Actus 1. Scena 1.

COme Hilts, one cup more.

Not a drop, I know they have din'd by this time, and if I shu'd be out oth' way, when my master comes, he would raile, that the noyse of an Oyster wench wu'd not be halfe so divelish.

Come, come, one lustie dish now ith' bottome oth' cellar's worth all the rest —

A way with your number 4. it makes rattle-bagges and windmills in my guts, I cannot endure it.

Come, come, I warrant ye, it will not, prethee come.

Not? Why I'me blowne wee't already like a Lan­cashire Bag-pipe upon a May day; and besides, tis so weake, that a man cannot keepe it alive while he throwes it in's guts, when thou comst' to our house Ile give thee a cup of Beere will make thy nose cry twang Roger.

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Why, but ye doe not keepe such a house for all your jesting, doe ye?

Such a house, shat come in a morning, and finde the cellar a foote deepe in March beere; here a blacke Jacke, and there a slagon standing in't like steeples in a drown'd city — Ther's house-keeping Roger.

I marry sir, there's a house well kept indeede.

Nay sir, by this meanes we make my Master a better house keeper than ere his father or grandfather was before him; for where they were us'd to ride every day a Hawking and hunting, my Master keepes the house sometimes for two or three yeares together, and what's the cause? nothing but our mirth, our randans, our tarra tantaras — oh the onely way in the world to make a gentleman a house-keeper.

Well, come, I must needs have our round about to thy Masters daughters; for dost heare Hilts, me thought there was a little nodding and winking betwixt my young Master, Mr. Ʋalentine Crambag, and Mistresse Sabina, didst not per­ceive it Rowland?

Yes marry did I, and tother gentleman there his Kinsman me thought now and then cast a sheepes eye towards Mistresse Mirabell; goe to, an old Ape has an old Eye, Roger.

Why but Roger you are not such a Sillibraine, I hope to thinke that your young Master loves Mistrisse Sabina —

Nay, I me past thinking, for I doe partly know it.

How?

Why, tis neither impossible nor unlikely?

I doe not beleeve your young Master's such a stout fellow Roger.

Why pray?

I meane, as to venture himselfe upon such a wilde thing, I tell you sirs, your young Master, I confesse is a pretty dappart young gentleman, but in respect of her he is but a Child, a shrimpe, a Butterflie, a Chitterling, a Bable; in love with her quoth a? Shee's not one that cares for complements, or will be wonne with cringes, or your tres-humble serviteur Madame; no no Roger; she is a Blade, a Sparke, a Teare-coate; and he that carries her away, must mumble her, jumble her, [Page] rumble her, and tumble her, swagger, roare, and teare like a mad man; your young Master quoth a? — pish,

Husht, here come the gentlemen.

Why stand you here? make sir Timothy Testies man welcome — go.

It was a brave speech of your worships sir.

My bosome? what dee you finde there pray sir; you have a minde perhappes to my Jewell, if you will not hurt it, ye shall have it a while to play with, tis a pretty bright thing sir.

Not so bright as your white bosome, Lady.

As how pray ye? what see you there?

Pray yee speake on sir, when ye have emptied your pockets youle be quiet.

Emptied my pockets?

Sir, these are but pocket complements, run 'em over once, and then perhaps I shall talke with yee; remember where ye left, I wu'd be loath to put ye out sir, my haire was golden twist, ye said, come, what of all this?

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From my deepe passions.

Whence those passions.

Not so loud I pray you, speake softly sir.

O by no meanes sir, they are great sinnes.

This of mine's a vertue.

What may it be sir?

Nothing Lady, but a presumptuous study to be yours.

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Betwixt a friend and you? — umph.

Ne're scratch your head about it, for y' are now My servant.

Your reason?

Doe you love and serve your selfe?

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You and my selfe I doe.

Let this suffice sir, — I am yours.

Pray let me intreate ye to love your selfe a little better than to spend all this breath to no purpose.

Why then Ile take my leave, but first, let this snow white hand but daine to blesse the unhallowed lippes of your admiring Slave, that I may hence with gladnesse, and have cause to boast of something.

