Ri. Tis so, she dreames. What strange Chimeras wee Doe fancie in our sleepe! I were best wake her. Madam, Madam!
La. O Murder, Murder!
Ri. Sweet heart, Madam, wake!
La. Whoes that?
Ri. Tis I.
La. SirRichard? Oh you have delivered me From such a dreame I quake to thinke upon't.
Ri. I must confesse you frighted me at first.
Enter Dorothy.
Do.—My Master come back? if he had found the [sic] SirFrancishere!
Ri. How now? art thou frighted too?
Do. Frighted, quoth a! Oh, Madam, the key of the Closet quickly. I must have some Cordiall water for SirFrancis; I feare this fitt will kill him.
La. Alas, good gentleman! make hast.
Do.—His appearance would betray all: I thus prevent it.
La. Nay, sweet hart, you sha'not leave me till I ha toldWhat a cruell Dreame I had. Methought a kingOf Blackamores was in love with me, and haveingBy flattering Courtship drawne me to his bed chamber,With my consent or force swore to enjoy mee.I knew not by what reasons to divertThe Ravisher, but told him that I heardThy voice, and bid him if he lov'd his lifeRetire, for thou wouldst deere revenge my honour.But he pursueing me, I cry'd out Murder!At which sad noise methought I saw thee enter,But, having nere a sword, I counselld theeTo strangle him with a Lute string, for which crueltyOf mine, me thought he threw an Arrow at me,Which, if thou hadst not wak'd me as thou didst,Would as I slept with my strong feares ha killd me.
Ri. This was the King ofMorocco: well, I'me glad I came to take away thy fright.
La. But, sweet, you left me with a resolution To hunt this morning. Have you done already?
Ri. The theeves prevented me. My Stable has been rob'd to night; two geldings And my roane Nagg are vanished.
La. How?
Ri. Nay, doe not thou vexe:I have sent hue and cry that may oretake 'em.But come, Ile leave thee to my glasse,And visit SirFrancisnow shees return'd.—
[Enter Dorothy.
How does our Noble guest?
Do. Hees pretty well: he has voided one stone since And now finds ease.
Ri. Tis well: attend your Mistres. [Exit.
La. O, wench, I had almost undone my selfe, Come o'tother side, reach me that peticote; Ile tell the storie as I make me ready.
Ex[eun]t.
Enter Device, Sister.
Sis. Ist possible you can talke thus and be no travailer?
De. I have traveld in my fancie, Ladie, and with the Muses, and do for my recreation of witt compose some wonders in verse, poeticall essaies, as once upon the report of a heate that was inEgipt.
Sis. Lets heare 'em.
De.In Countreys I have beenUnder the Equinoctiall, where I have seeneThe Sunne disperse such a prodigious heatThat made our sive-like skins to raine with sweat.Men would have given for an Ecclipse their lives,Or one whisper of Aire; yet each man strivesTo throw up grasse, feathers, nay women, too,To find the wind: all falls like lead, none blew.The Dogstarre spits new fire till't came to passeEach eye became his neighbours burning glasse.Leane men did burne to ashes presentlie,Fatt men did wast to leane Anatomye;Young womens heat did gett themselves with child,For none but they themselves themselves defild;Old women naturally to witches turne,And onely rubbing one another burne.The beasts were bak'd, skin turnd to crust, they say,And fishes in the River boild away.Birds in the aire were rosted and not burn'd,For, as they fell downe, all the way they turn'd.
Sis. Most excellent!
De. I have seene Larkes in that motion at fire With an Engine of packthread perpendicular.
Sis. What would they have given for a shower in those Cuntries?
De. Now you talke of a Shower you shall heare Another coppie of Verses that I made Of a mighty raine which fell once in theIndies.
Sis. That you made? If you will venture your lungs let me heare more impossible stories to passe away the tyme.
_De.Heaven did not weepe, but in its swelling eyeWhole Seas of Rhume and moist Catarrs did lie,Which so bespauld the lower world, men seeCorne blasted and the fruit of every tree;Aire was condenst to water gainst their wish,And all their foule was turn'd to flying Fish;Like watermen they throng'd to ply a fare,As though it had been navigable Aire.Beasts lost the naturall motion of each limbe,Forgott to goe with practiseing to swime:A trout now here you would not thinke how sooneTaken and drest for th'Emperour o'the Moone,The fixed Starres, though to our eyes were missingWee knew yet were by their continuall hissing.Weomen were mermaides sailing with the wind,The greatest miracle was fish behind:But men were all kept chast against their wish,And could comitt but the cold sin of fish.
Sis. And that synne would puzzle all the Civell Lawyers in the kingdome. Sinns of the flesh they are perfect in; they know well enough what belongs to Adultery and simple fornication, but you would much improve and oblige the practise of the Court, if you could bring this sinne of fish under the Commission. But now, I hope, the raine is over we shall have faire weather.
De. Now I can tell you, Lady, what a strange frost was in one part of the world—
Sis. I shall cry out fire if you doe; I had rather have some discourse to keepe me warm still.
De. Or how the whole world was troubled with the wind Collick.
Sis. No more Earthquakes, I beseech you. Some frends of myne lost a great deale of land the last terme, and for ought I know tis never like to be recover'd. Why, all these verses you have honourd me to heare were translated out ofFrench.
De. You say very right, Lady.
Sis. No, no; they are out ofSpanish, as I remember.
De. I thinke it be out ofSpanish, indeed.
Sis. Or else theItalian.
De. Troth, I know not which very well.
Sis. And yet you made 'em! Some gentlemen have the faculty to make verses and forgett what language was the Originall: tis Alamode, I confesse, sir.
De. Thers the mischiefe in poetry: a man might have told 200 lies in prose upon his owne name, and never miscaried.—But, leaving these rude rymes, Ladie, how do you like the novice that SirRichardcomended.
Sis. Mr.Courtwell?
De. Is he not a pretty Chrisome[249]? I could not choose but laugh to observe in what rurall deportment he came to salute you, that should have made his address in theis postures.
