Pene. Nor crackt them neyther.
Ta. That I know not; indeed I wood be loath to lie though he be my kinsman, to speake more then I know by him.
Eug. Well, forth my Lord.
Ta. He has an excellent skill in all manner of perfumes, & if you bring him gloves from forty pence, to forty shillings a paire, he will tell you the price of them to two pence.
Hip. A pretty sweet quality beleeve me.
Tales. Nay Lady he will perfume you gloves himselfe most delicately, and give them the right Spanish Titillation.
Pene. Titillation what's that my Lord?
Tal. Why, Lady, tis a pretty kinde of terme new come up in perfuming, which they call a Titillation.
Hip. Very well expounded, my Lord; forth with your kinsmans parts I pray.
Tal. He is the best Sempster of any woman in England, and will worke you needle-worke-edgings, andFrenchpurles, from an Angell to foure Angells a yarde.
Eug. That's pretious ware indeed.
Tal. He will worke you any flower to the life, as like it as if it grew in the very place, and being a delicate perfumer, he will give it you his perfect, and naturall savour.
Hip. This is wonderfull; forth, sweet LordTales.
Tal. He will make you flyes, and wormes, of all sorts most lively, and is now working a whole bed embrodred, with nothing but glowe wormes; whose lights a has so perfectly done, that you may goe to bed in the Chamber, doe any thing in the Chamber, without a Candle.
Pene. Never trust me, if it be not incredible; forth my good Lord.
Tal. He is a most excellent Turner, and will turne you wassel-bowles, and posset Cuppes caru'd with libberds faces, and Lyons heads with spouts in their mouths, to let out the posset Ale, most artificially.
Eug. Forth, good LordTales.
Pene. Nay, good my Lord no more; you have spoken for him thoroughly I warrant you.
Hip. I lay my lifeCupidhas shot my sister in love with him out of your lips, my Lord.
Eug. Well, come in, my Lords, and take a bad Dinner with me now, and we will all goe with you at night to a better supper with the Lord and LadyFurnifall.
King.Tale. We attend you, honorable Ladies.
Exeunt.
Actvs Tertii.
Enter Rudesby, Goosecappe.
Rud.Bullaker.
Bul. I, Sir.
Rud. Ride, and catch the Captaines Horse.
Bul. So I doe Sir.
Rud. I wonder, SirGyles, you wood let him goe so, and not ride after him.
Goos. Wood I might never be mortall sirCutt: if I rid not after him, till my horse sweat, so that he had nere a dry thread on him, and hollod, and hollod to him to stay him, till I had thought my fingers ends wood have gon off with hollowings; Ile be sworne to yee, & yet he ran his way like aDiogenes, and would never stay for us.
Rud. How shall wee doe to get the lame Captaine to London, now his horse is gone?
Goos. Why? he is but a lame jad neyther, SirMoyle, we shall soone our'take him I warrent ye.
Rud. And yet thou saist thou gallopst after him as fast as thou coodst, and coodst not Catch him; I lay my life some Crabfish has bitten thee by the tongue, thou speakest so backward still.
Goos. But heres all the doubt, sirCutt: if no body shoold catch him now, when he comes at London, some boy or other wood get uppe on him, and ride him hot into the water to wash him; Ile bee sworne I followed one that rid my Horse into the Thames, till I was up tooth knees hetherto; and if it had not beene for feare of going over shooes, because I am troubled with the rheume, I wood have taught him to wash my Horse when he was hot yfaith.
Enter Fowleweathter.
How now sweet Captaine, dost feele any ease in thy paine yet?
Rud. Ease in his paine quoth you, has good lucke if he feele ease in paine, I thinke, but wood any asse in the World ride downe such a Hill as High-gate is, in such a frost as this, and never light.
Foul. Cods precious, sirCutt: yourFrenchmannever lights I tell ye.
Goos. Light, sirCutt! Slight, and I had my horse againe, theres nere a paltry English frost an them all shood make me light.
Rud. Goe too, youFrenchZanies you, you will follow theFrenchsteps so long, till you be not able to set one sound steppe oth ground all the daies of your life.
Goos. Why, sirCut: I care not if I be not sound, so I be well, but we were justly plagu'd by this Hill, for following women thus.
Foul. I, and English women too, sirGyles.
Rud. Thou art still prating against English women, I have seene none of theFrenchDames, I confesse, but your greatest gallants, for men inFrance, were here lately,[24] I am sure, and me thinks there should be no more difference betwixt our Ladies, and theirs, then there is betwixt our Lords, and theirs, and our Lords are as farr byond them yfaith, for person, and Courtship, as they are beyond ours for phantasticality.
Foul. O Lord sirCut. I am sure our Ladies hold our Lords tacke for Courtship, and yet theFrenchLords put them downe; you noted it, sirGyles.
Goos. O God sir, I stud, and heard it, as I sat ith presence.
Rud. How did they put them downe, I pray thee?
Foul. Why for wit, and for Court-ship SirMoile.
Rud.[25] As how, good left-handedFrancois.
Foul. Why Sir whenMonsieur Lamboiscame to your mistris the LadyHippolytaas she sate in the presence,—sit downe here good SirGyles Goose-cappe,—he kneeld me by her thus Sir, and with a most queintFrench startin his speech of ahbellissime, I desire to die now, saies he, for your love that I might be buried here.
Rud. A good pickt-hatch[26] complement, by my faith; but I prethee what answer'd she.
Foul. She, I scorne to note that, I hope; then did he vie[27] it againe with an other hah.
Rud. That was hah, hah, I wood have put the third hah to it, if I had beene as my Mistris, and hah, hah, haht him out of the presence yfaith.
Foul. Hah, saies he, theis faire eyes, I wood not for a million they were inFrance, they wood renew all our civill-wars againe.
Goos. That was not so good, me thinkes, Captaine.
