Fr. Jhon. Such as ban Proffred delights may, if they please, refuse; What's borne with mee I will make bold to use.
Lord Av. And I what thou weart borne too, that's a halter.Pull without feare or mercy, strangle himWith all his sinnes about him; t'were not elseA revendge worthe my fury.
[Fry: strangled.
Dennis. I dare nowe Lodge him a whole night by my syster's syde, Hee's nowe past strompetting.
Lord Av. Tis night with him, A longe and lastinge night.
Denis. Hee lyes as quiet.You did well, Fryare, to putt on your cleane linnen;Twill serve you as a shrowde for a new grave.Whither shall wee lyft his body?
Lord Av. I am on the suddeine Growne full of thoughts; the horror of the fact Breedes strange seditions in mee.
Denis. Hee perhapps But counterfetts dead sleep. I'l hollowe to him To see if I can wake him.
Lord Av. Trifle not;The sinne will proove more serious. To a conscienceStartled with blood and murder, what a terrorIs in the deede, being doone, which bredd beforeBoathe a delight and longing! This sadd spectacleHowe itt affrights mee!
Denis. Letts remove itt then.
Lord Av. The sinne it self, the churches malediction,As doone to one of a sequestred lyfeAnd holly order, the lawes penalty,Being duble forfeture of lyfe and state,Reproach, shame, infamy, all these incur'dThrough my inconsiderate rashnes!
Denis. My lyfe, too. Howe to prevent the danger of all these?
Lord Av. Ey, that will aske much breyne, much project.
Denis. Sir, Shall we poppe him in som privy?
Lord Av. Duble injurye,To praye upon the soule and after deatheDoo to the body such discoortesy;It neather savours of a generous spyrittNor that which wee call manly.
Denis. AnythingeFor a quiett lyfe,[115] but this same wryneckt deathe,That which still spoyles all drinkinge, 'tis a thingeI never coold indure; as you are nobleKeepe still my wind pype open.
Lord Av. Out of many Museings[116] for boath our safetyes I have fownd One that's above the rest most probable.
Denis. What, what, I praye, Syr?
Lord Av. Interupt mee not:Staye I should nowe begett a stratagemTo save myne owne lyfe, myne estate and goodds,Ey, and secure thee too.
Denis. 'Twere excellent, Syr.
Lord Av. I have project for all these, as willingly To lengthen boathe our lyves, and limitt us Tyme to repent his deathe.
Denis. But howe, I praye, Syr?
Lord Av. Ey, there's the difficulty; but nowe I hav't.Betwixt us and the cloyster's but one wall,And that of no greate height; coold wee in privateConveighe this fryar into the monastery,It might be then imadgind som of themMight bee his deathe's-man; which might seeme more probableBycause, as I had late intelligens,There hathe bin stryfe amongst them.
Denis. Better still.
Lord Av. Now howe can wee incurr the least suspect? For what should hee doo from the fryary, Or what seeke heere att this unseasoned hower?
Denis. I apprehende thee; and, to further this,In the backe yard there is a ladder, Syr:Mount him upon my back, and I'l conveighe himWhere som, not wee, shall answer for his death.
Lord Av. As desperate wounds still must have desperate cure, So all rash mischeiffes shuld have suddeine shiftes. Wee'I putt it to ye venter.
Denis. Mount him then; I'l once trye if the ventur of a ladder Can keepe mee from the halter.
[Exeunt.[117]
Explicit Actus 3.
Actus 4.
Enter the Clowne.
Clowne. I have left a full coort behynde mee,Mildewepleidinge of the one syde, my mayster on the other, and the lawyers fendinge and prooveinge on boathe; there's such yeallinge and ballinge, I know not whether it made any deafe to heare it, but I am suer I was almost sicke to see't. Whyle they are brablinge in the cittye I am sent backe to the villadge to cheire up the too younge mermaydes; for synce theire throates have bin rincht with salt water they singe with no lesse sweatenes. But staye; I spy a fisherman drawinge his nett upp to the shore; I'l slacke som of my speede to see how hee hathe spedd since the last tempest.
Enter the Fisherman.
Fisher. I see hee that nought venters nothinge gaynes;Hee that will bee awake when others sleepeMay sometymes purchase what may give him rest,When other loyterers shalbe forct to ryseOr perish through meare want; as, for example,Although the tempest frighted hence the fishe,I have drag'd some thinge without finne or skaleMay make mee a good markett. Lett mee betterSurveigh my pryze; 'tis of good weight I feele;Now should it bee some treasure I weare mayde.
Clowne. Which if it proove I'l half marr you or be half made with you.
Fisher. It must be gold by th'weight.
Clowne. If it bee so heavy 'tis ten to one but I'l do you the curtesye to ease you of part of your burden.
Fisher. None save myself is guilty of this pryze; 'Tis all myne owne, and I'l bee thinke mee best Howe to beestowe of this ritche magazin.
Clowne. And I am stooddiinge too with what lyne, what angle, what fisguigge[118] what castinge nett I cann share with you in this sea booty.
Fisher. I will dissemble, as most ritche men doo,Pleade poverty and speake my mayster fayre;By out my freedom for som little somme,And, beeinge myne owne man, by lands and howses;That doon, to sea I'l rigge shipps of myne owne,And synce the sea hathe made mee upp a stockeI'l venter it to sea; who knowes but IIn tyme may prove a noble marchant?
Clowne. Yes of eele skinnes.—Staye you, Syrra, ho!
Fisher. I knowe no fish of that name; limpet, mullet, conger, dolphin, sharke I knowe, and place; I woold som body else had thyne; for hearinge I woold thou hadst none, nor codd; for smelt thou art too hott in my nose allredy; but such a fishe cald Syrra never came within the compasse of my nett. What art thou, a shrimpe, a dogg fish or a poore Jhon?[119]
Clowne.[120] I am one that watcht the tyde to know what thou hast caught, and have mony in my pockett to by thy draught.
Fisher. And I am one thou seest that have only an empty wett nett, but not so much as the tale of a spratte at thys tyme to sell for love of mony.
Clowne. I grant this is no Fryday and I at this tyme no cater for the fishmarkett. I only cam to desyre thy judgement and counsell.
