  the  king— 

Enter  Syana,  BakamfQuisara,  Armtuia,  with 
SMiers,  above. 

Itaw.  I  cannot  bhune  tlieir  wisdoms; 

Tbeyre  all  above.  Armusia  chain'd  and 
bound  too } 

Oh^  these  are  thankful  squires ! 
Bakam.  Hear  us,  Ruv  Dias, 

Be  wise  and  hear  us,  and  give  speedy  answer ! 

Command  thy  cannon  presently  to  cease. 

No  more  to  trouble  the  afflicted  people. 

Or  suddenly  Armttsia*s  head  goes  off, 

As  suddenly  as  said. 

Eman.  Stay,  sir,  be  moderate !       [Dias! 
•^tfrni.  Do  nothing  that's  di^onourable,  Ruy 

Let  not  the  fear  of  me  master  thy  valour ! 

Pursue  'em  still ;  they  are  base  malicious  peo- 
King,  Friend,  be  not  desperate!  [pie. 
Arm.  I  scorn  your  courtesies ! 

Strike  when  you  dare!  a  fair  aim  guide  the 
gunner  5% 

Am  may  he  let  fly  still  with  fortune !  Friend, 

Do  me  the  honour  of  a  soldier's  funerals. 

The  last  fair  Christian  rite;  see  mc  i'th' 
ground,  [pies. 

And  let  the  palace  bum  first,  then  the  tern- 

And  on  their  scorned  gods  erect  my  monu- 
ment! 

Touch  not  the  princess,  as  you  are  a  soldier ! 

'  Qaisar.  Wliich  way  you  go,  sir,  I  must  fol- 
low necessary : 

One  life,  and  o'ne  dMith! 

King.  Will  yon  tak«  a  truce  yet? 


Enter  Piniero,  Soza^  tmd  Soldiers,  tnih  the 
GovernoTm 

Pin.  No,  no;  go  on!  Look  here;  yov 

god,  your  prophet ! 

King.  How  came  he  taken? 

Pin.  I  conjui'd  for  him,  kinc: 
I  am  a  sure  cur  at  an  old  blind  prophet. 
I'll  hunt  you  such  a  fiUse  knave  admirably'^! 
A  terrier  I :  I  earth'd  him,  and  then  snapt 

him.  [we  stole  him, 

Soza.  Saving  the  rev'rence  o£  your  grace, 
E'en  out  of  the  next  chamber  to  you* 

Pin.  Come,  come ;  begin,  king ! 
Begin  this  bloody  matter  when  you  dare ! 
And  yet  I  scorn  my  sword  should  touch  the 

rascal:  [art  thou? 

I'll  tear  him  thus  before  you.    na!  what 

[Pulls  his  beard  and  hair  cff. 

King.  How's  this?  Art  diou  a  prophet? 

Ru^.  Come  down,  princes !      [Armusia ! 

King.  Weareabus*d!--Oh,  mymostdear 
Off  with  his  chains !  And  now,  my  noble  sister, 
Rejoice  with  me;  I  know  you're  pleas'd  as  I 

am.  [don  governor. 

Pin.  This  u  a  precious  prophet!  Why, 
What  make  you  here  ?  how  long  have  tou 

ta'en  orders?  [this  mischief? 

K«v.  Why,  what  a  wretch  art  thou  to  work 
V  assume  this  hol^  shape  to  ruin  hononr. 
Honour  and  chastity? 

Enter  King^  and  Mfjromabovem 

Gov.  Fd  paid  you  all,  [my  doom. 

But  Fortune  play*d  the  slut.    Come,  give  me 

King.  I  cannot  speak  for  wonder. 

Crov.  Nay,  'tis  I,  sir; 
And  here  I  stay  your  sentence. 

King.  Take  her,  friend ! 
(You*ve  half  persuaded  me  to  be  a  Christian) 
And  with  her  all  the  joys,  and  all  tlie  bless- 
ings! 
Why,  what  dream  have  we  dwelt  in? 

Ruy.  All  peace  to  ye,  [ye! 

And  all  the  happiness  of  heart  dwell  with 
Children  as  sweet  and  noble  as  their  pa< 

rents — 

Pin.  And  kings  at  least ! 

Arm.  Good  sir,  forget  my  rashness; 
And,  noble  princess'^,  for  I  was  once  angry. 
And,  out  of  that,  might  utter  some  distemper, 
Think  not  it  is  ray  nature. 

Sjt/ana.  Your  joy's  ours,  sir; 
And  nothing  we  nnd  in  you  bat  most  noble. 

King.  To  prison  with  this  dog  I  there  let 

him  howl, 
Andy  if  he  can  repent,  sigh  out  his  villainies! 
His  island  we  shall  seize  into  our  hands; 
His  fother  and  himself  have  both  usurp'd  i^ 


•*  A  fair  arm  guide  the  gunner.]  Amended  by  Sympson.' 
"  ni  haunt  ^c]  Surely  for  haunt,  we  should  here  read  hunt.        Sympson. 
^  And  noble  Prmcesse.J  So  the  first  folio;  the  second,  and  octavo  1711,  Princesses;  Se- 
ward and  Sympson,  Princes.    The  first  copy  surely  is  rights  Atmuaa  meaning  to  apologize 
te  hit  pasiionace  language,  in  a  former  scene,  to  Qiiisara. 

And 


Act  4.] 


THE  ISLAND  PRINCESS. 


129 


And  kept  it  bj  oppression;  the  town  and 

ciode. 
In  which  I  lay  myself  most  miserable, 
'Till  my  most  honourable  friend  redeemed  me, 
'SigDor  Piniero,  I  bestow  on  you ; 
Tbe  rest  of  next  command  upon  these  gen* 

demen; 
Upon  ye  all,  my  love. 

Amu  Oh,  brave  Ruy  Dias, 
Yoa're  started  now  beyond  me:   I  must 

thank  you. 


And  thank  you  for  my  life,  my  wife,  and  ho- 
nour, 

Ruj/.  Vm  glad  I  had  her  for  you,  sir. 
King,  Come  princes;  [gentlemen; 

Come,  friends  and  lovers  all ;  come,  noble 
No  more  guns  now,  nor  hates,  but  joys  and 

tiimnphs! 
An  universal  gladness  fly  about  us ! 
And  know,  however  subtle  men  dare  cast 
And  promise  wrack^  the  gods  give  peace  at 
.  last.  [Exeunt  ufnnes. 


voLm 


THE, 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE; 


•«, 


THE  TAMER  TAM'D^ 


A  COMEDY. 


Thk  Comedy  appears  to  be  one  of  the  performances  which  Fletcher  wrote,  wtthont  the 
assistaooe  of  Beaumont.  The  Commendatory  Verses  by  Gardiner  and  Lovelace,  a^  well 
at  the  Prologue,  ascribe  it  to  him  alone.  We  believe  an  alteration  of  part  of  it  was  acted 
about  twenty  years  ago  at  Dmry-Lane  Theatre^  as  an  After-Piece^  for  the  benefit  of  the 
late  Mn.  Pritchard,  or  one  of  her  &mily. 


PROLOGUE. 


L4DIES,  to  yOUy  in  whose  defence  and  right 
Hetchei^s  brave  mose  prepared' herself  to 

fight 
A  battle  without  blood  ('twas  well  fought  too ; 
The  victory's  yoars,  tho'  got  witli  much  ado) 
We  do  present  this  Comedy;  in  which 
A  rivulet  of  pure  wit  flows,  strong  and  rich 
Jo  fiuicy,  language,  and  all  parts  that  may 
Add  ffrace  and  ornament  to  a  merry  play : 
Which  this  may  prove !  Yet  not  to  go  too 

far 
la  promises  from  this  our  female  war, 


We  do  entreat  the  angry  men  would  not 
Expect  the  mazes  of  a  subtle  plot,    [worse. 
Set  speeches,  high  expressions,  and  what*8 
In  a  true  Comedy,  politick  discourbe. 
The  end  we  aim  at,  is  to  make  you  sport; 
Yet  neither  gall  the  city  nor  the  court. 
Hear,  and  observe  his  comick  strain,  and 

when 
Ye're  sick  of  melancholy,  see't  again. 
Tis  no  dear  physick,  since  'twill  quit  the 

cost, 
Or  his  intentions,  with  our  pains,  are  lost* 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 

MoacMto,  an  old  rick  doting  Citigen^  Suitor  to 

Livia, 
SopflocLES,  1  two  Gentlemen^  friendi  to  Pe^ 
TfiAVio,       )      truckio. 
Petrucuio,  an  Italian  Gentleman^  Husband 

to  Maria. 
Rowland,  a  young  Gentleman^  in  line  with 

livia. 
Petronius,  Father  to  Maria  andLvcia,^ 


Doctor. 
Apothecart, 
Watchmen* 
Porters. 


Women. 


Mart  A,  0  chatte  wittif  Laiy,  "j  the 

I    to   Row^^   linrDnughfei'S 


two  mtUcu- 
LiviA,  Miiiress    to  jRoi^J 

landy  J   of  }^etj  oniun. 

Bi  A  NCA,  their  Cousin,  anddmmandci  -in  chief. 
City  Wives,   ,     ^  who  co  le  to  the  TeUijuf 
Country  Wives,)      theLadtes. 
Maids. 


SCENE,  London* 


8S 


ACT 


i 


i^ft 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMT>.    [Actl.  8oa»9^ 


MmLc  you  continual  anvil  to  his  anger ! 
Believe  me,  since  his  first  wife  set  him  going, 
Nothing  can  bind  liis  rage :  take  your  own 

council ; 
Yon  shall  not  say  that  I  perauaded  yon. 
But  if  you  suffer  him— 

Maria.  Stay  !  shall  I  do*t? 

Bianca,  Have  you  a  stomach  to't? 

Maria.  I  never  sliew'd  it.  [stronger^  in  yon. 

Bianca^    Till  shew  tlie  rarer  and   the 
But  do  not  say  I  urg'd  yon. 

Maria,  I  am  perfect.  rieap'd 

Like  CurtiuSy  to  redeem  my  country,  have  I 
Into  this  gulph  of  marriage ;  and  I'll  do  it. 
Farewell,  all  poorer  thoughts,  but  spite  and 

auger,  [cousin, 

Till  I  have    wrought    a    nrfracle! — Now, 
I  am  no  more  the  gentle,  tame  Maria : 
Mistake  me  not;  I  have  a  new  soul  in  me, 
Made  of  a  north-wind,  nothing  but  tempest; 
And,  like  a  tempest,  shall  it  make  all  ruins. 
Till  I  have  run  my  vvill  out ! 

Bitmca.  This  is  brave  nOw,  [you ! 

If  you  continue  it:  but,  your  awn  will  lead 

JlfarM.  Adieu,  all  tenderness !  I  dare  con- 
tinue, [blushes, 
Maids  that  are  made  of  fears,  and  modest 
View  me,  and  love  example ! 

Bianca.  Here's  your  sister. 

Maria.  Here's  the  brave  old  man*s  love— 

Bianca.  That  loves  the  young  man. 

Maria.  Ay,  and  hold  thee  there,  wench ! 

What  a  grief  of  heart  is't,  [night, 

When  Paphos*  revels  should  up-rouse  old 
To  sweat  against  a  cork,  to  lie  and  tell 
Tlie  clock  o'  th'  lungs,  to  rise  sport-starv'd  ? 

Hvia.  Dear  sister, 
Where  have  you  been,  you  talk  thus? 

Maria,  Why,  at  church,  wench ;     [now. 
Where  I  am  tied  to  talk  thps:  I'm  a  wife 

Uvia.  It  seems  so,  and  a  modest  I 

Maria.  You're  an  ass ! 
When  thoa  art  married  once,  thy  modesty 
Will  never  buy  thee  pins. 

Lroia.  'Bless  me ! 

Maria.  From  what?  [sin  Livia ! 

Binnca,  From  such  a  tame  fool  as  our  con- 

Livia,  You  are  not  mad  ? 


Maria.  Yet,  wemoby  and  so  mast  yoa  h^ 
Or  none  of  our  acqiiaiatunce  (mm  mc^ 

Dvia), 
Or  indeed  fit  for  our  set^  Tis  bed-time : 
Pardon  me,  yellow  Hymen,  that  I  meaa 
Thine  offerings  to  protract,  or  to  keep  fasting 
My  valiant  bridegroom ! 

Livia.  Whither  will  this  woman  ? 

Bianca.  You  may  perceive  her  end. 

Livia.  Or  rather  fear  it. 

Maria.  Dare  you  be  partner  ia't  ? 

Livia.  Leave  it,  Maria  !  [leave  it  f 

(I  fear  I've  mark'd  too  much)  for  goodnesty 
Divest  you  with  pbedient  hands ;  to-bed ! 

Maria.  To  bed?  No,  livia;  there  are  co« 

mets  hang 
Prodigious  oyer  that  yet ;  there's  a  fellow 
Must  yet,  before  I  know  that  heat  (ne'er 

start,  wench), 
Be  niacle  a  man,  for  yet  he  is  a  monster; 
Here  myst  his  head  be,  Livia. 

Livia.  Never  hope  it:  [as 

'Tis  as  easy  with  a  sieve  to  scoop  the  oceao^ 
To  tame  Petruchi(< 

Maria,  Stay! — Lucina,  hear  me! 
Never  unlock  the  treasure  of  my  womb. 
For  human  iruit  to  make  it  capable; 
Nor  never  with  thy  secret  hand  make  brief 
A  mother's  labour  to  me ;  if  I  do 
Give  way  unto  my  married  husl^and's  will. 
Or  be  a  wife  in  any  thing  but  hopes, 
Till  I  have  made  him  easy  as  a  child. 
And  time  as  fear !  (He  shall  not  win  a  smile. 
Or  a  pleas'd  look,  from  this  aosterity, 
Tho'  It  would  pull  another  jointure  from  bim. 
And  make  him  ev'ry  day  another  man) 
And  wlien  I  kiss  him,  till  I  have  my  wiH, 
May  I  be  barren  of  delights,  and  know 
Onfy  what  pleasures  are  in  dreamsand  guesses! 

Livia.  A  strange  exordium  ! 

Bianca.  All  the  several  wrongs 
Done  by  imperious  husbands  to  their  wires 
These  thousand  years  and  up  wards,screngthen 
Thou  hast  a  brave  cause.  [thee! 

Maria.  And  I'll  do  it  bravely; 
Or  may  I  knit  my  life  out  ever  after ! 

Livia.  In  what  part  of  the  world^  got  she 

this  spirit? 


*  Stronger.l  Synmson  would  read  ttranger*  ^ 

^  In  what  part  of  the  ioorld.'\  These  six  subsequent  lines  seem  almost  all  misplaeed.  As 
they  now  stand,  part  of  the  sentence  is  intennixt  witli  the  parenthesis,  and  makes  a  pareii* 
ihesis  to  the  parenthesis.    I  read  the  whole  thus: 

Xiria.  In  what  part  of  the  world  got  she  this  spirit? 
Which  yet  I  cannot  think  your  own,  it  shews 
So  distant  from  your  sweetness 
Jfcfarta.Tis,  I  svvear. 

Livia.  Yet  pray,  Maria,  look  before  yon  tmly. 
Besides  the  due  obedience  of  a  wife, 
(Which  ^ou  will  find  a  heavy  imputation) 
Weigh  but  the,  &c. 
I  have  inserted  an  adjective  in  the  fifth  line,  which  seems  to  have  been  drop'd  by  accident  f 
it  is  necessary  to  the  measure,  natural  to  the  expression,  and  is  used  in  the  same  manner  in 
another  part  of  the  play.  Seward. 

We  see  no  need  of  transposition  s  die  construction  is  not  more  violent  than  many  otiier 
passages  of  these  plays,  undoubtediygenuine.  .  Yet- 


Jmi^  Sctne  9.]  THE  WOMAN^  PRIZE;  OB,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D. 


18S 


Tel  Mjy  Mam,  look  before  you  trnly ! 
Beiiaes  die  disobedieace  of  a  wifely 
(Which  you  will  iind  a  heavy  imputatioQ, 
Which  yeticaooot  think  your  own)  it  shews 
$0  distant  Ihun  your  sweetness — 

JfofM.  Tis,  I  swear,      [hopes  you  have, 

litUu   Weigh  but  the  person,  and  the 
To  work  this  desperate  cure ! 

BiariBL  A  weaker  subject  [ence  ? 

Would  fehame  the  end  I  aim  at    Disobedi- 
Tott  talk  toe  iameiy :  by  the  fiuth  I  have 
In  mine  own  noble  wiU,  that  childisli  woman 
13iat  lives  a  prisoner  to  her  husband  s  plea* 

sure, 
fias  lost  her  nuikios;,  and  becomes  a  beast. 
Created  for  his  use,  not  fellowship  i 

lioia.  His  6rBt  wife  said  as  much. 

Maria.  She  was  a  tbol» 
And  took  a  scurvy  course :  let  her  be  nam'd 
^OBfstt  those  that  wish  Ibr  thinzs.  hut  dare 
I  have  a  new  daoce  for  him.      ^ot  do  'em : 

Lhia,  Are  yoo  of 
This&ith? 

Bianca.  Yes,  truly;  and  will  die  in't 

Xivio.  Why  then. 
Let's  aU  wear  brt^eches !  [of  a  woman : 

Mario.  Now  tlum  com'st  near  the  nature 
Haag  these  tame-hearted  eyasses',  that  no 

sooner  [hoUow, 

See  the  lure  out,  and  hear  their  husband's 
But  cry  like  kites  upon  'em :  the  free  ha^" 

gard  [knows  it, 

fWluch  is  that  woman  that  hath  wing,  and 
epiht  and  plume)  will  make  an  hundred 

checks,  ^ 

To  shew  her  freedom,  sail  in  evVy  air. 
And  look  out  ev'ry  pleasure,  not  regarding 
Lore  nor  quarry  uU  her  pitch  command 
What  she  desires;   making  her  foundered 

keeper 
Be  glad  to  Hing  out  trains,  and  golden  ones, 
Te  take  her  down  again. 

Liwh  Vou're  learned,  sister; 
¥etl  bay  still,  take  lieed  ! 

Maria.  A  witt^y  saying ! 
FU  tell  thee,  Livia,  had  this  fellow  tir'd 
As  many  wives  as  horses  under  him, 
With  spurring  of  their  patience;  had  he  got 
A  patent,  with  an  office  to  reclaim  us, 
Confirm'd  by  parliament;  had  ho  all  the  ma- 
And  Sttbtilty  of  devils,  or  of  us,  [lice 

0r  any  thing  that's  worse  than  both — 

UvuL  Hey,  hey,  boys!  this  is  excellent ! 


Maria.  Or  could  he  ['em 

G^t  his  wives  new  again,  like  bells,  to  make 
Sound  to  his  will ;  or  had  the  fearful  name 
Of  the  first  breaker  of  wild  women;  yet. 
Yet  would  1  undertake  this  man,  thus  single. 
And,  spite  of  all  the  freedom  he  has  reach'd 

to,  [him 

Turn  him  and  bend  him  as  I  list,  and  mould 
Into  a  babe  again,  that  aged  women,  [him. 
Wiuiting  both  teeth  and  spleen,  may  master 

Bianca,  Thou  >vilt  be  chronicled. 

Maria.  Tliat's  all  I  aim  at.  [heart 

Livia*  I  must  confess  I  do  with  all  my 
Hate  an  im{>erious  husband,  and  in  time 
Might  be  so  wrought  upos^-- 

iianca.  To  make  him  cuckold  ? 

Maria.  If  he  deserve  it. 

Livia.  Tlien  I'll  leave  ye'^  ladies. 

Bianco.  Thou  liast  not  so  much  noble  aiir 

ger  in  thee.  [to  de 

Maria.  Go  sleep,  go  sleep !  What  we  intend 
Lies  not  for  such  starv'd  souls  as  thou  hast, 

Livia.  [be  with  you  presently. 

'    Livia,  Good  night !  The  bridegroom  wiU 

Maria,  That's  more  than  you  know* 

Livia,  If  you  work  upon  him 
As  ^ou  liave  promis'd,  you  may  give  example, 
Wmch  no  doubt  will  be  follow'd. . 

Maria,  So! 

Bianca,  Good  night ! 
We'll  trouble  you  no  further.  [harm! 

Maria.  If  you  intend  no  good,  pray  do  no 

Livia.  None,  but  pray  for  you !        [-S-i'^*'* 

Bianca,  Cheer,  wench ! 

Maria,  Now  Bianca,  [height ! 

Those  wits  we  liave,  let's  wind  them  to  the 
My  rest  is  up,  wench,  and  I  pull  for  that 
Will  make  me  ever  famous.    They  tliat  lay 
Foundations  arc  lialf-builderB^  all  men  say. 

Enter  Jaques. 

Jaques,  My  master,  forsooth — 

Maria.  Oh,  how  does  thy  master? 
Prithee  commend  me  to  him. 

Ja^urs.  Howisthis? 
My  master  stays,  forsooth-^ 

'Maria,  Why,  let  him  stay! 
Who  hinders  him,  forsooth  ?  • 

Jaques.  The  revel's  ended  now.--» 
To  visit  yoo. 

Maria.  I  am  not  sick. 

Jaques.  I  mean 
To  see  his  chamber,  forsooth. 


*  Besides  the  obedience  of  a  wife.']  We  read,  <2tiobedience,  which  Marians  answer  cer- 
tainly confirms.  Again,  abediencCy  or,  as  Seward  would  read,  due  obedience,  is  no  heavy 
if^iaiiony  but  disobedience  is ;  and  supplies  the  syllable  required  by  Seward  to  complete 

the  measure,  and,  what  is  of  more  consequeoce,  agrees  with  the  sense  of  the  context. We 

oi^ht  to  observe,  that  we  have  altered  the  stops.    The  text  in  Maria's  speech  used  to  stand 
tiws; 

"  A  weaker  subject 

Would  shame  the  end  I  aim  at,  disobedience. 
You  talk  too  tamely. 
I  B^ass4s.\  Eyessy  a  (waterjf^yed)  hawk  brought  up  under  a  kite.     CfMs  Diet,  16Tr. 
!^  Then  I'll  htm  ye.]  Probably  we  should  md,  tkne  TU  leave  ye. 

Marw^ 


IStf 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  aR>  THE  TAMER  TAM^H.    [Act  1.  SceseS. 


Maria.  Am  I  his  groom  P 
Where  lay  he  last  night,  forsooth  ? 
Jaques,  In  the  low  matted  parlour. 
Miiria»  There  lies  his^vay,  by  the  long  gal- 
lery. [v^T  merry,  mistress. 
Jagues.  I  mean  yonr  chamber.    You  are 
Maria,  'Tis  a  good  sign  I  am  sound-heart- 
ed, Jaques. 
But,  if  YOu*li  know  where  I  lie,  follow  roe ; 
And  what  thou  seest,  deliver  to  thy  master. 
Bianca,  Do,  gentle  Jaques.         lExeunt, 
Jaaues^  Ha!  is  the  wind  in  that  door? 
By'r  lady,  we  sliall  have  foul  weather  then  I 
I  do  not  like  the  shuffling  of  these  women; 
Tliey  are  mad  beasts,  when  they  knock  their 
heads  together:  [pers 
I  have  observ*d  them  all  this  day,  their  whi&- 
One  in  another's  ear ;  their  signs  and  pinches, 
And  breaking  often  into  violent  laugnters. 
As  if  the  end  they  purpos'd  were  their  own. 
Call  you  this  wcddmgsf  Sure  this  is  a  kna- 

yefy, 
A  veiy  trick,  and  dainty  knavery; 
Marvellous  finely  carried,  that's  the  comfort 
What  would  these  women  do  in  ways  of  ho- 
nour, [sir 
That  are  such  masters  this  way  ?  Well,  ray 
Has  been  as  good  at  finding  out  these  toys 
As  any  living:  if  he  lose  it  now. 
At  his  own  peril  be  it !  I  must  follow. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  in. 

jSiter  Seroanti  with  Lights,  Petrvchio,  Pe- 
tronius,  Moroso,  Tranio,  and  Sophocles. 

Petru.  You  that  are  married,  gentlemen. 
For  a  round  wager  now !  [have  at  ye, 

Soph.  Of  this  night's  staged 

Petru.  Yes. 

Soph.  I  s^n  your  first  man:  a  pair  of  gloves 
Of  twenty  shillings. 

Petru.  Done !  Who  takes  me  up  next? 
I  am  for  all  bets.  [night  now, 

Mor.  Well,  lusty  Lawrence,  were  but  my 
Old  as  I  ton,  Pd  make  you  clap  on  spurs, 
But  I  would  reach  you,  and  bnng  you  to  your 
I  would,  gallants.  [trot  too; 

Petru,  Well  said.  Good-will;  but  where's 

thestafF,  boy",  ha? 
Old  father  Time,  your  hour-glass  is  empty. 


3>a.  A  good  tough  train  would  break  thee 

all  to  pieces;  [ers. 

Thou  hast  not  breath  enough  to  say  thy  pray- 

Petron.  See  how  these  boys  despise  us!^- 

Will  ^ou  to  bed,  son  ? 
This  pnde  will  have  a  fall. 

Petru.  Upon  your  daughter; 
But  I  shall  rise  again,  if  there  be  truth 
In  eggs,  and  butter'd  parsnips.         [talking? 

Petron.  Will  you  to  bed,  son,  and  leave 
To-morrow  morning  we  shall  have  you  look  '*, 
Por  all  your  great  words,  like  St.  Georee  at 

Kingston,  [S^^ 

Running  a  foot-back  from  the  furious  dra- 
That  with  her  angry  tail  belabours  him 
For  being  lazy.  [quench'd— 

Tra.  His  courage  quepch'd,  aad  so  fiur 

Petru.  Tis  wel^  sir. 
What  tlien? 

Soph.  Fly,  fly.  quoth  then  the  fiearful  dwarf; 
Here  is  no  place  for  living  man. 

Petru.  Well,  my  masters,  if  I 
Do  sink  under  my  business,  as  I  find 
^is  very  possible,  I  am  not  the  first 
That  has  miscarried ;  so  that's  mv  comfort; 
What  may  be  done  without  impeacn  or  waste, 

Enter  Jagues. 

I  can  and  will  do.    How  now ! 

Is  my  fair  bride  a^bed? 
Jagues.  No  truly,  sir.  fap 

Petron.  Not  a-bedyet?  Body  o'me,  we'll 

And  rifie  her !  Here's  a  coil  with  a  maiden* 

Tis  not  entailed,  is  it?  [head ! 

Petru.  If  it  be, 

rU  try  all  the  law  iW  land,  butnicutito£ 

Letfs  up,  let's  up;  come! 
Jagues.  That  you  cannot  neither. 
Petru.  Whv?  [ney 

Jaques.  Unless  you  will  drop  thro'  the  chim- 

Like  a  daw,  or  force  a  breach  i'th'  windows; 

You  may  untile  the  house,  'tis  possible* 
Petru.  What  dost  thou  mean?    [press  it: 
Jagues.  A  moral,  sir;  tlie  ballad  will  ex- 
The  wind  and  tlie  rain 
Have  tum'd  you  back  again. 
And  you  cannot  be  lodged  there. 

The  truth  IS,  all  the  doors  are  barricadoed ; 

Not  a  cat-hole,  but  holds  a  murd'rer  in't : 

She's  victuall'd  for  this  month. 


"  Whereas  the  staff  boy,  ha  f]  Tho'  I  take  no  pleasure  in  the  raking  into  a  dunghill,  yet 
the  amending  of  passages  to  the  honour  of  our  author's  good  sense,  whether  innocent  or  ob- 
scene, is  the  duty  of  every  careful  editor;  for  staff,  therefore,  I  propose  reading  ituff,  and 
the  following  line  seems  to  confirm  the  aitelration: 

■  but  where's  the  stuff  hoy,  ha? 

Old  father  Time,  your  hour-glass  u  empty.        Sympson* 
We  think  Sympson  might  have  left  the  staff" alone. 
**  Will  you  to  bed,  son,  and  leave  talking?  ' 

To-morrow  morning  we  shall  h^rve  you  look. 

For  all  your  great  words — ]  The  gravity  of  the  speaker,  old  P^tronius,  made  me  sus- 
'  picious  that,  For  all  your  greats  &c.  must  belong  to  Sophocles :  and  if  they  won't  come  more 
decently,  yet  certainly  they  will  flow  more  properly  from  his  than  the  old  gentleman's  mouth* 
Mr.  Seward  too  advaoc'd  the  same  alteration,  altho'I  have  not  dar'd  to  disturb  (he  text. 

,  Syfjjwnu 


Act  1.  Scene  S.]  TffE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D. 


IM 


Peiru.  Art  not  thou  drunk  ?  [let*9  up. 
&»pA.  He*s  drank,  he*s(lrunk!  Come,  come; 
Jaquet.  Yes,  yes,  [tlemen; 

I  am  drank!   Yemaygo^up,  ve  may,  gen- 

Bot  take  heed  td  your  Iwads :  I  say  no  more. 
Soph,  ni  try  that.  [Exit. 

Petron.  How  dost  thou  say?  the  door  fast 
lock'd,  fellonr?  [guarded  too ; 

Jaquei,  Yes,  truly,  sir,   'tis  lock'd,  and 

And  two  as  desperate  tongues  planted  be- 
hind it,  [honours. 

As  e*er  yet  batter'd :  they  stand  upon  their 

And  won't  ^ve  up  without  strange  compo- 
sition, 

I  will  assure  you ;  marching  away  with 

Tlieif  pieces  cock'd,  and  bullets  in  their 

Will  not  satisfy  them.  [mouths, 

Petru.  How's  this?  how's  this? 

2Ware?  Is  there  another  with  her? 
Jaquet,  Yes,  marry  is  there,  and  an  en- 
gineer. 

Mot,  Who's  that,  for  Heaven's  sake? 
Jaquet,  Colonel  Bianca;   she  commands 
the  works ;  [half-moon ! 

Spinola's  but  a  ditcher  to  her  '^.    There  is  a 

rm  but  a  poor  man,  but  if  you'll  give  me  leave, 

III  venture  a  gear's  wages,  draw  all  your 

.   force  before  it. 

And  mount  your  ablest  piece  of  battery. 

You  shall  not  enter  it  these  three  niglits  yet. 

Enter  Sophoclet. 

Petru.  I  should  laugh  at  that,  good  Jaques. 

&p4.  Beat  back  again  ! 
She's  fortified  for  ever. 

Jaquet.  Am  I  drunk  now,  sir  ?    [be  cool'd. 

&pA.  He  that  dares  most,  go  up  now,  and 
I  We  scap*d  a  pretty  scouring. 

Petru.    Wha^  are  they  imui?  have  we 

another  Bedlam? 
Tbey  do  not  talk,  I  hope? 

Soph.  Oh,  terribly, 
Extremely  fearful ;  the  noise  at  London^bridge 
Is  nothing  near  her. 

Petru.  How  got  slie  tongue? 

&pA.  As  you  got  tail:  she  was  bom  to't. 

Petru.  Lock'd  out  a-doors,  and  on  my  wed- 
ding-night? 
Nay,  anf  suffer  this,  I  may  go  graze. 
Come,  gentlemen,  I'll  batter.  Are  these  vir- 
tues? [as  I  %vas: 

&pA.  Do,  and  be  beaten  off  with  shame, 
I  went  up,  came  to  th'  dpur,  knock'd,  nobody 
Answer'o ;  knock'd  louder,  yet  heard  notliing; 

would  have  [work 

Broke  in  by  force;  when  suddenly  A  water- 
Flew  from  the  window  with  sucli  violence, 
That,  had  I  not  duck'd  quickly  like  a  friar, 

'^  SpinoU's  hut  a  ditcher  to  her^  The  mnrquis  of  Spinola,  who  was  commander  in  chief  at 
tbe  sim  of  0»tend,  mentioned  above.        JR. 

'^  A  mere  Ostend,  ifc.l  Alluding  to  the  remarkable  siege  of  Ottetkd^  which  held  hoot  the 
6th  of  July  1601,  to  the  8th  of  September  1604,  three  years  and  ton  weeks.  Sei^  ^  A  true 
'  history  of  the  memorable  sieg^  of  Ottendy  and  what  passed  on  either  side  from  the  begin- 
'  BiQ^  of  the  siq»  onto  the  yielding  op  of  the  town«'    4to.  1604» 

VOL.IIL  T  Jlforia. 


Catera  quit  neteit  f 

The  chamber's  nothing  but  a  mere  Ostend'*; 
In  every  window  pewter  cannons  mounted, 
Youll  quickly  find  with  what  they  are  charg'd, 

sir. 

Petru.  Why,  then,  tantara  for  os ! 

Soph.  And  all  the  lower  works  lin'd  sure 

with  small  shot.  [score  blank 

Long  tongues  with  firelocks,  that  at  twelve- 
Hit  to  the  heart.    Now,  an  ye  dare  go  up— 

Enter  Maria  and  Bianca  abofoe. 

Mor.  The  window  opens!  Beat  a  parley 

first. 
I  am  so  much  amaz'd,  my  very  hair  stands. 

Petron.  Why,  how  now,  daughter?  What, 

intrench'd? 

Maria.  A  little  guarded  for  my  safety,  ur. 

Petru.  For  your  safety,  sweetheart?  Why, 

who  offends  you? 
I  come  not  to  use  violence. 

Maria.  I  think 
You  cannot,  sir;  I'm  better  fortified. 

Petru.  I  know  your  end ;  you  would  fiun 

reprieve  your  maiden-head 
A  night,  or  two. 

Mtria,  Yes,  or  ten,  or  twenty, 
Or  say  an  hundred;  or,  indeed,  till  I  list  lie 

with  you.  [sent  hour 

Soph.  That's  a  shrewd  saying !  From  thispre- 
I  never  will  believe  a  silent  woman; 
When  they  break  out  they  are  bonfires. 

Petron.  Till  you  list  lie  with  him  ?  WI7, 

who  are  you,  madam  ? 

Bianca.  That  trim  gentleman's  wife,  sir. 

Petru,  Cry  you  mercy!  do  you  command 

too? 

Maria,  Yes,  marry  does  she,  and  in  chief. 

Bianca.  I  do  command,  and  you  shall  ga 

witboutr^ 
I  mean  your  wife,  for  this  night. 

Afaria.  And  for  the  next  too,  wench;  and 

so  as't  follows. 

Petron.  Thou  wilt  not,  wilt  'a? 

Maria,  Yes,  indeed,  dear  father; 
And  till  he  seal  to  what  I  shall  set  down. 
For  any  thing  I  know,  for  ever. 

Soph.  Indeed  these  arc  bug-words. 

Tra.  You  hear,  sir,  she  can  talk,  God  be 

thanked ! 

Petru.  I  would  I  heard  it  not,  sir ! 

Sofh.  I  find  that  all  the  pity  bestow'd  opoa 

this  woman 
Makes  but  an  anagram  of\an  ill  wife, 
For  she  was  never  virtuous.  [jesting. 

Petru,  You'll  let  me  in,  I  hope,  for  all  this 

Maria,  Hope  still,  sir. 

Petron,  You  will  come  down,  I  am  sure* 


138 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D.    [Act  1.  Scene  5. 


Maria,  I  am  sure  I  will  not. 

Petron,  I'll  fetch  you  then.  [not,  sir, 

Bianca.  Thepow'rof  the  whole  county  can- 

Unless  we  please  to  yield;  which ydt  I  think 

We  shall  not:  charge  when  you  please,  you 

Hear  quickly  from  us.  [shall 

Mor.  Heaven  bless  me  from 
A  chicken  of  thy  hatching!  Is  this  wiving? 
Petru.  Prithee,  Maria,  tell  me  what's  the 
reason,  [with  roe? 

And  do  it  freely,  you  deal  thus  strangely 
You  were  not  forc'd  to  marry;  your  consent 
Went  equally  with  mine,  if  not  before  it: 
I  hope  you  do  not  doubt  I  want  that  mettle 
A  man  should  have/to  keep  a  woman  waking; 
I  would  be  sorry  to  be  such  a  saint  yet : 
My  person,  as  it  is  not  excellent,  [physick, 
So  'tis  not  old,  nor  lame,  nor  weak  with 
Bat  <well  enough  to  please  an  honest  woman. 
That  keeps  her  house,  and  loves  her  husband. 
Maria,  HTis  so.  [no  shamers 

Petru.  My  means  and  my  conditions  are 
Of  him  that  owes  'em,  (all  die  world  knows 

that) 
And  my  friends  no  reliers  on  my  fortunes. 
Maria,  All  this  I  believe,  and  none  of  all 
these  parcels 
I  dare  except  against;  nav  more,  so  far 
I  am  from  making  these  the  ends  I  aim  at, 
These  idle  outward  things,  these  women's 

fears, 
That,  were  I  yet  unmarried,  free  to  chuse 
Thro'  all  the  tribes  of  man^  Fll  take  Petru- 
chio  [pn^t, 

In's  shirt,  with  one  ten  groats  to  pay  the 
Before  tlie  best  man  living,  or  the  ablest 
That  e'er  leap'd  outoflAucashire;  and  they 
are  right  ones.  [stand  prating 

Petron.  Why  do  you  play  the  fool  then,«md 
Out  of  the  window,  like  a  broken  miller  ? 
Petru,  If  you  will  have  me  credit  you,  Ma- 
ria, 
Come  down,  and  let  your  love  confirm  it. 

Maria,  Stay 
There,  sir ;  that  bargain's  yet  to  make. 

Bianca.  Play  sure,  wench  ! 
The  pack's  in  thine  own  hand. 

Soph,  Let  me  die  lousy,  [very 

If  these  two  wenches  be  not  brewing  kna- 
To  stock  a  kingdom  ! 

Petru,  Why,  this  is  a  riddle; 
I  love  you,  and  I  love  you  not. 

Maria,  It  is  so ; 
And  till  your  own  experience  do  unty  it. 
This  distance  I  must  keep. 
Petru,  If  you  talk  more, 
I'm  angry,  very  angry ! 

Maria,  I'm  glad  on't,  and  I  Ifvill  talk. 
Petru,  Prithee,  peace  !  [woman, 

Let  me  not  think  thon'rt  "mad.    I  tell  thee. 
If  thou  goest  forward,  I  am  still  Petruchio. 
Maria,  And  I  am  worse,  a  woman  that 
can  fear 
Neither  Petruchio  Furius,  nor  his  fame, 
Nor  any  tlnng  that  tends  to  our  allegiance  s     f 


There's  a  short  method  for  you;  now  you 

know  me. 

Petru.  If  you  can  carry 't  so,  'tis  very  y^elL 

Bianco^  No,  you  shall  carry*t,  sir. 

Pe^r««  Peace,  gentle  low-bell! 

Petron,  Use  no  more  words,  but  come 

down  instantly ; 
I  charge  tliee,  by  the  duty  of  a  child ! 

Petru,  Prithee  come,  Maria!  I  foreive  all. 

Marin,  Stay  there !  That  duty,  that  yon 

charge  me  by 
(If  you  consider  truly  what  you  say) 
Is  now  another  man  s;  you  gave't  away 
I'  th'  church,  if  you  remember,  to  my  husband ; 
So  all  you  can  exact  now,  is  no  more 
But  only  a  due  reverence  to  your  person,  . 
Which  thus  I  pay:  your  blessing,  and  I*m 
To  bed  for  this  night.  [g«"e 

Petron,  This  is  monstrous !  [devil. 

That  blessing  that  St.  Dunstan  gave  the 
If  I  were  near  thee,  I  would  eive  thee,  whore; 
Pull  thee  down  by  tb'  nose ! 

Bianca,  Saints  should  not  rave,  sir: 
A  little  rhubarb  now  were  excellent. 

Petru,  Tlien,  by  that  duty  you  owe  to  me, 

Maria, 
Open  the  door,  and  be  obedient ! 
I'm  quiet  yet 

Maria,  I  do  confess  that  duty: 
Make  your  best  on't. 

Petru.  Why,  give  me  leave,  I  will, 

Bianca,  Sir,  there's  no  learning 
An  old  stiff  jade  to  trot;  you  know  the  moral. 

Maria,  Yet,  as  I  take  it,  sir,  I  owe  no  more 
Than  you  owe  back  again. 

Petru,  You  will  not  article  ? 
All  I  owe,  presently  (let  me  but  up)  III  pay. 

Maria„  You  are  too  hot,  and  such  prove 

jades  at  length.  [you  again, 

You'  do  confess  a  duty,  or  respect  to  me  fron^ 
That's  very  near,  or  full  the  same  with  mine  r 

Petru,  Yes.  .  [wlnit 

Maria,  Then,  b}r  that  duty,  or  respect,  t»r 
You  please  to  have  it,  go  to  bed  and  leave  me, 
yVnd  trouble  me  no  longer  with  your  fooling; 
For  Jt  now,  I  am  not  for  you. 

Petru,  Well,  what  remedy? 

Petron.  A  fine  smart  cudgel.    Oh,  that  I 

were  near  thee !  [were  we  in ! 

Bianca,  If  you  had  teeth  now,  what  a  case 

Mor,  These  are  the  most  authentic  rebels, 
Tyrone,  I  ever  heard  of.  [next 

Maria,  A  week  hence,  or  a  fortnight,  as 

you  bear  you. 
And  as  I  find  my  will  observ'd,  I  may, 
W^ith  intercession  of  some  friends,  be  broaght 
May  be  to  kiss  you ;  and  so  quarterly 
To  pay  a  little  rent  by  composition. 
You  understand  me  ? 
'  Soph,  Thou,  boy,  thou! 

Pelrtt.  Well,  [my  comfort. 

There  are  more  maids  than  Maudlin;  that's 

Maria,  Yes;  and  more  men  tlian  Michael. 

Petrti.  I  must  not 

To  bed  with  this  stomach,  and  no  meat,  lady. 

Maria, 


^ct  1.  Scene  4.]    THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  TUE  TAMER  TAM'D. 


•139 


Mark*  Feed  where  you  will^  so  it  be 

sound  and  wholesome ; 
Else,  live  at  livery,  for  111  none  with  you. 

jBiaitca.  Y'  had  best  back  one  o'th' dairy 

maids,  tliey^U  carry:  [bruise  else. 

But  take  heed  to  your  girths^  you'll  get  a 

Petru.  Now,  if  thdu  wouldst  come  down, 

and  tender  me  .^ . 

All  the  delights  due  tp  a  n|arni^e-bed ; 
Study  such  kisses  as  wodd  melt  a  man ; 
And  turn  thyself  into  a  thousand  figures, 
To  add  new  flames  unto  me ;  X  would  stand 
Thus  heavy,  thus  regardless,  thus  despising 
Thee,  and  thy  best  ^lurings :  all  the  beauty 
Tbat*s    laid   upon  your  bodies,  mark  me 

well, 
(Far  without  doubt  your  minds  are  miserable, 
You  have  no  masks  for  them)  all  this  rare 

beauty, 
JuBiy  but  the  painter  and  the  silk-worm  by. 
The  doctor  with  his  diets,  and  the  tailor. 
And   you  appear  like  ^a*d  cats;  not  so 

faaocl»ome.  [us  liither, 

Maria,  And  we  appear,  like  \\er  that  sent 
That  only  excellent  and  beauteous  nature, 
Truly  ourselves,  for  men  to  wonder  at, 
But  too  divine  to  handle :  we  are  gold. 
In  our  own  natures  pure;  but  when  we  suffer 
The  husband's  stamp  upon  usy  then  allays. 
And  base  ones,  of  you  men,  are  mingled 

with  us, 
And  make  us  blush  like  copper ! 

Petru,  Then,  and  never 
Till  tbeai,  aie  women  to  be  spoken  of; 
For  till  that  time  you  have  no  souls,  I  take  it. 
Good  night  I^-Come,  gcndemen!  I'll  fast 

for  this  night; 
But,  by  this  hand — Well,  I  shall  come  up  yet ! 

Maria.  No.  [witlier'd  jury; 

Feiru.  There  will  I  watch  thee  hkc  a 
Thou  shalt  neither  have  meat,    fire,  nor 

candle,  [so  soon  ? 

Nor  any  thing  that's  easy.    Do  you  rebel 
Yet  tako  mercy.  [I'll  assure  you 

Bianea.  Put  up  your  pipes;  to  bed,  sir! 
A  month's  siege  will  not  shake  us. 

Mor,  Well  said,  colonel ! 

Maria,  To  bed,  to  bed,  Petruchio !  Good 

night,  gcndemen ! 
YouTl  m^te  mv  father  sick  with  sitting  up. 
Here  you  shau  find  us  any  time ,  these  ten 

ciays,  [ment. 

Unless  we  mav  march  off  with  otir  content- 

Petru.  rUhane  first! 

Maria,  And  Vl\  quarter,  if  I  do  not ! 
Fll  make  you  know,  and  fear  a  wife,  Pe- 
lliere  my  cause  lies.  [truchio ; 

You  have  been  famous  for  a  woman -tamer. 
And  bear  the  feared  name  of  a  brave  wife- 
breaker  :  [and  tame  you. 
A  woman  now  shall  take  those  honours  off, 
Nay,  never  look  so  big !  she  shall,  believe  me. 
And  I  am  she!  What  tliink  ^e?  Good 
Ye  shall  find  centinels —  [oig^^  ^  ^^* 

Bianco,  If  ye  dare  sally.     [^Exeunt  fibovf.. 


Petron,  The  devil's  in  'em,  ev'n  tlie  very 
The  down-right  devil !  [devij, 

Petru,  I'll  devil  'em;  by  these  ten  bones, 

I  will ! 
ni  bring't  to  th'  old  proverb,  *  No  sporty  no 

pie.' 
Pox !  taken  down  i'th'  top  of  all  my  speed  ^ 
This  is  fine  dancing !  Gentlemen,  stick  to  me : 
You  see  our  freehold's  touch'd  ;  and,  by  this 

light,  [out, 

We  will  beleaguer  'em,  and  either  starve  'em 
Or  make  'em  recreant.  [about  'em. 

Petron.  I'll  see  all  passages  stopt,  but  those 
If  the  good  women  of  tlio  town  dare  succour 
We  shall  have  wars  indeed.  r^n^i 

Soph,  I'll  stand  perdue  upon  'era. 

Mor,  My  regiment  shall  lie  before. 

Jaquet,  I  tliink  so ; 
•Tis  grown  too  old  to  stand.  [tackle ! 

Petru,  Let's  in,  and  each  provide  his 
We'll  fire  'em  out,  or  make  *em  take  their 

pardons 
(Uear  what  I  say)  on  then-  bare  knees. 
Am  I  Petruchio,  fear'd,  and  spoken  of, 
And  on  my  wedding-night  am  I  thus  jaded? 

[Exeunt* 
SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Rowland  and  Pedro,  at  several  doors, 

Rowl.  Now,  Pedro  f 

Pedro,  Very  busy,  master  Rowland. 

Roal.  What  haste,  m^n? 

Pedro,  I  beseech  you  pardon  me, 
I  am  not  mine  own  man. 

RoaL  Thou  art  not  mad? 

Pedro,  No ;  but,  believe  me,  as  hasty-^ 

Rowl.  The  cause,  good  Pedro  ? 

Pedro,  There  be  a   thousand,  sir.    You 

iW/.  Not  yet,  [are  not  married  ? 

Pedro,  Keep  yourself  quiet  tlien. 

Rowl.  Why? 

Pedro.  You'll  find  a  fiddle 
That  never  will   be  tun'd  else:  from   all 

women —  [Exit. 

RowL  What  ails  the  fellow,  tro  ?-'Jaques? 

Enter  Jaques, 

Jaques.  Your  friend,  sir; 
But  very  full  of  business. 

Rowl.  Nothing  but  business? 
Prithee  the  reason  !  Is  there  any  dying  ? 

Jaques,  I  would  there  were,  sir! 

RowL  But  thy  business  ?  [lay 

.Jaques,  I'll  tell  you  in  a  word:  I'm  sent  to 
An  imposition  upon  souse  and  puddings, 
Pasties,  and  penny  custards,  that  the  women 
May  not  relieve  yon  rebels.     Fare  you  well, 

Kowl,  How  does  my  mistress?  r«ip  f 

Jaques.  Like  a  resty  jade; 
She's  spoil'd  for  riding. 

Rowl.  What  a  devil  ail  they? 

Enter  Sophocles, 

Custards,  and  penny  pasties,  fools  and  fiddles'! 
Wliat's  this  to  th'  purpose? — Oh,  well  met. 
T3  Soph. 


[sir! 
[Exit. 


140 


THE  WOMAN'S  PBIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D.   [Acts.  Scene  1. 


S^  Now,  Rowlfind  } 
I  cannot  stay  to  talk  long. 

R4noL  What's  the  matter?  [you? 

Here  s  stirrin|,  but  to  what  end?  Whither  go 

Soph,  To  view  the  works. 

RowL  What  works? 

Soph,  The  women's  trenches. 

liotBL  Trenches?  Are  such  to  see? 

iSqpA.  I  do  not  jest,  sir. 

Kowk  I  cannot  understand  you. 

Soph,  Don*t  you  hear 
In  what  a  state  of  quarrel  the  new  bride 
Stands  with  her  husband  ? 

RowL  Let  him  stand  with  her, 
And  there's  an  end. 

Soph.-  It  should  be;  but,  byV  lady,  [him. 
She  holds  him  out  at  pike's  end,  and  aefies 
And  now  is  fortified.    Such  a  reipment  of 

ratters 
Never  defied  men  braver :  I  nm  sent 
To  view  their  preparation. 

RowL  This  is  news,  [not 

Stranger  than  armies  in  the  air  '^.  You  saw 
My  gentle  mistress? 

Soph.  Yes,  and  meditating  [found  it. 

Upon  sproe  secret  business;  when  sli*  had 
5he  lecp"^  for  joy,  and  laugb*d,  and  straight 
To  shun  Moroso.  [retired 

RowL-Thi9  may  be  for  me. 

Soph,  Will  you  along  ? 

R(wL  No. 

Soph.  Farewell!  [Exit. 

it 007/.  Farewell,  sir  !^-  '    [joy  in't, 

Wliat  should  her  musing  mean,  and  what  her 
If  not  for  my  advantage?  Stay  youl  may  not 

Enter  Idvia  ot  one  door,  and  Moroso  at 
another,  hearkening,  ^ 

That  bbbrta^l  jade  Moroso,  with  his  gold, 
His  gew-gandes,  and  the  ho|)e  she  has  to 

send  him 
Quickly  to  dust, excite  tliis?  Hers  she  comes; 
And  yonder  walks  the  stallion  to  discover! 
Yet  111  salute  her.    Save  you,  beauteous 

mistress!  [you^air! 

lAvia,  The  fox  is  kennelj'd  for  me. — Save 


Rowl,  Why  do  you  look  so  strange  ? 

Livia.  I  use  to  look,  sir. 
Without  examination. 

Mor,  Twenty  spur-ryals  for  that  word ! 

Rowl,  Belike  then 
The  object  discontents  you  ? 

Livia.  Yes,  it  does.  [you  not? 

RowL  Is't  come  to  this?  You  know  me,  do 

Livia,  Yes^  as  I  may  know  many,  by  re- 
pentance. 

RowL  Why  do  you  break  your  faith  ? 

Livia,  111  tell  you  that  too :  [y^^' 

YouVe  under  age,  and  no  band  liolds  upon 

Mor,  Excellent  wench ! 

Livia.  Sue  out  your  understanding, 
And  get    more   hair  to  cover  your  bare 

knuckle !  [kisses) 

(For  boys  were  made  for  nothing  but  dry 
And,  if  you  can,  more  manners ! 

Mor,  Better  still !  [or  stockings, 

Livia,  And  tljen,  if  I  want  Spanish  gloves, 
A  ten-pound  waistcoat,  or  a  nag  to  hunt  on^ 
It  may  be  I  shdli  erace  you  to  accept  *ein. 

RowL  Farewell!  and  when  I  credit  ^o- 

men  more. 
May  I  to  Smithfield,  and  there  buy  a  iadc 
(And  know  him  to  be  so)  that  breaks  ray 

neck !  [thus  kind  to  you : 

lAvia.  Because  IVe  known  you,  V\i  be 
Farewell,  and  be  a  man !  and  1*11  provide  you. 
Because  I  see  you're  desperate,  some  staid 

chambennaid,  [doctrine. 

That  may  relieve  your  youth  with  wnolesome 

Mor,  She's  miue  from  all  the  world  I — 

Livia,  Ha,  chicken !  [Ha,  wench ! 

\Give8  him  a  box  on  the  ear;  and  exit. 

Mor.  How's  this?  I  do  not  love  these 

favours.-— Save  you ! 

RowL  The  devil  take  thee! 

[Wrings  him  by  the  nose, 

3for.  Oh!  [me  now! 

RowL  There's  a  love-token  for  you;  thank 

Mor,  I'll  think  on  some  of  ye;  and,  if  I 

live. 
My  nose  alone  shall  not  he  pla/d  withal! 

[Exit. 


ACT  11. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Petronius  and  Moroso, 

Petron.   A  BOX  o'th'  ear,  d'you  say? 

■^^     Mor,  Yes,  sure,  a  sound  one; 
Beside  my  nose  blown  to  myhnnd.  [f  Cupid 
Shoot  arrows  of  that  weight,  I'll  swear  de- 
voutly, 
H'  has  sued  his  liv'ry,  and  is  no  more  a  boy. 


Petron,  You  gave  lier  some  ill  language? 

Mor,  Not  a  word. 

Petron,  Or  might  be  you  were  fumbling? 

Mor,  'Would!  had,  sir! 
'H.id  been  aforehand  then;  but  to  be  baffled, 
And  have  no  feeling  of  the  cause — 

Petron,  Be  patient;    "  [cure  hfet. 

I  have  a  medic  ine  clapp'd  to  her  back  will 

Mor,  No,  sure't  must  be  afure,  sir. 


Than  arms  in  the  air.]  Corrected  in  1750« 


Petron. 


Acts.  Scenes.]    THE  WOMAN?S  PRIZE;  OS,  TBE  TAHSK  TJM1>. 


ui 


Petron.  O'  my  oonscience. 
When  I  got  these  two  wcncl)e8(who  till  now 
Ne'er  sbew'd  their  riding)  I  was  drunk  with 

bascard'^ 
Whose  nature  is  to  form  things  like  itself. 
Heady  and  monstrons.    DM  she  slight  him 

too?  [b^-hdrse 

Mar,  That's  all  my  comfort!  A  mere  hol^ 
She  made  child  Rowland'^ :  'Sfoot,  she  would 

not  know  him. 
Not  give  him  a  ftee  look,  not  reckon  him 
Among  her  thoi^bts,  which  I  Jield  more  than 

wof^r ;  [him, 

I  having  seen  her  withio*8  ihcee  days  kiss 
With  such  an  appNetite  as  tho'  she'd  oat  him. 

Petron.  There  is  some  trick  in  tlu^.  How 

did  he  take  it?   ' 

Mbr.  Ready  to  cry,  he  ran  away. 

PetnuL  I  fear  her : 
And  yet  I  tell  you,  ever  to  my  anger 
She  is  as  tame  as  tnnooency.  It  may  be 
This  blow  was  but  a  &vour. 

Mor,  111  be  sworn 
7was  well  ded  on  then. 

Peiron,  Goto!  pray  forget  it:  [bouts 
I  have  bespoke  a  priest,  and  within's  two 
ril  have  you  marrira :  will  that  please  you  ? 

iMbr.  Yes.  [the  lady 

Petron,  I'll  see  it  done  myself  and  give 
Such  a  sound  exhortation  for  this  knavery, 
111  warrant  you,  shall  make  her  smeli  this 

month  on't.        « 

Mor,  Nay,  good  sir,  be  not  vioLent«  ^  . 

PetroH,  lieither —  "^ 

Mor.  It  may  be 
Out  of  her  earnest  love  there  grew  a  longing 
(As  you  know  women  have  such  toys)  in 

kindness. 
To  give  me  a  box  o'th*  ear,  or  so. 

Petron.  It  may  be.  [night  then 

Mor.  I  reckon  for  the  best  bdll.  This 
I  shall  enjoy  her. 

Petron.  You  shall  handsel  her.  [fort 

Mor,  Old  as  I  am,  Fli  give  Iter  one  blow 
Shall  make  her  groan  this  twelvemonth. 

Petron,  Where's  your  jointure? 

Mor,  I  have  a  jointure  for  her. 

Petron.  Have  your  council  penxs'd  it  yet  ? 

Mor,  No  council  but  the  night,  and  your 

sweet  daughter. 
Shall  e'er  peruse  that  jointure. 

Petron,  Very  well,  sir. 


Mor,  ni  no  demurrers  on%  nor  no  rer 

joinders. 
Tlie  other's  ready  seal'd. 

Petron.  Come  then ;  let's  comfort 
My  son  Petruchio :  he's  like  little  children 
That  lose  their  baubles,  crying  ripe. 

Afor.  Pray  tell  me. 
Is  this  stem  woman  still  upon  the  flaunt 
Of  bold  defiance  ? 

^    Pptron.  Still,  and  still  she  shall  be, 
Till  she  be  ^tarv'd  out:  you  shall  see  such 

justice, 
Tl^at  women  shall  be  dad,  after  this  tempest, 
To  tie  their  husbands  shoes,  and  walk  their 

horses.  [bear  the  rumour  P 

Mor,  That  were  a  merry  world !— D'you 
Thev  say  the  women  are  in  insurrection^ 
And  mean  to  make  a*-    • 

Petron.  Thevll  sooner 
Draw  upon  walls  as  we  do.  Let'em,  let'em! 
We'll  ship  'em  out  in  cuck-stooU;   thert 

theyllsail  < 
As  brave  Columbus  did,  till  they  discover 
The  happy  islands  of  obedience* 
We  stay  too  long;  come ! 

Mor,  Now  St.  George  be  with  us ! 

[Ex€unt. 

SCENE  n. 

Enter  Livia  alone. 

Livia.  Now  if  I  can  but  get  in  handsomely. 
Father,  I  shall  deceive  you ;  and  this  night. 
For  all  your  private  plotting,  111  no  wedlock: 
I've  shifted  sail,  and  find  my  sister's  safety 
A  sure  retirement.    Pray  to  Heav'n  that. 

Rowland 
Do  not  believe  too  far  what  I  said  to  him! 
For  yon  old  foxcase  forc'dme;  that's  my 

fear.  [chio 

Stay,  let  me  see !  this  quarter  fierce  Petru- 
Keeps  with  his  mynnidons:  I  must  be  sud« 

den; 
If  lie  seize  on  me,  I  can  look  for  nothing 
But  martial4aw ;  to  this  place  have  I  scap'd 
Above  there!  [hims 

Enter  Maria  and  Bianca  above* 

Maria.  Qui  va  laf 

JJvia.  A  fnend. 

Bianca,  Who  are  you  ? 

lAvia.  Look  out  and  know ! 

Maria.  Alas,  poor  wench,  who  sent  thee? 


'^  Bflw^ori/.]  A  kind  of  sweet  wine.  Johnton. 

'^  Child  Biapkmd.\  *  ChUd  is  frequently  used  by  our  old  writers,  as  a  title.  It  is  repeat- 
'  edly  given  to  prince  Arthur  in  the  Fairie  Queen ;  and  the  son  of  a  kin^  is  in  the  same 
'  poem  called  child  Tristram  (B.  5.  c.  11.  it.  8.  13.— B.  6.  c.  2.  st.  36.— Iibid.  c.  8.  st.  15.) 
Mn  an  old  ballad  quoted  in  Shakespeare's  King  Lear,  the  h>ro  of  Ariosto  is  called  child  Ko^ 

*  land,  Mr.  Theobald  supposes  this  use  of  the  word  was  received  along  with  their  romances 
'  from  the  Spaniards,  with  whom  irifante  signifies  a  prince.    A  more  eminent  critic  tells  us, 

*  that  '<  in  the  old  times  of  chivalry,  the  noble  youth,  who  were  candidates  for  knighthoodj^ 
"  during  the  time  of  their  probation  were  called  infans,  varlets,  damcyuU,  bacheliers.  The 
"most  noble  of  the  youth  were  particularly  called  infans.'*  (Vide  Warburton's  Shakespeare). 
'  A  late  commentatoV  on  Spenser  observes,  that  the  Saxon  word  cnihz,  knight^  signifies  also 
'  a  eiild  (Upton's  Glossary  to.F.  Q.)'  iSec  Dr,  Percys  ReliqueSf  vol.  lii.  p.  54. 

What 


146 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D.    [Acts.  Scene  S. 


Wbat  weak  fool  made  thy  toogiie  bis  ontbr? 
I  know  yovL  come  to  parley. 

lAvia.  You're  deceived 
Urg'd  by  cbe  goodness  of  your  Cftuse^  I  come 
To  do  as  you  do. 

Maruu  Yoa're  too  weak,  too  foolish. 
To  cheat  us  with  your  smoothness:  don't  we 
Thofi  hast  been  kept  np  tame?  [know 

Livia.  Believe  me ! 

Maria,  No ;  prithee,  good  livia. 
Utter  thy  doqiience  somewhere  else* 

Bianca,  Good  cousin,  [Itte: 

Put  up  3ronr  pipes;  we  are  not  for  your  pa< 
Alas !  we  know  who  sent  you. 

JUvia,  O' my  word —        ^ 

Biunca.  Stoy  there;  yon  most  not  think 

your  word, 
Or  by  yourmaidenheadyOrsttdiSunday  oaths, 
Sworn  afler  eveo-song,  can  tnrei^ie  us 
To  loose  our  haud^ast:  did  their  wisdoms 

diink. 
That  sent  you  hither,  we  would  he  so  foolish 
To  entertain  our  centk  siiter  Sinon'^, 
And  give  her  credit,  while  the  wooden  jade 
Petnichio  stole  upon  kw?  No,  good  sister! 
Go  home,  and  tell  the  merry  Greeks  that 

sent  you, 
Ilium  shall  bum,  and  I,  aa  did  £neas, 
Will  on  my  back,  spite  of  the  myrmidons, 
Carry  this  warlike  lady,  and  thro'  seas 
Unknown,  and  unbeliev'd,  seek  out  a  land. 
Where  like  a  race  of  noble  Amaaons 
We'll  root  ourselves,  and  to  our  endless  glory 
lAve,  and  despise  base  men! 

lAvia,  I'll  second  you. 

Bianco.  How  bng  have  you  been  thus? 

Livia.  That's  all  one,  cousin; 
I  stand  for  freedom  now. 

Bianco.  Take  heed  of  lying! 
For,  by  this  light,  if  we  do  credit  you, 
And  nnd  you  tripping,  his  infliction    [sport 
Thatkill'd  the  prince  of  Orange'*,  will  be 
To  what  we  purpose. 

lAvia.  Let  me  feel  the  heaviest ! 

Maria.  Swear  by  thv  sweetheart  Rowland 

(for  by  your  maidenhead 
I  fear  'twill  be  too  late  to  swear)  you  mean 

*7  Sinan.]  Sec  Virgil's  ^ncid.  R. 

■*  That  kill*d  Ute  prince  of  Orange.]  This  was  Balthazar  Gerard,  who  piurdered  the  prince 
•f  Orange  at  Delfl,  on  tlie  10th  of  July,  1584.  The  horrible  punishments  inflicted  on  this 
miserable  wretch  are  thus  related  by  a  writer  who  lived  not  very  distant  from  the  time  in 
which  the  transaction  happened :  '  Here  first  he  had  his  right-hand  with  a  hot  yron  seared 
'  and  cut  off,  which  did  the  deede,  and  cast  into  the  fire :  next  of  all,  with  fine  hot  pincers 

*  he  had  his  flesh  tome  and  pluckt  off  from  sixe  parts  of  his  bodie,  which' were  most  flcshie^ 
^  v».  of  his  breast,  armes,  legs,  and  buttocks,  and  those  cast  into  the  fire ;  and  his  body, 
'  beginning  from  the  lower  part,  was  with  an  axe  chopt  in  peeces,  his  belly  was  ripped,  his 

*  heart  was  pluckt  out  and  cast  at  the  villaine's  face  (yet  in  some  life)  and  afterwards  his 
'  liead,  being  chopt  off,  was  with  otlicr  foare  parts  of  his  bodie,  as  armes  and  feete,  set  upon 
'  foare  poles  on  foure  turrits  or  ports  of  the  citie,  fastened  upon  a  long  pole  set  upon  the 

*  turrit  of  the  scheole  house,  on  the  back-side  of  the  prince's  lodging ;  and  whatsoever  he 
*■  had  in  his  life-time  about  him  was  taken  from  him  and  given  away.'  A  true  Discourse 
Historicall  of  the  succeeding  Governors  in  the  Netherlands,  and  the  Civil  Warres  titere  be* 
gun  intheycere  1565,  &c.  4to.  1602.  B.L.  p.  51.  JR. 

'^,  Fcwt^rerJl  A  dog-keeper,  or  leader  of  a  lime^hound,  &c.    Coles*$  Diet,  1677, 

Bianco. 


Nothing  but  fair  and  safe,  and  hoooorable 
To  us,  and  to  yourself. 
Iavio.  I  swear ! 
Bianca.  Stay  yet ! 
Swear  as  you  hate  Moroso  (tliat's  the  surest). 
And  as  you  have  a  certain  fear  to  find  bim 
Worse  than  a  poor  dried  jack,  full  of  more 

aches 
Than  autumn  has;  more  knavery  and  usury. 
And  foolery,  and  brokery,  than  do^<litch; 
As  you  do  constantly  believe  he's  nothing 
But  an  old  empty  bag  witii  a  ^y  beard. 
And  that  beard  such  a  bob-tail,  that  it  looks 
Worse  than  a  mare's  tail  eaten  ofi' with  flies; 
As  you  acknowledge,  that  young  handsome 

wench 
That  lies  by  such  a  Bilboa  blside,  that  bends 
With  evry  pass  he  makes,  to  th' hilts,  most 

miserable, 
A  dry-nurse  to  his  coughs,  a  fewterer'^ 
To  such  a  nasty  fellow,  a  robb'd  thing 
Of  all  delights  youth  looks  for;  and,  to  end. 
One  cast  away  on  coarse  beef,  bom  to  brash 
That  everlasting  cassock  that  has  worn 
As  many  servants  out,  as  Ui'  North-east  pas- 
sage [truly, 
Has  consum'd  sailors:  if  you  swear  this,  and 
W^itliont  tlie  reservation  of  a  gown. 
Or  any  mehtorious  petticoat, 
'Tis  like  we  shall  believe  you. 

Uvia,  I  do  swear  it !    [wholesome  motion 
Maria.   Stay  yet  a  little !     Came    tliis 
(Deal  truly  sister)  from  your  own  opinion. 
Or  some  suggestion  of  the  foe  ? 

Livia.  Ncer  fear  me ! 
For,  by  that  little  faith  I  have  in  husbands, 
And  the  great  seal  I  bear  your  cause,  I  come 
Full  of  that  tiberty  you  stand  for,  sister ! 
Maria,  If  we  beheve,  and  you  prove  re- 
creant, Livia,  V 
Think  what  a  maim  you  give  the  noble  cause 
We  now  stand  up  for!    Think. what  women 
shall,  [examples 

An  hundred  years  hence,  speak  thee,  when 
Are  look'd  for,  and  so  great  ones,  whose  re- 
lations, [customs ! 
Spoke,  as  we  do  'em,  wench,  shall  make  new. 


Act«.  Scene  4.]    THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMBR  TAMD. 


14S 


1  Maid.  Arm,  aud  be  valiiuitl 

S  AfaidL  Think  of  our  cause! 

3  Maid.  Our  justice! 

1  Maid.  Tift  sufficient.  [EstiiMt. 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Rowland  and  Tranio,  at  several  doors, 

Tta.  Now,  Rowland  ? 

RowL  How  do  you  ? 

TVo.  How  dost  thou,  man  ? 
Thou  look'st  ill. 

RowL  Yes.  Pray  can  you  tell  me>  Tranio^ 
Who  knew  the  devil  first? 

Tra.  A  woman. 

Rowl.  So. 
Were  thev  not  well  acquainted  ? 

IVa.  May  be  so, 
For  they  had  certain  dialogues  tc^ther. 

RowL  He  sold  her  fruit,  I  take  it? 

Tra.  Yes,  and  cheese 
That  choakM  all  mankind  after. 

RowL  Canst  thou  tell  me 
Whether  that  woman  ever  had  a  faith, 
Afterxsh'  had  eaten  ? 

IVo.  That  is  a  schoolrquestifm. 

RowL  No,  'tis  no  question;   for  believe 

me,  Tranio,  [her 

That  cold  fruit,  after  eatine,  bred  nought  in 
But  windy  promises,  and  cholick  vows, 
Tliat  broke  out  both  ways.  Thou  hast  heard 

Fm  sure 
Of  Esculapitts,  a  iiuviam'd  surgeon. 
One  that  could  set  together  quartered  traitors, 
And  make  'em  honest  men. 

2Va.  How  dost  thou,  Rowland?      ,[cure 

RowL  liet  him  but  cake  (if  he  dare  do  a 
Shall  get  him  fame  indeed)  a  Pithless  woman, 
(Tliere  will  be  credit  for  turn,  that  will  speak 

bim^ 
A  broken  woman,  Tranio,  a  base  woman. 
And  if  he  can  cure  such  a  wreck  of  honour. 
Let  him  come  here,  and  practise ! 

Tra.  Now,  for  honour's  sake. 
Why,  what  ail'st  thou,  Rowland? 

KowL  I  am  ridden,  Tranio, 
And  spur-gall'd  to  the  life  of  patience, 
(Heaven  keep  my  wits  together!)  by  a  thing 
Our  worst  tnoughts  are  too  noble  for,  a  wo- 

man.  [''"^y  ^  ^ 

3Va.  Your  mistress  has  a  little  frown'd,  it 

RowL  She  was  my  mistress. 

jEVa.  Is  she  not? 

RowL  No,  Tranio: 
Sh*  has  done  me  such  disgrace,  so  spitafiilly. 
So  like  a  woman  bent  to  my  oudoing, 
That  henoeibrth  a  good  horse  shall  be  my 

mistress,  [her, 

A  good  sword,  or  a  book.    And  if  you  see 
Tell  her,  I  do  beseech  you,  even  for  love's 
sake — 

Tra.  I  will,  Rowland.*  [thought  her, 

RowL  She  may  sooner  cooiit  the  good  I've 

*^  Ok,  Vit  a  fearful  office.]  If  the  measure  did  not  greatly  reclaim  against  it,  I  should 
Wre  read  offkncc  Sjpnp$on. 

Our 


Bianea.  If  yon  be  false,  repent,  go  home, 
and  pray. 
And  to  the  serious  women  of  the  city 
Confess  yourself;  bring  not  a  sin  so  heinous 
To  load  thy  soul  to  this  place.    Mark  me, 

livia;  [nours, 

If  thoa  be'^t  double,  and  betra/st  our  ho- 
And  we  fail  in  our  purpose,  get  thee  where 
There  is  no  women  living,  nor  no  hope 
There  ever  shall  be! 

JfoTM.  If  a  mother^s  daughter,  [band. 
That  ever  heard  the  name  of  stubborn  hns- 
Find  thee,  and  know  thy  sin — 

Bianca,  Nay,  if  old 'age, 
One  that  has  worn  away  the  name  of  woman, 
And  no  more  left  to  know  her  by  but  railing. 
No  teeth,   nor  eyes,  nor  legs,  but  wooden 

ones,  [smell  thee. 

Come  but  i' th' windward  of  thee,  sore  slie*ll 
Thou'lt  be  so  rank ;  she'll  ride  thee  like  a 

night-mare. 
And  say  her  prayers  backward  to  undo  thee; 
Shell  curse  thy  meat  and  drink,  and,  when 

thou  marriest. 
Clap  a  sound  spell  for  ever  on  thy  pleasures. 

Maria,  ChiMren  of  five  year   old,  like 

litde  fairies, 
,  Will  pinch  thee  into  motley ;  all  that  ever 
Shall  live,  and  liear  of  thee,  I  mean  all  wo- 
men. 
Will  (like  so  many  furies)  shake  their  keys. 
And  toss  their  flaming  distaf&o'er  their  h^s, 
Crying,  revenge!  Take  heed;  'tis  hideous, 
01^  *tis  a  fearful  office^^ !  If  thou  badst 
(Tbo*  thou  be*st  perfect   now)  when  thou 

cam'st  hither 
A  false  imagination,  get  thee  ^ne, 
And,  as  my* learned  cousin  swd,  repent! 
Tfiis  place  is  sought  by  soundness. 

Livia.  So  I  seek  it. 
Or  let  me  be  a  most  despised  example ! 

Maria.  I  do  believe  thee ;  be  thou  worthy 
You  come  not  empty  ?  [of  it  \ 

livia.  No,  here's  cakes  and  cold  meat, 
And  tripe  of  proof;  behold,  here's-  wine  and 

beer! 
Be  sudden,  I  shall  be  surprized  else. 

Maria.  Meet  at  the  low   parloor«door; 

there  lies  a  close  way ; 
What  fond  obedienee  vou  have  living  in  you, 
Or  duty  to  a  man,  before  yon  enter 
Ring  it  away;  'twill  but  defile  our  offerings. 

S^jdca.  Be  wary  a»  yon  come. 

liTM.^  I  warrant  you.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  III. 
Enter  three  Maids. 

1  Maid.  How  goes  your  business,  giris^ 
S  Maid.  A-foot,  and  fair.  [strength ! 

3  Maid.  If  fortune  favour  m.  Away  to  your 

Jbe  country  forces  are  arriv'd.    Be  gone! 

We  are  discovered  else. 


144 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRtZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMD.  [Act«.  Sceoel 


Oor  old  love  and  our  friendship, 
Shed  one  true  tear,  mean  one  hour  constantly, 
Be  old  and  honest,  married  and  a  maid^ 
Than  make  me  see  her  more,  or  more  be- 
lieve her:  •   [sir! 
And  now  Tvc  met  a  messenger,  farewell, 

[Exit, 

Tra.  Alas,  poor  Rowland !  I  will  do  it  for 

thee. 

This  is  that  dofc  Moroso;  hut  I  hope     [her. 

To  see  him  cold  i'th'  mouth  first,  ere  he  enjoys 

ni  watch  this  young  man;  desperate  thoughts 

may  seize  lum, 
And,  if  my  purse  or  counsel  can,  FUease  him. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  V. 

Enter  Pttruchio,  FetroniuSf  Moroso,  and  So^ 

phoclct, 

Petru.  For,  look  you,  gentlemen,  say  that 

I  grant  her, 
Out  of  my  firee  and  liberal  love,  a  pardon, 
Which  you  and  all  men  else  know,  she  de- 
^  serves  not,  [ing? 

(Iieneatisamiei^CBn  all  the  world  leairelaugh- 

Petron,  I  thmk  not. 

Petru,  No,  by  Heaven,  they  cannot! 
For  pray  coiftider,  have  you  ever  read. 
Or  heaixi  of,  or  can  any  man  imagine. 
So  stiff  a  Ton»-boy,  of  so  set  a  malice. 
And  such  a  bra2en  resolution,  [me! 

As  this  voung  crab-tree?  and  then  answer 
And  mark  but  this  too,  friends,  without  a 

cause, 
Not  a  foul  word  come  cross  her,  not  a  fear 
Slie  justly  can  take  hold  on ;  and  d'ye  think 
I  must  sleep  out  my  anger,  and  endure  it. 
Sow  pillows  to  her  ease,  and  lull  her  mischief? 
Give  me  a  spindle  first !  No,  no,  my  masters. 
Were    she   as  fair  as  NeU-a-Greece,  and 

housewife  [still, 

As  good  as  the  wise  sailor's  wife,  and  young 
Never  above  fifteen,  and  these  tricks  to  it, 
She  should  ride  the  wild  mare  once  a-week, 

she  should, 
Believe  me  friends,  she  should !  I'd  tabor  her, 
^ill  all  the  legions  tlmt  are  crept  into  her. 
Flew  out  with  fire  i*th*  tails. 

iScpA.  Methinks  you  err  now; 
For  to  me  seems,  a  little  sufferance 
Were  a  far  surer,  cure. 

Petru.  Yes,  I  can  suffer,  [ment. 

Where  I  see  promises  of  peace  and  amend- 

Mur,  Give  her  a  few  conditions. 

Petru.  rU  be  hang'd  first! 

Petron.  Give  her  a  crab-tree  cudgel!  - 

Petru.  So  I  wiU; 
And  after  it  a  flock-bed  for  her  bones. 


And  hard  eggs,  till  they  brace  herlik^a 
She  shall  be  pamper'd  with ;  [tl 

She  shall  not  know  a  stool  in  ten  montliS,gci 
Soph.  This  must  not  be. 

Enter  Jaquet. 

Jagues.  Ann,  arm!  outwith  your  weapon 
For  all  the  women  in  the  kingdom's  on 

Enter  Pedro. 

They  swarm  like  wasps,  tod  nothii^  can  i 

stroy  'era,  [ofa 

But  stopping  of  their  hive,  and  smotb'fi^ 

Pedro.  Stand  to  your  guard,  sir!  all 

devils  extant 

Are  broke  upon  us  like  a  cloud  of  thuni 

There  are  more  women  marchii^  hithen 

In  rescue  of  my  mistress,  than  e^r  turned 

At  Sturbridge-fair,  and  I  believe  as  fiery. 

Jagues.  The  forlorn-hope's  led  by  a 

ner's  wife, 
(I  know  her  bv  her  hide)  a  desp'rate  w<       ^ 
She  flea'd  her  husband  in  her  youth,  and  made 
Reins  of  his  hide,  to  ride  the  parish.    Tabi 

'em  all  together,  | 

They  are  a  genealocy  of  jennets,  gotten 
And  born  thus>  by  tlie  boisterous  breath  of  J 

husbands;  [cai»ioD  i 

They  serve  sure^',  and  are  swift  to  catch  oo 
(I  mean  their  foes  or  husba&nds)  by  the  fore- 
locks, [can, 
And  there  they  hang  like  favours;  cry  they 
But  more  for  noble  spite  than  fear :  and  cry- 
ing 
Like  the  old  giants  that  were  foes  to  Heaven, 
They  heave  ye  stool  on  stool,  and  fUog^maio 

pot-lids 
Like  massy  rocks,  dart  ladles,  toasting  irons^*, 
And  tongs  like  thunderbolts,  till  overlaid. 
They  fall  beneath  the  weight;  yet  still  aspi^ 

ine  [tame  'em, 

At  those  imperious  codslieads^^  that^  would 
There's  ne*er  a  one  of  these,  the  worst  and 

weakest,  [raisings 

(Chuse  where  you  will)  but  dare  atteoapt  the 
Against  the  sovereign  peace  of  Puritims, 
A  May-pole  and  a  niorris,  maugre  mainly 
Their  zeal,  and  dudgeonrdaggers:   and  yet 

more,  -  ['em. 

Dares  plant  a  stand  of  batf  ring  ale  tkgainst 
And  drink  'em  out  o*  tlf  parish. 

Soph.  Lo,  you,  fierce 
Petruchio!  this  conies  of  your  impatience. 

Pedro.  There's  one  brought  in  tb«  beai^ 

asainst  the  canons 
Of  tne  town,  made  it  good,  and  fought  *em« 

Jagues.  Aiioth^r,  to  her  everlasting  fimie, 

erected 


**  Serve  sure.]  i.  e.  observe  sure.        Sifrnpson* 

**  Dart  ladles,  tossing  irons.}  What  sort  of  irons  these  tossing  irons  are  is  a  secret  to  roe; 
the  corruption  has  however  been  fix'd  here  ever  since  the  year  1647,  and  if  I  conjecture  right, 
the  original  lection  might  have  been, 

•  toating  irons.  Sympson. 


I*  Codsheads.]  So  firal  folio;  other  tduiont, godheads. 


Two 


tt^8.9ceM6.]    THE  WOMAN^  PSIZE;  OH,  THE  TAMEB  TAMD. 


145 


riiJ|*o  ale-bcMMeft  of  ease,  the  quvter  aessions 
ttuliBi]^  i^Qst  her  rouiully;  in  which  biit- 

^Twoofthe  diBannoUersIost  their  nicht-caps; 

tA  third  stood  excommunicate  by  th  ciidgel , 

[The  constable^  to  her  eternal  glory,    [victor. 
rilDniiik  hard,  and  was  converted,  and  she 
viv    Pedro,  Then  are  they  victualled  with  pies 
and  puddings, 

(The  trappinjipi  of  good  stomnclis)  noble  nle, 
%3^f(rhe  true  d«&nder),  sausages^  and  smoakM 

ones, 
iss:  If  need  be,  sach  as  serve  for  pikes ;  and  perk, 
tl  k  (Better  the  Jews  ne'er  Imted;  here  and  there 

A  bottle  of  metheglin,  a  stout  Britain 
^  That  will  stand  to 'em ; 
k*  What  ekie  they  want,  thef  war  for. 
in:     Pttru.  Come  to  council!      [the  kii^om 
98"     SbpA.  Now  you  must  eraut  conditions,  or 
jii  Will  have  no  other  talk  but  this. 

Peinm,  Away,  then, 
^  And  let's  advise  the  best! 
a    .  &mk.  Why  do  you  tremble?     [o'  tli'  head 
i*     Mor.  Have  I  liv'd  thus  long  to  be  knockt 

With  half  a  washing-beetle?  Pmy  be  wise, 
5       sir.  [it  is,  I  know  not. 

ar  POru.  Come ;  something  FU  do ;  but  what 
c^  Soph.  To  council  then,  and  let's  avoid 
J     their  follies  I 

Hi  .Guard  ail  the  doon,  or  we  shaVt  have  a 
j\     cloak  left.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  VL 
Entir  Petrimim^  Petruchio^  Moro$Of  Sopho- 
cia,  muL  Tranio, 

Petron,  I  am  indiff 'rent,  tho'  I  must  coat 
I  had  rather  see  her  carted.  [fess 

Tn,  No  more  of  that,  sir. 

Soph.  Are  ye  resolVtl  to  give  her  fair  con* 
^wji  be  the  safest  way.  [ditions  ? 

P<tru.  I  am  distracted ! 
^ould  I  had  ran  my  head  into  a  halter 
»i    When  I  first  woo'd  her!  If  I  offer  peace, 
fibell  urge  her  own  conditions;  that's  the 

Soph.  Why,  say  she  do?  [deviL 

Pttrth  Say,  I  am  made  an  ass  then  I 
I  know  her  aim:  may  I  with  reputntion, 
(Answer  roe  this)  with  safety  of  mine  honour. 
After  the  mighty  manage  of  my  first  wife, 
Which  was  indeed  a  fury  to  this  filly, 
After  my  twelve  strong  (abours  to  reclaim  her. 
Which  would  have  made  don  Hercules  hom- 

And  UA  him  in  his  bide,  suffer  this  Cicely, 
^  she  have  warmed  my  sheets,  ere  grappled 
'    with  me. 


Tliis  pink,  this  painted  foist,  this  cockle-boar^ 
To  hang  her  fii^hts  out'"*^,  and  defy  me,  friends, 
A  well-known  man  of  war?  If  this  beequal. 
And  I  may  suffer,  sav*  and  I  have  done. 

Petron.  I  do  not  think  you  aiay. 

jTra.  You'il  make  it  worse,  sir. 

Soph,  Pray  hear  me,  good  Petruchio.  But 

e*en  now 
You  were  contented  to  give  all  conditions, 
To  try  how  far  she'd  carry:  Tis  a  foiiy 
(And  you  will  fiad  it  so)  to  clap  tlie  cui'b  on, 
Kre  you  he  sure  it  proves  a  natural  wiidue^s^ 
And  not  a  forc'd.     Give  her  condi tious ; 
For,  on  my  life,  this  trick  is  put  into  her-^ 

Petron.  I  should  believe  so  too. 

Soph.  And  not  her  own. 

Tra.  You'll  find  it  so. 

Soph.  Tlieii,  if  she  flounder  with  you. 
Clap  spurs  on;  and  in  this  you*ll  deal  with 

temperance; 
Avoid  tlie  hurry  of  the  world-— 

Tra.  And  lose—  [Muiick  ubave^ 

Mor.  No  honour,  on  my  life,  sir. 

Fetru.  I  will  do  it 

Petron.  It  seems  they're  very  merry. 

Enter  Jaqua. 

Petru.  Why,  God  hold  it ! 

Mor,  Now,  Jaques? 

Jaquet.  They  are  T  th*  flaunt,  sir. 

Soph.  Yes,  we  hear  'em. 

Jo^ue*.  They  have  got  a  stick  of  fiddles, 
*  and  they  firk  it 

In  wondrous  ways:  two  grand  capitanos 
(They  brought  the  auxiliary  regiments) 
Dance  with  their  coats  tuck'd  up  to  their 
»   bare  breeches,  [burden. 

And  bid  the  kingdom  kiss 'em;  that's  the 
IMiev've  got  the  metheglm,  and  audacious  ale. 
And  talk  like  tyrants. 

Petron,  How  know'st  thou? 

Jaques.  I  peep'd  in 
At  a  loose  laiisket. 

Tru.  Hurkl 

Petron.  A  song !  Pray  silence. 

SONG. 

A  health  for  all  this  day. 
To  the  woman  that  bears  the  sway, 
And  wear  the  breeches ; 
Let  It  come,  let  it  come. 
•Let  this  health  be  a  seal, 
For  tlie  good  o'  th'  common-weal, 
\  The  woman  shal  I  wear  the  breeches ! 

Let's  drink  then  and  lauL'h  it, 
And  merrily,  merrily  quail* it, 

^  lb  hang  her  fights  out]  This  expression,  which  is  to  be  met  with  in  Shakespeare  as  well 
••  our  authors,  inchnes  m^  to  think,  that  a  passage  in  act  iv.  scene  '2.  of  The  Captain,  whicli 
nnstfaus,  y  r      > 

1  Bay.  Does  he  (contain)  bear  op  still  ? 
«  Ay.  A&rc  the  wind  still  with  his  hghts  np  hmvely; 
woM  be  read  in  this  sort, 

^      ^  8  Boy.  Afi>re  the  wind  still  with  his Jightt  up  bravely; 

17^  ^r£  '^"'^^^A  ^  ^  Deer's  bet^r  judgQieoL       Syn^w^ 

U  And 


VCM^UI. 


S46. 


THE  WOMAN^  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAWD.  [Act«.  Scene  4 


And  tipple,  iuid  tipple  a  round  t 

Here's  to  thy  fool. 

And  to  my  fool ; 

Come,  to  all  fools, 
Tho'  it  cost  us,  wench,  many  a  pound. 

Mor.  They  look  out. 

[All  the  Women  above,  Citizeru  and 
Country  Women, 

Petru.  Good  eVn,  ladies ! 

Maria.  Good  you  good  ev*!!,  dr! 

Petru,  How  have  you  slept  to-night? 

Maria.  Exceeding  well,  sir. 

Petru.  Did  you  not  wish  me  with  you? 
.    Maria.  No,  bclicre  me, 
I  never  thought  upon  you. 

Coun.  Is  that  he? 

Bianco.  Yes. 

Coun.  Sir. 

Soph.  She  has  drank  hard  9  mark  her  hood. 

Coun.  You  are — 

Soph.  Learnedly  drunk,  111  hang  else.  Let 

her  utter.  [friend, 

Coun.  And  I  must  tell  you^  viva  voce, 
A  very  foolish  fellow. 

Tra,  There's  an  ale-figure. 

Petru.  I  thank  ^ou,  Susan  Brotes. 

Cit.  Forward,  sister.  [woman, 

Coun.  You  have  espoused  here  a  hearty 
A  comely,  and  courageous— 

Petru.  Well,  I  liave  so.  [damsels, 

Coun,  And,  to  tlie  comfort  of  distressed 
Women  out- worn  in  wedlock,  and  such  ve^y- 
This  woman  has  defied  you.  [scls, 

Petru.  It  should  seem  so. 

Coun.  And  why? 

Petru.  Yes,  can  you  tell? 

Coun.  "For  tliirtcen  causes. 

Petru.  Pray,  by  your  patience,  mistress— 

tut.  Forward,  sister! 

Petru.  Do  you  mean  to  treat  of  all  these? 

Cit.  Who  shall  let  ber*^  ?  [not  now 

Petron.  Do  you  hear,  velvet-hood  ?wecome 
To  hear  your  doctrine. 

Coun.  For  the  first,  I  take  it. 
It  doth  divide  itself  into  seven  branches. 

Petru.  Hark  you,  good  Maria, 
Have  you  got  a  catechiser  here  ? 

Tra.  Good  zeal !  [peace, 

Soph.  Goodthrec-piTd  predication^  will  you 
And  hear  the  cause  we  come  for  ? 

Coun.  Yes,  bob-tails,  [the  cause : 

We  know  the  cause  you  come  for ;  here's 
But  never  hope  to  carry  her,  ne'er  dream 
Or  flatter  your  opinions  with  a  thought 
Of  base  repentance  in  her. 

Cit.  Give  me  sack ! 
By  tliis,  and  neit,  strong  ale — 

Coun.  Swear  forward,  sister !    [we'll  bury 

Cit.  By  all  that's  cordial,  in  this  place 

Our  bones,  fames,  tongues,  our  triumphs,  and 

tlien  all ' 
That  ever  yet  was  chronicled  of  woman. 


But  this  bnve  wench,  this  excellent  despiser^ 
This  banc  of  doll  obedience,  shall  inherit 
Her  liberal  will,  and  march  off  with  conditions 
Noble  and  worth  herself. 

Coun.  Slie  shall,  Tom  Tilers, 
And  brave  ones  too.    My  hood  shall  make 

a  hearso-cloth, 
And  I'll  lie  under  it  like  Joan  o'Gaunt, 
Ere  I  go  less ;  my  distaff  stuck  up  by  me, 
For  tho  eternal  trophy  of  my  conquests. 
And  loud  Fame  at  my  head  with  two  main 

bottles, 
Sliall  fdl  to  all  the  worid,  the  glorious  fall 
Ofold  don  Gillian! 

Cit.  Yet  a  little  further. 
We've  taken  arms  in  reiiCue  of  this  lady, 
Most  just  and  noble :  if  yc  beat  us  oflf 
Witliout  conditions^  and  we  recant. 
Use  us  as  we  deserve ;  and  first  degrade  us 
Of  alt  our  ancient  chambering  next  that 
The  symbob  of  our  secresy,  silk  stockings 
Hew  off  our  heels;  our  petticoats  of  anus     % 
Tear  off  our  bodies,  ana  our  bodkins  bredc 
Over  our  coward  heads. 

Coun.  And  ever  aAer, 
To  make  the  tainture  most  notorious, 
At  all  our  crests  (videlicet,  our  plackets) 
Let  laces  hang,  and  wc  return  again 
Unto  our  former  titles,  dairy-maids ! 

Petru.  No  more  wars!   Puissant  ladie% 
And  freely  I  accept  'em.     [shew  conditions^ 

Maria.  Call  in  Livia ; 
She's  in  the  treaty  too. 

Enter  Idvia  above. 

Mor.  How  !  Livia  ? 

Maria.  Hear  you  that,  sir? 
There's  the  couJitions  for  yon ;  pray  peruse 

'em.  [right  rebellion^ 

Petron.  Yes,  there  she  is :  it  had  been  no 
Had  she  held  oft\    What  think  you,  man? 

Mor.  Nay,  nothing :  [science, 

I  have  enough  o'  tH  prospect.  O'  my  con- 
The  worid'siend  and  tliegCKKiness  of  a  woman 
Will  come  together. 

Petron.  Are  you  there,  sweet  lady? 

Livia.  Cry  you  mercy,  sir !  I  saw  you  not : 

your  blessing !  [bles  with  me. 

Petron.  Yes,  when  I  bless  a  jade  that  stum* 
How  are  the  articles? 

lAvia,  This  is  for  you,  sir; 
And  I  shall  think  upon't. 

Mor.  You've  us'd  me  finely !  [extant, 

Livia.  There  is  no  other  use  of  thee  now 
But  to  be  hung  up,  cassock,  cap,  and  all, 
For  some  strange  monster  at  th*  apothecary's.' 

Petron.  I  hear  you,  whore. 

Livia.  It  must  be  his  then,  sir; 
For  need  will  then  compel  me. 

Cit.  Blessing  on  diee  I  [coals, 

Xit'io.  He  will  undo  hie  in  mere  pans  ol 
To  make  him  lusty**. 


*'  Let  her.l  i.  e.  Joinder  her. 

^  Livia.  Joe  wiU  undom,  &c.]  This  speech  is  only  in  ilrst  fbliOt 


Pktron.* 


M5.  Scene  l.J    THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMT). 


l«f 


Peirm.  There's  no  talking  to  'em. 

How  are  they,  sir  ?     . 

Petrii.  As  I  expecteii :  libeitj  andcloaths, 

[Reads. 
When,  and  in  what  waj  she  will ;  continual 

monies, 
Company,  and  all  the  house  at  her  dispose; 
No  tongue  to  say,  tohyt  tkisf  or,  whither 

mill  It  1^  [points  heffe; 

New  coaches,  and  some  buildings,  she  ap- 
HttgingSy  and  huntin^hones ;  and  for  plate 
And  jewels  for  her  private  use,  I  take  it. 
Two  thousand  pound  in  present ;  then  for 

musick. 
And  women  to  read  French — 

Fetron.  This  must  not  be. 

Petru.  And  at  the  latter  end  a^^lause  put  in. 
That  Livia  shall  by  no  man  be  importun'd. 
This  whole  month  yet,  to  marry. 

Petrort.  This  is  monstrous !  [awhile : 

Petrv.  This  shall  be  done ;  Til  humour  her 
If  nothing  but  repentance  and  undoing 
Cm  win  her  love,  I'll  make  a  shift  for 

one. 

Soph.  When  you  are  once  a^bed,  all  these 
lie  under  your  own  seal.  [conditions 

Afarifl.  D'you  like  'em? 

Petru,  Yes; 
And,  by  that  faith  I  gave  you 'fore  the  priest, 
ru  mtify  *em. 

Omn.  Stay!  what  pledges? 


Maria,  No;  HI  take  that  oath. 
But  have  a  care  you  keep  it! 

Cit.  Tis  not  now  ' 

As  when  Andrea  liv'd. 

Coun,  If  you  do  juggle, 
Or  alter  but  a  letter  of  these  articles 
We  have  set  down,  the  self'eame  perseco* 

Alaria,  Mistrust  him  not.  [tioa— « 

Fetru,  By  all  my  honesty— 

Maria.  Enough ;  I  yield. 

Fetron.  What's  this  inserted  here  ? 

Soph,  That  the  two  valiant  women  that 

commanded  here 
Sliall  have  a  supper  made  'em,  and  a  Urge  one^ 
And  liberal  entertainment  without  grudging^ 
And  pay  for  all  their  soldiers. 

Petru,  That  shall  be  too; 
And  if  a  tun  of  wine  will  serve  t^  pay  'em. 
They  shall  have  justice.    I  ordain  ye  all 
Paymasters,  gentlemen. 

!/Va.  Then  we  shall  have  sport,  boys! 

Maria,  We^ll  meet  you  in  the  parlour*    . 

Petru.  Ne'er  look  sad,  sir; 
For  I  will  do  it. 

Soph.  There's  no  danger  in't. 

Petru,  For  iivia's  acticle,  you  shall  oh- 
I've  tied  myself.  [serve  it: 

Fetroi.  I  wUl. 

Fetru,  Along  then! — Now 
Either  I  break,  or  this  stiff  pbint  must  bow. 

[JSjrftcnCf 


ACT   III. 


SCENE.  I. 
Enter  Tranio  and  Rowland. 

7V«.  /'lOME,  you  shall  take  my  counseL 

^     RowL  I  shall  han^  first ! 
Hi  no  more  love,  that's  certam ;  'tis  a  bane 
(Next  that  they  poison  rats  with)  the  most 

mortaL 
Koff  I  thank  Heav'o,  I've  got  my  sleep  aeain, 
Andqow  begin  to  write  sense;  I  can  walk  ye 
A  lonf  hour  in  my  chamber  like  a  man, 
And  think  of  something  that  may  better  me, 
Some  serious  point  of  learnhis,  or  my  state ; 
Ko  more  afHne%  and  fni%ererVf^  Tranio*', 
Come  near  my  brain.    I'll  tell  thee;  had 

the  devil  4 

But  any  essence  in  him  of  a  man. 


And  could  be  brought  to  love,  and  love  1^ 

woman,  [boms  do, 

T  would  make  his  head  acheworser  than  liis 
And  firk  him  with  a  fire  he  never  felt  yet, 
Would  make  him  dance.    I  tell  thee;  there 

is  nothing  \p^^ 

(It  may  be  thy  case,  Tranio,  therefore  hear 
Under  the  sun  (reckon  the  mass  of  follies 
Crept  into  th' world  with  man)  so  desperate. 
So  mad,  so  senseless,  popr  and  base,  so 
Koguy,  and  scurvy—  \        [wretched, 

Tra,  Whither  wilt  thou,  Rowland  ? 

Rowl,  As  'tis  to  be  iu  love. 

Tra,  And  why,  for  virtue  sake? 

RjoaoL  And  why,  for  virtue's  sake?  Doft 

thou  not  conceive  me  ? 

Tra,  No,  by  my  troth. 


^'  *^<— ay-9neV,  and  mistresses,  Tranio."]  For  mistresses  the  first  copy  has  miseries,  which 
the  reader  may  perhaps  think  the  true  reading :  I  imagine  the  word  wants  but  a  syllable| 
wiiich  I  would  restore  thus,  ^ 

No  more  ay-me's  and  ndsererl^B,  Tranio, 
And  to  confirm  tliis,  in  act  v.  scene  U,  of  ^s  very  play^  we  have  the  very  expression  re* 
plated  again: 

-The  two  Fish  Streets, 


Were  she  (Maria)  but  once  arriv'd  amongst  the  whitingS| 
Would  sing  a  weful  mstrm,  Pedro.       Simpson^  ^ 

U3  '• 


Rovrl^ 


148 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D;    [Act  3.  Scene  «. 


Rowl.  Pray  then,  and  heartily,  [too. 

Fur  fear  thou  full  into'c.    TU  tell  thee  why 
Por  I  have  hope  to  save  thee :  when  thou 

lov'fet, 
And  first  beein*st  to  worship  the  eilt  calf, 
{ Jmprhnii,  thou  hast  lost  thy  gentry, 
An<i,  like  a  prentice,  flunc;  away  thy  treedom) 
forthwith  thou  art  a  slave. 
Tra.  That's  a  new  doctrine. 
Howl.  Next,  chou*it  no  more  man. 
Tra.  Whattlien^ 
Rowi.  A  frippery; 
Notliing  but  braided  hair,  and  penny  ribband, 
Olove,  garter,  ring,  rose,  or  at  best  a  swabber; 
If  thou  canst  love  so  near  to  keep  tliy  making, 
Yet  thou  wilt  lose  thy  language. 
Tra.  Why? 
}ioa>L  Oh,Tnuiio! 
Those  things  in  love  ne'er  talk  as  we  do. 
Tra.  No?  [sliake  the  head, 

^oml.  No,  without  donbt;  tliey  sigh,  and 
And  sometimes  whistle  dolefully. 

2Vo.  No  tongue  ?  [no  reason  : 

RowL  Yes,  Tranio,  but  no  truth  iii't,  nor 
And  when  they  cant  ( for  'tis  a  k  i  nd  of  can  ti  ng) 
You  shall  hear,  if  you  reach  to  understand  'em, 
(Which  you  roust  b^^crlbol  Hrst,or  yon  cannot) 
Sach  gibb'rishf  suth,  ^/ieveme — I  protest, 
smeet —  [steliations 

And,  oh,  dear  HeoTftu^  iw  which  tuch  can- 
JieigH  at  the  birth$  qf  latere — ^This  is  too 

well! 
And,  deign  me,  Wy,  deign  me,  I  beseech  you^ 
Your  poor  unaorthy  lumjh^ and   then  she 
licks  him. 

2\a,  Ajpox  on't,  this  is  nothing ! 
RowL  lliou  hast  hit  it. 
Then  talks  she  ten  times  worse^  and  wries, 

and  wriggles. 
As  tho'  she  had  the  itch  (and  so  it  may  be). 
Tra.  Why,  thou  art  grown  a  strange  dis- 
coverer. 

RowL  Of  mine  own  follies,  Tranio. 
Tra.  Wilt  thou,  Rowland, 
Certain  ne'er  love  again? 

RowL  I  think  so,  certain; 
And,  if  I  be  not  dead-drnnk,  I  shall  keep  it. 
JVa.  Tell  me  but  this;  what  dost  thou 
think  of  women  ?  [ligtit  me, 

RowL  Why,  asl  think  of  fiddles;  they  dc« 
Hi'ill  tlieir  strings  break. 
Tiro.  What  strings? 

RowL  Their  modesties,  I^'^^  ^'^^> 

Faiths,  vows,  and  maidenhends;  for  they're 
ThcY  have  but  four  strings  to  'em. 

iVa.  What  wilt  thou  [lovest, 

Oiveme  for  ten  pound  now,  when  thou  next 
And  the  same  woman  still? 

RowL  Give  me  the  money; 
A  hundred,  and  my  bond  fbr't. 

Tra.  But  pray  hear  me ; 
III  work  all  means  I  can  to  reconcile  ye? 
RowL  Do,  do ;  give  me  the  money. 
Tra.  There!  ^ 

RowL  Work,  Tranio. 


Tru.  You  shall  go  someumes  where  she  is. 

RowL  Yes,  straight. 
This  is  the  first  good  I  e^er  got  by  woman. 

Tra.  You'd  think    it    strange    now»   if 

another  beauty 
As  good  as  hers,  say  better- 
Row/.  Well? 

Tro.  Conceive  me, 
l^is  is  no  point  o'th'  wager. 

RowL  Thafs  all  one. 

Tra.  Love  you  as  much,  or  more^  duui 

she  now  hates  yoth— 

Rowl.  Tis  a  good  hearing!  Let  'em  lore: 

ten  pound  more, 
I  never  1o\t  that  woman. 

Tra.  There  it  is; 
And  so  an  hundred,  if  yon  lose. 

RowL  Tis  done! 
Have  yon  another  to  put  in? 

Tra.  No,  no,  sir. 

howL  I'm  very  sorry.  Now^will  I  erftct 
A  new  game,  and  go  hate  for  th'  bell ;  I'm 
I  am  in  excellent  case  to  win.  [sore 

Tra.  I  must  liave  leave ' 
To  tell  you,  and  tell  truth  too,  what  she  ii^ 
And  how  she  sufFers  for  yon. 

Riywl.  Ten  poUnd  more, 
I  ne'er  believe  you. 

Trn,  No,'  sir;  I  am  stinted. 

RowL  Well,  take  vour  best  way  then. 

Tra.  Let's  walk.    I'm  glad 
Your  sullen  fevers  oiF. 

RowL  Shalt  see  me,  Tranio,     [wedding ; 
A  monstrous  merty  man  now.    Let's  to  th' 
And,  as  we  go,  tell  roe  the  general  hurry 
Of  tliese  uiad  wenches,  and  their  works. 

Tra,  I  will. 

RowL  And  do  thy  worst. 

Tra.  Sometliing  Til  do — 

Ron>/.  Do,  Tranio.  [IRxeunU 

SCENE  n. 
Enter  Pedro  and  Jaqueu 

Pedro.  A  pair  of  stocks  bestride  'cm  ?  are 

they  gone  ?  [pa us  i*  th'  town 

Jafues.  Yes,  they  are  gone;  and  all  the 
Beating  before  'em.    What  strange  admoni* 

tions 
They  fpive  my  master,  and  how  fearfullv 
They  threaten'd,  if  he  broke  'em ! 

Pedro.  O'  my  conscience, 
H'  has  found  his  full  match  now. 

Jaquts.  That  I  believe  too. 

Pedro.  How  did  she  entertain  him? 

Jaquet.  She  looked  on  him — 

Pedro,  Butscurvily. 

Jaques.  With  no  great  afiectioii .       {^hov 
That  I  saw:  and  I  heard  some  say  he  kiss'd 
But  'twM  upon  a  treaty;  and  some  copies 
Say,  but  her  cheek. 

Pedro.  Jacques,  what  wonldst  tliou  giT0 
For  such  a  wife  now? 

Jaques,  Full  as  many  prayers 
As  die  most  zealous  Puritan  coneeiref 
Out  of  the  meditatioit  of  fiit  reaL 

Or 


Md.  Scenes.]    THE  WOMAN'S  PBIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMD. 


U$ 


Or  birds  of  piey*  cnuam'd  capoas,  against 

players, 
A&d  to  as  good  a  cane  taoo;  but  a^nst  her. 
That  Ueav'n  would  bless    me  {torn  her! 
Markity  Pedro;  [night 

If  this  house  be  not  tuni'd  within  this  fort- 
Widi  the  foundation  upward,  I'll  be  carted. 
Uj  comfort  is  yet,  tlwt  those  Atnorites 
Tim  came  to  back  her  cause,  those  heathen 
.  whorei^  ^ 

Hsd  their  hoods  hallowed  with  sack. 

Pedro.  How  devilish  drunk  they  were! 
:  Jofttes.  And  how  U)ey  tumbled,  Pedro! 

Didst  thou  mark 
The  eoontry  cavaliero  ? 
Fedro,  Out  upon  her. 
How  she  tum'd  down  the  braggaf^'! 
.  Jaquei,  Ay,  tliat  sunk  her. 
PedrtK  That  drink  was  well  put  to  her: 
what  a  somersalt,  [heels  upward ! 

When  tlie  cliair  fell,  she  fctch*d  with  her 
.  Jaques,  And  what  a  piece  of  iandskip  she 
discovered  1  [in  the  posset  ? 

Pedro,  Didst  mark  her  when  her  hood  fell 
Jaqua.  Yen,  and  ^re  rid,  like  a  Dutch 
boj.  The  tumbrel, 
When  she  had  got  her  ballast'— 
Pedro,  That  I  saw  too.  [Sophocles 

Jaqueg,  How  fain  slie  wouhl  have  drawn  on 
To  coine  aboard,  and  liow  she  siibper  d  it — 
Pedro.  I  warrant  her,  sh'  has  been  a  wor- 
thy striker.  [been  some  hope  on*t. 
Jaques,  I'thMieat  of  smnmer,  tliere  had 
Pedro,  Hang  her !  [belch*d  out, 
Juquet,  She  offer'd  him  a  Harry-groat,  and 
Her  stomach  being  bLwn  with  ale,   such 
courtship,  [since. 
Upou  my  life,  has  giv*n  him  twenty  stools 
Believe  my  calculation,  these  old  women. 
When  they  are  tippled,  and  a  litde  lieated, 
^re  like  new  wheels;  they'll  roar  you  ail 
Till  they  be  greas'd.                [the  town  o'er 
-  P&ibv,  The  city  cinque-a-oace, 
I>aDie  Toast-and-Butter,  had  the  bob  too. 

Jaques.  Yes:  [ing; 

But  she  was  sullen  drunk,  and  given  to  filcl>- 
I  see  her  offer  at  a  spoon. — My  master ! 
I  do  not  like  liis  look ;  I  fear  h'  has  fasted, 
^or  all  this  prepamtion :  h?t*s  steal  by  him. 

[Ejpeuni, 
SCENE  III. 

Enter  Pttruchio  and  Sopkoclee, 

Sopk.  Not  let  you  touch  her  all  this  night? 

Petru,  Not  touch  her. 

Sopk  Wliere  was  your  courage  ? 

Petru.  Where  was  her  obedience?  ' 
Mover  poor  man  was  sham'd  so;  never  rascal 
That  keeps  a  stud  of  whores  was  us'd  so 

basely.  [do  you  love  her  ? 

Soph.  Pray  you  tell  me  one  thing  trtly ; 

fetru,  I  would  I  did  not,  upon  that  con* 
I  pasi'd  thee  half  my  land.  [dition 


Soph.  It  may  be  then, 
Her  modesty  required  a  little  violence: 
Some  women  love  to  struggle. 

Petru,  She  had  it. 
And  so  much  that  I  sweat  for*t,  so  I  did ; 
But  to  no  end ;  I  washed  an  Ethiop. 
She  swore  my  force  might  weary  her,  but 

win  her 
I  never  could,  nor  should,  till  she  consented; 
And  1  might  take  her  body  prisoner. 
But  for  lier  mind  or  appetite — 

Sopk,  Tis  strange ! 
This  woman  is  t))e  first  I  ever  read  of^ 
Refus'd  a  warraqfed  occasion, 
And  standing  on  so  fair  terms. 

Petru.  I  shall  quit  her. 

Soph,  Us^d  you  no  more  art  ? 

Petru,  ,Yes ;  I  swore  to  her, 
And  by  no  little  ones,  if  presently, 
Without  more  disputation  on  tlie  matter. 
She  grew  not  nearer  to  me,  and  dispatch'd 

me 
Out  of  the  pain  I  was  (forJ[  was  nettled). 
And  willingly,  and  eagerly,  and  sweetly, 
I  would  to  her  chamber-maid,  and  in  her 

hearing 
Begin  her  such  a  hunts-up— - 

Soph,  Then  site  started  ?      [she  answer^4l, 

Petru.  No  more  than  I  do  now;  marry. 
If  Z  were  so  dispos'd,  she  could  not  help  it; 
But  there  was  one  call'd  Jaqiies,  a  poor  but- 
ler. 
One  that  might  well  content  a  single  wonum* 

Soph.  And  he  should  tilt  her? 

Petru.  To  that  sense.  And  lasti  [thing, 
She  bad  me  yet  these  six  nights  look  tos  no« 
Nor  strive  to  purchase  it,  but  fair  good  night. 
And  so  good  morrow,  and  a  kiss  or  two  fit» 
To  close  my  stomach;  for  her  vow  had  seal'd 
And  slie  would  keep  it  constant. 

Soph.  Stay  you,  stay  you ! 
Was  slie  thus  when  you  woo'd  her? 

Petru,  Nothing,  Sophocles, 
More  keenly  eager :  I  was  oft  afraid 
She  had  been  light  and  easy,  she  would  shower 
Her  kisses  so  upon  me. 

Soph.  Then  I  fear 
Anotlier  suoke's  i'th'  wheel. 

Petru,  Now  thou  hast  found  me!  [tience. 
There  gnaws  my  devil,  Sophocles.    Oh,  Pa- 
Preserve  me !  that  I  make  her  not  example 
By  some  unworthy  way;  as  flaying  her. 
Boiling,  or  making  verjuice,  drying  her — 

Soph,  I  hear  her. 

Petru,  Mark  her  then,  and  see  the  heir 
Of  spite  and  prodigality !  sh*  has  studied 
A  way  to  beggar*s  both,  and  by  tliis  hand 

[Maria  at  the  door,  Servanty  and  Woman. 
She  shall  be,  ifl  live,  a  doxy. 

SoDh.  Fy,  sir!  [too  poor^ 

Maria,  I  do  not  like  that  dressing;  'tis 
Let  me  have  six  gold  laces,  broad  and  massy, 
And  betwixt  ev'ry  lace  a  rich  embroidery; 


!!  Braggat,^  A  WeUdi  drink^  made  of  honey,  &c. 


Line 


I£0 


THE  WOMAN'S  SEIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMKl  TAHTD.    [ActS.  Scene*. 


Line  the  gown  tliro' with  plush  perfam*dy  and 
All  the  sleeves  down  with  pearl !         fpurfle 

Petru,  What  tl»ink  you,  Sophocles? 
In  what  point  stands  my  state  now  ? 

Maria.  For  those  hangings. 
Let  'em  be  carried  where  I  gave  appointment 
(They  are  too  base  for  my  use) ;  and  bespeak 
New  pieces,  of  the  civil  wars  of  France: 
Let  *em  be  large  and  lively,  and  all  silk-work, 
The  borders  gold. 

Soph.  Ay,  marry,  sir,  this  cuts  it. 

Maria,  That  fourteen  yards  of  sattin  give 

my  woman ; 
I  do  not  like  the  colour,  'tis  too  civil ; 
There's  too  much  silk  i'th'lacc  too.    Tell 

the  Dutchman, 
That  brought  the  mores,  he  must  with  all 

?pced  send  me  ^ 

Another  suit  of  horses;  and,  by  all  means. 
Ten  cast  of  hawks  for  tL*  river:  I  much  care 

not  [flying; 

What  price  they  bear,  so  they  be  sound,  and 
For  the  next  wmter  I  am  fpr  the  country. 
And  mean  to  take  my  pleasure.  Where's  the 

horseman  ? 

Tetru.  She  means  to  ride  a  great-liorse. 

&rpA.  With  a  side-saddle? 

Petru.  Yes;  and  she'll  run  a*ti1t  within 

this  twelvemonth.  [pray^  sir, 

Maria.  Tomorrow  1*11  begin  to  learn:  but 
'  Have  a  great  care  he  be  an  easy  doer; 
^will  spoil  a  scholar  else. 

Soph,  An  easy  doer! 
Did  you  hear  that  ? 

Petru,  Yes ;  I  shall  meet  her  monds 
Ere  it  be  long,  I  fear  not. 

Maria.  Oh,  good  morrow ! 

Soph,  Good  morrow,  lady !  Howis'tnow? 

Maria.  Faith,  sickly; 
This  house  stands  in  an  ill  air-^ 

Petru,  Yet  more  charges? 

Maria.  Subject  to  rots,  and  rheums;  out 

on't !  'tis  nothing 
But  a  til*d  fog. 

Petru,  WTiat  think  you  of  the  L)dge  then? 

Maria.  I  like  the  seat,  but  'tis  too  little. 

Sophocles,  [meat. 

Let  me  have  thy  opinion ;  thou  hast  judg- 

Petru.  Tis  very  well ! 

J\faria.  Wliat  if  I  pluck  it  down. 
And  build  a  square  upon  it,  with  two  courts 
Still  rising  from  the  entrance  ? 

Petru.  And  i'  th'  midst 
A  college  for  young  scolds. 

Maria,  And  to  the  southward 
Take  in  a  garden  of  some  twenty  acres. 
And  cast  it  of  the  Italian  fashion,  hanging? 

Petru.  An  you  could  cast  youi^elf  so  too. 

— -Pmy,  lady, 
Will  not  this  cost  much  money  ? 

Maria,  Some  five  thousand ; 
Say  six.    I'll  have  it  battl'd  too^- 

Pe/rM.  And  gilt? — Mai'ia,  [on't: 

This  is  a  fearful  course  you  take !  Pray  think 
You  are  &  woman  nowj  a  wife^  and  Iuq 


That  most  in  honesty  and  justice  look  for 
Some  due  obedience  from  you. 

Maria,  That  bare  word  [upon'tl 

Shall  cost  you  many  a  pound  more,  build 
Tell  me  of  due  obedience  ?  What's  a  hu»> 

baud?  [to9? 

What  are  we  married  for?  to  carry  sump- 
Are  we  not  one  piece  with  you,  and  as  wortliy 
Our  own  intentions,  as  you  yours  ? 

Petru.  Pray  hear  me .'        [equal  weigh'd, 

Maria.  Take  two '  small  drops  of  water. 
Tell  me  which  is  the  heaviest,  and  which 
First  to  descend  in  duty?  [ought 

Petru.  You  mistake  me; 
I  urge  not  service  from  you,  nor  obedience 
In  way  of  duty,  but  of  love  and  credit: 
All  I  expect  is  but  a  noble  care 
Of  what  I've  brought  you,  and  of  what  I  am^ 
And  what  our  name  inay  be. 

Maria.  That's  in  my  making. 

Petru.  'Tis  true,  it  is  so- 

Maria.  Yes,  it  is,  Petruchio:  [ing^ 

For  there  was  never  man  witliout  our  mooid- 
Without  our  stamp  upon  him,  and  our  jub-^ 

tice. 
Left  any  things  three  ages  after  him,, 
Good,  and  liis  own. 

Soph.  Good  lady,  understand  him. 

Maria.  I  do  too  much,  sweet  Sophocless 

lie's  one 
Of  a  most  spiteful  self*condition. 
Never  at  peace  with  any  tiling  but  age. 
That  has  no  teeth  left  to  return  liis  anger; 
A  bravery  dwells  in's  blood  yet,  of  abusing 
His  first  good  wife;  he's  sooner  fire  than 
And  sooner  mischief.  [powdeiy 

Petru,  If  I  be  so  sudden. 
Do  not  you  fear  me? 

Maria,  No,  nor  yet  care  for  you  ; 
And,  if  it  may  be  lawful,  I  defy  you!   ' 

Petru.  Does  this  become  you  now  ? 

Maria,  It  shall  become  me. 

Petru,  Thou  disobedient,  weak,  Tain-glo* 

rious  woman, 
Were  I  but  half  so  wilful  as  thou  spiteful, 
I  should  now  drag  thee  to  thy  duty. 

Maria,  Drag  me?  [your  pleaswe  I 

Petru,  But  I  am  friends  af^in;  take  all 

Maria..  Now  you  perceive  him,  Sophocles* 

Petru.  I  love  thee 
Above  thy  vanity,  thou  faithless  creature! 

Maria.  'Would   I  had   been  so  happy^ 

when  I  married, 
But  to  luive  met  an  honest  naan  like  thee, 
(For  I  am  sure  thou'rt  good,  I  know  thou'rt 

honest) 
A  handsome  hurtless  man,  a  loving  man, 
Tho'  never  a  penny  with  him,  and  those  eyei, 
That  face,  and  that  true  heart!-— Wear  this 

for  my  sake. 
And  when  tliou  think'st  nponme>  pity  me; 
I'm  cast  away !  r£r<^ 

Soph,  Why,  how  now,  manl^ 

Petru.  Pray  leave  me  ; 
,  Aud  follow  your  advices. 

ScpJL 


Acts.  Scene 4.]    TB£  WOMAN^  PHIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMD. 

Soph,  The  man's  jealous.  [ask  yon 

Peiru.  I  shall  find  a  time,  ere  it  be  long,  to 
One  or  two  foolish  questions. 

Soph,  1  shall  answer 
As  well  as  I  am  able,  when  you  call  me  !--> 
If  she  mean  true,  'tis  but  a  httle  killing, 
And  if  I  do  not  Venture,  it's — 
Farewell,  sir !  [Erit, 

Petru,  Pray,  farewell !— Is  tliere  no  keeping 
A  wife  to  one  man's  use  ?  no  wintering 
These   cattle  wi^out  straying?    Tis   hard 

dealing,  finj;! 

Very  hard  dealing,  gentlemen,  strange  deal- 

I     Now',  in  the  name  of  madness,  what  star 

I         reign'd,  '  [married 

I     What  dog-star,  bull,  or  bear-star,  when  I 

This  second  wiie,  this  whirlwind,  that  takes 

all 
Within  her  compass  ?  Was  I  not  well  wam'd, 
I     (I  thought  I  had,  and  I  believe  I  know  it) 
•   And  beaten  to  repentance,  in  the  days 
Of  my  first  doting?  had  I  not  wife  cnoagb 
T«  turn  mj  love  too?  did  I  want  vexation, 
Or  aay  special  care  to  kill  my  heart? 
I      Had  I  not  ev'ry  morning  a  rare  breakfast, 
Mix'd  with  a  learned  lecture  of  ill  language, 
Louder  than  Tom  o'  Lincoln  ?  and  at  dinner, 
A  diet  of  the  same  dish?  Was  diere  evening 
That  e'er  past  over  wi,  withoat  thou  knaves 
Or  thou  whorCy  for  digestion  ?  had  I  ever 
A  pull  at  this  same  poor  sport  men  run  mad 

for,  [first, 

Bat  like  a  cur  I  was  fain  to  shew  my  teeth 
And  almost  worry  her?   And  did  Heav'n 

hrpwe  me. 
And  take  this  serpent  from  me,  and  am  I 
Keeping  tame  devils  now  again  ?  My  lieart 

aches! 
Something  I  must  do  speedily:  Til  die, 
if  I  can  handsomely,  for  that's  the  way 
To  make  a  rascal  of  her.     I  am  sick. 
And  ril  go  very  near  it,  but  Til  perish. 

[Exit, 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  lAvia,  Biancuy  TraniOt  and  Hotcland, 

livia.  Then  I  must  be  content,  sir,  with 

RowL  And  I  with  mine.        [my  fortune. 

JUvia.  I  did  not  think  a  look, 
Or  a  poor  word  or  two,  could  have  displantcd 
Sack  a  fix*d  constancy,  and  for  your  end  too. 

RowL  Come,  come,  I  know  your  courses! 

There's  your  gewgaws,  [gave  me : 

Tear  rings,  mad  bracelets,  and  the  purse  you 
The  money^'s  spent  in  entertaining  you 
At  plays,  and  cherry-gardens. 

Una,  Tbe/e's  your  chain  too.  [still; 

Bat,  if  yon'U  give  me  leave,  I'll  wear  the  hair 
^Td  yet  remember  ^u. 

Bianca.  Give  him  his  love,  wench; 
The  young  man  has  employment  for*t. 

Tra.  Fy,  Rowland!  [pomnd 

Bawl,  Voo  cannot  fy  me  out  a  hundred 
With  this  poor  plot»—Yet,  icfme  ne'er  see 

4ay  more, 


151 


If  something  do  not  straggle  strangely  in 

me! 

Bianca.  Young  man,  let  me  talk  with  you. 

Ron  I,  V¥ell,  yoOng  woman  ? 

Bianca.  Tliis  was  your  mistress  once — 

RttwL  Yes. 

Bianca.  Are  you  honest  ? 
I  see  youVe  young,  and  handsome. 

RowL  I  am  honest. 

Bianca.  Why,  that  swell  said.  And  there's 

no  donbt  your  judj^raent  [you 

Ia  good  enough,  and  strong  enough,  to  tell 
Who  are  your  foes,  and  friends  :*  why  did 

you  leave  her  ? 

J?oa7.  She  made  a  puppy  of  m6. 

Bianco.  Be  that  granted : 
She  must  do  so  sometimes,  and  oftentimes; 
Love  were  too  serious  else. 

Rowl,  A  witty  woman  ! 

Bianco,  Had  you  lov'd  me— 

Howl.  1  would  I  had! 

Bianca,  And  dearly,  [wofse,  sir; 

And   I  had  lov'd  you  so — You  may  love 
But  that  is  not  material. 

RowL  I  shall  lose ! 

BianCa.  Some  time  or  other,  for  variety, 
I.  should  hav^  callM  you  fool,  or  boy,  or  bid 

yoii 
Play  with  the  pa^es ;  but  have  lov'd  you  still, 
Out  of  all  question,  and  extremely  too: 
You  are  a  man  made  to  be  lov'd. 

Rowl.  This  woman        • 
Either  abuses  me,  or  loves  me  deadly. 

Bianca.  I'll  tell  you  one  thing ;  if*^  I  were 

to  chuse 
A  husband  to  mine  own  mind,  I  should  tjiink 
One  of  your  mother's  nmking  would  content 

me; 
For  o'my  conscience  she  makes  good  ones. 

Rowl.  Lady, 
I'll  leave  you  to  your  commendations. — 
I'm  in  again,  the  devil  take  their  tongues! 

Bianca.  You  shall  not  go. 

Rowi.  I  will.    Yet  thus  far,  Livia; 
Your  sorrow   may   induce   me   to  forgive 

you, 
But  never  love  again. — If  T  stay  longer, 
I've  lost  two  hundred  pound. 

Livia.  Good  sir,  but  thus  much—* 

Tra.  Turn,  if  thou  be'st  a  man. 

Livia.  But  one  kiss  of  you ;  ^ 

One  parting  kiss,  and  I  am  gofie^too. 

R(ml.  Come; 
I  shall  kiss  fifty  pound  away  at  this  clap. 
We'll  have  one  more*,  and  then  fieirewell. 

Livia.  Farewell! 

Bianca.  Well,  go  thy  ways !  thott  bear'st 

a  kind  heart  with  thef. 

Tra,  H'  has  made  a  stand. 

Bianca.  A  noble,  brave  young  fellow. 
Worthy  a  wench  indeed ! 

iloa7.  I  will—I  will  not.  [Exit, 

I>Yi.  He's  gone;  but  shot  again.    Play 

you  but  your  part, 
And  I  will  keep  my  promise;  forty  aWgels 


15« 


tSE  WCHIIAN^  FBIZE;  OB,  THE  TAUEE  TA1I1>.   [Act  t.  Soeac  5^ 


In  fiur  gold,  lady  (wipe  your  eyeti^.be'syoun^ 
If  I  have  any  wiu 

Uvia.  rilpay  the  forfeit. 

Bianca,  Come  then ;  let*s  see  your  sister^ 

bow  she  fares  now^. 
After  lier  skinnibb ;  and  be  sure  Moroso 
Be  kept  in  good  hand :  then  all's  perfect, 

Livia.  [Exemit. 

SCENE  V. 
Enter  Jaqua  and  Pedro, 

Pedro.   Oby   Jaijues,   Jaques,  what  be- 
Oby  my  sweet  master !  [comes  of  us  ? 

Jaquet,  Run  for  a  physician, 
And  a  whole  peck  of 'pothecaries,  Pedro. 
He  will  die,  didle,  didle  die,  if  they  come  not 
Quickly;  and  bring  all  people  that  are  skilful 
In  lunes  and  livers ;  raise  the  neighbours, 
And  aU  the  aqua*vUa  bottles  extant ; 
And,  oh,  the  parson,  Pedro,  oh,  the  parson ! 
A  little  of  his  comfort,  ne*er  so  little — 
Twenty  to  one  you  find  him  at  the  Bush; 
There*8  the  best  ale. 

Pedro.  I  Ay  \  [Exit. 

Enter  Muria  and  Servants. 

Maria.  Out  with  the  trunks,  ho ! 
Why  are  you  idle?  Sirrah,  up  to  th*chamber» 
And  take  tlie  liangings  down,  and  see  the 

linen 
PackM  up,  and  sent  away  within  tliis  half>hour. 
What,  are  the  carts  come  yet }  Some  honest 

bodv  [wardrobe; 

Help  down  the  chests  of  plate,  and  some  the 
Alas,  we  are  undone  else. 

JaqneM.  Pray,  forsooth, 
And!  beseech  vou»  tell  me,  is  he  dead  yet? 

Maria.  No,  but  he's  drawing  on.    Out 

with  the  armour ! 

Jaques.  Then  Til  go  see  hira. 

Maria.  Thou'rt  undone  then,  fellow ; 
No  man  tliat  has  been  near  him  come  near 

toe! 

Enter  Sophocles  and  Petronius. 

Soph,  Why,  bow  now,  lady?  what  means 
Petron.  Now, daughter !  [this? 

How  does  ray  son  f 

Afaria,  Save  all  you  can^for  IIeav'n*s  sake ! 

Enter  Livioy  Bianco^  and  Tranio, 

%ivia.  Be  of  good  comfort,  sister. 

Maria.  Oh,  my  casket! 

Petron.  How  docs  thy  husband,  woman  ? 

Maria.  Get  you  i^ooe,  [ncss — 

If  you  mean  to  save  your  lives:  the  sick- 

Petron.  Stand  further  oft;  I  pritliee ! 

Maria.  Is  i'th' house,  sir.    My  husband 

has  it  now  :  . 
Alas,  he  is  infected,  and  rav«8  extremely^ 
Give  roe  some  couns«  1,  friends. 

Bianca.  Wh]|r,  lock  the  doors  up. 
And  send  him  in  a  woman  to  attend  him. 

Maria.  I  have  bespoke  two  womeoi  and 

the  city 


Hath  seat  a  watch  by  this  tune:  meat  nor 
He  shall  not  want,  nor  prayen*         [money 

Petron.  How  ion^  is  t 
Since  it  first  took  him  ? 

Maria.  But  within  tliis  three  boon. 

EnterWatch. 

Pm  /righted  from  my  wits !— Oh,  here's  the 

watch. 
Pray  do  j^our  office;  lock  tlie doors  op,  friendss 
And  patience  be  lus  angel ! 

Tra.  This  comes  unlook'd  for. 

Maria,  Fll  to  the  Lodge;  some  that  art 

kind,  and  love  me, 
I  know  will  visit  me. 

Petru.  fart^Ainl  D'yoo  hear,  my  nuwten^ 
Ho,  you  that  lock  the  doors  up ! 

Petron.  Tis  his  voice. 

Tra.  Hold,  and  let*s  liear  him. 

Petru.  Will  ye  starve  me  here? 
Am  [  a  traitor,  or  an  hereti<^  ? 
Or  am  I  grown  infectious? 

Petron.  Pray,  sir,  pray!  [P^PPT* 

Petru.  I  am  as  well  as  yon  are,  coodnna 

Maria.  Pray  have  patience!  1^  shall 

want  nothing,  sir.  [wickedness! 

Petru,  1  want  a  cudcel,  uid  thee^  thou. 

Petron.  He  speaks  well  enoush. 

Maria.  H*  hud  ever  a  strong  heart,  sir. 

Petru.  Will  ye  hear  me?  First,  be  pleased 
To  ihink  I  know  ye  all,  and  can  distmguisk 
£v*ry  man's  several  voice:  you  that  ^poke 

first, 
I  know  my  fiitheMn-law;  the  otliei,  Traoio; 
And  I  heard  Sophocles;  the  last,  pray  mark 
Is  my  damn'd  wife  Maria.  [me. 

If  any  man  misdoubt  me  for  infected. 
There  is  mine  ann,  let  any  man  look  on'i ! 

Enter  Doctor  and  Apothecary. 

Doctor,  Save  ye,  gentlemen! 

Petron,  Oh,  welcome,  Doctor!  [nioa! 
You  come  in  happy  time.  Pray  your  opi- 
What  think  you  of  his  pulse? 

Doctor.  It  beats  with  busiest^ 
And  shews  a  general  inflammation. 
Which  is  the  symptom  of  a  pestilent  fever. 
Take  twcnW  ounces  from  him. 

Petru.  Take  a  fool !  [Deus-ace, 

Take  an  ounce  from  mine  arm,  and,  doctor 
I'll  make  a  close-stool  of  your  velvet  cosCkrd ! 
Pox,  gentlemen,  do  ye  make  a  Majh^^ame 

on  me? 
I  tell  ye  once  again,  I  am  as  sound, 
As  well,  as  wholesome,  and  as  sensible^ 
As  any  of  ye  all.    Let  me  out  qtiickly. 
Or,  as  I  am  a  man,  I'll  beat  tlie  walls  down^ 
And  the  first  tiling  I  light  upon  shall  pay  ibi't. 
[Exeunt  Doctor  and  Apotheamf. 

Petron.  iNay,  well  go  with  you,  Doctor. 

Maria.  Tis  the  safest. 
I  9iw  the  tokens,  sir. 

Petron.  Then  there^s  but  one  way. 

Petru.  Will  it  please  you  open? 

Tra,  His  fit  grows  strooger  atiU. 

Maria, 


Act  3.  Scene  5.]     THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D. 


laS 


Maria,  Let's  save  ourselves,  sir ; 
He's  past  all  worldly  cure. 

Petnm,  Friends,  do  your  office ! 
And  what  he  wants,  if  money,  love,  or 

labour, 
Or  any  way  may  win  it,  let  him  have  it. 
Parewell,  and  pray,  my  honest  friends. 

i  Exeunt, 
Jaques! 
y  wife! 
None  hear  me  ?  Who's  at  th'  door  there? 

1  Watch.  Think,  I  J)ray,  sir, 
Whither  you're  going,  aikd  prepare  yourself. 

2  Watch.  These  idle  t>  oughts  disturb  you : 
the  good  gentlewoman  [nothing. 

Your  wife  has  taken  care  you  shall  want 

I*€tru.  Shall  I  come  out  in  quiet?  Answer 

me] 
Or  sltall  I  charge  a  fowling-^iece,  and  make 
Inline  own  way?  two  of  ye  i  cannot  miss, 
If  I  miss  three.     Ye  come  here  to  assault 

me! 
I  am  as  excellent  wdl,  T  thank  Heav'n  for't, 
^nd  have  as  good  a  stomach  at  tliis  instant— 

2  Watch.  '\  hat's  an  ill  sign? 

1  Watch,  He  draws  on ;  Tie's  a  dead  man ! 

Petru*  And  sleep  as  soundly — Will  you 

look  upon  me  ? 

1  Watch.    Do  you  want  pen   and  ink? 
While  you  have  sense,  sir, 

Settle  your  stnte. 

Petru.  Sirs,  I  am  well  as  you  are. 
Or  any  rascal  living. 

2  Watch.  'Would  you  were,  sir! 
Petru.  Look   to  yourselves,  and,  if  you 
love  your  lives, 

Open  the  door,  and  fly  me!  for  I  shoot  el^e ; 
By  Heav'n,  I'll  shoot,*  and  presently,  cliaii*- 
Aud  under  four  I  will  not  kdl.  [bullets; 

1  Watch.  Let*s  quir  bim ! 
It  may  be  it  is  a  trick.     He*s  dangerous. 

3  Watch.  The  de'il  take  th'  hindmost,  I 
cry !  [Exit  Watch  running. 

Enter  Petruchio  with  a  Piec^. 

Petru.  Have  among  ye  ?  [shoot. 

The^door  shall  open  too;  Fll  have  a  fair 
Are  *ye  all  gone  ? — ^Tricks  in  n^  old  day*:  ? 

crackers  [Sleeves  r 

Pat   now  upon  me?  And  by  lady  Green- 


Am  T  grown  so  tame  after  all  my  triumphs  ? 
But  that  I  should  be  thought  mad,  if'  I  raifd 
As  much  as  they  deserve,  ligainst  these  women, 
I  would   now  rip   up,  from   the  primitive 

cuckold, 
All  their  arch-villainies,  and  all  their  doubles; 
Which  are  more  than  a  hunted  hare  e'er 

thought  on. 
When  a  man  has  the  fairest  and  the  sweetest 
Of  all  their  sex,  and  as  he  thmks  the  noblest. 
What  has  he  then?  and  1*11  speak  modestly; 
He  has  a  quartern -ague,  that  shall  shake 
All  his  estate  to  nothing,  never  cur'd, 
Nor  never  dying;  h*  has  a  ship  to  venture 
His  fame  and  credit  in,   which  if  he  man 

not 
With  more  continunl  labour  tlmn  a  gaily, 
To  make  her  tith,  either  she  grows  a  tumbrel. 
Not  worth  the  cloth  she  wears,  or  springs 

more  leaks 
Than  all  the  fam^  of  his  posterity       [hogs ! 
Can  ever  stop  again*'.    Out  on  Vm,  hedge- 
He  tFiat  shall  touch  'em,   has  a  thousand 

thorns 
Run  thro'  his  fingers :  if  I  were  unmarried, 
I  v^ould  do  any  tiling  below  repentance, 
Any  base  dunghill  sliiverv;  be  a  hungman. 
Ere  I  would  he  a  husbaud.   Oh,  the  thousand, 
Thousand,  ten  thousand  ways  tliey  have  to 

kill  us!  .         *  [fiddles. 

Some  fall  with  too  much  stringing  of  th^ 
And  those  are  fools ;  some,  that  th^iy  are  not 

sufter'd,  [scorpions, 

And  those  are  maudlin  lovers ;  some,  lika 
They  poison  with  their  tails,  and  those  are 
'     martyrs; 

Some  tfie  with  doing  good,  those  benefactors. 
And  leave   'em  land   to  leap  away;  some 

few, 
For  those  are  rarest,  they  are  said  to  kill 
With  kindness  and  fair  usage ;  but  what  they 

are 
My  catalogue  discovers  not,  only  'tis  thought 
Tley'i-e  buried  in  old  walls,  with  their  heels 

upward. 
I  could  rail  twenty  days  together  now! 
I'll  seek  'em  out ;  and  if  1  have  not  reason. 
And  very  sensible,  why  this  was  done, 
ril  to  a-birding  yet,  and  some  shall  smart 

for't!  '  [Exit. 


*^  Can  ever  stop  as^ain,    I  could  rail  twenty  days;  ^ 

Out  on  *em,  hedge  hogSy 

He  that  thall,  &c.l  We  think  it  cannot  be  doubted  but  that  the  words  I  could  roil 
twenty  datft,  have  been  foisted  in  here  by  mistake,  and  have  therefore  omitted  them.  They 
come  in  their  proper  place  afterwards  lower  down,  where  tlie  line  runs, 

I  could  rail  twenty  days  together  now. 
There  tbey  complete  the  measure;  here  they  interrupt  it,  as  well  as  break  in  upon  the 


\^0L.  nr. 


X 


ACT 


11^ 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZfe;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMD.    [Act  4.  Scene  1. 


ACT    IV. 


SCENE  I. 

Fitter  Moroto  and  Fetrtmhu. 

JVfor.'pHAT  1  do  love  her  is  without  all 

-■-      question. 
And  raosL extremely,  dearly,  most  exactly: 
And   that  I  would  een  now,  this  present 

Monday,    ,  [widows, 

Before   all    others,  maids,   wives,   women. 
Of  what  degree,  or  calling,  marry  her. 
As  certain  tou ;  butto  he  made  a  whim- wham, 
A  jib-crack,  and  a  j/entleman  o*th* first  hoube, 
For  all  my  kindness  to  her — 

Petfon.  How  you  «ake  it!  fcaj^s! 

Thou  ^'CL  a  wench?  thou  get  a  dozen  night- 
W  ouldsi  iiave  her  coinc  and  lick  thee  like  a 

calf. 
And  blow  thy  nose,  and  buss  thee? 

Mor,  Not  so  Deitlier. 

Fetron.  .What  wouldst  thou  have  her  do? 

Mor.  Do  as  she  should  do ;  [marryy 

Fut  on  a  clean  smock,  and  t6  church,  and 
And  then  to  bed  i'  God's  name !  This  is  fair 

play,  [her  fcohs 

And  keeps  tlie  king's  peace.    Let  her  leave 
(I've  had  too  many  of  tnem)  and  her  quillets, 
She  is  as  nimble  that  way  as  an  eel ; 
But  in  the  way  she  ought,  to  me  especially^ 
A  sow  ot  lead  is  swifter. 

Fetron.  Quoat  your  griefs  down,  [crazy, 
-  Mor.  Give  fair  quarter:  I  am  old  and 
And  suhje  t  to  much  tumbling,  I  confess  it; 
Yet  something  I  would  have  that's  warm,  to 

hatch  me : 
]^ut  understand  me,  I  would  have  it  so, 
I  buy  not  more  repentance  in  the  bai*gain 
Than  the  ware'a  worth  1  have.     If  yoa 

allow  me 
.Worthy  your  son-in-law  and  your  allowance. 
Do  it  a  way  of  credit,  let  me  shew  so; 
And  not  be  troubled  ia  my  visitations 
With  blows,  and  bitterness,  and  downright 

railings, 
As  if  we  were  to  couple  like  two  cats, 
.  Witl  clawing,  and  loud  ciamour<- 

Fetron.  'Ihou  fond  man, 
Hast  thou  forgot  the  ballad.  Crabbed  Age  ^^  ? 
Can  May  and  Jaimarv  match  together, 
And  never  a  storm  between  'em?  &ay  sh' 
Put  case  she  do !  [abuse  thee, 

Mor.  Well? 

Fetron.  Nay,  believe  she  does. 

Mor.  I  do  bf  iieve  she  does. 

Fetron.  And  devilishly:. 
Art  thou  a  whit  the  worse? 

Mor-  That's  not  the  matter; 


I  know,  being  old,  'tis  fit  I  am  abusM ; 

I  know  *tis  handsome,  and  I  know  moreom 

I  am  to  love  her  for't. 

ireiron.  Now  you  ccme  to  me. 

Mor   Nay,  more  than  this;   I  find  toe, 

and  finii  certain,  [ouches, 

What  gold  I  have,  pearl,  bracelets,  rings,  or 
Or  what  she  can  desire,  gowns,  petticoats, 
Waistcoats,  embroider'a   stockings,    scarfs, 

cavvls,  teat  herb.  I^"^  nbhnnds, 

Hats,  fvc-iound  carters,  muos,  masks,  rafi^ 
I  am  to  give  her  ror't. 

Fttron.  Tis  right,  yoa  are  so. 
'  Mor.  But  when  I've  done  all  Uiis,  and 

tlunk  it  duty, 
Is't  requisite  auotheV  bore  my  nostrils  ? 
Kiddle  me  that! 

Fetron.  Go,  |et  you  gone,  and  dream 
She's  thine  withm  these  two  days,  !ur  she  is 

so.  [broths, 

The   boy's  bejutfe-  the   saddle!   Get   warm 
And  feed-apace!  think  not  of  wi>ridly  bu* 

siness,  [they're  Iiateful, 

It  cools  the  blood;  leave  oflF  your  tricks, 
And  mere  forerunners  of  the  ancient  mea- 
sures ;  [Verdngo's, 
Contrive  your  beard  o'th'  top  cut,  hke 
It  shews  you  would  be  wise ;  and  burn  your 

night-cap. 
It  looks  like  half  a  winding-sheet,  and  ui^ 
From  a  young  wench  nothing  but  cold  re- 
pentance ; 
You  may  e^t  onions,  so  you'll  not  be  lavish. 

Mor.'Vm  glad  of  that. 

FetroTi .  They  pur^e  the  blood,  and  quickea ; 
But  after 'em,  conceive  me,  sweet  your  mouth, 
And  where  tliere  wants  a  tootli,  stick  in  a 

clove. 

Mor.  Shall  I  hope  once  i^ain?  say  it! 

Fetron,  You  shall,  sir , 
And  you  shall  have  your  hope. 

Mor,  Why,  thert  s  a  match  then! 

Enter  Bianca  and  Trania. 

Bianca.  You  shall  noi  find  me  wanting; 

get  you  gone !  [plotting  tl^ 

Here's    tlie  old    man;    he'll    think    you're 
Something  against  his  new  son.     [Exit  Tra. 

Mor.  1  are  you  well,  sir!  '        [-t^' 

Btanra.  An  ev'ry  buck  bad  his  doe. 
And  ev'iy  cuckold  a  bell  at  his  toe; 
Oh,  what  sport  should  we  have  tiien,  boys, 

then, 
Oh,  what  sport  should  we  have  then ! 

Fetron.  This  is   the  spirit  diat  inspires 

'em  ail. 


'°  Crahled  J^e.]  The  ballad  here  alluded  to  is  printed  amongst  the  Poems  of  Shakespeare, 
'  ■  "Vis  productions.    It  is  ab»o  preserved  in  Dr.  Percy's  Reiiques  of 


and  supposed  to  be  one  of  his 
Ancient  Poetry,  vol,  i.        R> 


Butnqt. 


I«t4.  Scene  1.]   THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR  THE  TAMER  TAM*D. 


165 


BUmoL  Give  yoa  good  ev*o! 

Fetron.  A  word  with  you,  sweet  lady! 

Butnca.  Vm  very  hasty >  sir. 

Fetron.  So  you  were  ever. 

-Bitfiif a.  Well,  what's  your  will? 

Perron.  Was  not  your  skilful  hand  [chie^ 
Id  this  last  strat  gem  ?  Were  not  your  mi»- 
^og  the  matter  on? 

Bumca.  In*s  shotting  up  ? 
Ii  that  it? 

FitrpH,  Yes. 

Bianco,  I'll  tell  yoa. 

Fttron*  Do. 

Biunca.  And  truly. 
Good  old  man,  I  do  grieve  exceeding  much, 
I  Sear  too  much — 

Fetroii,  Tm  sorry  for  your  heaviness. 
Belike  you  can  repent  then  ? 

Biancu,  There'you're  wide  too : 
Not  that  the  thing  was  done  (conceive  me 

righUy) 
Does  any  wav  molest  me. 

Fetron^  What  then,  lady  f  [sorrow, 

Bianco,  But  that  I  was  not  in  it,  there's  mv 
There;  now  you  understand  me !  for  I'll  tell 

you. 
It  was  so  sound  a  piece,  and  so  well  carried, 
And  if  you  mark  the  way,  so  handsomely. 
Of  such  a  heighth,  and  excellence,  and  art, 
I  have  not  known  a  hraver ;  for,  conceive  me. 
When  the  gross  fool  her  husband '  would  be 

sick — 

Petron,  Pray  stay!  [no  sense  for*t, 

Bianciu  Nay,  good  your  patience ! — And 
Then  stept  your  daughter  in — 

Fetron.  6y  your  appointment? 

Bianco.  I  would  it  had,  on  that  condition 
I  had  but  one  half-smock,  I  like  it  so  well! — 
And,  like  an  excellent  cunning  woman,  cur'd 

me 
One  madness  with  another;  which  was  rare, 
And,  to  our  weak  beliefs,  a  wonder. 

Fetron.  Hang  you ! 
For  surely,  if  your  husband  look  not  to  you, 
J  know  what  will. 

Bianco,  I  humbly  thank  your  worship ! 
And  so  I  take  my  leave. 

Fetron,  You've  a  hand,  I  hear  too- 
Bianco.  I  have  two,  sir. 

Fetron,  In  my  young  d  ughter's  business. 
»  Bianco.  You  will  tind  there 
A  fitter  hand  than  mine,  to  reach  her  frets. 
And  play  downniidd/e  to  her. 
»•   Fetron.  I  shall  watch  you. 

Bianai.  Do. 

Fetron.  And  I  shall  have  justice. 

Bianco.  Where? 

Fetron.  That's  all  one; 
I  shall  be  with  you  at  a  turn  henceforward. 

&onca.  Get  you  a  posset,  do  ^  and  so  good 

cv'n,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Petruckio,  Jaques,  and  Fedro. 

Jaques.  And,  as  I  told  your  worship,  ali 
the  hangings^ 


Brass,  pewter,  plate,  ev'n  to  the  very  look\ 

ing -glasses. 

Fedt  o.  And  that  that  hang  for  our  defe  ice, 

the  armor,  jJaques, 

And  the  March^beer  was  going  too:   Oh, 
What  a  sad  sight  was  that  ? 

Jaques.  E'en  the  two  nuidlets, 
The  two  that  was  our  hope,  of  muskadel. 
Better  ne'er  tongue  tript  over,  those  two  can* 

nons. 
To  batter  brawn  withal  at  Christmas,  «r, 
Ev'n  those  two  iovely  t^^  ins,  the  enemy 
Had  almost  cut  off  clean. 

Petru,  Go  trim  the  house  up, 
And  put  the  thinn  in  order  as  theytwere! 

\Exeunt  Fedro  and  Jaques* 
I  shall  find  time  for  all  this;— Could  1  find 

her  [jif  ss  i 

But  constant  any  way,  I  have  done  my  busi«  - 
Were  she  a  whore  directly,  or  a  scold. 
An  unthrift,  or  a  woman  made  to  hate  me, 
I  had  my  wish,  and  knew  which  way  to  rein 

her ;  [losses. 

But  while  she  shews  all  these,  and  ful  theii" 
A  kind  of  linsey-wolsey,  mingled  mischief 
Not  to  he  guessM  at,  and  whether  true  or  bop- 

row'd 

Enter  Maria, 

Not  certain  neither — What  a  hap  had  I, 
And  what  a  tidy  fortune,  when  my  fate 
Flung  me  upon  this  bear-w help.'  Here  she 

comes. 
Now,  if  she  have  a  colour,  (for  the  fault  is 
A  cleanly  one)  upon  my  conscience 
I  shall  forgive  her  yet,  and  find  a  something 
Certain  I  married  for,  her  wit:  I'll  mark  her« 

Maria.  Not  let  his  wife  come  near  him  in 

his  sickness  ? 
Not  come  to  comfort  him?  she  that  all  laws 
Of  Heav'n,  and  nations,  have  ordain'd  his  se« 

cond, ' 
Is  she  refbs'd  ?  and  two  old  paradoxes, 
Pieces  of  five  and  fifty,  without  tiaitb, 
Clapt  in  upon  liimf  Has  a  little  pet. 
That  all  youn^  wives  must  follow  necessaryi 
Having  their  maidenheads— 

Petru,  This  is  an  axiom 
I  never  heard  before, 

Maria.  Or  say  rebellion^ 
If  we  durst  be  so  foul,  (which  two  fair  wiDrds, 
Alas,  win  us  from  in  an  hour,  an  instant^ 
We  are  so  easy)  make  him  so  forgetful 
Both  of  his  reason,  honesty,  and  ci-edit, 
As  to  deny  liis  wife  a  visitation  ? 
His  wife,  that  tho'  she  wus  a  little  foolish, 
Lov'd  him,  oh,  Heav'n  forgive  her  for't!  nay 

doted. 
Nay,  had  run  mad,  had  she  not  married  him  ? 

Petru.  Tho'  I  do  know  this  falser  than  the 

devil, 
I  cannot  chuse  but  love  it. 

Maria.  What  do  I  know, 
But  tliose  that  came  to  keep  him,  might  have 

kiird  him  I 


iod 


tHE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER^TAMT).   [Act  4.  Sccnelw^ 


In  wliat  a  ease  had  I  been  then !  I  dare  not 
Believe  him  such  a  ba»e,  debosh*d  coropanion, 
That  one  refusal  of  a  tender  maid  [need, 
Would  make  him  feign  this  sickness  out  of 
And  lake  a  keeper  to  him  of  fourscore 
To  play  at  billiards ;  one  that  mcw'd  content 
And  ail  her  teeth  together.    Not  come  near 

liini  ?  [most  rare  Jesuit ; 

Petni,  This  woman  ^-ould  have  marie  a 
She  can  pre\'aricate  on  any  tiling;  [her 

There  was  not  to  be  thought  a  way  to  save 
In  all  imagination,  beside  this. 

Marifi,  His  unkind  dealing,  which  was 

worst  of  all, 
In  sending,  ^ho  knows  whither,  all  the  plate, 
And  all  thehoushold-btuff,  had  J  not  crossed  it. 
By  a  great  providence,  and  my  friends'  ns- 

sisfuncc, 
Which  he  will  thank  me  one  day  for — Alas, 
I  could  have  watch'd  as  well  as  they,  have 

serv'd  him 
In  any  use,  better,  and  willinger : 
The  Ihw  commands  me  to  do  it,  love   com- 
mands me, 
And  ray  own  duty  charges  me. 

Fetru.  Heav  n  bless  me !  [her. — 

And,  now  I've  said  my  prayers,  I'll  go  to 
Are  vou  a  wife  for  any  man? 

Maria,  For  you,  sir,  [well, 

If  1  were  worse,  I  were  better :  that  youVe 
At  least,  that  you  appear  so,  I  thank  Heav'n, 
Long  may  it  hold !  and  that  youVe  here,  I 

am  glad  too : 
But  that  you  have  abus'd  me  wretchedly. 
And  such  a  way  that  shames  the  name  of  hus- 
band, 
Such  a  malicious  mangy  way,  sa  mingled 
(Never  look  strangely  on  me ;  I  dare  tell  you) 
With  breach  of  honesty,  care,  kindness,  man* 

ners— 

Petru,  Holla!  you  kick- too  fast. 

Maria,  Was  I  a  stranger  ? 
Or  had  I  vow'd  perdition  to  your  person? 
Am  I  not  married  to  you  ?  Tell  me  that ! 

Petru.  I  would  I  could  not  tell  you ! 

Maria.  Is  my  presence, 
The  stock  I  come  of,  which  is  worshipful. 
If  I  should  say  right  wor^^hipful  I  lied  not. 
My  granddire  was  a  knight — 

Pi:tru.  O'the  shire? 

Maria.  A  soldier. 
Which  none  of  all  thy  family  e'er  heard  of, 
But  one  conductor  of  thy  name,  a  grasier 
That  ran  away  with  pay! — Or  am  I  grown, 
Because  I've  been  a  little  peevish  to  you, 
Only  to  try  your  temjjer,  such  a  dog-leech, 
I  could  not  be  admitted  to  your  presence? 

Petni.  If  I  endure  this,  hang  me ! 

Maria.  And  two  death's  heads. 
Two  Harry-groats,  that  had  their  faces  worn. 
Almost  their  names  away  too— 

Petru.  Now  hear  me! 
For  I  will  stay  no  longer. 

Maria.  This  you  shall ! 
However  you  shall  think  to  flatter  mc 


For  this  offence,  (wliich  no  submissioii 
Can  ever  mediate  for,  you'U  find  it  so) 
Whatever  you  shall  do  by  intercessioD, 
What  you  can  ofler,  what  yoar  laud  cun  par- 
chase, 
What  all  your  friends  or  fkmily  can  win. 
Shall  be  but  this,  not  to  forswear  your  know 

ledge, 
Bat  ever  to  forbear  it.  Now  yom*  will,  shr!  , 
Petru.  Thoo  art  the  subtlest  woman  I  think 
Kving,  [roe; 

Fm  sure  the  lewdest !  Now  b^  still  and  mark 
Were  I  but  any  way  addicted  to  the  d*»vil, 
I  should  no<^'  think  I  had  met  a  playfellow 
To  pro6t  by,  and  that  way  the  most  learned 
That  ever  taught  to  murmur.  Tell  me,  tfaou^ 
Thou  most  poor,  paltry,  spiteful  whore—- 

D'yoocry? 
I'll  make  yon  roar,  before  I  leave. 
Maria.  Your  pleasure ! 
Petru^  Was  it  not  sin  enough,  thou  fruit- 
erer, [ker, 
Fijll  of  the  fan  thoa  eat^st^  thoa  deviKs  bro- 
Thou  seminary  of  all  sedition,           [o'er  us. 
Thou  sword  of  veng'ance  with  a  thread  hang 
Was  it  not  sin  enough,  and  wickedness 
In  full  abundance,  was  it  not  vexation 
At  all  points,  cap-a-pie — Nay,  I  shall  piach 

you! — 
Thus  like  a  rotten  rascal  to  abuse 
The  name  of  Heav'n,  the  tie  of  marriage. 
The  honour  of  thy  friends,  the  expectation 
Of  all  that  thought  thee  virtuous,  with  rebel- 

lion. 
Childish  and  base  rebellion?  but, continuing 
After  foi^iveness  too,  and  worse,  your  mis- 
chief? -  [by, 
And  against  him,  setting  the  hope  of  Heavea 
And  the  dear  reservation  of  his  honour. 
Nothing  above-i^round  could  have  wo^  to  hate 

thee?  ^  .;-    . 

Well,  go  thy  ways  I  ,  -i.  ^- 

Maria»  Yes. 

Petru.  You  shall  hear  me  out  first : 
What  punishment  mayst  thou  deserve,  thoa 
thing,  •  [rose, 

Xhou  idle  thing  of  nothing,  thou  puU*dprim* 
That  two  hours  after  art  a  weed,  and  wither'd. 
For  this  last  flourish  on  me?  Am  I  one 
Selected  out  of  all  the  husbands  living. 
To  be  so  ridden  by  a  tit  of  ten-pence  ?        • 
Am  I  so  blind,  and  bed>rid  ?  I  was  mad. 
And  hud  the  plague,  and  no  man  must  come 

near  me ! 
I  must  be  shut  up,  and  my  substance  bezzled, 
And  an  old  woman  watch  me ! 

Maria.  Well,  ^ir,  well; 
You  may  well  glory  in't.  [my  plot, 

Petru.  And  when  it  comes  to  opening,  'tis 
I  mu$t  undo  myself,  forsooth !  Dost  hear  me? 
If  i  should  beat  thee  now,  as  much  may  be, 
Dost  thou  not  well  desene  it?  O'  thy  con- 
science. 
Dost  tliou  not  cry,  Come  heat  mcf 
Maria,  I  defy  you  I 

And, 


Aot4.  Scenes.]    TOE  WOMAN^  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM^D. 


tst 


And,  my  last  loving  tearsy  ftrewell !  The  iirst 
stroke 

The  very  first  you  gave  rae,  if  you  dare  strike, 

(Try  ine^  and  you  shall  find  it  so)  for  ever, 

Never  to  be  recaird,  (I  know  you  love  me, 

Mad  till  you  have  enjoy'd  me)  I  do  turn 

Utterly  from  you;  and  what  man  I  meet  first, 

That  has  but  spirit  te  deserve  a  favour, 

Let  bira  bear  any  shape,  the  worse  the  better, 

Shall  kill  you,  and  enjoy  me.  W4iat  I've  said 

About  your  foolish  sickness,  ere  yon  have  me 

As  you  would  have  me,  yon  shall  swear  is 
certain. 

And  challenge  any  man  that  dares  deny  it; 

And  in  all  companies  approve  my  actions. 

And  so,  farewell  for  this  time !  [Exit. 

Petru.  Grief  go  with  thee ! 

If  there  be  any  witchcrafts,  herbs,  or  potions. 

Saying  my  prayers  backward,  fiends,  or  fai- 
ries, 

That  can  again  unlove  me,  I  am  made. 

[ExU, 

SCENE  II. 
Enter  Bianca  and  Tranio* 

Tro.  Mistress,  you  must  do'L 

Bianca,  Are  the  writings  ready 
I  told  you  or  ? 

Tra.  Yes,  tliey  are  ready;  but 
To  what  use  1  know  noL 

Bianca.  You  are  an  ass, 
Yoa  mnst  have  all  things  consthi'd, 

iVfl.  Yes,  and  pierc'd  too", 
Or  I  find  little  pleasure. 

Bimca.  Now  you're  knavish; 
Go  to!  Fetch  Rowland  hither  presently; 
Your  twenty  pound  lies  bleeding  else;  she's 

married 
Within  these  twelve  hours,  if  we  cross  it  not. 
And  see  the  papers  of  one  size ! 

Tra.  1  have  you. 

Bianca.  And  for  disposing  of 'em— 

Tra.  If  I  fail  you. 
Now  I  Imre  found  the  way,  use  martial  law, 
And  cut  my  head  off  with  a  liand-saw  I 

Bianca.  VieWy  sir! 
PeuDiiius  and  Moroso  I'll  see  sent  for. 
About  your  business;  go! 

Tra.  I'm  gone.  [Exit, 

Enter  Uvia. 

Bianca,  Ho,  Livia! 

Uvia.  Who's  that?  Hook  now, 

Bianca.  A  friend  of  yours.  Lord^  how  you 
As  if  y' had  a  carrack ! 

Uvia,  Oh,  Bianca! 
I  am  the  most  undone,  unhappy  woman — 

Bianca.  Be  quiet,  wench !  thou  shalt  be 

done,  and  done. 
And  done,  and  double  done,   or  all  shall 

split  for't, 

'*  Fei,  and  pierc'd  too.]  The  word  construed  going  before,  would  make  one  suspect  that 
faT%*d  should  have  followed,  and  so  I  imagine  it  at  first  was  wrote.  Sytnpson. 

It  is  clear  that  a  loose  puu  i^  intended;  so  the  text  should  stand  as  it  doet» 

Entar 


No  more  of  these  minc'd  passions !  they  are 

mangy. 
And  ease  thee  of  nothing,  but  a  little  wind: 
An  apple  will  do  more.  Thou  fear'st  Moroso? 

Livia.  E'en  as  I  fear  the  gallows. 

Bianca.  Keep  thee  there  still! 
And  you  love  Rowland  ?  say. 

Livia.  If  I  say  not, 
I'm  sure  I  lie.  [man^ 

Bianca.  What  wouldst  thou  give  that  wo-« 
In  spite  of  all  his  anger,  and  thy  fear. 
And  all  th^  father's  policy,  that  could 
Clap  ye  within  these  two  nights  quietly 
Into  a  bed  together? 

Livia.  How? 

Bianca.  Why,  faiHy,  [blood  comes ! 

At  half-word,  man  and  wife :  now  the  red 
Ay,  marry,  now  the  matter's  changed. 

Livia.  Bianca, 
Methinks  you  ^ould  not  mock  me. 

Bianca.  Mock  a  pudding !  [ing. 

I  speak  good  honest  English,  and  good  mean^ 

Livia.  I  should  not  be  ungrateful  to  that 

woman.  [but  my  counsel, 

Bianca.  1  know  thou  wouldst  not:  follow 
And  if  thou  hast  him  not,  despite  of  fortune. 
Let  me  ne'er  know  a  good  night  more  I  You 
Be  very  sick  o' th' instant.  [must 

Livia.  Well,  what  follows?  [your  friends, 

Bianca.  And  in  that  sickness  send  for  all 
Your  latlier  and  your  fever,  old  Moroso ; 
And  Rowland  shall  be  there  too. 

Livia.  What  of  these?  [shall  follow 

Bianca.  Do  you  not  twitter  yet?  Of  this 
That  which  shall  make  thy  heart  leap,  and 

thy  lips 
Venture  as  many  kisses  as  the  merchants 
Do  dollars  to  th'  East  Indies:  you  shall  know 

all; 
But  first  walk  in,  and  practise ;  pray,  be  sick, 

J.ivia.  I  do  believe  you,  and  I  am  sick. 

Bianca.  Do:  [servants 

To  bed  then ;  come ! — 111  send  away  your 
Post  for  your  fool,  and  father:  and„  good 

fortune. 
As  wc  mean  honesty,  now  strike  an  up-shot  1 

[kxeunt. 
SCENE  III. 

Enter  Dranio  ancT  Rovland. 

TVa.  Nay,  on  my  conscience,  I  have  lost 
my  money;  [you; 

But  that's  all  one :  FU  never  more  persuade 

I  see  you're  resolute,  and  I  commend  you. 
Howl.  But  did  she  send  for  me  ? 
Tra.  You  dare  believe  rae?        [for  profit 
RowL  I  cannot  tell;  you  have  your  ways 

AUow'd  you,  Tranio,  as  well  as  1 

Have  to  avoid  'em  fear. 
Tra.  No,  on  ray  word,  sir, 

I  deal  directly  with  you. 


fS8 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMTT.    [Act4.  Scene  9« 


Enter  Servant  hastili/n 

IRxmL  How  now,  fellow? 
Whither  post  you  so  fast  ? 

Serv,  Ob,  sir,  my  master! 
Prav  did  you  see  my  master? 

KowL  Why  your  master  ? 

Serv,  Sir,  his  iewel — 

'Rami.  With  the  gilded  button? 

Sero,  My  pretty  mistress  Livia— 

Eon?/.  What  of  her? 

Sero,  Is  fallen  sick  o'  th*  sudden — 

JlawL  How,  o'th*sullen8? 

Serv.  O'th' sudden,  sir,  I  say;  very  sick. 

BxupI.  It  seems  sh'bath  got  the  tooth-ache 

with  raw  apples.  [ikre  you  well,  sir ! 

Serv.  It  seems  youVe  got  the  head-ache : 
iTou  did  not  see  my  master? 

RowL  Who  told  you  so  ? 

Tra.  No,  no;  he  did  not  see  him* 

Howl,  Farewell,  blue*bottle. 

[Exit  Servant. 
What  should  her  sickness  be  ? 

Tra.  For  you,  it  may  be. 

RowL  Yes,  "whtn  my  brains  are  oat,  I  may 

believe  it; 
Never  before,  I«m  sure.  Yet  I  may  see  her; 
^will  be  a  point  of  honesty. 

Tra.  It  will  so.  [be  fing'ring 

RowL  It  may  be  not  too;  you  would  fain 
This  old  8tn-o£rring  of  two  hundred,  Trauio : 
How  daintily  and  cunningly  you  drive  me 
Up  like  a  deer  to  th'  toil !  yet  I  may  leap  it; 
And  wliat's  the  woodman  then  ? 

2>a.  A  loser  by  you. 
Speak,  will  you  go,  or  not?  To  me 'tis  equal. 

RowL  Come;  what  goes  less? 

Tra,  Nay,  not  a  penny,  Rowland. 

RowL  Sliall  I  have  liberty  of  conscience, 
Which,  by  interpretation,  is  ten  kisses  ? 
Hang  me,  if  I  affect  her;  yet,  it  may  be. 
This  wliorson  manners  will  require  a  strug- 
gling"! 
Of  two  and  twenty,  or  by'r  lady,  thirty. 

Tra.  By  V  lady,  Til  require  my  wager  then. 
For  if  you  kiss  so  often,  mid  no  Hindness, 
I've  lost  my  speculation :  I'll  allow  you — 

RcnoL  Speak  like  a  gamester  now. 

Tra,  It  may  be  two.  [setting : 

RozdL  Under  a  dozen,  Tranio,  there's  no 
You  shall  have  forty  shillings,  wink  at  small 

faults.  [nest. 

Say  I  take  twenty.  Come,  by  all  that's  ho- 
1  do  it  but  to  vex  her. 

Tra.  ril  no  by-blows. 


tf  you  can  love  her,  do ;  if  you  can,  bate  lier* 
Or  any  else  that  loves  you— 

RowL  Prithee,  Trauio! 

Tra.  Why,  forewell,  twenty  pound!  'twill 

not  undo  me; 
You  have  my  resolution. 

RowL  And  your  money :  Ff^eky 

Which,  since  you  are  so  stubborn,  if  1  for- 
Make  me  a  Jack  o'Lent^^  and  break  my 

shins  [witlt  you; 

For  untagged  points  and  counterb !     1*11  go 
But  if  thou  eett'st  a  penny  by  the  bargptiu— 
A  parting  kiss  is  law  ml? 
'  iVa.  I  allow  it.  [Yet,  a  bargain  f 

RowL  Knock  out   my  brains  with  apples. 

Tra.  I  tell  you.  Til  no  bargains;  win  and 

wear  it. 

RowL  Thou  art  the  strangest  fellow ! 

Tra.  That's  alt  one.  [if  thou  dar'st, 

RowL  Along  then  !  Twenty  popid  more^ 
I  give  her  not  a  good  word  1 

Tra.  Not  a  penny.  lExtunt* 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Petruchio,  Jaques,  and  Pedro, 

Petru.  Prithee,  entreat  her  come ;  I  will 

not  trouble  her 
Above  a  word  or  two.    Ere  I  endure 

[Exit  Pedro. 
This  life,  and  with  a  woman,  and  a  vow'4 

one 
To  all  the  mischiefs  she  can  lay  upon  me, 
I'll  go  to  plough  again^"^,  and  eat  leek-por* 

ridge!  [ber'd). 

(Begging's  a  pleasure  to't,  not  to  be  num- 
No,  there  be  other  countries,  Jaques,  forme. 
And  other  people ;  yea,  and  other  women : 
If  I  have  need,  here's  money,  there's  your 

ware, 
Which  is  fair  dealing ;  and  the  sun,  they  say, 
Shines  as  warm  there  as  here ;  and  till  Fve 

lost 
Either  myself  or  her— I  care  not  whether 
Nor  which  first — 

Jaqves.  Will  your  worship  hear  me? 

Petru.  And  utterly  outworn  the  memorf 
Of  such  a  curse  as  this,  none  of  my  nation 
Shall  ever  know  me  more. 

Jogues.^Onty  alas,  sir. 
What  a  strange  way  do  you  run ! 

Petru.  Any  way. 
So  I  out-run  this  rascal. 

Jaques.  Methinks  now,  [tience— > 

If  yonr  good  worship  could  but  have  the  pa* 

Petru.  The  patience?  why  the  patience? 


5'  Thi$  whorson  manners  will  require  a  struMling, 

Of  two  and  twenty,  or  bifr  lady^  thirtyTj  Struggling  here  means  kissing^  but  I  rather 

think  tlie  author's  word  was  smugglings  which  I  have  heard  used  in  that  sense.   The  second 

line  seems  wrong:  he  had  before  mentioned  ten  kisses^  and  people  generally,  in  increasing 

a  number,  advance  by  decimals :  I  read  therefore,  as  a  much  more  natural  way  of  speakings 

Often,  or  twenty,  or  by'r  lady,  thirty.  Seward. 

3*  Jack  o*Lenl.]  See  note  28  on  the  Wiid-Goose  Chase. 

33  1*11  go  topLmgh,  and  eat  leek-porridge.]  The  copies  in  general,  except  that  of  tG4T, 
want  the  dissyirable  again.  Symptofu 

Jaquet. 


Act  4.  Sc«ie8.]  THE  WOMANPS  PRIZB;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMT>. 


159 


Jaqua.  Why,  111  tell  yoa; 

Cloiikl  yoa  hut  have  the  patience— 
Pefm.  Well,  the  patience.         [she  rails, 
Jn^ttes.  To  laugh  at  all  she  does,  or,  when 

To  have  4  drum  beaten  o'  th*  top  o'  tb'  house. 

To  etve  the  n  idihnuni  war.iins:  of  her  iarum, 

As  (  do  when  mv  v\ife  rebels— 
Pttru.  Thy  wife? 

Thv  wife's  a  pii^eon  to  her,  a  mere  slumber ; 

The  dead  of  night's  not  stiller — 
Js^es.  Nor  an  iron-mill. 
Petru,  But  thy  wife's  certain— 
Jaquti.  That's  false  doctrine ; 

You  neror  refid  of  a  certain  woman. 
Peiru,  Thou  know'st  her  way. 
Jaquet.  I  should  do,  1  am  sure ; 

P?e  ridden  it  ni^ht  and  day,  this  twenty  year. 
Petnt.  But  mine' is  such  a  drench  of  bal- 
derdash, riK)w, 

Such  astam^  carded  cunningness,  the  min- 
When  she  hangs  bent  in  Heaven,  ^^ds  not 
.    hercolours  [man 

Quicker,  and  more,  than  this  deceitful  wo- 

jEnter  Pedro. 
Weaves  in  her  dyes  of  wickedness.— What 

says  she  ?  [pointed  to  me, 

Pedro,  Nay,  not  a  word,  sir;  but  she 
A^tho'  she  meant  to  fellow.  Pray,  sir,  bear  it 
E'en  as  you  may:  I  need  not  teach  your 

warship  [mortal — 

The  best  men  have  their  crosses,  we  are  all 

Fetru.  What  ails  the  fellow? 

Pedro.  And  no  doubt  she  may,  sir— 

Fetru.  What  may  she?  or  what  does  she? 

or  what  is  she  ? 
Speak  and  be  hanged ! 

Pedro.  She's  mad,  sir. 

Fetru.  Heaven  continue  it ! 

Fedro,  Ara«'n,  if't  be  his  pleasure. 

Feiru,  How  mad  is  she? 

Pedro,  As  mad  as  heart  can  wish,  sir:  she 

has  dresfl'd  herself  [cut 

(Saving  your  worship's  reverence)  just  rth' 
Of  one  of  those  tliat  multiply  i'th' suburbs 
For  single  money,  and  as  dirtily: 
if  any  speak  to  her,  first  she  whistles, 
Aad  tben  begins  ber  compass  with  her  fingers. 
And  pomts  to  what  she'd  have. 

Fetru.  Whatnew  way's  this* 

Pedro.  There  came  in  master  Sophocles — 

Peiru.  And  what 
Did  master  Sophocles,  when  he  came  in  ? 
Get  my  trunks  ready,  sirrah !    Til  be  gone 

J  edro.  He's  here  ro  tell^ou.  [straij^t. 
She'k  horn  mad,  Jaques. 

Enter  SQphoeles, 

Sopk.  Call  you  thif^  a  woman  ? 

Petry,  Yes,  sir,  sue  is  a  woman. 

iSdpA.  Sir,  I  doubt  it.        * 

Petru,  IM  thought  y'bad  made  experience. 

SopL  Yes,  I  did  so, 


And  almost  with  my  life. 

Fetru.  You  rid  too  fast,  sir, 

Soph.  Pray,beaotmistakea:  by  this  hand. 
Your  wife's  as  chaste  and  honest  as  a  virgin. 
For  any  thing  I  know!  Tis  true,  she  gave  me 
•  ring— 

Fetru.  For  rutting. 

Soph.  You  are  much  deceiv'd  still : 
Believe  me,  I  ne'er  kissed  her  since ;  and  now 
Coming  in  visitiition,  like  a  friend, 
(I  think  she's  mad,  sir;  huudeul,>  she  started. 
And  snatched  the  ring  away,  and  drew  her 

knife  out. 
To  what  intent  I  know  not. 

Fetru.  Is  tliis  certain? 

Soph.  As  1  am  here,  sir. 

Fetru.  T  believe  you  honest; 
And  pray  continue  so. 

Enter  Maria, 


Soph.  She  ( 

Fetru.  Now,  damsel. 
What  will  your  beauty  do,  if  I  forsake  you? 
[She  fiuikeu  si^m, 
D'  you  deal  by  sigps  and  tokens?  As  I  guess 

tiien,  [captains; 

You^  walk  abroad  thb  summer,  and  catch 
Or  hire  a  piece  of  holy  ground  i*th'  suburbs^ 
And  keep  a  nest  of  nuns  ? 

Soph.  Oh,  do  not  stir  her! 
You  see  in  what  a  case  she  is. 

Fetru.  She's  dogged, 
And  in  a  beastly  case,  I'm  sure. — I'll  make 

her,  '   [cles. 

If  she  have  any  tongue,  yet  tattle. — Sopho- 
Prithee  observe  this  woman  seriously, 
And  eye  her  well ;  and  when  th'  hsist  done, 

but  tell  me 
(For  thou  huAt  understanding)  in  what  case 
My  sense  was,  when  I  chose  this  thing. 

Soph,  ril  tell  you, 
I've  seen  a  sweeter — 

Fetru.  An  hundred  times,  cry  oysters. 
There's  a  poor  beggar- wench  about  Black- 

Fri  rs,  [her. 

Runs  on  her  breech,  may  be  an  empress  to 

Sopk.  Nay,  now  you  are  too  bitter. 

Fetru.  Never  a  whit,  sir. —  [thee, 

ni  tell  thee,  woman,  for  now  I've  day  to  see 
And  all  my  wits  about  me,  and  I  speak 
Not  out  of  passiou  neitl)er(lea\e  your  mump« 

ing;  '  [give 

I  know  you're  well  enough). — Vow  would  I 
A  million  but  to  vex  ber! — When  I  chose 

thee 
To  make  a  bedfellow,  I  took  more  trouble^^ 
Than  twenty  terms  can  come  to;   such  a 
,  cause. 

Of  such  a  title,  and  so  everlasting, 
That  Adnm*s  genealogy  may  he  ended 
Ere  any  law  fmd  tliee:  I  took  a  leprosy, 
Nay  worse,  the  plague,  nay  worse  yet,  a  pos* 

session. 


^  To9k  more  tbovbi.e.]  i,  t.Not  took  mart  rAins,  but  cAoie  more  te^latjov. 


And 


100 


THE  WOMAN*S  PRIZE;  OR^.THE  TAMER  TAMD.    [Act  4. Scenes. 


And  had  the  devil  with  thee,  if  not  more; 
And  yet  worse,  was  a  beast,  and  like  a  beast 
Had  my  reward,  ajade  to  fling  my  fortunes : 
For  who  that  had  but  reason  to  distinguish 
The  light  from  darkness,  wine  from  water/ 

hunger 
From  full  satiety,  and  fox.  from  fern-bush. 
That  would  have  married  thee? 

Soph,  She*s  hot  so  ilL 

Petru,  She's  worse  than  I  dare  think  of; 

she's  so  lewd, 
No  court  is  strong  enough  to  bear  her  cause; 
Sh'hath  neither  manners,  honesty,  behaviour. 
Wifehood,  nor  womanhood ;  nor  any  mortal 
Ciin  force  me  think  she  had  a  mother :  no, 
I  do  believe  her  stedfastly,  and  know  her. 
To  be  a  woman*wolf  by  transmigration; 
Her  first  form  was  a  ferret's  under-ground ; 
She  kills  the  memories  of  men. — Not  yet? 

Soph.  D'you  think  she's  sensible  of  this? 

Petru.  I  care  not ! 
Be  what  she  will,  the  pleasure  I  take  in  her, ' 
Thus  I  blow  off;  the  care  I  took  to  love  her, 
Like  this  point,  I  unty,  and  thus  I  loose  it; 
The'husband  I  am  to  her,  thus  I  sever: 
My  vanity,  farewell !  Yet,  for  you've  been 
So  near  me,  as  to  bear  the  name  of  wife. 
My  unquench'd  charity  shall  tell  you  thus 

much, 
(Tho'  you  deserve  it  well)  you  shall  not  beg: 
What  I  ordaiu*d  your  jointure,  honestly 
You  shall  have  settled  on  you,  and  half  my 

house; 
The  other  half  shall  be  employ'd  in  prayers, 
(That  meritorious  charge  I'll  be  at  also) 
Yet  to  confirm  you  Christian ;  your  apparel, 
And  what  belongs  to  build  up  such  a  folly, 
Keep,  I  beseech  you,  it  infects  our  uses : 
And  now  I  am  for  travel. 

Maria,  Now  I  love  you; 
And  now  I  see  you  are  a  man,  1*11  talk  to  you ; 
And  I  forget  your  bitterness. 

Soph,  How  now,  man?  [mous, 

Fetru,  Oh,  Pliny,  if  thou  wilt  be  ever  fa- 
Make  but  this  woman  all  thy  wonders ! 

Maria,  Sure,  sir, 
You  have  hit  upon  a  happy  course,  ja  blessed. 
And  what  will  make  you  virtuous. 

Fetru,  She  will/fjhip  me.         [wish'd  for; 

Maria,  A  way  of  understanding  I  long 
And  now  'tis  come,  take  heed  you  fly  not 

back,  sir ! 
Metliinks  you  look  a  new  roan  to  me  now, 
A  man  of  excellence;  and  now  I  see 
Some  great  design  set  in  you.    You  may 

think  now  [part 

(And  so  may  most  tliat  know  me)  'twere  my 
Weakly  to  weep  your  loss,  and  to  resist  you; 
Nay,  hang  about  your  neck,  and  like  a  do- 

Urd 
Urge  my  strong  tie  upon  you :  but  I  love  you, 


And  all  the  world  shall  know  it,  beyond  wo* 

man: 
And  more  prefer  the  honour  of  your  countiy. 
Which  chiefly  you  are  born  for,  and  may  per* 

feet. 
The  uses  you  may  make  of  other  nations. 
The  ripening  of  your  knowledge,  conversation. 
The  full  ability  and  strength  of  judgment. 
Than  any  private  love,  or  wanton  kisses. 
Go,  worthy  man,  and  brine  home  under&tanfl- 
ing.  [breed  school-men. 

Soph,  This  were  an  excellent  woman  to 
Maria,  For  if  the  merchant  tliro*  unknown 
seas  plough  [y^^^ 

To  get  nis  wealth,  then,  dear  sir,  what  must 
To  gather  %^  isdom  ?  Go,  and  go  alone. 
Only  your  noble  mind  for  your  companion  ; 
And  if  a  woman  may  win  credit  with  you. 
Go  far,  t  .0  far  j^ou  cannot,  still  the  farther 
The  more  experience  finds  you :  and  ^o  spaiw 

One  meal  a-week  will  serve  you,  and  one  suit^ 
Thro'  all  your  travels;  for  you  11  hnd  it  cer> 

tain. 
The  poorer  and  the  baser  you  appear. 
The  more  you  look  thro'  still. 

Petru,  ftost  liear  her  ? 

Soph,  Yes.  [were  8uffer*<i 

Petru,  What  would  this  woman  do,  if  she 
Upon  a  new  religion  ^^  ? 

Soph,  Make  us  Pagans. 
I  wonder  that  she  writes  not. 

Maria,  Then  when  time. 
And  fullness  of  occasion,  have  new-made  yoa. 
And  squar'd  you  from  a  sot  into  a  signer. 
Or  nearer,  from  ajade  into  a  courser; 
Come  home  an  aged  man,  as  did  Ulysses^ 
And  I  youlr  glad  Penelope—- 

Petru,  That  must  have 
As  many  lovers  as  I  languages ;  [nigHt 

And  what  she  does  wiui  one  i'th^  day,  i*lh' 
Undo  it  with  another. 

Maria.  Much  that  way,  sir ; 
For  in  your  absence  it  must  be  mv  honour. 
That  that  must  make  me  spoken  of  hereafter^ 
To  have  temptations,  and  not  little  ones^ 
Daily  and  houriy  offered  roe,  and  strongly. 
Almost  believ'd  against  me,  to  set  off 
The  faith  and  loyalty  of  her  that  loves  yoo^ 

Petru,  What  should  I  do? 

Soph,  Why,  by  my  soul,  I  would  travel ; 
Did  not  you  mean  so  ? 

Petru.  Alas,  no ;  nothing  less,  man ; 
I  did  it  but  to  try,  sir.  Slie*s  the  devil ! 
And  now  I  find  it,  (for  she  drives  me)  I  must 

go.  [ready? 

Are  my  trunks  down  there*  and  my  horses 

Maria,  Sir,  for  your  house,  and,  if  yon 

please  to  trust  me 
With  that  you  leave  behind — 

Petru,  Bring  down  the  money! 


3'  Upon  a  new  adventure. 

Soph,  Make  us  nothing.]  So  the  first  folio.  .We  have  no  doubt  but  the  text  (which  is  from 
the  second)  Ig  genuine,  and  that  an  ideal  delicacy  caused  the  variation. 

Maria, 


Act  5.  Scene  1.]    TftE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OU,  THE  TAMEK  TAIVTO. 


101 


Maria.  As  I  am  able,  and  to  roy  poor  for- 
tunes, 
m  {govern  as  a  widow.    I  shall  long 
To  hear  of  your  weli-doing,  and  your  profit; 
And  w  hen  Ijicar  not  from  you  once  a  quarter, 
111  wishyoQ  in  the  Indies,  or  Cathaya, 
Those  are  the  climes  must  make  you« 

Petru.  How's  the  wind? — 
Shell  wish  me  out  o'th'  world  anon ! 

Maria.  For  France 
Tis  very  fair:  get  you  aboard  to*night,  sir. 
And  lose  no  time;  you  know  the  tide  stays 

no  man.      ^ 
I  have  cold  meats  readv  for  you. 

Petru.  Fare  thee  well !  [vengeance  ! 

Th*hast  fool'd  me  out  o*th'  kingdom  with  a 
Ad  thou  canst  fool  me  in  again — 

Maria.  Not  I,  sir ;  [sure. 

I  love  you  better;  take  your  time  and  plea- 
I'll  see  you  hors'd.  [too, 

Pctru.  I  think  thon  wouldst  see  me  bang  d 
Were  I  but  half  as  willing. 

Maria.  Any  tiling 
That  you  think  well  off,  I  dare  look  upon. 

Petru,  Youll  bear  me  to  the  land's  end, 

Sophocles  ? 
And  other  of  my  friends,  I  hope. 

Maria.  Ne'er  doubt,  sir; 
You  cnnnot  want  companions  for  your  good. 
I'm  sure  youll  kiss  me  ere  I. go;  I've  business. 
And  stay  long  here  I  must  not. 

Petru.  Get  thee  going  1 
For  if  thou  ftrriest  but  another  dialogue,      \ 
JHi  kick  thee  to  thy  chamber. 


Jir/riff.  Fiire  you  wcll,.sirj  fraore. 

And  bcjir  yourself,  I  do  beseech  yon  once 
(Since  you  Imve  undertaken  doing  wisely) 
Manly,  and  worthily;  'tis  for  my  credit.  ]\\v% 
And  for  those  flying  fames  here  of  your  fol- 
Your  gambols,  and  ill*breeding  of  your  youth. 
For  which  I  understand  you  take  this  travel, 
(Nothing  should  make  me  leave  y(rSL  else}  Tit 

de«vl 
So  like  a  wife  that  loves  your  reputation. 
And  the  most  large  addition  of  your  credit. 
That  those  aliall  die.    If  yoa  want  limou* 

waters, 
Or  any^thing  to  take  the  edge  o'tli*  sea  off. 
Pray  speak,  and  be  provided. 

Petru.  Now  the  devil,  [blessing 

That  was  your  first  good  master,  shower  his 
Upon  ye  all !  into  whose  custody— 

Muria.  I  do  commit  your  refommtion; 
And  so  I  leave  you  to  your  ttilo  tivvo^^/ 

[Ejit. 

Petru.  I  will  go!— Yet  I  will  not!— Oac€ 

more,  Sophocles, 
111  pot  her  to  the  test. 

Soph.  You  had  bettei^  go.  [ther  out, 

Petru.  I  will  go  tjiei^!  Let's  seek  my  hic^ 
And  all  my  fiiends,  to  see  ine  fair  aboard: 
Then,  women,  if  there  be  a  stonn  at  sea 
Worse  than  your  tongues  can  make,  and' 

waves  more  broken 
Than  your  dissembling  faiths  are,  let  me  feel 
Notliing  but  tempests,  tlU  they  cnick  mv  keei ! 

lltreuut. 


ACT    V. 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  Petroniui  and  SUmea. 

Bianco^  "VTOW  whether  I  deserve    that 

•*-^    blame  you  gave  me, 
Let  all  the  world  discern,  sir ! 

Petron.  If  this  motion 
(I  mean  this  fair  repentSince  of  my  daughter) 
Spring  from  your  good  persuasion,  as  it  seems 

so, 
I  must  confess  I've  spoke  too  boldly  of  yoa. 
And  I  repent. 

Bianca.  The  first  touch  was  her  own,    ^ 
Taken  no  doubt  from  disobeying  you ; 
The  second  I  put  to  her,  when  I  told  her 
How  good  and  gentle  yet,  with  free  contrition. 
Again  yon  might  be  purchas'd :  loving  woman! 
She  heard  me,  and,  I  thank  her,  tlioaght  me 

worthy 
Observing  in  this  point.    Yet  » 11  my  counsel 
And  comfort  in  this  cas^  could  not  so  heal 

ber. 


But  that  grief  jgot  his  share  too,  and  she  sick- 
en'd.  (sickness 

Petron.  I'm  sorry  she's  so  ill;  yet  glad  her 

Has  got  so  good  a  r/round. 

Ejiter  Moro80. 

Bianca.  Here  coincs  Moroso. 

Pct-^  n.  Oh,  you  are  very  welcome ; 
Now  you  shall  know  your  iiappiness. 

Afor.  I'm  glad  on't. 
What  makes  this  lady  here? 

Bianca.  A  dish  for  you,  sir. 
You'll  thank  me  for  hereafter. 

Petron.  True,  Moroso: 
Go  get  you  in,  and  see  your  mistrsss, 

Bianca.  She  is  sick,  sir ; 
But  you  may  kiss  her  whole. 

Mor.  How? 

Bianca.  Comfort  her. 

Mor.  Why  am  I  sent  fbr,  sir? 

Petron*  Will  you  in  and  see? 

Bianco.  May  be  she^  need^  confessiom 


^^  StUo  7urpo.1  Alluding  to  the  manner  in  which  foreisa  letters  were  dated. 
VOL.111.       -•  *  y  ^ 


iXuf. 


162 


THE  WOM Al4'S  PRIZE;  Oil,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D.    [Act  5.  Scene  1. 


Mor.  By  St.  Mary, 
She  shall  have  absolution  then  and  penance; 
But  not  above  her  carriaire. 

Petron,  Get  you  hi,  fool !        [Exit  Mor. 

Bianca,  Here  eomes  the  other  too. 

Ejiter  Roland  and  Iranio, 

Petron.  No#,  Tmnio ! 
Good  ev*n  to  yoa>  too  I  and*  you're  welcome* 

RowL  Thank  yoQ.- 

Petron.  I  have  a  certain  daughter^— 

BmoL  ^Woald  you  had,  sir! 

Petrmu  No  doubt  you  know  her  well— 

Howl,  Nor  never  shall,  sir: 
She  is  a  woman ;  and  the  ways  unto  her 
Are  like  tlie'  finding  of  a  certain  path 
After  a  deep-fall'n  snow. 

Petron.  Well,  that's  by  tl/bye  stilL 
Thiii  daughter  chat  I  tell  yon  of*  is  iairn 
A  lutle  crop-sick,  with  the  dangerous  surfeit 
She  took  of  your  affection. 

Rou'l.  Mine,  sir? 
"  Petron.  Yes,  sir: 

Or  rather  as  it  seems,  repentingr  And  there 
-She  lies  within,  debating  on  it« 
.  Bowl.  W  ell,  eir?  . 

Ictron.  I  think  'twere  well  you'd  see  her*' 

RowL  If  you  plesvse,  sir ; 
I  am  not  squcamisli  of  my  visilatimii- 

Petron.  But  this  1*11  tell  you,  she  is  al- 

ter*d  much; 
You'll  find  her  now  another  Livia. 

Bowl.  I  have  enooj^h  o'th'old,  sir. 

Petron.  N  o  more  fooly  [land, 

To  look  gay  babies  in  your  eyes^  young  Row* 
And  hang  about  your  pretty  neck--* 

RomL  I'm  glad  on*t,  ^ 

And  tliankiDy  fktesrvescap'd  such  execation* 

Petron.  And  buss  yon  till  yon  blusli  again. 

Bua>L  That's  hardi,  sir;  «, 

She  must  kiss  shameifuUy  ere  I  blush  at  it; 
I  never  v^-as^so  bo)ri8h.    VVell,  what  follows  ? 
.  Petron*  Slie's  mine  now,  as  I  please  to  set- 
tle her,  |her: 
At  my  command,  and  where  I  please  to  plant 
Only  she'd  take  a  kind  of  farewell  of  you, 
And  give  you  back  a  wandring  vow  or  two> 
You  left  in  pawn;  and  two  or  three  slight 

oaths 
She  lent  you  too,  she  looks  for. 

Roul.  She  shall  have  'em,  [better, 

With  all  my  heart,  sir;   and,  if  yon  like  it 
A  free  release  in  writing. 

Petron.  That's  the  matter; 
And  you  fix>m  her  shall  hnveanother,  Rowland, 
And  then  turn  tail  to  tail,  and  peace  be  with 

you.  [Tranio. 

RowL  Sobe't.  Your  twenty  pound  sweats, 

Dra.  Twill  not  undo  ms,  Rowland;  do 

your  worst! 

RowL  Come,  shall  we  see  her,  sir? 

Bianco.  Whatc'er  she  snys  [ness 

You  must  bear  manly,  HowLmd ;  for  her  sick- 
Has  made  her  somewhat  tCJitish. 

Jiai^i.  Lether^sOk 


Till  her  tongue  ache,  I  care  not.  By  this 
hand,  [body 

Thou  hast  a  handsome  face,  wench,  and  a 

Daintily  mounted ! — Now  do  I  feel  an  hun* 
dred 

Running  directly  from  me,  as  I  piss'd  it. 

Livid  discovered  a-hed,  and  Morpso  btf  her, 

Bianca.  Pray  draw  her  sofUy!  the  least 

hurry,  sir. 
Puts  her  to  much  impatience. 

Petron,  How  is't  daoghter?  [what 

Livia.  Oh,  very  sick,  very  sick;  yet  some- 
Better,  I  hope,  a  little  lightsonier. 
Because  this  good  man  has  forgiven  me. 
Pray  set  me  higher :  oh,  my  head ! 

Mianca   Well  done,  wench  ! 

Livia.  Father,  and  all  good  people  that 

shall  hear  me, 
I  have  abus'd  this  man  perniciously ; 
Was  never  old  man  humbled  so ;  I've  scorn 'd 

him,  [hiin. 

And  cali'd  hhn  nasty  names ;  I  have  spit  at 
Flung  candle/  ends  m's  beard,  and  cali'd  him 

Harrow,  [him. 

That  must  be  drawn  to  all  he  does;  contemned 
For  methought  then  he  was  a  beastly  fellow, 
(Oh,  God,  my  side!)  a  very  beastly  fellow* 
And  gave  it  out,  his  cassock  was  a  barge- 
cloth, 
Pawn'd  to  his  predecessor  by  a  scalier, 
The  man  ye^  living;  I  gave  liim  puiging  com- 
fits 
At  a  great  christning  once,  [night 

That  spoil'd  his  camblet  breechci;  and  one 
I  strew'd  tlie  stairs  with  pease,  as  he  pass'd 

down ;  [for't !) 

And  the  good  gentleman,  (woe  worth  me 
Ev'u  with  his  reverend  head,  this  head  of  wis* 

dom, 
Told  two  and  twenty  stairs,  good  and  true, 
Miss'd  not  a  step,  and  as  we  say,  verbatim 
Fell  to  tRe  bottom,  broke  his  casting-bottie^ 
Lost  a  fair  toad'^tone  of  some  eighteen  shil- 
lings, 
Jumbled  his  joints  togetlier,  had  two  stools. 
And  was  translated.     All  this  villainy 
Did  I;  I,  Livia;  I  alone,  untaught. 

Mor.  And  I,  iinask*d,  forgive  it* 

Livia,  Where*8  Bianca? 

Bianca.  Here,  cousin. 

Livia.  Give  me  drink. 

Bianca.  There. 

Livia.  Who's  tliat? 

'Mor,  Rowland.  TP'^^ 

Livia.  Oh,  my  dissembler,  you  and  Imust 
Come  nearer,  sir. 

RowL  I'm  sorry  for  your  sickness. 

j&ivta.  Be  sorry  for  yourself,  sir:  you  have 

wrong'd  me ; 
But  I  forgive  you.     Are  the  paocrs  rea<j|y? 

Bianco,  I  liave  'em  here:  will't please  yoa 

Petron.  Yes.  [view  'cm? 

Livia.  Shew  'em  the  young  man  too;  I 

know  he's  willing 


Act  5.  Scene  %]    TOE  WOMA*S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAM'D. 


163 


To  shift  his  sails  too;  'tis  for  his  more  ad- 
vancement : 
Alas,  we  might  have  hesgar*d  one  another; 
We  are  young  both,  ana  a  world  of  children 
Mkht  have  been  left  behind  to  curse  our 

tollies; 
We  had  been  undone,  Bianca,  had  we  married. 
Undone  for  ever.  I  confess  I  lovM  him 
(I  care  not  who  shall  know  it)  most  entirely; 
And  once,  apon  my  conscience,  he  lov'tl  iiie : 
Bat  farewell  that!  we  must  be  wiser,  consiii; 
Lo\e  most  not  leave  us  to  the  world.    Have 

you  done? 

Kotcl.  Yes,  and  am  ready  to  subscribe. 

JJvia.  Pray  stay  then. 
Give  nie  tlie  papers,  (and  let  me  peruse  them) 
And  so  much  tune  as  may  aftbrd  a  tear 
At  our  lust  parting. 

Bianco.  J'j-ay  retire,  and  leave  her; 
I'ii  call  ye  presently. 

tet.ron.  Come,  gentlemen; 
The  sliowcr  must  hill. 

KowL  'Would  I  had  never  seen  her! 

[Exeunt* 

Bianea,  Thou  hast  done  bravely,  wench. 

Livi0,  Pray  Heuv'n,  it  prove  so ! 
I  Biauca,  Tliere  are  the  other  papers :  when 

!  they  come, 

B<'E>in  yuu  iirst,  and  let  the  rest  subscribe 
Hard  by  your  side;  give  *em  as  little  light 
As  drapers  do  their  wares. 

Livia.  Didst  mark  Moroso,  [most 

I:i  what  aa  ^jjpny  he  was?  and  how  he  cried 
When  I  abnsd  him  most? 

Bianco.    That  was  but  reason. 

lAvia.  Oh,  what  a  stinking  thief  is  this! 
TJiu'  I  was  but  to  counterfeit,  he  made  me 
Directly  sick  indeed:  Thamea-street^  to  him, 
Is  a  mere  pomander. 

Bianco.  Let  him  be  hang'd ! 

J'ivia.  Amen! 

Bianca,  And  lie  you  still ; 
I         And  once  more  to  your  business ! 

Livia,  Call  'em  in. 
rviow,  if  there  be  a  power  that  pities  lovers^ 
!         Help  now,  and  hear  my  prayers! 

Enter   PetraniuSy    Rowland,    TraniOy    and 
MorotQ, 

Petrtm,  Is  she  ready?  [go  to  her. 

Bianco.  Sh'has  done  her  lamentations:  pray 

Livia.  Rowland,  come  near  me;  and,  her 

fore  you  seal,  [me ! 

Crive  me  your  hand:  take  it  again;  now  kiss 
This  is  the  last  acquaintance  we  must  have ! 
I  wish  you  ever  Imppy!  There's  the  paper. 

RowL  Pray  stay  a  little! 

Betrott.  Let  me  never  live  more, 
Bur  I  do  begin  to  pity  this  young  fellow; 
How  heartily  he  weeps! 

Bianco,  There's  pen  and  ink,  sir. 

Livia.  Ev'n  here,  I  pray  you :  'tis  a  little 

emblem 
Uow  nearyoo  have  been  to  me^ 

JlowL  llieie. 


Bianca.  Your  hands  too. 
As  witnesses. 

Petron.  By  any  means;  to  th'  book,  son. 

Mor.  With  all  my  heart. 

Bianca.  You  must  deliver  it.       [on  thee! 

Rofwi.  There,  Livia;  and  a  bsetter  love  light 
I  can  no  more. 

Bianca.  1  o  this  you  must  be  wiu^ess  too. 

Petron.  Wc  will, 

Bianca.  Do  ^^ou  delive/t  now. 

Livia.  Pray  set  rae  up.  [may 

Tltere,  Rowland,  all  thy  old  love  back;  and 
A  new  tp  come  exceed  mine,  and  be  happyi 
I  must  no  more. 

RowL  Farewell! 

JLivia.  A  long  fareviiell!     [Ktit  Rcrthnd, 

Bianca.  Leave  lit^r,  by  any  ii^eans,  till  tins 

wild  passion 
Be  off  h(?r  head.  Draw  all  tlie  curtains  close. 
A  day  hence  you  may  sec  her;    'twill  be 
She's  now  for  littje  company.  [bettw : 

Petron.  Pray  tend  her.  [aloni;  too, 

I  must  to  hoi-se  straight;   you  must  needs 
To  see  my  son  aboard:  wcj:e  hut  his  wife 
As  fit  for  pity  as  this  wench,  I  were  happy. 

Bianca.  Time  must  do  that  too.     2uu:e  ve 

well!  To-moJTOw 
You  shall  receive  a  wife  tp  qui^  your  sorrow, 

\Esmnt. 

SCENE  IL 

Enter  Jagues,    Pedro,    and  Pwtert^  with 

Chest  and  Uumpers^ 

Jayues.  Bring  'em  away,  sirs ! 

Pedro.  Must  the  great  trunks  go  too  ? 

Jaques.  Yes,  and  the  hampers.    Nay,  be 

speedy,  masters ! 
Hell  be  at  sea  before  us  else. 

^e</ro.  Oh,  Jaques! 
What  a  most  blessed  tum  J^ast  thou-—  • 

Jaquei.  I  hope  so.  [this  woman ! 

Pedro.  To  have  the  sea  between  thee  aud 
Nothing  can  drown  her  tt)|igue  but  a  storm. 

Jaques.  By  your  leave. 
We'll  get  lis  up  to  Paris  with  all  speed ; 
For,  on  my  s,oul,  as  far  as  Amiens 
She'll  carry  blank.     Away  to  Lyop^key, 
Aud  ship  'em  presently !  we'll  follow  ye. 

Pedro.  Now  could  I  wish  herin  that  trunk. 

Juques.  God  shield,  man! 
I  had  ratlier  have  a  bear  in*t. 

Pedro.  Yes,  Pll  Uill  you: 
For  in  the  passage,  if  a  tempest  take  you. 
As  many  do,  and  you  lie  beating  for  it, 
Then,  ii  it  pleas'd  tlie  fates,  I  would  have 

the  master, 
C)6t  of  a  powerful  providence,  to  cry,- 
'  Lighten  the  sliipof  all  hands,  or  we  perish;* 
1'hen  this  for  one,  as  best  ipar'd,  should  by 
Ovei^board  presently,  [all  means 

Jaqnes.  O*  that  condition. 
So  we  were  certain  to  be  rid  of  her, 
I  would  wish  her  with  as.  'But,  believe  me, 

Pedro,  [eter; 

She  would  «ipoil  the  jtshing  on  thi!>  couj»t  for 

Y*2  For 


164 


THE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  TIIE  TAMER  TAMTJ. 


[Act  5. 


Scene  3* 


For  none  would  keep  her  company  but  dog- 

As  currish  as  herself,  or  porpoises, 
ISIade  to  all  fatol  uses :  tlie  two  Fish-Streets, 
Were  she  but  once  arriv'd  ^mong  the  wliitings, 
Would  sing  a  woful  misertriy  Pedro, 
And  mourn  in  Poor-Jolm,  till  her  memory 
Were  cast  o' shore  again,  with  a  strons  sea- 
breach;  Ft>»^k, 
She  would  make  god  Neptune»  and  liis  fke-^ 
i\nd  all  his  demi-gods  and  goddesses,  » 
As  weary  of  the  Flemish  channel,  Pedro, 
Jis  ever  boy  was  of  thfi  8chc»ol ;  'tis  certain. 
If  she  butnieethim  fair,aiid  were  well  anger*d, 
She  would  break  his  god-head. 

Pedro,  Oh,  her  tongue,  her  tongue ! 

Jaguet.  Rather  her  many  tongues  I 

Peilro.  Or  rather  strange  tongues! 

Jaqnes,  Her  lying  tongue ! 

Pf.dro.  Her  iiping  tongue! 

Jaqucs.  Her  long  tongue ! 

Pedro.  Iler  lawless  tongue! 

Juques,  Her  loud  tongue ! 

Pedro,  And  her  liquorish — 

Jaquet.   Many  otiier  tongues,  and  many 

striM^gcr  tongues 
Than  ever  Babel  had  to  tell  his  ruins, 
Were  women  rais'd  withal;  but  neer  a  true 

Enter  Sophoclct, 

;iiflph.  Home  with  your  stuff  again!  tiie 

jouniey's  ended. 

'jaqucs.  What  does  your  worship  mean,^ 

Soph.  Your  raaster-nOh,  Petruchjg!  Oh, 

poor  frUows! 

Pedro,  Oh,  Jiiques,  Jaques! 

Soph.  Oh,  your  master's  dead, 
His  body  coming  back!  His  wiJie,  his  devil. 
The  grief  of  her*"'*-— 

Jaques.  Has  killed  him? 

Soph.  Kill'd  him,^kiird  him! 

Pedro,  Is  thcjne  no  law  to  hang  her  ? 

S^ypk.  Get  ye  in, 
And  let  her  know  her  misery:  I  dare  pot. 
For  feiir  impatience  seize  me,  se«  her  more; 
J  must  away  again.     Bid  her  for  wiferhood, 
lor  iionesty,  if  she  have  any  in  her, 
F/en  to  avoid  the  slwrnc  that  follows  lier, 
Crv  if  she  caij.    Your  weeping  c*nnotinend 

U.  •  [tell  her) 

The  body  will  be  here  within  this  hour,  (so 
And  all  hi«  friends  to  curse  her.    Farewdl, 

fellows!  [i^*^- 

Vedro,  Oh,  Jaques,  Jaques ! 

Jaques.  Oh,  my  worthy  master!       flier— 

Pedro,  Oh,  my  most  beastly  mistress!  Hang 


Jaquef*  Split  her — 
Pedro,  Drown  her  directly — 
Jaques,  Starve  her — 
Pedro.  Stink  upon  her —  [be  <  ^ 

Jaques.  Stone  her  to  death !  May  ail  she  eat 
'Till  she  run  kickiog-mad  for  men! 

Pedro.  And  he. 
That  man  that  gives  her  remedy,  pray  Heai'ii 
He  may  ev'n  ipso  facto  lose  his  longings  ^^ ! 
Jaques.  Let's  go  discbarge  oun»elves;  an^ 
he  that  serves  her. 
Or  speaks  a  good  word  of  her  from  this  hour, 
A  sedgly  curse  light  on  him;  which  is,  Pedro 
The  iiend  ride  thro'  him  l>ooted  and  spurr*d» 
with  a  scythe  at's  back  1  [jixcuntm 

SCENE  iir. 

Enter  Rowland,  and  Tranio  stealing  behind 
him. 

RowL  What  a  dull  ass  was  I  to  let  her  go 

thus !  [P<^p^r, 

Upon  my  life,  she  loves  me  still.     Well, 
Thou  only  monument  of  what  Fve  had, 
Thou  .all  the  love  now  left  me,  and  now  lost. 
Let  me  yet  kiss  her.hand,  yet  take  my  leave 
Of  what  I  must  leave  ever.     Farewell,  Livia ! 
Oh,  bitter  words,  I'll  read  ye  once  again. 
And  then  for  ever  study  to  forget  ye. — 
How's  this?  let  me  look   better  on*t!   A 

contract  ? 
By  Heaven,  a  contract,  sealed  and  ratified. 
Her  father's  hand  set  to  it,  and  Moroso's  1 
I  do  not  dream  sure !  Let  me  read  again : 
The  same  still ;  'tis  a  contract ! 

Tra.  'TIS  so,  Rowland ; 
And,  by  the  virtue  ot'  the  same,  you  pay  me 
An  hmidred  pound  to-morrow. 

Rowl,  Art  sure,  Tranio, 
We're  botli  alive  now  ? 

Tra,  Wonder  not;  you've  lost. 

Rowl,  If  this  be  true,  I  grant  it. 

Ira.  Tis  most  certain ! 
There's  a  ring  for  you  too;  you  know  it? 

Roa;L  Yes. 

Tra.  When  shall  I  have  mv  mojiey? 

Rowl,  Stuy  you,  stay  you  f 
When  shall  i  marry  her?       '^ 

Tra.  Tornight. 

Rowl.  Take  heed  now 
You  do  not  trille  with  me:  if  you  do. 
You'll  find  more  payment  than  your  money 

comes  to  I 
Coine,  swear  (I  know  I  am  a  man,  and  find 
I  may  deceive  myself),  swe^r  faithfully. 
Swear  me  directly,  a^i  I  Rowland? 

Tra.  Yes. 

Rowl.  Am  I  awake? 

''*  The  grief  qf^bfr,]  So  tlifi  former  copi^;  but  wvcly  the  dash  sliouid  be  after  Aer, 
osteiid  of  before : 

The  grief  of  A«r — 
Jaquex.  Has  killM  him  ?  -v 

The  grief  of  her  «gni/fcs,  his  grief  occasioned  by  her. 
"  Lose  his  lonuinws.]  So  hrst  folio;  other  copies, 
lose  his  Jtiddiifg. 


Acts.  Scene  4.1    THE  WOMAN'S  P»IZE;  OR,  TIIE  TAMER  TAWD. 


165 


Tra,  Yott  are. 

BowL  Aoi  I  iQ  health? 

Ira,  As  far  as  I  conceive. 

KotcL  Was  I  ^vith  Li  via? 

Tra.  You  were,  and  had  this  contract. 

HoicL  And  shall  T  enjoy  her? 

Tra.  Yes,  if  you  dare. 

Bowl.  Swear  to  all  these. 

TVo.  I  will.  [conscience, 

UowL  As  thoa  art  honest,  as  thou  base  a 
As  that  may  wring  thee  if  thou  liest ;  all  these 
To  be  no  vision,  but  a  truth,  and  serious ! 

Tra,  Then,  by  my  honesty,  and  faith,  and 
All  tbis  is  certain.         •  [conscipn.ee, 

RowL  Let's  remove  our  places'*. 
Swear  it  again. 

Tra.  By  Heaven,  it  is  true.  [Vm  glad  on't. 

Koti'L  1  have  lost  then,  and  Heaven  knows 
Let  s  go ;  and  tell  nie  all,  and  t^U  me  how, 
¥or  yet  I  am  a  Fu^an  in't. 

Tra,  1  have  a  priest  too; 
Aud  ail  shall  come  as  even  a3  two  testers. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  IV. 

Enter  Petronius,    Sophocles^    Minvso^    and 
Petruchio  borne  in  a  Cirffin, 

Pctron,  Set  down  the  body,  and  one  call 
her  out  I  ' 

Enten^Iaria  in  black,  and  Jaqva, 

Yoa're  welcome  to  the  last  cast  of  your  for- 
tunes! [husband; 
There  lies  your  husband ;    there,  your  loving 
There  he  Umt  was  Petnicljio,  too  good  for 

you!  [him, 

Yuor  stobbom  and  unworthy  way  has  Icill'd 
Kre  be  could  reach  the  sea:  iV  you  can  weep, 
Xow  you  have  cause;  begin,  and  idter  death 
Do  toinething  yet  to  th*  vyorld,   to  think  you 

honest. 
So  many  tears  had  sav'd  him,  shed  in  time; 
•And  as  they  arc  (so  a  |:^od  niin^  go  witli'em) 
Yet  thoy  may  move  cum{>assion. 

Maria.  Pray  ye  all  hear  me, 
And  judge  me  as  I  am,  not  as  you  covet. 
For  that  would  make  me  yet  more  miserable : 
Tis  true,  I've  cause  to  grieve,  and  mighty 

cRosc; 
And  traly  and  unfeignedly  I  weep  it. 

Soph.  1  see  there's  some  good  nature  left 

in  her.  [not;  not  this  man, 

Maria,  But  what's  the  cause?  Mistake  me 
As  he  is  dead,  I  weep  for;  Heav'n  defend  it ! 
I  never  was  so  childish :  but  his  life, 
His  poor,  unmanly,  wretched,  foolish  life,  [ing. 
Is  that  my  full  eyes  pity;  there's  nay  mourn- 

^'  LtVs  Tcmtfct  cur  places^  This  is' plainly  a  sneer  at  tlie  scene  in  Hamlet,  whore  (on 
account  of  the  Ghost  calling  under  tlie  sti\ce)  the  prince  and  his  friends  two  or  three  timtt,& 
Rnove  their  situations. — Again,  in  this  play,  p.  145,  Petruchio's  sayings 

Soraetliing  1*11  do ;  but  what  it  is,  I  know  not ! 
xtms  to  be  meant  as  a  ridicule  on  Lear's  passionate  exclamation^ 

■'  i—  I  will  do  such  things— 

What  they  are^  yet  I  know  not !  J.  ^» 

.Till 


Petron,  Dost  thou  not  shame? 

Maria,  I  do,  and  e'en  to  water,  [simple. 
To  think  what  this  man  was;  to  thiuk  how 
How  far  below  a  man,  how  fiir  from  reason, 
From  common  understanding,  and  all  gentrv , 
While  he  was  living  here,  he  walk'd  amongst 

us. 
He  had  a  happy  turn,  he  died !  Ill  tell  ye. 
These  are  the  wants  I  weep  for,  not  his  per* 

son; 
The  memory  of  this  man,  had  he  liv*d 
But  two  years  longer,  had  begot  more  folhes^ 
Thau  wealthy  autumn  flies.  But  let  him  rest. 
He  wus  a  fool,  and  iarcwell  he !  not  pitied, 
I  mean  in  way  of  life,  or  action. 
By  any  understanding  man  that's  honest, 
But  only  in's  posterit^r,  which  I, 
Out  of  the  fear  his  ruins  might  outrlive  liim 
In  some  bad  issue,  like  a  careful  woman. 
Like  one  indeed  bom  oidy  to  preser^'e  him^ 
Denied  him  means  to  raise. 

Petru.  Unbutton  me! 
Oh,  God,  I  die  indeed  else! — Oh,  Maria, 
Oh,  my  unhappiness,  my  misery !  [lie  perish, 

Petron*  Go  to  him,  whore!  By  Heaven,  it' 
I'll  see  thee  hang'd  myself! 

Petru,  Why,  why,  Maria — 

Maria.  I  ve  done  my  worst,  and  have  my 

end :  forgive  me !  [I've  tam*d  you. 

From  this  hour  make  me  wnat  yau  please : 
And  now  am  vow*d  your  servant.    Look  not 

strangely,  [me  ? 

Nor  ftar  what  I  say  to  you.    Dare  you  kis» 
Thus  I  begin  my  new  love. 

Petm,  Once  again ! 

Maria.  With  all  my  heart. 

Petru,  Once  again,  Maria ! 
Oh,  gentlemen,  I  know  not  where  I  am. 

&)ph.   Get  ye  to  bed  then;  there  you*I1 

quickly  know,  sir. 

Pctnt,  Never  no  more  your  old  tricks  ? 

Maria,  Never,  sir.  [a  faith, 

Petrit,  You  shall  not  need ;  for,  as  I  have 
No  cause  shall  give  occasion. 

Maria.  As  I  tun  honest. 
And  as  1  am  a  maid  yet,  all  my  life 
From  this  hour,  since  you  make  so  free  pro- 
fession, 
I  dedicate  in  service  to  your  pleasure. 

Soph,  Ay,  marry,  this  goes  roundly  off! 

Petru,  Go,  Jaques,  [n^y#^ 

Get  all  tlie  best  meat  may  be  bought  for  mo- 
And  let  tlie  hogsheads  blood :  I'm  born  n<;ain ! 
Well,  little  England,  when  I  see  a  husband 
Of  any  other  nation,  stem  or  jealous, 
I'll  wish  him  but  a  woman  of  thy  breeduig ; 
And  if  he  have  not  butter  to  his  bread 


166 


1-HE  WOMAN'S  PRIZE;  OR,  THE  TAMER  TAMTD.    [Act5.  Scene  4, 


'Till  his  teeth  bleed,  I'll  never  trust  my  tra- 
vel. 

Enter  BxmUmdy  Livioy  BiancOf  and  Tranio, 

Petron,  What  have  we  here? 

Rowl,  Anothermorris,  sir, 
Thae  you  must  pipe  to. 

Tra.  A  poor  married  couple 
Desire  an  ofiering^  sir. 

Bianca.  Never  frown  at  it; 
You  cannot  mend  it  now:  there's  your  own 

hand, 
And  yours,  Moroso,  to  confirm  the  bargain. 

Fetron.  My  hwud? 

JIf or.  Or  wine  ? 

BioTicfi.  You'll  find  it  80, 

Petron.  A  triclc, 
By  Heaven,  a  trick  ! 

Bianca.  Yes,  sir,  we  trick'd  you. 

Livia,  Father — 

Petron.  Hast  tiiou  lain  with  him?  Speak ! 

Livia,  Yes,  truly,  sir. 

Petron,  And  hast  thou  done  the  deed,  boy? 


RowL  I  have  done,  sir, 
That  that  will  serve  the  turn,  I  think. 

Petru.  A  match  then  ! 
Ill  be  the  inaker-up  of  this.    Moroso^ 
There's  now  no  remedy,  you  see:  be  willing;; 
For  be,  or  be  not,  he  must  have  the  wencli. 

Mor,  Since  I  am  over-reach*d,  let's  in  tu 
And,  if  I  can,  I'll  drink't  away.         [dinner ; 

Tra.  That's  well  said  !      [trick :  look  to't, 

Petron,  Well,  sirruh,  you  have  play'd  a 
And  let  me  be  a  gnuidsir^  withip  this  twelve* 

month,  [tunes ! 

Or,  by  this  hand,  Fil  curtail   half  vour  for- 

Rmcl.  There  shall  not  >vantmy  labour,  sir. 
Here*s  one  has  undertaken.        (Your  money 

Tra.  Well,  I'll  trust  her; 
Aud  glad  I  have  so  good  a  pasvn. 

Roa/.  ri I  watch  you.         [and  be  jovial ! 

Petru,  Let's  in,  and  drink  of  all  hands, 
I  have  my  colt  again,  and  now  she  carries: 
And,  gentlemen,  whoever  marries  next.. 
Let  him  be  sure  he  keep  him  to  his  text. 

[Exeunt, 


EPILOGUE. 


Tn£  Tamer's  TamM;   but  so^  as  nor  die 

men 
Can  find  one  jui>t  cause  to  complain  of,  when 
I'hey  fitly  do  ccmsider,  in  their  lives 
1  liey  should  uot  reign  bs  tyrants  o'er  their 

wives  e 
Nor  can  the  women,  from  this  precedent, 
Iiisulty  or  triumph^  it  being  apdy  meant. 


To  teach  both  sexes  due  equality. 

And,  as  they  stand  bound,  to  love  mutually, 

If  this  effect,  arising  from  a  cause 

Well  laid  and  grounded,  may  de»er%'e  apt 

plause,  [ends 

We  something  more  than  hope,  our  houes( 
Will  keep  the  men,  and  women  too,  ouf 

friends. 


THE 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


A  COMEDY. 


The  Commendatoiy  Verses  by  Gardiner  ascribe  this  Play  solely  to  Fletcher;  but  the 
Prologue  speaks  of  it  as  the  production  of  both  Authors.  It  was  altered  and  revi\ed  by 
Durfey,  in  the  year  1688,  under  tlie  title  of  The  l-ool's  Preferment,  or  The  Three  Du^Les 
of  Dunstable,  and  acted  at  the  Queen's  Theatre  in  DorsetrGardens. 


PROLOGUE. 


Wit  is  become  nn  antick,  and  puts  on 
As  mauy  shapes  of  variation, 
To  court  the  time*s  applause,  as  the  tiroes 
dare  [rare 

Change  several  fashions :  nothing  is  thought 
Whi'vli  is  not  new,  and  followed;  yet  we  know 
That  whnt  was  worn  some  twenty  years  ago 


Comes  into  grace  ag^iQ :  &nd  we  ptiraue 
That  custom,  by  presenting  to  your  view 
A  play  in  fashion  then,  not  doubting  now 
But  'twill  appear  the  same,  if  you  allow 
Worth  to  tneir  noble  memory,  whose  name. 
Beyond  all  power  of  death,  lives  in  their 
mme. 


PERSONS  REPllESENTED. 


Men. 

Marine,  the  Noble  Gentleman. 
Jaques,  an  old  Stfvnnt  in  Marines  family, 
Clekimosf,  Cousin  to  Marine* 
Gentleman,  Servant y  or  Suitor,  to  Mariners 

Wife. 
LoJiGUEviLLE,  ^  tico  Courticrs  that  plot  to 
Beaufort,       J     abu$e  Marine, 
Shathlliok,  a  Lord,  mad  for  lave. 


D0ClT0|l. 

Pkce. 

Gkntlemes. 
Servants. 

WoMEy. 

Ladt,  Wife  to  Marine,  a  witty  Wantorr, 
Wife  to  Clerimont. 
Shattillion's  Love,  a  virtuom  Virf^in. 
Maria,  attendant  on  Mxtrine^s  Wife*' 


SCENE,  France. 


ACT    L 


Enter  Marine  and  Jaques, 

Marine.TATllAT  happiness  waits  on  the 

^^      life  at  court, 
What  dear  content,  greatness,  delight  and 

esse !  [honour, 

Wliat  ever-springing  hopes,  what   tides  of 
That  raise  their  fortunes  to  the  lieight  of 

wishes!  [nature. 

What  can  be  more  in  man,  what  more  in 


Than  to  be  great  and  fear*d  ?  A  courtier, 
A  noble  courtier!-  Tis  a  name  that  draws 
Wonder  and  duty  from  all  eves  and  knees. 

Jaques.  And  so  your  worship's  land  within 

the  walls, 
Where  yon  bhall  have  it  all  enclos*d,an'l  sure. 

Mar.  Peace,  knave*,  dull  creature,  bred 

of  sweat  and  smoke. 
These  mysteries  are  far  above  tliy  faith : 
But  thou  shalt  see— 

Jtujvr  , 


168 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


Jaques4  And  then  I  fthall  believe. 
Your  fair  rcvenaes,  turnVi  into  fair  suits ; 
I  shall  believe  your  tenants  bruised  and  rent, 
tJnder  the  weight  of  coaches;  all  your  state 
Drawn  thro*  the  streets  in  triumph;  suits  for 

places 
Plied  with  a  mine  of  gold,  and  heinc;  got 
Fed  with  a  great  stream.    1  shall  believe  all 

this.  ,  fglorious. — 

Mar.  You  shall  believe,  atfa  know  me 
Cousin,  good  day  and  health! 

Enter  CUrimont, 

Clcr.  The  s;une  to  you,  sir;  fknow 

And  more,  witbuut  my  wishes,  coulifi  you 
What    calm   content  dwells  in   a  private 

house ' — 
Yet  look  into  yonrself;  retire!  This  place 
Of  promises,  and  protestations,  fits       [this; 
Minds  only  bent  to  ruin :  you  sliould  know 
You  have  their  language  perfect ;  you  liave 

tutors 
I  do  not  doubt,  sufficient :  but  beware ! 

Mar,  You  are  merry,  cousin. 

Cler.  Yet  your  patience; 
You  sliall  leam  that  too,  but  not  like  itself^ 
Where  it  is  held  a  virtue.    Tell  me,  sir. 
Have  you  cast  up  your  suite,  rated' your  land. 
And  find  it  able  to  endure  the  change 
Of  time  and  fashion  ?  Is  it  always  harvest  ? 
Always  vintage?  Have  you  ships  at  sea, 
To   bring   ^ou  gold  and  stone  from  rich 

Peru, 
Monthly  returning  treasure  f  Dotii  the  king 
Open  his  large  exchequer  to  your  hands. 
And  bid  vou  be  a  great  man?  Can  your  wife 
Coin  ofiT  her  beauty  ?  or  the  week  allow 
Suits  to  each  day,  and  know  no  ebb  hi 

hononr? 
If  these  be  possible,  and  can  hold  out. 
Then  be  a  courtier  still,  and  still  be  wasting! 

Afar.  Cousin,  pray  give  me  Ic^ave ! 

C/er,  I  have  done.  [strain 

Mar,  I  could  requite  yonr  gall,  and  in  a 
As  bitter,  and  lull  of  rhubarb,  preach 
Against  your  country  life;  but  tis  below taie^ 
And  only  subject  to  "my  pity  I  Know, 
IHie  eminent  court,  to  them  that  can  be  wise, 
And  fasten  on  her  blessings,  is  a  sun 
That  draws  men  up  from  coarse  and  earthly 

being, 
(I  mean  these  men  of  merit  that  have  power 
And  reason  to  make  good  her  benefits) 


[Act  1. 

Learns  them  a  manly  t>oIdness,  gives  tlieir 

tongues  [please. 

Sweetness  of  language,  makes  them  apt  to 
Files  oflF  all  nideness  and  uncivil  4iaviour^ 
Shews  them  as  neat  in  carriage  as  in  daaths* 
Cousin,  have  you  e'er  seen  the  court  ?- 
'    Cler,  No,  sir ; 
Nor  am  I  vet  in  travail  witli  tliat  longing. 

Mar,  oil,  the  state  [found 

And  greatness  of  tliat  place,  where  men  arc 
Only  to  give  the  first  creation  glory ! 
Thost^  are  the  nioilels  of  the  ancient  world. 
Left  like  the  Konian  statues  to  stir  up 
Our  fulbwing  hopes;  the  place  itself  puts  on 
The  brow  of  majesty,  and  flings  her  lustre 
Like  tlie  air  newly  lightened ;  form,  and  order, 
Are  only  there  themselves,  unforc'd,   aud 

sound, 
As  they  were  first  created  to  this  place. 

Cler.  You  nobly  came,  but  will  go  from 

thence  base!  fceit; 

Mar.  Twas  very  pretty,  and  a  sjood  con- 
Yon  have  a  wit,  good  cousin :  I  do  joy  in*t; 
Keep  it  for  court.     But  to  myself  asiaio ! 
When  I  have  view'd   these  pieces,  tun/d 

these  eyes. 
And,  with  some  taste  of  superstition, 
Look'd  on  the  wealth  of  nature,  the   fiiir 

dames,  [shew 

Beauties,  that  light  the  court,  and  make  it 
Like  a  fair  heaven  in  a  frosty  night. 
And  'raongst  thcbc  mine,  not  poorest — ^Ti* 

for  tongues 
Of  blessed  poets,  such  as  Orpheus  was. 
To  give  tlieir  worth  and  praises!  Oh,  dear 

cousin, 
You  have  a  wife,  and  fair;  bring  her  hitlier,. 
Let  her  not  live  to  be  tlic  mistress  of 
A  fanner's  heir,  and  be  confined  ever 
T*  a  searge,  tar  coarser  than  m^-  horse-cloth  ? 
Let  her  have  velvets,  tithnies,  jewels,  pearls, 
A  coach,  an  usher,  and  her  two  lacquies ; 
And  I  will  send  my  wife  to  give  her  rules. 
And  read  the  rudiments  of  court  to  her. 

Clcr.  Sir,  I  had  rather  send  her  to  \'ir* 

ginia*. 
To  help  to  propagate  the  English  nation. 

Enter  a  Servant, 

Mar,  Sirrah,  how  slept  your  mistress,  and 
Are  to  pay  service?  [what  visitant* 

Serv.  Sir,  as  I  came  out. 
Two  counts  were  newly  cuter'd.. 


'  And  more,  without  my  wishes,  could  you  know 
What  calm  content  dwells  in  a  private  Aot/se.]  We  do  not  quite  understand  these  two 
lines  ^the  meaning,  though  obscurely  expressed,  seems  to  be,  'I  wish  you  happiness;  which 

*  you  might  have,  and  more,  without  my  wishes,  if  you  knew  Uie  comforts  of  a  private  life.* 

2  Vu^giaia^  Tlie  attempt  to  settle  Vii^pnia  was  at  first  very  unsuccessful,  and  many  re* 
ports  wei'e  propagated,  which  made  it  difficult  to  procure  any  persons  to  venture  thither: 
to  these  circumstances  the  author  plainly  alludes.  Among  the  pamphlets  published  about 
this  period  was  the  following :  <  A  true  declaration  of  the  eatate  of  the  Colonie  io  Virginia; 

*  with  a  confutation  of  such  scandalous  reports  as  have  tended  to  the  disgrace  of  so  worthy 
*>  an  enterprise.  Published  by  iMlvise  and  directum  of  the  Couoceli  oi  Virginia.'  4to. 
1610.        R. 

/  Jfcfcr. 


Aai.} 


Tdk  NOBLB  OEKTUMAN. 


169 


Mkt,  Tfatt  is  greatiicti; 
B«t  fiswmch  lervants  wait  a  country  beanty. 

Ckr.  Tbey  are  t^  more  to  thank  their 

modcstyt 
Ood  keep  my  wifie^  and  all  my  ime  female, 
Fran  inch  uprisings ! 

Enter  Doctor. 
l^Iar.  What,  my  learned  Doctor! 
Yoa  will  be  welcome:  give  her  health  and 

JOQthy 

And  I  will  give  you  gold.         [Exit  Doctor. 
.Cousin,  bow  savours  this?  ts  it  not  sweet, 
And  very  great?  tastes  it  not  of  nobleness  ? 

Cler,  Vaith,  sir,  my  palate  is  too  dull  and 

luy; 
!  Gsnoot  taste  it;  'tis  not  for  my  relish : 
Bot  be  so  stiU !  since  your  own  niist^ry 
klost  fint  reclaim  you;  to  which  I  leave  you, 

sir! 
If  yoo  will  yet  be  happy,  leave  the  humour. 
And  base  subjectiou  to  your  wife ;  be  wise, 
And  let  her  know  with  speed"  you  are  her 

husband! 
I  shall  be  glad  to  hear  iL    My  horse  is  sent 

ibr.  [Exit. 

'  Mar.  Even  such  anotlier  country  thing 

ttthis 
'  Was  I;  such  a  piece  of  dirt,  so  heavy, 
So  provident  to  heap  up  ignorance, 
And  be  an  ass ;  such  musty  cloaths  wore  I, 
80  oU  and  thread-bare:  I  do  yet  reme|iibcr 
Divers  young  gallants,  lighting  at  my  gate 
To  see  my  honoured  wife,  have  offer'd  pence. 
And  bid  me  walk  their  horses.  Such  a  slave 
Was  I  in  show  then ;  but  my  eyes  are  opened. 

Enter  Lady. 
Hany  sweet  morrows  to  mv  worthy  wife ! 

Ladif.  iris  well,  and  aptly  giv*n ;  as  much 

for  you  I 
Bat  to  my  present  business,  which  is  money. 

Mar.  Lady,  I  have  none  left.      [imagine 

Ia^.  I  hope  you  dare  not  say  so,  nor 
fit  base  and  low  a  thought:  *  I  have  none 

left?' 
Are  these  words  6tting  for  a  man  of  worth,  , 
And  one  of  your  full  credit?  Do  you  know 
The  place  you  live  in?  me?  and  what  1  lih 

hour 
for  TOO,  and  your  advancement? 

mr.  Yea,  ttiy  dearest.       [slight  answer, 

htdi/.  And  do  you  pop  me  off  witli  this 
Is  trqjth,  *  I  have  none  left?*  In  troth,  you 

mast  have ! 

'  Bond.]  i.  e.  Bond;  the  ancient  mode  of  spelling  the  word: 
'  Since  fiaith  could  get  no  credit  at  li:s  hand, 
'  I  seut  him  word  to  come  and  suemy  band*     Churchj/areTsChallengCyp.  153. 

*  Or  mighty  statutes,  4'c-]  'Th^  poet  me.ms  cither  statute  t/ierchant,  or  statute  staple^  or 
l^  (What  the  meaning  of  these  terms  are,  any  technical  dictionary  will  inform  my 
'cttiers).  The  mention  of  them  we  find  in  Uomlet,  and  over  and  over  again  in  Bon  Jon« 
iOQ^s  Staple  of  News,  Syinpson. 

,  '  We  levied  at  90  iong.]  Mr.  Theobald  saw  with  me,  that  this  oversight  mn^t  take  its  birth 
&o  where  but  at  the  press ;  and  yet  it  is  upwards  of  an  hundred  years  old.  Sympson. 

^  AndVnoYf  lik€  him.]  Wo  apprehend  tne  true  reading  to  be  iw^  iayttad of  Anov. 

voLni.  z  Tmt 


Nay,  stare  not;  'tis  most  true;  send  speedily 
To  ail  that  love  you,  let  your  people  fly 
Like  thunder  thro'  the  city,  and  not  return 
Under  five  thousand  crowns.  Try  ali^  tak« 

all; 
Let  not  a  worthy  merchant  be  untempted. 
Or  any  one  that  hath  the  name  of  money ; 
Take  up  at  any  use;  give  band^,  or  land. 
Or  mighty  statutes^,  able  by  their  strength 
To  tie  up  Samson  were  he  now  alive, 
There  must  be  money  gotten ;  for,  be  per- 
suaded, 
if  we  fall  now,  or  be  but  seen  to  shrink 
Under  our  fair  beginnings,  'tis  our  ruin, 
And  then  good  ni^ht  to  all  but  our  disgrace ! 
Farewell,  the  hope  of  coming  happiness. 
And  all  tlie  ausa  we  levellM  at  so  long' ! 
Are  you  not  mov*d  at  this?  No  sense  of 

want. 
Towards  yourself  yet  breeding  ? 
Be  old,  and  common,  jaded  to  the  eves 
Of  grooms,  and  pages,  chambennaias,  and 

guarders ;  [house  in  order 

And  when  you  luve  done,  pot  vour  poor 
And  hang  yourself!  for  such  must  be  the  end 
Of  him  that  willingly  forsakes  his  hopes. 
And  hath  a  joy  to  tumble  to  his  ruin« 
All  that  I  say  is  certaip;  if  you  fail. 
Do  not  impute  me  with  it;  I  am  clear. 

Mar,  Now  Hcav'u  forbid  I  should  do 

wrong  to  you,  [leave 

My  dcarcht'  wife,  apd  madam !    Yet  give 
To  your  poor  creature  to  unfold  himselft 
You  know  my  debts  are  many  more  than 

means. 
My  bauds  not  taken  in,  my  friends  at  home 
Drawn  dry  with  these  espeugcs,  my  poor 

tenants  *  [coura^ 

Mote  full  of  want  than  we ;  then  what  new 
Can  I  beget  to  raise  those  crowns  by?  Speak, 
And  I  sMl  execute. 

Lady.  Pray  tell  me  true; 
Have  >ou  not  land  in  the  country? 

Mar.  Pardon  me  f  * 

I  had  forgot  it* 

Lady.  Sir,  you  must  remember  it ; 
There  is  no  remedy:  this  land  must  be 
In  Paris  ere  to*moiTo\v  night. 

Mar.  It  shall. 
Let  me  consider:  some  three  hundred  acres 
Will  serve  tlie  turn. 

Lady,  Twill  furnish  at  all  points,  [him^ 
Now  yon  speak  like  yourself,  and  know  lik^ 
That  means  to  be  a  man ;  suspect  no  lesi^ 


17t 


THE  NOBLE  GENtLEMAlif. 


[Act  t 


Shat,  Art  yon  in  oauncilf ' 

Love.  No,  sir,  nor  any  of  my  sfx. 

ShaL  Why,  so? 
If  you  bad  been  in  conncil,  you  Would  know 
Her  tnne  to  be  but  slender ;  she  must  d^. 

Lave.  I  do  believe  it,  sir. 

Shat,  And  suddenly; 
She  stands  tog  near  a  fortune; 
.   Lave.  Sir? 
jr^hat.  Tisso; 
Tnere  is  no  jesting  with  a  princess  tide. 
Would  we  had  both  been  bom  of  commoq 

parents,  • 

And  liv*d  a  private  and  retir'd  life 
In  homely  cottage  I  we  had  then  enjoy'd 
Our  lo%'es,  and  oar  embraces;  these  are  thingi 
That  cannot  tend  to  treason. 

Lofoe.  I  am  wretched  ! 

Shat.  Oh, 
I  pray  as  often  for  the  king  as  any, 
And  with  as  true  a  heart,  for  his  continuance; 
And  do  moreover  pray  his  heirs  may  live, 
And  thfir  fair  issues;  then,  as  I  am  bonnd, 
For  all  the  states  and  commons:  if  tliesi) 

prayers 
Be  any  ^nys  ambitions,  I  submit. 
And  lay  my  head  down;  let  Vm  take  it  off! 
You  may  inform  against  me ;  but  withal 
Remember  my  obedience  to  the  crowQ, 
And  sernce  to  the  state. 

Lewe.  Good  sir,  I  love  you.        [with  me, 

Shut,  Then  love  th^  gracious  king,  and  say 
Heav*n  save  his  grace ! 

Lave*  Hcav'n  save  his  grace'' ! 

ShiU*  This  is  strange, 
A  woruan  should  be  sent  to  qndermine  mei 
And  bu^  love  into  me  to  try  my  spirit ; 
Otfer  roe  kisses,  and  enticing  follies. 
To  make  me  open  and  betray  myself: 
It  was  a  subtle  and  a  dangerous  plot. 
And  very  soundly  followed ! — Farewell,  hidy? 
Let  me  have  equal  hearing,  and  relate 
I  am  an  honest  man.    Ueav*n  save  the  king| 

[£n/. 

Lave.  I'll  never  }eave  him,  *till,  by  art  or 

prayer, 
I  have  restor*d  his  senses:  If  I  make 
Him  perfect  man  again,  he's  mine ;  'till  whe4| 
I  here  abjure  all  loves  of  other  men  ! 

[ExiU 

Enitr  CUerinmnt  ond  Jagues. 

Jaqves.  Nay,  good  sir,  be  persuaded !  0^ 

but  back, 
And  tell  him  he's  i^ndone;  say  npthinjg  else, 
And  you  shall  see  bow  things  will  work  upon  t. 

Cter.  Not  90f  good  Jaques !  I  am  held  an 

ass, 
A  country  fbpl,  good  to  eenverte  with  dirt, 

'3  Shat.  nen  love  the  graeioui  kmgf  and  iay  with  me— 

Love.  Heaven  gave  hit  grace.]  But  may  we  not  reasonably  ask.  How  could  his  Lave  knon 
w)mt  he  would  say,  till  he  himself  had  said  it?  And  if  S0|  then  we  should  surely  read  thu9| 
—  then  say  with  me  ^ 

Hea^dn  tcve  hit  grace. 
Late.  Henv'n  save  hi;  grace.  Sytujft^n.  Asd 


You  may  sospect,  and  well,  there*s  poison 

int. 
Powder,  or  wild-fire;  but  'tb  nothing  so. 

Cler.  I  do  believe  you,  sir;   *tis  a  plaiii 

cross;-  [the  King, 

Shat.  Tlien  do  your  wor^t,  I  care  not!  Tell 
Let  him  know  ail  this,  as  Vm  sure  he  shall; 
When  you  have  spit  your  venom,  then  will  I 
Stand  up  a  foithful  and  a  loyal  subject. 
And>  so,  God  save  his  grace !   This  is  no 

treason. 

Cler,  He  is  March  mad:  farewell,  monsieur! 

[Exit. 

Shat.  Farewell! 
t  shall  be  here  attending.    Tis  my  life 
They  aim  at;  there's  no  way  to  save  it.  Well, 
Let  em  spread  all  their  nets,  they  shall  not 

draw  me 
Into  any  open  treason :  I  can  see. 
And  can  beware;  I  have  my  wits  about  me, 
I  thank  Heaven  for  it ! 

Enter  Lave, 

Zote.  There  he  fioes,  [bred, 

That  was  the  fairest  hope  the  French  court 
The  worthiest  and  the  swectest-temperM  spi- 
rit, ("judgment 
The  truest  and  the  valiantest,  the  best  of 
Till  most  unhappy  I  sever*d  those  virtues^ 
And  turn'd  his  wit  wild  with  a  coy  denial; 
Which  Heav'n  forgive  me  V  And  be  pleas'd, 

oh,  FIeav*n, 
To  give  again  his  senses,  that  my  love 
May  strike  off  all  my  follies ! 

ihat.  Lady! 

Love,  Ay,  sir. 

Shat.  Your  will  with  rae»  sweet  lady? 

Xooe.  Sir,  I  come —  [know  it,  la?ly : 

Shat.  From  the  dread  sovereign  king;  I 
He  is  a  gracious  prince ;  long  may  he  live  I 
Pertain  you  to  his  chamber? 

Love.  No,  indeed,  sir;  [me? 

That  place  is  not  for  women.   Do  you  know 

Shat.  Yes,  I  do  know  you. 

Lave.  What's  my  name?  Pray  you  speak. 
'Shat.  That's  all  one;  I  do  know  you  and 

your  business : 
You  are  discover*d,  lady!  I  am  wary; 
It  stands  upon  my  life.    Pray  excuse  me ! 
The  best  mau  of  this  kingdom  sent  you  hither. 
To  dive  into  me:  Have  I  touched  you?  ha? 

Love.  You  are  deceiv*d,  sir;  I  come  from 

your  Lore,  [kisses. 

That  sends^  you  fair  commends^  ancf  many 

Shat.  Ala8,''poor  soul,  how  does  she ;  is  she 

living  ? 
K^ps  she  lier  bed  still  ? 

Lave,  Still,  sir,  she  is  living; 
And  well,  and  shall  do  so. 


Aces.] 


TH£  NOBLE  GENTLEMAK. 


m 


And  eat  cofirse  bread,  wear  the  wont  wool, 

know  nothing 
Qat  the  highway  to  Paris:  and  wouldst  tboa 

have  me  bring  these  stains 
And  imperfections  to  the  rising  I'iew 
Of  the  right  worshipful  thy  worthy  master? 
They  most  be  bright,  and  shine,  toeir  cioaths 

soft  velvet  [gams'^, 

And  the  Tvriaa  purple,  like  the  Arabian 
Huis  hke  the  sun,  their  golden  beams  on  all 

silks;  [ter,  I 

Soch  as  these  may  come  and  know  thy  mas- 
Am  base,  and  daie  no(  speak  unto  him,  he's 

aboi'e  roe.  [scare, 

Jaqua.  If  ever  yon  did  love  him,  or  his 
Ris  name,  his  issne,  or  yourself,  go  hack  I 
Twill  be  an  honest  and  a  noble  part. 
Worthy  a  kinsman ;  save  three  hundred  acres 
From  present  execution" ;  they've  hhd  sen« 

tence. 
And  cannot  be  reprie v'd ;  be  merciful !    [sons 

Cler,  Have  I  not  ufg'd  already  all  the  rear 
I  had,  to  draw  liim  from  his  will  ?  his  ruin  ? 
fiqt  all  in  vain !  no  counsel  can  prevail: 


fffaas  fbi*d  himself;  there's  ao  removing, 
Jaqoes ;  [vainl 

Twill  prove  but  breath  and  labour  spent  in 

rU  to  my  horse;  fiirewelll 
Jaquei,  For  God's  sake,  sir, 

As  ever  you  have  hope  of  joy,  turn  back ! 

ril  be  your  slave  fox  ever,  do  but  go; 

And  I  tviU  lay  such  fair  directions  to  you. 

That,  if  he  be  not  doting^on  his  fall. 

He  shall  recover  siclit,  and  see  his  danger. 

And  you  shall  tell  him  of  h&  wife's  abuses, 

(I  fear,  too  foul  against  him!)  how  she  plots 

VVith  our  young  monsicurs,  to  milk  dry  hus- 
band. 

And  lay  it  on  their  backs :  the  next  her  pride; 

Then  what  his  debts  are,  and  how  infinite 

The  curses  of  his  tenants ;  this  will  work ; 

ril  pawn  my  life  and  head,  hecnies, '  Away! 

*  ni  to  my  house  in  the  country/ 
Cier.  Come,  I'll  go. 

And  once  more  try  him :  if  he  yield  not  so ; 

Thenext  tliat  tries  him  shall  be  want  and  ( 


■4 


lEteuni. 


ACT  II. 


Enl^  Morine  solus. 

Mar.  TAQUES! 

^     Jaqmi,  [witUn\  Sir? 
Mar,  Rise,  Jac|ues !  'tis  grown  day. 
The  country  life  is  best ;  where  quietly. 
Free  firona  the  clamour  of  the  troubled  court, 
WeiBiqr  enjoy  our  own  green  shadow'd  walks^ 
Aad  keep  a  moderate  diet  without  art. 
^v  did  I  leave  my  house,  and  bring  my  wife, 
Tp  Know  the  manner  of  this  subtle  place? 


I  would,  when  first  the  last  to  fame  and  ho« 

nour 
Possess'd  me,  I  had  met  witi)  any  evil 
But  that  I  Had  I  been  tried  to  stay  at  bone^ 
And  earn  the  bread  for  die  whole  family 
With  my  own  hand,  happy  had  I  been! 

Enter  Jaquei. 

Jaques.  Sir,  this  is  from  your  wrnted  course 

at  home:  [hours? 

When  did  you  there  keep  such  inordinate 


H  J%ey  n^t  be  bright,  and  shine,  their  cloaths 
S^  velvetf  and  the  Tyrian  purpie, 
I  Like  the  Arabian  gunUf  hang  Uke  the -sun, 

Their  golden  beams  on  ait  sides; 
Stt^h  as  these^  &c.]  Seward  would  read, 
X  They  must  be  bright  and  shine,  tlieir  cloaths  soft  velvet 

And  OF  the  Tyrian  purple  ;  tuey  must  smell 
like  the  Arabian  gums,  burl  like  the  suu 
Their  golden  beams  on  all  sides;  such  &s  these,  4c. 
Aud  Svmpson,  who  would  go  '  a  shorter  way  to  work,'  proposes. 
They  must  be  bright  and  shine, 
Their  cloaths  soft  velvet  and  the  Tyrian  purple, 
Like  the  Arabian  gein-hutig,  like  tlie  sun 
Their  golden  beams  on  all  sides ; 
For '  the  Arabians  (s^ys  he)  w^re  remarkable  for  being  adorn'd  with  jewels.*     We  have  ne 
doubt  but  that  the  text  is  genuii^e,  assisted  by  the  present  division. 
■*  —  save  three  Mndred  acres 
I^ompreKni  execution;  they*ve  had  sentence, 
..And  cannot  be  repr(ev'd,  le  merciful.]  But  Iiow  roust  tliey  be  sav^d  if  they  cannot  he 
f^fryenfji  f  Would  not  one  imagine  then  our  authors  wrote, 

And  cannot  be  reprieved  e^?;  be  mcrciiui.  Symp$on. 

Go 


174 


THE  NOBLE  GINTUSM^IN: 


[Act  tm 


Go  to  bed  Ute,  start  thrice,  and  call  on  me? 
'Would  you  were  from  this  place !  Our  coun- 
try sleeps, 
Altho*  they  were  but  of  that  moderate  length. 
That  might  maintain  us  in  our  liaily  work, 
Yet  were  they  sound  and  sweet. 

Mar.  Ay,  Jaques;  there  [gether. 

We  dreamxl  not  of  our  wives ;  we  lay  toge- 
And  needed  not.  Now  at  length  my  cousin's 

words. 
So  truly  meant,  mix'd  with  thy  timely  prayera 
So  often  urgVI,  to  keep  me  at  my  home, 
Condenm  roe  quite. 

Jajues.  Twas  not  vour  father's  course : 
He  bvM  and  died  in  Orleans,  where  he  had 
His  vines  as  fruitful  as  e^iperienoe 
(Which  is  the  art  of  husbandry^  could  make; 
He  had  his  oresses  for  'em,  and  his  wines 
Were  held  tne  best,  and  out-soid  other  men's; 
His  com  and  cattle  serv'd  the  ne^hbour-towns 
With  plentiful  provision,  yet  his  thrift 
Could  miss  one  beast  amongst  the  hesd;  he 

ruM 
More  where  heliv'd,  than  ever  you  will  here. 

Mar.  'Tis  true:  why  should  my  wife  then, 

'gainst  my  good. 
Persuade  me  to  continue  in  this  course  ? 

Jaques.  Why  did  you  bring  her  liitber  P  At 

the  first,  [lights, 

Before  you  warm'd  her  blood  witli  new  de« 
Our  country  sports  could  have  contented  her: 
When  you  first  married  her,  a  puppet-play 
Pleased  her  as  well  as  now  the  ulung  doth. 
She  thought  herself  brave  in  a  bugle-chain. 
Where  orient  pearl  will  scarce  content  her 

now.  \yay  good 

Mar.  Sure,  Jaques,  slie  sees  something  for 
More  than  I  do ;  she  oft  will  talk  to  me 
Of  offices,  and  that  she  shortW  hopes, 
By  her  acquaintance  with  thefrienas  she  hath, 
To  get  a  place  sball  manv  times  outweigh 
Our  great  expences ;  nnci  if  this  be  so— 

Jaques.  Think  better  of  her  words;   she 

dotli  deceive  you, 
And  only  for  her  vain  apd  sensual  ends 
Persuade  you  thus.    Let  me  be  set  to  dwell 
For  ever  naked  in  the  barest  soil, 
So  you  will  dwell  from  hence! 

Mar.  I  see  my  folly : 
Pack  up  my  stuff!  I  ^411  away  this  mom. 
Haste,  haste ! 

Jaques.  Ay,  now  I  sec  your  father's  honours 
Trebling  upon  you,  and  the  many  prayers 
The  country  spent  for  him,  (which  almost 

now 
Begun  to  turn  to  curses)  turning  back,^ 
And  falling  like  a  timely  shower  upon  you. 

Mar,  Go,  call  up  my  wife! 

Jnqucs,  But  shall  She  not  prevail, 
And  sway  you,  as  slie  oft  hath  done  before? 

Mar,  I  will  not  hear  hf  r,  but  rail  on  her^ 
V  Till  I  be  ten  miles  off. 


Jaauet,  If  yon  be  forfy» 
Twill  not  be  worse,  sir. 

Mar.  Call  her  up ! 

Jaques.  I  will,  sir.  [ExU^ 

Mar.  Why,  what  an  ass  was  I>  that  suck 

a  thing 
As  a  wife  is  could  rule  me !  Kbow  not  I 
That  woman  was  created  for  the  man?     [be 
That  her  desires,  nay,  all  her  thoughts,  shosid 
As  his  are  ?  Is  my  sense  restord  at  length ^ 
Now  she  shall  know,  that  which  she  should 

desire, 
She  hath  a  husband  that  can  gOTeni  her» 

Enter  Lady* 

If  her  desirto  lead  against  my  Drill  "• 
Are  you  come  ? 

lidy.  What  sad  unwonted  cottrse 
Makes  yon  raise  me  so  soon,  tliat  went  to  bed 
So  late  last  night? 

Mar.  Oh,  you  shall  go  to  bed 
Sooner  hereafter,  and  1^  rais'd  again 
At  thrifly  liours :  in  smnmer-time  well  walk 
An  hour  after  our  supper,  and  to  bed; 
In  winter  you  shall  have  a  set  at  cards. 
And  set  your  maids  to  work. 

Ijady,  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Mar.  I  will  no  more  of  your  new  tricky 

your  honours. 
Your  offices,  and  all  }[our  laige  preferments, 
(Which  still  you  beat  into  my  ears  hang  o'er 

me); 
111  leave  behind  for  others  the  great  sway 
Which  I  shall  bear  at  court;  my  living  here. 
With  countenance  of  your  honour'd  friendb, 
I'll  be  content  to  lose :  foryou  speak  this 
Only  that  you  may  still  continue  here 
In  wanton  ease,  and  draw  me  to  consume. 
In  cloaths  and  other  things  for  idle  show. 
That  which  my  father  got  with  lionest  tRrift, 

Ijady.  Why,  who  hath  been  with  you,  sir, 

tliat  you  talk 
Thus  out  of  frame? 

Mar.  You  make  a  fool  of  me ! 
You  provide  one  to  bid  me  forth  to  supper. 
And  make  promise ;  then  must  some  one  or 

other 
Invite  you  forth :  if  you  have  home  yourself 
Loosely  to  any  gentleman  in  my  sight. 
At  home,  ^ou  a^  me  how  I  like  tlie  carriage  \ 
Whether  it  were  not  rarely  for  my  good, 
And  open'd  not  a  way  to  my  preferment? 
Come,  I  perceive  all ;  talk  not !  we'll  away, 

Jjady,  Why,  sir,  youll  stagr  'till  the  nest 

triumph-day 
Be  past  ?  [umpliing 

Mar.  Ay,  yon  have  kept  me  here  tri« 
This  seven  years;  and  I  have  ridden  thro' 

the  streets,  [too^ 

And  bought  embroidered  hose  and  foot-ctoths 
To  shew  a  subject's  zeal !  I  rode  before 
In  this  most  gorgeous  hflbit,  and  saluted 


'"  If  her  desires  leai  me  again^  ny  t9<7(.]  Th^  conteit  declares  th«  word  M£  to  be  an  in* 

terpolation^ 


Acta.] 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


175 


I      All  the  acquaintance  tliat  I  could  espy 
From  any  -window :  these  were  ways,  yoa 

told  me,  [straight, 

Tondse  me:  I  see  all!  Make  you  ready 
And  ia  that  gowa  which  you  came  first  to 

town  in,  [suitable, 

Your  safe-guard,    doak,    and    your  hood 
Thus  on  a  double  gelding  shall  you  amble. 
And  my  man  Jaques  shall  be  set  before  you. 

Ladu,  But  will  you  go  ? 

Mar.  I  wiU. 

Lady.  And  shall  I  too? 

Mar.  And  yon  shall  too. 

Laitf,  But  shall  I,  by  tliis  light? 

Mar.  Why,  by  this  light,  you  shall! 

Lady.  Then,  by  this  light. 
You  have  no  care  of  your  estate  and  mine. 
Have  we  been  seven  years  venturing  in  a  ship^ 
And  now  upon  return,  with  a  fair  wind, 
And  a  calm  sea,  fuU  fraught  with  our  own 

wishes. 
Laden  with  wealth  and  honour  to  the  brim. 
And  shall  we  fly  away,  and  not  receive  it  ? 
Have  we  been  tilling,  sowing,  labouring, 
With  pain  and  cfaax^,  a  long  and  tedious 

winter. 
And  when  we  see  the  com  above  the  ground^ 
Youthful  as  is  the  mom,  and  the  full  ear, 
That  promises  to  stufi'our  spacious  gamers. 
Shall  we  then  let  it  rut,  and  never  reap  it? 

Mar.  Wife,  talk  no  more!  Your  rhetorick 

comes  too  late ; 
I  am  inflexible :  and  how  dare  you 
Adventure  to  direct  my  course  of  life? 
Was  not  the  husband  made  to  rule  the  wife? 

Lady.  Tis  true;  but  where  the  man  doth 

miss  his  way, 
It  is  the  woman's  part  to  set  him  right : 
So,  fathers  have  a  power  to  guide  their  sons 
Id  all  their  courses ;  yet  you  oft  have  seen 
Poor  little  children,  that  have  both  their  eyes, 
Lead  their  blind  lathers. 

Mar.  Sh'hns  a  plaguy  wit! 
I  say,  you're  but  a  little  piece  of  man. 

Lad^.  But  such  a  piece,  as,  being  ta*en 

away, 
Man  cannot  last :  the  fairest  and  tallest  ship. 
That  ever  sailM,  is  by  a  little  piece    [about. 
Of  the  same  wood  steered  right,  and  tum'd 

Mar,  nris  trae  she  says;  her  answers 

stand  witii  reason.  [yonr  head, 

Lady.  But,  sir,  your  cousin  put  this  in 
Who  is  an  enemy  to  your  preferment, 
Btcause  I  sliould  not  take  place  of  his  wife : 
Come,  by  this  kiss,  thou  shfdt  not  go,  sweet- 
heart, [heart. 

Mur.  Come^  by  this  kiss,  I  will  go,  sweet- 
On  with  your  nding-stuff!  I  know  your  tricks; 
And  if  preferment  fall  ere  you  be  ready, 
Tis  welcome;  else,  adieu,  the  city-life! 

Lady.  Well,  sir,  I  will  obey. 

Mar,  About  it  then.  [dress  myself 

Lady.  To  please  your  humour,  I  would 
lo  the  roost  loathsome  habit  vou  could  name, 
^  travel  aoj  whither  o*er  the  worid^ 


If  you  command  me :  it  shall  ne*er  be  said. 
The  frailty  of  a  woman,  whose  weak  mind 
Is  often  set  on  loose  delights,  and  shows, 
Hatli  drawn  her  husband  to  consume  his  state, 
In  the  vain  hope  of  that  which  never  fell. 

Mar.  About  it  then!  Women  are  pleasant 

creatures. 
When  once  a  man  begins  to  know  himself. 

Lady.  But  hark  you,  sir;  because  I  will 

be  sure 
You  shall  have  no  excuse,  no  word  to  say 
In  your  defence  hereafter;  (when  you  see 
Wliat  honours  were  prepared  for  you  and  me. 
Which  you  thus  willingly  have  thrown  away) 
I  tell  you,  I  did  look  for  present  honour 
This  morning  for  you,  which  I  know  had 

come: 
But  if  they  do  not  come  ere  I  am  ready 
(Which  I  will  be  the  sooner,  lest  they  should) 
When  I  am  once  set  in  a  country  life, 
Not  all  the  power  of  earth  shall  alter  me; 
Not  all  yonr  prayers  or  threats  shall  make 

me  speak 
The  least  word  to  my  honoimible  friends. 
To  do  yon  any  grace ! 

Mar.  I  will  not  wish  it.  [able! 

Lady.  And  never  more  hope  to  be  honour* 

Aiar.  My  hopes  are  lower. 

Lady.  As  I  live,  you  shall  not! 
You  sfiall  be  so  far  from  the  name  of  n<^1e^ 
That  you  shall  never  see  a  lord  again ; 
You  shall  not  sec  a  masoue,  or  barriers. 
Or  tilting,  or  a  solemn  cnristning, 
Or  a  great  marrii^,  or  new  fire-works. 
Or  any  bravery;  but  you  shall  live 
At  home,  bespotted  with  yourotvnlov*d  din. 
In  scurvy  clouths,  as  you  were  wont  to  do; 
And,  to  content  you,  I  will  Hve  so  too. 

Mar.  Tis  all  I  wish.    Make  haste;  the 

day  draws  on ; 
It  shall  be  my  care  to  see  your  stuff  packM 

lip.  \Exit. 

lAidy.  It  shall  be  my  care  to  guU  you ! 

You  shall  stay; 
And  more  than  so,  entreat  me  humbly  too : 
You  shall  have  honours  presently.    Maria! 

"Enttr  Maria. 

Maria.  Madam! 

Lady.  Bring  hither  pen,  ink,  and  paper, 

Maria.  Tis  here. 

Ididy.  Your  master  will  not  stay. 
Unless  preferment  come  within  an  hour. 

Maria.  Let  liim  command  one  of  the  dty» 

gates. 
In  time  of  mutiny;  or,  you  may  provide  him 
To  be  one  of  the  council  for  invading 
Some  savage  country,  to  plant  Christian  faith. 

Lady.  No,  no;  I  have  it  for  him.    Call 

my  page !  [Rrit  Maria, 

Now,  my  dear  husband,  there  it  is  will  fit  you : 
And,  when  the  world  shall  see  what  I  have 

done, 
Let  it  not  move  the  spleen  9f  any  wife. 
To  make  aa  ass  of  her  belovbd  husband, 

Without 


ir« 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


[Actf^ 


Without  good  ground:  buU  if  they  will  be 

drawn 
To  Hay  reason  by  you,  do  not  gull  them; 
But  if  they  grow  conceited  of  theroaelveSy 
And  be  fine  gentlemen^  have  no  mercy. 
Publish  them  to  the  world!  'twill  do  them 

good 
When  they  shall  see  their  follies  understood. 

Enter  Page, 

Go  bear  these  letters  to  my  servant '7, 
And  bid  him  make  haste.     I   will  dress 

myself 
In  all  the  ionmey-cloaths  I  usM  before, 
Not  to  ride,  but  to  make  the  laughter  more. 

[ExiL 

Enter  Marine  and  Jaques* 

Mar.  It  all  packed  up? 

Jaques,  AH,  all,  sir ;  there  is  no  tumbler 
Runs  thro'  his  hoop  witli  more  dexterity, 
Tlian  I  about  this  business :  'tis  a  day 
That  I've  long  long*d  to  see— 

Mar,  Come;  where's  my  spurs? 

Jaque^,  Here,  sir. — And  now  'tis  come — 

M[ir,  Ay,  Jaques,  now, 
I  tlumk  my  fates,  I  can  coounand  my  wife. 

Jamitf,  I'm  glad  to  see  it,  sir. 

Jlfar.  I  don't  love  always 
-  To  be  made  a  puppy,  Jaques.         [not  look 

Jaques.  But  yet  meUiinks  your  worship  does 
Riglit  like  a  country  gentleman. 

Mar.  I  will ; 
Give  me  my  t'other  hat. 

Jaquei.  Here.  ^ 

ilior.  So;  my  Jerkin! 

Jaques.  Yes,  sir. 

Mar.  On  with  it,  Jaques;  thou  and  I 
Will  live  so  finely  in  the  country,  Jaques, 
'  And  have  such  pleasant  walks  into  the  woods 
A-mominp^and  then  bring  home  riding-rods, 
And  walkmg-staves— 

Jaques.  And  I  will  bear  them,  sir; 
And  sconrge>8ticks  for  the  children. 

Mar.  So  thou  shalt; 
And  thou  shalt  do  all,  oversee  my  work-fi>lks> 
And  at  the  week's  end  pay  'cm  all  their 

wages. 

Jaques.  I  will,  sir,  so  vour  worship  give 

me  money.  [my  ci rowers. 

Mar,  Tboo  shalt  receive  all  too.  Give  me 

Jaques.  l'hey*re  ready,  sir. 

Mar.  And  i  will  make  thy  mistress. 
My  wife,  look  to  her  landry,  and  her  dairy, 
Tbiltwc  may  have  our  linen  clean  onSunditys« 

Jaques.  And  holidays. 

Mar.  Ay ;  and  ere  [breakfast, 

We  walk  about  the  grounds  provide  our 
Or  she  shftU  smoke;  Til  have  her  a  good 

huswife : 
She  shall  not  make  a  voyage  to  her  sbters. 
But  she  shall  live  at  home, 


And  feed  her  pollen  fet,  and  see  her  maids 
In  bed  before  her,  and  lock  all  the  doors. 
Jaques.  Why,  tliat  will  be  a  life  for  kings 
and  queens!  [button  quickly^ 

Mar,  Give  me  my  scait  with  the  g;reat 
Jaques.  Tis  done,  sir. 
Mar.  Now  my  mittens! 
Jaques,  Here  they  are,  sir. 
Mar.  Tis  well;  now  my  great  dagger! 
Jaqufs.  Tliere.  [my  nding«>rodf 

Mar.  Why,  so!  thus  it  should  be;  now 
Jaques.  There's  nothing  wanting,  sir. 
Mar.  Another,  man,  to  stick  under  my 
Jaques.  There  it  is.  [girdle. 

Mar.  All  is  well.  [looks 

Jaques.  Why  now,  methinks,  your  worship 
Like  to  yuursnf,  a  man  of  means  and  credit: 
So  did  your  grave  and  famous  ancestors 
Ride  up  and  down  to  fiiirs,  and  cheapen  cattle. 
Mar.  Go,  hasten  your  mistress,  sirrah! 
Jaques.  It  shall  be  done.  [Exit, 

Enter  Gentleman  and  Page. 

Cent.  Wlio'sthat?  who's  that,  boy  ? 

Page.  I  think  it  be  ray  master. 

Gent.   Who?    he    that  walks    in    grey, 

whisking  his  ridiiig-rocl  ? 

Page.  Yes,  sir,  'tis  lie. 
.  Gent.  1  is  he  indeed ;  he  is  preparVi 
For  his  new  journey.  Wtien  I  wink  upon  yon^ 
Run  out  and  Cell  the  gentleman  'tis  time.—* 
Monsieur,  good  day  I 

Mar.  Monsieur, 
Your  mistresi  is  within,  but  yet  not  ready. 

Gent.  My  business  is  with  you,  sir:  'tis 

reported, 
I  know  not  whether  by  some  enemy 
Maliciously,  that  envies  your  grejit  hopes^' 
And  would  be  ready  to  sow  discontents 
Betwixt  his  majesty  and  you,  or  truly, 
(Which  on  my  faith  I  would  be  sorry  for)  • 
Tlmt  you  intend  to  leave  the  court  in  liaste. 

Mar.  Faith,  «ir,  within  this  liaif-liour.-* 

Jaques.  [within^  Sir!  [Jaquefr! 

Mar.  Is  my  wile  ready  ? 

Jaques.  IVcseutly, 

Gent.  But,  sir, 
I  needs  must  tell  you,  as  I  am  your  friend, 
You  should  have  ta*en  your  journey  private^ 
For  'tis  already  blaz'd  about  the  court 

Mar,  Why,  sir,  I  hope  it  is  no  treason,  is 

it?  [common  talk; 

Gent,  Tis  true,  sir ;  but  'tis  grown  tlic 
There's  no  discourse  else  held'^;  and  m  die 
All  the  nobility  and  gentry  [presence 

Have  nothing  m  their  mouths  but  only  this, 

*  Monsieur  Marine,  that  i\ohU:  gentleman, 

*  Is  now  departing  lieuce ;'  cvVy  utan*s  face 
Looks  ghastly  on  his  teilow'b;  buch  a  badness 
(Before  this  day)  I  neVr  heheUl  iu  court; 
Men's  hearts  begin  to  fail  iliem  \^  ben  they 

bear  it. 


"  ServasU.]  i.  e.  In  the  old  sense,  lover,  suitor. 

*•  There's  na  discovery  cIh  held.}  Amended  by  Sympson, 


Acts.] 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


17f 


In  expectation  of  the  great  evenc        [good ! 
That  Deeds  must  follow  it:  pray  Heaven  it  be 
Mar.  Why,  I  had  rather  all  their  hearts 
should  fail, 
Than  I  stay  here  until  my  purse  foil  me. 
Gent,  But  yet  you  are  a  subject ;  and  be- 
ware, 
(I  charge  you  by  the  love  I  bear  to  you) 
How  you  do  venture  rashly  on  a  course, 
To  make  your  sovereign   jealous  of  your 

deeds! 
For  prince's  jealousies,  where  tliey  love  most, 
Are  easily  found,  but  they  be  hardly  lost. 
Mar,  Come,  these  are  tricks;  I  smell  'em ; 
I  will  go.  f your  friend  ? 

Gent,  Have  I  not  still  profess*d  myself 
Mar,  Yes,  but  you  never  shew'd  it  to  me 
yet.  [wise ; 

Gent,  But  now  I  will,  because  I  see  you 
And  give  you  thus  much  light  into  a  busi- 
ness'' 
That  came  to  me  but  now :  be  resolute, 
Stand  stiffly  to  it,  that  you  will  depart, 
And  presently ! 
M(ir.  Why,  so  I  mean  to  do.    [you  will ! 
Gent.  And,  by  this  light,  you  may  be  what 
Will  you  be  secret,  sir? 
Mar,  Why?  what's  the  matter? 
Gent,  The  king  does  fear  you. 
Mar.  How?' 

Gent,  And's  now  in  counseL 
Mar.  About  me  ? 

Gent,  About  jou;  an  you  be  wise. 
You'll  find  he  is  in  counsel  about  you. 
His  counsellors  have  told  him  all  the  truth. 
Mar.  What  truth?  [well. 

Gent.  Why,  that  which  now  he  knows  too 
Afor.  What  is't?  [years 

'     Gent.  That  you  have  follow'd  him  seven 
With  a  great  train;  and,  tho'  he  have  not 
grac'd  you,  fsands. 

Yet  you  nave  div'd  into  the  hearts  of  thou- 
With  liberality  and  noble  carriage ; 
And  if  you  should  depart  home  un preferred. 
All  discontented  and  seditious  spirits 
Would  flock  to  you,  and  thrust  you  into  ac- 
tion: [doth  not  know 
With  whose  help,  and  your  tenants',  who 
(If  you  were  so  dispos'd)  how  great  a  part 
Of  this  yet-fertile  peaceful  realm  of  France 
You  might  make  desolate?  But  when  the 
Heard  this —  [king 
Mar.  What  said  he? 
Gent,  Nothing;  but  shook, 
As  never  Christian  prince  did  shake  before ; 
And,  tb  be  short,  you  may  be  what  you  will. 
But  be  not  ambitious,  sir;  sit  down       [self 
With  mod'rate  honours,  lest  you  make  your- 
More  fear'd. 


Mar,  I  know,  sir,  what  I  have  to  do 
In  mine  own  business. 

Enter  Longueville. 

Long.  Where's  monsieur  Mount-Marine  ? 

Gent.  Why,  there  he   stands;   will  you 

aught  with  him? 

jA)ng.  Yes.  Good  day,  monsieur  Marine ! 

Mar.  Good  day  to  you ! 

Long.  His  majesty  doth  commend  himself 
Most  kindly  to  you,  sir,  and  hath,  by  mc. 
Sent  you  this  favour :   kneel  down :  rise  a 

knight! 

Mir.  I  thank  his  raajestv ! 

Long.  And  he  dotli  furtner 
Bequest  you  not  to  leave  the  court  so  soon ; 
For  tho''  your  former    merits  have    been 

slighted. 
After  tliis  time  there  shall  no  office  fall 
Worthy  your  spirit  (as  he  doth  confess 
There's  none  so  gJ^at),  but  you  shall  surely 

have  it.  [are  an  ass. 

Gent.  D'you  hear?   If  you  yield  yet,  you 

Mar.  I'll  shew  my  service  to  his  majesty 
In  greater  things  than  those;  but  for  this 

small  one 
I  must  entreat  his  highness  to  excuse  me. 

Ijyng.  ril  bear  your  knightly  words  unto 

the  King, 
And  bring  his  princely  answer  back  again. 

Gent.  Well  said!  Be  resolute  a  while;  I 

know 
There  is  a  tide  of  lionours  coming  on; 
I  warrant  you ! 

Entpr  Beaufort, 

Beau.  Where  is  this  new-made  knight? 

Mar.  Here,  sir. 

Beau.  Let  me  enfold  you  in  my  arms. 
Then  call  you  lord !  the  king  will  have  it  so ; 
Who  doth  entreat  your  lordship  to  remember 
His  message  sent  to  you  by  Longueville. 

Gent.  If  you   be  dirty**,  and   dare   not 

mount  aloft,  [do. 

You  may  yield  now ;  I  know  what  I  would 

Afar,  Peace !  I  will  fit  him. — ^Tell  his  ma- 
jesty 
I  am  a  subject,  and  I  do  confess       [heap'd 
I  serve  a  gracious  prince,,   that  tlius  liath 
Honours  on  me  without  desert;  but  yet 
As  for  I  he  message,  business  urgeth  me, 
I  must  be  gone,  nnd  he  must  pardon  me, 
Were  he  ten  thousand  kings  aud  emperors. 

BfMu.  I'll  tell  him  so. 

Geni,  W^hy,  this  was  like  yourself! 

Beau.  As  he  hath  wrought  him,  'tis  thit 

finest  fellow 
That  e'er  w^as  Christmas-lord !  he  carrits  it 


''  And  give  me  thus  much  light.]  Thus  Mr.  Sympson  chuses  to  vary  the  text:  it  may  be 
added,  to  his  honour,  that  he  offers  no  vindication  of  this  reading. 
*•  ffye  be  dirty,  and,  Sfc]  Possibly  our  poets  here  gave  it, 

If  ye  be  dirt-ty'd,  Sympson, 

It  b  to  be  sure  possible}  but  we  cannot  think  it  probable, 
VOL.UL  A  a  So 


176 


TIi£  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


[Act  J^ 


So  tnily  to  tlje  life,  as  tbo'  he  were 

One  oftlie  plot  to  gull  himself.  [Exit, 

Gent.  Why,  so! 
You  sent  the  ^visest  and  the  shrewdest  answer 
L'lito  the  king,  I  swear,  my  hononr'd  friend, 
That  e^er  any  subject  sent  his  iiege.      [liip, 

Mar.  Nay.  now  I  know  I  have  him  ou  the 
111  foUow  it. 

Enter  Longuevil/e. 

Long.  My  honourable  lord  !  [p^*"* 

Giva  roe-  your  nobie  hand,  rifsht  courteous 
And  from  henceforth  be  a  courtly  earl; 
The  king  so  wills,  and  subjects  must  obey: 
Only  he  doth  desire  you  to  consider 
-  Ofhis  request. 

Cent.  Why,  feith,  you're  well,  my  lord; 
Yield  to  him. 

Mar.  Yield  ?  Why,  'twas  my  plot — 

Gent.  Nay,  • 

rCwas  your  wife's  plot. 

Mar.  To  get  preferment  by  it. 
And  thinks  he  now  to  pop  me  in  the  mouth 
But  with  an  earldom?  rll  be  one  step  higher. 

Gent.  It  is  the  finest  lord  I   I  am  afraid 

anon    '  [him. 

Hell  stand  upon*t  to  share  the  kiitgdom  with 

Enter  Beaufort. 

Beau.  W^ here's  this  courtly  earl? 
His  majesty  commends  his  love  unto  you. 
And  will  you  but  now  grant  to  his  reqtiest, 
lie  bids  you  be  a  duke,  and  chuse  •^"whence. 

Gent.  Why,  if  you  yield  not  now,  you  lu^ 

undone ;  [kingdom? 

What  can  you  wish  to  have  more,  but  the 

Mar.  So  please  his  majesty,  I  would  be  duke 
Of  Bui^^nay,  because  I  like  the  place. 

Beau,  I  know  the  king  is  pleas'd. 

Afar.  Then  will  I  stay. 
And  kiss  liis  highness'  hand. 

Beau.  Uismiyesty 
Will  be  a  glad  man  When  lie  liears  it. 

Long*  But  how  shall  we  keep  this  from 

the  world's  ear, 
That  some  one  tell  him  not,  he  is  no  duke  ? 

Gent.  We'll  think  of  that  anon.-*Why, 

gentlemen. 
Is  tliis  a  gracious  habit  for  a  duke  ? 
Each  gentle  body  set  a  finger  to,       [weeds) 
To  pluck  the  douds  (of  these  his  ridiiig- 
From  ofi  the  orient  sun,  off  his  best  doaths; 
1*11  pluck  one  boot  and  spur  06*. 

Long.  I  another. 

Beau.  I'll  pluck  his  jerkin  o£ 

Gent.  Sit  aown,  my  lord.-r- 
Both  his  spurs  ofif  at  once,  good  Longueville ! 
And,  Beaufort,  take  that  scarf  off;  and  that 

liat  [head. 

Dotb  not  become  his  laiigely-sprouting  fore* 
Now  set  vour  mcious  foot  to  this  of  mine; 
One  pluck  wilfdoit;  so!  Offwiththeotlierl 

Long.  Lo,  thus  your  servant  Longueville 

doth  pluck 
Tlie  trophy  of  your  former  gentry  off. 
Off  with  lus  jerkin,  Beaufort  I 


Gent.  Didst  then  never  see 
A  nimble-footed  tailor  stand  so  in's  stocking^ 
Whilst  some  friend  help'd  to  pluck  his  jerkia 
To  dance  a  jig?  [ofl^ 

Enter  Jagues. 

Long.  Here's  his  man  Jaques  come. 
Booted  and  ready  still. 

Jagvet.  My  mistress  stays^  [meao,. 

Why,  how  now,  sir?  What  do  yoor  worship 
To  pluck  your  grave  and  thrifty  habit  olF? 

Mar.  IVly  slipf^ers,  Jaques  I  [man^ 

Long.  Oh,  thou  mighty  duke!  pardon  thift 
That  thus  hath  trespassed  in  ignorauce. 

Mar.  I  pardon  him. 

lAtng.  His  grace's  slipperS,  Jaques ! 

Ja^quet.  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? 

Long.  Footman,  he's  a  duke : 
The  king  hath  rais'd  him  above  all  iiis  land.    ' 

Jaqua.  111  to  his  cousin  presently,  and 

tell  him  so; 
Oh,  what  a  dunghill  country  rogue  was  I! 

[Esit^ 
Enter  Ladj. 

Gent.  See,  see,  my  mistress ! 

Long.  Let's  obsene  their  greeting,  [ought. 

Lady.  Unto  your  will,  as  every  good  wife 
I  liave  tum*d  all  my  thoughts,  and  now  am 

ready. 

Mar.  Oh,  wife,  I  am  not  worthy  to  kiss 
The  least  of  all    thy  toes,  much  less  thy 

tliumb,  [counsel 

Wliich  yet  I  would  be  bold  with  !    All  thy 
Hath  been  to  me  angelical ;  but  mine 
To  thee  hath  been  most  dirty,  like  my  mind. 
Dear  duchess,  I  must  stay. 

Ltuly.  What!  are  you  mad,  [wind  me. 
To  miike  ine  dress,  and  undress,  turn  and 
Because  vou  find  me  pliant  ?  Said  I  not 
The  whole  world  should  not  alter  me,  if  once 
I  TV  as  resolved?  and  now  you  call  me  du- 
Why,  what*s  tlie  matter?  [chess  f 

ilar.  Lo,  a  kniuht  doth  kneel*- 

Lwfy.  A  knight  ? 

Mar,  A  lord — 

Ixtdj/,  A  fool ! 

Mar,  I  say  doth  kneel 
An  earl,  a  duke. 

Ixmg,  In  drawers. 

Beau.  Witliout  shoes. 

Ladj^.  Sure  you  are  lunatrck. 

Gent.  No,  iionour'd  duchess ; 
If  you  dare  but  beliere  your  servant*s  trutb, 
I  know  lie  is  a  duke. 

Long.  God  save  his  grace ! 

Ladjf.  I  ask  your  grace's  pardon! 

Mar.  Then  I  rise : 
And  here,  in  token  that  all  strife  shall  end 
^wixt  thee  and  me,  I  let  my  drawers  fall» 
And  to  thy  liands  I  do  deliver  tliem ; 
Which  signifies,  that  in  all  acts  and  speeches 
From  this  time  forth,  my  wife  shall  wear  the 

breeches. 

Gent.  An  honourable  composition ! 

lExtunt. 
ACT 


Acts.] 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


If9 


ACT  III. 


Oiil^  in  seeking  to  undo  this  honour^  [dirt. 
VVhicli  shewM  our  dunghill  breeding  and  our 

Cler.  But  tell  me,  Jaques, 
Why  could  we  aot  perceive?  what  dull  devil 
Wrought  us  to  croflb  this  noble  course,  per> 

suading 
Twould  be  iiis  overthrow?  For  voe,  a  cour- 
tier 
Is  be  that  knows  all,  Jaques,  and  does  all: 
Tis  as  bis  noble  grace  hath  often  said, 
And  very  wisely,  Jaques,  we  are  fools, 
And  understand  just  nothing* 

Jaques.  Ay,  as  we  were,  [ter, 

I  confess  it ;  but,'risine  with  our  great  mas* 
We  shall  be  call'd  to  knowledge  with  our 
^jlacest 

(Tis  nothing  to  be  wise,  not  thus  much  there) 
There  is  not  the  least  of  the  billet-^lealers^^ 
Nor  any  of  the  pastfy,  or  the  kitchen, 
But  have  it  in  measure  delicate. 
Cler.  Mcthinks  this  greatness  of  the  duko*s 
my  cousin's, 
(I  ask  your  mercy,  Jaques !  that  near  name 
Is  too  familiar  for  me)  should  give  promise 
Of  some  great  benefits  to  his  attenuants. 

Jaques.  1  have  a  suit  myself;  and  it  is  sure. 
Or  I  mistake  my  ends  much. 
Cler.  What  is't,  Jaoues  ? 
May  I  not  crave  the  place  ? 
-    Jaques.  Yes,  sir,  you  shall; 
Tis  to  be  but  his  grace's  secretary,' 
Which  is  my  little  all,  and  my  ambition. 
Till  my  known  worth  shall  take  nie  by  the 

hand 
And  set  me  higher.    How  the  fates  may  do 
In  this  poor  thread  of  lite,  is  yet  uncertain : 
I  was  not  bom,  I  take  it,  for  a  trencher. 
Nor  to  espouse  my  mistress'  dairy-maid. 
Cler.  I  am  resolv'd  my  wife  shall  up  to 
court; 
(I'll  fiimish  hor)  that  is  a  speeding  course, 
And  cannot  chuse  but  breed  a  mighty  for- 
tune. 
What  a  fine  youth  was  I,  to  let  him  start, 

*'  Men  made  qfhevLfe  and  sarcenet. 1  So  the  folios.  The  octavo  of  1711  varies  beufe  to 
herf;  and  Sympson  to  buff. 

Oor  ancient  dramatic  writers  are  so  very  careless  in  adapting  the  manners  of  their  charac- 
ters to  the  places  in  which  their  scenes  are  laid,  that  although  France  is  the  country  in 
which  all  the  events  in  this  play  are  supposed  to  have  happened;  yet  we  apprehend  the  allu- 
sion here  is  to  a  matter  proper  only  to  Eughmd ;  and  therefore  vire  are  not  warranted  to 
make  any  alteration  in  the  text.  Tlie  yeonien  of  the  guard  in  England  are  generally  culled 
f^^tt'eaters ;  and  to  thi^  cifcumstance,  k  is  probable,  the  author  here  refenii.  To  this  we 
may  add,  that  SwiUers  appears  to  have  been  the  title  given  to  such  guards  as  attended  ttliout 
the  royal  person,  at  least  m  Denmark,  unless  Shakespeare  has  vioTuted  the  same  rules  )f 
propnety;  and  in  the  same  manner  we  suppose  our  author  to  have  oflended.  In  Haniiet, 
set  iv.  scene  6,  tlie  King  says, 

•  Where  are  my  Suitzers  f  Let  them  guard  the  door.'        R, 

^  BilUt'deaiers]  We  conceive,  refers  to  wood  dispensed  for /ucL 

A  a  2  And 


Enter  Clerimdnt  and  Jaquei, 

Cler.  CHALL I  believe  thee,  Jaques? 
^     Jaques.  Sir,  you  may, 

Cier,  Didst  thou  not  dream  f 

Jmques.  I  did  not. 

Ckr^  Nor  imagine? 

Jmques.  Neither  of  both:  I  saw  him  great 

and  mighty;  [cry, 

I  saw  th»  moiisieurs  bow,  and  heard  them 
*  Good  beftlth  and  fortune  to  my  lord  tlie 

dnkeP 

Cler.  A  doke?  art  sure,  a  duke? 

Jaques.  I'm  sure,  a  duke ; 
And  so  sure,  as  I  know  myself  for  Jaques. 

Cler.  Yet  tha  sun  maydaisle!  Jaques,  was 

it  not  {house. 

Same  lean  commander  of  an  angry  block- 
Ts  keep  tlic  Flemish  eel-boats  from  invasion? 
Or  some  bold  baron  able  to  dispend 
His  fifty  pounds  a-year,  and  meet  the  foe 
Upon  tLe  king^s  command,  in  gilded  canvas, 
And  do  his  deeds  of  worth  ?  or  was  it  not 
Sooie  place  of  gnin^  as  clerk  to  tlie  great  band 
Of  marrowbones,    that  people    call    tlie 

Switzers  ? 
Men  made  of  beef  and  sarcenet'^  ? 

Jaques.  Is  a  duke  [sence? 

Ilis  chamber  hung  with  nobles  like  a  pre- 

Ckr.  I'm  8ome£ing  v.av'ring  in  my  fajth: 
'Would  you  would  settle  me,  and  swear  it  is 
Is  he  a  duke  indeed  ?  [so ! 

Jaques.  I  swear  he  is.  [Jaques, 

Cler.  Fm  satisfied.  lie  is  my  kmsman, 
And  I  his  poor  unworthy  cousin. 

Jaques.  True,  sir.  fhad  means, 

Cler.  1  might  have  been  a  auke  too;  I 
A  wife  as  fair  as  his,  and  as  wise  as  his,  This, 
And  could  have  brook'd  the  court  as  well  as 
And  laid  about  her  for  her  husband's  honour : 
Oil,  Jaques,  had  I  ever  dream'd  of  this, 
1  had  prevented  him. 

Jaques.  Faith,  sir,  it  came 
Above  our  expectation:  we  were  wise 


I8d 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


[Act  3. 


And  get  tbe  rise  before  me !  I'll  dispatch, 
And  put  myself  iii  monies. 

Jaques,  Ma&s,  'tis  true !  [ness 

And,  now  you  talk  of  money,  sir,  my  busi- 
For  taking  those  crowns  must  be  <HspatchM: 
This  little  plot*'  i'th'  country  lies  most  fit 
To  do  his  grace  such  serviceable  uses. 
I  must  about  it. 

Cler.  Yet,  before  you  go,  '  [vice 

Give  me  your  hand,  and  bear  my  humble  ser- 
To  the  great  duke  your  master,  and  his  du- 
chess, 
And  live  yourself  in  favour!  Say,  my  wife 
Shall  there  attend  them  shortly;  so,  farewell! 

Jaques.  Ill  see  you  mounted,  sir. 

Chr.  It  may  not  be ! 
Your  place  is  fiir  above  it ;  spare  yourself, 
And  know  I  am  your  servant.  Fare  you  vtftW ! 

[Exit. 

Jaques,  Sir,  I  shfdl  rest  to  be  commanded 

by  you. — 
This  place  of  secretary  will  not  content  me ; 
I  must  be  more  and  greater.  Let  mc  see] 
To  be  a  baron  is  no  such  great  matter. 
As  people  take't :  for,  say  I  were  a  count, 
Fm  still  an  under  person  to  this  duke, 
(Which  methinks  sounds  but  harshly) ;  but  a 

duke? 
Oh,  I  am  strangely  taken  !  'tis  a  duke. 
Or  nothing;  I'lladvise  upon't,  and  see 
What  may  be  done  by  wit  and  industry. 

[ExiL 

Enter  Lady,    LonguevUky    Beaufort,   and 
Gentleman, 

"Lady:  It  must  be  carried  closely,  with  a 
care  [hinr. 

That  no  man  speak  unto  him,  or  come  near 
Without  our  private  knowledge,  or  be  made 
A  forehand  to  our  practice.    Aly  good  hus- 
band, 
I  shall  entreat  you  now  to  stay  a  while, 
And  prove  a  noble  coxcomb.     Gentlemen, 
Your  counsel  and  advice  about  this  car- 
riage** I  [mourn 
GenU  Alas,  good  man,   I  do  begin   to 
His  dire  massacre:  what  a  persecution 
Is  pourins  down  upon  him !  Sure  he's  sinful. 
Long,  tetliim  be  keptin's  chamber,  under 
show 
Of  state^and  dignity,  and  no  man  suffer  d 
To  see  his  noble  face,  or  have  access, 
But  we  that  are  conspirators! 

Beaii.  Or  else, 
Bovm  with  him  into  th'  country  'mongst  his 

tenants ! 
There  he  may  live  far  longer  in  his  greatness, 


And  play  the  fool  in  pomp  amonest  his  fel- 
lows, [and  stay; 
"Lady,  No,  he  shall  play  the  fool  i'  th'  city, 
I  will  not  lose  the  greatness  of  this  jest, 
(That  shall  be  given  to  my  wit)  for  th' whole 
revenues.                                   [his  person, 
Gent,  Then  thus;  we'll  have  a  guard  about 
That  no  man  come  too  near  him,  and  our- 
selves 
Always  in  company;  have  him  into  th'  city 
To  see  liis  face  swell;  whilst  in  divers  cor* 

ners. 
Some  of  our  own  appointing  shall  be  ready 
To  cry,  Heav*n  bless  your  grace,  lope  live 
your  grace !  IS^^^^t 

Lady,  Servant,  your  counsel  is  excellent 
And  shall  be  follow  d ;  'twill  be  rarely  strange 
To  see  him  stated  thus,  as  tho'  he  went 
A-shroving  thro'  the  city,  or  intended 
To  set  up  some  new  stake*^ :  I  shall  not  hold 
From  open  laughter,  when  I  hear.him  cry, 
'  Come  hither,  my  sweet  duchess;  let  me  kiss 
'  Thy  gracious  lips  1'  forthis  will  be  his  phrase, 
I  fear  me  nothing,  but  his  legs  will  break 
Under  his  mighty  weight  of  such  a  greatness. 
Beau,  Now  metliiuKS,  dearest  lady,  you're 
too  cruel ; 
His  very  heart  will  freeze  in  knowing  this. 
hady,  No^  no ;  the  man  was  never  of  such 
deepness,  -  [yo** 

To  make  conceit  his  master:  sir,  I'll  assure 
He  will  out-live  twenty  such  pageants. 
Were  he  but  my  cousin,  or  my  brother. 
And  such  a  desp'nite  killer  ol  his  fortune. 
In  this  belief  he  should  die,  tho'  it  cost  me 
A  thousand  crowns  a-day  to  hold  it  up; 
Or,  wbre  I  not  known  his  wife,  and  so  to  have 
An  equal  feeling  of  this  ill  he  suffers, 
He  should  be  thus  'till  all  the  boys  i'th'  town 
Made  suit  to,  wear  his  badges  in  their  hats. 
And  walk  before  his  grace  with  sticks  aud    ^ 

nos^ays. 
We  married  women  hold-^ 

Gent,  'TIS  well ;  no  more  I 
The  duke  is  entering :  set  your  faces  right. 
And  bow  like  country  prologues.    Here  he 

comes. 
Make  room  afore !  the  duke  is  entering. 

Enter  Marine, 

Long,  The  choicest  fortunes  wait  upon 
our  duke !  [piness ! 

Gent,  And  ^ive  him  all  content  aud  hap* 
Beau,  Let  his  great  name  Uve  to  the  end 
of  time ! 

Mar,  We  thank  you, -and  are  pleas'd  to 
give  you  notice 


*»  Flot,'\  i.  e.  Plot  of  ground. 

**  About  tftU  carriage.]  That  is,  the  conducting  the  plot  on  Marine, 

«3  — or  intended 

To  Met  up  tomeneu)  wake.]  This  reading  runs  no  higher  than  the  edition  of  1679.  That 
of  1647  gives  it  thus: 

To  set  up  some  new  ituke,  t.  e,  as  I  understand  it;  May^pole*  Sympton. 


Wo 


Acts,] 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


181 


We  shall  at  filter  tinues  wait  on  your  loves ; 
Till  when,  be  near  us. 

Long,  'Tis  a  valiant  purge, 
And  works  cxtFemely ;  *t  has  delivered  him 
Of  all  right  worshipful  and  geude  humours, 
And  left  his  bellv  lull  of  nobleness. 

Mar.  It  pleas  d  the  king  my  master, 
For  sundry  virtues  not  unknown  to  him, 
And  the  all-seeing  state,  to  lend  his  hand, 
And  raise  me  to  this  eminence:  bow  this^ 
May  seem  to  othef  men,  or  stir  the  minds 
Of  such  as  are  my  fellow-peers,  I  know  not; 
I  would  desire  their  loves  in  just  designs. 

Lady,  Now,  by  my  faith,  he  does  well, 
.  very  well : 

Beshiew  my  heart,  i  have  not  seen  a  bettor, 
Of  a  raw  fellow,  that  before  this  day  [weii ! 
Never  rehears'd  his  state:   'Tis  marvellous 

Gent.  Is  he  not  duke  indeed  ?  see  how  lie 
h%  if  his  spirit  were  a  last  or  two  [looks. 
Above  his  veins,  and  stretchy  his  noble  hide ! 

Long,  He's  high-brac'd,  like  a  drum ;  pray 

God  be  break  not  1  fcalfs-skin  lost. 

Betu,  Why,  let  him  break;  there's  but  a 

hang.  Mav't  please  your  grace  to  sec  the 

dty?  'twill 
Be  to  the  minds  and  roi^ch  contentment  of 
The  doubtful  people. 

Hot.  I'm  deterroin'd  so :  till  my  return, 
I  leave  my  honour'd  duchess  to  her  chamber. 
Be  careful  of  your  health!  I  pray  you  be  so. 

Gent.    Your  grace  shall  suffer  us,  your 

bumble  servants, 
To  give  attendance,  fit  so  great  a  person, 
r^n  your  body? 

Mar.  I  am  pleased  so. 

Long.  Away,  good  Beaufort;  raise  a  guard 

sufficient  [quick ! 

To  keep  him  firom  the  reach  of  tongues;  be 
And,  do  you  hear  ?  remember  how  tlie  streets 
Most  be  dispos'd  for  cries  knd  salutations. — 
Your  grace  determines  not  to  see  the  king? 

Mar^  Not  yet;  I  sliall  be  ready  ten  days 

hence 
To  kiss  his  highness'  hand,  and  give  him  thanks, 
As  it  is  fit  I  should,  for  his  great  bounty. 
8et  forward,  gentlemen ! 

Groom,  Room  for  tlie  duke  there! 

[Exeunt  Mar,  and  Train, 

Lady.  *Ti8  fit  he  should  have  room  to  shew 

his  mightiness, 
He  swells  so  with  his  poison ! — 'Tis  better  to 
Reclaim  you  thus,  than  make  a  sheep's-head 

of  you;  [sir. 

It  had  been  -but  your  due ;  but  I  have  mercy, 
Aad  mean  to  reclaim  you  by  a  directer  course. 
That  woman  is  not  worthy  of  a  soul,  [band, 
Tliat  has  the  sovereign  power  to  rule  herhus- 
Aod  eives  her  title  up;  so  long  provided 
As  there  be  fair  play,  and  his  state  not 

wronged. 

Enter  ShattilUon. 

Shat,  1  would  be  glad  to  know  whence  this 
new  duke  springs, 


The  people  buz  abroad :  -or  by  what  title 
He  recciv'd  his  dignity :  'tis  very  strange 
There  should  be  such  dose  ju^ing  in  thtt 

state! 
But  I  am  tied  to  silence;  yet  a  day 
May  come,  and  soon,  to  perfect  all  these 

doubts.  [soul. 

Lady,  It  is  the  mad  Shattillion:  by  my 
I  sufier  much  for  this  poor  gentleman! 
I  will  speak  to  liim;  may  be  he  yet  knows  me. 
Monsieur  Sliattillion ! 

Shut.  Can  you  give  me  reason. 
From  whence  this  great  duke  sprang  that 

walks  abroad  ? 

Lady.  £'en  from  the  king  himself. 

SAat.  As  you're  a  woman, 
I  think  you  may  be  cover'd :  yet  your  prayer 
Would  do  no  harm,  good  woman. 

Lady.  God  preserve  him ! 

EfUer  SkattilUMi  Lace, 

Shot,  I  say  anieuy  and  so  say  all  good  8ul« 

jects  I 

Love,  L^d  Y,  as  ever  you  have  lov'd,  or  shall, 
As  you  have  hope  of  Heaven,  lend  your  hand 
And  wit,  to  draw  this  poor  distracted  man 
Under  your  roof,  from  the  broad  eyes  of  peo- 
And  wonder  of  the  streets.  fpje. 

Lady.  With  all  my  heart : 
My  feeling  of  his  grief  and  loss  is  much. 

Love,  Sir,  now  you're  come  so  near  thtf 

prison,  will  you 
Go  in,  and  visit  your  fair  Love  ?  Poor  soul ! 
She  would  be  glad  to  see  you. 

Shat.  This  same  duke 
Is  but  apocryphal ;  there's  no  creation 
That  can  stand,  where  titles  are  not  right. 

Love.  Tis  true,  sir. 

Shat.  This  is  another  draft  upon  my  life! 
Let  me  examine  well  the  words  I  spake: 
The  vfords  I  spake  were,  tliatthis  novel  duke 

is  [tain. 

Not  o'tli'  true  making :  'tis  to  me  most  cer- 

Lady.  You  are  as  right,  sir,  as  you  went 

by  hue.  [more— 

S/idt.  And,  to  tliegrief  of  many  thousands 

Lfidy.  If  there  be  any  such,  God  comfort 

them !  [time  shall  please. 


tice.  ^me, 

You  shall  not  need  to  have  your  guard  upon 
Which  I  am  sure  ai-e  plac'd  for  my  attach- 
ment. 
Lead  on !  I  am  obedient  to  my  bonds. 
Love,  Good  sir,  be  not  displeas'd  with  us! 
We  are  ^  [that  good. 

But  servants  to  his  highness'  will,  to  make 
Shat.  I  do  forgive  you,  even  with  my  heart. 
Shall  I  entreat  a  favour? 

Lady.  Any  tiling.  [stroke, 

Shat.  To  see  my  Love,  before  that  fiital 

And  publish  to  the  worid  my  Christian  death, 

And  true  obedience  to  the  crown  of  France, 


m^ 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAIT. 


XAct  ^* 


Lone,  I  hope  it  sliall  not  need,  sir;  for 
there's  mercy, 
As  well  as  justice,  in  his  royal  heart. 

[Exeunt, 

Enter  three  Gentlemen* 

1  Gent,  Every  man  take  his  comer !  Here 

am  I,  [perfect; 

You  there,  and  yon  in  that  place ;  so !  be 
Have  a  great  care  your  cries  be  loud,  and 

faces  [comes. 

Full  of  dejected  fear  and  humbleness.    He 

Enter  Jague$, 

Jaquet,  Fy,  how  these  streets  are  charg'd 
and  sweli'd  [room, 

"With  these  same  rascally  people !  Give  more 

Or  I  shall  have  occasion  to  clistribute 

A  martial  alms  among  you:  as  Fm  a  gentle- 
man, 

I  have  not  seen  such  rude  disorder !  They 

Follow  him  like  a  prize.    There's  no  true 

like  to  your  citizen !  he  will  be  sure 

She  bears  sliall  not  pass  by  his  doorin  peace, 
ut  he  and  all  his  family  will  follow. 

Entet  Marine  and  his  Company, 

Room  there  afore;  sound!  Give  room  and 

keep  your  places! 
And  you  may  see  enough ;  keep  your  places ! 

Long,  These  people  are  too  far  uuman- 

ner*d,  thus 
To  stop  your  grace's  way  with  multitudes. 

Mar,  Rebuke  them  not,  good  monsieur : 

Tis  their  loves, 
Which  I  will  answer,  if  it  please  my  stars 
To  spare  me  life  and  liealtii. 

!2  Gent.  Heaven  bless  vonr  grace ! 

Mar,  And  you,  with  ail  my  heart ! 

1  Gent.  Now  Heav*n  preserve  your  happy 

Mar,  I  thank  you  too.  [days ! 

3  Gent,  Now  Ileav'n  save  your  gmce ! 

Mar.  I  thank  you  all. 

Beau,  On  there  betbre ! 
'    Afar.  Stand,  gentlemen ! 
Stay  yet  a  while;  for  I  am  minded  to 
Impart  my  love  to  these  good  people,  and 
My  friends,  whose  love  and  prayers  for  my 

greatness. 
Are  equal  in  abundance.    Note  me  well. 
And  with  my  words  my  heart;  for  as  the 

tree —  [be  inform'd 

Long.  Your  grace  had  best  beware;  'twill 
Your  greatness  with  the  people. 

**  You^re  faithfully  ffic^l  Amended  by  Sympson. 

*' The  high  and  mighty  duchess  9 

' •  Duchy  lope^man, 

A  ladder  of  an  hundred,  &c.1  This  is  a  severe  sneer  upon  the  states  of  Holland^  &0i, 
for  arro^ting  the  title  of  high  and  mighty  f  who,  nqt  |ot)g  before,  had  not  diir'd  to  assume  a 
better  than  that  of  the  poor  distressed.  The  time  when  the  sti^tes  took  this  stile  upon  'em, 
u'ill  be  a  .pretty  certam  aera  to  fix  the  date  of  this  Play ;  but  I  have  not  leisure  to  consult 
Cjic  books  of  those  times,  and  therefore  shall  wish  the  reader  will  do  it  for  me.  Sympson. 
^^  Lope-77itf n.]  Lope  is  an  obsolete  word^  wltich^  we  learn  from  Cgles*s  Dkt,  meant  to  heap, 
''  I  must 


Mar.  Ihadmo^, 
My  honest  and  ingenuous  people;  but 
The  weight  of  business  hath  prevented  me; 
I  am  call'd  from  you :  but  tins  tree  I  spake  of  i 
Shall  bring  forth  fruit,  I  hope  to  jrouf  content. 
And  so,  I  share  my  bowels  'mongst  yoa  alL 

Omnes,  A  noble  duke!  a  very  noble  duke! 

Enter  Fourth  Gentleman. 

Gent.  Afore  there,  gentlemen ! 

4  Gent:  You're  fairlv  met^,  good  mon- 
sieur Mount  Marine  1 

Gent.  Be  advis'd !  the  time  is  alterM. 

4  Gent,  Is  he  not  the  same  man  he  was 

afore  ? 

Mar,  Still  the  same  man  to  you,  sir. 

Long.  You  have  received  mighty  grace; 

be  thankful. 

4  Gent.  Let  n»e  not  die  in  ignorance. 

Long.  You  shall  not :  [pleas*d 

Then  know,  the  kinp,  out  of  his  love,  hath 
To  stile  him  duke  ol  Burgundy. 

4  Gent.  Oh,  great  duke. 
Thus  low  I  nlead  for  pardon,  and  desire 
To  be  enroll'd  amongst  your  poorest  slaves. 

Ma7\  Sir,  you  have  mercy,  and  withal  toy 

hand. 
From  henceforth  let  me  call  you  one  of  mine. 

Gent,  Make  room  afore  there,  and  dismiss 

the  people!  [and  quiet! 

Mar.  Kv'ry  man  to  his  house  in  peace 

People.  Now  IIeav*n  preserve  the  duke  I 

Heav'u  bless  the  duke !  [Exeunt* 

Enter  Lady^  with  a  Letter  in  her  hand. 

Lady.  This  letter  came  this  momiug  from 
my  cousin : 

*  To  the  great  lady,  high  and  mighty  duchess 

*  Of  Rui'gundy,  be  these  deliver^!.' 
Oh,  for  a  stronger  lace  to  keep  my  breath, 
Tliat  I  may  laugh  the  nine  days,  'till  the  won- 
der •  [chess**? 

Fall  to  an  ebb!  the  hi^h  and  mighty  du* 
The  high  and  mighty  God,  wliat  a  side's  this! 
Methinks  it  goes  like  a  dutcby  lope-man  *^ ! 
A  ladder  of  one  hundred  rounds  will  fail 
To  reach  the  top  on't.  Well,  my  gentle  cousin^ 
I  know^  by  these  contents^  your  itch  of  ho- 
nour I  [ly : 
You  must  to  th'  court  you  say,  and  very  shoit- 
You  shall  be  welcome ;  and  if  your  wife  hav^ 

wit, 
111  put  her  in  a  thriving  course;  if  not. 
Her  own  sin  on  her  own  head !  not  a  blot 
Sbi^l  stain  my  reputation,  only  this; 


Act  3.] 


THE  NOBI^E  aENTLEMAN, 


18d 


Mttr»  What  is  he? 
Tf  he  be  noble,  or  have  anj  part 
Tliat's  worthy  our  convei*se,  we  do  accept 

hiiu.  [noble ; 

JLadi/,  I  can  assure  your  grace,  lus  strain  is 
But  he  is  very  subtle. 

Mar,  Let  him  be  so  !  [strate 

Let  him  have  all  the  brains,  I  shall  demon* 
How  this  most  Christian  crown  of  France 

can  bear 
No  other  show  of  title  than  the  king's. 
I  will  go  in  and  meditate  for  half  an  hour, 
And  tlien  be  ready  for  him  presently; 
I  will  convert  him  quickly,  or  confound  him: 

Ge?U,  Is  mad  Shattillion  here? 

Lad^,  'Is  here,  and's  lady. 
I  prithee,  servant,  fetch  him  hither* 

Gent.  Why, 
What  do  you  mean  to  put  him  to  ? 

Ladi/.  To  chat  [brave 

With  the  mac^  lad  my  husband;  'twill  hp 
To  hear  them  speak,  babble,  stare,  and  prate! 

Beau.  But  what  shall  be  die  end  of  ali 

tills,  lady? 

Enter  SftattUlUm  and  Love, 

Lady.  Leave  that  to  me.    Now  for  the 

grand  dispute! 
For  see,  here  comes  Shattillion:  as  I  live, 
Methiniss  all  France  should  bear  part  of  bit 

^efs. 

lAmg,  111  fetch  my  lord  the  duke. 

Shat,  Where  am  1  now? 
Or  whither  will  you  lead  mc?  to  my  death? 
I  cfxive  ray  privilege ! 
I  must  not  die,  but  by  just  course  oflaw^ 

Oent,  His  majesty  hath  sent  by  me  your 

pardon ;  [entreat  you 

He  meant  not  you  should  die,  but  would 
To  lay  the  full  state  of  your  title  opeo^ 
Unto  a  grave  and  noble  gentleman. 

Enter  Marine  and  Longuevilie, 

The  duke  of  Burgundy,  who  here  doth  come; 
Who,  either  by  his  wisdom  will  confute  you. 
Or  else  inform  and  satisfy  the  king. 

Beau,  May't  please  your  grace,  this  is  the 

gentleman. 

Mar.  Is  tills  he  that  chops  logick  wick. 

my  licgc  ? 

y  MoiL]  i.  e.  A  mule.  Anciently  it  was  always  spelt  thus.  From  many  examples  which 
nught  be  produced,  take  the  following: 

'  For  one  that  is  sand-blynd  woulde  take  an  asse  for  a  fHpyk,  or  another  praise  a  rime  of 
*  Aobyn  Hode  for  as  excellent  a  making  as  Troylus  of  Chaucer ;  yet  slioulde  they  not  straight^ 
'  wais  be  counted  madde  therfore.'  Eramus  Frai$e  ofFoify,  by  Sir  Tho$,  Chalofier,  1^6.  JK. 

*•  — —  wait  for  my  coming  to 
Ikke  up  po8t-hor$e$.]  As  his  grace  in  imagination  was  not  going  into  the  country,  but 


I  must  for  health's  sake  sometimes  make  an 
ass  [good, 

Of  the  tame  moil  ^^  my  husband;  'twill  do  him 
And  give  him  fresher  brains,  me  fresher  blopd. 
Now  for  the  noble  duke  I  I  bear  hiip  comiug. 

Enter  Marine  and  his  IVain, 

Yoar  grace  is  well  return'd. 

Mar,  As  well  as  may  be ; 
Never  in  younger  health,  never  more  able : 
I  mean  to*  be  your  bedfellow  this  night; 
Let  me  have  good  encounter. , 

Beau,  Bless  me,  Heav'n, 
What  a  hot  meat  this  greatness  is ! 

Long,  It  may  be  so; 
For  ril  be  sworn  he  hath  not  got  a  snap 
This  t%vi>  months  on  my  knowledge,  or  her 

woman 
Is  damn*d  for  swearing  it.  [tendance, 

Mar.  I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  for  your  at- 
And  also  your  great  pains !  Pray  know  my 

lodgings 
Better  and  oAner;  do  so,  gentlemen ! 
Now,  by  my  honour,  as  I  am  a  prince, 
I  sp<»k  sincerely,  know  my  lodgings  better. 
And  be  not  strangers !  I  shall  see  your  service 
And  your  deservings,  when  you  leastexpect — 

Omues,  We  humbly  thaink  5  our  grace  for 

this  great  favour. 

Mar,  Jaques! 

Jaques,  Your  grace? 

Mar.  Be  ready  for  the  country. 
And  let  my  tenants  know  the  king's  great 

love ; 
Say  I  would  see  them,  but  tlie  weight  at  court 
Lies  heavy  on  my  shoulders;  let  them  know 
I  do  expect  their  duties  in  attendance 
'(''aiiist  the  next  feast,  wait  for  my  coming  to 
Take  up  post-horses^^,  and  be  full  of  speed. 
[Exit  Jaques, 

Lady.  I  would  desire  your  gnu:e — 

Mar.  You  shall  desire,  [speak  \ 

And  have  your  full  desire :  sweet  duchess, 

iMdy.  To  have  some  conference  with  a 

gentleman 
TMt  seems  not  altogether  void  of  reason : 
He  talks  of  tides,  and  things  near  the  crown; 
And  knowing  none  so  fit  as  your  good  grace 
To  give  the  difference*'  in  such  points  of 

state- 


only  was  sending  his  man  witli  a  message  thither,  one  should  t^nk  it  no  injury  done  to  the 
poets,  to  suppose  they  wrote, 

Go 

Take  up  post-horses,  &c.  Sympson, 

We  think  this  may  refer  to  thdr  attendance  "gainst  the  next  feast, 
^  Difference,]  Syinpson  would  read,  *  Deference^  from  the  French  deferer^  to  decree, ' 
•inch  variatjon  fr^  think  hard. 

Shat. 


IBIr 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


[Act  4. 


Shot.  D*ye  mock  me?  You  are  great;  the 

time  will  come. 
When  you  shall  be  as  raach  contemn'd  as  T. 
W  here  are  the  ancicntcoropliments  of  France, 
That  upstarts  brave  the  pnnces  of  the  blood  ? 

Mar,  Your  title,  sir,  in  short  ? 

Shat,  He  must,  sir,  be 
A  better  statesman  than  yourself,  that  can 
Trip  me  in  anyr  thing;  £  will  not  speak 
Beiore  these  witnesses. 

Mar.  Depart  the  room ;  [duchess. 

For  none   shall  stay,   no,  not  my  dearest 

iMdy.  We'll  stand  behind  the  arras,  and 

hear  all.  [Eipeunt. 

Mar.  In  that  chair  take  your  place ;  I  in 
Discourse  your  title  now.  [this  : 

Shot.  Sir,  you  shall  know, 
My  Love's  true  title'®,  mine  by  marriage; 
Setting  aside  the  first  race  of  Frencli  kmgs. 
Which  will  not  here  concern  us,  as  Phara- 

mondy  ,     , 

With  Clodius,  Meroveus,  and  Chilperick, 
And  to  come  down  into  the  second  race. 
Which  we  will  likewise  slip — 

Mar.  But,  take  me  with  you!     [Charles, 

Shot,  I  pray  you  give  me  leave!  Of  Martel 
The  father  of  king  Pepin  (who  was  sire 
To  Charles  the  Great)  and  famous  Charle- 

main ;  [kings. 

And  to  come  to  the  third  race  of  fVench 
\Vhich  won't  be  greatly  pertinent  in   tliis 

cause 
Betwixt  the  king  and  me,  of  \vhich  yon  know 
Hugh  Capet  was  the  first ; 
Next  his  son  Robert,  Henry  then,  and  Philip, 
With  Lewis,  and  his  son  a'  Lewis  too, 
And  of  that  name  the  seventh ;  but  all  this 
Springs  from    a    female,    as    it  shall  ap- 
pear— 

Mar,  Now  give  me  leave!  I  grant  you  this 

your  title, 
At  the  first  sight,  carries  some  show  of  truth; 
But  if  ye  wei^h  it  well,  ye  shall  find  light. 
Is  not  his  majesty  posses^d  in  peace. 
And  justice  executed  in  his  name? 


And  can  you  think  the  most  Christian  kiiif; 
W^ould  do  this,  if  he  saw  not  reason  for  it  ? 

Shut.  But  had  not  the  tenth  Lewis  a  sole 

Mar,  I  cannot  tell.  [daughter  ? 

Shut.  But  answer  me  directly. 

Mar.  It  is  a  most  seditious  question. 

Sff'it.  Is  this  your  justice  ? 

Mar.  I  stand  for  my  king. 

Shat.  Was  ever  heil^apparent  thus  abus'd  ? 
Ill  have  your  head  for  this! 

Mar.  Why,  do  your  worst!  [traitor? 

Shat.  Will  no  one  stir  to  appreliend  this 
A  guard  about  my  person !  Will  none  come  f 
Must  my  own  royal  hands  perform  the  deed  ? 
Then  thus  I  do  arrest  you. 

Mar.  Treason!  help! 

Enter  Lady,    Longueville,    Beavfort,    and 
Gentleman. 

Lady.  Help,  help,  my  lord  and  husband ! 

Mar.  Help  the  duke! 

Long.  Furbedr  his  grace's  person ! 

Shat.  Forbea^  you 
To  touch  him  that  your  heir-apparent  weds ! 
But,  by  tliis  liandT,  I  will  have  all   Tour 

heads,  [Erit. 

Gent.  How  doth  your  grace  ? 

Mar.  Why,  well. 

Gent.  How  do  you  find  his.  title  } 

Mar.  'Tis  a  dangerous  one,     "^ 
As  can  come  by  a  female. 

Gent.  Ay,  'tis  true ; 
But  the  law  Salique  cuts  him  off  from  alt. 

iKmg.   I  do  beseech    your   grace    how 

stands  his  title  ?  [him  off  from  all. 

Mar.  Pho!  nothing!  th*  law  Salique  cuts 

Lady.   My  gracious  husband,  yon   must 

now  prepare, 
In  all  your  grace's  pomp  to  entertain 
Your  cousin,  who  is  now  a  convertite, 
And  follows  here ;  this  night  he  will  be  here. 

Mar.  Be  ready  all  in  Iwste !  I  do  intend 
To  shew  before  nw  cousin's  wondring  face. 
The  greatness  of*^  my  pomp,  and  of  my 

place.  [Exenni. 


ACT   IV. 


Enter  Clermont,  hU  Wife,  and  a  Servant, 

Cler.  ^IRRAH,  is  all  things  carried  to  the 

*^    tailor? 
The  measure,  and  tlie  fashion  of  the  gown. 
With  the  best  trim  ? 

Serv.  Yes,  sir,  ^nd  'twill  be  ready 
Within  this  two  da^s. 

Cler.  For  myself  I  care  not ; 
I  have  a  suit  or  two  of  ancient  velvet, 


Which,  with  some  small  correcting  afid.ad« 
]\jlay  steal  into  the  presence.  [dition, 

Wife.  'Would  my  gown 
Were  ready !  husband,  I  will  lay  my  life 
To  make  you  something  ere  tomorrow*D]ght 

Cler.  It  must  not  be 
Before  we  see  the  duke,  and  have  advice. 
How  to  behave  ourselves.  Let's  in  tlie  while, 
And  keep  ourselves  from  knowledge^  'till 

time  shall  call  us!  [Exeunt, 


3^  This  seems  a  flirt  on  the  English  king's  title  to  France,  in  Henry  the  Fifth. 


neobeld. 
Enter 


4^ct4.1 


iHfi  NOBLE  GENTtEMAN. 


Enter  ijmgkeviUe  and  Beaufort. 

Lang.  I  mach  admire  the  fierce!  masculine 
Of  this  dread  Amazon.  [spirit 

Beau.  This  following  night 
Hi  have  awench  in  solace. 

Lon^,  Sir,  I  hear  you, 
And  will  be  with  you,  if  I  live;  no  more! 

Enter  Maria. 

Maria.  My  lady  would  entreat  your  pre- 
sence, gentlemen.  [worthy. 
Beau.  We  will  obey  your  lady;  she  is 
Long.  You,  light  o'love",  a  word  or  two. 
Maria.  Your  will,  sir? 
Long.  Hark  in  your  ear!  Fmarry? 

Wilt  diou  be  married?  Speak,  wUt  thou 
Maria.  Married  ?  to  whom,  sir  ? 
Long.  To  a  proper  fellow. 

Landed,  and  able-bodied ! 
Maria.  Why  do  you  flout  me,  sir  ? 
Long.  I  swear  I  do  not; 

I  love  thee  for  thy  lady's  sake :  be  free! 
Maria.  If  I  could  meet  such  matches  as 
you  speak  of^ 

I  were  a  very  child  to  lose  my  time,  sir. 
Long.    What  sayest    thou    to  monsieur 
Maria.  Sir,  [Beaufort? 

I  say  he  is  ti  proper  gentleman,  and  &r 

Above  my  means  to  look  at. 
Long.  Dost  thou  like  him  ? 
Maria.  Yes,  sir,  and  ever  did. 
Long.  He  is  thine  own. 
Maria.  You  are  too  great  in  promises. 
Xofi^.  Be  rol'd, 

And  follow  my  advice,  he  shall  be  thine. 
Maria,  ^ould  you  would  make  it  good,  sir ! 
Long.  Do  but  thus : 

Get  thee  a  cushion  underneath  thy  cloaths, 

And  leave  the  rest  to  me. 
Maria.  Fll  be  your  scholar ; 

1  cannot  lose  much  by  the  venture  sure. 
Long.  T1h)u  wilt  lose  a  pretty  maiden- 
head, my  rogue,  [member, 

Or  I  am  much  oUh'bow  hand.    You'll  re- 

If  all  this  take  effect,  who  did  it  for  you, 

And  what  I  may  deserve  for  such  a  kind- 
ness? 
Maria.  Yours,  sir.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Jaques  and  Shattiilion  severally. 

^  Jaques.  Save  you,  sir! 

^  Sliat.  Save  the  king!  [way — 

Jaques.  I  pray  you,  sir,  which  is  tlie  nearest 
Shot.  Save  the  king!  This  is  the  nearest 
way.  [post-house  ? 

Jaques.  Which  is  the  nearest  way  to  the 
Shot.  God  save  the  king  and  his  post- 
house! 

Jaques.  I  pray,  sir,  direct  me  to  the  house. 
Shat.  Heaven  save  the  king !  You  cannot 
catch  me,  sir. 
Jaques.  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir. 


m 

Shat.  You  do  liot?  I  say,  you  cannot 

catch  me,  sir. 

Jaques.  Not  catch  you,  sir? 
-    Shat.  No,  sir ;  nor  can  the  king. 
With  all  his  stratagems,  and  his  forc'd  tricks, 
(Altho'  he  put  his  nobles  in  disguise, 
Never  so  oft,  to  sift  into  ray  words) 
By  course  of  law,  lay  hold  upon  my  life. 

Jaques.  It  is  a  business  that  my  lord  the 

duke 
Is  by  the  king  employed  in,  and  he  thinks 
I  am  aeouainted  with  it. 

Shat.  I  shaVt  need 
To  rip  the  cause  up,  from  the  first,  to  you; 
But  if  his  majesty  had  suffered  me 
To  marry  her,  tho'  she  be,  after  him. 
The  right  heir-general  to    the    crown    of 

France, 
i  would  not  have  convey'd  her  into  Spain, 
As  it  was  thouglit,  nor  would  I  e'er  have 

joined 
With  the  reformed  churches,  to  make  them 
Stand  for  my  cause. 

Jaques,  1  do  not  think  you  would. 

Shat.  I  thank,  you,  sir.    And  since  I  see 

you  are 
A  favourer  of  virtues  kept  in  bondage. 
Tell  directly  to  my  sovereign  king, 
(For  so  I  will  acknowledge  liim  for  ever) 
How  you  have  found  my  staid  affections 
Settled  for  peace,  and  for  the  present  state. 

Jaques.  Why,  sir — 

Shat.  And,  good  sir,  tell  him  further  this; 
That  notwithstanding  all  suggestions  brought 
To  him  against  me,  and  all  his  suspicions 
(Which  are  innumerable)  of  my  treasons, 
If  he  will  warrant  me  but  public  trial, 
I'll  freely  yield  myself  into  his  hands : 
Can  he  nave  more  than  this  ? 

Jaques.  No,  by  my  troth.  [reason, 

Shat.  I  would  bis  majesty  would  hear  buc 
As  well  as  you ! 

.Jaques.  But,  sir,  you  do  mistake  me. 
For  I  ne'er  saw  the  king 
In  all  my  life  but  once :  therefore,  good  sir, 
May*t  please  you  to  shew  me  which  is  the 

post-house  ?  [ray  friend? 

Shat.  I  cry  you  mercy,  sir!   then  you're 

Jaques.  Yes,  sir.  , 

iSi^cr^.  And  such  raen  are  very  rare  with  me ! 
The  post-house  is  hard  by.     Farewell ! 

Jaques.  I  thank  you,  sir !  I  must  ride  hard 

to-night. 
And  it  is  dark  already. 

Shat.  I  am  cruel, 
To  send  this  man  directly  to  his  death. 
That  is  my  friend,  and  I  might  easily  save 

him:  fback ! 

Mc  shall  not  die.  Comeback,  my  friend,  come 

Jaques.  What  is  your  will  ? 

Shat.  Do  you  not  know? 

Jaques.  Not  T.  [face  ? 

Shot.  And  do  you  gather  nothing  by  my 


3*  You.  light  alone.]  Amended  in  1750. 
VOL.  IH.  B  b 


Jaques. 


186 


tHti  NOBtE  GENTLEMAN. 


[Act  4 


Jaquet.  Ko,  sir. 

Shot.  Virtue  is  ever  innocent 
Lay  not  the  fault  on  me ;  I  grieve  for  you. 
And  wish  that  all  my  tears  ^ight  win  your 

safety. 

Jaques,  Why,  sir? 

Shot.  Alas,  good  friend,  you  are  undone. 
The  more  ill  fortune  mine,  to  be  tlie  means 
Of  your  sad  overthrow :  ^ou  know  not  me  ? 

Jaquet,  No,  truly,  sir. 

Shut.  .'Would  you  had  never  seen  me ! 
1  am  a  man  pursued  by  the  whole  state. 
And  sure  some  one  hath  seen  me  talk  with  you. 

Jaques.  Yes,  divers,  sir. 

Shot,  Why  then,  your  head  is  gone. 

Jaquet,  I'll  out  of  town. 

Shat,  'Would  it  were  soon  enough ! 
Stay,  if  you  love  your  life:  or  else  you're 

taken. 
'  Jaques.  What  shall  I  do? 

Shat  rU  venture  deeply  for  him, 
Hather  than  cast  awav  an  innocent : 
Take  courage,  friend  f  I  will  preserve  thy  life, 
With  hazani  of  mine  own. 

Jaquet.  I  tliank  you,  sir. 

Shat.  This  night  thou  shalt  be  lodg*d  within 
.  my  doors,  [morn 

Which  shall  be  all  lock'd  fast;  and  lu  the 
1*11  so  provide,  you  shall  have  free  access 
To  the  searside,  and  so  be  shipt  away^ 
Ere  any  know  it. 

Jaquet,  Good  sir,  suddenly! 
I  am  afraid  to  die. 

8hat.  Then  follow  me.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  ShattilliofCt  Ixrte. 

lam.  This  way  he  went,  and  there's  the 

house :  I  hope 
His  better  angel  hath  directed  him      [man! 
To  leave  the  wandring  streets.    Poor  gentle- 
*WouId  I  were  able  with  as  free  a  heart 
To  set  his  soul  right,  as  1  am  to  grieve 
The  ruin  of  his  fame,  which  God  forgive  me! 
Sir,  if  you  be  within,  I  pray,  sir,  speak  to  me. 

Shat,  I  am  within,  and  will  be:  what  are 

Jjoroe.  A  friend.  [you? 

Shat,  No,  sir;  ^rou  must  pardon  me; 
I  am  acquainted  with  none  such.^ — Be  speedy, 
[To  Jaquet  within. 
Friend ;  there  is  no  other  remedy. 

Jjore,  A  word,  sir!  I  say,  I  am  your  friend. 

Shat,    You  cannot  scape   by  any  other 

means;  [is  your  business,  sir? 

Be  not  fearful. — God  save  the  king!  Whal 

Jj(ite,  To  speak  with  you. 

Shat,  Speak  oot  then. 

Jjove.  Shall  I  not  come  up  ? 

Shut.  TTiou  shalt  not.— Fly,  if  thou  be'st 

thine  own  friend ; 
There  lies  the  suit,  and  all  the  furniture 
Belonging  to  the  head :  on  with  it,  friend ! 

L()vc,  Sir,  do  you  hear? 

Shat,  I  do:  God  bless  tlyi  king! — 
It  was  a  hubit  I  had  htid  aside  [me. 

Fof  my  own  person,  if  the  state  had  for«'4 


Love,  Good  sir,  unlock  your  door ! 

Shat.  Be  full  of  speed! 
I  see  some  twenty  musqueteers  in  ambuslw-* 
Whate*er  thou  art,  know  I  am  here,  and  will 

be.  [venge  ?— 

Seest  thou  this  bloody  sword  that  cries   fe- 
Shake  not,  my  friend;  thro'  millions  of  the99 

foes 
I'll  be  thy  guard,  and  set  thee  safe  aboard* 

Lave.  Dare  you  not  trust  me,  sir  i 

Shat,  My  good  sword  before  me. 
And  my  alfegiance  to  the  king,  I  tell  theo. 
Captain,  (for  so  I  guess  thee  by  thy  arms. 
And  the  loose  flanks  of  halberdiers  about  thee) 
Thou  art  too  weak  and  foolish  to  attempt 

me.— 
If  you  be  ready,  follow  me ;  and  hark  yoii^ 
Upon  your  life  speak  to  no  living  wight. 
Except  myself! 

Love.  Monsieur Shattill ion! 

Shat.  Thou  shalt  not  call  again !  Thus  witli 

my  sword. 
And  tlie  strong  faith  I  bear  unto  the  king, 
(Whom  God  preserve!)  I  will  descend  my 

chamber,  [throat-^— 

And   cut  thy  throat;  I  swear,  I'll  cut  thy 
Steal  after  me,  and  live. 

JjQve.  1  will  not  stay 
The  fury  of  a  man  so  tar  distracted. 

[ExU. 

Enter  Shattillim. 

Shat.  Where  is  the  officer  that  dares  not 

enter, 
To  entrap  the  life  of  my  distressed  friend? 
Ay,  have  you  liid  yourself?  you  must  be  found! 
VVhat  do  you  fear?  is  not  authority 
On  your  side  f  Nay,  I  know  the  kmg's  com^ 

mand  [Speak ! 

Will  be  your  warrant;  why  then  fear  you? 
What  strange  designs  are  these !  ShattilJion, 
Be  resolute  and  bear  thyself  upright, 
Tho'  tl)e  whole  world  despise  thee.    Soft! 

raethinks 
I  heard  a  rushing  which  was  like  the  shake 
Of  a  discovered  officer ;  I'll  search 
The  whole  street  over,  but  I'll  find  thee  out. 

[Eni. 

Enter  Jaquet  in  Woman* t  AppareL ' 

Jaquet.  How  my  joints  do  sliake!  Wliert 

had  I  been 
But  for  this  worthy  gentleman,  that  hath 
Some  touch  of  my  intbrtuncs?  'Wouldlwcw 
Safe  under  hatches  once,  tor  Callicut ! 
Farewell,  the  pomp  of  co»irt !  I  never  mor« 
Can  hope  to  be  a  duke,  or  any  thing; 
I  never  more  shall  see  the  glorious  fijce 
Of  my  fair-spreading  lord  that  lov'd  me  welt 

Enter  ShattiUion. 

Shat.  Fly  you  so  fast?  I  had  a  sight  of  you. 
But  would  not  follow  you,  I  was  too  wise; 
You  sliall  not  lead  me  with  a  cunning  tricki 
Where  yon  may  catch  me.    Poor  ShnitillioiiJ 
Hack  the  king  g  aiigor  left  that*  ne'er  a  irirnd? 


Act  4.} 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


tsr 


Ko,  all  men^s  lovet  move  by  the  breath  of 

Hingis.  [life. 

Jaquet,  It  is  the  gentleman  that  sav*d  my 
Su-! 

iSAo/.  Bless  Sbattillion!  Another  plot? 

Jaques,  No,  sir.  'tis  I. 

Skat,  Why,  who  are  you  ? 

Jaques,  Your  friiMid  whom  you  preserv'd. 

Shot,  Whom  I  pr*?serv'd? 
My  friend  ?  I  have  do  woman-friend  but  one. 
Who  is  too  close  in  prison  to  be  here. 
Come  near!  let  me  look  on  you. 

Jaqnet,  It  is  L  [stature. 

Skat.  You  sliould  not  be  a  woman,  by  your 

Jaguet.  I  am  none,  sir. 

Sh*t,  J  ^now  it;  then  keep  off. 
Strange  men  and  times!  How  I  am  still  pre- 
serv'd! 
Here  they  hare  sent  a  yeoman  of  the  guard 
Disgaist'd  in  woman's  cloaths,  to  work  on  me, 
To  make  love  to  me,  and  to  trap  my  words, 
And  so  ensnare  my  life.    I  know  you,  sir : 
Stand  back,  npou  your  peril !  Can  this  be 
la  Christian  commonweals?  From  this  time 

forth 
ril  cut  oflf  all  the  means  to  work  on  me : 
111  ne'er  stir  from  my  house,  and  keep  my 

doors 
Lock'd  day  and  night,  and  cheapen  meat 

and  drink 
At  the  next  shops  by  signs  out  of  my  window. 
And,  having  bought  it,  draw't  up  in  my  gar- 
ters. 

Jaguei,  Sir,  will  you  help  me? 

Shai,  Do  not  follow  ine ! 
m  take  a  coarse  to  live,  despite  of  men. 

[Exit, 

Jaquet,    He  dares  not  venture  for  me: 

wretched  Jaques !  ' 

Thou  art  undone  for  ever  and  for  ever. 
Never  to  rise  again.    What  shall  I  do  ? 

Enter  Beaufort, 

Where  shall  I  hide  me  ?  Here  is  one  to  take 

me: 
I  must  stand  close,  and  not  speak  for  my  life. 

Beau.  Tliis  is  the  time  of  night,  and  this 

the  haunt. 
In  which  I  use  to  catch  my  waistcoateers : 
It  is  not  very  dark ;  no,  I  shall  spy  'em. 
I  have  walk^  out  in  such  a  nitchy  night, 
I^ould  not  see  my  fingers  tnis  far  off. 
And  yet  have  brought  home  venison  by  the 

smell; 
I  hope  they  have  not  left  their  old  walk.  Ah ! 
Have  I  espied  you  sitting  ?  By  this  light, 
To  me  there's  no  such  fine  sightin  the  world, 
As  a  white  apron  betwixt  twelve  and  one: 
See  how  it  glisters !  Do  you  think  to  scape  ? 
So  [  now  I  have  you  fast :  come,  and  don't 

strive; 
It  takes  away  the  edge  of  appetite : 
Come,  I'll  be  lib'ral  every  way.    Take  heed 
Yon  make  aonoisci  for  waking  of  the  watch  ! 

[^Exeunt. 


Enter  Clermont  and  Wife, 


Cler.  Now  the  blessing  of  some  happj 
guide. 
To  bring  n&  to  the  duke !  and  we  are  ready. 

Enter  Longueville  and  Gentleman, 

Come  forward !  See  the  door  is  opened ; 
And  two  ofs  gentlemen!  I'll  sneak  to  them; 
And  mark  how  I  behave  myself! — God  sava 
For  less  I  cannot  wish  to  men  of  sort,     [ye ! 
And  of  your  seeming :  are  you  of  the  duke*s  ? 

Long.  We  are,  sir,  and  your  servants;  your 

salutes 
We  give  you  back  again  with  many  thanks. 

Cler.  When  did  you  hear  such 'words  be* 

fore,  wife?  Peace! 
Do  yo>u  not  dare  to  answer  yet.— Is't  fit 
So  mean  a  gentleman  as  myself  should  crav* 
The  presence  o'th'  great  duke,  your  master  f 

Gent,  Sir,  you  may.  [siness,  sir  ? 

Long.  Shall  we  desire  your  name,  and  bu« 
And  we  will  presently  inform  liim  of  you. 

Cler.  }iy  name  is  Clerimont. 

Gent.  You're  his  grace's  kinsman. 
Or  I  am  much  mistaken. 

Cler.  You  are  right; 
Some  of  his  noble  blood  runs  thro'  these  vein% 
tho'  far  unworthy  of  his  grace's  knowledge. 

Long,  Sir,  we   must  all  be  yours:   hit 

grace's  kinsman, 
And  we  so  much  forgetful  ?  Twas  a  rudeness. 
And  must  attend  your  pardon:  thus  I  crav* 

it: 
First  o'  this  beauteous  lady,  whom  I  tak« 
To  be  your  wife,  sir;  next,  your  mercy ! 

Cier.  You  have  it,  sir.—I  do  not  like  this 

kissing ; 
It  lies  so  open  to  a  world  of  wishes.    f^Aside, 

Gent,  This  is  the  merry  fellow;  this  is  ht 
That  must  be  noble^too! 

Long.  And  so  he  shall. 
If  all  the  art  I  have  can  make  him  noble : 
ril  dub  him  with  a  knighthood,  if  his  wif« 
Will  be  but  forward,  aud  join  issue ; 
I  like  her  above  excellent. 

Gent.  Will't  please  you 
To  walk  a  turn  or  two,  whilst  to  the  duke 
We  make  your  coming  known  ? 

[Exeunt  Gentleman  and  Longueville. 

Cler.  I  shall  attend,  sir. 

Wife.  These  gentlemen  are  very  proper 
"    men. 

And  kiss  the  best  that  eVr  I  tasted.  For 
Goodnesfr-sake,  hubbund,  let  us  never  more 
Come  near  the  country,  wltatsoe'er  betide  usl 
I  am  in  malice  with  the  memory 
Of  that  same  stinking  dunghiil. 

Cfer,  Why,  now  you  are  my  chicken  and 

my  dear; 
Love  where  I  love,  hatc^here  I  hate !  Now 
You  shall  have  twenty  gow-ns,  and  twenty 
See  !  the  door's  opening.  [chains. 

Groom.  Room  afore  there!  the  duke  it 

entrin^. 
B  b  9  Entef^ 


106 


THE  NOBLE  GEMTLEMAK. 


Come  out,  thou  womsD  of  unwholesome  life ! 
Be  sorry  for  thy  sins,  and  learn  to  mend! 

Enter  Jaques. 

Nay,  never  hide  yoar  face ;  yon  shall  he  seen. 

ijmg,  Jaquesl  why,  Jaques!  art  thoutliat 

Jaques^ 
The  very  staff  and  right-hand  of  our  duke  ? 
Speak,  thou  hearded  Venus. 

Jaques,  I  am  lie. 
By  miracle  presery'd  to  be  that  Jaques. 


[Act  4 


Within  this    two  hourSy  genttemeo,  poos 

Jaques 
Was  but  as  corse  in  grave :  a  man  of  wiadom^ 
That,  of  my  conscience,  if  he  had  hir.  riishc 
Should  liave  a  pretty  state — But  that^s  «ll 

one — 
That  noble  gentleman  did  save  tliis  life; 
I  keep  it  for  him ;  'tis  his  own. 

Long.  Oh,  Bacchus!  [duke; 

Is  all  die  world  drunk  ? — Come !  well  lo  tho 
And  give  thanks  for  this  delivery.    [ExeunU 


ACT   V. 


Enter  Marine  and  Jaqtus.  < 

purine.  'VTOT  gone  unto  my  tenants^  to 

•*-^     relate 
My  grace,  and  honour,  and  the  mightiness 
Of  my  new  name,  wluch  w6uld  have  struck 

a  terror  [hearts  ? 

TJiTo*  their  coarse  doublets  to  their  very 

Jagues.  Alas,  great  lord  and  master,  I 

could  scarce 
With  safety  of  my  life  return  again 
Vnt6  your  grace's  house:  and,  but  for  one 
That  had  some  mercy,  I    had  sure  been 

hang'd. 

Mar.  My  house  .^  [i'th' town. 

Jagues,  Yes,  sir,  this  house ;  your  house 

Mar.  Jaques,  we  are  displeas'd;  hath  it 

Jagues.  What  name  ?  [no  name  ? 

Mar.  Dull  rogue!  wliat,  bath  the  king 

bestow'd 
So  many  honours,  open'd  all  his  springs, 
And  sliower'd    his   graces  down  upon  my 

head, 
And  has  my  house  no  name  ?  no  title  yet  ? 
Burgundy-house,  you  ass ! 

Jagues.  Your  grace's  mercy! 
And  when  I  was  come  off,  and  had  recover*d 
Burj^undy-house,  I  durst  not  yet  be  seen, 
But  lay  all  night,  for  fear  of  pursuivants, 
In  Burgundy  privy-house. 

M'jr.  Oh,  sir,  'tis  well ; 
Cnn  you  remember  now  f  But,  Jaques,  know, 
Si.ice  ihy  intended  journey  is  so  crost, 
I  will  go  down  myself  this  moniing. 

Jaques.  Sir? 

Mar.  Have  I  not  said  thb  morning  ? 

Jagues.  But  consider. 
That  nothing  is  prepared  yet  for  your  journey; 
Your  grace's  teams  not  here  to  draw  your 

cloatlis. 
And  not  a  carrier  yet  in  town  to  send  by. 
*         Mar.  I  say,  once  more,  go  about  it. 
YouVe  a  wise  man!  you'd  have  me  linger 

time, 
Till  I  have  worn  these  cloaths  out.    Will 

you  go?  [Exit  Jaquu, 

Make  you  ready,  wife ! 


Enter  Ladtf. 

Lady.  I  am  so,  mighty  duke* 

Mar.  Nay,  for  the  country. 

Lady.  How !  for  the  country  ? 

Mar.  Yes ;  I  am  resolv'd 
To  see  my  tenants  in  this  bravery,       [sboi^ 
Make  them  a  sumptuous  feast,  with  a  slight 
Of  Dives  and  Lazarus,  and  a  squib  or  two. 
And  so  return. 

Lady.  Why,  sir,  you  are  not  mad  ? 

Mar.  How  many  dukes  have  you  known 

mad  i  I  pray  speak.  [the  last: 

Litdy.  You  are  the  first,  sir,  and  I  hope 
But  you  are  stark  horn-mad. 

Mar.  Forbear,  good  wife!  [horns 

Lfuly.  As  I  have  taith,  you're  mad !  Your 
Have  been  too  heavy  for  you,  and  have 

broke 
Your  skull  in  pieces,  if  you  be  in  earnest. 

Mar.  Well,  you  shall  know  my  skull  and 

wits  are  whole. 
Ere  I  have  done;  and  yet  I  am  in  eamoft 

Latfy.  Why,  do  you  think  FU  go  ? 

Mar.  I  know  you  shall. 

La^.  I  shall  ?  By  what  authority  shall  1 1 

Mar,  I  am  your  husband. 
True ;  I  confess  it : 
And,  £y  that  name,  the  world  hath  given  yoa 
A  oower  to  sway  me :   but,  sir,  you  shall 

know 

There  is  a  greater  bond  that  ties  me  here^ 
Allegiance  to  the  king :  has  he  not  heap'd 
Those  honours  on  you  to  no  other  end,  but 
To  stay  you  here?  and  shall  I  have  a  hand 
In  the  offending  such  a  gracious  prince? 
Besides,  our  own  imdoing  lies  upon*t.     -^ 
Were  there  no  other  cause,  I  do  not  see. 
Why  you  should  go,  if  I  should  say  yoiC 

Mar.  Do  you  think  so  ?  [should  uotv 

Lady.  Yes,  faith.  ^ 

Mar.  Now,  good  wife. 
Make  me  understand  that  point. 

Ijody.  Why,  that  you  shall : 
Did  I  not  bring  you  hither? 

Mar.  Yes. 

Lady.  And  were 

Not 


Act  5.] 


THE  N6BLE  GENTLEMA]^. 


101 


Not  all  theiebonoun  wioagfat  out  of  the  fire 
Bj  rae? 

Mar.  By  you  } 

Lady,  iy  me?  How  strange  you  make  it! 
When  you  came  first,  did  you  not  walk  the 

town' 
In  a  long  cloak,  hal^ompass?  an  old  hat 
.  Lin'd  with  vellure,  and  on  it,  for  a  hand, 
A  skein  of  crimson  crewel  f 

Mar.  I  confess  it. 

La(fy,  And  took  base  courses  ? 

Mar.  Base  ? 

Lady.  Base,  by  this  light! 
Extreme  base,  and  scurvy*  monstrous  base ! 

Mar.  What  were  these  courses,  wife  ? 

Lady.  Why,  you  shall  know : 
Bid  you  not,  thus  attired,  trot  up  and  down, 
Plotung  for  vile  and  lousy  offices. 
And  agreed  with  the  serjeant  of  the  bears. 
To  buy  his  place  ?  Deny  this,  if  you  can. 

JIfar.  Why,  it  is  true. 

Lady.  And  was  not  that  monstrous  base? 

Mar.  Be  advis'd,  wife ;  a  bear's  a  princely 

L/idy.  A  bear  ?  [beast. 

Mar.  Yes,  wife ;  and  one  side  venison. 

Lady.  You're  more  than  one  side  fool; 

Tm  sure  of  that.  [know  you  shall  ^o; 

Mar.  But  since  you've  vex'd   me,  wife, 
Or  you  shall  never  faiave  penny  from  me. 

Lady.  Nay,  [overthrow, 

I  have  done :  and  tho'  I  know  'twill  be  your 
111  not  forsake  you  now. 

Mar.  Be  ready  then.  [Exit. 

Lady.  I  will. 

Enter    Beauforif    Longueville,  Gentleman, 
and  Maria. 

Long.  What,  are  you  married,  Beaufort  ? 

Beau.  Ay,  as  fast  [can  make  us. 

As  words,  and  hearts,  and  hands,  and  priest 

Lady.  Ob,  gentlemen,  we  are  undone ! 

Ljng.  For  what  ?  [my  husband, 

Lady.  This  gentleman,  the  lord  of  Lome, 
Will  be  gone  down  to  shew  his  play-fellows 
Where  he  is  gay* 

"  A  guarded  coat,  and  a  great  wooden  dagger.]  This  was,  we  apprehend,  the  old  habit 
#»f  the  fool. 
5*  With  a  ttrange  lock  that  opens  with  Amen.]  This  will  be   easily  understood  by  a 

Quotation  of  a  few  lines  irom  Mr.  Carew's  verses  to  Mr.  May,  on  his  Comedy,  called  The 
leir:  speaking  of  the  plot  of  that  play,  he  expresses  himself  thus: 
*  The  whole  plot  doth  alike  itself  disclose 
'  Through  the  five  acts,  as  doth  a  lock  that  goes 
'  With  letter*;  for,  'till  every  one  be  known, 
'  The  lock's  as  fast  as  if  you  had  found  none.'        S'/mpson. 
^'  I%e  laying  on  myself.]  Sympson  proposes  a  reading  here,  which  we  think  greatlf 
meods  tlie  text : 

The  buying  one  myself.  ' 

'*  To  hire  a  ripper'#  mare,  and  buy  new  dossers. 

With  a  fair  Darnex  carpet.]  As  rippers  is  a  word,  not  of  English,  but  French  growth, 
1  imagine  we  should  write  as  the  French  do,  thus : 

A  ripier'a  mare,  i.  e.  of  one  that  carries  6sh  from  the  sea-side,  &c.    Dossers^  or  difrsers, 
arc  paniers.     Darnex  carpet, »,  e.  a  carpet  of  Touruay.         Si/mpson. 

Ripper,  for  ripier,  wiu  priutpd  in  tli«  Beggars'  Bush,  'till  tliis  edition.    See  note  54  on 
dxitplay. 

But 


Beau.  What,  down  into  the  cmmtry  ? 

Lady.  Yes,  faith.    Was  ever  fool  but  1m 

so  cross  ? 
I  would  as  fain  be  gracious  to  him. 
As  he  could  wish  me;  but  he  will  not  let  me: 
Speak  faithfully,  will  he  deserve  my  mercy? 

Long.  According  to  liis  merits,  he  should 

wear 
A  guarded  coat,  and  a  great  wooden  dagger ''• 

Lady.  If  tiiere  be  any  woman,  that  doth 

kUQW 

The  duties  'twixt  a  husband  and  his  wife. 
Will  speak  but  one  word  for  him,  he  shall 

scape : 
Is  not  that  reasonable?  But  tliere's  none. 
Be  ready  therefore  to  pursue  the  plot 
We  had  against  a  pinch ;  for  he  must  stay. 

Long.  Wait  ^ou  here  for  him,  whilst  I  go^ 
And  make  the  km^r  acquainted  with  your  sporty 
For  fear  be  be  incens'd  for  our  attempting 
Places,  of  so  great  honour.  [Exit, 

Lady.  Go;  be  speedy! 

Enter  Marine,  Clerifnont,  Wife,  Jaques,  and 
a  Servant. 

Mar.  Come;  let  me  see  how  all  things 

are  disposed  of.  [furniture, 

Jaquet.  One  cart  will  serve  for  all  your 

With  room  enough  )>ehind  to  ease  the  foot- 

.  roan, 

A  cap-case  for  vour  linen  and  your  plate. 
With  a  strange  lock  that  opens  with  Amen^f, 
For  my  young  lord,  because  of  easy  portage, 
A  quiver  of  your  grace's,  lin'd  with  cunny, 
Made  to  be  liangM  about  the  nurse's  necK| 
Thus,  with  a  scarf  or  towel—- 
JWar.  Y^i7g<XKl- 
Jaques.  Nay, 
Tis  well ;  but  had  you  sta/d  another  week, 
I  would  have  had  you  furnish'd  in  such  pomp 
As  never  duke  of  Burgundy  was  furuish'd : 
You  should  have  had  i^  sompter,  tho'  't  had 
cost  me  .  [fiiin 

The  laying  on  myself",  where  now  you're 
To  hirea  npier's  mare^^,  and  buy  new  dossers; 


sn 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


[Act  P. 


But  I  hsLv^  got  them  painted  with  your  anos^ 
With  a  fair  Daraeii  carpet  of  my  own 
Laid  cross  for  the  more  state. 

Mar.  Jaques,  I  thank  you :  [home. 

Your  carpet  shall  he  brushed,  and  sent  you 
What,  are  you  ready,  wife  ? 
Ladi/,  An  hour  ago. 

Mar,  I  cannot  chuse  butkiss  thy  royal  lips, 
.  Dear  duchess  mine,  thott  art  so  good  a  wo- 
man, [man  Duckling ! 
Beau,  YbuM  say  so,  if  you  knew  all,  good- 
Cler.  This  was  the  happiest  fortune  could 
befal  me! 
^Ow,  in  his  absence,  will  I  follow  close 
jMine  own  preferment;  and  I  hope,  ere  long, 
To  make  my  mean  and  humble  name  so 
strong  [know 
As  my  great  cousin's;  when  the  world  shall 
I  bear  too  hot  a  spirit  to  live  low. 
Th^  next  spring  will  I  down,  my  wife  and 

houshold; 
111  have  my  ushers,  and  my  four  lacquies. 
Six  spare  caroches  too;  but  mum,  no  more ! 
What  I  intend  to  do,  T\\  keep  in  store. 
Mar,  Montez,  montezl  Jaques,  be  our 
equerry !  [in  couples ! 

