This anonymous Comedy is printed, for the first time, from Harl. MS.7,650,—a small quarto of eighty-nine leaves. I have followed Halliwell(Dictionary of Old Plays) in adopting the title, CaptainUnderwit.There is no title-page to the MS.
An editor with plenty of leisure on his hands would find ample opportunities in CaptainUnderwitfor discursive comment. Sometimes I have been obliged to pass over odd phrases and out-of-the-way allusions without a line of explanation; but in the index at the end of the fourth volume I hope to settle some difficulties that at present are left standing.
The date of the play I take to be circ. 1640 or 1642. In I. 1 there is a mention of the "league atBarwickand the late expeditions," where the reference can only be to Charles I.'s march into Scotland in the spring of 1639, and to the so-called Pacification ofBerwick. Again, in III. 3, there is an allusion to the Newmarket Cup. Historians of the Turf say that Newmarket races date from 1640; but this statement is incorrect, for in Shirley'sHyde Park(V. 1),—a play licensed in 1632 and printed in 1637,—mention is made of a certain "BayTarrallthat won the Cup at Newmarket." We find also an allusion to the "great ship" (III. 3), which was built in 1637. Of Mr. Adson's "new ayres" (IV. 1) I know very little. He brought out in 1621 a volume of "Courtly Masquing Ayres," but published nothing later,—although, of course, he may have continued writing long afterwards. Hawkins and Mr. Chappell are altogether silent about Adson's achievements.
Gerard Langbaine tells us that Shirley left at his death some plays in manuscript: I have little doubt, or rather no doubt at all, that CaptainUnderwitis one of them. In the notes I have pointed out several parallelisms to passages in Shirley's plays; and occasionally we find actual repetitions, word for word. But apart from these strong proofs, it would be plain from internal evidence that the present piece is a domestic comedy of Shirley's, written in close imitation of Ben Jonson. All the characters are old acquaintances. Sir Richard Huntlove, who longs to be among his own tenants and eat his own beef in the country; his lady, who loves the pleasures of the town, balls in the Strand, and masques; Device, the fantastic gallant,—these are well-known figures in Shirley's plays. No other playwright of that day could have given us such exquisite poetry as we find in CaptainUnderwit. The briskness, too, and cleverness of the dialogue closely recall Shirley; but it must be owned that there are few plays of Shirley's written with such freedom, not to say grossness.
Act the First.
Enter Captaine Underwit and his man Thomas.
Un. Come, my manThomas, and my fathers old manThomas; reioyce, I say, and triumph: thy Master is honourable.
Tho. Then wee are all made.
Un. No, tis only I am made.
Tho. What, and please your worship?
Un. I am made a Captaine of the traind band,[214]Thomas, and this is my Commission, this very paper hath made me a Captaine.
Tho. Are you a paper Captaine, Sir? I thought more had gone to the makeing up of a Captaine.
Un. They are fooles that thinke so, provided he have the favour of the Livetenant of the County.
Tho. Which it seemes you have.
Un. The honour of it is more then the thing,Thomas, since I did not bribe the Secretarys steward or what servant else so ever hath the government of his Lordship therein.
Tho. This is very strange.
Un. Not so much as transitorie wicker bottles to his Deputy Livetenant, no fewell for his winter, no carriages for his summer, no steple sugarloaves to sweeten his neighbours at Christmas, no robbing my brave tennants of their fatt Capons or Chickens to present his worship withall,Thomas.
Tho. I cry your worship mercy, you sold him land the last terme; I had forgott that.
Un. I, that lay convenient for him. I us'd him like a gentleman and tooke litle or nothing; 'twere pitty two or three hundred acres of dirt should make friends fall out: we should have gone to fenceing schools.
Tho. How, sir?
Un. I meane toWestminsterhall, and let one another blood in Lawe.
Tho. And so the Land has parted you?
Un. Thou saist right,Thomas, it lies betweene both our houses indeed. But now I am thus dignified (I thinke that's a good word) or intituled is better, but tis all one; since I am made a Captaine—
Tho. By your owne desert and vertue.
Un. Thou art deceavd; it is by vertue of the Commission,—the Commission is enough to make any man an officer without desert;Thomas, I must thinke how to provide mee of warlike accoutrements to accomodate, which comes of Accomodo[215]:Shakespeare. The first, and the first—
Tho. No, Sir, it comes of so much money disburs'd.
Un. In troth, and it does,Thomas; but take out your table bookes and remember to bring after me into the Country, for I will goe downe with my father in law SirRichardthis morning in the Coach,—let me see—first and formost: a Buff Coate and a paire of breeches.
Tho. First and formost: Item, a Buff Coate fox and a paire of breeches of the same Cloth.
Un. A paire of bootes and spurres, and a paire of shooes without spurres.
Tho. Spurres.
Un. A paire of gray stockins, thick dapple gray stockins, with a belt, to be worne either about my shoulder or about my wast.
Tho. Wast.
Un. ALondon Dutchfelt without a band, with a feather in't.
Tho. Without a feather in't.
Un. An old fox[216] blade made atHounsloeheath, and then all the Bookes to be bought of warlike discipline, which the learned call Tacticks.
Tho. Ticktacks.[217]—If your worship would take my Counsell, considering the league atBarwick[218] and the late expeditions, wee may find some of these things in the North or else speake with some reform'd Captaine, though he bee a Catholike; and it may bee wee may have them at cheaper rates.
Un. 'Tis true, Thomas: but I must change the lynings of the breeches, for I love to bee cleanly.
Tho. So you may, Sir; and have the fowling of them yourselfe.
Un. Let me see: A leading staff—
Tho. A leaden staffe—
Un. A lead'ing staffe.
Tho.—ding staffe. Why, a Cane is a leading staffe in a Captaines hand.
Un. But I must have tassells,Thomas, and such things.
Tho. At the harnesse of the Carthorses there are tassells and Bells, too, if you will.
Un. Bells? What should I doe with em?
Tho. Ring all your companie in.
Un. Thou would'st make me a Captaine of a Morris dance. What serve the phifes and Drumms for, prethee?
Tho. But does your worship thinke you shall endure the bouncing of the Gunns? I observed you ever kept a way of at the Musters.