Fisher. Go to the bench for judgment and to the lawe courts for counsell, I am free of neather, only one ofNeptunespoore bastards, a spawne of the sea, and nowe gladly desyres to be rydd of thee aland.
Clowne. Onely one question resolve mee, and I have doone.
Fisher. To bee well ridd of the I care not if I loose so much tyme.
Clowne. But feythefully.
Fisher. As I am honest peeterman.[121]
Clowne. Observe mee then:I saw a theif, comitting fellony;I know the mayster of the thing was stolne,I com unto this theif, as't might bee thee,And make this covenant; eather give mee halfAnd make mee sharer or thou forfettest all,I'l peach thee to the owner; in this caseWhat may I justly claime?
Fisher. Rather than forfeit all I shoold yeild halfe.
Clowne. Knwe then 'tis thy case, and my case a most playne case, and concernes the booty in that cap-case.[122] I knowe the lord that wants it and the mayster that owes[123] it; boath howe it was lost and where it was lost. Com, unloose, unbuckle, unclaspe, uncase, lett's see then what fortune hathe sente us, and so part it equally beetwixt us.
Fisher. Staye, staye, my frend this my case must not be opend till your case bee better lookt into. Thou knowest who lost it, I who fownd it; thou the lord of it that was, I the owner that nowe is; thou who did possess it, I who doth injoye it; hee had it, I have it; hee might have kept it, I will keepe it; I venter'd for all, I will inherit all; and theres thy pittifull case layde open.
Clowne. First proove this to bee thyne.
Fisher. I can and by the fisherman's rethorick.
Clowne. Proceed sea-gull.
Fisher. Thus land-spaniell; no man can say this is my fishe till hee finde it in his nett.
Clowne. Good.
Fisher. What I catche is myne owne, my lands my goodds my copy-hold, my fee-simple, myne to sell, myne to give, myne to lend, and myne to cast away; no man claimes part, no man share, synce fishinge is free and the sea common.
Clowne.[124] If all bee common that the sea yeelds why then is not that as much mine as thyne?
Fisher. By that lawe, when wee bringe our fishe to the markett, if every one may freely chuse what hee lykes and take where hee lyst, wee shoold have quikly empty dorsers[125] and cleane stalls, but light purses.
Clowne. How can'st thou proove that to bee a fishe that was not bredd in the water, that coold never swimme, that hathe neather roe nor milt, scale nor finne, lyfe nor motion? Did ever man heare of a fishe cald a budgett? What shape, what collor?
Fisher. This shape, this collor, there's nowe within better then the spawne of sturgeon; I must confesse indeed, they are rarely seene, and seldom fownd; for this is the fyrst I ever catcht in all the tyme of my fishinge.
Clowne. All this sea-sophestry will not serve your turne, for where my right is deteind mee by fayre meanes I will have it by force.
Fisher. Of what I caught in the sea?
Clowne. Yes, and what I catch hold on ashore. With what consciens can'st thou denye mee part of the gaine, when the owner heareinge it is in thy custody and within my knowledge, must eather find mee a principall in the theft, or at least accessary to the fellony.
Fisher. I'l showe thee a redy waye to prevent boathe.
Clowne. How's that?
Fisher. Marry, thus: go thou quietly thy way, I'l go peacably myne; betraye thou mee to nobody, as I meane to impart to thee nothinge; seeke thy preferment by land as I have doone myne by sea; bee thou mute, I'l be dumbe; thou silent, I mumbudgett; thou dismisse mee, I'l acquitte thee; so thou art neather theife nor accessary.
Clowne. Syrrah, though you bee owner of the boate I'l steare my course at healme.
Fisher. Hands off, I saye. But hark a noyse within Letts cease our controversy till wee see [Noyse. An end of that.
Clowne. Trew, and bee judg'd by the next quiet man wee meete.
Fisher. Content.
Enter after a noyse or tumult, Ashburne, his wyfe, Palestra, Scribonia and Godfrey.
Woman. I'l not beleeve a sillable thou speak'st; False harts and false toonges go together still, They boathe are quick in thee.
Ashb. Have patience woman.
Woman. I have ben too longe a grizell. Not contentTo have thy hawnts abroad, where there are martsAnd places of lewd brothelry inougheWheare thou maiest wast thy body, purse and creditt,But thou wooldst make thy private howse a stewes!
Ashb. But heare me, wyfe.
Wom. I'l heare none but myselfe.Are your legges growne so feeble on the suddeineThey feyle when you shoold travell to your whores,But you must bringe them home and keepe them heereUnder my nose? I am not so past my sencesBut at this age can smell your knavery.
Pal. Good woman, heare's none suche.
Woman. Bold baggadge, peace!'Tis not your turne to prate yet; lust and impudensI know still goe togeather.[126] Shewes it wellIn one thats of thy yeares and gravity,That ought to bee in lyfe and governmentTo others an example, nowe to doateSo neere the grave! to walke before his dooerWith a younge payer of strumpetts at his tale!Naye, make his honest and chast wyfe no betterThen a madam makarell![127]
Godfr. Why, this stormes woorse then that until'd the howse!
Ashb. But understand mee:Itt is meare pitty and no bad intent,No unchast thought but my meare charityIn the remembrans of our longe lost child,To showe som love to these distressed maydens.
Woman. Sweete charity! nay, usury withall!For one chyld lost, whose goodnes might have blestAnd bin an honor to our family,To bringe mee home a cuple of loose thinges!I know not what to terme them, but for thee,Owld fornicator, that jad'st mee at homeAnd yet can fend [?] a yonge colt's toothe abroad,Ould as I am myne eyes are not so dimmeBut can discerne this without spectacles.Hence from my gate, you syrens com from sea,Or as I lyve I'l washe your painteinges offAnd with hotte skaldeinge water instantly.[Exit.
Godfr. Nay then, sweeteharts, you canott staye, you have had could interteinment.
Pal. The land's to us as dreadfull as the seas, For wee are heare, as by the billows, tost From one feare to another.