With all my heart sir; but I pray how long were you Doctor of the chaire in the schoole of complements?

O they can never come from a dejected spirit.

Well, now I hope you are satisfied.

I wish my heart could truely speake it.

Come, come, you are too importunate.

They talke of women, but you are able to teach all the women in the world to talke much to little purpose, for ought I see; come I must tutor ye a little, I see that.

Were I so happy to be your Pupill, I were a wonder [Page] to my selfe.

If it were so I thinke you wod not be much troubled to make him untrusse forsooth.

No further, no further, pray returne.

Good sir give me leave to bring you a little further.

Pray yee, returne, ye doe but trouble your selfe and me to no purpose, well, Sir Plenteous Crambagge I thanke ye.

Farwell good sir Timothy Testy.

Come girles, come— where's Hilts? — ha. Where is he?

Where are you sir, when ye shud waite upon me? —ha, Where I say?

I was but ith' cellar, forsooth.

Ith' cellar forsooth? what businesse have you ith' cellar for sooth? who shud waite upon me the whilst? where­fore doe I give you three pound a yeare, and a trencher-cloake? — ha? — well—

Farewell good sir Timothy Testy.

How does my cosin Fairefaith? how shall we squander away this afternoone, can you tell?

As you please sir.

Come, I have a mighty minde to be merry, what so ere the matter is.

I'me very glad of it sir.

But I have alwayes observed that when I am so ex­treamely dispos'd to mirth, one vexation or other falls pre­sently in the very nicke.

It falls so sometimes sir.

What say you cosin Valentine?

What ye please.

What yee will sir, I confesse I doe sometimes Walke the fields, thinking to purge vexatious thoughts, but wheresoever I turne mine eye, something or other ministers occasion of fresh tortures: when I go by water, then the waves that tumble one in the others necke, present to my fancy the multiplicity of distraction crowding in at the doore of my thoughts, and for seeing a Play, I confesse it a brave thing, both to feast the wit, and recreate the minde: but, I thinke I shall ere be long see my selfe act my owne Trage­die.

No great hurt sir.

Speake man, heres none but friends, unbrest your selfe, Whats the matter I say?

Nothing, nothing sir, onely a melancholy fit.

Nothing? thats strange—Cosin, how comes my sonne thus discontented? what wud he have?

Sir, to stretch your patience no further than it will reach, tis a gentlewoman that hee wud have, a good lustie hansome gentlewoman.

A gentlewoman? how dee meane a gentlewoman? What wud he doe with her cosin?

I cannot tell sir, he has a use for her it seemes, hee is in love with her, you may imagine now what hee wud doe with her.

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Tis true, I had a great deale of money with her.

More than your sonne's like to have with this gentle­woman I heare.

Say ye so? how comes this about sonne? — ha? Ist possible?

A brave lusty bouncing Lasse, I can ell ye— what dee thinke of Mistresse Sabina Testy, daughter to Sir Timothy Testy.

What of her?

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She is the goddesse of your sonnes idolatry.

Shee? Passion of my heart, sonne, coud'st thou finde no body else to dote on but she? did I carke, and care, and watch, and toile and moyle, and sweate for this — ha? have I endur'd a thousand millions of curses for exacting of forfeitted bonds, and morgag'd lands for this? Sir Timothy Testy's daughter, quoth a? a wild slut, her father a decai'd gentleman, and one that with riot and excesse has cut so many collops out of his estate, that sometimes he is glad to keepe his chamber, and gentily begin a course of physicke two or three yeares together, Sir Timothy Testy's daughter quoth a?

O my heart, me thinkes it teares in a thousand shivers, Mistresse — father — friends, and all averse to my desires, be not so cruell Fates.

Well, to be short, if sir Timothy can, or will, give a considerable portion, tis a match, if not, Pardona moy, good son, I will not have a brood of beggers in my house — not I.

Stay a little sir, the greatest matter you doe not either know, or consider, were your consent the thing, that I thinke wod not be much stood upon; but here comes the breake necke of the businesse; the gentlewoman scornes him.