Sis. Tis enough, sir; I apprehend what you would doe. The truth is, touching that thing in black, I doe not love him.
De. I know't; tis impossible.
Sis. Why is't impossible? The man's a pretty indifferent meaning man, but I must have one of a more active spiritt. No, no, the man's a Coward.
De. He lookes like one.
Sis. I put him to't, he dares not fight; and he that expects my favour to so high a degree as marriage must be none of my lord Maiors whifflers[250]; he must be valiant in Armes. I am not taken with a ring or Caskanet, as some avaritious Ladies; he that presents me with the sword of his rivall is more welcome then all the silken soft natur'd six hundreds a yeere, that will be baffeld in their best clothes and goe downe into the Country every Vacacon like Atturneys to be beaten against next terme and get damage by it, but I forget some affaires that concerne me. I take my leave. Your deserts upon me are eminent and many, and for all your noble services I—will promise you nothing: you apprehend me?
De. O, sweet Lady, tis too much.
Sis. I am so weary I can stay no longer w'ee. [Exit.
De. You make mee over happie.—So, so; the matters done. I may write my friends. Hum: well thought upon! I shall leave her joyes without any bound to entertaine me if I first beat this foolish rivall of mine and present her with his sword. She assures me he dares not fight: it shall be so. Thus with one baffling and disarming him I shall secure my Mistresse and get the reputation of a fighting Cavallier, which may save me many a knock hereafter among men of strong faith that shall heare how much honour I have elsewhere taken upon the ticket.
Enter Captaine and Underwit.
Un. Stand right to your files, make even your rankes, silence! Front to the right hand. As you were. To the right hand about. By the left hand. As you were. Rankes to the right double. Rankes as you were. Rankes to the left double. Midlemen to the right hand double the front; as you were,—to the left, —double the front; middle-men to the right entire [or[251] by division] double the front; files to the right,—to the left,—to the right hand countermarch,—to the right,—to the left,—wheele about—
Cap. Ran tan: enough,—you must not wast your lungesToo much at once. March faire and make a Captaine.When these words of Command are rotten (rooted?) weeWill sowe some other military seeds.You beare[252] a braine and memory.
Un. I hope so.
[Cap.[253]] And now you are chose a Captaine for your CountreyYou must give good example to your SoldiersAnd cherish nature after exercise:You must drinke sack, sack is a fortifier.Come, wee'le to the taverne.
Un. With all my heart.
[Enter Mr. Courtwell.
Here's Mr.Courtwell: lett's take him with us.
Cap. My costive Countrey man? hee's an Anabaptist: he wonot drinke, and yet kist the Cupp of last night, me thought, when his Mistres— drank to him: wee'le try. How ist, my man of mortall breeding?
Cou. My man of warre, trebonn.—Your servant, Captaine.
Cap. Why, this was spoke like one of us; canst doo'tAgen? thy voice is more authentick, soundesAs I have heard a Cavalliers in taverne,Or like the merry master of theDragon,SmallNeptune, that controlls the rich Canaries,When he Comaunds the Tritons of his cellar'Skud, and bring wine, you varlotts, with a flavourFor my Nobilitie.' Wee were conspiringTo goe to'th taverne.
Cou. Ile make one, gentlemen, to wash away some melancholy.
Cap. Spoke boldlie, like anArgonaute.
Cou. I am not now inLondon,Upon a hall day marching with the puisnes,Twenty on's in a teame, toWestminsterIn our torne gownes, embroiderd withStranddirt,To heare the Law.
Cap. Is not thy father dead, thou talkst so well? How I was cosend in thee: come away.
Enter Thomas.
Un. Here's my manThomas.
Cap. Now the Newes, SirTristram.
Tho. Oh the Gentleman is mad.
Un. What gentleman?
Tho. Why, Mr. Engine that did faint last night.
Un. With feare of being hang'd for his projections.
Cou. My Uncle told me of him.
_Cap. Let him toBedlamthen; what makes he here? Clean straw and a good whip are held restoratives.
Tho. He walkes and talkes the madliest; twenty midwivesAre nothing to him, he drownes all their noise.His tongue is twenty ring of Bells, and yettHe seemes so merry.
Enter Engine.
En. Save you, gentlemen, gallants, Cavalliers. How farre travell you: me thinkes you are very finely accomodated. Are you a Doctor, sir?
Cap. No, but I can tell you how to purge, and please you.
En. You say very well. Troth, gentlemen you must pardon me: cry you mercy, your name is CaptaineUnderwit.
Un. Yes, sir, but my mother came of theOver-muchesby thePeake. She broke my father's hart, and SirRichardburied her: things must be as please the starres.
En. What thinke you of the blazeing starre inGermany? according toPtolmytis very strange. Does the race hold atNewmarketfor the Cup[254]? When is the Cocking, gentlemen? There are a parcell of rare Jewells to be sold now, and a man had money. I doe meane to build a very fine house next summer and fish ponds. What did you heare of the new play. I am afraid the witts are broke; there be men will make affidavit that [they] have not heard a good jest sinceTarleton[255] dyed. Pray, may I crave your name, sir?
Cou. My name isCourtwell, sir.
En. In your eare; I have a cast of the best Marlins[256] in England, but I am resolv'd to goe no more by water but in my Coach. Did you ever see the great ship?[257]
Cap. I have been one of twenty that have dind in her lanterne.
En. It may be so; she is a good sailer. But ile tell you one thing: I intend to have the best pack of hounds inEurope; Sir Richard loves the sport well. And then if I can but find out the reason of the loadstone I were happie and would writeNon Ultra.
Cap. The philosophers stone were better in my opinion. Have you no project to gett that?
Cou. That has startled him: I doubt this fellow does but counterfeit.
Un. What thinke you of the Dromedary that was to be seene at the back side[258] of theBell.
En. I have seene a stranger beast.
Cap. So have I; I have seene you before now, sir.
En. Why then, ile tell you: the strangest beast that ever I saw was an Ostridge that eate up the Iron mynes. But now you talke of birds I saw an Elephant beat a Taylor in the fenceing schoole at his owne weapon.