Ashb. Pretty sowles,Despyer not you of comfort; I'l not leive youTo the least danger till som newes returneFrom him that undertakes your patronadge.You, syrrah, usher them into the fryary,Whence none dares force them. I have a cross wyfe you see,And better you then I take sanctuary.
Scrib. Wee will be sweyde by you as one in whome Wee yet have fownd all goodnes.
Ashb. Leive them theere To safety, then returne.
[Ex't. ma: Ashb.[128]
Clown. What say'st thou to this gentleman?
Fisher. No man better.—Now it will go on my syde; this is my owne master, sure hee cannot bee so unatrall to give sentens against his owne natural servant.—Syr, good daye.
Ashb. Gramercyes, I in truth much suffered for thee, Knowing howe rashly thou exposd thyself To such a turbulent sea.
Clown. I likewyse, Syr, salute you.
Ashb. Thanks, good frend.
Clown. But, syr, is this your servant.[129]
Ashb. Yes, I acknowledge him; And thou I thinke belongst to MrRaphael, Imployde about these women.
Clown. Yes I acknowledge it; but you are sure hee's yours?
Ashb. Once againe I doo confesse him myne.
Clown. Then heare mee speake.
Fisher. Heare mee your servant.[130]
Ashb. I'l heare the stranger fyrst.
Clown. In this you doo but justyce, I pray tell mee[131] … Sea, is this a fishe or no, or if a fishe what fishe do you call it (peace you).
Ashb. It is no fishe nor fleshe.
Clowne. Nor good redd herringe—fisherman, y'r gone.
Fisher. Thou art deceav'd I am heare still, and may have heare for ought I knowe to by all the redd herringe inMarcell[es].
Clowne. Did you ever heare of a fishe cal'd a budgett?
Ashb. I protest never synce I knew the sea.
Clowne. You are gone againe fisherman.
Fisher. I am heare still; and now, master, heare mee.
Clowne. Lett mee proceede. This bagge, this knapsacke, or this portmanteau hee woold make a fishe bycause tooke in his nett. Nowe, syr, I com to you with this ould proverbe, all's not fishe that com's to nett.—There you are, gone againe.
Fisher. But—
Clowne. No butt, nor turbutt. I suspect this budgett to be the bawde's, in which are the discoveryes of this yonge woman's coontry and parents. Now, syr, for their sakes, for my masters sake, for all our sakes use the authority of a mayster to searche, and showe the power you have over a servant to comand.
Ashb. Will hee or not, hee shall assent to that.
Clowne. A meere trick to undoo mee, ere I knwe What I am wanting.
Ashb. Call in the damseles, Intreate them fayrely heather; say wee hope We shall have good newes for them.
Fisher. I will part with it only on this condition, that if there bee nothinge in it which concernes them, the rest may returne to mee unrifled and untutcht.
Ashb. Did it conteyne the valew of a myne I clayme no part in it.
Fisher. Nor you?
Clowne. Nor I.
Fisher. By the contents of this budgett.
Clowne. I sweare.
Ashb. I vowe.
Fisher. Then there tak't to you, mayster, and once more Good lucke on my syde!
Enter Godfrey, usheringe in Palestra and Scribonia.
Palest, You sent to speake with us?
Ashb. I did indeed, Saye, knowe you this? y'have leave, surveigh it well.
Pal. This? knowe I this? oh, myScribonia, see!Yes, and by this alone may knowe myself.Looke well upon't, deare syster; extasyMay dimme myne eyes, it cannot purblind thyne.
Scrib. Itt is the same,Palestra.
Fisher. Then sure I shall not bee the same man in the afternoone that I was in the morninge.
Scrib. In this is a greate masse of wealthe included, All that the bawde hath by corruption gott In many a thrifty yeare.
Fisher. Comfort for mee.
Ashb. But tell me is there ought of yours included, Which you may justly chalendge?
Pal. Of that gouldNo not the valewe of one poor deneere:[132]'Tis all base brokadge boathe of sinne and shameOf which wee neare weare guilty; yet inclosedThere shall you find a cabinet of myne,Where boathe my naturall parents you may seeIn a small roome intended.
Fisher. An unatrall child thou art to trust thy naturall parents into a leatheren bagge and leave them in the bottom of y'e sea.
Pal. Showe mee the caskett: if before you ope itI do not name you every parcell in'tLett it no more bee myne, mak't your own pryse;But such small trifles as I justly chalengeAnd cannot yeeld you the least benefitt,Of them let mee bee mystresse, synce they areThe somme and crowne of all my future hopes,But from my tender infancy deteined.As for the gould and Jewells mak't your spoyle;Of that I clayme no portione.
Fisher. I accept of the condition.
Ashb. Itt is boathe just and honest; we'll have no juggling, And,Gripus, synce the busines concernes you, Have you a curious ey too't.
Fisher. Feare not mee, for boathe at sea and land I was ever a goodd marksman.
Ashb. The caskett is nowe open'd: what coms fyrste?
Pal. Above, the clothes in which I fyrst was swathde, The linnen fyrst worne in myne infancy.
Ashb. These are child's swathinges; whether thyne or no It is to mee uncertaine. To the rest.
Pal. And next to these is a ritche handkercher, Where you shall find in golden letters wrought My place of byrthe, myne and my father's name.
Ashb. Heare's such a handkercher, such letters workt: Speake them, as I shall reade them.
Pal. Mirable.
Ashb. Right!Myrable.
Pal. Daughter of Jhon Ashburne, merchant.
Ashb. Trewe: ofJhon Ashburnemerchant—Oh my sowle! —Proceed, prithee proceede.
Pal. And borne in Christ-chyrch, London, Anno—
Ashb. 160(?)0.[133]Oh you Imortall powers. I stagger yetBeetwixt despayer and hope, and canott guesseWhich weye my fate will swaye mee; oh speake, speake!Thy mothers name?
Pal. Reade it in sylver letters pleynly wrought In the next Imbrodered Linnen.
Ashb. If that fayle not I have a firme rock to build upon.—The guift of Isabell to her daughter Mirable.— Oh frend, oh servant!
Clown. How is't, syr?
Fisher. How now, mayster?