Rud. Well iudgd, yfaith; there was a little wit in that, I must confesse, but she put him downe far, and aunswered him with a question, and that was whether he wood seeme a lover, or a jester? if a lover, a must tell her far more lykelier then those, or else she was far from believing them; if a Jester, she cood have much more ridiculous jests then his of twenty fooles, that followed the Court; and told him she had as lieve be courted with a brush faggot as with a Frenchman, that spent it selfe all in sparkes, and would sooner fire ones chimney then warme the house, and that such sparkes were good enough yet to set thatcht dispositions a fire, but hers was tild with sleight, and respected them as sleightly.
Goos. Why so Captaine, and yet you talke of your great Frenchmen; [would] to God little England had never knowne themImay say.
Foul. What's the matter sirGyles? are you out of love with Frenchmen now of a sodaine?
Goos. Slydd Captaine, wood not make one, Ile be sworne? Ile be sworne, they tooke away a mastie Dogge of mine by commission: now I thinke on't, makes my teares stand in my eyes with griefe, I had rather lost the dearest friend that everIlay withall in my life be this light; never stir if he fought not with greatSekerson[28] foure hours to one, foremost take up hindmost, and tooke so many loaves from him, that he sterud him presently: So at last the dog cood doe no more then a Beare cood doe, and the beare being heavie with hunger you know, fell upon the Dogge, broke his backe, and the Dogge never stird more.
Rud. Why thou saist the Frenchmen tooke him away.
Goos. Frenchmen,I, so they did too, but yet, and he had not bin kild, twood nere a greevd me.
Foul. O excellent unity of speech.
Enter Will, and Iacke at seuerall Doores.
Will. Save ye, Knights.
Ia. Save you, Captaine.
Foul. Pages, welcome my fine Pages.
Rud. Welcome, boyes.
Goos. Welcome, sweetWill, goodIacke.
Foul. But how chaunce you are so farre from London now pages? is it almost Dinner time?
Wil. Yes indeed Sir, but we left our fellowes to wait for once, and cood not chuse in pure love to your worships, but we must needs come, and meet you, before you mett our Ladies, to tell you a secret.
Omnes. A secret, what secret I pray thee?
Ia. If ever your worships say any thing, we are undone for ever.
Omnes. Not for a World beleeve it.
Will. Why then this it is; we over-heard our Ladies as they were talking in private say, they refus'de to meet you atBarnetthis morning of purpose, because they wood try which of you were most patient.
Ia. And some said you, SirGyles, another you Sir [Cutt] and the third you Captaine.
Om. This was excellent.
Wil. Then did they sweare one another not to excuse themselves to you by any meanes, that they might try you the better; now if they shall see you say nothing in the World to them what may come of it, when Ladies begin to try their suters once, I hope your wisedomes can judge a little.
Foul. O ho, my little knave, let us alone now yfaith; wood I might be Casheird, if I say any thing.
Rud. Faith, and I can forbeare my Tongue as well as another, I hope.
Goos. Wood I might be degraded, if I speake a word, Ile tell them I care not for loosing my labour.
Foul. Come Knights shall wee not reward the Pages?
Rud. Yes I prethee doe, sirGylesgive the boyes something.
Goos. Never stirre, sirCutt, if I have ever a groat about me but one three pence.
Foul. Well Knights ile lay out fors all; here, my fine Pages.
Wil. No in deed, ant please your worship.
Foul. O Pages, refuse a Gentlemans bounty?
Ia. Cry you mercy, Sir; thanke you sweet Captaine.
Foul. And what other newes is stirring, my fine villiacos.
Wil. Marry Sir, they are invited to a great supper to night to your Lords house, Captaine, the LordFurnifall, and there will be your great cosen SirGyles Goosecappe, the LordeTales, and your Vnckle, SirCutt. Rudesby, SirCutbert Kingcob.
Foul. The LordTales, what countriman is he?
Ia. A kentish Lord, sir; his ancestors came forth off Canterbury.
Foul. Out of Canterbury.
Wil. Indeed, Sir, the bestTalesin England are your CanterburyTales, I assure ye.
Rud. The boy tels thee true Captaine.
Ia. He writes his name Sir,Tales, and he being the tenth sonne his Father had; his Father Christned himDecem Tales, and so his whole name is the LordDecem Tales.
Goos. A my mortality the boy knowes more then I doe of our house.
Rud. But is the LadieFurnifall(Captaine) still of the same drinking humor she was wont to be?
Foul. Still of the same, Knight, and is never in any sociable veine till she be typsie, for in her sobriety she is madd, and feares my good little old Lord out of all proportion.
Rud.[29] And therefore, as I heare, he will earnestly invite guests to his house, of purpose to make his wife dronke, and then dotes on her humour most prophanely.
Foul. Tis very true Knight; we will suppe with them to night; and you shall see her; and now I thinke ont, ile tell you a thing Knights, wherein perhaps you may exceedingly pleasure me.
Goos. What's that, good Captaine?
Foul. I am desirous to helpe my Lord to a good merry Foole, and if I cood helpe him to a good merry one, he might doe me very much credit I assure ye.
Rud. Sbloud thou speakest to us as if we cood serue thy turne.
Foul. OFraunce, SirCutt. your Frenchman wood not have taken me so, for a world, but because Fooles come into your companies many times to make you merry.
Rud. As thou doest.
Goos. Nay good sirCut. you know fooles doe come into your companies.
Rud. I and thou knowst it too, no man better.
Foul. Beare off with Choller SirGyles.
Wil. But wood you helpe your Lord to a good foole so faine, Sir?
Foul. I, my good page exceeding faine.
Ia. You meane a wench, do you not, Sir? a foolish wench?
Foul. Nay I wood have a man foole, for his Lord; Page.
Wil. Does his Lord: love a foole, so well I pray?
Foul. Assure thy selfe, page, my Lord loves a foole, as he loves himselfe.
Ia. Of what degree wood you have your Foole Sir? for you may have of all manner of degrees.
Foul. Faith, I wood have him a good Emphaticall Foole, one that wood make my Lord laugh well, and I carde not.
Wil. Laugh well (um): then we must know this, Sir, is your Lord costive of laughter, or laxative of laughter?