Un. Thou shalt therefore every morne goe a birding about the house to inure me to the report. By that tyme thou hast kild all my pigeons I shall endure the noise well enough.
Tho. But, Sir, you must have a dry Nurse, as many Captaines have. Let me see: I can hire you an old limping decayed Sergeant atBrainfordthat taught the boyes,—he that had his beard sing'd of at the last Muster: hee'le doe it bravely.
Un. What must he have?
Tho. Alas, twenty pipes[219] ofBarmudasa day, six flagons of March[220] beere, a quart of Sack in a weeke, for he scornes meate; and the kitching wench to bring the shirt to him and the only band, for Cuffs he gets none but such as his drunkennes procures him with quarrelling.
Un. No, I shall be bashfull to learne of a stranger, thou sha't goe seeke out CaptaineSackburye.
Tho. He that weares no money in his scarlett hose, and when he is drunke is infected with Counsell?
Un. The very same; you shall find him at his Lodging inFleetstreetor in the next taverne. Give him this Letter; tell him I desire his Companie this summer in the Country. He shall have a horse of mine, say:—here, give him this gold, too.
Tho. I hope it is gameing gold.
Un. He shall read warres to me and fortification.
Tho. I can teach you to build a sconce[221], sir.
Un. Beside, he is very valiant; he beate me twice when he was drunk, but, poore fellow, I ask'd him forgivenes the next day. Make hast, goodThomas, and remember all the Tacticks.
Tho. I warrant you, Sir: I know 'em well enough. [Exit.
Un. So, so; here's SirRichard.
Enter Sir Richrd Huntlove, his Ladie and Mistresse Dorothy.
Sir Rich. Me thinkes you looke more sprightly since you were made a Captaine.
Un. Oh, good SirRichard, indeed my face is the worst part about mee; and yet it will serve at the Muster.
Do. Serve! With reverence to the title, I have seene a Generall with a worse Countenance. It is a good leading face, and though you have no cut ore the nose or other visible scarre, which I doubt not but you may receave all in good tyme, it is a quarrelling face and fitt for a man of warre.
Un. I thanke you, sweet mistressDorothy: I will commend you as much when you are in the Countrey.—But doe you resolve to goe downe this morning, Sir?
Sir Rich. By all meanes: is your sister readie? bid the Coachman make hast, and have a care you leave none of your trinketts behind: after a little dialogue with my scrivenour Ile returne, and then to Coach.
Lady. But why this expedition, this posting out of towne as the Aire were infected?
Sir Rich. The[222] truth is, my sweet Ladie, we have no Exchange in the Country, no playes, no Masques, no Lord Maiors day, no gulls nor gallifoists[223]. Not so many Ladies to visit and weare out my Coach wheeles, no dainty Madams in Childbedd to set you a longing when you come home to lie in with the same fashion'd Curtaines and hangings, such curious silver Andirons, Cupbord of plate and pictures. You may goe to Church in the Countrey without a new Satten gowne, and play at penny gleeke[224] with a Justice of peaces wife and the parsons; show your white hand with but one Diamond when you carve and not be asham'd to weare your owne wedding ring with the old poesie. There are no Doctors to make you sick wife; no legends of lies brought home by yong gallants that fill my Dyning roome with fleas and new fashions, that will write verses upon the handle of your fanne and comend the education of your Monkey, which is so like their worships as they were all of one familie. I have no humour to provokeing meates; I will downe and enter into a Christian diett, Madam. There is sport in killing my owne partridge and pheasant; my Trowtes will cost me less than your Lobsters and crayfish drest with amber greece[225], and I may renew my acquaintance with mutton and bold chines of beefe; entertaine my tenants, that would pay for my housekeeping all the yeere and thanke my worship at Christmas, over and above their rents, with Turkies and Beeves of supererogation. You may guesse I have some reason to change the aire, wife, and so I leave you to prepare your selfe: You have my purpose and may expect mee. [Exit.
Lady. However he may pretend, and point at chargeWhich makes his stay unpleasant, 'tis his JelousieThat strikes him into wildnes and dislikeOf all things here: he does not use mee well.—Where is my sister?
Do. In the Closet, Madam. —I must waite upon my Ladie, sweete Captaine.
[Exeunt Lady & Dorothy.
Un. This Wench has a notable witt, if I have any Judgment: I doe not thinke but shee's in love with me. If I thought shee were not given to be with child I would examine her abilities; but these waiting women are so fruitfull, when they have a good turne from a gentleman they have not the vertue of concealment: touch a Chambermaide and take a Child, —everything workes with their soluble bodies.
Enter Monsir Device.
De. Noble Mr.Underwitt!
Un. I know not whome you meane, sir: he that comands the family in chiefe, hath been honor'd with a sword and "rise SirRichard" (who is but my father in lawe[226] to a[nd?] by a former wife): for Mr.Underwitt, whome to salute you humbled your Cloth a gold Dublet, I ken not the wight.
De. Doe not you know mee, noble Sir?
Un. Upon even tearmes I may call your name to memorie, but if you understand not my addition[227] it is honourable to forgett the best friend I have.
De. What's the mistry of this? Your addition? pray honour me to know it.
Un. He that was Mr.Underwitis made a Captaine; you may, if you please, take notice of his title.
De. I beg your mercy, noble Captaine, and congratulate your addition of honour. It was Ignorance which, I professe, made me salute you with a wrong preface. Now, Capt., I shall bee proud to march under the ensigne of your favour.
Un. FriendDevice, how does thy body? I am thy vassall; servant is for porters, watermen & lacquies, & is no witt neither. You preserve your tropes and your elegancies? What fancies doe adorne to-day? If I were a Constable I might apprehend you for suspition you had robd a pedlar. Does this thatchd cottage head hold still in fashion? What paid you for this dead mans hair? Where's your night rail[228]? The last time I saw you was inFleetstreet, when at Complement and bare to an other gentleman. I tooke him for a Barber and I thought you by the wide lynnen about your neck [to] have been under correction in the suds[229], sir.
De. Wee are govern'd by the Mode, as waters by the Moone; but there are more changes in th'one than t'other. But does your Comand extend to the Sea or the land service?
Un. I never see the Sea in my life, sir, nor intend it.
De. You are not the first Captaine that has seene no service: 'tis time lost to travell for't when a man may bee a Comander at home. I never traveld myselfe.