Ashb. I that so many yeares have been despoyl'd, Neclected, shattered, am made upp againe, Repaired, and new created.
Pal. Search but further And there's a golden brooch in it, a diamond, Upon my byrthday geven mee by my father.
Ashb. I have longe sought and nowe at lengthe have found That diamond, thee my doughter.
Pal. How, syr?
Ashb. Shee that so late excluded thee my houseAnd shutt these gates against thee,IsabellThy mother, these weare her owne handyworkesBestowde upon thee in thyne infancyTo make us nowe boathe happy in thy yoouth.I amJhon Ashburnemarchant,London, Christ Church;The yeare, place, tyme agree thee to bee myne,Oh merher [mirror] of thy sex, myMyrable!
Pal. This surplusadge of joy should not bee forged.
Ashb. No more than these noates are infalleble.
Pal. Thus then in all Humility I kneele To you my acknowledgd father.
Ashb. Ryse, my guerle.
Fisher. Had I not drawne this leeward out of the sea, where had it bin? all drownd by this.
Ashb. No triflinge nowe: post,Godfrey, to my wyfe,Tell her no more then thou hast heard and seene:Shee's hard of faythe, relate it punctually,Beare her (oh lett me borrowe them so longe)These better to confirme her; bid her hast,And for the truth add these as testimony:—Nay, art thou heare still?
Godf. Lyke a shadowe vanisht, But to returne a substance. [Exit Godfrey.[134]
Ashb. Oh my deare doughter!—where's youngRaphael'sman Beare him of all what thou hast seene a perfect And trew relation.
Clowne. Ay, syr.
Ashb.[135] Bidd him too, All business sett apart, make hether.
Clown. Ay, syr.
Ashb. Tell him that hisPalestrais myMirable.
Clown. Ay, syr.
Ashb. And that shee is my doughter, my lost child.
Clowne. Ay, syr.
Ashb. And that of all this I am most assur'd.
Clown. Ay, syr.
Ashb. Thou wilt not doo all this?
Clown. I will, you lye, syr.
Ashb. Howe, syr.
Cl. Ay, syr.
Ashb. Saye that this daye shee shalbee made his wyfe.
Cl. Ay, syr.
Ashb. Why then add winges unto your heeles and fly, syr.
Cl. Ay syr, but ere I take my flight, for this good servyce You'll mediate with him for my freedom?
Ashb. So.
Cl. And woo your doughter to doo so too?
Ashb. So.
Cl. And, syr, to him I shalbee thankefull.
Ashb. So.
Cl. Your doughters and your servant ever.
Ashb. So.
Cl. To go, roonne, ryde of all your arrants.
Ashb. So.
Cl. In all this you'l bee slack in nothinge?
Ashb. So.
Cl. And you'l heareafter love mee still?
Ashb. So, so.
Cl. Howe, but so, so?
Ashb. Yes, so and so and so.
Cl. Why, then I go, go, goe. [Exit Clown.
Ashb. But one thinge I intreate you,Mirable:This thyrteene yeares, since by rude creditorsTost and opprest, nay rent out of myne owne,I have bin forct to seeke my fate abroad,Howe weare you ravisht thence, or since that tymeWhat strange adventures past?
Enter Godfrey, and the wyfe with the handkercher.
Mirable. My mother's presence Must now prevent my answer.
Wyfe. Where is shee? oh wheare, wheare? for by these tokens, These of her childhood most unfallid signes, I knwe her for my doughter.
Mir. I have bene The longe and wretched owner of that cabinet With all therein contein'd.
Wyfe. Into thy boosom Oh lett mee rayne a shower of joyfull teares To welcom thee, myMirable.
Godf. You threatned her but nowe with skaldinge water; mee thinks you had more neede to comfort her with hott waters, for sure shee canott bee warme synce shee came so late out of the could bathe.
Wyf. Make fyares, bid them make ready wholesom brothes, Make warme the bedd, and see the sheetes well ayred. Att length then have I fownd thee?
Ashb. But what's shee That's in thy fellow-shippe?
Mir. My fellowe sharerIn all misfortunes; and for many yearesSo deere to mee, I canot tast a blessednesOf which shee's not partaker.
Wyfe. For thy sakeShee shall bee myne too, and (in her) I'l thinkeThe powers above have for my single losseGiven mee at lengthe a duble recompense.
Scrib. For which hee that protects all inocence Will in good tyme reward you.
Wyfe. Praye, in, in; This could is prejuditiall to your Healthes. I'l count you boathe my twinnes.
[Ext. Wife, Palestra, and Scribonia.
Ashb. Strange alteration! Skoldinge is turn'd to pittye, spleen and mallyce To mercye and compassion.
Fisher. But your promisse Tutchinge my budgett?
Ashb. Godfreye, beare it in And lodge it safe; there's no tyme for that; We'll talke of it herafter.
Godf. FellowGripus, I am made for this tyme porter. Ladeys, your trusty treasurer. [Ext. Ashbourne and Godfrey.
Gripus. These are the fishermen and I the fishe catcht in the nett; well my comfort is, thoughe my booty have made me no ritcher then I was, poorer then I am I canott bee. Nowe[136] wherein is the ritche more happy then the poore? I thinke rather lesse blessed and that shall approue by this excellent good ballet, thoughe sett to a scurvy tune.
Lett ech man speake as he's possestI hold the poore man's state most blest.For if longe lyfe contentment bredes,In that the poore the ritche exceedes;
The ritch man's dayes are short, as spentIn pleasures and supposed content;Whylst to us poore men care and trobleMakes every hower wee wast seeme duble.
He that hathe ech daye to his backeChandge of gaye suites, whylst wee alackeHave but one coate, that coorse and ould,Yet it defends us from the could;
As warme too in an equll eyeAs they in all theere purple dye;'Mongst all theere store, they weare, we see,But one at once, and so do wee.
The ritche that at his table feastsWith choyse of dayntyes, sundry guests,In all his plenty can but fillOne belly; so the poore can still
With cheese and onions and disguest[137]As well with them as th'others feast.The pesent with his homespoon lasseAs many merry howers may passe
As coortiers with there sattin guerles,Though ritchly dect in gould and pearles;And, though but pleyne, to purpose wooe,Nay ofttymes with lesse danger too.