Groom,  To  horse  there,  gentlemen,  and  fall 
Mar,  Come,  honou/d  duchess ! 

Enter  Longueville, 

1/mg,  Stand,  thou  proud  man! 

Mar,  Thieves,  Jaques !  raise  the  people ! 

Long,  No;  raise  no  people!  Tis  the  king*s 

command;  [ty  man ! 

Which  bids  thee  once  more  stand,  thou  haugh- 
Thou  art  a  monster;  for  thou  art  ungratefol, 
And,  like  a  fellow  of  a  rebel  nature. 
Hast  flung  from  his  embraces :  and,  for 
His  honours  given  tiKje,  hast  not  return'd 
So  much  as  thanks;  and  to  oppose  his  will. 
Resolved  to  leave  the  court,  and  set  the  realm 
Afire,  in  discontent,  and  open  action: 
Therefore  he  bids  thee  stand,  thou  proud  man. 
Whilst  with  the  whisking  of  mv  sword  about, 
I  take  thv  honours  off:  tlu's  first  sad  wliisk 
Takes  off  thy  dukedom:  thou  art  but  an  earl. 

Mar,  You  are  mistaken,  LongueviUe. 

Lons,  Ob,  'would  I  were!   This  second 

whisk  divides 
Thy  earldom  from  thee;  thou  art  yet  a  baron. 

Mar,  No  more  whisks,  if  you   love  me, 

LongueviUe!  [behind, 

Jjong,  Two  whisks  are  past,  and  two  arc  yet 


Yet  all  must  come :.  but,  not*  to  linger  time. 
With  these  two  whisks  I  end :  now  Mount* 

Marine, 
For  thou  art  now  no  more,  so  says  the  kine; 
An4  I  have  done  his  highness'  will  witti 

grief. 

Mar.  Degraded  from  my  honours? 

Long,  Tis  too  certain. 

Mar.  I  am  no  traitor  sure,  that  I  know  o£ 
Speak,  Jaques,  hast  thou  e'er  heard  me  atter 

word 
Tending  to  treason,'or  to  bring  in  the  enemy? 

Jaques*  Alas,  sir,  I  know  nothing? 
Why  should  your  worship  bring  me  in4o 

hang  me? 
God's  my  judge,  gentlemen,  I  never  meddled. 
But  with  the  brushing  of  his  cloaths,  or  fetch- 
ing 
In  water  in  a  morning  for  his  hands. 

Cler.  Are  these  the  honours  of  this  place? 

— Anthony, 
Help  me  to  take  her  gown  off!  Quickly, 
Or  i'U  so  swinge  you  for't — 

Wife.  Why,  husband !  sir ! 

Cter,  I  will  not  lose  a  penny  by  this  towi. 

lA)ng,  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  sir :  have 

her  to  her  lodging, 
And  there  undress  her;  I  will  wait  upon  her. 

Cier.  Indeed  you  shall  not;  your  month  is 

out,  I  take  it. 
Get  you  out  before  me,  wife. 
Cousin,  forewell  I  I  told  you  long  ago. 
That  pride  begins  with  pleasure,  ends  with 

woe.  [Exit  with  his  Wife, 

Beau.  Go  thy  way.  Sentences !  'twill  be 

thy  fortune 
To  live  and  die  a  cuckold,  and  churchwarden, 

Laab/.  Oh,  my  poor  husband !  what  a  heavy 
Is  fallen  him  f  [fortune 

Beau*  Methinks  'tis  strange. 
That,  Heaven  forewarning  great  men  of  their 

fells  ['em: 

With  such  plain  tokens,  they  should  not  avoid 
For  the  last  night,  betwixt  eleven  and  tweWe^ 
Two  great  and  hideous  blazing  stars  were 

seen 
To  fight  a  long  hour  by  th^lock,  the  one 
Dress'd  like  a  duke,  the  other  like  a  king; 
Till  at  the  last  the  crowned  star  o'ercame. 

Gent.  Why  do  you  stand  so  dead^  moa- 

sieur  Marine? 

Mar.  So  Caesar  fell,  when  in  the  capitol 
They  gave  his  body  two  and  thirty  wounds^ ^. 

Be 


^'^  So  CjBsar /e//,  when  in  the  capitol, 

ITiey  gave  his  bodj/  two  and  thirty  Kounds."]  Here  we  have  two  blunders,  the  first  with 
respect  to  the  place  r. here  Caesar  feli,  vvliich  %vas  not  in  the  capitol,  but  in  Curii  Pompeii; 
the  other  as  to  the  number  of  wounds  he  fell  by;  as  to  the  first,  it  was  a  blunder  peculiar  to 
the  playwrights  of  that  time;  Shakespeare  begun  it  in  Hamlet,  act  iii.  scene  5. 

*  Ham.  Now,  my  Jord  (Foloniun),  you  piay'd  once  in  the  university,  you  say? 

*  Pot.  I  did,  my  lord,  and  was  accounted  a  good  actor. 

*  Ham.  And  what  did  you  enact? 

*  Poi.  [  did  enact  Julius  Caesar;  1  was  kill'd  i'th*  CfpitoL* 

Our  authors,  treading  in  their  master's  steps,  took  up  the  same  mistake  here:  and  after  them 
Shakerly  IMarmion,  in  his  Antiquary,  inadvertently  continued  the  same  error,  making  \^ece* 
tanosav:  'And 


Act  5.] 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


199 


Be  waroed>  all  ye  peers;  and,  by  my  faU, 
Hereafter  learn  to  let  your  wives  rule  all  I 
Gent,  Monsieur  Marine,  pray  let  me  speak 

with  yon: 
Sir,  I  must  wave  you  to  conceal  this  party"; 
It  stands  upon  my  utter  overthrow. 
Seem  not  discontented,  nor  don't  stir  a  foot, 
For,  if  you  do,  you  and  your  hope — 
I  swear  you  are  a  lost  man,  if  you  stir! 
And  have  an  eye  to  Beaufort,  he  will  tempt 
•  you. 

Beau.  Come,  come;  for  shame  go  down ! 
Were  I  Marine,  by  Heaven  I  would  go  down ; 
And  being  there,  Vd  rattle  him  snch  an  an- 
Should  make  liim  smoke.  [swer 

Mar.  Good  monsieur  Beaufort,  peace ! 
Leave  theiie  rebellious  words;  or,  by  the  ho- 
nours 
Whicb  I  once  enjoy*d,  and  yet  may  swear  by, 
ril  tell  the  king  of  your  proceedings!  I 
Am  satisfied. 

Ladi/,  You  talk'd  of  going  down 
When  'twaa  not  fit;  but  now  let's  see  your 

spirit! 
A  thousand  and  a  thousand  will  .expect  it. 

Mar.  Why,  wife,  are  you  mad? 

Loify,  No^  nor  drunk,  but  I'd  have  you 

know  your  own  strength.  [wife; 

Mar,  You  talk  like  a  most  foolish  woman, 
I  tell  YOU  I  will  stay !  Yet  I  have  a 
Crotchet  troubles  me. 

XoRg.  More  crotchets  yet?  [counsel. 

Mar,  Follow  me,  Jaques!  I  must  have  thy 
I  will  return  again ;  stay  you  there,  wife  I 

Long,  I  fear  this  loss  of  honour  will  give 

him 
Some  few  stools.  [foot, 

Lufy,  No,  no;  he's  resolv'd,  he'll  not  stir  a 
rU  lay  my  life. 

Beau,  Ay,  but  he's  discontented ; 
How  shall  we  resolve  tliat,  and  make  him 

stay  with  comfort?  [Nature  work; 

JauIu,  Faith,  Beaufort,  we  must  e'en  let 
For  he  s  the  8weetest-temper*d  man  for  that 
As  one  can  wish;  for  let  men  but  go  about 
To  fool  him,  and  he'll  have  his  finger  as  deep 
In't  as  the  best.  But  see  where  he  comes 
Bless  OS  all !  [frowning : 


Enter  Marine, 


Mar,  Off  with  your  hats!  for  here  doth 
come 

The  high  and  mighty  duke  of  Burgundy ! 

Whatever  you  may  tliink,  IVe  thought,  and 
thought, 

And  thought  upon  it;  and  I  find  it  plain. 

The  king  cannot  take  back  what  he  has  given. 

Unless  I  tbrfeit  it  by  course  of  law. 

Not  all  tb^  water  in  tbe  river  Seine, 

Can  wash  the  blood  out  of  these  princely 
veins.  [best 

Lady,  God-a-mercy,  husband,  thon  art  the 

To  work  out  a  thing  at  a  pinch  in  France ! 
Mar.  I  will  ascend  my  state  again.     Du* 
chess,        ' 

Take  your  place,  and  let  our  champion  enter* 
Long,  Has  he  his  champion?  that  is  ex- 
cellent! [entrance! 
Mar,  And  let  loud  musick  sound  before  his 

Sound  trumpet^'  I  • 

Enter  Tuques  in  armour^  one  carrying  a  Scut» 
cheon  before  hinij  and  a  two-handed  Sword. 

Lady.  How  well  our  champion  doth  de- 
mean himself. 

As  if  he  had  been  made  for  such  an  action ! 

Methinks  his  sturdy  truncheon  he  doth  wield. 

Like  Mars  approaching  to  a  bloody  field. 
Mar.  1  think  there  is  no  man  so  desperate 

To  dare  encounter  with  our  champion. 

But  trust  me,  Jaques,  tbou  hast  pleas'd  us 
well !  [ceed ! 

Once  more,  our  warlike  music;  then  pro« 

-^—      Enter  Shattillion, 

Shat.  What  wond'rous  age  is  tliis  ?  what 

close  proceedings? 
I  hear  the  clang  of  trumpets  in  this  house : 
To  what  intent  do  not  our  statesmen  search? 
Oh,  no ;  tliey  look  not  into  simple  truth. 
For  I  am  true,  and  they  regard  not  me. 
A  man  in  armour  too  ?  God  save  the  king  I 
The  world  will  end ;  there's  nought  but  trea* 

chery. 

Jaques.  I,  Jaqnes,  servant  to  the  high  and 
mighiy  Godfrey,  duke  of  Burgundy,  do  come 

*  And  tins  was  Julius  Caesar's  hat  when  he  was  kill'd  in  the  capitoL* 
As  for  the  second  fault,  'twas  made  no  v/ltere  but  at  the  press,  for  the  number  (X  supposed 
in  the  original  MS.  was  wrote  in  figures,  thus,  23,  which,  by  an  easy  shifting  place  was  alterea 
to  39;  and  tltds  we  have  nine  wounds  more  than  Cssar  ever  received,        Sympsoti. 
^'  5<r,  J  mu^t  wave  you  to  conceal  this  party. 
It  standi  upon  my  utter  overthrow,']  To  wave  one  to  conceal,  should  pican  here  to  advise 
«•«  to  conceal;  but  I  don't  remember  any  such  sense  of  the  word  uave,  and  so  would  pro* 
pose  reading  the  lines  thus: 

Sir,  I  must  counsel  you  to  wave  this  party, 
It  stands  upon  my  utter  overthrow. 
The  good  lady's  gallants  want  to  keep  the  poor  gentleman  in  town,  and  for  this  end  the  Gen* 
tleman  takes  him  aside,  and  says,  I  would  advise  you  to  lay  aside  this  party^  i.  e.  resolution, 
of  going  down,  4^  Sympson. 

''  Stwjirf  trumpet.']  This  possibly  was.once  only  a  stage'direction,  but  in  time  has  crept 
ioto  the  text.    And  I  fancy  the  same  o£  sound,  after  room  there  rforCy  in  the  third  act,  upon 
tbe  new  duke's  first  pnblic  appearance*        Sympson,   ' 
VOl.m,  Cc  hithtt 


196 


THE  NOBLE  GENTLEMAN. 


[Acts. 


Love.  DearMt  Sbattillion,  see  upon  my 

knees 
I  offer  up  my  love;  forget  m?  wrongs. 

Shot.  Art  thou  mine  own  f 

Love.  By  Heav'n,  I  am. 

Shut.  Then  all  tlie  world  is  mine. 

Lave.  I've  stranger  things  to  tell  thee,  my 

dearest  love.  [own : 

Shot.  Tell  nothing,  but  that  thou  art  mine 
I  do  not  care  to  know  where  I  have  been. 
Or  how  I  have  liv'd,  or  any  thing, 
But  that  thou  art  mine  own.    [made  us  wed, 

Beau.  Well,  wife;  tho*  'twere  a  trick  that 
We'll  make  ourselves  merry  soon  in  bed. 

Mar.  Know  all,  I  am  no  duke. 

Ladyw  What  say  you  f 


Mar.  Jac|[ues! 

Jaques.  Sir! 

Mar.  I  am  a  duke. 

Bolh.  Are  you? 

Mar.  Yes,  faith,  yes,  (kith; 
But  it  must  only  run  among  ourselves. 
And,  Jaques,  thou  shalt  be  my  secretary  still. 

Lady.  Kind  gentlemen,  lead  in  Shattilliony 
For  he  must  needs  be  weak  and  sickly  yet. 
Now  all  my  labours  have  a  perfect  end. 
As  I  could  wish:  let  all  young  sprightly 

wives,  [husbuids, 

That  have  dull  foolish  coxcombs  to  their 
Learn  by  me  their  duties,  what  to  do. 
Which  is,  to  make  'em  foois^  and  please 

'em  too!  [Eseumt. 


EPILOGUE. 


The  monuments  of  virtue,  and  desert. 
Appear  more  goodly,  when  the  gloss  of  art 
Is  eaten  off  by  time,  than  when  at  first 
They  were  set  up^  not  censur  d  at  the  worst. 


We've  done  our  best,  for  yoor  content!, 

to  fit, 
With  new  pains,  tliis  old  monument  of  wit. 


THB 


THE  CORONATION'. 

A  COMEDY. 


Hm  first  edition  of  this  Play  was  printed  in  quarto  in  the  year  1640^  and  has  the  name  of 
John  Fletcher  prefixed  to  it,  as  the  Author.  Upon  this  authority  we  have  retained  it  in 
the  present  edition,  notwithstanding  there  is  evidence  of  equal  weight  to  authorize  us  to 
ascribe  it  to  James  Shirley,  the  editor  of  the  first  folio  in  1647.  That  writer,  in  the  year 
1653,  published  a  volume  of  his  Plays,  and  at  the  end  of  one  of  them,  viz.  The  Cardinal, 
has  enumerated  the  several  dramatic  pieces  written  by  him :  amongst  the  rest,  he  hat 
claimed  the  present  performance,  which,  he  says,  was  '  falsely  ascribed  to  Fletcher ;' 
with  what  degree  of  truth,  it  is  impossible  now  to  determine.  We  think  no  argument  can 
he  drawn  from  the  omission  of  it  in  the  first  folio,  for  the  reason  assigned  in  tlie  first  note 
Co  the  Phy.  It  has  not  heen  acted  for  many  years  past,  nor  do  we  know  of  its  having 
ever  been  altered. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


MEN. 

Selzucus;  suppotedSon  to  Eubulus;  but,  in 
reality y  Leonatus,  the  right  King  qf'Epirus. 

Akcadius,  suppoted  Nephew  to  Macarius; 
buty  in  retwitfy  Demetrius^  second  Son  to 
the  dead  King, 

EuBULus,    )  Noblemeny    Guardians  to  the 

Macarius,  i     late  King's  Sons. 

CissANDEB,  Lord'Frotector, 

Ltsimachus,  his  Son,  a  worthy  Gentleman, 

Nestoeius,  Father  to  Polidora. 


PoLEAMUS,  Captain  of  the  Castle. 

A  Bishop,  a»rf  Trustee  of  the  dead  King's 

Will.  ^ 

Antigovus,  a  Gentleman  in  waiting. 
Servant  to  PoUdora. 

WOMEN. 

Sophia,  Queen  of  Epirus. 

PoLiDORA,    courted  by  Arcadius^    and  his 

noble  and  constant  Mistress. 
Char  ILL  A,  an  Attendant  on  Sophia. 
Gentlanen,  Gentlewomen,  Masquers,  S^-c.  4-c, 


SCENE,  Epirus. 

'  The  Coronation^  It  were  to  be  wished  that  the  publisher  of  our  authors'  works  in  1679 
kad  given  his  reasons  in  the  preface,  or  elsewhere,  why  he  took  this  play  into  that  edition, 
^re  seems  to  be  no  just  grounds  upon  which  he  could  go  for  so  bold  a  practice,  seeing  the 
editor  of  the  first  folio  in  1647,  Mr.  Shirley,  lias  left  it  out;  a  fjerson  who  must  be  better 
scqaainted  with  what  was  our  authors',  as  living  nearer  to  their  time,  than  the  editor  of  the 
second  folio  in  1679.  Tis  true,  there  are  several  fine  strokes  in  it,  which  might  possibly 
^  Fletcher's;  hut  those  will  no  more  entitle  him  to  claim  it  for  his-  own,  than  it  will  Shake- 
speare to  assert  the  play  of  the  Noble  Kmsman,  in  which  we  know  he  was  partially  coih 
kerned:  to  Mr.  Shirley,  therefore,  as  he  has  laid  claim  to  it,  let's  give  this  performance; 
Wff  rob  him  of  the  glory  which  The  Coronation  may  do  his  memory.  Sympson. 

This  note  betrays  a  wonderful  inattention  In  Sympson :  since  th^  Coronation  was  one  of 
^  plays  printed  m  quarto,  and  Shirley  professed  to  insert  none  in  the  folio  that  had  ever 
appeared  mgiMTTfo. 


PROLOGUE. 


iOH 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Act  1, 


PROLOGUE. 


Since  'tis  become  the  title  of  our  play, 

A  woman  once  in  a  Coronation  may 

With  pardon  speak  the  Prologue,  give   as 

free 
A  welcome  to  the  theatre,  as  he 
That  with  a  httle  beard,  a  long  bhick  cloak, 
With  a  starch'd  face  and  supple  leg,  hatli 

spoke 
Before  the  plays  the  twelve^month;  let  me 

then 
Present  a  welcome  to  these  gentlemen ! 
If  ;^ou  be  kind,  and  noble,  you  will  not 
Think  the  worse  of  me  for  my  petticoat— 
But  to  the  play;  the  poet  bad  me  tell 
His  fears  first  in  the  title,  lest  it  swell 
Some  thoughts  with  expectation  of  a  strain, 
That  but  once  could  be  seen  in-a  king's 

reign. 
This  Coronation  he  hopes  yon  may 
See  often;  while  the  genius  of  his  play 
Doth  prophesy,  the  coilduits  may  run  wine. 
When  Uie  day's  triumph's  ended,  and  divine 
Brisk  nectar  swell  his  temples  to  a  rage, 
With  something  of  more  price  t' invest  the 

stage. 
There  rests  but  to  prepare  you,  that  altho' 
It  be  a  Coronation,  tliere  doth  flow 


No  under-mirth,  such  as  doth  lard  the  scene 
For  coarse  delight;   tlie  language  here  is 
.  clean ; 

And  conlident,  our  poet  bad  me  say. 
He'll  bate  you  but  the  folly  of  a  play: 
For  which,  altlio'  dull  souls  his  pen  dcspiacj^ 
Who  think  it  yet  too  early  to  be  wise^. 
The  nobler  will  thank  hisMuse,  at  least 
Excuse  him^  'cause  his  thought  aim'd  at  the^ 

best. 
But  we  conclude  not ;  it  does  rest  in  you 
To  censure  poet,  play,  and  Prologue  too. 
Buc^  what  have  I  omitted?  is  there  not 
A  blush  upon  my  cheeks,  that  I  forgot 
The  ladies?  and  a  female  Prologue  too! 
Your  pardon,  noble  gentlewomen !  you 
Were  first  within  my  thoughts:  I  know  yotf 

sit 
As  free  and  high  commissioners  of  vit» 
Have  clear  and  active  souls;  nay,  tho'  the 

men 
Were  lost,  in  your  eyes  they'll  be  found  again : 
You  are  the  bright  mtelligences  move. 
And  make  a  harmony  this  sphere  of  love: 
Be  you  propitious  tlien  !  our  poet  says. 
One  wreath  from  you',  is  worth  their  grove 

of  bays. 


*  Who  thinks  it  yet  too  early. ]  Corrected  in  1750, 

'  Out  toreath from  you.\  Mr.  Seward  conjectured  with  me,  that  cne^  not  cur^  must  be 
the  word^  and  so  I  have  altered  tlie  text  Syntpsotu 


ACT  I, 


Enter  Philocles  and  Lysander. 

Fhilocles.  TiT AKE  way  for  my  lord-protec- 
•'•"•*•     tor ! 
Lyuin,  Your  grace's  servants ! 

Enter  Cawmder  and  Lysimachvs, 

CasL  I  like  your  diligent  waiting.  Where's 

Lysimachus? 

Lysim.  I  wait  upon  you,  sir. 

Cast,  llie  queen  looks  pleasant 
This  morning;  d6es  she  not? 

Ly$uii,  I  ever  found 
Her  gracious  smiles  on  me. 

CW.  She  does  consult 
Her  safety  in't ;  for  I  must  tell  thee,  boy. 
But  in  the  assurance  of  her  love  to  thee, 
I  should  {\dvance  thy  hopes  another  way^ 
And  use  tlie  power  I  have  in  Epire,  to 
Settle  our  own,  and  uncontroled  greatness: 
But  since  she  carrieth  herself  so  fairly, 


I  am  content  t*  expect,  and  by  her  marrfa«;«' 
Secure,  thy  fortune ;  that's  all  my  ambition 
Now :  be  still  Ccircful  in  thy  applications 
To  her ;  I  must  attend  other  anairs. 
Return,  and  use  what  ait  thou  canst  to 

lay 
More  clmrms  of  love  upon  her, 

Lysim.  1  presume 
She  always  speaks  the  langui^c  of  her  hearty 
And  I  can  be  ambitious  for  no  more 
Happiu^ss  on  earth,  than  she  encourages 
Me  to  expect. 

Cass.  It  was  an  act  becoming 
The  wisdom  of  her  father,  to  engage 
A  tie  between  our  families,  and  she 
Hatli  play'd  her  best  discretion  to  allow  it. 
But  we  lose  time  ii^  conference ;  wait  on 

her. 
And  be  what  thou  wcr^  bom  for^  king  of 

Epire ! 
I  must  a  way.  [EnV. 

Lysim^ 


A:tl.] 


THE  CORONATION. 


19^ 


Ant.  Thou  ^-ouldst  become  rarely  the 
What  wouldst  thou  do  ?  [petticoat ! 

Phil.  Why,  I  would  marry  my 
Gentlemau-usher,  and  trust  all  the  strengtk 
And  burden  of  my  state  upon  hiii  legs. 
Rather  than  be  called  wife  by  any  son 
Qt'  such  a  father. 

Lysaa,  Come,  let's  leave  this  subject ! 
We  may  find  more  secure  discourse.    When 

saw 
You  young  Arcadius,  lord  Macarius* nephew? 

Ant,  There's  a  spark,  a  youth  moulded 

for, a  favourite ! 
The  queen  might  do  him  honour. 

Phil.  Favourite? 
It  is  too  cheap  a  name ;  there  were  a  match 
Now  for  her  virgin  blood  ! 

Lysan.  Must  every  man, 
That  has  a  handsome  face  or  leg,  Feed  such 
Ambition?    I  confess  I  honour  him, 
He  has  a  nimble  soul,  and  gives  great  hope 
To  be  no  woman-hater;  dances  handsomely. 
Can  court  a  lady  powerfully;  but  more 
Goes  to  the  making  of  a  prmce.  He's  here, 
And's  uncle. 

Enter  Arcadius,  Macarius,  and  Seleuctis, 
SeL  Save  you,  gentlemen  1  Who  can  direct 
To  find  my  lord-protector  ?  [me 

Li/san.  He  was  here 
Within  this  half-hour:  young  Lysimaclios 
His  son  is  with  the  queen. 

SeL  There  let  him  compliment; 
I*ve  other  business.— Ha,  Arcadius !    [Exit. 
Phil.  Observ'd  you  with  what  eyes  Arca- 
dius 
And  he  saluted  ?  their  two  families 
^ith  hardly  r.concile. 

Ant.  Seleucus  carries  [scoru 

Himself  too  roughly:  with  what  pride  and 
He  pass'd  by  'em  ! 

Lj/san.  Tlje  other,  with  less  show 
Of  anger,  carries  pride  enough  in's  soul : 
I  wish  'em  all  at  peace !  Macarius'  looks 
Are  without  civil  war,  a  good  old  man, 
The  old  kiiiglov'd  him  well;  Seleucus' father 
Was  as  dear  to  him,  and  maiiituin'd  the  cha- 
racter 
Of  an  honest  lord  thro'  Epire :  that  two  men 
So  lov'il  of  others,  should  be  so  unwelcome' 
To  one  another ! 

Arc.  The  queen  was  not  wont 
To  send  for  me. 

Mac.  TIm?  reason's  to  herself; 
It  will  become  your  duty  to  attend  her. 

Arc.  Save  you,  gentlemen !  What  novelty 
Does  tlie  court  breathe  to-day  ? 
Lysafu  None,  sir;  the  news 

*  Is  not  the  queen  yet  coming  forth  ? 

Lysaii.  Your  servant.]  Lystinder*s  asking  this  question  supposes,  that  the  gentlemen 

interrogated  wore  capable  of  giving  him  an  answer;  but  that  the  reader  sees  is  no  where  to 

be  found;  tliercfore  I  have  thought  proper  to  mark  an  hiatus  in  the  present  text.    Sympson, 

Sympson,  we  suppose,  meant  Lysimachus,  instead  of  Lysandcr^  who  asks  no  question* 

Iwt  IS  the  next  speaker,  .     i    »         /t     /  ' 

^.  V^^lll     '^    1   j^/v    ,j    \hy].  That 


lysim.  Success  ever  attend  you. 
Is  not  the  queen  yet  coming  fortli*  ? 

hfsan.  Your  servant! 
You  may  command  our  duties.  [£jril  Lysim. 
This  is  the  court -star,  Philocles. 

Phil.  The  star  that  we  must  sail  by. 

Lysan.  All  must  borrow 
A  light  from  him;  the  young  queen  directs  all 
Her  favours  that  way. 

Phil.  He's  a  noble  gentleman. 
And  wortliy  of  his  expectations : 
Too  good  to  be  the  son  of  «uch  a  father. 

Lysan.  Peace !  remember  he  is  lord-pro- 
tector, [protection 

PhiL  We  have  more  need  oJ   Heav'n's 
I'th'mean  time :  I  wonder  the  old  king 
Did  in  his  life  design  him  for  the  office. 

Lysan.  lie  might  suspect  his  faith ;  1  have 

heard  when 
The  king,  who  was  no  Epirote,  advanc'd 
His  claim,  Cateander,  our  protector  now, 
Toang  then,  oppos'd  him  toughly  with  his 

faction; 
But  forc'd  to  yield,  had  fair  conditions, 
And  was  declar'd,  by  the  whole  state,  next 

heir, 
If  the  king  wanted  issue :  our  hopes  only 
Tbriv'd  in  this  daughter. 

Phil.  Whom,  but  for  her  smiles 
And  hope  of  marrjage  with  Lysimachus, 
His  father,  by  some  cunning,  had  renK>v'd 
£pe  this.  [ears. 

Lyian.  TaVe  'heed !  the  arras  may  have 
I  should  not  weep  much  if  his  grace  would 
lleiDove  to  Heav'n.  [hence 

PhiL  I  prithee  what  shouM  he  do  there? 

Lysan.  Some  otlices  will  fall.  [higher 

Phil.  And  the  sky  too,  ere  I  get  one  stair 
WJiile  he's  in  place. 


Enter  Anti'^onvs, 


[queen  ? 
Where's  the 


Ant.  Lysander,  Philocles, 
How  looks  the  day  upon  us  ? 

PhiL  In  her  bed-chamber. 

Ant.  Who  was  with  her  ? 

Lysan.  None  but 
The  young  lord  Lysimachus. 

Ant.  It  is  no  treason. 
If  amau  wish  himself  a  courtier 
Of  such  a  possibihty:  he  has 
The  mounting  fate. 

PhiL  I  would  his  father  were 
Hilounted  to  th*  gallows! 

Ant.  H'has  a  path  fair  enough 
If  he  survive,  by  title  of  his  father. 

Lysan.  The  queen  will  ha^jten  his  ascent. 

PhiL  'Would  I  were  qaeen ! 


yj 


200 


TIIE  CORONATION. 


[Act  1, 


That  took  the  last  impression  is,  that  you 
Purpose  to  leave  the  kingdom,  and  those  men 
That  honour  you  take  no  delight  to  hear  iu 
Arc,  I  liave  ambitioi\  to  see  the  difference 
Of  courts^  and  this  may  spare  me;  the  de- 
lights 
At  home  do  surfeit ;  and  the  mistress,  whom 
We  all  do  serve,  is  fix'd  upon  one  object; 
Her  beams  are  too  much  pointed*    But  no 

country 
Shall  make  me  lose  your  memories. 

Enter  Sophioy  Lytimachus,  and  Charilla. 

Sophie.  Arcadius! 

Mac,  Your  lordship  honoured  me; 
I  have  no  blessing  ni  his  absence. 

Lytim.  Tis 
Done  like  a  pious  uncle. 

Sophia,  We  must  not 
Give  any  licence. 

Arc.  If  your  majesty 
Would  please —  [your  duty 

Sophia.  We  are  not  pleas*d !  It  had  become 
T*  have  first  acquainted  us,  ere  you  dcdar'd 
Your  resolution  public.    Is  our  court 
Not  worth  your  stay  ? 

Arc,  I  humbly  beg  your  pardon^ 

Sophia,  Where's  Lysimacnus? 

Lynm.  Your  humble  servant,  madam. 

Sophia.  We  shall  find  [us. 

Employment  at  home  for  you ;  do  not  lose 

Arc.  Madam,  I  then  write  myself  blessed 

on  earth 
When  I  may  do  you  service.  lExit, 

Sophiti,  We  would  be 
Private,  Macarius. 

Mac.  Madatn,  you  have  bless'd  m^ ! 
Nothingbutyour  command  could  interpose  to 
Stay  him.  [Exit. 

fsophia.  Lysimachus,  you  mwst  not  leave  us. 

Lt/san,  Nothing  but 
Lysimachus?  lias  she  not  ta*en  a  philter? 

[Exit, 

Sophia.  Nay,  pray  be  cover'd ;  ceremony 
Must  be  excusM.  [from  you 

Lj/sim.  It  will  become  my  dut/, 

Si)phia.  Not  your  love. 
I  know  you  would  not  have  me  look  upon 
Your  |)erson  as  a  courtier ^^  but  a  favourite; 
Tliat  title  were  too  narrow  to  express 
How  we  esteem  you. 

L^fim.  The  least  of  all 


These  names  from  yoU|  madam,  is  grace 

enough. 

Sophia,  Yet  here  you  would  not  rest? 

Li/sitn.  Not  if  yon  please 
To  say  there  is  a  happiness  beyond, 
And  teach  my  ambition  how  to  make  it  mine: 
Altho'  the  honours  you  already  have 
Let  fall  upon  your  servant,  exceed  all 
My  merit,  Fve  a  heart  is  studious 
To  reach  it  with  desert,  and  make  if  possible 
Your  favours  mine   by  justice,   with  your 

pardon.  fdon,  sir, 

Sophia.  We're  confident  this  needs  no  par* 
But  a  reward  to  cherish  your  opinion : 
And  that  you  may  keep  warm  your  passion. 
Know  we  resolve  fiar  marriage;  and  if 
I  had  another  gift,  besides  myself 
Greater,  in  that  you  should  discern  hoW  much 
My  heart  is  fix'd. 

Lytim.  Let  me  digest  my  blessing! 

Sophia,  But  I  cannot  resolve  when  this 

shall  be.  [dream  of  Heav*n, 

Lysim.  How,  madam !  Do  not  make  me 
And  wake  me  into  misery,  if  your  purpose 
Be,  to  immortalize  your  humble  servant ! 
Your  power  on  earth's  divine;   princes  are 

here 
The  copies  of  eternity,  and  create, 
When  they  but  will,  our  liappiness. 

Sophia.  I  sliall 
Believe  you  mock  me  in  this  ai^gument; 
I  have  no  power. 

Lysim.  How!  no  power? 

Sophia,  Not  as  a  queell. 

Lysim.  I  understand  you  not.         [tector. 

Sophia.  I  must  obey;  yourfather^smypro- 

Lysim.  How! 

Sophia.  When  I'm  absolute,  Lysimachus, 
Our  power  and  titles  meet;  before,  we*rebut 
A  sliadow,  aod  to  give  you  that  were  nothing. 

J^ysim.  Excellent  queen !  my  love  took  no 

original 
From  state,  or  the  desire  of  other  greatness, 
'Bove  what  my  birth  may  challenge  modestly. 
I  love  your  virtues ;  mercenary  souls 
Arc   taken   with  advancement:    youVe  an 

empire 
Within  you,  better  than  the  world's;  to  that 
Looks  my  ambition. 

Sophia.  T'  other  is  not,  sir, 


To  be  despis'd ;  cosmography  allows 
Epire  a  place  i*  th'  map;  and  know,  'till 


I 


'  I  know  you  vrould  have  me  look  upon 
Your  person  as  a  courtier ^  not  a  J'avouriie.l  This  unmusical,  nonsensical  place,  is  didt^ 
rently  read  in  the  quarto  of  1 640, 

I  know  you  would  not  have  me  look  upon 

Your  person  as  a  courtier,  not  as  favourite; 
That  of  1679, 

I  know,  &c. 

—  as  a  courtier,  but  a  fiivourite; 
Rut  yet  the  place  is  sad  stuff  still.    I  would  suppose  it  once  originally  run  thus ; 

I  know  you  would  not^ 


Your  person  as  a  courtier,  Imt  a  (or  as)  favourite; 
(2m J  that  title  were  too  narrow,  &C  Sympsof^ 


PoHM 


Actl.] 


THE  CORONATION. 


«01 


PdssesB  what  I  was  bom  to,  and  alone 
Do  grasp  the  kingdom's  sceptre,  I  account 
Myself  divkled;  ne  that  marries  me     [som  : 
Shall  take  an  absolote  queen  to  his  warm  bo^ 
H;  temples  yet  are  naked ;  until  then 
OorloTes  can  be  but  compliments  and  wishes, 
Yet  ¥ery  hearty  ones. 

I^tim.  I  apprehend. 

Sophia,  Yoor  father! 

Enter  Canander  and  Seleucut, 

Cast,  Madam,  a  gentleman  has  an  humble 

sniL  [are  protector; 

8opkia»  Tis  in  your  power  to  grant;  you 
lam  not  yet  a  queen. 

Cuts.  How's  this? 

I^UKL  I  shall  expound  her  meaning. 

Sopkia.  Why  kneel  you,  sir? 

SeL  Madam,  to  reconcile  two  families 
That  may  unite  both  counsels  and  their  blood 
To  serve  your  crown. 

Sopkia.  Macarius*,  and  Eubulus', 
Tliat  bear  inveterate  malice  to  each  other. 
It  grew,  as  I  have  lieard,  upon  the  question 
(which  some  of  either  family  had  made) 
Which  of  their  fathers  was  the  best  com- 
mander: 
If  we  believe  our  stones,  they  hax'C  both 
Deserv'd  well  of  our  state;  and  yet  this  quarrel 
Has  cost  too  many  lives;  a  severe  faction ! 

SeL  But  ril  propound  a  way  to  plant  a 

qaiec 
And  peace  in  both  our  houses,  which  are  torn 
With  their  dissensions,  and  lose  the  glory 
Of  their  great  names:  my  blood  speaks  my 

relation 
T  Ebulus ;  and  I  wish  ray  veins  were  emptied 
T  appease  their  War. 

Sophia.  Thou  hast  a  noble  soul ! 
This  is  a  charity  above  thy  youth,         [way. 
Aod  it  flows  bravely  from  tliee.    Name  the 

SeL  In  such  a  desperate  cause,  a  little 

stream  [hearts : 

Of  Mood  might  purge  the  foulness  of  their 
If  you'll  prevent  a  deluge — 

Sop^.  Be  particular ! 

SeL  Let  but  your  majesty  consent  that  two 
May,  wiUi  their  personal  valour,  undertake 
I    The  honour  of  their  family,  aad  determine 
Their  diffiprence. 

Sophkt,  This  rather  will  enlarge 
'    Their  bite,  and  be  a  means  to  call  more  blood 
;    Into  the  stream. 


I       SeL  Not  if  both  families 
Agree,  and  swear— 

Sophia.  And  who  shall  be  the  champions? 

SeL  I  bee  the  honour,  for  Ebulus*  cause 
Tq  be  eagl^d,  if  any  for  Macarius 
(Worthy  to  wager  heart  with  mine)  accept  it : 
I'm  confident,  Arcadius  i 

(For  honour  would  direct  me  to  his  sword) 
Will  not  d«ny  to  stake  aeaiust  my  life 
His  own,  if  you  vouchsaie  us  privilege. 

Sopkia.  You  are  the  expectation  and  top 

boughs 
Of  both  your  houses;  it  would  seem  injustice 
To  allow  a  civil  war  to  cut  you  off, 
And  yourselves  the  instruments.     Besides, 
You  appear  a  soldier;  Arcadius 
Hath  no  acqusdntance  yet  with  nigged  war^ 
More  fit  to  drill  a  lady  than  expose 
Ii»  body  to  such  dangers;  a  small  wound 
r  th'  head  may  spoil  t}ie  method  of  his  hair, 
Whose  curiosity  exacts  more  time 
Than  his  devot)on ;  and  who  knows  but  he 
May  lose  his  ribbon  by  it  in  his  lock  *, 
Dear  as  his  saint,  with  whom  he  would  ex- 
change 
His  head  for  her  gay  colours;  then  his  band 
May  be  disordered  and  transfonn'd  from  lace 
Tu  cutwork;   his  rich  cloatlis   be  discom^ 

plexion*d 
With  blood,  beside  th'  infashionable  slashes; 
And  he  at  the  next  festival  take  jphysick. 
Or  put  on  black,  and  mourn  for  his  slain 

bieeches;  [sweet 

His  hands,  casM  up  in  gloves  all  ni^ht,  and 
Pomatum,  the  next  day  may  be  endangered 
To  blisters  with  a  sword ;  how  can  he  stand 
Upon  bis  guard,  who  hath  fiddles  in  liis  head. 
To  which  his  feet  must  ever  be  a-dancing? 
Besides,  a  falsify  may  spoil  his  cringe 
Or  making  of  a  leg,  m  which  consii>ts 
Much  of  his  coiut-perfection. 

SeL  Is  tliis  character 
Bestow'd  on  him? 

Sophia.  It  something  may  concern  [lenge 
The  gentleman;  whom  if  you  please  to  dial- 
To  dunce,  play  on  the  lute,  or  sing — 

SeL  Some  catch?  [tain  him 

Sophia.  He  shall  not  want  those  will  main- 
For  any  sum. 

SeL  You  are  ray  sovereign;  [what^; 

I  dare  not  think — yet  1  must  speak  some- 
I  shall  burst  else  :-^I  have  no  skill  in  jigs,  . 
Nor  tumbling — 


*  Mau  lose  hu  ribbon  6y  ii  in  hie  lock.]  Alluding  to  tlie  ridiculous  fashion,  in  our  authors 
time,  of  wearing  hke^ocks.    This  custom  is  also  satyrized  in  Cupid's  Revenge:  which  see. 

'  I  dare  not  thinlty  yet  I  mu$t  ^>eak  tomewhat.l  Why  then  'tis  plain  he  would  speak  with- 
out thinking ;  and  is  not  this  heroically  said?  However,  tho'  he  durst  not  think,  yet  he  was 
obliged  to  speak,  to  keep  himself  from  bursting.  How  nonsense,  like  fame,  vires  acquirit 
enndol  Surely,  if  we  suppose  the  words  could  ever  be  sense,  we  must  imagine  they  run  once 
thus:  I  dure  not  speak — and  yet  I  must  speak  something, 

I  shall  burst  else; — 
t.  e.  He  was  afraid  of  speaking  lest  he  should  utter  an  affront  to  his  queen;  and  yet  if  he  did 
WMT  speak,  his  anger  un vented  might  do  him  a  mischief.  Simpson, 

We  think  the  text  good  and  genuine  <and  Svmnson's  raillerv  pomtless  and  iU-fbanded. 

$0L.IIL  i>d  -*^  Sophia. 


fiOd 


THE  CORONATION. 


Sophia,  How, sir! 

SeL  Nor  was  I  born  a  minstrel ;  and  in  this 
Yon  have  s(i  infinitely  disgracVi  Arcadius, 
But  tliat  IVe  heard  another  character, 
And  with  your  ro'val  licence  do  beliteve  it, 
I  should  not  think  him  worth  my  killing. 

Sophia.  Your  killing? 

&/.  Does  she  not  jeer  me? 
I  shall  talk  treason  presently  ;  Mnd  it 
At  my  tongue's  end  already :  this  is  an 
Affront !  IM!  leave  her. 

Sophia,  Come  back  !  Do  you  know  A  rca- 

dius  ?  [our  persons 

.  SeL  I  ha*  chang'd  but  little  breath  with  liim; 
Admit  no  familiarity;  we  were  [him 

Born  to  live  both  at  distance:  yet  I  ha'  seen 
tight,  and  fight  bravely. 

Sophia:  When  the  spirit  of  wine 
Made  his  brain  valiant,  he  fought  bravely. 

SeL  Aitho*  he  be  my  enemy,  should  any 
Of  the  gay  flies  that  buz  about  the  court, 
Sit  to  catch  trouts  i' th'  summer',  tell  me  so, 
I  durst  in  any  presence  but  your  own — 

Sophia,  What? 

SeL  Tell  him  he  were  not  honest. 

Sophia.  1  see^  Seleucus,  thou  art  resolute, 
And  I  but  wrong'd  Arcadius:  your  first 
^quest  is  granted,  you  shall  fight,  and  he 
That  ctmqucrs  be  rewarded,  to  confirm 
rirst  place  and  honour  to  his  family: 
Is  it  not  this  you  plead  for  ? 

SeL  You  are  gracious. 

S(^hia.  Lysimachus! 

Lysim.  Madam. 

Cass.  She  has  granted  tlien  f 

SeL  With  much  ado. 

Cats.  I  wish  thy  sword  may  open 
His  wanton  veins !  Macarius  is  too  popular, 
And  has  taught  him  to  insinuate. 

Souhia.  It  shall 
But  Iiaste  the  confirmation  of  our  loves, 
And  ripen  the  delights  of  marriage.  Seleucus ! 
[Exit  cum  Seleuco, 

Lysim.  As  I  guessed ! 
It  cannot  be  too  soon.  [invest 

Cass.  To-morrow  then  we  crown  her,  and 


(Act  i 

My  son  with  majesty ;  'tis  to  ray  wishes. 
Beget  a  rare  of  princes,  my  Lysimachus ! 

Lj/sim.  First,  let  us  marry,  sir. 

Cast.  Thy  brow  was  made 
To  wear  a  golden  circle;  I'm  transported! 
Thou  shalt  rule  her,  and  I  will  govern  thee. 

Li/sim.  Altho*  you  be  my  father,  that  will 

not 
Concern  my  obedience,  as  I  take  it. 

Enter  Phiiocles,  Lifsander^  and  Antigonus, 

Cass.  Gentlemen', 
Prepare  yourselves  for  a  solemnity 
Will  turn  the  kingdom  into  triumph  :  Eptre, 
Look  fresh  to  morrow! — Twill  become  your 

duties, 
In  all  your  glory,  to  attend  the  queen  at 
Her  coronation;  she  is  pleas'd  to  make 
The  next  day  happy  in  our  calendar : 
My  office  doth  expire,  and  my  old  blood 
Renews  with  thought  on't. 

PhiL  How's  this? 

Ant.  Crown'd  to-morrow  ? 

Lysan.  And  he  so  joyful  to  resign  his  re* 

gency !  [hasty 

There's  some  trick  in't :  I  do  not  like  these 
Turnings '°,  and  whirls  of  state;  they've  com- 
monly [save 
As  strange  and  violent  effects.  Well,  Heav*ff 
The  queen !                                       [send  her 

PhiL  H(^av'n  save  the  queen,  say  I,  and 
A  sprightly  bedfellow  !  For  the  protector. 
Let  him  pray  for  himself;  he's  like  to  have 
No  benefit  of  my  devotion.       [Lysimachus^ 

Cas^.  But  this  doth  quicken  my  oKi  beam 
There  is  not  feiy  step  into  her  throae. 
Hut  is  the  same  degree  of  thy  own  state* 
Come,  gentlemen ! 

J.ysan.  We  attend  your  grace. 

Cm$s.  Lysimachus! 

Lysim.  What  heretofore  could  happen  t§ 

mankind  [iti 

Was  with  much  pain  to  climb  to  Heav*n;  but 
Sophia's  marriage,  of  ail  queens  the  best, 
Heav'n  will  come  down  to  earth,  to  make  me 

blest.  [£«»n^ 


"  Sit  to  catch  trouts.']  The  editors  of  1750  substituted^  for 51^;  wc  tliiok  improperly:  Se^ 
leucus  seems  to  mean,  *  Courtiers  that  buz  about  the  court,  and  si/  to  catch,  4-c.' 
*  Gentlemen^ 
Prepare  younehes.']  Mr.  Seward  has  happily  restored  the  speaker,  Castander,  which  i* 
dropt  negligently  thro*  all  the  copies.        Sympson. 

•^ --these  hasty 

Proceedings,  and  whirls  of  state."]  Every  judge  of  poetry  must  see,  that  proceedings  tH 
very  unpoetical,  both  in  sense  and  measure :  I  take  the  true  word  to  have  been  blotted  in  the 
manuscript,  and  tliis  to  have  been  eitlier  the  player  or  printer's  insertion.  I  conjectuiM 
turnings^  and  whirls  of  state,  which  I  afterwards  found  a  strong  confirmatioa  of  in  this  verjr 
Play,  act  iii.  scene  3. 

PhiL  Tis  a  strange  turn, 

Lysan.  The  whirligigs  of  women.        Seward, 


ACT 


Acts.} 


THE  CORONATION. 


203 


ACT    11. 


Enter  Arcadius  and  Polidorui 

Polid.  INDEED  you  shall  not  go. 
■»•  Arc.  Whither? 

Polid,  Tu  travel. 
I  know  yon  see  me  hut  to  take  your  leave; 
fiot  I  must  never  yield  to  iiuch  an  absence. 

Arc.  I  prithee  leave  tliy  tears!  I  am  com^ 

mnnded 
To  th*  contrary;  I  wonot  leave  thee  now. 

jPo/tV.  Commamkd  i  by  whom  ? 

Arc,  Tbc  queeu.  [think 

Polid,  Tm  very  glad;  for,  trust  me,  I  could 
Of  thy  departure  witli  no  comfort!  Thou 
i\rt  all  the  joy  I  have,  half  of  my  soul ; 
But  I  must  thank  tite  queen  now  for  thy 

company. 
I  prithee  what  could  make  thee  so  desirous 
To  be  abroad? 

*Arc,  Only  to  get  an  appetite 
Tothee,Polidora". 

Polid.  Then  you  must  provoke  it? 

Arc.  Nay,  prithee,  do  not  so  mistake  thy 

servant. 

Polid.  Perhaps  you  surfeit  with  my  love. 

Arc  Thy  love? 

Polid.  Altho'  I  have  no  beauty  to  compare 
Witii  the  best  faces,  I've  a  heart  above 
Ail  competition. 

Arc.  Thoa  art  jealous  now: 
Come,  lot  me  take  the  kiss  I  cave  thee  last! 
I  am  !>o  confident  of  thee,  no  lip 
\lai  ravish'd  it  from  tliine.     I  prithee  come 
To  court ! 

PoUd.  For  what? 

Arc.  There  i»  the  throne  for  beauty. 

Poiid,  Tis  safer  dwelliiii;  here. 

Arc,  'lliere's  none  will  hurt, 
(Ir  dare  but  tliink  an  ill  to  Puiidora; 
Tlie  greau'st  will  be  pniud  to  honour  thee : 
Tliy  lustre  wants  the  admiration  here  '* ! 
Thtr6  thou  wot  shine  indeed,  and  strike  a 

reverence 
Into  the  gazer. 

Polid.  You  can  flatter  too.        [thy  virtue 

Arc.  Xo  praise  of  thee  can  be  thought  so ; 
^^'ill  ()e»cr\*o  all.  I  must  confess,  we  courtiers 
l)o  ot'tcii times  commend,  to  bhew  our  art : 
TWre  is  necessity  sometimes  to  say 


This  madam  breathes  Arabian  gums, 
Amber,  and  cas>i4i;  thu',  as  we  are  ])raising^ 
We  wish  we  hud  no  nostrils  to  take  in 
Th'otfeusive  steam  of  her  corrupted  lungs. 
Nay,  some  will  swear  they  love  their  mistress. 
Would  hazard  lives  and  fortunes  to  preserve 
One  of  her  hairs  brighter  than  Berenice's, 
Or  young  Apollo's;  and  yet,  after  this, 
A  favour  from  another  toy  would  tempt  him 
To  laugh,  while  the  officious  hmigman  whips 
Her  head  oflf. 

Polid.  Fine  men ! 

Arc.  I  am  none  of  these : 
Nay,  there  are  women,  Polidora,  too, 
That  can  do  pretty  well  at  flatteries; 
Make  men  believe  they  dote,  will  languish 

for  'em. 
Can  kiss  a  jewel  out  of  one,  and  dally 
A  carcanet'^  of  diamonds  from  another. 
Weep  into  th'  bosom  of  a  third,  and  make 
Him  drop  as  many  pearls :  they  count  it  no* 

thiug 
To  talk  a  reasonable  heir,  within  ten  days 
Out  of  his  whole  estate,  and  make  him  mad 
He  has  no  more  wealth  to  consume* 

Polid.  You*ll  teach  me 
To  think  I  may  be  flatter'd  in  your  promises. 
Since  you  live  where  tliis  art  is  most  pr»« 

fess'd. 

Arc.  J  dare  not  be  so  wicked,  Polidonu 
The  infant  errors  of  tbie  court  I  may 
ISe  guilty  of,  but  never  to  abuse 
So  rare  a  goodness;  nor  indeed  did  ever 
Converse  with  any  of  those  sliames  of  court. 
To  practise  for  base  ends,  fie  confident 
My  heart  is  full  of  thine,  and  I  so  deeply 
Carry  the  figure  of  my  Polidora, 
It  is  not  in  the  power  of  time  or  distance 
To  cancel  it.  By  all  that's  blest,  I  love  thee. 
Love  thee  above  ail  women;  dare  invoke 
A  curse  when  I  forsake  thee. 

Polid.  Let  it  be 
Some  gentle  one. 

Arc,  Teach  me  an  oath  I  prithee. 
One  strong  enough  to  bind,  if  thou  dost  find 
Any  suspicion  of'^iny  faith ;  or  else 
Direct  me  in  some  horrid  imprecation  ! 
When  I  forsake  thee  for  the  love  of  other 
Woman,  may  Ileav'n  reward  my  apostacy. 


"  To  thee,  Polidora.]  Seward  reads.  To  Polidora, 
'^  J^hy  lustre  wants  Uie  admiration  here.]  We  must  either  read, 
that  admiration; 

or,  admiration  there,        Sympson. 

There  needs  no  variation  at  all;  the  meaning  is  simply,  <  Thy  lustre  wants  (i.  e.  is  without) 
'its due  admiration  here;  there  you  would  be  noticed.' 

'^  A  carcanet.}  A  ficcklace,  from  the  old  F*rench  word  carean,  whose  diminutive  was  ccr- 
c«ne^    See  Cotgrave*s  Dictionary.    It  is  used  in  Sliakespeare,  vol.  ii.  p.  178.         R. 

Dd2  '•  To 


204 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Act  <t» 


To  blast  my  greatest  happiness  on  earth'^y 
And  make'aU  jojfs  abortive !  Fcarry 

Po/fV/.  Revoke  these  hasty  syllables:  they 
Too  great  a  penalty  for  breach  of  love 
To  me;  I  am  not  worth  thy  suR*rin^; 
You  do  not  Viiovi  what  beauty  may  mvite 
Your  change,   what  happiness    may  tempt 
And  heart  totzether.  [your  eye 

Arc,  Should  all  the  graces  of  your  sex  con. 

spire  • 
In  one,  and  she  should  court  me  with  a  dower 
Able  to  huy  a  kingdom,  when  I  give 
Wy  heart  from  Polidora— 

Polid,  I  suspect  not ; 
And  to  requite  thy  constancy,  I  swear — 

Arc.  It  were- a  sin  to  let  thee  waste  tliy 

breath ; 
I  have  assurance  of  tliy  noble  thoughts. 

Enter  a  Servant, 

Serv.  Mylordy  your  uncle  bath  been  ever^r 

where 
F  th'  court  enquiring  for  you ;  his  looks  speak 
Some  earnest  cause.  [jUxit, 

Arc.  Tra  more  acquainted  with 
Thy  virtue,  than  t'  imagine  thou  wilt  not 
Excuse  me  now :  one  kiss  dismisses  )um 
Whose  heart  shall  wait  on  Polidora. 

Polid.  Prithee«5 
Let  me  not  wish  for  thy  return  too  often ! 
My  father?  [Exit  Arcudius, 

Enter  Nestorius  and  a  Servant. 

Nest.  I  met  Arcadius  in  strange  haste ;  he 
He  had  been  with  thee.  [told  me 

Polid,  Some  afiair  too  soon 
Ravish'd  him  hence ;  his  uncle  sent  for  him. 
You  came  now  from  court :  how  looks  the 
This  golden  morning?  [ouecn 

Nest.  Like  a  bride :  her  soul  [fires, 

Is  all  on  mirth;  her  eyes  have  quick'uing 
Able  to  strike  a  spring  into  the  earth 
In  winter. 

Pvlid.  Then  Lysimachus  can  have  [beams. 
No  frost  in*s  blood,  that  liven  so  near  her 

Nest,   His  politic  father,  the  protector, 

smiles  too. 
Kesolve  to  see  the  ceremony  of  the  queen ; 
'Twill  be  a  day  of  state. 

Polid.  I  am  not  well. 

Nest.  Howl  not  well?  retire  then,  I  must 

return ; 


My  attendance  is  expected.    Polidota, 
Be  careful  of  thy  health ! 
Poiid.  It  will  concern  me.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Arcadius  and  Macarius, 

Arc.  You  amaze  me,  sir.  [safety, 

Mac.  Dear  nephew,  if  tI)ou  respect  tlay 
My  honour,  or  my  age,  remove  thyself; 
Thy  life's  in  dandier. 

Arc.  Mine  ?  VVho  is  my  enemy  ? 

Afac,  Take  horse,  and  instantly  forsake  the 

city, 
Or  else  within  some  unsuspected  dwelling 
Obbcurc  thyself;  stay  not  to  know  the  rea- 
son, fi'th'  number 

Arc.  Sir,  I  beseech  your  pardon !  Wbich, 
Of  my  offences  unto  any,  should 
Provoke  this  dishonourable  flight?        [stAv* 

Mac.  I  would,  when  I  petitioned  for  thy 
Vd  pleaded  for  thy  banishment;  thou  know*>t 
What  threatens  thee.  [not 

Arc.  I  would  desire  to  know  it : 
I  am  in  no  conspiracy  of  treason. 
Have  ravish'd  no  man's  mistress,  not  so  mnch 
As  given  the  lie  to  any:  what  should  mean 
Your  stl^ge  and  violent  fears?  I  will  not 

stir 
Until  you  make  me  sensible  I've  lost 
My  innocence. 

Mac.  I  must  not  live  to  see 
Thy  body  full  of  wounds ;  it  were  less  sin 
To  rip  thy  father's  nuirble,  and  fetch  from 
The  reverend  vault  his  ashes,  and  disperse 

them  [find 

By  some  rude  winds,  where  none  should  ever 
The  sacred  dust :  it  was  his  legacy,  [UeaTen, 
The  breath  he  mingled  with  liis  prayers  to 
I  should  preserve  Arcadius,  whose  ftie 
He  prophesied  in  death,  would  need  protec- 
tion: 
Thou  wot  disturb  his  ghost,  and  call  it  to 
Affright  my  dreams,  if  thou  refuse  t'obey  me. 

Arc.  You  more  inflame  me,  to  enquire  the 

cause 
Of  your  distraction ;  and  you'll  arm  me  better 
Than  any  coward  flight,  by  acquainting  me 
Whose  malice  aims  to  kill  me :  good  sir,  tell 

me! 

Mac.  Then,  prayers  and  tears  assist  me! 

Arc.  Sir? 

Mac.  Arcadius, 
Thou  art  a  rash  young  man,  witness  the  spirit 


■  of  other 


WomeUy  may  Heav*n  reward  my  apostacy 
To  blasts  ifc.'\  Mr.  Seward  supposes  the  words  misplac'd  here,  and  that  the  natural 
order  is  .thus: 

i—  may  to  re\vard  my  apostacy 
Hcttv*n  blast  my  greatest  happiness.  ^n^son^ 

The  old  reading  gives  good  sense,  and  more  strongly  ezpnesses,  that  '  blasting  his  happt- 
^  ness  would  be  the  proper  reward  of  his  falsehood.' 
'^  Whose  heart  shall  wait  on  PoUdorOy  prithee 

Let  me  not  wish ]  The  least  attention  to  this  passage  will  convince  the  reader, 

that  the  insertion  of  Polidora's  name  before  Prithee  let  nte  noty  which  Mr.  Seward  too  cow* 
Diunicatcd  to  me,  is  entirely  requisite  to  the  sense  of  this  place,  Sympson^ 

Of 


Act  12.] 


THE  CORONATION. 


S05 


Of  him  fhkl  trusted  me  so  much!  I  bleed, 
HjU  I  prevent  tliis  mischief.  [Eait, 

Enter  Philocies  and  Ltfuinder. 

Arc.  Ha  !  keep  off. 

Flul.  What  mean  you,  sir? 

lAf$en.  We  are  yoar  friends. 

Arc  I  know  your  iaces,  but 
Am  not  secure:  I  would  not  be  betrayed. 

hfutm.  You  wrong  our  hearts,'  who  truly 

honou'  you. 

Arc.  They  say  I  must  be  kill'd. 

FkiL  By  whom? 

Arc  I  know  not. 
Nor  would  I  part  with  life  so  tamely. 

Fkll.  We  dare 
Engage  ours  in  your  (quarrel ;  hide  your  sword. 
It  may  beget  suspicion;  it  is 
Enough  to  question  you. 

Arc  I'm  confident; 
Pmy  pardon  me !  come,  I  despise  all  danger ; 
Yet  a  dear  friend  of  mine,  m  v  uncle,  told  me 
He  would  not  see  my  body  rail  of  wounds. 

Lytan.  Yotfr  uncle  ?  this  is  strange* 

Arc  Yes,  my  honest  uncle. 
If  my  unlucky  stars  have  pointed  me 


fiodire^  fate*- 


Enh.  Seloticus'  life  and  mine 
Are  twisted  on  one  thread,  both  stand  or  (all 
Together.  Hath  the  service  for  py  country 
Deserved  but  this  reward,  to  be  sent  weeping 
To  my  eternal  home  ?    Was't  not  enoiign,  ^ 
When  I  was  young,  to  lose  my  blood  in 

wars. 
But  the  poor  remnant  that  is  scarcely  warm. 
And  faintly  creeping  thro'  my  witl.er^d  veins. 
Must  be  let  out  to  make  you  sport? 

Mac  How  can 
We,  that  sliall  this  mom  see  the  sacred  oil 
Fall  on  your  viigin  tresses,  hope  Hat  any 
Protection  here&er,  when  this  day     [you  ? 
You  sacrifice  the  blood  of  them  that  pray  for 
Arcadius,  I  prithee  speak  thyself; 
It  is  for  thee  I  plead. 

Eub,  Seleucus,  kneel. 
And  say  thou  hast  repented  thy  rash  suit ! 
If  ere  i  see  thee  fight  I  be  thus  wounded. 
How  will  the  least  drop  foixxKl  from  thy  veins 
AtBict  my  heart  ? 

Mac,  Why,  that's  good! 
Arcadius,  speak  to  her;  hear  him,  madam. 

Arc   If  you  call  back  this  honour  you 

have  done  me,    * 
I  shall  repent  I  live.^-Do  not  persuade  me  !— 
Seleucus,  thou'rt  a  noble  enemy ; 
And  I  will  luve  thy  soul,  tho'  I  despair 
Our  bodies'  friendly  conversation : 
I  would  we  were  to  tu^  upon  some  cliff. 
Or,  like  two  prodigies  I'th'  air,  our  conflict 
Might  generally  be  paz'd  at,  and  our  blood 
Appease  our  grandsires'  ashes! 

A'  c.  I'm  undone! 

SeL  Madam,  my  fathei'says  I  have  offended; 
If  so,  I  beg  your  pardou,  but  beseech  you, 
For  your  own  glory,  call  not  back  your  word ! 

Euh.  They  are  both  road. 

Sophia,  No  more!  we  have  resolv'd: 
And  since  their  courage  is  so  nobly  flam'd, 
This  morning  we'll  behold  the  champions 
Within  the  list.    Be  not  afraid  their  strife 
Will  stretch  so  fitr  as  death.    So  soon  as  we 
A  re  cruwn'd,  prepare  yourselves.    Seleocns ! 
l^leuctis  kisses  her  hand. 

Sel.  I  have  receivd  another  life  in  this 
High  favour,  and  may  lose  what  nature  gave 

me.  [va&or, 

Sophia*  Arcadius,  to  encourage  thy  young 
We  give  thee  our  fiither's  sword ; 
Command  it  from  our  armory.    Lysimachus, ' 
To  our  Coronation.'  [ExtunU 

Eub.  I  will  forfeit  sooner 
My  liead  for  a  rebellion,  than  suffer  it  '^. 
I  [Exit. 

'•Sel.  r///of/ei/,&c. 
Arc.  lam  circled — ]  Mr.  Tlieobald  and  Mr.  toward  agree  with  me,  here  are  two  false 
names  put  into  these  two  places ;  and  that  Eubulns  should  supply  Seleucus,  and  Macarius 
Arcadius,  and  'tis  plain,  for  Seleucus  and  Arcadius  are  not  now  upon  the  stf^e,  but  went  off 
with  the  queen,  LYsima^hus,  &c.    I  have  likewise  ventured  to  add  a  word  to 
£ub,  I'll  forfeit 

My  head,  &cc. 
which  was  not  sense^  as  it  stood  in  all  the  copies.        Sj^pson, 

Mac 


There  is  some  strange  mistake  in*t. 
Enter  Antigonus. 

Ant.  Arcadius,  the  queen  would  speak 
You  must  make  haste.  [with  you ; 

Arc  Tho'  to  my  death,  I  fly 
Upon  her  summons;  I  give  up  my  breath 
Then  willindy,  if  she  command  it  from  me. 
^^  [ExU. 

PhiL  This  does  a  little  trouble  me. 

I^wn.  I  know  not 
What  to  imagine ;  something  is  the  ground 
Of  this  perplexity,  but  I  hope  there  is  not 
Any  such  danger  as  he  apprehends. 

Enter  Sophia,  Lysimachus,  Macarius,  Eubu- 
lus,  Seleucus,  Arcfidius,  Ladies,  Attend^ 
ants,  and  GeiUtemen. 

Sophia.  We  have  already  granted  to  Seleu^ 

cus. 
And  they  shall  try  their  valour,  if  Arcadius 
Ilare  spirit  in  him  to  accept  the  cliallenge : 
Our  103^01  word  is  passed. 

Fhil.  This  is  strange.  [ask'd, 

Eub,  Madam,  my  son  knew  not  what  he 
And  you  were  cruel  to  consent  so  soon. 

Afoc.  Wlierein  have  I  offended,  to  be  robb'd 
At  once  of  all  the  wealth  I  have?  Arcadius 
I*  part  of  me. 


206 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Act  2* 


Mac.  Vm  circled  with  confusions!  Til  do 

somewhat : 
My  brains  agd  friends  assist  me ! 

Phil,  But  do  you  think  thc/Ii  fight  indeed  ? 

Lf/$an,  Perhaps 
Her  majesty  will  see  a  bout  or  two : 
And  yet*tiswondrous5trnnge!  suchs{)ectacles 
Are  rare  i*th' court.  An  they  were  to  skinnish 

naked  * 

Before  her,  then  there  micht  be  some  excuse. 
Tiiere  is  some  gimcracksin  t;  thequeen  is  wise 
Above  her  years. 

FhiL  Macarius  is  perplex'd. 

Enter  Eubulus, 

Lysan,  I  cannot  blame  him.    But  my  lord 

Eubulus  [men! 

Returns ;  they  are  both  troubled :  las^  good 
But  our  duties  are  expected ;  we  forget. 

[Exeunt  Pkitocles  and  Lender. 

Eub.  I  must  resolve ;  and  yet  things  are 
My  brain's  upon  the  torture!  [not  ripe. 

Mac.  This  may  quit 
The  hazard  of  his  person,  whose  least  drop 
Of  blood  is  worth  more  than  our  families. 
My  lord  Eubulus,  I  have 'thought  a  way 
To   stay   the  young  men's  desperate   pro- 

ceedmgs : 
It  is  our  cause  they  fight ;  let  us  beseech 
The  queen,  to  grant  us  two  the  privilege 
Of  duel,  rather  than  expose  their  hves 
To  cither's  fury :  it  were  pity  they 
Should  run  upon  so  black  a  destmy; 
We  are  both  old,  and  may  be  spar'd;  a  pair 
Of  fruitless  trees,  mossy  and  witlier'd  trunks, 
That  fill  up  too  much  room. 

Eub.  Most  willingly ; 
And  I  will  praise  iier  charity  t*  allow  it : 
I  have  not  yet  fonrot  to  use  a  sword. 
Let's  lose  no  time!  By  this  act,  she  will  licence 
Our  souls  to  leave  our  bodies  but  a  djiy, 
I Vrhaps  an  hour,  the  sooner ;  they  may  live 
To  flo  her  better  service,  and  be  friends 
Wlien  we  are  dead.   And  yet  I  Imve  no  hope 
This  \\ ill  be  granted;  curse  upon  our  faction! 

Mac,  If  *he  deny  us — 

Eub.  What? 

Mac,  I  would  do  somewhat — 

Eub.  There's  sometliing  o'  the  sudden 

struck  upon 
My  imagination,  that  may  secure  us. 

Mac.  Name  it;  if  no  dishonour  wait  upon*t. 
To  preserve  tlicni,  I'll  accept  any  danger. 

Eub.  There  is  no  other  way — and  yet  my 

heart 
Would  be  excus'd— but  'tis  to  save  his  life. 

Mac.  Speak  it,  Eubulus. 

Eub.  In  your  oar  1  shall; 
It  sha'not  make  a  noise  if  yon  refuse  it. 


Mac.  Hum!  tho'  it  stir  my  blood.  111 

meet.    Arcadius, 
If  this  preserve  thee  not,  I  must  unseal 
Another  mystery.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Sophia,  Lysimachus,Cas$ander,  Chariiia^ 
Lt/sander^  Fhilocles,  and  Jntigonut. 

Sophia.  We  owe  to  all  your  loves,  and  will 

deserve. 
At  least  by  our  endeavours,  that  none  may 
This  day   repent  their  prayers.    My  lord* 

Cas$.  Madam,  [protector! 

I  have  no  such  title  now,  and  am  blest  to 

lose 
That  name  so  happily :  I  was  but  trusted 
With  a  glorious  burden. 

Sophia.  YoQ  have  prov'd  [still 

Yourself  our  faithful  counsellor,  and  must 
Protect  our  growing    state:    a  kingdom's 

sceptre  [sits  heavy 

Weighs  down  a  woman's  arm;  tnis  crown 
Upon  my  brow  already;  and  we  know 
There's  something  more  than  metal  in  this 

wreath 
Of  shining  glory;  but  your  fiiitJi  and  coansel^ 
^That  are  I'auiilur  with  mysteries. 
And  depths  of  state,  have  power  to  make  us  fit 
For  such  a  bearing,  in>  which  both  you  shall 
Do  loyal  service,  and  reward  your  duties. 

Cass.  Ilcav'n  preserve  your  highness! 

Sophia.  But  yet,  my  lords  and  gentlemen^ 

let  none  [doms^ 

Mistake  me,  that,  because  I  uige  your  wis-> 
I  shall  grow  careless,  and  impose  on  yon 
The  managing  of  this  great  province !  uo^ 
We  will  be  active  too;  and  as  we  are 
In  dignity  above  your  persons,  so 
The  greatest  portion  ot  the  difficulties 
We  call  to  us,  you  in  your  several  places 
Relieving  us  with  your  experience. 
Observing  in  your  best  directions 
All  uKxlesty,  and  distance  ;  tor  altho' 
We  sure  but  young,  no  action  shall  forfeit 
Our  royal  privilec;e,  or  encourage  any 
To  unrevercnt  boldness.     As  it  will  become 
Our  honour  to  consult,  ere  we  detenniiie. 
Of  the  most  necessary  thing  of  state; 
So  we  are  sensible  ot  any  check  *', 
But  in  a  brow,  that  saucily  controls 
Our  action,  presuming  on'oar  years 
As  few,  or  frailty  of  our  sex ;  that  head 
Is  not  secure,  that  dares  our  power  or  justice. 

Phil.  Sh'has  a  brave  spirit!  l»ok  fiow  thc^ 
Grows  pale  already !  [protector 

S(»phia.  But  I  speak  to  you 
Are  perfect  in  obedience,  and  may  spare 
This  thfine;  yet  'twas  no  immaterial 
Part  of  our  character,  since  I  desire 
All  should  take  notice  I  liave  studied 


*'  So  ice  arc  sensible  of  a  check.]  SeWard  would  read. 
So  were  not  sensible  of  any  check. 
But  iii  a  brow,  &c. 
We  h.ive  adopted  Sunpsons  reading,   which  he   thus  explains:  *  Even  the  !east  seeming 
*  dialike  to  our  judgment  expreuad  by  a  wrinkled  brom,  ue  arc  sensible  of\  &c/ 

The' 


Actt.] 


THE  CORONATION. 


2or 


Tlie  knowledge  of  myself;  by  which  I  ^all 
Better  distinguish  of  your  worth  and  persons 
In  vour  relations  to  us. 

l^tan.  This  language 
Is  but  a  tlireatening  to  somebody. 

Sophia.  But  we  miss  some,  that  use  not 

to  absent 
Their  duties  from  us ;  whereas  Macarius  ? 

Cats.  Itetir'd  to  grieve,  your  m^esty  hath 

given 
Consent  Arcadios  should  enter  list 
To-day r with  young  Seleucus. 

Sophia.  We  purpose 

Enter  Gentleman. 

They  shall  proceed.    What's  he  ? 

PhU.  A  gentleman 
Belonging  to  Seleucus,  that  ^ves  notice 
He  is  prepar'dy  and  waits  your  royal  pleasure. 

Sophia.  He  was  compos*d  for  action.  Give 

notice 
To  ArcaHias,  and  admit  the  challenger! 
Let  other  princes  boast  their  gaudy  tilting, 
And  mockery  of  battles !  but  our  triumph 
Is  celebrated  with  true  noble  valour, 

Enter  Seleucus  andArcadius  at  several  doors^ 
their  Pages  before  theniy  hearing  their 
Targets. 

Two  youn^  men  spirited  enough  to  have 
Two  kingdoms  4tak'd  upon   their  swords. 

Lysimachus, 
Do  not  they  excellently  .become  their  anns  ? 
H'were  pity  but  they  should  do  something 

more 
Than  wave  their  plumes.    [A  shout  within."] 

What  noise  is  that  ? 

Enter  Macarius  and  Eubulus. 

Mae.  The  people's  joy,  to  know  us  re- 

concird, 
Is  added  to  the  jubilee  o'th*  day  : 
We  liave  no  more  a  taction,  but  one  heart. 
Peace  flow  in  every  bosom  1 

JBie*^  Throw  away  [friends 

These  instruments  of  death,  and  like  two 
Embrace  by  our  example. 

Sophia,  This  unfei^*d  i  [^madam, 

^fae.  Bj  our  duUes  to  youraelt!   Dear 
Command  them  not  advance:  our  houses 

from 
This  minute  are  incorporated ;  happy  day ! 
Ottr  eyes,  at  which  before  revenge  look'd 

forth. 
May  clear  suspicion.    Oh,  my  Arcadius ! 

Eub.  We've  found  a  nearer  way  to  friend- 
ship, madam. 
Than  by  exposing  them  to  fight  for  us. 

Sophui.  If  this  be  faithful,  our  desires  are 

bless'd. 
We  had  no  thought  to  waste,  but  reconcile 
Your  blood    this  way,    and  we   did  pro« 

J?bcsy'» 


This  happy  chance:    spring    into  either's 

bosom, 
Arcadius  and  Seleucus ! — What  can  now 
Be  added  to  this  day's  felicity  ?  [lord,' 

Yes,   there  is  something,  is  there  not,  my 
While  we  are  virgin-quccu  ? 

Cass,  Ha !  that  string 
Doth  promise  musick. 

Sophia.  I  am  yet,  my  lords, 
Your  single  joy ;  and  when  I  look  upon 
What  I  liave  took  to  manage,  the  great  care 
Of  this  most  flourinhing  kingdom,  I  incline 
To  think  I  shall  do  justice  to  myself 
If  I  chuse  one,  whose  strength  and  virtue 

may 
Assist  my  undertaking :  think  you,  lords, 
A  husband  would  not  help  ? 

Lvsan.  No  question,  madam ; 
And  he  that  you  propose  to  make  so  bless'd. 
Must  needs  be  worthy  of  our  humblest  duty« 
It  is  the  general  vote. 

Sophia.  We  will  not  then 
Trouble  ambassadors  to  treat  with  any 
Princes  abroad ;  within  our  own  dommion. 
Fruitful  in  honour,  we  shall  make  our  choice; 
And  that  we  may  not  keep  you  over  long 
In  th'  imagination,  from  this  circle  we 
Have  purpose  to  elect  one,  whom  I  shall 
Salute  a  king  and  husband. 

Lysan.  Now  my  lord  i^ysimachus! 

Sophia.  Nor  shall  we  in  this  action  be  ac^ 

cus'd 
Of  rashness,  since  the  man  we  shall  declare 
Deserving  our  affection  hatli  been  early 
In  our  opinion,  (wliich  had  reasob  first 
To  guide  it,  and  his  known  nobility) 
Long  married  to  our  thoughts,  will  justify 
Our  fair  election. 

Phil.  I^ysimachus  blushes. 

Cass.  Direct  our  duties,  madam,  to  pray 

for  him!  [She  comes  from  the  state. 

Sophia.  Arcidius,  }'ou  see  from  whence  we 

come; 
Pray  lead  us  back :  you  may  ascend. 

Cass.  How's  this?  o*er-reach*d  ? 

Arc.  Madjun,  be  charitable  to  your  hum- 
blest creature ! 
Do  not  reward  the  heart,  that  falls  in  duty 
Beneath  your  feet,  witli  making  me  the  bur- 
den 
Of  the  court-mirth,  a  mockery  for  pages ! 
Twere  treason  in  me  but  to  think  you  me^m 

thus. 

Sophia.  Arcadius,  you  must  refuse  my  love. 
Or  shame  this  kingdom. 

Phil,  Is  the  wind  in  that  corner? 

Cas».  I  shall  run  mad,  Lysimachus ! 

Lysim.  Sir,  contain  yourself. 

Set,  Is  this  to  be  believ'd? 

Mac.  What  dream  is  this? 

Phil.  He  kisses  her!  now,  by  this  day,  Fni 

glad  on't. 

Lytatu  Mark  tlie  protector ! 


'*  And  ve  did  prophesy.]  «.  e«  Foresee*       Symp$on, 


Ant. 


tOB 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Act  5. 


Ant.  Let  blm  fret  hi9  heart-stringy! 

Sophia.  Is  the  day  doady  on  the  sodden  ? 

Arc,  Gentlemen, 
It  was  not  my  ambition ;  (I  durst  never 
Aspireso  high  in  thought)  but  since  her  m  ajesty 
Hath  pieas'd  to  call  me  to  tliis^  honour,  I 
Will  study  to  be  worthy  of  her  ghice. 
By  whom  I  live. 

Sophia.  The  church  to-raorrow  shall 
Connrm  our  marriage.    Noble  Lysimachus, 
"We'll  find  oat  other  ways  to  recompense 


Your  love  to  us.    Set  forward!  Came,  Ar« 
teditts ! 

[Ejevnt  Sophia,  Arcadius,  and  PMlocUt^ 
Mac.  It  must  be  so;  and  yet  let  me  con- 
sider! 
Com.  He  insnlts  already !  Policy,  assist  me 

To  break  his  neck ! 

Lysim.  Who  would  trust  woman? 

Lost,  in  a  pair  of  minutes  lost!  How  bright 

A  morning  rose  but  now,  and  now  'tis  nigliU 

lErcuni. 


ACT   iir. 


Enter  Poiidora  and  Servant. 

Tolid.  (^H,  where  sliall  virgins  look  for 

^^  fjuth  hereafter. 
If  he  prove  false,  after  so  many  vows? 
And  yet,  if  I  consider,  he  was  tempted 
Above  the  strength  of  a  young  lover:  two 
Such  glories  courting  '^  his  acceptance,  were 
Able  to  make  disloyalty  no  sin, 
At  least  not  seem  a  fault :  a  lady  first, 
Wliose  very  looks  would  thaw. a  man  more 
frozen     •  ftlian  winter; 

Tlmn  th*  Alps,  quicken  a  soul  more  dead 
Add  to  her  beauty  and  perfection. 
That  she's  a  queen,  and   brings  with  lier  a 

kingdom  ^ 

Able  to  make  a  ereat  mind  forfeit  Heaven. 
What  could  the  frailty^  of  Arcadius  • 

Suggest,  t'  uDspirit  him  so  much  as  not 
To  fly  to  her  embraces  ? — You  were  present 
When  she  declar*d  herself? 
~  Serv.  Yes,  madam. 

PoUd.  Tell  me,  [queen 

Did  not  he  make  a  pause,  when   the  fair 
A  full  temptation  stood  him } 

Serv.  Very  little     ^  [sooner 

My  judgment  could  disdngoish :  she  did  no 
Propound,  but  he  accepted. 

PoUd.  That  was  ill.  [nutes  ; 

He  might  with  honour  stand  one  or  two  mi- 
Methinks  it  shonld  have  startled  him  a  little 
To  have  remember'd  me ;  I  have  deserv'd 
At  least  a  cold  thought.    Well,  pray  eive  it 
him.  [  Folid.  gives  him  a  letter. 

Serv.  I  shall. 
Polid.  When? 
Serv.  Instantly. 
Polid.  Not  so; 
But  take  a  time  when  his  joy  swells  him  most, 
When  his  delights  are  high  and  ravishing, 
When  you  perceive  hissoul  dance  in  his  eyes. 
When  she,  that  must  be  his,  hath  dress'd  her 
beautY,  [pids 

With  all  her  pridey  and  sends  a  thousand  Cu- 
To  call  hixB^to  the  tasting  of  her  lip ; 


Then  give  him  this,  and  tell  him,  while  I  live 
I'll  pray  for  him. 
Serv.  I  sliall.  [Extunt. 

Enter  Cassander  and  Lyshnachus, 

Can.  There  is  no  way  but  death. 

Lysim.  That's  black  and  horrid! 
Consider,  sir,  it  was  her  sin,  not  his; 
I  cannot  accuse  him ;  wliat  man  could  carry 
A  heart  so  frozen,  not  to  melt  at  such 
A  slorious  flame  ?  Who  could  not  fly  to  suck 
A  happiness? 

Caat4  Have  you  ambition 
To  be  a  tame  tool?  See  so  vast  an  injury. 
And  not  revenge  it?  Make  me  not  suspect 
Thy  mother  for  tliis  sufferance,  my  son. 

Lysim.  Pray  hear  me,  sir. 

Cats.  Hear  a  patient  gull, 
A  property?  T1m>u  hast  no  blood  of  mine. 
If  this  affiroDt  provoke  thee  not :  how  canst 
Be  charitable  to  thyself,  and  let  him  live  • 
To  dory  in  thy  shame?  Nor  is  he  innoceot; 
He  had  before  crept  slily  into  her  bosom^ 
And  practis'd  thy  dishonour. 

■  Lysim.  You  begin 
To  stir  me,  sir. 

Cass.  How  else  Could  she  be  guilty 
Of  such  coiit<.>mpt  of  tliee,  and  in  the  eye 
Of  all  tlie  kingdom  ?  they  conspir'd  this  stain, 
Wlien  they  had  cunning  meetings.  Shall  thy 

love  rLysimachos 

And  blooming  hopes  be  scatterVd  tbasy  and 
Stand  idle  gazer? 

JL^sim.  What,  sir,  will  hit  death 
iVflvanta^e  us,  if  she  be  false  to  me? 
5m>  irreligious?  and  to  touch  her  person-^ 
Pause,  we  may  be  observed. 

Enter  Philocles  ondLytander. 

Tis  the  protector 


Phil.  Alas,  poor  gentleman!  I  pity  bis 
Neglect,  but  am  not  sorry  for  his  fatoet* 
Tis  a  strange  tarn. 

Lysan.  The  whirligigs  of  woipen! 


■'  Such  gloriotts  courting.'}  Corrected  in  17M). 


PhiL 


Act  S.] 


THE  CORONATION. 


209 


Phil.  Yoar  grace's  servant. 

Cass,  I  am  yours,  gentlcrneii ; 
And  should  be  happy  to  deserve  jour  loves. 

PkiL  Now  ^e  can  flatter. 

Ly^an,  Not,  .sir,  to  enlarge 
Your  sufferings,  I  have  a  heart  doth  wish 
The  queen  had  known  better  to  reward 
Your  love  and  meriL 

Lys'm.  If  you  would  express 
Your  love  to  me,  pray  do  not  mention  it. 
I  must  obey  my  fate. 

PhiL  She  will  be  married 
To  t  other  gentleman  for  certain  tlicn? 

Cast,  I  hopeyouUl  wish  'em  joy. 

PhiL  Indeed!  viriH,  sir. 

Jbfsan.  Your  grace's  servant !       [Exeunt, 

Cass.  We  are  grown 
Hidiculous,  the  pastime  of  the  court  •! — 
Here  comes  another. 

Enter  Seleucus, 

SeL  Where's  your  son,  my  lord  ?    [tress:— 

Cass.  Like  a  neglected  servant  of  his  mis- 

Ikl.  I  would  asL  him  a  question. 

Cass.  What? 

SeL  Whetlicr  the  quecn^ 
As  'tis  reported,  Ipv'd  him:  he  can  tell 
Whether  slie  promised  what  they  talk  of^  mar- 
riage. 

Cass.  I  can  resolve  you  that,  sir. 

>^/.  She  did  promise  ? 

Lass.  Ye?. 

Sei.  Then  she's  a  woman;  and  your  son — 

Cass.  What? 

Scl.  Not 
VorUiy  his  blood  and  expectation, 
^  Iflie be  calm. 

Cass.  There's  no  opposing  destiny. 

&•/.  Yd  cut  the  throat — 

Cass.  Whose  throat?  [don,  sir  ! 

SeL  The  destiny's ;  that's  all.    Your  par- 
lam  Seleucus  still;  a  poor  shadow 
O'tb*  world,  a  walking  picture!  it  concerns 
Xot  me;  I  am  forgotten  by  my  stars. 

Cass.  The   queen,   with  more  discretion, 

might  ha'  chosen  thee. 

^W.  Whom? 

Cass,  Tliee,  Seleucus. 

fee/.  Me? 
I  cannot  dance,  and  frisk  with  due  activity ! 
M?  IkkIy's  lead,  I've  too  much  phlegm;  what 

bliould  I 
Do  with  a  kingdom  ?  No,  Arcadius 
Becomes  the  cushion,  and  can  please.    Yet, 

setting 
Aside  tte  trick  that  ladies  of  blood  look  at, 
Apotlierman  might  make  a  shift  to  wear 
Richcioaths,  sit  in  the  chair  of  st^te,  and  nod, 


Dare  venture  on  discourse  that  does  not 

trench 
On  compliment,  and  think  the  study  of  arms 
And  arts  more  commendable  in  a  gentleman, 
Than  any  galliard*°. 

Cass.  Arcadics 
And  you  were  reconciVd? 

SeL  We?  yes;  oh,  yes. 
But'tis  not  manners  now  to  say  we  are  friends; 
At  our  equality  there  had  been  reasou. 
But  now  suhjcct'wn  is  the  word. 

C^iss.  They  are  not  yet  married  ? 

Scl.  ril  make  no  oath  upon't.    My  lord 

Lysimachus, 
A  word  !  You'll  not  be  angry  if  I  love  jrou  ? 
May  not  a  bntchclor  be  made  a  cuckold  ? 

Li/sim.  How,  sir! 

Cass.  Lysimnchus,  this  gentleman 
Is  worthy  our  embrace ;  he's  spirited, 
And  may  be  useful. 

Sel.  Hark  you ;  can  vou  tell  [mean 

Where's  the  best  dancin^master?  An  you 
To  rise  at  court,  practise  to  caper:  farewt?ll. 
The  noble  science  tliat  make^  work  for  cut* 

Jers! 
It  will  be  out  of  fiisliion  to  wear  swords; 
Masques  and  devices,  welcome !  I  salute  you. 
Is  it  not  pity  any  division 
Should  be  heaniout  of  niusick?  Oh, 'twill  be 
A  n  excellent  age  of  crotchets,  and  of  canters ! 
By,  captains*',  that  like  fools  will  spend 

your  blood 
Out  of  your  country !  you  will  be  of  less 
Use  than  your  feathers;  if  you  return  unr 

raaim*d, 
You  shall  be  beaten  soon  to  a  new  march, 
When  you  shall  think  it  a  discretion 
To  sell  your  glorious  buffs  to  buy  fine  piimps. 
And  pantaUes :  this  is,  I  hope,  no  treason. 

Enter  Arcadius,  leading  Sophia,  Charilla, 
Enbttlus,  Lysandcry  Philocles,  and.PoU* 
doras  Scrrant^** 

Cass,  Wo't  stay,  Lysimachus?, 

hysim.  Yes,  sir,  and  shew 
A  patience  above  her  injury.  [Assume 

Arc.  This  honour  is  too  much,  madam  I 
Your  place,  aiid  let  Arcadius  wait  still ; 
Tis  happiness  enough  to  be  your  servant. 

Cass.  Now  he  dissembles. 

Sophia.  Sir,  you  must  sit. 

Arc.  I  am  obedient.  [Music  heard, 

Sophh.  Tliis  is  not  music  £lanciu>ly. 

Sprightly  enough;  it  feeds  the  soul  with  me- 
llow says  Arc&ius? 

Arc.  Give  me  leave  to  tl^ink, 
There  is  no  harmony  but  in  your  voice, 
And  no(  i^n  accpnt  of  your  heav'nly  tongue> 


Galliard.']  The  galliard  is  a  lively  air  in  triple  time;  Drossard  intimates  that  it  is  the 
same  with  the  Romanesca,  a  favourite  dance  with  the  Italians.' 
^j  ,  Sir  Joitn  Hawkins,  Hist.  Music!:,  vol.  iv.  p.  38r» 

'  Buy  captainf,  that  like  fools if  you  return  utmiann*d.]  Both  errors  corrected  by 

'Seward. 
"  Polidora,  Servant.]  Corrected  by  Sympson. 
VOLUL  ^    ^   ^        T.e  But 


210 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Act  3. 


But  strikes  me  into  raptare :  I  incline 
To  think  the  tale  of  Orpheus  no  table  ; 
Tis  possible  lie  might  enchant*  the  rocks. 
And  charm  the  forest^  soften  Hell  itself^ 
With  his  commanding  lute ;  il  is  no  miracle 
To  what  you  work,  wliose  evVy  breath  con- 
veys 
Tlie  hearer  into  Heav'n :  how  at  your  lips 
Winds  gather  perfumes,  proudly  glide  away. 
To  disperse  sweetness  round  about  the  world ! 

Sel.  Fine  stuff! 

Sophia.  You  cannot  flatter. 

Arc.  Not,  if  I  should  say  [wonder. 

Nature  had  plac'd  you  here  the  creatures? 
And  iier  own  spring,  from  which  all  excel- 
lence [when 
On  earth's  derii'd,  and  copied  forth;  and 
The  character  of  fair  and  good  in  others 
Is  quite  worn  out,  and  lost,  looking  on  you 
It  is  supplied,  and  you  alone' made  moriiil, 
To  feed  and  keep  alive  all  beauty.      [men  ? 

Sel.  Ha!  ha!  Can  y<}ii  endure. it,  geutle- 

J.y$an.  What  do  you  mean? 

SeL  Nay,  ask  him  what  he  means; 
Inline  is  a  down*right  laugh. 

Sophia.  VV^ell,  sir,  proceed,      [themselves. 

Arc,  At  such  bright  eyes  the  stars  do  light 
*  At  such  a  forehead  swans  renew  their  white, 
From  such  a  lip  the  mornintz  gathers  blushes. 

Sel.  The  morning  is  more  modest  than  thy 

praises: 
What  a  thing  does  He  make  her? 

Arc.  And  when  you  fly  to  Heav'n,  and 

leave  tliis  world  [you, 

No  longer  maintenance  of  goodness  trom 
Tlien  poetry  shall  lose  all  use  witii  us. 
And  be  no  more,  since  nothing  in  your  al> 

sence 
Is  left,  that  can  be  worthy  of  a  vqrse. 

SeL  Ha,  lia! 

Sophia.  Who's  that? 

Sel.  Twas  I,  madam. 

Arc*  Seieucus? 

Ctfsi.  Ha! 

SeL  Yes,  sir;  *twas  I  tliat  laugh*d. 

Arc.  At  what? 

SeL  At  nothing. 

Lysan.  Contain  yourself,  Seieucus. 

Euh.  Arc  you  mad  ?  [sir  ? 

Sophia.  Have  you  ambition  to  be  punish'd, 

SeL  I  need  not;  'twas  punishment 
Btiough  to  hear  him  make  an  idol  of  you; 
He  left  out  the  commendation  of  your  pa- 
tience. 


I  was  a  little  moved  in  my  nature, 

To  hear  his  rhodoirontados,  and  make 

A  monster  of  his  mistress ;  which 

I  pitied  first;  but  seeing  him  proceed,  (tions. 

I  guess'd  he  brought  you  mirth  with  bis  inv^i* 

And  so  made  bold  to  laugh  at  it. 

Sophia.  You're  saucy!  [merry. 

We'll  place  you  where  you  3hall  not  be  so 
Take  him  away ! 

Lysan.  Submit  yourself. 

Arc.  Let  me 
Plead  for  his  pardon. 

SeL  I  would  not  owe 
My  life  so  poorly !  Beg  thy  own :  when  you 
Are  king  ynu  cannot  bribe  your  destiuy. 

Eub.  Ciood  madam,  liearme!  I  fear  he  is 

distracted.  [terofasoui 

Cass.  Urave  boy ! — ^Thou  shouldst  be  mas- 
Like  his;  thy  honour's  more  concem'd*^. 

SeL  *Tis  charity ; 
Away  wo'  me !  B*y%  madam** ! 

Cass.  He  has  a  daring  spirit. 

[Exeunt  SeL  Euh.  Cass. 

Arc.  These,  and  a  thousand  more  affronts, 

I  must 
Kxpect;  your  favours  draw  them  all  upon  me : 
In  my  fir^t  state  I  had  no  enemies; 
I  was  secure,  while  I  did  grow  benesitli 
Tills  expectation;  humble  vallies  thrive  with 
Their  bosopis  full  of  flowers,  when  the  hills 

melt 
With  lightning,  and  rough  anger  of  tlie  clouds. 
Lctme  retire. 

Sophia.  And  csm  Arcadius 
At  such  a  breifth  be  mov'd?  I  had  opinion 
Your  courage  durst  have.stood  a  tempest  for 
Our  love :  can  you  for  this  incline  to  leave 
What  pther  princes  should  in  vain  have  sued 
.    for? 

How  many  lovers  are  in  Epire  now  [pert 
Would  throw  themselves  on  danger,  not  ex» 
One  enemy,  hut  empty  their  own  \  eins. 
And  think  tlie  loss  of  all  their  blood  rewarded, 
To  have  one  smile  of  us  when  they  are  dying  J 
And  shall  this  murmur  shake  you? 

Arc.  Not,  dear  madam; 
My  life  is  such  a  poor  despised  thing. 
In  value  your  least  graces,  tliat  to  lose 
It  were  to  make  myself  a  victory, 
It  is  not  for  myself  I  fear :  the  envy 
Of  otl^rs  cannot  fasten  wound  in  me 
Greater,  than  that  your  goodness  sliould  be 
So  daringly.  [check'd 

Sophia,  Let  not  those  thoughts  afAict  thee, 


^'  Brave  hoy,  Sfc.']  This  speech  was  joined  to  that  of  Euhulus,  'till  Mr.  Seward  disco* 
vered  the  error. 

*♦  -'  'boy,  madam  ?]  We  find  afterward  Seieucus  sent  to  prison,  for  which  there  is 

now  no  express  command  given  by  tlie  queen ;  and  in  the  next  place  it  is  evident  that  she 
had  call'd  mm  hoy^  to  which.  Boy,  madam,  is  an  answer.    I'he  words  omitted,  might  pro- 
bably come  in  between  Eubulus  and  Cassander^s  speeches,  and  miglit  be  to  this  eflect. 
Away  with  that  audacious  boy  to  prison.  '  Scicard. 

What  occiirrM  to  me  upon  reftding  this  passage  was  this,  that  6oy  is  bnly  a  corruption  of 
6y,  and  designed  as  an  ironical  taking  leave  of  the  queen  on  his  going  to  prison.    Sympson, 
'^Sympson  is  undoubtedly  right. 

White 


Act  3.J 


THE  CORONATION, 


211 


While  we  have  power  to  correct  th' offences. 
Arcadius,  he  miue !  This  stiall  confirm  it. 

[Kisses  him. 

Arc  I  shall  forget,  Tbeen 

And  lose  my  way  to  Heav^ii  that  touch  hatl 
Eooagh  to  have  restorM  me,  and  infused 
A  spirit  of  a  more  celestial  nature. 
After  the  tedious  absence  of  my  soul. 
Oh,  hless  me  not  too  much!  one  smile  a  day 
Would  stretch  my  life  to  immortality'*. 
Poets,  that  wrap  divinity  in  tales,         [gels ! 
Look  liere,  and  give  your  copies  forth  of  an* 
What  blessing  can  remain  ? 

Sophia,  Our  marriage. 

Arc>  Place  then  some  horrors  in  the  way 
For  me,  not  you,  to  pass;  the  journey's  end 
Holds  out  such  glories  to  me,  1  should  tliink 
Hell  but  a  poor  degree  of  suffering  for  it.— 
[Servant  delivers  km  a  paper, 
Whnt*8  that?  some  petition?  a  letter  to  me? 
*  You  had  aPolidora.'  Ha!  that's  all!  [forth, 
Fth' minute  when  my  vessel's  new  launched 
With  all  my  pride,  and  silken  wihg&about  me, 
I  strike  upon  a  rock:  what  pow^r  can  save 

me? 
'  Youliad  a  Polidora!'  There's  a  name! 
Killed  with  grief,  I  can  so  soon  foi^et  her. 

Serv,  She  did  impose  on  me  this  service, 

sir ;  [you. 

And  while  she  lives,  she  says,  shell  pray  for 

Arc,  She  lives !  [fame 

That's  well;  and  yet  'twere  better  for  my 
And  honour,  she  were  dead.  What  fate  hath 
Upon  this  tearful  precipice  ?       '  [plac'd  me 

Serv.  IIe*s  troubled. 

^rc.  I  must  resolve :  my  faith  is  violated 
I   Already;  yet  poor  loving  Polidora 
^   Will  pray  forme,  siie  says;  to  tliink  she  can, 
Itenders  me  hated  to  myself,  and  every 
Thought's  a  tormentor;  let  me  then  be  just 

Sophia*  Arcadius!  [dora, 

Arc,  Tliat  voice  prevails  again.  Oh,  Polir 
Thou  must  forgive  Arcadius;  I  dare  pot 
Turn  rebel  to  a  princess :  I  shall  love 
Thy  virtue,  but  a  kingdom  has  a  charm 
To  excuse  oar  frailty.    Dearest  madam ! 

Sophia,  Now  set  forward. 

Arc,  To  perfect  all  our  joys! 

Enter  Macanus  and  a  Bishop, 

Mac,  I'll  flight  their  glories. 

Cass.  By  wbkt  means  ? 

Mae.  Observe. 

Arc  Our  good  uncle,  welcome ! 

Sophia,  My  lord  Macarius,  we  did  want 

your  person ;  |[share. 

There's  something  in  our  joys  wberem  you 

Mae.  This  yon  intend  your  highness*  wed* 

iSu/^Ata.  We  are  going —  [ding-day? 

Mac.  Save  your  labour; 
Tve  brought  a  priest  to  meet  you« 

Arc.  Reverend  father ! 

M>a»  Meet  lis?    Why? 


Mac.  To  tell  yon  that  you  must  not  marry. 

Cass*  Didst  thou  hear  that,  l.ysimachub? 

Ljfsimi  And  wonder  wliat  will  follow. 

Sophia,  We  must  not  marry? 

Bishop,  Madam,  'tis  a  rule  [dare  ' 

First  made  in  Heav'n;  and  I  must  need*  de- 
You  and  'Arcadius  must  tie  no  knot 
Of  man  and  wife< 

Arc,  Is  my  uncle  mad  ? 

Sophia.  Joy  lias  transported  him. 
Or  age  has  made  him  dote :  Macarius, 
Provoke  us  not  too  much;  you  will  presume 
Above  our  mercy. 

Mac,  rU  discharge  my  duty,  [you  know, 
Could  your  frown  strike  me  dead.— My  lord^ 
Whose  character  this  is  ?  . 

Cass,  It  is  Thcodosius*, 
Your  grace's  father. 

Bishop.  I  atn  subscrib'd  a  witness* 

Phil,  Upon  my  life,  'tis  his. 

Mac,  Fear  not;  I'll  cross  tliis  match* 

[Adde  to  Cassander* 

Cass,  I'll  bless  thee  foi^t. 

Arc,  Uncle,  d'ye  know  what  you  do, 
Or  what  we  are  going  to  finish  ?    You  will 

not  break  [foot'a 

The  neck  of  my  glorious  fortune,  now  my 
r  t(i' stirrups,  and,  mounting,  throw  me  o'er 

the  saddle  ? 
I  hope  you'll  let  one  be  a  king. — Madam, 
'Tis  aa  you  say,  my  uncle  is  something  craz'd, 
Tliere's  a  worm  in's  brain,  but  I  beseech  you 

pardon  liim :  [talk'd 

He  is  not  the  first  of  your  council,  that  hat 
Idly.    D'ye  hear,  my  lord-bishop,   I  hope 

you  have  more 
Religion  than  to  join  with  him  to  undo  me. 

Bishop,  Not  I,  sir;  but  I  am  commanded 

by  oath  and  conscience, 
To  speak  truth. 

Arc,  If  your  truth  should  do  me 
Any  hai-ra,  I  shall  never  be  in  cliarity 
With  a  crozier's  staff;  look  to*t ! 

Sopliia.    My  youngest  brother  ? 

Casg:  Worse  and  worse!  my  brains! 

[Eieit. 

Mac,  Deliver*d  to  me  an  infant  with  this 

writing. 
To  which  this  reverend  father  is  a  witness. 

Liftan,  This  he  whom  we  so  long  thought 

dead,  a  child  ?  [to  trust  him 

Sophia,  But  what  should  make  my  father 
To  your  concealment?  give  abroad  hii  death. 
And  bury  an  empty  coffin  ? 

Mac,  A  jealousy  he  had 
Upon  Cassandcr,  wliose  ambitious  brain 
He  iear*d  would  make  no  conscience  to  depose 
His  son,  to  make  Lysitnacbus  king  of  £pire. 
^  Sophia,  He  made  no  scruple  to  expose  me 
To  any  danger?  [then 

Mac.  He  secur'd  you,  madam,     * 
By  an  early  engagement  of  your  affection 
To  Lysimachus,  exempt  this  testimony  & 


**  To  mortality.]  Corrected  in  1750. 
£e2 


md 


212 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Act  4. 


Had  he  bcjen  Arcadius,  and  my  nephew, 
I  needed  not  obtrude  him  on  the  state ; 
Your  love  and  marriage  Imd  made  him  king 
Without  my  trouble,  and  sav*d  tliat  ambition. 
There  was  necessity  to  open  now 
liis  birth  and  title. 

Fhil.  Demetrius  alive?         [they  talk  of? 

Arc.  What  riddles  arc  these?  Whom  do 

Chmiei.  We  congratulate  your  return  to 

life  and  honour,  L^ou> 

And,  as  becomes  us,  with  one  voice  siilute 
Demetrius,  king  of  Epire.  [sister ; 

Mac,  I  am  no  uncle,  sir:  this  is  your 
I  should  hare  sQflfer'd  incest,  to  have  kept  you 
longer  i'th'  dark :  love,  and  be  happy  both ! 
My  trust  is  now  discharg'd. 

Lf/san,  And  we  rejoice. 

Arc,  But  do  not  mock  me,  gentlemen; 
IVIay  I  be  bold  upon  your  words  to  say 
I  am  prince  Theodosius'  son  ^ 

Mac.  The  king. 

Arc,  Youli  justify  it? 
Sister,  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you. 

Sophia,  i  am 
To  hnd  a  brother,  and  resign  my  glory. 
My  triumph  is  my  shame.  [EjH. 

Enter  Cassander, 

Cass.  Thine  ear,  Lysimachus. 

Arc.  Gentlemen,  I  owe 
Unto  your  loves  as  large  adcnowledgment 
As  to  my  birth,  for  this  great  honour ;  and 
My  study  shall  be  equal  to  be  thought 
Worthy  of  botli.  [Exit  Sophia. 


Cass.  Thou  art  tnrn'd  marble* 
'    LysifH.  Tliere  will  be  the  less  charge  fur 

my  monument. 

Cass.  This  must  not  be:  sit  fast,  young 

king!  [Ei'iU 

Lysan.  Your  sister,  sir,  is  gone. 

Arc.  My  sister    should  have   been  my 

bride*    That  name 
Puts  me  in  mind  of  Polidora;  ha! 
Lvsandcr!  Philocles!  gentlemen!  fme 

If  yon  will  have  me  tbmk  your  hearts  allow 
Theodosius'  son,  oh,  quickly  snatch  some 

wings, 
Express  it  in  your  haste  to  Polidora ; 
Tell  her,    what   title    is  new   dropt  from 

Heav'u 
To  make  her  rich,  only  created  for  me ; 
Give  her  the  ceremony  of  my  queen ; 
With  all  the  state  that  may  become  our^ 

bride,  [there  ? 

Attend  her  to  this  throne.     Are  you  not 
Yet  stay!  'tis  too  much  pride  to  send  foe 

her; 
We'll  go  ourself ;  no  honour  is  enough 
For  Polidora,  to  redeem  our  fiiult ; 
Salute  her  gently  from  me,  and,  upon 
Your  knee,  present  her  with  this  diadem ! 
Tis  our  first  gift ;   tell  her  Demetrius  fol- 
lows 
To  be  her  guest,  and  give  himself  a  servant 
To  her  chaste  bosom ;  bid  licr  stretcli  her 

heart 
To  meet  me !  I  am  lost  in  joy  and  wonder  t 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  IV. 


Enter  Cassandety  Euhulus,  and  .tidier. 


Cass. 


.  ^nyiiEllE'S  the  captain  of  the  castle? 
^  ^      Soid.  He'll  attend  your  honours 

presently. 

Cass.  Give  him  knowledge  we  expect  him. 

Sold.  I  shall,  my  lord.  [Exit. 

Cass,  lie  is  my  creature,  (fear  not!) 
And  shall  run  any  course  thdit  we  propound. 

Eub.  My  lord,  I  like  the  substance  of 

your  plot,  -  [quence 

nis  promising;  but  matters  of  this  conse- 
Are  not  so  easily  perfect;  and  it  does 
Concern  our  heads  to  builcl  upon  secui-e 
Principles :  tho'  Scleucus,  I  confess, 
Carry  a  high  and  daring  spirit  in  him, 
^is  hard  to  thrust  upon  the  state  new  settled 
Any  impostor;  and  we  know  not  yet 
Whether  he'll  undertake  to  play  the  prince ; 
Or,  if  he  should  accept  it,  with  what  cunning 
He  can  behave  himself. 

Cass.  My  lord,  affairs 
,0f  such  a  glorious  nature  are  half  fiaisVdi 
When  they  begin  with  confidence* 


Euh  Admit 
He  want  no  art,  nor  courage,  it  must  rest 
Upon  the  people  to  receive  his  title ; 
And  with  what  danger  their  uncertain  breath 
May  flatter  ours,  Demetrius  scarcely  warm 
In  the  king*s  seat,  I  may  suspect. 

Cass.  That  reason 
Makes  for  our  part ;  for  if  it  be  so  probable* 
That  young  Demetrius  sliould  be  living,  why 
May  not  we  work  them  to  believe  Leonatus, 
The  eldest  son,  was  by  some  trick  preserv'd. 
And  now  would  claim  his  own?  There  were 

two  sons. 
Who  in  their  fathers  life  we  suppos*d  dead; 
May  not  wc  find  a  circumstance  to  make 
This  seem  as  clear  as  t'other  ?  Let  the  vulgar 
Be  once  posscss*d,  we'll  carry  Epire  from 
Demetrkis,  and  the  world. 

Eub,  r  could  be  pleas'd  ^ 

Enter  Pokanus, 

To  sec  my  son  a  king. — ^Tbe  captain's  here. 
Poleanus^  I  wait  your  lordship's  pleasure. 
Cm*^  We  come  to  visit  your  l«te  prisoner. 

IwUl 


Jtet4.] 


THE  CORONATION. 


fits 


I  will  not  doiibt,  bot  joa  entreat  him  fiiirly ; 
lie  Mrill  deserve  it  for  himself,  and  you 
Be  fortunate  in  any  occasion 
To  hftTc  exprrssM  your  service. 

PaUoHtu.  Stf-,  the  knowledge 
Of  my  lionourafole.  lord  his  father,  will 
Instruct  me  to  behave  myself  with  all 
Unpccts  becoming  me,  to  such  a  son. 

Cass.  These  things  will  least 
Oblige  you;  but  how  bears  he  liis  restraint? 

Folamus.  As  one  whose  soul's  above  it. 

Eub.  Patiently  ?  [great  command 

FofeanuB.  With  contempt  rather  of  tite 
Which  made  him  {)riHon«r:  he  will  talk 
So  stmngc>ly  to  himl^elf !  [soiuctimes 

Eub.  He's  here. 

Enter  Seleucus, 

Sel.  Why  was  I  born  to  bo  a  subject?  Hfis 
SoonanswerM  sure;  my  fatlierwas  no  prince. 
Tint's  all :  the  same  ingredients  use  to  make 
A  man,  as  active,  tho'  not  royal  blood. 
Went  to  my  composition,  and  I 
Was  gotten  with  as  g^uod  a  wiH,  perhaps. 
And  my  birth  cost  my  mother  as  much  sorrow, 
As  Fd  been  born  sui  emp  ror. 

Oiss,  While  I  look 
Upon  him,  something  in  his  face  presents 
A  king  indeed. 

Lub.  He  does  resemble  much 
Tbeodosius  too. 

Cass.  Whose  son  we  would  pretend  liim : 
This  will  advance  our  plot. 

ScL  Tis  but  a  name, 
And  mere  opinion,  that  prefers  one  man 
Above  anotlier :  I'll  imn^une  then 
I  aoi  a  prince,  or  some  bnive  thing  on  earth, 
And  see  what  follows.    But  it  must  not  be 
My  single  voice  will  carry  it;,  the  name 
Of  king  must  be  attended  ^rith  a  troop 
Of  acclamations,  on  whose  airy  wings 
He  mounts,  and,  once  exalted,  tlurefttens 

lleav'n. 
And  all  the  staf^.    IIow  to  acquire  this  noise, 
And  be  the  tliint^I  t;^  of— Aien  have  risen 
From  a  more  cheap  Mobility  to  empires. 
From  dark  orig^mus,  and  sordid  blood ; 
Nay,  some  thal^had  no  futhers,  sons  o'th* 

earth. 
And  flying  people,  have  aspirM  to  kingdoms, 
Alide  nfttioDS  tremble  ^^,  nay,  have  practised 

frow/iis 
To  aWe  the  world :  their  memory  is  glorious. 
And  1  would  hug  them  in  their  shades..  But 

«fiat*s 
All  Uiis  to  me,  that  am  I  know  not  what, 
And  less  in  expectation  ? 

Po/canus.  Are  you  serious ?  [us? 

Can.  Will  you  assist,  and  run  a  late  with 


Foleauus.  Comttiand  my  life;  I  owe  it  t^ 

your  favour. 

IStl.  Ai^cadius  was  once  as  far  from  king^'. 
As  I ;  and  had  we  not  so  cunnipgly 
Been  reconciled,  or  one,  or  both,  had  gone 
To  seek  our  fortunes  in  another  world.-^ 
What's  the  device  now  ?  If  my  death  be  nent, 
Tl)e  summons  sliali  not  make  me  once  louk 

pale.  [biiug 

Cass,  Chide  your  too  vain  suspicions ;  we 
A  life,  mid  liberty,  with  what  else  can  make 
lliy  ambition  huppy :  th'  hast  a  glorious  Uamc  1 
We  come  t*  advance  it* 

SeL  How? 

Cass.  Ilave  but  a  will,  [thee  to. 

And  be  what  thy  own  thoughts  dare  prompt 
A  king ! 

SeL  You  do  not  mock  me,  gentlemen  f 
Vou  are  my  father,  sir. 

Eub,  This  minute  shall 
Declare  it,  my  Seleuous :  our  hearts  swcll'd 
With  joy,  with  duty  rather — Oh,  my  boy ! 

6V/.  What  is  the  mystery  ? 

PoUanus.  You  must  be  a  king,     [dulous : 

Cass,  Seleucus,  stay!  thou*rt  too  incrc^ 
Let  not  our  faith  and  study  to  exalt  thee 
Be  to  rewarded ! 

Eub.  I  pronounce  thee  king ! 
Unless  thy  spirit  be  turu*d  coward,  and 
Thou  foiut  t  accept  it. 

<Se/.  Kins  of  what? 

Cass,  Of  Epire.  .  [Mtfier, 

SeL  Altho'  the  queen,  since  she  sent  me 
Were  gone  to  Heaven,  I  know  not  how 
That  title  could  devolve  to  me. 

Cass.  We  have  [hex 

No  queen,  shice  he  that  shotild  have  married 
Is.prov'd  her  youngest  brotlier,  and  now  king 
In  his  own  title. 

SeL  Thank  you,  gentlemen ! 
There's  hope  for  me. 

Cass.  Why,  you  dare  fiaht  witli  him. 
An  teed  be,  for  the  kingdom  ? 

SeL  WithArcadius? 
If  you'll  make  stakes,  my  life  against  liis 

crown,  [son, 

ril  fight  with  liim,  and  you,  and  your  fine 
And  ali  the  courtiers  one  after  another. 

Cass,  Two'notcome  to  tliatu 

SeL  Vm  of  your  lordship's  mind : 
So,  fare  you  well! 

Cass.  Vet  stay  and  hear. 

SeL  What,  that  you  fiavc  betray'd  me  ? 
Do,  tell  your  king!  my  life  is  grown  a  burden^ 
And  ni  confess;  and  make  your  souls  look 

pale,  rbatticmeiu 

To  see  how  nimble  mine  shall  leap  this 
Of  flesh,  and,  dyings  laugh  at  your  poor 

malice. 


^  Tremble,  any  hate  practWd  frowns.'\  Amended  by  Sympsoa. 
*'  As  far  from  heine, 
As  I.]  This  is  true  indeed,  yet  no  mighty  discovery,  nor  what  the  poets  designed  him 
^ say;  but  the  true  lection,  and  what  the  place  requires  absolutely,  is  this; 
■  -      Yi9»  OS  far  from  king^       Hymps^n. 

Otnnes^ 


214 


THE  CORONATION* 


[Act  4« 


Omnes,  No  more;  long   live  Leonatps, 

king  ofEpire! 

SeL  Leonacus?  Who's  that?      [have  been 

Cast*  Be  bold,  and  be  a  king!  Our  brains 
Working  to  raise  you  to  this  lieight.    Here 

are 
None  but  friends :  dare  you  but  call  yourself 
Leonatus,  and  but  justify  with  confidence 
What  we*ll  proclaim  you,  if  we  do  not  bring 
The  crown  to  your  head,  we  will  forfeit  ours. 

Eub,  The  state  is  in  distra<fUou — Arcadius 
ts  proved  a  king — there  was  an  elder  brrither — 
If  you  dare  but  pronounce  you  arc  the  »ame, 
Foi^et  you  arc  my  son —  [plotted 

Poleanui.  These  are  no  trifles,  sir :  all  is 
1"*  assure  your  greatness,  if  you  will  be  wise, 
And  take  the  fair  occasion  tliat's  presented. 

SeL  Arcadius,  you  say,  is  lawful  king ) 
And  now,  to  depose  him,  you  would  make  me 
An  elder  brother;  is't  not  so? 

Cast,  Most  right  [true  meaning — 

SeL  Nay,  right  or  wrong,  if  this  be  your 

Omnc<.  Upon  our  lives! 

SeL  I'll  venture  mine. 
But,  with  your  pardon,  wlK>se  brain  was  this? 
From  whom  took  this  plot  life  ? 

Eub.  Mv  lord  Cassander.  [and  think 

SeL  And  you  are  of  his  mind r  and  you? 
Tliis  may  be  done  ? 

Eub,  The  destinies  shaVt  cross  us, 
If  YOU  have  spirit  to  undertake  it. 

icL  Undertake  it  ? 
I  am  not  us'd  to  compliment :  Pil  owe 
My  life  to  you,  my  fortunes  to  your  lordship. 
Compose  me  as  you  please ;  and  when  you*ve 

made 
Me  what  you  promise,  you  shall  both  divide 
Me  equally*  One  word,  my  lord !  Td  rather 

[Apart  to  Eubtihs, 
Live  in  the  prison  still,  than  be  a  property 
T'  advance  his  politick  ends. 

Eub,  Have  no  suspicion ! 

Cass,  So,    so!    I   see  Demetrius'  heels 

already  [Aside^ 

Tripped  up,  and  I'll  dispatch  him  out  o'th* 

Whicn  gone,  I  can  depose  this  at  my  leisure. 
Being  an  impostor ;  tnen  m^  son  stands  fair. 
And  may  piece  with  the  prmcess.    We  lose 

time :  [court. 

What  think  you?  If  we  first  surpriie  the 
While  you  commaml  the  castle,  Vre  shall  ctirb 
All  opposition. 

Eub,  Let's  proclaim  him  first. 
I  liave  some  faction ;  the  people  love  me ; 
They  gain*d  to  os,  well  fall  upon  the  court. 

Catt,  Unless  Demetrius  yield  himself,  lie 

bleeds. 

SeL  Who  dares  call  treason  sin,  when  it 

succeeds  ?  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Sophia  and  Charilla. 

Char,  Madam,  you  arc  too  passionate,  and 
lose  X 

The  greatness  of  your  soul,  with  the  expence 


Of  too  much  grief,  for  that  which  Providence 
ilath«as'd  you  of,  tlie  burden  of  a  state 
Above  your  tender  bearing. 

Sophia,  Tbou'rt  a  fool, 
And  canst  not  reach  the  spirit  of  a  lady 
Bom  great  as  I  was,  and  made  only  less 
By  a  too-cruel  destiny!  '  Above 
'  Our  tender  bearixwr  What  goes  richer  to 
Tlie  composition  otmsln  t)utn  oure? 
Our  soul  s  as  free,  and  spacious,  our  heart's 
As  great,  our  wiJi  as  large,  each  thought  as 

active, 
And  in  this  only  man  more  proud  than  we. 
That  would  have  ixn  less  capable  of  einpires 
But  search  the  stories,  and  the  name  ofqueen  * 
Shines  bri;;htwith  glory,  and  some  prccedests 
Above  man's  imitation. 

Char,  I  grant  it,  [madam. 

For  th*  honour  of  our  sex;  nor  liave  you. 
By  any  weakness,  forfeited  command  : 
He  that  succeeds,  injustice  was  before  you. 
And  you  have  gain*d  more,  in  a  royal  brother. 
Than  you  could  lose  by  your  resign  ofEpire. 
Sophia.  This  I  allow,  Charilla,  I  ha*  done; 
Tis  not  die  thought  I  am  deposed  alUicts  me 
(At  tlie  same  time  I  feel  a  joy  to  know 
My  brother  living) ;  no,  there  is  another 
Wound  in  me  above  cure* 
Char.  Virtue  forbid ! 

Sophia.  Canst  find  me  out  a  surgeon  for  tiiat? 
Cher.  For  what  ? 
Sttphia.  My  bleeding  fame. 
Cha?\  Oh,  do  not  injure 
Your  owii  clear  innocence. 
<So/7Aia.  Don't  flatter  me: 
I  have  been  guilty  of  an  act  will  make 
All  love  in  women  qoestion'd;  is  not  that 
A  blot  upon  a  virgin^s  name  ?  my  birth 
Cannot  extenuate  my  sliaine ;  I  luu 
Become  the  stain  of  Epire ! 

Char.  It  is  but 
Your  own  opinion,  madam,  which  presents 
Something  to  fright  yourscll^  which  cannot  be 
In  the  same  shape  so  horrid  to  our  sense. 
Sophia,  Thou  would st,  but  canst  not  ap" 
pear  ignorant:  [take 

Did  not  tlie  court,  nay ,  the  whole  kingdom. 
Notice  I  lov*d  Lysimachus? 
Char,  True,  madam. 
Sophia,  No,  I  was  talse ! 
Tho  counsell'd  by  my  father  to  afieet  himj 
I  liad  my  politic  ends  upon  Cassander,    > 
To  be  absolute  queen,  flattering  his  son  with 

hopes 
Of  love  and  marriage,  when  tliat  very  day 
(I  blush  to  think)  I  wrong'd  Lysimachus, 
That  noble  gentleman :  but  Heav'n  punish*d 

me! 
For  tho'  to  kaow  Demetrius  was  s  blening, 
Yet  who  will  m>t  impute  it  my  dislionour  ? 
Char,  Madam,  you  yet  may  recompense 
Lysimachus: 
If  you  all'eci  him  now,  yon  were  not  fiilse 
To  him,  whom  then  you  lov'd  not ;  if  yoo  can 
Find  any  gentle  passion  in  your  MUl 


Act  4.] 


THE  CORONATIOK^ 


«15 


To  enterUun  his  thoaglit,  no  doubt  hisbeart, 
Tho'  saii,  retahis  a  D^le  will  to  meet  it: 
Hit  love  was  firm  to  yoa,  ami  cannot  be 
Unrooted  with  one  stonn. 

Sophia,  He  will  notsnre        [mock'd  him, 
Trust  any  language  from  her  tongue  that 
Aitlto'  my  soul  doth  weep  for  it,  and  is  pu- 
nished 
To  love  him  above  the  world. 

Enter  Lytimachus* 

Char.  He's  here,  '       ^ 

As  Fate  would  have  him  reeoncird :  be  free, 
And  speak  your  thoaglits. 

Lyttja.  Ir',  madam,  I  appear 
Too  bold,  your  charity  will  sign  my  pardon  ' 
1  heard  you  were  not  well,  which  niade  me 

liaste 
To  pay  tlie  duty  of  an  humble  visit. 
Sophia.  You  do  not  mock  me,  sir  ? 
Lysijfi.  I'm  confident 
You  think  me  nut  so  lost  to  manners,  in     [me 
The  knowledge  of  your  ptsson,  to  bring  with 
Such  rudeness ;  I  have  nothing  to  present. 
But  an  heart  full  of  wishes  for  your  health. 
And  what  else  may  be  added  to  your  happi* 
ness. 

Sophia,  I  thought  you  had  been  sensible — 
Lytwi.  How,  madam?  [spend 

Sophia.  A  man  of  understanding  j  «ui  you 
One  prayer  for  me,  remembring  the  dishonour 
i     I  have  done  Lysimachus? 
1        Lysim.  NoAing  cr*n  defitce  [for  you. 

I     That  part  of  my  religion  in  me,  not  to  pray 
Sophia.  It  is  not  then  impossible  you  may 
Foigive  me  too :  indeed  I  have  a  soul 
Hs  foil  of  penitence,  and  something  else. 
If  Muoliing  would  allow  to  giv't  a  name. 
Lytim.  What,  madam? 
Si^hia.  Love;  a  love  that  should  redeem 
!     My  past  offence,  and  make  me  white  again. 
j        Lytim,  I  hope  no  sadness  can  possess  your 
thoughts  • 

or  me*  I  am  not  worthy  of  this  sorrow : 
But  if  you  mean  it  any  satisfaction 
For  what  your  will  hath  made  me  suffer,  'tis 
Bat  a  «trangc  overflow  of  charity. 
To  keep  me  still  alive.    Be  yourselfi  madam, 
ADd  let  no  cause  of  mine  be  guilt/  of 
This  rope  upon  your  eyes;  my  name's  not 

worth 
The  least  of  all  yonr  tears. 
Sophia,  You  think  'em  couuterfeit? 
Lftim,  Altho'  I  may 
Sospea  a  woman's  smile  hereafter,  vet 
I  would  believe  their  wet  eyes;  and  if  this 
Be  what  you  promise,  for  my  sake,  I  hs^ve 
But  one  reply. 
Sophia.  1  wait  it. 
I^Hm.  I  have  now 
Another  mistress — 
Sophia.  Stay! 

lysoR.  To  whom  I've  made, 
Sioce  your  revolt  from  me,  a  new  chaste  vow, 
Winch  not  the  second  malice  of  my  fote 


Shall  violate :  and  she  d^fserves  it,  madam. 
Even  for  that  wherein  you're  f  ^cellent, 
Beauty,  in  which  she  shines  equal  to  you  ; 
Her  virtue,  if  she  but  maintain  what  now 
Slie  is  mistress  of,  beyond  all  competition. 
So  rich  she  cannot  know  to  be  improved, 
At  least  in  my  esteem  :  I  may  offend, 
But  truth  shajl  justify  I  have  not  fiatter*d  her. 
I  beg  your  pardon,  and  to  leave  my  duty 
Upon  yonr  hand.  All  that  is  good  fiow  in  you ! 

Sophia.  Did  h^  not  say,  Charilla,  that  he  had 
Another  mistress  f 

Char.  Such  a  sound,  methought. 
Came  from  him. 

Sophia.  Let's  remove !  here's  too  paucb  air; 
Jlie  sad  note  multiplies. 

Char.  Take  courage,  madam. 
And  my  advice.    He  has  another  mbitress } 
If  he  have  twenty,  be  you  wise,  and  cross  him 
With  entertaining  ttvice  as  many  servants; 
And  when  he  sees  your  humotir,  he*ll  return 
And  sue  for  any  livery.    Grieve  for  this? 

Sophia.  It  must  be  she ;  'tis  Polidora  has 
Taken  his  heart ;  she  live  my  rival  ? 
liow  does  the  thought  inflame  me  ? 

Oar.  Polidoni?  [he  loo « 

Sophia.  And  yet  she  does  hot  jOstly,  and 
I  would  have  robb'd  her  of  Arcadius'  heart. 
And  they  will  botli  have  this  revenge  on  me. 
But  something  will  rebel.  [ExcutU, 

Enter  Demetrius,  Fhilocles,  andl^samder. 

Dem.  The  house  is  desolate;  none  comes 
forth  to  meet  us ; 

She's  slow  to  entertain  us.    Philodes, 

I  prithee  tell  me,  did  she  wear  no  cloud 

Upon  her  brow?  was't  freely  that  she  said 

We  should  be  welcome  ? 
P/ft7.  To  my  apprehension ; 

Yetr'tis  my  wonder  she  appears  not. 
Lytan.  She, 

Nor  any  other.    Sure  there's  some  conceit 

l'^  excuse  it. 

Dem.  Stay !  who's  this  ?  Observe  what  fol- 
lows, [sir. 
Phil,  Fortune  ?  some  mask  to  entertain  you^ 

Enter  Fortune  crowiCd,  attended  with  Youth, 
Health,  and  Pleasure, 

Fort.  Not  yet?  What  silence  doth  inhabit 

here? 
No  preparation  to  bid  Fortune  welcome? 
Fortune,  the  genius  of  the  world  ?  Have  we 
Descended  from  our  pride  and  state,  to  come 
So  far,  attended  with  our  darlings.  Youth, 
Pleasure,  and  Health,  to  be  neglected  thus? 
Sure  this  is  not  th^lace.  Call  hither  Fame! 

Enter  Fame, 

Fame.  What  would  great  Fortune? 
Fort.  Know 
Who  dwells  here. 

Fame.  Once  more  I  report;  great  queen, 
I  This  is  the  house  of  JLove. 

Fcrt. 


uo 


TOE  CORONATION. 


fAct  4. 


F&rL  It cmuQt, he; 
This  place  has  too  much  shade,  uidaooks  o^  if 
Jthad  been  quite  forgotten  of  the  spring. 
And  sun-beams:  Lov^  affects  society 
And  heat";  ^^e  bJI  i?  cold  i^  the  av?  .of 


winter*'; 
?fo  harmony  to  o^ch  the  b«iay  ear 
Of  pasgengers;  no  object  pf^ehght. 
To  take  the  wandring  eyes ;  no  song,  up  growi 
Qfjovers,  »o 'complaint  of  willow  garlands; 
liove  has  a  beacon  upon  his  palace-top, 

?f  flaming  iiearts,  to  call  the  wesiry  pilgnm 
o  rest,  and  dwell  with  him;  I  se^  no  fire 
•To  rest  and  dwell  with  li^m ;  I  tec  no  fire 
To  threaten,  or^o  warm :  can  Love  dwell  h^re  ? 

Famfi.  If  there  .be  noble  Ix>ve  upon  the 

world. 
Trust  Fame,  and  find  it  here. 

Fort.  Make  good  your  boas,t. 
And  bring  him  Xo  us.  ,,   ,  *  , 

Van.  What  does  mean  all  this? 

J^/$an.  I  told  you,  sir,  we  Mipuld  haye.spnsie 

device. 

Entfr  Ldve. 
Tlierc's  Cupid  now!  thatlitUc  genjtlcmap 
JIns  troubled  every  masque  at  court  tliis  sev^n 

D«n.  No  more.  ly^ar. 

Love.  Welcome  to  Love^  how  much  you 

honour  me ! 
Tt  had  become  me,  that  upon  your  summons, 
I  should  have  waited  iij>on  mighty  Fortune; 
But  since  you  have  vouclisafd  to  visit  me. 
All  the  delights  Love  cs>n  inv<>nt  shal)  flow 
To  cntertoin  you.    IVlusic,  tlu^*  the  air 

Shoot  your  enticing  harmpny  I 

Fort.  We  cau)e 
To  dance  and  revel  with  you. 

Lore.  I  am  poor 
In  my  ambition,  and  want  thought  to  reach 
How  much  you  honour  Love.    '        iVanve. 

Enter  Honour. 

Hon.  W^hat  intrusion's  this? 
Whom  do  you  ?.eek  here? 

Jj)re'  'Tib  Ilonouj'. 

Fort.  He's  my  servant. 

Jj09€.  Fortune  is  come  to  yisit  us. 

Hon.  And  has 
Corrupted  Love  I  Is  this  thy  faith  to  her, 
Ou  whom  we  both  wait,  to  bctniy  her  thus 
To  Fortune's  triumph  ?  Take  her  giddy  wheel. 
And  be  nd  more  companion  to  Honour: 
I  blush  toknow thee !  Who'llbcUeve  therecan 
Be  truth  in  Love  hcreafteri 


Lave.  I  have  found 
My  Qycs,  and  see  my  shame,  and  with  k  this 
Prpud  sorceress,  from  whom,  nx^d  all  lier 

charms, 
I  fly  again  to  Honour:  be  my  guanH 
Without  thee  I  am  lost,  and  cannot  bout 
The  n\critx>f  ei  name.  [Exit  Honwr^ 

Fort.  Despis*d  ?  I  shall 
Remember  this  affront. 

Dem.  What  mpral's  this? 

[Exeunt  Masqump 

Re-ent^er  Honour,  with  the  Crown  upon  a 
mourning  Cushion. 

What  melancholy  plyoct  strikes  a  sudden 
Chillncss  thro*  all  iay.vcii^,  and. turns  me  ice? 
It  is  the  same  I  sent^  the  veiy  ^ame, 
As  tiic  first  pledge  pf  her  ensuipg  greatness: 
Why,  in  this  mourning  liv'rv,  if  3ie  live 
To  whom  I  ^nt  it?  Haf  whfit  shape  of 
sorrow  ? 

Enter  Polidora,  in  mourning. 

It  is  not  PoUdora!  she  was  f*ir 
Enough,  an<j  wanted  not  the  setting  off    . 
With  such  a  black:  if  thpu  be*?t  Polidora, 
Why  mourns  my  love  ?  It  neither  does  become 
Thy  fortujie,  nor  my  joys. 

Polid.  But  it  become^ 
My  griefs ;  this  habit  ijts  a  fiincral, 
And  it  were  sin,  my  lord,  uot  to  lament 
A  friend  new  dead. 

D(m.  And  I  yet  livipg  ?  Can 
A  sorrow  enter  b.ut  upon  thy  garment. 
Or  (Jisconiplejtion  thy  attire,  wliilst  I 
Enjoy  a  Id^  for  thee  ?  Who  c;^u  descnie, 
Weidi'd  with  thy  hving  comforts,  but  a  piece 
Of  ttlT  tliis  cerpmony  ?  Give  liim  a  name. 

Polid.  He  was  Arcadiu?* 

Denu  Arcadius?  [once. 

Polid.  A  gentleman  tl«t  lov'd  roe  clearly 
And  docs  compel  these  poor  and  fruitless 

drops. 
Which  willingly  would  f4ll  upon  his  Itearse, 
T'  embalm  him  twice. 

Dem.  And  are  you  sure  he's  dead?     \)yi 

Polid.  As  sure  as  you  are  living,  sir;  and 
I  did  not  close  his  eyes ;  but  he  is  dead. 
And  I  shall  never  see  the  same  Arcadius. 
He  was  a  ipan  so  rich  ip  all  that's  good, 
(At  least  I  thought  him  so)  so  perfect  iu 
The  rales  of  honour,  whom  alone  to  imitate 
Were  glory  in  a  prince :  nature  hcr$clti 
'Till  his  creation,  wrought  imperfectly. 
As  shje  hud  'made  but  trial  of  the  rest, 
To  mould  him  excellent**. 


*8  Here  qU  w  cold  as  tW  liairs  of  winter.]  The  amendment  in  the  text  was  made  by  Theob«ld. 
»»  He  was  a  man,  &c.]  Drydcn  has  a  passage  similar  to  this  m  All  tor  Love. 
«  So  perfect,  that  the  vei^  gods  who  form'd  you  wonder  d 

*  At  their  own  skill,  and  cried,  *  A-  lucky  hit 

«  Hath  mended  our  design !'  Their  envy  hmder  d, 

*  Or  you  had  been  immortal,  and  a  pattern, 

'  When  Heaven  would  work  for  ostcntatipn  jake, 

*  To  copy  out  ag^n.'        H.  , 


Act  4.] 


tHE  CX)RONATION. 


SIJT 


Diem.  And  b  hit  dead  f 
Come,  shame  him  not  with  praises ;  recollect 
Thy  tcatier*d  hopes,  and  let  me  tell  my  best 
And  dearest  Polidora,  that  he  lives, 
Still  lives  to  banour  thee ! 

Poiid,  lives  ?  where  ? 

Dem.  Look  here ; 
Am  not  I  worth  your  knowledge? 

Polid.  And  m^  duty ; 
Yon  are  Demetnus,  king  of  Epire,  sir. 
I  could  not  easily  mistake  him  so 
To  whom  I  gave  my  heart. 

Dan.  Mine  is  not  changed, 
Sot  still  hath  fed  upon  thy  memory : 
Tliese  honours  and  additions  of  state 
Are  lent  me  for  thy  sake.  Be  not  so  strange ! 
Let  me  not  lose  my  entertainment,  now 
I  am  improved,  and  rais'd  unto  the  height 
beneath  which  I  did  blush  to  ask  thy  love! 

FolkL  Giveme  your  pardon,  sir  I  Arcadius, 
At  our  last  meeting,  without  aigument 
To  move  him,  more  than  his  affection  to  me, 
Vow'd  he  did  love  me,  love  me  above  all  wo* 

men, 
And  to  con6rm  his  heart  was  truly  mine. 
He  wish'd — I  tremble  to  remember  it-* 
When  he  forsook  his  Polidora's  love. 
That  Heaven  might  kill  his  happiness  on 

earth :  [promise 

Was  not  diis  nobly  said?   Did  not  this 
A  truth  to  shame  the  turtle's? 

Dem.  And  his  heart 
Is  still  the  same,  and  I  thy  constant  lover. 

Polid.  Give  me  your  leave^  I  pray!  I 

would  not  say 
Arcadins  was  perjor'd ;  bot  the  same  day. 
Forgetting  all  bis  promises  and  oaths. 
While  yet  they  hung  upon  his  lips,  forsook 

me, 
(D'ye  not  remember  this  too  ?)  gave  his  faith 
From  me,  transported  with  t^  noise  of 

greatness, 
And  would  be  married  to  a  kingdom. 

Dem.  But 
Heaven  pennitted  not  I  should  dispose 
"What  was  ordain*d  for  thee. 

PoUtL  It  was  not  vi||ue 
In  him ;  for  sure  he  found  no  check,  no  sting. 
In  his  own  bosom,  but  gave  freely  all 
The  reins  to  blind  ambition. 

Dem.  1  am  wounded !  |joys, 

The  thot^ht  of  thee,  i'th'  throng  of  all  my 
Dke  poison  poured  in  nectar,  turns  me  frantickt 
Bear,  if  Arcadius  have  made  a  fault, 
Ijst  not  Demetrius  be  puiiisb'd  for*t! 
^e  pleads,  that  ever  will  be  constant  to  thee. 

Poiid.  Shall  I  believeman  s  flatteries  a(;Hiii, 
Lose  my  sweet  rest,  and  peace  of  thouglit 

again  ?  [virtue 

Be  drawn  by  you  from  the  straight  paths  of 
Into  the  maze  of  love  ?  [chides  me ; 

Dem,  I  see  compassion  in  thy  eye,  that 
If  I  have  either  soul,  but  what's  contain'd 


Within  these  words,  or  if  one  syllable 
Of  their  full  force  be  not  made  good  by  me, 
May  all  relenting  thoughts  in  you  take  end, 
An.l   thy  disdain   be  doubled!   From   thy 

pardon, 
1*11  count  my  Coronation ;  and  that  hour 
Fix  with  a  nibrick  in  my  calendar 3®, 
As  an  auspicious  time  to  entertain        [now 
Aftairs  of  weight  with  princes.    Think  who 
Entreats  thy  mercy!  Come,  thou  shalt  be 
And  divide  titles  witii  me.  [kind, 

Polid,  Hear  me,  sir : 
I  lov'd  you  once  for  virtue,  and  have  not 
A  thought  so  much  unguarded,  as  to  be 
Won  from  my  truth  and  innocence,  with  any 
Motives  of  state  to  affect  3L0U.  [here^ 

Your  bright  temptation  mourns  whi'e  it  stays 
Nor  can  the  triumph  of  glory,  which  made 

you 
Forget^me  so,  court  my  opinion  back. 
Were  you  no  king,  I  should  be  sooner  drawu 
Again  to  love  you ;  but  *tis  now  too  late ; 
A  low  obedience  ^hall  become  me  best. 
May  all  the  joys  I  waJit 
Still  wait  on  ygu !  If  time  hereafter  tell  you. 
That  sorrow  for  your  fault  hath  struck  uie 

dead,  [pity. 

May  one  soft  tear,  dropt  from  your  eye  m 
Bedew  my  hearse,  and  I  aihall  bleep  securely ! 
I  have  but  one  word  more :   for  goodness' 

sake, 
For  your  own  honour,  sirf  correct  your  passion 
To  her  you  shall  love  next,  and  I  forgive 

you.  [Exit. 

Dan.  Her   heart  is  frozen  up,  nor  can 
Thaw  it  to  any  softness.  [warm  prayers 

Phil,  ril  fetch  her,  sir,  again. 

Dem.  Persuade  her  not.  [to  triumph. 

PAiL  You  give  your  passion  too  much  leave 
-  Seek  in  anotlier  what  she  denies. 

Enter  Macarius,   1 

Mac.  Where  is  the  king?  Oh,  sir,  yon  art 
A  dangerous  treason  is  aioot.  [undone; 

Dem.  What  treason?  [claim'd 

JIfac.  Cassander  and  Eubulus  have  pro« 
Another  king,  whom  they  pretend  tb  be 
Leonatus,  your  elder  brother,  he  that  was 
But  this  morning  prisoner  in  the  castle. 

Dem.ii^\ 

Mac.  The  easy  Epirotes 
Gather  in  multitudes  i' advance  his  title ; 
They  have  seizM  upon  the  court.     Secure 

your  person,  f  [rectioiu 

Whilst  we  raise  power  to  curb  tins  insur- 

Ant.  Lose  no  time  tlien. 

Dc7n.  We  will  not  arm  one  man. 
Speak  it  again!  have  I  a  brother  living, 
And  must  be  no  king  ? 

Mac.  What  means  your  grace  ?       [exalts 

Dem.  This  news  doth  speak  roe  tiappy;  it 
My  heart,  and  makes  me  citable  of  more 
Than  twenty  kingdoms ! 


'®  Pij  vith  a  nibrick  m  my  calendar.]  i.  e.  Consider  it  as  a  redrlettcr  day. 
VOL-IIL  Ff  PhiL 


!1B 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Acts. 


Fhil,  Will  you  not,  bit,  stand 
Upon  your  guard  ? 

Dem.  I'll  stand  upon  my  honour: 
Mercy  relieves  me. 

Lymn,  Will  you  lose  the  kingdom  ? 

licm.  The  world*s  too  poor  to  bribe  me. 

Leave  me  all. 
Lest  you  extenuate  my  fame,  and  I 


Be  thought  to  hare  redeemed  it  by  your 

counsd ! 
You  shall  not  share  one  scruple  in  tlie  ho* 

nour. 
Titles  may  set  a  g^oss  upon  our  name. 
But  virtue  only  is  the  soul  of  fame. 

Mac.  He's  strangely  possess'd^  gentlemen* 


ACT   V. 


Enter  Philoclet  and  Lytander» 

Phil.  XJEIIE'S  a  strange  turn,  Lysander. 

"•     Lysan.  Tis  a  kingdom 
Easily  purchas'd :  who  will  trust  the  faith 
Of  multitudes  ?   . 

Phil.  It  was  his  fault,  that  would 
So  tamely  give  his  titlo  to  their  mercy. 
The  new  king  has  possession. 

Lysan.  And  is  liKe 
To  keep  it.    We're  alone ;  what  dost  think  of 
Tliis  innovation?  Is  it  not  a  fine  jig  f 
A  precious  cunning  in  the  late  protector, 
To  shuffle  a  new  prince  into  the  state? 

Phil.  1  know  not  how  they've  shuffled. 

but,  my  head  on%  [lookto't! 

A  fidse  card's  tum'd  up  trump :  but,  fates 

Enter  Cauaader  and  Enbulus. 

Euh.  Does  he  not  carry't  bravely  ? 

Cass.  Excellently.— 
Philocles!  Lysander! 

Phil.  Lysan.  Your  lordship's  servants! 

Cuss.  Are  we  not  bound  to  Heaven,  for 

multiplying 
Tliese  blessings  on  the  kingdom"  ? 

Phtl.  Heaven  alone 
Works  miracles,  my  lord. 

L^san.  I  think  your  lordship  had 
As  little  hope  once  to  see  these  princes  revive. 

Cass.  Here  we 
Must  place  our  thanks,  next  Providence,  for 

preserving 
So  dear  a. pledge  3^. 

"  Are  ve  not  bound  to  Heaten.]  The  retorting  of  these  very  vrords  by  Philocks  in  the 
next  scene  upon  Cassander,  led  Mr.  Seward,  Mr.  Theobald,  and  myself  to  the  asBuraooe  of 
their  belongmg  to  Cassander  here,  and  accordingly  I  bavt  placed  his  nama  beibre 
them.        Sympson. 

^*  Phil.  Here  we  must  pldte.']  I  once  imagined  that  this  was  a  speech  with  action,  and 
might  easily  be  understood,  by  supposing  PhUocles  to  point  to  Eubulu$;  but  I  believe  Mr. 
Seward  has  more  happily  conjectured  it  ought  to  belong  to  Catsander,        Siymp90n* 
^3  zoorthily 

Manage  the  province,  ani  advance  ike  honour 

0/our  dear  country.]  To  manage  the  province  of  our  demr  country^  and  advance  the 
honour  of  our  dear  country,  seems  a  httle  inaccurate:  perhaps  we  shoolu  read^ 

. *■■      worthily 

»  Manage  this  province;  or,  my  province, 

i.  e.  The  chMiVf^  I  have  undertook,  &c.  Sympson^ 

Cm. 


inter  Lconatus,  attended. 

Euh.  The  king! 

Leo.  It  is  our  pleasure 
The  number  of  our  guard  be  doubled.    Give 
A  laigess  to  the  soldiers;  but  dismiss  not 
The  troops  'till  we  command. 

Cass.  May  it  please — 

Leo.  It  will  not  please  us  otherwise,  mw 
We've  tried  your  fiuth !  [lon^ 

Eub.  Does  he  not  speak  with  confidence? 

Leo.  My  lords  and  gentlemen,  to  whose 

faith  we  must  [o^ty^ 

Owe  (next  to  Heaven)  our  fortune  and  our 
After  a  tedious  eclipse,  the  day 
Is  brieht,  and  we  invested  in  those  honouiB 
Our  blood  and  birth  did  challenge. 

Cas$.  May  no  time 
Be  reeister'd  in  our  annals,  that  shall  mention 
One  that  had  life  t'oppose  your  sacred  person ! 

Leo.  Let  them,  whose  title's  foig'd  and 

ilaw'd,  suspect 
Their  state's  security !  Our  right  to  Epire 
Heaven  is  oblif^d  to  prosper:  treason  hat 
No  face  so  black  to  night  it.  All  my  cares 
Level  to  this,  that  I  may  worthily^^ 
Manage  the  province,  and  advance  the  honoui 
Of  our  dear  country:  and,  be  confident. 
If  an  expence  of  bfood  may  give  addition 
Is     ■ 


Of  any  happiness  to  you, 

Offer  my  heart  the  sacrifice,  and  rejoice 
To  make  myself  a  ghost,  to  liave  inscribed 
Upon  my  marble  but  whose  cause  I  died  ^r. 
Eub.  May  Heaven  avert  such  danger! 


4ce  5.] 


THE  CORONATION. 


tl9' 


Cats,  Excellent  pnnce^ 
In  whom  we  see  the  copy  of  his  father! 
None  bat  the  son  of  Theodosiusy 
Could  have  spoke  thilis. 

Lto,  Yoa're  pleas'd  t^inteipret  well. 
Yet,  gi?e  me  leave  to  say  in  my  own  justice, 
Fve  bat  exprebs'd  the  promptness  of  my  soul 
To  serve  you  all;  hut  tis  not  empty  wishes 
Can  satisfy  our  mif^hty  charge,  a  weight 
Would  make  au  Atlas  double.  A  king's  name 
Doth  sound  bannoniously  tomen  at  distance ; 
And  tiiose,  who  cannot  penetrate  be  .ond 
The  bark  and  out-skin  of  a  commonwealth 
Or  state,  have  eyes  but  ravished  with  the 

ceremony  [not 

That  must  attend  a  prince,  and  understand 
What  cares  allay  the  glories  of  a  crown : 
But  good  kings  find  and  feel  the  contrary. 
Yoti've  tfied,  ray  lord,  the  burden:  and  ^n 

tell 
It  would  re<|uire  a  pilot  of  more  years 
To  steer  this  kingdom,  now  impos*d  on  me 
Byiostice  of  my  birth. 

Cats.  I  wish  not  life  ' 

But  to  partake  those  happy  days  which  must 
^cceeo  these  fair  proceeaings:  we  are  blest ! 
Bat,  sir,  be  sparing  to  yourseltl  we  shall 
Hazanl  dur  joys  in  you  too  soon;  tlie  burden 
Of  state^fiairs  impose  upon  your  council. 
Tis  fitter  tliat  we  waste  our  lives,  than  you 
Cdl  age  too  soon  upon  you  with  the  trouble 
And  cares  that  threaten  such  an  undertaking: 
Preserve  your  youth ! 

Leo.  And  chuce  you  our  protector? 
Is't  that  you  would  conclude,  my  lord?   We 

will    - 
Deserve  our  subjects*  faith  for  our  own  dake. 
Not  sit  an  idle  gazer  at  the  helm« 

Enter  Messenger^ 

PfuL  How !  observed  you  that?  Mark  how 

Caasander's  planet-struck.      [for  alt  that. 

Bub,  He  might  have  look'd  more  calmly 
I  begin   to  fear;    but   do    not    yet    seem 

tvoubled^^.  [must  secure 

Leo.  With  what  news  travels  nis  haste?  I 
Myseif  betimes;  not  be  a  king  in  jest. 
And  wear  my  crown  a  tenant  to  their  breath. 

Catf.  Demetrius,  sir,  your  brother. 
With  other  traitors  that  oppose  your  claims. 
Are  fled  to  th'  castle  of  Nescorius, 
And  fortify — 

Mem.  1  said  not  so,  my  lord. 

Can,  111  have  it  thought  so;  hence ! 

[Exit  Mettenger. 

Leo.  Plant  force  to  batter 


The  walls;  and  in  their  ruin  bring  us  word 
They  live  not. 

Eub.  Good  sir,  hear  me ! 

Cats.  Let  it  work.  [crown 

Were  Demetrius  dead;  we  easily  might  un- 
This  swoln  impostor,  and  my  son  be  fiiir     - 
To  piece  with  youn^  Sophia,  who,  I  hear, 
Repents  her  late  atiront. 

Eub.  Their  lives  may  do  [nings ! 

You  service ;  let  not  blood  stain  your  begin- 
The  people,  not  yet  warm  in  their  allegiance. 
May  think  it  wordi  their  tumult  to  revenge  it, 
With  hazard  of  yourself. 

Leo.  Who  dares  but  think  it  ? 
Yet,  ofier  first  our  mercy:  if  they  yield,  [sel : 
Demetriusmustnotlive — -My  lord,  your  coun- 
What  if  he  were  in  Heaven? 

Cass.  You  have  my 
Consent. — You  shall  not  stay  long  after  him. 

[Asulc. 

Leo.  Sophia's  not  my  sister:  to  prevent  all 
That  may  endanger  us,  we'll  marry  her; 
That  done,  no  matter  tho'  we  stand  discovered ; 
For  in  her  title  then  we're  king  of  Epire, 
Witliout  dispute. 

Cass.  Hum  !-»In  my  judgment,  sir, 
That  wo'not  do  so  well. 

Leo.  What's  your  opinion?     [so  cunning? 

Cass.  He  countermmes  my  plot :  are  yot; 

Leo.  What's  that  you  mutter,  sir? 

Cass.  I  mutter,  sir?  [poster 

Leo,  Best  say  I  am  no  king,  but  some  im- 
Rais'd  up  to  gull  the  state. 

Cass.  Very  fine!  To  have  said  within 
Few  hours  you'd  been  no  king,  nor  like  to  be. 
Was  not  i^th' compass  ofhiglntreason,  I  take 

it.  [mov'd;  speak  not. 

Eub,    Restrain  your  anger!    the  king's 

Cass.  I  will  speak  louder:  do  I  not  know 

him  ?  .        [throne 

That  self-same  hand  that  raised  him  to  the 
Shall  pluck  him  finom  it !   Is  this  my  reward  ? 

Leo.  Our  guard  !  To  prison  with  him ! 

Cass.  Me  to  prison  ? 

leo.  Off  with  his  bead ! 

Cass.  My  head  ? 

Eub.  Vouchsafe  to  hear  me. 
Great  sir ! 

Leo,  How  dares  he  be  so  insolent^*? 

Cass.  I  hW  wrought  myself  into  a  fine  con- 
D'ye  know  me,  gentlemen?  fdition  ! 

FhiL  Very  well,  ray  lord :  [ing 

*  How  are  we  bound  to  Heaven  formultiply- 

*  Tliese  blessings  on  the  kingdom.' 

Leo.  We  allow  it.  [ear, 

Eub.  Counsel  did  never  blast  a^priuce's 


*♦  Eub.  He  might  have  locHed.]  If  die  reader  will  consider  this  answer,  he  will  find  that 
hfsander^  and  not  EuhuluSy  should  be  prefix'd  before  it.  St/mpson. 

*  If  the  reader  will  consider  this  answer,  he  will  find,'  that  Lysander  could  not  speak  it, 
•or  any  bat  a  partisan  in  the  plot  fi)r  elevating  Seleucus.  Eubulus  means  by  it  to  continue 
the  deceit  on  Cassander,  till  he  procures  his  dismission  to  the  castle  of  Nestorius. 

*'  Cas.  How  dares  he  be  so  insolent  ff]  Tis  posaihle  that  this  line  belongs  to  Cassander; 
but  I  tliink  more  probable  it  should  be  Leonatus'sj  and  accordingly  I  have  prefixed  his  name 
*"  ••  Sympson. 

Ff2  Lee. 


tou, 


ffO 


THE  CORONATION. 


tAct  ». 


Letk  Conrey  him  to  th«  sanctuary  of  rebels, 
Ne8torius*hoube,  vthere  our  pruud  brother  has 
Enscons'd  himself!    the/U  entertaia  him 

lovingly; 
He'll  be  n  good  addition  to  the  traitors. 
Obey  me,  or  you  die  tbr't! — What  are  kings. 
When  suhjerts  dare  aili-ont  'em  ? 

Cass.  I  jihall  vex 
Thy  soul  rbr  this. 

I  €0.  Away  wiiii  him  !  When  kings 
Frown,  letoBeiulcrs  tremble! — This  flows  not 
From  any  cruelly  in  my  narurc,  but 
The  fare  of  an  u«ur|.«er:  he  that  will 
Be  conrirm'd  great  without  just  title  to  it 
Must  Jose  compassion;  know  what'ssood,  not 

do  it.    »  \E.xeunt, 

Enter  Polidora  and  her  Servant. 

SerTT.  Madam,  the  princess  Sophia ! 
Foiid,  I  attend  her  highness. 

Enter  Sophia. 

How  much  your  grace  honours  your  hmnble 

servant ! 

Saphia.  I  hope  my  brother's  well. 

PoUd.  I  hope  bo  too,  madam,  [your  guest. 

tSophia.  Do  you  but  hope?  He  came  to  be 

Poiid,  We  are  all  his,  whilst  he  is  pleas'd 

to  honour  [dam. 

This  poor  roof  with  his  royal  presence,  ma- 

Sophia.  I  came  to  ask  your  pardon,  Poli- 
dora. [me ; 

Poliil,  You  never,  madam,  tiespa^s'd  upon 
Wrong  not  your  goodness. 

Sophia,  I  can  be  but  penitent, 
^Unless  you  point  me  out  some  other  way 
To  satisfy. 

Folid.  Dear  madam,  do  not  mock  me ! 

Sophia.  There  is  no  injury,  like  that  to  love; 
I  find  it  now  in  my  own  suflTerings: 
But  tho'  1  would  have  robb'd  thee  of  Arcadins, 
Heaven  knew  a  way  to  reconcile  your  hearts. 
And  punishM  me  in  those  joysyou  have  found. 
I  read  the  story  of  my  loss  of  honour, 
Yet  can  rejoice,  and  heartily,  that  you 
Have  met  your  own  again. 

FoJid,  Whom  do  you  mean  ? 

Sophia.  My  brother. 

Polid.  He's  found  to  himself  and  honour  : 
He  is  my  king;  and  tho'  I  must  acknowledge 
He  was  the  glory  of  my  thoughts,  and  I 
Lov*d  him,  as  you  did,  madam,  with  desire 
To  be  made  his,  reason  and  duty  since 
Form'd  me  to  other  knowledge,  and  I  now 
Look  on  liim  without  any  wish  of  more 
Than  to  be  call'd  his  subject. 

Svfhia.  Has  he  made 
Himself  less  capable,  by  being  king  ? 

Pofid.  Of  what?- 

Sophia.  Of  your  affection? 

Polid.  With  your  pardon,  madam, 
Love,  in  tha^  sense  you  mean,  left  Polidora 
When  he  forsook  Arradius:  I  disclaim 
All  ties  between  us,  more  than  what  the  name 
Of  king  must  challenge  from  my  obedience. 


Sophia  [adde].  This  does  confinn  my  je»- 

lousy:  my  heart! — 
For  my  sake,  madam,  has  he  lost  his  value? 

Poitd.  Let  me  beseech  your  grace,  I  may 

have  leave 
To  answer  in  some  other  cause,  or  person ! 
This  argument  but  opens  a  sad  wound 
To  make  it  bleed  afresh ;  we  may  cliange  this 
Discourse:  I  would  elect  some  subject  whosA 
Praises  may  more  delight  your  ear  than  this 
'  Can  mine.  Let's  talk  of  young  Lysimachus ! 

Sophia.  Ha!  my  presaiging  fears  1 

Po/ifl?.  How  does  your  grace  ?     [machus; 

Sophia.  Well.    You  were  talking  of  Lysi- 
Pray  give  me  your.opinion  of  him. 

Polid.  Mine?  pjim 

It  will  be  much  short  of  his  worth :  I  think 
A  gentleman  so  perfect  in  all  goodness, 
Tlyit  if  tliere  be  one  in  the  world  deserves 
The  best  of  women,  Heaven  created  htm, 
To  make  her  happy. 

Sophia.  You've  in  a  little,  madam, 
Express'd  «  volume  of  mankind,  a  miracle. 
But  all  have  not  the  same  degree  of  £eutb : 
He  is  but  young — 

Polid.  What  mistress  would  desire 
Her  servant  old?  He  has  both  spring  to  plesm 
Her  eye  and  summer  to  return  a  l^rvesl. 

Sophia.  He's  black — 

Poiid.  He  sets  a  beauty  off  more  rich. 
And  she  that's  fisur  will  love  him:  faiut  com* 

plexions 
Betray  effeminate  minds,  and  love  of  change; 
Two  beauties  in  a  bed  compound  few  men ;' 
He's  not  so  fifiir  to  counterfeit  a  woman, 
Nor  yet  so  black  but  blushes  may  betray 
His  modesty. 

Sophia.  His  proportion  exceeds  not— 

Polid.  That  praises  him :  and  a  well-corn 

pacted  frame 
Speaks  temper,  and  sweet  flow  of  elements; 
Vast  buildinss  are  more  oft  for  show  than  use : 
I  would  not  have  my  eyes  put  to  the  travel 
Of  many  acres,  ere  I  could  examine 
A  man  from  head  to  foot ;  he  has  no  greai^ 
But  he  may  boast  an  elegant,  composition. 

Sophia.  I'll  hear  no  more !  You  nave  so  &it 

outdone 
My  injuries  to  you,  that  I  call  back 
My  penitence;  and  most  tell  Polidora, 
This  revenge  ill  becomes  her.    Am  I  thoagbl 
So  lost  in  soul  to  hear,  and  forgive  this  ? 
In  what  shade  do  I  live  ?  or  shall  I  chink 
I  have  not,  at  the  lowest,  enough  merit. 
Setting  aside  my  birth,  to  poize  with  yours? 
Forgive  my  modest  thoughts,  if  I  rise  up 
My  own  defence,  and  tell  this  unjust  Iflny, 
So  great  a  winter  hath  not  frozen  yet 
My  cheek,  but  there  is  something  Natnra 

planted 
That  carries  as  much  bloom,  and  spring  upon*t 
As  yours !  What  flame  is  in  your  eye,  but  may 
Find  competition  here?  (for^ve  again. 
My  virigin  honour  t)  what  is  m  your  lip 
To  tice  th'  enamour'd  soul  to  dweli  with  more 

Ambition, 


Act  5-3 


THE  CORONATION^ 


H% 


AmbitioD,  than  the  jetHanwitber^d  blush 
Jhat  speaks  the  innocence  of  minef  Oh, 
brother! 

Enier  Demetfim. 

DeoL  T\\  talk  with  ^ou  anon.  Mt  Polidora! 
AIk>w  thy  patience  'till  my  breath  recover. 
Which  now  comes  laden  with  the  richest  news 
Tbv  ear  was  ever  blest  with. 

Sophia.  Both  yonr  looks 
And  voice  express  some  welcome  accident. 

Dem,  Guess  what  m  wish  could  make  me 

fortmiate, 
And  Heaven  hath  dropt  that  on  Demetrius. 
,         Sophia.  What  means  this  extasyf 

Pflfw.  Twere  sin  to  busy  [I  could 

^    Thy  thoughts  upon't;  ril  tell  thee.— That 

Retain  some  part!  it  is  too  wide  a  joy 
^     To  be  express*d  so  soon ;  and  yet  it  falls 
*     In  a  few  syllables — tboju  wo't  scarce  believe 
lam  no  king,  [me! 

Sophia.  How's  that? 

Folid.  Good  Heaven  forbid ! 

Dan.  Forbid  ?  Heaven  has  relieved  mcwith 

a  mercy 
Iknew  not  how  to  ask :  I  have,  they  say, 
An  elder  brother  living,  crown'd  already: 
I  only  keep  my  name  Demetrius, 
Without  desire  of  more  addition 
Than  to  return  thy  servant. 

Polid.  You  amaze  me  I 
Can  you  rejoice  to  be  deposM  ? 

Dem.  It  but 
Translates  me  to  a  fairer  and  better  kingdom 
'      Id  Poliiiura. 

Polid.  Ale? 

Dem.  Did  you  not  say,  fme 

Were  I  no  king,  you  could  be  drawn  to  love 
4gaiQ?  That  was  consented  to  in  Heaven. 
A  kingdom  first  betray*d  my  ambitious  soul 
To  forget  tljee :  that,  and  the  flattering  glories. 
How  willingly  Demetrius  does  resign, 
The  angels  k no.v  !■  Thus  naked,  without  titles, 
I  throw  mp  on  thy  charity ;  and  shall 
Boast  greater  empire  to  be  thine  again,  than 
To  wear  the  triumphs  of  the  world  upon  me. 

Enter  Macariui. 

Mae.  Be  not  so  careless  of  yourself!  the 
people 
Gather  in  multitudes  to  your  protection, 
Oflfering  their  lives  and  fortunes,  if  they  may 
But  see  you,  sir,  and  hear  you  speak  to  *em: 
Accept  their  duties,  and  m  time  prevent 
Yonr  ruin. 
Sophia.  Be  not  desperate ;  'tis  counsel — 
Dem.  You  trouble  me  with  noise ! — Speak, 
Polidora!  [My  fears 

Folid.  For  yonrown  sake,  preserve  yourself! 
Distract  my  reason. 

Enter  Antigonu$, 

Ant,  Lord  Lysimachus^ 


With  fomethins  that  ooncemt  your  safety^  ia 
Fled  hither,  and  desires  a  present  bearing. 
Mac  His  soul  i«  honest:  be  noty  sir,  a  mad- 
man, 
And  for  a  lady  give  up  all  our  freedoms  f 

[Exit. 
Polid.  I  will  say  any  thing,  hear  Lysimachui. 
Sophia,  Dear  orother,  hear  him  1 

Enter  Ly^imachut, 

I^fkn.  Sir,  I  come  to  yield 
Myself  your  prisoner:  if  my  fitther  have 


Myself,  declare  my  innocence,  but  either. 
By  my  unworthy  life,  secure  your  person, 
Or  by  what  death  you  shall  impose,  reward 
The  unexpected  treason. 

Sophia.  Brave  young  man! 
Did  you  not  hear  him,  brother  ^ 

Lytim.  I'm  not  minded ! 

Polid.  Bewitness,  madam,  Iresignmy  hearti 
Tt  never  was  another's. — You  declare 
Too  great  a  satisfisction. — I  hope 
This  will  destroy  your  jealousy.— ^ 
Remember  now  your  danger! 

Dem,  I  despise  it ! 
What  fate  dares  injure  me  f 

La/iim,  Yet  hear  me,  sir !  [jpy. 

Sophia.  Forgive  me, Polidora?  yon  are  hap- 
My  hopes  are  remov'd  further :  I  had  thought 
Lysimachus  had  meant  you  for  his  mistress. 
Tis  misery  to  feed,  and  not  know  where 
To  place  my  jealousy. 

Enter  Macariui* 

Mac.  Now  'tis  too  late ! 
You  may  be  deaf,  until  the  cannon  make 
You  find  your  sense ;  we  are  shut  up  now  by 
A  troop  o(  horse :  thank  yourself! 

Polid.  They  will 
Admit  conditions — 

Sophia.  And  allow  us  quarter  ? 

XA  shout  withinm 

Po/ii.  We  are  all  lost! 

Dem,  Be  comforted ! 

Enter  Aniigontis, 

Ant.  News! 
My  lord  Cassander's  sent  by  the  new  king 
To  bear  us  company. 

Dem.  Not  as  prisoner? 

Ant.  It  does  appear  no  otherwise.  The  sol- 
diers 
Declare  how  much  they  love  him,  by  their 

noise 
Of  scorn  and  joy  to  see  him  so  rewarded. 

Dem»  tt  cannot  be! 

Ant.  You'll  find  it  presently:  [him 

He  curses  the  new  king,  talks  treason  'gainst 
As  nimble  as  he  were  in's  shin^^.  He's  here. 

'*  As  nimble  as  he  were  in^s  shirt.]  This  may  allude  to  Hieronimo's  appearing  in  his  shirt 
•a  the  tta^Cj  in  the  Spanish  Tragedy^  uid  inveigJUog  against  thamurderer  of  his  so'nr '      R. 

Enter 


i2t 


THE  CORONATION. 


[Act*. 


Jlnier  Cauander. 


Com,  Oh,  let  me  beg  untQ  my  knees  take 

root 
r  th'  earth.    Sir.  can  yoa  ptircbn  me  ? 

D^Tii.  For  what?  [treason: 

Cats,  Fortreason^desperate^xnoicmaiicious 
I  have  undone  you,  sir .' 

Dem.  It  does  appear 
You  had  a  wnlL  [can ; 

Ca»&,  Y\\  make  you  all  the  reeompense  I 
But  ere  you  kill  me,  hear  me  !  K  now  the  man 
Whom  I,  to  serve  my  unjust  ends,  advanc'd 
X'your  throne,  is  an  impostor,  a  mere  coun- 
terfeit, 
Eubulus'  son.  [Exit  Ant. 

Dem,  It  is  not  then  our  brothi^r  ? 

Can,  An  insolent  usurper,  proiiSi  and  bloody 
Sel^ucus.     Is  no  leprosiy  upon  me  ? 
There  is  not  punishment  enough  in  nature 
To  quit  my  horrid  act;  I  have  not  in 
My  stock  of4)lood,  to  satisfy  with  weeping ; 
Nor  could  my  soul,  tho'  melted  to  a  flood 
Within  me,  gushout  tears  to  wash  my  stain  oC 

Dem,  How !  an  impostor?  What  wiU  be* 

come  on's  now  ? 
We're  at  his  mercy. 

Ccn»  Sir,  the  people's  hearts  [see 

Will  come  to  their  own  dwelling,  when  they 
I  dare  accuse  myself,  and  suffer  for  it.  [not 
Have  courage  then,  young  king !  thy  fate  can* 
Be  long  compeird. 

Dem.  Rise,  our  misfortune 
Carries  this  good ;  altho'  it  lose  our  hopes. 
It  makes  you  friend  with  Virtue :  we'll  expect 
What  Providence  will  do. 

Cam.  You  are  too  merciful. 

Xyt Ml.  Our  duties  shall  beg  Heaven  still  to 

preserve  you.  . 

Either  Antigonus. 

Ant.  Omr  enemy  desires  some  parley,  sir. 

Lysim,  Tis  not  amiss  to  hear  their  propo- 
sition. 

PoUd,  ni  wait  upon  ^ou.    • 

Dem.  Thou  art  my  angel,  [ourselves ! 
And  canst  best  instruct  me  I — Boldly  present 
You'll  with's,  Cassander? 

Cim.  And  in  death  be  blest 
To  find  your  charity.  [Exit. 

Sophia.  Lysimachus  I 

Lt/nim.  Madam  ?  [the  small  time 

Sophia.  They  will  not  miss  your  presence, 
Is  spent  in  asking  of  a  question. 

Lytim.  I  uait  your  pleasure. 

Sophia.  Sir,  I  nave  a  suit  to  yon. 

l.yiim.  To  me  ?  it  must  be  granted. 

Sophia.  If  you 
Have  cancelled  your  kind  opinion  of  me, 
Den^  me  not  to  know  who  natb  succeeded 
Sophia  in  your  heart?  I  beg  the  name 
Ot  your  new  mistress. 


37 


-  at  zphose  names 


Lysim.  You  shallknow  her,  madam, 
If  but  t:  ese  tumults  cease,  and  fate  allow  o* 
To  see  the  court  again.    I  hope  ^ull  bring 
No  mutiny  against  ber.    But  this  is 
No  time  to  talk  uf  iove :  let  me  attend  you ! 
Sophia.  I  must  expect,  'till  you  are  pleas'd 
to  satisfy  ^  • 

My  poor  request.  Conduct  me  at  your  plea- 
sure. [Eieuttt, 

Enter  LeonatwM,  Eubulut,  Biihop,  Lysanderp 

and  FhUocles. 

Jjeo.  They  are  too  slow !   dispatch  new 

messengers, 
T  entreat  em  fairly  hither.     I  am  exiasied  ! 
Were  you  wituess  for  me  too?  Is't  possible 
I  am  what  this  a£rms,.  true  Leouatiis  ? 
And  were  you  not  my  Either?  Was  [  given 
In  trust  to  you  an  inniiit? 

Euh.  Tis  a  trut^i  [plied 

Our  soul's  bound  to  acknowledge :  you  sup- 
The  abseuce  and  opinion  of  my  son. 
Who  died  but  to  make  you  my  greater  care. 
I  knew  not  of  Demetrius;  but  supposed 
Him  dead  indeed,  as  Epire  thought  you  were. 
Your  father  s  character  dotli  want  no  testi- 
mony, [metnus. 
Which,  but  compared  with  what  concerns  De- 
Will  prove  icselt  king  Theodosius'  act, 
Your  royal  father. 

Bi&hop.  I  amsubscrib'd  to  both  his  legacies^ 
By  oatli  oblig'd  to  secresy,  until 
Thus  fairly  summoned  to  reveal  the  trust. 

Euh.    Cassander  had    no   thought    you 

would  prove  thus. 
To  whose  policy  I  gave  this  aim,  ahho* 
He  wrought  you  up  to  serve  bnt  as  liis  engine 
To  batter  young  Demetrius :  for  it  was 
Your  father's  prudent  jealousy  that  made  him 
Give  out  your  early  deaths,  as  if  his  soul 
Prophesied  his  own  first,  and  fear'd  to  leave 
Either  of  you  to  the  unsafe  protection 
Of  one,  whose  study  would  be  to  supplant 
Your  right,  and  make  himself  the  king  of  Epire. 

Bishop.  Your  sister^  fair  Sophia,  in  your 

father's 
Life,  was  design'd  to  marry  with  Lysimachns; 
That  yarded  her;  altho'  slie  us'd  some  art 
To  quit  her  pupillage,  and  bein^  absolute, 
Dociar'd  love  to  Demetrius,  which  enforc'd 
Macarius  to  discover  ficst  your  brother. 

Leo.  No  more!  lest  you  destroy  again 

Leonatus,  [yet  ?— 

With  wonder  of  his  fate!  Are  they  not  come 
Something  it  was  I  felt  within  me  envy 
Of  youiig  Demetrius'  fortune;  tliere  were 

seeds 
Scatter'd  upon  my  heart,  that  made  it  swell 
With  thought  of  empire :  princes  I  see  cannot 
Be  totally  eclips'd.    But  wherefore  stay 
Demetrius  and  Sopbia,  at  whose  names 
A  gentle  spirit  walk'd  upon  my  blood  ^^  ? 

Enter 


A  gentle  spirit  walk'd  vprni  mf  bloodf]  This  would  imply,  that  before  h%  knew  his  rela- 
tion 


Act  5.] 


THE  CdRONATION. 


29Z 


Enter  Demetrius,  PoUdorOyS&phiay  Macariu$, 
Oissandery  and  l^umachus, 

Euh.  They're  here. 

Leo.  Then  thus  I  flj  into  tlieir  bosoms ! 
Nature  h«is  rectified  in  me,  Demetrius, 
The  wandrings  of  ambition.  Our  dear  sister^ 
Yoa  are  aniazM ;  I  did  expect  it  •.  read 
Assumnce  there !  the  day  is  big  with  wonder. 

Mm,  What  means  all  tliis? 

Leo,  Lysimachos,  be  dear  to  us ! 
Cassaoder,  you  are  welcome  too. 

Can.  Not  I; 
I  do  not  look  for^t;  all  this  sha*not  bribe 
My  conscience  to  your  faction,  and  make 
hU  false  a^rain.    Seleucns  is  no  son 
Of  Theodosins:  my  dear  countrymen, 
Correct  your  erring  duties,  and  to  that, 
Your  lawful  king,  prostrate  yourselves !  De- 
Doth  challenge  aJl  your  knees.         [metrins 

Dem,  All  love  and  duty 
Flow  from  me  to  my  royal  king,  and  brother! 
I  am  confirm'd. 

Gust.  You  are  too  credulous ! 
What  can  betray  your  faith  so  much? 

Leo.  Sophia,  you  appear  sad,  as  if  your  will 
Gave  no  consent  to  this  day's  happiness. 

Sophia.  No  joy  exceeds  Sophia's  for  your- 

sdf.  [hend 

Jjfum.  With  your  pardon,  sir,  I  appre- 
A  cause  that  makes  her  troubled :  she  desires 
T)  know  what  other  mistress,  since  her  late 
Unkindness,  I  have  chosen  to  direct 
My  faith  and  service. 

Leo.  Another  mistress? 

I^nau  Yes,  sir. 

JjUK  And  does  our  sister  love  Lysimachus? 

Soplua.  Here's  something  would  conf^. 


Leo.  He  must  not  dare 
To  Aftront  Sophia. 

Ca»9.  How  my  shame  confounds  mc ! 
I  beg  your  justice^  without  pity,  on 
My  age. 

Leo,  Your  penance  shall  be,  to  be  faithful 
To  our  state  hereafter. 

Omnes,  May  you  live  long 
Alid  happy,  Leonatos,  king  of  Epire ! 

Leo.  fint  Where's  your  oSier  mistress? 

l^nm.  Even  here,  sir.  [sir? 

JUo.  Oar  sister?  is  this  another  mistress, 

L^tim.  It  holds  [gan 

To  prove  my  thoughts  were  so :  when  she  be* 
Her  sorrow  for  neglecting  me,  that  sweetness 
Deserv'd  I  should  esteem  her  another  mistress 
Than  when  she  cruelly  forsook  Lysimachus. 
Your  pardon,  madam!  and  receive  a  heart 
Proud  with  my  first  devotions  to  serve  you ! 

Sophia.  In  this  I*m  crown'd  again  1  now 

mine  for  ever  I 

Leo.  You  have  deoeivM  her  happily. 
Joy  to  you  both ! 

Dem.  We're  ripe  for  the  tftme  wishes; 
Polidora's  part  or  me. 

Poiid.  He  all  my  blessing. 

Leo.  Heav'n  pour  full  joys  upon  youl 

Mac.  We're  all  blest: 
There  wanu  but  one  to  fill  your  arms* 

Leo.  My  mistress 
And  wife  shall  be  my  country,  to  which  I 
Was  in  my  birth  contracted ;  your  love,  sinoi^ 
Hath  play'd  the  priest  to  perfect  whdt  wsis 

ceremony. 
Tho'  kin^oms  by  just  titles  prove  OQr40wn, 
The  subjects'  hearu  do  best  secure  a  crown. 
[Exeunt  omnet. 


tknk  to  his  brother  and  sister,  lie  had  often  had,  by  secret  *  Instinct,  a  love  for  them:  bat  ns 
no  hint  of  this  appears  in  any  thing  he  before  says  or  does,  I  prefer  the  present  tanse : 

■  tpalks  iipou  my  blood  ? 

This  expression  is  noble,  and  seems  taken  from  Genesis.    2%e  spirit  of  God  mov'd  tipoa  th§ 
fiee  of  the  waters,  Seward. 

I  conceive,  that  the  poet  designed  here  to  express,  how  dormant  that  affection  which 
ou^t  to  be  toward  brethren,  though  strangers  to  each  other,  had  lain  in  Seleucus;  and 
upon  this  account  I  would  suppose,  that  a  word  of  a  stronger  import  may  yet  bid  fiurer  for 
loe  true  one :  I  read  thus, 

A  gentle  spirit  wakes  upon  my  blood  ?  Syn^son* 

We  have  retained  the  old  reading,  as  thinking  it  far  preferable  t*  either  of  the  variations. 


EPILOGUE. 


There  is  no  Coronation  to-day. 
Unless  your  gentle  votes  do  crown  our  play. 
If  smiles  appear  within  each  lady's  e)re. 
Which  are  the  leading  stars  in  this  fair  sky, 
Our  solemn  day  sets  glorious;  for  then 
We  hope,  by  their  soft  influence,  the  men 
Will  gnice  what  they  first  shia'd  on;  make't 
appear,  [ear 

(Both)  how  we  please,  and  blets  oor  covetous 


With  your  applause;  more  weleoDM  than 

Che  beUs 
Upon  a  trittrnph,  bonfires,  or  what-dsa 
Can  speak  a  Coronation !  And  tho'  I 
Were  late  depos'd,  and  spoii'd  of  migcsty. 
By  tlie  kind  aid  of  year  hands,  gentlemen, 
I  quickly  may  te  crown'd  a  queen  again, 

THE 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE'. 


A  COMEDY. 


this  Pby  is  in  the  Commendatory  Verses  by  Oardmer  ascribed  to  Fletcher  alone,  and  was 
first  printed  in  the  folio  of  1647.  It  was  revived  by  Tom  Durfey,  with  altemtions,  in 
the  year  1686,  and  exhibited  at  the  Theatre-Royal,  under  the  title  of  Tlie 'Commonwealth 
of  Women^  and  lit  the  same  time  printed  in  quarto. 


1»ERS0NS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 

Alb£BT,  a  trench  Pirate,    in    lave  with 

Aminta. 
TiBALT  Du  Pont,  a  merry  Gentleman,  frieftd 

to  Albert, 
Master  ^  the  Ship,  an  honest  merry  Man, 
takuURZ,  an  usuring  Merchant* 
Franville,  a  vmrirgloriout  Gallant* 
MoRiLLAT,  a  $hallow^ained  Gentleman, 
Boatswain,  an  honest  Man, 
Sebastian,  a  noble  Gentleman  of  Portugal, 

HuAand  to  Rotellia. 
NicusA,  Nephew  to  Sebastian;  both  cast  upon 

adesart  Island* 


Raymond,  Brother  to  Aminta. 

Surgeon* 

Sailors* 

W0)C£N« 

AicTNTA,  Mistress  to  Albert,  a  noble  French  • 

Virgin. 
RosELLiA,  Governess  qfthe  Amazonian  Por* 

tugals, 
CLARlNtA,  Daughter  to  RoselUa,  in  love 

with  Albert. 

Cr^ale''^'   V^"""^  ^""^^  ^''^'  ^  '*• 
Wta;      i     Female  Commonwealth. 


The  SCENE,  first  at  Sea,  then  in  the  Desart  Islands. 


'  This  play,  as  it  stands  in  all  the  former  copies,  has  not  received  so  much  injury  in  its 
»ense  as  measure,  and  so  we  have  not  so  mucn  cause  to  complain  of  the  former  as  of  the 
latter;  yet  cause  there  is,  as  the  reader  will  see  in  the  following  notes.  Mr.  Shirley,  who 
published  the  old  folio  edition,  seems  to  have  had  little  care  of  making  our  poets  appear  to 
advantage,  wlien  he  sent  this  play  into  the  world  in  so  unpoetical  a  dress;  1  own  the  restoring 
of  the  measure  cost  me  abundantly  more  application  and  pains  than  the  correcting  the  text; 
but  yet  the  reader  fnust  not  expect  that  musical,  exact  flow  of  numbers  which  our  modem 
eentlemen  of  Pamassns  are  so  careful  about,  here,  any  more  than  in  Shakespeare:  however, 
I  chink  I  may  remark  once  for  all,  both  upon  our  authors  and  him,  that  whenever  any 
nibject  requires  the  sublime,  the  pathetick  or  descriptive,  there  the  numbers  are  equal  to 
both  the  sentiment  and  diction,  and  the  happy  mixture  is  capable  of  transporting  any  soul 
wlio  has  the  least  taste  for  the  beauties  of  poetry.        Sympson, 

In  '  restoring  the  measure'  (as  Mr.  Sympson  calls  it)  he  has  tacitly  interpolated,  and 
omitted  in  a  manner  unprecedented  in  any  editors  but  those  of  these  Works  in  1750.  The 
variations,  both  avowed  and  secret,  we  may  safely  pronounce  to  be  almost  all  for  the  worse^ 
Bad  unworthy  mention ;  those  which  are  otherwise,  shall  be  properly  noticed. 


vot  m. 


o« 


ACT 


t^6 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


[Act  Kr 


ACT  I. 


A  Tempest f  liunder  and  Lightning, 

Enter  Master  and  two  Sailors:* 

Master.  X  AY  lier  aloof,  the  sea  grows  dan* 

-■-^     gerous : 
How*t  spits  against  the  clouds !  how  it  capers, 
And  how  tho  fiery  elenVent  frights  it  back! 
There  be  devils  dancing  in  the  aif)  I  think. 
I  saw  a  dolphin  hang  i'tli'  horns  oW  moon. 
Shot  from  a  wave.     Hey-day^  hey-day,  how 

she  kicks  and  yerks! 
Down  with  the  main-mast !  lay  her  at  haU! 
Furl  up  all  her  linens,  and  let  her  ride  it  out ! 

i  Sailor,  She'll  never  brook  it,  Master; 
She's  so  deep  laden  that  she'll  bulge. 

Master.  Hang  her ! 
Can  she  not  bufi'et  with  a  storm  a  little  ? 
How  it  tosses  her!  she  reels  like  a  drunkard. 

2  Sailor.  We  liave   discover'd   the  iand^ 
sir;  pray  let's  make  in ! 

She  is  so  drunk  else  she  may  chance 
To  cast  up  all  her  lading. 

1  Sailor.  Stand  in,  stand  in ! 
We  are  all' lost  else,  lost  and  pcrish'd. 

Master.  Steer  her  a-starboard  there ! 

Q  Sailor.  Bear  in  with  all  the  sail  we  can ! 

Sec,  Master, 
See  what  a  clap  of  thunder  there  is!  what 
A  face  of  Heav'i) !  how  dreadfully  it  looks! 

Master.  Thou  rascal,  thou  fearful  rogue^ 

th*hast  been  praying! 
I  see  it  in  thy  face;  thou  hast  been  mumbling. 
When  we  are  split,  you  slave* !  Is  this  a  time 
To  discour^ige  our  friends  with  your  cold 

orizons  ? 
Call  up  the  boatswain.  How  it  storms !  hoUa ! 

Enter  Boatswain, 

Boats.  What  shall  we  do,  Master?  Cast 
over  all  her  lading  ? 
She  will  not  swim  an  hour  else. 

Enter  Albert,  Trantnlle,  Latmire,  Tibalt  Du- 
Font,  and  Morillat. 

Master.  The  storm  is  load;  we  cannot' 
Hear  one  another.    What's  the  costst  ? 

Bouts.  We  know 
Not  yet ;  shall  we  make  in  ? 

Alb.  What  comfort,  sailors  ? 

*  When  7ce  are  split,  you  slave.]  The  accurate  Sympson  reads. 
When  we  are  splitTi>o,  slave. 

3  We  have  sprung  Jive  leaks,  and  no  little  ones; 

Still  rage;  besides,  her  ribs  are  open.]  Here  the  words  still  rage,  sJioiild  either  be  in  • 
parenthesis  with  a  note  of  admu^tion,  (still  rage/)  or  else,  which  is  mow  probable,  from 
the  defect  in  the  measure,  something  is  lost,  and  I  believe  the  origioal  was^ 

five  leaks,  and  no  little  ones ; 

The  winds  still  rage;  besides,  her  ribs  are  open, 
or  perhaps.  The  seas.        Sympson. 
We  think  tJie  first  coiyecture  best* 


I  never  saw,  since  I  haVe  known  tlie  act, 
(Which  has  been  this  twenty  years)  so  rude 
In  what  state  are  we  ?  [a  tempest. 

Master.  Dangerous  enough,  captain : 
We  have  spnmg  five  leaks,  and  no^  Iktie 

ones; 
(Still  rage !)  besides,  her  ribs  are  open  ^, 
Her  ruddtr  almost  spent:  prepare  yourselves. 
And  have  good  courages !  Doath  comes  but 

once; 
And  letr  him  come  in  all  hijr  frights ! 

A^b.  Is't  not  possible 
To  make  in  to  the  land  ?  Tis  here  before  us. 

Mor.  Here  hard  by,  sir. 

Master.  Death's  nearer,  gentlemen. 
Yet,  do  not  cry ;  let's  die  like  mea  f 

I'ib.  Shairshoise  tiie  boat  out, 
And  go  all  at  one  cast?  The  more  the  merrieff 

Enter  Aminta, 

Master,  You  are  too  hasty,  monsieur;  do- 

you  long 
To  be i'th'  fish-market  before  your  time? 
Hold  her  up  there ! 

Aminta.  Oh,  miserable  fortune ! 
Nothing  but  horror  sounding  in  mine  ears; 
No  minute  to  promise  to  my  frighted  soul ! 

T»^.  Peace,  woman !  [howling! 

W^e  ha'  storms  enough  already;  no  more 

Aminta.  Gentle  master! 

Master.  Clap  this  woman  under  hatches. . 

Alb.  Prithee  speak  mildly  to  her. 

Aminta.  Can  no  help^- 

Master.  None,  that  I  know. 

Aminta.  No  promise  from  your  goodness — 

Master,  Am  I  a  god  ?  For  Heaven's  sake, 

stow  this  woman!  [to  your  business! 

Tib,  Go,  take  vour  gilt  prayer-book,  and 
Wink  and  die!  There  an  old  haddock  stays 

for  you.  [tlic  terrors, 

Aminia.  Must  I  die  herein  all  the  frights^ 
The  thousand  several  shapes  death  triusnphs 
No  iriend  to  counsel  me?  [in? 

Alb,    Have  peace,  sweet  mistress  I 

Aminta,  No  kindwed's  tears  upon  me^ 

Oh,  my  country ! 
No  gentle  hand  to  close  mine  eyes? 

Alb.  Be  comforted ;  |^same  mercy. 

Heaven  has  the  same  powV  still,  aad  the 


^t  I.] 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


2Q7 


Aminta.  Oh,  that  wave  will  devour  me ! 

Master.  Carry  her  down,  captain, 
Or,  by  these  hands,  Tll^ve  no  more  direction, 
Let  the  ship. sink  or. swim !  We  ha'  ne*er  bet- 
ter luck  [with  us, 
When  weVe  such  stowage  as  these  trinkets 
These  sweet  sin-breeders*,  how  can  lleaven 

sinile  on  us, 
When  such  a  burden  of  iniquity 
lies  tumbling,  like  a  potion,  in  oar  ship's 

belly?  [Exit. 

Tib,  Away  with  her!  and,  if.  she  nave  a 

prayer  [ly, 

Tint's  fit  for  such  an  hour,  let  her  say't  quick- 
And  seriously !  [Exit. 

Alb.  Covfic;  I  see  it  clear,  lady ; 
Come  in,  and  take  some  comfort !  I'll  stay 

wiih  you.  [should  I  hope  ? 

Aminta.  Where  should  I  stay?  to  wliatend 
Am  I  not  circled  round  with  misery? 
Confusions  in  their  full  heights  dwell  about 

me !  [y^"> 

Oh,  monsieur  Albert,  how  am  I  bound  to  curse 
(If  curses  could  redeem  me)  how  to  hnte  ybu  ! 
You  forc'd  roe  from  my  quiet,  from  my  friends, 
Even  from  their  arms  that  were  as  dear  touie 
As  dav-li{;ht  is,  or  comfort  to  the  wretched; 
Yoa  forc'd  my  friends,  some  from  their  peace- 
ful rest,  [t^roaos ; 
Some  your  relentless  sword  gave  their  last 
('Would  I  had  therebeen numbered !)  and  to 

fortune's  [tlier 

Nei'er-4(Rtisfied  afflictions  you  turn'd  my  bro- 
And  those  few  friends  I'd  left,  like  desperate 

creatures,  [pities. 

Jo  their  own  fears  and.  the  world's  stubborn 
Oh,  merciless] 

Alb.  Sweet  mistress! 

Atninta.  And  whether  they  are  wandring 

to  avoid  you,  ['em — 

Or  whether  dead,  and  no  kind  earth  to  cover 
Was  this  a  lover*s  part?    but  lleaven  has 

found  ^ou. 
And  in  his  loudest  voice,  his  voice  of  thunder, 
And  in  the  mutiny  of  his  deep-wonders  %  ' 
He  telltf  you  now,  you  weep  too  late. 

Alb.  Let  these  tears 


Tell  how  I  honour  ^ou !  You  know,  dear  lady. 
Since  you  were  mme,  how  truly  J  have  lov  d 

you. 
How  sanctimoniously  observ'd  your  honour: 
Not  one  lascivious  word,  not  one  touch,  lady, 
No,  not  a  hope  that  might  not  render  mc 
The  unpolluted  servant  of  your  chastity. 
For  you  I  i>ut  to  sea,  to  seek  your  brotiier?, 
(Your  captain,  yet  your  slave)  that  his  redemp- 
tion. 
If  he  be  living  where  the  sun  has  circuit. 
May  expiate  your  rigour,  and  my  rashness. 

Aminta.  The  storm  grows  greater;   what 

shall  we  do  ? 

Alb.  J^efsiu, 
And  ask  Heaven's  mercy!  My  strong  mind 

yet  prcKages> 
Thro'  all  these  dangers,  we  shall  see  a  day  yet 
Shall  crown  your  pious  hopes,  and  my  fair 

wishes.  [Exit  with  Aminta. 

Enter  Master,  Sailors,  Gentlemen,  and. Boat' 
swain. 

Master.  It  must  all  overboard. 

Boats.  It  clears  to  seaward,  Master. 

Mftster.  Fling  o'er  the  lading  there,  and  let 

us  lighten  her,  Felse  !) 

(All  the  meat,  and  the  cakes;  we  are  all  gone 
That  we  may  find  her  leaks,  and  hold  her  irp! 
Yet. save  some  little  biscuit  for  the  lady, 
1'ill  we  come  to  th*  land^l 

Ijam.  Must  my  goods  over  too? 
Why,  honest  Master,  here  lies  uUmymon^y^ 
The  money  I  ha'  rak'd  by  usury. 
To  buy  new  lauds  and  lordsliipsin  newcoun- 
^    tries,  [been 

'Cause  I  WAS  banish'd  from  mine  own:  I  ha' 
This  twenty  years  a-raising  it. 

Tib.  Out  .with  it  I 
The  devils  are  got  together  by  tlie  ears. 
Who  &hall  hu'jt;  and  here  they  quarrel  in  the 

clouds. 

Lam.  I  am  undone,  sir !  [perish. 

Tib.  And  be  undone;  'tis  better  than  we 

J^tn,  Oh,  save  one  chest  of  plate ! 

Tib.  Away  with  it  histily,  smlors ! 
It  was  some  pawn  that  he  has  got  unjustly; 


*  <y  Aif  de^  wonders.]  Deep  wonders  may  be  good  English,  but  it  is  not  very  intelligible 
«8  it  is  here  circumstanced ;  the  addition  of  a  single  hyphen  makes  all  clear,  deep^wonderx. 

Sympson* 

*  For  you  I  put  to  sea,  to  seek  your  brother.!  This,  if  it  has  any  meaning,  mast  signify  that 
his  sole  end  of  putting  to  sea  was  to  find  out  her  brother,  and  yet,  act  iii.  scene  l,  Franville 
iays  positively,  that  they  were  bound 

For  happy  places,  and  mostfiartile  islands; 
but  that  afterwards 

-  She  turn'd  the  captain's  mind,  S^. 
This  inconsistency  might  possibly  be  owing  to  some  over  and  above  complaisant  player,  who 
was  willing  .to  ennance  the  value  of  Albej-Va  sen'ice,  and  make  him  compliment  his  mistress, 
not  only  at  the  expence  of  our  poets,  but  even  of  truth  itself.  Sympton. 

This  assertion  here'is  too  positive,  and  too  much  pursued,  and  the  circumstance  too  unim- 
portant to  be  ascribed  to  tlie  interpolation  of  a  player.  If  there  is  an  inconsistency,  it  is 
more  probably  owing  to  the  inadvertency  of  the  authors. 

'   ^  Fling  <fer  the  ladings  &c-]  Tlie  giving  this  and  the  following  four  lines  to  the  Master 
(which  was  before  a  continuation  of  the  BixUswains  speech)  is  recommended  by  Sympson. 

G  g  2  Down 


f9ft 


THE  SEA-VOYAGB. 


[Ajctl. 


Down  with  it  low  enough,  and  let  crabs  breed 
Master,  Over  with  the  trunks  too.     [in't ! 

Enter  Albert. 

Alb.  Take  mine,  and  spare  not. 

Master^  We  must  over  with  all. 

Fran,  Will  ye  throw  away  my  lordship  that 

Isold,  [sea  with? 

Put  it  into  cloaths  and  necessaries,  to  go  to 

lU,  Over  wi't !  I  love  to  see  a  lordship  sink: 
Sir,  you  left  no  wood  upon%  to  buoy  it  up; 
You  might  ha'  8av*d  it  else. 

Fran,  I  am  undone 
For  ^\ef. 

4lb,  Why,  we're  all  undone  c  would  you 
Be  only  hnppy? 

Xom.  Sir,  you  may  lose  too. 

T<6.  Thou  liest!  I  ha*  nothing  but  my  skin, 
And  my  cloaths;  my  sword  here,  and  myself; 
Two  crowns  in  my  pocket,  two  pair  of  cards^. 
And  three  false  dice:  I  can  swmi  like  a  fish, 
Eascal ;  nothing  to  hinder  me. 

^oats.  In  with  her  of  all  hands ! 

Master,  Come,  gentlemen;  come,captiiip; 

ye  must  help  all. 
My  life  now  for  the  land !  Tis  high  and  rocky, 
And  full  of  perils. 

Alb.  However,  let*s  attempt  it ! 

Master.  Then  cheer  lustily,  my  hearts ! 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Sebastian  and  Nicusa. 

Seh.  Yes,  'tis  a  ship ;  I  see  it  now;  a  tail 
ship ! 

She  hiis  wrought  lustily  for  her  delivemnce. 

Heaven's  mercy,  what  a  wretched  day  has 
here  been !  [no  misery, 

I>iicusa,  To  still  and  quiet  minds  that  knew 

Jt  may  seem  wretched ;  but  with  us  'tis  ordi- 
nary :  [terror. 

Heaven  has  no  storm  in  store>  nor  earth  no 

That  can  seem  new  to  ns. 
Seb,  'Tis  true,  Nicusa: 

If  fortune  were  determiii'd  to  be  wanton, 

Aiid  would  wipe  out  the  stories  of  men's  mi- 
series, 


Yet  we  twoliving,  we  conld  cnMsher  parpo»; 
For  'tis  impossible  she  should  cure  us. 
We  are  so  excellent  in  our  afHictions : 
It  would  be  more  than  glory  to  ber  biindneiSy 
And  stile  her  power  beyond  her  pride,  to 

3uit  us. 
Nicusa.  Do  they  live  still? 

Seb.  Yes,  and  make  to  harbour. 

Nicusa.  Most  miserable  mcp !    I  grieve 

their  fortunes. 

Seb.  How  happv  had  they  been,  had  th^ 

sea  cover'd  'em  f 
They  leap  from  one  calamity  to  another; 
Had  they  been  drown'd,  they'd  ended  all  tlieif 

sorrows. 
What  shouts  of  joy  they  make ! 

[Shout  within^ 

Nicusa.  Alas,  poor  wretches ! 
Hod  they  but  once  experience  of  this  island, 
They'd  turn  their  tunes  to  waitings. 

Seb.  Nay,  to  curses, 
That  ever  they  set  toot  on  such  calamities: 
Here  is  no  thing  but  rocks  and  barrfinness*, 
I{un<;er  and  cold,  to  eat ;  here's  no  vineyards 
To  chear  the  heart  of  man,  no  crystal  rivers. 
After  his  labour  to  refresh  his  body. 
If  he  be  feeble;  nothi^ig  to  restore  him, 
But  heav'nly  hopes:  Naturp,  that  made  those 

remedies,  [tresses, 

Dares  not  come  here,  nor  look  on  our  dis^ 
For  fear  she  turn  wild,  like  the  place,  and 

barren.  [what  we  were ! 

Nicusa.  Oh,  uncle,  yet  a  little  memory  of 
Twill  be  a  little  comfort  in  our  calamities: 
When  we  were  seated  in  our  blei^d  homes. 
How  happy  in  our  kindreils,  in  our  fiunilies^ 
In  all  our  fortunes — 

Seb.  Curse  on  those  French  pirates 
That  displanted  us !  That  flung  us  from  that 

happiness 
.  We  round  there,  constrained  us  to  sea. 
To  save  our  lives,  honours,  and  our  riches. 
With  all  we  had,  our  kinsmen  and  our  jewels, 
In  hope  to  find  some  place  free  from  such 

robbers !  [where 

Where  a  mighty  storm  severed  our  bariu,  that 


7  Two  pair  of  cards.]  i.  e.  Two  packs  cf  cardsy  as  they  are  now  called.    They  were  for- 
merly called,  as  here,  pairs  of  cards.    Thus  in  '  Tiie  honorable,  historie  of  the  Frier  Bacon 

*  and  Frier  Bougay,  by  Robert  Greene,  1630,* '  Have  you  not  good  tippling  houses  there?  may 
<  not  a  man  have  a  lusty  fire  there,  a  pot  of  good  ale,  a  p aire  0^  cardcs,  a  s wining  piece  of 

*  chalke,  and  a  brown  toast  that  will  clap  a  white  wastcoat  on  a  cup  of  good  dnnke  r       IL 

*  Here's  nothing  but  rocks  and  barrenness^ 
Hunger  and  cold  to  eat;  here's  no  vineyards^  &c.]  Nothing  but  rocks  and  barrenness  tomtf 
is  intelligible  and  good  language,  but  surely  no  poetical  license  will  excuse  what  follows, 

Hunger  and  cold  to  eat  ;■■ 
I  would  read,,/br  meat;  i.  e.  instead  of  meat,  and  propose  to  supply  the  measure  thus. 
There's  nothing  here  but  rocks  and  baiTenness, 
Hunger  and  cold  for  meat;  here  arc  no  vineyanis,  &c.        Setoard, 
I  would  read  and  point  thus. 

Here's  nothing  here  but  rocks  and  barrenness. 
Hunger  and  cold;  nothing  to  eat;  no  vinevards— ~- 
^S I  have  not  alter'd  the  text,  the  reader  may  take  his  choice.  Sympson, 

We  do  not  understand  why  meat  is  better  than  eat;  the  sense  i»  tlie  same ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  variation  is  iinauMiorized, 


Act  I.] 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


Sl{9 


)lj  wife,  my  daaghter,  and  my  noble  ladies 
That  went  with  t^r,  virgins  and  loYing  souls,/ 
To  scape  those  pirates** 

Ni'usa,  They  are  living  yet;  such  ^ood- 

Des!»  cannot  perish.  [again. 

Seb,  But  never  to  me,  cousin,  never  to  me 
'Wliac  hears  tlieir  flag-staves? 

NkiiM.  The  arms  of  France  sure. 
Nay,  do  not  start  I  we  cannot  be  more  mi- 
serable; 
Death  is  a  cordial  now,  come  ^ben  it  will.   ' 

Seb,  They  get  to  shore  apace;  they'll  fly 

as  last  '   [which  swims  there  f 

,Wheu  once  they  find  the  place.    What's  that 

iViciua.  A  strong  young  man,  sir,  with  a 

handsome  woman 
^anp;in(^  about  his  neck. 

ScB,  That  shews  some  liono^r: 
May  thy  jbrave  charity,  whatever  thou  art. 
Be  spoken  in  a  place  that  may  renown  thee, 
Aud  not  die  here ! 

Nieu»a.  Tiie  boat,  it  seems,  tum*d  over, 
So  forced  to  their  shafts;  vetqil  are  landed* 
They're  pirates,  on  my  life. 

Sib,  They  wi^  not  rob  us; 
For  none  will  take  our' misery  for  liphe^ 
Come,  cousin,  let's  d«icend,  ai)d  try  th^ip 

pities! 
If  we  get  off,  a  little  hope  wa^cs  wi|b  t^s; 
If  not,  we  shall  but  }oad  this  wretclied  Tsland 
With  the  same  shadow^  ^tjU,  tliat  must  grow 

shorter.  [^xeunt. 

Enter  Albert,  Aminta,  Tibalt,  MorUlat,  La- 
murej   Mastpr,  Frauvilie,   Surgearif    and 
,     Sailort, 

Tib.  Wet  come  ashope^,  iny  urates !  we^re 

safe  arriv'd  yet.  [man  lost : 

Matter.  Thanks  to  Heaven's  goodness,  no 
The  ship  rides  fair  too,  and  her  leaks  in  good 

plight.  [ — How  does  my  dear? 

Aib.  The  weather's  lurn'd  more  courteous. 
Alas,  iiow  weak  she  is,  and  wet ! 

Atninta.  I  am  glad  y^t,  I  scap'd  with  life: 
Which  certain,  noble  captain,  nest  to  Hea- 
ven's goodness, 
I  must  thank  you  for;  and,  which  is  more. 
Acknowledge  your  dear  tenderness,  your  firm 

love. 
To  your  unworthy  mistress;  and  recant  too 
(Indeed  I  must)  those  harsh  opinions, 
Those  cruel  unkind  thoughts,  I  heaped  upon 

you : 
Further  than  that,  I  must  foigetyonr  injuries, 
Ho  far  I  am  tied  and  fettered  to  your  service; 
fielieve  me,  I  will  learn  to  love. 

Alb.  I  thank  yon,  madam; 
And  it  shall  be  my  practice  to  serve. 
Wluit  cheer,  companions? 

•  Wet  come  luhore — arrived  yet. 

Mast.  Thanki^l  W^  tome  alluding  to  welcome^  is  exceeding  right  and  proper  here 
in  Tibalfs  moutb,  whose  droll  character  is  well  supported  throughout  tlie  play.        Sytnpsoru 
'^  Furfd.]  Perhaps  from  the  Freuch  word  perle^  rough,  rugged,  not  mnooth.   Cotgrave's 
Dictionary.        JL 

Box 


Tib.  No  great  clieer,  sir ;  a  piece  of  sonsed 

IJiscuit,  [order. 

And  half  an  hard  egg;  for  the  sea  has  ta'en 
Being  young  and  strong,  we  shall  not  surfeit, 

ca|9tain. 
For  mine  own  part,  FU  dance  till  I  am  dry: 
Come,  Sui^eon,  out  with  your  clyster>pipe, 
And  strike  a  galliard.  [fair  weather. 

Alb.  What  a  brave  day  again !  and  what 
After  so  foul  a  storm  ! 

Loofi'  Ay,  an*t  pleas'd  the  Master, 
He  might  ha'  seen  this  weather,  and  ha'  sav'd 

our  goods.  [and  healths. 

AU).  Never  think  on  'em!  we've  our  lives 

Lam.  I  must  think  on  *em,  and  think  'twas 

u^ost  maliciously 
Done  to  undo  me. 

Fran.  Aud  me  too;  I  lost  all: 
J  ha'n't  another  shirt  to  put  upon  me^ 
Nor  deaths,  but  these  poor  rags:.  I  bad 

fifteen 
Fair  suits,  the  worst  was  cut  upon  ta&ty. 

Tib.  I  am  glad  you  ha'  lost:  give  me*  thy 

hand!  [vxitb  scabs? 

Is  tliy  skin  whole?    Art  thou  not  puri'd'^ 
No  antient  monuments  of  madam  Venus  ? 
Tb'  hast  a  suit  then  will  pose  the  cunning'st 

tailor, 
That  will  never  turn  fashion,  nor  forsake  thee, 
Till  thy  executors,  the  worms,  uncase  thee; 
They  take  off  glorious  suits,  Franville !  thou'f  t 

happy 
Thou  art  delivered  of  'em ;  here  arc  no  brokers. 
No  alchyraists  to  turn  'em  into  metal ; 
Nor  lecither'd  captains. 
With  ladies  to  adore  'em !  Wilt  thou  see 
A  dog-fish  rise  in  one  of  thy  brave  doublets, 
And  tumble  like  a  tub  to  make  thee  merry  ? 
Or  an  old  haddock  rise  with  thy  hatch'd  sword 
Thou  pnid'st  a  hundred  crowns  for  ? 
A  mennaid  in  a  mantle  of  your  worship's? 
Or  a  dolphin  in  your  double  ruff? 

Fran, " Ye'r«:  merry; 
But  if  I  take  it  thus,  if  I  be  foisted 
And  jeer'd  out  of  my  goods — 

Lam.  Nor  I,  I  vow  thee ! 
Nor  master  nor  mate—I  see  your  cunning. 

Alb.  Oh, 
Be  not  angry,  gentlemen ! 

JIfor.  Yes,  sir,  we've  reason  s 
And  some  friends  I  can  make. 

Mast,  What  I  did,  gentlemen, 
Was  for  the  general  salety ;  if  ye  aim 
At  me,  I'm  not  8(i  tame-^ 

Tib,  Pra^  take  m^  counsel ; 
Gallants,  fight  not  till  the  surgeon  be  well ! 
He's  damnable  sea-sick,  and  may  spoil  nil ; 
Besides,  h'has  lost  his  fiddlestick,  and  the 

best 


S30 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


f Act  1. 


Box  of  boar*»>^alto.  Wb  j  do  you  make  such 
And  I  land  your  swords?  [faces, 

silb.  Will)  wuulil  ye  fight  with,  gentlemen  ? 
Wh'  lias  done  ye  wrong?  for  shame,  be  better 

temper'd !  .[*^^*» 

No  sooner  come  to  giye  thanks  for^our  safe- 
But  we  must  raise  new  civil  broils  amongst4is, 
Indame  those  angry  powers,  to  shower  .new 

vengeance  on  us:  [murs, 

What  can  we  expect  for  these  unmanly  mur- 
These  strong  temptations  of  their  holy  pities, 
'But  pla|;ues  in  another  kind,  a  t'uiler,  so 

dreadful 
That  the  singing  storms  are  slumbers  to  itf 

Tib,  Be  men,  and  jule  your  minds*! 
If  you  will  nepds  6ght,  gentlemen. 
And  think  to  raise  new  riclies  by  your  va^ 

lours, 
Have  at  ye !  I  have  little  else  to  do  now; 
•I  liave  said  my  prayers.  You  say  you  have  lost, 
And  make  your  loss  your  quarrel,  [ter, 

And  grumble  at  my  captain  here,  and  th' mas- 
Two  worthy  persons,  indeed  too  worthy  for 

such  rascals, 
Thou  galloon  gallant,  and  Mammon  yoi^ 
That  build  on  golden  mountains !  tliuu  mo^ 

ney-maggot !  .  [miserable. 

Come,  all  draw  your  swords !     Ye  say  ye're 

Alh.  Nay,  hold,  good  Tibalt! 

Tib.  Captain,  let  me  correct  'em  I — 
I'll  make  ye  ttn  times  worse ! — I  will  not 

leave  'em —  [eating ; 

Por  look  ye,  fighting's  as  nourishing  to  me  as 
I  was  horn  quarrelling. 

Master.  Pray,  sir!  [*em! — 

Tib.  I  will  not  leave  'cm  skins  to  cover 
Do  you  grumble  when  yc  are  well,  ye  rogues  ? 

Master,  Noble  Du-Pont ! 

'Tib.  Ye  have  cloaths  now,  and  ye  prate. 

Aminta,  Pray,  gentlemen,  for  my  sake,  be 

at  peace ! 
Let  it  beconie  me  to  make  all  friends  ! 

Fran,  You've  stopt  our  angers,  lady. 

A/b*  Tl^is  !?lews  noble.  [a  biscuit ; 

Tib,  Tiswell;  'tis  very  well !  There's  half 
Break  it  amongst  ye  all,  and  thank  my  bounty. 
This  is  cloaths  and  plate  too;  come,  no  more 

quarrelling ! 

Aminta.   But  ha!  what  things  are  these? 

Are  they  human  creatures? 

Enter  Sebastian  and  Nieusa, 

Tib.  I've  heard  of  sea-calves. 

A/b.  They're  no  shadows  sure;    » 
They've  legs  and  arms. 

Tib.  They  hang  but  lightly  on  tho'.  [faces? 

Aminta,  flow  they  look  f  Are  they  men's 

2\b.  I  hey  have  horse-tails  growing  to  *em, 
Goodlv  long  manes. 

Amintti,  'Las,  wliat  sunk  eyes  they  have  ! 
How  they  are  crept  in,  as  if  they  had  been 
Sure  they  are  wretched  men.  [frighted ! 

Tib.  Where  are  their  wardrobes?  [tiers? 
Look  yc,  Franville,  here  are  a  couple  of  cour- 

Ammta,  They  kneel:  alas,  poor  souls! 


Alb.  What  m  ye?  speakrl 
Are  ye  alive  ?  or  wandhng  sliadowa, 
Ihat  iind  no  peace  on  earth,  till  ye  reveal 
Some  hidden  jsecret  ? 

Seb,  We  are  men  as  .you  are, 
Onljx>ur  miseries  make  us  seem  monslers. 
If  ever  pity  dwelt  iii  noble  heartt^r- 

^/6.\Ve  understand '^mooot!  Pravfliatk 

''em,  geutlrmen !  rchanJty ; 

Seb.  Or  that  Heaven's  plcas'd  wiui  human 
If  ever  ye  :have  heard  the  name  of  ^iend^hip. 
Or  sufFer'd  in  yourselves  the  least  aiilictions; 
Have  gentle  /athecs  that  have  bred  ye  ten- 
derly, [tunes; 
And  motliers  that -have  w^t/Qnyouriiusfor- 
Have  mercy  on  our  miseries^ 

Alb.  Stand  up,  wretches. 
Speak  boldly,  apd  have  release! 

A'm:'^^  If  ye  be  Christians, 
And  by  that  blps^ed  name  bound. to .rdieve  us, 
Convey  us  from  this  island  ! 

AIL  Speak  I  .what  are  ye  ?  [more, 

Seb,  As  you  arc,  gentle  born ;  to  tell  ye 
Were  but  to  number  up  our  own  calamities, 
And  turn  your  eyes  wild  with   perpetual 

weepings^ 
Jliese  many  years  inihis  most  wrctchcdialand 
We  two  have  liv'd,  ,the   scorn  and.gapie  of 

fortune: 
Bless  yourselves  f«>m  it,  noble  gciitlcmen ! 
The  greatest  plagues  that  human  nature  sufierB 
Arc  seated  here^  wilcjuess  and  w^ts  inuu- 

me»ibie ! 

Alb.  How  came  ye  hithcrf 

Kieusa.  in  a  ship,  as  you  do,  and  Cas  you 

might  have  been,  [noble  use) 

Had  not  Heav'n  pr^ierv'd  ye  for  some  more 
Wreckt  desperately;  our  men  and  all  con- 

sum'd, 
But  we  two,  that  still  live,  and  spin  out 
The  thin  and  ragged  threads  of  our  misfor^ 

Alb,  Is  there  no  meat  above  ?  [times. 

Seb.  Nor  meat  nor  quiet : 
No  summer  liere,  to  promise  any  thiog ; 
Nor  autumn,  to  make  full  tlie^tiapers'liands; 
I'he  earth,  obdurate  to  the  tears  of  Heav'n, 
Lets  nothing  shoot  but  poison'd  weeds; 
No  rivers,  nor  no  pleasant  groves*  no  beasts: 
All  that  were  made  for  man's  use  fiy  this  de- 

sart;      ^ 
No  airy  fowl  dares  make  his  flight  o'er  it. 
It  is  so  ominous.  [ture, 

Serpents,  and  ugly  things,  the  shames  of  Na- 
Roots  of  malignant  tastes,  foul  standing  war 

ters: 
xSometimes  we  find  a  fulsome  sea*root. 
And  that's  a  delicate;  a  rat  sometimes, 
And  that  we  bunt  like  princes  in  their  plea^ 

sure ;  [quet. 

And  when  we  take  a  toad,  we  make  a  bau- 

Amintd,  For  Heav'n's  sake,  let's  aboard ! 

Alb.  yy^e  know  no  furtlier  ? 

I^icusa,  Yes; 
We've  sometimes  seen  the  shadow  of  a  place 
luliabiccd,  and  heard  the  noise  of  hunters, 

And 


id  l.j 

And  have  attempted  to  find  it:  so  far  as  a 

rirer,  [rocks, 

Deep,  slovT,  and  dangeroas,  fenced  with  high 
We've  gone;  but,  not  able  t'atchieve  tliat 

hazard, 
Reuini'd  to  our  old  miseries.    If  this 
Sad  story  may  deserve  your  pities — 

Alb,  Ye  shall  [ries. 

Aboard  with  us;  we  will  relieve  your  mise- 

Seb.  Nor  will  we  be  unthankful  for  this  be- 

neiit; 
Ko,  gentlemen,  well  pay  for  our  deliverance: 
Look,  ye  that  plough  tlie  seas  for  wealth  and 

pletisures,  [tions, 

That  outHTun  day  and  night  with  your  ainbi- 
Look  on  those  heaps!  they  seem  liard  ragged 

quarries;        ( 
■Reroove,  aud  view  'em  fully!  [jewels! 

Master,    Oh,  ileav'n,    they're  gold  and 

Seb,  Be  not  too  hasty !  Here  lies  another 

heap« 

Mor,  And  here  another,  all  perfect  gold  I 

Alb.  Stand  further  off! 
Tou  must  not  be  your  own  carvers. 

Jjim,  We  have  shares,  and  deep  ones. 

Tran.  Yes,  sir,  we  will^ maintain  t:  ho,  fel- 
low-sailors! [all  this. 

Lam,  Stand  all  to  your  freedoms  I  I'll  have 

Tron^  And  I  this. 

m.  You  shaU  be  hane'd  first. 

Lam.  My  losses  shall  be  mac^e  good. 

Frafu  So  shall  mine,  or  with  my  sword  111 

do'L— 
All  that  will  share  with  us,  assist  us ! 

Tib.  Captain,  let's  set  in  ! 

Alb.  This  money  will  undo  us,  undo  us  all. 

S^*  This  gold  was  th*  overthrow  of  my 

happiness : 
I  had  command  too,  when  I  landed  here. 
And  led  young,  higli,  and. noble  spirits  under 

mc:  [tltfir  captain. 

This  cursed  gold  enticing  'em,  they  set  upon 
On  me  that  own'd  this  wealtl^  and  this  poor 

gentleman ;  [own 

Gave  us  no  few  wounds,  fbrc'd  ua  from  our 
And  tlien  tlieir  civil  swords,  who  should  be 

owners,  [own  lives  ; 

And  who  lords  over  all,  turned  against  their 
First,  in  theh*  rage  consum'd  the  ship, 
(That  poor  part  of  the  ship  that  scap'd  the 

first  wreck)  [and  careful ! 

Next,  their  lives  by  heaps :  oh,  be  you  wise 

ljam4  Well  ha'  more :  sirrah,  come  shew  it ! 

Fran.  Or  ten  times  worse  afflictions  than 

thou  speak'st  of— 

Alb.  Nay,  an  ye  will  be  dogs— [Beott'evi. 

Tib,  JLet  roe  come,  captain ! 
This  golden  age  must  have  an  iron  ending. 
Have  at  the  bunch  !  [He  beats  *em  off",  l&it* 

AmJttita,  Oby  Albert !  oh,  gentlemen !  oh, 

friends!  [Exit. 

Seb,  Come,  noble  nephew  \  if  we  stay 

here  we  die:         ^  [th'  spuil ; 

Here  rides  their  ship  vet;  all  are  gone  to 
Let*s  make  a  quick  um^: 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


831 


Ntrusa,  Away,  dear  uncle  ! 
Seb.  This  gold 
Was  our  o'erthrow. 

Nicusa,  It  may  now  be  our  happiness. 

[  Exeunt^ 
Enttr  Tibalt,  pursuing  and  beating  the  rest. 

Tib.  You  sliall  have  gold!  yes,  I  will  crara 

it  int'ye !  [ye. 

You  shall  be  your  own  carvers !  yes.  111  carve 

Mar.  I'm  sore :  I  pray  hear  reason  I 

Tib.  rii  hear  none : 
Covetous  base  minds  have  no  reason. 
I'm  hurt  myself;  but,  whilst  I  have  a  leg  left, 
I  will  so  haunt  your  gilded  aoub— How  d  ye, 

capttiin  ? 
You  bleed  apace;  curse  on  the  causers  ou't? 
You  do  not  taint? 

Alb.  No,  no;  I'm  not  so  happy. 

Tib.  D'ye  howl  ?  nay,  ye  Reserve  it : 
Base  greedy  rogues!  Come,  shall  we  make  an 

end  of  em?  [sake,  spare  'em  ! 

Alb.  They  are  our  countrymen ;  forHeav'nV 
Alas,  they're  hurt  enough,  and  they  relent  now. 

Afninta  [above].  Oh,  captain,  captain  ! 

Alb.  Whose  voice  is  that  ? 

Tib.  The  lady's. 

Aminta.  Look,  captain,  look !  you  are  un*' 

done:  poor  captain ! 
We're  all  undone,  all,  all!  we  areall  mise- 

«'ahle !  [your  ship  i 

Mad  wilful  men,  ye  are  undone :  yoiir  ship^ 

^/6.  What  of  her?  ^ 

Aminta.  She  is  under  sail,  and  floating; 
See,  where  she  flies !  See,  to  your  shames,  you. 

wretclies,  [gold ! 

These  poor  starv'd  things  that  shewed  you 

[Lamure  and  FranvilU  go  up  to  see  the  ship. 

1  Sailor.  They  have  cut  the  cables,  ['em. 
And  got  her  out;  tlje  tide  too  has  befriended 

Master.   Where  are  the  sailors  that  kept 

her?  [money. 

Boats.  Here„here  i'th'  mutiny,  to  uke  up 
A  nd  left  no  creature ;  left  tlje  boat  ashore  too : 
This  gold,  this  dainn'd  enticing  gold ! 

a  SaUor.  How  the  wind  drives  her. 
As  if  it  vied  to  force  her  from  our  iiiries  f     ~ 

Ixim.  Come  back,  good  old  men ! 

Fran.  Good  honest  men,  come  back ! 

Tib.  The  wind's  against  ye^  speak  louder! 

Lam*  Ye  shall  have  all  your  gold  again. 

They  see  us. 

Tib.  Hold  up  your  hands,  and  kneel,  and 

howl,  ye  blockheads* 
They'll  have  compassion  on  ye? 
Yes,  yes,  'tis  very  likely;  ye\e  deserv'd  it. 
D'ye  look  like  dogs  qow?  Are  your  mighty 
Abated  ?  fcouraEeit 

Alb.  I  bleed  apace,  Tibalt. 

Tib.  Retire,  sir; 
And  make  the  best  use  of  our  miseries  I 
Tivey  but  begin  now. 

Sinter  Aminta.  , 

Aminta.  ^r9  ye  alive  cttU  ? 

Aih. 


332 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


[Actl 


Alb,  Yc8,  sweet, 

lib.  Help  him  off,  lady,  [something 

Aud  wrap  him  warm  in  your  arms ;  here  is 
That's  comfortahle ;  ofTwitlihim  handsomely! 
I'll  come  to  ye  Straight,  but  vex  these  i-ascals 

a  little.  [Extunt  Albert  and  Amirita* 

Fran,  Oh,  I'm  hungry,  and  hurt,  and  I  aili 

weary. 

2U,  Here  is  a  pestle  of  a  Portigue,  sir! 
^is  excellent  meat  with  Sour  sauce : 
And  here's  two  chains;  suppose  *em  sausages! 
Then  there  wants  mustard;  but  th^  ftarfiil 

surgeon 
Will  supply  ye  presently". 

Lam.  Oh,  for  that  surgeon !  I  shall  die  else. 

Tib.  Faith  there  he  lies  in  tlie  same  pickle 

too.  [are  lost; 

Surgeon.  My  salves  and  all  my  instruments 
And  I  am  hurt  and  starv'd :  good  sir,  seek  for 
5ome  herbs! 

Tlb^  Hei-e'd  herb-graceless;  will  that  senr^? 


Gentlemeo,  will  ye  go  to  stipper^ 
Omnes.  Where  is  the  meat?         [is there? 
Tib,  Where  is  the  meat  ?  W hat  a  Teal-voice 
Fran,  Would  we  had  it,^  sir,  or  any  thiii)^ 
else!  [but  that 

7/6.  I  would  now  cut  your  throat,  you  dog, 
I  wo'not  do  you  sQch  a  courtesy, 
To  take  you  from  the  benefit  ot  starving. 
Oh,  what  a  comfort  will  your  worship  hare 
Some  three  days  hence !  Ye  things  beneath 

pity! 
Famine  shall  be  your  harbinger :   [hangings^ 
You  must  not  lodk  for  down-beds  here,  nor 
Tho'  I  could  wish  yc  strong  ones;         [bers, 
Yet  there  be  many  lightsome  cool  star-cham- 
Open  to  every  Sweet  air,  I'll  assure  ye. 
Ready  provided  for  ye,  and  so  I'll  leave  ye: 
Your  first  course  is  served ;  expect  the  second! 

[ExU. 
Fran,  A  vengeancof  on  these  jewels  1 
Lam.  Oh,  this  cursed  gold!  [Exeunt, 


ACT  IL 


Enter  Albert  and  Aminta, 

Alb,    A  LAS,  dear  soul,  you  faint ! 

•^    Aminta.  You  speak  the  language 

Which  I  should  use  to  you.    Heav'n  knows 
my  weakness 

Is  not  for  what  I  suffer  iii  myself, 

fiut  to  imagine  what  you  endure. 

And  to  what  fate  your  cruel  stars  reserve- you. 
.  Alb.  Do  not  add  to  my  afflictions  by 

Your  tender  pitiesi  Sure  we  have  chang'd 
.  sexes: 

Vou  hear  calamity  witli  a  fortitude         [fer. 

Would  become  a  man;  I  like  a  weak  girl  suf- 
Aminta.  Oh,  but  your  wounds, 

fiow  fearfully  they  gape !  and  every  one 

To  roe's  a  sepulchre.    If  I  lov'd  truly,  • 

(Wise  men  affirm^  that  true  love  can  do  won- 
ders) [cur'd, 

These  bath'd  in  my  warm  tears  would  soon  be 

And  leave  no  orifice  behind.    Pray  give  me 
leave 

To  play  the  sumon,  and  bind  'em  up! 

The  raw  air  rankles  'em.  ^ 

.  Alb.  Sweety  we  want  means. 


Aminta,  Love  can  supply  all  wants. 

Alb.  What  have  ye  done,  sweet? 
Oh,  sacrilege  to  beauty!  there's  no  hair 
Of  these  pure  locks*%'by  which  the  greatest 

king  [ters. 

Would  not  be  gladly  bound,  and  love  his  fet' 

Aminta.  Oh,  Albert,  I  offer 
This  sacrifice  of  service  to  the  altar 
Of  your  staid  temperance,  and  still  adore  it: 
When  with  a  violent  hand  you  mademeyoors, 
I  curs'd  the  doer;  but,  now  I  consider 
How  long  I  was  i:*  your  power,  and  with 

what  honour 
You  entertain'd  me,  (it  being  seldom  seen. 
That  ^outk  and  heat  of  blood  could  e'er  pre* 

sen  be 
Laws  to  itself)  your  goodiless  is  die  Letlie 
In  which  J  drown  your  injVies,  and  now  live 
Truly  to  serVe  ye.  How  do  j'ou,  sir?  Receive 

you 
The  least  ease  from  my  service  ?  If  you  do, 
I'm  largely  recom^nsed. 

Alh.  You  good  angels 
That  are  eR{^d,when  man's  ability  fiiils, 
To  reward  goodness,  look  upon  this  ladyi 


"  But  ih^  fearful  surgeon  will  supply  ye  present ly. 
Lam.  OA,  for  that  surgeon,  I  shall  die  clfc.]  Peatfid^  in  the  present  passage,  k  an  epi- 
thet which  carries  neither  sense  nor  humour.    If  we  would  make  lUalt  congruous  with  him- 
self; methinks  it  should  be  done  by  reading  in  both  lines  thus: 

But  th'  careful  surgeon,  &c. 
To  which  Lamure  sliould  answer; 

Oh,  for  that  careful  sui^^n,  I  shall  die  else.        Sympson, 
'^  Ohy  sacrilege  to  beauty!  &:c'.]  This  is  seemingly  from  Tasso^  book  10,  stanz,  1J2,  wheit 
ErndtMi  binds  up  Tancrei%  wounds  with  her  hair. 

'  For  with  her  amber  locks  cut  off,  each  wound 

'  She  tied :  ^  happy  man,  so  cur'd,  so  bound.*       ■   Symfiom* 

Tho' 


Act  3i] 


Tho'  hunger  gripes  my  croaking  entrails. 
Yet,  when  I  kiss  these  ruhies,  tnetliinks 
Fm  at  a  banquet,  a  refreshing  banquet. 
Speak,  mj  bless'd  one  ;  art  not  hungry  ? 

Aminta.  Indeed  I  could  eat,  ta  bear  you 

Alb.  Blush,  unkind  nature,        [company. 
If  thou  bast  power  or  being!  To  Itear 
Thyself,  and  by  such  innocence,  accused, 
Must  print  a  thousand  kinds  of  shames  upon 
Thy  various    face:    canst    tbou  supply   a 

drunkard,  [wines, 

And  with  a  prodigal  hand  reach  choice  of 
Till  he  cast  up  thy  blessings  ?  or  a  glutton, 
That  robs  the  elements  tp  soothe  his  palate, 
And  only  eats  to  beget  appetite, 
Not  to  be  satisfied  ?  and  sutfer  here  [guest, 
A  viigin,  which  the  saints  would  make  their 
To  pine  for  hunger?  [Honu  within.]  Ha!  if 

my  sense 
Deceive  me  not,  these  notes  take  being  from 
The  breath  of  men.  Confirm  me,  my  Aminta  ! 
Again !  This  way  the  gentle  wind  conveys  it 
Hear  ^ou  nothing?  [to  us.*^. 

Aminta.  Yes;  it  seems  freehuntera  musick. 

Alb.  Still  'tis  louder;  and  I  remember  the 

Portugals 
Informed  us,  they  had  often  heard  such  sounds, 
But  nc*er  could  touch  the  shore  from  whence 

it  came. 
Follow  me,  my  Aminta !  My  good  genius. 
Shew  me  the  way!  Still,  stilfwe  are  directed ; 
When  we  gain  the  top  of  tliis  near  rising  hill| 
We  shall  know  further. 

i  Exeunt f  and  enter  above. 
ephyrus,  [us : 

On's  dewy  wings,  carries  perfumes  to  cheer 
The  air  clears  too;  and  now  we  ciay  discern 

anotlier  island. 
And  questionless,  the  seat  of  forfaate  men  : 
Oh,  that  we  could  arrive  there ! 

Aminta,  No,  Albert; 
It  b  not  to  be  hop*d :  this  envious  torrent 
Is  cruelly  interpos'd ;  we  have  no  vessel 
That  may  transport  us,  nor  liath  nature  given 
Us  wings  to  fly. 

Alb.  Better  try  all  hazards. 
Than  perfsh  here  remediless ;  I  feel 
^ew  vigour  in  me,  and  a  spirit  that  dares 
More  than  a  man,  to  serve  my  fair  Aminta : 
These  arms  shall  be  my  oars,  with  which  TU 

swim,  [wings, 

And  my  zeal  to  save  thy  innocent  self,  like 
Sbidi  bear    me    up.  above    the    brackish 

waves. 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


nd 


Aminta.   Will  ye  then  leave  me?  ^iU 

now  I  ne*er  was  wretcl  v;H  **. 

Alb.  My  best  Aminta,  I  swear  by  good* 

ness,  'tis  not 
Hope,  nor  fear,  of  myself,  that  invites  me 
To  this  extreme ;  'tis  to  supply  thy  wants : 

and  believe  me, 
Tho'  pleasure  met  me  in  most  ravishing  forms. 
And  happiness  courted  me  to  entertain  her^ 
I  would  nor  jcat  nor  sleep,  till  I  returned 
And  crown'd  thee  with  my  fortunes. 
,  Aminta.  Oh,  but  your  absence-^      [ni*y> 

Alb.  Suppose  it  but  a  dream,  and,  as  you 
Endeavour  to  take  rest!  And  when  that  sleep 
Deceives  your  hunger  with  imagined  food. 
Think  you  have  sent  me  for  discovery 
Of  some  most  fortunate  continent,  yet  ua* 

known, 
Which  you  are  to  be  queen  of !— ^ 
And  now,  ye  pow'rs  tliat  e'er  heard  lover%' 

prayers, 
Or  cherish'd  pure  affection,  look  on  him 
That  is  your  votary;  and  make  it  known, 
-Against  all  stops,    you   can  defend    your 

own !  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Hippolita,  CrocalCy  and  JuUtta. 

Hip.  How  did  we  lose  Clarinda  ? 

Croc,  When  we  belie v'd  the  stag  was  spent. 
And  would  take  soil,  the  sight  of  the  Black 

Lake, 
Which  we  supposed  he  chose  for  hisJast  refuge. 
Frighted  him  more  than  we  that  did  pursue 

him.  [terrible 

Jul.  That's  usual ;  for  death  itself  is  not  so 
To  any  beast  of  chaso. 

Hip.  Since  we  liv'd  here. 
We  ne'er  could  force  one  to  it. 

Croc.  'I'is  8f}  dreadful,  [air 

The  birds  that  with  their  pinions  cleave  th« 
Dare  not  fly  o'er  it.  When  the  stag  turn'd 
Ai)d  we  even  tir'd  with  labour,  [head, 

Clarinda,  as  if  she  were  made  of  air 
And  fire,  and  had  no  part  of  earth  in  her, 
Eagerly  pursu'd  him :  [yields 

Nor  need  we  fear  hef  safety;  this   place 
Not  fawns  nor  satyrs,  or  mosi  lustful  .iicn; 
Here  we  live  secure. 

And  have  among  ourselves  a  commonwealth. 
Which  in  ourselves  begun,  with  us  must  end. 

Jul.  Ay,  there's  the  misery! 

Croc.  But  being  alone, 
Allow  me  freedom  but  to  speak  my  thoughts ! 
The  strictness  of  our  governess,  that  forbids  us, 

■'  Again,  this  way  the  gentle  zcind  conveys  it  to  us.]   Sympson  seems  positive  Uiat  *  the 
^word  again  is  only  an  order  for  the  horns  to  sound  a  second  time,'  and  therefore  places  it 
as  a  marginal  direction :  but  we  think  it  might  very  well  be  a  part  of  the  text. 
*♦  Aminta.  Will  ye  then  leave  me  f 

Allj.  Till  now  I  ne'er  was  wretchid.]  This  is  the  most  material  corruption  in  the  sense 
that  I  have  met  with  in  this  play.  The  pretty  softness  and  tender  fears  of  AmirUa  ara 
given  to  Albert.    I  read, 

Aminta*  Will  ye  leave  me  then?  'till  now  I  ne'er  was  wretched. 
Alb.  My  best  Aminta,  I  swear  by  goodness,  'tis 
Not  hope,  &c        Seward, 
VOL.  III.  H  h  On 


234 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


On  pdn  of  death,  the  sight  and  use  of  men. 
Id  more  than  tyranny :  for  herself,  she*s  past 
lUiose  youthful  heaLs,  and  feels  not  the  want 
Of  that  which  young  maids  long  for :  and 

her  daugliter, 
The  fair  Clarinda,  tho'  in  few  years  improved 
In  height  and  large  proportion,  came  here  so 

young, 
1  hat,  scarce  rememhriug  that  she  had  a  father, 
She  never  dreams  of  man ;  and  should  she 

see  one, 
In  my  opinion,  a*  would  appear 
A  strange  beast  to  her. 

Ju/.  Tis  not  so  with  us.  [made  for 

Hip.  For  my  part,  I  confess't,  I  was  not 
This  single  life ;  nor  do  I  love  hunting  so. 
But  that  I  had  rather  be  the  chase  myself. 

Croc,  By  V'enus  (out  upon  me!  I  should 

have 
Swofn  by  Diana),  I'm  of  thy  mind  too,  wench : 
And  thu'  I  liave  ta'en  an  oath,  not  alone 
To  detest,  but  never  to  think  of  man, 
JlvVy  hour  something  tells  me  Vm  forsworn ; 
For,  I  confess,  imagination  helps  me 
Sometimes,  and  that's  all's  left  for  us  to  feed  on ; 
We  might  starve  else ;  for  if  I've  any  plea- 
sure in 
This  life,  hut  when  I  sleep,  I  am  a  Pagan. 
Then,  from  tlie  courtier  to  the  country  clown^ 
I  have  strange  visions — 

Jul.  Visions,  Crocale  ? 

Croc.  Yes,  and  fine  visions  too ; 
And  visions  I  hope  in  drean\s  are  harmless. 
And  not  forbid  by'  our  canons.    The  last 

night 
(Troth,  'tis  a  foolish  one,  but  I  must  tell  it) 
As  I  lay  in  my  cabin^  betwixt  sleeping  and 

Jlip.  Upon  your  back  ?  [waking— 

Croc.  How  should  a  young  maid  lie,  fool^ 
When  she  would  be  intranc'd  ? 

Hip.  We  are  instructed; 
Forward,  I  prithee. 

Croc.  Methought  a  sweet  young  mai^, 
In  years  some  twenty,  with  a  downy  chin. 
Promising  a  future  beard,  and  yet  no  red 

one*^, 
Stole  slily  to  my  cabin  all  unbrac'd. 
Took  me  in's  arms,  and  kiss'd  me  twenty 
Yet  still  I  slept.  [times ; ' 

Jui.  Fy !  thy  lips  run  over,  Crocale. 
But  to  the  re^t! 

Croc.  Lord,  what  a  man  is  this, 
Thought  I,  to  do  this  to  a  maid!  Yet  then 
For  my  life  I  could  not  wake.    The  youth, 
A  little  daunted,  with  a  trembling  hand 
Heav'd  up  the  cloaths. 

Hip.  Yet  still  you  slept? 

Croc,  rtaitli,  I  did. 


fAct  s; 

by  my 


And  when,  methoughts,  he  was  ^ 

side. 
Thinking  to  catch  him,  I  stretch'd  out  both 

mine  arms ; 
And  when  I  felt  him  soty  I  shrieked  out. 
And  wak'd  for  anger. 

Hip,  Twas  a  pretty  dream! 

Croc.  Ay,  if  it  had  been  a  true  one. 
[Albert  discovered  fyif^  along  upon  tkeihon, 

Jul.  But  stay! 
What's  here  cast  on  the  shore  f 

Hip.  It  is  a  man : 
Shall  I  shoot  him  ? 

Croc.  No,  no,  'tis  a  handsome  beast ; 
'Would  we  had  more  o'th'  breed!   Stand 

close,  wenches, 
And  let^s  hear  if  he  can  speak ! 

Aib.  Do  I  vet  live  ? 
Sure  it  is  air  I  breathe !  What  place  is  this  f 
Sure   something  more  than  hunum  keepf 

residence  here, 
For  I  have  past  the  Stygian  gulph. 
And  touch  upon  the  blessed  shore:  'tis  so; 
This  is  th'  Eljrsian  shade;  these,  happy  spirit!. 
That  here  enjoy  all  pleasures ! 

Hip,  He  makes  towards  us. 

Jul.  Stand,  or  I'll  shoot! 

Croc.  Hold !  he  makes  no  resistance. 

Alb.  Be  not  offended,  goddesses,  tlAt  I  fall 
Thus  prostrate  at  y(»ur  feet!  or,  if  not  such. 
But  nymphs  of  Dian's  train,  that  range  these 

groves. 
Which  you  forbid  to  men;  vouchsafe  to  know* 
I  am  a  man,  a  i^icked  sinful  man : 
And  yet  not  sold 

So  far  to  impudence,  as  to  presume 
To  press  upon  your  privacies,  or  provoke 
Your  heavenly  angers!  'tis  not  for  myself 
I  beg  tlius  poorly;  for  I'm  already  wounded. 
Wounded  to  death,    and  faint;    my  last 

breath  is  fur 
A  virgin,  comes  as  near  yourselves  in  all 
Perfection,  as  what  is  mortal  may 
Resemble  things  divine.    Oh,  pity  her, 
And  let  your  charity  free  her  from  that  desart. 
If  beav'nly  charity  can  reach  to  hell; 
For  sure   that  place  comes  near  it!  and 

where-e*er 
My  ghost  shall  find  a6odc,  eternally 
I  b\m\  pour  blessings  on  ye! 

Hip.  By  my  life, 
I  cannot  hurt  him ! 

Croc.  Tho*  I  lose  my  head  for't. 
Nor  I ;  I  must  pity  him,  and  will. 


Enter  Clarinda, 


Jul.  But  stay! 
Clarinda ! 


*'  And  yet  no  red  one."]  Painters  used  frequently,  in  the  times  of  our  authors,  topourfrSv 
Judas  with  a  red  beard.  In  manyof  our  old  plays,  a  Judas  beard,  or  .Tudas-coloured  beard, 
are  mentioned ;  and  to  this  circumstance,  joined  to  Judas's  being  a  deceiver,  our  author 
seems  here  to  allude.  See  Leland^s  Collectanea,  vol.  v.  p.  295,  where  it  is  said,  p^interd 
Consumtly  represented  Judas  the  traytor  with  a  red  beard,        R, 

3ee  also  p.  195,  of  this  volume. 

Cler. 


Ad  2.] 

Ciar,  What  new  fame  have  ye  found  here  ? 
Ha! 
"What  beast  is  this  lies  wallowing  in  his  gore? 
Croc  Keep  off^!  ' 

Ckr.  Wherefore,  I  pcay?  I  never  turn'd 
From  a  fell  lioness  robVd  of  her  whelps; 
^nd  shall  I  fear  dead  carrion? 
JuL  Ohy  but— 
Ciar,  But,  what  is't  ? 
Hip.  It  is  infectious. 
Clar.  Has  it  uot  a  name  ? 
Cfiic.  Yes; 
Bat  such  a  name,  from  which,  as  from  tlie  devil, 
Your  mother  commands  us  fly. 
CUar,  Is  it  a  man  ? 
Croc.  It  is. 

Clmr.  What  a  ^rave  shape  it  has  in  death ! 
How  excellent  would  it  appear,  liad  it  life ! 
Why  should  it  be  infectious  ?  I  have  heard 
My  mother  say,  I  had  a  &ther; 
And  was  not  he  a  man  ? 

Croc.  Questionless,  madam. 

Clar.  Your  iiithers  too  were  men  ? 

JuL  Without  doubt,  lady. 

Clar.  And  without  such  it  is  impossible 
We  could  have  been  ? 

H^}.  A  sin  aj^nst  Nature  to  deny  it. 

Clar.  Nor  ^i  you  or  I  have  any  hope  to 

be  a  mother, 
Without  the  help  of  men. 

Croc.  Impossible!  [that  knew 

Clar.  Which  of  you  then,  most  oarbarous, 
You  from  a  man  had  beiu)^)  and  owe  to  it 
The  name  of  parent,  durst  presume  to  kill 
The  likeness  of  that  thing  by  which  you  are? 
Whose  arrows  made  tliese  wounds  ?  speak, 

or,  by  Dian, 
Without  distinction  Fll  let  fly  at  ye  all! 

Jul.  Not  mine. 

Mip.  Nor  mine. 

Croc.  TLs  strange  to  see  her  mov'd  thus. 
Restrain  your  fury,  madam !  had  we  kilPd  liim, 
W'e  had  but  perfonn*d  your  mother's  com- 
mand, [things, 

Clar.  But  if  she  command  unjust  and  cruel 
We're  not  t'  obey  iL 

Croc.  We  are  innocent :  [shore. 

Some  storm  <^id  cast  him  shipwreck'd  on  the 
As  you  see  wounded:  nor  durst  we  be  surgeons 
To  such  youur  mottier  doti)  appoint  for  death. 

Clar.  Wtak  excuse !  wljere's  pity  ?      [ful, 
VVbere*ssoft  compassion?  Cruel  and  ungrate- 
Did  Providence  offer  to  your  charity 
But  one  poor  subject  to  express  it  on. 
And  in't  to  sliew  our  wants  too ;  and  could  you 
So  carelessly  neglect  it? 

Hip.  For  aught  I  know,  [mother, 

He's  living  yet ;  and  you  may  tempt  your 
By  giving  him  succour. 

Clar.  lia!  come  near,  I  charge  ye. 
So!  bend  his  body  softly ;  rub  his  temples; 
Nay,  that  shall  be  my  office :  bow  the  reel  bteals 
Ifito  his  pale  lips!  Run  and  fetch  the  sim^ples 
With  which  my  mother  heal*d  my  arm,  wlien 
Was  wounded  by  the  boar.  [last  I 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


535 


Croc.  Do ;  but  remember 
Her  to  come  after  you,  that  she  may  beliold 
Her  daughter's  charity ! 

Clar.  Now  he  breathes!  [Exit  Hip. 

The  air  passing  thro'  th'  Arabian  proves 
Yields  not  so  sweet  an  odour :  prithee  t;vsre  i^ 
Taste  it,  good  Crocale!  yet  I  envy  theo 
So  great  a  blessing.     Tis  not  sin  to  touch 
Tbese  rubies,  is  it? 

Jul.  Not,  I  think.  [could 

Clar.  Or  thus  to  live,  camelion-like  ?  I 
Resign  my  essence  to  live  ever  thus. 
Oh,  welcome !  Raise  him  up  gently.    Some 

soft  liand  [W  hat  fury. 

Bound  up  tliese  wounds:  a  woman's  hair? 
For  which  my  ignVnnce  does  not  know  a  name, 
Is  crept  iuto  my  breast  ?  But  I  forget 

Enter  HippoUta. 

,  My  pious  work.    Now  if  this  juice  hath 

power. 
Let  it  appear!  His  eye-lids  ope:  prodigious! 
Two  suns  bi^ak  from  these  orbs  ][this? 

Aib.  Ha!  where  am  I?  what  new  vision's 
To  what  goddess  do  I  owe  this  second  life  ? 
Sure  thou  art  more  than  mortal! 
And  any  sacritice  of  th,anks  or  duty 
In  poor  and  wretched  man  to  pay,  comes  short 
Of  your  immortal  bounty  :  but  to  shew 
Fm  not  unthankful,  thus  in  humility 
I  kiss  the  happy  ground  you  have' made  sacred. 
By  bearing  of  your  weight. 

Clar.  No  goddess,  friend,  [are; 

But  made  of  that  same  brittle  mould  as  yon 
One  too  acquainted  with  calamities, 
And  from  that  apt  to  pity.     Charity  ever 
Finds  in  the  act  reward, and  needs  no  trumpet 
In  the  receiver.    Oh,  forbear  this  duty ! 
1  have  a  hand  to  meet  with  yours,  and  lips 
To  bid  yours  welcome. 

Croc.  I  see  that,  by  instinct, 
Tho'  a  young  maid  hath  never  seen  a  man. 
Touches  have  titillations,  and  inform  her. 

Enter  Rosellia, 

But  here*4  our  governess:   now  I  expect  a 
storm.  [unspotted  mind, 

Ros.  Child  of  my  flesh,  and  not  of  my  fair 
Unhand  this  monster! 
Clar.  Monster,  mother? 
Kos.  Yes; 
And  every  word  he  speaks,  a  syren's  note, 
To  drown  the  careless  hearer.    Have  I  uot 

taught  thee 
The  falshood  and  the  perjuries  of  men, 
On  whom,  but  for  a  woman  to  shew  pity, 
Is  to  be  cruel  to  herself?  The  sovereignty 
Proud  and  imperious  men  usurp  upon  us. 
We  confer  on  ourselves,  and  love  those  fetters 
We  fasten  to  our  freedoms.    Have  we,  Clar 

rinda. 
Since  thy  father's  wreck,  songht  liberty. 
To  lose  It  uncompell'd  ?  Did  fortiine  guide,. 
Or  rather  destiny,  bur  bark  (to  which 
We  could  appoint  no  port)  to  tliis  blest  place, 
H  h  «  Inhabittd 


S50 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


[Act  5. 


Inhabited  heretofore  by  warlike  women,  • 

That  kept  men  in  subjection?  did  we  then, 

By  their  example,  after  we  had  lost 

All  we  could  love  in  man,  here  plant  ourselves. 

With  execrable  oaths  never  to  look 

On  man,  but  as  a  monster?  and  wilt  thou 

Be  the  first  precedent  to  infringe  those  vows 

We  made  to  lle:;ven  ? 

Ciar.  Hear  me,  and  hear  me  with  justice! 
And  as  you  are  delijrhted  in  the  name 
Of  mother,  hear  a  daughter  that  would  be 

like  you !  [iieixe 

Should  all  women  use  this  obstinate  abbti- 
You  would  force  upon  us,  in  a  few  years 
The  whole  world  would  be  peopled  only  witli 

beasts, 

J£ip,  We  must  and  will  have  men. 

Croc.  Ay,  or  we'll  shake  off  all  obedience. 

Ros.  Are  ye  mad  ?    can  no   persuasion 

alter  ye? 
Suppose  you  had  my  suffratre  to  your  suit. 
Can  this  shipwreck'd  wretch  supply  ye  all  ? 

Alb.  Hear  me,  great  lady  ! 
Fve  fellows  ill  my  mi^t.-y.  not  far  hence, 
Ipivided  only  by  this  hellish  river, 
There  live  a  company  ot  wretched  men^ 
Such  as  your  chariu  may  mnke  your  slaves: 
Imagine  all  the  miseries  mankind 
IVlay  suffer  under,  and  they  groan  beneath 'em. 

Ciar.  But  are  they  like  to  you  ? 

Jul.  Speak  they  your  lan^ua^e  ? 

Croc.  Are  they  able,  lusty  men? 

Alh.  They  were,  good  ladies, 
And  in  their  May  of  youtl.,  of  gentle  blood, 
And  such  ps  may  deserve  ye:  now  cold  and 

hunger 
Have  let  en'u  their  ptrfection;  but,  restored 
To  what  the  v  were,  1  doubt  not  they'll  appear 
your  favours. 


Jul.  This  is  a  blessing 
We  durst  not  hope  for. 

Clnr.  Dear  motlier,  ben't  obdurate ! 
Jlos.  Hear  then  my  resolution,  and  labour 
not 


To  add  to  what  Y\\  grant!  for  'twill  be  frait- 

less.  -     / 

You  shall  appear  as  good  as  angels  to  these 

wretched  men ; 
In  a  smad  boat  we  will  pass  over  to  'em. 
And  bring  'em  comfort :    if  you  like  their 

persons,  [nothing — 

And  they  approve  of  yours,  for  we'll  force 
And  gince  we  want  ceremonies. 
Each  one  shall  chuse  a  husband,  and  enjoy 
His  com  any  a  month ;  but  that  expir'd. 
You  shall  no  more  come  near  Vm :  if  yon    / 

prove  fruitful. 
The  males  ye  shall  return  to  them,  the  females 
We  will  resene  ourselves.    This  is  the  ut* 

most 
Ye  shall  ever  obtain.—  As  ye  think  fit, 
'Ye  may  dismiss  this  stranger,  and  prepare 
To-morrow  for  the  journey.  [Exit. 

Clar.  Ccme,  sir,  will  ybu  walk  ? 
We'll  shew  you  our  pleasant  bowers,  and 

something  vou 
Shall  find  to  cheer  your  heart. 

Alb.  Excellent  lady, 
Tl  o'  'twili  appear  a  wonder,  one  near  starv'd 
ShouM  refuse  rest  and  meat,  I  must  not  take 
Your  noble  oifer:  I  left  in  yondef  desart 
A  virgin  ulmost  pin'd. 

C(ar.  She's  not  your  wife  ?        [dangerous 

Alb,  No,  lady,   but  my  sister. — Tis  now 
To  speak  truth. — To  her  I  deeply  vow*d 
Not  to  taste  food,  or  rest,  if  fortune  brought 

it  me. 
Till  I  blest  her  with  my  return  :  now  if 
You  please  t* afford  me  an  easy  passage  to  her, 
And  some  meat  for  her  recovery, 
I  shall  live  your  slave,  and  thankfully  she  shall 
Ever  acknowledge  her  lite  at  your  service. 

Clar.  You  pleud  so  well,  I  can  deny  yoB 

nothing : 
I  myself  will  see  you  furnished,  and  with 
The  next  sun  visit  and  relieve  thee. 

Alb.  You're  all  goodness !  [Esewit. 


ACT  III. 


Enter   severally,    Lamurey  Franville,  ar^ 
Morillat, 

Lam.  f^H!  what  a  tempest  have  I  in  my 

^-^  *  stomach  !  [ache ; 

How  my  empty  guts  cry  out!  my  wounds 

Would  they  would  bleed  again,  that  I  might 

Something  to  quench  my  thirst !  [get 

Fran.  Oh,  Lamure,  the  happiness  my  dogs 

had  [storehouse, 

When  I  kept  house  at  home  I  they  had  a 

A  storehouse  of  most   blessed  bones  and 

crusts. 


Happy  crusts !  Oh,  how  sharp  hunger  pinches 


Tn*» ' 


\ExU. 


Mor.  Oh,   ray  importunate  belly !  I  have 
nothing  to  satisfy  thee:  [carry  me, 

F\'e  sought  as  far  as  my  weak  legs  woirfd 
Yet  can  find  nothing,  neither  meat  nor  water, 
Nor  any  thing  that's  Tiourishing.  Mv  belly 
Is  grown  together  like  an  empty  satcliel. 

lie-enter  Franville. 

Lam.  How  now  ?   what  news  ? 
Mor.  Hast  any  meat  yet? 
Fran.  Not  a  ih  that  I  can  see ; 

Ucre 


Act  3.] 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


t9r 


Here  be  goodly  qnarrieSy  but  they  be  cruel 

hard  to  gnaw. 
I  ha'  got  some  mad  (we  will  eat  with  spoons), 
Very  good  thick  mud ;  but  it  stinks  damnably: 
There's  old  rotten  trunks  of  trees  too, 
But  not  a  leaf  nor  blossom  in  all  th'  island. 

Lam,  How  it  looks! 

Mor.  It  iitinks  too. 

Lam.  It  may  be  poison. 

Fran,  Let  it  be  any  thing,  so  I  can  get  it 

down!  Why,  man, 
Poison*s  a  princely  dish ! 

Mar.  Hast  thou  no  biscuit?  [doublet, 
No  crumbs  left  in  thy  pocket?  hcre*s  my 
Give  me  but  three  small  crumbs. 

Fran.  Not  for  three  kincrdoms. 
If  I  were  master  of  'em.    Oh,  Lamure, 
But  one  p«*or  joint  of  mutton  we  ha'scom'd, 

man! 

Lam.  Thou  dpeak'st  of  paradise. 

Fran.  Or  but  the  snutk  of  those  healths 

we  have  lewdly 
At  midnight  flang  away  ! 

JIfor.  Ah,  but  to  lick  the  glasses! 


Enter  Surgeon, 


what 


Frum,    Here  comes  the  Surgeon 

hast  thou  discovered  ? 
Smile,  smile,  and  comfort  us. 

Surgeon.  I  am  expiring ;  [tlemen ; 

Smile  they  that  can !  1  can  find  nothing,  gen- 
Here's  nothing  can  be  meat,  without  a  mi- 

racle. 
Oh,  that  I  had  my  boxes  and  my  lints  now, 
My  stupes,  my  tents,  and  those  sweet  helps 

of  nature, 
What  dainty  dishes  could  I  make  of  'em ! 

JWbr.  Hast  ne'er  an  old  jjuppository  ? 

Surgeon,  Oh,  would  I  )md,  sir!        [dial, 

Lam.  Or  but  the  paper  where  such  a  cor- 
Potion,  or  pills  hath  b<'en  entomb'd  ? 

Fran.  Or  the  blest  bhuider  where  a  cool- 

ing-clister —  [any  old  poultices? 

Mar.  Hast  thou  no  searcloths  left?  nor 

Fran.  We  care  not  to  what  it  hath  been 

ministerM.  [ties,  gentlemen. 

Surgeon.  Sure  I  have  none  of  these  dain- 

Fran.  Whcie*s  the  [shouUler* 

Great  wen  thou  cut'st  from  Hugh  tlie  sailor's 
That  would  serve  now  for  a  mobt  princely 

banquet. 

Surgeon.  Ay,  if  we  had  it,  gentlemen : 
I  flung  it  overboard,  slave  that  I  was  ! 

Lam.  A  most  unprovideut  villain  ! 

Su'geon,  if  I  had  any  thing  that  were  but 

supple  now !  [men, 

I  could  make  s.tllads  of  your  shoes,  gentle- 
And  rare  ones !  any  thing  unctuous. 

Mor.  Ay,  and  tlien  we  might  fry  the  soals 

i*tli'  sun; 


The  soals  would  make  a  second  dish. 

Lam.  Or  souse  'em  in  the  saltpwater  ; 
An  inner  soal  well  sous'd — 

Enter  Aminta. 

Fran.  Here  comes  the  woman ; 
It  may  be  she  has  meat,  and  may  relieve  us ! 
liCt's  withdraw,  and  mark,  and  then  be  readys 
She'll  hide  her  store  else,  and  so  cozen  us. 

Aminta.  How  weary  and  how  hungry  am  I, 
How  feeble  and  how  faint  is  all  my  body  I 
Mine  eyes,  like  spent  lamps  glowing  out'% 

grow  heavy, 
My  sight  forsaking  me;  and  all  my  spirits, 
As  if  they  heard  my  passing-bell  go  for  me. 
Pull  in  their  powers,  and  give  me  up  to  de»- 

tiny. 
Oh,  for  a  little  water  !  a  little,  little  meat^ 
A  little  to  relieve  ine,  ere  I  perisli  I 
I  had  whole  floods  of  tears  awhile  that  nou* 

ris  *d  me,  [bert  I 

But  they  are  all  consumed  for  thee,  dear  M" 
For  thee  they  are  spent,  for  tliou  art  dead; 
Merciless  Tate  has  swallowed  thee ! — Oh !  I 
Grow  heavy  ;  sleep's  a  salve  for  misery ; 
Heav'n  look  on  me,  and  either  take  my  life. 
Or  make  me  once  more  happy  ! 

Lam.  She's  fast  asleep  already. 
Why  should  she  have  this  blessing,  and  wt 

wake  still. 
Wake  to  our  wants? 

Mor.  This  thing  hath  been  our  overthrow. 
And  ail  these  biting  mischiefs  that  fall  on  us 
Are  come  thro*  her  means. 

Fran.  True ;  we  were  bound,  ye  all  know. 
For  happy  places,  and  most  fertile  islands. 
Where  we  had  constant  promises  of  all  things: 
She  turn'd  tiie  captain's  mind,  and  must  have 

him  go 
In  search,  I  know  not  of  who,  nor  to  whatend ; 
Of  such  a  focil  her  brother,  and  such  a  cox- 
comb her 
Kinsman,  and  we  must  put  in  every  where: 
Slie  has  put  us  in  now,  Tfaith! 

Lfim.  Why  should  we 
Consume  thus,  and  starve,  have  nothing  to  re* 

lieve  us, 
And  she  hve  there,  that  bred  all  our  miseries, 
Unronsted  or  unsod? 

Mor.  Vvc  read  in  stories — 

Lam.  Of  such  restoring  meats  we  have  ei- 

amnles,  [lent; 

Thousand  examples,  and  allowM  for  excel- 
Women  that  have  eat  their  children,  men 
Their  slaves,  nay  their  brothers;  but  these  are 

nothing;  [chattels); 

Husbands  devoured  their  wives  (they  are  their 
And  of  a  schoolmaster  that  in  a  time  of  famine 
Powder'd  up  all  his  scholars. 

Mor,  She's  young  and  tidy ; 


"  Like  spent  lamps  glowing  out.]  Perhaps  going  out;  for  though  glowing  out  may  properly 
express  the  blaze  which  the  candle  often  exerts  before  it  is  extinguished,  yet  this  is  not  a  cir- 
cumstance proper  to  the  context.  The  light  o^  Aminta^  eyes  was  fading'^radually.  But  as 
the  former  is  poetical,  I  would  not  propose  a  change  of  the  text.        Sumird, 

In 


9S8 


THE  SEA-VOYAGR 


[Acts. 


in  my  conscience,  sbe^'U  eat  delicately,  just 

like  yoting  pork, 
A  little  lean.    Your  opinion.  Surgeon  ?   . 

Surgeon.  I  think  she  may  be  made  good 

meat ;  bnt  lo^k, 
We  shall  want  salt. 

Fran.  Tush,  she  needs  no  powdering. 

Surgeon.  I  grant  you,  [means. 

But  to  suck  out  the  humorous  parts.    By  all 
Let's  kill  her  in  a  chafe;  she'll  eat  the  sweeter. 

Lam.  Let's  kill  her  any  way,  and  kill  her 

quickly: 
That  we  might  be  at  our  meat ! 

Surgeon.  How  if  the  captain — 

Jdtor.  Talk  not  of  him,  he's  dead,  and  the 

rest  famished. 
Awake  her,  Surgeon,  and  cut  her  throat ; 
And  then  divide  hex,  every  man  his  share ! 

Fran.  She  wakes  herself. 

Aminta.  Holy  and  good  things  keep  me ! 
What  cruel  dreams  have  I  had !  Who  are  these? 
Oh,  they're  my  friends !  For  Heav'n's  sake, 

gentlemen. 
Give  me  some  food  to  save  my  Hie,  if  ye 
Have  aught  to  spare,  a  little  to  relieve  me, 
I  may  bles^  ye !  for,  weak  and  wretched, 

ready  to  perish, 
£v'n  now  I  die 

Mor,  You'll  save  a  labour  then: 
You  bred  these  miseries,  aud  you  shall  pay 

for't.  .     [not. 

We  have  no  meat,  nor  where  to  have  we  know 
Kor  how  to  pull  ourselves  from  these  afflic- 
tions; [Ittded; 
We  are  starv'd  too,  famish'd,all  our  hopes  de- 
Yet,  ere  we  die  thus,  well  have  one  dainty 

meal, 

Aminta.  Shall  I  be  with  ye,  gentlemen  f 

Lam.  Yes,  marry  shall  ye ;  in  our  bellies. 
We  love  you  well —  [lady ! 

Aminta.  What  said  you,  sir? 

Lam.  Marry,  well  eat  your  ladyship. 

Fran.  You  that  have  buried  us  in  this  base 

island ; 
Well  bury  you  in  a  more  noble  monument. 

Surgeon.  Will  you  say  your  prayers,  that  I 

may  perform,  lady? 
We're  wondrous  sharp-set.  Come,  gentlemen; 
Who  ai-e  for  the  hinder  parts? 

Mor.  I. 

Fran.  I. 

Lam.  And  L 

Surgeon.  Be  patient ! 
They  will  not  fall  to  every  man's  share. 

Aminta.'  Oh,  hear  me. 
Hear  me,  ye  barbarous  men ! 

Mor.  Be  short  and  pithy; 
Our  stomachs  cannot  stay  a  long  discourse. 

Surgeon.  And  be  not  fearful ;  for  111  kill 

you  daintily. 

Amirita.  Are  ye  not  Christians  ? 

Lam.  Why,  don't  C hristians  eat* •,  woman  ? 


Enter  Tihali,  Matter,  and  Sail&rs. 

Aminta.  Eat  one  another?  'Tis  most  imr 

Surgeon.  Come,  come!  [piooi* 

Aminta.  Oh,  help,  help,  help! 

Tib.  The  lady's  voice !  [latns?  I  hart 
Stand  off,  slaves !  what  do  you  intend  vil* 
Strength  enough  left  me,  if  you  abuse  this  soul, 

to—  [my  liAs : 

Master.  They  would  have  rayish'd  her,  upon 
Speak !  how  was  it,  lady? 

Aminta.  Foig^ve  'em!  'twas  their  hungers. 

Tib.  Ha!  their  hungers? 

Master.  They  would  have  eaten  her, 

Tib.  Oh,  damned  villains ! 
Speak;  is  it  true? 

Surgeon.  I  confess  an  appetite. 

Tib.  A  n  appetite  ?  I'll  fitye  for  an  appetite! 
Are  ye  so  sharp-set,  that  her  flesh  must  serve 

you?  [ships. 

Murder's  a  main  good  service,  with  your  wor- 
Sioce  ye  would  be  such  devils,  why  did  you 
Begin  with  one  another  handsomely,  |no| 
And  spare  the  woman  to  beget  more  food  onf 

Aminta.  Good  sir — 

Tib.  You  shall  grow  mummy,  rascals; 
111  make  ye  fall  to  your  brawns,  and  your  but- 
tocks. 
And  worry  one  another  like  keen  bandogs, 

Aminta.  Good  sir,  be  merciful! 

Tib.  You  shall  know  what  'tis  to  be  damn'd 

canibais. 

Anunta.  Oh,  my  best  friend ! 

Enter  Albert. 

Alb.  Alas,  poor  heart!  Here,  [jou* 

Here's  some  meat  and  sovereign  drink  to  ease 
Sit  down,  gentle  sweet! 

Aminta.  I  am  bless'd  to  see  you. 

Tib.  Stir  not  within  forty  foot  of  this  food ! 
If  you  do,  dogs— 

Otnnet.  Oh,  captain,  captain,  captain ! 

Alb.  Ye  shall  have  meat,  all  of  you. 

Tib.  Captain,  hear  me  first:  hfurk!  'ds  so 

inhuman 
I  would  not  ha'  the  air  corrupted  with  it. 

[Whispers. 

Alb.  Oh,  barbarous  men !  Sit  oown,  Du- 

Pont !  good  Master, 
And  honest  sailors! 

IV6.  But  stand  you  off,  and  wait 
Upon  our  charity;  (I'll  wait  on  you  else!) 
And  touch  nothmg  but  what  is  flung  to  ye. 
As  if  you  were  dogs;  if  yon  do,      [carving! 
Ill  cut  your  fingers,  friends;  111  spoil  your 

Aminta.  There,  wretches,  there! 

Tib.  Eat  your  meat  handsomely  now. 
And  give  Heaven  thanks! 

Alb.  There  is  mor'e  bread. 

Tib.  See, 
They  snarl  like  dogs!  Eat  quietly,  you  rascals. 
Eat  f|uietly. 


*'  Don't  Christians  cat  women  ?j  Amended  in  1750. 


Alb. 


AdS.] 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


t39 


AB.  Thtn^s  drink  too. 

T}b,  Carney  come,  I  [feit. 

Will  fill  you  each  your  cups ;  ye  shall  not  sui^ 

Jmiuta.  And  what  have  you  discovei^d  ? 

JUb.  Sweet,  a  paradise, 
A  paradise  inhabited  widi  angels ; 
Sach  as  you  are ;  their  pities  make  'em  angels; 
They  gave  me  these  viands,  and  supplied  me 
With  these  precious  drinks. 

Ammta.  Shall  not  we  see  'em? 

Alb,  Yes,  they  will  see  you: 
Out  of  their  charities,  having  heard  our  story, 
Theyll  come,  and  comfort  us,  come  presently; 
We  shall  no  more  know  wants  nor  miseries. 

Amnta.  Are  they  all  women  ? 

ABf,  All,  and  all  in  love  with  us. 

Jjmn/a.  How?  [fortunes; 

Alb.  Don't  mistake;  in  love  with  our  mis* 
Tbeyll  dierish  and  relieve  our  men. 

lib.  Do  you  shrug  now, 
And  pull  up  your  noses  ?  You  smell  comfort. 
See,  they  stretch  out  their  legs  like  dottrels'^, 
Each  like  iT new  Saint  Dennxs^^ ! 

Alb.  Dear  mistress,  [here, 

When  you  would  name  me,  and  the  women 
CsU  me  your  brother ;  you  I'll  call  my  sister: 
And  pray  observe  this  all. — Why  do  you 

diange  colour,  sweet? 

Aminta.  Eating  too  much  meat. 

Alb.  Sauc*d  with  jealousy: 
Fj)  fy>  dear  saint !  i*faith,  you  are  to  blame ; 
^e  you  not  here  ?  here  fixed  in  my  heart? 

Omnes.  Hark,  hark! 

Enter  RoselUa,  Clarimla^  Crocak,  Hippolita, 
and  Juletta. 

Alb.  They're  come !  Sumd  ready,  and  look 

nobly. 
And  with  all  humble  reverence  receive  'em ! 
Oar  lives  depend  upon  their  gentle  pities, 
And  death  vyaits  on  their  anger. 

Albr.  SS&fe  the/re  fairies. 

716;  Be  tliey  devils,  devils  of  flesh  and  blood, 
Al^er  so  long  a  Lent,  and  tedious  voyage, 
To  me  they're  angels. 

Fron.  Ob,  for  some  eringoes^' ! 

Loan.  Potatoes,  or  cantharides ! 

Tib.  Peace,  je  rogues. 
That  buy  abilities  of  your  apothecaries! 
Had  I  but  took  the  diet  of  green  cheese 
And  onions  for  a  month,  I  could  do  wonders. 

JRos.  Are  these  tlie  jewels  you  run  mad  for? 

What  can 
Yoa  see  in  one  of  these,  to  whom  you  would 


Vouchsafe  a  gentle  touch  ?  Can  nothing  per- 
suade you 
To  love  yourselves,  and  place  your  happiness 
In  cold  and  chaste  embraces  of  each  other? 
Jul.  This  is  from  the  purpose. 
Hip.  We  had  your  grant 
To  have  them  as  they  were. 

Clar.  It  is  a  beauteous  creature ; 
And  to  myself  I  do  appear  deform'd, 
When  I  consider  her :  and  yet  she  is 
The  stranger's  sister ;  why  then  should  I  fear? 
She  cannot  prove  my  rival. 

Km.  *  When  voii  repent 
That  you  refus  d  my  counsel,  may  it  add 
To  your  afflictions,  that  you  were  forewarn 'd^% 
Yet  leap'd  into  the  gulph  of  your  misfortunes ! 
But,  have  your  wishes. 

Master.  Now  she  makes  to  us.  [bert, 

Aminta.  I  am  instnicted :  but  take  heed  jU- 
You  prove  not  false ! 

Alb.  You  are  your  own  assurance. 
And  so  acquainted  with  your  own  perfections. 
That  weak  doubts  cannot  reach  you;  tliere- 
fore  fear  not ! 

Rot.  That  you  are  poor  and  miserable  men. 
My  eyes  inform  me;  that  without  our  suc- 
cours, 
Hope  cannot  flatter  you  to  dream  of  safety. 
The  present  plight  you  are  in  can  resolve  you; 
That  to  be  merciful  is  to  draw  near 
The  heav'nly  essence ;  whether  you  will  be 
Thankful  I  do  not  question ;  nor  demand 
W^hat  country  bred  you,  what  your  names, 

what  manners : 
To  us  it  is  suflicient  we  relieve  [.You, 

Such  as  have  shapes  of  men ;  and  I  command 
As  we  are  not  ambitious  to  know 
Further  of  you,  that  you  on  pain  of  death 
Presume  not  to  enouire  what  we  are, 
Or  whence  deriv'd ! 

Alb.  In  all  things  we  obey  you ; 
And  thankfully  we  ever  shall  confess 
Ourselves  your  creatures! 

Ros.  You  sp^k  as  becomes  you. 
Pirst  then,  and  willingly,  deliver  up 
Those  weapons  wc  could  force  from  you. 
Aib,  We  lay  'em  down  most  gladly  at  your 
feet.  [wench ; 

2 16.  I  have  had  many  a  combat  with  a  tall 
But  never  was  disarm *d  before. 

Ros.  And  now,  hear  comfort : 
Your  wants  shall  be  supplied;  and  tho*  it  be 
A  debt  women  may  challenge,  to  be  sued  to, 
Especially  from  such  they  may  command. 


"  Dottrek.'l  A  dottrel  is  a  silly  kind  of  bird,  which  imitate  the  actions  of  the  fowler,  *till 
tt  last  be  is  taken :  if  the  fowler  stretches  out  a  leg,  the  bird  will  do  so  too.  So,  in  the  Devil 
15  an  Ass,  by  Ben  Jonson,  act  iv.  scene  5, 

*  We  have  another  ie^  strained  for  this  dottrel.* 
See  Whalley's  note.  R. 

"  Each  like  anew  St.  Dcnnit.']  The  lec^end  o£St.  Dew ««  affirms,  that,  afler  that  saint  was 
beheaded  at  Paris,  he  walked  from  theuce  ^^ith  his  head  in  his  hand  to  a  town  four  miles 
from  the  place  where  he  \\m  executed.  R. 

**  Eringoes — Potatoes.]  See  note  43  on  the  Elder  Brother. 

**  Tbatyou  vere  forward.]  Amended  by  Syuipsou. 

W> 


rio 


tHE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


[Acts. 


We  jdve  up  to  you  that  power;  and  therefore 
Freely  eacn  make  his  cfioice. 
Fran,  Then  here  T  fix. 
Mor.  Na^,  she  is  mine:  I  ey'd  her  first. 
Lam,  This  mine ! 

Tib.  Stay,  [lant; 

Good  rascals!  youVe  too  forward,  sir  Gal- 
You  are  not  giving  order  to  a  tailor 
For  the  fashion  of  a  new  suit : 
Nor  are  you  iu  your  warehouse^  master  Mer- 
chant! [bettere; 
Stand  backhand  give  your  betters  leave,  your 
And  grumble  not!  if  you  do,  as  Hove  meat, 
I  will  so  swinge  the  salt  itch  out  of  you. — 
Captain,  Master,  and  the  rest  of  us, 
That  are  brothers,  nnd  good  fellows,  we  have 
been  [follies: 
Too  late  by  th*  ears,  and  yet  smart  for  our 
To  end  therefore  all  future  emulation, 
If  you  please  to  trust  to  my  election, 
You  shall  say  I  am  not  partial  to  myselQ 
I  doubt  not  give  content  to  all. 

Omnes.  Agreed,  agreed !  [discreetly 

Tib,  Then,  but  observe  how  learned  and 
I  will  proceed;  and,  as  a  skilful  doctor 
In  all  the  quirks  belonging  to  the  game. 
Read  over  your  complexions !  For  you,  cap- 
tain, [serv*d. 
Being  first  in  place,  and  therefore  first  to  be 
I  give  my  judgment  thus :  for  your  aspect. 
You're  much  inciin'd  to  melancholy,  and  tliat 
Tells  me  the  sullen  Saturn  had  predominance 
At  your  nativity;  a  malignant  planet ! 
And  if  not  qualified  by  a  sweet  conjunction 
Of  a  sofland  ruddy  wench,  born  under  Venus, 
It  may  prove  fatal ;  therefore  to  your  arms 
I  give  this  rose-check*d  virgin. 


Clar,  To  my  wish ! 
rill  now  I  neVr 


*Till  now  I  neVr  was  happy. 

Aminta.  Nor  I  accursed. 

Tib,  Master,  *  [ceivc  too) 

You're  old,  yet  love  the  game,  (that  I  per- 
And  if  not  well  spurr*d  up,  you  may  prove 

rusty; 
Therefore  to  help  you,  here's  a  bradamonta. 
Or  I  am  cozened  iu  my  calculation. 

Croc,  A  poor  old  man  allotted  to  my  share ! 

Tib,  Thou  wouldst  have  two,  nay,  I  think 

twenty : 
But  fear  not,  wench ;  tho*he  be  oldhe*s  tough : 
Look  on  his  making;  he'll  not  fail,  I  war- 

Ros,  A  merry  fellow  !  [rant  thee. 

A  nd  were  not  man  a  creature  I  detest, 
I  ctiuld  endure  his  company. 

Tib,  Here's  a  fair  herd 
Of  does  before  me ;  and  now  fora  barren  one! 
For  tho'  I  like  the  sport,  I  do  not  love 
To  father  children.   Like  the  grand  signior, 
,Thus  I  walk  in  my  seraglio, 


And  view  'em  as  I  pass;  then  draw  I  fbith 
My  handkerchief,and  having  made  my  choicei 
I  tlius  bestow  it. 
Jios.  On  me  ? 
Tib,  On  you :  and  now 
My  choice  is  made,  to  it,  you  hungry  rascab! 

Alb,  Excellent! 

Bm,  As  I  love  goodness*', 
It  makes  me  smile,  i'  th'  beightb  of  all  mj 

fears.  [behold 

Clar,  What  a  strong  contention  you  maj 
Between  my  mother'^  mirth  and  anger! 

Tib.  Nay,  no  cojness !  be  mistress  of  your 
I  must  and  will  enjoy  you.  [wonl! 

Ro$.  Be  advis'd  fool ! 
Alas,  I  am  old !  how  canst  thou  hope  content 
From  one  that's  tiity  ? 

rt6.  Never  talk  of  it ;  [wards^ 

I  have  known  good  ones  at  threescore  and  up- 
Besides,  the  weather's  hot. 
And  men  that  have  experience  faer  fevers; 
A  teniperatediet  is  the  only  physic.  Your  julips, 
Nor  giiiacums,  prunellos,  camp  hire-pills,  nor 
Goord-vi-ater, come  not  nearyour old  woman; 
Youthful  stonlaciisare  still  craving,  tho' there 

be  [believe  me, 

Nothing  left  to  stop  their  mouths  with ;  aud 
I  am  no  frequent  giver  of  those  bounties. 
Laugh  on,  laugh  on,  good  gentlemen ;  do ! 
I  shall  make  holiday  and  sleep,  when  you 
Div  i'  th'  mines  'till  your  hearts  ache. 

Kos.  A  mad  fellow ! 
Well,  sir,  I'll  give  you  hearing,  and,  as  I  like 
Your  wooing  aud  discourse  : — But  I  must  tell 

you,  sir,  [sent, 

That  rich  widows  look  for  great  sums  in  pre* 
Or  assurances  of  ample  jointures. 

Tib.  That  to  me  is  easy, 
For  instantly  I'll  do  it.   Uearnie,  comrades! 

Alb,  Whatsay'st  thou,  Tibalt? 

Tib.  Why,  that  to  wooe  a   wench  with 

empty  hands  [gold, 

Is  no  good  heraldry;  therefore,  fat's  to  th' 
And  bhnre  it  equally ;  'twill  speak  for  us 
More  than  a  thousand  compliments  or  cringes, 
Ditties  stolen  from  Petrarch,  or  discourse 
From  Ovid :  besides,  'twill  beget  us  respect; 
And  if  ever  fortune  frienid  us  with  a  bark, 
Largely  supply  us  with  all  provision. 

Alb.  Well  advis'd ;  defer  it  not. 

Tib.  Are  ye  all 
Contented? 

Omnes,  We  are. 

lib.  Let  us  away  then! 
Straight  we'll  return,  and  you  shall  see  our 

riches.  [Eievnt 

Ros.  Since  I  knew  what  wonderand  amaze 

tuent  was^*, 
I  ne*er  was  so  transported. 


*'  Aminta.  An  I  love,  &c.]  It  seems  clear  that  this  speech  belongs  to  Roicllia:  her  pre- 
ceding speeches, 'and  those  that  follow  from  her  and  Clarinda,  shew  it. 

'*  kus.  Since  I  knew  what  wonder  and  amazement  teas,  &c.]  Seward  gives  this  speech  to 
Clarinda^  to  whom  he  thinks  it  must  belong, '  unless  RoscUia  had  spoke  it  below^  upon  sight 
*  of  lier  t»wn  treasure.' 

Clar. 


Act  4.] 


TIIE  SEA-VOYAGE- 


9il 


C/ar.  Why  weep  you,  gentle  maid  ? 
There  is  no  danger  here  to  such  as  you  $ 
Bsnish  fear!  for  with  us  I  dare  promise 
Yoa  shail  meet  all  courteous  entertainment. 

Croc.  We  esteem  ourselves  most  happy  in 

Hip.  And  bless  L>'^°' 

Fortiiue  that  brought  you  hither. 

C/flT.  Hark  iu  your  ear? 
I  love  you  as  a  friend  already;  ere  lonig 
You  shall  call  mc  by  a  nearer  name :  1  wish 
Your  brothec  well ;  I  know  you  appreliend 

Aminta,  Ay,  to  my  grief  I  do !  [me. 

Alas,  good  ladies,  there  is  nothing  left  me 
Bot  thanks,  to  pay  you  with. 

Ciar.  That's  more  than  yet 
You  stand  engaged  for. 

Enter  Albert,  Tibalt,  and  the  rest,  with  Trea- 
sure. 

Ros.  So  soon  returned  f  ^ 

Alb.  Here ;  see  the  idol  of  the  lapidary  ! 

Ttb,  These  pearls  for  which  the  slAvish  ne^ 

gro  dives 
To  th'  bottom  of  the  sea !       [chant  touches 

Lam.  Tu  set  which   th'  indu&trious  mer- 
At  either  pole ! 

Fran,  'the  uevei^failing  pnrcha<ie 
Of  lordships,  aud  of  honours  1 

Mur.  The  world's  mistress, 
That  can  give  ever^  thing  to  the  possessors ! 

Master.  For  which  the  sailors  scorn  tcm« 

pescuous  windsj 
And  spit  defiance  in  the  sea ! 

m.  Speak,  lady ! 
Look  we  not  lovely  now  ? 

Rus.  Ye»,  yes. — Oh,  my  stars ! 
Be  now  for  ever  blessed,  that  have  brought 
To  my  revenge  these  robbers ! — Take  your 

arrowh, 
And  nail  these  monsters  to  the  earth  [ 

Alb.  What  mean  you,  lady  ? 
In  what  have  we  offended  ? 

Ro$.  Oh,  my  daugliter! 


And  you  companions  with  me  mall  fortunes. 
Look  on  tiiesc  caskets,  and  these  jewels! 
These  were  <iur  own,  wheu  first  we  put  to  sea 
With  good  Sebastian ;  and  these  the  pirates 
That  not  alone  deprived  him  of  this  treasuity 
But  also  took  his  life. 

Croc.  Part  of  my  present  * 

I  well  remember  was  mine  own. 

Hip.  And  these 
Were  mine. 

JuL  Sure  I  have  worn  this  jewel. 

Ros.  Wherefore  do  you  stay  then^ 
And  not  perform  my  command? 

Alb.  Oh,  Heaven ! 
What  cruel  fate  pursues  us ! 

Tib.  I'm  well  enough  .serv'd, 
That  must  be  offering  jointures,  jewels. 
And  precious  stones,  more  than  I  brought 

with  me. 

Ros.  Why  shoot  vou  not? 

Clar.  Ilijar  me,  dear  mother; 
And  when  the  greatest  ci*uelty  is  justtc*e, 
Do  not  shew  mercy !  Death  to  these  starvM 

wretclje.s 
Is  a  reward,  not  punishnient :  let  *em  live 
To  undergo  the  full  weight  of  your  di^plea'• 

sure.  [ments 

And  that  they  may  have  sense  to  feel  the  tor-* 
They  have  deserv'd,  allow  'em  some  small 

pittance, 
To  linger  out  tlieir  tortures. 

Ros.  'Tis  well  counsellVl ! 

Onmes.  And  we  will  fbliow't 

Alb.  Hear  us  speak. 

Ros.  Peace,  dogs^. —  [reason. 

Bind  'em  last !  When  fury  hath  git'n  way  to 
I  will  determine  of  their  sufferings, 
Which  shall  be  horrid.  Vengeance,  tho'  blow* 

pac'd, . 
At  length  o'ertakes  the  gnilty ,  and  tlie  wrath 
Of  the  incensed  Powers  will  fall  most  sure 
On  wicked  men,  when  they  are  mobt  secure. 

[Exeunt, 


* 


ACT  IV. 


Unter  Raymond,    Sebastian,    Nicusa,   and 
Sailors^ 

1  Sailor.  XJERE's  nothinf^  sir,  but  poverty 

-■•-■'     and  hunger; 
No  promise  of  inhabitance;  neither  track 
Of  beast,  nor  loot  of  man !  We  liave  searched 

all 
This  rocky  desart,  yet  can't  discover  any 
Assurance  here  is,  or  hath  been,  such  men. 

S  Sailor.  Not  a  relique  of  any  tiung  they 

wore. 
Nor  mark  left  by  'em,  either  to  find  relief. 
Or  to  warn  others  from  the  like  misfortune ! 
Believe  it,  these  fellows  are  both  false,  aud, 

VOL.IiL 


To  get  a  little  succoen*  in  their  misery, 
Have  framVl  this  cunning  tale. 

Rat/m.  The  ship,  I  know,  is  French,  and 

own'd  by  pirates. 
If  not  by  Albert,  my  arch  enemy. 
You  told  me  too  there  was  a  woniau  with  'em, 
A  young  and  handsome  woman. 

Seb,  There  was  so,  sir. 

R/iy.  And  such  and  such  young  gallants. 

Nicusa.  We  told  you  true,  sir  ^ 
That  they*d  no  means  to  quit  this  island— 

Raym.  And  that 
Amidst  their  matiny^  to  save  your  lives^ 
You  got  their  ship  ^ 

Seb.  AU  19  most  certaioi  sir. 

1  i  Raym. 


S48 


THE  SEA-VQYAGE. 


[Act  4. 


M   1^1 1»    «<»«•     M*%n^f    yrrijMit     iwivutu      vr^ 

e«  [ssiy,  sir?)  liere  in 

".   The  earth  can't  swa^w  ^em; 


lia^.  Where  arr  they  then?  where  are 

tl)ese  men. 
Or  woman  ?  Wc  are  landed  where  your  ftiitbs 
Did  R<:sure  us  we  could  not  miss  their  siglits. 
For  this  news  we  took  ye  to  our  mercy, 
Keliev'd  ye^  when  the  furious  sea  and  taiuifec 
Strove  wiiR^li  should  first  devour  ye;  cLoath'd 
And  chcribh'd  ye;  us'd  ye  as  those  ye  say  ye 

are,  [shew  us 

Fair  gentlemen.  Now  keep  yotir  words,  and 
This  company  your  own  free  pities  spoke  of, 
These  men  ye  left  in  misery;  the  woinan*! 
Men  of  those  noble  breedings  ye  pretend  to 
Should  scorn  to  lie,  or  get  t^ir  food  with 

fklshood : 
Come,  direct  us. 

Seb,  Alas,  sir,  tliey  are  gone ;  [not. 

But  by  what  means,  or  providence,  we  know 

2  Stiilar.  Was  not  the  captain 
A  fellow  of  a  fiery,  yet  brave  nature, 
A  middle  stature,  and  of  brown  complexion  ? 

JNicum.  He  was,  sir. 

Ratpji.  '^fwas  Albert, 
Ami  my  ponr  w latched  sister! 

1  SaUor.  Twa»  he  certain;  [sea. 

I  ha'  been  at  sea  with  iiim,  many  tunes  at 

Raym.  Come,  shew  us  these  men ; 
Shew  us  presently,  and  do  not  dally  with  us! 

Seb.  We  left 'em  here^  (what  should  we 
This  place< 

^Sailor. 

they  have 
No  wmgs ;  they  can't  fly  sure^ 

Kai/m,  You  told  us  too 
Of  heaps  of  treasure,  and  of  sums  eonceal'd. 
That  set  their  hearts  a-<firc ;  we  see  no  such 

thing. 
No  such  sign-r  what  can  ye  say  to  purge  ye? 
What  have  ye  done  with  these  men  ? 

Nicvio.  We,  sir  ? 

Raym,  You,  sir; 
For  certain  I  believe  ye  saw  such  people. 
•  Seb.  By  all  that*s  good,  by  all  tnat*s  pure 
By  fdi  that's  holy —  [and  honest, 

Raym,  I  dare  not  credit  ye ; 
Ye've  so  abus'd  my  hope,  that  now  I  Iiate  ye. 

1  Sailor,  Let's  put    em  ia  their  ra«;ged 

cloaths  again,  [e*en 

Captain,  for  certain  they  are  knaves;  let's 
J^eliver  'em  to  tlieir  old  fruitful  farm ; 
Here  let  'em  walk  the  island !  [cies. 

jSc6.  If  ye  do  so,  we  shall  curse  your  mer- 

Nictisa.  Ilather  put  us  to  sea  again. 

Rtiipn,  Not  so;  [tians, 

Yet  this  I'll  do,  because  ye  say  yeVe  Chris- 
Tho'  I  hardly  credit  it.  Bring  in  the  boat, 
A  nd  ail  aboard  again,  but  these  two  wretches! 
Yet  leave  'eiu  four  days'  meat.    If  in  that 

time 
(For  I  will  search  all  nooks  of  thia  strange 

island) 

I  can  discover  any  track  of  these  men,  [ye; 

Alive  or  dead,  I'll  bear  ye  off,  and  honour 

If  not,  ye've  fouud  your  graves :  so,  farewell ! 

'^  [Exeunt. 


NicuMa.  That  goodness  dwells  above,  and 

knows  us  innocent,  [us! 

Comfort  our  hves,  and  at  hi5  pleasure  quit 

Seb.  Come,  cousin,  come !  Old  Time  wilk 

end  uur  story ; 
But  no  time- (if  we  end  well)  ends  our  glory. 

lExeunt. 

Enier  RjoUllld^  Qlarinda^  Crocaic,  Hippo^ 
liia,  ^ndJuUttu, 

Roi,  Use  'em  with  all  the  aftisterity  that 

may  be ; 
They  arc  our  slaves !  Turn  all  tliose  pities, 
Those  tender  reluctation^  chat  sliould  Us 

com«>  your  sex. 
To  stem  anger !  and  when  ye  look  upon  *eia. 
Look  with  those  eye5  that  wept  tliose  bitter 

sorrows,  ^ 

Those  cruelties  ye  suflTer'd  by  their  rapines  ? 
Some  five  days  hence  that  blessed  hour  comesy 
Most  happy  once  to  me,  that  knit  this  hand 
To  my  dear  husband';;,  [hoftr,  ladies-^ 

And  both  our  liearts  in  mutual  bands.  That 

Ciar.  What  of  that  hour  ? 

Rait.  Why,  on  tliat  hoar,  danghter. 
And  in  the  height  of  all  our  celebrations^ 
Our  dear  remembrances  of  that  dear  man. 
And  those  that  suffered  with  him,  our  fair 

kinsmen,  « 

Their  lives  shaUfall  a  sacrifice  to  vengeance, 
Their  lives  that  ruin'd  his ;  !tis  a  full  justice. 
I  will  look  glorious  in  their  bloods;  and  the 
i\lost  noble  spirit  of  Sebastian,  [pirates. 
That  perish'd  by  tlie  pride  of  these  Freuch 
Shall  smile  in  Heav'n,  and  bless  the  hand 

that  kill'd  'em. 
Look  strictly  all  unto  your  prisoners ; 
For  he  that  makes  a  scape  beyond  my  ven- 
geance, 
Or  entertains  a  hope  by  your  fair  usage — 
Take  heed,  I  say !   she  tliat  deceives  my 

trust —  [ligl»t 

Again  take  heed !  her  life — and  that's  but 
Neither;  her  life,  in  all  the  tortures 
My  spirit  can  put  on — 

Omti^,  We  shall  be  careful. 

Ros.  Do  so.  [Exit. 

Clar,  You're  angry,  mother,  and  you're 

old  too,  [per  you. 

Forgetting  what  men  are  ;  but  we  shall  tern- 
How   fare  your  prisoners,   ladies?  in  what 

forms 
Do  they  appear  in  their  afUictions? 

Juf.  Mine  fare  but  poorly;    for  so  Vm 
'TIS  uou»  of  my  fault.  [commanded ; 

CVar.  Of  what  sort  are  they? 

Jul.  They  say  they're  gentlemen,  but  they 

shew  iiiungrels. 

Clar.  How  do  they  su&r? 

Jul.  Faith,  like  bnyt; 
Tliey  are  fearful  in  all  fortunes;  when  I  smiley 
They  kneel  and  beg  to  have  that  face  con- 
tinued. 
And,  like  poor  slaves,  adore  the  grownd  I  ge 

on: ' 

When 


Actf] 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE- 


84d 


When  I  frown,  they  hang  their  most  dejected 

heads,  [of  bread, 

Like  tearful  sK^ep*hoands:  shew  'em  a  crust 
They'll  baintjoe  presently;  and  skip  like  npes 
For  a  sup  of  wine.     I'll  wliip  'em  like  hack- 

nies, 
Saddle  em,  ride  'em,  do  what  I  will  with  'em. 

Ctwr.  Tush,  these  are  poor  things.    Have 

they  names  like  Christians  f 

JuL  Very  fair  names;  Franville,  Lamure, 

and  iXlorillat ;  [very  handsomely, 

And  brag  of  great  kindreds  too.    They  oHer 
But  that  I  mn  a  fool,  and  dare  not  venture. 
Tbey  are  sound  too,  o*my  conscience. 
Or  very  near  upon  it. 

Clmr.  Fy;  away,  fopl! 

JuL  Tl)ey  tell  mC;  if  they  might  fafe  brought 

before  you,  [quence. 

They  would  reveal  tbings  of  strange  conse- 

C/dr.  Their  base  poor  fears ! 

JuL  Ay,  that  makes  me  hate  'em  too; 
For  if  they  were  but  manijr  to  tlieir  sufferance, 
Sure  I  sliould  strain  a  point  or  two. 

Ciar.  An  hour  hence  I  will  take  a  view 

of  *cm,  [too  ? 

And  liear  Iheir  business.  Are  your  men  thus 

Croc.    Mine?    no^  gentle  madam;  mine 

were  -not  cast 
In  such  base  moulds:  afflictions,  tortures, 
Are  names  and  natures  of  delight  to  my  men ; 
All  sorts  of  cruelties  they  meet  like  pleasures. 
I  have  but  two,  the  one  they  call  Du-Pont, 
Tibalt  Du-Pont;  the  other  the  Ship-Master. 

Clar.  Have  they  not  lives  and  fears  ? 

Croc.  Lives  they  have,  madam ;  [nions 
But  those  lives  never  link'd  to  such  compa- 
As  fears  or  doubts. 

Clar,  Use  'em  nobly; 
And  where  yon  find  fit  subjects  for  your 

pities, 
Let  it  become  ve  to  be  courteous ! 
My  mother  will  not  alvrays  be  thus  rigorous. 

Hip.  Mine  are  sailors,  madam ;  but  they 

sleep  soundly, 
And  seldom  trouble  me,  unless  it  be . 
Wlien  they  dream  sometimes  of  fights  and 

tempests; 
Then  tliey  roar  and  whistle  for  cans  of  wine, 
And  down  they  fling  me;  i^d  in  that  rage, 
(For  they  are  violent  fellows)  they  play  suc)i 

freaks!— > 
If  tbey  have  meat,  they  thank  me ;  if  none, 
They  heartily  desire  to  be  ha&g'd  quickly ; 
And  this  is  all  they  care. 

Clar.  Look  to  'em  diligently,  [serve. 

And  where  your  pities  tell  ye  they  may  de- 
Give  comfort ! 

Omnet.  We  will.  [Exeunt, 

Clar.  Come  hither;  be  not  frighted  I 

Enter  Aminta. 

Think  not  ye  steal  this  liberty,  for  we  give  it. 
Your  tender  innocence  assures  me,  vii-gin. 
You  had  no  share  in  those  wrongs  these  men 
didos; 


I  find  you  are  not  liardenM  in  such  mischiefs. 
Your  brother  was  misled  sure,  foully  misled. 

Aminta.  How  much  I  fear  these  pities ! 

Clar*  Certain  he  was,  so  much  I  pity  him; 
And  for  your  sake,  whose  eyes  plead  for 
For  Iiis  ow  n  sake—  [liim ;  nay/ 

Aminta.  Ha! 

Clar,  For  I  see  abont  him, 
(Women  have  subtle  eyes,  and  look  narrowly) 
Or  I  am  m|ich  abus'd,  many  fair  promises ; 
Nay,  beyond  those  too,  many  shadow'd  vin- 

Aminta.  I  tliink  he'e  good.  [tues. 

Clar.  I  assure  mysel  f  he  will  be ; 
And  out  of  that  assurance  take  this  comfort, 
(For  I  perceive  your  fear  hath  much  de- 
I  love  your  brother —  [  jected  you) 

Aminta.  ftladam?  [favour, 

Clar.  Nay,  do  not  take  it  for  a  dreamt«of 
That  comforts  in  the  sleep,  and  awake 
Indeed  I  loye  him.  [vanishes : 

Aminta.  Do  you  indeed  ?  [safety ! 

Clar.  You  doubt  still,  'cause  you  tear  liis 
Indeed  he  is  the  sweetest  man  I  ever  siiw ; 
I   think  the  best.     You  may  hear  without 

blushes;  [courtesy. 

And  give  me  thanks,  if  you  please,  for  ray 

Aminta.   Madam,    I    ever    must: — Yet, 

witness  Heaven,  [madam, 

They  are  hard  pull'd  firom  me, — Believe  me, 
So  many  imperfections  I  could  find*- 
(Forgive  me,  grace,  for  lying!)— and  such 

wants— 
(Tis  to  an  honest  use)— such  poverties, 
Both  in  his  main  proportion,  and  liis  mind 

too —  [lewdly^ 

There  are  a  hundred  handsomer — (I  lie 
Your  noble  usage,  madam,  hath  so  bound 
That  I  must  tell  you —  [me  to  you, 

Clar,  Come,  tell  your  worst. 

Aminta.  He  is  no  husband  for  you: 
I  think  you  mean  in  that  fair  way. 

Clar,  You've  hit  it. 

Aminta,  I'm  sure  [jgrerous,  madam, 

YouVe  hit  my  heart. — Y^ou  will  find  him  dan- 
♦As  tickle  as  the  flying  air,  proud,  jealous. 
Soon  glutted  in  your  sweets,  and  soon  for* 

getful. 
I  could  say  more;  and  tell  you  I've  a  brother, 
Another  brother,  that  so  far  excels  this. 
Both  in  ^icornamenf^of  man,  and  making— 

Clar.  If  you 
Were  not  his  sister,  I  should  doubt  you  mainly, 
Doubt  you  for  liis  love,  you  deal  so  cunningly. 
Do  not  abuse  me ;  I  have  trusted  you 
With  more  than  life,  with  my  fii-st  love;  be 
Of  me!  [careful 

Aminta.  In  what  use,  madam  ? 

Clar.  In  this,  lady: 
Speiik  to  him  for  me;  you  have  power  upon 

him; 
Tell  him  I  love  him,  tell  him  I  dote  on  lum ; 
It  will  become  your  tongue. 

Aminta.  Become  ray  grave ! 
Oh,  fortune,  oh,  ciirs'd  fortune! 

Clar,  Tell  iiim  his  tibeity, 
I  i  S  And 


M4 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


[Act  4. 


Aminla.  Then  pray  like  her  Uiat  seat  *eau 

Dp  you  like  wealth, 
Apd  mu6t  uoequaVd  beauty  ? 

Alb,  Peace!  indeed     , 
You'll  make  me  «ngry, 
'  Aminta,  'Would  I  were  dead  that  ask  it! 
Then  you  might  freely  like,  Und  I  forgive  you. 

Alb.  What  like?  and  who?  Add  not  more 

misery 
To  a  man  that's  fruitful  in  afflictions! 
Who  is*t  you'd  have  me  like/  who  sent  these 

Aminta.  I  must  telj.  {comforts  \ 

Alb.  Behold! 

Aminta.  But  be  you  tjetnperatej 
rf  yoif  be  bold,  I  die!    The  young  fair  virg^in— 
(Sorrow  hatii  made  me  old !)  Qh,  hearken. 
And  wisely  hark — the  governesb's  daughter, 
That  star  that  strikes  this  island  lull  of  ponder, 
That  blooming  sweetness — 

Alb.  What  of  her? 

Aminta.  She  sent  it;  [you, 

^nd  with  it — it  must  be  out! — SJie  dotes  oa 
And  mu^j;  enjoy  you ;  else  no  joy  must  fiii4 

you,  [this? 

Alb,  And  have  you  the  patience  to  dehver 

Aminta.  A  sister  may  say  much,  and  mo* 

Aib,  A  sister?  [desdy. 

Aminta.  Yes,  that  name  undid  you. 
Undid  us  both :  had  you  nam'd  wife,  sh*  bad 

fear'd  you,  [shunnM,  yea 

And  fear'd  the  sin  she  foUow'd;  she  bad 
Her  virgin  modesty  had  not  touched  at  you  : 
But  thinjving  you  were  free,  hath  kindled  a  fire, 
1  fear  will  hardly  be  extinguished. 

Alb.  Indeed  I  playM  tlie  fool. 

Aminta.  0)i,  my  best  sir,  take  hee<). 
Take  heed  of  lies!  Truth,  tho'  it  trouble 

some  minds,  [dangerous, 

Some  wicked  minds,  tliat  are  both  dark  and 
Yet  it  preserves  itself,  comes  off  pure,  in- 
nocent. 
And,  like  the  sun,  tho'  never  so  eclips'd, 
Must  break  in  glory.    Oh,  sir,  lie  no  more! 
■   Alb.  You've  read  mc  a  fair  lecture. 
And  put  a  spell  upon  my  tongue  for  feigning. 
But  how  will  you  counsel  now  ? 

\Aminla.  You  must  study  to  forget  me. 

Alb.  lio^vj 

Aminta.  Be  patient! 
Be  wise  and  patient^  it  concerns  you  highly. 
Can  you  lay  by  our  loves  ?  But  why  should 

I  doubt  it  ? 
You  are  a  man,  and  men  may  shift  afFectious; 
Tis  held  no  sin.    To  come  to  the  point ; 
Youmust  lose  me;  many  and  mighty  reasons — 

Alb.  Hear  me,  Aminta !  [feeds  you  ? 

Have  you  a  man  that  loves  you  too?  d«t 
That  sends  you  libcrtv?  has  this  great  governess 
A  noble  son  too,  young,  and  apt  to  catch  you? 
Am  I,  bcrnuse  I  am  in  bonds,  and  miserable, 

J  My  health  deca/d,  my  youth  and  strengih 
.        half  blasted, 

^'  And  though  be.neaihl\  The  sli^t  corruption  of  And  though  for  Although^  Mr.  Seward 
saw  and  correcUrd  with  me.       Sympfon*       <     «  • 

My 


And  all  tliose  with  him,  idl  oar  wealth  and 

jeivels — 
Good  sister,  for  I'll  call  you  so— 

Aminta.  I  shall,  Jady — 
E'en  die,  I  hope. 

Ciar.  litres  meat  and  wine,  (pray  take  it) 
And  there  he  lies :  give  him  iV bat  liberty' you 

please,  '  [please,  sister ! 

But  stili  conceal'd ;  what  pleasure  you  shall 
He  shall  ne'er  want  again.    Nay,  see  an 

you'U  take  it ! 
Why  do  you  study  thus? 

Aminta.  To  avoid  miscliiefs ; 
Jf  they  should  happen — 

Clar.  Go,  and-  b^  happy  for  mie. 

Aminta.  Oh,  blind  fortune ! 
Yet  happy  thus  far,  I  shall  live  to  see  him. 
In  what  strange  desolation  lives  heher^  now, 
Sure  thip  curtfiiu  will  reveal. 

Enter  Albert. 

Alb.  Who's  that  ?  ha !  [fort ; 

Some  gentle  ))and,  I  hope,  to  bring  mc  com- 
Or,  if  It  be  my  death,  'tis  sw  eetiy  shadow'd. 

Aminta.  Have  you  foi^ot mc,  sir? 

Alb.  My  Aminta  f 

j^ffiin^fl.  She,  sir,  [shadow; 

That  walks  here  up  and  down  an  jcropty 
One,  that  for  some  few  houi-s 
But  wanders  here, carrying  her  own  sad  coffin, 
Seeking  some  desart  place  to  lodge  her  griefs 

in. 

Alb.  Sweet  sorrow,  welcome!  welcome, 

noble  grief! 
|Iow  got  you  this  fair  hberty  to  see  me  ? 
J'or  sorroii's  in  your  shape  are  strangers  to  me. 

Aminta.  J  cotne  to  counsel  you. 

Alb.  You're  still  more  welcome; 
Tor  good   friends  in  afilijctions  give  good 

counsels. 
Pray  then  proceed. 

Aminta.  Pray  eat  first ;  you  sh^w  faint : 
][Iere*s  wine  to  refi*esh  you  too. 

Alb.  I  thank  you,  dear. 

lAminta.  Drink  again !  [weep  ? 

Alb.  Here's  to  our  loves ! — How !  turn  and 
JPray  pledge  it!  This  happiness  we  have  yet 

left. 
Out  hearts  are  free — Not  pledge  it?  why  ? 
^\  1  tho'  beneath  the  axe,  this  health  wefe  holy^^ . 
Why  do  you  weep  thus  ? 

Aminta.  I  conie  to  wooe  you. 

Alb.  To  wooe  me,  sweet?  I'm  woo'd  and 

won  already ;      ' .  >  s  -  [comes  you ! 

You  know  Tin  your^    This  pi-etty  way  be- 
But  you'd  lieCcivemy  sorrowt{;.that  is  your 

intent.   -  ■■  (vfeep-,  hut  smile. 

Aminta.  I  would  I  could!  -il  should  not 
J>'ye  like  your  meat  and  wine?   .'.••• 

Alb.  Like  it?  • 

^m^nta.  Do  you  like  your  liberty  f 

Alb.  All  these  I  well  may  like. 


JAy  fortune  iike  ray  waining  sel^  for  this 

dcspis'd  ? 
Am  I  for  this  forsaken?  A  new  love  chosen, 
And  my  aifectiousy  like  my  fortunes,  Wan- 
derers ? 
Take  heed  of  lying,  you  tliat  chid  me  for  it, 
And  shevv'd  how  deep  a  sin  it  was,  aud  dan- 
serous,  [me  dearly. 
Take  heed  yourself  J  You  swore  you  lovd 
No  few  nor  little  oatlis  you  swore,  Aminta; 
Those  seard  with  no  small  faith,  I   then 

assur'd  myself: 
Oh,  seek  no  new  ways  to  cozen  truth ! 

Aminta.  I  do  not :  by  Love  itself,  I  love 

thee, 
And  ever  must,  nor  can  all  deaths  dissolve  it ! 

Alb^  Why  db  you*  urge  mc  thus  tlien  ? 

Aminta.  For  your  safety; 
To  preserve  yoiir  life.  [gives  k, 

Alb.  My  life,  I  do  confess,  is  hers;  she 
And  let  her  take  it  back !  1  yield  it.  [it; 

My  love's  entirely  thine,  none  shall  touch  at 
I^one,  my  Aminta,  none. 

Avdnla,  YouVe  made  me  happy ; 
And  noiv  I  ktiow  you're  .mine^rortttney  I 

scorn  thee! 
Go  to  yonr  rest,  and  111  sit  by  you :  whilst 
Vve  time  I'll  be  your  mate,  and  comfort  you; 
Por  only  I  am  trusted.    You  shall  want 
Nothing,  not  a  liberty  that  I  can  steal  you. 
*  Alb.   May  we  not  celebrate  our  loves^ 

Aminta? 
And  where  our  wishes  cannot  meet-^ 

Atninta,  You're  wanton ; 
But  with  cold  kisses  I'll  allay  that  fever, 
(I.x)ok  tor  nb  more)  and  tliat  in  private'  too ! 
Believe  me^  I  shall  blush  else.     But,  lei's 
We  arc  both  lost  else.  ' '  [consider ; 

Alb.  Let's  inj  andpitsvent  fate.     [Exeunt. 

Enter  Crocale,  JuJetta,  Tibalt,  and  Master. 

Tib.  You  do  well  to  air  us,  ladies;  we 

shall  be  musty  else. 
What  are  your  wise  wills  now? 

Croc,  You're  very  crank  still. 

Tib.  As  crank  as  a  holy  fViar  fed  with 

hail-stohes. 
But  do  ye  bring  us  out  to  bait,  like  bulls  ? 

Master.  Or  are  you  weary  of  the  charge 

yc're  at? 
Tiira  us  abroad  again ;  let  us  jog,  ladies ; 
We're  gross,  and  coarse,  unlit  for  your  sweet 

pleasures.  [grass. 

Tib.  Knock  off  our  shoes,  and   turn's  to 

Croc.  You  are 
Determined  still  to  be  stubborn  then? 
It  well  becomes  yoa. 

Tib.  An  humour,  lady,  that 
Content^  a  prisoner :  a  sullen  fit  sometimes 
Serves  for  a  second  course. 

Jul.  Ye  may  as  well  be  kind, 
And  gain  our  favours ;  gain  meat  and  drink, 

and  lo  * 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


945 


To  rest  your  bones. 
Tib.  My  bones  have  borne  me  thu&  long. 


And  had  their  share  of  pains  and  recreations; 
If  they  fail  now,  they  are  no  fair  companions. 

Croc.  Arc  ye  thus  hui-sh  to  all  our  sex  ? 

Master.  We  can't 
Be  merry  without  a  fidler :  pray  strike  up 
Your  tabors,  ladies. 

Croc.  Tlie  fools  despise  us. 

Jul.  Wc  know 
Yc're  very  hungry  now. 

Tib.  Yes;  'tis  very  wholesome,  ladies; 
For  we  that  have  gross  bodies  must  be  careful. 
Have  ye  no  piercing  air  to  stir  our  stomachs.^ 
We  are  beholding  to  ye  for  our  ordinary. 

Jul.    Why,  slaves,  'tis  in  our  p«wer  to 

Master.  Very  likely:  [hang  ye. 

Tis  in  our  powers  then  to  be  hang'd,  and 

scorn  ye. 
Ilanging^s  as  sweet  to  us  as  dreaming  to  you. 

Croc.  Come,  be  more  courteous. 

Jul,  Do,  and  then  ye  shall 
Be  pleas'd,  and  have  all  necessaries. 

Tib,  Give  me 
Some  ratsbf^ne  then. 

Croc.  And  why  ratsbane,  monsieur? 

Ti6.  We  live  like  vennin  here,  and  eat  up 

your  cheese,  [>vould  bite  at ; 

Your  mouldy  cheese,  that  none  but  rats 
Therefore  'tis  just  that  ratsbane  should  re- 
ward us.  [broken ; 
We  are  unprofitable,  and  our  ploughs  are 
There  is  no  hope  of  harvest  tliis  year,  ladies. 

Jul.  Ye  shall  have  all  content. 


Master.  Ay,  an  we'll  serve  your  uses. 
I'd  rather  serve  hogs,  there  is  more  de 


mt; 


delight 


Your  greedy,  appetites  are  never  satisfied; 
Like  hungry  camels  just,  sleeping  or' waking 
You  chew  the  cud  still. 

Croc.  By  this  hand  we'll  starve  ye. 

Master.  'Tis  a' noble  courtesy:  I  had  as 

lief  ye 
Should*  famish  me,  as  founder  mc ;  to  be 
Jaded  to  death,  is  only  fit  for  a  hackney. 
Here  be  certain  tarts  of  tar  about  me, 
And  parcels  of  potargo  in  my  jerkin: 
As  long  as  thtse  last—  . 

Jul.  Which  will  not  last  ever. 

Tib.  Then   we'll  eat  one   another,    like 

good  fellows. 
A  shoulder  of  his  for  a  haunch  of  mine ! 

Jul.  Tis  excellent ! 

Tib.  'Twill  be,  as  we'll  dress  it,  ladies. 

Croc,  Why  sure  ye  are  not  men  ? 

Master,  Ye  had  best  come  search  us ; 
A  seaman  is  seldom  without  a  salt  eel. 

I'ib.  I  am  bad  enough. 
And  in  my  nature  a  notorious  wenclier ; 
And  yet  ye  make  me  blush  at  your  im- 
modesty. /      [things? 
Tell  me,  good  Master,  didst  e'er  see  such 

Master.  1  could  like  'em,  the'  they  were 

lewdly  giv'n,  % 

If  they  could  say  no;  but,  fy  on  'em! 


They  gape  like  oysters. 


Well,  ye  may  hang,  or  starve  us, 


But 


246 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


[Act  4. 


But  YOur  commanding  impudence  sliall  never 
Fear  us^^.    Had  ye  by  blushing  signs^  soft 

cunnings, 
Crept  into  us, and  shew'd  us  your  necessities; 
We'd  met  your  purposes,  supplied  your  wants. 
We  are  no  saints,  ladies : 
I  love  a  i;nod  wench  as  I  love  my  Jife, 
And  with  my  life  I  will  maintain  my  love; 
But  such  a  sordid  impudence  1*11  spit  at. 
Let's  to  oar  dens  again  !  Come,  noble  Master ! 
You   kiiow  our  minds,  ladies:   this  is  the 

faith 
In  which  we*U  die.  [Exe,  Tibalt  and  Master. 

Croc,  I  do  admire  'em. 

Jk/.  They 
Are  noble  fellows,  and  they  shall  not  want 
For  this. 

Croc.  But  see, Clarinda  comes.  Farewell! 
V\\  to  my  charge.  '  [Exit. 

Enter  Clarinda, 

Clar.  Bring  out  those  prisoners  now,  and 
let  me  see  'em, 

And  hear  their  business. 
JhL  I  will,  madam.  [Exit. 

Clar.  I  bopfs  she  hath  preyaird  upon  her 
brother.  [happiness 

Sh^  has  a  sweet  tongue,  and  can  describe  the 

My  love  is  ready  to  fling  on  him. 

And  sure  he  must  be  glad,  and  certain  won- 
der, [island. 

And  bless  the  houf  that  brought  him  to  this 

I  long  to  hear  the  full  joy  that  belabours  with. 

Enter  JuUtta,  Morillaty  Franville,  and  La- 
mure, 

Mor,  Bless  thy  divine  beauty ! 

Fran.  Mirror  of  sweetness ! 

Lam,  Ever  springing  brightness! 

Clar,  Nay,  stand  up,  gentlemen ;  and  leave 

your  flatteries.  [have 

Mor,  She  calls  us  gentlemen !  Sure  we  shall 

Some  meat  now !  [Heav'n, 

Clar.  I  am  a  mortal  creature;  worship 

And  give  these  attributes  to  their  divinities. 

Methmks  you  look  but  thin. 
Mor,  Oh^we  are  starved. 

Immortal  beauty. 

Lam.  We're  all  poor  starved  knaves. 
Fran.  Neither  liberty  nop  meat,  lady. 
Mor.  We  were  handsome  men,  and  gentle- 
men, and  sweet  men,  [ties; 

And  were  once  gracious  in  the  eyes  of  beau- 

But  now  we  look  Uke  rogues,  like  poor  starv'd 
rogues.  [now  ? 

Clar.  What  would  ye  do,  if  ye  were  to  die 
jFVan.  Alas,  we  were  prepaid.  If  you  win 
hang  US| 

Let's  haxn  a  good  meal  or  two  to  die  with. 

To  put  us  in  heart ! 

Mor.  Or  if  you'll  drown  us, 


Let  us  be  drunk  first,  that  we  may  die  SMirily. 
And  bless  the  founders! 

Clar.  Ye  sha'u't  die  so  hastily. 
What  dare  ye  do  to  deserve  my  favour? 
Lam,  Put  us  to  any  service. 
Fran,  Any  bondage. 
Let  us  but  live  ! 

Mor.  We'll  get  a  world  of  children; 
For  we  know  yo're  heinously  provided  that 

way: 

And  you  shall  b^t  us  when  we  ofiend  you. 

Beat  us  abundantly,  and  take  our  meat  from 

us.  ^       [shew  ye  poor  ones. 

Clar,  These  are  weak  abject  things,  that 

What's  the  j^eat  service  ye  ^o  oft  have  threat- 

en'd, 
If  ye  miffht  sfe  me,  and  win  my  favour? 
Jul.  That  business  of  discov'ry? 
Mor.  Oh,  I'll  tell  ye,  lady. 
Lam.  And  so  will  I. 
Fran,  And  I.  Pray  let  me  speak  firpt  f 
Mor.  Good  no  confusion  { 
We  arc  before  a  lady  that  knows  manners: 
And,  by  the  next  meat  I  shall  eat  'tis  certain, 
This  little  gentlewoman  that  was  taken  with 
us — 

Clar.  Your  captain's  ^ter?  she  you  mean? 
Mor.  Ay,  ay ; 
She  is  the  business  that  we'd  open  to  yon. 
You're  cozen'd  in  her. 

Clar.  How !  whatis't  you  would  open*'? 
Fran.  She  is  no  sister. 
Mor.  Good  sirs,  how  quick  ypu  are  i 
She  is  no  sister,  madam. 
Fran.  She  is  his— 
Mivr.  Peace,  I  say  ! 
Clar,  What  is  she  ? 
Mar,  Faith,  sweet  lady, 
She's,  as  a  mf^n  would  say,  his-* 
Clar.  What? 

Lam.  His  mistress.  [his— 

Mor,  Or,  as  some  new  translators  read, 
Clar,  Oh  me  !  [unless 

Mor.  And  why  he  should  delude  you  tlius, 
He  meant  some  villainy — ^These  ten  weeks  be 

has 
Had  her  at  sea,  for  bis  own  proper  appetite. 
Lam.  His  cabin^mate,  111  assure  you. 
Clar.  No  sister,  say  ye  ?  "[beauty. 

Mor.  No  more  than  I  am  brother  to  your 
I  know  no  twny  he  should  juggle  thus. 
Clar.  Do  not  lie  to  me !  [empty! 

Mor.  If  ye  find  me  lie,  lady,  bang  me 
Clar.  How  am  I  fool'd!  Away  with 'on, 
Juletta, 
And  feed  'em —  [inc, 

But,  hark  ye,  with  such  food,  as  they've  p^^ 
New  misery ! 

Fran.  N  or  meat  nor  thanks  for  all  th^  ? 
Clar,  Make  'em  more  wretched. 
Oh,  I  could  burst !  curse  and  kill  now, 


**  Fear  tts.]  i.  e.  Make  ut. fear. 

^'  How  !  what  is" I  you  would  open  ^]  This  speech,  so  evidently  Clarinda\  is  in  all  the  edi* 
lions  given  to  Lamure. 

Kill 


Act  5.] 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


S4T 


Kill  SD  J  thing  I  meet.     Juletta,  follow  xne. 
And  call  the  re*>t  along ! 
Jul»  We  follo-vVy  madam.  [Exeitnt, 

Enter  Albert  and  AnUnta, 

Aminta,  I  must  be  gone  now^  else  she  may 

suspect  me. 
How  shall  I  answer  her  ? 

Alh  Tell  her  directly.  [vident: 

Amiiita,  That  were  too  sodden,  too  impro- 
Fires  of  this  nature  must  be  put  out  cunningly ; 
They  w'dl  waste  all  come  ne4u:'eni  else.  Fare* 
Ooce  more !  [well. 

Alh.  Farewell,  and  keep  my  love  entire ! 
Na)-  kiss  me  once  again  !  Metliinks  we  sliould 

Aminta.  Ob,  be  wise,  sir.  [not  part« 

Alb,  Nay,  one  kiss  more ! 

Aminta.  Indeed  you*re  wanton; 
We  may  be  taken  too. 

Enter  CUtrindOy  JulettOy  Crocak,  and  Hippo* 
lita. 

Clor,  Out,  thon  base  woman ! 
By  Heaven,  1*11  shpot  'em  both  \ 

Cruc.  Nay,  stay,  brave  lady,  hold ! 
A  sudden  death  cuts  off  a  nobler  vengeance. 

C/ar,  Am  I  made  bawd  to  your  lascivious 

meetings  ?  [vjUaiu : 

Are  ye  grown  so  wise  in  sin?  Shut  up  tliat 
And /sirrah,  now  expect  my  utmost  anger. 
Let  him  there  starve  f 

Alb.  I  mock  at  yoor  mischiefs !        [EJtit. 

Ciar.  Tie  that  fiike  witch  unto  that  tree ; 

there  let  ^  [snakes 

Tlie  savage  beasts  gnaw  off  her  sweetness,  and 
Embrace  her  beauties ;  tie  her,  and  watch 
Relieve  her  I  [that  none 


Hip.  We  could  wish  you  better  fortune, 

lady; 
But  dare  not  lielp  you. 

Amnta,  Be  your  own  friends;  I  th  <Dk  ye ! 

[Exeunt, 
Now,  only  my  last  audit,  and  my  greatest! 
Oh,  Heav  n  !  be  kind  unto  me ; 
And,  if  it  be  thy  will,  preserve— 

Enter  Raymonds 

Raum.  Who's  this? 
Sure  tis  a  woman.    I  have  trod  tliis  place. 
And  found  much  footing;  now  I  know  'tisi 

peopled. 
I  la !  let  me  see !  it  is  her  face !  Oh,  Heav*o  ! 
Turn  this  way,  maid ! 

Aminta.  Ol¥,  Kaymoad,  oh,-  brother ! 

Raiftn.  Her  tongue  too!   'tis  my  sister! 

What  rude  hand — 
Nay,  kiss  me  first;  oh,  joy ! 

Aminta^  Fly,  fly,  deer  brother ! 
You  are  lost  else. 

Jul.  A  man,  a  man,  anew  man; 

Itoym.  What  are  tliescT 

Enter  Juletta,  CrocaUy  and  Clarinda, 

Croc.  An  enemy,  an  enemy ! 

Clar,  Dispatch  him; 
Take  him  oft  ;  shoot  him  straight! 

Jtd^m.  I  dare  not  use  my  swoid,  ladies, 
Againbt  such  comely  foes. 

Aminta,  Oh,  brother,  brother! 

Clar.  Away  with  'em,  and  in  dark  prisons 

bind  'em !  [mother^ 

One  word  replied,  ye  die  both.  Now,  brave 
Follow  thy  noble  anger,  and  ill  help  thee  ! 

lEjKunt, 


ACT    V. 


Enter  BmtlUaf  Clarinda^  Crocale,  Juletta^ 
and  Hippolita, 

iU.  T  AM  deaf  to  ail  your  intreaties;  she 

•^     that  moves  me 
For  pity  or  compassion  to  these  pirates. 
Digs  up  her  father's,  or  her  brother's  tomb, 
Atid  spurns  about  their  ashes.— 
Couht^t  thou  remember  vUiat  a  father  thou 
Hadst  aoce,  'twould  steel  thy  heart  'gainst 

^lish  pity : 
B^  his  memoryyand  the  rememl^^aace  of 
His  dear  embraces,  I  am  taught,  that  in 
A  noble  cause  revenge  is  noble:  ai|d  they 
Shall  fall  the  sacrifices,  to  appease 
His  wand  ring  ghost  and  my  incensed  fury. 

Clar.  Tlie  uew-come  prisoner  too  ? 

JRoi.  He  too :— Yet,  that  we  may  learn 
Whether  they  are  the  same,  or  near  allied 
To  tlvo^  that  forc'd  me  to  this  cruel  course, 
Btitter  their  poor  allowance,  and  permit  W 


To  meet  together,  and  confer. 
Within  the  distance  of  your  ear !  Perhaps 
I'bey  may  discover  sometliing  that  may  kill 
Despair  in  me,  and  be  a  means  to  save  'em 
From  certain  ruin. 

Croe.  That  shall  be  my  charge. 

Roe.  Yet,  to  prevent 
All  hope  of  rescoe  (foi^this  new-come  captain 
Hath  botli  a  ship  and  men  not  far  off  from  usy> 
Tho'  ignorant  to  find  the  only  port 
That  can  yield  entrance  to  pur  nappy  island) 
Guard  tlie  place  strongly ;  and,  ere  the  next 

sun 
Ends  his  diurnal  progress,  I  will  be 
Happy  in  my  revenge,  or  set  'em  fi^ee. 

[Exeunt, 

Enter  Crocale,  Juletta,  and  Hippblita* 
A  table furniihed. 

Croc.  So,  serve  it  plentifully,  and  lose  not 
time 

T'en^ 


248 


THE  SEA-VOYi^GE. 


T'  enctairti'  th^  cauSe;  there  is  a  main  design 
That  hangs  apon  this  bounty.   See  the  table 
Furnish*d  with  winetdo;  that  discovers  ^- 
crets  [too 

Which  tortures  cannot  open :  open  the  doo rs 
O'  th'  several  prisons,  and  give  all  free  en- 
trance [all. 
Ihto  this  room !  Undiscovered  I  can  here  mark 

Enter  Tibalt  and  Master. 

Here's  capuin  Careless,  and  the  tough  ship- 
master; [they  look! 
The  slaves  are  nos'd  like  vultures:  how  wild 

Tib.  Ha! 
The  mystery  of  this  some  good  hobgoblin 
Rise  and  reveal ! 

Master.  I  am  ffmaz'd  at  it; 
Nor  can  I  souhd  th'  mtent. 

Tih,  Is  not  tlii^  bread? 
Substantial  bread,  not  painted  I 

Master,  But  take  heed  ! 
You  may  be  poison'J. 

Tib.  I  am  sure  I'm  fomish'd ;  [guts 

And  famine,  as  the  wise  man  says,  gripes  the 
As  much  as  any  mineral.  This  may  be  treacle 
Sent  to  preserve  me  after  a  long  fast; 
Or,  be  it  viper'a  spittle,  VH  run  the  hazard. 

Master.  We're  past  all  fear ;  I'll  fcike  part 

Tib.  Do ;  [with  yon. 

And  now,  i'feitli,  how  do  you  feel  yom-sclf? 
I  find  great  ease  in't.    What's  here  ?  wine, 

an't  be  [fools  may  ulk 

Thy  will !  strong  lusty  wine !  [drinks,]  Well, 
Of  Mithridate,  cordials,  and  elixirs; 
But  from  my  youth  this  was  my  only  physic* 
Here's  a  colour ! 
What  ladv's  cheek,  tho'  cerus'd  o'er,  comes 

near  it? 
It  sparkles  too,  hangs  out  diamonds:  Oh, 
My  sweetheart,  how  I  will  hug  thee !   again, 

and  again!  [favours, 

They  are  poor  drunkards,  and  not  worth  thy 
That  number  thy  moist  kisses  in  these  crystals. 

Master,  But,  monsieur. 
Here  are  suckets,  and  sweet  dishes. 

Tib.  Tush!  boy's-meat ! 
Fm  past  it :  here  is  strong  food,  fit  for  men. 
Nectar,  old  lad  !  Mistress  of  merry  hearts, 
•  Once  more  I  am  bold  with  you. 

Mastex,  Take  heed,  man  ! 
Too  much  will  breed  distemper. 

Tib.  Hast  thou  liv'd  at  sea 
The  most  part  of  thy  life,  whereto  be  sober. 
While  wehavev\ine aboard, is  capital  treason. 
And  dost  thou  preach  sobriety  ? 

Master,  Pritnee,  forbear; 
We  may  offend  in  it ;  we  know  not  for  whom 
It  was  provided. 

Tib,  I  am  sure  for  nn- ;  [hang  me ; 

Therefore,  footra !  when  I  am  full,  let  'em 
I  care  not ! 

Enter  Alberty  Aminta,  Rat/mond,   Lamure, 
Morillat,  and  Franville,  severally. 

Master.  This  has  been  his  temper  ever. 


[Act  5. 

See,  provoking  dishes;  Candied  eringoes, 
Ami  potatoes! 

Tib.  I'^llnot  touch  'em;  I  will  drink; 
But  not  a  bit  on  a  march  ; 
ril  be  an  eunuch  rather. 

Master.  Who  are  these  ? 

Tib.  Marry,  who  you  will ; 
I  keep  my  text  here. 

Alb,  Raymond.^ 

liaym.  Afbert  ? 

Tib,  Away  !  I'll  be  drunk  alone; 
Keep  off,  rogues,  or  I'll  bjlch  ye  into  air; 
Not  a  drop  here !  [such  auger! 

Aminta.  Dear  brother,  put  not  in  your  eyes 
Those  looks,  poison'd  with  fury,  shot  at  liira, 
Reflect  ori  me.   Oh,  brother,  look  milder,  or 
The  crystal  of  his  temperance  will  turn 
Them  on  yoOrself. 

Alb,  Sir,  I  have  sought  you  \oiig  foceaa 
To  find  vour  paixlon;  you  have  plou^fi'd  the 
To  wreak  your  vengeance  on  me,  for  the  rape 
Of  this  fair  virgin.    Now  our  fortune  guides 

OS  (nitber 

To  meet  on  such  hard  ferms,  that  we  need 
A  mutual  pity  of  our  present  state, 
Than  to  expostulate  of  breaches  past. 
Which  cannot  be  made  up.   And  tho'  it  be 
Far  from  your  power  to  force  me  to  confess 
That  I  have  done  you  wrong,  or,   such  sub- 

missron  [gcr. 

Failing  to  make  my  peace,  to  vent  your  an- 
You  being  yourself  stav'd,  as  I,  to  otliers; 
Yet  for  your  sister's  siake,  her  blessed  sake, 
In  part  of  recompense  of  what  sh'  has  suffered 
For  my  rash  folly,  tlie  contagion 
Of  my  black  acticniH  catching  hold  upon 
Her  purer  iimocence,  I  crave  your  mercy ; 
And  wish,  however  several  motives  kept  us 
From  being  friends  while  we  had  hope  to  live, 
Let  death,  which  we  expect,  and  caimot  fly 
End  all  contention  !  [froi% 

Tib.  Drink  upon  it;  it 
Is  a  good  motion !  ratif/t  in  wine. 
And  'tis  authentical! 

Raym.  Wlien  I  consider  [o« 

The  ground  of  our  long  difference,  and  look 
Our  not-to«be-avoided  miseries. 
It. doth  beget  in  me,  I  know  not  how, 
A  soft  religious  tenderness ;  which  tells  me, 
Tho'  we  have  many  faults  to  answer  for 
Upon  our  own  acconnt,  ou^  father's  crimes 
Are  in  us  punish'd.  Oh,  Albert,  the  course 
They  took  to  leave  us  rich  was  not  honest ; 
Nor  can  that  friendship  last  which  virtue 
joins  not.  [pals 

When  first  they  forc'd  th'  industrious  Porta- 
From  their  plantations  in  the  Happy  Islands — 

Croc.  This  is  that  I  watch  for.  [men, 

liaym*  And  did  omit  no  tyranny  which 
Innr'd  to  spoil  and  mischief  could  inflict 
On  the  griev'd  sufferers;  when  by  lawless 

rapine  [sow'd; 

They  reap'd  the  harvest  which  their  labours 
And'  not  content  to  force  'em  from  their 
dwelling, 

But 


Act  5.] 


THE  SEA-VOYAOE. 


«49 


But  kid  for  'em  at  sea,  to  ravisli  from  'em 
Tbe  last  remainder  of  their  wealth;  then, 

then. 
After  a  long  pursuit,  each  doubting  other. 
As  guilty  of  the  Portugals'  escape, 
They  did  begin  to  quarrel,  like  ill  men : 
(Forgive  me,  piety,  that  I  call  'era  so!) 
No  longer  love  or  correspoudcnce  holds 
Than  it  is  cemented  witn  prey  or  profit : 
Then  did  they  turn  those  swords  they  oft 

bad  bloodied  [selves. 

With  innocent  gore,  upon  their  wretched 
And  paid  the  foHeit  of  tlieir  cruelty 
Shewn  to  Sebastian  and  his  colony, 
By  bring  fiital  enemies  to  each  other. 
Tbeiicc  grew  Amiiitu*s  rape,  and  my  desire 
To  be  reveng'd.  Ami  now  observe  the  issue! 
As  they  for  spoil  forgot  compassion 
To  women  (who  should  ever  be  exempted 
Fmm  the  extremities  of  a  lawful  war), 
We  now,  young  able  men,  are  fall'n  into 
The  hands  of  women ;  that^  against  the  soft, 
Soft  tenderness  familiar  to  their  sex^ 
Wilf  shew  no  mercy. 

Enter  Crpcale. 

s     Croc.  None,  unless  you  shew  us 
Oar  long-lost  husbands. 
We  are  those  Portugais  you  talk*d  of. 

Ravm.  Suy! 
I  met  upon  the  sea  in  a  tali  ship, 
Two  Portugais,  famish'd  almost  to  death. 

Ttb,  Our  ship,  by  this  wine, 
And  those  the  rogues  that  stole  her, 
Lett  us  to  famish  in  the  Barren  Islands  1 

Raym,  Some  such  tale  they  told  me; 
Aad  Bometliing  of  a  woman,  which  I  fiml 
To  be  my  sister. 

Croc.  Where  are  these  men  f 

Raym.  I 
Left  'em,  supposing  tliey*d  deluded  me 
With  fbig'd  talbs,  m  the  island,  where  they 

said  [owners 

They  had  liv*d  many  years,   the  wretclied 
Of  a  huge  mass  of  treasure. 

Alh.  Tlie  same  mcr. 
And  that  the  fatal  muck  we  quarrellM  for. 

Croc,  They  were  Portup;als,  you  say?- 

Raym.  So  they  profess*d.  [save  your  lives: 

Croc.  They  may  prove  such  men  as  may 
And  so  much  I  am  taken  with  fair  hope. 
That  I  will  hazard  life  to  be  resolv'd  on'c 
Uow  came  you  hither? 

Rcync  My  ship  lies  by  the  rii'er's  mouth ; 
That  can  convey  ye  to  these  wretched  men 
Which  you  desire  to  see. 

Croc.  Back  to  your  prisons, 
And  nmy  for  the  success !  If  the^  be  those 
Which  I  desire  to  find,  youVe  saie ;  if  not, 
Prepare  to  die  to-morrow !  for  the  world    - 
Cannot  redeem  ye. 

Alb,  Howe'er,  we  are  arm'd 
For  either  fortune.  [Exit. 

Tih.  What  must  become  of  me  now,         ' 
That  I  am  not  dismiss'd  ? 

VOL.  m. 


Croc.  Oh,  sir,  I  purpose 
To  have  your  company. 

Tib.  Take  heed,  wicked  woman  1 
I'm  apt  to  mischief  now. 

Croc.  You  can*c  be  so 
Unkind  to  her  that  giTes  you  liberty* 

Tib.  No, 
I  shall  be  too  kind,  that's  the  devil  on't ! 
i*ve  liad  store  of  good  wine;  and,  when  Vm 

drunk, 
Joan  is  a  lady  to  me,  and  I  shall  lay 
About  me  like  a  lord.  I  feel  strange  modons! 
Avoid  me,  temptation ! 

Croc,  Come,  sir;  I'll  help  you  in.[£jre»ti/. 

Enter  Sebaitian  and  Nicusa, 

Nicusa.  What  may  chat  be 
That  moves  upon  the  lake  ? 

iSe6.  Still  it  draws  nearer; 
And  no  V  I  plainly  can  discern  it  c 
It  is  the  French  ship. 

Nicusa,  la  it  a  woman. 
Who  seems  t'  invite  us  to  her. 

Seb.  Still  she  calls 
With  signs  of  love  to  hasten  to  hen 
So  lovely  hope  doth  still  appear, 
I  feel  nor  age,  nor  weakness. 

Nicuta.  Tbo*  it  bring  death. 
To  us  'tis  comfort^  and  deserves  a  meeting: 
Or  else  fortune,  tu^d  with  what  we've  suf- 

fer-d. 
And  in  it  overcome,  as  it  may  be, 
Now  sets  a  period  to  our  misery.    [Exeunt^ 

[Horrid  Mutic. 
Enter  severally  Raymond^  Albert,  andAmnta. 

Raym,  What  dreadful  sounds  are  these? 

Aminta,  Infernal  music. 
Fit  for  a  bloody  feast. 

Alb.  It  seems  prepai'd 
To  kill  our  courages,  ere  they  divorce 
Our  souls  and  bodies. 

Raym,  But  they  that  fearless  fall. 
Deprive  them  of  their  triumph. 

An  Altar  prepared.    Enter  Rotellia,   Clor^ 
rinda,  Juletta,  Hippolita,  ^c. 

'Aminta,  See  the  furies, 
In  tlieir  full  trim  of  cruelty! 

Ro8.  Tis  tlie  last 
Quty  that  {,  can  pay  to  my  dead  lord. 
Set  out  the  altar!  1  myself  will  be 
The  priest,  and  boldly  do  those  horrid  rites 
You  shake  to  think  on.  Lead  these  captains 

nearer; 
For  they  shall  have  the  honour  to  fall  first 
To  my  ^bastian's  aslies.  And  now,  wretches. 
As  I  am  taught  already,  that  you  are, 
And  lately  by  your  free  confession, 
French  pirates,  and  the  sons  of  those  I  hate 
E'en  equal  with  the  devil;  liear,  with  horror^ 
What  'tis  invites  me  to  this  cruel  course. 
And  what  you  are  to  sufifer !  No  Amazons  we. 
But  women  of  Portugal^  that  must  have  from 

you 

K  k  Sebastian 


250 


THE  SEA-VOYAGE. 


[Acts. 


Sebastian  and  Nicosa :  we  wrt  they 

Tliat  groan'd  beneath  your  fathers*  wrongs ! 

Those  wretched  women  [We  are 

Tiieir  injuries  pursu'd  and  overtook, 

And  fi^pm  the  sad  remembrance  of  our  losses 

We  are  taught  to  be  cruel.    When  we  were 

fijic'ti  [rapine, 

From  that  sweet  air  we  breathed  in,  by  their 
And  sought  a  ^lace  of  being,  as  the  seas 
And  winds  co.  spir'd  with  their  iJl  purposes, 
To  load  us  wi«h  alflictions,  in  a  storm     [us, 
TVjat  fell  upon  us,  the  two  ships  that  brought 
To  setk  new  fortunes  in  an  unknown  world, 
Were  sev-rM;  throne  bore  ail  the  able  men, 
Our  treas  .re  and  our  jewels;  in  the  other 
We  wom-.n  were  embark 'd,  and  fell  upon, 
After  lonj  tossing  in  the  troubIe<l  main, 
This  plea: ant  island;  but  in  few  months 
The  men  th  At  did  conrluct  us  hither  died : 
We  long  before  had  given  our  husbands  lost. 
Remembrin^  what  we'd  suffer'd  by  the  French, 
We  took  a  solemn  oath,  ne'er  to  admit 
The  curs*d  society  of  men.    Necessity 
Taught  us  those  arts,  not  usual  to  our  sex; 
And  the  fertile  earth  yielding  abundance  to  us. 
We  did  resolve,  thus  slinp'd  like  Amazons 
To  end  our  lives :  but  when  you  arrivM  here. 
And  brought  as  presents  to  us  ourown  jewels. 
Those  which  were  borne  in  the  other  ship^ 
How  can  ye  hope  to  'sc  .pe  our  vengeance? 

Aminta.  It  boots  not  then  to  swear  our 

innocence  ?  [owners  ? 

Alb.  Or  that  we  never  forc'd  it  from  the 

Haym,  Or  that  there  are  a  remnant  of  that 
And  not  far  off?  [wreck, 

Km,  All  yon  affirm,  I  knowfis  [throats; 
But  to  win  time;  therefore  prepare  your 
The  world  bhall  not  redeem  ye !    And,  that 

your  cries 
May  find  no  entrance  to  our  ears,  to  move 
Pity  in  any,  bid  hiud  music  sound  [*em 

Their  fatal  knells!     If  yf  have  prayers,   use 
Quickly,  to  any  power  will,  own  ye:  but — 

J^nter  Crocale,  Sebastian,  Nicusa,  and  Tibalt. 

Ha  !  who  are  these?  what  spectacles  of  mis- 
fortune ?  [der  ? 
Why  are  their  looks  so  full  of  joy  and  won- 

Croc,  Oh,  lay  by 
These  iustrunu*nts  of  death,  and  welcome  to 
Your  arms  what  you  durst  never  hope  t* 

embrace ! 
This  is  Sebastian ;  this  Nicusa,  madam; 
Prtserv*d  by  miracle.    Look  up,  dear  sir. 
And  know  your  own  Rosellia !  be  not  lost 
In  wonder  and  amazement;  or  if  nature 
Can,  by  instinct,  instruct  you  what  it  is 


To  be  bless'd  with  the  name  of  father^  freely 
En joy't  in  this  fair  vir]^in ! 

Scb.  Tho*  my  misenes, 
And  many  years  of  wants  I  have  endur'd. 
May  well  deprive  me  of  the  memory 
Of  all  joys  past;  yet,  looking  on  this  building, 
This  ruin'd  building  of  a  heav'nly  form 
In  my  Rosellia,  I  must  remetnber 
I  am  Sebastian. 

jR(W.  Oh,  my  joys! 

Seb,  And  here," 
I  see  a  perfect  model  of  tbyselfi 
As  thou  wert  when  thy  choice  first  made 

thee  mine :  [with  time, 

These  cheeks  and  fronts,  tho*  wnnkled  now 
Wliich  art  cannot  restore,  had  equal  purenes 
Of  natural  white  and  red,  and  as  much 

ravishing :  a 

Which,  by  fair  order  and  succession,  I  see 
Descend  on  her ;  and  may  thy  virtues  wind 
Into  her  form,  and  make  her  a  perfect  dower, 
No  part  of  thy  sweet  goodness  wanting  to  her! 
I  will  not  now,  Rosellia,  ask  thy  fortunes, 
Nor  trouble  thee  with  hearing  mine; 
Those  shall  hereafter  sene  to  make  glad  hoars 
In  their  relation.     All  past  wrongs  forgot, 
Tm  glad  to  see  you,  gentlemen ;  but  most, 
That  it  is  in  my  power  to  save  your  lives ; 
You  sav*d  ours,  when  we  were  near  starv'd  at 

sea, 
And  I  despair  not — for,  if  she  be  mine, 
Rosellia  can  deny  Sebastian  nothing. 

Rot,  She  does  give  up  herself. 
Her  power  and  joys,  and  all,  to  you,  to  be 
Discharged  of  'em  as  too  burdensome; 
Welcome  in  any  shape! 

Seb,  Sir,  in  your  looks ^^,  I  read 
Your  suit  of  my  Clai-inda;  slie  is  yours. 
And,  lady,  iPt  be  in  me  to  confirm 
Your  hopes  in  this  brave  gentleman,  presume 
I  ajn  your  sen-ant. 

Alb.  We  thank  you,  sir. 

Aminia.  Oh,  happy  hour! 

Aib,  Oh,  my  dear  Aminta, 
Now  all  our  fears  are  ended. 

Tib.  Here  I  fix ; 
Slie*s  mettle,  steel  to  the  back,  and  will  cut 
My  leaden  dagger,  if  not  as*d  vrith  discrecioD. 

Croc.  You^'e  still  no  changeling. 

Seb.  Nay,  all  look  chearfully;  for  none 

shall  1  e 
Denied  their  lawful  wishes.    When  a  while 
WeVe  hererefi-esh'd  ourselves,  we  will  return 
To  our  sev'i*al  homes:  and  well  that  Voyage 

ends. 
That  makes    of  deadly  enemies,    faithfitl 

friends!  [Exeunt  anna. 


*•  Sir,  in  your  looks, 

I  read  your  suit  of  my  Clarinda ; — ]  Perhaps  the  reader  would  wish  to  know  whom 
the  old  gentleman  means  hero.  I  can  think  of  no  one  but  JSicusn  his  nephew.  Yet  this  is 
but  a  guess,  and  if  the  reader  imagines  anyone  of  the  company  (Albert  taid  Jibait  excepted) 
de&er^'esC/arirziiu  better  than  her  cousin,  let  him  reject  mine,  and  enjoy  hisowu  opinion.  Sympson. 
When  Aminta  depreciates  ./4/6<^r^,  in  her  conversation  with  C/<^riJu/a,  she  recommends  iSay- 
mond  to  her:  it  is  most  likely,  therefore,  he  is  the  person  intended  by  the  poet  to  possess  her. 

THE 


THE  COXCOMB. 


A   COMEDY. 


The  Commendatory  Verses  by  Gardiner  and  Hills,  speak  of  this  Comedy  as  the  prodaction 
of  Fletcher  alone ;  but  the  Prologue  mentions  it  as  the  joint  performance  of  both  Authors. 
It  was  first  printed  in  the  folio  of  1647 ;  and  appears  to  have  been  revived  at  the  Theatre 
Koyal  about  the  end  of  the  last  century,  when  a  Prologue  was  spoken  by  Joe  Uaincs* 
We  do  not  know  of  any  performance  of  it  since  tliat  time. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 


Antonio,  the  Coxcomb. 
Me-KCVRY J  felloa^traveller  with  Antonio. 
RrcARDo,  a  young  Gentleman  in  hoe  with 
rwla. 

Pedro  '     >  ^^^^^  merry  Gentlemen,  friends 

Silvio,      3     '^^«''^''- 

Valerio,  a  Country  Gentleman. 

Curio,  Kinsman  to  Antonio, 

Justice,  a  shallow  one. 

Akdrugio,  Father  to  Viola. 

Alexander,  Servant  to  Mercury's  Mother. 

Mark,  the  Justice's  Clerk. 


Rowland,  Servant  to  Andrvgio. 

Tinker. 

Constable, 

Watch. 

Drawer. 

iviusicians, 

WOUBN. 

Maria,  Wife  to  Antonio. 
Viola,  Daughter  to  Andrugio, 
Mother  to  Mercury. 

Mr»op..  !^''*-^-^- 

Dorothy,  the  Tinker's  Trull. 


SCENE,  England' 


PROLOGUE. 


This  Comedy,  long  forgot,  by  some  thought 

dead. 
By  us  preserr'd,  once  more  doth  raise  her  head, 
And  to  your  noble  censures  does  present 
Her  oQtward  form,  and  inward  ornament. 
Nor  let  this  smell  ofarrogance,8ince  *tis  k  nown, 
The  mdcers,  that  confessed  it  for  their  own. 
Were  this  way  skilful,  and  without  the  crime 
Of  flatteries  1  may  say  may  please  the  time. 


The  work  itself  too,  when  it  first  came  forth. 
In  the  opinion  of  men  of  worth,  [rude 

Was  well  rebeiv'd  and  favour'd,  tho'  some 
And  harsh  among  th'  ignorant  multitude, 
(That  relish  eross  food  better  than  a  dish 
Thiit*s  cook'd  witli  care,  rwud  serv'd  in  to  the 

wish 
Of  curious  palates)  wanting  wit  and  streni^th 
Truly  to  judge,  condemn'd  it  for  the  length* : 

That 


'  Englandf  France.]  As  the  scene  never  changes  from  England  through  the  whole  play, 
tod,  as  I  remember^  the  word  FraTtce  does  not  occur  above  once  in  this  piece,  I  have  made 
no  scruple  ta  expel  and  explode  what  never  possibly  could  have  stood  in  the  author^s  manu- 
sctipt.  Sympson, 

*  -'^-^  condemned  it  for  the  length; 
That  faults  rrform'd.']  In  the  Stationers*  Preface  to  the  edition  of  1647,  we  liave  these 
words:  *  When  these  Comedies  and  l^^edies  were  presented  on  the  stage,  the  dctors  omit- 

Kk2  <ted 


£52 


THE  COXCOMB. 


That  fkult's  refbrm'd;  and  now  'tit  to  be  tried 
Before  such  judges  'twill  not  be  denied 
A  finee  and  noble  hearing ;  nor  fear  I 
But  *twill  deserve  to  have  free  liberty. 


[Actl. 


And  give  y<m  cause  (and  with  content)  to 

say, 
Their  care  was  good  that  did  revive  this  play* 


ACT   I. 


Bic,  Let  all  the  stored  vengeance  of  Hea- 
ven's justice — 

Vioia.  Jso  mure !  I  do  believe  you.    The 

dance  ended, 
Which  thi.s  free  woman's  guests  have  vow*d 

to  have  [me 

Ere  they  depart,  I  will  make  home,  and  store 
With  all  the  jewels,  chains,  and  gold  ait* 

trusted 
Unto  my  custody;  and  at  the  next  comer 
To  my  father's  house,  before  oue,  at  the  iiir* 
Be  ready  to  receive  me !  [thesl» 

liic,  I  desire 
No  bond  beyond  your  promise.  Let's  go  in! 
1  o  talk  thus  nuicli  before  tlie  door  may  breed 
Suspicion. 

Enter  Mercury  and  Antonio, 

Violti.  Here  are  company  too. 

Ric,  A  way  !  [loves 

Those  oowers  that  prosper  true  and  hooest 
Will  bless  our  undertakings. 

Vhlu^  Tis  my  wish.  sir. 