Un. No, Sir?
De. And yet I understand garbes, from the elevation of your pole to the most humble galosh.
Un. Can your hanches play well in these close cut breeches? they want but a pummell to distinguish 'em from Trouses[230].
De. O sir, there is a perfect geometry in these breeches; you doe not observe the morality of your fancie, nor the gentile play and poize of your Lemon, Orange or Melon: this is gentry. Why, I understand all the curiosities of the Mode to a Mathematicall point, and yet I never travaild in all my life for't.
Un. These are extraordinary parts. Alas, a Captaine has but fifty or a hundred at most to looke after, and all they have not so much witt as yourFrenchLacquey. And what need any travaile to instruct them? I can teach them their motions by word of mouth: when they come to fight, my Countrymen will retreate naturally.
Enter Ladie and her Sister.
Lady. Now in revenge could I bee rich, but thatI would not be a prisoner to my Chamber.These superstitions will make women doeStrange things sometymes.
Sis. Of whome doe you thinke he should be jealous, sister?
Lady. Of DukeEneasin the hanging.
Sis. I hope he has no suspition of my servants,That, under the pretence of formall CourtshipTo mee, should ayme at his dishonour: there'sOne that would weare my livery.
Lady.Device?Hang him, outside! no, my husband lovesHis folly and would have him the state foole,His garbes are so ridiculous.
Sis. What opinion(Still with a confidence of your cleere thoughts)Holdes he of the Knight SirFrancis Courtwell,That often visits us?
Lady. Sure a Noble one,If I may aske my Innocence; yet I findHim very amorous. O my husband loves him;He is a powerfull man at Court, whose friendshipIs worth preserving. Sister, I confesseHis nobleness and person hath prevaildWith mee to give him still the freest welcomeMy modestie and honor would permitt;But if I thought my husband had a scrupleHis visits were not honourable, IShould soone declare how much I wish his absence.
Un. Your Mistresse and my Lady; I have some Affaires require despatch, ile leave you to 'em. [Exit.
Sis. My witty servant!
Lady. Most pretious Alamode, MonsirDevice!
De. I blesse my lipps with your white handes.
Lady. You come to take your leave as knowing by instinct wee have but halfe an hour to stay.
Sis. Wee are for the Countrey as fast as yourFlandersmares will trott, sir.
De. That's a Solecisme till the Court remove;—are you afraid of the small pox?
Sis. The less the better for a gentlewoman.
De. And the greater more genty for a Cavallier. By this glove (a pretty embroidery is't not?) you must not deprive us so soone of your sweet presence. Why, there's a Ball to night in theStrandand tomorrow I had a purpose to waite upon you to the pictures; I ha' bespoke regalias[231] there, too. There will be a new play shortly, a pretty Comedy written by a profest Scholler: he scornes to take money[232] for his witt, as the Poetts doe.
Lady. He is Charitable to the Actors.
Sis. It may be their repentance enough to play it.
De. You must needs stay and give your opinion. What will become of me when you are gon, Ladie?
Lady. If your devotion catch not cold you may breath yourBarbaryand visit us, where you may be confident of your welcome.
De. I dare as soone doubt I was Christned. But pray let us visit the Exchange and take a trifle to weare for my sake before you goe. What say, Madam? my owne Coach is at dore, the lyning is very rich and the horses are very well matcht.
Lady. Alas, wee expect upon my husbands returne to take Coach imediatlie.
Sis. But if wee see you in the Countrey you will doe us an honour?
De. You invite me to my happines. I can play well o' the kittar; I thinke your musique is but course there; wee'le have a Countrey dance after supper and a song. I can talke loud to a Theorbo[233], too, and thats cald singing. Now, yee shall heare my Ballet.
Sis. Did you make a Ballet?
De. Oh I, the greatest wit lies that way now; a pittifull Complaint of the Ladies when they were banish'd the Towne[234] with their husbands to their Countrey houses, compeld to change the deere delight of Maske and Revells here for Wassail and windie bagpipes; instead of Silken Fairies tripping in the Banquetting Roome, to see the Clownes sell fish in the hall and ride the wild mare, and such Olimpicks, till the ploughman breake his Crupper, at which the Villagers and plumporidge men boile over while the Dairy maid laments the defect of his Chine and he, poore man, disabled for the trick, endeavours to stifle the noise and company with perfume of sweat instead of Rose water.
Lady. This must be our Countrey recreation, too!
Enter Sir Francis Courtwell.
De. Who is this?
Lady. 'Tis SirFrancis Courtwell; You cannot choose but know him.—This must bee A favour, Sir, to visit us at parting.
Sir Fr. I came with other expectation, Madam,Then to heare this: I could receave no newesSo unwelcome. What misfortune doth concludeThe Towne so unhappie?
Lady. 'Tis my husbands pleasure, Affrighted with some Dreame he had last night; For I can guess no other cause.
Sir Fr. Could hee Bee capable of fright and you so neere him?
De. He cannot choose but know me then.—Sir, I kisse your noble hand and shall be stellified in your knowledge.
Sir Fr. What thing's this that looks so like a race Nagg trick'd with ribbands?
Sis. He is one of my inamoratos, Sir; They call him MounsirDevice.
Sir Fr. Lady, your faire excuse.—He has, it seemes, Some confidence to prevaile upon your liking That he hath bought so many Bride laces.
Sis. You may interpret him a walking mirth.
Sir Fr. He moves upon some skrues and may be kinsman To the engine that is drawne about with Cakebread, But that his outside's brighter.
De. SirFrancis Courtwell.
Sir Fr. That's my name, Sir.
De. And myne MounsieurDevice.
Sir Fr. AFrenchmanSir?
De. No, sir; anEnglishMonsier made up by aScotchtaylor that was prentice inFrance. I shall write my greatest ambition satisfied if you please to lay your Comands upon mee.
Sir Fr. Sweet lady, I beseech you mussell your beagle; I dare not trust my selfe with his folly, and he may deserve more beating then I am willing to bestow at this tyme.
Sis. Take truce a little, servant.
Sir Fr. Will you consider, Madam, yet how much A wounded hart may suffer?
Lady. Still the old businesse;Indeede you make me blush, but I forgive youIf you will promise to sollicite thisUnwelcome cause no more.