Tho. TheSpanishneedle?
En. He did out eat him in bread, and that was miraculous. I have seene a Catamountaine[259] once; but all was nothing to the wench that turnd round and thred needles.
Cou. Troth, sir, I thinke you have turnd round, too, and are not setled yet.
En. Now you talke of setling I knew a gentleman, that was borne to a good fortune, sold all his land, went to sea in aHollander, was taken by theDunkirke; at seaven yeares end stole away in anEnglishbotome; after that saw both theIndies; for all this was taken by aTurksman of warre, put into the Gallies, and for ought I heare by credible report is not setled yet.
Tho. Sure he is a great scholler; a man cannot understand him.
Un. His braines are out of tune.
En. Now you talke of Musick theres no man in the world loves musick better then I,—ile give you the reason: I have been deafe almost this halfe yeare, and it came with a cold sitting up a primero.
Co. Now you talke of the cold it puts me in mind of the new device of fire for brewing and bakeing. Had you no hand in the project?
Cap. Againe hees startled: come, he shall to taverne with us and confess all. If he do not strip his soule stark naked to us, say I am no fortune teller.—Please you to honour our society: we are going to indulge at the taverne hard by.
En. You shall comand me, sir. Oh the Neats tongues and partargoes that I have eaten at Stillyard, but of all things in the world I do not love a black catt: next a brewers cart, there's nothing will stay a man so much in the night as a Constables. One word before you go, and I beseech you give me your opinion cleerely: was not theMoroccoAmbasadour a very fine gentleman for a pagan?
Cap. Yes, surely, and the lead mines inDarbishirehold still for the Allom businesses. But come; will you walke, Sir?
En. I do use to goe a foote sometymes but when I ride; and then I must confesse there is no striving with the streame. You were inLondonlately: they say the people are more affected to beare baiting then in former tyme.
Cap. There are some a late are drawne like beares to the stake; but for your owne part the gout and the grand pox are all one to you. What price beare[s] meat in the shambles?
En. Flesh rises and falls as it us'd to doe, sir; but a Countrey life is the best when all's done. What thinke you of a bridg fromLionkey toFlaunders? You may guess I talke at randum, gentlemen; but you must not interpret all foolish discourse a distemper of the braine: Lords would take it for aScandalum Magnatumand your Ladies would bee angry too.
Enter Sir Francis and Lady.
Now you talke of Ladies—
Cap. By no meanes, Mr.Engin; that gentleman loves you not. Come, ile bring up the rere. Where'sThomas?
[Exeunt Underwit, Captain, Courtwell and Engine.
Tho. Ile follow, sir.—I would give my fower marks a yeare that I could talke like that mad gentleman. Hee's here and there and everywhere. How will his tongue run when his Coggs are oild; theile drench him! [Exit.
Fra. Although I mist a happines, I applaud Your nimble wit that securd both our honours. You have an excellent Instrument too o' your gentlewoman.
La. Oh she deliver'd to the life how youWere troubled with the Stone. At first I didBeleev't my selfe, and thinke of the sad consequence.But tyme is pretious now: although our StarresHave not been yet propitious to our meetingIle try my art to night to make 'em shine.With happie influence on our Loves.
Fra. Most excellent Madam, how?
La. Ile not engage Your visit to my chamber, since the first Prov'd so unfortunate, but come to youres.
Fra. This night? wonot your husband be at home.
La. Yes.
Fra. You enjoy but one bed.
La. Without witchcraft, sir,I have a stratageme to delude my husbandAnd all his jealous waking eyes, a plottThat cannot faile if you dare but expect me.
Fra. I grow immortall with my hopes and fancieMore than the worlds most pretious Empire inOur first embrace. I should runne back intoAn Infant once agen, and by degreesAnd tyme grow up to meet so vast a happines.Ages in expectation spent were pooreAnd easy sufferings weigh'd against this triumph!Methinkes I am not man but something ofA more exalted essence: humane natureHath not capacity to understandAnd owne theis spatious blessings.
La. No more rapture;But with the confidence of a lover spreadYour equall thoughts, and in your heart and armesPrepare an entertainement for that guestThat hath no life or name but what you give.A kisse! and leave our soules to thinke uponThe joyes this night attend us.
Fra. Sullen day, Do not tire now; tis downehill all the way.
[Exeunt severally.
Act the Fourth.
[Captain,[261] Underwit, Courtwell and Musicians, discovered in the Tavern.]
Capt. Come, myApollos, myOrpheusesor myBacchushis Minst[rels], which, to leave poeticall expressions, in broader phrase is Taverne fidlers, some of your new tunes, my Masters; doe you heare?
1. Do you meane Mr.Adson's[262] new ayres, Sir?
Cap. I, Sir; but they are such phantasticall ayres as it putts a Poet out of his witts to rhime to them; but let mee heare.
1Play.
Capt. No, I doe not like that.
1Play againe.
Capt. Nor that. (Play againe)—No, no, no, neither.
1. An't please your Worship, Mr.Capt., our Boyes can singe songs to these.
Cap. No, no, saveing your presence, your Boyes have nothing, sarreverence,[263] but Love songs, and I hate those monstruously, to make thinges appeare better then they are, and that is butdeceptio Visus, which after some embraceings the parties see presently what it is.The Musique Playes.
(Hee sings and reeks and fillips all the time with his finger, then sayees:)
Cap. I, I, this thumping tune I like a life; a Song, a Song to it!
_One Singes.This Song.
The Juice of Spanish squeez'd Grapes is ItThat makes a dull Braine so full of witt;The Lemonades cleere sparkling wineThe grosser witts too, doth much refine.Then to bee foxd[264] it is no crime,Since thickest and dull Braines It makes sublime.The Stillyards Reanish wine and Divells white,Who doth not in them sometimes take delight?If with Mimique Gestures you'le keep you from sadnes,Then drinke lusty Clarett twill put you in Madnes;And then to settle you no hopes in BeerBut wholesome Potts of Scotch ale though its deere.