And yet for all this I have one crotchett left in my fate to bate a new hooke for the gold in the portmanteau.
[Exit.
Actus 4to.
Enter Dennis with the Fryar from aboue upon his backe.
Den. Whether a knavishe or a sinneful load,Or one or bothe I know not; massye it is,And if no frend will for mee,[138] I'l bee sorryFor myne owne heavinesse. And heare's a place,Though neather of the secretest nor the best,To unlade myself of this Iniquity.When I satt late astryde upon the wall,To lyft the ladder this waye for descent,Mee thought the fryar lookt lyke SGeorgea horsbackAnd I his trusty steede. But nowes no triflynge:Hee's[139] where hee is in Comons, wee discharged,Boathe of suspect and murther; which lett the coventTo-morrowe morninge answere howe they cann.I'I backe the waye wee came; what's doon, none saweI'th howse nor herde; they answer then the Lawyer.[Exit.
Enter Fryar Richard.
Fr. R. Of all Infirmityes belonginge to usI hould those woorst that will not lett a manRest in his bedd a-nights. And I of that,By reason of a late could I have gott,Am at this instant guilty; which this rushingeFrom a warme bedd in these wild frosty nightsRather augments then helpes; but all necessityesMust bee obeyde. But soft, there's one before mee:By this small glimpse of moone light I perceave himTo bee FryarJhon, my antient adversary.[140]WhyJhon? whyJhon? what! not speake! why, thenI see 'tis doon of malyce, and of purposeOnly to shame mee, since hee knowes the restTake notyce what a loose man I am growne.Nay prithee, sweete fryarJhon, I am in hast,Horrible hast; doo but release mee nowe,I am thy frend for ever. What! not heare!Feigne to bee deaf of purpose, and of slight!Then heare is that shall rouse you. Are you falne?[Eather[141] strykes him with a staffe or casts a stone.What, and still mute and sylent? nay, not styrr?I'l rowse you with a vengance! not one limbeTo doo his woonted offyce, foot nor hand?Not a pulse beatinge, no breathe? what no motion?Oh mee of all men lyvinge most accurst!I have doon a fearefull murder, which our formerInveterate hate will be a thousand testatsThat I for that insidiated his lyfe.The deedes apparant and the offens past pardon.There's nowe no waye but fly: but fly! which way?The cloyster gates are all bar'd and fast lockt;These suddeine mischieffes shuld have suddeine shifts.About it breyne and in good tyme. I hate![142]Suspitious rumors have bene lately spreadAnd more then whispered of th'incontinent loveFryarJhonboare to the knight's Lady. Had I meanesHowe to conveighe his body o'er the wallTo any or the least part of the howse,It might bee thought the knight in jelosyHad doone this murder in a just revendge.Let me surveighe th'ascent: happy occation!To see howe redy still the devill isTo helpe his servants! heare's a ladder left:Upp, Fryare, my purpose is to admitt you noweOf a newe cloyster. I will sett his bodyUpright in the knights porche and leave my patronTo answer for the falt, that hath more strengthThen I to tugge with Benches.[Exit. Carry him up.
Enter the knight, half unredy, his Lady after him.
D'Avern. Ho,Denis!
Lady. Give mee reason, I intreate, Of these unquiet sleepes.
D'Av. You dogg mee, Lady, Lyke an Ill genius.
Lady. You weare woont to call mee Your better angel.
D'Av. So I shall doo still, Would you beetake you to your quiet sleepes And leave mee to my wakinges.
Lady. There beelonges Unto one bedd so sweete a sympathy, I canott rest without you.
D'Av. To your chamber!There may growe els a woorse antypathyBeetwixt your love and myne: I tell you, Lady,Myne is no woman's busines. No reply:Your least insured presence att this tymeWill but begett what you would loathe to beare,Quarrell and harshe unkindnes.
Lady. Ever your lipps Have bene too mee a lawe.—I suspect more Then I would apprehend with willingnes; But though prevention canott helpe what's past, Conjugall faythe may expresse itself at last. [Exit Lady.
D'Av. Why,Denis, ho! awake and ryse in hast!
Denis. What, is your Lordshipp madd!
D'Av. Knowest thou what's past And canst thou skape this danger?
Denis. Did I not tell you That all was safe, the body too disposed Better then in his grave?
D'Av. Strange thoughts sollicite mee.Upp and inquire about the cloyster wallWhat noyse thou hearest, if any private whisperingeOr louder uprore 'bout the murder ryse.
Denis. I shall, I shall, Syr. [Exit Dennis.
D'Av. Guilt, thoughe it weare a smooth and peacefull face, Yet is within full of seditious thoughts That makes continuall follie. [Exit.
Enter Fryar Richard with Fryar Jhon upon his backe.
Fr. Rich. This is the porch that leades into the hall;Heare rest for thyne and myne own better ease.This havinge done, to prevent deathe and shameBy the same stepps I'l back the way I came.
[Fryer sett up and left. Exit.
Enter Denis half unredy.
Denis. This is the penalty belonges to servyce:Masters still plott to theire owne private ends,And wee that are theire slaves and ministersAre cheef still in the troble; they ingrosseThe pleasure and the proffitt, and wee onlyThe swett and payne. My Lord hath doon a mischeefAnd nowe I must not sleepe.—What art thou?None of the howse sure, I should knwe thy face then:Beesydes my Lord gives no such lyverye.Nowe in the name of heaven, what art thou? speake,Speake if thou beest a man! or if a ghostThen glyde hence lyke a shadowe! tis the—oh!—The fryar hathe nimbly skipt back over the wall,Hath lyke a surly Justyce bensht himselfAnd sitts heare to accuse uss! where's my Lord?Helpe, Helpe! his murdered ghost is com from HellOn earth to cryVindicta![143]
Enter L. D'Averne.
D'Av. What clamors this?
Denis. Oh Syr—
D'Av. Why, howe is't,Denis?
Denis. Never woorse—the fryar, Syr—
D'Av. What of him?
Denis. The slave that would not leive the place but carried, Is of himself com back.