Sir Fr. 'Tis my desire;I take no pleasure in a pilgrimage.If you instruct a nearer way, 'tis inYour will to save your eare the trouble ofMy pleading, Madam, if with one soft breathYou say I'me entertain'd; but for one smileThat speakes consent you'le make my life your servant.
Lady. My husband, Sir—
Sir Fr. Deserves not such a treasure to himselfe And starve a noble servant.
Lady. You but pleadeFor vanitie: desist, for if I could(Forgetting honour and my modestie)Allow your wild desires, it were impossibleThat wee should meete more then in thought and shadowes.
Sir Fr. If these shadowes, Madam, be but darke enough,I shall account it happines to meet you.But referr that to opportunitie,Which our kind starrs in pitty will sooner offerTo both our ioyes.
Lady. But he is very Jealous.
Sir Fr. That word assures my victorie; I neverHeard any wife accuse her husband ofOr cold neglect or Jealousie, but she hadA confirm'd thought within to trick his forehead—It is but Justice, Madam, to reward himFor his suspitious thoughts.
Lady. D'ee thinke it fitt To punish his suspition yet perswade To act the sinne he feares?
Sir Fr. Custome and nature make it less offenceIn women to comitt the deed of pleasureThen men to doubt their chastity; this flowingFrom poison'd natures, that excus'd by fraielty.Yet I have heard the way to cure the scareHas bin the deed; at truth the scruples vanish.I speake not, Madam, with a thought to sufferA foule breath whisper your white name; for heThat dares traduce it must beleeve me dead,Or my fame twisted with your honour must notHave pitty on the Accusers blood.
Device. I will attend you in the Countrey; I take my leave and kiss your ivory hand; Madam, and yours. SirFrancis, your obliged. [Exit.
Sir Fr. You bless me with this promise. —How can you, lady, suffer this impertinent Afflict you thus? [Ex. Lad.
Sis. Alas, my parrat's dead and he supplies the prattle: ith' spring and fall he will save me charge of phisick in purgeing Melancholy.
Sir Fr. If you dareAccept a servant, Ladie, upon myComends, I should present a kinsman t'eeWho sha'not want a fortune nor, I hope,A meritt to possesse your faire opinion.
Sis. You doe not say he is hansome all this while, and that's a maine consideration. I wod not have a man so tall as a Mast, that I must clyme the shroudes to kisse him, nor so much a dwarfe that I must use a multiplying glass to know the proportion of his limbes. A great man is a great house with too much garret and his head full of nothing but lumber: if he be too round agen hees only fitt to be hung upp in a Christall glasse. The truth is the man I love must please me at first sight; if he take my eye I may take more tyme to examine his talent.
Sir Fr. Do you but grace him with accesse and aske your owne fancie, Ladie, how you can affect him. Ile not despaire if he were cur'd of modesty, which is the whole fault in his behaviour; but he may passe without contempt.
Do. That modestie is a foule fault.
Enter Captaine Underwitt.
Un. Come away, Cosen; SirRichard'scome and calls for you; the Coachman is ready to mount. Noble SirRichard, because you may not loose breath, you may call me a Captaine, please you, a Captaine o' the train'd band.
Sis. 'Tis very certaine.
Sir Fr. I congratulate your title, Sir.
Un. If you come into the Countrey you shall see me doe as much with my leading staff as another.
Sir Fr. You wonot thrash your men?
Un. If I did 'tis not the first time I ha thrash'd. If I find my Souldiers tractable they shall find me but a reasonable Captaine.
Enter Sir Richard [and] Lady.
Sir Rich. SirFrancis, I am sorrie the violence of my affaires wonot let me entertaine you to my wishes. Pray honour us with your presence in the Countrey, if you can dispence with your employments, when I shall satisfie for this haste of my departure.
Sir Fr. I shall attend you, Sir, and present a kinsman of mine to this virgin Ladie: he is like to be Master of no narrow fortune. It was my busines at this tyme only to prepare his accesse.
Sir Rich. He shall have my vote for your sake, SirFrancis. Come, Madam.
Sir Fr. Ile waite upon you to the Coach and take my leave.
Un. Sweet MistresseDoritye.
[Exeunt.
Act the Second.
Enter Captaine Sackburie, reading a Letter, and Thomas.
Capt. Hum—hum—Where's the gold?
Tho. Here, Sir; one, two, three, fowre, and five.
Cap. Thou hast learnd the Cinque pace[235],Tho: is the gold weight?
Tho. I hope so, Sir.
Cap. Hum—into the Country;—thou hast a horse, too?
Tho. Not about me, Sir, but he is ready, all but brideling and sadling, at our Inne, Captaine. My master sayes you shalbe troubled with no horse but his.
Cap. Why, is he lame?
Tho. What?Truehunt, the black nag with three white feete? he lame? You meane that I ride upon my selfe.
Cap. Hum,—'make hast as you will preserve the reputation of your true friend and servant:'—so, so—Comend me to him,Thomas; I wonot faile to visit him.
Tho. You may demand the Nag, if you ask forHumfreythe Ostler, by the same token he has bin there this foure dayes and had but one peck of provender.
Cap. Enough I wonot faile, I say. Farewell, honestTom a Lincolne, farewell: comend me to the traind band.
Tho. Pray doe not fall a drinking and forgett it: bu'oy[236], noble Captaine. [Exit.
Enter Mr. Courtwell.
Cap. My expectation of the Lawz well mett!
Cou. I am glad to see you, Captaine.
Cap. Is thy sight perfect?Thy poring upon statutes and booke casesMakes me suspecte. But dost thou thinke to beeA Dominus factotum on the Bench,And be a Civill Lawyer?
Cou. You are merry.
Cap. Tis more then thou hast been this twelvemonth: th'astLost thy Complexion with too much study.Why, thou shalt be an heire and rule the rostOf halfe a shire, and thy father would but Dye once;Come to the Sizes with a band of JanisariesTo equall the Grand Signor, all thy tenants,That shall at their owne charge make themselves fineAnd march like Cavaliers with tilting feathers,Gaudy asAgamemnons[237] in the play:After whome thou, likeSt. Georgea horsebackOr the high Sheriff, shall make the Cuntrey peopleFall downe in adoration of thy CrooperAnd silver stirrup, my right worshipfull.A pox a buckram and the baggage in't!Papers defil'd with Court hand and long dashes,Or Secretarie lines that stradle moreThenFrenchmenand lesse wholsome to the Client.Is thy head to be fild with Proclamations,Rejoynders and hard words beyond theAlchemist[238]?Be ruld, and live like a fine gentlemanThat may have haukes and hounds and whores and horses,And then thou art fitt Companie.