Cap. But looke you, Child, you say the Divells white in your Song. You have beene ill catechiz'd, Boy, for aWhite Divellis but a poeticall fiction[265]; for the Divell, God bless us, Child, is blacke.
Boy. No, Captaine, I say white wine at the Divell.
Cap. That's true; thats a good Boy, indeed.Underwit, lend mee a Peice to give these harmonious men there. And now begon, my Masters, without noise, for I will have no more fiddle-faddle for my money, no tunes of supererrogation after the Musicall Bill is paid.
[Exeunt[266] omnes.
Enter Thomas.
Tho. They are all drunke already, and such Confusion in their heads and tongues, my master kisses the next man and calls him MistresDorothy; Mr.Courtwell, possest with the spiritt of defiance toCupid, is ready to beat him for being in love; my Projector dead drunk in a Chaire, and the Captaine peepeing into his mouth like a tooth drawer and powring downe sack which he feeles not, but his chapps shut againe like a spring lock till he returne with a key to open his teeth, to poure in the next health.
Enter Courtwell.
Cou. My Cloake and sword, Drawer.
Tho. Tis here, sir.
Cou. Thou art a pretty fellow; here's half a Crowne, say I am goneThomas.
Tho. You are pretty well.
Enter Captaine and Underwit.
Un. What shalls doe with him; this Engine burnes likeEtna.
Cap. Throw him into the River.
Un. Hee's able to mull theThameswell, for my owne part would MistresseDorothywere here to open her files.
Cou. Did you not name a woman. I will have no mention of any thing that's female.
Un. May not a man talke of Sack?
Cap. Sack is a soveraigne medicine.
Un. Oh very Soveraigne.
Cap. Is it nothic et hecsack, both for he and she. Stay, is my Countryman gone? come hither,Thomas; do you thinke I am drunke?
Tho. Truly, Captaine, I cannot tell.
Cap. You cannot tell? there's your ignorance. Drink is a vice I am as little given to as another man, for I doe abhorre it in my selfe. I do wonder how any reasonable man can be drunk; therefore every wise man take Counsell and example by me, and he may see very plainely what an odious thing it is; for you must follow your leader, and vertue, which is an Antient—
Tho. Vertue an Antient?
Cap. I, an Antient old gentlewoman that is growne very poore, and nobodie knowes where she dwells very hard to find her out, especially for a Capt.; you will find it very difficult for a Livetenent. But wee will endeavour the best wee can; you see my courses, I have travel'd to find her out, and I could never yet see her at a baudihouse.
Un. Who is to be seene at a baudihouse? to the right hand countermarch.
Tho. He talkes of vertue, sir.
Un. Vertue? she never comes there; why do you thinke she should be there, Captaine?
Cap. Why, because she is an old gentlewoman and might keepe the house.
Tho. Alas, Captaine, MistrisVertueis poore and leane.
Cap. Nay, then she is not fit to be a baud, but tell me did you ever see her, or if so did you ever doo't with her?
Un. No, but twas none of my fault; I know not what I may do in time when she understands the wordes of Command.
Tho. He does not meane MistrisDorothy: but, Captaine, I would faine know the reason why your baudes are so fat still.
Cap. A plaine case: they lie fallow and get hart, then they keepe themselves so in health and so soluble with stewd prunes; and then sipping of sack is a great matter to fatten 'em. But they are as good people as a man shall keepe company withall, and bring up the young gentlewomen so vertuously. I came into one of their houses tother day for a carreere, and I found the baud sick upon her death bed, very religious and much given to repentance for those poore sins she had comitted. When she had taken order for her soule, she told me the young gentlewoman I look'd for was in the next roome; and desiring her upon her blessing to give me content, she turnes herselfe to the wall and gives up the ghost very privatly, because she was loth to trouble us.
Un. By your relation theis appeare to be very good people. What if we went to visit one of these Matrons? I have a great mind—
Cap. Wy, now you speake like an understanding soldier, and one that may come to something in the end. Lett us therefore march on.
Un. March on toVenusWarres.
Cap. For you know,Thomas, that the Spider and the Bee, the Spider and the Bee, do both—something, but in troth I have forgott what tis.
Un. Tis no matter what; let us goe.
Cap. Goe? no more but goe? though I be a Captaine, if I be not chosen in this imployment—
Tho. What, then, Captaine?
Cap. Why, then—I cannot goe.
Tho. Very right; but wo' not those young gentlewomen you talk'd of give a man something to make a man afraid of pepper upon occasion?
Cap. You will be prating so long till I breake your head for pretending to that which you have not, sirra.
Tho. Alas, I never had it in my life.
Un. What's that, Captaine?
Cap. Wit, I talke of wit.
Un, Who has any wit? does my man offer to have wit?
Cap. Nay, take no offence at it, for I meant none to either of you by this sack. Drawer, give me my oath, cannot you drinke without wit? cannot you game without wit?
Un. And yet by your favour the gamesters are cald the wits now.
Cap. Tis no wit to cozen; confederacy and dishonesty will doo't without wit. Ile iustifie it: do not you know the receit of Cozenage? take an ounce of knavery at the least,—and confederacie is but so many knaves put together,—then you must take a very fine young Codling heire and pound him as small as you can.
Un. And what then, Captaine?
Cap. Why, then you must cozen him.
Un. But which way?
Cap. Which way? Why, which way you will: is not cozen him enough? thou art a pretty fellow, ile talke with thee. Thy name'sThomas; take heed, I say still,Thomas, of being drunke, for it doth drowne the mortall soule; and yours cannot swim,Thomas,—can it?
Tho. Not as I know, Captaine; if it scape fire tis as much as I looke for.
Within Eng. Oh—oh—
Cap. What's that?
Tho. Tis Mr.Enginerecovered from his dead sleepe. [Exit.
Un. D'ee heare, Captaine, for all this I have a great mind to a wench, and a wench I must have if there be one above ground. OhLondon, London, thou art full of frank tenements, give meLondon. Shall we wheele about yet?
Cap. Give youLondon? Wo'nottCheapesideserve your turne, or theExchange?
Enter Thomas.