[Exettnt  Bic.  and  Vkifu 

Men;  Nay^  sir,  excuse  me  I  I  havedrawo 

you  to 
Too  much  expence  already  in  my  travel, 
And  you  have  been  too  forward  in  your  lore^ 

*  ted  some  icene»  and  passages  (with  the  author^  consent)  as  occasion  led  'em!  and  when 

*  private  friends  desired  a  copy,  they  then  (and  justly  too)  transcribed  what  they  acted*  But, 

*  now  you  have  both  all  that  was  actedy  and  all  that  was  not ;  even  the  perfect  full  originals, 

<  without  the  least  mutilation :  so  that  were  the  author*  living  (and  sure  they  can  never  die) 

*  they  thenMelves  would  challenge  neither  mart  nor  leu  than  what  is  here  publisiied.'—But 
what  a  glaring  contradiction  to  this  whole  j>assage  are  the  words  of  the  prologue,  cited  at  ti»e 
head  of  this  note?  Was  it  not  condemned  for  its  length  by  the  ignorant  multitude  ?  And  upon 
reviving  of  it,  is  it  not  as  plain  as  words  can  make  it,  that  it  was  mutilated  then }  What  other* 
sense  can  we  put  upon  this  passage  ?  That  fault**  refhrtnd — Who  the  curtailer  or  curtailen 
were,  is  not  pos^ble  now  to  be  known :  I  could  have  wished  that  he,  or  they,  wlio  unde^ 
took  the  charge  of  reforming  the  lettgth  of  this  piece,  had  had  sufficient  wit  and  strength  to 
have  gone  through  that  business  neatly.  But  it  seems  as  if  his  or  tlieir  judgment  was  as  little 
in  the  shortning,  as  the  rabble's  was  in  condemning  it  for  its  length.  Had  we  but  the  original 
manuscript,  I  don*t  doubt  but  we  should  see  a  strange  difference  betwixt  that  and  the  play, 
lis  it  now  stands.  Tlie  first  note  on  this  performance  is  a  specimen,  to  let  the  reader  see 
what  strange  work  ha^  been  made  by  the  reviver,  or  revivers  of  this  piece:  and  how  little 
he  or  they  thought  on  (supposing  thc^  knew  it)  tliat  rule  of  Horace, 

Versate  diu,  fuidferre  recusent, 

Quid  valeant  Humen  Sympson, 

The  Stationers'  Preface  is  no  '  (glaring  contradiction  to  tlie  prologue,'  but  rather  confims 
the  assertion,  that  the  ^  Actorp  (with  the  author^s  consent)  omitted  scenes  and  passages,  si 

<  occasion  led  them,  and  aflcnw^utls  transcribed  what  they  acted:  but  the  booksellers  gsve 

*  all  that  was  acted,  and  all  that  was  mat!  Who  the  curtaileis  wecti  tberefiire^  is  easily 
known;  certainly  tB£  Acroas,  with  the  autbob's  co|iS£iiT» 

1^ 


Enter  Ricardo  and  Vh/a. 
JUc,  T  £T  usmake  use  of  Uiisstohi  privacy, 
-"-^  And  not  lose  time  in  protestation, 

mistress ! 
For  'twere  in  me  a  kind  of  breach  of  faith, 
To  say  again  I  love  you. 

Viola.  Sweet,  speak  sofUy; 
For  tlu/  the  venture  of  your  love  to  me 
Meets  with  a  willing  an^  a  full  return, 
Should  it  arrive  unto  my  ^titer's  knowledge, 
This  were  our  last  discourse. 

lUc,  How  shall  he  know  it?  [advancement, 

Viola,  His  watching  cares  are  such,  for  my 
That  every  where  his  eye  is  fix'd  upon  me: 
This  night,  that  does  afford  us  some  small 

freedom. 
At  the  request  and  much  intreaty  of     [me; 
The  mistress  of  the  house,  was  liardly  given 
For  I  am  never  suffer'd  to  stir  out. 
But  he  hath  spies  upon  me:  yet,  I  know  not, 
You  have  so  won  upon  me,  that  could  I.think 
Yon  would  love  faithfully  (tho'  to  eutertain 
Another  thought  of  you  would  be  my  death) 
I  should  adventure  on  his  utmost  anger. 

Ric,  Why,  do  you  think  I  can  be  false? 

Viola.  No,  faith! 
You  liave  an  honest  face ;  but,  if  you  should — 


Act  1.] 

To  make  mj  wnnU  your  own ;  allow  me  man* 

ners !  [crease 

Which  yon  muflt  grant  I  want,  should  I  in- 
The  bond  in  which  your  courtesies  have  tied 

me^ 
By  still  consumbg  of  yon :  give  me  leave 
To  take  mine  own  ways  now,  and  I  shall 

often,  [thank  you. 

With  willingness,  come  to  visit  you,  and 

ilttf.  By  this  hand,  I  could  be  angry! 

What  do  you  think  me? 
Must  we,  that  have  so  long  time  been  as  one, 
Seen  cities,  countries,  kingdoms,  and  their 

wonders,  ^ 

Been  bedfellows,  and  in  our  various  journey 
M ix'd  all  our  observations,  part  (as  if 
We  were  two  carriers  at  two  several  ways. 
And  as  the  fore-horse  guides,  cry  God  be 

with  you) 
Without  or  compliment,  or  ceremony } 
In  travellers  that  know  Transalpine  garbs, 
Tho'  our  desi^s  are  ne*er  so  serious,  friend, 
It  were  a  capital  crime;  it  must  not -be; 
Nay,  what  is  more,  yon  shall  not.     You  ere 

long  [mine 

Siall  see  my  house,  and  find  what  1  call 
Is  wholly  at  your  service. 

Merc  Tis  this  tires  me ! — 
Sir,  I  were  easily  woo'd,  if  nothine  else 
But  my  will  lay  i'th'  choice;  but  tis  not  so : 
My  friends  and  kindred,  that  have  part  of  me. 
And  such  on  whom  my  chiefest  hopes  de- 
pend, 
Justly  expect  the  tender  of  my  love 
After  my  travel;  then  my  own  honesty 
Tells  me  'tis  poor,  having  indifTerent  means 
To  keep  me  m  my  quality  and  rank, 
At  my  return,  to  tire  another's  bounty. 
And  let  mine  own  grow  lusty:  pardon  me! 

AfU,  I  will  not,  cannot ;  to  conclude,  I 

dare  not : 
Can  any  thing  conferr'd  upon  my  firiend 
Be  burdensome  to  me  ?  For  this  excuse, 
Had  I  no  reason  else,  you  should  not  leave 

me;         ^  [said! 

By  a  traveller's  faith,  you  should  uot!  1  have 
And  then,  yon  know  my  humour,  there's  no 

contending. 


THE  COXCOM& 


S5S 


Mere.  Is  there  no  way  to  'scape  this  intin- 

dation  ? 
I  shall  be  drown'd  with  folly,  if  I  co ; 
And,  afier  nine  days,  men  may  take  me  up 
With  my  gall  broken. 

Ant.  Are  you  yet  resolv'd  ? 

Merc,  'Would  you  would  spare  me! 

Ant,  By  this  light,  I  cannot. 
By  all  that  may  l^  sworn  by ! 

Merc.  Patience  help  me. 
And  Heaven  grant  his  folly  be  not  catching ! 
If 't  be,  the  town's  undone :  I  now  would  give 
A  reasonable  sum  of  gold  to  any  sheriff 
That  would  but  lay  an  execution  on  me. 
And  free  me  from  his  company.    While  he 

was  abroad. 
His  want  of  wit  and  language  kept  hiixnlumb ; 
But  Balaam's  ass  will  speak  now,  without 

spurring. 

I  Ant.  Speak,  have  I  won  you  ? 

Enter  Servant  and  Mimciani* 

Merc,  You're  not  to  be  resisted, 

Serv.  Be  ready,  I  entreat  you  I  Tho  danca 

done, 
Besides  a  liberal  reward,  I  have 
A  bottle  of  sherry  in  my  .power,  shall  heg^t 
New  crotchets  in  your  heads. 

Musicians.  Tush,  fear  not  us! 
We'll  do  our  parts. 

Serv,    Go  m. 

Ant,  I  know  this  fellow. 
Belong  you  to  the  house  f 

Serv.  1  serve  the  mistress,      [inform  her. 

Ant.  Pretty  and  short!  Pray  you,  sir, then 
Two  gentlemen  are  covetous  to  be  honoured 
With  her  fair  presence. 

Sety.  She  shall  know  so  much. 
This  is  a  merry  night  with  us,  and  forbids  not 
Welcome  to  any  that  looks  like  a  man : 
111  guide  you  the  way. 

Ant.  Nay,  follow!  I've  a  trick  in't. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Uberto,  Silvio,  Ricardo^  Maria,  Pedro, 
Portia,  Viola,  with  others. 

Uherto.    Come,  where  is  this  masque  '  ? 
Fairest,  for  our  chear, 

Our 


'  Came,  wher^s  this  masque  f  fahrest,  for  our  chear, 
Our  thanks  and  service,  may  you  long  survive 
To  joy  in  -many  cf  that  nights. 
Maria.  Ithankycu, 

Uberto.  We  must  have  music  too,  or  else  you  give  us 
But  ha^  awelcome, 

Maria.  Prt^  you,  sir,  excuse  me. 
Silvio.  By  no  means,  lady: 
Uberto.  tlV//  crown  our  liberal  feast, 
With  some  delightful  strain  fitting  your  hve 
And  this  good  company, 

Maria.  Since  you  enforce  it, 
I  will  not  plead  the  excuse  of  want  of  skill.]  Quod  dedit  principium  adveniens  9  may  full 
»  well  be  appbed  to  the  cmrtailer  of  this  comedy,  as  the  booby  cai>tain  of  whom  it  was  first 
•poke^    That  a  masqae  was  in  (he  original^  is  plain  from  tho  question,  Where's  this  masque  f 

but 


fi54 


TIlE  COXCOMB. 


tActL 


Oar  dianks  and  service ;  ma^  you  long  survive 
To  joy  ill  many  of  these  nights! 

Maria.  I  thauk  you !  [you  give  us 

Uberio.  We  must  have  music  too;  or  else 
<B\xt  half  a  welcome. 

Maria.  Pray  you,  sir,  excuse  me! 

Silvio.  By  no  means,  lady. 

Uberto.  WVll  crown  your  liberal  feast 
With  some  delightful  strain,  fitting  your  love 
And  this  good  company. 

Maria.  Since  vou  enforce  it, 
I  will  not  plead  tne  excuse  of  want  of  skill. 
Or  be  or  nice  or  curious:  every  year 
I  celebrate  my  marriage-night,  and  will 
Till  I  see  my  absent  husband. 

Uberto.  Tis  fit  freedom. 

SUvio,  Ricardo,  thou  art  dull. 

Enter  Servant. 

Ric.  I  shall  be  lighter  when 
IVe  had  a  heat. 

Maria.  Now,  sir,  the  news  ? 

Serv.  Mistress, 
There  are  two  gentlemen — 

Maria.  Where? 

Serv.  Complimenting 
Who  should  nrst  enter. 

Maria.  What  are  they? 

Serv.  Heav'n  knows! 
But  for  their  strangeness — ^bave  you  never  seen 
A  cat  wash  her  face  ? 

Uberto.  Yes. 

Serv,  Just  such  a  stir  they  keep : 
If  you  make  but  hasten  you  may  see  *em  yet 
Before  they  enter. 

Enter  Antonio  and  Mercury, 

Maria.  Let  *em  be  what  they  will. 
Well  give  them  fair  entertain,  apd  gentle 

Ant.  It  shall  be  so.  [welcome. 

Merc.  Then  let  it  be  your  pleasure. 

Ant.  Let's  stand  aside,  and  you  shall  see 
Fine  sport  anon.  [us  have 

Metx,  A  fair  society; 
Do  you  know  tliese  gentlewomen  ? 

Ant.  Yes. 

Merc.  What  are  they  ?  [her 

Ant.  The  second  is  a  neighbour's  daughter ; 
Name's  Viola.  There  is  my  kinsman's  wife; 
Portia  her  name,  and  a  friend  too. 

Merc,  Let  her. 
What's  she  that  leads  the  danoe? 

1  Serv.  A  gentlewoman. 

Merc,  I  seetliat. 


1  Serv,  Indeed? 
Merc.  What? 

1  Serv.  A  gentlewoman. 
Merc.  Udsfoot!  Good  sir,  vhat's  she  that 
leads  the  dance  ? 

2  Serv.  My  mistress. 
JWerc.  What  else? 
2  Serv.  My  mistress,  sir. 
Merc.  Your  mistress?  A  pox  on  you. 

What  a  fry  of  foob  are  here?  I  see  'tis  treason 
To  understand  in  this  house :  if  Nature  were 

not 
Better  to  them  than  they  can  be  to  tbemsdves^ 
Thej^  would  scant  hit  their  mouths.    My 

mistress? 
Is  there  any  one  with  so  much  wit  in's  head, 
That  can  tell  me  at  the  first  sight,     [dance? 
What  gentlewoman  that  is  that  leiids  thr 
Ant.  Tis  my  wife. 
Merc.  Hum! 

Ant.  How  dost  thou  like  her} 
Merc.  Well; 
A  pretty  gentlewoman! 

Ant.  Pritliee  be  quiet. 
Merc.  I  would  I  could ! 
Let  never  any  hereafter  that's  a  man, 
That  has  affections  in  him  and  free  passions^ 
Receive  the  least  tie  firum  such  a  fool  as  this  is. 
That  holds  so  sweet  a  wife! 
Tis  lamentable  to  consider  truly         [wrong 
Wliat  right  he  robs  'himself  of,  ana  what 
He  doth  the  youth  of  such  a  gentlewoman, 
That  knows  her  beauty  is  no  longer  hers 
Than  men  will  please  to  make  it  so,  and 

use  it,   • 
Neither  of  whicl)  lies  freely  in  a  husband. 
Oh,  what  liave  I  done,  what  have  I  done  ? 

Coxcomb ! 
If  I  had  never  seen,  or  never  tasted, 
The  goodness  of  thiskix,  I  had  been  a  made 

man; 
But  now  to  make  bim  cuckold  is  a  sin 
'Gainst  all    forgiveness,    worse    than    any 

murder:  [ways! 

I  have  a  wolf  by  th'  ears,  and  am  bitten  both 

Ant.   How  now,  friend?  vt^bat  are  yoo 

thinking  of?  [be  gone. 

Merc,  Nothing  concerning  you:  I  must 

Ant.  Pardon  me,  I  will  have  no  going,  sir. 

Merc,  Then,  good  sir,  give  me  leave  to 

go  to  bed : 
Im  very  weary  and  ilKtemper'd. 

Ant.  You  shall  presently;  the  dance  isdone^ 

1  Serv.  Mistress,  these  are  the  gentlemen. 

but  it  had  been  better  never  to  have  told  us  that,  except  it  liad  been  exhibited.  Again,  if 
thei/  were  to  have  music,  some  deli^ktjul  strain;  nho  was  to  play  ?  Maria  it  seems,  for  ^e 
says,  she  won^t  plead  the  excuse  of  vant  of  skilly  but  'tis  too  plain  she  does  no  such  thing. 
Further,  we  have  a  little  lower  a  dance,  but  'tis  a  dance  without  music,  and  yet  'tis  quite 
clear  the  performers  were  actually  in  the  house.        Syn^son. 

We  do  not  believe  any  thing  toritten  by  the  authors  is  omitted :— The  masque  was^  we 
apprehend,  only  an  antic  dance.  It  is  not  clear  that  Maria  more  than  prepares  to  play, 
when  she  is  interrupted  by  the  Servant  -inoouncing  Meroif^and  Antonio.  The  dance  must 
have  been  without  music,  or  the  dialogue  between  the  Servant^  Mercury,  «nd  AntomOf 
which  passes  during  the  dauce,  could  not  be  heard. 

Maruu 


i 


Act  1.] 


TIIE  COXCOMB. 


fidj^ 


Maria,  My  husband!  Welcome    home, 

Merc,  She  s  lair  still ;  [dear  sir ! 

Ofay  that  I  were  a  knave,  or  durst  be  one. 
For  thy  sake,  Coxcomb!  He  that  invented 

honesty 
Undid  me. 

Ant.  I  thought  you  had  not  known  me. 
Yoa*re  merry ;  *tis  well  thought.    And  Itow 
These  worthy  gentlemen  ?  [is*t  with 

Uberto  and  SUvio,    We^re  glad  to  see 
You  here  again. 

Ant.  Oh,  gentlemen,  what  ha*  you  lost  ? 
Bat  get  you  into  travels ;  there  you  may  learn — 
I  cannot  say  wliat  hidden  virtues. 

Merc,  Hidden  from  you,  I'm  sure. 
My  blood  .boils  like  a  furnace !  Siie*^  u  fair  one. 

Ant,  Pray  entertain  this  gentleman  \>  itU  all 
The  courtesy  iitting  my  most  especial  friend. 

Mana,  What  this  poor  house  may  yield, 

to  make  you  welcome. 
Dear  sir,  command,  withoutmore  compliment. 

Aferc.  I  thank  you! — She  is  wise,  and 

speaks  well  too : 
Oh,  what  a  blessing  is  gone  by  me,  never 
To  be  recover'd !  VVell,  'twas  an  old  shame 
The  devil  laid  up  for  me,  and  now  h'  has  hit 

me  home. 
If  there  be  any  ways  to  be  dishonest, 
And  save  myself  yet — No,  it  most  not  be! 
Why  should  I  be  a  fool  too  ? — Yet  those  eyes 
Would  tempt  another  Adam !  How  they  call 
•  .to  mc,  [any  thing ! 

And  tell  me — 'Sfoot,  tliey  shall  not  tell  me 
Sir ;  will  you  walk  in  ? 

Ant,  How  is't,  signer  ? 

Merc.  Craty  a  little.  [power,  pray 

ilaria.  What  ail  you,  sir?  What's  in  my 
Make  use  ol;  sir. 

Merc.  Tis  that  must  do  me  good ! 
She  does  not  mock  me,  sure !-— iVn't  please 

you,  nothing; 
My  disease  is  only  w'eariness. 

Vberio.  Come,  gentlemen ! 
We  w^ill  not  keep  yuu  from  your  beds  too  long. 

Ric,  I  ha'  some  business,  and  'tis  late,  and 
Far  from  your  lodging.  [y.#u 

Silvio.  Well? 
[Exeunt.  Manent  Ant.  Maria,  and  Merc. 

Ant.  Come,  my  dear  Mercury  1 
m  bring  you  to  your  chamber;  and  then  I 

am 
For  you,  Maria:  tbouVt  a  new  wife  to  me 

now. 
And  thou  shalt  find  it  ere  I  sleep. 

Merc.  And  I 
An  old  ass  to  myself!  mine  own  rod  whips 

roe! — 
Oood  sir,  bo  more  of  this ;  'tis  tedious ! 
You  are  the  best  guide  in  your  own  house ; 
^0,  sir.  [Ejceunt  Ant.  and  Maria. 

fThis  fool  and  his  iair  wife  have  made  me 
frantic; 


From  two  such  physics  for  the  soul  deliver 
me !  [Exit, 

Enter  Ricardo,  Uberto,  Pedro,  and  Silvio, 

Uberto.  Well,  you  must  have  this  wench 

it  if.  I  hope  so ;  [then  ? 

I'm  mach  o!  th*  bow-hand  else. 

Fedro.  'vVould  I  were  hang'd,  [ture 

Tis  a  good  loving  little  fool,  that  dares  i-en* 
Herself  upon  a  coast  she  ne'er  knew  yet ! 
But  these  women  !  when  they  are  once  thir> 
God  speed  t))e  plough !  [teen, 

Silvio.  Faith,  tliey  vnil  venture  further  for 
Than  a  merchant,  [their  lading 

And  thro'  as  many  stonns,    but  tiiey*ll  be 

fraughted ;  [stowage* 

They're  made  like  carracks,  only  strength  and 

Juc.     Come,  come,  you  talk,  you  talk  I 

Silvio.  We  do  so.    But, 
Tell  nte,  Ricardo,  wo*t  thou  nuirry  her? 

Ric.  Marry  her?  why,  what  sliould  I  do 

with  her  i  [all  shares  in  her, 

Pedro.  Pox,  I  thought  we  should  have  had 
Like  lawful  prize.  [don  me : 

Ric.  No,  by  my  faith,  sir ;  you  shall  par- 
I  launch'd  her  at  my  own  charge,  without 
And  so  ril  keep  her.  [partner% 

Ukerto.  What's  the  hour? 

Ric.  Twelve.  [yet  scarce  eleven, 

Uberto.  What  shall  we  do  tlie  while?   Tis 

Silvio.  There  is  no  standing  here ;  is  ncX 

Ric.  Yes.  [this  the  place? 

Fedro,  And  to  go  back 
Unto  her  father*s house  may  breed  suspicion: 
Let's  slip  into  a  tavern  for  an  hour; 
Tis  very  cold. 

Uberto.  Content;  there's  one  hard  by. 
A  quart  of  burnt  sack  will  recover  us  : 
I  am  as  cold  as  Christmas.   Tliis  stealing  flesh 
I*  th*  frosty  weatlier  may  be  sweet  i'  th*  eating. 
But  sure  the  woodii.en  have  no  great  catch 
Shall'sgo?  [of  it. 

,  Jlif.  Thou  art  the  strangest  lover  of 
A  tavern !  What  shall  we  do  there  now  I  Lose 
The  hour  and  ourselves  tgo  ? 

Uberto.  Lose  a  pudding!  [muzzle  us? 

What  dost  thou  talk  o'th*  hour?  will  one  quart 
Have  we  not  ears  to  hear,  and  tongues  to  ask 
The  dra  werb,but  we  must  stand  liere  like  bawds 
To  watch  the  minutes? 

Silvio.  Prithee  content  thyself* !  [ing^ 
We  shall  scout  here,  as  tho' we  went  a-hay- 
And  have  some  mangy  'prentice,  that, can't 

sleep  [go,  sirs? 

For  scratchingyoxTr-hear  us.  Come,  will  you 
When  your  love-fury  is  a  httle  frozen. 
You'll  come  to  us, 

Ric.  Will  you  drink  but  one  quart  then  ? 

Fedro.  No  more,  i'laith. 

Silvio.  Content! 

Ric.  Why  then,  have  with  you  ! 
But  let's  be  very  watchful. 


♦  Silvio.  Prithee  contend  Ibi/scff.]  Probably  this  belongs  to  Ricardo,  and  We  shall  tcout 
here,  to  Silvio.  Sj/mpson. 

JJbcrto, 


i56 


THE  COXCOMa 


[Aai. 


Uherto,  AswatclifulasthebeUmftn.  Come; 
I'U  lead. 
Because  I  liate  good  manners;  tbev*re  too 
tedious.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Vwla,  with  a  Key  and  a  little  Casket, 

Viola,  The  nii^ht  is  terrible,  and  I  encTos'd 
With  that  my  virtue  and  myself  hate  most. 
Darkness;  yet  must  I  fear,  that  which  I  wish, 
Some  company ;  and  every  step  I  take 
Sounds  louder  in  my  fearful  ears  to-night. 
Than  ever  did  the  shrill  and  sacred  bell 
TImt  rang  me  to  my  prayera.  Tlie  house  will 

rise 
When  I  unlock  the  door !  Were  it  by  dajr, 
I*m  bold  enough,  but  then  a  thousand  eves 
Warn  me  from  going.  Might  not  Heav'n  have 

made 
A  time  for  envious  prying  folk  to  sleep. 
Whilst  lovers  met,  and  yet  the  sun  have 

shone? 
Yet  I  wa8~^ld  enough  to  steal  this  key 
Out  of  my  father's  chamber;  and  dare  yet 
Venture  upon  mine  enemy,  the  night, 
Arm'd  only  with  my  love,  to  meet  my  friend. 
Alas,  how  valiant,  and  how  'firaid  at  once 
Love  makes  a  virgin !  I  will  throw  this  key 
Back  thro'  a  window :  I  have  wealth  eaough 
in  jewels  with  me,  if  I  hold  his  love 
I  steal  'em  for.  Farewell,  my  place  of  birth! 
I  never  make  account  to  look  on  thee  again; 
And  if  there  be,  as  I  have  heard  men  say. 
These  houshold  gods,   I  do  beseech  them 

look  [fire. 

To  this  my  charge ;  bless  it  from  thieves  and 
And  keep,  *till  happily  my  love  I  win. 
Me  from  thy  door,  and  hold  my  father  in  ! 

[Exit. 

Enter  Ricardo^  PedrOj  liber to^  Silvio,  and 
Draxter  with  a  Candle. 

Ric.  No  more,  for  God's  sake ! 
How's  the  night,  boy  ? 
•     Drawer.  Faith,  sir,  'tis  very  late. 

Uberto.  Faith,  sir,  you  lie !  is  this  your 

Jack  i'  th*  clock-house'  ?  [you  varlcL 

Will  you  strike,  sir?  Give's  some  more  sack, 

Ric.  Nay,  if  you  love  me,  good  Uberto,  go ! 
X  am  monstrous  hot  with  wine. 

Uberto,  Quench  it  again  with  love !  [then 
Gentlemen,  I  will  drink  one  health  more,  and 


If  my  1^  say  me  not  shamefully  nay, 

I  wiU  go  with  you.  Give  me  a  singular  quart  f 
Pnwer.  Of  what  wine,  sir?  fat  the  bar! 
Uberto.  Of  sack,  you  that  speak,  confusion 

Of  sack,  I  say ;  and  every  one  his  quart. 

What  a  devil,  let's  be  merry! 
Drawer.  You  shall,  sir.  [ExU» 

Pedro,  We  will,  sir ;  and  a  dried  tongue. 
Silvio.  And  an  olive,  boy,  and  a  whole 
bunch  of  fidlers !  |^be  claw*d. 

My  head  swims  plaguily;  'uds  precious,  I  shall 

Enter  Drawer  with  four  Quarts  of  Wvue^ 

Rac.  Pray  go?  I  can  drink  no  more;  think 

on  your  promise; 
Tis  midnight,  gendemen.  Xi^<>^ ! 

Uberto.  Oh,  that  it  were  dumb  midnight 
Not  a  word  more !  every  man  t>n's  knees, 
And  betake  himself  to  his  ^nt :  here's  to 

your  wench,  signor! 
All  this,  and  then  awa]^. 

Ric,  I  cannot  drink  it. 

Pedro,  Tis  a  toy,  a  toy;  away  wrt ! 

Uberto.  Now  dare  I 
Speak  any  thing  to  any  body  living ! 
Come,  Where's  the  fault?  Off  with  it. 

Ric.  I  have  broke  [made  it; 

My  wind.  Call  you  tliis  sack?  I  wonder  who 
He  was  a  sure  workman,  for  'tis  plaguy 
Is  it  gone  round  ?  [strong  work. 

U&rto.  Tis  at  the  last.    Out  of  my  way, 
Is  the  moon  up  yet  ?  good  boy ! 

Drawer,  Yes,  sir. 

Uberto,  Where  is  she,  boy? 

Drawer.  There,  sir.  [boy. 

Uberto.  We  shall  have  rain  and  thunder, 

Drow^.  When,  sir?  [boy. 

Uberto.  I  cannot  tell;  but  sure  we  sha% 

Drawer.  The  gentleman  is  wine-wise. 

Uberto.  Dravrer! 

Drawer.  Here,  sir. 

Uberto.  Can  you  procure  ? 

Drawer.  What,  sir? 

Uberto.  A  whore,  or  two,  or  three, 
As  need  shall  serve,  boy  ?  [ney,  boy. 

Silvio.  Ay,  a  good  whore  were  wortli  mo- 

Drawer.  I  protest,  sir,  we  are  alto^ther 

unprovided.  [not  'vise  us 

Ric.  The  more's  the  pity,  boy;  can  yoa 
Where,  my  child  ? 

Drawer.  Neither,  in  troth,  sir^. 


'  Is  this  your  Jack  i'th*  clpck*house  ? 

Will  you  strike,  fir  i]  In  Shakespeare's  King  Richard  III.  the  King  says  to  Buckinghan^ 

*  ■  like  a  Jac/c,  thou  keep*st  the  stroke 

*  Betwixt  tliy  begging  and  my  meditation ;' 
en  which  passage  are  the  following  notes : 

An  image,  like  those  at  St.  Dunstan's  church  in  Fleet-street,  and  at  the  market-hoasd 
at  several  towns  in  this  kingdom,  was  usually  called  a  Jack  4^  the  clock-house.  See  Cowle/s 
Discourse  on  the  Government  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  liichard  resembles  Buckingham  to  one 
of  those  automatons,  and  bids  lihn  not  suspend  the  stroke  on  the  clock-bell^  iynt  strike,  that 
the  hour  may  be  past,  and  himself  be  at  liberty  to  pursue  his  meditations.  Hamkuis. 

So  in  The  Fleire,  a  comedy,  1610 — *  Their  tongues  are,  like  a  Jack  dthe  clocks  still  ia 
'*  labour.'  Steevens. 

*  Drawer.  Neither  in  troth,  «(>.]  This  little  speech  itf  only  in  the  first  folip. 

Pedro, 


Actl.| 


•THE  COXCOMB* 


5257 


Fedro.  Why,  where  were  you  brought  up, 

hoji 
No  inkling  of  a  whored  no  um,  my  boy? 

Uberto.  It  cannot  sink  in  my  head  now 

that  thou  shouldst  marry; 
Why  shouldst  thou  marry,  tell  me? 

Ric.  I  marry?  FU  be  hang*d  first. 
Some  more  wine,  boy ! 

Silvio,  Is  she  not  a  whore 
Translated?    An  she  be,  let's  repair  to  her ! 

Ric  I  cannot  tell ;  she  may  be  an  offender : 
But,  signor  Silvio,  I  shall  scratch  your  head; 
Indeed  I  shall. 

SUvi(K  Judge  me,  I  do  but  jest 
With  thees  what  an  she  were  inverted,  with 
Her  heels  upward,  like  a  traitor^s  coat,  what 

care  I?  [for  her? 

Uberto.  Ay,  hang  her !  shall  we  fall  out 

Jiic.    I  am  a  little  angry.      But  these 

wenches ! 
Did  you  not  talk  of  wenches  ? 

Silvia,  Boy,  lend  me  your  candle ! 

Drawer,  Why,  sir  ? 

^vio.  To  set  fire  to  your  rotten  ceiling: 
You'll  keep  no  whores,  rogue,  no  good  mem- 

Droiper.  Whores,  sir?  [bers! 

Silvio.  Ay,  whores,  sir ;  do  you  think  we 
With  your  hogsheads?  [come  to  lie 

JUc,  I  must  beat  the  watch ; 
I  have  long'd  for  it  any  time  this  three  weeks. 

Silvio.  We'll  beat  tlie  town  too,  an  thou 

wilt ;  we're  proof,  boy ! 
Shall  we  kill  any  body? 

Etc,  No ;  but  we'll  hurt  'em  dangerously. 

Vtferto,  Silvio,  now  must  I  kill  one;  I  can- 
not avoid  it. 
Boy,  easily  afore  there  with  your  candle  I 
Where's  your  mistress  ? 

Drover.  A-bed,  sir. 

Silvio,  With  whom? 

Drawer,  With  my  master.       [up  than  to 

Uberto,  You  lie,  boy  !  she's  better  broiiglit 
lie  with  her  husband ;  has  he  no(  cast  his 

head  yet? 
Next  year  hell  be  a  velvet-headed  cuckold. 

Drawer.   You   are  a   merry   gentleman. 

There,  sir;  take  hold !  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Viola, 

Viola,  This  is  the  place !  I  have  out-told 

the  clock 
For  haste;  he  is  not  here.  Ricardo?  No! 
Now  every  power  that  loves  and  is  belov'd. 
Keep  me  irom  shame  to-night !  for  you  all 

know 
Each  thought  of  mine  is  innocent  and  pure, 
As  flesh  and  blood  con  hold.  I  cannot  back; 
I  threw  the  key  within,  and,  ere  I  raise 
Mv  father  up  to  see  his  daughter's  shume, 
111  set  me  down,  and  tell  the  northern  wind, 
That  it  is  gentler  than  the  curling  west. 
If  it  will  blow  me  dead  !  But  he  will  come. 
I'faith,  'tis  cold.'    If  he  deceive  me  thus, 
A  woman  will  not  easily  trust  a  man. 
Hark!  wkat*s  that; 

VOL,  m. 


Silvio  [within]*  Thou'rt  over  long  at  thy 

pot,  Tom,  Tom : 
TbouVt  over  long  at  the  pot,  Tom.  [Singing, 

Viola.  Bless  me!  Whu's  tliat? 

Fedro  [within].  Whoo ! 

Uberto  [within].  Tliere,  boys !  [fly; 

Viola.  Darkness,  be  thou  iny  cover,  I  must 
To  tliee  I  haste  for  help. — They  have  a  light: 

Enter  Ricardo,  Fedroy   Uherto,  Silvio,  and 
Drawer,  with  a  torch. 

Wind,  if  thou  lov^st  a  virgin,  blow  it  out ! 
And  I  will  never  shut  a  window  more. 
To  keep  thee  from  me. 

^ic.  Boy! 

Drawer.  Sir? 

JRif .  Why,  boy  ! 

Drawer.  What  say  you,  sir? 

Mic,  Why,  boy,  art  thou  drunk,  boy  t 

Drawer.  What  would  you,  sir? 

Ric.  Why,  very  good  !  where  are  We? 

Uberto,  Ay,  that's  the  point. 

Drawer.  Why,  sir,  you   will  be  at  yout 

lodging  presently. 

Ric.  rll  go  to  no  lodging,  boy. 

Drawer.  Whither  will  you  go  then,  sir? 

Ric.  ril  go  no  further.        piere  all  night. 

Drawer^  For  God*s  sake,  sur,  do  not  stay 

Ric,  No  more  I  will  not : 
Boy,  lay  me  down,  and  roll  me  to  a  whore. 

Uberto.  And  me.  » 

Fedro.  There  spoke  an— — 

Silvio  [iinging].  Then  set  your  foot  to  my 

foot,  and  up  tails  all !  [tnake ! 

Viola.  Tlmtis  Ricardo:  what  a  noise  they 
It  is  ill  done  of  'em.     Here  sirs !  Ricardo  I 

JRic.  What's  that,  boy? 

Drawer.  1'is  a  wench,  sir :  pray,  gentle* 

men,  come  away  I 

Viola,  Oh,  my  dear  love  !  how  dost  thou? 

Ric,  Faith,  sweetheart, 
Ev*n  as  thou  seest. 

Fedro,  Where's  thy  wench? 

Uberto.  Where's  this  bed-worm? 

Viola.  Speak  softly,  for  the  love  of  Heaven ! 

Draicer,  Mistress, 
Get  yowggne,  and  don't  entice  the  gentlemen,* 
Now  you  see  they're  drunk ;  or,  1*11  call  th« 

watch. 
And  lay  you  fast  enough. 

VioUt.  Alas,  wlmt  are  you  ?     • 
Or,  what  do  you  meau?  Sweet  love,  there's 

the  place  ?  fril  feese  thee. 

Ric.  Marry,  sweet  love,  e'en  nere :  lie  down; 

Viola.  Good  God!  What  meau  you? 

Fedro.  I  will  have  the  wench. 

Uberto.  If  you  can  get  her. 

Silvio,  No,  I'll  lie  with  [morrow. 

The  wench  to-night,-  and  she  shall  be  your»  lo^ 

Fedro.  Let  go  the  wench  ! 

Silvio.  Let  you  go  the  wcnrh  ! 

Viola,  Oh,gentleuien,Hsynu  had  motheni-* 

Uberto.  They  had  uo  mothers;  tliey're  the 

sons  of  bitctses. 

Ric.  Let  that  be  maintain'd  \ 
-L 1  Silitios 


25« 


THE  COXCOMB- 


[Acid, 


Silnio,  Marry  tlieA— 

Viola.  Oh,  blesb  me,  Heav'ii! 

Uberfo.  IIow  nmny  is  there  on  s? 

Bic.  About  five. 

Uhcrto.  Why  then,  let's  fipht  three  to  three. 

Sihio.  Content.         [Drazi^  and  fall  dozifn, 

Drazcer.    The   watch!    the   watch!    the 

watch !  Where  are  you  ?  l^*/{^' 

Jlic.  Where  are  these  cowards?       [Exii. 

Pedro,  There's  the  wliore. 

Viola.  I  never  saw  a  drunken  man  before; 
But  these  I  think  are  so. 

Sihioi  Oh! 

JRedro.  I  miss'd  you  narrowly  there. 

Viola.  My  state  is  such,  I  know  not  h#w- 

to  think 
A  prayer  fit  for  me;  only  I  could  njove, 
That  never  maiden  more'  might  be  in  love ! 

[Exit. 

'Enler  Dnacer,  Constable,  and  Watch. 

Watch,  Where  are  they,  boy  ? 
'  Drawer.  Make  no  such  haste,  sir ;  they  are 
No  runners.    ^ 

Uherto.  I  am  hurt,  but  that's  all  one; 
I  shall  light  upon  some  of  ye.    Pedro, 
Thou  art  a  tall  p;endeman  I  let  me  kiss  thee! 

Watch.  My  friend — 

Vberto.  Your  friend  ?  you  lie ! 

Bic.  Stand  further  off! 
The  watcli?  yon're  fall  of.  fleas. 


Const.  Gentlemen, 
Either  he  quiet,  or  we  must  make  you  quiet 

/tw.  Nay,  good  Mr.  Constable,  be  not  99 

rigorous!  [ofiustice! 

Vberto,  Mr.  Constable,  lend  roe  thy  hand 

Const,  That  I  wiW,  sir. 

Ubcrto.  Fy,  Mr.  Constable ! 
What  goUs  you  have?  Is  justice 
So  blind  you  cannot  see  to  wash  your  hands? 
I  cry  you  mercy,  sir;  your  gloves  are  on. 

Drawer.  Now  you  are  up,  sir,  will  you  go 

to  bed  ?  [ther  pillow. 

Fedro.  I'll  truckle  here,  boy;  givemeano^ 

Drawer,  Will  you  stand  up,  and  let  me  lay 

it  on  then? 

Pedro,  Yes.  [they  are  np^ 

Draarcr.  There;  hold  him  two  of  ye.  Now 
Be  going,  Mr.  Constable. 

Hie.  And  this  way,  and  that  way,  Tom. 

Vberto.  And  here  away,  and  there  away, 

Tom.  [the  wronl;. 

Silvio.  This  is  the  right  way,  the  osier's 

Pedro.  Th'  otlicr's  the  wrong. 

Omnes.  ThouVt  o^er  long  at  the  pot,  Tom, 

Tom.  [whoop!  ha, boys! 

JUc.    Lead    valiantly,    sweet  constable! 

Const.  This  wine  hunts  in  their  heads. 

jRic.  Give  me  the  bill,  for  I  will  be  tlie  jer- 

Const.  Look  to  him,  sirs1  [ge&ot. 

Kic.  Keep  your  ranks,  you  rascals,  keep 

your  ranks'  \Exeunt^ 


ACT  IL 


Enter  Mercuri/, 

Mere.  T  CANNOT  sleep  for  thinking  of 

-■-     this  ass's  wife ! 
ni  be  gone  presently ;  there's  no  staying  here, 
With  this  devil  about  me.— Ho  !  This  is  the 
house  of  sleep.  [this  love 

Ho  !  again  there !  'Sfoot,  the  darkness,  and 
1  ogether  will  make  me  lunatic.    Ho ! 

Enter  a  Servingman  above,  unready. 

Serv,  Who  calls  there  ?  [a  candle. 

Merc,  Pray  take  the  pains  to  rise  and  light 

ikrv.  Presently. 

Merc,  Whs  ever  njan  but  I  in  such  a  stocks? 
AVell,  this  shall  be  a' warning  to  me,  and 
A  faFr  one  too,  how  I  betray  myself 
To  such  a  dunce,  by  way  of  benefit. 

Eiiter  Servingnian. 

Serv.  Did  you  call  ? 

Merc,  Yes :  pray  do  me  the  kindtiess,  sir, 

to  let  me  out, 


•  muster  before  dinner^ 


And  not  enquire  wliy,  for  I  most  ne^s  b# 

Serv.  Not  to-night,  I  hope,  sir.        [gone. 

Merc.  Good  sir,  to-night; 
I  would  not  have  troubled  you  else; 
Pray  let  it  be  so  ! 

Serv.  Alas,  sir,  my  master  will  beoffendeA 

Merc,  That  I  have  business?  no,  I  warrant 

you. 

Serv,  Good,  sir,  take  your  rest, 

Merc.  Pray,  my  good  friend. 
Let  me  appoint  my  own  rest. 

Serv.  Ves,  sir.  ^  [sider  yoa. 

Merc.  Tiien  shew  m<?  the  way  out;  I'll  cotf- 

»S<'ri;.  Good  I<ord,  sir— 

JVitrc*  If  I  had  not  , 

An  excellent  tcmper'd  patience,  now  should 

I  break 
This  fellow's  head,  and  make  him  UBderstand 
'Twere  necessary ;  the  only  plague 
Of  this  house  is  tli'  unhandsoino  love  of  set- 

lants. 
That  never  do  their  duty  i'th'  right  place, 
But  when  they  muster  before  dinner', 

^  And 


And  suc^  the  table  vith  a  >roo(kn  daggen]  Th«  difficulties  in  tins  f  astage  are  ^hat  in 


Actl] 


THE  COXCOMa 


U9 


And  sweep  the  table  with  a  wooden  dagger. 
And  then  the/re  troablesome  too,  to  all 

men's  shoalders. — 
The  woodcock's  flushM  again ;  now  I  shall  have 
A  new  stir« 

Enter  Antonio. 

Ant,  Why,  how  now,  friend?  what  do  you 

up  so  late?  [speak. 

Are  YOU  well  ?  do  yon  want  any  thing?  Pray 

Merc,  Only  the  cause  1  rise  for. 

Ant.  What  knaves  are  these  ? 
What  do  Tou  want  ?  Why,  sirrah ! 

Merc.  5}othing  i'  th'  world,  [he  gone : 
Bat  th*  keys  to  let  me  out  of  doors ;  I  must 
fie  not  against  it,  for  you  cannot  stay  me. 

Ant,  Be  gone  at  this  time?  that  were  a 

merry  jest.  [use  on't, 

MtTc.  If  there  be  any  mirth  in*t,  make  you 
But  I  must  go. 

Ant,  W^hy,  for  love's  sake  ? 

Hprc,  Twill  benefit  [cause. 

Your  understanding  nothing  to  know  the 
Pray  go  to  bed;  I'll  trouble  your  man  only. 

Ant.  Nay,  sir,  you  have  rais'd  more,  that 

has  reason 
To  curse  you,  an  you  knetv  all:  my  wife's  up. 
And  coming  down  too. 

Mere.  Alas,  it  will  be 
A  trouble:  pray  go  up  to  her,  and  let  me 
Disturb  no  more;  it  is  unmannerly. 

Enter  Maria,  as  out  of  bed. 

Ant,  She's  here  already. 
Sweetheart,  how  say  you  by  this  gentleman  ? 
He  would  away  at  midnight. 

Maria.  That  I  am 
Sore  he  will  not. 

Merc,  Indeed  I  must, 

Maria,  GockI  nr. 
Let  not  your  homely  entertainment  press  you 
To  leave  your  bed  at  midnight !  If  you  want 
What  my  house,  or  our  town, may  afford  you, 
Make  it  your  oivn  fault  if  you  call  not  for  it. 
Pray  go  to  bed  again !  let  me  compel  you : 
I^  sure  yoa*ve  no  pow'r  to  deny  a  woman. 
The  air  is  piercing; 

And,  to  a  i>ody  beaten  with  long  travel,  * 
Twill  prove  an  ill  physician. 

Merc,  If  she 
Speak  longer  I  shall  be  a  knave,  as  rank 
As  e'er  sweat  for  it. — ^Sir,  if  you  will  send 
Your  wife  up  presently,  I'll  either  stay 
With  you  (d  ye  mark  me  ?)  or  deliver  you 
So  jost  a  cause,  that  you  yourself  shall  thrust 
Me  out  of  doors,  both  suddenly  and  willingly. 

Ant,  I'd  fiiiu  bear  that,  'faitli  !-!-Pray  thee 

go  up,  sweetheart ! 
Tte  half  persuaded  him ;  besides,  he  hath 
Some  private  business  with  mc. 


Maria.  Good  night,  sir  I 
And  what  content  you  would  have,  I  wish 

with  you.  [Exitm 

Merc.  Could  any  man  that  liad  a  back  ask 
Oh,  me!  oh,  roe!  [more? 

Ant.  Now  deal  directly  with  me : 
V/hy  should  you  go?  [cause; 

Merc.  If  you  be  wise,  do  not  enquire  the 
'Twill  trouble  you. 

Ant.  Why?  prithee  why. ^ 

Merc,  rfaith, 
I  would  not  have  you  know  it;  let  me  go  I 
Twill  be  far  better  for  you. 

Ant.  Who  is  that, 
That  knocks  there?  is't  not  at  the  streetj-doorf 

Scn\  Yes,  sir. 

Ant.  \yh()\  there?  cannot  you  speak? 

Viola  [rnthm],  A  poor 
Distressed  maid;  for  God*s  sake,  let  me  in! 

Merc,  Let  her  in,  and  me  out  together; 

'tis  but  one  labour:  [seems 

Tis  pity  she  should   stand  i'th' street.     U 
She  ku(Avs  you.  [iguorant; 

Ant.  There  she  shall  stand  forme:  you're 
This  is  a  common  custom  of  the  rogues 
That  lie  about  the  loose  parts  of  the  city. 

Merc.  As  how?  ["iftht. 

Ant.  1  o  knock  at  doors  in  dead  time  of 
And  use  some  feigned  voice  to  raise  com- 
passion; 
And  when  the  doors  are  open,  in  they  rush^ 
And  cut  the  throats  of  all,  and  take  the  booty: 
We  cannot  be  too  careful. 

Vhla  [within].  As  ever  you  had  pity. 
Let  me  m !  I  am  undone  else. 

^Ji^  Who  are  you? 

Viola.  My  name  is  Viola,  a  gentlewoman 
That  ill  diance  hath  distressed :  you  know  my 

father.  [one 

Merc.  Alas  of  God !  we'll  let  her  in;  'tis 
O'th'  gentlewomen  were  here  in  the  evening; 
I  know  her  by  her  name :  poor  soul !  she'i 

cold, 
I  warrant  her;  let  her  have  my  warm  bed. 
And  I  will  take  her  fortune:  come,  pray 

come! 

Ant,  It  is  not  Viola,  that's  certain; 
She  went  home  to  her  father's,  I  am  sure. 

Vio/a,  Will  not  you  be  so  }:ood  to  let  me  in? 

Ant.  I'll  be  so  good  to  have  you  whipt  away. 
If  you  stay  a  little  longer.    She  is  gone, 
I  warrant  her.  Now  let  me  know  your  cause» 
For  I  willhear't,  and  not  repent  the  knowing. 

Merc,  Since  you  are  so  importunate,  I'll 

tell  yon: 
I  Iovc\our  wife  extremely.  * 

AjU.  Very  well. 

Ma-c.  And  so  well  tliat  I  dare  not  stay. 

Ant.  Why?  [and  blood, 

Merc.  For  wronging  you:  I  kno\\  I'm  flesh 


all  appearance  cannot  be  got  over,  without  a  greater  knowledge  of  the  customs  and  manners 
of  our  author's  times  than  I  am  maister  of.    .        Sympurn. 

This  seeme  to  be  a  temporary  allusion,  of  which,  it  is  probable,  nn  explanation  can  now  be 
vbtuned. 

Lli}  And 


««• 


THE  COXCOMB. 


And  voa  have  done  me  fiiendshipt  infinite 

aim  often. 
That  roust  require  me  honesty  and  a  true  man; 
And  I  will  be  so,  or  Til  break  my  heart. 

Ant.  Why,  you  may  stay  for  all  this,  roe* 

thinks.  [no  saint, 

Merc.  No ;  tho'  I  would  be  good,  I  am  no 
Nor  is  it  safe  to  try  me:  I  deal  plainly. 

Ant,  Come,  I   dare  try  you;  do  the  best 

you  can. 

Merc.  You  shall  not : 
When  I  am  right  again,  Fll  come  and  see  you ; 
Till  when,  1*11  use  nil  countries,  and  all  means. 
But  I  w  ill  lose  this  folly ;  'tis  a  devil ! 

Ant.  Is  there  no  way  to  stay  you? 

Merc.  No;  unless  [men 

You'll  have  me  such  a  villain  to  you,  as  all 
Shall  spit  at  me. 

Ant.  Does  she  know  you  love  her? 

Mcfc.  No,  1  hope  not:  that  were  recom-' 

pense 
Fit  for  a  rogue  to  render  her. 

Ant.  If  ever  any 
Had  a  faithful  friend,  I  am  that  man,  and  I 
IViay  glory  in  it !  This  is  he,  that  ipsCy  he, 
That  passes  all  Christendom  for  goodness. 
J^e  biiall  not  overgo  me  in  his  friendship ; 
'Twere  recreant  and  base,  and  I'll  be  hang'd 

first ; 
I  am  resolved :  go  thy  ways;  a  wife 
Shall  never  part  us :  I've  consider'd,  and 
I  find  her  notliing  to  such  a  friend  as  thou  art. 
ril  speak  a  bold  word ;  take  your  time  and 

wooe  her, 
(You've  overcome  me  clearly)  [me. 

And  do  what's  fitting  with  her — vou  conceive 
I'm  glad  at  heart  you  love  her,  by  tliis  light! 
Ke'er  stare  upon  me,  for  I  will  not  fly  from't ! 
}f  you  had  spoken  sooner,  sure  you  had  been 

serv'd ! 
Sir,  you're  not  ev'ry  man.  Now  to  your  task! 

I  give  you  free  leave;  and  the  sin  is  mine^ 

II  there  he  any  in  it. 
Merc.  Hell  be  hang'd 

Before  he  makes  this  good :  he  cannot  be 
So  innocent  a  coxc*  mb;  hccan  tell  tensure! — 
If  I  had  never  known  you,  as  I  have  done, 
I  might  be  one,  as  others,  perhaps  sooner; 
But  now  it  is  impossible,  there's  too 
Af  uch  good  between  us. 

Ant.  Well,  ihou'rt  e'en  the  best  man — 
%  can  say  no  more,  I  am  so  overjoy'd  !      [go 
You  must  stay  this  night,  and  in  the  morning 
As  early  as  you  please ;  I  have  a  toy  for  you. 

Merc.  1  thought  this  pill  would  make  you 

sick.  [notice. 

Ant.  But  where  you  mean  to  be  I  must  have 
And  ii  roust  be  hard  hy  too :  do  you  mark  me? 

J^Jerc.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Ant.  1  here  is  a  thing  in  hand. 

Merc.  Why,  what  thing? 

Ant.  \  sound  one>  if  it  take  right,  and  you 

be  not 


[Act  J, 

Peevish.  We  twa  will  be  Tyould  Kttle  think  it) 
As  famous  for  our  friendships- 

Merc.  How? 

Ant.  If  Heaven  please. 
As  ever  Damon  was,  and  Pytheas; 
Or  Pylades  and  Orestes :  or  any  two 
That  ever  were :  do  you  conceive  me  yet? 

Merc.  No,  by  my  troth,  sir! — Hell  not 

help  me  up,  sure  ?  [tliiak 

Ant.  You  shall  anon;  and,  for  our  names,! 
They  shall  live  after  us,  and  be  rememl.ec'd 
Whde  there's  a  story,  or  111  lose  ray  aim. 

Merc.  What  a  vengeance  ails  hel  How  do 

Ant.  Yes,  faith,  [you? 

We  two  will  be  such  friends  as  the  wot14 

shall  ring  of. 

Merc.  And  why  is  all  this? 

Ant,  You  shall  enjuy  my  wife* 

Merc.  Away,  away  f 

Ant.  The  wonder  must  begin. 
So  ]  have  cast  it,  ('twill  be  scurvy  else) 
You  shall  not  stir  a  foot  in  i :  pray  be  <^et 
Till  I  have  made  it  perfect. 

Merc.  What  shall  a  man  do  with  thii 

wretched  fellow  ? 
There  is  no  mercy  to  be  us'd  towards  him; 
He  is  not  capable  of  any  pity ; 
He  will,  in  spite  of  course,  be  a  cuckold"; 
And  who  i;an  helpit?^Must  it  begin  so^ 
Think  again.  [needs,  sir? 

Ant.  Yes,  marry  must  it; 
And  I  myself  will  wooe  this  woman  for  yoa: 
Do  you  perceive  it  now?  ha?        Jmatter.— 

Merc,  Yes;  now  I  have  a  little  sight  i'tb' 
Oh,  that  thy  head  should  be  so  monstroas, 
That  all  thy  servants'  hatsmav  hangupon't!^ 
But  do  you  mean  to  do  this?  [for  you. 

Ant.  Yes,  certain ;  I  will  wooe  her,  and 
Strive  not  against  it ;  'tis  the  overthrow 
Of  the  best  plot  that  ever  was  then* 

Merc.  Nay, 
I  will  assure  you,  sir,  I'll  do  no  harm; — 
You  have  too  much  about  you  of  your  own. 

Ant,  Have  you  thought  of  a  place  yet? 

Merc.  A  place  ? 

Ant,  Ay,  a  place  where  yon  will  bide : 
Prithee  no  more  of  this  modesty ;  'tis  finlish! 
Ai;  we  were  not  detennine<l  to  be 
Absolute  friends  indeed,  'twere  tolerable. 

Merc.  I  have  thought,  and  you  shall  beu 

from  me.  [glory! 

Ant.  Why,  this  will  gain  me  evenastiog 
I  have  the  better  of  him,  that's  my  comfort! 
Good  night !  [Exit. 

Merc.  Good  night ! 
Well,  go  thy  ways !  thou  art  the  tidiest wittol 
This  day  I  think  above  ground ; 
And  yet  thy  end  for  all  this  knust  be  XDody. 

[ExiU 

Enter  Tinker  and  Dorothy, 

Tinker.  Tis  bitter  cold.    A  plague  upoi 
these  rogues. 


5  In  tpight  (/cpmse.]  Seward  would  substitute  courttn/  for  couru. 


How 


^t5?,J 


THE  COXCOMB, 


tot 


How  wary  they  «re  grown !  not  a  door  open 
But  doable-barred;  not  a  window,  [now, 
fiot  op  with  a  case  of  wood,  Hke  a  spice-hox ; 
And  their  locks  unpickable !  the  very  smiths 
That  were  half  V6ntnr6rs,  drhik  penitent  sin- 
gle ale: 
This  is  the  iron  age  the  ballad  sings  of. 
Wfeil,  I  shall  meet  with  some  of  your  loose 

linen  yet;  [shew 

Good  fellows  must  not  starve ;  here's  he  shall 
You  God-»»mighty's  dog-bolts,  if  this  hold. 

Dor,  Faith,  tnou  art  but  too  merciful,  that's 

thy  fftcdt; 
Hioa  art  as  sweet  a  thief,  that  sin  excepted. 
As  ever  buffered ;  that  is  a  proud  word, 
And  ril  maintain  it. 

Tmker.  Come,  prithee  let's  shog  off*. 
And  hrowze  an  hour  or  two'*^;  there's  ale 

vill  make  [thing  now, 

A  cat  speak  at  the  Harrow :  we  shall  get  no- 
Without  we  batter;  it  is  grown  too  near 
Voniing;  the  rogues  sleep  sober,  and  are 

watchful.  [fiinction. 

Dor,  We  want  a  boy  extremely  for  this 
Kept  under  for  a  year,  with  milk  and  knot- 

graf'S. 
In  my  time  I  have  seen  a  boy  do  wonders: 
Robin  the  red  tinker  had  a  hoy,  [years, 

(God  rest  his  soul,  he  suffer'd'this  time  four 
For  two  spoons,  and  a  pewter  candlestick), 
That  sweet  man  had  a  boy,  ns  I  am  cursten'd 

whore, 
Wonld  have  run  thro'  a  cat-hole ;  he  would 
Have  boulted  such  a  piece  of  linen  in  an 

evening —  [let's  go! 

Tinker.  Well,  we  will  have  a  boy.  Prithee 
I  am  vengeance  cold,  I  tell  thee. 

Dor.  ril  be  hang'd 
Before  I  stir  without  some  purchase !  By  these 
Teu  bones,  I'll  turn  she-ape,  and  untile  a 

house. 
Bat  I  will  have  it  1  It  may  be  I  have 
A  humour  to  be  hang'd,  I  cannot  tell. 

Enter  Viola, 

Tinker.  Peace,  you  flca'd  whore !  thou  hast 
a  mouth  like  a  blood-hound: 
Here  comes  a  night-shade. 


Dor.  A  gentiewoman^whor^; 
By  this  darkness,  1*11  case  her  to  the  skin. 

Tmker.  Peace,  I  say !  fmal  night! 

Viofa,  What  fear  have  T  endur  d  this  dis- 
And  what  disgrace,  if  I  were  seen  and  known! 
In  which  this  darkness  only  is  my  friend, 
That  only  has  undone  me.  A  thousand  curses 
Light  on  ray  easy,  foolish,  childish  love. 
That  durst  so  lightly  lay  a  confidence 
Upon  a  man,  so  many  being  false! 
My  weariness,  and  weeping,  mokes  me  sleepy; 
I  must  lie  down. 

Tinker.  VV  hat's  this  f  a  prayer,  or 
A  homily,  or  a  ballad  of  good  counsel? 
She  has  a  gown,  I'm  sure. 

Dor.  Knock  ont  her  brains! 
And  then  she  II  never  bite. 

Tinker.  Yes,  I  will  knock  her. 
But  not  yet. — You !  woman ! 

Viola.  For  God's  sake,  what  are  you? 

Tinker.  One  of  the  -grooms  of  your  ward« 

robe.    Come, 
Uncase,  uncase!  By'r  lady,  a  good  kereey! 

Viola.  Pray  do  not  hurt  me,  sir. 

Dor.  Let's  have  no  pity '  * ;  [whistle. 

For  if  you  do,  here's  that  shall  cut  your 

Viola.  Alas,  what  would  you  have?  1  am 

as  miserable 
As  you  can  make  me  any  way. 

Dor.  That  shall  be  tried,     [you  pleasure. 

Viola.  Here,  take  my  gown,  if  that  will  do 

Tinker.  Yes,  marry  will't.  Look  in  the 
There  may  be  birds.  *  [pockets,  Doll; 

Dor.  They're  flown,  a  pox  go  with  them ! 
I'll  have  this  hat,  and  this  ruff  too;  I  like  it: 
Now  will  I  flonrish  like  a  lady  brave, 
I'laith,  boy.  [seeming, 

Viola.  You  are  so  gentle  people,  to  my 
That  by  my  truth  I  could  live  with  you ! 

Tinker.  Could  you  so  ? 
A  pretty  young  round  wench,  well-blooded ;  I 
Am  for  her**. 

Dor.  But  by  this,  I  am  not ;  cool  [on't, 
Your  codpiece,  rogue!  or  I  will  clap  a  spell 
Shall  take  your  edge  off  with  a  very  ven« 

geance.  ' 

Tinker.  Peace,  horse-flesh,  peace !  I'll  cast 

off  my  Amazon ; 

Sh' 


•  Shog  &ff^  This  cant  word  is  nsed  by  Nym,  in  Shakespeare's  Henxy  V.  act  ii.  scene  1 : 

*  Will  you  shog  off^  I  would  have  you  solus.' 
Agftin^  in  Marston's  What  You  Will,  act  v.  scene  1: 

< why  then,  capricious  mirth, 

<  Skip  light  moriscoes  in  our  frolick  blood, 

*  Flagg'd  veins,  sweet,  plump  with  fresh-inAised  joys^ 

*  Laughter,  pucker  our  cheeks,  make  shoulders  $hog 
'With  chucking  lightness,  &c. 

AgpuSy  in  Jack  Dmm^  Entertainment, 

*  List  to  the  music  that  corrupts  the  gods, 

*  Subverts  even  destiny,  and  thus  it  shogg.  R. 

'^  Browie  an  hour  or  tzpo.]  The  text  is  from  Mr.  Theobald's  margin.    I  conjectured 4ve 
Aonld  read  rouse^  i.  e.  carouse,  but  it  is  a  matter  of  no  great  moment.  Syntpson. 

"  Xf***  Aaw  n(i  ;?i/y.]  i.  tf.  No  crying  ont  for  pity.        Synipson, 
l^  Am  for  her,  thieves.]  Thieves  has  stolen  into  the  text  liere  very  unaccountably.    If  tho 

speech 


SOS 


TIIE  COXCOMB. 


[Act  2i 


Sh'  has  Mralk'd  too  loiig»  and  is  indeed  no* 

torious,  [worthies. 

SheMl  fight  and  scold,  and  drink  like  one  o'th' 

Dor,  Uds  precious,  ,        [ticeing? 

You  ;|rouug  contagious  whore,  must  you  be 
And,  is  your  flesh  so  rank,  sir,  that  two  may 

live  upon't  ? 
I'm  glad  to  hear  your  curlal's  *'  grown  so  lusty; 
He  was  dry-founder'd  t'other  day ;  wehee, 
My  pamper'd  jade  of  Asia'*! 

viola.  Good  ^voman,  do  not  hurt  me !  I 

am  sorry 
That  I  have  given  any  cause  of  anger. 

Dat.  Either  bind  her  quickly,  and  coine 

away,  or  by 
This  steel  V\\  tell,  altho'I  trass  for  company ! 
Now  could  I  eat  her  broil'd,  or  any  way, 
,  Without  vinegar :  I  must  have  her  nose ! 

Viola,  Bv  any  thing  you  love  best,  good 

sir!  good  woman! 

Tinker,  Why  her  nose,  Dorothy  ? 

Dor.  If  I  have  it  not,  [withal. 

And  preseudv,  and  warm,  I  lose  that  I  go 

Tinker,  'Would  the  devil  had  that  thou 

goest  withal,  ,  [whelps, 

And  thee  together!  for  sure  he  got  thy 
If  thou  hast  any ;  he's  thy  dear  dad  *^.  Whore, 
Put  up  your  cut-purse !  an  I  take  my  switch 

up,  [your  bung,  whore  I 

Twtll  be  a  black  time  with  you  else;  sheath 

Dor,  Will  yon  bind  her?  [both. 

"We  shall  stand  here  prating,  and  be  hang'd 

Tinker^  Come,  I  must  bind  you:  not  a 

word;  no  crying!  [not  crv. 

Viola,  Do  what  yon  will,  indeed  I  will 

Tinker.  Hurt  her  not:  if  thou  dost,  by  ale 

and  beer, 
ni  clout  thy  old  bald  brain-pan  with  a  piece 
'  Of  brass,  you  bitch  incarnate. 

\Ej:eunt  linker  and  Dor, 

Viola,  Oh,  Heav  u,  to  what  am  I  reserv'd ! 

tbiit  knew  not. 
Thro'  all  my  childish  hours  and  actions, 
[More  sin  than  poor  imagination, 
And  too«much  loving  of  a  faitliless  man. 
For  which  Vm  paid ;  and  so,  that  not  the  day 
That  now  is  rismg  to  protect  the  harmless,      I 

speech  is,  or  is  not  curtaiFd,  as  I  can't  promise,  yet  there  is  no  reason  for  thieves  standing 
hero,  as  there  is  nothing  to  which  it  can  probably  refer.  There  are  but  two  ways  I  know 
of  tliat  we  can  rid  the  text  of  it ;  tlie  first  is  by  expunging  it,  as  I  have  done,  and  the  second 
by  supposing  that  it  is  a  corruption  of  this,  and  situate  in  a  wrong  place^  and  that  the  pas- 
sage once  run  tlius, 

A  prettv  young  round  wench  well  blooded,  this^ 
I'm  for  hit'  Sympum, 

'^  CortalL]  In  Ben  Jonson's  Masque  called  Chloridia,  a  postillion  says,  *  Look  to  my 
*  curtail  (according  to  which  we  have  reformed  the  orthography);  and  Mr.  Whalley  says, 
*•  A  curtal  is  a  small  horse;  properly,  one  who  hath  his  tail  doc/^d  or  curtailed,^ 
**  Mv  pamper  d  jade  of  Asia.]    This  is  plainly  meant  as  a  burlesque  on  this  line  in 
Harlow^  Tamerlane : 

*  Holloy  you  pamper'd  jades  of  Asia;' 
"ivhich  is  also  ridiculed  m  the  Second  Fart  of  Henry  IV.  act  ii.  scene  4.        I?. 

*5  She's  ih  If  dear  dad, ]  Common  sense,  us  Mr.  Seward  saw  too,  calls  out  tox 

change  of  sAt's  into  hc^s.        Sympson, 
'^  Ostend.}  See  Bote  13  on  the  Woman's  Prizt. 

Yah 


And  give  the  innocent  a  satlctuary 
From  thieves  and  spoilers,  can  deurcr  mcL 
From  shame,  at  least  suspicion! 

Enter  Valeria. 

Val.  Sirrah,  lead  down 
The  horses  easily!  I'll  walk  a-foot 
Till  I  be  down  the  hill.    'Tis  very  eariy; 
I  shall  reach  home  betimes.    How  now? 

who's  there  ?  [yet 

Viola,  Night,  that  was  ever  friend  to  lovers, 
Has  raia'd  some  weary  soul,  that  hates  his  bed, 
To  come  and  see  me  blush,  and  then  huigli 

at  me. 

VaL  H'had  a  rude  heart  that  did  this. 

Viola.  Gentle  sir. 
If  you  have  that  which  honest  men  call  pity. 
And  be  as  far  from  evil  as  you  shew. 
Help  a  poor  maid,  that  this  night,  by  bad 

fortune. 
Has  been  thus  us'd  by  robbers,     [help  thee! 

Vol.  A  pox  upon  his  heart  that  would  not 
This  thief  was  half  a  lawyer,  bv  his  bands. 
How  long  have  you  been  tied  here  ? 

Viola.  Alas,  [perish'd. 

This  hour,  and  with  cold  and  fear  am  almost 

Val,  Where  were  the  watch  the  while? 

Good  sober  gentlemen ! 
They  were,4ike  careful  members  of  the  dty. 
Drawing  in  diligent  ale,  and  singing  catches. 
While  Mr.  Constable  contriv'd  the  toasts. 
These  fellows  should  be  more  severely  pu« 

nish'd  [whips; 

Than  wandring  gipsies,  that  ev'ry  statute 
For  if  they'd  every  one  two  eyes  apiece  more^ 
Three  pots  woula  put  tliem  out.     « 

Viola.  1  cannot  teU ; 
I  found  no  Christian  to  give  me  succour. 

Val.  When  they  take  a  thief, 
I'U  take  Ostend  again '^ :  the  whoresons 
Drink  opium  in  their  ale,  and  then  they  sleep 
Like  tops ;  as  for  their  bills,  they  only  serv*^ 
To  reach  down  bacon  to  make  rashers  on. 
Now  let  me  know  to  whom  I've  done  tbii 

courtesy, 
That  I  may  thank  my  ^arly  rising  for  it, 

Viola,  Sir,  all  I  am,  you  see. 


ictt.] 


THt  COXCOMB. 


2GS 


VaL  Tmi  liaTe  a  nnme,  Fm  sure^  and  a 
kindredy 
A  father,  friend,  or  BOtnethiDg  tdat  muM  own 
you. —  [were  these  to  rob  her ! 

She's  a  handsome  young  wench :  what  rogues 
ViohL  Sif,  you  see  all  I  dare  reveal ;  and,  as 
Tou  are  a  gentleman,  press  me  no  further! 
For  tliere  begins  a  grief,  whose  bitterness 
Will  break  a  stronger  heart  than  I  have  in  me ; 
And  'twill  but  make  yon  heavy  with  the 

hearing: 
For  yovx  own  goodness  sake,  desire  it  not! 

VaL  Tf  you  would  not  have  me  enquire  that, 
fiow  do  you  live  then  ? 

Viola.  How  I  have  liv'd,  is 
Still  one  question,  which  must  not  be  resolv'd : 
How  I  desire  to  live,  is  in  your  liking ; 
So  worthy  an  opinion  I  have  of  you. 
Vol,  Is  in  my  liking  ?  How,  I  pray  thee  ? 
tell  me!  [power. — 

riaith,  ni  do  you  any  good  lies  in  my 
She  has  an  eye  would  raise  a  bed-rid  man : 
Come,  leave  vour  fear,  and  tell  me;  that's  a 
g6od  wench! 

Viob,  Sir,  I  would  serv6— 
Val.  Who  wouldst  thou  serve  ?  Don't  weep, 
And  tell  me 

Viola.  Faith,  sir,  even  some  good  woman; 
And  such  a  wife,  if  you  be  married^ 
I  do  imagine  yours. 

Val.  Alas!  thou'rt  young  and  lender; 
Let  me  sec  thy  band  I  This  was  neVr  made 

to  wash. 
Or  wind  up  water,  beat  cloaths,  or  rub  a  floor. 
By  this  light,  for  one  use,  that  shall  be 
nameless,  [on ! 

lis  the  best  wanton  hand  that  e*er  I  look'd 
Piola.  Dare  you  accept  me,  sir.?  my  heart 
is  honest; 
Among  your  virtuous  charitable  deeds, 
I     This  will  not  be  the  least. 
'         VaL  Thou  canst  in  a  chamber? 

Viola.  In  a  chamber,  sir? 
I         VaL  I  mean,  wait  there  upon  a  gentle- 
woman.— 
I      How  quick  she  is!  I  like  that  mainly  too'; 
m  have   her,  iW  I  keep  her  with  main 
strength, 
I      Like  a  besieg'd  town ;  for  I  know  I  shall 
I      llave  th'  enemy  afore  me  within  a  week. 
!  Viola.  Sir,  I  can  sow  too,  and  make  pretty 

laces,  [women ; 

Dress  a  head  handsome,  teach  young  gentle- 
For  in  ail  these  I  have  a  lUtle  knowledge. 
!  VaL  Tis  well ; — no  doubt  I  shall  en  crease 

that  knowledge.  [me! — 

I  Kke  lier  better  still ;  how  she  provokes 
Pretty  young  maid,  you  shall  serve  a  good 

gentlewoman, 
TIh)'  I  say  it,  that  will  not  be  unwilling 
Vou  should  please  me,  nor  I  forgetful  if  you 
Viola.  I  am  the  happier.  [do. 


VaL  My  man  shall  make  some  shifk  to 

carry  yon 
Behind  him :  can  you  ride  well? 

riola.  But  I'll  hdd  fast. 
For  catching  of  a  fall. 

VaL  That's  the  next  way  [go  i 

To  pulf  another  on  you.— 1*11  work  her  as  I 
I  know  she*s  wax !  Now,  now,  at  this  time 

could  I 
Beeet  a  worthy  on  this  weneb. 

Viola.  Sir,  for  [tenfold  I 

This  gentleness,  may  Heav'n  requite  you 

VaL  Tis  a  good  wench!  however  other* 

use  thee, 
Be  "sure  I'll  be  a  loving  master  to  thee. 

Come !  [Exeunt^ 

Enter  Antonio  like  an  Irish  Footman,  with  a 
Letter. 

Ant.  I  hope  Fm  wild  enough  for  being 

known ! 
I've  writ  a  letter  here,  and  in  it  have 
Abus'd  myself  most  bitterly,  yet,  ail 
My  fear  is,  not  enough, 
For  that  must  do  it,  that  must  lay  it  on  : 
I'll  win  her  out  o*  th'  flint;  'twill  be  more 
Now  for  my  language !  [famous. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Now,  sir;  who'd  you  speak  with? 

Ant.  Where  be   thy  mastres,  man  ?  I'd 
I  have  a  letter.  [spake  with  her : 

Sero.  Cannot  I  deliver  it?         [not,  man. 

Ant.  N'o,  by  my  trot  and  fait,  canst  thou 

Serv.  Well,  sir,  I'll  call  her  to  you;  pray 

simke  your  ears 
Without  a  little.  [Exit. 

Ant,  Cran  a  cree,  do  it  quickly ! 
This  rebel  tongue'^  sticks  in  my  teeth 
Worse  than  a  tough  hen :  sure  it  was   [ple% 
Ne'er  known  at  Babel ;  for  they  sold  no  ap* 
And  this  was  made  for  certain  at  the  first 
Planting  of  orchards,  it  is  so  crabbed. 

Enter  Maria'and  Servant. 

lilaria.  What's  he  would  speak  with  me  I 

Serv.  A  Kilkenny  ring; 
There  he  stands,  madam.  [friend  ? 

Maria.  Wliat  would  yon  hftve  witli  me, 

Ant.   He  has  a  letter  for  other  women; 

wilt  thou  read  it  ? 

Maria.  From  whence  ? 

Ant,  De  crosse  Creest,  from  my  master ! 

Maria.  Who  is  your  master? 

Ant.  I  pray  do  you  look.. 

iWiaWa,  Do  you  know  this  fellow  ? 

Serv.  No, 
Madam,  not  I,  more  than  an  Irish  footman. 
Stand  further,  friend;   I  do  not  like  youf 

rope-runners.  [trowsers*^! 

What  stallion  rogues  are  these,  to  wear  such 
The  very  cotton  may  commit  adulter^'. 


**  Thit  rebel  tongue.]  See  note  26  on  this  Play. 

U  To  xuar  iuch  dowiets.]  The  variatioQ  by  Symf^on^ 


Ifan'o, 


»«. 


tHE  COXCOMB* 


Maria,  t  can't  ^nd  whose  hand  this  should 
he;  rilread: 

*  To  the  beauteous  wife  of  don  Autonio/ 

Sure  this  is  some  hlind  scribe !  Well !  now 
what  follows?  [that 

Ant.  Pray  God  it  take !  I  have  given  her 

Will  stir  her  conscience ;  how  it  works  v^rith 
her! 

Hope,  if  it  he  thy  will,  let  the  flesh  have  it ! 
Maria.  This  is  the  most  abhorr'd,  intole- 
rable knavery,  [more 

That  e*er  ^lave  entertain'd!  Sure  there  is 

Than  thine  own  head  in 

This  villainy;  it  goes  like  practised  mischief. 

Disabled  in  his  body?  Oh,  good  God! 

As  I  live,  he  lies  fearfully,  and  basely. 

Ha!  I  should  know  that  jewel;  'tis  my  hus- 
band I— 

Come  hither,  sirrah ;  are  you  an  Irishman  ? 
Ant,  Sweet  woman,  a  cree,  I  am  an  Irish- 
man, [your  trick,  sir  ? 
Maria.  Now  I  know't  perfectly:  is  this 

111  trick  you  for  it ! — How  long  have  you 

This  gentleman  ?  [served 

Ant.  Please  tbec,  a  little  day, 

0  my  Mac  Dermond  put  me  to  my  maatree. — 
Tis  done,  I  know. 

Afaria.  By  my  faith,  he  sneaks  as  well 
As  if  he  had  been  lousy  for  tlie  language 
A  year  or  two.  Well,  sir,  you  had  better 
Have  kept  in  your  own  shape,  as  I  will  use 

you.  [trial  ? 

What  have  I  done,  that  should  deserve  this 

1  never  made  him  cuckold,  to  my  knowledge. 
Sirrah,  come  hither  j 

Ant.  Now  will  she  send  some  jewet, 
Or  some  letter;  I  know  her  mind  as  well ! 
I  shall  be  famous. 

Maria.  Take  this  Irish  bawd  here — 

Ant.  How! 

Maria.  And  kick  him  'till  his  breeches 
And  breech  be  of  one  colour,  a  bright  blue 

both !  [dare  not 

Ant.  I  may  be  well  swing'd  thus,  for  I 

Reveal  myself:  I  hope  she  does  not  mean  it. 

[ifcrvant  kicks  him. 

Oh  hone!    oh  hone!  oh,  St.  Patrick!    oh, 

Oh,  sweet  woman !  [a  cree ! 

Maria.  Now  turn  him. 
And  kick  him  o'  t'other  side !  tliat's  well. 

Ant.  Oh,  good  waiting-man  1  I  beseech 

thee, 
Qood  waiting-raan  !*-A  pox  fire  your  legs; 

Maria.  You  rogue. 
You  enemy  to  all,  but  little  breeches,    [ter? 
How  dar'st  thou  come  to  me  with  such  a  iet- 

Ant.  Prithee 


Pity  th'  poor  Inshman  i-*All  this  makes  fx 

me: 
If  I  win  her  yet,  I'm  still  more  glo^ous. 

Marif^,  Now  could  I  weep  at  what  Fve 

done ;  hut  I'll 
Harden  my  heart  again. — Go,  shut  him  up 
Until  my  husband  cornea  home.    Yet  thoi 

much  [not  thoa 

Ere  you  go,  simdi  Thatch'd-Head  f  wouldsl 
Be  whipt,  and  think  it  iubtice? — 
Well  aquavitof  barrel,  1 11  bounce  you.  [gry ! 

Ant.  I  pray,  do^  I  bebcech  you,  be  not  an- 

Ufariu.  OH,  you  bobby-headed  rascal.  111 

have  you  flead. 
And  trossers'^  made  of  thy  skin  to  tumble  in. 
Go,  away  with  him  !  let  nim  see  no  sun. 
Till  my  husband  copi4}  home. — Sir,  I 
Shall  meet  with  you  for  your  knavery, 
I  fear  it  not. 

4nt.  Wilt  thou  not  let  me  go f— 
I  do  not  like  this. 

Maria.  Away  with  him  I         [a*lent  hair, 

Serv.  Come,  I'll  lead  you  in  by  your  jack-* 
Go  quietly,  or  Til  make  your  crupper  crack ! 

Maria.   And,  do  you  hear  me,  sirrah  f 

when  you've  doue, 
Make  my  coach  ready^ 

Sere.  Yes,  forsooth.    [Exit  with  Anttmuh 

Maria.  Lock  him  up  safe  enough. — 
I'll  to  this  gentleman,  and  know  the  reason 
Of  all  this  business,  for  I  do  suspect  it; 
If  he  have  laid  this  plot,  I'll  ring  him  such  a 

peal 
Shall  make  his  ears  deaf  for  a  month  at  least 

[Exit, 
Enter  Ricardo. 

Ric.  Am  I  not  mad?  Can  this  weak-tem- 
per'd  head,  [wroog 

That  will  be  mad  with  drink,  endure  the 
That  I  have  done  a  virgin,  and  my  love? 
Be  mad,  for  so  thou  ought'st,  or  I  will  beat 
The  walls  and  trees  down  with  thee,  and  will 

let 
Either  thy  memory  out^  or  madness  in! 
But  sure  I  never  lov*d  fair  Viola, 
I  never  lov'd  my  father,  nor  my  mother. 
Or  any  thing  but  drink !  Had  jf  had  love^ 
Nay,  had  I  known  so  much  charity*' 
As  would  have  sav'd  an  infant  fr^m  the  fin^ 
I  had  been  naked,  raving  in  the  street, 
With  half  a  face,  gashing  myself  with  kniveS} 
Two  hours  ere  this  time. 

Enter  PedrOy  Silvio,  and  Vberto. 
Pedro.  Good  morrow,  sir ! 
Ric.  Good  morrow,  gentlemen! 
Shall  we  go  driuk  again  ?  I  luive  my  wits* 


'«  Trossers.]  Trossers  appear  to  have  been  loose  breeches :  the  word  is  still  presenred^  but 
now  written  trorcncrs.  Steepens, 

'^  Had  1  knoicn  so  much  charity.]  The  omission  of  a  particle  here  hurts  the  sense,  as  well 
as  the  measure :  to  know  so  much  charity j  is  to  posbess  so  much  charity ;  but  to  knw  so 
tnuch  OF  charity f  is  to  l)ear  or  read  so  much  o^it,  as  that  it  is  a  duty  to  save  an  infiuit  from 
Uie  fire ;  which  is  a  stronger  exdufiqa  qf  himself  to  all  pret^ce  <|f  ch^ity.  Scuard. 

We  think  the  old  reading  rigbw 

Pidro» 


Mt  Si] 


TH£  COXCQMBt 


^5 


fetka.  $Ck  bare  I,  but  tiicy're  unsettled 
'Would  I'd  sonHi  porridge !  [pues  : 

jRic  TUe  tavi;ru-bo>  wa»  here  tbi:i  uioru- 
iiig  wit^  Die, 
And  toid  i««9  that  there  wab  a  ge^^UewoopaQ, 
Which  Uq  took  for  a  whore^  that  hu'^  ou  me, 
For  wlM>m  we  quarrell'd,   and  I  know  not 
Fe4ro,  rfaith,  nor  I.  [what. 

Uberto.  I  have  a  glimmering 
Of  soDie  such  thing. 

Ric.  Was  it  you,  Silvio,  [Pedro. 

That  made  me  drink  ao  much?  'twas  you  or 
Fedro,  I  know  not  who. 
Silvio.  We  were  all  apt  enough.  [me, 

Ric,  But  I  will  lay  the  fault  ou  none  hut 
That  I  would  be  so  entreated ! — Couir,  Silvio, 
Shall  we  go  drink  again  ?  Coni6,  gentlemen, 
Why  do  you  stay  ?  Let's  never  leave  off  mow, 
Wbilbt  we  have  wine,  and  tliroats !  I*il  prac- 
tise it, 
Till  I  have  made  it  my  best  quality ; 
for  what  is  btbt  for  me  to  do  but  that? 
For  Heav*n  sake,  come  and  drink !    When  I 
'^         am  nam*d,  [mean  you? 

Men  shall  make  answer,  '  Which  Kicardo 
\      ''The  excellent  drinker ?'  X  will  have  it  so. 
I      Will  yoti  go  drink  I 
I     -    Silvio,  We  drunk  too  much  too  lately. 
I         Hie.  Why,  there  is  then  the  l^ss  behind 
I         to  drink :  [abroad, 

LeVb  end  it  all!  dispatch  that»  wVll  senci 
i      And  purchase  lUl  the  wine  tlie  world  can 
yield,  [earth, 

And  drink  it  o^;  then  take  the  fruits  o*  th' 
I)istii  the  j  uice  from  thc>ni,  and  drink  that  off; 
We  11  catch  the  rain  before  it  fall  to  ground. 
And  drink  off  that,  that  never  more  may 

gn>w^°; 
Well  set  our  moutlis  to  springs,  and  drink 

them  off; 
And  all  this  while  we*ll  never  think  of  those 
I'      lliat  love  us  best,  more  than  we  did.  last 
I  niglit. 

[l     We  will  not  give  unto  the  poor  a  drop 

Of  all  this  drink ;  but,  wheu  we  see  them 

weep,  [too: 

Well  run  to  them,  and  drink  their  tears  off 

\Vt*ll  never  leave  whilst  there   is  lieat  or 

j  moisture 

I       In  this  lai-ge  globe ;  but  suck  it  cold  and  dry. 

Till  we  liave  made  it  elemental  earth, 
I       Merely  by  drinking. 

i'earo.  Is  it  flattery, 
I       To  tell  you,  you  arc  mad  ? 
I  Ric.  If  it  be  false,  . 

Tltere's  no  such  way  to  bind  me  to  a  i^an; 
He  tbat  will  have  me  lay  my  goc^ds  and  lands, 
Hy  htb  down  lor  him,  need  no  more  but  say, 
*  aicardo,  tliou  ar;t  mad !'  and  then  uU  these 
Are  at  his  service;  J:hen  lie  pleases  me, 
And  maketi  lae  think  that  I  had  virtue  in  me. 


***  That  never  more  way  ^oip.]  i.  e.  That 
is  strong,  but  not  very  clear.  Seward, 

**  Audr.  Where  f\  Dropped  since  first  folio. 
VQL.  III. 


Tliat  I  had  love  and  teadernoss  of  h^art; 
I'hnt,  tho'  I  have  committed  such  a  fault 
As  never  creature  did,  vet  ruuuing  ixuid, 
i\$  huiKiSt  men  should  do  tor  such  a  (:rime, 
I  have  express'd  some  worth,  tho'  it  be  late : 
But  I,  alas,  have  none  of  tliese  in  me. 
But  keep  my  wits  still  like  a  frozen  man. 
That  had  no  tire  within  him. 

Silvio.  Nay,  good  Kicardo, 
Leave  this  wild  talk,  and  send  a  letter  to  her! 
X  will  deliver  it. 

Ric.  Tis  to  no  purpose ; 
Perhaps  she's  lost  last  night ;  ^or,  if  she  is 
Gpt  home  again,  she's  now  so  strictly  look'd 

to, 
The  wind  can  scarce  oomr  to  her :  or,  admit 
She  were  herself,  if  she  would  hear  from  me, 
From  me  unworthy,  that  have  us'd  her  thus, 
She  were  so  foolish  that  she  were  no  more 
To  be  belov'd. 

Enter  Andrugio,  and  Servant  with  a  Night* 
gown. 

Sere.  Sir,  we  have  found  this  night-gotvi| 

she  took  with  her. 

And.  Where*'? 

Ric.  Where?  where?  speak  quickly  ! 

jSeirv.  Searching  in  thf  suburbs, 
We  found  a  tinker  and  his  whore  tliat  had 
It  in  a  tap*hou5a,  whom  w^  apprehended^ 
And  they  ponfess*d  they  stole  it  from  her. 

^ic.  And  murdered  her  ? 

Silvio.  Wliat  ail  you,  max^  ? 

Ric.  W^hy,  all  tins  doth  i^o(  make 
MeiQad.  [else. 

Silvio.  It  does ;  you  would  not  o^er  tliis 
Good  Pedro,  look  to*s  sword  I 

Sen?,  They  do  deny 
Tlie  killing  of  ^r,  but  swore  they 
Left  her  tied  to  a  tree,  i'th'  fields  next  those 
Suburbs  that  are  without  Our  Lady's  gate. 
Near  day,  and  by  the  road,  so  that  some 

passenger 
Must  ufttds  UMty  .her  quickly.      [I  will  only 

Andr.  The  will  of  Ueav  n  be  done  I   Sir, 
Entreat  you  this,  that  as  you  were  the  greatest 
Occasion  of  her  loss,  tliat  youll  be  pleas'd 
To  urge  your  friends, and  be  yoiuself  earnest 
I' th' search  of  her:  if  she  be  found,  she  is 

yours,  [people 

If  she  please.     I  myself  only  will  see  tliebc 
Bett<y  examin'd,  and  after  toUow 
Some  way  iu  aearch.   Uod  keep  you,  gentle^ 

men !  [£j/<. 

Silvio.  Alas,  good  man  !  [this  lump 

Ric,  What  tivnk  ye  now  of  me  ?  I  think 
Is  nothing  but  a  piece  of  phlegm  congeal'd,- 
Without  a  soul ;  ibr  where  tl)ere*s  so  much 

spirit 
As  would  but  warm  a  flea,  those  faults  of 

mine 

nothing  more  way  ever  grow.    The  expression 


Mm 


Would 


266 


THE  COXCOMB. 


[Acts. 


Would  make  it  glow  and  tene  in  this  dull 

heart, 
And  run  like  molten  gold  thro*  every  »iny 
'Till  it  could  burst  these  walls,  and  fly  away.— 
Shall  I  entreat  you  all  to  take  your  horses, 
And  search  this  innocent? 
Pedro.  With  all  our  hearts,    [come  there 
ittc  Do  not  divide  yourselves,  till  you 


Where  they  say  she  was  tied:  FllfbUow  too, 
But  never  to  return  till  she  be  found. 
Give  me  my  sword,  good  Peflro !  I  will  do 
No  harm,  believe  roe,  with  it;  I  am  now 
Far  hetter^temper^d :  if  I  were  not  so, 
I  hai'e  enow  besides.    God  keep  you  all, 
And  send  us  good  success ! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  III. 


Enter  Mercury  and  Servant. 

Mere.  XJiTHO  is  it?  can  you  tell? 
^  ^    Serv.  By  my  troth,  sir, 
I  know  not;  bat  it  is  a  gentlewoman. 

Mere.  A  gentlewoman**  ?  I'll  lay  my  life 

yon  puppy  [up  the  bed. 

Has  sent  his  wife  to  me :  if  be  have,  fling  up 

Serv. .  Here  she  is,  sir. 

Enter  Maria,  with  a  Letter. 

Maria.  I'm  glad  I  found  you,  sir.    There, 

take  your  letter,  [wrong ! 

And  keep  it  til!  you  have  another  friend  to 
l^s  too  malicious  &lae  to  make  me  sin ; 
You  have  provok'd  me  to  be  that  I  love  not, 
A  talker,  and  you  shall 
Hear  me.  Why  should  you  dare  f  imagine  me 
So  light  a  housewife,  that,  from  four  hours' 

knowledge. 
You  mieht  presume  to  offer  to  my  credit 
This  nide  and  ruflian  trial  ?  I  am  sure 
r  never  courted  you,  nor  gave  you  tokens, 
That  might  concern  assurance*' :  you-re  a 

fool!  ,         [letter. 

Merc.  I  cannot  blam^  you,  now  I  see  this 
Tho'  you  be  angry,  yet  with  me  you  must  not, 
Unlefas  you'll  make  me  guilty  of  a  wrong 
My  worst  aflections  hate. 

Maria.  Did  not  you  send  it? 

Merc.  No,  upon  my  feith; 
And  which  is  more,  I  understand  it  not: 
The  hand  is  as  far  from  my  knowledge, 
As  the  malice. 

Maria.  This  is  strange! 

Mere.  It  is  so,  -[ful, 

And  had  been  stranger^  and  indeed  more  hate- 
Had  I,  that  have  receiv'd  such  courtesies, 

**  Merc.  A  gentleman.']  lliere  is  neither  sense  nor  humour  in  tliis  answer,  and  our  authors 
mast  undoubtedly  have  wrote  it,  gentlewoman.        Sympvm. 

*3  Concern  aswrance^  Though  the  sense  of  this  place  be  not  hard  to  find  out,  yet  I  am 
afraid  the  expression  is  not  very  justifiable ;  as  the  word  iokent  occurs  in  the  line  above,  I 
once  thought  we  should  read  conn^ny  or  contain  assurance.  Smnpson. 

^  Than  the  manner.]  Manner  is  certainly,  as  Mr.  Seward  saw  with  me,  a  corruption,  and 
Che  true  reading,  which  he  concurred  in,  mattery  t.  e.  the  substance  or  contents  of  the  letter 
to  which  his  name  was  subscribed.        Sympwn. 

Jlfa^/^r  is  probably  right;  yet  manntff  is  used  in  old  books  for  the  facts  taken  in  the 

MAKKKft. 

Sere 


And  owe  so  many  thanks,  done  this  base  of- 
fice. 

Maria.  Your  name  is  at  it. 
Merc.  Yes,  but  not  my  nature ; 

And  I  shall  hate  my  name  worse  than  the 
manner'*,  [tooos; 

For  this  base  broking.  Yon  are  wise  and  vir- 

Reroove  this  fault  from  me ; 

For,  on  the  love  I  bear  to  truth  and  goodness. 

This  letter  dare  not  name  me  for  the  author. 
Maria.  Now  I  perceive  my  husband's 
knavery ! 

If  my  man  can  but  find  where  he  has  been, 

I  will  go  witli  this  gentleman,  whatsoever 

Comes  on't ;  and,  as  I  mean  to  canr  it. 

Both  he  and  all  the  world  shall  think  it  fit, 

And  thank  me  ibr  it. 
Merc.  I  must  confess  I  loved  you  at  first; 

Howe*er  this  made  me  leave  your  house  un- 
mannerly, 

That  might  provoke  me  to  do  something  ill. 

Both  to  your  honour  and  my  fiiith,  and  not 

To  write  this  letter,  which  I  hold  so  tiuly 

Wicked,  that  I  won't  think  on't. 

Maria.  I  do  believe  you,  and  since  I  see 
youVe  free,  [not 

My  words  were  not  meant  to  you :  but  this  is 

The  half  of  my  affliction. 

Merc.  It  is  pity  [quire? 

You  should  know  more  vexation ;  may  I  en- 
Maria.  Faith,  sir,  I  fear  I've  lost  my  bus* 
band.  P*'» 

Merc.  Your  husband?  it  can't  be.    J  pity 

How  she  is  vex'd ! 

Enter  Servant. 

Maria.  How  now?  what  news?  Nay,  speak, 
For  we  must  know. 


Act  5.] 


^THE  COXCOMB. 


fW 


Sero.  Faitb,  I  have  found  at  length. 
By  chance,  where  he  has  been. 

Maria.  Where? 

Sen,  In  a  blind  rwithhim! 

Ottt-hoose  i'  th'  saburhs:  pray  Goa  all  be  well 

Marui.  Why?  [comeofhimy 

Serv,  Tliere  are  his  cloaths :  buCy  what's  be- 
I  cannot  yet  enqoire^'. 

Biaria,  Vm  glad  of  tliis. —  [do? 

Sure  they  have  murdered  hiin !  What  sliall  I 

Merc.  Be  not  so  griey'd,  before  you  know 

the  truth !  fsudden'st 

YouVe  time  enough  to  weep.    1  his  is  the 
Mischief-— Did  you  not  bring  an  officer 
To  search  there,  where  you  sav  you  found  his 

cloaths?  [the  fellow  with  him ; 

&rv.  Yes;  and  we  search'd  it,  and  charged 
Bat  he,  like  a  rogue,  a  stubborn  rogue,  made 

answer,  [there, 

He  knew  not  where  he  was ;  he  had  been 
But  where  he  was  now  he  could  not  tell : 
I  tell  you  true,  I  fear  him. 
■    Mttria,  Are  all  my  hopes  and  longings  to 

enjoy  him, 
After  this  three  years*  travel,  come  to  this  ? 

Serv,  It  is  the  rankest  house  in  all  the  city. 
The  most  curs'd  roguy  bawdy-house !  Hell 

fire  it!  [you  go  home? 

Merc,  This  is  the  worst  I  heard  yet.   Will 
ni  bear  you  company,  and  give  you  the 
Best  help  I- may :  this  being  here  will  wrong 

yon.  [lov'd 

Maria,  As  you're  a  gentleman,  and  as  you 
Your  dead  friend,  let  me  not  go  home ! 
That  will  but  heap  one  sorrow  on  another. 

Merc.  Why,  propose  any  thing,  and  I'll 

perfonn*t: 
I  am  at  my  wits*  end  too. 

Serv.  So  am  I.    Oh,  my  dear  ma&ter! 

Merc.  Peace,  you  great  fool ! 

Maria.  Then,  good  sir,  carry  me  td  some 

retir*d  place. 
Far  from  the  si^ht  of  this  unhappy  city; 
Whither  you  will  indeed,  so  it  be  mr  enough ! 

Merc  If  I  might  counsel  you,  I   tlunk  , 

'twere  better 
.To  go  home,  and  try  what  may  be  done  yet; 
He  may  be  at  home  afore  you;  who  can  tell? 

Maria.  Oh,  no;  1  know he*s dead,  I  know 

'  he's  murder*d  1  [too. 

Tell  me  not  of  ^oin^  home!  you  murder  me 

Jferc.  Well,  since  it  pleasesyou  to  have  it  so, 
I  will  no  more  persuade  you  to  go  home; 
111  be  your  guide  in  the  country,  as  your  erief 
Doth  command  me.    I've  a  mother,  dweUing 

from  ^  [homely, 

Thisplaoe  tome  twenty  miles :  the  house,  tho' 


Yet  able  to  shew  somethins  like  a  welcome; 
Thither  1*11  see  you  safe,  wiui  all  your  sorrows. 

Maria.  With  all  the  speed  that  may  be 

Uiought  upon ! 
I  have  aooacn  here  ready ;  goodjir,  quickly  1— . 
I'll  fit  you,  my  fine  hinband ! 

Merc.  It  shall  be  so : 
If  diis  fellow  be  dead,  I  see  no  band 
Of  any  other  man  to  tie  me  from  my  will ; 
And  1  will  follow  her  with  such  careful 

service. 
That  she  shall  either  be  my  love,  or  wife. 
Will  you  walk  in  ? 

Maria.  I  thank  you,  sir ;  but  one  word 

with  ray  man, 
And  I  am  ready !— Keep  the  Irish  fellow 
Safe,  as  you  love  your  life,  for  1^  I  fear 
Has  a  deep  hand  m  this ;  then  search  again. 
And  get  out  warrants  for  that  naughty  man 
That  keeps  the  bad  house,  that  he  may 

answer  it! 
If  you  find  the  body,  give  it  due  burial. 
Farewell!  You  duul  hear  from  me.    Keep 

allsafo! 

Serv,  Oh,  my  sweet  master! 

[£revnf. 

Antonio,  knocking  within. 

Ant.  Man-a-cree, 
The  devil  take  thee,  wilt  thou  kill  me  here? 
I  prithee  now  let  me  so  seek  my  master ; 
I  shall  be  very  cbeel  else. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Do  you  hear,  man-a-cree? 
I'll  cnee  your  coxcomb,  an  you  keep  not  still; 
Down  you  rogue ! 

Ant,  Good  sweet  fact  sarving-man, 
Let  me  out,  I  beseech  de,  and  by  my  trot 
I  will  give  dy  worship  two  shillings  in  good 
To  buy  dy  worship  pipins.  [<^ot, 

Serv,  This  rogue  thmks 
All  the  worth  of  man  consists  in  pipins:  by 

this  light, 
111  beat  rebellion  out  of  you  for  ever**  ! 

Ant.  Wilt  thou  not  hear  me,  man? 
Is  fet!  ril  give  thee  all  I  have  about  me.    • 

Serv.  I  thank  you,  sir;  so  I  may  have 

picking  work*^. 
•  Ant.  Here  is  five  shillings,  man. 

Serv.  Here  is  a  cudgel, 
A  very  good  onel 

Enter  two  Servants. 

2  Serv.  How  nwv?  what*s  the  matter? 
Where  is  the  Irishman  ? 

1  Serv.  There,  a  wyth  take  him ^'! 

H^ 


*^  I  catmat  yet  enquire.]  EnquirCy  means  here,  Jind  out.  Symptoj^. 

^*  PU  beat  rebellion  out  of' you  for  ever.]  A  second  slur  this  upon  the  >ebellipus  Irish. 

Symjson, 

work."]  Meaning  he  was  lousy.  Sympson,  '  * 

This  expression  seems  to  be  equivaleut  to  that  now  used  by  the^ul- 

A  wyth  appears  to  have  been  a  band  or  h»ltcr»    *  I  heard  a  tale  of  a 

M  m  3  *  butcher, 


*'  May  have  pi 
*»  A  wyth  take  him^ 
gar,  a  hatter  take  kirn. 


266 


tHE  COXCOMS. 


[kctU 


He  makes  more  noise  «l!one  th^K,  thah  ten 

lawyers 
Can  do  >vith  dmtble  fees,  and  a  scurvy  case**. 

^  Scrv.  Let  liim  out !  I  must  talk  with  him. 

Enter  Antonio. 

Ant.  Wilt  thou  give  me 
Some  drink,  oh  hone?  I  am  very  dry,  man. 

2  Serv.  You  shall  have  that  shall  quench 

youf.  thirst,  my  friend. 

Ant.  \^t  dost  thou  mean,  man^ 

2  SffT.  jEven  a  good  tough  hoiker. 

Ant.  A  halter?  oh  hone! 

2  Serv.  Sirrah, 
You  are  a  mischievous  rogue,  that's  the  truth. 

Ant.  No,  fet  I  am  not. 

1  Serv.  Shall  I  knock  out  his  brains? 
I  have  kill'ddogs  have  been  worth  three  of  him 
For  all  uses. 

2  Serv.  Sirrah,  the  truth  on't  is, 
You  must  with  me  to  a  justice.    Oh,  Roger, 

Roger! 

1-Serv.  WTiy, what's  the  matter,  William? 
2  Serv.  Heavy  news,  Roger, 
Heavy  news;  God  comfort  us! 

1  Serv.  What  is*t,  man  ?  [weary 
Ant.  What's  the  matter  now  ?— I  am  ev'n 

Of  this  way :  'would  I  were  out  on*t! 

2  Serv.  My  master  sure 
Is  murder'd,  Roger,  and  this  Cursed  rogue, 
I  fear,  has  had  a  hand  in't. 

Ant.  No,  fet,  not! 

1  Serv.  Stand  away! 
rU  kick  it  out  of  him :  come,  sirrah,  mount ; 
I'll  make  you  dance,  you  ^rascal!  kill  my 

master? 
If  thy  breech  were  cannon-proof,  having  this 
Good  cause  on  my  side, I  would  encounter  it; 
Hold  fair.  Shamrock ! 

Ant.  Why,  how  now,  sirs! 
Ymi  will  not  murder  me,  indeed  ? 

U  Serv.  Bless  us,  Roger! 

Ant.  Nay,  I  am  no  spirit. 

2  Serv.  flow  do  you,  sir? 
This  is  my  very  master* 

*  butcher,  who  driving  two  calves  over  a  common,  that  were  coupled,  together  by  the  necks 
<'witb  an  o<dten  zcyth.    In  the  wa^^  where  they  should  pass,  there  lay  a  poor  lean  mare,  with 

*  a  gall'd  back,  to  whom  they  coming  (as  chance  lell  out)  one  of  one  side,  and  the  other  of 

*  the  other,  smelling  on  her,  (as  their  nmuner  is)  the  midst  of  the  wyth  tliat  was  betwixt 

*  their  necks  rubbed  her  and  grated  her  on  the  sore  back,  that  she  started  and  rose  op,  airi 

*  hung  them  both  on  her  back  as  a  beam ;  wliich  bein^  but  a  rough  plaister  to  her  raw  uleer, 

*  she  ran  away  with  them  (as  she  were  frantic)  into  the  fens,  where  the  butcher  could  hot 

*  follow  them,  and  drowned  both  herself  and  them  in  a  quagmire.  Now  the  owner  of  the 
<  mare  is  in  law  with  the  butcher  for  the  loss  of  his  mare,  and  the  butcher  interchangeably 
« indicts  him  for  his  calves.'  Pierce  Fenileisc  his  Supplicatha  to  the  Devily  by  Tho.  NiHhtt 
1693,  p.  15. 

This  whimsical  story  so  much  resembles  the  case  of  Bullum  and  Boatum,  told  by  the  late 
Lecturer  on  Heads,  that  he  might  almost  be  suspected  to  have  borrowed  the  idea  (rom 
Nash.        R. 

^9  With  double,  and  a  scurvy  case.]  Mr.  Seward  proposed  reading  douhlfuly  or  douhle  and 
scutvy,  Ve.  doubly  scurvy.  I  only  suppose  a  word  has  been  dropt  here  by  chance^  and  that 
the  whole  ran  once, 

double  fees,  and  a  scurvy  cause. 

i.  s.  doubly  paid  to  pleacTa  scurvy  cause.        Sympson. 

Empty 


Ant^  Whyj  weTI  >hoiM|h  ^^t ; 
But    you've  «  hea^  root    of   yotir  owa* 

Where's  my  wife  ? 

1  Serv.  Alas,  poor  sorrowful  gientlewoiniin^ 
She  chinks  yo\iVe  dead,  und  ♦las  given  o'er 

housekeeping. 

Ant.  Whither  is  she  gone  ilien  ? 

1  Serv.  Into  tlje  country 
With  the  gentleman,  yourfrichd,  sir. 
To  M»e  if  she  can  wear  her  sorted  (wl 

there: 
She  weeps  and  takes  on  too — 

4nt.  This  fiills  out  pat; 
I  shall  be  everlasting  for  a  name!— 
Doyou  hear  ?  upon  your  lives  and  faithsto  me, 
Not  one  wonl  I  am  living ! 
But  let  the  same  report  pass  along,*  that 
I  am  murdcr'd  still.— I'm  made  for  ever! 

1  Serv.  Why,  sir  ?  fy»w.^ 

Ant.  I  have  a  cause, '^sir;  that's'enoughfor 
Well,  if  I  bfe  not  famous,  I  am  wrong'd  much : 
For  any  thing  I  know,  I  will  not  trouble  him 
This  week  at  least ;  no,  let  them  take  their 
One  of  another!  [way 

1  Scro.  Sir,  will  you  be  still  an  Irishman  i 
Ant.  Yes,  a  while.  [more  ? 

2  Serv.  But  your  worship  will  be  beaten  no 
Ant.  No,  I  Ihank  you,  William.  [doit 
"1  Serv.  In  truth,  sir,  if  it  must  be  so,  ill 

Better  than  a  strangter. 

Ant.  Go ;  you'reknares  both! 
But  I  forgive  you. — I  am  almost  mad 
With  the  apprehension  of  what  I  shall  be.— 
Not  a  word,  I  charge  you !  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Valerio  and  Viola. 

Vol.  Come,  pretty  soul,  we  now  are  ne«f 
our  home,  [Mil, 

And  whilst  our  horses  ate  walk'd  down  th« 
Let  thou  and  I  walk  here  over  this  close! 
The  footway  is  more  pleasant.     Tis  a  timq^ 
My  pretty  one,  not  to  be  wept  away, 
For  every  living  thing  is  ftiU  of  love ; 
Art  not  thou  so  too  ?  ha  ? 

Viola.  Nay,  there  are  living  things 


<&ct5j 


TUB  COKCOVIS. 


2^ 


Emphr  of  love,  or  I  had  not  been  hete;  * 
I    BHty&r  mjBelfy  akis,  I  have  too  much. 

VmL  it  camioC  be,  [gi^ce, 

'    That  60  moch  beauty,  so  muHXi  youtli  and 
I    Should  hme  too  much  o£  iove. 

Vioia.  Pray  what  is  love  ? 
I    For  I  am  full  of  that  I  do  not  know.    ^ 
VaL  U^y,  love,  fair  maid,  is  an  eMrenie 
desire, 
TWs  not  to  be  eKamin'd,  but  fuldird ; 
'    To  %sk  the  reason  why  thou  art  in  love, 
Or  what  might  lift  the  noblest  end  in  love. 
Would  overthrow  that.kindly^risiHg  wanatli, 
That  many  times  slides  gently  o'er  tiie  heart ; 
I'troald  make  thee  grave  ^d  staid,  thy 
j       thoughts  would  be 
I    like  a  thrice-married  widow,  full  of  ends, 
I    And  void  of  all  compassion ;  and,  to  fright 
i       thee 

I   pKim«ttdi' enquiry,  whereas  thou  art  now 
Living  in  i^nornnoe,  mild,  fresh,  And  sweet. 
And  b«t«u(teea,  the  knowing  what  love  is 
''<    Woold  make  thee -six  and  forty. 

Vioia,  'Would  it  wouldmake  me  nothing ! — 
I  have  heard 
Scholars  affirm,  the  world^s  upheld  by  love^ 
fiat  I  believe,  wooien  nuiintain  all  tlus; 
For  there's  no  love  in  men. 
VbL  Yes,  in  -some  men. 
Viola.  I  know  them  not. 
VaL  Why,. there  islo^e  in  me. 
Fio^.  There's  charity  Tm  bure  towards  me. 
Vol,  And  love. 
Which  I  will  now  express ;  xuy  pretty  maid, 
I  dare  not  bring  thee  home ;  my  wite  is  foul, 
And  therefore  envious ;  she:  is  very  old,  • 
^Aodthefefoie  jealous;  ihou  art  fair  and 

young, 
A^l^eet  fit  for  her  unlucky  vices 
To  work  upon ;  she  never  will  endure  thee. 

Viola^  Sne  may  endure,    • 
If  site  be  aught  but  devil,  all  the  friendship 
That  I  will  h<^d  with  you.    Can  she  endure 
I  ihoukl  be  thankful  to  you  ?  may  I  pray 
Foryou  and  her?  will  she  be  brought  to  think. 
That  all  the  honest  industry  I  have 
Deaervea  brown  bread  ?  If  this  ma^  be  endor*d, 
^'11  pick  a  quarrel  with  a  sleeping  child, 
I!*e  she  £ill  out  with  me.>.  [someness. 

VmI,  Bat,  tmst  me/aliedoes  hate,  all  hahd- 
Viola,  How  fell  yon  in  love>with:8iieh  a 
VaL  I  never  U>v'd  her.  [creatiue  f 

Vioia,  And  yet  mariied  her? 
VaL  She  was  a  rich  one. 
Viola,  Attd  yon  awere,  I  wanant  you, 
She  was  a  fiur  one  tlien  too. 

VaL  Or,  Mfeve  me, 
I  think  I  had  not  had  her. 

Viola,  Are  you  men  [place. 

All  such  ?  'VVouid  you  would  wall  us  in  a 
Wliere  all  we  women  that  are  innocent 
M»ht  live  together !  • 

Vol.  Do  not  weep  at  this : 
Altho'  I  dare  not,  for  some  weighty  reason. 
Displease  my  wife,  yet  111  forget  not  thee. 


Violu,  What  will  ^you  -do  widi  me  ? 

Vol.  Thou  slmlt  be  placed  [roioient 

At  uiy  inau's  house,  and  have  &\\c\i  tuod  and 
As  can  be  bought  wltli  money  :  these  wlute 

hands 
Sliall  uuver  leaun  to  work,  but  tjieyshall  play. 
As  thou  sayst  tliey  were  wont,  {teaching  tlie 

strings 
To  move  in  order,  oj^what  else  thou  wiit. 

Viola.  I  thank   you,  sir;    but   pray   you 

cluath  me  poorly, 
And  let  my  labour  get  me  means  to  live! 

Vol.  But,  fair  one,   you  I  know  do    so 

much  hate 
A  foul  ii^ratitude,  you  will  not  look 
I  should  do  tiiis  for  nothing. 

Viola,  I  will  work 
As  much  out  as  I  can,  and  take  as  little;  and 
That  you  shall  have  as  duly  paid  to  you 
As  ever  servant  did. 

VuL  But  give  me  now  . 
A  trial  of  it,  that  I  may  believe! 
•We  are  alone;  shew  me  how  tiiou  wilt  kiss 
And  hug  nie  liard,  when  I  have  stol'ii  away 
From  my  too-clamorous  wife  that  watches  me. 
To  spend  a  blessed  hour  or  two  with  thee ! 

Viola,  Is  this  tlie  love  ypu  mean?  You 

would  have  that 
Is  not  in  me  to  give ;  you  would  Imve  lust. 

VaL  Not  to  d  issei  able,  or  to  mince  the  word, 
rris  lust  I  wi«^  iudeed. 

Viola.  And,  by  my  troth,  [kindly, 

J  have  it  not!  For  HeavVs  sake,  use  me 
Tho'  I  be  good,  and  siusw  perhaps.a  monster, 
As  this  world  goes ! 

VaL  1  do  but. speak  to  thee; 
Thy  answers  are  thv  own ;  I  compel  none  -. 
But  if  thou  refuse  this  motion. 
Thou  art  not  then  for  me.     AIas,.good  soul? 
What  profit  can  thy  work  bring  pie  ? 

Viola,  But  I  ^ear:   I  pcay  go!   for  lust, 

they  say,  will  grow 
Outrageous,  being  denied.  I^ive  you  tlMmks 
For  all  your  courtesies,  and  there's  a  jewel 
•That's  worth  the  taking,  that  I  did  preserve 
Safe  from  the  robbers.  E'ray  you  leave  me  here 
Just  as  you  found  me,  a  poor  innocent, 
And  Ueav'n  will  bless  you  tor  it! 

Vol.  Pretty  maid, 
I  am  no  robkier,  uor  no  ravisher. 
I  pvay  thee  keep  thy  jewel.    I. have* done 
No  wrong  to  thee.    Tbo'thou  be'st  virtuous, 
And  in  extremity,  I  do  not  know 
That  I  am  bound  to  keep  thee. 

Vioia,  No,  sir; 
For  God  8  sake,  if  you  know  an  honest  man 
In  all  these  countries,  give  me  some  directi9n5 
To  find  him  oat! 

VaL  More  lion«0t  tlmn  myself,  [liiin 

Good  sooth,  I  do^  not  know  :  I  would  have 
With  thee,  with  thy  conserit;  and  who  would 

not. 
In  all  these  parts,  is  past  my  memory. 
I'm  sorry  for  thee.     Farewell,  gentle  maid : 
God  keep  thee  safe!  [EjU. 

VioU. 


270 


THE  COXCOMB. 


[Ad  3. 


Viola,  I  thank  you,  sir ;  and  yoo ! 
Woman,  they  say,  was  only  made  of  man : 
Methinks  'tis  stranue  they  should  be  so  un* 

like! 
It  may  be,  all  the  best  was  cut  away 
To  make  the  woman,  and  the  nanght  was  left 
Behind  with  him. — 111  sit  me  down  and 

weep!  [earth: 

All  things  have  cast  me  from  'em  bat  the 
The  evening  comes,  and  e\'ery  little  flower 
Droops  now,  as  well  as  I. 

Enter  Nan  and  Madge,  with  Milk'-pails. 

Nan,  Good  Madge, 
Let's  rest  a  little;  bv  my  troth,  Vm  weaty.' 
This  new  pail  is  a  plaguy  heavy  one;  'would 

Tom  [ard'st 

Were  Itang'd  for  chusing  it !  'tis  the  nntow- 
Fool  in  a  country.  [too,  Nan. 

Madge.  With  all  my  heart,  and  i  thank  you 

Viola.    What  true   contented  happiness 

dwells  here, 
More  t1i^  in  cities!  'Would  to  God  my  father 
Had  liv'cl  like  one  of  these,  and  bred  me  up 
To  milk,  and  do  as  they  do!  Methinks  'tis 
A  life  that  I  would  chuse,  if  I  were  now 
To  tell  my  time  again,  above  a  prince's. — 

Maids,  [of  milk, 

For  chart^,  give  a  poor  wench  one  draught 
That  weanness  and  hunger  have  nigh  ^misli'd ! 

Nan,  If  I'd  but  one  cow's  milk  in  all  the 

worid,  [more !  the  cheese 

You  should  have  some  ou*t:  there;  drink 
jjhall  pay  for  it.  Alas^  poor  lieart,  she's  dry. 

Madge.  Do  you  dwell  hereabouts? 

Viola,  No;  'would  I  did!        [cousin  Sue 

Nan,  Madge,  if  she  does  not  look  like  my 
O'  th*  Moor-iune,  as  one  thing  can  look  like 

another.  [Sue  well : 

Madge,  Nay;  Sue  has  a  haxel  eye,  I  know 
And,  by  your  leave^  not  so  trim  a  body, 

neither; 
This  is  a  feat-bodied  thing,  I  tell  you. 

Nan.  She  laces  close  [too. 

By  the  mass,  I  warrant  you;  and  so  does  Sue 

Viola.  I  ^nkyou  for  your  gcsntleness,  fistir 

maids. 

Nan.  Drink  a|ain,  pray  thee!  [thee  for*t! 

Viola.  I'm  satisfied;  and  Hearn  reward 
Yet  Uitts  far  111  compel  you,  to  accept 
These  Wifies^toysonly  that  express  my  thanks, 
For  greater  worth  I'm  sure  they  have  not  in 

them. 
Indeed  you  shall;  I  found  them  as  I  came. 

Nan,  Madge !  look  you  here,  Madge ! 

Madge.  Nay,  I  have  as  fine  a  one asyou; 


IS  you; 
pn't: 


All  gold,  and  painted,  and  a  precious  stone 
I  %>  arrant  it  cost  a  crowa»  wench. 


Nan,  But  mine 
Is  the  most  sumptuous  one  that  e'er  I  sayr. 

Viofa.  One  favour  you  must  do  me  more. 
Are  well  acquainted  here.  [for  you 

Nan,  Indeed  we'll  do  you  any  kindness, 

sister.  [place, 

Viola,  Only  to  send  me  to  some  honest 
Where  I  may  find  a  service.  [last  week. 

Nan.  Uds  me,  our  Dorothy  went  away  but 
And  I  know  my  mistress  wants  a  maid,  and 

why  [wench. 

May  she  not  be  plac'd  there?  This  is  a  likely 
I  tell  you  truly,  and  a  good  wench,  I  warrant 

her.  [have  serv'd 

Madge,  And  'tis  a  hard  case,  if  we  that 
Four  years  apiece,  cannot  bring  in  one  ser- 
vant; 
We  will  prefer  h6r.    Haik  yoa,  sister ! 
Pray  whatf  s  vour  name  I 

viola.  Melvia.  [milk  a  cow  ? 

Nan,  A  feat  name,  f faith!  And  can  yea 
And  make  a  merry-bush  ?  That's  nothing. 

Viola,  I  shall  learn  quickly,    fserve  a  pig? 

Nan.  And  dress  a  house  with  flowers?  and 
(This  you  mast  do,  for  we  deal  in  the  dairy) 
And  make  a  bed  or  two? 

Viola,  I  hope  I  shall.  [^^  ^^  "^^ 

Nan,  But  be  sure  to  keep  the  men  out; 
All  that  you  make  else,  I  know  that  by  my 

self; 
For  I  have  been  so  tousM  among  'em  in 
My  days!  Come,  you  shall  e'en  home  with  us. 
And  be  our  fellow;  our  house  is  so  honest, 
And  we  serve  a  very  good  woman,  and  a  gen- 
tlewoman! [dajs 
And  we  live  as  merrily,  and  dance  o'  good 
Afler  even-song.  Our  wake  shall  be  on  Suji- 

day }  [mighty  cheer  then, 

,  Do  vou  know  what  a  wake  is?    We  have 

Ana  such  a  coil,  'twould  bUssye!  Yoo  most 

Be  so  bashful,  youll  spoil  all.  [not 

Madge.  Let's  home,  for  God's  sake! 
My  mistress  thinks  by  this  time  we  are  lost. 
Come,  we'll  have  a  care  of  you,  I  warraot 

you :  [b6ni, 

But  you  must  tell  my  mistress  where  you  were 
And  every  thing  tlmt  belongs  to  you,  and  the 

strangest  things 
You  din  devise,  for  sheloves  those  estremdy; 
'TIS  no  matter  whether  th^  be  true  or  no, 

she's  not  so  scrupulous. 
You  must  be  our  sister,  and  love  us  best, 
And  tdl  tts  every  thing;  and  when  odd  wetr 

ther 
CoQies,  we'll  lie  together:  will  you  do  this? 

Viola,  Yes. 

Nan.  Then  home  again,  o' God's  name? 
Can  you  goc4;>ace? 

viola,  I  warrant  you.  [ExewU. 


ACT 


Act  4.] 


THE  COXCOMB. 


S71 


ACT    IV. 


Enter  Pedro  and  SUvIq*^,  ttveralltf. 

PednK  TJOW  now?  any  good  news  yet f 
"•    Sihkh  Faith,  not  any  yet. 

Pedro.    This  comes  o*  tippling:    would 

'twere  treason, 
Au't  please  God,  to  drink  more  than  three 
Draughts  at  a  meal. 

SUvio.  When  did  you  see  Ricardo? 

Pedro.  I  cro8s*d  hun  twice  to-day. 

Silvio.  You  have  heard  of 
A  young  wench  that  was  seen  last  night? 

Pedro.  Yes. 

Silvio.  Has  Ricardo  heard  of  this  ? 

Pedro.  Yes;  and  I  think 
He*s  ridden  after.  Farewell !  I  will  liave 
Another  ronnd. 

Silvio.  If  you  hear  any  thin^ 
Pray  spare  no  horse-flesh;  I  will  do  the  like. 

Pedro.  Do.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Jjfieardo  and  Vakrio. 

I      Ric.  Sir,  I  did  think  'twas  you,  by  all  de- 

FoiLTisso;  [scriptioiis. 

I  took  her  up  indeed,  the  manner  how 
You*7e  heard  already,  and  what  she  had 

abont  her, 
(As  jewels,  gold,  and  other  trifling  things) 
And  what  my  end  was,  which,  because  she 

slighted, 
I  left  her  there  i*  tli*  fields.  [rogne, 

Itk.  Left  i*th'  fields?    Could  any  but  a 
That  had  despis'd  humanity  and  goodness, 
Heav'n*s  law  and  credit,  and  had  set  himself 
To  lose  his  noblest  part,  and  be  a  beast. 
Have  left  so  innocent  unmatched  a  virtue 
To  the  rude  mercy  of  a  wilderness?  [house  I 

Val.  Sir,  if  you  come  to  rail,  pray  quit  my 

^'  Enter  Pedro  and  Uberto  teveralbf.'\  The  dissonance  between  the  persons  in  the  stage 
direction,  and  those  in  the  text,  is  too  giarine  to  be  overlooked.  S^fvupton. 

^^  To  heepoffhalfa  day  f]  Tis  pity  this  fine  passage  sliould  lie  clog'd  with  the  least  ob- 
scurity. But  what  is  ka^'a  day  here}  The  twelve  hours  of  the  night?  Or  may  day  here 
signify  the  open  air,  as  the  miners  use  it  in  Derbyshire?  When  the^  ore  is  brought  from 
nnder  ground,  they  say.  Its  brought  to  day.  If  this  last  may  be  allowed,  the  sentiment  is 
extremely  just,     lb  keep  off' only  half  the  inclemency  of  the  air.  St^mpton. 

The  eipression,  we  tliink,  means  to  keep  of  the  weather  during  half  a  day :  'The  twelve 
'  hours  of  the  night,'  b  a  ridiculous  preciseness. 

3>  . — i that  prime 

The  maiden  blouonu.]  Here  we  have  another  difiiculty  to  encounter,  which  I  am  afraid 
is  not  capable  of  being  explained  into  sense,  and  therefore  must  be  cured  another  way.  To 
frime  blossoms,  i.e.  to  nip,  or  make  them  wither,  is,  I  fancy,  an  expression  for  which  thei« 
can  be  found  no  authority,  and  so  the  less  likely  to  have  any  claim  for  a  place  here.  There 
are  two  ways  of  nuiking  this  passage  sense;  the  first  is  by  reading  thus,  that  prune,  &c, 
which  Mr.  Seward  concurred  with  me  in ;  the  other,  and  which  I  like  better,  is  this; 

-  that  pine 
The  maiden  blossoms.  Sympson* 

Perlmps  prime  the  maiden  blossotnsy  might  have  been  intended  to  signify  to  cut  them  eff  in 
their  pkimc. 

Tlie 


I  do  not  use  to  have  such  language  ^ven 
Within  my  doors  to  me.  As  for  your  wench, 
You  may  go  seek  her  witli  more  patience; 
She's  tame  enough,  I  warrant  you. 

Ric.  Pray  forgive  me, 
(I  do  ocmfess  my  much  foivetfulnets) 
And  weigh  my  words  no  further,  I  beseech 

you,  [seix'd  me, 

Tlum  a  mere  madness !  for  such  a  grief  has 
So  strong  and  deadly,  as  a  punishment. 
And  a  just  one  too. 
That  'tis  a  greater  wonder  I  am  living. 
Than  any  thing  I  iitter.  Yet,  let  me  tell  yon 
Thus  much ;  it  was  a  fiiult  for  leaving  her 
So  in  the  fields; 

Val.  Sir,  I  will  think  so  now ; 
And  credit  me,  you  have  so  wrought  me  with 
Your  grief,  that  I  do  both  foigive  and  pity 

you:  {b^re» 

And  if  youll  please  to  take  a  bed  this  night 
To-morrow  I  will  bring  you  where  I  left  her* 

Ric.  I  thank  you,  no !   Shall  I  be  so  an* 

worthy 
To  think  upon  a  bed,  or  ease,  or  comfort, 
And  have  my  heart  stmy  from  me,  God 

knows  where, 
Cold  and  forsaken,  destitute  of  firiends. 
And  all  good  comforts  else,  unless  some  tree, 
Whose  speechless  charity  must  better  ours, 
With  which  the  bitter  east  winds  made  their 

sport 
And  sung  thro'  hourly,  hath  invited  her 
To  keep  off  half  a  day3'>?  Shall  she  be  thus. 
And  [  draw  in  soft  slumbers?  God  forbid ! 
No,  nieht  and  bitter  coldness,  I  provoke  thee. 
And  ail  the  dews  that  hang  upon  tliy  locks. 
Showers,  hails,  snows,  frosts,  and  two-edg'd 

winds  that  prime^' 


272 


TOE  COXCOMB. 


[Act  4. 


The  maiden  blossoms ;  I  provoke  you  all^ 
And  dare  expose  this  body  to  your  sharpness^ 
Till  I  be  made  a  laud-mark ! 

Vol.  Will  you  then  stay 
And  eat  with  me  ? 

Ric.  You're  angry  with  me,  I  know  you're 

You  would  not  bid  me  eat  else.    My  poor 

mistress^ 
For  aught  I  know,  thou'rt  famish'd;  for  what 

else 
^  Can  the  fields  yield  thee,  and  the  stubborn 

season. 
That  yet  holds  in  the  fruit?  Good  gentle  sir, 
Think  not  ill  manners  in  me  for  denying 
Your  offered  meat!  for  sore  I  cannot  eat 
While  I  do  think  she  wants.  Well,  I'm  a  rash 

cal, 
A  Tillain,  slate,  that  only  was  begotten, 
To  murder  women,  and  of  them  the  best. 

VaL  This  is  a  strange  affliction !  If  you  will 
Accept  no  greater  courtesy,  yet  drink,  sir. 

Ric.  Now  I  am  sure  you  hate  me :  an  you 

knew 
What  kind  of  man  I  am<*as  indeed  'tis  fit 
That  every  man  should  know  me,  to  avoid  me. 
If  you  have  peace  within  you,   sir,  or  good* 
•   iiesB, 
Name  that  abhowr'd  word  drinkno  more  unto 

me! 
You  had  safer  strike  me. 
I  pray  you  do  not,  if  you  love  me,  do  not! 

VaL  8ir,  I  mean  no  iHt  by't, 
.  Ric.  It  may  be  so; 

Nor  let  iTie  see  none,  sir,  if  y(vu  love  Heav'n ! 
You  know  not  what  offence  it  is  unto  nic; 
Xor,  good  now,  do  not  ask  me  wliy:  and  I 

warn 
You  once  ajrain,  let  no  man  else  speak  of  it! 
1  fear  your  servants  will  be  prating  to  me. 

K«/.  Why,  sir,  what  ail  vou? 

jRir.  I  hate  drink,  there  s  fl>e  end  on't; 
And  that  man   that  drinks  with   meat  is 

damn*d''^. 
Without  an  age  of  prayers  and  repentance; 
And  there's  a  hazard  too:  good  sir,  no  more! 
If  you  will  do  me  a  free  courtesy, 
TlJat  f  shall  know  for  one,  go  take  your  horse, 
And  bring  fhe  to  the  place  where  you  left  her. 
VuL  Snice  you  are  so  importunate,  I  will: 
But  I  will  wish,  sir,  you  had  sta/d  to-night; 
Upon  mv  credit,  you  shall  see  no  drink. 

Ric,  be  gone  I  the  hearing  of  it  makes  me 


Enter  Mother,  Viola,  Nan,  and  Madge, 

Mot  her.  Is  this  the  wench  ?  YouVe  brought 

me  some  catch,  I  warrant. 
I  low  daringly  she  looks  upon  the  matter! 

Madf^c.  Yes,  forsooth,  this  is  tlie  maideo. 

Mother.  C^nie  hither!  Would  you  serve? 

Viola.  If  it  shall  please  you  to  accept  my 

service ;  [you, 

I  hope  I  shall  do  something  that  shall  like 
Tho'it  be  but  truth,  and  often  praying  (or  you. 

Mother.,  You  are  vcry^curious  of  your  hand 

snethinks, 
You  preserve  it  so  with  gluvet :  let  me  see  it! 
Ay,  marry,  here's  a   hand  of  marchpane, 

wenches ! 
This  pretty  palm  r.ovrr  »(new  sorrow  yet: 
How  soft  It  is,  l  warrant  you,  and  supple! 
O'my  word,  this  is  titter  ior  a  pocket,  Joae, 
To  filch  withal,  than  to  work:  I  fear  me,iittle 
You  are  no  better  than  yon  should  be;  go  to! 

Viola.  My  conscience  yet  is  btit  one  mt- 

nesstome,  [cence: 

And  that,  Heav'n  knows,  is  of  mine  iniio- 
'^ris  true,  I  must  cdnfess  with  shame  enough. 
The  time  that  I  have  led  yet  never  taught  me 
What  'twas  to  break  a  sleep,  or  to  be  weaiy. 

Mother.  You  can  say  well; 
If  you  be  mine,  wench,  you  must  d'>  well  too, 
For  words  are  but  slow  workers :  yet,  so  much 
Hope  I  have  of  you,  that  I'll  take  you,  so 
You  will  be  diligent,  and  do  your  duty. 
How  now  ? 

Enter  Alexander. 
Alex.  There  is  a  messenger  come 
From  your  son,  that  brings  youwoidheil 

retum*d 
Fro^  travel,  and  will  be  liere  this  n5ght. 
Mother.  Now  joy  upon  thee  for  it !  thoa 
art  ever 
A  bringer  of  t»ood  tidings ;  there,  drink  that! 
In  trotiMh'  hast  much  contented  mT.  My  son? 
Lord,  how  thou  hast  picas  d  me !  shall  I  see 
njy  win    v  [same, 

Yet  ere  I  die  ?  Take  care  my  house  be  hand- 
And  the  new  stools  set  out,  and  boughs  and 
rushes  ^rpct, 

And  flow'rs  for  the  window,  and  the  Torkey 
And  tl»e  great  parcel  salt,  Nan,  with  the  cru- 
ets ! 
A  ikI  prithee,  Alexander,  go  to  th'  cook, 
A  tid  bid  him  ?pare  for  nothing,  my  son's  come 
Who's  come  with  him?  [home! 

Sir^  wifl  you  be  entreated  to  forbear  it?  Alrr.  I  hear  of  none  yet,  but  a  geutlcwo- 

I  shall  be  mad  else.  man.  [mau ! 

Val.  1  pray  no  more  of  that !  Mother.  A  gentlewoman  ?  what  gendewo- 

I'm  quiet;  I'll  walk  in,  and  away  straight.  Alex.  I  know  not:  but  such  a  on^  there  i% 

Ric.  Now  I  thank  you !  But  what  you  do,  he  says.  [himsetf 

Do  m  a  twinkling,  sir !  Mother.  Pray  God  he  have  not  cast  away 

Val.  As  soon  as  may  be.  [Exeunt.      Uj>on  some  snout-fair  piece!  I  do  not  like  it. 

^^  And  that  man  that  drinks  uith  meat  is  damned.]  As  the  line  is  deficient  by  a  syllfthle) 
why  may  we  not  pre&en-e  the  sentiment,  and  restore  the  measure^  by  reading  thus; 
And  tliat  man  that  drinks  without  meat  is  dainn'd.  Svtnpson, 

Alei. 


Act  4.] 


THE  COXCOMB. 


270 


Alex,  No^  sure  my  master  has  more  discre- 
tion, [welcome. 

Mother.  Well,  be  it  how  it  will  he  shall  be 
Sin,  to  yoar  tasks,  and  shew  this  little  novice 
How  to  bestir  herself!  I'U  sort  out  things. 

[EjU. 

Madge.  We  will,  forsooth :  I  can  teUyou, 

my  mistress 
L  a  stirring  woman. 

Nan.  Lord,  how  she'll  talk  sometimes ! 
It  IS  the  maddest  cricket — 

Viola.  Methinks  she  talks  well, 
And  shews  a  great  deal  of  good  housewifery. 
Fray  let  me  deck  the  chambers,  shall  I? 

iViw.  Yes, 
You  shall;  but  do  not  scorn  to  be  ndvis*d. 
Sister,  for  there  belongs  more  to  that  ihan 
You  are  aware  on:  wliy  [ings? 

Would  you  venture  so  fondly  upon  thescrow- 
There's  mighty  matters  in  them,  111  assure 

you. 
And  in  the  spreading  of  a  bough-pot;  you  « 
May  miss,  if  you  were  ten  ye<irs  elder,  if 
Yot^  take  not  especial  care  before  you. 

Viola.  I  will  learn  willingly,  if  that  he  all. 

Nan,  Sirrah,  whertf  is't  they  say  my  youug 

master  hath  been?  [where  they 

Madge.  Faith  I  know  not;  beyond  the  sea, 
Are  born  without  noses. 

Nan.  Jesse,  bless  us!  without  noses? 
How  do  they  do  for  handkerchiefs? 

Madge.  So  Richard  says : 
And,sirrah,  their  feet  stand  in  their  foreheads. 

Nan,  Tliat's  fine, 
By  my  troth!  These  men  have  pestilent  run- 
ning heads  then. 
Do  tl]«y  speak  as  we  do  ? 

Madge.  No,  tliey  never  speak. 

Nan.  Are  they  cursen*d  ? 

Madge,  No,  tliey  call  tliem  infidel^; 
I  know  not  what  they  are. 

Nan,  Sirmh,  we  shall  have  [home. 

Fine  courting,  now  my  young  master  is  come 
Were  you  never  courte«l,  sister? 

Vioia.  Alas,  I  know  it  not.  '* 

Madge.  What  is  that  courting,  sirrah? 

Nan.  I  can  tell,  for 
I  was  once  courted  in  the  matted  chamber : 
Yea  know  the  party,  Madge ;  faith,  he  courted 

finely ! 

Madge.  Pray  thee  what  is't  ? 

Nan.  Faith,  notliing,  but  he  was  somewhat 
Figent  with  mc;  fitiith,  'tis  fine  sport,  this 

courting. 

Alex,  [within']  Where  be  the  maids  there? 

Madge.  We  snail  be  bang'd  anoni  Away, 

good  wenches! 
And  have  a  care  you  dight  things  handsomely; 
I  will  look  over  you.  [Extunt. 

Enter  Mercury  and  Maria. 

Merc,  If  your  sorrow 
Will  pve  you  so  far  leaver  pray  think  yourself 
Most  welcome  to  tliis  place,  for  so  upon 
My  life  you  are;  and  tor  your  own  fair  sake, 

VOL  III. 


Take  truce  awhile  with  these  immoderate 
mournings !  [may. 

Maria.  I  thank  yon,  sir;  I  shall  do  what  I 

Pray  lead  me  to  a  chamber. 

Enter  Mother  and  Alexander, 

Merc.  Presently. 
Before  your  blessing,  mother,  I  entreat  you 
To  know  tills  gentlewoman,  and  bid  her  weW 

come; 
The  virtuous  wife  of  him  that  was  myself 
In  all  my  travels!  [Kneels, 

Mother.  ludeed  she  is  most  welcome ;  so 
are  you,  son.  [me 

Now,  all  my  blessingon  thee,  thou  hast  made 
Younger  by  twenty  years  than  I  was  yester- 
day !  [man  ? 
Will  you  walk  in  ?  What  ails  this  gentlewo- 
Alas,  I  fear  she  is  not  well :  good  gentlewo* 
Merc.  You  fear  right.                      [man ! 
Mother.  Sh'has  fasted  over-long; 
You  shalt  have  supper  presently  o'th'  board* 
Mertj.  She  will  not  eat,  I  can  assure  you, 
mother. 
For  Ooj's  sake,  let  your  maid  conduct  her  up 
Into  some  fair-becoming  chamber,  fit  for 
A  woman  of  her  being,  and  as  soon  as  may  be  I 
I  know  she's  very  ill,  and  would  have  rest. 
Mother.  There  is  one  ready  for  her,  tlje 
blue  chamber.                             [her  door, 
Merc.  Tis  well :  111  lead  you  to  your  cham- 
And  there  I'll  leave  you  to  your  quiet,  mis- 
tress, [one! 
Maria.  I  thank  you,  sir !  Gfood  rest  to  every 
You'll  see  mc  once  again  to-night,  I  hope. 

lExit. 
Merc.  When  you  shall  please,  FU  wait 
upon  you,  lady. 

Mother.  Where  are  these  maids?  Attend 
«pon  the  gentlewoman, 
And  see  siie  want  no  good  thing  in  the  house  I 
Good  night  wit!i  all  my  heart,  forsooih  !— 

Good  Lord, 
How  you  are  grown !  Is  he  not,  Alexandef  ? 
Alex.  Yes,  truly;  he's  shot  up  finely,  God 
be  thanked ! 

Merc.  An  ill  weed,  mother,  will  do  so. 
Alex.  You  say  true,  sir;  an  ill  weed  throws 
^apace.  [very  quickly. 

Merc.  Alexander  the  sharp,  you  uike  mc 
Mother.  Nay,  I  can  tell  you,  Alexander 
Do  you  read  Madcap  still  ?  [will  do  it, 

Alex.  Sometimes,  forsooth. 
Mother.  But,  fuitb,  son,  what  countries 
have  you  travcU'd?  [fore  me ; 

Merc.  WJiy,  many,  mother,  as  they  lay  be- 
Francc,  Spain,  Italy,  aud  Germany, 
And  other  provinces,  that  I  am  sure    [them. 
You  are  not  better'd  by,  when  you  hear  of 
Mother.  And  can  you  these  tongues  pei** 
Mer,  Of  some       '  [fectly? 

A  little,  mother. 

Mother.  Pray,  spout  some  French,  son. 
Merc.  You  understand  it  not;  and  to  vour 
ears 'twill  ^ 


THE  COXCOMB. 


S74 

Go  like  An  unshod  cart  upon  the  stones, 
Only  a  rough  unhandsome  sound. 

Mother.  Faith,  I  would  fain 
Hear  some  French. 

Alex.  Good  sir,  speak  some  French 
To  my  mistress. 

Merc,  At  your  entreaty,  Alexander,    . 
I  will.     Who  shall  I  speak  lo? 

Alex.  If  your  worship 
Will  do  me  the  favour,  sir,  to  me. 

Merc.  Monsieur  poUron, 
Cocu,  couUlonj  bahez  mon  c^  ! 
Alex.  Out,  monsieur. 
Mother.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  this  is  fine  indeed  ! 
God's  blessing  on  thy  heart,  sou !  By  my  troth ! 
Thou'rt grown  a  proper  gentleman!  Cullen 
and  vullen,  [yond  the  seas  ! 

Good  God,  what  aukward  words  they  use  be- 
lia,  ha,  ha ! 

Alex.  Did  not  I  answer  right? 
Merc.  Yes,  good  Alexander, 
If  you  had  done  so  too.    But,  good  mother, 
I  am  very  hungry,  and  have  rid  far  to-day, 
And  am  festing.  [seutly. 

Mother.  You  shall  have  your  supper  pre- 
My  sweet  son.  .  [ended, 

Merc.  As  soon  as  you  please ;  which,  once 
1*11  go  aod  visit  you  sick  gentlewoman. 
Mother.  Come  then !  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Antonio  like  a  Post,  with  a  iMter. 
.  Ant.  I*v^  ridden  like  a  fury,  to  make  up 

tliis  work ; 
And  I  will  do  it  bravely,  ere  I  leave  it. 
1  his  is  the  house,  I  am  sure. 

Enter  Alexander, 

Alex.  Who  would 

You  speak  with,  sir? 

Ant.  Marry,  sir,  I'id  speak  with 

A  gentlewoman  came  this  night  late  here  from 
the  city : 

I  have  some  letters  of  importance  to  her. 

I  am  a  post,  sir,  and  would  be  dispatch'd 
t    In  haste. 

Alex.  Sir,  cannot  I  deliver  'em? 

For,  tlie  truth  is,  she's  ill,  and  in  her  cham- 
ber, [with  her. 
Ant.  Pray  pardon  me;  I  must  needs  speak 
^hly  business  is  so  weighty. 

.    Alex.  I'll  tell  hetad. 

And  bring  you  present  ivord.  •    [Exit. 

Ant.  Pray  do  so,  and  Til  attend  her. 

pruy  God,  the  grief  of  my  iratigin'd  death 

Spoil  not  what  I  intend!  I  hope  it  will  not. 


[Act^ 


JU^wter  Alexander, 

Alex.  Tho'  she  be  very  ill,  and  desires  no 

trouble. 
Yet,  if  your  business  be  so  urgent,  you  may 
Come  up  and  speak  with  her. 

Ant.  I  thank  you,  sir; 
I  follow  you.  [Exeuntm 

Enter  Maria. 

Maria.  What  should  this  fellow  be, 
I'th'  name  of  iieav'u,  that  comes  with  sucb 

post  business? 
Sure  my  husband  hath  revcal'd  himseli^ 
And  in  this  haste  sent  after  me.    Are  you 
The  post,  my  friend  ? 

Enter  Antonh. 

Ant.  Yes,  forsooth,  mistress, 
Maria.  What  good  news  hast  thou  brought 
me,  gentle  post? 
For  I  have  woe  and  grief  too  much  already. 
Ant.  I   would  you  had  less,  mistitss,  I 
could  wish  it.— 
Beslirew  my  heart,  she  moves  me  cruelly! 

Maria.  Have  I  found  you  oncemoreji^ler? 
Well,  jewel,  thou  hast  only  virtue  in  thee. 
Of  all  I  read  of  yet:  what  ears  has  this  ass 
To  betRiy  him  with!— Well,  what's  your  bu- 
siness then  ?  [vant,  mistresSr 
Ant.  I've  brought  a  letter  from  your  ser- 
in haste.  [still. 
Maria.  Pray  give  it  ti)e;  I  hope  the  best 
Ant.  This  is  the  upshot,  and  t  know  Tve 
hit  it ! 
Well,  if  the  spirits  of  the  dead  do  walk, 
I  shall  hear  more  of  this  an  hundred  years 
hence.                           [have  special  care; 
Maria  {reading^.  By  any  means,  you  most 
For  now  the  city  is  possessed  for  certain. 
My  master  is  made  away  j  winch,  for  aught  I 

k«ow, 
Is  a  truth  indeed.  [danger, 

Good  mistress,  leave  your  grief,  and  see  your 
And  let  tJiat  wise  and  noble  gentloroan 
With  wliom  you  are,  be  your  right-band  in  all 
thin.s ! 

Ant.  Now  do  I  know  I  have  the  better on't! 
By  th'  languihhing  of  her  eye  at  this  near  in- 
stant,      • 
It  is  still  simming  in  her  blood,  in  coining 
Somewhat  to  turn  Mercury,  I  know  it. 
Maria,  lit  is  my  husband,  and  'tis  reason* 
able  [will  bt 

lie  should  command  in  all  thmgs :  since  he 
An  ass  against  tlie  hair^^,  at  his  own  peril 


2'  Against  the  hair.]  In  the  First  Part  of  Henry  IV.  AYorcester  says, 

*  The  quality  and  hair  of  our  attempt 

*  Brooks  no  division^' 

and  Dr.  Johnson  remarks,  that  *  the  hair  seems  to  be  the  complexion,  tlie  character.    Tho 

•  metaphor  appears  harsh  to  us,  but,  perhaps,  was  familiar  in  our  authors'  time.  We  still  s»y, 

*  something  is  against  the  hair,  as  against  the  grain,  that  is,  against  the  natural  tendency ;'  and 
Mr.  Steevens  adds, '  In  an  old  comedy  called  the  Family  of  Love,  I  meet  with  an  expresaoa 
«  which  very  well  supports  Dr.  Johnson's  first  explanation :  "They  say,  X  am  of  the  right  Aflir, 

«<  and  indeed  thev  may  stand  to't/' ' 

•^  •  Be 


Act  4.] 


TH£  COXCOMB. 


Q7& 


Be  it  l-^V  i^moromg  yoo  shall  liBve«  packet, 
Till  when  I  mast  entreat  you  stay ;  you  shall 
Not  lose  by  it. 

AfU.  I  do  not  doubt  it»  mistress; 
ril  leave  you  to  your  rest,  and  wait  your 

Seasure.  [o*th*  bouse; 

brta.  Do;  and  seek  out  the  gentleman 
Bid  bim  come  to  me  presently. 

Ant.  Who?  Mr.  Mercury? 

Maria,  Do  you  know  him,  post  ? 

Ant»  Only  by  sight,  forsooth : 
Now  I  remember,  your  servant  willed  me 
To  let  you  know,  tie  is  the  ouly  man 
You  and  your  fortunes  are  now  to  rest  upon. 

Maria,'  Pritliee,  no  more ;  I  know  all  this 

already*  [for  ever ! 

Ant,  111  take  my  leave  now, — I  am  uiarle 

Maria,  Good  night!  [Exit  Ant, 

I  am  provided  for  you,  my  fine  youth. 

[Exit, 

Enter  Mother ^  heating  Viola^  and  Alexander 
with  a  broken  glass, 

Mather.  FU  make  thee  have  more  care. 

Viola,  Good  mistress,  pardon  me ! 

Mother,  Thoult  ne*er  ne  good,  I  warrant 

thee! 
Can  your  fine  fingers  hold  no  faster  ? 

viola.  Indeed, 
It  was  against  my  will. 

Mother,  y\]exander,  [man, 

Let's  see  the  glass !  As  I'm  true  kirsome  wo- 
It  is  one  of  the  crystal  glasses  my  cousin 

sent  me !  [not  be  mended. 

And  the  baggage  hath  broke  it  where  it  can- 
Alexander,  can  Humphry  mend  this^  think 

you? 

Alex,  No,  truly,  this  will  ne'er  be  meuded. 

Viola,  Truly, 
I  meant  but  to  wash  it  for  the  gentlewoman 
That's  sick  above,  and  shaking  out  tlie  water, 
Knock'd  it  against  the  pail -side. 

Mother.  Did  you  so  ? 
Be  sure  I'll  stop  it !  'twill  make  a  good  gap  in 
Your  quarter's  wages,  I  can  tell  you. 

Viola.  1  pray  forgive  me, 
And  let  me  have  no  wages  this  first  quarter. 

Mother,  Go,  w  himling,  and  fetch  two  or 

three  grating  loves 
Out  of  tbe  kitchen,  to  make  eingerbread  of. 
Tis  such  an  untoward  thing! 

[Exit  Viola, 

Alex,  She's  somewhat  simple, 
jlndeed ;  she  knew  not  what  a  kimnel'*  was; 
Sii^  wants  good  nurture  mightily. 

Mother.  My  son  tells  me,  Alexander, 
That  this  youtig  widow  means  to  sojourn  here ; 
She  oilers  largely  for  her  board,  I  may 
Offer  her  good  clieer.    Prithee  make  a  step 
r  th*  morning  down  to  th'  parsonage  for  some 

pigeons! 
What,  are  you  mftd  there?  what  noise  is  that  ? 
Areyou  at  bowls  within  ?  Why  do  you  whine  ? 


Enter  Viola  zeeepmig. 

Viola,  I  have  done  another  fault;  I  beseech 
Sweet  mistress,  forgive  roe !  [}i^^> 

Mother,  Wlmt's  the  matter? 

Viola,  As  I  was  reaching  for  tlie bread  that 

lay  [meat. 

Upon  the  shelf,  T  have  thrown  down  jthe  niiuc'd- 
That  should  have  made  the  pies  to-morrow. 

Mother,  Get  thee  [lot  thou  ! 

Out  of  my  house,  thou  filthy  destroying  har» 
I'll  not  keep  thee  an  liour  longer,  [my  fault, 

Viola,  Good  mistress,  beat  me  rather  for 
As  much  as  it  deserves  {  I  do  not  know 
Whither  to  go.  [doors! 

Mother,  No,  I  warrant  thee;  out  of  my 

Viola,  ludeed  I'll  mend.  I  pray  you  speak 

for  me  1  [but  the  pie-^lea^, 

Alex,  If  thou  hadst  hurl'd  down  any  thing 
I  would  have  spoke  for  thee;  but  now  I  can- 
Find  in  my  heart.  [not 

Mother.  Art  thou  here  yet?  I  think  I  must 

have  must  I? 

An  officer  to  thrust  thee  out  of  my  doors, 

Viola,  Why,  you  may  stop  this  in  my  wages 

too; 
For  God's  sake,  do !  I'll  find  myself  this  year, 
And  let  me  stay. 

Mother.  Thou't  spoil  ten  times  as  much. 
I'll  cudgel  thee  out  of  my  doors. 

Viola.  I  am  assur'd  you  are  more  merciful, 
Than  thus  to  beat  me  and  discharge  me  too. 

Mothtr.  Dost  thou  dispute  with  me?  Alex- 
ander, carrjj 
The  prating  Hiding  forth.  [a  jewel 

Viola.  Good  mistress,  hear  me  \  I  have  here 
My  mother  lefk  me,  and  'tis  something  worth : 
Receive  it;  and  when -all  my  faults  together 
Come  to  tlie  worth  of  that,  then  turn  me  forth ; 
'Till  then,  I  pray  you  keep  me. 

Mother.  What  jiggumbob  have  we  here? 
Pray  God,  you  have  not  pilfer'd  this  some- 

where. 
ITioo'rt  such  a  puling  thing !  Wipe  your  eyes, 
And  rise ;  go  your  ways.    Alexander, 
Bid  the  cook  mince  some  more  meat.  Come, 
And  get  you  to  bed  quickly,  that  you  may 
Up  betime  i'th'  morning  a-milking. 
Or  you  and  I  shall  fall  out  worse  yet. 

[Exeunt  Mother  and  Alex. 

Viola.  Sh'  has  hurt  ruy  arm : 
I  am  afraid  she's  a  very  angry  wpman, 
But,  bless  him,  Heav'n,  that  did  me  the  most 

wrong ! 
I  am  a&id  Antonio's  wife  should  see  mo; 
She  will  know  me. 

Mother  [within^  IMelvia! 

Viola,  rm  coming;  she's  not  angry  again, 

I  hope.  [Exit, 

inter  Mercury, 

Merc,  Now  what  am  I  the  better  for  en- 
joying 


3*  KmmeL'l  Or  kemthft^  is  a  powdering-tub.  Sympson, 

Nn2 


Thb 


279 


THE  COXCOMB. 


[Acts. 


This  woman,  that  I  lov'd  so  ?  All  I  find, 
That  I  before  ima^n'd  to  be  happ^, 
Now  I  have  done  it,  turns  to  nothing  else 
But  a  poor,  pitied,  and  a  base  repentance. 
Udsfoot,  Vm  monstrous  angry  with  myself! 
Why  should  a  man,  that  has  discourse  and 

reason,  [things. 

And  knows  how  near  he  loses  all  in  these 
Covet  to  have  his  wishes  satisfied }    [shame. 
Which,  when  they  are,  are  nothing  but  the 
I  do  begin  to  loatn  this  woman  strangely, 
And  I  think  justly  too,  tliat  durst  adventure 
Flinging  away  her  modesty,  to  take 
A  stranger  to  her  bed,  (hei*  husband*s  body 
Being  scarce  cold  i'th*  earth)  for  her  content. 
It  was  no  more  to  take  my  senses  with. 
Than  if  I  had  an  idle  dream  in  sleep : 
Yet  I  have  made  her  pr9misc8,  which  grieves 

me,  [me ! 

And  I  must  keep*em  too. — I  think  she  hunts 
The  devil  cannot  keep  these  women  off, 
When  they  are  flesh'd  once^'. 

Entef  Maria  in  night  attire. 

Maria,  To  bed,  for  God*s  sake,  sir! 

Why  do  you  stay  here?  ijome  are  up  i*th* 
house;  [bed. 

[  heard  tlie  wife.  Good  dear  sweetheart  to 
Merc.  Why,  I  am  going !  Why  do  you  fol- 
low me?  [^etyou 

You  would  not  have  it  known,  I  hope.  Pray 

Back  to  your  chamber !  the  door's  hard  by. 
For  roe. 

Let  roe  alone ;  I  warrant  you !— This  'tis 

To  thresh  well,  I  have  gat  a  customer  I 

Will  you  go  to  bed  ? 
Maria.  Will  you  ? 
Merc,  Yes,  I  aro  going, 
Maria.  Then  remember  your  prcnnise  you 
made  to  marry  me. 


Merc,  I  will;  but  it  was  yoair&ult,  that  it 

came  [bnoce: 

To  this  pinch  now,  that  it  must  need  remem- 
For,  out  of  honesty,  I  offered  you 
To  marry  you  first;  why  did  you  sbu:k  that 

offer  ?  [of  it, 

Maria,  Alas,  I  told  you  th'  inconvenience 
And  what  wrong  it  would  appear  to  th*  world. 
If  I  had  married  you  in  such  postp-haste 
After  bis  death :  beside,  the  foolish  people 
Would  have  been  bold  to  have  thought  we 

had  lain 
Together  in  his  time,  and  like  enough 
Imagined  we  two  had  murder*d  him.   [saint, 

Merc,  I  love  her  tongue  yet !  If  I  were  a 
A  gilded  saint,  and  such  a  thing  as  this 
Should  prate  thus  wittily  and  feelingly 
Unto  my  holiness,  I  cannot  tell. 
But  I  fear  shrewdly  I  should  do  something 
That  would  quite  scratch  me  out  o'  th'kalen- 

dar;  [mad 

And  if  I  stay  longer  talking  with  her,  tho'I*!! 
At  what  I  have  dune  already,  yet  I  shall 
Forget  myself  again :  I  feel  the  devil 
Ready  to  hold  my  stirrup. — Pray,  to  bed ! 
Good  night! 

Maria.  This  kiss !  good  night,  sweet  \ave. 
And  peace  go  with  thee ! — ^Thou  hast  piov'd 

thyself 
Th'  fjonestest  man  tliat  ever  was  entic'd 
To  tbnt  sweet  sin,  as  people  please  to  call  it. 
Of  lying  with  another's  wite;  and  I, 
I  think,  the  honestest  woman,  without 
Blushing,  that  e'er  lay  with  another  roan. 
I  sent  my  husband  into  the  cellar,  post. 
Fearing,  and  justly,  he  should  have  known 

him ;  /  [end. 

Which  I  did  not  purpose  'till  I  had  had  ni^ 

Weil,  now  this  plot  is  perfect,  let  him  brag 

on"t.  '  [Exit, 


ACT  V. 


Enter  Justice  and  Curio  with  a  paper. 

Just,  "D  Y'RLADY,  sir,  youVe  rid  hard,  that 
-*-^    YOU  have. 
Curio,  Tney  that  have  businci>s  muiitdo  so, 
I  take  it.  [friend  ? 

Just.  You  say  true.  When  set  you  out,  my 
Curio,  About  ten  o'clock;  and  I  have  rid 
all  night.  [seen  the  day 

Jus^  By  th'mass,  you're  tough  in<ieed.  I've 
.  I  would  have  rid  too  with  the  proudest  of  them, 

And  fling  dirt  in  their  faccb,  and  I've  done't 
with 


This  foohsh  body'*,  sir,  many  a  time: 
But  what  can  last  always?  Tis  done, 'tis  done 

now  sir !  [cloths, 

Age,  care,  and  office,  bring  us  to  our  fooi- 
Tbe  tnore  the  pity ! 

Cttrio.  I  believe  that,  sir; 
But  will  it  please  you  to  read  the  business? 

Just.  My  tnend^  I  can  read,  and  I  can  tell 

you  when.  ^ 

Curio.  'Would  I  could  too,  sir!  for  m; 

haste  requires  it. 

Just.  Whence  comes  it,  do  yod  say  ? 

Curio.  Sir,  from  the  city. 


35  Fletched  once.]  Correrted  in  1750. 

3^  This  foolish  boy.]  Asftojf  has  nothing  to  which  it  can  be  rcferr'd,  I  conjectured  we  sboaU 
read  body,  and  Mr.  Theobald,  I  found,  had  wrote  the  same  ia  his  mareio.        SvawsoH. 

JuU. 


Act  5.] 


THE  COXCOMB. 


277 


Jtat,  Oil,  item  the  city;  'tis  a  reverend 

place —  [roory, 

CttruiL  Ad  his  justice  be  as  short  as  his  me- 
A  dadgeon-dagger^^  will  serve  him  to  mow 

down  [this? 

^m  withal :  what  clod-pole  commissioner  is 

JuU,  And,  hf  my  fiuth,  gpvern*d  by  worthy 
Discreet  and  upright.  [members, 

Curio.  Sir,  they're  beholding  to  you ; 
You've  given  some  of  them  a  commendation, 
Tbey  were  not  worthy  of  this  twenty  years. 

JuU.  Go  to,  go  to!  you  have  a  merry 

meanixig; 
Fve  fbnnd  you,  sir;  i'faith,  you  are  a  wag; 
Away,  fy! — Now  1*11  read  your  letter. 

Curio.  Pray  do,  sir.     What  a  misery  it  is 
To  have  an  uieent  business  wait  the, justice 
Of  such  an  old  tuff-taffata,  that  knows  not,  - 
Nor  lean  be  brought  to  understand,  more 

sense 
Tlian  how  to  restore  suppress'd  ale-houses. 
And  have  his  man  compound  small  trespasses, 
For  tea  groatp! 

Juti.  Sir,  it  seems  liere  your 
Business  is  of  a  dee{>er  circumstance    , 
Than   I  conceived  it  for. — What  do    you 

mean,  sir?  [your  worship. 

Curio,  Tis  for  mine  own  ease,  I'll  assure 

Jtut.    It  shall  not  be,  i'faith,  friend. — 

Here  I  have  it, 
Tiiat  one  Antonio,  a  gentleman — 
I  take  it  so;  yes,  it  is  so— a  gentleman. 
Is  lately  thooj^  to  have  been  made  away ; 
And,  by  my  fmth,  upon  a  parlous  ground  too, 
If  you  consider.     Well,  tnere^s  knavery  in't ; 
I  see  that  without  spectacles. 

Curh.  Sure  this  tellow 
D«ds  in  revelation,  he's  so  hidden : 
Go  Uw  ways!  thou  wilt  stick  a  bendi,  spit^' 

as  formally. 
And  shew  thy  agpt  and  hatch'd  chain,  as  well 
As  the  best  of  them.  [it. 

Just.  And  now  I  haveconsider'd,  I  believe 

Curio.  What,  sir? 

JuMt.  That  he  was  murder'd. 

Curio.  Did  you  know  him  ? 

Just.  No. 

Curio.  Nor  how  it  is  suppos'd  ? 

Just.  No;  nor 
I  care  not  two-pence,  those  are  toys ;  and  yet 
I  verily  believe  he  wns  murdered, 
As  sure  as  I  believe  thou  art  a  man. 
J  never  fiiil'd  in  tliese  things  yet.    Ware  a 

man 
That's  beaten  to  these  matters ;  experience 
Is  a  certain  conceal'd  thing  that  fails  not. 
Pray  let  me  ask  you  one  thing ;  why  do  you 

ooDie  to  me?  [you, 

Curio.  Because  the  letter  is  addressM  to 
Being  the  nearest  justice. 

Ji^.  The  nearest?  is  that  all  ? 


Curkf*  I  think  it  1)e,  mr;«— • 
I  would  be  loth  you  should  be  the  wisest. 

Just.  Well,  sir,as'tis,  I  will  endeavour  in  it^ 
Yet,  irt  had  come  to  roe  by  name,  I  know 

not, 
But  I  think  it  had  been  as  soon  dispatch'd 
As  by  another,  and  with  as  round  a  wisdom, 
Ay,  and  as  happily ;  but  that's  all  one : 
I've  borne  this  place  this  thirty  years,  and 

upwards, 
And  with  sufficient  credit,  and  they  may 
When  they  please  know  me  better.    To  the 
Well!  [nearest? 

Curio.  Sir,  'tis  not  my  fault,  for  had  I  known 
You  sooner — 

Just.^  I  thank  you,  sir;  I  know  it« 

Curio.  I'll  be  ^worn 
You  should  have  play'd,  for  any  business  now. 

Just,   And  furtiier,  they  have  specified 

noto  me. 
His  wife's  sorely  suspected  in  this  matter. 
As  a  main  cause. 

Curio^  I  think  she  be,  sir,  for 
No  other  cause  can  be  yet  found,      [whooa^ 

Just.  And  one  Mercury,  a  traveller,  with 
They  say  directly  she  is  run  away, 
And  as  they  think  this  way. 

Curio.  I  knew  all  this  before,    [breeding; 

Just.  Well,  sir,  this  Mercury  I  know,  and*8 
A  neighbour's  child  hard  by :  you  have  been 
Sir,  in  cominsf  hither.  ['^^PPyf 

Curio.  Then  you  know  where 
To  have  him,  sir? 

Just.  I  do,  sir ;  he  dwells  near  me. 

Curio.  I  don^bt  your  worsliip  dwells  near  a 

knave  then.  [wonder 

Just.  I  think  so ;  pray  put  on !  But  'tis  a 
To  see  how  graceless  peopje  are  now  given. 
And  how  base  virtue  is  accounted  with  tbem« 
That  should  be  all  in  all,  as  says  a  wise  man ! 
I  tell  you,  sir,  and  *txs  t:rue,  that  there  have 

been  [make 

Such  murders,  and  of  lale  days,  as  'twould 
Your  very  lieart  bleed  in  you ;  and  some  of 

them. 
As  I  shall  be  enabled,  I  wiU  tell  you. 
It  fell  out  of  late  days— 

Curio.  It  may  be  so, 
But  will  it  please  you  to  proceed  in  this? 

Just,  An  honest  weaver,  and  as  good  a 

workman 
As  e'er  shot  shuttle,  and  as  close—     • 
But  ev'ry  man  must  die — this  honest  weaver, 
Being  a  little  mellow  in  his  ale— 
That  was  the  evidence  verbatim^  sir — 
God  bless  the  mark,  sprung  his  neck  just  in 

this  place :  [live. 

Well,  Jarvis,  thou  hadst  wrongs,  and"  if  f 
Some  of  the  best  shall  sweat  foVt!  Then  a 

wench^- 

Curio,  But,  sir,  you  haveforgot  my  business. 


^'  Dudgeanrdagger.']  Cotgrave  explains  dag^e  a  rocUes,  a  Scottish  dagger,  or  dudgeon 
haft  dagger.        JL 

^*  Stick  a  btfH^h  SfU.]  Amended  in  1750. 

Juit, 


S78 


THE  COXCOMB. 


[Acts. 


Jiat,  A  sober  pretty  maid,  aboot  seventeen 
They  say,  certainly,  nowsoeVer  'tis  shufBed, 
She  burst  herself,  and  fondly,  if  it  be  so, 
With  farmety  at  a  churching ;  but  I  think 
The  devil  had  another  agent  in't ;         [fbr't. 
Either  of  which,  if  I  can  catch,  shall  stretch 

Curio,   I'his  is  a  mad  justice,  that  will 

hang  the  devil ! 
But  I  would  you  would  be  short  m  tliis,  before 
That  other  notice  can  be  given. 

Just.  Sir,  ,  ^ 

I'll  do  discreetly  what  is  fitting.    ^Vh«t, 
Antonio ! 

Serv.  Uoithin]    Your  worship! 

Just.  Put  on  your  best  coat, 
And  let  your  fellow  Mark  go  to  the  constable^ 
And  bid  him  aid  me  with  all  the  speed  he  can. 
And  all  the  power;  and  provide  pen  and  ink  to 
Take  their  confessions;  and  my  long  sword '^ ! 
I  cannot  tell  what  danger  we  may  meet  with. 
You'll  ^owith  us? 

Curio.  Yes ;  what  else  ? 
I  came  to  that  end,  to  accuse  both  parties. 

Just.  May  I  crave  what  you  are^ 

Curio,  Faith,  sir,  one 
That  to  be  known  would  not  profit  you,  more 
Than  a  near  kinsman  of  the  dead  Antonio's. 

Just.  Tis  well.  I'm  sorry  for  my  neigh- 
bour, truly,  fmother : 
That  he  had  no  more  grace ;  'twill  kill  his 
She  is  a  good  old  woman.  Will  you  walk  in  ? 
I  will  but  put  my  cloak  on,  and  my  chain  off, 
And  a  clean  band,  and  have  my  shoes  black'd 

over, 
And  shift  my  jerkin,  and  we'll  to  our  business ; 
And  you  shall  see  how  I  can  boult  these 

matters. 

Curio.  As  soon  as't  please  you,  sir. 

[Exeunt, 

Enter  Valeria  and  liicardo. 

Vol.  This  is  tlie  place ;  here  did  I  leave 
the  maid 
Alone  last  night,  drying  her  tender  eyes, 


Uncertain  what  to  do,  and  yet  desirooa 
To  have  me  gone. 

JUc.  How  rude  are  all  we  men, 
That  take  the  name  of  civil  to  onrsdves! 
If  she  had  set  her  foot  upon  an  earth 
Where  people  live  that  we  call  bajrl^uousy 
Ttio'  they  had  had  no  house  to  bring  her  to^ 
They  would  have  spoifd  the  glory  that  dit 

spring  [hands 

Has  deck'd  the  trees  in,  and  with  willii^ 
Have  torn  their  branches  down ;  and  eter; 

man 
Would  have  become  a  builder  for  ^er  sake. 
What  time  left  you  her  here? 

Vol.  I  left  her,  wlien 
The  sun  had  so  much  to  his  set,  as  he 
Is  now  got  from  his  place  of  rise. 

Bic.  So  near  [Viola! 

The  night,  she  could  not  wander  far.    Fair 

Val.  It  is  in  vain  to  call ;  she  sought  a 
Without  all  question.-  [boow, 

Jti>.  Peace!— Fair  Viola! 
Fair  Viola ! — Who  should  have  left  her  hne 
On  such  a  ground  >  If  you  had  meant  to  lose 

her,  [bere 

You  might  have  found  there  were  no  echoes 
To  take  her  name  3',  and  carry  it  about. 
When  her  true  lover  came  to  mourn  for  her, 
Till  all  the  neitrhbonring  vallies  and  the  hills, 
Resounded  Viola  ^  and  such  a  place 
You  should  have  chose !  You  pity  us 
Because  the  dew  a  little  wets  our  feet^; 
(Unworthy  far  to  apck  her,  in  the  wet!) 
And  what  becomes  of  her?  where  wandei^d 

she,  ^  [eyes 

With  two  showers  raining  on  her,  from  bee 
Continually,  abundantly,  from  which 
Tliere's  neither  tree  nor  house  to  shelter 

her?— 
Will  you  go  with  roe  to  travel? 

Vol.  Whither? 

B,ic.  Over  all  the  world.  (jonrney 

Vol.  No.  by  my  foith ;  I'll  make  a  shorter 
When  I  do  travel. 


3"  Long  mori.'\  In  Shakespeare's  Romeo  and  Juliet,  Capnlel  says,  *  Give  me  niy  hȤ 
sword ;'iind  Dr.  Johnson  remarks,  '  The  long  swoi'd  was  the  sword  used  in  war^  which  wa& 
sometimes  wielded  with  both  hands.' 
'9  —  If  yo».  had  meant  to  lose  her^ 

You  might  have  found  there  were  no  echoes  here 
To  take  her  name.]  Sympstm  reads, 
■     ■    If  you  meant  to  lose  her. 
You  might  have  found  uhere  there  no  echoes  were 
To  take  lier  name; 
but  surely  the  old  text  conveys  the  same  sense. 
♦°  You  pity  us  because 

The  dew  a  little,  &c.]  Hicse  lines  are  so  unworthy  of  our  authors,  that  I  can  hardlT 
think  'em  theirs ;  and  I  am  sure  the  author  of  Jeronimo  (whom  our  poets,  as  well  as  Shake* 
gpcare  and  Jonson,  abuse)  might,  when  they  quote  in  derision  this^line  of  his, 

*  Who  calls  Jeronimo  from  his  naked  bed  ?' 
have  justly  retorted, 

■■  where  wandred  she, 


With  two  showers  raining  on  her,  from  lier  eyes 

Continually,  abundantly,  from  which 

There's  neither  tree  nor  house  to  shelter  her?     •  Sympson* 


BiV. 


Acts.] 


THE  COXCOMB. 


*r9 


Etc,  But  there  is  no  hope 
To  rain  mv  end  in  aaj  shorter  way. 

Val.  Why^wlttt'svoorend? 

Ek.  It  u  to  search  the  earth, 
TliJ  we  have  found  two  in  the  shapes  of  men^ 
As  wicked  as  oarselves. 

VaL  Twere  not  to  hard 
To  find  out  those. 

Bic.  Why,  if  we  find  them  out, 
U  were  the' better;  for  what  brave  villainy 
Miglu  we  four  do ! — We  would  not  keep  to- 
gether; 
For  every  one  has  treachery  enough    [  Asia ; 
For  twenty  countries:    one  should  trouble 
Aoodier  should  sow  strife  in  Afnca ;     [rope, 
But  you  should  plav  the  knave  at  honiciu  £u- 
And  for  America  let  me  alone. 

VaL  Sir,  I  am  honester 
Than  yoa  know  how  to  be,  and  can  no  more 
Be  wroi^d  but  I  shall  find  myself  a  right. 

J^.  If  you  bad  any  spark  of  honesty, 
You  would  not  think  that  honester  than  I 
Were  a  praise  high  enough  to  serve  your  turn : 
If  men  were  commonly  so  bad  as  I, 
Thieves  would  be  put  in  kalendars  for  saints; 
And  bones  of  murareR.  would  work  miracles. 
I  am  a  kind  of  knave,  of  knave  so  much, 
There  is  betwixt  me,  and  the  vilest  else — 
But  the  next  place  of  all  to  mine  is  yours. 

Enter  Viola,  Nan,  and  Madge,  with  Pails. 

VaL  That  last  is  she;  'tis  slie ! 

Kic.  Let  us  away; 
We  shall  infect  her !  let  her  have  the  wind, 
And  we  will  kneel  down  here. 

Viola.  WencheSy  away ! 
For  liere  are  men. 

Val.  Fair  maid,  I  pray  you  stay. 

[Takes  hold  ^  Viola. 

Viola.  Alas!  again? 

Ric.  Why  do  you  lay  hold  on  her? 
I  pray  heartily,  let  her  go.  [hurt  her. 

VaL  With  all  my  heart ;  I  do  not  mean  to 

Ric.  But  stand  away  then!  for  the  purest 

bodies 
Will  soonest  take  infection ;  stand  away ! 
Bat  for  infecting  her  mvself,  by  Heav*n, 
I  would  come  there,  and  beat  tbee  further  offl 

Viola,  1  know  that  voice  and  face, 

Val.  y  ou*re  finely  mad ! 
God  b'w'ye,  sir!  Now  you  are  here  together, 
Fli  leave  you  so;  God  send  you  good  luck, 

both! 
Wlien  you  are  soberer  you*ll  give  me  thanlcs. 

[Exit. 

Madge.  Wilt  thou  go  milk  ?  Come. 

Nan.  Why  dost  not  come? 

Madge.  Sne  nods,  she's  asleep. 

Nan.  What,  wcrt  up  so  early  ? 

Madge.  I  think  yon  [away. 

Man's  mad  to  kneol  there.  Nay,  come,  come 
Uds  body.  Nan,  help !  slie  looks  black  i'th' 
She's  in  a  swoon.  [face; 

Nan.  An  you  be  a  man,  come  hither, 
And  help  a  woman ! 


jRic.  Com^ hither?  You  are  a  fool. 

Nan.  And  you  a  knave  and  a  beast,  tliat 

vou  are.  [near 

Kic.  Come  liither?  'twas  my  being  now  so 
That  made  her  swoon;  and  you  arc  wicked 

people, 
Or  you  would  do  so  too:  my  venom  eyes 
Strike  innocency  dead  at  such  a  distance; 
Here  I  will  kneel,  for  this  is  out  of  distance. 

Nan.  Thou'rt  a  prating  ass!    there s  no 

gopdness  in  thee, 
I  warrant  How  dost  thou?    \  Viola  recovers, 

Viola.  Why,  well.  { 

Madge.  Art  thou  able  to  go?  fable 

Viola.  No ;  pray  go  you  and  milk:  It  I  be 
To  come,  I'll  follow  you;  if  not,  I'll  sic  here 
Till  you  come  back. 

Nan.  I'm  loth  to  leave  thee  here  with  yon 

wild  fool.  [not  hurt  me. 

Viola.  1  know  him  well ;  I  warrant  thee  hell 

Madge.  Come  then.  Nun.     [Ere.  Maiils. 

Ric.  How  do  you  ?  Be  not  fearful,  for  I  hold 
My  hands  before  ray  mouth,  and  speak,  and  so' 
M  V  breath  can  never  blast  you. 

Viola.  Twas  enough 
To  use  me  ill,  tho'  you  had  never  sooglit  me 
To  mock  me  too:  why  kneel  you  so  far  oft7 
Were  not  that  gesture  better  us'd  in  prayer? 
Had  T  dealt  so  with  you,  I  should  not  sleep, 
Till  Heav'n  and  you  liad  both  forgiven  me. 

Ric.  I  do  not  mock ;  nor  lives  there  such  a 
That  can  do  any  thing  contemptible     [villain 
To  you :  but  I  do  kneel,  because  it  is 
An  action  very  fit  and  reverent, 
In  presence  of  so  pure  a  creature ; 
And  so  far  off,  as  fearful  to  offend 
One  too  much  wrong*d  already. 

Viola.  You 
Confess  you  did  the  fault,  yet  scorn  to  coma 
So  far  as  liitlier,  to  ask  pardon  for't; 
Which  1  could  willingly  aftbrd  to  come 
To  you  to  grant.     Good  sir,  if  you  have 
A  bitter  love,  may  you  be  bless'd  together! 
She  shall  not  wish  vou  better  tliau  I  will. 
I  but  ofiend  you !  l^re  are  all  the  jewels 
I  stole;  and  all  the  love  I  ever  had 
I  leave  behind  with  you ;  TU  carry  none 
To  give  another:  may  tlie  next  maid  you  try. 
Love  you  no  worse,  nor  be  no  v\orse  than  1 ! 

Ric.  Do  not  leave  lue  yet,  for  all  ray  fault ! 
Search  out  tlie  next  things  to  impossible. 
And  put  meonihem;  when  they  are  effected, 
I  may  with  better  modesty  receive 
Fon^iveuess  from  you. 

P^iola.  I  will  set  no  penance. 
To  gain  the  great  forgiveness  you  desire. 
But  to  come  hither,  and  take  me  and  it ; 
Or  else,  I'll  come  and  beg,  so  you  will  grant 
That  you  will  be  content  to  be  forgiven  I 

Ric.  Nay,  I  will  come,  since  you  will  have 

it  so, 
And,  since  you  please  to  pardon  me,  I  hope 
Free  from  infection.    Here  I  am  by  you, 
A  careless  man,  a  breaker  of  my  foith, 
A  loathsome  drunkard ;  and  in  that  wild  fury, 

A  hunter 


sdo 


THE  COXCOMB. 


A  hunter  after  whores !  I  do  beseech  you 
To  pardon  ail  these  fiiults,  and  take  me  up 
An  nonest,  sober,  and  a  faithful  uinn ! 

Viola.  For  Heav'n's  sake,  urge  your  faults 

no  more,  but  mend ! 
All  the  forgiveness  I  can  make  you,  is. 
To  love  you ;  which  I  will  do,  and  desire 
Nothing  but  love  again  ;  which  if  I  have  not. 
Yet  I  will  love  you  still.  [will  take 

Ric.  Oh,  women !  that  some  o:.e  of  you 
An  everlasting  pen  into  your  hands^ 
And  grave  in  paper  (which  the  writ  shall 

make 
More  lasting  tlian  the  marble  monuments) 
Your  matchless  virtues  to  posterities ; 
Which  the  defective  race  of  envious  man 
Strives  to  conceal !  [thing, 

•  Viola.  Metliinks  I  would  not  now,  for  any 
But  you  bad  miss*d  me :  I  have  made  a  story 
Will  sen'e  to  waste  many  a  winter's  fire, 
When  we  arc  old :  111  tell  my  daughters  then 
The  miseries  their  mother  had  in  love, 
And  say.  My  girls,  be  wiser!  yet  I  would  not 
Have  had  more  wit  myself.    Take  up  those 

jewels,    . 
For  I  think  I  hear  my  feilows  coming. 

Enter  Madge  and  Nan  with  their  Pails. 

Madge.  How  dost  thou  now  ? 

Viola,  Why,  very  well,  I  thank  you.     It  is 

late ; 
Shall  I  htiste  home  ? 

Nan.  I  prithee!  we  shall  be  shent*' 
Soundly.  [with  us  ? 

Madge.  Why  does  tliat  railing  man  go 

Viola.  I  prithee,  speak  well  of  him :  on  my 
He  is  an  honest  man !  [word, 

Nan.  There  was  never  any  so 
On  his  complexion.     A  gentleman  ? 
I'd  be  asham'd  to  have  such  a  foul  mouth. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Mother,  Alexander,  Andrugio,  and 
Rowland. 

Mother,    How    now,  Alexander?   What 

gentleman  is  this  ? 
•     Aiex.  Indeed,  forsooth,  I  know  not; 
I  found  him  at  the  market,  full  of  woe^ 
Crying  a  lost  daughter,  and  telling  all 
Her  tokens  to  tlie  people;  and,  what  you  wot? 
By  all  description  mthe  worldly  it  should  be 
Our  new  maid  Melvia;  (one  would  little 

tliink  it!) 
Therefore  I  was  bold  to  tell  him  of  Iter,  mistress. 

Mother.  Melvia?  it  cannot  be,  fool!  Al^, 


[Acts. 

You  know  she  is  a  poor  wench,  and 
I  took  her  in  upon  mere  charity. 

Andr,  So  seem*d  my  daughter  when  she 
As  she  had  made  herself.  [went  away, 

Mother.  What  stature  was  your  child  of,  sir? 

Andr.  Not  high,  and  of  a  brown  complexion. 
Her  hair  auburn,  a  round  fkce,  which  some 

friends,  [good  one. 

That  flattei'd  me,  would  say  'twould  be  a 

Alex.  This  is  stUl  Melvia,  mistress;  that's 

the  truth  on*t! 

Mother.  It  may  be  so,  I'll  promise  you. 

Alex.  Well,  go  thy  ways,  the  flower  of  our 

town!  "  [fellow. 

For  a  hand  and  a  foot  I  shall  ne'er  see  thy 

Mother.  Rut  had  she  not  such  toys  as 

bracelets,  rings,  and  jewels? 

Aridr.  She  was  something  bold  indeed,  to 

take  such  things 
That  night  she  left  me. 

Mother.  Then  belike  she  run  away  ? 

Andr,  Tho'  she  be  one  I  love,  I  dare  not 
She  did  indeed.  Hie; 

Mother.  What  think  you  of  this  jewel?  ' 

Andr.  Yes,  this  was  one  of  them,  and  tliis 

was  mine ;  [for  it 

You've  made  me  a  new  man !  I  thank  yoa 

Mother.  Nay, 
Anshe  be  given  to  filching,  there's  your  jewel; 
I  am  clear  on't.    But,  by  your  leave,  sir, 

you 
Shall  answer  me  for  what  is  lost  since  she 
Came  hither;  I  can  tell  you  there  lie  things 
Scattering  in  every  place  about  the  house. 

Alex,  As  I  am  virtuous,  I  have  the  lyingst 
Old  gcntlexvoman  to  my  mistress,  and  tlie 

most  malicious — 
The  devil  a  good  word  will  slie  give  a  servant; 
That's  her  old  rule!  and,  God  be  thanked, 

they  will  [sides. 

.  Give  her  as  few;  there's  perfect  love  on  both 
It  yearns  my  heart  to  hear  the  wench  mis- 
construed ; 
A  carelul  soul  she  is.  111  be  sworn  for  h«r; 
And  when  she's  gone,  let  them  say  what  they 

will, 
They  may  cast  their  caps  at  snch  another. 

Andr,  What  you  have  lost  by  her,  with  all 

my  heart 
I'll  see  you  double  paid  for;  you  liave  sav'd, 
With  your  kind  pity,  two  that  must  not  live, 
Unless  it  be  to  thank  you.  Take  this  jewel ; 
This  strikes  off  none  o  f  her  offences,  mistxess^^ 
'Would  I  might  see  her! 

Mother.  Alexander,  run, 


♦'  Shent.]  This  word  occurs  in  Hamlet,  and  Mr.  Steevens  says, '  To  shend  is  to  treat  with 
'  injurious  language.' 

♦*  By  a// subscription  inthe  ttorld.]  If  Alexander  was  an  affecter  of  hard  words,  I  should 
be  inclined  to  let  this  stand ;  but  as  lie  seems  throughout  a  sensible  good-natured  fellow,  I 
would  choose  to  read,  description.        Sympson, 

♦'  This  strikes  off  none  of  her  qfences.]  Sympson,  totally  mistaking  Andrugio^s  meaning 
says,  *  Why  then  he  paid  his  Jewel  for  nothing;'  and  reads, 
This  strikes  oft  one  of  her  offences,  niistress. 
It  did  not  occur  to  liim,  that  tlie  jewel  was  meant  as  a  gift,  not  as  a  paytaaU^ 

And 


Act  5.] 


THE  COXCOMB. 


S81 


And  bid  her  make  haste  home ;  8he*8  at  the 

milking-clofle : 
Bat  tell  her  not  by  any  means  who's  here ; 
I  know  she'll  be  too  fearful. 

AUx.  Well,  well  have 
A  posset  yet  at  parting,  that's  my  comfort  • 
And  one  round  too,  or  else  I'll  lose  my  wilL 

\ExiL 

Andr,  Ytm  shall  find  Silvio,  Uberto,  and 

Pedro, 
Enauiring  for  the  wench  at  the  next  town  : 
Tell  them  she's  found,  and  where  I  am ;  and, 

with 
The  favour  of  this  gentlewoman,  desire  them 
To  come  hither.  [come. 

Mother,  I  pray  do;  they  sliall  be  sdl^el- 
[Exit  Rowland, 

Enter  Justice^  Carto,  <md  Mark, 

Just, ^ By  vour  leave,  forsooth!  you  shall 
The  parties  by  a  sleight.  [see  me  find 

Mother.  Who's  that?  Mr,  Justice? 
How  do  you,  sir? 

Juit,  Why,  very  well,  and  busy. 
Where's  your  son  ? 

Mother,  He's  witliin,  sir. 

Just,  Hum;  and  how  does  [with  him? 
The  young  woman  my  cousin,  that  came  down 

Mother,  She's  above;  as  a  woman  in  her 

case  may  be. 

Just,  Yon  have  confess'd  it?  [sin  of  mine; 
Then,  sirrah,  call  in  the  officers !  she's  no  cou* 
A  mere  trick  to  discover  all ! 

Mother,  To  discover?  what? 

Enter  Mark  and  Officers,    • 

Just,  You  shall  know  that  anon :  I  think 

I  have  [house, 

Over-reach'd  you!  Oh,  welcome !  Euter  the 
And  by  virtue  of  my  warrant,  which  you  have 

there,  [names 

Seize  upon  the  bO(}ily  persons  of  those  whose 
Are  there  written;  to  wit,  one  Mercury,  and 
Of  one  Antonio.  [tbiie  wife 

Mother,  For  what? 

Just,  Away,  I  say ! 
This  gentleman  shall  certify  you  for  what. 
[Exeunt  Officers. 

Mother,  He  can  accuse  m^  son  of  nothing; 
He  came  from  travel,  but  within  these  two 

Just,  There  hangs  a  tale.  [days. 

Mother,  I  should  be  sorry  this  should 
fall  out  at  any  time,  but  especially  now. 
Sir,  will  you  fiivour  me  so  much  as  to  let  me 
Of  what  you  accuse  him i  [know 

Curio,  Upon  suspicion  of  murder. 

Mother,  Murder?  I  deiy  thee ! 

Curio.  I  pray  God  he  may 
Prove  himself  innocent. 

Just,  Fy,  say  not  so !  [wealth's  man, 

You  shew  yourself  to  be  no  good  common- 
For  the  more  are  haog'd  the  better  'tis  for 

the  commonwealth.  [ypurself. 

Mother,  By  this  rule  you  were  best  hang 

Just,  I  forgive  your  honeit  mirth  ever. 

VOL,  in. 


Enter  Mark  and  Officertj  with  Mercury  and 
Maria. 

Oh,  welcome,  welcome,  Mark  !    [minations 
Your  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  to  take  their  exa- 

Merc.  Why  do  you  pull  me  so  ?  I'll  go  alone. 

Just.  Let  them  stand,  [miu'd. 

Let  them  stand  quietly,  whilst  they're  exar 

Maria,  What  will  you  examine  us  of? 

Just.  Of  Antonio's  murder. 

Merc,  Why,  he  was  my  friend. 

Maria,  lie  was  my  husband. 

Just.  The  more  shame  for  you  both!  Mark, 

your  pen  and  ink.  [knew 

Mother,  Pray  God  all  be  well!  I  never 
Any  of  these  travellers  come  to  good.  I  be- 
seech you,  sir. 
Be  favourable  to  my  son. 

Just,  Gentlewoman,  [that! 

Hold  you  content;  I  would  it  were  come  to 

Merc.  For  God's  sake,  mother. 
Why  kneel  you  to  such  a  pig-brib'd  fellow^ 
H'lias  surfeited  of  geese,  and  they  have  put 

him 
Into  a  fit  of  justice :  let  him  do  his  wontl 

Just.  Is  your  paper  ready  I    ' 

Mark,  I  am  ready,  sir. 

Enter  Antonio, 

Just.  Accuse  them,  sir;  I  command  thfe 

to  lay  down 
Accusations  against  these  persons,  in  behalf 
Of  the  state:  and  first  look  upon  tlie  parties 
To  be  accus'd,  and  deliver  your  name. 

Curio.  My  name  is  Curio ;  my  murdered 

kinsman. 
If  he  were  living  now,  I  should  not  knowhim. 
It  is  so  long  since  we  saw  one  another. 

Ant.  My  cousin  Ctlrio? 

Curio,  fiut  thus  much  (from  the  mouths 
Ot  his  servants  and  others,  whose  examinai» 

tions  I  have 
In  writing  about  me)  I  can  accuse  them  of  & 
T*his  Mercury,  the  last  night  but  this  last. 
Lay  in  Antonio's  house,  and  in  the  night 
He  rose,  raising  Antonio,  where  privately 
They  were  in  talk  an  hour,  to  what  end  I 

know  not ; 
Bur^f  likelihood,  finding  Antonio's  house 
Not  a  fit  place  to  murder  him  in,  he  sufier'd 

him 
To  go  to  bed  again ;  but  in  the  moniing 
Early  he  train*d  hun  I  think  forth;  afUf 

which  time  .  [found 

He  never  saw  liis  home.    His  cloaths  were 
Near  the  place  wl^re  Mercdry  was,  and  the 

people 
At  first  denied  they  saw  him ;  but  at  last 
They  made  a  frivolous  tale,  that  tliere  he 

shifted  himself 
Into  a  footman's  habit :  but  in  bhort, 
The  next  hour  this  woman  went  to  Mercury, 
And  in  her  coach  they  posted  hither.    Tru.e 

accusations 
I  have  no  more,  and  I  will  make  tione. 

O  o  "      JuUy 


38i) 


THE  COXCOMB. 


[Act  5* 


Just.  No  more? 
We  need  no  more.    Sirrah,  be  dra^^'ing 
Their  mittimus,  before  we  hear  their  answer. 
What  say  you,  sir?  are  you  guilty  of  this 
Merc.  No,  sir.  {murder? 

Ju$t.  Whether  you  are  or  no,  contebs; 
It  will  be  the  better  for  you. 

Merc.  If  I  were 
Guilty,  vour  rhetoric  could  not  fetch  it  forth. 
But  tW  I  am  innocent,  I  confess,  that  if  I 
Were  astander-by,these  circumstances  urgfd, 
Which  are  true,  would  make  me  doubtless 

believe 
The  accused  parties  to  be  guilty, 

Jiixt.  Write  down,  [he  is) 

That  be  being  a  stander>by  (for  so  you  see 
Doth  doubtlessly  believe  the  accused  partit  s, 
Which  is  himself,  to  be  guilty. 
Merc,  I  say  no  such  thing. 
Ju*t.  Write  it  down,  I  say;  well  try  that. 
Merc.  I  care  not  what  you  write.— 
Pray  God  you  did^not  kill  him  for  my  love ! 

[Apart. 
Tho'  I  am  free  from  this,  we  botli  de&erve — 
Maria.  Govern  your  tongue,  I  pray  you ! 
all  is  well ; 
My  husband  lives,  I  know  it,  and  I  see  him. 
Jutt.  They  whisper !  sever  tliem  quickly, 
I  say.  [another  ? 

Officers,  why  do  you  let  them  prompt  one 
Gentlewoman,  what  say  you  to  this? 
Are  not  you  {guilty  ? 

Maria.  No,  as  t  hope  for  mercy,  [that  this 

Just\  But  are  not  those  circumstances  true, 

Gentleman  liath  so  shortly  and  methodically 

delivered?  ^  [me  E  care  not, 

Maria.  They  are;  and  wliat  von  do  with 

Since  he  is  dead  in  whom  wns  all  my  care. 

You  knew  him  not? 

Jutt.  No,  and 't  been  better 
JFor  you  too,  an  you  had  never  kno^vn  him. 
Maria.  Why  then,  you  did  not  know  the 
world's  chief  joy : 
His  face  so  nwnly  as  it  had  been  made 
To  fright  the  World;  yet  he  so  sweetly>tem- 

per'd. 
That  he  would  make  himself  a  natural  fool. 
To  do  a  noble  kindness  for  a  fnend. 
He  was  a  man  whose  name  Fll  not  out^live, 
Longer  dian  IIeav*n,   whose  will  roust  b^ 
Will  have  me  do.  [obey'd. 

Ant.  And  I  will  quit  thy  kindness.  [Audc. 
Just.  Before  me,  she  has  made  the  tears 
Stand  in  mine  eyes !  but  I  must  b^  austere. 
Gentlewoman,  you  must  confess  this  murder. 
Maria.  1  cannot,  sir;    I  did  it  not.  But  I 
desire  to  see 
Those  examinatiotis  whidi  this  gentleman 
Acknowledges  to  have  about  him,  for 
But  late  lost  night  I  received  letters  from 
The  city;  yet  1  heard  of  no  confession  then. 
Just.  You  sh^l  see  tltcui  time  enough,  I 
warrant  you.  [letters  ? 

But  letters  you  say  you  had;  wlierc  are  those 
Maria,  ^r,  iLeyare  gyne. 


Just.  Gone?  whither  are  tliey  gone? 
Uow  have  you  dispos*d  of  *em  ? 

.Maria.  Why,  sir,  f'em. 

They  are  for  women's  matters,  and  so  I  Die 

Just.  Who  writ  'cm? 

Maria.  A  man  of  mine. 

Just.  Who  brought  em? 

Maria.  A  post.  ^  [sure :  ha,  ha ! 

Ju9t,  A  post?  there  was  some  great  luiste 
Whore  is  thatposf? 

Mari'i,  Sir,  there  he  stands. 

Just.  Dues  he  so? 
Rring  hither  that  post!  I  am  afraid  tliat post 
Will  prove  a  knave.    Come  hither,  post! 

What,  [Antonio? 

What  can  you  say  concerning  the  murder  of 

Ant.  What's  that  to  you?  [have  yoa? 

Just.  Oh,  post,  you  have  no  answer  ready, 
ril  have  one  from  you. 

Ant.  You  shall  have  no  more  [honest 
From  me  than  you  have.  You  eiamine  aa 
Oentieman  and  gentlewoman  here.  Tis  pity 
Such  fools  as  you  should  be  i'th' commission. 

Just.  Say  yrm  so,  post?  take  away  tbat 

post!  whip  him,  [post 

And  bring  him  again  quickly.  I'll  hamper  you, 

Merc.  Tis  Antonio ;  I  know  him  now  as 
What  an  irregular  fool  is  this !  [well— 

Ant.  Whip  me?  hold  oflF!       [murmiiriag 

Maria.  Oh,  good  sir,  whip  him !  By  bis 
lie  should  know  something  of  my  husband's 
•    death,  [out! 

That  may  quit  me :  ft>r  God's  sake,  fetch  it 

Just.  >\'hij!»  him,  T  say  I 

[jintonio  throws  of  his  dii^uisc. 

Ant.  Wlio  is't  dares  whip  me  now? 

Maria.  Oh,  my  iov'd  husband ! 

Merc.  My  most  worthy  friend ! 
Where  have  you  been  so  long  ? 

Ant.  I  cannot  speak  for  joy  !      [sljall  not 

Just.  Why,  what's  the  matter  now?  and 
Law  then  have  her  course  ? 

Andr.  It  shall  have  no  other:COursc 
Tlian  it  has,  I  think. 

Just.  It  sliall  have  other  i^urse 
Before  I  go,  or  111  heat  my  brains :  and  I  say 
It  was  not  honestly  done  of  him  to  discover 
Himself  before  the  parties  accus*d  were  exe- 
cuted, 
Thar  law  might  have  had  her  course;  for  then 
The  kini^dom  flourishes.  [mao; 

Ant.  But  such  a  wife  as  thou  had  neverany 
And  such  a  friend  as  he,  believe  me,  wife, 
Shall  never  be  I  Good  wife,  love  my  friend ; 
Friend,  love  my  wife.     Hark,  friend  ! 

Just.  Mark, 
If  we  can  have  nbthinv;  to  do,  you  sliall  swear 
The  peace  of  somebody. 

Mark.  Yes,  sir. 

Avt.  By  my  troth, 
I'm  sorry  my  wife  is  so  obstinate: 
Sooth,  if  I  tould  yet  do  theQ  any  good, 
I  would,  i'laitli  I  would. 
fl^!iftNi^Ithankyou,9ir; 


I've  lost  that  passion. 


Ani> 


Act  5.J 


TIIE  COXCOMB. 


S83 


Ani,  Cousm  Curio, 

Tou  and  I  must  be  better  acquainted. 
Curio,  It  is  my  wish,  sir,  ['tis  so  long 

^11/.  I  should  not  hnvc  known  you  neither, 

Since  we  saw  each  other;  we  were  but  chil- 
dren then :  [to  me. 

But  jou  liave  shew*d  yourself  an  honest  man 
Curio,  I  would  be  ever  so. 

Enter  Ricardo  and  VioUu 

Mother,  Look  you!  who's  there? 

Andr,  Say  notliing  to  t&e;  for 
Thy  pence  is  made. 

tUc.  Sir,  I  can  nothing  say. 
But  that  you  are  her  fkther ;  you  can  both 
Not  only  pardon,  when  you  miTe  a  wrong, 
But  love  where  you've  receiv'd  most  injury. 

Just,   I  think  I  shall  liear  of  no  iTanging 

this  year !  [said, 

Tliere's  a  tinker  and  a  whore  ^et,  the  cryer 
That  robb'd  her,  and  are  in  prison;  I  hope 
They  shall  be  hang'd. 

Andf^  No,  truly,  sir,   they  have  brol^e 

prison. 


Just,  Tjs  no  matter;  then  the  jailor  shall 

be  hang'd. 

Afidr,  You  are  deceiv*d  in  that  too,  sir; 

'twas  known 
To  be  ngaiuMt  his  will,  and  he  hath  got 
His  pardon ;  I  tliink,  for  nothing; 
But  irt  doth  cost  him  any  thing,  I'll  pay  it. 

Just.  Mark,  up  with  your  papers;  away ! 

Merc,  Oh, 
You  ^hall  stay  dinner;  IVe  a  couple  ofbrawl- 

ine 
Neighbours,  that  111  assure  you  won't  agree. 
And  you  slwU  have  the  hearing  of  their  mat- 

Just,  With  all  my  heart.  [ter. 

Merc,  Go,  ^ntlemen,  go  in. 

Hie,  Oh,  Viola,  that  no  succeeding  age 
Might  lose  the  memory  of  what  thou  wert ! 
But  such  an  overswayed  sex  is  yours. 
That  all  the  virtuous  actions  you  can  do 
Are  but  as  men  will  call  them:  and  I  swear, 
^'is  mjr  belief,  that  wouien  want  but  ways 
To  praise  their  deeds,  but  men  want  deeds 

to  praise.  [Exeunt  omnes. 


EPILOGUE. 


Trs  ended ;  l)ut  my  hopes  and  fears  begin : 
Nor  can  it  be  imputed  as  a  sin 
Id  me  to  wish  it  mvour.    If  this  night 
To  the  judicious  it  hath  giv'n  delight. 


I  have  my  ends:  and  may  such,  for  their 

grace 
VouchsafM  to  this^   find    theirs  in  every, 

place ! 


Ood 


wrr 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


A  COMEDY. 


TUs  Play  is  ascribed  to  Fletcher  hy  die  Commendatory  Verses  of  Gardiner;  the  Epilogue^ 
however^  speaks  of  it  as  the  production  of  both  Authors.  The  first  publication  of  it  waa 
in  the  folio  of  IQj^.  It  was  brought  on  the  stage^  altered  by  Colley  Gibber,  about  the 
banning  of  the  present  century,  under  the  title  of  the  Rival  Fools,  but  without  any  success* 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 

SxE  Perfidious  Oldcraft,  an  old  Knight, 
a  great  admirer  of  wit, 

WiTTYPATE  Oldcraft,  Au  &»,  an  accom- 
plished Gentleman, 

Sir  Gregory  Fop,  a  witless  Lord  of  Land. 

Cvif  VIS  ouAUy  a  discreet  Gentleman,Sir  Gre- 
gorjfs  Coforade  and  Supplanter. 

pRisciANy  poor  Scholar, 


} 


Companions, 


PoMPEY  Doodle,  a  Clowny  Sir  Cregori/s 
Man,  a  piece  ofpuff-pastCy  like  his  Master, 

Mr.  Credulous,  Ifephewjo  SirFerfidious,  a 
shallow-brain^d  Scholar. 

Women. 

Ni  ECE  f  0  Sir  Perfidious,  a  rich  and  witty  Hehr,  * 
Lady  Ruinous,  Wtfe  to  Sir  Ruinous, 
GuARDiANEss  to  Sir  Perfidiout^s  Niece,  ess 

old  doting  Crone. 
Mirabel,  ths  Guardianes$*s  Niece, 


SCENE,  London. 


ACT   I. 


Enter  Sir  Perfidious  Oldcraft  and  Wittypate. 

Witty.  CIR»  I*in  nt>  boy;  Tm  deep  in  one 

•^     and  twenty, 
The  second  vear*s  approaching. 

Oldc.  A  nne  time  tor 
A  youth  to  live  by  his  witstlien,  I  should  think, 
If  e'er  he  mean  to  make  account  of  any. 

Witty.  Wits,  sir?  [thee, 

Oldc.  Aj,  Tvits,  sir ;  if  it  be  so  strange  to 
Fm  sorry  I  spent  that  time  to  get  a  fool, 
I  might  have  employed  my  pains  a  great  deal 

better:  [wits. 

Thou  know'st  all  that  I  have  I  ha'  got  by  my 
Add  yet  to  see  bow  urgent  thou  art  tooi 
It  grieves  me  thou  art  so  degenerate 
To  trouble  nie  for  means ;  I  never  offered  it 
My  parents  from  9  sehool*boy ;  past  nineteen 

Quce, 


(See  what  these  times  are  grown  to)  before 

twentj^  pike 

I  rush*d  into  tlie  world,  which  is  indeed  much 
The  art  of  swimming,  be  that  will  attain  to't 
Must  fall  {>lump,  and  duck  himself  at  first, 
And  that  will  make  him  hardy  and  adventurous* 
And  not  stand  putting  in  one  foot,  and  stiver' 
And  then  draw  t'other  after,  like  a  quake* 

buttock; 
Well  he  may  make  a  padler  in  the  world. 
From  band  to  mouth,  but  never  a  brave  swim* 

mer, 
Borne  up  by  th'  chin,  as  I  bore  up  myself, 
With  my  strong  industry  that  never  fail'd  me  ; 
For  he  that  lies  borne  up  with  patrimonies. 
Looks  like  a  long  great  uss  that  swims  with 

bladders: 
Cume  but  one  prick  of  adverse  fortune  tohira^ 
He  sinks,  because  h^  never  uied  to  swim. 

When 


S86 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


[Act  1. 


When  wit  plays  with  the  billows  that  clx>ak'd 
him.  [sir, 

Witty,  Why,  is  it  not  a  fashion  for  a  father, 
Out  of  his  yeany  thousands  to  allow 
His  only  son  a  competent  brace  of  hundreds^ 
Or  such  a  toy  ? 

.  Oldc.  Yes;  if  he  mean  to  spoil  hun, 
Or  mar  his  wits,  he  may,  but  never  I.  [stant ; 
This  is  my  humour,  sir,  which  you'll  find  con- 
I  love  wit  so  well,  because  I  liv'd  by't,  that  I'll 
Give  no  man  power  out  of  my  means  to  hurt  it, 
And  that's  a  kind  of  gratitude  to  my  raiser, 
Which  great  ones  often  foi^got.    1  admire 

much 
This  age's  dullness !  When  I  scarce  writ  man, 
Tlie  first  degree  tliat  e'er  I  took  in  thriving, 
I  lay  intelligencer  close  for  wenching : 
Could  give  this  lord  or  knight  a  true  certificate 
Of  all  the  maidenheads  extant ;  how  many  lay 
'Mongst  chambermaids,  how  many'mongst 

exchange  wenclies 
(Tho'  never  many  there,  I  must  confess. 
They  have  a  trick  to  utter  ware  so  fast) ; 
I  knew  which  lady  liad  a  mind  to  fall, 
W^hich  gentlewoman   new  divorc'd,    which 

tradesman  breaking. 
The  price  of  every  sinner  to  a  hair, 
And  where  to  raise  each  price ;  which  were 
the  termers  [gowns. 

That  would  give  velvet  petticoats,  tissue 
Which  pieces,  angels,  suppers,  and  halt- 
crowns: 
I  knew  how  to  match,  and  make  my  market ; 
Could  give  intelligence  where  the  pox  lay  lege, 
And  then  to  sec  the  lechers  shifl  a  point 
Twas  sport  and  profit  too ;  how  they  would 
shun  [fully, 

Their  ador'd  mistress'  chambers,  and  run  fcai^- 
Like  rats  from  burning  houses ;  so  brought  I 
Aly  clients  o'  the  game  still  safe  together, 
And  noble  gamesters  lov'd  me,  and  I  felt  it. 
Give  me  a  man  that  lives  by  his  wits,  say  I, 
Aud*8  never  left  a  gi-oat !  there's  the  true  gal- 
lant. 
When  I  grew  somewhat  pursy,  I  grew  then 
In  men's  opinions  too,  and  confidences ; 
They  put  things  cnll'd  cxerutorbhips  upon  me, 
The  charge  of  orphans,  little  senseless  crea- 
tures, [feltmakers. 
Whom  in  their  childhoods  I  bound  forth  to 
To  make  *em  lose,  and  work  away  tlieir  gen- 
try, '  [torn, 
Disguise  their  tender  natures  with  hard  cus- 
So  wrought  *em  out  in  time;  tliere  I  rose  un- 

gently. 
Nor  do  I  fear  to  discourse  tliis  unto  thee; 
I*m  ann'd  at  all  points  against  treachery, 
I  hold^iy  humour  firm;  if  I  can  see  thee 
thrive  by  [courage 

fhy  wits  while  I  live,  I  shall  have  the  more 
To  trust  thee  with  my  lands  when  I  die ;  if  not,  I 


The  next  best  wit  I  can  hear  of,  carries  *em : 
For  since  in  my  time  and  knowledge  so  maoy 

rich  children 
Of  the  city  conclude  in  beggary,  Td  ralber 
Make  a  wise  stranger  my  .executor 
Than  a  foolish  son  my  heir,  and  have  my 

lands  cali'd  after  [nature. 

My  wit  than  after  my  name ;  and  tliat  s  my 

'Witti/.  *Tis  a  strange  harsh  one  !  Must! 

still  shift  then? 
I  come,  brave  cheats  I  once  to  my  trade  again! 
And  I'll  ply'tharder  now  than  e'er  I  did  for^t'. 
You'll  part  with  nothing  then,  sir? 

Oldc.  Not  a' jot,  sir.  [go,  sir, 

Witty,  If  I  should  ask  you  blessing  ere  I 
I  think  you  would  not  give't  me. 

Oldc.  Let  me  but  bear  tliou  liv'st  by  thy 

wits  once,  «  [mine  else! 

Thou  shalt  have  any  thing;  thovrtnoneof 
Then  why  should  I  take  care  for  thee  ? 

Witttf.  Thank  Your  bounty !  L^'^' 

Oldc.  So  wealth  love  roe,,  and  long  life,  I 

beseech  it, 
As  I  do  love  the  man  that  lives  by  liis  wits, 
He  comes  so  near  my  nature !  I'm  grown  old 

now, 
And  even  arriv'd  at  my  last  cheat,  I  fear  me; 
But  'twill  make  shift  to  bury  me,  by  day- 
light too. 
And  discharge  all  my  legacies,  'tis  so  wealthy, 
And  never  trouble  any  interest  money. 
I've  a  niece  to  wed,  over  whose  steps 
I  have  plac'd  a  trusty  watchful  guardianess, 
For  fear  some  poor  earl  steal  her  ('t  has  been 

threaten'd)  [on't; 

To  redeem  mortgag'd  land,  but  he  shall  miss 
To  prevent  which,  I  have  sought  out  a  match 

for  her, 
Fop  of  Fop-Hall  he  writes  himself,  (I  take  it, 
The  ancient'stfop  in  England)  with  whom  I've 

privately 
Compounded  for  the  third  part  ofherportioo^ 

Enter  Sir  Gregory  Fop  and  Cunmhgham. 

And  she  seems  plcas'd;  so  two  parts  restwidi 
me. —  [he,  sir? 

lie's  come.    Sir  Gregory,  welcome!  What's 
Greg.  Young  Cunningham,  a  Norfi>]k gen- 
tleman, 
One  that  lias  liv'd  upon  tlie  fops,  my  kindred. 
Ever  since  my  remembrance.  He's  a  wit  in- 
deed, 
And  we  all  strive  to  have  him ;  nay  'tb  certain 
Some  of  our  name  have  gone  to  law  for  him. 
Now  'tis  my  turn  to  keep  him;  and  indeed 
He's  plaguy  chai]^eable,  as  all  your  witsaie:^ 
But  1  will  give  him  over  when  I  list; 
I  ha'  us'd  wits  so  before. 

Oidc,  I  hope  when  youVe  married,  sir. 
You'll  shake  him  off. 

Greg.  Why,  what  do  you  take  me  to  be. 


Than  e'er  I  di^  for'u]  Sympson  reads, 
Than  e'er  X  did  before. 


Old 


Act  1.] 


Old  fadier-r-law  that  shall  be^?  Do  you 

think 
ril  have  any  of  Uie  wits  hang  upon  mc  after 

I  am  married  once  ? 
None  of  my  kindred  ever  had  before  me. 
But  Where's  this  niece?  Is  it  a  fashion  [her  ? 
In  London  to  marry  a  woman,  and  npver  see 

Oidc.  Excusetiieniceness^  sir!  that  care's 

your  friend;  [seen  her : 

Perhaps,  had  she  been  seen,  you  had  never 
There  s  many  a  tpcnt  thing,  called  An*t  like 

your  honour,  [a  countess, 

That  lies  in  wait  for  her :  at  first  snap  she*s 
Drawn  with  sis  mares  thro'  Fleet-street,  and 

a  coachman  [tocks. — 

Siitini;  bareheaded  to  their  Flanders  but- 
This  wliets  him  on. 

Greg,  Pray  let's  clap  up  the  business,  sir! 
I  long  to  see  her.  Are  you  sure  you  h:ive  her? 
Is  she  not  there  already  ?    Hark,   hark,   oh, 

hark! 

Oidc,  How  now  ?  what's  that,  sir  ? 

Oreg,  Every  caroch  goes  by, 
Goes  ev'n  to  Ui  heart  of  me. 

Oidc,  I'll  have  tlwt  doubt  eas*d,  sir, 
Instantly  eus'd,  sir  Gregory:    and,  now  I 

think  ou't,  [there; 

A  toy  comes  i' my  mind,  seeing  your  friend 
We'll  have  a  little  sport,  give  you  but  way 

ta't,  [ciously! 

And  put  a  trick  upon  her ;  I  love  wit  pre- 
You  shall  no^be  seen  yet;  we'll  stale  your 

friend  first,  [masque^, 

irt  please  but  him  to  stand  for  th'  aiiti- 

Greg,  Pho,  he  shall  stiiud  for  any  thing 

(why  his  supper  [else. 

Lies  i' ray  breeches  here);  111  make  him  fast 

Oidc,  Then  come  you  forth  more  unex- 
pectedly, 
The  masque  itself,  a  thousanda-year  jointure: 
The  cloud,  your  friend,  will  be  then  drawn 

away. 
And  only  you  the  beauty  of  the  play. 

Greg,  For  red  and  black,  I'll  put'  down 

all  your  fullers ; 
Let  but  your  niece  bring  white,  and  we  have 

three  colours.  [ExU  Gregory, 

Oidc.  I'm  given  to  understand  you  are  a 

wit,  sir.  [favor  to,  sir. 

Cunn,  I'm  on£  that  fortune  shews  small 

Oidc  Why,  there  you  conclude  it,  whether 

you  will  or  no,  sir. 
To  tell  you  truth,  I'm  taken  with  a  wit. 

Cunn,  Fowlers  catch  woodcoqks  so;  let 

not  tlicm  know  so  much ! 


.  WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


287 


Oidc,  A  pestilence  mazard !  a  duke  Hum* 

phrcy  spark, 
ir  had  nither  lose  his  dinner  than  his  jest  !— 
I  say,  I  love  a  wit  the  best  of  all  things. 

Cunn.  Always  except  yourself. 

Oidc,  irhas  giv'n't  me  twice  now 

Enter  Niece  and  Guardianess, 

All  with  a  breath,  I  thank  hun!   But  that  I 

love  a  wit, 
I  sliould  he  heartily  angry.    Cuds,  my  niece  ! 
You  know  tiie  busmess  with  her^ 

Cunn.  With  a  woman  P 
'Tis  ev'n  the  very  same  it  was,  I'm  sure, 
Five  thousand  years  ago,  no  fool  can  miss  it. 

Oidc.  This  is  the  gentleman  I  promis'd. 
To  present  to  your  af&ction.    .  [niece, 

Cunn,  Ware  that  arrow!  [liking. 

Oidc.   Deliver  me  the  truth  now  of  your 

Cunn.  I'm  spoil'd  already;  that  such  poor 

lean  game 
Should  be  found  out  as  I  am ! 

Oidc,  Go,  set  to  lier,  sir. — Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Cunn,  How  noble  is  this  virtue  in  you,  lady! 
Your  eye  may  seem  to  commit  a  thousand 

slaughters 
On  your  dull  servants,  which  truly  tasted 
Conclude  all  in  comforts. 

Oidc.  Pho! 

Niece,  It  rather  sliews 
What  a  true  worth  can  make,  such  as  yours  is. 

Oidc.  And  that's  not  worth  a  groat,— How 

like  you  him,  niece  ? 

Niece.  It  shall  appear  how  well,  sir:  I 

humbly  thank  you  for  him.     [well,  i'faith. 

Oidc,  Ila,  ha !  good  gallery  f  he  does  it 
'Slight,  as  if  he  nieant  to  purcliase  lip-land 
Hold,  hold !  bear  off,  I  say !  [there : 

'Slid,  )-our  part  liangs  too  long. 

Cunn.  Aly  jovs  are  mockeries. 

Niece.  You've  both  e xpress'd  a  worthy  care 

and  love,  sir : 
Had  mine  own  eye  been  set  at  liberty  [sir). 
To  make  a  publick  choice  (believe  my  truth. 
It  could  not  ha'  done  better  for  my  heart 
Than  your  good  providence  has. 

Oidc.  You  will  say  so  then !  [bard  ; 

Alas,  sweet  niece,  all  this  is  but  the  scab- 
Now  I  draw  forth  the  weapon. 

Niece.  How! 

Oidc,  Sir  Gregory! 
Approach,  thou  lad  of  thousands! 

Enter  Sir  Gregori/, 

Greg,  Who  calls  mc  ? 

*  Old  father-i'-law  thnt  fdiall  be^  But  that  'tis  plain  he  never  could  be.  The  mistakinc  of 
one  letter  for  another  is  very  usual;  but  here  the  editor  has  made  a  greater  slip,  and  ha* 
changed  one  word  for  anotlirr.  Uncle-in^law  is  what  sir  Gregory  designs  to  call  him.  So  in 
this  act  a  little  lower,  the  old  knight  says  to  sir  (Gregory, 

Tush,  nephew,  1*11  call  you  so,— 
And  in  act  the  third  sir  Gregory  says  to  him. 

It's  as  nne  a  noise,  unclcy  as  heart  can  wish.  Sj/mpson. 

We  believe  the  text  genuine,  and  the  slip  perhaps  intentional. 
^  Attii^mask.]  This,  I  believC;  properly  means  a  masque  ofanticks,  Whalley, 

\  '  Niece, 


ftm 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


[Act  1. 


Niece,  What  motion's  tlusf  the  model  of 
'  Kincreh*? 

Oldc.  Accost  her  daintily  now^,  let  me  ad- 
vise thee!  [on  you. 

Greg,  I  was  advis'd  to  bestow  dainty  cost 

NUce.   You  were  ill-advis'd ;   back,  and 

take  better  counsel !  fcost 

You  may  have  good  for  an  angel :  the  least 
You  can  bestow  upon  a  woman,  sir, 
Trebles  ten  counsellors'  fees ;  in  lady-ware, 
You're  over  head  and  ears,  ere  you  be  aware. 
Faith,  keep  a  batchelor  btill,  and  go  to  bowls, 

sir,  [save,  sir ! 

Follow  your  mistress  there,  and  prick  and 
For  other  mistresses  will  make  you  a  slave, 

sir. 

Greg.  So,  so !  I  have  my  lerrepoop  already. 

Oldc.  Why,  bow  now,  niece  ?  this  is  the 

man,  I  tell  you !  [but  mock ; 

Niece.  He?  hang  him!  Sir,  I  know  you  do 
This  is  the  man,  you  would  say. 

Oldc.  The  devil  rides,  I  think  ! 

Cunn.  I  must  use  cunning  here,  [respect! 

Oldc,  Make  me  not  mad  1  use  him  with  all 
This  is  the  man,  I  swear.  [chat ! 

Niece,  'Would  you  could  persuade  me  to 
Alas,  you  cannot  go  beyond  me,  uncle : 
You  carry  a  jest  well,  I  must  confess, 
For  a  man  of  your  years ;  but — 

Oldc.  I'm  wrought  beside  myself! 

Cunn.  [to  the  Guardianesx]  I  ne*er  beheld 
Comeliness  'till  this  minute. 

Guard.  Oh,  good  sweet  sir,  [woman  ! 
Pray  offer  not  these  words  to  an  old  (;cntlc- 

Niece.  Sir!  [ceeds  thee. 

Cunn.  Away,  fifteen  !  here's  fafty-one  tx- 

Niece,  What's  the  business? 

Cunn.  Give  me  these  motherly  creatures ! 
'  Come,  ne*er  smother  it; 
I  know  you  are  a  teeming  woman  yet. 

Guard,  Troth,  a  young  gentleman  might 

do  much,  I  think,  sir. 

Cunn,  (»o  to  then.  [were  ingratcful. 

Guard.  And  I  should  play  my  part,  or  I 

Niece.  Can  you  so  soon  neglect  me  ? 

Cunn.  Hence!  I'm  busy,  [pudent  baggage, 

Olde.  This  cross  point  came  in  luckily.  Im- 
Hang  from  the  gentleman !  art  thou  not 
To  be  a  widow's  hmd'rance  ?  [asham'd 

Cunn,  Are  you  angry,  sir?      [shall  desire 

Oldc.  You're  welcome !  pray  court  on :  I 
Your  honest  wise  acquaintance.  Vex  me  not. 
After  my  care  and  pains  to  find  a  match  for 

thee. 
Lest  I  confine  thy  life  to  some  out-cbamber. 
Where  thou  shalt  waste  the  sweetness  of  tliy 

vouth, 
Lik«  a  consuming  light  in  her  own  socket, 
And  not  allow'd  a  male-creature  about  thee ! 


A  very  monkey,  thy  necessity         [sweeper 

Shall  prize  at  a  thousand  pound ;  a  chimney- 

At  fifteen  hundred. 

Niece.  But  are  you  serious,  uncle? 

Oldc.  Serious.  [mmi 

Niece.  Pray  let  me  look  upon  the  gentle- 

With  more  heed !  then  I  did  but  hum  him 
over  [sheets. 

In   haste,  good  faith,  as  lawyers  chanceiy 

Beshrew  my  blood,  a  tolerable  man. 

Now  I  distmctly  read  him  ! 

Greg.  Hum,  hum,  hum  !         [good  pitch ; 
Niece.  Say  he  be  black,  he^s  of  a  very 

Well-ankled,  two  good  confident  calves,  they 
look 

As  if  they  would  not  shrink  at  the  ninth  child; 

The  redness  in  the  face — why,  that's  in 
fashion. 

Most  of  your  high  bloods  have  it;  'tis  a  sign 

Of  greatness,  marry ; 

Tis  to  be  uken  down  too  with  May-butter: 

I'll  send  to  my  lady  Spend-tail  for  her  medi- 
cine. 

Greg.  Lum  te  dum,  dum,  dum,  de  d  :m ! 
Niece.  He's  qualified  lou,  lolieve  "u.- 
Greg.  Lum  te  dum,  de  dum.  (ie  '.  .". ! 

'     Niece.  Where  was  my  iudgm* .:  \ '  -^  ium! 
Greg.  Lum  te  dum,  ddim,  du:r.,   -•^  dam, 
Niece.  Perfection's  cover'd  mess. 
Greg.  Lum  te  dum,  te  dum,  te  dum !  [sir, 
Niece.  It  smokes  apparently.  Pardon, sweet 

The  error  of  m^  sex! 

Oldc.  Why,  well  said,  niece !  [sir. 

Upon  submission,  you  must  pardon  her  now, 
Greg.  I'll  do  it  by  course :  do  you  think 
I'm  an  ass,  knight?  [seal-office 

Here's  first  my  hand ;  now  it  goes  tO  the 
Oldc.  Formally  finish'd!  How  goes  this 
suit  forward?  [mind,  sir; 

Cunn.  I'm  taking  measure  of  the  widow's 

I  hope  to  fit  her  heart. 

Guard.  Who  would  have  dreamt  [nates! 

Of  a  young  morsel  now  ?  Things  come  in  mi- 
Greg.  Trust  him  not,  widow;  lie's  9 
younger  brother,  [nothing. 

He'll  swear  and  lie ;  believe  me,  he's  worUi 
Guard.  He  brings  more  content  to  a  wo* 
man  with  that  nothing,  [anything; 

Than  he  that  brings  his  thousands  inithool 

We  have  precedents  for  that  amongst  great 
ladies.  [be  in  fashioo 

Oldc.  Come,  come !  no  language  now  shall 

But  your  lovc-plirase,  the  bell  to  procreation. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Sir  Ruinous  Gentry^  WittypatCf  and 
Friscian. 

Wittj/.  Pox,  there's  nothing  putsme  besides 
my  wits, 


♦  rA«  model  of  Nineveh.]  The  model  of  Nineveh  appears  tO'  have  been  a  puppet-show  in 
mat  repute  in  the  time  of  our  authors.  It  is  mentioned  in  the  old  comedy  of  Every  Woman 
m  her  liumour,  1609,  quarto,  signature  H.  *  I  have  seen  the  city  of  new  Ninevchf  and  Ju* 
<  lius  Cesar,  acted  by  mammets.'  It  is  also  taken  notice  of  by  Ben  Jonson  in  his  Bartholo- 
mew-Fair, act  v.  scene  1. 

fiat 


Act  1.] 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  \fr£APO^& 


989^ 


Bat  this  fourth,  tljis  lay  illiterate  share ; 
There*s  no  conscience  in't. 

Ruin,  Sir,  it  has  ever  heen  so  [where  I  ain. 
Where  I  have  practised,  and. must  be  still 
Kor  ha$  it  beeu  undeaervM  at  the  year's  end. 
And  shuffle  the  almanack  together,  vacations 
And  teroHtimes,  <^ne  with  another ;  tho'  I 

say't, 
Uy  wife  is  a  woman  of  a  good  spirit; 
I'hen  it  is  no  lay-shnre. 

Pris.  Faith,  for  tliis  five  tear. 
Ego  potsum  probare,  I  have  had 
A  hungry  penurious  share  wich  'em, 
And  she  has  had  as  much  as  I  always. 

WUt^.  Present,  or  not  present? 

Frix.  Residcm  aut  non  reiidens,  per  fidemf 

Wittjf,  And  what  precedent's  this  Jbr  me? 

because 
Vour  hie  if  kitty  turpis  and  qui  ntihi 
Discipulus  brains  (that  never  ^t  any  thing 
But  by  accidence  and  uncertainty) 
Did  allow  it,  therefore  I  roust,  that  have 

grounded 
Couclui-ions  of  wit,  hereditary  riiles 
From  my  futlier,  to  get  by  ? 

Kiiin.  Sir,  be  compendious; 
Either  take,  or  refuse :  I  will  'batl^  no  tdken 
Of  my  wife's  sliare ;  make  even  the  last  reck- 
onings, 
And  either  so  unite^  of  here  divide  company. 

Pris,   A   good   resolution,  profectol    let 

every  man  ^ 
Beg  his  own  way,  and  happy  man  be  his  dole ! 

Wittjf.  Well,  here*S50ur  double  share,  and 

single  brains. 
Pal,  adipol,here'B  toward;  a cast(fr  ccastor  for 

you  ! 
I  will  endure  it  a  fortnight  longer,  but 
By  these  just  five  ends — 

Pris.  Take  lieed  !  five's  odd  j 
Put  both  hands  together  '^r  severally^ 
They  arc  all  odd  unjust  ends. 

Witty.  MediusfidiMf  hold  your  tongue ! 
I  depose  you  from  half  a  share  presently  else : 
I  will  make  you  a  participle,  and  decline  you ; 

uow  [junction 

You  understand  me!  Be  you  a  quiet  con- 
Amongst  the  undeclined ;  you  and  your  Latin 
Ends  shall  go  shift,  sohu  cum  aoh,  together 

else;  ^ 

And  then  If  ever  they  get  ends  of  gold 
And  silver,  enougii  to  serve  that  gerund ine 

maw  of  yours,  [stantly — 

That  without  do  will  end  in  di  and  dum  in- 


Ente^  Oldcrt^  and  Sir  Chtgor^. 

Rubi.  Enough,  enough!  Hero  comes  com* 

pmv!  we  lose 
Five  shares  in  wrangling  about  one. 

Wittjf.  My  father?  Put  on,  Priscfanl 
He  ha&  Latin  firagments  too;  but  I  fear  him 

not!  [relieve^ 

ril  case  my  face  with  a  little  more  hair,  and 

0l4t,  Tush,  nephew  !  Vll  cadi  ^ou  So,  for 

if  there  be 
No  other  obstacles  than  those  yoo  speak  of. 
They  are  but  powder  charges  without  pellets; 
You  may  safely  front  'cm,  and  warrant  your 

own  danger.  [ si^ . 

Greg,  No  other  that  I  can  perceive,  i'hiitli, 
For  I  put  her  to't,  and  felt  her  as  far  as  I  could; 
And  the  strongest  repulse  was,  she  said. 
She  would  have  a  little  soldier  in  me. 
That,  if  need  were,  I  should  defend  iier  re^ 

putation. 

Oidc,  And  Surely,  sir,  tliat  is  a  principle 
Amongst  your  principal  ladles :  they  requii« 

Tulour 
Either  in  a  friend  or  a  husband. 

Greg,  And  I  allow 
Their  requests  iVaith,  as  well  as  any  ivonum^s 
Heart  can  desire  :  if  (  knew  where  to  get 
Valour,  I  would  as  willingly  entertain  it 
As  any  man  that  blows. 

Olde,  Breathes,  breathes,  sir;  that's  ilie 

sweeter  phrase.  [I'm  in 

Greg.  Blows  f6r  a  soldier,  i'faitli^  sir !  md 
Practice  that  way. 

Oldc,  For  a  soldier,  I  grant  lu 

Greg.  'Slid !  [too, 

I'll  swallow  some  bullets,  arul  good  round  oi\^» 
But  ril  have  a  little  soldier  in  me. 

Ruin.  Will  you  on  and  beg. 
Or  steal  and  be  hanged  f 

Greg.  And  some  scholar  she  would  have 

me  besides.  [duality 

Oidc.  Tash,  that  shall  be  no  bar^;  it  is  a 
In  a  gentleman,  but  of  tlie  least  question. 

Pris.  Sahcle,  domini  ifenignitsimi,  sntmi» 

Jicentissimi  / 

Oldc,  Salvete  dicis ad  nos  fjuleo  Ic  salvere  / 
Nay,  sir,  we  hate  L<itin,  and  otlier  metal  ia 

us  too,  sir. 
You  shall  see  me  talk  witli  this  fellow  now. 

Greg.  I  could  find  in  my  heart  to  talk  with 
If  I  could  understand  him.  [him  too, 

Prii,  Charissifui^i 
Dactissitnique,  domini,  es  ahundantia 

'  Greg.  And  some  scholar  she  would  have  me  besides^ 
Tushy  that  shall  be  no  bar,  &c.]  The  hnpropriety  of  making  «>  Gregory  both  te!l  the 
We  and  give  the  answer,  inclined  me  to  prefix  Oldcraft  before  2'ush,  that skall,6cc   Sjfmpstm. 
^  Pris<  Charissimi,  doctissimique,  domini^  ex  abundantia 
Charitatis  veslra  estote  propUii  in  xne  jejunum 

Miseruai.']  Clarissimi  1  prefer  to  charissim.  Jejunum  too  T  can  bj  no 
iaeaos  approve,  tho'  sense,  because  it  is  only  an  arbitrary  reading  of  the  editor  of  the  copy 
of  1679.  That  of  1617,  represents  tlie  passage  thus;  estote  prop  it  ii  in  me  juncnem,  which, 
tho'  not  sense,  because  not  Latin,  will  yet  be  the  l^nd-maid  to  lead  us  to  what  might  very 
)»os8ibly  have  been  the  original  reading;  and  that  wi|^  no  more  trouble  thwi  turaiagof  an  » 
into  a  Uf—propiUi  in  sue  juvenem«  Swnpson. 

VOL.111.  ^"^  Pp  Ck«rit„tU 


too 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


Charitatis  vestra estate propitiiin  mejuvenem 
Miserum,  pauptremy  4'  o/«»*»  consolatione  exit- 

lemf  [bat  I'll  to  liim  again. 

Oidc,  A  pretty  scholar,  by  my  faitb,  sir! 

Greg.  Does  he  beg  or  steal  in  tbislatagaage, 

can  you  tell,  sir? 
He  may  take  away  my  good  name  from  me, 
And  t  ne'er  the  wiser. 

Oldc.  He  begs,  he  begs,  sir. 

Fris,  Ecccy  ecce,  inoculis  lachrymaruniflu'' 

men!  in  ore  [pudentia; 

Fames  sitisque;  igttis  in  Tmltu,  pudor  4*  wh 
hi  onnii  parte  necessitas  4*  indigentia, 
.    Oldc.  Audi  tu  bonus  tocius;  lu  es  Kholcuh 

ticusy  sic  intelligOy 
Egofaciam  argumentum. 
Mark  now,  sir,  ndw  I  fetch  him  up  ! 

Greg.  I've  been  fetch'd  up  a  hundred  times 

for  this ; 
Yet  I  could  never  learn  half  so  much. 

Oidc.  Audi,  4'  responde;  hoc  est  argumen- 

tum :  Nomen  est  [/mwc, 

JNomen — ergOy  quod  est  tibi  nomen  f  Responde 
Hcaponde  argumentum  meum. 
IIhvc  I  not  pot  him  to*t,  sir? 

Greg,  Yes,  sir,  I  think  so.  [penn'd  speech, 

Witty.  Step  in!  the  rascal  is  put  out  of  his 
And  he  can  go  no  further. 

Oldc.  Cur  non  respondes  9 

Frit.  O  domine,  tanta  mca  est  wwcria— 

Witty,  So !  he's  almost  in  again. 

Fris.    Ut  noi  te  mecum  pernoctet  egcstas, 

luce  qnotidie 
Faupertas  habitet.  [resjwnde 

Oldc.  Sed  quod  est  tibi  jumen  f  4'  quisdedit  ? 
Argumentum, 

Fris.  Hem,  hem! 

Witty.  He's  dry;  he  hems:  on  quickly! 

Ruin,  Courteous  gentlemen,  [tensive 

If  the  brow  of  a  military  fiice  may  not  be  o^ 
To  your  generous  eye-balls,  i^et  his  wounds 

speak  better  than  his  words,  [planted 
For  some  branch  or  small  sprig  of  chanty  to  be 
Upon  this  poor  barren  soil  ot  a  soldier. 

Oldc.  How  now !  what,  arms  and  arts  both 

co-a-becging? 

Ruin,  Such  is  tlie  post-progress  of  cold 

charity  now  a-days,  [so  swift  a  motion 
Who  (for  heat  to  lier  frigid  limbs)  passes  in 
That  two  at  the  least  had  need  be  to  stay  her. 

Greg.  Sir,  let's  reward  'em,  I  pray  you; 

and  be  j^oue ! 
If  any  quarrel  should  arise  amongst  us, 
I  am  able  to  answer  neither  of  them;  his  iron 
And  steel  tongue  is  as  hai'd  as  t'oiher's  Latin 

one. 


[Act  1. 

Oldc.  Stay,  stay,  gir  f  I  will  talk  a  little  witb 
him  first: 
Let  me  alone  with  both!  I  will  try  whether 
they  [love.— 

Live  by  their  wits  or  no;  for  sach  a  man  I 
And,  what,  you  both  beg  together  then? 
Fris.  Conjunctis  mambus,pr<rfecto,  domine. 
Ruin.  With  equal  fortunes,  equal  distribu- 
tion ;  [even 
There's  not  the  breadth  of  a  sword's  point  uu- 
In  our  division. 

Greg.  What  two  qualities 
Are  here  cast  away  upon  two  poor  ieHows! 
If  a  man  hud  'em  that  could  maintain  'em, 

what 
A  double  man  were  that!  If  these  two  fellows 
Might  be  bought  and  sodden^  and  boifd  to  a 

.ielly. 
And  eaten  fasting  e\'e:^  morning,  I  do  not 
Think  hot  a"  man  should  fmd  strange  things 
in  his  stomach. 

Oldc.  Come,  sir, join  yourcharity  with  miuc. 

And  we'll  make  up  a  couple  of  pence  betwixt 

us.  [for  his  penny/ 

Greg.  If  a  man  could  have  a  pennyworth 

I  \\ould  bestow  more  money  with  'era. 

Witty.  Save  you,  gentlemen !  How  now? 
What,  Are  you  eiicountcr'd  here?  What  fel- 
lows are  these?  [a  pair 
Oldc,  Faith,  sir,  here's  Mars  and  Mercury; 
Of  poor  plane ts,  it  seems,  tliat  Jupiter 
Has  turn  d  out  to  live  by  their  wits,  and  we 
About  a  little  spark  at'  charity  [are  e'ea 
To  khidle  'em  a  new  fire. 

Witty.  Stiiy,  pray  you  stay,  sir! 
You  may  abuse  your  eharifey,  nay,  make 
Thuc  goodness  in  you  no  better  than  a  vice: 
So  many  deceivers  walk  ia  these  shadows 

now-a-days, 
That  certainly  your  ho«ivti<'S  were  better  spilt, 
Thau  reserv'd  to  so  lewd  arid  vicious  Ufces.' — 
Which  is  lie  that  professes  the  soldier? 
Ruin.  He  that  professes  his  own  profes- 
sion, sir, 
And  the  dangerous. life  he  hath  led  in  it 
This  pair  of  halt-score  years. 

Witty.  In  what  services  have  you  been,  sir? 

Ruin.  The  first  that  flcsh'd  me  a  soldier,  sir, 

Was  that  great  battle  at  Alcazar,  in  Bnrbary, 

Where  th^  noble  English  Stukcley  fell^  and 

where 
Tliat  royal  Portugal  Sebastian  epded 
His  nntimely  days. 

Witty.  A  re  you  sure  Sebastian  died  there? 
Ruin.  Faith,  sir,  there  was  some  other  ru- 
mour hop'd 

^  The  great  battle  At  Alcazar  in  Barbaryy  where  the  noble  English  Stukeley,/b//,  und  vherc 
that  royal  I'ortugal  Sebastian,  ^c]  The  battle  of  Alcazar  was  fought  in  August,  1678.  Don 
Scbastfany  one  of  the  kings  who  i'eii  in  that  engagement,  being  not  found  after  the  battle,  was 
for  a  long  time  supposed  to  have  escaped,  and  reported  to  be  living  in  several  dilTcreat 
countries.— Of  SfwA-e/ty,  who  appears  to  have  been  a  dissolute  Englishman,  born  in  Devon- 
shire, a  volunteer  in  that  battle,  after  having  dissipated  his  property,  an  account  may  he  seen 
in  an  old  ballad  published  in  Evans's  collection,  1777,  vol.  ii.  dj  103.  See  also ''.mold  play, 
entitled,  The  Battle  ofAlcaxar,  with  tlio  deatli  of  Captain  Stakeley,  4to.  1594.        i^ 

Amongst 


Act  4.] 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


291 


Amongst  us*,  t^at  be,  /wounded,  escap'd, 

and  tottch'd  [couotry  atiiome 

On  his  native  shpre  again;  .where  tindinc  his 
Moredi&tress'dby  the  invasion  of  the  Spaniard, 
Than  his  loss  abroad,  forsook  it,  still  $up<- 

porting 
A  miserable  and  unfortunate  life, 
Which  where  he  enrWd  is  yet  uncertain. 

Witty.  By  my  faith,  sir, 
He  speaks  the  ni-arest  lame  of  truth  in  this. 

Ruin.  Since,  sir,  I.serv'd  in  France,  the 

Low.Countcics,  [pt>rt', 

Lastly,  at  that  m<*morablc  skirmish  at  New- 
Where  the  forward  and  bold  Scot  there  spent 

his  life 
So  ifreely,  that  from  every  single  heart 
Tliat  there  tell,  came  home,  ^m  .h;s  re- 
solution, 
A  double  b^^nour  to  his  country. 

Witty.  This 
Should  be  no  counterieit,  sir. 

Oidc.  I  do  not  thiuk  lie  is,  sir. 

Witty,  But,  sir,  methi|iks  yon  da  .not 

shew  the  marks 
Of  a  soldier :  could  you  so  freely  scape. 
That  you  brought  hpme  no  Jcars  to  be  your 

chronicle  ?  [in  those  ptirts 

Ruin.  Sir,  I  have  wounds,  and  many ;  but 
M'liere  nature  and  humanity  bids  me  shame 
To  publish. 

Witty.  A  good  soldier  cannot  want 
Tltose  badges. 

Greg.  Now  .am  not  I  of  your  mia^l 
In  that;  for  I  hold  him  the  best  soldier 
That  scapes  best :  always  at  a  mock-fencing '° 
I  give  him  the  best  that  has  the  fewest  knocks. 

Witty.  Nay,  I'll  have  a  bout  with  your 

scholar,  too.    To  ask  you 
Why  you  should  be  poor,  yet  richly  learn 'd, 
Were  no  c|uestion,  at  least,  you  can  vjanaiy 

answer  It;  [serve 

But  whether  you  iiave  learning  enough  to  de- 
To  be  poor  or  no  (since  poverty  is  commonly 
The  meed  of  learning)  is  yet  lo  be  tried : 
You  have  the  languages  ?  I  mean  the  chief. 
As  the  Hebrew,  Syriac,  Greek,  l^tin,  &:c. 

Pris.  Aiiqucmtulum;  non  totaliter,  domine. 

Oidc,  Ttie  Latin  I  have  sufficiently  tried 

him  in,  [grounded. 

And  1  promise   you,  sir,  he  is  very  well 

Witty.  I  will  prove  him  in  some  of  the  rest. 
Toia  mioisfatkerois  iste  cockrscomboy¥ 

Pris.  Kay  yonkeron  nigiiton  oy  Jbr^Urof 

asinisoy. 

Witty.  C&eatefon  ion  bitonf  ' 

*  Hop't  amongst  us.]  Theobald  and  Seward  would  read,  hopt  amongst  us. 

*  That  memorable  skirmish,  &c.]  This  mefnorai'le  skintiish  at  Neicport  happened  on  the 
22d  of  JuW,  1^00,  between  prince  Albert  and  prince  Maurice  de  Nassau;  the  former  com- 
mander of  the  Spaniards,  and  the  latter  of  the  forces  of  the  States-general.  The  Spaniards 
were  worsted,  and  sustained  the  loss  of  2000  men  killed,  besides  a  great  number  taken 
prisoners.  This  battle  is  mentioned  in  several  contemporary  writers ;:  out  we  do  not  find  * 
the  le^t  notice  taken  in  any  of  the  accounts,  of  the  forward  and  bold  Scot,  whose  bravery  i& 
here  celebrated  bv  our  authors.        R. 

*®  A  cock-fencing.]  Corrected  by  Sympson. 

P  p  2  Greg. 


JRrts.  Tous  pollous  strikerous,  angelo  to 

Witty.  Certainly,  sir,  [peeso, 

A  very  excellent  scholar  in  the  Greek. 
tOldc.  I  dojiote  a  wondrous  readiness  in 

Greg.  I  do  wopder  [him. 

How  the  Trojans  could  hold  out  ten  years* 

siege,  [  Acliilles 

As  'tis  reported,  against  .the  Greeks :  if 
i^poke  but.  this  tongue,  I  do  not  thiuk  but  he 
Might  iiave  shaken  down  the  walls  in  a 

sevenuight. 
And  ne'e^  troubled  the  wooden  horse. 

Witty.  I  will  try  him  so  far  as  I  can  in 

tlie  Syriac. 
Kircom  bragmeifi  shag  a  don  ma  dell  mathnu. 

Pris.  Hashagath  rabgabashshoOosonoriudka. 

Witty.  Colpack  rubascay  gnaioerthetnshig 

sha^.  [Uishemech  nagoUii. 

P.ns.     Nfipshamotkem    ribshc   hongomosk 

Witty.  Gentlemen,  i  have  doue !  any  man, 

that  cap, 
Go  further!  [confess  myself  at  a ponplus. 

Greg.  Faith,  not  I,iiir ;  I  w^s  at  my  furthest 
In  my  natural  langi^ge ;  I  was  never  double- 
I  thank  n^  hard  fortune.  [topgu'd, 

Witty.  Well,  gentlemen, 
'  Tis  pity  (walk  further  otf  a  little,  my  friends), 
I  say,  'tifi.pity^uch  fei Ip w s,. so. end pw'd, 
So  qualified  with  the  gifts  of  nature  and  arts. 
Yet  should  have  duch  a  scarcity  of  fortuue*s 

benefits : 
We  must  blame  our  iron-hearted  age  for  it. 

0/rfc  'lis  pity,  indeed;  fuid  our  pity  sl^all 

speak 
A  little  for  'em :  cpme,  sir!  here's  my  groat. 

WUty.  A  groat,  sir?  oh  fy!  give  nothing 

rathei>! 
'Twcre  better  you  xail'd  on  'em  for  begging. 
And  so  quit  yourself:  I  am  a  poor  gen  tleman^ 
ThatUiavc  iittle  -but  mj  wiU  to  live  on — 

Oldc.  Troth, 
Audi  love  you  the  better,  sir. 

Witty.  Yet  Til  begin 
A  better  example  than  so :  here^/ellows. 
There's  between  you;  take  purse  and  all; 

and  I 
Would  it  were  heavier  for  your  sakes  ! 
Tliere's  a  pair  of  angels  to  guide  you  to  your 

lodgings, 
A  poor  gentleman's  good  will !  [domine! 

PrJt,  GratittSffnaximas gralias,benignissime 

Oldc.  This  is  an  ill  example  for  us,  sir ;  I 

would 
This  bpuntiful  gentleman  liad  not  come  this 

way  to-day. 


996 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


lAci  2. 


v: 


Cunn.  She  has  but  mock'd  my  folly!  else 

she  finds  not 
The  bosonv  of  my  puqjose :  some  other  way 
IMust  make  me  know.   I'll  ti^  her ;  and  may 
•  chance  quit 
The  fine  dexterity  of  her  lady-wit.       [Exit. 

Nitce,  YeSy  in  troth,  I  laugh'd  to  thmk  of 

thy  master 
Now,  what  he  would  think  if  he  knew  thj$ ! 

Pompci^.  By  my  troth, 
I  laugh  at  him  too.    Faith,  sirrah,  he's  bu6  a 

fool,  [say't. 

To  say  the  truth,  tho'  I  say't  that  should  not 

NUce.  Yes,  thou  shouJdst  say  truth,  and  I 

believe  thee.  [something; 

Well,  for  this  time  we'll  part :  you  perceive 
Our  tongues  betray  our  hearts,  there's  our 
But  pray  be  silent  \  [weakness ; 

Powpey.  As  mouse  in  cheese,  or  goose  in 

hay,  i'faith.  [hand 

"Niece.  Look,  we  are  cut  off!  there s  my 
Where  my  lips  would  be. 

Psmpey.  I'll  wink,  and  think  'em 
Thy  lips.     Farewell !  [Exit. 

jNiece.  Now,  Guardianess, 
I  need  not  ask  where  you  have  been. 

Guard,  Oh,  lady, 
Ne'er  was  woman  so  abus'd ! 

Re-enter  Fompejf* 

Fompey.  Dost  thou  hear,  lady  sweetheart? 
I  had  ioigot  to  tell  thee;  if  ypu  will, 
I  will  come  back  in  the  evening. 

Niece.  By  no  means ; 
Come  not  'till  I  send  for  you. 

Pampey.  If  there  be  [am  gone. 

Any  need,  you  may  think  of  tilings  when  I 
I  may  be  convey'd  into  ^our  chamber;  III 
Under  the  bed  while  midnight,  or  so;  [lie 
Or  you  shall  put  me  up  in  one  of  your  little 
I  can  creep  in  at  a  small  hole.     *      [boxes ; 

Niece.  These 


Are  things  I  dare  bot  i^enture :  I  charge  you, 
On  my  love,  never  come  'till  I  send  for  you. 

Fompeif.  Verbum  insipienti  I  Tis  eoou|sh  to 

the  wise.  [know 

Nor  I  think  it  is  not  fit  the  knight  should 
Any  thing  yet. 

Niece.  By  no  means !  pray  you  go  now : 
.    we*re  suspected.  [us  use  our  secrets. 

Fompey,  For  the  things  tliat  are  past,  let 

Niece.  Now  I  will  make  a  firm  trial  of  your 

love ; 
As  you  love  me,  not  a  wbrd  more  at  this  tiine. 
Not  a  syllable ;  'tis  the  seal  of  love;  take  heed! 

Fifmpey.  Hum,  hum,  hum,  hum  !      [Exit. 

Niecc.^  He  hums  loth  to  depart'^. 
So,  this  pleasant  trouble's  gone.  Now,  Guar- 
dianess!  [cause,  woman  ? 
What!  your  eyes  easing  your  heart?    the 

Guard.  The  cause  is  raise  man,  madam  f 

oh,  lady ! 
I  have  been  gulled  in  a  shining  carbuncle, 
^A  very  glow-worm,  that  I  thought  had  fire  in't, 
And  tis  as  cold  as  ice. 

Niece.  And  j  ustly  serv'd ;  [spring* * 

Wouldst  thou  once  think  that  such  au  emug 
Would  dote  upon  thine  autumn  ? 

Guard.  Oh,  liad  you  heard 
Him  but  protest— 

Niece.  J  would  not  have  believ'd  him. 
Thou  raight'st  have  perceiv'd  how  I  mock*d 
In  wanton  imitation  with  the  fool,   [thy  folly, 
Go,  weep  the  sin  of  thy  credulity. 
Not  of  thy  loss!  for  it' was  never  thine, 
And  it  is  gain  to  miss  it.  Wert  tliou  so  dull } 
Nay,  yet  thou'rt  stupid  and  uncapable. 
Why,  thou  wert  but  the  bait  to  fish  willi,  not 
The  prey ;  the  stale  to  catch  another  bird  with. 

Guard.  Indeed  lie  call'd  me  bird. 

Mece.  Yet  thou  perceiv'st  not:       [made 
It  is  vonr  niece  he  loves;  wouldst  thou  be 
A  stalking  jade }  'tis  she,  examine  it. — 
I'll  hurry  all  awry",  and  tread  my  path 


'7  Pompey.  Hum,  hum,  Aum,  Atim— 

He  hums  loath  to  depart,']  The  improprietjr  of  putting  this  passage  into  Fifm- 
^ey*ft  mouth  is  evident  from  the  bare  mention.  To  the  N^ece  it  unquestionably  belongs,  aud 
we  should  write, 

Fompey.  Hum,  hum,  bum,  hum.  [£ji<« 

Niece*     He  bums  loath  to  depart.  Sym^tmu 

'*  An  erring  ipring.']  So  first  folio;  second,  early;  and  Seward  earing.  We  have  followed 
the  oklett  copy,  not  pnly  as  authorized,  but  as  fiuling  unmediately  in  with  the  sense  of  the 
context,  and  being  preferable  to  earing,  wliich  is  a  hud  epithet  in  this  place. 
*'  lU  hurry  ail  OMory,  and  tread  my  path 

Over  unbeaten  grounds ;  go  level  to  the  mark. 

Not  by  circular  bouts;  rare  things  are  pleasing.]  Seward  says,  *  If  she  kurrys  all  mory, 
^  it  is  plain  she  roust  go  to  her  mark,  as  she  really  does,  by  circular  bouts,  t.  e.  by  seeiniugt^ 
*  aim  at  something  else.    I  suppose  the  original  to  have  been, 
'  Over  unbeaten  grounds  go  level  to 
*  The  mark, by  circular  bouts;  rare  things  are  pleasing:' 
And  Sympson  changes  not  into  but. — ^There  needs  neither  omission  nor  idtemtion.    Seward 
misconstrues  the  text,  and  Sympson's  change  of  not  into  but  directly  contradicts  the  poet^s 
meaning.    By  hurrying  awry,  she  only  means  leaving  the  common  way,  and  to  tread  a  piUh 
aver  uT^eaten  grounds,  by  which  means  she  will  go  level  to  the  mark,  not  roirad  about. 
Did  Messrs.  Seward  or  Sympson  never  amuse  themselves  in  their  younger  days  with  the  di* 
version  of  steepMuntingf  Tis  the  very  thing.  ^ 

^         )  .  Over 


l^    j     ^^     ■■■  »  Cil)^ 


V.  1'    >■  I    L-V-  1  — 


Act  5^.] 


tWf  At  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


*ar 


Ovdl'  Uab«ateti  grotmd»i  go  level  to  the  marie, 
Not  by  circalar  bouts;  rare  things  are  pleanng; 
And  rere's  bat  ^eldcxm  in  the  simple  sense, 
But  hfts  her  emphasis  with  eminence.  [£jtV. 
GuartL  My  niece?  she  the  rival  of  my 
«biise?  fher  ibr^t ! 

My  fleih  and  blood  wrong* roe?  I*u  aunt  her 

Enter  Mirabel, 

Qb,  opportunity,  thoa  blessest  me  l-^ 
Now,  gentlewoman !  are  you  parted  so  soon? 
Where  is  your  inend,  I  pray  ?  your  Cunning- 

JUir.  What  say  yod,  aunt?  [ham? 

Gumrd.  Come,  come,your.Cunnin^ham! 
I  am  not  blind  with  age  yet,  nor  deaf. 

Mir.  Dmnb  I  am  sure  you*re  not.    What 
,  ail  youywmt? 
Are  you  not  well? 

Crmard.  No,  nor  sick ; 
Nor  mad^  nor  in  my  wits;  nor  sleeping, 
Nor  wakiag;  nor  nothing,  nor  any  thing: 
1  know  not  what  I  am,  nor  what  [  am  not! 

Aftr.  Mercy  cover  us !  what  do  you  mean, 

Guard,  I  mean  to  be  reveng'd.       [aunt? 

Aftr.  On  whom? 

Guard.  On  thee,  baggage! 
•   Aftr.  Revenge  should  follow  injury. 
Which  never  reach'd  so  far  as  thought  in  me 
Towards  you,  aunt. 

Guard,  Your  cunning,  minion. 
Nor  your  Cunningham,  can  either  blind  me ! 
The  gentle  beggar  loves  you. 

A&.  Besee^  you,  let 
Me  stay  your  error!  I  begin  to  hear, 
And  sliake  off  my  amasement :  if  you  think 
That  ever  any  passage  treating  love 
Hath  been  betwixt  us  yet  commenced;  any 
Silent  eye^ance  that  might  but  sparkle  fire, 
S6  much  as  brother  and  sister  might  meet 

with ;  , 

The  lip-salute,  so  much  as  strangers  might 
Tike  a  fiireweh  with;  the  commixed  h^ds; 
Nay,  but  the  least  thought  of  Uie  least  of  these, 
In  troth  you  wrong  your  bosom ;  b;^  that  truth 
Which  I  think  yet  you  durst  be  bail  for  in  me 
If  it  were  offer'd  you,  I  am  as  free 
As  all  this  protestation. 

Guard.  May  I  believe  this?  [thought 

Afir.  If  ever  you'll  believe  truth.    Why  I 
He  had  spoke  love  to  you;  and  if  his  heart 
Prompted  his  tongue,  sure  I  did  hear  so  much. 

Guard.  Ob,&isest  man !  Ixion's  plague  fell 

on  me! 
Never  by  woman,  such  a  masc'line  cloud, 
^  airy  and  so  subtle,  was  embraced. 

Mir.  By  no  cause  in  me,  by  my  life,  dear 

aunt.  [venge, 

Guard.  I  believe  you :  then  help  in  my  re* 
And  you  shall  do't,  or  lose  my  lov^  for  ever: 
Vil  have  him  quitted  at  his  equal  weapon. 
Thoit  art  young,  follow  him,  bait  his  (ksires 
With  all  the  engines  of  a  woman's  wit. 
Stretch  modesty  even  to  the  highest  pitch; 


He  cannot  freeze  at  such  a  finming  beauty; 
And  when  thou  hast  him  by  the  amorous  gills^   ' 
Think  on  my  vengeance^choak  up  his  desires^ 
Then  let  his  banquetings  be  tantalism. 
Let  thy  disdain  spurn  the  dissembler  out! 
Oh,  I  should  climb  the  stars,  and  sit  abovei 
To  see  him  burn  to  ashes  in  his  love ! 
'      JItr.  This  will  be  a  strange  task^^,  aont^ 

and  an 
Unwilling  labour;  yet,  in  your  injonctiony 
I  am  a  servant  to't. 

Guard.  Thou'lt  nndertake't?    [heTeafter! 

Mir,  Yes;  let  the  success  commend  itself 

Guard.  Efiect  it,  girl,  my  substance  is  thy 

store; 
Nothing  but  want  of  will  makes  woman  poor. 

[Exewa. 

Enter  Sir  Gregortf  and  Tompey, 

Greg.  Why,  Pompey,  thou^rt  not  stark 

mad,  art  thou?  wilt  thou 
Not  tell  me  how  ray  lady  does? 

Pompey.  Your  lady? 

Greg.  Did  she  receive  the  thing  that  I  sent 

her  kindly,  or  no? 

Fotnpey.  The  thing  [you  8en(^ 

That  you  sent  her,  knight,  by  the  thing  that 
Was,  for  the  thing's  sake  that  was  sent  to  carry 
The  thiug  that  you  sent,  very  kindly  receiv'd. 

First,  ^  [servant!) 

There's  yoUr  indenture;  (now  go  seek  you  a 
Secondly,  you're  a  knight;  thirdly  and-  lastly, 
I'm  mine  own  man;  and^  fourthly,  fare  yoa 

well!  [withtliee! 

Greg.  Why,tompey!  Prithee  let  me  speak 
1*11  lay  my  lite  some  liare  has  crost  him. 

Fwnpey.  Knight,  [l^dy. 

If  you  be  a  knisht,  so  keep  you :  as  for  the    / 
Who  shall  say  that  she  is  not  a  fair  ladv  ? 
A  sweet  liidy,  an  honest  and  a  virtuous  lady  ? 
I  will  say  lie  is  a  base  fellow,  a  blab  of  hit 

tongue, 
And  I  will  make  him  eat  these  fingers*  ends* 

Greg.  Why,  here's  nobody  says  so,  Pom^ 

pey.  [tween  the  lady 

Pompey.  Whatsoever  things  have  past  be* 
And  the  other  party,  Tvhom  I  will  not  nama 
•At  this  time,  I  say  she  is  virtuous 
And  honest,  and  I  will  maintain'r,  as  long  US 
I  can  maintain  myself  with  brend  and  water. 

Greg.  Why,  I  know  nobody  thinks  other* 

wise .  [in  my  hearing, 

Pompey.  Any  man  that  does  but  think  it 
I  will  make  him  think  on't  while  he  has  a 

thought 
In  his  bosom !  Shall  we  say  that  kindneMfii 
From  ladies  are  common  ?  or  tluit  &vours  and 

protestations  [parties? 

Are  thinss  of  no  moment  betwixt  parties  utid 
I  say  stin,  whatsoever  has  been  betwixt  the 

lady  [she  is  honest. 

And  the  ^arty  which  I  will  not  name,  that 
And  shall  be  honest,  whatsoever  site  does 


VOL.  in. 


^  A  itrange  taste.]  Varied  by  Sympson. 
Q  q* 


^/ 


dds 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEiVPONS. 


[Acta 

You  wilt  deal  with  met  ^et  I  would  eatimC, 
You  will  Dot  make  that  which  is  bad  enough 
Worse  than  it  need  be,  by  a  second  ill. 
When  it  can  render  vou  no  second  profici 
H  it  be  coin  you  seek,  you  have  your  prey. 
All  my  store  1  vow  (and  it  weighs  a  fauaared); 
My  life,  or  §iry  hurt  you  pve  my  body^ 
Can  enrich  you  no  more. 

Wttty.  You  may  pursue. 

X.  i&iin.  As  I'm  agendemany  I  never  will ! 

Witty.  Only  well  bind  you  to-  quiet  beb»* 

viour 
Till  you  call  out  for  bail,  and  on  die  other 
Side  of  the  hedge  leave  you :  but  keep  the 

peace 
Till  we  be  oat  of  hearing!  for  by\hat 
We  shall  be  out  of  danger:  if  we  come  bad^ 
We  come  with  a  mischief  I 

X.  Ruin.  You  need  not  fear  me. 

Pris.  Come,  we'll  bestow,  you  then. 

Exeunt  Ruin.  Fris.  and  Lady* 

Witty.  Why  layou,  sir,  is  not  thisaswiftet 

revenue 
Tlian  jSic  probosy  ergot  4"  %tVt<r«can  brbg in? 
Why,  is  not  this  one  of  your  syllogisms 
In  Barbara,  Chnfie  utile  est  honatum  f 

Cred.  Well,  sir,  a  little  more  of  this  a^ 

quaintance 
Will  make  me  know  you  fully:  I  protest 
You  have  (at  first  sight)  made  mc  conscioas 
Of  such  a  deed  my  dreams  ne*er  prompted.  Yet 
I  could  almost  have  wish'd  rather  ye  had 

robb'd  [lars) 

Me  of  mv  cloak,  (for  my  purse,  ^tis  a  sdio- 
Than  to  have  made  me  a  robber,  [questiooi 
I  had  rather  have  answered  three  difficalt 
llian  this  one,  as  easy  as  yet  it  seems. 

Witty.  Tush!  you  ^ 

Shall  never  come  to  further  answer  for'u  ; ' 
Can  you  confess  yuur  penurious  uncle. 
In  his  full  face  of  love,  to  be  so  strict 
A  ni^anl  to  your  commons,  that  you*re  &io 
To  size  your  belly  out  with  shoulder  fees, 
V^^ilh  rumps  and  kiduies,  and  cues  of  single 

beer. 
And  yet  make  dainty  to  feed  more  daintilv^^ 
At  this  easier  rate  I  Fy,  master  Credulous! 
1  blush  for  you. 

Cred.  This  is  a  truth  undeniable. 

Witty.  Why,  go  to  then  I  I  hope  I  knov 

your  uncle : 
How  does  he  use  his  son,  nearer  than  you  ? 

*'  Cut -and  hmg  tail.]  According  to  the  forest  laws,  the  dog  of  a  man,  who  hadWrighfc 
to  the  privilege  of  clmce,  was  obliged  to  cut,  or  law  his  dog,  amongst  other  modes  of  disa- 
bling bim,  by  depriving  him  of  his  tail.  A  dog  so  cut  was  called  a  cut^  or  curt-tail,  and  by 
contraction  cur.  Cut  and  long  tail  therefore  signify  the  dog  of  a  clown,  and  the  dug  of  a 
geotlenian.  Steevens. 

**  Gasier'd.]  i.  e.  frightened^ 

*  And  when  he  saw  my  best  alnrmed  spirits 

*  Bold  in  the  quarrel's  right,  rous'd  to  the  encounter, 
'  Or  whether  ga»ted  by  the  noise  I  made, 

*  But  suddenly  he  fled.'  King  Lear,  act  ii.  sc.  1,  R. 

*'  And  yet  make  daymy  to  feed  h»»,re  daintily.]  The  first  folio  reads,  dayniy;  for  want  of 
coiibuUinif  that  Qdltiou  (we  suppose;  t^ympsou  is  greatly  puuled  what  to  do  with  c/ffymy. 


By  day  or  by  night,  by  light  or  by  darkness, 
With  cut  and  long  tail^'. 

Greg.  Why,  I  say  she  is  honest. 

Fontpey.  Is  slie  honest  ?  [knight  ? 

In  what  sense   do  you   say  she  is  honest, 

Greg.  If  I  could  not  find  in  my  heart  to 

throw  [ass, 

Itf  y  dagger  at  thy  head,  hilts  and  all,  I'm  an 
And  no  gentleman ! 

PompeV'  Throw  your  dagger  at  me  ? 
Do  not,  knight  I  I  give  you  fair  warning, 
Tis  but  cast  away  if  you  do ;  for  you  shall 

have  [lady, 

No  other  words  of  me:  the  lady  is  an  honest 
Whatsoever  reports  may  go  of  sports  and 

toys,  [her 

And  thoughts,  and  words,  and  deeds  betwixt 
And  the  party  which  I  will  not  name,  [man 
This  I  give  you  to  understand,  that  another 
May  have  as  good  an  eye,  as  amorous  a  nose. 
As  fair  a  stampt  beard,  and  be  as  proper  a 

man,  [man 

As  a  knight  (I  name  no  parties);  a  serving- 
May  be  as  good  as  a  sir, 
A  rompey  as  a  Gregory,  a  doodle  as  a  fop : 
So,  seningmau  Pompey  Doodle  may  be  re- 
spected 
As  well  with  ladies  (tho'  I  name  no  parties) 
As  Sir  Gregory  Fop.    So,  farewell  I     [Exit, 

Greg.  It  the  fellow  be  not  out  of  his  wits, 

then  will  I 
Never  have  any  more  wit  while  I  live ! 
Either  the  sight  of  the  lady  lias  gaster*d  him^^. 
Or  else  he's  drunk;  or  else  he  walks  iivhis 

sleep. 
Or  else  he's  a  fool,  or  a  knave,  or  both ; 
One  of  the  three  Tm  sure  'tis.    Yet,  now  I 

think  on% 
She  has  not  us'd  me  so  kindly  ns  her  uncle 
Promis'dnfe  she  should:  but  that*s  all  one  ; 
He  says  1  shall  have  her,  and  I  dare  tiike  his 

word 
Por  the  best  horse  I  have,  and  that's 
A  weightier  thing  tlian  a  lady,  Tm  sure  on't- 

[Exit. 

Enter  Lady  Ruinous  (as  a  man),  Wittypate, 
Sir  Ruinous,  iV*a*/a»,  a7id  Master  Crcihi- 
lous,  binding  and  robbing  her,  and  in  scurfs. 
Credulous  finds  the  bag. 

L,  Ruin.  Nay,  I  am  your  own ;  'tis  in  your 
pleasure  how 


Arrsj 


-Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


t99 


Cr^  Faith,  like  his  jade,  upon  the  hare 

commoDS 
Tani'd  out  to  pick  his  living  as  he  can  s^et  it  : 
Hk  would  have  been  g|ad  to  have  «h«>'d  in 

such 
A  purchase,  and  thank'd  his  good  fortune  too. 

Enter  Ruinous  and  Priscian, 

Bat  mam,  no  more!  Is  all  safe,  bullies? 

Ruin,  Secure;  [loas, 

The  gentleman  thinks  him  most  happy  in  his 
With's  life  and  limbs  safe,  and  redoubles 
His  first  vow,  as  he  is  a  gentleman, 
Kever  to  pursue  us. 

Wiity.  Well;  awAjthen!  [still 

Disperse !  you  with  master  Credulous,  who 
Shall  bear  the  purchase;  Priscian  and  I 
Will  take  -some  other  course :  you  know  our 

meeting  [viso, 

AttheThrceCopsinSt  Giles's;  with  this  pro- 
fFor  *tis  a  law  with  us)  that  nothing  be  opened 
Till  all  be  present:  the  loser  says  a  hundred, 
And  it  can  weigh  no  less. 

Kuin.  Come,  sir,  we'll  be  your  guide. 

Cred.  My  honesty,  which  till  now  was  ne- 
ver forfeited, 
All  shall  be  close  'till  our  meeting ! 

[Exit  with  Ruin, 

Witty.  Tush,  I  believe  it;>-and  then  all 

shall  out. 
Where  is  the  thief  that's  robb'd? 

Enter  Lad^  Ruimmv 

Is.  Ruhu  Here,  master  Oldcraft. 
All  follows  now.  [to  turn  tliat  hag 

Witty.  Twas  neatly  done,  wench.    Now 


Of  counterfeits  to  current  pieces,  4*  actum 
€%t !  [the  fire  stilly 

jL.  Ruin,  You  are  the  chemist;  we'll  blow 
If  you  can  mingle  the  ingredients. 

Witty.  I  will  not  miss  a  cau^^^,  a  quaa* 
titv,  a  dram. ' 
You  knbw  the  place. 

Pri'f.  I  have  told  her  that,  sir.        [stable. 

Witty,  Good  !  Turn  Iluiuous  to  be  a  con- 

(Fm  surewe  want  not  beards  of  ail  sorts,  from 

The  worsliipful  magistrate  to  the  under  watclip 

man) 
Because  we  roost  Imve  no  danger  of  life. 
But  a  cleanly  cheat;  attach  Credulous: 
The  cause  is  plain,  tlie  theft  found  about  him; 
Tlien  fnll  I  in,  m  his  own  cousin  3  sluipe. 
By  mere  accident,  where  finding  him  di9« 

tress'd, 
I  with  some  difficultjr  must  fetch  him  0% 
With  promise  that  his  uncle  shall  shut  up  all, 
With  double  restitution:  nutftcr  constable 
Ruinous  his  mouth  shall  he  stopt; 
You,  mistress  Rob-thief,  slwll  have  yoiv  sl^are 
of  '    [enough? 

What  we  caa  gull  my  father  of.  Is't  plain 
X.  Ruitti  As  plain  a  cozenage  as  can  be, 
faith.  [When  tlHS.is 

Witty.  Father,  I  come  again,  and  again  i 
Past  too,  father,  one  will  b^et  another. 
Fd  be  loath  to  leave  your  posterity  hnrren : 
You  were  best  to  pome  to  composition,  father: 
Two  hundred  pieces  yearly  allow  me  yet, 
It  will  be  cheaper,  fatlier,  than  my  wit ; 
For  I  will  cheat  none  but  you,  dear  father. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   III. 


Enter  Olderqft  and  Gregory, 

^^f  •  \/U^^^f  now  you  take  the  course,  sir 

'  '     Gregory  Fop : 
I  could  enforoe  her.  an  1  list;  but  love 
That's  gently  won  is  a  man's  own  for  ever. 
Have  you  prcpar'd  good  musick? 


Oreg.  As  fine  a  noise*',  uncle. 
As  heart  can  wish. 

Oldc.  Why,  that*s  done  like  a  suitor! 
They  must  be  woo'd  an  hundred  several  \vay<. 
Before  you  obtain  the  right  way  in  a  woman  : 
lis  an  odd  creature,  tyll  of  creeks  and 

windings, 


♦  I  Will  not  ndss  a  cause,  a  quantity,  a  dram,]  Cbymical  terras  are  necessary  here,  cause 
therefore  seems  a  comiption,  and  quantity  makes  no  proper  climax ;  one  might  easily  fonn 
a  proper  climax  with  a  scruple,  dram  or  grain,  hut  the  laws  of  criticism  allow  no  such  devi- 
ation from  the  trace  of  the  letters;  the  only  probable  conjecture  that  I  can  form  is, 
^  —  a  cart,  a  quint,  fl  rfrwm; 

t.  e.  a  fourth  or  fifth  part,  or  even  a  dram.  I  spell  cart  Vatlierthan  quart,  because  our  English 
inters  so  spell  it  in  other  instances,  as  a  cardccu  instead  of  quart  d'ecu.  Seicard. 

**  As  fine  a  noise.]  It  is  plain  from  \Xns  passage,  and  Ben  Jonson's  Silent  Woman,  that 
aowe  was  formerly  used  to  express  a  concert  oTmutick.  Many  of  our  old  authors  will  afford 
^stances  of  this:  among  the  rest,  in  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.  act  ii.  scene  4,  one  of  the 
Drawers  sajrs,  '  See  if  tliou  canst  find  out  Sneak's  noise;  mistress  Tearsheet  would  fuin  hear 
iomc  musick:  In  a  note  on  that  passage,  :Ur.  Steevens  produces  various  proofs  of  this  ao* 
^ptation  of  the  word, 

Qq«  The' 


dM 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS, 


S^c^ilk 


In  yoDr  dseams  yen  cannoit  ftuv 
Meaner  thka  musick;  do  compare! 
None  of  your  alambers  are  comnii'd 
Under  the  pleasure  makes  a  child; 
Your  day-deligbtSf  so  well  compact; 
That  wlmt  you  thmk  turns  all  to  act : 
I'd  wish  my  life  no  better  play. 
Your  dream  by  night,  your  thought  by  day« 

Wake,  gently  wake> 
Part  sofUy  trom  your  dresms! 
Tho  morning  flies 
To  your  fair  ev^s. 
To  take  lier  special  binma. 

Grfg.  I  hear  her  up.   Henr,  master  Voiot^ 
Pay  you  the  instruments;  save  what  jdu  caHy 

Enter  Niece  above. 

To  keep  you  when  you're  crack'd. 

[E£U  S4>y, 

Niece.  Who  should  this  be. 
That  Tmso  miich  beholding  to  fof  sweetness) 
Pray  lieav  n,  it  happens  nght! 

dreg.  Good  morrow,  mistress! 

Niece.  An  ill  day,  and  a  thousand,  come 

upon  thee !  [any  almanack  has ! 

dreg.  'Light!  that's  six  hundred  more  Uiaii 

Niece.  Comes  it  from  ihee?   it  ia  the 
That  ever  woman  heard,     [mangiest  musick 

Greg.  Nay,  say  not  so,  ladyi 
There  s  no^  an  itch  about  'em. 

Niece.  I  could  curse 
My  ntteuiive  powers,  for  giving  entrance  to't  I 
There  is  no  boldness  like  the  impudence 
That's  lock'd  in  a  fool's  blood.'  Hpw  dust 

you  do  this  ? 
In  conscience  I  abus'd  you  as  sufficiently. 
As  woman  could  a  man ;  insatiate  coxcomb ! 
The  mocks  and  spiteful  language  I  have  given 

thee 
Would  o'  my  life  ha'  serv'd  ten  reasonable  men. 
And  rise  contented  too,  and  left  enough  for 

their  friends. 
Thou  glutton  at  abuses,  never  satisfied  ? 
I  am  persuaded  thou  devour*st  more  flouts 
Than  all  thy  body's  worth;  and  still  arhungred? 
A  miscl|ief  of  tnat  maw !  prithee  seek  else» 

where; 
In  troth  I'm  weary  of  abusing  tliee ; 
Get  tliee  a  fresh  mistress^  thou't  make  work 

enotkgh. 
I  d6  not  think  there's  scorn  enough  in  towi| 
To  serve  thy  turn ;  take  the  court-ladies  in^ 
And  all  their  women  to  'em,  that  exceed  'eia! 

Greg,  Is  this  in  earnest,  lady  ? 

Niece.  Oh,  unsatiable! 
Dost  thou  count  all  this  but  an  earnest  yet  ? 
I'd  thought  I'd  paid  thee  all  the  whole  sum! 

trust  me, 
Thoult  beggar  my  derision  utterly;        ^ 
If  tliou  stay'st  longer,  I  shall  want  a  laugh : 

*•  Greg.  I  promise  yow,  not  a  house-itibbet,  tir. 

Oldc.  No  sucker  on  'em  all.]  In  the  First  Part  of  Henry  IV.  Falstaff  says,  *  Hans  rae 
■  up  by  the  heels  for  n  rabbet'tucker /'  which  Dr.  Johnson  expiaihs  to  be  a  suclung'rahbet ; 
find  ^ir.  Steevens  furnishes  several  instances  in  support  of  that  expll^)ation• 


The  serpent  has  not  mon ;  for  sh'  has  all  his, 
And  then  her  own  beside  came  in  by  her 

mother.  [on ! 

Greg.  A  fearful  portion  for  aman  to  venture 

Oldc.  But  the  way  found  once  by  the  wits 

of  men. 
There  is  no  creature  lies  so  tame  again. 

Greg.  1  promise  you,  not  a  house-rabbit, 

Oldc  No  sucker  on  *em  ail**.  [sir. 

Grrg.  What  a  tiling's  that?  [tame, 

They're  pretty  fools,  I  warrant,  when  tliey're 
As  a  man  can  lay  his  lips  to. 

Oldc.  How  were  you  bred,  sir? 
Did  you  never  maike  a  fool  of  a  tenant's 

daughter  ?  [fools  for  me, 

Greg.  Never,  i'faith;  they  ha'  made  some 
And  brought  'em  many  a  time  under  their 

aprons.  [plainlier,  I  think, 

Otde.  They  could  not  shew  you  the  way 
To  make  a  fool  again. 

Greg.  There's  fools  enough,  sir, 
'Less  they  were  wiser. 

Oldc.  This  is  wondrous  rare!  [knight? 
Come  you  to  Ix>ndon  with  a  maidenhead, 
A  gentleman  of  your  rank  ride  with  acloke-bag? 
Never  an  hostess  by  the  way  to  leave  it  with  ? 
fioT  tapster's  sister?  nor  head-ostler's  wife  ? 
What,  nobody? 

Greg.  Well  mpck'd,  old  wit«monger! 
I  keep  it  for  your  niece.  [at  thee : 

Oldc.  Do  not  say  so,  for  shame !  she'll  laugh 
A  wife  ne'er  looks  for'i;  'tis  a  batchelors 

penny;  [time. 

He  maygive'tto  alie|£gai^wench,  i'th'  progress 
And  ne'er  be  cali'd  to  account  ior't,    [Eri^. 

Greg.  'Would  I  had  known  so  much! 
J  conld  ha'.stopt  a  beggar's  mouth  by  the  v^ay. 

Enter  Page  and  Fidlert  Bqif. 

That  rail'd   upon  me  'cause  I'd   give  her 
Wh-4t,  are  they  come  ?  [notbint;. — 

Page.  And  plac'd  directly,  sir, 
Und^r  her  window. 

Greg4  Whf^t  may  I  call  you,  gentleman  ? 

JBoy.  A  poor  servant  to  the  viol;  I'm  the 

voice,  sir. 

Greg.  In  good  time^  master  Voice ! 

Boy.  Indeed,  good  time   docs   get    the 

mastery. 

Greg.  What  countryman,  master  Voice? 

Boy.  Sir,  bom  at  Ely ;  we  all  set  up  in  eluy 
But  our  house  commonly  breaks  in  iiutland- 

slilre.  /  [well  break 

Greg.  A  slirewd  place  by  my  faith !  it  may 
Your  voice;  it  breaks  many  a  man's  back, 
^t  to  your  business.  [Conie^ 

SONG. 

Fain  would  I  wake  ybu,  sweet,  but  fear 
I  should  invite  you  to  worse  cheer; 


Art5.J 


WHC  AT  SSVERAL  WEAPONS^ 


m 


If  I  knew  wham  to  bonow  a  contempt 
Wooid  hold  thee  tacky  stay  and  be  hang*d 
thou  shooldst  then:  [from  lue, 

But  th'  hast  no  coBScieDc^,  now  t'  extort  bate 
When  one  has  spent  ^1  she  can  make  upon 

thee: 
Most  I  bc|pn  ta  pay  thee  hire  again^ 
After  Tve  rid  thee  twice  ?  faith,  'tis  unsea- 
sonable! 

Greg.  Say  you  so^  TU  know  that  pre^ 
sently.  [J&jit. 

Niece  Now  he  runs 
To  fetch  my  uncle  to  (his  musty  bargain ; 
B^t  I  have  better  ware  always  at  band. 
And   lay  by  this  still,  when  i)e  comes  to 
cheapenp 

JEnter  Cunrdnghanu 

Cunn*  I  met  the  musick  now;  yet  cannot 

learn 
What  entertainment  he  receiv*d  from  her. 

.Niece.  There's  somebody  set  already ^^; 

I  must  to'ty  I  see. — 
WeU,  well,  sir  Gregory! 

CttJui.  Ha!  Sir  Gregory? 

Ifiece,    Where-e'er  you  come,  you  may 

well  boast  vour  conq|uest,  [tune  then 

Cttajf.  Shc^s  k»t,  i'faith!  enough!  has  foi^ 
Bemember'd  her  great  boy?  she  seldom  &iis 

'era.  [methought, 

Niece.  lib  was  th*  onlikeliest  man  at  first 
To  have  m^oVe!  we  never  met  but  wrangled. 

Cttim.  A  pox  upon  that  wrangling,  say  I 

atiU! 
I  never  knew't  fail  yet,  where-e'er  it  came; 
It  never  comes,  but,  like  a  storm  of  hail, 
*ris  sare  to  bring  fine  weather  at  the  tail  ou't; 
There's  not  one  match  'mongst  twenty  made 

without  it;  [haunches. 

It  fi^ts  i'th'  tongue,  but's  sure  to  agree  i'th' 

Niece.  That  man  that  should  ha'  told  me, 

when  time  was,  [piteously ! 

I  should  ha'  ^d  him,  bad  been  laugh'd  at 
Qut  see  how  things  will  change ! 

Cttsn.  Here's  a  heart  feels  it! 
Oh,  the  deceitful  promises  of  love! 
What  trust  should  a  man  put  in  the  Up  of  wo- 
man? 
She  kiss'd  me  with  that  strength,  as  if  sh'had 

meant 
To  ha'  set  the  fair  print  of  her  soul  upon  me. 

Niece.  I  would  ha'  sworn  'twould  ne'er  ha' 

been  a  match  oiice.  [so  much ! 

Cunrt.  rU  hear  no  more ;  I'm  mad  to  hear 
Why  should  I  aim  my  thoughts  at  better 

fiutnncft  [with  nothing, 

Than  younger  brothers  have?  that's  a  maid 
Or  some  old  soap-boiler's  widow,  without 

teeth: 
There  waits  my  fortune  for  me;  seek  no 

fiirther!  [Exit. 


Enter  OUcnfi  and  Sir  €rregory. 


Oldc.  You  tell  me  things,  sir  Gfegcuy^ 

that  can't  be. 
She  will  not,  nor  she  dare  not. 

Greg,  'Would  I  were  whipt  then! 

Niece.  I'll  make  as  little  show  of  love,  af 

Gregory, 
As  ever  woman  did ;  you  shall  not  know 
You  have  my  heart  a  good  while. 

Oldc.  Heard  you  that  ?  [condition ;' 

Niece,  Man  will  insult  so  soon;  'tis  his 
Tis  good  to  keep  him  off  as  long  as  we  can: 
I've  mucli  ado,  1  swear;  and  love  i'th'  end 
Wilf  have  his  course :  let  maids  do  what  thej 

ean, 
They  are  but  frail  things  'till  they  end  in  man^ 

Oldc.  What  say  you  to  this,  sir? 

Greg.  This  is  somewhat  handsome. 

Niece.  And  by  that  little  wrangling  that  £ 

feign'd, 
Now  I  shall  try  how  constant  his  love  is, 
Altho'  it  went  sore  against  my  heart  Cp 

chide  him.  ^ 

Greg.  Alas,  poor  gentlewoman! 

Oldc,  Now  you're  sure  of  truth ; 
You  hear  her  own  thoughts  speak. 

Greg.  They  speak  indeed.  ["a  fop;* 

Oldc.  Go,  you're  a  brainless  coax,  a  toy^ 
I'll  go  no  further  than  your  name,  sir  Gregory^ 
I'll  right  myself  there.     Were  you  from  this 

place,  [you! 

You  should  perci-ive  Fm  heartily  angry  with 
Offer  to  sow  strife  'twixt  my  niece  and  I  ?— 
Good-morrow,  niece,  good-morrow ! 

Niece.  Many  fair  ones  to  you,  sir! 

Oldc.  Go!  you're  a  coxcomb. — How  dos^ 

niece,  this  morning  ? —  [girl  ? — 

An  idb  shallow  fool! — SlepMst  thou  well^ 
Fortune  may  very  well  provide  thee  lordshipa^ 
For  honesty  has  left  thee  little  mimners. 

Greg.  How  am  I  bang'd  o'bothsidcsl 

Oldc.  Abuse  kindness  ?— 
Wilt  take  the  air  to-day,  niece  ? 

Niece.  When  you  please,  air. 
There  stands-the  heir  behind  you  I  must  tak^ 
(Which  I'd  as  lieve  take  as  take  him,  I  sweur), 

Oldc.  La'  you*!  do  youhear't  continued  U^ 

your  teeth  now  ? 
A  pox  of  all  such  Gre^ories!  what  a  hand    . 
Have  I  with  you  ?    [Niece  lets  fall  her  scarf, 

Greg.  No  more !  I'feck,  1  ha'  done,  sir. 
Lady,  your  scarfs  iaH'o  down. 

Niece.  'Tis  but  your  luck,  sir, 
A  nd  does  presage  the  ui  istrcss  must  fall  shortly; 
You  may  wear  it,  an  you  please. 

Oldc.  There's  a  ti'ick  for  you !  [plain  ? 
You're  parlously  belov'd ;  you  shoula  com- 

Greg.  Yes,  when  I  complain,  sir, 
Then  do  your  worst;  there  I'll  deceive  you^ 

sir. 


^^  Tker^i  tomehodv  set ;]  i.  e.  Posted^  stationed.  We  shonld  not  hate  thought  an  ex« 
plsnation  necessary,  had  not  the  passage  been  (luice  uointfiliigiUe  toSympson,  who  proposes, 
leading /<;^  or /c^cAU 

Oldc^ 


SOf 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


XActS. 


Oldc.  YoD  9re  a  dolt,  and  so  I  leave  yon, 

air.  [Exit, 

Greg,   Ab,   sirrali    mistress^   were   you 

caogbt,  Tfaith  ? 
We  OTerbeard  yoa  all ; '  I  must  not  know    ^ 
*I  have  your  heart;'  take  heed  o'tliat^I  pray ! 
I  knew  some  scarf  would  come. 

jMiece.  He's  quite  gone,  sure:—  [again, 
Ah,  you  base  coxcomb,  couldst  tboa  come 
And^so  abus*d  as  thou  wast? 

Greg,  How! 

Niece,  It  would  ha'  kill'd  [chamber 

A  sensible  man ;  he  would  ha*  gone  to  his 
And  broke  his  heart,  by  this  time. 
.  Greg.  Thank  you  heartily! 

.Niece.  Or  fix  a  a  naked  rapier  in  a  wail. 
Like  him  that  earn'd  his  knighthood  ere  lie 

had  it. 
And  then  refus'd,  ii[>on*t  ran  up  to  th'  hilts. 

Greg,  Yes,  let  him  run  for  m^!  I  was 

never  brought  up  to% 
I  never  profesb'd  running  i'  my  life. 

j^^tece.  What  art  thou  made  on,  thou  tough 

Tillainoas  vermin  ? 
Will  nothing  destroy  thee  f 

Greg.  Yes,  yes,  assure  yourseif 
Unkind  words  may  do  much.  i 

Nieee,  Why,  dost  thou  want  'em  ?  ^'cm : 
IVe  c'eh  consumed  my  spleen  to  help  thee  to 
Tell  me  what  sort  of  words  they  be  would 
111  see  what  I  can  do  yet.  [speed  thee, 

Greg,  I'm  much  beholding  to  you. 
You're  willing  to  bestow  huge  pains  upon  me. 

iViece.  I  should  account  JiotfaiDg  too  much 

to  rid  thee.  [me, 

Greg.  I  wonder  you'd  not  offer  to  destroy 
All  the  while  your  uncle  was  here. 

JVJfece.  Why,  there  thou 
Betray'st  thy  house ;  we  of  the  Oldcrafts  were 
Born  to  more  wit  than  so. 

Greg,  I  wear  your  favour  here. 

mece.  'Would  it  might  rot  tliy  arm  off ! 

Ifthouknew'st  [bitterness. 

With  what  contempt  thou  hast  it,  what  heart's 
How  many  cunning  curses  came  along  with't^ 
Thou'dst  quake  to  handle  it. 

Greg.  A  pox,  take't  again  then! 
Who*d  be  thus  plagu'd  of  all  hands^ 

Niece.  No,  wear't  still ; 
But  long  I  h(^e  thou  shalt  not ;  'tis  but  cast 
Upon  thee  purposely  to  serve  another, 
That  has  more 

Right  to't;  as  in  some  countries  they  convey 
Their  treasure  upon  asses  to  their  friends: 
If  mine  be  but  so  wise  and  apprehensive 
As  my  opinion  gives  him  to  my  heart, 
)t  stays  not  long  on  thy  desertfess  arm. 

*•  Tear  her  memory  /rem  my  keari^ 

That  treads  mine  down. J  Probably,  That  teart  mine  out.        Sympson, 
^'  She  pin'd  this  tcarf  upon  me.]  Tins  is  a  manifest  untruth,  for  she  never  was  outof  ber 
chamber  Irom  the  time  of  sir. Gregory's  serenading  her,  to  the  drop{)ing  of  her  scarf. 
'What  should  hinder  us  then  from  reading,  to  salve  the  veracity  of  the  knight, 
*  She  j9a/m'<2  this  scarf  upon  me.        Sympson, 

Why  80  minuter  why  not  admit  pmrCd  metaphorically  for  fastened  f 

But, 


ni  make  thee,  ere  I  ha*  done,  not<Iiire  t6  wew 
Any  thing  of  mine,  altho'  I  giv't  thee  freely. 
Kiss  it  you  may,  and  make  what  show  you  cao^ 
fiut  sure  you  carry't  to  a  worthier  man! 
And  so  good-morrow  to  you !  [Eiit 

Greg.  Hu  binn,  ha  hum! 
I  ha'n't  the  spirit  now  to  dash  my  brains  oat. 
Not  the  audacity  to  kill  myself. 
But  I  cotdd  cry  my  heart  out;  that's  as  good, 
For  so't  be  out,  no  matter  whicli  way't  coiiiesi 
If  I  can  die  with  a  fillip,  or  depart 
At  hot-cockles,  what  is  that  to  any  man  ? 
If  there  be  so  much  death,  that  serves  my 

turn  there. 
Every  one  knows  the  state  of  his  own  body; 
No  carrions  kills  a  kite,  but  then  again 
Therc*s  cheese  will  choak  a  daw.    Time  I 

were  dead,  i'faith, 
If  I  knew  which  way,  without  hurt  or  dang^. 
I  am  a  maiden-knight,  and  cannot  look 
Upon  a  naked  weapon  with  any  modesty. 
Else  'twould  go  hard  .with  me ;  and  to  com}]kiii 
To  sir  Perfidious  the  old  knight  again, 
Were  to  be  more  abus'd  :  {me, 

Perhaps  he'd  beat  me  well,  but  ne'er  believe 

Enter  Cunmngham, 

And  ^w  men  die  o' beating;  that  were  loflt 

too.  [bim. 

Oh,  here's  my  friend!  Fll  make  my  moan  to 

Cunn.  I  cannot  tear  her  niemijl^  from  my 

heart,  ^      [fool'ii 

That  ^ads  mine  down^"  \  WfH^'ever  man  sa 
That  profess'd  wit  ? 

Greg.  Oh,  Cunningham  f 

Cunn,  SirGr^ory! 
The  choice,  the  victor,  the  town's  happy  man ! 

Greg.  'Snigs,  what  dost  mean  I  come  1  to 

thee  for  comfort, 
And  dost  abuse  me  too  ? 

Cunn.  Abuse  you?  how,  sir?  • 
With  justifying  your  fortune,  and  your  joys? 

Greg.  Pray  hold  your  hand,  sir!  I've  been 

bob'd  enough:  [merrily; 

You  come  with  a  new  way  now,  strike  me 
But  when  a  man's  sore  beaten  o'  bodi  sides 

already,  [on  him. 

Then  the  least  tap  in  jest  goes  to  the  guts 
Wilt  ha'  tlie  truth  ?  I'm  the  rankest  ass 
That  e*er  was  bom  to  lordships! 

C«nn.  What f  no,  sir!  [yielded 

Greg.  I  had  not  thought  my  body  could  a' 
All  those  foul  scurvy  names  that  she  has 

caird  me ; 
I  wonder  whence  she  fetch'd  'em. 

Cunn.  Is  this  credible  f  [her  uncle; 

Greg.  She  pin'd  this  scarf  upon  me%  'fore 


Acid.] 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


^09 


But,  hbback  toni'd^  the  cun'd  me  so  fior 

wearing  on't  [since.; 

The  very  brawn  of  mine  anaTEss  ach'd  e'er 
Yet  in  a  manner  forc'd  me  to  wear't  stlU, 
Bat  hop'd  I  should  not  long:  if  good  lack 

serve, 
I  should  meet  one  that  has  more  wit  and  worth 
Should  take  it  from  me;  'twas  but  lent  to  me. 
And  sent  to  him  for  a  token. 

CuHH,  I  conceit  it!  I  know  the  man 
That  lies  in  wait  for't :  part  with*ty  by  all 

means» 
h  any  case!  you  are  way-laid  about  it. 

Greg,  How,  sir !  way-laid  I 

Ctma.  Poa  of  a  scarf,  say  I! 
I  prize  my  friend's  life  'bove  a  million  of  'em : 
Yott  shall  be  rul'd,  sir ;  I  know  more  than  you. 

Greg,  If  you  know  more  than  I,  let  me 

be  nd  on't! 
'Las,  'tis  not  for  my  wearing ;  so  she  told  me. 

Cuun.  No,  no,  give  me't;  the  knave  shall 
And  you  shall  live.  [miss  his  purpose^ 

Greg.  I  would  as  long  as  I  could,  sir. 

Cunn.  No  more  replies!  you  shall;  Fll 

prevent  this: 
Pompey  shall  march  without  it* 

Greg.  What,  is't  he  ? 
lly  mun  that  was  ?  « 

Cunn.  Call  him  your  deadly  enemy ! 
You  give  him  too  fair  a  name,  you  cfeal  too 

nobly;  ♦ 

He  bears  a  bloody  mind,  a  cruel  foe,  sir; 
I  care  not  if  he  heard  me. 

Greg.  But,  do  you  hear,  sir  ?  [him  ? 

Can  it  sound  with  reason,  she  should  affect 

Cunn,  Do  you  talk  of  reason  f  I  ne'er 

thought  to  have  heard 
Such  a  word  come  from  you :  reason  in  love  ? 
Would  you  give  that  no  doctor  could  e'er 

give  ?  ^ 

Has  not  a  deputy  married  his  cook-maid  ? 
An  alderman  s  widow,  tme  that  was  her  turn- 
broach? 
Nay,  has  not  a  great  lady  brought  her -stable 
Into  her    chamber?  lay  with   her  horse- 
keeper? 


Greg.  Did  ever  lore  play  s«ch  jadeV 

tricks,  sir  ? 

Cunn.  Oh,  thousands,  thousands. 
Beware  a  sturdy^  clown,  e'er  while  yon  live,  sir: 
Tislike  a  housewifry  in  most  shires  about  ua: 
You  shall  ha'  farmers'  widows  wed  thin  gen- 

tlemen 
Much  like  yourself,  but  put  'em  to  no  stress; 
What  work  can  chey  do,  with  small  trap-stick 

legs?  [P^H 

They  keep  clowns  to  stop  gaps  and  drive  in 
A  drudgery  fit  for  hinds.  £'en  back  again,  sir ! 
You're  safest  at  returning. 

Greg,  Think  you  so,  sir  ? 

Cunn,  But  how  came  this,  clown  to  be 

caird  Pompey  first? 

Greg.  Pish!  one  ^oo<&nan Cesar,  a  pump* 

maker,  kersen'd  Imn ;  [Pumpejs 

Pompey  he  writes  himself,  but  his  right  name's 
And  stunk  ton  when  I  had  him ;  nowhe'scrank. 

Cunn.  Vm  glad  I  know  so  much  to  queU 

his  pride,  sir. 
Walk  you  still  that  way ;  111  make  use  of  Uiis 
To  resolve  all  my  doubts,  and  place  tliis  favour 
On  some  new  mistress,  ouly  for  a  try; 
And  if  it  meet  my  thoughts,  I'll  swear  'tis  I. 

[Exit, 

Greg.  Is  Pompey  grown  so  malapert,  si} 

franipeP®? 
The  only  cutter  about  ladies*  honours. 

Enter  Oldcraft. 

And  his  blade  soonest  out  ? 

Oldc.  Now,  what'«  the  news,  sir? 
GriB.  I  dare  •  not  say  but  good ;— Ob, 
excel  lent  good,  sir!  [yo^y  knight  T 

Oldc,  \  hone  now  you're  resolv'd  she  loves 
Greg.  Cuds  me,  what  else,  sir?  that's  not 
to- do  now.  [you  anger'd  me, 
Oldc.  You  would  not  think  how  desperately 
When  you  belied  her  .goodness :  oh,  you 
£ven  to  a  palsey.  [vex'd  m% 

sg.  What  a  r*^* '  -  -  ' 


Greg 


:  a  thing  was  that,  sir! 
Enter  NUce. 


Niece.  T*is,  that  'tis. 


^^  Frampel.]  In  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Mrs.  Quickly  says  of  Mrs.  Ford,  That 
'  she  leads  a  very  frampold  life'  with  her  husband ;  and  Dr.  Johnson  says,  that  tlie  word 
.occurs  in  Uacket's  Life  of  Wiiliams,^  and  there  signifies  a  peevish  troubleiiome  fellow.  Mr. 
Sfeeevens  adds  the  following  note : 

In  the  Roaring  Girl,  a  comedy,  1611, 1  meet  with  a  word,  which,  though  differently  Bpelt, 
appears  to  be  tlie  same. 

'  Lax.  Coachman. 

*  Coach.  Anon,  sir!  ^ 

*  Lax.  Are  we  fitted  witli  good  phrantpell  jades  ?' 

Ray,  amone  his  South  and  East  country  words,  says,  that  frampald,  or  frampard^ 
KefiinesfrctftUf  petvitk,  cross,  frotcurd*  As  froward,  (he  adds)  comes  from  from,  so  may 
frampard, 

Nash,  in  his  Praise  of  the  Red  Herring,  1599,  speaking  of  Leauder,  says,  *  the  cLuriish 

*  frampold  waves  gave  him  his  belly  full  of  fisli- broth.' 

.   So  in  the  Inner  Temple  Masque,  by  Middieton,  1619,  *  'tis  so  frampolc^  the  Puritans  will 

*  never  yield  to  it.'    So  in  the  Blind  Beggar  of  Bethiiali-Green,  by  J^hu  Day,  "  I'Uunk  tbo 


■  view 


fellow  f  yrojB/^c//,  &c.'    Again,  in  Beu  Jonson's  Tale  of  a  Tub, 
'  I  pray  thee  grow  nolframpul  U9w.'        HUcvcns, 


^^ 


im 


WIT  Air  SEVERAL  VT&hVOSiiSl 


(AetA 


As  I  liave  )iope  of  sweetness,  the  scarfs  gone ! 
Worthy  wise  friend,  I  dote  upon  thy  cunnina : 
We  two  shall  be  well  inatch'o ;  our  issue  mide 

»ure 
1?^i  be  bom  counsellors.    Is't  possible  ? 
Thou  shalt  have  another  token  out  of  hand 

for't;  [want,  i*  &ith. — 

Kay,  since  the  way's  found,  pity  thou  shouldst 
Ob,  ray  best  joy  and  dearest ! 

Oldc,  Well  said,  Niece! 
Sk)  violent  Yore  your  uncle  ?  What  will  you  do 
to  secret  then  P 

Greg.  Marry,  call  me  slave  and  rasca]. 

.  Niece.  Your  scarf— the  scarf  I  gave  yon— 

Oldc.  Mass,  that^s  true.  Niece! 
I  ne'er  thought  upon  that:  the  scarf  she  gave 

vou,  sir ! 
What,  dumb  ?  no  answer  from  you?  the  scarf! 

Greg.  T  was  way-laid  about  it,  my  life 

threatened;  [from't. 

life's  life,  scarfs  but  a  scar^  and  so  I  parted 

Niece.  Unfortunate  woman!  my  first  &r 

vour  too !  [cilement 

Oldc.  Will  you  be  still  an  ass?  no  recon- 
Twixt  you  and  Wit  ?  Are  yousofar  falPn  out, 
Youll  never  come  together?  I  tell  you  true, 
I'm  very  lousily  asham'd  on  you  ; 
That's  the  worst  shame  that  can  be. — 
Thus  baiting  on  him,  now  his  heart's  hook'd  in, 
ni  make  him,  ere  I  ha'  done,  take  her  with 

nothing. 
1  love  a  man  that  lives  by  his  wits,  aalife"  ! — 
Kay,  leave,  sweet  Niece ;  'tis  but  a  scarf; 

let  it  go ! 

Niece.  The  going  of  it  nevergrieves  me,  sir; 
It  is  the  manner,  the  manner — 

CrCg.  Oh,  dissembling  marmaset! 


tf  T  durst  speak,  or  cottfd  be  Wiev'd 
When  I  speak,  what  a  tale  could  I  tdl, 
To  make  nair  stand  upright  now! 

Niece.  Nay,  sir. 
At  your  request  you  shall  penseive,  vncle^ 
With  what  renewing  love  I  foi^ve  this: 

ere's  a  fair  diamond,  sir;  111  try  how  long 
You  can  keep  that. 

Greg.  Not  vfery  long;  you  know^  too^ 
Like  a  cunning  witch  as  yoa  are ! 

Niece.  Yo\i're  best  let  him  ha'  that  too. 

Greg.  So  I  were,  I  think;  there  were  at 

living  else. 
I  thank  you,  as  vou  have  handled  tSie  matter. 

Oldc.  Why,  this  is  musical  now,  and  Toes' 

day  next  [set 

Shall  tune  your  instruments;  that^  the  day 

Niece.  A  match,  good  unde! 

Oldc.  Sir,  you  hear  me  too  ? 

Greg.  Ohveiy  well;  I'm  for  yoa.  [mind! 

Niece.  Whatc'er  you  hear,  you  know  my 
lExeunt  Oidcri^  and  Niece. 

Greg.  Ay,  a  pox  on't,  too  well!  If  I  don't 

wonder  liow 
We  two  shall  come  together,  I'm  a  bear-wbdfb 
He  talks  of  Tuesday  next,  as  familiarly 
As  if  we  Md  one  another;  but  'tis  as  un- 
likely 
To  me,  as  'twas  seven  year  before  I  sawbeCi 
I  shall  try  his  cunnine;  it  may  be  he  has  a  way 
Was  never  yet  thouaht  on,  and  it  bad  need. 
To  be  such  a  one;  ror  all  that  I  can  think  on 
Will  never  do't.  I  look  to  have  this  diamond 
Taken  from  me  vei^  speedily;  therefore  111 

take  it 
Off  o*  my  finger,  for,  if  it  be  seen, 
I  shall  be  way-laid  for  that  too.  [Exit. 


ACT  IV. 


•Enter  Oldcrqft  and  Wittypate, 

Vide.  f^H,  torture,  torture!  Thou  carry'at 

^^     a  sti!»g  i'thy  tail ! 
Thou  never  brought'st  good  news  i'  thy  life 

yet ;  [wilt. 

And  that's  an  ill  quality,  leave  it  when  thou 

Witty.  Why,  you  receive  a  blessing  tli6 

wrong  way,  sir,  [sir, 

Call  you  not  this  good  news,  to  save  at  once. 
Your  credit  and  your  kinsman's  life  togctlier? 
Would  it  not'Tet  your  peace,  and  gall  your 

worth, 
T*have  one  of  your  name  hang'd? 


Oldc.  Peace ;  no  sneb  words,  boy ! 
Witti/.  Be  thankful  for  the  blessing  of  pre- 
vention  then.  ,  ^ 

Oldc.  Let  me  see!  [since  Brote; 

There  was  none  hang'd  Ont  of  our  house 
I  ha'  search'd  both  Stow  and  Holling^head. 
Witty.  Oh,  sir! 

Qldc.  Ill  see  what  Poljchronicon  sa^s 
anon  too^^.  [heard  on't! 

Witty.  Twas  a  miraculous  fortune  that  I 
Oldc.  I  would  th'  hadst  never  beard  on't! 
Witty.  That's  true  too. 
So  it  had  ne'er  been  done.    To  see  the  VA 
on't! 


I^ 

'*  I  lave  a  man  that  Uvea  Inf  his  wit»  alife.]  Corrected  by  Syrapson. 

^*  J'//  tee  what  Polychronicon  says  anon  too.]  By  Folychronicon  he  means  one  Higdeo,  t 
ttionk  of  Cliester,  \> ho  wrote  a  large  volun^  ofhistory  under  tliat  title.  Brady,  in  the  Cata- 
logue of  Writers  from  whom  he  compiled  his  History  of  England,  gives  us  this  acoomit  of 
bimi  '  Baai^pbus  Cestiensis  bad  the  reputation  of  an  industnous  and  diligent  writer  by  oar 


Act  4] 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


305 


He  wM  ev'n  bfoigjbt  to  jtatioe  Anraoi'^ 

threshold : 
There  had  flowfi  lbrth«Biittimas  stnight  for 


iftTb 


'diy. 


And  Dote  the  foftaaeftoo!  Sesnoni  ft  Thiir»- 
Jory  CttU'doHta  Friday Judgpnent a  Saturday, 
Do^eeon  a  Sunday,  Tybufn  a  Monday : 
Mia«/9  4|MtiAian  ague,  wheo'tbegina  once, 
Every  dby  pulU  hiaa,  "till  he  poU  ius  last. 
OUe.  Na  men,  I  say!  'dean  itt  thei 


/^ 


Will  publish  aUy  it  speaks  99  broad  already. 
Are  you  the  gentleman  ? 

L.  Ruin.  The  unfortunate  one,  sir. 
That  fell  intothe  power  of  merciless  thieves, 
Whereof  this  fellow,  (vvhom  Td  .call  your 

kinsman 
As  little  as  I  could,  for  the  fair  reverence 
I  owe  to  fame  and  years)  was  the  prime  viU 

Oldc»  A  wicked  prime !  [lain. 

Witty.  Nay,  not  so  loud,  sweet  foth/&r! 

JL  i&tn.  The  rest  are  fled,  hut  I  shall  meet 

with 'em:  [it) 

Hang  one  of  *em  I  will  certain,  (T  ha*  swore 
And  'twas  my  luck  to  light  upon  this  first. 

Oidc,  A  Cambridge  raan  for  this?  thede 

your  degrees,  sir? 
Nine  years  at  umverstty  for  this  feHo^slup  ? 

Witty.  Take  your  voice  lower,  d9U  »rl 

OUe.  Whafsjioarloss^sir? 

L.  Ruin.  That  which 
Offends  me  to  repemt ;  the  money's  whole,  sir, 
Tis  in  the  conftable^  band  there,  a  seal'd 

hundred; 
But  I  will  not  Kcdre't. 

(Mc.  No?  not  the  money,  sir. 
Having  coniesB'd  tis  all  ?     ' 

L.  Ruin.  Tis  all  tlie  money,  mf^  [me. 
But  'tis  not  idl  I  lost;  for  when  they  bound 
They  took  n  dianwnd  hung  at  my  shirt-string. 
Which  fear  of  lifi^  made  me  forget  to  hide ; 
Jt  being  the  sparkling  witness  of  a  contract 
Twist  a  great  lawyer^s  daughter  and  mfself. 

Wttty.  I  told  you  what  he  was.-;^hcftt 

does  the  diamond 
Concern  my  cousin,  sir? 

L.  Rum.  No  more  did  the  money; 
Pat  he  shall  answer  all  now. 

Witty.  There's  yoqr  conscience! 
It  shews  from  whence  you  sprung. 

JL  Ruin.  Sprung?  I  had  leap'd  a  thief, 
Had  I  leap'd  some  of  your  alliance. 

Witty.  Slave! 

L,  Ruin.  You  pievent  me  still. 

OUc.  'Slid,  son,  are  you  mad  ? 

L.  Ruin,  Come,  come,  I'll  take  a  legal 

course.  [demand,  sir?— 

Olde.  Will  you  undousall?-XWhafs  yoar 
Now  we're  in's  danger  too ! 

X.  Ruin,  A  hundivd  matky  mt; 
I  will  not  bate  a  doit. 

WU^.  A  hundred  vascals! 

L.  Ruin.  Sir,  find  'em  out  ia  your  own 

blood,  and  take  'em. 

Witty.  Go,  take  yourcoowe;  Ibllovrthe 

law,  and  spare  not. 

•nceston,  npecialij  Lelwd,  He  wrote  from  the  beginnmg  of  things,  and  broegbf  down 
*"•  ^1^1  ^**S?^  o^i^^  \^  ^^ ^"^  **«  ™rd«  reigS,  1377,  Sr  periiaps  only  to  the 
'year  1344,  a.  Mr.  Selden  observes.'  Aa  the  Po^^wkSais  a  booknVt  teV  nit  with 
r*^  ^^'J  •  ^7^.°*?  ^^^^  •  •pechwen  of  our  Ranalphas's  inihi$try  and  diHsentc 
fnm  the  tra^lation  of  hi»  Latin  vrork  by  one  De  Trevisa.  In  book  the  first,^ho'  Pcan't 
name  t^  pa|e  or  the  chapter,  be  f^vea  diis  description  <rf  the  SkUian  Cicade :    *  Cicadee 

!  ••¥!?  r?^  ™^  ^•^  t^^  *  ¥•  **^  ^  »^*^»  tkin^hmiit^thut  l<mde  bihede  them 

« to  bave'the  sweeter  song.'  Swrntm.    .  ^   '^^ 

VOL.111.  *•  ^^  ^^  ^^ 


When  left  you  fahA? 

WUty.  He's  ia  the  constable's  hands  be* 

low  ftk' ball,  sir, 
Poor  gentleman,  and  his  accuser  with  him. 

Oidc  What's  he? 

WiUy.  Ajttdge^sseo/tiathoa^;  somttch 

the  tvorse too ;  [thing; 

Be'U  hang  his  eaeroY,  and  it  shall  cost  him  no- 
Thafs  a  great  privUeee. 

Okk.  Within  these! 

Enter  a  Sefvant. 

fisrv.  Siv?  [sachbope  on  hiiiL 

OUc.  Call  9p  the  folks  i'th'  hall.— I  had 

For  a  schohv  too,  a  thing  thou  ne'er  wast  fit 

for; 
Tharefore  erected  all  my  joys  in  him, 
Got  a  Webli  benefke  in  reversion  for  him, 
Dean  of  Cardigan ;  he  has  his  grace  already. 
He  caj^  marry  and  bury. 
Yet  ne'er  a  h!air  oa^sfiii^,  like  aF^ench  vicar; 

Enter  Creduhut,  Sir  Ruin4m$(ai  a  ConrtMe) 
and  Lady  Ruinous  (a$  a  Man), 

And  does  he  bring  such  fruits  to  town  with 

liim^  [to  you! 

Athiefathisfiiet  Ugbting?-— Oh,  goocfden 

WUiVm  Nay»  sweat  sir!  yoa^ro  sovexM  now, 

yonll  grieve  him, 
A&d  hurt  yourself. 

ddc  Away!  Til  hear  no  counsel— « 
Come  you  but  once  ia  seven  year  to  your  un. 

cl«,  [too? 

And  at  that  tune  must  yoabe  brought  hone 
And  by  a  constable  ? 

WUty.  Oh,  speak  low,  sir : 
Reooemher  your  own  credit  f  You  profess 
You  love  a  mau  o'wit;  begin  at  home,  sir; 
Eapiess  it  i' vourselfl 

'  L.  Ruin.  Nay,  master  constable,       [too. 
Shew  yourself  a  wise  man,  Uast  your  nature 

lUm.  Sir,  no  dish-poridgement,  we  have 


iiroodmenasye. 
<%lc.Ov|!aNort] 


men  as  ye.  I  toi 

Ovi!  aNorth-Britain  constable? 


306 


WIT  At  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


[Act  41 


Oldc.  Does  f\iry  mdce  yoa  druiik?  Know 
^ou  what  you  say  ?  [worst. 

Witty.  A  hundred  .dogs-dungs!  do  your 
Oldc.  You  do, 
I*in  sure :  wbo  is  loud  now  ? 
Witty.  What,  his  own  asking  ? 
Oldc  Not  in  such  a  case  f 
Witty,  you    shall  have  but  threescore 

round,  spite  a*  your  teeth ; 
see  you  haug'd  first! 
:    Oldc.  And  what*B  seven  pound  more,  man. 
That  all  this  coirs  about  ?— Stay!— 1  say  he 

shall  ha't.  [you  please  witli  it; 

Witty,  It  is  your  own/  you  may  do  wliat 
•Pardon  my  feal  f  I  would  ha  sav*d  you  money. 
Give  him  all  his  own  asking  i 

Oldc.  What*s  that  to  you,  sir  ? 
Bt  sparing  ot'youc  own !  Teach  me.  to  pinch 
In  such  a  case  as  thi;>  ?  Go,  go ;  live  by  your 

wits,  go ! 

Witty.  I  practise  all  1  can. 
.    OUk,  Follow  you  mc,  air;   • 
And,  master  constable,  come  from  the  knave, 
And  be  a  witness  of  si  IttU  recompense; 

Witty.  ?ray  atop -the  constable's  month, 

whate'er  you  do,  sir. 

Oldc.  Yet  again? 
As  if!  meant  not  io  do  tliat  myseli^ 
Without  your  counsel !  As  for  you,  |ireciotts 

kinsman,  [rack  tiv  this  I 

Your  first  year's  fruits  in  Wales  shall  go  oo 
You  lie  not  in  my  house;  I'll  pack  you  out. 
And  pay  for  your  lodging  rather,  i    ' 

[Eseunt  Oldc.  Ruin,  and  L,  Ruin. 

Witty.  Oh,  fy,  cotasin  j 
These  are  ill  courses;  you  a. scholar  tool 

Cred.  I  wasdiiiwn  iuto'tmosi  uiifortuQately, 
By  filtliy  debosht  company. 

Witty.  Ay,  ay,  ayr, 
^n  even  the  spoil  of  .all  our  youth  in  Engitnd. 
What  were  thry  ?  ^iitlemen  ? 

Cred*  Faith,  so /like,  some  .of 'eni,: 
Q'hey  were  ev'ii  the  W4>rse  agpun. 

Witty.  Huml  ' 

Cred.  Great  tobacco-wluffeDs ;  [moikths. 
They  would  go  near  to  rob  with  a  pipe  in  dicir 

Witty.  What!  no?      .         [rascals  useSc. 

Cred.  Faith,  leave  it,  cousin,  because  my 

Witty.  So  they  do  meat  and  drink ;  must 

worthy  j^eutlemen 
Reirain  tl^eir  ibod  tor  tliat?  an  honest  own 
May  eat  of  the  same  pig  some  parson  dines 

with, 
A  lawyer  and  a  fool  feed  off  one  woodcock, 
Yet  one  ile'er  the  simpler,  t'other  ueVr  the 

wiser ;  [P>P*^» 

Tis  not  meat,  drink,  or  snioke,  dish,  cup,  or 
Co-operates  to  the  making  of  a  knave ; 
Tis  tne  condition  makes  a  slave  a  slave : 
There's  London  philosophy  for  you!  I  tell 

you«  cousin, 
You  cannot  be  too  cautekms,  uicey  or  dainty. 
In  your  society  here,  especially 
When  you  come  raw  from  the  university, 
13efore  the  world  has  bardeu*d  you  a  little; 


For  as  a  botter'd  loaf  is  a  scholar's  breakfcst 

there. 
So  a  poacb'd  scholar isa  cheater's dinoerfaere: 
I  ha'  known  seven  of  'em  supp'd  up  at  a  mmL 

CreA  Why  a  poach'd  soiidiar? 

Witt^.  'Cause  he  pours  himself  foitb. 
And  all  his  secrets,  at  the  first  acqiiaintmce; 
Never  so  crafty  to  be  eaten  i'tli'  abeli. 
But  is  outpstrip'd  of  all  he  has  at  first. 
And   gobs  down  ^b  ;•  li^s  •swallow'd  with 
'Stead  of  wine  vinegin*.  [sharp  wit, 

Cred.  1  shall  think,  cousin, 
O'  your  poach'd  scholar,  while  I  lave. 

Enter  Servant, 

Serv.  Master  Credulous, 
Your  uncle  wills  you  to  forbear  the  hous^ : 
You  must  with  me ;  I'm  charg'd  to  see  yoa 

plac'd 
In  some  new  lodging  about  Thieving-Lnne. 
What  the  conceit's  I  know  not;  but  he 

commands  you 
To  be  sc^n  here  no  more, 'till  you  hear  further. 

Cred.  Here's  a  strange  welcome,  sir! 

Witty.  This  is  the  world,  cousin, 
When  a  man's  fiune's  once  poison'd!  Fase 

thee  well,  lad !      [Esteunt  Cred.  and  Serv. 
This  is  the  happiest  cheat  I>e'er  daiin'd 

share  in; 
It  has  a  two-fold  forttlne,  gets  me  coin, 
Aid  pints  bua  out  of  grace  that  stood  be- 
tween me, 
'My  fatlicr':^  Cambridge  jewel,  much  suspected 
To  be  his  lieir;  now  there's  a  bar  iu's  hopei. 

.  JUnter  Ruinous  and  Lady  RutTums. 

Ruin^  It  diinks ;  make  .haste ! 

L.  Ruin;.  Tiie  Goat,  at  9mitlifield-Pen&. 

[Exeunt. 

I .   .  JEntcr  Cunningham. 

WHty.  Zof  20;  zufiicient!-«Master  Cun- 
*    hiiigham  ? 
i  never  luite^ill  luck'  when  I  meet  a  wit. 

Cunn,  A  wii's  better, to  meet  than  to  fbl* 

low  then, 
For  t  ha*  none  so  good  I  can  commend  yet; 
Botoommonly  men  unfortunate  to  themselves, 
Are  luckiest  to  their  friends ;  and  so  may  I  ht. 

Witty.  I  run  o'er  So  much  worth,  going 

but  in  haste  from  you,    *       ' 
All  my  deliberate  friendship  cannot  equal. 

Cunm  M  w  but  to  shew,  tnat  you  can  pkcc 

sometimes 

Efiier  AVirahel. 

Your  modesty  ii*top  of  all  your  virtues. 

{Exit  Witty, 
This  gentleman  amy  pleasure  n»e  yet  acahi. 
I  am  so  haunted  with  tliis  broad-briih'd  har 
Of  the  last  progness  block,  with  the  youiig 

hat>band^ 
Miaie  for  a  aucking  devil  of  two  years  old, ' 
I  know  not  where  to  turn  myseH'. 
.  Mir.  Sir! 

CtlRN. 


Act  4] 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WKaPOIIB. 


907 


CwuL  Moretortare? 
JIfir.  T»  ramour'd  that  3rou  love  me, 
Cunn.  O'  fliv  troth,  gentlewonumy 
Ramour'n  as  fatae  a  knave  as  erer  piss'd  then ; 
Praj  tell  him  so  from  me !  I  cannot  feign 
With  a  sweet  gentlewoman,  I  must  deal 

downnf^ht.  [aunt^  sir ; 

Mir,  I  beard,  tbo*9  you  diasembted  with  my 
And  that  makes  me  more  confident. 

'Cttna.  There's  no  falshood, 
But  pays  us  our  own  some  way  !^  I  confess 
I  feigned  with  her,  ('twas  for  a  weightier  pur- 
Bat  not  with  tliee,  I  swear.  [p<>^) 

JIfir.  Nor  I  with  you  then, 
Altho'  m?  aunt  enjom'd  me  to  dissemble 
To  r^ht  her  spleen :  I  love  you  faithfully. 

CttiiA.  'Light,  this  is  worse  than  'twas. 

JUir.  I  find  such  worth  in  vou, 
I  cannot,  nay,  I. dare  not  dally  with  you, 
For  tear  the  flame  consume  roe. 

Cunn,  Here's  fresh  trouble! 
This  drives  me  to  my  conscience;  for  'tis  foul 
To  imure  one  that  deals  directly  with  me. 

Mv^,  I  crave  but  suoh  a.  truth  from  your 

love,  sir. 
As  mine  brings  yoq,  and  that's  proportionable. 

Cunn.  A  good  geometrician  'shrew  my 

heart !  [gentlewoman, 

Why,  are  you  out  o'  your  wits,  pretty  plump 
You  talk  so  desperately  ?  'tis  a  great  happiness 
Love  has  made  one  on's  wiser  than  another, 
We  should  be  both  cast  away  else : 
Yet  I  love  gratitude ;  I  must  requite  you, 
I  shall  be  sick  else :  but  to  give  you  me** 
A  thing  you  must  not  take,  if  you  mean  to  live. 
For  a'  my  troth  I  hardly  can  myself; 
^o  wise  physician  will  prescribe  me  for  you. 
Alas,  your  state's  weak ;  you  had  heed  of 

cordials. 
Some  rich  electuary,  made  of  a  son  and  heir, ' 
An  elder  brother,  in  a  cuUis,  whole ; 
It  must  be  some  wealthy  Gregory,  boiFd  to 

a  jelly,  [gowns, 

That  most  restore  you  to  the  state  of  new 
French  ruffs,  and  nmtable  head-tires. 

Mir,  But,  where  is  he,  sir  ?  [nothing. 

On'c  that's  so  rich  will  ne'er  wed  me  with 

Cunn.  Then  see  thy  conscieuce,  ana  tliy 

wit  together !  [neither  P 

Wouldst  thou  have  roe  then,  that  have  nothing 
What  say  you  to  fop  Gregory  the  First  yonder? 
Will  you  acknowledge  your  time  amply  re- 

compens'd. 
Full  satisfaction  upon  love's  record, 
Without  any  more  suit,  if  I  combine  you  ? 

Mir,  Yes,  by  this  honest  kiss. 

Cunn.  You're  a  wise  client, 
To  pay  your  fee  before-hand ;  bat  all  do  so : 
You  k  now  the  worst  already)  that's  the  best  too. 

Mir.  I  know  he  js  a  fool. 

Cunn.  You're  shrewdly  hurt  then! 


This  is  your  comfi»rt;  yonr  great,  wisest 

women 
Pick  their  first  hubband  still  out  of  that  house^ 
And  some  will  have  'em  to  chuse,  if  they 

bury  twenty.  fa  first  husband 

Mir.  I'm  of  their  minds,  tnat  like  him  for 
Tu  run  youth's  race  with;  it  is  very  pleasant; 
fiut  when  I'm  old,  I'd  always  wish  a  wiser. 

Cunn.  Yon  may  have  me  by  that  time. 

For  this  first  business. 
Rest  upon  my  performance ! 

Mir.  With  all  thankfulness.  [too. 

Cunn.  I  have  a  project  vou  must  aid  me  in 

Mir.  You  bind  me  to  all  lawful  action,  sir. 

Cunn.  Pray  wear  this  scarf  about  you. 

Mir.  I  conjecture  now— > 

Cunn.  There's  a  court  principle  for't,  one 

office  most  help  another ; 
As  for  example,  for  your  cast  o'manchcts 

out  o'  th'  pantry, 
I'll  allow  you  a  goose  out  of  the  kitclien. 

Mir.  'Tis  venr  sociably  done,  sir :  farewell. 

Performance  f 
I  shall  be  bold  to  call  you  so.  [Exit. 

Cunn.  Do,  sweet  Confidence ! 

Enter  Sir  Gregory. 

If  I  can  match  mv  two  broad>brim'd  hats— 
'Tis  he!  I  know  the  maggot  by  his  head ; 
Now  shall  I  learn  news  of  him.  My  precious 

chief!  [bowling-green, 

Greg.  I  have. been  seeking  for  you  i'th' 
Enqoir*d  at  Nettletou's,  and  Anthony's  or- 
It  lias  vex'd  me  to  th'  heart!  [rtinary; 

Look,  I've  a  diamond  here,  and  it  y^an't  find 
A  master. 

Cunn.  No?  that's  hwd,  i'faith. 

Greg.  It  docs  ^ 

Belong  to  somebody :  a  mischief  on  him, 
I  would  he  had  it ;  does  but  trouble  me; 
And  she  that  sent  it  is  so  waspish  too. 
There's  no  returning  to  her  'tiil't  be  gone. 

Cunn.  Oh,  ho!  Ah,  sirrah,  are  you  come? 

Greg.  What's  that,  friend  ? 

Cunn.  Do  you  note  that  corner  sparkle  ? 

Grtg^  Which  ?  which  ?  which,  sir? 

Cunn.  At  the  west  end  o'th'  collet '3. 

Greg.  Oh,  I  see't  now.  [stone,  sir, 

Cunn.  Tis  an  apparent  mark:  this  is  the 
That  so  much  blood  is  threaten'd  to  be  shed  for. 

Greg.  I  pray— 

Cunn.  A  tun  at  least.  [they  must 

Greg.  They  must  not  find  it  in  me  then ; 
Go  where  'tis*  to  be  had,  [sir  Gregory ; 

Cunn.  Tis  well  it  came  to  my  hands  firsl^ 
I  know  where  this  must  go. 

Greg.  Am  I  discliarg'd  on't  ? 

Cunn.  My  life  for  yours  now !       [Dram$, 

Greg.  What  now  ? 

Cunn.  Tis  discretion,  sir; 
I'll  stand  upon  my  guard  all  the  while  I  ha'li 

^  We$i  end  o'tK  coller.]  There  only  wants  the  change  of  a  letter,  x^t  make  this'possag^ 
run  like  the  original^  war.  o'  tif  collet ;  i.  e.  beizill  or  socket  in  which  the  diamond  was 
set.        Sympson, 

E  r  %  C^^tf- 


SJ 


90» 


tmr  AT  scTsaAL  weapons. 


[Ad  4. 


6f«tf.  *Troth  tho»tak*9ttooiiMich4aiiger 
on  thee  still. 
To  picflerve  me  alive. 

dunn.  lis  a  friend's  duty,  sir, 
Nay,  bv  a  toy  tbat  I\c  late  thought  upon, 
lU  nnJenake  to  get  your  mistress  for  you. 
Greg.  Thou  wilt  not?  wilt? 
Cttstn.  Contract  her  by  a  trick,  sir, 
When  she  least  thinks  on't. 

Greg.  There's  the  right  way  to't; 
For  if  she  think  on't  once,  she'll  never  do*t. 
Cunn.  She  does  abase  you  then  ? 
Greg,  A  poi !  damnably, 
Bvery  time  worse  than  other;  yet  her  uncle 
Thinks  the  day  liolds  a  Tuesday:  say  it  did, 

sir, 
She's  so  fiuniliarly  us'd  to  call  me  ratc^ 
Shell  quite  forget  to  wed  me  by  my  own  name; 
And  then  that  marria^  cannot  hold  in  law, 
you  know. 

Cunn,  Will  you  leave  all  to  me  ? 
Greg.  Who  should  I  leave  it  to? 
Cunn.  lis  our  luck  to  love  nieces;  I  love 
a  niece  too. 

Greg.  I  would  you  did,  i'  faith ! 
Cunn.  But  mine's  a  kind  wretch,  [so  too ! 
Greg.  Ay,  marry,  sir;  I  would  mine  were 
Cunn.  No  rosnU  comes  in  her  moutb. 
Greg.  Troth  and  mine 
Has  little  else  in  hers. 

Cunn.  M)ne  sends  me  tokens, 
All  the  world  knows  not  on. 

Gr^.  Mine  gives  ine  tokens  too. 
Very  nne  tokens;  hot  I  dare  not  wear 'em. 
Cunn.  Mine's  kind  in  secret. 
Greg.  And  there  mine's  a  helUcat. 
Cunm  We  have  a  day  set  too. 
Greg.  'Slid,  so  have  we,  man; 
But  there's  no  ugn  of  ever  coming  together. 
CtfUfi.  I'll  tell  thee  who  it  is ;  th'  old  wo- 
Greg.  Is'tshe?  [man's  niece. 

Cunn.  I  would  yonr  luck  had  been  no  worse 
for  mildness; 
But  mum ;  no  more  words  of  it  to  your  lady ! 
Greg.  Fob! 

Cunn.  No  blabbing,  as  you  love  me. 
Greg,  None  of  our  blood 
Were  ever  babblers. 

Cunn.  Prithee  convey  this  letter  to  lier; 
But  at  any  hand  let  not  your  mistress  kee't  [ 
Greg.  Yet  again,  sir? 
Cunn.  There  is  a  jewel  io't! 
The  very  art  woold  make  her  dote  upon't. 

Cxregf.  Say  you  so? 
And  she  shall  see  it  for  that  trick  only. 
Cunn.  Remember  but  your  mistress,  and 
all's  welL 

Greg,  Nay,  if  I  do  nol,  hang  me !    [Exit. 
Cunn.  I  believe  you. 
This  is  the  onlv  w«y  to  retnm  a  token : 
I  know  he  wiii  do't  now,  'cavse  he's  cbargM 

to  th'  contrary. 
He*s  the  nearest  kin  to  a  wonmn,  of  a  tl»ng 


Made  without  subitaaoe,  tlMt  aman  cm  fiad 

agaia. 
Some  petticoat  befQOt  him,  HI  be  wfaiptelie, 
Enj^ndring  with  aaoldpairof  paoe'd  noae^. 
Lying  in  some  hot  chanmer  o'er  the  kitcfaeo  ; 
Tlie  very  steam  bred  him. 
He  never  grew  where  rem  in  re  e'er  caaie; 
Tlie  generation  of  a  hundred  such 
Cannot  make  a  aian  stand  ioa  white  afaeaty 
For  'tis  no  act  in  law;  nor  can  a  oonslahle 
Pick  out  a  bawdy  busiaeBs  for  bridewell  in't 

Enter  Pompey  (tu  a  gMemL) 

A  lamentable  case ! 

He'sgot  with  a  man's  urine,  like  a  aam^iake.— 

How  now?   faia?  wbat  prodigioua  bravery '• 

tliis? 
A  most  preposterous  gallant !  the  doublet  sits 
As  if  it  mock'd  the  breeches. 
Pompeif.  Save  you,  sir ! 
Ctt»a.  H'  has  pot  hi*  tongue  in  the  ine  suit 
of  words  too  1 

Pompe^.  How  does  die  party  ? 
Cftaa.  Takes  ma  for  a  sciiveDer.--> 
Which  of  the  parties? 

Pomaey.  Hum!  Simplicity  betide  tfaee  I-^ 
I  would  lain  hearo'tb^  party;  Pd  be  loath 

to  go 
Farther  with  her;  honour  is  not  a  tiiia| 
To  be  dallied  withal,  no  more  is  icpolatioa, 
No,  nor  fome,  I  take  it ;  I  must  not  have  her 
wrong'd  [peil'd 

When  Pm  abroad ;  my  party  is  not  to  be  com- 
With  any  party  4n  an  oblioue  way ; 
Tis  very  dangerous  to^detfl  with  women; 
Mav  prove  a  lady  too,  but  shall  be  nameless; 
111  bite  my  tongue  out,  ere  it  prove  a  traitor. 
Cana.  Upon  my  life,  I  know  ber! 
Pomp^.  Nut  by  me; 
Know  what  you  can,  talk  a  whole  day  with 
me,  [these  lips. 

You're  neW  the  wiser;  she  eones  not  mm 
Cunn.  The  old  knight^s  niece. 
Pompey.  'Slid,  he  has  got  her!  Pbx  of  his 
heart  that  told  him !  [yon 

Can  nothing  be  kept  secret ! — Let  me  entreat 
To  use  her  name  as  little  as  you  can,  tho*. 
€ttitn.  Twill  be  small  pleasnrei  sir,  to  use 
her  name.  [**^ 

Pompey.  I  had  intelliffenoe  in  my  solemn 
Twixt  Paddington  and  rancridge,  of  a  scarf 
Sent  for  a  token,  and  a  jewel  fouowV); 
But  I  acknowledge  not  the  receipt  of  any: 
However  it  is  carried,  beiieve  me,  «r. 
Upon  my  reputation,  I  received  none  f 
Cunn.  What,  neitlier  scarf  nor  jewel? 
Ponmey.  TwouU  be  seen  [that; 

Somewhere  about  dm,  you  may  well  think 
I  have  an  arm  for  a  scfuf,  ssotliers  have. 
An  ear  to  bang  a  jewel  too,  and  that  ismore 
Than  some  men  have,  my  betters  a  ^eat  dciL 
I  must  have  restitution,  where-e'er  it  lights. 
Cunn.  And  reason  good. 


^  With  OH  old  pair  ^paun'd  hou.]  Probably  pain'd  ho$e.       Sympion. 


Pempey. 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


Act  4.] 

Tcmpe^f,  For  al!  tliese  tokens,  sir, 
Faosf  iDj  mrae. 

Citnm.  It  cannot  otherwise.be. 

Fampey.  Sent  to  a  worthy  friend ! 

Clean.  Ay,  thatfs  to  l^iee. 

Tompey,  Vm  wronged  under  that  title. 

Cwm,  I  dare  swear  thou  art : 
rris  nothing  bat  sir  Gregory's  circumrention,  - 
Hisenvious  spite;  when  diou'rtatPaddington, 
He  meets  the  g^fts  at  Pancrtdge. 

Fampey,  Ah,  false  knight! 
False  both  to  honour,  and  the  law  of  arms. 

Cinta.  What  wilt  dion  say  if  I  be  rereng'd 

for  thee, 
Tlioo  sit  as  witness? 

fwnpey,  I  should  laiigh  in  state  tlien. 

Cacita.  ni  fob  him !  here's  my  band. 

i^9Mpey«  I  sliall  be  as  glad  as  any  niaa  nllve 
To  see  hnn  well  fobb'd,  sir.    But  now  you 

talkoffebbing^ 
I  wonder  the  lady  sends  not  for  me,  according 

to  promise: 
I  hif  kept  oat  o'town  these  two  days,  o'por- 

poM       ■  [ing. 

Tebe  aentibr :  I  am  almost  starvM  with  walk* 

CttMi.  Walking  gets  men  a  stonuu^h. 

Ponpey.  Tb  most  true,  nr; 
I  may  speak  it  by  eiperienoe,  for  I  ha'  got 
A  stomach  six  times,  and  lost  it  again, 
As  often  as  a  traveller  from  Chelsiea 
Shan  lose  the  sight  of  Paul's,  and  get  it  again. 

Cttim.  Go  to  her,  man. 

Fmnpey.  Kot  for  a  million ! 
Eofringe  my  oath?  There's  a  toy  callM  a  tow 
Has  past  between  us,  a  poor  trifle,  sir ! 
Pray  do  me  tlie  part  and  office  tX  a  gentleman : 
Ifyou  chance  to  meet  a  footman  by  the  way, 
In  orange-tawnv  ribbands,  running  before 
An  empty  ooacn,  with  a  buz2ard  i'th^poop 

on%  ^  [River, 

Direct  him  and  his  horses  toward  the  New- 
By^  Islington ;  there  they  shall  have  me  look- 
ing 
Upon  tlie  pipes,  and  whwtling.        "   [£xif. 

Cttaa.  A  very 
Good  note !  This  Love  makes  ns  all  mon- 

kiea.  [mond  \ 

Bnt  to  my  work;  scarf  first?  and  noct  a  di»- 
These  shouM  be  sure  signs  of  her  affection's 

tmthy 
Tet  111  go  forward  with  my  surer  proof. 

£a/€r  JVi0ce  md  Gtegmry. 

Niece.  Ii^  possible  f    . 

Gr^m  Nay,  here^s  his  letter  too; 
Tber^  a  fine  jewd  in%  therefore  I  brooght 

it  to  yoo.  [enough 

Niece.  Yoo  tedioos  roongril!   Is  it  not 
To  moe  thee,  to  receive  tbisiroai  thy  hand, 
A  t&ng  which  makes  me  ahnost  sick  to  do, 
But  yon  mittt  talk  loo  I 

Greg.  1  ha'  done. 


909 


Niece.  Fallback! 
Yet  backer,  backer  yet!  You  nnmanneriy 

puppy, 
Dovon  not  see  Fm  going  about  to  read  it? 

(freg.  Kay,  these  are  golden  days !  now  I 

stayb/t;  [at  all; 

She  was  wont  not  to  endure  me  in  her  sight 
The  world  mends,  I  see  that. 

Niece,  yf  hat  an  ambiguous 
Superscription's  liere !  'To  the  best  of  nieces.' 
Wny,  that  title  may  be  mine,  and  more  tban 

her's: 
Sure  I  much  wrong  the  neatness  ofhn  ait ! 
Tis  certain  sent  tu  me;  and  to  rer|uite 
My  conning  in  tlie  carriage  of  my  tokens, 
Urd  the  same  fop  for  his. 
'  Gn^.  She  nodded  now  to  me;  'twill  come 

in  time.  [into  a  heart? 

Niece.  Wbatfs  here?  An  entiie  ru^,  cat 
And  this  tlie  word,  Ittud  amorie  opm  f 

Greg.  Yes,  yes; 
I  have  heard  him  say,  that  love's  the  be«t 

stone-cutter.  [veiling  aov-feider; 

Nieu.  Wiw,  tbott  sancy  issue  of  some  tia- 
What  makes  Ipve  in  thy  month?  Is  it  a  thing 
That  ever  will  ooooem  thee?  I  do  wonder 
How  thou  dar^st  think  on't!  Hast  thou  ever 

hope 
To  come  f  the  same  room  where  lovers  are, 
And  'scape  unbrain'd  with  one  of  their  velvet 

slippeis? 

Grig.  Love-tricks  break  oat  I  see :  an  you 

talk  of  slippers  once. 
It  b  not  fiir  off  to  bed-time. 

Niece.  Is  it  possible  tliou  canst  laugh  yet? 
I  would  ha'  undertook  to  ha'  kill'd  a  spider 
With  less  venom  far  tban  I  have  spit  at  thee. 

Greg,  You  must  conceive, 
A  knight's  another  manner  o'  piece  of  flesh« 

Niece,  Back,  owl's  face  1 

Oldc  [within]  Do,  do. 

Niece.  Tis  my  uncle's  voice,  that.— 
Why  keep  you  so  for  off,  sir  Gregory? 
Are  you  alraid,  sir,  to  come  near  your  mis- 
tress? 

Greg.  Is  the  proud  heart  comedown?  I 

look\l  for  this  still. 

Nieie.  He  come^  not  this  way  yet. — Away, 

you  dog-whelp  I  [so  ? 

Would  you  ofierto  come  near  me,  tho^  I  said 
I'll  make  yoo  understand  ra  v  mind  in  time ! 
You're  running  in  greedily^ %  like  a  bound  to 

his  breakfost,  fl^Mrsi 

Tfiat  chops  in  head  and  all  to  beguile  bis  fel^ 
Fm  to  be  eaten,  sir,  with  grace  and  leisure. 
Behaviour  and  discourse,  tilings  that  ne'er 

trouble  you: 
After  I  have  pelted  you  sufficiently, 
I  tro  you'll  learn  more  manners. 

Greg.  I  am  wondring 
Still  when  we  two  shall  come  together. 
At  hand,  but  I'm  as  fiu*  off  as  I  was 
At  first,  I  swear. 


Ti 


day's 
"ues- 


l^  Tour  Tanning  m  greeiify.]  Corrected  by  Syropson. 


Enter 


ato 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


[Act  4, 


Enter  Gtiardianess, 


Guard,    Now,  CanninghaiDy  111  be  le- 

vcDg'd  at  large. 
Lady,  what  was  but  all  this  wliile  suspicion 
Is  truth  full  blown  now;  my  niece  wears 

JVtecf.  Ha !  ^  ^  [your  scarf. 

Guard,  Do  but  follow  me,  111  place  you 

instantly  [ham. 

"Where  you  shall  see  her  courted  by  Cunning- 

Niece.  I  go  with  greediness !  VVe  long  for 

things 
lliat  break  our  liearts  sometimes;  there's 

pleasure's  misery.    [  E^e.  Niece  and  Guard, 

Greg.  Where  are  those  gad-flies  going? 

to  some  junket  now.  [one  forth 

That«ame  oW  humble-bee '•  toles  the  young 
To  sweatmeats  after  kind :  let 'em  look  to't. 
The  thing  you  wotun  be  not  miss'd  or  gone! 
I  brins  a  maidenhead,  and  I  look  for  one. 

[JSxiV. 

Enter  Cunningham  ($epmngfy  in  di$c<mrse 
with  'a  mask*d  Gentlewoman,  which  i$  a 
Puppet,  in  a  broad  hat,  and  scarfed),  and 
Niece  at  another  door. 

Cunn.  Yes,  yes. 

Niece,  Too  manifest  now ;  the  scarf  and  all ! 

Cunn.  It  cannot  be;  you're  such  a  fearful 

soul.  [from  her! 

Niece,  111  eive  her  cause  of  fear  ere  J  part 

Cunn,  Will  you  say  so?  Is't  not  your 

unnt's  desire  too  ? 

Niece,  What  a  dissembling  crone's  that? 

She'll  forswear^  now.  [grace  on't. 

Cunn,  I  see  my  project  takes ;  yonder's  tl^e 

Niece,  Who  would  put  conlidenct  in  wit 


agam 


desire 


I'm  plagu'd  for  my  ambition,  to  d< 

A  wise  man  for  a  husband !  and  I 

Fate  will  not  have  us  go  beyond  our  stint : 

We  are  ailow'd   but  one  dish,  and   that's 

woodcock.  [servants  of; 

It  keeps  up  wit  to  make  us  friends  and 
And  thinks  any  thing's  good  enough  to  make 

us  husbands.  [block. 

Oh,  that  whore's  hat  o' thine,  o'th'  riding 
A  shade  for  lecherous  kisses! 

Cunn,  Make  you  doubt  on*t  ? 
Is  not  my  love  of  force  ? 


Niece,  Yes;  me  it  fbrcCft 
To  tear  tliat  sorcerous  strumpet  from  thy 

embraces. 

Cunn,  Lady  I  pove— 

Niece,  Oh,  thou  hast  wrong'd  the  exqoiaitest 

Cunn,  What  mean  you,  lady  ? 

Niece.  Mine;  you'll  answer  for't! 

Cunn,  Alas,  what  seek  ^ou? 

Niece.  Sir,  mine  own,  with  loss. 

Cunn,  You  shall — 

Niece,  I  never  made  so  hard  a  baif^o. 

Cunn.  Sweet  lady! 

Niece.  Unjust  man,  let  my  wrath  reach  her. 
As  you  owe  virtueduty  I  [Cunn,JaUsonpurpe$e.] 

Your  cause  trips  you.  [is, 

Now,  minion,  you  shall  feel  what  love's  rag^ 
Before  ^rou  taste  the  pleasure.    Smile  you, 

false  sir  ?  [you  ike, 

Cunn,  How  can  I  chuse,  to  see  what  paini 
Upon  a  thing  will  never  thank  you  for't? 

Niece.  How! 

Cunn,  See  what  things  yoa  women  be,  lady! 
When  cloaths  are  ta'en  for  the  best  jMrt  of 

you. 
This  was  to  shew  you,  when  yoa  think  I  love 

you  not,  [lies : 

How  you're  deceiv'd  still;  tliere  the  monl 
Twas  a  trap  set  to  catch  you,  and  the  only 

bait 
To  take  a  lady  nibbling  is  fine  cloaths : 
Now  I  dare  boldly  thank  you  for  your  love; 
I'm  pretty  w^ell  rc»olv'd  in't  by  this  fit. 
For  a  jealou^ague  always  ushers  it. 

Niece.  Now  blessings  still  maintain  this 

wit  of  thine! 
And  I've  an  excellent  fortune  coming  in  thee : 
Bring  nothing  else,  1  charge  thee. 

Ctt7in.«Not  a  groat,  I  warrant  yon. 

Niece,  Thou  shalt  be  worthily  weleomei 

take  my  faith  for^t ; 
Next  opportunity  shall  mak^  us'^. 

Cwm,  The  old  gentlewoman  has  fool'd 

her  revenge  swe^Uy. 

Niece,  'Las,  'tis  her  part;  she  kpows  her 

place  so  well  yonder ! 
Always  when  womrn  jump  upon  threescore. 
Love '^shoves  'em  from  the  ■cfiamber  to  the 

door. 

Cunn.  Thou  art  a  precious  sbe-wit! 

[Exeunt, 


'*  Some  old  humble-bee,"]  Corrected  in  1T50. 

'7  Nejtt  opportunity  shall  make  us,]  Here  the  Joss  of  a  monosyllable  destroys  the  roeasttic 
ai^d  injures  the  sense.    I  read, 

Next  opportunity  shall  make  us  one.        Seward. 
Tberf  is  certainly  very  complete  sense  without  the  monosyllable 


ACT 


Act  5.] 


WIT  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


3H 


ACT    V. 


Enter  Cunninghum  (at  one  door),  Wittif- 
p4Ue,  Ruinouty  Ladjf  Ruinous,  andPrisdan 
(at  tke  other). 

Cunn,  "pRIEND,  met  in  the  harvest  of  our 

^     designs ! 
Kot  a  thought  but*s  busy. 

Wittif,  I  knew  it,  man ;  [reapers. 

And  diat  made  me  'provide  these  needful 
Hooks^  rakers,  gleaners :  we  will  sing  it  home 
With  a  melodious  hompi  pe.  This  is  the  bond ; 
That  as  we  further  in  your  great  afiair, 
Tott'U  sutf or  us  to  gleai^  pick  up  for  crumb^^', 
And  if  we  snatch  a  handful  from  the  sheaf, 
Yoo  will  not  i»ak  a  churl  upon  us. 

Cum,  Friend,  [love  acre 

We^il  share  the  sheaved  of  gold;  only  the 
Shall  be  peculiar.  .      .     «       > 

iruty.  Much  gboddo  you,  sir.  [you 

Away !  you  know  your  way,  and  your  stay ;  get 
whiie 


ready, 


^e-  prepare  the 


The  music 

dancers. 

Ruin,  We  are  a  consort  of  ourselves.   ' 

Frit,  And  can- strike  up  lustily. 

IfiWy.  You  must'bringsir.Fftp.    •  • 

Cunn.  That's  perfect  enough- 

Jiuin.  Bring  till   the  fops  •  you '  can,  the 
,  wore  the  better  fare ;         ' 
So  the  proverb  runs  backwawh. 

[Exe.  Ruin,  and  Pr/s, 

L.  Ruin,  111  bring  the  hidies.  [Eitit, 

Witty.  Do  so  fir!A,  and  then 
The  fops  will  follow.    I  mu»t  to  my  fhther ; 
He  must  make  one.  [-^f^ 

Enter  two  Servants  with  a  Banquet, 

Cuan.  While  I:  dispatch  a  business  with 

the  knight, 
Aud  I  go  with  you.    Wdl  «aid !  J  tlmnk  you ! 
This  small  banquet  will  furnish  our  lew  guests 
With  taster  aud  state  enough.    One  reach  my 

gown ; 
Tlu(  action  craves  it,  rather  than  the  weather. 

1  Sera,  There  is  one  stays  to  speak  with 

you,  sir. 

Cunn.  Wliatishe? 

1  Serv.  Faith,  I  know  not  what,  sir;  a 

fool,  I  think, 


Tliat  some  broker's  shop  has  made  half  a 

gentleman : 
H'  has  the  name  of  a  worthy  too. 

Cunn.  Pompey?  is'tnotr 

1  Serv,  That's  he,  sir. 

Cunn.  Alas,  poor  iellow,  prithee  enter  him^ 

Enter  second  Servant  with  a  Gown, 

He  will  need  too''.    He  shall  serve  for  a 

witness.    Oh, 
Gramercy !  if  my  friend  sir  Gregory  comet. 

Enter  Pompey* 

(You  know  him)  entertain  him  kindly.    Oh. 

How  is't,  man  ?  [master  Pompcjrl 

Pompey.  'Snails,  I'm  almost  stanr'd  with 
love,  [my  lady 

And  cold,  and  one  thing  or  other.    Has  not 

Sent  for  me  yet  ? 

Cunn,  Not  that  I  hear :  sure  some 

Unfriendly  messenger's  employ'd  betwixt  you. 
Pampey,  I  was  ne'er  so  cold  in  my  life :  ia 
my  conscience,  [New-river ; 

I  have  been  seven  miles  in  length,  along  the 

I  have  seen  a  hundred  stickle-bags;  I  don't 
think  but  [water. 

There's  gudgeons  too :  'twill  ne'er  be  a  true 
Cunn.  Wny  think  you  so  ? 
Pompey.  I  \varrant  you  I  told         fa  little 

A  thousand  miller's  thumbs  in  iu    III  make 

Bold  with  your  sweetmeats. 
Cunn,'  And  welcome,  Pompey ! 
Pompey,  'Tis  a  strange  tiling  I  have  no 
taste  in  any  thing.  \}^^%  ^^'  itselC 

Cunn,  Oh,  that's  love ;  that  distastes  any 
Pompey,  Tis  worse  than  cheese  in  that 

,    point.    May  not  a  man 

Break  his  word  with  a  lady  ?  I  could  find 

In  my  heart  and  my  hose  too. 
Cunn,  By  no  means,  sir ; 

Tliat  breaks  all  the  laws  of  love. 

Pompey.  Well,  I'll  ne'er  pass  my  -word 

Witliout  my  deed,  to  lady,  while  I  live  again. 

I  would  fain  recover  luy  taste. 

Cunn.  Well,  I  have  news  to  tell  yoo. 
Pompey.  Good  news^  sir  ?  [a  rival, 

Cunn.  Happy  news!  I  lielp  you  away  with 

Your  master  s  bestow'd-<-- 


3*  YouHl  suffer  us  to  glean,  pick  up  for  cri^ms.]  This  reading  discontinues  the  metaphor, 
fis  well  as  disturbs  the  sense;  both  may  easily  be  amended,  by  reading  thus;*^ 
to  glean,  pick  up  few  corns.        Sympson. 

Corns  certainly  pursues  the  metaphor  best ;  but  the  old  reading  being  sense,  should  not  be 
arbitrarily  altered,  though  for  the  better ;  fidelity  being  the  first  duty  of  an  editor. 