Cou. You talke wildlie;I wou'd you saw your Errour that place allYour happinesse upon such course delights.I should degenerate too much and forfetMy education.
Cap. Education! he has gott a tune:I doe not thinke but thou wilt leave thy lawAnd exercise thy talent in composeingSome treatises against long haire and drinkingThat most unchristian weed yclipt tobacco;Preach to the puisnes[239] of the Inne sobrietie,And abstinence from shaveing of lewd BayliesThat will come shortlie to your Chamber dooresAnd there with reverence entreat your worshipsCome forth and be arrested,—precious tappoles!I wo'd not willingly despaire of thee,For thy Lands sake and cause I am thy Countreyman.One generous Vagarie, and thou wer't wise,Would breake somebodies hart within a sennight,And then th'art Lord of all. Have but the graceTo dine wo' mee at taverne and ile tellThy friends there is some hope.
Cou. My friends?
Cap. Thy father'sInEssex: if he live heele purchaseRomford;If he die sooner then the towne's our owne;Spend but an acre a day and thou maist liveTill all the world be wearie of thee. BetweeneUs two, what thincke you of a wench?
Cou. Nothing.
Cap. You meane one wench betweene us two is nothing.I know a hundred Leverets[240], things that willBound like a dancer on the rope and kiss theeInto thy naturall complexion:A sinner that shall clime thee like a squirrell.
Cou. And crack me like a Nutt. I ha no kernell To spare for her sweet tooth.
Cap. That was a metaphor: hee's not desperate!
Cou. Buoy, my deere Captaine.
Cap. Wy, farewell, Countreyman: I may live yet to witnes thy conversion. [Exit.
Enter a Footeman.
Cou. How does my uncle?
Fo. He desires presentlie To speake with you at his lodging.
Cou. Ile attend him.
[Exit.
Enter Captaine Underwit and Thomas.
Un. And hast thou been carefull of all those things I gave charge to be provided?
Tho. There is a note of the particulars.
Un. Tis very well done,Thomas.—Let me see: Imprimis—
Tho. The Captaine wonot faile to be w'ee, sir. He was not at his lodging; and inquiring at theHornetavern, I heard he had been there with two or three Cittizens that ow'd him mony.
Un. That he owde mony to.
Tho. Tis all one, I thinke, Sir; for when Captaines have not pay, the creditors may pay themselves. Here they said he did mollifie the hart of the haberdashers and dranke himselfe a little mellowe ere they parted, which gave me some hope I might find him ere night at theDivell, where indeed I fetcht him out of the fire and gave him your Letter.
Un. And the gold too?
Tho. That was the first word he read; if you did not write it in text he could not have found it out so soone. His eye was no sooner in the inside but his arme flew out with an open mouth and his very fingers cryed "give me the gold"! which presumeing to be weight he put in his hocas pocas, a little dormer under his right skirt; and so takeing his word to come downe and turning over your horse to him, with caution not to be drunk and forgett your worship, I tooke my leave and went about my Inventorie.
Un. Theis things are very right,Thomas. Let me see now the bookes of Martiall discipline.
Tho. I bought up all that I found have relation to warr and fighting.
Un. That was weldone.—Item:The Sword Salve.
Tho. This I conceiv'd to have the vertue ofAchillesspeare: if you bee hurt you need goe no further then the blade for a Surgeon.
Un. TheBuckler of Faith.
Tho. You had the sword before, Sir.
Un. ABooke of Mortification.
Tho. I, Sir, that is a kind of killing which I thought very necessary for a Captaine.
Un. Item: theGunpowder Treasonand theBooke of Cannons.
Tho. I wod not lett any shott scape mee.
Un.ShakespearesWorkes.—WhyShakespearesWorkes?
Tho. I had nothing for the pikemen before.
Un. They are plays.
Tho. Are not all your musterings in the Countrey so, Sir? Pray, read on.
Un.Bellarmines Controversiein six tomes.
Tho. That I took upon the Stationers word, who had been a pretty Schollar at Paules; for the wordBellarmine, he said, did comprehend warr, weapons and words of defiance. Ill words provoke men to draw their sword, and fighting makes an end of the busines; and all this is controversy. Pray, goe on, Sir.
Un. Two paire of Tables.—Tables for what?
Tho. Oh, sir, for ticktack. You know it was in my note, which though I doubted at first, yet considering you were newly made a Cap: I conceiv'd it was fitt you should learne to sett and or[d]er your men.
Un. Tacticks, man: thou didst mistake, they are bookes of warre.
Tho. You cannot know these from bookes as they are painted, I warrant you.
Un. Why, dost thou thinke theis will make a Souldier?
Tho. Not of themselves, Sir, and therefore I provided: please you read on, Sir.
Un.Parsons ResolutionsandFelthams Resolves[241].
Tho. All is nothing I knew, Sir, without resolution.
Un. Summa totalis three and twenty poundes nyneteene shillings and sevenpence.—Thou hast undone mee.
Tho. If you doe not like the pennyworths tis but the charges of my selfe and a horse agen toLondon. I will lose but the three odd pounds 19s and 7d: it may be you doe not understand these Authors: when the Captaine comes he will expound 'em to you.
Un. What a Coxcombe have I to my man! but I dare not be angry with him. Well, carry 'em into my study,Thomas.
[Ext. Tho.
Enter Device.
De. Most honor'd Captaine.
Un. My compleat MonsierDevice, this is a grace to us. You come to visit your Mistres my Cosen. As if by instinct she had knowledge of your [Enter Ladie and Sister, & Dorothy. approach, she is come to meet you.—Shall I never get opportunitie with that shee waiter! If I gett her with Child my manThomasshall marry her.
Enter Thomas.
Tho. Sir, the Captaine is new alighted.