Tho. Oh, gentlemen, Mr.Engineis surely bewitch'd.
Cap. What, what's the matter? bring the witch and Mr.Enginebefore us.
Tho. He does vomit the strangest things yonder.
Cap. Did not I say, murder will out?
Tho. I thinke he has eaten and drunke nothing but Monopolies, and too hard to be digested they come up againe.
Within Eng. Oh!
Tho. Harke, I must hold his head. [Exit.
Cap. Did not I tell you something would come out?
Tho. Pins, pins, they lay across his throat. I told you he was bewitch'd. Heyday! cards and dice, out with 'em, the Divells a gamester and paies the box soundly—Now, now, now.
Un. Whats that?
Tho. Tis something clammy,—now,—oh, tis sope!
Cap. Sope? give a man leave to wash his mouth.
Un. Does not the lyme burne his throat,Thomas?
Tho. Alas, poore gentleman, something now agen is ready to strangle him; out with em,—hides, hides,—it was the hornes stuck in his gullett.
Within. Oh—
Tho. Well straind; what a foule stomack he has! open your mouth, Mr.Engine.
Cap. Throw downe a pottlepot.
Tho. I have, sir, and it has come up full of medium wine; if you have any charity come and helpe me to hold his head; now agen!
Within. Oh, oh, oh!
Un. This is very strange, Captaine; the man is certainely enchanted.
Tho. Master, master, tisShrovetuesday[267] and the prentices are pulling downeCovent Garden; the Brickes come as whole out as if he had swallowed Cherristones. Hey! will you take Tobacco in the Roll? here is a whole shiplading ofBermudasand one little twopenny paper of berrinas, with a superscription 'To my very loving friends the Custome-house.'
Cap. Put up that for a relique,Thomas, and open it upon high dayes to clear the sore eyes of ourSpanishMarchants.Thomas, no more, but call the Drawer, an understanding Drawer and one that writes orthographie.
[Enter Drawer.
—Sirra, I charge you set a padlock upon that Chamber doore; there is a dangerous fellow must be brought to his purgation. And looke all the goods that he hath vomitted be forthcomeing, while we discreetly goe and enforme the Magistrates.—At your perill, sirra, at your perill seale up the Doore; and do you pay the reckoninge.
Un. SirRichardis a Justice. There's your money, and yet wee need not pay; the gentleman hath left enough for the Reckoning in the next Roome.
Un. I ha made him fast, you are very welcome, gentlemen. All's paid in the Percullis.
[Exeunt.
Enter Courtwell and Sister.
Sis. Ile walke no further; if you have a secretTo impart, you need not feare this place; the treesAnd hedges will not listen. What's the business?I hope your phlegmatick stock of verse is spent.
Cou. Why then in prose, the worst that I can speake in, I doe not love you, Lady.
Sis. How? you ha not Traind me thus farr to tell me that?
Cou. You areOf all your sex the poorest emptiest trifle,And one with whome tis most impossibleI ere should change Affection; theres nothingTo invite me too't, not so much as thatWee call a seeming reason, upon whichAll Love is built, seeming, I say, not it,My understanding Ladie.
Sis. You thinke I am very dull that you expoundYour witt thus, but it needes no Comentator,Not by the Author, tis so very plaine;But to despise me most of all the sexeIs something oversaid. Though I affectNo flattery, I hate uncivill Language.You do not meane to quarrell, now you haveBetraid me to the feilds, and beat me, Sir?
Cou. What is there in your face more to attract meeThen that Red Cowes complexion? Why the DivellDo you thinke I should dote upon your person?That thing when she is stroak'd gives milke.
Sis. By thatI understand all this revenge, becauseYou thinke I did neglect you. Pray, sir, tell me,And tell me seriouslie, put the Case that IShould love you now, could not you love agen?
Cou. In troth I thinke I could not.
Sis. You do but thinke.
Cou. Nay, ile bind it with an oath before the parish, And when I have given my reasons, too, the Clarke Shall praise me fort and say Amen.
Sis. What reasons?
Cou. I shall be very loathTo say your eyes are twinckling Starres agen,Your lipps twin cherries and out blush the rubie,Your azure veines vye beauty with the SaphireOr that your swelling breasts are hills of Ivory,Pillowes for Jove to rest his amorous head,When my owne Conscience tells me thatBunhillIs worth a hundred on 'em, and butHigateCompar'd with 'em is Paradice. I thanke you;Ile not be vext and squeez'd about a rimeOr in a verse that's blanke, as I must be,Whine love unto[268] a tune.
Sis. This all your feare?
Cou. No, I doe feare to loose my tyme, my businesse, And my witts too, jolting them all away To waite on you in prouder Coaches.
Sis. Is this all?
Cou. To spend my selfe to nothing and be laugh'd atBy all the world when I shall come at lastTo this reward for all my services,To bee your lay Court Chaplaine and say gravelyA hastie grace before your windowes breakfast.
Sis. But howCame you thus cur'd? You were a passionate(I may say) foole, in hope you will deserve it.What phisick tooke you that hath thus restor'd you?
Cou. A little sack had power to cure this madnes.
Sis. I hope you are not sober yet, the humour May change when you ha slept.
Cou. Ile rather stick My Eyelids up with Sisters[269] thread and stare Perpetually.
Sis. Then you may see me agen.
Cou. I thinke I sha'not, unless it be to wonder,When you are in the Ivie bush, that faceCut upon Tafata, that creame and prunes,So many plums in white broth, that scutcheon ofPretence powderd with ermines. Now I looke upon't,With those black patches it does put me in mindOf a white soule with sinns upon't, and frights me.How sell you grapes? Your haire[270] does curle in bunches;You[r] lipps looke like the parsons glebe, full ofRed, blew and yellow flowers; how they are choptAnd looke like trenches made to draine the meadowe.
Sis. This rudenes Is beyond the manners of a gentleman.
Cou. I cannot helpe it, and I hope you thinke so.
Sis. I am confirm'd that now I am forsaken, But if your passion have not drownd all reason I pray let us part civilly.