How? scorne the Crambags? Sir, Be it knowne to all men by these presents, that there's ne're a gentleman of 'em all but are now and then glad to be beholden to the Crambagges; she scorne him? come cosin, Ile goe talke with her father about it, but first Ile know her portion.

Tis in vaine, she cannot love, not? why can she not love? am I so vile a thing? no, I am not, whats the reason then? tis her immortall minde that wings her thoughts above my reach, there, there 'tis; what shall I doe then? turne co­ward and suffer it; nay, what can I doe — what? I can die —

Actus Secundus.

PIsh, pray sir doe not urge me, I'me a little busie.

Tis but a word sir, and the matter ends.

Words, or matter, I cannot heare it now I tell ye.

Tis a concernement requires your serious intention, as much as mine sir.

Sir, I doe not use to step out of my humour, neither for my owne sake, nor no mans else.

Tis for your owne profit and good, pray heare it sir.

Well, lets here it then, lets heare it, but dee heare, be breefe.

Thus it is.

Nay, come come, make an end, make an end.

I have not begun yet sir.

Preethee make an end I say.

Well, then you shall heare the end: my sonne Va­lantine has a minde to make a conjunction copulative with your daughter Sabina.

Speake in a plainer part of speech man, what dee meane?

He has a minde to lye with her sir.

So he does entend sir, but you would not heare the beginning, which made me beginne at the end.

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Well, come to th'point, what saies my daughter too't?

Rich Parents ne're question that sir, they first wisely agree upon Portions, seale Writings, then marry the young couple, and afterwards, give 'em time to consider of that, if we may have your consent, I make no question of hers.

Well, ye have it, ye have it.

I thanke yee sir, I shall make my sonne a glad man when I come home sir.

Send 'em joy, come, is this all ye have to say?

Tis all sir.

Well, fare yee well.

Stay sir, I had like to have forgot the maine businesse.

Puh, yet againe, speake, speake come, what ist?

I wud desire to know sir what blessings you meane to bestow upon your daughter?

Pish, dee thinke Ile be backward in these things? She shall have a thousand.

Tis a faire portion sir.

Have ye done now?

A due, a due.

—Good sir, but one word more, and then I have done.

What againe, what ailes the man tro?

Onely this sir, I hope you'le pay the money upon the wedding day sir, will not ye?

Money? — what money?

The marriage money sir.

What marriage money?

The thousand pound.

The thousand pound? what dee meane sir?

Did you not say but now you wod give a thousand pound with her?

I told you I wod give her a thousand blessings; passion of my heart, a thousand pound quoth a? sir I scorne it; ye have abus'd me to thinke so, let those scraping curmud­gions, that for the most part beget [...]riples and idiots like them­selves, I say, let those doo't J tell ye; on the wedding day, as I said, Ile give her a thousand blessings with all my heart.

And ne're a penny of mony?

Not a penny.

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What? Not with your owne childe?

Why then give me leave to tell yee, your resolution is unworthy, nay, tis scurvy.

How scurvy? and in my owne house too?

Ay scurvy, and I must tell yee, argues no better than a beggerly disposition.

Beggerly disposition? O basenesse it selfe.

Base, I n'ere stood yet sir with my cap in my hand to a Scrivener for the procuring of ten pounds upon my owne bond.

How? I stand with my cap in my hand ye rascall? when? when? how? to whom? I stand with my cap in my hand? — I defie thee.

I stand with my cap in my hand?

How now? what dee affront my master in's owne house sir, pray avoide.

Out of my house ye dunghill, ye dirt, yee spawne of ten ith hundred.

Come, come sir, lets see your backe, or your wor­ships pate feele the weight of my cudgell.

Out ye villaine.

Very well sir.

A slave abuse me thus, and in my owne house too.

A Sirra, an old Pancridge.

Nay I see you are bell mettle sir if you'r angred once.

Angry? twas well thou cam'st in, for in my con­science I had kill'd the rogue else.

Whorson dogbolt affront me thus.