Un. Gett a bottle of sack up to my Chamber presently.
[Ext. [Underwit & Thomas.
La. You are a gentleman of your word.
Sis. And such a gentleman is to be trusted, Madam.
De. He is an Infidell that will breake his word with a Ladie.
Sis. I suspect, servant, you have many Mistresses.
De. Not I, by this white hand. I must acknowledge there are some Ladies in the Court in whose eyes and opinion I am favour'd. I cannot obscure my selfe from their observation; but my heart with contempt of all other endeerement is only devoted to your service.
Sis. Is't not a charge to dresse your selfe with such variety of Ribbands every day?
De. Is that your scruple? Tis the Mode to express our fancie upon every occasion; to shew the turne and present state of our hope or feares in our Affection. Your colours to an understanding Lover carry the interpretation of the hart as plainely as wee express our meaning one to another in Characters. Shall I decipher my Colours to you now? Here is Azure and Peach: Azure is constant, and Peach is love; which signifies my constant Affection.
Sis. This is very pretty.
De. Oh, it saves the trouble of writing, where the Mistres and Servant are learned in this amorous blazon. Yesterday I wore Folimort, Grisdelin and Isabella: Folimort is withered, Grisdelin is absent, and Isabella is beauty, which put together express I did wither or languish for your absent beautie.
Sis. But is there any reason for theis distinctions?
De. Yes, Lady: for example, your Follimort is a withred leafe, which doth moralise a decay: your yellow is joy, because—
La. Why, yellow, Sir, is Jealous.
De. No, your Lemon colour, a pale kind of yellow, is Jealous; your yellow is perfect joy. Your white is Death, your milke white inocence, your black mourning, your orange spitefull, your flesh colour lascivious, your maides blush envied, your red is defiance, your gold is avaritious, your straw plenty, your greene hope, your sea greene inconstant, your violet religious, your willow forsaken.
Sis. We may then comitt a solecisme and be strangely interpreted by such curious expounders in the rash election and wearing of our colours, I p[er]ceave.
La. Tis pitty but there should be some bookes for our instruction in this art.
De. Your Hierogliphick was theEgiptianwisdome, yourHebrewwas the Cabala, yourRomanhad your Simball or impresse; but they are now obsolete, your embleme trite and conspicuous, your invention of Character and Alphabeticall key tedious and not delightfull, your motto or rebus too open and demonstrative: but the science and curiosity of your Colours in Ribbands is not only instructive but an ornament and the nearest Comentator of Love; for as Love is entertain'd first by the eye, or, to speake more plaine, as the object affected is tooke in first by these opticks which receive the species of the thing colord & beautifide, so it is answerable to nature that in the progresse of our passion we should distinguish by our eye the change or constancy of our affections in apt and significant colours.
_Sis. _You have tooke paines to study this learn'd heraldry.
De. It is the onely gentile knowledge or philosophie in the world. I will undertake to open any man or womans hart.
La. Heaven forbid!
De. Tell the most secret imaginations and designes conclude every passion and scruple, if they be carefull to observe the artificiall method of their colours.
Sis. Why, this may be a way of fortune telling too.
De. You say right, Lady: phisiognomy and chiromancy are but trifles; nay, your geomancie meere coniecturall, the execution of your schemes circumstantiall and fallible, but your quaint alamode weare of your fancie more then astrologicall.
La. Tis a kind of Divinitie.
De. You say very true, Madam, and comes neere to propheticall if the minds of Ladies and gentlemen were elevated to the just and sublime consideration.
Sis. What paines he takes to be ridiculous!
Do. This gentleman has a notable fancie and talkes poetically.
Sis. Yes, yes; he can write verses.
Do. Well, I have read Authors in my dayes and knew the length of the poets in my tyme too, which was an hexameter and which a pentameter, but the wits are not as they have been—right and straite.
Sis. Why,Doroty?
Do. Why, because wind is the cause of many things; now if the wind bee not in the right corner tis the ill wind our proverbe speakes of that blowes nobodie good; for when vapors and wind flie into the head it cannot be in two places at one time: and that's the reason your men of most wit doe seldome love a woman.—But here comes my Master and SirFrancis.
Enter Sir Richard and Sir Francis, and Mr. Courtwell.
Ri. This is a double honour to us,Sir Francis. I shall want language, but not a friendly hart to entertaine you and your noble kinsman. What my exquisite CavalierDevice!—tis to no purpose I see to remove into the Countrey to save charges and be quiet; the whole Citty will come hither if I stay. I have no stomack to my kn't.
Fra. I hope, madam, you will be no enemy to my kinsman.
Ri. Sister, I present this gentleman; observe and cherish him; he has been i'th Universitie.
Sis. Any degree, Sir?
Co. Onely Bachelour, forsooth!
Ri. If he winne you to marriage, Lady quicksilver—
Sis. He wilbe Master of his Art.
Ri. My vote is for him.
De.—I like not the induction of this rivall.
Ri. He studies now the law, And thats the high way to preferment, Sister.
Sis. Indeed it is the high way in which some Deliver up their purses. He may clime To scarlet, but that he has too good a face.
De. Sir, I hope—
Ri. Troth, do not, Sir,—I meane, trouble yourselfe: He is too bashfull to prevaile upon Your spirited mistres!
Enter Mr. Engine.
En. SirRichard.
Ri. More customers? Mr.Engine, welcome; Your presence was unexpected in the Countrey.
En. Twas my ambition with some intentsTo serve you, sir. Please you vouchsafe your privacie,I bring Affaires are worth your entertainement:I have rid hard.
Cou. What Cavallier's this, Uncle?
Fra. He is the inventor of new proiects, cosen, They say, and patents; one that lives like a moth Upon the Common wealth.
Cou. He lookes like one.
Ric. You will excuse me, gentlemen.—Make much of SirFrancis, Madam.
Ext. [Sir Richard and Engine.
Fra. Weele leave my Nephew and your sister, Madam, And take a turne i'th garden.
Sis. You may be confident.
[Exeunt Sir Francis, Lady, and Dorothy.
De.—I doe not like the fancie in his hat; That gules is warre and will be ominous.
Ext. [Device.