Cou. With all my heart; I dare then take my leave, to[o].
Sis. Whoe's there?
Cou. Where?
Sis. Behind that tree?
Cou. You have no plott to accuse me for a rape? Twas at the worst but felony, for cherries That look'd as they had been a fortnight gather'd.
Sis. I know youle bring me home in Curtesie.
Cou. Not I, I wo' not trust my selfe; and you Will hardly meet a worse to interrupt you. Fare you well, Ladie.—Do you see that Bull?
Sis. Yes, Sir.
Cou. That is a happie beast
Sis. Why happie, sir?
Cou. He writes no verses to his Mistresse, isNot cosend nor forsworne to gett her favour,Bestowes no rings nor empties his ExchequerTo appear still in new rich suites, but livesFree o' the stock of Nature, yet loves none.Like the greatTurkehe walkes in his Seraglio,And doth command which concubine best pleases;When he has done he falls to graze or sleepe,And makes as he had never knowne the Dun,White, Red or Brindled Cowe.
Sis. You are unmanly.
Cou. Nay, I know you will raile now; I shall like it.Call me a scurvy fellow, proud and saucie,An ill bred, crooked Clowne; ile here this ratherThen live upon your pitty. And yet doe not;For, if you raile, too, men that know you canDissemble, may beleeve you love me, andTis not my ayme.
Sis. You are a fine man!
Cou. I am in my best clothes?
Sis. I perceave That tis truth now what the world saies of you, And yet tis strange.
Cou. 'Twere strange it should be otherwise.
Sis. You give your tongue a licence, nor will I hopeYour malice should spare me abroad that haveSo prodigally abus'd a Ladies fameThat deserv'd nobly from you; but you menCare not whose name you blast with a loose character,So you maintaine your pride of talke.
Cou. Howe's this?It is confess'd I have talk'd in my tymeAnd talk'd too much, but not too much of you;For I but seldome thought of such a woman:For any other—
Sis. Nay, sir, I am satisfied; You can talke your pleasure.
Cou. Have I not done it, too?
Sis. Yes, by your own report, and with a lady So much in vertue and in birth above you; And therefore I expect not—
Cou. Stay; this moves me.I never tooke a pleasure yet to lieWith Ladies fames, or ever thought that sportLay in the tongue. Such humours are for menThat live by brothell offices: let me knowWho hath traduc'd me to you thus, he shallBe knowne no more.
Sis. Ile not be guiltie, sir,Of any murder; when we meet agen,And you in better humour, I may tell you.So farewell,Gondarino,[271] nothing's lostWhen you turneWoman Hater. [Exit.
Cou. She has vext me. If we make Matrimony after this rate, The Divell is like to dance at our wedding. Ho!
Enter Device.
De. Hee's here,Alone too, and the place most opportune.How shall I beginne?—Mr.Courtwell, do you loveAny friend of mine?
Cou. Not to my knowledge, Sir; I should be sorry.
De. Do not you love a gentlewoman?
Cou. If she be a friend of yours ile take the first Occasion to neglect her for your sake.
De. It will become your wisdome and your safety.
Cou. What mischiefe have done to your face?
De. My face?
Cou. You looke so scurvily; come hither, thouNew Monster, with more feet then a Caterpiller;What tyme a day ist? you that move uponSo many wheeles, say, Monsier, are you notA walkeing Clock? I have a mighty mindTo see you tooke a peeces.
De. I doe not like this.— You wo'not put me, sir, together againe.
Cou. I wo'not take the paines. Why do you smile now?
De. At your conceite to thinke I was a Clock: I am a watch, I never strike.—Hee's valiant.
Cou. You have pretty colours there; are these your Mistresses?
De. If you did know the mistery you would applaud 'em. Have you readLivre de blason? What meane you?
Cou. I will bestow 'em, sir, upon some forehorse? They will become a countrey teame rarely.
De. Mor bleu!Why, you dare fight, it seemes, and I was toldYou were no Cavellier, a very dreame [droane?]A wedg for men to breake their swords upon.I shall never trust fame agen for your sake.
Cou. Thou never cosendst me.
De. I was never so illiterate in man.
Cou. For I did ever thinke thou durst not fenceBut at a complement; a glittering vapour,A thing of clothes and fitt for chambermaidesTo whet their witts upon, but now resolveEither to have your skin flead of or fight wo' meFor troubling my present meditations.
De. Why, sir, if you be serious I shall quitThat prejudice you have upon my valour.Looke you, sir, I can draw, and thus provok'dI dare chastise you, too. Cause I was merryI was not bound to feed your spleen eternallyWith laughter; yet I am not ignorantWhat an advantage, sir, your weapon gives youIn length.
Cou. Wee'le change; why, this is honour in thee.
[They measure and Device getts both weapons.
De. Now, sir, keepe of.
Cou. Th'art not so base?
De. I never cosen'd you, do you remember? These two will guide me on the rope.
Cou. You meane to dance, then?
De. Yes, the Canaries,[272] but with quicker tyme Then you, I hope, can follow: thus I begin. Fa, la, la, &c. [Excurrit.
Cou. What a heathen Coward's this? how the rogue tripps like a fairie to the towne with 'em! He has been a footman, sure; I have not aire enough to overtake him, and twill be darke presently. If I loose the sight on him ile search the towne, and if I find him not there, pursue him with hue and cries and after hang him.
[Exit.
Enter Sir Francis, a taper prepar'd.
Fra. The sun whose busie eye is still employ'dA spie upon our actions, tir'd with waiting,Is drowsie gone to bed, about whose pillowNight hath hung all her wings and set up tapersAs if the Day were timerous like a ChildAnd must have lights to sleepe by. Welcome allThe houres that governe pleasure, but be slowWhen you have blest me with my wishes. TimeAnd Love should dwell like twins; make this your bowerAnd charme the aire to sweetnes and to silence.Favour me now and you shall change your states;Time shall be old no more, I will contractWith Destiny, if he will spare his wingesTo give him youth and beauty, that we mayFind every minute a fresh child of pleasure.Love shall be proud to be no more a boyBut grow to perfect strength and bold consistence[273];For when too Active Lovers meet, so happieAs wee, whose equall flames light to embraces,Twill be no weight to number many yearesIn our delights and thinke all age a blessing.But language is to narrow to expresseWhat I expect, tis fitt my soule retireTill she present her selfe; and, if it canMeasure my hop'd for ioyes with thought, prepareTo entertaine the happines.