3'  AlaSf  poor  follow^  prithee  enter  him,  he  will  need  too,]  Tho'  Pompey  did  need  victuals, 
yet  the  adverb  too  shews  need  to  be  a  corruption  for  sted  or  speed.  And  the  original  ran,  I 
fancy,  very  near  the  text  of  this  present  edition  [i.  e.  sted], .      Seward, 

We  think  there  are  in  our  authors,  and  others,  instances  of  a  construction,  by  which  he 
tM  need  too^  may  signify  he  mil  6e  needed. 

Pompey. 


ns 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPCWS. 


[Ad^ 


Fompmf.  Where,  for  this  plomVs  sake?— 

Cunn,  Nay,  lu>ten  me. 

Pompey,  I  warrant  you^  sir;  I  have  two 

ears  to  one  mouth: 
I  hear  more  than  I  eat;  I'd  never  toW 
By  Queeii-Hithe  while  I  lived  else. 

Cunn.  I  have 
A  wife  for  him^  and  Uiou  shalt  witneia  the 

contract.  [the  lady? 

Pompey.  The  old  one,  I  hgpe^;  *lis  not 

Cunn.  Clioke  him  first !  It  is  one  which 

thou  shale  see; 
See  him,  see  him  deceiv'd,  see  the  deceit, 

only  [desty. 

The  injonction  is,  you  shall  smile  widi  mo* 

Pompey,  Fli  simper  i'fiiith^ascold  as  I  am 
Tht  oU  oacty  I  hope!  [yet. 

Serv,  Sir,  here^s  sir  Gregory. 

Cunn»  Udsoy  shelter,  shelter !  If  yon  be  seen^ 
AlFs  sareird  out  agiiin :  stand  tliere  private, 
And  yott  will  find  the  very  opportunity 
To  call  you  fiNthi  and  pkiceyou  at  the  table. 

Enter  Gregory, 

Yott  are  welcome,  air !  This  banquet 

Win  serve,  when  it  is  crown'd  with  such  a 

As  you  eipect,  and  must  have.  [dainty 

Ureg,  Tush,  these  sweetmeats 
Are  but  sauce  to  that.    Well,  if  there  be 
Any  honesty,  or  true  word  in  a  dream. 
She  is  mine  own,  nayv  uuichang'dextoemely, 
Not'the  same  woman. 

Cunn.  Who?  not  the  lady? 
Greg.  No,  not 
To  me;  the  edge  of  her  tongue  it  taken  o^ 
Gives  me  very  good  words;  turned  up-side 

down  tome; 
And  we  live  as  quietly  as  two  tortoises : 
If  she  hold  on,  as  she  began  in  mj  dream— 
Cunn.  Nay,  if  lave  send  forth  such  pre- 
dictions, [watch-word 
Yon  are  bound  to  believe  'em.    ThcreV  the 


rSS^  muuck. 
tis'd 


Of  her  coming ;  to  your  practised  part  now ! 

If  you  hit  it,  Mqutu  Cumdo  nobis. 

lAah  ffo  into  thegmon. 
Greg.  Ftl  warrantyou,  sir,!  willgiveamiato 

Your  gentry:  look  you  forward  to  yonr  busi- 
ness, 

I  am  an  eye  behind  you ;  pku^e  her  in  tliat 

Chair,  and  let  me  alone  to  grope  lier  out  I 

Enter  Mirabel, 

Ctmn.  Silence! — ^Lady,  your  sweet  pre- 
sence illustrates 

This  homely  roof,  and  as  coarse  entertainment; 

B«t  where  afiections  are  both  host  and  guest. 

They  cannot  meet  unkindly.  Please  you  sit! 

Yonr  something  lopg  stay  made  me 
ncriy. 


To  place  before  you  (know  him !)  thb  friend 

here; 
(He  is  my  guest)  and  more  especially. 
That  this  our  meeting  might  not  be  tooiugley 
Witliout  a  witness  to't 

JUir.  I  came  not  unresol/d,  sir: 
And  when  our  hands  are  clasped  ip  that  fina 

faith 
Which  [  expect  from  you,  fame  shall  be  bold 
To  speak  the  loudest  on  it.  Oh,  you  grasp  ne 
Somewhat  too  hard^  firiend ! 

Cunn.  That's  love's  eager  will; 
ni  touch  it  gentlier.  [Kami  kir  kamd* 

Mir,  That's  too  low  in  yon, 
Xesa  it  be  doubly  recoapeoa'd  in  me. 

IKumkiikmd. 

Poamey.  Pub!  I  most  ste ay  nioalii;  I 

shair be  choak'd  else.  V^f^l 

.  Ctmii.  Cooie^  we'U  Dot  nky  nod  ti%fe  wkii 
Wemet  to  join  these  hAiida,aDd  wttliag^ 
I  cannot  leave  it  until  confiroMttioii. 

Afir.  One  word  first !  bow  daea  yonr  finand, 

kind  aw  Gregory  ?  ffaim  not. 

Cunn,  WhydoyoanenisoiiUbf  ywilov« 

JIfir.  I  shall  love  yott-tbe  leaa  if  yott  any 

so^air: 
In  tnMh,lkivehiBi;  b«t*tiayoadeoeife  htn. 
This  ftitlecing  hand  of  yoors  does  rob  faia 


Now  yoB  steal  hb  right  fiwmhiiii;  andlknow 
I  shad  httve  hate  for  il,  fab  hate  extremely. 

Cmn.  Why,  I  thought  yoo  UA  not  cone 

so  wcokly  ara'd: 
Upon  ay  bfe.  the  knight  will  love  yon  for\ 
Exceedtngly  love  you,  forever  love  yoo* 

JIfir.  Ay,  you'll  persuade  me  so. 

Cunn,  Why,  he's  my  firiend, 
And  wishes  me  a  fortune  equal  with  him, 
I  know  and  dare  speak  it  for  him. 

jSftr.  Oh,  this  hand  betrays  him! 
You  mi^t  remember  him  m  womt  court'sy 

yet  at  least.  [health, 

Cttmi.  I  thank  your  help  in  it;  herrs  t^hi^ 
Where-e'er  he  be! 

Mir.  I'U  pledge  it, 
Were  it  against  my  liealth. 

Ponqtey,  Oh,. oh!  my  heart  [return! 

Hops  after  twelve  mile  a-day,  upon  a  cood 
Now  could  I  walk  three  hundred  mile  aroot, 
And  laurii  forwards  and  backwards. 

Mir,  Youll  take  the  knight's  health,  sir? 

Pompcy.  Yes, yes, forsoo&.  Oh,  my  sides! 

Such  a  banquet  [fortnij|bL 

Once  a  week,  would  make  me  grow  fat  ia  a 

Cunn.  Well:  now  to  close  our  meeting, 

with  the  close  • 
Of  mutual  hands  and  hearts,  thns  I  begui: 
Here  in  Heaven's  eye,  and  all  love's  sacred 

pow'rs, 
(Which  in  mv  prayers  stand  propitious) 
I  knit  this  holy  iiand  fast,  and  with  this  bssd 
The  heart  that  owes  this  hand,  ever  bindiqg 


^  ^  The  old  one,  I  hope.}  By  this  expression  here  and  a  little  below,  ^  Clown  bepes  diat 
the  old  Gwurdianett  was  the  wife  intendedi  by  Cwiawgtoij  for  $it  Or«jgory»       S^tiptm 


Act  5.] 


Wit  At  SfiVERAt  W£A*toNS. 


313 


By  force  of  this  initiating  cdn tract 
Both  heart  and  hand  in  love,  taith,  loyalty, 
E&tate,  or  what  to  them  belongs,  iti  all  the 
Daes,  rightf,  and  honours  of  a  faiiljful  has^ 
band;  [stand 

And  thb  firm  tow,  henceforth  'till  death  to 
L^vacable,-  seiUed  both  with  heart  and  band  ! 
Mir.  Wliich  thus  I  second:  but,  oh,  sir 
Gregory !  [litve  me. 

Cunn,  Again?   This  interposition's  ill,  be-^ 
Miri  Here,  in  Ueav*n's  eye,  and  all  love's 
sacred  pow'rs, 
I  knit  this  holy  hand  f&st,  and  with  this  hand 
The  heart  that  owes  this  hand,  ever  binding 
fiotb  heart  d'nd  hand  in  love,  honour,  loyalty, 
Estate,  or  what  to  thein  belongs,  in  all  the 
Dues,  rights,  and  duties  of  a  true  faithful  wife ; 
And  thb  firm  vow,  henceforth  till  death  to 

stand 
Irrevocable,  sealed  both  with  heart  and  halkd! 
Greg*  A  full  agreement  on  both  parts^ 
Cunn,  Ay,  here's  witness  of  that. 
Greg*  ^ay,  I  have  over->reacird  youyiady  $ 
and  thatV  much, 
Forany  knightin  England  toover-rCach  a  lady. 
Mir.  I  rejoice  in  my  deceit;  I  am  a  lady 
Now,  I  thank  you,  sir. 
Pompej/.  Good  morrow,  lady  Fop  \ 
Greg*  'Snails,  Fm  guird !  made  a  worship- 
ful ass! 
This  is  not  my  lady.  [told  you, 

Cunn.  But  it  is,  sir ;  iDid  true  as  your  dream 
That  your  lady  was  become  another  woman. 
Greg,  V\\  have  another  lady,  sir,  if  there 
were 
No  more  ladies  in  London ;  blindman^-baff 
Is  an  unlawful  game. 
Cunn.  Come,  down  on  your  knees  first, 
and  thank  your  stars.  [i  thinks 

Greg,  A  fire  of  my  stars  !  I  may  thank  you, 
Cunn,  So  you  may  pray  for  me,  and  honour 
me,  [ment, 

That  have  preserv*d  you  from  a  lasting  tor- 
Fur  a  perpetual  comfort*     Did  you  call  me 
friend  ? —  [call  you,  I  confess. 

Greg»  1  pray  pardon  me  for  that ;  I  did  mis- 
Cunn.  And  should  I,  receiving  such   a 
thankful  name, 
Abuse  it  in  the  act?  Should  I  see  my  friend 
Baffled,  disgrac'd,  without  any  reverence' 
To  your  title,  to  be  call  d  slave,  rascal?  nay, 
CorsVl  to  your  face,  fooi'd,  scomM,  beaten 
down  Hitand 

With  a  woman's  peevish  hate,  yet  I  sliould 
Aiid  suffer  you  to  be  lost,  cast  away? 


I  would  have  seen  5^0  bui4ed  cfuick  first, 
Your  spurs  of  knighthood  to  have  wanted 

rowels,  *  [rascai  9 

And  to  be  hack'd  from  your  heels^M  Slave, 
Hear  this  tongue.  [lord,  my  husband ! 

Mir.  My  dearest  love,  sweet  knight,  my 

Cunn.  So!  this  is  not  j/tfrt'andrasca/chen« 

Mir.  What  shall  your  eye  command  but 

shall  be  done, 
In  all  the  duties  of  a  loyal  wife.^ 

Cunn.  Good,  good! 
Artf  not  curses  titter  for  you?  were*t  not  bet- 
ter [fait**. 
Your  head  were  hroke  ^ith  the  handle  of  a 
Or  yoiir  nose  bored  with  a  silver  bodkin? 

Mir.  Why,  I  will  be  a  servant  in  your  lady« 

Cunn,  Tirx,  but  you  shall  not! 
She's  too  good  for  you  I  This  contract 
Shtili  be  a  nuUity;  *ril  break  it  off. 
And  sec  you  better  bestowM. 

Greg.  *Slid,  but  you  shall  not,  sir !      pone 
Shc*s  mine  own,  and  I  am  hers,  and  we  are 
Another's  lawAslly,  and  let  me  see  him 
That  will  take  her  away  by  the  civil  law ! 
If  you  be  my  fwend,  keep  you  $0 ;  if  you  have 

done  me 
A  good  turn,  do  not  hit  me  i*th'  teeth  with^tf 
Thai's  not  the  part  of  a  fnend.     • 

Cunn,  If  you  be  content — 

Greg.  Content? 
I  was  never  in  better  contention  in  my  life: 
Til  not  change  her  for  both  the  Excuaoges, 

new  or  the  .old.  ^ 

Come,  kiss  me  boldly  ! 

Pompei/.  Give  you  joy,  sir! 

Greg.  Oh,  sir, 
I  thank  you  as  nmch  as  i!u>'  I  <}id  f  Yoil  are 
Belov'd  of  ladies ;  you  see  we  are  glad 
Of  under-wonien. 

Pompey.  Ladies  ?  I^t 
Not  ladies  be  disgrac'd !  You're,  as  it  were, 
A  married  man,  and  have  a  family; 
And,  for  the  party's  sake  that  was  unnam'd 
Before,  being  peasCKJod  time,  I  am  appeas'd ; 
Yet  I  would  wish  yyu  make  a  ruler  of  your' 

tongue.  [that. 

Cunn.  Nay,  nodissentionhere!  I  must/bar 
And  this,  friend,  I  entreat  you,  and  be  advised  ; 
hex  this  private  contract  be  yet  conceal'd,  . 
And  still  support  a  seeming  :ace  of  love 
Unto  the  lady;  m^rk  how  it  avails  you,  and 
Quits  all  her  scorns ;  hei*  uncle  is  now  hot 
In  pursuit  of  the  match,  and  will  enforce  her. 
Bend  iier  proud  stomachy  that  she  shall  prober 
Herself  to  you,  which  when  you  have  flouted 


♦'  To  be  k'lck'd  from  your  keels."]  Amended  by  Sympson. 

^  The  handle  of  a  fan.]  In  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor,  Fahtaf  speaVs  of  mistress 
Bridget  having  lost  the  handle  of  her  fan ;  upon  which  Steevens  says,  *  It  should  be  remcm* 
'  bered,  th&t  fans,  in  our  author*s  time,  were  more  costly  than  they  are  at  present,  as  well 

*  as  of  adiilerent  constructi  )n.    They  consisted  of  ostrich  feathers,'  or  others  of  equal  length 

*  and  fle^iibihty,  which  were  stuck  into  handles,  the  richer  sort  of  which  were  composed 

*  «f  gold,.*ilver,  or  ivory,  of  curious  workmanship.    One  of  these  is  mentioned  in  The  Fleirej, 

*  Com.  16 IQ.  <  — -^  ahe  hath  a  &n  with  a  short  silver  handle,  about  th«  l^ugtli  of  a  barber's 


*  synnge. 
VOL.IIL 


J^ 


Ss 


Aod 


mA 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


And  latt^d  ^trfil  tt,  5«aalMaifloora  her  o£^ 
With  all  your  difimoet  trebled  ofMm  her ; 
For  there  the  pride  of  all  her  heart  will  bow, 
When  yoa  shall  foot  her  from  yon,  not  she 

yoa.  [fiuD 

Greg.  Good,  i'faith;  111  ooatinae  it.  Fd 
Laugh  at  the  old  fellow  too^  for  hliaa  abus'd 

me 
As  scurvily  as  his  niece;  my  knighthood  is 
Upon  the  spur !  we'll  go  to  bed,  and  then 
To  church  as  fkst  as  we  can. 

[Egemnt  Grtg.  and  Mir, 

Fompey.  I  do  wonder 
I  do  nor  hear  of  the  lady  yet. 

Cunn,  The  good  minute  (do  not  think 
Slay  come  sooner  than  you  are  aware  of;  I 
But  *twill  ere  night  yet,  as  near  as  'tis. 

Pompw.  WeQ,  I  wiU  go  walk 
By  the  New-Biver^  in  that  meditation; 
I  am  o'er  shoes,  I*^  sure,  upon  the  dry  bank. 
Thia  gallery  of  my  master  will  keep  me  com- 
pany 
This  two  hours  too :  if  k>ve  were  not 
An  enemy  to  laaghter,  I  should  drive  away 
The  time  well  enoagh.   You  know  my  walk, 

sir;  [will  try 

If  she  aendfl,  I  shall  he  foand  aneling,  for  I 
What  I  can  catch  for  luck  sake;  I  will  fish 

fair  for't. 
Oh»  knight,  that  thou  shooM'st  be  guU'd  so, 

(ha,  ha  \)  It  does  om  cood  at  heut. 
^ut  ohy  lady,  thon  tak'st  down  my  merry  part* 

Eater  WUtypatt, 

WUty.  FHend ! 

Cutta.  Hart,  iiiend. 

Witty.  AU  is  afoot»  and  witt  go  smooth 
.i^way:  [are  gone. 

The  woman  has  coa<|nerM  the  women,  they 
WhichI  have  already  complaia'dto  my  fother. 
Suggesting  that  sir  Gregory  is  iall'n  off 
From  his  chaige,  for  nedecta  and  ill  uaage. 
And  tliat  he  is  moat  violently  bent 
Oft  Gentry's  wifo(whomI  have  caird  a  widow) 
And  that  without  most  sudden  preventioa 
He  will  be  married  to  her. 

Cunn*  'Sfooty  all  this  is  wrong ! 
This  wings  his  pursuit  and  wiU  he  before  me : 
I'm'  lost  for  ever! 

Witty.  No;  stay!  you.shaVtgo 
But  with  my  fother  i  on  my  wit  let  it  tie; 
You  sliall  appear  a  friendly  assistaiM^ 
To  help  in  aU  affairs,  and  »•  exesataoa 
Help  yourself  onJy^ 

CttRfi.  'Would  my  belief 
Were  strong  in  this  assurance ! 

Witty.  You  shallcFedit  it,.  [Voa^— 

And  my  wit  shall  be  yoor  slavc>  if  it  deceive 

Enter  Oldcraft. 

My  father!  Puiii^t 

0/^0.  Oh,sir,you'rewellmet!  Where'scthe 

Tour  frieud? 
Cunn*  Sir  J I  think  your  son  hat  told  you. 


[A€t£ 
9  ltd 


Witty,  Sksll  I  stand  to  telFt 

70U  he  loves» 
But  not  mykinswoBMo;  her  base  usage,  1 
Your  slack  performance^  which  he  aoca 

most  [down. 

Indee<it  has  tam'd  the  knight'a  heart  iqiaide 

Oldc.  I'll  curb  her  for't»  canhc  be  botv> 

cover'd, 
He  shall  have  her,  and  she  shall  be  dntifol, 
And  lov-e  him  as  a  wife  too. 

Witty.  With  that  coaditioB,  sir, 
I  dare  recall  him  were  he  entered  the  churck^ 
So  much  interest  of  love  I  assure  in  him. 

Oldc.  Sir,  it  shall  be  no  loss  to  you  if  foa 

WUty.  Ay,  but  (do. 

These  are  words  still;  will  not  the  deeds  he 

wanting 
At  the  recovery,  iPt  should  be  again  f 

Oldc,  Why,  here,  fool,  I  am  provided !  ^rt 

hondred 
la  earnest  of  tlie  thousands  in  her  dovrer; 
But  were,  they  married  once, 
I^d  cut  him  short  enough,  that's  my  agree- 
ment, [yon,  father. 

Witty.  Ay,  now  I  perceive  aome  purpose  in 

Olde.  But  wherefore  is  she  then  stoFn  oat 

of  doors 
To  him? 

Witty,  To  him?  Oh,  fy  upon  your  enor! 
She  has  another  object,  believe  it,  sir. 

Olde.  I  never  could  perceive  it. 

Ctimi.  I  did^  sis;  and  to  her  shame  I  should 

speak  it, 
To  my  own  sooow  I  saw  it,  dalliance^ 
Nay,  dotage,  with  a  very  down,  a  fooL 

Oldc.  Wit  and  wantonness;  nothing  else, 

nothing  else : 
She  love  a  fool^  shell  sooner  make  a  fool 
Of  a  wise  man. 

Cwui.  Ay»  my  firiead  complaint  so; 
Sir  Gregory  saya  flatly^  thoniaket  a  foolot 


And  theie  bold  dicunDatancet  are  amnovM: 
Favours  have  been  sent  by  him,  yet  be,  igao* 

rant 
Whither  to.caxry 'ein^  theyVeheea  wdersteod, 
And  taken  foom  him :  certain,  sir,  there  is 
An  unsuspected  follow  lies  coiio^ard, 
Whit  or  whare-e'er  he  is— thf^  slight  as* 
Could  not  be  of  a  knight  else.  \  [gle^is 

Oldc.  Well,  sir,  you  have  pMmus*d  (if  we 

recover  him 
Unmarried)  to  salve  all  these  old  bmiset? 

Ctmn.  ni  do  my  best,  sir. 

Oldc.  I  shall  thank  you  costly,  sir,  aad 

kindly  too.  [and  corns 

WUty.  Will  you  talkaway4helimebefe,sir, 
Behind  all  your  purposes! 

Oide^  Away,  good  sir ! 

Witty.  Then  stay  a  litll^  good  ah*,  forny 

advice*  (gu^d? 

Why,  fothcB,  are  you  hrokei  jaur  wit  bcg> 
Or  are  you  at  vour  wita'  end  }-  or  ont  of 
Love,  wjtii  wit  r  no  trick  of  wit  to  tuipriie 
Those  designs^  but  with  open  hoe.  ana  erg 


Acts.] 


Wrr  AT  iEVEltAl  W£APONft. 


31S 


For  «Iltlieworid  to  talkon?  ThiB  h  sttntige! 
Yoa  were  not  wont  to  slubber  a  project  jm>. 

Oide.  Can  yoa  help  at  a  pinch  now? 

shew  Yourself 
M  J  son  }  Gn  to !  I  leave  this  to  yoor  jri^ 
Because  TH  make  a  pcoof  on't. 

WUiv.  Tis  thus  then; 
I  have  had  (ate  inteiltgencey  the^re  now 
Buxsum  as  Bacclius'froes,  revelling,  daBcio& 
Telling  the  music's  numbers  with  their  feet. 
Awaiting  the  meeting  of  premonish'd  friends. 
That  18  c]|aestionless,  little  dreadine  yoa : 
Now,    sir,  with  a  dextrous  tiic)L  indeed, 

sodden 
And  sufficient,  were  well,  to  eo^r  on  *em 
As  somethiuic  like  the  abstract  of  a  masque; 
What  tho*  few  persons  f  if  best  for  our  pur* 
That  commends  the  project.  [pose, 

Oldc^  This  takes  up  tmae. 

y^iity.  Not  at  all;  I  can  presently  furnish 
With  loose  disguises  that  shall  fit  tlint  scene. 

OUk.  Why,  what  wants  then  ? 

Witty,  Nothing  but  charge  of  music ; 
That  must  be  paid,  yoa  know,      [the  music^ 

Oir/c.  That  shall  be  my  charge ;  I  will  pay 
Whate'er  it  cost. 

Witty.  And  that  shall  be  all  your  charge. 

Now  on!  I  like  it;  there'll  be  wit  in't,  father. 

[Exeunt  Oldc.  and  Witty. 

Cunn,  I  will  neither  distrust  liis  wit  nor 

friendship; 
Yetif  hismaster-braiu  should  be  overthrown. 
My  resolution  now  shall  seize  mine  own. 

[Exit, 

Enter  Niece^  Lady  Ruinouip  Guurdianesf^ 
Sir  Ruimntif  and  Fritcian  (with  inttru" 
mentsjf  matqued, 

Z.  Ruin,  Nay,  let*s  have  music;  let  thatt 

sweet  breath  at  legist 
Give  OS  lier  airy  welcome!  'twill  be  the  l^est 
I  fear  this  ruin'd  receptacle  will  yield ; 
Bot  that  most  freely. 

Niece,  My  welcome  follows  me, 
Else  I  am  ill  come  hither:  you  assure  me 
Still  Mr.  Cunningham  will  be  here,  and  that 

it  was 
His  kind  entreaty  tliat  wished  me  meet  him? 

Im  Ruin,  Else  let  me  he  that  shame  unto 
That  all  belief  may  fly  'era.  [my  sex. 

Niece.  Continue 
Still  the  knight's  name  onto  my  Gqardianess; 
She  expects  no  other. 

L.  Auin.  He  will,  he  will;  assure  yoa, 
lad^,  sir  Gregory  will  be  here,  sodd  suddenly ; 
This  music  fore>ran  him:  is*t  not  so,  consorts? 

Ruin,  Yes,  lady;, 
Ue  stays  on  some  device  to  bring  along 
Such  a  labour  as  he  was  bosy  in,  some  witty 

device.  [for  wit  is 

Niece.  Twill  be  lotog  ere  lie  comes  then, 
A  nest  labovr  to  liim.  [one  day. 

Guard.  Weil,  weil,  yon  will  agree  better 

Niece.  Scarce  two,  I  think.        [as  led  me 

Guard,  ddGh*mock*begg«r8tlitof  cloaths 


IntP  the  fbofs  pair  o'dioe^  wiUi  dtace  aee. 
He  that  wQuld  iBske  me  mistress  Cun,  Cony 

Connie, 
He^s  qoit#  out  of  ray  mind,  bot  I  i^mXi  n^er 
Fofget  him  while  I  have  a  hple  in  my  head : 
Soch  a  pne  I  think  would  pkase  you  betMff| 
TTiM*  be  did  abuse  you. 

Ruin.  Fy !  speftk  well  of  htm  now^ 
Yoor  niece  has  quitted  him. 

Guard.  I  hope  she  hai^  [^i^^S^Jf 

Else  she  loses  nie  for  ever.  But,  for  sv 
'Would  he  were  come;  I  shall  ill  answer  this 
Uoto  your  uncie  else. 

Niece.  Tou  know  it  is  bis  pl^asuri 
I  should  KiMp  him  company. 

Guard.  Ay,  and  shoiild  be  your  own. 
If  yoo  did  well  too,    Xxird,  I  io  wonder. 
At  the  niceness  of  ypur  ladies  ^ow-a-days,  ^ 
They  must  have  husbands  with  so  much  wit 

forsooth— 
Worshi(^  and  wealth  were  both  wont  to  be 
In  het^r  request,  I'm  sure :  I  caoiiot  tell, 
But  they  ^t  j(ie*er,the  wiser  children  that  I  see* 

L.  Rum.  La,  la,  la,  sol !  thi»  music  brmthet 

in  vain, 
Methinks  'tis  dull  to  let  it  move  alone ; 
Let's  have  a  female  motion;  'tis  in  private. 
And  we'll  grace  it  QorselyeB,  however  it 

deserves. 

Niecis.  What  sfiy  you,  Guardianess  ? 

GMard.  Alas,  I  am  [done. 

Weary  with  the  walk,  OQiy  jaunting  days  art 

I,.  Ruin,  Come,  con^,  w,eV  fetch  her  in 

by  course,  or  else 
Hhfi  shall  jpay  the  music. 

Guard,  Nay,  I'll  have  a  little  for  my  monet 

^eii^         [They  dance,  a  comet  it  winded. 

fa^  Ruin.  Hark!  upon  my  life,  the  knight! 

it  is  yoor  friend ; 
TIms  was  the  warning-nieqe  o  f  his  approach. 

Eut^  Oldcraft,  Wittypate^  and  Ciinningkamf 
maaqued,  and  take  tkpn  to  dance* 

Hal  no  words  but  mum ! 

Well;  then  we  shall  need  no  counselrkeepinf. 

Nfece.  Cunningham  f 

Cunn.  Yes ;  fear  nothing. 

Jfiece.  Fear  ?  why  do  you  tell  me  of  it  f 

Cunn.  Yoor  ondes  hece. 

Niece.  Ah  me! 

Cu?in.  Peace! 

Oldc.  We  have  caught 'em. 

Witty.  Thapk  my  wi^  father. 

Guard.  Which  is  the  knight,  thmk  vou  f 

Niece.  I  know  not;  he  will  be  fomici  when 

he  speaks ; 
No  mittque  dta  disgniae  lus  tongue. 

Witty.  Are  yoo  chaif^d  ? 

Oldc.  Are  yon  awak^? 

Witty.  I*m  answer'd  in  a  qoestion. 

Cunn.  Ne^t  change  we  meet,  we  loose 

our  hands  no  more. 

Niece.  Are  yoo  prepar'd  to  tie  *em? 

Cunn.  Yes.    Yoo  must 
Go  with  me. 

S  i  8  Guard. 


316 


WIT  AT  SEVERAI,  WEAPONS. 


[Apt5- 


duard.' 


.  Wbithsryur?  Not  from  my  chaise, 
Believe  roe. 

Cunn.  She  gpes  along. 

Niece,  \\  ill  you  ventur^^  aofi  my  uncle  here  ? 

Cunn.  His  stay's 
PreparM  for. 

Guard,  Tis  the  knight  sure;  I  will  follovir. 

{ Exeunt  Cunn.  Niece,  and  Guard, 
ow  now  ?  the  music  tir'd  before  us  f 

Jiuin.  Ves,  sir ; 
We  must  he  paid  now. 

V^itty,  Oh,  that's  my  charge,  father* 

Oldc,  But  stay!  where  are  our  wanton 
Son,  where  are  tiiey  ?  [ladies  gone  ? 

Wittj^.  Only  chang'd  the  room  in  a  changp ; 

that's  all,  sure.  [return  to  yon. 

Oidc,  rii  make  'em  all  sure  else,  and  then 

Rvin.  Yo|i  must  pay  for  your  music  lirst, 

Oidc,  Muftr  [sir. 

Arc  there  musty  fidlcrs?  are  beggars  chusers 

now  ? 
Ha !  Why,  Wittvpate !  son !  where  am  I  ? 

M'itty,  You  were 
p.'incing  e'en  now,  in  good  measure,  sir:  is 
Your  health  misbtrried  since  ?  what  ail  you, 

sir?  [Where's  my  niece  ? 

Oldc  Death,  I  may  be  guU'd  to  my  lace ! 
Wlijit  are  you  ? 

L.  Ruin.  None  of  your  niece,  sir. 

Oidc.  How  now  ? 
Ha\  e  you  loud  instruments  too  ?  I  will  hear 
K  o  more,  1  thank  you.    What  have  I  done  t  ro 
To  bring  these  fears  about  me?. Son,  where 

am  I  ?  [should  be 

}Vitty.  Not  where  you  should  be,  sir;  you 
Faying  for  your  music,  and  you're  in  a  maze. 

Oidc.  Oh,  is  it  so  ?  Put  up,  put  up,  I  pray 
Here's  a  crown  fr)r  you.  [you ; 

L,  Ruin.  Pish,  a  crown  ? 

Ruin.  Pris,  11a,  ha,  ha!  a  crown? 

Oldc.  Which  way  do  you  laugh **♦?  I  have 

seen  a  crown 
Has  made  a  consort  laugh  heartily. 

Wittj^.  Father, 
To  tell  you  troth,  tliese  are  no  ordinary 
IS)  lisicians ;  they  expect  a  bounty  above 
Their  punctual  desert.  [serts  too ! 

Oid^:,  A  pox  on  your  punks  and  their  dc- 
Am  1  not  cheated,  all  this  whil^  think  you  ? 
Is  not  your  pate  in  this  ? 

Witti/,  If  you  be  cheated, 
You're  not  to  be  indicted  for  your  own  goods; 
Here  y(»u  trifle  time,  to  market  your  bounty, 
And  make  it  base,  when  it  must  needs  be  free, 
For  nught  I  can  perceive. 

Oldc  Will  you  know  the  lowest  price,  sir? 

WiHif.  Hiat  I  will,  sir,  with  ail  my  heart. 

Oidc.  Unlesfi 
I  was  discover'd,  and  they  now  fled  home 
A8:nin  for  fear,  I'm  aljsohitely  beguil'd; 
'J  hut's  the  best  can  be  hop'tl  for. 

Witty.  Faith,  'tis  somewhat  too  dear  yet, 

gentlemen. 


Ruin.  There's  not  a  denier  to  bc\}atie<i»  air, 

0140,  Now,  sir,  how  dear  is  it  f 
Witty*  Bate  but  tlie  other  ten  pound. 
Frii,  Not  a  bawbee,  sir. 
Oldc,  How !  bate  ten  pound  ?  Wha>  is  the 
whole  sum  tbeijr?  [much  ado, 

Witty.  Faith,  sir,  a  hundred  pound ;  with 

I  got  fitly  bated ;  and,  faith,  father, 

To  say  tiuth,  it  is  reasonable  for 

Men  of  their  fashion.  [la,  la,  la! 

pi4c.  La,  la,  la,  down !  a  hundred  pound  ? 

You  a^e  a  consort  of  thie\'es,  are  you  not? 
Witty*  No;  nnisicians,  sir;   I   told   you 
Oldc.  Fiddle  fa^ldic!  [before. 

Is't  not  a  robb'ryf  a  plain  robb'ry? 
Witty.  No, 

No,  no,  by  no  means,  father;  you've  receiv'd 

For  your  money,  nay,  and  that  you  can't 
eive  back :      "  [help  it? 

Tis  somewhat  dear,  I  confess;  but  who  can 

If  they  bad  been  agreed  witH  beforehand — 

'Twas  ill  fortfotten.  [this  ?  I  see 

Oidc,  And  how  many  shares  have  you  in 

My  force !  case  up  your  instruments.  I  yield; 
here! 

As  robb'd  and  taken  from  me,  I  deliver  it. 
Witty.  No,  sir,  you  have  performed  your 
pmm'ise  now,  [is  all. 

Which  was,  to  pay  the  charge  of  music,  that 
Oidc,  I've  heard  no  music,  I've  receiv'd 
none,  sir. 

There  none  to  be  found  in  me,  nor  about  rae. 
Witty.  Why,  sir,  here's  ^        [that 

Witness  'gainst  you,  you  have  danc'd,  and  be 

Dtmces  acknowledges  a  receipt  of  music. 
Oidc.  I  deny  that,  sir:  look  you!  I  can 
dance  without  I[oot  it  too. 

Music  ;  d'you  see,  sir?  And  I  can  sing  wiib- 

You  are  a  consort  of  thieves !  Do  yoa  bear 
what  I  do  ?  [move 

Witty.  Pray  take  you  heed,  sir,  if  you  do 

The  music  again,  it  may  cost  you  as  much 
more !  [need  not 

Oldc,  Hold,  hold!  111  depart  quicdy.   I 

Bid  you  forewell,  I  think  now,  so  long 

As  that  hundred  pound  lasts  with  you. 

Enter  Cuardianess, 

Ha,  ha!  am  I  snapt  i'Biith? 

Guard,  Oh,  sir  Perfidious — 

Oldc.  Ay,  ay ;  some  howling  another  while! 
Music's  too  damnable  dear. 

Guard.  Oh,  sir!    ■ 
My  heart-strings  are  broke !  If  I  can  but  live 
To  tell  you  the  tale,  I  care  not !  Your  niece, 

my  charge,  is — 

Oldc.  What?  is  she  sick? 

Guard.  No,  no,  sir. 
She's  lustily  well  married. 

Oldc,  To  whom  ?  [Cunningbam. 

Guard.  Oh,  to  that  cunning  dissembler 

Oldc.  I'll  hang  the  priest  first!  Whatwai 


^  Which  way  do  you  laugh?]  t.  c.  Whether  in  jest  or  earnest.        Sympton, 


Guard, 


Actl^} 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAFON& 


«7 


Guard,  Yxmx  Viiwman^  siff  that  bw  the 

Welsh  benefice. 

Oldc.  I  aaVd  him  from  tbeg^lows  to  that 
Is  there  any  more ?  [end?  Gopdl 

Guard.  And  sir  Gregory 
Is  married  too. 

Oldc.  To  my  niece  too,  I  liopc^ 
And  tlien  I  may  hang  her. 

Guard.  No,  sir;  to  my  niece,  thank  Cupid ! 
And  that's  all  that's  likejy  to  recover  me ; 
She's  lady  Fop  now,  and  I  am  one  of  her  aunts^ 
I  thank  my  promotion. 

Enter  Credulous,  Cunningham^  NieUf  Gre^ 
gory,  and  Mirabel, 

Cred.  I  have  performed 
Yoor  behi^st,  sir. 

Oldc,  What  Iiave  yon  perform*d,  sir  ? 

If  if/^.  Faitl),  sir,  I  must  excuse  my  cousin 

in  this  act. 
If  you  can  eicuse  yourself  for  making  him 
A  priest ;  there's  the  most  difficult  answer. 
I  put  this  practice  on  him,  as  from  your  de- 
A  truth,  a  truth,  father.  [sire : 

Cred.  I  pn>test,  sir,  he  tells  you  truth ; 
He  mov'd  me  to*t  in  your  name, 

Oldc.  I  protest,  sir. 
He  told  you  a  he  in  my  name !  and  were  you 
So  easy,  Mr.  Credulous,  to  believe  him  ? 

Cred.  If  a  man   should  not  believe  his 
W^hom  should  he  believe?  [cousin,  sir, 

Oldc.  Good  e'en  to  you,  [fair  bride, 

Good  Mr-  cousin  Cunningham !  and  your 
IVly  cousin  Cunningham  too!  And  how  do 
Sir  Gregory,  with  your  lair  lady  i  [yo"» 

Greg.  A  little  better  [sir ! 

Than  yon  would  have  had  me,  I  thank  you, 
The  days  (>f  puppy  and  stave^  and  rascal,  are 
Pretty  well  blown  over  now ;  I  know  crabs 

from  verjuice,  [niece  for  nothing, 

I  have  tried  both :  an  thou'dst  give  me  thy 
I'd  nr)t  have  her. 

Cunn.  I  think  so,  sir  Gregory; 
For  my  sake  you  would  not. 

Greg.  I  would  thou  hadst 'scap'd  her  too ! 
And  tlien  she  had  died  of  the  green-sickness. 

Know  this, 
That  I  did  marry  in  spite,  and  I 
Will  kiss  my  lady  in  spite,  and  love  her  in 

spite, 
And  beget  children  of  her  in  spite,      [spite ! 
And  when  I  die,  they,shall  have  m)^  lands  in 
This  was  my  re&olution,  and  now  'tis  out. 

Niece.   How  spiteful-  are    you   now,  sir 

Gregory !—  [husband, 

Why,  look  you,  I  can  love  my  dearest 
With  all  the  honours,  duties,  sweet  embrace, 
Tliat  can  be  thro^-n  upon  a  loving  man. 

Greg.  Pox,  this  is  afore  your  uncle's  face; 

but  behind  his  back, 
Li  private,  you'll  shew  him  another  tale! 

Cunn.  You  see,  sir,  now,  the  irrecoverable 

state 
Of  all  these  tfaingB  before  you.   Come  out  of 

your  muae! 


They  have  been  but  wit»weapon8;  yon  were 
To  love  the  play.  [wont 

,  Enter  Pompey. 

Oldc.  Let  me  alone  in  my  muse,  a  little,  sir! 
I  will  wake  to  you  anon. 

Cunn.  Udso,  your  friend  Pompey ! 
How  will  you  answer  him  ? 

Niece.  Very  well; 
If  you'll  but  second  it,  and  help  me. 

Pompey.  I  do  hear 
Strange  stories:  are  ladies  things  obnoxious? 

Niece.  Oh,  the  dissembling  falsest  wretch 

Cfinn.  How  now,  lady  ?  [is  come ! 

Niece.  Let  me  come  to  liim ! 
And,  instead  oflove^  let  me  have  revenge! 

Witly.  Pray  you  now. 
Will  you  first  examine,  wliether  he  be 
Guilty  or  no. 

Niece,  He  cannot  be  excus'd ! — 
How  many  messengers,  thou  perjur'd  man, 
Hast  thou  returned  with  vows  and  oaths,  that 

tliou  would'st 
Follow,  and  ne'er  ^till  tlus  unhappy  hour 
Could  I  set  eye  of  thee,  since  thy  false  eye 
Drew  my  heart  to't?  Ob,  I  could  tear  thee 

now,  [leave- 

Instead  of  soft  embraces!  Pray  give  me 
•  Witty.  Faith,  this  was  ill  done (ff you,  sir,  if 
You  promis'd  otherwise. 

Pompey.  By  this  Hiand, 
•Never  any  messenger  came  at  me,  since 
The  first  time  I  came  into  her  company! 
That  a  mnn  should  be  wronged  thusi 

Niece.  Jlid  not  \ 

I  send  tliee  scarfs  and  diamonds  ?  ana  thou 
Return'dst  me  letters,  one  with  a  false  heart 

in't.  [falshoods, 

Witty.  Oh,  fv !  to  receive  favours,  return 
And  hold  a  lady  in  hand — 

Pompey.  Will  you«  believe  mc,  sir? 
If  ever  1  received  diamonds,  or  scarf. 
Or  sent  any  letter  to  her,  'would  tliis  sword 
Miijht  ne'er  go  ihro*  mc  I 

iVitty.  Some  bad  messengers 
Have  gone  between  you  then. 

Niece.  Take  him 
From  my  sight!  if  I  shall  see  tomorrow — 

Witty.  Pniy  you  forbear  the  place !  this 

discontent 
May  impair  her  health  much. 

Pompey.  'Sioot,  if  a  man  had  been  in  any 

I      fault,  [lieve — 

Twould  ne'er  a  griev'd  him :  sir,  if  you'll  be- 

Wittyi  Nay,  nay,  ])rotest  no  more;  I  do 

believe  you : 
But  you  see  how  the  lady  is  wrong'd  by't;    - 
She  has  cast  away  herself,  'tis  to  be  fear'd. 
Against  her  uncle's  will,  nay,  and  consent 
But  outof  a  mere  neglect,  and  spite  to  herself, 
Married  suddenly  without  any  advice. 

Pompey.  Why,  who  can  help  it?  if  she  be 

cast  away. 
She  may  thank  herself:  she  might  have  gone 
Further  and  far'd  worse.  I  could  do  no  more 

.  Than 


Than  I  coM  do:  Hmn  faer  own  pleMure 
To  command  nie,  that  I  should  not  como 
^J  ill  I  WAS  sent  ibr;  I  had  been  with  her 
"Every  minute  of  an  hour  else. 

Witty.  Truly,  1  believe  you. 

Vompey.  Night  and  day 
She  n)ight  have  commanded  me,  and  that  she 

knew  well  enough; 
I  said  as  much  to  her  between  her  and  I ; 
Yet  I  protest,  »he  is  as  honest  a  lady 
For  njy  part,  that  Td  say,  if  she  would  sec  me 

hangVi. 
If  she  lie  cast  away,  I  cannot  help  it;  [man. 
She  might  have  stay'd  to  have  spoke  with  a 

Wut^.  Well, 
Twas  a  hard  miss  on  both  parts. 

Fivnpey.  So  it  was; 
I  was  within  one  of  her,  for  all  this  cross  luck; 
I  was  sure  I  was  between  the  knight  and  home. 

A/eter.  Not  gone  vet?  Oh, my  heart!  none 

regard  my  health? 

Witty,  Good  sir,  forbear  her  sight  awhile! 
You  hear  how  ill  she  brdoks  it. 

Fompei/.  Foolish  woman, 
To  overtlirow  her  fortunes  so !  I  shall  think 
The  woi-se  of  a  lad/s  wit  while  I  live  for't. 
I  could  almost  cry  for  anger!  if  she  should 
Miscarry  now,  *twould  touch  my  conscience 

a  little;  /  .   [dor 

And  who  knows  what  love  and  conceit  may 
What  would  people  say,  as  I  §o  along? 
*  There  goes  he  that  the  lady  died  for  love  on:' 
I  am  sure  to  hear  on't  i'th*  streets;  I  shall 

weep 
Beforehand.    Foolish  woman!  I  do  erieve 
More  for  thee  now,  than  I  did  love  thee  be- 
fore, [thy  husband's  head. 
Well,  go  thy  ways !  Now  wouldst  thou  spare 
And  break  thine  own  heart,  if  thoubadst  any 
I  would  some  other  had  been  [wit. 
The  cause  of  thy  undoing ;  I  shall  be 
Twitted  iW  teeth  with  it,  I'm  sure  of  that: 
Foolish  lady!                                       C^"*. 

Niece.  So,  so,  this  trouble's  well  shook  off. , 
Uncle,  how  do  you?  There's  a  dowry  due,  sir. 

Cunn.  We  have  agreed  it,  sweetest,  and 

find  your  uncle 
Fully  recovered,  kind  to  both  of  us. 

mtty.  To  all  the  rest,  I  hope. 

OUc.  Never  to  thee,  nor  thee,  easjeonstq 

Credulous: 
Was  your  wit  so  raw? 

Cred.  Faith,  yours  sir,  so  long  season'd, 
Has  been  faulty  too,  and^very  much  to  blame. 
Speaking  it  with  reverence,  uncle. 

Greg.  Yes,  failh,  sir, 
You  have  paid  a»  dear  for  your  time,  as  any 

man  here.  [ImprimMf 

Witty.  Ay,  sir,  and  I'll  reckon  it  to  him. 
The  first  prefece-cheat  of  a  pair  of  pieces 
To  the  beggars ;  you  remember  that; 
I  was  the  example  to  your  bounty  there, 
I  spake  Greek  and  Syriack,  sir;  you  undep- 

stand  roe  now.  [cousin ; 

Kext  the  robbery  pat,  npon  yoor  indafgent 


WTT  AT  SBVXAAL  WEAM^ 


[Act  X 


Which  indeed  was  no  mbtery,  no  constaUe 
No  justice,  no  thief,  but  all  cheaters; 
There  was  a  bondred  max^,  mark  you  that. 

Lastly,  [mnsiC 

This  memorable  hundred  pounds'  worth  of 
Tliis  was  both  cheats  and  wit  too.    And  for 
The  assistance  of  this  gentleman  to  my  cooan 
(For  which  I  am  to  h^ve  a  fee)  that  was 
A  little  practice  of  Hiy  wit  too,  fi&ther.  Will 

you 
Come  to  composition  yet,  father? 

Cunn.  Yes,  faith,  sir,  do ! 
Two  hundred  aryear  will  be  easier   j[barreqp 
Than  so  much  weekly  r  I  do  not  think  he's 
If  he  should  be  put  to't  again. 

Oldc.  Why,  [bav't; 

This  was  tlie  day  I  look'd  for !  Thou  shall 
And  the  next  cheat  makes  it  up  three  hun- 
dred. 
Live  thou  upon  thy  ten-pound  vicarage ; 
ThoD  get'st  not  a  penny  more :  here's  thy  full 
Hire  now. 

Cred,  I  thank  you,  sir. 

Witty.  Why,  there  was  the  sum  of  all  my 

wit,  father,  [fear*a 

To  shove  him  out  of  your  favour,  which  I 
Would  have  disinherited  me. 

Oldc.  Most  certain  it  had,  [here 

Had  not  thy  wit  recovered  it.    Is  there  any 
That  had  a  hand  with  thee? 

Witty.  Yes,  all  these,  sir. 

Oidc,    Nephew,  pait  a   hundred   poond 

amongst  *ein ; 
ni  repa/t.    Wealth  love  me  as  I  love  wit; 

when  I  die, 
m  build  an  aims-house  for  decayed  wits! 

Greg.   I'll  entertain  one  in  my  lifetime  i 

scholar. 
You  shall  be  my  chaplain ;  I  have  the  gift 
Of  twenty  benefices,  simple  as  I  am  here. 

Fris.  Thanks,  my  great  patron ! 

Cuna.  Sir,  your  gentry  and 
Your  name  shall  both  be  rais'd  as  high 
As  my  fortunescan  reach  *em,  for  yourfrieod's 

sake. 

Witty.  Something  will 
Be  in  my  present  power,  the  future  more; 
You  shall  share  with  roe.  [tlemen. 

Ruin,  and  X.  Ruin,  Thanks,  worthv  gen- 

Niece.  Sir,  I  would  beg  one  thing  ofyou, 

Greg,  You  can 
Beg  nothing  of  me. 

Witty.  Oh,  sir!  if  she  begs, 
There's  your  power  over  her. 

Gre^.  She  has  begg'd  roe 
For  a  fool  already,  but  'tis  no  matter* 
I  have  begg'd  her  for  a  lady,  that  she  might 

have  been ; 
That's  one  for  another. 

Witty.  Nay,  but  if  she  beg — 

Greg.  Let  her  beg  again  then. 

Niece.  That  your  man  Pompey's  coat 
May  come  over  his  ears  back  ag^n;    I 

would  not 
He  should  be  lost  for  my  sake. 

Greg. 


Acts.] 


Wrr  AT  SEVERAL  WEAPONS. 


319 


Greg,  Well;  tis  granted. 
For  mine  own  sake. 

Mir.  I'li  entreat  it,  sir. 

Greg,  Why  tben/tis  granted  for  your  sake. 

Olde,  Come,  come, 
Down  with  all  weapons  now !  'tis  music  time, 


So  it  be  purchased  at  an  easy  rate : 

Some  have  receiVd  the  knocks,  some  gir'n 

tlie  hits, 
And  all  condndet  in  love;   there's  luippy 

wits !  [Eseunt. 


EPILOGUE, 

AT  THE  REV[VING  OF  THIS  PLAY. 


We  nec^  not  tell  you,  gallants,  that  this  night 
The  wits  have  jump'd,^or  that  the  scenes  hit 

right. 
HTwould  he  but  labour  lost  for  to  excuse 
What  Fletcher  had  to  do  in :  his  brisk  muse 
Was  so  mercurial,  that  if  be  but  writ 
An  act  or  two,  the  whole  play  rose  up  wit. 


We*ll  not  appeal  unto  those  gentlemen 
Judee  by  tlieir  doaths,  if  tbey  sit  right,  nor 

when — 
The  ladies  smile,  and  with  their  fans  delight 
To  wliisk  a  clinch  aside,  then  aJigocs  right: 
Twas  well  received  before,  and  we  dare  say. 
You  now  are  welcome  to  no  vulgar  play. 


THE 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INK 


A  TRAGICOMEDY. 


The  Commendatory  Verses  of  Gardiner  ascribe  this  Play  to  Fletcher  alone.  It  was  first 
pnbLished  in  the  folio  of  1647;  and  has  not  been  acted  many  years^  nor,  we  believe^  erer 
altered. 


PROLOGUE. 


Plats  have  their  fates,  not  as  in  their  true 

sense 
They're  nnderstood,  but  as  the  influence 
Of  idle  custom  madly  works  upon 
The  dross  of  many-tongu'd  opinion. 
A  worthv/^tory,  howsoever  writ. 
For  lanj^age,  modest  mirth,  conceit  or  wit. 
Meets  oftentimes  with  the  sweet  commenda- 
tion [tion 
Of  *  hang*t!  'tis  scurvy!'  when  for  approba- 
A  jig  shall  be  clapt  at,  and  every  rhime 
Frait'd  and  applauded  by  a  clamorous  chime. 


Let  ignorance  and  laughter  dwell  together! 
They  are  beneath  the  muses*  pity :  hither 
Com6  nobler  judgments,  and  to  those  th« 

strain 
Of  our  invention  is  not  bent  in  vain  : 
The  Fair  Maid  of  the  Inn  to  you  commends 
Her  hopes  and  welcomes;  and  withal  in- 
tends 
in  th'  entertains  to  which  she  doth  invite  ye. 
All  things  to  please,  and  some  things  to 
delight  ye. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Mek. 


DuK£  cf  Fiorence. 

Albertus,  Admiral  of  Florence. 

Haftista,  a  brave  S$a  dmrnandeTf  mmcient 

Friend  to  Alberts. 
Cesabio,  a  young  Gentleman  of  a  fiery 

nature^  Son  to  Albertu$. 
Mektj  VOLE,  Son  toBaptistOy  Lover  cfClarma* 
pROspERo,  a  noble  Friend  to  Baptuta, 
Host,  the  supposed  Father  (^  Biancka* 
FoROBusco,  a  cheating  Mountebank. 
Clowk,  the  Mountebank*$  Man,  and  Setter. 
Dakceb,        X 
Taylor,         J 

MntETTEBS,  fSi*  Fools  and  Knaves^  who 
Pedant,        f    pretend  love  to  Biancha, 
Clerk,  I 

CoxQOMi^     J 


Secretary  to  the  Duke. 

Two  Magistrates  of  Florence, 

Physician. 

Surgeon. 

Three  Gentlemen* 

Sailors. 

Women. 

Mariana,  Wife  to  Albertus,  a  virtuous  Tjody, 
Clarissa,  Mariana's  Daughter^  in  love  icilh 

Mentivole. 
Juliana,  Niece  to  the  Duke  ofGenon^  Bup» 

tista  a  second  Wife. 
fiiAM(  HA,  the  Vuir  Maid  of  the  Inn,  beloved 

of  Cesar lOy  and  Daughter  to  Baptista  ond 

Jutiana. 
UosT£5s(,  the  supposed  Mother, qf  B:ancha, 


SCENE,  Florence, 


▼olhl 


Tt 


ACT 


5*9 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


[Actl. 


ACT    I. 


Enter  Cesario  and  Clarissa, 

Cewrio.  INTERPRET  not,  Clarissa,    my 

-*■     true  zeal 
111  giving    you  coiinsel,  to  transcend  the 

bounds  [nour, 

That  should  confine  a  brother!  'tis  your  ho- 
And  peace  of  mind  (which,  honour  lost ', 

will  leave<  you) 
I  labour  to  prdfeerve :  and  tho*  you  yet  are 
Pure  and  untainted,  and  resolve  to  be  so, 
Having  a  father's  eye,  and  mother's  care, 
In  all  your  ways  to  keep  you  fair  and  up- 
right, 
In  which  respects  my  best  advices  must 
Appear  superfluous;  yet  since  lo\e,  dear 

sister. 
Will  sometimes  tender  things  unnecessary, 
Misconstrue  not  my  purpose ! 

Clar.  Sir,  I  dare  not ; 
Butstill  receive  it  as  a  large  addition 
To  tl:e  much  that  I  already  stand  engng'd  for. 
Yvit,  pardon  me  tho'  I  profess,  upon 
A  true  examination  of  myself. 
Even  to  my  private  thoughts,  I  cannot  find 
(Having  such  strong  supporters  to  uphold  me) 
On  what  slight  ground  the  least  doubt  can 

be  rais'd, 
To  render  me  suspected  I  can  fall 
Or  from  my  fame  or  virtue. 

Ces.  Far  be*t  from  me,  ' 

To  nourish  such  a  thought !  and  yet  excuse  me, 
As  you  would  do  a  lapidary,  whose  whole 

fortunes 
Depend  upon  the  safety  of  one  jewel : 
If  he  think  no  case  precious  enough 
To  keep  it  in  full  lustre,  nor  no  locks, 
Tho'  lending  strength  to  iron  doors,  sulficient 
To  guard  it,  and  secure  him !  You  to  me  arc 
A  gem  of  more  esteem,  and  prized  higher, 
Than  usurers  do  their  muck,  or  great  men 

title;  ,      ^ 

And  any  flaw  (which  Heav'n  avert!)  m  you, 
(Wiiose  reputation,  like  a  diamond 
Cnt  newly  from  tl»e  rock,  women  with  envy. 
And  men  with  covetous  desires,  look  up  at) 
By  prying  eyes  discovered,  in  a  moment 
Would  render  what  the  braveries  of  Florence, 
For  want  of  counterpoise,  forbear  to.cheapen, 
Of  little  or  no  value. 

Clar,  I  see,  brother, 
The  mark  you  shoot  at,  and  much  thank  your 

lyve:  .     . 

But  fur  my  virgin  jewel,  which  is  brought 
In  comparison  with  your  diamond,  rest  assur'd 
It  shall  not  fall  in  such  a  workman's  hands, 
Whose  ignorance  or  malice  shall  liave  power 


To  cast  one  cloud  upon  it,  but  still  keep 
Her  native  splendor. 

Ces.  Tis  well;  1  commend  you; 
And  study  your  advancement  with  that  care 
As  I  would  do  a  sister's,  whom  I  love 
With  more  than  common  ardor ^« 

Clar,  That  from  me 
I  hope's  return'd  to  you. 

Ces,  I  do  confess  it. 
Yet  let  me  tell  you,  (but  still  with  that  love 
I  wish  t'eacrease  between  us)  that  you  are 
Observ'd,  against  the  gravity  long  maintained 
In  Italy  (where  to  see  a  maid  unmask'd 
Is  held  a  blemish),  to  be  over-freqoent 
In  giving  or  receiving  visits. 

Liar,  How?  [picture, 

Ces,  W  Lereas  the  custom's  here  to  wooe  by 
And  never  see  the  substance.  You  are  fair, 
And   beauty  dniws    temptations    on,    yoa 

know  it: 
I  would  not  live  to  see  a  willing  grant 
From  you,  to  one  unworthy  of  your  birth. 
Feature  or  fortune ;  yet  there  liave  been  iadiet 
( )f  rank,  proportion,  and  of  means  beyond 

you. 
That  have  prov'd  this  no  miracle. 

Clar,  One  unworthy? 
Wh^,  pray  you,  gentle  brfJther,  who  are  they 
That  1  vouchsafe  these  bounties  to?  i  hope, 
In  your  strict  criticism  of  me,  and  my  maunen, 
TlAt  you  will  not  deny  they  are  your  equals. 

Ces.  Angry?  [me, 

Clar.  I've  reason  !  But,  in  cold  blood,  toil 
Had  we  not  one  father  ? 

Ces.  Yes,  and  mother  too. 

Clar.  And  he  a  soldier? 

Ces,  True. 

Clar.  If  I  then  borrow 
A  little  of  the  boldness  of  his  temper. 
Imparting  it  to  such  as  may  deserve  it, 
(Howe'er  indulgent  to  yourselves,  you  brutheri 
Allow  no  part  of  freedom  to  your  sisters; 
I  hope  'twill  not  piys  for  a  crime  in  me, 
To  grant  access  and  speech  to  noble  suitors, 
And  you  escape  for  innocent,  that  descend 
To  a  thing  so  iur  beneath  you?  Are  yo" 

touch'd  ? 
Why,  did  you  think  that  you  had  Gig^s'  ring! 
Or  th'  her?)  tliat  gives  invisibility  ? 
Or  that   Biancha'b  name   had    ne'er   bees 

mentioned  ? 
The  Fair  Maid  of  the  graml  Osteria,  brother? 

Ces,  No  morel 

Clar.  A  little,  brother.  Your  night-walks, 
And  oiFer'd   presents,   which  coy  she  coi>* 

temu'd ; 
Your  combats  in  disguises  with  your  rivali^ 


'   Which  honour  last  will  leave  you.]  Amended  by  Seward. 
*  Convnon  order.]  Corrected  in  llOO^r 


Ucayft 


Act  1.] 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


3t33 


Brave  muletteers,  scullions  perfuiii'd  with 

grease,  [mcmberVI : 

And  such  as  cry  Tneat  for  cats^,  must  be  re- 
And  all  this  pother  for  a  common  trull ! 
A  tempting  sign,  and  curiously  set  forth, 
To  draw  in  riotous  guests!  a  thing  exposed 
To  every  niflian*s  rude  assault !  and  subject, 
For  a  poor  salary,  to  a  rich  man*s  lust, 
Tbo'  made  up  of  diseases ! 

Ces,  Will  you  end  yet? 

Clar.  And  this  a  mistress  for  Aibertus*  son? 
One  that  I  should  call  sister? 

'Ces.  Part  not  with 
Your  modesty  in  this  violcnthcat !  The  troth  is, 
(For  you  shall  be  my  confessor)  1  love  her; 
But  virtuously :  report,  that  gives  lier  out 
Only  for  fair,  and  adds  not  she  is  chaste, 
Detracts  much  from  her;  for  indeed  she  is, 
Tho'  of  a  low  condition,  composed 
Of  all  the  graces  dames  of  highest  birtli, 
Tho'  rich  in   nature's  bounties,  should   be 

proud  of. 
But  leave  her !  and  to  you,  my  nearest  care, 
My  dearest,  best  Chriaiu  !  Do  not  think 
(For  then  you  wrong  me)  I  wish  you  should 

live 
A  barren  virgin  life !  I  rather  aim  at 
A  noble  husbtnd,  that  may  make  you  mother 
Of  many  children;  one  that,  when  I  know 

him 
Worth  your  embraces,  I  may  serve  and  sue  to : 
And  therefore  scorn  not  to  acquaint  me  with 
That  man,  that  happy  man,  you  please  to  fa- 
vour ! 

Ciar.  I  ever  pnrpos'd  it ;  for  I  will  like 
W^th  your  allowance. 

Ces.  Asa  pawn  of  this, 
Receive  this  ring;  bn(,  ere  you  part  with  it 
On  any  terms,  be  certain  or  your  choice. 
And  make  it  known  to  me ! 

Enter  A'herto,   Baptista,  Mariana,  Menti- 
vtfle,  and  Servants  zcith  lights. 

Clar.  You  have  my  liand  for't. 

Cet,    Which,  were  it  not  my  sister's,  I 

should  kiss 
With  too  much  heat. 

Clar.  My  father  and  his  guests,  sir ! 

Alb.  Oh,  my  old  friend,  my  tried  friend, 

my  Baptista ! 
These  days  of  rest  and  feasting  suit  not  with 
Our  touglier  natures:  those  were  (/olden  ones, 
Which  were  enjoy 'd  at  sea !  that's  our  true 

mother; 
Tlie  land's  to  us  a  step-dame :  tliere  we  sought 
Honour  aod  wealtli  thro'  dangers;  yet  those 

dangers 

^  And  such  as  cry  meat  for  eats,"]  The  second  folio  reads  want ;  but  we  apprehend  the  text 
to  be  rijihr.  In  Massinger's  Maid  of  Honour,  act  iii.  sc.  1,  GasimrOy  in  mentioning  the  m'lst 
ignoble  employments,  says, 

*  1  will  crj/  brooms  or  cats^  meat  in  Palermo, 

*  Turn  porter,  carry  burdens,  any  thing, 

*  Rather  than  live  a  soldier !'  Ji. 
*  Blast  our  time's  burden.]  The  correction  by  Seward. 

T  t  li  The 


Delighted  more  than  their  rewards,  tho'  great 

ones, 
And  worth  the  undertakers :  here  we  study 
The  kitchen  arts,  to  sharpen  appetite, 
DuH'd    with   abundance;   and  dispute  wiih 

Heav'n, 
If  that  the  least  pufl'  of  the  rough  north-wind 
Blast  our  vine's  burden'*,  rendring  to  our  pa^* 

lates  (there, 

The  charming  juice  less  pleasing;  whereas 
If  we  had  biscuit, powdwr'd  flesh,  tK'sh  water. 
We  thought  them  Persian  delicates;  and  for 

music, 
If  a  strong  gale  but  made  the  main-yard  crack, 
W^e  danc'd  to  tlie  loud  minstrel. 

Bapt,  And  i«ar'd  less 
(So  far  we  were  in  love  with  noble  action) 
A  tempest  than  a  calm. 

Alb.  Tis  true,  Baptista :  [otlier. 

There,  there,  from  mutual  aids  lent  to  each 
And  virtuous  emulation  to  exceed  « 

In  manly  dariug,  the  true  school  of  friendship. 
We  learnt  those  principles,  which  condrm  d 

us  friends 
Never  to  be  forgot. 

Bapt.  Never,  I  hope.        [roaring  cannon 

Alb.  We  were  married  there:  for  bells,  the 
Aloud  proclaimed  it  lawful,  and  a  prize 
Then  newly  ta'en,  and  equally  divided, 
Serv'd  as  a  dowry  to  you,  then  stil'd  niy  wife;* 
And  did  enable  me  to  be  a  husband 
Fit  to  encounter  so  much  wealth,  tho*  got 
With  blood  and  hoiTor. 

Mar.  If  so  g<r>t,  'tis  fit,  sir, 
Now  you  pos-ess  it,  that  you  should  enjoy  it 
In  peace  and  quiet:  I,  your  son,  and  daughter, 
1  hat  reap  the  harvest  of  your  winter  s  labour, 
Tlio'  debtors  for  it,  yet  have  often  trembled. 
When,  in  way  of  discourse,  you  have  related 
How  you  came  by  it. 

Alb.  Trembled?  How  the  softness 
Of  your  sex  may  excuse  you,  I'll  not  argue; 
But  to  the  world,  howe'er  I  hold  thee  noble, 
I  should   proclaim  this  boy  some  coward's 

bastard, 
And  not  ttie  image  of  Albertus'  youth, 
If  when  some  wish'd  occasion  calls  him  forth 
To  a  bnive  trial,  one  weak  artery 
Of  his  should  shew  a  fever,  tho'  grim  death 
Put  on  a  thousand  dreadful  shapes  to  frighi 

him. 
The  elements,  the  sea,  end  all  the  winds 
We  number  on  our  compass,  then  conspiring 
To  make  the  scepe  moregluu»cly !  I  must  have 

thee. 
Sirrah,  I  must,  if  once  you  grapple  with 
An  eneu)y's  ship,  to  board  her,  thu'  you  see 


3*1 


THE  FAIE  MAID  OF  THE  INN, 


[Act  1, 


The  desperate  ^nntt  ready  to  give  fire, 
And  blow  the  deck  up;  or,  like  CseiMir*8  sol- 
dier, 
Thy  hands  like  bis  cut  off,  hang  by  the  teeth, 
And  die  undnunted. 

Mar,  I  even  die  to  hear  you ! 
My  son,  my  lov*d  Cesario,  run  such  hazards? 
Eless'd  saints  forbid  it !  You  have  done  enough 
Already  for  one  family,  that  rude  way. 
I'll  keep  him  safe  «t  home,  and  train  him  up 
A  complete  courtier:  may  I  live  to  see  him, 
By  sweet  discourse  and  ij^racious  demeanor, 
Win  and  bring  home  a  fair  wile,  and  a  rich, 
'Tis  all  I  rest  ambitious  of. 

Alb.  A  wife? 
As  if  there  were  a  course  to  purchase  one 
Prevailing  more  than  honourable  action  ! 
Or  any  intercessors  move  so  far. 
To  take  a  mistress  of  a  noble  spirit, 
A.S  the  true  fame  of  glorious  victories, 
Atchiev'd  by  sweat  and  blood  !  Oh,  the  brave 

dames 
Of  warlike  Genoa!  they  had  eyes  to  see 
The  inward  man,  and  only  foom  his  worth, 
Courage,  and   conquests,  the  blind  archer 
knew  [torch ; 

To  head  his  shafts,  or  lit^ht  his  quenched 
They  were  proof  against  them  else :  no  car-r 
.    pet  knight*,  [bowers. 

That  spent  his  youth  in  groves  or  pleasant 
Or,  stretching  on  a  couch  his  lazy  limbs, 
Sunfir  to  his  lute  such  soil  and  melting  notes, 
As  Ovid  nor  Anacreon  ever  knew. 


Could  work  on  them;  aor  opca  bewitch'd 

their  sense, 
Tho'  he  came  so  perfum'd  as  he  had  robbM 
Sabjea  or  Arabia  of  their  wealth, 
And  stored  it  in  one  suit.    I  still  remember. 
And  still  remember  it  with  joy,  Baptista, 
When  from  the  rescue  of  the  Genoa  fleet. 
Almost  surpriz*d  by  the  Venetian  gallies. 
Thou  didst  return,  and  wert  received  in  tr»» 

umph. 
How  lovely  in  thy  honour'a  wounds  and  scan 
Thou  didst  appear;  what  worlds  of  amoroas 

glances 
The  beauties  of  the  city,  where  they  stood, 
Fix'd  like  so  many  of  4he  fairest  stars,  [tir'd 
Shot   from   their  windows  at  tliec!  How  it 
Their  bloods  to  see  the  enemies'  captive 

streamers'  [hana, 

Dome  thro*  the  streets !  nor  could  diaste  Jih 
The  duke's  fair  niece,  tho'  guarded  with  hei 

greatness. 
Resist  this  gallant  charge,  but,  laying  by 
Disparity  of  fortuue  from  the  object, 
Yielded  herself  thy  pUsoner. 

Bapt.  Pray  you  ( huse 
Some  other  theme. 

Mar,  Can  there  be  one  more  pleasing? 

Ba'pt,  That  triumph  drew  on  me  a  greatei 

torture. 
And  'tis  in  the  remembrance  little  less. 
Than  ever  captive  sufter'd. 

Mar,  How !  To  gain 
The  favour  of  so  great  a  lady  ? 


^  Carpet  knight, "j  Carpet  kni^fUs  are  frequently  mentioned  with  great  contempt  by  oir 
ancient  writers.    Ihe  learned  Sir  James  Burrows  gives  the  following  account  of  them: 
^  There  was  an  order  of  knighthood  of  the  appellation  of  Knights  of  the  Carpet,  though 

*  few,  or  no  persons  (at  least  among  those  whom  I  have  consulted)  seem  to  know  any  tbii^ 

*  about  it,  or  even  to  have  heard  of  it.     I  have  taken  some  memoranda  concerning  the  instil 

*  tution,  and  know  that  William  lord  Burgh  (of  Starhorou^h  castle,  in  tiie  county  of  Surry, 

*  father  to  Thomas  lord  Bur^h,  deputy  of  Ireland,  and  to  sir  John  Burgh  who  took  the  great 
'  Caracca  ship  in  1592)  was  made  a  knight  of  the  carpet,  at  Westminster,  on  the  Sd  of  Oc^ 
'  tober,  16^3,  the  day  after  queen  Mur/s  coronation :  and  I  met  with  a  list  of  all  who  were 

*  made  so  at  tlie  same  time,  m  Strvpe's  Memorials,  vol.  iii.  Appendix,  p.  11. 

*  See  Anstis's  Observations  on  the  Knighthood  of  the  Bath,  (Lond.  1725)  p.  £0,  <  Upon 
<'  the  accession  of  queen  Mary  to  the  throne,  a  commission  was  granted  to  the  earl  of  Aron« 
*'  del,  empowering  him  to  make  knights,  but  without  any  additional  title,  within  two  davft 
"  after  the  date  of  that  patent :  which  were  the  two  days  preceding  her  coronation.  In 
^*  pursuance  hereof,  we  find  the  names  of  the  knights  created  by  him,  according  to  the  stated 
<<  form  of  creating  knights  of  the  Bath;  and  the  variety  of  the  ceremonies  used,  so  distinctly 
*'  related,  that  it  particularly  deserves  to  be  consulted  in  the  appendix.'^ 

*  So  that  Mr.  Anstis  plainly  considers  them  as  being  only  a  species  of  knights  of  the  Bath, 

*  though  tdtlumt  any  additional  title. 

*  If  bO,  the  appellation  of  Ifnights  of  the  carpet  might  be  on\y  popular  ;  not  their  strict  or 

*  proper  title.  This,  however,  was  sufficient  to  induce  Shakespeare  (who  wrote  whilst  they 
^  were  commonly  spoken  of  by  such  an  appellation)  to  use  that  termy  in  contract  to  a  knigbb* 
'  hooJ  conferred  upon  a  real  soldier,  as  a  reward  of  military  valour.' 

In  addition  to  this  note,  and  in  confinnation  of  it,  Mr.  Steeveus  produces  the  following  ex- 
ample from  Tlie  Downful  of  Robert  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  1601 : 
«  -_- soldiers,  come  away ; 

*  Tfiis  carpet  knight  sits  carping  at  our  scars.'  "* 
They  are  mentioned  also  by  Taylor  the  Water  Poet,  in  The  Praise  of  Henpsced; 

*  Castles  for  ladies,  and  for  carpet  knights, 

*  Unmercifully  spoil'd  at  feasting  fights,  E, 

*  Captive  strcames.]  Corrected  in  1750.  » 

Mapt. 


Aetl.] 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


%iS 


Bapt.  Yes,     ,  [mftdaro. 

Since  it  prov'd  fatal^ :  to  have  beeu  happy, 
Adds  to  calamity  ;  and  the  heavy  loss 
Of  her  I  durst  not  hope  for,  once  enjoy'd. 
Turns  what  you  think  a  blessing  to  a  curse^ 
Which  grief  would  have  forgo tteu. 

Alb.  I  am  sorry 
I  toucb'd  upon  it. 

Mar.  I  barn  rather,  sir, 
With  a  desire  to  hear  the  story  of 
Your  lores;  and  shall  receive  it  as  a  favour. 
Which  you  may  grant.  ^ 

Bapi,  You  must  not  be  denied; 
Yet  with  all  brevity  I  must  report  it. 
Tis  true,  fair  Juliana,  (Genoa's  pride) 
Eoamour'd  of  my  actions,  iik'd  my  person ; 
Nor  could  I  but  with  joy  meet  her  allection, 
Since  it  was  lawful ;  for,  my  first  wife  dead. 
We  were  closely  married,  and  tor  some  iew 

months 
Tastetl  the  fruits  oft:  but  malicious  fate, 
Envying  our   too-uiuch  happiness,  wrought 

upun 
A  faithless  servant,  privy  to  our  plot. 
And  cabinet  counsellor  to  Juliana, 
Who,  either  for  hope,  or  reward,  or  fear, 
Discover  d  us  to  the  incensed  duke, 
Wiiose  rage  made  her  close  prisoner,  and 

pronounc'd  [years 

On  me  perpetual  banishment.    Some  three 
I  wander'd  on  the  seas,  since  entertaiuM 
By  the  great  duke  of  Florence;  but  what  fate 
Atteuded  her,  or  Prospero  my  friend, 
Tiiat  scay'd  at  Genoa  to  expect  the  iasue, 
h  yet  uucertain. 

Enter  a  Gentleman, 

Alb,  From  the  Duke? 

Bapt,  lie's  welcome. 
To  eud  my  forc'd  relation  ! 

Alb.  Signor  Bflptista,  [care. 

The  great  Duke's  will  commands  your  present 

Gent,  It  points  indeed  at  both  of  you, 

Bapt,  I  wait  it. 

Alb,  In,  Mariana;  to  your  rest ! 

Bapt,  Nay,  leave  us ; 
We  must  be  private. 

Afar.  Stay  not  long,  Cctario. 
[Exeunt.   Manent  Cetario  <5r  Mentivole, 

Ment,  So !  these  old  men  vanished,  'tis  al- 
lowed 
That  we  may  speak ;  and  howsoe'er  they  take 
Delight  in  the  discourse  of  former  dangers, 
It  cannot  hinder  os  to  tresit  a  little 
Of  Dresent  pleasures. 

Ces,  Which,  if  well  enjoy*d, 
Will  not  alone  continue,  but  encrease, 
Jn  us  tlieir  friendship. 

Ment,  How  shall  we  spend  the  night? 

*  Yes,  since  it  proved  fatal.J  The  particle  inserted  in   the  text  improving  both  sense  and 
measure,  was  most  probably  in  the  original.  Sctcard, 

Seward  reads.  Since  it  prov'd  so  tiital; 

thereby  destroying  *  both  sense  and  measure.' 

I  EqnaL]  i.  e.  Just,    The  word  frequently  occurs  in  that  sense. 

Complain 


To  snore  it  out^  like  drunken  Datchmeft, 

would 
Sort  ill  with  us  Italians :  we  are  made 
Of  other  metal,  fiery,  quick,  and  active. 
Shall  we  take  our  fortune  ?  and,  while  our 

cold  fathers  [dead) 

Cln  v%hom  long  since  tlieir  youthful  heats  were 
Talk  much  of  Mars,  serve  under  Venus'  en-* 
And  seek  a  mistress?  [^igi^^i 

Ces.  That's  a  game,  dear  friend. 
That  does  admit  no  rival  in  chase  of  it  ? 
And  either  to  be  undertook  alone 
Or  not  to  he  attempted. 

Ment.  ril  not  press  you. 
What  other  sports  to  eiitertain  the  time  with 
The  following  morning? 

Ccs.  Any  that  may  become  us.    [sent  you, 

Ment,  Is  the  Neapolitan  horse  the  viceroy 
In  a  fit  plight  to  run? 

Ces.  So  my  groom  tells  me. 
I  can  boast  little  of  my  horsemanship; 
Yet,  upon  his  assurance,  I  dare  wager 
A  thtmsand  crowns,  'gainst  any  horse  in  Flo* 

reucc, 
For  an  cipht-mile  course. 

Ment.  I  would  not  win  of  you, 
In  respect  you  are  impatient  of  loss; 
Else  I  durst  match  him  with  my  Burbary 
For  twice  the  sum. 

Ces.  You  do  well  to  excuse  it, 
Beinu;  certain  to  he  beaten. 

Ment,  Tush,  you  know 
The  contrary. 

Ces.  To  end  the  controversy, 
Put  it  to  trial ;  by  my  life,  ill  meet  yoii 

Enter  Clarissa, 

With  the  next  rising  sun. 

Ment,  A  match!  But  here 
Appears  a  Cynthia,  tiiat  scorns  to  borrow 
A  beam  of  light  from  the  great  eye  of  ficav'n^ 
She  being  heraelf  ail  brightne^^s :  how  I  envy 
Those  amorous  smiles,  those  kisses,  but  sure 

chaste  ones. 
Which  she  vouchsafes  her  brother! 

Clar.  You  are  wanton : 
Pray  you  think  me  not  Biancha;  le^ve,I  prajf 


you: 

My  mother  will  not  sleep  before  she  see  you; 

And  since  you  know  her  tenderucbs,  nay  loud- 
ness, ,  [satety, 

In  every  circumstance  that  coQcerus   your 

You  are  not  cqual^  to  her. 
Ces.  I  must  leave  you ; 

But  will  nut  fuil  to  meet  you. 


Ment,  Soft  sleeps  to  you ! 
Mar.  [zvilhin]  Cesano! 
Clar.  YouVe  call'd  again. 
Ces.  Some  sons 


tt6 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INK. 


[Act  L 


I 


Complain  of  too  much  rigour  in  their  mo- 
thers;" 

I  of  too  much  indulgeoce.  You  will  fol- 
low i  [EjcU. 
-^tar.  You  are  her  first  care;  therefore 
learl  the  way  !  [.stays 
Ment.  bhe  stays;  blest  opportunity  I  bhe 
,   As  she  invited  conference!  si.e  was  ever 

Koble  and  free ;  but  thus  to  temj>t  my  frailty, 

Argues  a  \ieldiiig  in  her;  or,  c  ntempt 

Or  ail  that  I  dare  offer.    Stand  I  now 

Cori-ulting  ?  No ;  I'll  put  it  home. 
Cinr.  W  1)0  waits  there  ? 

Wore  lifjhts!  [useless 

Ment.  You  need  thero  not;  they  are  as 

As  at  noon-day:  can  there  be  darkness  where 

Nature,  then  wisely  liberal,  vouchsaf'd 

Tu  lend  two  suns? 
Clur   Hyperbole?! 
Ment.  I\o;  truths,  [heart 

Truths^  beauteous  virgin ;   so  ray  love-sick 

Asi>ures  nie,  and  my  undeisumding  telts  me 

I  must  approach  them  wifrely :  should  I  rashly 

iVess  near  their  scorching  beams,  they  would 
consume  me; 

Ai\Aj  on  the  contrc-ry,  should  your  disdain 

Keep  n:e  at  too  much  di^jtance,  <ind  I  want 

I  lieu*  comlortable  heat,  tlie  frost  of  d^atli 
Would  seize  on  all  my  faculties. 

Llur,  Pray  you  pau^e,  jir!  [tire  you  : 

Th»!>  vehemeucy  ol  discourse  must  else  needs 
lie>e  gay  words  take  not  me;  *tis  siu.ple 

II  ;i  I'bt  intepiity,  and  lawful  fltmcs, 
1  am  (it  lighted  with. 

Ml  td.  J?uch  I  bring  with  me  ; 
/lid  I  here  fore,  lady — 

C'/V/r.  But  that  you  took  inc  off 
Hre  1  came  to  a  ptriod,  I  liad  added 
A  long  experience  must  be  rcqni:'d 
Both  of  his  faith  and  trust,  with  whom  a 

Tratbcks  fur  what  is  dearest  in  this  life. 
Her  liberty  and  honour.     I  confess 
1  ott  have  view'd  you  with  an  eye  of  favour; 
And,  with  your  generous  parts,  the  many 

tenders 
Of  doing  me  all  fair  offices,  hav^  wop 
A  ^ood  opmion  from  me — 

Mtnt,  Oh,  speak  ever ! 
I  never  heard  fruch  music. 

Clar.  A  plain  tune,  sir. 
But  'tis  a  hearty  one.     When  I  perceive, 
By  evident  proofs,  your  aims  are  truly  nohle, 
And  that  ynu  bring  the  engines  of  fair  love, 
>^ot  of  foul  lust,  to  shake  apd  undermine 
^Iv  maiden  tbrtrcss,  I  may  then  make  good 
What  now  I  dare  not  promise. 

Meni,  You  ah'eady, 
In  Uiking  notice  of  my  poor  deservings, 

'  ^Ty  opinion  waits  on  you.]  The  small  change  of  you  to  yours^  takes  all  obscurity  from 
tl.ib  t  x^'resbion.         i^cuard. 

We  II link  the  old  reading  more  suitable  to  the  context,  more  in  our  authors'  style^  and  at 
least  as  free  from  obscurity. 

Kcw 


Have  been  magnificeDt,  and  'twill  appear 
A  'trontless  impudeuce  to  ask  beyond  this; 
Yet  qualify*  tho'  not  excuse,  my  error, 
'Ibo'  now  I  am  ambitious  to  desire 
A  coniirmatiou  of  it! 

Clar.  So  it  wrong  not 
My  modesty  to  grant  it. 

Ment.  'lih  far  from  me; 
I  only  am  a  suitor  you  would  jpracc  me 
With  some  toy,  but  made  rich  in  that  y« 

wore  it. 
To  warrant  to  the  ^vorld  that  I  usurp  not, 
When  I  presume  to  stile  myself  your  senaot! 
A  ribbon  from  your  shoe. 

Clar.  You  are  too  humble; 
I'll  think  upon't,  and  something  of  more  valoe 
Shall  witfles>  how  I  prize  you.  It  grows  late; 
ril  bring  you  to  the  door. 

ilfen^  You  still  more  bind  me.     [Exeunt^ 

Enter  Duke^  Albert ui^BaptUta,  Magistrata 
and  Attendants, 

Duke,  You  find,  by  this  assur'd  intelligence. 
The  preparation  of  the  Ttirk  against  us. 
We've  met  him  oft  and  beat  iiim ;  now  ta 

fear  him 
Would  argue  want  of  courage ;  and  I  hold  it 
A  safer  policy  for  us  and  our  signiories, 
To  charge  him  in  his  passage  o'er  the  sea. 
Than  to  expect  him  here. 

Alb.  May  it  please  your  highness, 
Since  you  vouchsafe  to  think  me  worthy  of 
This  great  employment,  if  I  may  deUver 
My  iudgment  freely,  'tis  not  flattery 
Tho  1  say  my  ophiion  waits  on  you®; 
Nor  would  I  gi\e  my  sufirage  and  consent 
To   what  you   have   proposed,    but  that  I 

know  it  '' 

Worth  the  great  speaker,  tho*  that  the  deoial 
Call'd  on  your  heavy  anger.     For  myself 
I  do  profess  thus  much,  if  a  blunt  soldier 
May  borrow  so  much  from  the  oird-tongu*d 

courtier, 
( 1  l.at  echoes  whatsoe'er  the  prince  allows  of) 
All  that  my  long  experience  hath  taught  me, 
I'hat  have  spent  three  parts  of  my  life  at  sea, 
(Let  it  not  taste  of  arrogance  that  I  say  it; 
Could  not  have  added  reasons  of  more  weigbt 
1  o  fortify  your  affections,  than  such 
As  your  grace  out  of  observation  merely 
Already  have  propounded. 

Bapt.  With  the  honour 
To  give  the  daring  enemy  an  affront 
In  being  tlie  first  opposer,  it  will  teach 
Yoursoldiers  boldness, and  strike  fear  in  them 
That  durst  attempt  you.  ♦ 

1  JMagis.  Victuals  ^nd  ammunition, 
A  nd  money  too,  the  sinews  of  the  war, 
Are  stord  up  in  the  magaeine. 

2  Ma  git.  And  the  gallics 


Act  1.] 


tHE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


9d7 


2  Gent.  Genily !  he  will  faint  else— 

[Exeunt  Gentletnen  with  Cetarkh 

Ment,  And  speedily^  I  beseech  you!  M^ 

rage  over, 
That  pour*d  upon  my  reason  clouds  of  error, 
I  see  my  folJy,  and  at  wliat  dear  loss 
I  have  exchang'd  n  real  innocence 
To  gain  a  mere  fantastical  report, 
Transported  only  by  vain  popular  wind, 
To  be  a  daring,  nay,  fool-hardy  man. 

Enter  Bapiiita, 

But,  could  I  satisfy  myself  within  here, 
liow  should  I  bear  my  fathei^s frowns?  They 

meet  me; 
My  guilt  conjures  him  hither. 

Bapt.  Sirrah! 

Ment.  Sir.  [sword: 

hapt.  I've  met  the  trophies  of  your  ruffian 
Was  tliere  no  other  anvil  to  make  trial 
How  far  thou  durst  be  wicked,  but  the  bosom 
Of  him,  which  under  the  adulterate  nalne 
Of  friendship  thou  hast  murder'd  ? 

Merit.  Murdered,  sir? 
My  dreams  abhor  so  base  afnct:  true  valour, 
Eniploy'd  to  keep  my  reputation  fair, 
From  t|ie  austerest  judge  can  never  merit 
To  be  branded  with  that  title.  You  begot  me 
A  man,  no  coward :  and  but  call  your  youth 
To  memory!  when  inju/d,  you  could  never 
Boast  of  the  ass*s  ibrtitade^  slave-like  pa-> 

ticnce; 
And  you  might  justly  doubt  I  were  your  son, 
If  I  should  entertain  it.     If  Cesario 
Recover,  as  I  hope  his  wound's  not  mortal, 
A  second  trial  of  what  I  dare  do 
lu  a  just  cause, shall  give  strong  witness  for  me 
I  am  the  true  heir  to  Baptistu*s  cour*i«:;c, 
As  to  his  other  fortunes. 

Bapt.  Buy,  to  neither. 
But  on  tliis  strict  condition,  which  entreaties 
From  saints,  nay  angels,  shall  not  make  me 

alter. 
A  friendship  so  began,  and  so  continu'd 
Between  me  and  Alberto,  my  best  friend, 
Your  bniwjs  shall  not  dissolve :  it  is  my  will, 
And^as  I  am  tliy  father  I  ct^mmand  tiice, 
That  instantly,  on  any  terms,  how  poor 
Soc'er  it  skills  not,  thou  desire  his  pardon, 
And  bring  assurance  to  me  he  has  sign'd  it,  ' 
Or  by  my  father's  soul  I'll  never  know  thet-. 
But  as  a  stranger  to  my  blood  :  perform  it. 
And  suddenly,  without  reply!  IVe  said  it. 

Ment.  And  in  it  given  a  heavier  scnteucj^ 

on  me 
Than  the  most  cruel  death :  you  arc  my  fatlier, 
And  your  will  to  be  serv'd,  and  notdisputesl 
By  me,  that  am  your  soii :  but  I'll  obey. 
And  tho'  my  hearc-striiii^^s  crack  ior*t,  make 

it  known, 
When  you  command,  my  faculties  are  your 

own.  .  '  [Exeunt. 

*  I  should  iay  no  more^l  Seward,  tacitly  and  arbitrarily,  reads,  I  should  saif  more.    The 
present  punctuation  gives  a  spirit  to  the  old  text. 

ACT 


New  rigg*d  and  trained  up,  and  at  two  days' 
Fit  lor  tlie  service.  ''      [warning 

Duke.  We  commend  your  care ; 
Nor  will  we  e*er  be  wanting  in  our  counsels. 
As  we  doubt  liot  your  action.  You,  Baptista, 
Slmil  stay  with  us ;  that  merchant  is  not  wise. 
That  ventures  his  whole  fortunes  in  one  bottom. 
AlbcrtQS,  be  our  admiral  I  spare  your  thanks; 
11s  merit  in  yon  that  invites  this  honour ; 
Preserve  it  such !  Ere  long  you  shall  hear 

more. 
Things  rashly  undertaken  end  as  ill ; 
But  great  acts  thrive  when  reaso;^  guides  the 

will.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  three  Gentlemen. 

1  Gent.  No  question,  'twas  not  well  done 

in  Cesario 
To  cross  the  horse  of  young  Mentivole 
In  the  midst  of  tiiis  course. 

i  Gent.  That  was  not  all ; 
The  switching  him  duU'd  him. 

3  Gent.  'Would  that  both  the  jades 
Had  broke  their  necks,    when   tbev  first 

started  I  'Slight,  [whisper. 

We  stand  here  prating ;  give  them  leave  to 
And, when  they  have  cutone  another*s  tiiroats, 

Enter  Mentivole  and  Cesario, 

XIake  in  to  part  'em ! 

^  Gent.  There  is  no  such  hazanl ;  [it : 
Their  fathers' friendship  and  their  love  forbid 
See  where  they  come .' 

1  Gent.  With  fury  in  their  looks. 

Mcui.  You  have  the  wager;  with  what 
ril  not  dispute.  [foul  play  got 

Cei.  Foul  play? 

Meat.  I  cannot  speak  it 
In  a  fairer  language;  and  if  some  respects 
Familiar  to  myself  chain'd  not  my  tongue, 
I  should  say — no  more'! — I   should — but 

ril  sit  down  [further ! 

With  this  disgrace;   howe'er,  press  me  no 
For,  if  once  more  pruvok'd,  you'll  understand 
I  dare  uo  more  sulfer  an  injury. 
Than  I  •' are  do  one. 

Ces.  Why,  sir,  are  you  injur'd 
In  that  I  take  xuy  right,  which  I  would  force, 
^hould  you  detain  it? 

Ment.  Put  it  to  judgment ! 

Ces.  No ;  my  will  in  this  tthull  carry  it. 

Ment,  Your  will  ?  Nay,  &rewell  softness 

then ! 

^Gent.  This  I  foresaw. 

r  .  yi'hey  suddenJu  diaw. 

2Cc;l^•Uold,holdl 

Ces.  I'm  hurt. 

2  Gent.  Shift  for  yourself;  'tti»  death. 

,  Ment.  As  you  respect  me,  bear  lum  off 

with  care ! 
If  be  miscarry,  since  he  did  the  wrong, 
I'll  stand  the  shock  oft. 


9S8 


tH£  FAIR  AIAII5  OF  THt  INI*. 


(Act  2. 


ACT   II. 


Enter  Alhertus,  Physiciany  and  a  Surgeon. 

Fhyt.  XJAVE  patience,  noble  air!  your 
•■■■■•  son  Cesario 
Will  recover,  without  question. 

Surg.  A  slight  wound !  [vitals. 

Thoagh*t  piercM  his  body,  it  liath  tniss'd  the 

Pfiys.  My  life  f<»r't,  he  shall  take  the  air 
Within  these  ten  days !  [again 

Alb.  Oh,  but  from' a  friend! 
To  receive  this  bloody  measure  from  a  friend ! 
If  that  a  man  should  meet  a  violent  death, 
Jn  a  place  where  he  had  taken  sanctuary, 
Would  it  not  grieve  him  ?  Such  all  Florence 

held  [plies 

Their  friendship ;  and  *tis  that  which  multi- 
The  injury. 

Phifs,  ftave  patience,  worthy  signer! 

Alb.  I  do  protest,  as  I  am  man  and  soldier, 
If  I  had  buried  him  in  a  wave  at  sea, 
(Lost  in  some  honourable  action)  ' 
I  would  not  to  the  saltness  of  his  grave 
Have  added  the  least  tear:  but  these  quarrels, 

Enter  Mariana  and  Clarisui, 

Bred  out  of  game  and  wine !  I  had  as  lief 
He  should  have  died  of  a  surfeit. 

Mar.  Oh,  what  comfort  ? 
How  is  it  with  our  son,  s>~  ? 

Alb.  His  work-masters 
Bear  me  in  hand  liere,  (as  my  lawyer  does. 
When  I've  a  crack*d  title,  or  bad  suit  in  law) 
All  shall  go  well. 

Mar.  1  pray  you,  gentlemen, 
What  think  you  of  his  wound? 

Phys,  ^is  but  a  scratch;  nothing 
To  danger. 

Clar.  But  he  receiv'd  it  from  a  friend ; 
And  the  unkindness  ta'en  at  that  may  kill  him. 

Mar.  Let  me  see  him. 

Phys.  By  no  means;  he  slumbers. 

Mar.  Tlien  I  cannot  believe  you,  when 
Tliere  is  hope  of  him.  [you  tcU  me 

Alb.  Yet  many  ladies 
D<>  give  more  fi»ith  to  their  physician, 
Than  to  their  confexsor. 

Clar.  Oh,  my  poor  lost  brother ! 
And  friend,  more  dear  than  brother ! 

Alb.  More  loud  instruments 
To  disturb  his  slumbers  f  Go,  go,  take  caroch ! 
And  as  you  love  me,  you  and  the  girl  retire 
T'  our  summer-house  i'  th*  country  :   Flf  be 
Within  those  two  days  [with  you 

Mar.  I  am  jonrs  in  all  things, 
Tbo*  with  much  sorrow  to  leave  him. 


Alb^  I  pray  you,  geaUteitVy 

[Exeunt  Mar.  and  Clar. 
With  best  observance  tend  your  patient: 
The  loss  of  my  heir  male  lies  now  a-bleediog ; 

Enter  Mentivole, 

And  think  what  payment  bis  recovery 
Sljall  shower  upon  you. — Ofallmen  breatliing^ 
[Exeunt  Physician  and  Surgeon. 
Wherefore  do  you  arrive  here?  are  you  mad.': 
My  injury  begins  to  bleed  afresh 
At  sight  of  you.    Why,  this  affiront  of  yours 
I  receive  more  malicious  than  the  other. 
Your  hurt  was  only  danger  to  my  son;  bat 
Your  sight  to  me  is  death  I  Why  come  you 

hi  titer?  [have  made^ 

D'yeu  come  to  view  the  wounds  which  you 
And  glory  in  them? 

Ment.  Rather,  worthy  lir. 
To  pour  oil  into  them. 

Alb,  I  am  a  soldier, 
Sir,  least  part  of  a  courtier :  and  anderstaiid 
By  your  smooth  oil,  your  present  flattery— 

lifenL  Sir,  for  my  tathor's  sake,  acknow- 
ledge me 
To  be  born  a  gentleman,-  no  slave ;  I  ever 
Held   flatterers  of  that  breed :  do  not  mis- 
construe. 
In  your  distaste  of  me,  the  true  intent 
Of  my  coming  hither,  for  I  do  protest 
I  do  not  come  to  tell  you  I  am  sorrjr 
For  your  son's  hurt. 

Alb.  Not  sorry? 

Me.nl.  No,  not  sorry: 
I  have  to  the  lowest  ebb  lost  all  my  fury, 
But  i  must  not  lose  my  honesty.     Twas  be 
Gave  heat  unto  the  injury,  which  returned, 
Like  a  petard '°  ill  lighted,  into  th'  bosom 
Of  him  gave  iire  to*t :  yet,  I  hope  hii  hurt 
Is  not  so  danrrerous  but  he  may  recover; 
When,  if  it  please  him  call  me  to  account 
For  th'ioss  of  so  much  blood,  I  shall  be  read/ 
To  do  him  noble  reason. 

Alb.  You  are  arm'd 
Me  thinks  with  wondrous  confidence. 

Ment.  Oh,  with  the  best,  sir; 
For  I  bring  penitence  and  satisfaction. 

Alb.  Satisfaction?  Why,  I  heard  you  say 

but  now. 
You  were  not  sorry  for  his  wounds. 

Ment:  Nor  am  I ; 
The  satisfaction  which  I  bring,  sir,  is  to  you. 
You  arc  a  gentleman  neVr  injur'd  me; 
One  ever  lov'd  ray  father,  the  right  way, 
And  most  approv'd  of  noble  amity; 


***  Petar.^  A  petard  of  petarre,  an  engine  (made  like  a  bell  or  mortsr)  whertwith  strong 
latea  ace  bwft  open.    Cotgraves  Dictionary.  iL 

•      Yet 


Act  t.] 


THE  FiUR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


329 


Yet  I  have  run  mj  sword  quite  thro'  your 
heart,  [fear'd, 

And  slightly  hurt  your  son;  for't  may  be 
A  grief  ta'en  at  these  years,  for  your  son's  io&s, 
May  hazard  yours:  and  therefore  I  am  sent 
By  hioi  that  has  most  interest  in  your  sorrow, 
Who  having  chid  me  almost  to  tne  ruin 
Of  a  disheritance",  fur  violating 
So  continued  and  so  sacred  a  friendship 
Of  fifty  winters'  standing'^ ;  sucli  a  friend- 
ship 
That  ever  did  continue  like  the  spring, 
Ne'er  saw  the  fall  o'  th'  leaf;  by  him  I  am  sent 
To  say  the  wning  I've  done,  sir,  is  to  you, 
And  that  I  have  quite  lost  him  lor  a  tather, 
Until  I  find  your  pardon.  Nay,  there  follows 
A  weightier  deprivation :  his  estate 
I  could  with  a  less  number  of  sigh»  part  .with; 
Fortune  might  attend  my  yoath  and  my  de- 
servings 
In  any  climate ;  but  a  fiithei^s  blessing, 
To  settle  and  confirm  that  fortune,  no  where, 
Bat  only  here.  Your  pardon !  give  me  that ; 
AndwKen  you  have  done,  kia  me;  for -lis 
that  [tion. 

Takes  from  me  the  effect  of  eicommunicar 
A  father's  heavy  curse. 

Aib.  Nay,  may  that  curse  [nute, 

light  on  himself^  tor  sending  thee  in  this  mi- 
When  I  am  grownju  deaf  to  all  compassion, 
As  the  cruellest  sea-fight,  or  most  horrid  tem- 
pest! [cats, 
That  I  had  drown'd  i'th'  sea  a  thousand  riu- 
Tbott  faadst  not  made  tliis  visit!  Rash  young 

man, 
Thou  tak'st  me  in  an  ill  planet,  and  hast  cause 
To  curse  thy  lather ;  for  I  do  protest, 
If  (  had  met  thee  in  any  part  o'  th'  world. 
But  under  my  own  root,  I  would  have  kilPd 
thee.  [sent  for 

Within  there ! — Look  you  !  Here's  a  triumph 

Enter  Physician,  Surgeon,  and  Servants, 

The  death  of  your  yonng  master. 

Serv.  Shall  we  kill  him? 

Alb.  No; 
111  not  be  so  unhospitable.    But,  sir, 
Bj  my  life,  I  vow  to  take  assurance  firom  you, 
That  rightrhand  never  more  shall  strike  my 

son. 

Ment,  That  vriil  be  easily  protested. 

Aib.  Not  easily,  [to't 

When  it  must  be  exacted,  and  a  bloody  seal 


Bind  him,  and  cutoflf's  ri^ht-hand  presently: 
Fair  words  siiall  never  satisfy  foul  deeds. 
Chop  his  hand  off! 

Ment.  You  cannot  be  so  unrighteous 
To  your  own  honour. 

Phys.  Oh,  sir,  collect  yourself. 
And  recall  your  bloody  purpose  ! 

Aib,  My  intents 
Of  this  nature  do  ever  come  to  action. 


Surg,  Then  I 


[Exit, 


Must  tetch  another  stickler. 

Alb,  Yet  I  do  grieve  at  heart ; 
And  I  docui*se  thy  father  heartily. 
That's  the  cause  ot^my  dishonour,  sending  thee 
In  such  an  hour,  when  I  am  apt  tor  mischief^ 
Apt  as  a  Dutchman  after  a  se»-fight. 
When  his  enemy  kneels  afore  him.    ComCi 

dispatch ! 

Fhi/s,  Entreat  him,  noble  sir. 

Ment,  You  shall  excuse  me ; 
Whatsoever  he  dares  do,  that  I  dare  sofier. 

Enter  Cesario  and  Surgeon, 

Ces,  Oh,  sir,  for  honour's  sake,  stay  yout 

fuul  purpose; 
For  if  you  do  proceed  thus  cruelly,       [him. 
There  is  no  question,  in  die  wound  you  give 
I  shall  bleed  to  death  for't ! 

Alb,  Thou  art  not  of 
My  temper;  what  I  purpose,  can't  be  alter'd. 

'    Enter  a  Servant. 

Serv.  Sir,  the  Duke  with  all  speed  expects 

you :  you  must  instantly 
Ship  all  your  followers,  and  to  sea. 

Alb,  My  blessing 
Stay  with  thee  upon  this  condition. 
Take  away  his  use  of  fighting;  as  thou  hop'st 
To  be  accounted  for  my  son,  perform  it ! 

[Exit. 

Ces.  Yon  hear  what  Fm  enjoin'd  to. 

Ment.  Pray  thee,  take  it! 
Only  this  ring,  this  besD-esteemed  jewel, 
I  will  not  giv't  to  ih'  hangman  chops  it  off^ 
It  is  too  dear  a  relic :  Til  remove  it 
Nearer  my  heart. 

Ces.  Ha!  that  ring's  my  sister's; 
The  ring  I  enjoin'd  her  never  part  withal 
Without  my  knowledge. — Come,  sir,  we  are 

friends. 
Pardon«my  fiither's  heat,  and  melancholy; 
Two  violent  fevers  which  he  caught  at  sea, 
And  cannot  yet  shake  06*:  only  one  promise 


'  Who  having  chid  me  almost  to  the  ruin 
Of  a  di$hcrUanc€.'\  Seward  arbitrarily  reads, 

>  to  my  ruin, 


To  a  disheritance,  &c. 
'*  So  continued  and  to  sacred  a  friendship 
(^fifiy  winters  standing:  such  a  friendship. 

That  ever  did  continuey^c]  *  Here,'  says  Seward,*  seems  a  reiterated  t^itology  m  these 
^  fines,  very  unlike  and  iinwortliy  of  our  authors.*  For  continu£d,  therefore,  he  substitutes 
iOHStant,  *  which,'  continues  he,  <  in  the  sense  of  firm  and  wuhaken  by  accidents,  keeps  clear 
*  of  the  tautology  complained  of.'  But  changes  should  not  be  arbitrarily  made,  only  be- 
cause the  critic  $upposci  them  for  the  better! 
VOL.IIL  Uu  Imujt 


330 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


[Acti 


I  must  enjoin  you  tQ,  and  seriously; 
Hereafter  you  shall  never  draw  a  sword 
To  th'  prejudice  of  my  life. 

Ment.  By  my  best  hopes, 
I  shall  not ! 

Ces.  I  pray  deliver  me  your  sword. 
On  that  condition. 

Ment.  I  shall,  sir:  may  it  hereafter 
Ever  fight  on  your  part! 

Ces.  Noble  sir,  1  thank  you  : 
But,  for  performance  of  your  vow,  I  entreat 
Some  gage  from  you. 

Ment.  Any,  sir. 

Ces,  Deliver  me  tljat  ring*         [binds  me, 

Ment.  Ha!  this  ring?  indeed  this  jewel 
If  you  knew  the  virtue  of  it,  never  more 
To  draw  my  sv^'ord  against  you. 

Ces.  Therefore  I 
Will  have  it. 

Ment.  You  may  not. 

Ces.  Come,  you  must : 
I  that  bv  violence  could  take  your  hand, 
Can  enforce  this  from  you.   This  is  a  token, 

sir,  ,        [you  well! 

That  we  may  prove  friends  hereafter.    Fare 

Phys.  Why  did  you  seize  bis  sword,  sir  ? 

Ces.  To  perform  [sent 

What  my  father  bad  me  ;  I  have  for  the  pre- 
Ta'en  away  his  use  of  figlitiog. 

Phys.  Better  so. 
Than  take  that  wbich  your  father  meant! 

[Exeunt. 

Manet  Mentivole. 

Ment,  Was  ever  the  like  usage?  Oh,  that 

Bearer  than  life !  whitlier  is  honour  fled  ? 
Cesario,  thouVt  unmanly  in  each  part, 
To  seize  my  sword  first,  and  then  split  my 
heart.  [Edit. 

Enter  Host  and  Cloan. 

Host.  Thy  master 
That  lodges  here  in  my  Osteria, 
Is  a  rare  man  of  art;  they  say  he's  a  witch. 

Clown.  A  witch?  nay,  he's  one  Kep  of  the 

ladder  to 
Preferment  higher;  he's  a  conjurer. 

Host.  Is  that  his  higher  title  ? 

Clotcn.  Yes,  I  assure  you;     [mandshim; 
For  a  conjurer's  th' devil's  master,  mid  com- 
Whereas  a  witch  is  the  devil's  prentice. 
And  obeys  him. 

Host.  Bound  prentice  to  the  devil ! 

Cloicn.  Bound  and  enroU'd,  I  assure  you, 

he  can't  start;  [tienian 

And  therefore  1  would  never  wish  any  gen- 
To  turn  witch. 

Host.  Why,  man? 


Clown,  Oh,  he  loses  his  {help  bin; 

Gentility  by  it;  the  devil  in  this  case  cauooi 
He  must  go  to  the  herald  for  new  arms,  be- 

lieve  it.  [man  boia, 

Host.  As  I'm  true  innkeeper,  yet  a  gcotie 
111  ne'er  turn  witch  for  that  triclc!  Aud  thoi 
Been  a  great  traveller?  [laai 

Clozcn,  No,  indeed,  not  I,  sir. 

Host.  Come,  you  are  modest. 

Clown.  No,  1  tun  not  modest; 
For  I  told  you  a  lie,  that  you  might  the  betta 
Understand  I  had  been  a  traveller. 

Host.  So,  sir! 
They  say  your  master's  a  great  physician  too] 

Cloicn.  He  was  no  fool  told  you  that,  1 

assure  you.  [But  they  sm% 

Host.  And  you  have  been  in  EnglaodI 
Ladies  in  England  take  a  great  deal  of  physift 

Clown.  Both  ways,  on  my  reputation. 

Host.  So  'tis  to  be  understood:  [lashiot. 
But  they  say  ladies  there  take  physic  h 

Clown.  Yes,  sir,  and  many  times  die  u 

Host.  How  !  [keep  fashioi. 

Die  to  keep  fashion  ? 

Clown.  Yes;  I  liave  known  a  lady 
Sick  of  the  small-pox,  only  to  keep  her  face 
From  pit-holes,  take  cold,    strike  them  is 
Kick  up  the  heels,  and  vanish.  [3g>i% 

Host.  There  was  kicking  up 
The  heels  with  a  witness ! 

Clown.  No,  sir;  I  confess  [tiveio 

A  good  face  has  many  times  been  the  ibo* 
The  kicking  up  of  the  heels  with  a  witoes>; 

but  this  was  nut. 

Enter  Hostess  and  Biancha, 

Host.  Here  come  my  wife  and  daughter. 

Clown.  You  have 
A  pretty  coouuodity  of  this  nightworm. 

Host.  Why,  man? 

Clown.  She  is  a  pretty  lure  to  draw 
Custom  to  your  ordinary.  [pw*^ 

Host.  Dost  think  I  keep  her  to  thatpu^ 

Clown.  When  a  dove-house  is  empty,  there 

is  cumin-seed  [hours; 

Used  to  purloin  from  the  rest  of  the  ncigb* 
In  England  you  have  several  adamaDts'% 
'i'o  draw  in  spurs  and  rapiers'^;  oae  keeps 

silk-worms 
In  a  gallery;  a  milliner  has  choice 
()'  moukies  and  paraketoes ;  another  shews 
Bawdy  East-Indian  pictures,  worse  than  ever 
Were  Aretine's;  a  gt^ldsmith  keeps  his  wite 
Wedg'd  into  his  shop  like  a  mermaid,  nothin; 

of  her 
To  be  seen  (that's  woman)  but  her  upper  psit 

Host.  Nothing  but  her  upper  part? 

Clown.  Nothing  but  her  upper  bodice^ 
And  he  lives  at  tlie  more  heart's  ease. 


**  Adamants.]  i.  e.  Londstones.    Sec  Skiuner  on  the  word. 
"  To  draw  in  spurs  and  rapiers.]  In  Ben  Joiison's 
fays  to  Abel  Drugger, 


Seward. 
Alchemist  is  the  same  idea;  Sebtk 


<  Beneath  your  threshold  bury  me  a  loadstone, 
*  To  draw  in  gallants  that  wear  spurs.* 


MiJii' 


iLct  2.] 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  TtlE  INN. 


331 


4  Hmt,  ^Vlmt*s  the  reason  ?  [no  temptation. 
,^  C/ob;?!.  Because  her  nether  part  can  give 
/B^r  your  leave,  sir,  111  tend  my  master,  and 
\7     instantly 

.^^Be  frith  you  for  a  cup  of  cherally  this  hot 
weather.  [Exit, 

Hast.  A  nimhle^pated  rascal !  Come  hit  her, 
When  was Cesario  here?  [daughter; 

Bian,  Sir,  not  this  fortnight. 
^.;    .  HoMt.  I  do  not  like  his  visits ;  commonly 
/He  comes  by  owl  light;  both  the  time  and 
'  Suspicious ;  I  dou*t  like  it.  [manner  is 

^.     Bian.  Sir,  the  gentleman 
^  Is  every  way  so  noble,  that  you  need  not 
^'^uestion  his  intent  of  coming:  tho'  you  did, 
if^^Jf  sii*!  preserve  that  good  opinion  of  nie, 
"That  tho*  the   custom  of  the  place  I  was 

bom  in 
"flakes  me  familiar  to  every  guest, 
'I  shall  in  all  things  keep  myself  a  stranger 
'  To  th'  vices  they  bring  with  them ! 
^,     Hostess.  Right,  my  daughter ! 
'f'She  has  the  right  strain  ofher  mother. 
^      H<Mt.  Of  her  mother  ?  [took  it. 

;.Au  I  would  speak,  I  know  from  whence  slie 
'.When  I  was  as  young,  I  was  as  honest** — 
Hostess.  Leave  your  prating, 
And   study  to  be  drunk,  and  abase  your 
guests  over  and  over ! 

Enter  Forobosco  and  Ctomn* 

Host.  Peace,  wife ;  my  honourable  guest ! 

For.  My  endeared  landlord, 
'And  the  rest  of  the  compliments  of  the  house  \ 

Host.  Breakfast  is  ready,  sir;  it  waiteth 
The  tide  of  your  stomach.  [only 

"      Clown.  And  mine  gapes  for't. 
Like  a  stale  oyster. 

Host.  Ere  you  go  to  bed**. 
Fail  not  of  tliat,  I  pray. 

[Exeunt  ail  but  For.  and  Clown. 

For.  We'll  instantly  be  with  you. — 
Now  we're  all  fellows:  nine  o'clock,  and  no 

clients  come  yet } 
Sure  tliou  dost  not  set  up  bills  enough. 

Cloun.  IVeset  up 
Bills  in  alnittdance. 

For.  What  biUs? 

C/cnrn.  Marry,  [goods, 

^  For  curing  of  all  diseases,  recovery  of  stol'n 
'  And  a  thousand  such  impossibilities. 

For.  The  place  is  unlucky. 


Clonm.  No,  certain 'tis  scarcity  of  money; 
Do  not  you  hear  the  lawyers  complain  of  it ^ 
Men  have  as  much  malice  as  e'er  tliey  had 

to  wrangle,  [money 

But  theyVe  no  money.— Whither  should  fthis 
Be  travelled  ? 

For.  To  the  devil,  I  think. 

Clown.  Tis  with 
His  cofterer  I'm  certain,  that>  the  usurer. 

For.  Our  cheating  does  not  prosper  so 
Twas  wont  to  do.  [well  as 

Clown.  No,  sure.  Why,  in  England  we 
Could  cozen  Vm  as  familiarly,  as  if 
We'd  traveird  with  a  brief,  or  a  lottery. 

For.  In  the  Low-Countries  we  did  pretty 
.   well. 

Ciown.  So,  so,  as  long  as  we  kept  the  mop- 
headed 
Buctep-boxes  sober;  marry,  when  they  were 

drunk. 
Then  they  grew  buzzards;  you  should  have 

them  reel 
Their  heads  together,  and  deliberate ! 
Your  Dutchman,  indeed,  when  he's  foxt,  if 

like  a  fox ;  [a  man's  thinking. 

For  when  he's  sunk  in  drink,  quite  earth  to 
Tis  full  exchange-time  with  him,  then  he's 

subtlest. 
But  your  Switzer,  'twas  notliing  to  okeat  him. 

For.  Nothing.  [it;  for  since 

Clown.  No,  nor  conscience  to  be  made  of 
Nature  aforehand  cozen'd  him  of  his  wit, 
'Twas  the  less  sin  for  us  to  cozen  him  of  his 

money.  [pated ; 

For.  But  these  Italians  are  more  nimble- 
We  must  have  some  new  trick  for  tkesi.    I 

protest. 
But  that  our  Hostess'  daughter's  a  sweet  las.% 
And  draws  great  resort  to  th'  house,  we  wera 
Draw  teeth  arhorscback.  [as  good 

Clottn.  I  told  'em  in  the  market-putce  you 

could  conjure. 
And  nobody  would  believe  me;  bat  erelong 
I'll  make  'em  believe  you  can  conjure  with 

such  a  figuary ! 

For.  What  language  shall's  conjuK   in? 

nigh-Dutch 
I  think,  that's  full  in  the  mouth. 

Clown.  No,  no,  Spanish;  [dreadful. 

That  roareth  best,  and  will  appear  more 

'For.  Prithee  tell  me  thy  conceit  thou  hast 

to  gull  them. 


■♦  When  I  was  as  young,  I  was  as  honest.]  This  has  been  hitherto  made  the  conclusion  of 
the  Host's  speech,  by  which  it  seems  to  have  lost  all  its  humour.  It  evidently  belongs  to 
the  HcstesSj  who  stops  her  husband  from  giving  further  hints  concerning  Biancha  ;  ancl  this 
is  artfully  contriv'd  with  regard  to  the  auoience,  whose  curiosities  are  heightened  by  a  glim- 
merin|  of  tlie  plot,  but  not  too  soon  satisfied  by  a  foil  view  of  it.  To  do  this  judiciously,  is 
one  of  the  greatest  difficulties  in  almost  every  species  of  writing.  Seward. 

We  think  Seward  totally  mistaken  here,  and  that  the  ffosf  (instead  of  alluding  to  Bianchtft 
real  parentage)  whimsically  insinuates  that  her  virtuous  principles  are  derived  from  him. 

^^  Ere  you  eo  to  bed,  fail  not  of  that,  Iprau.]  These  words  have  hitherto  been  made  a 
continuation  of  tlie  Clown's  speech;  but  from  him  they  seem  devoid  of  meaning.  If  spoken 
by  tlie  Hott,  aside,  we  may  very  well  understand  by  them,  that  the  Clown  gapes  /or  his 
breakfast  even  brfare  he  goes  to  bed. 

U  u  2  Clown. 


353 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


[Act  «• 


Chmm,  No,  no,  I  will  not  stale  it'^ ;  but, 

my  ctear  jewfr-trump, 
For  thou  art  but  my  instrument,  I'm  the 

plotter, 
And  when  we  have  cozenM  'cm  most  tightly, 

thou 
Shalt  steal  away  the  innkeeper's  daughter,  1*11 
Provide  myself  of  another  moveable ; 
And  we  will  most  purely  retire  ourselves 
To  Geneva. 

Far.  Thou  art  the  compass  I  sail  bv. 

Enter  Baptista  and  Mentivole, 

Bapt,  Was  ever  expectation  of  so  noble 
A  requital  answered  with  such  contumely ! 
A  wild  Numidian,  that  had  suck'd  a  tigress. 
Would  not  have  been  so  barbarous ;  did  he 
To  cut  thy  hand  oSf    •  [threat 

Ment.  Yes,  sir ;  and  his  slaves 
Were  ready  to  perform't. 

Bapt.  What  hindered  it? 

Ment.  Only  bis  son's  entreaty. 

Bapt.  Noble  youth! 
I  wish  thou  wert  not  of  his  blood ;  thy  pity 
Gives  me  a  hope  thou  art  not. 
.    Ment.  You  mistake,  sir ; 
The  injury  that  follow'd  from  the  son 
Was  worse  than  the  father's:  he  did  first 

disarm. 
And  took  from  me  a  jewel,  which  I  prize 
Above  my  hand  or  life. 

Bapt.  Take  thy  sword  from  thee  ? 
He  stole  it  like  a  thief  rather;  he  could  not 
I-  th' field  deprive  thee  of  it. 

Mmi.  He  took  it  from  me. 
And  sent  me  forth  so  thin,  and  so  unmade-up, 
As  if  I'd  been  a  footboy. 

Bapt.  Oh,  my  fiiry!  [rashness, 

I  must  now  ask  thee  forgiveness,  that  my 
Bred  out  of  too  much  friendship,  did  expose 

thee 
To  so  imminent  a  danger ;  which  I  vow 
I  will  revenge  on  the  whole  family. 
All  tlie  calamities  of  my  whole  life. 
My  banishment  firom  Genoa,  my  wife*s  loss, 
Compar'd  to  this  indignity,  is  nothiuc ; 
Their  family  shall  repair  t;   it  sliaU    be  to 

them 
like  a  plague^  when  the  dog-star  reigns  most 

hot! 
An  Italian's  revenge  may  pause,  but's  ne'er 

forgot.  [  Ea-i/. 

Ment.  I  would  I  had  conceai'd  this  from 

my  father. 
For  my  interest  in  Clarissa !  My  care  now 
Must  be  to  untangle  this  division, 
That  our  most  equal  flames  may  be  united ; 


And  firom    these   varioos    and    peitarbed 

streams, 
Rise,  like  a  sweet    mom,    after    ternUft 
dreams.  [£:ri/. 

Enter  Clarissa  and  Cesario. 

Clar.  Brotlier,  I'm  happy  in  your  recovery 

Ces.  And  I,  sister, 
Am  ever  best  pleas'd  in  your  happiness. 
But  I  miss  a  toy  should  be  on  your  finger. 

Clar.  My  ring! 
This  monuHg  when  I  wash'd  I  put  it  off; 
Tis  in  my  wmdow. 

Ces.  Where's  ^-our  looking-glass? 

Clar.  Here,  sir. 

Ces.  Tis  a  fair  one. 

Clar.  Tis  pure  crystal.  [me  see; 

Ces.  Can  a  diamond  cat  in  crystal?  LeC 
I'll  grave  my  name  in't. 

Clar.  Oh,  you'll  spoil  my  glass  *^. 

Ces.  Would  you  not  have  your  brother  tn 

your  eye  ? 
I'd  thought  he  had  been  planted  in  your  heart. 
Look  you ;  the  diamond  cuts  quaintly;  jou 

are  cozen'd. 
Your  crystal  is  too  brittle. 

Clar.  Tis  the  ring 
I  gave  unto  Mentivole!  sure,  the  same!^ 
You  put  me  to  amazement,  sir,  and  horror  : 
How  came  yo|i  by  tliat  ring  ? 

Ces.  Docs  the  blood  rise  f  [^o) 

Clar.  Pray,  sir,  resolve  me,  (oh,  for  pity 
And  take  from  me  a  trembling  at  die  heart, 
That  else  will  kill  me !  for  I  too  much  feur 
Nothing  but  death  could  ravish  it  from  his  hand 
That  wore.  it. 

Ces.  Was  it  ^iveu  to  Mentivole 
On  that  condition  ? 

Clar.  Tell  me  of  his  health  first. 
And  then  I'll  tell  you  any  thing. 

Ces.  By  my  life,  he's  well; 
In  better  health  than  I  aiu. 

Clar.  Then,  it  was,  sir.  [false  oae! 

Ces.  Then  shall  I  ever  hate  thee,  «>h,  thoa 
Hast  thou  a  faith  to  give  unto  a  friend. 
And  break  it  to  a  brother?  Did  I  not. 
By  all  the  ties  of  blood,  importune  thee 
Never  to  part  with  it  without  my  knowledge  ? 
Thou  might'st  have  given  it  to  a  rouletteer^ 
And  made  a  contract  with  him  in  a  stable. 
At  as  cheap  a  price  of  my  vengeance!  Never 

more 
Shall  a  woman's  trust  beguile  me :  you  are  all 
Like  relicks;  you  may  well  be  look'd  upon. 
But  come  a  man  to  tn'  handling  of  you  onoe^ 
You  fall  in  pieces ! 

Clar.  Dear  sir,  Fve  no  way 
Look'd  eidier  beneath  i^^ason,  or  mysd^ 


.  '*  ^0,  no,  twill  not  stael  it.]  Corrected  in  1750. 
'7  Clar.  Oh,  youHl  spoil  my  glass. 

Would  you  not  have  your  brother  in  your  eye  f 
Ces.  Vd  thought,  4c.]  This  second  line  evidently  belongs  to  Caatio^  though  ^ven  io 
tlie  former  editions  to  Clarissa,    Mr.  Sympsoa  and  Mr.  Theobald  concurred  in  tiiis  cor> 
ruction.        Seward, 

In 


Act  d.] 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


ddS 


In  my  ekctioD :  there's  parity  in  our  blood. 
And  in  our  fortunes;  ancient  amity '      [but 
Betwixt  our  parents ;  to  which  wants  nothing. 
The  fruit  of  olessed  marriage  between  us. 
To  add  to  their  posterities.    Nor  does  now 
Any  impeachment  rise,  except  the  sad 
And  unexpected  quarrel,  which  divided 
So  noble  and  so  excellent  a  friendship. 
Which,  as  I  ne'er  had  magick  to  foresee. 
So  I  could  not  prevent. 

Ce9.  Well,  you  must  give  me  leave 
To  have  a  liand  in  your  disposing ;  I  shall, 
In  th*  absence  of  my  father,  be  your  guardian; 
His  suit  must  pass  thro*  my  office.  Mentivole  ? 
He  bas  too  much  o*my  blood  already;  he  has, 
And  he  gets  no  more  oft. — ^Wherefore  weep 

jou,  mother? 

Enter  Mariana  and  a  Sailor. 

Mar.  Tis  occasioned  by  a  sorrow 
Wherein  you  have  a  child's  part,  and  the 
Your  father's  dead.  [mainest; 

Ces.  Dead? 

Mar.  There  is  one  can 
Belate  the  rest. 

Stdlor.  1  can,  sir;  your  father's  drown'd, 
Most  unfortunately  drown'd. 

Ces.  How  ?  in  a  tempest  ? 

Sailor.  No,  sir,  in  a  cahn. 
Calm  asthiscveoing:  the  gunner,  bcin^  drunk. 
Forgot  to  fasten  the  ordnance  to  their  ports, 
When  came  a  sudden  gust,  which  tumbled 

them 
All  to  tlie  starboard  side,  o'erturn'd  the  ship, 
And  sunk  her  in  a  moment;  some  six  men 
That  were  upon  the  deck,  were  sav'd ;  the  rest 
Perisb*d  wi'  your  father. 


Clar.  Oh»  mv  dearest  father ! 

Ce».  I  pray  thee,  leave  us*      [EsU  Sailor.        ^ 

Mar.  I  have  a  sorrow  of  another  nature,  i^J 

Equal  to  th*  former.  .* 

Ce$.  And  most  commonly 
They  come  together. 

Mar.  The  family  of  the  Baptist! 
Are  grown  to  faction,  and  upon  distaste  ^ 

Of  th'iujury  late  od'er'd  in  my  house. 
Have  vow'd  a  most  severe  and  fell  revenge 
'Gainst  all  our  family,  but  especially 
'Gainst  you,  my  dear  Cesario. 

Ca.  Let  them  threat; 
I  ain  prepar*d  t*  oppose  them. 

Mar,  And  is  your  lose  then 
Of  so  easy  an  estimation?  What  comfort 
Have  I  but  in  your  life?  and  your  late  danger 
Presents  before  me  what  I  am  to  suffer. 
Should  you  miscarry:  therefore  Til  advise 

you, 
When  th*  funeral  is  over,  you  would  travel ; 
Both  to  prevent  their  fury,  and  wear  out 
The  injury. 

Ce».  No,  mother,  HI  not  travel — 
So  in  my  absence  he  may  marry  my  sistef-* 
I  will  not  travel,  certsiin. 

Mar,  Oh,  my  Cesario, 
Whom  I  respect  and  love  'hove  my  own  life. 
Indeed  with  a  kind  of  dotage!    he  shall 

never 
Go  forth  o' doors,  but  the  contrary  faction 
Will  endanger  liLs  life;  and  then  am  I  most 

wretched ! 
I'm  thinking  of  a  strange  prevention. 
Which  I  shall  witness  with  a  bleeding  eye; 
Fondness  sometimes  is  worse  than  cruelty. 

[Es€unt9 


ACT    III. 


'Enter  Host,  Hostess,  and  Biancha. 

Soft.  1JUUNTED,  my  house  is  haunted 

"•  wi' goblins!  I  shall 
Be  frighted  out  o*my  wits,  and  set  up  a  sign 
Only  t' invite  carriers  and  foot-posts,  scare- 
crows [rank. 
To  keep  off  th'  cavalry,  and  gentry  of  the  best 
I  will  nail  up  my  doors,  and  wall  up  my  girl, 
Wife,  like  an  anchoress ;  or  she  will  he  ravish'd 
Before  our  faces  by  rascak  and  cacafugo^ 
Vf'ife,  cacafugo's! 

Hostess.  These  are  your  incomes! 
Remember  your  own  proverb,  The  savour 
Of  every  gam  smelt  sweet :  thank  nobody 
For  this  trouble !  [but  yourself 

Host.  No  galling,  dear  speuse,  no  galling ! 
Every  day's  new  vexation  abates  me 
Two  inches  in  the  waist;  terrible  penance 
For  an  host!  Girl,  girl,  girl,  which  of  all  this 
GallimBufry  of  man's  flesh  appears  tolerable 


To  thy  choice  ?  speak  shortly,  and  speak 

truly!  I  [youtWt? 

Must  and  will  know,  must  and  will!  hear 

Bian .  Sir,  be  not  jealous  of  my  care  and 

duty! 

I  am  so  far  from  entertaining  thoughts 

Of  liberty,  that  much  more  excellent  objects 

Than  any  of  such  coarse  contents  as  these  are. 

Could  not  betray  mine  eye  to  force  mine 

heart 
Conceive  a  wish,  of  any  dearer  happiness 
Than  your  direction  warrants.    I  am  yours^ 
sir.  [this  strange 

Hostess.  What  thinks  the  man  now?  Is  not 
At  thirteen  ?  fern. 

Host.  Very  good  words;  there*s  a  tane  in 
And  a  sweet  one ;  'tis  music,  wife ;  and  novr 
I  cumc  t'ye.    Let  us  a  tittle  examine 
The  several  conditions  of  our 
Paragraphistical  suitors !  The  first 
A  travling  taylor,  who  by  the  mystery 

Ofs 


S34 


THE  PAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INTT. 


Ofs  needle  and  thimble  hatb  surveyed  the 
fashions  /        {gerbread. 

Of  tU*  Frencli,  and  English ;  tliis  signer  Gin- 
StitchM  up  in  the  shreds  of  a  gaudy  outside. 
Sows  linings  with  his  crosvleg*d  compliment, 
I.ike  an  ape  doing  tricks  over  a  staff, 
Cringes,  and  crouches,  and  kisses  bis  fore- 
finger. 

Hostess.  Out  upon  him ! 
Host.  A  second,  a  lavoltere,  a  saltatory, 
A  dancer  with  a  kit  at*s  bum ;  one  that. 
By  teaching  great  madonnas  to  foot  it,  has 
I  Winiculously  pnrclias'd  a  ribanded      [fellow 
Waistcoat,  and  four  clean  pair  of  socks;  a 
Tliat  skippcth  as  he  walketh,  and  instead 
Of  sensible  discourse,  venteth  the  curious 
Conceit  of  some  new  tune  stol'n  from  a 

masque,      « 
Or  a  bawdy  ditty,  elevated  for 
The  pole  arctick  of  a  lady's  chamber; 
In  tliat  file  stands  another  of  your  inamora- 
toes,  [l^e  ne'er  fiddles 

Hostess.  Hang  him  and  his  fiddle  together! 
Any  child  of  ours. 

Host.  The  third,  a  mongrel, 
Got  by  a  Switzer  on  an  Italian;  this  puppy, 
Being  left  well  estated,  comes  *to  Florence, 
That  the  world  may  take  notice,  how  impos- 

sible 
It  is  for  experience  to  alter  [deed. 

The  course  of  nature ;  a  fool,  wife !  and,  in- 
A  clown  turn'd  gallant  seldom  or  never  proves 
Other  than  a  gallant  fool ;  this  toy  prates 
To  little  purpose  other  than — What's  o'clock  ? 
ShaWs  go  drink  f  D*yefonoothf  w\&  Thank 

ye  heartily. 
I  fear  no  art  in  him  to  catch  thee ;  and 
Yet  we  must  be  tonuented  witli  tliis  buzzard 
Amongst  the  rest. 

Hostess.  Tis  your  own  folly ;  forbid  him 
the  house.  fand  a  harsh  knave ; 

if  out.  The  fourth,  a  mule-driver,  a  stubborn 
The  fifth,  a  schoolmaster,  a  very  amorous 
pedant. 


fAct  5. 

Run  almost  mad  with  study  of  sonnets' %  and 
Compliments  out  of  old  play-ends;  the  last. 
An  advocate's  dork,  that  speaks  pure  fustian 

in  law-terms** : 
Excellent  courtiers  all,  and  all  as  neat 
As  a  magnifico's  post  new  painted,  at 
His  entrance  to  an  office !  Tliou  shalt  ha^ 
None  of 'em.    Laugh  at  'em,  do!  I  say, 
Thou  shalt  have  none  of 'em. 

Bian.  Still  your  command  to  me  shall  stand 
a  law.  [coursers 

Host,  Now  they  throng  like  so  many  horse- 
At  a  fair,  in  clusters  'bout  the  man  of  art. 
For  love-powders,  ingredients,  potions,  coun- 
sels. 
Postures,  compliments,  philters,  the  devil 

[CUmn  cries  within. 
And   the — How  now?    tumulti^    batteries^ 
noise? 
For.  [rcithin']  Ha,  get  from  ray  sight**! 

Enter  Forohosco,  and  Clown  with  his  head 
bloody. 

Clown.  Murder  me, do! 
Pound  me  to  mummy,  do !  see  what  will  come 

on't.  [tongue  out ! 

For.  Doe,  leave  thy  snarling,  or  FU  cut  thy 
Thou  unlick*d  bear,  dar'st  tliou  yet  stand  my 

fury,  [damps 

My  generons  rage?  yet?  By  the  sulphureous 
That  feed  the  hungry  and  incessant  darkness, 
Which  curls  around  the  grim  Alastor*s  back. 
Mutter  again,  and  with  one  powerful  word, 
ril  call  an  host  up  from  the  Stygian  lakes. 
Shall  waft  thee  to  the  Acherontick  fens; 
Where  choak'd  with  mists  as  black  asthyim- 
Thou  shalt  live  still  a-dying !  postures. 

Clown.  Conjure  me  to 
The  devil,  an  you  can !  I  live  in  hell 
Upon  earth  already :  an  you  had  any  mercy. 
You  would  not  practise  upon  a  kind  heart 

thus. 

Host.  You  have  drawn  blood  from  him ; 
Signer,  is  hii  offence  unpardonable? 


'^  Bun  almost  mad  with  study  of  sonnets.']  All  the  Hos^s  part  in  this  scene,  as  the  conjn« 
rer's  in  others,  has  been  hitiierto  printed  as  prose;  but  the  reader  will  see  that  without  any 
strain  (for  I  liave  scarce  added  or  struck  out  a  single  expletive)  it  runs  into  an  affected  hob- 
bling verse;  which  to  me  seems  to  add  great  humour  to  almost  every  sentiment,  giving  a 
roinic  dignity  to  the  whole,  which  is  of  all  drollery  ^the  most  laudable.  In  this  line  a  mono* 
syllable  seems  evidently  dropt,  for  the  epithet  new  not  only  fills  the  measure,  but  makes  a 
proper  antithesis  to  the  old  in  the  next  line,  which  is  a  proof  of  its  having  been  origimdly  a 
verse.  Seward. 

Though  this  note  is  just  in  the  main,  yet  there  are  two  things  in  it  which  call  for  animad* 
version.  In  the  first  place,  the  word  new  is  not  necessary  to  the  measure,  nor  have  we  a 
right  to  CREATE  an  antithesis.  In  the  second,  though  Mr.  Seward  says  he  has  not  used  any 
utrainy  he  has  here  fas  in  all  other  parts  of  his  edition)  interpolated^  omitted,  and  slaughtered 
words  (similar  instances  see  at  the  end  of  Wit  Without  Money)  in  a  manner  unprecedented 
and  unparalleled. 

^^  An  advocate's  clerks  that  speaks  pure  fustian  in  lavB-terms.]  The  particle  in,  here, 
equally  hurts  the  sense  as  the  measure,  which  is  another  proof  of  the  measure's  being  genuine. 

4.  Seward. 

The  word  in  neither  hurts  the  sense,  nor  roars  such  licentious  measure. 

^^  Hoy  get  from  my  sight.]  This  has  been  mwk  the  conclusion  of  the  Host's  speech,  which 
evidently  belongs  to  Forobosco  as  he  enters.  Seward. 

For. 


VTVrVERSlTY    ] 
THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


Act  3.]  THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN.  3GS 

JFbr.  A  lump  of  ignonincey  (pray  speak  not 

for  bim)  doms, 

A  drowsy  grossnese !  In  all  Christian  king- 
The  mention  of  mj  art,  my  name,  ray  prac- 
tice. 
Merit  and  i;1ory,  hath  begot  at  once 
Deligbt  aod  wonder. — ^1*11  not  be  entreated  -^ 
Spare  intercession  for  him ! — (>h,  thou  scorn 
Of  learning  shame  of  duty,  must  thy  sloth 
Draw  my  just  £une  in  question?  I  discharge 

thee 
From  my  service ;  see  me  no  more  henceforth ! 

CUncn,  Discharge  me  ?  [swer*d. 

Is  that  my  year's  wages  ?  I  will  not  be  so  an* 

For,  Not,  cainel  ?  sirrah,  I  am  liberal  to 
Tbou  hast  thy  life;  be  gone!  [thee 

Cloam,  Vengeance,  sweet  vengeance ! 

For,  D'ye  mumble  ?  [denly,  and 

down.  I'll  be  revengM,  monstrously,  sud- 
Insatiably :  my  bulk  begins  to  swell. 

For,  6omotolenton,pragmutophor0s^  htlio' 

stycorazf  J[Well, 

Clown.  Call  up  your  spirits !  I  defy  'em ! 
Fil  have  law  for  my  broken  pate^  (twelve 

ounces 
Of  pure  blood,  Troy-weight)  in  despite  of  thee 
My  master,  and  thy  master  the  grand  devil 
Himself:  VindictOfVindicia/  [Exit, 

Ho$L  Signor,  yon  are  exceeding  roov'd. 

Hostess,   Mercy  upon  us,  wliSt  terrible 

words  thou  talk*st !  [frighted, 

JFbr.  A  slave,  a  cur ! — But  be  not  you  af- 
Young  virgin  \  'twere  an  injury  to  sweetness, 
Should  any  rougher  sound  draw  from  your 

cheeks  [proud 

Tlie  precious  tincture^',  which  makes  Nature 
Of  her  own  workmansliip. 

Host,  Wife,  mark;  mdrk  that,  wife! 

Bia7i.  Shake  then  your  anger  off,  sir. 

For.  You  command  it,  peaves. 

Fair  one.  Mine  Host  and  Hostess,  with  your 
I  have  a  motion  jointly  to  you  all. 

Hostess,  An  honest  one,  I  hope. 

Host.  Well  put  in,  wife! 

For,  A  very  necessary  one :  tlie  mess 
And  lialf  of  suitors,  that  attend  to  usher 
.Their  love's  sir-reverence  to  your  daughter, 

wait  [eye 

With  one  consent,  which  can  best  please  her 
In  offering  at  a  dance:  I  have  provided 
Music ;  and  'twill  be  something,  I  dare  pro- 
mise, [mittance  ? 
Wortliy  your  laughter.    Shall  they  haVe  ad-  rooms,  sirs 

''  Should  any  rough  sound  draxofrom  your  cheek* 

The  precious  tincturCf  &c.]  IVIr.  Sympson  concurs  with  me  in  reading,  any  rougher  sound, 
Tis  necessary  to  the  verse,  and  every  man  of  the  least  taste  knows  how  much  more  elegant 
die  comparative  degree  renders  the  expression.  The  compliment  here  is  so  extremely 
beautiful,  that  I  could  have  wished  it  had  been  put  in  the  mouth  of  a  Cesario  or  MentivoU, 

^^  Schoohnastery  Clerk.]  I  have  added  the  Coxcofnt  to  tlie  number,  Mr.  Sympson  having 
justly  observed  that  the  meu  and  half  of  suitors  were  evidently  six,  and  as  the  Coxcomb  is  one 
of  them  in  the  next  scene  in  which  they  appear,  and  is  the  second  in  Foro6ofco's  list,  he  ought 
evidently  to  have  a  place  here.  The  reader  will  see  how  nmch  more  humorous  my  Hosf% 
next  speech  is  when  printed  in  iBs  true  order,  as  vene,  than  it  was  when  the  metre  was 
disregarded*  Seward^ 

For. 


Ho$t,  By  any  means;  fbr  Fm  persuaded 

the  manner 
Will  be  so  ridiculous,  that  it  will  confinn 
The  assurance  of  their  miserable  fooleries: 

but 
No  longer  trouble  with  'em  here,  than  they 
Are  in  these  may-games  ! 

For,  So  I  am  resolved. 

Hostess,  Nor  any  wise  word  of  senseless 

love !  .  [you  see 

For.  Not  any;  I  have  charm'd  them.  Did 
How  they  prepar'd  themselves,  how  they 

stroke  up  ^  [ing-elass. 

Their  foretops,  how  they  justle  for  the  look- 
To  set  their  fiices  by  it  (see,  they  muster !) 
You  would  look  for  some  most  impossible 

antic. 

EfUer  Taylor,  Dancer,  Muletteer,  School^ 
master,  Clerk"^^,  Coxcomb;  all  with  seve- 
veral  Papers,  and  present  them  to  Foro» 
bosco. 

Host,  So,  so,  so,  so!  here  flutter  tlie  nest 
of  hornets,  [now ! 

The  hotch-potch  of  rascality :  now,  now,  now, 
The  dunghill  of  corruption.hatli  yawn'd  forth 
The  burden  of  abomination.    I  am 
Vex*d,  vexed  to  the  soul ;  will  rid  my  hous« 
Of  this  unchristen'd  fry,  and  never  open  ^ 
My  doors  again. 

For,  Some  other  time ;  Fll  give  no  answer 
now,  [cunning. 

But  have  preferred  your  suits;  here  shew  your 
First,  every  one  in  order  do  his  honour 
To  the  fair  mark  you  shoot  at ;  courtly,  courtly. 
Convey  your  several  loves  in  lively  measure : 
Come,  let  us  take  our  seats.  Some  sprightly 
nmsic ! 

Host.  Dance  all  and  part :  'tis  a  very  neces- 
sary farewell. 

They  all  make^  ridiculous  congees  to  Biancha, 
rank  themselves,  and  dance  in  several  pos- 
tures; during  the  dance,  enter  Cesario, 
and  stands  off'. 

Host.  Well  done,  my  lusty  bloods,  preci- 
ously well  done !  [all  sides ! 

One  lusty  rouse  of  wine,  and  take  leave  on 
Ces,  Thanks  for  your  revels,  gentlemen  I 
accept 

This  gold,  and  drink  as  freely  as  you  danced. 
Host.  My  noble  lord  Cesario?  Clear  the 


S36 


THE  FMK  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


[Acta. 


Jbr.  Away;  attend  your  answers. 

[Exeunt  Forobosco  and  Suitors. 

Ces.  With  your  favour, 
Rolando,  I  would  change  a  word  or  two 
With  your  fnir  daughter. 

Host,  At  your  lordship's  pleasure. 
Come,  wife,  no  muttenng!    Have  a  care, 

girl!     My  love,  ' 

Service,  and  duty  to  your  good  lordship  ! 

[Exeunt  Host  and  Hostess. 

Ccs.  Myoften  visits,  sweet  13ianc ha,  cannot 
But  constantly  inform  thy  judgment  wherein 
Thy  happiness  consists:  fur  to  steal  minutes 
From  great  employments,  to  converse  with 

beauty, 
Ix)dg*d  in  so  mean  a  fortune;  to  lay  by 
Consideration  of  the  unequal  distance 
Between  my  blood  and  thme :  to  shun  occa- 
sions 
Of  courtship  with  the  ladies  of  the  time, 
Noble  and  fair,  only  for  love  to  thee ; 
Must  of  necessity  invite  a  tenderness, 
As  low  as  Nature  could  have  starap'd  a  bond* 

woman*s. 
To  entertain  quick  motions  of  rare  gratitude 
For  my  uncommon  favours. 

Bian.  /Deed,  my  lord, 
As  far  as  my  simplicity  can  lead  me» 
I  freely  thank  your  courtesies. 

Ces.'^  To  thank  them 
Is  to  reward  them,  pretty  one. 

Bian.  Then  teach  me 
How  I  may  give  them  back  again :  in  truth 
I  never  yet  receiv'd  a  pair  of  gloves, 
A  trifling  rinj;,  from  any  that  expected 
An  equal  satisfaction,  but  as  willingly 
I  parted  with  the  gift  unto  the  owner, 
As  he  bestow'd  it. 

Ces.  But  I  pour  before  thee 
Such  plenties,  as  it  lies  not  in  the  ability 
Of  thy  whole  kindred  to  return  proportionable 
One  for  a  thousand. 

Bian,  You,  my  lord,  conclude 
For  my  instruction :  to  engage  a  debt 
Beyond  a  possibility  of  payment, 
I  ever  thought  a  sin;  and  tlierefore  justly 
Without  conceit  of  sconi,  or  curious  rudeness, 
I  must  refuse  your  bounty. 

Ces.  Canst  thou  love?  [language 

Bian.  Ix)ve?  is  there  such  a  word  in  any 
That  carries  honest  sense  ? 

Ces*  Never  dwelt  ignorance  [?^*> 

In  so  &weet-shap*d  a  building ! — Love,  liian- 
Is  that  firm  knot  which  ties  two  hearts  in  one : 
Sim II  onrs  be  tied  so? 

Bian.  Vse  a  plainer  word. 
My  lord;  instead  o£ties,  say  marries  hearts; 
Tlien  I  may  understand. 

Ces.  Their  hearts  are  married,  [braces, 
Whose  interchange  of  pleasures  and  cm- 
Soft  kisses,  and  the  privacies  of  sweets, 

^'  lb  your  vile  toils.]  Mr.  Sympson  would  read  tales  for  toilSf  which  I  caonot 
for  sniailinconsistencies  in  metaphor  are  too  commoa  with  ail  nenroutt  writen,  to  b% 
pQbed  corruption*}  of  the  preits,  Seuard* 


Keeps  constant  league  together ;  when  temp- 
tation [tenipt. 
Of  great  men's  oaths  and  gifts  shall  urge  con* 
Ratine r  tlian  batter  resolution:  novelty 
Of  sights,  or  taste  of  new  delights  in  wanton* 

ness, 
greeds  surfeit  more  than  appetite  in  any 
jleserv'd  to  noble  vows:  my  excellent maid» 
Live  thou  but  true  to  me,  and  my  content^ 
Mine  only,  that  no  partner  may  partake 
The  treasure  of  those  sweets  thy  youth  yet 

gioncs  in. 
And  I  will  raise  thy  lowness  to  abundanoe 
Of  all  varieties;  and  more  triumph 
In  such  a  mistress,  than  great  pnnce»  doting 
On  trutlt-betrayiug  wives. 

Bian.  llius  to  yield  up  then 
The  cottage  of  m^  virtue,  to  be  swallowM 
By  some  hanl-neighbouring  landlord,  tuch 

as  you  are. 
Is  in  effect  to  love?    A  lord  so  Ticioos^ 
Oh,  where  shall  innocence  find  some  poor 

dwelling, 
Free  from  temptation's  granny? 

Ces.  Nay,  prithee!  [of lust, 

Bian.  Gay  cioaths,  high  fecdiiiK»  easy  beds 
Change  of  unseemly  sights,  with  base  dis- 
course. 
Draw  curses  on  your  palaces:  for  my  part. 
This  I  will  be  coniinn  d  in ;  I  will  eat 
The  bread  of  labour,  know  no  other  rest 
Than  what  is  earn'd  fit>m  honest  pains,  ere 
once  more  Xy^^  ^*^ 

Lend  ear  to  your  vile  toils*'!    Sir,  'would 
As  noble  in  desires,  as  I  could  be 
In  knowing  virtue!    Pray  do  not  afflict 
A  poor  soul  thus. 


Enter  a  Gentleman, 

Ces.  I  swear-^to  me?   [Biancha  steals  effm 

Gent.  The  Duke,  my  lord,  commands  yoar 

speedy  presence, 
For  answering  aggrievances  late  ujg'd 
Against  you  by  your  motlier. 

Ces.  By  -tny  mother  ? 

Gent,  Ttoe  court  is  near  on  sittios. 

Ces.  1  wait  on  it^  sir.  [EseatU, 

Duke,  Magistrates,  Secretary,  and  Baptista, 
discovered  sitting  ;  Mentivole  standing  hy^ 
with  Attendants. 

Duke,  What  waste  of  blood,  what  tumulti^ 

what  divisions, 
What  outrages,  what  uproars  in  a  state, 
Factions,  tbo'  issuing  from  mean  springs  at 

first,  [ample 

Have  (not  restrain*d)  flowed  to,  the  sad  ex- 
At  Aome,  between  the  Ursinsaud  Coloonas, 
Nay,  here  at  home,  in  Florence,  'twixt  the 

Neri 
And  the  Bianchi,  can  too  mainly  witness* 


to; 


I  sit 


Act  3.] 


The  FiUii  maid  of  the  inK- 


9$T 


t  ait  not  at  the  helm»  toy  lords,  of  sovereignty, 
I>«piited  pilot  for  the  commonwealtti,   [ci^ 
^To  sleep  while  others  steer,  as  their  wild  faa- 
Shall  counsel)  by  the  compass  of  disorders. 
Baptists,  this  short  preface  is  directed 
Chiefly  tQ  you:  the  petty  brawls  and  quarrels 
Late  Qrg*d  betwixt  th'  Alberti  and  your  family. 
Must  (j^,  and  shall)  like  tender  unkuit  joints, 
Fasten  again  together  of  themselves ; 
Or,  like  an  angry  surgeon,  we  will  use 
The  roughness  of  our  justice,  to  cut  off 
The  stnbbom  rancour  of  the  limbs  offending ! 
Sapt.  Most  gracious  Florence — 
Duke.  Our  command  was  si);nified, 
That  neither  of  the  followers  of  each  party 
Should  appear  here  with  weapons. 
3apt.  'Tis  obey*d,  sir, 

00  my  side» 

J^uke,  We  must  leave  the  general  cause 
Of  state  employments,  to  give  ear  to  bran  Is 
Of  some  particular  grudges;  politic  goveru- 

ment 
For  tutor 'd  princes!  But  no  more!  henceforth 

Enter  Mariana  and  Clarista  at  one  Poor, 
Cetario  at  the  other. 

Our  frown  shall  check  presumption,  not  our 
clemency.  [princes 

Jlfor.   Ail  blessings  due  unto  impartial 
Crown  Florence  with  eternity  of  hnppmess ! 
CcM*  If  double  prayers  can  cfouble  blessings, 
^reatsir,  [ther*s. 

Mine  join  for,  vour  prosperity  with  my  mo-> 
Duke.  Rise  both !  Now  briefly,  lady^  with- 
out circumstance, 
Deliver  those  aggrievances,  wliich  lately 
Your  importunity  possess'd  our  counsel 
Were  fit  for  audience,  wherein  youpetition'd 
You  might  be  heard  without  an  advocate. 
Which  boon  you  find  is  granted. 
Mar.  Tho' divided  [desty**; 

1  stand  between  the  laws  of  trtith  and  mo- 
Yet  let  my  grie&  have  vent!  yet  the  clearness 
Of  strange  necessity  requires  obedience 

To  Nature  and  your  roen^!  In  my  weeds 
Of  mournings  emblems  of  too-dear  misfor- 
tunes. 
Badges  of  griefs,  and  widowhood,  tlie  burden 
Of  my  chaig'd  soul  must  be  laid  down  before 

you; 
Wherein,  if  strict  ooinion  cancel  shame, 
Jdy  fiBilty  is  my  plea.  Stand  forth,  young 


And  hear  a  story  that  will  strike  all  reason 
Into  amazement ! ' 

Ct».  I  attend. 

iUftr.  Alberto, 
(Peace  dwell  upon  his  ashes!  still  the  husband 
Of  my  remembrance  and  unchanging  vows) 
Has^  by  his  death,  left  to  his  heir  possessioa 


Of  fair  revenue,  which  this  young  man  claims 
As  hb  inheritance.    I  ui^*d  him  gently, 
Friendly,  and  privately,  to  grant  a  partagt 
Of  this  estate  to  her  who  owns  it  aU, 
Thb  his  supposed  sister. 

Bapi.  Ilow!  supposed? 

Ce$.  Pray,  madam,  recollect  yourself* 

Mari  Tiic  relish 
Of  a  strange  truth  begins  to  work  like  physic 
Already :  I  have  bitterness  to  mingle 
With  these  prepartitives,  so  deadly  loathsome 
It  will  quite  chuak  digestion;  shortly  hear  it: 
Cesario  (for  I  dare  not  rob  unjustly 
The  poor  suul  of  his  name),  this,  this  Cesario, 
Neither  for  father  had  Alberto,  me 
For  mother,  nor  Clurissu  for  his  sister. 

Clar,  Mother,  oh,  motlicrl 

Ment.  1  am  in  a  dream  sure  I 

Duke.  No  interruptions !  Lady,  on. 

Mar.  Mistake  not. 
Great  duke  of  Tuscany,  or  the  beginning 
Or  process  of  tliis  novelty:  my  husband, 
Tl^e  now  dcceas'd  Alberto,  from  liis  youth 
Inur*d  to  an  impaticncy  and  roughness 
Of  disposition,  when  not  many  months 
After  our  marriage  were  worn  out,  repiu*d 
At  the  unfruitful  barrenness  of  youth. 
Which,  as  he;  pieas*d  to  term  it,  cut  our 

hopes  off 
From  blessing  of  some  issue :  to  prevent  it, 
I  grew  ambitious  of  no  fairer  honour 
Tlian  to  preserve  his  love;  and  as  occasions 
Still  caU*d  him  from  me,  studied  in  his  alv^ 

sence  [coiufaru 

How  I  ini<;ht  frame  his  welcome  home  with 
At  hist  I  feigned  myself  with-child :  themes'* 

sage 
Of  freedom,  or  relief,  to  One  lialf  starv'd 
In  prison,  is  not  utterM  with  such  greediness 
Of  expecutton  and  delight,  as  tliis  was  tq 
My  muclHaffected  lord :  his  care,  his  goi^d*^ 

ness, 
(Pardon  me,  that  I  use  the  word)  exceeded 
AH  former  fears.  Tlie  hour  of  my  deliverance^ 
As  I  pretended,  drawing  near,  I  fashioned 
My  birth-rites^'  at  a  country  mrdeu  hou!»«. 
Where  tlien  my  falconer's  wife  was  brought 

ft-bed 
Of  this  Cesario :  him  I  own*d  for  mine. 
Presented  him  unto  a  joyful  fatlier— • 

Duke.  Can  you  yj^ove  this  true  ? 

Mar.  Proofs  I  have  most  evident. 
But  oh,  tlie  curse  of  my  impatience !  shortly, 
Ere  three  new  moons  had  spent  their  bor-> 

rovr  d  lights, 
Igrew  withichild  indeed;  so  just  is  Heav'n] 
The  issue  of  which  burden  was  this  daughter. 
Judge  now,  most  gracious  prince,  my  Tords» 

and  you,  [dur'd> 

What  combats  then,  and  since,  I  huvc  en* 


*^  Mar.  I%ough  dhided,  &c.]  Mariana*s  disownincr  Cesario  for  her  son,  and  the  Duki$ 
Infonction  to  marry  him,  is  related  by  Causin  in  his  Holy  Court,  and  is  transcribed  by  VVan^ 
ley  in  bis  History  of  Man,  fol.  book  lii.  chap.  SG.  Seward. 

*'  My  ^ir^Zhnghts.]  The  spelling  rectified  by  Seward. 

VOIaIXt  Xx  Between 


iM 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN', 


[Act  C 


Bian.  Y<m  mny  guess,  'sir; 
Yet  indeed  'tis  b  rare  one. 

Ce$.  Prithee  speak  it. 
My  honest  virtuous  maid. 

Bian.  Sir,  I  have  heard   • 
Of  your  misfortunes;  and  I  cannot  tell  you 
Whether  I  have  more  cause  of  joy  orsadncssi 
To  know  they  are  a  truth. 

Ce9.  What  truth,  Bianclm? 
Misfortunes  ?  how  ?  wlierein  ? 

Biaiu  You  are  disclaimed 
For  being  the  lord  Alberto's  son,  and  pubfiely 
Acknowledg*d  of  as  mean  a  birth  as  mine  i»  i 
It  cannot  cbuse  but  grieve  you. 

Cti*  Gricvo  me?  Hn,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Is  this  all  ? 

Bian.  This  all? 

Ctt.  Thou  art  sorry  for't, 
I  warrant  thee :  alas,  good  soul,  Biancha ! 
That  which  thou  call^st  misfortune,  is  my 
fdy  happiness,  Biancha !  [happiness; 

Bian,  If  you  love  me, 
It  may  prove  mine  too. 

C«.  May  it?  I  will  love  thee,  [happy. 
My  good,  good  maid,  if  that  can  msike  thee 
Better  and  better  love  thee. 

Bian.  Without  breach  then 
Of  modesty,  I  come  to  claim  the.interest 
Your  protestations,  both  bv  vows  and  letters. 
Have  made  me  owner  of:  Avm  the  first  hour 
I  saw  you,  I  confess  I  wish'd  I  had  been 
Or  not  so  much  below  your  rank  and  great- 
ness. 
Or  not  so  mnch  above  those  bumble  flames 
That  should  have  warm'd  my  bosom  with  a 

temperate 
Equality  of  desires  in  equal  fortunes. 
Still  as  you  ntter'd  language  of  affection, 
I  courted  time  to  pass  more  slowly  on, 
That  I  might  turn  more  fool  to  lend  attention 
To  what  I  durst  not  credit,  nor  yet  hope  for; 
Yet  8tiU  as  mdre  I  lieard,  I  w)sh*d  vo  hear 

more. 

C^  Didst  thou  in  troth,  weqch? 

Bian.    Willingly  bctray'd 
Myself  to  hopele8.'i'bonda|e. 

C«.  A  good  giri!  [answer  was. 

I  thought  I  should  not  miss,  wliate*er  thy 

Bian*   But  as  I  am  a  maid,  sir,  (and 

iTaith 
You  may  believe  me,  for  I  am  a  maid) 
So  dearly  I  respected  both  your  fame 
And  quality,  that  I  would  first  have  perish'd 
In  my  sick  thoughts,  than  e'er  have  given 

consent 
To>ive  undone  your  fortunes,  by  inTiting 
A  marriage  wit^  so  mean  a  one  as  I  am : 
I  should  have  died  sure,  and  no  creature 
The  sickness  that  bad  kill'd  m^.        [known 

Ceu  Pretty  heart! 
Good  so'ji,  alas,  alas! 


Bian.  Now  since  I  know 
There  is  no  difference  'twixt  your  birth  ao^ 

mine. 
Not  much  'twixt  our  estates  (if  any  be. 
The  advantage  is  on  my  side)  I  come  wi)p 

lingly 
To  lender  you  the  iirst-fruits  of  my  heart. 
And  am  content  t'  accept  you  for  my  husband^ 
Now  when  you  are  at  lowest. 

Cei,  For  a  husband  ? 
Speak  sadl}''';  dost  thou  mean  so  I 

Biati.  In  good  deed,  sir,    ' 
'Tis  pure  love  makes  this  proffer. 

Ces.  1  believe  thee. 
What  counsel  urg'd  thee  on?  teU  me;  thy 

father?  [wench? 

My  worshipful  smug  Host?   Was't  not  he, 
Or  mother  Hostess?  ha? 

Bian,  D'you  mock  my  parentage  ?      [thy 
I  do  not  scorn  yours :  mean  folks  arc  as  wor* 
To  be  well  spoken  of,  if  theydeserve  well. 
As  some  whose  only  fame  lies  in  their  Mood, 
Oh,  you*re  a  proud  poor  man!  all  your  oaths 

faJshood,  [wicked ! 

Your  vows  deceit,  your  letters  foi^'d  and 

Ces,  Thoud*bt  be  my  wife,  I  dare  swear. 

Bian.  Had  your  heart,  [pntie^ 

Your  hand  and  tongue  been  twitis,  yoa  liad  re^ 
This  courtesy  a  benefit. 

Ces.  3implicity, 
How  prettily  thou  mov'st me!  Why,Bianchaf 
Report  has  cozen'd  thee;  I  am  not  ftUen 
From  my  expected  honours  or  possessoss, 
Tho*  firom  the  hope  of  birtb-right. 

Bian,  Are  you  not?  ^ 

Then  I  am  lost  again !  I  have  a  suit  too; 
You'll  grant  it,  if  you  be  a  good  man. 

Ces.  Any  thing.  K  [said  t  ye. 

Bian.  Pray  do  not  tUlk  of  aught  wliatl  have 

Ces.  As  I  Wish  healtli,  I  wiU  not! 

Bian^  Pity  me; 
But  never  love  me  more! 

Ces.  Nay,  now  you're  cruel: 
Wlw  all  these  tears  ^Tho«  shait  not  go. 

Bian,  Vl\  pray  for  you. 
That  you  may  have  a  virtuous  wife,  a  fair  ooe| 
And  when  I'm  dead—* 

Ces.  Fy,(y! 

Bian,  Think  on  me  sometimes^i 
With  mercy  for  this  trespass  \ 

Ces,  Let  us  kiss 
At  parting,  as  at  coming! 

Bian.  This  I  have 
As  a  fVee  dower  to  a  virgin's  grave^ 
All  goodness  dwell  with  you !  [£rif« 

Ces.  Harmless  Riancha !  [p^J  ^^* 

Unskiird !  what  handsome  toys  are  maids  lit 

^nter  Mariana  and  Ciarifsa. 
How  iimooeat  I-p-^t  I  have  other  thoo^rti 
Of  nobler  me((iution.— My  felicttyy 

^'  Spaak  sadly.]  i.  e.  Seriously,  So  in  Mnch  Ado  about  Nothing,  act  ii.  scene  S,  '  This  eta 
'  be  no  trick :  tlie  conference  was  sadly  borne.'  Again,  in  Promos  and  Casaandra,  1571^ 
i|uoted  by  Mr  Steevcns^  <  The  king  feigneth  to  talk  sadl^  witli  some  of  his  counsel/       JL 


ULct  4. 


4 


THE  FAIR  IffAID  OF  THE  INN.' 


Mt 


Tlwii  com'st  ns  I  could  wish :  lend  me  a  itp 
Ab  softy  as  meUio&  as  wIm^  old  Alberto, 
After  his  first  night's  trial,  taking  fiirewell 
Of  thy  youth's  conquest,  tasted  f 
Mar.  You*pe  uncivil! 
fjes.  I  wilt  \)e  lord  of  my  own  pleasures, 
.   madam ;  [pering,  henceforth ! 

You're  mine,  mine  freely :  come,  no  whin*- 
New  con  the  lesttons  of  love*s  best  e!(penence. 
That  our  delights  may  meet  in  equal  measure 
Of  resolutions  and  desires !  this  suilenness 
Is  scurvy ;  I  like  it  not. 

Mar,  Be  modest ; 
And  do  not  learn,  Cesario,  hoiv  to  prostitute 
The  riot  of  thy  hopes  to  common  tolly. 
Take  a  sad  woman's  word!    howc'er  thou 

dot'st 
Upon  the  present  graces  of  tliy  {ip-eatoess, 
Yet  I'm  not  fallen  so  below  my  constancy 
To  virtuey  nor  the  care  wliich  I  once  tendered 
For  thy  behoof,  that  I  prefer  a  sentence 
Qf  cruelty  before  my  honour. 

C«.  Honour?  Fthe  comfort 

Mar,  Hear  me:  thou  seest  this  girl,  now 
Of  my  last  days !  she  is  the  only  pledge 
Of  a  bed  truly  noble  :  she  had  a  lather 
9  Deed  not  spieak  liim  more  than  thou  remem- 

herst) 
Whom  to  dislionour  by  a  meaner  clioice 
Were  injury  and  infamy. 

Clt/r,  To  goodness, 
To  time,  and  virtuous  mention. 

Mar,  I  have  vow*d, 
(Observe  me  now,  Cesario !)  that  howe'er 
I  may  be  forc'd  to  marry,  yet  no  tyranny, 
Pefsuasiont,  flattery,  gifts,  entreats,  or  tor- 
Shall  draw  me  to  a  second  bed.  [tures, 
•  CAir.  Tis  just  too. 

Afar.  Yes,  and  'tis  just,  Clarissa.    I  allow 
The  dnkeVlate  sentence,  aih  resolv'd,  young 

mao, 
To  be  thy  wife  ;  but  when  the  ceremony 
Of  marriase  is  perform'd,  in  life  I  will  be, 
Tho'  not  m  name,  a  widow. 
Ccs.  Pray  a  word  t'you! 
Shdl  I  in  earnest  never  he  your  bedfellow  ? 
Mar,  Never,  oh,  never !  and  'tis  for  your 
Cei,  Prove  that.  [good  too. 

Mar.  Alasy  too  many  years  are  number'd 
In  my  account,  to  entertain  the  benefit 
Which  youth  in  tliee,  Cesario,  and  ability 
Might  liope  for  and  require :  it  were  injustice 
To  rob  a  gentleman  deserving  memory, 
Of  issue  to  preserve  it. 

Ces,  No  more  I  Herein 
Yqu  are  an  excellent  pattern  of  true  piety. 
let  me  now  turn  your  advocate.    Pray  look 

into 
The  order  of  the  duke  enjoin'd;  admit 
I  satisfy  the  sentence^  without  marriage 
With  you!  bow  then? 
Mar.  Cesario! 
Ces.  If  I  know 
pow  to  acquit  yoHr  fcars;  yetlteep  th'  injonc^ 


In  every  clause  ^hole  and  entire,  your  oha^ 

rity 
Will  call  me  still  your  servant? 

Mar.  Still  my  son.  [your  son: 

Ces.  Right,  madam,  now  you  have  it,  still 
The  genius  of  your  blessings  hath  instructed 
Your  tongue  oraculously :  we*ll  foi^et 
How  once  I  and  Clarissa  interchang'd 
The  ties  of  brother  and  of  sister;  henceforth 
New  stile  us  man  and  wife. 

Ctar,  By  what  authority  ? 

Ces.  Heav'n's  great  appointment    Yet  la 

all  my  dotage 
On  thy  perfections,  when  I  thought,  Clarissa, 
We  had  been  pledges  of  one  womb,  no  loose. 
No  wanton  heat  oF  youth  desir'd  to  claim 
Priority  in  thy  affections,  other       [tender'd 
Than  Nature  might  commend ;   chastely  I 
Thy  welfare  as  a  brother  ought :  but  siuce 
Our  bloods  are  strangers,  let  our  hearts  con« 

tract 
A  long  life -lasting  unity !  for  this  way 
The  sentence  is  to  be  observ'd,  or  no  way. 

Mar.  Then  no  way ! 

Ces.  I  expected  other  answer. 
Madam,  from  you. 

Mar.  No;  every  age  shall  curse  me, 
Tlie  monster  and*  che  prodigy  of  nature! 
Horrors  beyond  extremity---' 

Clar.  Pray,  mother. 
Confine  the  violence  of  grief! 

Ces.  Yes,  mother, 
Pray  do !  rnour 

Mar.  Thus  some  catch  at  a  matron  s  ho* 
By  flying  lust,  to  plot  incestuous  witchcrafts^ 
More  terrible  than  whoredoms :  cruel  mercy !     * 
When  to  preserve  the  body  from  a  death 
The  soul  IS  strangled  ! 

Ces.  This  is  mote  than  pa&sion; 
It  comes  near  to  distraction. 

Afar.  I  am  quieted. 
Cesario,  thou  mayst  tell  the  duke  securely^       ^ 
Alberto's  titles,  honours,  and  revenues. 
The  duke  may  give  away ;  enjoy  them  thou! 
Clarissa's  birth-right,  M!ariana's  dower, 
Thou  shait  be  loi3  of;  turn  us  to  the  worlil 
Unpitied  and  unfriended ;  yet  my  bed 
Thou   never  sleep'st  in.    As  for  her,  (she 

hears  me)  • 

If  she  as  much  as  in  a  thought  consent, 
I'hat  thou  mayst  call  her  wife,  a  mochei's 
Shall  never  leave  her.  [curse 

Clar.  As  a  brother  once 
I  lov'd  you,  as  a  noble  friend  yet  honour  you; 
But  for  a  husband,  sir,  I  dare  not  own  you; 
My  faith  is  giv'n  already* 

Ces.  To  a  villain ; 
ni  cut  his  throat. 

Mar.  ^  Why  this  is  more  than  passion ; 
*  It  comes  near  a  distraction.^ 

C/ar.  Call  to  mind,  sir, 
How  much  you  have  abated  of  that  goodness 
Which  once  rcigii*d  in  you,  which  appear'd 

so  lovely. 
That  such  as  friendship  led  to  observation, 

Ent€r 


♦« 


1HS  FAOt  MAfi?  0P[  1SE  IHN« 


|Act^ 


,  Courted  the  gteat  examule  ! 

Ces,  LefCy  and  fiatter'd 
Into  a  broad  derision  f 

Mar.  Why  d'je  tliink  so  ? 
My  lord  Bapcista^  is  your  sou  |rowo  cold 
Ta  hastiiig  on  the  marna&e,  which  his  vows 
Have  8ea?d  to  my  wron^d  daughter? 

Bapt.  We  come,  lady. 
To  coosommate  the  contract. 

Ces.  With  Mentivole? 
Is  he  the  man  f 

Meni.  Clarifisa^s  troth  and  mine, 
Cesario,  are  recorded  in  a  cliaracter 
So  plain  and  certain,  that  except  the  hand 
Of  Ueav*b,  which  writ  it  firsts  would  blot  it 

out  agpin, 
Ko  human  power  can  raze  it. 

Ces,  But  say  yoa 
So  too,  young  lady? 

Clar.  I  should  else  betray  [jury. 

My  heart  to  falshood,  and  my  tongue  to  pcr- 

Ces.  Madam^  vou  know  the  sentence. 

BapL  From  the  duke 
I  have  particular  comforts,  which  require 
A  private  ear. 

Mar.  I  shall  approve  it  gladly. 
"We  are  resolv'd,  Cesario. 

Bopf.  Be  not  insolent 
Upon  a  prince's  fiivour ! 

Clar.  Lose  no  glory,  . 

Yoor  younger  years  mive  purchasM! 

Meat.  And  deberv'd  too ; 
You've  many  worthy  friends. 

BapL  Preserve  and  use  them ! 

[Exeunt.  Manet  Ces. 

Ces,  Good,  very  good!  why  here's  a  com- 
pliment 
Ot  mhrth  in  des[>eretion !  1  could  curse 
My  ^te:  oh,  with  what  speed  men  tumble 

down 
From  hopes  that  soar  too  high !  Biancfaa  now 
May  scorn  me  justly  too;  Oarissa  married, 
Alberto's  widow  resolute,  Biancha 
Kefus'd,  and  1  forsaken.    Let  me  study ! 
I  can  but  die  a  batcbelor,  that's^he  worst 

on't.  [ExU. 

Enter  Host,  Taylor^  Muletteer,  Dancer,  Pe- 
dant, Coxcomb. 

Host.  Come,  gentlemen; 
This  is  the  day  that  our  great  artist  hath 
Promis'd  to  give  all  your  several  suits  satis- 

Dancer.  Is  he  stirring?  [faction. 


Host.    He  kath  been  athifr  book 
These  two  hours. 

Pedant,  lie's  a  rare  physician, 

kott.  Why,  ril  tell  you;  were  Paracelstw 

the  German  now 
Living,  he  would  take  up  lus  sin^c  rapier 
Against  his  terrible  long  sword :  ne  makes  it 
A  matter  o'  nothing  to  cure  the  gout;  sorp 

eyes 
He  takes  out  as  familiarly,  washes  them. 
,And  puts  them  in  again,  as  you*d  bUincti  ^fi* 

monds. 

Taylor.  They  say  he  can  make  gold. 

Host.  Ay,  ay,  he  learnt  it 
OfKell^  in  Germany '^  There's  not  a  cbcmial 
In  Christendom  can  go  beyond  him 
For  multiplying. 

Pedant.  Take  heed  then  he  gtet  not 
Up  your  daughter's  beliy»my  host! 

Host,  You  ^e 
A  merry  gentleman,  and  the  man  of  art 
Will  love  you  the  better. 

Dancer,  Does  he  love  mirth  and  crotchets? 

Host.  Oh,  lie's  the  most  courteous  phy- 
sician !  you  [better 
May  drink  or  drab  in's  company  freely ;  the 
He  knows  how  your  disease  grows,  tLe  better 
Knows  how  to  cure  itv  [he 

Dancer.  But  I  wonder,  my  liost. 
He  has  no  more  resort  of  ladies  to  him. 

Host.  Why,  sir? 

Dancer.  0\\,  divers  of  'em  have  great  belief 
In  conjurers :  lechery  is  a  great  help 
To  til*  quality. 

Host.  UA  scarce  known  to  bo 
In  town  yet !  ere  long  we  shall  hove  *cn  cone 
Hurrying  hither  in  fratlier-beds. 

Dancer.  How !  bedridden  ^  [>FNI 

Host.  No,  sir;  in  featber4>edi  that  flsove 
Four  wheek,  in  Spanieh  carocbct. 

Pedant.  Pray  acquaint  him 
We  give  attendfuice. 

Jmt.  I  shall,  gentlemen. — 
I'd  fain  be  rid  o'  these  rascals,  but  that  they 
Raise  profit  to  my  wine-cellar.    When  I  havit 
Made  use  of  them  sufficiently,  I'll  entreat 
The  conjurer  to  tie  crackers  to  their  tailS} 
And  send  them  packing. 

Enter  Forobosco  as  in  his  study^ 

'  For.  Come  hither,  mine  host! 
Look  here. 

Host.  What's  that? 

For.  A  challenge  from  my  man. 

Host.  For  breaking's  pate? 


^*^  Kelly.]  Edward  Kelfy,othervfwe  Talbot,  an  intimate  friend  of  the  famous  Dr.  Jolui 
Dee,  and  concerned  with  him  in  his  chemical  processes  and  experiments.  It  is  said  tbey 
were  in  possession  of  the  elixir,  and  actually  made  projection  upon  several  metals,  and  coo* 
verted  them  into  gold.  His  History  may  be  met  with  in  Wood's  Athenss  Oxon.  vol.  i. 
II.  979,  and  in  Weaver's  Funeral  Monuments,  p.  45,  where  are  some  incrediblfe  stories  aboot 
ium«  He  is  mentioned  by  Ben  Jonson,  in  rhe  Alchonist,  act  iv.  sc  1. 
A  man  the  emp'ror 


'  Has  courted  above  Kelfy;  sent  his  medal* 
<  And  cliaiuB  t' invite  him«'        R. 


Foft 


Act  41 


THE  FAIR  MLMD  0^  TflE  INSt 


iM» 


Pdr.  He  -wnta  Hh%,  if  1  tneet  bitt  not  ^ 

i'th'fi«ld 
Within  this  Mf-lKmr^  I  fiimfl  hear  more  from 

him.  ' 

Host,  Oh,  sir,  mind  your  |>fofit ;       [men. 
If e*er  think  of  the  rascal :  here  ftfe  thegentle- 

For.  'Morrow,  my  worthy  clientsl 
What,  ere  you  rU  prepared  of  yoar  questions, 
lliat  I  may  give  my  resolution  upon  them? 
•   Omnes.  We  are,  sir. 

Pedant.  And  have  brought  our  money. 

For,  Each  then 
In  order!  and  differ  not  for  precedency. 

Dmicer.  Vta  buying  of  an  office,  sir,  and 

to  that  purpose 
r  would  fain  learn  to  dissemble  cunningly. 

For,  Do  you  come  to  me  for  that  ?  yon 

should  ratlier  have  gone 
To  a  cunning  woman. 

Dtmeer.  Ay,  sir,  but  their  instructions 
Are  but  like  women ;  pretty  well,  bnt  not 
To  th* depth,  as  I  wonld  have  it:  you're  a 

conjurer. 
The  devil's  master,  and  I  woidd  leara  it  from 
You  so  exactly — 

For.  That  the  devil  himself 
Migiit  not  go  beyond  yon  ? 

Dancer.  You  are  i'th'  right,  sir. 

JVr.  And  so  your  money  for  your  pur- 
chase might 
Come  in  again  within  a  twelvemonth  ? 

Dancer.  I 
Would  be  a  graduate,  sir,  no  fresh-man. 

For.  Here's  my  hand,  sir: 
rU  make  you  dissemble  so  methodically, 
As  if  the  devil  should  be  sent  from  the 
Great  Turk,  i'th*  shape  of  an  ambassador, 
To  set  all  the  Christian  princes  at  variance. 

Dancer.  I  can't  with  any  modesty  desire 
There's  your  money,  sir!  [any  more. 

For.  For  the  art  of  dissembling. 

Core.  My  suit,  sir,  will  be  news  to  you 

For.  Fray,  on!  [when  I  tell  it. 

Coxe.  I  would  set  up  a  press  here  in  Italy, 
To  write  all  the  cornnto's  for  Christendom. 

For.  Thaf  8  news  indeed ; 
And  how  would  you  employ  me  in  it? 

Core.  Marry,  sir,  from  you  I  would  gain 

my  intelligence. 

For.  I  conceive  you :  you  would  have  me 
Furnish  you  ^ith  a  spirit  to  inform  you. 

Coxc.  *But  as  Gjuiet  a  devil  as  the  woman 
The  first  day  ana  a  half  after  she*s  married ; 
I  can  by  no  means  endure  a  terrible  one. 

'*  Meretiriui  GaUo  Belg^an^  This  was  one  of  the  first  newspapers  which  appeared  irt 
England.  It  is  frequently  mentioned  by  contemporary  writers ;  among  others,  by  Thomas 
May,  in  act  i.  sc.  1,  of  his  comedy  of  the  Heir,  1633: 

« Tis  believ'd, 

'  And  told  for  news,  with  as  much  confidence 
*  As  if  'twere  writ  in  GaUo  Belgicus*        R. 
'*  Amsterdam.1  At  the  time  our  authors  wrote,  Amsterdam  appears  to  have  been  the 
^ace  of  refuge  for  sectaries  of  all  denominations.    See  Ben  Jonson*s  Alchemist.        R. 

''  Thote  nether  parts  o£  the  Low-CouniricH.]  Former  edidons*  The  poets  meant  to  call 
ihe  Lno-Countries  ttie  nether  paru  of  the  world.        Seamii.  ^ 

-  .  *^  9f 


For.  No,  no,  in  qnali^  "him ;  lie  slia'a^ 

fright  you:  [a«pm 

It  shall  be  the  ^host  ofsoBse  lying  stntionei^ 
Shall  look  as  if  butter  would  not  sieH  iA 

mouth ; 
A  new  Mercuriia  GMhBe^^etts'*' f 

Coxc,  Oh,  there  was  a  captain  wasialeiMtit, 

For.  Ne'er  think  of  him. 
Tho*  that  captain  writ  a  full  hand-gsilop,  -aai 
Wasted  indeed  more  harmless  paper  than 
Ever  did  latative  physic,  yet  will  f      {wJuft 
Make  you  t*  out-scribble  him ;  and  set  dowtt 
You  please,  the  world  shall  better  bdieve  you. 

Coxc.  Worthy  sir,  I  thank  you;  then; Is 

money!  [conmto*s. 

For.  A  new  ofEoe  for  writing  pragmstticnS 

Fedant,  I  am  a  schoolmaster,  sir^  and 

would  fain 
Confer  with  you  aboat  efecting  foor 
New  sects  of  reKgion  at  Amsterdam^. 

F&r.  What  the  de? il  should  new  sects  e£ 
Do  tliere  ?  f rel^toft 

Fedant.  I  assnre  you  I'd  get  a  great  deal 
Of  money  bv  it. 

For,  Ana  what  are  the^  four 
New  sects  o'  religion  you  wouM  plant  there? 

Pedant.  Why,  that's  it  I  come  about,  sirj 

'tis  fi  devil 
Of  your  raising  must  invent  'em;  I  confins 
I  am  too  weak  to  compass  it. 

For.  So,  sir! 
Then  you  make  it  a  matter  of  no. dzEBcndty 
To  have  them  tolerated  ?  ' 

Pedant,  Trouble  not 
Yourself  for  that;  let  but  your  devil  set  tlien^ 
Afoot  once,  I  have  weavers,  and  ging;erbread- 

makers. 
And  mighty  aquavitse-men,  shall  set  them 
A-going. 

For.  This  is  somewhat  difficult ; 
And  will  ask  some  conference  with  the  deviL 

Pedant.  Take  [siness  too. 

Your  own  leisure,  sir.     I  have  another  bu* 
Because  I  mean  to  leave  Italy,  and  bury 

myself  in 
Those  nether  parts  the  Low-Countries". 

For.  What's  that,  sir?  [to  th'weeki 

Pedant,  Marry,  I  would  fain  make  nine  day  | 
For  the  more  ample  benefit  of  the  captain*. 

For.  You  have  a  shrewd  pate,  sir! 

Pedant.  But  how  this  might 
Be  compass'd — 

For.  Compass'd  easily;  it  is  but  making 
A  new  almanack,  and  dividing  the  compass 


•44 


niE  FA*  MAtt)  OF  tax.  dA^. 


tA«t«. 


Of  the  year  into  Iat]scr  penny-worths, 
As  a  chandler  witli  bis  compass  makes 
A  geometric  proportion  of  die  Holland  cheese 
He  retails  by  stivers.     But  fur  getting  of  it 

licens*d  ? 

Pedant,  Trouble  not  yourself  with  that,  sir; 

there's  your  money. 

For,  for  four  new  sects  of  religions. 
And  nine  days  to  the  week. 

Pedant.  To  be  brought  in 
At  ceneral  pay-davs,  write,  I  beseech  you. 

For,  At  general  pay-days. 

Taifhr.  I  am  by  orofession 
jA  taylor;  you  have  neard  of  me. 

For.  Yes,  sir, 
And  will  not  steal  from  you  -the  least  part  of 
That  commendation  Tve  hcAard  utter'd. 

Taylor.  I 
T^e  measure  of  your  worth,  sr ;  and  because 
I  will  not  afflict  you  with  any  large  bill 
Of  circumstances,  111  snip  off  particulars : 
I'd  fhin  invent  some  strange  and  exquisite 
New  fashions. 

For.  Are  you  not  travell'd,  sir  ? 

Taylor.  Yes,  sir. 
But  have  observed  all  we  can  see,  or  invent, 
Are  but  old  ones  with  new  names  to  'em;  now 
I  would  some  way  or  other  grow  more  curious. 

For.  Let  me  see ;  to  devise  new  fasliions ! 

— Were  you 
)^e'er  in  the  moon  ? 

Taylor.  In  tlie  Moon-tavern  ?  Yes,  sir, 
O^n. 

For.  No,  I  do  mean  in  the  new  world, 
Jn  th' world  that's  in  the  moon  yonder. 

Taylor.  lloM^l 
A  new  world  i*  th'  moon } 

For.  Yes,  I  assure  you. 

Taylor.  And  peopled  f 

For.  Oh,  roost  fantastically  peopled* 

Taylor.  Nay,  certain  then  there's  work  for 

For.  That  [taylcrs? 

Tliere  is,  I  assure  you. 

Taylor.  Yet  I  have  talked 
With  a  Scotch  taylor  that  never  discovered 
So  much  to  in^,  tlio'  he  has  travelled  far, 
Anid  was  a  pedlar  in  Poland. 

For.  That 
Was  out  of  his  way;  this  lies  beyond  Cliina. 
You'd  study  new  fashions,  you  say  ?  Take 


My  counsel,  make  a^ofafe, 
Discover  that  new  world. 


miA 


Taylor,  Shall  I  be  a  moon-man  f     [woiiil, 
For,  Vm  of  opinion,  the  people  of  that 
If  they  be  like  the  nature  of  that  dimafis 
They  live  in,  do  vary  the  fashion  of  their 

clbaths 
Oft*her  than  any  quick«silver'd  nation 
In  Europe.  [that  be 

Tay/or,  Not  unlikely;  but  what  shootd 
We  call  the  man  i-th'  moon  then? 

For.  Why,  it  is 
Nothing  but  an  Englislunan  that  stands  theife 
Stark-naked,  with  a  pair  of  sheers  in  ona 

hand, 
And  ft  great  bundle  of  broad«doth  in  t'otlie^ 
(Which  resembles  the  bush  of  thorns) cuttinf; 
New  fashions^^.  [out  of 

Taylor.  I  have  heard  somewhat  like 
This:  but  how  shall  I  get  thither? 

For.  I  will 
Make  a  new  compass  shalt  direct  yon. 

Taylor.  Certain? 

For.  Count  me  else  for  no  man  of  dirrctioft. 

Taylor.  There's  twenty  ducats  in  hand; 
I'll  give  you  a  hundred.  [at  my  retuni 

For.  A  new  Voyage  to  discover 
New  foshions. 

Mulct,  I've  been  a  traveller  too,  sir ; 
That  have  shew'd  strange  beasts  in  Chruter** 

dom. 
And  got  money  by  them ;  but  I  find  the  trade 

to  decay: 
Your  camclion,  or  East-Indian  liedseho^ 
Gets  very  little  money;  and  your  ekphant 
Devours  so  much  bread,  bnngs  in  so  little 

profit. 
His  keeper  were  better  everjr  morning 
Cram  fifteen  taylors  with  white  manchet: 
I  would  have  some  new  spectacle,  and  one 
That  might  be  more  attractive. 

For.  Let  me  see ! 
Were  you  ever  in  Spain  ? 

Mulet.  Not  yet,  sir. 

For.  I  would  have  you  [val. 

Go  to  Madrid;  and  against  some  great  lesti- 
Whcit  the  court  lietli  tlierc,  provide  a  grea^ 
And  spacious  English  ox,  and  roast  him  wbole, 
Wi'a  pudding  in^b  belly;  that  would  be  the 

eighth 

^^  An  Ertglahman  that  itandeth  there  stark^naked,  with,  &c.]  Andrew  Borde,  a  physictuiy 
ia  tlie  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  published  a  book  intitled,  '  The  lutroduccion  of  Knowledge,  the 
^.whiche  dotli  teache  a  Man  to  Speake  Part  of  all  Maner  of  Languages,  and  to  know  the 
'  Usnge  and  Fashion  of  all  Mnner  of  Countries.  Dedycated  to  the  Right  Honourable  and 
*  Omdow  Lady  Mary,  Daughter  of  King  Henry  tlie  Eyght.'  B.L.  printed  by  W.  CopiaBde. 
No  date,  ficfore  the  first  chap  er,  in  which  he  has  characterized  an  Englishman,  is  a  wooden 
print  of  a  naked  man,  witli  a  piece  of  cloth  hanging  on  Lis  right  arm,  and  a  pair  of  sheers  m 
Jiis  left  hand  t  under  the  print  is  an  inscription  in  verse,  of  which  the  following  are  the  first 
four  lines: 

'  I  am  an  Englishman,  and  nnked  I  stand  here, 

*  Mubyiug  in  my  mynde  what  ravment  I  shall  were; 
'  For  now  I  were  tliys,  and  now  I  will  were  that, 

*  And  now  I  will  were  I  caiutot  tell  what,  fitc/ 
This  !•  tvidently  the  print  alluded  to  by  our  autiior.        R, 

Wonder 


Act  4.] 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


346 


Wonder  of  the  world  in  those  parts,  I  assure 
yott. 

Mulct,  A  rare  project  without  question! 
For,  Go  beyond  ail  their  garlick  olla  pod" 

Tho'  yoil  sod  one  in  Garguantua*s  cauldron'^ ! 
Bring  in  more  money  than  all  the  monsters 

ofAfrick;  [o*  my  acquaintance, 

Ho$t»  Good  sir,  do  your  best  for  bim;  he's 
And  one,  if  you  knew  him— 

For,  What  is  he? 

Host,  He  was  once 
A  maa  of  infinite  lettersi. 

For,  A  scholar? 

HoU.  No,  sir, 
A  pftokec-earrier,  which  is  always  a  man 
Of  many  letters,  you  know;  then  he  was 
A  mute-driver ;  now  he's  a  gentlcmim, 
And  feeds  monsters. 

Far,  A  most  ungrateful  calling  I 

AltUet,  There's  money  for  yonr  direction ! 

The  price  of  cite  oi,  sir?  [must  be 

For,  A  hundred   French  crowns,   for  it 
A  lincolnshire  ox,  and  a  prime  one.    For 
A  rare  and  monstrous  spectacle,  to  be  seen 
At  Madrid. 

Enter  CloKHy  Hostess,  and  Biancha, 

Hogtem,  Pray  forbear,  sir!  We  shall  have 

a  new  quarrel. 

Cham,  You  durst  not 
Meet  me  in  the  field !  I  am  therefore  come 
To  spoil  your  market. 

For,  VVhat's  the  news  with  you,  sir? 

Clown,  Gentlemen,  yon  that  come  hither 

to  be 
Most  abominably  cheated,  listen,  and  be  as 

wise  -  [money, 

As  your  planet  will  suffer  you:  keep  your 
Be  not  guU'd,  be  not  laugh'd  at ! 

Pedant,  What  means  this  ? 
'Would 'I  had  my  money  again  in  my  pocket ! 

Hast,  The  fellow's  full  of  malice;  do  not 

mind  iiim. 

Clown,  This  pro&ss'd  cheating  rc^ue  was 

my  master,  and  I  confess  myself 
A  more  pretemotorious  rogue  than  himself^ 
In  so  long  keeping  his  villainous  counsel. 

For,  Come,  come,  I'll  not  hear  you. 

Clown.  No,  coz'ner,  thou'st  not  hear  me ; 

I  do  but 
Dare  thee  to  sufiFermeto  speak,and  then  thou 
And  all  thy  devils  spit  five,  and  spout  aqua- 
fortis! 
.    For,  Speak  on ;  I  freely  permit  thee. 

Clow'T.  Why  then, 

'^  In  Garguantua^s  cauldron.']  See  Rabelais. 

36  <iffe/^  out 

'Twos  buttered  beer,]  Mr.  Sympsort  seems  to  have  mistaken  the  drollery  of  this  passage. 
He  says,  that  the  reason  given  requires  us  to  read — smelt  not  out.  But  the  true  intent  of 
the  passage  seems  plainly  this.  The  Dutch  would  never  have  endur'd  a  medicine  called 
CathoUckf  for  the  antipathy  they  bore  to  the  most  CathoWtk  Kiftg,  as  well  as  the  religion 
falsely  so  call'd,  had" not  they  by  some  instinct  smelt  our  the  butter  d  beer  which  tliey  are  so 
food  of,  Seward. 

VOL.  III.  Y  y  Cloicn. 


Know,  all  you  simple  animals,  you  whose 

purses  . 
Are  ready  to  cast  the  calf,  if  they  have  not 
Cast  it  already,  if  you  give  any  credit 
To  this  juggling  rascal,  you  are  worse 
Tlian  simple  widgeons,  and  will  be  drawn  into 
The  net  by  this  decoy-duck,  this  tarae cheater. 

For.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Pray  mark  him !      [ing; 

Clown.  He  does  pruicss  physic  and  conjur- 
For  his  physic,  he  has  but  two  medicines 
For  all  manner  of  diseases :  when  he  was 
In  the  Low-Countries,  he  us'd  nothing 
But  butter'd  beer,  coluur'd  with  allegant, 
For  all  kind  of  maladies,  and  that  he  call'd 
His  Catholic  med'cine:  sure  the  Dutch  smelt 

out  [have 

'Twas  buttered  beer^^,  else  they  would  never 
Endur'd  it  for  the  name's  sake !    Then  does 

he  minister  [times 

A  grated  dog's  turd  'stead  of  rhubarb,  many 
Of  unicorn's  horn,  jprhich  working  strongly 

with  [them  bescummer 

The  conceit"  of   the  patiient,   would  make 
To  th'  height  of  a  mighty  purgation. 

jptir.  The  rogue  has  studied  thisinvective. 

Clown.  Now 
For  his  conjuring,  the  witches  of  Lapland  ate 
The  devil's  chairwomen  to  him,  for  they 
Will  sell  a  man  a  wind  to  some  purpose;  be 
Sells  wind,  and  tells  you  forty  lies  aver 
And  over.  [him. 

Hostess.  I  thought  what  we  should  find  of 

Host.  Hold  your  prating ;  be  not  you  an 

heretick  I        ^     [names  he  calls  upon  are 

Plown.  Conjurer  111  tell  you;  all  th'  devils* 
But  fustian  names,  gatherd   out  of  Welsh 

heraldry ; 
In  brief,  he  is  a  rogue  of  six  reprieves, 
Four  pardons  o'  course,  thrice  pilloried,  twice 

sung  Lacrynue 
To  th' virginals  of  a  cart's  tail,  h'  has  five  times 
Been  in  the  gailies,  and  will  never  truly 
Run  himself  out  of  breath,  'till  lie  comes  to 

th' gallows.  [wliat  this 

For,  You  have  heard,  worthy  gentlemen. 
Lying,  dernicting  rascal  has  vomited. 

TayUir.  Yes,  certain;  but  we've  a  better 

trust  in  you; 
For  you  have  ta'eu  our  money. 

For,  I  have  so.  [chastisement 

Truth  is,  he  was  my  servant,  and  for  some 
I  gave  him,  he  does  practise  thus  upon  me. 
Speak  truly,  sirrah^  are  you  certain  I  can't 

conjure? 

Clown.  Conjure  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

For,  Nay,  nay,  but  1^  very  sure  of  it. 


346 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


tAct4. 


Chnm,  U8,ha,ha! 

For,  And  as  naked  as  a  frog. 

Ciowu.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I  defy  ihee ! 

[Foroboico  looks  in  a  bookf  strikes  milk 
his  wand,  mimck  pluys. 

Enter  four  Boys,    shaped  like  Frogs,  and 
dance. 

Pedant.  Spirits  of  the  water  in  the  hkeoes 

of  frogs ! 

Taylor.  He  has  fish'd  fair,  believe  me. 

Mulet.  See,  see!  he  sweats  and  tremUes. 

For.  Are  you  come  to  your  quavers  ? 

Clown.  Oh,  ho,  ho ! 

For.  m  make  you  run  division  on  those Cii, 
Ere  I  leave  you'*^ !    Look  you,  here  are  the 

play-feliuws  [unca&e, 

Tliat  are  so  endear'd  to  you:  come,  sir;  fint 
And  then  dance;  nay,  ill  make  iiim  daoot 

stark  naked.  [iiis  niogiil*s 

Host.  Oh,  let  liim  have  his  shirt  on,  and 
Breeches;  here  are  women  i'  th*  hoose. 

For.  Well,  for  their  sakes  he  shall. 
[Clown  tears  off  his  doublet,   making 
strange/aces  as  if  compelled  to  itjfoUi 
into  the  dance. 

Taylor.  He  dances!   what  a  lying  rope 

was  this,  ^ 

To  say  die  gentleman  could  not  conjure! 

For.  He  does 
Prettily  well ;  but  it  is  voluntary,  I  assure yotij 
IVe  no  liand  iu't. 

Clown.  As  yuu  are  a  conjurer, 
A  nd  a  rare  artist,  free  me  from  these  couplets! 
Of  all  creatures  I  cannot  endure  a  frog. 

For,  But  your  dancing's  voluntary;  I  cui 
To  uothing.  [compel  yoa 

Hostets.  Oh, me,  daughter,  let's  take  need  of 
This  fellow !  he*ll  make  us  dance  naked,  an 

we  vex  him.      [Exeunt  Hostess  and  Bian. 

For.  Now  cut  capers,  sirrah;  I'll  phigue 

that  cnine  of  yours. 

Clown.  Ho,  ho,  ho !  my  kidnies  are  roasted ! 
I  drop  uvi  uy  like  li  pound  of  butter  roasted ! 

Tayloi\  lle'U  dance  himself  tu  death. 

For.  No  matter ; 
ril  sell  his  fat  to  the  apothecaries. 
And  repair  my  injury  that  way. 

Host.  Enough  in  conscience ! 

37  -To  Ainbovna?  so  I  might  be  pepper^d.^  Allu<fing  to  the  massacre  of  the  English  in  the 
settlement  ofJ/abayna  in  the  East  Indies,  m  tlie  year  16S9,  by  the  Dutch.  See  *  A  True 
*  Ilelation  of  the  unjust,  croel,  and  barbarous  Proceedings  against  the  English  at  Amboyna 
'  in  tlie  Eastrliidies,  by  the  Netlierlandisli  Governor  there ;*  4to.  Mr.  Drydcn  has  writtea 
a  play  upon  tliis  event.         R. 

s»  '^-     cannot  '  ' 

Endure  a  cat,  sirrah  f]  One  would  tl.ink  from  the  sequel,  that  cat  liere  should  have 
been  frog :  I  have  known  several  changes  as  gresit  as  this.  Seward* 

39  ru  make  you  run  division  on  that  or  eVr  I  leave  you.]  The  neglect  of  measure  here  fans 
made  the  editors  drop  a  monosyllable  equally  necesjiary  to  the  sense.  What  is— rten  diwiim 
on  that  or  e'er— It  is  an  siAswer  to  tlie  Clowns  roar.  Oh,  ho,  ho,  one  of  which  should  be  in- 
serted, which  just  completes  the  verse. 

I'll  mnke  voUvlhin  division  on  that  oh,  ^ 

Or  e'er  1  leave  you.-   ■  Seward. 

First  folio  exhibits,  that  p's  ere  I  leave  you;  we  have  therefore  altered  that  to  those, 

l9r. 


Clown.  Sure  of  it?  why,  111  make  a  bar- 
gain with  thee, 
Before  all^  these  gentlemen,  use  all  thy  art 
All  thy  roguery,  and  make  me  do  any  thing 
Before  all  this  company  IVe  not  a  mind  to, 
I'll  first  give  tliee  leave  to  claim  me  fur  thy 

bond*slave, 
And  when  thou  hast  done,  hang  me ! 

For.  Tis  a  match; 
Sirrah,  Til  make  yon  caper  i'  th'  air  presently. 

Clown.  I  have  too  solid  a  body;  and  my 

belief  [fed 

ts  like  a  Puritan's  on  Good-Friday,  toohigb- 
With  capon. 

.   For.  t  will  first  send  thee  to  Greenland 
For  a  haunchof  venison,  just  of  the  thickness 
Of  thine  own  tallow.  [thee ! 

Clown.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  I'll  not  stir  an  inch  for 

For.  Tlience  to  Amboyna  i'  th'  Ea$t>-Indies, 
To  bake  it.  [for  pepper 

Clown.  To  Amboyna?  so  I  might 
Be  peppered '^. 

For.  Tlien  will  I  convey  thee  stark 
Naked  to  Dev'ling,  to  beg  a  pair  of  htop, 
To  lude  thy  mountainous  buttocks. 

Cloun.  And  no  doublet 
To 'em? 

For.  No,  sir ;  I  intend  td  send  yon  of 
A  sleeveless  errand :  but  before  you  vanish. 
In  regard  you  say  I  cannot  conjure,  and  are 
So  stupid  and  opinionated  a  slave, 
That  neither  I  nor  my  art  can  compel  you  to 
Do  any  tiling  that  is  heyond  your  own  plea- 
sure, [cannot 
The  gentlemen  shall  have  some  sport :  you 
Endure  a  cat,  hirrah'* ! 

Clown.  Wlmt's  that  to  thee, 
Jueder? 

For.  Nor  you'll  do  nothing  at  my  entreaty? 

Clown.  I'll  be  liaug'd  first. 
.    For.  Sit,  gentlemen; 
And  whatsoever  you  see,  be  not  frighted. 

Hostess.  Alas,  I  can  endure  no  conjuring. 

Host.  Stir  not,  wife  !       / 

Bian.  Pray  let  me  go,  sir ; 
I'm  not  fit  lor  these  fooleries. 

Host.  Move  not,  daughteri 

For,  I  will  make  you  dance  a  new  dance 

caird  leap-frog. 


ilct  4.J 


tllE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


347 


For.    Well,   at  your  entreatr— Vnoish ! 

And  now  I'll  only  [Kreunt  Boy$. 

Make  bim  break  his  neck  in  doing  a  soiner- 

saolt,  y  riitiQ. 

And  that's  all  the  rerengie  I  mean  to  take  of 

.Ciovn.  Ohy  gentlemen,  [master 

Wliat  a  ragttc  was  I  to  l»elie  so  an  appruv'd 
Itf  th*  noble  dark  science !  You  cun  witness, 
This  I  did  only  to  spoil  his  pnictice,  and 
Deprire  vou  of  the  happiness  of  enjoying; 
His  H'ortliy  laboars :  rogue  that  I  was  to  do  it ! 
Pravy  sir,  ibrgive  me ! 

Far.  With  what  fiice  cnnbt  thou 
Ask  it? 

Ckmn.  With  such  a  face  as  I  deserve, 
With  a  hanging  look,  as  all  here  can  te&tify. 

For.  Well,  gentlemen,  tliat  you  may  per- 
ceive 
The  i^uodncss  of  my  temper,  I  will  entertmo 
This  rogue  again,  in  Iwpe  of  amendment; 
For  should  I  turn  him  off,  he  wouUf  be  IranirM. 

Clomn.  You  may  read  that  in  tliis  foul  copy. 
^  For,  Only  with  this  promise ; 
Yon  almll  ne*er  cozen  any  of  my  patients. 

Ciown.  Never. 

Poc  And  remember  henceforward. 
That  tho]  I  cannot  conjure,  I  can  make  you 
Dance,  sirrah.    Go,  get  yourself  into 
The  cottage  again. 

Enter  Caario, 

Clomn.  I  will  ne'er  more  dance  leap- frog. 

^Now 
I  have  got  you  into  credit,  hold  it  up, 
And  cozen  them  in  abundance. 

For.  Oh,  rare  rascal!  [Kxit  dotcn, 

Ce$.  How  now  ?  a  Trankford  mart  here**  ? 

a  mountebank 
And  his  worshipful  auditory  ? 

Host.  They  are  my  guests,  sir. 

Ccf .  A ^  pox  upon  tlieiuT  slicw  your  jug- 
gling cricks  in 
Some  o|her  rQom. 

Rdst:  And  why  not  hero,  sir  ? 

Cc#.  Hence, 
Or,  sirrah;  I  shall  spoil  your  i]gure*flinging. 
And  aH  their  radical  questions  I 

Omna.  Sir,  we  vanish.  [£>ean^ 

Manent  HoU  and  Ce$ano. 

Bmt.  Signor  Cesario,  you  make  bold  with 

me. 
And  somewhat  I  must  tell  you  to  aclegree  of 
IllHnanners:  thcy*re  my  guests,  and  men  I 

live  by. 
And  I  would  know  by  what^autljonty  you 
Command  thus  far  ? 

Ce».  By  my  interest  in 
Your  daughter. 

A  Frank  ford  martJ]  At  Frunkford,  in  Germany,  two  famous  martt  or  fairs  were  lield 
every  year,  which  used  to  be  resorted  to  by  trading  people  and  others,  from  every  part  of 


Ho$t,  Interest,  db  yoiicaU\?  Ai  Iremem- 
I  never  put  her  out  to  usury  [^^^ 

On  that  condition. 

Ces.  Pray  tliee  be  not  angry; 

Enter  Biancha  and  Hmte$s. 

Fm  come  to  make  thee  happy,  and  her  happy. 
She's  here :  alas,  my  pretty  soul !  Tm  come 
To  give  assurance  that's  beyond  thy  hope. 
Or  thy  belief;  I  bring  repentance 'bout  me^ 
And  satisfaction ;  I  will  marry  th^. 

Bian.  Ha!  [tun't 

Ces.  As  I  live,  I  will ;  but  do  not  enter- 
With  too  quick  an  apprehension  of  joy, 
For  that  may  hurt  thee;  I  have  heard  some 
die  oft. 

Bian.  Don*t  fear  me. 
Ces.  Hien  thou  think'st  I  feign 
This  protestation?  I  will  instantly 
Before  these  testify  my  new  alhance* 
Contract  myself  unto  thee;  tlien  I  hope 
We  may  be  more  privat^. 

Hott.  But  thou  shalt  not,  sir; 
For  so  lias  many  a  maidenhead  been  lost. 
And  man  V  a  bastard  gotten. 

Cet.  Then  to  give  you 
The  best  of  any  assunMice  in  the  world. 
Entreat  thy  father  to  go  fetch  a  priest. 
We  will  instantly  to  bed,  and  there  be  mar- 
ried. 

Bian.  Pride  hath  not  yet  forsaken  you,  I  see, 
Tho'  prosperity  has. 

Most.  8ir,  you're  too  confident 
To  fashion  to  yourself  a  dream  of  purchase, 
When  you're  a  beggar. 
Ces.  You  are- bold  wit|i  me  I  [down 

Hottas.  Do  we  not  know  your  value  is  cried 
Fourscore  i'th*  hundred  ? 

Bian.  Oh,  sir,  [  did  love  you 
With  such  a  fix'd  heart,  that  in  that  minute 
Wheruin  you  slighted,  or  contemaM  mc  ra- 
ttier, 
I  took  a  vow  to  obey  your  last  decree, 
And  never  more  look  up  at  any  hope 
Slmuld  bring  me  comfort  that  way ;  and  tho' 

since 
Your  foster-motlier,  and  the  fair  Clarissa, 
Have  in  the  way  of  marrijige  despis'd  you, 
That  hath  not  any  way  bred  my  revenge, 
But  compassion  rather.  I  have  lound  so  much 
Sorrow  In  the  way  to  a  chaste  wedlock. 
That  here  I  will  sit  down  and  never  wish 
To  come  to  th' journey's  end:  your  suit  to 
Henceforth  be  ever  silencM !  [me 

Cet.  My  Biancha! 

Ho9tett.  Henceforward  pray  forbear  her 
^qd  lOy  house ! 
She's  a  poor  virtuous  wench;  yet  her  estate 
May  weigh  with  yours  u  a  gout  balance. 


Eoropie 

tinned  fourteen  da;,_    ^^ ^  .,«.„v.^  *«w.-^  ^^.«..  ,—  v..ww  —  «. 

««l  fiiirj  in  160B,  and  he  has  very  particularly  described  it  in  his  Criidities,  p.  56h 

Yy« 


one  was  k^t  in  the  montli  of  Marcli,  the  otfcler  in  September,  and  they  wch  con« 
^ymr  It  happened  that  the  fiunou9  Thomsis  Coriat  was  there  at  the  autum* 

IfosU 


848 


THE  FAIE  MAID  OF  TIIB  INN. 


[Act  5. 


Hott.  Yes,  and  her  birth  in  any  herald's 
In  Christendom,  [ofiice 

Hostess,  It  may  prove  so;,  when  youll  say. 
You've  leap'd  a  whiting.  [Exeunt, 

Manet  Cesario.    Enter  Buptista  and  Men- 
tivolt. 

Ces   Hdw  far  am  I 
Grown  behind-hand  with  fortune! 

Bapt,  Here's  Cesario. 
My  son,  sir,  is  to-roorrow  to  be  married 
Unto  the  fair  Clarissa. 

Ce$,  So! 

Ment.  We  hope 
You*U  be  a  guest  there. 

Ces.  No;  I  will  not  grace 
Your  triumph  so  much. 

Bapt.  ril  not  tax  your  breeding, 
But  it  alters  not  your  birtli,  sir;  fare  yoi|  well ! 

Ment.  Oh,  sir,  do  not  gheve  him ; 
He  Ims  too  much  affliction  already. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  a  Sailor, 

C«f.^ Every  way  8com*d  and  lost!  Shamp 
follow  you ! 
For  I  am  grown  most  miserable. 


Sailor,  Sir,  do  you  know 
A  lady's  son  in  town  here  they  call  Cesario  ? 

Ce«.  There's  none  such,  I  assure  thee. 

Sailor.  I  was  told 
You  were  the  man. 

Ces.  What's  that  to  tliee? 

Sailor.  A  pox  on't ! 
You're  melancholy ;  will  you  drink,  sir  ? 

Ces.  With  whom? 

Sailor.    With  me,  sir;    despise  not  this 

pitch'd  canvas !  [Spanish 

The  time  was,  we  have  know  them  bn'd  with 
Ducats.    I've  news  for  yon. 

Ces.  For  me? 

Sailor.  Not  unless 
You'll  drink:  we  are  like  our  sea  provision, 
Once  out  of  pickle,  we  require  abundance 
Of  drink.    I've  news  to  tell  you,  that  vwre 

you  prince, 
Would  make  you  send  your  mandate 
To  have  a  thousand  bonfires  made  i*  th'city, 
And  piss'd  out  again  with  notliing  but  Greek 

wine. 

Ces.  Come,  I  will  drink  with  thee  howsoever. 

Sfulor.  And  upon  these  terms  I  will  utter 

my  mind  to  you^ 

[Exeunt, 


ACT  V, 


Enter  Albertus,  Prospero,  Julianfi^   and 
Sailors, 

Sailor.  C  HALL  we  bring  your  necessaries 
^  ashore,  ray  lord  ? 

Alb.  Do  what  you  please;  Tin  land-sick 

worse  by  far 
Than  e'er  I  was  at  sea. 

Pros.  Collect  yourself.  [friend, 

Alb.  Oh,  rtiy  most  worthy  Prosp^ro,  my  best 
The  noble  fiivour  I  received  from  thee. 
In  freeing  me  from  the  Turks,  I  now  account 
Worse  than  my  death ;  for  I  shall  never  live 
To  make  requital. — What  do  you  attend  for? 

Sailor.  To  understand  your  pleasure. 

Alb.  They  do  mock  mc ! — 
I  do  protest  I  have  no  kind  of  pleasure 
In  any  thing  i'th'  world,  but  in  thy  friendship; 
I  must  ever  except  that. 

Prof.  Pray  leave  him,  leave  him ! 

r£.reun/  Sailors. 

Alb.  The  news  I  heard  related  since  my 

landing, 
P(  tlie  divi»on  of  my  family, 
.  Ilow  is  it  possible  for  any  man 
To  bear't  with  a  set  patience  ? 

Pros.  You  have  suffer'd,  [rows. 

Since  your  imprisonment,  more  weichty  soi^ 

Alb.  Ay,  then  I  was  a  man  of  flesh  and 

blood; 


Now  I'm  made  up  of  fire,  to  the  full  height 
Of  a  deadly  calenture !  oh,  these  vile  women, 
That  are  so  ill  preservers  of  men's  honours, 
They  caunot  govern  their  own  honesties ! 
That  I  should  thirty  and  odd  winters  feed 
My  expectation  of  a  noble  heir, 
And  by  a  woman's  falshood  find  him  now 
A  fiction,  a  mere  dream  of  what  he  was! 
And  yet  I  love  him  still. 

Pros.  In  my  opinion 
The  sentence  on  this  trial,  firom  the  duke 
Was  noble,  to  repair  Cesario's  loss 
With  th'  marriage  of  your  wife,  bad  you  been 

dead. 

Alb.  By  your  favour,  but  it  was  not!  I  con- 
ceive 'twas 
Disparagement  to  my  name,  to   have  my 

widow  [liev'^ 

Match  with  a  falconer's  son :  and  yet,  be- 
I  love  the  youth  still,  and  much  pity  him. 
I  do  remember,  at  my  going  to  sea, 
Upon  a  quarrel,  and  a  hurt  receiv'd 
From  young  Mentivole,  my  rage  so  far 
O'er-topt  my  nobler  temper,  I  gave  cfaai;ge 
To  have  his  hand  cut  off;  which  since  I  heidi 
And  to  my  comfort,  brave  Cesario 
Worthily  pre^'ented. 

Prof.' And  'twas  nold|  done. 

Alb.  Yet  the  revengeror  this  intent  of  mine 
Hath  bred  much  slaughter  in  our  iamiliei; 

And 


Act  5.] 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


349 


And  yet  my  wife  (which  infinitely  moans 

me*') 
Intends  to  marry  my  sole  heir,  Clarissa, 
To  the  bead  branch  of  the  other  faction. 

Proi.  It  is  tlie  mean  to  work  reconcilement. 

Alb.  "Tween  whom? 

Proi.  Yourself  and  the  worthy  Baptista. 

Alb,  Never.  [markabic  friendship; 

Pros.  Oh,  you  have  been  of  a  noble  and  re- 
And  by  this  match  'tis  generally  in  Florence 
Hop'd,  will  fully  be  reconcil'd;  to  me 
1*would  be  absolute  content. 

Jul.  And  to  myself; 
I  have  main  interest  in  it. 

Alb.  Noble  sir, 
You  may  command  my  heart  to  break  for  you, 
But  never  to  bend  tliat  way.  Poor  Cesario, 
When  thou  put*st  on  tliy  mournful  willow 

garland, 
Thy  enemy  shall  be  suited,  I  do  vow, 
in  die  same  livery !  My  Cesario, 
Ix>v*d  38  niy  foster-child,  tho*  not  my  son, 
Which  in  some  countries  formerly  not  bar- 
barous**, [art  lost, 
Was  tlie  name  held  most  affectionate ;  thou 
Unfortunate  young  roan  !  not  only  slighted 
Where   thou   receiv'dst  thy   breeding,  but 

since  scom'd 
IW  way  of  marriage,  by  the  poor  Biancha, 
The  innkeeper's  daughter. 

Pros.  I  have  heard  of  that  too; 
Bat  let  not  that  afflict  you  !  for  this  lady 
May  happily  deliver  at  more  leisure 
A  circumstance  may  draw  a  fair  event, 
Better  than  you  can  hope  for.     For  this  pre- 
sent, 
We  must  leave  you,  and  sliall  visit  you  again 
Within  these  two  hours. 

Enter  Cesario. 

Alb.  Ever  to  me  most  welcome ! — 
Oh,  my  Cesario ! 

Ces»  I  am  none  of  yours,  sir. 
So  'tis  protested ;  and  I  humbly  beg, 
Since  'tis  not  in  your  power  to  preserve  me 
Any  longer  in  a  noble  course  of  life. 
Give  me  a  worthy  death! 

Alb.  The  youth  is  mad. 

Ces.  Nay,  sir,  I  will  instruct  you  in  a  way 
To  kill  me  honourably. 

Alb.  That  were  most  strange.  [pl^y'^J 

Ces.  Tin  turning  pirate;  you  may  be  em- 
By  til' duke  to  fetch  me  in,  and  in  a  sea-fight 
Give  me  a  noble  grave.  _ 

Alb.  Questionless  he*8  mad ! 


I  woold  j^ve  any  doctor  a  thousand  crowns 
To  free  him  from  this  sorrow. 

Ces.  Here's  die  physician.  [SJ4e9:s  a  poniard. 

Alb.  Hold,  sir;  I  did  say 
To  free  you  from  the  sorrow,  not  from  life. 

Ces.  Why,  life  and  sorrow  are  unseparable. 

Alb,  Be  eomforted,  Cesario!  Mentivole 
Marry  Clarissa.  [shall  not 

Ces.  No,  sir ;  ere  he  shall, 
ni  kill  him. 

Alb.  But  you  forfeit  your  own  life  then. 

Ces.  Thars  wortli  nothin^r. 

Alb.  Cesario,  be  thyself;  be  mine,  Cesario ! 
Make  not  thyself  uncapable  of  that  portion 
I  have  fall  purpose  to  confer  upon  thee. 
By  falling  into  madness ;  bear  thy  wrongs 
With  noble  patience,  the  aftlicted's  friend. 
Which  ever  m  all  actions  icrowns  the  end ! 

Ces.  You've  well  awak'd  me,  nay,  re- 

cover'd  me 
Both  to  sense  and  full  life.    Oh,  most  noble 

sir, 
Tho'  I  have  lost  my  fortune,  and  lost  you 
For  a  worthy  father ;  yet  I  will  not  lose 
My  former  virtue ;  my  integrity 
Shall  not  yet  forsiUie  me :  but  as  the  wild  ivy 
Spreads  and  thrives  better  in  some  piteous 

ruin 
Of  tower,  or  defac'd  temple,  than  it  does 
Planted  by  a  new  building,  so  shall  I 
Make  my  adversity  my  instrument 
To  wind  me  up  into  a  full  content. 

Aib.  ' Tis  worthily  resolv'd  I  Our  first  ad- 
venture's 
To  stop  the  marriage :  for  thy  other  losses, 
Practised  by  a  woman's  mahce,  but  account 

them 
Like  conjurers' winds,  rais'd  to  a  fearful  blast. 
And  do  some  mischief,  but  do  never  last! 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Forobosco  and  Clown. 

Clown.  Now,  sir,  won't  you  acknowledge 

that  I  have 
Mii^htily  advanc'd  your  practice  ? 

%W.  'Tis  confessed ; 
And  I  will  make  thee  a  great  man  for  ft. 

Clown.  I  take  a  course  to  do  that  mysch^  for 
\  drink  sack  in  abundance. 

For.  Oil,  my  rare  rascal! 
We  must  remove. 

Clown.  Whitlier? 

For.  Any  whither; 
Europe's  too  little  to  be  cozeuM  by  us : 
I  am  ambitious  to  go  to  the  Eastrlndies, 


^'  (Which  injinitcly  moMis  me),]  Moans  here  is  used  actively,  cfftfies  me  to  moan,  as 
gneves,  a  word  of  tlie  like  import,  often  is ;  but  perhaps  tliis  is  a  single  instance  of  using 
moans  in  this  manner ;  for  which  reason  Mr.  Svmpson  proposes  to  read,  mova  me.        Seward, 

^  Which  in  some  countries  Jormerlj^  were  barbarous^ 

Was  a  name  held  most  ajfectionate.]  It  would  be  a  poor  reason  for  Alberto*^  love  of 
Cesano  as  a  foster  child,  because  barbarous  nations  held  adopted  children  in  the  most 
affectionate  esteeok  Neither  is  the  fact  true.  The  adoption  of  children  was  a  thing  ex- 
tremely usual  in  {Rcient  Rome,  but  I  don't  at  least  remember  any  instance  of  it^  recorded 
aroeugst  barbarians,        Setcar4» 

Thou 


356 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


[Act  1 


Thou  and  I  to  ride  upon  our  brace  of  ele* 

phants.  [England  ag:iin; 

Clown.  Aod  for  my  part  I  long  to  be  in 
You'U  ne*er  set  so  much  as  in  England ;  we 
Have  shiflea  many  countries,    and  manj 

naniesy 
But  trace  the  world  oVr,  yon  shall  never  purse 
Up  80  much  gold  as  when  you  were  in  £iig* 

land. 
And  caird  yourself  doctor  Larabstones. 

For,  It  was  [then 

An  attractive  name,  I  confess ;  women  were 
My  only  admirers. 

Cicmn,  And  all  their  visits  [injuries. 

Were  either  to  furtlier  their  lust,  or  revenge 

Far.  You  should  have  forty  in  a  morning 

beleaguer  [first: 

My  closet,  and  strive  who  should  be  cozen'd 
^Mongst  fourscore  love-sick  waiting-women 

that  have  couie  [should 

To  me  in  a  morning,  to  learn  what  Fortune 
Betide 'em  in  their  first  marriage,  I  have  found 
'Bove  ninety-four  toVe  lost  their  maiden- 
heads. 

Chwn.  By  their  own  confession ; 
But  I  was  fain  to  be  your  male-midwife. 
And  work  it  out  of  them  by  circumstance. 

For,  Thou  wast ;  and  yet  for  all  this  fre- 
quent resort 
Of  women,  and  thy  handling  of  their  urinals 
And  their  cases,  thoirrt  not  given  to  lechery; 
What  should  be  th' reason  of  it?  Th'hast 

wholesome  flesh 
Enough  about  thee ;  and  methinks  the  devil 
Should  tempt  thee  to  it. 

CloKH,  What  need  he  do  that?  [others. 
When  he  makes  me  his  instrument  to  tempt 

For,  Thou  canst  not  chuse  but  utter  thy 

rare  good  parts? 
Thou  wast  an  excellent  bawd,  I  acknowledge. 

CUmm,  Well, 
And  what  I  have  done  that  way — ni  spare  to 

speak 
Of  all  you  and  I  have  done,  sir;  and  tho'  we 

should — 

For.  We  will  for  England,  that's  for  certain. 

Clown,  We 
Shall  never  want  there. 

For,  Want?  their  court  of  wanls  " 
Shall  want  money  first;  for  I  profess  myself 
Lord  paramount  o*er  fools  and  mad  folks. 

Clmxm.  Do 
But  store  yourself  with  lies  enough  against 
You  come  thither. 

For,  Why,  that  is  all 
The  familiarity  I  ever  had  with  the  devil, 
My  gift  of  lying;  they  say  he's  the  father  of 

lies ; 
And  tho*  [  cannot  conjure,  yet  I  profess 
Myself  to  be  one  of  his  poor  gossips.    I  will 
Now  reveal  to  thee  a  rare  piece  of  service 


Cloam.  What  is  it,  my  most  worshipfbl 

doctor  Lambstones  ?  [sea, 

For,  There  is  a  captain  conic  lately  from 
They  call  Prosper;  I  saw  him  this  mofning, 
Thro*  a  chink  of  wainscot  that  divides  my 

loddng  [and  liostess, 

And  the  host  of  the  house,  withdraw  my  host 
The  fair  Biancha,  and  an  ancient gentlewonum, 
Into  their  bedchamber  : 
I  could  not  over-hear  their  conference. 
But  t  saw  such  a  mass  of  gold  and  jewels? 
And  v/hen  he  had  done  he  lock'd  it  up  into 

a  casket.  [they're  cone 

Great  joy  there  was  amongst  them,  and  forth 
Into  the  city,  and  rov  host  told  roe  [turn 
At'sgoing  furth,  he  thought  he  should  not  rp- 
Till  after  supper :  now,  sir,  in  their  absence 
Will  we  fall  to  our  pickkKks,  enter  the 

chamber,  [reope. 

Seize  tlie  jewels,  make  an  escape  from  Fkn 
And  we  are  made  for  ever! 

Clo^oh.  But  if  they 
Should  go  to  a  true  conjurer,  and  fetch  us 
Back  in  a  whirlwind  ? 

For,  Don't  believe  there  is 
Any  such  fetch  in  astrology!  And  this nnay  be 
A  means  to  make  os  live  honest  hereaft^« 

Clown,  Tis 
But  an  ill  road  to't,  that  lies  thro' 
The  highwBjr  of  thieving. 

For,  For  indeed  I'm  weary  of  [gite 

This  trade  of  fortune-telliue,  and  mean  to 
All  over,  when  I  come  into  England ;  for 
It  is  a  very  ticklish  quality.  [thn-arl 

Clown.  And  in  the  end  will  hang  by  a  twine 
<    F(tr.  Besides,  the  island  has  too  many  of 

the  profession ; 
They  hinder  one  another's  market. 

Clown,  No,  no. 
The  pillory  hinders  their  market. 

For,  You  know  there 
The  juggling  captain. 

Clown.  Ay ;  there's  a  sure  card ! 

For.  Only 
The  foreman  of  their  jury's  dead ;  but  he 
Died  like  a  Roman. 

Clown,  Else  *tis  tliought  he  had 
Made  work  for  the  hangman. 

For.  And  the  very  fiall** 
Of  your  false  prophets,  he's  quash'd  too- 

Ckfwn.  He  did  [ooir 

Measure  the  itars  with  a  false  yard,  and  n»y 
Travel  to  Rome,  with  a  mortar  on's  head, 

to  see 
If  he  can  recover  his  money  that  way. 

For,  Come,  come. 
Let's  fish  for  this  casket,  and  to  sea  presently ! 

Clown.  We  shall  never  reach  London,  I 

fear 4  my  mind 
Runt*  so  much  of  hanging,  landing  at  Wap- 

ping.  [EiewHi. 

^^  Ball,]  i.  e.  BaaL  The  juggling  captain  so  much  spoke  of  \n  ihi%  play,  at  a  news- 
writer  and  conjurer,  Mr.  Sympson  takes  tp  be  one  Baiiks>  whom  Ben  Jpqson  ludicioasly 
calls  the  English  Pythtigoras.        Stwari. 

Enter 


Act  5.] 


THE  FAIR  MAID  OF  THE  INN. 


S5t 


Enter  Mariana, 


Mar.  This  well  iiiay  be  a  day  of  joy  long- 

wwhVl-for 
To  my  Clarissa;  she  is  itinocenty 
Nor  can  her  youth  but  witli  an  open  bosom 
^eet  Hymcn^s  pleasing  bounties:  but  to  ine, 
That  am  cuviron'd  with  black  guilt  and  horror. 
It  does  appear  a  funeral'^' :  tho'  promising 

much 
la  the  conception  were  hard  to  manage, 
But  sad  in  the  event.     It  was  not  hate» 
But  fond  indulgence  in  me,  to  preserve 
Cesario's  threaten'd  life,  in  open  court 
That  fbrc'd  mc   to  disclaim   him,  cbusing 

rather 
To  rob  him  of  his  birtb-right,  and  honour. 
Than  suffer  him  to  run  the  hazard  of 
£nrag*d  Baptista's  fury  :  wliile  he  lives, 
I  kiiowl  liave  a  son ;  and  the  duke's  sentence 
A^vhile  deluded,  and  this  tempest  over, 
AV'hen  he  assures  himself  despair  hath  seiz*d 

Jiim,  [Knock  tcit/ua. 

'  Enter  Baptista, 

I  can  relieve  and  raise  him.— Speak,  who  is  it , 
Tliat  presses  on  my  privacies? — Sir,  your 

pardon ! 
You  cannot  come  unwelcome,  tho'  it  were 
To  read  my  secret  thoughts. 

Bapt.  Liidy,  to  you 
Mine  shall  be  ever  open :  ladjf,  said  I  } 
Tliat  name  keeps  too  much  distance !  sister 

Hither  [claim  it, 

I  slioiild  have  stil'd  you;  and  I  now  may 
Since  our  divided  families  are  made  one 
liy  this  bless'd  marriage ;  to  whose  honour 

comes 
The  duke  in  person,  waited  on  by  all 
Tlie  braveries  of  his  court,  to  witness  it, 
And  then  to  be  our  guests.  Is  the  bride  ready 
To  meet  and  entertain  him  ? 

Mar.  She  attends 
The  coming  of  your  son. 

Baot.  Pray  you  bring  Ijer  forth. 
The  Quke's  at  hand :  music,  in  her  loud  voice, 
Speaks  his  arrival. 

Mar.  She's  prepar'd  to  meet  it.        [EsU, 

Enter  Mariami,  Clarissa  ledbt/  two  Maids ; 
at  the  other  Door,  Bapiista  meets  toith 
Mentivole  led  by  tfpo  Courtiers  ;  the  Duke^ 
Bishop^  and  divert  Attendants.  A  Song^ 
uhiUt  they  salute. 


Duke.  It  were  impertinentto  wish  you  joy, 
Since  all  joys  dwell  about  you;  Hymen's 

torch 
Was  never  lighted  with  a  luckier  omen, 
NOr  burnt  with  so  mnch  splendor.    To  defer 
With  fruitless  compliment  the  means  to  make 
Your  certain  pleasures  lawful  to  the  world, 
(Since  in  the  union  of  your  hearts  they  are 
Coniirm'd  already)  would  but  argue  us 
A  boaster  of  ourlavours :  to  the  temple ! 
And  there  the  sacred  knot  once  tied,  all  tri* 

umphs  [nuptials. 

Our  uukedom  can  afford  shall  grace  your 

Enter  Albertus  and  Cesar io, 

Bapt.  On  tiiere ! 

Ment*  1  hope  it  is  not  in  the  power 
Of  any  to  cross  us  now. 

Alb,  But,  in  the  breath 
Of  a  wrong'd  father,  I  forbid  the  banos! 

Ces,  What,  do  you  stand  at  gaze? 

Bapt.  Ris'u  from  the  dead  ? 

Mar,  Altho'  the  sea  had  vomited  up  tlie 

iigure 
In  which  thy  better  part  liv'd  long  imprison'd, 
True  love  despising  fear,  runs  thus  to  meet  it, 

Clar.  In  duty  1  kneel  to  jt. 

Alb.  Hence,  vile  wretches!  . 
To  yon  I  am  a  substance  incorporeal, 
iVnd  not  to  he  proHm'd  with  your  vile  touch, 
That  could  so  soon  foigetme;  but  such  things 
Are  neitlier  worth  my  anger,  nor  reproof. 
To  you,  great  sir,  I  turn  myself,  and  these 
Immediate  ministers  of  your  government; 
And  if  in  my  rude  language  I  transgress, 
Ascribe  it  to  the  cold  remembrance  of 
My  services,  and  not  my  rugged  temper ! 

Dukf,  -Speak  freely ;  be  thy  language  ne'ec 

so  bitter. 
To  see  thee  safe,  Alberto,  signs  thy  pardon. 

Alb.  My  pardon  ?  I  can  need  none,  if  it 

be  not 
Receiv'd  for  an  offence;  I  tamely  bear 
Wrongs,  which  a  slave-born  Muscovite  would 

check  at. 
Why,  if  for  treason  I  had  been  delivered 
Up  to  Uie  hangman's  axe,  and  this  dead  trunk, 
Unworthy  of  a  Christian  sepulchre, 
Expos'd  a  prey  to  feed  the  ravenous  vulture. 
The  memory  of  the  much  I  oft  did  for  you, 
(Had  you  but  any  touch  of  gratitude. 
Or '  th^ugiit  of  my  deservings)  would  ha?r 

stopped  you 
From  these  unjust  proceedings. 


^^  It  does  appear  a  funeral;  though  promising  much 

In  the  conception  were  hard  to  manage  ^ 

But  sad  in  the  event. ^  i\  whole  line  seems  to  have  been  lost  here;  the  intention  of  the 
passage  may  be  easily  gathered.  '  Her  scheme,  which  promis'd  mucl\  in  the  conception, 
'  proved  hard  to  manage,  and  sad  in  the  eVent.'  I  shall  not  venture  my  conjecture  into  the 
text,  but  nropose  it  as  the  best  that  yet  occurs : 

It  does  appear  a  funeral.    Mif  design, 

Tho'  proin'sing  much  in  the  conception. 

Was  Jar  too  hard  to  manage,  and  doth  prove 

But  sad  in  the  event:  it  was  not  hace,  d(c.  Seward. 

Duke. 


d54 


THE  FiVm  MAID  OF  THE  INIf. 


[Aet5. 


Se  not  UAthaiikful  for  the  blessingii  shewn 

Nor  yoa,  Baptista!  Discord  was  yet  never 
A  welcome  sacrifice;  therefore,  rage  laid  by, 
Embrace  as  friends,  and  let  pass'd  difference 
Be  as  a  dream  foigptten ! 

BapU  Tis  to  me. 

Ali,  And  me;  I  tlris  confinn  it 

Duke,  And  totieti 
In  bonds  not  tobebn^«n,  with  the  marriage 
Of  young  Mentivole  and  fair  Clarissa, 
Sq.^ou  consem^  great  lady,  your  Biancha 
-^Lail  call  Cesanb  husband. 

Jul.  Tn  a  motion 
'%  gladly  yield  to. 

Ces.  One  in  which  y6a  make 
A  sad  man  banpy.  [Offers  ip  kneel, 

Bian,  Kneel  not!  all  forgiven. 

Duke,  Wi*  th*.duke  your  uncle  I  will  make 
And  will  have  no  denial.  [atonement, 

finter  Hoit^  Forobotco,  Chwn,  w4  Officers, 

Mar.  Let  this  day 
Be  still  held  sacred! 

Hoitt.  Now  if  }rou  can  conjur^ 
I<et  the  devil  unbind  you. 

For,  We  are  both  undone ! 

Clown.  Already  we  feel  it, 

Hott.  Justice,  sir! 

Duke,  What  are  they?  [the  gtllies 

Frot.  I  can  resolve  you;  slaves  ireedfrom 
By  the  viceroy  of  Sicilia* 

DuArf.  What's  their  o£Fence?         Hewels; 

Hott,  The  robbing  me  of  all  my  p{ate  v>d 
I  mean,  (he  attempting  of  it. 

Clown,  Please  your  grace, 
111  now  discover  thb  varlet  in  earnest; 
This  honest  pestilent  rogue  profess'd  the  art 
Of  conjuring;  but  all  the  skill  that  e*er 


He  had  in  the  black  art,  was  in  making 
A  sea-coal  fire;  only  with  wearing 
Strange  shapes,  he  begot  admiration 
'Mongst  fools  and  women. 

For.  Wilt  thou  peach,  thou  varlet? 
Duke,  Why  does  he  goggle  with  his  eye% 
and  stalk  so  ? 

Clown,  This  is  one  of  his  magical  raptores. 
For,  I  do  vilifv^ 
Your  ceosnre !  You  demand,  if  I  am  guilty} 
Whir — says  my  doak,  by  a  trick  of  legerde- 
main! 
Now  I'm  not  guilty;  I  am  guarded  with 
Innocence,  pure  silver  lace,  I  assure  yoo. 
Clown,  Thus  have  I  read  to  you  your  vir- 
tues, which  [of. 
Notwithstanding  I  would  not  have  you  proud 
For.  Out,  thouconceahnentoftaUow^and 
counterfeit  mummy ! 
Duke,  To  th*  galhes  with  them  both ! 
Clown,  The  omy  sea-physic 
For  a  knave,  is  to  be  basted  in  a  galley, 
With  the  oil  of  a  bull's  pizzle. 

For.  And  will  not  you  [I  hope 

Make  asour  face  at  the  s^me sauce,  sirrah? 

To  find  thee  so  lean  in  one  fortnight  thou 

Mayst  be  drawn  by  the  ears  thro'  the  hoop 

of  a  firkin .  [to  the  eaUia ! 

Duke,  Divide  them,  and  away  with  them 

Clown.  This  will  take  down  your  prick, 

Duke.  This  day,  Li^^gg^* 

That  hath  giVnbirth  to  blessingsbevond  hope, 

Admits  no  criminal  sentence.  To  the  tempir. 

And  there  with  humbleness,  praise  Heaven*! 

bounties!  [whea 

For  blessing  ne'er  descend  firom  thence,  bvt 

A  sacrifice  in  thanks  ascends  from  men. 

l^reunimttfU 


!?  r^ify:]ht.  ffoldch^ap. 


conD« 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


A  TRAGEDY. 


Tbit  Pby  aeems  to  be  the  acknowledged  production  of  both  Writelrs.    It  wis  first  printed 
ia  quwtOy  1685;  bat  hat  not  been  altered,  that  we  can  discover,  or  acted,  many  years. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED^ 


Mfiir. 


Cu^in. 

LSONTIU89  ihe  0ld  Duke  cfLycia. 
JLkucippus,  Son  to  the  liuke. 
IsMEVUSy  Neph€»  to  the  Duke. 
TsLAMON, «  Lyaan  Lord. 

AoEVOB,     >  Ccmttieru 
NlsiJS,       3 

TiMAVTUSy  a  villainous  Sycophant 
ZoiLuSy  Leucippus*s  Dwarf. 
Kilo,  tent  in  commistioji  to  pull  down  Cupi<tt 
Imagcsk 


I^RissT  to  CupiJL 

Four  young  Men  and  Maii>S« 

Four  Citizens. 

WbMEN. 

HiDASPESy  Daughter  to  the  Diito 

BACiBA,  a  Strumpet. 
URA^^tA,  her  Daughter* 
Bacha*8  Maid. 
Uranin*s  Maid. 
Servants  and  Attendant94 


ACT  I. 


j^nier  Dorialus,  Agenor,  and  Nisut 

Jgenor,  'T^UST  me,  my  lord  Dorialus,  I 
-^    had  miss'd  of  this,  if  yuu  had 
liotcall'd  me ;  I  thought  the  princess's  birth- 
day had  been  to-morrow. 

JfisuM,  Why,  did  your  lordship  sleep  out 

the  day? 

Dor,  l  marvel  what  the  duke  meant  to 

make  such  an  idle  vow? 

JVistif.  Idle  ?  why  ? 
,  Dor,  Is't  not  idile,  to  swear  to  grant  his 
;  daoghter  any  thing  she  shall  ask  on  her 
birw-day  ?  she  may  ask  an  impossible  thing ; 
and  I  pray  Heav'n  she  do  not  ask  an  unfit 
thing,  at  one  time  or  other :  'tis  dangerous 
(rusting  a  man's  vow  upon  the  discreuon  of 
bis  dai^hter. 

Jge.  I  wonder  most  at  the  marquis  her 
brother,  who  is  al^ys  vehemently  forward 
to  have  her  desires  granted^ 


D&r.  He's  acqbainted  with  'enl  before; 

Age,  She's  Aaahlkss  very  chaste  and  vir« « 

tuous. 

Dor.  So  is  Leucippus  her  brother. 

Aind.. She's  twenty  years  old;  I  wonder 
She  ask  not  a  husband.  [refus'd 

,  Dt>r.  That  were  a  folly  in  her,  having 
All  the  ^at  princes  in  one  part  of  the  world  ; 
She*ll  die  a  maid. 

Ace,  She  may  ask  but  once,  may  she  ? 

Nisut.  A  hundred  times  this  day,  if  shewflls 
And,  indeed,  every  day  is  such  a  day;  for  tho* 
The  duke  has  vow'd  it  only  on  this  day, 
He  keeps  it  every  day;  he  can  deny 
Her  nothing.  v 

dn-nets*  inter  SidaspeSy  leueippuf,  Leon^ 
tiui,  Timantus^  and  Telamon. 

Leon,  Come,    fiiir  Hidaspes!    thoa   art 

duchess  to-day.  [oath 

Art  thou  prepar  d  to  ask  f  thon  kn9w*it  my 


ZS6 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Act  h 


Will  force  performance.   And,  Leucippus,  if 
She  now  ask  aught  that  shall  or  woula  have 

perforroance 
After  my  death,  when  by  the  help  of  HeaVn 
This  land  is  thine,  accursed  be  tliy  race^ 
May  every  one  forget  thou  art  my  son. 
And  so  tlieir  own  obedience — 

Leuc.  Mighty  sir, 
I  do  not  v\'ish  to  know  that  fatal  hoar. 
That  is  to  make  me  king :  but  if  I  do, 
I  shall  most  heartily,  (and  like  a  son) 
Perform  your  grants  to  all,  chiefly  to  her. — 
Kemember  that  you  ask  what  we  agreed 

upon. 

icon.  Are  you  prepared?  then  speak. 

Hid.  Most  royal  sir, 
I  am  prepar*d,  nor  shall  my  will  exceed 
A  virgin's  bounds ;  what  I  request  shall  both 
At  once  bring  me  a  full  content  '• 

Leon,  So't  ever  does. 
Thou  only  comfort  of  my  feeble  age. 
Make  known  tliygood  desire !  for  I  dare  swear 
Thou  lov*st  me. 

Hid.  This  is  it  I  beg. 
And  on  my  knees :  the  people  of  your  land, 
The  Lycians,  are,  thro'  all  the  nations 
That  know  their  name,  noted  to  have  in  use 
A  vain  and  fruitless  superstition ; 
So  much  more  hateful,  that  it  hears  the  show 
Of  true  religion,  and  is  nothing  else 
But  a  self- pleasing  bold  lasciviousness. 

Xeon.  What  is  it  ? 

Hid.  Many  ages  before  this. 
When  every  man  got  to  himself  a  trade. 
And  was  laborious  in  that  chosen  cou'rse, 
Hating  an  idle  hfe  far  worse  than  death^ 
Some  one  that  gave  himself  to  wine  aAd  sloth, 
Which  breed  lascivious  thoughts,  and  found 

himself  , 

Contemned  for  that  by  every  painful  man*, 
Tb  take  his  stain  away,  fram'd  to  himself 
A  god,  whom  he  pretended  to  obey, 
In  being  thus  dishonest;  for  a  name 
He  called  him  Cupid.    This  created  god 

'What  I  request  shall  both 


(Man's  nature  being  ever  credulous 

Of  any  vice  that  takes  part  with  his  blood) 

Had  ready  followers  enow  ;  and  since 

In  every  age  they  grew,  especially 

Amongst  your  subjects,  who  do  yet  remain 

Adorers  of  that  drowsy  deity, 

Which  dnnk  invented ;  and  the  winged  boy 

(For  so  they  call  him)  has  his  sacrifices'. 

And  these  loose  naked  statues  tiiro*  the  land) 

In  every  village ;  nay  the  palace'  self 

Is  not  tree  from  'em.    Tms  is  my  request. 

That  these  erected  obscene  images        [man 

May  be  pluckM  down  and  burnt,  and  every 

That  offers  to  'em  any  sacrifice 

May  lose  his  life. 

Leon.  But  be  advis'd. 
My  fairest  daughter  I  if  he  be  a  god, 
He  will  express  it  upon  thee,  my  child; 
Which  Heaven  avert! 
■'  Leuc.  There  is  no  such  power ; 
But  the  opinion  of  him  fills  the  land 
With  lustful  sins:  every  young  man  and  maid^ 
That  feel  the  least  desire  to  one  another. 
Dare  not  suppress  it,  for  they  think  it.b 
Blind  Cupid  s  motion;  and  he  is  a  god ! 

Leon.  This  makes  our  youth  unchaste 

am  resolv'd. 
Nephew  Ismenus,  break  the  statues  down 
Here  in  the  palace,  and  command  the  city 
To  do  tiie  like :  let  prochunations 
Be  drawn,  and  hastily  sent  thro'  the  land, 
To  the  same  purpose ! 

Ism.  Sir,  V\\  break  down  none 
Myself,  but  III  deliver  your  command : 
Hand  111  have  none  in*t,  for  I  like  it  not* 

Leon.  Go,  and  command  iL — Pleasure  of 

my  life,  [sand  suits; 

Woukist  thou  aught  else  ?  Make  mauy  thuu- 
They  must  and  shall  be  granted. 

Hid.  Nothing  else.  [Exit  Ismenus. 

Leon.  But  go  and  meditate  on  other  suits: 

I  Some  six  days  hence  I'll  give  thee  audience 
again. 
And,  by  a  new  oath,  bind  myself  to  keep  it« 


I 


At  once  brin^  me  a  full  cof^ent.]  From  the  answer  of  LeontiuSy  it  is  plain  some  words 
mre  dropt  here,  signifying  that  her  request  shall  content  her  fatlier  as  well  as  herself. 
*  And  found  h imseif  conjoined 

For  that  by  every  painful  man.'\  1  know  no  meaning  of  the  word  conjoined  that  will  suit 
the  context,  condemned  is  the  natural  word.  Our  poets*  scheme  in  tiiis  pJay  (which  bsi 
many  excellent  things  in  it)  seems  to  me  quite  amazing.  That  this  just  speech  should  be 
esteemed  sudi  an  act  of  real  impiety,  as  to  receive  the  most  shocking  punishment  eudins  in 
the  murder  and  utt^r  extirpation  of  the  whole  family,  is  surely  n  ^trallge  outrage  on  poetical 
justice,  as  well  as  on  all  the  circle  of  moral  virtues.  I  find  Mr.  Theobald  has  prevented  me 
in  the  correction  above,  and  Mr,  Sympson  has  since  sent  me  his  reading,  contemu*d»  Sacard, 
llie  next  line  rather  warrants  contemned  than  condemned. 

3  and  the  winged  boy, 

'  (For  so  they  call  him)  has  his  sacrifices, 
Thae  loose  naked  statues  through  the  land, 
A  nd  in  every  village^  nay  the  palace 

Is  not  free  from  *em. — ]  Here  are  certainly  deficiencies  both  in  measiuce  and  sense:  tbe 
change  of  points,  the  removal  of  the  and  from' the  beginning  of  one  line  to  tiie  line  above  it» 
and  the  addition  of  a  particle  that  adds  strength  to  the  sentimenti  seems  the  most  prohabk 
•  method  of  restoring  thie  original*        Seward* 

Ask 


Act  1.J 


CUPID'S  REVENGU. 


55/ 


They  let  us  wear  gay  cloaths  without  survey* 

mg:  and,  [husbands. 

Which  was  most  lamentable,  they  lov'd  their 

Nivut.  I  do  remember  it  to  my  grief,  young 

maids 
W^re  as  cold  as  cucumbers,  and  much  of  that 
Complexion;  bawds  were  abolished;  and  (to 

which  [cuckolds. 

Misery  it  must  come  again)  there  were  no 
Well,  we'd  need  pray  to  keep  these  devils 

from  us;  [Lord ! 

The  times  grow  mischievous. — ^There  he  goes  I 

Enter  one  with  an  Image. 
This  is  a  sacrilege  I  have  not  heard  of! 
'Would  1  were  gelt,  that  I  might  not  feel  what 

follows!  [few  years, 

Jge,  And  I  too.  Youshall  see  within  these 
A  fine  confusion  i*th'  country ;  mark  it ! 
Nay,  an  we  grow  for  to  depose  the  powers, 
^Vnd  set  up  Chastity  again.— Well,  I  have 

done! 
A  fine  new  goddess  certainly,  whose  blessings 
Are  hunger  and  hard  beds ! 

Ninis.  This  comes  of  fullness, 
A  sin  too  frequent  with  us;  I  believe  now 
We  shall  find  shorter  commons. 

Dor,  'Would  I  were  married!  somewhat 

has  some  favour; 
The  race  of  gentry  will  quite  nm  out  now, 
'Tis  only  left  to  husbands;  if  younger  sisters 
Take  not  the  greater  charity,  'tis  lawfijl. 

Age,  Well,  let  come  what  will  come,  I  am 

but  one. 
And  as  the  plague  falls,  I  will  shape  royself : 
If  women  will  be  honest.  111  be  sound. 
If  the  god  be  not  too  unmerciful, 
I'll  take  a  little  still,  where  I  can  get  it. 
And  thank  biui,  and  say  nothing. 
IT  NUua,  This  ill  wind  yet  may  blow  the  city 

good,  [dren. 

And  let  them  (if  they  can)  get  their  own  chil^ 
They  have  hung  long  enoQgh  io  doubt:  but, 

howsoever,  ['em. 

The  old  way  was  the  surer;  then  they  had 

Dor,  Farewell,  my  lords!  Fll  e'en  take  up 

what  rent 
I  can  before  the  day;  I  fear  the  year 
Will  fall  out  ill. 

Jge,  We'll  with  you,  sir.    And,  Love,  so 

favour  us, 

*  Poor  men  can  number  their  woers.]  Woo^s  for  mistresses  is  uncommon,  but  a  word  very 
near  it  is  quite  suitable  to  the  character  of  the  speaker,  whores.  After  I  bad  inserted  this 
in  the  text,  I  found  in  Mr.  Theobald's  margin  another  conjecture,  weathers  for  woers,  with  a 
Latin  quotation,  Pauperis  est  numerare  pecus,  as  a  proof  of  it.  But  my  conjecture  is  mutik 
nearer  the  trace  of  the  letters,  as  well  as  a  more  natural  expression ;  for  weathers  being  of 
tlic  masculine  gender,  will  never  suit  this  place,  though  pecus  might.  Seward* 

'  Wore  their  own  faces, 
Tho\  thetf  wear  gay  eloaths  without  surveying, 
And  which  was  most  lamentable. 

They  Uro'd  their  husbands,]  The  reader  will  find  the  metre  here  easily  restored,  but  the 
sense,  which  seems  quite  lost  in  the  second  line,  is  not  so  readily  recovered.  The  only  con- 
jecture that  seems  tolerable  is  what  I  venture  iqto  the  text  with  great  difiidence,,  but  the 
fesder  had  better  have  even  a  false  reading  with  sense,  than  one  without  it,  Seward. 

'  M 


Ask  largely  for  thyself:  dearer  than  life. 
In  whom  I  may  be  bold  to  call  myself 
More  fortunate  than  any  in  my  age, 
t  will  deny  thee  nothing ! 

Leuc.  Twas  well  done,  sister. 

[Exeunt  all  but  the  three  Lords. 

Nisus,  How  like  you  this  request,  my  loni? 

Dor.  I  know  not  yet,  I  am  so  fuUof  won- 
We  shall  be  gods  ourselves  shortly,  Fder ! 
An  we  pull  'em  outof  Heav'n  o'  this  fashion. 

Age.  We  shall  have  wenches  now  when  we 

can  catch  'em. 
An  we  transgress  thus. 

Nisus.  An  we  abuse  the  gods  once, 
Tis  a  justice  we  should  be  held  at  hard  meat. 

For  my  part, 
ni  e'en  make  ready  for  mine  own  affection ; 
I  know  the  god  incens'd  most  send  ahardness 
Thro'  all  good  women's  hearts,  and  then  we 

have  [market: 

Brought  our  e|gs  and  muscadine  to  a  fair 
'Would  I  had  given  aii  hundred  pound  for  a 

toleration,  [own  house ! 

That  I  might  but  use  my  conscience  in  mine 

Dor,  The  duke,  he's  old  and  past  it;  he 

would  never  [else;  'tis  worse 

Have  brought  such  a  plague  upon  the  land 
Than  sword  and  fiimine !  Yet,  to  say  truth. 
We  have  deserv'd  it,  we  have  liv'd  so  wick- 

ediy. 
Every  man  at  his  livery ;  and  'would  that 
Would  have  sufficed  us !  we  murmur'd  at 
This  blessing,  that  was  nothing;  and  cried 

out  [and 

To  th'  god  for  endless  pleasures:  he  heard  us, 
Supplied  us,  and  our  women  were  new  still. 
As  we  needed  'em ;  yet  we,  like  beasts. 
Still  cned,  '  Poor  men  can  number  their 

whores*;  give  us 
*  Abundance !'    we  had  it,  and   this  curse 

withal.  [Lent  o'n't ; 

Age,  B/r  lady,  we  are  like  to  nave  a  long 
Flesh  shall  be  flesh  now !  Gentlemen,  I  had 

rattier  [gunner. 

Hare  anger'd  all  the  gods  than  that  blind 
I  remember,  once  the  people  did  but  sliglit 
'     him 

In  a  ^crifire,  and  what  follow'd  ?  women  kept 
Their  houses,  and  grew  good  huswives,  ho- 
nest forsootli !  [nay. 
Was  not  that  fine  ?  wore  their  own  faces'. 


•M 


CUPID'S  REVENGll 


lAct  I! 


For  aoy  thing  I  know^  ot,  at  tht  besC^ 
Adorn  a  chimney-piece. 

Priest.  Oh,  sacrilege  unheard-of! 

Nilo.  I'his  will  not  help  iu    Take  domm 

their  images, 
And  away  with  'em !  [service  now 

Priest,  cliange  your  coat,  yon  bad  best;  ail 
Is  given  to  men ;  prayers  above  their  heuing 
Win  prove  but  babblings;  learn  to  lie  ana 

tlinve,  ISP^ 

'Twill  prove  yoilr  best  profession :  for  tba 
He  that  lives  by  'em  uotv  must  be  a  beggar. 
There's  better  holiness  on  earth,  they  say ; 
Pray  God  it  ask  not  greater  lacrince!  G^ 

home ;     . 
And  if  your  god  be  not  deaf  as  well  as  blind, 
He  will  make  some  smoke  for  it. 

Gent  Sii*— 

Nilo.  Gentlemen,  [speedily: 

There  is  no  talking ;  this  must  be  done  and 
I  have  commission  that  I  must  not  bceak. 

Gent,  We're  gone,  to  wonder  what  shall 

Nilo.  On  [foDow. 

To  the  n^xt  temple !  [Exemt. 

Comets,     Cupid  descends. 

Cnpid.  Am  I  then  scom'd  ?  is  my  all-doing 

will  [none, 

And  power  that  knows  no  limit,  nor  admits 
Now  Ibok'd  into  by  less  than  gods,  and  weak- 

en'd? 
Am  I,  whote  bow  struck  tertor  thro*  the  earth 
No  less  than  thunder,  and  in  this  exceeding 
Even  gods  themselves,  f^hose  knees  before 

my  altars. 
Now  Shook  ofT^?  and  eontemn'd  by  such, 

whose  lives 
Are  but  my  recreation?  Angef,  rise ! 
My  sufferance  and  myself  are  made  the  sub* 

joct 
Of  sins  against  us.   Go  thou  out,  displeasure ! 
Displeasure  of  a  great  god^,  fly  thyself 
Thro*  all  this  kingdom :  sow  whatever  evils 
Proud  flesh  is  taking  of,  amongst  these  rebels; 
And  on  the  first  hearts  that  despise  my  great" 

ness 
Lay  a  strange  misery,  that  all  may  know 
Cupid's  Revenge  is  mighty  !  With  this  arrow, 
Hotter  than  plagues  ofmine  own  anger,  will  i 
Now  nobly  right  myself;  nor  shall  the  prayers, 
Nor  sweet  smokes  on  my  altars,  hold  mj 

hand, 
1'ill  I  have  left  this  a  most  wretched  land. 
,  [Ascend 

*  Nor  the  coy  faces  of  a  maids  denying.]  Mr.  Sympson  has  improved  this  line  by  strikis| 
•IF  the  s  from  ntaids.        Sezcard. 

7  —  lohose  knees  before  my  altars 
Now  shook  off]  There  is,  as  Seward  observes,  *  a  great  deficiency  here  both  in  grammtf 
*  and  sense,  and  reason  to  suspect  a  whole  line  to  have  been  lost;'  which  he  supposes  ao^ 
have  beeu  like  the  following; 

whose  knees  before  my  altars 

Iff  zealous  supplicmtion  oft  have  bent. 

•  Displeasure  of  a  great  gdd,  fly  thyself,]  So  quarto;  other  copies,  fying;  and  Sewsrfi 
from  Tb«obald*s  Gonjecture,  reads/in^.     / 


As  we  are  ktill  thy  servants!  Come,  my  lords; 
Let's  to  tlie  duke,  and  tell  liim  to  what  folly 
Bis  doting  now  has  brought  him.     [l^xeunt. 

Enter  Friest  of  Cupid,  with  four  young  Men 
and  Maids. 

Friest.  Come,  my  children,  let  your  feet 

In  an  even  measure  meet ! 

And  your  chearful  voices  rise. 

To  present  this  sacrifice 
.  To  great  Cupid !  in  whose  name, 

I  Ims  priest  begin  the  same.* 

Voux^g  men,  txUwe  your  loves  and  kiss; 

Thus  bur  Cupid  honour'd  is. 

Kiss  again,  and  in  your  kissing 

Let  no  promises  be  missing! 

Nor  let  any  maiden  here 

Dare  to  turn  away  her  ear, 

Unto  the  whisper  of  liet  love ; 

But  give  bracelet,  ring,  or  glove^ 

As  a  token  to  her  sweeting. 

Of  an  after  secret  meeting ! 

Now,  boy,  sing,  to  stick  our  hearts 

Fuller  ot  great  Cupid's  darts  I 

SONG. 

Lovers  rejoice !  jrour  pains  shall  be  rewarded. 
The  god  of  love  himself  grieves  at  your  crying: 
No  more  shall  frozen  honour  be  regarded, 
Nor  the  coy  faces  of  a  maid  denying^. 
No  more  shall  virgins  sigh,  and  Say  f  We  dare 
^ot,  [care  not.' 

*  for  men  are  false,  and  what  they  do  they 
All  shall  be  well  again;  then  do  not  grieve; 
Jden  shall  be  true,  and  women  shall  believe. 
Lovers,  rejoice!  what  you  shall  say  hence- 
forth, [your  arms. 
When  you  have  cauglit  your  sweethearts  in 
It  shall  be  accounted  oracle, and  worth: 
No  more  faintrhearted  girls  sliall  dream  ef 
harms,  [said. 
And  cry  '  They  are  too  young:'  the  god  hath 
Fifteen  shall  make  a  mother  of  a  maid : 
Then,  wise  men,  pull  your  roses  yet  unblown ! 
Love  hates  the  too-^ipe  fruit  that  falls  alone. 

After  a  MeasurCy  enter  Nilo  and  others. 

Nilo.  No  more  of  this !  here  break  your 
rites  for  ever;  ^        [stare ! 

The  duke  commands  it  so.    Priest,  do  not 
I  must  deface  your  temple,  tho'  unwilling. 
And  yonr  god  Cupid  here  must  make  a  scare- 
crow, 


Act  1.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


3jO 


Enter  Hidaspes  and  Cleophila, 

Sid.  Cleophila,  what  was  he  that  went 
CUo.  What  [hence? 

Keans  your  grace  now  } 

Hid.  I  mean  that  handsome  man,    [door. 
Tliat  something  more  than  man,  I  met  at 
Cleo.  Here  was  no  handsome  man. 
Hid.  Come,  he's  some  one 
You  would  preserve  in  private;  hut  you  want 
Cunning  to  do  it,  and  my  eyes  are  sharper 
Than  yours,  and  can  with  one  neglapting 

glance 
See  all  the  graces  of  a  man.  Who  was  it  ? 
CUo.  Tliai  went  hence  now? 
Hid,  That  went  hence  now  ?  ay,  he ! 
CUo.  Faith,  here  was  no  such  one  as  your 
grace  thinks :  [now. 

2ZU>ilu^  your  hrotlier's  dwarf,  went  out  hut 
Hid,  I  think  'twas  he:  how  hravely  he 
tMtts'd  by! 
Is  he  not  grown  a  goodly  gentleman  ? 
CUo.  A  goodly  gentleman,  madam? 
He's  the  most  deform'd  fellow  in  the  land. 

Hid,  Oh,  blasphemy !  he  may  perhaps  to 
.    thee 

appear  deform'd,  for  he  is  indeed 
Unlike  a  man :  his  shape  and  colours  are 
.  Beyond  the  art  of  painting;  he  is  like 
Kothing  that  we  have  seen,  yet  doth  resemble 
Apollo,  as  I  oft  have  fancied  him, 
IVhen  rising  from  his  bed  he  stirs  himself, 
^nd  shakes  day  from  his  haii^. 

Cleo,  He  resembles  Apollo's  recorder. 
Hid.  Cleophila,  go  send  a  page  for  him, 
'  And  thou  shalt  see  thy  error,  and  repent. 

[Exit  CUophila, 
Alas,  what  do  I  feel  ?  My  blood  rebels, 
And  I  am  one  of  those  I  us'd  to  scorn  ? 
My  maiden- thoughts  are  fled'°;  against  my- 
self 
I  harbour  traitors ;  my  virginity. 
That  from  my  childhood  kept  me  company, 
Is  heavier  than  I  can  endure  to  bear. 
Forgive  me,  Cupid !  for  thou  art  a  god. 
And  I  a  wretched  creature:  I  have  sinn'd ; 
Bat  be  thou  merciful,  and  grant  that  yet 
I  may  enjoy  what  thou  wilt  have  me  love*' ! 

Enter  CUophUa  and  goilus, 
Qleo,  Zoilu^  is  here,  madam. 
Hid.  He's  there  indeed.  [than  mad. 

Now  be  thine  own  judge!  see,  thou  worse 


Is  he  deformed  ?  Look  upon  those  eyes^ 
That  let  all  pleasure  out  into  the  world, 
Unhappy  that  they  cannot  see  themselves! 
Look  on  hib  hair,  that  like  so  many  beams^ 
Streaking  the  east,  shoot  light  o'er  half  tbt 

world ! 
Look  on  him  altogether,  who  is  made 
As  if  two  natures  had  contention         [him  ! 
About  their  skill,  and  one  had  brought  forth 

Zoilus.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Madam,  tho'  Nature  hath  not  given  me 
So  much  af  others  in  my  outward  show, 
I  bear  a  heart  as  loyal  unto  you 
In  this  unsightly  body  (which  you  please 
To  make  your  mirth)  as  many  others  do 
That  are  rar  more  befriended  in  their  birtlis. 
Yet  I  could  wish  myself  much  noore  deform'd 
Than  yet  I  am,  so  I  might  make  your  grace 
More  merry  than  you  are. — Ha,  ha,  ha  1 

Hid,  Beshrew  me  then 
If  I  be  merry]  but  I  am  content         [saint; 
Whilst  thou  art  with  me;  thou  that  art  raj 
By  hope  of  whose  mild  favour  I  do  live 
To  tell  thee  so:  I  pray  thee,  scorn  me  not! 
Alas,  what  can  it  add  unto  thy  worth 
To  triumph  over  me,  that  am  a  maid 
Without  deceit?  whose  heart  doth  guide  her 

tongue? 
Drown*d  in  my  passions?  Yet  I  will  take  leave 
To  call  it  reason,  that  I  dote  on  thee. 

Cleo.  The  princess  is  beside  her  grace,'  I 

think. 
To  talk  thus  with  a  fellow  that  will  hardly 
Serve  i'  th'  dark  when  one  is  drunk. 

Hid.  What  answer  wilt  thou  give  me?. 

Zoilus.  If  it  please  your  grace  to  jest  on, 

I  can  abide  it. 

Hid.  If  it  be  jest'*,  not  to  esteem  my  life 
Compar*d  with  thee;  if  it  be  jest  in  me. 
To  hang  a  thousand  kisses  in  an  hour 
Upon  those  lips,  and  take  'em  off  again  ; 
If  it  be  jest  for  me  to  marry  thee, 
And  take  obedience  on  mc  whilst  I  lire; 
Then  all  I  say  is  jest: 
For  every  part  of  this,  I  swear  by  those 
That  see  my  thoughts,  I  am  resolv'd  to  do ! 
And  I  beseech  thee,  by  thine  own  white  hand, 
(Which,  pardon  me  that  I  am  bold  to  kiss 
With  'so  unworthy  lips^  that  thpu  wilt  swear 
To  marry  me,  as  I  do  nere  to  thee, 
Before  the  face  of  Heaven  1 

Zoiliu,  Marry  you?  Ha,  ha,  ha! 


'  What  rising  from  his  hedy  &c.l  Similar  to  this  nobly-poetical  passage  is  the  following^ 
jn  th^  Maririagje^jE^ighty  by  lord  Falkland : 

'  So  breaks  the  morning  forth  of  a  crystal  cloud, 

*  And  so  the  sun  ascends  his  glittering  chair, 

*  And  from  his  bumisfCd  locks  shakes  day  about  J        R, 
.'®  My  maiden-thoughts  are  Jled  agaitist  myself  :  

I  harbour  traitors  in  my  virginity.]  Corrected  by  Seward. 
M  I  may  enjoy  what  thou  wilt  have  me,  Love.l  As  the  address  is  to  Xore,  a  comma  and  a 
great  letter  was  a  material  corruption  here :  to  ask  Cupid  to  let  her  enjoy  what  he  would 
have  her  enjoy  was  a  ridiculous  request,  but  to  let  her  enjoy  what  he  would  have  her  love, 
\b  the  coiiimon  prayer  of  all  worshippers  of  Cupid.  Seward. 

£f  If  it  be^'j»^;  ijc]  This  is  vpry  like  the  turn  of  a  speech  in  Fhjlaster,  If  it  be  loz^,  &c. 

/  UiJ* 


^0 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Act  1. 


Hid.  Kill  me,  or  graot!    Wilt  thou  not 

speak  at  all  ? 

Zoilut.  Why,  I  will  do  your  will  for  ever. 

Hid.  I  ask  no  more :  but  let  me  kiss  that 

mouth 
That  is  so  merciful!  that  is  m^  will : 
I^ext,  ^o  with  me  before  the  king  in  haste. 
That  is  my  will;  wliere  I  willmaie  our  peers 
Know,  that  thou  art  their  better. 

Zoilus.  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 
That  is  fine  !  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

C/eo.  Madam,  what  means  your  grace? 
Consider,  for  the  love  of  HeaveiT,  to  wliat 
You  run  madly!  will  you  take  this  viper 
Into  your  bed  ? 

Hid.  Away !  hold  off  thy  hands ! 
Strike  her,  sweet  Zoilus;  for  it  is  my  will. 
Which  thou  hast  sworn  to  do. 

Zoilus.  Away,  for  shame ! 
Know  you  no  manners  ? — Hn,  ha,  ha ! 

[Exit  with  Hidaipes, 

Cle9.  Thou  know'st  none,  I  fear. 
This  is  just  Cupid's  anger:  Venus,  look 
Down  mildly  on  us!  and  command  thy  son 
To  spare  this  lady  once,  and  let  me  be 
In  love  with  all;  and  none  in  love  withme*^! 

[Exit. 
Enter  Ismenus  and  Timantus. 

Tim,  Is  your  lordship  for  the  wars  this 

Ism,  Timantus,  [summer? 

Wilt  thou  go  with  me? 

Tun.  If  I  had  a  company, 
My  lord. 

Ism,  Of  fidlers  ?  thou  a  company  ? 
No,«  no;  keep  thy  company  at  home,  and 

cause  cuckolds ;  [serosters. 

The  wars  will  hurt  thy  face :  there  are  no 
Shoemakers,   nor  taylors,  nor  almond-milk 

i'  th'  morning,  [luble, 

Kor  poacird  eggs  to  keep  your  worship  so- 
2io  man  to  warm  yo6r  shirt,  and  blow  your 

roses'*;  [breeches. 

Kor  none  to  reverence  your  round  lace 
If  thou  wilt  needs  go,  and  go  thus,  get  a  case 
For  thy  captainship!  a  shower  will  spoil  thee 
Thus  much  for  thee.  [else. 

Jvn.  Your  lordship's  wondrous  witty; 
Very  pleasant,  believe*t. 

Enter  Telamon,  DorialuSy  Jgenor^  Nisus, 
and  Lwntius. 

Leon,  No  news  vet  of  my  son  ? 

Tel,  Si<-,  there  be  divers  out  in  search; 

no  doubt,  [occasion 

TheyMl  bring  the  truth  where  he  is,  or  the 
That  led  him  hence. 


Tim.  Tliey  must  have  eood  eyes  then. 

Leon,  The  gods  go  with  them ! — ^Who  are 

those  tliat  wait  there  ?  ,       [his  dispatch. 

Tel.  The  lord  Ismenus,  your  genersd,    for 
,  Leon.  Oh,  nephew,  we've  do  use  to  eow 

ploy  your  virtue 
In  our  war ;  now  the  province  is  well  settled. 
Hear  you  augjht  of  the  marquis? 

Ism.  No,  sir. 

Leon,  Tis  strange  he  should  be  gone  thus; 
These  five  days  he  was  not  seen, 

Tim.  Ill  hold  my  life, 
I  could  boult  him  m  an  hour. 

Xeon.  Where  is  my  dai^hter?  [sib. 

Dor.  About  the  purging  of  the  temples, 

Leon,  She's  chaste  and  virtuous.    Fetch 

her  to  me, 
And  tell  her  I  am  pleas'd  to  grant  her  now 
Her  last  request,  without  repenting  me, 

iExit  Nisuu 
►orialus. 
And  will  not  press  me  further  than  a  father. 

Dor.  I  pray  tlie  best  may  follow !  yet,  if 

your  grace 
Had  taken  the  opinions  of  vour  people. 
At  least  of  such  whose  wisdoms  ever  wake 
About  your  safety,  I  may  say  it,  sir. 
Under  your  noble  pardon,  that  this  change 
Either  had  been  m«re  honour  to  the  gods. 
Or  I  think  not  at  all.    Sir,  tiie  princess. 

Enter  Hidaspes,  NisuSy  and  Zoilus, 

Leon.  Oh,  my  daughter,  my  health ! 
And,  did  I  say  my  soul,  I  lied  not,        [ever 
Thou  art  so  near  me !  Speak,  and  have  what* 
Thy  wise  will  leads  thee  to!  Had  I  a  Heaven, 
It  were  too  poor  a  place  for  such  a  goodness! 

i>or.  What*s  here? 

Age,  An  ape's  skin  stuff 'd,  I  think. 
It  is  so  plump. 

Hid.  Sir,  you  have  past  yowiirord  ; 
Still  be  a  prince,  and  hold"  you  to  it.  Wonder 
Not  I  press  you;  my  life  lies  in  youl-  woid; 
If  you  break  that^  you've  broke  my  heart!  I 

must  rdeny  me ; 

Ask  that's  my  shame,  and  your  will  mostnot^ 
Now,  for  Heaven,  be  not  forsworn ! 

Leon.  By  th' gods, 
I  will  not !  I  cannot,  were  there  no  other 
Pow'r  than  my  love  call'd  to  a  witness  of  it 

Dor,  They  have  much  reason  to  trust; 

you  have  forsworn 
One  of  'em  out  o*  th'  country  already. 

Hid,  Then  this  is  my  request:  this  gentle- 
man—  [dom. 
Be  not  asham'd,  sir;  you  are  worth  a  klng^ 


*^  And  let  me  be  in  lave  with  all;  and  none  in  love  with  me.'l  The  measure  in  this,  as  in 
all  other  plays,  has  been  greatly  neglected :  it  is  generally  restord  here  as  well  as  in  tlierest; 
and  tlie  reader  will  find  even  rliime  as  well  as  meast^re  had  been  overlook'd  in  this  p«<'<'*"« 


The  sense  is  surely  corrupt ;  the  conclusion  of  this  prayer  is  very  strange;  it  is  rhime 
without  reason. 

'^  Roses.]  Ribands,  in  the  form  of  rotes,  were  formerly  worn  in  the  shoes  of  both  gentle* 
men  and  ladies.        IL 


Act  1.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


S6i 


Leon,  In  what  ? 

Hid.  In  the  way  of  marriage. 

Leon.  How?  [so! 

Hid,  In  the  way  of  marriage:  it  must  be 
Youi^oath  is  tied  to  Heaven,  as  my  love 
To  him. 

Leon.  I  know  thou  dost  but  try  my  age ; 
Come,  ask  again ! 

Hid,  Ifl  should  ask  all 
My  life-time,  this  is  all  still.  Sir,  Pm  serious;  I 
Must  have  thisworthy  man,  without  enquiring 

why; 
And  suddenly,  and  freely:  do  not  look 
For  reason  or  obedience  in  my  words; 
My  love  admits  no  wisdom ;  only  haste 
And  hope  hangs   on  my  fury.    Speak,-  sir, 

speak  I  [counsel ; 

But  not  as  a  father;  Fm  deaf  and  dull  to 
Inflamed  blood  Ijear.i  nothing  but  my  will. 
For  God's  sake  speak  ! 

Dor.  Here's  a  brave  alteration  ! 

Nisug,  This  comes  of  chastity. 

Hid.  Will  you  not  speak,  sir  f      [a  sweet 

Age.  The  god  begins  his  vengeance :  what 
YiHith  he  has  sent  us   here,  with  a  pudding 

in^s  belly ! 

Leon.  Oh,  let  me  never  speak, 
Or  wich  my  words  let  me  speak  out  my  life ! 
Thou  pow'r  abus'd,  great  Love,  whose  ven^ 

geance  now 
We  feci  and  fear,  have  mercy  on  this  land ! 

Nisus.  How  does  your  grace? 

Leon,  Sick ;  very  sick,  I  hope. 

Dor.  Gods  comfort  you !        [royal  word  ? 

Hid,  Will  not  you  speak?  is  this  your 
Do  not  pull  perjury  upon  your  soul  1 
Sir,  you  are  old,  and  near  your  punishment ; 
Remember ! 

Leon.  Away,  base  woman!  [plague 

Hid.  Then  be  no  more  my  father,  but  a 
Pm  bound  to  pray  against!  be  any  sin 
May  force  me  to  despair,  and  hang  myself! 
Be  thy  name  nefver  more  remember'd,  king, 
But  in  example  of  a  broken  faith,  [land 

And  curs*d  ev'n  to  forgetfulness!  may  triy 
Brinjf  forth  such  monsters  as  thy  daughter 

is! — 
Pm  weary  of  my  rage.    I  pray  forgive  me. 
And  let  me  have  him!  will  you,  noble  sir? 

Leon,  Mercy,  mercy,  Heav'n ! 


Thou  heir  of  all  dishonour,  sham'st  thou  not 
To  draw  this  little  moisture  left  for  life. 
Thus  rudely  from  me? — Carry  that  slave  to 

death !  [of  mine 

Zoilus,  ForlleavVs  sake,  sir!  it  is  no  fault 
That  she  will  love  me. 

Leon.  To  death  with  hi?n,  I  say  ! 

Hid,  Then  make  haste,  tyrant,  or  Pll  be 

before  him*^ ! 
This  is  the  way  to  Hell. 

Leon.  H»ld  fast,  I  charge  you ! 
Away  with  him !  [than  one. 

Hid.  Alas,  old  man,  death  hath  more  doors 
And  I  will  meet  him.  [Exit. 

Leon.  Dorialus,  pray  fher. 

See  her  i*  her  diamber,  and  lay  a  euard  about 
The  greatest  curse    the  gods  lay  on  our 

frailties 
Is  will  '^  and  disobedience  in  our  issues, 
Which  we  beget,  as  well  as  them,  to  plague  us. 
With  our  fond  loves.    Beasts,  you  are  only 

blest 
Thut  have  that  happy  dulness  to  forget 
What  you   have  made!   your  young  ones 

grieve  not  you  ;  '  [ways 

They  wander  where  they  list,  and  have  their 
Witliout  dishonour  to  you;  and  their  ends 
Fall  on  *em  without  sorrow  of  their  parents. 
Or  after  ill  remembrance ' '.    Oh,  this  woman  I 
'Would  I  had  made  myself  a  sepulchre, 
W^hen  I  made  her! — Nephew,  where  is  the 

prince  ? 
Pray  God  he  hare  not  more  part  of  herbaseness 
Than  of  her  blood  about  him !  Gentlemen, 
Where  is  he  ?  [himself, 

Jsm.  I  know  not,  sir.    H'has  his  ways  by 
Ts  too  wise  for  my  company. 

Leon.  I  don't  like 
This  hiding  of  himself,  from  such  society 
As  fits  his  person  ^^ ;  some  of  you  needs  must 

know.  .    • 

Ism.  Pm  sure  not  I,  nor  have  known  twice 

these  ten  days ; 
Which,  if  I  were  as  proud  as  some  of  'em, 
I  should  take  scurvily:  but  he's  a  young  man. 
Let  him  have  his  swinge !  'twill  make  him— 
.  [Tijnantus  whispers  to  the  duke. 
There's  some  go«d  matter  now  in  hand : 
How  the  slave  jeers  and  grins!  the  duke  it 

pleas'd ; 


^^  Or  He  he  Bar  Mm.']  The  princess  here  attempts  to  kill  herself,  and  the  natural  reading 
is  equally  necessary  to  the  measure.  Mr.  Theobald  concurs  with  me  in  this  correction,  as 
does  Mr.  Sympson  too.        Seward. 

We  have  adopted  the  alteration,  though  perhaps  the  original  ran  (which  seems  more  in 
our  autliors'  stile), 

or  I  will  BEFORE  him! 

■*  Will;']  i.  e.  Wilfulness,  perverseness. 

"  Or  after  ill  remembranceT]  Seward  reads,  afler^ill;  but  the  hyphen  makes  it  very  l^rd, 
and  the  passage  is  clear  enough  without  it. 

**  From  such  society  as  his  person. 

Some  of  it  ye  needs  must  know.]  Former  editions.    The  changes  now  introduced  render 
both  the  senje  and  measure  tolerably  easy.    I  find  Mr.  Theobald  s  conjecture  on  the  pas* 
sage  so  near  mine,  that  it  is  of  no  cottse<|ttencc  which  is  inserted :  lie  reads, 
—— as  J5t«hi»  person,        Setoard, 

VOL.nL  3  A  "      There's 


36^ 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Act  2. 


Tlierc's  a  new  pair  of  scarlet  liose  now,  and 

ub  much 
Money  to  s^ve,  as  will  fetch  the  old  from 

pawn, 


A  hat  and  a  cloak  to  go  out  to-morrow ! 
Garters  and  stockings  eome  by  nature. 

Leon.  Be  sure  of  this ! 

Tim.  I  durat  not  speak  else,  sir.    [Exeunt, 


ACT  II. 


Cornets,    Cupid  descends,   , 

Cupid,  T  EUCIPPUS,  thou  art  shot  thro' 

-■-'     with  a  shaft 
That  will  not  rankle  long,  yet  sharp  enough 
To  sow  a  world  of  helpless  misery 
In  this  unhappy  kingdom  :  dost  thou  think, 
Because  thou  art  a  prince,  to  make  a  part  *^ 
Against  my  power?  But  it  is  all  the  fault 
Of  thy  old  father,  who  believes  his  age 
Is  cold  enough  to  qucucli  my  burnii.g  darts ; 
But  he  shall  know  ere  long,  that  my  dart, 

loose, 
Can  thaw  ice,  and  inflame  tlie  wither'd  heart 
Of  Nestor :  thou  thyself  art  lightly  struck  ; 
But  his  mad  love  shall  publish,  that  the  rage 
Of  Cupid  has  the  power  to  conquer  age. 

\Ascend8* 

Enter  Lencippus  and  Bacha,    ' 

Leue,  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Bachu.  Have  you  got  the  spoil 
You  thirsted  for?  Oh,  tyranny  of  men! 

Leuc,  I  pray  thee  leave ! 

Bacha,  Your  envy  is,  Ileav'n  knows, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  all  our  feeble  sex : 
W^at  pain,  alas,  could  it  have  been  to  you, 
If  I  had  kept  mine  honour  ?  You  might  still 
Have  been  a  prince,  and  still  tliis  country's 

heir.  [kept, 

That  innocent  guard  which  I  till  now  had 
For  my  defence,  my  virtue,  did  it  seem 
So  dangerous  in  a  state,  that  you  yourself 
Came  to  suppress  it  ? 

Levc,  Dry  thine  eyes  again; 
I'll  kiss  thy  tears  away  :  this  is  but  folly; 
'Tis  past  all  help. 

Bacha,  Now  you  have  won  the  treasure, 
Tis  my  request  that  you  would  leave  me  thus, 
And  never  see  these  empty  walls  again : 
I  know  you  will  do  so;  and  well  you  may, 
For  there  is  nothing  in  'em  that  is  worth 
A  glance  :  I  loath  myself,  and  am  become 
Another  woman !  one,  methiuks,  with  whom 
]  want  acquaintance. 

Leuc.  If  I  do  ofl'end  thee, 
I  can  be  gone :  and  th(»*  I  love  thy  sight, 
So  highly  do  I  prize  thine  own  content, 
That  1  will  leave  thee. 

Bacha.  Nay,  you  may  stay  now ; 
You  should  have  gone  before:  I  know  not  now 


Why  I  should  fear  you :   all  I  should  have 

kept 
Is  stol'n  ;  nor  is  it  in  the  power  of  man 
To  rob  me  further.    If  you  can  invent. 
Spare  not!  No  naked  man  fears  robbing  less 
Than  I  do ;  now  you  may  for  ever  stay. 

Leuc.  Why,  I  could  do  thee  further  wrong. 

Bacha,  You  have 
A  deeper  reach  in  evil  than  I ;  'tis  past 
My  thoughts. 

Leuc.  And  past  my  will  to  act; 
But  trust  me  I  could  do  it. 

Bacha.  Good  sir,  do ; 
That  I  may  know  there  is  a  wrong  beyond 
What  you  have  done  me. 

Leuci  I  could  tell  all  the  world 
What  thou  hast  done. 

Bacha.  Yes,  you  may  tell  the  world; 
And  do  you  think  I  am  so  vain  to  hope 
You  will  not  ?  You  can  tell  the  world  but 

this. 
That  I'm  a  widow,  full  of  tears  in  show,      , 
(My  husband  dead,  and  one  that  lov'd  me  so, 
Hardly  a  week)  forgot  ray  modesty. 
And,  caught  with  youth  and  greatness,  gave- 

myself 
To  live  in  sin  with  you:  this  yoa  may  tell; 
And  this  I  do  deserve ! 

Leuc.  Why,  dost  thou  think  me 
So  base  to  tell  ?  These  limbs  of  mine  shall  piur( 
From  one  another  on  a  rack, 
Ere  I  disclose.    But  thou  dost  utter  words 
That  much  afflict  me ;  you  did  seem  as  ready, 
Sweet  Bacha,  as  myself. 

Bacha.  You  are  right  a  man ;  ^ 

When  they  have  'witch'd  us  into  misery, 
Poor  innocent  souls,  they  lay  the  fault  on  as. 
But,  be  it  so  !  for  prince  Leucippus'  sake, 
I  will  bear  any  thing. 

Leuo.  Come,  weep  no  more !  ' 

I  w  rought  thee  to  it ;  it  was  my  fault. 
Nay,  sec  if  thou  wilt  leave!  Here,  take  tliis 

pearl  I 
Kibs  me,  sweet  Bacha,  and  receive  this  purse. 

Bacha.  What  should  I  do  with  these?  tbev 
My  mind.  [will  not  deck 

Leuc.  Why,  keep  'em  to  remember  roe. 
I  must  be  gone ;  I  nave  been  absent  long : 
I  know  the  duke  my  lather  is  in  rage. 
But  I  will  see  thee  suddenly  again. 
Farewell,  my  Bacha! 


''  To  mahit  a  part.]  Sympson  reads  pari^;  but  the  old  reading  is  much  more  in  oar 
poets'  stile. 

Badui. 


Act  2.] 


CUPID'S  REV^ENGE. 


sea 


Bacha,  Gods  keep  you ! — Do  you  hear,  sir? 
Pray  give  me  a  point  to  wear. 

Leuc.  Alas,  good  Bacha, 
Take  one,  I  pray  thee,  where  thou  wilt. 

Bacha,  Coming; 
From  you,  this  point  is  of  as  high  esteem 
With  me,  as  ail  pearl  and  gold.     Nothing 
Be  ever  with  or  near  you !  [but  good 

Leuc.  Fare  tliee  well, 
-Jdine  own  good   Bacha!   I  will  make   all 

liaste.  [Exit. 

Bacha.  Just  as  you  are  a  dozen  I  esteem 

you; 
No  more :  does  he  think  I  Mrould  prostitute 
Myself  for  love  ?  It  was  the  Jove  of  these 

pearls 
Aod  gold  that  won  me.    I  confess  I  lust 
More  after  him  than  any  other, 
And  would  at  any  rate,  if  I  had  store, 
Purchase  his  fellowship;  but  being' poor, 
I*H  both  enjoy  his  body  and  his  purse, 
And,   he  a  prince^  ne*er  think  myself  the 

worse. 

Enter  Leontius,    Leucippus,^  Ismenus,    and 
Timahius. 

Leon,  Nay,  you  must  back  and  shew  ns 

what  it  is 
That  'witches  you  out  of  your  honour  thus. 

Bacha.  Who's  that? 

Tim,  Look  there,  sir ! 

Leon,  Lady,  never  fly ; 
You  are  bet  ray 'd. 

Bacha.  Leave  me,  my  tears,  a  wliile. 
And  to  my  just  rage  give  a  little  place ! — 
What  saucy  man  are  you,  that  without  leave 
!Enter  upon  a  widow's  mournful  house  ? 
You  hinder  a  dead  roan  from  many  tears. 
Who  did  deserve  more  than  tlie  world  can 

shed, 
Tho'  they  should  weep  themselves  to  images. 
If  not  for  love  of  me,  yet  of  yourself. 
Away,  for  you  can  bring  no  comfort  to  me ! 
But  you  may  carry  hence,  you  know  not  what : 
Naj^  sorrow  is  infectious. 

Leon.  Thou  thyself  [ray  name  ? 

Art  grown  infectious!  Wouldst  thou  know 
I  am  the  duke,  father  to  this  young  man 
Whom  thou  corrupt'st. 
*     Bacha  [aside'].  Has  he  then  told  him  all  ? 

J,cttc.  y  ou  do  her  wrong,  sir ! 

Bacha.  Oh,  he  has  not  told**— 
Sir,  I  beseech  you  pardon  my  wild  tongue, 
Directed  by  a  weak  distemper'd  head, 
Gladded  with  grief!  Alas^  I  did  not  know 
You  were  my  sovereign ;  but  now  you  may 
Command  my  poor  unworthy  life,  which  will 
Be  none,  I  liope,  ere  long. 

Jjeon.  All  thy  dissembling  [more 

Will  never  iiide  thy  shame :  and  wer  t  not 
Ilespecting  womanhood  in  general. 
Than  any  thing  in  thee,  thou  sliouldst  be  made 
Such  an  example,  that  posterity,  [say,  i 

When  they  would  speak  most  bitterly,  should 
'  Thou  art  as  impudent  as  Bacha  was/  I 


Bacha,  Sir,  tho*  you  be  my  king,  whom  I 
will  serve 
In  all  just  causes,  yet  when  wrongfully 
You  seek  to  take  my  honour,  I  will  rise 
Thus,  and  defy  you ;  for  it  is  a  jewel 
Dearer  than  you  can  give,  wiiich  whilst  Ikeep, 
(Tho'  in  this  lowly  house)  I  shall  esteem 
Myself  above  the  princes  of  the  earth 
That  are  without  it.    If  the  prince  your  son, 
Whom  you  accuse  me  with,  know  how  to 

speak 
Dishonour  of  me,  if  he  do  not  do  it. 
The  plagues  of  IJell  light  on  him;  may  he 

never 
Govern  this  kingdom !  Here  I  challenge  him, 
Before  the  face  of  Heav'n,  my  liege,  and  these. 
To  speak  tho  worst  he  can  I  If  lie  will  lie, 
To  lose  a  woman's  fame,  I'll  say  he  is    . 
Like  you  (I  think  I  cannot  call  him  worse). 
He's  dead,  that  with  his  life  would  have  de- 
fended 
My  reputation,  and  I  forc'd  to  play 
(That  which  I  am)  the  foolish  woman,  and  use 
My  liberal  tongue. 

liCuc,  Is't  possible  ? 
We  men  are  children  in  our  carriages, 
Compar'd  with  women.     Wake  thyself,  for 
shame,  [keep 

And  leave  nother  whose  honour  thou  shouldst 
Safe  as  thine  own,  nlone  to  itee  herself! 
But  I  am  press'd,  Iknow  not  how,  with  guilt, 
And  feel  my  conscience  (never  us'd  to  lie) 
Loath  to  allow  my  tongue  to  add  a  lie 
To  that  too  much  I  did :  but  it  is  lawful 
To  defend  her,  that  only  for  my  love 
.  Lov'd  evil. 

Leon.  Tell  me,  why  did  you,  Leucippus, 
Stay  here  so  long  ? 

Leuc,  If  I  can  urge  aught  from  me 
But  a  truth.  Hell  take  me ! 

J^eon.  What's  the  matter? 
Why  speak  you  not? 

Tim.  Alas,  good  sir,  forbear  [ness. 

To  urge  the  prince;  you  see  his shameface'd- 
Bucha.  What  does  he  say,  sir?  If  thou  be 
a  prince. 
Shew  it,  and  tell  the  truth  ! 

Ism,  If  you've  lain  witli  her. 
Tell  your  father;  no  doubt  but  he  has  don« 
as  ill  [on'u 

Befone  now^ :  the  gentlexvoman  will  be  proud 
Bacha.  For  God's  sake,  speak  ! 
Leuc.  Have  you  done  prating  yet? 
Jsm,  Who  prates? 
Leuc.  Thou  know'st  I  do  not  speak 
To  thee,  Ismenus :  but  what  said  you, 
Timantus,  concerning  my  shamefece'dness? 
Tim.  Notliing,  I  hope,  that  might  displease 
your  highness.  [thers, 

Xewc.  If  any  of  thy  great-great-grandmo- 
This  thousand  years,  had  beon  as  chaste  as 

she, 
It  would  have  made  thee  honester :  I  stay'd 
To  hear  what  you  would  say.    She  is,  by 

Heav'n, 
3A2  Or 


Z64t 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Actt. 


or  the  most  strict  and  blai|i€les9  chastity 
That  ever  wouian  was: — Good  gods,    for- 
give me  I —  [kiird 
liad  Tarquin   met  with  her,  she  had  been 
With  a  slave  by  her,  ere  she  had  agreed. 
I  he  with  her  ?  'would  1  might  perish  then ! 
Our  mothers,  whom  we  all  luubi  reverence. 
Could  ne'er  exceed  her  for  her  chastity, 
Upon  my  soul !  for,  by  this  light  she  is 
A  most  obstinate  modest  creature ! 

Lean.  What  did  you  with  her  then  so  long, 

Leucippnsf  [tiful. 

Leuc.  rll  tell  you,  sir:  you  see  she's  beau- 

Leon,  I  see  it  well. 

Leuc,  MovM  by  her  face,  I  came 
With  lustful  thoughts  (which  was  a  fault  in 

me;  [able, 

But,  telling  truth,  something  more  pardon- 
And  for  the  world  I  will  not  he  to  jouj: 
Proud  of  myself;  I  thought  a  prince's  name 
Had  power  to  blow  'em  down  flat  o' their 

backs; 
But  here  I  found  a  rock  not  to  l>e  shook: 
For,  as  I  hope  for  good,  sir,  all  the  battery 
That  I  could  lay  to  her,  or  of  my  persoii^  ^  4 
My  greatness,  or  gold,  could  nothing  move 

hen  [fair. 

Leon.  Tis  very  strange,  being  so  young  and 

Leuc,  She's  almost  thirty,  sir. 

Leon.  How  du  you  know 
Her  age  so  just  ? 

Leuc.  She  told  it  me  herself, 
Once  when  she  went  about  to  shew  by  reason 
I  should  leave  wooing  her. 

Leon,  She  stains  the  ripest  virgins  of  her 

age.  [loath 

Leuc.  If  I  had  sin'd  with  her,  I  would  be 
To  publish  her  disgrace;  but,  by  my  life, 
I  would  have  told  it  vou,  because  I  think 
You  would  have  pardon'd  me  the  rather. 
And  I  will  tell  you,  father*^ :  by  this  light,  sir, 
(But  that  I  never  will  bestow  myself 
But  to  your  liking)  if  she  now  would  have  me, 
X  now  would  marry  her. 

Leon.  How's  that,  Leucippnsf 

Leuc.  Sir,  will  you  pardon  me  one  fault, 

-which  yet 
I  have  not  done,  but  had  a  will  to  do. 
And  I  will  tell  it? 

Xeon,  Be  it  what  it  will, 
I  pardon  thee. 

Leuc.  I  offered  marriage  to  her. 

Leon.  Did  she  refuse  )t? 

Leuc.  With  tliat  earnestness, 
And  almost  scorn  to  think  of  any  other 
Afler  her  lost  mate,  that  she  made  me  think 
Myself  unworthy  of  her. 
.  Leon.  You  have  stay'd 
Too  long,  Leucippus. 

Leuc.  Yes,  sir.— Forgive  me,  Hcav'n, 
W  biU  multitude  uf  oaths  have  I  bestow'd 
On  lies !  and  yet  they  were  otHcious  lies: 
There  was  no  malice  in  'em. 


Leon.  She's  the  fairest 
Creature  that  ever  I  beheld;  and  then 
So  chaste,  'tis  wonderful :  the  more  I  look 
On  her  the  more  I  am  amaz'd.    I've  long 
Thought  of  a  wife,  and  one  I  would  have  had, 
But  I  was  afraid  to  meet  a  woman 
That  might  abuse  my  age ;  but  here  she  b 
Whom  I  may  trust  to:  of  a  chastity 
Impregnable,  and  approv'd  so  by  my  900; 
1  he  meanness  of  her  birth  will  still  presenrt 

her 
In  due  obedience;  and  her  beauty  is 
Of  ibrce  enough  to  pull  me  back  to  youth. 
My  son  unce  sent  away,  whose  rivalship 
I  have  jukt  cause  to  fear,  if  power,  or  gold. 
Or  wit,  can  win  her  to  me,  she  is  mine.- — 
Nephew  Isnienus,  I  have  new  inteliigeuce 
Your  province  is  unquiet  still. 

Istn.  I'm  glad  on't. 

Leon.  And 
So  dangerously,  that  I  must  send  the  prince 
In  person  witn  you. 

tsm.  I'm  glad  of  that  too,  sir: 
Will  you  dispatch  us  ?  we  shall  wither  here 
For  ever. 

Leon.  You  shall  be  dispatch'd  witliin 
This  hour:  Leucippus,  uever  wonder,  npr  ask; 
It  must  be  thus.-*-Lady,  I  ask  your  pardon. 
Whose  virtue  I  have  slubber'd  with  my  tonguei 
And  you  shall  ever  be 
Chaste  in  my  memory  hereafter;  but 
We  old  men  often  dote.    To  make  amends 
For  my  great  fault,  receive  that  ring !  I'm 

sorry  for  [my  lords; 

Your  grief;  may  it  soon  leave  you ! — Coioe, 
Let  us  be  gone.  lEjceunt. 

Bacha.  Heaven  bless  your  grace  f 
One  that  had  but  so  much  mcidesty  left  as  to 

biush, 
Or  shrink  a  little  at  his  first  encounter. 
Had  been  uudone;  wliere  I  come  off  with 

honour,  [track'd 

And  gain  too:  they  that  never  would  be 
In  any  course,  by  the  most  subtle  sense. 
Must  bear  it  thro'  with  f rootless  impudence. 

Enter  Dorialus,  Agenor^  and  Nisus. 

Dor*  Gentlemen,  this  is  a  strange  piece  of 

justice,  > 

To  put  the  wretched  dwarf  to  death  because 
She  doted  on  him :  is  she  not  a  woman, 
And  subject  to  those  mad  fiwies  her  whole 
Sex  is  infected  with?  Had  Jie  lov'd  yout  or 

you, 
Or  I,  or  all  on's,  (as  indeed  tlie  more     [fore 
The  merrier  still  with  them)  must  we  there- 
Have  our  heads  par'd  with  a  hatchet  ?  So  sbe 

may  love 
All  the  nobility  out  o'tli'  dukedom  in 
A  month,  and  let  the  rascals  in.  [need 

Niius.  You  will  not,  or  jo\fL  do  not,  seethe 
That  fuakes  this  just  to  the  world? 


*°  4nd  I  will  tell  you  father.]  Edition  17^0,— »•//  tell  Vou  FAHmEa. 


JXr. 


Act  9.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


96^ 


Dor.  I  cannot  tell ;  I  would  be  loth  to  feel  its 
But  the  best  is,  she  loves  not  proper  men ; 
We  three  were  in  wise  cases  else.  But  make 
This  need.  [me  know 

jVi5»«5.  Why,  yes :  he  being  taken  away, 
This  base  incontinence  dies  presently, 
And  she  must  see  her  stianie  and  sorrow  for  it. 

JJor,  Pray  God  she  do !  but  was  the  sprat 

beheaded?  [and 

Or  did  they  swing  him  about  like  a  chicken, 
So  break  his  neck?  ' 

^gen.  Yes,  he  was  beheaded, 
And  a  solemn  justice  made  of  it. 

Dor.  That  might 
Have  been  deducted. 

Age.  Why,  bow  would  you  have  had  him 

die  ?  [like  a  warden*'. 

Dor.  Faith,  I  would  have  had  him  roasted 
In  a  brown  paper,  and  no  more  talk  on't;  or 
A   feather  stuck  in*s  head  like  a  quill ;  or 

hand;*d  him 
In  :<  dog  collar:  what,  should  he  be  beheaded? 
We  shall  ha*  it  grow  so  base  shortly,  gentlemen 
Will  be  out  oflove  with  it. 

NUus.  I  wonder  [sprung  ? 

From   whence  tliis  love  of  the  dwarf  first 

Dor.  From  an  old  lecherous  pair  of  breeches 

that  [tainly 

Lay  upon  a  wench  to  keep  her  warm ;  for  cer- 
Tfiey  are  no  man's  work;  and  I*m  sure  a 

monkey 
Would  get  one  of  the  guard  to  this  fellow ! 
He  was  uo  bigger  than  a  small  portmanteau. 
And  much  about  that  making,  ift  had  legs. 

Age.  But,  gentlemen,  wliat  say  you  to  tlie 

prince  ?  [know  not  whither. 

ATsztf.    Ay,  concerning  his  being  sent  I 

Dor.    Why  then,  he  will  come  home  I 

know  not  when. 
You  shall  panlon  me;  I  v^'iH  talk  no  more 
Of  this  subject,  but  say,  Gods  be  with  him, 
Where-e'er  he  is,  and  send  him  well  home 

again ! 
For  why  he  is  gone,  or  when  he  will  return, 
Let  them  know  that  directed  him !  Only  this, 
There's  mad  muriacoes  in  the  state ; 
But  what  they  are,  I'll  tell  you  when  I  know. 
Come,  let's  go,  hear  all,  and  say  nothing ! 

Age.  Content.  [ExeunL 

Enter  Timantus  and  Telainon. 

Tel.  Timantus,  is  the  duke  ready  yet  ? 
Tun.  Almost. 

Tel.  What  ails  him  ?  fdrenra'd 

3 on.  Faith,  I  know  not;  I  think  he  has 


He's  but  eighteen ;  has  been  worse  ^ince  he 
Forth  for  the  friziling-iron.  [sent  you 

Tc/.  Thatcau'tbe; 
He  lay  in  gloves  all  nigjit,  and  this  morning  I 
Brought  him  a  new  pernwig,  with  it  lock  at 

it",  and 
Knock'd  up  a  swing  io's  chamber. 

Tan.  Oh,  but  since, 
His  tailor  came,  and  they  have  fallen  out 
About  the  fashion  of  his  cloatlis;  aud  yondor's 
A  fellow  pome,  has  bor'd  a  hole  in's  ear^'; 
And  h*  has  bespake  a  vaulting-horse.    You 

shall  see  him 
Come  forth  presently:  he  loots  like  winter, 
Stuck  here  and  tliere  with  fresh  flowers. 

Tel.  Will  he  not 
Tilt,  think  you? 

Tim.  I  tfiink  he  will. 

Tel,  What  does  he  mean  to  do  ? 

Tim.  I  know  not ; 
But,  by  this  light,  I  think  he  is  in  love  ; 
He  would  ha*  been  shaved  but  for  me,         ^ 

Tel.  In  love? 
With  whom  ? 

Tim.  I  could  guess,  but  you  shall  pardon  me ; 
He  will  take  me  along  with  him  some  whither. 

Tel.  I  overheard  him  ask  your  opinion  of 
Sotuebody's  beauty. 

Tim.  Yes;  there  it  goes  that  makes  him 
So  youthful.    And  he  has  laid  by  his  crutch. 
And  halts  now  with  a  leading  staff. 

Enter  Leontius,  with  a  Staff  and  a  Looking'* 
glats. 

Ijeon,  Timantus! 

Tmi.  Sir. 

LeoTt.  This  feather  is  not  large  enough. 

Tun.  Yes,  faith,  [lants  wear. 

Tis  such  an  one  as  the  rest  of  the  young  gal- 

Leon.  Tclamon,  does  it  do  well.^ 

Tel.  Sir,  it  becomes  you. 
Or  you  become  it,  the  rareliest-* 

Leon.  Away !  dost  think  so  ? 

Tel.  Think,  sir?  I  know  it.— 
Sir,  the  princess  is  past  all  hope  of  life 
Since  the  dwarf  was  put  to  death. 

L&m.  Let  her  be  so ;  [tailor 

I  have  other  matters  in  liand.  But  this  same 
Angers  me ;  he  has  made  my  doublet  so  wide ! 
And  see,  the  kn^ve  has  put  no  points  at  my 

arm ! 

Tun   Those  will  he  put-to  quickly,  sir, 
Upon  any  occasion.  r 

Leon.  TelaiTion, 
Have  you  bid  this  dancer  come  a-momings  ? 


^'  like  a  warden.]  A  warden  is  o,pear,  which  is  frequently  mentioned  by  contemporary 
writers.        R. 

**  With  a  lock  at  it;]  i.  e.  A  love-lock.  The  allusion  is  (as  Dr.  Warburton  observes  in  a 
oote  on  Much  Ado  About  Nothing)  to  the  fantastical  custom  in  our  poets'  days,  of  men 
wearing  '  a  favourite  lock  of  hair,  which  was  brought  before,  tied  with  ribands,  aud  called 
'  a  love-lock.  Against  this  fashion,  Prynne  wrote  his  treatise,  called  the  Unloveliness  of 
*  Love-Locks.' 

*'  A  hole  ini  ear;'^  i.  e.  For  an  ear-ring,  by  me^s  of  whicb  the  love-lock  was  brought 

Tel. 


hefore. 


see 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Act  2. 


TeL  Yes,  sir. 

Leon.  Timantas,  let  me  see  the  glass  again ; 
Look  yoa  how  careless  you  are  grown!  is 
Well  put  in  ?  [this  tooth 

Tim.  Which,  sir? 

Leon.  This,  sir. 

Tim.  It  shall  be. 

TeL  Methinks  that  tooth  should  put  him 
In  mindon's  i^ears !  and  Timantus  stands,  as  if 
(Seeing  the  ouke  in  such  a  youthful  habit) 
He  were  looking  in  his  mouth  how  old  he 

were. 

Leon.  So,  so ! 

TeL  Will  you  have  your  gown,  sir? 

Leon,  My  gown?4  [couple 

Why,  am  I  sick?  Bring  me  my  sword!  let  a 
Of  the  great  horses  be  brought  out  for  os. 

[Exit  Telumon. 

Ttm.  Hell  kill  himself,— Why,  will  you 

Leon.  Bjidcf  [ride,  sir? 

Dost  thou  think  I  cannot  ride^ 

Tim.  Oh,  yes,  sir, 
1  know  it:  but,  as  I  conceive  yom* journey, 
You'd  have  it  private;  and  then  you  were 
A  cuach.  [better  take 

Leon.  These  coaches  make  me  sick:  yet. 
No  matter ;  let  it  be  so.  f  tis 

Enter  Telamon  with  a  Sword. 

TeL  Sir,  here's  your  sword. 

Leon.  Oh,  well  said;    let  me  see  it !    I 

could,  methinks —  .  [think'st  thou 

Why,  Telamon,   bring  me  another!   what, 
I'll  wear  a  sword  in  vain  f 

TeL  He  has  not  strength 
Enough  to  draw  it :  [drawn  it. 

A  yoke  of  fleas  tied  to  a  hair  would  have 
'Tis  out,  sir,  now ;  the  scabbard  is  broke. 

Leon»  Oh,  put  it  up  again,  and  on  with  it  I 
Methinks,  Tm  not  dress'd'till  I  feel  my  sword 

on; 
Telamon,  if  any  of  my  council  ask  for  me, 
Say  I  am  gone  to  take  the  air. 

Tim.  He  has  not  [this  vein 

Been  dress'd  this  twenty  years  tlius*^.    If 
Hold  but  a  week,  he*ll  learn  to  play  o*  th' 

bese-viol. 
And  sing  to't:  he's  poetical  already : 
For  I  have  spied  a  sonnet  of  his  making 
lie  by  his  bed's  side:  111  be  so  unmannerly 
To  read  it,  [Exeunt. 

Cleophifa,  Bcro,  and  Hidaspes  in  a  Bedy  dis-. 
covered. 

Hid.  He's  dead,  he's  dead,  and  I  am  fol- 
lowing ! 

Cleo.  Ask  Cupid  mercy,  madam ! 
Hid.  Oh,  my  heart ! 
Cleo.  Help! 
Hero.  Stir  her! 


Hid.  Oh,  oh!  [we  are! 

Cleo.  She's  going;  wretched  women  that 
Look  to  her,  and  ill  pray  the  while. 

[ShekneeU. 

Hero.  Why,  madam — 

Cleo.  Cupid,  pardon  what  is  past. 
And  forgive  our  sins  at  last ; ' 
Then  we  will  be  coy  no  more. 
But  thy  deity  adore : 
Trotl'.s  at  fifteen  we  will  plight. 
And  will  tread  a  dance  at  night. 
In  the  fields,  or  by  the  fire. 
With  the  youths  chat  have  desire — 
How  does  she  yet  ? 

iff ro.  Oh,  ill! 

Cleo.  Given  eai^rings  we  will  wear, 
Bracelets  of  our  lovers'  liair, 
Which  they  on  our  arms  shall  twist. 
With  their  names  carv'd,  on  our  wrist; 
All  the  money  that  we  owe 
We  in  tokens  will  bestow; 
And  leani  to  write,  that,  when  'tis  sent, 
Only  our  loves  know  what  is  meant. 
Oh,  then  pardon  what  is  past. 
And  forgi\e  our  sins  at  last! 
What,  mends  she  I  (yon  should  sing. 

Hero.  Nothing;  you  do  it  not  wantonlv; 

Cleo.  Why—  [dead! 

Hero.  Leave,  leave !  'tis  now  too  late:  she's 
Her  last  is  breath'd. 

Cleo.  What  shall  we  do? 

Hero.  Go  run  [Exit  CleopMa. 

And  tell  the  duke;  and,  whilst,  I'll  close  her 

eyes. 

'  Thus  I  shut  thy  faded  light. 
And  put  it  in  eternal  night. 
Where  is  she  can  boldly  say, 
Tho'  she  be  as  fresh  as  May, 
She  shall  not  by  this  corpse  be  laid, 
Ere  to-morrow's  light  do  fade  ? 
I^t  us  all  now  living  be, 
Wani'd  by  thy  strict  cliastity. 
And  marry  all  fast  as  we  can, 
'Till  then  we  keep  a  j)icce  of  man 
Wrongfully  from  them  that  owe  it : 
Soon  may  every  maid  bestow  it! 

[Exeunt. 

Enter  Bacha  and  her  Maid. 

Bacha.  AVho  is  it  ?  [tlie  door. 

Maid.  Forsooth,  there's  a  gallant  coach  at 
And  the  brave  old  man  in't,  that  yoa  said 

was  the  duke. 

Bacha.  Cupid,  grant  lie  may  be  taken ! 

Maid.   He  s  coming  iip,  and  looks  the 

fwaggering*st. 
And  has  such  glorious  cloaths  ! 

Bacha.  Let  all  the  house  seem  sad^,  and 

see  all  handsome ! 


*'  Thii  twenty  years  then*]  Former  editions.  Seward, 

^*  Let  all  the  house  see  me  sad."]  Both  the  sense  and  measure  confirm  a  veiy  just  emen* 
dation  of  Mr.  Theobald's  here ;  seem  for  see  me,  Mr.  Sympson  has  since  sent  me  the  same 
correction,  Sezcard^ 

Enttr 


Acts.} 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


367 


Enter  Leontius  and  'Rmantus, 

Leon.  Nay,  widow,  fl;  Qot  back ;  we  come 

not  now 
To  chide ;  stand  up,  and  bid  me  welcome. 

Bacha.   To   a  poor   widow's   house,  that 

kiK>ws  no  end  [come. 

Of  her  ill  fortune,  your  highness  is  most  wei- 

Lton,  Conie,  kiss  me  then!   this  is   but 

manners,  widow  i 
Ne*er  fling  your  head  aside !  I  have  more  cause 
Of  grief  than  you;  my  daughter's  dead:  but 

what?  [brought  to  th*door  ? 

T*is  nothing. — Is  tlie    rough  French  horse 
They  say  he's  a  high  goer ;  I  shall  soon  try 
His  mettle. 

Tim.  He  will  be,  sir,  and  the  grey 
Barbary;  they're  fiery  both, 

Leon.  They  are  the  better : 
Before  the  gods,  Vi\\  lightsome,very  lightsome! 
How  dost  thou  like  mc,  widow? 

Bacha.  As  a  person 
In  whom  all  graces  are. 

Leon.  Come,  come,  you  flatter!  fnot 

ni  clap  your  cheek  for  that;  and  you  sliall 
Bt  angry.  Hast  no  music?  Now  could  I  cut 
Three  times  with  ease,  and  do  a  cross  point, 
Shame  all  your  gallants !  [should 

Bacha.  1  do   believe  you; — and  yourself 

too :  [him ! 

Lord,  what  a  fine  old  zany  my  love  has  made 
He*s  mine,rm sure:  Heaven  make  me  thank- 
ful for  him !  [pretty  sweetheart  ? 

Leon.    Tell  me  how   old  thou  art,    my 

Tim.  Your  grace  will  not  buy  her?  she 

may  trip,  sir !  [am 

Bacha.  My  sorrow  shews  me  elder  than  I 
By  many  years. 

Leon.  Thou  art  so  witty,  I 
Must  kiss  again. 

Tim.  Indeed  her  age  lies  not 
In  her  mouth;  ne*er  look  it  there,  sir:  she  has 
A  hf  tter  register,  if  it  be  not  burnt.      [tus ! 

Leon.  I  will  kiss  thee : — I  am  afire,  Timan- 

Tim.    Can  you   chuse,  sir,   having  such 
Before  you?  [heav'nly  fire 

Leon.  Widow,  guess  why  I  come;  I  prithee 

do.  [to  make 

Bacha.  I  cannoti  sir,  unless  you  be  pleased 
A  roirtli  out  of  my  rudeness;  and  that  I  hope 
Your  pity  will  not  let  you,  the  subject  is    t 
So  barren.  Bite,  king,  bite  I  I'll  let  you  play 

a-while.  [ihee  truly. 

Leon.  Now,  as  Fm  an  honest  man,  TU  tell 

^'  Your  whore  ihall  never.]  The  sense  and  measure  being  both  defective^  I  have  put  in  ' 
the  natural  words  that  supply  both.  Seward. 

Seward  reads,  Your  whore  I  tlttill  be  never.-^The  quarto  of  16.35  says,  Your  whore  you 
ihall  never ;  which  words,  wijth  the  help  of  appoint  of  interrogation,  and  marking  it  as  a 
broken  sentence,  make  much  <he  bestreading. 

**  Go  too  you  ronyd,  what,  $c.]  The  editors  of  1750  read,  Co  to,  you're  mnd,  else 
fffhot,  (Jrc.  which  ^ward  believes  *  will  be  assented  to  by  every  reader.'  As  the  word  else 
k  not  in  the  copy  of  1635,  we  suppose  it  interpolated;  and  imiya  sorely  is  only  an  ortlio- 
iraphical  error.     So,  in  the  Winter's  Tale, 

*  ■     ■      You're  a  made  old  man.'       Jt 

Above 


How  many  foot  did  I  jump  yesterday, 
Timantus? 

Ttm.  Fourteen  of  your  own,  and  some 
Three  fingers. 

Bacha.  This  fellow  lies  as  lightly. 
As  if  he  were  in  cut  taflfata: 
Alas,  good  almanack,  get  thee  to  bed,  [row ! 
And  tell  what  weather  we  shall  have  to*mor- 

Leon,  Widow,  I'm  come,  in  short,  to  be  a 

Bacha.  For  whom?  [suitor. 

Leon.  Why,  by  my  troth,  I  come  to  wooe 

thee,  wench. 
And  win  thee,  for  myself:  nay,  look  upon  me  I 
I  have  about  me  that  will  do  it.     [whore^'  ? 

Bacha.  Now  Heaven  defend  me  !     Your 
You  shall  never — 1  thank  the  gods,  I  have 
A  little  left  me  to  keep  me  warm  and  honest : 
If  your  grace  take  not  that,  I  seek  no  more. 

Leon.  I  am  so  far  from  taking  any  things 
I'll  add  unto  thee. 

Bacha.  Such  additions  may 
Be  for  your  ease,  sir,  not  my  honesty ; 
I'm  well  in  being  single;  good  sir^  seek  ano- 
I  am  no  meat  for  money.  fther; 

Leon.  Shfill  I  fight  for  thee  ?  (claim 

This  sword  shall  cut  his  throat  that  dares  lay 
Hut  to  a  finger  of  thee,  but  to  a  look ; 
I  would  see  such  a  fellow  I 

Bacha.  It  would  be 
But  a  cold  sight  to  you !  This  is  the  fiither  of 
St.  George  a-footback :  can  such  dry  mummy 

talk?  [like^neas. 

Tim.  Before  the  gods,  your  srace  looks 

Bacha.  He  looks  hke  hiaT  old  mther  upon 
Crying  to  get  aboard.  [his  back, 

Leon.  How  shall  I  win  thy  love?  I  pray 

thee  tell  me. 
I'll  marry  thee,  if  thou  desirest  tliat: 
That  is  an  honest  course  (I'm  in  good  earnest)^ 
And  presently  within  this  hour  (I  am  mad 

for  thee) : 
Prithee  deny  me  not ;  for  as  I  li?e 
I'll  pine  for  thee,  but  I'll  have  thee  * 

Bacha.  Now  he  is  in  tlie  toil,  I'll  hold  him 

ftist.  [queen : 

Tun.  You  do  not  know  what  'tis  to  be  a 
Goto**;  you  Ve  made!   What  the  old  man 

falls  short  of,  [to  call  on  'em. 

There's  others  can  eek  out,  when  you  please 

Bacha.  I  understand  you  not-»Love,  I 

adore  thee ! — 
Sir,  on  my  knees  I  give  you  hearty  thanks, 
For  so  much  honouring  your  humble  hand- 
maid 


368 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


Above  Ik*  birth,  far  more  her  weak  deserv- 
ings. 

I  dare  not  trust  the  envioas  tongacs  of  all 

That  must  repine  at  my  unworthy  risinp ; 

Beside,  you've  many  fair  ones  in  your  king- 
dom, 

Bom  to  such  worth:  oh,  turn  yourself  about, 

And  make  a  noble  choice!  Jthee, 

Ijeon,  If  I  do,  let  me  famish !   I  will  have 

Or  break  up  bouse,  and  board  here. 
Bacha,  Sir,  you  may 


[Act  5. 


Command  an  mi  willing  woman  to  obey  joaf 
But  Heaven  knows — 

Leon,  No  more !  these  half-a-dozen  kisses^ 
And  this  jewel,  and  every  thing  I  have. 
And  away  with  me^and  clap  it  up;  and  have 
A  boy  by  morning! — Timantus,  let  one  bt 

sent 
Post  for  my  son  again ;  and  for  Ismenus ! 
Tlicy  arc  scarce  twenty  miles  on  their  way 
By  that  time,  well  be  married.  [yet : 

Tun,  There  sliall,  sir.  {Exeunt, 


ACT  III. 


Enter  DorialaSy  Agenor,  and  NUus. 

Nisus*  TS  not  this  a  fine  marriage  ? 

-■•     Age.  Yes,  yes;  let  it  alone. 

Dor,  Ay,  ay,  the  king  may  marry  whom 
Let's  talk  of  other  matters.  [he  list. 

Ni9tt$.  Is  the  prince 
Coming  home  certainly  ? 

Dor,  Yes,  yes ;  he  was  [we'll  see 

Sent  post  for  yesterday  :  let's  make  haste  ! 
How  his  new  mother-in-law  will  entertain 

him.  [not ihark 

J/isttf.  Why,  well,  1  warrant  vou:  did  you 
Hoi?  humbly  she  carried  herself  to  us  on 
Her  marriage-day,  acknowledging  her  own 
Unworthiness,  and  that  she  would  be  our 

Dor.  But  mark  what's  done!       [servant? 

Nisuf.  Regard  not  showl 

Age,  Oh,  God ! 
I  knew  her  when  I  have  been  offer'd  her 
To  be  brought  to  my  bed  for  five  pounds ; 

whether  [not. 

It  could  have  been  performed  or  no,  I  know 

Nisus.  Her  daughter  is  a  pretty  huly. 

Dor,  Yes; 
And  having  had  but  mean  bringing  up, 
It  talks  the  prettiliest  and  innocentliest ! 
The  queen  will  be  so  angry  to  hear  her  betray 
Her  breeding  by  her  language  1  But  Tm  per- 
She's  well  disposed.  [suaded 

Age,  I  tliink  better  than  her  motlier. 

Ntsus,  Come,  we  stay  too  long.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Leucippus  and  Ismenus. 

Ism.  How  now,  man  ?  struck  dead  with  a 

Leue,  No,  [tale? 

But  with  a  truth.  [blows, 

Ivn,  Stand  of  yourself:  can  you  endure 
And  shrink  at  wonls  ? 

Leuc,  Thou  know'st  I've  told  thee  all. 

Ian,  But  tliat's  all  nothing  to  make  you 
Is  dead.  [thus;  your  sister 

Leuc.  That's  much;  but  not  the  most. 

Itm.  Why,  fur  the  other, 


Let  her  marry  and  hang;  it  is  no  purpos'd 

fault 
Of  yours  !  and  if  your  fiither  will  needs  hate 
Your  cast  whore,  vou  shall  shew  the  duty  of 
A  child  better  in  being  contented,  and 
Bidding  much  good  do  his  good  old  heart 

with  her, 
Than  in  repining  thus  at  it :  let  her  go  \  what! 
There  are  more  wenches,  man ;  well  have 
another.  [do  not  love  her. 

Leuc.  Oh,  thou  art  vain  ;  thou  know'st  I 
What  shall  I  do?  I  would  my  tongue  liad  led 
To  any  other  thing,  but  blasphemy,        [me 
So  I  had  miss'd  commending  of  this  woman. 
Whom  I  must  reverence,  now  she  is  my  mo- 
ther ! 
My  sin,  Ismenus,  has  wrought  all  this  ill: 
And  T  beseech  thee  to  be  warn'd  by  ine, 
And  do  not  lie  !  If  any  man  should  ask  thee 
But  How  thou  dott,  or  Whnt  o*clock  *tis  noa^ 
Be  sure  thou  do  not  lie !    Make  no  excuse 
For  him  that  is  most  near  thee !  never  let 
The  most  officious  falshood*'    'scane    lljy 

tongue! 
For  they  above  (that  are  entirely  truth)  [lies. 
Will  make  that  seed  which  thou  hast  sown  of 
Yield  miseries  a  thousand-fold 
Upon  thine  head,  as  they  have  done  on  roiue. 

Enter  Timantus. 

Tim.  Sir,  your  highness  is  welcome  home! 

the  king 
And  queen  will  presently  come  forth  to  yoo. 

Leuc.  rU  whit  on  them. 

Tim.  Worthy  Ismenus,  I  pray  you. 
How  have  you  sped  in  your  wars? 

Ism.  I'his  rogue  mocks  toe  ! — 
Well, Timantus.  Pray  how  have  you  sped  here 
At  home  at  shuffleboard  ? 

Urn.  Faith,  reasonable!  [summer? 

How  many  tovvns  have  you  taken  in  tliis 

Ism,  How  man^  stags  have  you  been  at 

the  deatli  of,  tins  grass?  [settled? 

Tim,  A  number.  Pray  how  is  the  province 


^7  0^c'iou9  fahhood.]    Officious  seems  here  t»  relate  to  duty,  <ffice.    It  is  similarly  used 
by  the  same  speaker  in  p.  304. 


Act  3.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


Jim.  Prithee  how  does  the  dun  nag? 
3^*01.  I  think  you  mock  inc. 
My  lord. 
Ism.  Mock  thee?   Yes,  by  my  troth  do  I; 
.  Why,  what  wouldst  thoti  have  me  do  with 

thee? 
Art  good  for  any  thing  etsef 

Enter  LeotUiwi,  Back^,   DorialtUf  Agerwr, 
Nisusy  and  TeUtmon. 

Late,  My  good  Ismenas^  hold  me  by  the 

wrist! 

And  if  thoH  8ec*st  me  faintiue,  wring  me  hard, 

For  I  shall  swoon  again  else !  \KneeU, 

Leon,  WekoniC,  my  son !  Rise.  I  did  send 

for  thee  [counsel. 

Back  from  the  province,  by  Uiy  mother's 

Thy  good  mother  here,  who  lotes  thee  well: 

She  would  not  let  mo  venture  all  my  ioy 

•  Amongst  my  enemies.   I  thank  thee  tor  her. 

And  none  but  thee :  I  took  her  on  thy  word. 

Leuc,  Pinch  harder !  [have  now 

Leon,  And  she  shall  bid  thee  welcome.   I 
Some  near  affairs,  but  I  will  drink  a  health 
T6  thee  anon.    Come,  Telamou !  I'm  grown 
Lustier,  I  thank  thee  for  it,  since  I, married ; 
Whv,  TelamoD,  I  can  stand  now  alone. 
Ana  never  stagger.    [Exeunt  Leon,  and  TeL 

Bacha.  Welcome,  most  noble  sir^  whose 

fame  is  come 
Hither  before  you ! — Out,  alas !  you  scorn  me^ 
And  teach  me  what  to  do. 

Leuc.  No,  you  are 
My  mother. 

Bacha.  Far  unworthy  of  that  name,  [lords, 
God  knows!  But  trust  me,  here  before  these 
I  am  no  more  but  nurse  unto  the  duke; 
Nor  will  I  breed  a  faction  in  the  state : 
It  is  too  much  for  me  that  I  am  rais'd 
Unto  his  bed,  and  will  remain  the  servant 
Of  yon  that  did  it. 

ieuc.  Madam,  I  will  serve  you  [man ! 
As  shall  become  me.-^Oh,  dissembling  wo- 
Whom  I  must  reverence  tbo*.  Take  from  thy 

quiver, 
Sure-aiin'd  Apollo,  one  of  thy  swifl  darts, 
Headetl  with  thy  consuming  golden  beams, 
And  let  it  melt  this  body  into  mist, 
That  none  may  find  it ! 

Bachu,  Shall  I  beg,  my  lords. 
This  room  in  private  for  the  prince  and  me  ? 
[ExeujU  all  but  LeucippiLS>and  Baoha. 

Leuc.  What  will  she  say  now  ? 

Bacha.  I  must  still  enjoy  him: 
Yet  there  is  still  left  in  nie  a  spark  of  woman, 
That  wishes  he  would  move  it;  but  he  stands 
As  if  be  grew  thei*e  with  his  eyes  on  earth.— 
Sir,  you  and  I,  when  wc  were  last  together, 
Kept  not  this  distance,  as  we  were  afraid 
Of  blasting  by  ourselves. 

Leuc.  Madam,  'tis  true ; 
Heav'n  pardon  it! 

Bacha.  Amen  !  Sir,  you  may  think 
That  I  have  done  you  wrong  in  tliis  strange 

Leue.  It  is  past  now,  [marriage. 

VOL.  IlL 


Backa.  But 'twaa  no  fault  of  mine? 
The  world  had  culFd  me  mad,  had  I  refusM 
The  king;  nor  laid  1  any  train  to  catch  bim^ 
1*was  your  own  oaths  that  did  it. 

Leuc,  1  w  a  truth,  [Heaven, 

That  takes  my  sleep  away !    But  'would  to 
If  it  had  so  been  pleas'd,  you  had  refus'd  him, 
Tho*  I  had  gratified  that  courtesy 
With  having  you  myself !  But  since 'tis  thua^ 
I  do  beseech  you  tmrt  you  will  be  honest 
From  henceforth;  and  not  abase  hu  credo- 

lous  age, 
Which  you  may  easily  do.    As  lor  myself 
What  I  can  say,  yon  know,  alas,  too  well. 
Is  tied  within  me;  here  it  will  sit  like  lead. 
But  shall  offend  no  other;  it  will  pluck  me 
Back  from  my  entrance  into  any  mirth. 
As  if  a  servant  came,  and  whispered  with  me 
Of  some  friend's  death  :  but  I  will  bear  my* 

self. 
To  you,  with  all  the  due  obedience 
A  son  owes  to  a  motlier:  more  than  tfab 
Is  not  in  me ;  but  I  must  leave  the  rest 
To  the  just  gods,  who,  in  their  blessed  time. 
When  they  have  given  me  punishment  enough 
For  my  rash  sin,  will  mercifully  find 
As  unexpected  means  to  ease  my  grie^ 
As  they  did  now  to  brine  it. 

Bacha.  Grown  so  godly  .^ 
This  must  not  be.    And  I  wiU  be  to  yoa 
No  other  than  a  natural  mother  ought ; 
And  for  my  honesty,  so  you  will  swear 
Never  to  urge  me,  I  shall  keep  it  safe 
From  any  other. 

Leuc,  Bless  me!   I  should  urge  you  } 

Bacha.  Nay,  but  swear  then  that  I  may 

be  at  peace ! 
For  I-  do  feel  a  weakness  in  myself^ 
That  can  deny  you  nothing :  if  you  tempt  me, 
I  shall  embrace  sin  as  it  were  a  friend. 
And  run  to  meet  it. 

'  Leuc.  If  you  knew  how  far 
It  were  from  me,  >0c.  would  not  urge  an  oath; 
But  for  your  satisfiiction,Wheu  I  tempt  you^- 

Bacha.  Swear  not. — I  cannot  move  him. 

—This  sad  talk, 
Of  things  past  help,  does  not  become  us  well : 
Shall  I  send  one  for  my  musicians,  and  we'll 

Leuc.  Dance,  madam?  [dance? 

Bacha,  Yes,  a  lavulta. 

Leuc.  I  cannot  dance,  madam. 

Bacha.  Then  let's  be  merry! 

Leuc.  I  am  as  my  fortuni's  bid  me; 
Do  not  you  see  me  sowr? 

Bacha,  Yes. 
And  why,  think  you,  I  smile  ? 

Leuc.  I  am  bo  far 
From  any  joy  myself,  I  caimot  fancj 
A  cause  of  mirth. 

Bacha.  I'll  tell  you;  we*re  alone* 

Leuc.  Alone? 

Bacha.  Yes. 

Leuc.  'Tis  true ;  wliat  then  ? 

Bacha  What  then?  you  makf^  ray  smiling 

now 

3  B  Break 


S70 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Actd. 


|n 


Break  into  laughter !  What  think  you  is 
To  be  done  then  ? 

Leuc.  We  should  pray  to  Heaven 
For  mercy. 

Bachiu  Pray  ?  that  were  a  way  indeed 
To  pass  the  time !  But  I  will  make  you  blush^ 
To  see  a  bashful  woman  teach  a  man 
What  we  should  do  alone;  try  again 
If  you  can  find  it  out. 

Xettc.  I  dare  not  tliink 
I  understand  you ! 

Bacha.  I  must  teach  you,  then : 
Come,  kiss  me. 

l£uc.  Kiss  you  ^ 

Bacha,  Yes ;  be  not  asham'd ! 
You  did  it  not  yourself;  I  will  foigiyc  you. 

Leuc.  Keep,  you  displeased  gods,  the  due 

respect 
I  ought  to  bear  unto  this  wicked  woman, 
As  she  is  now  my  mother !  haste  within  me, 
Lest  I  add  sins  to  sins,  'till  no  repentance 
Will. cure  roe. 

Baeka.  Leave  these  melancholy  moods, 
That  I  may  swear  tliee  welcome  on  thy  lips 
A  thousand  times ! 

Ltuc.  Pray  leave  this  wicked  talk : 
You  do  not  know  to  what  my  father's  wrong 
May  urge  me. 

Bacha.  I  am  careless,  and  do  weigh, 
The  world,  my  life,  and  all  my  after  hopes 
Nothing  without  thy  love :  mistake  me  not; 
Thy  love,  as  I  have  had  it,  free  and  open 
As  wedlock  is,  within  itself:  what  say  you  ? 

Leuc.  Nothing. 

Bacha,  Pity  me!  behold  a  duchess 
Kneels  for  thy  mercy;  and  I  swear  to  you, 
Tho'  I  should  lie  with  you,  it  is  no  lust; 
For  it  desires  no  change :  I  could  with  you 
Content  myself.  Whatanfwer  will  you  give  ? 

Leuc,  They  that  can  answer,  must  be  less 

amaz'd 
Than  I  am  now!  You  see  my  tears  deliver 
My  meaning  to  you. 

Bacha,  Shall  I  be  contemnM  ? 
Thou  art  a  beast,  worse  than  a  savage  beast, 
To  let  a  lady  kneel,  to  beg  that  thing 
Which  a  ri^bt  man  would  offer. 

Leuc.  Tis  your  will,  Heav'n; 
But  let  me  bear  me  like  myself,  however 
She  does!  [you  went  hence ? 

Bacha.  Were  you  made  an  eunuch,  since 
Yet  they  have  more  desire  than  I  can  find 
In  you.    How  fond  was  I  to  beg  thy  love ! 
ni  force  thee  to  my  will:  dost  tliou  not  know 
That  I  can  make  the  kins  dote  at  my  list  ? 
Yield  quickly,  or  by  Heav  n  I'll  have  thee  kept 
Jn  prison  for  my  purpose !  [tliee 

Where  I  will  make  tliee  serve  my  turn,  and  nave 
Fed  with  such  meats  as  best  shall  fit  my  ends. 
And  not  thy  health. — Why  dost  not  speak  to 

me? — 
And  when  thou  dost  displease  me,  and  art 

grown 
Less  able  to  perform,  then  I  will  have  thee 
KillM  and  foigotten !— Areyou  stricken  dumb ? 


Leuc.  All  you  have  nam'd,  but  making  of 
Tnesin 
With  vou,  you  may  command,  but  never  that. 
Say  what  you  will :  Til  hear  you  as  becomes 

me. 
If  you  speak ;  I  will  not  follow  your  counsel. 
Neither  will  I  tell  the  world  to  your  disgrace. 
But  give  you  the  just  honour  that  is  due 
From  me  to  my  father's  wife. 

Bacha.  Lord,  how  full 
Of  wise  formality  are  you  grown  of  late ! — 
But  you  were  telling  me  you  could  have  wish'd 
That  I  had  married  you :  if  you  will  swear 
I'll  make  away  the  king.  [so  yei, 

Leuc,  You  are  a  strumpet— 

Bacha.  Nay,  I  care  not 
For  all  your  railings ;  tiiey  will  batter  walls 
And  take  in  towns,  as  soon  as  truuble  me: 
Tell  him!  I  care  not;  I  shall  undo  you  only, 
Which  is  no  matter. 

Leuc.  I  appeal  to  you 
Still,  and  for  ever,  that  are  and  cannot 
Be  other! — Madam,  I  see  'tis  in  your  power 
To  work  your  will  on  him;  and  I  desire  you 
To  lay  what  trains  you  will  for  my  wisbVl 

death. 
But  suffer  him  to  find  his  quiet  grave 
In  peace :  alas,  he  never  did  you  wrong. 
And  furtlier,  I  beseech  you  pardon  n^e 
For  tlie  ill  word  I  gave  you ;  for  however 
You  may  deserve,  it  became  not  me 
To  call  you  so ;  but  passion  urges  me 
I  know  not  whitlier.    My  heart,  break  now. 
And  ease  me  ever! 

Bacha.  Prav  you,  get  yon  hence 
Wi*  your  goodly  humour!  I  am  weary  of  yoo 
Extremely. 

Leuc.  Trust  me,  so  am  I  of  myself  too : 
Madam,  I'll  take  my  leave.    Gods  set  aH 

right!  [JBri*. 

Bacha.  Amen !  Sir,  get  you  gone  l-— 
Am  I  denied?  It  does  not  trouble  me 
That  I  have  mov'd,  but  that  I  am  refus'd : 
IVe  lost  my  patience!  I  will  make  him  know 
Lust  is  not  love ;  for  lust  will  find  a  mate 
While  there  are  men,  and  so  will  I,  and  more 

Enter  Timantm. 

Than  one,  or  twenty  !-^onder  is  Timantm, 
A  fellow  void  of  any  worth  to  raise  himself 
And  therefore  Hke  to  catch  at  any  evil 
That  will  but  pluck  him  up;  him  will  I  m«b» 
Mine  own. — ^Timantus! 

Tim.  Madam? 

Bacha,  Thou  know'st  well  [raising; 

Thou  wert,  by  chance,  a  means  of  this  my 
Brought  the  cfuke  to  me;  and,  tho'*twerc  but 
I  must  reward  thee.  [chance, 

Tim,  I  shall  bend  my  service 
Unto  your  highness.  [thing'; 

Bacha.  But  do  it  tlien  entirely,  and  in  cveiy 
And  tell  me,  couldst  thou  now  think  that 

thing 
Tliou  wouldst  not  do  for  me  ' 

2}m*  Npj  by  my  soul^  madam, 

Btcht 


Act  3.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


371 


Bachh  Then  thou  art  right 
Go  to  my  lodging,  and  I'll  follow  thee. 

[Exit  Tm. 
With  my  instruction,  I  do  see  already, 
This  prince,  that  did  but  now  contemn  me^ 

demdl 
Yet  will  I  never  speak  an  evil  word 
Unto  his  father  or  him,  'till  I  have 
Won  a  belief  I  love  liim ;  but  Fit  make 
Qis  virtues  his  undoing,  and  my  praises 
Shall  be  so  many  swords  against  his  breast : 
Which  once  performed,  Til  make  Urania, 
My  daughter,  the  king*s  heir,  and  plant  my 

issue 
In  this  large  throne;  nor  shall  it  be  withstood : 
They  that  begin  in  lust,  must  end  in  blood ! 

[Unt. 

Writer  Doritdus,  Agenor,  and  Nhus, 

Dor,  We  live  to  know  a  fine  time,  gentle- 
men, [age 
Nisus.  And  a  fine  duke,  that  thro*  his  doting 
Suffers  himself  to  be  a  child  again. 
Under  his  wiie*s  tuition. 

Age,  All  the  land 
Holds  in  that  tenure  too,  in  woman's  service: 
Sure  we  shall  learn  to  spin ! 

Dor.  No,  tliat's  too  honest; 
We  shall  have  other  liberal  sciences 
Taught  OS  too  soon :  lying  and  flattering, 
Those  are  the  studies  now !  and  murder  shortly 
I  know  will  be  humanity.     Gentlemen, 
If  we  live  here  we  must  be  knaves,  believe  it. 
Nisus.    I  cannot  tell,  my  lord  Dorialus; 
tho'  my  [knaves, 

Own  nature  hate  it,  if  all  determine  to  be 
ril  try  what  I  can  do  upon  myself,  that's 
certain :  [ness-; 

I  will  not  have  my  throat  cut  for  my  good- 
The  virtue  will  not  quit  the  pain. 

Age.  But  pray  you  tell  roe,  [rienc'd, 

Why  is  the  prince,  now  ripe  and  full  expe- 
Not  made  a  doer  in  the  state ^*  ? 
Nisug,    Because  he's  honest. 

Enter  Timantiu. 

Tim.  Goodness  attend  your  honours ! 

Dor.  You  must  not  be  amongst  us  then. 

'Hm.  The  duchess, 
Whose  humble  servant  I  am  proud  to  be, 
Would  speak  with  you. 

Age.  Sir,  we  are  pleas'd  to  wait; 
When  is  it? 

Tim,  An  hour  hence,  my  |^od  lords : 
And  so  I  leave  my  service.  [Exit, 

Dor.  This  is  one  [withal : 

Of  her  ferrets,  that  she  boults  business  out 
This  fellow,  if  he  were  well  ript,  has  all 
The  linings  of  a  knave  within  \nm :  how  sly 

he  looks!  y 


Nints.  Have  we  nothing  about  our  cloaths 
May  catch  at?  [that  he 

Age,  O'my  conscience,  there  is 
No  treason  in  my  doublet !  if  there  be. 
My  elbows  will  discover  it,  they're  out. 

Dor.  Faith, 
And  all  the  harm  that  I  can  find  in  mine 
Is,  that  they  are  not  paid  for;  let  him 
Make  what  lie  can  of  that,  so  he  discharge  it. 
Come,  let  us  go.  [Exeuttt, 

Enter  Baclm,  Leontiui,  and  Tekmon. 

Bacha,  And  you  shall  find,  sir,  what 
A  blessing  Heaven  ave  you  in  such  a  son. 

Leon.  Pray  gods  I  may!  Let's  walk,  and 

change  our  subject.  [to  you, 

Bacha.  Oh,  sir,  can  any  thing  come  sweeter 
Or  strike  a  deeper  joy  into  your  heart. 
Than  your  son's  virtue  ? 

Leon,  I  allow  his  virtues; 
But  'tis  not  handsome  thus  to  feed  myself 
With  such  immoderate  praises  of  mine  own. 

Bacha.  The  subject  of  our  commeudationsi 
Is  itself  grown  so  infinite  in  goodness^ 
That  all  the  glory  we  can  lay  upon  it, 
Tho'  we  should  open  volumes  of  his  praises. 
Is  a  mere  modesty  in  his  expression,  [piece 
And  shews  him  lame  still,  like  aq  ill-wrought 
Wanting  proportiom 

l^on.  Yet  still  he's  a  man,  and  subject  still 
To  more  inordinate  vices  (ban  our  love 
Can  give  him  blessings. 

Bacha,  Else  he  were  a  god ; 
Yet  so  near,  as  he  is,  he  comes  to  Heaven, 
That  we  may  see,  so  far  as  flesh  can  point  us. 
Things  only  worthy  of  them;  and  only  these 
In  all  his  actions. 

Xeon.  This  is  too  much,  my  queen! 

Bacha.  Had  the  gods  lov\l  me,  that  my 

unworthy  womb 
Had  bred  this  brave  man — 

l£on.  Still  you  run  wrong!  [of  him, 

Bacha.  I  would  have  liv'd  upon  the  comfort 
Fed  on  his  growing  hopes! 

Leftn,  This  touches  me!        *  [his  virtues. 

Bacha.  I  know  no  friends,  nor  being,  but 

Xecm.  You've  laid  out  words  enough  upon 

a  subject. 

Bacha.  But  words  cannot  express  him,  sir. 

Why,  what  a  shape 
Heav'n  has  conceiv'd  him  in!  oh,  Nature 

made  him  up — 

Leon,  I  wonder,  duchess— 

Bacha.  So  you  must;  for  less 
Than  admiration  loses  this  godlike  man. 

Leon.  Have  you  done  with  him  ?  ^ 

Bacha.  Done  with  him?  Oh,  good  gods,    * 
What  qualities  thus  pass  by  ys  without  re* 

verence**! 

Xeon.  I  see  no  such  perfection. 


**  "Not  made  a  dore  in  the  ttetef]  Corrected  in  1750. 

*'  What  frailties  thu$  pass  by  uf  tnthout  reverence  f]  FraHtia,  Seward  justly  observes,  is 
*  the  very  reverse  of  the  idea  required  by  the  coutext :  he  substitutes  virtues  for  that  word, 
hut  we  have  adopted  Sympioa'a  leading,  quaUtieif  v^hich  is  much  Uie  best, 

3  B  ^  Bachat 


9rs 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Act  5. 


Backa,  Ob,  demr  air,  yoa^re  a  father,  and 

those  joys  [tongue. 

To  jou,  speak  in  your  heart,  not  jn  your 

Ije*m.  This  leaves  ata^te  behind  it  worse 

than  physic.  [good  fortune, 

Bacha,  Then  for  his  wisdom^  valour, 'and 
And  all  those  fnendfc  gi"  honour  ^^  they're 

in  him 
As  free  and  nataral,  as  passions  in 
A  woman.  ![ye9,rs, 

Leon.  You  make  pie  blush,  for  a}I  th'ea»e 
To  see  how  blindly  you  have  flung  your 

praises 
Ufion  a  boy,  a  very  child ;  and  worthless, 
l^hilst  I  ljve,4>f  these  honours. 

Bacha.  I  would  not  have  my  love,  sir, 

make  my  tongue 
Shew  ine  so  much  a  woman,  as  to  praise 
Or  disptraUe,  where  my  will  is,  without  reason, 
Or  general  allowance  of  the  people. 

jUiwi.-  Allowance  of  the   people?  what 

atlow  they  ?  [must  do  it, 

Bacha.  All  I  have  said  for  truth ;  and  they 
And  dote  upon  him,  love  him,  and  admire  him. 

Lean,  How's  that?  [wardness 

Barka^  'For  in  his  youth  ^'  and  noble  for^ 
All  things  are  bound  together  that  are  kingly ; 
A  fitaess  to  bear  rule— 

Leon.  No  more ! 

Bacha.  And  sove  reignty. 
Not  made  to  know  command. 

Lean.  IVe  said,  no  more! 

Bacha.  IVe  idon/e,  sir,  tho'  unwilling ;  and 

pardon  mel 

Lam.  I  do ;  not  a  word  more ! 

Bacha.  IVe  ^iveu  thee  poison 
Of  more  infection  than  the  dragon*8  tootl^. 
Or  the^ross  air  oVrtheated. 

^i^ifirTimantus. 

Lam.  Timanttts,  when 
Saw  you  thf  pdnce? 

Jtm.  I  iefit  him  now,  sir. 

Leon.  Tell  me  truly, 
Out  of  your  free  opimon,  without  courting, 
How  you  like  him  ? 

Thft.  llowllikehim? 

Leon.  Yes; 
Por  you  in  conyersAtipn  may  see  more 
Than  a  father. 
■   Bacha.  JtworkSi. 

Tim.  Your  grhce  )ias  chosen  out  an  ii) 

observer.  [righjtlv. 

L^n.  Yes,  I  mean  of  his  ill;  you  talk 

Tim.  But  you  take  me  wro;ig !  All  I  knov 

by  him 
I  dtire  deliver  boldly:  he  is  the  storehouse 


And  jiead  of  viitiie,  vourgreat  ul£  e]^cepted, 
That  feeds  the  kingdom.  "  » 

l^on.  These  are  flatteries ,! 
Speak  me  his  vices :  there  you  do  a  service 
Worthy  a  fathpi-'s  thanksi 

i'im.  Sir,  1  cannot. 
If  there  be  any,  sure  they  are  the  times', 
Whith   I  could  wish  less  dangerous.    But 

pardon  me, 
I  am  too  bold. 

fjcon.  You  are  not ;  forwarjj. 
And  open  what  these  dangers  are  i 

2'ii».  Nay,  good  sir!  fajlj 

Leon.  Nay,  fall  not  off  again ;  I  will  have 

Tiffi.  Alas,  sir,  what  am  1,  you  should  be- 
lieve 
My  eyes  or  ears  so  subtle  to  observe 
Faults'  in  a  state?  all  my  main  business 
Is  service  to  yr»ur  grace^  rtnd  necessaries 
For  my  poor  life. 

Leo?i.  Do  not  displease  me,  sirrah! 
^ut  tha^youJknow  tell  me,  and  presently. 

Tim.  Si^^c  yovr  grace  will  have  it, 
I'll  speak  It  freely:  always  mj^  obedience 
And-  love  preserv'd  unto  the  prince. 

^onp  Pri^ee  to  t)ie  matter  ! 

Tim.  For,  sir,  if  you  consider 
How  like  a  sun  in  all^s  great  employments, 
How  fullx>f|ieat —  .'  ' 

Leon.  Makeme  understand  what  J.  desire! 

Tim.  And  then  at  liis  retiam— ' 

Leon.  Do  not  anger  me ! 

Tim.  Then  thus,  sir:  all  inisUke  yon. 
As  they  woul4  do  the  gods,  if  they  did  dwell 

Leoti.  What?     •  '  * .  ['with  eim'. 

Tim.  Talk  and  prate,  as  theirignorant  rages 
X.ead  'em,  without  allegiance  or  religion. 
For  Heav'n's  sake,  have  a  care  of  your  own 

persoi^!    • 
I  cannot  tell;  their  wickedness  may  lead 
Fnrt^r  than  I  dare  think  yet.  •  • 

Lepn.  Oh,  base  people ! 

Tim.  Yet  the  prmce,  for  whom  this  is  pre- 
tended, may   .  t^ver  watchful ; 
Persuade  'em,  and  no  doubt  will:  virtue's 
But  be  you  still  secur'd  artd  comforted! 

Ldon.  Heav'n  !  how  have  I  oflfendedt  that 

this  rod, 
So  heavy  and  unnatural,  slmuld  &11  upon  me 
When  1  am  old  and  helpless? 

Tim.  Brave  gentleman^* ! 
Tliat  sud^umwddintf  love  should  follow  thee. 
To  rob  thee  of  a  faUier !  All  the  court 
Is  fuH  of  dangerous  whispers. 
*•  'Icon.  I  perceive  it; 
And,  'spite  of  all  their  strengths,  will  oiake 

my  safety ! 


^^  fiu:ha.  Then  for  all  his  zoisdom^  valour, 

Good  fortune,  and  all  those  friends  of  honour. 

They  are  in  him  as  free  and  natural,  as  passions 

In, a  i»oman.J  The  measure  here  was  quite  lost,  and  the  sense  bnrt^  hy 
the  aU  frovn  the  second  line  into  the  first.  Smard. 

5*  .For  in  this  youih.'X  Varied  by  Seward. 
3^  Brtsve  £cae2ema»/|  Seward  leads^Pooit  Iraioe  gerUkaumi 


Act  3.] 

Til  CM*  lu:n  shorter — 111  cut  liim  slioi'tr 

^    }\.jlL  t.  WiiaL  ;i  J<mjI  nee  is  this,       ftuous? 
.'vVlw  u  \  irtue's  m.ide  a  sword  to  stuite  th^r  vir- 

y.t  V?.  ril  touch  iilm  to  fiy  lower. 

^'/;/.    Bv  no  means,  sir;  rather  make  more 

voiir  !o»'f, 
And  iv  i  your  favour  to  him :  for  Vm  now 
lmr'<^'-.ijle  to  yoke  him,  if  his  thoughts 
(As     inubt  ne'er  believe)  run  witii  their  rages 
(Ho  .'VL.  wasso  innocent").  But  what  reason 
His  !;Tare  hits  to  withdraw  his  love  from  me, 
And  i/thrr  good  men  thatare  near  your  person, 
I  cannot  yet  find  out;  I  know  my  dutjr 
Has  ever  been  attending.  * 
'    JjLon.  Tis  too  plain  [him. 

He  means 'to  play  the  vijlsun ;  fU  prevent 
Not  a  word  more  of  thia ;  be  private  J 

[EriY. 

Tan.  Madam/us  done. 

'Bacha:  He 'can't  escape  me.    Have  you 

spoken  with  the  noblemen  ? 

Tim.  YeSj'madam;  they  are  here.   I  wait 

a  further  servicte. 

^acha.  Till  you  see  the|)rince'*,  you  need 

no  mbre'idstructions.    • 

Tim.  No;  I  have  it'  \Exxi 

♦  »•»♦•  ■    • 

'EnttT  Dorialusy  Nitut,  and  Agenor, 

Backa.  That  fooi  that  willingly  provokes  a 

woman,       * 
Hiis  miUle  himself  another  evil  angel, 
And  a  ilew  hell^  to' which  aiU  other  torments 
Are  but  mere  pastime. — ^Now,  my  noble 

•  lords,    •  •  ' 

You  most  excuse  me,  tliat  uomannerly 
We've  broke  ydor  private  bosiness. 

•  Age.  Your  good  grace 
May  command  us,  and  that-*- 

-    ia4!ha.  Faith,  my  lord  Agenor, 
It  is  so  good  a  cause,  I'm  confident 
You  cannot  lose  by  it. 