Foul. Nay he is a good merry little Lord, and indeed sometimes Laxative of Laughter.
Wil. Why then sir the lesse wit will serue his Lordships turne, marry if he had bin costive of laughter he must have had two or three drams of wit the more in his foole, for we must minister according to the quantity of his Lord[ship's] humor, you know, and if he shood have as much witt in his foole being laxative of laughter, as if he were costive of Laughter, why he might laugh himselfe into anEpilepsie, and fall down dead sodainly, as many have done with the extremity of that passion; and I know your Lord cares for nothing, but the health of a Foole.
Foul. Thart ith right, my notable good page.
Ia. Why, and for that health, sir, we will warrant his Lordship, that if he should have allBacon[30]de sanitate tuendaread to him, it shood not please his Lordship so well as our Foole shall.
Foul. Remercy, my more then English pages.
Goos. A my word I have not seene pages have so much wit, that have never bin inFranceCaptaine.
Foul. Tis true indeed SirGyles, well then my almost french Elixers will you helpe my Lord to a Foole so fit for him as you say.
Wil. As fit, Ile warrant you Captaine, as if he were made for him, and he shall come this night to supper, and foole where his Lord: sits at table.
Foul. Excellent fit, faile not now, my sweet pages.
Ia. Not for a world, sir, we will goe both and seeke him presently.
Foul. Doe so my good wagges.
Wil. Save you Knights.
Ia. Save you Captaine.Exeunt.
Foul. Farewell, my pretty knaves; come, Knights, shall we resolve to goe to this Supper?
Rud. What else?
Goos. And let's provide torches for our men to sit at dore withall, Captaine.
Foul. That we will, I warrent you, sirGiles.
Rud. Torches? why the Moone will shine, man.
Goos. The Moone, sirCut: I scorne the Moone yfaith. Slydd, sometimes a man shall not get her to shine, and if he wood give her a couple of Capons, and one of them must be white too. God forgive me, I cud never abide her since yesterday, she seru'd me such a tricke tother night.
Rud. What tricke, sirGyles?
Goos. Why sirCut. cause the daies be mortall, and short now you know, and I love daie light well; I thought it went away faster than it needed, and run after it intoFinsbury-fieldes ith calme evening to see the wind-Mils goe; and even as I was going over a Ditch the Moone by this light of purpose runnes me behind a Cloud, and lets me fall into the Ditch by Heaven.
Rud. That was ill done in her, indeed sirGyles.
Goos. Ill done sirCut? Slydd a man may beare, and beare, but, and she have noe more good manners, but to make every blacke slovenly Cloud a pearle in her eye I shall nere love English Moone againe, while I live, Ile be sworne to ye.
Foul. Come, Knights, to London: Horse, Horse, Horse.
Rud. In what a case he is with the poor English Moone, because theFrenchMoones (their Torches) will be the lesse in fashion, and I warrent you the Captaine will remember it too: tho he say nothing, he seconds his resolute chase so, and follows him, Ile lay my life you shall see them the next cold night, shut the Mooneshine out of their Chambers, and make it lie without Doores all night. I discredit my wit with their company, now I thinke on't, plague a god on them; Ile fall a beating on them presently.
[Exit.
Enter Lord Momford, and Clarence. Clarence, Horatio.
Cla. Sing goodHoratio, while I sigh, and write.According to my masterPlatosminde,The soule is musicke, and doth therefore joyIn accents musicall, which he that hatesWith points of discord is together tyed,And barkes atReason, Consonant in sense.DivineEugenia, beares the ocular formeOf musicke, and ofReason, and presentsThe soule exempt from flesh in flesh inflam'd[31];Who must not love her then, that loves his soule?To her I write; my friend, the starre[32] of friendsWill needs have my strange lines greet her strange eiesAnd for her sake ile power my poore Soule forthIn floods of inke; but did not his kinde handBarre me with violent grace, I wood consumeIn the white flames of her impassionate love,Ere my harsh lipps shood vent the odorous blaze.For I am desperate of all worldly joyes,And there was never man so harsh to men.When I am fullest of digested lifeI seeme a livelesseEmbrionto all,Each day rackt up in night-like Funerall.Sing, goodHoratio, whilst I sigh, and write.
_Canto.
The Letter.
Suffer him to love that suffers not loving; my loveis without passion, and therefore free from alteration._
Prose is too harsh, and Verse is Poetry.Why shood I write; then? merrit[33] clad in inkeIs but a mourner, and as good as naked.I will not write, my friend shall speake for me.Sing one stave more, my goodHoratio.
Canto.
I must remember I know whom I loveA dame of learning, and of life exemptFrom all the idle fancies of her Sex,And this, that to an other dame wood seemePerplext and foulded in a rudelesse[34] vaile,Will be more cleere then ballads to her eye.Ile write, if but to satisfie my friend.Your third staunce sweetHoratio, and no more.
Canto.
How vainele doe I offer my strange love?I marry, and bid states, and entertaineLadies with tales, and jests, and Lords with newes,And keepe a House to feastActeonshoundsThat eate their Master, and let idle guestsDraw me from serious search of things divine?To bid them sit, and welcome, and take careTo sooth their pallats with choyce kitchin-stuff,As all must doe that marry, and keepe House,And then looke on the left side of my yoakeOr on the right perhaps, and see my wifeDrawe in a quite repugnant course from me,Busied to starch her French purles, and her puffs,When I am in myAnima reflexa.Quid est faelicitas? quae origo rerum?And make these beings that are knowne to beThe onely serious object of true menSeeme shadowes, with substantiall stir she keepsAbout her shadowes, which if husbands loveThey must beleeve; and thus my other selfeBrings me another body to dispose,That have already much too much of one,And must not looke for any Soule of herTo helpe to rule two bodies?