Old Crambag forsooth, has beene here and so abus'd me as I was never abus'd since I peept into the world, and whats the reason forsooth, because his son and heire's in love with you forsooth, and entends to make you his bride forsooth, therefore must I give thim a thousand pound forsooth, but Ile see him hang'd for a signe ats owne doore first; the truth is [Page] daughter, his sonne is a pretty gentleman, but heres the thing, his sonne, as I perceive is mad in love, and for ought I see, rather than faile, he will give me a thousand pound for my consent, were not I an Asse then Hilts, to give a man a thou­sand pound to marry my daughter; when the same man ra­ther than goe without her will give it me? were not I a Buz­zard then I say?

A man wod thinke so sir.

Why shod I doe it —ha? give me but a why, and I'me satisfied?

In troth sir I cannot give you any great reason, un­lesse your purse were sicke of a Plurifie which I cud ne're finde yet.

Well, for the businesse of marriage, use your owne minde daughter, I cannot tell, perhaps the old curre may leave him an estate — Well, once trouble not me, and doe your pleasure, but if you talke of money, I shall be angry, come along Hilts.

This young gentleman, a nimble sparke I see, that I did not thinke the young co [...] wod have beene leaping so quickly —therefore doe you hamper him as soone as yee can, dee heare.

Come away Hilts.

I'me comming and please your worship.

Advise me in this dangerous maze to steere a safe course.

Yee are in a faire way to doe your selfe a great deale of good, keepe your selfe in't sister, the gentlemans a great heire, sweetly behav'd, bravely discourst▪ and besides, a pro­per hansome compleate gentleman, what can you desire more sister?

Sister, I love the gentleman, at first, I confesse, I did a little sleight him, but my second thoughts fram'd a recanta­tion which my intentions have directed to salute him spe­dily.

A way with it sister, give it not a minuts more enter­tainement for a world, send it immediatly.

Come, Ile dispatch it instantly.

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Be certaine ye doe sister.

Heaveans forbid sir.

Theres no remedy, her loves impossible.

Impossible? why dee thinke the world containes a creature cannot be won.

Yes indeed?

You might as well have told mee, that hee that has a Puritanicall wife cannot be a cuckold sir; take this from me, there's not the bravest gallant that e're went naked to the middle, but a hansome man, good cloathes, language, and money will bring her under the see, I warrant yee.

Sir, me thinkes it were not a misse if you did cast your eye upon some other, the world is wide and populous, and now and then to looke a squint, wud be a good way to as­swage the violence of your passion.

O no, she—she is the blasing starre where on I gaze, and the little world of beautie which I admire.

O brave Master — there was a speech; O Master Sportlove, this learning's a dainty matter — dee heare sir, shall I goe and tell her what ye say? —

You cannot come againe time enough, let it a­lone.

I warrant ye sir.

Come, Try her againe sir, ye cannot tell, droppes of raine may pierce an Adamant.

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That's with often falling upon't sir, if he cud but learne that, she wud love him presently.

Push, away with these fruitlesse passions, be your selfe once againe.

That cannot be sir, you must consider he is in love.

Why, cannot a man be in love, and yet be him­selfe too?

He may be, but 'tis raro aut nunquam, jealousie in a wo­man, love in a man, and tooth ach in a dogge, are three of the most dangerous things I can tell ye, that are incident to mor­talls.

Nay, I'me come againe gentlemen.

What already, and done your errand too?

Sirra, what did yee tell her? you are so officious.

I told her sir, that your worship said, she was the staring blaze whereon you gaz'd, and the world of little beau­ty which you admir'd.

Out ye rogue, yee small knowing rascall, thou hast undone me; did I tell ye so? dost thou goe and turne my words backwards, ye villaine.

Gentlemen, if I cud runne away from him, I wud not be beholden to yee, for shame, doe not stand still and see a man kill'd.

It was but a mistake sir, pray pardon him.

Twas nothing sir, but onely the wrong end came out first, the gentlewoman understood it well enough.

Come, pray ye sir have patience.

I must kill the rogue, for he will never have wit.

Forbid that sir, if men shud be kill'd for want of wit, I had beene a Masterlesse coxcombe long agoe sir, but tis no matter, you may use me at your pleasure.

Come, come, all's well, all's well.

I thats true indeede, when I'me beaten once, then all's well still.