Dor.  Which  wajr  does  she  fish  now? 
The  deviVs  but  a  fool  to  a  right  woman. 
'    Nisus.  Madam,  we  tnust  needs  win  in  do- 
ing service 
To  suth  a  gracious  lady. 

Bacha.  I  thank  you,  and  will  let  youknow 
the  business, 
So  I  may  have  your  helps :  never  be  doubtful, 
Tor  'tis  so  just  a  cause,  and  will  to  you 
Upon  the  knowledge  seem  so  honourable. 


CUPID'S  REVENGE, 

firs*- 


nr^ 


'Ihrit  I  r.s«;ure  mysrlf  yonr  willing  hearts 
\\  jJ'i  i^ll•A:^llt  bt;  r'or  me  in  it. 

A^'c.  ir  hlje  should  Uii.ve  (;oini  ziow,  what 

were  jt  I'ke  ?  [man; 

Dor.  'Ihuuder  in  Jnruinrv,  or  a  yood    a'o- 

That'sstrani'er  than  all  tlieiiiuiiMcrL  liAtrick. 

Bccka.  It  shall  not  need  your  wciuier; 

this  it  is: 

The  duke  you  know  Isold,  ai!d  rather  subject 

To  ease  and  prayers  now,  than  all  those  irou^ 

hies. 
Cares,  and  continual  watchings,  that  attend 
A  kiiigdpm's  safety:  tlierefore  to  prevent 
The  lall  of  such  a  fiourishiiig  estate 
As  this  has  been,  and  to  put  off 
The  murmur  of  the  people,  that  encrease 
Against mv  government,  which  the  gods  know 
I  only  feel  the  trouble  of,  1  present 
The  prince  unto  your  loves,  a  gentleman 
In  whom  all  excellencies  are  knit  together, 
All  pieces  of  a  true  man :  let  your  prayers 
Win  from  the  duke  half  his  vexation, 
That  he  may  undertake  it,  whose  discretion 
I  must  confess,  tho*  it  be  from  a  father. 
Yet  now  is  stronger,  and  more  apt  to  govern  ! 
Tis  not  my  own  desire,  but  all  the  laud's ! 
I  know  the  weakness  of  it. 

Nisus.  Madam,  this  noble  care  and  love 
has  won  us 
For  ever  to  your  loves:  we'll  to  the  king; 
And  since  your  grace  has  put  it  in  our  mouths. 
We'll  win  him  with  the  cunning'st  words  we 
can.  [fore, 

J>or.  I  was  never  cozen  *d  in  a  woman  be« 
For  commonly  they  are  like  apples : 
If  once  they  bruise,  they  will  grow  rotten 
thro',  [ings. 

And  serve  for  nothing  but  to  asswage  swell* 

Bacha.  Good  lords. 
Delay  no  time,  since  it  is  yourgood  pleasures 
To  think  my  counsel  good !  and  by  no  means 
Let  the  prince  know  it,  whose  aflections 
Will  stir  mainly  against  it ;  besides,  his  father 
May  hold  him  dangerous,  if  it  be  not  carried 
So  that  his  forward  will  appear  not  in  it. 
Go,  and  be  happy! 

Dor.  Well,  I  cf  not  be  chronicled 
As  thou^t  be  for  a  good  woman,  for  all  the 
world.  [inspir'd, 

Nisus.  Madam,  we  kiss  your  hand;  and  so 
Nothing  but  happiness  can  crown  our  pray* 
ers".  [Exeknt. 


'^  He  ne'er  was  so  innocent.}  Corrected  by  Seward. 

3*  Till  yet  be  the  prince.]  For  want  of  consulting  the  quarto  of  1635  (which  exhibits  the 
lection  in  'our  text)  Seward  and  Sympson  were  much  puzzled  about  this  passage :  the  former 
prints,  STILL  beset  the  prince;  and  the  latter  proposes,  still  let  it  be  the princt.^^ 
Through  inattention  to  that  copy  (which  is  infinitely  the  best,  and  which  it  is  certain  they 
were  pfissessed  of)  they  have  made  many  unnecessaiy  variations,  which  we  forbear  to  par^ 
ticularise. 
'    ^^  Madamy  we  luu  your  hand,  and  so  inspire. 

Nothing  but  happiness  can  crown  our  prayers.']  The  omission  of  a  letter  and  the  insertion 
of  a  false  point,  which  turn  part  of  these  hues  into  nonsense,  has  past  through  all  die  editions. 
Mr.  Syrop^n  bis  sent  me  the  same  correction.  Seward^ 

r  ACT 


3U 


em>ID*S  REVENGE. 


[Act  4. 


ACT  IV. 


Enter  Leucippitt  and  Ismenus, 

Leuc.  TTHUS  she  has  us'd  me :  is't  not  a 
•*■      good  mother? 

Ism.  Why  kill'd  you  her  not  ? 

Leuc.  The  gods  forbid  it! 

Ism.  'Slight, 
If  all  the  women  in  the  world  were  barren, 
Sh' had  died! 

Leuc,  But  'tis  not  reason  directs  thee  thus. 

Ism.  Then  have  I  none  at  all;  for  all  I've 

in  me 
Directs  me.    Your  fatlier's  in  a  pretty  rage. 

Leuc.  Why? 

Ism.  Nay,  it  is  well  if  he  know  himself : 
But  some  of  the  nobility  have  deliver  d 
A  petition  to  him ;  what  is  ih't 
I  know  not;  but  it  has  put  him  t'his  trumps: 
He  has  taken  a  month's  time  to  answer  it, 
And  chafes  like  himself. 

Enter  LeantiuSy  Bacha,  and  Telamon, 

Leuc.  He's  here,  Ismenus. 

Leon.  Set  me  down,  Telamon  I—Leucippus ! 

Leuc.  Sir.  [swear 

Bacha.  Nay,  good  sir,  be  at  peace!  I  dare 
He  knew  not  of  it. 

Leon.  You  are  foolish ;  peace ! 

Bacha.  All  will  go  ill,!  Deny  it  boldly,  sir; 
Trust  me,  he  cannot  prove  it  by  you. 

Leuc.  What?  [facing  it. 

Bacha.  You'll  make  all  worse  too  with  your 

Leuc.  What  is  the  matter? 

Leon.  Know'st  thoa  that  petition  ? 
Look  on  it  well!  Wouldst  thou  be  join'd 

with  roe  ? 
Unnatural  child !  to  be  weary  o'me,  ere  fate 
Esteem  me  fit  for  other  worlds ! 

Bacha.  May  be 
He  knows  not  of  it. 

Leuc.  Oh,  strange  carriages! 
Sir,  as  IVe  hope  that  there  is  any  thing 
To  reward  domg  well,  my  usages, 
Which  have  been — but  it  is  no  matter  what — 
Have  put  me  so  far  from  the  thought  of 

greatness, 
That  I  should  welcome  it  like  a  disease 
That  grew  upon  me,  and  I  could  not  cure. 
They  are  my  enemies  that  gave  you  this ; 
And  yet  they  call  me  friend,  and  are  them- 
selves ^ 
I  fear  abus'd.  Pm  weary  of  my  life; 
For  God's  sake,  take  it  from  me !  it  creates 
More  mischief  in  the  state  than  it  is  worth. 
The  usage  I  have  had,  I  know,  would  make 
Wisdom  herself  run  frantic  thro'  the  streets, 
And  Patience  quarrel  with  her  shadow.  Sir, 
This  sword^ 

Bacha.  Alas!  hel]^,  for  the  love  of  Heav'h! 
Make  way  thro'  me  bnti  for  he  is  your  father ! 


Leon.  What,  would  he  kill  me? 

Bacha.  No,  sir,  no.     \ 

Leon.  Thou  always  mak'st  the  best  obX} 

but  I  fear— 

Leuc.  Why  do  you  use  me  thus?  Who  is't 

can  think 
That  I  would  kill  my  iiitKer,  that  can  yet 
Forbear  to  kill  you  — Here,  sir,  is  my  sword; 
I  dare  not  touch  it,  lest  she  say  again 
I  would  have  kill'd  you.    Let  me  not  have 

mercy 
When  I  most  need  it,  if  I  would  not  change 
Place  with  my  meanest  servant ! — Let  these 

faults 
Be  mended,  madam!  if  you  saw  how  ill 
They  did  become  you,  you  would  part  with 

them. 

Bacha.  I  told  the  duke  as  much  before. 

Leuc.  What?  what  did  you  tell  him? 

Bacha.  That  it  was  only  an  ambition 
Nurs'd  in  you  by  your  youth,  provok'd  you 
-Which  age  would  take  away.  [thus, 

Leon.  It  was  his  own  doing  then  ? — Come 

Bacha.  No,  indeed,  sir.         [hither,  love! 

Leuc.  How  am  I  made,  that  I  can  bear  all 

this  ? 
If  any  one  had  us'd  a  friend  of  mine  near  this. 
My  hand  had  carried  death  about  it. 

Leon.  Lead  me  hence,  Telamon !       [this. 
Come,  my  dear  Bacha  !  I  shall  find  time  for 

Ism.  Madam,  you  know  I  dare  not  speak 

before  Ly®")' 

The  kin^j'but  you  know  well  (if  not,  I^  tdl 
You're  the  most  wicked,  and  most  murderous 
That  ever  was  caird  womap  !        [strumpet, 

Bacha.  My  lord, 
What  I  can  do  for  him,  he  shall  command  me. 

Leon.  I  know  thou  art  too  kind :  away,  I 

say  ! '  ^Exeunt  Leon.  Bacha,  Ihn.  and  TeL 

Ism.  Sir,  I  am  sure  we  dream !  this  can- 
not be. 

Leuc.  Oh,  that  we  did!  My  wickedness  has 

brought 
All  this  to  pass,  else  I  should  bear  myself. 
[Urania  passes  aver  the  stage. 

Ism.  Look !  do  you  see  who's  there?  your 

virtuous  mother's  issue : 
Kill  her  yet !  take  some  little  pidling  revenge. 

Leuc.  Away!  the  whole  court  calls  her 

virtuous;  for  they  say, 
She  is  unlike  her  mother;  and  if  so, 
She  can  have  no  vice, 

Isnu  I'll  trust  none  of 'em 
That  come  of  such  a  breed. 

Leuc.  But  I  have  found 
A  kind  of  love  in  her  to  me.    Alas ! 
Think  of  her  death  ?  I  dare  be  sworn  for  her. 
She  is  as  free  from  any  hate  to  me 
As  her  bad  mother's  full.  She  was  brought  up 
r  th'covmtry^  as  her  tongue  will  let  you  know, 

£fUer 


Act  4.] 


CUPHyS  REVENGE. 


«7S 


Enter  Urania, 
If  you  bat  talk  with  her,  with  a  poor  unde, 
Such  as  her  mother  had. 

Ism,  She's  come  again.  {q«>»> 

Ura,  I  would  fen  speak  to  the  good  mar- 
My  brother,  if  I  but  thought  he  could  abaid 

Leuc.  Sister,  how  do  you }  [me. 

Ura.  Very  well,  I  thank  you. 

hm.  How  does  your  good  mother  ? 

Leuc.  Fy,  fy,  Ismenus!     ^  [this? 

For  shame !  mock  such  an  innocent  soul  as 

Ura,  Feth,  a  she  be  no  good,  God  may 

her  so!  [dear  sister! 

Leuc.  I  tnow  you  wish  it  with  your  heart, 
But  she  is  good,  I  hope. 

Ism.  Are  you  so  simple. 
To  make  so  much  of  this  ?  Do  you  not  know. 
That  all  her  wicked  mother  labours  for  [her 
Is  but  to  raise  her  to  your  right,  and  leave 
This  dukedom? 

Ura,  Ay;  but  ne'er,  sir,  be  afred; 
For  tho'  she  take  th'  ungainest  weas  she  can, 
Th  ne'er  ha't  fro'  you. 

Leuc.  I  should  hate  myself,  Ismenus, 
If  I  should  think  of  her  simplicity 
Aught  but  extremely  well. 

Ism,  Nay,  as  you  will ! 

Ura,  And  tho'  she  be  my  mother. 
If  she  take  any  caurse  to  do  you  wrang. 
If  I  can  see't,  you'st  quickly  Learon't,  sir: 
And  so  I'll  take  my  leave.  ^ 

Leuc.  Farewell,  good  sister !     • 
I  thank  you.  [Exit  Urania, 

Ism.  You  believe  all  this? 

Leuc,  Yes. 

Enter  Timantus. 

Ism,  A  good  faithiloth  well  J  but,  methinks. 
It  were  no  hard  matter  now  for  her  mother 

to  send  her. 
Yonder's  one  you  may  trust  if  you  wilJ,  too. 

Leuc.  So  I  will,  if  he  can  sliew  me  as  ap- 

/»arent  signs 
truth  as  she  did.  Does  he  weep,  Ismenus? 
Ism.  Yes,  I  think  so ;  some  good's  happen'd 
I  warrant. 
Do  you  hear,  you?    What  honest  man  has 

scap'd  misery, 
That  thou  art  crying  thus  f 


Ihn.  Noble  IsmenoSy 
Where  is  the  prince  ? 

Ism.  Why,uiere:  hast  wept  thine  eyesoutf 

Tim.  Sir,  I  beseech  you  hear  me. 

Leuc  Well,  speak  on. 

Jim.  Why,  will  you  hear  hhn? 

Leuc.  Yes,  Ismenus;  why? 

Ism.  I  lipoid  bear  blasphemy  at  willingly, 

Leuc.  You  are  to  blame. 

Itm,  No,  sir,  he's  not  to  l^ame. 
If  I  were  as  I  was. 

Ism,  Nor  as  thou  art, 
rfaith,  awhit  to  blame. 

Leuc.  What  is  your  business?   [fore  yon; 

Tim,  Faith,  sir,  I  am  asham'd  to  speak  be* 
My  conscieuce  tells  me  I  have  injurM  yoe, 
And,  by  tlie  earnest  instigation 
Of  otlwrs^  have  not  done  you  to  the  king 
Always  the  best  and  friendliest  offices : 
Which  pardon  me,  or  I  will  never  speak ! 

Ism,  Never  pardon  him,  and  silence  a 

Leuc.  I  pardon  thee.  [knave ! 

Ihn.  Your  mother  sui^  is  naught. 

Leac.  Why  shouldst  thou  think  so? 

Tim.  Oh,,  noble  sir,  your  honest  eyes  per- 
ceive not 
The  dangers  you  are  led  to:  shame  upon  her, 
And  what  fell  miseries  the  gods  can  think  on, 
Show'r  down  upon  her  wicked  head !  She  has 

plotted,  [life, 

[  know  too  well,  your  death:  'would  my  poor 
Or  thousand  such  as  mine  is,  might  be  omr'd 
Like  sacrifices  up  for  your  preserving;  [her ! 
What  free  oblations  would<  she  have  to  glut 
But  she  is  merciless,  and  bent  to  ruin. 
If  Heav'n  and  good  men  step  not  to  your 

rescue. 
And  timely,  very  timely.  Oh,  this  dukedom! 
I  weep,  I  weep  for  the  poor  orphans  in 
This  country,  left  without  or  friends  or  pa* 

rents'^.  [this  fdlow  ? 

Leuc.  Now,  Ismenus,  what  think  you  ot 
This  was  a  lying  knave,  a  flatterer ! 
Does  not  this  love  still  shew  him  so  i     [yet 

Ism.  This  love  ?  this  halter !  If  he  prove  not 
The  cunuing'st,  rankest  rogue   tlwt    ever 

canted, 
I'll  ne'er  see  man  again^' !   I  know  him  to 

bring'*. 
And  can  interpret  ev*ry  new  face  he  makes. 

Look 


36  J  fveep,  I  weep  for  the  poor  orphans  i*  th'  country 
Left  with  hut  friends  or  parents.]  The  villany  of  Timantus  will  not  allow  him  to  talk 

absurdly;  his  art  imposes  on  the  prince,  and  he  should  therefore  at  least  speak  sense.  And 
indeed  how  easy  was  the  mistake  of  without  to  toith  but  f  This  being  made,  the  repetition 
of  the  or  was  absurd,  and  being  left  out,  the  measure  was  spoilt,  and  consequently  believed 
to  ^  e  no  measure  at  all.  This  process  olf  the  corruption  seems  natural,  and  there^tre  I  hope 
I  have  only  restored  the  original.    Mr.  Sympson  joins  in  correcting  mtk  but  to  without. 

Seward, 
Quarto  1635  reads.  Left  with  hut^friendsj  not  parents. 

37  ril  nitr  see  man  again.]  Seward  calls  this  ^  absurd,'  and  substitutes  seem  for  see :  we 
think  tlie  expression  easjr  and  natural. 

3S  J  ]fj^Q^  i^ifn  to  bring. 

And  can  interpret  erdry  new  face  he  mato.]  Unless  a  whole  line  be  lefi  out  after  brins^ 
or  the  first  part  be  made  an  imperfect  sentence^  which  would  be  very  improper  here,  this 

seems 


37d 


CUPID'S  REVENGE- 


[Act  4. 


Look  how  he  wrings,  like  a  good  stool,  for  a 
Take  heed;  [tear! 

Children  and  fools  first  feel  the  smart,  then 
weep.  .  [trust 

Leuc,  Away,  away !    such  an  unkind  dis- 
is  worse  than  a  dissembling,  if  it  be  one, 
And  sooner  leads  to  mischief:  I  believe  it. 
And  him  an  honest  man;  he  could  not  carry, 
Uiider  an  evil  cause,  so  true  a  sorrow. 
Ism.  Take  heed!    this  is  your  mother's 
scorpion,  [soul 

Tliat  carries  sdngs  ev'n  in  his  tears,  whose 
Is  a  rank  poison  thorough :  touch  not  at  him; 
If  you  do,  youVe  gone,  if  you'd  twenty  lives. 
1  knew  him  for  a  roguish  boy,  [toads; 

When  he  would  poison  dogs,  and  keep  tame 
He  lay  witli  his  mother,  and  infected  her, 
And  n6w  she  begs  i'th'  hospital,  with  a  patch 
Of  velvet  where  her  nose  stood,  like  the 

queen  of  spades, 
And  all  her  teeth  in  her  nurse.  The  devil  and 
This  fellow  are  so  near,*tis  not  yet  known 
Which  is  the  ev'ler  angel.       [hither,  friend ! 
Leuc.  Nay,  then  I  see  'tis  spite.    Come 
Hast  thou  not  heard  the  cause  yet  tliat  in* 

cens'd 
My  mother  to  my  death?  for  I  protest 
I  feel  none  in  myself.  [think, ' 

Tm.  Her  wifl,  sir,  and  ambition,  as  I 
Are  the  provokers  of  it,  as  in  women 
Those  two  are  ever  powerful  to  destruction; 
Beside  a  hate  of  your  still-growing  virtues, 
She  being  only  wicked. 
I       Leuc,  Heav'ns  defend  me, 
As  I  am  innocent,  and  ever  have  been. 
From  all  immoderate  thoughts  and  actions. 
That  carry  such  rewards  along  with  'em  ! 

Tim.  Sir,  all  I  know  my  duty  must  reveal; 
My  country  and  my  love  command  it  ft'omme. 
For  whom  I'll  lay  my  life  down:  this  night 

coming, 
A  counsel  is  appointed  by  the  duke^ 
To  sit  about  your  apprehension :       [things, 
If  you  dare  trust  my  mith  (which,  by  all  good 
Shall  ever  watch  about  you!)  go  along, 
-  And  to  a  place  I'll  guide  vou,  where  no  word 
Shall  scape  without  your  hearing,  nor  no  plot, 
Without  discovering  to  you;  which  once 

known, 
You  have  your  answers  and  prevention. 
Jm.  You're  not  so  mad  to  go  ?  shift  off 
this  fellow  !  [bane ! 

You  shall  be  rul'd  once  by  a  wise  man.  liats- 
Get  you  gone,  or— 

Leuc.  Peace,  peace  for  sliame!  thy  Jove 
is  too  suspicious; 
Tis  a  way  offer'd  to  preserve  my  life. 
And  I  will  take  it.    Be  my  guide,  Timantus, 


And  do  not  mind  this  angry  man !   thou 
I  may  live  to  requite  thee.        [know'st  him. 

Ihn.  Sir,  this  service 
Is  done  for  virtue's  sake,  not  for  rewai^ 
However  he  may  hold  me.  [that  curse 

Ignu  The  peat  pox  on  you!  but  thou  hast 
So  much,  'twill  grow  a  blessing  in  thee  shortly. 
Sir,  for  wisdom's  sake,  court  nOt  your  death ! 

I  am  [both ; 

Your  friend  and  subject,  and  I  shall  Jose  in 
If  I  lov'd  you  not,  I  would  laugh  at  you,  and 

see  you  [woodcock ! 

Ruil  your  neck  into  the  noose,  and  cry,  a 

Leuc.  So  much  of  man,  and  so  much  fear- 
fill  ?fy! 
Prithee  have  peac^  within  thee!  I  shall  live  yeC 
Many  a  golden  day  to  hold  thee  here, 
Dearest  and  nearest  to  me.    Go  on,  H- 

mantus ! 
I  charge  yoii  by  your  love,  no  more,  ni> 

more !  [Exeunt  Leuc.  and  Ton. 

Ism,  Go,  and  let  your  oWn  rod  whip  you! 

Ipityyota;  • 

And,  dog,  if  he  miscarry,  thou  shalt  pay  foi^t  t 
111  study  for  thy  punishment,  and  it  shall  last 
Longer  and  shatter  than  a  tedious  winter. 
Till  thou  blasphem'st;  and  .then  thou  diest 
and  damn'st.  [Exit. 

Enter  Leontitu  and  Tehmuon. 

Leon.  I  wonder  the  duchess  comes  notL 

Tel,  She  has  heard,  sir,  your  will  is  X» 

speak  with  her : 
But  there  is  something  leaden  at  her  heart, 
(Pray  God  it  be  not  mortal !)  that  ev'n  keeps 

her 
From  conversation  with  herself. 

Enter  Bacha. 

Bacha,  Oh,  whither 
Will  you,  my  cross  affections,  pull  me?  For- 
tune, fate. 
And  you  whose  powers  direct  our  actions^ 
And  dwell  within  us,  you  that  are  angeb 
Guiding  to  virtue,  wherefore  have  yon  ^ven 
So  strong  a  hand  to  evil?  wherefore  sufiWd 
A  temple  of  your  own,  you  deities, 
«Where  your  fair  selves  dwelt  only,  and  your 
Thus  to  be  soil'd  with  sin  ?  [goodness, 

Leon.  Heav'n  bless  us  all !     [my  fair  one! 
From  whence  comes  tliis  distemper.'  Speak, 
Bachu.  And  have  you  none,  Love  and 
Obedience, 
You  ever  faithful  servants,  to  employ 
In  this  strange  story  of  impiety, 
I  But  me?  a  mother?  Must  I  be  your  trumpet'', 
I  To  lay  black  treason  open^^r  and  in  bim 
I  In  whom  all  sweetness  was ;  in  whom  my  lovt 

seems  quite  unintelligible.  I  read,— I  know  Aim  to  b' a  rogue,  which  is  much  nearer  the 
trace  of  the  letters  than  it  seems  in  the  pronunciation;  ring  and  rogue  having  two  of  the 
»ame  letters,  and  a  tliird,  u  and  n,  extremely  like  each  other.  Seward. 

3»  Must  I  he  your  strumpet?]  Was  she  frightened  at  the  idea  of  being  a  strumpet  to  teve 
and  obedience?  Surely  trumpet  is  the  true  reading. 

^  To  lay  black  treason  upon.]  Corrected  iu  1750. 

Wa$ 


Act  4.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


577 


Was  proud  to  have  a  being;  in  ^vhorn  justice^ 
And  all  the  gods,  for  our  imaginations'*'', 
Can  work  into  a  man,  were  more  than  virtues? 
Ambition,  down  to  heli,  wliere  thou   wert 

fosier'd !  [whitest, 

Th'hast  poison*d  the  best  soul,  the  purest. 
And  iDeercst  iunoceiite  itselt*^^,  that  ever 
Man's  greedy  hopes  gave  liie  to.  [open 

Leon.  1  liis  is  still  stranger!  lay  this  treason 
To  my  correction, 

Backa,  Oh,  what  a  combat  duty  and  afifectiou 
Breed  in  my  blood! 

Leon,  If  thou  conceaI*st  him,  may, 
Beside  my  death,  the  curses  of  the  country. 
Troubles  of  conscience,  and  a  wretched  end, 
Bring  thee  unto  a  poor  forgotten  grave ! 

Bacha.  My  beingi  for  another  tongue  to 

tell  it! 
Oh^  ease  a  mother,  some  good  man  that  dares 
Speak  iw  his  king  and  couutry^^ !  I  am  full 
Of  too  mucii  woman's  pity :  yet,  oh,  Ueav'u, 
Since  it  concerns  the  safety  of  my  sovereign, 
•Let  it  not  be  a  cruelty  in  me, 
Nor  draw  a  mother's  ntfUie  in  question 
*AIongst  unborn  people,  to  give  up  that  man 
To  law  and  justice,  tliat  unrighteously 
Has  sought  his  fatljer  s  death  !  Be  deaf,  be 

deaf,  sir! 
Your  son  is  the  offender :  now  have  you  all ; 
'Would  I  might  never  speak  again! 

Leon.  My  son  } 
Ileav'n  help  me!  No  more!  I  thought- it; 
And  since  his  life  is  grown  so  dangerous. 
Let  them  that  gave  him,  take  him !  he  shall 
And  with  him  all  my  fears.  [die, 

Bacha,  Oh,  use  your  mercy ! 
You've  a  brave  subject  to  bestow  it  on. 
I  will  forgive  him,  sir ;  and  (or  his  wrong 
To  ine,  J '11  be  before  you. 

Leon.  Durbt  his  villainy 
Extend  to  thee? 

Bacha.  Nothing  but  heats  of  youth,  sir. 

Leon.  ITpon  my  lile  he  sought  my  bed. 

Bacha.  1  roust  confess  he  lov'd  me 
Somewhat  beyond  a  son ;  and  still  pursu'd  it 
VVith  such  a  lust,  I  will  not  say  ambition, 

'^'  For ottr  imaginations.]  Sympson  would  read  imitations  instead  of  imaginations:  we 
think  the  text  best.    If  the  passage  is  at  all  corrupt,  we  should  perhaps  read  or,  not  Foa 
our  imaginations. 
-^^  And  meerctt  innoccntst.]  Mr.  Theobald  had  prevented  me  in  this  correction.      Seward^ 
*^  jl/y  being  :for  another  tongue  to  tell  it, 
Cease,  a  mother!  some  goad  man  that  dares 
Speak  for  his  king  and  country :  i  am  full 

Of  too  much  woman's  pit^']  I'ew  emendations  have  given  me  so  much  pleasure  as  that 
of  this  passage.    The  corruption  lay  in  the  loss  only  of  about  a  iiftli  part  of  a  letter,  and  yet 
it  utterly  spoiled  both  metre  and  seiifre,  where  both  were  very  beautiful.     It  cost  me  two  or 
tliree  turns  before  I  could  hit  upon  jt,  but  when  mention'd  it  oirries  immediate  conviction. 
Instead  of  Cease  a  mother^  it  is  only  turning  the  C  into  an  0. 
0/  ease  a  mother  some  good  man  tliat  dares 
Speak  for  his  kmg  and  country.        Seward. 
Sewnrd*8  variation  here  is  ingenious  and  plausible,  though  perhaps  the  passage  will  not 
appear  corrupt,  when  the  points  are  altered,  thus: 

My  being,  fur  another  tongue  to  tell  it. 
Cease  I  A  mother?  Some  good  man,  &c. 
VOL.UL  3C  Leon. 


That  clean  forgetting  all  obedience. 
And  only  foUotving  his  first  heat  unto  me, 
lie  hotly  sought  your  deatl),  and  me  in  mar- 
Leon.  Oh,  villain!  [riage, 

Bacha.  But  I  forget  all ;  and  am  half  asham'd 
To  press  a  man  so  far. 

Enter  TimantuSm 

Tim.  Where  is  the  duke? 
For  God's  sake,  bring  me  to  him ! 

Leon.  Here  I  am.  [frights  forth ! 

Each  corner  of  the  dukedom  sends  new  aN 
What  wouldst  thou  ?  Speak ! 

2\m.  I  cannot,  sir;  my  fear 
Ties  up  my  tongue. 

Leon.  Why,  wljat's  the  matter  ?  Take 
Thy  courage  to   thee,  and   boldly  speak! 

Where  are 
The  guard?  In  the  gods*  name,  out  with  it! 

Tim,  Treason,  trciwon! 

Leon.  In  whoih  ? 

Bacha.  Double  the  guard! 
,,    Tim.  There  is  a  fellow,  sir-»- 

Leon.  Leave  shaking,  man ! 

'itwi.  Tis  not  for  fear,  but  wonder. 

Lean.  Well? 

l^im.  There  is  a  fellow,  sir. 
Close  in  tlie  lobby :  you  o'  the  guard. 
Look  to  the  door  there ! 

Leon.  But  let  mc  know  the  business. 

Tim.  Oh,  that  the  hearts  of  men  should  be 

so  harden'd 
Agailist  so  good  a  duke!  for  God's  sake,  sir. 
Seek  means  to  save  yourself:  this  wretched 

slave 
Has  his  sword  in  his  hand;  I  know  his  heart: 
Oh,  it  hatl)  almost  kill'd  me  with  the  thought 

of  it! 

Leon,  Where  is  he  ? 

Etiter  the  Guard. 

Tim.  Fth'lobby,  sir,  close  in  a  comer: 
Look  to  yourselves,  lor  Heaven's  sake !  me> 

thinks, 
He's  here  already.    Fellows  of  the  guard,  be 

valiant! 


iJ30 


CUPID'S  REVENGE, 


[Act  4. 


.Dor,  How  ?  [wns  come 

Age,  Tis  true,  and  thus  it  was:  his  bour 
To  li)se  Lis  life:  he,  ready  for  the  stroke, 
Nobly,  and  full  of  sainf-like  patience,  [saw, 
Went  witli  his  $ruard ;  which,  when  the  people 
•  Compassion  first  went  out,niingled  with  tears, 
That  bred  desires,  and  whispers  to  each  other, 
To  do  some  worthy  kindness  for  the  prince; 
And  ere  they  understood  well  how  to  do. 
Fury  step'd  ni,  and  tauf;ht  them  what  to  do, 
;    !1  hrusting  on  every  hand  to  rescue  him, 

As  a  white  innocent.    Then  ficw  the  roar 
i^lliro'  alt  the  btreets,  of  Save  him,  save  him, 

sarc  him  ! 
And  as  they  cried,  they  did;  for  catching  up 
Such    snddfen  weapons  as  their    madness 

shew'd  them,  [from  'em, 

In  short,  they  beat  the  guard,  and  took  him 
And  now  march  with  him  like  a  royal  army. 

Dor.  Ileav'n,  Heav'n,  I  thank  thee!  what 

a  slave  w<i8  I 
To  have  my  hand  so  fiir  from  this  brave  rescue! 
Thad  been  a  thing  to  brag  on  when  I  was  old. 
Shall  we  run  for  a  wager  to  tlie  next  temple. 
And  give  thanks  ? 

Nisus.  As  fast  as  wislies.  [Exeunt, 

JEnter  Leucippus  and  Imenut ;  the  People 
within  stop, 

Levc,  Good  friends,  go  home  again !  there's 
Shall  go  with  me.  [not  a  man 

Ism,  Will  you  not  take  revenge? 
I'll  call  them  on. 

Leuc,  All  that  love  me,  depart ! 
I  thank  you,  and  will  serve  you  for  your  loves; 
But  I  will  thank  you  more  to  suffer  me 
To  govern  'em.     Once  more,  I  do  beg  ye, 
For  my  sake,  to  vour  houses  ! 

Omiies  [within'],  Gods  preserve  you  ! 

Jsm,  And  what  house  will  you  20  to? 

Leuc,   Ismeniis,  1  will  take  the  wariest 

courses 
Tliat  I  can  tl.ink  of  to  defend  myself. 
But  not  offend.  [offend  your  father, 

lirm.  You  may  kill  your  mother,  and  ue*er 
Or  any  honest  man**'. 

I^uc,  Thou  know'st  I  can 
^ape  now ;  that's  all  I  look  for.  I  will  leave— 

Iwh  Timnntns,  a  pox  take  him !  'would  I 

had  him  here  ! 
IM  kill  him  at  his  own  weapon,  single  scithes. 
We've  built  enough  on  him.  Plague  on*t,  Fm 

out  of 
All  patience!  discharge  suchanannyas  this. 
That  would  have  followed  you  without  pay- 
ing? Oh,  gods!  [iree. 

J^uc.  To  what  enil  shall  I  keep 'em?  I  nm 

Jww.  Yes,  free  o*  th'  traitors;  lor  you  are 

proclaimM  one. 

J.ctic,  should  I  therefore  make  myself  one? 

lam,  Tliis  is  one  of  [me 

Your  moral  philosophy,  is  it?   Heav'a  bless 


From  subtilties  to  nado  myself  with !  but  I 

know,  [part 

If  Reason  herself  were  here,  she  would  not 
With  lier  own  lafety. 

Lcuc,  Well,  pardon,  Ismenus!  for  I  know 
My  courses  are  mostjust;  nor  will  I  stain  'em 
With  one   bad  action.     For  thyself,   tboa 

know'st, 
That  tho'  I  may  command  tbee,  I  shall  be 
A  ready  servant  unto  thee,  if  thou  need*st: 
And  so  1*11  take  my  leave. 

Ism.  Of  whom? 

Leuc.  Of  thee. 

Ism,  Heart,  you  shall  take  no  leave  of  me  I 

Leuc,  Sbdl  1  not  ?  [if  you  hare 

Itm,  No,  by  the  gods,  shall  you  not !  Nay, 
No  more  wit  but  to  go  absolutely  alone, 
I'll  be  in  a  IttUe. 

Leuc,  Nay,  prithee,  good  Ismenus, 
Part  with  me ! 

Ism,  I  wo'n't,  i'faitb,  ne*er  move  it 
Any  more;  for  by  this  good  light,  I  wo'not  f 

JLeuc.  This  is  an  ill  time  to  be  thus  unruly: 
Ismenus,  you  must  leave  me. 

Ism,  Yes,  if  you  can 
Beat  me  away;  else  the  gods  refuse  me. 
If  I  will  leave  you  till  I  sec  more  reason ! 
You  sha'h't  undo  yourself. 

Leuc,  But  why  wilt  not  leave  me  ? 

Ism.  Why,   I  will  tell  you,  because  when 

you  are  gone. 
Then — Life,  if  I  have  not  forgot  my  reasou. 
Hell  take  me !  you  put  me  out  of  patience  ho. 
Oh!  marry,   when  you  are  gone,   then  will 

your  moitier  [my  bend, 

— A  pox  confound  her — she  ne'er  comeb  in 
But  me  spdls  my  memory  too.    There  are  a 

hundred  reasons. 

Leuc,  But  shew  me  one. 

Istn,  Shew  you(  what  a  stir  here  is! 
Why,  I  will  slicw  you:  do  you  ihiuk — wellr 

well,  ['Tis  in  vain, 

I  know  what  I  know ;  I  pray  come,  come ! 
But  I  am  SBie— Devils  take  *em !  wliat  do  I 

meddle  with  them  ? 
You  know  yonneif— SonI,  I  think  I  am — 
Is  there  any  mas  i*  th'  world — As  if  you  kuf  w 

not  tliis  [no  reason ! 

Already  better  than  I !    Pish,  pish,  I'll  give 

Leuc.  But  I  will  tell  tU^  one,  why  thou 

shouldbt  stay : 
I  hav^  not  one  friend  in  the  covrt  but  thou. 
On  whom  I  may  he  bold  »o  trust  to  send  me 
Any  intelligence;  mid  if  thou  lov'st  me. 
Thou  wilt  do  tliis ;  thou  need'st  not  fear  to 

stny, 
For  there  are  new-Krome  proclnmaTious  out. 
Where  all  are  pardonM  but  myself. 

Ism,  Tis  true ; 
And  i'th'same  proclamntion  yowr  fine  sister 
Urania,  whom  you  us'd  so  kindly,  is  pro- 
Apparent  to  the  crown»  [claini*d  beif 

^^  You  mav  kill  vour  mother,  atid  ne*er  offend  your  father,  an  hgnesi  imin.]  FoHner  edi- 
tions. Both  sense  and  measure  require  the  emendation*  Seward. 

Uuc 


Acts.} 


CUPID'S' REVENCa 


381 


Xenc  What  tho^  tliou  m»f§t  stay  at  home 
without  danger? 

JflR.  Danger^  hang  clanger!  yrhat  tell  you 
me  of  danger? 

Leuc.  Why,  if  thon  wilt  not  do%  I  tliink 
thoo  dar'st  not.  [nest,  you  are 

j&m.  I  dare  not?  If  you  speak  of  it  in  ear* 
A  boy.  [do't. 

Leue,  Well,  sir,  if  you  dare,  let  me  see  you 
Jsm>  Why,  so  you  shall;  I  will  stay. 
Leuc,  Why,  God-ininercy — 
Ism,  You  know  I  love  you  but  too  well  I 


LeMc.  Now  take  these  few  directions,  and 

farewell ! 
Send  to  me  by  the  wariest  ways  thou  canst: 
1  Imve  a  soul  tells  me  we  shall  meet  often. 
The  gods  protect  thee  I 

jbfi.  Pox  o' myself  for  an  ass, 
Pm  crying  now !  God  be  with  ]fou !  if  I  never 
See  you  again,  why  then — Pray  get  you  gone; 
For  grief  and  anger  wo'not  let  me  know 
Wliat  I  say.    rilto  the  court 
As  fast  9s  I  can,  and  see  the  new  heir  ap« 

parent.  [Extunt. 


ACT  V. 


Enter  UranU  (in  Boy's  Cloaths)  and  her 
Maid, 

Urania.  W7HAT,  hast  tliou  found  him? 

^  ^    Maid.  Madam,  he's  coming  in. 

Ura,  Gods  bless  my  brother,  wheresoe'er 

he  is! 
And  I  beseech  you  keep  me  fro'  the  bed 
Of  any  naughty  tyrant,  whom  my  mother 
Would  ha' me  have  to  wrong  him. 

Enter  Ismenus, 

Ism.  What  would  her  new  grace  have  with 

me? 

Ura*  Leave  us  awhile.   My  lord  Ismenus, 

[Exit  Maid, 

I  pray,  for  the  love  of  Heav'n  and  God, 

That  you  would  tell  me  one  thing,  which  I 

You  can  do  weel.  [know 

IsnL  Where's  her  iuin  grace?  [you  mock; 

TJra.  You  know  me  weel  inough,  but  that 
I'm  she  mysen. 

Ism,  God  bless  him  that  shall  be  [soon, 
Thy  husband !  if  thou  wear'st  breeches  thus 
Thbult  be  as  impudent  wa  thy  mother. 

Ura,  But  will  you 
Tell  roe  this  one  thing? 

Ism,  What  is  it?  if  it 
Be  no  great  matter  whether  I  do  or  no. 
Perhaps  I  will. 

XJra,  Yes,  fiwth,  'tis  malter. 

Ism,  And  what  is*t  ? 

XJra,  I  pray  you,  let  me  know  where  the 

))rince  my  brother  is. 

Itm,  rfuith,  you  shan  he  hang'd  first ! 
Is  your  mother  so  foolish  to  think  your  good 
Can  sift  it  out  of  me  ?  [grace 

lira.  If  you  have  any  mercy 
I^ft  in  you  to  a  poor  wench,  tell  me ! 

Ism,  Why,  [for  this, 

Wouldst  not  thou  have  thy  brains  beat  out 
To  follow  thy  mother's  steps  so  young? 

Ura.  But  believe  me,  slie  knows  none  of 

Ism,  Believe  you  ?  [this. 

Why  do  you  think  I  never  had  wits? 


Or  that  I  am  run  out  of  them?  How  should  it 
Belong  to  you  to  know,  if  I  could  tell  ? 

Ura,  Why,  I  will  teO  you;  and  if  I  speak 

false. 
Let  the  de'il  ha*  me !  Yonder's  a  bad  man, 
Come  from  a  tayrant  to  my  mother,  and 

what  name 
They  ha'  for  him,  good  feith,  I  cannot  tell. 

Ism,  An  ambassador?  [^'^f^yt 

Ura,  That's  it:  but  he  would  carry  me 
And  have  me  marry  his  master ;  and  111  daye 
Ere  I  will  ha'  him. 

Ism,  But  what's  this  (o  knowing 
Where  the  prince  is?  [does 

Ura,  Yes;  for  ye  know  all  my  mother^ 
Agen  the  prince,  is  but  to  ma  me  great. 

Ism,  Pray  (I  know  that  too  well),  what 

Ura,  Why,  [then? 

I  would  go  to  the  good  marquis  my  brotlier. 
And  put  myself  into  his  hands,  tiiat  so 
He  may  preserve  himself.         [tlier  in  thee. 

Ism.  Oh,  that  thou  hadst  no  seed  of  thy  mo- 
And  couldst  mean  this  now ! 

Ura,  Why,  ifethldo; 
'Would  I  might  never  stir  more  if  I  do  not ! 

Ism,  I  shidl  prove  a  ridiculous  fool,  I'll  be 

damn'd  else:- 
Hang  me,  if  I  don't  half  believe  thee! 

Ura,  By  my  troth. 
You  may.  [ass  for't. 

Ism,  by  my  troth,  I  do!  I  know  I'm  an 
But  I  can't  help  it. 

Ura.  And  won  you  tell  me  then  ? 

Ism,  Yes,  faith  will  I,  or  any  thing  else 

i'th'  world; 
For  I  think  thou  art  as  good  a  creature  as 
Ever  was  born. 

Ura,  But  ail  co  i'this  lad's  reparel ; 
But  you  mun  help  me  to  silver. 

Ism.  Help  thee?  why,  the  pox  take  him 
That  will  not  help  thee  to  any  thing  i'th' 

world !  [sently  too : 

ril  help  thee  to  money,  and  Fll  do't  pre- 
And  yet— Soul,  if  you  should  play  the  scurvy 

harlotry, 


382 


CUPID'S  revenge; 


[Act  8i, 


The  little  pocky  baggage  now,  and  cozen  me, 
"Wlmt  then? 

Ura,  Why,  an  I  do,  would  I  might  ne'er 
See  day  agam !  ^  * 

Ian.  Nay,  by  this  light,  I  do  not  think 
Tliou  wilt:  I'll  presently  provide  thee 
Money  and  a  letter.  [Exit, 

TJra,  Ay,  but  I'll  ne'er  deliver  it. 
When  I  have  found  my  brother,  I  will  beg 
To  serve  him ;  but  he  shall  ne*er  know  who 

I  am; 
For  he  must  hate  me  then  fop  my  bad  mother : 
ril  say  I  am  a  country  lad  that  want  a  service, 
And  have  straid  on  him  by  chance,  lest  he 

discover  me. 
I  know  I  must  not  live  long,   but  that  |:aimc 
I  ha*  to  spend,  shall  be  in  serving  him.  [away, 
And  tho    my  mother  seek  to  take  his  life 
In  ai  day*'  my  brother  shall  be  taught 
That  I  was  ever  good^  tho*  she  were  naught. 

[Exit, 

Knter  Bacha  and  Timantus  ;  Bacha  reading 
a  Letter. 

Bacha.  Run  away?  the  devil  be  her  guide  ! 

Tim.  Faith,  she's  aone! 
There  is  k  letter;  I  fcund  it  in  her  pocket. 
'Would  I  were  with  her!   she's  a  handsome 

lady ;  [her 

A  plague  upon  my  bashfuhiess!  I  had  bobb'd 
Long  ago  else.  [afler  all 

£icha.  What  a  base  whore  is  this,  that, 
My  ways  for  her  advancement,  should  so 

poorly 
Make  virtue  her  undoer,  and  chusc  this  time. 
The  king  being  deadly  sick,  and  I  intending 
A  present  marriage  with  some  foreign  prince, 
To  strengthen  and  secure  myself  1  She  writes 

here. 
Like  a  wise  gentlewcfman,  slie  will  not  stay ; 
And  the  example  of  her  dear  brother  makes 

her 
Fear  herself  ^°,  to  whom  she  means  to  fly. 

Tim.  Why,  who  can  help  it  ?       [thy  end, 

Bacha.  Now  poverty  and  lechery,  which  is 
Rot  thee,  where'er  thou  goest,  with  all  thy 

goodness !  [were  of  brass ! 

Srim,  ByV  lady,  they'll  bruise  her,  an  she 
Fm  sure  they'll  break  stone  walls :  I've  liad 

experience  [rate. 

0'  them  both,  and  they  have  made  roe  despe- 
But  there's  a  messenger,  madam,  come  from 

tl>e  prince 
With  a  letter  to  Ismenus,  vrho  by  him 
Returns  an  answer. 

Bacha.  This  comes  as  pat  as  wishes : 
Thou  shalt  presently  awav,  Timantus. 

Tim.  Whither,  madam )  [senger  for  guide ! 

Bacha.  To  the  prince;   and  take  tlie  mes- 


Tkn.  What  shall  I  do  ihex^  ?  I  Imve  dom 

too  much  pacape 

Mischief  to  be  believ'd  again;  or,  indeed,  to 

With  my  head  on  my  back,  if  I  be  once  known  < 

Bacha.  ThouVt  a  weak  shallow  fool!  Get 

thee  a  disguise ;  [have  a  letter 

And  withal,  when  tliou  com'st  befbre  him, 

Feign'd  to  deliver  him ;  and  then,  as  thou 

Hast  ever  hope  of  goodness  by  me,  or  after  me. 

Strike  one  home  stroke,  that  sliall  not  need 

anotlier  I  [feUest  off, 

Dar*8t  thou?  speak!  dar'st  tbour    If  thou 

Go  be  a  rogue  again,  and  lie  aiKJ  pandar 

To  procure  thy  meat!   Dar'st  thou?  speok 

loi|ie!  [dead, 

Tim.  Sure  I  shall  never  walk  when  I  am 

I  have  no  spirit.     Madam,  I'll  be  drunk. 

But  I  will  do  it;  that  is  all  my  refiige.  [£r*^- 

Bacha.  Away !  no  more !  Then  I  will  raise 

an  army    ^  [and  power 

Whilst  the  king  yet  lives,  if  all  the  means 

I  have  can  do  it  ;*  I  can't  tell. 

Enter  Innenus  and  the  three  Lords. 

Ism.  Are  *you  inventing  still  ?  well  ease 

your  studies. 

Bacha.  Why,  how  now,  saucy  lords? 

Ism.  Nay,  rll  shake  you!  yes,  devil,  I  vrill 

shake  you ! 

Bacha.  Do  not  you  know  me,  lords? 

Nisus.  Yes,  deadly  sin,   we  know  you: 
,  'would  we  did  not !  [upon  thee ! 

Ism.  Do  you  hear,  whore?  a  plague  o'God 
The  duke  is  dead. 

Bacha.  Dead? 

Ism.  Ay,  ,  [man,  be 

Wildfire  and  brimstone  take  thee!  Goo4 
Is  dead,  and  past  tliose  miseries,  which  thoa. 
Thou  salt  infection  like,  like  a  disease  ['twere 
Flungest  upon  his  head.  Dost  thou  hear?  An 
Not  more  respect  to  womanhood  in  general 
Than  thee,  because  I  had  a  mother,  who — 
I  will  not  say  she  was  goody  she  liv'd  so  near 
Thy  time; — I  would  have  thee,  in  venjgeance 

of  [this  time. 

This  man,  whose  peace  is  made  in  Heav'n  hy 
Tied  to  a  post,  and  dried  i'th'  sun;  and  after 
Carried  about,  and  shewn  at  fairs  for  money. 
With  a  long  story  of  the  devil  thy  father. 
That  taught  tliee  to   be  whorish,  envioo^ 

bloody. 

Bacha.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  [leap  thee. 

Ism.  You  fleering  harlot,  Fll  have  a  liorse  to 
And  thy  base  issue  shall  carry  sumpters^'. 

C  ome,  lords ;  [where 

Brin^  her  along !    We'll  to  the  prince  aU, 
Her  hell-hood  shall  wait  his  censure;  and  if 

he  spare  [and  beside, 

Tliec,  she-goat^  may  he  lie  with  thee  agaiol 


^^  In  ai  daj/;^  i^  e.  in  one  day. 

^  Fear  her  set f^  Seward  reads,  Fear  for  herself;  but  the  text  is  good  sense,  according  to 
the  idiom  prevailing  in  our  authors'  time. 

''  Shall  carrjf  sumpters.]  A  iuv^ier  liorse,  is  that  which  carries  the  provisions  and  bag- 
gage,       it.       . 

Mays% 


Act  5.] 


CUPID'S  REVENGE, 


383 


If  a^st  thoa  lay  vpon  him  some  nasty  foul 
disease,  [ditch ! — 

That  hate  stili  follows,  and  his  end  a  dry 

Lead,  you  corrupted  whore,  or  1*11  draw  a 
goad 

Shall  make  yon  skip;  away  to  the  prince ! 
Bacha,  Hny  ha,  ha ! 

I  hope  yet  I  shall  come  too  late  to  find  him. 

[Exeunt, 

Comett^^,    Cupid  descends, 

Cvpid,  The  time  now  of  my  revenge  draws 
Nor  shall  it  lessen,  as  I  am  a  t^d,  [near; 
With  all  the  cries  and  prayers  tliat  have  heen, 
And  those  that  be  to  come,  tho'  they  he  in- 
finite 
In  need  and  number' ^ !  [Ascends, 

Enter  Leticippus  and  Urania, 

Leuc,  Alas,  poor  boy,  why  dost  thou  fol- 
low me  ?  [art. 
What  canst  thou  hope  for?  J  am  poor  as  uiou 
Ura.  In  good  £etb,  I  shall  be  weel  and  rich 
enoogh 
If  you  will  love  me,  and  not  put  me  from  you ! 
Leuc.  Why  dost  thou  chuse  out  me,  boy, 
to  undo  thee  ? 
Ajas,  for  pity,  take  another  master. 
That  may  be  able  to  deserve  thy  love    [not. 
In  breeding  thee  hereafter !  me  tbou  knowest 
More  than  my  misery;  and  therefore  canst 
not                                                      [able, 
Look  for  rewards  at  my  hands:  'would  1  were 
My  pretty  knave,  to  do  thee  any  kindness ! 
Traly,  good  boy,  I  would,  upon  my  faith; 
Thy  harmless  innocence  moves  me  at  heart. 
WUt  thou  go  save  thyself?    Why  dost  thou 
Alas,  I  do  not  chide  thee.                 [weep  ? 
Ura.  1  cannot  tell;                        [more,: 
If  I  go  from  YOU,  sir,  I  shall  ne*er  draw  day 
Pray,  if  you  can  (I  will  be  time  to  you). 
Let  me  wait  on  you !  If  I  were  a  mau, 
I  would  fight  for  you:  sure  you  have  some 
I  would  slay  'em.                          [iiUwillers ; 
Leuc.  Such  harmless  souls  are  ever  pro- 
phets,                                          [roe  still: 
Welly  take  thy  wish'^;  thou  shalt  he  with 
But,  prithee  eat,  my  good  boy!  thou  wilt  die. 
My  child,  if  thou  &st  one  day  more;  these 

four  days 
Th'  hast  tasted  nothing :  go  into  the  cave, 
And  cat;  thou  shalt  fipd  something  for  thee. 
To  bring  thy  blood  again,  and  thy  fair  coloor. 
Ur(u  I  cimnot  eat,  God  thank  you !  but 
To-morrow.  [I'll  eat 


Xfiic.  Thou't  be  dead  by  that  time« 

Ura,  I  should  be 
Well  then ;  for  youll  not  love  me. 

Leuc,  Indeed  I  will. —  [yet  !— 

This  is  the  prettiest  passion  that  e*cr  I  felt 
Why  dost  thou  look  so  earnestly  upon  me? 

Ura.  You've  fair  eyes,  master, 

Leuc,  Sure  the  boy  dotes ! — 
Why 'dost  tljou  sigh,  my  cliild  ? 

Ura,  To  think  that  such  [him. 

A  fine  man  should  live,  and  no  gay  lady  love 

Leuc,  Thou  wilt  love  me  ? 

Ura.  Yes  sure,  till  I  die;  and  when 
I  am  in  Heaven,  I'll  e*en  wish  for  you. 

Leue.  And  1*11  come  to  ihee,  boy.-^This 

is  a  love  [»leepy,  child; 

I  never  yet  heard  tell  of. — Come,  thou'rc 
Go  in,  and  111  sit  with  thee. — lieav*n,  what 

portends  this  ?  [I  could 

Ura.  You're  sad,  butFm  not  sleepy:  'would 
Do  aught  to  make  yod  merrv ;  shall  1  singf 

Leuc.  If  thou  wilt,  good  boy.    Alas,  nj 

boy,  that  thou 
Shoufdst  comfort  me,  and  art  fur  worse  than  I! 
Enter  llmantus^  disguised. 

Ura,  La*,  master,  therd  is  one;  look  to 

yourself!  [place, 

Leuc,  What  art  thou,  that  into  tlus  dismal 
Wiiich  nothing  could  find  out  but  misery. 
Thus  boldly  step'st?  Comfort  was  never  lie  re; 
Here  is  no  food,  nor  beds,  nor  any  house 
Built  by  a  better  architect  than  beasts; 
And  ere  you  get  a  dwelling  from  one  of  them. 
You  must  fight  for  it :  if  you  conquer  him. 
He  is  your  meat;  if  not,  you  must  be  his. 

jHrn,  I  come  to  you  (for,  if  I  not  mistake. 
You  arc  the  prince)  from  that  most  noble  lord 
Israenus,  witli  a  letter. 

Ura,  Alas,  I  fear 
I  shall  be  discover'd  now. 

Leuc,  Now  I  feel 
Myself  the  poorest  of  all  mortal  things: 
Where  is  he  that  receives  such  courtesies. 
But  he  has  means  to  shew  his  gratefulness 
Some  way  or  other?  I  have  none  at  all ! 
I  know  not  how  to  speak  so  much  as  well 
Of  thee,  but  to  these  trees. 

Tim,  His  letters  speak  him,  sir,  [till  Idle! 

Ura.  Gods  keep  me  but  from  knowing  him 
Ah  me !  sure  I  cannot  live  a  day. 

[Leucippus  opening  the  letter,  the  whilst 
Tinuintus  rum  at    him,  and  Urauiti 
steps  before. 
Oh,  thou  foul  traitor?  How  do  you,  master? 


'*  Cornets.  Cupid  from  ahoroe^  Seward,  seeing  *  no  propriety*  in  the  comets  *  belonging 
'  to  Cupid,*  plnbes  that  direction  at  the  end  of  the  foregoing  scene;  but  why  displace  the 
cornets  here,  since  he  inserts  them  on  Cupidt%  other  appearances?  We  have  made  this  direc- 
tion like  the  former. 

'*  Cupid.  The  time  now,  ^c*]  'Th**  speech,  till  Seward  very  properly  introduced  it  here, 
was  placed  at  the  end  of  the  play,   nutwithstanding  the  direction  quoted  in  tlie  la&t  note 
toocf  where  it  now  does, 
f^  Weli^  I  take  th%f  wish.']  The  paeasure  fwd  sense  both  require  us  to  expunge  the  I, 

tSewurdt 
Leuc* 


3^4 


CUPID'S  REVENGE. 


[Act  9. 


Leue.  How  dost  thou,  my  child  ?— Alas! 

look  on  this ; 
It  may  make  thee  repentant,  to  behold 
Those  innocent  drops  that  thou  hast  drawn 

from  thence. 

Ura.  'Tis  nothing,  sir,  an  you  be  well. 

Tim,  Oh,  pardon  rae ! 
Know  you  me  now,  sir  f 

Leuc.  How  couldst  thou  find  me  out? 

Tim.  We  intercepted 
A  letter  from  Ismenus,  and  th^  bearer 
Directed  me. 

Leuc,  Stand  up,  Timantus,  boldly ! 
The  world  conceives  that  thou  art  guilty 
Of  divers  treasons  to  the  state  and  me : 
But  oh,  far  be  it  from  the  innocence 
Of  a  just  man,  to  give  a  traitor  death 
"Without  a  trial!  Here  the  country  is  not 
To  purge  dice  or  condemn  thee'';  there- 
fore take 
A  nobler  trial  than  thou  dost  deserve, 
Ratlier  than  none  at  all :  here  I  accuse  thee, 
Before  the  face  of  Ueav*n,  to  be  a  traitor 
Both  to  the  duke  my  father  and  to  me. 
And  the  whole  land..    Speak!  is  it  so,  or  no^ 

3V»i.  Tis  true,  sir:  pardon  me! 

Leuc.  Take  heed,  Timantus, 
How  thou  dost  cast  away  thyself!  I  must 
Proceed  to  execution  hastily  [or  no  ? 

If  thou  confess  it:  speak  once  ag&in!  id'ttso, 

Tim,  1  am  not  guilty,  sir. 

Leuc,  Godd  and  tliy  sword 
Acquit  thee !  here  it  is.  [Gives  fum  his  sword, 

IHtn,  I'll  not  use  any  violence 
Against  your  highness. 

Leuc,  At  thy  peril  then ! 
For  this  must  he  thy  trial ;  and  from  henceforth 
Look  to  thyself! 

[I'ifnantus    draws  his  sword,   ikey  J^o^t 
Timantus  falls, 

TSm.  I  do  beseech  you,  sir. 
Let  me  not  fight. 

Leuc.  Up,  u|)  again,  Timantus! 
There  is  no  way  but  this,  believe  me.  Now  i^ 
Fy,  fy^  Timantus !  is  there  no  usage  can 
Recover  thee  from  baseness !  Wert  thou  longer 
To  converse  with  men,  Td  have  chid  thee 
Be  all  thy  &ults  forgiven!  [for  this. 

Tim.  Oh,  spare  me,  sir!  I^am  not  fit  for 

dcatli. 

Leuc,  I  think  thou  art  not ;  '^ct  trust  me, 

fitter  than 
For  life.   Yet  tell  me,  ere  thy  breath  be  gone^ 
Know'st  of  any  other  plots  against  me  ^ 

Tim,  Of  none. 

Leuc,  Wliat  course  wouldst  thou  have 
taken,  when  thou  hadst  kill'd  me  i 

l^im.  I  would  have  ta*en  your  page,  and 

married  her. 

Leuc.  What  page  ?  [Urania  swoons, 

Tim,  Your  boy  there —  [Dies, 


""u: 


Lmtc,  It  he  fall'n  mad  in  death?  what 

does  he  mean  ?  [dost  thou? 

Some  good  god  lielp  me  at  the  worst!  How 
Let  not  thy  misery  vex  me ;  diou  shalt  have 
What  thy  poor  heart  can  wish :  I  am  a 

prince. 
And  I  will  keep  tliee  in  the  gayest  cloatlis. 
And  the  finest  things,  that  ever  p  retty  boy 
Had  given  him. 

Uru,  I  know  you  well  enouglu 
Feth,  I  am  dyin^ ;  and  now  you  know  ail  too. 

Leuc.  But  stir  up  thyself:  look  what  a 

jewel  here  is. 
See  how  it  glisters !  what  a  pretty  show 
Will  this  make  in  thy  little  ear!  tia,  speak! 
Eat  but  a  bit,  and  take  it. 

Ura,  Do  you  not 'know  me?     [well  said; 

Leuc,  I  prithee  miud  thy  health!  why,  that's 
good  boy,  smil^  still. 
^ra,  I  slmll  smile  'till  death. 
An  I  see  you!  I  am  Urania, 
Your  sisteivin-law* 

Leuc.  Uow! 

Ura,  I  am  Urania.  [tbee  well  s 

Leuc.  Dulness  did  seize  me!  now  I  know 
Alas,  why  cam'st  thou  hiclier  ? 

Ura,  Feth,  for  love : 
I  would  not  let  yop  know  'till  I  was  dying ; 
For  you  could  not  love  me,  my  mother  was 
So  naught, 

Leuc,  1  will  love  thee,  or  any  tliii^ ! 
What,  wilt  thou  leave  me  as  soon  as  I  knoi* 

thcef 
Speak  one  word'to  me!  Alas,  sbe*s  past  it! 
She  will  never  speak  more. —    • 
What  noise  is  that  ?  it  is  no  matter  who 

Enter  Ismenus  with  the  Lords. 

Comes  on  me  uow. — ^What  worse  than  mad 

are  yon. 
That  seek  out  sorrows?  if  you  love  delighta^ 
Begon^  from  hence ! 

um.  Sir,  for  yoii  we  come,  [suffered 

As  soldiers  to  revenge  the  wrongs  jou*tc 
Under  this  naughty  creature :  what  shall  be 
Say ;  I  am  ready.  [done  with  her? 

Letic,  Leave  her  to  Heaven,  brave  cousiA ! 
They  shall  tell  her  how  sh'has  sinn*d  against 

'em;  £bk>od. 

My  hand  shall  ne*er  be  stain'd  with  such  base 
Live,  wicked  mother!  that  reverend  tide  be 
'Your  pardon !  for  Til  use  no  extremitj 
Against  you, -but  leave  you  to  Heav'n.  i 

Bacha.  Hell  take  you  all!  or,  if  there  bea 

nlace 
Of^ torment  that  exceeds  that,  get  you  thither! 
And  'till  the  devils  have  you,  may  your  lives 
Be  one  continu'd  plague,  and  such  a  one 
That  knows  no  friends  nor  ending!  may  all 

ages 
That  bhall  succeed  curte  you,  as  I  do!  and 


5*  To  purge  thee  or  condemn  thee;  therefore 

A  nobler  tritU  thttn  thou  dost  deserve^  Here  a  verb  is  evidently  left  oaty  being  equally 
necessaiT  to  the  sense  and  measurct       Seward^ 

-  If 


Act  5,] 


CUPID'?  REVENGE. 


385 


If  it  oe  possible,  I  ask  k  lleav'n, 
That  your  base  issues  may  be  ever  monsters. 
That  roust,  for  shame  of  nature  and  suc- 
cession, [to  poison  you  '* ! 
Be  drown'd  like  dogs!  'Would  I  had  breath 
*     Leuc.  'Would  you  had  love  within  you, 

and  such  grief 
As  might  become  a  mother!  Look  you  there ! 
Know  you  that  ftice?  that  was  Urania: 
Tiesc  are  the  fruits  of  tliose  unhappy  mothers, 
That  labour  with  such  horrid  births  as  you  do ! 
If  you  can  weep,  there's  cause;  poor  innocent. 
Your  wickedness  has  kill'd  her:  Fll  weep  for 

you. 

Jsm.  Monstrous  woman ! 
Mai-s  would  weep  at  this,  and  yet  she  cannot. 

Leuc,  Here  lies  your  minion  too,  slain  by 

my  hand : 
I  will  not  say  you  are  the  cause ;  yet  certain, 
I  know  you  were  to  blame :  the  gods  forgive 

you!  s  • 

Ism.  See,  she  stands  as  if  she  were  inventing 
Some  new  destruction  for  the  world. 

Leiic.  Ismenus, 
ThouVt  welcome  yet  to  my  sad  company. 

Ism,  I  come  to  make  you  somewhat  sadder, 

sir.  •  [already. 

J.euc,  You  cannot;  I  am  at  the   height 

Ism.  Your  father's  dead ! 

Leuc.  I  thought  so ;  Ileav'n  be  ^^  ith  him ! 
Oh,  woman,  woman,  weep  now  or  never)  thou 
Uast  made  more  sorrows  than  we\'e  eyes  to 

utter. 

Bacha,  Now  let  Heav'n  full!  I'm  at  the 

worst  of  evils ; 
A  thing  so  miserably  wretched,  tlmt 
Ev*ry  thing,  the  hu>t  of  human  comforts,  hath 

left  me! 
I  will  not  be  so  base  and  cold  to  live. 
And  wait  the  mercies  of  these  men  1  hate : 
No,  it  is  just  I  die,  since  fortune  hath  left  me. 
My   steep    descent  attends    me^^:    hand, 

strike  thou  home  I 
I've  soul  euough  to  guide ;  and  let  all  know, 


As  I  stood  a  queen,  the  same  Fll  fall, 
And  one  with  me! 

[Stabs  the  Prince,  then  herself. 

Leuc.  Oh! 

Jjjwf .  How  do  you,  sir  ?  [here, 

Leuc.  Nearer  my  health  than  I  think  any 
My  tongue  begins  to  falter :  what  is  man  i 
Or  who  would  be  one,  when  he  sees  a  poor 
Weak  woman  can  in  an  instant  make  him 

Dor.  She's  dead  already.  [none  ? 

Ism.  Let  her  be  damn'd 
Already,  as  she  is!  Post  fill  for  surgeons! 

Leuc.  Let  not  a  man  stir !  for  I  am  but  dead. 
I've  some  few  words  which  I  would  have  you 

hear,  [*em: 

And  am  afraid  I  shall  want  breath  to  speak 
Fii*st  to  you,'m^  lords;  jovl  know  Ismenus  is 
Undoubted  heir  of  Lycia'*;  I  do  beseech 

you  all, 
When  I  am  dead,  to  sliew  your  duties  to  hiia. 

Lords,  We  vow  to  do't. 

Leuc,  I  thank  you.    Next  to  you. 
Cousin  Ismenus,  tliat  sliall  be  the  duke^ 
I  pray  you  let  the  broken  images  ** 
Of  Cupid  be  re-edi6ed!  I  know 
All  this  is  done  by  liim. 

Ism.  It  shall  be  so.  [in-la\v 

Leuc,  Last,  I  beseech  you  that  my  mother* 
May  have  a  bunal  accoraing  to-»        [^Dies* 

Ism,  To  what,  sir? 

Dor.  There's  a  full  point!  [burial 

Ism,  I  will  interpret  for  him :  she  shall  have 
According  to  lier  own  deserts,  with  dogs! 

Dor.  I  would  your  majesty  would  haste 
Of  the  people.  [for  settling 

Ism.  I'm  ready. 

Age.  Go ;  and  let  the  trumpets  sound 
Some  mournful  thing,  whilst  we  convey  the 

body 
Of  this  unhappy  prince  unto  the  comt, 
AnH  of  that  vutuous  virgin  to  a  grave ! 
But  drag  licr  to  a  ditch,  wliere  let  her  lie, 
Accursa,  whilst  one  man  has  a  memory! 

[Ereunt. 

'^  Would  I  had  breath  to  poison  you,}  Some  editions  (Seward's  among  the  immber)  read. 

Would  1  had  brrath  to  please  you. 
'7  My  step  descent  attends  me.]  Corrected  in  1750. 
'•  Undoubtedly  heir.]  Varied  by  Seward. 
*♦  I  pray  you  let  the  broken  image  of  Cupid,]  Altered  in  1750.  ' 


In  the  course  of  Mr.  Seward's  notes  on  this  play,  he  remarks,  that  '  Had  this  whole  plot, 
'  a  father  marrying  his  son's  whore,  the  son's  ()eniLence  and  distress,  and  her  plots  for  his 
'  destruction,  been  wrought  into  a<  tragedy^  without  the  idle  machinery  of  Cupid  and  his 

<  Revenge,  it  would  have  afibrdetd  sufficient  matter  to  such  geniuses  as  our  authors :'  and 
afterwaras  says, '  I  cannot  take  leave  of  this  play  without  a^in  regrettln|  the  farcical  inter- 

<  mixture  of  die  machinery  of  Cupid,  from  whence  it  takes  its  name.    Without  this,  and  t^^e 

<  ridiculous  death  of  the  princess,  what  a  noble  tragedy  would  our  authors  have  left  us!  The 
^  character  of  the  king,  fron)  his  ridiculous  dotage  on  his  children,  to  a  still  more  ridiculous 


pressing  our  cpncerD,  that  so  much  admirable  poetry  should  be  bestowed  on  so  absurd  a  drama. 
VOL.  m.  3D  THE 


THE  TWO  ISrOBLE  KINSMEN. 


TBis  Play  was  first  printed  in  quarto^  anna  1634,  under  the  follorring  title:  'TheTwoXobfe 

*  Kinsmen:  presented  at  tbe  Blackfriers  by  the  Kings  Maiesties  Sermntsy  with  great  ap- 

*  plause:  written  by  the  membrable  Worthies  of  their  tune,  Mr.  John  Fletclier,  and 
'  Mr.  William  Shakspeare,  Gent.;'  and  has  always  been  received  as  the  production  ^f 
those  Poets.  In  the  year  1668,  it  was  altered  by  Sir  William  Davenant,  n  ho  gave  it  the 
^tle  of  The  Rivab;  when  it  appeai-s  to  have  been  acted  with  great  success. 


PROLOGUE. 


[Flourish. 
New  plays  and  maidenlieads  are  near  a-kin; 
Much  followed  both,  for  both  much  money 

If  they  stand  sound,  and  well:  and  a  good 

(Whose  modest  scenes  blush  on  his  marriage- 

day, 
And  shake  to  lose  his  honour)  is  like  her 
That  after  holy  tie,  and  first  night's  stir, 
Yet  still  is  modesty,  and  still  retains  [pains. 
More  of  the  maid  to  sight,  than  husband's 
We  pray  our  play  may  be  so;  for  I'm  sure 
It  has  a  noble  breeder,  and  a  pure, 
A  learned,  and  a  poet  never  went 
^ore  famous  vet 'twixt  Po,  and  silver  Trent: 
;  Chaucer  (of  all  adinir'd)  tbe  story  gives ; 
VXhere  constant  to  eternity  it  lives! 
If  we  let  fall  the  nobleness  of  this, 
And  the  first  sound  this  child  hear  be  a  hiss, 


How  will  it  shake  tlie  bones  of  that  good  man. 
And  make  him  cry  from  under-ground,^ Oh, 

ian 
'  From  me  the  witless  chaff  of  such  a  writer, 
'  That  blasts  my  bays,  and  my  lamM  works 

make  lighter  fbring; 

'  Than  Kobin  HoodH    This  b  the  iear  we 
For,  to  say  truth,  it  were  an  endless  thing, 
And  too  ambitious,  to  aspire  to  him. 
Weak  aswc  are,  and  almost  breathless  swim. 
In  this  deep  water,  do  but  you  hold  out 
Your  helping  hands,  and  we  shall  tack  about! 
And  something  do  to  save  us,  you  shall  hear 
Scenes,  tbo'  below  his  art,  may  yet  appear 
Worth  two  hours'  travel.  To  his  bones  sweet 

sleep ! 
Content  to  you ! — If  this  play  do  not  keep 
A  little  dull  time  from  us,  we  perceive 
Our  losses  fiidl  so  thick,  we  must  needs  leave. 

[FlouriMk. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED^. 


Mek. 

Theseos,  Duke  cf  Athens, 

Palamon,  >  Tbe  Two  Xoble  Kinsmen,  in 

Arcite,     I     iffoe  with  Emilia^ 

Perithous,  an  Athenian  GeneraL 

Valerius,  a  Theban  Nobleman, 

Three  valiant  Knights. 

Herald. 

Jailob, 

Wooer. 


Gerrold,  a  Schoolmaster. 

A  Taborer^  Countrynen,  Soldiers^  Sfim 

Women. 

Hippo  LIT  A,  Bride  to  Theseus. 

Emilia,  her  Sitter, 

Three  Queens. 

Jailor's  Daughter,  in  love  with  PoZsmoft. 

Servant  to  Emilia. 

Njfmp/is,  Wencltes,  4^ 


'  Hymen  has  hitherto  stood  as  a  personage  of  this  drama,  and  even  the  Ur.-t  -.  :-  \w  o 
appears  in  the' I uiuiv^how,  vvr  hfive  expunged  the  name.  Tlw  \\i"tr,  Uivi'cJi  a  wwv;.\'J 
ofioiae  coiibideratioij^  bus  ain;iy5  Ll'-'U  rxiiiiv.i:  nmi  ^o  ^.di.  i\iit;riU6. 


:ii); 


ACT 


3« 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[Act  1.  Scene  1. 


ACT   L 


SCENE  I. 

• 

Enter  Hymm  tcith  a  Torch  bummgynBo^f 
in  a  white  Robe,  before,  unging,  andttretV" 
tug  Flou,ers  ;  after  Ui/men,  a  Nyinph,  enr 
cmnpat9ed  in  her  Tresses,  hearing  a  wheatein 
Gqrlund;  then  Theseus,  between  two  other 
Nt/mphs,  with  whealen  Chiwlets  on  their 
Heads;  then  HippoUta,  ledhif  FerUhoux\ 
and  another  holding  a  Garland  aver  her 
.  Headf  her  Tresses  likewise  hanging  ;  after 
her,  Emilia^  /lolding  up  her  Train, 

SONG. 

T>  OSES,  their  sharp  spiiies  being  goii«^ 
•"    Not  royal  in  their  smells  alone. 

But  in  their  hue ; 
Maiden^inks,  of  odour  fnint, 
Daisies  smeii-less,  yet  most  quaint, 

And  sweet  thime  true. 

Primrose,  first-bom  child  of  Ver, 
Merry  soring-time's  liarbinger. 

With  ner  bells  dim ; 
Oxlips  in  their  cradles  crowing,  • 
Marigolds  on  death-beds  blowing, 

Lark-heels  trun. 

All,  dear  Nature's  children  sweety 
Lye  'fore  bride  and  bridegroom's  feet, 

Blessing  their  sense !  [Strew  flowers. 

Not  an  angel  of  the  iiir% 
Bird  melodious,  or  bird  fair, 

Be  absent  hence ! 

The  crow,  the  slanderous  cuckoo,  nor 
The  boding  raven,  nor  chough  hoar^,. 


Nor  cfaattViog  pic. 
May  Qix  Qur  bridehouse  perch  or  sing^ 
Or  with  them  any  discord  bring. 

But  from  it  fly ! 

J£nter  three  Queens,  in  black,  with  taU 
j  stained,  with  imperial  Crowtis.  The  first 
^   Queen  falls  down  at  the  foot  of  Theseus ; 

the  second  Jails  down  at  the  foot  rf  Bip^ 

polita  i  the  third  before  EmiUa, 

1  Queen.  For  pity*s  sake,  and   tru«  sen- 
Hear  and  respect  me!  [tiht;.\-, 

2  Queen.  For  your  mother's  sake, 

And  as  you  wish  your  womb  may  thrive  w;ib 
Hear  and  respect  me !  [fair  one:*, 

3  Queen,  Now  for  the  love  of  him  wliom 
Jove  hath  mark'd 

The  honour  of  your  bed,  and  for  tlie  sake 
Of  clear  virginity,  be  advocate 
For  us,  and  our  distresses !  This  good  deed 
Shall  raze  you  out  o'  th'  book  of  trespasses 
All  vou  are  set  down  there. 

'fhes.  Sad  lady,  rise ! 

Hip,  Stand  up  ! 

Em,  No  knees  to  roe!  What  woman  I 
May  sted  that  is  distressed,  does  bind  me  to 

her.  [tbraU. 

Thes,  What's  your  request?    Dehveryou 

1  Queen,  We  are  three  queens,    whose 

sovereigns  fell  before 
The  wrath  of  cruel  Creon;  who  endur'd 
llie  beaks  of  ravens,  talons  of  the  kites. 
And  pecks  of  crows,  in  the  foul  fields  of 

Thebes. 
He  .will  not  snffier  us  to  bum  their  bones. 
To  um  their  ashes,  nor  to  take  th*  offence 


*  llien  HippoUta  the  bride,  led  by  Theseus.]  Mr.  Theobald  veiy  justly  cluinged  Tktaeus 
here  to  Perithous.  Seward, 

3  Not  an  angel  of  the  atr.]  Mr.  Theobald  was  very  fond  of  a  change  here,  which  I  can  by 
no  means  admit;  as  be  happened  not  to  bee  the  authors'  design  in  applying  tlie  word  an^ 
to  birds,  he  would  read  atigel,  from  the  Italian  aueello,  a  bird.  But  beside  the  objection 
there  is  to  admitting  words  of  foreign  extraction  without  authority  into  the  text  (a  thing  by 
no  means  justifiable),  there  would  oe  a  needless  tautology, 

Not  an  augel  or  bird  of  the  air. 

Bird  melodious,  or  bird  fair. 
Several  birds  too  areetcluded  in  tlie  next  stanza,  which  renders  atige/ improper,  wberess 
angel  very  beautiful^  expresses  the  birds  of  melody  and  good  omen.  ^^^eward. 

♦  The  boding  raven^  nor  dough  he 

Nor  chatCrin^  pie.]  Clough  he,  which  is  the  reading  of  all  the  editions,  is  neither  sense 
Dorrhime.  My  dictionaries  at  least  have  no  such  bird  as  r/ou^'A.  CAmigA  is  Shakespeare 
and  Fletcher's  nauieof  a  9'acfc<*dav,  of  which  Ray  says,  Fostica  pars  capitis  dneraseit.  But 
he  (and  from  him  theOxJord  editor)  mistakes,  in  mating  the  choughthe  coracias  a  fireqnenter 
of  the  Cornish- dife  only,  which  has  no  such  grey  feathers.  Besides,  Sliakespearc*s  chough 
feeds  on  com,  for  Autolocus,  in  the  W interns  Tale,  says,  *  My  choughs  are  scar*d  fitmi  the 
*  chaff.'  So  that  the  chough  must  be  the  daw  or  the  rook,  which  has  often  grey  feathers  on 
tlie  head  and  back.  See  Kay  on  Birds.  There  can  be  no  reason  to  doubt  therefore  of  our 
having  got  the  true  substantive;  for  he  we  must  have  an  adjective  that  suits  the  chough,  and 
also  rhimes  to  nor;  hoar  will  do  both,  the  chough  having  greyish  feathers  on  his  head,  iixMn 
whence  Shakespeare  caUs  him  the  rumt'pated  chough*  Midsommer-Night's  Dieani.  Semm4, 

Of 


Act  1.  Scene  1.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


Of  mortal  loathsomenest  firom  the  blest  eye 
Of  holy  Pbcebus,  but  infects  the  winds 
With  stench  of  our  slain  lords.    Oh^  pity, 

dakel  [sword, 

Thou  purger  of  the  earth,  draw  thy  fear'd 
CThat  does  good  turns  to  th'  world ;  give  us 
)     the  bones 

Of  our  d^idkingSy  that  we  may  chapel  them ! 
And,of  thy  boundless  goodness,  take  some  note 
That  for  our  crowned  heads  we  have  no  roof 
Save  this,  which  b  the  Lion's  and  the  bear's, 
And  vault  to  every  thing ! 

The$,  Pray  you  kneel  not !  [suffered 

I  was  transported  with'^our  speech,  and 
Your  knees  to  wrong  themselves.    I've  Iseard 

tlie  fortunes        '  pamenting 

Of  your  dead  lords,  which  gives  me  such 
As  wakes  my  vengeance  and  revenge  for  'em. 
King  Capanens  was  your  lord :  the  day 
That  be  should  marry  you,  at  such  a  aefuion 
As  now  it  is  with  me,  I  met  your  groom 
By  Mars*s  altar ;  you  were  that  time  fair, 
Not  Juno's  mantle  fairer  than  your  tresses. 
Nor   in  more  bounty  spread    her';  your 

wheaten  wreath  [at  you 

Was  then  nor  thresfaVl,  nor  blasted;  Fortune 
Dimpled  her  cheek  with  smiles;  Hercules 

oar  kinsman 
(Then  weaker  than  your  eyes)  laid  by  his  club. 
He  tumbled  down  upon  his  Nemean  hide^, 
And  swore  his  sinews  thaw'd:  oh,  grief  and 

time, 
Fearfnl  consumers,  yon  will  all  devour ! 

1  Queen.  Oh,  I  hone  some  god,  [hood. 
Some  god  hath  put  bis  mercy  iu  ydur  man- 
Whereto  he'll  infuse  pow6r,  and  press  you 
Our  undertaker !  [forth 

The$,  Oh,  no  knees,  none,  widow ! 
Unto  the  helmeted  Bellona  use  them. 
And  pray  for  me,  your  soldier.— -Troubled  1 

am.  ,*         \Turm  away. 

S  Queen.  Honoufd  Hippolita, 
Most  dreaded  Amazonian,  that  hast  slahi 


88» 

The  scithe-tusVd  boar;  that,  with  thy  arm 

as  strong 
As  it  is  white,  wast  near  to  make  the  male 
To  thy  sex  captive ;  but  that  this  tliy  lord 
(Born  to  uphold  creation  in  that  honour 
Fiwt  nature  stil'd  it  in)  shrunk  thee  into 
The  hound  tlwu  wast'  o'er-flowing,  at  once 

subduing 
Thy  force,  and  thy  affection;  soldieross. 
That  equally  canst  poise  sternness  with  pity. 
Who  now,  I  know,  hast  much  more  power 
^OTi  him  [strength^ 

Than  e'er  he  had  on  thee;  who  ow'st  his 
And  his  love  too,  who  is  a  servant  to 
The  tenor  of  thy  speech ;  dear  glass  of  ladies, 
Bid  him  that  we  whom  flammg  war  doth 

scorch, 
Under  the  shadow  of  his  sword  may  cool  us! 
Require  him  he  advauce  it  o'er  our  heads;  * 
Speak't  in  a  woman's  key,  like  such  a  woman 
As  any  of  us' three;  yreep  ere  you  fail; 
Lend  us  a  knee ; 

But  touch  the  ground  for  us  no  longer  time 
Than   a    dove's  motion,  when   the  head's 

pluck'd  off!  [swoln. 

Tell  Inm,  if  he  i'th'blnod-size'd  field  lay 
Shewing  the  sun  his  teeth,  grinning  at  the 
What  you  would  do !  *  [moon. 

Hip,  Poor  lady,N«iy  no  more ! 
I  had  as  lief  trace  this  good  action  with  you 
As  that  whereto  I'm  going,  and  never  yet 
Went  I  so  willing  way*.     My  lord  is  taken 
Heart-deep  with  your  distress:  let  him  con- 
sider; 
ni  speak  anon. 

;}  Queen.  Oh,  my  petition  was 

[Kneels  to  Emilia, 
Set  down  m  ice,  which  by  hot  grief  uncandied 
Melts  into  drops ;  so  sorrow  wanting  form 
Is  press'd  with  deeper  matter. 

Emi.  Pray  stand  up ; 
Your  grief  is  written  in  your  cheek. 

t^ Queen.  Oh,  woe! 


^  Not  Jundi  mantle  fairer  than  your  trestes. 

Nor  in  more  bounty  spread  her.]  The  reader  will  see  that  her  is  prejudicial  to  the  sense 
and  measure,  and  to  be  discarded.  The  mantle  of  Juno  is  beautifully  described  in  the 
fourteenth  book  of  the  Iliad.  It  was  wrought  by  Minerva,  and  adorned  with  variety  of 
figures;  allegorically,  it  may  signify  the  aether  adorned  with  the  sun  and  stars  formed  by 
Minerva,  t.  e.  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator.        Seward. 

We  cannot  *  see  that  her  is  prejudicial  to  the  sense  and  measure,'  nor  that  it  ought  *  to 
*  he  discarded.'    The  construction  is  easy. 
^  Nenuan  hide^  Corrected  in  1760. 
'  Whom  now  I'Jinow  hast  much  more  power  on  him 
Than  ever  he  had  on  thee,  who  ow*st  his  strength 
And  his  love  too,  who  is  a  servant  for 

The  tenor  of  the  speech.\  The  change  of  particles^  and  monosyllables  frequently  destroy 
botli  the  grammar  and  sense  of  our  authors.     Whom  might  have  been  corrected  without  a 
note,  but  what  is.  Who  is  a  servant  for  the  tenor  of  the  speechf  The  original  probably  was 
—  who  is  a  servant  to  - 

The  tenor  of  thy  speech; 
L  e.  He  wha  before  conquered  thee,  is  now  obedient  to  every  word  thou  utterest.    Ow'st  is 
the  same  as  oum^sty  in  all  the  old  writers.        Seward.  ' 

•  and  never  yet 

Wttti  I  so  willing  way ;]  t.  e*  I  never  went  so  willing  a  journey,        Scaard, 

You 


390 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN: 


[Act  1.  Scene  1. 


You  cannot  read  it  there*;  here  thro' my  tears, 
Like  wrinkled  pebbles  in  a  glassy  stream, 
Yon  may  behold  'em!  Lady,  lady,  alack. 
He  that  will  all  the  treasure  know  o'  th'  earth. 
Must  know  the  centre  too ;  he  that  will  fish 
For  my  least  minnow,  let  him  lead  his  line 
To  catch  one  at  my  heart.    Oh,  pardon  me! 
Extremity,  that  sharpens  sundry  wits, 
Makes  me  a  fool. 

Emi,  Pray  you  say  nothing;  pray  yon! 
Who  cannot  feel  nor  see  the  rain,  bemg.in't. 
Knows  neither  wet  nor  dry.    If  that  you  were 
The  ground-piece  of  some  painter,  I  would 

buy  you, 
1 '  instruct  me  Against  a  capital  grief  indeed ; 
(Such  heart-pierc'd  demonstration !)  but,  alas, 
Being  a  natural  sister  of  our  sex. 
Your  sorrow  beats  so  ardently  upon  me. 
That  it  shall  make  a  counter-reflect  'gainst 
My  brother*s  heart,  and  warm  it  to  some  pity 
Tlio'  it  were  made  of  stone:  pray  have  good 

comfort!  [a  jot 

l^hes.  Forward  to  th'  temple !  leave  not  out 
OUh'  sacred  ceremony. 

1  Queen,  Oh,  this  celebration 

Will  longer  last**^,  and  be  more  costly,  than 
Your  suppliants*  war !  Remember  that  your 
fame  [quickly 

Knolls  in  the  .ear  o'th*  world  :  what  you  do 
Is  not  done  rashly;  your  first  tliought  is  more 
Than  others'  laboured  meditance;  your  pre- 
meditating 
More  than  their  actions;  but,  (oh,  Jove!) 

your  actions. 
Soon  as  they  move,  as  ospravs  do  the  fish, 
Subdue  before  they  touch:  tliink,  dear  duke, 

think 
What  beds  our  slain  kings  have! 

2  Queen.  What  grieft  our  beds. 
That  our  dear  lords  have  none ! 

3  Queen,  None  fit  for  th'dead: 


Those  that  with  cords,  knives,  drams",  preci- 
pitance, [aelves 
Weary  of  this  world's  light,  have  to  them» 
Been  death's  most  horrid  agents,  human  grace 
Affords  them  dust  and  shadow*- 

1  Queen,  But  our  lords 
lie  blist'ring  'f6re  the  visitatin^  soo,- 
And  were  good  kings,  when  livings 
Thes.  It  is  true; 
/And  I  will  give  you  comfort. 
To  ^ve  your  dead  lords  graves**: 
The  which  to  do  must  make  some  woik 
with  Creon.  [to  th'  doing ' ' : 

1  Queen,  And  that  work  now  presenuitaelf 
Now  'twill  take  form;  the  heats  are  gone 

to-morrow ; 
Then  bootless  toil  must  recompense  itself. 
With  its  own  sweat;  now  he's  secure. 
Not  dreams  we  stand  before  your  puissance, 
Rinsine  your  holy  begging*^  in  our  eyes, 
To  make  petition  clear. 

3  Queen.  Now  you  may  take  him. 
Drunk  with  his  victory. 

3  Queen.  And  his  atmy  full 
Of  bread  and  sloth. 

Thes.  Artesius,  that  best  knowV 
How  to  draw  out,  fit  to  this  enterprize 
The  prim'st  for  this  proceeding,  and  the 

number 
To  carry  such  a  business;  fortli  and  levy 
Our  wortliiest  instruments;  whilst  we  di»- 

patch 
This  grand  act  of  our  life,  this  daring  deed 
Of  fi&te.in  wedlock! 

1  Queen,  Dowagers,  take  hands'! 
Let  us  be  widows  to  our  woes'^ !  Dday 
Commends  us  to  a  famishing  hope. 

AIL  Farewell!  [could  grief 

2  Queen,  We  come  unseasonably;  but  when 
Cull  forth,  as  unpang'd  judgment  can,  fit^t 
For  best  solicitation  ?  [time 


*  You  cannot  read  U  there;  tliere  thro"  my  tears,    * 
Like  wrinkCd  pebbles  in  a  glasse  stream,']  Mr.  Sympson  and  I  change  the  second  there 
to  here,  as  she  evidently  points  at  her  heart,  and  so  explains  herself  in  the  sequeK    Glassy 
for  glasse,  Mr.  Theobald  agreed  with  us  in.        Seward, 
«"  Will  long  last,]  Corrected  in  1750. 

"  Drams  precipitance,]  Mr.  Sympson  and  I  di8)oin  these  two,  the  one  expressing  poison, 
the  other  leaping  down  precipices.        Seward, 

Precipitance  is,  we  think,  rightly  disjoined  from  drams;  but  signifies,  in  general,  the 
unhappy  precipitation  of  suicides  in  getting  rid  of  their  lives,  not  the  particular  act  of  leaping 
down  precipices,  which  seems  to  us  a  ridiculous  explanation. 

'^  ih  give  your  dead  lords  graves,]  As  both  the  sense  and  measure  are  somewhat  de* 
ficicnt,  there  is  reason  to  suspect  a  part  of  the  sentence  dropt,  perhaps  somewhat  like  the 
following  might  have  been  the  original. 

Butl  will  give  you  comfort,  and  engage 
Myself  and  poor  rs  to  give  your  dead  lords  graves.        Seward, 
^^  And  that  worlc  presents,  4>c.]  Former  editions.        Seward, 
■♦  Wrinching  our  holy  begging,]  Corrected  in  1750. 

*'  Let  us  be  widows  to  our  woes;]  i.  e.  Let  iis  continue  still  in  the  most  distressed  widow- 
hood by  the  continuance  of  pfir  woes.  The  expression,  tho'  not  quite  clear,  will  give  tliis 
sense,  which  is  certainly  a  fine  one ;  and  in  such  writers  as  our  authors  we  must  not  alimrs 
expect  that  perspicuity  as  we  meet  with  in  poems  of  less  depth.  For  this  reason  I  canoot 
admit  a  conjecture  of  Mr.  Sympson,  tho'  it  is  undoubtedly  an  ingenious  one; 
Let  us  be  wedded  to  our  woes.       Seward* 

Xkk 


Act4*  5ctfne  «.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


801 


Thes.  Why,  good  ladies, 
.  This  is  a  service,  ivhereto  I  am  going, 
QreaCer  than  any  war  '^ ;  it  more  imports  me 
^Thau  all  the  actions  that  I  have  foregone. 
Or  futurely  can  cope, 

i  Queen*  The  motoe  proclaiming 
Our  suit  shall  be  neglected :  when  her  arms, 
Able  to  lock  Jove  from  a  synpd,  shall 
By  warranting  mQon4ight  corslet  thee,  oh, 

when  [fall 

Her  twinning  cherries  *7  shtill  their  sweetness 
Upon  thy  tasteful  lips,  what  wilt  thou  ihink 
Of  rotten  kings,  or  blubber*d  quecu.s.?  whht 

c^  [being  able 

^r  what  thou  feel'st  not,  what  thou  .feel'st 
To  make  Mars  spurn  his  drum?  Oh,  if  thou 

couch 
Bi^one  night  with  her,  every  hourin't  will 
Take  hostage  of  thee  for  a  hundn^d,  and 
Thou  shalt  remember  nothing  more  thtm  what 
That  VanqMet  bids  thee  to- 
••  Hip.  TW  much  unlike 
.You  should  bcfso  transported,  as  much  sorry 
I  should. be  such  a  suitor ;  yet  i  think 
<Did  I  not^  by  th'  abstaining  of  my  joy, 
Which  breeds  a  deeper  longing,  cure  their 

surfeit,     •      •  - 

That'craves  a  presentmed'cine,Islioqldpluck 
All  ladies'  scandal  on  me :  therefore,  sir. 
As  i'slrall  here  make  trial  of  my  prayers, 
Either  presuming  them  to  hav^  some  force, 
Or  sentencing  for  ay  their  vigour  dumb, 
Prorogue  tliis.busitkess  we  are  going  about, 

and  hang 
,Y6ur  shield  afore  ycmr.heart,  about  tliatneck 
Which  is  my  fee,  and  which  I  freely  lend 
To  do  these  poor  queens  'service ! 

All  Qt<<en«.  Qh,  help  now! 
0«r  c.^ose  cries  for  your  knee. 

Emi,  If  you  grant  hot 
My  lister  her  petition,  in  that  force. 
With  tliat  celerity  and  mtture,  which 
She  makes  it  in,  from  henceforth  I'll  not  dare 
To  ask  y6a  any  thing,  nor  be  so  hardy 
Eve^  to  take  a  husband. ' 

Hies.  Pray  stand  up! 


I  am  entreating  of  myself  to  do 
That  which  you  kneel  to  have  me.    Perithous, 
Lead  on.the  bride !  Get  you  and  pray  the  goji 
For  success  Jlnd  return ;  omit  not  any  .tiling 
In  the  pretended  celebration.     Queens, 
Follow  your  soldier  (as  before)  hence  you. 
And  at  the  banks  of  Aulis'^  meet  us  with 
The  fonies  you  can  raise,  where  we  shall  6ntf  ' 
The  moiety  of  a  number,  for  a  business 
More  bigger  look'd ! — Since  tlii^t  our  theme 

IS  haste, 
I  Stamp  this  kiss*  upon  thy  currant  lip; 
.Sweet,  keep  it  as  my  token!  Set  youlorward; 
For  1  will  see  you  gone. 

[Exeunt. ton^ar^  tkeTemple, 
Farewell,  my  beauteous  sister!  Perithous, 
Keep  the  feast  full^  bate  not  an  hour  on't! 

Per,  Sir, 
I'll  follow  you  at  heels :  the  feast's  solemnity 
ShsM  want  till  your  return  '^. 

Thes.  Cousin,  I  charge  you 
Budge  not  from  Athens;  we  shall  be  returning 
Ere  you  can  end  this  feast,  of  which  I  pray  you 
Make  no  abatement.  Once  more,  farewetl  all ! 

1  Queen.  Thus  dost  tliou  still  make  good 

the  tongue  o'th' world. 

^Queen.  And  earnest  adeity  equal  with  Max9. 

3  Queen.  If  not  above  him ;  for. 
Thou  being  but  mortal,  mak*st  affections  bend 
To  godlike  honours ;  they  themselves,  some 
Groan  under  such  a  niastery.  [say, 

Thes.  As  we  are  men, 
Thus  should  we  do ;  bein^  sensually  subdtled. 
We  lose  our  humane  title.    Good   cheer, 

ladies!  [Flourish^ 

Now  turn  we  tow'rds  your  comforts. 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  II. 
Enter  Palmnon  and  Arcite. 

Are.  Dear  Palamon,  dearer  in  love  than 

blood, 
And  our  prime  cousin,  yet  unharden'd  in 
The  crimes  of  nature ;  let  us  leave  the  city 
Thebes,  and  the  tempdngs  in't,  before  w« 

further 


■*  Thitis  a  service,  whereto  lam  gwng, . 

Greater  than  any  was.]  War  (which  is  Theobald's  variation^  instead  of  was,  is  a  great 
improvement  of  the  old  text,  and  I  verily  believe  it  the  authors  word.  The  service  I  am 
now  going  to,  (i.  e.  my  marriage)  is  of  more  import  to  my  happiness  than  any  tour  can 
possibly  be.        Seward.  ' 

.^  "  Bier  twining  cherrkt^  Xliepbald  corrected  the  spelling  here. 

.**  And  at  the  bank*  ^Anly.]  Mr.  Theobald  sent  me  a  very  probable  conjecture  upon 
this  place ;  none  of  us  being  able  to  find  in  any  geographer  such  a  name  as  ^niV  in  Greece, 
he  reads  Aulis,  the  celebrated  sea-port  between  Athens  and  Thebes.  It  would  indeed  be 
more  convihcine  #ere  there  a  river  of  that  name,  for  I  don't  know  whether  it  be  proper,  in 
speaking  of  Ca&is  or  Dover  to  say.  Meet  me  at  tlie  banks  of  Dover.  But  Aulis  being  a 
tituatiMi  so  exceedingly  proper  to  be  mention'd  here,  I  still  believe  it  the  true  word,  and 
^haps  hanks  may  be  also  a  corruption;  it  might  have  been  At  the  gates,  or  at  the  port,  or 
M  the  back  of  Aulis.        Seward. 

"  ''  Shall  want  till  your  return."]  The  editors  of  1750,  for  toant  read  wait;  but  want  seems 
genuine ;  signifying,  the  celebration  of  the  nuptials  should  remain  incomplete  till  his  return, 
«s  Perithous  had  rather  accompany  Theseus  uvui  stay  behind  to  be  his  proxy,  as  the  latter 

'        .  Sully 


39d 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[Act  1.  Scene  %. 


Sully  our  glow  of  youth? 

And  here  to  keep  in  abstinence  we  Shame 

As  in  incontinence:  for  not  to  swim 

Fth'  head  o*  th*current*%  were  almost  to  sink, 

At  least  to  frustrate  striving;  and  to  follow 

The  common  stream,  'twould  bring  us  to  an 

eddy  [thro', 

Where  we  should  turn  or  drown ;  if  labour 
Our  gain  bat  life,  and  weakness. 

Fai,  Your  advice 
Is  cried  up  with  example :  what  strange  mins, 
Since  first  we  went  to  school,may  we  perceive 
Walking  in  Thebes !  Scars,  and  bare  weeds, 
The  gain  o'th'  martialist,  who  did  propound 
To  his  bold  ends,  hononr,  and  golden  mgots. 
Which,  tho'  he  won,  he  had  not;  and  now 

florted  [shall  offer 

By  peace,  for  whom  he  fought!  Who  then 
To  Mars*s  8o-8corn*d  altar?  I  do  bleed 
When  such  I  meet,  and  wish  great  Juno 

would 
Resume  ber  ancient  fit  of  jealousy. 
To  get  the  soldier' work,  that  peace  might 

purge 
For  her  repletion,  an4  retain  anew 
Her  charitable  heart,  now  hard,  and  harsher 
Than  strife  or  war  could  be. 

Jrc.  Are  you  not  out? 
Meet  you  no  ruin,  but  the  soldier  in 
llie  cranks  and  turns  of  Thebes?  Yoo  did 

begin 
As  if  you  met  decays  of  many  kinds : 
Perceive  you  none  that  do  arouse  your  pity, 
Bat  th'  unconsider'd  soldier? 

PaL  Yes;  I  pity  [most 

Decays  where-e'er  I   find  them;  bat  such 
That,  sweating  in  an  honourable  toil, 
Are  paid^with  ice  to  cool  'em. 


Are,  1'is  not  this 
I  did  begin  to  speak  of;  this  is  virtue 
Of  no  respect  in  Thebes :  I  spake  of  Thebes, 
How  dangerous,  if  we  will  keep  oar  houours» 
It  is  for  our  residing ;  where  ^ry  evil 
Hath  a  good  colour;  where  evry  seeming 

good's 
A  certain  evil;  where  not  to  be  ev'n  jump 
As  they  are**,  here  were  to  be  strangeis 

and 
Such  things  to  be  mere  monsters. 

PaL  It  is  in  our  power 
(Unless  we  fear  that  apes  can  tutoi^s)  to 
Be  masters  of  our  manners :  jvhat  need  I 
Affect  another's  eait,  which  is  not  catching 
Where  there  is  foith  ?  or  to  be  fond  upon 
Another's  way  of  speech,  when  by  mine  own 
I  may  be  reasonably  conceived ;  saVd  too^ 
Speaking  it  traly?  Why  am  I  bound 
By  any  generous  bond  to  follow  him 
Follows  his  tailor,  haply  so  long,  until 
The  followed  make  pursuit?  Or  let  me  know. 
Why  mine  own  barber  is  unbless'd,  with  him 
My  poor  chin  too,  for  'tis  not  scissar*d  just 
To  such  a  favourite's  glass?  What  canon  is 

there 
That  does  command  my  rapier  from  my  hip. 
To  dangle't  in  my  hand,  or  to  go  tip-toe 
Before  the  street  be  foul?  Either  I  am 
The  fore  horse  in  the  team,  or  I  am  none 
That  draw  i'th'  sequent  trace!  These  poor 

slight  sores  rbosom. 

Need  not  a  plantain;  that  which  rips  my 
Almost  to  til' heart,  's — 
Nf  Arc.  Our  uncle  Creon. 

PaL  He, 
A  most  unbounded  tyrant !  whose  successes 
Make  Heav'n  unfearxl^%  and  villainy  assured. 

Beyond 


^  Fth*  aid  o*th^  current']  The  variation  is  from  Theobald's  conjectare,  which  we  thinl: 
a  happy  one,  tho'  rejected  by  Seward.  The  oM  reading,  if  sense,  is  very  hard.  Palamoo 
says,  a'few  speeches  lower. 

Either  I  am 
The  fare-horse  in  the  team,  or  I  am  none 
That  draw  i'th'  tequent  trace. 
**  Where  not  to  be  ec^n  jump 

Am  tkeff  are.']  Jumpy  in  our  ancient  writers^  firequently  means  jta/,  exitet;  sometimes  t0 
agree.    So,  in  Otnello,  act  ii.  scene  3. 

*  Myself,  the  while,  will  draw  the  Moor  apart,   i 
^  *  And  bring  him  jump  where  be  may  Cassio  find 
'  *  Soliciting  his  wife.* 
Again,  *  Not  two  of  them^vmpe  in  one  tale.'  Pierce  Pennilesse  his  Supplication,  p.  39.      IL 
*^  Makes  He0V*n^unfiar^d,  and  villainy  assur^d^ 
Beyond  its  power  ;  tkeri^s  nothing  almost  puts 
Faith  in  afaooury  and  deifies  alone 

Voluble  chance,]  This  sentence,  as  hitherto  printed,  has  been  a  mere  chaos,  for  first,  whac 
is  making  villainy  assured  beyond  its  power?  and  how  does  nothing  ahnost  put  faith  in  a 
fever?  'Tne  true  adjustment  of  the  points  restores  connection,  sense,  and  beauty:^  The 
'  successes  of  the  tyrant  makes  Heayen  unfear'd,  and  villainy  assur'd  that  nothing  is  beyond 
'  its  power ;  which  almost  staggers  the  faith  of  good  men,  and  makes  them  think  that  chance^ 
*  ana  not  a  just  Providence,  governs  the  world/  The  moral  of  this  is  extremely  beautiful,  for 
it  is  just  utter'd  before  they  hear  that  Theseus,  theinstmment  of  divine  Tengeaace,  is  at  hand, 
and  tlie  thunder  bursting  on  the  hesd  of  Crean,  In  tlie  emendation  of  the  points  in  tkb 
puKage,  Mr,  Sympson  concurred  with  me.       Seward: 

Sewud 


Act  1^  Scene  $.y 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KlNSAfEIf. 


SOS 


Beyond  its  power;  there's  nothing  aln^iost 

pQt9 

Faiibia  a  fever,  and  deifies  alpiie 
Voluble  chance — who  only  attributes 
Tlie  facuhies  of  other  instruments 
To  his  own  nerves  and  act;  comnlands  mbn*^ 

service, 
And  what  they  win  in't,  boot  and  glory  too*^ : 
That  fears  not  to  do  harm ;  good  dares  not : 

let  [suck'd 

The  blood  of  mine  that's  sibbe  to  him'*,  be 
From  me  with  leeches :  let  them  break  atul 

fall 
Off  me  with  that  corruption ! 

Arc,  Clear-spirited  cousin,  [share 

Let's  leave  his  court,  that  we  may  nothing 
Of  his  loud  infiimy  1  for  our  milk 
Will  relish  of  the  pasture,  and  we  must 
Be  vile  or  disobedient ;  not  his  kinsmen 
In  blood,  unless  in  quality. 

Pal.  Nothing  truer  I 
I  think  the  echoes  of  his  shames  have  deafd 
The  cars  of  heavenly  justice :  widows*  cries 
Descend  again  into  their  throats,  and  have  not 
Due  audience  of  the  gods. — Valerius! 

Enter  Valerius. 

VaL  The  king  calls  for  you;  yetbeleaden-^ 

footed^ 
Till  his  great  rage  be  off  him  !  Phoebus,  when 
He  broke  his  whipstock,  and  exclaim'd  against 
The  horses  of  the  sun,  but  whisperM,.  lo 
The  k>udness  of  his  fury. 

Pal.  Small  winds  sliake  him : 
But  what*s  the  matter? 

Val.  Theseus  (who  where  he  threats appnls) 

hath  sent 
Deadly  defiance  to  him,  and  pronounces 
Kuin  to  Thebes;  who  is  at  hand  to  seal 
The  promise  of  his  wrath. 

Arc.  Let  him  approach !  ^not 

Bat  that  we  fear  the  gods  in  him,  he  brings 


A  jot  of  terror  to  o» :  yet  ^hat  toast 
Thirds  his  own  worth  (the  case  b  each  of 

ours)  [sur^d 

When  that  his  action's dreggj'd  with  mind  as^ 
Tis  bad  be  goes  about?  « 

PaL  Leave  that  unreason*d  \ 
Ourservices  stand  now  for  ThebeSr not  Cmob.  \j 
Yet,  to  be  neutral  to  him,  were  dishonour. 
Rebellious  to  oppose ;  thereliMPe  we  must 
With  him  stand  to  the  mercy  of  our  late. 
Who  liatli  bounded  our  last  minute. 

Arc.  So  we  must. 
Is*t  said  this  war's  afoot?  or  it  shall  be. 
On  fail  of  some  condit4on  I 

VaL  'TIS  in  motion ; 
The  intelligence  of  state  came  in  the  instant 
With  the  defier. 

PaL  Let's  to  the  king !  who,  were  he 
A  quarter  carrier  of  that  honour  which 
His  enemy  coines  in,  the  blood  we  venture 
Should  be  as  for  our  beakh ;  which  were  not 

spent, 
Rather  laid  out  for  purchase :  but,  i^aS| 
Our  hands  advanc'd  before  our  hearts^  wliat 

wiU 
The  fall  o'  th'  stroke  do  damage  t 

Arc.  Let  th' event, 
That  never-erring  arbitrator,  tell  us        [low 
Wlien  we  know  all  ourselves ;  and  let  us  foU 
The  becking  of  our  chance !  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  III. 

Enter  PerithouSf  HippoUta^  and  Emilia. 

Per.  No  further  I 

Hip.  Sir,  farewell !  Repeat  my  wishes 
To  our  great  lord,  o£  whose  suecess  I  dure  no4i 
Make  any  timorous  question;  yet  I^  wish  him 
Excess  and  overflow  of  power,,  ao't  might  be. 
To  cure^ ill-dealing  fortune*^.  Speed  to  him! 
Store  never  hurts  good  governors. 

Per.  Tho'  I  know 
His  ocean  needs  not  my  poor  drops,  yet  they 


Seward  points, 

Beyond  its  poVr  there's  nothing;  almost,  &c. 
In  more  than  the  two  last  lines,  k  is  difficult  to  make  out  even  a  tolerable  construction,  and 
in  the  first  line  and  half  at  least,  Seward  has  perverted  the  sense  by  altering  the  pointy: 
'  Whose  successes 

Make  Ileav'n  unfeai'd,  and  villainy  assur'd 
Beyond  its  power;- 
plainly  signifies,  that '  Creon*s  success  diminishes  oar  fear  of  the  gods,  by  making  us  suppose 
'  tliat  guilt  can  oppose  Uieir  power,  and  defcud  itself  from  their  justice.' — Its  power  refers  to 
Hea^Uy  not  to  vmainif.  The  next  sentence  appears  to  be  incomplete,  probably  by  a  casual 
omission,  or  possibly  on  purpose  broken  off  abruptly ;  if  the  latter,  there  should  be  a  dash 
after  voluble  chance.  ^ 

^'  Booi  and  glory  on.]  Former  editions ;  I  read  too,  L  e.  both  the  advantage  and  honour. 

Seward. 
*^  Thai's  sibbe  to  him;]  i.  e.  Kin.    It  is  spelt  $ib  by  Spenser^  and  aybbe  by  Chaucer. 

Seward. 
*^  To  dure  ill^ealing  Fortune.]  Tliis  makes^an  odd  conclusion  to  the  climax  of  Uippoliti^B 
good  wishes  to  her  husband.    She  wished  him  not  only  succeu,  but  such  excess  of  it,  as  to  do 
what?  why,  to  be  able  to  Kear  ill  fortune;    I  read, 

To  cure  ilUlealing  Fortune; 
t.  e.  To  take  from  Fortune  her  malignity,  or  the  power  of  ever  dealing  ill  to  him  again.    Mr. 
Sympson  has  since  sent  me  dare»  as  hb  conjecture.  Seward. 

VOLiUL  3£  Must 


5M 


THE  TWO  NOBLK  KINSMEN. 


[Act  1*  Scene  S. 


Must  y\M  their  tribute  there.  My  precious 

maid. 
Those  best  affections  that  the  Heairns  infuse 
In  their  best-teniper'd  pieccs>  keep  enibron'd 
In  your  deur  heart! 

kmL  Thanks,  sir !  Remember  me 
To  our  ftll-myal  brother!  for  whose  speed 
The  great  Bellona  I'll  solicit :  and 
Since,  in  our  terrene  state,  petitions  are  not 
Without  gifts  understood,  I'll  ofter  to  her 
What  I  shall  be  advis'd  she  likes.  Our  hearts 
Arc  in  his  army,  in  his  tent! 

Hip,  In's  bosom ! 
We  have  been  soldiers,  and  we  cannot  weep 
When  our  friends  don  their  helms,  or  put  to 

sea,  [men 

Or  tell  of  babes  broach'd  on  the  lance,  or  wo- 
That  have  sod  their  infants  in  (and  after  eat 

them) 
The  brine  they  wept  at  kiUin|  'em :  then  if 
You  stay  to  see  of  us  such  spinsters,  we 
Should  hold  you  here  for  ever. 

Per.  Peace  be  to  you, 
As  I  pursue  this  war!  which  shall  be  then 
Beyond  further  requiring.  [Exit. 

kmi.  How  his  longing  ^  . 

Follows  his  friend!    Smce  his  depart,  his 

sports, 
Tho'  crav  ing  seriousness  and  skill,  past  slightly 
His  careless  execution,  where  nor  gain 
Made  him  regard,  or  loss  consider;  but 
Playing  o'er  business  in  his  hand,  another 
Directmg  in  his  head,  his  mind  nurse  equal 
To  these  so  differing  twins !  Hai;;e  you  ob- 

seiVd  him 
Since  our  ^at  lord  departed? 

Hip.  With  much  labour, 
And  I  did  love  himfor't.    They  two  have  ca- 

bin'd 
In  many  as  dangerous,  as  poor  a  corner^ 
Peril  and  want  contending,  they  have  skif^ 
Torrents,  whose  roaring  tyranny  and  power 


r  th'  least  of  these  was  dreadful^ :  an(|  the? 

have  [to^i 

Fought  out  together,  where  death's  self  was 
Yet  fate  hath  brought  them  off.    Their  knot 

of  love 
Tied,  weav'd,  entangled,  with  so  true,  so  lon^ 
And  with  a  finger  of  so  deep  a  cunning, 
May  he  out-worn,  never  uuaone.     I  think 
Theseus  cannot  be  umpire  to  himself, 
Cleaving  his  conscience  into  twain,  and  doing 
Each  side  like  justice,  which  he  loves  besL 

Em.  Douhdess, 
There  is  a  best,  and  Reason  has  no  manners 
To  say  it  is  not  you.     I  was  acquainted 
Once  with  a  time,  when  I  enjoyed  a  playfellow; 
You  were  at  wars  when  she  the  grave  enridi'd, 
Who  made  too  proud  the  bed,  took  leave 

o'  th'  moon  ^  [count 

(Which  then  look'd  pale  at^parting)  wlien  our 
Was  each  eleven. 

Hip.  Twas  Flavina." 

Emi.  Yes. 
You  talk  of  Perithous'  and  Theseus'  love : 
Theirs  has  mdre  ground,  and  is  more  ma* 

turely  season'd,  [their  needs 

More  buckled  with  strong  judgment,  and 
The  one  of  th' other  may  b«  said  to  water 
Their  intertangled  roots  of  love;  but  I 
And  she  (I  sigh  and  spoke  of)  were  things 
'  innocent, 

Lov'd  for  we  did,  and  like  the  elements 
That  know  not  what,  nor  why,  yet  do  eflfect 
Rare  issues  by  their  operance ;  our  souls 
Did  so  to  one  another :  what  she  lik'd, 
Was  then  of  me  approv'd;  what  not,  coth 

demn'd. 
No  more  arraignment^^ ;  the  flower  thai  I 

wculd  pluck 
And  put  oetween  my  breasts,  (oh,  then  bat 

beginning 
To  swell  about  the  blossom^*) she  would  l4Mi| 
'Till  she  had  such  anothcri  and  commit  ii 


-f  Aey  have  tk^ 


Torrents,  whote  roaring  tyranny  and  power, 

rth*  least  of  these  was  dreadful.]  The  expnession  here  is  obscure;  the  pronoun  these, 
whether  it  relates  to  tyranny  and  power  or  to  torrents,  seems  very  forc'd.  Whose  tyranmi 
and  power  in  the  least  of  these  torrents,  or  of  their  tyranny  and  power,  was  dreadful,  I  shall 
not  obtrude  my  conjecture  upon  the  reader,  as  the  original ;  it  cfeparts  rather  too  far  from  the 
trace  of  the  letters,  but  it  is  offered  as  what  I  could  have  wish'd  the  poets  to  have  wrote. 

'  the^  have  skift 


Torrents,  whose  roaring  tyranny  and  power 

Pth'  best  oi' ships  were  dreadful ; 
f.  e.  in  a  small  skiff  they  have  endured  storms  which  would  have  been  terrible  to  the  laigeit 
^hips.  Seward. 

The  text  is  obscure;  but  the  conjectural  reading  ridiculous.    The  sense  seens  to  he, 

*  I'hat  the  very  least  of  their  dangers  and  distresses  w:is  dreadful.* 

^^  No  more  arraignment;]  i.'e.  says  Dr.  Dodd, '  Her  not  liking  it  was  snffideot  to  con* 

*  demn  it,  without  any  further  arraignment,  or  bringing  it  to  its  trial.' 

^^  Oh,  then  but  beginning  ^ 

To  swell  about  the  blouom.']  Somewhat  similar  to  this  is  a  passage  in  CymbeBnep  wheii 
Jacliimo,  describing  Imogen  asleep,  says, 

•  on  ner  left  breast 


<  A  mole  cinque-spotted,  like  the  crimson  drop» 
*  V  th'  bott«»m  of  a  cowslip,  6cc/ 


To 


Act  1.  Scene  $.]  THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN.  3^ 


To  the  like  innoocst  cnuUe^  where  phoenix- 
like 
They  died  in  perfume:  on  my  head  no  toy 
But  wMB  her  pattern ;  her  affections  (pretty, 
Tho'  happily  her  careless  wear)  I  foUow'd 
For  my  most  serious  decking^^ ;  had  mine  ear 
Stol'n  some  new  air,  or  at  adventure  humm*d 

From  musical  coinage,  why,  it  was  a  note 


Whereon  her  spirks  would  sojovim  (rather 

dwelUnJ'), 
And  sing  it  in  her  slumbers:  this  reliearsal 
(Which  surely  innocence  wots  well'*)  cumelB 

in 
Like  old  importment's  bastard;  has  this  end, 
That  the  true  love  'tween  maid  and  maid , 

'may  be  "^ 

More  than  in  sex  dividual^ '« 

Hip. 


*9  I        OK  my  head  no  toy 

Bui  was  her  patterne ;  her  affections  (pretty 
Tho*  happely,  hf.b  careUs,  weke,  Ifollotoed 
For,  &C.J  Thus  the  old  quarto.    Syinpson  first  proposed. 
But  was  her  pattern;  her  affections  metty 
(Jho* happily  thev  carelesi  were)  1  followed; 
and  afterwards, 

But  was  her  pattern,  her  affections:  pretty 
Tho'  happily  her  careless  wear  I  followed. 
The  first,  Seward  rejects,  because  '  to  term  an  accidental  careless  ornament  the  affections  of 

*  the  wearer,  is  scarcely  to  be  defended;'  and  the  second,  *  as  not  thinking  the  words  £ug- 
'  li&h/    That  gentleman  prints  thus: 

But  was  her  pattern,  her  affection;  her 

Pretty,  tho'  haply  careless  wear,  I  followed; 
and  observes,  that  the  being  obliged  to  depart  so  far  from  the  trace  of  the  letters,  is,  he  be« 
lieves,  the  chief  objection  to  his  reading.  ' , 

Dr.  Dodd  [Beauties  of  8hakespear,  vol.  i.  p.  92]  reads, 

But  was  her  pattern :  her  affections  (pretty, 

Tho*  happily  they  careless  were)  I  toUowM; 
giving  us  upon  this  passage  the  following  note:  *  —  she  says,  *  She  had  no  toy  on  her  head, 
*^  but  that  became  her  friend*s  pattern  :  and  her  affections  [the  things  her  friend  affected, 
*«  or  lik'd,  in  which  sense  tlie  word  is  frequently  used]  (ever  pretty,  tho'  perhaps  they  were 
^'  merely  casual  and  careless  at  firat)  yet  sbe  so  much  approved,  that  she  ibllowM 
"  thero  for  her  most  serious  dressing.'    The  reader  will  find  this  passage  differently  read  by 

*  the  late  editors:  possibly  some  may  object  against  a  careless  dress  being  called  the  affection 

*  of  the  wearer,  and  ask  how  any  one  can  afect  or  like  that,  which  they  take  no  care  about  I 

*  I  think  two  answei's  may  be  given :  it  is  well  known  how  mach  some  ladies  affect  a  careless 
'  way  of  dressing;  and  what  seems  in  them  often  the  effect  of  mere  chance,  is  the  produce  of 

*  their  utmost  study— conformable  to  the  old  maxim,  ars  est  celare  artem^  or  it  may  be,  the 

*  lady  calls  those  the  affections  of  her  friend,  which  she  herself  esteem'd  so,  and  whicli,  as 
'  being  hers,  she  admired : — Perhaps  we  might  read  the  passage  thus,  if  these  reason^  are  not 
'  satisfactory: 

*  But  was  her  pattern,  her  affect ;  her  pretty 

*  Though  happily  her  careless  wear,  1  follow'd; 

*  which  is  almost  the  same  with  that  Mr.  Seward  places  in  the  text.' 

The  difficulties  of  the  passage  appear  to  have  arisen  partly  from  a  mifr-spelliog  (tDtre  for 
wear)  and  partly  from  the  commentators'  mis-apprehension  of  the  word  affections,  which  is 
not  here  used  to  signify  a  solid  mature  preference  (as  Seward  seems  to  think  it)  but  merely 
choice,  fancyi  The  plam  signification  then  appears  to  be,  *  Her  fancy  (which  v^as  sure  to  be 
'  pretty,  even  in  her  most  careless  dress)  I  copied  in  my  most  studied  adornments.'  If  this 
explanation- is  admissible,  there  wants  only  the  orthographical  correction:  we  need  not  so 
much  as,  with  Dr.  Dodd,  alter  her  to  they,  much  less  subscribe  to  Mr.  Seward's  violent 
modes. — It  may  not  be  amiss  to  remark,  that,  in  the  old  quarto,  tht  parenthesis  begins  at  the 
word  pretty,  but  is  no  where  closed. 

'^  Or  at  adveniure  hummed  on 

From  musical  coinage.]  The  correction  proposed  by  Seward. 

'■  Whereon,  &c.]  Dr.  Dodd  makes  the  following  very  ingenious  remark:  '  The  reader  will 

*  be  pleased,  well  to  observe  that  heavy  line, 

*  Whereon  her  spirits  would  sojourn  (rather  dwell  on) : 
'  Do  not  the  last  words  sound  as  if  they  had  been  a  marginal  note  ol  some  critic,  or  a  re- 

*  mark  of  a  prompter  P  The  conjecture  is  so  very  probable,  and  the  passage  would  be  so 
much  amenaed,  we  are  almost  inclined  to  discard  the  words. 

3^  (Which  fury-innocent  wots  well) J]  Amended  bv  Sympson. 

3^  More  than  in  sex  individual.]  As  the  word  indwidual  is  very  common,  but  dividual  not 
80,  the  transcriber  or  printer  put  the  one  for  the  other  here,  Uiough  it  absolutely  destroyed 

3  £  2  both 


9m 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN, 


[Actl.  fieenftiAb 


Wp^  You're  out  of  breath ; 
And  this  high-speeded  pace  is  but  to  say, 
'nmt^od  sbaU  never,  hke  the  maid  Flavina, 
^  2^vc.any.that*«  calPd  man. 
Eml.  I'm  sare  I  shall  not. 
Hip,  Now,  alack,  weak  aistary 
7  most  Ao  more  believe  thc«  in  this  |>oi^t 
(Tho*  in*t  I  know  thou  dost  believe  thyself) 
'  Thnn  I  will  trust  a  aickly  appetite,     [sister, 
Xkkt  loaths  even  as  it  longs.     But  sure,  my 
If  I  were  ripe  for  your  persuasion,  you 
Have  said  enough  to  shake  me  from  the  arm 
Of  the  all-noble  Theseus;  for  whose  fortunes 
I  will  now  in  and  kneel,  with  great  assurance. 
That  we,  more  than  his  Perithou6,  ppssess 
The  high  tlirone  in  his  heart. 

EmL  I  am  not 
Against  your  faith:  vet  I  continue  mine. 

^     '  {Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 
A   Baffle  struck  nithin ;,  then  a  "Retreat ; 
FUntrith.     Then  enter  Theseus  (Victor); 
the  three  Queens  meet  him,  and  fall  on  their 
faces  before  him*  ^ 

1  Queen.  To  thee  no  star  be  dark ! 

3  Queen,  Botli  Ileav'n  and  earth 
.'Friend  thee  for  ever! 

.'S  Queen.  All  the  good  that  may 
fie  wi^'d  upon  thy  head,  I  cry  amen  to't ! 

TAtf.  Th'  impartial  gods,  who  from  the 

mounted  Heav'ns 
.View  us  their  mortal  herd,>:behold  who  err, 
^nd  in  tlicir  tim^  chastise.  Go,  and  find  oat 
The  bones  of  your  d«Dd  iords,  and  honour 

them 
With  treble  ceremony !  rather  than  a  cap 
jShould  be  in  their  dear  rites,  we  would  sup- 

piy-t. 
But  those  we  will  depute  wliich  shall  invest 
.y^pu  in  your  dignities^  apd  evVi  each  thing 


Our  haste  does  leave  imperfects  so  adieot 
And  Ueav'n's  good  eyes  look  on  you ! — What 
^are  thosei  {Kxeunt  QueenM. 

fferald.  Men  of  great  quali^,  as  may  be 

jiidg'd  {told's 

By  their  appointment;  someofTbebesk  have 
They're  sister's  children,  nephews  to  the  kinj^ 

llies.  By  th'  helm  of  Mars,  I  saw  them  in 

the  war. 
Like  to  a  pair  of  lions,  succour'd  with  prej. 
Make  lanes  in  troops'  aghast :  1 4ix*d  my  note 
Constantly  on  theai ;  for  they  were  a  mark 
Woirth  a  god's  view!  What  prisoner  was*C 

that  told  me,  '      '  _ 

When  I  enquir'd  their  names? 

Herald.  With  leave,  they're  called 
Arciie  and  Palamon. 

Thes.  Tis  right;  those,  those. 
They  are  not  dead?  [been  taken 

Heraid.  Nor  in  a  state  of  life :   had  tliej 
When  their  last  hurts  were  given,  'twas  pos- 
sible [breathe. 
They  might  have  been  recover'd ;  yet  they 
And  have, the  name  of  men. 

This.  Then  like  men  use'emJ 
The  very  lees  of  such,  millions  of  cotes 
Exceed  the  wine'of  others;  all  our  sunsepns 
Convent  in  their  behoof ;  our  richest  bahns^ 
Rather  than  niggard,  waste !  their  lives  con^ 

cem  us  [xban  have  'ts^ 

Much  more  than  Thebes  is  worth.  Rather 
Freed  of  this  plight,  and  in  their  morning  state 
Sound  and  at  liberty,  I  would  'em  dead ; 
But,  forty  thousand  ibld«  we'd  rather  h^ve  'em 
'Prisoners  to  us  than  death.  Bear  'em  speedily 
From  our  kind  air  (to  them  unkind),  and 

minister  ..  [moref 

What  man  to  man  may  do!  for  oar  sake, 
Since  I  have  known  frights,    niry,  fnends^ 

behests. 
Loves,  provocationa^^,  zeal,  a  mistress*  task, 

Peaire 


both  sense  and  measure.    Mr.  Sympson  too  saw  and  corrected  the  error.    Sex  dividual  for 
different  sexes,  is  perhaps  an  uncommon,  but  a  perfectly  poetical  expression.         $efsmd* 
^f  ^nce  I  have  known  frights,  fury,  fneuds,  behestst,  ' 

^vesy  provocations,  zeal,  a  mistress  task, 
J)esire  if  liberty,  a  fever,  madness. 
Hath  set  a  mUrk  which  Jiature  could  not  reach  to 
Without  somfi  imposition,  sickness  in  wilt 
Or  wrestling  strength  in  reason,  for  our  love 
And  great  Apolla^s  mercy,  all  our  best 

Th^ir  best  skills  tender i\  ,'ris  a  great  pity  that  this  fine  enumeration  of  the  ills  of  ha* 
inan  life  (which  for  conciseness  and  beauty  may  almost  vie  with  the  celebrated  one  in  the 
Wiloquy  of  Hamlet),  should  at  last,  by  the  errors  of  the  transcriber  or  printer,  vanidi  into 
darkness  and  obscurity.  There  is' hopes  that  it  is  nowvestored  by  a  very  small  change  ia 
;the  auii^liary  verb  ha^  and  a  transposition  of  the  lines  into  the  order  which  the  sense  seems 
to  recjujre.    I  read, 

»    ■     ■  ■       a  fever,  madness, 
Sickness  in  will,  or  wrestling  strengUi  in  reason ; 
'Thath  set  a  mark  wiiich  Nature  could  not  reach  to 
.Without  some  imposition.    For  our  love^  &c. 
The  aentiment  is  the  common  one, 

Non  ignara  mali,  miseris  suecurrere  disco, 
*  That  our  own  miseries  natorally  awaken  our  compassioB  f<^  tboeo  of  othen**  Wben  fintn* 


Act  t.  SoeMl.] 


Tiffi  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN- 


/W 


Desire  of  liberty,  a  fever,  madness, 
Sickness  in  will,  or  wrestling  strength  in  rea- 
son; 
*T  hath  set  a. mark  whioh  Nature  could  act 

reach  to 
Withotit  some  imposition.  For  onr  loye^ 
And  great  Apo!I<>  s  mere/,  all  our  best 
Their  best  skill  tender! — Lead  into  the  city; 
Where  having  bound  things  scatter*d,  we  will 

post 
To  Athens  'fore  our  anny^'.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  y. 

Enter  the  Queens  with  the  Heanes  of  tkeir 
fCnightty  in  a  funeral  solenm(tjf,  4^. 

Urns  and  odours  bring  away, 
ya|>our<^  sighs,  darken  the  day ! 


Oor  dole  more  deadly  looks  than  dying 4 
Bairns,  and  gums,  and  heavy  cheers, 
Sacced  vials  £U*d  witii  tears. 

And  clamours,  thro*  the  wild  air  %iag: 
Come,  all  sad  and  soleiun  shows. 
That  .are  quick<«y*d  Pleasure's  foes ! 

We  convent  nought  else  but  wpe9« 
We  convent,  &c, 

S  Queen.  This  funeral  path  brings  to  your 

houshold  praves  ?  [him ! 

Joy  seize  on  you  again !    Peace  sleep  witk 

2  Queen.  And  this  u>  yours ! 

1  Queen.  Ypurs  this  way!  Heavens  lend 
A  thousiind  Hiltenng  ways  to  one  sure  end! 

3  Queen,  This  world's  a  city,  f\ill  of  stray- . 
ing  streets ; 

And  death's  the  market-place,  where  each 
one  meets.  [Exeunt  ievertUly* 


lab" 


ACT   IL 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Jailor  and  Wooer. 


JmlaTm 


I  MAY  d 
Hive; 


depart  with  little^^,  whUf 


.Something  I  may  cast  to  you,  not  much.  Alas, 
The  prison  I  keep,  tho'  it  be  for  great  oites, 

yet 
They  seldom  come:  before  one  salmon,  you 
Shall  take  a  number  o*  miqnpws.  I  am  given 

out 
To  be  better  iin'd,  than  it  can  appear  to  me 
Jleport  is  a  true  speaker:  I  would  I  were 
Really,  that  I  .am  delivered  tp  be  J     Marry, 

what 
J  have  (be't  what  it  will)  I  will  assure 
Upon  my  daughter  at  the  day  o'  ray  death. 

Wooer.  Sir,  I  demapd  no  more  than  your 

own  offer ; 
And  I'll  estate  your  daughter,  in  what  I 
Have  promised. 

Jailor.  Well,  well  talk  more  of  this. 
When  the  solemnity  is  past.    But  have  you 


A  full  promise  of  b^?  When  Aat  AaSl  b« 
seen, 

Enter  Daughter, 

I  tender  my  consent. 

Wootr.  I  have,  sir.  Here  she  comes. 

Jaihr.  Your  friend  and  I  have  chanc*d  to 

name  you  here, 
On  the  old  business :  but  no  more  o'  that  now ! 
So  soon  us  tiie  court-hurry  is  o'er,  we*il  have 
An  end  ot  't :  i'th'  mean  time,  look  tenderly 
To  the  two  prisoners !  1  can  tell  you  they  re 

princes. 

D<itf£r/{.  These  strewings  are  for  their  cham- 

ber.  It  is  pity  they  are 
In  prison,  and  'twere  pity  tlicy  should  he  out. 
I  do  think  they  have  patience  to  make  any 
Adversity  asham'd:  the  prison  itself  is  proud 
Of  them :  and  tiiey  have  all  the  world  in  their 

chamber.  [solute,  men. 

Jailor.  TheyVe  /am'd  to  be  a  pair  of  ab> 

Dough.  By  my  troth,  I  think  fame  but 

stammers  ^m ; 


fore  he  has  enumerated  the  various  ills  which  he  has  gone  thro',  he  says,  That  these  ills  have 
set  a  mark  of  humanity  on  his  heart  that  Nature,  without  tome  impo&itiony  i.  e.  without  the 
addition  of  such  experience,  could  m>t  have  arrived  at.  The  reader  will  fmd  another  change, 
instead  of  making /ri^n^it,  behests,  loves,  prococations,  four  of  the  ills  of  life,  as  in  the  fonner 
.editions,  I  join  them  and  make  only  IvrOf  friends'  behestsy  and  love's  provocations;  the  former 
is  particularly  apphcable  to  ITieseus ;  the  latter  gives  much  the  same  idea  as  Shakespear's 
pangs  of  despis^  love.  Seward. 

This  passage  is  extremely  difficult  and  obscure.  Seward's  reading  and  explanation  art 
certainly  ingenious,  and  his  slight  transposition  in  the  latter  part  admissible ;  but  tlie  two 
first  lines  of  the  old  text  are  preferable. 

^*  To  Athens  for  our  arm}/.]  The  correction  of^  into  fore  is  self^vident,  and  occurred 
to  us  all  three.  Seward.  \ 

3^  Depart;]  i.  e»  in  this  place,  part.    So  Ben  Jonson,  in  the  Induction  to  Bartholomew* 

*  '      ■  ■  the  author  having  now  departtd  with  his  right.'       H. 

They 


309 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KJNSMEST. 


[Acta.  Sovtl 


SCENE  II. 

Enter  Falamon  and  ArcUe,  in  Priion, 

Pal.    How  do  yowy  noble  cousin? 

Arc.  How  do  you,  sir?  [scry, 

FaL  Why,  strong  enough  to  laagh  at  iii»> 

And  bear  the  chance  of  war  yet.     We  are 

I  fejar  for  ever,  cousin.  [prisoner 

Arc.  I  believe  it; 
And  to  that  destiny  have  patiently 
Lnid  up  my  hour  to  come. 

PuL  Oil,  cousin  Arcite,  [country? 

Where  is  Thebes  now  ?  where  is  our  noUc 
Where  are  our  friends,  and  kindreds  ?  Never 

more 
Must  we  behold  those  comforts;  ilerer  see 
The  hardy  youths  strive  for  the  games  of  ho- 
nour. 
Hung  with  the  painted  favours  of  their  ladies, 
Like  tall  ships  under  sail ;  then  start  amongsit 

'em,  ist' 
And,  as  an  e.  ,twind,  leave 'em  allbdiindos 
Like  iazy  clouds,  whilst  Palanion  and  Arcite, 
Ey'n  in  the  wagging  of  a  wanton  leg,  [lands, 
Out-stript  the  people's  praises,  won  tlie  gar- 
£re  they  have  time  to  wish  ^em  ours.    Ob, 

never 
Shall  we  two  exercise,  like  twins  of  honour, 
Our  arms  again,  and  feel  our^ery  hones, 
Like  proud  seas  under  us !  Our  good  swonb 

now, 
(Better  the  red-ey'd  god  of  war  ne'er  wore^') 
Ravish'd  our  sides,  like  age,  must  run  to  ros^ 
And  deck  the  temples  of  those  gods  that 
hate  us.;  [ligbt'nipg, 

These  hands  shall  never  drew  *em.  out  hke 
To  blast  whole  annies  more ! 

Arc.  No,  Palumon,  [are. 

Those  hopes  are  prisoners  with  os:    here  we 

And  here  the  graces  of  our  youths  mu^ 

wither,  [as. 

Like  a  too-timely  spring;  here  age  musttiad 

I 

^'  They  ntund  a  piei."]  This  is  a  stiff  expression,  and  only  the  conjectural  reading  of  the 
late  editions :  the  old  quarto  reads, 

— — ^  ihey  stand  a  grUte, 
Mr.  Sympson  and  I  both  read  an^  conjecture,  gree,  the  old  word  for  gradus  or  degree.    See 
Urry's  Glossary  to  Chaucer.     Indeed  spelling  of  words  was  formerly  so  very  uncertain,  that 
griese  for  a  step,  might  have  been  in  use  as  well  wigree,  and  therefore  it  is  best  to  restore  it 

Sezcnrd. 
We  see  no  objection  to  the  text,  but  think  it,  both  in  expression  and  sentiment,  every% 
way  superior  to  the  proposed  restoration. 
^'  The  duke  himself  came  privately  in  the  night, 
Enter  Palamon  and  Arcite. 
And  so  did  they — ]  There  is  a  deficiency  in  the  sense  here,  that  seems  to  denote  the 
loss  of  at  least  one  whole  line,  nor  can  I,  from  the  context,  easily  guess  the  purport  of  it 
By  striking  out.  And  so  did  they,  the  whole  would  be  sense,  but  the  measure  would  be  lost 
So  we  must  leave  it  to  some  more  fortunate  conjecture.  Seward* 

We  do  not  perceive  any  fault 

'^  — ^  our  good  swords  nozo 

(Better  the  red-et^dgod  of  war  ncdr  were) 

Bravish*d  our  ««/«.]  The  two  mistakes  of  were  for  awf,  and  hremisKd  for  ravMd,  vtt 
very  easily  amended,  and  the  reader  will  observe  that  the  second  arose  from  tbe  initial 
letter  of  the  former  line  being  repeated.    I  had  the  conturreDce  here  of  both  my  assistantSi 

Scscard. 
And| 


They  stand  a  grief  above  the  reach  of  re* 

port. 

Jailor.  I  heard  them  reported,  in  the  battle 
To  be  the  only  doers. 

Daugh.  Nay,  most  likely; 
For  they  are  noble  sufferers.  I  marvel 
How  they'd  have  looked,  had  they  been  vio- 

tors,  that 
With  such  a  constant  nobility  enforce 
A  freedom  out  of  bondage,  making  misery 
fheir  mirth,  and  aiBiction  a  toy  to  jest  at. 

Jailor.  Do  they  so  ? 

Daugh,  It  seems  to  me. 
They've  no  more  sense  of  their  captivity, 
Then  I  of  ruling  Athens:  they  eat  well, 
Look  merrily,  discourse  of  many  things, 
3ut  nothing  of  tlieir  own  restraint  and  dis- 
asters. 
Yet,  sometime,  a  divided  sigh,  martyr'd 
As  'twere  in  the  deliverance,  will  break 
From  one  of  them ;  when  th*  other  presently 
Gives  it  so  sweet  a  rebuke,  that  I  could 

wish 
Myself  a  sigh  to' be  so  chid,  or  at  least 
A  sigher  to  be  comforted. 

Wooer.  I  ne'er  saw  'em. 

Jailor.  The  duke  himself  came  privately  in 

the  night. 

Enter  Palamon  and  Arcite  above. 

And  so  did  they^';  what  the  reason  of  it  is,  I 
Know  not— Look,  yonder  they  are !  that  is 
Arcite  looks  out. 

Daugh.  No,  sir,  no ;  that's  Palamon : 
Arcite's  tbe  lower  of  the  twain :  you  may 
Perceive  a  part  of  liim. 

Jailor.  Go  to,  leave  your  pointing ! 
They'd  not  make  us  their  object:  out  of  their 

sight!  . 

Daugh.  It  is  a,  holiday  to  look  on  them ! 
Lord,  the  difference  of  men !  [Exeunt. 


Act  %  Scene  d.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


999 


And,  which  is  heaviest,  Palamon,  unmarried ; 
The  sweet  embraces  of  a  loving  wife  [pids, 
Loadeu  with  kisses,  ann'd  with  thousand  Cu« 
Shall  never  clasp  our  necks !  no  issue  know 

us. 
No  figures  of  ourselves  shall  we  e*er  see, 
To  glad  our  age,  and  like  young  eagles  teach 

'em  , 
Boldly  to  gaze  against  bright  arms,  and  say, 
Kemember  what    your  fathers   were,   and 

conquer !  [men  ts, 

The  fair-e^r'd  maids  shall  weep  our  banish- 
And  in  their  songs  curse  ever*blinded  fortune, 
mil  she  for  shame  see  what  a  wrong  sh'  has 

done 
To  youth  and  nature :  this  is  all  our  world; 
We  shall  know  nothing  here,  but  one  another; 
Hear  nothing,  but  the  clock  that  tells  our 

The  vine  shall  grow,  but  we  shall  never  see  it ; 
Summer  shall  come,  and  with  her  all  delights, 
Bot  dead-cold  winter  must  inhabit  here  still ! 
Fal,  Tis  too  true,  Arcite!  To  ourTheban 
hounds. 
That  shook  the  aged  forest  with  their  echoes, 
No  more  now  must  we  bulloo;  no  more  shake 
Our  pointed  javelins,  whilst  the  angry  swine 
Flies  like  a  Parthian  quiver  from  our  rages, 
Struck  with  our  well^steel'd  darts!  All  va- 
liant uses 
(The  food  and  nourishment  of  noble  minds) 
In  us  two  here  shall  perish ;  we  shall  die, 

{Which,  is  the  curse  of  honour!)  lazily  ♦^y 
Children  of  grief  and  ignorance. 

Arc.  Yet,  cousin. 
Even  from  the  bottom  of  these  miseries. 
From  all  chat  fortune  can  inflict  upon  us, 
I  see  two  comforts  rising,  two  mere  blessings. 
If  the  gods'  please  to  hold  here ;  a  brave 

patience. 
And  the  enjoying  of  our  griefs  together. 


Whilst  Palamon  is  with  me,  let  me  )>erish 
If  I  think  this  our  prison! 

FaL  Certainly,  [tunet 

1'is  a  main  goodness,  cousin,  that  our  for* 
Were  twinn*d  together :  'tis  most  true,  two 

souls 
Put  in  two  noble  bodies,  let  'em  sufier 
The  gall  of  hazard,  so  they  grow  together. 
Will  never  sink;  they  must  not;  say  they 

could, 
A  willing  man  dies  sleeping,  and  all's  done. 

Arc,  Shall  weinake  worthy  uses  of  this  places 
That  all  men  hate  so  much  ? 

PaL  How,  gentle  cousin? 

Arc,  Let*s  think  this  prison  a  holy  sanctnarft 
To  keep  us  from  corruption  of  worse  men ! 
We're  young,  and  yet  desire  the  ways  of 

honour ; 
That,  liberty  and  common  conversation. 
The  poison  of  pure  spirits,  might,  like  women, 
Wooe  us  to  wandcl"  from.     What  worthy 

blessing 
Can  be,  but  our  imaginations  [gether. 

May  make  it  ours  ?  and  here  beint;  thus  to- 
We  are  an  endless  mine  to  one  another; 
WeVe.one  another's  wife,  ever  begetting 
New  births  of  love ;   we're  father,  friends, 

acquaintance ; 
We  are,  in  one  another,  families; 
I  nm  your  heir,  and  you  are  mine;  tliis  place 
Is  our  inheritance ;  no  hard  oppressor 
Dare  take  this  from  us :  here,  with  a  little 

patience,  /  [seek  us; 

We  shall  live  long,  and  loving ;  nu  surfeits 
The  hand  of  war  hurts  none  here,  nor  the 

seas 
Swallow  their  youth ;  were  we  at  liberty, 
A  wife  might  part  us  lawfully,  or  business; 
Quarrels  consume  us;  envy  of  ill  men 
Crave  our  acquaintance^' ;  I  might  sicken, 

cousin. 


40  (Which  is  the  curse  of  honour)  lastly, 

CkUdren  (^' grief,  and  ignorance.']  When  a  word  is  flat  and  nnpoetical,  and  at  the  same 
time  detrimental  to  '^the  measure,  there  is  ahnost  a  certainty  of  its  being  corrupt.  iMStljf 
has  both  these  bad  qualities;  it  is  a  mere  degrading  expletive  as  to  the  sense,  and  wants  a 
syllable  tio  complete  the  measure.  I  cannot  doubt  therefore  of  the  true  word  being  Inzily; 
laziness  to  a  man  of  spirit  being  the  true  curse  of  honourd*  Hence  the  seatence  becomes  a 
fine  climax  to  that  noble  spirit  of  poetry  that  animates  die  whole  speech.        Seward, 

Seward's  emendation  here  is  happy,  and  we  believe  gives  the  genuine  text.    He  supports 
,hh  conjecture  by  the  following  quotation  from  the  Lovers'  Progress: 

We  shall  grow  old  men  and  feeble, 

Which  is  the  scorn  of  love  and  rust  of  honour. • 
*■  envy  of  ill  men 

Crave  our  acquaintance.]  We  have  each  a  different  conjecture  here,  Mr.  Theobald 
reads  craze,  Mr.  Sympson,  cfirve,  and  I,  reave!  I  know  not  whether  self*partiality  makes  me 
prefer  the  latter.  It  is  a  common  worcl  in  old  authors,  tliou^  now  we  seldom  use  it  except 
in  the  perfect  tense  r^,  as  in  Mr.  JVIallet's  charming  song,  the  first  stanza  of  wluch  is  takes 
from  Fletcher : 

*  Such  is  the  robe  that  kings  must  wear 
*  When  death  has  refl  their  crown.' 
See  Skinner  on  the  word  reave:  Spoliare,  to  sfwl  or  take  away.    The  two  former  words, 
crate  aud  caroe^  seem  stif!cr  than  this.        Seward. 

Reave  is  a  plausible  readit^,  and  much  better  than  crate  or  carve i  but  the  old  Osxt 
(crave)  being  easy  and  intelligible,  should  not  be  disturbed. 

Where 


400 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMlir. 


[Act  ft.  Scene  %- 


Where  yoto'shoulditdTer  know  it,  and  so  perish 
Without  your  uoblehand  to  close  mine  eyes, 
Or  prayers  to  the  gods:  a  thousand  chances. 
Were  we  from  hence,  would  sever  us. 

Fal,  You  have  made  me 
(I  thank  you,  cousin  Arcite !)  almost  wanton 
With  rojr'captivity :  what  a  misery 
It  is  to  live  abroad,  and  eveir  where! 
Tis  like  a  beast,  methinks!  I  find  the  court 

here,  [sures 

Vm  sure  a  more  content ;  and  aH  those  plesfr- 
That  wooe  the  wills  of  men  to  vanity, 
I  see  thro*  now ;  and  am  sufficient 
To  tell  the  world,  'tis  but  a  gaudy  shadow, 
That  old  time,  as  he  passes  by,  takes  with 

him.  ^ 

What  had  we  been,  old  in  the  cocnrt  of  Creon, 
Where  sin  is  justice,  lust  <and  ignorance 
The  virtues  of  the  great  ones?  Cousin  Arcite, 
Had  not  the  loving  gods  found  this  place  for 

as, 
We  had  died  as  they  do,  ill  old  men  unwept, 
And  had  their  epitaphs,  the  people's  curses! 
Shall  I  say  more  ? 

Arc,  I  would  hear  you  still. 

Pal.  You  shall. 
Is  tticre  record  of  any  two  that  lov'd 
Better  than  we  do,  Arcite  f 

Arc.  Sure  there  cannot. 

PaL  I  do  not  think  it  possible  our  friendship 
Should  ever  leave  us. 

Arc.  Till  uur  deaths  it  cannot ; 

Enter  Emilia  and  her  Servant. 

And  after  death  our  spirits  shall  be  led 

To  those  that  love  eternally.    Speak  on,  sir ! 

Emi.  This  garden  has  a  world  of  pleasures 
What  flower  is  this?  [in't**. 

Serv.  Tis  call*d  Narcissus,  madam. 

^^  This  garden  has  a  world  cf  pleasures  anV.]  This  in  all  the  former  editions  was  made  the 
end  of  Arcite*%  speech ;  the  absurdity  was  evident  to  us  all,  and  must  have  beon  so  to  eveiy 
reader  of  the  least  atteiitic  .        Seward. 

^3  For  when  the  west'wind  courts  her  gently.]  As  there  is  a  deficiency  in  tneasure^  Mc 
Theobald  reads,  « 

courts  her  beauties  gently. 
But  the  necessity  of  such  an  insertion  does  not  appear,  as  making  getUtly  three  syllables,  a 
thing  very  common  in  our  authors,  sufficiently  fills  up  tlic  measure.        Seward. 

Theobald's  variation  is  best,  but  neither  is  necessaiy :  our  authors  are  not  so  precise  fli 
thehr  measure. 
^  liisthe  very  emblem  efa  maid :  ^  ^ 

Eor  when  the  west-^ind  courts  her  gently. 
How  modestly  she  blows^  and  paints  the  sun 
With  her  chaste  blushes  f  When  the  north  comes  near  her, 
Rude  and  impatientf  then  like  chastity 
She  locks  her  beauties  in  her  bud  ogam, 

And  leaves  him  to  base  briers»]  Dr.  Farmer  (Appendix  to  Shakespeare,  1773)  qnouf 
this  speech,  and  with  Seward  (line  2)  reads  gentily  for  gently.  I  mention  this  minuteness 
of  the  doctor,  because  (line  5)  he  substitutes  charity  for  chastity,  and  (line  6)  shuts  fijr  locks. 
T^e  quotation  is  made  in  support  of  a  proposal,  by  '  an  eminent  critic,'  to  alter  the  woni 
shakes  to  shuts,  in  the  following  passage  m  Cymbeline : 

* like  the  tyrannous  breathing  of  the  north, 

*  Shakes  all  our  buds  from  growing.^ 
t  dare  say,  the  doctor  did  not  intentiomdly  violate  the  poets'  text;  bat  Uuak  each  iA  dM 
errors  very  remarkable.        J*  N» 

Sen, 


Emi.  That  was  a  fmrboy  certain,  but  a  fbol 
T»  love  himself:  were  there  not  maids  euoui^f 

Arc.  Pray  forward ! 

Pal.  Yes. 

Emi.  Or  were  they  all  hard-hearted  f 

Serv.  They  coiiid  not  be  to  one  so  fair. 

Emi.  Thou  woutdst  ndt? 

Serv.  I  think  I  should  not,  madam. 

End.  Tliat's  a  good  wench! 
But  take  heed  to  your  kindness  tho'! 

Serv.  Why,  madam  ? 

EmL  Men  are  mad  things. 

Arc.  Will  you  go  forwani,  cousin  ?       « 

Em.  Canst  not  thou  work  such  flowers  i» 

Serv.  Yes.  [silk,  weoch  ? 

Emi.  I'll  have  a  gown  full  of^'em;  and  of 
This  is  a  pretty  colour :  will't  not  do  [these; 
Rarely  upon  a  skirt,  wench? 

Sero.  Dainty,  madam. 

Arc.  Cousin!  Cousin!  How  do  you,  sir? 

Why,  Palamon! 

PaL  Never  'till  now  I  was  in  prison,  Arcite. 

Arc.  Why,  what's  the  matter,  man  f  * 

Pal.  Behold,  and  wonder! 
By  lieav'n,  she  is  a  goddess! 

Arc.  Ha! 

PaL  Do  reverence ! 
She  is  a  goddess,  Arcite! 

Emi.  Of  all  flowers, 
Methinks  a  rose  is  best. 

Serv.  Why,  gentle  madam  ? 

Emi.  It  is  the  ver^f.erablfiin  of  a  maid : 
For  when  the  west  wind  courts  her  gently  ♦% 
How  modestly  she  blows,  and  paints  the  sun 
With  her  chaste  blushes!  when  the  north 

comes  near  her. 
Rude  and  impatient,  fhen,  like  chastity. 
She  locks  her  beauties  in  her  bud  again. 
And  leaves  him  to  base  briers^ 


M^  ScaneS.] 

Serv.  Vety  good  madam. 

Sometimes  her  modestv  will  blow  so  far 
She  falls  for  it:  a  niaifl, 
If  she  hare  any  honour,  would  be  loatk 
To  take  example  by  her. 

Emi,  Thou  art  wanton. 

Arc.  She's  wondrous  fair! 

Fal,  She's  all  the  beauty  extant! 

Em,  The  sun  grows  high ;  let's  walk  in ! 

Keep  these  fiowers ; 
Well  see  how  near  art  can  come  near  their 

colours* 
Tm  wondrous  merry-hearted;  I  could  laugh 

now. 

Serv,  I  could  lie  down,  Fm  sure. 

Em,  And  take  one  with  you  f 

Serv,  That's  as  we  bargain,  madam. 

Emi,  Well,  a^ree  then.     [Exit  with  Serv, 

Fal,  What  think  you  of  this  beauty  ? 

Arc,  Tis  a  rare  one. 

PaL  Is't  but  a  rare  one  ? 

Arc.  Yes,  a  matchless  beauty. 
«     Fal,  Might  not  a  man  well  lose  himself, 
.  and  love  her  f  [have, 

Are,  I  cannot  tell  what  you  have  done;  I 
Beslirew  mine  eyes  for't!  Now  I  feel  my 

shackles. 

PaL  You  love  her  then  ? 

Arc*  Who  would  not  ? 

FaL  And  desire  her  ? 

Are,  Before  my  liberty. 

FaL  I  saw  her  first. 

Arc,  That's  nothing. 

FaL  But  it  shall  be. 

Arc,  I  snw  her  too. 

FaL  Yes ;  but  you  must  not  love  her. 

Arc,  I  will  nut,  as  you  do;  to  worship  her, 
As  she  is  heav'niy,  and  a  blessed  goddess : 
I  iove  tier  as  a  woman,  to  enjoy  her; 
So  both  may  love. 

FaL  You  sludl  not  love  at  all  I 

Arc.  Not  love  at  ail  ?  who  shall  deny  me  ? 

FaL  I  that  first  saw  lier;  I  that  took  pos- 

liession  [her 

First  with  mine  eye  of  all  those  beauties  in 
Eeveal'd  to  mankmd !  If  tliou  Invest  her. 
Or  eatertain'sFa  hope  to  blast  my  wishes, 
TIjou  tut  a  traitor,  Arcite,  and  a  fellow 
False  as  thy  title  to  her:  ^iendship,  blood, 
And  all  tlie  ties  between  us,  I  disclaim, 
If  thou  once  think  upon  her ! 
•    Arc,  Yes,  I  love  her ; 
i\nd  if  die  lives  of  all  my  name  lay  on  it, 
I  must  do  so ;  I  iove  her  with  my  soul. 
If  that  will  lose  you,  farewell,  Palamon! 
I  say  again,  I  love;  and^  in  loving  her, 

maintain 
I  am  as  worthy  and  as  free  a  lover. 
And  have  as  just  a  title  to  lier  beaaty, 
As  any  Palamon,  or  any  living, 
TItat  is  a  man's  son. 

Fal.  Have  I  cali'd  thee  friend? 

Are,  Yes,  and  have  found  me  so.    Why 

are  you  mov^d  thus  ? 
Let  me  deal  coldly  with  you!  am  not  I 

VOL.  IlL 


TH£  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


401 


Part  of  your  blood,  part  of  your  soul?  youVe 

told  me 
That  I  was  Palamon,  and  you  were  Arcite. 

FaL  Yes. 

Arc,  Am  not  I  liable  to  those  affections. 
Those  joys,  griefs,  angers,  fears,  mv  friend 

FaL  You  may  be.  [shall  suffer  ? 

Arc,  Why  (hen  would  you  deal  so  cun- 
ningly, 
So  strangely,  so  unlike  a  Noble  Kinsman, 
Tu  love  alone  ?  Speak  truly;  do  you  think  me 
Unworthy  of  her  si^^lit  ? 

FaL  No;  but  unjust 
If  thou  pursue  that  sight. 

Arc.  Because  another 
First  sees  the  enemy,  shall  I  stand  still. 
And  let  mine  honour  down,  and  never  charge? 

FaL  Yed,  if  he  be  but  one. 

Arc.  But  say  that  one 
Had  rather  combat  me  i 

FaL  Let  that  one  say  so,  [her. 

And  use  thv  freedom  I  else,  if  thou  pursuest 
Be  as  that  cursed  man  tht^t  hates  his  country, 
A  branded  villain ! 

Arc.  You  are  mad. 

FaL  I  must  be, 
Till  thou  art  worthy,  Arcite;  it  concerns  me! 
And,  in  this  madness,  if  I  hazard  thee 
And  take  thy  life,  I  deal  but  truly. 

'Arc.  Fy,  sir! 
You  play  the  child  extremely:  I  will  love  her, 
I  must,  I  ou(f ht  to  do  so,  and  I  dare ; 
And  all  this  justly. 

FaL  Oh,  that  now,  that  now        [fortune, 
Thy  false  self,  and  thy  friend,  had  but  this 
I'o  be  one  hour  at  liberty,  and  grasp 
Our  good  swords  in  our  jiands,  I'd  quickly 
■  teach  thee 

What  'twere  to  filch  affection  from  another! 
Thou'rt  baser  in  it  than  a  cutpurse! 
Put  but  thy  head  oat  of  this  window  more, 
And,  as  I  have  a  soul.  Til  nail  thy  life  to't! 

Arc:  Thou  dar'st  not,  fool;   thou  can«l 

not;  thou  art  feeble! 
Put  my  head  out  ?  I'll  throw  my  body  out. 
And  leap  the  garden,  when  I  see  her  next, 

Enter  Jailor, 

And  pitch  between  her  arms,  to  anger  thee. 

FaL  No  more!   the  keeper's  coming:  £ 

shall  live 
To  knock  thy  brains  out  with  my  shackles. 

Arc.  Do! 

Jailor.  By  your  leave,  gentlemen! 

FaL  Now/ honest  keeper?         [tl/dnke: 

Jailor.  Lord  Arcite,  you  must  presently  to 
The  cause  I  know  not  yet.  , 

Arc.  I'm  ready,  keeper.  [reave  you 

Jailor,  Prince  Piilamon,  I  must  awhile  be* 
Of  your  fair  cousin's  company. 

[Kxit  with  Arcite. 

FaL  And  me  too, 
Ev'n  when  you  please,  of  life  ! — ^Why  is  he 

sent  fur? 
It  may  be,  he  shall  marry  her:  he's  goodly; 

3  F  And 


40^ 


THE  TWO  ^•OBLE  KINSMt:>f. 


[Act  f .  Scene  5* 


And  lik<!  enough  the  duke  bath  taken  notice 
Both  of  liis  blood  and  bod j.  But  his  falsJiood ! 
Why  should  a  friend  be  treacherous?  If  that 
Get  him  a  wife  so  noble,  ai»d  so  fair, 
I^t  honest  men  ne'er  love  again.  Once  more 
I  would  but  see  tliift  fair  one.  Blessed  p^rden. 
And  fruit,  and  flowers  more  blessed,  that  still 
blossom  [were, 

As  her  bHjiht  eyes  shine  on  ye!  'Would  I 
For  all  the  fortune  of  my  life  liereafter. 
Yon  little  tree,  yon  blooming  apricot! 
How  I  would  spread,  and  fling  my  wanton 

arms 
,  In  at  her  window !  I  would  bring  her  fruit 
Fit  for  the  gods  to  feed  on;  youth  and  plea- 
sure, 
Still  as  she  tasted,  should  be  doubled  on  her; 
And,  if  she  be  not  heav'nly**,  1  v^ould'make 
her  [her; 

So  near  the  gods  in  nature,  they  should  fear 

Enter  Jailor, 

And  then  Tm  sure  she'd  love  me.  How  now 

keeper! 
Where's  Arcite? 

Jttifor.  Banished.    Prince  Peritlious 
Obti»in*d  his  liberty;  but  never  more. 
Upon  hi:»  oath  and  life^  must  he  set  foot 
Upon  this  kingdom. 

Pfl/.  He's  a  blessed  man ! 
He  shall  see  Thebes  a&iiin,  and  call  to  anas 
The  bold  young  men,  that,  when  he  bids  'em 

charge, 
Fall  on  like  fire:  Arcite  shall  have  a  fortune, 
If  he  dare  make  himself  a  worthy  lover. 
Yet  in  the  field  to  strike  a  battle  for  her; 
And  if  he  lose  her  then,  he*s  a  cold  coward : 
How  bravely  may  he  bear  himself  to  w  in  her. 
If  he  be  noble  Arcite,  thousand  ways ! 
W^ere  I  at  liberty,  I  would  do  thiugs 
Of  such  a  virtuous  greatness,  that  this  lady, 
This  blusliii'ig  virgin,  should  take  manhood  to 
And  seek  to  ravish  me.    .  [her, 

Jailor,  My  lord,  for  you 
I  have  this  charge  too. 

Pa/.  To  discharge  my  life  ?  [your  lordship; 

Jailor,  No ;  but  from  this  place  to  remove 
The  window^  are  too  open. 

Pal.  Devils  take  'em. 
That  are  so  envious  to  roe !  Prithee  kill  me ! 

Jailor.  And  hang  for't  afterward  ? 

Pal.  By  this  good  light. 
Had  I  a  sword,  Td  kill  thee. 

Jailor,  Why,  my  lord? 


Pal.  Thou  bring'st  such  peltii^  scnrvy 

news  continually. 
Thou  art  not  worthy  life !  I  will  not  gou 

Jailor.  Indeed  you  must,  my  lord. 

Pal.  May  I  see  the  garden? 

Jailor.  iSo. 

Pol.  Tlven  I'm  resolv'd  I  will  not  go. 

Jailor.  I  must  [oiu^ 

Constrain  you  then!  and,  for  you're  danger^ 
I'll  ( lap  more  irons  on  you. 

Pal.  Do,  good  keeper ! 
ni  sliake  'em  so,  you  shall  not  sleep ; 
ni  make  you  a  new  morris !  Must  I  go? 

Jailor.  There  is  no  remedy. 

PaL  Farewell,  kind  window! 
May  rude  wind  never  hurr  thee !  Ob,my  lady. 
If  ever  thou  hast  felt  what  sorrow  was. 
Dream  how  I  sufier !  Come,  now  bury  rae. 

SCENE  IH. 

Enter  Arcite, 

Arc.  Banish'd  the  kingdom?  Tisabeneiit, 
A  mercy  I  must  thank  'em  for;  but  banisb'd 
The  free  enjoying  of  that  face  I  die  for, 
Oh,  'twas  a  studied  punishment,  a  death 
Bt-yond  imagination !  Such  a  vengeance, 
Tiiat,  were  I  old  riud  wicked,  all  my  sins 
Could  never  pluck  upon  me.     Pulamon, 
Thou  hast  the  start  now;  thou  slialt  stay  and 

sec  [thy  window. 

Her  bright  eyes  break  each  morning  'gainst 
And  let  in  lile  into  thee;  thou  shalt  feed 
Upon  the  sweetness  of  a  noble  beauty, 
1  hat  uatiire  ne'er  exceeded,  nor  ne'er  shall: 
Good  gods,  what  happiness  lias  Paiamon ! 
Twenty  to  one  he'll  come  to  speak  to  her; 
And,  if  she  be  as  gentle  as  she  s  fair, 
I  know  she's  his;  he  has  a  tongue  will  tame 
Tempests,  and  make  the  wild  rocks  waoton. 

Come  what  can  come,  [domi 

The  worst  is  death;  I  will  not  leave  the  king* 
I  know  my  own  is  but  a  lieap  of  ruins. 
And  no  redress  there !  if  I  go,  he  has  her. 
I  am  resolv'd:  another  shape  shall  makemey 
Or  end  my  fortunes;  either  way, I'm  happjt 
1*11  see  her,  and  be  near  her,  or  no  more. 

Enter  four  Countrtf  People  ;  one  with  a  Cafi 
land  before  tfiem, 

1  Coun.  My  masters,  I'll  be  tliere,  tliat*l 

2  Coun.  And  I'll  be  there.  [certain. 

3  Coun,  Aud  I.  ['tis  but  a  chidiiig: 

4  Coun,  Why  then,  have  with  ye,  boys! 

*♦  And  if  the  he  notheav'nly — ]  This  and  the  end  of  the  next  speed),  which  may  at  first  sight 
appear  a  rant,  are  inimitably  beautiful  in  a  character  of  such  wann  passions  under  a  phremy 
ot  love.  Our  authors  have  improv'd  upon  Chaucer,  in  making  Paiamon  and  Arcite  such  very 
distinct  characters;  but  Arcite^  who  is  not  crowu'd  with  success,  becomes  by  this  means  the 
more  amiable,  and  has  the  reader's  wishes  in  his  favour.  This  is  a  fault  that  Cbnacer  paiv 
ticulai'ly  gtiards  against,  for  he  makes  the  Two  Kinsmen  under  an  engagement  upon  oatlC  tn 
assist  each  other  when  either  happened  to  be  in  love.  Had  our  auUiors  inserted  this,  tliey 
bad  obviated  all  prejudice  agaiust  Paiamon,  and  given  su£cieat  matter  to  kindle  hk  ng» 
and  violence.  Sttvard, 

Who  ttotcrtains  any  prejudice  eg^nst  Palan^oH  here? 

lit 


Act  1L  Scene  4.} 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


40S 


Let  the  ploitth  play  tcMiay  ?  Fll  tickle*t  out 
Of  the  jades  tails  to-morrow ! 

1  Caun.  I  am  sure 

To  have  my  wife  as  jealous  as  a  turkey : 
Bat  that's  all  ooe;  TU  ^o  tbro',  let  her  mum- 
ble, [and  stow  her, 
3  Conn.  Clap  her  aboard  to-morrow  night, 
And  all's  made  up  again. 

3  Cofin.  Ay,  do  but  put 

A  feskue  in  her  iist^and  you  shall  see  her 
Take  a  new  lesson  out,  and  be  a  good  wench. 
Do  we  all  hold  against  the  maying.^ 

4  Coun.  Hold!  what 
Should  ail  us  ? 

3  Coun,  Areas  will  he  tliere. 

2  Coun,  And  Sennois, 

And  Rycas;  and  three  better  lads  ne*cr 
danc'd  [Ha ! 

Under  green  tree;  and  ye  know  what  wenches. 

But  will  the  dainty //omirif,  the  schoolmaster. 

Keep  touchy  do  you  think?  for  he  does  all, 
ye  know.  [Go  to ! 

5  Coim.  Hell  eat  a  hornbook,  ere  he  fail: 
The  naatter  it  too  far  driven  between 

Him  and  the  tanner's  daughter,  to  let  slip  now; 
And  she  must  see  the  duke,  and  she  must 
daoce  too. 

4  Coun.  Shall  we  be  lusty? 

%  Coun,  All  the  boys  in  Athens 
Blow  wind  i'  th'  breech  on  us  I  and  here  111  be. 
And  there  I'll  be,  for  our  town,  and  here 

ngain^  [weavers ! 

And   there  again!   Ha,  boys,  heigh  for  the 

1  Catm.  This  must  be  done  i'  th*  woods. 
4  Cottii.  Oh, pardon  me! 

9  Coun,  By  any  means;  our  tiling  of  learn- 
ing says  so ; 
Where  he  himself  will  edify  the  duke 
Most  parlousty  in  our  beltahs:  he*s  excel- 
lent i'  th*  woods;  [cry. 
Brin^  htm  to  th'  plains,  his  learning  makes  no 
^  Coun.  Well  see  the  sports;  then  every 
man  to's  tackle  I                            [means. 
And,  sweet  companions,  let*s  rehearse  by  any 
Before  the  ladies  see  us,  and  do  sweetly, 
And  God  knows  what  may  come  on't ! 

4  Coun,  Content :  the  spoits 
Once  ended,  well  perform.     Away   boys, 
and  hold !  [y^^i  thither  go  yon  ? 

Are,  By  your  leaves,  honest  friends!  Pray 
4  Coun,  Whither?  why,  what  a  question's 
that!  [not. 

Arc,  Yes,  'tis  a  question,  to  me  that  know 

3  Coun.  To  the  games,  ihy  friend. 

2  Coun,  Where  were  you  bred,  you  know  it 
not? 


Arc,  Not  far,  sir* 
Are  there  such  games  to-day? 

1  Coun.  Yes,  marry  are  there; 

And  such  ns  you  ne'er  saw :  the  duke  himself 
Will  be  ill  person  there. 
Arc.  What  pastimes  are  they? 

2  Coun.  Wrastling  and  running.    Tis  i^ 
pretty  fellow. 

3  Coun.  Thou  wilt  not  go  along? 
Arc.  Not  yet,  sir. 

4  Coun.  VVell,  sir. 

Take  your  own  time.    Come,  boys ! 

1'  Coun.  My  mind  misgives  me 
Thi»  tellow  has  a  veiig*ance  tfick  o'th'  hip; 
Mark,  how  his  hody*s  made  for*t! 

2  Coun.  Ill  be  hang*d  tho' 
If  he  dare  venture;  hang  him,  plumb-por- 
ridge !  [gnne,  lads ! 
He  wrastle  ?  He  roast  c^.    Come,  let's  be 
[Kreunt  Countrj/men, 
Arc.  This  is  an  offer  d  opportunity 
I   durst  not  wish  for.     Well  I  could  have 

wrestled, 
The  best  men  call'd  it  excellent ;  and  run,  ' 
Swifter  the  wind  upon  a  field  of  com*' 
(Curling  the  wealthy  ears)  ne'er  flew!  I'll 
venture,  [knowa 

And  in  some  poor  disguise  he  there :  who 
Whether  my  brows  may  not  be^rt  with  gar- 
And  happiness  prefer  me  to  a  place,  [laiids^ 
Where  I  may  ever  dwell  in  sight  of  her? 

[Exit. 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Jailor*i  Daughter. 

Daugh.  Why  should  Hove  this  gentleman? 
Mis  odds 
He  never  will  affect  me:  I  am  hase. 
My  father  the  mean  keeper  of  his  prison. 
And  he  a  prince :  to  marry  him  is  hopeless. 
To  be  his  whnre  is  witless.   Out  upon't! 
What  pushes  are  we  wenches  driven  to, 
When  fit'teen  once  lias  found  us !  First,  I  saw 

him; 
I,  seeing,  thou^^ht  he  was  a  goodly  man ; 
He  has  tis  much  to  please  a  woman  in  him, 
(If  he  please  to  bestow  it  so)  as  ever 
These  eyes  yet  look'd  on:  next,  I  pitied  him; 
And  so  would  any  young  wench,  o'my  con- 
science. 
That  ever  dream'd,  or  vow'd  her  maidenhead 
Toa  young  handsome  man  :  then,  (  lov'd  him. 
Extremely  lov'd  him,  infinitely  lov*d  him  ! 
And  yet  he  had  a  cousin,  fair  as  he  too ; 
But  ii         * 
Lorfl, 


;  in  my  heart  was  Palamon,  and  there, 
d,  what  a  coil  he  keeps  ^ !  To  hear  hii 


him 


^^  Swifter  than  wind.']  Amended  by  Seward  and  Sympson. 

^  Lordf  what  a  coU  he  keeps  !  To  hear  Ai//i.]  This  line  wants  two  syllables  of  its  due 
measure,  and  the  words  that  I  have  inserted  seem  to  improve  the  sense  as  well  as  compleat 
the  measure,  as  they  imply  a  continuance  of  his  singing,  and  her  attention  to  it.        Seward* 

Seward  reads, ^  To  ut  and  hear  him ; 

hut  these  sappoted  improvements  of  the  iense^  and  arbitrary  compUtions  of  the  meaeure^  are 
unwarrantable.  To  sit,  would  rather  imply  sitting  in  his  oompany,  whica  is  not  supposed  in 
tilis  place. 

8F8 


404 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KIN6MEIT. 


[Act  S.  Soenc  B. 


Sing  in  an  eventng^^,  what  a  heaven  it  it! 
A  nd  ^ct  his  sorfgs  are  sad  ones.  Fairer  spoken 
Wqs  never  gentleman :  when  I  come  m 
To  bring  hirii  water  in  a  morning,  first 
lie  bows  his  noble  body,  then  salutes  me  thus  : 
'  Fair  gentle  maid,  good  morrow  !   may  thy 

goodness 
'  Gel  thee  a  happy  husband !'  Once  he  kiss'd 

me ;       ^ 
I  lov'd  my  lips  the  better  ten  days  after : 
'Would  he  would  do  soevVy  day!  He  grieves 

much, 
And  me  as  much  to  see  his  misery :     [him  ? 
What  should  I  do,  to  make  him  know  i  love 
For  I  would  fain  enjoy  him:  say  £  ventur'd 
To  set  him  free?  what  says  the  law  then? 
llius  much  for  law,  or  kindred  !  I  will  do  it^^, 
And  this  night,  or  to-morrow :  he  shall  love 
•    mc!  [Exii, 

SCENE  V. 

[^4  short  flourish  of  cornets,  and  shouts 
within. 
lEnter  Theseus,  Hippolita,  Perithous,  Emiliay 
and  Arcite  with  a  Garland,  SfC. 

Tkes.  You  have  done  worthily;  I  have  not 

seen. 
Since  Hercales,  a  man  of  tougher  sinews : 
Whatever  you  are,  you  run  the  best,  and 

wrestle, 
That  these  tiroes  can  allow. 

Arc,  Fm  proud  to  please  you. 

T%es,  What  country  bred  you? 

Arc.  This;  but  far  off,  prince. 

Thes.  Are  you  a  gentleman  ? 
'    Arc.  My  father  said  so; 
And  to  those  gentle  uses  gave  me  life^« 

Thcs,  Are  you  his  heir? 

- ,  To  hear  him 


Arc.  His  yoangest,  air. 

Thes.  Your  father 
Sure  is  a  happy  sire  then.    Whatjproveyoa  } 

Arc.  A  little  of  all  noble  quiUxties : 
I  could  have  kept  a  hawk,  and  well  have 

hoUoa'd 
To  a  deep  cry  of  dogs;  I  dare  not  praise 
My  feat  m  horsemanship,  yet  they  tiiat  knew 

me  rgreatestiy 

Would  say  it  was  my  best  piece;  last,  and 
I  would  be  thought  a  soldier, 

Thes.  You  are  perfect. 

Per.  Uoon  my  soul,  a  proper  man ! 

Emi.  He  is  so. 

Per.  How  do  you  like  him,  lady? 

Hip,  I  admire  him  : 
I  have  not  seen  so  young  a  man  80  noble, 
(If  he  say  true)  of  liis  sort. 

Emi.  believe. 
His  mother  was  a  wondroushandsonie  wmnao! 
His  face  methinks  goes  that  way. ' 

Hip.  But  his  body, 
And  nery  mind,  illustrate  a  brave  father. 

Per.  Mark  how  his  virtue,  like  a  bidden 
Breaks  thro'  his  baser  garments.  [<>»» 

Hip.  He's  well  got,  sure. 

Thes.  What  made  you  s«^ek  this  plaoeysir? 

Arc,  Noble  Theseus, 
To  purchase  name,  and  do  my  ablest  sftrvicc 
To  such  a  well-found  wonder  as  tky  worth; 
For  only  in  thy  court,  of  all  the  world. 
Dwells  fair-ey'd  Honour. 

Per,  All  his  words  are  worthy.       [tcave], 

Thes.  Sir,  we  are. much  indebted  to  font 
Nor  shall  you  lose  your  wishes.    PerithcMs, 
Dispose  ot  this  fair  gentleman. 

Per.  Thanks,  Theseus!—  [girevoa 

Whatever  you  are,  you're  mine;  and  I  shall 


.,  Helena  says: 


Sing  in  an  evening,  4rcJ  In  All's  Well  that  ends  Well,  act  i.  sc.  Ij 
,       * 'Twas  pretty,  tho'  a  plague, 

*  To  see  bun  every  hour;  to  sit  and  draw 

*  His  arched  brows,  his  hawking  eye,  his  curlsy 
'  In  our  heart's  table :  heart,  too  capable 

*  Of  every  line  and  trick  of  his  sweet  favour ! 

'  But  now  he's  gone,  and  my  idolatrous  fancy 

*  Must  sanctify  his  relics.'  Jl, 
**  For  law  or  kindred  :  I  will  do  it. 

And  this  night,  or  to-morrow  he  shall  love  me,^  The  first  verse  wants  a  syllable,  aa4  *6b 
odd  in  her  to  say  tliat  he  should  love  her  either  this  night  or  to-morrow;  what  she  wonld  na- 
turally say,  is,  that  she  would  free  him  tliis  night,  and  that  would  so  oblige  him,  tliat  to-tnop- 
row  he  would  love  her.  I  have  added  one  particle  and  chang'd  another,  in  which  I  hope  I 
have  only  restor'd  the  original.  Seicard, 

Seward  reads^ 

For  law,  or  kindred :  I  will  do  it,  ay 

And  this  night;  and  to-morrow  he  shall  love  me. 
Our  panctuatlon,  we  hope,  restores  the  poets'  meaning,  without  committing  any  violence  on 
llieoid  text.    A  similar  expression  occurs,  p.  403  of  this  volume; 

they  should  fear  her ; 

And  then  I'm  sure  she*d  love  me, 
^  And  to  those  gentle  uses  gave  me  /i/e;]  i.  e.  Gave  me  hfe  on  purpose  to  educate  me  gen- 
tilely:  the  reading  may  be  defended,  but  it  would  certainly  be  more  natural  if  we  lead^vw 
my  ujt^  u  e.  bn>ogl)t  me  up  and  dedicated  my  life  to  all  gentile  habito  and  exercises. 

To 


Act  5.  Scene  6.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLS  KINSMMf . 


16$ 


To  a  most  noble  semce,  to  this  Ifidy, 

This  bright  young  virgin:  pray  observe  her 

goodness.  [virtues, 

YouVe  honourM  her  fair  birth-day  with  your 
And,  as  your  due,  you're  hers;  kiss  her  fair 

hand,  sir.  [beauty, 

Arc.  Sir,  you're  a  noble  c;iver. — iDearest 
Thus  let  me  seal  my  vow'd  faith!  when  your 

servant  lyou, 

(Your  most  unworthy  creature)  but  offends 
Commaud  him  die,  lie  shall. 

EmL  That  were  too  cruel. 
If  you  deserve  well,  sir,  I  shall  soon  see't: 
You*re  mine;   and  somewhat  better  than 

?our  rank  Til  use  you.  [Vou  say 

W.  I'll  see  you  fumish'd :  and  because 
You  are  a  horseman,  I  must  needs  entreat  you 
This  afternoon  to  ride ;  but  *tis'  a  rough  one. 

Arc,  I  like  him  better,  prince;  I  shall  not 
Freeze  in  my  saddle.  [then 

Thes.  Sweet,  you  must  be  ready; 
And  you,  Emilia;  and  yon,  friend;  and  all; 
To-morrow,  by  the  sun,  to  do  observance 
To  flow'ry  May^®,  in  Dian's  wood.    Wait 

well,  sir. 
Upon  your  mistress !  Emily,  I  hope 
He  shall  not  go  afoot. 

EmL  That  were  a  shame,  sir,  [what 

While  I  have  horses.  Take  your  choice;  and 
You  want  at  any  time,  let  me  but  know  it: 
If  you  serve  faithfully,  I  dare  assure  you 
YouH  find  a  loving  mistress. 

Arc.  If  I  do  not. 
Let  me  find  that  my  father  ever  hated. 
Disgrace  and  blows ! 

TUes.  Go,  lead  the  way;  you've  won  it; 
It  shall  be  so*,  you  shall  receive  all  dues 
Fit  for  the  honour  you  have  won;  h^ere 

wrong  else. 
Sister,  besbrew  my  heart,  you  have  a  servant, 
That,  if  I  were  a  woman,  would  be  master; 
But  you  are  wise.  \_Flouri8h. 

linL  I  hope  too  wise  for  tiiat,  sir. 

[Extunt. 
SCENE  \^. 

Enter  JaihrU  Daughter. 

Datigh.  Let  all  the  dukes,  and  all  the  de- 
vils roar, 


He  is  at  liberty!  Fve  ventured  for  him; 
And  out  Fve  brought  him  to  a  little  wood 
A  mile  hen(;.e.    I  have  sent  him,  where  a 

cedar, 
Higher  than  all  the  rest,  spreads  like  a  plane'* 
Fast  by  a  brook;  and  there  he  shall  keep. 

close, 
'Till  I  provide  him  files  and  food ;  for  yet 
His  iron  bracelets  are  not  otF.    Oh,  Love, 
What  a  stout-hearted  child  thou  art !     My 

father  [done  it« 

Durst  better  have  endur'd  cold  iron,  than 
I  love  him  beyond  love,  and  beyond  reason. 
Or  wit,  or  safety !  I  have  made  him  know  it: 
I  care  not;  I  am  desperate!  If  the  law 
Find  me,  and  then  condemn  me  for*t,  some 

wenches,  r 

Some  honest-hearted  maids,  will  sing  my  dirge^ 
And  tell  to  memory  my  death  was  noble. 
Dying  almost  a  martyr.  That  way  he  takea^ 
'  I  purpose,  is  my  way  too:  sure  he  cannot 
Be  so  unmanly  as  to  leave  me  here! 
If  he  do,  maids  will  not  so  easily  [me 

Trust  men  again :  and  yet  he  has  not  thank'd 
For  what  I've  done;  no,  not  so  much  as  kiss*d 

me; 
And  that,  methinks,  is  not  so  well;   hoc 

scarcely 
Could  I  persuade  him  to  become  a  freemaiv 
He  made  such  scruples  of  the  wrong  he  did 
To  me  and  to  my  father.    Yet,  I  hope. 
When  he  considers^more,  this  love  ol  mine 
Will  take  more  root  withiu  him:  let  him  do 
What  he  will  with  me,  so  he  use  me  kindly! 
For  use  me  so  he  shall,  or  Fli  proclaim  him. 
And  to  his  face,  no  man.    Ill  presently 
Provide  him  necessaries,  and  pack  my  cloatht 

up, 
And  wheretfaere  is  a  path  of  ground  FU  ven- 
ture, 
So  he  be  with  me !  by  him,  like  a  shadow, 
I'll  ever  dwell.  Within  this  hour  the  whoobub 
Will  be  all  o'er  the  prison:  I  am  then 
Kissing  the  man  they  look  for.    Farewell, 

father!  / 

Get  many  more  such  prisoners,  and  such 

daughters. 
And  shortly  you  may  keep  yourself.  Now  to 

him!  [Exit. 


•  to  do  observance 


Toflow'ry  May.]  Of  the  custom  of  going  into  theVoods  to  celebrate  the  introduction 
of  May^  and  the  several  rites  observed  by  di£rent  people  on  that  occasion,  the  reader  will 
see  an  ample  account  in  Bourne's  Observations  on  Popular  Antiquities.  See  Brand's  edition, 
8vo.  1777,  printed  at  Newcastle,  p.  255.        R. 
?'  Flane;]  i.  e.  The  plane-tree.       IL 


ACT 


40« 


TIIE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN, 


[Acts.  Scene  1^, 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  T.    ; 
Comets  in  sundry  Places.     Noise  and  halloo^ 
ingf  05  People  a-maying. 
Enter  Arcite, 

ilrci/e.nPHE  duke  has  lost  Hippolita;  each 

-■•      tpok 
A  sereral  land.    This  is  a  solemn  rite 
They  owe  bloomM  May,  and  the  Athenians 

pay  it 
To  ih'  heart  of  ceremony.  Oh,  qaeen  Emilia, 
Fresher  than  May»  sweeter 
Than  her  gold  buttons  on  the  boughs,  or  all 
Th*enameird  knacks  o*th'mead  or  garden! 

We  challenge  too  the  bank  of  any  nymph, 
That  makes  the  stream  seem  flowera ;  thou, 
oh  jewel  ^      [place 

OWwood,  o'th*  world,  hast  likewise  Idlest  a 
With  thy  sole  presence'*. — In  thy  rumination 
That  I  pour  man  might  eftsoons  come  be- 
tween, [blessed  chance. 
And  chop  on  some  cold  thougiit ! — Thrice 
To  drop  on  such  a  mistress!  Expectation 
J^Iost  guiltless  oft!  Tell  me,  oh,  lady  Fortune, 
(Next  after  Emily  my  sovereign)  how  far 
I  may  be  proud.  She  takes  strong  note  of  me^ 
Ilath  made  me  near  her,  and  this  beauteous 

mom 
(The  prim'st  of  all  the  year)  presents  me  with 
A  brace  of  horses;  two  siichbtecds  might  well 
Be  by  a  pair  of  kings  back'd,  in  a  fieUf 
That  their  crowns*  titles  tried.     Al  s,  alas, 
Poor  cousin  Palamou,  poor  prisoner!  tliou 
So  little  dream*st  tipon  my  fortune,  that 
Thou  think*st  thybclf  the  happier  thing,  to  be 
So  near  Plmilia;  me  thou  deem*st  'at  Thebes, 
And  therein  wretched,  altho*  free:  but  if 
Thou  knew'st  my  mistress  breath'd  on  me, 

and  that 
I  ear'd  her  languajie,  liv'd  in  her  eye,  oh,  coz. 
What  passion  would  enclose  thee! 

Enter  Palamon  as  out  of  a  Bushy  with  his 
Shackles ;  bends  his  Fist  at  Arcite. 
Pal,  Traitor  kinsman  !  f^'^S^^ 

Thou  shouldst  perceive  my  passion,   if  these 

-  hast  Uketcise  blest  a  pace 


Of  prisonment  were  oflTme,  and  this  hand 
But  owner  of  a  sword.  By  all  oaths  in  one, 
I,  and  the  justice  of  my  love,  would  make  tbee 
A  confess'd  traitor !  Oh,  thou  most  perfidifHis 
That  ever  gert  tly  look'd !  the  void*st  oi  honour 
That  e'ier  bore  gentle  token'' !  falsest  cousin 
Thftt  ever  blood  made  kin !  calfst  thoa  her 

thine  ? 
ni  prove  it  in  my  shackles,  with  these  bands 
Void  of  appointment,  that  thouliest,  and  ait 
A  very  thief  in  love,  a  chaffy  lord. 
Nor  worth  the  name  of  villain!  llnd  la  sword. 
And  these  house-clogs  away— 

Arc,  Dear  cousin  Palamon—  [snch 

Pal.  Cozener  Arcite,   give  me  languagt 
As  thou  hast  shewM  me  feat  \ 

Arc,  Not  finding,  in 
The  circuit  of  iny  breast,  any  gross  stuff 
To  form  me  like  your  blazon,  holds  me  t» 
This  gentleness  of  ansxver:  'tis  your  passion 
That  thus  mistakes;  the  which  to  you  bein^ 

enemy, 
Cannot  to  me  be  kind.  Honour  and  honesty 
I  cherish,  and  depend  on,  howsoever 
You  skip  them  in  me,  and  with  them,  faircos^ 
ni  maintain  my  proceedings.  Pray  be  pleasM 
To  shew  in  generous  terms  .your  griets,  since 

that  ^  [fe&ses 

Yom*  question's  with  your  equal,  who  pro» 
To  clear  his  own  way,  with  the  mind  and 
Of  a  true  eentlemim.  [sword 

Pal,  'lliat  thou  durst,  Arcite!  [advertis'd 

Arc,  My  coz,  my  coz,  you  have  been  well 
How  much  I  dare :  you've  sceu  me  use  ray 

sword 
Against  th*  advice  of  fear.    Sure,  of  anotlier 
You  would  not  hear  me  doubted,  but  your 

siU-nce 
Should  break  out,  tiio*i*th' sanctuary. 

Pal.  Sir,  [veil 

IVe  seen  you  move  in  such  a  plare,  which 
Might  justify  your  manhood;  you  wcrecall'd 
A  good  knight  and  a  bold :  but  the  whole 

week's  not  fair. 
If  any  d.iy  it  rain !  Their  valiant  temper 
Men  lose,  when  they  incline  to  treachery ; 


With  thy  stile  presence,  in  thy  rumination 

That  1  poor  man  might  eftsoons  come  between 

And  chop  on  some  cold  thought ^  thrice  blessed  chance,  <5r.]  The  amendment  of  the  puno» 
tuation  in  this  passage,  and  altering  oace  to  place,  are  by  Seward, 
53 O  than  most  perfidious  ' 

l%at  ever  gently  looked  the  voids  of  honour^ 

That  ever  bore  gentle  token!]  The  reader  will,  I  betieve,  find  this  difficult  passage 
f which  had  long  puzzled  us  all  three)  at  last  cleared  up  by  Mr.  Sympsou  to  entire  satisAK> 
tion.  Seward* 


And 


4lct  3.  Scene  !i.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


401 


^ad  then  they  fight  like  compeird  bears, 

would  flj 
'\Vicre  they  not  tied. 

Arc.  Kinsman,  you  might  as  well 
fipeak  tlii:>,  and  act  it  in  your  glass,  as  to 
IiJ5  ear,  whicii  now  disdains  you! 

PaL  Come  up  to  me  !  [sword 

Quit  me  of"  these  cold  gyves**,  give  me  a 
(Tho'ic  be  rusty),  aud  U«e  charity 
Of  one  meul  lend  me;  come  before  me  then, 
A  good  sword  in  thy  hand,  aud  do  but  say 
Tliat  Eiuiiy  is  tliine,  I  will  forgive 
The  txespass  thou  bast  done  me,  yea  my  life, 
If  tlien  thou  carry't;  and  brave  souls  in  shades^ 
That  have  died  manly,  which  will  seek  of  me 
So:ue  news  from  earth,  they  shall  get  none 
That  thou  art  brave  and  noble.       [but  this. 

Arc,  Be  content; 
Again  betake  yoti  to  your  hawthorn-house ! 
With  counsel  of  the  night,  I  will  be  here 
With  wholesome  viands ;  these  impediments 
Will  I  tile  od*;  vou  shall  have  garments,  aod 
Perfuinesdo  kill  the  smell  oW  prison ;  after. 
When  yoirshall  stretch  yourseU^  and  say  but, 

*  Arcite, 
'  I  am  in  pliglbt!'  there  shall  be  at  your  choice 
Doth  sword  aud  armour. 

PaL  Oil,  you  Heav'os,  dare  any 
Sii  noble  bear  a  guilty  business?  None 
But  only  Arcite;  therefore  none  but  Arcite 
In  this  kind  is  so  bold.  ^ 

Arc.  Sweet  Palamon — 

Pal.  I  do  embrace  you,  and  your  OiTer :  for 
Your  otfer  do't  I  only,  sir ;  your  person. 
Without  hypocrisy,  I  may  not  wish 
More  than  my  sword*s  edge  on't. 

[Wind  hor/is  of  cornets. 

Arc,  You  bear  the  horns :  [tween's 

f  ntc-r  your  muse  quick^'^  lest  this  match  bc- 
Be  crost  ere  met.  Give  me  your  hand;  fare- 
well ! 
Tl\  bring  you  every  needful  thing:  I  pray  you 
Take  comfort,  and  be  strong! 

PaL  Pray  hold  your  proiiiise,  [certain 
And  do  tlie  deed  with  a'  bent  brow !  most 
Von  love  me  not:  be  i*ough  with  me,  and  pi»ur 
This  oil  out  of  your  language :  by  this  uir, 

*♦  Gyves.]  See  note  31  on  Beggars*  Bush. 
*5  You  hear  the  horns; 

Enter  your  music  lest  this  match  between  s 

Be  crost  i^ermet.]  Music  is  evidently  corrupt;  I  read,  muse  quick;  the  muse  of  a  hare 
is  exactly  the  idea  the  context  requires.     I  find  this  emendation  in  Mr.  Theobald's  marcin 
but  as  I  sent  it  him,  I  know  not  whether  he  had  it  from  me,  or  hit  upon  it  before.    Seward. 
This  emendation  had  been  made  before  by  sir  William  Davenant,  to  whom,  as  it  seems 
a  happy  conjecture,  the  merit  of  it  ought  to  be  ascribed.     He  reads  (Rivals,  act  iii.  p.  28) 
*  You  hear  the  horns;  enter  your  muise.    Take 
'  Comfort  and  be  strong.'         R, 
"  If  a  good  title, 

Tm  persuaded  this  question,  «5-c.]  The  reading  and  pointing  of  former  editions.    SewanL 
*'  He  has  mistook  the  beake  /  meant.'\  Seward  alters  beake  to  beck,  wliich,  says  he,  '  is  ah 

*  old  English  word,  and  now  in  use  in  all  the  northern  counties;  it  signitiesabrook  or  river- 

*  and  some  towns,  as  NVelbeck,  Ilolbeck,  &c.  take  tlieir  names  from  it.    Sec  Kay's  Noi^ 
'  tliem  Dialects,  and  Skmner  on  the  word.  ' 

J^avenant  here  b  lew  succewful  in  hb  alteration  than  in  other  passages :  he  reads  leach.  JL 

They 


I  could  for  each  word  gives  caff  I  my  stomach 
Not  reconcird  by  reason. 

Arc.  Plainly  spoken  I 
Yet  pardon  me  h.ird  language :   when  I  spur 
My  horse,  I  chide  him  not;  content  and  anger 

[  Wifid  horns^ 
In  me  have  but  one  face.  Hark,  sir !  they  call 
The  scdtter*d  to  the  banquet :  you  must  guess 
I  have  an  oitice  there. 

Pal.  Sir,  your  attendance 
Cannot  please  Heaven;  and  I  know  your  office 
Unjustly  is  atchiev'd. 

Arc.  I've  a  good  title*^, 
lam  persuaded :  thisquestion,  sick betwecn's^ 
By  bleeJing  must  be  cur*d.     I  am  a  suitor 
That  to  your  sword  you  will  bequeath  this 
Aud  talk  of  it  no  more.  [plea^ 

Pal.  But  this  one  word : 
You're  going  now  to  gaze  upon  my  mistress; 
For,  note  you,  mine  she  is-- 

Arc,  Nay,  then^ 

PaL  Nay,  pray  you!*— 
You  talk  ot  feeding  me  to  breed  mestrennht 
You're  going  now  to  l(»ok  upon  a  sun 
Tnat  strengtiieos  what  it  looks  on;  there yoi» 

have 
A  vantage  o'er  me;  but  enjoy  it  till 
I  may  enforce  my  remedy.    Farewell ! 

[Exeunt^ 
SCENE  II. 

Enter  Jailors  Daughter. 

Baugh.  He  has  mistook  the  beck  I  meaBt'% 

'is  gone 
After  his  fancy.  Tis  now  well-nigh  morning; 
No  matter!  'would  it  were  perpetual  night)' 
And  darkness  lord  o'th*  world  f— Hark !  'tis 

a  wolf:  [thing. 

In  me  hath  grief  slain  fear,  and,  bat  tor  one 
I  care  for  nothing,  and  that's  Palamon: 
I  reck  not  if  the  wolves  would  jaw  me,  so 
He  had  this  hie.  What  if  I  halloo'd  for  himf 
1  cannot  halloo  :  if  I  whoopM,  what  then  ? 
If  he  not  answer'd,  I  should  call  a  wolf^ 
And  do  him  but  thut  ser\'ice.     1  have  heari 
Strange  howls'  this  live-long  night;  why  may*t 

not  be 


408 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSIVIEN. 


(Actd.  Scenes. 


They  have  made  prey  of  him  ?    He  has  no 

weapons ; 
He  cannot  run ;  the  jingling  of  his  gyves 
Mnbt'call  fell  things  to  listen,  who  have  in 

than 
A  sense  to  know  a  man  unarmed,  and  can 
Smell  where  resistance  is.    I'll  set  it  down 
He's  torn  to  pieces;  they  howVd  many  toge* 

ther, 
And  then  they  fed  on  him ;  so  much  for  that! 
Be  hold  to  ring  the  bell;  how  stand  I  then ? 
Alfs  charM  when  he  is  gone.    No,  no,  I  lie; 
My  father's  to  be  hanj^'d  for  his  escape; 
Myself  to  beg,  if  I  prized  life  so  much 
As  to  deny  mv  act ;  but  that  I  would  not. 
Should  I  try  death  by  dozens! — I  am  mop'd: 
Food  took  I  none  these  two  days", 
Sipt  some  water;  I've  not  clos'd  mine  eyes, 
Save  when  my  lids  scower*d  off  their  brine. 

Alas, 
Dissolve,  my  life!  let  not  my  sense  unsettle. 
Lest  I  should  drown,  or  stab,  or  hang  my- 
self! 
Oh,  state  of  nature,  fail  togetlier  in  me, 
Since  thy  best  props  are  warp'd  1 — So !  which 

way  now  ? 
The  best  way  is,  the  next  way  to  a  grave : 
Each  errant  step  beside  is  tonnent.     Lo, 
The  moon  is  down,  the  crickets  chirp,  the 

screecli-owl 
Calls  in  the  dawn!  all  offices  are  done. 
Save  what  1  fail  in :  but  the  point  is  this, 
An  end,  and  that  is  all !  [Exit. 

SCENE  TIL 
Enter  ArcUe^  toitk  Meaty  Wine^  and  Files. 

Arc,  I  should  be  near  the  place.    Ho, 

cousin  Palamon ! 

Enter  Palamon. 

Pqf.  Arcite?  [files. 

Arc.  The  same :  I've  brought  you  food  and 
Come  forth,  and  fear  not;  here's  no  Theseus. 

Fal.  Nor  none  so  honest,  Arcite. 

Arc.  That's  no  matter ; 
We'll  argue  that  hereafter.    Come,  take  cou- 
rage; ^  [drink! 
You  shall  not  die.  thus  beastly;    here,  sir, 
I  know  you're  faint;  then  Til  talk  further 

with  you. 

Pal.  Arcite,  thou  might'st  now  poison  me. 

Arc,  I  miglit ; 


But  I  must  fear  you  £rtt.    Sit  down ;  aiM^ 

good  now. 
No  more  of  these  vain  parlies!  let  ns  not. 
Having  our  ancient  reputation  with  us. 
Make  talk  for  fools  and  cowards.    To  jent 

Pal.  Do--  [health! 

Arc.  Pray  sit  down  then;  and ^  let  me 

entreat  you, 
By  all  the  honesty  and  honour  in  you. 
No  mention  of  this  woman !  'twill  disturb  us) 
We  shall  liave  time  enough. 

Pal.  WeU,  sir,  I'll  pledge  you. 

Arc.   Drink  a  good  hearty  draught!  it 

breeds  good  blood,  man. 
Do  not  you  feel  it  thaw  you  ? 

Pal.  Stay  ;rU  tell  you 
After  a  draught  or  two  more* 

Arc.  Sparc  it  not ; 
The  duke  has  more,  coz.    Eat  nowf 

Pal.  Yes. 

Arc.  I'm  glad 
You  have  so  good  a  stomach. 

Pal.  I  am  gladder 
I  have  so  good  meat  to't. 

Arc.  Is't  not  mad  lodging 
Here  in  the  wild  woods,  cousin  } 

Pal.  Yes,  for  them 
That  have  wild  consciences. 

Arc.  How  tastes  your  victuals? 
Your  hunj:er  needs  no  sauce,  I  see. 

Pal.  Not  much: 
But  ilr  it  did,  yours  is  too  tart,  sweet  cocKiSk 
What  is  this? 

Arc.  Venison. 

Pal.  Tis  a  lusty  meat.  [wenches 

Give  me  more  wine:  here,  Arcite,  to  the 
We  have  known  in  our  days!  The  lord- 
steward's  daughter; 
Do  you  remember  her? 

Arc.  After  you,  co*. 

Pal.  She  lov'd  a  black-hair'd  man. 

Arc.  She  did  so  :  well,  sir? 

Pal.  And  I  have  lieard  some  call   him 

Arcite ;  and — 

Arc.  Out  with  it,  faith! 

PaL  She  met  him  in  an  arbour: 
What  did  she  tliere,  coz  ?  Play  p'  th*  vii]giiia]s? 

Arc.  Something  she  did,  sir. 

Pal.  Made  her  groan  a  month  for't; 
Or  two,  or  three,  or  ten. 

Arc.  The  marshal's  sister 
Had  her  share  too,  as  I  remember,  cousin. 


^^'  Food  took  I  none  these  ttpo  days^ 

Sipt  some  watery  Pve  not  closed  mine  eyes 

Save  when  my  lids  scower'd  off  their  brine.]  Here  both  sense  and  measure  are  very  defi* 
cient;  Mr.  Sympson  reads, 

Food  took  I  none  these  two  days,  'cept  some  water; 
But  then  the  second  line  becomes  an  hemistich,  and  seems  to  be  deficient  too  in  sense,  as 
tlie  does  not  specify  how  long  she  had  continued  sleepless ;  I  fill  up  both  verses  with  what 
seems  perfectly  natural  for  her  to  say  : 

Food  took  I  none  these  two  days,  only  sipt 

Some  water,  two  nights  I've  not  clos'd  mine  eyes,  &c.  Seward, 

It  is  not  unnatural  she  should  say  this ;  but  not  seeing  the  defect  in  seme  as  well  as  mn* 
«ttre,  we  tliink  this  way  ofjilling  up  vgrsa  aa  unwarrautable  liceaoe  m  an  editor. 


Act  9.  Scene  4.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


409 


Blse  there  be  tales  abroad:   youll  pledge 

her? 

Pal,  Yes.  [a  time 

Arc,  A  pretty  brown  wench  -tis !  There  was 
When   young  men   went'a-hunting,  and  a 

wood. 
And  a  broad  beech^and  thereby  hangs  a  tale. — 
Heigh-ho! 

PaL  For  Emily,  open  my  life!  Fool, 
Away  with  this  strain'd  mirth !  I  say  again, 
That  sigh  was  breath'd  for  Emily :  base  cousin, 
Dar'st  thou  break  first? 

Are,  You're  wide. 

PaL  By  Heav'n  and  earth, 
There's  nothing  in  thee  honest ! 

Arc,  Then  Fil  leave^ou : 
You  are  a  beast  now. 

PaL  As  thou  mak*st  me,  traito^. 

Arc,  There's  all  things  needful ;  files,  and 

shirts,  and  perfumes : 
I*U  come  again  some  two  hours  hence,  and 

bring 
That  that  shall  quiet  ail. 

PaL  A  sword  and  armour  ? 

Arc,  Fear  me  not   You  are  flow  too  foul : 

Farewell ! 
Get  off  your  trinkets;  you  shall  want  nought. 

PaL  Sirrah  59_ 

Arc.  rU  hear  no  more  !  [Exit, 

Pal.  If  he  keep  touch,  he  dies  for't ! 

[Exit, 

SCENE  TV. 

Enter  Jailor^s  Daughter. 

Dough,  Vm  very  cold ;  and  all  the  stars 
are  out  too, 


The  little  stars,  and  all  th^t  look  like  nglets: 
The  sun  has  seen  my  folly.    Pnlaiuoii  I 
Alas,  no;  he's  in   Heav'n! — \Niicrc  am   I 

now? —  [tumbles! 

YonHer's  the  sea,  and  there's  a  ship ;  how^t 
And  there's  a  rock  lies  watching  under  water; 
Now,  now,  it  beats  upon  it!  now,  now,  now! 
There's  a  leak  sprung,  a  jjound  one;  how 

they  cry !  [else ! 

Up  with  her  *fi)re  the  wind^%  you'll  lose  all 
Up  with  a  course  or  two,  ancf  tack  about, 

boys! 
Good  night,  good  night;  you're  gone! — I'm 

very  hungry: 
'Would  I  could  find  a  fine  frog !  he  would 

tell  me  [make 

News  from  all  parts  o'th'  world ;  then  would  I 
A  carrack  of  a  cockle-shell,  and  sail 
By  east  and  north-east  to  tlie  king  of  pigmies. 
For  he  tells  fortunes  rarely.   Now  my  father, 
Twenty  to  one,  is  truss'd  up  in  a  trice 
To-morrow  morning ;  I'll  say  never  a  word. 

SONG. 

For  I'll  cut  my  green  coat^',  a  foot  above 

my  knee ; 
And  I'll  clip  my  yellow  locks,  an  inch  below 

mine  eye. 

Hey,  nonny,  nonny,  nonny. 
He's  buy  mc  a  white  cut,  forth  for  to  ride. 
And  I'll  go  seek  him,  thro'  the  world  that  is 

so  wide. 

Hey,  nonny,  nonny,  nonn^. 
OH,  for  a  prick  now,  like  a  nightingale**, 
To  put  my  breast  against!  I  shall  sleep  like 

a  top  else,  '  [Exit, 


^^  Sir,  ha.]  Former  copies. 

*°  Upon  her  be/ore  the  zoind.]  Mr.  Syrapson  thinks  thb  not  trae  sea  language^  and  puts 
what  I  believe  is,  * 

^  Up  with  her  'fore  the  wind— — 

Mr.  Theobald  reads, 

Spoon  lier  befi>re  the  wind,——* 
Either  of  tliem  will  do.        Seward, 
**  For  ril  cutf  4  cj  Davenant  altered  this  song  in  the  following  manner  j 
'  For  straight  my  green  gown  into  breeches  I'll  make^ 

*  And  my  long  yellow  locM  much  shorter  I'll  take. 

'  Sing  down  a-down,  &c. 

*  Then  I'll  cut  me  a  switch,  and  on  that  ride  about^ 

*  And  wander  and  wander  'till  I  find  him  out. 

<  With  a  heigh  down,  &c.'       '  R. 

•*  Oh f  for  a  priek  now,  like  a  nightingale. 

To  put  my^  breast  against,]  This  allusion  is  very  frequent  in  our  ancient  poets :  from 
several  examples  whic()  might  be  produced,  we  shall  select  the  following,  from  a  poem 
written  by  Fletcher's  c6usin, 'which  at  present  is  scarcely  known  : 

*  So  Philomel,  perch't  on  an  nspin  sprig,  ^ 

*  Weeps  all  the  night  her  lost  virginitie, 

*  And  sings  her  sad  tale  to  the  merrie  twig, 

'  That  dances  at  such  joy  full  miscrie, 
'  Ne  ever  4ets  sweet  rest  invade  her  eyes : 

*  But  leaning  on  a  thorn  her  dainty  chest, 

*  For  fear  tqjflt  sleep  should  steal  into  her  hrest, 
'  Expresses  in  her  song  grief  not  to  be  exprest.' 

Christs  Victiirie  and  Triumph  in  Heaven  and  Earth  over  and  afler  Death.    By  Giles 
Fletcher,  '2d  edit.  4to.  1632)  p.  68.        JR. 
VOL.  HI.  3  G  SCENE 


\ 


410 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEIf . 


[Acts.  Scenes. 


SCENE  V.  I 

Enter  Gerrold,  four  Countrymen  (and  the 
Bavian),  two  or  three  Wenches,  a?iVA  a 
'laborer, 

Cer.  Fy,  fy ! 
What  tediosity  and  disensatiity 
Is  here  amoni;  ye !  Have  my  rudiments 
Been  hibour'd  so  lone  with  ye,  milkM  unto  ye, 
A!id^  by  a  figure,  ev  n  the  very  plunab-Lroth 
And  marrow  of  my  understanding  laid  upon 

ye,  [Joref 

And  do  yc  still  cry  where,  and  how,  and  where- 
Ye  most  coarse  freeze  capacities,  ye  sleaze 

judgments^'. 
Have  1  said  thus  let  be,  and  there  let  be. 
And  then  let  be,  and  no  man  understand  me? 
Froh  Deum,  tuediusfidius;  ye  are  all  dunces! 
For  why?  here  slmid  I ;  here'thc  duke  comes ; 

there  are  yoti,  [meet  him, 

Close  in  the  thicket ;  the  duke  appears^  I 
And  unto  him  I  utter  learned  things, 
And  many  figures ;  he  hears,  and  nods,  and 

hums,  [length 

And  then  cries  rare/  and  I  go  forward;  at 
I  fling  my  cap  up;  mark  there!  then  do  you, 
As  once  did  Meleagei*  and  the  boar. 
Break  comely  out  before  him,  like  true  lovers. 
Cast  yourselves  in  a  body  decently,  [boys ! 
And  sweetly,  by  a  figure,  trace,  and  turn, 

1  Coun,  And  sweedy  we  will  do  it,  master 
Gerrold*  [the  laborer  ? 

2  Coun,  Draw  up  the  company.    Where*8 
3C(iw».  Why,Tnnothy! 
3a6.  Here,  my  mad  boys;  have  at  ye! 
Ger.  But  I  say  wljere's  their  women  ? 
4  Coum  Here  »  Friz  and  Alaudiin* 
2  Coun.  And  little  Luce,  with  the  white 
legs,  and  bouncing  Barbai^. 
1  CouM.  And  freckled  Nell,  that  never 
f.iird  her  master* 

Ger.  W  here  be  your  ribands,  maids  ?  Swim 
with  your  bodies, 

**'  Ye  }&vejudg7nvnts.]  Whether  j*ar?e  be  some  sort  of  coarse  cloth  as  well  as ^/rer-c,  or  a 
mistake  of  the  press,  must  be  uncertain  to  all  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  word.  i?up» 
posing  it  the  latter,  1  have  two  conjectures  to  ofi^er,  first,  ye  bays  judgments,  or  ye  sleuve 
judgments,  Sleave  is  the  tenn  the  silk-weavers  use  for  the  ravelled  knotty  gouty  parts  oi  tlie 
silk,  from  whence  Shakespeare  has  taken  an  extremely  beautiful  metaphor  that  has  beeo 
hitherto  gcnendly  misunderstood,  and  therefore  dislik'd  and  ev'n  discarded  from  the  text  as 
spurious  by  Mr.  Pope  and  the  Oxford  edition.  It  is  in  Macbethi  in  the  fine  scene  after  the 
murder  of  the  king ; 

*  Sleep,  thai  knits  up  the  ravelVd  sleeve  of  care/ 
It  should  have  been  slcave.    The  trouble  that  this  ravclfd  knotty  silk  giv^s  the  knitter  or 
weaver:  aud  the  confusion  and  embarrassment  of  the  sleave  itself,  makes  it  an  exceeding 
proper  emblem  of  the  per^jlexities  and  uneasiness  of  care  and  trouble.    See  Skinner  on  the 
word.     I  owe  the  emendation  in  Shakespeare  to  an  ingenious  friend.         Seward, 

^^  A  fire  ill  take  her,'\  This  may  be  rivfended,  but  as  the  expression  is  not  a  very  commoa 
or  eligible  one,  and  the  dialogue  is  with  a  schoolmaster,  who  says  of  himself  that. 

He  humbles  witii  a  ferula  the  tall  ones, 
I  hope  I  only  restore  the  original  in  reading, 

Ajeril  take  her.  Seicurd, 

We  believe  there  is  no  such  word  fxsJ'eriL  jMay  we  not  understand  by  FXB£  iU,  a  mcBTT 
illy  R  scvLRE  punishment  f  A  similar  use  oijire  adjectively  is  frequent. 

^^  Frttmpal.l  See  note  30  on  Wit  at  Several  Weapousi 

And 


And  carry  it  sweetly,  and  delirarly;  ^ 
And  now  and  then  a  favour,  and  a  frisk! 

NelL  Let  us  alone,  sir. 

Ger,  Where's  the  rest  o'th'rau^ic? 

3  Coun,  Dispersed  as  you  comiiianded. 
Ger,  Couple  then. 

And  sec  what's  wanting.  Where's  the  Baviaaf 
My  friend,  carry  your  tail  without  oftbnce 
Or  scandal  to  the  ladies;  and  be  sure 
You  tumble  with  audacity,  and  manhood  I 
Aud  when  you  bark,  do  it  withjudgment. 

Bav.  Yes,  sir.  [wanting. 

Ger,  Quo  usque  tandem  f  Here's  a  M.-uman 

4  Coun.  We  may  go  whistle ;  all  the  lat's 
Ocr.  Wehave,  [i'th'fire! 

As  learned  authors  utter,  wash'd  a  tile; 
We  have  heewfotuus,  and  labour'd  vainly. 

5  Coun,  This  is  that  scornful  piece,  that 
scurvy  hildiug,  [be  here. 

That  gave  her  promise  faitlifully  she  would 
Cicely,  the  sempster s  daughter!  [skin ! 

The  next  gloves  that  I  give  her  shall  be  dog's 
Nay,  an  she  fail  me  once — You  can  tell,  At^ 

cas,  IT  [break. 

She  swoi«,  by  wine  and  bread,  she  would  not 

Ger,  An  eel  and  woman, 
A  learned  poet  !>ays,  unless  by  th'  tail 
And  with  thy  teeth  thou  hold,  will  either  fail. 
In  manners,  this  was  fal^e  position,      [npw ? 

1  Coun,  A  fire  ill  take  her^^ !  does  she  flinch 

3  Coun,  What 

Shall  we  determine,  sir  ? 

Ger,  Nothing; 
Our  business  is  become  a  nullity. 
Yea,  and  a  woful,  and  a  piteous  nullity ! 

4  Coun,  Nowy  when  the  credit  of  our  towa 
lay  on  it. 

Now  to  be  frambal^^,  now  to  piss  o'tli'netde! 
Go  thy  ways :  I'll  remember  thee,  I'll  £t  thee  1 

Enter  Jailof^s  Daughter, 

Dough.  The  Geoi^e  alow  came  from  the 
From  the  coast  of  Biu-bary-a.         [soutb^ 


Act  3.  Scene  5.] 


tHE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


411 


And  there  he  met  with  brave  gallants  of  war, 
By  one,  by  two,  by  three-a. 

Well  hail'd,  well  hail'd,  you  jolly  gallants ! 

And  whether  now  are  youbound-a? 
Oh,  let  me  have  your  company 

Till  I  come  to  the  Souud^t! 

There  was  three  fools,  fell  out  about  an  buwlet: 

The  one  said  'twas  an  owl, 

The  other  he  said  nay^ 
The  third  he  said  it  was  a  hawk, 

And  her  bells  were  cut  away. 

3  Coun.  There  is  a  dainty  mad  woman, 

magister^'. 
Comes  i'th'  nick;  as  mad  as  a  March  hare! 
If  we  can  get  her  dance,  we're  made  again : 
I  warrant  her,  she'll  do  the  rarest  gambols  ! 

1  Coun.  A  mad  woman  ?  We  are  made, 

boys! 

Ger,  And  are  voumad,  good  woman? 

Daugk,  I  would  be  sorry  else ; 
Give  me  your  hand,     ^ 

Ger.  Why? 

Daugk.  I  can  tell  your  fortune : 
Yoa  are  a  fool     Tell  ten :  I've  poz*d  him. 

Buz!  [do. 

Friend,  you  must  eat  no  white  bread ;  if  you 
Your  teeth  will  bleed  extremely.    Shall  we 

dance,  ho? 
I  know  you ;  youVe  a  tinker :  sirrah  tinker®^, 
StoD  ho  more  holes,  but  what  you  should! 

uer.  I>u  boni  / 
A  tinker,  damsel? 

DaugL  Or  a  conjurer  i 
Raise  me  a  devil  now,  and  let  him  play 
QuipasM,  o*  th'  bells  and  bones ! 

Ger.  Go,  take  her, 
And  fluently  persuade  her  to  a  peace^^ : 
Aiaue  apu$,  cxegi,  quod  nee  Jovis  ira,  nee 
Stnke  up,  and  lead  her  in !  [ignis — 

9  Caun,  Come,  lass,  let's  trip  it ! 

Daugh.  ril  lead.  [Wind  horns. 

3  Coun.  Do,  do,  [boys  I 

Ger.  Persuasively,  and  cunningly ;  away, 
lExeunt  all  but  Gcrrold. 
I  hear  the  horns:  give  me  some  meditation. 
And  mark  your  cue.    Pallas  inspire  me! 

Enter  Theseus,  Perithous,  HippMa,  Epilia, 
Arcite,  and  Train. 

Tkes.  This  way  the  stag  took. 
Ger.  Stay,  and  edify  ! 
Thes.  What  have  We  here? 
Per,  Some  country-sport,  upon  my  life,  sir. 
Thes.  Well,  siis  go  forward:  we  will  edify. 
Ladies,  sit  down !  we'll  stay  it« 

**  There's  a  dainty  mad  woman,  Mr.!  As  most,  and  I  believe  all  the  Countrymen^s  i^peeches 
are  in  verse,  I  fancy  Air.  stood  for  Magister  here.  The  Schoolmaster's  first  speech  and  the 
greatest  part  of  this  scene  was  printed  as  prose.  But  I  have  found  it  running  easily  inta 
measure,  which  Fletcher's  drollery  frequently  docs.  Seward. 

^^  Sir,  ha.  Tinker.]  Former  copies. 

*^  Persuade  her  to  a  peace.]  I  think  we  should  read  appease;  i.  e.  be  quiet,  or  silent^ 

^'  Ladies,  if  we  Iiave,  &c.]  We  have  ventured  to  prenx  the  Schoolmaster's  name  to  this 
speech.    It  has  always  been  given  to  Ferithous, 

3G2  Hip. 


Ger,  Thou  doughty  duke>  all  hail!  all  bail, 

sweet  ladies ! 

Thcs^  This  is  a  cold  beginning. 

Ger.  If  you  but  favour,  our  country  pas* 

time  made  is. 
We  are  a  few  of  those  collected  here, 
That  ruder  tongues  distinguish  villager; 
And  to  say  verity,  and  not  to  fable, 
We  are  a  merry  rout,  or  else  a  rabble, 
Or  company,  or  by  a  figure,  chorus. 
That  'fore  thy  dignity  will  dance  amorris. 
And  I  that  am  the  rectifier  of  all, 
By  title  Pedagogus,  that  let  fall 
The  birch  upon  the  breeches  of  the  small  ones. 
And  humble  with  a  ferula  the  tall  ones. 
Do  here  present  this  machine,  or  this  frame : 
And,  dainty  duke,  whose  doui^hty  dismal  fame 
From  Dis  to  Dcdalus,  from  post  tf)  pillar. 
Is  blown  abroad:  help  me.  thy  poor  welU 

wilier,  [straight 

And  with  tliy  twinkling  eyes,  look  right  and 
Upon  this  mighty  morr — of  mickle  weight; 
is — now  comes  in,  which  being  glew'd  toge 

ther  [hither. 

Makes  morris,  and  the  cause  tliat  we  came 
The  bodr  of  our  »port  of  no  small  study, 
I  first  appear,  tho' rude,  and  raw,  and  muddy. 
To  speak  before  thy  noble  Grace,  this  tenor; 
At  whose  great  feet  I  offer  up  my  penner. 
The  next,  the  lord  of  May,  and  lady  bright, 
The  chambermaid,  and  servingman  by  night. 
That  seek  out  silent  hanging :  then  mine  host. 
And  his  fat  spouse,  that  welcome  to  their  cost 
The  galled  traveller,  and  with  a  beck*ning 
Informs  the  tnpster  to  inflame  the  reck'niiig: 
Then  the  beast-eatingclown,  and  next  the  fool. 
The  Bavian,  with  long  tail,  and  eke  long  tool; 
Cum  multis  aliis,  that  make  a  dance; 
Say  at/,  and  all  shall  presently  advance, 
Thes.  Ay,  ay,  by  any  means,  dear  domine  f 
Per.  Produce. 
Ger.  Intratejilii!  Come  forth,  and  foot  it. 

Enter  Countrymen,  ^r.     They  dance^ 
Ladies,  if  we  have  hern  n^rrv*^^^ 
And  have  pleas'd  ye  with  si  (ferry. 
And  a  derry,  and  a  down, 
Say  the  Schoolmaster's  no  clown, 
Duke,  if  we  have  pleas'd  thee  too, 
And  have  done  m  got>d  boys  should  do. 
Give  us  but  a  tree  or  twain 
For  a  Maypole,  and  again, 
Ere  another  year  run  out. 
We'll  make  thee  laugh,  and  all  this  rout. 

Thes.  Take  twenty,  dojiUnc^-^HQw  does 
my  sweetheart  ? 


41» 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[Act  3.  Scene  6. 


Hip*  Never  so  pleas'd,  sir. 
Emi.  Twas  an  excellent  dance; 
AntI,  tor  a  preface,  I  never  beard  a  better. 
Thei,  Schoolmaster,  I  thank  you.   One  see 
"em  all  rewarded  !  [pole  withal. 

Fen  And  here's  something  to  paint  your 
Tfie$,  Now  to  our  sports  again ! 

Ger.  May  the  stag  thou  hunt'st  stand  long, 
And  thy  dogs  be  swift  and  strong! 
May  they  kill  him  without  ietts, 
And  the  ladies  eat's  dowsets ! 
Come,  we  are  all  made!  \Wind  horns. 

Dii  Deaque  omnes !  ye  have  danced  rarely, 
wenches.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE  vr. 

Enter  PalamonJ'rom  the  Bush. 
Pal,  About  this  hour  my  cousin  gave  his 
faith  ...        * 

To  visit  me  again,  and  with  him  bring 
Two  swords,  and  two  good  armours;  if  he 
fail  [me, 

lie*s  neither  man,  nor  soUlier.  AVhen  he  left 
I  did  not  think  a  week  could  have  restored 
My  lost  strength  to  me,  I  was  grow^^so  low 
And  crest-ftdrn  with  my  wants:  I  thank  thee, 

Arcite, 
Thou'rt  ^et  a  fair  foe ;  and  I  feel  myself, 
With  this  refreshiiig,  able  once  again 
To  out-dure  danger.    To  delay  it  longer 
Would  make  the  world  think,  when  it  comes 

to  hearing, 
That  I  lay  tatting,  like  a  swine,  to  fight. 
And  not  n  soldier:  therefore,  this  blest  morn- 
ing 
Shall  be  the  last;  and  that  sword  he  refuses, 
If  it  but  hold,  I  kill  him  with:  'tis  justice: 
So^  Love  and  Fortune  for  me !  Oh,  good- 
morrow! 

Enter  Arcite,  with  Armours  and  Szcords, 

Arc,  Good-morrow,  Noble  Kinsman! 

PtU.  I  have  put  you 
To  too  much  Aains,  sir. 

Arc,  That  Coo  much,  fair  cousin, . 
Is  but  a  debt  to  honour,  and  my  duty. 

Pal,  'Would  you   were  so  in  all,  sir!  I 

could  wish  you 
As  kind  a  kinsman,  as  you  force  me  find 
A  beneficial  foe,  that  my  embraces 
Might  thank  you,  not  my  blows. 

Arc.  I  sliall  think  either, 
W^ell  done,  a  noble  recompense. 

Pal,  Then  I  shall  quit  you. 

Arc.  Defy  me  in  these  tair  terms,  and  you 

shew 
More  than  a  mistress  to  me :  no  more  anger. 
As  you  love  any  thing  that's  honourable ! 
Wc  were  not  bred  to  txdk,  man;  when  weVc 

ami'd, 
And  both  upon  our  guards,  then  let  our  fury, 
Like  meeting  of  two  tides,  fly  strongly  from  us ! 
And  then  to  whom  the  birthright  of  this 

beauty 


Truly  ]^rtains  (without  upbraidings,  scorns, 
Despisings  of  our  persons,  and  such  poutings, 
Fitter  for  girls  and  schoolboys)  will  be  seen, 
And  quickly,  yours,  or  mine.    Wilt  please 

you  arm,  sir? 
Or  if  you  feel  yourself  not  fitting  yet. 
And  furnished  with  your  old  strength,  Fll 

stay,  cousin. 
And  every  day  discourse  you  into  health. 
As  I  am  spar'd :  your  person  I  am  friends 

with. 
And  I  could  wish  I  had  not  said  I  lov'd  her, 
Tho*  I  had  died ;  but  loving  sucb  a  lady. 
And  justifying  my  love,  I  must  not  fly  from'u 

Pal.  Arcite,  thou  art  so  brave  an  enemy. 
That  no  man  but  thy  cousin's  fit  to  kill  thee:~ 
I'm.  well,  and  lusty  ;  ciinse  your  aims! 

Arc.  Chuse  you,  sir! 

Pal,  Wilt   thou  exceed  in   all,   or  dost 
To  make  me  spare  thee  ?  [thou  do  it 

Arc.  If  you  think  so,  cousin, 
Yuu  are  decciv'd;  for,  as  I  am  a  soldier, 
*ril  not  spare  you! 

Pal.  Tint's  well  said! 

Arc.  You  will  find  it.  [lore 

Pal.  Then,  as  I  am  an  honest  man,  and 
With  all  the  justice  of  affection, 
III  pay  thee  soundly !  This  I'll  take. 

Arc,  That's  mine  then; 
I'll  arm  you  first. 

Pal.  Do.     Pray  thee  tell  me,  coasin. 
Where  got*st  thou  this  good  armour? 

Arc,  Tis  the  duke's ; 
And,  to  say  true,  I  stole  it.  Do  I  pinch  you? 

Pal.  No. 

Arc.  Is't  not  too  heavy  ? 
.     Pal.  I  have  worn  a  lighter; 
But  I  shall  make  it  serve. 

Arc,  I'll  buckle't  close. 

PaL  By  any  means. 

Arc.  You  care  not  for  a  grand-guard  ? 

Pal.  No,    no;    we'll  use  no  horses:  I 

perceive 
You  would  fain  be  at  that  fight. 

Arc.  I'm  indifferent.  [the  buckle 

Pal.  Faith,  so  am  I.    Good  cousin,  thrust 
Thro'  far  enough! 

Arc.  I  warrant  you. 

Pal,  My  casque  now! 

Arc.  Will  you  fight  bare-arm'd  ? 

PaL  We  shall  be  the  nimbler. 

Arc.  But  use  your  gauntlets  tho':  those 

are  o*tir least; 
Prithee  take  mine,  good  cousin! 

Pal.  Thank  you,  Arcite! 
How  do  I  look?  am  I  fall'n  much  awav? 

Arc.  Faith,  very  little ;  Love  has  usd  yoo 

kindly. 

Pal,  I'll  warrant  thee  Til  strike  home. 

Arc.  Do,  and  spare  not ! 
I'll  give  you  cause,  sweet  cousin. 

Pal,  Now  to  you,  sir! 
Methinks  this  armour's  very  like  that^  Arcite, 
I'hou  wor^st  that  day  the  three  kings  fell,  but 

lighter. 

Are. 


Act  3,  Scene  6*]- 

Arc.  Tliat  was  a  very  good  one;  and  that 

day, 
I  weu  remember,  you  out-did  me,  cousin  ; 
I  never  saw  such  valour :  when  you  chargM 
Upon  the  left  wing  of  the  enemy, 
I  spurr'd  hard  to  come  up,  and  under  me 
I  had  a  right  good  horse. 

Pal,  You  had  indeed ; 
A  bright-bay,  I  remember. 

Arc.  Yes,    But  all 
Was  vainly  laboured  in  me;  you  out-went  me. 
Nor  could  my  wishes  reach  you:  yet  a  little 
1  did  by  imitation. 

Pal,  More  by  virtue ; 
YouVe  modest,  cousin. 

Arc,  When  I  saw  you  charge  first, 
Methought  I  heard  a  dreadful  dap  of  thunder 
Break  from  the  troop. 

Pal.  But  still  before  that  (lew 
The  lightning  of  your  valour.    Stay  a  little ! 
Is  not  this  piece  too  straight? 

Arc.  No,  no;  'tis  well. 

Pal.  I  would  have  nothing  hurt  thee  but? 

my  sword; 
A  bruise  would  be  dishonour. 

Arc.  Now  I'm  perfect* 

Pal'  Stand  off  then ! 

Arc.  Take  my  sword !  I  hold  it  better. 

Pal,  I  thank  you,  no ;  keep  it ;  your  life 

lies  on  it : 
Here's  one,  if  it  but  hold,  I  ask  no  more 
For  all  my  hopes.     My  cause  and  honour 
**  gu(ird  me! 

[Thej/  bow  several  tcu^s;  then  advance 
and  stand. 


T»E  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


413 


Arc,  And  me,  my  love  J  Is  there  aiight 

else  to  say  ?  [mine  aunt's  son. 

Pal.  This  only,  and   no  more:  thou  art 
And  that  blood  we  desire  to  slied  is  mutual; 
In  me,  thine,  and  in  thee,  mine :  my  sword 
Is  in  my  hand,  and  if  thou  killest  me 
The  gods  and  I  forgive  thee!  If  there  be 
A   place   prepar'd   for   those  that  sleep  io 

honour, 
I  wish  his  weary  soul  that  falls  may  win  it! 
Fight  bravely,  cousin :  give  me  thy  noble  Iiand! 

Arc,   Here,    Palamon!  This  hand   shsli 

never  more 
Come  near  thee  with  such  friendship. 

Pal,  I  commend  thee.  [coward; 

Arc.  If  I  fall, .curse  me,  and  say  I  was  a 
For  none  but  such  dare  die  in  these  iust 

trials<^». 
Once  more,  farewell,  my  cousia! 

Pal.  Farewell,  Arcite!  [Fight. 

[Horns  within;  the  if  stand. 

Arc.  Lo,  cousin,  lo !  our  folly  has  undone  us! 

Pal.  Why?  fyou; 

Arc,  This  is  the  duke,  a-hunting  as  I  told 
If  we  be  found,  we're  wretched !  Oh,  retire, 
For  honour's  sake !  and  safely  presently  '^ 
Into  your  bush  again,  sir!  We  shall  find 
Too  many  hours  to  die  in.     Gentle  cousin, 
If  you  be  seen  you  perish  instantly. 
For  breaking  prison ;  and  I,  if  you  reveal  me. 
For  my  contempt :  then  all  the  world  will 

scorn  us, 
And  say  we  had  a  noble  difference. 
But  base  disposers  of  it. 

Pal.  No,  no,  cousin ; 


•^  If  I  fall,  curse  me,  and  say  I  was  a  coward^ 

Par  none  but  such  dare  die  in  these  just  triaU.]  Mr.  Sympson  thiuks  this  a  strange  senti- 
ment, and  indeed  it  must  appear  so,  till  we  recollect  that  our  scene  lies  in  the  land  of 
knight  errantry  rather  than  in  Athens :  that  our  authors  follow  Chaucer,  and  dress  their 
heroes  after  the  manners  of  his  age,  when  trials  by  the  sword  were  thought  just,  and  Che 
confjuer'd  always  supposed  guilty  and  held  infamous.  In  this  light  the  sentiment  is  proper, 
though  it  would  certainly  be  more  in  character  in  PalanunCs  mouth,  whose  enthusiastic  zeal 
for  the  justice  of  his  cause,  would  be  the  proper  father  of  such  a  sentiment.  Perhaps  there- 
.  fore  the  original  might  have  run  thus,  ^ 

Pal:  I  commend  thee. 

If  I  fall,  curse  me,  and  say  I  was  a  coward, 
For  none  but  such  dare  die  in  tliese  just  trials. 
Instead  of  returning  this  with  the  like  violence,  Arcite  (with  a  look  where  disdain  and 
tenderness  struggle  awhile  and  then  settle  to  u  firm  resolution)  answers. 

Once  more  farewell,  my  cousin. 
But  if  this  change  of  the  speakers  takes  place,  it  might  be  necessary  to  give  the  former 
speech'of  Palamon  to  Arcite,  and  make  Palamon  only  speak  the  last  hue  of  it.    It  is  very 
'common  to  have  whole  scenes  confused  thus  in  their  speakers.        Seward, 
We  cannot  see  any  need  of  change. 

7c f^J^fl  safely  presently 

Into  your  bush  again,]  The  two  adverbs,  safely  presently  in  conjunction,  are  very 
unlike  our  authors ;  by  puttmg  a  comma  between  them  they  may  suit  the  hurry  of  the 
speaker.  But  it  seems  much  more  probable  that  the  first  is  a  mistake,  and  that  the  true 
reading  is, 

■■ — Oh,  retire 

For  honour's  sake,  and  safely,  presently 

Into  the  bush  again, 

Mr.  Theobald  concurred  with  me  in  this  emendation.        Seward. 
Bat  being  merely  conjectural,  and  not  mcessury,  is  not  admissible. 

I  will 


414 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[Act  3.  Scene  6. 


I  will  no  more  be  hidden,  nor  put  off 
This  great  adventure  to  a  second  trial ! 
I  know  your  cunning,  and  I  know  your  cause. 
He  that  faints  now,  sliame  take  him!  Put 
Upon  thy  present  guard—  [thyself 

Arc.  You  are  not  mad  ?  [hour 

PaL  Or  I  will  make  th*  advantage  of  this 
Mine  owu;  and  what  to  come  shall  threaten 

me,  [cousin, 

I  fear  less  than  ray  fortune.     Know,  weak 
I  love  Emilia !  and  in  that  I'll  bury 
Thee,  and  all  crosses  else! 

Arc.  llien  come  \\  liat  can  come, 
Thou  shalt  know,  Palamon,  I  dare  as  well 
Die  as  discourse,  or  hleep :  only  this  fears 

me, 
The  law  will  have  the  honour  of  our  ends. 
Have  at  thy  life ! 

PaL  Look  to  thine  own  well,  Arcite ! 

[Fight  again.    Horns. 

Enter  Theseus^  Hippolita,  Emilia,  Perithous, 
and  train, 

Theii.  What  ignorant  and  mad  malicious 

traitors 
Are  you,  that,  Against  the  tenor  of  my  laws, 
Are  making  battle,  thus  like  knights  appointed, 
Without  my  leave,  aud  officers  of  arms  ? 
By  Castor,  both  shall  die! 

PaL  Hold  thy  word,  Theseus ! 
We're  certainly  both  traitors,  both  despisers 
Of  thee,  aud  of  thy  goodness :  I  am  Palamon, 
'That  cannot  love  thee,  he  that  broke  thy  prison ; 
Think  well  what  that  deserves!  and  this  is 

Arcite ; 
A  bolder  traitor  never  trod  thy  ground, 
A  falser  ne'er  seem'd  friend :  this  is  the  man 
Was  begg'd  and   banish*d;  this  is  he  con- 
temns thee, 
And  what  thou  dar'st  do ;  and  in  this  disguise, 
Against  this  known  edict,  follows  thy  sister. 
That  fortunate  bright  star,  the  fair  Emilia, 
(Whr»se  servant,  if  there  be  a  right  in  seeing, 
And  first  bequeathing  of  the  soul  to,  justly 
I  am);  and,  which  is  more,  dares  think  her 

his! 
Tliis  treachery,  like  a  most  trusty  lover, 
I  call'd  liim  now  to  answer:  if  thou  be'st, 
As  thou  art  spoken,  great  and  virtuous. 
The  true  decider  of  all  injuries,       [Theseus, 
Say,  *  Fight  again !'  and  thou  shalt  sec  me, 
Do  such  a  justice,  thou  thyself  wilt  envy ; 
Then  take  my  life!  I'll  wooe  thee  to't. 

Per.  Oh,  Heaven, 
What  more  than  man  is  this! 

Thes.  I've  sworn. 

Arc,  We  seek  not 
Thy  breath  of  mercy,  Theseus!  Tis  to  me 
A  thing  as  soon  to  die,  as  thee  to  say  it, 
And  no  more  mov'd.    Where  this  man  calls 

me  traitor. 
Let  me  say  thus  much :  if  in  love  be  treason, 
In  service  of  so  excellent  a  beauty. 
As  I  love  most,  and  in  that  faith  will  perish ; 
As  I  have  brought  my  life  here  to  confirm  i^ 


As  [  have  serv'd  her  truest,  worthiest; 
As  I  dare  kill  this  cousin,  that  denies  it; 
So  let  mc  be  most  traitor,  and  you  please 

me. 
For  scorning  thy  edict,  duke,  ask  that  lady 
Why  she  is  fair,  and  why  her  eyes  command 

me 
Stay  here  to  love  her;  and  if  she  say  traitor, 
I  am  a  villain  fit  to  lie  unburied. 

PaL  Thou  shalt  have  pity  of  us  both,  ob^ 

These  ub, 
If  unto  neither  thou  shew  mercy ;  stop. 
As  thou  art  just,  thy  noble  ear  a<raiust  us; 
As  thou  art  valiant,  for  thy  cousin's  soul, 
Whose  twelve  strong  labours  crown  his  me* 

mory, 
Let's  die  together  atone  instant,  duke! 
Only  a  little  let  him  fall  before  me. 
That  I  may  tell  my  soul  he  shall  not  have  her. 

Thes.  I  grant  your  wish;  for,  to  say  tme, 

your  cousin 
Has  ten  times  more  offended,  for  I  gave  him 
More  mercy  than  you  found,  sir,  your  offences 
Being  no  more  than  his.    None  here  speak 

for  'em ! 
For,  ere  the  sun  set,  both  shall  sleep  foj  ever. 

Hip.  Alas,  the  pity !  now  or  never,  sister, 
Speak,  not  tu  be  denied  :  that  f:ice  of  yours 
Will  bear  the  curses  else  of  atter-ages, 
For  these  lost  cousins ! 

Emi.  In  my  face,  dear  sister, 
I  find  no  anger  to  'em,  nor  no  ruin ;  . 
The  misadventure  of  their  own  eves  kills  *em: 
Yet  that  I  will  be  woman,  and  have  pity. 
My  knees  slmll  grow  to  th'  ground  but  III 

get  mercy. 
Help  me,  dear  sister !  in  a  deed  so  virtuous. 
The  powers  of  all  women  will  be  with  us. 
Most  royal  brother — 

Hip.  Sir,  by  our  tie  of  marriage — 

Emi.  By  your  own  spotless  honour — 

Hi;?.  By  that  faith, 
That  fair  hand,  and  that  honest  heart  yoo 

gave  me —  [iter, 

EmL  By  that  you  would  have  pity  in  ano* 
By  your  own  virtues  infinite — 

tiip.  By  valour,  [you — 

By  all  the  cha&te  nights  I  have  ever  pleas'4 

Thes.  These  are  strange  conjuriugs! 

Per.  Nay,  tlu^n  Til  in  too : 
By  all  our  friendship,  sir,  by  all  our  dant^ers, 
By  all  you  love  most,  wars,  aud  this  sweet 

lady —  [deny, 

EmL  By  that  you  would  have  trembled  CO 
A  blushing  maid — 

Hip.  By  your  own  eyes,  by  strength, 
In  which  YOU  swore  I  went  beyond  all  women, 
Almost  all  men,  and  ycti  yielded, Theseus— 

Per.  To  crown  all  this,  by  your  most  no- 
ble soul. 
Which  cannot  want  due  mercy !  I  beg  fiist 

Hip.  Next  hear  my  prayers! 

EmL  Last,  let  me  entreat,  sir! 

Per,  For  mercy ! 

Hip,  Mercy! 

Em. 


Act  3.  Scene  6.] 

EmL  Mercy  on  these  princes ! 

Thes,  You  make  my  fauli  reel;  say  I  felt 
Compassion  to  'era   both,   how  would  you 

place  it?  [nishments. 

Emi.  Upon  their  lives;  but  with  their  b»- 

Thes.  You're  a  right  woman,  sister;  you 

have  pity, 
But  want  the  understanding  where  to  use  it. 
If  you  desire  their  lives,  invent  a  way 
Safer  than  banishment:  can  these  two  live, 
And  have  the  agony  of  love  about  'eni, 
And  not  kill  one  another?  Every  day 
They'll  fight  about  you;  hourly  bring  your 

honour  [then, 

In  public  question  with  their  swords:  be  wise 
And  here  forget  'em !  it  concenis  your  credit, 
And  my  oath  equally  :  I  have  said,  thiy  die ! 
Better  they  fall  by  th'law,  than  one  another. 
Bow  not  my  honour. 

Emi.  Oh,  my  noble  brother, 
That  oath  was  rashly  made,  and  in  yournnger; 
Your  reason  will  not  hold  it:  if  such  vows 
Stand  for  express  will,  all  the  world  must 

perish. 
Beside,  I  have  another  oath  'gainst  yours, 
Of  more  authority,  Vm  sure  more  love; 
Mot  made  in  passion  neither,  but  good  heed. 

Tha.  What  is  it,  sister? 

Per.  Urge  it  home,  brave  lady ! 

Emi.  That  yoii  would  ne'er  deny  me  any 

thing  [ing: 

Fit  for  uiy  modest  suit,  and  your  free  grant* 
I  tie  you  to  your  word  now;  if  you  fail  in't. 
Think  how  you  maim  your  honour; 
(For  now  I'm  set  a-begging,  sir,  I'm  deaf 
To  all  but  your  compnssion !)  how  their  lives 
Might  breed  the  ruin  of  my  name,  opinion^' ! 
Shall  any  thing  th<it  loves  me  perish  for  me? 
That  were  a  cruel  wisdom !  do  men  prune 
The  straight  young  boughs  that  blush  with 

thousand  blossoms,  [seus. 

Because  they  maybe  rotten?  Oh,  dukeXhe- 

.  The  goodly  mothers  that  have  groan'd  for 

tliese. 
And  all  the  longing  maids  I  lint  everlov'd, 
If  your  vow  stand,  shall  curse  me  and  my 

beauty,  [sins, 

And,  in  their  funeral  songs  for  these  two  cou- 
Despise  my  cruelty,  and  cry  woe-worth  me, 
^ill  I  am  nothing  but  the  scorn  of  women : 
For  Heav'u's  sake  save  their  lives,  and  banish 

The$.  On  what  conditions?  ['cm! 

EmL  Swear  'em  never  more 
To  make  me  their  contention,  or  to  know  me, 
To  tread  upon  thy  dukedom,  and  to  be, 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN^ 


415 


Wherever  they  shall  trarel,  ever  strangers 
To  one  another. 

Pal.  I'll  be  cut  a-pieces 
Before  I  tuke  this  ^ath!  Forget  I  love  herf 
Oh,  all  ye  gods,  despise  me  then !  Thy  ba- 
nishment 
I  not  mislike,  so  we  may  fairly  carry 
Our  swords,  and  cause  along ;  else  never  trifle. 
But  take  our  lives,  doke !  I  most  love,  and 

will  [sin, 

And  for  that  love,  must  and  dare  kill  this  cou« 
On  any  piece  the  earth  has! 

Thes.  Will  you,  Arcite, 
Take  these  conditions  ? 

Pal.  He's  a  villain  then ! 

Per.  These  are  men !  [^^^infe 

Arc.  No,  never,  duke;  'tis  worse  to  me  than 
To  take  my  life  so  basely.     Tho'  I  think 
I  n  "  er  shall  enjoy  her,  yet  Til  preserve 
The  honour  of  atl'ection,  and  die  for  her, 
Make  death  a  devil !  [compassion* 

Thes.  What  may  be  done?  for  now  I  feel 

Per,  Let  it  not  fall  again,  sir  I 

Ihes.  Say,  Emilia, 
If  one  of  them  were  dead,  as  one  must,  are  you 
Content  to  take  the  other  to  your  husband  ? 
They  cannot  both  enjoy  you;    they    ar« 

princes 
As  goodly  as  your  own  eyes,  and  as  noble 
As  ever  Fame  yet  spoke  of;  look  upon  'em. 
And  if  you  can  love,  end  this  difference ! 
I  give  consent !  are  you  content  too,  princes? 

Both.  VVith  all  our  souls. 

Thes.  He  that  she  refuses 
Must  die  then. 

Both.  Any  death  thou  canst  invent,  duke. 

Pal.  If  I  fall  from  that  mouth,  I  fall  with 

favour. 
And  lovers  vet  unborn  shall  bless  my  ashes* 

Arc.  If  she  refuse  me,  yet  my  grave  will 

wed  me, 
And  soldiers  sing  my  epitaph. 

Thes.  Make  choice  then  I  [cellent: 

Emi.  I  cannot,  sir;  they're  both  too  ex* 
For  me,  a  hair  shall  never  fall  of  these  men. 

Hip.  Wliat  will  become  of  *em? 

Thes.  Thus  I  ordain  it; 
And,  by  mine  honour,  once  again  it  stands, 
Or  both  shall  die! — You  shall  both  to  your 

country: 
And  each  within  this  month,  accompanied 
With  three  fair  knights,  appear  again  in  this 

place. 
In  which  III  plant  a  pyramid:  and  whether 
Before  us  that  are  here,  can  force  his  cousin  * 


7» 


•  hmo  their  lives 


jiiight  breed  the  ruin  of  rni/  name  ;  opinion. 

Shall  any  thing  that  laves  me  perish  for  me  f]  Opinion  is  ofWn  used  by  the  old  writers 
in  the  sense  of  reputation,  in  which  sense  it  is  here  to  be  taken.    Macbetli  says, 

*  We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business; 

*  He  hath  honoured  me  of  late;  and  I  have  bought 
'  Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 

*  Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss. 

*  Not  cast  aside  so  soon.' 

By 


416 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[x\ct4.  Scene  1. 


By  fair  and  knightly  strength  to  touch  the 

pillar ; 
He  shall  enjoy  her ;  the  other  lose  his  head^*. 
And  all  his  friends :  nor  shall  hegrudge  to  fall, 
Nor  think  he  dies  with  interest  in  this  lady: 
Will  this  content  ye? 

Pal.  Yes.     Here,  cousin  Arcite, 
]*m  friends  again  'till  that  hour. 

Arc.  I  embrace  you. 

Thes.  Are  you  content,  sister  ? 

EmL  Yes :  I  must,  sir; 
Else  both  miscarry. 


Thes.  Come,  shake  hands  again  th«i ; 
And  take  heed,  as  you^re  gentlemen,  this 

quarrel 
Sleep  'till  the  hour  prefix*d^  and  hold  your 

course! 

Pal.  We  dare  not  fail  thee,  Theseus. 

Thes.  Come,  HI  give  ye 
Now  usage  like  to  princes,  and  to  friends. 
When  ye  return,  who  wins,  I'll  settle  here; 
Who  loses,  yet  I'll  weep  upon  his  bier. 

^£r€tiiit« 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Jailor  arid  a  Friend* 

Jailor.  TTEARyouno  more?  Was  nothing 

•'•'■•  said  of  me  ' 
Concerning  the  escape  of  Palamon? 
Good  sir,  remember!  '' 

1  Friend.  Nothing  dmt  I  heard; 
For  I  came  home  before  the  business 
Was  fully  ended :  yet  I  might  perceive. 
Ere  1  departed,  a  great  likelihood 
Of  both  their  pardons;  for  Hippolita, 
And  fair-ev'd  J£mily,  upon  their  knees 
Begg'd  with  such  handsome  pity,  that  the  duke 
Methought  stood  staggering  whether  he  should 

follow 
His  rash  oath,  or  the  sweet  compassion 


Of  those  two  ladies;  and  to  second  them. 
That  truly  noble  prince  Perithous, 
Half  his  own  heart  set  in  too,  that  I  hope 
All  shall  be  well:  neither  heard  I  one  que^ 
Of  your  name,  or  his  'scape.  [tioo 

Enter  Second  Friend, 

Jailor.  Pray  Heav'n,  it  hold  so ! 

2  Friend,  Be  of  good  comfort,   man !  1 

bring  you  news. 
Good  news. 

Jailor,  They're  welcome. 

2  Friend.  Palamon  has  clear'd  you, 
And  got  your  pardon,  and  discover'd  bow 
And  by  whose  means  he  'scap'd,  which  wn 

your  daughter's,  [soner 

Whose  pardon  is  procur'd  too;  and  tlie  pri- 


The  other  lose  his  heady 


And  all  hisfriends.'\  Chaucer's  doom  on  this  occasion  is  only  banishment,  and  our  authon 
altered  it,  to  render  the  catastrophe  more  interesting.  As  to  the  probability  of  their  pro- 
curing each  three  seconds  upon  such  odd  terms,  it  may  shock  us  to  suppoSe  any  such  gallant 
idiots ;  but  even  so  low  as  our  authors'  age,  it  was  reckoned  cowardice  to  refuse  any  man, 
even  a  stranger,  to  be  a  second  in  almost  any  duel  whatever,  of  which  there  is  a  most  ioim)- 
table  burlesque  in  the  Little  French  Lawyer.  Mankind  were  mad  after, knight^rraotry  ;  and 
the  reader  must  catch  a  little  of  the  spirit  himself,  or  he'll  lose  a  great  part  of  the  beauties  of 
this  play;  he  must  kindle  with  the  flames  of  military  glory,  think  life  a  small  stake  to  hazard 
in  such  a  combat,  and  death  desirable  to  the  conquer'd  as  a  refuge  from  shame.  While  the 
judicial  trials  by  the  duello  were  part  of  our  laws,  this  was  really  the  spirit  of  our  ancestors. 
I  have  a  treatise  now  hefore  me  of  Mr.  Selden,  wrote  in  1610,  probably  about  the  very  time 
of  our  authors  publishing  this  play,  where  tliese  duello  trials  are  very  lifarnediy  traced)  with 
all  their  forms  and  ceremonies  from  the  Norman  conquest  to  James  the  First,  in  whose  reign 
they  still  contiimcd  part  of  the  laws  of  our  land,  and  seem  to  have  been  not  out  of  fashion; 
for  we  find  by  all  the  writers  of  tliat  age,  how  common  the  private  extrajudicial  duel  thea 
was,  and  this  author,  after  reciting  the  decrees  of  two  popes  against  such  trials,  and  the 
thunder,  as  he  calls  it,  of  the  Council  of  Trent,  with  a  veryyserious  face  subjoins:  *  Jo  those 

<  which  were  the  observant  sonnes  of  the  Roman  church,  this  and  tlie  other  decrees  extend 

*  their  inhibitions;  but  the  English  customs  never  permitted  themselves  to  be  subjected  to 

<  such  clergy  canons;  alwaies  (under  parliament  correction)  retaining,  as  whatsoever  they 

*  have  by  long  use  or  allowance  approved,  so  this  of  the  duel.' — I  am  told  by  lawyers,  that 
this  superstitious  and  barbarous  law  has  never  to  this  day  met  with  parliament  corrtctkmj 
but  has  by  custom  only  sunk  into  obsoleteness.  ,  Our  ancestors  in  this  instance  as  well  as 
that  of  our  calendar,  most  resolutely  avoided  the  example  of  Papists,  even  where  the  latter 
were  evidently  right.  Saoard, 

(Not 


Act  4.  Soene  1.] 


THE  TWO  NOBXiE  KINSM£!C. 


447 


Sot  to  be  held  oomtHTul  to  farr  goodness) 
iS  given  a  sum  of  money  to  her  raarnage^ 

A  laise  one,  Fll  assure  yoa. 
Ja^,  You're  a  good  man. 

And  ever  brine  good  news. 
1  Friend,  now  was  it  ended  f   ' 
S  Friend.  Why,  ai  it  should  be;  they  that 
never  begg'd  [granted. 

But  they  prevail'd,  had  their  suits  fairly 

The  prisoners  have  their  lives. 

1  Friend.  I  knew  'twould  be  so. 

2  Friend.  Bat  there'  be  new  coadidons, 
which  youll  hear  of 

At  better  time. 

JaOor,  I  hope  they're  good. 

9  Friend.  l^heyVe  honourable; 
How  good  they'll  prove,  I  know  not* 

Enter  Wooer. 

1  Riend.  Twill  be  known. 
Wvoer.  Alas,  sir,  where's  your  daughter? 
Jkihr.  Why  do  you  askf 
Wooer.  Oh,  sir,  when  did  you  see  her? 
t  Friend,  flow  he  looks! 
Jailor.  This  morning.  [sir? 
Wooer.  Was  she  wdl  ?  was  she  in  liealth, 

When  did  she  sleep?      > 
•     1  Friend,  llieso  are  strange  qnestions. 

Jaiigr.  I  do  not  think  ahe  was  very  well ; 

ibr^  now 
You  m$ke  me  mind  her,  but  this  very  day 
I  askM  lier  questions,  and  ^e  answer'd  me 
So  iar  from  what  she  was,  so  childishly. 
So  sillily,  as  if  she  were  a  fool. 
An  innocent^' !  and  I  was  very  angry. 
But  what  of  her,  sir? 

Wooer.  Nothing  but  my  pity ; 
But  you  must  kuow  it,  and  as  good  by  roe 
As  by  another  that  less  loves  her. 

Jiuior.  Well,  sir? 

t  Friend.  Notriglit? 

2  FriW.  Notwell? 
ITooer.'No,  sir;  not  well: 

*lls  too  true,  she  is  mad. 
1  Friend.  It  cannot  be. 


Wooer.  Believe,  yoi/A  fiad  it  aou 

Juiior.  I  half  suspected  Pierf 

What  you  have  told  me ;  the  gods  oomfiKt 
Either  this  was  her  love  to  Palamon,      i 
Or  fear  of  my  miscarrying  on  his  'scape. 
Or  both. 

Wooer.  'Tis  likely. 

Jailor.  But  why  all  this  haste,  sir? 

Wooer.  Ill  tell  you  quickly.    As  I  ktt 


Inthe  great  lake  that  Itesbdiind  thepalace^^ 
From  the  hx  shore,  thick  set  with  reeds  and 

sedges, 
As  patiently  I  was  attending  sport, 
I  heard  a  voice,  a  shrill  one;  and  attentive 
I  gave  my  ear;  when  I  might  well  perceive 
^Twas  one  that  sung,  and,  by  the  smallneift 

of  it, 
A  boy  or  woman.    I  tiien  left  my  an[j^ 
To  his  own  skill,  cama  nenr,  but  yet  per* 

ceiv'd  not 
Who  madethesound,  the  rushes  and  the  reeds 
Had  so  encompassed  it:  I  laid  me  down 
And  listened  to  the  words  she  snne ;  for  then^ 
Thro'  a  small  glade  cut  by  the  fishemen^ 
I  saw  it  was  your  daughter* 

Jailor.  Pray  go  on,  sir! 

Wooer.  She  sung  much,  but  no  sense; 

only  I  heard  her 
Repeat  this  often :  *  Pahunon  is  gone, 
^  Is  gone  to  th'  wood  to  gather  wulbemes; 

*  FU  find  him  out  to-morrow/ 
1  JWead.  Pretty  soul!      [hell  be  taken; 
Wooer.  *  His  lOiackles  w3l  betray  him, 

<  And  what  shall  I  do  then?  Fll  bring  a  heavy, 

*  A  hundred  bUck-eyM  maids  that  love  as  I 
'do, 

^  With  chaplets  on  their  heads,  of  daffiwiillies, 
'  With  cherry  lips,  and  cheeks  of  damask 
*  roses, 

*  And  all  well  dance  an  antick  'Xbre  this  duke, 

*  And  beg  his  pardon.'    Hien  she  talked  of 
you,  sir ;  [morning, 

That  vou  must  Inse  your  liead  to^norrow- 
And  she  must  gather  m>wers  to  bury  yon, 

.  ^^  An  innocent.]  In  the  northern  puts  of  tins  kingdom,  the  common  appeUatiou  of  an 
iieot  is  an  innocent  to  this  day.        R. 

'^  As  I  late,  4'<^-]  This  description  bears  a  striking  resembhmce  to  the  following  in 
Hamlet: 

*  There  is  a  willow  grows  aslant  a  brook, 

*  That  shews  his  hoar  leaves  in  tlie  glassy  stream : 

*  Thefe  with  fantastic  garlands  did  she  come, 

*  Of  crow-flowers,  nettles,  daisies,  and  long  purples, 
'  That  liberal  sheplierds  give  a  grosser  name, 

'  But  our  cold  maids  do  dead  men's  fingers  call  them; 

*  There  on  the  pendant  boughs,  her  coronet  weeds 

*  Clambering  to  hang,  an  envioos  sliver  broke; 

*  When  down  h^r  weedy  trophies  and  herself 

*  Fell  in  the  wec{)ing  brook ;  her  cloaths  spread  wide, 

*  And,  mennaid-like,  a  while  they  bore  her  op : 

*  Which  time  she  chauuted  snatches  of  old  tunes, 
'  As  one  incapable  of  her  own  distress, 

<  Or  like  a  creature  na^e,  and  inducid 

*  Unto  that  elemeot.'       R* 

VOL.  in.  SB  And 


418 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[Act  4.  Seme  t. 


And  see  the  Loose  made  handsome:  then 

she  sung  [between 

Nothing  but  *  Willow,  willow,  willow  7*;'  and 
Ever  was,  *  Palamon,  fair  Palanion !' 
And  '  Palamon  was  a  tall  young  wan!'  The 

place  [tresses. 

Was  knee-deep  where  she  sat ;  her  careless 
A  wreath  of  bull-rush  rounded^';  about  her 

stuck  [lours ; 

Thousand  fresh-water  flowers  of  several  co- 
Tliat  met  bought  she  appear*d  like  the  fair 

nymph 
That  feeds  the  lake  with  waters,  or  as  Iris 
Newly  dropt  down  from  Ileav'n!  Kmgs  she 

made 
Of  rushes  that  grew  by,  and  to  'em  spoke 
'J'he  prettiest  posies ;  '  Thus  onr  true  love's 

tied  ;•  [one : 

*  This  yon  may  loose,  not  me ;'  and  many  a 
•And  then  she  wept,  and  sung  again,  and  sigh*d) 
And  with  .the  same  breath  smil'd,  and  kist 

her  hand. 

2  Friend.  Alas,  what  pity  'tis ! 

Wooer,  I  made  in  to  her ;  [sav'd  her, 

She  saw  me,  and  straight  sought  the  flood ;  I 
And  set  her  safe  to  land ;  when  presently 
She  slipt  away,  and  to  the.  city  made. 
With  such  aery,  and  swiftness,  that  believe  me. 
She  left  me  far  behind  her :  three,  or  four, 
I  saw  from  far  ofi*  cross  her,  one  of  'em 
I  knew  to  be  your  brother  ;^  where  she  stay'd. 
And  fell,  scarce  to  be  got  away;  I  left  them 

with  her. 

Enter  Brother^  Daughter,  and  others.    , 

And  hither  came  to  tell  you.    Here  they  are ! 

Daugh,  May  you  never  more  enjoy  the 
Is  not  this  a  fine  song?  [hgiit,  &:c. 

Brot/icr,  Oh,  a  very  fine  one ! 

Daugh,  I  can  sing  tvieitty  more. 

Brother,  I  think  you  can.  [Broom, 

Daugh,,  Yes,  truly  can  I ;  I  can  sing  tlie 
And  Bonny  Robin ^^.   Are  not  you  a  ta^or  ? 

Brother,  Yes. 

Daugh,  Where's  m^  wedding-gown? 

Brother.  1*11  bring  it  to-morrow. 

Daugh,  Do,    very  early  ^^;  I  must  be 

abroad  else, 
To  call  the  maids,  and  pay  the  minstrels ; 
Fori  must  lose  mymiddenhead  by  cock-light; 
'Twill  never  thrive  else. 

Oh,  fair,  oh,  sw€^et,  &:c.  [Sings, 

Brother.  You  must  ev*n  take  it  patiently. 

Jailor,  Tis  true.  [you  ever  hear 

Daughf  Good  e'en,  good  men!  Pray  did 
Of  one  young  Palamon  f 

^*  Willott,  <5 c]  See  Othelto.  TJie  song  here  alluded  to,  is  printed  in  Percy's  Reliqucs  uf 
Ancient  Poetry.        R, 

^*  A  wreak  ofbuh-rush.]  Corrected  in  1750. 

^*  Bonny  Robin.]  Ophelia,  in  Shakespeare's  Hamlet,  sings  part  of  this  song.     . 

''  Do,  very  rarely.]  I  had  put  early  into  die  text  here  before  I  received  Mr.  Symp»>n'$ 
reading  rearly,  i.  «.  betimes  in  the  morning.  If  there  is  such  a  word,  it  is  undoubteuiy  tlie 
true  one ;  but  as  he  ipiotes  no  autiiority,  and  I  can  find  none  in  my  glossaries,  [  uiu»t  Jet 
tofly  remain,  which  Mr.  'i  heobald  has  likewise  put  in  his  margin.        Seaard, 

UFritMi. 


Jailor.  Yes,  wencn,  we  know  hkn. 

Daugh.  Is*t  not  a  fine  young  gentleman  ? 

Jailor.  'Tis  love !  [then  di&teiupef*d 

Brother.  By  no  means  cross  lier;  blie  is 
Far  ^orse  than  now  she  shews. 

1  Friend.  Yes,  he's  a  fine  man. 

Duvgh.  Oh,  is  he  so  ?  You  have  a  Aster? 

1  Frtend.  Yes.  [her  so, 

Daugh,  But  slie  shall  never  have  him,  tell 
For  a  trick  that  I  know :  you  had  LvjA.  ionk 

to  her,  [dosie, 

For  if  slie  see  him  once,  she's  gone;  she'& 
A nd  uudone  in  an  hour.  All  the  young  nuiids 
Of  our  town  are  in  love  with  him ;  hut  I 

laugh  at  'em. 
And  let  'em  all  alone ;  is't  not  a  wise  course  ? 

1  Friend,  Yes. 

Daugh.  Inhere  is  at  least  two  hundred  now 

with  child  by  him. 
There  must  be  four;  yet  I  keep  close  for  all 
•  this,  ^ 

Close  as  a  cockle ;  and  all  these  must  be  boY$i 
He' has  tlie  trick  on't;  and  at  ten  yeura  M 
Thev  must  be  all  gelt  for  musicians. 
And  sin^  the  Wars  of  Theseus. 

iA  Friend,  I'his  is  strange. 

Daugh,  As  ever  you  heard ;  but  say  nothiQ|t. 

1  Friend.  No.  [dukedom  to  hini : 

Daugh.  They  come  from  ail  parts  uf  the 
I'll  warrant  you,  he  had  not  so  i'ev  las»t  night 
As  twenty  to  dispatch ;  he'll  tickle't  up 
In  two  hours,  if  his  hand  be  in. 

Jailor,  S  lie's  lost. 
Past  all  cure ! 

Brother.  Heav'n  forbid,  man  ! 

Daugh.  Come  hither ;  you*re  a  wise  mas. 

1  Friend.  Does  she  know  him? 

2  Friend.  No ;  'would  she  did ! 
Daugh.  You're  master  uf  a  ship? 
Jailor.  Yes. 

Dttvgh,  Where's  your  compass  ? 
JaiUyr.  Here. 

Daugh.  Set  it  to  th'  north ; 
And  now  direct  your  cour:>e  to  tl/  wood« 

where  Palamon 
Lies  longing  for  me;  for  (he  tackling 
Let  me  alone :  come,  weigh  my  hearts,  cheerly! 

All.  Owgh,  owgh,  owgli !  'lis  up,  the  wiaJ 

is  fair. 
Top  the  bowling;  out  with  the  main-sail L* 
Where  is  your  whistle,  master? 

Brother,  Let's  get  her  in.  • 

Jailor.  Up  to  the  top,  boy. 

BrtUher,  Where's  the  pilot? 

1  Friend,  Here. 

Daugh.  What  ken'st  thou? 


Act  4.  Scene  2.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


41d 


2  Friend,  A  fair  wood. 
Vaugh.  Bear  for  ii,  master ;  tack  about ! 

[Sings, 
WhcQ  Cinthia  with  her  borrowed  light,  &lc. 

[kxcunt, 
SCENE  II. 

Enter  Emilioj  rcith  two  Pictures, 

Kmi,  Yet  I  may  bind  those  wounds  up, 
tliHt  must  open  [chuse, 

And  bleed  to  death  for  my  sake  else:  IMl^ 
And  emi  their  strife ;  two  such  young  hand- 
some men 
Shall  never  fiill  fur  me :  their  weeping  mothers, 
Following  the  dead-cold  ashes  of  their  sons, 
Shall  never  curse  my  cruelty.    Good  Ileav'n, 
What  a  sweet  face  has  Arcite !  If  wise  Nature, 
With   all   her  best  endowments,  all   those 

beauties 
She  sows  into  the  births  of  noble  bodies, 
Were  here  a  mortal  woman,  ftod  had  in  her 
The  coy  denials  of  young  maids,  yet  doubtless 
She  wouUl  run  mad  for  this  man :  what  an  eye ! 
Of  what  a  fiery  sparkle,  and  quick  sweetness. 
Has  this  young  prince !  here  Love  himself 

sits  smihng ; 
Just  such  another  wanton  jGaniraede 
Set  Jove  afire  witii^',  and  enibrc*d  the  ji^od 
Snatch  up  the  goodly  boy,  and  set  him  by  him 
A  shining  constellation  !  what  a  brow. 
Of  what  a  spacious  majebty,  lie  carries, 
Arch*d  like  tlie  great-ey'd  Juno's,  but  fhr 
sweeter,  [Honour, 

Snio<}ther  than  Pelop's  shoulder !  Fame  and 
Methinks,  irom  hence,  as  from  a  promontory 
Poiuted  in  Heav*n,  should  clap  their  wings, 

and  sing 
To  all  tlie  under-world,  die  loves  and  fights 


Of  gods,  and  such  men  near  'em.    Palamon 
Is  but  his  foil;  to  him,  a  mere  dull  shadow;   . 
He's  swarth  and  meagre,  of  an  eye  as  heavj 
As  if  he'd  lost  his  mother'*;  a  still  temper. 
No  stirring  in  him,  no  alacrity; 
Of  all  tliis  sprightly  sharpness^  not  a  smile. 
Yet  these  tliat  we  count  errors,  may  become 

him: 
Narcissus  was  a  sad  boy,  but  a  heav'nly. 
Oh,  who  can  find  the  bent  of  woman's  tancy? 
-I  am  a  fool,  my  reason  is  lost  in  me  1 
I  have  no  choice,  and  I  have  lied  so  lewdly, 
That  women  ought  to  beat  me.  On  my  knees 
I  ask  thy  pardon,  Palamon !  Thou  art  alone. 
And  only  beautiful;  and  these  thy  eyes, 
These  the  bright  lamps  of  beauty,  that  com- 
mand [dare  cross  'em  f 
And  threaten  love,  and  what  young  maid 
What  a  bold  gravity,  and  yet  inviting, 
Has  this  brown  manly  face !    Oh,  Love,  this 
only                 .  [cite! 
From  this  hour  is  complexion;  lie  there,  Ar- 
Thou  art  a  clungeling  to  him,  a  mere  gipsy. 
And  this  the  noble  bodv— I  am  sotted. 
Utterly  lost !  my  virgin  s  fiiith  has  tied  me'% 
For  if  my  brother  but  ev'n  now  had  ask'd  me 
Whether  I  lov'd,  I  had  run- mad  for  Arcite; 
Now  if  my  sister,  more  for  Palamon. 
Stand  both  together !  Now,  come,  ask  me, 

brother, 
Alas,  I  know  not!  nsk  me,  now,  sweet  sister; 
1  may  go  look  !  What  a  mere  child  is  fancy. 
That  having  two  fairgawds  of eqnal  sweetness. 
Cannot  distinguish,  but  must  cry  for  both  I 

Enter  a  Gentleman, 

How  now,  sir^ 

Gent,  Fit>m  the  noble  duke,  your  brother. 


-  here  Lave  himself  tits  smiling 


Jn*t  such  another  wanton  Ganimede, 
Set  Lave  ajire  with,  mid  enforced  the  god 

Snatch  up  the  goodly  6t>y.— 1  This  is  certainly  corrupt;  every  body  must  sec  that  Jove, 
is  somewhere  left  out.     But  says  Mr.  Sympson,.  suppose  we  read, 

Set  Jote  afir«  with 

it  is  stiil  not  sense;  he  tliereibre  propo^rf^s, 

Jove  such  another  wanton  Ganimed« 

Set  Love  afire  with 

But  this,  I  fear,  will  hardly  be  thought  good  English.     I  had  long  since  discovered  what  still 
seems  the  real  mistake, ^re  like  hour^yovr,  6ic,  is  often  made  two  syllables  by  our  authors; 
the  actors  and  transcribers  not  knowing  this,  thought  the  verse  wanted  a  syllable,  and  pro- 
bably intruded  the  particle  with  to  supply  it,  not  observing  bow  much  it  embarrass'd  the 
construction.    Lirce  for  Jote  seems  a  mere  accidental  error  ol  tlie  press.    I  read  therefore, 
Just  such  another  wanton  Ganime<te 
Set  Jove  afire,  and  enforc'd  the  god,  &c. 
There  is  another  way  of  correcting  this,  by  the  insertion  of  a  nominative  case  in  the  end  of 
the  second  line,  as 

here  Lave  himself  sits  smiling, 

Just  such  another  wanton  Ganimede  A« 
Set  Jove  afire  with,   , 
The  former  seems  for  preferable.  Seward, 

''*  As  ifhe*d  lost  his  mother.]  This  seems  directly  opposite  to  the  sense  intended,  the  elTe* 
minacy  6(  Faltmon,  compared  with  Arcite*    ferlmps  we  should  read,  As  IChmd  »ot  last  his 
mother,  i.  e.  the  mother  in  his  mind. 
'9  ATv  v'lrem  faith  hasjled  me,]  So  xcadi  Seward. 

8  H  3  Madam, 


410 


THE  TWO  KOBUB  UNSMZN. 


[Act4.fioeBet. 


Madtniy  I  bring  you  news:  the  knightt  are 

come! 

Erni.  To  end  the  qnarreR 

Gent,  Yes. 

Emi.  'Would  I  might  end  6rst ! 
^hfit  sins  heve  I  committed,  chaste  Diana, 
That  my  unspotted  yoatfa  must  now  he  soU'd 
With  blood  of  princes  ?  and  my  chastitj 
Be  made  the  altar,  where  the  hyesof  lovers 
(Two  greater  and  two  better  never  yet 
Made  mothers' joy)  must  be  the  sacrifice 
To  my  unhappy  btuatyf 

Enter  The$eu$y    Bippolitay  Perithaut,  and 
Attendanis. 

Tkes.  Bring 'em  in 
Quickly  by  any  mcanfe !  I  long  to  see  Vm. — 
Your  two  contending  lovers  are  retum'dy 
And  with  then  their  fair  knights:  now,  my 

fair  sister. 
You  must  love  one  of  them.  - 

EmL  I  had  mthcr  botfa» 
Sa  neither  for  my  sake  should  &11  oatimely. 

Enter  Mtuenger. 

Thee.  Whosaw'em? 

Fer,  Imwliile. 

Gent.  And  I. 

The$,  From  whence  come  you,  .sir  ^ 

Meu.  From  the  knights. 

Thee.  Pray  q)eaky 
You  that  have  seen  them,  what  they  are. 

Mete.  I  willy  sir. 
And  truly  what  I  think:  six  bmver  spirits 
Than  these  theyNre  brought^  (if  we  judge  by 

the  outside) 
I  never  saw,  nor  read  of.    He  that  stands 
In  the  first  place  with  Arcite,  b^  his  seeming 
Should  be  a  stout  man,  by  his  face  a  prince 
(His  very  looks  so  say  him);  his  complexion 
Kearer  a  brown,  than  black;  stern,  and  yet 

noble,  [dangers ; 

.  Which  shews  him  hardy,  fearless,  proud  of 
The  circles  of  his  eyes  shew  far  within  him*% 
And  as  a  heated  lion,  so  he  looks;  [shining 
His  hair  hangs  long  behind  hiin,  black  and 
Like  raven's  wings;  his  shoulders  broad,  and 

strong; 


Arms  long  and  rooad*' :  and  on  his  tfai|^  a 

sword 
Hung  by  a  curious  baldrick'% 

frowns 


when  he 
[ence. 

To  seal  his  will  with;  better,  o'  my  oousci* 
Was  never  soldier's  friend. 

Thee.  Th'hast  well  describe  liim. 
'  Fer,  Yet  a  ^reat  deal  short, 
Methinks,  of  hmi  tbnt*s  first  with  Palamoo. 

Thee,  Pray  speak  him,  friend. 

Fer.  I  guess  lie  is  a  prince  too. 
And,  if  it  may  be,  greater ;  fbr  his  show 
Has  all  the  ornament  of  honour  in*t. 
He's ,  somewhat  bigger  than  the  knight  be 

spoke  of^ 
But  of  a  face  far  sweeter;  his  complexion 
Is  (as  arripe  grape)  ruddy ;  he  has  felt, 
Witboiit  doubt  what  he  fights  fbr,  and  so 

apter 
To  make  this  cause  his  own ;  in'sfitice  appeal* 
All  the  fair  hopes  of  what  he  undertakes; 
And  when  he's  angry,  then  m  settled  valour 
(Not  tainted  with  extremes)  runs  thro'  his 

body,  [cannot. 

And  guides  bis  am  to  brave-things ;  fipar  he 
He  sMws  no  such  soft  temper;  his  head's 

yellow,  [ivy  tope, 

Hard-hair'd,  and  curi*d,  thick  twin'd,  hke 
Not  to  undo  with  thunder;  in  bis  &ce 
The  livery  of  the  warlike  maid  appears. 
Pure  red  and  white,  fiir  yet  no  beard  has  blest 

him; 
And  in  his  rolling  eyes  sits  Victory, 
As  if  she  ever  meant  to  crOwn  his  vakMO*'; 
His  nose  stands  high,  a  character  of  honour. 
His  red  lips,  after  fights,  are  fit  for  ladies. 

EmL  Must  these  men  die  too  ? 

Fer,  When  he  speaks,  his  tongue 
Sounds  like  a  trumpet;  all  his  lineaments 
Are  as  a  man  would  wish  ^em,  strong  and 

clean; 
He  wears  a  well-stecrd  axe,  the  staff  of  gold; 
His  age  some  five  and  cwenty. 

Meeu  There's  another, 
A  little  man,  but  of  a  tough  soul,  x 
As  great  as  any;  fiurer  promises 
In  such  a  body  yet  I  never  look'd  on, 

Fer.  Oh,  he  that's ireckle-fac'd  ? 


^  The  drclee  efhk  eyes  ehew  fiiir  within  him^ 

And  ae  a  heated  /ton,  eo  he  looke.]  He  is  describ'd  of  a  very  dark-brown  complexion, 
with  raven-bhusk  hair,  of  a  noble  but  withal  of  so  stem  a  lock,  that  his  eyes  were  like  those  of 
a  heated  lion.  To  every  part  of  this  description  the  ndjcctive>«ir  is  diametrically  opposite, 
not  only  as  to  the  colour,  but  to  tlie  sternness  and  fierceness  of  his  looks,^o4r  couveyiw  the 
idea  of  openness  and  mildness.  But  tiie  corruption  consists  only  in  the  addition  of  an^ 
vowel,  which  being  removed,  the  expression  regains  iu  original  strength  and  jftropriety : 
The  circles  of  his  eyes  shew^ar  within  him.  Seward^ 

**  Arm'd  lon^;  and  rmmd.]  Former  editions.  Seward, 

^^  Btddrick.]  See  note  49  ou  Beggars'  Bosh. 
•J  sitt  Fictorjff 

Ai  if  she  ever  meant  to  correct  )iie  taUmr.]  How  does  Ttcetnj  torrtet  valow?  The 
word  16  undoubtedly  corrupt,  and  equally  hurts  both  the  measure  and  sense.  Cramn  is  what 
the  context  evidently  requires,  and  tho'  it  diflersjnucli  in  its  letten  booL  the  old  readiog^  yet 
it  is  rather  a  proof  what  great  mistakes  printers  sometiaset  make,  than  aa  aspoacpt  a^uvt 
its  being  admitted  fbr  the  genuine  text.  SMerdL 

Mem 


Act  4*  occn^  3«J 


THE  TWO  NMLB  WSKmoOf. 


42t 


Jlen.  Tbeioiieymylord: 
Are  they  not  sweet  ones? 

Per.  Yes,  they're  welU 

Mm,  MetbLuks, 
Being  so  iew,  and  well  dtsposM,  they  shew 
Gietty  and  fine  art  in  Nature.    He*s  white- 

bair'd. 
Not  wauton^wbite,  but  such  a  manly  o^our 
Neit  to  an  auburn ;  tough,  and  nimble  set. 
Which  shews  an  active  soul;  his  arms  are 

brawnvt 
Iia*d  with  strongfinews ;  to  the  sboulder-piece 
GentW  they  swdi,  like  women  new-conceivM, 
Which  spnks  him  prone  to  laboor,  never 

fiunling 
Under  the  weight  of  arms;  stout-hearted,  still, 
Bat,  when  he  itirs,  a  tiger;  he^s  grey-«y*d. 
Which  yields  compaseion  where  he  con- 

qoers;  sharp 
To  spy  advantages,  and  where  he  finds  *em, 
lle*s  swift  to  make  'em  his;  he  does  no  wrongs, 
Nor  takes  nonej  he's  rouad-fiw'd,  and  when 

he  smiles 
fieshews  a  lover,  when  he  firowns  a  soldier ; 
About  fab  head  he  wears  the  winner's  oak, 
And  in  it  stuck  the  fitvour  of  his  lady; 
His  age,  some  %\tl  and  thirty.    In  his  hand 
He  beanacharging-staff,emhoss*d  with  silver. 

Tka,  Ate  they  ail  thus? 

Ter.  The/re  all  the  sons  of  honour. 

Tke$.  Now,  as  I  have  a  soul,  I  hmg  to 

see  'em! 
Lady,  you  shall  see  men  fight  now. 

nip^  1  wish  it. 
Bat  not  the  causey  my  lord:  they  would  shew 

braviily 
Flirting  about  the  titles qf  two  kingdoms*^; 
*Tn  pity  love  should  be  so  tyrannous. 
Oh,  nny  sofi>hearted  sisler,  what  thiuk  vou? 
Weep  not,  tall  they  weep  blood,  wench !  it 

most  be. 

net.  You*ve  steeFd  'em  vrith  your  beauty. 

Honoured  friend, 
To  von  I  give  the  field ;  pray  order  it. 
Fitting  the  persons  that  must  use  it! 

Per.  Yes,  sir 

The$.  Come,  FU  go  visit  'em :  I  cannot  stay 
rrheir  fiime  lias  fir^  me  so)  till  they  appear; 
Good  friend,  be  royal! 

Per.  There  shall  want  no  bravery. 

*^Buimiitkeeau$ejViyiord:  theywouUahe^ 

Brmel^  about  the  tUi€$  of  two  tungdoim.]  As  two  syllables  ate  somewfapre  wanting  in 
ibese  lines,  and  the  sense  as  well  as  measure  is  improved  by  insertinc  the  wofd  figktine^ 
which  ts  evidently  understood  in  the  construction  or  the  passage  aji  mtherto  printed,  'us 
hoped  that  the  genuine  text  is  only  restored.        Seward. 

**  FaUk  rU  teU  yooy  iometmie  re  go  to  the  harley-break,  we  of  the  bletted,  alas,  *tk  a  torn 
life  the^f  have  Cth' other  place^  eueh  burning,  frying,  boiling,  hissing,  howling,  chat f  ring, 
ewning^  &c,]  The  printers  here,  contrary  to  their  usual  rustonj,  have  divided  the  lines  of 
this  whole  scene  as  if  they  were  verse,  though  it  is  evidently  all  prose,        Seward, 

The  printers  having  divided  the  lines  as  verse,  is  a  strong  presumption  of  their  having 
b#en  no  written.  They  often  run  verse  into  prose,  but  we  remember  no  instancy  of  the 
veverye.  A  kind  of  loose  measure,  often  used  by  our  authors,  was  pcobf^bly  intended  here ; 
mm  such  we  have  siven  it,  endeavoorine  to  make  out  the  verse  as  nearly  as  possible  accoiding 
to  fth«  division  of  lines  in  the  old  books* 

Boilings 


Mm.  Poor  wend^  go  weep;  Ibr  nhoac^ 
ever  wins. 
Loses  a  nobis  osiisitt  fiv  thy  sins.    [JBjmwiA. 

SCENE  ni. 
EnUr  Jailor^  Wooer^  and  Doctor^ 

Doetor.  Her  distraction  is  moic  at  msam 

time  of  the  moon 
Than  at  other  soase,  is  it  not^ 

Jailor,  She  is 
Continually  in  a  harmless  distemper; 
Sleeps  little,  altojf^ther  witliont  a^petiia^ 
Save  often  drinking ;  dreasung  ot  another 
World,  and  a  better;  and  what  broken pioot 
Of  nmtter  soe'er  she*s  about,  the  name 
Palamon  buds  it ;  that  she  larces  ev'ry 

Enter  Daughter. 

Business  withal,  fits  it  to  every  question. 
Look,  where  slie  comes!  yon  shall  peicnive 

her  behaviour.  [onit 

t)augh.  I  have  forgot  it  quite;  the  burden 
Was  doum^  down^;  and  penn*d  by  no  wocse 

man  than 
Giraldo,  Emiiia^s  schoolmaster  t  be*s  m§     .      ' 
Fantastical  too,  as  ever  he  may  go  upon's 

legs; 
For  m  the  next  woHd  will  Dido  see  Falamoiv 
And  then  will  she  be  out  of  love  with  JEneasii 

Doetor,  What  stuflTs  here  ?  poor  soul ! 

Jttikr,  £v*n  thus  all  day  long. 

Daugk  Now  for  this  charm,  that  I  told 

you  of;  you  must 
Brings  piece  of  silver  on  tlie  tip  of  your  tongue. 
Or  no  ferry:  then  if  it  be  your  chance  to  conK! 
Wh^re  the  blessed  hpirits,  (as  there's  a  sight 

now)  we  maids 
That  liave  our  livers  perish'd,  cracVd  to  pieces 
With  love,we8hallcoraethere,  and  do  notliing 
AH  day  long  but  pick  flowers  with  Pros^fv 

pine; 
Then  will  I  make  Pahunon  a  noesgay ; 
Then  let  him — mark  me — then ! 

Doctor.  How  prettily  she's  amiss!  note 

her  a  little  furtiier! 

Dough.  Faltl),  ril  tell  yon;  sometime  we 

go  to  barley-break, 
We  of  the  bless*d  >' :  aias,  'tis  a  soie  life 
They  have  i'th*  other  place,  such  bwning, 

fiying^ 


tfS 


The  two  noble  kinsme?^. 


[Act  4.  Scene  9. 


Boiling,  hissing,  ho\^Uiig,  chatt'ring,  cursing, 
Ob,  they  have  shrewd  measure;  take  heed! 
If  one  be  mad,  or  hang,  or  drown  them* 

selves. 
Thither  they  go ;  Jupiter  bless  us!  and  there 
Shall  we  be  put  in  a  caldron  of  lead 
And  usurers  grease,  amongst  a  whole  million 

of  cutpurses. 
And  there  boil  like  a  gammon  of  bacon 
That  will  never  be  enough. 
Doctor.  How  lier  bram  coins! 
Dough,  Lords  and  courtiers,  tliathaye 
got  maids  witb-child, 
They  are  in  this  place ;  tliey  shall  stand  in  fire 
Up  to  the  navel,  and  in  ice  up  to  th' heart, 
And  there  th*  offending  part  burns,  and  the 

deceiving  part 
Freezes :  in  troth,  a  very  grievous  j^unishment, 
As  one  would  think,  for  such  a  trifle!  believe 
me,  [on*t. 

One  would  marry  a  leprous  witch,  to  be  rid 
ni  assure  you. 

Doctor,  How  she  continues  this  fancy ! 
'  Tis  not  an  engrafted  madness,  but  a  most 
And  profound  melancholy.  [thick 

Duugh,  To  hear  there  [together! 

A  proud  lady,  and  a  proud  city-wife,  howl 
I  were  a  beast,  an  I'd  call  it  good  sport :  one 
Cries,  OA,  this  moke  I  another,  thUfire!  one 

cries, 
Oh,  that  ever  I  did  it  behind  the  arras  / 
And  then  howls;  th*othei*  curses  a  suing 
And  her  carden-house.  [fellow, 

[Sing8,jl  will  be  true,  my  stars,  myfate,  &c. 
[Exit  Daughter, 
Jailor.  What  tliink  vou  ot  her,  sir  ? 
Doctor.  I  think  she  has  a  perturbed  maud, 
Which  I  cannot  minister  to. 

Jailor,  Alas,  what  then  r  [any  man. 

Doctor,  Understand  you  she  ever  anected 
Ere  she  beheld  Palamon  ? 
Jailor,  I  was  once,  sir, 
In  ^reat  hope  she  had  fix'd  her  liking  on 
This  gentleman,  my  friend. 

Wooer.  I  did  think  so  too ; 
And  would  account  I  bad  a  great  penVorth 

on't. 
To  give  half  my  state,  that  both  she  and  I 
At  this  present  stood  uufeignedly  on  the 
same  terms* 


Doctor.  That  intemperate  surfeit  of  her  eye 
hath  distempcr'd 
The  other  senses ;  they  may  return  and  settle 

again 
To  execute  their  preordained  fiiculties ; 
But  they  are  now  in  a  most  extravagant  vagary. 
This  yuu  must  do  :  confine  her  to  a  place 

wtierc  the  liglit 
Mayraihersceni  to  steal  in,  than  be  permitted. 
Take  upon  you  (young  sir,  her  friend)  the 

name 
Of  Palamon  ;  say  you  come  to  eat  with  her. 
And  to  commune  of  love;  this  will  catch  her 

attention. 
For  this  her  mind  beats  upon  ;  other  objects. 
That  ar6  inserted  'tween  her  mind  and  eye. 
Become  the    pranks    and    firiskins  of  her 

madness ; 
Sing  to  her  such  green  songs  of  love,  as  she 
Says  Palamon  hath  sung  in  prison ;  come  t« 

her. 
Stuck  in  as  sweet  flovers  as  the  season 
Is  mistress  of,  and  thereto  make  an  addition 
Of  some  other  compounded  odours,  which 
Are  grateful  to  the  sense  :  all  this 
Shall  become  Palamon,  for  PaWmon 
Can  sing,  and  Palamon  is  sweet. 
And  evVy  good  thing;  desire  to  eat  with  her, 
Carve  for  her,  drink  to  her,  and  still  among 
Intermingle  your  petition  of  grace  and  ao< 

ceptance 
Into  her  favour;  learn  what  maids  have  been 
Her  companions,  and  pl'ay-pbecrs** ;  and  let 

them 
Repair  to  her  with  Palamon  in  their  mouths, 
And  appear  with  tokens,  as  if  they  suggested 

for  him : 
Tt  is  a  falshood  she  is  in,  which  is 
With  falshoods  to  be  combated.    This  may 

bring  her 
To  eat,  to  sleep,  and  reduce  what  are  now 
Out  of  square  in  her,  into  their  former  law 
And  regiment*^  :  I  have  seen  it  approv'd, , 
How  many  times  I  know  pnt;  but  to  make 
The  number  more,  I  have  great  hope  in  this. 
I  will,  between  the  passages  of  this  project. 
Come  in  with  my  appliance.    Let  us  put  it 
In  execution ;  and  liasten  the  success. 
Which,  doubt  not,  will  bring  forth  com- 
fort. [EjceuMt. 


•'  Play-pAeer«.]See  note  95  on  this  play. 

'^  J{fgi7nmi{.|  Thus  the  old  quarto,  and  right,  signifying  gacernment. 
tnher  copies  exhibit)  conveys  another  idea. 


JRegimcn  (which 


ACT 


Aet  b.  Scene  1.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


4S9 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Tkaeus^  PerithotHy   Hippolita,   and 
Attendunti, 

Theu  'M^OW  let  *ein  euter,  and  before  the 

^^     gods 
Tender  their  holy  prayers!  let  the  temples 
Buru  bright  wltli  sacred  fires,  and  the  alters 
lu  iiallow'd  clouds  commend  their  surelling 

incense 
To  those  above  us!  Let  no  due  be  wanting! 
\Flour'nh  of  comets. 
They  have  a  noble  work  in  hand,  will  honour 
The  very  powVi  that  love  *em, 

Mnier  Palamon,  Arcite,  (md  their  Knights. 

Per.  Sir,  they  enter. 

Thes.  You  valiant  and  strong*hearted  ene- 
mies. 
You  royal  germane  foes,  that  this  day  come 
To  blow  that  nearness  out  that  fliuues  be- 
tween ye, 
L4ky  by  your  anger  for  an  hour,  and  dove-like 
Before  the  holy  altars  of  your  helpers 
(The  all-fenr'd  gods)  bow  down  your  stubborn 

bodies ! 
Your  ire  is  more  than  mortal ;  so  your  help  be ! 
And  as  the  gods  regard  ye,  fight  with  justice ! 
ni  leave  you  to  your  pniyers,  and  betwixt  ye 
1  part  my  wishes. 

per.  llonour  crow^n  the  worthiest ! 

[Ej;eunt  Thes.  and  train. 
Pat.  The  glass  is  running  now  that  cannot 
fiuiah 
Till  one  of  us  expire:  thiuk  you  but  thus; 
That  wert-  there  auglit  in  nie  which  strove 

t»>  shew 
Aline  enemy  iu  this  business,  were*t  one  eye 
Against  another,  arm  oppress'd  by  ann, 
I  would  destroy  th'.ofFcnder ;  c«j/,  I  would, 
Tho'  parcel  of  myself !  then  from  tliia  gather 
IIow  I  should  tender  you ! 


Arc.  I  am  in  labour 
To  push  your  luune,  .your  ancient  love,  ou 

kindi-ed, 
Out  of  my  memory;  and  i*th*  self-same  place 
To  seat  something  I  would  confound  :  so 

hoist  we  [where 

The  sails,  that  must  these  vessels  port*^'  ev'n 
The  heav'nly  Limiter  pleases ! 

Pal.  You  speak  well : 
Before  T  turn,  let  roe  embrace  thee^  cousin! 
Ttiis  I  shall  never  do  again. 

Arc.  One  ferewell ! 

PaL  Why,  let  it  be  so :  farewell,  coz! 

Arc.  Farewell,  sir ! 

[Kxe.  PaL  and  his  Knights. 
Knights,  kinsmen,  lovers,  yea,  my  sacrifices^ 
True  worshippers  of  Mani,  whose  spirit  in 

you 
Expels  the  seeds  of  fear,  and  th'apprehensioo. 
Which  still  is  furtlier  off  it,  go  with  me 
Before  tlie  god  of  our  profession!  There 
Require  of  him  the  hearts  of  lions,  and 
The  breath  of  tigers,  yea,  t)ie  fierceness  too ! 
Yea,  the  speed  also !  to  go  on,  I  mean, 
J^Mse  wish  we  to  be  snails :  you  know  my  prize 
Must  be  dragg'd  out  of  blood!  force  and 

great  feat 
Must  put  my  garland  on,  where  she  will  stick 
The  queen  ot*fiovv*rs;  our  intercession  theij 
Must  be  to  him  that  makes  the  camp  a  ccstron 
Brim*d  with  the  blood  of  men;  give  me  your 

aid^ 
And  bend  your  spirits  towards  him!«- 

[Th^  kneel. 
Thou  mighty  one,  that  with  thy  powV  liafit 

tuniM 
Grfeii  Neptune  into  purple*^;  whose  ap- 
proach 
Comets  prewam ;  whose  havock  in  vast  field 
Unearthed  skulls  proclaim;   who^e   breath 

blows  down 
■  The  teeming  Ceres*  foyzon  •' ;  who  dost  pluck 


*'  The  sails,  that  must  thae  vessels  part.]  Tliis  reading,  so  different  from  the  poets' 
rneajiing,  is  in  several  of  the  last  editions. 
••  Grte,i  Nfptune  into  purple, 

Comets  prezoam,  whose  havock  in  vast  field,  ^-c]  With  this  great  deficiency  of  sense 
and  measure  has  this  passage  been  hitherto  printed.  The  bcnse  is  easily  restor*d,  because 
thu*  half  tl)e  sentence  is  lost,  the  two  remaining  words.  Comets  preuarn,  sufliciently  point 
out  tlie  meaning;  for  that  Comets  preuarn  or  J'oretel  uun,  is  the  vulgar  as  well  as  poetical 
creed;  thus  Milton, 

* and  like  a  comet  burn'd, 

*  That  fires  the  length  of  Ophiucus  huge 
'In  th'  arctic  sky,  and  from  his  horrid  hair 

*  Shakes  pestilence  aud  war.* 

The  rage,  the  ravage,  the  devastations  of  Mars,  will  give  the  idea  requir*d ;  but  among  tliese 
and  many  other  words  tliat  would  suit  the  !»ense,  only  two  have  occurr*d  tiiat  supply  both 
aeiise  and  measure,  vis.  approach,  and  destructions;  the  former  is  certainly  the  best  word, 
therefore  bids  ^eiry  fair  for  having  been  the  original.        Sezcard. 

*^  FovzonA  i,  e.  Munduncct    lliis  word  also  occurs  in  tJie  Tempest,  act  ii.  sc.  1. 

With 


THE  TWO  NOILE  KINSMfiV. 


lAtt  5.  Scepe  U 


r  heard  citrnging^amuui 
t  thufuier,  ai  the  hint  ef 


Witfa  band  nnttipotent^from  forthblue  clouds 
The  masonM  turrets ;  that  both  inak'st  and 

break'st 
The  stony  girths  of  cities;  me  thy  pupil, 
Young*8t  follower  of  tliy  drum^',  instruct 

thisda^ 
With  niiliuiry  skill,  that  to  thy  laud 
I  ma^  advance  my  streamer,  and  by  thee 
Bestifdthe  lord  o*t}i*  day !  Give  me,  great 
Mars, 
le  token  of  thy  pleasure! 
[Here  they  fall  m  their  faeUM»  formerly, 
and  there  it ' 
with  a  short 

haitie,  whereupon  they  aU  riie,  and 
bow  to  the  AUer. 
Oh,  great  corrector  of  enormous  times, 
Shaker  of  oVfHtuik  states,  thou  grand  decider 
Of  dusty  and  old  titles,  that  faeal*st  with  blood 
Theearai  when  it  is  sick,  and  cur'st  the  world 
O^th* pleurisy  of  people ;  I  do  take 
Thy  signs  auspiciottsly,  and  m  iby  name 
To  my  design  march  boldly.    Let  us  go  f 

[Exeunt, 

Enter  Palamon  mnd  hii  Knights,  with  the 
former  observance, 

Fai.  Otr  stars  must  ^ister  with  new  fire, 

or  be 
To-day  extinct':  our  aisument  is  love, 
Whieh  if  tlie  goddess  of  it  grant,  she  gtres 
Victoiy  too:  then  blend  your  spirits  with 


To  be  his  tufejects*  vassal,  and  indnce 
Stale  gravity  to  danoe;  the  polled  hacbetof*', 
(Whose  youths  like  wanton  boys  tliro'  boa- 
fires'*,  [caicb. 
Have  skint  thj  flame)  at  seventy  thou  canst 
And  male  him,  to  the  scorn  of  his  hoarse 
throaty  [power 
Abuse  yoong  lays  of  love.  What  godlike 
Hast  thou  not  power  upon  ?  Xo  Phmbus  thoa 
Add'st  tames,  botser  than  l&s;  the  beaValy 

fires 
Did  scorch  his  mortal  aon^  thine  him ;  &e 

InintresB, 
AH  BM»istaad  cold,  some  say,  began  to  throw 
Her  bow  away,  and  sigh;  take  to  thy  gnoe 
Me  €by  vow*dsoidier1  who  do  bear  tt^  yoke 
As  'tweite  a  wreath  of  roses,  yet  is  heavier 
Than  lead  itself,  slings  more  than  nettles : 
I've  never  been  foul-mooch'd  against  thy  law; 
Ne*er  reveal'd  secret,  fiur  J  kn^-noae^  w«dd 

not 
Had  I  kenM  all  that  were ;  I  never  practis*d 
Upon  manS  wile,  nor  wotdd  the  libok  read 
Of  liberal  wits ;  I  never  at  great  feasts 
Son^t  to  betray  a  beatiqr,  but  have  UosM 
At  smipring  sirs  that  did ;  I  bate  been  hatsfi 
To  lai^  confessors,  and  have  hotly  a^'d  *ea 
If  they  had  mothers!  I  had  one,  a  woman. 
And  women  *twere  they  wrongfd.    I  knew  a 

man 
Of  eighty  winters,  (this  I  told  them)  who 
A  lass  of  fonrteen  brided ;  'twas  thy  power 
To  nut  life  into  dust;  the  aged  cramp 
Had  screW'd  his  square  foot  ronnd, 
The  gout  had  knit  lus  fingers  into  knots^ 
Torturing  convulsions  firom  his  gjobr  eyes 
Had  almost  drawn  their  spheres,  thai  what 

was  lite 
In  him  seem'd  torture ;  this  anatomv 
Had  by  his  younj;  fair  pbeer  a  bojf '%  and  I 
Believ  d  it  -was  his,  for  she  swore  it  was. 
And  who  would  not  believe  her  !  Brief]  I  sm 
To  those  that  prate,  and  have  done,  no  com- 
panion; 
To  those  that  boast,  and  have  not,  a  defier ; 
To  those  that  would,  and  cannot,  a  r^oicet : 
Yea,  him  I  do  not  love,  that  tells  close  offices 
Tl\e  foulest  WHY,  nor  names  concealments  in 

^  ArmenyjiHttent.'\  Corrected  by  Seward;  who  observes  that  *  Armtpotent  is  apply^'d  to 
<  Mars  by  Chaucer  m  the  same  tafe  of  Palamon  and  Arcite/ 

•■  Youngest  ,/o</over.]  Seward  reads,  Young  ybWower. 

**  And  areepuuto  a  g»W.]  Bir.  Theobald's  margin  says  mf  o,  i.  e.  HtU  he  fieceme  tender  as 
a  girU    But  surely  to  become  a  whining  lover  and  weep  unto  a  |^r!,  is  an  idea  more  proper 
to  the  context.    I  cannot  indeed  make  it  connect  grammatically  with  the  former  part  of  the 
'  sentence,  without  changing  and  to  to.        Seward. 

^'  The  pould  bachelor.]  Varied  by  Seward ;  who  says,  *  Pould  is  what  we  now  spell  potTit 
*  denilatus;  bald-headed.    Chaucer's  word  h  pilled,  as  <  The  Pardoner  widi  his  PilkdVeXL* 

^*  Whose  youthy  like  wanton  boys  thro*  bonffres,]  Seward,  to  assist  the  measure,  read|S 
Whose  freaks  ^ youth,  like  wanton  boys  through  bonfires; 
wfuch  most  raateriallv  injures  the  sense. 

*'  Pilfer;]  i.  e.  Vumpanlon.  Coles*s  Diet.  1677,  where  it  ismariied  as'dien  obeolete^— ^ 
The  word  occars  in  Titos  Andronicus,  act  iv.  sc.  1.    In  the  Silent  Womatn,  Morose  wep, 

*  —  her  that  I  mean  to  chuve  for  my  bed^heer/ 
In  this  phiyi  p.  4S8,  yle^pkeers  are  spoken  o^ 


Yen,  ariose  fi(«e  nobleness  do  make  my  cause 
Your  personal  hacard!  To  the  goddess  Venus 
Cemnend  we  our  proceeding,  and  implore 
Her  power  unto  our  party !    [Here  they  kneel. 
Hail,  sovereign  ^iMei]  of  secrets!  wIhi  hast 

power 
To  Ofdl  the  fiercest  tvrant  firom  his  rage, 
To  weep  unto  a  girl^^ ;  that  hast  the  might 
Ev*n  vntli  an  eye-gfance  to  choak  Man^s 

drum. 
And  turn  th*idann  to  whispers;  that  canst 

make 
A  cripple  flourish  with  his  cratch,  and  cure 

him 
Before  Apollo;  that  may'st  force  the  king 


Acts.  Sceoe  i.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


4SS 


The  boldest  language^;  such  a  one  I  am. 
And  vow  chat  lover  uever  yet  made  sigh 
Truer  than  I.    Ob,  tlien,  most  soft  sweet 

goddess. 
Give  me  the  victory  of  this  question,  which 
Is  true  love's  merit,  and  bless  me  with  a  sign 
Of  thy  great  pleasure ! 

[Here  music  is  heard,  doves  are  seen  to 
flutter;    they  fall  again  upon   t/ieir 
faces,  then  on  their  knees. 
Oh,  thou  that  fr^m  eleven  to  ninety  reign *st 
In  mortal  bosoms,  whose  cliace  ib  this  world, 
And  we  in  herds  thy  game,  I  give  thee  tiianks 
For  this  fair  token !  which  being  laid  unto 
Mine  innocent  true  heart,    arms    iii    as- 
surance ^     [Thet/  bow. 
My  body  to  t)iis  business.    Let  us  rise 
And  bow  before  tiie  goddess!  Time  comes 
on,  [jExeunt, 

[Still  music  of  records. 
Enter  Emilia  in  white,  her  hair  about  her 
shoulders,  a  wheaten  wreath ;  one  in  white 
holding  up  her  train,  her  hair  stuck  with 
flowers;  one  before  her  carrying  a  silver 
Hind,  in  which  is  conveyed  inccme  and 
sweet  odors,  which  being  set  upon  theAltar^ 
her  Maid  standing  aloof,  she  selsjire  to  it ; 
then  they  curtesy  and  kneel. 

£mi.  Oh,  sacred,  shadowy,  cold  and  con- 
stant queen, 
Abandoner  of  revels,  mute,  contemplative, 
Sweet,  solitary,  white  as  chaste,  and  pure 
As  wind-faDn*d  snow^^,  who  to  thy  female 

knights 
Allow'st  no  more  blood  than  will  make  a 

blush. 
Which  is  their  order's  robe;  I  here  thy  priest 
Am  humbled  *fore  thine  altar.    Oh,  voucli- 

safe, 
With  that  thy  rare  green  eye'*,  which  never 
yet 


Beheld  thing  maculate,  look  on  thy  virgin ! 
And,  sacred  silver  mistress,  lend  thine  ear 
(Which  ne'er  heard  scurril  term,  into  vvh'>se 

portly 
Ne'er  entered  wanton  sound)  to  my  petition, 
Seasoned  with  holy  fear!  This  is  my  last 
Of  vestal  otficc;  I'm  brifle-lmbited. 
But   nmiden-liearied ;    a    hubhund    I   have 

'pointed. 
But  do  not  know  him  ;  out  of  two  T  should 
Chuse  one,  and  pray  for  his  success,  but  I 
Am  (guiltless. of  election  of  mine  eyes; 
Were  I  to  lose  one,  (they  are  equal  precious) 
I  could  doom  neither;  that  which  perish'd 

should 
Go  to't  unsentenc'd :  therefore,  most  modest 

queen, 
He,  of  the  two  pretenders,  that  best  loves 

me, 
A  nd  has  the  truest  title  in*t,  let  him 
Take  oifmy  wheaten  garland,  or  else  grant 
The  file  and  quality  L  hold  I  may 
Continue  in  thy  band ! 

[Here  the  hind  vanis/ies  under  the  Altar, 
and  in  the  place  ascends  a  rost-tree, 
having  one  roue  upon  it. 
See  what  our  general  of  ebbs  and  flows 
Out  frouj  the  bowels  of  her  hoiyaltiur 
With  sacred  act  advances!  But  one  rose? 
If  well  inspir'd,  this  battle  shall  confound 
Both  these  brave  kniglits,  and  I  a  virgin  flower 
Must  grow  alone  unpluck'd. 

[Here  is  heard  a  sudden  twang  of  itistrv 
ments,  and  the  rose  falls  from   the 
tree. 
The  flower  is  fiill'n,  the  tree  descends!  Oh, 

mistress. 
Thou  here  discliargest  me;  I  shall  be  gathered, 
I  think  so  ;  but  I  know  not  tiiine  own  will : 
Unclasp  tiiy  mystery !  I  hope  ahe's  pleas'd ; 
ller  signs  were  gracious. 

[They  curtesy,  and  exeunt. 


•^  Nor  names,  4c.]  This  clause  is  hard ;  taken  with  the  preceding  and  subsequent,  all 
together  they  imply,  '  He  does  not  love  the  man  who  speaks  too  gross!  \  of  liis  success  in 
^  love,  or  does  not  defend  secrecy  in  amours;  the  last  of  which  he  ever  maintained.' 

97  J^nft  pny.g 

At  windfann'd  snow,]  Very  similar  to  tliis  are  a  passage  in  the  Double  Marriage,  and 
one  in  Coriolanus:  the  reader  may  find  them  both  in  act  iii.  of  this  play.  In  Comus 
also,  Milton  gives  a  most  nervous  eulugium  on  Chastity.  ?'. 

'*  With  that  thy  rare  green  eye,]  Seward  reads,  *  s/icen  eye,  i.  e.  extremely  shining.'    We 
believe  the  old  text  genuine. 
w  ,  — thine  ear 

■       ■    into  whose  port,]  Mr.  Theobald  reads,  porch,  and  quotes  Hamlet: 

*  Into  the  porches  of  my  ears  did  pour 

*  The  leprous  distilraent.'  , 

Mr.  Theobald  follows  several  great  critics,  particularly  Dr.  Beutley,  in  tliinking  an  author's 
use  of  a  metaphor  at  one  time  is  a  reasou  why  he  should  repeat  ^lie  satn«,  when  it  is  again 
aipplicable;  but  perhaps  the  very  reverse  is  true:  a  good  poet  will  always  avoid  tautology, 
it  he  can,  and  will  not  repeat  his  own  or  any  other  person's  expression,  if  another  occurs 
full  as  good.  Thus  port  in  this  place  being  full  as  good  a  word  as  porch,  for  the  sake  of 
novelty  would  be  most  probably  preferr'd  to  it.        Scaard. 

Parch  seems  tlie  more  prohable  reading,  and  Theobald's  argument  appears  truer  than 
Seward's ;  but  as  port  is  sense,  and  authorized  by  the  old  books,  it  should  not  be  removed 
from  the  text. 

VOL-  in.  3 1  SCENE 


428 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEJf. 


(Act  S.  Scent  5. 


Hip.  You  must  go. 

Emi,  In  faith,  I  will  not. 

TA€5.  Wiijf  the  knights  must  kindle 
Their  valour  at  your  eye:  know,  of  this  war 
You  are  the  treasure,  and  must  needs  be  by 
To  irivc  tfie  service  pay. 

Ktni,  Sir,  pardon  me; 
The  title  o.f  a  kingdom  may  be  tried 
Out  ot  itself. 

Thes.  Well,  well  then,  at  your  pleasure  ! 
Those  that  remain  with  you  coulcl  wish  their 
To  any  of  their  enemies.  [ottice 

Hip.  Farewell,  sister ! 
I'm  like  to  know  your  husband  'fore yourself, 
By  some  small  start  of  time :  he  whom  the 

gods 
Do  of  the  two  know  best,  I  pray  them  he 
Be  made  your  lot ! 

[Exeunt  Theseus,  HippoUtay  Perithmis,  <Sc. 

Emi.  Arcite  is  gently  visag'd  :  yet  his  eye 
Is  like  an  engine  bent,  or  a  sharp  weapon 
In  a  soft  sheath ;  mercy  and  manly  courage, 
Are  bedfellows  in  his  visage.     Palamon 
Has  a  most  menac  ing  aspect;  his  hrow 
Is  grav'd, and  seems  to  bury  what  it  frowns  on; 
Y'et  sometimes  'tis  not  so,  hut  alters  to 
The  qunlity  of  his  thoughts;  long  time  his  eye 
Will  dwell  upon  his  object;  melancholy 
Bec-omes  him  nobly ;  so  does  Arcite's  mirth; 
But  Palamon's  sadness  is  a  kind  of  mirth, 
So  mingled,  as  if  mirth  did  make  him  sad, 
And  sadness,  merry;  those  darker  humours 

that 


io«  , 


those  darker  httmours  that 


Stick  roisbecomingly  on  otbcr5*°*,  on  him 
Live  in  fair  dwelling. 

[Comets.     Trumpets  sound  as  to  a  Charge, 
Hark,  how  yon  spurs*®'  to  spirit  do  iiftcite 
The  princes  to  tiieir  proof!   iVrcite  inaj  win 

me; 
And  yet  may  Palamon  wound  Arcite,  to 
The  spoiling  of  his  figure.     Ob,  what  pity 
Knough  for  such  a  chance  ?  If  I  were  by, 
I  might  do  hurt;  for  they  would  glance  tlieir 

eyes 
Toward  my  seat,  and  in  that  motion  nigbt 
Omit  a  ward,  or  forfeit  an  offence'®*, 
Wiiich  crav'd  that  very  time ;  it  is  much  belter 
[Cornets.     Cry  within,  A  Palamon  \ 
T  am  not  there ;  oh,  better  never  bom 
Than  minister  to  such  liarm ! — What  is  tlie 

chauce  ? 

Enter  a  Servant, 

Serv.  The  cry's  a  Palamon. 

lltni.  Then  he  has  won.  Twas ever  likely: 
He  look'd  all  grace  and  success,  and  he  is 
Doubtles-s  the  prim'st  of  men.  I  prithee  moy 
And  tell  me  how  it  goes. 

[Shout,  and  cornets  ;  cry,  A  Palamon  ! 

5fyi;.  Still  Palamon.  [hast  lost!' 

Emi,  Run  and  enquire.  Poor  servant,  tbou 
Upon  my  right  side  still  I  wore  thy  pictare, 
Palamon's  on  the  left:   why  so,  I  know  not; 
I  had  no  end  in't'^ ;  chance  would  have  it  so. 

[Another  cryandshout  within,  and  Cometsu 
Ou  the  sinister  side  the  heart  lies :  Palamon 

Had 


Stick  misbecoming iy  on  others,  on  them 

Live  in/air  dweUing.'\  Arcite  does  not  appear  to  have  any  of  tlie  melandioly  or  darker 
humours;  these  therefore  seem  only  applicable  to  Ptdamon,  and  make  it  probable  that  ire 
should  r^ad  on  him,  instead  of  on  them.  Seward. 

107,  fiark,  hoxc  yon  spurs.']  W  e  have  not,  for  several  plays  past,  amused  bur  readers  with 
an  accoiint  of  the  amendments  which  the  editors  of  1750  pretend  to  have  made,  in  order  to 
enhance  the  idea  of  their  own  ingenuity :  we  have  not,  however,  discontinued  that  infbp- 
mation  for  want  of  matter  (there  has  all  along  been  abundance!)  but  for  fear  of  its  bccomiag 
troublesome.  After  so  long  a  recess,  it  may  not  be  disagreeable  to  resume  the  character  of 
Detectors,  and  reveal  the  falshoods  told  of  the  play  now  before  us. 

In  the  pasisage  quoted  at  the  head  of  this  note,  they  pretend  to  have  altered  your  to  yon  ; 
p.  401, 1.  8,  Hd  col/eat  ioftet;  p.  405,  I.  17,  1st  col.  A  jewel  to  O  jewel;  p.  407,  last- tine 
Ist  col.  ont  to  ott^,  though  Davenant,  a.s  well  as  our  old  quarto,  reads  out ;  p.  417, 1.  34,  1st 
col.  and  innocent  to  an  innocent;  p.  424, 1.  1,  1st  col.  when  to  with ;  p. 424.  1.  S,  2d  col.  state 
to  stale ;  p.  424, 1.  40,  2d  co\.  sphere  to  pheer;  aii\d  p.  427, 1.  31,  1st  col.  to  liave  added  the 
word  grown. — Every  one  of  these  passages  stands  right  in  the  first  quarto,  which  their  own 
notes  prove  they  were  possessed  of. 

'°^  Omit  a  ward,  or  forfeit  an  offence.]  Mr.  Sympson  would  read  defence,  but  vard  and 
defence  is  the  same  thing.  Offence  is  the  reverse  to  ward,  as  offence  and  defence.  To  for-  - 
fe'it  an  otfence  therefore,  is  to  miss  the  opportunity  ol  striking  some  advantageous  blow,  that 
might  give  the  viitory.  The  weapon  used  in  the  legid  duello  in  England  was  only  a  battbon 
or  truucheon,  and  this  was  designed  by  the  authors  to  be  understood  of  the  present  combat. 
It  is  extremely  beautiful  to  have  this  duel  performed  behind  the  scenes,  yet  within  hearing.' 
All  battles  on  the  stage  make,  as  Shakespear  says,  but  brawls  ridiculous.  Here  is  a  method  of 
concenliiig  all  the  aukwardness  of  such  combats,  and  keeping  the  attention  of  the  aadiencr 
upon  the  full  stretch.  It  wns  an  art  well  known  to  the  Greek  tmgedians,  as  in  the  famous 
instance  of  Clytemnestra's  murder,  who  is  heard  to  deprecate  her  son's  vengeance  behind  the 
scenes,  and  Electra  upon  the  stage  continues  to  irritate  it.  Seward. 

■^  I  had  no  end  int;   else  chance  wwld  have  it  so.]  Former  editions.    Mr.  Sympson 

would 


Act  5.  Scenes.) 


THE  TWO  NOHLE  KINSMEN. 


42» 


This  burst  ^  *  ^e  gods,  by  their  divine  arbitremecrt, 

'yfj^  we  given  you  this  knight:  lie  is  a  good  one 
\£j  ever  struck  at  head.  Give  me  your  hands! 
iieceive  you  her,  you  him;  be  plighted  with  * 
A  love  that  grows  as  you  decay ! 

Arc,  Emilia, 
To  buy  vou  I  have  lost  what's  dearest  to  me. 
Save  what  is  bought;  and  yet  I  purchase 

cheaply, 
As  I  do  rate  your  value. 

Tim.  Oh,  lov'd  sister, 
Tie  speaks  now  of  as  brave  a  knight  as  e'er  , 
Did  spur  a  noble  steed ;  surely  the  gods 
Would  have  htm  die  a  bachelor,  lest  his  race' 
Should  shew  i'th'  world  too  godlike !  His  be« 

haviour 
So  charm*d  me,  that  methought  Alcides  was 
To  him  a  sow  of  lead  :  if  I  could  praise 
Each  part  of  him  to  th'  all  I've  spoke^  your 

Arcite 
Did  not  lose  by*t ;  for  he  that  was  thus  good. 
Encountered  yet  his  better.    I  have  lieard 
Two  emulous  Philomels' w  beat  the  ear  o'th' 

night  [higher. 

With  their  contentious  throats,  now  one  the 
Anon  the  other,  then  again  the  first, 
And  by  and  by  out-breasted"',  that  the  sense 
Could  not  be  judge  between  'em:  so  it  fitrM 
Good  space   between  these  Kinsmen;   'tijl 

Heaves  did  [land 

Make  hardly  one  the  winner.  Wear  the  gar- 
With  joy  tliat  yon  have  won !  For  the  subdu'd. 
Give  tliem  our  present  justice,  since  I  know 
Their  lives  but  pinch  *era ;  let  it  here  be  done. 
The  scene's  not  for  our  seeing:  go  we  hence. 
Right  joyful,  with  some  sorrow!  Arm  your 

prize"*, 
I  know  you  will  not  lose  her.    Ilippolita, 
I  see  one  eye  of  yours  conceives  a  tear, 
The  which  it  will  deliver.  [Flourish* 

Emi,  Is  this  winning? 
Oh,  all  you  heav'nly  powers,  where  is  your 

mercy  ? 
But  that  your  wills  have  said  it  must  be  so. 
And  charge  me  live  to  comfort  thus  un* 

friended, 
Thiii  miserable  prince,  that  cuts  away 


Had  tbe  best-boding  chance. 

clamour 
Is  sare  the  end  o'th'  combat. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  They  said  thatPalamon  bad  Arcite's 

body 
Within  an  inch  o'th*  pyramid,  that  the  cry 
Was  genera]  a  Palamon;  but  anon, 
111*  assistants  made  a  brave  redemption,  and 
The  two  bold  tilters  at  this  instant  are 
Hand  to  hand  at  it. 

EmL  Were  they  metamorphos'd        [man 
Both  into  one — Oh,  why  ?  there  were  no  \vo- 
\Vorth  so  compos*d  a  man !  Their  single  share, 
Their  nobleness  peculiar  to  thera,»09  gives 
The  prejudice  of  disparity,  value's  shortness, 
[Cornets.    Cry  within,  Arcite,  Arcite  ! 
To  any  lady  breathing. — More  exulting  ? 
Palamon  still  ? 

Serv.  Nay,  now  the  sound  is  Arcite. 

Emi.  I  prithee  lay  attention  to  the  cry; 

[Cornels.    A  great  shout  and  cry,  Arcite, 
victory ! 
Set  both  tliine  ears  to  th'  business. 

Serv.  The  cry  is 
Arcite,  and  victory !  Hark !  Arcite,  victory !  i 
The  combat's  consummation  is  proclaim'd 
iBy  the  wind-instruments. 

EmL  Half-sights  saw 
That  Arcite  was  no  babe :    God's  'lid,  his 

richni-!?s  [could 

And  costliness  of  spirit  look'd  thro'  hnn !  it 
No  more  be  hid  in  him  than  fire  in  flax, 
Tlian  htimble  banks  can  go  to  law  witli  waters, 
That   drift   winds  force  to   raging.     I  did 

think  [not 

Good  Palamon  would  miscarry ;  yet  I  knew 
Why  1  did  think  so :  our  reasons  are  not  pro- 
phets, 
\V  hen  oft  our  fancies  are.  They're  coming  off: 
Alas,  poor  Palamon  !  [Cornets. 

Enter  Theseus,  Hippolita,  Perithous,  Arcite 
us  Victor,  Attendants,  ^c. 

Thes.  Lo,  where  our  sister  is  in  expectation. 
Yet  quaking  and  uns^ettled.     Fairest  Emilia, 

would  read  less,  i.  e.  unless :  and  that  too  was  my  first  conjecture.    But  more  probably  tbe 
particle  else  may  be  a  mere  interpolation,  for  the  ^nse  and  measure  are  better  without  it.    « 

Seward. 

W9  Their  nobleness,  <5c.]  This  line  is  now  first  restored  from  the  old  quarto.  The  conse- 
quent deficiency  of  sense  greatly  distresses  Seward. 

*>o  Two  emulous  Philomels.]  I  cannot  pass  by  this  simile  without  begging  the  reader  to 
give  a  due  attention  to  it,  as  it  may  rank  with  the  most  beautiful  descriptions  of  the  nightio* 
gaie  that  arc  met  with  in  Virgil  and  Milton.  It  is  also  totally  different  from  all  the  attitudes 
of  this  atigel  of  night  that  tliose  poets,  who  were  so  enamour'd  of  her  song,  have  ever  painted 
her  in.  It  may  be  further  observ'd  that  those  similies  strike  the  most,  which,  in  their  own 
natures,  seem  totally  averse  to  their  archetype,  but  are  join'd  to  it  in  perfect  union  by  the 
art  of  the  poet.  What,  at  tirst  sight,  could  be  more  unlike  than  the  fury  of  a  combat  to  the 
singing  of  nightingales?  Yet  how  charmingly  are  they  marry'd  together?  They  who  are  con- 
versant in  Homer,  Virgil,  Spenser,  Milton,  6cc.  will  be  able  to  recollect  many  instances  of 
the  like  nature.  Seward, 

•"  Ott/ -breasted.]  See  note  28  on  the  Pilgrim.  _ 

>|2  Ann  your  priie-/\  t.  e.  Take  the  lady,  whom  you  have  won^b|f  the  hand. 

A  life 


430 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[Act 5.  Seeocl. 


Ypa*ll  see*t  done  now  for  ever.    Pray  bov 


A  life  more  woirthv  from  him  than  all  women,  f 

I  should,  and  would  die  too.  I  r^  docs  she  ? 

Hip,  Infinite  pity,  .  \^^i  heard  she  was  not  well;  her  kind  of  ill 

Tliat  four  such  ejpes  should  besoiix'd  on  one,  | 
That  two  must  needs  be  blind  for*t!  I 

Thes.  So  it  is.  [Exeunt.  I 


SCENE  IV. 

Xnter  Palatncn  and  hU  Knighti   pinioned, 

Jailor,  Executioner,  and  Guard, 

FuL  There's  many  a  man  alive  that  hath 

oui4i¥*d  [state 

The  love  o'  th'  people ;   yea,  i*  th'  seU-sanie 
Sunds  many  a  father  with  his  child:  some 

comfort 
We  have  by  so  considering;  we  expire, 
And  not  without  men^s  pity;  to  live  still, 
Have  their  good  wishes ;  we  prevent 
The  loathsome  misery  of  age,  beguile 
^  The  gnut  and  rheum,  that  in  lag  hours  attend 
For  grey  a«iproachers;  we  come  towards  the 

gods 
Young,  and  anwarp*d,i>)  not  halting  under 

crimes 
Uany  and  stale ;  that  sure  shall  please  the 

gods 
Sooner  than  such,  to  give  us  nectar  with  'em, 
Jor  we  are  more  clear  spirits.    My  dear 

kinsmen,  [dawn, 

Whose  lives  (for  this  poor  comfort)  arc  laid 
You've  sold  'em  too,  too  cheap. 

1  Knight.  What  ending  could  be 
Of  more  content?  O'er  us  the  victors  have 
Fortune,  whose  title  is  as  momentary 
As  to  us  death  is  certain ;  a  grain  of  honour 
They  not  o'er-weigh  us. 

S  Knight.  Let  us  bid  farewell ; 
And  with  our  patience  anger  totfring  fortune. 
Who  at  her  certain'st  reels ! 

3 Knight.  Come;  who  begins? 

Fal.  £v*n  he  that  led  you  tq  this  banquet 

shaU 
Taste  to  you  all.    Ah-ha,  my  friend,  my 

friend ! 
Your  gentle  daughter  gave  me  freedom  once; 


Gave  me  some  sorrow. 

Jaihr.  Sir,  she's  well  restored. 
And  to  be  married  shortly. 

Pal.  By  my  short  life, 
I  am  most  slad  ou't!  'tis  the  latest  thing 
I  sliall  be  glad  of;  prithee  tell  her  so : 
Commend  me  to  her,  and  to  piece  her  portion 
Tender  her  this. 

1  Knight.  Nay,  let's  be  offerers  all! 

2  Knight.  Is  it  a  maid  ? 
Pal.  Verily,  I  tliiuk  so; 

A  right  good  creature^  more  to  me  deserving 
Than  I  can  quit  or  speak  of! 

All  KnigiUs,    Commend  us  to  her. 

[Ohe  their  pwrUL 

Jailor.  The  gods  requite  you  all. 
And  make  her  thankful ! 

Pal.  Adieu !  and  let  my  life  be  now  as  short 
As  my  leave-taking.  [Lies  om  the  Wpc*. 

1  Knight.  Lead,  courageous  cousin! 

2  Knight.  We'll  foUow  cheerfully, 
[A  great  noiiewithinf  crying.  Run,  save, 

hold! 

Enter  in  haste  a  Messenger. 

Mess.  Hold,  hold!  oil,  hold,  hold,  bold! 

Enter  Perithous  in  haste. 

Per.  Hold,  boa!  it  is  a  cursed  haste  jom 
made, 
If  YOU  have  done  so  quickly.— Noble  PalamoB, 
The  gods  will  shew  tlieir  glory  in  a  liie 
That  thou  art  yet  to  lead. 
Pal.  Can  that  be,  when 
Venus  I've  said  is  false  ?  How  do  things  fare? 
Per.  Arise,  great  sir,  and  give  the  tidings 
ear 
That  arc  most  dearly  sweet  and  bitt«r!"^ 

Pal.  What 
Hath  wak'd  us  from  our  dream  ? 
Per.  List  then !  Your  cousin, 
Mounted  upon  a  steed  that  Emily 

Did 

«s  Young  and  unwapper'd  ;]  i.  e.  says  Sympson,  young  and  unfrighten*d.  He  quotes  no 
anthoritv,  nor  can  I  fina  one  in  my  dictionaries.  Mr.  Theobald  concurs  with  me  in  readii^ 
unwarp*df  which,  supposing  the  former  word  to  be  true  English,  and  to  give  the  idea  men- 
tioned, rather  better  agrees  with  the  sense,  and  much  better  with  the  measure  of  (he  context* 
Thus  Valerie,  in  A  Wife  for  a  Month,  says  in  the  like  circumstances, 
To  die  a  young  man  is  to  be  an  angel ; 
Our  yet  good  parts  put  wings  unto  our  souls* 


And  again, 


As  it  [age]  encrcases,  so  vexations, 
riefs  of  th 


Griefs  of  the  mind,  pains  of  the  feeble  body, 
Rheums,  couehs,  catarrs ;  we're  but  our  Itvnig  coffins^ 
Besides,  tlie  fair  soul's  old  too,  it  grows  covetous. 

And  we  are  earth  again. See  the  whole  scene,  act  iL 

P.  S.  I  find  in  the  Glossary  to  Urry's  Chaucer,  wapid  and  awhapid,  daunted,  astonisbetf. 
This  is  probably  the  same  word  that  Mr.  Sympson  may  have  somewhere  found  spelt 
wapper*d.        Seward. 

114  That  are  most  eariy  siceet  and  bitier.]  Mr.  Sympson  and  I  agree  in  rejecting  early  as 
n  corruption,  but  he  reads  rarely  sneet,  and  I  dearly.  The  adverb  dearly  m  the  sense  of 
exceedingly  or  extremely^  seems  particularly  beautiful  when  expressive  of  any  of  tlie  tender 

paasioxis. 


A€t  5.  Scene  4.] 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


43« 


Bid  first  bestow  on  him,  a  black  one,  owl\|^^    «mM  with  strange  art  to  hang :  his  victor*s 
Not  a  hair-worth  of  white,  which  some  will  y^^vrrtath 


*7 
Weakens  his  price,  and  many  will  not  buy 

His  goodness  with  tiiis  note;  which  super- 
stition 
Here  finds  allowance :  on  this  horse  is  Arcite, 
Tn>tting  the  stones  of  Athens,  which  the 

calkins  "5 
Did  rather  tell  than  trample ;  for  the  horse 
Would  make  his  length  a  mile,  iCt  pleas'd 

his  rider 
To  put  pride  in  him;  as  he  thus  went  counting 
The  6inty  pavement,  dancing  as  'twere  to 

th'  music 
His  own  hoofs  made  (for,  as  the}r  say,  from  iron 
Came  music's  origin)  what  envious  flint. 
Cold  as  old  Saturn,  and  like  him  possessed  * 
With  fire  malevolent,  darted  a  spark, 
Or  what  fierce  sulphur  else,  to  this  end  made, 
I  comment  not ;  the  hot  horse,  hot  ns  fire, 
Took  toy  at  this,  and  fell  to  what  disorder 
His  pow«>r  cpuld  give  liis  will,  bounds,  cqmes 

on  end,  '     ^ 

Forgets  school-doing,  being  therein  train'd, 
And  of  kind  manage;  fng-like  he  wliines 
Vlt  the  sliarp  rowel,  which  he  frets  at  rather 
Than  any  jot  obeys ;  seeks  all  foul  means 
Of  boisterous  and  rough  jadry,  to  dis-seat 
His  lord  that  kept  it  bravely :  When  nought 

eerv'd. 
When  neither  curb  would  crack,  girth  breaks 

nor  differing  plunges 

Sis-root  his  rider  whence  he  grew,  but  that 
e  kept  him  'tween  his  legs,  on  his  hind' 
hoofs  on  end  he  stands. 
That  Arcite's  legs  being  higher  than  his  head, 

passions,  whether  of  joy  or  sorrow,  and  after  I  had  inserted  it  in  my  notes,  I  found  in  the 
ULSt  speech  of  this  play  a  confirmation  of  it : 

for  whom 

But  one  hour  since,  I  was  as  dearli/  sorry^ 

As  glad  of  Arcite: 

The  repeated  use  of  the  same  adverb,  in  the  same  sense,  is  not  an  instance  of  that  tautology 
^poke  of  in  the  last  note  of  the  first  scene  of  this  play,  for  a  metaphor  repeated  di(fe» 
much  from  simple  words.  Words,  when  they  occur  twice,  must  generally  have  the  same 
ideas  fixed  to  them ;  but  metaphors  always  containing  double  ideas,  witi^i  a  similitude  be- 
tween them,  or,  as  has  been  frequently  observ'd,  being  short  similses,  they  should  be  as 
seldom  repeated  as  possible ;  as  the  same  simile  should  not  be  used  twice.        Seward. 

Di^rly  is,  we  think,  right :  but  poor  Seward  is  a  little  gravelled  witli  his  own  doctrine  of 
tautology. 

«»s  Calkins ;]  i.  e.  Hoqfty  we  suppose,  from  the  Latin  cah. — There  are  some  hard  and 
odd  passages,  mixed  with  much  poetical  expression,  in  this  description. 

»»6  I  was  falseJi  1  believe  the  reader  will  not  be  easily  convinced,  that  Arcite  had  been 
false.  But  our  authors  seem  to  have  bcVn  so  possessed  of  tiie  story  from  Chaucer,  that  they 
even  forgot  that  they  had  inserted  an  essential  part  of  it,  the  oath  between  the  Two  Kins- 
znen  never  to  rival,  but  always  to  assist  each  other  in  love.  This,  as  was  before  observ'd, 
would  justify  FalamorC^  anger,  and  render  him  the  more  amiable  character.  '      ikzcard. 

The  characters  of  Falamon  and  Arcite  are  finely  discriminated.  Palatnon  is  certainly  the 
aggrieved  party  >yet  there  is  a  gallantry  in  Arcite  that  redeems  his  fnlshood ;  and  a  passion 
in  Falamon  tha  rrenders  him  still  more  amiable  and  interesting,  from  the  very  infirmity  of 
his  temper. — Either  SewartI,  or  his  printer,  have  made  a  mistake  here ;  for  our  authors  h^ve 
vor  inserted  the  oath. 

yy  Arowze you ;]  i.  e.  Water,  sprinkle;  bedew  firom  the  French,  arrmer.        Sacard, 

It  should  then  be  spelt  arrose ;  arouse  is  an  English  word  of  very  difi'ereut  import. 

And 


l!.ren  then  fell  off  his  head ;  and  presently 
Backward  the  jade  comes  o*er,and  nis  full  poize 
Becomes  the  rider's  load.     Yet  is  he  living, 
But  such  a  vessel  'tis  that  floats  but  fur 
The  surge  that  next  approaches:  he  much 
desires  [appears ! 

To  have  some  speech  with  you.    Ix),  he 

Ent^r  Theseus,  Hippolita,  Emilia,  Arcite  ia 
a  Chair, 

Pal.  Oh,  miserable  end  of  our  alliance? 
The  gods  are  mighty ! — Arcite,  if  thy  hearty 
Thy  worthy  manly  heart,  be  yet  unbroken, 
Give  mc  thy  last  words !  I  am  Palamon, 
One  that  yet  loves  thee  dying. 

Arc.  Take  Emilia,  [hand; 

And  with  her  all  the  world's  joy.    Reach  thy 
Farewell!  I've  told  my  last  hour.    I  was 

false,"* 
Yet  never  treacherous:  fors;ive  me,  cousin! 
One  kiss  from  fair  Emilia !  ^ Tis  done : 
Take  her.    I  die!  [Diet, 

Fal.  Thy  brave  soul  seek  Elysium! 

Emi.  IM  close  thine  eyes,  prince;  blessed 

souls  be  with  thee! 
Thou  art  a  right  good  man ;  ant)  i^liile  I  live 
This  day  1  give  to  tears^ 

Fal.  And  I  to  honour.  [very  hero 

Thes.  In  this  place  first  vou  fought;  even 
I  sunder'd  you :  acknowledge  to  the  gods 
Our  thanks  that  vou  are  living. 
His  part  is  play'ci,  and,  tho*  it  were  too  sfiort^ 
He  did  it  well :  your  day  is  lengthened,  and 
The  blissful  dew  of  Heaven  doeb  arrose  you  ;'*7 
The  powerful  Venus  well  hath  grac'd  her  altar 


4S^ 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN. 


[Act  5.  Scene  4. 


given  you  your  love ;  our  mabter  Mars    -^  ^'^le  executioners.    Lead  your  lady  off; 
vouched  hU  oracle,  and  to  Arcite  ^av||^^|/^\nd  call  your  lovers"*  from  the  stage  of  death, 
grace  of  the  contention :  so  the  deities         Whom  I  adopt  my  friends !  A  day  or  two 


J^nd 

Has 

Tiie  grace 

Have  shewed  due  justice.    Bear  this  lience ! 

FaL  Oh,  cousihy 
That  we  should  things  desire,  which  do  cost  us 
The  loss  of  our  desire!  that  nouf^bt  could  buy 
Dear  love,  but^loss  of  dear  love! 

2'hes.  Never  fortune  [triumphs. 

Did  play  a  subtler   game:   the  conquer^ 
The  victor  has  the  loss ;  yet  in  the  passage 
The  gods  have  been  most  equal.    Palamon, 
YourKinsman  hath  confessed  the  right  o'th'lady 
Did  lie  in  you ;  for  you  first  saw  her,  and 
£ven  then  proclaim  d  your  fancy;  he  restvr'd 

her, 
As  your  storn  jewel,  and  desir'd  your  spirit 
To  send  liim  hence  forgiven :  the  gods  my 

justice  [come 

Take  from  my  hand,  and  they  themselves  be* 


adopt  my  friends !  A  day  or  two 
Let  us  look  sadly,  and  give  grace  unto 
The  funeral  of  Arcite  !'ln  whose  end 
The  visages  of  bridegrooms  wc*U  put  on. 
And  smile  with  Palamon ;  for  whom  an  hour. 
But  one  hour  since,  I  was  as  dearly  sorry. 
As  glad  of  Arcite;  and  am  now  as  glad. 
As    for    him    sorry.      Oh,    you    Leav'nly 

charmers,"9 
What  things  you  make  of  us!  For  what  wc 

lack 
We  laugh,  for  what  we  have  are  sorry  stiU  ; 
Are  children  in  some    kind.     Let  us  be 

thankful 
For  that  which  is,  and  with  you  leave  dispute 
That  are  above  our  question !  Let's  go  ofl^ 
And  bear  us  like  the  time ! 

[Flourish,    EjcewU, 


"8  Your  LOVERS ;]  i.  e.  the  knights  who  assisted  you. 

119  HtaT^nly  charmers ;]  >.  £•  Enchanters,  ruling  us  at  their  will,  whose  operations  aie 
Veyond  our  power  to  conceive,  till  we  see  the  effects  of  them.        Seward, 
So  in  Othello,  act  iii.  scene  4 : 

< That  handkerchief 

'  Did  an  iLgyptian  to  my  mother  give ! 

^  She  was  a  charmer,  and  coiUd  almost  read 

<  The  thoughts  of  people.'  H. 


EPILOGUE. 


I  WOULD  now  ask  ye  how  ye  like  the  play; 
But,  as  it  is  with  schoolboys  cannot  any, 
I'm  cruel  fearful !  Pray  yet  slay  a  while, 
And  let  me  look  upon  ye !  No 'man  smile  ? 
Then  it  goes  hard,  I  see :  he  that  has 
Lov'd  a  young  handsome  wench  then^  shew 

his  face ! 
'Tis  strange  if  none  be  here ;  and  if  he  will 
Against  .his  conscience,  let  him  hiss,  and  kill 
Our  market!  Tis  in  vain,  I  see,  to  stay  ye; 
Have  at  the  worst  can  come,  tlien!  Now 

what  say  ye  i 


And  yet  mistake  me  not:  I  am  not  bold ; 
We've  no  such  cause.    If  the  tale  we  have 

told 
(For  'tis  no  other)  any  way  content  ye, 
(For  to  that  honest  purpose  it  was  meant  ye) 
We  have  our  end ;  and  ye  shall  have  ere 

long 
I  dare  say  many  a  better,  to  prolong 
Your  old  loves    to  us:   we,   and    aH  our 

might. 
Rest  at  your  service.     Gentlemen,  good 

night!  [Flourui. 


This  whole  play,  Mr.  Seward  observes,  ^  abounds  with  such  sublimity  of  sentimeDt  and 
'  diction,  that  were  the  beauties  to  be  mark'd  with  astcri^ms,  after  Mr.  rope  and  Mr.  War- 
*  burton's  manner,  scarce  a  page  would  be  left  uncovered  with  them.' 
The  capital  defect  in  the  piece  is  hiuted  at  in  these  words  of  the  £pilogue, 

Ifthe'VALU  tee  have  told 

(For  Uis  NO  other) 

It  is  indeed  rather  a  talc  than  a  drama,  particularly  towards  the  conclusion,  which  has  per- 
haps bo  lonv  prevented  its  rcpresentatioit  on  the  stage ;  where  some  scenes  of  it  would  pro- 
duce a  great  effect,  tho'  there  are  in  this  dramatick  tale  many  excellent  passages,  more  cal- 
culated to  please  the  reader  than  spectator.  The  mixture  of  Gothick  with  antient  manners 
was  the  common  vice  of  the  writers  of  the  age  in  which  it  was  wrote.  It  is,  however,  a 
most  noble  play,  replete  with  animated  discourse,  smd  sublime  toucfaes»  of  poetry. 

THE 


THE  TWO  NOBIS  KINSMEN.  .439 

THE  Two  NoUe  Rinsmen,  on  the  authority  of  the  title-page  to  the  first  editioBy  has  beea 
looked  on  as  the  production  of  Shakespeare  alid  Fletcher;  hut  not  being*  able  to  find  anjr 
satisfactory  proof  (nor  indeed  presumptive,  except  that  it  contains  manT  passages  not  un- 
worthy of  him)  that  the  former  was  joint  author  of  it»  we  acknowledge  we  doubt  tM  tradition 
of  his' being  at  all  concerned  in  the  piece.  Little  stress  can  be  laid  on  the  title-page  in 
f|uestion  (the  only  shadow  of  authority),  which  bears  evident  marks  of  the  craft  of  a  pub- 
lisher, and  was  not  printed  till  nine  years  after  the  death  of  Fletcher,  and  sixteen  after 
ShakespeareV  Seward,  however,  takes  it  for  granted  to  be  the  production  of  the  poets  to 
whom  It  has  been  attributed;  of  which  he  does  not  mention  a  doubt,  but  snys, 

I.  *  It  will  be  an  entertainment  to  the  curions,  to  distineoish  the  hand  of  Shakespeare 
■  tpdm  that  of  Fletcher.    The  only  external  evidence  that  I  ever  heard  of,  is  a  tradition  of 

*  the  playhouse,  that  the  first  act  only  was  wrote  by  Shakespeare,  and  this  Mr.  Warburton 

<  says  in  his  Preface  to  that  author.    If  it  is  true,  it  does  great  honour  to  Fletcher,. for 

*  though  there  are  menv  excellent  things  in  that  act,  it  is  in  every  respect  much  inferior  to 
^  the  four  Others.  Had  it  fallen  within  Mr.  Warburton's  province  to  have  examined  the  in« 
'  temai  evidence,  I  know  no  man  so  capable  of  striking  light  out  of  obscurity.    I  shall  lay 

*  before  the  reader  the  reasons  which  make  me  doubt  the  authenticity  of  this  tradition,  and 

*  shall  endeavour  to  prove  that  eitlter  Shakespeare  had  a  very  great  hand  in  all  the  acts  of 

*  this  play,  particularly  in  the  whole  charmine  character  of  the  Jailor's  Daughter,  or  else  that 

*  Fletcher  more  closely  imitated  him  in  this  Uian  in  any  other  part  of  his  works.' 

II.  The  prison  scene  between  Palamon  and  Ardte  ^  is,'  says  Seward,  *  more  worthy  of 

*  Shakespeare  tlian  any  long  one  in  the  first  act.    It  is  in  Shakespeare's  SECoinHBEST  man« 

*  ner,  or  m  Fletchet^s  best,  and  these  are  not  easily  disttngnishable.  If  tlie  reader  will  coo* 
^  suit  the  first  scene  of  tlie  two  brothers,  with  their  supposed  father  coming  out  of  the  cave» 
'  in  Cymbeline,  and  the  description  of  the  Spartan  houo<b  by  Theseus,  in  Imdsummer-Night's 

<  Dream,  he  will  find  a  great  similitude  of  sentiment,  stile,  and  spirit :  add  to  these,  the 

*  following  lines  in  Richard  II.    Mowbmy  bein^  banish*d,  thus  complains  of  his  want  of 

*  foreign  languages : 

**  Within  my  mouth  you  have  engoal'd  my  tongue, 
''  Doubly  portcullis'd  with  my  teeth  and  lips, 
^  And  dull  unfeeling  barren  ignorance 
^  Must  be  the  jailor  to  attend  on  me.' 

*  All  but  the  second  of  these  are  noble  lines,  though  so  great  a  man  as  Mr.  Pope  discarded 

<  them  from  tlte  text.  The  end  of  Arcite*s  former  speech,  (which  Milton  very  closely  foK 
'  lows,  bewailing  his  blindness,  in  his  Hymn  to  Light)  and  the  lines  refen^d  to  in  thtf 
'  emendation  above,  have  the  sublimity  of  these  lines  of  Mowbray,  without  the  quaintness  of 
'  thought  that  disgraces  one  of  them,  notwithstanding  its  similitude  to  the  tfnoi  o^bnwv 

*  of  Homer.  These  reasons  may  induce  one  to  place  this  scene  to  Shakespeare.'  Here^ 
liowever,  arise  doubts:  *  On  the  other  hand,  the  simile  of  a  wild  boar  in  chase  to  thm 

<  Parthian  archer  (who  by  a  bold  poetic  liberty  is  called  the  Parthian  quiver),  the  bristles 

*  and  darts  sticking  on  his  back  to  the  arrows  on  the  archer's  shoulder,  and  the  freouent  anti 
'  fnrious  turnings  of  the  boar  to  the  Parehian's  turning  to  shoot  as  he  flies.    This  noble 

*  simile  is  a  favourite  of  Fletcher's,  and  he  uses  it  in  another  play  that  seems  to  have  beeti 

*  wrote  before  this.    And  I  believe  it  no  where  occurs  in  Shakespeare.    As  to  the  amf- 

*  chronism  of  making  Parthian  archers  talk'd  of  in  Theseus's  time,  it  is  an  impropriety  thiA 

*  both  Shakespeare  and  Fletcher  are  equally  juilty  of.' 

HI.  Speaking  of  the  Jailor's  Daughter,  *  The  Aurora  of  Guido  has  not  more  strokes  of 
'  the  same  hand  which  drew  liis  Bacchus  and  Ariadne,  than  the  sweet  description  of  thia 

*  pretty  maiden's  love-distraction  has  to  the  like  distraction  of  Ophelia  in  Hamlet:  tluit  of 
'  Ophelia  ending  in  her  death,  is  like  the  Ariadne  more  moving,  but  the  images  here,  liko 
'  those  in  Aurora,  are  more  numerous,  and  equally  exquisite  in  grace  and  beauty.  May  w* 
'  not  then  pronounce,  that  either  this  is  Shakespeare  s^  or  that  Fletcher  has  here  equalfd 

*  him  in  his  very  best  manner?' 

IV.  In  p.  431,  the  reader  will  find  Mr.  iSeward  propose  a  mode  of  iustification  (or  Pa* 
laman's  auger;  after  which  he  adds, '  ThU  seems  the  whole  that  is  wanting  (which  might  be 

*  added  in  three  lines)  to  render  this  play  equal  to  Cymbeline,  Measure  fbV  Measure,  Twelfth- 
'  Night,  As  You  Like  it,  and  all  the  plays  of  the  secoxb-class  of  Shakespeiire;.  and  to  The 

*  Maid's  Tragedy,  The  False  One,  The  Bloody  Brother,  A  King  and  No  Kibg,  Philaster,  The 
^  Double  Marriage,  and  the  rest  of  the  first-bats  plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fietcii^' 

V.  The  description  of  female  friendship,  p.  394,  4*  seq,  he  says,  *  was  prob^bjy  Sh^e» 
'  speare*s,  and  in  bis  second,  if  not  in  his  very  best  manner,  which  will  evioently  Appear  by 
'  its  preference,  which  it  may  justly  claim  to  the  like  description  in  I^lidsuminec-Night^ 

*  Dream,  act  iii.  scene  8. 

**  We,  Hermia,  like  two  artificial  gods 
^^  Created  with  oar  needles  both  one  flower, 
^  Both  00  one  sampler,  sittipz  on  one  cushion: 
VOL.ni,  3K  «Boih 


43*  IBB  TWO  HCnUS  KOniOW. 