Mom. Fie for shame;I never heard of such an antedame[35].Doe women bring no helpe of soule to men?Why, friend, they eyther are mens soules themselves,Or the most witty Imitatrixes of them;Or prettiest sweet apes of humaine Soules,That ever Nature fram'd; as I will prove.For first they beSubstantiae lucidae,And purer then mens bodies, like their soules,Which mens harsh haires both of their brest and chinneOccasioned by their grose and ruder heatePlainely demonstrats: Then like soules they doe,Movere corpora, for no power on EarthMoves a mans body, as a woman does.Then doe theyDare formas corpori,Or adde faire formes to men, as their soules doe:For but for women, who wood care for formes?I vow I never wood wash face, nor hands,Nor care how ragg'd, or slovenly I went,Wer't not for women, who of all mens pompesAre the true final causes: Then they makeMen in their Seedes immortall, like their soules,That els wood perish in a spanne of time.Oh! they be soule-like creatures, and my NeeceThe soule of twenty rare soules stil'd in one.
Cla. That, that it is, my Lord, that makes me love.
Mom. Oh are ye come Sir, welcome to my Neece, As I may say, at midnight; gentle friend, What have you wrot I pray?
Cla. Strange stuffe my Lord.
Mom. Indeed the way to believe is to love [Hee reads and comments. And the right way to love is to believe. This I will carry now with pen, and incke, For her to use in answere; see, sweet friend, She shall not stay to call, but while the steele Of her affection is made softe and hott, Ile strike, and take occasion by the brow. Blest is the wooing thats not long a dooing. [Exit.
Cla. Had ever man so true, and noble friend?Or wood men thinke this sharpe worlds freezing AireTo all true honour and iuduciall love,Wood suffer such a florishing pyne in bothTo overlooke the boxe-trees of this time?When the learn'd minde hath by impulsion wroughtHer eyes cleere fire into a knowing flame;No elementall smoke can darken it,Nor Northren coldnesse nyppe herDaphneanFlower.O sacred friendship, thanks to thy kinde power,That being retir'd from all the faithlesse World,Appear'st to me in my unworldly friend,And for thine own sake let his noble minde,By moving presedent to all his kinde,(Like justDeucalion) of Earths stony bonesRepaire the World with humaine bloud and flesh,And dying vertue with new life refresh.
[Exit.
Actvs Qvartvs.
Enter Tales, Kingcob, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred.
King. Tis time to leave your Chests, Ladies; tis too studious an exercise after Dinner.
Tal. Why is it cal'd Chests?
Hip. Because they leane upon their Chests that play at it.
Tal. I wood have it cald the strife of wits, for tis a game so witty, that with strife for maisterie, we hunt it eagerly.
Eug. Specially where the wit of theGoosecapsare in chase my Lord.
Tal. I am aGoosecappeby the mothers side, Madam; at least my mother was aGoosecappe.
Pene. And you were her white[36] sonne, I warrant my Lord.
Tal. I was the youngest, Lady, and therefore must bee her white sonne, yee know; the youngest of ten I was.
Hip. And the wisest of Fifteene.
Tal. And sweet Lady will yee cast a kinde eye now upon my Cosin, SirGyles Goosecappe.
Pene. Pardon my Lord, I have never a spare eye to cast away, I assure ye.
Tal. I wonder you shood count it cast away, Ladie, uppon him; doe you remember those fewe of his good parts I rehearst to you.
Pene. Verie perfectly, my Lord; amongst which one of them was, that he is the best Sempster of any woman in England: pray lets see some of his worke?
Hip. Sweet Lord, lets see him sowe a little.
Tal. You shall, a mine honour, Lady.
Eug. Hees a goodly greate Knight indeed; and a little needle in his hand will become him prettelie.
King. From theSpanishPike to theSpanishNeedle, he shall play with any Knight in England, Ladie.
Eug. But notè converso, from theSpanishneedle to theSpanishPike.
King. I thinke he be too wise for that indeed, Madam, for he has twenty Miles length in land lies togeather, and he wood bee loath to bring it all to the length of a Pike.
Hip. But no man commends my blount Servant sirCut. Rudesby, methinks.
King. Hee is a kinde Gentleman, Ladie, though hee bee blunt, and is of this humour, the more you presume upon him without Ceremonie, the more he loves you; if he know you thinke him kinde once, and will say nothing but still use him, you may melt him into any kindnesse you will; he is right like a woman, and had rather, you shood bluntlie take the greatest favour you can of him, then shamefastly intreat it.
Eug. He saies well to youHippolita.
Hip. I, Madam, but they saie, he will beat one in jest, and byte in kindenesse, and teare ones ruffes in Courtshippe.
King. Some that he makes sport withall perhappes, but none that he respects, I assure ye.
Hip. And what's his living sirCutbeard?
King. Some two thousand a yeere, Ladie.
Hip. I pray doe not tell him that I ask't, for I stand not upon living.
King. O good Ladie, who can live without living?
Enter Momford.
Mom. Still heere, Lordings? good companions yfaith; I see you come not for vittles.
Tal. Vittles, my Lord? I hope wee have vittles at home.
Mom. I, but, sweet Lord, there is a principle in the Polititians physicke: Eat not[37] your meat upon other mens trenchers, and beware of surfets of your owne coste. Manie good companions cannot abide to eate meate at home, ye know. And how faires my noble Neece now, and her faire Ladie Feeres[38]?
Eug. What winde blowes you hether, troe?
Mom. Harke you, Madam, the sweet gale of oneClarencesbreath, with this his paper sayle blowes me hether.
Eug. Aye me still, in that humour? beshrewe my heart, if I take anie Papers from him.
Mom. Kinde bosome doe thou take it then.
Eug. Nay then never trust me.
Mom. Let it fall then or cast it away, you were best, that every body may discover your love suits, doe; theres somebody neare, you note it.—And how have you spent the time since Dinner, nobles?
King. At chests, my Lord.
Mom. Read it, Neece.
Eug. Heere, beare it backe, I pray.
Mom. I beare you on my backe to heare you. And how play the Ladies, sirCuthberd? what men doe they play best withall, with Knights or rookes?
Tal. With Knights, my Lord.
Mom. T'is pitty their boord is no broader, and that some men called guls are not added to their game.