[Exit.
Sir Richard and his Lady abed. Enter Dorothy with a Light.
Do. I have set already my designe a moveingTo take my CaptaineUnderwit, who in wineWas late more feirie upon me. I'th meane tymeI cannot choose but laugh at the deviceWee have to cheat my Master; sure the DivellIs a great friend to women that love men,He doth so furnish us with quaint inventions.Presently after supper she beganHer fitt othe toothach, and did counterfeitSo naturally; but since she went to bedShe almost rav'd by turnes:—I heare her at it.
La. Oh—oh, whoe's there?
Do. Tis I forsooth, I heard you groane and I Have not the hart to sleepe. Shall I watch by you?
_La. Oh, no, no, no; get you to bed, make fast the Chamber; I cannot endure the candle.
[Dorothy towards the dore putts out the Candle and returnes.
Ri. Deare hart be patient.
La. I, you have your homilies of patience, but if you had my paine twould make you wild. Oh!
Ri. Ile send for thefrenchtoothdrawer in the morning.
La. Oh, there is no rack nor torture like it. What shall I do? I shall never sleepe agen.
Ri. Which tooth ist?
Do.—The sweet one you may be sure which troubles her.
La. This, this, O that there.
Ri. They are happie that are old and have no teeth.
La. Oh, take heed, now it shoots up to my head.
Ri. Thou dost make my head ake with the noise.
La. If you knew what I suffer your head would ake indeed. I must rise and walke in the Chamber; there is no remedy.
Ri. You will catch more cold.
La. Oh, no, no, deere life, do not crosse me; and you were in my torment you would rise and trie any thing for a little ease. It cannot be worse; the paine sure came with a cold, and who knowes but an other cold may cure me.
Ri. I prethe come to bed agen.
La. So, so, do not troble me; I am now in some little ease; its a heavenly thing to be goeing.
Ri. Dost heare?
La. Your noise will bring my paine back agen; if you knew what a vexation it were for me to speake, You wo'not put me too't so. If you doe talke I wo'not answere a word more, oh!
Ri. Well by this no light ile toLondontomorrow.
[She takes Dorothy by the hand and exit.
Now do I see it is possible that a womans teeth should be as troublesome as her tongue.
Do. Oh, oh!
Ri. I cannot choose but pitty her, that any woman should hold so much paine in a hollow tooth.
Do.—If my Mr. touched with so much compassion should rise and force me to bed with him, I must not cry out a rape; tis at the worst on my side but fornication in my owne defence.
Ri. I prethe come to Bed.
Do. Oh, oh, oh!
Ri. The musick at a convocation of Catts upon a witches upsetting is the spheres to this Catterwalling. I will thrust my head into the pillow, asDametas[274] did in a bush when the beare was a comeing, and then I shanot heare her.
Do. Oh, this is a kind of Purgatory for sins of the flesh. If she should fall asleepe with the tother knight it is not possible I should hold out till morning; that which would fright away an Ague would put me into a feare, I shall ha the toothache indeed with counterfeiting; I have knowne some men caught the stammers so; my gums begin to murmure, there is a feare all over my flesh, she will stay so long, and then—-
Ri. coughs.—Uh, uh!
Do. Oh, oh!—Ile shift places to shew more distraction; at the worst my noise shall be within his reach; it may give her notice to returne too. [Exit.
Sir Francis a sleepe; a table, inke, and paper. Enter Lady.
La. I am full of feares, and my owne motion frights me;This furious love is a strange pilot. Sir,Where are you? ha! asleepe! can any dulnesThat is not Death possess a gentleman,So valiant in desires, when he expectsTo meete his Mistresse? How I blush to raise him!Was I not worth thy waking expectation?Farewell; yet something that [like?] a charme that's fastnedTo my poore hart restraines me. Inke and paper!Ile leave him a short monument of this shameAnd my neglected Love. [Writes.He knowes my hand: farwell, forgetfull Lover.[Exit.
Fra. What? have I slept? some witchcraft did betrayMy eyes to so much darkenes; yet my dreameWas full of rapture, such as I with allMy wakeing sence would flie to meet. Me thoughtI saw a thousand Cupids slide from heaven,And landing here made this their scene of revells,Clapping their golden feathers which kept tymeWhile their owne feet strook musike to their dance,As they had trod and touched so many Lutes.This done, within a Cloud formd like a Throne,She to whom love had consecrate this night,My Mistresse, did descend and, comeing toward me,My soule that ever wakes, angrie to seeMy body made a prisoner and so mock'd,Shook of the chaines of sleepe, least I should looseEssentiall pleasure for a dreame. Tis happie;I will not trust my selfe with ease and silence,But walke and waite her comeing that must bless me.Forgive me, you bright starres, and do not frowneThat I have not attended as becameOne that must live by your kind influence.Not yet appeard? She did comand I shouldWith confidence expect her. Ha! what's here?This Character, was not visible before.That man's too much compos'd of phleameWill loose his Mistress for a Dreame. [Reades.Tis her's, I know't; she has been here, oh fatall!And finding me asleepe scorn'd to uncharmeMy dull and cursed silence. This distracts me:Have I so long, with so much Art and study,Labour'd this honour, and obtaind what myAmbition look'd at, her consent; and whenThe tree it selfe bowed downe its golden fruitAnd tempted me to gather, must I makeMy selfe uncapable and be guilty ofSo black, so base a forfeit? I could teareMy eyelids of, that durst let in a MistSo darke and so destroying, must I sleepeAt such a tyme that the Divell must be overWatche too! This houre hath blasted such a hopeAs the Earth never teemd with nor the springGave up in smileing blosomes to the breathOf those sweet windes that whisper from the WestA tale of triumph to the yeere. I couldDissolve with curseing of my Lathargie.How shall I looke upon her face whose loveAnd bold adventure I have thus rewarded?But passion cannot cure my wound; which mustBleed till I see her, and then either cease,Blest by her pardon, or dismiss a life(Though iust) too poore a Sacrifice for her anger.Where shall I hide my selfe and shame for ever!