But Mr. Sportlove, nothing but this gentlewoman troubles me, that she shud be so faire, so young, so hansome, and yet cannot love — me thinkes 'tis strange.

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It may be she feedes upon preserv'd snow, which if she doe, she'le seldome have a warme thought, I can tell yee,

Nay, her diet's good Ile assure yee, for she will con­stantly have a breakefast of Oringoes, a dinner of Potatoes, a Sacke posset to supper, and so goes to bed.

If she feede thus, tis impossible for the poore gentle­woman to hold out long.

Fellow servant, how fares our Mistresse?

Ye were told but just now, were not yee?

This Letter was commanded first to kisse your hand, and then enforme yee.

To the gentle hand of her dearest Valentine addresse these.

Now sir you wud runne into the fire, and drowne your selfe, wud ye? what dee thinke of me now sir, did I not doe my errant bravely sir, did not I?

Thou hast done ingeniously, and I will study corre­spondent gratitude.

Nay, pray sir, I had as leefe you did beate me agen, as give me hard words forsooth, I cannot endure 'em.

O how precious are those minuts wherein are wrapt unexpected joyes, sweete peece of paper; faire was that starre under whose influence thou wert made— O this halfe houres forbearance, pardon sweet heart, passion had almost made me forget a due respect.

Pray sir doe not charge your memory with these things, leave 'em to me sir.

To you sir, wherefore?

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Because shee is the Sugar-plumme—of my af­fections sir.

Cry yee mercy, farewell pretty Ducke; tell your Mistresse I will flie like time, till I have blest these eyes with the sight of her.

Cosin, y'are now in a progresse towards the gentle­woman, take a little of my advice along with ye — ha­ving now the advantage of a faire opportunitie, try her every way, you know my meaning, and then as you finde her dis­pos'd, you may better dispose of your affections.

Sir, were it in my case, I tell ye in plaine termes, I wud promise her a thousand things, and it may be for a nights lodging, I wud vow'em and sweare 'em too; but when J had once satisfied my purposes, I wud shew her a faire paire of heeles, and there's an end.

Spoke like a gentleman, Ile assure yee sir.

We attend your pleasure sir, for I perceive you long to be where your minde is.

A lacke aday, you must consider sir every thing wud live.

Sweet, I come.

Didst ever see a passion so transport a man, heaven [...] blesse his wits.

Twas a good prayer sir, but he must have 'em first.

What said he Betty when he read the Letter.

Hee was so ravisht with joy, that J thinke he knew not what hee said forsooth, and for the letter, he did so cull it, and lull it, and clip it, and hugge it, and busse it—O me Mi­stresse, this love—

Tis a pretty pleasant vexation; but did he say hee wud come?

He told me he wud come with all speede, and that hee shud thinke every minute a hundred yeares till hee saw yee, with many other pretty words which I cannot re­peate [Page] for sooth.

I shall be extreame melancholy till I see him; but are you sure he did say he wud come?

Very certaine, forsooth.

How long dee thinke it will be first?

Your owne appointment was halfe an houre, but for ought I saw, he was resolv'd not to forbeare so long forsooth.

Prethee Betty helpe me to cosen the time a little with some pretty love Song.

That will but make yee the more melancholy for­sooth.

Though it doe, yet me thinkes I love it dearely.

Me thought yee said ye were afraid of being melan­choly but now forsooth?

I did so, and so I am, and yet I love it.

I had heard 'em say forsooth, that melancholy people are like Spaniells.

Why prethee?

They say a Spaniell, the more a man beates him the more he fawnes upon him; so melancholy people, me thinkes, the more the humor torments 'em the more they love it.

Tis very true, come reach me my Lute— prethee sing Betty.

Twas well sung.

No indeede forsooth my voyce is quite gone, Cham­bermaides have occasion you know forsooth now and then to [Page] sit up in the nights when they have businesse to doe, and that spoiles a maids voyce quickly forsooth —they knocke.

They're come I vow, runne to the doore.

My little Tewxbury mustard, how does thou doe?

Mustard? why mustard, pray ye?