D'Av. Whether?
Denis. Looke theere.
D'Av. That which I took to bee meare fantasyI finde nowe to bee real; murder isA cryinge sinne, and canot be conceal'd.Yet his returne is straunge.
Denis, 'Tis most prodigious; The very thought of it hath put a cricke Into my necke allredy.
D'Av. One further desperate tryall I will make And putt it too adventer.
Denis. Pray hows that, Syr?
D'Av. There's in my stable an ould stallion, once A lusty horse but now past servyce.
Denis. Godd [sic], syr.
D'Av. Him I'l have sadled and capparisond.Heare in the hall a rusty Armor hanges,Pistolls in rotten cases, an ould sword,And a cast lance to all these sutable.I'l have them instantly tooke downe.
Den. And then?
D'Av. In these I'l arme the fryar from head to knee;Mount him into his saddle, with stronge cordsThere bind him fast, and to his gauntlet handFasten his lance; for basses[144] tis no matter,These his grey skyrts will serve. Thus arm'd, thus mounted,And thus accoutred, with his beiver upp,Turne him out of the gates, neither attendedWith squire or page, lyke a stronge knight adventuresTo seeke a desperate fortune.
Denis. Hee may so if hee please Ryde post unto the Devill.
D'Av. This I'l see doone, 'Tis a decree determinde.
Denis. Capp a pe I'l see him arm'd and mounted.
[Exeunt.
Enter Fryar Richard.
Fr. R. This murder canott bee so smothered uppBut I in th'end shall paye for't; but feare stillIs wittye in prevention. Nowe for instanceThere's but one refuge left mee, that's to flye:The gates are shutt upon mee and myselfAm a badd foottman, yet these difficultyesI can thus helpe; there to this place beelongesA mare that every second d[a]yes' imploydeTo carry corne and fetch meele from the mill,Distant som half league off; I by this beastWill fashion myne escape.—What, baker, ho!
Within Baker. What's hee that calls so early?
Fr. R. I, FryarRichard.
Baker. What would you have that you are stirringe thus An hower before the Dawne.
Fr. Rich. I cannott sleepeAnd understandinge there's meale redy ground,Which thou must fetch this morninge from the mill,I'l save thee so much pey[n]es. Lend mee the beast,And lett mee forthe the gate; I'l bringe boathe backEre the bell ringe for mattens.
Baker. Marry, FryarRichard,With all my hart, and thanke yee. I'l but ryseAnd halter her, then lett you forthe the gate;You'l save mee so much labour.
Fr. Rich. This falls out As I coold wishe, and in a fortunate hower; For better then to too legges trust to fower.
Explicit Actus 4.
Act5.
Enter Thomas Ashburne the younger brother to John, a merchant, with one of the Factors.[145]
Thomas. Are all things safe abord?
Factor. As you can wish, sir;And notwithstandinge this combustious stryfeBetwixt the winds and Seas, our ship still tight,No anchor, cable, tackle, sayle or mastLost, though much daunger'd; all our damadge isThat where our puerpose was forItalyWe are driven intoMarcellis.
Thomas. That's myne unhappinesThat beinge come upon a brother's questLonge absent from his country, who of lateAfter confinement, penury, distresseHath gained a hopefull fortune, and I travellingTo beare him tydeinges of a blest estateAm in my voyage thwarted.
Factor. In what province Resydes hee at this present?
Thomas. His last lettersThat I receav'd weare dated fromLeagahorne;Nowe wee by this infortnate storme are drivenIntoMarcellisroads.
Factor. For the small tyme Of our abode heare what intend you, Sir?
Thomas. To take in victuall and refresh our men,Provyde us of thinges needefull, then once moreWith all the expeditious hast wee canSett sayle forFlorens.
Factor. Please you, Sir, I'l steward well that busines.
Thomas. I'th meanetymeI shall find leisure to surveigh the towne,The keyes, the temples, forts and monuments;For what's the end of travell but to better usIn judgment and experiens? What are these?Withdrawe and give them streete-roome.
Enter Raphael, Treadeway and the Clowne.
Raph. Hath myPalestrafownd her parents then?
Clowne. As sure as I had lost you.
Raph. And free borne?
Clowne. As any inMarcellis.
Raph.Englishe, sayst thou?
Clowne. OrBrittishe, which you please.
Raph. Her trew nameMirableAndAshburne'sdoughter?
Clowne. Suer as yours isRaphaelsAndTread-wayeshis.
Thomas.MirableandAshburne!
Factor. Names that concerne you, Sir.
Thomas. Peace, listen further.
Raph. Thou with these woords hast extasyde my sowle And I am all in rapture. Then hee's pleasd Wee too shalbee contracted?
Clowne. 'Tis his mynd, Sir.
Raph. The moother, too, consents?
Clowne. So you shall finde, Sir.
Raph. AndMirablepleasd, too?
Clowne. Shes so inclind, Sir.
Raph. And this the very day?
Clowne. The tyme assignd, Sir.
Raph. Shee shalbee suerly myne.
Clowne. As vowes can bind, Sir.
Raph. Thou sawest all this?
Clowne. I am suer I was not blind, Sir.
Raph. And all this shall bee done?
Clown. Before you have din'd, Sir.
Raph. Oh, frend, eather pertake with mee in Joy And beare part of this surplus, I shall else Dye in a pleasinge surfett.
Tread. Frend, I dooWithall intreate you interceade for meeTo your fayre loves companion, for if allTh'estate I have inFrancecan by her freedom,Shee shall no longer faynt beneathe the yoakeOf lewdnes and temptation.
Raph. The extent Of that fyxt love I ever vowde to thee Thou in this act shall find.
Tread. And it shall seale it, Beyond all date or limitt.
Raph. Come, hasten, frend, methinks at lengthe I spy After rough tempests a more open skye.
[Exeunt[146] Raphael and Treadway.
Clowne. And I will after you home, Syr, Since so merrily blowes the wind, Sir.
Thomas. Staye, frend, I am a stranger in these parts And woold in one thinge gladly bee resolved.
Clowne. I am in haste.