Sis. The gentleman's turnd statue! blesse me howHe staires upon me and takes roote, I thinke.It mooves, and now to earth is fixt agen;Oh, now it walkes and sadly marches this way.Is't not a ghost? heele fright me. Oh, sweet sir,Speake if you can and say who murderd you.It points at me: my eyes? ungentle eyesTo kill so at first sight! Ile have my lookesArraigned for't and smallCupidshall be judg,Who for your sake will make me blind as he is.
Co. Ladie—
Sis. The man's alive agen and hasA tongue! discretion guide it; he but sentHis soule forth of an arrand; tis returnd,Now wee shall have some sentences.
Co. Such are the strange varieties in love, Such heates, such desperate coldes,—
Sis. No more winter, and you love me, unlesse you can command the colepits; we have had a hard tyme on't already for want of fuell.
Co. I'me all turnd eares and, Lady, long to heare you,But pressing to you doubt I am too neare you.Then I would speake, but cannot; nought affordesExpression, th'Alphabet's too poore for wordes:He that knowes Love knowes well that every howerLove's glad, Love's sad, Love's sweet—
Sis. And sometymes sower. Theis wordes would goe well to a tune; pray letts heare you sing. I doe not thinke but you can make me a ioynture of fower nobles a yeare in Balletts, in lamentable balletts; for your wit I thinke lies tragicall. Did you make theLadies Downefall[242]. You expresse a passion rarely, but pray leave Your couplets and say something in blanck verse Before you goe.
Co. Before I goe? breath not that killing language:There is no sunne but in your eyes, and whenI once take leave of those celestiall beamesI meet with darkenes in my habitation;Where stretch'd on sable ground I downe shall layMy mournefull body, and with folded ArmesHeare sadder noats uppon theIrishharpe[243]And drop division with my brinish teares.[244]
Sis. This must be lamentable musick sure!
Co. But I have found an art to cure this wound,For I with fancies pencill will so drawYour picture in the table of my hart,Your absence shall but like darke shadowes standTo sett you of and see you, Lady, betterThen Love will lett me when I looke upon you.
Sis. Could this be true and meant, sweet sir, to me,I should be kinder then the gentlest springThat warms the world and makes fierce beasts so tameAnd trees to swell themselves to cheerefull greene;More jocund then the proudest quire of birds,What ere they be that in the woods so wideDoe sing their merry catches.—Sure he doesBut counterfeit.
Co. Oh, now I see that Love Is sweet as flowers in their fragrant birth, Gentle as silke, and kind as Cloudes to Earth?
Sis. One rime more and you undoe my love for ever. Out upon't! pedlarsFrench[245] is a Christian language to this. I had rather you should put me a case out ofLitleton. They say you are a pretty Lawyer.
Co. Tenant[246] per la Curtesie d'Engleterre est, hon home prent feme seisie in fee simple ou en fee taile generall, ou seisie come heire de la taile speciall et ad issue per mesme la fame, male ou female, oies ou wife, soit lissue apres mort ou en vie si la feme de aie, la baron tiendra la terre durant sa vie, per la ley dengleterre.
Sis. Nay, here's enough a Conscience! What a Noise this confusion of languages make; tis almost as good as a beare baiting. Harke you, Sir, you are never like to recover me by law.
Co. You are not the first sweet Ladie has been overthrowne at Common Lawe.
Sis. Not by tenn thousand, Sir. Confest: but I have no mind to come to issue with a Lawyer; when he should consider my cause at home, heele be atWestminster, teaching men the Statutes. No, no, I wo'not marry a Judge.
Co. Why, Lady?
Sis. They are casuall things and men that hold such strange opinions.
Co. Lady, you may be misinform'd:AstraeaHath not quite left the earth, and the abusesOf some which shame the calling are but likePatches of beauty on the shape of laweTo set the whitenes of.
Sis. Farewell, Sir:You are in love with a barrd gown, not beauty;If you will be my learned Counsell, leave it—This yong thing is a foole or a fine fellow. [Exit.
Co. She kicks and flings out like a Colt unwayed;Her witt's a better portion then her money;I would not love her yet, and I could help it.—My Uncle and his Mistres: Ile not hinder em.
[Ex.
Enter Sir Francis and Ladie.
La. It is no honour, Sir, if arm'd with soMuch eloquence you overcome a woman.I blush to say I love you now too much;I wish you would release what your sweet charmesWon from my tongue; I shall repent my promise.
Fra. Make me not miserable after so much blessing.Why, Madam, tis on honourable tearmes,Since not upon the first attempt but afterA tedious seige in to your faire love you give upWhat shall enrich us both. It were a sinneTo feare you can retract what both our lippsHave seal'd, and loose a happines so neareAnd so secure. Your husband holds his pleasureOf early hunting constant, and when hePursues the tymerous hare to morrow morne,Cupidwill waite to bring me toElizium,Your bed, where every kisse shall new create us.
La. You must be wise in your excuse, to quit His importunitie.
Fra. Leave that to me:I weare not worth the name of him that serv'd youTo loose my glorious hope for want of suchA thinne device. In your thought wish me prosper,And I am fortifide against the powerOf fate to seperate us; and when thou artWithin the amorous circle of my armes,We will make lawes to love; teach him new motionOr chaine[247] him with the cordage of his haire,Like a tame thing, to walke, and watch our pillowAnd be our pleasures Centinell.
La. I seeMy husband; tis not safe he should observe us:Be wise and constant. [Exit Lady.
Fra. All that's sweet attend thee.So I am sailing now to my owneIndies,And see the happie Coast, too: How my wingsDoe spread to catch the wind which comes to court 'em,And the green Sea, enamour'd on my barke,Doth leap to see howCupidsitts at helme.And steeres my soule to his new world.
Enter Sir Richard and Engine.
Ri. A monopolie say you For Perriwigs?
En. Is't not a rare designe? and by such artAnd reasons I can name, most beneficiallTo the common wealth, preventing the diseasesWhich some unwholsome haire breeds in mens heads,It will be worth our agitation, Sir;And you, after the rate of every thousandPer Annum milk'd out of the comon purseInto your owne, may easily defaulkeTo me a hundred for my first projection.Did I not love you, Sir, I could make choiceOf other able men that would be gladTo multiplie their money.
Ri. Sir, I thanke you,But have no mind to thrive upon abuse ofMy princes favour nor the peoples curse.Here is a gentleman, SirFrancis Courtwell,Perhapps will undertake it.