Because I never come neere thee, but thou makes my very eyes water.

Sir, tis fit wee now withdraw; the darkenesse of the night preswaded our attendance, now common civilitie re­quires our absence—pleasures attend your proceedings sir.

Sweet night embrace ye sir.

Thankes noble sir, peace conduct ye.

Well now your worships pleas'd I hope —but stay, Where's Betty?

She's gone out with the gentlemen.

Gone out with the gentlemen quoth a? and I stand here.

Your courteous invitation makes some recompence for the late scorne with which you did slight my honest zeale.

Good night.

Actus Tertius.

MY cosin Valentine not yet return'd, say ye?

Not yet indeed sir.

What dee thinke shud be the reason?

Tis not reveal'd to me sir; but I thinke hee prevail'd with his Mistresse for a nights lodging, and that may be the cause of his long stay.

He has staid something long indeede, but —I be­leeve he will come home very shortly forsooth.

I confesse I long to be acquainted with the issue of his enterprise.

Oh my sweete Master's come agen.

I am so.

And you are even as welcome sir, as ever poore Ma­ster was to a servant.

—Pray sweete heart returne, let not me trouble ye.

No trouble sir, — if you have any other commands [Page] T' impose, I shall joy t'observe'em.

Not I sweete heart, onely fare ye well.

O my sweete hony-suckle, art thou gone already.

Good starres, gentlemen.

Faire morning to my sweete cosin, we hope health betides your Mistresse, and doe now expect to be gladded with the newes of a faire progresse to the end of your desires.

The end of my desires is even the desire of my end, for I have no joy on earth.

What agen in these perplexities, whence come these clouds of discontent now? — ye tooke no joy before be­cause ye had no hope t'enjoy her, in whom ye had plac'd all your hopes and joyes, the cause of that distempers remov'd, what may occasion this — heavens know.

Ye cannot tell sir, perhaps the letter was dissembl'd, and she in some idle humor might send for him to abuse him.

What? cannot she love yet?

Yes — love? O yes.

Whence rise these distractions then?

Even from her love.

How? can neither frownes nor smiles give ye satis­faction, tis some what strange, two meere contraries shud pro­duce the very same effect.

She has with love undone her selfe and me.

There's some mysterie in't without question.

I pray sir untie these knotty expressions, for I cannot.

To be too prodigall of that, which once lost, the whole world cannot recover — weakenesse intolerable Admit Iurg'd her,

O sir, is the winde in that corner now?

What dee thinke of my opinion now sir.

You wud have beene an arrant whore in my consci­ence.

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Puh, what needes all this stirre Master, suppose yee have found her to want a graine or two, doe but consider of it, 'tis nothing amongst friends; alacke a day sir, the Gold­smith himselfe may be cosen'd with a light peece, ant shall please your worship.

But will not ye visit her againe?

Never — never.

Nor send to her?

No, neither my selfe, nor any one depends on me shall ere come there againe.

O poore Betty, I shall ne're see thee againe, I perceive that.

Come cosin, I must be gone.

Dee heare sir?

Come, what say you?

I have a strange thing come just now into my head sir, and that's this sir; there's Newgate for Theeves, Bridewell for Whores, and Bedlam for Madfolkes, yet among all these I doe wonder there's ne're a place for fooles.

'Twere a charitable foundation had a man meanes to doo't with, your Master has an estate, and might doe well to [Page] thinke of such a thing.

Ye say right sir indeede; charitie shud begin at home, that's the truth on't—but let me tell yee sir, this gentle­woman does a little trouble my scull for all that.

What a capcase were I in, if her sister shud be of the same stampe, what wud the world say, what wud men thinke?

What? — they wud thinke ye were borne when the signe was either in Aries, Taurus, or Capricorne, that's all they wud thinke for ought I know, and so fare yee well.

How dee sir?

Better then I was.

Why? were ye sicke sir?

Suppose I had beene, or am, your presence wud beget a health immediatly, J confesse I was not even now so well as now I am, because I wanted thee which now I have sweetest.

I shud be loth to be found wanting, when your occa­sions call upon my service sir.

Nothing faire one, onely a conceit.