King. Why, my Lo? it needs not, they make the Knights guls.
Mom. That's pretty, sirCuthbert.—You have begon I know, Neece; forth I command you.
Eug. O yare a sweet uncle.
Mom. I have brought here a littleGreeke, to helpe mee out withall, and shees so coy of her learning forsooth, she makes it strange.—Lords and Ladies, I invite you all to supper to night, and you shall not deny me.
All. We will attend your Lordshippe.
Tal. Come Ladies let's into the gallery a little.
[Exeunt.
Mom. And now what saies mine owne deare Neece yfaith?
Eug. What shood she say to the backside of a paper?
Mom. Come, come, I know you have byn a' the belly side.
Eug. Now was there ever Lord so prodigall Of his owne honour'd bloud, and dignity?
Mom. Away with these same horse-faire allegations; will you answer the letter?
Eug. Gods my life, you goe like a cunning spokesman, answer uncle; what, doe you thinke me desperate of a husband?
Mom. Not so, Neece; but carelesse of your poore Vncle.
Eug. I will not write, that's certaine.
Mom. What, wil you have my friend and I perish? doe you thirst our blouds?
Eug. O yare in a mighty danger, noe doubt on't.
Mom. If you have our blouds, beware our ghosts, I can tell ye; come, will ye write?
Eug. I will not write yfaith.
Mom. Yfaith dame, then I must be your secretary, I see; heres the letter, come, doe you dictate, and ile write.
Eug. If you write no otherwise then I dictate, it will scarce prove a kinde answer, I beleeve.
Mom. But you will be advis'de, I trust. Secretaries are of counsell with their Countesses; thus it begins:Suffer him to love, that suffers not loving. What answere you to that?
Eug. He loves extreamely that suffers not in love.
Mom. He answers you for that presently, his love is without passion, and therefore free from alteration, forPatiyou know isin alterationem labi; he loves you in his soule, he tels you, wherein there is no passion. Saie dame what answer you?
Eug. Nay if I answere anie thing—
Mom. Why? very well, ile answer for you.
Eug. You answere? shall I set my hand to your answere?
Mom. I, by my faith shall ye.
Eug. By my faith, but you shall answere as I wood have you then.
Mom. Alwaies put in with advice of your secretary, Neece, come, what answere you?
Eug. Since you needes will have my Answere, Ile answere briefely to the first, and last part of his letter.
Mom. Doe so, Neece; and leave the midst for himselfe a gods name: what is your answeare?
Eug.I cannot but suffer you to love, if you doe love.
Mom. Why very good, there it is,—and will requite your love; say you so? [He writes, and she dictates.
Eug. Beshrowe my lipps then, my Lord.
Mom. Beshrowe my fingers but you shall; what, you may promise to requite his love, and yet not promise him marriage, I hope; well,—and will requite your love.
Eug. Nay good my Lord, hold your hand, for ile be sworne, ile not set my hand too't.
Mom. Well hold off your hand, good Madam, till it shood come on, Ile be ready for it anon, I warrent ye. Now forth,—my love is without passion, and therefore free from alteration: what answere you to that Madam?
Eug. Even this, my Lord:your love, being mentall, needs no bodily Requitall.
Mom. I am content with that, and here it is;—but in hart.
Eug. What but in hart?
Mom. Hold off your hand yet I say;—I doe embrace, and repay it.
Eug. You may write, uncle, but if you get my hand to it—
Mom. Alas Neece, this is nothing, ist anything to a bodily marriage, to say you love a man in soule, if your harts agree, and your bodies meet not? simple marriage rites, now let us foorth: he is in the way to felicity, and desires your hand.
Eug.My hand shall alwaies signe the way to felicity.
Mom. Very good; may not any woman say this now. Conclude now, sweet Neece.
Eug.And so God prosper your journey.
Mom. Charitably concluded, though farre short of that love I wood have showen to any friend of yours, Neece, I sweare to you. Your hand now, and let this little stay his appetite.
Eug. Read what you have writ my Lord.
Mom. What needs that, Madam? you remember it, I am sure.
Eug. Well if it want sense in the Composition, let my secretary be blam'd for't; thers my hand.
Mom. Thanks, gentle Neece; now ile reade it.
Eug. Why now, more then before I pray?
Mom. That you shall see straite.—I cannot but suffer you to love if you doe love, and will requite your love.
Eug. Remember that requitall was of your owne putting in, but it shall be after my fashion, I warrant ye.
Mom. Interrupt me no more.—Your love being mentall needs no bodily requitall, but in hart I embrace, and repay it; my hand shall alwaies signe the way to felicity, and my selfe knit with you in the bands of marriage ever walke with you, in it, and so God prosper our journey: Eugenia.
Eug. Gods me life, tis not thus I hope.
Mom. By my life but it is, Neece.
Eug. By my life but tis none of my deed then.
Mom. Doe you use to set your hand to that which is not your deed; your hand is at it, Neece, and if there be any law in England, you shall performe it too.
Eug. Why? this is plaine dishonoured deceit. Does all your truest kindnes end in law?
Mom. Have patience Neece, for what so ere I say,Onely the lawes of faith, and thy free loveShall joyne my friend and thee, or naught at all.By my friends love, and by this kisse it shall.
Eug. Why, thus did falseAcontiussnareCydippe.
Mom. Indeed, deere love, his wile was something like, And then tis no unheard of treachery, That was enacted in a goddes Eye:Acontiusworthy love feard notDianaBefore whom he contriv'd this sweet deceite.
Eug. Well there you have my hand, but ile be sworne I never did thing so against my will.
Mom. T'will prove the better, Madam, doubt it not.And to allay the billows of your bloud,Rais'd with my motion bold and opposite,Deere Neece, suppe with me, and refresh your spirites:I have invited your companions,With the two guests that din'd with you to daie,And will send for the old LordFurnifall,The Captaine, and his mates, and (tho at night)We will be merry as the morningLarke.
Eug. No, no my Lord, you will haveClarencethere.