Fra. What, SirRichard?
Ri. A Monopolie for composeing and selling of perriwiggs.
Fra. Excuse me, Sir, I dare not deale in 'em. If I be not mistaken, Sir, your name IsEngine?
En. Yes, Sir.
Fra. The proiector generall?If I may advise you, Sir, you should make your will,Take some convenient phisick and dye tymelyTo save your credit, and an execution:It is thought else—
En. Oh—
Fra. What aile you, Sir?
En. A Megrim in my head.
Ri. Whoes there?
Enter Thomas.
Looke to Mr.Engineheere, he faints, and sendTo your Ladie for some Cordiall waters presently.
Tho. There is a Soveraigne Well hard by has done Strange cures: please you, ile throw him into that.Ext. [Thomas; carrying away Engine.
Ri. Though I distast his busines I wod notHe should miscarry here; you frighted him.But come, I thinke tis supper tyme, SirFrancis.I shall expect youle hunt with me i'th morning;I have a pack of Doggs sent me will makeThe Forrest ring.
Fra. Ile cheerefully attend you, I love the sport; as earlie as you please, Sir.
Ri. I wish wee had all pleasures to delight you, But no thing wants in my true love to serve you.
Fra.—Yet I must cuckold him; I cannot helpe it.
Act the Third.
Enter Thomas with Sir Richards bootes.
Tho. Sir.
Within Ri. Whoes that?Thomas?
Tho. The sun is up before you. Here be your bootes.
Ri. That's well.
Within La. I preethe donot rise yet; it is hardly day. Sirra, who bid you call him so earlie? SirRichardwonot rise yet.
Tho. I cannot helpe it, it is none of my fault.
La. WheresDoroty?
[Enter Doroty.
Do. Here, Madam; what make you up so soone,Thomas?
Tho. O MistresDority, tis e'ne long of you, for betweene sleepe and awake your remembrance came to me this morning, andThomaswas up presently.
Enter Sir Richard [& Lady].
Ri. You must excuse me, wife;I meane to kill a brace of hares beforeYou thinke tis day. Come, on with my Bootes,Thomas;AndDorothygoe you to SirFrancisChamber,Tell him the Day growes old and I am readie,Our horses and the merry hounds expect us.
La. Any excuse to leave me.
Ri. You may takeYour ease a bed still, Madam. Ile not looseOne morning that invites so pleasantly,To heare my Doggs, for a new Maidenhead, I.Twas for these sports and my excess of chargeI left the towne: besides the Citty foggsAnd steame of Brick hills almost stifled me;This Aire is pure and all my owne.
Tho. My LadieMeanes shee would have you gett another heire,Sir, for your lands; though it be against my MasterThe young Captaine, yet she speakes but reason.And now I talke o'th Captaine, Sir,Would you had given him Counsell.
Ri. To what?
Tho. Before he tooke this huffing[248] trade upon him,To have been a man of peace, I meane a Justice.Nature has made him fit for both alike.Hee's now at charge to keepe a Captaine Schoolemaster;He might have sav'd the qua[r]teridge of his TutorIf I had been his Clarke: and then the incomeThat broken heads bring in, and new yeares guiftsFrom soder'd virgins and their shee provintiallsWhose warren must be licenc'd from our office!
Ri. Away you prating knave.—
[Enter Dorothy.
What? is he readie?
Do. Alas, hee's almost dead.
Ri. How? dead?
Do. He has been troubled with a fitt o'th stone, Sir, all this night. Sweet gentleman he groanes, And sweates, and cannot—
Ri. What?
Do. Make urine, Sir.
Tho. I heard my Ladie has an excellent Receit to cure the Stone; she is a peece Of a rare Surgeon.
Ri. Well, away and get the horses readie, sirra, For I shall ride you and your witt together.
Tho. Alas, any foole may ride me, but I would faine see any man ride MistresDorothy.
Do. How, sirra?[Exit Thomas.
Ri. I am sorry I must leave such a Companion.But more lament the cause. I wish him health;My presence cannot serve him. Morrow, wife:I cannot lose my sport. [Exit.
Do. Nor shee when you are gone. My Lady does expect another hunt's up.
La. Now I must trust thy secresie.
Do. You shall not doubt me, Madam, and t'assure youMy faith, I have a suit to your LadishipWhose grant, were there no other bonds upon me,Would tye me everlastinglie to silence.
La. What ist? but name, and I shall soone confirme thee.
Do. Our Captaine o'th traind band has been offringTo chaffer Maidenheads with me. I mustConfesse I can affect the foole uponGood tearmes, and could devise a plott to nooseMy amorous woodcock, if you privatlieAssist me and dare trust me with some JewellOf price, that is not knowne, which shalbe faithfullyRestor'd Madam.
La. I that dare trust my honour with thee sha'notSuspect thy faith in any treasure else.But prethe draw the Curtains close, while IExpect this friend: I needes must hide my blushes.Thou maist discover from the Gallory windoweWhen they are hors'd. I tremble to considerWhat I have promis'd.
Do. Tremble to meet a Ghost! You are more fearefull then a Virgin, Madam. Why this setts me a longing; but ile watch: This is the timerous world of flesh and blood. [Exit.
Enter Sir Richard.
La. within. Alas!What doe you meane? retire for heavens sake!My husband is not gone, I heare his voice yet;This rashnes will undoe my fame for everShould he returne.
Ri. How's this?"Returne for heavens sake! my husband is not gone:I heard his voice; this will undoe my fame!"It was my wife, and this is sure my bed chamber.
La. (looking forth.) I have undone my selfe; it is my husband.
Ri. My forehead sweats: Where are you, Madam?Whome did you talke too or take me for? ha! AsleepeAlreadie, or doe I dreame? I am all wonder.Madam,—
La. You may kill him and please you, sweet heart; I cannot abide a Blackamore.
Ri. How's this, wife?
La. Helpe, helpe, deare husband, strangle him with one Of my Lute strings; doe, doe, doe.
Ri. If shee be a sleepe she was not us'd to talke thus: She has some hideous dreame. She spake to me, to; Whom should I strangle, sweet hart, with a lute string?
La. The King ofMorocco, I thinke.