Thomas. That little leasure thou bestowest on mee I shalbee gladd to pay for; nay, I will. Drinke that for my sake.
Clowne. Not this, Syr, as it is; for I can make a shifte to dissolve hard mettall into a more liquid substance. A cardeq![147] oh Syr, I can distill this into a quintessence cal'dArgentum potabile.[148]
Thomas. I heard you name oneAshburne; can you bring mee To th'sight of such a man?
Clowne. Easily I can, Syr. But for another peice of the same stampe, I can bringe you to heare him, to feele him, to smell, to tast him, and to feede upon him your whole fyve senses.
Thomas. There's for thee, though I have no hope at allTo finde inFrancewhat I inFlorensseeke.And though my brother have no child alyve,As longe synce lost when I was rob'd of myne,Yet for the namesake, to my other travellsI'l add this little toyle, though purposeles.I have about mee letters of ImportDyrected to a merchant of that nameFor whose sake (beeinge one to mee intyred)I only crave to see the gentleman.
Clowne. Beleeve mee Syr I never love to jest, with those that beforehand deale with me in earnest. Will you follow mee?
Thomas. Prooves hee my brother, and his dowghter found,Lost by my want of care, (which canott beeAll reasons well considered) and I so happyTo bringe him newes of a recovered state,Who to his foes so longe hathe been a prey,I'd count my monthes and years but from this day.
[Exeunt.
Enter at one door D'Averne, and Dennis with the Fryar armed. At the other Fryar Richard and the Baker.
D'Averne. So nowe all's fitt, the daylight's not yet broake; Mount him and lock him in the saddle fast, Then turn him forthe the gates.
Dennis. Pray, Syr, your hand to rayse him.
D'Av. Nowe lett him post, whether his fate shall guide him.
[Exeunt.
Ent. Rich. and Baker.
Baker. The mare's ready.
Fr. R. Only the key to ope the cloyster gate, Then all is as it shoold be.
Baker. Tak't, there tis. But make hast, good FryarRichard; you will else Have no new bredd to dinner.
Fr. R. Feare not, baker; I'l proove her mettall. Thus I back one mare Least I shoold ryde another. [Exit.
Baker. It is the kindest novyce of my consciens That ere woare hood or coole.
[A noyse within. Trampling of Horses.
What noyse is that? now by the Abbot's leave I will looke out and see. [Clere.
Enter Averne and Dennis.
D'Av. Howe nowe? the newes? The cause of that strange uprore?
Den. Strange indeed, But what th'event will bee, I cannott guesse.
D'Av. Howe is it, speake.
Den. I had no sooner, as your Lordshipp badd,Putt him upon his voyadge, turn'd him out,But the ould resty stallion snuft and neighd,And smelt, I thinke, som mare, backt (I perceavdBy the moone light) by a Fryar, in whose pursuiteOur new made horseman with his threatninge lance,Pistolles, and rotten armor made such noyseThat th'other, frighted, clamours throughe the streetesNothinge but deathe and murder.
D'Av. But the sequell?— The clamour still increasethe. [Noyse.
Enter the Baker rooninge.
Baker. Oh never, never, Was seene such open mallyce!
Den. What's the busines?
Baker. Give mee but leave to breath—Oh especially in a cloyster!
Den. Out wee't, man.
Baker. The novyceRichard, to save mee a labour, Borrowed my mare to fetch meale for the mill. I knowe not howe the devill FryarJhonknew't, But all in armor watch't him gooinge out And after spurrs to chardge him, beeinge unarmd, 0 suer if hee cannott reatch him with his lance Hee'l speede him with his pistolls.
Denis. All's well yet. [Noyse.
Baker. This noyse hath cal'd much people from there bedds, And troobled the whole villadge.
Fr. R. (within). Hold, hold, I do confesse the murder.
Baker. Suer hee hath slayne him, for murder is confest.
D'Av. Tis better still.
Enter Ashburne, Godfrey, &c.
Godf. Was never knowne the lyke!
Baker. IsRitchardslayne? I sawe FryarJhon, arm'd dreadfully with weapons Not to be worne in peace, pursue his lyfe; All which I'l tell the abbott. [Exit Baker.
Ashb. Most strange it is that the pursude is fowndTo bee the murderer, the pursuer slayne.Howe was it,Godfrey? thou wast upp beefore meeAnd canst discoorse it best.
Godfr. Thus, Syr: at noyse of murder, with the tramplingeOf horse and ratlinge armor in the streetes,The villadgers weare wakend from there sleepes;Som gap't out of there windowes, others venter'dOut of theere doores; amongst which I was oneThat was the foremost, and sawRitchardstoptAt a turninge lane, then overtooke byJhon;Who not him self alone, but even his horseBacking the tother's beast, seemd with his feeteTo pawe him from his saddle; att this assaultFriarRichardcryes, hold, hold and haunt mee notFor I confesse the murder! folke came inFownd th'one i'th sadle dead, the t'other sprallingeUpon the earthe alyve, still cryinge outThat hee had doun the murder.
D'Av. Exellent still; withdrawe, for wee are saffe.
Enter the Abbott, the baker, Fryar Richard, prisoner and guarded, &c.[149]—
Abbott. These mischeefes I foretould; what's mallyce elsseThan murder halff comitted? though th'eventBee allmost above apprehension strange,Yet synce thyne owne confession pleades thee guiltyThou shalt have leagall tryall.
Fr. Rich. I confessI was the malefactor and deserveTh'extremity of Lawe; but woonder muchHowe hee in such a short tyme after deathShould purchase horse and weapons.
Abbot. Murder's a sinneWhich often is myraculously reveal'd.Lett justyce question that; beare him to prison,The t'other to his grave.
Baker. Beeinge so valiant after deathe mee thinkes hee deserves the honor to bee buried lyke a knight in his compleate armor.
Abbot. These thinges shoold not bee trifled. Honest frendes,Retyre you to your homes; these are our chardge.Wee will acquaint our patron with this saddAnd dyre desaster; fyrst his counsell use,Next as wee maye our Innocens excuse.
[Exeunt.
Enter Mildewe and Sarleboyes.[150]
Mild. May the disease ofNaplesnow turn'dFrenshTake bothe the Judge and Jurors! they have doomd The fayrePalestrafrom mee.