Mom. Alas poore Gentleman, I must tell you now,He's extreame sicke, and was so when he writt,Tho he did charge me not to tell you so;And for the World he cannot come abroade.
Eug. Is this the man that without passion loves?
Mom. I doe not tell you he is sicke with love;Or if he be, tis wilfull passion.Which he doth choose to suffer for your sake,And cood restraine his sufferance with a thought,Vppon my life, he will not trouble you;And therefore, worthy Neece, faile not to come.
Eug. I will on that condition.
Mom. Tis perform'd.For were my friend well, and cood comfort me,I wood not now intreate your company,But one of you I must have, or I die:Oh such a friend is worth a monarchy.
[Exeunt.
Enter Lord Furnifall, Rudsbie, Goosecappe, Foulweather, Bullaker.
Fur. Nay, my gallants, I will tell you more.
All. Forth, good my Lord.
Fur. The evening came, and then our waxen starresSparkled about the heavenly Court ofFraunce,When I then young and radiant as the sunneGave luster to those lamps, and curling thusMy golden foretoppe stept into the presence,Where set with other princely Dames I foundThe Countesse ofLancalier, and her neece,Who as I told you cast so fix'd an eyeOn my behaviours, talking with the King.
All. True, my good Lord.
Fur. They rose when I came in, and all the lights Burn'd dim for shame, when I stood up, and shin'd.
Foul. O most passionate description, sirCutt.
Rud. True, of a candles end.
Goos. The passingst description of a candle that ever lived, sirCutt.
Fur. Yet aym'd I not at them, nor seemed to noteWhat grace they did me, but found courtly causeTo talke with an accomplisht gentlemanNew come from Italy; in quest of newesI spakeItalianwith him.
Rud. What so young?
Fur.O rarissime volte cadono nel parlar nostro familiare.
Foul. Slid, a cood speake it, Knight, at three yeeres old.
Fur. Nay, gentle Captaine, doe not set me forth; I love it not, in truth I love it not.
Foul. Slight, my Lord, but truth is truth, you know.
Goos. I dare ensure your Lordship, Truth is truth, and I have heard inFrance, they speakeFrenchas well as their mother tongue, my Lord.
Fur. Why tis their mother tongue, my noble Knight.But (as I tell you) I seem'd not to noteThe Ladies notes of me, but held my talke,With that Italionate Frenchman, and tooke time(Still as our conference serv'd) to shew my CourtshipIn the three quarter legge, and setled looke,The quicke kisse of the top of the forefinger,And other such exploytes of good Accost;All which the Ladies tooke into their eyesWith such attention that their favours swarm'dAbout my bosome, in my hart, mine eares,In skarffes about my thighes, upon mine armesThicke on my wristes, and thicker on my hands,And still the lesse I sought, the more I found.All this I tell to this notorious end,That you may use your Courtship with lesse careTo your coy mistresses; As when we strikeA goodly Sammon, with a little line,We doe not tugge to hale her up by force,For then our line wood breake, and our hooke lost;But let her carelesse play alongst the streame,As you had left her, and sheele drowne her selfe.
Foul. A my life a most rich comparison.
Goos. Never stirre if it be not a richer Caparison then my Lorde my Cosin wore at Tilt, for that was brodred with nothing but moone-shine ith the water, and this has Sammons in't; by heaven a most edible Caparison.
Ru. Odious thou woodst say, for Comparisons are odious.
Foul. So they are indeed, sirCut., all but my Lords.
Goos. Be Caparisons odious, sirCut; what, like flowers?
Rud. O asse they be odorous.[39]
Goos. A botts a that stincking word odorous, I can never hitt on't.
Fur. And how like you my Court-counsell, gallants, ha?
Foul. Out of all proportion excellent, my Lord; and beleeve it, for Emphaticall Courtship, your Lordship puts downe all the Lords of the Court.
Fur. No, good Captaine, no.
Foul. ByFranceyou doe, my Lord, for Emphaticall Courtship.
Fur. For Emphaticall Courtship indeed I can doe somewhat.
Foul. Then does your merry entertainment become you so festifally, that you have all the bravery of a SaintGeorgesDay about ye, when you use it.
Fur. Nay thats too much, in sadnesse, Captaine.
Goos. O good, my Lord, let him prayse you, what so ere it costs your Lordship.
Foul. I assure your Lordship, your merry behaviour does so festifally show upon you, that every high holliday, when Ladies wood be most beautifull, every one wishes to God she were turnd into such a little Lord as you, when y'are merry.
Goos. By this fire they doe my Lord, I have heard am.
Fur. Marry God forbid, Knight, they shood be turnd into me; I had rather be turnd into them, a mine honour.
Foul. Then for your Lordships quips, and quicke jests, whyGesta Romanorumwere nothing to them, a my vertue.
Fur. Well, well, well, I will heare thee no more, I will heare thee no more, good Captaine. Tha's an excellent wit, and thou shalt have Crownes, a mine honour, and now Knights, and Captaine, the foole you told me off, do you all know him?
Goos. I know him best my Lord.
Fur. Doe you sirGyles? to him then, good Knight, and be here with him and here, and here, and here againe; I meane paint him unto us sirGyles, paint him lively, lively now, my good Knightly boy.
Goos. Why my good Lord? he will nere be long from us, because we are all mortall you know.
Fur. Very true.
Goos. And as soone as ever we goe to Dinner, and Supper together—
Rud. Dinner and supper together, whens that troe?
Goos. A will come you in amongst us, with his Cloake buttond, loose under his chinne.
Rud. Buttond loose, my Lord?
Goos. I my Lord, buttond loose still, and both the flaps cast over before both his shoulders afore him.
Rud. Both shoulders afore him?
Fur. From before him he meanes; forth good sirGyles.
Goos. Like a potentate, my Lord?
Rud. Much like a Potentate indeed.
Goos. For all the world like a Potentate, sirCut. ye know.
Rud. So Sir.
Goos. All his beard nothing but haire.
Rud. Or something else.
Goos. Or something else as you say.