V 

^  &»tli  WttUhH  af  one  to^,  both  imont\uji 
**  Ab  if  our  faanos,  cnr  ri^es,  Toicea  and  minds  * 
**  Had  been  incorpomte;  so  we  grew  to^xkistf 
**  like  to  a  doublB  chenryy  seeming  pnrtedy 
^  But  yet  an  anion  in  partition, 
*^  Two  lovely  berries  moUed  in  one  stem ; 
*'  Or  with  two  seeming  bodies^  but  one  hcMurt, 
^  Two  of  the  first,  lilce  coots  in  heraldry, 
^  Due  but  to  one,  and  crowned  with  one  crest.*' 

VI.  Rebtire  to  the  madness  of  the  Jailor's  Daughter,  *  There  are,  says  Seward,  sich  cha- 
^  racterising  strokes,  and  sod)  strong  tetures  of  both  Ophelia  and  Lear  ia  their  phmsiea, 
^  that  one  cannot  but  believe  that  the  same  peactt  drew  them  all.'    , 

VII.  We  will  new  mention  a  doubt  or  two  more.    <  If  the  reader  will  please  to  consuk 

*  tlie  solilo(]uy  of  Kicfaard  II.  in  prison,  he  will  find  several  strokes  much  resembling  sobm  m 

*  this  scene,  [the  prison  ^cene  between  PttUMon  and  ArcUe\f  and  whilst  he  compares  tbens 

*  may  be  apt  to  ascribe  them  both  to  tlie  same  band ;  bnt  the  foUowing  lines  out  of  Fleicher'n 

*  Lovers*  Progress,  ma?  again  stagger  onr  opinion,  and  make  us  as  apt  to  aaeribe  the  wbals 

*  scene  to  Fletcher.    Lk^tHy  a  young  lover,  in  a  fit  of  despair  turns  henaiti  and  thus  d^ 

*  Scribes  the  happiness  of  solitu'des 

u  ^^^^  These  wild  fields  are  my  gaodens ; 

**  The  crystal  liv^n  they  a£R>rd  their  waters,  •^^ 

**  And  grudge  not  their  sweet  stremns  to  qoen'ch  affliction^ 
"  Tlie  hollow  rocks  dierr  beds,  which  tho'  they're  hard 
'<  (The  emblems  of  a  dotinc  lover's  fortune) 
^  Yet  they  are  quiet,  and  the  weary  slumliers 
**  Tlie  eyes  catch  there,  softer  than  beds  of  down; 
**  Tije  birds  my  bell  to  call  me  to  devotions; 
**  My  book  the  story  of  my  wand'ring  life, 
*<  In\vbich  I  find  more  houk's  doe  to  repentance  ^ 

^  Than  time  hath  told  me  yet.' 
'See  the  whole  dialogue,  act  iv.  scene  S/ 

VIII.  Again,  <  What  was  said  of  the  difficulty  of  judghig  whether  Shakespeare  or  Fletctier 

*  had  the  greatest  hand  in  the  scene  of  the  Two  Kinsmen  in  prison,  is  applicable  to  thin, 

*  [the  temple  scene]  and  indeed  to  all  the  scenes  in  which  they  appear.    Fletcher  fte^iiently 

*  writes  lis  well,  and  Shakespeare  perhaps  akme  of  all  our  dramatick  poets  can  be  said  ever 

*  tobttVe  wrote  better/ 

IX.  A|^n,  ^  Tliis  Schoolmaster  and  his  fellow-comedians  seem  very  like  the  faickal 
'  clowns  in  Midsummer-Nieht*s  Dream,  and  other  plays  of  Shakespeare;  yet  it  seems  pra- 

*  bable  that  Fletcher  had  the  greatest  share  of  this,  as  the  quotation  from  Tully's  Onatiosi 
'  lu^ainst  Catiline,  and  all  the  latinisms  of  the  Schoolmaster  seem  wrote  by  one  who  *< 
*more  ready  in  Latin  quoutions  than  Shakespeare;  who,  notwithstanding  all  the 

*  wliioh  learned  men  have  taken  to  prove  the  contrary,  seems  to  have  had  no  more  '. 

*  than  falls  to  the-  share  of  a  very  young  scliool-boy,  the  Grammar  and  a  little  of  Ovid.     At 

<  the  same  time,  I  allow  him  an  excellent  scholar  in  English,  French,  and  Italian,  whioh 

*  comprehend  a  rasi  extent  of  literature.' 

X.  Shakespeare's  supposed  wont  of  erudition,  Mr.  Seward  considers  as  an  argument  for 
some  other  particnlar  parts  l)eing  attributed  to  Fletcher:  tlius,  atler  observing  that  the  me> 
thod  ofconcealhig  combats  was  an  art  well,  known  to  the  Greek  tragedians,  he  says,*  Idoo^ 

*  remember  either  in  Shakespeare  or  Fletcher,  any  instance  of  this  kind  before  this  coaabac 

*  As  Fletcdier  was  a  scholar,  and  Shakespeare  not  one  in  Greek,  the  former  was  probably  tlie 
'  authdrhere.'  .    . 

XI.  Again,  spesdcing  of  The$eM\  address  to  tlie  Firtf  Queen,  wherein  he  mentions  Jaia^'a 
mantle,  &ward  says,  *  As  there  h  more  display  uf  learning  in  this  speech  than  is  usually  aeen 

<  in  Shakespeore's,'may  we  not  probaUy  suppose  this  scene  to  have  been  Fletcher's,  ootitrarj 
'  to  the  receiv*d  opinion  ?- 

Xn.  The  modesty  of  the  eipression, '  Weak  as  we  are,'  in  the  orologue,  makes  Seward 
think,  it '  probable,  that  the  play  was  acted  before  the  death  of  SWespeare,  and  that  it 

*  was  wrote  in  conjunction  as  much  as  those  which  Beaumont  joined  in.'    And  the  modesty 
of  promising,  in  the  epilogue,  <  many  a  better  play,'  says  he,  <  strengthens  the  piobidiility  i( 

*  the  two  great  authors  having  nearly  an  eoual  share  of  tlie  ^lay.    Had  Fletcher  finished  n 

*  work  of  Shakespeare's,  he  would  probablv  have  spoke  in  a  different  stile.' 

I..  Seward  is  rather  unfortunate  m  his  Winning;  fi>r  Warburton  do^s  not  even  roentioo 

The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen  in  the  Preface.— rope  speaks  of  it  in  his  Prefiioe,  In  the  foUovii^ 

manner :  *  ■■■  if  that  play  be  his,  as  there  goes  a  tradition  it  was,  {and  indeed  it  had 

little  resemblance  of  Fletcher,  and  more  of  our  author  than  some  of  those  which  have  been 

*  received  as  genuine) :'  An  assertion  which  thnt  great  man  would  not  imve  made,  had  he  ever 


THE  TWO  NOBLE  KINSMEN.  4S5 

read  Fletcher  with  Attention. — Mr.  Steevens  ranks  this  play  in  the  same  list  with  Lccrine, 
London  Prudi);a),  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  and  the  other  pla^s  asciitied  to  Shakespeare  by  cata- 
logues and  editions,  whose  authority  lias  not  been  sutBcient  to  guin  the  several  pieces  there 
mentioned  a  place  among  the  dramas  at  present  received  as  Shakespeare's;  and  except  the 
posthumous  title-page  of  1634,  tliere  is  indeed  no  kind  of  autliority. 

IL  III.  TV.  Seward  is  very  fond  of  the  idea  of  Fletcher^s  B£ST  manner  resembling  Shake- 
speare's  second-best  ;  but  we  cannot  help  thinking  it  childish  to  account  the  poetry  of  those 
scenes  which  he  cites,  Shakespeare's  second-best.  Whether  they  were  his  work  or  Fletcher's, 
tbcy  arc  most  excellent;  ana  might  have  been  produced  by  either,  or  by  Beaumont.  That 
Shakes]^eare  is,  taken  altogether,  superior  to  our  abtliors,  is  certain ;  but  there  oiten  occur 
passages  in  their  plays  far  beyond  the  promise  of  the  subject,  and  equal  to  the  pen  of  any 
writer  ancient  or  modem ;  as  may  be  evinced  by  numberless  passages  in  Philaster,  the 
Maid's  Tragedy,  King  and  no  King,  Bonduca,  Wife  for  a  Month,  Cupid's  Revenge,  S^e.  4'C. 
4rc.  notwittotanding  what  is  above  quoted  from  the  Preface  of  tluit  great  man,  Mr.  Pope. 

V.  In  our  opinion,  there  is  more  ease,  spirit,  and  nature,  in  the  description  in  the  Mid- 
summeihNight  s  Dream,  than  in  that  of  the  Two  Noble  Kinsmen.  However,  if  it  be  olher- 
wiae,  Fletcher  has  confessedly  so  much  poetical  merit,*  that  to  attribute  his  most  exquisite 
beauties  to  Shakespeare,  is  doing  him  an  injury.  And  in  this  injury  we  are  sorry  to  find  Dr. 
Farmer  has  taken  part,  who,  speaking  of  Etftilia^s  fine  comparison  of  a  maid  to  a  rose,  which 
he  highly  praises,  says,  '  I  have  no  doubt  those  lines  were  written  by  Shakespeare.'  And 
because  the  speech  of  Theseuty  p.  396,  is  particularly  beautiful,  Seward  thinks  that  it  <  looks 
'  extremely  like  the  hand  of  Slmkespeare.- 

VI.  Though  there  is  much  poetical  fancy  in  the  phrensy  of  the  JaUarU  Daughter,  we  can- 
not with  Mr.  Seward  tliink  it  equal  to  the  natural  madness  painted  by  Shakespeare.  Like 
the  assumed  distraction  of  Hamlet  add  Edgar, 

*  Tho*  this  be  madness,  yetxhere*s  method  in*t;' 
more  apparent  method  than  in  the  drawing  of  Ophelia  and  Lear. 

VII.  VIII.  IX.  Nothing  need  be  said  of  the  doubts. 

X.  XI.  What  is  here  said,  tending  to  invalidate  Shakespeare^s  claim,  is  apart  from  the 
argument;  but  we  may,  however,  just  remark,  that  there  are  many  speeches  in  Shakespeare, 
as  much  abounding  with  learned  allusions  as  any  part  of  Theteui*^  address. 

XII.  That  the  play  was  <  wrote  in  conjunction,'  we  will  readily  suppose;  but  no  kind  of 
information  can  be  derived  from  either  prologue  or  epilogue,  wAe  tlie  associate  was. 

We  have  now  gone  through  all  that  Mr.  Seward  had  said  on  this  subject ;  wherein  we  can- 
not find  one  plausible  argument  for  ascribing  to  Shakespeare  any  part  of  the  Two  Noble  Kins- 
men; which  certainly  abounds  with  the  peculiar  beauties  anci  defects  that  distinguish  the 
rest  of  this  collection,  and  should,  in  our  opinion,  (if  a  joint  work)  be  attributed  to  the  same 
authors.  There  are  too,  many  particular  passages  and  expressions  in  this  play,  which  bear 
a  striking  similarity  to  others  wrote  between  them:  of  this  sort  are  trace,  and  turn  hoift  t 
p.  410 :  on  the  same  mob-occasion,  the  saaie  expression  occurs  in  Philaster.  In  that  play 
too,  the  Frince  talks  of  discoursing  from  a  pyramdy  to  all  the  under^worldi  So  here,  p.  419» 
JSmiUa  says,  in  one  of  the  most  b^utiful  passages  of  the  play, 

« ^ Fame  and  Honour, 

^  Methinks,  from  hence,  as  from  a  promontory 

*  Pointed  in  Heav'n,  should  clap  tlieir  wings,  and  sing 
«  To  all  the  under^oorid / 

And  various  others  might  be  quoted.  Writers  often  unknowingly  copy  themselves,  as  well 
as  other  autlior:^ ;  and  tho'  it  might  here  be  answer'd,  that  Fletcher  is  allowed  to  have  wrote 
in  both,  and  the  similar  passages  may  he  his ;  yet  Beaumont  Twho  bad  a  great  sliare  in  Phi- 
laster) is  as  likely  to  have  produced  them  tit  both  as  hU  associate.  And  (what  is  rather  re- 
markable) it  wdl  appear  to  my  attentive  reader,  that  the  cMef  similarities  are  to  pieces  in 
which  Beaumont  is  universally  allowed  to  have  been  connected,  not  where  his  assistance  is 
doubted. — Had  Shakespeare  been  considered  as  one  of  the  joint  authors,  is  it  not  natunil  to 
suppose,  that  a  play  ofso  much  excellence  would  have  found  a  place  in  the  collection  of  his 
Dramas  published  by  Hemines  and  Condell?  But  they  have  neither  admitted  the  piece,  nor 
taken  the  least  notice  of  Shakespeare's  being  at  all  concerned  in  it.  We  must  not,  indeed^ 
rest  too  much  upon  this,  as  it  is  certain  they  omitted  Troilus  and  Cressida,  a  play,  however, 
of  much  less  eminence:  on  the  whole,  we  think  that  there  ought  to  be  more  authority  than 
an  uncertain  tradition,  to  t^e  tlie  credit  of  this  play  from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  the  joint 
authors  of  so  manv  other  excellent  dramas,  written  very  much  in  the  stile  and  spirit  of  the 
play  before  as.  Iplace  Shakespeare's  name  before  several  other  of  these  dramas,  how 
many  criticks^Uke  Seward^  would  labour  to  ascertain  tlie  particular  passages  that  came  from 
bislmnd} 

d&«  TUK 


THE 


TRAGEDY 


OF 


THIERRY  AND  THEODORET. 


The  first  edition  of  this'  Plaj  was  printed  in  quarto,  1621,  withoat  the  name  of  either 
Author.  The  edition  of  1648,  ascribes  it  to  Fletcher;  and  that  of  1649,  to  both  writers. 
Dr.  Hyde,  in  the  Bodleian  Catalogue^  assgns  it  to  Ben  Jonson,  without  any  authority 
whatever.  It  was  fonnerly  performed  frequently,  hut  of  late  years  has  been  entirely  laid 
aside. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 

Thisrrt,       >  Br<fthers,  Kin^  ef  France 
Theodoret,   )     andAuxtrotw. 
Martell,  a  Soldier^  Friend  to  Theodoretm 
pROTALDYE,  GoUont  to  Brunkoit. 

De  Vitrt,  «  disbanded  Officer^ 

Jt£VSLI.EH8. 


Courtiers. 
Huntsmen. 


Women. 


Brunhalt,  Mother  to  Thierry  and  Tkeo' 

doret. 
Ordella,  the  King  rfArragon's  Daughter, 

married  to  Thierry, 
Memberge,  TheoddreCi  Daughter. 
Lauies. 


SCENE,  France. 


ACT    L 


SCENE  I. 

JSfi<«r  Theodorety  Brunhalt,  and  Bawdber. 

Brunhalt,  'T^AX  me  with  these  hot  tain- 
•■•    'tures'? 
Tkeod,  YooVe  too  sudden ; 
I  do  but  gently  tell  you  what  becomes  you, 


And  what  may  bend  your  honour!  how  these 

courses, 
Of  loose  and  lazy  pleasures,  not  suspected. 
But  done  and  known;  your  mind  that  grants 

DO  limit,  [people. 

And  all  your  actions  follow,  whicn  loose 
That  see  but  thro*  a  mist  of  circumstance. 


■  Tax  me  with  these  hat  tainters?]  Theobald  would  read,  hot  taints.  The  oldest  quarto 
exhibits  iahiturs;  we  therefore  prefer  taintures;  and  though  we  do  not  remember  meeting 
with  the  word,  it  is  more  expressive  of  the  sense  of  taints  (here  required)  than  tainters. 

Dare 


488  TH6  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET.    [Act  1.  Scene  l. 

He  that  ne'er  knew  more  trade  than  taleS,  and 

tumbling; 
Suspicions  into  honest  hearts;  whatyoaorbe. 
Or  all  the  world  dare  la^  upon  my  worthy 
This  for  your  poor  opinions!  I  am  $be, 
And  so  will  bear  myself,  whose  truth  and 

whiteness 
Shall  ever  btand  as  far  from  these  detectioiii 
As  you  from  duty.   Get  you  better  servants. 
People  of  honest  actions,  without  ends, 
Ancf  whip  these  knaves  away !  they  eat  yoor 

favours. 
And  turn *em  onto  poisons.  My  known  ciedi^ 
WhoiD  all  the  courts  o*  this  side  Nile  have 

€«vied,  [lyaestion. 

And  happy  she  could  cite  me',  broqghl  in 
Now  in  my  hours  of  age  and  reverence. 
When  rather  superstition  should  be  reoder'd? 
And  by  a  rush  that  one  day's  warmth  [tkt^ 
Hath  shot  op  to  this  swelling?  Give  me  his- 
Which  is  his  life! 


Dare  term  ambitious;  all  your  ways  hide 

sores 
Opening  in  the  end  to  nothing  but  ulcers^. 
Your  instruments  like  these  may  call  the 

world, 
And  with  a  fearful  clamour,  to  examine 
Why,  and  to  what  we  govern.  From  example, 
If  not  for  virtue's  sdce,  you  may  be  honest: 
There  have  been  great  ones,  good  ones,  and 

'tis  necessary, 
Because  you  are  yourself,  and  b^  yomrself, 
A  self-piece  from  the  touch  of  power  and 
justice,  [imagine 

You  should  command  yourself.    You  may 
(Which  cozens  all  the  world,  bat  diiefly  wo- 
men) 
The  name  of  greatness  glorifies  your  actions; 
And  strong  power, like  a  pen^house^  promises 
To  shade  you  from  opimon  s  take  heed,  mo- 
ther! 
And  let  us  aU  take  heed !  these  most  abase  us: 
The  sins  we  do^  people  behold  thro'  optics. 
Which  shew  them  teo  times  more  than  couh- 

moa  vices. 
And  often  multiply  them :  then  what  justice 
Dare  we  taiiict  upon  the  weak  o&Bdera, 
Wlien  we  are  thieves  ourselves? 

Brun.  Tliis  is  Martell,  [son. 

Studied  and  penn'd  unto  you;  whose  base  per- 
I  charge  you  by  the  love  vou  owe  a  modier. 
And  as  yoa  hope  for  blessings  from  her 

prayers. 
Neither  to  gire  belief  to,  nor  allowance ! 
Next,  I  tell  you,  sir,  you  from  whom  obedi* 

ence 
Is  so  far  fled  that  you  dare  tax  a  mother, 
NaT,  further,  brand  her  honour  with  your 

slanders. 
And  break  into  the  treasures  of  her  credit. 
Your  easiness  is  abased,  your  faith  fpeiglited 
W itli  lies,  malicious  lies ;  ^oor merchaat  Mis-  I 
chief;  *  *  ' 


Theod.  This  is  ao  ImpodeDce; 
And  he  must  tdl  ypu,  Uwt  'tiU  ao«^  mother^ 
Drought  you  a  son's  obedience,  and  now 
Above  the  suftrance  of  a  soa,      [breaks  iu 

&».  Blew  us! 
For  I  do  now  begin  to  feel  Hiyself 
Tucking  into  a  halter^,  and  the  ladder 
Turning  from  me,  one  pulling  at  my  legs  too. 

Tkeod,  These  truths  are  no  man's  tulc% 

but  all  men's  troubles;        [outrstare  *em : 
They  are,  tho*  your  strange  greatness  woold 
Witness  the  daily  libels,  Smost  ballads. 
In  every  place  almost,  in  every  province^ 
Are  made  upon  your  lust;  tavern  discburses; 
Crowds  crau'd  with  whisperst;  nay,  the  hoi/ 

temples  £bi«sJi; 

'  A  re  not  without  your  curseau  NowyouwnuM 
But  your  black  tainted  blood  dare  not  i^ipeary 
For  fear  I  should  fright  that  too. 

Brun.  Oh,  ye  godsl  {y^ur  9otio9mi 

Theod.  Do  not  abase  their  names !  ihcy  sc« 


^  Opening  in  the  end  Ao  nothing  hut  ulcers,']  Tlie  ancient  English  poets  were  certainly  not 
sufficiently  cautious  of  properly  accenting  their  verses,  insomuch  that  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  they  thought  the  rule  oi*  accenting  the  even  syllables  (viz.  the  second,  fourth,  sixth, 
eighth,  and  tenth)  a  necessary  part  of  our  measure.  This  line  has  the  accent  upon  all  the 
odd  syllables,  and,  tho*  the  thought  is  poetry,  it  is  not  verse  at  all.  Our  authors  indeed  in 
eeneral  have  such  good  ears,  and  this  is  so  easily  made  right  measure,  that  it  may  probablj 
be  a  corruptionf  and  the  original  have  run. 

To  nothing  opening  in  the  end  but  ulcers. 
See  the  rule  above  more  fully  explain'd,  with  the  exception  it  admits,  in  a  note  in  the  fint 
scene  of  Wit  Witliout  Money.  Seward. 

3  And  happy  «4e  could  site  tne.]  Corrected  in  1750, 

♦  ^^—feelmyKlf 


Turning  into  a  halter,  and  the  huUer 
Tumtngfrom  me.]  l^immg  intv  a  kaiUr^  is  no  very  natural  expression.    The  common 
word  of  being  tuck*d  in  a  halter,  seems  |>ttibafaly  Che  true  reading.        .    Semard, 

'  In  everyplace^  almost  in  every  proomce^^  Everyplace  being  much  OMre  minutdy  poiti^ 
cular  than  exiery  prawnce,  the  aknoit  seeBis  layiopefly  plac'd  iMe.  It  ib  not  veiy  mattfial^ 
but  rather  more  correct  to  read. 

In  every  pUce  almost  of  every  province; 
t.  e.  In  every  comer  of  every  previnoe-of  our  kingdom.  Semari. 

We  apprehend  the  error  to  be  mereW  in  the  ponctoatioD^  aod  tbe  po^  ta  tigjc  ipianr, 
*  in  itlmMt  eiwrv  nlafie.  m  everv  uroviiiee  «t  least.' 


I  iflmott  every  place,  m  tteiy  proviaee  «t  leaf|«' 


AdA 


iUtl.  SceAcl.]    THE  T&AGEDY  OF  THIEBEY  AND  THEODORET. 


And  yxmt  conceard  fins,  tho'  you  work  like 
Lie  le?el  to  their  justice.  [n\oles, 

firax.  Art  thou  a  son?  [a mother, 

I'keod.  The  more  my  shame  is  of  so  had 
And    more  yoar  wretchedness  you  let  me 

be  to.  [me, 

But,  wonan  (for  a  mother's  name  bath  left 
Since  you  hare  left  your  honour),  mend  these 

ruins, 
AndbaiW  a|:aio  that  broken  fame ;  and  fairly, 
(Yoor  most  intemperate  fires  hare  burnt)  and 

c|uicklY, 
Within  these  ten  days,  take  a  monastery, 
A  most  strict  faosse ;  a  house  where  none 

may  whisper,  [make  yon 

Where  no  more  light  is  known  but  whatmay 
Believe  there  is  a  day ;  where  no  hope  dwells. 
Nor  comlbtt  but  in  sears-* 

Brun.  Oh,  misery !         [starv'd  penance, 

Tkeod.  And  there  to  cold  repentance,  and 
Tie  your  succeeding  days:  ,or  curse  me,  bea* 

ven. 
If  ^i  yoorgilded  knaves,  brokers,  and  bedders, 
Even  he  you  built  from  nothing,  strong  Pro- 

taldye,  [maids, 

Be  not  made  ambling  geldings!  all  your 
If  that  name  do  not  shame  'em,  fed  with 

spunges. 
To  sock  away  their  rankness!  and  yourself 
Only  Co  empty  pictures'and  dead  arras 
Offer  your  old  desires ! 

Brun,  I  will  not  curse  you, 
Nor  lay  a  prophecy  upon  your  pride, 
Tko'Heav'n  might  grant  me  both:  unthank- 

fill,  no!  [you; 

T  nourish*d  you;  'twas  Ij  poor  I,  groaird  tor 
Twas  I  lelt  what  you  suner'd;  1  lamented 
When  sickness  or  sad  hours  held  back  your 

sweetness;  [wakmgs; 

Twos  I  pay'd  for  your  sleeps^ ;  I  watch'd  your 
My  daily  cares  and  fears  that  rid,  play*dj 

waik'd, 
DiscoiirsM,  discovexM,  fed  and  fasluon*d  you 
To  what  you  are;  aud  I  am  thus  rewarded? 

T/tead,  But  tliat  1  know  these  tears,  I  could 

dote  on  *em.  Pern 

And  kneel  to  catch  'cm  as  they  fall,  then  knit 
Into  an  annlet,  ever  to  be  honour*d :      [ful, 
But,  woman,  they  are  dangerous  drops,  deceit-  » 
Full  of  the  weeper,  anger  and  ill-nature. 

Bran.  In  my  last  hours  despis'd? 

Theod.  That  text  sliould  tell, 
How  ugly  it  becomes  you  to  err  thus : 
Yonr  flames  are  spent,  nothing  but  smoke 

maintains  you;  [fers^. 

And  those  your  fiivour  and  your  bounty  su^ 
Lie  not  with  you,  they  do  but  lay  lust  on  you. 


4Sf 

And  then  embrace  you  is  theyeangbt  apaby' 
Your  power  they  may  love,  and  like  Spanish 

jennets. 
Commit  with  soch  a  guat— 

Baw.  1  would  take  whippings 
And  pay  a  fine  now !  Exii* 

Theod.  But  were  you  oncedisgrac*d. 
Or  falFn  in  wealth,  like  leaves  they  would  fly 

from  you,  [will'd  me 

And  become  browse  for  every  beast.  Yoa 
To  stock  myselt*  with  better  friends,  and  ser* 

vants ;  [kind. 

With  what  face  dare  you  see  me,  or  any  man* 
That  keep  a  race  of  such  unheaid-of  relics» 
Bawds,  lechers,  leeches,  female  fornications. 
And  children  in  their  rudiments  to  vices* 
Old  men  to  shew  examples,  and  (lest  art 
Sbr»uld  lose  herself  in  act)  to  call  back  custooit 
Leave  these,  and  live  like  Niobe!  I  told  you 

how;  [brance 

And  wiien  your  eyes  have  droptaway  remem- 
Of  what  you  were,  I  am  your  son ;  perfonn  it! 

[Exit, 

Brun,  Am  I  a  woman,  and  no  more  power 

in  me 
To  tie  this  tiger  up?  a  soul  to  no  end ? 
Have  I  got  shame,  and  lost  my  will?  Vmn- 

halt,  [him. 

From  this  accursed  hour  forget  tliou  bor'st 
Or  any  part  of  thy  blood  gave  him  living ! 
Let  him  be  to  tliee  an  antipathy,  [ward  ; 
A  thing  thy  nature  sweats  at,  and  turns  back- 
Throw  all  the  mischiefs  on  him  that  thyself 
Or  woman  worse  tlian  thou  art,  have  invented^ 
And  kill  him  drank,  ordoubtftil! 

Enter  Baicdber,  Protaldi/e,  and  Lecure* 

Baw,  Such  a  sweat 
I  never  was  in  yet!  dipt  of  my  minstrels. 
My  toys  to  prick  up  wenches  withal?  uphol4 
It  runs  like  snctw-balls  thro*  me!  [me; 

Brun.  Now,  my  varlets,  [tions! 

My  slaves,  my  running  thoughts,  my  execu- 

Baa;.  Lord,  how  she  looks ! 

Brun.  Hell  take  ye  all  I 

Baw.  We  shall  be  gelt. 

Brun.  Your  mistress,  [ourtals. 

Your  old  and  honoured  mistress,  you  tir*d 
Suffers  for  your  base  sins  1  I  most  be  doister'd, 
Mew'd  up  to  make  me  virtiibus:  who  can 

help  this  ?  '    [taldye ! 

Now  you  stand  Hill,  like  statues!  Come,  Pro- 
One  Iciss  before  I  perish,  kiss  me  strongly ! 
Another,  and  a  third! 

Lee.  I  fear  not  gelding, 
As  long  as  she  holds  this  way. 

Brun.  The  young  courser, 


*  'Ttoas  I  ^fdfor  four  sle^s,]  To  watch  another  while  he's  sleeping,  cannot  simply  be 
said  to  pay  for  fais'sleep;  a  metaphor  of  that  nature  would  require  a  nirther  exphination,  as, 
I  pay'd  for  your  sleep  at  the  price  of  my  own  watchtngs.  As  nothing  of  that  nature  appears, 
k  IS  most  probable  that  it  is  the  mere  omission  of  a  letter,  it  is  therefore  restored,  prafd. 


7  .^^rfiwmnmd^ottr  bounty  90i&n.]  Sewaid  conjectured  we  shodd  read  f osiers  g 
and  SympsoQ  succours  i  but  sufftrs^  in  the  senae  of  ji^r  Us,  is  inteUigiWe* 

That 


440 


TIIE  TRAGEDY  OF  TEIEBRY  AND  THEODORET.    [Act  1.  Scene  ft. 


Tbftt  unllck*d  lump  of  mine,  will  win  thy  mis* 

tress" : 
Most  I  be  chaste,  Protaldye  ? 

Prot.  Thus,  and  tlius,  lad^!         [vestals! 

Brun.  It  shall  be  so:  let  liim  seek  fools  for 
Here  is  my  cloister. 

Lee.  But  what  safety,  madom^ 
Find  you  in  staying  here  ? 

Brun,  Th'hast  hit  my  meaning : 
I  will  to  Thierry,  son  of  my  blessings,  [tilly, 
And  there  complain  me,  tell  my  tale  so  sub- 
That  the  cold  stones  shall  sweat,  and  statues 

moom ;  [ness; 

And  thou  shaltweep,  Protaldye,  in  my  wit- 
And  these  forswear. 

Baw,  Yes;  any  thintr  but  gelding! 
I  am  not  yet  in  quiet,  noble  lady: 
Let  it  be  done  to-night,  for  without  doubt 
To-morrow'  we  are  capons ! 

Brun.  Sleep  shall  not  seize  me. 
Nor  any  food  befriend  me  but  thv  kisses, 
Ere  I  forsake  this  desart.    I  live  honest } 
He  may  as  well  bid  dead  men   walk!    I 

humbled,  [tear  me, 

Or  bent  below  my  power?   let  ni^t-dogs 
-And  goblins  ride  me  m  my  tdeep  to  jelly. 
Ere  I  forsake  my  sphere ! 

Lee.  This  place  you  wilL 

Brun.  What's  that  to  you,  or  any. 
Ye  dross^,  ye  powder'd  pigsboues,  rhubafb 

clisters! 
Must  you  know  my  designs  ?  a  college  of  you 
The  proverb  makes  but  fools. 

Prot.  But,  noble  lady —  [not, 

Brun.  You  are  a  saucy  ass  too!  Off! will 
If  you  but  an^er  me,  'till  a  sow-gelder  [me  ! 
Have  cut  you  all  hke  colts:  hold  me,  and  kiss 
For  T  am  too  much  troubled.    Make  up  my 

treasure, 
And  get  me  horses  private;  come,  about  it! 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  ir. 

Enter  Theodoret,  Mariell,  4c. 

Theod.  Tho*  I  assure  myself,  Martell,  your 

counsel 
Had  no  end  but  allegiance  and  my  honour. 
Yet  I  am  jealous^  I  have  pass*d  tlie  bounds 


Of  a  son's  doty :  for,  suppose  her  \ 

Than  your  report,  not  by  bare  ciicumstaoce. 

But  evident  proof  connrm'd,  has  given  her 

out"; 
Yet  since  all  weaknesses  in  a  kingdom  are 
No  more  to  be  severely  punish'd,  than 
The  faults  of  kings  are,  by  the  Thnnderer, 
As  oft  as  they  offend,  to  be  reveng*d; 
If  not  for  piety,  yet  for  policy. 
Since  some  are  of  necessity  to  be  tpar'd, 
I  might,  and  now  I  wish  I  had  not  look'd 
With  such  strict  eyes  into  her  follies. 

Mart.  Sir, 
A  dutv  well  discharged  is  never  followed 
By  9fA  repentance ;  nor  did  your  highnos 
ever  [better 

Make  payment  of  the  debt , yon  owM  her, 
Tliao  in  your  late  reproofs,  not  of  her,  but 
Those  crimes  that  made  her  worthy  of  re- 
proof. 
The  most  remarkable  point  in  which  kina 

differ 
From  private  men,  is  that  they  not  alone 
Stand  boimd  to  be  in  themselves  innocent. 
But  that  all  such  as  are  allied  to  them 
In  nearness,  or  dependance,  by  their  cure 
Should  be  free  from  suspicion  of  all  crime: 
And  you  have  reap'd  a  double  benefit 
From  this  last  great  act :  first  in  the  restraint 
Of  her  lost  pleasures^'  you  remove  th*exaraple 
From  others  of  the  like  licentiousness; 
Then  when  'cis  known  that  your  severicj 
Extended  to  your  motiier,  wlio  dares  hopefor 
The  least  indulgence  or  connivance  in 
The  easiest  slips  that  may  prove  dangerous 
To  you,  or  to  the  kingdom  f 

'iheod.  I  must  grant 
Your  reasons  good,  Martell,  if,  as  slie  is 
My  mother,  she  had  been  my  subject,  or 
That  only  here  she  could  make  challenge  to 
A  place  of  beiug :  but  1  know  her  temper. 
And  fear  (if  such  a  word  become  a  king) 
That  in  discovering  her,  I  have  let  loose 
A  tigress,  whose  rage  l»eing  shut  up  in  dark- 
ness 
Was  grievous  only  to  herself;  which,  brooghft 
Into  the  view  of  light,  her  cruelty, 
Provok'd  by  her  own  shame,  will  tumonliia 

*  Will  win  thy  vmtre$$.']  The  word  win  does  not  seen&  very  expressive,  th*/  as  it  beaxs 
some  affinity  to  the  courser  in  the  former  line,  I  shall  not  change  it,  but  suppose  it  may 
mean,  win  her  from  her  evil  courses.  Were  a  change  necessary,  we  might  use  cAiim,  cn»* 
fine  (cutting  off  a?  in  will),  or  ginn,  perhaps  the  best  word  of  all,  and  the  nearest  to  the  oU 
reading,  for  the  two  first  editions  xead  winne^  SewartL 

Perhaps  we  should  read,  wean. 

^  Ye  doss.]  Nut  finding  doiis  in  any  glossary,  I  am  forc*d  to  treat  it  as  cornipt,  and  sap* 
pose  dross  or  dolt  to  have  been  the  original.  Seward, 

>^  2'han  you  report,  not  by  bare  circumstance^ 

But  evident  pro(f  conjinn'd,  has  given  her  out.']  The  grammar  seems  deficientheir,  but 
it  is  easily  cur'd  two  ways ;  the  most  pi-obable  I  shall  insert,  but  it  might  be. 
Than  you  repor^  not  that  bare  circumstance.  Seward, 

tiQfher  lost  pleasures,'\  Lost  might  possibly  be  interpreted,  abandon^ d^  lost  to  all  good* 
ness.    But  as  loose  seems  the  natural  word,  it  was  probably  the  true  one.  Seward. 

Luit  will  certainly  admit  uf  So^vard*8  first  interpretation:  it  seems  therefore  arbitrair  to 
change  the  test. 


Act  i.  Scene  2.]     THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIEERY  AND  THEODORET. 


441 


That  foolislily  presnm'd  to  let  her  see 
The  loath'd  shape  of  her  own  defonnity. 
Mart.  Beo&ts  of  that  nature,  when  rebel- 
lious threats 
Be);in  Co  appear  only  in  their  eyes, 
Or  any  motion  that  may  give  suspicion 
Of  the  Least  violence,  should  be  chaineci  up ; 
Their  fangs  and  teeth,  and  aU  their  means  of 
hurt,  [unable 

Par'd  off,   and  knocked  out;  and   so  made 
To  do  ill,  they  would  soon  begin  to  loath  iu 
1*11  apply  nothing ;  but  had  your  grace  done, 
Or  would  do  yet,  what  your  less-forward  zeal 
In  words  did  only  threaten,  far  less  danger 
Would  grow  from  acting  it  on  her,  than  may 
Perhaps  have  being  from  her  apprehension 
Of  what  may  once  be  practised:  for  believe  it. 
Who,  confident  of  his  own  power,  presumes 
To  spend  threats  on  an  enemy,  that  hath 
means  [mour 

To  shun  the  worst  they  can  effect,  gives  ar- 
To  keep   off  his  own  strength ;  nay,  more,. 

disarms 
Himself,  and  lies  unguarded  'gainst  all  harms 
Or  doubt  or  malice  may  produce. 

IVieod,  Tistrue: 
And  such  a  despemte  cure  I  would  have  us*d, 
If  the  intemperate  patient  had  not  been 
So  near  me  as  a  mother;  but  to  her. 
And  from  me,  gentle  unguents  only  were 
To  be  applied :  and  as  physicians, 
When  they  are  sick  of  fevers,  eat  themselves 
Such  viands  as  by  their  directions  are 
Forbid  to  others,  tho'  alike  diseas*d ; 
So  she,  considering  what  slie  is,  may  chal- 
lenge 
Those  cordials  to  restore  her,  by  her  birth 
And  privilege,  wliichat  no  suit  must  be 
Granted  to  others. 

Mart.  May  your  pious  care 
Effect  but  what  it  aiinVl  at !  £  am  silent. 

Enter  Be  Vitry, 

Theod,  What  langh'd  you  at,  sir? 

Vitry.  I  have  some  occasion, 
I  sboald  not  else ;  and  the  same  cause  perhaps 
That  makes  me  do  so,  may  beget  in  you 
A  contrary  effect. 

Theod.  Why,  what's  the  matter? 

Vitry,  I  see,  and  joy  Ut  see,  that  sometimes 

peor  men 
(And  most  of  such  are  good)  stand  more  in- 
debted [cious, 
For  meana  to  breathe,  to  such  as  are  htid  vi- 
Than  those  that  wear,  like  hypocrites,  on 

their  foreheads 
Tb'  ambitious  titles  of  just  men  and  virtuous. 

Mart,  Speak  to  the  purpose! 

VUry,  Who  would  eer  have  thought 


The  good  old  queen,  your  highness'  reverend 

mother, 
Into  whose  house  (which  was  an  academe, 
In  which  ail  tlie  principles  of  lust  were  pnic- 

tis'd) 
No  soldier  might  presume  to  set  liis  foot; 
At  whose  most  blessed  intercession 
All  offices  in  the  state  were  charitably 
Conferred  on  pandars,  o*er-wora  chamber* 

wrestlers, 
And  such  physicians  as  knew  how  to  kill 
With  safety,  under  the  pretence  of  saving. 
And  such-like  children  of  a  monstrous  peace; 
That  she,  I  say,  should  at  the  lengtli  provide 
That  men  of  war,  and  honest  younger  bro* 

thers,  [codpiece. 

That  would  not  owe  their  feeding  to  their 
Should  be  esteem'd  of  more  than  moths'^  or 
Or  idle  vagabonds.  [drones, 

Theod,  1  am  glad  to  hear  it; 
Prithee  what  course  takes  she  to  do  this? 

Vitry,  One 
That  cannot  fail :  she  and  her  virtuous  train, 
Wi*  her  jewels,  and  ail  that  was  worthy  the 

carrying. 
The  last  night  left  the  court;  and  as 'tis  more 
Than  said,  for'tis  conBrm'd  by  suchas  met  her^ 
She's  fled  unto  your  brother. 

Theod,  How! 

Vitry.  Nay,  storm  not;  , 

For  if  that  wicked  tongue  of  hers  hjith  not 
Forgot  its  pace,  and  Thierry  be  a  prince 
Of  such  a  hery  temper  as  report  [to  use 

lias  given  him  out  tor,  you  hiiall  have  cause 
Such  poor  men  as  iiiyself;  and  thank  us  too 
For  cominsr  to  you,  and  witfiout  petitions: 
Pray  Heaven  reward  the  good  old  woman  for'tt 

Mart.  I  foresaw  this. 

Theod.  I  hear  a  tempest  coming. 
That  sings  mine  ami  my  kingdom*s  ruin. 

Haste, 
And  cause  a  troop  of  horse  to  fetch  her  bark ! 
Yet  stay  !  why  should  I  use  means  to  bring  in 
A  plague  that  of  herself  hath  left  me  ?  Muster 
Our  soldiers  up !  we'll  stand  upon  our  guard; 
For  we  shall  Ije  utteniptcd. —  Vet  forbear! 
The  inequality  ot  our  powers  will  yield  me 
Nothing  hut  loss  in  their  defeature:  something 
Must  be  done,  and  done  suddenly.  Save  your 

labour! 
In  this  I'll  use  no  counsel  but  mine  own  : 
That  course  though  dangerous,  is  best.  Com- 
mand 
Our  daughter  be  in  readiness  to  attend  us ! 
Martell,  your  company  !  and  honest  Vitry, 
Thou  wilt  along  with  me  ? 

Vilry.  Yes,  any  where; 
To  be  worse  than  I'm  here,  is  past  my  fear. 

\^Exeuntn 


More  than  mothers  or  drones,']  Corrected  iu  1750. 


VOL.  HI. 


3L 


ACT 


44t 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRV  AND  THEODORET.,  [Act  3.  Scene  1. 


ACT    11. 


SCENE  T. 

[  Enter  Thierry t  Brunhalt,  Bawdber,  and 

Lecure. 

Thi  "XrOV  are  here  in  a  sanctuary;  and 

^      that  viper 
(Who,  since  he  )iath  forgot  to  be  a  son, 
I  much  disdain  to  think  of  as  a  brotlier) 
Had  belter,  in  despite  of  all  the  gods, 
To  haveraz'd  their  temples,  and  spurn*d  down 

their  altars, 
Than  in  his  impious  abuse  of  you, 
I'o  have  caiPd  on  my  just  anger. 

Brun.  Princely  son, 
And  in  this  worthy  of  a  nearer  name, 
I  have,  in  the  relation  of  my  wrongs. 
Been  modest,  and  no  word  my  tongue  de- 

liver'd 
To  express  my  insupportable  injuries. 
But  gave  my  heart  a  wound:  nor  has  my  grief 
Being  from  what  I  suffer*  ^ ;  but  that  he, 
33egenerate  as  lie  is,  should  be  the  actor 
Of  niy  extremes,  and  force  me  to  divide 
The  fires  of  brotherly  affection'*. 
Which  should  make  but  one  flame. 

Tki.  That  part  of  his, 
JVs  it  deserves,  shall  burn  no  more,  if  or 
The  tears  of  orphans,  widows,  or  nil  such 
Ab  dare  acknowledge  him  to  be  their  lord, 
Join*d  to  your  wrongs,  with  his  heart-blood 

have  power  [vaiits, 

To  put  it  out :  and  you,  and  these  your-ser- 
AVhu  in  our  favours  shall  find  cause  to  know, 
1  n  that  they  left  not  you,  how  dear  we  hold 

them, 
8hall  give  Theodoret  to  understand 
'  3ris  ignorance  of  tlie  pri2ele>s  jewel  which 
lie  did  possess  in  you,  mother,  in  you; 
,  Of  which  I  am  more  proud  to  be  the  owner'^. 
Than  if  th'  absolute  rule  of  all  the  world 
Were  offer'd  to  this  hand.  Once  more,  you're 

welcome ! 
Which  with  all  ceremony  due  to  greatness 
I  would  make  known,  but  that  our  just  re- 
venge 


Admits  not  of  delay, 
uerai ! 


Your  hand,  lurd-ge 


Enter  Protaldye,  with  SMtert, 

Brun.  Your  favour  and  bis  merit,!  may  say, 
Have  made  him  such ;  but  I  am  jealous  how 
Your  subjects  will  receive  it. 

Thi,  How!  my  sul^ects? 
What  do  you  make  of'^me  ?  Oh,  Heav'n !  my 

subjects? 
How  base  should  I  esteem  the  name  of  prince. 
If  that  poor  dust  were  any  thing  before 
The  whirlwind  of  my  absolute  command!. 
Let  *cm  be  happy,  and  rest  so  contented. 
They  pay  the  tribute  of  their  hearts  and  knees 
To  such  a  prince,  that  not  alone  has  power 
To  keep  his  own,  but  to  encrease  it;  tliat, 
Altho'  he  hath  a  body  may  add  to 
The  fam'd  night-labour  of  strong  Hercules, 
Yet  is  the  master  of  a  continenfe 
That  so  can  temper  it,  that  I  forbear 
Theirdaughters,  and  their  wives ;  whose  hands, 

tho'  strong, 
As  yet  have  never  drawn  by  unjust  mean 
Their  proper  wealth  into  my  treasury  ! — 
But  I  grow  glorious — aud  let  them  beware 
That,  in  their  least  repining  at  my  pleasure^ 
They  change  not  a  mild  prince  (for  if  provok'd, 
I  ^are  and  will  be  so)  into  a  tyrant ! 

Brun,  You  see  there's  hope  that  we  shall 

rule  again. 
And  your  falln  fortunes  rise. 

Biiw.  1  hope  your  highness  [with  yoa ; 
Is  pleasM  that  I  should  still  hold  my  place 
I'^or  I  liave  been  so  long  us'd  to  provide  yoa 
Vresh  bits  of  flesh  since  mine  grew  stale,  that 

surely 
If  cashi»>r*d  now,  I  shall  prove  a  bad  caterer 
In  the  fisl>market  of  cold  Chastity. 

Lee.  For  mc,  I  am  your  own;  nor,  since  I 

first  [ber'd 

Knew  what  it  M'as  to  serve  you,  have  remem- 
I  had  a  soul,  but  such  an  one  wliose  essence 
Depended  wholly  on  your  highness' pleasure; 
And  therefore,  madam—- 


JVor  hai  my  grkfy 


Being jTrom  whut  1  suffer. \  The  comma  at  grif/* should  be  out,  for  it  confounds  themeax^ 
ing;  which  is,  that  *  her  grief  does  not  take  its  being  merely  from  her  sufferings,  but,  ifcJ  It 
is  not  at  first  obvious  that  the  word  bein^  is  here  used  as  a  substantive,  and  the  comma 
leads  the  reader  furtlier  astray. 

'♦ to  divide 

The  fires  o/' brotherly  affection.'\  Mr.  Theobald  lias  very  justly  put  in  the  margin,  Eteo- 
cles  and  Polynices.  The  metaphor  is  a  noble  allusion  to  the  remarkable  poetic  flcti(m  of 
the  flames  of  their  funeral  pyre,  dividing  and  (lying  asunder.  Seward, 

'^  To  be  the  donor.]  Owner  secm'd  at  first  sight  self-cvidently  the  true  reading  both  to  Mr. 
Svnipsou  and  myself.  Seuard, 

Brwu 


Act «.  Scene  1.]    THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORE?. 


44a 


Thi.  This  is  above  belief,      "[spoke  much, 

Brun.  Sir,  on  my  knowledge^  iho*  he  huth 
He's  able  to  do  more. 

Lee,  She  menus  on  her. 

Brun.  And  howsoever  in  his  than'  fulness, 
For  some  few  favours  done  him  by  nysclti 
He  left  Austracin;  not  Theodoret, 
Tho*  he  was  chiefly  aim*d  at,  could  have  laid, 
VVitli  all  his  dukedom's  power,   that  shame 

upon  him, 
Which  in  his  barbarous  malice  to  my  honour^ 
He  swore  with  threats  t'  effect. 

Thi.  I  cannot  but 
Believe  you,  madam. — Thou  art  one  degree 
Grown  nearer  to  my  heart,  and  I  am  proud 
To  have  in  tiiec  so  glorious  a  plant 
Transported  hither :  in  thy  conduct,  we 
Go  on  assured  of  conquest ;  bur  remove 
Shall  be  with  the  next  sun. 

Enter  Theodoret^   Memberge,  MarUll,  and 
Be  Viiry. 

Lee,  Amazement  leave  me!  . 
Tishe! 

Baw.  We  are  again  undone ! 

Frot.  Our  guilt 
Hath  no  assurance  nor  defence. 

Baw,  If  now 
Your  ever-ready  wit  fail  to  protect  us. 
We  shall  be  ail  discover*d. 

Brun,  Be  not  so 
In  your  amazement  and  your  foolish  fears  ! 
I  am  prepared  for*t.  ^ 

Theod.  How  !  not  one  poor  welcome. 
In  answer  of  so  long  a  journey  made 
Only  to  see  you,  brother? 

'FhL  I  have  stood 
Silent  thus  long,  and  am  yet  unresolved 
Whether  to  entertain  thee  on  ray  sword, 
As  fits  a  parricide  of  a  mother's  honour; 
Or  whether,  being  a  prince,  I  yet  stand  bound 
(Tho'  riiou  art  here  conderaii'd)  to  give  thee 

hearing, 
Before  I  execute.     What  foolish  hope, 
(Nay,  pray  you  forbear)  or  desperate  mad- 
ness rather, 
(Unless  thou  com*st  assur'd,  I  stand  in  debt 
As  fur  to  all  impiety  as  thyself) 
Since  lookins  ottly  here,  it  cannot  but 
Draw  fresh  blood  from  thy  sear'd  up  con- ' 

science, 
Has  made  thee  bnng  thy  neck  unto  the  axe? 
To  make  thee  sensible  of  ihat  horroi\  which 
They  ever  bear  about  them,  ihatlikeNero — 
Like,  said  1?   tljou  art  worse;   since   thoa 

dar'st  strive 
In  her  defame  to/nurder  thine  alive*    [ness  to 

Theod,  That  she  thatlongsiuce  hod  the  bold- 

*«  Tou  shall  seeme,]  Former  editions.    Corrected  by  all,  Seward. 

*^  And  with  some  other  care  and  hidden  acts.]  Mr.  Sympson  concurred  with  me  in  reading 
arts  for  acts,  but  there  seenis  another  corruption  in  the  line;  care,  'tis  true,  is  sense,  but 
rare  is  so  much  better  suited  to  the  ridiculous  brags  of  Frotaldye,  that  I  have  but  little 
doubt  of  its  being  the  true  reading.  Seuard, 

This  is  plausible;  but  the  old  reading,  being  sense,  should  stand. 

^  '  ^  3L3  Be 


Brun.  Rest  assur'd  you  are 
Such  instruments  we  must  not  lose! 
Lee,  Baw.  Our  service  I 
2%i.   You've  view*d  them  then?    what's 
your  opinion  of  them  ?  [em 

In  tliis  dull  time  of  peace,  we  have  prepar*d 
Apt  for  the  war;  ha? 

Prot.  Sir,  they  have  limbs 
That  promise  strength  sutficient,  and  rich  ar- 
mours, [pears 
The  soldier's  best-lov'd  wealth :  more,  it  ap- 
They   have  been  drilfd,  nay,  very  prettily 

drill'd;  [quets 

For  many  of  them  can  djschnro;e  their  mus- 
Witbout  the  danger  of  throwing  off  their 

heads. 
Or  being  offensive  to  the  stand ers-by. 
By  sweating  too  much  backwards:  nay,  I 

find  [niay. 

They  know  the  right  and  left-hand  file,  and 
'With  some  impulsion,  no  doubt  be  brought 
To  pass  the  A,  B,  C,  of  war,  and  come 
Unto  the  horn-book. 

Thi,  Well,  that  care  is  yours ; 
And  see  that  you  effect  it ! 

Prot.  I  am  slow 
To  promise  much;  but  if  within  ten  days, 
By  precepts  and  examples,  not  drawn  from 
Worm-eaten  precedents,  of  the  Roman  wars, 
But  from  mine  own,  I  make  them  not  trans- 
cend 
All  that  e'er  yet  bore  arms,  let  it  be  said 
Protaldye  brags,  which  would  be  unto  me 
As  bate£ul  as  to  be  esteem'd  a  coward  ! 
For,  sir,  few  captains  know  the  way  to  win 

him, 
And  make  the  soldier  valiant.  You  shall  see 

me'* 
Lie  with  them  in  their  trenches,  talk,  and 

drink. 
And  be  together  drunk ;  and,  what   seems 

stranger. 
We'll  sometimes  wench  together,  which,  once 

practised. 
And  with  some  other  care  and  hidden  arts' ', 
They  being  all  made  mine,  Fll  breathe  into 

them 
Such  fearless  resolution  and  such  fervor. 
That,  tho'  I  brought  them  to  besiege  a  fort 
Whose  walls  were  steeple-high,  and  cannon^ 

proof, 
Not  to  be  undermin'd,  they  should  fly  up 
Like  swallows;  and,  the  parapet  once  won, 
For  proof  of  tlieir  obedience,  if  I  will'd  them. 
They  should  leap  down  again ;  and  what  is 

more. 
By  some  directions  they  should  have  from  me. 
Not  break  their  necks. 


44^ 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET.    [Acta.  Scene  1. 


Be  a  bad  woman  (tbo*  I  wish  some  oth^r 
Should  so  report  her),  could  not  want  the 
cunning,  flours 

Since  ihey  go  hand  in  hand,  to  lay  fair  co- 
Ou  her  black,  crimes,  I  was  resolved  before ; 
Nor  make  I  doubt  but  that  she  bath  em- 

poison'd 
Your  good  opinion  of  me,  and  so  far 
Incensed  your  rage  against  me,  that  too  late 
I  come  to  plead  my  innocence. 

Brun.  To  excuse 
Thy  impious  scandals  rather ! 

trot.  Rather  forc'd  with  fear 
To  be  compell*d  to  come. 

ThL  Forbear !  [not  been 

Theod.  This  moves  not  me;  and  yet  had  I 
Transported  on  my  own  integrity, 
I  neither  am  so  odious  to  my  suhjects^ 
Nor  yet  so  barren  of  defence,  but  that 
By  force  I  could  have  justified  my  guilt, 
Had  I  been  faulty :  but  since  Innocence 
Is  to  itself  an  hundred  thousand  guards, 
And  that  there  is  no  son,  but  tho*  he  owe 
That  name  to  an  ill  mother,  but  stands  bound 
Rather  to  take  away  with  his  own  danger 
Prom  th'  number  of  her  ikults,  than  for  his 
Security,  to  add  unto  them :  this,  [own 

This  hath  made  me  to  prevent  th*  expcnce 
Of  blood  on  both  sides;  the  injuries,  tht  rapes, 
(Pages,  that  t\  er  w  ait  upon  the  war)    [cause, 
The  account  ot  all  which,  since  you  are  the 
Believe  it,  would  have  been  requir'd  tromyou; 
Ilather  I  say  to  oi^'cr  up  my  daughter, 
"Who  living  only  cpuld  revenge  my  death, 
"With   my   heait-blood   a  sacrifice  to  your 

anger,  [more  curbes 

Than  that  you  should  draw  on  your  head 
Than  yet  you  have  deserved. 

Thi.  I  do  begin 
To  feel  an  alteration  in  my  nature. 
And,  in  his  full-sail'd  confidence,  a  sliower 
Of  gentle  rain,  thai  fallhig  on  the  fire  [would 
Ofmy  hot  rage,   hath  quench'd  it.     Ha!  I 
Once  more  speak  roughly  to  him,  and  I  will; 
Yet  there  is  something  whispers  to  me,  that 
I  have  said  too  much ;  how  is  my  heart  divided 
Between  the  duty  of  a  son,  and  love 
Due  to  a  brother !  Yet  I  am  sway'd  here. 
And  must  ask  of  you,  how  'tis  possible 
You  can  aOectmc,  that  have  learned  to  hate 
Where  you  should  pay  all  love  ? 

Theod.  Which,  join'd  with  duty, 
ILJpon  my  knees  J  should  be  proud  to  tender, 
JIad  she  not  us'd  herself  so  many  swords 
To  cut  those  bonds  that  tied  me  to  it. 

Tfa.  Fy, 
No  more  of  that! 


Theod.  Alas,  it  is  a  theme 
I  taKC  no  pleasure  to  discourse  of:  'would 
It  could  as  soon  be  buried  to  the  world. 
As  it  should  die  to  me!  nay  more,  I  wish 
(Next  to  my  part  of  Heav'n)  tliat  she  would 

spend 
The  last  part  of  her  life  so  here,  that  all 
Indifferent  judges  might  condemn  me  for 
A  most  malicious  slanderer,  nay,  text  it 
Upon  my  forehead**.  If  you  hate  roe,  mother, 
Put  me  to  such  a  shame;  pray  you  do!    B^ 

lieve  it. 
There  is  no  glory  that  may  fall  upon  me. 
Can  equal  the  delight  I  should  receive 
In  that  disgrace ;  provided  the  repeal 
Ofyour  loug-banish'd  virtues,  and  good  name. 
Usher  d  me  to  it. 

ThL  See,  she  shewgL  herself 
An  easy  mother,  which  her  tears  confirm ! 

Theod,  'Tis  a  good  sign;  the  comfurtablest 
I  ever  saw,  [rain 

Thi.  Embrace !— Why,  this  is  well : 
May  never  more  but  love  in  you,  and  duty 
On  your  part,  rise  between  you  ! 

Baw.  Do  you  hear,  lord-general  ?  [sadden 
Does  not  your  new-stamp*d  honour  ou  the 
Begin  to  grow  sick  ? 

Frot.  Yes;  I  find  it  fit, 
I'hat,  putting  off  my  armour,  I  should  think  of 
Some  honest  hospital  to  retire  to. 

Baw.  Sure, 
Alt  bo'  I  am  a  bawd,  yet  being  a  lord,      [nion? 
They  cannot  whip  me  fort:  what's  your  opi- 

Lec.  The  beadle  will  resolve  you,  for  i  can- 
not :  [myself 
There's  something  that  more  near  concerns 
That  calls  upon  me. 

Mort.  Note  but  yonder  scarabes". 
That  liv*d  upon  the  dung  of  her  base  plc&« 

sures ;  [honest 

How  from  the  fear  that  she  may  yet  prove 
Hang  down  their  wicked  heads ! 

Vitry.  What's  that  to  me  ? 
Tho*  they  and  all  the  polecats  of  tlie  conrt 
Were  truss'd  together,  I  perceive  not  bow 
It  can  advantage  me  a  cardecue, 
To  help  to  keep  me  honest.  \^A  horn. 

Enter  a  Post. 

Thi.  How  !  from  whence  ? 

Fost.  These  letters  will  resolve  your  grace. 

Thi.  What  speak  they  ?—  "  [Reads. 
How  all  things  meet  to  make  me  this  day 

happy ! 
See,  motlier,  brother,  to  your  reconcilement 
Another  blessing,  almost  equal  to  it, 
Is  coming  towards  me  I  my  contracted  wife 


•■  JV«7/,  texde  it  - 

Upon  my  forehead.']  So  quartos;  folio,  texte;  and  Seward,  tax.  We  should  surely  read 
text,  in  the  sense  of  write,  vmrk.  'i'o  text,  as  it  is  technically  understood,  is  to  write  in 
that  kind  of  imnd  which  lawyers  distinguish  by  the  name  of  a  ^exMiand,  and  which  is  uKd 
in  those  writings  intended  to  last  a  long  time :  to  text,  therefore^  means  to  make  a  deep  and 
lasting  impression.         R. 

'P  Scrabs.]  See  note  49  on  Eider  Brother. 
.,     '  Ordellii, 


Act^  Scene  l.J    THE  TRAGEDY  OF  XmEtlRY  AND  THEODOHET. 


44S 


Ordella,  daughter  ot  wise  Daurick, 
The  kinf;  of  Arr^on,  is  on  our  confines : 
Then,  to  arrive  at  such  a  time,  when  joa 
Are  happily  here  to  honour  with  your  pre- 
sence 
Our  long-deferrM,  but  much-wish'd  nuptial. 
Falls  out  above  expression !  Heav'n  be  pleas'd 
That  I  may  use  these  blessings  pour*d  on  me 
With  moderalion  ! 

Brun.  Hell  and  furies  aid  me, 
That  I  may  have  power  to  avert  the  plagues 
That  press  upon  me  ! 

Thi.  Two  days' journey,  say'st  thou? 
We  will  set  forth  to  meet  her.    lo  the  mean 

time, 
See  all  things  be  prepared  to  entertain  her: 
Nay,  let  me  have  your  companies!  there's  a 

forest 
In  the  midway  shall  yield  us  hunting  sport, 
To  ease  our  travel !  I'll  not  have  a  brow 
But  shall  wear  mirth  upon  it;  therefore  clear 

them ! 
We'll  wash  away  all  sorrow  in  glad  feasts; 
And  th*  war  we  meant  to  men,  we'll  make  on 
beasts. 

[Exeunt  omnespraterBrun.  Baw,  Trot,  Lee, 
Brun.  Oh,  that  I  had  the  magick  to  trans- 
form you 
Into  the'  shape  of  such,  that  your  own  hounds 
Might  tear  you  piece-meal !  Are  you  so  stu- 
pid ?  '  [mouths*® 
No    word  of  comfort?     Have  I  fed  your 
From  ray  excess  of  moisture,  with  such  cost, 
And  can  you  yield  no  other  retribution, 
Bat  to  devour  your  maker  ?  pandar^  spunge, 
Imcoisoner,  all  grown  barren  ? 

Prot.  You  yourself. 
That  are  our  mover,  and  for  whom  alone 
We  live,  have  fail'd  yourself,  in  giving  way 
To  th' reconcilement  of  your  sons. 

Ijtc,  Which  if 
Tou  had  prevented,  or  would  teach  us  how 
They  might  again  be  sever'd,  we  could  easily 
Remove  all  other  hindVances  that  stop 
The  passage  of  your  pleasures. 

Baw.  And  for  me, 
If  I  (nil  in  my  otfice  to  provide  you 
Fresh  delicates,  hang  me ! 

Brun,  Oh,  you  are  dull,  and  find  not 
The  cause  of  my  vexation;  their  reconcilement 
J%  a  mock  castle  built  upon  the  sand 
By  children,  which,  when  I  am  pleas'd  to 
I  can  with  ease  spurn  down.         [o'crthrow, 

Lee,  If  so,  from  whence 
Grows  your  affliction  ? 

Brun.  My  grief  comes  along  [power 

\Vith  the  new  queen,  in  whose  grace  all  my 
Mast  suffer  shipwreck:  for  me  now, 
That  hitherto  iiave  kept  the  first,  to  know 
A  second  place,  or  yield  the  least  precedence 
To  any  other,  's  death !  to  have  my  sleeps 
X^e^  enquired  after,  or  my  rising  up 


Saluted  with  less  reverence,  or  my  gales 
£mpty  of  suitors,  or  the  king's  great  faronrs 
To  pass  thro'  any  hand  but  mine,  or  he 
Himself  to  be  directed  by  another. 
Would  be  to  me — Do  you  understand  me  yet? 
No  means  to  prevent  this  ? 

Frot,  Fame  gives  her  out 
To  be  a  woman  of  a  chastity  [dam. 

Not  to  be  wrought  upon;  and  therefore, ma- 
For  me,  tho'  I  have  pleas'd  you,  to  attempt 
Were  to  no  purpose.  [her, 

Brun.  Tush,  some  other  way  1 

Baw.  Faith,  I  know  none  else;  allmy  brin^* 

ing-up 
Aim'd  at  no  other  learning. 

Lee,  Give  me  leave  ! 
If  my  art  fail  me  not,  I  have  thought  on 
A  speeding  project. 

Brun.  What  is't  ?  but  effect  it. 
And  thou  shalt  be  my  il^culapius; 
Thy  image  shall  be  set  up  in  pure  gold. 
To  which  I  will  fall  down,  and  worship  it. 

Xec  The  lady  is  fair  ? 

Brun,  Exceeding  fair. 

Lee,  And  young  ? 

Brun,  Soitie  fifteen  at  the  most. 

Lee,  And  loves  the  king  with  equal  ardour? 

Brun,  More;  she  dotes  on  him. 

Lee.  Well  then;  what  think  you  if  I  make 

a  drink. 
Which,  given  unto  him  on  the  bridal-night. 
Shall  for  five  days  so  rob  his  faculties 
Of  all  ability  to  pay  that  duty 
Which  new-made  wives  expect,  that  she  shall 

swear 
She  is  not  match'd  to  a  man  ? 

Prot,  Twere  rare ! 

Lee.  And  tlien. 
If  she  have  any  part  of  woman  in  hei. 
She'll  or  fly  out,  or  at  least  give  occasion 
Of  such  a  breach  which  ne'er  can  be  made 

up; 

Since  he  that  to  all  else  did  never  fail 

Of  as  much  as  could  be  perform'd  by  man. 

Proves  only  ice  to  her. 

Brun.  'I'is  excellent! 

Baw,  The  physician 
Helps  ever  at  a  dead  lif^:  a  fine  calling. 
That  can  both  raise  and  take  down:  out 

upon  thee! 

^  orun.  For  this  one  service,  I  am  ever  thine! 
Prepare't;  1*11  give  it  to  him  myself.     For 

yon,  Protaldye, 
By  this  kiss,  and  our  promised  sport < at  night, 
I  do  conjure  you  to  bear  up,  not  minding 
The  opposition  of  Theodoret, 
Or  atiy  of  his  followers :  whatsoe'er 
You  are,  yet  appear  valiant,  and  make  good 
Th' opinion  that  is  had  of  you!  For  myself. 
In  the  new  queen's  remove  being  made  secure. 
Fear  not,    I'll  make   the    future   building 

sure.  [Exeunt, 

"^^  Have  I  fed  your  mothers.]  This  is  the  second  time  that  mothers  has  been  intruded  into 
the  text,  ^liuth  is  here  pretty  evidently  the  true  word,  and  appear'd  so  to  ail  three.  Sewar4, 

Wind 


440 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIEItRY  AND  THEODORET.    [Act  2.  Scene  I. 


Wind  horns.  £nter  Tkeodaret  and  ThUny. 

Theod.  This  stag  stood  well,  and  canniDgly* 

Thi.  My  horse, 
I'm  sure,  has  found  it,  for  his  sides  are  blooded 
From  flank  to  shoulder.    Where's  the  troop  ? 

Enter  Martell. 

Theod,  Pass'd  homeward. 
Weary  and  tir*d  as  we  are.    Now,  Martell ; 
Have  you  remember'd  what  we  thought  of? 

Mart.  Yes,  sir;  I've  singled  him*';  and 

if  there  be 
Any  desert  in's  blood,  beside  the  itdi. 
Or  manly  beat,  but  what  decoctions. 
Leeches,  and  cuHises  have  cram'd  into  him. 
Your  lordship  shall  know  perfect. 

ThL  What  is  that? 
lllay  not  I  know  too  ? 

I%eod.  Yes,  sir ;  to  that  end 
We  cast  the  project. 

!!%».  Wbatis^t? 

Mort.  A  design,  sir**, 
Upon  the  gilded  fls^  your  grace's  fevoor 
Has  stuck  up  for  a  general ;  and  to  inform  yon 
(For  this  hour  he  shall  pass  the  test)  what 

valour. 
Staid  judgment,  soul,  or  safe  discretion, 
Your  motber^s  wandring  eyes,  and  your  obe- 
dience, 
Havefiung  upon  us ;  to  assure  your  knowledge. 
He  can  be,  dare  be,  shall  be,  must  be  nothing 
(Load  him  with  piles  of  honours,  set  him  off 
With  all  the  cunning  foils  that  may  deceive 

Bat  a  poor,  cold,  unspirited,  iinmanner*d, 
Unhonest,  unafifected,  undone  fool, 
And  most  unheard-of  coward;  a  mere  lump. 
Made  to  load  beds  withal,  and,  like  a  night- 
mare. 
Ride  ladies  that  forget  to  say  their  prayers ; 
One  that  dares  only  be  diseased, and  in  debt; 
Whose  body  mews    more   plaisters  every 
Than  women  do  old  faces!  [month ^^^ 

Thi.  No  more !  I  know  him ; 
I  now  repent  my  error :  take  your  time. 
And  try  him  home,  ever  thus  far  reserv'd^ 
You  tic  your  anger  up ! 

Mart.  I  lost  it  else,  sir.  [violence, 

Thi.  Bring  me  his  sword  fair-taken  witliout 
(For  that  will  best  declare  him)— 
Theod.  That's  the  thing. 
Thi.  And  my  best  horse  is  thine. 
Mart,  Your  grace's  servant!  [Exit, 


Theod,  Youll  hunt  no  more,  sir  ? 

Thi.  Not  to-day;  the  weather  [speat: 
Is  grown  too  warm ;  besides,  the  dogs  are 
Well  take  a  cooler  morning.  Let's  to  liorse. 
And  halloo  in  the  troop ! 

[Exeunt.    Wind Aonu, 

Enter  7\oo  IhaU$men. 

'  1  Hunts.  Ay,  marry,  Twainer,  [aogeb 
This  woman  gives  indeed;  these  &re  the 
Hmt  are  the  keepers'  saints ! 

2  Hunts,  I  like  a  woman  [cretion. 

That  handles  the  deer's  dowscts  with  di»* 
And  pays  us  by  proportion. 

1  Hunts.  Tis  no  treason 

To  think  this  |ood  old  lady  has  a  stamp  yet 
That  may  reqmre'  a  coral. 

2  Hunts.  And  the  bells  too; 

Enter  Protalefye. 

Sh'has  lost  a  friend  of  me  else.    Bat  bere's 

the  clerk : 
No  more,  for  fear  o'th*  bell-ropes ! 

Prot.  How  now,  keepers  ? 
Saw  you  the  king  ? 

1  Hunts.  Yes,  sir;  he's  newly  mounted^ 
And,  ai  we  taket,  ridden  home. 

Frot.  Farewell  then !      [Exeunt  Kceperu 

Enter  Martdl. 

Mart,   My  honour'd   lord,    fortune    has 

made  me  happy 
To  meet  with  such  a  man  of  men  to  side  me. 

Prof.  How,  sir  ?  I  know  you  not. 
Nor  what  your  fortune  means. 

Mart,  tew  words  shall  serve  : 
I  am  betrayed,  sir;  innocent  and  honest. 
Malice  and  violence  are  both  against  lue. 
Basely  and  foully  laid  for;  for  my  life,  ur! 
Danger  is  now  about  me,  now  in  my  throaty 

Prot.  Where,  sir  ?  [sic 

Mart.  Nay,  I  fear  not ; 
And  let  it  now  pour  down  in  stonns  upon  me^ 
l\e  met  a  noble  guard. 

Prot.  Your  meaning,  sir? 
For  [  have  present  business^ 

Mart.  On,  my  lord. 
Your  honour  cannot  leave  a  gentleman. 
At  least  a  fair  design  of  this  brave  nature^ 
To  which  your  worth  is  wedded,  your  pro- 
fession [peril.  . 
Hatch'd  in,  and  made  one  piece,  in  such  a 
There  are  but  six,  my  lord. 

Prot.  What  six? 


^'  Yes,  sir,  I  have  snigled  htm.]  As  smgle  was  a  word  new  to  me,  I  conjecturV]  singled 
him,  t.  e.  I  know  where  to  find  hhaa  alone ;  and  find  that  Mr.  Theobald  mid  propos*d  the 
same  conjecture :  bat  upon  looking  into  Skinner,  I  find  snigle  a  fisherman's  term,  which  he 
explains  by  scindere;  1  suppose  tnerefore  it  means  cutting  up,  dissecting;  but  then  this 
could  not  have  been  the  case,  the  dissection  was  to  come;  and  it  seems  necessary  tliat  the 
future  tense  should  be  restor'd,  IHl  snigle  hinu        Seward. 

This  conjecture  is  not  without  ingenuity;  but  single  appears  to  be  genuine,  as  we  after- 
wards find  that  Protaldye  is  singled,  or  left  alone.  . 

**  A  desire,  air.']  We  all  three  concurred  in  changing  this  to  design,        Seward. 

%3  Whose  body  mews  more  plaisters,]  Mews;  i.  e.  sheds.    A  term  in  falconry. 

Mart. 


Act  ft.  Scene  !•]    THE  TEIGEDY  OF  THIEERY  AND  THEODORET. 


Mart.  Six  villains; 
Sworn,  and  in  pay  to  kill  me. 
Prot.  Six? 

Mart,  Alas,  sir,  [present  ? 

What  can  six  do,  or  six  score,  now  you're 

Your  name  will  blow  'em  oflf :  say  they  have 

shot  too,  [sir. 

Who  dare  present  a  piece;  your  valour^s proof, 

Prot.  No,  ril  assure  you,  sir,  nor  my  dis;^ 
cretion. 
Against  a  multitude.  Tis  true,  I  dare  fight 
Enough,  and  well  enough,  and  long  enough ; 
But  wisdom,  sir,  and  weight  of  what  is  on  me, 
(In  which  I  am  no  more  mine  own,  nor 

your's,  sir. 
Nor,  as  I  take  it,  any  single  danger, 
But  what  concerns  my  place)  tells  me  directly, 
Beside  my  person,  my  fair  reputation. 
If  1  thrust  mto  crowds,  and  seek  occasions, 
Suffers  opinion.    Six  ?  why,  Hercules 
Avoided  two,  man :  yet,  not  to  give  example. 
But  only  for  your  present  danger's  sake,  sir. 
Were  there  but  four,  sir,  I  car'd  not  if  I 

kiird  them ; 
Theyll  serve  to  set  my  sword. 

Mart.  There  are  but  four,  sir; 
1  did  mistake  them :  but  four  such  as  Europe, 
Excepting  your  great  valour- 
Prof.  Wellconsider'd! 
J  will  not  meddle  with  'em;  four,  in  honour. 
Are  equal  with  four  score :  besides^  they're 
Only  directed  by  their  fury.  [people 

Mart.  So  much  nobler 
Shall  be  your  way  of  justice. 

Prot.  That  I  find  not. 

Mart.  You  will  not  leave  me  thus  ? 

Prot.  I  would  not  leave  you ;  but,  look 

you,  sir. 
Men  of  my  place  and  business  must  not 
Be  question'd  thus. 

Mar^  You  cannot  pass,  sir,  [danger: 
Now  they  have  seen  me  with  you,  without 
They  are  here,   sir,  within  hearing.     Take 

but  two!  [sir — 

Prot.  Let  tlie  law  take  'em !  take  a  tree', 
I'll  take  my  horse — that  you  may  keep  with 

safety,  [this  hour 

If  tbey  have  brought  no  hand-saws.    Within 
ni  send  you  rescue,  and  a  toil  to  take  'cm. 

Mart.  You  shall  not  go  so  poorly.    Stay! 

but  one,  sir!  [rescues, 

Prot.  I  have  been  so  hamper'd  with  these 
So  bew'd  and  tortur'd,  that  the  truth  is,  sir, 
I've  mainly  vow'd  against  'em :  yet,  for  your 

sake. 
If,  as  you  say,  there  be  but  one.  Til  stay 
And  see  fair  play  o*  both  sides. 

Marts  There  is  no 
More,  sir,  and,  as  I  doubt,  a  base  one  too. 

Prot.  Vy  on  him !  Go  lug  him  out  by  th'  ears ! 

Mart.  Yes, 
This  ^is  he,  sir ;  the  basest  in  the  kingdom. 

Prot.  Do  you  know  mc  f 


Mart,  Yes,  for  a  general-fool, 
A  knave,  a  coward,  an  upstart  stallion  baw(j^ 
Beast,  barking  puppy,  that  dares  not  bite. 

Prot.  The  best  man  best  knows  patience. 

Mart.  Yea, 
This  way,  sir;  now  draw  your  sword,  and 

right  you,  [Kicks  him. 

Or  render  it  to  roe ;  for  one  you  shall  do! 

Prot.  If  wearing  ic  may  do  you  any  ho* 

nour, 
I  shall  be  glad  to  grace  you;  there  it  is,  sir! 

Mart.  Now  get  you  home,  and  tell  your 

lady  mistress,  [place  too, 

Sh'  has  shot  up  a  sweet  mushroom !  quit  your 
And  say  you  are  counsell'd  well ;  uiou  wilt 

be  beaten  else  [know  thee) 

By  thine  own  lanceprisadoes*^,  (when  they 
lliat  tuns  of  oil  of  roses  will  not  cure  these: 
Go,  get  you  to  your  foining  work  at  court, 
Andlearn  tp  sweat  again,  and  eat  dry  mutton! 
An  armour  like  a  frost  will  search  your  bone« 
And  make  you  roar,  you  rogue !  Not  a  reply. 
For  if  you  do,  your  ears  go  oif ! 

Prot.  Still  patience!  [Exeunt. 

Loud  Munck.    A  Banquet  tet  out. 

Enter  Thierry,  Ordella,  Brunhalt,  Theodoret, 

Lecure,  BawtUter,  Sfc. 

Thi.  It  is  your  place;  and  tho'  in  all  things 

else 
You  may  and  ever  shall  conmiand  me,  yet 
In  this  I'll  be  obey'd. 

Ord.  Sir,  the  consent 
That  made  me  yours,  shall  never  teach  me  to 
Repent  I  ani  so :  yet  be  you  but  pleas'd 
To  give  me  leave  to  say  so  much ;  the  honour 
You  offer  me  were  better  given  to  her, 
To  whom  you  owe  the  power  of  giving. 

Thi  Mother,  ^    ^  . 

You  hear  this,  and  rejoice  in  such  a  blessing 
That  pays  to  you  so  large  a  share  of  duty. 
But,  fy !  no  more !  for  as  you  hold  a  place 
Nearer  my  heart  than  she,  you  must  sift 

nearest 
To  all  those  graces  that  are  in  the  power 
Of  majesty  to  bestow. 

Brtin.  Which  I'll  provide 
Shall  be  shortriiv'd.     Lecure! 

Lee.  I  Ijave  it  ready. 

Brun.  'Tis  well ;  wait  on  our  cup« 

Lee,  You  honour  me. 

TAi.  We're  dull; 
No  object  to  provoke  mirth? 

Theod.  Martell, 
If  you  remember,  sir,  will  grace  your  fea^t 
With   something  that  will  yield  mutter  of 

mirth. 
Fit  for  no  common  view. 

27»i.  Touching  Protaldye? 

Theod.  You  have  it. 

Bru7i.  What  of  him?  I  fear  his  baseness, 

[Aside. 
In  spile  of  all  the  titles  that  my  favoui-s 


*♦  Lanceprisadoes.]  See  note  1  on  RoUo. 


Ilav 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET.  -  [Act  2.  Soeat  1. 


44d 

Havecloth'd  him  with*',  will  make  discovery 
Of  what  is  yet  conceaFd. 

Enter  Martell 

Thtod,  Look,  sir ;  he  has  it ! 
Kay,  we  shall  have  peace,  when  so  great  a 

soldier 
As  the  renowned  Protaldye  will  give  up 
His  sword  rather  than  use  it. 

Brun,  Twas  thy  plot, 
"Which  I  will  turn  on  thine  own  head ! 

[Aside, 

Thi,  Pray  you  speak ; 
How  won  you  him  to  part  from't  f 

Mart,  Won  him,  sir  ^ 
He  would  have  yielded  it  upon  his  knees, 
Before  he  would  have  hazaitied  the  exchange 
Gf  a  filJip4)f  the  forehead  :  had  you  wiil*d  me, 
I  durst  have  undertook  he  should  have  sent 

you 
His  nose,  provided  that  the  loss  of  it  [sir, 
Might  have  sav'd  the  rest  of  bis  face.  He  is. 
The  most  unutterable  coward  that  eVr  Na- 
ture [given  him 
Bless'd  with  hard  shoulders;  which  were  only 
To  tb'  ruin  of  bastinadoes. 

Thi,  Possible? 

Theod,  Observe  but  how  she  frets ! 

"Mart.  Why,  believe  it, 
Hut  that  I  know  the  shame  of  thb  disgrace 
Will  make  the  beascto  live  wichsach  and  ne- 
ver [zard 
Presume  to  come  more  among  men;  I'll  ha- 
My  life  upon  it,  that  a  boy  of  twelve 
Should  scourge  him  hither  like  a  parish-top, 
And  make  him  dance  before  you. 

Brun,  Slave,  thou  liest!  [ing 

Thou  dar*st  as  well  speak  treason  in  the  hear^ 
Of  those  that  have  the  power  to  punish  it. 
As  the  least  syllable  of  this  before  him: 
But  *tis  thy  hate  to  me. 

Mart.  Nay,  pray  you,  madnm; 
I  have  no  ear§  to  hear  you,  tho'  a  foot 
To  let  you  understand  what  he  is. 

Brun,  Villain — 

Tkeod»  You  are  too  violent. 

Enter  Frotaldye. 

Prol,  The  worst  that  can  come 
Is  blanketing ;  for  beriting,  and  such  virtues^ 
I  have  been  long  acquainted  with. 
Mart.  Oh,  strange ! 
Baw,  Behold  the  man  you  talk  of! 
Brun.  Give  me  leav«! 
Or  free  thyself— think  in  what  place  you  are— 
From  the  foul  imputation  that  is  laid 
Upon  thy  valour — be  bold !  1*11  protect  you — 
Or  here  I  vow — deny  it  or  swear  it — 
These  honours  whicJi  thou  wear'st  unwor- 
thily—  [them— 
Which  he  but  impudent  enough,  and  keep 
Shall  be  torn  from  thee,  with  thy  eyes. 


Prot,  I  have  it.— 
My  valour?  is  there  any  here,  beneath 
The  stile  of  king,  dares  question  it? 

Thi,  This  is  rare !  [been  noble, 

Prot.  Which  of  my  actions,  which  hovesfill 
Has  rendered  me  suspected  ? 

Thi,  Nay,  Martell, 
You  must  not  fell  off. 

Mart,  Ob,  sii',  fear  it  not: 
D'you  know  this  sword? 
Prot.  Yes. 

Mart.  Tray  yoU,  on  what  terms 
Did  you  part  with  it  ? 
Prot.  Part  with  it,  say  you? 
Mart,  So. 

Thi,  Nay,  study  not  an  answer;  confeit 
freely!  [fell, 

Prot,  Oh,  I  remember  now :  at  the  stag'i 
As  we  to-day  were  hunting,  a  poor  fellow, 
(And  now  I  view  you  better,  I  may  say 
Much  of  your  pitch)  tliis  silly  wretch  I  spoke  o( 
With  this  petition  falling  at  my  feet, 
(Wiiich  much  against  my  will  he  kiss*d)  desir'd, 
That  as  a  special  means  for  his  preferment 
I  would  vouchsafe  to  let  him  use  my  sword^ 
To  cut  off  die  stag's  head. 
Brun.  Will  you  hear  that? 
Batr.  This  lie  bears  a  similitude  of  truth. 
Prot,  I,  ever  courteous  (a  great  weakne^^ 
in  me). 
Granted  his  humble  suit. 
Mart.  Oh,  impudence ! 
Thi,  This  change  is  excellent. 
Maj't,  A  word  with  you  : 
Deny  it  not !  I  was  that  man  disguisM ! 
You  know  my  temper,  and,  as  yon  respect 
A  daily  cudgelling  for  one  whole  year, 
Without  a  second  pulling  by  the  ears. 
Or  tweaks  by  th'  nose,  or  the  most  precious 
balm  ^     Ijoe^ 

You  us'd  of  patience,  (patience,  do  you  mark 
Confess  before  these  kings,  with  what  base  feu 
Thou  didst  deliver  it. 

Prot.  Oh,  I  shall  burst!. 
And  if  I  have  not  instant  liberty 
To  tear  this  fellow  limb  by  limb,  the  vrrong 
Will  break  my  heart,  altho'  Herculean, 
And   somewhat  bigger!    There's  my  g^! 

pray  you  here 
Let  me  redeem  my  credit! 

Thi.  Ha,  ha!  forbear !  [do  not, 

Mart,  Pray  you  let  me  take  it  up;  and  if  I 
Against  all  odds  of  armour  and  of  weapons, 
With  this  make  him  confess  it  on  his  knees, 
Cut  off  my  head. 

Prot.  f^^o,  that's  my  office. 
Baw.  Fy! 
You  take  the  hangman's  place? 

Ord.  Nay,  good  my  lord. 
Let  me  atone  tlus  difterence  !  do  not  sufler 
Our  bridal  night  to  be  tlie  centaurs'  feast 
You  are  a  knight,  and  bound  by  oath  to  grant 


^'  Have  clolKd  hiniy  which  will  maki  discovery,']  ToTpies  editioDS*    Mr.  Sympson 

ivrM  in  ihf>  f-orif«fl:iiiii.  S£.uitird. 


1  urr\i  in  the  con-ectiou. 


ii€ward. 


AU 


Actft.  Scene  L]   TH£  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  liNO  THEODORET. 


449 


All  just  suits  upto  ladies  t  for  my  sake^ 
Foreet  yoar  suppos*d  wrong ! 

frot.  Welly  W  him  thiink  you ! 
For  your  sake^lie  shall  live,  perhaps  a  day; 
And,  may  be,  on  submission,  longer. 

Tkeod.  Nay, 
Martelly  you  must  be  patient. 

Mart,  I  am  your*s ; 
And  this  slave  shall  be  once  more  mine. 

TAL  Sit  all ! 
One  health,  and  so  to  bed  !  for  I  too  long 
Defer  my  choicest  delicates. 

Brun.  Which,  if  poison 
Have  any  power,  thfju  shalt,  like  Tantalus, 
Sehold  and  never  taste.    Be  careful! 

Lee  Fear  not!  [onoe 

Brun,  Tho'  it  be  rare  in  our  sex,  yet,  for 
I  will  begin  a  health. 

TAi.  Let  it  come  freely ! 

Brun,  Lecure,  the  cup !  Here,  to  the  son 

we  hope 
This  night  shall  be  an  embrion! 

Thi,  You  have  nam'd 
A  blesung  that  I  most  desired ;  I  pledge  yoo : 
Give  me  a  larger  cup;  that  is  too  little 
Unto  so  great  a  good.^^ 

Brun,  Nay,  then  you  wrong  me; 
Follow  as  I  bef^an ! 

TAi.  Well,  as  you  please. 

Brun,  Is't  done? 

Xec.  Unto  your  wish,  I  warrant  you ; 
For  this  night  I  durst  trust  him  with  my  mo- 

Thi,  So,  'tis  gone  round:  lights !       [tlier. 

Brun,  Prav  yon  use  my  service. 

€)rd,  ^r'n  that  which  I  shall  ever  owe  you, 

inadam»  [don  me ! 

And  must  havenone  from  you :  pray  you  pai^ 

1%L  Good  rest  to  all! 

2%ead.  A^^i  ^  you  pleasant  labour! 
Martell,  your  company !  Madam,  good  nis^fat ! 

£^tini  ail  fyut  ^run,  Prot,  Lee,  afid  iaw. 

Brun.  Nay,  you  have  cause  to  blush;  but 

I  will  hide  it,  [pity, 

And,  what's  more,  I  forgive  you.  Is't  not 
That  thou  tha(  art  the  first  to  enter  combat 
With  any  woman,  and  what's  more,  eVrcome 

Ler,  [fui 

In  which  sheu  best  pleas'd,  should  be  yo  fear- 
To  meet  a  man? 

Trot.  Why,  woidd  you  have  me  lose 


That  bl^d  that's  dedicated  to  yoor  service^ 
In  any  other  quarrel  ? 

Brun,  No;  reserve  it! 
As  I  will  study  to  preserve  thy  credit. 
You,  sirrah^  bVt  your  care  to  find  out  one 
That's  poor,  tho'  valiant,  that  at  any  rate 
Will,  to  redeem  my  sen^ant's  reputation. 
Receive  a  public  baffling. 

Bow,  'VVould  your  highness 
Were  pleas'd  to  inform  me  better  of  your 

Surpose !  [bo&'d  or  kick'd ; 

\run.  Why  one,  sir,  that  would  thus  be 
D'you  apprehend  me  now? 

Baw.  I  feel  you,  madam. 
The  man  that  shall  receive  this  from  my  lord. 
Shall  have  a  thousand  crowns? 

Prel,  He  shall. 

Baw,  Besides, 
His  day  of  bastinadoing  past  o'er,    [favour? 
He  shall  not  lose  your  grace  nor  your  good 

Brun.  That  shall  make  way  to  it. 

Baw,  It  mubt  be  a  man 
Of  credit  in  the  court,  that  Ls  to  be 
The  foil  unto  your  valour  ? 

Prot.  True,  it  should.  [the  worse? 

Baw,  And  if  he  have  place  thert^  'tis  not 

Brun,  'TIS  much  the  better. 

Baw.  If  he  be  a  lord, 
'Twill  be  the  greater  grace? 

Brun.  Thou'rt  in  the  right.        [and  lord,' 

Baw.  Why  then,  behold  that  vsoiant  man 
That  for  your  sake  will  take  a  cudseling: 
For  be  assur'd,  when  it  b  spread  abroad 
That  you  have  dealt  with  me,  they'll  give  voa 
For  one  of  the  nine  worthies.  (oul 

Brun,  Out,  you  pandar  1 
Why,  to  beat  thee  is  only  exercise 
For  such  as  do  aifect  it :  lose  not  time 
In  vain  replies,  but  do  it!  Come,  my  solace. 
Let  us  to  bed  1  and  our  desires  once  quench'd» 
We'll  there  determine  of  Theodoret's  death. 
For  lie's  die  eugii^e  us'd  to  ruin  us. 
Yet  one  word  more;  Lecure,  art  thou  assured 
Th^  potion  will  work? 

Lee.  My  life  upon  it ! 

Brun.  Come,  my  Protaldye*^,  thott  tlien 

glut  me  wich 
Those  best  delights  of  man,  that  are  denied 

I  To  her  that  does  expect  tliem,  being  a  bride  1 
lE^unt. 


*^  Unto  90  great  a  God.]  Amended  in  1750. 

*7  Come^  my  Protaldye,  tJifin  glut  me  with.\  Former  ec^tipQS. 


Seward* 


\ceL  m. 


tyi 


Act 


456 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  TH£OD0R£T.    [Acts.  %o$De% 


ACT   IIL 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Thierry  and  Ordella,  as  from  bed. 

ThL  CURE  T  have  drunk  the  blood  of  ele- 

*^     phants**. 
The  tears  of  mandrakes,  and  the  marble  dew, 
IVIix'd  in  n\y  draughty  have  quench*d  my  na- 
tural heat, 
And  left  no  spark  of  fire,  but  in  mine  eyes, 
With  whicli  I  may  behold  my  miseries: 
Ye  wretched  flames  which  play  upon  my  sight, 
Turn  inward!  make  meal!  one  piece'*,  tho' 

earjthl 
My  tears  shall  overwhelm  you  else  too. 
Ord.  What  moves  ray  lord  to  this  strange 
sadness  ? 
If  any  late-discerned  want  in  me 
Give  cause  to  your  repentance,  care  and  duty 
$hult  find  a  painful  way  to  recompense. 
.    Thi.  Are  you  yet  frozen,  veins?  feel  you 
a  breath,  [North  star  reel, 

W'hose  temperate  heat'**  would  make  the 
Her  icy  pillars  thawM,  arid  do  you  not  melt  ? 
Draw  nearer !  yet  nearer, 
That  from  thy  barren  kiss  thou  may*st  confess 
1  have  not  heat  enough  to  make  a  blush  ! 
Ord,  Speak  nearer  to  my  understanding, 
like  a  husband !  *  [husband, 

TTii.  How  should  bespeak  the  language  of  a 
TVIk)  wants  the  tongue  and  organs  ofliis  voice? 
Ord,   It  is  a  phrase  wiD  part  with  the 
same  ease 
From  you,  with  that  you  now  deliver. 

7'//t.  Bind  not  his  ears  up  with  so  dull  a 

chann,  [thy  words 

Who  hath  no  other  sense  lefl  open !  why  should 

Find  tnore  restraint  than  thy  free-speaking 

*    actions. 

Thy  close  embraces,^  and  thy  midnight  sighs. 
The  silent  orators  to  slow  desire? . 

Ord.  Strive  not  to  win  content  ftom  ig- 
norance^*, [can  witness. 
Which  must  be  lost  in  knowledge !   Heav'n 
My  furthest  hope  of  good  reached  at  your 

pleasure, 
W^hicb  seeing  alone  may  in  your  look  be  read: 
Add  not  a  doubtful  comment  to  a  text> 
That  in  itself  is  direct  and  easy. 

Tki.  Oh,  tliou  hast  drunk  the  juice  of 
hemlock  too : 


Or  did  upbraided  Nature  make  this  pair. 
To  shew  she  had  not  quite  foreot  her  first     , 
Justly-praisM  workmanship,  the  first  chaste 

couple,       ^  '^ 

Before  the  want  of  joy  taught  guilty  sight 
A  way,  thro*  shame  and  sorrow,  to  delist? 
Say,  may  we  mix,  as  in  their  innocence. 
When  turtles  kisit'd  to  confirm  happiness^ 
Not  to  beget  it  ? 
V  Ord.  I  know  no  bar.  -        [beats  woman, 

ThL  Should  I  believe  thee,  yet  thy  poise 
And  sa^'s  the  name  of  wife  did  promise  diee 
The  blest  reward  of  duty  to  thy  mother; 
Who  gave  so  often  witness  of  her  joy. 
When  bhc  did  boast  thy  likeness  to  ter  hus- 
band, [to  vonrself 

Ord.  Tis  true,  that  to  bring  forth  a  second 
Was  only  worthy  of  my  virgin  loss ; 
And  should  I  pnze  you  less  unpattemM,  sir, 
Than  being  exemplified  ?  Ts*t  not  more  honour 
To  be  possessor  of  unequall'd  virtue, 
Than  what  is  paraliel'd  ?  Give  me  belief; 
Tlie  name  of  mother  knows  no  way  of  good, 
More  than  the  end  in  me :  who  weds  for  lust 
Is  oft  a  widow ;  wlien  I  married  you, 
I  lust  the  name  of  maid  to  gain  a  title 
Above  the  wish  of  change,  which  that  paft 

can 
Only  maintain,  is  still  the  same  in  man, 
nis\nrtue  and  his  calm  society; 
Which  no  grtiy  hairs  can  threaten  to  dissolve. 
Nor  wrinkles  bury.  [^^^ 

ThL  Confine  thyself  to  silence,  lest  thou 
That  part  of  reason  from  me,  is  only  left 
To  give  persuasion  to  me  I'm  a  man ! 
Or  say,  th*  hast  never  seen  the  rivers  haste 
With  gladsome  speed,  to  meet  thcam'roussea. 

Ord.  We're  bul  to  praise  the  coolness  of 
'  their  streams.  [lustful  fires, 

ThL  Nor  viewM  the  kids,  taught  by  their 
Pursue  each  other  thro'  the  wanton  lawns, 
And  lik'd  the  sport. 

Ord.  As  it  uiade  way  unto  their  enviecf  rest; 
With  weary  knots  binding  their  harmless  ey«. 

ThL  Nor  do  you  know  the  reason  wfa/tiie 

dove. 
One  of  the  pair  your  hands  wont  hourly  feed. 
So  oflcn  dipt  and  kissM  her  happy  mate? 

Ord.  Unless  it  were  to  wekHjme  his  wish'd 

sight, 


**  The  blood  of  elephants.]  Both  Mr.  Theobald  and  Mr.  Symp^n  observed  that  this  pro- 
petty  of  elephants'  blood  is  mentioned  by  Pliny.        Sctcard. 

*'  Make  me  all  one  piece,  though  earth.]  We  cannot  clearly  comprehend  why  TAtmyt 
being  composed  of  carik,  should  prevent  his  being  all  one  piece. 

3^  Whose  temperate  heat,  SfcJ  Temperate  seems  an  oddly-chosen  word  in  this  place, 
when  he  is  talking  of  a  heat  to  overcome  the  influence  of  the  North  star. 

"  Strive  not,  S^c]  This  sneech  is  rather  obscurely  expressed,  but  signifies,  *  Strive  boc 
*  to  rob  my  ignorance  of  that  content,  which  knowledge  would  destroy.  All  my  wishes 
'  were  to  read  satisfaction  in  your  couotenance.    Add  not  thereforci  5(c/ 


Act  a  Scene  1.]    THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRT  AND.  THEODORET. 


45* 


Shall  be  the  period  of  all  good  men's  wishes. 
Which  frieudsy  oay^  dying  fathers  sliali  be» 

qaeatiiy 
And  ill  my  one  give  all!  Is  there  a  duty 
Belongs  to  nny  power  of  mine,  or  love 
To  any  virtue  I  liave  right  to  ?  Here,  place 

it  here ; 
Ordeila*s  name  shall  only  bear  command. 
Rule,  title,  sovereignty. . . 

Brun,  VV  bat  passion  sways  my  son  ? 

m.  Ohy  mother,  she  has  doubled  every 

good 
The  travail  of  your  blood  made  possible 
To  my  glad  bemg ! 

Prot.  He  shoidd  have  done 
Little  unto  her,  he  is  so  light-hearted. 

Thi  My  brother,  friends,  if  honour  unto 

shame. 
If  wealth  to  want,  enlarge  the  present  sense. 
My  joys  are  unbounded :  instead  of  question, 
I^t  it  be  envy  not  to  bring  a  present 
To  die  high  oflferiog  of  our  mirth!  banquets 

and  masGjues^^  [malice. 

Keep  waking  our  delights,  mocking  night's 
Whose  dark  brow  would  fright  pleasuie  from 

us!  our  court 
Be  but  one  stage  of  revels,  and  each  eye 
The  scene  where  our  content  moves ! 

Theod,  There  shall  want  [light,  sir. 

Nothing  to  express  our  shares  in  your  dc- 

Mart.  'Till  now  I  ne'er  repented  the  estato 
Of  widower. 


Whose  absence    only  gave  her  mourning 
voice. 

T&L  And  you  could,  dove-like,  to  a  single 

object  •  [one 

Bind  your  loose  spirits?  to  one  ?  nay,  such  a 
W^hom  only  eyes  and  ears  must  flatter  good, 
your  surer  sense  made  useless?  nay,  myself^*. 
As  in  my  all  of  good,  already  known  ? 

Ord.  Let  proof  plead  for  me !  let  me  be 

mew*d  up  [own! 

Where  never  eye  may  reach  me,  but  your 
And  when  I  shiul  repent,  but  in  my  looks; 

if  Mgh — 

ThL  Or  shed  a  tear  that's  warm  ? 

Ord,  But  in  your  sadness,      [their  mates, 

ThL  Or  when  vou  hear  the  birds  call  for 
A^k  if  it  be  St.  Valentine,  their  coupling  day  ? 

Ord.  If  any  thing  may  make  a  thought 

suspected 
Of  knowing  any  happiness  but  you. 
Divorce  me,  by  the  title  of  most  falsehood ! 

TJni  Ob,  who  would  know  a  wife. 
That  might  have  such  a  friend  ?  Posterity, 
Henceforth  los^  the  name  of  blessing,  and 

leave 
Th' earth  uninhabited  to  people  Heaven''  j 

Enter   Theodoret,  Bntnhalt,  Martell,  and 
Protaldj^e,   . 

Mart.  All  happiness  to  Thierry  and  Ordella ! 
Thi,  Tis  a  desire  but  borrowed  from  me ; 
my  happiness 

^*  And  tm/selff  nay.]  Former  editions.        Seward. 

^^  And  leave  the  earth  inhabited  to  people  Heav*n.]  A  \iTpn  state  resembles  that  of  the 
angels^  and  may  be  a  good  means  to  pave  tlie  wny  to  it,  but  it  would  not  leave  the-  earth  in* 
habited  J  but  tiie  reverse,  I  therefore  read,  uninfHibited,        Seward, 
'♦  Brother,  friends,  if  honour  unto  shame, 
If  wealth  to  want  enUirge  the  present  sense, 
Aly  jotfs  are  unbounded,  instead  itf  question 
Xi€t  it  be  envy,  not  bring  a  present 

To  the  high  offering  of  our  mirth,  banquets,  and  nsasqves,']  In  tills  very  mangled  state 
with  regard  to  measure  and  sense  has  this  passage  passed  thro*  all  the  editions :  in  the  first 
place,  what  is 

-     ■    instead  of  question  f 
In  the  next  place, 

Let  it  be  envy  ? 

Are  baAiquets  and  masques  the  presents  that  were  to  he  offer*d  by  his  friends  and  courtiers ^ 
I  hope  the  changes  which  have  appeared  necessary,  will  be  tliought  by  the  reader  to  liave 
been  probably  tlie  original  text.    1  read, 

jMy  brother,  friends,  if  honour  unto  shame. 
If  wealth  to  want  enlarge  the  present  sense^ 
My  joy's  unbounded;  'stead  of  questioning, 
Ijet  it  be  envy  not  to  bring  a  present 

To  the  high  offering  of  our  mirth ;  banquets  and  masques,  &c.        Seward. 
The  word  my  in  the  first  line,  and  to  in  the  fourth,  are  rightly -inserted;  hut  questi&n 
shoulrl  not  be  changed  to  questioning,  the  old  reading  being  perlectly  intelligible. — ^There  is 
often  a  strange  uncouthness  in  the  stile  of  this  play,  which  obscures  the  sentiment :  ia  this 
•peecb, 

•        if  honour  unto  shame, 
If  wealth  to  want  enlarge  the  present  sense. 
My  joys  are  unbounded. 
The  meaning  of  honour  unto  ^uaue,  and  wealth  to  wavt,  is  not  obvious:  it  is,  we  apprelientf^ 

*  if  honour  and  zoealih,  comfa&si»  with  shame  and  want,  are  grateful  to  the  sense,  then  my 

*  joys  are  hoondless^' 

5Ma  ThL 


45«  TIIE  THAGUDY  or  THTEKRY  AKD  nrroDORET.    [Act  S.  Sete  1. 


Thi  Mnsic,  wliy  art  thou  so  [della; 

Slow-voic'd  ?  it  itayi  thy  prewnce,  my  Or- 
This  chamber  is  a  sphere  too  narrow  tor 
Th V  all-TOOving  virtue.    Make  way,  free  way, 

fsay! 
Who  must  alone  her  sex's  want  supply, 
Had  need  to  have  a  room  both  large  and 
high. 

Mart.  This  passion*s  above  utterapce. 
Theod,  Nay,  credulity!  , «        • 

[Exe.  ah  M  Thi.  and  Brtin. 
Brun.  Why,  son,  what  mean  you?  are 
i^ou  a  man } 

'i'Ai.  N  o,  mother,  I'm  no  man : 
Were  I  a  man,  how  could  I  be  thus  happy.; 
Bt-vn.  How  can  a  wife  be  author  of  this 
joy  then?  [woman: 

Thi.  That  being  no  man,  I'm  married  to  no 
The  best  of  men  in  full  ability 
Can  only  hope  to  satisfy  a  wife ;* 
And,  for  that  hope  ridiculous,  I  in  my  want, 
(And  such  defective  poverty,  that  to  her  bed 
From  my  first  cradle  brought  no  strength 
but  thought)  [rocky  me. 

Have  met  a  temperance  beyond  her's  that 
Necessity  being  her  bar;  where  this 
Is  so  much  senseless  of  my  depriv'd  fire, 
She  knows  it  not  a  loss  by  her  desire. 
Brvn.  It  is  beyond  my  admiration ! 
Thi.  Beyond  ^oursex^s  faith! 
The  unripe  virgjns  of  our  age,  to  hcar't, 
Will  dream  themselves  to  women,  and  con- 
Th*  example  to  a  miracle.  [vert 

jBrttti.  Alas,  'tis  your  defect  moves  my 
amazement; 
But  what  ill  can  be  separate  from  ambition? 
Cruel  Theodoret! 

Thi.  Wliat  of  my  brother? 
Brun.  That  to  his  name  your  barrenness 
adds  rule: 
Who,  loving  the  effect,  would  not  be  strange 
In  favouring  the  cause :  look  on  the  profit. 
And  gain  will  quickly  point  the  mischief  out. 
Thi,  The  name  of  father,  to  what  I  possess, 
Is  shame  and  care. 

Brun.  Were  we  begot  to  single  happiness, 
I  grant  you ;  but  from  such  a  wife,  such  virtue, 
To  get  an  heir,  what  hermit  would  not  find 
Deserving  argument  to  break  his  vow, 
Bven  in  his  age  of  chastity? 

Thi.  You  leach  a  deaf  man  language. 
Brun.  The  cause  found  out,  thf  malady 
may  cease. 
Have  you  heard  of  one  Leforle? 

Jlii.  A  leam'd  astronomer,  a  great  magician, 
Who  lives  hard-hy  retir'd. 
Brun   Repair  to  him,  with  the  just  hour 
and  place 
Ofyour  nativity!  fools  arc  amaz'd  at  fate; 
Griefs,  but  concealM,  are  never  desperate. 
JT^t.  You've  timely  waken*d  me;  nor  shall 
I  sleep 
.Without  the  tttisfaction  of  his  art.      [Exit, 


Eni^  LtcurB^ 

Brun,  Wisdom  prepares  you  to't.  I^cure* 

met  liappily !  [the  conveyam^ 

Lee.  Ibe  ground  answers  your  purpose 
Being  secure  and  easY>  falling  just 
Behind  the  state  set  for  Theodoret. 

Brun.  Tiswell:  your  trust  invites  yoBtt> 

a  second  charge ; 
You  know  Leforte's  cell? 

Ixc.  Who  constellated  your  fair  birth. 

Brun.  Enough;  I  see  thou  know'st  Wm; 

where  isBawdber? 

Ltc.  I  left  him  careful  of  the'  pr<ject  cast 
To  raise  Protaldye's  credit. 

JB»t«n.  A  sore  that  must  bcjplaiatei'd;  i« 

whose  wound  fgelves  sound- 

Others  shall  find  their  graves  think  tbem- 
Your  ear  and  quickest  apprehension!  [JSni. 

EntcrBawdbermhiaServani. 

Baw.  This  man  of  war  will  advance  ? 
Jjec.  His  hour's  upon  the  stroke,      [ears  ! 
Bav>.  Wind  him  back,  as  you  favoar  my 
I  love  no  noise  in  my  head;  my  braina 
Have  hitherto  been  employed  in  silent  busi- 
nesses. 

Enter  Be  Vitry. 

Lee.  The  gentleman's  within  your  rpacli» 
sir.  {itrir, 

Baw.  Give  ground. 
Whilst  I  drill  iny  wits  to  the  encQunter. 
De  Vitry,  I  take  it? 

Vitry.  All  that's  left  of  him. 
Baw.  Is  there  another  parcel  of  you  ?  If 
It  be  at  pawn,  I  will  gladly  redoem  it. 
To  make  you  wholly  mine. 

Vitry.  You  seek  too  hard 
A  peuny  worth. 

Baw.  You  do  ilP'  to  keep  [known  to  me. 

Such  distance;  your  parts  have  been  long 

Howsoever  you  please  to  forgL't  acquaintanpe. 

VUry.  I  must  confess,  I  have  been  subject  to 

Lewd  company. 

Baw,  Thanks  for  your  good  remembrance ! 
You've  been  a  soldier,  D^  Vitry,  and  bocne 
arms. 

Vitry.  A  coaple  of  unprofitable  ones,  that 
Have  only  serv'd  to  get  ih^  a  stomach  to 
IVly  dinuer. 
'Baw.  Moch  good  may  it  do  yon,  sir. 
Vitry.  You  should 
Have  beard  me  say  I'd  din*d  first:  I  have  built 
On  an  unwholesome  ground,  rais*d  up  ahoose. 
Before  I  kn^w  ^  tenant,  march'd  to  nieet 

weariness, 
Fought  to  find  want  and  hanger. 

Buw.  Tis  time  you  [sir: 

Put  up  your  sword,  and  ron  away  for  meat^ 
Nay,  if^I  had  not  withdrawn  ere  now, 
I  might  have  kept  the  fast'with  yoa:  bat  sbee 
The  way  to  thrive  is  never  late,  what  is 
*  The  n^rest  course  to  profit,  thipk  yoo? 


s>  Fra  to  iU.'\  Corrected  by  Seward, 


Tfi^ 


Acts.  Scaoel.}   THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET. 


Vitry,  It  may  ba 
Y«»iir  worship  will  say  bawdry. 

Jbaw,  True  seiise^  bawdry,      [ne'er  knew 

Viirtf.  Why,  is  there  &v^  kinds  of* 'em?  I 
But  one 

Sine,  ni  shew  you  a  new  way 
Of  prostitution:  tifiH  back!  further  yet!    [to 
Farther  I  Titere's  fifty  crownb;  do  biit  as  much 
Protaldye,  the  queen's  Juvoarite,  tltey  are 

Vitry.  But  thus  much?  [doubled. 

JSauf.  Give  him  but  an  affront  as 
He  comes  to  th*  prebenoe,  and  i*  his  drawing 

make  way,  [own ; 

Like  a  true  bawd  t'his  valour,  the  sum*s  thy 
If  ye  take  a  scratch  in  the  arm  or  so,  every 
Xyf  blood  weighs  down  a  ducat.  [drop 

Viiry.  After  that  rate, 
I  and  my  friends  would  beggar  the  kingdom. 
Sir,  you  have  made  me  blush  to  see  my  want, 
\V  hose  cure  is  such  a  cheap  and  easy  pur- 
This  is  mule-bawdry,  belike?  [chase: 

JSnfer  Protaldye,  a  Lady,  and  Revellers. 
Baw.  See! 
Yoii  shall  not  be  long  earning  your  wages ; 
Your  work*s  before  your  eyes. 

Vitry.  Leave  it  to  my 
Handling;  I'll  fall  upon  it  instantly. 

30V.  What  opinion^ ^  will  the  managing 
Of  tLi#  aflbir  bring  to  my  wisdom  I  my  inven- 
Tickles  with  apprehension  on't!  [tiou 

Prot.  These  are 
The  joys  of  marriage,  lady,  whose  hights  are 
Able  lo  dissolve  virginity.  Speak  freely ! 
Do  you  not  envy  the  bride's  felicity?    ' 
t^idy.  How  should  I,  being  partner  oft  ? 
Prot.  What  you 
Enjoy  is  but  the  banquet*s  view;  the  taste 
Stands  from  your  palate :  if  he  impart  by  day 
So  much  x»f  his  content,'  think  what  night 
gave? 

Vitry,  Will  yon  have  a  relish  of  wit,  huly  ? 
Bate,  This  is  the  man. 
JLady.  If  it  be  not  dear,  sir. 
Vitry.  If  you  a£fect  cheapness, 
How  can  you  pri^e  this  sullied  ware  so  much? 
Mine's  fresh,  my  own,  not  retail'd. 
Prot.  You  are  saucy,  sirnih  i 
Vitry.  Tlie  fitter  to  be  in 
The  dibh  with  si|ch  dl7  stockfish  as  you  are. 
How !  strike? 

Baa.  Remember  thf  conditio^,  l^ 
You  look  for  payment. 

Vitry.  That  box  was  left  out 
(Xth*  bargain. 
Prat.  Help,  help,  help; 
Bm.  Plague  of  [this  to 

The  scrivener's  running  baud !  what  a  blow's 
My  reputation ! 

EfUer  Thierry,  Theodaret,  Brunhalt,  Ordella, 
Memherge,  and  Martell. 
Thi.  What  villain  dares  ttiis  outrage? 
Yitry.  Hear  me,  sir! 


45S 


Tills  creature  hirM  mc,  wi' fifty  crownt  ia 

hand. 
To  let  Protaldye  have  the  better  of  me 
At  single  rapier  on  a  made  quairel:  be. 
Mistaking  th*  weapon,  lliysiiie  over  the  chapt 
With  his  club-fist,  for  which  I  was  bold  to 
The  art  of  memory.  [teach  hiin 

Omnet.  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha! 

Thiod,  Your  genci'al,  mother,  will  displaj 

himself,  / 

'Spite  of  our  peace,  I  see. 

Thi.  Forbear  these  civil  jars :  fy,  Protaldye! 
So  open  in  your  projects?    Avoid  our  pie- 

sence,  sirrah! 

Vitry.  Willingly.    If  you  have  any  more 
Wages  to  earn,  you  see  I  can  take  paint, 

Iheod.  There^s  somewhat  for  thy  labour^  . 
More  than  was  promis'd.    Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Baw.  Where  could  I  wish  myseU'now?  ja 
,    the  Isle  gf  Dogs, 

So  I  might  escape  scratching;  for  I  see 
By  her  cat*s  eyes  I  shall  be  claw'd  fearfollj. 

Thi.  We'll  bear  no  more  on*t;  music  drowa 

all  sadness !  [S^  mtuie. 

Command  the  revellers  in.  At  wiiat  a  rate  I 

do  [spleen 

Purchase  mv  mother's  absence,  to  give  mj 
Full  liberty!  [thy  ruin. 

Brun.  Speak  not  a  thought's  delay,  it  names 

Proi.  I  had  thought  mylilehad  home  inorft 

value  with  you.  [secure  thee  J 

Brun,  Thy  loss  carries  mine  with't;  let  that 
The  vault  is  ready,  and  tlie, door  conveyato*t 
Fails  just  behind  his  chair;  the  blow  ono« 
Thou  art  unseen.  [gi^^n, 

Prot.  I  cannot  feel  more  than  I  fear,  I'm 

sure* 

Brun.  Be  gone,  and  let  them  laugh  their 

own  destruction !  [Prot.  withdratciu 

Thi.  Youll  add  unto  her  rage. 

Theod.  '6foot,  I  shall  burst. 
Unless  I  vent  myself:  ha,  ha,  lia! 

Brun.  Me,  sir? 
You  never  could  have  found  a  time  finvite 
More  willingness  in  my  dispose  to  pleasure. 

Mem.  *  Would  you  would  please  to  make 

some  other  choice !  [lady. 

Rev.  *T\s  a  dibgrace  would  dwell  upoume. 
Should  you  refuse.  [mother's  looks 

ASem.  Your  reason  conauers.*-My  grand- 
Have  tnm'd  all  air  to  earth  in  me;  thcv  sit 
Upon  ray  heart  like  night-charms,  black  and 

heavy. 

7^1.  You're  too  much  libertine.  [jHI^  danee, 

'Theod.  The  fortune  of  the  tool  persuadei 

my  laughter 
More  than  his  cowardise :  was  ever  rat 
Ta'en  by  the  tail  thus?  lu^  ha,  ba! 

Ti^  Forbear,  I  say !  [and  strike, 

Pro#.  No  eye  looks  this  way:  I  will  wink 
Lest  I  betray  myself. 

[^eAind  the  ttaiey  itab$  Theod. 

Theod,  Ha!  did  you  not  see  one  near  m?? 


^  Opinions]  u  «.  Reputation,    See  aotf  71  «n  U^f  Two  NoUe  Kimmen. 


Thi. 


4S6 


TBE  THAGEDY  OF  THIERlELV  AND  THEODORET.    [Act  4.  Sooie  J. 


ACT    IV. 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  Thierry  and  Mariell* 

Mart*  "^OVR  Grace  is  earlv  stirring. 

■^       Thu  liow  can  he  sleep, 
Whose  happiness  is  laid  up  in  an  hour. 
He  knows  comes  stealing  toward  him?  Oh, 

Martelll 
Is't  possible  the  longing  bride,  whose  wishes 
Outrrun  her  fears,  can,  on  that  day^~  she's 

married. 
Consume  in  slumbers?  or  his  arms  rust  in 

ease,  [purchase 

That  hears  the  chaise,  and  sees  the  houfjur'd 
Ready  to  gild  his  v^our?  Mine  is  more, 
A  power  above  these  passions;    this   day 

France  [us, 

(France,  that  in  want  of  issue  withers  witli 
And  like  an  aged  river  runs  his  head 
Into  forgotten  ways)  again  ]  ransom,    [errj^, 
And  his  fair  course  turn  right:  this  day  Thi- 
The  son  of  France'*'3,>vhose manly  powers  like 

prisoners 


Have  been  tied  ap,  and  fetterVI,by  onetleatb 
Gives  life  to  thousand  ages ;  this  aay  beauty, 
The  envy  of  the  vvorld,  the  pleasure,  glory, 
Content  aoove  the  world,  desire  beyond  ii^ 
Are  made  mine  own,  uud  useful ! 

Mart,  Happy  woman 
That  di^s  to  do  these  things! 

Thi.  But  tom  times  happier 
That  lives  to  do  tiie  greater!  Oh,  Martett, 
The  gods  have  heard  lue  now  ;  and  tliose  chat 

scom'd  me. 
Mothers  of  many  children,  and  Uess'd  fin 

thers, 
That  see  their  issues  like  the  stars  unnombcrd, 
l*heir  comforts  more  than  them,  shall  in  my 

praises  [ages 

Now  teach  their  infants  songs;  and  tell  their 
From  svicb  a  son  of  mine,  or  such  a  queen, 
I'hat  chaste  OrdcUa  brings  me.      Bleshcd 

marnage, 
The  chain  that  links  two  holy  loves  togethtr! 
And,  in  the  mai'huge,  more  than  blessed  Of- 

della. 


Seward  reads 

If  not  in  thee,  *^  least  ease  my  pain,  SfC. 
The^  insertion  is  nee<lless;  and  the  elision,  like  many  hundred  others,  ridiculoas.    The  pas- 
sage seem^  to  be  corrupt.    The  first  line  is,  we  think,  ingenioudy  and  ju:>ily  iuterpreted; 
but.  the  two  next  will  not  convey  tlie  meaning  Seward  has  assigned  to  them. 

^^  Can  on  that  duy^  4'C-]  Seward  rejects  the  word  on. 

43 TkU  day  Thierry^ 

The  son  of  Trance,  w/ume  manly  powers  like  prisoners 

Have  been  tied  up ]  That  this  is  good  sense  is  allow'd,  but  that  the  sun  ofTranee'va 

much  more  poetical,  I  believe  will  be  equally  alhjw'd.  How  long  i^lic  sun  has  been  the  eat- 
hlern  of  the  French  King,  I  have  no  book  by  me  that  will  tell  us.  It  was  the  emblem  whit  h 
Louis  the  Fourteenth  most  delighted  in;  if  it  was  of  older  date  in  the  arms  of  France,  it  wuuM 
be  a  confirmation  of  the  emendation  here,  and  i^till  more  so,  of  the  exquisite  beauty  of  ti< 
following  passage  of  Shakespeai-e  in  Hurry  the  Fifth,  the  French  King  describing  tlic  batUe 
ofCressy: 

*  When  Cressy  battle  fatally  was  struck ; 

'  And  all  our  princes  captiv'd  by  the  hand 

*  Of  that  black  name,  EdWard  black  prince  of  Wales: 

*  Wliile  that  his  mountain-sire  on  mountain  standing, 

*  Up  in  the  air,  crown'd  with  the  golden  sun, 

*  Saw  his  heroic  seed,  and  smil'd  to  see  him 
'  Mangle  the  work  of  Nature * 

Were  a  painter  to  give  us  this  battle  in  colours,  wlmt  a  noble  image  might  he  take  frmn 
liencc?  The  king  of  more  tliau  human  stature,  aud  enlai^'d  beyond  the  strict  rules  of  per* 
spective,  aloft  on  a  hill,  with  the  run  in  his  zenith  darting  all  his  glory  round  bis  hesd. 
Shakespeare  expresses  tliis  in  words  that  exceed  all  colours;  mountain,  when  made  an  adjec- 
tive, is  something  bevond  theepitlM't,  great,  vast^  tJ/tmense.  I  should  not  have  ueutionM)  this 
but  to  shew  tlie  fallibility  of  criticism,  since  the  greatest  of  the  critics  ou  Shakespeare  lir 
mouniairt^ire  reads  mounting  tire,  and  rejects  the  line 

'  Up  in  the  air,  crown*d  with  the  golden  sun,* 
fts  the  nonsensical  insertion  of  some  player.    As  to.  the  change,  I  propose  of  ton  to  nw,  I 
shall  not  mscrt  it  in  the  text,  as  the  former,  though  not  so  poetical,  may  perhaps  be  tiwugbt 
full  as  proper,  now  he  is  talking  of  a  son  to  succeed  him.  ^  Seward, 

We  have  uo  doubt  but  the  text  is  genuine ;  yet  there  is  au  mousing  couceitedness  in  Se> 
«vard'*  note,  ^hich  has  indticsd  lu  \o  retaui  it. 

ThU 


id  4.  Scene  1.]    TitE  TRAGEDY  OF  tSIERttY  AND  THEODOItST. 


4St 


That  comet  so  near  the  sacrament  itself^ 
7be  priests  doubt  whether  purer! 

Mart.  Sir,  you're  lost! 

Thi.  I^pritbiee  let  me  be  so! 

Mart.  The  day  wears ;  [prayers, 

^nd   those  that  have  been  offering  early 
^re  now  retiring  homeward. 

Tku  Stand,  and  mark  then ! 

Mart,  Is  it  the  first  must  suffer? 

ThL  The  first  woman. 

Mart,  What  hand  shall  do  it,  sirf 

Thi.  This  hand,  Martell ; 
J^or  who  less  dare  presume  to  give  the  gods 
An  incense  of  this  offering  ? 

Mart,  'Would  I  were  she ! 
For  such  a  way  to  die,  and  such  a  blessing. 
Can  never  crown  my  parting. 

[1\do  men  pass  over, 

J^L  What  are  those  ? 

Mart.  Men,  men,  sir,  men. 

7*hL  The  plagues  of  men  light  on  'em ! 
They  cross  n^  hopes  like  hares.    Wlio's 

that  ?  [A  priest  passes  over. 

3tart.  A  priest,  sir. 

Thi,  'Would  he  were  gelt! 

Mart.  May  not  these  rascals  scrve^  sir, 
VKTell  hang'd  and  quarter'd  ? 

Thi.  No. 

Mart.  Here  comes  a  woman. 

Enter  Ordella^  veiVd. 

Thi.  Stand,  and  behold  her  then ! 
Mart.  I  think,  a  fair  one.         [her  peace, 
Thi.  Move  not,  whilst  I  prepare  her :  may 
(Like   his  whose  innocence    the  gods  are 

pleasM  with. 
And,  offering  at  their  altars,  gives  his  soul 
Far  purer  than  those  fires)  pull  Heav'n  upon 

ber! 
You  holy  powers,  no  human  spot  dwell  in  her ! 
No  love  of  any  thing,  but  you  and  goodness. 
Tie  ber  to  earth!  Fear  be  a  stranger  to  her; 
And  all  weak  blood's  affections,  but  thy  hope, 
L«t  her  bequeath  to   women!    Hear  me, 

Heav'n! 
Give  ber  a  spirit  masculine,  and  noble, 
Fie  for  yourselves  to  ask,  and  me  to  offer ! 
Ob,   let  her  meet  my  blow,  dote  on  her 

death; 
Apd  as  a  wanton  vine  bows  to  the  pruner, 
That,  by  his  cutting  off  more,  msty  eiicrease, 
Bo  Jet  ber  /all  to  raise  me  U-uitl— Hail, 

woman! 
The  ^ppiest,  and  the  best,  (if  thy  dull  will 
l)o  not  abuse  thy  fortune)  France  e'er  found 

yet !  [worse  than  woman, 

Ord.  She's  more  than  dull,  sir,  less,  and 
That  may  inherit  such  an  infinite 
'At  you  propound,    a    greatness    lo  near 

goodnessy 
And  brings  a  will  to  rob  her. 

ni.  Tell  me  this  then; 
W|M  thera  e'er  vroman  yet,  or  maybe  found, 


That  for  fair  fame,  unspotted  meflliory, 
For  virtue's  sake,  and  only  fisr  it8elf-»ke^ 
lias,  or  dare  make  a  story  ? 

Ord,  Many  dead,  sir; 
Living,  I  think,  as  many. 
Thi.  ^2Ljy  the  kingdom 
May  from  a  woman  s  will  receive  a  blessings 
The  king  and  kingdom,  not  a  private  safety^ 
A  general  blessing,  lady  ? 

Ord,  A  general  curse 
Light  on  her  heart,  denies  it! 

Thi.  Full  of  honour! 
And  such  examples  as  the  former  ages 
Were  but  dim  shadows  of,  and  empty  figures! 
Ord.  You  strangely  stir  me,  sir;  and  werii 
my  weakness  ' 

In  any  otlier  flesh  but  modest  woman's. 
You  should  not  usk  more  questions:  may  I 
do  it?  [must. 

TtU,  You  mav ;  and,  which  is  more,  you 
Ord,  I  joy  in  t, 
Above  a  moderate  gladness !  Sir,  you  promise 
It  shall  be  honest? 

Thi.  As  ever  time  discovered.  [dare, 

Ord,  Let  it  be  what  it  may  then,  wtiat  it 
I  haVe  a  mind  will  hazard  it. 

TAt.  But,  hark  you;  [blessing? 

What  may  that  woman  merit^  makes  this 
Ord.  Only  her  duty,  sir. 
Thi,  Tis  terrible! 
Ord.  'Tis  so  much  the  more  noble. 
Thi.  Tis  ^11  of  fearful  shadows! 
Ord.  So  is  sleep,  sir. 
Or  any  thing  thats  merely  ours,  and  mortal; 
We  were  begotten  gods  else :  but  those  fears« 
Feeling  but  once  the  fires  of  nobler  thoughts. 
Fly,  like  the  shapes  of  clouds  we  form,  t0 
2^'.  Suppose  it  death !  [nothing. 

Ord.  I  io. 

ThL  And  endless  parting  [sweetness. 
With  all  we  can  call  ours,  with  all  our 
With  youth,  strength,  pleasure,  people,  time^ 

nay  reason  I 
For  in  tlie  silent  grave,  no  conversation. 
No  joyful  tread  of  friends,  no  voice  of  lovers, 
No  carefiil  fathai^fM^unsel,  notljing's  heard  ^, 
Nor  nothing  is^  but  alTo^ivion,  [woman. 
Dust  and  an  endless  darkness :  and  dare  yoo^ 
Desire  this  place  ? 

Ord.  Tis  of  all  sleeps  the  sweetest: 
Children  begin  it  to  us,  strong  men  seek  it, 
And  kings  from  height  of  ail  their  painted 

glories 
Fall,  like  spent  exhalations,  to  this  centre: 
And  those  are  fools  that  fear  it,  or  imagine 
A  few  unhandsome  pleasures,  or  life's  profits^ 
Can  recompense  this  place;  and  mad  tiiat 
stay  it,  [luours 

'Till  age  blow  out  their  lights,  or  rotten  h» 
Bring  them  dispers'd  to  th'  earth. 
Thi.  Then  yuu  can  suffer? 
Ord.  As  willingly  as  say  it. 
Tiu,  Martell,  a  wonder! 


voL.ni» 


kinu^s  hard.]  Amended  in  1750* 

SN 


SUst 


458 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET.    [Act 4.  Scene  1. 


Here  is  a  woman  that  dares  die. — Yet,  tell 
Are  you  a  wife?  [me, 

Orii,  I  am,  sir. 

Tfii.  And  I  nve  children?— 
She  siuhs,  nud  vieepb! 
,     Ord,  Oh,  none,  sir. 

T/iL  Dare  you  venture, 
For  a  poor  barren  prais^,*  you  ne*er  shall  hear, 
To  part  with  these  sweet  hopes? 
\    Ofil.  With  all  but  Heaven,  [me 

A  nd  yet  die  full  of  children  :  he  that  reads 
When  I  am  ashes,  is  my  son  in  wishes; 
And  those  chaste  dames  that  keep  my  me- 
mory, [ters. 
Sinking  my  yearly  requiems,  are  my  dautrh- 

TI.L  Then  there  is  nothing  wanting  but 

niy  knowledge, 
^nd  what  I  must  do,  lady, 
i  Ord,  You  are  the  king,  sir. 
And  what  you  do  ril  suffer;  and  that  blessing 
That  you  desire,  the  gods   shower  on  the 

kingdom!  [I  must  kill  you, 

Thi.  Thus  much  before  I  strike  then ;  for 
-^'he  gods  have  willed  it  so :  thou'rt  miide  the 

blessing  ^5 
Must  make  France  young  again,  and  me  a  man. 
Keep  up  your  strength  still  nobly! 

Ord.  Fear  me  not. 

Thi,  And  meet  death  like  a  measure ! 

Ord,  I  nm  stedfast.  [thy  tomb 

2'hL  Thou/ shalt  be  sainted,  woman;  and 
Cat  out  in  crystal,  pure  and  good  as  thou  art ; 
And  on  it  shall  be  graven  every  age*^; 
Succeeding  peers  of  France  that  rise  by  thy 

fall,  [Nature. 

Tell  thou  liest  there  like  old  and  fruitful 
Dar'st  ihqn  behold  thy  happiness  ? 

Ord,  I  dare,  sir. 

TALKv^llPullsoffherveil,letsfallhissword. 


Mart,  Oh,  sir,  you  must  not  do  it. 

Thi.  No,  I  dare  not! 
There  is  an  ant^el  kee])s  that  paradise, 
A  fiery  angel,  friend.    Oh,  virtue,  virtue. 
Ever  and  endle&s  virtue ! 

Ord,  Strike,  sir,  strike !  [nient. 

And  if  in  my  poor  death  fair  France  may 
Cjive  me  a  thousand  blows!  be  killing  uie 
A  thousand  days! 

ThL  First,  let  the  earth  be  barren. 
And  man  no  more  remembered!  llise-  Or- 

della. 
The  nearest  to  thy  Maker,  and  the  purest 
That  ever  dull  flesh  shew'd  us! — Oh,  my 

heart-st  rings !  [  Jijrii. 

Mart.  1  see  you  full  of  wonder;  therefore, 

noblest, 
And  truest  amongst  women,  I  will  tell  you 
The  (nd  of  this  strange  accident. 

Ord.  Amazement 
Has  so  much  won  upon  my  heart ♦^y  that  truly 
1  feel  myself  unfit  to  hear:  oh,  sir, 
My  lord  has  sli«j;hted  me! 

Mart.  Oh,  no,  sweet  lady.  rpi^*" 

Ord,  RobhVi  nic  of  sucli  a  glory,  hy  ha 
And  most  unprovideiit  respect — 

Mart,  Dear  lady,      ^ 
It  was  not  meant  to  you. 

Ord.  Else,  where  the  day  is, 
And  hours  distinguish  time,  time  nms  to nges. 
And  ages  end  tlie  world,  I  had  been  spoken! 

Mart,  V\\   tell  you  what  it  was,  if  but 
Will  give  me  hearing.  [your  paiieiic* 

Ord,  If  I  Have  transgressed 
Forgive  me,  sir! 

Mart.  Your  noble  lord  was  counselFd 
(Grieving  the  barrenness  between  you  both, 
/\nd  all  the  kingdom  with  him^)  to  seek 

oiit 


*^  They're  made  the  blessing,]  Amended  in  1750, 
^  And  on  it  shall  be  graveUf  excry  age^ 

Succeeding  peers  of  France  that  rise  by  thy  fall, 

Tell  thou  ly'st  there  like  old  and  fruitful  Nature,]  1  flatter  myself,  that  I  hare  fulh 


*  }y*st  there  like  Nature,  the  fruitful  mother  of  all  things.'    The  image  is  full  as  noble  as  the 
famous  simile  of  Virgil  of  the  city  of  Rome  to  Berecynihia  the  mother  of  the  gods : 

Ilia  inclyta  Roma 
Felix  prole  virHm.     Qualis  Berecynthia  mater, 
Invehitur  curru  Fhrygias  turrita  per  Urbes, 
Lata  Deihn  partu,  centum  complexa  nepotes, 
Omnes  CaUicolas,  omnes  supera  alia  tencntes.  Setcard, 

The  old  text  (with  no  variation,  but  a  stronger  point,  a  semicolon,  at  the  end  of  the  first 
line)  is  much  preferable :  the  sense  then  is  plain  and  easy :  *  Every  age  shall  be  graven  on 

*  thy  tomb;  and  the  succeeding  trench  prir.ccs  shall  tell^  having  risen  from  tiiy  fall,  that  thou 

*  liest  there  like  fruitful  Nature.'  The  obscurity  proceeds  from  the  omission  of  the  second  sAa/Z» 

*7  F[as  so  much  wove  upon  my  heart,]  W(rpe  is  a  strange  expression  here,  and  much  less 
in  the  manner  of  our  poets,  than  the  word  substituted. 

^^  And  all  the  kingdom  with  him,]  Was  all  the  kingdom  counsell'd  to  seek  out  an  astio* 
loger?  This  seems  the  construction  of  the  words  as  they  now  stand:  I  read. 

And  ail  the  kin/sdofna  with  him, 
t.  e.  all  the  kingdom*8  barrenuess  in  his.  Seward, 

Seward  misconceived  xhis  passage:  kingdom  refers  to  grieving,  not  to  counselled. 


Act  4.  Scene  1.]    TIIE  TEAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET. 


459 


A  msin  that  knew  the  secrets  of  the  gods : 
lie  <vrcnt,  found  such  an  one>  and  had  this 

answer; 
ThvLt  if  he  would  have  issue,  on  this  morning, 
(Kor  this  liour  was  prefixed  him)  he  should  kill 
The    first   he  met,  being  female,  from  the 
teinple,  [take 

And  then  he  should  have  children :  the  mis- 
Is  now  too  perfect,  lady. 

Ord.  Still  'tis  1,  sir ;  [men  ? 

For  may  this  work  be  done  by  common  wo- 
Durst  any  but  myself,  that  know  the  blessing, 
And  felt  the  benefit,  assiune  this  rlyin'i? 
In  any  other,  *thad  been  lo.t  and  nothing, 
A  curse  and  not  a  blessinir:  I  was  figurVI ; 
And  shall  a  little  fondness  I  ar  my  purchase? 
JlrTart,  Where  should  ho  then  seek  children  ? 
C?rd.  Where  tliey  are  ; 
In  wombsordainM  for  issues;  in  those  beauties 
That  bless  a  marriage-bed*^,  and  make  it 
procreant  [sures: 

"With  kisses  that  conceive,  and  fruitful  plea- 
Mine*  like  a  grave,  buries  those  loyal  hopes, 
And  too  a  grave  it  covets. 

Alart.  You  are  too  good, 
Too  excellent,  too  honest!  Rob  not  us, 
And  those  that  shall  hereafter  seek  example, 
Of  such  inestimable  worth  in  woman  ^", 
Your  lord  of  such  obedience,  all  of  honour ! 
In  coveting  a  cruelty  is  not  yours, 
A  will  short  of  your  wisdom, -make  not  error 
A  tombstone  of  your  virtues,  whose  fair  lite 
Deserves  a  constellation !  Your  lord  dare  not, 
He    cannot,   ought  n»t,  must  not  run  this 

hazard ; 
He  makes  a  separation  Nature  shakes  at. 
The  gods  deny,  and  everlasting  justice 
Shrinks  back,  and  sheaths  her  sword  at. 

Ord.  Airs  but  talk,  sir! 
I  fiud  to  what  I  am  refeerv'd,  and  needful  : 
And  tho'  ray  lord's  compassion  makes  mo  poor. 
And  leaves  me  in  my  best  use '  *,  yet  a  strength 
Above  mine  own,  or  liis  dull  fondness,  finds 

me :  ^ 

The  gods  have  given  it  to  me  '*. 

[Draws  a  knife. 
Mart.  Self-destruction  ? 
Now  all  good  angels  bless  thee !  oh,  sweet 

lady! 
You  are  abns'd;  this  is  a  way  to  shame  you, 


And  with  you  all  tliat  know  you,  all  that  love 

you; 
To  ruin  all  you  build !  Would  you  be  famous? 
Is  that  your  end  ? 

Ord,  I  would  be  what  I  should  be. 

Mart.  Live  and  confirm  the  gods  then! 

live  and  be  loaden  [autumn! 

With  more  than  olives  bear'^,  or  fruitful 
This  way  you  kill  your  merit,  kill  your  cause. 
And  him  you  would  raise  life  to :  where  or  how 
Got  you  these  bloody  thoughts?  what  dexil 

durst  [know 

Look  on  that  ansjol  face,  and  tempt  ?  do  you 
What  'tis  to  die  thus?  how  you  strike  the 

stai*s. 
And  all  good  things  above  us  ?  do  you  fet-l 
What    follows  a   self-blood  ?    whither  you 

venture. 
And  to  what  punishment  ?  Excellent  lady, 
Be  not  thus  cozen'd!  do  not  fool  yourself! 
The  priest  was  never  his  own  sacrifice, 
But  he  that  thought  his  hell  here. 

Ord.  I  am  couusellM.  [dare  not. 

J^lart.  And  I  am  glad  on*t ;  lie,  I  know  you 

Ord.  I  never  have  done  yet. 

Mart,  Pray  take  my  comfort !  [men 

Was  this  a  soul  to  lose  ?  two  more  such  wo- 
Would  save  their  sex.     See,  she  repents  and 

prays ! 
Oh,  hear  her,  hear  her !  if  there  be  a  faith 
Able  to  reach  your  mercies,  she  hath  sent  it. 

Ord.  Now,  good  Martell,  confirm  me! 

Mart.  I  will,  lady, 
And  every  hour  advise  you  ;  for  I  doubt 
Whether  this  plot  be  Ileav'n's,  or  hell's  yqur 

mother! 
And  [  will  find  it,  if  it  be  in  mankind 
To  search  the  centre  of  it :  in  the  mean  time, 
1*11  give  you  out  for  dead,  and  by  yourself, 
And  siiew  the  instrument ;  so  shall  I  find 
A  joy  that  will  betray  her. 

Ord.  Do  what's  fittest; 
And  I  will  follow  you. 

Mart.  Then  ever  live 
Both  able  to  engross  all  love,  and  give ! 

[Ejeunt, 

Enter  Brunhalt  and  Proialdj/e. 

Brun.  I  am  in  labour 
To  be  deliver'd  of  that  burthcnous  project 


^  That  bless  a  marriaf^e-hcd,  and  make  it  proceed 

With  kisses  that  conceive.]  The  variation  in  the  text  is  by  Seward.  The  conjecture  is 
happy,  and  very  possibly  restores  the  original  word.  We  might  read  breed;  but  Seward's 
text  is  more  oleganL  ..,.,, 

5«*  Of  such  inestimable  worthies  in  woman.}  Former  editions.    The  origmal  might  have 
been  either  worths  or  worth.        Se/iard. 

5*  And  leaves  me  in  my  best  use;]  t.  c.  Neglects  putting  mc  to  the  use  I  am  most  fit  for, 
the  best  use  I  can  be  employed  in. 
**  ■    ■       yet  a  strength 

Above  fkine  own,  or  his  dull  fondness  finds  me: 

The  gods  have  given  it  tome.]  This  reading  may  be  construed  into  sense,  but  the  change 
of  a  colon  to  a  comma,  and  the  omission  of  the  relative  if,  mak^s  it  much  more  easy.    Seward, 
Surely,  tliese  variations  greatly  injured  the  text. 
«  With  more  than  olives  bear.]  So  first  quarto,    Seward  reads,  oUtc  bears. 

8  N  il  I  havo 


i60 


THE  TJRAGEDY  OF  TfflERRY  AND  THEODORET.     [Act  4.  Scene  1. 


I  have  so  long  gooe  with!  Ha,  here's  the 

midwife : 
Or  life,  or  death  ? 

Enter  Lecun. 

Xfc.  If  in  the  supposition  [me, 

Of  her  death  in  whose  life  you*die,  you  ask 
I  think  you're  safe. 

Brun.  Is  s^e  dead  f 

Lee.  I  have  uR*d 
i^ll  means  to  make  her  so:  I  saw  him  waiting 
At  th'  temple  door,  and  u^'d  such  art  within. 
That  only  she  of  all  her  sex  was  first 
Giv'n  up  unto  his  fury. 

Brun,  Which  if  love 
Or  fear  made  liim  forbear  to  execute. 
The  vengeance  he  determin'd  his  fond  pity 
Shall  draw  it  on  himself;  for  were  there  left 
Not  any  man  but  he,  to  serve  my  pleasures. 
Or  from  me  to  receive  commands,  (wluch 

are 
The  joys  for  which  I  love  life)  he  should  be 
RemovM,  and  I  alone  Icil  to  be  queen 
O'er  any  part  of  goodness  that's  l^ft  In  me. 

Lee.  It  you  are  so  resolv'd,  I  have  pro- 
vided 
A  means  to  ship  him  hence:  look  upon  this, 
But  touch  it  sparingly;  for  this  once  us'd, 
Say  but  to  dry  a  tear,  will  keep  the  eye-lid 
from  closing,  until  death  perform  that  office. 

Brun.  Givc't  me!  I  may  have  use  oft; 

and  on  you 
ril  make  the  first  experiment,  if  one  sigh 
Or  heavy  look  beget  the  least  suspicion, 
Childish  compassion  can  thaw  tlic  ice 
Of  your  so-long-congeal'd  and  flinty  hardness. 
"Slight,  go  on  constant,  or  I  shall-— 

ProL  Blest  ladjr, 
Wf  have  no  faculties  which  are  not  yours. 

Lee.  Nor  will  be  any  thing  without  you. 

Brun.  Be  so. 
And  we  wi)|^tand  or  fall  together:  for 
Since  we  have  gone  so  far,  that  death  must 

stay 
The  journey,  which  we  wish  should  never  end. 
And  innocent,  or  guilty,  we  must  die; 
When  we  do  so,  let's  know  the  reason  why ! 

Enter  Thierry  and  Courtien, 

Lee.  The  king! 

Thi.  Well  be  alone. 

Brot,  I  would  I  hsxd 
A  convoy  too,  to  bring  roe  safe  off! 
For  rage,  altho'  it  be  ^lay'd  with  sorrow. 
Appears  so  dreadful  itt  him,  tliat  1  shake 
To  look  upon  it. 

Brun.  Coward,  I  will  meet  it. 
And  know  from  iv'hence*t  has  birth.    Son ! 

kingly  Thierry !  [men, 

Thi,  Is  cheatmg  grown  so  commou  among 
And  thrives  so  well  here,  that  the  gods  en- 
To  practise  it  above  ?  [deavour 

Mrun.  Your  mother! 


Thi.  Ha!— 
Or  are  they  only  careful  to  revenge. 
Not  to  reward?  or  when,  for  our  offenoes'^. 
We  study  satisfaction,  must  the  cure 
Be  worse  than  the  disease  ? 

Brun.  Will  you  not  hear  mc  ?         [dotiei 

Thi^  To  lose  the  ability  to  perform  tboM 
For  which  I  entertain'd  the  name  of  hashaiw!, 
Ask*d  more  than  common  sorrow;  hot  te 

impose, 
For  the  redress  of  that  defect,  a  torture 
In  marking  her  to  death,  (for  whom  alone 
J  felt  that  weakness  as  a  want)  requires 
More  the  making  the  head  bald,  or  falling 
1  hus  flat  upon  the  earth,  or  cursing  that  may, 
Or  praying  this.    Oh,  such  a  scene  of  grie( 
And  so  set  down,  (the  world  the  ftage  to 

act  on) 
May  challenge  a  tragedian  better  practisM 
Than  I  am  to  express  it !  for  my  dkube 
Of  pasbion  is  so  strong,  and  my  perfonnaiice 
So  weak,  that  tho*  the  part  be  good,  I  fear 
The  ill  acting  of  it  will  defitiud  it  of 
The  poor  reward  it  may  deserve,  men's  pty. 

Brun.  I've  given  you  way  thus  long:  a 

king,  and  what 
Is  morej^my  son,  and  yet  a  slave  to  that 
Which  only  triumphs  over  cowards,  sorrow? 
For  shame,  look  up ! 

Thi.  Is't  you  ?  look  down  on  me ! 
And  if  that  you  are  capable  to  receive  it. 
Let  that  return  to  you,  that  have  brooght 

iorth  [these? 

One  mark'd  out  only  for  it! — ^What  a» 
Come  they,  upon  your  privilege,  to  tresid  oa 
The  tomb  of  my  imictious  ? 

Prot.  No,  not  we,  sir. 

Tiki.  How  nare  you  then  omit  thecemnoBy 
Due  to  the  funeral  of  ail  my  hopes? 
Or  come  unto  the  marriage  of  my  sorrows, 
But  in  such  colours  as  may  sort  with  them.^ 

Prot.  Alas,  we  will  wear  any  thing. 

Brnn,  This  is  madness! 
Take  but  my  counsel! 

Thi.  Ypurs?  dare  you  again, 
Tho*  am^^  with  the  authority  of  a  motlier. 
Attempt  the  danger  that  will  fall  on  jou. 
If  such  another  syllable  awake  it  ?        [cause 
Go,  and  with  yours  be  safe;  I  baTe  snck 
Of  grief,  (nay  more,  to  love  it)  that  I  will 

not 
Have  such  as  these  be  sharers  in  it. 

Lee.  Madam! 

Prot,  Another  time  were  better. 

Brun-  Do  not  stir, 
For  I  must  be  resoVd,  and  wtU :  be  statncsf 

Enter  MartelL 

Thi.  Ay,  thou  art  welcome;  and  upon  my 

soul 
Thou  art  an  honest  man.  Do  yon  see?  he  htt 

tears 
To  lend  to  him  whom  prodigal  ezpence 


^  Or  whtn,  for  your  Ggcnca."]  Fonner  editions.        Seward. 


Of 


kt4.  Scentl]    THE  TRAGEDY  OP  TfflEllRY  AND  THEODORET, 


46t 


Of  sorrow  has  made  bankrupt  of  sach  treasure! 
Nay,  thou  dost  well. 

Marl.  I  woald  it  might  excuse 
The  ill  I  bring  along ! 

ThL  TBou  niak*8t  me  smile 
r  tir  height  of  my  calamities :  as  if 
There  could  be  the  addition  of  an  atom, 
To  the  giant-body  of  ray  miseries !       [death 
But  try;  for  I  will  hear  thee.  All  sit  dqwn !  'tis 
To  any  that  stmll  dare  to  interrupt  him 
In  look,  gesture,  or  word. 

Mart,  And  such  attention 
As  is  due  to  the  last,  and  the  best  story 
That  ever  was  deliver'd,  will  become  you. 
The  griev*d  Ordella  (for  all  other  titles 
But  take  away  from  that)  having  from  me, 
Prompted  by  your  last  parting  croan,  enquired 
What  drew  it  from  you,  and  the  cause  soon 

Ieam*d ; 
For  she  wliom  barbarism  could  deny  nothing, 
IVith  such  prevailing  earnestness  desir'd  it, 
^was  not  in  me,  tho'  it  had  been  my  death. 
To  hide  it  from  her:  she,  I  say,  in  whom 
AH  was,  that  Athens,  Home,or  warlikeSparta, 
Have  register'd  for  gowl  in  their  best  women. 
But  nothing  of  their  ill;  knowing  herself 
Uark'd  out  (I  know  not  by  what  power,  but 

sure 
A  cruel  one)  to  die,  to  give  yon  children ; 
]Having  first  with  a  settled  countenance 
LookVT  up  to  Heaven,  and  then  upon  herself, 
(It  bein^  the  next  best  object)  and  tlien  smil'd, 
As  if  her  joy  in  death  to  do  you  service 
Would  break  forth,  in  despite  of  the  much 
sorrow  [taking 

She  shew'd  she  had  to  leave  you ;  and  then 
Me  by  the  hand  (this  hand,  which  I  must  ever 
Love  better  than  I  have  done,  since   she 

touch'd  it), 
Co,  said  she,  to  my  lord  (and  to  go  to  him  ' 
Is  such  a  happiness  I  must  not  hope  for), 
And  tell  him  that  he  t«>o  much  prized  a  trifle 
)lade  only  worthy  in  his  luve,  and  her 
Thankful  acceptance,  tor  her  sake  to  rob 
The  orphan  kingdom  of  such  guardians,  as 
Must  of  necessity  descend  from  him; 
And  therefore,  m  some  part  of  recompense 
Of  his  much  love,  and  to  shew  to  the  world 
That  'twas  not  her  fault  only,  but  her  fate. 
That  did  deny  to  let  her  be  the  mother 
Of  such  most  certain  blessings;  yet,  for  proof 
She  did  not  envy  her,  that  happy  her, 
That  is  appointed  to  (hem,  her  r]uick  end 
Shtiuld  make  way  for  her.   \Yhich  no  sooner 

spoke, 
But  in  a  moment  this  too-ready  engine 
Made  such  a  battery  in  the  choicest  castle 
That  ever  Nature  made  to  defend  life, 
That  straight  it  shook  and  sunk. 
TAi.  Stay!  dares  any 


Presume  to  shed  a  tear  before  me  ?  or 
Ascribe  that  worth  unto  themselves  to  merit^ 
To  do  so  for  her?  I  have  done ;  now  on ! 
Mart,  Fall*n  thus,  once  more  she  smil'd,  a« 
if  that  death 
For  her  had  studied  a  new  way  to  sever 
The  soul  and  body,  without  sense  of  pain; 
And  then,  Tell  him,  quot)i  she,  what  you  have 
seen,  [which 

And  withf  what  willingness  'twas  done !  for 
My  last  request  unto  ))im  is,  that  he 
Would  instantly  make  choice  of  one  (most 

happy 
In  being  so  chosen)  to  supply  my  place ; 
By  whom  if  Heav'n  bless  him  with  a  daughter. 
In  my  remembrance  let  it  bear  my  name ! 
Which  said,  she  died. 

ThL  I  hear  this,  and  yet  live ! 
Heart!  art  thou  thundei^proof?  will  nothing 
break  thee  ?  [be 

She's  dead ;  and  what  her  entertainment  may 
In  th'  other  world  without  me,  is  uncertain; j 
And  dare  I  stay  here  unresolv*d  ? 
Mart.  Oh,  sir! 
Brun.  Dear  son ! 
Prot.  Great  king ! 
ThL  Unhand  me  !  am  I  falFn 
So  low,  that  I  have  lost  the  power  to  be 
Disposer  of  my  own  life  ? 

Mart,  Be  but  pleas'd 
To  borrow  so  much  time  of  sorrow,  as 
To  call  to  mind  her  last  request,  for  whom 
(I  must  confess  a  loss  beyond  expression) 
You  turn  your  hand  upon  yourself!  'twas  hers. 
And  dying  hers,  that  you  should  live,  and  ^ 

happy, 
In  seeing  little  models  of  yourself, 
By  matching  with  another :  and  will  you 
Leave  any  thing  that  she  desir*d  ungranted? 
And  suffer  such  a  life  that  was  laid  down 
For  your  sake  only,  to  be  fruitless  ? 

ThL  Oh,  S     [which 

Tliou  dost  throw  charms  upon  mc,  against 
I  cannot  stop  my  ears ;  bear  witness.  Heaven ! 
That  not  desire  of  life,  nor  love  of  pleasures, 
Nor  any  future  comforts,  but  to  g:ive 
Peace  to  her  blessed  spirit,  in  satisfying 
Her  last  demand,  makes  me  defer  our  meet* 
ing  I  [shall  b« 

Which  in  my  choice,  and  sudden   choice, 
To  all  apparent. 

Brun    How !  do  I  remove  one  mischief^ 
To  draw  upon  my  head  a  greater? 

ThL  Go, 
Tliou  only  good  man,  to  whom  for  herself 
Goodness  is  dear,  and  prepare  to  inter  it 
In  her  that  was !  Oh,  my  heart,  my  Ordella^^! 
A  monument  worthy  to  be  the  casket 
I  Of  such  a  jewel. 

Mart,  Your  command,  that  makes  way 


Unto 

'*  —  Oh,  my  heart  f  my  Ordelhy 
A  monument  zcorthy  to  be  the  casket 

Of  such  ajeweL]  The  whole  is  confused,  anid  both  sense  and  measure  require  the  ad- 
nrb  on/y  to  be  inserted  in  the  second  line :  the  former  wants  a  verb  to  make  it  clear.  Seward, 

Seward 


4S9 


TH£  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  TUEODORET.    [Act  4.  Scael 


Unto  my  abftence,  is  a  welcome  one ;  [tell 
For,  but  yourself,  there's  nothing  here  Mar- 
Can  take  delight  to  look  on :  yet  some  com- 
fort [want  it, 
Goes  back  with  me  to  her,  who,  tho*  she 
Deserves  all  blessings.  [Exit, 

Brun.  So  soon  to  forget 
The  loss  of  such  a  wifp,  believe  it,  will 
Be  censured  in  the  world. 

Thi,  Pray  you,  no  more ! 
There  is  no  argument  you  can  use  to  cross  it, 
But  does  encrease  in  mc  such  a  suspicion 
I  would  not  cherish.— Who's  that? 

Enter  Memberge. 

Memb.  One  no  guard  [threats 

Can  put  back  from  access,  whose  tongue  no 
Nor  prayVs  can  silence !  a  bold  suitor,  and 
For  that  which,  if  you  are  yourself,  a  king. 
You  were  made  so  to  grant  it:  justice,  jus- 
tice !  [for  that 
T'hL  With  what  assurance  dare  you  hope 
Which  is  denied  to  me  ?  or  how  can  I 
Stand  bound  to  be  just  unto  such  as  are 
Beneath  me,  that  find  none  from  those  that 
iVbove  me?  [are 
Affm6. There  is  justice:  'twere  unfit  [him, 
That  any  thing  but  vengeance  should  fall  on 
That,  by  his  giving  way  to  more  than  murder, 
(For  my  dear  father's  death  was  parricide) 
Makes  it  hiso\%n. 

Bnin.  I  charge  you,  hear  her  not ! 
Atemb.  Hell  cannot  stop  just  prayers  from 
entVing  lieav'n : 
I  must  and  will  be  heard !  Sir,  but  remember 
That  he  that  by  her  plot  fell,  was  your  bro- 
ther ; 
And  the  place  where,  your  palace,  against  all 
Th'inviolal>le  rights  of  hospitality; 
Your  word,  a  king's  word,  given  for  his  safety; 
His  innocence,  his  protection;  and  the  gods 
Bound  to^Rvenge  the  impious  breach  of  such 
So  great  and  sacred  bonds !  and  can  you 

wonder 
(That  in  not  punishing  such  a  horrid  murder 
You  did  it)  that  Heav'n's  favour  is  gone  from 

you  ? 
Which  never  will  return,  until  his  blood 
Be  wash'd  away  in  hers. 

Brun.  Drag  hence  the  wretch ! 
Thi.  Forbear.     With  what  variety 
Of  torments  do  I  meet !  Oh,  thou  hast  open'd 
A  book,  in  which,  writ  down  in  bloody  letters, 
My  conscience  finds  that  I  am  worthy  of 
More  than  I  undergo ;  but  I*ll  begin. 
For  my  Ordella*s  sake,  and  for  thine  own. 


To  make  less  IIeav'n*s  great  anger:  thou  hast 

lost 
A  father;  I  to  thee  am  so :  the  hope 
Of  a  good  husband ;  in  me  have  one !  Nor 
Be  fearful  I  am  still  no  man;  already 
That  weakness  is  gone  from  me. 

Brun,  That  it  might  {Aade, 

Have  ever  grow  n  inseparably  upon  thee ! — 
What  will  you  do  ?  Is  such  a  thing  as  this 
Worthy  the  lov'd  Ordella's  place?  the  daugb- 
Of  a  poor  gardener?  [ttf 

Mentb.  Your  son ! 

Thi.  The  power 
To  take  awvLy  that  lowness  is  in  me. 

Brun.  Stay  yet;  for  rather  than  that  thoa 

shalt  add 
Incest  unto  thy  other  sins,  I  will, 
With  hazard  of  my  own  life,  utter  all: 
Thcodoret  was  thy  brother. 
'  Thi.  You  denied  it, 

Upon  your  oath;  nor  will  I  now  believe  you: 
Your  Protean  turnings  cannot  change  my 

purpose !  [to  be 

'Memb,  And  for  mc,  be  assur  d  the  mea&s 
Reveng'd  on  thee,  vile  hag,  admits  no  thought 
But  what  tends  to  it ! 

Brun,  Is  it  come  to  that? 
Then  have  at  the  last  refuge!  Arttbouprowo 
Insensible  in  ill,  that  thou  goest  on  [that! 
Without  the  least  compunction  ?  There,  take 
To  witness  that  thou  hadst  a  mother,  whicli 
Foresaw  thy  cause  of  grief  and  sad  repentance^ 
That,  so  soon  after  hless'd  Ordella  s  death. 
Without  a  tear,  thou  canst  embrace  another! 
Forgetful  man ! 

Thi.  Mine  eyes,  when  she  is  nana'd, 
Cannot  forget  their  tribute,  and  your  gift 
Is  not  unuseful  now.  ^ 

Lee.  He's  past  all  cure ; 
That  only  touch  is  death. 

Thi.  This  night  I'll  keep  it; 
To-morrow  I  will  send  it  you,  and  fbll 
Of  my  affliction.  [£iifc 

Brun,  Is  the  poison  mortal  ? 

J.ee.  Above  the  help  of  physic 

Brun.  To  my  wish. 
Now  for  our  own  security !    You,  Protaldy^ 
Shall  this  night  post  towards  Austracia, 
W^ith  letters  to  Theodoret's  bastard  son. 
In  which  we  will  make  known  what  for  his 

rising 
We  have  done  to  Thierry :  no  denial,     [of; 
Nor  no  excuse  in  such  acts,  must  be  tliought 
Which  all  dislike,  and  all  again  commend 
When  they  are  brought  unto  a  happy  end. 


Seward  reads. 


Oh !  my  heart,  my  Ordella,  is 

A  monumeut  only  worthy  to  be  th*  casket^  &G. 


ACT 


4ct5.  Scene  1.]    THE  TRAGEDY  OF  TfflERRY  AND  THEODORET, 


461^ 


ACT  V, 


SCENE  L 
Enter  De  Vitry,  and  four  Soldiers. 

V'Ury,  "VfO  war,  no  money,   no  master! 
-*-^      banisird  the  court,  [try, 

Not  trusted  intlie  city,  whipt  out  of  the  coun- 
In  what  a  trianulc  runs  our  misery  ! 
Let  me  h^ar  which  of  you  has  the  best  voice 

to  beg  in, 
Tor  other  hopes  or  fortunes  I  see  you  have  not. 
Be  not  nice ;  Nature  provided  you  with  tones 

for  the  purpose ; 
The  people's  charity  was  your  heritage, 
And  1  would  see  which  of  you  deserves- his 

birtb-ripht. 

Omnes.  We  understand  you  not,  captain. 

Vitry.  You  see  this  cardecue ;      [crowns, 
The  last,  and  the  only  quintessence  of  fifty 
DistiU'd  in  the  limbeck  of  your  gardage, 
Of  which  happy  piece  thou  shalt  be  treasurer: 
Now  he  that  can  soonest  persuade  him  to 

part  with  it. 
Enjoys  it,  possesses  it,  and,  with  it, 
Me  and  ray  future  countenance. 

1  Sold,  If  they  want  art 
To  persuade  it,  I'll  keep  it  myself, 

Vitry,  So  you  be  not 
A  partial  judge  in  your  own  cause,  you  shall. 

Omnes,  A  match ! 

^Sofd.  ril  begin  to  you :  Brave  sir,  be  proud 
To  make  him  happy  by  your  liberality. 
Whose  tongue  vouchsafes  now  to  petition, 
Was  never  heard  before  less  than  to  command. 
I  am  a  soldier  by  profession,  a  gentleman 
By  birth,  and  an  officer  by  place ; 
V^liose  poverty  blushes  to  be  the  cause 
That  so"  high  a  virtue  should  descend 
To  the  pity  of  your  charity. 

1  Sold,  In  any  case  keep  your  high  stile  ! 
It  is  not  charity  to  shame  any  man. 
Much  less  a  virtue  of  your  eminence;  [serve 
Vlicrefore  preserve  your  worth,  and  I'll  pre- 
My  money. 

3  Sold.  You  persuade  ?  You  are  shallow ! 
Give  nay  to  merit :  Ah,  by  the  bread  of  God, 

man'*, 
Thou  hast  a  bonny  countenance  and  a  blith, 
Proniisuig  mickle  good  to  a  biking  wemb'^^ 
That  has  trod  a  long  and  a  sore  ground  to 

meet 


With  friends,  that  will  owe  much  to  thy  re- 

verence, 
When  they  shall  hear  of  thy  courtesy 
To  their  wandring  countryman. 

1  Sold,  You  tlmt  will  use  [sir, 

Your  friends  so  hardly  to  bring  them  in  debt, 
W^ill  deserve  worse  of  a  stranger;  wherefore, 
Pead  on,  pead  on,  I  say^* ! 

4  Sold,  Jtisthe  Welsh 
Must  do*t,  I  see, — Comrade,  man  of  urship, 
St.  Tavy  be  her  patron,  thegods  of  the  moun- 
tains [never 
Keep  her  cow  and  her  cupboard ;  may  she 
Want  the  green  of  the  leek,  nor  the  fat  of  the 

onion,  [great  deal 

If  she  part  with  her  bounties  to  him,  that  is  a 
Away  from  her  cousins,  and  has  two  big  suits 

in  law 
To  recover  her  heritage ! 

1  Sold,  Pardon  me,  sir; 
I  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  your  suits; 
It  comes  witliin  the  statute  of  maintenance. 
Home  to  your  cousins,  and  sow  garlick  and 

hempseed ! 
The  one  will  stop  your  hunger,  tlie  otlier  end 

your  suita ; 
Gammawash,  comrades,  gammawashf 

4  Sold.  'Foot,  hell  hoord  all  for  liimself. 

Vitry.  Yes,  let  him : 
Now  comes  my  turn ;  III  see  if  he  can  an-  » 

swer  me:  [money. 

Save  you,  sir!  they  say  you  have  that  I  want, 

1  Sold,  And  that  you  are  like  to  want,  tor 

aught  I  perceive  yet. 

Vitry.  Stand,  deliver ! 

1  Sold.  'Foot,  what  mean  you  ^ 
You  will  not  rob  the  exchequer  ? 

Vitry.  Do  you  prate? 

1  Sold.  Hold,  hold !  here,  captsiin  ! 

2  Sold,  Why,  I  could  have  done  tlus 
Before  you. 

3  Sold.  And  I. 

4  Sold.  And  I. 

Vitry,  You  have  done  this: 
'  Brave  man,  be  proud  to  make  him  happy !' 
'  By  the  bread  of  God,  man,   thou  hast  « 

bonny  countenance !'  [patron  \* 

'  Comrade,  man  of  urship,  St.  Tavy  be  her 
Out  u^on  you,  you  uncurried  colts ! 
Walkmg  cans,  that  have  no  souls  in  you^^. 


But 

'^  By  the  bread  o/good  man.']  The  variation  is  proposed  by  Theobald  and  Sympson.    Se- 
"^ard  reads,  by  the  bread  qfo.  gode  man,  and  says,  *  One  would  wish  to  put  mty  tiling  rather 

*  dmn  the  true  wonn.* 

"  To  a  sicker  womb.]  Seward  alters  sicker  to  siking,  and  says,  *  A  siking  womb  is  a  groau- 

*  ing  stomach  or  belly.'     But  jcemb  surdy  should  displace  womb. 

'*  Pead  on;']  i.  e.  Pad  on, foot  it  en,  Seward, 

''^  Walking  cans  that  have  no  souls  in  you.]   The  metaphor  is  here  taken   from  the  old 
English  blackjacks,  made  almpst  in  the  shape  of  a  boot,  (the  uame  Erasmus  gave  them;  lUvf- 

were 


IM 


THfe  TttAGEDY  OF  THIfeRRY  AND  tHE0l!)6RfiT.    [Act  5.  SeeM  U 


But  a  little  rosin  to  keep  yoar  ribs  sweet. 
And  hold  in  liquor ! 

Omnes,  Why,  what  would  you  have  us  to 
do,  captain  r  [ing, 

Vitry.  Beg,  beg,  and  keep  constables  wak- 
Wear  out  stocks  and  whipcord, 
Maunder  for  butter-milk,  die  of  the  jaundice, 
You  have  the  cure  about  you,  lice,  large  lice, 
Begot  of  your  own  dust,  and  the  heat  of  the 

brick-kilns ! 
Hay  you  starve,  and  the  fear  of  the  gallows 
(Which  is  a  gentle  consumption  to  it*') 
Only  preserve  you  (rom  it  f  or  may  you  fall 
Upon  your  fear,  and  be  IiaagM  for  selling 
Those  purses  to  keep  you  from  famine. 
Whose  monies  my  valour  empties. 
And  be  cast  without  other  evidence ! 
Here  is  my  fort,  my  castle  of  defenpe ; 
Who  comes  by  shall  pay  me  toll; 
The  first  purse  is  your  mittimus,  slaves. 
a  Sold.  The  purse  i  'foot,  we'll  share  in  the 
money,  captain. 
If  any  come  within  a  furlong  of  our  fingers. 

4  Sold,  Did  you  doubt  but  we  could  bteal 
As  well  as  yourself?  did  not  I  speak  Welsh? 

3  Sold.  We  are  thieves  from  our  cradles, 
and  will  die  so. 

Vitry,  Then  you  will  not  beg  again  ? 
Omncs.  Yes,  as  you  did; 
^tand,  and  deliver ! 

5  Sold.  Hark  !  here  comes  handsel : 

Tis  a  trade  quickly  set  up,  and  as  soon  cast 
down.  [lets,  and  to't 

Vitry.  Have  goodness  in  your  minds,  var- 
Like  men  :  he  that  has  more  money  than  we 
Cannot  be  our  friend,  and  I  hope  there  is  no 
For  spoilint/  the  enemy.  flaw 

3  Sold.  You  need  not 
Instruct  us  further;  your  example  pleads 
euough.  [company  is,  fall  on ! 

Vitry.  Disperse  yourselves;  and  as  their 
2  Sold.  Come,  there  are  a  band  of  'em !  I'll 
charge  single. 

[Exeunt  Soldiers, 

Enter  Protaldye, 

Frot,  Tis wonderful  dark!  I  have  lost  my 

man. 
And  dare  not  call  for  him,  lest  I  should  have 
More  followers  than  I  would  pay  wages  to. 
What  throes  am  I  in,  in  this  travel!  These 
'Be  honourable  adventures!  had  I 
1  hat  honest  blood  in  my  veins  again,  queen, 
That  your  feats  and  these  frights  have  drained 

from  mc, 
Honour  should  pull  hard,  ere  it  drew  me 
Into  these  brakes. 

Vitry.  Vvho  goes  there? 


Prot.  Hey  ho ! 
Here's  a  pang  of  preferment ! 

Vitry.  'Heart,  who  goes  there? 

Prot,  He  that  has  no  heart  to  your  ie« 

quaifitance. 
What  shall  I  do  with  my  jewels  and  my  letteif 
My  coflpiece,  that's  too  loose;   good,  my 

boots!—- 
Who  is't  that  spoke  to  me?  Here's  a  fricwL 

Vitry.  We  shall  find  that  p^resently :  stand^ 
As  you  love  your  safety,  stand ! 

Prot,  That  unli^ky  word 
Of  standing,  has  brought  me  to  all  this.  Hold^ 
Or  I  shall  never  stand  you. 

Vitry.  I  should  know 
That  voice.    Deliver! 

Enter  Soldicn. 

Prot.  All  that  I  have 
Is  at  your  service,  gentlemeB;  and  mncli 
Good  may  it  do  you ! 

Vitry.  Zoons,  down  with  liim ! 
Do  you  prate  ? 

Prot.  Keep  your  first  word,  as  yoo  are  geiH 

tlemcn, 
And  let  me  stand !  alas,  what  do  you  mean  i 

2  Sold.  To  tie  you  to  ua^  sir,  bind  you  in 
the  knot 

Of  friendship. 

Prot,  Alas,  sir,  all  the  physic  in  Europe 
Cannot  bind  me. 

Vitry.  You  should  have  jewels  aboot  youp 
Stones,  precious  stones. 

1  Sold.  Captain,  away  !  ponger. 

There's  company  within  hearing;  if  you  stay 
We  are  surprised. 

Vitry.  Let  the  devil  come, 
ni  pillage  this  frigate  a  little  better  yet ! 

3  Sold.  'Foot,  we  are  lost !  th^y  are  upon  ai« 
Vitry.  Ha!  upon  us? 

Make  the  least  noise,  'tis  thy  parting  gasp! 

3  Sold.  Which  way  shall  we  make,  sir? 

Vitry.  Every  man  his  own!  [and  wboi 
Do  you  hear  ?  only  bind  me  before  yoo  ^ 
The  company's  past,  make  this  place  again: 
This  carvet  should  have  better  lading  in  hio« 
You  are  slow;  why  do  you  not  tie  harder? 

I  Sold.  You  are' sure  enougli, 
I  warrant  you,  sir. 

Vitry,  Darkness  befViend  you!  away! 

[EjteuntSoll 

Pro.  What  tyrants  have  I  met  with !  tbey 

leave  me  [ciy. 

Alone  in  the  dark,  yet  vi«>uld  not  have  m 
I  shall  grow  wondrous  melancholy. 
If  I  stay  long  here  without  company :     [en; 
I  was  wont  to  get  a  nap  with  saying  my  piaj* 
ril  see  if  tliey  will  work  upon  me  now. 


were  stiffened  leather  lin'd  with  rosin,  from  whence  a  stiffenM  boot  is  called  Rjaek  boot.  Smt 
therefore  is  eqnivociil,  and  the  too  comnoon  pun;  but  the  allusion  to  the  rosin  is  extremei| 
arvh.  Seward. 

We  canuot  believe  any  pun  was  intended  here. 

•'  And  fear  ofthtgaUQus  (tchkh  is  agentie  consumption  to*t)  only  prefer  it,}  Amended  bt 
Seward. 

But 


Act.5«  Scene  1.]    THE    TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET. 


4M 


Hat  tlien  if  I  should  talk  in  my  sleep,  and 

they  [windpipe, 

He&r  me,  they  would  make  a  recorder  of  my 
Slir  my  throat.    Heaven  be  prais'd !  I  hear 

some  noise ;  [have  fellows. 

It  may  be  new  purchase,  and  then  I  shall 

P^iiry.  They  are  gone  past  hearing:  Now 

to  task,  De  VitryT— 
Help,  help,  as  you  are  men,  help  !  some  cha- 
ritable hand, 
Itelievc  a  poor  distressed  miserable  wretch ! 
Xhieyes,  wicked  thieves,  have  robb'd  me, 

bound  me. 
^  f*^^'  Toot,  [will  betray  us, 

*Would  they  had  ga^'d  you  too !  your  noise 
And  fetch  them  again. 

Vitry.  What  blessed  tongue  spake  tome.^ 
Where,  where  are  you,  sir?" 

Prot,  A  plague  of  your  bawling  throat: 
"We  «re  well  enough,  if  you  have  the.  grace 
To  he  thankful  for't.    Do  but  snore  to  me, 
And  'tis  as  much  as  I  desire,  to  pass 
Away  time  with,  *till  morning;  then  talk 
As  loud  as  yoa  please;    Sir,  I  am  bound  not 

to  stir. 
Wherefore,  lie  still  and  snore,  I  say. 

Vitry.  Then  you  have  met  with  thieves 

loo,  I  see.  [them. 

Prot.  And  desire  to  meet  with  no  more  of 

Vitry,  Alas, 
What  cah  we  suBFer  more?    They  are  far 

enough  Thave,  sir? 

By  this  time ;  have  they  not  all,  ail  that  we 

JPro/.  No,  by  my  faith,  have  they  not,  sir  ! 

I  gave  them  [sir, 

One  trick  to  boot  for  their  learning:  my  boots. 
My  boots  I  I  have  sav'd  my  stock,  and  my 

jewels  in  them. 
And  therefore  desire  to  hear  no  more  of  them. 

Vilry.  Now  blessing  on  your  wit,  sir!  what 

a  duU 
Slave  w^sl,  dream*d  not  of  your  conveyance? 
Help  CO  unbind  me,  sir,  and  Til  undo  you; 
My  life  for  yours,  no  worse  thief  than  myself 
Meets  you  again  this  night ! 

JProt,  Reach  me  thy  hands!  ' 

Vilry,  Here,  sir,  here;  1  could  heat  my 

brains  out, 
That  could  not  think  of  boots. 
Boots,  sir,  wide-topt  boots;  I  shall  love  them 
The  better  whilst  I  live.    But  are  you  sure 
Your  jewels  are  here,  sir? 

Frot,  Sure,  sayst  thou?  ha,  ha,  ha! 

Vitrv.  Soho,  illoho! 

SoifL  Ut'ithin.']  Here,  captain,  here. 

JPr^f.   Foot,  what  do  you  mean,  sir  ? 

Enter  Soldiers, 

Vitry.  A  trick  to  boot,  say  you  ? 
Here,  you  dull  slaves,  purchase,  purchase^^ ! 


The  soul  of  the  rock,  diamonds,  sparkling 

diamonds ! 

Frot.  Tm  betray 'd,  lost,  past  recovery  lost  ? 
As  you  are  men — 

Vitry.  Nay,  rook,  since  you'll  be  prating, 
We*ll share  your  carrion  withyuu.  Uuieyou 
Any  other  conveyance  now,  sir  ? 

1  Sold.  'Foot  here  are  letters. 
Epistles,  familiar  epistles :  we*ll  see      fsiire. 
What  treasure  is  m  them.    They  are  senl'd 

Frot.  Gentlemen  I  [take  all 

As  you  are  gentlemen,  spare  my  letters,  and 
Willinj^l y,  all  I  I'll  give  you  a  release, 
A  general  release,  and  meet  you  here 
To-morrow  with  as  much  more. 

Vitry.  Nay,  since 
You  have  your  tricks,  and  your  conveyances, 
We  will  not  leave  a  wrinkle  otyou  unsearch'd. 
■Frot.   Hark!  there  comes  company;  you 

will  be  betray Vl. 
As  you  love  your  safeties,  beat  out  my  brains; 
I  shall  betray  you  else. 

Vitry.  Treason,  [villainies! 

Unheard-of  treason !   monstrous,  •  monstrous 

Frot,  I  confess  myself  a  traitor;    shew 

yourselves 
Good  subjects,  and  hang  me  up  for*t. 

16W(i.  Ifitbe 
Treason,  the  discovery  will  get  our  pardon. 
Captain. 

Vitry.  'Would  we  were  all  lost,  hang'd, 
QuarterVI,   to  save  this  one,  one  innocent 

prince ! 
Thierry's  poisoned,  by  his  mother  poison'd. 
The  mistress  to  this  stallion ! 
Who,  by  that  poison,  ne  er  shall  sleep  again  ! 

2  Sold.  'Foot,  let  us  mince  him  by  piece* 
Eat  himself  up.  [meal,  *till  h« 

3  Sold.  Let  us  dig  out  his  heart 

Wich  needles,  and  half  broil  him,  like  a  mus- 
sel! [blood's 
Frot.  Such  another  and  I  prevent  you;  my 

Settled  already. 

Vitry.  Here's  tliat  shall  remo%'e  it ! 

Toad,  viper !  Drag  him  unto  Martell ! 

Unnatural  parricide  !  cruel,  bloody  won:an! 
Omnet.  On,  you  dog-fish,  leech,  caterpillar  ! 
Vitry.  A  longer  sight  of  him  will  make  my 
rage  turn 

Pity,  and  with  his  sudden  end  prevent 

Revenge  and  torture  !  wicked,  wicked  Brun<« 
halt !  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Bawdber  and  three  Courtiers, 

1  Cour.  Not  sleep  at  all?  no  means? 

C  Cour,  No  art  can  do  it.  , 

Baw.  I  will  assure  you,  he  can  sleep  no  moi# 
Than  a  hooded  hawk ;  a  centinel  to  him. 
Or  one  of  the  city  constables,  are  tops. 

3  Cour.  How  came  he  so  ? 


^^  Furchasef]  Purchase,  in  the  cant  language  of  the  times,  always  means  any  thing  ao 
i[uired  by  robbery  or  cozening:  thus  Gadshill  says,  in  First  Part  of  Elenry  IV.  actii.  s^.  1, 
*  Give  me  thy  hand,  (hou  shalt  have  a  share  in  qw purchase;  X  am  n  true  man/  See  Mr, 
fl^vens's  note  on  this  passage,        R^ 

VOL.  Ill,  3  O  B€W4. 


^4 


THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORET.    [Act  5.  Seen*  J* 


Why  do  you  crucify  me  thus  with  faces. 
And  gaping  strangely  upon  one  another? 
When  ^ilail  I  rest? 
2  Doctor,  Ob,  sir,  be  patient ! 
ThL  Am  I  not  patient  ?  have  I  notendQr*(i 
More  than  a  mangy  dog,  among  your  duaas? 
Am  I  not  now  your  patient?  Ye  can  make 
Unvvholsome  foois  sleep  for  a  gu^ed  foot- 
cloth"  ; 

Whores  for  a  hot  sin-offering;  yet  I  mustcrave. 
That  feed  ye,  and  protect  ye,  and  proclaim  ve. 
Because  my  power  is  far  above  your  Bearchio^ 
Are  my  diseases  so  ?  can  ye  cure  none, 
But  those  of  equal  ignorance?  Dare  ye  kill  me? 

1  Doctor.  We  do  beseech  your  grace  be 

more  reclaimed** ! 
This  talk  doth  but  distemper  you. 

m.  Well,  I  will  die, 
In  spite  of  all  your  potions !  One  of  yoa  sleep ; 
Lie  down  anci  sleep  here,  that  I  may  belicMii 
What  blessed  rest  it  is  my  eyes  are  robb'd  of! 
See ;  he  can  sleep,  sleep  any  where,  sleep 

now,  [ber  I 

When  he  that  wakes  for  him  can  nevor  sloitt* 
Is't  not  a  dainty  ease  ? 

3  Doctor*  Your  grace  shall  feel  it.       [jen. 

Tin.  Oh,  never,  never  I !  The  eyes  of  Hcsh 
See  but  their  ceitain  motions,  and  tlten  sleep  ; 
The  rages  of  the  ocean  liave  their  slambers. 
And  quiet  silver  calms;  each  violence 
Crowns  in  his  end  a  peace;  but  my  fix*d  fircft 
Shall  never,  never  set! — Who's  that? 

Enter  Martell,  Brunhaliy  De  Viiry,  and 
Soldiers. 

Mart.  No,  woman, 
Mother  of  misobief,  no !  the  day  shall  die  first. 
And  all  good  things  live  in  a  worse  than  tboa 

art*'. 
Ere  thou  shalt  sleep!  dost  thoii  see  him? 

Brun.  Yes,  and  curse  him;  [him. 

And  all  that  love  him,  fool,  and  all  live  by 

Mart.  Why  art  thou  such  a  monster  i 

Brun.  Why  art  thou 
So  tame  a  knave  to  ask  me  ? 

Mart.  Hope  of  hell, 
By  this  fair  holy  light,  and  all  his  wroogSy 
Whicb^  are  above  tny  years,  almost  thy  vice% 
Thou  shalt  not  rest,  nor  feel  more  what  it 

Know  notliing  necessary,  meet  no  society 

^'  Untcholesome  fools  sleeps  for  a  guarded  fvotcloth.]  Seward  is  at  a  loss  to  know  whetber 
the  cuardedfootcloth  is  spoke  of  as  a  *  reward  given  to  the  doctor,'  or  as  <  a  soft  footcioih 
*  guarded  from  pressure,'  for  *  the  use  of  the  patient.'  He  gives  the  preference  to  garded 
(for  so  he  erroneously  spells  it),  i.  e.  lac*d.    This  word  occurs  in  the  Merchant  of  Venice.' 

«♦  Be  wore  reclaim^.]  Seward  proposes  to  read  becalmed,  instead  of  redaini'd :  we  think 
the  text  right. 

6*  And  all  good  things  live  in  a  worse  than  fhou  art.]  The  leaving  out  the  substantive  that 
should  agfee  witli  worse,  renders  this  scarcely  English.  It  might,  easily  be  ameaded  h^ 
reading,  .... 

And  all  good  thmgs  live  m  worse  stcUf;  than  thpu  art, 

Or, in  worse  hell  than  thou  art.  Seward. 

The  meaning  seems  to  be, 

And  all  good  things  live  in  a  worse  {thing)  that  tliou  art^ 

But 


Bow.  They  are  t»o  wise  tliat  dare  knovjr; 
Something's  amiss:  Heav'n  help  all! 
1  Cour,  What  cure  has  he  ? 
Bazv,  Armies  of  those  we  call  physicians ; 
Some  with  cHsters,  some  with  letticc-caps, 
Some  posset'd rinks,  some  pills;  twenty  con- 
sulting liere 
About  a  drench,  as  many  here  to  blood  him; 
Then  comes  a  don  of  Spain,  and  he  prescribes 
More  cooling  opium  than  would  kill  a  Turk, 
Or  quench  a  whore  i'th'  dog-days;  after  him, 
A  wise  Italian,  and  he  cries,  Tie  unto  him 
A  woman  of  fourscore,  whose    bones    are 
marble,  [about  her 

Whose  blood  snow-water,  not  so  much  heat 
As  may  conceive  a  prayer !  after  him. 
An  English  doctor,  with  a  bunch  of  pot-herbs, 
And  he  cries  out  endive  and  suckery, 
W^ith  a  few  mallow-roots  and  butter-milk  ! 
And  talks  of  oil  made  of  a  churchuun's  cha- 
Yet  still  he  wakes.  [rity; 

1  Cour.  But  your  good  honour 
Has  a  prayer  in  store,  if  all  should  fail? 

fiarii.  I  could  have  pray'd,  and  handsomely, 
And  an  ill  raemorj^'— r  [but  age 

3  Cour.  Has  spoil'd  your  primmer. 

Baw.  Yet  if  there  be  a  man  of  fiuth  i^th' 
And  can  pray  for  a  pension—  [court, 

Enter  Thierry  on  a  Bed,  tcith  -Doctors  and 
Attendants. 

2  Cour.  Here's  the  king,  sir 
And  those  that  will  pray  without  pay. 

Bazv.  Then  pray  tor  me  too. 

1  Doctor.  How  does  your  grace  now  feel 

yourself? 

Thi.  What's  that?  [fancy. 

1  Doctor, ,  Nothing  at  all,  sir,   but  your 

Thi.  Tell  ipe. 
Can  ever  these  eyes  more,  shut  up  in  slumbers. 
Assure  my  soul  there  is  sleep  ?  is  there  night 
And  rest  for  human  labours?  do  not  you 
And  all  the  world,  as  I  do,  out- stare  time. 
And  live,  like  fuueral  lamps,  never  extin- 

guish'd? 
Is  there  a  grave  ?  (and  do  not  flatter  me, 
Nor  fear  to  tell  mc  truth)  and  in  that  grave 
Is  there  a  hope  I  shall  sleep?  can  I  die? 
Are  not  my  miseries  immortal  ?     Oh, 
The  happiness  of  him  that  drinks  his  water. 
After  his  weary  day,  and  sleeps  for  ever! 


•  Act*.  Scene  1.]    THE  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  THEODORlilt.  '4&f 


Sue  what  ihall  corse  and  crucify  thee,  feel  in 

thjpself  ^       [science. 

Nothing  but  what  tkon  art,  bane  and  bad  coii- 
'Till  this  man  rest;  but  for  whose  reverence, 
Because  thou  art  his  mother,  I  would  say. 
Whore,  this  shall  be !  Do  you  nod  ?  I'll  waken 
With  my  sword's  point.  [you 

Brun.  I  wish  no  more  of  Heaven, 
Nor  hope  no  more,  but  a  su^cient  anger 
To  torture  thee ! 

Mart,  See,  she  that  makes  you  see,  sir! 
And,  to  your  misery,  still  see  your  mother, 
(The  mi>tber  of  your  woes,  sir,  of  your  waking. 
The  mother  of  your  people's  cries  and  curses, 
Yoar  murdering  mother,  your  malicious  mo- 
ther! /      [hour  now! 

TkL  Physicians,  half  my  state  to  sleep  an 
Is  it  so,  mother  ? 

Brun.  Yes,  it  is  so,  son ; 
And,  were  it  yet  f^in  to  do,  it  should  be. 

Mart.  She  nods  again;  swinge  her^^  ! 
-Thi,  But,  mother, 
fPor  yet  I  love  that  reverence,  and  to  death 
I>are  not  forget  you  have  been  so)  was  this, 
^  This  endless  misery,  this  cureless  malice, 
This  snatching  from  me  all  my  youth  together, 
AU  that  you  made  me  for,  and  happy  mothers, 
Crown'd  withetemal  time  are  proud  to  finish, 
'i>one  by  your  wMi  ? 

JBrttit.  It  was,  and  by  that  will — 

Tki.  Oh,  mother,  do  not  lose  your  name ! 
-     forget  not 

The  touch  of  Nature  in  you,  tenderness! 
^is  all  the  soul  of  woman,  all  the  sweetness : 
Forget  not,  I  beseech  you,  what  are  children, 
J^OT  how  you  havegroau'd  fur  them;  to  what 

Jove 
They  are  born  inherirors,*with  what  care  kept ; 
And,  as  they  rise  to  ripeness,  still  remember 
iHow  they  imp  out  your  age !  and  when  time 

calls  you, 
That  as  an  autumn  flower  you  fall,  forget  not 
How  round  about  your  hearse  they  hang,  like 

Brun.  Holy  fool,  [penons ! 

Whose  patience  to  prevent  my  wrongs  has 

kUI'd  thee. 
Preach  not  to  me  of  punishments  or  fears. 
Or  what  I  ought  to  be;  but  what  I  am, 
A  woman  in  her  liberal  will  defeated, 
In  all  her  greatness  crossed,  io  pleasure  blasted! 
iltfy  angers  have  been  laugh'd  at,  my  ends 

slighted,  [tunes. 

And  all  those  glories  that  had  crown'd  my  for- 


Suflfer'd  by  blasted  virtue  to  be  scattered : 
I  am  the  fruitful  motlier  of  these  angers. 
And  what  such  have  done,  read,  and  know 

Thi.  Heav'n  forgive  you  !  [thy  ruin  ! 

Mart,  She  tells  you  true ;  for  millions  of 

Iier  mischiefs 
Are  now  apparent:  Protaldye  we  have  taken. 
An  equal  ngent  with  her,  to  whose  care, 
After  the  damn'd  defeat  on  you,  she  trusted 

Enter  Messenger. 

The  bnnging-in  of  Leonor  the  bastard. 
Son  to  your  murdered  brother:  her  physician 
By  this  time  is  attached  to  that  damn'd  deviL 

Mess,  Tis  like  he  will  be  so;  for  ere  we 

came. 
Fearing  an  equal  justice  for  his  mischiefs. 
He  drcnch*d  himself. 

Brun,  He  did  like  one  of  mine  then ! 

Thi,  Must  I  still  see  these  miseries  ?  no 

night  [dye 

To  hide  me  from  their  horrors?  ThatProtal- 
See  Justice  fall  upon ! 

Brun.  Now  I  could  sleep  too.    [the  lady. 

Mart,  I'll  give  you  yet  more  poppy:  bring 

Enter  Ordelia. 

AndHeav'n  in  her  embraces  give  him  quiet* 'I 
Madam,  unveil  yourself. 

Ord,  I  do  forgive  you;  .  [for  you. 

And  tho'  you  s  iught  my  blood,  yet  1*11  pray 

Brun.  Art  tliou  alive  ? 

Afart,  Now  could  you  sleep  ? 

Brun.  For  ever.  [or  quiet. 

Mart.  Go  carry  her  without  wink  of  sleep. 
Where  her  strong  knave  Protaldye's  broke  o' 

th'  wheel, 
And  let  his  cries  and  roars  be  musick  to  heri 
I  mean  to  waken  her. 

Thi.  Do  her  no  wrong  ! 

Mart,  Nor  right^*,  as  you  love  justice ! 

Brun.  I  will  think ; 
And  if  there  be  new  curses  in  oI4  nature, 
I  have  a  soul  dare  send  them ! 

Mart.  Keep  her  waking !        [Exit  Brun» 

Thi.    What's   that    appear)   so  sweetly  f 

There's  that  face — 

Mart,  Be  moderate,  lady  ! 

Thi.  That  angel's  face — 

Mart.  Go  nearer.  [soul 

2^hi,  Martell,  I  cannot  last  long !  See  the' 
(I  see  it  perfectly)  of  my  Ordelia, 
The  heav'nly  figure  of  her  sweetness,  there  ! 

*•  Swing  ker.]  Former  editions.  Swinge,  which  properly  signifies  to  beat  with  rods,  is 
probably  die  tru6  word.  Seward. 

^^  And  Heav*n  in  her  embraces  give  him  quiet.]  The  editors  of  1750  pretend  to  have 
amended  this  passage  by  substituting  give  for  gives.  So,  p.  438,  1st  col.  I.  18,  to  have 
alter^  promise  to  promises;  p.  431>,  2d  c'ul.  1.  16,  letches  to  leeches;  p.  451,  2d  col.  1.  24, 
keeping  to  keep;  same  p.  and  col.  I.  27,  ye  to  eye  ;  p.  454,  1st  col.  1.  40,  myxx>  thy;  p.  402, 
1st  col.  i.  17,  praises  to  prayers;  and  p.  449,  1st  col.  1.  -30,  to  have  placed  the  name  Mai^ 
tell  as  being  spoken  to,  instead  of  n&  speaker.    The  quarto  is  right  in  all. 

^*  Noa  right. \  This  seems  corrupt.    The  context  requires,  no  heii  right y  or  something 
to  that  eflfect.    Ui 
i  her  tko  iavour/. 


f  not  corrupt  it  may^  by  a  licentious  conbtruction,  be  interpreted, 

V 


Shew 


SOS 


forgive 


THli  TRAGEDY  OF  THIERRY  AND  TIlEODOfeET.    tAct5.  S<Me& 


4oe 

Forgive  me,  gods !  ic  comes !  Divinest  sub- 
stance !  [sex, 
Kneel,  kneel,  kneel,  every  one !  Saint  ot  thy 
If  it  be  for  my  cruelty  thou  comest — 
Do  ye  see  her,  lioa  ? 

iiart.  Yes,  sir;  and  you  shall  know  her.  . 

Thi.  Down,  down  agaiul  To  be  reveng'd 

for  blood ! 
Sweet  spirit,  I  am  ready.   She  smiles  on  me! 
Oh,  blessed  sign  of  peace! 

Mart.  Go  nearer,  lady. 

Ord.  I  come  to  make  you  happy. 

Thi.  Hear  you  that,  sirs?  [crifice! 

iShe  comes  to  crown  my  soul :  away,  get  sa- 
W^iiilbt  I  with  holy  honours — 

Mart.  She's  alive,  sir. 

Thi,  In  everlasting  life;  I  know  it,  friend: 
Oh,  happy,  happy  soul ! 

Ofd.  Alas,  i  live,  sirj 
A  mortal  woman  still. 

Thi  Can  spirits  weep  too  ?  [Lady, 

MurL  She  is  no  spirit,  »r;  pray  kiss  her. 
Be  very  Rciiile  to  hiui ! 

Thi'  Stay  I — Slie's  warm  ;  [brightness. 
And,  by  my  life,  tl»e  same  lips!  TcU  me, 
Are  you  the  same  Ordella  still? 

Mart.  The  name,  sir,  [from  ruin. 

Whom  Heav'ns  and  my  good  angel  stay'd 

Thi  Kiss  me  again ! 

Ord,  The  same  still,  still  your  servant. 

Thi  'Tis  bhe  1  I  know  her  now,  Martell. 

Sit  down,  sweet !  [slumber 

Oh,  hlesiiM  aud  happiest  woman  I -—A  dead 
Ijcgius  to  creep  upon  me :  oli,  my  jewel  I 

Enter  Messenger  and  Memherge, 

Ord.  Oh,  sleep,  my  lord ! 

Thi  My  joys  are  too  much  for  me  ! 


Mess,  Brunhalt,  impatient  of  her  coostxauH 

to  see 
Protaldye  tortur*d,  has  choak'd  herselL 

Mart,  No  more ! 
Her  sins  go  with  her! 

Thi  Love  t  must  die;  I  faint: 
Close  up  my  glasses! 

1  Doctor.  1  he  queen  faints  too,  and  dead!/. 
2%i  One  dying  kiss ! 

Ord.  My  last,  sir,  and  my  dearest*'  ! 
And  now,  close  my  eyes  too ! 

Thi  Thou  perfect  woman  I — 
Martell,   th^  kingdom's  yours:  take  Mem* 

berge  to  you, 
And  keep  my  line  alive !  Nay,  weep  not,  lady! 
Take  me !  I  go. 

Ord.  Take  me  too !  Farewell,  HoDour ! 

IDiebotL 

2  Doctor.  They're  gone  for  ever. 

Mart.  The  peace  of  happy  souls  go  aftrr 

them ! 
Bear  them  unto  their  last  beds,  wliilst  I  study 
A  tomb  to  speak  their  loves  whih»i  old  Tune 

lasteth. 
I  am  your  king  in  sorrows. 

Omnes.  We  your  subjects!  [near  us! 

Mart.  De  Vitry,  for  your  services'®,  be 
Whip  out  these  instruments  of  this  mad  bid- 

ther  [caote 

From  court,  and  all  good  people;  and,  be- 
She  was  born  noble,  let  that  tide  find  her 
A  private  grave,  but  neither  tongue  nor  ho- 
nour''  I 
And  now  lead  on! — ^They  that  shall  read 

this  story. 
Shall  find  that  Virtue  lives  in  good,  not  glorj- 
lExeunt  omneu 


^^  My  last,  sir,  and  my  deareat.']  There  are  two  senses  of  this,  which  the  reader  wiH 
please  to  take  his  choice  of.     If  the  above  points  be  right,  last  aud  dearest  relate  to  her  kiasf 
if  we  point  with  the  old  editions  (which  the  suspicion  of  another  sense  made  me  turn  to) 
cb(  My  lai?t  sir,  and  mv  dearest, 

>  The  sense  will  be,  my  last  aud  dearest  lord  \  For  sir  is  often  Vus'd  in  this  its  original  sense. 

Seward. 

Ordella  had  no  other  lordt.  The  sense  obviously  is,  *  Take  my  last  kiss,  and  the  moU 
affectionate  I  ever  gave.* 

^°  For  your  service.]  Services  was  probably  the  original  word  here. 

'.'  But  neither  tongue  nor  honoui:]  Both  Mr.  Theobald  and  Mr.  Syropson  would  reject 
tongue  here,  and  read  tomb,  but  s^irely  without  sufficient  reason :  for  tongue  signifies  the 
funeral  oration,  honour  the  escutcheoUs  and  other  ceremonies  of  tlie  funeral,  togedjer  *%itli 
the  monument,  ot  whatever  may  shew  respect  to  the  dec^as'd.  As  to  tlie  character  of  Bn«* 
/wit,  or  Brunhaudy  ihoUi^h  it  may  [Perhaps  be  thought  tod  shocking  to  appear  upon  the  sti^e, 
history  has  still  represented  her  as  a  worse  devil  than  our  poets  have  done.  Thierry  m 
Thcodoret,  or  Theodibert,  were  her  grand-children,  wliose  father  she  had  poisoned  when  he 
Came  of  ajj;e,  in  order  to  keep  the  government  in  iier  own  hands.  She  irritated  Tkitny 
aguiiidt  Theodibert,  whom  she  caub'd  him  to  slay,  and  then  poisoifd  Thierry,  in  hopes  that 
the  slates  would  have  bubmitted  to  her  goveniiucnt;  but  her  horrid  wickednesses  bciugiai4 
open  to  the  peers  of  France,  she  was  accusM  of  having  been  the  murdress  of  ten  kiugi» 
bebide  debauching  her  grand-child  Thierry,  making  him  put  away  a  virtuous  wife,  aiul  pit> 
vidiug  him  with  misses.  SliQ  was  coridemi/d  to  the  rack,  which  she  suiferd  three  days,  wo 
then  carry 'd  about  the  camp  upon  a  camel's  back,  afterwards  ty  d  by  the  feci  toawiidmsre, 
ii«d  so  dush'd  iu  pieces,  Seutard* 


TII£ 


THE  WOMAN-HATER, 


This  Play  iras  originally  printed  in  t^axtto  in  the  year  1607.  It  was  afterwards  reYived  by 
Sir  William  Davenant,  who  added  a  second  title,  Or,  The  Hungry  Courtier,  and  wrote  a 
new  Prologue  to  it,  printed  in  his  Works,  p.  239,  and  in  the  quarto  of  1^49.  The  titl« 
page  of  the  latter  edition  ascribes  it  to  both  Authors :  both  the  Original  and  Davenant^s 
Prologues,  however,  speak  of  it  as  the  production  of  but  one;  and  Langbaine  positively 
says  it  was  one  of  those  plays  which  Fletcher  wrote  alon«.  It  has  not  been  acted  manj 
years. 


PROLOGUE. 

I 

GesTTLCMfiN,  inductions'  are  out  of  date,  a'^.d  a  Prologue  in  Terse  is  as  stale  as  a  black 
^Ivec  cloak,  and  a  bay  garland ;  therefore  you  shall  have  it  plain  prose,  thus :  if  there  be 
any  amongst  you  that  come  to  hear  lascivious  scenes,  let  them  depart ;  for  I  do  pronounce 
this,  to  the  utter  discomfort  of  all  two-penny  gallery-men,  you  shall  have  no  bawdry  in  it : 
or  if  there  be  any  lurking  amongst  you  in  comers,  with  table-books,  who  have  some  hope  to 

find  fit  matter  to  feed  his nialice  on,  let  them  clasp  them  up,  and  slink  away,  or  stay  and 

be  converted.  For  he  that  made  this  Play  means  to  please  auditors  so,  as  he  may  be  au 
auditor  himself  hereafter,  and  not  jpurchase  diem  with  the  dear  loss  of  his  cars.  I  dare  not 
eall  it  Comedy  or  Tragedy ;  'tis  perfectly  neither :  a  Play  it  is,  which  was  meant  to  make  you 
laugh ;  how  it  will  please  you,  is  not  written  in  my  part :  for  though  ^ou  should  like  it  to-day, 
perhaps  yourselves  know  not  how  you  should  digest  it  to-morrow.  Some  things  in  it  you 
may  meet  with,  which  are  out  of  the  common  road  :  a  duke  there  is,  and  the  scene  lies  in 
Italy,  as  those  two  things  lightly  we  never  miss.  But  you  shall  not  find  in  it  the  ordinary 
and  oven-woru  trade  of  jesting  at  lords,  and  courtiers,  and  citizens,  without  taxation  of  any 
particular  or  new  vice  by  them  found  out,  but  at  the  persons  of  them :  such,  he,  that  made 
this,  thinks  vile,  and  for  his  own  part  vows,  that  he  did  never  think^  but  that  a  lord,  loni* 
born,  might  be  a  wise  man,  and  a  couriier  an  honest  maa^. 


PROLOGUE  AT  THE  REVIVAL. 


Ladies,  takc't  as  a  secret  in  your  ear,- 
Instead  of  homage,  and  kind  welcome  here, 
I  heartily  could  wish  you  all  were  gone ; 
Tor  if  you   stay,  good   faith^  we  arc  un- 
done. 


Alas !  you  now  expect,  the  usual  ways 
Of  our  address,  which  is  vour  sex's  praiso; 
But  we  to-night,  unluckily,  must  speak 
Such  things   will  make  your  lovers'  heart* 
strings  break, 

"  Inductions.']  Such  as  precede  Cynthia's  Revels,  Bartholomew^Fair,  The  Taming  of  the 
Shrew,  and  many  other  plays  of  that  period.  By  the  former  of  those  we  learn,  tliat  it  was 
nsual  for  the  speaker  of  a  prologue,  in  those  times,  to  be  habited  in  a  tlack  cloak:  it  is 
possible  the  custom  of  dressing  in  black,  which  continued  to  be  the  fashion  for  prologue- 
speakers  until  very  lately,  was  derived  from  hence.         R, 

*  From  this  prologue  as  well  as  a  thousand  other  passages  in  our  authors,  it  is  very 
trident  that  their  plays  were  in  the  age  they  liv'd  remarkable  for  the  decency  and  delicacy 
of  their  language;  tliough  several  of  their  expressions  are  become  now  very  gross,  ond  are 
apt  to  give  olfeuce  to  modest  ears;  bu  they  ou»hc  to  be  judjed  by  the  fashion  vi  the  age  they 
jiived  iu^  not  by  tliat  which  now  reigns.        Smard. 

■  Be-lie, 


4T0 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


Be-lie  your  vircaes,  nnd  your  beaudefl  stain, 
Witli  words,  coutriv'd  long  since,  in  your 

disdain. 
'TIS  strange  you  stir  not  yet ;  not  all  this  while 
Lift  up  your  fans  to  hide  8  scornful  sniile ; 
Whisper,  or  jog  your  lords  to  steal  away. 
So  leave  us  t'act,  unto  ourselves^ our  play: 
Then  sure,  there  may  be  hope^  you  can 

subdue 
Your  patience  to  endure  an  act  or  two; 
Nay  more,  when  you  are  told  our  poet's  rag^ 
Pursues  but  one  example,  which  that  age 
Wherein  heliv'd  produc'd;  and  we  rely 
Kot  on  tlie  trutli,  but  the  variety. 
His  muse  believ'd  not  what  she  then  did  write; 
Her  wings  were  wont  to  make  a  nobler  flight. 


[Act  1.  Scene  h 


did 


Soar'd  high,  and  to  the  stars  your 

raise; 

For  which,  full  twenty  years  be  wore  the  bays. 
'Twas  he  reduced  Evadne  from  her  scorn, 
And  taught  the  akd  Aspatm  how  to  moani; 
Gave  Arethusa's  love  a  glad  relief; 
And  made  Panthea  elegant  in  grief. 
If  those  great  trophies  of  his  noble  moae 
Cannot  one  humour  'gainst  your  sex  excuse^ 
W-bich  we  present  to-ntgbt,  yoo^U  find  a  wiqf 
How  to  make  good  tlie  Ubel  in  our  piay : 
So  you  are  cruel  to  yourselves;  whibt  he 
(Safe  in  the  fame  of  his  integrity) 
Will  be  a  prophet,  not  a  poet  thought^ 
And  this  fine  web  last  long,  tho*  loowlj 

wrought. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 

Duke  OP  Milan,  in  lave  with  Oriana, 

Count  Va LORE. 

GoNDARiNo,  the  Wonian-Hater. 

Arrigo,  a  Courtier, 

Lucio^  a  weak  formal  Statesman. 

Lazarillo,  a  voluptuous  Smell-Feast, 

BoT,  Lazarillo^ s  Servant, 

JMercer,  a  JDu^ey  and  an  affected  admirer  of 

Learning. 
Pandar. 


Two  Intelltgencers. 
Secretary  to  Lucia, 
Gentleman. 
Servants,  ike, 

WOWBK. 

Ortana,  Sister  to  Valort* 

A  deaf  Gentlewoman. 
Ladies. 


SCENE,  Milan4 

ACT  I. 


SCKNE  I. 
Unier  Duke,  Arrigo,  and  Lucio, 

Duke,  *nriS  now  the   sweetest  time    for 

■*•      sleep ;  the  ui^ht  is 
Scarce  spent:  Arrigo,  what's  o'clock? 

Jrr,  Past  four.  [up? 

Duke.  Is  it  so  much,  and  yet  the  morn  not 
See  yonder,  where  the  bhame-lhc*d  maiden 

comes : 
Into  our  sight  how  gently  doth  she  slide, 
Hiding  her  chaste  cheeks,  like  a  modest  bride, . 
"With  a  red  veil  of  blushes;  as  is  she^, 
.Even  such  all  modest  virtuous  women  be! 
,  Why  thinks  your  lordship  I  am  up  so  soon  ? 


Lucio.  About  some  weighty  state-plot. 

Duke.  And  what  thinks 
Your  knighthood  of  it  ? 

A?T,  I  do  think,  to  cure  [wealth. 

Some  strange  corruptions  in  the  common* 

Duke.  You're  well  conceited  of  TourselTCS. 

to  think  ^ 

I  chuse  you  out  to  bear  me  company 
In  such  alTairs  and  business  of  state : 
But  am  not  I  a  pattern  for  all  princes. 
That  break  my  soft  sleep  for  my  subjectir 
Am  I  not  careful? very  provident?        [good? 

Lucio.  Your  grace  is  careful. 

Arr.  Very  provident^  [working  plots 

Dulie,  Nay,  knew  ybti  how  my*  senou^ 


3  As  if  she.]  This  nonsensical  lection  is  in  all  editions  but  tlie' first  quarto, 
^  Mtf  serious  working  plots.]  I  never  think  ii  right  to  discard  good  sense  because  another 
readnif  appears  preferable,  but  a  compound  word,  secret-working, occurred  at  first  siehLaad 
was  rejected  as  unnecessary,  'till  reading  three  lines  below  Arrigos  answer. 

You  secretly  will  cross  some  other  state, 
which  seems  to  irai.ly  something  of  secrecy  being  meation'd  before,  the  conjecture  scem'd 
much  more  probable.        Sevard^  /  *^ 

Concern 


Act  i.  Seefle  l.} 


THE  WOMAN-HATEB. 


4ft 


CoDcrra  the  whole  estates  of  all  my  sul^ects, 
Ay,    and  their    lives;    then,    Lucio,    thou 

.wouldst  s»wear, 
I  were  a  loviug  prince. 

jMcio.  I  think  your  grace 
Intends  to  walk  the  puhhc  streets  disguised. 
To  see  the  streetb'  disorders. 

Duke,  Tis  not  so.  [states, 

Arr,  You  secretly  will  cross  some  other 
That  do  consf^ire  against  you. 

Duke,  Weii^htier  fkr:  [cause; 

You  are  my  friends,  and  you  shall  have  tlie 
I  break  my  sleeps  thus  soon  to  see  a  wench. 

Lucio.  YouVe  wondrous  careful  for  your 

subjects'  good ! 

Arr,  You  are  a  very  loving  prince  indeed ! 

Duke,  ThiA  care  I  take  for  tliem,  when 

their  dull  eyes 
Are  clos»*d  with  heavy  slumbers. 

Arr.  Then  you  rise 
To  see  your  wenches. 

Lucio.  VVliat  Milan  beauty  hath  the  powV 
To  pharm  her  soverei);n*s  eyes*,  and  break  his 

sleeps  f 

Duke.  Sister  to  count  Valore !  she's  a  maid 
Would  make  a  prince  foiget  his  throne  and 

state. 
And  lowly  kiieel  to  her:  the  general  fate 
Of  all  mortality,  is  hers  to  give ; 
As.  she  disposeth,  so  we  die  and  live. 

Lucio,  My  lord,  the  day  grows  clear;  the 

court  will  rise.  [head  ^, 

Duke  We  stay  too  long.— Is  theumhrana's 
As  we  commanded,  sent  to  the  sad  Gonda- 
Our  general  ?  Crino, 

Arr.  Tis  sent. 

Duke.  But  stay !  where  shines 
That  light? 

Arr,  Tis  in  the  chamber  of  Lazarillo. 

Duke.  Lazarillo?  what  is  he? 

Arr,  A  courtier,  my  loi  d ; 
And  one  that  I  wonder  your  grace  knows  not, 

for  [predecessors, 

H^.hatb  followed  your  court,  and  your  last 
From  place  to  place,  any  time  this  seven  year, 
As  faithfully  as  your  spits  and  your  dripping- 

.pans 
Have  done,  and  almost  as  greasily. 
Duke,  Oh,  we  know  him:   as  we  have 
heard,  he  keeps 
A  cidendar  of  all  tlie  femoua  dishes 


Of  meat,  that  have  been  in  the  court,  e*er 

since  [can  thrust* 

Our  great-grandfather's  time;  and  when  hm 
in  at  no  table,  lie  makes  liis  meat  of  that. 

Lucio.  The  very  s;inie,  my  lord. 

puke,  A  courtier  call'st  thou  him? 
Believe  me,  Lucio,  there  he  many  such 
About  our  court,  respected,  us  they  think, 
Ey'n  by  oorself.     With  thee  I  will  be  plain: 
We  princes  do  use  to  prefer  many  for  no- 
thing, 
And  to  take  particular  and  free  knowledge, 
Almost  in  the  nature  of  acquaintance^  of 

many 
Whom  we  do  use  only  for  our  pleasures; 
And  do  give  largely  to  numbers, 
INlore  out  of  policy  to  be  thought  liberal. 
And   by  that  means  to  make   the  people 

strive 
To  deserve  our  love,  than  to  reward 
Any  particular  desert  of  theirs  [hear 

To  whom  we  give !  and  do  suffer  ourselves  to 
Flatterers,  more  for  recreation 
Than  for  love  of  it,  tho'  we  seldom  hate  it : 
And  yet  we  know  all  these;  and  when  wtf 

please,  [about. 

Can  touch  the  wheel,  and  turn  their  names 

Lucio,  I  wonder  they  that  know   their 
'  states  so  well, 
Should  fancy  such  base  slaves. 

Duke,  Thou  wonder'st,  Lucio  ?  [Milan, 
Dost  not  thou  think,  if  thou  wert  duke  of 
Thou  shouldst  be  fluttered  ? 

Lucio.  I  know,  my  lord,  I  would  not. 

Duke,  Why,  so  I  thought  'till  I  was  duke; 

I  thought 
I  should  have  left  me  no  more  flatterers 
Than  there  are  now  plain-dealers ;  and  yet. 
For  all  this  my  resolution,  ]  am  most 
Palpably  flatter'd :  the  poor  man  may  loath 
Covctousness  and  flattery,  but  fortune  will 
Alter  the  mind  when  the  wind  turns;  therv 

may 
Be  well  a  little  conflict,  but  it  will  drive 
The  billows  before  it.    Arrigo,  it  grows  latj* 
For  see,  fair  Tethys  hath  undone  the  bars 
To  Phcebus*  team  ;  and  his  nnrivard  lit^ht 
j  Hath  chas'd  the  morning's  modest  blush  away; 
Now  must  we  to  our  love.     Bright  Paphiau 

(jueen, 
'  Thou  Cytherean  goddess^  that  delights 


^  Her  sovereign  e^.]  First  quarto  and  Seward  rend  as  in  text, 

^  Tke  umbrana.]  In  another  passsige,  this  fish  is  called  an  umbrane;  and  is  probably  the 
same  which  Cotgrave  describes  in  t!e  following  manner,  under  the  name  of  an  ttwAr/ne: 

*  A  great-«yed,  rouiid'tongued,  smaU-tootbed,  and  holesome  sea-fish,  which  hath  certain© 

*  barres  over  croase  lier  backe,  and  growing  often  to  the  bignesse  of  a  maigre,  is  sometimes 

*  taken  for  it.'  Florio,  in  his  *  Worlde  of  Wordes,'  folio,  1598,  voce  umbrine,  calls  it  *  a 
'  kinde  of  fish,  which  some  take  to  be  the  halybut;'  and  Cotgrave,  who,  as  before,  says  it  is 
sometimes  taken  for  a  maigre^  gives  the  following  account  of  the  latter:  *  A  great  and  skalie 

*  4sb,  havin^Au wattle  OB-his  chinne,  two  holes  on  the  top  of  his  beake  neerc"  his  eyes;  and 

<  Uva  stones  within  his  head  of  some  vertue  Xas  is  supposed)  against  tiie  cholicke:    the 

*  French  do  tearme  him  thus,  not  bet^ause  he  is  leane,  but  because  by  the  whitenesse  of  his 

<  fash  he  seems  to ;  hovsoeT^r.  and  howsoever  he  be  dressed,  lie  is  reasonable  eood 

III 


«r« 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


[Act  1.  Soeac  % 


To  have  devonrM  her,  with  more  longing  ttgkt 
Expect  the  coining  of  some  hardj  kuight. 
That  might  have  quelL'd  his  pride,  and  set 

her  free, 
Than  I^with  longing  sight  have  look'd  for  thee. 

Bov.   Your  Perseus  is  come,  master,  that 

will  destroy  him ; 
The  very  comfort  of  whose  presence  shuts 
The  monster  hanger  from  your  yelping  fiitfc 

Laz,  Brief,  hoy,  brief! 
Discourse  the  service  of  each  several  tahk 
Compendiously. 

Bay,  Here  is  a  bill  of  all,  sir* 

Lax,  Give  it  me! 
A  bill  of  all  the  several  services  this  d§,f 
Appointed  for  every  table  in  the  court: 
Ay,  this  is  it  on  which  my  hopes  rely ; 
Within  this  paper  all  my  joys  are  closTd! 
Boy,  open  it,  and  eead  it  with  reverence^ 

Boy.  For  th'  captain  of  the  guard's  tohk*^ 

three  chines 
Of  beef,  and  two  joles  of  sturgeon. 

Las.  A  portly  service,  [table^ 

But  gross,  gross.    Proceed  to  th'duke^  own 
Dear  boy,  to  the  duke's  own  table ! 

Boy*  r  or  the  duke's  own  table^ 
The  bead  of  an  umbrana. 

LoM.  Is  it  possible  ? 
Can  Heaven  be  so  propitious  to  the  duke? 

Boy,  Yes,  I'll  assure  you,  sir,  'tis  possible; 
Heaven  is  so  propitious  to  him. 

Laz,  Why  then, 
He  is  the  richest  prince  alive!  He  were 
The  wealthiest  monarch  in  all  Europe,*  had  he 
No  other  territories,  dominions, 
Provinces,  seats,  nor  palaces,  but  only 
That  umbrane's  head. 

Boy.  Tis  very  fresh  and  sweet,  sir ; 
The  nsh  was  taken  but  this  uight,  and  the 

head, 
As  a  rare  novelty,  appointed  by  [table, 

Special  commandment  for  tlic  doke%  own 
This  dinner. 

Laz,  If  poor  an  worthy  I  may  come  to  eat 
Of  this  most  sacred  dish,  I  liere  do  vow 
(If  that  blind  huswife  Fortune  will  bestow 
But  means  on  me)  to  keep  a  somptoooi 

house, 
A  board  groaning  under  the  heavy  burden 
Of  the  beast  that  cheweth  tlie  cud. 
And  die  fowl  that  cutteth  the  air:  it  shall 
Not,  like  the  table  of  a  country  justice. 
Be  sprinkled  over  with  all  manner  of 
Chenp  sallads,    sliced     beef,    giblets,  and 

pettitoes. 
To  fill  up  room ;  nor  should  there  stand 
Any  great,  cumbersome,  un-cut-up  piesy 
At  the  nether  end,  filled  with  moss  and 

stones. 
Partly  to  make  a  show  with,  and  partly 
To  keep  the  lower  mess  from  eating* ;  nor  shrfl 

My 

«  The  haer  meas,]  That  is^  tliose  who  used  to  set  at  the  table  below  the  salt;  a  costom 
frequently  mentioned  in  our  ancient  writerf«    Mr,  Whaliey  gives  tha  foilowiog  accaunt  of 


In  stirrinp;  glances,  and  art  still  thyself 
More  toying  than  thy  team  of  sparrows  be; 
Thou  laughing  Ereciua,  oh,  inspire 
Her  heart  witli  love,  or  lessen  my  desire! 

[Exeunt. 
SCENE  II. 
Eater  LazarUlo  and  Boy. 
Laz,  Go,  run,  search,  pry  in  every  nook 
and  angle 
O'th' kitchens,  larders,  and  pastcries ; 
Know   what    meats    boil'd,    bak'd,    roast, 
stcw'd,  fried,  or  sous'd,  ("directly, 

At  this  dinner,  to  be  serv'd  directly,  or  in- 
To  every  several  table  in  the  court; 
Be  gone! 

Bay,  1  run ;  but  not  so  fast  as  "3 
Your  mouth  will  do  upon   the  stroke  of 
eleven.  '  [Exit, 

Laz.   What  an  excellent  thing  did  God 
bestow  [stomach! 

Upon  man,  when  lie  did  give  him  a  good 
What  unbounded  graces  there  are  pour*d 
Upon  them  that  have  the  continual  command. 
Of  the  very  best  of  these  blessings!  Tis 
An  eicellcnt  thing  to  be  a  prince;  he  is 
Serv'd  with  such  ulmirable  variety  of  fare. 
Such  innumerable  choice  of  delicates; 
His  tables  arc  full  fraught  with  most  nou- 
rishing food,  [wines ; 
And  his  cupboards  heavy  laden  with  rich 
His  court  is  still  fiU'd  with  most  pleasing 

varieties! 
In  the  summer  his  palace  is  full  of  sreen-geese. 
And  in  winter  it  swarmeth  woodcocks. 
Oh,  thou  goddei<s  of  plenty ! 
Fill  me  this  day  with  some  rare  delicates, 
And  I  will  every  year  most  constantly. 
As  this  day,  celebrate  a  sumptuous  feast 
(If  thou  wilt  send  me  victuals)  in  thine 

honour! 
And  to  it  shall  be  bidden,  for  thy  sake, 
Ev'n  all  the  valiant  stomachs  in  the  court; 
All  short-cloak'd  knights,    aqd    all  cross* 

gartered  gentleioen ; 
All  pump  and  pantofle,  foot-cloth  riders; 
Wito  all  the  swarming  generation 
Of  lone  stocks,  short  pained  hose,  and  huge 
stuffM  doublets :  [yet 

All  these  shall  eat,  and,  which  is  more  than 
Hatli  e'er  been  seen,  they  shall  be  satisfied ! — 
I  wonder  my  ambassador  returns  not. 

Enter  Boy. 

Boy.  Here  I  am,  master. 

Laz.  And  welcome ! 
Never  did  tliat  sweet  virgin  in  lier  smock, 
Faircheek'd  Andromeda,  when  to  the  rock 
Her  ivory  limbs  were  chained,  and  straight 

before 
A  huge  sea-monster,  tumbling  to  the  shore. 


Aet  I.  Scene  S»] 


THE  WOMAN-HATKR. 


478 


My  meat  come  in  snenking^  like  the  cit^service, 
One  dish  a  Quarter  of  an  hour  after  nnotlier, 
A tuigone  as  if  theyhad  appointed  to  meet  there. 
And  had  mistook  the  hoar;  nor  should  it, 
like  the  new  court  service,  come  in  iu  haste, 
As  if  it  fain  would  be  gone  ag«in,  all  courses 
A  t  once,  like  a  hunting  breakfast ;  but  I 
Would  have  my  several  courses,  and  my  dishes 
Well  Hll'd :  my  first  course  should  be  brought  in 
After  llie  ancient  manner,  by  a  score 
Of  old  bleei^y'd  servingmen,in  long  blue  coats, 
(Marry,  they  shall  buy  silk,  facing,  and  buttons 
Themselves)  but  that's  by  the  way. 

Boj(.  Master, 
The  time  calls  on ;  will  you  be  walking  ? 

Laz,  Follow,  boy,  follow! 
Mt  gats  were  half  an  hour  since  in  the  privy 

kitchen.  [Ereunt, 

SCENE  IIL 
Enter  Valore  and  Oriana. 

OrL  Faith,  brother,!  must  needs  ^o yonder. 
Vol,  And  i'faith,  sister,  what  will  you  do 
yonder  ? 
OrL  I  know  the  lady  Honoria  will  be  glad 


Ori,  Ay,  bat  they  say  one  shall  see  &i\e 
The  court.  [sights  at 

VaL  rU  tell  you  what  you  shall  see ; 
You  shall  see  many  faces  of  man*s  making, 
For  you  shall  find  very  few  as  God 
Left  them :  and  you  shall  see  many  legs  too; 
Amongst  the  rest  you  shall  behold  one  pair, 
TImj  feet  of  which  were  in  times  past  sock« 

less,  but  are  now,  fthiugs). 

Thro'  the  change  of  time  (that  alters  all 
Very  strangely  become  the  legs  of  a  knight 
And  a  courtier;  another  pair  you  shall  see. 
That  were  heir-apparent  tegs  to  a  glover, 
These  tegs  hope  shortly  to  b^  lionourable ; 
When  they  pass  by  they  will  bow,  and  tiie 

mouth  [courtship ; 

To  these  legs  will  seem  to  offer  you  some 
It  will  swear,  but  it  will  lie ;  hear  it  not! 

Ori  Why,  and  are  not  these  fine  sights? 

Vai.  Sister, 
In  seriousness  you  yet  are  young,  and  fiur ; 
A  fiiir  yonng  maid,  and  apt*-> 

Om.  Apt? 

VaL  Exceeding  apt; 
Apt  to  be  drawn  to— - 

Ori.  To  what?  [dispraise; 

VaL  To  that  you  should  not  be ;    tis  no 
She  is  not  b  id  diat  hath  desire  to  ill, 
But  she  that  hath  no  power  to  rule  that  will : 
For  there  you  shall  be  woo*d  in  other  kinds 
Tlian  vet  your  years  have  known ; 
The  ciuetest  men  will  seem  to  throw  them- 

selves 
As  vassals  at  your  service,  kiss  your  hand. 
Prepare  you  bauquets,  masques,  shows,  all 

inticeroents 
That  wit  and  lust  together  can  devise. 
To  draw  a  lady  from*  the  state  of  grace 


Tot 

VaL  Glad  to  see  you?  Faith,  the  ladv 
lionoria  cares  for  yea  as  she  doth  for  all 
Otlier  young  ladies;  she  is  glad  to  see  you. 
And  will  shew  you  the  privy-garden,  and  tell 

you  [you  have 

How  many  sowns  the  duchess  had.  .Marry,  if 
fiver  an  oln  unde,  that  would  be  a  lord. 
Or  ever  a  kinsman  that  hath  done  a  monder, 
Or  committed  a  robbery,  and  will  j^ve 
Good  store  of  mone^^  to  procure  his  pardon. 
Then  the  bdy  Honorta  will  be  glad  to  see 

you. 

the  manner  in  which  our  ancestors  were  usually  seated  at  their  meals :  <  Tlie  tables  being 

*  long,  the  salt  was  commonly  placed  about  the  middle,,  and  ser\'ed  as  a  kind  of  boundary  to 

*  tlie  different  quality  of  the  guests  invited.    Those  of  distinction  were  ranked  above ;  the 

*  space  below  was  assigned  to  the  dependants,  or  inferior  relations  of  the  master  of  the 
'  house.     An  allusion  to  this  custom  (x:curs  in  a  satire  of  bishop  Hall.    As  it  is  but  sliort, 

*  the  reader  perhaps  will  not  be  displeased  if  I  transcribe  the  whole : 

<*  A  gentle  squire  would  gladly  entertain 

''  Into  his  house  some  trencher  chaplain ; 

**  Some  willing  man,  that  might  instruct  liis  sons, 

^  And  that  wonld  stand  to  good  conditions. 

**  First,  that  he  lie  upon  the  truckle  bed, 

*'  Whilst  his  young  master  lieth  o*cr  his  head. 

^  Secondly,  that  he  do  on  no  default, 

"  Ever  presume  to  tit  above  the  salt, 

**  Third,  tliat  he  never  change  his  trencher  twice* 

^  Fourth,  that  he  use  all  common  courtesies ; 

^  Sit  bare  at  meals,  and  one  half  rise  and  wait. 

^  Last,  that  he  never  his  young  master  beat, 

**  But  he  must  ask  his  mother  to  define,  / 

'<  How  many  jerks  she  would  his  breech  should  line. 

^  All  tliese  observed,  he  could  contented  be, 

^  To  give  ^i^  marks,  and  winter  livery/ 
'  Again,  by  a  reference  to  this  fashion,  we  arc  told  m  a  little  piece,  called  News  from  the 
'  Lower  End  of  the  Table,  that  the  best  company  makes  the  upper  end  of  tlie  table,  and  not 
'  the  salt-celler.    This  custom  is  yet  preserved  at  the  lord-mayor  s,  and  some  other  publick 
« tables.*        JL 
VOL.UL  3  P  T« 


474 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


[Act  1.  Scene  5. 


To  an  old  lady-wi(lo%V*s  gallery ; 
And  \hej  will  praise  your  virtues;  beware  tbot! 
The  only  way  to  turn  a  woman  whore. 
Is  to  commend  her  chastity  :  you'll  go  ? 

Ori.  I  would  go,  if  it  were  but 
Only  to  shew  you,  that  I  could  be  there, 
And  be  mov'd  with  none  of  these  tricks. 

Vol.  Your  servants 
Are  ready? 

Ori.  An  hour  since. 

Val.  Well,  if  y©u  come  [shall  be 

Off  clear  from  (his  hot  service,  your  |)raise 
The  greater-     Farewell,  sister! 

Ori,  Farewell,  brother!  [sencc 

Val,  Once  more !  If  you  stay  in  the  pre- 
Till  candle-light,  keep  on  the  fore^ide  o'th' 

curtain ; 
And,  do  you  hear,  take  heed  of  the  old  bawd. 
In  the  cloth  of  tissue  sleeves,  and  the  knit 

mittens ! 
Farewell,  sister! — Now  am  I  idle;  I  would 

I'd  been  [Exit  Ori. 

A  scholar,  that  I  might  have  studied  now  ! 
The  punishment  of  meaner  men  is,  they  have 
Too  much  to  do  ;  our  only  misery  is,   . 
That  without  company  we  know  not  what 
Tp  do.    I  must  take  some  of  the  common 
Of  our  nobility,  which  is  thus:  [courses 

If  I  can  find  no  company  that  likes  me^. 
Pluck  off  my  hatband,  throw  an  old  cloak  over 
My  fiace,  and,  as  if  I  would  not  be  known. 
Walk  hastily  thro*  the  streets,  'till  I  be 
Discover*d;  tlien  *  There  goes  count  Such-a- 

one,'  [says  anotlier: 

Says  one ;   *  There  goes  count  Such-a-one,' 
'lx>ok  how  fast  he  goes,'  says  a  third :  *  There V 

some  [fourth ; 

<  Great  matters  in  hand  questionless,'  says  a 


Wlien  all  my  business  is  to  bave  tliemsay  lo. 

This  hath  been  used. 

Or,  if  I  can  find  any  company*, 

ril  after  dinper  to  the  stage  tu  see        [faav* 

A  play ;  where  when  I  first  enter,  yoo  «ba]| 

A  murmur  in  tho  honse,  ev'ry  one 

That  does  not  know  cries,  *  What  nobleman 

is  that?'  T^ 

All  the  gallants  on  the  stage  rise,  veil  to  me, 
Kiss  their  hand,  odor  me  their  places ;  then 
I  pick  out  some  one,  whom  I  please  to  g^race 
Among  therest^,  tsike  his  seat,  use  it,  throw 
My  cloak  over  my  face,  and  laugh  at  him: 
The  poor  gentleman  imagines  himself  most 

highly 
Graced,  tliinks  all  the  auditors  esteem  lum 
One  of  my  bosom-friends,  and  in  right  special 
Regard  with  me.  But  here  comes  a  gentle- 
man, 0-  [either 
That  I  hope  will  make  me  better  sport  than 
Street  or  stage  fooleries.    This  man  loves 


Enter  iMzhyilb  and  Boy, 

To  eat  good  meat ;  al\%ays  provided, 
Uc  do  not  pay  for*t  himself.  He  goes  [becaose 
By  the  name  o^  the  Hungry  Courtier;  marry; 
I  think  that  name  will  not  sufficiently 
Distinguish  him  (for  no  doubt  he  hath 
More  fellows  there)  his  name  is  Lazarillo ; 
He  is  none  of  these  same  ojtli  nary -eaters'*' ; 
That  will   devour  three  breakfasts^  and  as 
many  ^  [vers. 

Dinners,  without  any  prejudice  to  their  be- 
Drinkings,  or  suppers;  but  he  hath  a  more 
Courtly  kind  of  hunger,  and  doth  bunt  more 
After  novelty  than  plenty.  I'll  ovei^hearhim. 
Laz.  Oh,  thou  mo^t  itching  kindly  appe- 
tite", V 

Which 

^  UJ^es  we;}  i.  e.  Pleasesi  me.  So,  in  King  Lear,  Kent  says,  act  ii.  scene  2,  *  His  counte- 
nance likes  me  not;*  and,  in  the  Maid's  Tragedy, 

What  look  likes  you  best  '<'  R. 

*  Or  if  I  c^wjind  any  company. '\  As  ho.  describes  his  coming  into  the  plz^'house  alone,  this 
Seems  a  second  expedient  to  pass  away  time  for  want  of  company  at  home.  I  therefore  lead 
can*t  for  can,  Seward. 

We  see  no  objection  to  tlie  old  text. 

5  To  grace  among  the  re&t.']  All  this  speech,  and  far  the  greatest  part  of  the  play,  was 
printed  before  as  prose;  thougli  most  of  it  runs  easily  into  a  familiar  verse.  I  don't  change 
among  here,  as  tlie  sense  is  mucli  ilie  same  as  above,  but  the  latter  seepis^tlie  more  natural 
preposition.  Seuard. 

'°  He  is  none  of^  these  ordnary  eaters.]  IJere  I  was  puzzled  to  make  out  the  measure,  a 
syllable,  being  wanting,  and  I  diought  to  have  resolved  tione  into  not  one,  but  looking  in  the 
old  quarto,  I  found  same  was  the  monosyllable  that  the  late  editions  had  dropt.  This  is  a 
strong  proof  that  the  whole  was  that  kind  of  familiar  verse  that  I  place  it  in.  By  ordnary 
eaters!  believe  we  should  not  understand  common  eaters  but  ordnary  eaters,  or  eaters^  ord- 
naries,  where  great  eaters  frequently  crowd,  as  they  can  have  more  for  their  money  than 
vhen  they  pay  for  their  meat  by  weight :  this  seems  more  humorous  thaii  the  fisrmer  inter- 
pretation,  though  that  also  will  well  suit  the  context.  Seward, 

We  think  ordinaryin  this  place  has  no  extraordinary  sense,  but  signifies  merely  cpmmon.  The 
scene  seems  to  be  loose  verse ;  but  we  have  endeavoured  S.o  divide  it  more  naturally  and  nu- 
merously than  Seward,  and  nearer  in  general  to  the  quarto.  It  is  sometimes,  however,  at 
any  rate,  very  rugged. 

*'  Ohy  thou  most  itching  kindly  appetite]  There  is  great  humour  in  the  pomp  of  LasariUo*i 
atllc,  but  here,  I  believe,  it  has  been  a  little  degraded  by  thd  epithet  kindly.  As  itching  ex- 
presses the  troublesome  effects  of  the  appetite,  so  kindly  may  be  thought  well  adapted  to  the 

pieasirtg 


Act  1.  Scene  3.] 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


475 


Which  every  creature  in  his  stomach  feels, 
Ofa,  leave,  leave  yet  at  last  thus  to  torment 
Three  several  sallads  have  I  sacrjfic*d,   [me ! 
Bedew'd  with  precious  oil  and  vinegar, 
Already  to  appease  thy  greedy  wrath. 
Boy!  » 

Boy.  Sir? 

XaJr.  Will  the  eount  speak  with  me? 

Bay,  One  of 
His  gentlemen  is  gone  to  inform  him  of 
Your  coming,  sir. 

Lax.  There  is  no  way  left  [ing 

For  me  to  compass  this  fish-head,  but  by  be- 
Presently  made  known  to  the  duke. 

Boy.  That  will  be  hard,  sir. 

Lms.  When  I  have  tasted  of  this  sacred  dish. 
Then  shall  my  bones  rest  in  my  father's  tomb 
In  peace;  then  slialll  die  most  willingly. 
And  as  a  dish  be  serv*d  to  satisfy 
Death's  hunger;  and  I  will  be  buried  thus: 
My  bier  shall  be  a  charger  borne  by  four. 
The  coffin  where  I  lie  a  powd'ring-tub, 
Bettrcw'd  with  lettuce,  and  cool  sallad-hcrbs; 
]Viy  winding-sheet  of  tansies;  tlie  black  guard 
Shall  be  my  solemn  mourners ;  and  instead 
Of  ceremonies,  wholsome  burial  pniyers; 
A  printed  dirge  in  rhime'%  shall  bury  me. 
Instead  of  tears  let  them  pour  capon-sauce 
l7pon  my  hearse,  and  salt  instead  of  dust, 
Moncliets  for  stones;     for    otlier  glorious 

shields 
Give  me  a  voider;  and  above  my  hearse, 
I'or 'a  trutcb  sword,  my  naked  knife  stuck  up ! 
[  Valore  duscovers  hifuselj'. 

Bay,  Master,  the  count's  here, 

Laz.  Where?— My  lord, I  do 
Beseech  you — 

VaL  lou  are  very  welcome,  sir; 
1  pray  you  stand  up;  you  shall  dine  with  roe. 

Las,  I  do  beseech  your  lordship,  by  the 

love 
I  ttiU  have  borne  to  your  honourable  house — 


VaL  Sir,  what  need  all  this?  you  shall  dine 
I  pray  rise.  [with  me. 

Laz,  Perhaps  your  lordship  takes  me 
For  one  of  these  same  fellows,  that  do,  as  it 

were. 
Respect  victuals. 

VaL  Oh,  sir,  by  no  means. 

Laz,  Your  lordship 
Has  often  promised,  tliat  whensoever 
I  should  atfect  greatness,  your  own  hand 

should  help 
To  raise  me. 

VaL  And  so  much  still  assure  yourself  o£ 

J^iz.  And  tho'  I  must  confess  I've  cvef 

shunn'd 
Popularity,  by  the  example  of  others. 
Yet  I  do  now' feel  myself  a  little 
Ambitious:  your  lordship  is  great, 
And,  tho*  young,  yet  a  privy-counsellor. 

VaL  I  pray  you,  sir,  leap  into  the  matter; 
What  would  you  have  me  do  for  you? 

Laz.  i  would  entreat ' 
Your  Irrdsliip  to  makeme  known  to  the  duke. 

VaL  When,  sir? 

Laz.  Suddenly,  my  lord;  I  would  have  you 
Present  me  unto  him  this  morning. 

VaL  It  shall  [him 

Be  done:  but  for  what  virtues  would  you  have 
Take  notice  of  you  ? 

Laz.  Your  lordship  sliall  know 
That  presently. 

VaL  T's  pity  of  this  fellow;  he  is 
Of  good  wit  and  sufficient  understanding. 
When  lie's  not  troubled  with  this  greedy  womL 

IjOz.  ^  Faith  you  may  entreat  him  to  take 

notice  of  me 
For  any  thing ;  for  being  an  excellent  farrier, 
For  playing  well  at  span-counter,  or  sticking 

knives 
In  walls,  for  being  impudent,  or  for  nothing; 
Why  may  not  I  k^  a  favourite  on  the  sudden? 
I  see  nothing  against  it.    . 


pleasing  effects  of  it;  but  as  the  change  of  n  single  letter  2;ives  a  much  more  pompous  word, 
It  seems  highly  probable  that  kingly  was  the  true  reading,  for  Lasarillo  had  betbre  made  the 
whole  glory  ot  a  prince  to  consist  in  satiating  his  royal  maw.  Seward, 

We  think  the  text  far  preferable. 
■*  — — —  instead 

W ceremonieSf  Y:ho\somt;  buriul  pray^rSf  ^ 

A  printed  dirge  in  rhime  shall  bury  tne.]  If  he  would  have  no  ceremonies  nor  prayers,  it 
is  probable  we  should  xetkA  fulswne^  or  perhaps,  as  wholsome  is  a  word  proper  to  LazarillOy  the 
following  transposition  may  have  been  the  original, 
■■  instead 
Of  ceremonies,  printed  burial  prayers, 
A  wholsome  dirge  in  rhime  shall  bury  rae« 
A  dirge  in  this  sense  may  signify  verses  setting  forth  the  wholsomeness  and  excellency  oC 
good  eating.     Dirge  is  derived  firom  tho  Latin  word  dirige,  which  begins  a  part  of  tho  Popish 
Litany.    The  more  I  consider  tltis  latter  conjecture,  tlie  more  probabli^  it  appears;  I  shall 
therefore  venture  it  into  tho  text.  Seward. 

The  old  text  is  very  good,  and  should  not  be  changed :  he  first  says,  there  shall  be  at  bis 
Aineral^ 

^  Instead  of  ceremonies,  tc?Ao2K»7te  burial  prayers;' 
and  then  proceeds  to  specify,  that 

^  *  A  printed  dirge  in  rhime  shall  bury  him/ 
instead  of  the  usual  service. 

3P2  '     VaU 


47a 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


[Act  2.  Scene  1« 


The  pretty  court-oaths  that  are,  I  had  been 

ivelcomer 
Than  your  soul  to  your  body. 

Gond,  Now  she's  in,  [sooner 

Talking  treason  will  not  get  her  uut*^;  I  durst 
UnderUike  to  talk  an  iutelligencer  out  of  the 

room,  [a  woman 

And  speak  more  than  he  durst  hear,  than  talk 
Out  o'niy  company. 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Sero,  My  lord,  the  duke 
Being  in  the  streets,  and  the  storm  continuing, 
Is  enter*d  your  gate,  and  now  coming  up. 

Gon«/.  The  duke?—  [plots 

Now  I  know  your  errand,  madam;  you  have 
And  private  meetings  in  hand:  why  do  you 

chuse  I 

My  house  P  are  ;^ou  asham'd  to  go  to  it 
In  the  old  coupling-place?  tho*  it  be  less 
Suspicious  here  (for  no  Christian  will 
Suspect  a  woman  to  be  in  my  house). 
Yet  you  may  do  it  cleanliei"  there, 
Voc  there's  a  care  had  of  those  businesses ; 
And   wheresoever  you  remove,  your  great 

maintainer  -  [opposite ; 

And  you  shall  have  your  lodgings  directly 
It  is  but  putting  on  your  night-gown  and 
Your  slippers :  madam,  you  understand  me'^? 

Ori.  IBefore,  [speaks 

I  would  not  understand  him;   but  now  he 
Riddles  to  me  indeed. 

Enter  the  Duke,  -Arrigo,  and  Lucio, 

Duke,  Twas'a  strange  hail-storm. 
Lucio.  'Twfts  exceeding  strange. 
Gond,  Good-morrow  to  your  grace! 
Duke,  Good-morrow,  Gondarino. 
G&nd,  Justice,  great  prince! 
Duke.  Why  should  you  beg  for  justice  ? 
1  never  did  you  wrong;  what  a  the  offender? 
Gond,  A  woman. 
Duke.  Ob,  I  know  your  ancient  quarrel 


Against  that  sex;  but,  what  bemoos  criiB« 
Hath  she  committe<l  ? 

G&nd.  She  hath  gone  abroad. 

Duke,  What?  it  cannot  be. 

Gond,  She  hath  done  it. 
.    Duke.  How! 

I  never  heard  of  any  woman  that 
Did  so  before. 

Gond.  If  she  have  not  laid  by 
That  modesty  that  should  attend  a  virgin, 
And,  quite  void  of  shame,  Iwtli  left  the  house 
Where  she  was  bom  (as  they  should  never  do). 
Let  me  endure  the  pains  tliat  she  should  sni^ 

fer! 

Duke.  Hath  she  so?  which  is  the  woman 

Go)ul.  This'*. 

Duke,  This?  how!— Arrigo!  I^ncio! 

Gond,  Ay,  then  it  is  a  plot:  no  prince  alive 
Shall  force  me  make  my  house  a  brothel* 

house ; 
Not  for  the  sin's,  but  for  the  woman*s  sake; 
I  will  not  Iiave  her  in  my  doors  so  long : 
Will  they  make  my  house  as  bawdy  as  their 

Duke.  Is  it  not  Oriana  ?  [own  arc  ? 

Jmcw.  It  is. 

Duke.  Sister  to  count  Valore  ? 

Jrr.  The  very  same. 

Duke.  She  that  I  love? 

Lucio.  She  that  you  love. 

Duke.  1  do  suspect— 

Lucio.  So  do  I. 

Duke.  This  fellow  to  be  but  a  counterfeit; 
One  that  doth  seem  to  loath  all  woman-kind. 
To  hate.  Iiimself  because  he  hath  some  part 
Of  woman  in  him,  seems  not  to  endure^ 
To  see  or  to  be  seen  of  any  woman. 
Only  because  he  knows  it  is  their  nature 
To  wish  to  taste  that  which  is  most  forbidden : 
And  with  this  show  he  may  the  better  compass 
(And  with  far  less  suspicion)  his  base  ends. 

Lucio.  Upon-  my  lite,  'tis  so. 

Duke.  And  I  do  know. 
Before  his  slain'  wife  gave  him  that  oflfencc'^'. 


■^  Will  get  her  out.]  The  negative  added,  and  we  think  justly,  by  Seward. 
*7   Your  ni^kt-goton,  and  your  slippers  ;  madam  y  you  understand  weY]  To  make  out  the 
ir^rse  here  with  the  context,  I  am  forced  co  divide  one  word  into  twx)  liues;  this,  which  giire» 
the  measure  a  more  comic  aspect,  is  done  by  our  authors  indisputably  in  the  comic  pan  of 
the  Schoolmaster,  in  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen. 

Upon  this  mighty  morr — of  mickle  weight, 
Ts — now  comes  in^  which  being  glcw'd  together. 
Makes  morris.  Sezcard, 

Seward  (oh,  miserable  division !)  exhibits, 

Your  night-gown,  and  your  slippers;  madam,  y*  under^ 
Stand  me  ? 
But  the  example  from  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen  is  so  far  from  apposite,  that  it  rather  prove* 
our  authors  would  not  gravely  practise  what  they  there  exposed  as  supremely  ridiculous. 

'*  Gond.  This,  this.]  As  we  have  no  doubt  but  the  second  this  belongs  to  the  DukCf  «« 
have  removed  it  to  his  speech. 

'S'  Before  his  ^him  tcife.]  I  have  ventured  to  alter  this  to  late  wife;  there  not  beins  (be 
least  hint  of  his  wife's  being  slain  by  him  or  any  other.  Lain  for  buried  might  probabi}*  he 
allowed,  b^^t  I  lay  it  down  as  a  rule,  never  to  ascribe  to  my  authors  an  expression  that  I 
thou  Id  be  ashamed  to  use  myself.  Seward. 

TVe  variation  s^uld  at  most  have  only  been  offered  as  a  conjecture.  Late  wife  is  vert 
flat  aud  modcro^ 


Act  f .  Scene  1.] 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


479 


He  was  the  g^atest  servant  to  that  sex 
That  ever  was.    What  doth  this  ladjr  here 
With  him  alone?  Why  shonld  he  rail  at  her 
To  me  ? 

Lurio,  Because  your  grace  might  not  sus- 

pecc. 

Duke.  It  was  so !  I  do  love  her  strangely.  I 
Would  fain  know  the  truth ;  counsel  me. 

[Tftey  three  whuper- 

Enter  Valore,  Lazarillo,  and  Boy. 

VaL  It  falls  out  better  than  we  could  ex- 
pect, sir. 
That  we  should  find  the  duke  and  my  lord 
Goudarino  together,  both  which  you  desire 
To  be  acquainted  with. 

L/iZ,  Twas  very  happy.— 
Boy,  go  down  into  the  kitchen,  and  see 
If  you  can  spy  that  same. — ^I  am  now  in 
some  hope ;  [Exit  fioy. 

I  havA  metninks  a  kind  of  fever  upon  me, 
A  certain  gloominess  within  me,  doubting, 
As  it  were,  betwixt  two  passions :  there's  no 
Young  maid  upon  her  wedding-night,  when 

her  husband 
Sets  first  foot  in  the  bed,  blushes,  and 
LooVs  pale  again,  oftner  than  I  do  now. 
There  is  no  poet  aojuainted  witli  more 
Shakings  and  quakings,  towards  the  latter 

end 
Of  bis  new  play,  (when  he's  in  tliat  case 
That  he  stands  peepius  betwixt  the  curtains^ 
So  fearfully  that  a  botUe  of  ale  cannot 
Be  open'd,  but  he  thinks  somebody  hisses) 
Than  I  am  at  this  instant. 

VaL  Are  they  in  consultation  ? 
If  they  be,  either  my  younp;  duke  hath  gotten 
Some  bastaixl,  and  is  persuading  my  knight 
yonder  [else 

To  father  the  child,  and  marry  the  wencn,  or 
Some  cockpit*s  to  be  builL 
Laz.  My  lord!  what  nobleman's  that? 
VaL  Ilis  name  is  Lucio ;  'tis  be  that  was 
made  a  lord  .  [wife's  sake ; 

At  the  request  of  some  of  his  friends  for^s 
lie  affects  to  be  a  great  statesman,  and  thmks 
It  consists  in  night-capsy  and  jewels^  and 
;  Toothpicks. 

;     Laz,  And  what's  that  other? 
I      VtU.  A  knight,  sir,  that 
jl^leaseth  the  duke  to  favour,  and  to  raise 
I  To  some  extraordini^ry  fortunes;    he    can 
,    mitke  [week. 

At  good  men  as  himself  ev'ry  day  m  the 
Aod  doth. 
XajL  For  what  was  he  raised  ? 
VaL  Truly,  sir, 
I  am  not  able  to  say  directly  for  what. 
But  for  wearing  of  red  breeches,  as  I  take  it : 
lie  is  a  brave  man;   he  will  spend  three 
^    knighthoods 
lAt  a  supper  without  trumpets. 
[    Laz.  My  lord.  Til  talk  with  him ; 


For  Fve  a  fiiend  that  would  gladly  receive 
the  honour" —  [him,  let  him 

VaL  If  he  have  the  itch  of  knighthood  upon 
Ilepair  to  tliat  physician,  he'll  cure  him. 
But  I  will  give  you  a  note :  is  your  friend 
Fat  or  lean  ? 

Laz.  Something  (at. 
Vol.  It  will  be  the  worse  for  him. 
Laz.  1  hope  that's  not  material. 
Vol.  Very  much, 
For  there's  an  impost  set  upon  knighthoods, 
And  your  friend  shall  pay  a  noble  in  tha 
poOmd. 

Duke.  I  do  not  like  examinations ; 
We  shall  find  out  the  truth  moue  easily. 
Some  other  way  less  noted,  and  that  course 
Should  not  be  ns'd,  'till  we  be  sure  to  prove 
Something  directly ;  for  when  they  percehre 
Themselves  suspected,  they  will  tiien  provide 
More  warily  to  answer. 

Lucio.  Doth  she  know 
Your  grace  doth  love  her  ? 

Duke.  She  hath  never  heard  it. 
Lucio.  Then  thus,  my  lord. 

[Tkey  whisper  agaifu 
Laz.  What's  he  that  walks  alone 
So  sadly,  with  his  hands  behind  him? 

VaL  The  lord 
Of  the  house,  he  that  you  desire  to  be 
Acquainted  with.    He  doth  hate  women  for 
The  same  cause  that  I  love  them. 

Laz.  What  Is  that?  [ceive  me,  sir? 

VaL  For  that  which  apes  want :  you  per-« 
Laz.  And  is  he  sad  ?  can*  he'  be  sad  that 
hath 
So  rich  a  gem  under  his  roof,  as  that 
Which  I  do  follow  ? — What  young  lady's  that  ? 
VaL  Which?  Have  I  mine  eye-sight  per- 
fect? *tis 
My  sister!  Did  I  say  the  duke  had  a  bastard? 
Wliat  should  she  make  here  with  him  and 
his  council?  [them; 

She  hath  no  papers  in  her  hand  to  petition  to 
She  liath  never  a  husband  in  prifton,  whose 
release  [wench, 

She  might  sue  for:  that's  a  fine  trick  for  a 
To  get  tier  husband  clapt  up,  tliat  she  may  . 
More  freely,  and  with  less  suspicion,  vjsit 
The  private  studies  of  men  in  authority. 
Now  I  do  discover  their  consultation ; 
Yon  fellow  is  a  pandar  without  all  salvation ! 
But  let  me  not  condemn  her  too  rashly, 

without 
Weighing  the  matter :  she  is  a  ^oun^  lady ; 
She  went  forth  early  this  morning  with    • 
A  waitinfin-woman,  and  a  page  or  so : 
Tliis  is  no  garden-house ;  in  my  conscience. 
She  went  forth  with  no  dishonest  intent;  for 
*  She  did  not  pretend  going  to  any  sermon 
In  the  further  end  of  the  city;  neither  went 

she 
To  see  any  odd  old  gentlewoman,  that  mourns 
for 


■^  Gladljf  receive  the  humour.]  Corrected  in  1750. 


The 


480 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


The  deaifa  of  ber  busbaod^  or  the  loss  of  her 

friend,  [her ; 

And  most  have  young  ladies  come  to  comfort 
Those  are  the  damiuible  bawds!  ^was  no 

set  meeting  [her 

CertoinW)  for  there  was  no  wafer-woman  with 
These  three  days,  on  my  knowledge.    I'll 

talk  with  h^. 
— Good  morrow,  my  lord!  [brotlier 

Gond,  You're  welcome,  sirw— HereV  her 
Come  now  to  do  a  kind  office  for  his  sister; 
Is  k  not  strange } 

Vol.  I  am  glad  to  meetyoo  here,  sister. 

Ori.  I  thamL  you,  good  brother ;  and  if  you 

doubt  of 
The  cause  of  my  comings,  I  can  satisfy  you. 

Fa/.  No,  faith,  I  dare  trust  thee:   I  do 

suspect  thou*rt  honest ; 
For  it  is  so  rare  a  thrn<<;  to  be  honest, 
Among  you,  that  some  one  man  in  an  age 
May  perhaps  suspect  some  two  women  to 

be  honest, 
But  never  believe  it  verily. 

Lucio.  Let  your  return  be  sudden  1 

Arr.  Unsuspected  by  them. 

Dnke,  It  shall;  so  shaU  I  best 
Perceive  their  love,  if  there  be  any :  farewreH ! 

VaL  Let  me  entreat  your  grace  to  stay  a 

little, 
To  know  a  gentleman,  to  whom  yourself 
Is  much  beholding:  he  hath  made  the  sport 
For  your  whole  court  these  eight  years,  on 

Duke.  His  name?  [my  knowledge. 

VaL  Lazarillo. 

Duke,  I  heard  of  him  this  morning ; 
Which  is  he? 

VaL  Lazarillo,  pluck  up  thy  spirits! 
Thv  fortunes  are  now  raismg ;  the  duke  calls 

for  thee, 
And  tfoou  sbalt  be  acquainted  with  him. 

Luz,  He's  going  away,  / 

And  I  must  of  necessity  stay  here. 
Upon  business. 
.  VaL  Tis  all  one;  thou  shalt  know  him  first. 

Lag.  Stay  a  little  !— 
If  he  should  offer  to  take  me  away  with  him. 
And  by  that  means  I  should  lose  that  I  seek 

for— 
But  if  he  sliould,  I  will  not  go  with  him. 

VaL  Lazarillo,  the  duke  stays!  wilt  thou 
This  opportunity  ?  [lose 

Laz,  How  must  I  speak  to  him  ? 

Vol.  Twas  well  thought  of;  you  must  not 

talk  to  him 
As  you  do  to  an  ordinary  man,  [him : 

Honest  plain  sense,  but  you  must  wind  about^ 
For  example;  if  he  should  ask  you  what 

o'clock  It  is,  ['  tis  nine ;' 

You  must  not  say,  *  If  it  please  your  grace. 
But  thus,  '  Thrice  three  o'clock,  so  please 

*  ray  sovereign  ;*  [*  dwell 

Or  thus, '  Look  how  many  muses  there  doth 
*  Upon  the  sweet  banks  of  the  learned  well, 
'And  just  bO  many  strokes  the  clock  hath 

'  struck;' 


[Act  S.  Scene  i. 


And  so  forth :  and  yo«i  must  now  and  then 
Enter  into  a  description. 

Laz.  I  hope  I  shall  do  it. 

VaL  Come!  pgentlemaa, 

'  May  it  please  your  grace  to  take  note  of  a 
*  Well  seen,  deeply  read,  and  througldy 
'  Grounded  in  the  hidden  knowledge  of  all 
'  And  pot-herbs  whateoever.'  [salladi 

Duke.  I  shall  desire  to  know  him  more 

inwardly. 

Laz.  I  kiss  the  oit-hide  of  your  grace^s  foot 

VaL  Very  well!— Will  your  grace  questioB 

him  a  little? 

Duke.  How  old  are  you  ?  [manackt 

Laz.  Full   eight    and   twenty  several  al- 
Have  been  compiled,  all  for  several  years. 
Since  first  I  drew  this  breath ;  four  prentke- 

ships 
Have  I  most  truly  served  in  this  world ; 
And  eight  and  twenty  times  hath  Phcebn^ 

car 
Run  out  his  yearly  course,  since— 

Duke.  1  understand  you,  sir. 

Lucio.  How  like  an  ignorant  poet  he  talks! 

Duke.  You  are  eight  and  twenty  year  old. 
What  time  of  the  day  do  you  hold  it  to  be? 

Laz.  About  the  time  that  mortals  whet 

their  knives  [stairs; 

On  thresholds,  on  their  shoe-aoals,  ajid  on 
Now  bread  is  grating,  and  the  testy  cook 
Hath  much  to  do  now ;  now  the  tables  aU^ 

Duke.  Tis  almost  dinnep-time  ? 

Laz.  Your  grace  doth  apprehend  me  veiy 

rishtly.  [further  conference^ 

VaL  Your  grace  shall  find  him,  in  yuur 
Grave,  wise,  courdv,  and  scholar-like,  on- 

derstandin^lj-  readl 
In  the  necessities  of  tlic  life  of  man : 
He  knows  that  man  is  mortal  by  his  birdi; 
He  knows  that  man  roust  die,  and  therefore 

live;  [eat. 

He  knows  that  man  must  live,  and  dierefive 
And  if  it  shall  please  your  grace  to  accompany 
Yourself  with  him,  I  doubt  not  but  tbatfae 

will. 
At  the  least,  make  good  my  commendatioiis. 

Duke.  Attend  us,  Lazanllo;  we  do  want 
Men  of  such  action,  as  we  have  received  joa 
Reported  from  your  honourable  friend* 

Laz.  Good  my  lord,  stand    betwixt  me 

and  my  overthrow!  [part! — 

You  know  I'm  tied  here,  and  may  not  de- 
M y  gracious  lord,  so  weighty  arc  the  bus- 

ness  of  mine  own, 
Which  at  this  time  do  call  upon  me,  that  I 
Will  rather  chuse  to  die,  than  to  neglect  them. 

VaL  Nay,  you  shall  well  perceive;  besides 

the  virtues 
That  I  have  alread}r  infbrm'd-yon  of,  he  bath 
A  stomach  which  will  stoop  to  no  prince  alive. 

Duke.  Sir,  at  your  beU  leisure;  I  shall 

thirst  to  see  you. 

Laz.  And  I  shall  hunger  for  it.    ' 

Duke.  Till  then,  farewell  all! 

C9nd.  VaL  Long  life  attend  yowr  mce! 

IhUx. 


Act  a.  Scene  1.] 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


481 


Duke,  I  do  DOt  taste  this  sport.    Arrigo ! 

Arr,  Jmcw,  We  do  attend.  [Lucio! 

[Exeunt  Duke,  Arr.  ana  Lucio, 

Gond,  His  erace  is  gone,  and  liatli  left 
His  Helen  with  me :  I  am  nopandar  for  him; 
Neither  can  I  be  won,  witli  the  hope  of  gain, 
Or  the  itching  desire  of  ttistiug  my  lord's 
Lechery  to  him,  to  keep  her  at  my  houte. 
Or  bring  her  in  disguise  to  his  bed-chamber. 
The  twines  of  adders  and  of  scorpions 
About  mv  naked  breast,  will  seem  to  me 
More  tickling  than  those  clasps,  which  men 

adore, 
The  iustfal,  dull,  ill-spirited  embraces 
Of  women  ?  The  much-praised  Amazons, 
Knowinc  their  own  infirmities  so  well, 
Made  of  themselves  a  people,  and  what  men 
They  take  amongst  them  they  condemn  to  die; 
Perceiving  that  tlieir  folly  made  theiu  fit 
To  live  no  longer,  that  would  willingly 
Come  in  the  worthless presience  of  a  woman.-— 
I  will  attend  and  see  what  my  young  lord* 
IViH  do  with  his  sister. 

Enter  Boy. 

'    Boy,  My  lord,  the  fisii-head 
Is  gone  agaip. 

VaL  Whither? 

Boy.  I  know  whither,  my  lord. 

VaL  Keep  it  from  Lazarillo ! — Sister,  shall  I 
Confer  with  you  in  pritrate,  to  know  the  cause 
Of  the  duke's  coming  hither?  I   know  he 

makes  you 
Acquainted  with  his  business  of  state. 

Ori,  ril  satisfy  you,  brotlier;  for  I  see 
You're  jealous  of  me. 

Gond.  Now  there  shall  be  some  course 
Taken  for  her  conveyance. 

Lax.  Lazarillo, 
Thoo  art  happy  f  thy  carrif^  hath  .begot 

love,  [here 

And  that  love  hath  brought  forth  fruits;  tbou'it 
In  the  company  of  a  man  lionourable, 
lliat  win  help  thee  to  taste  of  the  bounties 
Of  the  sea ;  and  when  thou  has(  so  done. 
Thou  shalt  retire  thyself  unto  the  court. 
And  there  taste  of  the  delicates  of  the  earth. 
And  be  great  in  the  eyes  of  thy  sovereign. 
Now  no  moi£  shalt  tliou  need  to  scramble  fur 
Thy  meat,  nor  remove  thy  stomach  with  the 

court;  [sire, 

But  thy  credit  shall  command  thy  heart  sde- 
And  all  novelties  shall  be  sent  as  presents 

unto  thee. 


Vol.  Good  sister,  when  you  see  your  own 

time,  wilt  you 
Return  home? 

Ori.  Yes,  brother,  and  not  before. 

Laz,  I  will  grow  popular  in  this  state, 
And  overthrow  the  fortunes  of  a  number. 
That  live  by  extortion. 

VaL  Lazarillo, 
Bestir  thyself  nimbly,  and  suddenly. 
And  hear  me  with  patience. 

Laz.  Let  me  not  fiill  from  myself! 
Speak  /  lam  bound  to  hear^\ 

VaL  So  art  thou  to  revenge,  when  thou 

shalt  hear;  [tlicr. 

The  fish -head  is  gone,  and  we  know  not  whi- 

Luz.  I  will  not  curse,  nor  swear,  nor  rage/ 

nor  rail, 
Nor  with  contemptuous  tongue  accuse  my  fate 
(Tho*  I  might  justly  do  it^;  nor  will  I 
Wish  myself  uncreated,  tor  tliis  evil  I 
Shall  [  entreat  your  lordship  to  be  seen 
A  little  longer  in  the  company 
Of  a  man  crossed  by  fortune? 

VaL  I  hate 
To  leave  my  friend  in  his  extremities. 

Lax,  Tis  noble  in .  you ;  then  I  take  your 
And  do  protest,  I  do  not  follow  tlus    [hand, 
For  any  malice  or  for  private  ends, 
But  with  a  love,  as  gentle  and  as  chaste, 
As  that  a  brother  to  his  sister  bears : 
And  if  I  see  this  fisMiead,  yet  unknown, 
^he  last  words  that  my  dying  father  spake. 
Before  his  eye-strings  brake,  shall  not  of  me 
So  often  be  rememberM,  as  our  meeting: 
Fortune  attend  nie,  as  my  ends  are  just. 
Full  of  pure  love,  and  free  from  servile  lust! 

VaL  Farewell,  my  lord  !  I  was  entreated 

to  invite 
Your  lordship  to  a  ladv*s  upsitting. 

Gond.  Oh,  my  ears  i — 
Why,  madam,  will  not  you  follow  your  bro« 

ther  ?  [you  to  *em. 

You  are  waited  for  by  great  men;  he'll  bring 

Ori.  I  am  very  well,  my  lord :  you  do  mis- 
take me, 
If  you  think  I  affect  greater  company 
llian  yourself.  * 

Gond.  What  madness  possesseth  thee. 
That  thou  canst  imagine  nie  a  fit  man 
To  entertain  ladies  ?  I  tell  thee,  I  do  use 
To   tear  their  hair,  to  kick  theui,  and  to 

twinge 
Their  noses,  if  they  be  not  careful  in 
Avoiding  me. 


*^  So  art  thou  to  revenge,  when  thou  thalt  hear. 

The  fish-head  is  gone,  and  we  know  not  whither.]  As  wliere  is  equally  sense  here,  it  adds 
ttach  to  the  humour  to  make  this  hobliug  comic  verse  rlilmc  to  the  grandeur  of  the  line 
above  quoted  from  the  most  solemn  scene  in  all  Shakespeare.  Mr.  Svmpson  asks.  Is  this  a 
bttriesquc  upon  Hamlet's  Ghost  ol'  not?  I  am  quite  clear  that  it  is  not,  and  have  ^iven,  I 
believe,  convincing  reasons  at  note  43,  in  that  exceeding  comic  character,  the  Little  French 
Lawyer.  Sentiments  and  expressions  of  acknowledged  dignity,  when  applied  to  a  ridiculous 
sul^ect,  only  render  it  still  more  ridiculous,  and  tor  that  end  only  are  used,  burlesqntng,  as 
in  this  place  LaxariUo,  not  Hamiet.  Seward, 

We  see  no  humour  in  this  unwarranted  alteration,  nor  conviction  in  the  note  referred  to. 
.    VOL.UL  3Q  OrL 


4Sft 


THE  WOMAN-HATSIt 


[Act3.  9c«Ml. 


Ors.  Your  lordtbip  mny  descant 
Upon  jf our  own  behaviour  as  please  you,  but  I 
Protcsti  so  sweet  and  courtly  it  appears 
In  ray  eye,  that  I  mean  not  to  leave  you  yet. 

Gond,  I  shall  grow  rou^ 

Oru  A  roueh  cartia^  is  best 
In  a  man. — 1*11  dine  with  you,  my  lord, 

Gond,  Why,  I  will  starve  thee; 
Thou  shalt  have  nothing. 

Ori*  I  have  heard  of  your  lordship's  notlung; 
rU  put  that  to  the  Tenture. 

uond.  Well,  thou  shalt  have  meat; 
ril  send  it  to  thee. 

Ort.  rU  keep  no  state,  ray  lord^' ; 
Neither  do  I  mourn;  I'll  dine  with  yovu 

Gond.  Is  such  a  thing  as  thisallow^l  to  live  ? 
What  power  hath  let  thee  loose  upon  the 

earth, 
To  plague  us  for  our  sins  f  Out  of  my  doors ! 

Vru  I  would  your  lordship  did  but  see  how 

weU 
Tliis  fury  doth  become  you !  it  doth  shew 
So  near  the  life,  as  it  were  natural. 

Gond,  Oh,  thoudamn'd  Woman!  I  will  fly 

the  vengeance 
That  hangn  above  thee :  foUow^if  thou  dar^st ! 

[Exit  Gond. 

Ori.  I  must  not  leave  this  fellow;  I  will 

torment  him  to  madness ! 
To  teach  his  passions  against  kind  to  move ; 
The  more  be  nates,  the  more  I'll  seem  to  love. 
[Exeunt  Orwna  and  MtUd, 

Bnier  Fandar  and  Mercer, 

Pandar,  Sir,  what  may  be  done  by  art 

^hall  be  done; 
I  wear  not  this  black  deak  for  nothing. 

Mercer,  Perform  this, 
Help  me  to  this  great  heir  by  learning. 
Ana  you  shall  want  no  black  cloaks;  Uffiities, 
Silk-grograms,  sattinsi  and  velvets  are  mine ; 


They  ^all  be  jourii  perform  what  yoo  have 

promis*d ; 
And  vou  shall  make  me  lover  of  sciences ; 
I  will  study  the  learned  languages^  and  keep 
My  shop-l>ook  in  Latin. 

Pandar,  Trouble  me  not  now;         [shop* 
I  will  not  fail  you  within  this  hour  at  yonr 

Mercer.  Let  Art  have  her  course.     [^Exit. 

Enter  JnUa. 

Pandar.  Tis  well  spoken^ — ^Madona; 

Julia.  Hast  thou  brought  meany  customeis? 

Pandar.  No. 

Juiia.  What  the  devil  dost  thou  in  black  ? 

Pandar.  As  all  soleom  professors  of  aei- 

tled  courses  do. 
Cover  my  knavery  with  it.    Will  you  many 
A  citizen,  reasonably  rich,  and  unrpusonably 

foolish. 
Silks  in  his  shop,  money  in  his  purs^ 
And  no  wit  iu  his  head  f 

Jului.  Out  upon  him ! 
I  could  have  been  otherwise  than  so;  tlieie 

was  a  knight  [liave'lent  him 

Swore  he  would  have  had  me,  if  I  wcwid 
But  forty  shillings  to  have  redeem*d  hisckmk, 
To  go  to  church  in. 

Pandar.  Then  your  waistcoatrwaitev 
Shall  have  him ;  call  her  in. 

Julia,  Francissina! 

Fran,  [within.]  Anon.  [youraclf^^, 

JuUa.  Get  you  to  the  church,  and   ahrive 
For  you  shall  be  richly  married  anon. 

Pandar,  And  get  you  after  het,     I  will 

work 
Upon  my  citizen  whilst  he  is  warm; 
I  must  not  suffer  him  to  consult  with  ha 

neighbours ; 
The  openest  fook  are  hardly  cavened. 
If  they  once  grow  jealous^ 

[BMmi. 


ACT   III. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Gondarino,  flying  the  Lady. 

Gond.  QAVEme,  ye  better  powers!  let  me 

^^     notfiill 
Between  the  loose  enibracements  of  a  woman ! 
HeaVn,  if  my  sins  be  ripe,  grown  to  ahead. 
And  must  attend  your  vengeance,  I  beg  not 
to  divert  my  fate, 


Or  to  reprieve  awhile  thy  paDiafameiil; 
Only  I  crave,  (and  hear  me,  equal  Hc8v*as!) 
Let  not  joxtt  fnrioas  rod,  that  moat  aflUct  oic^ 
Be  that  imperfect  piece  of  Nalnre 
That  Art  makes  up,  woman,  ^"witiiTr  m— aa  \  ■ 
Had  we  not  knowing  sofils,  at  first  infiis'd 
To  teach  a  difference  "tvrizt  vttnmm  and 

goods? 
Were  we  not  made  oursehes^  free^anooafii^ 


^'  m  keep  no  siatetmy  lord;  neither  do  I  moMrtt.]  Fll,  instead  of  i,  crept  in  i 
line  below.    Ifoara,  here  signifies  keeping  house  on  acctmt  of  n^ffT^i^  lor  aw 
dead.  Seward.  ^ 

There  sorely  is  not  the  least  cause  fiw  variation. 

*3  And  shrive  yourself  i]  L  e.  Go  to  confemom.  The  sane  expreasioB  accanin 
Juliet. 


Met*.  Setma  i.J 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


CcMnmand^rs  of  our  own  ftovctions? 
And  can  it  be,  that  this  most  perfect  creature. 
This  ima^  of  his  Maker;  well-squar'd  man, 
Shoald  leave  the  bandfast,  that  he  bad  of 

grace. 
To  fall  into  a  woman's  easj  arms? 

Enter  Orian0. 

OrL  Now,  Venus,  be  my  speed !  inspire 

m^  with  , 
All  the  several  subtile  temptations,  that 
Hiou  hast  already  given,  or  hast  in  store 
Hereafter  to  bestow  upon  our  sex! 
Grant  that  I  may  appfy  that  physic  that  is 
Most  apt  to  work  upon  him ;  whether  he  will 
Soonest  be  mov'd  with  wantonness,  singing, 
Dancing,  or  (being  passionate)  witb  sconi. 
Or  with  sad  and  senous  looks,  cunningly 
Minted  with  sishs,  with  smiling,  lispnig^, 
Kisstntf  the  baud,  and  making slrart  curtesies; 
Or  wiui  whatsoever  other  nimble  power 
He  may  be  caught,  do  thou  infuse  into  me ! 
And,  when  I  have  him,  I  will  sacrifice  him 
Up  to  thee ! 

Gond.  It  comes  a^ain !  new  apparitions. 
And    tempting  spirits!  Stand    and  reveal 

thyself; 
Tell  why  thou  ibllow'st  me?  I  fear  thee 
As  I  fear  the  place  thou  cam'st  from,  hell. 

OrL  My  lord,  I  am  a  woman,  and  such  a 

one— 

Gond,  That  I  hate  truly! 
Thou  hadst  better  been  a  devil. 

Ort.  Why,  ray  unpatient  lord  ? 

Gond,  Devils  were  once  good ;  there  they 

exceU'd  you  women. 

Ort.  Can  you  be  so  uneasy  ?  can  you  freeze. 
And  such  a  summer's  heat  so  ready  to  dis- 
solve ? 
Nay,  gentle  lord,  turn  not  away  in  scorn. 
Nor  liolH  me  less  fair  clum  I  am!  Look  on 

tliese  cheeks; 
Tbev^ve  yet  enough  of  nature,  tme  com- 
plexion : 
If  to  be  red  and  white*',  a  forehead  high, 
An  easy  melting  lip,  a  speaking  eye, 


I 


And  such  a  tongne,  whoie  language  takes 

the  ear 
Of  strict  religion,  and  men  most  austere : 
It'  these  may  hope  to  please  you,  look  you 

here**! 

Gond.  This  woman  with  entreaty  would 

shew  all.  [woll^ 

Lady,  there  lies  your  way;  I  pray  you,  fare- 

Cfri.  You're  yet  too  harsh,  too  dussonant ; 
There's  no  true  music  in  your  words,  my  lord. 

Gond.  What  shall  I  give  thee  to  be  gone? 

Here  stay ;  ['tis  big  enough, 

An  thou  want'st  lodging*',  take  my  house, 
It  is  thine  own;  'twill  hold  five  lecherous 

lords 
And  their  lackies,  without  discovery: 
There's  stoves  and  bathing-tubs. 

Ori.  Dear  lord,  you  are 
Too  wild. 

Gond.  Shalt  have  a  doctor  too,  tbou  shalt, 
'Bout  six  and  twenty,  'tis  a  pleasing  age; 
Or  I  can  help  thee  to  a  handsome  usher; 
Or  if  thou  lack'st  a  page,  I'll  give  thee  one : 
Prithee  keep  house,  and  leave  me! 

Ori.  I  do 
Confess  I  am  too  easy,  too  much  woman, 
Not  coy  enough  to  uke  afiection ; 
Yet  I  can  firown,  and  nip  a  passion. 
Even  in  the  bud :  I  can  say,  [leave  us. 

Men  please  their  present  heats,  tlien  please  to 
I  can  hold  off,  and,  by  my  chymic  power. 
Draw  sonnets  from  tKe  melting  lover*s  brain; 
Ai/ni£s^  and  elegies:  yet  to  you,  my  lord, 
My  love,  my  better  self,  I  put  these  off. 
Doing  that  office  not  befits  our  sex, 
Entreat  a  man  to  love.    Are  you  not  yet 
Relenting?  ha' you  blood  and  spirit  in  those 

veins  ? 
You  are  no  image,  tho'  yon  be  as  hard 
As  marble:  sure  you've  no  liver;  if  you  had, 
Twould  send  a  lively  and  desiring  licat 
To  every  member!  Is  not  this  miserable? 
A    thing  so  truly  form'd,    shap'd  out  by 

symmetry. 
Has  all  the  organs  that  belong  to  man, 
And  workii^  too,  yet  to  shew  all  these 


**  Or  with  $ad  and  terum  looki^  cunningly  nwigUd  with  tight,  with  smiHng,  Utping.]  This 
speech,  all  printed  before  as  prose,  I  have  fomid  not  the  least  difficulty  in  restoring  to  its 
measure,  'till  I  came  to  this  passage;  and  here  there  is  the  greatest  reason  to  believe  a 
monosyllable  added,  more  injurious  to  the  seive  than  measure :  for  what  cunning  is  there  in 
mingling  sad  looks  with  sighs  ?  It  does  indeed  require  cunning  to  mingle  sighs  and  smile»  to- 
getl^r,  so  as  to  appear  engaging  and  charming.    I  therefore  read, 
Cunningly-mingl^  sighs,  with  smiling,  lisping. 
Kissing  the  hand,  &C        Seward. 
*^  I/to  he  red  ahd  white.]  The  construction  here  seems  a  little  difficult;  I  therefore  read. 
If  »t  be  tod  and  white ; 
{.  e.  If  true  complexion  consist  in  red  and  white.        Seward, 
There  is  no  occasion  to  depart  from  the  old  text. 

**  If  thete  may  hope  to  please^  look  here.]  Former  editions.  The  insertion  of  two  rriatives 
ttot  only  completes  the  comic  dignity  of  the  measure,  but  is  rather  preferable  as  to  the 
•ense.        Seward. 

*^  Here't  ta,  and  tha  wanti  lodgmg.]  These  mangled  words  Mr.  Sympson  has  happily 
eured:  he  reads. 

Here  stay,  an  thou  want'st  lodging.        Setomrd. 

^  •*      3  Q  2  Like 


484 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


[Act  S.  Scene  1. 


Like  dead  motions  moving  upon  wires? 
Thtjn,  good  my  lord,  leave  off  wbat  you  have 
been,  [a  man! 

And  freely  be  what  you  were  first  intended  £br, 
G<md,  Thou  art  a  precious  piece  of  sly 
damnation  [ 
I  will  be  deaf;  I  will  lock  up  my  ears : 
Tempt  me  not*  I  will  not  love!  if  I  do— 
Ori.  Then  I'll  hate  you.  [tum*d 

Gond.  Let  me  be  *iibinted  with  honey,  and 
Into  the  sun,  to  be  stung  to  death  with 

horse-flics ! 
Hear*st  thou,  thou  breeder?  here  III  sit^ 
And,  in  despite  of  thee,  I  will  say  nothing. 
OrL  Let  me,  with  your  fair  patience,  sit 
beside  you!  [man,  air, 

Gond,  'Madam,  lady,  tempter,  tongue,  wo- 
Look  to  me,  I  shall  kick !  I  say  again. 
Look  to  me,  I  shall  kick! 

OrL  I  cannot  think  your  better  knowledge 
Can  use  a  woman  so  uncivilly. 

Gond,  I  caimot  think  I  shall  become  a 
coxcomb. 
To  ha*  my  hair  curl'd  by  an  idle  finger. 
My  checks  turn  tabors,  and  be  play'd  upon, 
Mine  eves  look*d  babies  in^%  and  my  nose 

blowVi  to  my  hand: 
I  say  again,  I  shall  kick  !  sure,  I  shall. 

Oru  Tis  but  [mind 

Your  outside  that  vou  shew ;  I  know  your 
Never  was  guilty  of^so  great  a  weakness*. 
Or,  could  the  tongues  of  all  men  join*d  toge* 

thtr 
possess  me  vi^th  a  thougl^  of  your  dislike, 
My  weakness  were  i\bpve  a  woman's,  to  fall  off 
From  my  affection,  for  one  crack  of  thunder. 
'Oh,  would  yoMjcoukl  love,  my  lord ! 

Gond,  I  would  tliou  wouldst 
Sit  still,  and  say  nothing !  What  madman  let 
thee  loose,  [winds? 

To  do  more  mischief  than  a  dozen  whirl- 
Keep  thy  hands  in  thy  muff,  and  warm  the 
idle  .  [still? 

Worms  in  thy  fingers*  ends:  will  you  be  dojng 
Will  no  entreating  serve  you  ?  no  lawful  warn^ 

ing? 
I  must  remove,  and  leave  your  ladyship : 
Nay,  never  hope  to  stay  me;  for  I  will  run 
From  that  smooth,  tinifiog,  witching,  cozen- 
ing, tempting, 
Damning  face  of  thine*  9»  far  as  I  can  find 

any  land, 
Wliere  I  will  ptit  myself  into  a  daily  coursie 
Of  curses  for  thee  and  all  thy  fiimily. 

Ori.  Na}',  good  my  lord,  sit  still !  Til  pro- 
mise peace^  .  [course; 
And  fold  mine  arms  up,  let  but  mine  eye  dis- 
Or  let  my  voice,  set  to  some  pleasing  chord, 

sound  out  I 

The  sullen  strains  of  my  neglected  love  J 


Gond.  Sing  'till  thou  crack  thy  treble-string 

in  pieces,  [and  walk! 

And  when  th*  hast  done,  put  up  thy  pipes 
Do  any  tiling,  sit  still  and  tempt  me  not ! 

Ori.  I'd  rather  sing  at  doors  for  bread, 

than  sing  to 
This  fellow,  but  for  hate:  if  this  should  be 
Told  in  the  court,  tbat  I  begin  to  wooe  lords, 
What  a  troop  of  the  untruss'd  nobility 
Should  I  have  at  my  lodging  to-morrow  mont- 

ing? 

SONG. 

Come,  Sleep,  and,  with  thy  sweet  deceivingy 

lx)ck  me  in  delight  awhile; 

I^t  some  pleasing  dreams  beguile 

All  my  fancies;  that  from  thence, 

I  may  feel  an  influence, 
All  my  powers  of  care  bereaving! 

Tho'  but  a  shadow,  but  a  sliding, 
Let  me  know  some  little  joy! 
We  that  suffer  long  annoy. 
Are  contented  with  u  thought. 
Thro'  an  idle  fancy  wrought; 

Oh,  let  my  joys  have  some  abiding ! 

Gond,  Have  you  done  your  wassail^'  ? 
'Tis  a  handsome  drowsy  ditty,  1*11  assure  you; 
Now  I  had  as  lief  hear  a  cat  cry,  when  her 

tail 
Is  cut  off,  as  hear  these  lamentations. 
These  lousy  love-lays,  these  bewaihueats. 
You  think  you  have  caught  roe,  ladj!  yon 

think  I  melt  now. 
Like  a  disli  of  Mayrbutter,  and  run 
All  into  brine  and  passion:  yes,  yes,  Tbi 

t«ikeu:  [dwindle. 

Look  how  I  cross  my  arms,  look  pale,  and 
And  would  cry,  but/or  spoiling  my  hucel 
We  must  part*:  nay,  we'll  avoid  alt  ceremony; 
No  kissing,  lady !  I  desire  to  know 
Your  ladvship  no  more.    Death  pf  jpay  soul, 

the  duke ! 

Ori,  God  keep  ypor  Iprdship ! 

Gond.  From  tliee  and  all  Uiy  sex. 

Ori.  Ill  be  the  cle^k,  and  cry.  Amen ! 

Your  lordship's 
Ever-assured  enismy,  Oriana. 

[E^t  Ori.  Mtnet  Gond. 

Enter  Duke,  Arrigo^  end  Lucio, 

Gpndp  All  the  day's  good  attend  your  lord- 
ship! (possibfef 
Duke.  We  thank  you,  Gondarino. — Is  A 

Can  belief  lay  hold  on  such  a  miracle? 

To  see  thee  (one  that  hath  cloistef'd  np  aQ 
passion, 

Turn'd  wilful  votary,  and  forsworn  copverst 

With  women)  in  company  and^fair  discoone 

With  the  best  beauty  of  Milan  ? 


*•  Mine  eyes  looKd  babies  in."]  So,  in  Woman's  Prize,  act  v.  scene  1, 
■     No  more  fool. 
To  took  gay  babies  in  your  eueSy  young  Rowland,  Jit. 

^  WtamL'\  See  note  50  on  Begg^s'  Bush. 


CoMf. 


Acts.  Scene  L\ 


THE  WOMAN-HATJBR. 


485 


Gond,  Tis  tra^;  and  if  your  grace^  that 
hsLth  the  sway 
or  the  whole  suite,  will  suffer  tliis  lewd  sex, 
Thebe  women,  to  pursue  us  to  our  homes, 
l>f ot  to  be  pn»y*U  nor  tp  be  rail'd  away. 
But  they  will  wooe,  and  dance,  and  sing, 
Aud,  in  a  maimer  looser  tlmn  they  are 
By  nature  (which  .should  seem  impossible), 
To  throw  their  arms  on  our  uu willing  necks-* 
Duke,  No  more !  I  c^  see  thro*  your  vi- 
sor; dissemble  it  [art. 
No  mone  !  Do  not  I  know  tbou  hast  tts*d  all 
To  work  upon  the  poor  simplicity 
Of  tills  young  maid,  that  yet  hath  known 
none  ill,                                               [wooe 
Thinks  that  damnation  will  fri^^ht  those  tfiat 
From  oaths  and  lies^'?  But  yet  I  think  her 

chaste, 
And  will  from  thee,  before  thou  shalt apply 
Stronger  temptations,  bear  her  liencc   with 
roe.  [new  grace; 

Gmid,  My  lord,  T  speak  not  this  to  gain 
But  howsoever  you  esteem  my  words, 
My  love  and  duty  will  not  suffer  me 
To  see  you  favour  such  a  prostitute, 
And  I  stand  by  dumb ;  without  rack,  torture, 
Or  straparlo,  1  will  unrip  myself: 
I  do  confess  I  was  in  company 
With  tliat  pleasing  piece  of  frailty, 
That  we  call  woman ;  I  do  confess,  after 
A  long  and  tedious  siege,  I  yielded. 

Duke,  Forward  !  [tlie  point, 

GondL  Faith,  my  lord,  to  come  quickly  to 
The  woman  yoo  saw  with  me  is  a  whore,    . 
An  arrant  whore. 

Dnke.  Was  she  not  count  Valore's  sister? 
Gond.  Yes ;  that  count  Valore's  sister  is 
Duke,  Thou  dar'st  not  say  so.      [naught. 
Gotid,  Not  if  it  be  distasting  to  your  lordship; 
But  give  me  freedom,  and  I  dare  maintain 
She  has  embrac'd  this  body,  and  grown  to  it 
As  close  as  the  liot  youthful  vine  to  the  elm. 
Duke,  Twice  have  I  seen  her  with  thee, 
twice  my  thoughts  [strictness 

Were  prompted  by  mine  eyes  to  hold  thy 
False  and  impostorous: 
Is  this  your  mewing  up,  your  strict  retirement. 
Your  bitterness  and  gall  against  tliat  sex? 
Have  I  not  heard  th^  say,  thou*dst  sooner 

meet 
Tbe  basilisk's  dead- doing  eye,  than  meet 
A  woman  for  an  object?  liook  it  be  true  you 
tell  me;  [off!-* 

Or,  by  our  country's  saint,  your  head  goes 
Oh,  Oriana,  if  thou  prove  a  whore^^, 
N<»  woman's  face  shall  ever  move  me  more. 
[Exeunt,    Manet  Gond, 


Gond.  So,  so !  'tjs  as^  should  be.    An 

women 
Grown  so  mankind"  ?  must  they  be  wQoing? 
I  have  a  plot  bhtidl  blow  iier  up  ;  she  flies. 
She  mounts!  I'll  teach  her  !iulYi»hip  to  dare 
My  fury  !  I  will  be  tknown,  and  fear'd,  and 
More  truly  iuted  of  women  than  an  eunuclu 

E  titer  Or  tana. 

She's  here  again :  good  gidl,  be  patienJt  I  for 
I  must  dissemble. 

Ori.  Now,  my  cold  frosty  lord. 
My  Woman-Hater,  you  tliat  have  sworn  . 
Jin  everlustiug  hate  to  all  our  sex  ! 
By  my  troth,  good  lord,  and  as  Vm  yet  a  maid, 
Methought  'twas  excellent  sport  to  hear  your 

honour  [neral. 

Swear  out  an  alphabet,  chafe  nobly  like  a  ge- 
Kick  like  a  resty  jade,  and  make  dl  faces! 
Did  your  good  honour  think  I  was  in  love  ? 
Where  did  I  first  begin  to  take  that  heat?    * 
From  those  two  radiant  eyes,  tluit  piercing 

sight? 
Oh,  they  were  lovely,  if  the  balls  stood  right  f 
And  there's  a  leg  made  out  of  a  dainty  staff. 
Where,  the  gods  be  thanked,   there'is  calf 

enough!  [vertite: 

Gond.  Pardon  him,  lady,  that  is  now  a  con* 
Your  beauty,  like  a  saint,  hath  wrought  this 

wonder. 

Ori,  Alas,  has  it  been  pricked  at  the  heart? 
Is  the  stomach  come  down  ?  will't  rail  no  moro 
At  women,  and  call  'em  devils,  she-cats,  and 

goblins?  [ter  spend 

Gond,  He  that  shall  marry  thee,  had  bet* 
The  poor  remainder  of  his  days  in  a  dunfs* 

barge. 
For  two-pence  a  week,  and  find  himself. 
Down  again,  spleen !  I  prithee  down  again  !•« 
Shall  I  find  favour,  lady?  Shall  at  leneth 
My  true  unfeigned  penitence  get  pardon 
For  my  harsh  unseasoned  follies  ? 
I  am  no  more  an  atheist;  no;  I  do 
Acknowledge  that  dread  powerful  deity, 
And  his  all-quick'ningheats  bum  in  my  breasti 
Ob,  be  not  as  I  was,  hard,  unrelenting; 
But  as  I  am,  be  partner  of  my  fires ! 

Ori,  Sure  we  shall  have  store  of  larks;  thtt 
.  skies  will  [soon 

Not  hold  up  long:  I  should  have  look'd  as 
For  frost  in  the  dog-daysy  or  another  inunda^ 

tion,  [racle. 

As  hop'd  this  strange  conversion  above  mi« 
Let  me  look  upon  your  lordship :  is  your  nam^ 
Gondarino?  are  you  Milan's  general,  that 
Great  bugbear  Bloody-bones,  at  whose  verj 

name 


^^  Thinkest  that  damnation  will  fright  (hme  that  tcooe 

'  JVosi  4)aths  and  Ues,"]  This  is  an  odd  question  to  Gondarino,  but  it  seems  only  a  mistake 
from  adding  a  letter  to  the  verb.  Thinks  is  surely  the  true  reading  and  it  is  the  supposed 
simplicity  of  the  young  maid  who  thinks  th^t  the  fear  of  damnation  will  deter  men  from 
Ijinff  and  falsely  swearing  to  them.  Seward, 

3*  Iftkouprove^  Sfc.'\  ITie  words,  OA,  Oriana,  added  by  Seward. 

3*  Are  womm  grown  so  mankind  ?]  Sec  note  55  on  Monsieur  Thomas. 

AU 


486 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


[Acts.  SccmS. 


All  women,  from  the  Iftdy  to  the  laandre«s, 
Shake  like  a  cold  fit? 

Gond.  Good  patience,  help  me ! 
This  fever  will  enrage  my  blood  again.— 
Madam,  I  am  that  man ;  I'm  e?cn  he 
That  once  did  owe  unreconciled  bate  [man ; 
To  yon,  and  all  that  bear  the  name  of  wo* 
I  am  tlie  man  that  wrong'd  your  honour  to 

the  duke ; 
I  luu  the  man  that  said  you  were  unchaste, 
Ajid  prostitute;  yet  I  am  he  that  dare  deny 

all  this.  > 

Ori.  Your  big  nobility  is  very  merry. 

Gond.  Lady,  'tis  true  that  I  haVe  wron^d 

you  thus, 
And  my  contrition  is  as  true  as  that ;   [again : 
Yet  have  I  found  a  means  to  make  all  good 
I  do  beseech  your  beauty,  not  for  myself, 
(My  merits  are  yet  in  conception) 
But  for  your  honour's  safety  and  my  zeal,  re^ 

tire  awhile, 
Habile  I  unsa}'  myself  unto  the  duke, 
And  cast  out  that  evil  spirit  I  have  possessed 

him  with ! 
I  have  a  house  conveniently  private. 

OrL  Lord,  thou  hast  wrong'd  my  innocence; 
But  thy  confession  hath  gain'd  thee  faith. 

GoruL  By  the  true 
Honest  service  that  I  owe  those  eyes. 
My  meaning  is  As  spotless  as  my  faith. 

Ori.  The  duke  doubt  mine  honour?  a* may 

judge  strangely*  [again  ? 

Twill  not  be  long,  before  I'll  be  enlaig'd 

Gond.  A  day  or  two. 

Ori.  Mine  own  servants  shall  attend  me  ? 

Gond.  Your  ladyship's  command  is  sood. 

Ori.  Look  you  be  true !  [Exit. 

Gond.  Else  let  me  lose  the  hopes  my  soul 

aspires  to  I 
I  will  be  a  scourge  to  all  females  in  my  life. 
And,  after  my  death,  the  name  of  Gondanno 
Shall  be  terrible  to  the  mighty  women  of  the 

earth :  [of  it 

They  shall  shake  at  my  name,  and  at  the  sound 
Tlieir  knees  shall  knock  together;  and  they 

shall 
Run  into  nunneries,  for  they  and  I 
Are  beyond  all  hope  irreconcilable : 
For  if  I  could  endure  an  ear  with  a  hole  'm\ 

or  a  plaited  lock,  .  [sign 

Or  a  bareheaded  coachman,  that  sits  uke  a 


Where  great  ladies  are  to  be  sold  wiUuo, 
Agreement  betwixt  us  were  not  to  be  de- 
spaired of.  [women. 
If  I  could  be  but  brought  to  endure  Co  see 
I'd  have  them  come  all  ohoe  a-week  and  kiss 

me. 
As  witches  do  the  devil,  in  token  of  homage. 
I  must  not  live  here;  I  will  to  the  coort. 
And  there  pursue  my  plot:  when  it  hath  took, 
Women  snsll  stand  in  awe,  bat  of  my  look. 

lEgit. 

SCENE  m. 
Enter  two  Inteliigeneers, 

1  Int.  There  take  your  standing;  be  close 
And  vigilant!  here  will  I  set  mvself; 

And  let  him  look  to   his  language !  a*  shall 

know 
The  duke  has  more  ears  in  court  than  tvro. 

2  Int.  ril  quote  him  to  a  tittle^^:  let  him 
speak  wisely,  * 

Ana  plainly,  and  as  hidden  as  a' can. 

Or  I  shall  crush  him ;  a*  shall  not  scape  by 

characters^';  [hav« 

Tho'  a*  speak  Babel,  I  shall  crush  him.    Wc( 
A  fortune  by  this  service  hanging  over  us^ 
That,  within  this  year  or  two, 
I  hope  we  shall  be  call'd  to  be  examiners^ 
Wear  politic  gowns  guarded  with  copper-laisep 
Making  great  faces  full  of  fear  and  office; 
Our  labours  may  deserve  this. 

1  Int.  I  hope  it  shall : 
Why,  liave  not  many  men  been  raised  from 
This  worming  trade,  first,  to  gain  gooctaooes» 
To  great  men ;  then,  to  have  commissions  out 
For  search;  and  lastly,  to  be  worthily  namM 
At  a  great  arraignment  ?   Yes ;  and  why  not 

we? 
They  that  endeavour  well,  deserve  their  fee. 
Close,  close!  a' comes;  mark  well,  and  ali 

goes  well ! 

Enter  Valorem  Lazarillo,  and  Boy. 

Imz.  Farewell,  my  hopes!  my  anchor  now 

is  broken! 
Farewell,  my  quondam  \oj  I  of  wfaicfaDO  token 
Is  now  remaining;  such  is  the  sad  miscbance^ 
Where  lady  Fortune  leads  the  sUppefy  danont 
Yet,  at  the  length,  let  me  this  fovour  bav^ 
Give  me  my  wishes,  or  a  wished  grare! 


'^  til  quote  him  to  a  tittle;]  t.  e.  HI  observe  or  note  him :  so,  in  Hamlet^  act  ii. 
Polonios  says, 

*  ,  That  hath  made  him  mad : 
'  I  am  sorry  that  with  bettei-  heed  and  judgment^ 

*  I  had  not  quoted  him.'        jR. 
3'  A*  ihall  not  scape  characters.]  This  is  a  little  difficult:  if  it  is  the  true  readinc  the  <      .^ 

must  be,  that  he  shall  not  escape  having  characters  drawn  of  him.    But  besides  the  stiffikes 
of  this  interpretation,  it  does  not  well  suit  the  contexL    I  read  therefore^ 
-^~  a  shall  not  scape  by  characters^ 
Let  him  speak  Babel,  I  shall  crush  him; 
By  characters  must  here  be  understood,  using  names  of  one  thing  for  another,  as  the  t 
ters  of  a  cypher  do ;  for  from  writing  the  metaphor  before  is  taken. 
rU  quote  him  to  a  tittle.  Seward. 

Fal 


Act  3.  Scene  3.] 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


4&r 


Val.  The  gods  liefend,  io  bnve  and  vatiaiit 

inaw 
Should  slip  into  the  never-satiate  jaw  [know 
Of  black  Despair !  No ;  tliou  shalt  live  and 
Thy  full  desires ;  hunger,  thy  ancient  foe, 
Shall  be  subdued;  those  guts  that  daily  tumble, 
Thro'  air  and  appetite,  shall  cease  to  rumble; 
And  thou  shalt  now  at  length  obtain  tUj  dish, 
That  noble  part,  the  sweet  head  of  a  nsh. 

Loz.  Then  ain  I  greater  than  the  duke  I 

2  Int.  There,  there's 
A  notable  piece  of  treason !  greater  than 
The  duke;  mark  tliat! 

VaL  But  how,  or  where,  or  when  [reach. 
This  shall  be  compassed,  is-  yet  out  of  my 

Laz,  I  am  so  truly  miserable,  Uiat  might  I 
Be  now  knocked  o'th*  head,  with  all  my  heart 

I  would 
Forgive  a  dog-killer. 

Vol,  Yet  do  I  see 
Thro*  this  confusedness,  some  little  comfort'^. 

Las.  The  plot,  my  lord,  as  e'er  you  came 

of  a  woman,  discover. 

'*  Yet  do  Itetthrd  this  canfusedneu  tome  little  comfort.]  This,  when  restored  to  its  i 
sore,  is  a  high  burles(][ue  parody  of  all  poetic  sublimity  whatever,  and  Fletcher,  to  wlion 
alone  this  play  is  ascnbeo,  in  the  first  edition  must  have  ridiculed  himself  as  well  as  aN  grave 
writers,  if  every  quotation  from  Shakespeare  is  a  sneer  upon  him,  as  my  assistants,^  Mr. 
Theobald  and  Mr.  Sympson,  li$ve  been  apt  to  imagine,  and  to  have  been  quite  angry  with 
Fletcher  £or  it.    The  lines  above  very  much  resemble  the  following  in  The  Two  Noble Kins^- 


1  Int,  Plot%  dao^^emas  p)9t« !  I  will  deserve 

by  this 
Most  liberally. 

Val,  Tis  from  my  liead  again. 

Laz,  Oh,  that  it  would  stand  me,  that  I' 

might  iight. 
Or  have  some  venture  for  it !  that  I  might 
Be  turn'd  loose,  to  try  my  fortune  among  the 

whole 
Fry  in  a  colle^,  or  an  inn  of  court, 
Or  scram blewiih  the  prisoners  in  tlie  dungeon! 
Nay,  were  it  set  down  in  the  outward  court. 
And  all  the  guard  about  it  in  a  ring. 
With  their  knives  drawn  (which  were  a  dii» 

mal  sight), 
And  after  twenty  leisurely  were  tokl^ 
I  to  be  let  loose  only  in  my  shirt, 
To  try,  by  valour,  how  much  of  the  spoil'' 
I  would  recover  from  the  enemies'  mouths, 
I  would  accept  the  challenge. 

VaL  Let  it  go !  [the  coort. 

Hast  not  thou  been  held  to  Imve  some  wit  ia 

^  And  to  make  fine  jests  upon*  country  people 


men: 


-  yet  cousin. 


Ev'n  from  the  bottom  of  tliese  miseries. 

From  all  that  fortune  can  indict  upon  us, 

I  see  two  comforts  rising. 
Now  would  Fletcher  sneer  himself  at  a  work  that  be  certaiulyhadagreat^if  nol  the  greatest^ 
sfaace  in?  I  shall  here  take  an  opportunity  of  defending  Fletcher  for  the  character  of  Lazi^ 
rillo.  I  find  few  of  my  friends  quite  relish  it;  they,  think  the  characature  too  high,  too  madi 
beyond  Nature,  even  so  as  rather  to  raise  disgust  than  laughter.  To  this  might  be  pleaded 
the  authority  of  Aristophanes  in  his  characature  of  Socrates,  of  Plautus  in  more  than  one  of 
his  characters,  of  Shakespeare  in  Pistol,  and  of  Jonson  and  Moliere  in  the  greatest  part  of 
their  plays,  which  are  most  o(  tliem  formed  not  of  characters  of  reid  persons,  as  those  in 
general  of  Shakespeare,  Fletcher,  Terence,  &c.  are,  but  of  the  pustions  personated;  as  tlie 

E'on  o{  epicurism  or  nice  gluUonj^  is  in  this  play.  Few  people  have  seen  how  extremely 
the  several  passions,  as  avarice^  pride,  lust,  epicurismn&cc.  have  been  carried  in  real 
I  have  heard  of  a  gentleman  that  died  not  long  since,  whose  passion  for  eating  came  not 
fiir  abort  of  LazarilU/s;  and  poetry  is  always  allowed  a  little  to  heighten  the  features.  Then 
as  to  the  sublimity  of  the  poetic  language  used  by  Lazarillo,  it  is  certainly  the  very  best  that 
could  be  chose  for  high  burlesque;  as  the  dignity  of  the  stile  is  the  highest  contrast  to  the 
ridiculousness  of  the  sentiments.  Gondarino,  hke  Lazarillo,  is  a  passion  personated,  and  a 
very  well  chrawn  character  in  Ben.  Jonson's  manner;  so  tliat  upon  the  whole,  [  hope  the 
maiority  of  readers  will  join  the  laugh  at  this  exceedingly  droll  play.  Seward. 

The  parallel  Seward  draws  between  the  passage  quoted  and  tliat  in  The  Noble  Kinsmen,  is 
very  much  forced.  Our  authors  certainly  have  often,  without  remorse,  burlesqued  Shake- 
speare, and  particularly  his  Hamlet. 

33  To  try  the  valourp  hoto  much  of  the  spdl 

I  would  recover  from  the  enemies*  mouthsJ]  This  is  scarcely  sense ;  there  a»  two  ways 
of  correcting  it,  as 

To  try  by  valour,  how  much  of  the  spoil 
I  could  recover  from  the  enemies'  mc  uths ! 
Or, 

To  try  their  valour !  how  much  of  the  spoil 
Would  I  recover  from  the  enemies'  moutlis? 
1  prefer  the  fimner.    The  two  next  lines  of  the  count's  speech  aie  restoted  from  the  old 
quarto.  Seward. 

In 


488 


Tȣ  WOM/VN-HATER. 


[Acl  8.  Scene  8. 


In  progr^ss*time?   and  wilt  thou  lose  this 

opinion, 
For  the  cold  head  of  a  fish?  I  say,  let  it  go! 
rU  help  thee  to  as  good  a  dish  ofiueat* 

Imz,  God,  let  me  not  live,  if  I  do  not  won- 
der 
Men  should  talk  so  prophanely !     But 
It  is  not  in  tlie  power  of  loose  words 
Of  any  vain  or  misbelieving  man. 
To  make  me  dare  to  wrong  thy  purity. 
Shew  me -but  any  lady  in  the  court. 
That  liath  so  full  an  eye,  so  sweet  a  breath. 
So  soft  and  white  a  flesh:  this  doth  not  He 
In  almond-gloves,  nor  ever  hath  been  washed 
In  artificial  baths ;  no  traveller   [hath  dar'd,. 
That  hath  brought  doctor  home  with  him^^. 
With  all  his  waters,  powders,  fucuses. 
To  make  thy  lovely  corps  sophisticate. 

VaL  I  have  it ;  'tis  now  infus'd;  be'  com- 
-   fbrted! 

Laz.  Can  there  be  that  little  hope  yet  left 
In  Nature?  Shall  I  once  more  erect  up  tro- 
phies ? 
Shall  I  enjoy  the  sight  of  mv  dear  saint, 
And  bless  my  palate  with  the  best  of  creatures  ? 
Ah,  good  my  lord,  by  whom  I  breathe  again, 
6MI  I  receive  tliis  being  ? 

Vol.  Sir,  I  have  found  by  certain  calculation. 
And  settled  revolution  of  the  stars. 
The  fish  is  sent  by  the  lord  Gondarino 
To  his  mercer :  now  it  is  a  growing  hope 
To  know  where  'tis. 

Laz,  Oh,  it  is  far  abeve 
Th(?  good  of  women;  the  pathick  cannot  yield 
More  pleasing  titillation !  [about, 

VaL  But  how  to  compass  it?  search,  cast 
And  bang  your  brains,  LazariUo  I  Thou  art 
Too  dull  and  heavy  to  deserve  a  blessing. 

Laz,   My  lord,    I'll  not  be  idle:   now, 
Think,  think,  think !  [Lazacillo, 

VaL  YonderV  my  informer,  [at  me : 

And  his  fellow,  with  table-books ;  they  nod 
Upon  my  life,  they  have  poor  LazariUo 
(That  beats  his  brains  about  no  such  weighty 

matter) 
In  for  treason  before  this. 

Lax.  My  lord,  what  do  you  think. 
If  I  shoulcl  &have  myself,  put  on  midwife's 

apparel, 
Come  in  with  a  handkerchief,  and  beg  a  piece 
For  A  great-bellied  woman,  or  a  sick  child  ? 

Fa/.  Good,  very  good! 

Laz,  Or  corrupt  the  waiting  prentice 
To  betray  the  reversion. 

1  Int.  There's  another  point 
In's  plot ;  corrupt  with  money  to  betray : 
Sure  'tis  some  fort  a*  means.    Mark ;  have  a 

care!  ^  [with, 

1^2.  An  'twere  the  bare  vinegar  'tts  eaten 
It  would  in  some  sort  satisfy  Nature : 
But  might  I  once  attain  the  dish  itself, 
Tho'  I  cut  out  my  means  thro'  sword  and  fire. 


Thro*  poison,  thro'  any  thing  that  nmy  make 
My  hopes —  [isood 

3  Int,   Thanks    to    the   gods,    and  oor 

officiousness. 
The  plot's  discover'd !  fire,  steel. 
And  poison ;  bum  the  palace,  kill  the  dokc^ 
And  poison  his  privy-council. 

Val.  To  tlie  mercer's!  let  me  see! 
How  if,  before  we  can  attain  the  means 
To  make  up  our  acquaintance,  the  &ah  be 

eaten? 

Laz,  If  it  be  eaten,  here  a*  stands^  that  is 
The  most  dejected,  most  unfortunate. 
Miserable,  accurs'd,  forsaken  slave  [it; 

This  province  yields!  I  will  not  sure  oat-live 
No,  I  will  die  bravely,  and  like  n  Roman; 
And  afler  deatii,  amidst  the  Elysiau  sliades 
I'll  meet  my  love  again. 

1  lilt.  I  will  die  bravely. 
Like  a  Roman :  have  a  care ;  mark  thst ! 
When  he  hath  done  all,  he  will  kill  himself. 

Val.  Will  nothing  ease  your  appetite  bat 

this?  [ness, 

Laz,  No ;  could  the  sea  throw  up  his  va&t- 
And  offer  firee  his  best  inhabitants,  [me! 
Twere  not  so  much  as  a  bare  temptaticm  to 

Val.  If  you  could  be  drawn  toatfect  beef. 
Venison,  or  fowl,  it  would  be  far  the  better. 

Laz.  1  do  beseech  your  lonlsbip's patience! 
I  do  confess  that,  in  this  hea^  of  blood, 
I  have  contemn'd  all  dull  and  grosser  meats; 
But  I  protest  I  do  honour  a  c£ne  of 
Beef^  I  do  i^ercnce  a  loiu  of  veal ; 
But,  good  my  lord,  give  me  leave  aiittJe 
To  adore  this!  But,  my  good  lord,  wouM 

your  lordsiiip. 
Under  colour  of  taking  np  some  sliks. 
Go  to  the  mercer's,  I  would  in  ali  hinmiitT 
Attend  your  honour,  where  we  may  be  iurited^ 
If  Fortune  stand  propitious. 

VaL  Sir,  you  shall 
Work  me  as  you  please. 

Laz.  Let  it  be  suddenly, 
I  do  beseech  your  lordship  {  Tis  now  upon 
The  point  of  dinner-time. 

Val.  I  am  all  yours.    [Ere.  Las.  and  VmL 

1  Int.  Come,  let's  confer:  imprtmis,  a'saith^ 
like  [duke; 

A  blasphemous  villain,  he's  greater  than  the 
This  peppers  &im,  an  there  were  nothing  else. 

2  Int,  Then  a'  was  naming  plots ;  did  yoa 
not  hear?  [covery, 
1  Ja^  Yes;  but  a'  fell  firom  tlmt  unto  dis- 

To  corrupt  bj  money,  and  so  attain. 

S  Int.  Ay,  ay, 
A'  meant  some  fort  or  citadel  the  duke  hath  ; 
His  very  faee  betray'd  his  meaning.   Oh,  he's 
A  very  subtle  and  a  dangerous  knave ; 
But  if  a' deal  a  God's  name,  we  shall  worm 

him. 

1  Int.  But  now-comes  the  stroke,  the  fatal 

blow. 


'^  That  hath  brought  doctor  home  with  him;}  t.  e* 
foreign  university.  Seward. 


Has  had  a  doctor's  d^rec  in  some 

Fire, 


Act  8.  9c«nt  4*] 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


Fire,  sword,  %iid  poiioa :  ah,  cvubal, 
'   Tbou  bloody  caaibal! 

2  Int.  WhMJ^  bad  become 
Of  this  poor  atate  had  not  we  been  ? 

1  Inf.  Faith, 

It  bad  iaiu  buried  in  its  own  ashes,  had  not 
A  greater  hand  been  in'L 

2  Int.  But  note 

The  rascal's  resolution;  after  tract's  done. 
Because  he  would  avoid  oil  fear  of  torture, 
And  cozen  the  law,  !be'd  kill  himself;  was 

there  [age? 

Kver  the  like  danger  brought  to  light  in  this 
Sure  we  shall  merit  much;  we  shall  be  able 
To  keep  two  men  a-piece,  and  a  two-hand 

sword 
Between  us;  we  will  live  in  favour  of 
The  state,  betray  our  ten  or  twelve 
Treasons  a-week,  and  the  people  shall  fear  us. 
Come;  to  tiie  lord  Lucio! 
The  sun  shall  not  go  down  *till  he  be  hang*d. 
^         [Exeunt. 

SCENE  IV. 
Enter  Mercer. 

Mercer.  Look  to  my  shop ;  and  if  there 

come  ever  a  scholar  [are  shopkeepers 
In  black,  let  him  spenk  with  me.  We  that 
In  good  trade,  are  so  pester'd,  tiiat  we  can 

scarce  ,  [tion ; 

Pick  out  an  hour  for  our  morning's  medita* 
And  howsoever  we're  all  accounted  dull. 
And  common  jesting-stocks  for^our  gaUants, 
There  ore  some  ok'  us  do  not  deserve  it;  for, 

for  my  own  part, 
I  do  begin  to  be  given  to  my  book.    I  love 
A  scholar  with  my  heart ;  fur,  questionless. 
There  are  marvellous  things  to  be  done  by 

art:  why,  sir,  [horses, 

Some  of  them  will  tell  you  wliat's  become  of 
And  silver  spoons,  and  will  make  wenches 

tlance 
Ndked  to  their  beds.    I'm  }ret  unmarried. 
And  because  some  of  our  neighbours  are  said 
To  he  cuckolds,  I  will  never  marry 
Without    the  consent   of  some   of    these 

scholars, 
That  know  what  will  come  of  it. 

Enter  Pandar. 

Pandar,  Are  you  busy,  sir  ? 

Mercer.  Never  to  you,  sir,   nor  to  any 

of  your  coat. 
Sir,  is  there  any  thing  to  be  done  by  art. 
Concerning  the  great  heir  we  talk'd  on  ? 

Pandar.  Will  she,  nill  she,  she  shall 
Come  running  into  my  house,  at  the  further 

comer 
In  St.  Mark's  Street,  'twixt  three  and  four. 

Mercer.  Twixt  three  and  four  ? 
She's  brave  in  cloaths,  is  she  not  ? 

Pandar.  Ob,  rich,  rich! — (Where  should  I 
Get  cloaths  to  dress  her  in  ?  Help  me,  in- 
vention !) — 
Sir,  that  her  running  thru'  the  titreet  may  be 

VOL- in,      ^ 


I^ess  noted,  my  art  more  shewn. 
And  your  fear  to  speak  with  her  les8» 
She  shall  come  in  a  white  waistcoat,  and«- 
M&^cer.  What !  shaU  she  ?  [bath  left 

Pandar.  And  perhaps  torn  stockings. — She 
Her  old  wont  else. 

Enter  Prentice. 

Pren-x  Sir,  my  lord  Gondarino 
Hath  sent  you  a  rare  fish-head. 

Mercer.  It  comes  ri^ht ;  all  things 
Suit  right  with  me  smce  I  began  to  love 

scholars!  [come. 

You  shall  Imve't  home  with  you  against  she 
Carry  it  to  tliis  gentleman's  liouse. 

Pandar.  The  fair  [Mark's  Street. 

White  house,  at  the  further  corner  of  St. 
Make  Iwste  1  I  nmst  leave  you  too,  sir ;  I 

have 
Two  hours  to  study.    Buy  a  new  Accidence 
And  ply  your  book,  and  you  shall   want 

nothing  ^ 

That  all  the  scholars  iirtiie  town  can  do  for 

you !  [Exit, 

Mercer.  Heav'n  prosper  both  our  studies! 
What  a  dull  slave  was  1  before 
I  fell  ill  love  with  this  learning!  not  worthy 
To  tread  upon  the  earth;  and  what  fresh  hopes 
It  hath  put  into  me!  I  do  hope,  within  this 

twelvemontli. 
To  he  able  by  art  to  serve  the  court  with  silks, 
And  not  unao  myself;  to  trust  knights,  and 
Yet  get  in  my  money  again ;  to  kee^ 
My  wife  brave,  and  yet  she  keep  nobody 

else  so. 

Enter  Valortand  Lazarillo, 

Your  lordship  is  most  honourably  welcome. 
In  reg'4rd  of  your  nobility;  but  most 
Especially  in  regard  of  your  scholarsliip. 
Did  your  lordship  come  openly? 

Val.  8ir,  this  cloak  [pect  me 

Keeps  me  private ;  besides,  no  man  will  sus- 
To  be  in  the  company  of  this  gentleman ; 
With  whom  I  will  desire  you  to  be  acquainted  s 
lie  may  prove  a  good  customer  to  you. 

J.uz.  For  plain  silks  and  velvets. 

Mercer.  Are  you  schulastical  ? 

Imz.  Something  addicted  to  the  muses. 

Val.  I  hope  they  will  not  dispute. 

Mercer.  You  have  no  skill  in  the  black  art  i 

Enter  Prentice. 

Pren.  Sir,  vonder's  a  gentleman  enquires 
For  count  Valore.  Qiastily 

Vul,  For  me  ?  what  is  he?  Ythink. 

Pren.  One  of  your  followers,  my  lord,  I 
Val.  Let  him  come  in. 
Mercer.  Shall  I  talk  with  you  in  private,  sir? 

Enter  Messenger  toith  a  Letter;  Valore  reads* 

Val.  « Count,  come  to  fhe  court ;  ye«T 

business  calls  you  thither  :* 
I  will  go.    Farewell,  sirl  I'll  see  your  ailks 
Some  other  time.    Fan  well.  lAzariUol 

9  li  Msrcer. 


490 


TIIE  WOMAK-IL\TER. 


Mercer,  Will  not  your  lordship  take  a 
"With  me?  [piece  of  beef 

VaL  Sir,  T  have  greater  business 
Tlian  eating ;  Fll  leave  tHis  gentleman  with 

you.  [Exeunt  Valore  and  Messenger. 

Lag,  Now,  now,  now,  now'* !  [ra^>- 

Now  do  I  feel  that  strange  struggling  within 
That  I  think  I  could  prophesy. 

Mercer.  The  gentleman 
Is  meditating. 

Las.  Hunger,  valour,  love, 
"  Ambition,  are  alike  pleading,  and, 
Let  our  pliilosophers  say  what  they  will, 
Arc  one  kind  of  heat ;  onl}-  hunger  is 
The  safest :  ambition's  apt  to  fall ;  love 
And  vidour  nre  not  free  from  dangers  i  only 
Hunger,  begotten  of  some  old  limber  cour^^. 
In  paned  hose,  and  nurs'd  by  an  attorney  s 

wife. 
Is  now  so  thriven,  that  he  need  not  fear 
To  be  of  the  Great  Turk's  guard ;  is  so  free 
from  all  quarrels  and  dangers. 
So  full  of  hopes,  joys,  andticklings,thatmy  life 
Is  not  so  dear  to  me  as  his  acquaintance. 

Enter  Boy, 

Boy»  Sir,  the  fish-head  is  gone. 

Laz.  Then  be  [voice ! 

Thou  henceforth  dumb,  with  thy  ill-boding 
Farewell,  Milan!  Farewell,  noble  duke! 
Farewell,  my  fellow-courtiers  all,  with  v.liom 
I  have  of  yore  made  many  a  scrambling  meal 
In  comers,  behind  arrases,  on  stairs ; 
And  in  the  action  oftentimes  have  spoil'd 
Our  doublets  and  our  hose  with  liquid  stuff! 
Farewell,  you  lusty  archers  of  the  guard, 
TO/Whom  [  now  do  give  the  bucklers  up, 
And  never  more  with  any  of  your  coat 
Will  eat  for  wagers  1  now  you  happy  lie; 
When  this  shall  light  upon  you,,  think  on 

me! 
You  sewers,  carvers,  ushers  of  the  court, 
^imamed  gentle  for  your  fair  demean. 
Here  I  do  cake  of  you  my  last  farev/ell : 
May  you  stand  stifly  in  your  proper  places, 
And  execute  your  offices  aright! 
Farewtll,  you  maidens,  witli  y ourmothers  eke. 


(Act  4.  Scene  1. 

Farewell,  you  courtly  chaplains  that  be  there ! 
All  good  attend  you!  may  you  never  more 
Marry  your  patron's  lady's  waiting-woman, 
But  may  yoo  raised  be  by  tliis  my  fall ! 
lVI»y  I^zarillo  suffer  for  you  all ! 

Mercer.  Sir,  I  was  bearkning  to  you. 

i^a.  I  will  hear  nothing!  I  will  break  my 

knife, 
The  ensign  of  my  former  happy  state. 
Knock  out  my  teeth,  have  them  hung  at  a 
And  enter  into  religion.  [barber''s, 

B(u/.  Why,  sir,  I  think 
]  know  whither  it  is  gone. 

luiz.  See  the  nishness  [do 

Of  man  in  his  nature  I  Whither,  whither  ^  I 
Unsay   all   that  Tve   said !   Go  on,  go  on, 

boy ! 
I  humble  myself,  and  foUow  thee.   Farewell, 

sir !  [of  beef  with  me. 

Mercer,  Not  so,  sir;  you  shall  take  a  jnecc 

laz.  I  cannot  stay. 

Mt^cer.  By  my  fav,  but  you  shall,  sir! 
In  regard  of  your  love  to  learning,  and  yonr 
In  the  black  art.  ||skill. 

Laz.  J  do  hate  lenming,  and  I  liave 
No  skill  in  the  black  art:  I  would  I  had! 

Mtjcer,  Why,  your  desire  is  suiBcient  to 
You  shnll  stay.  [^^i 

Laz.  TI.e  most  horrible  and 
DetesJed  curses  that  can  be  imagined. 
Light  iij)o:t  all  the  professors  of  that  art! 
May  iliey  be  drunk,  and,  when  they  go  to 

conjure,   *  '  [raisU 

Keel  i'th' circle!  May  the  spirits  by  them 
Tear  'tm  in  pieces, 

And  bang  their  quarters  on  old  broken  walk 
And  bteeplc-tops! 

Mercer.  This  speech  of  yours  shews  you 
To  have  some  skill  i' th' science ;  whefefoie. 
Civility,  I  may  not  suffer  you  [in 

To  depart  empty. 

Laz,  My  stomach  is  up; 
I  can*t  endure  it!  [  will  fight  in  this  qaarrt*!. 
As  soon   as  for  my  prince.     Room !  make 

way!  [Dnncg his  rapier. 

Hunger  commands;  my  valour  must  obt-v! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT   IV. 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  Valore  and  Arrigo,. 

VaL  TS  the  duke  private? 

•■-     Arr.  He's  alone ;  but  I  think 
Your  lordship  may  enter.  [Exit  Vnl, 


Enter  Gondarinik 

Gond.  Who  is  with  the  duke?  [wfli 

Arr.  The  count  is  new  gone  in;  but  the  duke 

Come  forth,   before   yon  can  be  weary  of 

waiting.  ' 


•  3^  Aa,  910,  nOy  no;  tioa?.]  Former  editions.  This  meditation  of  LnxarUh*s  seems  de» 
gignedly  iluntf  in,  to  shew  that  a  man  may  run  mad  witli  the  passion  of  hunger  as  well  as  thai 
of^ love,  ambition,  6lc.  and  this  is  a  key  to  LaMr///!(/s  character.  The  umbrana's  head  is 
become  his  mistress,  and  he  is  run  mad  with  the  thoughts  of  it.        Semard. 


Act  4.  Scene  i.J 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


491 


Gond.  I  will  attend  him  here. 

Arr.  I  must  wait  without  the  door.  [Esit. 

Gond,  Doth  lie  hope  to  clear  his  sister  ? 

She  will  come  [sent  her 

No  more  to  my  house,  to  laugh  at  nie:  I've 
To  ao  hahitutiun,  where,  when  she  slmll  be 
Seen,  it  will  set  u  gloss  upon  her  niime : 
Yet,  on  my  soul,  I  have  bestow'd  her  amongst 
The  purestrhearted  creatures  ot*  her  sex, 
And  the  freest  from  dissimulation  ;  for  their 

deeds 
Are  tdl  alike,  only  they  dare  speak 
What  tlic  rest  think.  The  women  of  this  age, 
(If  there  be  any  degrees  of  comparison 
Anious^t  their  sex)  arc  woi%e  than  those  of 

former  times; 
For  I  have  read  of  women,  of  that  truth. 
Spirit,  and  constancy,  that,  were  they  now 
Living,  I  should  endure  to  see  them :  but 
I  fear  tlie  writers  of  the  time  belied  them; 
For  how  familiar  a  thin^  is  it  with 
The  poets  of  onr  age,  to  extol  their  whores 
(Which  they  call  ttiistretiOi)  with  heav 'nly 


praises 


!  [bniins, 

But,  I  thank  their  furies,  and  their  crazVi 
Beyond  belief!  Nay,  how  many  that  would 

fain 
Seem  serious,  liave  dedicated  grave  works 
To  ladies,  tootliltss,  bollow-ey'd,  their  hair 
sheddinw^*,  [off, 

Purple^fac*d,  their  nails  apparently  coming 
Ana  the  bridges  of  their  noses  broken  down, 
And  have  call'd  them  the  choidi  handy  works 
of  Nature,  [nient 

The  patterns  of  perfection,  and  the  wonder- 
Of  women.    Our  women  begin  to  swarm . 
Like  bees  in  summer :  as  I  came  hither, 
There  was  no  pair  of  stairs,  no  entry,  no 

lobby, 
But  was  pestered  with  Uiein :  methinks 
There   might  be  some  course  taken  to  de- 
stroy them. 

Enter  Arrigo,  and  an  old  deaf  Country  Gen- 

tlewohariy  suitor  to  the  Duke. 
\ 

Arr.  I  do  i^ccept  your  money :  walk  here; 

and  when    .  [portuniiy 

The  duke  comes  out,  yon  shall  have  iit  op- 
To  deliver  your  petition  to  him. 

Gent  lew.  I  thank  you  heartily. 
I  pniy  you  who's  he  that  walks  there? 

.  Arr.*  A  lord,  and  a  soldier, 
One  in  good  favour  with  the  duke :  if  you 

conld  get  him 
To  deliver  your  petition — 

Genlirw,  What  do  you  say,  sir? 

Arr.  If  you  could  get  him  to  deliver  your 

petition 
Foryou,  or  to  second  you,  'twere  sure. 

Uentlew.  I  hope 
I  shall  live  to  requite  your  kindness. 

Arr.  You  have  already.  [Exit. 


Ccntlew,  May  it  please  your  lordship— 

Gond,  No,  no. 

Ce  fit  lew.  To  consider  the  estate — 

Oimd.  No.  [tiewomnn. 

Oe/Uleu\  Of  a  p0f)r  oppressed  count  i-y  gen- 

Gond.  No,  it  doth  not  ple«ise  my  lordship. 

Gentlcw,  First  and  foremost,  1  have  had 

great  injury ;  [times. 

Then  I've  been  brought  up  to  the  town  thrc«^ 

Gond,  A  pox  on  him  that  brought  thee  to 

the  town!  [heartilv! 

Gent  lew,  I  thank  your  good  lordship 
Tho'  I  cannot  hearwcll^Iknoxv  itgrievesyouj 
And  here  we  have  been  delny*d,  and  ^nt 

down  again. 
And  fetch'd  up  again,  and  sent  down  again, 
To  my  great  chaise ;  and  now  at  last  they've 

fetch'd  me  up, 
And  live  of  my  daughtert— - 

Gond.  Enough  to  damn  five  worlds! 

Gcntleui.  Uaudsoiuc  young  women,  tlio'  I 

say  it :  they 
Are  all  without;  if  it  please  >our  lordship, 
rU  call  them  in.  *  [should  T 

Gond.  1'  ive  women !  how  many  of  my  senses 
Have  left  me  then?  call  in  five  de\ils  first! 
No,  I  will  rather  walk  with  thee  alone. 
And  hear  thy  tedious  tale  of  injury. 
And  give  thee  answers;  whisper  in  thine  ear, 
And  make  thee  understand  tiuo'  thy  IroucU 

hood; 
And  ail  this  with  tame  patience ! 

GnUlew,  \)i*ie  [without; 

Your  lordship  does  believe  that  they  are 
And  I  perceive  you  are  much  mov'd  at  our 

injury : 
Here'*!  a  paper  will  tell  you  more. 

Gond,  Away!  [me  tell  it 

Gent  lew.  It  may  be  you  had  rather  hear 
Vivd  voce,  as  they  say. 

Gond.  Ohy  no,  no,  no,  no !  I  have  beard 

it  before.  [injury, 

Gentlew,  Then  you  have  heiurd  of  enough 
For  a  poor  gentlewoman  to  receive. 

Gond.  Never,  never;  but  that  it  troubles 
My  conscience  to  wish  any  good  to  these 

women, 
I  could  aflford  them  to  be  valiant  and  able. 
That  it  might  be  no  disgrace  for  a  soldier 
To  heat  them. 

Gentlcw.  I  hope 
Your  lordship  will  deliver  my  petition 
To  his  grace ;  and  you  may  tell  hiin  withal— 

Gond.  What? 
I  will  deliver  any  thing  against  myself, 
To  be  rid  on  thee.  [o'clock 

Gentlew.  That  yesterday  about  thre« 
I'  th'  aflernoon,  I  met  my  adversary. 

Gond,  Give  me  thy  paper  I  he  can  abide 

no  long  tales.  [demanding  of  Ixim — 

Gentlao,  Tis  very  short,  my  lord :  and  I 

Gond.  ril  tell  him  that  shall  serve  thy  t«rn* 


.^*  MoUovc^}/d  their  hair  thedding.]  Seward  reads, 
lioUow-ey'd,  /lair-i/iedding,  4c, 

sua 


Gtntkw, 


4n 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


Xrentlew,  How?  [begone! 

Gond.  ni  tell  hnn  thnt  shall  serve  thy  turn : 
Man  never  doth  remember  how  great 
Ilis  offences  are,  'till  he  do  meet  with  one 
Of  you,  thai  plagues  him  for  them.    Why 

should  women  only, 
Above  all  other  creatures  that  were  created 
For  the  benefit  of  roan,  have  the  use  of  speech^ 
Or  why  should  any  deed  of  theirs, 
Done  by  their  fleshly  appetites,  be  disgraceful 
To  their  owners?    Nay,  why  should  not  an 

act  done 
By  any  beast  I  keep,  against  my  consent, 
Disiparage  me  as  much  as  that  of  tlieiVs  ? 

uentlasp.  Here*s  some  few  angels  for  your 

lordship. 

Gond,  Again? 
Yet  more  torments  ? 

GentUw.  Indeed  you  shall  have  them. 
.  Gmd.  Keep  off!  '  [ness. 

Gentlew,  J^  small  ji;ratuity  for  your  kind- 

Gond.  Hold  away ! 

Gentlcw,  Wliy  then,  I  thank  your  lordship! 
ni  gather  them  up  again;  and  I'll  be  sworn 
It  is  the  first  money  that  was  refus'd 
Since  I  came  to  the  court. 

Gond,  What  can  she  devise 
To  say  more? 

Gentlew.  Truly  I  would  have  willingly 
Parted  with  them  to  your  lordship. 

Gond,  I  believe  it^ 
I  believe  it. 

Gentlew.  But  since  it  is  thus — 

Gond,  More  yet? 

Gentlew,  I  ^vill  attend  without,  and  ex- 
pect an  answer.  [and  have 

Gond,  Do;  begone,  and  thou  shalt  expect, 
Any  thing;  thou  shalt  have  thy  answer  from 

him: 
And  he  were  best  to  give  thee  a  good  one 
At  first,  for  thy  deaf  importunity 
Will  conquer  him  too  in  the  end.  ^ 

Gent  loo,  God  bless  your  lordship,  and  all 

that  fevour 
Poor  distressed  country  gentlewomen  ! 

{Exit, 

Gond,  All  the  diseases  of  man 
Light  upon  them  that  do,  and  upon  me 
When  I  do !  A  week  of  such  days  would  ci- 
ther make  me 
Stark  -mad,  or  tame  me.  Yonder  other  womkn. 
That  IVe  sure  enough,  shall  answer  for  thy 

sins.  [fear 

Dare  they  incense  me  still  ?  Ill  make  them 
As  much  to  be  ignorant  of  me  and  my  moods,' 
As  men  are  to  be  ignorant  of  the  law 
They  live  under.    Who's  there  ?   my  blood 

grew  cold !  [duke. 

I  Mgan  to  fear  my  suitor's  return.    It  is  the 

Enter  Duke  and  VaUre. 

Vol,  I  know  faer  chaste,  tho'  she  be  young 
•ad  free. 


[Act4.9eeftel. 

And  is  not  of  that  forc'd  behaviour 
Ihat  ibany  others  are ;  and  that  this  lurri. 
Out  of  the  boundlet«  malice  to  the  sex, 
Hath  thrown  this  scandal  on  ber.  [wiU, 

.  Gond,  Fortune  befriended  me  against  my 
With  this  good  old  country  gentlewomaiiw — 
I  beseech  your  grace  to  view  fiivourably 
The  petition  of  a  wronged  gentlewoman. 

Dttke.  What,  Gondarino,  are  you  becoiBe 
A  petitioner  for  your  enemies? 

bond.  My  lord,  they  are  no  enemies 
Of  mine :  I  confess,  the  better  to  cover 
My  deeds,  which  sometimes  were  loose  enough, 
I  pretended  it  (as  'tis  wisdom  to  keep 
Close  our  incontinence);  but  since  you  have 
Diacover'd  me,  1  will  no  more  put  on 
That  visard,  but  will  as  freely  open 
All  my  thoughts  to  you,  as  tO  my  conlcsBor. 

Duke.  What  say  you  to  this  ? 

Val,  He  that  confesses  he  did  once  dis- 
semble, 
111  never  trust  his  words :  can  you  imagine 
A  maid,  whose  beauty  could  not  suffer  faer 
To  live  this  long  untcrapted  by  the  noblest. 
Richest,  and  conning^t  masters  in  that  art. 
And  vet  hath  ever  held  a  iair  repute, 
Coulcl  in  onemorning,  and  byhim,bebfvngbc 
1  o  forget  all  her  virtue,  and  turn  whore? 

Qand,  I  would  I  had  sotne  other  talk  in 

hand. 
Than  to  accuse  a  sister  to  her  brother : 
M  or  do  I  mean  it  for  a  public  scandal. 
Unless  by  ui^ing  me  you  m^ke  it  so. 

Duke,  I  will  read  this  at  better  teisare. 
Gondarino,  where  is  the  lady? 

Val.  At  his  house. 

Gond.  No; 
She  is  departed  thence. 

Val.  Whither?  [cus'd, 

Gond,  Ui^  it  not  thus ;  or  let  me  be  ex* 
If  what  I  speak  betray  her  chastity. 
And  bothencrease  my  sorrow,  and  your  own. 

Vul.  Fear  me  not  so:  if  she  deserve   the 

feme  [lishM, 

Which  she  hath  gotten,  I  would  liave  it  pub* 
Brand  her  myself,  aud  whip  her  thro' the  city ! 
I  wish  those  of  my  blood  that  do  ofiend. 
Should  be  more  strictly  punisli'd  than  my  foes. 
Let  it  be  prov'd ! 

Duke.  Gondnrino,  thou  shalt 
Prove  it,  or  suffer  worse  than  she  should  do. 

Gond.  Then  pardon  me,  if  I  betray  the 

faults 
Of  one  I  love  more  i learly  than  myself. 
Since,  opening  heft,  I  shall  betray  mine  own : 
But  I  will  bring  you  where  she  now  intends 
N  ot  to  be  virtuous.    Pride  and  wantonness. 
That  are  true  friends  in  deed^%  tho'  not  in 

show,  [bathe. 

Have  enter'd  on  her  heart;  there  she  doth 
And  sleek  her  hair,  and  practise  cnnniiig 

looks. 
To  entertain  me  with;  and  hath  her  tjx>ugbti 


^^  Thai  are  true  friends  indeed,]  Formet'ediwns,  Seward. 


M 


Act  4.  Sceta«  S.] 


THfi  WOMAN^HATBft. 


^s  fuU  of  lost,  us  ever  jou  did  tliink 

Them  full  of  modesty. 

Duke,  Gondarino,  lead  ou;   well  follow 
titee.  [ExiL 

SCENE  11. 

Enter  Pandar. 

Fandar,  Here  hope  I  to  meet  my  citizeD, 

and  here 
Hopes  he  to  meet  his  scholar  *.  I  am  sure 
1 4un  gmve  «noagb  to  his  eyes,  and  knave 

enough 
To  deceive  him :  I  am  believ'd  to  coaiuite, 
Raise  stomis  and  devils,  by  whose  power  I 

can 
Do  wonders:  let  him  believe  so  still;  belief 
Hurts  no  man«   I  have  an  honest  bluck  cloak 

for 
My  knavery,  and  a  general  pardon  For 
His  foolery,  from  tins  present  day,  'till 
The  day  of  his  bi^eaking.    I»'t  not  a  misery, 
Aud  the  greatest  of  our  age,  to  see  a  haiid* 

some» 
Young, fair-enough,  and  well-mounted  wench. 
Humble  herself  in  an  old  staromel  petticoat, 
Standing  possessed  of  no  more  fringe  than 
The  street  can  allow  her;  her  upper  parts  so 

poor 
And  wanting,  that  you  may  seemlier  bones 

thro*  her  bodice; 
Shoes  she  would  have,  if  her  captain  were 

come  over, 
And  is  content  the  while  to  devote  herself 
To  ancient  slippers.    These  premieres  well 
Consider*d,  gentlemen,  will  move;  cheymMke 
Me  melt,  I  proiui&e  you,  they  stir  me  much; 
And  were  it  not  for  my  smooth,  soft,  silken 

citizen, 
I'd  quit  this  transitory  trade,  get  me 
An  everlasting  robe,  sear  up  my  conscience. 


but  liene  lie  comet  is 


And  torn  sergeant. 

mine;  ^ 

As  good  as  price:  sir  Pandams^bemy  speed! 
You  are  most  fitly  met,  sir. 

Enter  Mercer. 

Mercer.  And  you  as  well  encounter'd. 
What  of  this  heir?    Have  your  books  beea 

propitious  f  [my  hottee: 

Fandar.  Sir 'tis  done!  Slices  come, slie**  ift 
Make  yourself  apt  ^r  courtship,  stroke  u^ 

your  stockings,  [am  sdi« 

Ix)se  not  an  inch  of  your  legs*  goodness;  f 
You  wear  socks. 

Mercer.  There  your  books  fail  you,  air; 
In  truth  I  wear  no  socks. 

Fandar.  I  would  you  bad,  sir!  foa 

It  were  the  sweeter  grace  tor  your  legs.   Got 
Your  gloves;  are  they  perfum'd***? 

Mercer.  A  pretty  wash, 
I  will  ussure  you. 

Fandar.  'Twill  ser\'e.    Your  oQers  mvA 
Be  fuU  of  bounty^';  velvets  to  fiirmsli  a. 

gown,  silks 
For  petttooats  and  foreparts,  shag  for  iining; 
Forget  not  some  pretty  .jewel,  to  fasten  after 
Some  little  compliment  1^   If  she  deny  this 

courtesy. 
Double  your  bounties;    be  not  waatiag  ia 

abundance : 
Fullness  ofgi  As,  linked  with  a  pleasing  tongue^ 
Will  win  an  anchorite.  Sir,  you  are  ray  friend^ 
And  friend  to  all  that  profess  good  letters; 
I  must  not  use  this  uHice  else;  it  fits  not 
For  a  scholar,  and  agentlemnti.  Those  stock- 
Are  of  Naples;  they  are  silk?  [ings 

Mercer.  You  are  again 
fieside  your  text^  sir;  they  are  of  tlie  best  of 

wool, 
And  tliey're  clyped  jersej'**'. 

3*  i^oMr  gloves;  are  they  perfum*d?]  In  the  Winter's  Tale,  act  iv.  scene  3,  Autolycus  m«n« 
tions  '  Gloves  ns  szceet  as  damask  roses;'  and  Mopsa  also  sfjeuks  of  x'teel  gtovv9,  Mr.  War- 
ton,  in  a  note,  says, '  Stowes  Contiuualart  Edmund  Howes,  informs  ns,  that  tlie  Euj^iish  could 
'  not '  make  any  costly  wash  or  perfume,  until  about  the  fourteeutli  or  fiHeenth  of  tiiequeeue 
**  [Elizabeth],  the  right  honourable  Edward  Vere  earle  of  Oxford  came  frrnu  Itulv»  and 
^  brought  with  him  gloves,  sweet  baggcs,'  a  perfumed  leatiier  jerkiu,  and  other  pieasatit 
^  thinges :  and  that  yeare  the  queene  had  a  payre  of  perfumed  gloves  trimmed  oulie  with 
^  foure  tufces,  or  roses,  of  cullered  silke.  The  queeue  took  such  pleasure  iu  those  gloves^ 
**  that  shee  was  pictured  with  those  gloves  upon  her  hands:  aud  for  many  veers  after  it  was 
^  called  the  erle  of  Oxforde^s  pafujoe,^  Tlie  same  learned  gentleman  also  informs  us,  in  the 
Appendix  to  Shakespeare,  that  *  In  the  computus  of  the  bursars  of  Triuity'^cuUege,  Oxford, 

*  for  the  year  1631,  the  following  article  occurs, '  Solut  profumigandis  chirothecis,*     Gloves 

*  make  a  constant  and  considerable  article  of  expeiice  in  the  earlier  accompfiobOoks  of  the 

*  college  here  mentioned;  and  ^ithout  doubt  in  tliose  of  many  other  societies,  Tliey  were 
'  annually  given  (a  custom  still  subsisting)  to  the  college-tenants,  and  often  presented  to 
^  guests  of  distinction*    But  it  appears  (at  least,  from  acoompts  of  the  said  college  in  pre* 

*  ceding  years)  that  the  practice  of  perfuming  gloves  for  this  purpose  was  iaUea  into  disuse 
<  soon  after  the  rekn  of  Charles  the  First.'  IL 

39 Your  oj^s  must 

B^fuil  of  bounty  y  ^c]  So^hakespeare,.  in  the  Two  Gentlemen  of  Verona; 

*  Win  her  with  giftSf  if  she  reelect  not  words; 

*  Dumhjeaels,  often  in  their  silent  kind, 

'  More  than  ouick  words,  do  move  a  woman's  mind.'  JR.     " 

^  And  they  clyped  Jersey. j  Seward  reads^  and  tliey  Vt.  cuppbd  Jen^.    We  restore  th^ 

woid 
i 


494 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


[Act  4.  ScoieS- 


Worthy  hands  set  to  *ein  for  probatioiu 

But  we  forget  ourselves. 

Fandar.  6ir,  eiJter  when  [toogae  I 

You  please,  and  ail  good  language  tip  your 
Mercer.  All  that  love  learning,  prayibr 
my  good  success !  [£»€• 

SCENE  m. 

Enter  Lazarillo  and  Boy. 

Jais.  Boy,  whereabouts  arc  we  ? 
Bou.  Sir,  by  ali  tokens,  this  is  the  lioutr; 
Bawdy,  I'm  sure,  because  of  the  broken  win- 
dows. 
The  fish-head  is  witliin;  if  you  dare  Tentiifey 
Here  you  may  surprize  it. 

Laz.  The  misery  of  man 
May  fitly  be  compared  to  a  didapper. 
Who,  when  she*s  under  water,  past  our  tight. 
And  indeed  can  seem  no  more  to  us,  rises 

again, 
Shakes  but  herself^  and  is  the  same  she  was; 
So  is  it  still  with  transitory  man  :       [mighty. 
This  day,  oli,  but  an  hour  since,  and  1  was 
Mighty  in  knowledge,  mighty  in  my  faopes^ 
Mighty  in  blessed  means,  and  was 
So  truly  happy,  that  I  durst  have  said, 
'  Live,  Lazarillo,  and  be  satisfied!* 
Bat  now — 

Boy.  Sir,  you  are  yet  afloat. 
And  may  recover;  be  not  your  own  wrcdi! 
Here  lies  the  harbour ;  go  in,  and  ride  at  ease! 
Las.   Boy,  I'm  received  to  be  a  gentieman, 
A  rourtier,  and  a  man  of  action^ 
Modest,  and  wise;  and,  be  it  spoken  with 
Thy  revierence**,  child,  abounding  rirtnoos; 
And  wouldst  thou  have  a  man  of  tlwse  choice 

iiabits. 
Covet  the  cover  of  a  bawdy  bouse  ? 
Yet,  if  I  go  not  in,  I  am  bat- 
Boy.  But  what,  sir  }  [unsatisfied, 
Laz.  Dust,  boy,  but  dust;  and  my  soul. 
Shall  haunt  tiie  keepers  of  my  blessed  saint. 
And  ril  appear. 

Boy.  An  ass  to  all  men.— Sir, 
These  are  no  means  to  stay  your  appetite ;   , 
You  must  resolve  to  enter. 

Laz,  Were  not  tlie  house 
Subject  to  martial  law- 
Boy.  If  that  be  all,  sir,  [here 
You  may  enter,  for  you  can  know  nothing 
That  the  court's  ignorant  of;  only  the  more 

eyes 
Shall  look  upon  you,  for  tliere  tliey  wink 
One  at  another's  faults. 
Jmz.  If  I  do  not — 

Boy.  Then  you  must  beat  fairly  Imck  again, 
Fall  to  your  physical  mess  of  porridge,  and 
The  twice-sack'd  carcase  of  a  capon;  Fortune 

word  clyptd,  and  understand  it  to  mean  called.    It  is  variously  spelt  in  different  authon: 
Sometimes  a  y  precedes  it,  to  lengthen  it  a  syllable;  as  in  Milton's  L'iUlegro; 
<  But  come,  thou  goddess,  fair  and  free, 
*  In  Heav'n  ycleap'd  Euphrosyne.'  JR. 

♦'  With  thy  reverence.^  Seward  omits  thy,    Wc  think  it  should  be  retained,  ijluding  to 
maxima  deljeiur  pcipais  reverentim. 

May 


Tandar.  Sure  they  are  very  clear?      [ing! 
Mercer.  Nine  shillings, by  my  love  to  learn- 
Fandar.  Pardon  my  judgment; 
We  schoUrs  use  no  other  objects  but  our 
books.      '  [that  grave  breast, 

Mercer.  There  is  one  thmg  entomb  d  ni 
That  makes  me  equally  admire  it  with 
Your  scholarship.  «    i.       i 

Pander.  Sir,  but  thatm  modesty  I  m  bound 
Not  to  affect  mine  own  commendation, 
I  would  enquire  it  of  you. 

Mercer,  Sure  you  are  very  honest; 
And  yet  you  have  a  kind  of  modest  fear 
To   shew  it:  do   not  deny  it;  that  face  of 

yours  is 
A  worthy,  learned,  modest  face. 
Fandar.  Sir,  I  can  blush. 
Mercer.  Virtue  and  grace  are  always  pair  d 
together:  ,  ^         ' .    [^?o^ 

But  I  will  leave  to  stir  your  blood,  sir ;  and 
To  our  business ! 

Pandnr.  Forget  not  my  instructions. 
Mercer.  I  apprehend  you,  sir ;  I  will  ga- 
ther 
Myself  together  with  my  best  phrases,  and  so 
I  shall  discourse  in  some  sf>rt  takingly. 
Fandar.  This  was  well  worded,  sir,  and 
like  a  scholar.  [tents 

Mercer.  The  muses  favour  me,  as  my  m- 
Are  virtuous!  Sir,  you  shall  be  my  tutor; 
Tis  never  too  late,sir,tolove  learning.  When 
I  can  once  speak  true  Latin— 
Fandar.  What  do  you  intend,  sir? 
Mercer.  Marry,  I'll  then 
Beggarall  your  bawdy  writore,  and  undertake, 
At  the  peril  of  my  own  invention. 
All  pageants,  poesies  for  chimnies,  speeches 
For  the  duke's  entertainment,  whensoever 
And  whatsoever;  nay,  I  will  build. 
At  mine  own  charge,  an  hospital,  to  which 

shall  retire 
All  diseas'd  opinions,  all  broken  poets, 
All   prose-men  that  are  fallen,  from  small 
sense  l^  lawyer, 

To  mere  letters;  and  it  shall  be  Inwtul  for 
If  he  be  a  civil  man,  tlio'  he  have  undone 
Others  and  himself  by  the  language,  to  retire 
To  this  poor  life,  and  learn  to  be  honest. 
Fandar.  Sir,  you  are  very  good,  and  very 
charitable; 
Yon  are  a  true  pattern  for  the  city,  sir ! 
Mercer.  Sir,  I  do  know  sufficiently,  their 
shop-books 
€anno|  save  them ;   there  is  a  further  end-r- 
Fondar.  Oh,  sir,  much  may  be  done  by 
manuscript. 

Mercer.  I  do  confess  it,  sir,  provided  still 
They  be  canonical^  and  h»ve  some 


Acti.  Scene  3.] 


THE  woman-hater. 


49f 


May  fiiTOttr  yoa  so' much,  to  send  the  bread 

to  it; 
But  it  is  a  mere  venture,  and  money  may 
Be  put  out  upon  it. 

£02.  I  wili  go  in  and  live;  [myself 

Pretend  some  love  to  thegentlewomafi,  screw 
In  aftection,  and  so  be  satisfied. 

Fandar.  This  ^y 
Is  caught,  is  mesh'd  already ;  I  will  suck  him, 
And  lay  hire  by.  [means ; 

Boy.  Mufile  yonrself  in  your  cloak,  by  any 
'Tis  a  receiv*d  thing  among  gallants,  to  walk 
To  their  lechery  ns  tlio'  they  had  the  rheum. 
Twaa  well  you  brought  not  your  horse. 

Xmi,  Why,  boy?  [gentry. 

Boy.  Faith,  sir,. it  is  the  fashion  of  our 
To  have  their  horses  wait  at  door  like  men, 
While  the  beasts  their  masters  are  within  at 

rack 
And  manger ;  'twould  have  discover*d  much. 

Xoz.  I  will  lay  by  these  habits,  forms,  and 

grave 
Respeots  of  wliat  I  am,  and  be  myself^ : 
Oiftly  my  appetite,  my  fire,  my  soul,      ^ 
My  being,  my  dear  appetite,  shall  go 
Along  with  me;  ami  d  with  whose  strength 
1  fearless  will  attempt  the  greatest  danger 
Dare  oppose  my  fury.    I  am  resolv'd, 
Wherever  that  thou  art,  inost  sacred  dish, 
Hid  from  nnhaliow'd  eyes,  to  find  thee  out! 
Be'st  thou  in  hell,  by  rap*t  Proserpina*', 
To  be  a  rival  in  black  Pluto's  love ; 
Or  mov'st  thou  in  the  heav'ns,  a  form  divine, 
Joshing  the  lazy  i<phcres;  or  if  thou  be'st 
Keiuru'd  to  thy  first  being,  thy  mother  sea, 
Tliere  will  1  seek  thee  forth:  earth,  air,  nor 

fire, 
Nor  the  black  shades  below  shall  bar  my  sight. 
So  daring  is  my  powerful  appetite  ! 