Sarl. So they hadScriboniatoo, and mulcted us beesydes, But that in part they did comiserate Our so greate losse by sea.
Mild. This is the curseBelonges to all us bawdes: gentle and noble,Even th'ouldest fornicator, will in privateMake happy use of us with hugges and brybes;But let them take us at the publick bench,Gainst consciens they will spitt at us and doome usUnto the post and cart. Oh the coruptnesOf these dissemblinge letchers!
Sarlab. 'Tis well yet You have reserved one virgin left for sale; Of her make your best proffitt.
Mild.[151] A small stocke To rayse a second fortune; yet com, frend, Wee will go seeke her out.
Enter Gripus the Fisherman.
Fisher. No budgett to bee com by; my ould mayster,Hee stands on consciens to deliver itTo the trew owner, but I thinke in consciensTo cheate mee and to keepe it to him selfe;Which hee shall never doo, to prevent whichI'l openly proclayme it.[Oh yes!If any userer or base exacter,Any noble marchant or marchant's factor,Bee't marchant venterer or marchant TaylorBee hee Mr. Pilot, botswyne or saylor—
Enter Godfrey to them.
Godf. Hist,Gripus, hyst!
Fish. Peace, felloweGodfrey. I'l now play the blabber.—If eather passinger owner or swabber[152]That in the sea hathe lost a leather budgettAnd to the Dolphins, whales or sharkes, doth grudge itt—
Godf. Wilt thou betraye all? I'I go tell my mayster.
Fish. Yes,Godfrey, goe and tell him all and spare not, I am growne desperate; if thou dost I care not.
Mild. Hee talkt of a leatheren budgett lost at sea; More of that newes would please mee.
Fish. Bee hee a Cristian or beleeve inMawmett[153] I such a one this night tooke in my drawnett.
Mild. My soone, my child, nay rather, thou young man, I'l take thee for my father, for in this Sure thou hast new begott mee.
Fish. Blessing on thee!But shoold I have a thousand children more,I almost durst presume I never should haveAnother more hard favored.
Mild. Thou art any thinge. But hast thou such a budgett?
Fisher. Syr, I have And new tooke from the sea. What woldst thou give And have it safe?
Mild. I'l give a hundred crownes.
Fish. Tush, offer me a sowse[154] but not in th'eare; I will barr that afore hand.
Mild. And all safe, I'l give thee then too hondred.
Fish. Offer me a cardeq!
Mild. Three hondred, 4, nay fyve So nothinge bee diminisht.
Fish. I will have A thousand crowns or nothinge.
Mild. That growes deepe.
Fish. Not so deepe as the sea was.
Mild. Make all safe, And I will give a thousand.
Fish. Tis a match, But thou wilt sweare to this.
Mild. Give mee myne othe.
Fish. If, when first I shall beeholdMy leatheren bagge that's stuft with gould,At sight thereof I paye not downeToGripusevery promist crowne—Now say after mee.MayMildeweI in my best age.
Mild. MayMildeweI in my best age.
Fish. Dy in some spittle, stocks or cage.[155]
Mild. Dy in some spittle stocks or cage.
Fish. I'l keepe my promisse, fayle not thou thine oathe. So inn and tell my mayster. [Exit Fisherman.
Mild. Yes, bawdes keepe oaths! t'must bee in leap-yeare then, Not now; what wee sweare weel forsweare agen.
Enter Ashburne, Godfrey, and Gripus, to 'em.
Ashb. And hee in that did well, for Heaven defend I shoold inritche mee with what's none of myne. Where is the man that claymes it?
Grip. Heare's my sworne soon, that but even now acknowledgd mee to bee his father.
Ashb. Knowest thou this?
Mild. Yes for myne owne. I had thought, lyke one forlorne,All fortune had forsooke mee, but I seeMy best dayes are to com. Welcom my lyfe!Nay if there bee in any bawde a sowleThis nowe hath mett the body.
Ashb. All's theire safeUnrifled, naye untutcht, save a small caskettWith som few trifles of no valewe in't,Yet to mee pretious, synce by them I have fowndMy one and only doughter.
Mild. Howes that, pray?
Ashb. Thus; thyPalestrais myMirable.
Mild. Now may you to your comfort keepe the guerle,Synce of my wealthe I am once againe possest.I heare acquitt you of all chardges pastDue for her education.
Ashb. You speake well.
Grip. It seemes you are possest, and this your owne.
Mild. Which I'l knowe howe I part with.
Grip. Com quickly and untrusse.
Mild. Untrusse, Syr? what?
Grip. Nay if you stand on poynts,[156] my crowns, my crowns: Com tell them out, a thousand.
Mild. Thousand deathes I will indure fyrst! synce I neather owe thee Nor will I paye thee any thinge.
Grip. Didst thou not sweare?
Mild. I did, and will againe If it bee to my profit, but oathes made Unto our hurt wee are not bound to keepe.
Ashb. What's that you chalendge,Gripus.
Grip. Not a sowse lesse Then a full thousand crownes.
Ashb. On what condition?
Grip. So much hee vowed and swore to paye mee downe At sight of this his budgett; a deneere I will not bate; downe with my dust, thou perjurer.
Ashb. But did hee sweare?
Mild. Suppose it, saye I did.
Ashb. Then thus I saye, oathes ta'ne advisedlyOught to bee kept; and this I'l see performed,What's forfett to my man is due to mee;I claime it as my right; these your bawdes fallacyesIn this shall no weye helpe you, you shall answer itNow as a subject and beefore the judge.
Mild. If I appeare in coort I am lost againe;Better to part with that then hazard all.These bagges conteine fyve hundred pownds apeece,Tak't and the pox to boot.
Grip. And all these myne?
Godf. Would I might have a share in't.
Ashb. Nowe tell mee,Mildewe, howe thou ratest the freedome Of th'other virgin yongeScribonia, Companion with my dowghter?
Mild. I am wearyOf this lewde trade; give mee fyve hundred crownesAnd take her; I'l gie't over now in tymeEre it bringe mee to the gallowes.