[Exit.
The Fifth Act.
Enter Sister.
Sis. I cannot forgett my carelesse gentleman: his neglect and reproaches have wrought strangely upon me.—Hee's here.
Enter Courtwell.
Cou. Is there not a weesill crept into your Chamber, lady?
Sis. A weesill, sir?
Cou. A Mounsier sucklegge.
Sis. Do you take my Chamber for a henns neast?
Cou. There is a thing that calls himselfeDevice,One that will break the hart of a post horseTo continue a hand gallop with him; your Alamode,Your fighting faery feather'd footed servant,—When saw you him?
Sis. My fighting servant? has he beaten you, sir? Perhapps he thought you were his Rivall; surely I saw him not since yesterday.
Cou. Bu'y, Ladie.— How many mile ist to the next Cutlers? The rogue has pawn'd or sold my sword. [Offers to go forth.
Sis. Dee heare, sir? I can tell you now what Lady twas you did Abuse so.
Cou. I abuse a Ladie! tell me the slave Reported it. I hope twill prove this Mounsieur. If ere we meet agen! Who wast?
Sis. Upon condition, sir, you will requite me But with one gentle favour.
Cou. Any thing—
Sis. You must sitt downe and heare me then while I At a distance thus deliver—
Cou. Tis more state.
Sis. I am most unfortunate.
Cou. In what, deare Damsell?
Sis. And much wrongd by a gentleman I lov'd.
Cou. Can he be a gentleman that dares Wrong so much love and beauty? what's the offence?
Sis. He wo'not love agen.
Cou. And you would have The stubborne man corrected?
Sis. I would be Revengd if I knew how, and honour him Should do me Justice.
Cou. Name the man; Ile doot.
Sis. I cannot.
Cou. How?
Sis. Yet turne your face: alas, it is yourselfe. I have your word to punish him.
Cou. Sweet Ladie,I am well acquainted with the worthy gentleman,But will not kill nor strike him, for I knowHe has just reason not to love you—youOf all your sex; he told me so.
Sis. His reason?
Cou. Was in these wordes; suppose you hear him speak it;Now do you sit—Lady, when I consider you,The perfect frame of what we can call hansome,With all your attributes of soule and body,Where no addition or detraction canByCupidsnicer Crittick find a fault,OrMercurywith your eternall flame;And then consider what a thing I amTo this high Character of you, so low,So lost to noble merits, I despaireTo love a Mistresse cannot love agen.
Sis. This is a much dissembled Modesty.
Cou. Therefore give me the kinder Chambermaid,That will returne me love for my two peecesAnd give me back twelve pennyworth agen,Which is as much as I can well receave;So there is thirty and nyne shillings cleereGotten in Love, and much good do her too't;I thinke it very well bestow'd.
Sis. But if I thinke you worthy, and accept Your service, it destroies this other reason For your despaire. Why, I can praise you, too.
Cou. No, lett it alone I have other reasons LadyAmong my papers. But to love or to be in loveIs to be guld; that's the plaineEnglishofCupids Latine.Beside, all reverence to the calling, IHave vowd never to marry, and you knowLove may bring a Man toot at last, and thereforeMy fine Gewgaw do not abuse me.
Sis. How can I When you will neither Love nor marry me?
Cou. I was not made for a husband.
Sis. But I would make you.
Cou. I know what you would make me.
Enter Servant.
Ser. MounsierDevice, if you be alone, would present his service.
Cou. Is he come?
Sis. Sir, do me but one favour, ile recantMy Love, I wonot have so much as oneGood thought on you; I will neglect you, sir,Nay and abuse you, too, if you obscureBut for three minutes.
Cou. Ile have patience so long.
Sis. Admitt him.—I wilbe reveng'd o' somebody.— Now, Sir.
Enter Device.
De. I ha brought you a weapon, Lady.
La. Mee, what to do, Sir?
De. Tis Justice I present it to your feete Whose love arm[e]d me to vindicate your honour.
Sis. My honour?
De. This is but the first of my valour in your cause;If you affect these Monuments ile makeYou up an Armorie; meane tyme receaveMy Service with this sword: if he provoke meTo fight with him agen, Ile cut his hand ofAnd bring that wo' me to present the next.
Sis. Whose hand, deare servant?
De. He is not worth the nameing; las, this does notDeserve your knowledge. Only thinke what IDare do when your bright name is question[e]d,And I in tyme may merit to be caldThe darling of your virgin thoughts.
Sis. I pray stay.My name traduc'd? who was so impudent?Do me the grace to let me know on whomeYour valour had been exercis'd.
De. Why, the formall thingCourtwell; I would [not] call himGentleman; but that I ha baffled himYou need no other witnes but his swordWith that fine holliday hilt, Ladie.
[She shutts the Doore.
Sis. Looke you, sir, I ha made fast the Doore,Because I meane before you goe to haveA satisfaction for the base injuryYou ha done me.
De. I done you injurie!
Sis. Not that I valueCourtwell, whome you wouldPretend has been to saucy with my honour;But, cause I scorne to owne a goodnes shouldDepend upon your sword or vindication,Ile fight with you my selfe in this small vollumeAgainst your bulke in folio.
Cou. Excellent wench!
De. I was your Champion, lady.
Sis. Ide rather have no fame then heare thee name it.Thou fight for a Ladies honour and disarmeA gentleman, thou! fence before the pageantsAnd make roome for the porters, when like ElephantsThey carry once a yeare the Citty Castles,Or goe a feasting with the Drum and foot boyesTo theBankesideand save the Beares a whippingThat day thou art cudgeld for thy saucy challengingA sergeant with one eye, that was to much too.Come, Sir, I meane to have a bout with you.