Boy.  Sir,  you  may  save  this  long  voyage, 

and  t-ake 


A  shorter  cut :  you  have  forgot  yourself; 
Hie  fisli-head's  here{  your  own  imagiuations 
Have  made  you  mad. 

Laz.  Term  it  a  jealous  fury,  good  m^  boy! 

Bify.  Faith,  sir,  term  it  what  you  will,  you 

must  use 
Other  tenns  before  you  can  get  it. 

Laz.  The  looks  oi  my  sweet  love  are  fair**^ 
Fresh  and  feeding  as  the  air  i 

Boy.  Sir,  you  foi^et  yourself. 

Laz.  Was  never  seen  so  rare  a  head. 
Of  any  fish,  alive  or  dead  !' 

Boy.  Good  sir,  remember !  this  is  the  house, 

sir. 

Lag.  Cursed  be  he  that  dare  not  venture— 

B<ty.  Pity  yourself,  sir,  and  leave  this  fury. 

Lag.  For  such  a  prize !  and  so  1  enter. 

[Exeunt  Laz.  and  Boy* 

Pundar,  Dun's  i'tlrmire;  get  out  again, 

how  he  can :  [more 

My  honest  gallant,  T*ll  shew  you  one  trick 
Tlian  e'er  the  fool  your  father  dream'd  of  yet. 
Madoua  Julia! 

Kilter  Julia. 

Julia.  What  news,  my  sweet  rogue? 
My  dear  sins'  broker,  what  good  news? 

Pahdar,  Tlicre  is 
A  kind  of  ignorant  thing,  much  like 
A  courtier,  now  trone  in. 

Julia.  Isa'gnilunt? 

Fandar.  lie  shines  not  very  gloriously, 
Nov  does  he  wear  one  skin  perfimi'd  to  keep 
The  other  sweet ;  his  coat  is  not  in  or, 
Nor  does  the  world  yet  run  on  wheels  with 

him ;  [lows  him, 

He's  rich  enough,  and  has  a  small  thing  fol- 
like  to  a  boat  tied  to  a  tall  ship's  tail. 
Give  him  entertainmeut;  be  light  and  fiash^ 

.ing. 
Like  a  meteor;  hug  him  about  the  neck, 


^^  And  grave  respectt  of  what  I  am,  and  be  9nysclf»]  Sev^ard  says,  '  How  could  L^zarillo 
'  change  himself  in  all  outward  respects,  and  yet  continue  to  be  himself,  and  then  again 
'  except  his  appetite,  which  should  stay  with  liiiiiP  lUie  Duke  below,  when  disguised,  says, 
'  We're  not  ourselves ;  but  without  this  confiriuution,  'iwas  evident  at  first  sight  that  a  fiegO" 
'  tive  was  omitted.'  He  therefore  reads,  And  be  no  uohk  myself.  We  apprehend  this  addi- 
tion to  be  unnecessary,  and  to  pervert  the  sense.  Lasarillo  says,  *  he  will  lay  by  outward 
'  forms,  which  are  no  part  of  himself,  and  carry  with  him  only  his  passions,  soul,  and  being, 
*  which  are  his  very  self.    In  short,  I  will  lay  byjthese  formx,  and  be  myself.* 

^^  Rap't  by  Proserpina.^  We  apprehend  every  reacfer  will  see  the  necessity  of  the  tran^ 
position  here  made. 

^  TAe  looks  of  my  sweet  hue  are  fair.]  Mr.  Sympson  asks  what  means  this  stuff?  I  was 
much  surprized  at  the  question,  as  it  had  always  struck  me  as  one  of  the  most  laughable 
burlesques  in  the  whole  play.  Litzarillo,  as  I  have  often  mentioned,  being  evidently  in  love 
with  his  umbrana,  every  where  addresses  it  as  his  mistress,  in  a  high  banter  upon  all  the 
warm  and  poetic  flights  of  lovers,  and  indeed  of  all  sublime  writing  in  poetry:  and  as  he 
fenerally  assumes  the  tragic  and  epic  stile  here,  like  the  change  of  the  measure  in  the  strophe 
and  antistrophe  of  the  Greeks,  he  breaks  out  into  the  lyric,  begins  it  with  high  rapture,  but 
ends  with  such  inimitable  drollery,  that  I  can  scarce  write  my  note  forlaughingat  it.  Seward. 

Seward's  risibility  seems  rather  extravagant;  but  he  very  properly  vindicates  oiir  authors 
from  the  contempt  of  Sympson:  yet  he  does  not  seeni  to  have  conceived  what  we  appre* 
hend  to  lie  the  case,  that  when  Lasarillo  *  breaks  out  into  the  lyric,'  he  recites,  or  closely 
parodies,  some  well-known  old  English  ballad,  without  at  ail  adverting  to  *  the  strophe  and 
'  autittroplie  of  the  Greeks.'  t 

Give 


4M 


THE  WOMANHATEE. 


[Act  4.  SceMl 


Give  him  »  kiss,  arid  lisping  cry,  <  Good  sir !' 
And  Ws  tbioe  own,  as  fast  aa  he  were  tit'd 
To  tiiine  arms  by  iridenture. 

Julia,  I  dare  do  more 
Than  this,  if  lie  be  of  the  true  court  cut; 
111  take  liim  out  a  lesson  worth  the  letyuing : 
But  we  are  but  their  apes.  What  is  he  worth  i 

Fandar.  Be  he  rich  or  poor,  if  he  will  take 

thee  with  him,  [stables  and  marshals. 
Thou  ma/st  use  thy  trade,  free  froih  con* 
Who  hath  been  here  since  I  went  out? 

Julia.  There  is 
A  gentlewoman  sent  hither'  by  a  lord : 
She  s  a  piece  of  dainty  stuff,  my  rogue; 
Smooth  and  soft  as  new  sattin; 
She  ivas  ne'er  fi;umm'd  yet,  boy,  nor  fretted. 

Pandar^  Where  lies  she  ? 

Julia.  She  lies  above,  towards  the  street ; 
^ot  to  be  spoke  with,  but  by  the  lord  that 

sent  her,  [his  servants. 

Or  some  from  him,  we  have  in  chai|;e  from 

Enter  La  zarillo. 

Pandar.  Peace!  he  comes  out  again  upon 

discovery : 
Up  with  all  your  canvas,  hale  him  in  ! 
And,  when  thou  Imst  done,  clap  him  aboard 
My  valiant  pisinuce  !  [bravely, 

Julia.  Be  gone !  I  shall  do  reason  with  him. 

Lax.  Are  yuu  the  special  beauty  of  this 

house? 

Julia.  Sir,  you  have  given  it  a  more  special 
Regard  by  your  good  language,  than  thttse 
Black  brows  can  merit. 

Xas-.  Lady,  you  are  fair.  [means 

Julia.  Fair,  sir?  I  thank  you!   all  the  poor 
Tve  left  to  be  tJiought  grateful,  is  but 
A  kiss,  and  you  shall  liuve  it,  sir. 

Las.  You  have 
A  very  moving  lip. 

Julia.  Prove  it  again,  sir; 
It  may  be  your  sense  was  set  too  high,  and  so 
0*er-wrought  itself. 

Lag.  Tis  still  the  same.     How  far 
May  you  hold  the  time  to  be  spent,  lady? 

Julia.  Four  o'clock,  sir. 

Lax.  I  liave  not  eat  to-day.  [your  supper; 

JuUa,  You  will  have  the  better  stomach  to 
Ib  the  mean  time,  I'll  fec^^  you  with  deliglkt. 

Lax.  Tis  not  so  good  upon  an  empty  sl!o- 

mach: 
Tf  it  might  be  without  the  trouble  of 
Your  house,  Td  eat. 

Julia,  Sir,  we  can  have 
A  capon  ready. 

Lax.  The  day  ? 

Julia.  Tis  Friday,  sir. 


LqZ'  I  do  eat  tittle  flesh  upon  Umm  dtpm 

Julia.  Come^  sweet,  yousliall  not  thiaLoD 

meat ; 
rn  drown  it  with  a  better  appetite.         [eac 

Lax.  I  feel  it  work  more  strangeljr;  I  inest 

Julia.  Tis  now  too  late  to  send :  J  say  m 

shall 
Not  think  on  meat ;  if  you  do,  by  thtt  ki^, 
ni  be  angry, 

Imx.  I  could  be  far  more  sprightTul, 
Had  I  eaten,  and  more  lasting.         ftbe  U, 

Julia.,  What  will  you  have,  sir?  ^sunebvl 
My  maid  shall  bring  it,  if  it  may  be  got. 

Las.  Methinks  your  house  should  not  be 

so  unfurnished. 
As  nr>t  to  have  some  pretty  modicum. 

Julia,  It  is  so  now :  but,  could  yoa  s/bsj 

till  supper — 

Lax.  Sure  I  haveoffended  highly,  and  micfa, 
And  my  inflictions  make  it  manifest ! 
I  will  retire  heacefortli,  and  keep  my  ctiamber, 
Live  privately,  and  die  forgotten. 

Julia.  Sir,  I  must  crave  your  pardon !  Fd 

forgot  myself: 
I  have  a  dihh  of  meat  witliin,  and  *tis  fish: 
I  think  this  dukedom  holds  not  a  daintier; 
Tis  an  umbrana*s  head. 

Laz.  Lady,  rhis  kiss 
Is  yours,  and  this.  ' 

Julia.  Ho!  within  there!  cover  the  bovdr 
And  set  the  fish-head  on  it. 

Lax.  Now  am  I 
So  truly  happy,  so  much  above  all  fate 
And  fortune,  that  I  should  despise  that  man 
Durst  say  'llemember,  Lazarillo,  thou  ait 

*  mortal!* 

Enter  Intelligencers  with  a  Guard. 

2  Int.  This  is  the  villain :  lay  handinn  Um ! 

Imx.  Gentlemen, 
Why  am  I  thus  entreated  ?  What  is  the  natore 
Of  my  crime  ? 

2  Int.  Sir,  tho*  you  have  carried  it 
A  great  while  privately,  and  (as  you  think) 

well,  -  [thee. 

Yet  we  have  seen  you,  sir,  and  we  do  know 
Lazarillo,  foe  a  traitor ! 

Lax.  The  gods 
Defend  ouc  duke. 

2  Int,  Amen!  Sir,  sir,  this  cannot 
Save  that  stiff  neck  from  the  halter. 

Julia.  Gentlemen, 
Fm  glad  you  have  discovered  him :  he  sboidd 

not 
Have  eaten  under  my  roof,  for  twenty  ponods; 
And  surely  I  did  not  like  him  when  he  callld 
For  fish**. 

Lax. 


^  Wften  jk  caWd  far  fish.]  In  Ring  Lear,  one  of  Rent's  aiticles  of  self-recommendatioa 
is,  that  he  eats  no  jUsh:  the  following  explanation  is  there  given  by  Warburton.    '  lu  qacea 

*  Elizabeth's  time  the  papists  were  esteemed,'  and  with  good  reason,  eneuiie^  to  the  p>wro- 

*  ment.     Hence  the  proverbial  phrase  of,  he's  an  honest  man,  and  eats  nojish;  to  signify  he's 

*  a  friend  to  the  government  and  a  protestant.    The  eating  fish,  on  a  religious  accOont, 
'  being  then  esteemed  such  a  badge  of  popery,  that  when  it  was  enjoined  for  a  season  by  act 

'of 


Vet  4.  Scene  3.] 


THE  WOMAN-TIATEIL 


4or 


Ijfis.  My  friends,  wlU  ye  let  me  have 
That  little  favour — 

1  Int.  Sir,  you  shall  have  law, 
^nd  nothing  else. 

Laz.  To  let  me  stay  the  eating  of 
A  bit  or  two ;  for  T  protest  I  am  yet-fasting. 

Julia,  ril  have  no  traitor  come  <v'ithiu  my 

house. 

Imz,  Now  could  I  wish  myself  I  had  been 
Trnitor!  I  have  strength  eiiouj;h  for  to  en- 
dure it, 
Had  1  but  patience.  Man,  thou  art  Ijut  grass, 
Thou  art  a  bubble,  and  thou  must  perish. 
Then  lead  aiong;  I  am  prepared  fur  ull : 
•Since  I  have  lost  ray  hopes,  welconje  my  fall ! 

S  Int.  Away,  sir! 

La}:,  As  thou  hast  hope  of  man, 
.Stay  but  this  dish  this  two  hours ;  I  doubt  not 
Sut  I  shall  be  discharjjcd  :  by  this  light, 
I  will  marry  thee ! 

Julia,  You  shall  marry  me  first  then. 

Jmz.  I  do  contract  myself  unto  thee  now, 
Before  these  ^entltMnen. 

Julia,  I  will  preserve  it 
Till  you  be  hung'd  or  quitted. 

Ims,  Thanks,  thanks!         [at  the  gallows. 

2  Int,  Away,  away !  you  sliall  thank  her 
JjOZ.  Adieu,  adieu! 

[Exe,  Laz,  Int.  and  Guard. 
JiiHa.  If  he  live,  [  will  have  him ; 
If  he  be  hang*d,  there  is  no  loss  in  it.  [Exit. 

Orianu  and  her  }Vaiting'Wotnan,  looking  out 
at  a  Window, 

Ori,  Hast  thou  provided  one  to  bear  my 
To  my  brother?  [letter 

WuU.  IVe  enquired ; 
Bat  they  of  the  house  will  suffer  no  letter 
Nor  message  to  be  carried  from  you,  hut  such 
As  the  lord  Gondariuo  shall  be  acquainted 

with : 
Truly,  madam,  I  suspect  the  house  to  be 
No  better  than  it  should  be. 

Ori.  What  dost  thou  doubt  ? 

Wait,  Faith,  I  am  loth  to  tell  it,  madam. 

Ori,  Out  with  it! 
^is  not  true  modesty  to  fear  to  speak 
That  thou  dost  think. 

Wait.  I  think  it  be  one  of 
These  s^me  bawdy-houses. 

Ori,  Tis  no  matter,  wench ; 
We  arc  wann  in  it ;  keep  thou  thy  mind  pure, 
And,  upon  my  word,  that  name  will  do  ihce 

uo  hurt: 
I  cannot  force  myself  yet  to  fear  any  thing. 
When  I  do  get  out.  Til  have  another  en- 
counter 


With  my  Woman-Hater.    Here  will  I  sit : 
I  mny  get  sight  of  some  of  my  friends ;  it 

must 
Needs  be  a  comfort  to  them  to  see  me  her«. 

En^er  Duke,  Gondarino,  Va lore,  and  Arrigo. 

Oond.  Are  we  all  suiUciently  disguised  2 

for  this  house 
Where  she  attends  me,  is  not  to  be  visited 
In  our  own  shapes. 

Duke.  Wc  ate  not  ourselves.  ,    [yet 

Arr,  I  knotv  ihe  house  to  be  sinful  enongli  j 
I  huve  been,  heretofore, 
And  durst  now,  but  fur  discovering  of  youy 
iVppear  here  in  my  own  likeness. 

Duke.  Where  is  Lucio  ?  [monwealth 

Arr.  My  lord,  he  said  tbc  affairs  of  the  corn- 
Would  not  sutTer  him  to  att(>nd  always. 

Duke.  Some  great  ones,  questionless,  that 

he  will  handle. 

Val.  Come,  let  us  enter. 

Cond.  See,  how  fortune  [men! 

Strives  to  revenge  my  quarrel  upon  these  wo- 
Shc*s  in  the  wiqdow;  were  it  not  to  uudo  hcr^ 
I  .should  not  look  upon  hor. 

Duke.  Lead  us,  Gondarino!     [my  shame, 

Oond.  Stay;  since  you  force  me  to  displuy 
Look  there !  and  you,  my  lord !  know  you 

Duke.  Tis  she.  [that  face  ? 

Val.  It  is.  [wa» 

Gond.  'lis  she,  whose  greatest  virtue  ever 
Dissimulation;  she  that  bcill  hath  strove 
More  to  sin  cunniiigly,  tlmn  to  avoid  it; 
She  that  hath  ever  sought  to  be  accounted 
Most  virtuous,  when  bhe  did  deserve  most 

scandal ; 
Tis  she  that  itches  now, 'and,  in  the  height 
Of  her  intemperate  thoughts,  with  greedj^^ 

eyes 
Expects  my  coming  to  allay  her  lust. 
Leave  her!»forget  she  is  thy  sister! 

Val.  Stay,  atay ! 

Duke.  I  am 
As  full  of  this  as  thou  caijst  be;  the  memory 
Of  this  will  easily  hercalter  stay       [woman. 
My  loose  aud  wan.iVing  thoughts  from  any 

Val.  TLis  will  not  down  with  me;  I  dar« 
This  fellosv.  [not  trust 

])ukc.  Leave  her  here!  That  only^hall  be 
Her  punisluneut,  never  to  be  fctch'd  froia 

hence;- 
Rui  let  her  use  her  traile  to  get  her  living. 

Val.  Stay,  gOixl  my  lord!  I  do  believe  all 

tills, 
As  great  men  as  I  have  had  known  whores 
To  their  sisters,  and  ha\'e  laugh'd  at  it.     I 

would  lain  hear 


'  of  parliament,  for  tbe  encouragement  of  the  fi^h-towns,  it  was  thought  necessary  to  de» 

*  clare  the  reason;  hence  it  Was  calleil  Cecirs  fast.     To  this  disgraceful  badge  of  popery 

*  Fletcher  alludes  in  his  Woman-Hater,  who  makes  the  courtezan  say,  when  Lazanllo,  in 
'search  of  the  umbrana's  head,  was  seized  at  her  house  by  the  inrellii;eacers  for  a  traitor; 
**  Gentlemen,  I  am  glad  you  have  discovered  liim.  lie  should  not  have  eaten  under  luy 
*'  roof  for  twenty  pounds.  xAnd  sure  I  did  not  like  him,  whtu  he  colled  for  JLh"  Anil 
Mareton's  Dutch'Courteian  ;  *  1  trust  I  am  none  of  the  vvicl^t  J  lUui  uJif^h  a  FruJay.* 

VOL.  HL  a  S  How 


498 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


[Act  5.  ScemL 


How  she  talks,  since  she  grew  thus  light  swill 

your  grace  make  him 
Shew  himself  to  her,  as  if  be  were  now 
Come  to  satisfy  her  longing?  whilst  we. 
Unseen  of  her,  oVrhear  her  wantonness. 
Let's  make  our  beat  of  it  now;  we  shall  have 
Good  mirth. 

Duke,  Do  it,  Gondarino. 

Gond,   I  must : 
Fortune,  assist  me  but  this  once! 

Val.  Here  we 
Shall  stand  unseen,  and  near  enough. 

Gondn  Madam!  Oriana! 

Ori.  Who's  that  ?  Oh!  my  lord! 

Gond.  Sliall  I  come  up  ?  [down  ? 

Ori,  Oh,  you   are  merry;  shall  I  come 

Gond.  It  ii  better  there.'  [made 

Ori,  What's  the  confession  of  the  he  you 
To  the  duke,  which  I  scarce  believe 
Yet  you  had  impudence  enough  to  do  ? 
Did  it  not  gain  you  so  much  foith  with  me. 
As  that  I  was  willing  to  be  at  [covered 

Your  lordship's  bestowing,  'till  you  had  re- 
My  credit^  and  coufes»'d  yourself  a  liar. 


As  you  pretended  to  do  ?  I  confess 
I  began  to  fear  you,  and  deMr'd  to  be 
Out  of  your  house ;  but  your  own  foilowen 
Forced  me  hither. 

Gond,  It  is  well  sospected ;  [as! 

Dissemble  still,  for  there  are  some  may  near 

OrL   More  tricks  yet,  my  lord?     What 

house 
This  is  I  know  not ;  I  only  know  myself; 
Twere  a  great  conquest,  if  you  could  fiisleii 
A  scandal  upon  me.    Faith,  my  lord,  give 
To  write  to  my  brother !  [me  Invt 

Duke,  Comedown! 

Val.  Come  down ! 

Arr,  If  it  please  your  gnice, 
There  is  a  back-door. 

VaL  Come,  meet  us  there  then. 

Duke,  It  seems  yon  are  acquainted  with 

Arr,  I  have  been  in  it.  [the  bonsei 

Gond.  She  saw  you,  and  dissembled. 

Duke,  Sir,  we  shall  know  that  better. 

Gond.  Bring  me  unto  her ! 
If  I  prove  her  not  to  be  a  strumpet. 
Let  me  be  contcma'd  of  all  her  sex !  [  ExcumL 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Lucio, 

Xttc/o,  *VrOW  whilst  the  young  duke  fol- 

■L^      lows  his  delights, 
^e  that  do  mean  to  practise  in  the  state, 
Must  pick  our  times,  and  set  our  fn.ces  in. 
And  nod  our  heads,  as  it  may  prove  most  tit 
For  the  main  good  of  the  dear  commonwealth. 
"Who's  within  there  ? 

Enter  a  ServanU 

Sere,  My  lord? 

Lucio,  Secretary,  ^fetch 
The  gown  I  use  to  read  petitions  in, 
And  the  standish  I  answer  French  letters  with; 
And  call  in  the  gentleman  that  attends. 

[Kvit  Serv, 
Little  know  they  that  do  not  deal  in  stAte^ 
JIow  many  things  there  are  to  be  observ'd. 
Which  seoiu  but  little;  yet,  by  one  of  us 
(Whose  bruins  do  wind  .about  the  common- 

wealth) 
Neglected,  cracks  our  credits  utterly. 

Enter  Gentleman  and  Servunt. 

Sir,  but  that  I  do  presume  upon  yoor  secresy, 
X  would  not  have  appear'd  to  you  thus  ig- 

ncirantly 
AttirM,  vMthont  a  toothpick  in  a  rii>band, 
Or  a  ring  in  my  bandstnug. 


Gent.  Your  lordship  sent  for  me. 

Lucio.  I  did:  sir,  your  long  practice  in 

the  state, 
Under  a  great  man,  hath  led  you  to  mucb 
E  xperience. 

Gent.  My  lord!      . 

Lucio.  Suft'er  not  your  modesty 
To  excuse  it.    In  short,  and  in  private, 
I  desire  your  direction  :  I  take 
My  study  already  to  be  fumish'd  after 
A  grave  and  wise  method.  

Gent,  What  will  this  lord  do  ?  [of 

Lucio.  My  book-strings  are  suitable,  and 
A  teachin!^  colour*'. 

Gent.  Ilow  is  this? 

Lucio.  My  standish  piangs 

Of  wood  strange  and  sweet,  and  my  fore-fl.ip 
In  the  rikiht  place,  and  as  near  Machiavei's, 
As  am  be  gather*d  by  tradition.  fthn^g 

Gent.  Are  there  surh  men  hs  will  &;:v  do- 
Abroad,  and  play  tlie  fcwis  in  their  lo  f^iujjs? 
This  lord  must  be  foUow'd. — Anil  hath  your 

lordship  [apcccKes 

Some  new-made  Avords  to  scatter  in  your 
In  publick,  to  gain  note,  that  the  hcarcis 

may 
Carry  them  away,  and  dispute  of  ibem 
At  dinner  ? 

Lucio.  I  have,  sir ;  and,  besides. 
My  several  gowns  and  caps  agreeable 
To  my  several  occasions. 


♦'  And  of  a  reaching  co^ttr.j  Rr.aching  is  the  word  in  all  the  editions,  bi^t  as  I  can  «£< 
jno  huuiuurous  idea  suitable  to  the  context,  I  believe  teaching  tlie  true  word,  an  itiitruciiti 
•mmd  tcltolar  like  colour  is  the  ;>tile  a^'  this  Machiaveliaa  statesman.        Seward, 


JLet  5.  Scene  Ij' 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


490 


G«rf.  Tiswell; 
And  you  have  leariiM  to  write  a  bad  hand. 
That  the  readers  may  Cake  pains  for  it? 

Lucuh  Yes,  sir; 
And  I  give  out  I  have  the  palsy. 

Gent.  Good! 
Twerc  better  tho*  if  you  had  it.    Your  lord- 
ship haOi  [pose 
A  secretary  that  can  write  fair,  when  you  pup- 
To  be  understood  ? 

Lucia,  Faith,  sir,  I  have  one ; 
There  he  stands ;  he  hath  been  my  secretary.*. 
These  seven  years,  but*he  hath  forgotten  to 

write.  [not 

Oent,  If  lie  can  make  a  writing  face,  *tis 
Amiss,  80  he  keep  liis  owik  counsel.    Your 

lordship 
Hath  ho  hope  of  the  gout  f 

Lucio,  Uh  !  little,  sir, 
6ince  the  pain  in  my  right  foot  left  me. 

Gent,  Twill  be  some  scandal  [knows 
To  your  wisdom,  tho'  I  see  your  lordship 
Enoagh  in  publick  business. 

JLucio.  I  am  not  employed  tho' 
To  iny  desert  in  occasions  foreign,  nor 
Frequented  for  matters  domestical. 

Gent.  Not  frequented  ? 
What  course  takes  your  lordship  ? 

Lucio.  The  readiest  way; 
My  door  stands  wide** ;  my  secretary  knows 
I*ra  not  denied  to  any. 

Gent.  In  this  [wny: 

(Give  me  leave)  your  lordship's  out  of  the 
Alake  a  back-door  to  let  out  intelligencers ; 
Seera  to  be  ever  busy,  and  put  your  door 
Under  keepers,  and  you  shall  have  a  troop  of 

clients 
Sweating  to  come  at  you. 

Lucio.  I've  a  back-door  already : 
I  will  henceforth  be  busy.     Secretary, 
Run  and  keep  the  door.        [Exit  Secretary. 

Gent.  Thi^  will  fetch  'em. 

Lucio*  I  hope  so. 

Re-enter  Secretary. 

Seer,  My  lord,  there  are  some  require  nc- 
About  weighty  aftairs  of  state,    [cess  to  you, 

Lucio.  Already? 

Gent.  1  told  you  so. 

Lucio,  How  weighty  is  the  business? 

Seer.  Treason,  my  lord. 

Lucio,  Sir, 
My  debts  to  you  for  this  are  great. 

Gent,  r  11  leave 
Your  lordship  now. 

Lucio.  Sir,  my  death  must  be  sudden. 
If  I  requite  you  not.   At  the  back-door,  good 

sir.  [for  once. 

Gent,  I'll  be  your  lordship's  intelligencer 

[Exit. 

Seer,  My  lord. 

Lucio.  Let  'em  in,  and  say  I'm  at  my  study. 

^  My  door  stands  winde.]  Seward  alters  wmde  to  uide. 
Mw)  proves  him  right, 

383 


Enter  Lazarillo,  and  two  InteUigenccrt,  Xu- 
cio  being  at  his  study, 

i  Int,  Where  is  your  lord? 

Seer.  At  his  study;  but  he  will 
Have  you  brought  in. 

Las.  Why,  gentlemen,  what  will  you 
Charge  rac  withal  f 

■2  Jnt,  Treason,  horrible  treason : 
I  hope  to  have  the  leading  of  thee  to  prison. 
And  prick  thee  on  i'  th'  arse  with  a  halbert; 

to  have 
Ilim  hang'd  tlrnt  salutes  tlioe,  and  call 
All  those  in  question  that;  spit  noc  upon  thee. 

L(i2.  My  thread  is  spun  ; 
Yet  might  I  but  call  for  this  dish  of  meat 
At  the  gallows,  instead  of  a  p^alm, 
It  were  to  be  endur'd.    The  curcuin  opens; 
Now  my  cud  draws  on. 

[Secretary  drarrs  the  curtain, 

Lucio.  Gentlemen,  I  am  not  empty 
Of  weighty  occasions  at  this  time.  Ipravyou 
Your  business.  ^  [ver'd 

1  Int,  My  lord,  I  think  we  have  disco- 
One  of  the  most  bloody  traitors  that  ever 
The  world  Iwld.  ' 

Lucio.  Signor  Lazarillo,  I'm  glad 
YouVe  one  of  tliis  discovery :  Give  me  your 
hand ! 

2  Lit.  My  lord,  that  is  the  traitor. 
Lucio.  Keep  him  off!  [ed  him. 

I  would  not  for  my  whole  estate  have  toucli- 

Laz.  My  lord — 

Lucio.  Feace,  sir !  I  know  the  devil  is 
At  your  tongue's  end,  to  furnish  you  with 

speeches. 
What  are  the  particulars  you  chafge  him  with? 

iThey  deliver  a  paper  to  Lucio,  zo/io  reads. 
>oth  Int.  Wc  have  confcrr'd  our  notes, 
and  have  extracted  tliat, 
Which  we  will  justify  upon  our  oaths.' 
Lucio,  '  That  he'd  be  greater  than   the 
duke;  that 
^  lie  had  cast  plots  for  this,  and  meant 
*  To  corrupt  somp  to  betray  him;  tlmt  he 

<  Would  burn  the  city,  kill  the  duke,  and 
poisou 

<  The  privy-council;  and  lastly,  kill  himself.* 
Tho'  ihou  deservcbt  justly^o  be  hang'd 
With  silence,  yet  I  allow  thee  to  bpeak:  be 

short. 

Laz.  My  lord,  so  may  my  grcLUest  wish 

succeed. 
So  may  1  live,  and  compass  what  I  seek, 
As  I  had  never  treason  in  uiy  thtiU^lits, 
Nor  ever  did  coubpire  the  overthrow 
Of  any  creatures,  but  of  brutish  beasts. 
Fowls,  fishes,  and  such  oilier  human  food. 
As  is  provided  for  tlie  good  of  man. 
If  stealing  custards,  tarts,  andilorentines. 
By  some  late  statute  be  created  treason, 
IIow  many  fellow-courtiers  can  I  bring, 

Tlie  first  quarto  (which  he  ne\"er 

WM)0i« 


$0# 


THE  WOMAN-nAT£It. 


[Act  5.  Scene  ^ 


Whose  long  attendance  and  experience 
Hath  made  them  deeper  in  the  plot  than  I ! 
Li  rio.  Teace !    such  hath  ever  been  the 
clemency  [proceedint^s 

Of  my  gracious  master  the  duke,  in  all  his 
That  i  had  thought,  and  thought  I  had  thought 
right  ly,^  .  .   [self 

That  Malice  would  long  ere  this  have  hid  her- 
In  her  den,  and  have  turn'd  her  own  stini* 
Against  her  osVn  heart ;  but  I  v.ell  now  per- 
ceive, 
That  so  froward  is  the  disp'^sition  of 
A  dcprav*d  nature,  that  it  doth  not  only 
Seek  revenge,  where  it  hath  received  injury. 
But  inan\  times  thirst  after  their  destruction 
WJjcre  it  hatii  met^vith  honetita. 
Imz.  Kut,  ni>  irood  lord — 
2  Tnf.  !  cc's  gair  hin>. 
Lucio.  Peace  !  ag'iin  ! 

*  But  many  times  tbirbt  after  their  destruc- 

tion ^  [I  left. 

*  Wh'  !>•  it  hath  met  with  benefits;'    there 
Such,  and  no  better  are  isje  business 

Thn;  we  iia\e  now  in  hand. 

1  I  it.  He's  ex-  Mlently  spoken. 

52  lut.  He'll  vvihl  a  tn\ii«)r,i  warrant  him. 

Lucio.  But  surety,  methinks, 
Setting  aside  tlie  touch  of  conscience, 
And  all  other  inward  convulsions — 

2  J71L  He'll  be  hang'd, 
I  know  by  that  word. 

Jmz.  Your  lordship  may  consider — 

Lucio.  Hold  thy  peace  ! 
Thou  canst  not  answer  this  speech ;  no  traitor 
Can  answer  it.    But,  because  you  cannot 
^\nswer  this  speech,  I  take  it  you've  confessed 
The  treason. 

1  Int.  The  count  Valore  was  [it; 

The  tiist  that  disco vrr'd  him,  and  can  witness 
Hut  he  left  the  matter  to  your  lordship's 
Grave  consideration. 

Lucio.  I  thank  his  lordship ! 
Carry  him  away  speedily  to  the  duke. 

L(a,   Now,  Lazarillo,   thou  art   tumbled 

down 
The  hill  of  Fortune,  with  a  violent  arm! 
All   plagues  that  can  be,  famine  and  the 

sword. 


M^ill  light  upon  thee;    black  Despair  wHI 

boil 
In  thy  despairing  breast ;  no  comfort  by. 
Thy  Irieids  far  off,  tliy  enemies  arc  nigh! 

Lucio.  Away  witli  him!    Til  follow  yoo. 

Look  [liiiii. 

You  pinion  him,  and  take  his  money  from 
Lest  he  swallow  a  gh'llinff,  and  kill  himself. 

2  Int.  Get  thou  on  before  !  [Exeunt. 

SCENR  n. 
Enter  th^   Duke,   Vahre,   Gondarino^  and 

Arriso. 

Duke.  Now,  Gondarino,  what  can 
You  put  on  now  that  niay  aeain  deceive  ns? 
Have  you  more  strange  illusions,  yet  more 

jiiists,  [ror? 

Tliro'  which  the  weak  eye  may  be  led  toer- 
\Vliat  can  you  say  that  may  ijo  satislactioQ 
Both  for  licr  wroitged  honour,  and  your  ill? 

Gond.  All  I  can  say,  or  ma\  ,is  siiid  already : 
She  is  unchaste,  or  else  I  have  no  knowledge, 
I  do  not  breathe,  nor  have  the  ase  of  sense. 

Duke.  Dare  you  be  yet  so   wilful-igao- 

rant*^  [vnuts, 

Of  your  own  nakedness?   Did  not  yoor  ser- 
in mine  own  hearing,  confess  they  brought 

her  [force. 

To,  that  house  we  found  her  in,  almost  bj 
And  with  a  great  distrust  of  some 
Ensuing  hazanl  ? 

Val.  He  chat  hath 
(Begun.  KO  worthily,  it  fits  not  with 
His  resolution  to  leave  offilms,  my  lord. 
I  know  these  are  but  idle  proofs. 
\\'hat  }?ays  your  lordship  to  them  ? 

Gond'  Count,  1  dare  yet  pronounce 
Again,  thy  sister  is  not  honest. 

VaL  You  are 
Yourself,  my  lord;  I  like  your  settledaesSb 

Gond.  County  thou  art  youug,  and  unex* 

perienc'd  in  [atRrm 

The  dark  hidden  ways  of  women:  thou  dam 
With  confidence,  a  lady  of  fifteen 
May  be  a  maid. 

VaL  Sir,  if  it  were  not  so, 
I  have  a  sister  would  sit  near  my  heart^. 

.♦'  Yet  so  zcilfiily  ignorant.^  Former  editions.    The  compound  word  wiiful-ignorant  ssems 
much  f)referable.  Seuard. 

^  Sir,  if  it  zicre  not  so,  I  hare  a  sister  tcould  set  near  my  heart ^  Thus  all  the  editions,  bvt 
inirely  the  sentiment  is  not  very  natural;  would  the  count,  who,  upon  the  suppotitioo  of  hs 
lister's  bemg  guilty,  had  sairi  he  would 

Brand  her  himself,  whip  her  about  the  city, 
nnswcT  here,  that  though  she  were  not  a  maid,  she  would  sit  near  his  heart?  The  natural 
answer  is;  if  I  durst  not  allirm  that  a  lady  of  fifteen  might  be  a  virgin,  my  sister  wouid  not 
•it  so  near  my  heart  as  she  now  does.  I  cannot  change  the  words  so  as  to  give  this  Beoso 
without  taking  rather  loo  great  liberties,  aud  therefore  sludl  not  insert  my  conjecture  in  the 
text :  1  ha\f  restored  the  measure,  which  1' cannot  preserve  if  I  insert  a  negative,  without  iIj© 
following  changes: 

■  H'it  were  not  so,-— 
My  sister  would  not  sit  so  near  my  heart.  Seward. 

Seward  did  not  coubidcr^  thut  lu$  sifter  might  ni  near  his  heart  la  a  paiafui  as  well  at 
tQ'octionate  sense. 


Act  5«  Scene  3.) 


THE  WOMAN-HATER. 


aoii 


Gond,  Let  her  sit  near  her  shame  f  it  bet- 
ter fits  her :  [nearness*^, 
CaH  back  the  blood  tliat  made  your  stream  iii 
And  turn  the  current  to  a  better  use: 
^is  too  much  mudded ;  I  do  grieve  to  know  it. 
Duke.  Dar^st  thou  make  up  again  ?  dar*st 
to  turn  face, 
Knowing  we  know  thee? 
Hast  thou  not  been  discovered  openly? 
Did  not  our  ears  hear  her  deny  thy  courtings? 
Did  we  not  see  her  blush  with  modest  anger, 
To  be  so  overtaken  by  a  trick  f 
Can  you  deny  this,  lord  ? 

Gond.  Had  not  your  grace 
And  her  kind  brother  been  within 
Level  of  her  eye,  you  should  have  had  a  hotter 
Volley  from  ber,  more  full  of  blood  and  fire, 
fieady  to  leap  the  vvindow  where  she  stood; 
So  truly  sensual  is  her  appetite. 

Duke,  Sir,   sir,   these  are  but  words  and 
tricks :  give  me  the  proof! 
VaL  What  need  a  better  proof  than  yoor 
lordship?  I'm  sure 
You  have  lain  with  her,  my  lord. 
Gond,  I  liave  confess*d  it,  sir. 
Duke.  I  dare  not  give  thee  credit,  without 
witness.  [conds  with  us, 

Gond,  Does  your  grace  think  we  carry  se- 
To  search  us,  and  see  fair  play?  Your  grace 

Ijath 
Been  ill-tutor*d  in  the  business!  but  if 
You  hope  to  try  her  truly,  and  satisfy 
Yourself  what  frailty  is,  give  her  the  test : 
Do  not  remember,  count,  she  is  your  sister; 
Nor  let  my  lord  tlie  duke  believe  she's  fair; 
But  put  her  to  it,  without  liope  or  pity ! 
Then  ye  shall  see  that  golden  form  fly  ofl> 
That  all  eyes  wonder  at  for  pure  and  fixVl, 
And  under  it  base  blushing  copper;  metal 
Kot  worth  the  meanest  honour :  you  shall  be- 
hold 
Her  then,  my  lord,  transparent,  look  thro' 
Her  heart, and  view  the  spirits  how  they  leap; 
,And  tell  me  then  I  did  belie  the  lady. 

Duke,  It  shall  be  done!  Come,Gondarino, 
'Bear  us  company.    We  do  believe  thee:  she 

Enter  Lazarilloy  ttco  Intelligencers^  and 
Guard, 

Shall  die,  and  thou  shalt  see  it. — How  now, 

my  friends  ? 
Who  have  you  guarded  hither? 

^  hit.  So  please  your  grace, 
We  have  discovered  a  villain  and  a  traitor: 
The  lord  Lucio  hath  examined  him,  and  sent 
To  your  grace  for  judgment.  [him 

'     Val,  My  lord,  I  dare 
Absolve  him  from  all  sin  of  treason :  I  know  | 


His  most  ambition  is  but  a  dish  of  meat. 
Which  he  hath  hunted  with  so  true  a  scent. 
That  he  deserves  the  collar,  not  the  halter^*', 

Duke.  Why  do  they  bring  him  thus  bound 

up?  [meat. 

The  poor  man  had  more  need  !>ave  some  warm 
To  comfort  his  cold  stouiach.  [after, 

Val,  Your  grace  shall  have  the  cause  hei-e* 
When  you  may  laugh  more  freely.  But  these 
Are  called  informers;  men  that  live  by  trea- 
As  rat-catchers  do  by  poison.  [son, 

Duke.  'Would  there  were 
No  heavier  prodigies  hung  over  us,      [perils 
Tlmn  this  poor  tellow  I  I  durst  redeem  ail 
Heady  to  pour  themselves  upon  this  state. 
With  a  cold  custard. 

Val.  Your  grace 
Might  do  it,  without  danger  to  your  person. 

Ims.  My  lord,  if  ever  I  intended  treason 
Against  vour  person,  or  the  state,  unless 
It  were  by  wishing  from  your  table  some  dish 
Of  meat,  which  I  must  needs  confess  was  not 
A  subject's  part;  or  coveting  by  stealth 
Sups  from  those  noble  bottles,  that  no  mouth,. 
Keeping  allegiance  true,should  dare  to  taste— 
I  must  confess,  with  more  than  covetous  eye, 
I  have  beheld  those  dear  concealed  dishes, 
That  have  been  brought  in  by  cunning  equi-* 
To  wait  upon  your  grace's  palate :        [pa^e, 
I  do  confess,  out  of  this  present  heat, 
I  have  had  stratagems  and  ambusciuioes ; 
But,  God  be  thanked,  they  have  never  took! 

Duke,  Count,  [done. 

This  business  is  your  own:  when  you  have 
Repjiir  to  us.  [ExiU 

Val.  I  will  attend  your  grace.    Lazarillo, 
You  are  at  liberty ;  be  your  own  man  again  s 
And,  if  you  can,  benntster  of  your  wishes; 
I  wish  it  may  be  so. 

Laz.  I  humbly  thank  your  lordship  ! 
I  must  be  unmannerly :  I've  some  present 

business. 
Once  more,  I  heartily  thank  your  lordship. 

[Exit. 

Val,  Now  even  a  word  or  two  to  you,  and 

so  farewell : 
You  think  you  have  deserv'd  much  of  this  state 
By  this  discovery :  yeVe  a  slavish  people, 
Grown  subject  to  ^he  common  curse  of  all 

men''. 
How  much  unhappy  were  thac  noble  spirit. 
Could  work  by  such  base  engines'*!  What 

misery  [lingne^ 

Would  not  a  knowing  mafi  put  on  with  wil- 
Ere  he  see  himself  grown  fat  and  full-fed. 
By  fall  of  those  you  rise  by  ?  I  do         [state 
Discharge  you  my  attendance !  Our  healthful 
Needs  no  such  leeches  to  suck  out  her  blood. 


^  That  made  our  stream.']  Amended  by  Seward. 

'°  He  deserves  the  collar,  not  the  halter;]  i.  e.  He  deserves  the  steward^i  chain^  rather  than 
fa  be  hansed.    See  note  3  on  the  Lovers*  Progress.  11. 

5*  To  the  common  course  of  all  men,]  Corrected  in  1750. 
f *  C<mld  work  by  suoh  baser  gains.]  Amended  by  Sympsoii, 

1  Int. 


S02 


THE  WOMAN-HATER, 


1  Int.  I  do  beseech  joar  lordship— 

2  Int.  Good  ray  lord —  [I  see 
VaL  Go,  learn  to  be  more  honest!  When 

Toa  work  toup  means  firom  honest  industry, 
I  will  b^  willing  to  accept  your  labours; 

[Exeunt  Int, 
7iil  then  I  will  keep  back  my  promis*d  &- 

voure. 
Here  comes  another  remnant  of  folly : 

Enter  Lucio, 

I  mast  dispatch  him  too.    Now,  lord  Lacio, 
"What  business  bring  you  hither? 

Lucio.  Faithy  sir,  I'm  discovering 
What  will  become  of  that  notable  piece  of 

treason 
Intended  by  that  varlet  Lazarillo ; 
I've  sent  him  to  the  duke  for  judgment. 

Val.  Sir,  you  liave  [man ; 

Performed  the  part  of  a  most  careful  states- 
And,  let  me  say  it  to  yonr  face,  sir,  of 
A  father  to  this  state:  I  would  wish  you 
To  retire,  and  insconce  yourself  in  study;  for 
Such  is  your  daily  labour,  and  our  fear, 
That  your  loss  of  an  hour  may  breed  our 

overthrow.  [judgment : 

Lucio,  Sir,  J  will  be  commanded  by  your 
And  tho*  I  fiud  it  a  trouble 
Scant  to  be  waded  thro*,  by  these  weak  years ; 
Yet,  for  the  dear  care  of  the  commonwealth, 
I  will  bruise  my  brains,  and  confine  myself 
To  much  vexation  *  ' . 

VaL  Go;  and  may'st  thou 
Knock  down  treason  like  an  ox ! 

Lucip.  Amen!  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Mercer,  Pandar,  and  Francissina. 

Mercer,  Have  I  spoke  thus  much  in  the 

honour  of  learning,  [ences, 

Learn'd   the  names  of  the  seven  liberal  sci- 
3eforc  my  marriage ;  and,  since,  liave  in  haste 

written 
Epistles  congratulatory  to  the  nine  muses, 
And  is  she  prov'd  a  whore  and  a  Ixjggar  ? 

Fandar,  Tis  true.  You  arc  not  now  to  be 

tauglit 
That  no  man  can  be  learned  of  a  sudden ; 
Let  not  your  first  project  discourage  you  : 
What  you  have  lost  in  this,  you  may 
.Get  again  in  aichymy. 

Fran.  Fear  not, 
^usband ;  I  hope  to  make  as  good  a  wife 
^s  ttie  best  of  your  neighbours  have,  and  as 

honest.  [publish  tliis ; 

Mercer.  I  will  go  home.     Good  sir,  don't 
As  long  as  it  runs  amonu^st  ourselves,  it  is 
Good  honest  mirdi.    You'll  come  home  to 

supper ; 
I  mean  to  have  all  her  friends,  and  mine^ 
As  ill  as  it  goes. 

'     Pandar.  Do  wisely,  sir,  Und  bid 
Your  own  friends;    your  whole  wealth  will 

ftcarcc  feast  all  hers; 


[Act5.8caef 

it  Sal  your  credit  to  mk  i 


Neither  is 

streets 
With  a  woman  so  noted :  get  yooboilie^i 
Her  cloaths;  let  her  come  an  hoiirkwt' 
An  liand-basket,  and  shift  henelt*,^!! 
To  sit  at  the  upper  end  of  the  table, 
To  your  customers. 

Mercer.  Art's  just,  and  will 
Make  me  amends. 

Pandar.  No, doubt,  sir. 

Mercer.  The  chief  note  of 
A  scholar,  you  say,  is  to  govern  his 
Wherefore  I  do  take  all  patiently:  ws^ 
Of  which,  ray  most  dear  wil'e,  I  do  kisi  " 

Make  haste 
Home  after  me;  I  shall  be  in  mystodf 

Pandar.  Go,avaunt !— My  new  citj-< 

send  me  \\  hat 
You  promised  rae  for  consideratiooy 
And  may'st  tliou  prove  a  lady  ! 

Fran.  Thou  shalt  have  it; 
His  silks  shall  fly  for  it.  [£ 

Enter  Lazarillo  and  Boy. 

Laz.  How  sweet's  a  calmaf^r  a  tcfflpi 

What  is  there 
Now  that  can  stand  betwixt  me  and  (Mtff^ 
I've  gone  thro*  all  my  crosses  constaotlv, 
Have  confounded  my  enemies,  and  not 

where 
To  have  my  longing  satisfied;  I  have 
My  way  before  me :  there's  the  door,  sb^  I 
May  freely  walk  in  to  my  delights,    ixedf 

Julia  [within].  Who's  there? 

Laz.  Madona,  my  love !  not  guiltyi 
Not  guilty  1  Open  the  door ! 

Enter  Julia, 

Julia.  Art  thou 
Come,  sweetheart? 

Laz.  Yes,  to  thy  soft  embraces, 
And  the  rest  of  my  overflowing  blisses! 
Come,  let  us  in  and  swim  in  our  delights; 
A  short  grace  as  we  go,  and  so  to  meat! 

Julia.  Nay,  my  dear  love,  you  must  bm 

with  me  in  this; 
We'll  to  the  church  first. 

Laz.  Shall  I  be  sure  of  it  then ! 

Julia.  By  my  love,  you  shall  I 

Laz.  I  am  content; 
For  I  do  now  wish  to  hold  off  longer,  to  wkl 
My  appetite,  and  do  desire  to  meet 
With  more  troubles,  so  I  might  conquer  thea 
And,  as  a  holy  lover  that  hath  spent 
The  tedious  night  with  many  a  sigh  and  tean 
Whilst  he  pursued  his  wench,  and  hath  ob 

serv'd 
The  smiles,  and  frowns,  not  daring  to  dit 

please ; 
When  he  at  last  hath  with  his  service  won 
Iler  yielding  heart,  that  she  begins  to  dott 
Upon  him^  and  can  hold  not  longer  oa^ 


?'  Confine  mytelf.]  Probably  we  should  rend,  consi^n^ 


»i 


Ace  5.  Scene  S.] 


THE  WOMAN-HATER, 


lOS 


But  hangs  about  his  neck,  and  wooes  Lini 

more 
Than  ever  he  desired  her  love  before  j 
He  then  begins  to  flatter  his  desert '% 
Andy  growing  wanton,  needs  will  cast  her  off; 
Try  her,  pick  quarrels,  to  breed  fresh  de- 

And  to  encrease  his  pleasini;  appetite. 

Julia.  Come,  mouse,  will  you  wulk? 

Laz.  I  pray  thee  let  me 
Be  deliver  d  of  the  joy  I  am  so  big  with ! 
I  do  feel  that  high  heat  within  roe, 
That  I  begin  to  doubt  whether  I  be  mortal ; 
How  I  contemn  my  fellows  in  the  court, 
With  whom  I  did  but  yesterday  converse! 
And  in  a  lower,  and  an  humbler  key, 
Did  walk  and  meditate  on  grosser  meats! 
Then;  are  they  still,  poor  rogues,  shaking 

their  chaps, 
And  sne^ing  after  cheeses,  and  do  run 
Headlong  in  chase  of  every  jack  of  beer 
That  crosseth  tliem,  in  hope  of  some  repast 
That  it  will  bring  them  to ;  whilst  I  am  here, 
The  happiest  wight  that  ever  set  his  tooth 
To  a  dear  novelty !  Approach,  my  love ; 
Come,  let  us  go  to  knit  the  true  love*s  knot, 
That  never  can  be  broken ! 

Boy.  That  is,  ' 

To  marry  a  whore.  [the  gift 

Laz,  When  that  is  done,  then  will  we  taste 
Which  fates  have  sent,  my  fortuues  up  to  litt. 

Boy.  When  that  is  done,  you  will  begin 

to  repent 
Upon  a  full  stomach :  but  I  see,  'tis  but 
A  form  in  destiuy,  not  to  be  alterM.  [Kceunt. 

Enter  Arrigo  and  Oriuna, 

Ori.  Sir,  what  may  be  the  current  of  your 

husiness, 
That  tlius  you  single  out  your  time  and  place  ? 

Arr.  Madam,  the  bubineas  now  impos'd 
Concerns  you  nearly;  [upon  me 

I  wish  some  woiaer  man  mi<;ht  finibli  it. 

Ori.  Why  are  you  changed  so  ?  are  you 

not  well,  sir?  [were  so! 

Arr.  Yes,  madam,  I  am  well :  'would  you 

Ori,  Wliy,  sir,  I  feel  myself  in  pertect 

health. 

Arr,  And  yet  you  cannot  live  long,  madam . 

Ori,  Why,  good  Arrigo? 

Arr.  Why,  you  must  die. 

OrL  I  know  I  must; 
iBut  yet  my  fate  calls' not  upon  me. 

Arr.  It  does ; 
This  hand  the  duke  commands  sliall  give  you 

death. 


Ori,  Heav'n,  and  the  pow'ra  divine,  guard 
well  the  innocent !  [some  good, 

Arr.  Lady,  your  prayers  may  do  your  soul 
But  sure  your  body  cannot  merit  by  *em : 
You  must  prepare  to  die. 

Ori.  What's  ray  offence  ? 
What  have  these  years  committed, 
That  may  be  dangerous  to  the  duke  or  state? 
Have  I  conspired  by  poison  ?  have  I  given  up 
My  honour  to  some  loose  unsettled  blood. 
That  may  give  action  to  my  plots  ?  Dear  sir, 
Let  me  not  die  ignorant  of  my  faults! 

^rr.  You  sliall  not:  [honest: 

Then,  lady,  you  must  know,  you're  held  un- 
The  duke,  your  brother,  and  your  friends  in 

court,  [nie. 

With  too  much  grief  condemn  you ;  tlia,  t9 
The  fault  deserves  not  to  be  paid  with  death. 

OrL  Who's  my  accuser? 

Arr,  Lord  Gondarino. 

Ori.  Arrigo,  take  these  words,  and  beat 

them  to  the  duke ; 
It  is  the  last  petition  I  shall  ask  thee : 
Tell  him,  the  child  this  present  hour  brought 

forth 
To  see  the  world,  has  not  a  soul  more  pure» 
More  white,  more  virgin,  than  I  have;  tell 

him, 
Lord  Goodarii\o*s  plot  I  suffer  for, 
And  willingly ;  tell  him,  it  had  been 
A  greater  honour  to  have  sa/d  than  kilKd; 
But  I  have  done:  strike!  I  am  arm'd  for 

Heav'n. 
Why  stay  you  ?  is  there  any  hope  f 

Arr.  I  would  not  strike. 

Ori,  Have  you  the  power  to  save  ? 

Arr.  With  hazard  of  my  life,  if  t  should 

be  known. 

Ori,  You  will  not  venture  that  ? 

Arr,  I  will :  lady, 
There  is  that  means  yet  to  escape  your  de«tb^ 
If  you  can  wisely  apprcliend  it. 

Ori,  You  dare  not  be  so  kind  ? 

Arr,  I  dare,  and  will,  if  you  dare  but 

deserve  it.  [blame. 

Ori.  If  I  should  slight  my  life,  I  were  to 

Arr.  Then,  madam, 
This  is  the  means,  or  else  you  die :  I  love  you. 

Ori.  I  shall  believe  it,  if  you  save  my  life, 

Arr,  And  you  must  lie  with  me. 

Ori,  I  dare  not  buy  my  lite  «o.  [mk 

Arr.  Come,  you  must  resolve ;  say  yea  or 

Ori,  Theu  no/  Nay,  look  not  ruggedly 

upon  me ; 
I  am  made  up  too  strong  to  fear  such  looks: 
Come,  do  your  butcher's  part!  Before 


'♦  Then  be^^ins ]  The  relative  he  being  omitted,  hurt  both  sense  and  measure.     Most 

of  my  friends  seip  to  think  there  is  too  much  of  Lazarilio*6  passion  for  his  fish,  as  well  aa 
that  the  passion  itself  is  carried  too  high.  I  have  before  given  reasons  to  justify  the  extra^ 
▼agance  of  the  passion,  which  might  possibly  have  been  carried  even  to  madness,  by  some 
person  of  our  author's  age,  and  as  to  the  long  continuance  of  it,  the  distresses  seem  ex- 
tremely ingenioubly  contrived  to  rise  by  a  just  gradation,  and  his  marrying  a  whore  at  last  la 
obtain  his  delight,  is  a  most  inimitably  humorous  conclusion  of  bis  character.        Seward. 

But,  surely,  rather  extraragant. 

I  wouW 


«04 


mis.  WOMAN-HATEll. 


[Act  5.  Scen«  ^ 


I  would  wish  Iife>  with  the  dear  loss  of 

honour, 
I  dare  find  means  to  free  myself. 

Arr,  Speak,  will  you  yield  ?  [worst 

Ori,  Villain,  I  will  not!  Murderer,  do  the 

Thy  ba!>e  unnoble  thoughts  dare  prompt  thee 

I  am  above  thee,  slave!  [to! 

Arr.  Wilt  tliou  not  be  drawn 
To  yield  by  fair  persuasions? 
Ori.  No  ;  nor  by — 

Ai'r.  Peace!  know  your  doom  then:  your 
ladysiiip  must  remember  [feast 

Tou  are  not  now  at  home,  where  you  dare 
All  that  come  about  you ;  but  you  are  fiedlen 
Under  my  mercy,  which  shall  be  but  small, 
If  you  refuse  to  yield  :  hear  what  Fve  sworn 
Unto  myself;  I  will  enjoy  thee,  tbo'  it  be 
Between  the  parting  of  thy  soul  and  body; 
Yield  yet,  and  live !  [the  other ! 

Ori,  ril  guard  the  one ;  let  Heaven  guard 
Arr.  Are  yon  so  resolute  then  ? 
JJuke  {from  above].  Hold,  hold,  I  say! 
Ori.  What 5',  yet  more  terror  to  my  tra- 
gedy? 

Arr.  Lady,  the  scene  of  blood  is  done ; 
YouVe  now  as  free  Irom  scandal  as  from 
death. 

Enter  Duke,  Valore^  and  Gondarino, 

Ihike,  Thou  woman,  which  wcrt  born  to 

teach  men  virtue,  [thoughts ; 

Pair,  sweet,  and  modest  maid,  rorgive  my 
My  trespass  was  my  love.  Seize  Gondarino ! 
Let  him  wait  our  dooms. 

Gond.  I  do  begin 
A  little  to  love  this  woman ;  I  could  endure  her 
Already,  twelve  miles  off. 

Ffl/.  Sister,  [so  fairly, 

I'm  glad  you  have  brought  your  honour  off 
Without  loss ;  you've  done  a  work  abo%e  your 

sex; 
The  duke  admires  it:  give  him  fair  encounter. 

Duke.  Best  of  all  comforts,  may  1  take 

this  hand, ' 
And  call  it  mine  ? 

Ori.  I  am  your  grace's  handmaid ! 

Duke.  'Would  you  had  said  myself:  might 

it  not  be  so,  lairy  ? 

Val.  Sister,  say  ay;  I  know  you  can  afford  it. 

Ori.  My  lord,  1  am  your  subject;   you 

mny  command  me. 
Provided  still  your  thoughts  be  fair  and  good. 

Duke.  Here;  I  am  yours;  and  when  I 

cease  to  be  so. 
Let  Heav*n  forcet  me!  thus  I  make  it  good. 

Ori,  My  lord,  I  am  no  more  mine  own. 

Val.  So!  this  barguiu  was  well  diiven. 

Gond*  Duke, 
Tli'hast  sold  away  thyself  to  all  perdition  ; 
Thou  art  thisprej^ent  liourbecominji  cuckold: 
Methinkb  I  see  thy  sptll  grate  iliro'  thy  veins, 
j^nd  jealousy  seize  ou  thee  with  her  talons. 


I  know  that  woman's  nose  must  be  cut  off; 
She  cannot  'scape  it. 

Duke.  Sir,  we  have  punishment  for  you. 

Ori.  I  do  beseech  your  lordship,  ibrtho 

wrongs  [punishment! 

This  man  hath  done  me,  let  me  pronounce  hit 

Duke.  Lady,  I  give't  to  you ;  he  is  your  own. 

Gond.  I  do  beseech  your  grace,  let  me  be 

banish'd. 
With  all  the  speed  that  may  bo. 

Val.  Stay  still !  you  shall  attenti  her  sentence. 

Ori.  Lord  Gondarino,  you  have  wroug'd 

me  highly ; 
Yet  since  it  sprung  from  no  peculiar  liate 
To  me,  but  from  a  general  dislike 
Unto  all  women,  you  shall  thus  suffer  for  it 
Arrigo,  call  in  some  ladies  to  assist  us. 
Will  your  grace  take  your  state  ? 

Gond,  My  lord,  I  do 
Beseech  your  grace  for  any  punishment. 
Saving  this  woman :  let  me  be  sent  npon 
Discovery  of  some  island ;  I  do  desire 
But  a  small  gondola,  with  ten  Holland  cheese<f 
And  I  will  undertake  it. 

Ori.  Sir,  you  must  be  content. 
Will  you  sit  down?  Nay,  do  it  willingly. 
Arrigo,  tie  his  arms  close  to  the  chair ; 
I  dare  not  trust  his  patience. 

Gqnd.  Muyst  thou 
Be  quickly  old  and  painted !  mayst  thou  dote 
Upon  some  sturdy  yeoman  of  (be  wood-yaird. 
And  he  be  honest!  mayst  thou  be  barred 
The  lawful  lechery  of  thy  couch'*,  for  waul 
Of  instruments!  and,  last,  be  thy  wumb 
Unopen'd  ! ' 

Dnk9.  This  fellow  hath  a  pretty  gall. 

Val.  My  lord, 
I  ho£)c  to  see  him  purg'd,  ere  he  part. 

Enter  Ladies, 

Ori.  Your  ladyships  are  welcome!  I  must 

desire  your  helps,  [cure  upon 

Tho'  you  are  no  physicians,  t9  do  a  strange 
This  gentleman. 

Ladies,  In  wliat  we  can  assist  you, 
Madam,  you  may  command  us. 

Gond.  Now  do  I 
Sit  like  a  conjurer  within  my  circle. 
And  these  the  devils  that  are  rais*d  about  me: 
1*11  pray,  that  they  may  have  no  power  npon 

Ori,  Ladies,  ThII  off  in  couples  ;  [me. 

Then,  with  a  soft  still  march,  with  low  de- 

-meanors, 
Charge  this  gentleman:  I'll  he  your  leader. 

Gviid.  Lot  me 
Be  quartered,  duke,  quickly!  I  can  endure  it" 
These  women  long  for  man*s  flesh ;  let  them 

have  it !  [a  passion? 

Duke,  ("onnt,  have  you  ever  seen  st)  strance 
What  would  this  fellow  do,  if  he  should  find 
In  bed  with  a  young  lady?  [himself 

Vut.  Taitb,  my  lord^ 


'5  What  I  ?  yetf  4cl  As  the  I  is  undoubtedly  an  interpolation,  we  hate  discarded  it. 
^*  Of  thy  coach.J  So  all  former  cditious. 


If 


Act  $•.  Scene  «:] 


THE  VVOMAxV-HATER, 


50^ 


If  he  could  get  a  knife^  &ure  he  woold  cut  her 

throat; 
Or  else  he'd  do  as  Hercules  did  by  Lycas, 
Swii^  out  tier  soul :  he  has  the  true  liate  of 
A  woman  in  him. 

OrL  Low  with  your  curtsies,  ladies  ! 
Gond.   Coine  not  too  uear  roe!    IVe  a 
breath  will  poison  ye ; 
Mj  lungs  are  rotten,  and  my  stomach  raw; 
I'm  given  much  to  belching :  hold  otf,  as  you 
love  sweet  airs!  [jure  you, 

liftdies,  by  your  first  night's  pleasure  I  con- 
As  you  would  have  your  husbands  proper 
men,  ['em  hate 

Strong  bflckc,  and  little  legs;  as  you*d  have 
Your  waiting-^women —  [obtained 

OrL  Sir,  we  mast  court  you,  'till  we  have 
Some  little  favour  from  those  gracious  eyes ; 
Tis  but  a  kiss  a-piece. 
Gond,  I  pronounce 
Perdition  to  ve  all !    Ye  are  a  parcel  of 
That  damned  crew  that  fell  down  with  Luci- 
fer, [men : 
And  here  ye  stay'd  on  earth  to  plague  poor 
Vanish,  avaunt  f  I'm  fortified  against 
Your  charms.  Ueav*n  grant  me  breath  and 
patience ! 

1  Laify,  Shall  we  notkiss,  then? 
Gimd,  No !  sear  my  lips  with  [ret's ! 

Hc»t  irons  first,  or  stitch  them  up,  like  a  fer« 
Oh,  thai  this  brmit  were  over! 

2  Lcu/jf.  Come,  come,  [troth 
little  TOVKf  thou  art  too  maidenly ;  by  my 
I  think  Imastbox  thee 'till  thou  be  st  bolder; 
The  more  bold,  the  more  welcome:  I  prithee 

kiss  me ! 
Be  not  afraid.  [iS^  tUt  on  /ui  knee, 

Gond.  If  there  be  any  here  [them 

That  yet  liave  so  much  of  the  fool  left  in 
As  to  love  their  mothers,  let  them  look  on 
And  loath  them  too !  [her'^, 

9  Lady.  What  a  slovenly  little  villain 
Art  thou!  why  dost  thou  not  stroke  up  thy 

hair? 
I  think  thou  never  ^omb*8t  it;  I  must  have 

it  lie 
In  better  order :  so,  so,  so !  Let  me  see 
Thy  liaods !  arc  they  wa^h'd  ? 

Gond,  I  would  they  were  loose,  for  thy  sake! 

Duke.  She  tortures  him  admirably. 

VuL  The  best  that  ever  w  as.  [golls ! 

2  Lady,  Alas,  how  cold  they  are.  Poor 
Why  dost  thee  not  get  thee  a  muo?     [  woman 

Arr,  Madam,  here's  an  old  country  gentle- 


At  the  door,  that  came  nodding  up  for  j  astice ; 
She  was  with  the  lord  Gondnriuo  to-day. 
And  would  now  ngain  come  to  the  speech  of 
She  says.  [him, 

OrU  Let  her  in,  for  sport's  sake,  let  her  in ! 

Gond.  Mercy,  oh,  duke  I  I  do  appeal  to 

thee : 
Plant  cannons  there,  and  discharge  them 
Against  my  breast  rather !  Nay,  first 
Let  this  ^he-fur^  sit  still  where  she  does. 
And  wiCh  her  nimble  fingers  stroke  my  hair, 
Play  with  my  fingers'  ends,  or  any  thing, 
Until  my  panting  heart  have  broke  my  breast ! 

Vttkei  You  must  abide  her  censure. 

[The  Lady  rites  from  hU  knee* 

Enter  old  Gentlewoman, 

Gond.  I  see  her  come !  , 
Unbutton  me,  for  she  will  speak. 

Genttea,  Where  is  he,  sir? 

Gond^  Save  me!  I  hear  her.  [enct. 

Arr»  There  he  is  in  state,  to  give  you  audi<« 

Oeniiew.  How  does  your  go<»d  lordship  ? 

GmM/.  Sick  of  the  spleen. 

Gentlezc.  How? 

Gond.  Sick. 

Gentlew.  WiU  you  chew  a  nutmeg  ? 
You  shall  not  refuse  it;  'tis  very  comfortable. 

Gond.  Nay,  now  thou  art  come,  I  know  it  is 
The  devil's  jubilee ;  hell  is  broke  loose! 
My  lord,  if  ever  [  have  done"you  service, 
Or  have  deserv'd  a  favour  of  your  grace. 
Let  me  be  turn'd  upon  some  present  action, ' 
Where  I  may  sooner  die  than  languish  thus ! 
Your  grace  hath  her  petition ;  grant  it  her, 
And  ease  me  now  at  last ! 

Duke.  No,  sir; 
You  must  endure. 

Gentleto.  For  ray  petition, 
I  hope  your  lordship  hath  remeraber'd  me. 

Ori.  'Faith,  I  begin  to  pity  him:  Arrigo, 
Take  her  off;  bear  her  away;  say  her  petition 
Is  granted. 

.  Gent  tew.  Whither  do  you  draw  me,  sir? 
I  know  it  is  not  my  lord's  pleasure  I 
Should  be  thus  us'd,  before  my  business  be 
Dispatch'd. 
Arr.  You  shall  know  more  of  that  without. 
Ori.  Unbind  him,  ladies !  But,  before  he  go, 
This  he  shall  promise :  for  the  love  I  bear 
To  our  own  sex,  I  would  have  them  still 
Hated  by  thee;  and  enjoin  thee,  as  apuiuih- 

ment. 
Never  hereailer  willingly  to  come 


'^  Let  them  on  her,  and  loath  them  too!\  Sympson  would  read,  , 
^  Set  them  on  her^  and /oo  'em  too ; 
which  Seward  justly  rejects;  but  thinks  he  discovers  a  meaning  in  these  words,  which  they 
certainljr  do  not  convey ;  viz.  '  If  there  be  any  here  that  are  such  fi)ols  to  retain  a  love  eveA 
^  for  their  mothers,  let  them  be  persecuted  by  this  woman,  and  they  will  loath  them,  t.  e, 
<  their  mothers  also.' — It  has  heen  very  ingeniously  suggested,  that  we  probably  should  read. 

Let  them  honour  and  loath  them  too; 
t.  e.  '  Let  them  feel  the  opposite  sensations  of  honouring  and  deepising  them  at  the  same 
*  tinie.'«-But  the  source  of  the  difficulty  ha^  we  apprehend,  been  the  loss  of  the  word  tookf 
which  being  restorsd,  the  passage  cames  with  it  its  own  exphmatioiu 
'    VOL.111.  ST  In 


4M 


THfi  WOKAN^HATER. 


[Act  5.  Scene  t. 


In  the  presence  or^»ght  of  any  woman. 
Nor  never  to  seekVprongfiiily  the  public 
Di^mce  of  any. 

Gond.  Tis  thati  would  have  sworn,  and  do; 
When  I  meddle  with  them'^,  for  their  "good, 
Or  their  bad^  may  time  call  back  this  day 

again!  ' 

Ana  when  I  come  in  their  companies, 
May  I  catcli  the  pox  by  their  breathy  and  have 
No  other  pleasure  for  it! 

DukCs  You  are 
Too  merciful. 


On.  My  lord,  I  shewed  my  sex 
The  better. 

VaL  AU  is  ovef^blown.    Sister, 
You^re  like  to  have  a  iair  night  of  it. 
And  a  prince  in  your  arms.— Let's  go,  my 

loid^*. 

Duke,  Thus,  thro' the  doubtfal  streams  of 

joy  and  grief, 
True  love  dotli  wade,  and  finds  nt  last  relief. 
[Exeunt  emnes. 


'^  When  I  meditate  with  them.']  So  all  editions  but  the  first  quarto ;  from  which  invaluable 
copy  we  have  made  a  great  number  of  corrections,  some  more  beneficial  to  the  sense  than 
tins  before  us.  On  many  of  the  errors  in  the  later  editions,  we  had  prefmred  notes,  and 
proposed  variations;  but  on  collating  the  text  with  tlie  quarto  above-mentioned  (which  we 
should  not  have  been  able  to  do,  but  for  the  favour  of  Mr.  Garrick),  we  have  suppressed  oor 
notes,  and  silently  made  the  amendments  there  pointed  out:  not  chusing  to  adopt  the  mode 
of  our  predecessors;  who,  in  such  cases,  commonly  inserted  very  prolix  refiifeations  of  the 
lection  in  the  then-last  erlition,  proposed  variations,  of  which  they  adopted  the  best,  and 
then  concluded  their  notes  with,  and  this  is  confiriibd  bt  the  oldest  editioii3. 

^^  Left  ^o,  my  hrd^  Perhaps  these  words  belong  to  Onana, 


It  seems  not  quite  clear  that  the  whole  of  this  play  was  written  in  verse;  bat  many 
speeches  that  evidently  resolve  themselves  into  measure  having  been  printed  as  prose,  Seward 
very  properly  endeavoured  to  restore  them  to  their  original  state.  He  has,  in  oor  opinioo, 
not  always  been  elegant  or  accurate  in  his  division.  We  are  not  entirely  satisfied  with  oor 
own ;  yet  think  the  text  at  least  runs  off  more  easily  in  this  edition  than  in  any  preoeding 
one^  less  violated  by  arbitrary  additions^  omissions,  and  transpositions,  and  the  eye  and  ear 
less  offended  by  elisions^  more  barbarous  than  those  of  Procrustes. 


THE 


THE  NICE  VALOUR; 


OM, 


THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAW. 
A  COMEDY^ 


The  Commeodatory  Verses  by  Gardiner  ascribe  this  Play  to  Fletcher;  the  Prologue  and 
Epilogue  speak  of  the  Poet  singly;  Seward  (see  note  3  on  the  Commendatory  Poems) 
supposes  it  to  be  Beaunont's*  It  was  first  printed  in  the  folio  of  1647;  and  hath  never 
been  altered,  that  we  are  able  to  discover. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Men. 


Ddks  of  Genoa, 

Sham  ON  T,  hii  Favourite,  a  supertiitioiu  lover 

cf  Reputation, 
A  Passionate  Lobd,  the  Dukei  distracted 

Kinsman. 
A  SoLDtER,  Brother  to  Shamont, 
Lapet,  the  cowardly  Monsieur. 
A  Gallant  of  the  same  temper, 

MoJ^X   \Troon,uaroc^  Courier,. 

Two  Brothers  to  the  Lacfy  affecting  the 
Fasiionate  Lord, 


La  Nove,  a  Courtier, 

Pour  Courtiers. 

Base,  Jester  to  the  Passionate  Lord. 

Galosh  10,  a  Cloam. 

Women. 

Lady,  Sister  to  the  Dukey  Shamonfs  hdaoei, 
Lapet's  Wife. 

A  Lady,  personating  Cupidf  Mistreu  to  the 
Mad  l/jrd. 


SCENE,  Gemoa. 


PROLOGUE  AT  THE  REVIVAL  OF  THIS  PLAY. 


It  grovrs  in  fashion  of  late,  in  these  days. 
To  come  and  beg  a  suffrage  to  our  plays' : 
Taitfay  gentlemen,  our  poet  ever  writ     [wit, 
Language  so  good,  mix'd  with  such  sprightly 
He  made  the  theatre  so  sovereign 
With  his  rare  scenes^  he  scorn'd  this  crouch- 
iog  vein* 


We  stabb'd  bino  with  keen  daggers,  when  we 

pray'd 
Iliiii  write  a  preface  to  a  play  well  made. 
He  could  not  write  these  toys;  'twas  easier  iar 
To  bring  a  felon  to  appear  at  th'  bar 
So  much  he  hated  baseness ;  which  this  day. 
His  scenes  will  best  convince  you  of  iu's  play. 


■  A  suffrage  to  our  piays,}  First  folio  exhibits  sufferance* 
3T« 


ACT 


603     THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONAL  MADMAN.  [Actl.  Scaet 


ACT  I. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Dukey  Shamont^  and  Four  Gentlemen, 

Duke,  CHAMONT,  welcome!    we  have 

^  missM  thee  long, 
Tbo'  absent  ]t>ut  two  days :  I  hope  your  sports 
Answer  your  time  nnd  wishes. 

Skanu  Very  nobly,  sir; 
We  found  game  worthy  your  delight,  my  lord. 
It  was  so  royal. 

Duhe,  IVe  enough  to  hear  oh't; 
Prithee  bestow't  upon  me  in  discourse. 

1  Gent,  What  is  this  gentienuui,  coz?  you 

are  a  courtier, 
Therefore  know  all  their  iiisidcs. 

3  Gent,  No  further  than  the  taffaty  goes, 

good  coz,  ^  [part 

For  the  most  part,  wliich  is  indeed  the  l)est 
Of  the  most  general  inside.  Marry,  thus  far 
I  can  with  boldness  speak  this  one  mau*s 

chanicter. 
And  upon  honour  pass  it  for  a  true  one : 
He  has  that  strength  of  manly  merit  in  hii», 
That  it  exceeds  his  sovereign's  power  of  grac- 
ing; 
He'»  iiiiitlifully  true  to  valour,  that  he  hates 
The  man  from  Csbnr*s  time,  or  further  otl^ 
That  ever  took  disgrace-unreveng'd ; 
And  if  lie  chance  to  read  his  ahiect  story. 
He  tears  his  memory  out,  and  holds  it  virtuous 
Not  to  let  shame  have  so  much  life  amongst 

us; 
There  is  not  such  a  curious  piece  of  courage 
Amongst  man^s  fellowship,  or  one  so  jealous 
Of  Honour's  loss,  or  Reputation's  glory : 
Tiiere's  so  much  perfect  of  his  growing  story ! 
1  Gent.  Twould  make  one  dote  on  Virtue, 

as  you  tell  it.  [it,  coz. 

S  Uent,  I  have  told  it  to  much  loss,  believe 


3  Gent,  How  the  duke  graces  him !  What 
is  he,  brother  ? 

4  Gent,  Don't  you  yet  know  him?  mvaio- 
glorious  coxcomb,. 

As  proud  as  he  that  fell  for't' ! 
Set  but  aside  his  valour^,  no  virtue. 
Which  is  indeed  uot  fit  for  any  courtier^ 
And  we  liis  fellows  are  as  good  as  be. 
Perhaps  as  capable  of  favour  too,  ^    . 

For  oue  thingor  another,  if'tvfere  look'd  intd. ' 
Give  me  a  man,  were  I  a  sfvereign  now, 
'Has  a  good  stroke  at  tenni*^  and  a  stiff  one; 
Can  play  at  aquinoctium  with  tbe  line, 
As  even  as  the  thirteenth  of  September, 
When  day  and  night  lie  in  a  scale  together! 
Or,  may  I  thrive  as  I  deserve  at  biUtards; 
No  otherwise  at  cAe»,  or  at  primero  ! 
These  are  the  parte  requir'd;  why  not  a*- 
vanc'd  f  .  peat  pleasure ; 

Dtf  A:e.  Trust  me,  it  was  no  less  than  exod- 
And  I'm  right  glad  'twas  thine. — How  fares 

our  kinsman  ? 
Wha  can  resolve  us  best? 

1  Gent,  I  can,  my  lord.  [bounds, 

Duke.   There,  it  I  had  a  pity   without 
It  might  be  ill  bestow'd :  a  man  so  lost 
In  the  wild  ways  of  passion,  that  he's  sensiblt 
Of  nought  but  what  torments  Mm ! 

1  Gent,  True,  my  lord; 
He  runs  thro*  all  the  passions  of  mankind, 
A  nd  shifts  Vm  strangely  too :  one  while  in  k»VQ 
And  that  so  violent,  that,  forwant  of  business^ 
He'll  court  the  very  'prentice  of  a  laundress^ 
Tho'she  have  kib'd  heels ;  and  in's  raebn- 
choly  again,  [fiurer 

He  will  not  brook  an  empress,  tho'  thrict 
Than  ever  Maud  was^,  or  highei^pirited 
Than  Cleopatra,  or  your  English  counttsi. 
Then,  on  a  sudden  he's  so  merry  again, 


.'  Am  proud  at  he  that  fell  for' t;"]  i.  e.  As  proud  as  Lucifer,  who  fell  through  pride. 

Seaeri, 
.  *  Set  but  unde  hit  valour  no  virtue : 

Which  it  indeed  not  Jit  for  any  courtier.]  The  ohl  folio  points  thus, 
Set  but  aside  his  valour,  no  virtue 
Which  is  indeed,  not  fit  for  any  courtier. 
And  we  his  fellows,  ^c. 
This  latter  is  better  sense,  and  therefore  restored  to  the  text,  but  us  the  constraction  froa 
the  position  of  the  words  is  a  little  stiff,  and  the  measure  not  compleat,  perhaps  the  oiiginal 
■light  hav^  run, 

Set  but  aside  his  valour,  which  indeed 
No  virtue  is,  not  fit  for  any  courtier.  Seward. 

Seward's  reading  is  as  stiff  as  the  other.  There  seems  to  be  a  word  or  two  dropped  in  the 
preceding  line,  which  has  more  obscured  the  passage ;  the  sense  of  wliich  seems  to  have  hitfs 
to  thise&ct: 

As  proud  as  he  that  fell  for^t!  he  possesses. 
Set  but  aside  his  valour,  no  virtue ; 

Which  (i.  e.  his  valour)  is  indeed  not  fit  for  any  courtier,  &g* 
It  fs  verv  common  with  our  auttuirs  to  refer  to  a  remote  aiitececient. 
^  £^Uud,]  The  empress  Muud,  daughter  of  Henry  I.  and  motlier  of  Henry  IL         IF. 

f  Ost* 


Act  I.  Scenel.]  TH£  MICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.     50» 


Ouc-laughs  a  waiting-womaii  before  her  first 

child; 
AiKi,tomiiig  of  a  hand,  8o  angry — 
ITbas  almost  beat  the  Northern    fellow^ 

blind,  [my  lord, 

That  is  for  that  use  only;  if  timt  mood  hold, 
H'bad  need  of  a  fresh  man  ;  Til  undertake 
lie  bhall  braise  thee  a-month. 

l^uke,  I  pity  him  dearly ; 
And  let  it  be  yoar  cliarge,  with  his  kind  bro* 

ther. 
To  see  his  moods  observed :  let  every  passion 
Be  fed  ev*R  to  a  surfeit,  which  in  time 
May  breed  a  loathing!  let  him  have  enough 
Of  every  object,  that  his  sense  is  rapt  with! 
A  nd  being  once  glutted,  then  the  taste  of  folly 
Will  come  into  disrelish'.  [Exit, 

'     1  Gent,  I  shall  see 

Your  charge,  my  lord,  most  faithfully  effected. 
And  bow  docs  noble  Shamont  ? 

Sham.  Never  ill,  man, 
Until  I  hear  uf  baseness;  then  I  sicken: 
I  am  the  heahhfuirst  man  i*  th*  kingdom  else. 

Enter  Lapet, 

1  Gent,  Be  arm'd  thea  for  a  fit!  here 

comes  a  fellow 
Will  make  you  sick  at  heart,  if  baseness  do't. 

Sham.  Let  me  be  gone!  What  is  he? 

1  Geut.  Let  me  tell  you  first ; 
It  cam  be  but  a  qualm.   Pray  stay  it  out,  sir! 
Come,  youVe  borne  more  than  thi^. 

.SViain.  Borne?  never  any  thing 
That  was  injunons. 

1  Gent,  Ua !  I  am  far  from  that. 

SJutt/i.  He  looks  as  like  a  man,  as  1  have 

seen  one:  [£  pritliee, 

Wliat  would  you  «peak  of  him?  Speak  well, 
£v*u  for  humanity  s  cause. 

1  Gent.  You'd  have  it  truth  tho'? 

Sham,  What  else,  sir  ?  I  have  no  reason  to 

wrong  Ueav'n 


To  favour  Nature;  let  her  bear  her  own 
If  she  be  fiiulty !  [shame 

1  Gent,  Monstrous  fiiulty  there,  sir. 

Shmn,  I'm  ill  at  ease  already. 

1  Gent,  Pray  bear  up,  sir. 

Sham.  I  prithee  let  me  take  him  down  with 

speed  then,  [upon. 

Like  a  wild  object  that  I  would  not  look 

1  Gent,  Then  thus;  he*s  one  that  will  en- 
dure as  much 
As  can  be  laid,  upon  him. 

Shftm.  That  may  be  noble? 
I'm  kept  too  long  from  his  acqoaintance. 

1  Gent.  Oh,  sir,  [fiirward 

Take  heed  of  rash  repentance^ !  you*re  too 
To  find  one  virtue  where  it  never  settled  i 
Take  theparticidars,  first,  ofwhat  he  endures; 
Videlicet,  bastinadoes  by  the  great. 

Sham.  How! 

1  Gent,  Thumps  by  the  dozen,  and  your 

kicks  by  wholesale. 

Sham,  No  moro  of  him  !  [up, 

1  Gent,  The  twinges  by  the  nostril  hesnutt* 
And  holds  it  the  best  remedy  for  sneezing. 

Sham.  Away! 

1  Gent.  H*has  been  thrice  switch'd  from 

seven  o'clock  till  nine;  [fi^^t. 

Yet,  with  a  cart-horse  stomach,  fell  to  break- 
Forgetful  of  his  smart. 

S/iam,  Nay,  the  disgmce  on't ; 
There  is  no  smart  but  that :  base  things  art 

felt  [know  you  not; 

More  by  their  sliames  than  hurts.-*^ir,  I 
But  tliat  you  live  an  injury  to  Nature, 
I'm  heartily  angry  with  you. 

Lapet,  Pray  give  your  blow  or  k«ick,  and 

begone  then; 
For  rne*er  saw  you  before;  and  indeed 
Have  nothing  to  say  to  you,  for  I  know  you 

not. 

Skam.  Why  wouldst  thou  take  a  blow  I 

Lapet,  I  would  not,  sir', 

UoleM 


^  IThoi  almoit  beat  the  Northern  fellow  blindy 
That  it  for  that  use  only.]  This  is  probably  an  allusion  to  GustavoB  Adolphus,  king  of 
Sweden,  the  hero  of  the  North,  who  ascended  the  throne  in  16 11.    He  was  one  of  the  great- 
est and  most  successful  princes  which  Europe  hath  seen,  either  before  or  since  his  time.    R. 
^  His  relish.]  We  have  no  doubt  But  this  is  corrupt,  and  that  we  ought  to  ready  changing 
only  one  letter,  DXsre/tM. 

^  Take  heed  of  rash  repentance;]  i.  e.  Repentance  on  account  of  rashncfli.  I  should  not 
Lave  thought  an  explanaUoo  necessary,  but  that  Mr.  Sympson  would  have  discarded  the  word^ 
and  read  acquaintance  for  repentance.  Seward, 

'  I  would  notf  sir, 
Unkss  'twere  offer' d  me;  and  if  from  an  enemy, 

Fd  be  loth  to  deny  it  from  a  stranger.]  The  conjunctive  particle  and  in  the  middle  line 
■eems  plainly  to  denote  the  loss  of  some  sentence  previous  to  it,  and  the  humour  seems 
greatly  to  sufier  by  that  loss.  As  to  the  sentiment,  it  may,  I  believe,  be  restored,  but  at  8e« 
veral  expressions  will  give  it,  it  is  impossible  to  guess  how  near  we  shall  come  to  the  old 
reading.    I  propose, 

I  would  not,  sir, 

Unless 'twere  offeFd  me;  if  from  a  friend 
I*d  take*t  infriendship^  and  if  firom  an  enemy 
I  would  be  loth  to  deny  it  from  a  stranger.  Senard. 

Seward  makes  this  proposed  interpolation :  but  the  old  text  gives  very  complele  sense;  and 
Ibait  is  ae  saying  whm  arbitiary  variations  would  end,  if  insertioBSy  omissioajii  or  sitene 

tiOBSi 


510     Tim  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN,  [Actl.  Scnel 


Unless 'twere  offered  me;  and  iffroman  enemy, 
I  would  be  loath  to  deny  it  from  a  stranger. 

Sham,  What!  a  blow?  [it? 

Endure  a  blow?  and  shall  he  live  that  ^ves 

Ixtpet.  Many  a  fair  year :  why  not,  «r  ? 

Sham,  Let  nie  wonder! 
As  full  a  man  to  see-to,  and  as  perfect! 
1  prithee  live  not  long — 

Lapet,  How! 

SJmm,  Let  me  entreat  it !  [mankind, 

Thou  dost  not  know  what  wroiig  -tliou  dost 
To  walk  so  long  here ;  not  to  die  beticnes. 
Let  me  advise  thee,  while  tliou  hast  to  live 

here,  [more ! 

£v*n  for  man's  honour  sake,  take  not  a  blow 

Lttpet,  You  should  advise  them  not  to 

strike  me  then,  sir ;  [given. 

For  I'll  take  none,  I  assure  yon,  'less  they're 

Sham.  How  fain  would  I  preserve  map's 

form  from  shame. 
And  cannot  get  it  donel  However,  sir, 
I  cliarge  thee  live  not  long. 

Lapet,  This  is  worse  than  beating.      [sir, 

Sham.  Of  what  protession  art  thou,  tell  me. 
Besides  a  taylor  ?  for  I'll  know  the  truth. 

Lapet,  A  taylor?  I'm  as  good  a  gentle- 
Can  shew  my  arms  and  all.  [mau — 

Sham,  How  black  and  blue  they  are : 
Is  that  your  manifestation?  Upon  pain 
Of  pounding  thee  to  dust,  assume  not  wrong- 
fully 
The  name  of  gentlemarij  because  I'm  one 
That  must  not  let  thee  live  1 

Lapet.  I've  done,  I've  done,  sir. 
If  there  be  any  harm,  beshrew  the  herald  1 
I'm  sure  I  lia'  not  been  so  long  a  geuUeman, 
To  make  this  auger :  I  have  nothing,  uo  wliere, 
But  what  I  dearly  pay  for. 

Sham,  Groom,  begone!  [Exit  Lapet. 

I  never  was  so  heart-sick  yet  of  man. 

Enter  the  Lady,  and  Lapet* s  Wife, 

1  Gent,  Here  comes  a  cordial,  sir,  from 

th'  other  sex, 
Able  to  make  a  dyiug  face  look  chearful. 

Sham.  Tbe  blessedness  of  ladies! 

Lady.  You're  well  met,  sir.        [frem  me, 

iSftam.  The  sight  of  you  has  put  an  evih 
Whose  breath  was  able  to  make  virtue  sicken. 

Lady,  I'm  glad   I  came  so  fortunately. 

Wbat  was  it,  sir?  [eats  after  it. 

Sham.  A  thing  that  ta]Ees  a  blow,  lives  and 
In  very  good  healtli :  you  ha'  not  seen  the 

like,  madam ; 
A  monster  worth  yo«r  sixpence,  lovely  worth. 

Jjotly,  Speak  low,  sir  f  by  all  likelihoods 

'tis  her  husband. 
That  now  bestow'd  a  visitation .  on    me. 

Farewell,  sir!  [Exit, 

Sham,  Husband  ?  is't  possible  that  be  has 

a  wife  ?  [match  I 

Would  any  creature  have  him?  'tis  some  forc'd 


If  he  were  not  kick'd  to  tk'dundi  o'ttf 

wedding  day,  [^"tte; 

I'll  never  come  at  court.    Can  be  no  other- 
Perhaps  l>e  was  rich ;  speak,  mistress  Lapei^ 

was  t  not  so  ? 

Wife.  Nay,  tliat's  without  all  qaestion. 

Sham.  Oh,  ho!  be  would  not  want  kickeis 

enough  then. 
If  you  are  wise,  I  much  suspect  your  honesty, 
For  wisdom  ne^-er  fastens  constantly. 
But  upon  merit :  if  you  incline  to  fool. 
You  are  alike  unfit  for  his  society; 
Nay,  if  it  were  not  boldness  in  the  man 
That  honours  you,  to  advise  you,  troth^  bb 

company 
Shoula  not  be  frequent  with  jou. 

Wife,  Tis  good  counsel,  sir. 

Sham.  Ob,  Fm  so  careful  where  I  reverence. 
So  just  to  goodness,  and  her  precious  purist 
I  am  as  equally  jealous,  and  as  fearful. 
That  any  undeserved  stain  might  fall 
Upon  her  sanctified  whiteness,  as  of  the  sin 
That  comes  by  wilfulness. 

Wife.    Sir,  I  love  your  thoughts. 
And  *  honour  yon  for  your  counsel  and  yoor 

Sham.  We  arc  your  servants.  [care.^ 

Wife,  He's  but  a  ^ntleman 
O'  thxluunber ;  he  nught  have  kiss'd  me,  ftith! 
Where  shall  one  find  less  courtesy  than  at 

court? 
Say,  I  have  an  umicserver  to  my  husband. 
That's  ne*er  the  .worse  for  him :  well^strange- 

lip'd  man, 
Tis  but  a  kiss  lost;  therell  more  come 

again.  [Eiit. 

Enter  the  Pastionate  Lord;    he  maka  « 
congee  or  two  to  nothing. 

1  Gent.  Look,  who  comes  here^  sir!  his 

love-fit's  upon  him : 
I  know  it, by  Uiat  set  smile,  and  those  congses. 
How  courteous  he's  to  nothing  ?  which  indeed 
Is  the  next  kin  to  woman,  only  shadow, 
•Tiie  elder  Mster  of  tbe  twain,  because  'tis 

seen  too. 
See  bow  it  kisses  tbe  fore^finger  still ! 
Which  is  the  last  edition,  and,  being  come 
So  near  the  thumb,  every  cobler  has  got  iL 

Sham.  What  a  ridiculous  piece  humanity 
Here  makes  itself  I 

1  Gent.  Nay,  good,  give  leave  a  little^  fir; 
You're  so  precise  a  manhood-— 

Sham,  It  aiflicts  me 
When  I  behold  unseemliness  in  an  i 
•So  near  the  godhead !  Tis  an  injury 
To  glorious  eteniity. 

1  Gent,  Pray  use  padenoe,  sir! 

Pas.  1  do  confess  it  freely,  precious  lady; 
And  love's  suit  is' so,  the  longer  it  liangs 
The  worse  it  is :  better  cut  off,  sweet  madan. 
Oh,  that  same  diiiwing-in  yoor  nether  hp 
there. 


tions  were  made,  whenever  the  critid^  thinks  it  might  improve  the 
deration.    An  editoc  should  give  the  author's  text,  not  his  owq« 


under  his  oonsi- 

Foreahew 


Adl.  Scene  1.]  THE  NICE  VALOUB;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.     611 


Foreshews  no  goodness,  lady;  make  you 

question  on't? 
Slnune  on  me,  but  I  love  yon ! 

1  Gent.  WhoiB\8ir, 
You  are  nt  all  this  pains  for?  may  I  know  her? 

F4U.  For  tbee,  thou  faiiest,  yet  tlie  falsest 

wcnnan, 
That  ever  broke  man's  heart-strings. 

1  Gent*  Uow?  how's  this,  sir?    [apparel? 

Pas.  What,  the  old  trick  of  ladies?  man*s 
Will't  ne'er  be  left  amongst  you  ?  Steal  from 

court  in't ! 

1  Gent.  1  see  the  fit  grows  stronger. 

Pas,  Pray  let's  talk  a  little. 

Sham.  I  can  enduro  no  more ! 

1  Gent,  Good,  let's  alone  a  little! 
You  are  so  exact  a  work !  love  light  things 

somewhat,  sir*. 

Skanu  They're  all  but  shames. 

1  Gent.  What  is't  yoo*d  say  to  fne,  sirf 

Pas,  Can  you  be  so  forgetful  to  enquire 

1  Gent.  Yes,  truly,  sir.  [it,  lady  ? 

Pas.  The  more  I  admire  your  ilintiness ! 
What  cause  have  I  given  you,  illustrious 

madam. 
To  play  this  strange  part  with  roe? 

1  Gent.  Cause  enough : 
Do  but  look  back.  Sir,  mto  your  memory, 
Your  love  to  other  women.    Oh,  lewd  man, 
!T  has  almost  kill'd  my  heart ;  you  see  Tm 

chang*d  with  it;  [on't! 

I  ha'  lost  the  fashion  of  my  sex  witli  grief 
When  I  have  seen  you  courtmg  of  a  dowdy 
(Compared  with  me),  and  kissing  yoar  fore- 
finger [iH)t  this 
To  one  o'th'black-guard^s  mistresses;  would 
Crack  a  poor  lady's  heart,  that  believed  love. 
And  waited  for  the  comfort  ?  But  'twas  said,  sir, 
A  lady  of  my  hair  cannot  want  pitying ; 
The  country's  coming  up :  farewell  to  you. 

Pus.  Whither  intend  you,  sir?  [sir! 

1  Gent.  A  long  Journey,  sir: 
The  truth  is,  I'm  with-child,  and  go  to  travel. 

JPas.  With-child  ?  I  never  got  it. 

1  Gent.  I  heard  you  were  busy 
At   the  same  time,  sir;  and  was  loth  to 

trouble  you.  [cellent  madam  ? 

JPas.  Wny,  are  hot  you  a  whore  then,  ex- 

1  Gent.  Oh,  by  no  means;  'twas  done,  sir, 

in  tlie  state 


Of  my  belief  in  you,  and  that  quits  me; 
It  lies  upon  your  falshood. 

Pas.  Does  it  so  ? —  [contract. 

You  shall  not  carry  her  tho',  sir;  she's  my 

Sham.  1  prithee,  thou  four  elements  il^ 

brued. 
Torment  none  but  thyself!  Away,  I  &ay, 
Thou  beast  of  passion,  as  the  drankard  is 
The  beast  of  wine !  Dishonour  to  thy  making, 
Thou  man  in  fragments ! 

Pus,  Hear  me,  precious  madam  ? 

Skftm.  Kneel  for  thy  wits  to  Heav'u. 

Pas.  Lady,  I'll  father  it, 
Whoe'er  begot  it :  'tis  the  course  of  greatness, ' 

Sham.  How  virtue  groans  at  this! 

Pas.  I'll  raise  the  court,  but  I  will  stay 

your  flight. 

Sham.  How  wretched  is  that  piece  ? 

[Exit  Pas. 

t.Gent.  He's  the  duke's  kinsman,  sir. 

Sham.  That  cannot  take'  a  passion  away,, 

sir, 
Nor  cut  a  fit  but  one  poor  hour  shorter; 
He  must  endure  as  much  as  the  poorest 

beggar,  [equality 

That  cannot  change  his  money ;  there's  the 
In  our  impartial  essence.     What's  the  news 

now? 

Enter  a  Servant. 

Sere.  Your  worthy  brother,  sir,  has  left 
And  come  to  see  you.  [his  charge. 

Enter  the  Soldier. 

Sham.  Oh,  the  noblest  welcome 
That  ever  came  from  man,  meet  tliy  de- 
servings  !  [now, 
Methinks,  I've  all  joy's  treasure  in  mine  anus 
Sold.  You  are  so  fortunate  in  <  prevention, 
brother, 
You  always  leave  the  answerer  barren,  sir, 
Ypu  comprehend  in  few  words  so  much  worth. 
Sftam.  'lis  all  too  little  tor  thee :  come, 
thou'rt  welcome !                               [p^^^yt. 
So  I  include  ail.     Take  especial  knowledge, 
Of  this  dear  gentleman,  my  absolute  friend. 
That  loves  a  soldier  far  above  a  mistress^ ! 
Thou  excellently  faithful  to  'cm  both ! 
But  love  to  manhood  owns  the  purer  troth. 

[Exeunt, 
ACT 


You  are  so  exact  a  work :  love  light  things  somewhat,  nr.l  It  seems  probable  that  worth 

k  the  true  word  instead  of  work,  as  Shamont  calls  the  lady  before — looeli/  worth,  and  one 

of  tbe  gentlemen  in  the  first  page  of  the  play«ays  oi' Shamont, 

There  is  not  such  a  curious  piece  of  courage. 
K^otwithstanding  this,  work  being  good  sense  may  still  be  the  true  reading.  The  advice  to 
Skamont  to  love  light  things  a  little,  is  to  laugh  and  divert  himself  at  the  absurdities  and 
pbrensies  of  men.  Mr.  Sympson  thought  it  obscure,  and  that  it  wanted  explanation.  Seward. 
Semad  seems  mistaken  in  supposing  Shamont  csAh  the  lady  lovely  ^ORia:  he  tells  her  tlia. 
sig)ft  is  lovefy  [i.  e.  well]  worth  sixpence : 

You  ha'  not  seen  the  like,  madam ; 

A  monster  worth  your  sixpence,  lovely  worth. 
'  J%at  kves  a  soldier  far  above  a  mistress. 

Thou  excellentlyfaithfiil  to  *em  both.]  The  emendation  here  of-thou  to  Mo'  (although  the 

old 


919     THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  [Acts.  SocwL 


ACT   II. 


In  the  return,  as  many  men  have  done,  nr. 
I  dare  not  jastify  wkat  is  to  come  of  me. 
Because  [  know  it  not;  tfao'  I  hope  ▼iitaooslj: 
Marry,  what's  past,  or  present^l  darst  pot 
Inio  a  uood  man's  bana ;  which  if  be  take 
Upon  my  word  for  good,  it  shall  not  coiea 

Sold.  No,  nor  hereafter.  [him. 

Ladfif*  It  may  hap  io  too,  sir; 
A  woman's  goodness,  when  sha  is  a  wife. 
Lies  much  upon  a  man's  desert,  believe  it,  sir; 
If  there  be  fault  in  her,  Fli  pawn  my  life  oa% 
Tis  first  in  him,  if  she  were  ever  good'* : 
That  makes  me,  knowing  not  a  husband  yet, 
Or  what  he  may  lie,  promise  no  moreTiitoei 
Than  I  may  well  perform;  Jbr  that  weie  co- 

senage.  [all  fean! 

Sold.  Happy  were  he  that  had  yoo,  witk 
That's  my  opmion,  lady. 

Enter  Shmnont  and  a  Servant^  Ustauag. 

Sert.  What  say  you  now,  sir? 
Dare  you  give  conhdem%  to  your  own  eyes? 

Sham,  Not  yet  I  dare  not. 

Serv.  No? 

Sham,  Scarce  yet,  or  yet, 
Altbo'  I  see  'tis  he.     Why,  can  a  thing. 
That's  but  myself  divided,  be  so  &lse? 

Serv,  Nay,  do  but  mark  how  the 

plays  bis  part  too ; 
liow  amorously  'tis  hent. 

Sham.  Hell  take  thy  bad  thovgbts! 
For  ihey  are  strange  ones.  Never  take  detigM 
To  make  a  torment  worse.    Look  on  'eoiy 

Heav*n ! 
For  that's  a  brother,  send  me  a  fiur  eoemy. 
And  take  him !  for  a  fouler  fiend  there  breatbes 

not. 
I  will  not  sin  to  think  there's  ill  in  her. 
But  what's  of  bis  producing; 
Yet  goodness,  wliose  inclosure  is  but  flesfa^ 
Holds  out  oft-times  but  sorrily.  Bat  as  black, 

sir. 
As  ever  kindred  was,  I  bate  mine  own  blood. 
Because  it  is  so  near  thine.    Live  wicboat 

honesty; 

old  reading  was  not  absolute  nonsense,  supposing  the  points  altered)  is  so  easy,  that  Icaimot 
fear  the  reader's  concurrence.        Seaard, 

We  ready  think  the  old  reading  most  spirited  and  best,  only  making  a  foil  point  after 
misiresx. 

■^  Which  well  employs  the  softnen  qfy<mr  sea:.]  What  is  it  that  employs  the  softneas  oiT 
the  sex,  weariness,  or  the  fear  of  it?  lis  scarcely  sense  in  either  light,  and  Mr.  Synpsoa 
seems  to  have^it  off  the  true  reading,  implies,  Seward, 

"  With  all  bis  envy.]  Corrected  by  Seward. 
'*  *TisJir$t  in  hiniy  if  she  were  ever  good^ 

That  makes  one;  knowing  not  a  hushimdyetf 
Or  what  he  may  be :  1  promise  no  mere  virtveSy 

Than  I  will  well  perform,']  The  punctuation  amended  by  Seward;  who  alto  ditcarM 
the  pronoun  J.  We  have*  altered  one  x<a  me:  ^be  error  of  the  press  is  probable,  and  the  mok 
requires  it. 


SCENE  L 
Enter  th^  Sotdier,  and  the  Lady, 

Xa<fy.  INHERE  should  be  iu  this  gallery^-* 

■■■      Oh,  they're  here. 
Pray  sit  down :  behf ve  nie,  sir,  I'm  weary. 
Sold,  It  well  becomes  a  lady  to  complain 
a  little  [madam; 

Of  what  she  never  feels :  your  walk  was  short, 
You  can  be  but  afraid  of  weariness. 
Which  well  implies  the  softnessof  your  sex  *^: 
As  for  the  thing  itself,  vou  never  came  to't. 
Lady.   You're  wondrously  well  read   in 
ladies,  sir.  [madam. 

Sold,  Shall  I  think  such  a  creature  as  you, 
Was  ever  born  to  feel  pain,  but  in  travel? 
There's  your  full  portion. 
Besides  a  little  tooth-ache  in  the  breeding. 
Which  a  kind  husband  too  takes  from  you, 
madam.  [kind  husbands  ? 

Lady,  But  where  do  ladies,  sir,  find  such 
Perhaps  you  have  heai-d  [now. 

The  rheumatic  story  of  some  loving  chandler 
Or  some  such  melting  fellow,  that  you  talk 
So  prodigal  of  men's  kindness :  I  confess,  sir. 
Many  of  those  wires  are  happy,  their  ambition 
Doe&  reach  no  higher  than  to.  love  and  ig- 
norance, [fond  one : 
Which  makes  an  excellent  husband,  and  a 
Now,  sir,  your  great  ones  aim  at  heigU  and 
cunning,  [it ; 
And  so  are  oft  deceiv'd,  yet  they  must  venture 
For  'tis  a  lady's  contumely,  sir, 
To  have  a  lord  an  ignorant;  then  the  world's 
voice  [on't : 
Will  deem  her  for  a  wanton,  ere  she  tafte 
But  to  deceive  a  wise  man,  to  whose  circuaw 

spection 
The  world  resigns  itself  with  all  its  envy", 
Tis  less  dishonour  to  us  than  to  fall ; 
Because  bis  believ'd  wisdom  keeps  out  all. 
Sold.  'Would  I  were  the  man,  lady,  tliat 
should  venture 
His  wisdom  to  your  goodness ! 
Jji^y*  You  might  fail 


Acta.  Scdkel,]  THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIOJTATE  MADMAN.     513 


Enter  First  Gentleman, 

Sold.  Now  he  dies,  [him! 

Were  all  succeeding  hopes  stor'd  up  withiu 

1  Gent,  Oh,  fyl  i'th* court,  sir? 

Sold.  I  most  dearly  thank  you,  si'-. 

1  Gerit.  'Tis  rage  ill  spent  upon  a  Passion- 
ate Madman.  [sir. 

Sold.  That  shall  not  privilege  him  for  vw  r, 
A  Madman   call  you  him  ?  I've  found  too 

much  reason 
Sound  in  his  injjjry  to  me,  to  believe  him  so. 

1  Gent.  If  ever  truth  from  man's  lips  may 

be  held 
In  reputation  with  you'^,t5ive  this  confidence! 
And  this  his  love-fit,  which  we  observe  still 
By's  flattering;  and   his  fineness,  at  some 

other  time 
He'll  go  as  slovenly  as  heart  can  wish. 
The  love  and  pity  that  his  highness  shcivs  to 

him, 
Makes  every  man  the  more  respectful  of  him: 
H'  has  never  a  passion,  but  is  well  provided 

for, 
As  this  of  love ;  he  is  full  fed  in  all     [tience, 
His  swinge,  as  I  may  term  it :  have  but  pa- 
And  you  shall  witness  somewhat ! 

SM.  Still  he  mocks  me : 
Look  you !  in  action,  in  behaviour,  sir. 
Hold  still  the  chair,  with  a  grand  mischief  to 

you !  [sir— 

Or  I'll  set  so  much  strength  upon  your  heart. 

Pas.  I  feel  some  power  ha*  restrain'd  me, 

lady : 
If  it  be  sent  from  Love,  say,  I  obey  it, 
An^  ever  keep  a  voice  to  welcome  it. 

SOx\G. 
Thou  deity,  swift-winged  Love, 
Sometimes  below,  sometimes  above, 
Little  in  shape,  but  great  in  power; 
Thou  that  mak*st  a  heart  thy  tower. 
And  thy  loop-holes  ladies*  eyes, 
From  whence  thou  strik*st  the  fond  and  wise'^; 
Did  all  the  shafts  in  thy  fair  quiver 
Stick  fast  ill  my  ambitious  liver, 

*3  O  my  sister.]  First  folio.    Subsequent  editions.  Oh,  my  sister.    The  text  by  Seward, 
'♦  Pl4iy  without  tassel  gently.]  Probably  we  should  read ^owr  for  our. 
»s  rcooeyou  in  n  skirmish; 

DWmemifmind  to  you.]  Djwiwe  so  entirely  loses  the  metaphor  and  consequently  the 
humour,  that  it  is  most  "probable  a  conniption.  We  should  not  very  \viilinsrly  strike  out  a 
-word  when  we  hav'n't  one  to  supply  its  phice  somewhat  near  the  trace  of  the  letters;  but  as 
'pre  know  that  words  are  sometinves  totally  changed  by  the  inattention  of  the  irunscriber  or 
printer,  so  when  the  context  not  only  points  out  but  demands  a  word  very  unlike  what  has 
been  hitherto  in  the  text,  we  ought  to  submit.  This  I  take  to  be  the  present  case,  and  1 
therefore  readi   .  .  ^  * 

wooe  you  in  a  skirmish ; 
Discharge  my  mind  to  you.  Seteard. 

'^  In  reputation  mth  you,  give  this  confidence  ! 
And  this  his  love-fit,  which  tee  observe  still, 


And  mayst  thou  die  with  an  unmoisten*d  eye. 
And  no  tear  follow  thee !  / 

[Exeunt  Sham,  and  Serv. 

Lady.  You're  wondrous  merry,  sir; 
I  would  your  brother  heard  you ! 

Sold.  Or  my  sister' ^  ;      *  [lady, 

T  vronld  not,  out  o'  th*  way,  let  fall  my  words, 
^or  the  preciscst  humour. 

Enter  Passionate  Lord. 

P<7«,  Yea,  so  close  ?    [can  report  of  'em ; 

Sold.  Tliey're  merry,  that's  the  worst  you 
They're  neither  dang-erous,  nor  immodest. 

I'af.  So,  sir! 
^ball  I  believe  you,  think  you? 

Sold.  Who's  this,  lady? 

Jjady.  Oh,  the  duke's  cousin;  he  came  late 

from  travel,  sir. 

Sold,  Respect  belongs  to  him. 

Pas.  For,  as  I  said,  lady,  [port  of 'em ; 
•  They're  merry,  that's  the  worst  you  can  re- 
'  They're  neitlier  dangerous,  nor  immodest.' 

Sold.  How's  this? 

J*«s.  And  tliere  I  think  I  lefl. 

Sold.  Abuses  me  !  [I  lov'd  you  ; 

Pas.  Now  to  proceed,  lady :  perhaps  I  swore 
a  yon  believe  me  not,  you're  much  the  wiser — 

Sold.  He  speaks  stiU  in  ray  person,  and 
*  derides  me ! 

Pas.  For  I  can  cog  with  you — 

Lady.  You  can  all  do  so ; 
We  make  no  question  of  men's  promptness 

tliAl  way. 

Pas.  And  smile,  and  wave  a  chair  with 

comely  grace  too,  [things. 

Play  with  our  tassel  gently'*,  and  do  fine 
That  catch  a  lady  sooner  than  a  virtue. 
.     Sold.  I  never  us'd  to  let  man  live  so  long, 
That  wrong'd  me ! 

Pas.  Talk  of  battalion^  wooe  you  in  a  skir- 
mish'^ ; 
Discharge  my  mind  to  you,  lady;  and,  being 

sbarp-s^t,  [weapon. 

Can  court  you  at  half-pike;  or  name  your 
We  cannot  fair  you,  lady. 


By's  flattering  and  his  fineness  ;  at  some  other  time,  Sfc]  Here  seems  something  wanting. 

*'  From  whence  thou  strik\t  the  fond  and  wise;]  i.  e.  not  only  those  who  are  foolishly  fond, 
but  the  wise  also  :  93  it  will  bear  tliis  sense,  I  let  it  stand  without  putting  a  more  obvious 
antithesis  to  ajiM,^&.  Seward. 

Fond  is  used  in  the  sense  ot/ools.  according  to  the  usasje  of  our  old  authors. 

VOL.111.  3V 


Yet 


(St4    "na  mCE  VALQUE;  or,  tab  PJISSIONATE  U ABMAK.  [Act  SL  Se«De  li 

Yet  tby  power  would  I  adore. 
And  call  upon  thee  to  aboot  aaantt 
Shoot  norey  ihoot  more  1 

Snter^e  liken  Cupid,  offering  io  ikoot  ttt 
him, 

J^at,  I  prithee  bold  tbo',  sweet  celrstial 

X*m  nut  requited  yet  with  love  enough 
For  the  iiri^t  arrow  that  I  have  within  me; 
And  if  thou  be  an  equal  archer,  Cupid, 
Shoot  this  lady,  and  twenty  more  for  me. 

Ladj/.  Me,  sir  f  Jnot,  lady  ! 

1  Gent.  Tin  nothing  but  device ;  fear  it 
Yoo  may  be  ae  good  a  maid  uiter  tljat  bhaft, 

madam, 
As  e  er  your  mother  was  at  twelve  and  a  half: 
lis  like  the  boy  that  draws  it,  't  has  no  sting 

yet.  .   [that  draws  it, 

Qupd  [<uu/e].'Ti8  like  the  miserable  maid 
That  ^ees  no  comfort  yet,  seeiug  him  so  pas- 

sionaie. 

Tas,  Strike  me  the  duchess  of  Valois  in 

love  with  me,  [women  1 

With  all  the  spee<l  thou  canst,  and  two  of  her 

Cufjid.  You  i»hHU  have  more.  Exit. 

[    Iras,  leii  *em,  1  tarry  for  'em. 

1  Genu  Who  ifiould  be  angry  with  tbat 

wn'kiiig  trouble  now, 
jfhat  hiiriB  none  but  itself? 

Sold.  1  am  better  quieted.      [time  for  me 

Fas.  1*11  have  alt  woman-kind  struck  in 
After  thirteen  once. 
I  see  this  Cupid  will  not  let  me  want; 
And  let  him  spend  bis  forty  shafts  an  hour, 
They  shall  be  all  found  from  the  duke's  ex- 
He*s  come-  already.  [chequer. 

ILnter  again  the  same  Cupid,  Two  Brothers, 
'  Six  Women.  Musguers,  Cupid's  bow  itent 
alt  the  way  towards  them,  thejvrst  Woman 
9inging  and  playing,  and  a  Friest. 

SONG. 

Oh,  turn  thy  bow ! 
Thy  power  we  feel  and  know, 
Faii*  Cupid,  turn  away  tby  bow! 
I'hey  be  those  golden  arrows. 
Bring  ladies  all  their  sorrows; 
And  *tiU  there  be  more  troth  in  men. 
Never  shoot  at  maid  again ! 

*»  What  a  felicity  o^  whores  are  heref]  Mr.  Syropson  thinks  feUeity  stands  as  a  desigiied 
mistake  for  tHuUiplicitTf,  But  he  does  not  observe  the  commpn  conciseness  of  poetiy,  which 
Instead  of  baying  What  a  felicity  it  is  U»  imve  such  a  number  of  whores  here?  expresses  it  by 
two  Vfov^%,Je^iaty  of  whores.  The  vefy  nerves  and  almost  the  essence  of  poetry  consists  ia 
this  conciseness.  Seward. 

Still  the  expression  is  rathef  hard,  and  very  possibly  corrupt. 

«s^  His  growing  thme.'\  Growing  shame  plainly  means  the  sister's  being  with  cbiM;  tbe 
change  tlierefore  of  Ail  to  your,  unless  we  chance  si^er,  and  make  them  speak  to  tiie  Fridf, 
IRrhich  would  be  rather  more  iiatural  at  it  would  b^  in  the  two  lines  above>  and  the  whftit 
BQfght  perhaps  have  run  thus. 

Yes,  sister,  this  is  the  young  gentleman  [mpaning  thp  Madman.\ 
Make  you  no  Question  of  our  faithfubiess. 
^  Brr,  Her  |MWiag  ahamei  lar,  provokes  all  our  car^. '         fiewari. 

iGat. 


Pas.  What  a  felicity  of  whores  are  here'*! 
And  all  my  concubines  struck  bleeding  new!     | 
A  man  can  in  bis  life-time  make  bat  one 

woman. 
But  he  may  make  his  £ftj  queans  a  month. 

Cupid.  Have    yoitf  remember'd  a  priest, 

honest  brothers  ?  [gentlemas; 

1  Bro,  Yes,  sister,  and  this  is  the  young 
Make  you  no  question  of  our  faithfulness. 

2  Bro.  Your  growing  shame*^,  sister,  pro* 
vokes  our  care. 

Friest.  He  must  be  taken  in  this  fit  of  lov^ 
gentlemen  ? 

1  Bro.  What  else,  nr?  lie  shall  do*t. 
8  Bro.  Enough. 
1  Bro.  Be  chearful,  wench ! 

[A  dance,  Cupid  leading. 
Fas.  Now,  by  the  stroke  of  pleasure,  (a 
deep  oath)  [bear  too ! 

Nimbly  hopt,  ladies  all!  What  height  they 
A  story  higher  than  your  common  statures; ' 
A  little  man  must  go  up  stairs  to  kiss  'em : 
What  a  great  space  there  is 
Betwixt  Love's  dining-chamber  and  his  gsr* 
ret !  [ipethi&s 

I'll  try  the  utmost  height.  The  garret  stoop^ 
The  rooms  are  made  all  bending,  I  see  tu^ 
And  not  so  high  as  a  man  takes  'em  fbr. 
Cvpid.  Now,  if  you'll  follow  me,  sir,  Fve 
that  power 
To  make  *em  follow  you. 
Fas.  Are  they  all  shot  ? 
Cupid.  All,  all,  sir;  every  motiier'is  daugh- 
ter of 'em.  [they  be 
Fas,  Then  there's  no  fear  of  following:  tf 
Once  shot,  they\i  follow  a  man  to  th'  d«iL 
As  for  you,  sii^— 

[Exit  with  the  Lady  and  the  Masquers, 
Sold:  Me,  sir? 
1  Gent.  Nay,  sweet  sir! 
Sold.  A  noise,  a  threatning!  did  yon  sot 
hear  it,  sir?  [hear  you. 

1  Gent.  Without  regard,  sir ;  so  would  I 
Sold.  This  must  come  to  something;  never 
talk  of  that,  sir! 
You  never  saw  it  otherwise. 
1  Gent.  Nay,  dear  Merit— 
Sold.  Me,  above  iill  men  ? 
1  Qent.  Troth,  you  wrong  your  anger. 
Sold.  I  will  be  arm'd,  my  hoBounmle  le- 
cher— 


"Act*.  Sc^nel.]  THE  KICE  VALOUR;  Oft,  tllE  l»A88IONAtE  MADMAN.    Sl« 


1  Gent.  Oby  fy^  sweet  sir!  [lumjWy 

SolcL  That  devours  women's  honesties  bjr 
And  never  cbew'st  thy  pleasure. 

1  Gtnt,  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ? 

iSo/cf.  What  does  he  mean^  t'  engross  «U  to 

himself?  [sir. 

There's  others  love  a  whore  as  well  as  he, 

1  Gent.  Oh,  an  that  be  part  o'  th'  fury,  we 

bave  a  city 
Is  very  well  provicled  for  that  case : 
X«ct  him  alone  with  her,  sir !  we  have  women 
Are  very  charitable  to  proper  men. 
And  to  a  soldier  that  has  all  his  limbs: 
Marry,  the  sick  and  lame  gets  not  a  penny ; 
Hight  women's  charity!   and  the  husbands 

toliow't  too. 
Here  comes  his  bighness,  sir. 


Enter  Duke  and  Lordt. 


[Exit. 


Sold,  ril  walk  to  cool  myselC 

JDuke.  Who's  tliat? 

1  Gent.  The  brother  ofShamont. 

Ihike^  He's  brother  then  [cretely. 

To  all  the  court's  love,  they  that  love  dis- 
And  place  their  friendliness  upon  desert : 
As  £of  the  rest,  that  with  a  double  face 
Ix>ok  upon  Merit  much  like  Fortune's  visage^^, 
Tliat  looks  two  ways,  both  to  life's  calms  and 

*  storms, 
HI  so  provide  for  him,  chiefly  for  him, 
He  shall  not  wish  their  loves,  nor  dread  tlteir 

envies. 
And  here  comes  my  SiuunonU 

Enter  Shamont, 

Sham.  That  lady*!!  virtues  are  my  only  joys; 
And  he  to  offer  to  lay  siege  to  them' ! 

Duke.  Shamont!  [discourses, 

Sham.  Her  goodness  is  my  pride :  in  all 
As  often  as  I  hear  rash-tongn  d  gallants 
Speak  rudely  of  a  woman,  presently 
r  give  in  but  her  name,  and  they  are  all  silent, 
Ob,  who  would  lose  tliis  benefit? 

Duke.  Come  hither,  sir.  Fviner: 

Sham.  Tis  like  the  gift  of  healing,  but  di** 
For  that  but  cures  diseases  in  tlie  body, 
This  works  a  cure  on  fame,  on  reputation  ; 
The  noblest  piece  of  surgery  upon  earth  I 

Duke.  Sliamont ! — IJe  minds  me  not. 

Sham.  A  brother  do't? 

Duke.  Shamont,  I  say! 

(Civei  him  a  toueh  aith  his  twitch. 
a! 
If  he  be  mortal,  by  tliis  hand  be  perishes ! 

J 'Draws. 
lesfor't! 
Duke.  Why,  how  now,  sir?  'twas  I. 
Sham.  The  more*s  my  misery. 
'  Duke:  M^hy,  what's  the  matter,  prithee? 

Sham.  Can  vou  ask  it,  sir?  [him. 

No  man  ^se  should :  stood  forty  lives  before 


By  this  I  would  have  op'd  my  way  to  him* 
It  could  not  h^  yod,  sir;  excuse  him  not, 
Whate  er  he  be,  as  you  are  dear  to  ItonoO^ 
That  I  may  find  my  peace  again ! 

Duke.  Forbear,  I  say ! 
Upon  my  love  to  truths  'twas  none  hut  L 

Sham.  Still  misei^ble ! 

DttAe«  Come,  come ;  what  ails  you,  sir? 

Sham.   Never  sat  shame  cooling  so  long 

upon  me, 
Without  a  satisfiiction  in  revenge; 
And  Heav'n  has  made  it  here  a  sm  to  wishiti 

Dv/ctf.  Hark  you,  sir! 

Sham.  Oh,  you've  undone  me ! 

Duke.  How? 

Sham.  Cruelly  undone  rae; 
I've  lost  my  peace  and  reputation  by  yon! 
Sir,  pardon  me;  I  can  ne*er  love  you  more. 

[Exit^ 

Duke.  What  language  call  yon  this,  sirs? 

1  Gent.  Truth,  my  lord, 
I've  seldom  lieard  a  stranger. 

3  Gent.  He  is  a  man  of  ft  most  curious  fa* 

loor,  [tue. 

Wondrous  precise,  and  punc^tunt  in  that  vir« 

Duke.  But  why*  to  me  so  punctual?  mj 

last  thought 
Was  most  entirely  iix'd  on  his  advancement^ 
Why,  I  canse  now  to  nut  him  in  possession 
Of  his  fair  fortunes,  (what  a  mis-coiiceiver 

'tis!) 
And/from  a^ntlemnn  of  our  chamber  merelyi 
Make  liim  vice-admiral;  I  was  settled  in't: 
I  love  ium  next  to  health.    Cfdl  him,  gentle* 

men !  [mudit 

Why,  would  not  you,  or  you,  ha'  taken  as 
And  never  murmur'd?        [Evit  First  Gent* 

9  Gent.  Troth,  I  think  we  should,  my  lord; 
And  there's  a  fellow  walks  about  the  court 
Would  take  a  hundred  of 'em. 

Duke.  I  hate  yuu  all  for  it; 
And  rather  praise  his  high-pitch'd  fortitude, 
Tho'  in  extremes  for  niceness:  now  1  think 

on't,  [is  he? 

I  would  Fd  never  done't ! — ^Now,  sir^  wher» 

Enter  First  Gentleman* 

1  Gent.  His  suit  is  only,  sir,  to  be  excu^'d. 

Duke.  Hethallnotbeexcus'd;  I  love  hum 

dearlier:  .  [us. 

Say,  we  entreat  him;  go!  he  must  not  leave 

[£ceunt  Two  Gentlemen, 

So  Virtue  bless  me,  I  ne'er  knew  him  paraU 

lel'd ! 
Why,  he'smore  precious  to  me  now  than  ever. 

Enter  Tufo  Gentlemen  and  Shamont, 

8  Gent.  Witli  much  iair  language  we  hoim 
bcought  him. 
DuAe.  Tlianks! 
Where  is  he? 


^  Fort|ue\  visage.]  Fortune,  like  Janus,  being  double-visag'd,  the  one  face  looking  on  thp 
calms,  thtf  other  on  the  storms  of  life,  is  a  picture,  I  believe,  quite  new,  but  equel^  if*not  so- 
pcri^r.  t«|thc  aatieut  dassical  portraitures  of  (his  fiokle  deity.  Sewardt 

1  dU«  tCW. 


516    raE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATfi  MADAIAN.   [AdtS.  Scew4 


5  Gent,  Yonder,  sir. 

Duke-  Come  ibrv%  ard,  man. 

Sham.  Pray  pardou  me;  I'm  asbam'd  to  be 

seen,  sir.  [of? 

Duke,  Was  ever  such  a  touchy  man  lieard 
Piilhee,  come  nearer. 

Shum.  M<^rc  into  tlie  light? 
Put  not  such  cruelty  into  your  requests,  my 
'    lord:  [»«e 

rirst  to  dij^race  me  publicly,  and  then  draw 
Into  men's  eye-sight,  with  tlie  shame  yet  hot 
Upon  my  reputation. 

Duke.  What  disgrace,  sir? 

Sham.  What? 
Such  as  there  can  be  no  forgiveness  for, 
That  I  can  tind  in  honour. 

Uuko,  That's  most  strange,  sir. 

Sham.  Yet  I  have  searth'd  my  bosom  to 

find  one, 
And  wrestled  with  my  inclination ;      ^  [sir ! 
But  'twill  not  be:  'would  you  had  kill'd  mc. 
With  what  an  ease  had  I  torgiven  you  then ! 
But  to  endure  a  stroke  from  any  hand, 
Under  a  punishing  angel's,  which  is  jubdoe. 
Honour  disclaim  that  man!    for  my  part 

chieHy, 
Had  it  been  yet  the  malice  of  your  sword, 
Tho'  it  had  cleft  me,  it  had  been  noble  tome; 
You  should  luive  found,  my  tlianks  paid  in  a 

smile. 
If  I  had  fell  unworded:  but  to  shame  roe 
With  the  correction  that  your  horse  should 

have. 
Were  you  ten  thousand  times  my  royi^l  lord, 
I  cannot  love  you,  never,  nor  desire 


To  serve  you  mor^ 

If  your  drum  call  me,  I  am  ▼ow'd  to  Takmr^ 
But  peace  shall  never  know  me  yonrs  agaiBi 
Because  Tve  lost  mine  own.   I  speak  to  die, 
sir:  [offahaose, 

'Would  you  were  gracious  that  way  to  Cake 
With  the  same  swiftness  as  you  pour  it  ob ! 
And  since  it  is  not  in  tiie  power  of  monarcfas 
To  make  a  gentleman,  which  is  a  substance 
Only  begot  of  merit,  they  stiould  be  carefiil 
Not  to  destroy  the  worth  of  one  so  mre, 
Which  neither  they  can  make,  nor,  lost,  le* 
pair.  l^^^ 

Duke,  You've  set  a  fair  light,  sir,  before 
my  judgment. 
Which  burns  \.ith  wond'rous clearness ;  I  ac- 
knowledge It,  [love. 
And  your  worth  with  it:  but  then,  sir,  my 
My  love — W^hat,  gone  again? 

1  Gent,  And  full  of  scorn,  my  lord. 
Duke,  That  language  will  undo  Che  man 
that  keeps  it. 
Who  knows  no  difiTrence  'twixt  conteo&pt 

and  manhood. 
Upon  your  love  to  goodness,  gendemefi. 
Let  me  not  lose  him  long  ?-^lIow  now  f 

Enter  a  Huntsman, 

Hunts,  The  game's  at  height,  my  lord. 

Duke,  Confound  both  thee  and  it !  Uencc^ 

break  it  oH"! 
He  hates  me  brings  me  news  of  any  pleasure^ 
I  telt  not  such  a  conflict,  since  I  could 
Distinguish  betwixt  wortliincss  and  blood. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT^  III. 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  the  Tzco  Brothers,  First  Gentlemany 

with  those  that  were  the  Masquers,  and  the 

Cupid, 
1  Gcnt.T  HEARTILY  commend  your  pro- 

•*■    ject,  gentlemen ; 
1'was  wise  and  virtuous. 

1  Bro.  It  was  for  the  safety 
Of  precious  honour,  su",  which  near  blood 

binds  us  ro:  ^  [riage; 

He  prbmis'd  the  poor  easy  fool  there  mar- 
There  was  a  good  maidenhcati  lost  i'  th*  belief 
Beslirew  her  hasty  confidence  !  [oa't, 

1  Oc/i^  Oh,  no  more,  sir ! — 
You  make  her  weep  again :  alas,  poor  Cupid!— 
SIkjH  she  not  shift  herself?  - 

1  Bro.  Oh,  by  no  means,  sir ; 
We  dale  not  have  her  seen  yet :  all  the  while 
aiie'kScpb  this  shape,  it  is  but  thought  device, 
And  she  may  follow  him  so  without  suspi- 


To  see  if  she  can  dmw  all  his  wild  passions 
To  one  point  only,  and  that's  love,  the  maia 

point : 
So  far  his  liighness  grants,  and  gave  at  first 
L^rge  approbation  to  the  quick  conceit; 
Which  then  was  quick  indeed. 

1  Gent,  You  make  her  blush,  in  sooth. 

1  Bro,  I  fear  *tis  more  the  fiai;  of  shame 

than  grace,  sir.  [colour,  sir. 

1  Gent.  They  both  give  but  one  kind  of 
If  it  be  bashfuhicss  in  that  kind  taken. 
It  is  the  same  with  grace;  and  there,  she  weeps 

a^ain.  (J>itter,  sir; 

In  truth  you  are  too  hard,  much,  jDOch  too 
Unless  you  mean  to  have  her  weepher  eyes 
To  play  a  Cupid  truly.  [out, 

1  Bro.  Come,  ha'  done  then  ? 
We  should  all  fear  to  sin  first ;  for  'tii  certafli, 
When  'tis  once  lodgM,  tho'  entefaia*d  in 

mirth,  I 

It  must  be  wept  out,  if  it  e'er  comdafcrtb. 

1  Gent.  Now  'tis  so  well,  I'll  leaffcy^ 

£roL 


ll,rillea*!^ 


Aoft  3.  Some  1.]  TB£  mC£  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.    Sir 


1  Bra,  FuthfUlywclcome^Ssir! 
Go,  Cupid,  to  your  charge;  he*s  your  own  now; 
If  he  want  iove,  none  will  be  blam'd  but  you. 

(JupiiL  Tbe  strangest  uiaraage,  and  unfor- 

tuoat'st  bride 
That  ever  human  memory  contain'd ! 
I  cannot  be  myielf  for't.  [Esfit 

Enter  the  Clown. 

CUamn.  Oh,  gentlemen ! 

1  Bro.  How  now,  «ir?  wliat's  the  matter? 

Clown.  His  melancholy  passion  is  half  spent 

aixeady^ 
Then  comes  his  angry  fit  at  the  very  tail  on*t  i 
Then  comes  in  my  pain,  gentlemen;  h'has 

beat  me  [tul, 

£*en  to  a  cuUis :  I  am  nothing,  risht  worship- 
But  very  paf>  and  jelly;  Fvc  no  bones, 
My  body's  all  one  brewis^^!  they  talk  of  ribs 
And  chmee  most  freely  abroad  i'  th'  world; 

why,  I 
Have  no  such  thing;  whoever  lives  to  see  me 
Dead,  gentlemen,  shall  find  me  all  mummy, 
Good  to  fill  gallipots,  and  long  4lildo  glasses ; 
I  shall  not  have  a  bone  to  throw  .nt  a  dog. 

Omna.  Alas,  poor  vassal,  how  he  goes ! 

Clown.  Oh,  gentlemen, 
J  am  unjointed;  do  but  think  o*  that !  [eat 
My  breast  is  beat  into  my  maw,  that  what  I 
I'm  fiun  to  take't  in  all  at  mouth  with  spoons ; 
A  lamentable  hearing!  and  'tis  welt  known, 
My  belly's  driven  into  my  back.  I  earn'd 
Four  crawDsa  month  most  deariy,  gentlemen: 
And  one  be  must  have,  when  the  fit's  upon 

him;  .        .   .   • 

The  privy^purse  allows  it,  and  'tis  thrifttness; 
He  would  break  else  some  forty  pounds  in 

casements. 
And  in  five  hundred  years  undo  the  kingdom : 
I've  cast  it  up  to  a  quarrel. 

1  Bto.  Tliere's  a  fellow  [brotlier, 

Kick'd  about  court,  I  would  he  had  his  place. 
Bat  for  one  fit  of  his  indignation  ! 

3  Bro.  And  suddenly  I've  thought  upon  a 

means  for't. 


1  jBro.  I  prithee  how? 
9  JBro.  'Tis  but  prefisrring,  brother. 
This  stock  fish  to  his  service,  with  a  letter 
Of  commendations,  the  same  way  he  wishes  it. 
And  tlien  you  win  bis  heart;  for,  o'  my  know- 
ledge. 
He  has  laid  wait  this  half^yei^r  for  a  fellow 
That  will  be  beaten;  and  with  a  safe  consci» 
ence  [in't. 

We  may  commend  the  carriage  of  tliis  man 
Now  servants  he  has  kept*',  lusty  tali  feeders. 
But  they  have  beat  him,  and  turn  dthemselvea 

away: 
Now  one  that  would  endure,  is  like'  to  stay. 
And  get  good  wages  of  him ;  and  the  service 
too  fit  else; 

Is  ten  times  milder,  brother ;  I  would  not  wish 
I  see  the  fellow  has  a  sore  crush'd  body, 
And  the  more  need  he  has  to  be  kick'd  at 


Clown.  Ay,  sweet  gentlemen,  akick  of  ease! 
Send  me  to  such  a  master. 
2  Bro.  No  more,  I  say ! 
We  have  one  for  thoe,  a  soft-footed  master; 
One  that  wears  wool  in's  toes**. 

Clown.  Oh,  gentlemen. 
Soft  garments  may  ye  wear,  soft  skins  may 
ye  wed,  [red*! 

But  as  plump  as  pillows,  both  for  white  and 
And  now  will  I  reveal  a  secret  to  you. 
Since  you  provide  for  my  poor  flesh  so  ten- 
derly: [window, 
H'  has  hir*d  mere  rogues,  out  of  his  ciimnber- 
To  beat  the  Soldier,  monsieur  Shamont's  bro- 
ther— 

1  Bro,  That  nothing  concerns  us,  sir. 
Clown.  For  no  cause,  gentlemen. 

Unless  it  be  for  wearing  shoulder-points. 
With  longer  taggs  than  iiis. 

2  Bro.  Is  not  that  somewhat? 
By'rlakin,  sir,  the  difference  of  long  taggs 
Has  cost  many  a  man's  life,  and   advanc*4 

other  some. 
Come,  follow  me ! 
CL(nc7i.  See  what  a  gull  am  I ! 


*»  Faithfully  welcothe,  sir.]  Sympson,  (Mr.  Seward  says,  *  very  justly')  div'idesfaUhfullj/  inta 
two  words.    ^Faithfully  wcicofne. 

**  Jllj/  body's  all  one  business.]  I  can't  fix  any  idea  to  business  here  tliat  does  not  make  it  a 
mere  expletive.  I  am  not  so  satisfied  wich  my  conjecture  bruise,  as  not  to  wisli  to  see  a  bet- 
ter,, tho'  as  it  seems  preferable  to  the  old  reading,  it  must  take  its  place  'till  it  lias  sulticieut 
xeabou  for  resigiiiug  it  a;;ain.    Since  this  was  wrote  I  received  Mr.  Sympson  s  cuujecture, 

ail  o'er  bruises. 

Bot  one  bruise  is  more  poetical  as  well  as  more  comic.  Seward* 

A  »tiil  more  comic  expression,  and  applied  to  the  same  occasion,  occurs  more  than  once 
in  our  authors;  t,  e.  brewis.    Either  that  or  hruise  will  do  heri*. 

*'  Novv  servants  he  has  kept.]  The  word  now  seems  to  liavc  been  printed  here  by  mistake: 
it  stands  in  its  right  place  two  lines  lower. 
*♦  We  have  one  for  thee  a  sof't-footed 
One  that  wears  wool  in^s  toes. 

Clown.  Oh  gentlemeny 
&ift  garments  may  you  wear,  mastsr, 

Soft  hkins  mayy*  wed,  • 

But  plump,  4<.]  Thus,  in  defiance  of  measure,  sense,  and  even  rkimCj,  has  this  passnge 
been  >exhibiled.  ^ 

Oh, 


il8    THE  NICE  VAXjOUE;  OE,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  [Acts.  Scdie  f« 


Ohy  every  man  in  his  proleauon ! 
I  know  a  thump  now  as  judicioaaly    [none ; 
As  tbe  proudest  be  that  walks,  I'll  except 
Come  to  a  tagg,  how  short  i  fiUi!  Fm  gone. 

Enter  Lapet. 

Ijopet.  I  have  been  ruminatine  with  myself, 
^hat  honour  a  man  loses  by  a  kick.  • 
'Whjy  what's  a  kick  I  the  fury  of  a  foot. 
Whose  indignation  commonly  is  stamp'd 
Upon  tbe  hmder  quarter  of  a  man, 
Which  is  a  place  very  unfit  for  hononr. 
The  wojsld  will  confess  so  much: 
llien  what  disgrace,  I  pray,  does  that  part 

suffer,  [that. 

"Where  honour  never  comes  ^  I'd  fain  know 
This  being  well  forc'd,  and  urg'd,  may  have 

the  pow'r 
To  move  most  gallants  to  take  kicks  in  time, 
And  spurn  out  the  duellos  outo*th'  kingdom: 
For  they  that  stand  upon  their  honour  most, 
When  they  conceive  there  is  no  honour  lost, 
(As,  by  a  table  that  I  have  invented 
For  that  purpose  aloue,  shall  appear  plainly, 
Which  shews  the  vanity  cf  all  blows  at  large, 
And  with  what  ease  tliey  may  be  took  of  all 

sides,' 
Numbering  but  twice  o'er  the  letters  patience. 
From  P.X  to  C.E.)  I  doubt  not  but  in 

small  time 
To  see  a  dissolution  of  all  blood-shed. 
If  the  refunn'd  kkk^o  but  once  g^  up : 
For  what  a  lamentable  folly  'tis. 
If  we  obscrve't,  for  every  little  justle. 
Which  is  but  the  ninth  part  of  a  soond 

thump. 
In  our  meek  computation,  we  must  fight 

forsooth;  yesj 
If  I  kill,  I'm  hang'd ;  if  I  be  kill'd  myself, 
I  die  for't  also :  is  not  this  trim  wisdom? 
Now  for  the  con.  a  man  may  be  well  beaten, 
Yet  pass  away  his  fourscore  years  smooth 

after: 
I  had  a  father  did  it ;  and,  to  my  power, 
I  will  not  be  behind  him.  ' 

Enter  Shamont. 

SHam.  Oh,  well  met!  fduly. 

Lapet,  Nowa  fine /)i/7icA  or  two!  Hoot  for't 

Sham.  I've  been  to  seek  you. 

Lapet,  Let  me  know  your  lodging,  sir : 
ni  come  to  you  once  a  day,  and  use  your 

pleasure,  sir.  [society ! 

Shanu  Vm  made  the  fittest  man  for  thy 
111  live  and  die  with  thee:  come,  shew  me  a 

chamber! 
There  is  no  house  but  thine,  but  only  thine. 
That's  fit  to  cover  me:  I've  took  ablow,surrah. 


Lb^.  I  would  yon  had  indeed  f  Why,  ftsm 
may  see,  sir,  [out. 

You'll  all  come  to't  in  time,  when  my  book*» 
Sham.  Since  I  did  see  thee  hst,  Fve  took 
a  blow.  fforty  since. 

Lapet,  Pho,  sir,  that's  nothingl  I  ba^toofc 
Sham.  What^  and  I  chare'd  thee  tboo 
Lapet,  Ay,  sur,  [shouldst  not? 

You  might  chaise  yoor  pleasnre ;  bat  tbey 

would  give't  me, 
Wlietbnr  I  would  or  no. 

Sham.  Oh,  I  walk 
Without  my  peace ;  'Fve  no  companion  now ! 
Prithee  resolve  me,  (for  I  cannot  ask 
A  man  more  beaten  to  experience, 
Than  thou  art  in  this  kind)  what  numoer 

of  blow 
Is  held  the  most  disgraceful,  or  distastefbi? 
For  thou  dost  only  censure  'em  by  tbe  hint^ 
Not  by  the  shame,  they  do  thee :  yet,  bavinf 

felt      « 
Abuses  of  all  kinds,  thou  mayst  deliver, 
Though't  be  by  chance,  the  niost  inj  urious  one. 
Lapei,  You  put  me  to't,  sir;  but,  to  tell 
you  truth, 
Thev're  all  as  one  with  me,  little  exceptian. 
Sham,  That  little  may  do  much ;  let's  have 
it  from  you !  [and  foremost, 

Lapet,  with  all  the  speed  I  may:  first  then, 
I  hold  so  reverently  of  the  hasUnado^  sir. 
That  if  it  were  the  dearest  friend  i*th^  worid^* 
I'd  put  it  into  his  hand. 
Sham,  Go  to!  I'll  pass  that  then. 
Lapet,  IfouVe  the  more  happy,  sir;  Vouhl 
I  were  past  ij  too :  ^        [cairied. 

But  being  accustoift'd  to't,  it  is  tbe  betier 
Sham,  Will  you  forward  ? 
Lapet.   Then  there's  your    muae,    yum 
wherit^  and  your  domtty  [?^% 

Tugt  on  the  hair,  your  hob  o'th'  lips,  a  whelp 
I  ne'er  could  find  much  difference.    Now 

your  thumpf 
A  thing  dcrird  first  from  yourbemp-beaters. 
Takes  a  man's  wind  away  most  spitefully^ ; 
There's  nothing  that  destroys  a  cbolick  like  it. 
Fort  leaves  no  wind  i'th*  body. 
Sham,  On,  sir,  on !        [with  thinking  oal^ 
Lapet,  Pray  ^i  ve  me  leave;  Fm  outofbmds 
Sh(m.  This  is  far  off  yet. 
Lapet.  For  the  twinge  by  th'nose, 
^Tis  certainly  unsightly,  so  my  table  says. 
But  helps  against  the  bead-ache,  woiidroas 
Sham,  Is't  possible  P  [strangely* 

Lapet.  Oh,  your  erusli^d  nostrils  sbkes 
your  opilation,  [some  sneeaes. 

And  makes  your  pent  pow'rs  flush  to  wljole- 
Sham,  I  never  thought  there  had  beea 
In  a  wrung  nose  before.        [half  that  virtue 
Lapet.  Oh,  plenitude,  sif^ 

*^  Takes  a  man's  wi»d  away  most  spitrfuUy : 

Therffs  nothing  that  destroys  a  choltck  Ukeit,]  The  particle  hut  between  these  sentencfi 
is  so  necessary  to  the  humour  of  the  paikStige,  and  to  distinguish  properly  the  good  effects  ol 
tbe  thump  from  the  bad  ones,  that  I  look  on  it  only  as  an  acctdentai  omiasion  of  Uie 
preis.        Seward. 

Now 


Aet 3.  Scene  1.]  THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.    51# 


Now  oome  we  lower,  to  our  modem  kick, 
'Wbich  has  been  migndly  in  use  of  late, 
SiDce  oar  young  men  drank  coltsfoot;  and  I 

grant  you  [plays  it: 

Tin  a  most  scornful  wrong,  'cause  the  foot 
Bot  mark  ae^ain,  Iiow  we  that  take't  requite  it 
With  the  like  scorn,  for  we  receive  it  back- 
ward; 
And  can  there  be  a  worse  disgrace  retorted? 

Sham.  And  is  this  all? 

ZapeU  All  but  &  lug  by  tV  ear, 
Or  such  a  trifle. 

Sham.  Happy  sufferer ! 
All  this  is  nouung  to  the  wrong  I  bear : 
I  see  the  worst,  disgrace,  thou  never  felt'st  yet : 
It  is  so  far  from  thee  thou  canst  not  think 

on't; 
Nor  dare  I  let  thee  know  it,  'tis  so  abject. 

Lapet.  I  would  you  would  tho',  that  I 

might  prepare  fort! 
For  I  shall  ha*t  at  one  time  or  another. 
irt  be  a  thwack^  I  make  account  of  that; 
There's  no  new-fiishiou'd    swap  tliat  e'er 

came  up  yet. 
But  I've  the  first  on  'em,  I  thank  'em  for't. 

Enter  the  Lady  and  Servants. 

Lady.  Hast  then  enquired  ? 
1  Serv.  But  can  liear  nothing,  madam. 
Sham.  If  tliere^^  be  but  so  much  sub- 
stance in  thee 
To  make  a  shelter  for  a  man  dismc'd. 
Hide  my  departure  from  that  glorious  wo- 
man. 
That  comet  with  all  perfection  about  her. 
So  noble  that  I  dare  not  be  seen  of  her. 
Since  shame  took  iu>ld  of  me  :  upon  tlw  life, 
No  mention  of  me !  [Exit. 

Lapet.  ni  cut  out  my  tongue  first,     fto't. 
Before  Til  lose  my  life;  there's  more  belongs 
,    Zady.  See,  there's  a  gentleman;  enquire 
of  hun.  ' 

S  Serv.  For  monsieur  Shamont,  madam? 
Jbady.  For  whom  else,  sir? 
a  Sero.  Why,  this  fellow  dares  not  see  him. 
.     Ijady.  flow  I 

1  Strv.  Shamont,  madam  ? 
Biff  very  name's  worse  than  a  fever  to  him ; 
And  when  he  cries,  there's  nothing  stills  him 
sooner :  [him ; 

Madam,  your  page  of  thirteen  is  too  haird  for 
Twa»  tried  i'  th'  wood-^ard. 

Idtdy.  Alas,  poor  gneved  merit! 
What  IS  become  of  lum  ?  If  he  once  fail. 
Virtue  shall  find  small  friendship!  farewell, 

then. 
To  ladies^  worths,  for  any  hope  in  men! 
He  Ibv'd  for  goodness,  not  for  wealth  or  lust. 
After  the  world's  foul  dotage;  he  ne'er  courted 


The  body,  bat  the  beauty  of  the  mind, 

A   thing  which  conmion  courtship    never 

thinks  on : 
All  his  affections  were  so  sweet  and  fair. 
There  is  no  hope  for  fame,  if  lie  despair. 

\Exeunt  Lady  and  Servants, 

«.       Enter  the  Clown;  he  kicks  Lapet. 

Lapet.  Good  morrow  to  you  again  most 
heartily,  sir!  [what  busy. 

Cry  vou  mercy, I  heard  you  not;  1  was  some* 
blown.  He  takes  it  as  familiarly  as  an  ave^ 
Or  precious  salutation :  I  was  sick 
Till  I  had  one^^j  because  I  am  so  us'd  to't. 
Lapet.  However  you  deserve,  your  friends 
and  mine  here 
Give  you  large  commendations  i'this  letter; 
They  say  you  will  endure  well. 

Cloipn.  I'd  be  loath 
To  prove  'em  liars :  I've  endur*d  as  macb 
As  mortal  pen  and  ink  can  set  me  down  fbr« 
Lapel.  Say  you  me  so? 
Clium.  I  know  and  feel  it  so,  sir ; 
I  have  it  under  black  and  white  already; 
I  need  no  pen  to  paint  me  out. 

Lapet.  He  fits  me. 
And  nits  my  wishes  pat,  pat:  I  was  never 
In  possibility  to  be  better  mann'd; 
For  he's  half  lame'd  already ;  I  aee't  plain,  . 
But  take  no  notice  on't,  for  fear  I  make 
The  rascal  proud,  and  dear,  t' advance  big 

wages. 
First,  let  me  grow  into  particulars  with  tou! 
What  have  you  endur  d  of  worth?  let  me  hear* 

Clown.  Marry,  sir, 
I  am  almost  beaten  blind. 

Lapet.  That's  pretty  well 
For  a  beginning ;  but  many  a  mill-horse 
Has  endur'd  as  much. 

Clown.  Shame  o'th'miller^s  heart 
For  his  unkindness  then ! 
Lapet.  Well,  sir,  what  then  ? 
Clown,  I  have  been  twice  thrown  down 
stairs,  just  before  supper. 
Ixipet.  Plio!  so  have  I;  that's  nothing. 
Clown.  Ay,  but,  sir, 
Was  yours,  pray,  before  supper  ?  ' 
Lapet,  Tnere  thou  posest  me. 
Clown.  Ay,  marry,  that's  it;  't  had  beeft 
less  grief  to  me, 
Had  I  but  fiird  my  belly,  and  then  tumbled; 
But  to  be  flung  down  fasting,  there's  the  dolor  I 
Lapet,  It  would  have  griev*d  me,  that 
-indeed.     Proceed,  sir! 
Clown.  I  have  been  plucked  and  tugg'd  bj 
th'  hair  o'th'  head 
About  a  (gallery,  half  an  acre  long. 

Lapet.  Yes,  that's  a  good  one,  I  must 
needs  confess; 


^  If  there  be  hut  so  much  substance  in  thee.']  The  verse  here  wanting  a  syllable,  and  a  note 
of  exclamation  at  Shanumfs  surprise  and  shame  to  see  his  mistress,  seeming  necessary,  it  if 
•opposed  an  omission,  and  restor'd.        Seward. 

Seward  reads.  Ha  !  if  thercj  ifC, 

^  1  was  sick,  ^c]  Perhaps  Lapefi  speech  ibould  begin  heie. 

ApriiH 


020    THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  [Act3*  Scenci. 


A  principal  good  one  tha^  an  absolute  good 

one! 
I  have  been  trod  upon,  and  spurn'd  about, 
But   never  tugg'd  by  ^h*  hair,  I  thank  nay 

fates. 

down.  Oh,  'tis  a  spiteful  pain. 

Lupet.  Peace ;  never  speak  on't, 
Por  putting  men  in  mind  on't! 

clown.  To  conclude, 
Pro  bursten,  sir ;  my  belly  will  hold  no  meat. 

Lapct.  No  ?  that  makes  amends  for  all. 

•  C/oa;n.  Unless 'the  puddings,  [roe; 
Or  such  fiist  food ;  any  loose  thing  beguiles 
I'm  ne'er  tlie  better  for't. 

Lapet,  Sheep's  heads  will  stay  witli  thee  ? 

Clown,  Yes,  sir,  or  chawdrons**. 

Lapet.  Very  well,  sir;  [feits. 

Your  bursten  Vello^vs  must  take  head  of  sur- 
Strange  things,  it  seems,' you  have  endur*d. 

Cham.  1  oo  true,  sir.  [will  endure 

•  Lapet,  But  now  the  question  is,  what  you 
Hereafter  in  my  service? 

Clown.  Any  thing 
That  shall  be  reason^  sir,  for  Pm  but  froth ; 
Much   like   a  thing  new  calv*d ;   or,  come 

more  nearer,  sir, 
YouVe  seen  a  cluster  of  frog-spawns  in  Apfil; 
£v*n  such  a  starch  am  I,  as  weak  and  tender 
As  a  green  woman  yet. 

Lapet,  Now  I  know  this, 
I  will  be  very  gently  angry  with  thee, 
And  kick  thee  carefully. 

Clown,  Oh,  ay,  sweet  sir! 
.   Lapet.  Peace,  when  thou'rt  ofFer'd  well! 

lest  I  begin  now.  [your  truth 

Your  friends  and  mine  have  writ  here,  for 
They'll  pass  their  words  tliemselves  i  and  I 

most  meet  'em.  [Exit, 

Clown,  Then  have  you  all : 


As  for  my  honesty,  there's  no  fear  of  that**, 
For  I  have  never  a  whole  bone  about  me. 

[Esii. 

Musick.  Enter  the  Pastbmite  lardy  ruddy 
and  carelculy  apparelled^  unbraced^  OMi 
untrussed;  Cupid  JbUomng. 

Cupid.  Think  upon  love,  which  naahcs  aH 
creatures  handsome. 
Seemly  for  eye-sight!  go  not  so  diffuaedly'^: 
There  are  great  ladies  purpose,  sir,  to  visit  yon. 
Pas.  Grand  plagues!   Shut  in  my  case- 
ments, that  the  breaths 
Of  their  coach-mares  reek  not  into  my  nostrils! 
Those  beasts  are  but  a  kind  of  bawdy  fore- 
runners, [speak  ill  of  fair  ladies. 
Cupid.  It  is  not  well  with  you,  when  yoa 
Pas.  Fair  mischiefs!  give  me  a  nest  uf 
owls,  and  take  'em ! 
Happy  is  he,  say  I,  whose  window  opens 
To  a  brown  baker's  chimney"!  he  shall  be 

sure  there 
To  hear  the  bird  sometimes  ailer  twilight ''. 
What  a  fine  thing  'tis,  methinks^  to  have  our 

garments 
Sit  loose  upon  us  thus,  thus  carelessly ! 
It  is  more  manly  and  more  mortifying ; 
For  we're  so  much  the  readier  for  onrshroods: 
For  how  ridiculous  were*t  to  have  death 

come. 
And  take  a  fellow  pinn'd  up  like  a  mistress! 
About  his  neck  a  ruff',  like  a  pinch*d  lantlioni. 
Which  school-boys  make  in  winter;  and  fab 

doublet  . 

So  close  and  pent,  as  if  he  fear'd  one  prison 
Would  not  be  strong  enough  to  keep  his 
But's  tailor  Snakes  another ;  [soul  io» 

And  trust  me,  (^for  I  know't  when  I  loVd, 
Cupid) 


^^  Chaldrons.']  The  orthography  is  ckawdrons.  We  meet  with  the  expression  in  Macbeth: 
Mr.  Steevens  says  it  means  entrails;  and. that  it  was  *  a  word  formerly  in  common  use  in 

*  the  books  of  cookery,  in  one  of  which,  printed  in  1597,  is  a  receipt  to  make  a  puddine  of  a 

*  calf's  chaldron:        R.  ^ 

*^  As  for  m}f  honesty,  there  is  no  fear  of  that. 

For  I  have  never  a  whole  bone  about  me.]  Mr.  Sympson  observes,  that  this  is  a  Tety  un- 
accountable reason  for  a  man's  being  honest.    It  certainly  is'so  in  general,  but  not  in  this 
place.    The  Clown  means  by  honesty  her^,  his  veracity  in  the  account  he  had  given  of  tam^ 
self,  and  all  his  bones  being  broke  was  a  pretty  strong  testimony  of  it.        Savard. 
3°  Diffusedly;]  i.  e.  disorderly,  or  negligently:  as  in  Henry  V.  ' 

*  —swearing  and  stem  looks,  diffused  attire,*        JR. 
'»  To  «  brown  bdker^s  chimney.]  We  have  the  same  atlusion  in  Shakespeare*s  Kunlet, 
irhere  Ophelia,  in  her  distraction,  says,  '  The  owl  was  a  baker's  daughter.'        jR. 

3*  To  hear  the  bird  sometimes  ttfto'  twilight.]  The  deficiency  of  the  measure  first  gave  a 
suspicion  of*  some  Joss  in  this  line:  in  the  next  phice  sometimes  seems  a  degrading  expletive, 
which  has,  I  believe,  excluded  a  noble  poetical  image.  It  must  be  observed  that  the  melan- 
choly fit,  which  ends  in  one  of  the  finest  songs  that  evek*  was  penned,  is  now  amiRg  last 
upon  him,  tliereforc  images  of  solemnity  and  horror,  tliough  yet  mixed  with  some  d^rec  of 
oddity,  begin  to  seize  him ;  and  the  reader  will  see  what  a  small  change  of  letters,  to«^ethcr 
with  the  restoring  the  monosyllable  which  seems  to  have  "been  accidentally  dropt,  vr3l  iio- 
prove  this  into  a  very  fine  one : 

)ie  shall  be  sure  there 
To  hear  the  night-bird^s  summons  after  twilight,        Seward. 
The  text  being  sense,  an  improvement  unwarranted  ought  not  to  supeisede  it— The  bir^ 
refers  to  the  owl  mentioned  two  lines  above. 

He 


Act 5.  Scene  1]  THE  NIC£  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADIVUN.    5S1 


He  does  endure  much  pain,  for  the  poor 
Of  a  neat-sitting  suit.  [praise 

Cupid,  One  may  be  handsome,  sir, 
And  yet  not  pain'd,  nor  proud. 

Fas.  There  you  lie,  Cupid,  [ness. 

As  bad  as  Mercury :  there  is  no  handsome- 
But  has  a  wash  of  pride  and  luxury. 
And  you  go  there  too,  Cupid,  away,  dissem- 
bler! [all : 
Thou  tak*st  the  deed's  part,  which  befools  us 
Tlijr  arrow  heads  shoot  out  sinners^  ^ :  hence 

away! 
And  after  thee  FH  send  a  powerful  charm. 
Shall  banish  thee  for  ever. 

Cupid,  Never,  never ! 
I  am  too  sure  thine  own.  [Exit, 

Pas,  [sin^s.l  Hence,  all  you  vain  delights, 
As  short  as  are  the  nights 

Wherein  you  spend  your  folly ! 
There's  nought  in  this  life  sweet, 
If  man  were  wise  to  see*t, 
But  only  melancholy; 
Oh,  sweetest  melancholy ! 
Welcome,  folded  arms,  and  fixed  eyes, 
A  sigh  th^t  piercing  mortides, 
A  look  that's  fastenM  to  the  ground, 
A  tongue  chained  up,  without  a  sound  I 
Fountain  lieads  and  pathless  groves. 
Places  which  pale  passion  loves ! 
Moonlight  walks,  when  all  the  fowls 
Are  warmly  hous'd,  save  bats  and  owls ! 
A  midnight  bell,  a  parting  groan ! 
These  are  the  sounds  we  feed  upon; 
Then  stretch  our  bones  in  a  still  gloomy 
▼alley:  ^ 

Nothing's  so  dainty  sweet'^  as  lovely^ 
melancholy.  [Exit, 

Enter  at  another  door  Lapety  the  Cupid's 
Brothers  watching  his  coming, 

1  Bro,  So,  so  I   the  woodcock's  ginn*d  - 
keep  this  door  fast^  brother. 

33 


3  Bro,  rU  warrant  this. 

1  Bro,  I'll  go  incense  him  instantly; 
I  know  the  way  to't. 

2  Bro,  Will't  not  be  too  soon. 

Think  you,  and  make  two  fits  break  into  one? 
1  Bro.  Pho !  no,  no;  the  tail  of  bis  me- 
lancholy 
Is  always  the  head  of  his  anger,  and  follows 
As  close  as  the  report  ibllows  the  powder. 
Lapet,  This  is  the  appointed  place,  aod^ 
the  hour's  struck. 
If  I  can  get  security  for's  truth, 
I'll  never  mind  bis  honesty:  poor  worm! 
I  durst  lay  him  by  my  wife,  which  is  a  be- 
nefit [maid 
Which  many  masters  ha'  not :  I  shall  ha'  no 
Now  got  with  child,  hut  what  I  get  myself, 
And  that's  no  small  felicity ;  in  most  places 
They're  got  by  th'  men,  and  put  upon  the 

masters : 
Nor  shall  I  be  resisted  when  I  stnke. 
For  he  can  hardly  stand ;   these  are  great 
blessings  !  [a  varlct ! 

Pas,  [within.]^  I  want  my  food;  deliver  me 
Lapet,  How  now !  from  whence  comes  that? 
Pas,  I  ain  allow 'd  a  carcase  to  insult  on  ; 
Where  b  the  villaui? 
Lapet.  He  means  not  me,  I  hope. 
Pas.  Mj  maintenance,  rascals !  my  bulk^% 
my  exhibitioni 
Lapet,  Bless  us  all  I 
What  names  are  these  ?  '^Yould  I  were  gone 
ag^n! 

The  Passionate  Lord  enters  in  fury  vith  m 
truncheon. 

Pas.  [sings.]  A  curse  upon  thee,  for  a  slave! 
Art  thou  here,  and  heardst  me  rave? 
Fly  nf>t  sparkles  from  mine  eye. 
To  shew  ray  indignation  nigh^^  ? 
Am  I  not  all  foam  and  fire, 
With  voice  as  hoarse  as  a  town-crier? 


Thy  arrow  heads  shoot  out  sinners,"]  I  believe  every  reader  will  assent  to  the  change  of 
imt  to  at ;  but  I  have  ventured  at  a  greater  change,  and  to  read. 

Thy  arrows  shoot  a^  sinners; — 
Expunging  heads  as  spurious,  it  injuring  both  sense  and  measure,  tho'  it  does  not  absolutely 
destroy  either.  The  way  1  suppose  it  to  have  crept  into  the  text  is  this :  'Tis  well  known 
tliat  the  most  common  error  of  transcribers  is  their  taking  a  word  into  a  line  that  belongs  to 
•  the  next  above  or  below.  I  suppose  therefore  the  prompter's  copy  to  have  accidentally  in* 
serted  deeds  (which  had  no  apostrophe  in  any  former  edition)  into  this  line,  which  making 
absolute  nonsense,  the  editors  of  the  first  edition  gave  heads  as  an  emendation.  I  find  that 
Mr.  aympson  thinks  the  deed's  part  unintelligible  as  well  as  the  line  I  have  amended.  I  am 
surprised  chat  a  married  man  should  be  at  a  loss  to  know  wiiat  deed  Cupid  incited  to.  Seward, 

We  are  not  satisfied  with  Seward's  alteration,  particularly  his  obliteration  of  heads :  Thy 
arrow  heads  shoot  out  sinners,  might  mean  to  continue  the  iilea  of  Cupid^s  taking  the  dee^$ 
psrt,  and  say  that  his  darts  shot  forth  sin, 

^^  Not  hinges  so  dainty-']  Milton  certainly  took  many  of  his  sentiments  in  his  11  Penseroso 


*  Venter^  hinc  Hisp.  Buche,  Ventriculus  animalis,  Belg.  Buicke,  Thorax.' 

^^  To  shew  my  indignation  nigh  f]  t.  e.  The  effects  of  indignation  in  beating  the  first  ho 

eoold  meet  with.  Mr.  Sympsoa  thinks  we  should  read  high,  whi9h  is  indeed  fpod^  sense,  bat 

not  necessary.  Scuari^ 

VQL.UL  3X  Hoir 


5at    THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  [Act  4.  Soeul 


How  my  back  opes  fud  shots  together 
With  fury,  as  old  ni^u's  with  w  enther ! 
Couldst  thou  not  hear  my  teeth  gnash 
hither?  [been  u  squirrel 

Lapet,  No,  truly,  sir ;    I  thought  it  had 
Shaviog  a  hazel-nut. 

Fas,  Death,  hell,  fiends,  and  darkness  ! 

I  will  thrash  thy  mangy  carcase. 
Lapet,  Oh,  sweet  sir ! 
Fas,  There  cannot  be  too  many  tortures 

'  Spent  upon  those  lousy  quarters. 
Lftpet,  Hold ! — oh !     [Falls  down  for  dead. 
Fas.  Thy  bones  shall  rue,  thy  bones  shall 
rue! 

Thou  nasty,  scurvy,  mungrcl  toad, 
Mischief  on  thee! 
Li^ht  upon  thee 
All  the  plagues 
That  cim  confound  thee, 
Or  did  ever  reign  abroad ! ' 
Better  a  thousand  live6  it  cost. 
Than  have  brave  anger  spilt  or  lost. 

[Exit. 
Lapet,  May  I  open  mine  eyes  yet,  and 
safely  peep  ?  {gone. 

I'll  try  a  groan  first :  Oh ! — Nay  then,  he's 
l^iere  was  no  other  policy  but  to  die;  [sore  f 
He  would  ha'  made  me  else.  Ribs,  are  you 
1  was  ne  er  beaten  to  a  tune  before. 


Enter  the  Tvo  Brothers. 

1  J5ro.  Lapet ! 

Lapet,  Again?  [Falls  agaU, 

1  hro.  Look,  look  !  he's  flat  agaio. 
And  stretch'd  out  like  a  corse;  a  haDrlfol 

longer  [Lapet!— 

Than   he  walks,  trust  rae,  brotlier. — Wbj, 
I  hold  my  life  we  shall  not  get  him  speak 

now. — 
Monsieur  Lapet! — It  must  be  apriiry  token, 
If  any  tiling  fetch  him,  he*s  so  far  gooe.— 
We  come  to  pass  our  words  for  your  roao'i 

truth. 

Lapet,  Oh,  gentlemen,  ye're  virclcome !  IVe 

been  thrash'd,  i' faith. 

2  Bro.  How,  thrash'd,  sir? 

Lapet,  Never  was  Shrove-Taesday  bird 
So  cudgeird,  gentlemen. 

1  Bro.  Pray  how  ?  by  whom,  sir  ? 

Lapet.  Nay,  that  I  know  not. 

1  Bfo,  Not  who  did  tliis  wrong?        [soi^. 

Lapet.  Only  a  tiling  came  like  a  waiiike 

1  Bro.  What,  beaten  with  a  song? 

Lapet,  Never  more  tightly,  gentlemen :  ^ 
Such  crotchets  happen  now  and  then ;  me> 

thinks, 
He  that  endures  well,  of  xdl  waters  drinks. 


ACT  IV, 


,  SCENE  I. 

Enter  Soldier  and  First  Gcntlanan. 

Sold.  XTES,  yes ;  this  was  a  madman,  sin 

•*•       with  you, 
A  Passionate  Madman. 

1  Gent.  Who  would  ha'  look'd  for  this,  sir? 
Sold.  And  must  be  privileg'd;  a  pox  pri- 
vilege him ! 
i  was  never  so  dry-beaten  since  I  was  born, 
And  by  a  litter  of  rogues,  mere  rogues ;  the 
whole  twenty  [too ; 

Had.  not  above  nine  elbows  ^mougst  'em  all 
And  the  vaoat  part  of  those  left-handed  rascals, 
The  very  vomit,  sir,  of  hospitals. 
Bridewells,  and  spital-houses ;    such  nasty 
smellers,  •  [cheons, 

That  if  they'd  been  unfurnish'd  of  club-trun- 
They  might  have  cudgell'd  me  with  their  very 

stink. 
It  was  so  strong  and  sturdy:  and  shall  this, 
This  filthy  injury,  be  set  off  with  madness  f 
1  Gent.  Nay,  take  your  own  blood's  coun- 
sel, sir,  hereafter; 
I'll  deal  no  further  in't :  if  you  remember. 
It  was  not  come  to  blows,  whenladvisM  you. 


Sold.  No ;  but  I  ever  said  'twould  come  to 

something; 
And  'tis  upon  me,  thank  him  !  Were  hekiJi 
To  all  the  mighty  emperors  upon  earth. 
He  has  not  now  in  life  three  hours  to  i«ckoii! 
I  watch  but  a  free  time. 

Enter  Shamont, 

1  Gent.  Your  noble  brother,  sir.  Ill  leave 

you  now.  [f :,,•/. 

.Sham.  Soldier,  I  would  I  could  penoade 

my  thoughts 
Fiom  tlmikiog  thee  a  brother,  as  I  can 
My  toncue  from  naming  on't !  Thou  hast  no 

friend  here,  ^     [them! 

But  Fortune  and  thy  own  strength  ;  trust  to 

Sold,  How  !  what's  the  incitement,  sir^'? 

Sham,  Treacheiy  to  Virtue, 
Thy  treachery,  t^ly  faithless  circumvention. 
Has  Honour  so  few  daughters,  (never  flower!) 
A  nd  must  thou  aim  thy  treachery  at  the  best  f 
The  very  front  of  Virtue?  that  bless'd  lady. 
The  duke's  sister  ? 

Created  more  tor  Admiration's  cause. 
Than  for  Love's  ends;    whosa  excellency 

sparkles 


V  Sold.  Horn!  vhufs,  4c.]  This  line  is  restored  from  the  first  foUob 


Mm 


Act  4.  Scent  1.]  THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATt  M-VDMAN.     53S 


More  in  divinity,  than  mortal  beanty ; 
And.as  much  difference  'twixt  her  mind  and 

bodfy 
As  'twiKt  this  earth's  poor  centre  and  the  sun : 
And  couldst  thou  be  so  injurious  to  fair 

goodness, 
Once  to  attempt  to  court  her  down  to  frailty  ? 
Or  pot  her  butmmind  that  there  is  weakness, 
.Sin,  and  desire,  which  she  should  never  hear 

of?  [lege, 

Wretch,  th*  hast  committed  worse  than  sacri- 
In  the  attempting  on't,  and  oughf  sttodie  for't! 

Sold.  I  rather  ought  to  do  my  best  to  live, 

»ir. 
provoke  me  not!  for  Fve  a  wrong  sits  on  me, 
That  makes  me  apt  for  mischief:  I  shall  lose 
Ail  respects  suddenly  of  friendship,  brotlier- 

bood, 
Or  any  sound  that  way ! 

Sham.  But  'ware  me  most; 
For  I  come  with  a  two-edg'd  injury, 
Both  ray  disgrace,  and  thy  apparent  falshood ! 
Which  must  be  dangerous. 

Sold,  I  courted  her,  sir :  [it  not ! 

Love  starve  mc  with  delays,  when  I  confess 

Sham.  There's  nothing  then  but  death 
Can  be  a  penance  fit  for  that  confession. 

Sold.  But  far  from  any  vicious  taint. 

Sham.  Oh,  sir, 
Vice  is  a  migl^ty  stranger  grown  to  courtship. 

Sold.  Nay,  tthen,  the  fury  of  my  wrong 

light  on  thee ! 

Enter  First  Gentleman,  and  others. 

1  Gent.  Forbear!  the  Duke's  at  hand; 
Here,  hard  at  liand,  upon  my  reputation  ! 

Sold.  I  must  do  something  now.       [Exit. 

Sham,  I'll  follow  ydu  close,  sir. 

1  Gent,  We  must  entreat  you  must  not; 

for  the  Duke 
Desires  some  conference  with  yoa. 

Sham.  Let  roe  go. 
As  ye  are  gentlemen  ! 

U  Gent.  Faith,  we  dare  not,  sir.  [dare  not 

S/tatn.  Dare  ye  be  false  to  lionour,  and  yet 
Do  a  man  justice?  Give  me  leave  ! 

1  Gent.  Good  sweet  sir! 
H'  lias  sent  twice  Jsr  you. 

Sham.  Is  this  brave,  or  manly  ? 

1  Gent.  I  prithee,  be  conformed  ! 

Sham,  Death— 

Enter  Duke. 
3  Gent.  Peace !  he's  come,  in  troth. 


Sham.  Oh,  have  you  betray'd  me  to  my 
How  am  I  bound  to  loath  you  I  [shame  afresh? 

Duke.  Sliamont,  welcome  I 
I  sent  twice. 

2  Gent.  But,  mylord,  he  never  heard  on't. 

Sbatn.  Pray  pardon  him  for  his  fi&lseness  ! 

I  did,  sir,  ,  [faithless. 

Both  times :  Fd  rather  be  found  rude,  than 

Duke.  I  love  that  bluntness  dearly ;  h'  has 

no  vice ! 
But  is  more  manly  than  some  other's  virtue, 
That  lets  it  out  only  for  show  or  profit. 

Sham.  Wiirt  please  you  quit  me,  sir  ?  Fve 

urgent  business !  [for  you 

Duke,  Come,  you're  so  hasty  now  !  I  sent 
To  a  better  end. 

Shatn.  And  if  it  be  an  end. 
Better  or  worse,  I  thank  your  goodness  for't. 

Duke.  I've  ever  kept  tliat  bounty  in  con- 
dition, [comes 
And  thankfulness  in  blood,  which  well  be- 
Both  prince  and  subject,  that  where  any  wrong 
Bears  my  impression,  or  the  hasty  figure 
Of  my  repented  anger,  I*m  a  law 
Ev'h  to  myself,  and  doom  myself  most  strictly 
To  justice,  and  a  noble  satisfaction  i 
So  that  what  you,  in  tendeniess  of  honour. 
Conceive  to  be  loss  to  you,  which  is  nothing 
But  curious  opinion,  I'll  restore  a^rain, 
y\ltho'  I  give  you  the  best  part  of  Genoa, 
And  take  no  boot  but  thanks  for  your  amends. 

Sham.  Oh,  miserable  satisfaction!     [self! 
Ten  times  more  wretched  than  the  wrong  it> 
Never  was  ill  better  made  tood  with  worse 
Shall  it  be  said,  that  my  posterity 
Shall  live  the  sole  heirs  of  their  father's  shame? 
And  raise  their  wealth  and  glory  from  my 

stripes? 
You  have  provided  nobly,  bounteous  sir. 
For  my  disgrace,  to  make  it  live  for  ever, 
Ontrlasting  brass  or  marble  1 
This  is  my  fear's  construction,  and  a  deep  one. 
Which  neither  ai^ument  nor  time  can  alter : 
Yet,  I  dare  swear,  I  ^rong  your  goodness  in't, 

sir,  [rence 

And  the  most  fmr  intent  on't;  which  1  reve- 
With  adniinition,  that  in  you,  a  prince, 
.Should  be  so  sweet  and  temperate  a  condition. 
To  offer  to  restore  where  you  may  ruin, 
And  do'c  with  justice ;  and  in  me,  a  servant. 
So  harsh  a  disposition,  that  I  cannot 
Forgive  where  I  should  lionour,  and  am 

bound  to't. 
But  I  have  ever  had  that  curiosity^' 


'»  But  I  have  ever  had  that  curiosity .]  Curiositi/  has  both  in  these  authors  apd  Shakespeart 
been  so  often  put  where  courtesy  has  seemed  to  the  editors  of  both  the  better  word,  that  I 
b^in  to  doubt  whether  we  have  not  all  been  wrong  in  making  the  change,  as  in  Lear, 

< __-  permit 

*  The  curiosity  of  nations  to  deprive  me.* 
1  cannot  now  recollect  where  it  has  been  altered  in  this  edition.    There  is  certainly  a  tole^ 
xnble  idea  to  be  affixed  to  it,  particularly  in  the  passage  above,  so  that  Fll  change  it  no  more* 

Seward. 
As  curiosity  has  not  only  ^  a  tolerable  idea  affixed  to  it,*  but  is  particularly  expressive 
]2Crc^  we  cannot  think  Mr.  $eward  has  displayed  any  courtesy  in  not  altering  ic^ 

3X2  la 


$U     THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PiVSSIONATE  MADMAN.   [Act4.  Sotrnt 


In  blood,  and  tenderness  of  reputation, 
Such  an  antipathy  against  a  blow —       [me ! 
I  cannot  speak  the  rest!  good  sir,  discharge 
It  is  not  fit  that  I  should  serve  you  more, 
^or  come  so  near  you :   I'm  made  now  for 

privacy. 
And  a  retir*d  condition ;  that's  my  suit. 
To  part  from  court  for  ever,  my  last  suit ; 
And,  as  you  profess  bounty,  grant  me  that, 

sir! 

Duke.  I  would  deny  thee  nothing. 

•SAam.  Health  reward  you,  sir!         [Exit. 

Duke,  He's  gone  again  already,  and  takes 

hold 
Of  any  opportunity :  not  riches 
Can  purchase  him,  nor  honours,  peaceably, 
And   force  were   brutish.      What  a  great 

worth's  gone  with  him ! 
And  but  a  geptletnan  p  Well,  for  his  sake, 
ni  ne*er  o&'end  more  *  those  I  cannot  make;' 
They  were  bis  words,  and  shall  be  dear  to 

memory. 
Say,  I  desire  to  see  him  once  again. 
Yet  stay !  he's  so  well  forward  of  his  peace, 
'Twere  pity  to  disturb  him:  he  would  groan 
'  Like  a  soul  fetched  again,  and  that  were  injury; 
'  And  I've  wrong'd  his  degree  too  much  already. 
Call   forth   the  gentlemen  of  our  chamber  ^ 

iostantly ! 

1  Serv.  [within,']  I  shall,  my  lord. 

Duke.  I  may  forget  again, 
And  therefore  will  prevent:  the  strain  of  this 
Troubles  me  so,  one  would  not  hazard  more. 

Enter  First  Gentleman  and  divers  others. 

1  Gent.  Your  will,  my  lord  ? 
Duke.  Yes,  I  discharge  you  all ! 

2  Gent.  My  lord—  [pos'd  of. 
Duke.  Your  places  shadl  be  otherwise  dis- 

4  Gent:  Why,  sir  ? 

Duke.  Reply  not!  I  dismiss  you  all : 
YouVe  gentlemen;  yourwortlis  will  find  you 

.  fortunes ; 
Nor  shall  your  Jewell  tax  me  of  ingratitude. 
Ill  give  you  all  noble  remembrances, 
As  testimonies  'gainst  reproach  and  malice, 
That  vou  departed  lov'd. 

^  Uent.  This  is  most  strange,  sir. 

1  Gent.  But  how  is  your  grace  fumish'd, 
.    these  dismis&'d  ? 

Duke.  Seek  me  out  grooms, 
Men  more  insensible.of  reputation. 
Less  curious  and  precise  in  terms  of  honour; 
That,  if  my  anger  chance  let  fall  a  stroke. 
As  we're  all  suhject  to  impetuous  passions, 
Yet  it  may  pass  unmurmur'd,  undisputed. 
And  not  with  hraver  fury  prQsecutea.  [Exit. 

1  Gent.  It  shall  be  done,  my  lord. 

5  Gent.  Know  you  the  cause,  sir? 

1  Gent.  Not  I,  kind  gentlemen,   but  by 
conjectures ; 
And  so  much  shallT)e  yours  when  you  please. 
4  Gent.  Thanks^  sir! 


3  Gent.  We«ball  i'th'  mean  time  think  our- 
selves guilty 

Of  some  foul  fuult,  thro'  ignorance  com- 
mitted.    . 
1  Gent.  No,  'tis  not  that,  nor  that  way. 

4  Gent.  For  my  part, 

I  shall  be  disinherited,  I  know  so  mocli. 
1  Geiit.  Why,  sir?  for  what? 

4  Gent.  My  sire's  of  a  strange  humonr; 
He*ll  form  faults  for  me,  and  then  swear  'cm 

mine; 
And  commonly  the  first  begins  witJi  lechery; 
He  knows  bis  own  youth's  trespass. 

1  Gent.  Before  you  go,  [sirs. 

I'll  come  and  take  my  leave,  and  tell  you  all, 

5  Gent.  Thou  wert  ever  just  and  kind. 

lExesaU. 
1  Gent.  That's  my  poor  virtue,  sir ; 
And  parcel  valiant^';  but  it's  hard  to  be 
perfect:  [me. 

The  chu&ing  of  these  fellows  now  will  pozde 
Horribly  puzzle  me;  and  there's  no  judgment 
Goes  true  upon  man's  outside,  there's  the 
mischief.  [dross; 

He  must  be  touch'd,  and  tried,  foi  f^^ld  or 
There  is  no  other  way  for't,  and  that's  dan- 
gerous too : 
But  since  I'm  put  in  trust,  I  will  attempt  it; 
The  Duke  shall  keep  one  daring  man  about 
him. 

Enter  a  Gallant. 

Sof^!  who  comes  here?  A  pretty  brareiy 

this! 
Every  one  goes  so  like  a  gentleman, 
Tis  hard  to  find  a  difiference,  but  by  the 

touch. 
I'll  try  your  metal  sure.  [Strikes  km. 

Gal.  Why,  what  do  you  mean,  sir? 

1  Gent.  Nay,  an  you  understand  it  not^  I 

do  not. 

Gal.  Yes ;  'would  you  should  well  know! 
I  understand  it  for  a  box  o'th'ear,  sir. 

1  Gent.  And,  o'my  troth,  that's  all  I  gave 

Gal.  Twere  best  it  be  so!  [it  for. 

1  Gent.  This  is  a  brave'  coward, 
A  jolly  threat'ning  coward;  beshall  be  captain. 
Sir,  let  me  meet  you  an  hour  hence  i'th'  loUiy. 

Gal.  Meet  you  ?  the  world  might  laugh  at 

me  then,  i*  faith.  [scurY'y  qualities) 

'  1  Gent.  Lay  by  your  scorn  and  pride  (tbey*ie 

And  meet  me ;  or  I'll  box  you  while  I  hate 

you. 
And  carry  yougambril'd  thither  like  amuttoa. 

Gal.  Nay,  an  you  be  in  earnest,  here^smy 
I  will  not  fail  you.  [hand; 

1  Gent.  'Tis  for  your  own  eood—- 

GaL  Awajr !  [a  pox  on  you! 

1  Gent.  loo  much  for  your  own  good,  sir. 

Gal.  I  prithee  curse  me  all  day  long  so. 

1  Gent.  Hang  you ! 

Gal.  I'll  make  him  mad;  he'sleth  to  cone 

too  much  to  me. 


39 


And  parcel  laliant;'}  t.  e.  la  part,  or  pardy  valiant.        Seward. 


I»dccd 


,A«I4.  Scwiel.]    THE  NICE  VAIXXTR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  596 


Indeed  I  never  ^et  took  box  o'tb'  ear. 
But  it  redounded,  I  most  needs  say  so— 

1  Gent,  Will  you  be  gone  ? 

GaL  Carse,  curse,  and  then  I  go. — 
Look  bow  be  grins!  I've  angerM  him  to  tli' 

kidnies.  ^    [Exit, 

1  Gent,  Was  ever  such  a  prigging  cox- 
comb seen  ? 
"  One  might  have  beat  him  dumb  now  in  this 

humour. 

Enter  u  Plain  Fellow, 
And  he'd  lia'grin'd  it  out  still.  Oh,  here's  one 
Made   to  my  hand,  methinks  looks  like  a 

craven^:  [justle. 

Less  pains  will  serve  his  trial ;  some  slight 

FeL  How!  Take  you  that,. sir ;  and  it*  that 

content  you  not — 

iGent,  Yes,  very  well, sir;  I  desire  no  more. 

Fel,  I  think  you  need  not ;  for  you  have 

not  lost  by't.  [Exit. 

iGent.  Who  would  ha' thought  this  would 

have  proved  a  gentleman  ? 
ril  never  trust  long  chins  and  little  legs  again; 
J*ll  know  'em  sure  for  gentlemen  hereafter: 
A  gristle  but  in  show,  but  gave  his  cuff 
"With  such  a  fetch,  and  reach, of  gentry, 
As  if  h'  had  had  his  arms  before  the  flood. 
IVe  took  a  villainous  hard  task  ypon  me. 
Now  I  begin  to  have  a  feeling  on't. 

JEttter  Lapetf  and  Clown  Jm  Servant^  and  so 
habited. 

Oh,  here  comes  a  tried  piece :  now  the  re- 

form'd  kick ! 
The  millions  of  punches,  spurns  and  nips 
That  he  has  endur'd!  His  buttock's  all  black 

lead ;  [Spaniard 

He's  half  a  Negro  backward ;  he  was  past  a 
In  eighty-eight,  and  more  .Egyptian  like : 
His  table  and  his  book  come  both  out  shortly, 
And  all  the  cowards  in  the  town  expect  it. 
So,  if  I  foil  of  my  full  number  now, 
I  idiall  be  sure  to  find  'em  at  church  corners, 
Where  dives  and  the  suffring  ballads  hang*'. 

Lapet.  Well,  since  thou'rt  of  so  mild  a 

temper,  of 
So  meek  a  spirit,  thou  mayst  lii^e  with  me, 
•Till  better  times  do  smile  on  thy  deserts^ — 
Ym  glad  I  am  got  home  again. 

Clown.  I'm  happy  [hospital. 

In  your  service,  sir ;  you'll  keep  me  from  the 

Lapet.  So!  bring  me  the  last  proof;  this  is 

crorrected. 


Clomn.  Ay,  you're  too  full  of  your  cor- 
rection, sir. 

Lapet,  Look  I  have  perfect  books  within 

Cloum*  Yes,  iftir.  [this  half-hour! 

Lapet.  Bid  him  put  all  the  thumps  •  in 

Pica  Roman,  [should  be. 

And  with  great  Ts,  you  vermin,  as  thumps 

Cham,  Then  in  what  letter  will  you  have 

your  kicks  ? 

Lapel.  All  in  Italica;  yoar  backward  blowi 
All  in  ItaUca,  you  hermaphrodite! 
When  shall  I  teach  you  wit  ? 

Clown.  Oh,  let  it  alone, 
'Till  you  have -some  yourself,  sir! 

Lapet.  Yoa  mumble? 

Clown,  The  victuals  ore  lock'd  up;  Fm 

kept  from  mumbling.  [Eait, 

Lapet.  He  prints  my  blows  upon  pot-paper 

too,  the  rogue!  [pamphlet. 

Which  had  been  proper  for  some  drunken 

1  Gent.  Monsieur  Lapet!  How  tlie  world 

rings  of  you,  sir! 
Your  name  sounds  for  and  near. 

Lapet,  A  good  report  it  bears. 
For  an  endurincr  name. 

1  Gent.  What  luck  have  you,  sir? 

Lapet.  Why^  what's  the  matter  ? 

1  Uetit.  I'm  but  thinking  on*t ! 
I've  heard  you  wish  this  fivo  year  for  a  place ; 
Now  there's  one  fall'n,  and  freely  without 

money  too ; 
And  empty  yet,  and  yet  you  cannot  bave't. 

Lapet.  No?  what's  tlie  reason?  I'll  give 

money  for't. 
Rather  than  go  without,  sir. 

1  Gent.  That's  not  it,  sir : 
The  troth  is,  there's  aogenl  lemon  must  have  it. 
Either  for  love  or  money ;  'tis  decreed  so : 
I  was  heartily  sorry  when  I  thought  upon  you; 
Had  you  not  been  a  gentleman,  I  had  fitted 

you.  [none,  sir. 

Lapet,  Who?  I  a  gentleman?  a  pox,  I'm 

1  Gent.  How!  [wast 

Lapet,  How !  why,  did  you  ever  think  I 

1  Gent.  What!  not  a  gentleman  ? 

Lapet.  I  would  thou'dstput  it  upon  me« 

i'faith! 
Did  not  my  gran'] father  cry  cony-«kins  ? 
My  father  aqua* vi tap  ?  a  hot  gentleman !  [too; 
All  this  I  speak  on,  i' your  time  and  memory 
Only  a  rich  uncle  died,  and  left  me  chattels : 
You  know  all  this  so  well  too  ! 

1  Gent.  Pray  excuse  me,  sir ! 
Ha'  not  you  arms  ?  • 


♦**  Craven ;"]  i.  e.  A  coward.    So,  in  Philaster,  voL  i, 
Thov^rt  a  craven,  1  warrant. 

Again,  in  Henry  V,  act  iv.  sc.  7  : 

'  Is  it  fit  this  soldier  keep  his  oath  ? 
'  He  is  a  craven  and  a  villain  else.'        H, 
♦'  The  storing  ballads;]  i.e.  We  suppose,  gallows  poetry., 

SOf  in  Rowley's  Noble  Spanish  Souldier,  16;>4, 

'^  The  king!  should  X  be  bitter  'gainst  the  Vio^ 
*  I  shall  have  scurvy  ballads  mwle  of  me,^ 
<Sung;  to  the  han^i^g  tt^n^^        jR, 


lapels 


920    THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  [Act  4.  Sctne  U 


Lapet.  Yes;  a  poor  couple  here, 
That  serve  to  thrust  in  wild-fowl. 
1  Gent.  Herald's  arms. 


png; 


Symbols  of  gentry,  sir ;  you  know  my  meai>- 

Tiiey  have  been  shewn  and  seen. 
Laptu  Tliey  have  ? 
1  Gent,  Ay,  fex,  have  they. 
Lapet,  Why,  I  confess,  at  my  wife's  insti- 
gation once,  [turaily) 

(As  women  love  these  herald's  kickshaws  na- 

I  bought  'em ;  bat  what  are  thev,  think  you  ? 
puffs.  [being  LapUy 

1  Gent.  Why,  thatfs  proper  to  your  name. 

Which  is  Lafarty  after  the  English  letter. 
Lapet.  The  herald,  sir,  had  much  ado  to 
find  it. 
1  Gent.  And  can  you  blame  him? 

Why,  'tis  the  only  thing  that  jpuzzlesthe  devil. 
Jjipet.  At  last,  he  look'cf  upon  my  name 
again; 

And  having  well  compared  it,  this  he  gave  me; 

The  two  cholics  playing  upon  a  wind-instru- 
ment, [prwy  i^^l  ™e, 
1  Gent.  An  excellent  proper  one  I  But  I 

How  does  he  express  the  cholics?  they're  hard 
things.  [their  bellies ; 

Lapet.  The  cholics?  with  liot  trenchers  at 

There's  nothing  better,  sir,  to  blaie  a  choiic. 
1  Gent.  A.nd  are  not  yon  a  gentleman  by 
this,  sir  ? 
Lapet •  No ;  I  disclaim't ! 

No  belly-ache  upon  earth  shall  make  me  one; 

Ue  shall  not  think  to  put  his  gripes  upon  me. 

And  wring  out  gentry  so,  and  ten  pound  first. 

]f  the  wind  instrument  will  make  my  wife  one, 

Let  her  enjoy't,  for  she  was  a  harper's  grand- 
child! 

But,  sir,  for  my  particular,  I  renounce  it. 
1  Gent.  Or  to  be  call'd  so  ? 
Lapet.  Ay,  sir,  or  imagin'd. 
1  Gent.  ^Jo^e  fitter  for  the  place :  give 
roe  thy  hand !  [a  bribe,  sir ! 

Lapet.  A  hundred  thousand  thanks,  beside 
1  Gent.  You  must  take  heed  of  thinking 
toward  a  gentleman  now. 
Lapet.  PisiH  I  am  not  mad,  I  warrant  you  ! 
Nay,  more,  sir; 

If  one  should  twit  me  i'  th*  teeth  that  I  am  a 
gentleman,  [Lammas ; 

Twit  me  their  worst,  I  am  but  one  since 

That  I  can  prove,  if  they  would  see  my  heart 
out.  [evidence. 

f    1  Gent.  Marry,  in  any  case,  keep  me  that 

Enter  Clown. 

Lapet.  Here  comes  my  servant:  sir,  Galo- 
fciiio  [upon. 

lias  not  his  name  for  nought;  he  will  be  trod 

What  says  my  printer  now  ? 

Clown.  Here's  your  last  proof,  sir;    [ling. 

You  shall  have  perfect  books  now  in  a  twink- 
Lapet.  These  marks  are  ugly. 
Clown.  He  says,  sir,  Ujey're  proper ; 

Blows  should  have  marks,  or  else  they're  no- 
thing worth. 


Lapet,  But  why  a  peel-crow  here? 

Ciown,  I  told  'em  so,  sir: 
A  scare-crow  had  been  better. 

Lapet.  How,  slave! — Look  you,  sir! 
Did  not  I  say,  this  wherit  and  this  hob. 
Should  be  both  Pica  Roman  i 

Chwn.  So  said  I,  sir; 
Both  picked  KonxriM,  and  he  has  mada  >oi 

Welsh  iiills. 
Indeed,  I  know  not  what  to  make  on  'em. 

Lapel.  Heyday!  a  iwtey  Italicaf 

Clown.  Yes,  that  may  hold,  sir: 
Souse  is  a  bona  roba ;  so  \% flops  too.      [here? 

Lapet.  But  why  stands  oosft'niidb  so  tar  off 

Chwn.  Alas,  you  must  allow  him  room  to 

lay  about  him,  sir. 

Lapet.  Why  Ues  this  ^urn  lower  than  that 

spurn^  sir?     .  [stain,  «r, 

CloTcn.  Marry;  this  signi6esene  sick  down 
The  other  in  a  gallery;  I  ask'd  him  all  these 

questions.  [mind  me  f 

1  Gent,  Your  book's  name  ?  prithee,  Lapet, 
You  never  told  me  yet. 

Lapet,  Marry,  but  slmll,  sir: 
*Tis  call'd  The  Uprising  of  the  Kick  ; 
And  The  Downfal  of  the  Duello. 

1.  Gent.  Bring  that  to  pass,  youll  pioTe  a 

hapny  member,  [bloods 

And  do  yoijr  country  service :  your  young 
Will  thank  you  then,  when  they  see  fourscore. 

Lapet  i  I  hope 
To  save  my  hundred  gentlemen  a- month  by't; 
Which  will  be  very  good  for  the  private  house. 

Clown.  Look  you !  your  tables  finish'd,sir, 

al  ready.  [See,  see,  sir ; 

Lapet.  Why  then,  behold  my  master-piece ! 
Here  8  all  your  blows,  and  blow*men  whatso- 
ever, 
Set  in  their  lively  colours,  givers  and  taken. 

1  Gent.  Troth,  wondrous  fine,  sir! 

Lapet.  Nay,  but  mark  the  postures! 
The  standing'  of  the  takers  I  admire  more 

than  the  givers :  [I  like  not  them. 

They  stand  scornfully,  most  contumelionsly; 
Oh,  here's  one  cast  into  a  comely  figure. 

Clown.  IMy  master  means  him  there  that's 

cast  down  headlone.  [his  dowsi  ! 

Lapet.  How  sweetly  does  this  fellow  take 
Stoops  like  a  camel,  that  heroic  beast» 
At  a  gieat  load  of  nutmegs :  and  how  meekly 
This  other  fellow  here  receives  his  wktrit. 

Clown.  Oh,  master,  here's  a  fellow  stands 

most  gallantly,  [in^ 

Taking  iiis  kick  in  private  behind  the  hang- 
And  raising  up  his  hips  to't.     But,  oh,  sir, 
How  daintily  this  man  lies  trampled  on  ! 
'Would  I  were  in  thy  place,  whate'er  thou  art! 
How  lovely  he  endures  it ! 

1  Gent.  But  will  not 
These  things,  sir,  be  hard  to  practise,  think 

you?  [dance. 

Lapet.  Oh,  easy,  sir ;  PU  teach  'em  in  a 

1  Uent,  How  i  in  a  dance  ? 

Lapet.  V\\  lose  my  new  place  else, 
What^Vr  it  be;  I  know  not  what  'ds  yet 


Act  5.  Scene  1.]  THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.    W 


1  Gent.  And  now  you  pa(  me  in  mind,  I 
could  employ  it  welJ,  (sin 

For  your  gnice,  speciftlly:  forthe  JaWscoU- 

Is  by  this  time  in  s  violent  fit  of  mirth ; 

And  A  device  must  be  sought  out  for  suddenly, 

To  ovti^cloy  thft  passion. 


Lapet,  Say  no  more,  sir! 
Ill  fit  you  with  my  scholars,  new  practition- 
Endorers  of  the  time.  [ere, 

Clown,  Whereof  I  am  one,  sir. 

1  Gent,  You  carry  it  away  smooth:  give 

me  thy  hand,  sir.  [JExeun^ 


ACT   V. 


SCENE  I. 
Snter  the  Tm  Brothtrs, 

J'ox  [withinJi  TJAjhajha! 

-■■•■■  2  Bro.  Hark,  hark!  how 
loud  his  fit's  grown  ! 
Fas.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  [ply  it 

1  Bro,  Now  let  our  sister  lose  no  time,  but 
With  all  the  power  she  has ! 

2  Bro,  Her  shame  grows  big,  brother ; 

The  Cupid  s  shape  will  hardly  hold  it  longer ; 

Twould  take  up  half  an  ell  of  cheyney  da- 
mask more, 

And  all  too  little;  it  struts  perlously; 
There  is  no  tamp'riog  with  these  Cupids 

longer:  [strong. 

The  mere  conceit  with  woman-kind  works 

Fas.  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

3  Bro.  The  laugh  comes  nearer  npw ; 
Twere  good  we  were  not  seen  yet. 

[Exeunt  Brothers, 

Enter  Passionate  Lord  and  Base, 

Fas,  Ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Andwashebastinado'dtothelife?  ha,  ha, ha! 
I  prithee  say,  lord  general,  how  did  the  rascals 
£ntrench  themselves  ? 

Base,  Most  deeply,  politicly,  all  in  ditches. 
,Fas,  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Base.  'Tis  thought  he'll  ne'er  bear  arms 

i'th' field  again : 
H'  has  much  ado  to  lift  'em  to  his  head,  sir. 

Fas,  1  would  he  had ! 

Base.  On  eitlier  side  round  truncheons 

play'd  so  thick,  [to  th'  quick. 

That  shoulders,  chines,  nay,  flanlA),  were  paid 

Fas.  Well  said,  lord  general !  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Base,  But  pray  how  grew  the  di£f'rcnce 

first  betwixt  you.? 

Fas,  There  was  never  any,  sir ;  there  lies 

the  jest,  man!  ' 

Only  because  he  was  taller  than  his  brother, 
There's  all  my  quarrel  to  him ;  and  methought 
He  should  be  beaten  for't,  my  mind  so  gave 

me,  sir, 
X  could  not  sleep  for't:  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha! 
Another  good  jest  cjuickly,  while  'tis  hot  now ; 
Let  me  not  laugh  in  vain !  ply  me,  oh,  ply  me, 
A9  you  will  answer't  to  my  cousin  Duite ! 

Ash.  Alas^  who  has  a  good  jest? 


[ho,  ho! 
r  ob,  oh. 


Pas.  I  fall,  I  dwindle  in*t 

Base.  Ten  crowns  for  a  good  jest! — Ha'yoa 

agood  jest,  sir? 

Enter  Servant: 

Serv.  A  pretty  moral  one. 

Base,  Let's  ha't,  whate*er  it  be ! 

Serv.  There  comes  a  Cupid 
Drawn  by  six  foob. 

Bftse.  That's  nothing. 

Fas,  Help  it,  help  it  then ! 

Base.  I  lia' known  six  hundred  fools  dravm 

by  a  Cupid. 

Fas,  Ay,  that,  that,  that's  the  iftnarter moral: 

ha,  ha,  ha ! 
Now  I  begin  to  be  song-ripe  methinks. 

Base,  I'll  sing  yon  a  pleasant  air,  sir,  be<> 

fore  you  ebb. 

SONG. 

Pas.  Ohy  how  my  longs  do  tickle !  ha,  ha, 

ha! 

Base.  Oh,  how  my  lungs  do  tickle ! 

Fas,      Set  a  sharp  jest 

Against  my  breast, 
Then  how  my  lungs  do  tickle !     ^       * 
As  nightingales. 
And  Uiini^s  in  camhrick  rails. 
Sing  best  agamst  a  prickle. 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  1m ! 
Base.     Ho,  ho,  ho,  ho,  ha ! 
Fas.  Laugh ! 

Base.  Laugh! 
Fas.  Laugh! 

Base,  Langh! 
Fas.  Wide!. 

Base.  loud!. 
*         Pas.  And  vary! 
Base,  A  smile  is  for  a  simpering  novice, 
'  Fas.  One  that  ne'er  tastecl  caveare, 
Ba!i€,  jSTor  knows  the  smack  of  d/ear  an- 
Fas.  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha !  [chov\es. 

Base.  Ho,  ho,  ho,  ho,  ho  I 
Fas.  A  giggling  waitinf^-^wench  for  me, 
That  shews  her  teeth  how  white  they 
be! 
Base,  A  thing  not  fit  $bx  gravity. 

For  theirs  are  {bul  and  hai'dly  three. 
Fas,      Ha,  ha,  haf 
Base,    Ho^ho;bot 


Pcu.  How  brave  lives  he  (hat  keeps  a  fool, 

Altbo'  the  rate  be  deeper! 
Bate,  But  he  that  is  his  owu  fool,  sir. 

Does  live  a  great  deal  cheaper. 
Fas.  Sure  I  shall  burst,  burst,  quite  break, 

Thou  art  so  witty. 
JBosc  'Tis  rare  to  break  at  court, 

For  that  belongs  to  th'  city. 
Fes.  Ha,  Iia !  my  spleen  is  almost  worn 

To  the  last  laughter. 
Base,  Oh,  keep  a  corner  for  a  friend ;   • 
A  jest  may  come  hereafter. 

Enter  Lapet  and  Clmen^  and  four  others, 
like  Fools,  dancing,  the  Cupid  leading,  and 
bearing  his  table,  and  holding  it  up  to 
Lapet  at  every  strain,  and  acting  the 
postures, 

Lapet.  Twinge  all  now!  twinge,  I  say! 
.  Q  Strain. 
Souse  upon  Souse. 


Douces  single. 
Justle  sides. 
Knee  belly- 
Kick  see  Buttock. 


3  Strain. 

4  Strain. 

6  Strain. 
0  Strain. 

7  Strain. 


Lapet.  Downderry! 

Enter  the  Soldier,  his  sword  drawn. 

Sold.  Not  angry  law,  nor  doors  of  brass, 
shall  keep  me 
From  my  wrong's  expiation !  To  thy  bowels 
I  return  my  disgrace;  and  after  turn 
My  face  to  any  death  tlmt  can  be  sentenc*d. 

[Exit. 
Base.  Murder!  oh,  murder!  stop  the  mur- 
derer there ! 

Lapet.  ]  ^n  glad  he's  gone !  h'has  almost  trod 
my  guts  out : 


S»    THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  [Ad 5.  SoeMit 

Pas.  Democritus,  thou  ancient  fieerer. 

How  I  miss  thy  laugh,  and  ha- 
sense**! 
Base.  There  younam'd  the  famous  jeerer, 

That  e'er  jeer'd  in  Rome  or  Athens. 
Pas.         Ua,  ha,  ha! 
Base.        Ho,  ho,  ho! 


Follow  him  wbo  list  for  me!  Ill  ha' no  1 
in*t.  [squelch'd,  i 

Clown.  Oh,  'twas  your  luck  and  mine  to  be 

H*bas  stamp*d  my  very  puddings  into  pan- 
cakes, [help,  oh,  help  I 
Cupid.  Oh,  brothers,  oh,  I  fear  'tis  mortal ! 

Tm  made  the  wretchedVt  woman  by  this  ac- 

Thiit  ever  love  beguil'd !  [ckieot, 

Enter  Two  Brothers. 

2  Bro.  We  are  undone,  brother; 
Our  shames  sou  too  apparent.    Awajy  r^ 

ccptacle 
Of  luxury  and  dishonour!  roost  unfortunate^ 
To  make  thyself  but  lackey  to  thy  spoil*'. 
After    thy  sex'a   manner V-Lifb    him    up, 

brother :  [wasted 

He  breathes  not  to  our  comfort;  he*s  too 
Ever  to  chear  us  more.  A  surgeon  spee<Uy! 
Hence,  the  unhappiest  that  e*er  stept  aside! 
Shell  be  a  mother,  'fore  she's  known  a  bride. 

Cupid.  Thou  hadst  a  most  unfortunate 

conception. 
Whatever  thou  prov'st  to  be !  In  midst  of  mirth 
Comes  ruin  for  a  welcome  to  thv  birth. 

lEjoatt. 

SCENE  II. 
Enter  Shanumt. 

Sham.  This  is  a  beautiful  life  now !  Privacy, 
The  sweetness  and  the  benefit  of  essence. 
I  see  there  is  no  man  bat  may  make  faii 

Pai-adisc ; 
And  it  is  nothing  but  his  love,  and  dotage 
Upon  the  world's  foul  joys,  that  keeps  him 

out  on't: 
For  he  that  lives  retir'd  in  mind  and  spirit. 
Is  still  in  Paradise,  and  has  his  innocence 
Partly  allow'd  for  his  companion  too. 
As  mux:h  as  stands  with  justice.     Here  no 

eyes 
Shoot  their  sharp-pointed  scorns  npon  my 

shame : 
Tliey  know  no  terms  of  reputation  here. 
No  punctual  limits,  or  precise  dimensions: 
Plain  down-right  honesty  is  all  the  beauty    . 
And  elegancy  of  life  found  amongst  shep- 
herds ; 
For  knowing  nothing  nicely,  or  aesiriug  it. 
Quits  many  a  vexation  from  the  mind, 

*^  How  I  miss  thy  lavgh,  and  ha'  since.]  After  some  vain  endeavours  to  make  out  a 
meaning  here,  I  am  i'orcea  to  substitute  ha-sense,  instead  of  ha*  since,  which  I  own  a  very  odd 
expression,  yet  [  think  not  unsuitable  to  the  comic  humour  of  the  song.  Ha  is  the  uote  of 
laughter,  and  therefore  ha-scnse  will  .signify  the  laughing  sense,  or  the  sense  Uiat  was  con- 
tained in  Democritus's  laughter.  Democritus,  like  Epicurus,  taught  tlmt  the  world  — 
made  by  chance,  and  that  souls  dy'd  with  the  bodies,  and  used  to  laugh  at  the  follies  of  i 
in  buntmg  fame  and  wealth  with  so  much  toil  and  trouble,  both  wliich  they  must  so  r 
inevitably  part  with.         Sezcard. 

*^  tnost  unfortunate. 

To  make  ihyseif  hut  lucky  to  thy  spoiLI  If  there  is  a  sense  in  tliis  expression,  it  haf 
escaped  me;  nor  can  I  hit  on  any  emendation  very  satisfactory.  If  we  read  lackey  for  HtcJy 
it  may  become  sense,  viz.  To  make  thyself  b,  lackey,  servant  or  minister  of  thy  awn  wdl,  M 
thing  which  wanton  women  frequently  do.    I*m  forced  to  substitute  tliis,  in  the  room,  wistck/^ 


tho*  not  without  wishing  tu  have  hit  on  something  more  clear.        Seward. 


Wah 


Acts.  Scene 3 J    THE  NICE  VALOUR;  0R^4|HE  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.  M9 

With  vrbidi  our  qaainter  knowMge  doth 

abuse  us. 
TBe  name  of  envy  is  a  stranger  here,   • 
Tlmt  dries'inen's  bloods  abroad,  rob«  health 
.  and  rest:  [falshood, 

WJ:y,  here's  no  such  fury  thought  on;  no,  ftor 
Tliat  brotherly  disease,  fellow-like  devil. 
That  plays  within  our  bosom,  and  betrays 


Enter  First  Gentlemdn. 

i  Gent.  Oh,  are  you  here  ? 

Sh^rn,  La  Nove !  *tis  strange  to  see  thee* 

1  Gent:  I  ha' rid  one  horse  to  death,  to 

£nd  you  out,  sir. 

Sham.  I  am  not  to  be  found  of  any  roan 
That  saw  my  shame,  nor  seen  long. 

1  Gent.  6ood,  your  attention !  [sir, 

Tou  ought  to  be  seen  now,  and  found  out. 
If  ever  you  desire,  before  your  ending, 
To  perform  one  good  office,  nay,  a  dear  one ; 
Man's  tone  can  hardly  match  it. 

Sham  Be't  as  precious    " 
As  reputation,  if  it  come  from  court, 
I  will  not  hear  on't. 

1  Gent.  You  must  hear  of  this,  sir. 

S/iam.  Must? 

1  Gent.  You  shall  hear  it. 

Sham.  1  love  tliee,  that  tboult  die. 

1  Gent.  'Twere  nobler  in  me,  than  in  you 

Jmng ;  you 
Will  live  a  murderer,  if  you  deny 
This  office. 

Sham.  Wen  to  death,  sir. 

1  Gent.  Why,  then,  you 
Will  kill  your  brother. 

Sham,  How? 

1  Gent.  Your  brother,  sir.  [brother, 

Bear  witness,  Heav'n,  this  man  destroys  his 
When   he   may  save  him;  hi&  least  breath 

moy  save  him! 
Cau  tliere  be  wilfuller  destruction  ? 
He  was  forc'd  Xo  take  a  most  unmanly  wrong. 
Above  the  sirif'ring  virtue  of  a  soldier; 
H'has  kilJ'd  his  iiijurer,  a  work  of  honour! 
For  which,  unless  you  save  him,  he  dies 

speedily. 
3VJy  conscience  is  discharg*d :  I'm  but  a  friend; 
A  brother  should  go  tbrwurd  where  I  end. 

[Exit. 

Sham.  Dies? 
Say   he   be   naught !    that's  nothing  to  my 

goodness, 
Which  ought  to  shine  thro'  use,  or  else  it 

loses 
The  glorious  name  'tis  known  by.     He's  my 

brodjer; 
Yet  peace  is  above  blood :  let  him  go !  Ay, 
But  Where's  the  nobleness  of  ftfFectiou  then  ? 
That  must  be  car'd  for  too,  or  I'm  imperfect. 


The  same  blood  that  ^tood  up  in  wrath  against 

him^ 
Now,  in  his  misery,  runs  all  to  pity : 
I'd  rather  die  than  speak  one  syllable 
To  save  myself;  but,  living  as  I  am. 
There's  no  avoiding  on't;  the  world's  hu^^ 

manity 
Expects  it  hourly  from  me.    Curse  of  for« 

tune! 

I  took  my  leave  so  well  too—Let  him  die ! 
Tis  but  a  brother  lost-^'So  pleasingly 
And  swiftly  I  came  ofi>  'twere  more  than 

irksomeness. 
To  tnnid  that  path  again ;  and  I  shall  never 
Depart  so  handsomely.    But  then  w here's 

posterity  ? 
The  consammation  of  our  house  and  name  F 
I'm  torn  in  pieces  betwixt  love  and  shame. 

[Exit. 

SCENE  III- 

Enter   Lapet,  Clown,  Poltret,  Moulbazonp 

and  otherSy  the  new  Court'officen. 

Lapeti  Good  morrow^  fellow  Poltrot**, 

and  MoQlbazon ; 
Good  morrow,  fellows  all! 

Polt.  Monsieur  Lapet! 

Lapet.  Look,  I've  remember'd  you ;  here's 

books  apiece  for  you ! 

Moul.  Oh,  sir,  we  dearly  thank  you% 

Lapet.  So  you  may; 
There's  two  impressions  gone  already,  sirs. 

Polt.  What!  no?  in  so  short  a  time  ? 

Lapet.  Tis  as  I  I  ell  you,  sir. 
My  Kick  sells  gallantly,  I  thank  my  stars* 

Clown,  So  does  your  Table;  yoa  may 

thank  the  moon  too.  ' 

Lapet.  'Tis  the  book  sells  the  tabje. 

Claam.  But  'tis  the  bookseller 
That  has  the  money  for  'era,  I'm  sure  o'  tbat« 

Lapet.  Twill  much  enrich  the  company 

of  stationers; 
Tis  thought  'twill  prove  a  lasting  benefit. 
Like  the  Wise  Masters ♦^j and  the  almanacks^ 
The  Hundred  Novels^,  and  the  Book  of 

Cookery : 
For  they  begin  already  to  engross  it, 
And  make  it  a  stock-book,  thinking  indeed 
Twill  prove  too  great  a  benefit  and  help 
For  one  that's  new  set  up :  they  know  their 

way, 
And  make  him  warden  e'er  his  beard  be  grey. 

Moul.  Is't  possible  such  virtue  should  he 

hid, 
/Vnd  in  so  little  paper  ? 

Lfipet.  How!  why,  there  was  the  Can* 

penter, 
An  unknown  thing;  an  odoriferous  pamphlet, 
Yet  no  more  paper,  by  all  computation. 
Than  Ajax  Telamon  would  use  at  once ; 


^  Poltrot.']  Perhaps  it  should  be  Poltron. 

♦^  The  Wise  Masters.]  The  Wise  Masters  of  Rome,  a  book  which  hath  frequently  since 
been  reprinted,  and  to  tliis  day  much  admired  by  the  lower  class  of  readers.        JR. 
^  The  Hundred  Noveh.}  Boccace's  Decameron.        R, 
VOL.in.  8Y  Your 


SSO    THE  NICE  VAIOUU;  OR,  t^  FASSIONATE  MADMAN.   [A«t$. 


Scenes* 


Your  Herring  prov'd  the  like*^,  Me  to  buy 
Another  Fisher's  Folly,  and  your  Pasquil*^ 
Went  not  below  the  Mad-Caps  of  that  time; 
And  shall  inv  elaborate  Kick  come  behind, 
think  you?  [Uaiica  too, 

Chum.  Yes,  it  must  come  behind ;  'tis  in 
According  to  your  humour. 
Lapet,  Not  in  sale,  varlet? 
Clown.  In  sale,  sir?  it  shall  sail  beyond 
*em  all,  I  tro. 

Lapet.  What  have  you  there  now  ?  oh, 
^i^re  the  twenty-first. 
Clown.  That  page  is  come  to  his  years; 
be  should  be  a  serviug-man.  [ihere*^ ! 

Lt^et.  Mark  how  I  »nap  up  -the  Duello 
One  would  not  use  a  dog  so, 
I  must  needs  say ;  hut's  for  the  common  good. 
Clown.  Nay,  sir,  your  commons  seldom 
fight  at  sharp. 
But  buffet  in  a  warehouse. 

Jjupet.  This  will  save     •  [ing,  sir»: 

Many  a  gentleman  of  good  blood  from  bleed- 
I  have  a  corse  from  nuiiiy  a  barber-surgeon ; 
They'd  give  but  too  much  money  tocaU'tin. 
Turn  to  page  forty-five;  see  what  you  find 
there. 

CloTcn.  Oh,  out  upon  him !  ^ 

Page  forty-five  I  that's  an  old  thief  indeed ! 

Enter  Duke,  theLadi^,  and  First  Gentleman. 

Lapet.  The  Duke!  clap  down  your  books ! 

Away,  Galoshio! 

Clmn.  Indeed  I  am  too  foul  tobei'th' 

presence  ! 
They  use  to  shake  me  off  at  the  chamber-door 

still.  [JS^*^- 

Ladi/.  Good  my  lord,  grant  my  suit!  let 

me  not  rise 
Without  the  comfort  on*t !  I  have  not  often 
Been  tedious  in  this  kind. 

Duke.  Sister,  you  wrong  yourself, 
And  those  great  virtues  that  your  fame  is 

made  of, 
To  waste  so  much  breatli  for  a  murderer  s  life. 

Lady.  You  caiiuot  hate  th'  offence  more 

than  I  do,  sir, 
Nor  the  offender ;  the  respect  I  owe 
Unto  his  absent  brother  makes  mc  a  suitor, 
A  most  importunate  sister:  make  me  worthy 
But  of  this  one  request ! 

Duke.  I  am  deaf 
To  any  importunacy,  and  sorry 
For  your  forgetfulness :  you  never  injur'd 


Your  worth  so  much;  you  ought  to  be  re- 

bok'dfor't! 
Pursue  good  ways;  end  as  jon  did  begin ! 
^Tis  half  the  guilt  to  speak  for  such  a  sin. 

Xac^.  This  is  Love's  beggary  right;  that 

now  is  ours, 
Wbeo   ladies  lofe,  and  cumei  shew  tbdr 

powers.  [Exiim 

Duke.  LaNove! 

1  Gent.  My  lord.    ' 

Duke.  Are  these  our  new  aHendanIs? 

Lapet.  We  are,  my  lord;  aad  will  ^idiire 

as  i|iuch 
As  better  men,  my  lord  ;  end  more,  I  trosti 

Dulce.  What's  he? 

1  Gent.  My  lord,  •  dec^*d  gentleni«D, 
That  will  do  any  service. 

Duke.  A  decay'd  one? 

1  Gent.  A  reuouoc'd  one,  indeed,  far  this 

51aqe  only.  [charge  him  instandy  t 

)uke.  We  renounce  him  then:  go,  di^ 
He  tlint  disclaims  his  gentry  for  mere  gains. 
That  man's  too  base  to  make  a  vassal  on. 
Lapet.  What  says  the  duke? 
1  Gent.  Faith,  little  to  your  comfort,  sir; 
You  must  be  a  gentleman  again. 
Lapet.  Ilow! 

1  Gtnt.  There's  no  retnedy. 
Lapet.  Many,  the  fates  fotefendi    ne'er 
while  I  breathe,  sir.  [no  resisting: 

1  Gent.  The  Duke  will  have  it  so;  there's 
He  spied  it  i'  your  forehead. 

Lapet.  My  wife's  doing  f  [ten  now, 

She  thought  she  should  be  put  below  herbet- 
And  sued  to  ha'  me  a  gentleman  again. 

1  Gent.  And  very  likely,  sir.  [done. 

Marry,  I'll  give  you  this  comfort ;  wliea  all's 

Youll  never  pass  but  for  a  scurvy  oae; 

That's  all  the  help  you  have.    Come,  shew 

your  pace !  [lost  place : 

Lctpet.  The  heaviest  gentleman  that  e'er 

.  Bear  witness,  I  am  forc'd  to't,  [JSxif. 

Duke.  Tho'  you've  a  coarser  title  yet  upon 

you  [blame, 

Than   those  that  left  your  places,  without 

'Tis  in  your  power  to  make  yourselves  the 

same. 
I  canuot  ntake  you  gentlemen ;  Umt's  a  %roik 
Ilais'd   from  your  own   deservings:    merit, 
m:uiners,  [n«a 

Ami  m-born  virtue  does  it:  let  your  own  good- 
Make  you  so  great,  my  power  shall  make  yos 
greater; 


♦7  Your  Herrhig.]  Probably  either  *  Naslie's  Lenten  Stuff;  containing  the  description  and 


ringi 

1598.  J^'  ^         ^    ' 

^  FasquiL]  FasquWs  Mad-Cap,  a  pamphlet  written  by  Nicholas  Breton,  an  author  who  is 

mentioned  before  by  our  auUiors ;  see  note  50  on  Wit  Without  Money.    He  wrote  a  second 

part  of  this  pamphlet,  with  the  additional  title  of  the  '  Fool's  Cap,  with  Pasquil's  Passioo; 

*  be^run  by  himself,  and  finished  by  his  friend  Morphorius ;'  «|uarto,  1600.  J^ 

^^^The  Duello ;]  A  pamphlet  by  the  famous  Mjr.  Selden,  entitled,  *  The  Duello,  or  Single 

<  Combat,'  &c.  first  printed  in  quarto,  laiO;  reprinted  iu  his  Woiks.  JR. 

Afid, 


inc.  > 

UNIVERSITY    I 
or 

ActU.  Scene  3.]  THE  NICE  VALOUSTuKriflL  PASSIONATE  MADMAN.    Ml 


.Andy  more  t*  encourage  yoa,  tliiaf  add  again, 
Tbere*s  many  grooms  now  exact  gentlemen. 

Enter  Shamont. 

Sham.  Methinks  'tis  strange  to  me  to  enter 

bare ! 
I»  there  in  Nature  such  an  awful  power, 
To  force  me  to  this  place?  and  make  lue  do  this? 
Is  man's  affection  stronger  than  his  will  ? 
His  resolution  ?  was  I  not  resolvM 
Kever  to  see  this  place  more?  do  I  bear 
Within  my  breast  one  blood  that  confounds 

the  other?  [est^ 

The  blood  of  love,  and  will,  and  the  last  weak- 
Had  I  ten  millions,  I  woiild  give  it  all  now, 
i  were  but  past  it,  or  'twonid  never  come ! 
For  I  shall  never  do't,  or  not  do't  well, 
But  spoil  it  utterly  betwixt  two  passions. — 
Yonder  s  the  Duke  himself :  I  will  notdt)*tnow, 
Had  twenty  lives  Uieir  several  softeriugs  in 

him.  ^  [Exit 

Duke.  Who's  that  went  out  now? 

I*ott.  I  saw  none,  my  lord. 

Duke,  Nor  you? 

Moul,  I  saw  the  glimpse  of  one,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Whatever  it  was,  methouglit  itpleus'd 

me  strangely, 
And  suddenly  my  joy  was  ready  for't. 

FiUt.  and  MauL  Troth,  my  lord,  we  ^f  e 

no  great  heed  to*t. 

Enter  Shafnont, 

'    Sham.  Twill  not  be  answer'dl  [ther : 

It  brings  me  hither  still,  by  main  force,  hi- 
Bither  I  m0st  give  over  to  profess  humanity, 
Or  I  must  speak  for  him. 
Duke.  Tis  here  again : 
No  marvel  'twas  so  pleasing !  'tis  delight 
Aad  worth  itself.  Now  it  appears  unclouded. 

Skam.  My  lord — 
He  turns  away  from  me!  by  tliis  hand, 
I  am  ill-us'd  of  all  sides  !  *tis  a  fault 
That  Fortune  ever  Xad,  t*  abuse  a  goodness. 
Duke,  Methought  you  were  saying  some- 
Sh(tm,  Mark  the  language  1  [what. 

As  coy  as  Fate !  I  see  'twill  ne'er  be  granted. 
Duke,  We  little  looked  in  troth  to  see  you 
here  yet.  [death,  I  think. 

Sham.  Not  till  tlie  day  after  my  brother^s 
Duke.  Sure  some  great  business  drew  you. 
Sham.  No,  in  sooth,  sir; 
Only  to  come  to  see  a  brother  die,  sir, 
That  I  may  learn  to  go  too ;  and,  if  be  de- 
ceive me  not, 
I  think  he  will  do  well  in'tbf  a  soldier, 
Manly,  and  honestly;  and  if  he  weep  then, 
I  shall  not  think  the  worse  on's  manhood  for't. 
Because  he's  leaving  of  that  part  that  has  it. 
Duke.   H'has  slain  a  noble  gentleman; 
think  on\  sir ! 


Sham,  I  would  I  could  not,  sir. 

Duke*  Our  kinsman  too. 

Sham.  All  this  is  but  worse,  sir. 

Duke.  When  'tis  at  worst- 
Yet  seeing  thee,  he  lives ! 

Shmu.  My  lord — 

Duke,  Helix'es! 
Believe  it  as  thy  bliss;  he  dies  not  for't: 
Will  this  make  satisfaction  for  things  past? 

S/tu?n.  Oh,  my  lord — 

Duke.  Will  it?  speak! 

Sham.  With  greater  shame  to  my  unwor- 

thiness.  [found  it  harder 

Duke.  Rise,  then!   we're  even.    I  never 
To  keep  just  with  a  man  :   my  great  work's 

ended !  [sir, 

I  knew  your  brother's  pardon  was  your  suit. 
However  your  nice  modesty  held  it  back. 

Sham,  ,1  take  a  joy  now  to  confess  it^  sir. 

Enter  Fir$t  Gentleman. 

1  Gent.  My  lord —  [news  be : 

Duke   Hear  me  first,  sir,  whatever  your 
Set  i'refi  the  boldier  instantly. 

1  Gent.  Tis  done,  my  lord. 

Duke.  How ! 

1  Gent,  In  effect,  'twas  part  of  my  news 

too ;  [sir. 

There's  fair  hope  of  your  nobie  kinsman's  life, 

Duke.  What  say 'sr  thou? 

1  Gent.  And  the  most  admired  change 
That  li\ing  flesh  e'er  had !    he's  not  the  man^ 

my  lord :  ,  [sir. 

Death  cannot  be  more  free  from  passions ^''', 
Tliaa  he  is  at  this  instant;  he's  so  meek  now, 
He  makes  tho««  seem  passionate  were  never 

thuugi)t  off  Ly^^f  ^^^9 

And  for  he  fears  his  moods  have  oft  disturb'd 
He's  only  hasty  now  for  his  forgiveness: 
And  here,  behold  him,  sir ! 

Enter  the  Passionate  Lord,  the  Cupid,  and 
two  Brothers. 

Duke.  Let  me  give  thanks  first! 
Our  worthy  cousin- 
Pas.  Your  unworthy  trouble,  sir ! 
For  which,  with  all  acknowledg'd  reverence^ 
I  ask  your  pardon*;  and  for  injury 
More  known  and  wilful :  I  have  chosea  vvife, 
Without  your  counsel,  or  consent,  my  lord. 

Duke.  A  wife?  where  is  she,  sir? 

Pas,  This  noble  gentlewoman — 

Duke.  How! 

Pas.  Whose  honour  my  forgetful  timet 

much  wrong'd. 

Duke.  He*s  madder  than  he  was. 

1  Gent,  I  would  ha'  sworn  for  him  I 

Duke.  The  Cupid,  cousin? 

Pas.  Yes,  this  worthy  lady,  sir. 

Duke,  Still  worse  and  worse ! 


so. 


Ife's  not  the  man,  my  lord. 


Death  cannot,  ^c]  Here  seems  a  line  lost  here,  the  sense  to  this  effect: 
— — -  He's  not  the  man,  my  lord,  • 
He  was  defobe  the  Soldi eb  wounded  uik. 

3  Y'i 


1  Bro. 


5S2    THE  NICE  VALOUR;  OR,  THlf  PASSION  ATE  MADMAN.    [Acts.  Scenes. 

n\  save  that  virtue  still;  'tis  bnt  inj  jnins: 
It  sliall  be  so.  mime, 

[He  joins  Shamonfs  hand  and  his  Suta's, 
Shnm,  This  gift  does  but  set  forth  my  po^ 
verty.  ,.    f   - 

Lady.  Sir,  that  which  you  complain  of  is 
my  riches.  '  • 

Enter  t/ie  Soldier, 

Duke.  Soldier,  now  every  noise  sounds 

peace,  thou'rt  welcome !  [)avoar, 

^Sold.  Sir,  my  repentance  suesfor  your  blest 

Which  once  obtain*d,  no  injury  shaU  lose  it; 

III  suffer  mightier  wrongs.  *  ' 

Duke,  Rise,  Mv'd  and  pardon'd  I 
For  where  Hope  faii'd,  nay,  Art  itsdf  resign'd, 
ThMiast  wrought  that  cure  which  skifl  could 
•  never  find :  ' 

Nor  did  there  cease,  but  to  our  peace  extend : 
Never  could  wrongs  boaat  of  a  uobjer  end ! ' 

lExeunt. 


1  Bro,  Our  sister,  under  pardon,  my  lord. 
Duke.  What!  [assume. 

52  Bro,  Which  shape  Xx)ve  taught  her  lo 
Duke.  Is*t  truth  then  ^ 
1  Gent.  It  appears  plainly  now^  below  the 
waist,  my  lord. 

Duke.  Shamont,  didst  ever  read  of  a  She- 
Cupid? 

Sham.  Never  in  fiction  yet ;  but  it  might 
hold,  sir;  ;  ' 

For  Desire  ;s  of  both  genders. 

Enter  the  Lady. 

Duke.  Make  that  good  here  j 
I  tfike  thee  at  thy  word,  sir.   ' 

Sham,  Oh,  my  lord,  {™*» 

Love  would  appear  too  bold  and  rude  from 
Honour  and  admiration  are  her  rights; 
Her  goodness  is  my  saint,  my  lord. 

Duke.  I  see 
You're  both  too  modest  to  bestow  yourselves: 


EPILOGUE. 


Our  poet  bid  us  say,  for  his  own  part,  He^  stand  no  shoc^  of  censure.    The  pla>*s 
He  cannot  lay  too  much  forth  of  nis  art;  good". 

But  fears  our  over-acting  passions  may,  lie  says  he  knows  it  (if  well  understood): 

As  not  adorn,  deface  his  laboured  play:  But  w«  (blind  god)  beg,  if  th6u  art  divine. 

Yet  still  he's  i^esolutc,  for  what  is  writ  Thou*lt  shoot  thy  arrows  round ;  this  plaj 
Of  Nicer  Valour,  aiid  assumes  the  wit;  was  tlfine. 

But  for  the  love-scenes,  which  he  ever  meant 
Cupid  in's  petticoat  should  represent, ' 

^'  Theplay*8  good.^  In  man^jr  respecto  the  plaif*s  good,  and  written  in  the  true  spirit  of  out 
authors ;  much  true  poetry,  original  fancy/  uncommon  pleasantry,  and  every  thing— *but  con- 
sistency,  and  iiature,  .  v . 


THE 


THE 


HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE, 

A  TRAGI-COMEDY. 


jQardiner,  in  bis  Commendatory  Verses,  ascribes  tbis  Play  to  Fletcher  i4one.  It  w^  ^rst 
printed  in  the  folio  of  1647.  No  alteration  hatb  ever  been  made  of  it;  W  batU  it  beea 
acted,  as  we  believe,  within  the  memory  of  any  person  now  living. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 


Duke  ^  Qrleaks,  a  spk^ul  detracting 

Lord. 
Eari.  ^Amiens,  Brotker4nrlaw  to  OrUanSy 
:  a  noble  aecompluKd  Gentleman,  Servant 

to  Lamira. 
Montague,  the  Honest  Man. 
LoNQUEviLLE,  >  two   faithful  followers    of 
DiBOis,  }      Montague. 

VftiAirouRS  the  lading  and  loyal  Fage  of 

Montague, 
Laverdine^  a  knavish  Courtier. 


La-Poop,  a  cowardly  Sea-Captain* 

Malicorn,  a  sharking  Citizen^ 

Two  Lawyers. 

Ikoo  Creditors. 

Officers. 

Servants. 


WoMEir. 


Duchess 


o/*  Orleans,  a  virtuous  Latfy,  and 
'  chaste  (but  suspected)  Wife  to  the  JDuke. 
Lam  IRA,  a  modest  Virgin^  rich  and  noUe, 
C*iaARLOTT£»  Lamira^s  Womtus. 


SCENE,  France. 


ACT  I, 


Ami,  Would  the  circumstances  of 
Your  brotherhood  had  never  otTer'd  < 
To  make  our  conversation  less  familiar! 
I  meet  you  like  a  hindrance  in  your  way! 
Your  great  law-suit  is  now  upon  the  tongue^ 
And  ready  for  a  judgment 

Orl.  Came  you  from 
The  hall  now/ 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  Orleans  and  Amiens,  at  several  ^rs. 

Ami.  Itf  ORROW,  my  lord  of  Orleans! 

IvX  Qf.1^  You  sal  ute  me  like  a  stranger' ; 
Brother  Orleans  were,  to  me,  a  title  more 
Belonging  whom  yon  call  the  husband  of 
Foor  sister. 

■  Voramer.]  So  this  name  has  been  generally  wrote  in  all  the  editions,  only  in  one  scene 
It  is  spelt  Veramor,  and  in  another  Veramour;  the  one  being  a  Latin,  the  other  a  French 
M>mponnd-word  signifying  true  Une.  One  of  these  theremre  was  undonbtedly  the  true 
name,  which  so  well  expresses  the  character.    I  have  preferred  the  former.  Seward, 

Being  a  French  story,  the  latter  seems  to  He  preferable. 

^  You  salute  me  like  a  stra$iger,'\  This  scene  was  most  part  printed  as  prose,  and  where 
the  lines  were  ranged  like  verse  every  one  of  them  was  wrong,  so  that  the  whole  is  now 
Ranged  anew.        Seward. 

Mr.  Seward*s  arrangements  only  extend  to  the  entrance  of  Montague,  4*0. 

AmU 


53i 


THE  HONEST  MAVS  FORTUNE. 


[Act  1. 


Ami.  Without  stay.    The  court  is  full ; 
And  such  a  press  of  people  does  attend 
The  issue,  as  if  sonic  great  man  were  brought 
To  his  arraignmeut. 

Orf.  Every  mother  s  sou 
Of  all  that  multitude  of  hearers,  frent 
To  be  a  witness  of  the  misery 
Your  sister's  fortunes  must  have  come  to,  if 
My  advei'sary,  who  did  love  her  first, 
Had  been  h^r  husband. 

jitnt»  The  success  may  draw 
A  testimony  from  them,  to  confirm 
The  same  opinion;  but  they  went  prepar'd 
With  no  such  hope  or  purpose. 

Orl,  And  did  you 
Entreat  the  number  of  them  that  are  come, 

*  With  no  sucli  hope  or  purpose?* 

^wi.  Tush!  your  own 
Experience  of  my  heart  can  answer  you. 

OrL  This  doubtful  makes  me  clearly  un- 
Your  disposition.  [derstand 

Ami.  if  your  cause  be  just, 
I  wish  you  a  conclusion  like  your  cause. 

OrL  I  can  have^  any  common  charity 
To  such  a  prayer:  from  a  friend  I  would 
Expect  a  love  to  prosper  in,  without 
XxceptionsT  such  a  love  as  might  make  all 
My  undertaking's  thankful  to't:  precisely  just 
Is  seldom  faithful  in  our  wishes  to 
Another  man's  desires.     Farewell!       [Exit. 

Enter  Montagiie,  Duhois,  Longueville,  and 
Vtrumour. 

Dubois,   Here    comes    your    adversary's 

brother-iii-law% 

Long.  The  lord  of  Amiens. 

Dubois.  From  the  hall,  I  think  ? 

Ami.  I  did  so.    Save  your  lordship ! 

Mont.  That's  a  wish, 
My  lord,  as  courteous  to  my  present  state. 
As  ever  honest  mind  was  thankful  for ; 
For  now  my  safety  must  expose  itself 
To  question  :  yet  to  look  for  any  free 
Or  hearty  salutation,  sir,  from  you. 
Would  be  unreasonable  in  me. 

Ami.  Why? 

Mont.  Your  sister  is  my  adversary's  wife; 
That  nearness  needs  must  consequently  draw 
Your  inclination  to  him. 

AmL  I  will  grant 
Him  all  the  nearness  bis  allknce  claims; 
And  yet  be  notliing  less  impartial. 
My  lord  of  Montague. 

'Mont,  Lord  of  Montague  yet; 
But,  sir,  how  long  the  dignity  or  state 
Belonging  to  it  v/ill  continue,  stands 
Upon  the  daagerous  passage  of  this  hour ; 

^  I  am  have,  ^-c]  This  speech  ,is  obscure,  and  has  been  still  further  obscured  by  the  W 
pointing.  The  sense  is  fehis :  Amiens  having  wished  Orleans  success  if  his  cause  be  JBSC, 
Orleans  replies,  *  that  such  a  wish  might  proceed  from  any  common  acquaiiitaace,  bat  a 
'  friend  would  wish  a  friend  success  in  ail  his  undertakings;  for  he,  wbo'€»nfiBe8  lusgoo4 

*  wishes  to  precise  justice,  is  sd<lom  sincere  in  them.' 

^  Tlien  my  tlianks^  4'cO  "1  his  is  also  rather  obscure,  but  signifies,  '  If  yon  wish  well  to  tte 

*  just  cause,  you  deserve  my  thanks,  for  mine  is  the  rightful  side/ 

Is 


Either  for  evermore  to  be  confirm'd. 

Or,   like   the   time  wherein  'twas  pleaded, 

gone ; 
Gone  with  it,  never  to  be  calFd  again! 

Amk  Justice  direct  your  process  to  t^ 

end! 
To  both  your  persons  my  respect  shall  stiU 
Be  equal ;  but  the  riglueous  cause  is  that 
Which  bears  my  wishes  to  tlie  aide  it  holds: 
Where-ever,  may  it  prosper!  [£itf. 

Mont.  Then  my  thanks^ 
Are  proper  to  you :  if  a  man  may  raise 
A  confidence  upon  a  lawful  ground^ 
I  have  no  reason  to  be  once  perplex'd 
With  any  doubtful  motion.    LongneviUe, 
That  lord  of  Amiens  (didst  obeerv^  hmi })  hti 
A  worthy  nature  in  him. 

Long.  Either  'tis 
His  nature,  or  his  cunnings 

Mont.  That's  the  vizard 
Of  most  men\  actions,  whose  dissemUedbis 
Do  carry  only  the  similitude 
Of  goodness  on  'em ;  but  for  hina. 
Honest  behaviour  makes  a  true  report 
What  disposition  does  iuhabit  him. 
Essential  virtue. 

Long.  Then  '^is  pity  that 
Injurious  Orleans  is  his  brotlier. 

Dubois.  He'^B  but  his  brotlicr-in-Iaw. 

Long.  Law  ?  that's  as  bad.  [wA 

Dubois.  How  is  your  law  ns  b«d  ?  I  rather 
The  hanpiian  thy  executor,  than  that 
Equivocation  should  be  ominous. 

Enter  Two  Lawyers^  and  Two  Crediicru 

Long.  Some  of  your  lawyers! 

1  Law.  What  is  ominous? 

2  Law.  Lei  no  distrust  trouble  your  lord- 
ship's thought!  [land 

1  Law.  Tlie  evidences  of  your  quesdon'd 
Ha' not  so  much  as  any  literal 
Advantage  in  *em  to  be  made  against 
Your  title. 

2  Larc.  And  your  counsel  understands 
The  business  fully. 

1  Law.  They  are  industrious,  just — 

2  Law.  And  very  confident. 

1  Law.  Your  state  endures 
A  voluntary  trial ;  like  a  man 

Whose  honours  arc  maliciously  accus*d. 

2  Law.  The  accusation  serves  to  dear  kii 
cause — 

1  Law.  And  to  approve  his  truth  oiore. 

2  Law.  So  shall  all 

Your  adversary's  pleadings  strengthen  yom 
Possession.  -• 

1  Law.  And  be  set  upon  record^ 


Act  1.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE, 


535 


To  witness  the  hereditary  right 
Of  you  and  yours. 

S  Law.  Courage !  you  have  the  law. 

Long,  And  youy  the  profits. 

Mont,  if  discouragement 
Could  work  upOQ  roe,  your  assurances 
Would  put  me  strongly  into  heart  again: 
But  I  was  never  fearful;  and  let  fate 
Deceive  my  expectation,  yet  I  am 
Prepar'd  against  dejection  ! 

1  Cred.  So  are  we.  [hope 

2  Cred.  We  have  received  a  comfortable 
That  all  will  speed  well. 

lAing.  What  is  he,  Dabois? 

Duiins.  A  creditor. 

Long.  I  thought  so;  for  he  speaks 
As  if  he  were  a  partner  in  his  state. 

3£onL  Sir,  I  am  lai^ely  indebted  to  your 
•    loves — 

JLong.  More  to  their  purses. 

Mont.  Which  you  shall  not  lose. 

t  Cred.  Your  lordship — 

JDuboU.  That's  anotljer  Creditor. 

1  Crtd.  Has  interest  in  me. 

Jjong,  You  have  more  of  him. 

^  Cred.  And  I  have  had  so  many  promises 
From  these  and  all  your  learned  counsellors, 
How  certainly  your  cause  will  prosper,  that— • 

Ijong.  You  brought  no  Serjeants  with  you — 

jDufjois.  To  attend 
His  iU  success? 

Mont.  Good  sir,  I  will  not  be 
Unthankful  eithei:  to  their  industries, 
Or  your  affections.  , 

1  Law.  All  your  land,  my  lord, 
Js  at  the  bar  now ;  give  me  but  ten  crowns^ 
I'll  save  you  harmless. 

Long.  Take  him  at  his  word ! 
If  he  does  lose,  you're  sav'd  by  miracle : 
YoT  I  ne'er  knew  a  lawyer  yet  undone. 

1  Law.  Then  now  you  shall,  sir,  if  this 

prospers  not.  [voice 

jLong.  Sir,  I  beseech  you  do  not  force  your 
To  sIkA  a  loudness,  but  be  thrifty  now ! 
Preserve  it  till  you  come  to  plead  at  bar; 
It  will  be  much  more  profitable  in 
The  satisfaction,  than  the  promise. 

1  Law.  Is 
^ot  this  a  satisfaction  to  engage 
Myself  for  this  assurance,  if  be — 

Mont.  No,  sir;  my  ruin  never  shall  import 
Another's  loss,  if  not  by  acci<lent, 
^nd  that  my  piJrpose  is  not  guilty  of: 
You  are  engaged  m  nothing  but  your  care. 

[Exeunt  Law. 
Attend  the  procurator^to  the  court; 
Observe  ho w  things  incline,  and  bring  me  word ! 
Long.  I  dare  not,  sir;  if  I  betaken  there, 
Jiftine  ears  will  be  in  danger. 

Mont.  Why?  hast  thou 
C^ommitted  something  that  deserves  thine 
ears?  [will  be 

Long.  N  o,  but  T  fear  the  noise !  my  hearmg 
3*eri&h*d  by  th*  noise ;  it  is  as  good  to  want 
Jl  menaber,  as  to  lose  the  use— 


Mont.  The  ornament  is  excepted. 

Lfftg.  Well,  my  lord, 
ril  put  'em  to  the  hazard.  [Exitr 

1  Cred.  Your  desires 
Be  prosperous  to  you ! 

2  Cred.  Our  best  prayers  wait 

Upon  your  fortune.  [Exeunt  Creditors, 

Dubois.  For  yourselves,  not  him. 
Mont.  Thou  canst  not  blame  'em ;  I  am  ii^ 
their  debts.  [whereof 

Ver.  But  Imd  your  large  expence  (a  part 
Yoil  owe  'em)  for  unprofitable  silks 
And  laces,  been  bestow'd  among  the  poor, 
That  would  have  pray'd  the  right  way,  for  yod^ 
Not  upon  you — 

Mont.  For  unprofitable  silks 
And  laces  ?  Now,  believe  rac,  honest  boy, 
Tir  hast  hit  upon  a  reprehension  that 
Belongs  unto  me. 

Ver.  By  my  soul,  my  lord, 
I  had  not  so  unmannerly  a  thought, 
To  reprehend  you ! 

Mont.  Why,  I  love  thee  for't;       [words: 
Mine   own    acknowledgment  confiims  thy 
For  once,  I  do  remember,  comity  from 
The  mercer's,  where  my  purse  had  spent  itself 
On  those  unprofitable  toys  thou  speak'st  o^ 
A  man  half  naked  with  his  poverty 
Did  meet  me,  and  requested  my  relief: 
I  wanted  whence  to  give  it ;  yet  his  eyes 
Spoke  for  him ;  those  I  could  have  satisfied 
With  some  unfruitful  sorrow  (if  my  tears 
Would  not  have  added  rather  to  his  grief. 
Than  eas*d  it),  but  the  true  compassion  that 
I  should  have  given  I  had  not :  tnis  began 
To  make  mc  think  how  many  such  men's  wants 
The  vain  superfluous  cost  i  wore  upon 
My  outside  would  have  cloath'd,  and  left  mj' 

self 
A  habit  as  becoming.    To  encrease 
This  new  consideration,  there  came  one 
Clad  in  a  garment  plain  and  thrifty,  yet 
As  decent  as  these  fair  dear  follies,  made 
As  if  it  were  of  purpose  to  despise 
The  vanity  of  show;  his  purse  had  still 
The  power  to  do  a  charitable  deed. 
And  did  it. 

Dubois.  Yet  your  inclination,  sir, 
Dei>erv*d  no  less  to  be  commended  than 
His  action. 

Alont.  Prithee,  do  not  flatter  me ! 
lie  that  intends  well,  yet  deprives  himself 
Of  means  to  put  his  good  thoughts  into  deed^ 
Deceives  his  purpose  of  the  due  reward 
That  goodness  merits.     Oh,  antiquity, 
I  Thy  great  examples  of  nobility 
f  Are  out  of  imitation  ;  or  at  least 
«  So  lamely  followed,  that  thou  art  as  much 
I  Before  this  age  in  virtue,  as  in  time  I 
I       Dubois.  Sir,  it  must  needs  be  lamely  fol- 
I       low'd,  when 
!  The  ciiiefest  men  who  love  to  follow  it 

iAre  for  the  most  part  crpples. 
Mont.  Who  are  they? 
Dubois.  Soldiers,  my  lord,  soldiers. 

Mont, 


53d 


THE  HONEST  MAITO  FORTUNE. 


{Actl.  Scenf  t 


MatU,  *Ti8  triie»  Dabois : 
But  if  the  law  disables  me  no  mofe 
For  uoble  actions  than  good  purposes^ 
I'll  practise  how  to  exercise  the  worth 
Commended  to  us  by  our  ancestors : 
The  poor  neglected  soldier  shall  coininalid 
Me  from  a  lady's  courtship,  and  the  form 
I'll  study  shall  do  more  be  taught  me  by 
The  tailor,  but  the  scholar;  diat  expence 
Which  hitherto  has  been  to  entertam 
Th'  intemperate  pride  and  pleasure  of  the 

taste, 
Shall  fill  my  table  mor^ao  satisfy. 
And  less  to  surfeit.    What  an  honest  work 
It  would  be,  when  we  find  a  virgin  in 
Her  poverty  and  youth  inclining  to         [and 
Be  tempted,  to  employ  as  much  persuasion 
As  much  expence  to  keep  her  uunght,  as 
Men  use  to  do  upon  her  falling: 

Dtibois.  Tis  charity 
That  many  maids  will  be  unthankful  for; 
And  some  will  rather  take  it  for  a  wrong, 
To  buy  'em  out  of  their  inheritance^ 
The  tmng  that  they  were  born  to. 

Enter  hmgueoiUe. 

Mont,  LongueviUe, 
Thou  bring'st  a  chcarful  promise  in  thy  face; 
There  stands  no  pale  rew)rt  upon  thv  cheek, 
To  give  me  fear  or  knowledge  of  my  loss; 
Tis  red  and  lively.    How  proceeds  my  suit? 

Long,  Tliat's,  with  leave,  sir, 
A  labour,  that  to  those  of  Hercules 
Ma;^  add  another ;  or,  at  least,  be  called 
An  imitation  of  his  buniing  shirt : 
For  'twas  a  pain  of  that  unmerciful 
Pcfrplexity,  to  shoulder  thro'  the  throng 
Of  people  that  attended  your  success. 
M^  sweaty  linen  fix'd  upon  my  skin. 
Still  as  they  puird  me  took  that  with  it;  'twas 
A  fear  I  should  have  leflmy  fiesh  among  'em : 
Yet  I  was  patient,  for  raethought,  the  toil 
Might  be  an  emhlem  of  the  difficult 
And  weary  passage  to  get  out  of  law. 
And  to  make  up  the  dear  similitude. 
When  I  was  forth  seeking  my  handkerchief 
To  wipe  my  sweat  off,  I  did  find  a  cause 
To  make  me  sweat  more;  for  my  purse  was 
Among  their  fingers.  [lost 

Dubois.  There  ^twas  rather  found* 

Long.  By  them. 

Dubois.  I  mean  so. 

Mont.  Well,  I  will  restore 
Thy  ilamage  to  thee.  How  proceeds  my  suit? 

Long.  Like  one  at  broker's ;  I  think,  for- 
Your  promising  counsel  at  the  first    [feited. 
Put  strongly  forward  with  a  laboured  speed. 
And  such  a  violence  of  pleading,  that 
His  fee  in  sugar-cand^  scarce  will  make 
His  throat  a  satisfaction  for  the  hurt 
He  did  it;  and  he  carried  the  whole  cause 
Before  iiim,  witli  so  clear  a  pallage,  that 
The  people  in  the  favour  of  vour  side    [him 
Cried  Montague,  Montague  f  in  the  spite  of 
That  cried  out  nlence,  and  began  to  laugh 


Your  adversary's  advocate  to  scorn; 
Wbo,  like  a  cunning  footman,  set  me  Ibrtb 
With  such  a  temperate  easy  kind  of  course. 
To  put  him  into  exercise  of  strengtli. 
And  folio w'd  his  advantages  so  close, 
Tliat  when  your  hot-month'd  pleader  chouglilt 

h'had  won. 
Before  he  reach'd  it  he  was  outofbreatl^ 
And  then  the  other  stript  him. 

Mont.  So,  all's  lost  ? 

Long.  But  how  I  know  not;  for,  methooglht, 
.  I  stood 

Confounded  vnth  the  clamour  of  the  coun. 
Like  one  embark'd  upon  a  storm  at  sea. 
Where  the  tempestuous  hoise  of  thunder, 

mix'd 
With  roaring  of  the  billows,  and  the  thick 
Imperfect  language  of  the  seamen,  takes 
His  understanding  and  his  safety  both 
Together  from  him. 

3Iont.  Thou  dost  bring  ill  news ! 

Long.  Of  what  I  was  unwilling  to  have 
The  first  reporter.  [beeik 

Mont.  Didst  observe  no  more  ? 

Ldng,  At  least  no  better. 

Mont.  Then  thou'rt  not  infomi*d 
So  well  as  I  am  t  I  can  tell  thee  that 
Will  please  thee ;  for  when  nil  else  left  my 
My  very  adversaries  took  my  pari,      [cause. 

Long.  Whosoever  told  you  that, 
Abus'd  you. 

^     Mont.  Credit  me,  he  took  my  part 
When  all  forsook  mc. 

Long.  Took  it  from  you  ? 

Mont.  Yes; 
I  mean  so :  and  I  think  he  had  just  cause 
To  take  it,  when  the  verdict  gave  it  him. 

Dubois.  His  spirit  would  lut*  sunk  him,  at 

he  could 
Have  carried  an  ill  fortune  of  this  weight 
So  lightly. 

Mont.  Nothing  is  a  misery^ 
Unless  our  weakness  apprehend  it  so; 
We  cannot  be  more  faithful  to  ourselve* 
In  any  thing  that's  manly,  than  to  make 
III  fortune  as  contemptible  to  us 
As  it  makes  us  to  others. 

Enter  Lawyers, 

Long.  Here  come  ihey. 
Whose  very  countenances  will  teH  jou  kovr 
Contemptible  it  is  to  others. 

Mont.  Sirt  [}»ah 

Long,  The  Sir  of  knighthood  may  be  givcft 
Ere  they  hear  you  now. 

Mont.  Good  sir,  but  a  word!      [any  man 

Dubois.  How  soon  the  loss  of  wealth  loakes 
Grow  out  of  knowledge! 

Long.  Let  me  sec :  I  pray,  sir. 
Never  stood  you  upon  the  pillory? 

1  Lato.  The  pillory  ? 

Lotig.  Oh,  now  I  know  you  did  not; 
You've  ears,  I  thought  ye  had  lost  "em:  pm 

observe;  [eyes! 

Here's  one  that  once  was  gracious  in  your 


Act  1.  Scene  f.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


537 


Mont.  So  far  as  my  ability  vvill  go. 
You  shall  have  satisfaction.    Longueville! 

Long.  And  leave  yourself  negk'Cted?  Every 

roan  [honest. 

Is  first  a  debtor  to  bis  own  demands^  being 

Mont.  As  I  take  it,  sir, 
I  did  not  entertain  you  for  my  counsellor. 

Long,  Counsel's  the  office  of  a  servant, 

when 
The  raafiter  falls  upon  a  danger,  as 
Defence  is :  never  threaten  with  your  eyes ! 
They  are  no  cockatrices.    Do  you  hear  ? 
Talk  with  the  girdlcr,  or  the  millener; 
He  can  inform  you  of  a  kind  of  meii 
That  iirst  undid  the  profit  of  those  trades, 
By  bringing  up  the  form  of  carrying 
Their  morglays'  in  their  hands;  with  some 

of  those 
A  man  n^ay  make  himself  a  privilege 
To  ask  a  question  at  the  prison-gates, 
Without  your  good  permission. 

2  Cred.  By  your  leave!  [the  time 

Mont.  Stay,  sir !  what  one  example,  since 
That  first  you  put  your  hat  off  to  me,  have 
You  noted  in  mc,  to  encourage  you 
To  this  presumption  ?  By  tiie  justice  now 
Of  thine  own  rule,. I  should  begin  witli  thee; 
I  should  turn  thee  away  ungratified 
For  all  thy  former  kindnesses,  forget 
Thou  ever  didst  me  any  service. — ^Tis  not 

fear 
Of  being  arrested,  makes  me  thus  incline 
To  satisfy  you ;  for  you  see  by  him, 
I  lost  not  all  defences  with  my  state : 
The  curses  of  a  man,  to  whom  I  am 
Beholding,  terrify  me  more  than  all 
The  violence  he  can  pursue  me  with. — 
Dubois,  I  did  prepare  me  for  the  worst; 
These  two  small  cabinets  do  comprehend 
The  sum  of  all  tbeweiUth  that  it  hath  pleas*d 
Adversity  to  leave  me ;  one  as  rich 
As  th' other,  both  in  jewels:  take  thou  this. 
And  as  the  order  put  within  it  shall 
Direct  thee,  distribute  it  half  between 
Those  credittirs,  and  th'  other  half  among 
My  servants; — for,  sir,  they're  my  creditors 
As  well  as  you  are ;  they  have  trusted  lue 
With  their  advancement.     If  the  value  fail 
To  please  you  all,  my  first  encrease  of  means 
Shall  oifer  you  a  fuller  payment.  Be  content 
To  leave  me  something ;  and  imagine  that 
Ye  put  a  new  beginner  into  credit. 

*  Ohy  my  lord,  have  an  eye  upon  him.l  What  can  this  mean  ?  was  the  Lawi/er  advising 
Montague  to  have  an  eye  upon  his  servant  LoiiguerilleY  It  seems  an  omi<iston,  for  two 
sj^llabies  are  wanting  to  the  verse;  and  the  oh  being  repeated,  which  will  well  suit  the  solemn 
contempt  of  the  lawyer's  countenance  giving  one,  the  other  is  absolutely  required  by  the 
sense.     I  read  therefore 

Oh,  oh  /  my  lord — I  have  an  eye  upon  him.        Sacard. 

Perhaps  this  is  spoken  to  some  of  the  Larvyer^H  followers:  tlie  same  words  are  repeated  by 
a  Creditor  in  the  next  page. 

^  ^you  will  reverse.]  Seward  reads,  reserve, 

^  Morglays.']  Morglay  was  the  sword  of  Bevis  of  Southampton ;  and  from  thence  a  sword, 
in  antieut  writers,  is  frequently  called  by  that  name.  See  Every  Man  iu  his  IXumouT;  act  iii. 
scene  1.        IL 

VOL.111.  SZ  Cred. 


1  Law.  Oh,  oh !  my  lord  *  J — I  have  an  eye 
apon  him. 

Long.  But  ha' you  ne'er  a  counsel  to  redeem 
His  land  yet  from  the  judgment? 

2  Law.  None  but  this; 

A  writ  of  error  to  remove  the  cause. 

Long.  No  more  of  error!  we  have  been  in 
Too  much  already.  [that 

U  Law,  If  you  will  reverse^ 
The  judgment,  you  must  trust  to  that  delay — 
,     Long.  Delay  ?  indeed,  he's  like  to  trust  to 
With  you  has  any  dealing.  [ttiat, 

Q  Law,  Ere  the  law 
Proceeds  to  an  liabere  focias  pqssessionetn, 

Mont.  That  is  a  language,  sir,  I  under- 
stand not. 

Long,  Thou  art  a  very  strange  unthankful 

fellow, 
To  have  taken  fees  of  such  a  liheral  measure. 
And  then  to  give  a  man  hard  words  for*s 

money ! 

1  Law.  If  men  will  hazard  their  salvations, 
What  should  I  say?  Tve  other  business! 

Mont,  You  are  i'lh' right;  that's  it  you 

should  say,  now 
I'rosperity  has  lefl  me. 

Enter  Two  Creditors^ 

1  Cred,  Have  an  eye  upon  him !  if 
NVe  lose  him  now,  he  s  gone  for  ever :  stay, 
And  dog  him !  Til  go  fetch  the  officers. 

Long.  Dog  him,  you  blood-hound  ?  by  this 

point,  thou  shalt 
More  safely  dog  un  angry  lion,  than 
Attempt  him. 

Mont.  What's  the  matter  ? 

Long.  Do  but  stir 
To  fetch  a  serjeant,  and,  besides  your  loss 
Of  labour,  I  will  have  you  beaten  till 
Those  casements  in  your  faces  be  false  lights! 

Zhibois.  Falser  than  those  you  sell  by ! 

Mont.  Who  gave  you 
Commission  to  abuse  my  friends  thus? 

Lung.  Sir, 
Are  those  your  friends  that  would  betray  you? 

Mont.  Tis 
To  save  themselves,  rather  than  betray  me. 

1  Cred.  Your  lordship  makes  a  just  con- 
struction of  it. 

Q  Cred.  All  our  desire  is  but  to  get  our  own. 

Jjong.  Your  wives'  desires  and  yours  do 

di0er  then. 


598 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


[Act  1.  Scene  1 


Cred.  So  prosper  our  owa  blessiog^y  ns  we 
YoQ  to  yoar  merit !  [wish 

Mtmt.  Are  YOur  silences 
Of  discontent*  or  of  sorrow  ? 

Dubois.  Sir, 
We  would  not leaveTOU. 
Long.  Do  but  siriSer  ns 
To  follow  ^ou,  and  what  our  present  means 
Or  industries  hereafter  can  provide^ 
Shall  serre  70u. 

Mont.  On,  desire  me  not  to  live 
To  such  a  bcoeness,  as  to  be  maintain'd 
By  those  that  sen'e  me!  Pray  begone;  I  will 
Defend  your  honesties  to  any  man, 
That  shall  report  you  have  forsaken  me : 
I  pray,  begone! — Why  dost  thou  weep,  my 
boy  ?         [Exeunt  Servants  and  Cr^taru 
Because  I  do  not  bid  thee  go  too? 

Ver.  No; 
I  weep,  my  lord,  because  I  would  not  go; 
I  fear  you  will  command  me. 

Mont.  No,  my  child, 
I  will  not;  that  would  discommend  th' intent 
Of  all  my  other  actions :  thou  art  yet 
Unable  to  advise  thyself  a  course, 
Should  I  put  thee  to  seek  it ;  after  tbat^, 
I  must  excuse,  or  at  the  least  forgive, 
Any  uncharitable  deed  than  can 
Be  done  against  myself. 

Ver.  Every  day, 
My  lord,  I  tarry  with  you,  111  account 
A  day  of  blessing  to  me ;  for  I  shall 
Have  so  much  less  time  left  roe  of  my  life 
When  I  am  from  you;  and  if  misery 
Befal  yon  (which  I  hope  so  eood  a  man 
Was  never  bom  to)  I  will  take  my  part, 
And    make   my   willingness  eocrease  my 

strength 
To  bear  it.    In  the  winter  I  will  spare 
Mine  own  cloaths  from  myself  to  cover  you; 
And  in  the  summer  carry  some  of  yours, 
To  ease  you :  I'll  do  any  thing  I  can ! 

Mont.  Why,  thou  art  able  to  make  misery 
Asham'd  of  hurting,  when  thy  weakness  can 
Both  bear  it,  and  despise  it.   Come,  my  boy ! 
I  will  provide  some  better  way  for  thee 
Than  this  thoa  speak'st  of.    lis  the  com- 
fort, that 
III  fortune  has  undone  me  into  th'  fiishion ; 
For  now,  in  this  age,  most  men  do  begin 
To  keep  but  one  boy,  ^t  kept  many  men. 

[Ejpeunt. 

Mnter  OrUans,  Servant^  and  Duchess  fol- 

OrL  Where  is  she?  call  her! 

DttcA.  I  attend  vou,  sir. 

Orl.  Your  friend,  sweet  madam — 

Buck.  What  friend,  good  my  lord? 

Orl.  Your  Montague,    madam,  he  will 

shortly  want 


Those  courtly  graces  Uiat  you  love  him  for: 
The  means  wherewith  he  purchas'd  Uus^  ami 

this. 
And  all  his  own  provisions,  to  the  least 
Proportion  of  his  feeding,  or  his  cloatfas. 
Came  out  of  that  inheritance  of  land 
Which  he  unjustly  livM  on;  but  the  law 
Has  given  me  right  in't,  and  possession :  unm 
Thou  shalt  perceive  his  bravery  vanish,  as 
This  jewel  does  from  thee  now,  and  these  pearls 
To  him  that  owes  'em. 

Duck.  You*re  tlie  owner,  sir. 
Of  every  thing  that  does  belong  to  me. 
Orl.  No,  not  of  him,  sweet  lady. 
Duck.  Oh,  good  Heaven !  [and  bs 

Orl,  But  in  a  while  your  mind  will  change^ 
As  ready  to  disclaim  hiro,  when  his  wants 
And  miseries  have  perish'd  liis  good  faxx. 
And  taken  off  the  sweetness  that  has  made 
Him  pleasing  in  a  woman^s  understanding. 
Dvck.   Oh,    Hcav*n,   how  gracious  bad 
creation  been 
To  women,  who  are  bom  without  defence. 
If  to  our  hearts  there  had  been  doors,  thro' 

which 
Our  husbands  might  have  look'd  into  oar 

thoughts. 
And  made  themselves  undoubtful ! 
Orl,  Made  'em  mad ! 
Ihich.  With  honest  women  ? 
Orl.  Thou  dost  still  pretend 
A  title  to  that  virtue :  prithee  let 
Thy  honesty  speak  freely  to  me  now! 
Thou  knowSt  that  Montague,  of  whose  land 
I  am  the  master,  did  affect  thee  first. 
And  should  have  had  thee,  if  the  strength  d 

friends 
Had  not'prevaird  above  thine  own  consent  i 
I  have  undone  him!  tell  me,  bow  thou  dost 
Consider  his  ill  fortune  and  my  good  ? 

Dueh.  I'll  tell  you  justly :  his  undoing  is 
An  argument  for  pity  and*  for  tears, 
In  all  their  dispositions  that  have  known 
The  honour  and  tlie  goodness  of  his  Wfc, 
Yet  that  addition  of  prosperity  . 
Which  you  have  got  by't,  no  indifferent  maa 
Will  malice  or  repine  at,  if  the  law 
Be  not  abus'd  in't.    Howsoever,  since 
'  You  have  the  upper  fortune  of  him,  'twill 
Be  some  dishonour  to  you  to  bear  yourself 
With  any  pride  or  glory  over  him. 

Orl.  This  may  be  truly  spoken;  but  in  diet 
It  is  not  honest. 

Duck.  Yes ;  so  honest,  that 
I  care  not  if  the  chaste  Penelope 
Were  now  alive  to  bear  me. 

Enter  Amieiu. 

I       OrL  Who  comes  there  f 
Dueh.  My  brother. 
Ami.  Save  you! 


"^  CV* discontent]  Perhaps  the  original  was,  discoatentuzvr. 

^  After  that.J  Tnis  expression  n  rather  obscure;  but  signifies,  '  Should  I  dismiss  ja% 
*  Mfter  that  cruelty,  I  should  have  no  right  to  complain  of  any  injury  ddbe  to  myself/ 


sX  1.  Scenfe  1.] 


TH£  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


€}rL  Now,  sir!  you  have  heard 
H  prosperous  Montague  \ 

And.  No,  sir;  I  have  heard 
^f  Montague,  but  of  your  prosperity. 

OrL  Is  he  distracted  ? 

AxnL  He  does  bear  his  loss 
Vith  such  a  noble  strength  of  patiencei  that 
lad  Fortune  eyes  to  see  him,  she  would 

weep 
Tor  having  hurt  him,  and,  (>retending  that 
•he  did  it  but  for  trial  of  his  worth, 
Eereafter  ever  love  him. 

OrL  I  perceive 
Too  love  him ;  and,  because  I  must  confess 
le  4oc!s  deserve  that,  (tfao*,  for  some  respects, 
have  not  given  him  that  acknowledgment) 
Tet  in  mine  honour  I  did  still  conclude 
7o  use  him  nobly. 

Amk,  Sir,  that  will  become 
Tour  reputation,  and  make  me  gn>w  proud 
)fyour  alliance. 

OrL  I  did  reserve 
[lie  doing  of  this  friendship  'till  I  had 
lis  fortunes  at  my  mercy,  that  the  world 
Iftav  tell  him  *tis  a  willing  courtesy. 

Ihtch,  This  change  will  make  me  happy ! 

OrL  'Tis  a  change ; 
Pbou  shalt  behold  it :  then  observe  me !  When 
fiiat  Montague  had  possession  of  my  land, 
\  was  his  rival,  and  at  last  obtain*d 
This  lady,  who,  by  promise  of  her  own 
Iffection^to  him,  should  have  been  his  wife: 

had  her^  and  with-held  iier  like  a  pawn, 
rill  now  my  land  is  render'd  to  me  again ; 
Ind  since  it  is  so,  you  shall  see  I  have 
rhv  conscience  not  to  keep  her:  give  him 

her!  \prm>%, 

p'or,  by  the  faithful  temper  of  my  sword, 
>be  shall  not  tarry  with  me. 

And,  Give  me  way! —  \pr(VM, 

Thou   most  unworthy  man! — God! — Give 

me  way  *° ! 
>ry  by  the  wrong  he  does  the  innocent, 
11  end  thy  misery  and  his  wickedness 
Tueether! 

Thich.  Stay,  and  let  me  justify 


5S9 

;*d  his 


K^  husband  in  tha^!  I  have 

bed"—  X^**^ 

Nevei^— all  shames  that  can  amict  me,  figdl 
Upon  me,  if  I  ever  wrone'd  yon! 

OrL  Didst 
Thou  not  confess  itf 

DacA.  Twas  to  save  your  blood      [edge. 
From  shedding:  that  has  tum'd  my  brother's 
He  that  beholds  our  thoughts  as  plainly  as 
Our  faces,  knows  it,  I'did  never  hurt 
My  honesty,  but  by  accusing  it. 

OrL  Women's  consents  are  sooner  credited 
Tlian  their  denials ;  and  111  never  trust 
Her  bodv,  that  prefers  any  defence 
Before  the  safe^  of  her  honour.— Here! 

JElUer  Servant. 

Shew  forth  that  stranger.— Give  oe  not  a 

word! 
Thpu  seest  a  danger  ready  to  be  tempted. 

i)ttch.  Cast  that  upon  me,  rather  than  mj 

shame; 
And,  as  I  am  now  dying,  I  will  vow 
That  I  am  honest! 

OrL  Put  her  out  of  doors  I 
But  that  I  fear  my  land  may  go  aoun 
To  Montague,  I  would  kill  thee !  I  am  loth 
To  make  a  beggar  of  him  that  way'^;  or 

else — 
Go!  now  you  have  the  liberty  of  flesh; 
And  vou  may  put  it  to  a  double  use. 
One  for  your  pleasure,  tli'  other  to  maintaiq 
Your  well-beloved ;  he  will  want : 

[Exit  Duch. 
In  such  a  charitable  exercise 
The  virtue  will  excuse  you  for  the  vice. 

[Exit. 

Enter  Andem  dramn^  Montague  and  Ver<t» 
maur  meetittg. 

Mont.  What  means  your  lordship  ? 
Ver,  For  the  love  of  Heav'n — 
Ami  Thou  but  advantage  of  me;  cast  away 
This  buckler! 

Mont.  So  he  is,  sir",  for  he  lives 
With  one  that  is  imdone.— Avoid  us^  boy! 

Ver. 

■^  Uum  most  unworthy  man^give  me  voy.]  So  former  editions. 
■'  J  have  wronged  his  bed, 

[Exeunt  iVmiens  and  Orleans* 
Enter  Orleans  in  amazement,  the  servants  following  him. 

Never^all  shames,  ^c,"}  These  stage-directions  are  not  only  wrong^  but  ridiculous, 
^e  believe  that  Amiens  departs,  shocked  at  the  sel^accusation  of  the  ThLckess,  and  that 
}rleanSf  with  his  drawn  sword,  prepares  to  kill  her,  which  occasions  her  inmiediate  re- 
•antation.    What  he  says  afterwards  strongly  tends  to  confirm  tliis  interpretation ; 

Thou  seest  a  dancer  ready  to  be  tempted. 
ler  answer  conveys  the  same  idea; 

Cast  tha^  &c.  '  .  .  . 

"*  To  make  a  beggar  of /dm  that  waif;]  t.  e.  By  forfeiting  iny  life  and  estate  to  the  kine, 
^ve  Montague  an  opportuni^  of  be^^ing  it  from  him.    If  this  is  not  the  poet's  meaning,  it 
I  dark  to  me.        Seward. 
It  seems  .to  be  ironical. 
»»  2TWs  buckler. 

Mont.  So  he  is,  itr.]  At  first  light,  we  imagined  that  some  words  relative  to  Veramour^ 
rtn  wanting  after  the  word  buckl£&  ;  but^  on  further  cwisideratioii  of  Mantagut^s  f^flT* 

d  Z  2  So 


540 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


[Actl.  Scene  1. 


Ver.  ril  first  aToid  my  safety: 
Yorir  rapier  bbnll  be  button'd  ^*  with  my  head, 
Before  it  touch  my  m;\sler. 

Anti  Montague! 

Mont.  Sir? 

AmL  You  know  my  sister — 

Mont.  Yes,  sir. 

AmL  For  a  w  hore.  [dare 

Mont,  You  lie !  and  shall  lie  lower  if  you 
Abuse  her  honour. 

Enter  Duchess, 

Duch.  I  am  honest. 

AmL  Honest? 

Duch.  Upon  my  faith,  I  am. 

JtnL  \V  hat  did  then 
rej>uaLle  thee  to  condemn  thyself? 

Duck.  Your  safety, 

Ann.  I  had  ratiicr  be  expos*d 
To  danger,  than  dishonour :  th*  hast  betrayed 
The  reputation  of  my  family 
]\lore  basely,  by  the  I'alsencss  of  that  word, 
Than  if  thou  hadst  delivered  me  asleep 
Into  the  hand  of  a  base  enemy.     Uelief 
Will  never  make  thee  sensible  of  thy 
Disgraces:  let  tliy  wants  compel  thee  to  it! 

Duch.  Ob,  Tm  a  miserable  woman ! 
,  [Exit  AmL 

Mont.  Why,  madam? 
Are  you  utterly  without  means  to  relieve  you? 

Duch.  I've  nothing,  sir,  unless  by  changing 
.    of  [worst 

These  cloaths  for  worse^  and  then  at  last  the 
For  nakedness. 

Mont.  Stand  off,  boy ! — Nsikedness 
Would  be  a  change  to  please  us,  madam,  to 
Delight  us  both. 

Duch.  Whtit  nakedness,  sir? 

Mont.  Why,  the  nakedness 
Of  body,  madam  ;  we  were  lovers  once. 

Duch.  Never  dishonest  lovers. 

Mont.  Honesty 
Has  no  allo\%ance  now  to  give  ourselves. 

Duch,  Nor  you  allowance  against  honesty. 


Alont.  Y\\  send  my  boy  hence:  opportunity 
S\m\l  be  our  servant.    Come,  and  meet  me 

first 
With  kisses  like  a  stranger  at  the  door. 
And  then  invite  me  nearer,  to  receive 
A  more  familiar  inward  welcome ;  where, 
Instead  of  tapers  made  of  virgin-wax, 
Th*  encreasing  flames  uf  our   desires  shall 

light 
Us  to  a  banquet ;  and,  before  the  taste 
Be  dull  with  satisfaction,  I'll  prepare 
A  nourishment  conipos'd  of  every  tiling 
That  bears  a  natural  friendship  to  the  blood, 
And  that  shall  set  another  edge  upou*t; 
Or  else,  between  the  courses  of  the  icast 
We'll  dally  out  an  exercise  of  time. 
That  ever  as  one  appetite  expires 
Another  may  succred  it.  , 

Duch.  Oh,  my  lord. 
How  has  your  nature  lost  her  worthiness  ? 
When  our  affections  had  their  liberty. 
Our  kisses  met  as  temperately  as 
The  hands  of  sisters  or  of  brothers,  that 
Our  bloods  were  then  as  moving'^;  then 

you  were 
So  noble,  that  I  durst  have  trusted  yoor 
Embraces  in  :m  opportunity 
Silent  enough  to  serve  a  ravisher. 
And  yet  come  from  you  undish<inour'd :  bow 
You  think  me  alter'd,  that  you  promise  yoar 
Attempt  success,  I  know  not;  but  were  ail 
The  sweet  temptations  that  deceive  us  set 
On  thisside,nnd  on  that  side  all  the  torturca'^. 
These  ncitlu^r  should  persuade  me,  nor  those 

force. 

Mont,  Then  misery  mav  waste  your  body. 

Duck.  Yes; 
But  iust  shall  never. 

Mont.  I  ha\e  found  you  still 
As  uncorrnpted  as  1  lelt  you  first. 
Continue  so,  and  I  \%ill  serve  you  with 
As  much  devotion  as  my  word,  ray  hand. 
Or  purse  can  shew  you!  And,  to  justify 
That  promise,  here  is  half  the  wealth  I  hare ! 


So  he  is,  it  appeared  to  convey  one  of  the  numerous  contemptible  puns  which  disgrace  this 
comedy,  particularly  that  interesting  character,  and  alluding  to  Veramour^  being  the  buckler 
ef  a  man  that  is  undone,  i.  e.  uk buckled.  A  few  lines  lower  he  says.  You  lie,  and  ikeil 
LiL  lower;  and  on  hearing  the  decision  of  the  law-suit,  he  says,  My  adversary  took  my  fmrt; 
meaning  punningly,  My  adversary  took  my  estate  from  me;  with  various  others. 
'^  Button^d.^  Alludintr  to  the  button  on  a  foil. 


that 


Our  bloods  were  then  as  moving.']  This  seems  very  dark.  To  fling  light  upon  it,  I  be- 
lieve we  should  read  tfw*  for  tluit,  and  interpret,  Tho*  our  bloods  were  then,  from  our  being 
in  youth  and  prosperity,  more  stirring  than  tliey  ought  to  be  now.         Seurard. 

The  words  will  scarce  bear  this  construction  of  Seward ;  at  least,  without  changing  as  to 
more:  <  Thcf  our  bloods  were  then  more  moving.'  We  think  that  the  old  text  may  signify, 
'  That  our  bloods,  like  our  kisses,  were  ho  more  moving,  sensual,  or  intemperate,  than  iho^ 
*  of  brothers  and  sisters.' 

'^  Hie  tweet  temptations  that  deceive  us  set 

On  this  sidCj  and  on  that  side  all  the  waiterff.1  What  is  waiters  in  contrast  to  tempta- 
tions? it  cannot  mean  merely  servants  to  help  him  to  force  her;  that  is  too  poor  an  ex- 
pression to  be  admitted.     Tis  most  probably  corrupt,  ttio'  I  cannot  find  a  wora  near  the 

trace  of  the  letters  to  supply  its  place.    Several  words  occur^  as  tortures,  terrors,  racks, 

OK  all  that /right  us,    I  prefer  the  first.        Seward, 

Take 


^ct  S.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


541 


Take  it !  you  owe  me  nothing,  'till  you  fall 

From  virtue ;  which  the  better  to  protect, 

I  have  bethought  me  of  a  present  means. — 

Give  me  the  letter! — ^This  commends  my  boy 

Into  the  service  of  a  lady,  whose 

Free  goodness  you  have  been  acquainted  with^ 

Lamira. 

Duck.  Sir,  I  know  her. 

Mont,  Then  believe 
Her  entertainment  will  be  noble  to  you. 
IVly  boy  shall  bring  you  thither,  and  relate 


Your  manner  of  misfortune,  if  yonr  own 
Report  needs  any  witness :  so,  I  kiss 
Your  band,  good  lady ! 

Duch.  Sir,  I  know  not  how 
To  promise;  but  I  cannot  be  unthankful. 

Mont.  All  that  yoti  can  implore  in  thank« 

fulness 
Be  yours,  to  make  you  the  more  prosperous  I 
Farewell,  my  boy !— I  am  not  yet  oppressed. 
Having  the   powV  to   help  one  that's  dis* 

tress'd.  [ExeutU* 


ACT  II. 


SCENE  I. 
Enter  Longueville  and  Dubois, 

Long.  Ty UAT  shall  we  do  now  ?  swords 

'  ^      are  out  of  use, 
And  words  are  out  of  credit. 

Dubois,  We  must  serve.  [spend 

Long.  The  means  to  get  a  service  will  first 
Our  purses ;  and,  except  we  can  allow 
Ourselves  au  entertainment,  service  will 
Neglect  us :  now,  'tis  grown  into  a  doubt 
Whether  the  master  ur  the  servant  gives 
The  countenance. 

Dubois,  Then  fall  in  with  mistresses! 

JA)ng.   They   keep    more   servants   now, 

indeed,  than  men : 
But  yet  Uio  age  is  grown  so  populous 
O^  those  attendants,  that  the  women  are 
Grown  full  too. 

Dubois.  What  shall  we  propound  ourselves? 

Long.  rU  think  on*t. 

Dubois,  Do.  Old  occupations  have 
Too  many  setters-up  to  prosper ;  some 
Uncommon  trade  would  thrive  now. 

Long,  We  will  ev'n 
Make  up  some  lialf  a  dozen  proper  men ; 
And  should  not  we  get  more  than  all 
Your  female  sinners  ? 

Dubois,  If  the  house  be  seated, 
As  it  should  be,  privately. 

Long.  Ay ;  but  that  would  make 
A  multitude  of  witches. 
•    Dubois,  Witches?  how,  pritliee  ? 

Long,  Thus ;  the  bawds  would  all 
Turn  witches  to  revenge  themselves  upon  us; 
And  the  women  thatcouie  to  us,  for  disguises 
IVIust  wear  beards;  and  that  is,  they  say, 
A  token  of  a  witch. 

Dubois.  What  shall  we  then  do? 

Long,  We  must  study  on't  with  more  con- 
sideration. 
Stay,  Dubois!  are  not  the  lord  of  Orleans 
And  the  lord  of  Amiens  enemies? 

Dubois.  Yes;  what  of  that? 


Long,  Methinks  the  factions  of  two  such 

great  men 
Should  give  a  promise  of  advancement  now. 
To  us  that  want  it. 

Dubois,  Let  the  plot  be  thine. 
And  in  the  enterjmzc  111  second  thee. 

Long.  J  have  it!  We  will  first  set  down 

ourselves 
The  method  of  a  quarrel,  and  make  choice 
Of  some  frequented  tavern,  or  such  a  place 
Of  common  notice,  to  perform  it  in. 
By  way  of  undertaking,  to  maintain 
The  several  honours  of  those  enemies : 
Thou  for  the  lord  of  Orleans ;  I  for  Amiens* 

Dubois,  I  like  the  project;  and  I  think 

^twill  take 
The  better,  since  tlieir  difference  first  did  rise 
From  his  occasion  whom  we  followed  once. 

Long.  We  cannot  hope  less,  after  the  re- 
Than  entertainment  or  gratuity :  [port^ 

Yet  those  are  ends  I  do  not  aim  at  most. 
Great  spirits  that  are  needy,  and  will  thrive. 
Must  labour  while  such  troubles  are  alive. 

[Exeunt% 

Enter  Laverdine  and  La-Poop, 

La-P.  Slander  is  sliarper  than  the  sword! 
I've  fed  these  three  days  upon  leaf-tobacco^ 
For  want  of  other  victuals. 

Lav.  You  have  liv'd  [jected! 

The  honcster,  captain.  But  be  not  so  de- 
But  hold  up  thy  head,  and  meat  will  sooner 
In  thy  mouth.  [fidi 

La'P.  I  care  not  so  much  for  meat. 
So  I  had  but  good  liquor,  for  which  my  gats 
Croak  like  so  many  frog9  for  rain. 

Xar.  It  seems  [tain; 

You  are  troubled  with  the  wind-cholic,  cap- 
Swallow  a  bullet;  it  is  present  remedy, 
I  will  assure  you. 

La-P.  A  bullet?  Til  tell  you,  sir*^! 
My  paunch  is  nothing  but  a  pile  of  ballets  t 
When  I  was  in  any  service,  I  stood  between 
My  general  and  the  shot,  like  a  mu4-wall : 


*'  A  bulhl  f  If  you  be  captain, 
JM^ paunchy  <5c.]  So  first  folio. 


I  am 


64t 


THE  HONEST  MAITO  FORTUNE. 


[Acts. 


1  am  all  lead ;  From  th' crown  of  the  head  to 

the 
Soal  of  the  foot,  not  a  sound  bone  nbout  me. 

Jjjm,  It  seems  you've  been  in  terrible  hot 
Captain.  [service, 

1/i-P.  It  has  ever  been 
The  fate  of  the  Low-Country  wars  to  spoil 
Many  a  man ;  I  ha'  not  been  the  firsts 
Nor  shall  not  be  the  last.    But,  Til  tell  you, 
'    sir, 

(Hunger  has  brought  it  into  mind)  I  serv'd 
Once  at  the  siege  of  Brest,  ('tis  memorable 
To  tliis  day)  where  we  were  in  great  distress 
For  victuals;  whole  troops  fainted  more  for 

want 
Of  food  than  for  blood,  and  died ;  yet  we  were 
Resolved  to  stand  it  out.    I  myself  was 
But  then  gentleman  of  a  company,  and  had 
As  much  need  as  any  man :  and  indeed 
I'd  perish'd,  bad  not  a  miraculous  Providence 
Preserved  me. 

JLav.  As  bow,  good  captain  \ 

LchF.  Marry,  sir, 
E'en  as  I  was  tainting  and  falling  down 
For  want  of  sustenance,  the  enemy 
Made  a  shot  at  me,  and  struck  me  full 
In  the  paunch  with  a  penny-loaf. 

Lav.  Instead  of  a  bullet? 

IjEt-P,  Instead  of  a  bullet 

Imv.  That  was  miraculous  indeed! 
And  that  loaf  sustain*d  you  ? 
'  jLfl-P.  Nouribh*d  me, 
Or  I  had  iamish'd  wi*  the  rest. 

Lav.  You  have  done  [shall 

Worthy  acts,  being  a  soldier.  And  now  vou 
Give  me  leave  to  requite  your  tale,  and  to 
'  acquaint  you 

With  the  most  notorious  deeds  that  Fve  done. 
Being  a  courtier :  I  protest,  captain, 
I'll  lie  no  more  than  you  have  done. 

La-F.  I  can 
Endiire  no  lies. 

Lan.  I  know  you  cannot,  captain. 
Therefore  I  will  only  tell  you  of  strange  things: 
I  did  once  a  deed  of  charity,  for  itself; 
I  assisted  a  poor  widow  in  a  suit, 
And  obtain'd  it ;  yet,  I  protest,  I  took  not 
A  penny  for  my  labour. 

jLo-Jr.  It  is  no 
Such  strange  thing. 


Lav,  By  Man,  captain,  but  it  is. 
And  a  very  strange  thing  too,  in  a  conrtier; 
It  may  take  the  uppei^hand  of  your  peony* 

For  a  miracle.  I  could  have  told  yon 
How  many  ladies  have  lanj^uisb'd  for  my  love^ 
And  how  I  was  once  solicited  by  (oat  tk 
The  mother,  the  daughter,  and  grandmother; 
The  least  of  wliich  I  might  have  digg'd  myself 
A  fortune;  they  were  all  great  kdies,  for 

two  of  them 
Were  so  big  I  could  harcHy  embrace  them; 
But  I  was  sluggish  in  my  nsing  courses. 
And  therefore  let  them  pass.     What  meaos 

I  liad. 
Is  spent  upon  such  as  had  the  wit  to  cheat  me; 
That  wealth  being. gone,  I've  only  bought 

experience 
With  it,  with  a  strong  hope  to  cheat  otfaov.— 
But  see,  liere  comes  the  much-declined  Mon- 
tague, [body 
Who*d  all  the  manor-houses,  which  wei«  the 
Of  his  estate,  o'erthrown  by  a  great  wind! 

Enter  Montague  and  MaUieonu 

La'P.  How !  by  a  great  wind  ? 
Was  he  not  overthrown  by  law  ? 

Lav.  Yes,  marry  was  he; 
But  there  was  terrible  puffing  and  blowing 
Before  he  was  o'erthrown,  if  you  observM; 
And  believe  it,  captain,  there  is  no  wind  so 

dangerous 
To  a  building  as  a  lawyer's  breath. 

Xa-P.  What's  he  with  him  ?  [coni: 

Lav,  An  eminent  citizen,  nkonsieurMalli" 
Let's  stand  aside,  and  listen  their  desig;n ! 

Mai.  Sir,  profit  is  the  crown  of  labour;  *ti| 
The  life,  the  soul  of  the  industrious  merchant: 
In  it  he  makes  his  Parailise,  and  foi^t  n^ects 
Wife,  children,  friends,  peurents,  nay,  all  the 

world,  [storms, 

And  delivers  up  himself  to  th'violeooe  of 
And  to  be  tossed  into  unknown  aira. 
As  there's  no  faculty  so  perilous. 
So  there  is  none  so  worthy  profitable'*. 

Mont.  Sir,  I  am  very  weU  possest  of  it"^; 
And  what  of  my  poor  rortunes  remains, 
I  would  gladly  hazard  upon  the  sea;  it  cannot 
Deal  worse  with  me  than  the  land^  tbcM^'t 

sink 


"  So  there  is  none  to  worthy  profitable;']  t.  e.  Profit  is  the  most  wordiily  profitable  of  any 
facnlty.    This  is  little  more  than  to  say,  profit  it  prdii-    But  the  absurdity  is  not  chai^geabb 
upon  the  original.    Almost  the  whole  act  has  been  hitherto  printed  as  prose,  and  where  the 
measore  is  not  easily  restored,  there  the  sense  too  is  frequently  deficient;  and  where  both 
fail  together,  there  is  the  fullest  proof  of  a  corruption.    Both  in  this  place  are  very  evs&f 
amended,  by  adding  or  rather  restoring  two  paoticles : 
As  there's  no  faculty  so  perilous. 
So  there  is  none  so  worthy  at  the  profitable.        Seward, 
Seward's  addition,  in  our  opinion,  injures  both  measure  and  sense.    The  two  lines  signify, 

*  As  there  is  no  profession  incurs  so  much  danger  as  the  mercliant,  so  there  is  noike  so  r0»' 

*  putably  lucrative.'    Mentague^%  answer  jfroves  this. 

*'  Fottett  ^it.]  That  is,  acquaifUed  with,  or  informed  of  it,*  So,  in  Every  Man  ha  his 
Humour,  act  i.  sc  5,  Bobadii  says,  *  Fosteu  no  gentlemaik  of  our  acquaintance  with  notice 
'  of  my  lodging/        IL 

Or 


ilct «.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


51S 


Or  throw  it  in  tlie  bands  of  pirates.    I  have 

yet 
Five  hundred  pounds  left,  and  your  honest 
And  worthy  acquaintance  may  make  me  a 

young  merchant: 
The  on^lnoiety  of  what  I  have  Fd  gladly 
Adventure. 

'MaL  How!  adventure?  you  shall  hazard 
Nothing;  you  shall  only  join  with  me  in  cer- 
tain 
Commodities  that  are  safe  arrived  unto 
The  quay:  yon  shall  neither  be  in  doubt  of 

danger 
Nor  damage;  but,  so  much  money  disbur&'d, 
So  much  receive.  Sir,  I  would  have  you  con« 

ceive 
I  pursue  it  not  for  any  good  your  money  will 
Do  me,  but  merely  out  of  mine  own  freeness 
And  courtesy  to  pleasure  you. 

Moni.  T  can 
Believe  no  less;  and  you  express 
A  noble  nature,  seeking  to  build  up 
A  man  so  ruin*d  as  myself. 

Lav,  Captain,  here^s  subject 
For  us  to  work  upon,  if  we  have  wit: 
You  hear  tliat  there  is  money  yet  letl,and  'tis 
Going  to  be  laid  out  in  rattles,  bells, 
Hubby-horses,  brown  paper,  or  some  such- 
like sale  [purses. 
Commodities;  now  it  would  do  better  in  our 
Upon  our  backs  in  good  gold-lace  and  scarlet ; 
And  then  we  might  pursue  our  projects,  and 
Devices  towards  my  lad^  Annnbella.      [our 
Go  to!  there  is  a  conceit  newly  landed: 
Hark !  I  stand  in  good  reputation  with  him. 
And  therefore  may  the  better  cheat  him: 

captain, 
Take  a  few  instructions  from  me. 

Mont,  What  money 
I  have*s  at  your  disposing;  and  upon  twelve, 
J'll  meet  you  at  the  palace  with  it. 

Mai.  ril  there 
Sxpect  you ;  and  so  I  take  my  leave. 

Lav.  You  apprehend  me?         fExit  Mai. 
La-P.  Why,  d'ye  think  Vm  a  dunce? 
JjOV.  Not  a  dunce,  captain; 
But  you  micbt  give  me  leave  to  misdoubt  that 
Pregnancy  m  a  soldier,  which  is  proper  and 
Hereditary  to  a  courtier:  but  prosecute  it; 
I  will  both  second  and  give  credit  to  it. — 
Good  monsieur  Montague!    I  would  your 

whole 
Revenues  lay  within  the  circuit  of 
Mine  arms,  that  I  might  as  easily  bestow, 
Or  restore  it  unto  you  as  my  courtesy ! 
La'P.  My  sealous  wishes,  sir,  do  accom- 
pany his 
For  your  good  fortunes. 
'    Imv.  Eielieve  it,  sir,  our 
Afiection  towards  you  is  a  strong  bond  of 
friendship.  [But,  believe  me, 

Mont,  To  which  I  shall  most  willingly  seal. 
Gentlemen,  in  a  broken  estate  the  bond 
Of  friendsliip  oft  is  forfeited;  but  that 
It  is  yoar  free  and  ingenuous  nature  to  renew  it. 


Lm.  Sir,  I  will  amply  extend  myself  to 

your  use. 
And  am  very  zealously  afflicted,  as  not 
One  of  your  least  friends,  for  your  crooked 

fate: ; 
But  let  it  not  seize  you  with  any  dejection ; 
You  have,  as  I  hear,  a  sufficient 
Competency  left,  which,  well  disposed, 
May  erect  you  as  high  in  the  world*s 
Account  as  ever. 

Mont,  I  can't  live  to  hope  it, 
Much  less  enjoy  it:  nor  is  it  any  part 
Of  my  endeavour ;  my  study  is  to  render 
£v*ry  man  his  own,  and  to  contain  myself 
Within  tlie  limits  of  a  gentleman.  [by 

Lav.  I  have  the  grant  of  an  office  given  me 
Some  noble  favourites  of  mine  in  court; 
Tliere  stands  but  a  small  matter  between  me 
And  it :  if  your  ability  be  such 
To  lay  down  the  present  sum,  out  of  the  love 
I  bear  you,  before  any  other  man, 
It  shall  be  confirm*d  yours. 

Mont.  I've  lieard  you  often  speak  of  sucb 

a  thing ; 
If 't  be  nssur*d  to  you.  III  gladly  deal  in  it : 
That  portion  I  have  I  would  not  hazard 
Upon  one  course,  for  I  see  the  most  certsun 
Is  uncertain. 

Lit'P,  Having  money,  sir, 
You  could  not  light  upon  men  that  could  giv^ 
Better  direction.  There's  at  this  time  a  fhend 
Of  mine  upon  the  seas  (to  be  plain  with  yoo^ 
He  is  a  pirate)  that  hath  wrote  to  me 
To  work  his  freedom;  and  by  this  gentleman's 
Means,  whose  acquaintance  is  not  small  at 

court,  [there  b 

We  have  the  word  of  a  worthy  man  for't :  only 
Some  money  to  be  suddenly  disbursed ; 
And  if  your  happiness  be  such  to  make  icup^ 
You  shall  receive  treble  pain  by't, 
And  good  assurance  for  it. 

MonU  Gentlemen, 
Out  of  the  weakness  of  my  estate  you  seem 
To  have  some  knowledge  of  my  breast,  that 

would,  [tunes^ 

If  it  were  possible,  advance  my  decliiTd  fur- 
To  satisfy  all  men  of  whom  I  have 
Had  credit;  and  I  know  no  way  better 
Than  these  which  you  propose :  I  have  som# 

money 
Heady  under  mv  command;  some  part  of  it  is 
Already  prombM,  but  the  remaindev  is 
Yours  to  such  uses  as  are  propounded. 

Lav.  Appoint  some  certain  place  of  meet* 
For  these  affairs  require  expedition.       [iug; 

Mont,    ril  make't  my  present  business* 

At  twelve  I  am  [luce, 

To  meet  Mallicorn,  the  merchant,  at  the  pa- 
(You  know  him,  sir)  about  sOme  pegociatu>n 
Of  the  same  nature;  there  I  will  be  ready 
To  tender  you  that  money,  upon  such 
Conditions  as  we  shall  conclude  of. 

Lav,  The  care 
Of  it  be  yours,  so  much  as  the  afiair 
Concerns  you ! 

Mont, 


544 


THE  HONEST  MAITO  FORTUNE. 


[Act*i.  Scene  I. 


Tho'  vau  were' greater  than  your  name  dotb 

make  you ; 
I'm  one,  and  the  o]3poser :  if  your  swoln  rage 
Have  aught  in  raaiice  to  enforce,  express  iu 

Ami.  I  seek  thee  not ;  nor  shalt  tliou  ever 

gain  [give  tliee. 

That  credit,  which  a  hlow  from  me  -would 
By  my  sottl,  I  more  detest  that  fellow 
Which  took  my  part  than  thee,  that  be  durst 

offer 
To  take  my  honour  in  his  feeble  arms. 
And  spend  it  in  a  drinking-room.  Which  way 

went  be P  [after! 

Lav,  That  way,  sir. — I  would  you  wonld 
For  I  do  fear  we  shall  have  some  more  scoA 

fling.  [take  lum. 

Ami,  ni  follow  him ;  and,  if  my  speed  o*er- 
1  shall  ill  thank  him  for  hb  forwardness. 

Lav,  I'm  glad  he's  gone;  for  I  don  t  love 

to  see  [looks 

A  sword  drawn  in  the  hand  of  a  man  that 

So  furious;  there's  no  jesting  with  edge  ttx^s 

How  say  vou,  captain  ? 

La-P,  1  say,  'tis  better  jesting 
Than  to  be  in  earnest  with  them. 

Enter  Orleans. 

Orl.  How  now? 
What  is  the  difference  ?  They  say  there  hate 

been  [know 

Swords  dniwn,  and  in  my  quarrel:  let  me 
That  man,  whose  love  is  so  smcere  to  spend 
His  blood  for  my  sake !  I  will 'bounteously 
Requite  him. 

Lav.  We  were  ail  of  your  side ; 
But  there  he  stands  begun  it. 

Orl,  What's  tiiy  name? 

Dubois,  Dubois. 

OrL  Give  me  thy  hand!    Tboa  hast  le- 

ceiv'd  no  hurt? 

Dubois,  Not  any ;  nor  were  this  body 
Stuck   full  of  wounds,  I  should  not  couH 

them  liurts, 
Being  taken  in  so  honourable  a  cause 
As  the  defence  of  my  most  worthy  lord. 

OrL  The  dedication  of  thy  love  to  me 
Requires  my  ample  bounty :  tboa  art  mine; 
For  I  do  find  thee  made  unto  my  purposes. 
Monsieur  Laverdine,  pardon  my  neglect! 
I  not  observed  you.    And  how  runs  rumour? 

Lav.  Why, 
It  runs,  my  lord,  Uke  a  footman  without  a 

cloak,  rt>«hid»^. 

To  shew  that  what's  once  rumourM  it  can*t 

OrL  And  what  say  the  rabble  ? 
Am  not  I  the  subject  of  their  talk? 

^^  7*0  shew  that  what*s  once  rumoured  it  cannot  he  hid,'\  Several  pages  together  here  have 
been  hitherto  printed  as  prose;  even  Longuevill^s  speech  at  his  exit^  which  ends  in  rhymes 
Here  the  reader  will  sec  tlrnt  what  contributed  to  spoil  the  measure,  hurt  the  sense  also,  and 
both  are  restored  together, 

To  shew  that  what's  once  rumour*d  can*t  be  hid.  Seward. 

Neither  the  sense  or  measure  would  be  injured  by  the  old  text:  the  nominative  absolute ■ 
aommon  in  our  old  writers.    A  few  lines  lower  we  nod,  Thi  womtn  thst  riasL 

La, 


Mont.  Your  caution  is  iaeffiectual ;  and  till 

then 

I  tJike  my  leave.  [Ejrt^. 

Lav,  Good  Mr.  Montague !  [pons; 

[Within  a  clamour  y  Down  with  tlieir  wea- 

^nter  Longueville  and  Dubois,  their  Swords 
drawn ;  Servants  and  others  between  them, 

Ser.    Nay,  gentlemen,  what  mean  you? 

Pray  be  quiet! 
Have  some  respect  unto  the  house. 

Long.  A  treacherous  slave ! 

Dubois.  Thou  dost  revile  thyself,  base  Lon- 

gueville !  [rupt  one. 

Long.  I  say  thou  art  a  villain,  and  a  cor- 
That  hast  some  seven  years  fed  on  thy  mas- 
ter's trencher,  [for  if  thou  hadst, 
Yet  ne'er  bred*st  good  blood  towards  him ; 
Thou*dst  have  a  sounder  heart. 

Dubms.  So,  sir !  you  can  [sword. 

Use  your  toague  something  nimbler  than  your 

Long.  'W^ould  you  could  use  your  tongue 

well  of  your  master,  friend !  [sword. 

You  might  have  better  employment  for  your 

Dubois.  1  say 
Again,  and  I  will  speak  it  loud  and  often. 
That  Orleans  is  a  noble  gentleman. 
With  whom  Amiens  is  too  light  to  poise  the 

scale.  [praise 

Long,  He  is  the  weaker,  for  taking  of  a 
Out  of  thy  mouth. 

Dubms.  This  hand  shall  seal  his  merit 
At  thy  heart. 

Lav.  Part  them,  my  masters,  part  them ! 

Serv.  Part  them,  sir  ? 
Why  do  you  not  part  them  ?  you  stand  by 
W your  sword  in  your  hand,  and  cry ,pi(r^  *em  / 

Lav.  Why, 
You  must  know,  my  friend,  my  deaths  are 

better  than  yours ;  [any  body. 

And,  in  a  good  suit,  1  do  nc*er  use  to  part 

Xi-P.  And  it  is  discretion. 

Lav,  Ay,  marry  is  it,  captaiti. 

Long.  Dubois,  tho'  this  place 
Privilege  thee,  know,  where  next  we  meet. 
The  blood,  which  at  thy  heart  flows,  drops  at 

thy  feet! 

IJiubois.  I  would  not  spend  it  better 

[Exit  Long. 
Than  in  this  quarrel,  and  on  such  a  hazard. 

Enter  Amiens  in  haste ;  his  Sword  drawn. 

Ami.  What  uproar  is  this  ?  Must  my  name 
here  be  questioned 
In  tavern-brawls,  and  by  affected  ruffians  ? 
Lav.  Not  we  indeed,  sir.      [of  your  fury, 
Dubois.  Fear  cannot  make  me  shrink  out 


Acts.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE, 


546 


Orl.  He  shall  not  sleep  «notherttighC:  Fil 

have 
His  blood,  tho*t  be  required  nt  my  liiinds  again ! 

Lav.  Your  lordsliip  may,  «ud  without  iia- 

zarding  [whose  looks 

Your  own  person:   here*s  a  gentleman  in 
I  see  a  resolution  to  perform  it. 

Dubois.  Let  his  lordship 
Give  me  bur  his  honourable  word  for  my  life, 
1*11  kill  him  as  he  walks. 

Lav,  Or  pistol  Jiim 
As  he  sus  at  meat — 

Jm-P.  Or  at  game-*- ^    ' 

Lav,  Or  as  he's  drinking— >  , 

Dubois.  Any  way. 

Orl  Won't  thou? 
Cull  what,  is  mine  thine  own !  Thjr  repnts- 

tion  shall  nut  [hie; 

Be  brought  m  question  for't,  much  less  thj 
It  shall,  ho  natn'd  a  deed  of  valour  in  thee. 
Not  murder:  litrewell!  [Exit, 

Duboi9.  I  need  no  more  •encouragement;; 
It  is  a  work  I  will  persuade  tuyseii 
That  I  wa'^  born  to. 

Lav.  And  vou  may  persuade 
Yourself  too  diat  you  shiUl  he  sav'd  by  it. 
Being  tiuil  it  is  for  his  honourable  lordship. 

Dubois.   But  you  must*  yield  me  means^ 

how,  when,  and  wher^.  • 

Lav,  That  shall  be  our  tasks;  oay,  more, 

we  will  [him. 

Be  agents  wfth  thee :  this  hour  we  are  to  nneel 
On  the  receipt  of  ceruiin  monies,  which 
Indeed  we  purpose  honestly  to  cheat  him  of« 
And  that's  the  main  caube  I  would  have  him 

slain : 
Who  works  with  safety  makes  a  double  gaia. 

Enter  Longueville,  Amiens JbUowing  him. 

Ami.  Stay,  sir !  I've  took  some  pains  l» 

overtake  you. 
YoCir  name  is  Longueville? 

Lang.  I  have  the  word 
Of  many  honest  men  for*t- — I  "crave  your 

lordship's  pardon ! 
Ybur  sudden  apprehension  on  my  steps 
Made  me  to  frame  an  answer  unwitting,  and 
Unworthy  your  respect. 

Ami.  D'you  ktiow  me? 

lang.  Yes,  my  lord. 

Ami.  I  know  not  you ;  nor  am  I  well  pleas*d 

to  make  [tiou 

This  time,  as  the  affair  now  stands,  die  indue- 
Of  your  acquaintance.  You're  a  fighting  fellow? 

Long.  How,  my  lord  ? 

Ami.  I  think  I  too  much  grace  you ; 
Rather  you  are  a  fellow  dares  not  fight, 

**  RampalUons,']  The  meaning  of  this  word  is  pretty  obvious.  ItisusedbySir  JohnFalsta^ 
speaking  to  the  Hostess,  in  the  Second  Part  of  Henry  IV.  act  ii.  scene  1.  R. 

**  White  Powder*]  White  Pozpc/erwos  generally  imagined  to  occasion  no  sound  when  used 
in  discharging  a  pistol.  Some  of  the  conspirators  in  Queen  Elisabeth's  time,  confessed,  that 
xheir  intention  was  to  have  murdered  the  queen  with  fire-arras  chained  iu  this  laaaner.      H. 

*^  Dec  find  his  means;]  t.  €,  Been  the-cauiie  of  their  decienwoi], 

VOL.  HI.  4  A  But 


Lav.  Troth,  my  lord, 
The  common  mouth  speaks  foul  words. 

Orl.  Of  me, 
For  turning  away  my  wife,  do  they  not? 

Lav.  Fjuth, 
Tiie  men  do  a  little  murmur  at  it,  and  say, 
Tis  an  ill  precedent  in  so  great  a  man. 
Marry,  the  women,  they  ruil  outright. 

OrL  Out  upon  them,  rampallions^'  [I  will 

keep 
Myself  safe  enough  out  of  their  fingers. 
But  what  say  my  pretty  jolly  compos'd  gal- 
lants. 
That  censure  every  tiling  more  desperate 
Tlian  it  ib  dangerous  ?  what  say  they  ? 

Lav.  Marry,  [die; 

TheyVe  laying  wagers  what  death  you  shall 
One  oifers  to  lay  five  liund  red  pounds  (and  yet 
H'had  but  a  groat  about   him,   and    that 

was  iu 
Two  two-pence^  too)  to  any  man  that  would 
Make*t  up  a  shilling,  that  you  were  killed  with 

a  pistol 
Charged  with  white  powder^*;  another oifec'd 
To  pawn  his  soul  for  five  shillings,  (and  yet 
^Nobody  would  take  him  J  that  you  were  stabbed 

to  death, 
And  should  die  with  more  woundslhan  Cssar. 

OrL  And  who  should  be  the  butchers  that 

should  do  it? 
Montague,  and  his  associates  ?- 

Lav.  So 
It  is  conjectured. 

La-F.  And,  believe  it,  sweet  prince, 
It  is  to  be  fear'd,  and  tlierefore  prevented. 

Orl.  By  turning  [way? 

His^jurpose  on  himself?  were  not  that  the 

Lav.  The  most  direct  path  for  your  sal'ety  : 
For  where  doth  danger  sit  more  furious 
Than  in  a  desperate  man  ? 

Lu'F.  And  being' you  nave 
Declined  his  means ^^,  you  have  encreas'd  his 

malice. 

Lav.  Besides  the  general  report  that  steams 
In  every  man's  breath,  and  stains  you  all  o'er 
A^ith  infamy,  that  time,  ilie  devourer  of  all 

things, 
Cannot  eat  out.    . 

Im'P.  Ay,  for  that  former  familiarity 
Which  be  had  with  your  lady. 

Lav.  Men  speak't  as  boldly  as  words  of 

compliment; 
Oood  vtarroWf  good  evetiy  or  God  save  you^  sir. 
Are  not  more  usual:  if  the  word  cuckold  had 

been  [letters, 

Written  upon  your  forehead  in  great  capital 
It  could  not  have  been  dilated  with  more 

confidence. 


$46 


THE  HONEST  MAITS  FORTUNE. 


[Act  fi.  Scene  1. 


But  spit  and  paff  «nd  make  a  noise,  wlulst 
Your  trembling  hand  draws  out  your  sword, 

to  lay  it 
Upon  andirons,  stools,  or  tables,  rather 

Than  on  a  man.  [y?*> 

long.  Your  honour  may  best  speak  this; 
With  little  safety,  if  I  thought  it  serious. 

AmL  Come,  you're  a  tery  braggart; 
And  you  have  given  me  cause  to  tell  you  so : 
What  weakness  have  you  ever  seen  in  me 
To  prompt  yourself,  that  I  could  need  your 

help?  .  , 

Or  what  other  reasons  could  induce  you  to  it  r 
You  ne'er  yet  bad  a  meal's  meat  from  my 

table, 
Nor,  as  I  remember,  from  my  wardrobe 
Any  cast  suit. 

Long.  Tis  true. 
I  ne'er  durst  yet  have  such  a  servile  spirit 
To  be  the  minion  of  a  fiili-swoln  lord. 
But  always  did  detest  such  slavery : 
A  meal's  meat?  or  a  cast  suit?  I'd  first  eat 

the  stones,  , 

And  from  such  rags  the  dunghills  do  afiord 
Pick  me  a  garment. 

Af/ti,  IVe  mistook  the  man ! 
His  resolute  spirit  proclaims  him  generous; 
He  has  a  noble  heart,  as  free  to  utter 
Good  deeds  as  to  act  them ;  for  had  be  not 

been  right,  [currd. 

And  of  one  piece,  he  would  have  crumpled, 
And  struck  himself  out  of  the  shape  of  man 
Into  a  shadow.— But,  prithee  tell  me. 
If  no  such  fawning  hope  did  lead  thee  on 
To  hazard  life  for  my  sake,  [speak  it, 

What  was  it  that  incited  thee?    tell  me; 
Without  the  imputation  of  a  sycophant ! 
Long.  Your  own  desert;  and  with  it  was 

Th'^  unfeigned  friendship  that  I  judgdyou 
Held  unto  my  former  lord. 

Amu  The  noble  Montague? 

Long.  Yes; 
The  noble  and  much-injur'd  Montague. 

Ami,  To  such  a  man  as  thou  art,  my  heart 

shall  be 
A  casket:  I  will  lock  thee  up  there,  and 
Esteem  thee  as  a  faithful  friend. 
The  richest  jewel  that  a  man  enjoys: 
And,  bdng  thou  didst  follow  once  my  friend. 


And  in  thy  heart  still  dost,  not  with  his  for- 
tunes 
Casting  him  oflT,  thou  shalt  go  hand  in  hand 
With  me,  and  share  as  well  in  my 
Ability  to  love :  'tis  not  my  end 
To  gam  men  for  my  use,  but  a  true  friend. 

Enter  Dubois. 

DidfOiS.  There's  no  such  thriving  way  to 

live  in  grace. 
As  to  have  no  sense  of  it;  his  back  nor  belly 
Shall  not  want  wanning  tliat  can  practise  me 

mischief: 
I  walk  now  with  a  fell  purse,  grow  high  and 

wanton. 
Prune  and  brisk  myself  in  the  bright  sliine 
Of  his  good  lordship's  feveurs;  ami  for  wfaal 

virtue  ? 
For  fesbionating  myself  a  murderer. 
Oh,  noble  Montague,  to  whom  I  owe 
My  heart,  with  ali  my  best  thoughts,  the' my 

tongue  [destiny^ 

Have  promis'd  t' exceed  the  malice  of  thy 
Never  in  time  of  all  my  service  knew  I 
Such  a  sin  tempt  thy  bounty  1  those  that  did 

feed 
Upon  thy  charge,  had  merit  or  else  need. 

Enter  Laverdine  andLa^Poopy  with  disguiseu 

Lav.  Dubois !  most  prosperously  met. 

Dubois.  How  now  ? 
Will  he  come  this  way? 

Lav.  This  way,  immediately; 
Therefore,  thy  assistance,  dear  Dubois ! 

Dubois.  What,  have  you  cheated  him  of 

the  money  you  spoke  of?  [wench 

Lav.  Fough !  as  easily  as  a  silly  countiy 
Of  her  maidenhead;  we  had  it  in  a  twinkling. 

Dubois,  1'is  well.    Captain,  let  me  help 

you ;  YOU  must  be 
Our  leader  in  this  action. 

Xfl-P.  Tut!  fear  not; 
I'll  warrant  you,  if  my  sword  hold,  well  make 
No  sweating  sickness  of  it^^. 

Dubois.  Why,  that's  well  said. 
But  let's  retire  a  little,  that  we  may  come 
On  the  more  bravely.    This  way,  this  %vay. 

[Exeunt. 

»♦  No  sweating  sickness  <f  it.]  The  Sweating  Sickness,  called  Sudor  Anglious,  and  FeMs 
Ephemera  BrUannica,  is  by  some  supposed  to  have  been  a  disorder  peculiarly  incident » 
the  English  nation.  It  first  appeared  in  the  year  1485,  and  afterwards  in  1506, 1517,  15«, 
and  1551  and  each  time  made  a  prodieious  liavock  m  the  human  species.  Dr.  Mead  sup- 
noses  it  originally  to  have  been  imported  by  the  French  troops,  brought  wer  by  Henry  Vfl. 
who  caught  the  infection  from  others,  about  that  time  i-eturned  from  the  siege  of  Rhodes. 
The  violence  of  the  disease  eluded  every  effort  made  by  the  physicians  to  stop  the  progresi 
of  it.  Those  vho  were  attacked  by  it  seldom  lived  more  than  twenty-four  hours,  and  maor 
were  carried  off  in  half  the  time.  The  most  singuUr  circumstance  attending  it  was  this,  which 
is  related  by  several  writers,  that  the  natives  of  every  other  country  but  England  esca^ied  ii, 
and  that  those  natives  who  fled  into  foreien  cUmates  were  pursued  by  it,  and  fell  victims  to 
its  malignity.  Dr.  Mead  supposes  it  to  have  been  a  species  of  the  pestilence.— A  veiy  po- 
etical and  accurate  account  of  its  symptoms  and  eflfccts  may  be  read  in  Dr.  Aimstrong's  Ait 
of  Preserving  Health,  book  iii.  line  533,  &c.  B.     ^ 


Acte.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MASPS  FORTUNE. 


wr 


Unter  Montague,  in  the  hands  of  Three  Of- 
JUerif  and  Three  Creditors, 

1  Cred.  Officers^  look  to  him;  aodbesnre 

you  take 
Good  securit^r  before  he  part  from  yoa ! 

Mont,  Wliy,  but,  my  mends. 
You  take  a  strange  course  with  me!  the 

sums  I  owe  you 
Are  rather  foi^ettuiness,  (they  are  so  alight) 
Than  want  of  will  or  honesty  to  pay  you. 

1  Cred.  Ay,  sir,  it  may  be  so;  but  we  must 
be  paid, 

And  we  will  be  paid  before  you  'scape :    - 
We've  wife  and  children,  and  a  chaise;  and 

you 
Are  going  down  the  wind,  as  aman  may  say; 
And  therefore  it  behoves  us  to  look  to  t 
In  time. 

2  Cred.  Your  cloak  here  would  satisfy  me; 
Mine  is  not  above  a  three-pound  matter. 
Besides  th*  arrest. 

3  Cred,  'faith,  and  mine  is  much 
About  that  matter  too;    your  girdle  and 

hanger,  [it. 

And  your  beaver,  shall  be  sufficient  bail  tor 
1  Cred,  If  you  have  ever  a  plain  black  suit 
at  home,  [ters, 

This  silken  one,  with  ^ur  silk  stockings,  gar- 
And  roses,  shaU  j>aciiy  me  too;  for  I 
Take  no  delight,  if  I've  a  sufficient  pawn, 
To  cast  any  gentleman  in  prison;  therefore 
Tis  but  an  untrussing  matter,  and  you  are 

We  are  no  unreasonable  creatures,  you  seej 
For  mine  own  part,  [  protest  I'm  loth  to  put 
To  any  trouble  for  security.  [you 

Mont.  Is  there 
No  more  of  you?  he  would  next  demand  my 

skin. 

1  Cred,  No,  sir ; 
Here  are  no  more  of  us,  nor  do  any  of  us 
Demand  your  skin ;  we  know  not  what  to  do 

with  it : 
But  it  may  be,  if  you  ow'd  your  glover 
Any  money,  be  knew  what  use  to  make  of  it. 

idont.     Yo  dregs  of  baseness,  vultures 

amongst  men,  ["^'^ 

That  tire^^  upon  the  hearts  of  generous  spi- 

1  Cred,  You  do  us  wrong,  sir;  we  tire  no 

generous  spirits; 
We  tire  nothing  but  our  hacknies. 

Enter  MaUicom, 

Mont,  But  here  comes  one  made  of  ano- 
ther piece! 

A  man  well  meriting  that  free-born  name 

Of  Citizen.    Welcome,  ray  deliverer ! 

I  am  fallen  into  the  hands  of  blood-hounds^ 
that 

For  a  sum  lesser  than  their  honestieS| 


Which  is  nothing,  would  temr  me  out  of  my 

skin. 

MaL  Why,  sir,  what  is  the  matter? 

1  Cred.  Why,  sir. 
The  matter  is,  tliat  we  must  have  our  money; 
Which  if  we  can't  have,  we'llsatisfy  ourselves 
With  his  carcase,  and  be  paid  that  ways. 
You  had  as  good,  !>ir,  not  have  been  so  pe* 

remptory. 
Officer,  holdfast! 

1  Cfffker.  The  strenuous  fist 
Of  vengeance  now  is  ciutch'd ;  therefore  fear 

nothmg ! 

Mai,  Whatmay  be  the  debt  in  gross? 

Mont.  Some  forty  crowns ; 
Nay,  rather  not  so  much:  'tis  quickly  cast. 
'   Mai.  Tis  strange  to  me,  that  your  estate 

should  have 
So  low  an  ebb,  to  stidL  at  such  slight  sums. 
Why,  my  friends,  you  are  too  strict  in  your 

accounts. 
And  call  too  sudden  on  this  gentleman; 
He  has  hopes  left  yet  to  pay  you  all. 

1  Crerf.  Hopes? 
Ay,  marry !  bid  him  pay  his  firiends  with  hopet^ 
And  pay  us  with  current  coin !  I  knew 
A  gfJlant  once  that  fed  his  creditors 
Still  with  hopes,  and  bid  *em  they  should  fear 
Nothing,  for  he  had  'em  tied  in  a  string; 
And  trust  me,  so  he  had  indeed,  for  at  last 
He  and  ail  his  hopes  hopt  in  a  halter. 

Mont.  Good  sir. 
With  what  speed  you  may,  free  me 
Out  of  the  company  of  these  slaves,  that  have 
Nothing  but  their  names  to  shew  'em  men. 

Mai.  What  would 
You  wish  me  do,  sir?  I'protest  I  ha'  not 
The  present  sum  (small  as  it  is)  to  lay  down 

for  you; 
And  for  giving  my  word,  my  friends  no  later 
Than  yesternight,  made  me  take  bread  and 

eat  It,  [ingi'th-  world: 

That  I  should  not  do  it  for  any  man  breath- 
Therefore  I  pray  hold  me  excus'd ! 

Mont.  You  do  not  speak 
This  seriously  ? 

Mai,  As  e*er  I  said  my  prayers^ 
I  protest  to  you. 

Moni,  What  may  I  think  of  this? 

Mai.  Troth,  sir,  thought's  free  for  any  man; 

we  abuse 
Our  betters  in  it;  I  have  done  it  myself. 

Mont.  Trust  me,  this  speech  of  yours  doth 

much  amaze  me ! 
Pray  leave  this  lanniage;  and  out  of  that 
Same  sum  you  lately  did  receive  of  me, 
Lay  dowu  as  much  as  may  discharge  me. 

MaL  You're  [your 

A  merry  man,  sir;  and  C  am  ^ad  you  take 
Crosses  so  temperately*  Fare  you  well,  sir! 
And  yet  I  have  something  ibok  to  say  to  yoa; 


^  That  tire  upon,  j-c]  So,  in  Decker's  Match  Me  in  London,  1681, 
<  ■  the  vulture  tire$ 

*  Upon  the  eagle's  heart.'  IL 

4A2 


A  word 


54S 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


[Act  3.  Scene  1. 


A  word  in  your  ear,  I  pray!  To  be  plain 

wiib  you, 
I  did  lay  this  plot  to  arrest  you,  to  enjoy 
Thismoiieylhaveof yours  with  tliemorcKiirety. 
I'm  a  tool  to  tell  you  this  now ;  but,  in  good 

faith, 
I  couM  not  keep  it  in  ;  and  the  money  would 
Ha' done  me  little  good  eUe.    An  honest 

citizen 
Cannot  wholly  enjoy  his  own  wife  for  you ; 
They  grow  old  before  they  have  true  use  of 

them. 
Which  is  ft  lamentable  thing,  and  truly 
Mucli  hardens  tiie  hearts  of  us  citizeiis 
Against  you.     I  can  say  no  more,  but  am 
Heartily  iorry  for  youu  heaviness; 
An(^  so  [  take  my  leave.  [Exit. 

1  Cred.  Ofticers,  [corn 

Take  hold  on  him  again!  for  monsieur Malli- 
Will  do  nothing  for  him,  1  perceive. 

Enter  Dubois,  IM-Poop,  and  Laverdine. 

Dubois.  Nay,  come. 
My  uuibterSjleave  dancing  oflhe  oldmeasurcs, 
And  let*s  assault  hiui  bravely! 

Lav,  By  no  means; 
For  it  goes  attain st  my  stomach  to  kill  a  man 
lu  an  unjust  quarrel. 

La-F,  It  must  needs  I''*^.^' 

Be  a  clog  to  a  man's  conscience  all  his  life- 

Zflr.  it  must  indeed,  captain:  besides,  do 

you  not  [him, 

See  he  has  gotten  a  guard  of  friends  about 
As  if  be  had  some  know  ledge  of  our  purpose  ? 


Dubois,  llad  lie  a  guard  of  devils^  as  I 

think  'em 
Little  better,  my  sword  should  do  tlie  messi^ 

that 
It  came  for. 

Lav.  If  you  will  be  so  aesperate. 
The  blood  lie  upon  your  own  neck,  for  well 
J^ot  meddle  in't! 

.    Dubois.  I  am  your  friend  and  servant; 
Struggle  with  me,  and  take  my  sword. — 
^Dubois    runs    upon    jiiontague,    and 
St  niggling  yields  hitn  his  Surord;  the 
OjHcers  draw ;  Ijjverdine  and  LorPoop 
in   the  scuffling    retire;     Montague 
chase/ h   than  off  the  Stage,   hi/use^ 
tvounded. 
Noble  sir,  make  ycur  way!  You've  slain  an 
ollicer.  •  [quited  ir.e; 

Mont.  Some  one  of  them  has  certainly  re- 
Fur  I  do  lose  mncb  hl«iod. 
1  Officer.  Udsprcciuus! 
WeVe  loht  a  brother:  pnrsue  the  stentleman! 
"2  Officer.  I'll   not  nic-ddle  with  him:   joa 
Scc  what  comes  on't; 
Besides,  J  know  he'll  l»e  hang'd,ere  he iie  taken. 
1  Officer.  I  teil  thee,  yeoman,  he  must  be 
taken 
Ere  he  be  hang'd.-*Iie  is  hurt  in  the  guts; 
Itun  afore  therefore,  and  know  how  bis  wite 
Will  rate  liis  sausages  a-pouod. 

3  Officer.  Stay,  brother! 
I  may  liv  e ;  fur  surely  [  iind  I  am  but  hart 
In  the  log,  a  dangerous  kick  on  the  shin- 
bone.  l^Exesatt. 


ACT    IIL 


SCENE  T. 

Enter  Lamira,  Duchess,  and  Veramour, 

Lam,  'yj'OV  see,  lady, 

-■-     What  harmless  sports  our  country 

life  afibrds; 
And  tho'  you  meet  not  here  with  city  dainties, 
Or  courtly  entertainment,  what  you  have 
la  free  and  liearty. 

Duch,  Madam,  I  find  here 
What  is  a  stranger  to  the  court,  content; 
And  receive  courtesies  done  for  themselves, 
Without  an  expectation  of  return. 
Which  binds  me  to  your  service. 

Ijtm.  Oh,  your  love! 
'  My  homely  noose,  built  more  for  use  than 

show, 
Obserres  the  golden  mean,  equally  distant 
From  glittering  pomp,  and  sordid  avarice : 
For  masques,  nve  will  observe  the  works  of 

nature; 
And  in  the  place  of  visitation,  read; 
Our  physic  shall  be  wholesome  walks;  onr 

viands 


Nourishing,  not  provoking ;  for  I  find 
Pleasures  are  tortures  that  leave  stings  be- 
hind. 

Duck.  You  have  a  great  estate. 

Lam-  A  competency 
Sufficient  to  maintain  mc  and  my  rank ; 
Nor  am  I,  I  thank  Hcav'n,  so  courtly  bred 
As  to  employ  the  utmost  oi'  my  rents 
In  psvying  tadors  for  fantastic  robes; 
Or,  rather  than  be  second  in  tlie  tkshion. 
Eat  out  my  otticers  and  my  revenues 
With  grating  usury;  my  back  sliaJl  not  be 
The  base  on  which  your  soothing  citizen 
Erects  his  summer-houses ;  nor,  on  th*  other 

side. 
Will  I  be  so  penuriously  wise, 
As  to  make  money,  that's  my  slave,  my  idol; 
Which  yet  to  wrong,  merits  as  much  reproof 
As  to  abuse  our  servant. 

Dttck.  Yet,  witii  your  pardon, 
I  tliink  you  want  the  crown  of  all  cootent* 

ment. 

Lttm,  In  what,  good  madam  ? 

Duck,  In  a  worthy  husband. 

Lm. 


Act  3.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


549 


Xam,  God*'!  it  is  strange  the  galley-slave 

sliouki  praise  [shipwreck 

His  oar,  or  strokes ;  or  you,  that  have  made 

Of  all  dehi;htupoii  this  rock  cal I'd  Marriage, 

Slioald  siuf;  encomiums  on  it. 

JDuch.  Aiadiim,  tho*  [you 

One  fall  from's  horse  and  break  his  neck,  will 
CuQclade  from  that,  it  is  unfit  to  ride  ? 
Or  must  it  follow,  because  Orleans, 
My  lord,  is  pieas'd  to  make  his  passionate 

"trial 
Of  my  suspected  patience,  that  my  br(Hher 
(Were  he  not  so,  I  mii;ljt  say  worthy  Amiens) 
Will  imitate  his  ills,  tlijit  cannot  fancy  ^^ 
What's  truly  noble  in  him  ? 

Lifnn.  I  must  grant  [for 

There's  as  much  worth  in  him  as  can  be  look'd 
From  a  young  lord ;  but  not  enough  to  make 
Me  ciiange  my  golden  liberty,  and  consent 
To  be  a  servant  to  it,  as  wives  are 
To  the  imperious  humours  of  tbeir  lords. 
Mettiinks,  Vin  well:  I  rise  and  go  to  bed. 
When  I  tliink  fit  ;*eat  what  njy  appetite 
Desires,  witbowt  control;  my  ser\ants*  study 
Is  my  contentment,  and  to  make  me  merry 
Their  furthest  aims;  my  sleeps  are  enquir'd 

after. 
My  rising-up  saluted  wit4i  respect: 
Conuuaad  and  liberty  now  wait  upon   '  [all. 
My  virgin  state;  what  would  I  more?  change 
And  for  a  husband?  no!  these  freedoms  die, 
In  which  they  live,  with  my  virginity: 
Tis  in  their  choice,  that's  rich,  to  be  a  wife. 
But  notjbeingyoak'd,  to  chuse  the  single  life.— 
Veraraour^^T 
Vcr.  Madam. 

Lam.  How  like  you  the  country?        ' 
Ver.  I  like  the  air  of  it  well,  madam;  and 
the  rather, 
Because,  as  on  Irish  limber  your  spider  will 
Nc;t  make  his  web,  so,  for  aught  I  see  yet,- 
Your  cheater,  pandar,  and  in^rmer,  bemg  in 
Their  dispositions  t<JO  foggy  for  [rather 

This  piercing  climate,  shun  it,  and  chuse 
To  walk  in  mists  i'lh*city. 

Lam,  Who  did  you 
Serve  first,  boy  ? 

Ver,  A  rich  merchant's  widow ;  and  was 
By  her  preferred  to  a  young  court-lady, 

Duch.  And  what 
Difference  found  you  in  their  service  ? 
Ver.  V^ery  much ; 


For  look,  how  much  my  old  city  madam  gave 
To  her  young  visitants,  so  much  my  lady 
Receiv'd  from  her  hoary  court^^ervants. 

Lam.  And  what 
Made  you  to  leave  her? 

Ver,  My  father,  madam,  had        [thence. 
A  desire  to  have  me  a  tall-mnn,  took  me  from 

Lam,    Well,  I  perceive  you  inherit  the 

wag,  from  your  father. 

Vev,  Doves  beget  doves,  and  eagles  eagles, 

madam : 
A  citizen  here,  tbo'  left  ne'er  so  rich, 
Seldom  at  the  best  proves  a  gentleman ; 
The  son, of  an  advocate,  tho*  dubb'd,  like's 
W^ill  siiew  a  relish  [father. 

Of  his  descent,  and   the  father's  thriving 

practice ; 
As  l*ve  heard,  she  that  of  a  chambermaid 
Is  metamorphosed  into  a  madam, 
Will  yet  remember  how  oft  her  daughter 
By  her  mother  ventured  to  lie  upon  the  rushes. 
Before  she  could  get  in  that  which  makes 

many  ladies.  [master? 

Duch,  But  what  think  you  of  your  late 

Ver,  Ob,  madam!  [Sight. 

Lam,  Why  do  you  sigh  ?  you're  sorry  Siat 

you  left  him ; 
He  made  a  wanton  of  you. 

Ver,  Not  for  that ; 
Orif  hedid,  for  that  my  youth  must  love  him." 
Oh,  pardon  me,  if  I  say  liberty 
Is  bondage,  if  compared  with  his  kind  service; 
And  but  to  have  power  now  to  speak  hik 

worth 
To  its  desert,  I  should  be  well  content 
To   be  an  old  man  when  his  praise  were 

ended : 
And  yet,  if  at  tnis  instant  you  were  pleas'd 
I  should  begin,  the  livery  of  age 
Would  take  his  lodging  upon  this  head 
Ere  I  should  bring  it  to  a  period. 
In  brief,  he  is  a  nan  (for  Heav'n  forbid 
That  1  should  ever  live  to  say  he  was) 
Of  such  a  shape  as  would  make  one  belov'd 
I'hat  never  had  good  thought;  and  to  iiis 

body 
He  hath  a  mind  of  such  a  constant  temper, 
In  which  .all  virtues  throng  to  have  a.room; 
Yet  'g^nst  this  noble  gentleman,  this  Moa* 

tague, 
(For  in  that  name  I  comprehend  all  goodness) 
Wrong,  and  the  wrested  law,  false  witnesses, 


as  .  jf  ig  stvange  the  galley-slave  should  praise.]  This  verse  wants  a  syllable,  which  the 

reader  must  supply  by  some  note  of  exclamation  at  the  beginning.  It  being  common  in  all 
the  editions  of  our  authors  to  leave  dashes  for  exchUnatory  particles,  and  for  every  species 
of  lesser  oaths.        Seward. 

We  have  supplied  the  deficiency;  and,  we  do  not  doubt,  with  the  author's  own  word. 
*^  That  cannot  fancy.']  SeWard  silently  reads, 

That  yau  canH  fancy,  &c. 
*^  JBtt^  not  being  yoalcd  to  chuse  the  single  life. 

Ver.  Madam,]  By  this  reading  Veramour  should  first  speak  to  the  lady,  which  from 
the  propriety  of  the  thing,  from  the  sense  of  the  context,  and  from  the  measure,  it  is  plain 
be  did  not ;  bot  that  his  name  should  be  inserted  in  r he  end  of  ihe  lady's  speech,  and  she 
first  call  to  liim.        Seward,  '  , 

And 


550 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


[Act  S.  Scene  1. 


And  envy  sent  from  hell,  liave  rose  in  arms. 
And,  tho'  not  pierc'd,  batter'd  his  honoar*d 

shield. 
What  shall  I  say  ?  I  hope  you  will  forgive  me^ 
That  if  you  xvere  but  nleas'd  to  love, 
I  know  no  Juno  wortny  such  a  Jove*'. 

Enter  Chariot  Uy  with  a  Letter. 

Lam.  It  is  well  yet  that  IVe  the  second 

place 
In  your  affection.    From  whence? 

CharL  From  the  lord  Amiens,  madam. 

Lam,  *Tis  welcome,  iho*  it  bear  bis  usual 

language.  [health. 

I  thought  so  much ;  his  love-suit  speaks  bis 
What's  he  tliat  brought  it  ? 

CharL  A  gentleman  of  good  rank,  it  seems. 

Lam.  Where  is  he  ?  [bouse. 

Chart.  Receiving  entertainment  in  your 
Sorting  with  his  degree. 

Lam.  'Tis  well. 

CharL  He  waits 
Your  ladyship's  pleasure. 

Lam.  He  shall  not  wait  long. — 
III  leave  you- for  a  while. — Nay,  stay  you, boy; 
Attend  the  lady.      [Exeunt  Lam.  and  CharL 

Ver.  'Would  I  might  live  once 
To  wait  on  my  poor  master! 

Duch.  That's  a  good  boy  ! 
This  thankfulness  lookslovely  on  thy  forehead ; 
And  in  it,  a&  a  book,  methinks  I  read 
Instructions  for  myself,  that  am  his  debtor. 
And  would  do  much  that  I  might  be  so 

happy 
To  repair  that  which  to  our  grief  is  ruin'd. 

Ver.  It  were  a  work  a  king  might  glory  in, 
If  he  saw  with  my  eyes.    If  yoa  please, 

madam, 
(For  sure  to  me  you  seem  unapt  to  walk) 
To  sit,  ahho'  the  churlish  birds  deny 
To  give  us  music  in  this  grove,  where  they 
Are  prodigal  to  others,  1 11  strain  my  voice 
For  a  sad  song;  the  place  is  safe  and  private. 

Duch.    Twas   my  desire:    begin,    good 

Veramoar! 

Music,  a  Song;  at  the  end  of  it,  enter  ilfoii* 
tague/aintifig,  hii  Sa>ord  drawn. 

Duch.  What's  he,  Veramour? 
Ver.  A  goodly  personage. 


Mont.  AmIvetsafe?orismyflightadrefliii? 
My  wounds  ancl  hunger  tell  me  tiiat  I  wake : 
Whither  have  my  fears  borne  me  ?  No  matter 

where ; 
Who  hath  no  place  to  go  to,  cannot  err! 
What  shall  I  do  ?  Cunning  calamity. 
That  others'  gross  wits  uses  to  refine. 
When  I  most  need  it,  dulls  die  edge  of  mine. 

DmcA.^Is  not  tliis  Montague's  voice? 

Ver,  My  master's  ?  fy ! 

Mont.  What  sound  was  that?  Pish! 
Fear  makes  the  wretch  think  every  leaf  o'lh' 
jury.  [done  it, 

What  course  to  live?  beg?  better  men  have 
But  ill  another  kind :  steal  ?  AlezaQder, 
Tho'  stil'd  a  conqueror,  was  a  proud  thief^ 
Tho'  he  robb'd  with  an  army.    Fy,  how  idle 
These  meditations  are!  tho'  thou  art  worse 
Than  sorrow's  tongue  can  speak  thee,  dioa 

art  still. 
Or  sliouldst  be,  honest  Montagoe. 

Duch,  Tis  too  true. 

Fcr.  1'ishe!  [flesh 

What  villain's  hands  did  this  ?  Oh,  that  my 
Were  balm!  in  faith,  sir,  I  would  pluck  it  off 
As  readily  as  this!  Pray  you  accept 
My  will  to  do  you  service :  I  have  beard 
The  mouse  once  sav'd  the  lion  in  his  need. 
As  the  poor  scarab**  spoil'd  the  eagle's  seed**. 
'  Duch.  How  do  you  ? 

Mont.  As  a  fonAken  man. 

Duch.  Do  not  say  so !  take  comfort ; 
For  your  misfortunes  have  been  kind  in  t]u% 
To  cast  YOU  on  a  hospitable  shore. 
Where  dwells  a  lady— 

Ver.  She  to  whom,  good  master. 
You  preferr'd  me. 

Duch.  In  whose  house,  whatsoe'er 
Your  dangers  are,  I'll  undertake  yonr  safety. 

Mont.  I  fear  thatFm  parsued;  and  donbl 

that  I, 
In  my  defence,  have  kill'd  an  oQcer. 

Ver.  Is  that  all?  There's  no  law  under  the 

sun 
But  will,  I  hope,  confess,  one  drop  of  Uood 
Shed  from  this  arm  is  recompense  enoo^ 
Tho'  you  had  cut  the  throats  of  ail  the 

catchpoles 
In  France,  n^y,  in  the  workL 

Mont.  I  woiild  be  loth 


*7  That  if  you  were  but  pleaid  to  hnty 

J  know  no  Juno  worthy  such  a  JoveA  Both  the  sense  and  measure  of  the  first  line  are 
so  lame  that  there  can,  I  think,  be  no  doubt  of  a  corruption.  That  which  is  most  nateni 
for  Veramour  to  say  as  a  proper  compliment  to  Lamiray  and  a  proper  wish  for  restoring  his 
beloved  master  to  wealth  and  prosperity;  this,  I  say,  will  exacdy  fill  np  the  meosaie;  and 
tho'  it  departs  more  than  I  could  wish  from  the  trace  of  the  letters,  vet  a  few  blots  in  the 
original  copy  might  easily  cause  such  a  diflferenoe ;  I  hope  that  I  shall  only  restore  that 
original  in  reading. 

That  unless  you  yourself  yrere  pleas'd  to  love. 
Lamira*6  answer  evidently  requires  some  reading  to  this  purport.        Seward. 

The  sense  of  the  first  line  is  clear,  and  the  text  should  not  be  violated.    Lamis^s  answer 
refers  to  Veramour's  affection,  not  to  Mwttague^a. 

**  Scarab,]  See  note  40  on  the  Elder  Brother. 

*^  Spil'd  the  eagles  seed,]  Former  editions.       SemanL 

To 


Act  S.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


551 


To  be  a  burden^  or  feed  like  a  drooe 
On  tbe  indoBtrious  labour  of  a  bee ; 
And  baser  far  I  hold  it  to  owe  for 
The  bread  I  eat,  what's  not  ia  me  to  pay: 
Then,  since  my  full  fortunes  are  declin'd^^, 
To  their  low  ebb.  Til  fasiiiou  my  high  mind. 
It  was  DO  shame  to  Hecuba,  to  serve 
When  Troy  was  fir'd :  ift  be  in  your  power 
To  be  a  means  to  make  her  entertain  me^'y 
(And  far  from  that  I  was;  but  to  supply 
My  want  with  habit  fit  for  him  that  serves) 
I  shall  owe  much  to  you. 

Duch,.  Leave  that  care  to  mc. 

Fer.   Good  sir,    lean  on   my  shoulder. 

Help,  good  madam ! 
Oh,  that  I  were  a  horse  for  half  an  hour, 
That  I  might  carry  you  home  on  my  back! 
I  hope  you'll  love  me  still  ? 

Mont.  Thou  dost  deserve  it,  boy. 
That  I  should  live  to  be  thus  troublesome ! 

Duck.  Good  sir,  'tis  none.  [chang'd 

Ver,  Trouble  ?  Most  willingly  I  would  be 
Like  Apuleius,  wear  his  ass's  ear'% 
Provided  I  might  still  this  burden  bear. 

Duck,  nris  a  kind  boy! 

Mont.  I  find  true  proof  of  it.       \ExeunU 

JEnter  Jmiem  and  LonguevilUy  with  a  Faper. 

Ami.  You'll  carry  it  ? 

Lon^.  As  I  live,  altho'  my  packet 
Were  like  Bellerophon's.  What  have  you  seen 
In  me  or  my  behaviour,  since  your  ravours 
So  plentifully  shower'd  upon  my  wants, 
That  may  beget  distrust  of  my  performance? 

Ami,  Nay,  be  not  angry !  if  X  entertain'd 
But  the  least  scruple  of  your  love,  or  courage, 
I  would  make  choice  of  one  which  my  estate 
Should  do  me  riglit  in  this'^:  nor  can  you 

blame  me, 
If  in  a  matter  of  such  consequence 
I  am  so  importunate. 

3®  Then  since  my  full,  4c.]  Seward,  for  the  sake  of  measure,  reads, 
Then  since  my  okce/u//  fortunes  are  declin'd. 

3>  To  be  a  meant  to  nutke'her  entertainment.!  Tliis  m»take  of  the  substantive  entertain/- 
ment  for  entertain  me,  has  run  through  the  former  editions.  It  has  been  objected  to  this 
passages-How  could  Montague  be  personally  unknown,  or  want  a  recommendation  to 
Lamira^  when  he  had  expressly  recommeudcd  to  her  both  the  persons  he  speaks  to?  Had 
the  poets  foreseen  the  objection,  an  additional  line  might  have  taken  it  clearly  off.  Since 
it  is  very  common,  for  persons  of  remarkable  goodness  living  at  great  distances,  and  per- 
sonally, unknown  to  each  other,  'to  contract  great  friendships  merely  from  character  and  the 
intarcourse  of  mntoal  friends ;  or  perhaps  what  is  still  a  greater  band  of  friendship,  their 
concurrence  in  the  same  works  of  charity  and  benevolence.        Seward. 

Surely  the  absurdity  is  too  gross  to  be  so  easily  removed. 

^^  Like  Apuleius,  4*c.]  See  Apuleiut's  Golden  Aise,  translated  into  English  b?  William 
Adlineton,  1571.         JK. 

^3  J  would  make  choice  of  one  which  my  estate 

Should  do  me  right  in  this.]  Thus  the  former  editions,  but  I  believe  without  a  possi- 
bility of  any  rational  intei-pretation :  I  read, 

■  with  ray  estate, 

i.  e.  I  would  have  a  second  in  this  duel,  that  should  deliver  my  challenge  and  join  in  the  fight 
with  boldness  and  intrepidity,  though  it  cost  me  my  whole  estate  to  procure  one.  Longue* 
vilU^s  answer  to  this  has  infinite  beauty  and  eneigy.        Seward., 

Seward's  reading  is  very  bald,  and  will  bcarce  convey  the  sense  he  annexes  to  it,  at  least 
not  in  the  stile  of  our  authors*    The  old  reading  would  better  bear  it. 

Laurel^ 


Long.  Good  my  lord, 
Let  me  prevent  your  further  conjurations 
To  raise  my  suirit!  I  know  this  is  a  challenge 
To  be  deliver d  unto  Orleans'  hand; 
And  that  my  undertaking  ends  not  there. 
But  I  must  be  your  second,  and  in  that 
Not  alone    search    your  enemy,  measure 

weapons, 
But  stand  in  all  your  hazards,  as  our  bloods 
Ran  in  the  self<-same  veins ;  in  which  if  I 
Better  not  your  opinion,  as  a  limb 
That's  putrified  and  useless,  cut  me  off, 
And  underneath  the  gallows  bury  it! 

Ami.  At  full  you  understand  me,  and  in  this 
Binj;!  ine,  and  what  is  mine,  to  you  and  yours  s 
I  will  not  so  much  wrong  you  as  to  add 
One  syllable  more ;  let  it  suffice  I  leave 
My  honour  to  your  guard,  and  in  that  prove 
You  hold  the  first  place  in  my  heart  and 

love!  [Exit. 

Long.  The  first  place  in  a  lord's  affection? 

very  good !  [clianging 

And  now  long  doth  that  last?  perhaps  the 
Of  some  three  shirts  i'tli' tennis-court.  Well, 

it  were 
Very  necessary  that  an  order  were  taken 
(If  'twere  possible)  that  younger  brothers 
Might  have  more  wit,  or  more  money;  for 

now, 
Howe'er  the  fool  hath  long  been  put  upon  him 
That  inherits,  his  revenue  hath  bought  him 
A  spunge,  and  wiped  off  the  imputation : 
And  for  the, understanding  of  the  younger, 
Let  him  get  as  much  rhetorick  as  he  can, 
To  grace  his  language,  they  will  see  he  shall 

Enter  Dubois. 

Have  gloss  little  enough  to  set  out  his  bark. 
Stand,  Dubois!  Look  about!  is  all  safe? 

Dubois.  Approach  not  near  me  but  witk 

reverence. 


553 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FOllTUNE. 


[Act  3.  Sjcenel. 


Laurel,  and  adorations  !  I  have  done 
More  than  deserves  a  hundred  thanks. 

Long,  How  now  ? 
What's  the  matter?  [brain, 

Dubois.  With  this  hand,  only  aided  by  this 
Without  an  Orpheus'  harp,  redeera'd  from 
Three- headed  porter,  our  Euridice.       [lielJ's 

Long.  Nay,  prithee,  speak  sense !  this  is 
Braggart  in  a  play.  [like  tiie  stale 

Vubois.  Then,  in  plain  pro^e,  thus,  and 
with  as  little  al^tion  as  thou  canst  desire;  the 
three-headed  porter  were  three  inexonible 
catchpoles,  out  of  whose  jaws,  without  tlie 
help  of  Orpheus*  harp,  bait  or  bribe  (for  tl)o«>e 
two  strings  make  the  musick  that  mollifies 
those  flinty  furies),  I  rescued  our  Euridice;  I 
mean  my  ol\l  master  Montague. 

Long.  And  is  this  all  ? 
A  poor  rescue !  I  thought  thou  hadst  reversed 
The  judgment  of  his  overthrow  in  hib  suit; 
Or  wrought  upon  his  adversary  Orleans, 
Taken  the  shape  of  a  ghost,  frighted  his  mind 
Into  distraction,  and,  for  the  appeasing  of 
His  conscience,  forc*d  him  to  make  restitution 
Of  Montague's  lands,   or  such  like.     Kes- 

cued'*?  'Slight,  I  would 
Have  hired  a  chrocheteur'*  for  two  cardecues. 
To  have  done  so  much  with  his  wliip  ! 

Dubois.  You  would.  Sir?  [cloths  durst  do 
And  yet  'tis  more  than  three  on  their  foot- 
Eor  a  sworn  brother,  in  a  coach. 

Long.  Besides,  [may  be 

What  proofs   of  it  ?  for  aught  J.  know,  this 
A  trick;  I  had  rather  have  him  a  prisoner. 
Where  I  might  visit  him,  and  do  him  service, 
Than  not  at  all,  or  I  know  not  where. 

Dubois.  Well,   sir,   the  end  will   shew  it. 

What's  that  ?  a  challenge  ?  [in  jest, 

Long.  Yes;  where  is  Orleans?  tho'wc  fight 
He  must  meet  with  Amiens  in  earnest. — Fall 

off! 
We  are  discovered !   My  horse,  garson,  ha  I 

Dubout.  Were  it  not  m  a  house,  aud  in  his 

presence 
To  whom  I  owe  all  duty — 

Long*  What  would  it  do  ? 
Prate,  as  it  docs ;  but  be  as  far  from  striking, 
As  he  that  owes  it,  Orleans. 

Dubois.  How  ? 

Lo7ig.  I  think  thou  art  his  porter. 
Set  hereto  answer  creditors,  that  his  lordship 
Is  not  within,  or  takes  the  diet.     I  am  sent, 
And  will  grow  here  until  I  have  an  answer. 
Not  to  demand  a  debt  of  money,  but 
To  call  him  to  a  strict  account  for  wrong 


Done  to  the  honours  of  a  gentleman,       [oC 
Which  nothing  but  his  henrt-blood  afaali  wash 

Dubois.  Shall  I  hear  this  ? 

Long.  And  more  ;  and  if  I  may  Dot 
Have  access  to  him,  I  will  fix  this  here. 
To  his  disgrace  and  thine — 

Dubois.  Aud  thy  life  with  it.  [posts, 

Long.  Then  have  the  copies  of  it  pasted  on 
JJke  pamphlet-titles,  that  sue  to  be  M>ld  ; 
Have  his  disgrace  tiUk  for  tobacco-shops, 
His  picture  baffled — 

Dubois.  All  respect  away! 
Werc*t  in  a  church —    ^  [Draw  boih. 