Foul. Excellent good.
Goos. His Mellons, or his Apricocks, Orrenges alwaies in an uncleane hand-kerchiffe, very cleanely, I warrant you, my Lord.
Fur. A good neate foole, sirGyles, of mine honour.
Goose. Then his fine words that he sets them in, concaticall, a fine Annisseede wench foole, upon ticket, and so forth.
Fur. Passing strange words beleeve me.
Goos. Knoth every man at the table, though he never saw him before, by sight, and then will he foole you so finely my Lord, that he will make your hart ake, till your eyes runne over.
Fur. The best that ever I heard, pray mercy, good Knight, for thy merry description. Captaine, I give thee twenty companies of commendations, never to be cashierd.
Enter Iacke, and Will on the other side.
Am. Save your Lordship.
Fur. My pretty cast-ofMerlins,[40] what prophecies with your little maestershippes?
Ia. Things that cannot come to passe my Lord, the worse our fortunes.
Foul. Why, whats the matter Pages?
Rud. How now, my Ladies foysting[41] hounds.
Goos. M.Iacke, M.Ia. how do ye M.William? frolicke?
Wil. Not so frolicke, as you left us, sirGyles.
Fur. Why wags, what news bring you a Gods name?
Ia. Heavy newes indeed, my Lord, pray pardon us.
Fur. Heavy newes? not possible your little bodies cood bring am then, unload those your heavy newes, I beseech ye.
Wil. Why my Lord the foole we tooke for your Lord: is thought too wise for you, and we dare not present him.
Goos. Slydd Pages, youle not cheates of our foole, wil ye?
Ia. Why, sirGyles, hees too dogged, and bitter for you in truth; we shall bring you a foole to make you laugh, and he shall make all the World laugh at us.
Wil. I indeed, sirGyles, and he knowes you so wel too.
Gyles. Know me? slight he knowes me no more then the begger knowes his dish.[42]
Ia. Faith he begs you to be content, sirGyles, for he wil not come.
Goos. Beg me? slight, I wood I had knowne that, tother Day, I thought I had met him in Paules, and he had bin any body else but a piller, I wood have runne him through by heaven: beg me?
Foul. He begges you to be content, sirGyles; that is, he praies you.
Goos. O does he praise me then I commend him.
Fur. Let this unsutable foole goe, sirGyles; we will make shift without him.
Goos. That we wil, a my word, my Lord, and have him too for all this.
Wil. Doe not you say so, sirGyles, for to tell you true that foole is dead.
Goos. Dead? slight that can not be, man; I know he wood ha writ to me ant had byn so.
Fur. Quick or dead, let him goe, sirGiles.
Ia. I, my Lord, for we have better newes for you to harken after.
Fur. What are they, my good Novations?
Ia. My LordMomfordintreates your Lordship, and these knights and captaine to accompany the CountesseEugenia, and the other two Ladies, at his house at supper to night.
Wil. All desiring your Lo: to pardon them, for not eating your meat to night.
Fur. Withall my hart wagges, and thers amends; my harts, now set your courtshippe a' the last, a the tainters, and pricke up your selves for the Ladies.
Goos. O brave sirCut: come lets pricke up the Ladies.
Fur. And will not the Knights two noble kinsemen be there?
Ia. Both will be there, my Lord.
Fur. Why theres the whole knot of us then, and there shall we knocke up the whole triplicitie of your nuptials.
Goos. Ile make my Lord my Cosin speake for me.
Foul. And your Lordship will be for me I hope.
Fur. With tooth and naile Captaine, a my Lord[ship].
Rud. Hang am Tytts! ile pommell my selfe into am.
Ia. Your Lo: your Cosin, sirGyles, has promist the Ladies they shall see you sowe.
Goos. Gods me, wood I might never be mortall, if I doe not carry my worke with me.
Fur. Doe so sirGyles, and withall use meanesTo taint their high blouds with the shafte of Love.Sometimes a fingers motion wounds their mindes:A jest, a jesture, or a prettie laugh:A voyce, a present; ah, things done ith nickeWound deepe, and sure; and let flie your gold,And we shall nuptialls have, hold, belly, hold.
Goos. O rare sirCut. we shall eate nut-shells: hold, belly, hold!
[Exeunt.
Ia.—O pittifull Knight, that knowes not nuptialls from nut-shells!
Wil. And nowComme porte vous, monsieur!
Bul.Porte bien, vous remercy.
Ia. We may see it indeed, Sir, and you shall goe afore with us.
Bul. No goodmonsieurs.
Wil. Another Crashe in my Ladies Celler yfaith,monsieur.
Bul.Remercy de bon ceur, monsieurs.
[Exeunt.
Enter Clarence, Momford.
Mom. How now, my friend? does not the knowing beames,That through thy common sence glaunce through thy eyes,To read that letter, through thine eyes retireAnd warme thy heart with a triumphant fire?
Cla. My Lord, I feele a treble happinesMix in one soule, which proves how eminentThings endlesse are above things temporall,That are in bodies needefully confin'de:I cannot suffer their dimensions pierst,Where my immortall part admits expansure,Even to the comprehension of two moreCommixt substantially with her meere selfe.
Mom. As how my strange, and riddle-speaking friend?
Cla. As thus, my Lord; I feele my owne minds joy,As it is separate from all other powers,And then the mixture of an other souleIoyn'de in direction to one end, like it;And thirdly the contentment I enjoy,As we are joynd, that I shall worke that goodIn such a noble spirit as your Neece,Which in my selfe I feele for absolute;Each good minde dowbles his owne free content,When in an others use they give it vent.
Mom. Said like my friend, and that I may not wrongThy full perfections with an emptier grace,Then that which show presents to thy conceits,In working thee a wife worse then she seemes;Ile tell thee plaine a secret which I know.My Neece doth use to paint herselfe with white,Whose cheekes are naturally mixt with redd,Either because she thinks pale-lookes moves most:Or of an answereable nice affectTo other of her modest qualities;Because she wood not with the outward blazeOf tempting beauty tangle wanton eies;And so be troubled with their tromperies:Which construe as thou wilt, I make it knowne,That thy free comment may examine it,As willinger to tell truth of my Neece,Then in the least degree to wrong my friend.
Cla. A jealous part of friendship you unfold;For was it ever seene that any DameWood change of choice a well mixt white and redFor bloodles palenes, if she striv'd to move?Her painting then is to shun motion,But if she mended some defects with it,Breedes it more hate then other ornaments;(Which to suplie bare nature) Ladies weare?What an absurd thing is it to suppose;(If nature made us either lame or sick,)We wood not seeke for sound limmes, or for healthBy Art the Rector of confused Nature?So in a face, if Nature be made lame,Then Art can make it, is it more offenceTo helpe her want there then in other limmes?Who can give instance where Dames faces lostThe priviledge their other parts may boast.
Mom. But our most Court received Poets saies, That painting is pure chastities abator.
Cla. That was to make up a poore rime to Nature.And farre from any judgment it conferedFor lightnes comes from harts, and not from lookes,And if inchastity possesse the hart;Not painting doth not race it, nor being cleareDoth painting spot it:Omne bonum naturaliter pulchrum.For outward fairenes beares the divine forme,And moves beholders to the Act of love;And that which moves to love is to be wisht,And each thing simply to be wisht is good.So I conclude mere painting of the faceA lawful and a commendable grace.
Mom. What paradox dost thou defend in this?And yet through thy cleare arguments I seeThy speach is farre exempt from flatterie;And how illiterate custome groslie erresAlmost in all traditions she preferres.Since then the doubt I put thee of my Neece,Checks not thy doubtlesse love, forth my deare friend,And to add[43] force to those impressions,That now have caru'd her phantasie with love,I have invited her to supper heere.And told her thou art most extreamly sick,Which thou shalt counterfeit with all thy skill.
Cla. Which is exceeding smale to conterfeit.
Mom. Practise a little, love will teach it thee;And then shallDoctor Verseythe physitian,Come to thee while her selfe is in my house,Whith whom as thou confer'st of thy disease,He bring my Neece with all the Lords, and LadiesWithin your hearing, under fain'd pretextTo shew the Pictures that hang neere thy Chamber;Where when thou hearst my voyce, know she is there,And therefore speake that which may stir her thoughts,And make her flie into thy opened armes.Ladies, whom true worth cannot move to ruth,Trew lovers must deceive to shew their truth.
[Exeunt.
Finis Actus Quarti.
Actvs Qvinti.
Enter Momford, Furnifall, Tales, Kingcob, Rudesbie, Goosecap, Foulweather, Eugenia, Hippolyta, Penelope, Winnifred.
Mom. Where is sirGyles Goose-cappehere?
Goos. Here my Lord.
Mom. Come forward, Knight; t'is you that the Ladies admire at working, a mine honour.
Goos. A little at once my Lorde for idlenes sake.
Fur. SirCut, I say, to her Captaine.
Penel. Come good servant let's see what you worke.
Goos. Why looke you, Mistris, I am makeing a fine dry sea, full of fish, playing in the bottome, and here ile let in the water so lively, that you shall heare it rore.
Eug. Not heare it, sirGyles?
Goos. Yes in sooth, Madam, with your eyes.
Tal. I, Lady; for when a thing is done so exceedingly to the life, as my Knightly cosen does it, the eye oftentimes takes so strong a heede of it, that it cannot containe it alone, and therefore the eare seemes to take part with it.
Hip. That's a verie good reason, my Lord.
Mom. What a jest it is, to heare how seriouslie he strives to make his foolish kinsmans answeres wise ones?
Pene. What shall this be, servant?
Goos. This shall be a great Whale, Mistris, at all his bignesse spouting huge Hils of salt-water afore him, like a little water squirt, but you shall not neede to feare him Mistris, for he shal be silke, and gould, he shall doe you noe harme, and he be nere so lively.
Pene. Thanke you, good servant.
Tal. Doe not thinke, Lady, but he had neede tell you this a forehand: for, a mine honour, he wrought me the monsterCaucasusso lively, that at the first sight I started at it.
Mom. The monsterCaucasus? my Lord,Caucasusis a Mountaine;Cacusyou meane.
Tal.Cacusindeede, my Lord, crie you mercie.
Goos. Heere ile take out your eye, and you wil Mistris.
Pene. No by my faith, Servant, t'is better in.
Goos. Why, Ladie, Ile but take it out in jest, in earnest.
Pene. No, something else there, good servant.
Goos. Why then here shall be a Camell, and he shall have hornes, and he shall looke for all the World like a maide without a husband.
Hip. O bitter sirGiles.
Ta. Nay he has a drie wit, Ladie, I can tell ye.
Pene. He bobd me there indeed, my Lord.
Fur. Marry him, sweet Lady, to answere his bitter bob.
King. So she maie answere him with hornes indeed.
Eug. See what a pretty worke he weares in his boote-hose.
Hip. Did you worke them your selfe, sirGyles, or buy them?
Goos. I bought am for nothing, Madam, in th'exchange.
Eug. Bought am for nothing?
Tal. Indeed, Madam, in th'exchange they so honour him for his worke, that they will take nothing for any thing he buies on am; but wheres the rich night-cap you wroght, cosen? if it had not bin too little for you, it was the best peece of worke, that ever I sawe.
Goos. Why, my Lord, t'was bigge enough; when I wrought it, for I wore pantables then you knowe.
Tal. Indeed the warmer a man keepes his feete the lesse he needs weare uppon his head.
Eug. You speake for your kinsman the best that ever I heard, my Lord.
Goos. But I beleeve, Madam, my Lord my cosen has not told you all my good parts.
Ta. I told him so I warrant you, cosen.
Hip. What doe you thinke hee left out sirGyles?
Goos. Marry, Madam, I can takeTobacconow, and I have bought glow-wormes to kindle it withall, better then all the burning glasses ith World.
Eug. Glowe-wormes, sirGiles? will they make it burne?