Long.  This  is  the  book  I  pray  witii. 

Enter  Orleans. 

OrL  Forbear,  upon  your  lives  ! 

Long.  What,  are  you  rous'd  ?  [not 

I  hope  your  lordship  can    read  (tlio*  he  stain 
His   birth   with  scholarship). — Doth  it  not 

please  you  now  ? 
If  you're  a  right  monsieur,  muster  up 
The  rest  of  your  attendance,  which  is  a  page, 
A  coOk,  a  pander,  coachman,  and  a  footman^ 
{In  these  days,  a  great  lord's  train)  pretend- 
ing I  am  [of  aikswerinv  it. 
Unworthy  to  bring  you  a  challenge;  instead 
Have  me  kick'd. 

Dubois.  If  he  does,  thou  deserv'st  ic. 

Long.  I  dare  you  all  to  touch  me !  Til  net 
What  answer  yoa  ?  [stand  sdlL 

OrL  That  thou  hnst  done  to  Amiens 
The  office  of  a  faithful  friend,  which  I 
Would  cherish  in  thee,  were  he  not  my  foe. 
However,  since  on  iionourablc  terras 
He  calls  me  forth,  say  I  will  meet  wtt^  l>im; 
And  by  Dubois,ere  sun-set,  make  him  know 
The  time  and  place,  my  sword's  leugth,  aud 

whatever 
Scruple  of  circumstance  he  can  expect. 

Long.  This  answer  comes  unlooked-for. 

Fare  you  well  ! 
Finding  your  temper  thus,  'would  I  had  said 

less.  [RiU. 

Orl.  Now  comes  thy  love  to  the  test. 

Dubois.  My  lord,  'twill  hold. 
And  in  ail  dangers  prove  itself  true  eold. 

Enter  Laverdine,  La-Poop,  MaUkorn,  miU 

Servant, 

S^rv.  I  will  acquaint  my  lady  with  joor 
Please  you  repose  yourself  here.       [cuming. 

Mul.  There's  a  tester; 
Nay,  now  I  am  a  wooer,  I  must  be  bountifoL 


3+  ■  Or  such  like  rescue.]  The  old  folio  reads, 

or  such  like  rescmed. 

The  late  editions  have  made  it  tolerable  sense,  though  I  believe  it  a  wrong  conjecture,  the 
more  natural  and  more  spirited  reading  may  be  given  without  dmnging  a  letter,  only  by  diK- 
ferent  points— 1  read, 

— —  or  such  like;  rescued  9   Slight 
I  would  have  hired,  Ike.  Seward. 

'^  Have  hired  acrocheture.]   The  true  word  here  not  being  understood,  is  printed  wrong 
in  all  the  editions,  it  should  be  a  chrocheteur,  i.  e.  a  porter.  Sevard, 

Sorv. 


Aas.  ScMie  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAITO  FORTUNE. 


553 


Which  we  thought  prodigal  in  your  report'^^ 
Before  we  saw  you. 

Lam,  Tush,  sir  I  this  courtship's  old. 

La^P,  lU  fight  for  thee^  sweet  wench; 
This  is  my  tongue,  and  wooes  for  me. 

Lum.  Good  man  of  war,  Tsiege* 

Hands  off!  If  you  take  me,  it  must  be  by 
Not  by  an  onset :  and  for  your  valour,  I 
Think  I  have  deserved  few  enemies. 
And  therefore  need  it  not. 

Mai.  Thou  need'st  nothing,  sweet  lady. 
But  an  obsequious  husband ;  and  where  wilt 

thou  find  him, 
tf  noti*  th'city?  We  are  true  Muscovites 
To  our  wives,  and  are  ne'er  better  pleased 

than  when  [have  me ! 

They  use  us  as  slaves,  bridle  and  saddle  us : 
Thou  slwlt  command  all  my  wealth  as  tliine 

own ;  [and 

Thou  sbalt  sit  like  a  queen  in  my  warehouse; 
My  factors,  at  the  retom  with  my  ships,  shall 

pay  thee 
Tribute  of  all  the  rarities  of  the  earth; 
Thou  sbalt  wear  gold,  feed  on  delicates;  the 

first  rshall— 

Peascods,    strawberries,    grapes,    cherries, 

Lam.  Be  mine:   I  apprehend  what  you 

would  say.  Mbr, 

Those  dainties,  which  the  city  pays  se  dear 
The  country  yields  for  nothing,  and  as  early  ; 
And,  credit  me,  your  ftup-fet'^  viands  please 

not 
My  appetite  better  than  those  that  are  n^ 

hand.  [Mon 

Then,  for  your  promised  service  and  sobjeo- 
To  all  my  liumours  when  I  am  your  wife, 

i Which,  as  it  seems,  is  frequent  in  the  city) 
cannot  find  what  pleasure  they  receive 
In  using  their  fond  husbands  like  their  maids: 
But,  of  this,  more  hereafter!  I  accept 
Your  profier  kindly,  and  yours:  my  house 

stands  open 
To  entertam  you;  take  your  pleasure  in  it. 
And  ease  after  your  jourueyl 

Duch.  Do  you  note 
The  boldness  of  the  fellows? 

Lam.  Alas,  madam ! 
A  virgin  must  in  this  be  like  a  lawyer ; 
And  as  he  takes  all  fees^  she  must  hear  all 

suitors ; 
The  one  for  gain,  the  other  for  her  mirth : 
Stay  with  tlie  gentlemen !  we'll  to  the  orchards. 
\^£xe.  Lamiroy  Duchtny  Ver.  and  CharlotU. 

Lo'P.  Zounds!  what  art  thou  ? 

Almt,  An  honest  man,  tbo' poor: 
And  look  they  like  to  monsters  ?  are  they  so 

Lav,  Kose  from'  the  dead  ?  [rare  i 

MaL  Do  you  hear,  monsieur  Serviteur  ? 

36  Which  v€  thought  prodigal  in  our  r^ort.l  Former  editions.    Mr.  Sympson  concurred 
JB  the  correction.  Seward, 

'  *'  Fitr-fet]  Seward  alters  fst  to  fetcKd ;  hxxtfet  is  right ;  it  was  the  language  of  tl^ 

times.    So,  in  Roger  Ascham's  Works,  p.  13,  *  And  therefore,  agaynst  a  desperate  evil!  be- 

*  gan  to  seeke  for  a  desperate  remedie ;  which  was  fet  from  Rome,  a  shop  always  open  tof 

^  any  mischiei^  as  you  shsU  perceive  in  th<»c  few  leaves,  if  you  marke  them  weU.  B,. 

VOL*UI.  ^  4B  Didst 


Sero,  If  yon  would  have  two  three-pences 
&r  it,  sir. 
To  give  some  of  your  kindred  as  you  ride, 
I'll  see  if  I  can  get  them  ;  we  use  not 
(Tbo'  servants)  to  take  bribes.  [Exit, 

Lav,  Then  thou'rt  unfit 
To  be  in  office,  either  in  court  or  city. 
Xe-P.  Indeed  cormptiou  is  a  tree  whose 
branches  [every  where, 

Are  of  an  unmeasurable  length ;  they  spread 
And  the  dew  that  drops  firom  thence  hath  in- 
Some  chairs  and  stooU  of  authority,    [fected 

Mai,  Ah,  captain, 
Lay  not  all  the  fault  upon  officers ;    [action. 
You  know  you  can  sharks  tho'  you  be  out  of 
Witness  Monta^  * 

Lav,  Hang  bim  !  lie*8  safe  enough : 
Too  bad  a  hand  in't  too,  and  have  gain'd  by 
But  I  wonder  you  citizens,  that  keep    [him. 
So  many  books,  and  take  such  strict  accounts 
Fof  every  farthing  due  to  you  from  others, 
Reserve  not  so  much  as  a  memorandum 
For  the  courtesies  you  receive. 

Mai.  Would  YOU  have 
A  citizen  book  those  f  Thankfulness  is 
A  thing  we  are  not  sworn  to  in  our  indentures; 
You  may  as  well  urge  conscience. 

Xov.  Talk 
No  more  of  such  vanities !  Montague 
Is  irrecoverably  sunk:  I  would  [snake 

We  had  twenty  more  to  send  afler  him.  The 
That  would  lie  a  dragon,  and  have  wings, 

must  eat; 
And  what  implieth  that,  bnt  this,  that  in 
This  cannibal  age,  he  that  would  have 
The  suit  of  we^th,  must  not  care  whom  he 

feeds  on  ? 
And,  as  I've  heard,  no  flesh  battens  l)etter 
Than  that  of  a  professed  friend  :  and  he 
That  would  mount  to  honour,  must  not  make 
dainty  [father. 

To  use  the  head  of  his  mother,  back  of  his 
Or  neck  of.  his  broths,  for  ladders  to  his  pr^ 
ferment :  [most  part. 

For  but  observe,  and  yon  shall  mid  for  th' 
Cunning  Villainy  sit  at  a  feast  as  principal 
guest,  [servant 

And  innocent  Honesty  wait  as  a  contemn'd 
With  a  trencher. 
La-P.  The  ladies. 

JEn/er  Montague^  LaamrOj  DscAot,  Char* 
latte,  and  Veramour, 

Mont,  Do  you  smcU  nothing? 
CharL  Not  I,  sir.  [in  my  nostrils. 

Mont,  The  carrion  ofknaves  is  very  strong 
Xcfv.  We  came  to  admire ;  and  find  Fame 
was  Or  niggard, 


£5* 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


[Act  3.  Scene  t 


Didst  thou  never  liear  of  one  Montague, 
A  prodigal  goU,  that  liveth  about  Paris  f 

Mont,  So,  sir !  [estate 

Lav.  One  tliat,  after  the  loss  of  his  main 
In  a  law-suit,  bought  an  office  in  tlie  court  ? 

Xa»P.  And  should  have  letters  of  mart,  to 

have  [dies  ? 

The  Spanish  treasure  as  it  came  from  the  [n- 
Were  not  thou  and  he  twins  i  Put  off  thy  hat ; 
JLet  me  see  thy  forehead. 

Mont.  Though  you  take  privilege 
To  use  your  tongues,  I  pray  you  hold  your 

fingers ! 
rTtras  your  base  coz*nage  made  me  as  I  am ; 
And,  were  you  somewhere  else.  I  would  take 

off 
This  proud  film  from  your  eyes,  that  will  not 
Know  I  am  Montague.  [let  you 

Enter  Lamira  behind  the  arrMi, 

Lam.  ni  obser^'e  this  better. 

Lav.  And  art  thou  he?  Til  do  thee  grace; 

give  me  [course: 

Thy  liand !  Vva  glad  thou  hast  ta'en  so  good  a 
Serve  God,  and  please  thy  mistress;  if  I 

prove 
To  be  thy  master,  as  I'm  very  likely, 
I  will  do  for  tliee. 

Mai.  Faith,  the  fellow  [doubt 

Is  well  made  for  a  servingman,  and  w  ill  no 
Carry  a  chine  of  beef  with  a  good  grace. 

Xo-P.  Prithee  be  careiiil  of  me  in  my 

chamber: 
I  will  remember  thee  at  my  departure. 

Mont.  All  this  I  can   endure  under  this 

roof; 
And  so  much  owe  I  her,  whose  now  t  am. 
That  no  wrong  shall  incense  mc  to  molest 
Her  quiet  house.     While  you  continue  here, 
I  will  not  be  asham*d  to  do  you  service 
More  than  to  her,  because  such  is  her  plea- 
sure. 
But  you  that  have  broke  thrice,  and  fourteen 

times 
Compounded  for  two  shillings  in  the  pound. 
Know  I  dare  kick  yuu  in  your  shop  !  Do  yon 
If  ever  1  see  Paris,  iho'  an  army  [hear? 

Of  musty  murrions^^,  rusty  brown  bills  and 

clubs,  [tricks. 

Stand  for  your  guard — I  have  lienrd  of  your 
And  you  that  smell  of  amber  at  my  cnarge, 
And  triumph  in  your  cheat — well,!  may  live 
To  meet  thee !  be  it  among  a  troop  of  such 
That  are  upon  the  fair  fiice  of  the  court 
like  running  ulcers,  and  before  thy  whore^ 
Trample  upon  thee  ! 

Lct'P.  This  a  language  for 
A  livery?  Take  heed  ;  1  am  a  captain. 


Moat.  A  coxcomb,  are  you  not  ?    That 

tliou  and  I,  [now 

To  give  pn)of  which  of<  us  dares  most,  wert 
In  midst  of  a  rough  sea,  upon  a  piece 
Of  a  split  ship,  where  only  one  might  ride, 

I  woukl [plajer. 

But  foolish   anger   makes   me  talk  like  a 
[Lamira  Jrom  the  arras. 

Lam.  Indeed  you  act  a  part  doth  ill  be- 
come youj 
My  servant'*;  is  this  your  duty? 

Mont.  I  crave  your  pardon, 
And  will  hereafter  be  more  circumspect 

Lav.  Oh,  the  power  of  a  woman's  tongue! 

It  hath  done  [undertake ; 

More  than  we  three  with  ^;>ar  swords  dont 
Put  a  madman  to  silence. 

Lam.  Why,  sirrah,  tliese 
Are  none  of  your  comrades,  to  drink  with  ia 

the  cellar ; 
One  of  them,  for  aught  you  know,  may  livt 
To  be  your  master. 

Xa-P.  There  is  some  comfort  yet. 

Lam.  Here's  choice  of  three :  a  wealth/ 

Mai,  Uem  !  [merchant— 

She*s  taken ;  she  hath  spied  my  good  calf, 
And  many  ladies  cliuse  their  husbands  by 

that. 

Lam.  A  courtier  tliat^s  in  grace;  a  valiant 

captain ;  [gone ! 

And  aie  these  mates  for  you?  Away,  be- 

Mont,  1  humbly  pray  you  will  be  pleas*4 

to  pardon  ! 
And,  to  give  satisfaction  to  you,  madam, 
(Altlio*  I  break  my  lieart)  I  will  confess 
That  I  have  wrong*d  them  too,   and  makt 

submission. 

Lam.  No;  I'll  spare  that.    Go,  bid  the 

cook  haste  supper.  [Exit  Mont, 

La^P.  Oh,  brave  lady,  thou  rt  worthy  IQ 

have  servants,  |oaw 

To  be  commandressof  a  fiimily,  thatknow'st 
To  use  and  govern  it. 

Lav.  You  shall  have  many  mistresses 
That  will  so  mistake  as  to  take 
Their  horse-keepers  and  footmen  instead  of 
Thou  art  none  of  those.       [their  husbands; 

Ma/.  But  she  that  can  make  [gaUanta, 
Distinction  of  men,  and  knows  when  she  bilk 
And  fellows  of  rank  and  quality  in  herhouse— 

Lam.  Gallants  indeed,  ift  be  the  gaUsotk' 

fashion 
To  triumph  in  the  miseries  of  a  man, 
Of  which  they  are  the  cause !  one  that  tnos- 

cends  [done) 

(In  spite  of  all  tliat  fortune  hath,  or  can  be, 
A  miUiuu  of  soch  things  as  you !— My  UooO 
Stand  open  to  receive  all  such  as  wear 


'^  Qf  musty  murrions,  &c.]  So  in  Philaster,  vol.  i. 

We  are  thy  mynnidons,  thy  guard,  thy  roarers ! 
And  when  thy  noble  body  is  in  durance, 
Thus  do  we  clap  our  mw(ty  murrians  on. 
And  trace  the  streets  in  terror.  R. 

^*  DwA  ill  bicome  you,  mjf  ttrwint.]  Seward  expunges  you. 


n* 


•AetS.  Scene  i.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN«  PORTONE. 


S5h 


The  shape  of  gentlemen;  and  mygentlier 

nature 
(I  might  say  weaker)  weighs  not  the  expence 
Of  entertainment :  think  you  FlI  forget  yet 
"What'sdue  unto  myself  ?  do  not  I  know, 
That  you  have  dealt  wi'poorM  ontague^but  like 
Keedy  commanders,  cheating  citizens. 
And  perjur*d  courtiers  ?    I  am  much  mov'd, 

else  use  not 
To  say  so  much :  if  you  will  bear  yourselves 
Ab  fits  such  you  would  make  me  think  you  are, 
«Yoa  may  stay;  if  not^  the  way  lies  before 
you.  JJBorit. 

MaL  What  think  you  of  this,  captain  ? 
-     La-P.  That  this  is 
A  bawdy-house,  with  pinnacles  and  turrets, 
In  which  this  disguis'd  Montague  goes  to  rut 

gratii  ; 
And  that  this  is  a  landed  pandress,  and  makes 
lier  bouse  a  brothel  for  charity. 

MaL  Come,  that's  no  miracle; 
But  from  whence  derive  you  the  supposition? 
Lao.  Observe  but th' circumstance^^!  You 
all  know, 
-  That  in  the  height  of  Montague's  prosperity, 
-He  did  affect,  and  had  his  love  returned  by 
This  lady  Orleans  :  since  her  divorcement. 
And  his  decay  of  estate***,  'tis  known  they've 

met; 
Kot  so  much  as  his  boy  but  is  wanting ;  and 

that  this 
Can  be  any  thing  else  than  a  mere  plot  for 
Their  night-work,  is  above  my  imagination 
To  conceive, 

MaL  Nay,  it  carries  probability: 
Let's  observe  it  better;  but  yet  wi'  such 

caution. 
As  our  prying  be  not  discovered!    here's  all 
•    things 

To  be  had  without  cost,  and  therefore 
Good  staying  here. 

£ff*P.  Nay,  that  is  true  ;  I  would 
We  might  wooe  her  twenty  years,  like  Pene- 
lope's sttitofv. 
C  ome,  Laverdine !    [Neurit  Mai,  and  La*P. 

Lav^  I  follow  instantly.-* 
Yonder  he  is.    The  thought  of  this  boy 


Enter  Veramaur, 


Hath  much  cool'd  my  afTecUon  to  his  lady ; 
And  by  all  conjectures  this  is  a  disguis*d 

whore: 
I'll  try  if  [  can  search  this  mine. — ^Page ! 
Ven  Your  pleasure,  sir  ? 
Lav.  Thou  art  a  pretty  boy. 
Ver,  And  you  a  brave  man : 
Now  I  am  out  of  your  debt. 
Lav,  Nay,  prithee  stay  ! 
Ver,  I  am  in  haste,  sir. 
Lav,  JBy  the  faith  of  a  courtier-^ 
Ver,  Take  heed  what  ye  say!  you've  taket 
a  strange  oath.  [pleas'd  me  better  : 

Lav.  I  liave  not  seen  a  youth  tliat  hath 
I  would  thou  couldst  like  me,  so  far  as  to  leave 
Thy  lady  and  wait  on  me !  I  would  maintain 

I'th'  bravest  cloatlis [thee 

Ver.  Tho'  you  took  them  up 
On  trust,  or  bought 'em  at  the  broker's? 

Lav.  Or  any  way.  [cleanly -• 

Then  thy  employments  should  be  so  neat  and 
Thou  sbouldst  not  touch  a  jiair  of  pantabies 
In  a  month;  and  thy  lodging — 
Ver.  Should  be  in  a  brothel. 
Lav.  No ;  but  in  mine  arms. 
Ver.  That  may  be 
The  circle  of  a  bawdy-house,  or  worse. 
.Lav,  I  mean  thou  shouldst  lie  with  me. 
Ver,  Lie  with  you?  [never 

I  had  rather  lie  with  my  lady's  monkey ! 'twas 
A  good  worid,  since  our  French  lords  leam'd 
Of  the  Neapolitans,  to  make  theirpages 
Their  bedfellows ;   it  doth  more  hurt  to  th' 
suburb  ladies,  [time,  sir. 

Than  twenty  dead  vacations.    'Tis  supi^eiv 

Lav.  I  thought  so ! 
I  know  by  that  'tis  a  woman ;  for  because 
Perad  venture  she  hath  made  trial  of  the  mon- 
key. 
She  prefers  him  before  me,  as  one  unknown : 

well, 
These  are   strange  creatures^',  and    have 

strange  desires; 
And  men  must  use  strange  means  to  quench 
strange  fires.  [Exit, 


ACT 

'^  T%e  circumstance.]  Seward  reads,  the  drcumstances. 
•*  ^^  It  is  known  they  have  met,  not  so  much  as  his  bay  hut  is  toanting^]  Here  again  the  text, 
as  hitherto  printed,  would  by  no  means  run  into  anysort  of  measure,  and  the  sense  is  almost 
as  much  injured.  Striking  out  hut  will  do  but  little,  for  there  want  some  words  to  connect 
the  two  sentences ;  the  first  evidently  relating  to  the  meeting  of  lady  Orleans  and  Man  • 
$ague  in  Paris;  and  the  second  to  their  being  at  Xamira's  country-seat.  The  words  tliat 
first  occurred,  as  absolutely  necessary  to  tlte  sense,  perfectly  suited  the  measure,  and  made 
the  whole  speech  ran  very  easily  into  it.  I  read,  therefore, 
■  'tis  known  they've  met : 

And  here  they  are  together,  not  so  much  at 
His  boy  is  wanting.  Seward. 

We  think  tlie  old  text  may  very  probably  and  aptly  signify,  *  'Jh  known  thej/ve  met,  met 
''  alone,  his  very-bmf^  absent :   and  this  must  be  a  plot  ibr  their  intrigue.'    The  old  text  also  is 
}iere  as  reducible  to  measure,  as  many  other  parts  of  the  play. 
*^  These  are  standing  creatures,  and  have  strange  desires  ; 

And  men  must  use  strange  means  to  quench  strange  fires.]  The  old  folio  had  printed  this 
•9  prose;  the  late  tdlt^n  found  oot  that  these  two  hues  rhymed^  nod  therefore  should  be 

4  B  ^  printed 


55d 


THE  AOMEST  1CAN*6  fOETUMlL 


[Ael4*.8ccM4% 


ACT  IV, 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Montague  alone,  in  mean  habit. 

Mont.  "VfOW,  Montague!    who  discerns 
•*'^      th^  spirit  now,  [cloud 

Thy  breeding,  or  thy  blood?  Imre^s  a  poor 
£<  lipseth  all  thy  splendor  :  who  can  read 
In  thy  pale  face,  dead  e^e,  or  lenten  suit. 
The  liberty  thv  ever-giTiDg  hand 
Hath  touglit  n>r  others,  manacling  itself 
In  gyves  of  parchment  indissolu hie  ?    [means, 
The    greatest-hearted   roan,   supplied  with 
Nobilirv  of  birth,  and  gentlest  paitu, 
Ay*^,  tbo'  the  right-hand  of  hissQvereigny 
If  Virtue  quit  her  seat  in  his  high  soul. 
Glitters  hut  like  a  ()alace  set  on  fire, 
Whose  dory  whilst  it  shines  but  rains  him ; 
And   his  bright  show,  each  liour  to  ashes 

tending, 
Shall  at  the  last  be  rak*d  up  like  a  snarkle, 
Unless  men*B  lives  and  fortunes  feed  tne  flame. 
Not  for  my  own  wants  tho',  blame  I  my  stars^ 
But  su6fering  others  to  cast  love  on  roe, 
V^hen  I  can  neither  take,  nor  thankful  be : 
My  iad/s  uoman,fair  and  virtuous, 
Yoimg  as  the  present  month,  solicits  me 
For  love  and  marriage;  now,  b^iog  nothing 

worth— 

Enter  Veramour. 

Ver.  Ohi,  master !  I  have  sought  yon  a  long 

hour : 
Good  faith,  I  never  jo/d  out  of  your  sight! 
For  Heav'n's  sake,  sir,  be  merry,  or  else  bear 
The  butfets  of  your  fortunes  with  more  scorn ! 
Do  but  begin  to  rail ;  teach  me  the  way, 
And  I'll  sit  down,  and  he)p  your  anger  forth. 
IVe  known  you  wear  a  suit  lull  worUi  a  lord* 

•hip; 
Give  to  a  man,  whose  need  ne'er  frighted 

you  [crowns, 

From  calling  of  btm  JrUnd,  ^ve  nuudred 
Ere  sleep  had  left  your  senses  to  consider 
Your  own  important  present  uses :  yet, 
Since,  I  have  seen  you  with  a  trencher  wait. 
Void  of  all  scorn ;  therefore  I*U  wait  on  you. 

Mont.  'Would  Heav'n  tliou  wert  less  ho- 

Ver.  'Would  to  Heav*n  [nest ! 

You  were  less  worthy !  I  am  ev'n  wi'  ye,  sir. 

Mont.  Is  not  thy  master  strangely  fallen, 

wlieu  thou 
Serv'st  for  no  wages,  but  for  cliarity  ? 

printed  as  verse,  but  they  did  not  observe,  that  there  was  a  corrupt  word  io  the  irsi  liw, 
equally  injurious  both  to  sense  and  measure,  for  what  is  itan^ting  €r€tUUra  9  W«  MSt  ift- 
01  putably  read, 

ttrange  creatures    ■  SewMrdm 

*"  I  tkoughy  ^f .]  folios.    Sewurd,  Yba  tliougb. 

^^  i  mUfulUmi  4^.  1  here  is  great  resemblance  in  tlus  pcest  to  Fhikster  and  BdhM 


Thou  dost  surcbaise  ma  with  tfiy  filciiteoas 

love; 
The  goodness  of  thy  virtue  shewn  to  ne^ 
More  opens  still  my  disability 
To  quit  thv  pains:  credit  me,  loving  boy, 
A  free  and  honest  nature  may  be  oppme*d, 
Tir*d  with  courtesies  from  a  liberal  ^irit^ 
When  they  exceed  his  means  of  gratitude. 

Ffr.  But  'tis  a  due  in  him  that^to  that  end, 
Earends  his  love  of  duty. 

Mont.  little  worid 
Of  virtue,  whv  dost  love  and  follow  me? 

Ver.  I  will  follow  yon  thro' all  coontnesi*'; 
ni  run  (fast  as  1  can)  by  your  liorseHsidc^ 
I'll  bold  your  stirrup  when  you  do  aliglity 
And  without  grudging  wait  'till  you  returo : 
I  will  quit  offer'd  means,  and  expose  myself 
To  cold  and  hunger,  still  to  be  with  you  ; 
Fearless  FU  travel  through  a  wildemese; 
And  when  you're  weary,  I  wiU  lay  me  down, 
That  in  my  bosom  yon  may  rest  your  head ; 
Where,  whilst  you  sleep,  111  watcb,  that  no 

wild  beast 
3hall  hurt  or  trouble  you;  and  thns  well  breed 
A  story  to  make  every  hearer  weep,     [loves. 
When  thcv  discourse  our  fortunes  and  oar 

Mont.  Oh,  what  a  scoff  might  men  of  wo* 

men  make. 
If  they  did  know  this  boy !— But  my  desire 
)s,  that  thou  wouldst  not  (as  thou  uscst  siil^ 
When,  like  a  servant,  I  'mong  servants  sh) 
Wait  on  mv  trencher,  fill  mycupa  with  wint: 
Why  shouklst  thou  do  this»  Doy  ?  prkhee, 
I  am  not  what  I  was.  [coasidci; 

Ver.  Curs'd  be  the  day 
When  I  fofget  that  Montague  was  my  lord. 
Or  not  remember  him  my  master  still ! 

Mont.  Rather  curse  me,  wick  whom  thy 

youtli  hath  spent 
So  many  hours,  and  yet  untaught  to  live 
By  any  worldly  quabty* 

Ver.  Indeed, 
Yon  never  taught  me  bow  Co  handle  can^ 
To  cheat  and  coxenmen  with  oaths  and  bo; 
Those  are  the  worldly  qualities  to  live : 
Some  of  our  scarlet  gallants  teach  their  beys 
These  worldly  qualities.  ft 

Since  stumblmg  Fortune  then  leaves  Vii 
Let  me  leave  Fortune,  ere  be  viciioas  ! 

Mont.  Oh,  lad,  thy  love  wfli  kill  me  I 

Ver.  In  truth, 
I  Uiink  in  conseienoe  I  shall  die  for  yon. 


A«t4.SeriietJ 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


5»r 


Good  maateri  weep  not!  rfo  you  want  augbt, 

mi 
Will  YOtt  hmve  any  money?  here's  some  nher^ 
And  here's  a  litde  fpld ;  'twill  aerre  to  play, 
Aud  put  more  troublesome  thoughts  out  of 

your  mind : 
I  pray,  sir,  take  it !  Ill  get  more  with  tiBgiag, 
And  then  FU  brin^  it  you:  my  lady  gpi't  me; 
And,  by  my  soul,  it  was  not  covetoasness^ 
But  I  forgot  to  tell  you  sooner  on't. 

Mwi.  Alas,  hoy,  thoo*rt  not  bound  to 

ceil  it  me. 
And  less  tosiveit;  boy  thee  scar6  and  garters ! 
And  when  IVe  money,  I  will  gire  thee  a  sword: 
Nature  made  thee  a  beauteous  cabinet. 
To  lock  up  all  the  goodness  of  the  eaith. 

Enier  Charlotte. 

Ver.  Tve  lost  my  Toice  with  the  resy 

sight  of 
This  gentlewoman !  Good  sir,  steal  away !  you 
"Were  wont  to  be  a  curious  avoider 
Of  women's  company. 

Mmt.  Why,  boy,  thou  dar^st  trott  me 
Any  where,  dai^st  thou  not  ? 

Per.  Fd  rather  trust  you  by 
A  roaring  lion,  than  a  rarening  woman. 

Jlml.  Why,  boy?  [flesh. 

Ver.  Why,  truly,  she  derours  more  man's 

JMcml.  Ay,  but  she  roars  not,  boy? 

Ver.  No,  sir?  why  she 
Is  neter  silent  but  when  her  mouth  is  fulL 

CharL  Monsieur  Montaeue! 

MoiU.  My  sweet  fellow !  since 
You  please  to  call  me  so. 

Ver.  Ah,  my  conscience,  she 
Would  be  pleated  well  enough  to  call  you 

bed-fellow. 
Ob,  master,  do  not  hold  her  by  the  hand  so!. 
A  woman  is  a  limc^bush^  that  catcheth  ail 
She  toucheth. 

CkarL  I  do  most  dangerously  suspect 
This  boy  to  be  a  wench:  art  thou  not  one? 
Come  hither,  let  me  feel  thee. 

Ver.  With  all  my  heart. 

Chert.  Why  dost  thou  pull  off  thy  g|ove  7 

Ver.  Why,  to  feel  whether 
Too  be  a  boy,  or  no. 

CkarL  Fy, boy!  goto! 
Ill  not  look  your  h^,  nor  comb  joor  locks 
Any  more,  if  you  talk  thus. 

Vet.  Why,  FU  sing  to  you 
No  more  then. 

CharL  Fy  upon't,  how  sad  yon  are! 
A  young  gentleman  that  was  the  very  son  of 

JlMt  But  Fm  [Fi 

la  the  eclipse  now. 


Chart.  Snfier  himself  to  he  o*er-niil  with 
A  lethargy  of  melancholy  and  discontent! 
Rouxe  up  thy  spirit,  man>  and  shake  it  offi 
A  noble  soul  is  likeja  ship  at  sea. 
That  sleeps  at  anc^r  when  the  ocean's  cahn; 
But  when  she  mge^  and4he  wind  blows  hig|i^ 
He  cuts  bis  way  with  skill  and  osajesty. 
I  would  turn  a  fool,  or  poet,  or  any  thing, 
Or  marry,  to  make  you  merry :  prithee  feA 

walk.'-— 
Good  Veramour,  leave  thy  master  and  me; 
Fve  earnest  business  with  him. 

>  Ver.  Pray  do  yon  leave 
Mv  master  and  me!  we  were  veiy  merrf 

before  you  came. 
He  does  not  covet  women's  company : 
What  have  yon  to  do  with  him  ?  Come,  mi^ 

will  you  go  ? 
And  ['11  sing  to  you  again.    Fiaith,  his  mind 
Is  stronger  than  to  credit  womenis  vows. 
And  too  pure  to  be  capable  of  their  loves. 

Chart.  The  hoy  is  jealous.     Sweet  U^ 

leave  us !  my  lady  [there  k 

Call'd  for  vou,  I  swear:  that's  a  ()ood  child! 
A  piece  of  gold  for  thee;  go,  buy  a  feather! 

Ver.  There's  two  pieces  for  you;  do  yo» 

go  and  buy  one. 
Or  what  yon  will,  or  nothing,  so  y<»u  go!-^ 
Nay  then,  I  see  youM  have  me  go,,  sir!  why» 
Ffaith  I  will,  now  I  perceive  you  Love  her 
Better  than  you  do  me:  but,  Heaven  bless  yon! 
Wliatever  you  do,  or  intend,  I  knciw  you  are 
A  very  Honest  Man!  [Exitm 

CharL  Still  shall  I  wooe  thee,  tvhibt  thy 

ears  reply 
I  camtal,  or  I  will  not  marry  thee \  ? 
Whv  hast  thou  drawn  the  blood  out  of  my 

cheeks, 
And  given  a  quicker  motion  to  mj  heart? 
Oh»  thou  hast  bred  a  fever  in  my  -^leins, 
Call'd  Love,  which  no  physician  c  an  cure! 
Have  merc^  on  a  maid,  whose  sim|  »!e  youth-^ 

Mont.  How  your  example,  iairc  st,  teacheth 

me 
A  ceremomons  idolatry!  [Kneelim 

By  all  the  joys  of  love,  I  love  tbee  better 
Than  I  or  any  man  can  tell  audther! 
And  will  express^'  the  mere;/  ^luch  thoii 

'craVst; 
I  will  forbear  to  marry  thee.    Consider, 
Thou'rt  Nature's  heir  in  foa'ture,  and  thy 

parentis 
In  fair  inheritances:  rise withi  these  thoughtSi 
And  look  on  me ;  but  with  $i  woman's  eye : 
A  decay'd  fellow,  void  of  njeans  and  spirits 

CharL  Of  spirit? 

ifimi.  Yet;  owld  I  eUe  tamely  live^. 


^^  And  will  tspresi.]  Seward  reads^  And  In  e^fprtu. 
**  Of  spirit  f 

Fes,  emld  I  temefy  tmeA  The  syllahle  wanking  htlis  to  the 
Ivgfous  to  the  sense.    I  theretore  read. 

Yes,  eould  I  etae  tamely  live,  &c 
TW  seBtimenta  of  tlie  next  speeeh  deserve  to  hufve  heeo  phi^  t»  f$ 
mcpti  ibaa  a  lady^s  wpaiUMt       Sew0fdt 


is  equally  advan* 

oQDSpicQOiis  cha* 
foiget 


5i8 


THE  HONEST  MAITS  FORTUNE. 


[Act  4.  Scarael. 


Fori^t  my  (ather*8  blood,  wait,  aod  mtike  legs, 
Stain  my  best  breeches  with  the  servile  drops 
That  fall  from  others'  draughts? 

C^iarl.  This  vizard  wherewith  thou  wouldst 

hide  thy  spirit 
Is  L  erspective,  to  shew  it  plainlier : 
Ti.is  undervalue  of  thy  life,  is  but      [speaks 
Because  I  should  not  buy  thee.    What  more 
.Greatness  of  man  than  valiant  patience, 
That  shrinks  not  under  his  fate's  strongest 

strokes  } 
"these  Roman  deaths,  as  falling  on  a  sword, 
Opening  of  veins^   with  poison  quenching 

thirst. 
Which  we  erroneously  do  stile  the  deeds 
Of  the  heroic  and  magnanimous  man, 
Was  dead-ey*d  Cowardice,  and  white-cheek'd 

Fear; 
.Who  doubting  tyranny,  and  fainting  under 
Fortune's  false  lottery,  desperately  run 
To  death,  for  dread  of  death;  that  soul's 

mo§t  stout. 
That,  bearing  all  mischance,  dares  last  it  out. 
Will  yuu  pe^orm  your  word,  and  marry  me. 
When  I  sbaU  call  you  to't? 

Enter  .Longuevilley  with  a  Rtding-Rod. 

Mont.  Tfaith,  I  will. 

Chart,  Who's  this  ali|hts  here? 

Long.  With  leave,  fair  creature. 
Are  you  the  lady-mistress  of  the  house? 

(  harl.  Her  servant,  sir. 

Long.  I  pray  then  favour  me, 
To  infomv  your  lady,  and  duke  Orleans'  wife, 
A  business  of  import  awaits  'em  here. 
And  craves  for  speedy  answer. 

CharL  Are  you  in  post,  sir? 

Long.  No;  Fra  in  sattin,  lady; 
I  would  you  would  be  in  post. 

CharL  I  will  return,  sweet.  [Exit. 

Long.  Honest  friend,  do  you  belong  to 

the  house? — I  pray 
Be  cover'd- 

Mont.  Yes,  sir,  I  do. 

Zjong.  H.1 !  dream^st  thou,  Loneueville  ? 
Sure  it  is  nut  he! — Sir,  1  should  Know  you. 

Mont.  So  should  I  you,  but  that  I  am 

asham*d :  [vilie. 

But,  tho'  thoU  know*st  me,  prithee,  Longue- 
Mock  not   my    poverty!  Pray  remember 

yburself: 
Shews  it  not  strangely  for  thy  cloaths  to  stand 
Without  a  hat  to  mine?  Mock  me  no  more. 
'  Long.  The  pox  embroider  me  bU  over,  sir, 
Ifever  I  began  to  mock  you  yet. 
The  plague  upon  me,  why  should  I  wear  velvet 
And  silver  lace  ?  'Sheath,  I  wilj  tear  it  off. 

Mont.  Why,  madman  ? 

Long.  Put  on  my  bat?  Ves,  [head. 

When  Fm  hang'd  I  will !  I  could  break  my 
^r  holding  eyes  that  }f,new  not  you  at  first! 


Bat,  time  and  fortune,  ran  your  coitnes  wnA 

hixn ;  [mcnt  hate^'  f 

He'll  laugh  and  scorn  you,  when  yon  shew 

Enter  Lemira^  Duchett,  LmerdinA,  Lo-Ppif, 
MaUkorny  Veramour,  and  Charlotte. 

Lam.  You're  a  fair  monsietir. 

Long.  Do  you  mock  me,  lady  ? 

Lam.  Your  business,  sir,  I  mean. 

Duch.  Regard  yourself. 
Good  monsieur  Longueville! 

Lam.  You  are 
Too  negligent  of  yourself  and  plaee;  cover 
Your  head,  sweet  monsieur! 

Lomg.  Mistake  me  not,  ^r  ladies ; 
Tis  not  to  you,  nor  you,  that  I  stand  baiv. 

Lav.  Nay,  sweet  dear  monsieur,  ]ct  it  not 

be  to  us  then ! 
.  £<i-.P.  A  pox  of  compliment! 

Mai  And  pox  of  manners!  [dnYt 

Pray  hide  your  head ;  your  gallants  use  M 

Long.   And  you  your  foreheads!    W[^ 

you  needful  accessary  rascals. 
That    cannot    live    without    your    motntl 

knaveries. 
More  than  a  bawd,  a  pandar,  or  a  ivhore, 
From  one  another,  how  dare  you  suspect 
That  I  stand  bare  to  you  ?  What  make  jo« 

here? 
Shift  your  house,  lady,  of  'em ;  for  I  know  *eiB; 
They  come  to  steal  your  napkins,  and  yoor 

spoons : 
Look  to  your  silver  bodkin,  gentlewoman, 
'Tis  a  dead  utensil ;  and,  page,  beware  your 

pockets ! 
My  reverence  is  unto  this  man,  my  master; 
Whom  yoQ,  with  protestations  and  oaths, 
As  high  as  Heav'n^  as  deep  as  heU,  whk]| 

would 
Deceive  the  wisest  man  of  honest  nature. 
Have  cozen'd  and  abused  :  but,  I  may  meet 
And  beat  you  one  with  th' other!  [yoa» 

Mont.  Peace  I  no  more ! 

Long.  Not  a  word,  sir. 

Lav.  I'm  something  thick  of  hearing ; 
What  said  he? 

Xo-P.  I  hear  him,  but  regard  him  not. 

MaL  Nor  I ;  Fm  never  angry  fasting. 

Long.  My  love 
Keeps  back  my  duty.    Noblest  lady,  if 
Husband  or  brother  merit  love  from  you, 
Prevent  their  dangers!  this  hour  brings  to  trial 
Their  hereto-sleeping  hates:  by  this  time« 

each 
Within  a  yard  is  of  the  other's  heart ; 
And  met  to  prove  theircauses  and  their  mriis 
With  their  impartial  swords*  points;  hasta 

and  save, 
Or  n^ver  meet  them  inore,  but  at  the  grave! 

Duch.  Oh,  my  distracted  heart !  tjfad,  mj 
wreck*d  honour 


^'  H^U  laugh  and  storm  you.^  How  easily  tcom  was  altered  to  ttorm  by  a  mistake  of 
the  printer ;  but  how  much  a  properer  word  storn  is  in  the  place^  every  reader  will  seSi 
ibo'  $torm  has  l^th^to  run  thro'  all*  th«  former  editioQ8«       Sewar4^ 

8iiQuH 


Act  4.  ^oelie  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNi 


559 


Should  for  a  brother's,  or  a  hasband*s  life^ 
Thro'  thy  ondoiDg,  die ! 

Xom.  Amiens  eiigag*d  ? 
If  be  miscarry,  all  my  hopes  and  joys, 
X  now  confess  it  loudly,  are  undone : 
Caroch,  and  haste!  one  minute  may  betray 

▲  life  more  worth  tiian  all  time  can  repay. 

[Exeunt  Ladies  and  Mont. 
MaL  Humph!  monsieur  Laverdine  pur- 
sues this  boy 
jfixtremely.    Uaptain,  what  will  you  do  ? 

Xo-P.  Any  thing  [captain, 

But  follow  to  this  land-service :  Fm  a  sea- 
You  know,  and  to  offer  to  part  'em,  without 
We  could  do't  like  watermen  with  long  staves, 

▲  quarter  of  a  mile  oflP,  might  l>e  dangerous. 
Mai,  Why  then^  let  us  retire  and  pray 
for 'em! 

I  am  resolv'd  to  stop  here ;  your  inteut^^  ? 
Abub'd  more  than  we  have  been  we  can't  be, 
Without  they  fall  to  flat  beatino;  on's. 

[Exeunt  MaL  and  LorP, 

Lav,  And  that  were 
Unkiadly  done,  i'faith. 

Ver,  Curse  me,  but  you're 
The  troublesomest  ass  that  e'er  I  met  with ! 
Retire!  you  smell  like  a  woman's  chamber, 
That's  newly  up,  before  she've  pinch'd  her 
In  with  her  cloaths.  [vapours 

Lvo,  I  will  haunt  thee  like 
Thy  grandame's  ghost;  thou  shalt  ne'er  rest 

tor  me !  [secret  from  you : 

Fer.  Well,  I  perceive  'tis  vain  to  oonceal  a 
Believe  it,  sir,  indeed  I  am  a  woman. 

Lav.  Why,  la!  I  knew  it;  this  prophetical 

tongue. 
Of  mine  never  fail'd  nfie :  my  mother 
Was  half  a  witch ;  pe'er  any  thing  that  she 
Forespake  but  came  to  pass.  A  woman !  how 

happy 
Am  I !  Now  we  may  lawfully  come  together, 
Witliout  fear  of  hanging!  Sweet  wench,  be 

gracious ! 
In  honourable  sort  I  wooe,  no  otherwise. 

Ver.  Faith,  the  truth  is,  I've  lov'd  you  long— 

Lav,  See,  see ! 

Ver.  But  durst  not  open  it. 
.  Xcr.  By  Heaven,  I  think  so*^!         [test, 

Ver,  But,  briefly,  when  you  bring  it  to  the 
If  there  be  not  one  gentleman  in  this  house 
Will  challenge  more  int'rest  in  me  thanyou  can, 
I  am  at  your  disposure.  [Exit. 

Ijov.  Oh,  Fortunatus, 
I  envy  thee  not  for  cap,  or  pooch !  this  day 
111  prove  my  fortune, 

In  which  your  lady  doth  elect  her  husband, 
Wlio  will  be  Amiens;  'twill  save  my  wedding* 

dinner. 
Tauvre  La-Poop  and  Mallicorn!  If  all  fail, 
I  will  turn  citizen :  a  beauteous  wife 
If  the  horn-book  to  the  richest  tradesman's 

Hfe.  [Exeunt. 


Enter  Dubois^  Orleans^  LoHgutoiHe^  Amiena, 
two  Lacguiet,  a  Page  with  tooo  Pistols. 

Dubois,   Here's    a    good  even  piece  of 
Will  you  fix  here  ?  [ground,  my  lords : 

Orl,  Yes;  any  where. — Lacquey, 
Take  off  my  snurs!— Upon  a  bridge,  a  rail 
But  my  sword  s  breadth,  upon  a  battlementp 
I'll  fight  this  quarrel! 

Ihibois.  O*  the  ropes,  my  lord? 

OrL  Upon  a  line. 

Dubois.  So  all  our  country  duels 
Are  carried,  like  a  firework  on  a  thread. 

Orl.  Go,  now;  stay  with  the  horses!  Aad^  ' 

do  you  hear? 
Upon  your  lives,  till  some  of  us  come  to  you. 
Dare  not  to  look  this  way ! 

Dubois,  Except  you  see 
Strangers  or  others,  that  by  chance  or  purpose 
Are  hke  to  interrupt  us. 

Orl.  Tlien  give  warning.  [is  so  small. 

Long,  Who  takes  a  sword  ?  The  advantage 
Ashe  that  doubts  hath  the  free  leave  to  chuse. 

OrL  Come,  give  me  any^  and  search  me  i 

'tis  not  [make 

The  ground,  weapon,  or  seconds,  that  cao 
Odds  in  those  &tal  trials,  but  the  cause. 

Ami.  Most  true ;  and,  but  it  is  no  time  to 

wish 
When  men  are  come  to  do,  I  would  desire 
The  cause  'twixt  us  were  other  than  it  is; 
But  where  the  right  is,  there  prevail  ouc 

swonis! 
And  if  my  sister  have  out-liv'd  her  honour, 
I  do  uot  pray  I  may  out-live  her  shame.       *^ 

OrL  Your  sister,  Amiens,  is  a  whore,  at 

once!  [before. 

Ami.  You  oh  have  spoke  that  sense  to  me 
But  never  in  this  language,  Orleans ;      [you 
And  when  you  spoke  it  fair,  and  first,  I  told 
That  it  was  possible  you  might  be  abus*d :     , 
But  now  since  you  forget  your  manners,  yoti 

shall  find. 
If  I  transgress  my  custom,  you  do  lie! 
And  are  a  villain !  which  I  had  rather  yet 
My  sword  had  prov'd,  tlmn  I  been  forc'd  to 

speak. —  [haughtily 

Nay,  give  us  leave ! — And  since  you  stand  so 
Aud  highly  on  your  cause,  let  you  and  I, 
Without  engagmg  these  two  gentlemen, 
Singly  determine  it! 

Long,  My  lord,  you'll  pardon  us  ( 

Dubois.  1  trust  your  lordships 
Mayn't  do^us  that  affront. 

Ami.  Ai  how? 

Dubois.  We  kiss  .  [hert 

Your  lordship's  hand,  and  come  to  serve  you 
With  swords. 

Long.   My   lord,   we    understand    our- 
selves. 

Dubois.  We've  had  the  honour  to  be  calKd 

UQtO 


^  1  am  resolved  to  stop  your  intent.]  Amended  by  Seward. 
^^  J  think  so,}  Seward  reads^  I  thought  so. 


The 


THE  HONEST  MAITO  lOBTUNE. 


The  bastnesB^  aad  we  must  not  quit  it 
Od  terms. 

Ami.  Not  terms  of  reason  ? 
.    long.  No; 
tio  rt'ason  for  the  quitting  of  oar  cmlling. 

Dubois.  True; 
If  I  be  caird  to't»  I  must  ask  no  reason. 

Lang.  Nor  hear  none  neither,  which  is  less : 
It  is  a  favour,  if  my  throat  be  cut, 
Your  lordship  does  me;  which  I  never  can, 
fA  tioise  within,  crying^  Down  with  your 
swords ! 
Nor  roust  have  hope  how  to  requite.— What 

•  noise? 
What  cry  is  that?  My  lord,  upon  your  guard ! 
Some  treachery  is  afoot. 

Enter  Dueheu,  LandrOf  and  Mcntague. 

Duck.  Oh,  here  they  are ! 
My  lord — Dear  lady,  help  me !  help  me  all ! 
I  have  so  woeful  interest  in  both, 
J,  know  not  which  to  fear  for  most;  and  yet 
I  must  prefer  my  lord.    Dear  brother, 
Tou  are  too  understanding,  and  too  noble. 
To  beoflfcnded  when  I  know  my  duty, 
Tho'  scarce  my  tears  will  let  me  see  to  do  it. 

OrL  Out,  loathed  strumpet ! 

Duck.  Oh,  my  dearest  lord. 
If  words  could  on  me  cast  the  name  of  whore, 
I  then  were  wortliy  to  be  loathed  :  but. 
Know  your    unkindness  cannot  make   me 

widied ;  [me. 

And  therefore  should  less  use  that  power  upon 

OrL  Was  this  your  art,  to  have  these  ac- 
tors come,  [man  ! 
4b  make  this  interlude?   Witlidraw,  cold 
And,  if  thy  spirit  be  not  frozen  up. 
Give  me  one  stroke  yet  at  tfiee  tor  my  ven- 
geance! 

Ami.  Thou  shalt  have  strokes,  and  strokes^ 

thou  glorious  man^'. 
Till  thou  brcath*st  thinner  ur  tlian  that  thou 

talk*st. 

Lam.  My  Lord !   count  Amiens ! 

Duck.  Princely  husband ! 

OrL  Whore !  [that  I  had 

Lum.  You  wrong  her,  impudent  lord !  Oh, 
The  bulk  of  those  dull  men  !  look  how  they 

stand. 
And  no  man  will  re%'enge  an  innocent  lady  1 

Asni,  You  hinder  it,  madam. 

Lam.  I  would  hinder  you; 
Is  there  none  else  to  kill  him  ? 

Duck.  Kill  liim,  madam  ?  [P^nt, 

Have  yoii  leam*d  that  bad  language?  Ob,  re- 
And  be  the  motive  rather  both  kiU  me^. 

OrL  Then  die,  my  infamy ! 

Sont.  Hold,  bloody  man! 
•L  Art  thou  there,  basilisk  ? 


[Act4.Sonel. 
(haai. 


Mont.  To  strike  theedead, 
But  that  thy  fate  deserves 
Dubois.  Sweet  my  lord  I 
OrL  Oh,her»*saplotl  [b 

You  bring  your  champions  with  you !  \hm  adni- 
With  the  adulterer !  Out,  bowling — 
Dubm.  Good  my  lord  !  [lady, 

OrL  Are  you  her  grace's    coantenanoer, 
The  receiver  to  the  poor  vicious  couple  ? 
Dubois.  Sweet  my  lord !  [fiidae  felkm, 

OrL  Sweet  rascal,  didst  thoa  not  tell  we. 
This  Montague  here  was  murder*d  I 

Dubois.  I  did  so; 
But  he  was  iaUer,  and  a  worthless  lord. 
Like  thy  foul  self,  that  wonld  liave  had  it  ssi 
Long.  Orleans,  'tis  true ;  and  shall  be  piov'd 
upon  thee.  [wicked  nature, 

ilibn^.  Thy  malice,  duke,   and   this  thy 
Are  all  as  visible  as  thou;  but  I, 
Bom  to  contemn  thy  injuries,  do  know. 
That  tho*  thy  greatness  may  corrupt  m  jury. 
And  make  a  judge  afraid,  and  carry  out 
A  worid  of  evils  Aivith  thy  title,  yet 
Thou  art  not  quiet  at  home;  tboo  bcai'st 
about  thee  [thee  too. 

That  that  doth  chaige  thee,  and  ooodena 
The  thing  tliat  grieves  me  more,  and  doth  in- 
deed [iie» 
Displease  me,  is,  to  think  that  so  much  base- 
Stands  here  to  have  encountered  so  mach 
honour.  [^^^^ 
Pardon  me,  my  lorc^  what  late  mj  passkm 
When  you  provoked  my  innocence ! 

OrL  Yes,  do ! 
Oh,  flatterv  becomes  htm  better  than 
The  suit  he  wears;  give  him   a  new  ooe, 
Ami  Orleans,  [Amiens! 

'Tis  here  no  time  nor  place  to  jest  or  rail 
Poorly  with  you ;  but  I  wiU  find  a  time  to 
Whisper  you  forth  to  this,  or  some  fit  pbcc^ 
As  shall  not  hold  a  second  interruption. 
Mont.  I  hope  your  lordship's  honour  and 
your  life 
Are  destined  unto  higher  hasaids ;  this 
Is  of  a  meaner  arm. 
Dubois.  Yes,  faith,  or  none.  [swoid: 

Long.  He  is  not  fit  to  hi!  by  an  honest 
A  prince,  and  lie? 

Dubois.  And  slander?  and  hire  men 
To  publish  the  Mse  rumours  lie  bath  made? 
Long.  And  stick  'em  on  his  fncsnds  and 
innocents?  [their  fiuncs? 

Dubois.  And  practise 'gainst  theiirlivesafier 
Long.  In  men  that  are  the  matter  of  att 
lewdness,  [stroos! 

Bawds,  thieves,  and  cheaters,  it  were  moo- 
Dubois.  But  in  a  man  of  blood  how  mom 
AmL  Can  this  be?  [coaspicooos! 

Duck.  They  do  slander  him. 


♦^  Qlorious ;]  i.  e.  Vain,  proud,.m  the  sense  of  tlie  French  glorieux. 
^  And  be  tke  motive,  rather  botk  kill  me;]  t.  e.  And  rather  persuade  them  both  to  kiUme. 
Tba  expression,  for  want  of  tkat  being  inserted,  is  so  obscure,  that  the  former  editors  did 
aat  ttndecstand  it,  and  therefore  addud  a  comma;  which  utterly  deprived  it  of  all  meaning. 

Sacarl 
OrL 


Act  4.  Scene  1.] 


TIIE  HONEST  MAN'S  TORTUNE. 


561 


Orl.  Ilangthero^apair  of  railing  hangbics! 

Long.  How!  Stand,  Orleans !  stay!  Give 

nie  my  pistols,  boy ! 
Hinder  mc  not !  by  Heavens,  I  will  kill  him ! 

JDuch,. Oh,  stay  bis  Fury! 

Ami.  Loiigneville,  mv  friend  !  [kind, 

Long.  Not  for  myself,  my  lord,  but  for  man- 
And  all  that  have  an  interest  to  virtue. 
Or  title  unto  innocence. 

Ami.  Why,  liear  me ! 

Ijmg.  For  Jtistfce*  sake — 

Ami.  That  cannot  be. 

Long.  To  punish 
His  wife's,  your    honour's,    and   my  lord^i 

wrongs  here, 
Whom  I  must  ever  call  so :  for  your  loves, 
I  swear,  HI  sacrifice— 

Ami.  Longoevilie, 
I  did  not  think  you  a  murderer  before. 

Long.  I  care  not  what  yott  thought  me ! 

Ami.  By  Heaven,  if  thou  attempt 
His  life,  thy  own  is  forfeit ! 

Mont.  Foolish  frantick  man, 
The  murder  will  be  of  us,  not  him. 

Duch,  Oh,  Heav'n !  [would  not  take 

Mont,  Wc  could  have  kilrd  him,  but  we 
The  justice  out  of  Fate's — Singe  but 
A  hair  of  him,  tliou  diest ! 

Long.  No  matter.  [Shoots. 

Ami.  Villain ! 

Dubois.  My  lord,  your  sister's  slain. 

Ami.  Biancha! 

Mo7it.  Oh,   hapless  and  most  wretched 

chance  ! 

Lam.  Stand'st  thou 
Looking  upon  the  mischief  thou  liast  made? 
Thou  godless  man,  feeding  thy  bloodshot-eyes 
Witii  the  red  spectacle,  and  art  not  turn'ci 
To  stone  with  norror  ?  Hence,  and  take  the 
Of  thy  black  infamy,  to  carry  thee  [wings 
Beyond  the  shout  of  looks,  or  sound  of  curses. 
Which  will  pursue  thee*'  till  thou  hast  out- 
All  but  thy  guilt.  [fled 

Orl.  Oil,  wish  it  ofl'  again  ;  fori  am  crack'd 
Under  the  burden,  and  my  heart  will  break. 
How  heavy  guilt  is,  when  men  come  to  feci  I 
If  you  could  know  the  mountain  I  sustain 


With  horror'^,  you  would  each  take  off  your 

part, 
tVnd  more,  to  ease  me.   Ican*t  stand !  forgive 
Where  1  have  wrong'd,  I  pray ! 
Ami.  Look  to  him,  Muntxigue.  [well. 

Long.  My  lords  and  gentlemen,  the  lady's 
But  for  fear;  unless  that  have  shot  her: 
I  have  tlie  worst  of  it,  that  needs  would  ven- 
ture 
Upon  a  trick  had  like  to  ha*  cost  my  guts. 
Look  to  her !  she*!  I  be  well :  it  was  but  powder 
I  chartrM  with,  thinking  that  a  guilty  man 
VVuulct  have  been  frighted  sooner ;  but  I'm  glad 
He's  come  at  last. 

Lam.  How  is  Biancha?  Well? 
Ami,  Lives  she?  See!  Sister!  Doth  slie 
breathe"?  [breatlie,^ 

Duch.  Oh,  gentlemen,  think  you  I  cau 
That  am  restored  co  the  hateful  sense 
Of  feeling  in  me  my  dear  husband's  death? 
Oh,  no,  I  live  not :  life  was  that  I  left, 
And  what  you  have  call'd  me  to  is  death 

indeed : 
I  cannot  weep  so  fast  as  be  doth  bleed  !    - 
Dubois.  Pardmi  me,  madam ;  he  is  welL 
Duch.  Ha!  roy  husband?  j^shame 

Orl.  I  cannot  speak  whether  my  joy  or 
Be  greater;  but  I  thank'tlieHeav'ns  forbodi. 
Oh,  look  not  black  upon  me,  all  my  friends  I 
To  whom  I  will  be  reconcil'd,  or  grow 
Unto  this  earth,  till  I  have  wept  a  trench 
That  shall  be  great  enough  to  be  my  grave; 
.And  I  will  think  them  too  most  maulytears. 
It* they  do  move  your  pities.    It  is  true, 
Man  should  r!o  nothing  that  he  should  rept^C; 
But  if  he  have,  and  say  that  he  is  sorry, 
It  is  a  worse  fault  if  he  be  not  truly. 

Tyim.  My  lord,  such  sorrow  cannot  be  sus- 
pected :  [handfr. 
Here,  take  your  honoured  wife,  and  join  your 
She  hath  married  you  again ! 
And,  gentlemen,  I  do  invite  you  all 
This  night  to  take  my  house ;  where,  on  the 

morrow, 
To  heighten  more  the  reconciling  feast, 
III  make  myself  a  husband  and  a  guest. 

lExamt, 


^  Which  mil  purme  thee  still : 

Thou  hast  outflf^d,  SfC.^  Amended  by  Seward. 

50 2%c  mountain  A  sustain 

With  horror,  you  rcould  each,  4'C']  Seward  reads, 

The  mountain  I  sustain 

Of  horror,  &c. 
^'  Lam.  How  is  Bianclui  9  toellf 
Ami.  Lives  she  f  See  sister,  doth  the  breathe  f]  Seward  reads. 
Lam.  How  is  Biancha?  well 
Lives  slie  ?  See — 
Ami*  Sister — slie  doth  breathe. 


VOL.  IIL 


4C 


ACT 


5M 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE- 


[Act  5.  Scene  !• 


ACT  V. 


SCENE  I. 

Enter  Montague  and  Charlotte, 
Ckarl,  Wr^LL,  now,  Vm  sure  you're  mine. 

^^    Mont.  Fm  sure  I'm  glad 
I Ve  one  to  ow^  then :  you  will  find  me  honesty 
As  these  days  go,  enough;  poor  without 

question, 
Which  beggars  hold  a  virtue;  give  me  meat. 
And  I  shall  do  my  work,  else  knock  ipy  shoes 
And  turn  me  out  again.  [off, 

CharL  You  are  a  merry  fellow. 
Mont,  I  have  no  great  cause.    « 
CharL  Yes,  thy  love  to  me. . 
MoHt,  That's  as  we  make  our  game. 
CharL  Why,  you  repent  tlien  ?  [be ; 

Mont,  Faith,  no;  worse  than  I  ami  cannot 
Much  better  I  expect  not:  I  shall  love  you, 
And,  when  yoa  bid  me  go  to  bed,  obey, 
Lie  still  or  move,  as  you  shall  minister ; 
Keep  a  four-nobles  nag,  and  a  Jack-Merlin^', 
Learn  to  love  ale,  and  play  at  two-hand  Irish  ; 
And  there's  then  all  I  aim  at. 

CharL  Nay,  sweet  fellow, 
I'll  make  it  something  better. 

Mont.  If  you  to, 
You'll  make  me  worte  : 
Now  1  am  poor,  and  willing  to  do  well, 
liold  me  m  that  course!  of  all  the  king's 
creatures,  [me ! 

I  hate  his  coin :  keep  me  from  that,  and  save 
For  if  you  chance,  out  of  your  housewifery, 
To  save  a  hundred  pound  or  two^*,  bestow  it 
In  plumb-broth  ere  I  know  it;  else  I  take  it. 
Seek  oota  hundred  men  that  want  this  money. 
Share  it  among  'em,  they'll  cry  noble  Monr 
And  so  I  stand  again*  at  livery  !  [tague  / 

CharL  You've  pretty  fancies,  sir ;  but,  mar- 
ried once. 
This  charity  will  fall  home  to  yourself. 
Mont,  I  would  it  would !  I  am  afraid  my 
looseness  [work  on 

Is  yet  scarce  stopt,  tho'  it  have  nought  to 
But  the  mere  air  of  what  1  have  had. 

CharL  Pretty !  [marry  me ; 

Mont.  I  wonder,  sweetheart,  wh}r  you'll 
I  can  see  nothing  in  myself  deserves  it, 
Unless  the  handsome  wearing  of  a  band. 
For  that's  my  stock  now,  or  a  pair  of  garters, 
Necessity  will  not  let  me  lose. 

CharL  I  see,  sir,  [band, 

A  great  deal  more;  a  handsome  inan^  a  hu9« 
To  make  a  right  good  woman  truly  happy. 


Mont.  Lord,  where  are  my  eyes  ?   Either 

you  are  foolish, 
As  wenches  once  a  year  are,  or  hr  Worse, 
Extremely  virtuous:  can  you  love  a  poor  man 
That  relies  on  cold  meat,  and  cast  stoddogs, 
One  only  suit  to  his  back,  which  now  is 

mewing,  [Tristram  ? 

But  what  will  be  the  next  coat  will  pose 
If  I  should  levy  from  my  friends  a  fortune, 
I  could  not  raise  ten  groats  to  pay  the  priest 

now.  [money 

CharL  ni  do  that  duty:  'tis  not  means  nor 
Mukes  me  pursue  your  love;  were  your  mind 
I  would  ne  er  love  you.  [bankrupt. 

Enter  Lamira, 

Mont.  Peace,  wench  !  here's  my  ladj. 

Lam,  Nay,  never.shrink  i'th'  wetting,  for 
my  presence  ! 
D've  find  her  willing,  Montague  ? 

ifort^  Willing,  madam?  [f  know 

Lam,  How  dainty  you  make  of  it !  Do  not 
You  two  love  one  another  ? 

Mont.  Certain,  madam, 
I  think  ve've  revelations  of  these  matters : 
Your  ladyship  cannot  tell  me  when  I  kissM  ber. 

Lum.  But  she  can^  sir. 

Mont,  But  she  will  not,  madam ; 
For  when  they  talk  once,  'tis  like  fairy-monej. 
They  get  no  more  close  kisses. 

Lam,  Thou  art  wanton. 

Mont.  Heav'n  knows  I  need  not;    jet  I 

would  be  lusty; 
But,bymysoul,inv  provenderscarce  pricks  me. 

Lam,  Itshall  be  mended,  Montague:  I'm 
You're  grown  so  merry.  [^ad 

Mont,  So  am  I  too,  madam. 

Lam,  You  two  will  make  a  pretty  handsome 

consort. 

Mont,  Yes,  madam,  if  my  fiddle  fail  me  not. 

Lam.  Your  fiddle!  why  your  fiddle?    I 

warrant,  thou  mean'st  madly.  [love  ! 

Mont.  Can  you  blame  me  ?  Alaa,I  mm  in 

CharL  'TIS  very  well,  sir ! 

Lam.  How  long  have  you  been  thus  ? 

Mont,  How?,  thus  in  love? 

Lmt.  You're  very  quick,  sir!  No; 
I  mean  thus  pleasant. 

Mont,  E'er  since  I  was  poor.  [dien  } 

Lam.  A  little  wealth  would  change  yon, 

Mont,  Yes,  lady. 
Into  another  suit,  but  never  more 
I  Into  another  man ;  111  bar  that  nuunly. 


'*  Keep  afour-nobles  nag,  and  a  Jack 

Meriing ;]  i.  e.  Turn  lalk'ner,  a  Merlin,  being  a  species  of4»wk. 
confus'd  in  die  former  editions.  Seward. 

The  first  folio  reads,  black  Meriing. 
^^  To  leave  a  hundred  pound.}  So  foimcr  editions. 


The  measuie  was  aS 


ne 


Act  5.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


563 


The   wealth  I  get  henceforward  shall   be 

charmed 
For  ever  hurting  me ;  I'll  spend  it  fasting. 
As  I  live,  noble  lady,  tliere  is  nothing, 
I've  foand,  directly  cares  the  melancholy, 
But  want  and  wedlock :  when  I  had  store  of 

money,  [wise, 

I  siniper'd  sometime,  and  spoke  wondrous 
Bat  never  laughed  out-right;  now  I  am  empty. 
My  heart  sounds  like  a  bell,  and  strikes  at 

both  sides. 

Lam,  YouVe  finely  tempered,  Montague. 

Mont,  Pardon,  lady. 
If  any  way  my  free  mirth  have  offended ! 
Twas  meant  to  please  yoo ;  if  it  prove  too 

saucy, 
Give  it  a  frown,  and  I  am  ever  silenced. 

lam*  I  like  it  passing  well ;  pray  follow  it ! 
This  is  my  day  or  choice,  and  shall  be  your^s 

too; 
rTwere  pity  to  delay  yon.  Call  to  the  steward, 
And  tell  him *tismyp1easureheshottldgive  you 
Five  hundred  crowns;  make  yourself  hand- 
some, Montague ;  ^  [dit : 
Let  none  wear  iSstter  cloatbs;  'tis  for  my  cre- 
But  pray  be  merry  still ! 

Mont.  Iflbenot, 
And  make  a  fool  of  twice  as  many  hundreds, 
Clap  me  in  canvas,  lady !  [Exeunt. 

Enter  LoF-Poop,  Laverdine,and  MalUcom, 

Ltn>,  I'm  strangely  glad  I've  foiihd  the 

mystery 
Of  this  disguis'd  boy  out;  I  ever  trusted 
It  was  a  woman,  and  how  happily 
I've  found  it  so !  and  for  Myself,  Vm  sure. 
One  that  would  offer  me  a  thousand  pound 

now 
(And  that's  a  pretty  sum  to  make  one  stagger) 
111  ready  gold  for  this  concealment,  could  not 
Buy  my  hope  of  her.    She's  a  dainty  wench. 
And  such  a  one  I  find  I  want  extremely, 
To  bring  me  into  credit:  beauty  does  it. 

MaL  Say  we  should  all  meach  here^3,and 

stay  the  least  now,  [knaves  ; 

What  can  the  worst  be  ?  We  have  play'd  the 
That's  without <)uestion. 

Xo-P.  True ;  and,  as  I  take  it,  [and 

Tliia  is  the  first  truth  we  told  these  ten  years. 
For  any  thing  I  know,  may  be  the  last : 
But,  grant  we're  knaves,  both  base  and  beast- 

MaL  Say  so  then.  [ly  knaves — 

Lea},  Well. 

Xo-P.  And  likewise 
Let  it  be  consider'd,  we  have  wronged. 
And  most  maliciously,  this  gentlewoman 
We  cast  to  stay  with,  what  must  wc  expect 

now  ?  [pect  good  eating. 

(    Mai.  Ay,  there*s  tlie  point;  we  would  ex* 

Xo-P.  1  know  we  would,  but  we  may  find 

good  heating.  [soul, 

Leto.  You  say  true,  gentlemen ;  and  by  my 


Tho'  I  love  meat  as  well  as  any  man, 

I  care  not  what  he  be,  if  a  beat  a  God's 

name'*,  [palate. 

Such  crab-sauce  to  my  meat  will  turn  my 

MaL  There's  all  the  nazard;  for  the  frozen 

Monta^/ue  [him. 

Has  now  got  spring  again  and   warmth  in 
And,  without  doubt,  dares  beat  us  terribly. 
For,  not  to  mince  the  matter,  we  are  cowards. 
And  have,  and  shall  be  beaten,  when  men 
To  call  us  into  cudgeling.  [please 

Lu^F.  I  feel  ^ 

We're  very  prone  that  way. 

Lav.  The  sons  of  Adam.  [question ; 

La-P,  Now,  here  then  rests  the  state  o'th' 
Whether  we  yield  our  bodies  for  a  din  net 
To  a  sound  (log-whip  (for,  I  promise  ye, 
(f  men  be  given  to  correction, 
We  c^n  expect  no  less),  or  quietly 
Take  a  hara  egg  or  two,  and  ten  mile  hence 
Bait  in  a  ditch  ?  tliis  we  may  do  securely; 
For,  to  stay  hereabout  will  be  all  one. 
If  once  our  moral  nuschiefscome  in  memory. 

Mai.  But,  pray  ye  hear  me :  is  not  this 

the  day 
The  virgin  lady  doth  elect  her  husband  f 

Lav,  The  dinner  is  to  that  end. 

Mai.  Very  well  then;  [whipping. 

Say  we  all  stay,  and  say  we  all  Wpe  this 
And  be  well  entertaia'd,  and  one  of  us 
-Carry  the  lady !  ^ 

LorP.  'TIS  a  seemly  say^, 
I  must  confess;  but  if  we  stay,  how  fitly 
We  may  apply  it  to  ourselves ^i'th'  end) 
Will  ask  a  Christian  fear:  I  cannot  see. 
If  I  say  true,  what  speci:U  ornaments 
Of  art  or  nature  (lay  aside  our  lying, 
Whoring  and  driuking,  which  are  no  great 

virtues) 
We  are  endued  witlial,  to  win  this -lady, 

MaL  Yet  women  go  not  by  tlie  best  parts 
That  I  have  found  directly.  [ever;   ' 

Lav,  Why  should  we  fear  then  I 
They  chuse  men  as  they  feed :    sometimes 

they  settle      ^  [gallant, 

Upon  a  white-broth*d  face,  a  sweet  smooth 
And  him  they  make  an  end  of  in  a  night; 
Soi  netimes  a  goose ;  sometimes  a  grosser  meat, 
A  rump  of  beef,  will  serve 'em  at  somesearion. 
And  fill  their  bellies  too,  tho*  without  doubt 
They're  great  devourers ;  stock-fish  is  a  dish. 
If  it  be  well  dress'd,  for  the  toughness*  sake 
Will  make  the  proudest  of 'em  long  and  leap 

for't;  [starve. 

They'll  run  mad  for  a  pudding,  ere  theyll  • 

JxE-P.  Foi  my  own  part,  I  care  not,  como 

what  can  come ; 
If  I  be  whipt,  why  so  be  it !  if  eudgell'd, 
I  hope  I  shall  out-live  it:  I  am  sure        [so, 
'Tis  not  the  hundredth  time  I  have  been  serv*d 
And  yet,  I  thank  Heav'n,  I'm  here. 

MaL  Here's  resolution  I 


'3  Meach.'\  See  note  55  on  tlie  Scornful  Lady.    The  word  is  variously  spelt. 

'^  If  a  eat  a  God\  nam^l  The  sense  requires  us  to  read,  JjTa  beat  a  Qod*t  name. 

4  C  iJ 


X«-P. 


564 


THE  HONEST  jMAN'8  FORJIWE. 


[Act  5.  Scene  !» 


Lor-F.  A  little  patience^   ^d  a  jo^eti 
apple,  [sir? 

Cures  twenty  worse  diseases:  wh^it  say  you, 
Lav,  Marry^  I  say^  sir,  if  I  bad  been  ac- 
quainted [been, 
With  laxnming'^  in  my  youth,  as  you  have 
With  wl)ipping,  and  such  benefits  of  nature^ 
I  shodd  ilo  better;  as  I  um,  I'll  venture : 
And  if  it. he  my  luck  to  have  the  lady, 
I'll  U6e  my  fortune  modestly ;  if  beaten, 
Yao  aball  not  hear  a  word/  one  I  am  sure  of, 
And  if  the  worse  lall,  she  shall  be  myphysick. 
Let's  go  then,  and  a  merry  wind  be  wiUi  us ! 
MuL  Captain,  your  shoes  are  old;  pray 
pat  e'm  otl*, ' 
And  let  one  fling  'em  after  us.  Be  bold,  sirs ; 
And  iiowfioe'er  our  fortune  falls,  let's  bear 
An  equal  burden  !  if  there  be  an  odd  iash, 
We'll  part  it  afterwards. 
JJi-F.  Vm  arm'd  nt  all  points.    \jLxtunt. 

Enter  four  Servants^  with  a  Banquet, 

1  Serv.  Tlien  my  lady,  .w^l  baye  a  bedfel- 
low to-night  ^  [ami-fuli 

2  Serv,  So  she  says :  Ileav'n,  what  a  dainty 
Shall  he  enjoy,  that  lias  theliwichingof  her ! 
What  a  fight  slie  will  make ! 

;3  Serv.  Ay,  marry,  boys,        [gn^ppling  ! 
Xiere  will  be  sjwrt  indee,d!   there  will  be 
She  has  a  murderer  tie:>  in  her  prow, 
lam  afraid  will  fright  his  main-mast,  J^obiiu 

4  Serv.  Who  dost  tho;i  think  shall  have 

l^er,  of  thy  conscience) 
Thou  ^rjt;  a  .wi^e  ma^i.  y 

'6  J^rv,  If  ijie  go  the  old  way, 
Tiie  way  of  lot,  tlie  longest  cue  sweeps  aU 
Withouc  question. 

1  Sere,  She  has  lost  a  friend  of  me  else. 
What  think  ye  of  the  courtier? 

2  ^er97.  Haog  him,  hedge-hog !  [pbue;s^^, 
H'has  n^>tbipg  in  him  bi^t  a  piece  of  £u- 
A;id  twenty  dozep  of  twelvepenny  ribband, 

all 
About  him;  j;^  js  bjut  oi\e  pedlar's  shop 
Of  gloves  and  garters,  pick-teeth  .ajiid  po- 

ikiander.  • 

^^3  Serp,  The  courtlerj  ;narry,  Qod  Ji>less 

her,  Steven,  she  is  not 
Mad  yet;  she  knows  tluit  triudle-tail  too  well; 
Jie's  'crest-fallen,  and  pin-battocM'di  !with 

leaping  laundresses^    • 

^^  Lammng i\\, IS,  Beafivg. 


4  Serv,  The  merchant?  sure  she  win  not 
To  have  him.  [be  so  hose 

.1  Serv.  I  hope  so ;  Robin,  he*ii  sell  us  aU 
To  th'Moors  to  make  mummy.  I^or  the  cap- 
tain ? 

4  Serv,    Who?  potgun?    that's  a   sweet 
Will  he  stay,  think  ye?  [youth, indeed! 

3  Serv.  Yes,  without  question, 
And  have  half  din'd  too.ere  the  grace  be  done. 
He's  good  fornothingin^the  world  but  ciitibD^ 
Lying  and  sleeping;;  wbai  other  men  devour 
In  drink  he  takes  in  pottage  :  they  say  h'lMU 

been 
At  sea;  a  herriugrfishing,  fpr  without  doubt 
lie  dai  es  not  hail  an  eei-boati/tli'  way  of  war. 

2  Serv'.  1  think  so ;  they  would  beat  him 
off  witli  butter. 

3  Serv,  When  lie  brings  in  a  prize,  unles 
it  be       '   ■ 

Cockles,  or  Calais  saud  to  scour  with, 
I'll  renounce  my  five  mark  a-year. 
And  alt  the  hidden  art  I  have  in  carving. 
To   teach  young  birds  to  whistle  Walsin^ 

ham^'* :        '  '     '     ' 

I^Ve  li^m  Jp  tl^  lime^boatsj  Now,  what 
Of  the  brave  Amiens  ?  \£think  \oa 

1  Serv.  Thai's  a  thought  indeed.         [teed 
^  Serv,  Ay,  marry f  there's  a  person  ht  to 

Upon  a  disli  so  dainty;  and  he'll  do't, 

I  warrant  him,  i'tli'mck,  boys;  h'has  a  body 

World  without  end. 

.4  Slerv,  And  suc;h  ^  one  jny  iady 
Will  make  no  little  of.  But  is  not  Moniagoe 
Married  to-<lay/ 

3  Serv.  Yes,  fuith,  honest  Montage 
Muait  jiave  his  bout  too. 

2  Serv.  lie's  as  good  a  lad 

As  ever  turn'd  a  trencher :  must  we  leav« 

him? 

3^rv.  JIe's.to.ogo9d.fpr.us,JSievcn.    Ill 

give  niui  liealth  -  c        . 

To  his  good  luck  to-night  iW  oid  beaker. 
And  it  shall  be^ck  too.  - 

4  Serv.  I  mu^have  a  garter; 

And,  boys,  I  have  bespoke  a;  posset ;  some^ 

bpdy 
Shall  give  me  thanks  for't !  't  has  a  lew  toys 

i^i't 
Will  raise  commotions  in  a  bed,  lad. 

1  ^erv.  Away !  my  lady* 

[Exfifmt. 


fc 


^^  Apiece  o/'Euphues.]  Euphues,  or  tlie  Anatomy  of  Wit,  was  the  tide  of  a  romance  wrote 
Jby  Lilly,  autiior  of  several  plays  in  queen  Elizabeth's  reign.  Uis  stile  was  stitf,  pedantic 
^nd  ^ifected,  bjut  wajt  in  such  vogue  that  Mr.  Blount,  who  published  six  of  his  plays,  says^ 
that  Lilly's  Euohues  and  his  England  taught  the  co;irt  a  new  language,  and  the  lady  ^hp 
could  not  parte  Euphuism  was  as  little  regarded  as  she  that  now  there  speaks  not  French. 
Here  is  a  banter  upon  the  court  for  this  practice ;  but  it  would  much  have  improved  it  if 
jMverdine  had  frequently  made  use  of  this  aiiectcd  stile,  apd  Euphuitm  had  made  part  of 
his  character  ijhrough  the  whole  play.  The  account  of  Lilly  is  taken  A'om  Mr.  DQidsleVs 
Preface  to  his  Collection  of  Old  Plays,  and  Mr.  Sympson  quotes  it  also  from  Lfingbain^ 

Semtrd, 

^^  To  whistle  Wtdsingham.]  Walsinghom^  in  Norfolk,  a  place  formerly  famous  for  the  pil* 

grirpagcs  (o  lixe  rood,  or  cros:^,  of  Our  L^i\y  there.  ji. 

Enttr 


Act  $.  gcfue  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MA>PS  KUTTUNE. 


565 


Enter  Orleans  and  DuchesSy  arm  in  arm, 
Amiens f  Lamiray  Charlotte  tike  a  hride, 
Montague  brave ^  Laverdine^  Longueville, 
Dubois^  MalUcorn,  and  LorFoop, 

Lam.  Seat  youraelves,    noble  lordis  and 

gendemeii ; 
-You  know  your  places.   Many  royal  welcomes 
1  give  your  gracei  How  Jovely  shews  this 

change ! 
My  house  is  honour'd  in  this  recoacilemept. 

OrL  Tlios,  madaoiy  must  you  do ; 
IVly  lady  now  shall  see  you  made  a  woraao, 
^ud   give  you  some  short  lessons  for  your 

voyage. 
T^ke  her  instructions,  lady;  she  knows  much. 

Lam.  Tiiis  becomes  you,  sir. 

Duck.  Mv  lord  roust  have  his  will. 

Or/.  Tis  Jill  I  can  c|o  now,  sweetheart. 

Fair  lady, 
This  to  your  hajppy  choice !— Brother  Amiens, 
Vou  are  the  man  I  mfsan  it  to. 

Ami.  1^1  pledge  you. 

OrL  And  with  my  heart. 

Ami  With  all  mv  love  I  take  it. 

Iaun.  Noble  lorcfs, 
I^m  proud  yeVe  done  ^xis  day  so  much  coqtent^ 
Ana  me  such  estimation,  that  this  hour 
(In  this  poor  house)  shall  be  a  league  for  ever; 
xr*or  so  I  know  ye  mean  it. 

Ami.  I  (io,  lady. 

Orl.  And  I,  my  lord. 

Omnes.  YouVe  done  a  work  of  honour. 

Ami.  Give  me  the  cup !  Where  this  health 

stops,  let  tliat  man 

§D  either  very  sick  or  very  simple ; 
r  I  am  very  angry.    Sir,  to  you!     . 
Madam,  metbinks  this  gentleman  migbtsit  too; 
lie  would  become  the  best  on's, 

OrL  Pray  sit  down,  sir : 
I  know  the  lady  of  the  feast  expects  not 
This  day  so  much  old  custom. 
Lam.  Sit  down,  Montague! 
Nay,  never  blush  for  th*  matter. 

Slont.  Noble  madam, 
J  have  two  reasons  'gainst  it,  and  I  dare  not: 
Puty  to  you  first,  as  you  are  my  lady, 
And  I  your  poorest  servant;  next,  the  custom 
Of  this  day's  ceremony. 

^^  Such  o  plefsing  wet  tceather  washes.]  I  believe  an  extreme  genteel  answer  of  Lamim^t 
fcas  been  turned  into  absolute  nonsense  in  all  the  editions,  by  the  odd  connection  of  the 
printer's  or  transcriber's  ideas  between  wet  nreather  and  waslung.  Instead  of  receiving 
jimiens^s  compliment  in  the  sense  he  meant  it,  of  the  man  being  blest  who  should  come  near^ 
t,  t.  marry  and  enjoy  Lamira;  she  answers,  a  traveller  caught  in  a  shower  of  rain  might 
indeed  wish  such  a  blebsing,  i.  e.  of  coming  near  me,  as  I  have  a  warm  house  to  receive  bun, 
'I'is  the  great  excellency  of  poetry  to  express  this  so  conciseW  by  personating  wet  weather, 
and  making  that  instead  of  the  traveller  be  the  wisher  of  this  blessing.  But  this  being  pro- 
bably above  the  transcriber's  reach,  he  altered  it  into  the  nonsensical  reading  of  the  late 
text.  Much  the  greatest  part  of  this  scene,  as  well  as  the  greatest  part  of  the  play  in  gene- 
Tul,  was  either  printed  as  prose,  or  when  tl)e  measure  was  attempted,  and  the  lines  ranged 
as  verse,  most  of  them  were  wrong.        Seward. 

^°  Herds  to  n^self,  and  Montaeue  have  a  care."]  Tliis  whole  line  lias  been  hitherto  given 
to  Montague,  not  sure  with  much  propriety.  It  is  much  more  so  to  make  Lamira  check 
huxif  and  this  is  a  reason  for  his  immediately  quitting  his  selt-recommendation.        Seward. 

Lam. 


Lam.  As  you  are  my  servaiit, 
I  may  command  you  tlien  ? 

Mont.  To  my  life,  lady. 

Lam,  Sit  down,  anjd  here!  I'll  have  it  so. 

Ami.  Sit  down,  man  ; 
Never  reft^se  so  fair  a  lady's  offer. 

Mont.  It  is  your  pleasure,  madam,  not 

my  pride. 
And  I  obey.    Til  pledge  you  now,  my  lord. 
Monsieur  Longuevilie! 

Long.  I  th&nk  you,  sir. 

Mont.  Thb  to  my  lady, 
And  her  fair  choice  to-day,  and  happiness! 

Long.  *T\s  a  tnir  health ;  I'll  pledge  you, 

tiio' I  sink  for't.  [fu  add 

iMm.  Montague,  yon  are  too  modest:  come, 
A  little  more  wine  t'you;  Itwill  make  yoa 
This  to  the  good  I  wish  you !  [mer.ry« 

Mont.  Honour'd  lady,  ^ 
I  shall  forget  myself  .with  thisereat  bounty. 

Lam.  You  shall  not,  sir.    &ve  him  some 

AmL  By  Heav'n,  [wine* 

You  are  a  worthy  woman ;  and  that  man 
Is  blest  can  come  near  such  a  lady. 

Lam.  Such  a  blessing 
Wet  weather  wishes*^. 

Mont.  At  all!  I'll  not  go 
A  lip  less,  my  lord. 

OrL  Tis  w;ell  cast,  sir. 

Mai.  If  Montague 
Qet  more  wine,  we  are  like  to  hear  of  it 

Lav.  I  do  not  like  that  sitting  there. 

Mai.  JHor  1 ; 
Methinks  he  lopks  like  a  judge. 

La^P.  Now  have  I 
A  kind  of  grudging  of  a  beating  on  mej 
I  fear  my  hot  fit. ' 

MaL  Drink  apace ;  there's  nothing 
Allays  a  cudgel  like  it. 
'    lAim.  Montague,  now 
I'll  put  my  choice  to  you :  who  do  you  bold. 
In  all  this  honour'd  company,  a  husband 
Fit  to  epjoy  thy  lady?  speak  directly. 

Mo^i.  Shall  I  speak,  madam? 

Lam.  Montague,  you  shall. 

Mqnt.  Then,  as  I  have  a  soul,  111  speak  my' 

conscience. 
Give  me  more  wine!  in  vino  Veritas: 
Here's  to  myself*^,  and— 


566 


TIffi  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


[Act  5.  Scene  U 


Lam.  Montague,  have  a  care! 
Speak  to  the  cause. 

Mani,  Yes,  madam.' 
First,  I'll  begin  to  thee! 

Lav,  Have  at  us ! 

La-F,  Now  for  a  psalm  of  mercy! 

Mont.  Vou,  good  monsieur, 
You  that  belie  the  noble  name  of  courtier^ 
And  think  vour  claim  good  here,  hold  up 

your  hana ! 
Your  worship  is  indicted  here  for  a 
Vainglorious  fool — 

Lav.  Good!  oh,  sir! 

Mont.  For  one  whose  wit 
Lies  io  a  ten-pound  waistcoat,  yet  not  warm. 
YouVe  traveird  like  a  fidier  co  make  faces. 
And  brought  home  nothing  but  a  case  of 

toothpicks. 
You  would  be  married,  and  no  less  than  ladies, 
And  of  the  best  sort,  can  serve  you !  Thou 

silk-worm. 
What  hast  thou  in  thee  to  deserve  this  woman? 
Name  but  the  poorest  piece  of  man,  good 

manners,  [hast  none ; 

There's  nothing  sound  about  thee ;  faith,  th' 
It  lies  pawn'd  at  thy  silk-man's,  for  so  much 

lace 
Thy  credit  with  his  wife  cannot  redeem  it*'; 
Thy  cloaths  are  all  the  soul  thou  hast,  for  so 
Thou  sav'st  them  handsome  for  the  next 

great  tilting,  [christen'd 

Let  who  will  take  the  other ;  thou  wert  ne'er 
(Upon  my  conscience)  but  in  barber's  water; 
Tltou  art  ne'er  out  o'  th'  bason,  thou  art  rotten. 
And,  if  thou  dar'st  tell  truth,  thou  wilt  con* 
^-Thy  skin  ffess  it ; 

Looks  of  a  chesnut  colour,  greazM  with 
.   amber ; 

All  women  that  on  earth  do  dwell  thou  lov'st. 
Yet  none  that  understand  love  thee  again. 
But  those  that  love  the  spital.    Get  thee 

home. 
Poor  painted  butterfly !  thy  summer's  past. 
Go,  ^weat,  and  eat  dry  mutton ;  thou  may'st 

live 
To  do  so  well  yet,  a  hruis'd  chambermaid 
May  fall  upon  thee,  and  advance  thy  follies. 
You  have  your  sentence ! — Now  it  follows, 
I  treat  of  you.  [captain, 

LarF.  Pray  Heav'n  I  may  deserve  it! 

Orl.  Beshrew  my  heart,  he  speaks  plain. 

AmL  That's  plain  dealing. 

Mont.  You  are  a  rascal,  captain ! 

La-F.  A  fine  calling. 

Mont.  A  water-coward ! 

Ami.  He  would  make  a  pretty  stuff. 

Mont.  May  I  speak  freely,  madam  ? 

Jjam.  Here's  none  ties  you. 

Mmt.   Why  shouldst   thou   dare   come 

hither  with  a  thought 
To  find  a  wife  here  fit  for  thee  \  are  all 
Thy  single-money  whores,  that  fed  on  carrots, 


And  fiird  the  high  grass  with  familiars, 
Fall'n  off  to  footmen  ?  Prithee  tell  me  tnily, 
(For  now  I  know  thou  dar'st  not  lie)  cooMst 

thou  not 
Wish  thyself  beaten  well  with  all  thy  heart  now, 
And  out  of  pain  ?  say  that  I  broke  a  rib. 
Or  cut  thy  nose  off,  were't  not  merciful 
For  this  ambition? 

io-P.  Do  your  pleasure,  sir ; 
B^gars  must  not  be  chusers. 

Url.  He  longs  for  beating. 

Mont.  But  that  I  have  nobler  thoughts 

possess  my  soul,  [iisli, 

Than  such  brown  biscuit,  such  a  piece  of  do^ 
Such  a  most  mangy  mackrel-eater  as  thoo  art. 
That  dares  do  nothing  that  belongs  to  th'sea 
But  spew  and  catch  rats,  and  fear  men  of  war, 
Tho'  thou  hast  nothing  in  the  world  to  lose 
Aboard  thee,  but  one  piece  of  beef,  one 

musquet  [barrel— 

Without  a  cock  for  peace-sake,  ana  a  pitcb- 
I'U   tell  thee,  if  my  time  were   not  more 

precious 
Than  thus  to  lose  it,  I  would  rattle  thee. 
It  may  be  beat  thee,  and  th^  pure  fellow. 
The  merchant  there  of  catskms,  till  my  wordi^ 
Or  blows,  or  both,  made  ye  two  branded 

wretches  [too 

To  all  the  world  hereafter!  You  would  Jain 
Venture  your  bills  of  lading  for  this  lady: 
What  would  you  give  now  for  ber?  Some  ^nt. 

frail  [sir? 

Of  rotten  figs,  good  Godson,  would  you  boC» 
Or  a  parrot  that  speaks  High-Dutch?  Can 

'  all  thou  ever  saw  st  ^ 

Of  thine  own  fraughts  from  sea,  or  cozenage 
(At  which  thou  art  as  expert  as  the  devil), 
Nay,  sell  thy  soul  for  wealth  too,  as  tbcw 

wilt  do, 
Forfeit  thy  friends,  and  raise  a  mint  of  money, 
Make  thee  dream  all  these  double  (^uld  pro- 
cure 
A  kiss  from  this  ^ood  lady  ?  Canst  tboa  hope 
She  would  lie  with  such  a  nook  of  lieU  u 

thou  art,  [dc^ljotts! 

And  hatch  young  merchant-furies?  Oh,  ye 
That  fear  no  hell  but  Dunkirk,  I  shall  see 

you 
Serve  in  a  lousy  lime-boat,  ere  I  die. 
For  mouldy  cheese,  and  butter  BilUng^gafee 
Would  not  endure,  or  bring  in  rotten  pippias 
To  cure  blue  eyes,  and  swear  thejr  came 

from  China. 

Lam.  Vex  'era  no  more ;  alas,  they  shake! 

Mont.  Down  quickly 
Upon  your  marrow-bones,  and  thank  tbislady; 
I  would  not  leave  you  thus  else!  there  are 

blankets,  [stili! 

And  such  delights  for  such  knaves :  but  fear 
'Twill  be  revenge  enough  to  keep  yoa  waking 
-Ye  have  no  mind  of  marria^,  ha'  ye  ? 

LorF.  Surely  no  great  mwd  now. 


^'  Tky  tredit  with  his  wife  cannot,  Sfc^  First  folio-  exhibits,  TA^  credit  which 
cannot f  SfC, 


Momi. 


Act  5.  Scene  1.] 


THE  HONEST  MAN'S  FORTUNE. 


56? 


Mont  Nor  you?** 

Mai.  Nor  I,  r  take  it. 

Mont,  Two  eager  suitors! 

Lav,  Troth,  'tis  wondrous  hot; 
Heaf*D  bless  us  from  him ! 

Lam,  You've  told  me,  Montague, 
Who  are  not  fit  to  have  me ;  let  me  know 
The  man  you  would  point  out  for  me. 

Mont.  There  he  sits; 
My  lord  of  Amiens,  madam,  is  my  choice : 
He's  noble  every  way,  and  worthy  a  wife 
With  all  the  dowries  of— 

Ami.  Do  you  sneak,  sir. 
Oat  of  your  friendship  to  me  ? 

Mont.  Yes,  ray  lord, 
And  out  of  truth ;  for  I  could  never  flatter. 

Atni,  I  would  not  say  how  much  I  owe 

you  for  it,  [you, 

For  that  were  but  a  promise ;  but  Fll  thank 
As  now  I  find  yon,  in  despite  of  fortune, 
A  fair  and  noble  gentleman. 

Lam.  My  lords, 
I  must  confess  the  choice  this  man  hath  made 
Is  every  way  a  great  one,  if  not  too  great. 
And  no  way  to  be  slighted :  yet,  because 
We  love  to  have  our  own  eyes  sometimes. 
Give  me  a  little  liberty  to  see    *  [now 

How  I  could  fit  myself,  if  I  were  put  to*t. 

Ami.  Madam,  we  must. 

Lam.  Are  ye  all  agreed? 

Omnes.  We  be.  [here ! 

Lam,  Then,  as  I  am  a  maid,  I  shall  chuse 
Montague,  I  must  have  thee.  [more 

Mont.  Why,  madam,  I  have  Icarn'd  tp  suffer 
Than  you  can  (out  of  pity)  mock  me  with, 
This  way  especially. 

Lam,  Thou  thinVst  I  jest  now ; 
Bo  t,  by  the  love  I  bear  thee,  I  will  have  thee ! 

Mont.  If  you  could  be  so  weak  to  love  a 

fall'n  man. 
He  must  deserve  more  than  I  ever  can, 
Or  ever  shall!  Dear  lady,  look  but  this  way 
Upon  tlmt  lord,  and  you  will  tell  me  then 
Your  eyes  are  no  true  chusers  of  good  men. 

Ami,  Do  you  love  him  truly  ? 

Lam.  Yes,  my  lord : 
I  will  obey  him  truly,  for  III  marry  him; 
And  justly  think  he  that  has  so  well  serv'd 

me 
With  his  obedience,  being  born  to  greatness, 
Must  use  me  nobly  of  necessity, 
When  I  shall  serve  him. 

Ami.  ^were  a  deep  sin  to  cross  you.  Noble 

Montague, 
I  wish  ye  all  content,  and  am  as  happy 
io  my  mend's  good  as  it  were  merely  mine ! 


Mont,  Your  lordship  does  ill  to  give  up 

your  right! 
I  am  not  capable  of  this  great  goodness : 
There  sits  my  wife,  that  holds  my  troth. 

Churl,  ril  end  all ;  [my  title. 

I  wooe*d  you  for  my  lady,  and  now  give  up 
Alas,  poor  wench,  my  aims  are  lower  far. 

Mont.  How's  this,  sweetheart  ? 

iMm.  Sweetheart,  'tis  so;  the  drift  was 

mine,  to  hide 
My  purpose  till  it  struck  home. 

Omnes.  Give  you  joj !         [Fll  have  thee! 

Lam,  Prithee  leave  wondrhig !  by  this  kiss, 

Mont.  Tlien,  by  this  kiss,  andf  this,  Fll 

ever  serve  you !  [hope 

Lmg,  This  gentleman  and  I,  sir, must  needs 
Once  more  to  folio W  you. 

Mont.  As  friends  and  fellows ; 
Never  as  servants  more. 

Long,  Dnb,  You  make  us  happy! 

Orl.  Friend  Montague,  you've  taught  me 

so  much  honour, 
Fve  found  a  fault  i*  myself;  but  thus  111  purge 
My  conscience  of  it :  the  late  land  I  took 
By  false  play  from  you,  with  as  much  con^ 

trition** 
As  with  entireness  of  affection 
To  this  most  happy  day,  again  I  render: 
Be  master  of  your  own  ;  forget  my  malice, 
And   make  me  worthy  of  your  love,   lord 

Motllague !  [your  name. 

M(mt.  You  have  won  me  and  honour  to 

Mai,  Since  [follow. 

Your  lordship  has  begun  good  deeds,  we'll 
Good  sir,  forgive  us!  We  are  now  those  men 
Fear  you  for  goodness'  sake :  those  sums  of 

money 
Unjustly  we  detain  from  you,  on  your  pardoti 
Shall  be  restored  again,  and  we  your  servants. 

La-P,  You're  very  forward,  sir!  it  seems 

you  ve  money :  [you. 

I  pray  you  layout;  111  pay  you,  or  pray  for 
As  the  sea  works. 

Lav.  Their  penance,  sir,  Fll  undertake,  so 

please  you 
To  grant  "ine  one  concealment^^. 

Lifng,  A  right  courtier. 
Still  a-begging. 

Mont,  What  is  it,  sir? 

Lav,  A  gentlewoman. 

Mont.  In  my  gift.' 

Lav,  Yes,  sir,  .in  yours. 

Mont.  Why,  bring  her  forth,  and  take 

her.  [Exit  Lav. 

Lam.  What  wench  would  he  have  i 

Mont,  Any  wench,  I  think. 


•*  With  at  muck  contrition,  and  entireness^ 

J^jfisction  to  this  most  happy  day  again,  1  render.']  This  being  all  printed  as  prose,  ran 
readily  into  its  true  measure,  except  in  the  part — and  entireness  of  affectum ;  and  here  the 
reader  will  observe,  that  there  is  certainly  one  mistake,  for  without  changing  and  to  as,  the 
conpsrative  as  in  the  first  part  wants  its  responsive -as  in  the  second,  to  make  out  the  com- 
parison. The  repetition  ot  with  too  (which  is  all  that  is  wanting  to  complete  the  measure) 
»  an  rndditMrnal  beauty  .to  the  language,  whether  in  verse  or  prose.  Seward, 
^'  Cmieeaim$nt*]  See  note  14  on  the  Hamoroos  Lieutenant* 

Enter 


568 


THE  HONEST  MAITO  FORTUNE. 


[Act  5.  Scene  1. 


Enter  Laver^ney    and    Veramour    like    a 


Omnes,  Ha,  ha,  ha !     [woaldst  thou  < 

La'P.  Oh,  thou  fresh-water  gudgeon, 
To  point  of  marriage  with  an  i^aoramos  ? 
Thou  shouldst  have  had  her  urine  to  the  doc- 
tor's ;  [plain 
The  foolishest  physician  could  have  uiade 
The  liquid  Epicoene*' ;  a  blind  aiax>  by  the 

hand  [stone.— 

Could   have  discover'd   the    ring  from  tbr 
Boy,  come  to  sea  with  me  ;  Til  teach  thee 

to  climb, 
And  come  down  by  the  rope,  nay,  to  eat  rats. 

Ver,  I  shall  devour  my  master  before  the 

prison  then**; 
Sir,  I've  began  my  trade. 

MaL  Trade!  to  the  city,  child  ; 
A  flap  cap  will  become  thee. 

Mont,  Gentlemen, 
I  beseech  you  molest  yourselves  no  fiuther 
For  his  prefennent;  'us  determined. 

Lav.  I'm  much  ashamed ;  and  if  my  cheek 
Giveth  not  satisfaction,  break  my  head. 

Mont.  Your  shame  is  enough,  sir. 

Ami.  Montague*^, 
Much  )oy  attend  thy  marria^-bcd  !  By  thy 
Example  of  true  goodness,  Envy  is  exjVd; 
And  to  all  honest  men  that  truth  intend, 
I  wish  good  luck !  fair  Fate  be  still  thy  friend! 

[Exeunt  i 


Jmv.  This  is  the  gentlewoman. 

Mont.  'Tis  my  page,  sir. 

Ver,  No,  sir;>  I  am  a  poor  disguised  lady. 
That  like  a  page  liave  follow'd  you  full  long 
For  love,  God  wot. 

Omnei,  A  lady ! 

JjTO.  Yes,  yes ;  'ds  a  lady,  [getber, 

Mont.  It  may  be  so;  and  yet  we've  lain  to- 
But,  by  my  troth,  I  never  found  lier  lady. 

Duch.  Why  wore  you  hoys*  ck>aths  ? 

Ver.  I  will  tell  you,  madam ;  [metliought 
I  took  example  by  two  or  three  plays,  that 
Concem'd  me. 

Mont.  Why  made  you  not  me  acquainted 
With  it? 

Ver.  Indeed,  sir,  I  knew  it  not  myself. 
Until  this  gentleman  opcn'd  my  dull  eyes, 
And  b^  persuasion  maae  me  see  it. 

Anu.  Could 
Bis  power  in  words  make  such  a  change } 

Ver.  Yes; 
As  truly  woman  as  yourself,  my  lord .    [man } 

La!0.  Why,  but  hark  you?  are  not  you  a  wo- 

Ver.  Ifliandsand  face  make  it  not  evident, 
You  shall  see  more. 

Mat.  Breeches,  breeches,  Laverdine  ! 

Im'P.  Tis  not  enough;  women  may  wear 
Search  further,  courtier.  [those  cases ; 

^3  The  liquid  Epicoene.]  There  is  great  humour  in  this,  which  will  escape  those  who  ace 
not  acquainted  with  the  technical  words  in  gramnaar :  the  Eplatns  gender  is  the  doubtful, 
or  where  the  sex  is  not  distinguished.  The  adjective  and  substantive  are  therefore  jocosely 
inverted,  and  the  liquid  Epiceme,  is  the  same  as  the  dubious  liquid.  Seward. 

We  do  not  remember  meeting  witli  a  stranger  observation,  than  is  contained  in  the  above 
note. 

**  I  shall  devour  my  master  before  the  prison  then.]  This  is  a  passage  that  has  punled 
Mr.  Sympson  and  myself.  He  proposes  to  read  poison  for  prison^  but  he  owns  himself  not 
satisfied  with  the  change;  nor,  indeed,  do  I  see,  what  advance  towards  sense  we  can  make 
by  it.  I  am  very  far  from  being  satisfied  with  what  I  am  going  to  propose.  It  is  veryclear» 
tfiat  Veramour  designs  to  call  I^-Poop  a  rat,  and  his  natural  answer  should  be,  '^^I  shah 
"  then  devour  my  master  the  lirst  of  all  his  crew.''    I  read,  therefore, 

before  his  prisoners  then. 
The  rats  of  the  ship  may  be  called  such.  Seward. 

^^  Montague,  much  joy  attend  thy  marriage  bed; 
By  thy  example  rftrue  goodness.  Envy  is  exiled. 
And  to  all  honest  men  that  truth  intend, 

I  wish  good  luck,  fur  Fate  be  still  thyfriendJ]  The  reader  will  here  see  another  io- 
stance,  how  much  corrupted  the  measure  was  in  those  parts  of  the  play  which  were  rang'd  as 
verse ;  which  generally  arose  from  the  printers  making  the  beginning  of  most  speeches  the 
beginning  of  averse,  when  they  are  often  a  conclusion  of  some  foregoing  verse,  as  in  this  in* 
stance.  Hence  tliey  were  forced  to  curUiil  tbe  next  lines,  to  bring  two  lines  and  a  half  ioto 
two ;  and  I  hope,  that  the  original  is  only  restored  in  stretchint;  them  again  into  due  diuieo- 
sions.  In  the  last  line,  I  believe,  for  thy  friend,  we  should  read  their  friendy  e\at  ^n 
should  make  a  fuller  point  than  a  comma  before  it.    The  former  seems  most  natuiiO. 

iieward  reads, 

Montague,  much  joy 

Attend  thy  marriage  bed;  by  M*  example 

Of  thy  true  goodness.  Envy  i»  exil'd. 

And,  &c. 
Scarcely  any  of  Mn  Seward's  divisions,  which  he  so  ofbeo  mentions,  are  sdopled  in  the 
present  edition. 

THK 


THE  MASQUE 


OF 

THE  INNER. TEMPLE  AND  GRAY  S  INN^ 
GRATS  INN  AND  THE  INNER-TEMPLE ; 

Presented  before  His  Majesty^  the  Queen's  Majesty,  the  Prince,  Count  Palatine  an4 

the  Lady  Elizabeth  their  Highnesses,  ui  the  Banqueting-House  at  Whitehall^ 

ou  Saturday  the  20tli  day  of  February^  l6l2. 


This  Masque  was  undoabtedly  the  production  of  Beaumont  aione.    There  is  9,  quart<> 
edition  of  it  without  a  date;  and  it  is  also  printed  in  the  folio  of  164T* 


DEDICATION. 

To  th^  Worthy  Sir  Francis  Bacorij  His  Majesties  Solicitor^GeMrtU ;  and  the  Gra^e  and 
Learned  Bench  of  the  anciently^llied  Houses  of  Gray's  Inn  and  the  Inner^Temple,  tht 
Inner-Temple  and  Gray's  Inn* 

YOU  that  spared  no  time  nor  travel,  in  the  setting  forth,  ordering,  and  furnishing  of 
thifi  Masque,  (being  the  first  fruits  of  honour,  in  this  kmd,  which  these  two  Societies  have 
offered  to  bis  majesty),  witl  not  tliink  much  now  to  look  back  upon  the  cfiects  of  your  own 
care  and  work :  for  that  whereof  the  success  was  then  doubtful,  is  now  happily  performed 
and  graciously  accepted ;  and  that  which  you  were  then  to  think  of  in  straits  of  time,  you 
may  now  peruse  at  leisure :  and  you.  Sir  Francis  Bacon,  especially,  as  you  did  then  by  your 
countenance  and  loving  affection  advance  it,  so  let  your  good  word  grace  it  and  defend  it^ 
which  is  able  U  add  vidue  to  the  greatest  and  least  matters. 


VOL.111.  4D  INTRO^ 


INTRODUCTION. 


^  THIS  Masque  ^as  appointed  to  have  been  presented  the  Shrovc-Tuesday  before*,  at 
which  time  the  masquers  with  their  attendants,  and  divers  other  gallant  young  gentlemen  of 
both  hoooes,  as  their  convoy,  set  forth  from  Winchester-house  (which  was  the  rendezvous) 
towards  the  court,  about  seven  of  the  clock  at  night. 

This  voyage  hy  water  was  performed  iu  great  triumph ;  the  ^ntlemen  masquers  beii^ 
placed  by  themselves  in  the  king's  royal  barge,  with  the  rich  furniture  of  state,  and  adorned 
with  a  great  number  of  lights  placed  \n  such  order  as  might  make  best  sliow. 

They  were  attended  with  a  number  of  barges  and  gallies,  with  all  variety  of  loud  masick, 
nnd  several  peals  of  ordnance,  and  led  by  two  admirals. 

Of  this  show  his  majesty  w  as  graciously  pleased  to  take  a  view,  with  the  prince,  the  cooBt 
Palatine,  an(i  the  Indy  Elizabeth  their  highnesses,  at  the  windows  of  his  privy  gallery,  upon 
the  water,  till  their  landing,  which  was  at  the  privy  stairs;  where  they  were  most  honounihly 
received  by  the  lord  chamberlain,  and  so  conducted  to  the  vestry. 

The  hall  was  by  that  time  filled  with  company  of  very  good  fashion,  but  yet  so  as  a  veiy 
great  number  of  principal  ladies,  and  other  noble  persons,  were  not  vet  come  in,  whereby  it 
was  foreseen  that  the  room  would  be  so  scanted  as  might  have  T!een  inconvenient;  and 
thereupon  his  majestv  was  most  graciously  pleased,  witli  the  consent  of  the  gentlemen 
masquers,  to  put  off  tlie  night  until  Saturday  following,  with  this  special  favour  and  privi- 
lege, that  there  should  be  no  let,  as  to  the  outward  ceremony  of  magnificejace  until  that  time. 

At  the  day  that  it  was  presented,  there  was  a  choice  room  reserved  for  the  gentlemen  of 
both  their  houses,  who,  coming  in  troop  about  seven  of  the  clock,  received  that  special  ho- 
nour and  noble  favour,  as  to  be  brought  to  their  places  by  the  right  honourable  the  eail  of 
Northampton,  lord-privy-seai. 

'  Th'u  Maique  was  appointed,  Sfc]  The  marriage  of  tlie  count  Palatine  of  the  Rhine  with 
the  lady  Elizabeth,  daughter  to  James  I.,  was  celebrated  on  Valentine's  Day,  in  the  year 
16  IS.    Ihe  Masque  then  exhibited  by  tjie  gentlemen  of  Gray's  Inn  and  the  luner-Temple 


was  perf  rmed  with  much  splendor  and  magnificence,  and  at  a  great  expence  to  both  those 
societies.     In  DugdaleV  Origines  Juridiciales,  1671,  p 


luner-Temple 
to  both  those 
p.  286,  we  find  the  Ibllowing  accouna 
of  the  charges  attending  this  j-epreseiitation,  extracted  from  the  records  of  each  society.*^ 
^  Gray's  Inn.  In  the  10th  of  King  James,  the  gentlenten  cf  this  house  were  (togetlier  with 
'  those  of  the  other  inns  of  court)  actors  in  that  great  Masque  at  Whitehall,  at  the  raarriase 
'  of  tlie  king's  tldest  daughter  unto  Frederick  Count  Palatine  of  the  Ithine;  the  charge  in 

*  apparel  for  the  actors  in  which  Masque,  was  supported  by  the  society:  the  readers  being 

*  each  man  assessed  at  4/.;   tlie  ancients,  and  such  as  at  that  time  were  to  be  called  an- 

*  cients,  at  2/.  10s.  apiece;  the  barristers  at  2/.  a  man;  and  the  students  at  20s.;  out  of 

*  which  so  much  wtts  to  be  taken  as  the  Inner-Temple  did  tlien  allow. 

*  Which  being  performed,  there  was  an  order  made,  18  Maii  then  next  following^  that  tht 

*  gentlemen  who  were  actors  in  that  Masque  should  bring  in  all  their  masqueing  appaiel,  so 

*  provided  at  the  charge  of  the  house:* 

Ibid.  p.  346.    *  Lincoln  s  Inn.    The  third  upon  a  Masque  in  11  Jac  presented  by  this 
<  society  before  the  king,  at  the  marriage  of  the  lady  Elizabeth  his  daughter,  to  tlie  prioot 

*  factor  Palatine  of  the  Rhine,  which  cost  no  less  than  mlxxxvi/.  Qs.  lid**  JC, 


THE 


THE  MASQUE 


or 


THE  INNER-TEMPLE  AND  GRAY'S  INN, 
GRAY'S  INN  AND  THE  INNER-TEMPLE. 


THR  DEVISE  OR  ARGUMENT. 

JUPITER  and  Juno,  willing  to  do  honour  to  tlie  marriage  of  the  two  famous  riverii 
Thaiuesis  and  Rhine,  employ  their  messengers  severally,  Mercury  and  Iris,  for  that  purpo^. 
They  meet  and  contend :  then  Mercury^  for  his  part,  brings  forth  an  anti-masque  all  of  spirits 
or  divine  natures ;  bob  yet  not  of  one  kind  9r  livery  (because  that  had  been  so  much  in  use 
heretofore)  but,  as  it  were,  in  consort,  like  to  broken  mu&ic  :  and  preserving  the  pro.  rietj 
of  the  devise ;  for  that  rivers  in  nature  are  maintained  either  by  springs  from  beneath,  or 
showers  from  above,  ho  raiseth  four  of  the  Naiades  out  of  the  fountains,  and  briugeth  dowo 
five  of  the  Hyades  out  of  the  clouds,  to  dance.  Hereupon,  Iris  scoflfs  at  Mercury,  for  that 
he  had  deviseil  a  dance  but  of  one  sex,  which  could  have  no  life :  but  Mercury,  who  was 
provided  for  that  exception,  and  in  token  that  the  match  should  be  blessed  both  w  th  love 
and  riches,  calleth  forth  out  of  tiic  groves  four  Cupids,  and  brings  down  from  Jupiter*s  ultar 
four  statues  of  ^old  and  silver  to  dance  with  the  nymphs  and  stars:  hi  whicii  dunce,  the 
Cupids  being  blind,  and  the  statues  having  but  half  liie  put  into  them,  and  retaining  still 
somewhat  of  their  old  nature,  giveth  fit  occasion  to  new  and  stratige  varieties  both  in  the 
music  and  paces.    This  was  the  first  anti-masque. 

Then  Iris,  for  her  part,  in  scorn  of  this  higli-flying  devise,  and  in  token  that  the  matcli 
shall  likewise  be  blessed  with  the  love  of  the  common  people,  calls  to  Flora,  her  confederate 
(for  that  the  months  of  flowers  are  likewise  the  months  or  sweet  showers  and  rainbows;  to 
bring  in  a  May  dance,  or  rural  dance,  consisting  likewise  not  of  any  suited  persons,  but  of  a 
confusion  or  commixture  of  nil  such  persons  as  are  natural  and  proper  for  country  sports* 
This  is  the  second  anti-masque. 

Then  Mercury  and  Iris,  after  this  vieing  one  upon  the  other,  seem  to  leave  their  conten- 
tion ;  and  Mercury,  by  the  consent  of  Iris,  brings  down  the  Olympian  knights,  intimating, 
tliat  Japiter  having,  after  a  long  discontinuance,  revived  the  Olympian  games,  and  sum- 
moned thereunto  from  all  parts  the  liveliest^ and  activest  persons  that  were,  had  enjoined 
them,  before  they  fell  to  their  games,  to  do  honour  to  these  nuptials.  The  Olympian  games 
portend  to  the  match  celebrity,  victory,  ana  felicity.    Thb  was  the  main  mfsque. 

The  fabric  was  a  mountain  with  two  descents,  and  severed  with  two  traverses. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  king,  the  first  traverse  was  drawn,  and  the  lower  descent  of  the 
momstaiu  discovered,  which  was  the  pendant  of  a  hill  to  life,  with  divers  bosc  ages  and 
grovets  upon  the  steep  or  hanging  grounds  thereof;  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  four  delicate 
fountains  running  with  water,  and  bordered  with  sedges  and  water  flowers. 

Iris  tirst  appeared ;  and  presently  after  Mercury ,  striving  to  overtake  her. 

Iris  appareled  in  a  robe  of  discoloured  taffeta,  figured  in  variable  colours,  like  the  rain- 
bow, a  cloudy  wreath  on  her  head,  and  tresses. 

Mercury  in  doublet  and  hose  of  white  taffeta,  a  white  hat,  wings  on  bis  shoulders  and 
feet,  his  caduceus  in  his  liund,  speaking  to  Iris  as  fblloweth : 


llercury.  OTAY,  stayl 

^  Stay,  lightrfoot  Iris!  for  thou 

striv'st  in  vain ; 
MAy  wings  are  nimbler  than  thy  feet. 

Iris.  Away, 
Dissembling  Mercury!  my  messi^es 
Ask  honest  haste;  not  like  those  wanton  ones 
Your  thundring  father  sends. 


Merc.  Stay,  foolish  maid ! 
Or  I  will  take  my  rise  upon  a  hill, 
When  I  perceive  thee  seated  in  a  cloud, 
In  all  the  painted  glory  that  thou  hast. 
And  never  cease  to  clap  ray  willing  v«ingS| 
'Till  I  catch  hold  of  thy  discoloured  bow, 
And  shiver  it,  bejrond  the  angry  power 
Of  your  curst  ^  mistress  to  make  up  again. 


Cur$t;}  i.  e.  Cross,  p€cvi$h.    The  word  occurs  in  Pliiiaster,  and  several  other  pbces. 

4D3  Iriu 


572 


A  MASQUE. 


Iris,  HenneSy  forbemr!  Juno  will  cliule 
and  strike. 
Is  great  Jove  jealous  that  I  am  employed 
On  ber  love-errands  ?  She  did  never  yet 
Clasp  weak  mortality  in  her  white  amis. 
As  he  hath  oflen  done :  1  only  come 
To  celebrate  the  lon^wisb^d  nuptials 
Here  in  Qlyiapia,  which  are  now  performed 
'  Betwixt  two  goodly  rivers,  which  have  mix'd 
Their  gentle-rising  waves,  and  are  to  grow 
Jnto  a  thousand  streams,  great  as  tliemselves. 
I  need  not  name  them,  for  the  sound  is  loud 
In  Heav*n  and  earth;  and  I  am  sent  from  lier, 
The  queen  ofmarriage,  that  was  present  here, 
A  nd  smird  to  see  them  join,  and  liatb  not  chid 
Since  it  was  done.    Good  Hermes,  let  me  go ! 
Merc.  Nay,  you  must  stay;  Jove's  mes- 
'    sage  is  the  same,  [thunder, 

Whose  eyes  are  lightning,  and  whose  voice  is 
\Vhose  breath  is  any  wind  he  will;  who  knows 
How  to  be  first  on  earth,  as  well  as  Heav'ii. 
Iris.  But  what  liath  he  to  do  with  nuptial 
rites? 
Let  him  keep  state  upon  his  starry  throne, 
And  fright  poor  mortals  with  his  thunderbolts, 
(saving  to  us  the  mutual  darts  of  eyes ! 

Alerc.  Alas,  when  everoffer'd  he  t*  abridge 
Your  lady's  power,  but  only  now,  in  these. 
Whose  match  concerns  his  general  govern- 
ment? 
Hath  not  each  god  a  part  in  these  high  joys? 
And  shall  not  he,  the  king  of  gods,  presmue 
Without  proud  Juno*s  licence?  Let  her  know, 
Xhat   %vnen  enamour'd  Jove  first  gave  her 

power 
'To  link  soft  hearts  in  undissolving  bands. 
He  then  foresaw,  and  to  himself  reserved, 
The  honour  of  this  marriage.    Thou  shalt 

stand 
Still  as  a  rock,  while  I,  to  bless  this  feast, 
Will  summon  up,  with  my  all-charming  rod. 
The  nymphs  of  ibun^ins,  from  whose  watry 

locks 
(Hung  witb  thed^w  of  blcs^ng  and  increase) 
'f\\e  greedy  rivers  take  their  nourishment. 
Ye  nymphs,  who  bathing in^our  loved  springs, 
Beheld  these  rivers  in  their  infancy, 
And  Joy'd  so  see  them,  when  tlieir  circled 

heads 
Refresh'd  the  air,  and  spread  the  ground  with 
.flowers;  [feet 

Uise  from  your  wells,  and  with  your  nimble 
Perform  that  office  to  this  happy  pair. 
Which  in  thiese  plains  you  To  Alplieus  did, 
When  passing  hence,  thro*  many  seas  un- 

mix'd. 
He  gain'd  the  favour  of  his  Arethuse ! 

Immediately  upon  whichspeech,  four  Naiades 
arise  gently  out  of  their  several  tbantains, 
aiul  present  themselves  upou  the  stage,  at- 
tired in  long  habits  of  soa<grcen  totfeta. 


with  bubbles  of  crystal  intermixt  with 
powdering  of  silver  resembliue  drops  of 
water,  blewish  tresses  on  their  heads,  gap- 
lands  of  water-lilies.  They  fall  into  ameap' 
sure,  dance  a  little,  then  make  a  stand. 

Iris.  Is  Hermes  grown  a  lover?    Bj  what 

power, 
Unknown  to  us,  calls  he  the  Naiades? 

AJerc.  Presumptuous  Iris,  I  could  make 

tliee  daace, 
Till  thou  forgot'st  thy  lady's  messages. 
And  ran*st  back  crying  to  her !  Thou  shalt 

know 
My  power  is  more ;  only  my  breath,  and  tiits^ 
Shalt  move  fix'd  stars,  and  force  the  firtaamem 
To  yield  the  Hyades,  who  govern  showers, 
And  dewy  clouds, in  whose  dispersed  drops 
Thou  fonn*st  the  shape  of  thy  dec^eitful  bow. 
Ye  maids,  who  yearly  at  appointed  lines 
Advance  with  kindly  tears  the  gentle  floods 
Descend,  and  pour  your  blessing  on  thest 

streams, 
Which,  rolling  down  from  UaaVn-ftspirii^ 

hills. 
And  BOW  united  in  the  fniitful  valefl» 
Bear  all  before  them,  ravish'd  with  their  joy. 
And  swell  in  glory,  till  ihey  know  no  bounds! 

Five  Hyades  descend  softly  in  a  clood  from 
the  firmament,  to  tlic  middle  part  of  tb^ 
hill,  appareled  in  sky-coloured  tafleta 
robes,  spangled  like  the  heavens,  golden 
tresses,  and  each  a  fair  star  on  their  head; 
from  thence  descend  to  tlie  stage,  at  nhose 
sight  the  Naiudc»  seeming  to  rcyoice,  meet 
and  join  in  a  dance. 

Iris.  Great  wit  and  power  hafh  Menncs, 
to  contrive 

A  lifeless  dance,  which  of  one  sex  consists  f 
j\:crc.  A  bis,  poor  Iris!    Venus  hath  m. 
store 

A  secret  nmbusli  of  her  winged  hoys; 

Who  lurking  long  within  tliese  plrawBl 
groves. 

First  struck  these  lovers  with  their  equal  dans; 

Those  Cupids  shall  come  fortii,  and  join  witk 
these 

To  honour  tliat  which  they  thenmelves  began. 

Enter  four  Cupids  from  each  side  of  tlie  bos- 
cage, attired  in  flame-coloured  taffeta  clo5« 
to  iheir  body,  like  naked  boys,  with  boas, 
arrows,  and  win^s  of  gold;  chaplets  of 
flowers  on  their  licads,  hoodwinked  with 
tiflany  scarfs,  who  join  with  the  nympbs 
and  the  Hyades' in  another  dance.  Thar 
ended,  Mercur}'  speaks. 

Merc.  Behold  the  statues  which  wi«eViiti 

can  plac'd' 
Under  the  altar  of  Ol^TOpian  Joy, 
And  gave  to  them  an  aruficial  iitc^ 


'  Iris.  Beholdy  4*c.]    The  argument,  as  well  as  what  follows,  proves  beyond  contr^ctioa 
that  this  speech  belongs  to  Mercury^  though  hithsrto  enooeouBly  aUotttia  to  Zri$^ 


A  MASQUI. 


in 


Shall  dance  forjoy  of  these  great  nuptial^^. 
See  how  they  move,  drawn  by  this  heav'nly 

like  the  wild  trees,  which  followed  Oq>heus' 

harp  I 
The  Statues  eoter,  supposed  to  he  before  de- 
scended from  Jove's  altar,  and  to  have 
been  prepared  in  the  covert  with  the  Cu- 
.  pids,  attending  their  call. 
These  Statues  were  attired  in  cases  of  gold 
.  and  silver  close  to  their  bodies,  foces, 
bands,  and  feet,  nothing  seen  but  gold  and 
•ilver,  as  if  they  had  been  solid  images  of 
metal,  tresses  of  hair  as  they  had  been  of 
metal  embossed,  girdles  and  small  aprons 
of  oaken  leaves,  as  if  they  likewise  had 
been  carved  or  moulded  out  of  the  metal : 
at  their  coming,  the  musick  changed  from 
violins  to  hautboys,  cornets,  &c.,  and  the 
air  of  the  musick  was  utterly  turned  into 
a  soft  time,  with  drawing  notes,  excel- 
lently expressing  their  natures,  and  the 
measure  likewise  was  fitted  unto  the  same, 
and  the  Statues  placed  in  such  several 
postures,  sometimes  all   together  in  the 
centre  of  the  danee,  and  sometimes  in  the 
four  utmost  angles,  as  was  very  graceful, 
besides  the  novelty.    And  so  concluded 
the  first  anti-masque. 
Merc.  And  what  will  Juno'slris  do  forlier? 
Iris.  Just  match  tliis  show,  or  my  inven- 
tion fails: 
Had  It  been  wortliicr,  I  would  have  invok'd 
The  blazing  comets,  clouds  and  falling  stars, 
And  all  my  kindred  meteors  of  the  air. 
To  have  excell'd  it ;  but  I  now  must  strive 
To  imitate  confusion :  therefore  thou, 
Delightful  Flora,  if  tliou  ever  fclt'st    [plants 
Encrease  of  sweetness  in   those  blooming 
On  which  tlie  horns  of  my  fair  bow  decUne, 
Send  hither  all  the  rural  company 
Which  deck  the  May-games  with  theircoun- 
Juno  will  have  it  so.  [try  sports ! 

Tlie  second  anti- masque  rush  in,  dance  their 
measure,  and  as  rudely  depart ;  consisting 
of,  a  Pedant,  May  Lord,  May  Lady ;  Ser- 
vingman,Chambemiaid;  a  Country  Clown, 
or  Shepherd,  Country  Wench;  an  Host, 
Hostess;  a  He-Baboon,  She-Baboon;  a 
He-Fool,  She-Fool,  ushering  them  in. 

AH  these  persons,-  apj>areled  to  the  life,  the 
men  issuing  out  of  one  side  of  the  bos- 
cage, and  the  women  from  the  other. 
The  musick  was  extremely  well  fitted, 
having  sucli  a  spirit  of  country  jollity  as 
can  hardly  be  imagined;  but  the  perpe- 
tual laughter  and  applause  was  above  the 
musick. 


The  dance  likewise  was  of  the  same  strain; 
and  the  dancers,  or  rather  actors,  ex« 
pressed  every  one  their  part  so  naturally 
and  aptly,  as  when  a  man  s  eye  was  caught 
with  the  one,  and  then  past  on  to  the 
other,  he  could  not  satisfy  lumself  which 
did  best.  It  pleased  his  majesty  to  call 
for  it  again  at  the  end,  as  he  did  hkewise 
for  the  first  anti-masque ;  but  one  of  tlie 
Statues  by  that  time  was  undressed. 

Merc.  Iris,  we  strive, 
Like  winds  at  liberty,  who  should  do  worst' 
Ere  we  return.    If  Juno  be  the  queen 
Of  marriages,  let  her  give  happy  way 
To  what  is  done,  ui  honour  of  the  stat« 
She  governs  I 

Iris.  Hennes,  so  it  may  be  done 
Merely  in  honour  of  the  state,  and  these 
That  now  liave  prov'd  it;  not  to  satisfy 
The  lust  of  Jupiter,  in  having  thauks 
More  than  his  Juno;  if  thy  snaky  rod 
Have  power  to  search  the  Ileav*us,  or  sound 

tlie  sea, 
Or  call  together  all  the  ends  of  earth. 
To  bring  in  any  thing  that  may  do  grace 
To  us,  and  these;  do  it,  we  shall  be  pleasM. 

Merc.  Then  know,  that  from  the  mouth 

of  Jove  himself,  [boxne. 

Whose  words  have  wings,  and  need  not  to  be 
I  took  a  message,  and  f  bare  it  thro* 
A  thousand  yielding  clouds,  and  never  stay'd 
'Till  his  hig£  will  was  done :  the  Olympian 

games, 
Which  long  have  slept,  at  these  wished  nupti'ils 
He  pleas'd  to  have  renewed,  and  all  his  knights 
Are  gathered  hither,  who  within  their  tents 
Rest  on  this  lull;  upon  whose  rising  head 
Behold  Jove's  altar,  and  his  blessed  priest^ 
Mo\'in^  about  it!  Come,  you  holy  inen, 
And  withyour  voices  draw  these  youths  along, 
I'liat'iill  Jove*s  music  call  them  to  theirgames. 
Their  active  sports  may  give  a  blest  content 
1  o  those,  for  whom  they  are  again  hegnnr 

The  main  Masque.—The  second  traverse  is 
drawn,  and  the  higher  ascent  to  the  moun- 
tain is  discovered ;  wherein,  upon  a  level, 
after  a  great  rise  of  the  hill,  were  placed 
two  pavillions:  open  in  the  front  otthem, 
the  pavillions  were  to  sight  as  of  cloth  of 
gold,  and  they  were  trimmed  on  the  inside 
with  rich  armour  and  military  furniture, 
hanged  up  as  upon  the  walls;  and  behind 
the  tents  tliere  were  represented,  in  pro- 
spective, the  tops  of  divers  other  tents,  m 
if  it  had  been  a  camp.  In  these  pavillions 
were  placed  fifteen  Olympian  knights, 
upon  seats  a  httle  emhowed  near  the  fonn 
ot  a  crescent,  and  the  knights  appeared 

.  ♦  Shall  dance  for  joy  afthsse  great  nuptials : 
And  gave  to  than  an  artificial  life.l  The  transposition  of  these  lines  seems  indispenttblj 
necessary.  r 

*  Who  should  do  worst.]   The  sense  seems  to  require  us  to  resAmott  for  worst;  \xn\ess  it 
iBean»  which  should  worst  the  other. 

£ntg 


•71 


A  MASQUE. 


first,  as  consecrated  persons,  all  in  veils, 
'  like  to  copes,  of  silver  tiffany,  gathered, 
Mid  failing  a  large  compass  about  them, 
and  over  their  heads  high  mitres,  with 
long  pendants  behind  falling  firom  them ; 
the  mitres  were  so  high,  tliat  they  received 
their  hats  and  feathers,  that  nothing  was 
seen  but  veil.  In  the  midst  between  both 
the  tents,  upon  the  very  cop  of  the  hill, 
being  a  higher  level  than  that  of  the  tents, 
was  placed  Jupiter's  altar  gilt,  with  tliree 
great  tapers  upon  golden  candlesticks 
Durnini;  upon  it ;  and  the  four  statues,  two 
of  gold,  and  two  of  silver,  as  supporters, 
and  Jupiter*s  priests  in  white  robes  about 
iL  Upon  '  the  sight  of  the  king,  the 
veils  of  the  knights  did  fall  easily  from 
them,  and  they  appeared  in  their  own 
babiu 

The  Knights*  attire. — Arming  doublets  of 
carnation  sat  tin,  embroidered  witli  blaz.ing 
stars  of  silver  plate,  with  powderin^s  of 
omailer  stars  betwixt;  gorgets  of  sdver 
mail;  long  hose  of  the  same,  with  the 
doublets  laid  with  silver  lace  spangled, 
and  enriched  with  embroidery  between 
the  lace;  carnation  silk  stockincy  em- 
broidered all  over;  garters  ana  roses 
suitable ;  pumps  of  carnation  sattin  em- 
broidered, as  the  doublets;  hats  of  the 
same  stuff,  and  embroidery  cut  like  a 
helmet  before,  the  hinder  part  cut  into 
scallops,  answering  tJie  skirts  of  their 
doublets ;  tlie  bands  of  the  hats  w<;re 
wreaths  of  silver  in  form  of  garlands  of 
wild  olives,  white  feathers,  with  one  fall  of 
carnation ;  belts  of  the  same  stuff  and 
embroidered  with  the  doublet;  silver 
swords;  little  Italian  bands  and  cuffs 
embroidered  with  silver ;  fair  long  tresses 
of  hair. 

The  Priests*  habits. — Long  robes  of  white 
taffeta ;  long  white  heads  of  hair ;  the  high- 
priest  a  cap  of  white  silk  shag  close  to  his 
head,  with  two  labels  at  the  ears,  the 
midst  rising  iu  form  of  a  pyramis,  in  the 
top  thereof  a  branch  of  silver;  every, 
pncsc  playing  upon  a  lute;  twelve  iu 
number. 

The  Priests  descend  and  sing  this  song  fol- 
lowing; after  whom  the  Knights  likewise 
descend,  first  laying  aside  their  veils,  belts, 
and  swords. 


Shake  off  your  beavy  trance. 

And  leap  into  a  dance. 

Such  as  no  mortals  use  to  tread. 

Fit  only  for  Apollo 
To  play  to,  for  the  moon  to  lead. 

And  all  the  stars  to  follow! 

The  Knights  by  this  time  are  all  descended 
and  fallen  into  their  place,  and  then  dance 
their  first  measure. 

On,  blessed  youths!  for  Jove  doth  pause. 
Laying  aside  his  graver  laws 

For  this  device: 
And  at  the  wedding  such  a  pair. 
Each  dance  is  taken  for  a  pray*r^ 

Each  ]|ong  a  sacrifice. 

The  Knights  dance  their  second  measare. 

[Si;^.]  More  pleasing  were  these  sweet  der 
lights. 
If  ladies  mov'd  as  well  as  knights; 
Run  every  one  of  you,  and  catch 
A  nymph,  in  honour  of  this  match; 
And  whisper  boldly  in  ber  ear, 
Jove  will  but  laugh,  if  you  forswear! 

[Chorus.']  And  this  day's  sins,  he  dotb  resoivft 
That  we  his  priests  should  all  absolve. 

The  Kntghts  take  their  ladies  to  dance  with 
them  galliards,  durets,  coraatos,  &c.  and 
lead  them  to  their  places;  then  loud  mnsirk 
sounds,  supposed  to  call  tbem  to  their 
Olympian  games. 

Ye  should  stay  longer  if  we  durst : 
Away!  Aias,  that  he  that  first 
Gave  time  wild  wings  to  fly  away. 
Hath  now  no  power  to  make  him  stay! 
But  tho'  these  ^ames  must  needs  be  piay'd, 
I  would  this  pair,  when  they  are  laid. 

And  not  a  creature  nigh  'em. 
Could  catch  his  scythe  as  he  dotb  pass. 
And  cut  his  wings,  and  break  his  glass, 

And  keep  him  ever  by  'cm. 

The  Knights  dance  their  parting  measure, 
and  ascend,  put  on  their  swords  and  belts; 
during  which  time,  the  Priests  sing  the 
fifth  and  last  song. 

Peace  and  silence  be  the  guide 
To  the  man,  and  to  the  bride ! 
If  there  be  a  joy  jret  new 
In  marriage,  let  it  fall  on  you. 

That  all  the  world  may  wonder! 
If  we  should  stay,  we  should  do  worse. 
And  turn  our  blessing  to  a  curse. 

By  keeping  you  asunder. 


This  Masque  is  here  printed  from  the  quarto  edition.  All  the  other  copies  of  it  ue 
•Ktremely  erroneous  and  imperfect:  none  of  the  descriptive  parts  are  inserted  in  them;  and 
to  point  out  the  bfunders  aad  other  omissions,  would  require  almost  as  many  notes  as  tbt 
Masque  coutaios  lines. 

FOUR 


FOUR  PLAYS, 

OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS, 

IN  ONE. 


This  Drama  was  first  printed  in  the  folio  edition.    No  circumstances  appear  to  oscrilie  il  in 
particular  to  either  Author;  it  was  probably  a  joint  production. 


PERSONS  REPRESENTED. 

EwANUELy  King  qf  Portugal  and  Castile. 

Isabella,  hu  Queen.  Ispectaton  of  the  Plaj^  at  the CeUbrution  tf  the 

K;:L,  a  Courier.  (     ^V.^^-^- 

RiNALDO,  hU  Acquatntance. 

THE  TRIUMPH  OF  HONOUR. 

Martius,  a  Roman  GeneraL 
Valerius,  his  Brother. 
Sophocles,  Duke  of  Athens. 
NicoDEMUS,  a  cowardly  Corporal, 
Cornelius,  a  WittolSutler, 
Captain. 


Diana. 

Dorigen,  Sophocles*$  Wife^  the  example  of 

chastity. 
Florence,  Wife  to  Cornelius. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  LOVE. 


Cupid. 

KiNALDO,  Duke  of  Milan. 


Angelina,  Wifk  toBenvoglio. 
V^iolante,  herDaughteTf  Uerrard'sMistreu 
DoROTBEA,  Vioiante*s  Attendant. 
Cornelia,  the  obscured  Duchess* 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  DEAllI. 


DcKE  OP  Anjou. 

Lavall,  his  lustful  Heir. 

Gen  TILL  E,  a  Courtier,  Father  to  Perolot, 

Perolot,  contracted  to  Gabriella, 

Two  Gentlemen. 

A  Spirit. 

Shalloon E,  Servant  to  Lavall. 


Gabriella,  the  despised  Wife  ffLamllf 
IIellena,  his  second  Wife. 
Casta,  Daughter  to  Gentillc. 
Maria,  a  Servant  attending  on  Gabriella^ 


Jupiter. 
JVIercury. 

PLUTUS. 

Time. 

Atropos. 

l>£bI&E. 


THE  TRIUMPH  OF  TIME. 

Vain-Delioht. 

Bounty. 

Poverty. 

Honesty. 

Simplicity. 

Fame. 


inter 


57a 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


Enter  Frigoso^    [Noise  within.'] 

Trl   A  WAY  with  those  bald-pated  nisoiils 

/^    there! 
Their  wits  are  bound  up  in  Tellum  ;  they  are 
Not  current  here,    Down  with  tliose  city 

gentlemen  !  &c.  [their  wives 

Out  with  those  cuckolds,  I  say,  and  in  wiih 
At  the  back  duor !  Worship  and  place,  I  an 

weary  of  ye ; 
Ye  lie  on  my  shoulders  like  a  load  of  gold 
On  an  ass's  back.    A  man  in  authority 
Is  but  as  a  candle  in  the  wind,  sooner  wasted 
Or  blown  out,  than  ooder  a  bushel. — How 

now  ! 
What's  tlie  matter?  who  are  you,  sir? 

Enter  Rinaldo, 

JUn.  Who  am  I,  sir? 
Why,  do  you  not  know  me  ? 

Fri.  No,  by  my  faith,  do  I  not. 

Hin.  I  am  sure  we  diu'd  together  to-day. 

Fri.  That's  aU  one :  [paid 

As  I  diii'd  with  you  in  the  city,  aad  as  you 
For  my  dinner  there,  I  do  know  you,  and  am 
Beholding  to  you:  but  as  my  mii^  is  since 
Transmigrated  into  my  office,  and  as  you  oomc 
To  court  to  have  me  pay  you  again,  and  be 
Beholding  to  me,  I  know  you  not, 

1  know  you  not ! 
Jlin.  Way,  but  look  you,  sir! 
Fri,  Pardon  me!  (years. 

If  you  had  been  my  bedfellow  these  seven 
And  lent  me  money  to  buy  my  place,  I  must 
Not  transgress  principles :  this  very  talking 
With  you  is  an  ill  example. 

Rin.  Pibh ! 
You  are  too  punctual  a  courtier,  sir ! 
Why,  I'm  a  courtier  too ;  yet  never  understood 
The  place  or  name  to  be  so  infectious 
To  humanity  and  manners,  as  to  cast 
A  ninn  into  a  burning  pride  and  arrogance. 
For  which  there  is  no  cure.    I  am  a  courtier, 
And  yet  I  will  know  my  friends,  I  tell  you. 

Fri.  And  I  tell  you. 
You  will  thrive  accordingly,  t  warrant  you. 

Rin.  But,  hark  you,  signor  Frigoso !  you 

shall  first  understand, 

2  have  no  friends  with  me  to  trouble  yoa. 

Fri.  Humh !  that's  a  good  modre. 

Rin.  Nor  to  borrow  qaoney  of  you. 

Fri.  That's  an  excellent  motive. 

Jim.  No,  my  sweet  don, 
Kor  to  ask  what  you  owe  me. 

Fri.  Why,  that 
Is  the  very  motive  of  motives  why  I  ought 

'  Prologues  are  had  huishers  before  the  wise.l  If  prologues  are  bad  hutsliers,  bow  doei 
the  consequence  follow,  that  therefore  an  huisher  or  usher  should  prolognise  ?  I  believe  M 
a  corruption,  and  that  we  should  read  but,  which  renders  the  whole  easy  and  intelligtble. 

Serard. 
The  present  text  is  from  'the  first  edition.    Bare  seems  used  in  the  sense  of  butf  or  mere. 
It  is  a(60  sense^  iu  the  ucception  o(uncQveredf  ia  this  place. 

Here'i 


And  will  know  thee :  and  if  I  had  not  woirod 
tlice  [thee 

Up  to  this  promise,  I  would  not  have  known 
These  fifteen  years,  no  tnore  than  the  arrantcst 
Or  most  fouuder'd  Castilian  that 
Followed  our  new  queen's  carriages  a-foot. 
/'HiraT  Nor  for  any  thing,  dear  don,  hut  that 
I   you  would  [oight. 

k^lace  me  conveniently  to  see  the  play  to* 

1E9I.  That  shall  I,  signor  Uinaldo. 
But  would  you  had  come  sooner:  yea  see 
How  full  the  scafiblds  are !  there  is  scant  room 
For  a  lover's  thought  here.—- Gentlewomen, 
Sit  close,  for  shame  I  Has  none  of  ye 
A  little  corner  for  this  gentleman  ? 
I'll  place  you,  fear  not.  And  how  didourbcavfl 

king 
Of  Portugal,  Emanuel,  bear  himself  to-day  ? 
You  saw  the  solemnity  of  the  marriage. 

Rin.  Why,  like  a  fit  husband  forso|^cioia 
And  excellent  a  princess,  as  his  worthy 
Mate  Isabella,  tlie  kmg  of  Castile  s  daug^etj 
Doth,  in  her  very  external  lioeanBcnfe^ 
Mixture  of  colours,  and  joining  dove-like  be< 

haviour. 
Assure  herself  to  be.    And  I  protest. 
My  dear  don,  seriously,!  can  sing 
Proplieticnlly  nothing  but  blessed  hymni^ 
Ana  happy  occasions  to  this  sacred  union 
Of  Portugal  and  Castile,  which  have  so  wisely 
And  mutually  conjoined  two  such  virtuous 
And  beautitul  princes  as  these  are;  and  ia 

all  opinion, 
Like  to  multiply  to  their  very  last  minute. 

jFVi.  The  king  is  entering :  signor,  bovei 

hereabout ; 
And  as  soon  as  the  train  is  set,  clap  into  me; 
We'll  stand  near  the  state.     If  you  have 
Any  creditora  here,  they  shall  renew     [toucl) 
Bonds  a  ttf^t^eiBonth  on  such  a  sight :  butta 
The  pomel  of  the  king's  chair,  in  the  sight 
Of  a  citizen,  is  better  security 
For  a  thousand  double-ducats,  thask  three 
Of  the  best  merchants  in  Lisbon.    Beskici, 

aigaor,  Cp^J[  ^'^i 

We  will  censure,  not  only  the  king  in  dx 
That  reigns  his-two  hours,  but  the  king  himself 
That  is  to  rule  his  life-time.  Take  mj  coufr 

sell—  [bly, 

I  have  one  word  to  say  to  this  noble  assem* 
And  I  am  for  you. 

Rin.  Your  method  shall  govern  me« 

Fri,  Prologues  are  huishersbare  before  tbi 

wise/; 
Why  may  not  then  a  huisher  prologntse? 


POUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE.^  $77 


Here*s  a  fair  sight ;  and  were  ye  oftner  seen 

Thus  gathered  here,  'twould  please  our  king 
and  queen. 

Upon  my  cooscience,  ye  are  welcome  all 

To  Lisbon,  and  the  court  of  Portugal; 

"Wliere  your  fair  eyes  shall  feed  on  no  worse 
sights 

Than  preparations  made  for  kings'  delights. 

We  wjsh  to  men  content,  the  manliest  trea- 
sure; 

And  to  the  women,  their  own  wish'd-fbr 
pleasure!  [Flourish, 

£nter  Emanuel  and  liabella,  Lords,  and 
Attendants, 

Eman,   Fair  fountain   of  my  life,  from 
whose  pure  streams 
The  propagation  of  two  kingdoms  flows, 
Never  contention  rise  in  either's  breast, 
^Mt  contestation  whose  love  shall  be  best! 
hab,  Majestick  ocean,  that  with  plenty 
feeds 
Me,  thy  poor  tributary  rivulet; 
Sun  of  ray  beauty,  that  with  radiant  beams 
Dost  gild   and  dance  upon  these  humble 

streams ; 
Curs'd  be  my  birth-hour,  and  my  ending  day, 
When  back  your  love-floods  I  forget  to  pay! 
Or  if  this  breast  of  mine,  your  crystal  brook. 
Ever  take  other  form  in,  other  look 
But  yours,  or  e'er  produce  unto  your  grace 
A  strange  reflection,  or  another's  face. 
But  be  your  love-book  clasp'd,  open'd  to 

none 
But  you,  nor  hold  a  story,  but  your  own; 
A  water  fix'd,  that  ebbs  nor  floods  pursue, 
Prozen  to  all,  only  dissolved  to  you ! 

Eman,  Oh,  who  shall  telJ  the  sweetness  of 
our  love 
To  future  times,  and  not  be  thought  to  lie  ? 
I  look  thro'  this  hour  like  a  perspecti\'e. 
And  far  off"  see  millions  of  prosperous  seeds. 
That  our  reciprocal  afiection  breeds. 
Thus,  my  white  rib,  close  i  n  my  breast  with  me, 
Which  nought  shall  tear  hencSe,  but  mortality ! 
Ijords.  Be  kingdoms  blest  in  you,  you  blest 
in  them!  [Flourish." 

Fri.  Whist!  signer!  My  strong  imagination 
Shews  me  love,  methinks,  bathing  in  milk 
A  nd  wine  in  her  cheeks.  Oh,  how  she  clips  him. 
Like  a  plant  of  ivy ! 

Rin,  Ay ;  could  not  you  be  content 
To  be  an  owl  in  such  an  ivy-bush, 
Or  one  of  the  oaks  of  the  city,  to  be  so  dipt? 
FrL  Equivocal  don,  tho'  Hike  the  clipping 
well, 
I  could  not  be  content  either  to  be  your  owl. 
Or  youj^  ox  of  tlie  city.—The  play  begins. 

[Flourish 


'  Enter  a  Poet  toith  a  Garland. 

Poet  Prologue.  Low  at  your  s!icred  feet 

our  poor  muse  lays 
Her,  and  her  thunder-fearless  verdant  bays. 
Four  several  Triumphs  to  your  princely  eyes,  y 
Of  Honour,  Love,  Death,  and  Time,  clc»  rise 
From  our  approachingsubject;  which  we  move 
Triw'rds  you  with  fear,  since  that  a  sweeter 
A  brighter  honour,  purer  chastity,  [love, 
Maiich  in  your  breasts  this  day  triumphantly. 
Than  our  weak  scenes  can  sbe^v :  then  how 

dare  we 
Present,  like  apes  and  zanies,  things  that  be 
Exemplified  in  you,  but  that  we  know 
We  ne'er  crav'd  grace  which  you  did  not 

bestow  ? 

Enter  in  triumph  zoith  Drums,  Trumpets, 
(A)lours,  MartiuSj  Valerius,  Sophocles 
bound,  Nicodemus,  Cornelius,  Captains  and 
Soldiers. 

Mar.  What  means  proud  Sophocles  ? 
Soph.  To  go  even  with  Marti  us. 
And  not  to  follow  him  like  his  officer: 
I  never  waited  yet  on  any  man. 
Mar.   Why,  poor  Athenian  duke,  thou 
art  my  slave ; 
My  blows  have  conquer'd  thee. 

Soph,  Thy  slave,  proud  Martins? 
Cato  thy  countryman  (whose  constancy. 
Of  all  the  Romans,  I  did  honour  most) 
Ripp'd  iiimself  twice  to  avoid  slavery, 
Making  himself  his  own  anatomy. 
But  look  thee,  Martins;  not  a  vein  runs  here 
From  head  to  foot,  but  Sophocles  would 

unseam,  and 
Like  a  spring-garden  3  shoot  his  scornful  blood 
Into  their  eyes,  durst  come  to  tread  on  him. 
As  for  thy  blows,  they  did  not  conquer  me : 
Seven  battles  have  I  met  thee  face  to  fece. 
And  given  thee  blow  for  blow,  and  wound 
for  wound,  [tire : 

And,  'till  thou  taught'st  me^,  knew  not  to  re- 
Thy  sword  was  then  as  hold,  thy  arm  as  strong; 
Thy  blows  then,  Martius,  cannot  conquer  me. 
Val.  What  is  it  then  ? 
Soph,  Fortune. 
Val.  Why,  yet  in  that 
Thou  art  the  worse  man,  and  must  follow  him. 
Soph.  Young  sir,  you  err :  if  fortune  could 
be  caird 
Or  his,  or  yours,  or  mine,  in  good  or  evil. 
For  any  certain  space,  thou  hsuist  spoke  truth; 
But  she  but  jests  with  man,  and  in  mischance 
Abhors  all  constancy,  flouting  him  still 
With  some  small  touch  of  good,  or  seeming 

good. 
Midst  of  his  mischief;  which  vicissitude 


'  And  like  a  spring  garden.]  Spring-OATLDi^v  appears  to  be  corrupt.    Perliaps  the  line 
should  run,  "^ 

And  like  a  spring  gun  shoot,  &c. 

♦  Thou  taught'st  me.]  'fhe  context  seems  to  require  fate  taught  me,  or  words  to  that 

*  VOL.  III.  4E  jy,k,. 


578 


FOUE  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


Makes  him  strait  doff  his  armour,  and  his 

fence 
He  had  prepar'd  before,  to  break  her  strokes. 
So  from  the  very  zenith  of  her  wlieel. 
When  she  has  dandled  some  choice  favourite, 
Giv*n   him  his  boons  in  women,  honour, 

wealth. 
And  all  the  various  delicacies  of  earth, 
That  the  fool  scorns  the  gods  in  bis  excess, 
She  whirls,  and  leaves  him  at  th'  AntifKules. 
Mar.  Art  sure  we  have  taken  him  ?  is  this 
Sophocles  ? 
His  fetter'd  arms  say  no ;  his  free  soul,  ^y. 
This  Athens  nurseth  arts,  as  well  as  arms. 
Soph.  Nor  glory,  Martius,  in  this  day  of 
thine ! 
Tis  behind  yesterday, but  before  to-morrow; 
Who  knows  what  fortune  then  will  do  with 

thee? 
She  never  yet  could  make  the  better  man. 
The  better  chance  she  has:  the  man  that's 

best    . 
She  still  contends  with,  and  dotli  favour  least. 
Mar,  Rethinks,  a  graver  thunder  than 
the  skies 
Breaks  from  his  lips :  I  am  amaz'd  to  hear; 
And  Athens'  woras>  more  than  her  swords 
do  fear.  [Aside. 

Slave  Sophocles — 

Soph,  MartinsScouldst  thou  acquire 
And  did  thy  Roman  gods  so  love  thy  prayers 
And  solemn  sacrifice,  to  grant  thy  suit 
To  gather  all  the  valour  of  the  Caesars 
Thy  predecessors,  and  what  is  to  come, 
And  by  their  influence  fling  it  on  th^e-now, 
Thou  couldst  not  make  my  mind  go  less,  not 

pare 
With  all  their  swords  one  virtue  from  my  soul : 
How  am  I  vassal'd  then  ?  make  such  thy  slaves, 
As  dare  not  keep  their  goodness  past  their 

graves. 
Know,  general,  we  two  are  chances  on 
The  die  of  Fate ;  now  thrown,  thy  six  is  up, 
And  my  poor  one  beneath  thee ;  next,  the 

throw 
May  set  me  upmost,  and  cast  thee  below. 
Mar,  Yet  will  I  try  thee  more:'  calamity 

[Aside. 
Is  man's  true  touchstone. — Listen,  insolent 

prince. 
That  dar'st  contemn  the  master  of  thy  life, 


Which  I  will  force  here  Yore  thy  city-walb 
With  barbarous  cruelty,  and  call  thy  wife 
To  see  it,  and  tlien  after  send  her — 

StmA.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  [ground. 

Mar,  And  then  d^nolish  Athens  to  the 
Depopulate  her,  fnght  away  her  fame. 
And  leave  succession  neither  stone  nor  n 

Sofh,  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Mar,  Dost  thou  deride  me? 

VaL  Kneel!  ask  Martius 
For  mercy,  Sophocles,  and  live  happy  atili ! 

Soph,  Kneel,  and  ask  mercy?  Iloman,  art 

Bgod? 
I  never  kneel'd,  or  begg'd,  of  any  else. 
Thou  art  a  fool !  and  I  will  lose  no  more 
Instructions  on  thee,  now  I  And  thy  ears 

\SoUmn  mudek, 

.  Enter  Dorigen,  Ladies  hearing  d  SmartL 

Are  foolish,  like  thy  tongue. — My  Dor^eii 
Oh,  must  she  sec  me  bound  ? 

1  Capt,  There's  the  first  sigh 

He  breathed  since  he  was  born,  I  think, 

2  Capt,  Forbear, 

All  but  the  lady  his  wife  ! 

Soph.  How  my  heart  chides 
The  manacles  of  my  hands,  that  let  them  oot 
Embrace  my  Dorigien ! 

Val,  Torn  but  thy  face. 
And  ask  thy  life  of  Martius  thus,  and  tfaoa. 
With  thy  fair  wite,  shalt  live ;  Athens  sball 

stand. 
And  all  her  privileges  augmented  be. 
Soph.  Twere  better  Athens  perishM,  and 
my  \»!fe 
(VVhich,  Romans,  I  do  know  a  wortliy  one), 
Than  Sophocles  i»hould  shrink  of  Sophocle^ 
Commit  profane  idolatry,  by  giving      [ma^! 
The  reverence  due  to  gods  co  thee,  blowii 
Mar,  Rough;  stubborn  cynick! 
Soph.  Thou  art  rougher  far, 
And  of  a  coarser  wale,  fuller  of  pride. 
Less  temperate  to  bear  prosperity.         ftbee 
Thou  seest  my  mere  neglect  hath  rai»'d  in 
A  storm  more  boistrous  than  the  ocean's; 
^My  virtue,  patience,  makes  thee  vicious. 
Mar,  Why,  fair-ey'd  lady,  do  you  kneel? 
Dor.  Great  genend,  [maid 

Victorious,  godlike  Martius,  your  poor  band- 
Kneels,  for  her  husband  will  not,  cannot; 
speaks 


'  Soph.  MartiuSy  slave  Sophocles^  couldst  thou  acquin?.]  A  transposition  here  has  rendered 
this  absolute  darkness.  Martius  being  struck  with  admiration  at  Sophoclei%  intrepidity,  u 
resolved  to  put  it  to  a  fartlier  trial  by  scofls  and  insults ;  he  therefore  begins  with  calling 
him  sla;oey  as  the  answer  evidentl;^  shews.  There  is  therefore  scarce  a  doubt  of  the  true 
reading  being  as  the  text  is  now  reformed,  making  the  first  *part  of  the  speech  spoke  aside, 
and  then. 

Slave  Sophocles. 
Soph.  Martius,  couldst  thou  acquire^  &c. 
But  there  is,  I  believe,  a  great  corruption  still  remaining  in  the  word  acquire^  to  acquire  to 
gather y  is  bad  Bnghsh;  besides  as  the  sentence  stands,  the  acquisition  precedes  the  prayers, 
^is  therefore  most  probable  that  the  true  word  is  aspire^  which  seems  ckar  of  all  ob- 
jections.       Seward, 

A/cquire  is,  in  our  opinion,  preferable. 

Tliu^ 


POUR  PLAYS^  Oil  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE,  670 

I>w.  He  would  not  beg  to  live : 
When  he  shall  so  forget,  then  I  begin 
To  command,  Martius :  and  when  he  kneels, 
Dorigen  stands;  when  he  lets  fiill  a  tear, 
I  dry  mine  eyes,  and  scorn  him. 

Mar.  Scorn  him  now  then, 
Here  in  the  face  of  Athens  and  thy  friends ! 
Self-will*d,  stiff  Sophocles,  prepare  to  die. 
And  by  that  sword  thy  lady  honoured  me, 
With  which  herself  stall  follow.    Romans, 

friends,  [with  me 

Who  dares  but  strike  this  stroke,  bhail  part 
Half  Athens,  and  my  half  of  victory. 

CapL  By  Heaven,  not  wc ! 

Nic.  Com.  We  two  will  do  it,  sir. 

Soph,  Away,  yc  fish-facM  rascals ! 

Val.  Martius,  [fame^; 

To  eclipse    this  great  eclipse  labours  thy 
Valerius  thy  brother  shall  for  once 
Turn  executioner :  give  me  thy  sword. 
Now,  Sophocle!),  Fli  strike  as  suddenly 
As  thou  dar*st  die. 

Soph.  Thou  canst  not  I  and,  Valerius, 
rris  less  dishonour  to  thee  thus  to  kill  me, 
Than  bid  me  kueel  to  Martius :  'tis  to  murder 
The  fame  of  living  men^,  which  great  ones  do 
Their  studies  strangle;  poison  makes  away, 
The  wretched  hangman  only  ends  tbe  play. 

VaL  Art  thou  prepared  ? 

Soph.  Yes. 

VaL  Bid  thy  wifeiarewell ! 

Soph.  No;  1  will  take  no  leave !— -My  Do» 

rigen, 
Yonder  above,  'bout  Ariadne's  crown. 
My  spirit  sluill  hover  for  thee;  prithee  haste! 

l>or.  Stay,  Sophocles !  with  this  tie  up  my 

sight : 
Let  not  soft  Nature  so  transformed  be 
(And  lose  her  gentler^ex'd  humanity) 


Thus  humbly ,  that  he  may  not.  Listen,  Roman ! 
Thou  whose  advanced  front  doth  speak  thee 

Roman 
To  every  nation,  and  whose  deeds  assure  it  i 
Behold  a  princess,  whose  declining  head, 
Xike  to  a  drooping  lily  after  storms. 
Bows  to  thy  feet,  and  playing  here  the  slave. 
To  keep  her  husband's  greatness  unabated ; 
All  which  doth  make  thy  conquest  greater ! 

for, 
If  he  be  base  in  aught  whom  thou  hast  taken, 
Then  Martius  hath  but  taken  a  base  prize : 
But  if  this  jewel  hold  lustre  and  value, 
lAartius  is  richer  than  in  that  he  hath  won« 
Oh,  make  him  such  a  captive  as  thyself 
Unto  another  wouldst,  great  captain,  be ! 
Till  then,  he  is  no  prisoner  fit  for  thee. 

Mar.  Valerius,  here  is  hannony  would  hnve 

brought  [Jove 

Old  crabbed  Saturn  to  sweet  sleep,  when 
Did  first  incense  him  with  rebellion  ! 
Athens  doth  make  women  philosophers ; 
And  sure  their  children  chat  the  l«iik  of  gods« 

VaL  Rise,  beauteous  Dorigen  ! 

Dor.  Not  until  I  know 
The  general's  resolution. 

VaL  One  soft  word 
From  Sophocles  would  cahn  him  into  tears. 
Like  gentle  showers  after  tempestuous  winds. 

Dor.  To  buy  the  worid,  he  will  not  give  a 

word,  [ment, 

A  look,  a  tear,  a  knee,  'gainst  bis  own  judg* 
And  the  divine  composure  of  his  mind: 
All  which  I  therefore  do;  and  here  present 
This  victor's  wreath,  this  rich  Athenian  sword, 
Trophies  of  conquest,  which,  great  Martius, 

wear. 
And  be  appeas'd !  Let  Sophocles  still  live  I 

Mar.  He  would  not  live.. 


*  To  eclipse  this  great  eclipse  labours  thy  fame.]  This  is  so  obscure,  that  many  readers  may 
think  it  requires  an  explication.  The  sense  seems  to  be — Sophocles,  whilst  he  lives,  will  be 
»  great  eclipse  to  thy  tame,  and  thy  fame  is  now  labouring  to  eclipse  him  in  thy  turn,  there- 
fore thy  brother  shall  be  his  executioner.  Seward. 

'  ^ '2Vf  to  murder 

The  fame  of  thing  men,  which  great  ones  do; 
Thetr  studies  strangle^  poison  makes  ascay, 

The  wretched  hangman  onitf  ends  the  play."]  Though  false  pointings  ha:ve  rendered  this 
quite  dark,  yet  if  the  printers  have  not  made  soin/e  mistake  that  I  cannot  discover,  tlie  poet 
btmself  was  ^^ry  obscure,  and  however  proper  the  sentiment,  'tis  certainly  ill  exp^ssed.  By 
making  the  first  part  of  the  sentence  end  at  strangle,  tlie  following  sense  may  be  deduced 
from  it.  To  make  their  fellow-creatures  kneel  to  them,  as  great  men  frequently  do,  is  worse 
Uian  murdering  them ;  it  renders  them  servile  and  slavish,  debases  them  below  the  dignity 
of  their  nature,  murders  therefore  their  fame  and  fetters,  and  strangles  their  studies,  i.  e.  tlie 
five  exertions  of  their  rational  faculties.  Whereas  poison  makes  away  or  destroys  a  man 
without  injuring  his  fame,  or  diminishing  the  dignity  of  his  soul ;  and  the  wretched  despi- 
cable hangman  only  puts  an  end  to  tiie  part  we  act  upon  the  stage  of  this  world.  This  sen- 
timent is  continued  and  improved  in  Sophocle/s  next  speech  upon  death.  Seward, 
Probably  we  should  point, 

—which  great  ones  do 
Their  studies  strangle. 
The  sense  is,  *  You  will  dishonour  me  less  by  killing  me,  than  bidding  me  kneel  to  Mar- 
'  tius.    Great  men  exert  themselves  to  murder  t^  fame  of  the  living ;  which  is  greater 
*  cruelty  than  poison  or  hanging,  which  but  concludes  our  misery/    The  expression^  how- 
ever, in  any  sense,  is  certainly  obscure. 

4Ea  To 


580 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


To  make  me  see  my  lord  bleed! — So!  'tis 

well : 
Ne%'cr  one  object  underneath  the  sun 
Will  I  behold  before  my  Sophocles. 
Farewell !  Now  teach  the  Romans  how  to  die. 

Mar,  Dost  know  what  'tis  to  die  i 

Soph.  Thou  dost  Dot,  Martius, 
And  therelbre  not  what  'tis  to  live.    To  die 
Is  to  begin  to  live :  it  is  to  end 
An  old  stale  weary  work,  and  to  commence 
A  newer  and  a  better:  *tis  to  leave 
Deceitful  knaves,  for  the  society  [part 

Of  gods  and  goodness :   thou  thyself  must 
At    last  from  all  thy  garlands,  pleasures, 

triumphs, 
And  prove  thy  fortitude,  what  then  'twill  do. 

Vat.  But  art  not  griev'd  nor  vex'd  to  leave 

life  tliuS  ?  {sent 

Soph,  Why  should  I  grieve  or  vex  for  being 
To  them  I  ever  lov'd  best?  Now  I  kneel; 
But  with  my  back  towards  thee.  Tis  the  last 
This  trunk  can  do  the  gods.  [duty 

Mar.  Strike,  strike,  Valerius,      , 
Or  Martins'  heart  will  leap  out  at  his  mouth ! 
This  is  a  man;  a  woman  !  Kiss  thy  lord, 
And  live  with  all  the  freedom  you  were  wont. 
Oh,  Love !  thou  doubly  hast  afflicted  me, 
With  virtue  and  with  beauty.    Treacherous 

heart. 
My  hand  shall  cast  thee  quick  into  my  uni, 
Ere  thou  transgress  this  knot  of  piety. 

Val.  What  ails  my  brother? 

Soph.  Martius,  oh,  Martins ! 
Thuu  now  hast  found  a  wav  to  conquer  me. 

Dor.  Oh,  star  of  Rome  f  what  gratitude 

can  speak  « 

Fit  words  to  follow  such  a  deed  as  this  ? 

Mar.  Doth  Juno  talk,  or  Dorigen  ? 

Val.  You  are  observ'd. 

Mar.  This  admirable  duke,  Valerius, 
With  his  disdain  of  fortune,  and  of  death, 
CaptivM  himself,  hath  captivated  me: 
And  tho'  my  arm  hath  ta  en  his  body  here, 
His  soul  hath  subjugated  Martius*  soul : 
By  Komulus,  he  is  all  soul,  I  think  I 
He  haih  no  fle^h,  and  spirit  can't  be  g^v'd  : 
Then  we  have  vanquish  d  nothing;  he  is  free, 
And  Martius  walks  now  in  captivity. 

Soph,  How  faies  the  noble  Roman?      , 

Mar.  Why? 

Dor.  Your  blood  [eyes 

Is  suuk  down  to  your  heart,  and  your  bright 
Have  lost  their  splendor. 

Mar.  Baser  fires  go  out 
When  the  sun  shines  on  em. — I  am  not  well ; 
An  apoplectick  fit  I  use  to  have', 
After  my  heats  in  war  carelessly  coord. 


Soph'  Martius  shall  rest  in  Athens  with  hit 

friends,  [Roman! 

Till   this  distemper  leave  him.     Oh,  great 
See  Sophocles  do  that  for  thee  he  could  not 
Do  for  himself,  weep.  Martius,  by  the  gpda, 
It  grieves  me  that  so  brave  a  soul  should  suffer 
Under  the  body's  weak  infirmity. 
Sweet  lady,  take  him  to  thy  loving  charge. 
And  let  thy  care  be  tender. 

Dor.  Kingly  sir, 
I  am  your  nurse  and  servant. 

Mar,  Ob,  dear  lady,  [Heav'n ! 

My  mistress,  nay,  my  deity !     Guide  me. 
Ten  wreaths  triumphant  Martius  will  give. 
To  change  a  Martius  for  a  Sophocles : 
Can  it  not  be  done,Valerius,  wuli  thia  boot'  ? 
Inseparable  afiection,  ever  thus 
Colleague  with  Athens  Rome! 

Dor,  Beat  warlike  tunes. 
Whilst  Dorigen  thus  honours  Martius'  brow 
With  one  victorious  wreath  more  ! 

Soph,  And  Sophocles 
Thus  girds  his  swurd  of  conquest  io  his  thigh. 
Which  ne'er  be  drawn,  but  cut  out  victory  I 

Lords.  For  ever  be  it  thus  !  \^Ex€unt» 

Corn.  Corporal  Nicodemus, 
A  word  with  you. 

Nic.  My  worthy  sutler 
Cornelius,  it  befits  not  Nicodemus 
The  Roman  officer  to  parley  with 
A  fellow  of  thy  rank ;  th*  afiuirs  of  the  empire 
Are  to  be  occupied. 

Corn,  Let  the  afiairs  of 
The  empire  lie  awliile  unoccupied ! 
Sweet  Nicodemus,  I  do  require  the  money  at 
Thy  hands,  which  thou  dost  owe  me;  and  if 

fair  means 
Cannot  attain,  force  of  arms  shall  accomplish. 

Nic,  Put  up,  and  live. 
;  Com,  I  have  put  up  too  mucii  already, 
Thou  corporal  of  concupiscence ;  for  I 
Suspect  thou  hast  dishonoured  my  flock-bed^ 
/Vnd  with  thy  foolish  eloquence,  and  that 
Bewitching  face  of  thine,  drawn  my  wife, 
The  young  harlotry  baggage,  to  prostitute 
Herself  unto  thee.  Draw,  therefore ;  fortboit 
Shalt  find  thyself  a  mortal  corporal !      [will 

Nicf  Stay  thy  dead-doing  hand,  and  lienr:  I 
Rather  descend  from  my  honour,  and  argue 
These  contumelies  with  thee,  than  djttch  ihee 
(Poor  fly)  io  these  eaglet  claws  of  mine ;  or 

draw 
My  sword  of  fafeeon  a  peasant,  a  besognio'^ 
A  cocoloch,  as  thou  art.    Thou  sbmlt 
Fii-st  understand  this  foolish  eloquence. 
And  intolerable  beauty  of  mine 
(Both  which,  I  protest,  are  merely  natoral) 

*  yln  apoplectick ^^]  Whether  there  is  any  lesser  d^ree  of  the  apoplexy  that  does  not  de- 
prive a  man  of  his  senses,  I  am  not  physician  enough  to  know;  but  to  make  a  man  aocos- 
.tomed  to  apoplectick  fits  seems  improper,  since  the  third  stroke  is  generally  held  fiual.  I 
rather  believe  the  poets  wrote  epilepticky  a  distemper  that  Sliakespeare  from  history  ^?cs(» 
two  very  great  soldiers,  Julius  C«sar  and  Henrjf  I  v .  Sewtu'd, 

^  With  this  boot;]  i.  e.  With  this  advantage  in  exchange. 

'°  Besognio.]    See  note  1%  on  the  Martial  Maid. 

'  Alt 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


591 


Are  the  gifts  of  the  godsi  with  which  I  have 
Neither  sent   bawdy   sonnet,  nor  amorous 

glance, 
Or  (as  the  vulgar  call  it)  a  sheep's  eye 
To  tlty  betrothed  Florence. 

Corn.  Thou  liest !  [bom 

Nic.  Oh,  gods  of  Rome,  was  Nicodemus 
To  bear  these  braveries  from  a  poor  provant? 
Yet  when  dogs  bark,  or  when  the  asses  bray, 
The  lion  laughs;  not  roars,  but  goes  his  way. 

Corn.  A  pox   o'your  poecical    vein  !  this 

versifying  [Cod*s-head, 

"My   wife  has  horniiied  me.    Sweet  corporal 
No  more  standing  on  your  punctilio's  and 

punketto's  [truth  is, 

Of  honour,  tliey  are  not  worth  a  louse ;  the 
Thou  art  the  general's  bigamy,  that  is, 
His  fool,  and  his  knave ;  thou  art  miscreant 
And  recreant;  notan  horse-boy  in  the  legions, 
But   has   beaten   thee;  thy   beginning  was 

knap-sack, 
And  tiiy  ending  will  be  halter-sack". 

Nic.  Methinks 
I  am  uo<v  Sophocles  the  wise,  and  thou 
Art  Martius  the  mad. 

Com.  No  more  of  your  tricks. 
Good  corporal  Leather-cbopb !  1  say  thou  hast 
Dishonour'd  me;  and  since  honour  uow-a-days 
^s  only  repaired  by  money,  pay  me, 
And  I  am  satisfied;  even  reckoning  keeps 
Long  friends. 

Nic.  Let  us  continue  friends  then. 
For  I  have  been  even  witli  th^'en  long  time; 
And  tho'  I  have  not  paid  thee,  I've  paid  thy 

wife.  [flower'd  her,  Tarquin  ! 

Corti.  Flow  forth,  my  tears !  thou  Imstde- 
The  garden  of  my  delight,  hedged  about, 
III  which  there  was  but  one  bowling-aUey 
For  mine  own  private  procreation,    [hedge, 
Thou  hast,  like  a  thief.  I'th'  night,  leaped  the 
Enter'd  my  alley,  and  without  my  privity 
Played  thiue  own  rubbers,  [snore  ? 

Nic.  How  long  shall  patience  thus  securely 
Is  it  nay  fault,  if  these  attractive  eyes 
This  budding  chin,  of  rosy-colour'd  cheek, 
This  comely  body,  and  this  waxen  leg. 
Have  drawn  her  into  a  fool's  paradise  ? 


By  Ctipid's  god-head  I  do  swear  (no  other**) 
She's  chaster  far  than  Lucrece,  her  grand- 
mother ; 
Pure  as  glass-window,  ere  the  rider  dash  it*', 
Whiter  than  lady's  smock,  whtfn  she  did  iva<3h  • 

it:  [command  ress) 

For  well  thou  wot*st  (tho'  now  my  heart's 
I  once  was  free,  and   she  but   the   camp's 

laundress.  [part 

Com.  Ay;  she  then  came  sweet  to  me;  no 
About  herbut  smelt  of  soap-suds;  likeadryad 
Out  of  a  wash-bowl**.     Pray,  or  pay  ! 

Nic.  Hold  !  [nyivorths  small  ? 

Corn.  Was  thy  cheese  mouldy,  or  thy  pen- 
Wab  not  thy  ale  the  mightiest  of  the  earth  in 

malt,  [bed  solt,  and 

And  thy  stupe  fill'd  like  a  tide  ?  was  not  thy 
Thy  bacon  fatter  than  a  dropsy?  Come,  sir! 

Nic.  Mars  then  inspire  me  with  the  fencing 

skill 
Of  our  tragedian  actors !  Honour  pricks ; 
And,  sutler,  now  I  come  with  thwacks  and 

th wicks.  [lavalto  fall ; 

Grant  us  one  crush,  one  pass,  and  now  a  high 
Then  up  again,  now  down  again,  yet  do  no 

harm  at  all ! 

Enter  Florence. 

Flor,  Oh,  that  ever  I  was  bom !  why,  gent ! 

Corn.  Mees^dine  of  Rome ; 
Away,  disloyal  concubine  !  I  will 
Be  deafer  to  thee  than  thou  art  to  others; 
I  will  have  [rant  whore 

My  hundred  drachma's  he  owes  me,  thou  ar* 

Flor.  I  know  he  is  an  hundred  drams  o'th' 

score'*;  [nelius! 

But  what  o'  that  ?  no  bloodshed,  sweet  Cor* 
Oh,  my   heart!  o'my  conscience,  'tis  fall'n 

thorow  [Dicfjmfius, 

The   bottom  of  my  belly !     Oh,  my  sweet 
If  either  of  ye  miskill  one  another. 
What  will  become  of  poor  Florence?  Pacify 
Yourselves,  I  pray ! 

Corn.  Go  to  !  my  heart's  not  stone ; 
I  am  not  marble :  dry  your  eyes,  Florence ! — 
The  scurvy  ape's  face  knows  my  blind  side 

well  enough.— 


"  And  thy  ending  will  he  halter-sack.]  The  junction  of  sack  and  halter  here,  is  only  to 
preserve  a  jingle  of  words  without  meaning.  We  may,  perhaps,  restore  a  quibble  with 
some  little  sense  in  it,  if  we  read  halter-sick.  Seward. 

'*  jBv  Cupid's I  do  swear  (no  other).]     With  this  hiattis  the  line  has  been  hitherto 

printed ;  btno  or  arrow  were  probably  the  original,  but  what  is  (no  other^,  and  why  in  a  pa- 
renthesis iL  The  parenthesis,  1  believe,  belongs  to  I  do  swear;  and  the  msertion  of  the  pre- 
position Oy  makes  out  a  comic  hobbling  verse. 

By  Cupid's  bow  (I  swear  bi/  no  other).  Seward, 

A  hiatus  is  not  likely  to  hav^  been  put  for  bow  or  arrow,  but  very  likely  for  the  word  we 
have  inserted,  which  equally  suits  sense,  measure,  and'  parenthesis. 

■'  Ere  the  rider  dash  it.]  Unless  dash  is  here  used  in  the  sense  of  splash  with  dirt,  this 
passage  seems  uninteihgible.  R. 

■♦  Like  a  dryad  out  of  a  wash-bowl.]  This  was  probably  a  designed  mistake  of  dryad  for 
naiad,  and  therefore  Mr.  byropson,  who  quarrels  with  the  printer  for  making  the  author  talk 
so  improperly,  seems  to  be  angry  without  reason.  It  i&  not  the  author  but  OomeUus  talks 
nonsense.  Sewt/rd. 

'^  Drachma's  o'  th'  score.]  So  former  copies. 

Leave 


589 


FOUR  PL.\YS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


Have  lost  roy  fame  and  aatore.  [£aw.  C^,] 

— Athens,  Athens^  -   . 

This  Dori^en  is  thy  Paladiam  f 
lie  that  will  sack  thee,  mim  betray  her  first, 
Whose  words  wound  deeper  than  her  fans- 

band's  sword; 
Her  eyes  make  captive  still  the  oonqoerory 
And  here  they  keep  Iter  only  to  thiU  end. 
Oh,  subtle  devil,  what  a  goidea  ball 
Did  tempt,  when  thoa  didst  cast  her  in  my 

way!  [to  field 

Why,  foolish  Sophocles,  bronghc'st  uioii  not 
Thy  i&dy,  that  thou  might^st  have  overcome? 
Martins  had  kneeFd,  and    yielded  all  hii 

wreaths 
That  hang  like  jewels  on  the  seven -fold  hifl, 
And  bid  Rome  send  him  out  to  fight  wiih 

men,  [Fate 

(For  that  she  knew  he  durst)  and  not  *ptiml 
Or  deities ;  what  mortal  conquers  them  * 
Insatiate  Julius,  when  his  victories 
Had  run  o'er  half  the  world,  had  tie  met  her, 
There  he  had  stopped  the  legend  of  his  deeds. 
Laid  by  his  arms^  been  overcome  himself. 
And  let  her  vanquish  th*  other  half;  and  Fame 
Made  beauteous  Dorigen  the  greater  name. 
Shalt  I  thus  Mif  I  wiU  notf  no;  iny  tears, 
Cast  on  my  heart,  shall  quench  these  lawl«i 

fires: 
He  conquers  beat,  conquers  his  lewd  desires. 

Enter  Dorigerif  with  Ladies. 

Dor,  Great  sir,  my  lord  commands  me 

visit  you ; 
And  thinks  your  retir*d  melancholy  proceeds 
From  some  distaste  of  worthless* entertain- 
ment, [d'ye  do,  w? 
Wiirt  please  you  take  your  chamber  ?   How 

Mar.  Lost,  lost  again !  the  wild  rage  of  my 

blood 
Doth  ocean-like  overflow  the  shallow  shoit, 
Of  my  weak  virtue :  my  desire's  a  vane. 
That  the  least  breath  from  herturns  every  way. 

Dor,  What  says  my  lord  ? 

Mar,  Dismiss 
Your  women,  pray,  and  I'll  reveal  my  grieC 

Dor,  Leave  me !  [Exeunt  Ladks. 

*^  Go  thy  ways,  and  provide  the  cow's  vdderJ]  As  all  the  rest  of  the  speech  is  a  burlesque 
sublimity  of  stile,  and  the  whole  was  easily  restored  to  its  droll  measure,  there  is  reason  tt» 
suspect  this  sudden  fall  of  stile  and  loss  of  metre  to  arise  firomsome  omissions,  which,  I  hope, 
will  be  restored.  There  is  no  pariicular  propriety  in  her  providing  a  am^s  udder  rather  than 
any  other  disli ;  but  as  milk  is  the  emblem  of  ]>eace,  and  she  is  immedtotely  after  called 
Lily  of  concord,  there  is  great  humour  in  celebrating  thefr  treaty  of  friendship  by^a  libatioa 
of  milk  to  the  goddess  of  Peace.    I  read  therefore, 

■  which  in  sign  of  amity 

I  thus  take  off  again,  go  thy  ways,  and 
Provide  the  friewify  juice  of  the  cow's  udder.  SewBtd, 

This  is  an  unwarrantable  alteration ;  and  the  measure  maybe  preserved  without  it.  Jwks 
of  the  UDDEK  is  too  bad. 

'^  J  cry  your  wishes  mercy.']  If  this  be  genuine,  the  meaning  is,  I  beg  pardon  of  your  ex- 
pectations, in  which  you  are  already  a  knight.  But  it  will  be  more  intelligible  to  read  wth 
thip^s  mercy,    Ke  calls  him  afterwards  before  Martins^ 

His  worship  Sir  Nicodemus.  Seward. 

**  There  seems  in  this  scene  to  be  toint  indiffeteni  imitation  of  Shakespeare's  Pisl^  &c. 

Mar. 


Leave  your  puling :  •  will  this  content  you  ? 
let  him  taste  [take  off  again. 

Thy  nether  lip;  which,  in  sign  of  amity,  I  thus 
Go  thy  ways,  and  provide  the  cow's  udder'^. 
Nic.  Lily  of  concord ! — And  now,  honest 
sutler,  [ture. 

Since  I  Ve  had  proof  as  well  of  thy  good  na- 
As  of  thy  wife  s  before,  I  will  acquaint  thee 
With  a  project  shall  fully  satisfy  thee 
For  thy  debt.    Thou  sbalt  understand, 
I'm.  shortly  to  be  knighted. 
Com.  The  devil  thou  art ! 
Nic.  Renounce  me  else!    for  the  suste- 
nance of  which  worship  [nance) 
(Which  worship  many  times  wants  suste- 
I  have  here  the  genend's  grant  to  have  the 
Two  hundred  men.                       [leading  of 
Corn,  You  jest,  you  jest ! 
Nic.  Refuse  me  else  to  the  pit.        [self? 
Corn,  Mercy  on  us!  ha'you  not  forgot  your- 
By  your  swearing  you  should  be  knighted 
already. 

Nic.  Damn  me,  sir^  here*s  his  hand  ! 
Read  it. 
Com.  Alas,  I  cannot. 
Nic.  I  know  that. — 
T  has  pleased  the  general  to  look  upon    [in 
My  service.  Now,  sir,  shall  you  Join  with  me 
Petitioning  for  fifty  men  more,  m  regard 
Of  my  arrearages  to  you ;  which,  if  granted, 
I  will  bestow  th'  whole  profit  of  those  fifty 
Men  on  thee,  and  thine  heirs  for  ever, 
Till  Atropos  do  cut  this  simple  thread. 
Corn,  No  more,  dear  corporal !  Sir  Nico- 
demus [cy*' ! 
That  shall  be !    I  cry  your  worship's  mer- 
I  am  your  servant,  body  and  goods. 
Moveables  and  immoveables ;  use  my  house, 
Use  my  wife,  use  me,  abuse  me,  do  what  you 
list.                                         [an  old  pass, 
Nic.  A  figment  is  a  candied  lie :  this  is 
Mark,  what  follows'*  !                     [Exeunt. 

Enter  Martius  and  Two  Captains. 

Mar.  Pray  leave  me  !    you  are  Romans, 
honest  men ; 
Keep  me  not  company ;  I  am  turn'd  knave. 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


583 


Mar,  Long  udes  of  love  (whilst  love  itself 
Might  be  enjoy'd)  are  lauguisbiog  delays.    - 
There  is  a  secret  stnmge  lies  in  my  breast,- 
I  will  partake  with  you,  which  much  coq«> 

cerns 
Your  lord,  yourself,  and  me.    Oh! 

Dor.  Strange  secrets,  sir, 
^ould  not  be  made  so  cheap  to  strangers;  yet 
If  your  strange  secret  do  no  lower  lie 
Than  in  your  breast,  discover  it. 

Mar,  I  will. 
Oh!  can  yoo  not  see  it,  lady,  in  my  sighs? 
Dor»  Sighs  none  can  paint,  and  therefore 
who  can  see?  [Alcides, 

Mar.  Scorn  me  not,  Dorigen,  with  mocks ! 
That  roaster*d   monsters,    was  by  beauty 

tam'd; 
Omphale  smil'd  his  club  out  of  his  hand. 
And  made  him  spin  her  smocks.    Oh,  sweet, 

I  Jove  you ; 
And  I  love  Sophocles :  I  must  enjoy  you ; 
And  yet  I  would  not  injure  him. 

Dor,  Let  go!  [Maxtius? 

Yon  hurt  me,  sir!  Farewell !— Stay !  is  this 
i  will  not  tell  my  lord :  heMl  swear  I  lie ; 
X)oubt  my  fidelity,  before  thy  honour. 
How  hast  thou  vex'd  the  gocfs,  that  they 

would  let  thee 
Thus  violate  friendship,  hospitality, 
And  all  the  bonds  of  sacred  piety''  ? 
Sure  thou  but  try'st  mp,  out  of  love  to  him. 
And  wouldst  reject  me  if  I  did  consient. 
Oh,  Martins,  Martins!  wouldst  thou  in  one 

minute 
Blast  all  thy  laurels,  which  so  many  years 
Thou  bast  been  purchasing  with  blood  and 

sweat  ? 
Hath  Dorigen  never  been  written,  read. 
Without  the  epithet  of  chaste^  chaste  Do- 
rigen, 
And  wouldst  thou  fall  upon  her  chastity. 
Like  a  black  drop  of  ink,  to  blot  it  out? 
When  men  shall  read  the  records  of  thy 

valour. 
Thy  hirherto-brave  virtue,  and  approach 
(Highly  content  vet)  to  this  foul  assault 
Included  in  this  leaf,  tliis  ominous  leaf. 
They  shall  throw  down  the  book,  and  read 

no  more, 
Tho'  the  best  deeds  ensue,  and  all  conclude 
That  raveird  tlie  whole  story*^,  whose  sound 
heart  [leprous  part. 

(Which  should  have  been)  prov'd  the  most 
Mar,  Ob,  thou  confiit'st  divinely,  and  thy 
words 
Do  fall  like  rods  upon  me !  but  they  have 
Such  silken  lines  and  silver  books,  that  I 
Am  faster  snar'd:  my  love  1ms  ta'en  such  hold, 


That  (like  two  wrestlers)  tho'  thou  stronger 

be, 
And  bast  cast  me,  I  hope  to  pull  thee  iift«r : 
I  must,  or  perish. 

Dor,  Perish,  Martins,  then! 
For  I  here  vow  anto  the  gods,  these  rocks, 
These  rocks  we  see  so  fix'd,  shall  be  remov'd. 
Made  champain  field,  ere  I  so  impious  prove. 
To  stain  my  lord's  bed  with  adultrous  love. 

Enter  Valerius, 

Vol,  The  gods  protect  fair  Doiigea! 

Dor,  Amen! 
From  all  you  wolvish  Romans!  [ExiU 

Val.  Ha!  what's  this?  fdoubts 

Still,  brother,  in  your  moods? — Oh,  then  my 
Are  truths.    Have  at  it!  I  must  try  a  way 
To  be  resolv'd. 

Mar,  How  strangely  dost  thou  look? 
What  aii'st  thou  ? 

Fa/.  What  aU'st  thou? 

Mar:  Why,  I  am  mad.  [thy  sword, 

Val,  Wh^r,  I  am  madder! — Martins,  draw 
And  lop  a  villain  from  the  earth ;  for  if 
Thou  wilt  not,  on  some  tree  about  this  place 
rU  hang  myself!  Valerius  shall  not  live 
To  wound  his  bfother*s  honour,  stain  his 

country. 
And  branded  with  ingratitude  to  all  times ^^. 

Mar,  For  what  can  all  this  be  ? 

Val,  I  am  in  love. 

Mar,  Why,  so  am  L    With  whom?  ha? 

Fa/.  Dorieen.  [her?  speak! 

Mar,  With  Dorigen  ?  How  dost  thou  love 

VaL  Even  to  the  height  of  lust;  and  I* 
Or  else  I  die.  [must  have  her» 

Mar,  Thou  shalt,  thou  daring  traitor. 
On  all  the  confines  I  have  rid  my  horse, 
^  Was  there  no  other  woman  for  thy  choice 
But  Dorigen?  Why,  villain,  she  is  mine: 
She  makes  me  pine  tlius^  sullen,  mad,  and 
'Tis  I  must  have  her,  or  I  die.  {fool; 

VaL  Oh,  all  ye  gods. 
With  mercy  look  on  this  declining  rock 
Of  valour  and  of  virtue !  breed  not  up. 
From  in&ncy,  in  honour,  to  full  man. 
As  you  have  done  him,  to  destroy!  Here, 

strike!  [patch! 

For  I  have  only  searched  thy  wound;  dis* 
Far,  far  be  such  love  from  Valerius! 
So  far,  he  scorns  to  live  to  be  call'd  brother 
By  him  that  dares  own  snch  folly  and  such  vice. 

Afar.  'Tis  truth  thou  speak'st ;  but  I  do 

hate  it :  peace ! 
If  Heav'n  will  snatch  my  sword  out  of  my  hand. 
And  put  a  rattle  in  it,  what  can  I  do  f 
He  that  is  destined  to  be  odious 
In  his  old  age,  must  undergo  his  fiite. 

'"  And  all  the  bounds  ^  sacred  piehff\  Tho'  this  be  good  sense,  yet  as  bonds  is  the  mort 
natural  and  better  word,  I  believe  it  the  original.        Saitard, 

<^  That  ravelPd,  S^c]  We  don't  clearly  understand  these  two  last  lines;  there  seems  to 
be  some  omission. 

^^  And  branded,"]  Former  editions.    I  read,  brand  it.        Seward, 

Branded  is  best:  Valerias  shall  not  live  branded,  &c. 

Enter 


^84 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS^  IN  ONE. 


Enter  Cornelius  and  Kicodemus, 


Corn.  If  you  don't  back  me,  I  shall  never 

Nic,  I  warrant  you.  fdo*t. 

Corn,  Humh,  humh! — Sir!  my  lord?  my 

Mar,  Ha !  what's  the  matter?  [lord ! 

Com.  Humh!— Conceniifig  %he  odd  £tty, 
My  lord)  an*t  please  your  generality, 
His  worship  sir  Nicodemus — 

Mar.  What's  here?  a  pass?  you  would  for 

Rome?  You  lubbers! 
Doth  one  day's  laziness  make  you  covethorae? 
Away,  ye  boarish  rogues!  ye  dogs,  awayi 

Enter  Florence. 

Com.  Oh,  oh,  oh ! 

Fior,  How  now,  man^*  ?  are  you  satisfied  ? 

Com.  Ay,  ay,  ay  ; 
A  pox  o'yQur  corporal!  I  am  paid  soundly ; 
1  was  ne'er  better  paid  in  all  my  life. 

yior.  Marry,   the  gods^  blessing  on  his 

honour's  heart !  [such 

You've  done  a  charitable  deed,  sir;  many  more 

,  May  you  live  to  do,  sir !  The  gods  keep  you, 

sir, 
The  gods  protect  you ! 

[Exit  with  Com.  and  Nic. 

Mar.  These  peasants  mock  roe  sure! — 

Valerius, 
Forgive  m^^  dotage,  see  my  ashes  um'd. 
And  tell  fair  Dorigcn,  (she  that  but  now 
Left  nie  with  this  harsh  vow,  sooner  these 
'   i;ocks  [that  I 

Should  be  remov'd,  than  slie  would  yield) 
Was  yet  so  loving,  on  her  gift  to  die! 

Vai,  Oh,  Jupiter,  forbid  it,  sir,  and  grant 
This  my  device  may  certify  thy  mind! 
You  are  my  brother,  nor  must  perish  thus; 
Be  comforted !  Think  you  iair  Dorigen 
Would  yield  your  wishes,  if  these  envious 

rocks 
By  skill  could  be  remov'd,  or  by  fallacy 
She  made  believe  so? 

Mar.  Why,  she  could  not  chuse ; 
Th'  Athenians  arc  religious  in  their  vows. 
Above  all  nations. 

Vol.  Soft!  down  yonder  hill  [her; 

The  lady  comes  this  way.    Once  more  to  try 
If  she  persist  in  obstinacy,  by  my  skill, 
Learn'd  from  the  old  Chaldean  was  my  tutor, 
\Vho  train'd  me  in  the  mathematicks,  I  will 
So  dazzle  and  delude  her  sight,  that  she 
Shall  think  this  great  impossibility 


Effected  by  some  supernatural  means. 
Be  confident;  this  engine  shall  at  least, 
'Till  the  gods  better  ordei^  still  this  breast* 

[Erit. 

Mar.  Oh,  my  best  brother,  go ;  aad  for 

reward 
C  huse  any  part  o'  th'  world,  PU  give  it  thee. 
Obj  little  Love**,  men  say  thou  art  a  god; 
Thou  might'st  have  got  a  fitter  fool  than  L 

Enter  Dorigen. 

Dor.  Art  thou  there,  basilisk?  Remove 

thine  eyes; 
For  I  am  sick  to  death  with  tby  infection. 

Mar.  Yet,  yet  have  mercy  on  n^e!  save 

him,  lady,  [mercy 

Whose  single  arm  defends  all  Rome,  wliose 
Hath  sav'd  thy  luisband^  and  thy  lite! 

Dor.  To  spoil 
Our  fame  and  honours?  No;  my  vow  is  fix'd. 
And  stands  as  constant  asthese  stones  do,  stilL 

Mar.  Then  pity  me,  ye  godsj  you  only 

may 
Move  her,  by  tearing  these  firm  stones  away. 
*  lHoiemn  musick. 

V  [A  mist  ariseth,  the  rocks  reawore. 

Enter  Valerius  like  Mercury^  singing, 

VaL  Martius,  rejoice!  Jove  sends  me  frooi 

above, 
Jiis  messenger,  to  cure  thy  desp'rate  love. 
To  shew  nish  vows  cannot  bind  destiny. 
Lady,  liebold,  Uie  rocks  transplanted  be! 
Hard-hearted  Dorigen,  yield;  lest,  for  con- 
tempt, 
They  fix  thee  here  a  rock,  wlience  they'ra 

exempt.  [lUrtf. 

Dor.  What  strange  delusion's  this?  wlist 

sorcery 
Aflrights  me  with  these  apparitions? 
My  colder  chastity's  nigh  turned  to  death. 
Hence,   lewd  magician!   dar'st  thou   maktt 

the  gods 
Bawds  to  thy  lust  ?  %vill  they  do  miracles 
To  further  evil?  or  do  they  love  it  now  ? 
Know,  if  thev  dare  do  so,  I  dare  hate  then. 
And  will  no  longer  serve  'em.    .Jupiter, 
Thy  golden  shower,  nor  thy  snow-white  swan. 
Had  I  been  Lcda,  or  bright  Daiiae, 
Had  bought  mine  honour.    Turn  me  into 

stone! 
For  being  good,  and  blush  when  thou  hast  done! 
[Exit  Dorigen* 


"  Wife.  Oh/  oh!  oh! 

How  now  man — — ]  As  it  is  plain  the  wife,  by  her  question,  knows  not  of  her  husband's 
disappointment  or  beating,  the  ohs!  are  improper  to  her,  and  evidently  belong  to  Cor- 
nelius.       Seward. 

*^  0  little  Rome,  men  say  thou  art  a  god.l  Rome  in  this  place  is  in  every  light  absurd. 
For  why  was  the  mistress  of  the  world  to  be  called  little  f  Why  a  god,  when  she  was  always 
represented  as  a  female  and  a  goddess  ?  And  lastly,  tho'  he  was  become  a  fool,  it  was  not 
Mome  that  made  him  so.  For  these  reasons  it  is  almost  self-evident,  that  lotfe  was  the  inm 
reading.  I  had  wrote  this  before  1  saw,  that  at  five  lines  below,  all  Rome  is  mendoned  with 
a  particular  emphasis,  this  having  been  marked  for  Italicks,  might  draw  the  printei's  eye  to 
it,  and  a  small  degree  of  absence  caufiib  him  to  insert  it  in  this  place.        Seamrd, 

Enter 


tOUR  PLx\YS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE.  58^' 

Forming  it  to  this  vast  rotundity. 
Dissolve  it  now ;  shuiBe  the  elements, 
TImt  no  one  proper  by  itself  may  stand! 
Let  the  sea  qaench  the  sun,  and  in  that  instant 
The  sun  drink  up  the  sea!  Day,  ne*er  come 

down. 
To  light  me  to  those  deeds  that  must  l>e 

done!  ^  [£ri£. 

JBii^er  Mnriiut^  VaUriuSy  Captaim  and  Sol* 
dien,  with  drums  and  colours,  at  one  doort 
and  Dorigen  with  Ladies,  at  another. 


Enter  VaUriuM. 

"Mar,  Ob,  my  'Valerius,  all  yet  will  not  do : 
XJnles^  I  could  so  draw  mine  honesty 
£>own  to  the  lees  to  be  a  ravisher.        ^ 
Shp  calls  me  witch,  and  villain ! 

VaL  Patience,  sir! 
The  gods  will  punish  perj ury.   Let  herbreathe, 
And  ruminate  on  this  strange  sight ! — Time 

decays 
The  strongest,  fnirest  buildings  we  can  find ; 
But  still,  Diana,  fortify  her  mind !     [Exeunt. 

Enter  Sophocles  and  Dongen. 

&p/t.  Weep  not,  bright  Dorigen ;  for  thou 

hast  stood  [and  men, 

Constant  and  chaste,  it  seems,  Against  gods 
When  rocks  and  mountains  were  removed. 

These  wonders 
X>o  stnpify  my  senses !  Martius, 
This  is  inhuman.     Was  thy  sickness  lust? 
Yet  were  this  truth,  why  weeps  she  ?  Jealous 

soul,  [rocks, 

"What  dost  thou  thus  suggest  ?  Vows,  magick, 
fine  tales,  and  tears  i  She  ne'er  complain*d 

before. 
I  bade  her  visit  him*;  she  often  did,        [oh! 
Had  many  opportunities.  Humh !  'tis  naught : 
No  way  but  this.    Come,  weep  no  more ; 

I've  pondered 
This  miracle ;  the  anger  of  the  gods. 
Thy  vow,  my  love  to  thee  and  iVIartiiis: 
He  must  not  perish,  nor  thou  be  forsworn. 
Lest  worse  fates  follow  us :  go,  keep  th^  oath  I 
For  chaste,  and  whore,  are  words  of  equal 

lens^th. 
But  let  not  Martius  know  that  I  consent— 
Oh,  I  am  puird  in  pieces ! 

Dor.  Ay?  say  you  so? 
ril  meet  you  in  your  path.  Oh,  wretched  men  I 
"Witli  all  your  valour  and  your  learning, 

bubbles ! 
Forgive  me,  Sophocles— Yet  why  kneel  I 
For  pardon,  having  been  but  over-diligent, 
Like  an  obedient  servant,  antedating 
My  lord's  command  ?  Sir,  I  have  often,  and 

already  given    - 
Tliis  bosom  up  to  bis  embraces,  and 
Am  proud  that  my  dear  lord  is  pleas'd  with  it; 
Whose  gentle  honourable  mind  I  see 
Participates  even  all,  his  wife  and  all, 
Unto  his  friend.    You're  sad,  sir!  Martins 

loves  me. 
And  I  love  Martius,  with  such  ardency 
As  never  married  couple  could :  J  must 
Auend  him  now.    My  lord,  when  you  have 

need 
'To  use  your  own  wife,  pray,  sir,  send  for 

me; 
rrill  then,  make  use  of  your  philosophy! 

(Exit. 

Soph^  Stay,  Dorigen !  Oh,  me,  inquisitive 

ibol! 
Tlioa  tliat  didst  order  this  congested  heajp 
When  i  t  was  chaos,  'twixt  thy  spacious  palms. 

VOL,  IIL 


Dor.  Hail,  gentnd  of  Rome!  From  Sq« 

phocles, 

^hat  honours  Martius,  Dorigen  presents 
Herself  to  be  dishonour'd :  do  thy  will ; 
For  Sophocles  commands  me  to  obey. 
Come,  violate  all  rules  of  holiness, 
And  rend  the  consecrated  knot  of  love! 

Mar.   Never,  Valerius,  was  I  blest  'tilt 

now! 
Behold  the  end  of  all  my  weary  steps. 
The  prize  of  all  my  battles.    lieave  us,  all ; 
Leave  us  as  quick  as  thought.    Thus  jo^ 

begin! 
In  zealous  love  a  minute's  loss  is  sin. 

VaL  Can  Martius  be  so  vile?  or  Dorigen  9 

Dor.  Stay,  stay !  and,  mouster,  keep  thou 

further  off!  [much  loath'd 

I  thought  thy  brave  soul  would  have  much^ 
To  have  gone  on  still  vn  such  terms  as  this. 
See,  thou  ungra^ful,  since  thy  desperate  lust 
Nothing  can  cure  but  death,  I'll  die  for  thee^ 
While^my  cliaste  name  lives  to  posterity. 

Mar.  Live,  live,  thou  angel  of  tliy  sex  I 

Forgive, 
Till  by  those  golden  tresses  thou  be'st  snatch'ci 
Alive  to  Heav'n;  for  thy  corruption's 
So  little,  that  it  cannot  suffer  death. 
Was  ever  such  a  woman?  Oh,  mv  mirror  I 
How  perfectly  thou  shew'st  me  all  my  faults, 
Which  now  I  hate ;  and  when  I  next  av> 

tempt  thee, 
Let  all  the  fires  in  the  sodiack 
Drop  on  this  cursed  head ! 

Omnes.  Oh,  bless'd  event ! 

Dor,  Rise  like  the  sun  again  in  all  his  glory^' 
Aflcr  a  dark  eclipse ! 

Mar.  Never,  without  a  pardon. 

Enter  Sophocles,  and  two  or  three  with  hUn, 

Dor.  Sir,  you  have  forgiven  yourself. 

Soph.  Behold  their  impudence!   are  mf- 

words  just? 
Unthankful  man,  viper  to  arms,  and  Rome 
Thy  natural  mother!  have  1  \y  arm*d  thee  her^' 
To  corrode  ev'n  my  heart?  Martius,  prepare 
To  kill  me,  or  be  kill'd. 

Mar.  Why,  Sophocles, 
Then  prithee  kill  me ;  I  deserve  it  highly ; 
For  I  have  bothtFausgres:»'d  'gainst  men  tuid 

gods; 
But  am  repentant  now,  and  in  best  case 
T'  uncase  my  soul  of  tliis  oppressing  tlesh ; 
Which,  tbo*  (gods  vvicue:>s)  ue*er  was  actually 

-i  F  Injunuuy 


$06  tSOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  llEPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


Injurious  to  thy  wife  and  thee,  yet  'twas 
llcr  goudne^  thiit  restrain'd  and  held  me  now : 
But  take  my  life,  dear  friend,  tor  my  intent. 
Or  else  forgive  it! 

Val.  By  the  godd  of  Athens, 
These  words  are  true,  and  ail  direct  again. 

Soph.  Pardon  me,  Dorigen ! 

Afar.  Forgive  me,  Sophocles, 
And  Dori^eu  too, and  everyone  that*Stgood! 

Dor.  Rise,  noble  Roman.  BelovM  So- 
Take  to  thy  breast  thy  friend!         [pbocles. 

Mar.  A  nd  to  thy  Iieart  [enough 

Thy  matchless  wife!  Heav^i  has  not  stuff 
To  make  another  such;  for  if  it  could, 
Martins  would  marry  too.  For  thy  blest  dake, 
(Oh,  thou  infinity  of  excellence)  [take 

Henceforth  in  men|s  discourse  Rome  shall  not 
The  wall  of  Athens,  as'toforc.    But  when 
In  tlieir  fair  honours  we  to  speak  do  come, 
,'^Ve'll  say  'twas  so  in  Athens  and  in  Rome. 
[Exeunt  in  pimp, 

Diana  descends, 

Diana.  Honour,  set  ope  thy  gates,  and 

with  thee  bring, 
My  servant  mnd  thy  friend,  fair  Dorigen ; 
^t  her  triumph  with  him,  fier  lord  and  friend, 
IVlx),  tbo'  tnis-lcd,  still  honour  was  their  end ! 

[Flourish, 

Xnter  the  shorn  of  Honour's  Triumph;  a 
great  flourish  of  trumpets  and  drums  tiPtlA- 
in;  then  enter  a  noise^^  tyf  trumpets  aoundr 
tng  ehearfuUy;  then  foUaws  an  armed 
Knight  bearing  a  crimson  banneret  in  handy 
with  the  iTUcriptian  Valour;  bj^  his  side  a 
Lady  bearing  a  watchet  banneret^  the  in- 
scription Clemency;  next,  Martius  and 
Sophocles  with  coronets;  next^  two  LadieSf 
one  bearing  a  white  banneret^  the  inscrip- 
Hon  Chastity,  the  other  a  blacky  the  in- 
wcription  Constancy ;  then  Dorigen  crowned; 
>  iasty  a  chariot  drawn  by  two  Moors,  in  it  a 
person  crowned,  with  a  scepter  on  the  tap, 
in  an  antick  escutcheon  is  written  Honour. 

[    As  they  pass  over,  Diana  ascends, 

Min,  How  like  you  it?  [it  again ! 

FrL  RareW;  qo  well,  I  would  they  would  do 

Wow  n^any  of  our  wives  now-a-days 

Would  deserve  to  triumph  in  such  a  chariot? 

•  Jtiii.  That'tt  all  one;  you  see  they  triumph 

^      in  caroches.  [neither; 

Fri.  I'luit  tliey  do,  by  the  mass;  but  not  all 
Many  of  them  are  content  with  carts.    But, 

signor, 
I  have  now  found  out  a  great  absurdity,  i'faith. 

Jiin.  Whatwas't? 

Frf.TheProtogue,pre8entingfourTriumphs, 
Made  but  three  legs  to  the  ktng^^:  a  three- 
fJTwas  moDStroQs.  [^^*(t  Prologue! 


Bin,  'Thad  been  more  monstrons 
To  have  had  a  fouHegg'd  one.    Peace  ^  Cb* 

king  speaks.  ^ 

Eman.  Here  was  a  woman,  Isabel ! 

Isab.  Ay,  my  lord. 
But  that  she  told  a  lie  to  vex  her  husband  r 
Therein  she  faifd. 

Eman,  She  serv*d  him  well  enough ; 
He  that  was  so  much  man,  yet  would  be  cast 
To  jealousy  for  her  integrity. 
Thisteacheth  us,  the  passion  of  love 
Can  fight  witli  soldiers,  and  with  scholars  too. 

Isab.  In  Martius,  clemency  and  yalour 

shewn, 
■In  the  other,  courage  and  humanity  ; 
/And   therefore  in   the  Triumph  they  were 
(By  Clemency  and  Valour.  [usher'd 

Eman.  Rightly  observed ; 
As  she  by  Chastity  and  Constancv. 
What  hurt's  now*in  a  play,  agaiusC  whiclk 

some  rail 
So  vehemently?  thou  and  I,  my  love. 
Make  excellent  use,  methinks :  I  learn  to  bt 
A  lawful  lover  void  of  jealousy. 
And  thou  a  constant  wife.    Sweet  poetry'^ 
A  flower,  where  men,  like  bees  anasuidenu 

Bear  poison,  or  else  sweets  and  wax  awaj. 
Be  vjcnnm-drawing  &piders  they  that  frill  f 
I'll  be  the  bee,  and  suck  the  honey  still. 

^  [FlauriA 

Cupid  descends, 

Cvpid.  Stay,  clouds!  ye  rack  too   ^t. 
Bright  Phoebus,  see,* 
Honour  has  triumph'd  with  fair  Cliastity^ 
Give  love  now  leave,  in  puriiy  to  »hew 
Unchaste  affections  fly  not  from  his  bow. 
Produce  the  sweet  example  of  your  youthy 
Whilst  I  provide  a  Triumph  for  your  tnitii. 

[FUmrish. 
Enter  Violunte  (tcith-child)  and  GerrardL 
Vio,  Why  does  my  Gerrard  grieve? 
Gcr.  Oh,  my  sweet  mistress. 
It  is  not  life  (which,  by  our  Milan  law^ 
My  fact  hath  forfeited)  makes  me  thus  pe»* 

sive ; 
That  1  would  lose  to  save  the  little  finger 
Of  this  your  noble  burden  from  least  hurt, 
Becaube  your  blood  is  iu't:  but  since  your  Iov« 
Made  poor  incompatible  me  the  parent, 
(Being  we  are  not  married)  your  dear  blood 
Falls  under  the  same  cruel  penalty  ; 
And  can  Heaven  think  fit  you  die  for  me  ? 
For  Henv^rs  sake,  say  I  ruvisU'd  you !    1% 

SMear  it, 
To  keep  your  life  safe  and  repute  uastain*d'*. 
Yio.  Oh,  Gei-rard^  thouVt  my  life  aod  ia^ 
cultiet, 

\. 

^  A  noise  of  trunq>ets;]  i,  e.  A  concert  tf  trumpets.    See  note  25  on  Wit  at  Seread 
Weapons*      ^ 

>♦  Three  legs;]  i.  e.  Three  bows.    See  note  iS  on  tlie  Queen  of  Corinlb. 
^  Xp  k—i  ywr  Ijfs  and  your  rrjwfo  ttffS^dtfiU]  The  text  Irem  lirsi  froUo. 

(«9i 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESE^TTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


$8r 


CAnd  if  Hose  thee,  FU  not  keep  mine  own) 
^he  thought  of  whom  sweetens  all  miseries. 
Woiildst  have  m^  murder  thee  beyond  thy 

death! 
Unjustly  scandal  thee  with  ravishment? 
1 1,  was  so  far  irom  rape,  thatylleav'n  doth  know, 
If* ever  the  6r8t  lovers,  ere  they  fell, 
Knew  simply  in  the  state  of  inn^nce, 
Such  was  this  act,  this,  that  dothask  no  blush ! 

Ger,  Oh,  but,  my  rarest  Violaiite,  when 
M^y  lord  Randuipho,  brother  to  your  father, 
Shall  understand  this,  how  will  he  eKciaim, 
7hat  my  poor  aunt,  and  me,  which  his  fpee 

aims  [tua 

Hath  nurs*d,  since  Milan  by  the  duke  of  Mau- 
( Who  now  usurps  it)  was  surpriz'd !  that  time 
My  father  and  my,  mother  were  both  siain, 
With  my  aunt's  husband,  as  she  says,  their 

states 
Despoil 'd  and  seiz'd ;  'tis  past  my  memory. 
Hut  thus  she  told  me :  only  this  I  know, 
Siiice  I  could  understund,  yourhonour*d  uncle 
liath  given  me  aU  tlte  liberal  education 
That  his  own  son  might  look  fur,  had  he  one; 
IMow  will  he  say,  Dost  thou  requite  me  thus  ? 
Oh  i  the  thought  kills  me. 

Vio,  Gentle,  gentle  Gcrrard,         [father, 
Be  ^heer'd,  and  hope  the  best !   My  mother, 
And  uncle,  love  me  most  indulgently. 
Being  the  only  branch  of  all  their  stocks : 
But  jicither  they,  nor  he  thou  wouldst  not 

grieve 
With  this  unwelcome  news,  shall  ever  heaf  y 
Violante*s  tongue  reveal,  much  less  accuse, 
..Gerrard  to  be  the  father  of  his  own : 
I'll  rather  silent  die,  that  thou  mav'st  live 
To  see  thy  little  oHspring  grow  and  thrive. 

Enter  Dorothea. 

Dor.  Mistress,  away  I  your  lord  and  father 

seeks  you: 
PU  convey  Gerrard  out  of  the  back  door. 
H'  has  found  a  hubband  for  you,  and  insults 
In  his  invention,  little  thinking  you        [too. 
Have  nmdeyourown  choice,  and  poseess'd  him 

Vio,  A  husband  ?  it  must  be  Gerrard,  or 

my  death. 
Farewell  I   be  only  true  unto  thyself,      [be. 
And  know,  HeavVs  goodness  shall  prevented 
£re  worthies);  Gerrard  sulfer  harm  for  me. 


Ger,  Farewell,  my  life  and  soul !  Aunt,  to 

vour  counsel  [art 

I  flee  for  aid.   Oh,  unexpressible  love !  thoil 

An  undigested  heap  of  mix'd  extremes 

Whose  pangs  are  wakings,  and  whose  plea<« 

sures  dreams.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Btnvoglio,  Angelina,  and  Ferdinand^ 

Benv,  My  Angelina,  never  dist  thou  yet 
So  please  me,  as  in  this  consent;  and  yet 
Tir  hast  plcas'd  me  well, I  swear,  old  wench! 

ha,ha.^ 
Ferdinand,  she's  thine  own ;  thou*st  hav^  her, 

boy; 
Ask  thy  good  lady  else,  ' 

Ferd.  Whom  shall  I  have,  sir? 

Benv.  Whom  do  you  tliink,  i'  fkitbf 

Ang,  Gues-s ! 

Ferd,  Noble  madam, 
I  may  hope  (prompted  by  mysliallow  merit) 
Thro  your  profound  grace,  tor  your  cham* 

bermaid. 

Benv.  How's  that?  how*sthat? 

Ferd.  Her  chambormaid,  my  lord'^. 

Benv,  Her  chamber-pot,  my  lurd !— >Yo« 

modest  ass ! 
Thou  never  sbew'dst  thyself  iin  ass  'till  now  \ 
'Fore  Heav'n,  I'm  angry  with  thee !    Sirrah, 

sirrah, 
This  whitmeat  spirit's  not  yours  legitimate*^  s 
-iidvance  your  hope,  an't  please  you  !  guess 

again.  [aim  them  right, 

Ang,  And  let  your  thouj;hts  floe  hii^her ; 
Sirjrou  may  hit;  you  have  the  feirest  white'*. 

Verd.  If  I  may  be  so  bold  then,  my  good 

lord, 
Your  favour  doth  encourage  me  to  ^spire 
To  catch  my  lady's  gentlewoman. 

Benv.  Where? 
Where  would  you  catch  her?— 
Do  you  know  "my  daughter  Violante,  sir  ? 

Ang.  Well  said ;  no  more  about  the  bushf 

Ferd.  My  good  lord, 
I've  gaz*d  on  Violante,  and  tlie  stars, 
Whose  heav'nly  influence  I  adniir'd,  nol 
Nor  ever  was  so  sinful  to  believe        [knew  ^ 
X  might  attain't. 

Benv.  Now  you're  an  ass  again ; 
For,  if  thou  ne'er  attain'st,  'tis  only  long 
Of  tliat  faint  heart  oftliine,  which  never  did  it« 


•*  Ferd.  Her  chambermaid,  my  lord, 

Benv.  Ber,  4*c>]   This  lection,  which  redeems  tlie  passage  from  l)eiog  the  rankest  non* 
icnae,  is  only  in  first  folio.    Other  copies  re«id, 

Ferd.  Her  chandfer^pot,  my  lord.     You  modest  as9,  ^ 

*'  r^M  whitmeat  spirift  not  yours,  iegilimate.]  I  put  a  hyphen  to  whitmeat,  it  bein|if  g| 
compouod  word  like  Whit-Sunday,  i.  c  wkifs^unday,  alluding  to  the  white  garmente  the 
newly-baptised  used  to  wear.  It  would  be  a.,  affront  to  the  reader's  understanding  to  en* 
plaiii  the  meaning  of  whit-meat  spirit ;  lie  will  observe  thai  I  scratch  out  a  comma  after 
^ociff,  understanding  ^i^inui^e  adverbially,  .\s  if  be  had  said, —  This  weak  effeminate  spirit  i» 
not  legitimately  yours,  you  had  it  not  from  your  fother.  Seward. 

We  cannot  see  the  use  of  the  hyphen.  tVhitmeat  means  white  meat,  which  is  the  most 
ijmple  innocent  food.    His  modesty  is  what  Benvoelto  here  means  to  reprehend. 

*»  Sir, you  may  hit;  you  have  the  fairest  white.]    To  hit  the  vhiie,  is  a  |erai  frequently* 
Uied  in  our  authors*  time :  it  is  taken  from  archery.  K, 

4  F  a  Sh« 


688  FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE; 


§he  is  your  lord's  heir,  mi ne,Ben?oglio's  heir, 
My  brother's  too,  Randulpho's;  her  descent 
Not  belind  any  of  the  Millanois. 
And,  Ferdinand,  altho*  thy  parentage  [up 
Be  unknown,  thou  know*&t  that  I've  bred  thee 
Prom  five  years  old ;  and  (do  not  blush  to 

hear  it)  [cess 

Ilave  found  thy  wisdom,  trust,  and  fair  sue* 
So  full  in  all  my  affairs,  that  I  am  fitter 
To  call  thee  master  than  thou  me  thy  lord  : 
Thou  cau'st  not  be  but  sprung  of  gentles^ 

blood;  [sun. 

Thy  mind  shines  thro'  thee,  like  the  radiant 
Altho'  iby  body  be  a  beauteous  cloud. 
Come !  seriously  this  is  no  flattery;     [blood 
And  well   thou  know'st  it,  tho'  thy  roodest 
Rise  like  the  morning  in  thy  cheek  to  hear*t  : 
Sir,  I  can  speak  in  earnest.  Virtuous  service, 
So  meritorious,  Ferdinand,  as  yours, 
(Yet  bashful  still,  and  silent  ?)  should  extract 
A  fuller  price  than  impudence  exact: 
Arid  this  is  now  the  wages  it  must  have ; 
3\Iy  daughter  is  thy  wife,  my  wealth  thy  slave. 

'Ferd*  Good  madam,  pinch  !  I  sleep!  does 

iny  lord  mock. 
And  you  assist?  Custom's  inverted  quite; 
For  old  men  now-a-daj'S  do  flout  the  youug. 

Penv.  Fetch  Violante ! — As  I  intend  this 
Religiously,  let  my  soul  find  joy  or  pain ! 

[ExU  Angelina. 

Ferd,  My  honoured  lord  and  master,if  I  hold 
That  worth  could  merit  such  felicity, 
You  bred  it  in  me,  and  first  purchased  it; 
It  is  your  own,  and  what  productions 
In  all  ray  faculties  my  soul  begets. 
Your  very  mark  is  on ;  you  need  not  ad(| 
Jlewards  to  him,  that  is  in  debt  to  you. 
You  sav'd  my  life,  sir,  in  the  massacre; 
There  you  begot  me  new,  since  foster'd  me : 
Oh  !  can  I  serve  too  much,  or  pray  for  you  ? 
Alas,  'tis  slender  payment  to  your  bounty. 
Your  daughter  is  a  Faradise,  and  I 
Unworthy  to  be  set  there  :  you  may  chuse 
'I'he  royafst  seeds  of  Milan. 

Benv,  Prithee,  peace ! 
Thy  goodness  makes  me  weep.  lam  resolv'd ; 
}  am  no  lord  o'  th'  time,  to  tie  my  blood 
To  sordid  inuck;  I  have  enough;  my  npme, 
IMy  state,  and  honours,  I  will  store  in  thee, 
AVhose  wisdom  will  rule  well,  keep  and  en* 

crease : 
A  knave  or  fool,  that  could  confer  the  like, 
'\yould  bate  each  hour,  diminish  every  day. 
Thou  art  her  prize-lotthen*',drawn  outby  fate; 
An  honest  wise  man  is  a  prince's  mate. 

^Ferd.  Sir,  Heav'u  and  you  have  over- 

charg'd  jny  breast 

*'  Price  htJi  So  former  copies. 

30  2'he  loss  were  sacrific'd,  but  Virtue 


VSTith  grace  beyond  my  continence;  I  sbaQ 

burst! 
The  blessing  you  have  given  me,  witness  saints^ 
I  would  not  change  for  Milan! — But,  mj 
Is  she  prepar'd  ?  [lonL 

Benv.  What  needs  preparative. 
Where  such  a  cordial  is  prescrib'd  as  thoa  ? 
Thy  person  and  thjr  virtues,  in  one  scale. 
Shall  poise  hers  with  her   beauty  and  bee 

wealth : 
If  not,  I  add  my  will  unto  thy  weight ; 
Thy  mother's  with  hier  now.  Son,takemy  keys; 
And  let  thy  preparation  for  thi^  marriage, 
(This  vvelcome  marriage)  long  determin'd  bere^ 
Be  quick;,  and  gorgeous. — Gerrard ! 

Enter  Gerrard, 
Ger.  My  good  lord. 
My  lord  your  brother  ciVives  your  conference 
Instantly,  on  affairs  of  high  import. 
Benv.  Why,  what  news? 
Ger,  The  tyrant,  my  good  lord, 
Is  sick  to  death  of  hi<i  old  apoplexy; 
Whereon  the  states  advise,that  letters  raissira 
Be  straight  dispatch'd  to  all  the  neighbour- 
countries, 
And  schedules  too  divulg'd  on  every  post; 
To  enquire  the  lost  duke  forth:    their  pup- 
To  re-mstate  him.  [pose  ia 

Benv.  'Tisapiou^deed.— .r 
Ferdinand,  to  my  daughter !  This  delay, 
Tho'  to  so  good  a  purpose,  angers  me  ; 
But  I'll  recover  it.    Be  secret,  son  ! 
Go  wooe  with  truth  and  expedition.     TFxif^ 
Ferd,  dh,  my  uusoundijd  joy  !  IIow  tar«« 
my  Gerrard,  [heavy, 

Mv  noble  twm-friend  ?— Fy,  thy  look  « 
Stfllen,  and  sour;  blanch  it!  Didst  thou  know 
My  cause  of  joy,  thou'dst  never  sorrow  more^ 
1  know  thou  lov'st  me  so.    How  dost  tboa? 

Ger.  Well;   • 
Too  well !  mv  fraughtof  health  my  sickness  is  • 
In  life,  I'm  dead ;  by  living,  dying  still.       ' 
Ferd,  What  sublqnary  mischief  can  pre« 
dominate 
A  wise  man  thus?  or  doth  thy  frieodsbtp  play 
(In  this  antiputhous  extreme)  with  miii^^^ 
Lest  gladness  suffocate  me?  I,  I,  I  do  feel 
My  spirits  turn'd  to  fire,  my  bUiod  to  air 
And  1  am  like  a  purified  essence  * 

Tried  from  all  drossy  parts  I 
Ger,  Were't  but  my  life, 
The  loss  were  sacrifice^^;  but  Virtue  must 
For  me  be  slain,  and  Innocence  made  dust  • 
Ferd.  Farewell,  good  Gerrard » 
Ger  Dearest  friend,  stay!         f me  now, 
Jierd,  baa  thoughts  are  no  companions  for 


the  bake  of  the  person  I  love.  '  The  correction  ofthe'm^i;;  kvVt^olZL'^  ""  ^"^^  ** 
'1  he  loss  were  sacrifice,  for  Virtue  must 
For  me  be  slain,  apd  Innocence  made  dust.       Seward.  UncV 


FQUK  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


^ 


)tf  Hch  less  sad  words :  thy  bosom  binds  some 

secret, 
Which  do  not  trust  me  with !  for  mine  retains 
Another,  which  I  must  conceal  froiu  thee. 

Ger,  I  would  reveal  it;  'tis  a  heavy  tale: 
Canst  thou  be  trae,  and  secret  still ! 

Ferd,  Why,  friend, 
If  you  continue  true  unto  yourself, 
I  have  no  means  of  falsliood.    Lock  tlus  door; 
Come,  yet  your  prisoner's  sure. 
Ger.  Stay,  Ferdinand ! 
Ferd,  What  is  this  trouble  ?  love  ? 
Why,  thou  art  capable  of  any  woman. 
Doth  want  oppress  thee  ?  I  will  lighten  thee. 
Hast  thou  offended  law  ?  my  lord  and  thine. 
And  I,  will  save  thy  life.    Does  servitude 
Upbraid  thy  freedom,  that  she  suflfers  it  ? 
Have  patience  but  three  days,  and  I  will  make 

thee 
Thy  lord's  companion.  Can  a  friend  do  more? 
Ger,  Lend  me  the  means.  How  can  this  be  ? 
Ferd.  Firet,  let 
This  cabinet  keep  your  pawn,  and  I  will  trust ; 
Yet,  for  the  form  of  satisfaction, 
Take  th^jB  ray  oath  to  boot :  by  my  presura'd 
Oentry,  and  sacred  known  Christianity, 
I'll  die,  ere  I  reveal  thy  trust !    . 

Ger.  Then  hear  it! 
Your  lord's  fair  daughter,  Violante,  is    [me; 
My  betrolh'd  wife,  goes  great  with-child  by 
And,  by  this  deed,  both  made  a  prey  to  law. 
How  may  I  save  htr  life?  advise  me,  friend. 
Ferd,  What  did  he  say?  Gerrard,  whose 
voice  was  that  ? 
Ph,  death  unto  my  heart,  bane  tM  my  soul ! 
My  wealth  is  vanish*d  like  the  rich  man's  store: 
In  one  poor  minute,  all  my  dainty  fare 
Butjuggii"g  dishes;  ray  fat  hope,  despair. 
OerTlsthis  so  odious  r  where  s  your  mirth? 
Ferd,  Why,  thou 
past  rohb'd  me  of  it!  Gerrard,  draw  thy 

sword: 
And  if  thou  loV'st  my  mistress's  chastity, 
Defend  it,  else  I'll  cut  it  from  thy  heart. 
Thy  tliievish  heart  that  stole  it,  and  restor't; 
Do  miracles  to  gain  her ! 

Ger.  Was  she  tliine  ?  [ther's  vow, 

Ferd,  Never,  but  in  my  wish,  and  her  fa- 

Which  now  he  left  with' me ;  on  such  sure 

terms. 
He  call'd  me  son,  and  wished  me  to  provide 
lily  wedding  preparation. 
Ger,  Strange ! 
Ferd,  Come,  let's 
Kill  one  another  quickly  ! 

Ger.  Ferdinand, 

Mv  love  is  old  to  her,  thine  new-begot : 

I  have  not  wron^d  thee;  think  upon  thine 

oath !  [hand 

Ferd,  It  manacles  me,  Gerrard ;  else  this 

8bould  bear  thee  to  the  law.    Farewell  for 

ever ! 
Since  friendship  is  so  fatal,  never  more 
\Vill  r  have  friend:  thltast  put  so  sure  a  plea, 
^hfit  all  my  weal's  litigious  made  by  thee. 


Ger,  1  did  no  crime  to  yoa.-^His  lov^ 

transports  him ! 
And  yet  I  mourn  that  cruel  destiny 
Should  make  us  two  thus  one  another's  cross. 
We've  lov'd  since  boys;   for  the  same  time 

cast  him 
On  lord  Benvoglio,  that  my  aunt  and  I 
Were  succoured  by  Kandulpho :  men  hare 

call'd  us 
The  parallels  of  Milan  ;  and  some  said 
^'e  were  not  much  unlike.  Oh,  Heav'n  divert. 
That  wc  should  (ever  since  that  time)  be 

breeding 
Mutual  destruction. 

Enter  Dorothea^ 

Dor,  Oh,  where  arc  you  ?  fder 

You  have  made  a  fair  hand !  By  Heav'n,  yon- 
Is  your  aunt  with  my  lady :  she  came  in. 
Just  as  she  was  wooing  your  mistress  for 

another ; 
And  what  did  me  she,  bat  out  with  her  purse^ 
And  shew'd  all  the  naked  truth,  i'faith.    Fy 
upon  you!  [secret; 

You  should  never  trust  an  old  woman  with  a 
Theycan't  hold, theycannot hold  so  well  as  we^ 
An  you'd  hung  'em.    First,  there  was  sweax^ 

ing  and  staring; 
Then  there  was  howling  and  weeping. 
And  OA,  mt/  daughter/  and  OA,  my  mother i 
Ger,  The  effect,  the  effect? 
Dor,  Marry,  no  way,  but  one  with  you ! 
Ger,  Why,  welcome! 
Shall  she  'scape  ? 

,  Dor,  Nay,  she  has  made  her  'scape  already. 
Ger,  Why,  is  she  gone  ? 
Dor,  The  'scape  of  her  virginity,      [ceive 
I  mean.  You  men  are  as  dull,  you  can  coa* 
Nothing;  you  think  it  is  enough  to  beget. 

Ger,  Ay; 
But  surely,  Dorothea,  that  'scap'd  not; 
Her  maidenhead  suffer'd. 

Dor,  And  you  were 
The  executioner. 

Ger.  But  what's  the  event? 
Lord,  how  thou  starv*st  me,  Doll ! 

Dor,  *  Lord,  how  thou  starv'st  me,  Doll  f 
By  Heav'n,  I  would  ftun  see  you  cry  a  little ! 
Do  you  stand  now,  as  if  you  could  get  a  child  f 
Come,  I'll  rack  you  no  more ;  tills  is  the 

heart  of  the  business — 
Always  provided,  signor,  that  if  it  please 
The  Fates  to  make  you  a  lord,  you  be  not 
proud,  [wai 

Nor  forget  your  poor  handmaid,  Doll,  wh0 
Partly  accessary  to  the  incision  of 
This  Holofernian  maidenhead. 

Ger,  I  will  forget 
My  name  first.    Speak ! 

Dor,  Then  thus:  My  lady  kncvs  all; 
Her  sorrow  is  reasonably  well  digested;  •. 
Has  vow'd  to  conceal  it  from  my  lord,  . 
Till  delay  ripen  things  better;  wills  you 
To  attend  her  this  evening  at  the  back-gate  i 
ril  let  you  in,  where  her  own  confessor 
Shall  put  you  together  Uwfi41yi  ere 

The 


199  IPOUft  FLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRKSENTATIONS,  IN  ONE- 


Vhe  child  be  born ;  ^hich  birth  is  very  near, 
I  can  asbure  yoa.   All  your  charge  is  your  vi- 

filance ;  [conrey 

And  to  bring  with  you  some  trusty  nurse,  to 
The  infant  out  of  the  liouite. 

Ger.  Oh,  Ijeain  of  comrbrt! 
Take !  Go,  telt  thy  lady 
I  pray  for  her  as  I'walk.     My  joys  so  flow. 
That  what  I  speak  or  do,  I  do  tiot  know ! 

{Exeunt, 
Dumb  Show, 

m 

Xnier  Thlante  at  one  door,  rteeping,  tup' 
ported  by  Cpmelia  and  a  Friar ;  at  ano* 
'  iher  door,  Angelina  weeping,  attended  by 
Dorothea,     Vwlante  kneelt  down  for  par^ 
don,    Angelina  thewing  remorse,  takes  her 
nip,  and  cheers  her ;  90  doth  Cornelia,   An^ 
gelina  sends  Doroilieafor  Gerrard.  Enter 
Gerrard  uith  Dorothea;   Angelina  aiid 
Cornelia  seem  to  chide  him,  shewing  Vich 
iante*s  heofvy  plight,     Violante  rejoiceth  in 
Him  ;  he  makes  signs  of  sorrow,  entreating 
pardon :    Angelina  brings   Gerrard   and 
Violante  to  the  Friar ;  he  joins  them  hand 
in  hand,  takes  a  ring  from  Gerrard,  puts 
it  on  Violante*s finger,  blesseth  them ;  Ger" 
rard  kisseth  her ;  the  Friar  takes  his  leave. 
Violante  makes  show  of  great  pain,  is  itt- 
ttuntly  conveyed  in  by  the  zcoman  ;  Gerrard 
is  bid  stay ;  he  walks  in  meditation,  seem- 
ing to  pray.     Enter  Dorothea,  whispers 
hint,  sends  him  out.     Enter  Gerrard  with 
«  Nurse  blindfold  ;  gives  her  a  purse.     To 
thetn  enter  Angelina  an^  Cornelia,  with  an 
Infant;  they  praent  it   to  Gerrard,  he 
hisseth  and  bUsscth  it,  puts  it  into  the 
Nurse*s  arms,  kneels,  and  takes  his  leave. 
Exeunt  all  siicerally. 

Enter  BenvogUo  and  JRandulpbo. 

Benv.  He's  dead,  you  say  then  f 

Ktind,  Certainly ;  and  to  hear 
The  people  now  dissect  him  uovt  he's  gone, 
Hakes  my  ears  burn,  that  lov*d  him  not : 

such  libels, 
Such  elegies  and  epigrams  theyVe  made, 
31ore  odious  than  he  was !— Brother,  great 

men 
Had  need  to  live  by  love,  meting  their  deeds 
With  virtue's  role;  sound  witJj  the  weight 

of  judgment 
Their privat*st action:  for  tho' while  they  live, 
Their  power  and  policy  mabque  their  villainies. 
Their  bribes,  their  lust,  pride,  and  ambition, 
Atkd  make  a  many  slaves  to  worsltiu  'em, 
That  are  their  flatterers,  and  their  bawds  in 

these;  [beasts  die, 

These  very  slaves  shall,  when  these  great 
Publish  tlicir  bowels  to  the  vulgar  eye. 

Benv,  'Fore  Heav*n  'tis  true.    But  is  Ri* 

naldo,  broti^er, 
pur  {good  duke,  heard  of  living? 

Rand.  Living,  sir, 
And  will  be  shortly  with  the  senate :  has 
Iken  close  conceaTd  at  Mantua,  and  reliev'd. 


But  what's  become  of  his,  no  cidtn^  jel  f 
But,  brother,  'tdl  our  good  duke  shall  arrivi^ 
Carry  this  news  here.     Where's  your  Ferdi- 
nand ? 

Benv,  Oh,  busy,  sir,  about  this  marriage:. 
And  yet  my  girl  o*th*  sudden  is  falPn  sick. 
You*ll  see  her  ere  you  go  ? 

Rand,  Yes.    Well  I  love  her; 
And  yet  I  wish  I  had  another  daughter 
To  gratify  my  Gerrard,  who,  by  Heav'it, 
Is  all  the  giory  of  my  family. 
But  has  too  much  worth  to  lire  so  obscurer 
rU  have  him  secretary  of  estate 
Upon  the  duke's  return;  for,  credit  me. 
The  value  of  that  gentleman's  not  known: 
Uis  strong  abilities  are  nt  to  guide 
The  whole  republic ;  ue hath  learning,  yooti^ 
I  \'alour,  discretion,  honesty  Of  a  sainL 
I  His  aunt  is  wondrous  good  too. 

Vu^nte  discovered  in  a  bed  ;  Angelina' ent£ 
Dorothea  sitting  by, 

Benv.  You  have  spoke 
The  very  character  of  Ferdinand  :         [terf 
One  is  the  other's  mirror. — How  nowvdaoglH 

Rand,  How  fares  my  niece  f 
Vio,  A  little  better^  uncle,  tliao  I  was, 
I  thank  you.  » 

Rand.  Brother,  a  mere  cold ! 

Ang,  It  was  [thaak'cF, 

A  cold   and  heat,  I  think ;  but,  Heav'n  be 
Wo Ve  broken  that  away. 

Benv,  And  yet,  Violante, 
You'll  lie  alone  still,  aud  you  see  what  s  got. 

Dor.  Sure,  sir^  when  this  was  got,  she  haid 

a  bed-fellow.  [belly  ? 

Ra7id.  What,  has  her  cholic  left  her  in  her 

Dor.  T  has  left  her,  but  she  haj*  had  a  sore 

fit.  [hereut  to  ui 

Rand.  Ay,  that  same  cholic  and  stone's  in- 
O'th*  woman's  side!  our  mothers^ had  them 

Dor,  So  hfin  she  had,  sir.—  [botiu 

How  these  old  fornicators  talk  f  she  bad 
More  need  of  mace-ale,  and  Rhenisb-wine 

caudles, 
Heav'n  knows,  than  your  aged  discipline* 

Benv.  Say. 

Enter  Ferdinand, 

Ang,  She  will  have  the  man;  and  on  re« 
Will  wholly  be  dispos'd  by  you.  f  covery^ 
Benv,  That's  my  wench !  ^  fdinaod. 
How  now !  what  change  m  this  }  Why,  Fep» 
\Are  these  your  robes  of  joy  should  be  induM  I . 
Doth  Hymen  wear  black  r  [did  send  for  yum 
To  have  my  honourable  brother  witness 
The  contract  I  will  make'twixt  you  and  her. 
Put  off  all  doubt;  she  loves  you:  what  d'ye 
say?  [tractediyf 

Rand.  Speak,  man;  why  look  you  so  dis« 
Ferd.  Tb^re  are  your  keys,  siri  111  no  ooih 
tract,  I.—; 
Divinest  Violante,  I  will  serve  yoa 

bus  on  my  knees,  and  pray  for  yoa« 
Juno  LucinOf/er  optfH, 


lOUB  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  RfiPftESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE/  Wt 


Itt  ioeqiifility  ascends  no  higgler: 
1  dare  not  marry  jrou. 

Benv,  How*s  this? 

Ferd,  Good  night! 
t  have  a  friend  has  almost  made  me  mad : 
I  weep  sometimes,  and  instantly  can  laugh ; 
Kay,  I  do  d>ince,  and  siiig,  and  suddenly 
Roaf  like  a  storm.    Strange  tricks  these !  are 

they  not? 
And  wherefore  all  this?  shall  I  rell  you?  no! 
Thorough  mine  ears,  my  heart  a  plague  hath 

caugi.t; 
And  I  have  vavf*d  to  keep  it  close,  not  shew 
My  grief  to  any,  fof  it  has  no  cure. — 
On»  wandring  steps,  to  some  remote  place 

move ! 
I'Jl  keep  my  vow,  tho'  I  have  lost  my  love. 

[Exit 

Bcnv.  Tore  Heaven,  distracted  for  her! 

Fare  ye  well !  ^ 

ni  watch  his  steps  ;^  for  I  no  joy  shall  find, 
mil  I  have  tbund  bis  cause,  and  cahn'd  his 

mind.  ^  [Exit, 

Rand,  He*s  overcome  with  joy. 

Afig.  Tis  very  strange.  [time's  busy. 

Rand.  M^ell,  sister,  I  must  leave  you ;  the 
l^iolante,  chear  you  up !  And  I  pray  Heav'n 
Restore  each  to  their  love,  and  health  again. 

[Exit. 

Vlo.  Amen,  great  ancle! — Mother,  what 
TJoluckily  is  added  to  ray  woe,  [a  chance 
In  this  young  gentleman ! 

Ang.  True,  Violante ; 
It  grieves  rac  much. — Doll,  go  you  instantly. 
And  find  ootGerrard !  tell  hiin  lus  friend's  hap, 
And  let  him  use  best  means  to  comfort  him; 
But,  as  his  life,  preserve  tliu  secret  still! 

Viol,  Mother — I'd  not  (mend  you«^might 

not'^Oerrard 
f^tenl  in,  and  see  me  in  the  evening  I 

Jiij.  tS'ell; 
Bid  him  do  so. 

Vio,  lleav*n*s  blessing  o'your  heart! — 
Do  you  not  call  child-bearing  /rave/, mother? 
*  Ang,  Yes, 

Vio.  It  well  may  be :  the  bare-foot  traveller 
That's  bom  a  pnnce,and  walks  iiispilgrimai^e. 
Whose  tender  feet  kiss  the  remoi-seless  stones 
Only,  ne'er  felt  a  travel  hkc  to  it. 
Ala^y  dear  mother,  you  groan *d  thus  for  me ; 
And  yet,  how  disobedient  have  I  been ! 

Ang.  Peace,  Violante;  thou  hast  always 
Gentle  and  good.  [been 

Vio,  Gerrard  is  better,  mother: 
Oh,  if  you  knew  tlie  implicit  innorency 
Dwells  in  his   breast,  you'd  love  Jiim  like 

^our  pray'rs. 
r  see  no  reason  but  my  father  might 


Be  told  the  truth,  being  pleAs'd  for  Ferdimmi 
To  wooe  himself;  and  Gerrard  ever  was 
His  full  comparative:  ray  uncle  loves  hun^ 
As  he  loves  Ferdinand. 

Ang,  No,  not  for  th' world! 
Since  his  intent  is  cross'd,  lov'd  Fei^inand 
Thus  ruin'd,  and  a  cliiid  got  out  of  wedlock, 
Hib  madness  would  pursue  ye  both  to  death! 

Via,  As  you  please^  mother.    I  am  u4>Wy 

methinks, 
Even  in  the  land  of  ease;  I'll  sleep, 

Ang,  Draw  in 
The  bed  nearer  the  fire. — Silken  rest. 
Tie  all  thy  cares  up !  [Exeunt, 

Enter  Ferdinand^  and  Benvqgko  prhtittly 
4^Urhim, 

Ferd,  Oh,   blessed    solitude!    Here  mj 

griefif  may  speak; 
And,  sorrow,  I  will  argue  with  thee  now. 
Nothing  will  keep  me  company !  the  fiowerf 
Die  at  my  moan ;  the  gliding  silver  streame 
Hnsten  to  flee  my  lamentations ; 
The  air  rolls  from  'em ;  aud  the  golden  sua 
Is  smotherM  pale  as  Phcebe  with  my  sighs; 
Only  the  earth  is  kind,  that  suys:  then,  earth. 
To  thee  will  I  compUin.  Why  do  the  Heavena 
Impose  upon  me  love  what  I  can  ue'er  enjoy'*  ^ 
Before  fruition  was  impossible, 
I  did  not  thirst  it :  Gerrard,  she  is  thine, 
•Seal'd  and  dellver'd;  but  'twas  ill  to  staift 
Her  virgin  state,  ere  ve  were  married. 
Poor  infant,  whaft»  become  of  thee  ?  tfcon 

know'st  not  [eartli. 

The  woe  thv  parents  brought  thee  to.     Deac 
Bury  this  close  in  thy  sterility ; 
Be  barren  to  this  seed,  let  it  not  grow  I 
For  if  it  do,  'twill  bud  no  violet,    ' 
Nor  gilly-flower,  but  wild  brier,  or  rank  rue. 
Unsavoury  and  hurtful. 

Benv,  Ferdinand,  [my  lieait. 

Thy  steel  hath  digg'd  the  earth,  thy  words 

Ferd,  Oh,  I  have  violated  iaith,  betray 'd 
My  friend  and  innocency ! 

Benv,  Desperate  youth. 
Violate  not  thy  soul  too  I  I  have  showers 
For  thee,  vouug.man;  but,  Gerrard,  Uan»e» 

for  thee!  [honour. 

Was  thy  hphe  pen  made  to  dnsli  out  mine 
And  prostitute  my  dauHhler?  bastard, whore? 
Come,  turn  thy  female  tears  into  revenge, 
WMiich  I  will  quench  my  thirst  with,  ere  1  see 
Daughter  or  wife,  or  branded  family. 
By  Ileaven,  both  die !  and,  for  amends, 
Fcrdinando,  be  my  heir!  I'll  to  my  brotlier. 
First  tell  him  all,  then  tu  the  duke  for  justice ; 
This  morning  he'frreceiv'd^\  JVlouaiaius  uor 

seas 


3«  Impou  upon  me  love  what  J  can  nc^cr  enjoy  f^  i.  e.  Force  me  to  love  what  I  cannoi^ 
s^tain.  The  editors  of  1750  expunge  the  word  upon^  for  which  we  can  see  no  reason;  aud 
l>rint  loDe  as  a  snbstantive,  thous;li  it  is  so  obviously  a  verb. 

»*  This  fnoming  h^s  receiv'd.]  Mr.  Sympson  would  read  arrived,  but  surely  received  is 
infinitely  more  expressive,  as  it  not  only  speaks  bis  arrival;  but  liii  being  regogniz'd  by  uLl 
Ilit  subjeetft  as  duke  of  Milao.        6tvanf. 

Shall 


iM  VOUR  PLAtS,  Oft  MORAL  REPRegENTT ATtONS,  IN  Otfiti 


Shall  bar  my  flight  to  Yengeance !  the  foul 

stain 
Prioted  on  me^  thy  blood  shall  rinse  a^ain. 

[Exit. 

Ferd.  I  have  tran^ress'd  all  gqodness^ 

witlessly 
Raised  mine  own  curses  from  po:>terity! 
ni  follow,  to  redrt'ss  in  what  I  may ; 
Jf  not;  your  heir  can  die  as  well  as  they. 

Dumb  Shaw^ 

Enter  Duke  Binaldo  with  attendants^  at  one 
door;  States,  Randulpho,  and  Gerrard,  at 
mnother:  they  kneel  to  the  Duke,  he  ao 
€tpts  their  oiedieHcef  and  raises  them  up; 
they  prefer  Gerrard  to  the  Duke,  w/to 
entertains  him;  they  seat  the  Duke  in  state. 
Enter  BenDoglio  and  Ferdinand:  Ben- 
voglio  kneels  for  justice;  FercUnand  seems 
to  restrain  him,  Benvoglio gives  the  Duke 
u  paper;  Duke  reads,  frowns  on  Gerrard, 
mews  the  paper  to  the  States,  they  seem 
worry,  consult,  cause  the  guard  to  f^ppre- 
keftd  him ;  they  go  off  with  him.  Then 
Handulpho  and  Senvoglio  seem  to  crave 
Justice;  Duke  vows  it,  and  exit  with  his 
attendants.  Rundulpho,  Benvoglio,  and 
Ferdinand  confer.  Enter  to  them  Cor^ 
nelia,  with  two  Servants;  she  seems  to  ex- 
postulate; Randulpho  in  scorn  cnuseth  her 
to  be  thrust  out  poorly,  ^  Exit  Randulpho. 
BenvogHo  beckons  Ferdinand  to  him,  with 
much  seeming  passion,  swears  him,  then 
stamps  with  his  foot.  Enter  Dorothea 
with  a  cup,  weeping^  she  delivers  it  to  Fer- 
dinand, who  with  discontent  exit,  and 
0xeunt  Benvoglio  and  Dorothea, 

Enter  Violante. 

Vio.    Gerrard  not  come?  nor  Dorothy 

returned  ? 
What  adverse  star  roPd  my  nativity  ? 
The  time  to-night  hath  been  as  dilatory 
As  languishing  consumptions.    But  'till  now, 
I  ne'er  durst  say,  my  Uerrard  was  unkind. 
Beav'n  grant  all  things  go  well!  and  nothing 

does, 
If  he  be  ill,  which  I  much  fear!  My  dreams 
Have  been  portentous :  I  did  think  I  saw 
My  love  arrayVl  for  battle  with  a  beast, 
A  hideous  monster,  arm'd  with  teeth  and  claws, 
Grinning,  and  venomous,  thatsou^ht  to  make 
Both  us  a  prey ;  on's  tail  was  lash*d  in  blood 
Law;  hnd  his  forehead  I  did  plainly  see 
Held  characters  that  spell'd  authority. 
This  rent  my  slumbers;  and  my  fearful  soul 
Ran  searching  up  and  down  my  di&mav'd 

breast,    ^  [cold; 

To  find  a  port  t*  escape.    Good  faith,  I'm 
But  Gerrard's  love  is  colder:  here  Til  sit. 
And  think  myself  away. 

Enter  Ferdinand,  tfiith  a  Cup  and  a  Letter, 

Ferd,  The  peace  of  love 


Attend  the  sweet  Violante!  Read; 

For  the  sad  news  I  bring  I  do  not  knair;^ 

Only  I  am  sworn  to  give  you  that,  and  thk. 

Vio,  Is  it  from  Gerrard?  Gentle  Ferdi* 

naod. 
How  glad  am  I  to  see  you  thus  well  restored: 
In  troth  he  never  i^rong'd  you  in  his  life. 
Nor  I,  but  always  held  fair  thoughts  of  you: 
Knew  not  my  father's  meaning  'till  of  late; 
Could  never  have  known  it  soon  enoughs 

for,  sir, 
Gerrard's  and  my  affection  began 
In  infancy :  my  uncle  brought  him  oft 
In  long  coats  hither;  you  were  such  anotfaers 
The  little  boy  would  kisd  me,  being  a  child. 
And  say  he  iov'd  me,  give  me  all  his  toys. 
Bracelets,  rings,  sweetmeats,  all   his  ro^ 

smiles: 
I  then  would  stand,  and  stare  upon  his  eyes, 
Play  with  his  locks,  and  swear  I  Iov'd  hia 

too; 
For  sure,  methought,  he  was  a  little  love ! 
He  woo'd  so  prettily  in  innocence, 
ThBjt  then  he  warm'd  my  fancy ;  for  I  felt 
A  glimmering  beam  of  love  kindle  ray  bloody 
Both  which,  time  since  hath  made  a  flame 

and  flood. 

Ferd,  Oh,  gentle  innocent !  methinksit talkv 
Like  a  child  still,  whose  white  simplicity 
Never  arriv'd  at  sin.     Forgive  me,  lady! 
I  have  destroy'd  Gerrard  and  thee ;  rebelTd 
Against  Heav'u's  ordinance ;  dis«psur*d  tvf9 

doves,  [cleft 

Made  'em  sit  mourning;  slaughtered  love,  and 
The  heart  of  all  integrity.    This  breast 
Was  trusted  with  the  secret  of  your  vow. 
By  Gerrard,  and  reveal'd  it  to  your  father* 

Vio,  Ha! 

Ferd,  Read,  and  curse  me! 

Vio,  Neither :  I  will  never 
Nor  write,  nor  read  again ! 

Ferd,  My  penance  be  it ! 

*  Your  labyrinth  is  found,  your  lust  proclaim'd/ 

[HeadM, 
Vio.  Lust?  hum! 
My  motlier  sure  felt  none  when  I  was  got. 
Ferd.  *  I,  and  the  law,implacably  ofiemicd;^ 

*  Gerrard's  imprison'd,  and  to  die.' 

Vio.  Oh,  Heav'n!  ['scofe^ 

Ferd.  |  And  you  to  suffer,  with  reproach  and 
^  A  public  execution.    I  have  sent  yoo 

*  An  antidote  'gainst  shame,  poison,  by  him 

*  You  have  most  wrong'd :  give  him  yoor 

'  penitent  tears.' 

Vio.  Hum !  'tis  not  truth. 

Ferd,  *  Drink,  and  farewell  for  ever? 

*  And  tho'  tliy  whoredom  blemish  thy  whole 

*  line,  [*  mine.* 

'  Prevent  the  hangman's  stroke,  and  die  like 

Vio.  Oh,  woe  is  me  for  Gerrard!  I  have 

brought 
Confusion  on  the  noblest  gendeman 
That  ever  truly  Iov'd.    But  we  shall  meet  ' 
Where  our  condemners  shall  no^  and  enjojr 
A  uiore  rcfin'd  aflection  tlian  here: 


70UK  PLAY%  QR  MORAL  R£Pfl66£NTA'nQN$,  IN  OJ:t^. 


m 


Kq  law  nor  father  hinders  marriage  ther^ 
rrwixt  souls  diviaeJj  a$ed  as  (sme)  o^rs 

were; 
There  we  will  multiply  and  generate  joys, 
Like  fruitful  parents. — Luckless  l^erduiand, 
Wi)ere*8  tlie  jipod   old    gentlewoman,  my 

husband's  aunt? 

Ferd*  Thrustfrom  youTuncle,toalIp6verty. 

Vio>  A\h%  the  pity!  Reach  me,  sir,  the 

cup  : 
111  say  tny  prayers,  and  take  my  father's 

physic. 

Ferd.  Oh,  villain  that  I  wa^,  I  had  foi^ot 
To  spill  the  rest,  and  am  unable  now 
To  stir  to  hinder  her! 

Vio.  What  ail  you,  sir? 

Ferd.  Your  fatlier  is  a  mooiter,  I  a  vilUun, 
This  tongue  has  killed  you! — Pardon,  Vio- 

lante ! 
Oh,  pardon,  Gerrard !  and  for  sacrifice 
Accept  my  life,  to  expiate  my  fault : 
I  have  drunk  up  the  poison. 

Ffto.  Thou  art  not  so 
Uncharitable !  a  better  fellow  far ; 
Th'  hast  left  me  lialf.  Sure  death  is  now  a-dry. 
And  calls  for  more  blood  still  to  quendb  his 

thirst. 
I  pledge  thee,  Ferdinand,  to  Gerrard's  health ! 
Dear  Gerrard,  poor  ^unt,  and  unfortunate 

friend ! 
Ah  me,  thatlove  should  breed  true  lovers'  end! 

Ferd.  Stay,  madam,  stay!  help,  hoal  for 

Heav'n's  sake,  help ! 
Improvident  man !  that  good  I  did  intend 
For  satisfaction,  saving  of  her  life, 
My  equal  cruel  stars  made  me  forget^'. 

Enter  Angelina  with  two  Servants, 

Ang,  What  spectacle  of  death  assaults 

me?  oh! 

Vio,  My  dearest  motlier,  lam  dead:  I  leave 
Father,  and  friends,  and  life,  to  tbllow  love. 
Good  mother,  iSve  my  child,  that  did  no  ill. 
Fy,  how  men  lie,  that  say,  4eath  is  a  pain ! 
Or  has  he  chang'd  his  nature  ?  like  soft  sleep 
He    seizes    me.     Your  blessing!  Last,  I 

crave, 
That  I  may  rest  by  Gerrard  in  his  grave. 

Ferd.    There   lay  me  too.      Oh,  noble 

mistress,  I 
llave  caus'd  all  this,  and  tberefpre  juftly  die. 
That  key  will  open  all. 

Ang.  Oh,  viperous  father!— 
For  I&av'n*s  sake,  bear  >m  iu!  Run  for  phy- 
sicians, 
And  medicines  quickly!  Heav'n,  tbpu. shall 

'  not  have  her 
Yet;  'tis  too  soon:  alas,  I  have  no  more; 
And  taking  her  away^thpu  rpbb'st  tlie  poor! 

[Exeunt, 


[Flourish. 
Enter  Rinaldo,  Stat^,  Randulphoy  Benvo^ 
glio,  Gerrardy  Executioner,  and  Guurd. 

Rin,  The  law,  fis  greedy  as  your  red  df- 

sire, 
Renvoglio,  hfitli  cast  this  man :  Tis  pity 
So  many  excellent  parts  are  swallow'd  up 
In  one  foul  wave.    Is  Violante  s<;nt  for? 
Our  justice  must  not  lop  a  branch,  and  let 
The  body  grow  still. 

Benv.  Sir,  she  will  be  Jiere, 
Alive  or  dead,  I  am  sure.         [ments  death! 

Ger,  How  chearfully  my  countenance  coii)«. 
That  which  makes  men  seem  horrid,  X  will 

wear 
Like  to  an  ornament    Oh,  Violante! 
Might  my  life  only  satisfy  tlie  law. 
How  jocundly  my  soul  would  enter  Heav'n ! 
Why  shouldst  thou  die?  thou  witlier^st  in  thy. 

bud. 
As  I  have  seen  a  rose,  ere  it  was  blown.-** 
I  do  beseech  your  grace,  the  statute  may 
(In  this  case  madefbe  read :  not  that  I  hope 
T  extenuate  my  offence  or  penalty. 
But  to  see  whether  it  lay  hold  on  her. 
And  since. my  death  is  more  exemplary 
Than  just,  this  publick  reading  will  advise 
Caution  to  others. 

Rin,  Read  it. 

Rand,  Brother,  does  not 
Your  soul  groan  under  this  severity  ? 

Sec.  [reads.]  *  A  statute  provided  in  case 
<  of  unequal  matches,  m^riages  against 
'  ptu'ents^'  consent,  stealing  of  heirs,  rapes, 
'  prostitutions,  and  sucl^hke :  tiiat  if  any 
'  person  meanly  descended,  or  ignorant  of 

*  his  own  parentage,  which  implies  as  much, 
'  shall,  with  a  foul  intent,  unlawfully  solicit 
'  the  (laughter  of  any  peer  of  the  dukedom, 

*  he   shall   for  the  same  offence  forfeit  his 

*  right-hand :  but  if  he  furtlier  prostitute  her 

*  to  his  lust,  he  shall  first  have  his  right-hand 

*  cut  off,  and  then  suffer  death  by  the  com- 

*  mon  executioner.    After  whom,  the  lady 

*  so  offending  shall  likewise  the  next  day,  in 

*  tlie  same  manner,  die  for  the  fact.' 

Ger,  This  statute  has  more  cruelty  than 
sense! 
I  see  uo  ray  of  mercy.    Must  tlie  lady 
Suffer  death  too  ?  Suppose  she  were  enforc'd, 
By  some  confederates  borne  away,  and  ra- 
Is  she  not  guiltless  ?  [vish*d ; 

Rin.  Yes,  it"  it  be  prov'd. 
Ger,  Tliis  case  is  so :  I  ravish'd  Violante, 
State,  Who  ever  kuew  a  rape  produce  a 
child?         *  [command 

Benv,  Pish !  these  are  idle.  Will  your  graop 
The  executioner  proceed  ?  ^ 

'Rin,  Your  office! 


''  Jkfy  equal  cntjsl  stars,  ^c,}  Mr.  Sympson  would  read, 

My  \tnequal  cruel  >tar8 

but  Mcgual  is  good  sens^,  X  don't  change  the  text;  I  understand  equal  adverl^i^lly,  wf,  my 
stars  equally  cruel  in  thj>  instani;^  «#  in  gll  gthers.        S$war4. 

VOL.  III.  4G  Ger. 


594 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  RP.PRESENTA^nONS,  IN  ONE. 


Come  down,  Alphonso,  one  of  those  two  twiiis^ 
And  take  thy  iathei's  blessing  I    Thou  faast 

broke 
•No  law,  thy  birth  being  above  thy  wife's  : 
Ascanio  is  tlie  other,  nam*d  Fernando, 
Who,  by  remote  means,  to  ray  lord  Benvoglio 
I  got  preferred ;  and  in  poor  habits  cLid, 
(You  iied^  and  th'  innovation  laid  again) 
I  wrought  myself  into  Raiidalpho*s  service 
With  my  eldest  boy ;  yet  never  durst  rev«m) 
Wliat  they  and  I  were,  no,  not  to  themselves, 
Until  the  tyrant's  death. 

Rin.  My  joy  has  fiU'd  me 
Like  a  full-winded  sail !  I  cannot  speak! 

Ger.  Fetch  Viofente  and  my  brother. 

Benv.  Run, 
Run  like  a  spout,  you  rogue !  A  pox  o*  poison! 
I'hat  little  whore  I  trusted  will  betray  me. 
Stay^  hangman !  1  hav^  work  for  you :  there*! 

gold; 
Cut  off  iny  head,  or  hang  me^  presently ! 

Soft  musick.  Enter  Angelina,  with  the  bodu$ 
of  Ferdinand  and  Viotante  on  a  bier  ;  Do" 
rothea  carryijig  the  cup  and  letter^  tckick 
she  gives  to  Rinattk) ;  he  reads,  seems  mt- 
rowful;  shews  it  to  Corjielia  andGerrardj 
they  lament  aver  the  bier,  Kandulpho  and 
Benvogiio  sean  fearful,  and  seem  to  iv- 
port  to  Angelina  and  Dprothea  what  hittk 
passed  before. 

Rand.  This  is  your  rashness,  brother! 
Rin.  Oh,  joy,  thou  wert  too  great  Co  last^ 
This  was  a  cruel  turning  to  our  hopes ! 
Unnatural  father!  poor  Ascanio! 

Ger.  Oh,  mother  ]  Jet  me  be  Gerrard  again. 
And  follow  Violante ! 
Cor.  Oh,  my  son—  fewer  this. 

Rin.  Your  lives  yet,  bloody  men,  shall  ao- 
Dor.  I  must  not  see  'em  longer  grieve^r— 
My  lord, 
Be  comforted;  let  sadness  generally 
Forsake  each  eye  and  bosom :  t  hey  both  lire: 
For  poison,  I  infus'd  mere  opium ; 
Holdrng  compulsive  peijury  less  sin 
^^han  such  a  loathed  murder  would  have  been. 
Omnes.  Oh  blessed  maiden ! 
Dor.  Musick,  gently  creep 
Into  their  ears,  and  fright  hence  lazy  sleep  | 
Morpheus,  command  thy  servant  sleep 
In  leaden  chains  no  longer  keep 
This  prince  and  lady !  Rise,  wake,  rise^ 
And  round  about  convey  your  eyes ! 
Rise,  prince;  go,   greet  thy  father  and  tht 
mother;  [brother. 

Rise  thou,  t' embrace  thy  husband  and  ifaj 
Rin.  Cor.  Son,  daughter ! 
Ferd.  Father,  mother,  brother'^! 

Ger, 
S4  Ferd.  Father,  mother,  brother, 

Ger.  WifeJ]  According  to  this  reading,  Ferdinand,  whose  senses  were  hot  just  reco- 
vered, knows  perfectly  all  that  has  past  whiU.t  he  was  asleep;  although  he  afterwards  asb 
kow  can  this  be.  I  first  thouglit  a  note  of  interrogation  niight  solve  it,  by  supposing  Orae- 
/ici  to  have  informed  him  in  a  whisper,  and  then  he  might  ask  the  question. 

Father? 


Ger.  Farewell  to  thy  )entici»K  vanity, 
Thou  round  gilt  box,  that  dost  deiceive  man^s 

eye!  [broke, 

The  wise  man  knows,  when  open  thou  art 
The  treasure  thou  incliid'st  is  dust  and  smoke; 
Even  thus,  I  cast  thee  by.    My  lords,  the  law 
Ig  but  the  great  man's  mule ;  he  rides  on  it^ 
And  tramples  poorer  men  under  his  feet : 
Yet  when  they  come  to  knock  at  yon  bright 

gate. 
One's  rags  shall  enter  'fore  the  other's  state. 
Peace,  to  ye  alU—Jiere,  sirrah,  strike!--* 

This  hand 
|iath  Violante  kiss'd  a  thousand  tiroes ; 
It  smells  sweet  ever  since :  this  was  the  hand 
Plighted  my  faith  to  her;  do  not  think  thou 

canst 
Cut  that  in  sunder  with  my  hand.    My  lord, 
As  free  from  speck  as  this  arm  is,  my  heart 
Is  of  foul  lust,  and  every  vein  glides  here 
Asfiill  of  truth. — Why  does  thy  handshake  so? 
Tis  mine  must  lie  ciit  oft*,  and  that  is  firm ; 
For  i^  w^s  ev^r  coii^nt. 

]&nter  Cornelia. 

Cor.  Hold !  your  sentence 
.Unjustly  is  prouounc'd,  my  lord  !  This  blow  • 
Cdts  your  hand  off;  for  his  is  none  of  yours, 
Bnt  Violante's,gi\-en  in  holy  marriage 
Before  she  wa&  delivered,  consummated 
With  tjie  free  will  of  her  mother,  by  her 
Jn  lord  Benvoglio's  house.  [confessor, 

Ger.  Alas,  good  aunt. 
That  helps  us  nothing;  else  I  had  reveal'd  it. 

Rin.  What  woman's  this? 

Benv.  A  base  confederate 
Jn  this  proceeding,  kept  of  alms  long  time 
By  him;  who  now,  expos'd  to  misery. 
Talks  thus  distractedly.    Attach  her,  guard  ! 

Rand,  Your  cruelty,  brother,will  have  end. 

Cor,  You*d  best 
let  them  attach  my  tongue. 

RSn.  Good  woman,  peace!  [phew: 

For,  were  this  truth,  it  doth  not  help  thy  ne- 
The  law's infringM  by  their  disparity; 
Tlmt  forfeits  both  their  lives. 

Cor.  Sir,,  with  your  pardon, 
Had  your  grace  ever  children  f 

Rin.  Tho|i  hast  put  [heart ! 

A  question,  whose  sharp  point  toucheth  my 
I  had  two  little  sons,  twins,  who  were  both 
(With  my  good  duchess)  slain,  as  I  did  hear. 
At  that  time  when  py  dukedom  was  surpriz'd. 

Cor.  I  have  heard  many  say,  my  gracious 
That  I  was  wondrous  like  her.  [lord, 

Omnes.  Ha !    ' 

Ri?i.  By  all  man's  ioy,  it  is  Cordelia, 
My  dearest  y,'\(e  I 

Cor.  To  ratify  me  her, 


fOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


S9S 


Ger,  Wife! 

Vio,  Arc  we  riot  all  in  Heaven? 

Gtr,  Faith,  very  near  it. 

Ferd,  How  can  this  be  } 

Rin.  Hear  it!  [seen 

Dor.  If  I  had  serv*d  you  right,  I  shouldnave 
Your  old  pate  off,  ere  I  ha^  reveal'd. 

Benv.  Oh  wench  !  [thee : 

"Oh,  honest  wench !  if  my  wife  die,  Fll  marry 
There's  my  reward^*. 

Jim.  T*is  true. 

Ferd,  Tis  very  strange'*. 

Ger,  Why  kneel  you,  honest  roaster  } 

Ferd,  My  good  lord ! 

Ger,  Dear  mother! 

Rin,  Rise,  rise!  all  are  friends.    I  owe  ye 
For  al^  their  boards :  and,  wench,  take  thou 

the  man  [merit. 

Whose  life  thou  sav'dst;  less  cannot  pay  thy 
How  shall  I  part  my  kiss?  I  cannot!  let 
One  generally  therefore  join  our  cheeks. 
A  pen  of  iron,  and  a  ieaf  of  brass, 
To  keep  this  story  to  eternity, 
-And  a  Promethean  wit ! — Oh,  sacred  Love, 
Kor  chance,  nor  death,  can  thy  linn  truth 

remove.  [Exeunt,   Flourish, 

Ent^n.  Now,  Isabella  r 

hab.  This  can  true  love  do, 
I  joy  they  all  so  happily  are  pleas'd ! 
The*  ladies  and  the  brothers  must  triumfih. 

Eman,  They  do; 
For  Cupid  aoorns  bat  fhave  h»  Triumph  too. 

[FUiuriih. 

The  Triumph, 

Enter  divert  muskiansy  then  certain  singers 
bearing  bannerets  inscribedytruth^  Loyalty, 
Patience,  Concord;  nejet  Gerrard  and 
Ferdinand  with  garlands  of  roses;  then 
Violante  ;  last^  «  chariot  drawn  by  ti9o 
Cupids,  and  a  Cupid  sitting  in  it. 

Flourish,    Enter  Prologuel 

Prol,  Love  and  the  strength  of  fair  affec- 
tion, fwon 

Most  royal  sir,  what  long  seem*d  lost,  have 

Their  perfect  ends,  and  crown'd  those  con- 
stant hearts 

With  lasting  triumph,  whose  most  virtuous 
parts, 

Worthy  desires,  and  love,  shall  never  end. 

Now  turn  we  round  the  scene  ;  and,  great 
sir,  lend 

^  sad  and  serious  eye  to  this  of  Death, 

This  black  and  dismal  triumph;  where  man*s 
breath, 

Father?  mother?  brother? 
But  puttmg  the  whole  into  GerrartTs  mouth,  takes  away  the  difficulty  much  more  ea«ly. 

Sewavdm 
We  think  the  old  reading  best,  and  don't  understand  the  objection. 
5*  There  s  thy  reward,^  Text  from  first  folio.    It  means  my  rewarding  toc. 
w  Ferd.  "Fis  true,  ^ 

Rin.  *2ai»ry  strange,']  Here  again  the  speakers  were  evidently  wrong,  and  had  change«I 
fftlaces.  Seward. 

4  G  2  Enu- 


Desert,  and  guilty  blood,  ascend  the  stage; 
And  view  tlie  tyrant^  ruin'd  in  his  rage. 

[Exit,    FUmriA. 

Enter  Lavall,  Gabridla,  and  Maria. 

Gab.  No,  good  my  lord^  I  am  qoI  now  tor 
find 
Your  long  neglect  of  me:  all  those  affections 
You  came  first  ckd  iu  to  my  love,  like  summer^ 
Lusty  and  full  of  life;  all  those  desires 
That  like  the  painted  spring  bioom'd  round 

about  ye. 
Giving  the  happy  promise  of  an  liarves;. 
How  have  I  seen  drop  off,  and  all  forgotten ! 
With  the  least  lustre  of  another's  beauty. 
How  oft,  forgetful  lord,  have  I  been  blasted! 
Was  I  so  easily  won  ?  or  did  this  body 
Yield  to  your  talse  embraces,  with  less  labout 
Than  ifyou*d  carried  some  strong  town? 
Lav.  Good  Gabriella !  [betray  me^ 

Gab,  Could  all  your  subtilties  and  sighs 
The  vows  ye  shook  me  with,  tlie  tears  ye 
drown'd  me,  [ringe? 

'Till  I  came  fairly  off  witli  bonourVl  maf« 
Oh,  fy,  my  lord ! 

Lav.  Prithee,  good  Gabriella! 
Gab.  'Would  1  bad  never  known  yon,  not 
your  honours !  fwomen. 

They're  stuck  too  full  of  griefs.  Oh,  liappj 
That  pl'\nt  your  love  in  equid  honest  bosoms. 
Whose  sweet  dei>ii-ei,  like  roses  set  together. 
Make  one  another  happy  in  tlieir  blushes, 
Growing  and  dying  without  sense  ofgreatness. 
To  which  I  am  a  slave !  and  that  blest  sa- 
crament 
That  daily  makes  millions  of  happy  mothers, 
LinkM  me   to  this  man's  lust  alone,  there 

letl  me :       < 
I  dare  not  say  I  am  his  wife,  'tis  dangerous; 
His  hve,  I  cannot  say.     ATas,1iow  many — 
Lav,  You  grow  too  warm ;  pray  you  bt. 
content !     You  best  know 
The  time's  necessity,  and  how  our  marriage. 
Being  so  much  unequal  to  min^  Itonour, 
While  the  duke  lives,!  standing  high  in  fa- 
vour, [dom) 
(And,  whilst  I  keep  that  safe,  next  to  the  duke- 
Must  not  be  known,  without  my  utter  ruin. 
Have  patience  for  a  while,  and  do  but  dream, 

wench. 
The  glory  of  a  duchess. — How  she  tires  me  ! 
How  dull  and  leaden  i^  my  appetite 
To  that  stale  beauty  now!  Oh,  I  couM  curse 
And  crucify  myself  for  childish  doling 
Upeh  a  face  that  feeds  not  with  fresh  tigurea 
Every  fresh  hour;  she's  now  a  surfeit  tome!— > 


m  FOUft  f tAYS,  Olt  MOIUL  RKPltfiA£NTATtON8,  IN  0N& 


Enfer  GefitiUe. 

Who's  that?  Gentillc?— I  chaige  w,    no 

acquaintance^  [course. 

You  nor  your  maid,  with  him,  nor  no  dis- 
Till  timte  are  riper ! 

Gent.  ¥y,  my  noble  lord ! 
Can  you  be  now  a  stranger  to  the  court. 
When  yourmost  virtuous  bride,  the  beauteous 

lieUena, 
Stands  ready  like  a  star  to  gild  your  happiness  ? 
When  Hymen's  lusty  fires  are  now  a-lightiog, 
And  all  the  flower  of  Anjoa— 

Lav.  Some  few  trifles. 
For  matter  of  adornment,  have  a  little 
Made  me  so  slow,  Gentille;  which  now  in 

readiness, 
I  am  for  court  immediately. 

Gent.  Take  heed,  sir! 
This  is  no  time  for  trifling,  nor  she  no  lady 
To  be  DOW  entertain  d  with  toys ;  *twill  cost 

you — 

Lav.  YouVe  an  old  cOck,  Gentille. 

Gent.  'By  your  lordship's  favouiw- 

Lao,  Pritliee,  away!  'twill  lose  time. 

Gent.  Oh,  my  lord, 
Pardon  me  that,  by  all  means! 

Lav.  We  have  business 
A-fbot,  man,  of  more  moment! 

Gent,  Than  my  manners  ? 
I  know  none,  nor  I  seek  none. 

Lav.  Take  to-morrow ! 

Gent.  Even  now,  by  yonr  lordship's  leave. 

— Excellent  beauty, 
My  service  here  I  ever  dedicate, 
Inbonourof  mj  best  friend,  your  dead  father, 
To  you,  his  living  virtue ;  and  wish  heartily, 
That  6rm  aflection  that  made  us  two  happy, 
May  take  as  deep  undying  root,  and  flourish 
Betwixt  my  daughterCasta,and  yourgoodness, 
Who  shall  be  still  your  servant. 

Gab.  I  much  thank  you. 

Lav,  Pox  o'this  dreaming  puppy!— Will 

you  go,  sir  ? 

Gent.  A  little  more,  good  lord! 

Lav.  Not  now,  by  Heaven! 
Come,  I  must  use  you. 

Gent.  Goodness  dwell  still  with  you! 

[Exeunt  Gent*  and  Lav. 

Gab.  The  sight  of  this  old  gentleman, 

Maria, 
Pulls  to  mine  e3res  again  the  living  picture 
Of  Perolot  his  virtuous  son,  my  first  love, 
That  died  at  Orleans. 

Maria.  You  liave  felt  both  fortunes, 
And  in  extremes,    poor  lady!    for  young 

Perolot, 
Being  every  way  unable  to  maintain  you, 
Durst  not  make  known  his  love  to  friend  or 

frther; 
My  lord  Lavall  beine  powerful,  and  you  poor. 
Will  not  acknowledge  you. 

Gab.  No  more!  let's  in,  wench; 
There  let  n>y  lute  qpeak  ttiy  laments!  tlie/ve  I 

Ur*d  me.  [Exeunt.  I 


Enter  Tbo  Courtien, 

1  Court.  I  grant,  the  duke  is  wondroiis 

provident 
In  his  now  planting  for  succesnon ;        [too, 
I. know  his  care  as  honourable  in  Uie  crboice 
Marine's  foir  virtuous  daughter :  but  what's 

all  this? 
To  what  end  excellent  arrives  this  travel, 
When  he  that  bears  the  main  roof  i^  so  rotten? 

S  Court.  You  have  hit  it  now  indeed  ;  for. 
He  is  untemperate.  [if  fame  lie  uot, 

1  Court.  You  express  him  poorly. 
Too  gentle,  sir :  the  most  debosh'd  and  ba> 

barous, 
Believe  it ;  the  most  void  of  nil  hdinanity, 
Howe'er  his  cunning  cloke  it  to  his  Uiide, 
And  those  his  pride  depends  upon. 

^  Court,  I  have  heard  too, 
Given  excessively  to  drink. 

1  Coarr.  Most  cdktain,  [these  things 
And  in  that  drink  most  dangerous;  I  speak 
To  one  I  know  loves  truth,  and  dares  net 

wrong  her. 

2  Court.  You  may  speak  on. 

1  Court.  Uncertain  as  the  sea,  sir, 
Proud  und  deceitful  as  his  sin's  great  master; 
His  api-  otite  to  women,  (for  there  he  carries 
His  uitiin-sail  spread)    so    boundless    and 

kbominable,  [spoken. 

That  but  to  have  her  name  by  that  tongoe 
Poisons  the  virtue  of  the  purest  vii^n. 

S  Court,  I  am  sorry  for  young  Gabiiella 

then, 
A  maid  reputed,  ever  of  hit  carnage; 
For  he  has  been  noted  visiting. 

1  Coar^.  She  is  gone  tlien ; 

Or  any  else,  that  promises,  or  power^ 
Gilb,  or  his  guileral  vows,  can  work  upon: 
But  these  are  but  poor  parcels. 

2  Court,  Tis  great  pjty! 

1  Court,  Nor  want  tliese    sins   a  chief 
saint  to  befriend  'em  :  « 

The  devil  follows  him ;  and,  for  a  truth,  iirj 
Appears  in  visible  figure  often  to  him ; 
At  which  time  he's  possess'd  with  sadden 
trances,  [science^ 

Cold  deadly  sweats,  and  griping  of  the  oon- 
Tormented  strangely,  as  they  say. 

2  Court.  Heav  n  turn  him ! 

This  marriage-day  may'st  thon  well  dme, 

fair  Hellen. — 
But  let's  go  view  the  ceremony. 

1  Court,  Fil  walk  with  yon.         [Ecsnnl. 

Musick.  Enter  Gabriella  and  Maria  above; 
and  Lavall,  Bride,  Statet  in  solemnity  at 
to  marriage,  and  pass  aver,  viz.  Like, 
Marine  and  Longaville, 

Maria.  I  hear  'em  come ! 

Gab.  'Would  I  might  never  hear  more! 

Maria,  I  told  ^on  still;  but  yon  ^^ere  se 
See,  there  they  kiss!  [tncredidoos^ 

Gu^,  Adders  be  your  embraces ! 
The  poison  of  a  rotten  heart|  oh,  HeUtt, 

Blut 


rOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


Blast  thee  as  I  hare  been  I  Just  such  a  flattery, 
With  that  same   cunning  face,  thiit  smile 

vpon*t, 
(Oh,  muric  it,  Mary,  mark  it  seriously  I) 
That  master  smile  caught  me. 

Maria.  There's  th*  old  duke,  and 
Idarine  her  father. 

Gab,  Oh! 

Mariu.  There  LongaviUe ; 
.The  Indies  now. 

Gab.  Oh,  I  am  murder*d,  Mary  !«— 
Beast,  most  inconstant  beast  I 

Maria.  Tliere — 

Gab,  There  I  am  not;  [Heav'n! 

No  more—I  am  not  there.  Hear  me,  oh, 
And,  rH  you  pow'rri  of  justice,  bow  down  to 

me! 
But  you  of  pity,  die.    I  am  abus*d ; 
She  chat  depended  on  your  providence, 
She  is  abus*d  I  your  honour  is  abus'd  I 
That  noble  piece  ye  madey  and  call'd  it  nunif 
.  Is  tum'd  to  devil ;  all  the  world's  abus*d ! 
Give  me  a  woman's  will,  provok'd  to  mischief, 
A  two-edg'd  heart;  my  suffering  thoughts  to 

wildfires. 
And  my  embraces  to  a  timeless  grave  turn ! 

Maria.  Here  Fll  step  in ;  lor  'tis  an  act  of 
.     merit. 

Gab.  I  am  too  big  to  utter  more. 
i    Maria,  Take  time  then.  [Exeunt 

Enter  Gent  ilk  and  Casta, 

Gent,  This  solitary  life  at  home  undoes 

thee,  [tliee ; 

Obscures  thy  beauty  first,  which  should  prefer 
Next,  fills  thee  full  of  sad  thoughts,  which 

thy  years  [ness : 

.Must  not  arrive  at  yet ;  they  choke  thy  sweet- 
Follow  the  time,  my  girl ;  and  it  wUl  faring 

thee, 
Even  to  the  fellowshipof  the  noblest  women, 
Hellen  herself,  to  whom  I  would  prefer  thee, 
And   under  whom  this  poor   and  private 

carria|e, 
•(Which  I  am  only  able  yet  to  reach  at) 
Being  cast  off,  and  ^11  thy  sweets  at  lustre. 
Will  take  thee  as  a  fair  friend,  and  prefer 

thee. 

Casta,  Good  sir,  be  not  so  cruel  as  to  seek 
To  kill  that  sweet  content  you've  bred  me  to. 
.Have  I  not  here  enough  to  thank  Heav'n  for  ? 
The  free  air,  uncorrupted  with  new  flattery  ? 
The  water  that  I  touch,  unbrib'd  with  odours 
To  make  me  sweet  to  9thers?  tlie  pore  fire 
2f ot  smother  d  up^  fmd  choak'd  with  lustful 

inoapse  [and  high. 

To  make  my  blood  sweat  ?  but  burning  clear 
Tells  me  my  mind  must  flame  up  so  to  ifeav'n . 
What  fliMufd  I  do  ai  court?  wear  rich  apparel  ? 
Metbinks  these  are  aa  warm,  and,  for  your 

state,  sir. 
Wealthy  enough:  is  it,  you'd  have  me  proud, 
And,  likea  pageant,  stuck  up  for  amazements  ? 
.Teach  not  year  eJuld  le  tiead  tiMt  path;  for 

leer,  fir, 


599 

Your  dry  bones,  after  death,  groan  in  your 
The  miseries  that  follow.  [grave 

Gent,  Excellent  Casta! 

Casta,  When  shall  I  pray  again,  a  courtier? 
Or,  when  I  do,  to  what  god  ?  what  new  body 
And  new  face  must  I  make  me,  with  new 

manners  [mistress 

(For  I  must  be  no  more  myself)?  whose 
Must  I  be  first?   with  whose  sin-ofiiering 

senson'd? 
And  when  I'm  grown  so  great  and  glorious 
With  prostitution  of  my  burning  bmuties, 
That  great  lords  kneel,  and  princes  beg  for 

favours,  [gentlemen's. 

Do  you  think  I'll  be  vour  daughter,  a  poor 
Or  know  you  for  my  father? 

Enter  LavalL 

Gent.  My  best  Casta!  [within  thee! 

Oh,\  my  most  virtuous  child  I  Heav'n  reigns 
Take  thine  own  choice,  sweet  child,  and  live 

a  saint  still. — 
The  lord  Lavall!  stand  by,  wench. 

Lav.  Gahriella — 
She  cannot,  nor  she  dares  not  make  it  known ; 
My  greatness  crushes  her,  whene'er  she  oSem 
.Why  should  I  fear  her  then? 

Oent.  Come ;  let's  pass  on,  wench. 

Lav.  Gentille,  come  hither!— Who's  that 

gentlewoman  ?  [custom, 

Gent.  A  child  of  mine,  sir,  who,  observing 
Is  going  to  the  monastery  to  her  prayers. 

Lav,  A  fair  one,  a  most  sweet  one!  fitter 

far 
T^  beautify  a  court,  then  make  a  votarist.-^ 
Go  on,  fair  beaut^jr,  and  in  your  orizons 
Kemember  met  will  you,  fair  sweet? 

Casta.  Most  humbly.        [Exit  wiik  Gent, 

Lav.  An  admirable  beauty !  how  it  fires 

me! 

Enter  a  Spirit. 

But  she's  too  full  of  grace,  and  I  too  widced. — 
I  feel  my  wonted  fit :  defend  me,  goodness! 
Oh  I  it  grows  colder  still,  and  stifler  on  me ; 
My  hair  stands  up,  my  siuewsshake  and  shrink; 
Help  me,  good  Heav'n,  and  good  thoughts 

dwell  within  me ! 
Oh,  get  thee  gone,  thou  evil,  evil  spirit; 
Haunt  me  no  more,  I  charge  thee! 
'  Spirit.  Yes,  Lavall ; 

Thou  art  my  vassal,  and  the  slave  to  mischiefs 
I   blast  thee  with  new  sin.     Pursue  thy 

pleasure ! 
Casta  is  rare  and  sweet,  a  blowing  beauty  $ 
Set  thy  desires  afire,  and  never  quench  'em 
'Till  thou  eiijoy'st  her!   make  her  all  thy 

Heav'n, 
And  all  thy  joy,  for  she  is  all  trae  happiness. 
Thou'rt  powerful;  use  command;  if  that 

prevail  not. 
Force  her :  I'll  be  thy  friend. 

Lav.  Oh,  help  me,  help  me  I 

Spirit.  Her  virtue  like  a  speU,  links  me 

to  darknesi*  [Exit. 

^nter 


598 


FOUR  PLAYS,  Olt  MORAL  REPRESENTATION^  IN  ONE. 


Enter  GentiUe  and  Casta. 


Gent,  He*s  here  still. — How  i9%  noble 

lord?  Methinks,  sir, 
YoQ  look  a  little  wildly?— Is  it  that  way? 
Is't  her  you  stare  on  so?  IVe  spied  your  fire, 

sir, 
Bdt  dare  not  sUiy  the  flaming:  come! 

Lav.  Sweet  creatore, 
Excellent  beauty,  do  me  but  the  happiuess    . 
To  be  your  humblest  servant. — Oli,  fair  eyes! 
Oh,  blessed,  blessed  sweetness,  divine  virgin ! 

Oistm,  Oh,  good  my  lord,  retire  into  your 

honour!  [helm 

You're  spoken  good  and  vh-tuous,  plac*d  at 
To  'govern  others  from  mischances ;  from 

example 
Of  such  fair  chronicles  as  great  ones  are, 
We  do,  or  sure  we  should,  direct  our  lives. 
I  know  you're  full  of  worth;  a  school  of 

virtue, 
Daily  instructing  us  that  live  below  you, 
I  make  no  doufa^  dwells  there. 

Lav.  I  cannot  answer ; 
Sli'  has  struck  me  dumb  with  wonder. 

Catta.  Gk>odness  guide  you!        [Exeunt. 

Lav.  She's  gone,  and  with  her  all  light, 

and  has  left  me 
Dark,  as  my  black  desires.    Oh,  devil  lust, 
How  dost  thou  hug  my  blood,  and  whisper 

to  me, 
There  is  no  day  again,  no  time,  no  living. 
Without  this  lusty  beauty  break  upon  me! 
Let  me  collect  myself;  I  strive  like  billows, 
Bcaien  against  a  rq|^,  and  fall  a  fool  still. 
I  must  enjoy  her,  and  I  will;  from  this  hour 
SAy  thoughcj^  and  all  my  business  shall  be 

nothing. 

Enter  Maria, 

My  eating,  and  my  sleeping,  but  her  beauty, 
And  how  to  work  it. 

Maria.  Health  to  my  lord  La\'all  !— 
Nay,  good  sir,  do  not  turn  with  such  dis- 
pleasure! 
I  come  not  to  afHict  your  new>born  pleasures. 
My  honoured  mistress — Neither  let  that  vex 

you, 
For  nothing  is  intended,  but  safe  to  you. 

Lav.  VVlmt  of  your  raistrc6S  ?  I  am  full  of 

business. 

Maria,  I  will  be  short,  my  lord.  She,  loving 

lady, 
(Jonsidering  the  unequal  tie  between  ye. 
And  1m>w  your  ruin  with  the  duke  lay  on  it, 
A!»  also  the  most  noble  match  now  made, 
i^y  me  sends  back  all  links  of  marriage. 
All  holy  vows,  and  rights  of  ceremony, 
/\  II  pioiTHses,  oaths,  tears,  and  all  such  pawns 
\ou  left  in  hostage;  only  her  love  she  cannot, 
Tor  that  still  follows  you,  but  not  to  hurt  you ; 
And  still  beholds  you,  sir,  but  not  to  shame 

you ; 
In  recompense  of  which,  this  is  Iter  suit,  sir. 
Her  poor  and  last  petition^  but  to  grant  her, 


When  weary  nights  have  doy'd  you  op  witfi 

kisses, 
(As  such  must  come)  the  honour  of  a  mistiesa^ 
The  honour  but  to  let  her  see  those  eyes, 
(Those  eyes  she  dotes  on,  more  than  gods  oo 

goodness) 
And  but  to  kiss  you  only;  with  this  prayer, 
(A  prayer  only  to  awake  your  pity) 
And  on  her  knees  she  made  it,  that  this  nigjbt 
You'll  bless  her  with  your  company  a(  supper. 

Lav^  I  like  tliis  well ;  and,  iiuw  I  dunk 

on't  better, 
I'll  make  a  present  use  from  this  occasioii— 

Maria.  r*fay,  good   my  lord,   be    nui  m 

cruel  to  her. 
Because  she  has  been  yours! 

Lav.  And  to  mine  own  end 
A  rare  way  I  will  work. 

Maria.  Can  love  for  ever. 
The  love  of  her,  ray  lord,  so  perish  in  yon  ?— 
As  you  desire  in  your  desires  to  prosper! 
Wliat  gal  taut  under  Hoav'n,  but  Anjou's  heir, 

then 
Can  brag  so  fair  a  wife,  and  sweet  a  mistresif 
Good,  noble  lord ! 

Lav.  You  misapply  me,  Mary ; 
Nor  do  I  want  true  pity  to  your  lady  : 
Pity  and  love  tell  me,  too  much  I've  wronged 

her 
To  dare  to  see  her  more :  yet  if  her  sweetneff 
Can  entertain  a  mediation, 
(And  it  must  be  a  great  one  that  can  cure  me) 
My  love  again,  as  far  as  honour  bids  me. 
My  service,  and  myself— 

Maria.  That's  nobly  spoken !     [know  her; 

Lav..  Shall  hourly  see  her;  want  shall  nens 
Nor  where  she  has  bestow'd  ber  love,  repent 

Maria.  Now  whither  drives  he?  [ber. 

Lav.  I  have  heard,  Maria, 
That  no  two  women  in  the  world  more  lov'd. 
Than  thy  good  mistress  and  Gentille's  fair 
'  daughter.  [heard  a  truth,  my  lonl; 

Maria.  What  may   this  mean? — You've 
But  since  the  secret  love  betwixt  you  two. 
My  mistress  durst  not  cntertuin  such  fnend* 

ship: 
Casta  is  ouick,  and  of  a  piercing  jodgmeo^ 
And  quickly  will  find  out  a  flaw. 

Lav.  Hold,  Mary:  [banquet. 

Shrink  not ;  'tis  good  gold,  wench :  prepare  t 
And  get  that  Casta  thither;  for  she's  a 

creature 
So  full  of  forcible  divine  persuasion. 
And  so  unwearied  evet  with  good  offitie, 
That  she  sliall  cure  my  ill  cause  to  my 
And  make  all  errors  up. 

Maria.  I'll  do  my  best,  sir : 
But  she's  too  fearful,  coy,  and  scmpolons^ 
To  leave  her  father's  house  so  late;  aod 

bashful 
At  any  man's  appearance,  Chat^  I  fear,  sir, 
Twill  prove  impossible. 

Lav.  There's  more  gold,  Mary ; 
And  fain  thy  mistress  wondrous  aick^fio  death, 

wench! 

Ifcrk 


youR  pijWS,  or  moral  representations,  in  one. 


599 


Maria.  I  have  you  in  the  wind  now,  and 

1*11  pay  you.  [charitjr, 

Lav,  She  cannot  cliuse  but  come;  'tis 
The  chief  of  her  profession :  undertake  th», 
And  [  am  there  at  night;  if  not,  I  leave  you, 

Maria,  1  will  not  loae  this  offer,  tiio'  it 

fall  out 
Clean  cross  to  that  we  cast. — I'll  umlertake  it; 
I  will,  my  lord ;  she  ahsdl  be  there. 

Lav.  By  Heaven  ? 

Maria.  By  Heaven,  she  shall. 

Lav.  Let  It  be  sonvething  late  tl\en,  [ber. 
For  being  seen  1 — Now  force  or  favour  wins 
My  spirits  are  grown  dull ;  aitrong  wine,  iind 

store, 
^hall  set  'em  up  again,  and  make  me  fit 
To  draw  home  at  the  enterprize  I  aim  at. 

[Exit. 

Maria.  Go  tliy  way,  false  lord!  it  thou 

hold'st,  thou  pay'st  [there. 

The  price  of  aJl  thy  lusts.    Thou  shalt  be 
Thou  modest  maid,  if  I  h^ve  any  working. 
And  yet  thy  honour  safe;  for  which  this  thief 
I  know  has  set  this  meeting;  but  TU  Wj^tcb 

bim. 

Enter  Perobt, 

Per.  Maria!  [bless  ipe! 

Maria.  Are  mine  eyes  mine  own?  or — 
/im  I  deluded  with  a  flying  shadow  ? 

JPer.  Why  do  you  start  so  from  me  ? 

Maria.  It  speaks  sensibly, 
And  shews  a  hving  body ;  yet  J'm  fearful. 

Per.  Give  me  your  hand,  good  Maria. 

Maria.  He  feels  warm  too. 

JPcr.  And  next  your  lips. 

jilaria.  Ue  kisses  perfectly :  [Perolot? 
Nay,  an  the  devil  be  no  worse— lou  are 

Fer,  I  was,  and  »ure  I  should  be :  can  a 

small  dibUuce, 
And  ten  shortmonth8,take  from  your  memory 
The  figure  of  your  friend,  that  you  stand 

vonaring? 
Be  not  amait'd!  I  am  the  self-same  Perolot, 
Liviug  and  well,  son  toGentille,  and  brother 
To  virtuousCasta;  to  your  beauteous  luibtrcss. 
The  long-bince  poor  betrothed,  and  still-vow'd 

servant.  [your  master, 

Maria.  Nay,sure  he  lives ! — My  lord  Lavall, 
Brought  news  long  since   to   your  muc)>- 

mourning  mistress,  [too. 

You  died  at  Orleans;  bound  her  with  an  oath 
To  keep  it  secret  from  your  aged  father, 
I^st  it  should  rack  his  heart. 

Per.  A  pretty  secret,  [come 

To  try  my  mistress'  love,  and  make  my  wel- 
From  travel  of  more  worth;  from  whence, 

Heav'n  thank'd,  [purpose, 

My  business  for  the  duke  dispatch'd  to  th' 
And  all  my  money  spent,  I  am  come  home, 

wench. 
How  does  my  mistress?  for  I  have  not  yet  seen 
Any,  nor  will  I,  'till  I  do  her  service. 

Maria.  But  did  the  lord  Lavall  know  of 
Before  he  went  ?  [your  love,  sir, 


Per.  Yes ;  by  much  force  he  got  it. 
Bat  none  else  £new ;  upon  his  promise  too, 
And  honour,  to  conceal  it  faithfully 
'Till  my  return :  to  further  which,  he  told  me. 
My  business  being  ended^  from  the  duke 
He  would  procure  a  pension  for  my  service, 
Able  to  make  my  mistress  a  fit  husband. 

Maria.  But  are  ^'ou  sure  of  this  ? 

Per.  Sure  as  my  sigtit,  wench. 

Maria.  Then  is  your  lord  a  base  dissem- 
bling villain, 
A  devil  lord,  die  damn'd  lord  of  all  lewdness. 
And  has  betray'd  you,  aud  undone  my  mistress. 
My  poor  sweet  mistress  (oh,  that  lecher  lord !) 
Who^  poor  soul,  since  was  married ! 

Per.  To  whom,  Maria  ?  [him ! 

Maria.  To  that  unlucky  lord,  a  plague  upon 
Whose  hot  horse-appetite  being  allay'd  once 
With  her  chaste  Joys,  married  again  (scarce 

cool'd;    ' 
The  torches  yet  not  out  the  yellow  Hymen 
Lighted  about  the  bed,  the  songs  yet  sounding) 
Mariners  young  poble  daughter  Hellena, 
Whose  mischief  stands  at  door  next.    Ob, 

that  recreant! 

Per.  Oil,  villain  I  oh,mo8tonmanly  falshood ! 
Nay,  then,  I  see  my  letters  were  betray *d  too. 
Oh,  I  ^m  full  of  thiS)  great  with  his  mischiefs, 
Loaden  and  burst!  Come,  lead  me  to  my  lady. 

Maria.  I  cannot,  sir;   Lavall  keeps  her 

conceal'd :  [rann. 

Besides,  her  gnefs  are  such,  she  will  see  no 

Per.  I  must,  and  will  go  to  her;  I  will  soc 

her:  4  [furthest! 

There  be  my  friend,  or  this  shall  be  thy 

Maria.  Hold,  and  111  help  thee!  But  first 

you  shall  swear  to  me. 
As  you  are  true  and  gentle,  as  you  hate 
This  beastly  and  base  lord,  where  I  shall 

place  you,  [yo"> 

(Which  shall  be  within  sight)  'till  I  discharge 
WhateVr  you  see  or  hear,  to  make  no  motion. 

Per.  I  clo,  by  Heaven ! 

Maria.  Stay  here  about  the  house  then, 
'Till  it  be  later ;  yet,  the  time's  not  perfect : 
There  at  the  back-door  I'll  attend  you  truly. 

Per.  Oh,  monstrous,  monstrous,  beastly 

villain !  [Exit. 

Maria.  How  cross  this  falls,  and  from  all 

expectation !  [kuows : 

And  what  the  end  shall  be,  Heav'n  only  yet 
Only  I  wish,  and  hope.     But  I  forget  still; 
Casta  must  be  the  bait,  or  all  miscarries. 

[Rrit. 

Enter  Ceniille  with  a  torch,  Shalloone  above. 

Gent.  Holla,  Shalloone ! 
Shal.  Who's  there?  ^ 

Geiit.  A  word  from  th' duke,  sir. 
Shal.  Your  pleasure  ?  [straight. 

Gent.  Tell  your  lord  he  must  to  court 
Shal.  He's  ill  at  ease ;  and  prays  he  may 
be  pardon'd 
The  occasions  of  this  night. 
Gent.  BcHke  he's  drunk  then. 

He 


«00 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REFRESENTATJONS,  IN  ONE. 


He  must  away ;  the  duke  and  bis  fair  lady, 
The  beauteous  Hclleoa,  are  now  at  ceoL 
Of  whom  she  has  such  fortune  in  her  carding. 
The  duke  has  lost  a  thousand  crowns,  and 

swears, 
He  will  not  go  to  bed,  'till  by  Lavali 
The  tide  of  loss  be  turn'd  agani.  Awake  him ! 
For  *tis  the  pleasure  of  the  duke  he  must  rise. 

Shul.  Having  ho  strict  command,  sir,  to 

the  contrary, 
I  dare  not  do  it:  I  beseech  your  pardon. 

Gent.  Are  you  sure  he  is  there  ? 

Shal.  Yes. 

Gent.  And  asleep  ? 
.  SknL  I  think  so.  [him,Shalloone? 

Gent,  And  are  you  sure  you  will  not  teJl 

SkaL  Yes,  very  sure. 

Gent,  Then  I  am  sure,  I  wiU : 
Open,  or  I  must  force. 

Shal.  Pray  you  stay !  he  is  not,  [it. 

Nor  will  not  be  this  night :  ypu  may  excuse 

Gent.  I  knew  he  was  gone  about  some 

woman^  labour.  [comfortable ! 

Ai  good  a  neighbour,  tbo'  I  say^  it,  and  as 
Many  siich  more  we  need,  Shalloon^.    Alas, 

poor  lady,  [monsieur, 

Tbou'rt  like  to  lie  cro8&-leg'd  to-night.  Good 
I  will  excuse  your  master  for  this  once,  sir. 
Because  sometimes  I've  lov'd  a  wench  my- 
self too. 

Shal,  Tis  a  good  hearing,  sir. 

Gent,  But  for  your  lie,  Shalloone,  [ing ; 
If  I  had  you  here,  it  sliould  be  no  good  liear- 
For  YOur  pate  I  would  pummel. 

SnaL  A  fair  good  night,  sir !  TE^eii, 

Gent.  Good  night,  thou  noble  knigiit.  Sir 

Pandarus^* !  {dulness 

My  lieart  is  cold  o*  th^  sudden,  and  a  strange. 
Possesses  all  my  body;  thy  will  be  done,' 

Heaven!  [Exit, 

EnterGabrieU<ifCast{LfandMaria  with  a  taper. 

Casta.  'Faith,  friend,  I  was  even  going  to 

my  bed, 
When  your  maid  told  me  of  your  sudden 

sickness: 
But  from  my  grave  (so  truly  I  love  you) 
I  think   Your  name  would  raise  me.    You 

look  ill  [lom; 

Since  last  I  saw  you,  much  decay*d  m  co- 

^^  Sir  Pat%daru$,']  See  Troilus  and  Cressida.  JR. 

^^  The  closet  of  my  heart,  J  mil  lock  here,  teencL']  It  is  more  natural  to  read, 

I  will  unlock^  wench, 

as  Mr.  Sympson  would  read,  and  at  first  sight  the  same  change  occurred  to  .me,  bat  the  old 
reading  is  certainly  sense,  and  a  stronger  sense,  vig.  That  she  would  lock  up  all  ber  secrets 
in  Casta*s  breast,  which  she  must  Ibj^  her  hand  on  or  point  to  while  she  speaks.  SemndL 
3B  Under  this  glorious  beast-insulting  man,"^  This  compound  word  must  be  strained  very 
much,  to  force  into  any  meaning  that  will  suit  the  context.  Mr.  Sympson  tberefbre  agnci 
with  me  in  supposing  it  corrupt,     i  had  read, 

Under  this  glorious  ^«0f^;  tnitil^g  man, 
but  bis  conjecture,  though  not  quite  so  near  tbe  trace  of  letters^  makes  better  Bepfe,  s&d  | 
therefore  prefer  it, 

Under  this  glorious  ha$e  insulting  man.  Seward. 

He  IS  called  heast  more  than  once  before :  h*te  corner  in  but  poorly  here. 

6aL 


Yet,  I  thwik  Hear*D,  I  4nd  no  sucli  srctt 

danger  (^^ 

As  your  maid  frighted  me  witbali :  take  «ni- 
And  give  your  sickness  course  !    Some  gnsf 

you  have  gc^t 
That  feeds  witbin  upon  your  tender  nirit^ 
And,  wanting  open  way  to  vent  itself 
Murders  your  mind,  and  choaka  up  all  joai 

sweetness.  [to  trouble  yoa, 

Gab,  It  was  my  maid's  fault,  wortby  frieod. 
So  lato,  upon  so  light  a  cause ;  yet,  nnce  I 
Oh,  my  dear  Casta^  ^    '[have  yoa, 

Casta.  Out  with  it,  i*God  s  name  ! 

Gab.  The  closet  of  my  heart  I  will  loci 

here^7,  wench,  [Lapall  knocks  within. 
And  thin]j;s  siiall  make  you  trembly.— -Who's 

Umt  kiiocks  there  ? 

Maria,  'I is  Lavali. 

Gab.  Sit  you  still !— Let  lum  in. — 
I  am  resolv*d;  and,  all  you  wronged  women, 
Y^ou  noi)le  spirits,  tliat,  as  I,  have  sufer'd 
Under  this  glorious  beast,  insulting  maji''. 
Lend  me  your  causes,  then  yourcruelocs; 
For  I  must  put  on  madness  above  women ! 

Casta,  Why  do  you  look  so  ghastly  i 

Gab,  Peace !  no  harm,  dean 

Enter  LavaU, 

Jjiv,  There,  take  my  cloak  and  swordw— 
'  Where  is  the  banquet.^ 

Maria.  In  the  next  roOm.  fme ! 

Casta,  How  came  be  here^  Heaven  bless 

Xav.  Give  me  some  wine,  wench;  fill  it 

full  and  tfpriehtly-«- 

Gab,  Sit  stijl,  and  be  not  fearful. 

Lav.  Till  my  veins  swell,  rCeotani', 

And  my  strons  sinews  stretch  like  that  braie 
That  at  the  Uble  snatdh'd  the  bride  away 
In  spite  of  Hercules. 

Casta,  I  am  betrayed !  [i  come, 

Jmo,  Nay,  start  not,  lady!  'tis  for yoa  that 
And  for  your  beauty :  'tis  for  yon,Xavall 
Uonours  this  night ;  to  yon  the  sacred  abrine 
I  bombly  bow,  oOeriog  my  vows  and  prajm; 
To  you  I  live. 

Cab.  In  with  the  powder  quickly! 
So  ;  that  and  tlie  wine  will  rock  you. 

Lav,  Here;  to  die  health 
Of  the  most  beauteous  and  divine  iairCasl% 
The  star  of  sweetness!  . 


lOUIl  PLiYS,  OK  UORAL  BePltCSENTATIQNI^  IK  ONB.  601 


Guk.  Fear  him  not ;  I'll  die  first— 
Aod  who  shall  pledge  you  ? 

Lm.  Thou  sbaity  tbou  tonn*d  gipsey ! 
And  worship  to  that  brigbtaew  eive,  aold 

Tartar !—  {iniitr^ss, 

t^  Heaven,  you  shall  not  stir !  Yoa  are  my 
Ttie  glory  of  my  love,  the  great  adventurf:, 
The  mistress  ot*  my  heart,  and  fche  my  whocf ! 

Cab,  Thouliesc,  base,  beastly  lord !  drunker 

than  anger,  [basely! 

Tbou  soused  lord,  got  by  a  surfeit,  thou  liest 
Nay,  stir  not !  I  daYe  teii  thee  so. — Sit  you 

siiil.— 
If  1  be  whore,  it  is  in  marrving  thee, 
That  art  so  absolute  and  full  a  villain, 
No  sRcraiueut  can  have  that  piece  tied  to  thee. 
How  oltea  hast  thou  wooed,  in  those  ihit- 

teries. 
Almost  those  very  words,  my  constancy  ? 
What  goddess  have  I  nut   been,  or  what 

goodness  ? 
What  star,  tiiat  is  of  any  name  in  Heaven^ 
Or  brightness?  Which  of  all  the  virtues 
(But  drunkenness,  and  drabbing,  thy  two 

morals)  [sweeter? 

Have  not  I  reach'd  to  ?  what  spring  was  ever 
What  Scythian  snow  so  white?  what  crystal 

chaster?  [Hang  thee, 

Is  not  tiiy  new  wife  now   the  same  too? 
Base  bigamist,  thou  honoar  of  ill  womea^^ ! 

Coda,  How's  this?  Oh, Heav*n  defend  me! 

Gab.  Thou  salt-itch, 
Tor  whom  no  curehuteyeff^umiiig  bnmsione 
Can  be  imagio'd ! 

Lav,  Ha,  ha,  ha! 

Gab.  Dost  thou  laugh,  thou  breaker 
Of  all  law,  all  Adigion?  ol'all  taith 
Thou  foul  contemner! 

Lav,  Peace,  thou  pallry  woman !-— > 
And  sit  by  me,  sweet. 

Gab.  By  the  devil/ 

Lav.  Come;, 
And  IuH  me  with  delights. 

Gab.  It  works  amain  now.  [shadows 

Lav.  Give  «se  such  kisses  as  «he  queen  of 
Gave  to  the  sleepioc  boy  she  stole  at Latmos ; 
CiOOk  foand  aboot^,  in  snaky  wreaths  close- 

folded, 
l^iose  rosy  arms  alioat  my  neck,  oh,  Venus ! 

G^,  Fear  not,  I  say. 

Lhv.  Thou  admirable  aweetuess, 
l>isi}l  thy  blessings  like  tliose  silver  drops, 
T\i«,  falling  <!iii  fair  grounds,  rise  all  in  jriises ; 
8hooi  Bic  a  thousaud  darU  <tJrom  those  fair 

eyes,  [stand  'em ; 

And  thro'  my  heart  transfix  'em  all.  Til 
bend  me  a  thousa»id  smiles,  and  presendy  ^ 
Sll  catch  'em  in  mine  eyes^  ano  by  Love*s  ' 

power 


Tarn  VmtoCupicIs  all,  and  flmg'em  on  the»« 
How  high  she  looks,  and  heav*aly ! — More 

wine  for  me  !  [be  not  fearful ! 

G(A,  Give  him  more  wine;  and,  good  friend. 

Lav.  Here  on  my  kn^e,  thou  goddess  of 

delights, 
This  lusty  grape  I  ofier  to  thy  beauties: 
See  how  it  leaps  to  view  that  perfect  redqesf 
That  dwells  upon  tii}  lips !  now,  how  it  blushes 
To  be  out-blush*d !  Oh,  let  me  feed  my  fiincy ! 
And  as  I  hold  the  purple  god  in  one  hand, 
Dancingabodt  the  brim, and  proudly  swellings 
Deck*d  in  the  pride  of  Nature,  young  and 

blowings 
So  let  me  take  fair  Semele  in  the  other. 
And  sing  the  loves  of  gods,  then  drink  their 
Not  yet  desir'd !  [nectar. 

Casta.  Oh  I 

Lav.  Then,  like  lusty  Tarquin, 
Tnrn*d  into  flames  witli  Luci-ece*  coy  denials, 
Ills  blood  and  spirit  equadly  ambitious, 
I  force  thee  for  mine  own.  [chastity ! 

Casta.  Oh,  help  me,  justice !  help  me,  my 
'  Lav,  Now  1  am  bravely  quarried. 

[Peroii^  above. 

Per.  Tis  my  sister !  [not  carried. 

Gab.  No,  bawdy  slave,  no,  treacher,  she's 
[Exit  Casta. 

Per.  She's  loose  ag^in,  and  go|ie.  I'll  keep 

my  place  still.  [cannot  hurt  yoy. 

Maria.  Now  it  works  bravely.    Stand !  lie 

Lav,  Oh  my  sweet  love,  my  life ! 

Afarta.  Ue  sinks. 

Lav.  My  blessing  f 
^  [3g/ali$  dmn  and  tkepu 

Maria,  So;  now  he  is  aafe  awhile. 

Gab,  Lock  all  the  doors,  wench; 
Then  for  my  wrongs  I 

Per.  Now  I'll  appear  to  know  all. 

6a6.  Be  quick,  quick,  good  Maria,  sura 

and  sudden. 

Per.  Stay!  I  must  io  first. 

Gab.  Oh,  my  OQnscience ! 
It  is  younp  Perolot :  oh,  my  stung  conscience  ! 
It  is  my  first  and  noblest  love. 

Maria.  Leave  wondering. 
And  recollect  yourself:  the  man  is  living; 
Equally  wrong  d  as  yoa,  and 'by  thatdeviL 

Per.  Tis  most  true,  lady ;  your  unhappy 

fortune 
I  grieve  for  as  for  mine  own;  your  fiudt  fut^ 

give  too. 
If  k  be  one.    This  is  no  time  for  kisses : 
I  have  heard  all,  and  known  all,  which  mine 

ears  [risli'd. 

Are  crack'd  a-pieces  with^  and  my  heart  pe- 
i  saw  him  in  your  cliamber,  saw  hia  fury. 
And  am  a-iire  'till  I  have  found  his  heart  out. 
What  do  vou  mean  to  do?'  for  I'll  make  one. 


39  Base  bigamitt,  thou  honour  o^ill 
•  Thou  horror  of  all  women 


,]  Seward  reads, 


But  HONOUR  qf'iLh  vromen  may  mean  a  man  m request  with  prostitotes :  fo  he  is  afterwards 
called  SALT-itcA,  &c.  and  inunediately  befooe.  Base  bijgamiit. 

*°  Look  round  about.  4*^-1    So  all  copies  but^first  fuJio« 

VOL.  in.  4  H  Gab. 


MS 


POUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


Gab,  To  make  his  death  more  horrid,  for 

he  shall  die — 

Per.  He  must,  he  must. 

Ga5.  We'll  watch  him  'till  he  wakes, 
Then  bind  him,  and  then  torture  him. 

Per»  'Tis  nothing !  [peiitance. 

No ;  take  him  dead-drank  now,  without  re- 
His  lechery  inseam*d  upon  him^'. 

Gab,  Excellent!  [provide ye; 

Per.  Ill  do  it  myself;  and  when  'tis  done. 
For  well  away  for  Italy  this  night. 

Gab.  We'll  follow  thro'  all  hazards. 

Per.  Oh,  false  lord,  [thee  ! 

Unmanly,  mischievous !  how  I  could  curse 
But  that  but  blasts  thy  fame:  have  at   thy 

heart,  fool !  [out 

Loop-holes  ril  make  enough  to  let  thy  life 

Lav,  Oh !  does  the  dcvilride me i 

Per.  Nay,  then ! 

Lav.  Murder! 
Nay,  then,  take  my  share  too. 

Per,  Help  !  oh  fh'  has  slain  mc. 
Bloody  intentions  must  have  blood. 

Lav.  Ha! 

Per,  Heav'n [Diet. 

Gab,  He  sinks,  he  sinks,  for  ever  sinks  ! 

Oh,  Fortune !  [me ! 

Oh,  Sorrow !  bow  like  seas  thou  flow'st  upon 
Here  will  I  dwell  for  ever.    Weep,  Maria, 
Weep  this  young  man's  misfortune.  Oh,  thou 

truest — 

Enter  Spirit, 

Lav.  What  have  I  done^ 

Soirit.  Tliat  that  has  mark'd  thy  soul,  man. 

£av»  And  art  thou  come  again,  thou  dis- 
mal Spirit  i 

Spirit.  Yes,  to  devour  thy  last. 

Lav,  Mercy  upon  me ! 

Spirit.  Thy  liour  is  come :  succession,  lio- 

nour,  pleasure. 
And  all  tlie  lustre  thou  so  long  hast  looked  for, 
Must  here  have  end :  summon  thy  sins  before 

thee. 

Lav.  Oh,  my  affrighted  soul ! 

Spirit,    There  lies  a  black  one ; 
Thy  own  best  servant  by  thy  own  hand  slain : 
Thy  drunkenness  procured  it;  there's  another: 
Thmk  of  fair  Gabriella !  there  she  weeps ; 
And  such  tears  are  not  lost. 

Lav,  Oh  miserable!  [Casta. 

&>irit.  Thy  foul  intention  to  the  virtuous 

JLa9.  No  more,  no  more,  tlkou  wildfire ! 
^     Spirit,  Last,  thy  last  wife. 
Think  on  the  wrongs  she  suffers. 

^'  Take  him  de<id-dnink,  S^c]  This  horrid  sentiment  seems  to  have  been  adopted  from  « 
Miilar  one  in  Hamlet ;  where  tlmt  prince,  debating  on  the  purposed  death  of  the  Ki^g,  aayt, 

*  When  he  is  drunk,  asleep,  or  in  his  rage; 

*  Or  in  the  incestuous  pleasures  of  his  bed, 

*  At  gaming,  swearing;  or  about  some  act 

*  That  has  no  relish  of  salvation  in't: 

*  Titen  trip  him,  that  his  heels  may  kick  at  Heaven; 
'  And  that  his  soul  may  be  as  damn'd  and  black 

'  As  Hell,  whereto  it  goes.'  IL 


Lav.  Oh,  my  misery ! 
Oh,  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 

Spirit,  Thou  liast  no  futh,  fooL 
Hark  to  th;r  knell !  [Singt^  and  i 

Lav,  Millions  of  sins  muster  about  mine 

eyes  now ;  fllorror. 

Murders,  ambitions,  lust,  false  fiuths:  Oh, 
In  what  a  stormy  form  of  death  tboa  iid*si 

now! 
Methinks  I  see  all  tortures,  fires,  and  irosli^ 
Deep-sinking  caves,  where  uotliing  but  de- 
spair dwells. 
The  baleful  birds  of  night  hovering  about  'em  ; 
A  grave,  methinks,  now  opens,  and  a  hearse^ 
Hung  with  my  arms,  tumbles  into  it.     Oh  ! 
Oh,  mv  afflicted  soul  I  I  cannot  pray; 
And  the  least  child  that  has  but  goodness  in 

him    ^  [powen: 

May  strike  my  head  oS^  so  stupid  flu«  mj 
I'll  lift  mine  eyes  up  tbo'. 

Maria.  Cease  these  laments !      [lives  yet. 
They  are  too  poor  for  vengeance:    Lacrall 

Gab,  Then  thus  I  dry  all  somws  from 

these  eyes;  [devil! 

Fury  and  rage  possess  'em  now !    Ilami'd 

Lav,  Ha! 

Gab.  This  for  young  Perolot! 

Lav,  Oh,  mercy,  mercy ! 

Gab.  This  for  my  wrongs ! 

Lav,  But  one  short  hour  to  cure  me  ! 

[Knock  wMim. 
Oh,  be  not  cruel :  Oh !  oh ! 

Maria,  Hark,  they  knock  ! 
Make  haste,  for  UeavVs  nke,  mistress! 

Gab.  This  for  Casta! 

Lav.  Oh,  oh,  oh,  oh !  J  He  diet. 

JIfarta.  He's  dead;  come,  quickly!  let's 

away  with  him, 
Twill  be  too  late  else. 

Gab,  Help,  help,  up  to  the  cliamber  ! 

[Exeunt  with  LavmlTB  bod^ 

Enter  Duke,  Uellenoi  GentUle,  Cosfa,  end 
Attendant$  with  lights. 

Duke,  What  frights  are  these  t 

Gent.  I'm  sure  here's^  one  past  frightinc. 
Bring  the  lights  nearer :  I've  enougjb  alresoy. 
Out,  out,  mine  eyes  I  Look,  Casta. 

J.ord. 'Tis  young  Perolot!       [dewomaa! 

Dnke,  When  came  he  over?  Hold  the  ga^ 
She  sinks;  and  bear  lier  o6f. 

Canto.  Oh,  my  dear  brother!  [Eiii, 

Gent.  There  is  a  time  for  dl;  for  n»e,  I 
And  very  shortly.  Murdei'd  f        [hope  too^ 

[GabrteUa,  Miria,  with  Lavaltihody^  ai 


lOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


60i 


Duke*  Who's  above  there  ? 

GiA.  Look  up  and  see. 

Duke»  What  may  thiii  mean  ? 

Gab.  Behold  it ! 
Behold  the  dranken  murderer 
Of  tliat  young  gentleman;  behold  the  rankest, 
The  vilest,  basest  slave  that  ever  flourish'd ! 

Duke.    Whokili'dhim? 

Gab,  I;  and  there's  the  cause  I  did  it: 
Read,  if  your  eyes  will  give  you  leave. 

HeL  Oh,  monstrous ! 

Gab,  Nay,  out  it  shall :    there,  take  tliis 

false  lieart  to  ye. 
The  base  dishonour  of  a  thousand  women  ! 
I^eep  it  in  gold,  duke ;  'tis  a  precious  jewel. 
Now  t^  myself!  fori  have  liv'd  a  fair  age, 
Longer  by  some  months  than  I  had  a  mind  to. 

Duke,  Hold!  [tractcd! 

Gab,  Here,  young  Perolol,  my  first-con- 
True  love  shall  never  go  alone. 

DuAir.  Hold,  Gabriella ! 
I  do  forgive  all. 

Gab.  I  shall  die  the  better.        [with  me ! 
Thus  let  me  seek  my  grave,  and  my  shames 

Maria,  Nor  slialt  thou  alone,  my  noble 

mistress  *. 
Why  should  I  live,  and  thou  dead  ? 

Hard,  Save  the  wench  there !       [written. 

Maria.  She  is,  I  hope ;  and  all  my  sins  here 

Duke.  This  was  a  fatal  night. 

Gent.  Heav*n  bus  his  working. 
Which  we  cannot  contend  against. 

Duke.  Alas! 

Gent.  Your  Grace  has  your  alas  too. 

Duke.  'Would  'twere  equal ! 
For  thou  hast  lost  an  honest  noble  child. 

Gent,  nris  heir  enough  h'  has  left,  a  good 

remembrance^^. 

Duke.  See  all  their  bodies  buried  decently; 
Tho'  some  deserv'd  it  not ! — How  do  you  do, 

lady  ? 

HeL  Even,  with  your  grace's  leave,  ripe 

for  a  monastery ; 
There  will  I  wed  my  life  to  tears  and  prayers. 
And  never  know  what  man  is  more. 

Duke.  Your  pleasure. 
How  does  the  maid  within  ? 

Lord.  She  Lh  gone  before,  sir. 
The  same  course  that  her  lady  takes. 

Gent.  And  my  course  [crace 

Shall  be  my  beads  at  home,  so  please  your 
To  give  me  leave  to  leave  the  court. 

Duke.  In  peace,  sir; 
And  take  my  love  along ! 

Genf.  I  shall  pray  for  you. 

Duke.  Now  to  our:ielves :  retire  we,  and 

begiu 
By  this  example  to  correct  each  sin ! 

[Exeunt.    Flourish. 


Eman.  By  this  we  plamly  view  the  two 

imposthumes  [wantonness; 

That  choak  a  kingdom*s  welfare ;  ease  and 
In  both  of  which  Lavall  was  capital;  [nour, 
For,  first,  ease  stole  away  his  mind  from  ho« 
That  active  noble  thoughts  liad  kept  still 

working ; 
And  then  deliver*d  him  to  drink  and  women. 
Lust  and   outrageous  riot;  aud  what  their 

ends  are, 
How  infamous  and  foul,  we  see  example. 
Tiierefore,  that  great  man  that  will  keep  his 

name. 
And  gain  his  merit  out  of  Virtue's  schools, 
Must  make  the  pleasures  of  the  world  hit 

fools.  [Flourish. 

The  Triumph. 

Enter  Musicians;  next  themj  Perohtj  with 
the  wound  he  died  with;  then  Gabriella 
and  MariOf  with  their  wounds;  after  them 
four  Furies  with  bannerets y  inscribed.  Re* 
venge,  Murder,  Lust,  and  Drunkenness, 
singing ;  next  them,  Lavall  wounded;  thsn 
a  chariot  with  Death,  drawn  by  the  Desti^ 
nies.  [Flourish. 

Enter  Prologue, 

ProL  From  this  sad  sight  ascend  your 

noble  eye. 
And  see  old  Time,  helping  triumphantlv. 
Helping  his  master  Man  :   view  here  hfs  va* 

nities;  [flies,' 

And  see  his  false  friends,  like  those  glutted 
That,  when  they've  >\icWd  tlieir  fill,  ^1  ofl, 

and  fade 
From  all  remembrance  of  him,  like  a  shade ! 
And  last,  view  who  relieves  him  !  and  that 

goncy 
We  hope  your  favour,  and  our  play  is  done. 

[Flourish. 

Enter  Anthropos,  Desire,  Vain-Delight,  and 
Bounty. 

Anlh.  What  hast  thou  done,  Desire?  and 

how  employ'd 
The  charge  I  ^ave  thee,  about  levying  wealth 
For  our  supplies? 

Desire,  I  have  done  all,  yet  notliing; 
Tried  all,  and  all  my  ways,yetall  miscarried: 
There  dwells  a  sordid  dulness  in  their  miiuls, 
Thou  Sim  of  earth,  colder  than  thai  thouVt 

made  of. 
I  came  to  Craft;  found  all  his  hooks  about; 

bini. 
And  all  his  nets  baited  and  set^^ ;  his  sly  self 
And  greedy  Lucre  at  a  serious  conference 
Which  way  to  tie  the  world  yrithiu  their  sta* 

tutes : 


^  ^Tu  heir  enough  has  lost  a  good  remembrance. 1  Corrected  by  Sympson. 
43  ■  all  his  hooks  about  him, 

And  all  his  nets  baited  and  se^]  Mr.  Sympson  says,  that  to  bait  and  set  nets  is  inaccu- 
rate, and  therefore  would  have  hooks  and  nets  change  places:  but  nets  are  sometimes  baited  and 
9rt  as  well  as  hooks,  as  for  cray  fish,  grigs,  &c.,  so  that  the  change  is  uot  neoetsary.     Seward, 

4  U  9  Business 


<04 


torn  tLAYS,  OR  MORAL  RfiPRSBENTATlONS,  IN  0!flt 


Business  at  all  skles^  and  of  all  sorts  swarm- 

ingy^  [clar'd 

Lake  bees  broke  loose  in  summer;  I  de^ 
Your  will  atid  want  toirether,  both  enforcing 
With  all  the  power  and  pains  I  had,  to  reach 
Yet  all  fell  short.  [him; 

Anik,  His  answer? 

Desire.  This  be  gave  me :  [plies 

Your  wants  are  never  ending;  and  those  sup- 
That  came  to  stop  those  breaches,  are  ever 

lavish'd, 
Before  they  reach  the  main^tn  toys  and  trifler, 
Gewgaws,  andgilded  puppets.  Vain-Deliehc, 
He  says,  has  ruin'd  you,  with  clapping  all 
Tlmt  comes  in  for  support,  oa  duatlis  and 

coaches  [mistress, 

Perfumes  and  powderM  pates;  and  that  your 
The  lady  Pleasure,  like  a  sea  devours 
;At  fengtfi'Botli  you  andliim  too.  If  you  have 

houses^  [hear  vou. 

Or  land,  or  jewels,  for  good  pawn,  hell 
And  will  be  read;^  to  supply  occasions; 
If  not,  lie  locks  his  ears  up,  and  grows  stupid. 
From  hiiii,  I  went  to  Vanity,  whom  I  found 
Attended  by  an  endless  trtxip  of  tailors, 
Mercers,  embroiderers,  featner-makers,  fu- 

mers, 
All  occupations  opening  like  a  mart. 
That  serve  to  rig  the  body  out  with  bravery; 
And  thro'  the  room  new  fashions  flew,  like  flies. 
In  thousand  gaudy  shapes;  Pride  waiting  on 

her, 
And  busily  surveying  all  the  breaches 
Time  and  decaying  Nature  had  wrought  in  her, 
Which  still  with  art  she  piecd  again  and 

strengthened :  [head-tires, 

J  told  ;^our  wants;  sheslieVd  tpe gowns  and 
Embroider'd  waistcoats,  smocks  seaiu'd  thro* 

with  cut-works,  [paintings, 

Scarfs,  mantles,  petticoats,  mu^,  powders. 
Does,  monkies,  parrots,  which  all  seem'd  to 
.    shew  me 

^  Buuness  of  all  sides  and  of  all  sorts.]    Mr.  Sympson  Chinks  the  common  eipresdos  mm 
the  ong^nal  here. 

Business  of  all  size  and  of  all  sorts, 
or  else  of  all  sites.    But  I  can  by  no  means  admit  either  into  the  text,  for  tlie  old  reiMiii^ 
is  perfect  good  sense.    And  the  first  change  proposed  is  scarce  Enelish;  the  other  bwts 
the  measure;  and  its  beiug  a  valgar  expression  is  the  werj  reason  why  a  poet  would  not 
use  it.    '  Sewtrd, 

We  think  Sympsoa's  first  conjecture  not  inelegant,  and  very  pbnsible.    Of  aU  eidet^  h 
very  vulgar. 
4J  __  are  crept  cbsefy : 

None  feel  my  vanU,  fwt  one  mend  with  me. 
Desire.    None,  sir  f]    The  next  line  shews  evidently  that  all  the  pmnts  here  were 
wrong.    The  last  line  of  Anthpopos*^  speech  should  besomed  from  the  forepmi^  avd  be 
a  question  which  Desire  should  answer,  but  these  were  not  the  worst  of  the  mistake  ia  this 
passage,  for  what  is 

not  one  mend  with  me  ? 
One  might  force  a  sort  of  sense  out  of  it,  but  'tis  much  more  probable  that  it  is  a  mistake  of 
the  press,  and  that  we  should  read  either, 

■  •    ■        not  one  friend  with  me? 

oV,  J not  one  Ufriend  me? 

Tlte  former  ts  nearest  the  trace  of  the  letters,  banke  latter  gives  ft  more  easy  sense.    SmordL 


Tlie  way  her  money  went  From  her  lo  Pin- 
I  took  my  journey.  ^fiie 

Anth,  And  what  says  our  best  mistress? 

Desire.  She  danc*d  me  out  this  iuis^er 

presently :  f  ready. 

iEtevds  and  masques  had  drawn  ber  dry  ai- 
'I  met  old  Time  too,  mowing  mankind  domtt, 
Who  says  you  are  too  hot,  and  he  must  purge 

you. 

Anth.  A  coM  ^nie^tfs.' Miserable  creafores, 
Bom  to  support  and  beautily  your  master, 
The  gchd-like  Man,tet  here  to  do  me  service^ 
The  children  of  my  will,  why,  or  how  dare  y^ 
Created  to  my  use  alone,  disgrace  me? 
Beasts  have  more  courtesy ;  they  live  aboot 

me, 
Otfcring  their  warm  wool  to  the  shearer's  hand 
To  cloath  me  witn,  their  bodies  to  mylaboon; 
Nay,  even  their  lives  they  daily  sacrifice, 
(  And  proudly  press  with  garlands  to  the  altars^ 
]  To  fill  the  gods'  oblations.    Birds  bow  to  me, 
Strikio|/  their  downy  sails  to  do  me  service, 
Tlieir  sweet  airs  ever  echoing  to  mine  honour. 
And  to  my  rest  their  plumy  softs  tbej  send 

me. 
Fishes,  and  plants,  and  all  where  life  inhabits, 
But  mine  own  cursed  kind,  obey  their  niler; 
Mine  have  forgot  me,  miserable  mine, 
,  Into  whose  stony  hearts,  nedect  of  dutj, 
Squint-ey'd  Deceit  and  SdJ^love  are  crrept 

closely  I 
None  feel  my  wants?  not  one  befriend  me^? 

Desire,  None,  sir.  [friend,  jFlattery; 

Anth,  Thou  hast  fofgot,  Desire,  mj  bat 
He  cannot  fail  me. 

Delight.  Fail  ?  hell  sell  himself. 
And  alt  within  his  power,  close  to  his  skin  first 

Desire.  I  thought  so  too,  aud  made  him 

my  first  venture ; 
But  found  him  in  a  young  lord's  ear  so  busy. 
So  like  a  smiling  shower  pouring  his  sonl 
In  at  his  portals ;  hisfiice  in  thousami  figares^ 


Ihe  first,  is,  we  think,  the.  best  of  the  two; 


Catching 


SOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


ios 


Cfttduog  tiie  vain  .mind  of  the  m«n:  I  poU'd 

liim,  [him ; 

But  itill  he  hung  like  bird-lime ;  ipoke  unto 
I J  is  answer  still  was,  *  By  the  lonl,  sweet  lord/ 
And  *  By  my  soul,  thou  master-piece  of 

honour!'  [your  flood's  gone, 

Nothing  could  stave  hbn  otf:  be  has.  beard 
And  on  decaying  thiiip  he  seldom  smiles,  sir. 

Anth,  Then  here  I  break  up  state,  and 

free  my  foUowers, 
Putting  my  fortune  naw  to  Time  and  Justice  i 
Go  seek  new  masters  now ;  for  Anthropos, 
Keglected  by  bis  fnendsy  must  seek  new 

fortunes. 
Desir«,  to  Avarice  I  here  commend  thee, 
Where  thou  may^st  live  at  full  bent  of  thy 
.   wishes. 

And,  Vain-Delight,  thou  feeder  of  my  follies, 
With  ligbt  FantastickDess  be  thou  in  favour! 
To   leave  thee,  Bounty,  my  most  worthy 

servant, 
Troubles  me  more  than  my  own  misery ; 
Bat  we  must' part:  go  plant  thyself,  my  best 

friend. 
In  honourable  hearts  that  tml]^  know  thee, 
And  there  live  ever  like  thyself,  a  virtue ! 
But  leave  this  place,  and  seek  the  country; 
For  L'lw  and  Lnst,  like  fire,  IicIl  all  op  here. 
Now  none  but  Poverty  must  follow  me, 
Despised  pntch'd  Poverty;  and  we  two  married, 
Will  seek  Simplicity,  Content,  and  Peace  out, 

Enter  Poverti/. 

And  live  with  them  in  eiile.  How  uncall'd  on 
]dy  true. friend  comes! 

Fov.  Here  hold  thee,  Anthropos! 
Thou  art  almost  arriVd  at  rest^ :  put  this  on, 
A  penitential  robe,  to  purge  thy  pleasures; 
OtT  with  that  vanity! 

Anth.  Here,  Vain-Dclight,  ^    • 

And,  with  this,  all  my  part  to  tliee  again 
Of  thee  I  freeW  render. 

Pov,  Take  this  staff  now, 
And  be  more  constant  to  your  steps  hereafter! 
The  staff  is  Staidness  of  Affections. 
Away,  you  painted  flies,  that  with  man's 

summer 
Take  life  and  heat,  buzzing  about  his  blossoms ! 
>Vhen  growing  full,  ye  turn  to  caterpillars, 
'Gnawing  the  root  that  gave  you  life.    Fly, 

shadows!        [Exeunt  Detire  and  Delight, 
Now  to  Content  Til  give  thee,  Anthropos, 
To  Rest  and  Peace :  no  Vanity  dwells  there, 
Desire,  norPleasure,  to  delude  thy  mind  more; 
No  fiaUery*s  unootb-fird  tongue  shall  poison 

thee. 

Anth,  Oh,  Jupiter,  if  I  have  ever  offer*d 
Upon  thy  burning  altars  but  one  sacrifice 
Thou  and  thy  fair-ey*d  Juno  smird  upon ; 
If  ever,  to  thine  honour,  bounteous  feasts, 


Where  all  thy  sCatoes  sweat  with  wine  attd 

incense. 
Have  by  tbc  son  of  Earth  been  celebrated ; 
Hebr  me  (the  child  of  Shame  now)  hear,  thou 

helper,  [jusliQe, 

And  take  my  wrongs  into  tl^  hands,  ti»« 
Done  by  nnmbidful  man,  unmerciful. 
Against  hi&  master  done,  against  thy  order; 
And  raise  again,  tlMiu  father  of  all  honour. 
The  poor,  despis'd,    buC  yet  thy  noblest 

creature! 
Raise  from  his  ruins  once  more  this  sunk  cedar. 
That  all  may  fear  thy  power,  and  I  proclain 

it!  [EjteunL 

Jupiter  and  Mercury  descend  ttoetally,   Sqft 
Musick. 

Jup,  Ho!  Mercury,  my  winged  son! 

Merc,  Your  servanc 

Jup,  Whose  powerful  prayers  were  thooe 

that  reach'd  our  ears, 
Arm*d  in  such  spells  of  pity  now^  ? 

Merc,  The  sad  petitions  [thropos; 

Of  tlie  scom'd  son  of  Earth,  the  gocMike  An* 
He  that  has  sweird  your  sacred  fins  with 

incense. 
And  pird  upon  your  altars  thousand  heifers; 
He  that  (b^uiPd  by  Vanity  and  Pleasur^ 
Desire,C  ran,  Flattery,  and  smooth  Hypocrisy) 
Stands  now  despis*d  and  ruin'd,  left  to  poverty. 

Jup.  It  most  not  be ;  he  was  not  raised  for 

rum ;  [perish : 

Nor  shall  those  hands  heav*d  at  mj  altars 
He  is  our  noblest  creature.    Flee  to  Time ; 
And  charge  lum  preMHitly  release  the  bands 
Of  poverty  and  wanrthis  suitor  sinks  in : 
Tell  him,  among  the  sun4iumt  Indians, 
That  know  no  other  wealth  but  peace  and 
;^  pleasure, 

tile  shall  find  golden  Plutos,  god  of  riches, 
^Who  idly  is  ador*d,  the  innocent  people 
Not  knowing  yet  what  power  and  weight  he 

carries : 
Bid  him  compel  him  to  his  right  use,  honoar. 
And  presently  to  li\*e  with  /Vnthropoa. 
It  is  our  will.    Awa^l 

Merc,  I  do  obey  it, 
[Jupiter  and  Mercury  taeendagain,  Musick, 

Enter  PlutuSy  with  a  troop  of  Indians  singing 
and  dancing  wildly  about  him,  and  bowing 
to  hiih ;  wUch  ended,  enter  Time. 

Time,  Rise,andaway !  'tis  Jove's  command. 

Plutus,  I  will  not!  [das. 

Ye  have  some  fool  to  furnish  now ;  some  Mi- 
That  to  no  purpose  I  must  choak  with  riphes. 
Who  must  i  go  to  ? 

'Bme.  To  &e  son  of  Earth; 
He  wants  the  god  of  wealth. 

Plutus,  Let  him  wmit  still! 


^  TAou  art  almost  arm*d  at  rest,]  Amended  by  Sympson. 

^'  Arm*d  in  such  spells  of  pity.]  The  spells  were  undoubtedly  those  ofviety,  which  might 
awake  pity  in  Jupiter,  but  could  not  ifn  that  reason  be  called  the  sptUs  of  pity.       Seward, 
We  see  no  reason  for  variation. 

I  wai 


§06 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTAllONS,  IN  ONK, 


I  wM  too  lateljT  with  hiniy  alinost  torn 
Into  ten  thousand  pieces  by  his  followers : 
I  ooaU  not  sleep,  but  Crait  or  Vanity 
Were  filing  off  my  fingers;  not  eaft,  tor  fear 
Pleasure  would  cast  mrself  into  my  belly. 
And  there  surprize  ni  v  heart. 

Jlme,  These  hare  torsaken  him : 
Make  haste  then !  thou  must  with  me.    Be 

not  angry. 
For  fear  a  ereater  anger  ligiit  upon  thee. 

Flutus.  I  do  obey  then :  but  will  change 

my  figure; 
For  when  I  willingly  befriend  a  creature,  ^ 
Goodly  and  full  of  gloi7  T  shew  to  him ; 
But  when  I  am  compell'd,  old  and  decrepid, 
I  halt  and  hang  upon  my  staff.     Farewell, 

friends! 
I  will  not  be  long  from  ye :  all  my  servants 
I  leave  among  ye  still,  and  my  chief  riches. 

lExeunt  IndianSy  with  a  dance, 
Ob,  Time, what  innocence  dwells  here,  what 

goodness!  [hug  me. 

They  know  me  not,  nor  hurt  me  not,  yet 
Away!  1*11  follow  thee:   but  not  too  fast. 

Time!  [Exeunt  FlutM  and  Time. 

JSnter  Anthropos,  Honesty^  Sin^Ucity,  Hu* 
mility,  and  Poverty. 

Htaml,  Man,. be  not  sad;  neither  let  this 

divorce 
From  Mundus,  and.  his  many  ways  of  pleasure, 
AflBict  thy  spirits!  which  consider'd  rightly, 
'Witbinwardeyes,  makes  thee  arrive  at  happy. 

Pov.  For  now  what  danger  or  deceit  can 

reach  thee  ?  ^ 

What  matter  left  for  CRft  or  Covetize 
To  pbt  against  thee?  what  Desire  to  bum 

thee?  [thee! 

Hon.  Oh,  son  of  Earth,  let  Honesty  possess 
Be  as  thon  wast  intended,  like  thy  M^ker ; 
See  thso'  those  gaudy  shadows,  that  like 

dreams  [goodness, 

Have  dwelt  upon  tliee  long;  call  up  thy 
Thy  mind  and   man  within  thee,  tliat  lie 

smpwreck*d ;  [fections, 

And  then  how  thin  and  vain  tliesc  fond  nf- 
How  lame  this  woridlv  love,,  how  lump-like, 
And  ill-digested,  all  tnese  vanities  [raw. 
Will  shew,  let  Reason  tell  thee! 

Simpl.  Crown  thy  mind^*  [suffering. 

With  that  above  the  world's  wealth,  joyful 
And  truly  be  the  master  of  thyself, 
Which  is  tlie  noblest  empire!  and  there  stand 


The  thins  tboa  wert  ordain'd,  and  wt   tm 
govern! 

FoD.  Cotne,  let  us  sing  the  world's  ahane  ; 
hear  us,  Anthropos? 

Song :  And  then  enter  Time  and  Fiuttu, 

Hon.  Away!  we  are  betniy*d. 

[Exeunt  all  hut  Pef9^ 

Time.  Get  thou  toe  after. 
Thou  needy  bare  companion !  go  for  ever. 
For  ever,  I  conjure  thee.    Make  no  anawerf 

[Exit  Fm. 

Anth.  What  raak'st  thon  here.  Time?  tbou 

that  to  this  minute 
Never  stood  still  by  me? 

Time.  I've  brought  thee  succonr; 
And  now,  citch  hold,  I*m  tliine :  the  god  of 

riches 
CCompeird  by  him  that  saw  thy  miseriesy. 
The  ever-jast  and  wakeful  Jove)  at  lengUi 
Is  come  unto  thee ;  use  him  as  thine  own ; 
For  'tis  the  doom  of  Heav  n,  he  must  obe/ 

Anih.  Hare  I  found  nity  then?         [thee. 

Time.  Thou  hast,  ana  justice 
Against  those  false  seducers  of  thine  hononr. 
Come,  give  liim  present  helps !    [Exit  Tine. 

Industry  and  the  Arts  disaroered. 

Flatus.  Come,  Industry, 
Tliou  friend  of  life !  and  next  to  thee,  riae^ 

Labour!         [Flutus  Hamps,  Labour  riaeu 
Rise  presently;  and  now  to  your  employ- 
ments! 
But  first  conduct  this  mortal  to  tlie  rock. 

[They  carry  Anthropos  to  a  rocft,  amdf 
fall  a-digging. 
What  sec'st  thou  now  f 

[Plutus  strikes  the  rocky  andjUmtesfy  ami. 

Anth.  A  glorious  mine  of  metal. 
Oh,  Jupiter,  my  thanks! 

P/n/efs.'lo  iue  a  httle. 

Anth.  Andtothegodofwealtli,mysacriiSce! 

Flutus.  Nay,  then  I  am  rewarded.    Take 

heed  nowy  son. 
You  are  afloat  again,  lest  Mundus  catch  yon  ! 

Anth.  Never  betray  ine  more! 

Flutus.  I  must  to  India,  [lies  bnried, 
Fromwliencel  came,  where  my  main  wealth 
And  these  must  with  me.    Take  that  book 

and  mattock^, 
And,  by  those,  know  to  live  again ! 

[£rfttn^  Flutus,  Indsfxtry,  Labaur,  Ac. 

J»M.  1  shall  do. 


^  Crown  thy  mind 

With  that  above  the  vorl^s  wealth,  joyful  suffering.]  I  read 

With  tliat's  above 

t.  e.  with  that  which  is  above  the  world's  wealth,  joyful  suffering.    It  might  be  still  belter 
English  to  say. 

With  what's  above  the  world's  wealth, 
but  tlie  other  expression  is  very  frequent  with  our  authors.        Seward. 
The  old  text  is  best,  and  most  poetical. 

^  T'ake  that  book  and  mattock.]  Mr.  Sympson  would  read  hook  and  nuUtoeky  as  die  tw* 
emblems  of  industry;  but  knowledge  and  virtue  beine  as  necessary  to  Anthropmn  indiiflcr|^ 
I  ttaUerstaad  book  as  an  emblem  of  theui.        Seward. 

Enttr 


FOUR  PLAYS,  OR  MORAL  REPRESENTATIONS,  IN  ONE. 


eoT 


Enter  Tame^  Bounding, 

Fame.  Thro'  all  the  worid  the  fortone  of 

great  Antliropos 
Be  known  and  wondered  at ;  bis  riches  envied, 
As  far  wi  suu  or  time  is;  his  power  feared 

too !  \ExeunL 

[Munck. 

Enter  Delight,  Pleasure,  Craft,  Lucre, 
Vanity y  Spe.  dancing  (andmatgued)  t<mards 
the  rock,  offering  termce  to  Anthropm, 
Mercury  from  abooe,  Mutick  heard.  One 
half  of  a  cloud  drawn,  iingen  are  dit" 
covered;  then  the  other  half  drawn.  Jupiter 
,$een  in  glory. 

Merc,  Take  heed,  weak  man!  those  are 

the  sins  that  sunk  thee;  fJupiter. 

Trust 'em  no  more :  kneel,  and  give  thaxiks  to 

Anth,  Oh,  mighty  power ! 

Jup,  Unmask,  ye  gilded  poisons!— 
Now  look  upon  'em,  son  of  Earth,  and 

shame  'em ; 
t*low  see  the  faces  of  thy  evil  angels; 
Lead  'enK  to  Time,    and  let  'em  fill  his 

triumph!' 
Their  memories  be  here  foreot  for  ever 

Anth,  Oh,  just,  great  god!  how  many  lives 

of  service, 


What  i^ies  only  given  to  thine  honour, 
What  infinities  of  vows  and  holy  prayers 
Can  pay  my  thanks  ? 

Jup,  Rise  up !  and,  to  assure  diee 
That  never  more  thou  siialt  feel  want;  strike 

Mercury, 
Strike  him ;  and  by  that  stroke  he  shall  for  ever 
Live  in  that  rock  of  gold,  and  stiO  enjoy  it. 
Be't  done,  I  say!  Now  sing  in  honour  of 

him.  [Song. 

Enter  the  Triunfh.  lUtt,  the  Muueians: 
then  Vam-'Dehght,Pleamire,  Craft,  Lucre, 
Vanity,  and  other  rf  the  vices:  then  « 
chariot  with  the  person  cf  Tme  sitting  w 
it,  drawn  fy  four  persons,  representing 
Hours,  singing,  [ExeunS.    FlouritS. 

Eman,  By  this  we  aoCe,  sweetheart,  a« 
kings  and  princes,  -^ 

'  A  weakness,  even  in  spite  of  all  their  wisdonu^ 
i  And  often  to  be  master'd  by  abuses. 
Our  nature's  here  describ'd  too,  and  what 

humours 
Prevail  above  our  reasons  to  undo  as: 
But  this  the  last  and  best:  when  no  friend 

stands. 
The  gods  are  merciful,  and  lend  thor  hands. 
IFlourisk.    Exeunt. 


EPILOGUE. 


Now  as  the  hQsbandman,whose  costs  and  pain, 
'Whose  hopes  and  helps,  lie  buried  in  his  grain, 
Waiting  a  happy  spnng  to  ripen  full 
His  long*d-for  harvest  to  the  reaper's  pull, 
Stand  we  expecting  (having  sown  our  ground 
With  so  much  cliaiige,  the  fruitfulness  not 
found) 


The  harvest  of  our  labours:  for  me  know 
You  are  our  sprmg;  and  when  yon  mile  w« 

grow. 
Nor  cliniige  nor  pain  shall  bind  ns  from  yoor 

pleasures. 
So  you  bat  lend  your  bands  to  fill  cor  i 

sures! 


END  OF  THE  THIRD  VOWME. 


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