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May it concerne me sir.

Yes —'tis but a thing incident to all your Sexe.

My hopes say you doe.

What dee meane sir?

Onely a gentle taste of loves delicious sweets.

What, before we marry?

Yes.

Your reason.

O it puts life into a patient expectation — come.

Pray forbeare sir.

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No great hurt forsooth.

If ye love me tell me sir.

Now ye conjure me, I will. My cosin Ʋalentine Crambagge that was so in love with her, it seemes he prevail'd with her a little too much, to give it ye [Page] in plaine termes he has lyen with her, glutted himselfe with the sweet spoiles of her virginity, and now for ought I heare by the vertue of Hocus Pocus, my gentlemans gone.

Displeas'd with me for his faults?

Tis all one, speake not —reply not—your sentence Is this —fare ye well.

How now, what ayles your sister now?

Nothing forsooth.

What does the wedding hold or no? —ha?

Shees wedded already sir.

How? and I not know on't? what a forward sawcy girle's this?

But is she married indeede?

Yes, to misery, shame, and infamy.

What's the matter girle? — ha? — speake — what's the matter?

Hee that pretended so much love to her, I meane young Crambragge.

Ay —what of him? —ha? what's the businesse I say?

O Sister, sister!

Daughter, I charge ye tell me what the matter is, [Page] what of young Crambagge?

He — that villaine has by smooth words wrought upon her gentle nature, to her perpetuall dishonor; to tell ye the plaine truth sir, he has lyen with her, publish'd it abroad to her disgrace, and is now fled.

Sir, my Master sent me to your worship, to tell your worship, that your worship needs not trouble your selfe a­bout your daughters portion, for his mindes alter'd, and hee bid tell your worship that he wud intreate your worship to have patience.

Sirra, your Master's a rascall, and you are another.

O by no meanes, and please your worship.

O Mirabell, me thought I had a good opinion of him, he had so civiliz'd her, and me thought had brought her to be the best natur'd girle:

Your worship might have dream'd on't, for to my knowledge your worship was a sleepe in your bed when the [Page] businesse was done.

O that I had the rogue by the eares.

I but he does not desire to give eare to yee.

Out ye strumpet, ye whore, does thou play the whore and looke me in the face? hast thou playd the baggage? hast thou playd the whore? — Ha? Out of my sight ye queane, get ye out.

O Mirabell is there no stones, nor water, fire nor sword to be revenged with — Ha?

Come Sir, you keepe a fine order here, I appoint you to over see my house, and you let gentlemen come in and lye revelling here all the night, you are a trusty Trojan you.

Tis more then I know Sir, tis the first time I heard on't, if I had seene the sawcy rascalls I wud have sent 'em fur­ther with a vengeance.

Abominable — thus to disgrace her selfe and me, where is she, did not I bid ye fetch her?

She has beene here Sir, and you sent her out againe.

Has shee? I know not, these distractions do so con­found me, that I forget the last minute: O daughter Mirabell what shud I doe?

Me thinkes your worship shud keepe alwayes a rope about your house against such a desperate case as this is.

Hilts take that rogue, and dee heare, deliver him from me to the keeper of Bridewell — take him away I say.

Come Sir come, are ye come hither to jeere?

No Sir, I did not jeere Sir.

Take him away I say.

Come along come.

Master Hilts, your master does but jest man.

Sir your master has abusd my house, and Ile make him smart fort.

Tis like enough and please your worship, but shall I be punisht for the wickednesse of my Masters Codpeece, and please your worship, no no.

Carry him away I say.

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Your worship's a merry Gentleman, you love to make sport I see that.

Hilts, I bid you once more carry him away, what dee thinke to laugh me out of my resolutions?

Come your wayes sirra.

Hilts is in sober sadnesse and please your worship.

Was thou mad to talke thus to a Iustice of Peace, a Iustice of Corum horum rotulorum? 'tis as much as thy life's worth.

A prating sawcy rascall; carry him away.

I beseech your worship forgive me, good your wor­ship.

Carry him away I say.

Good your worship forgive me, I beseech your wor­ship.

Well, let him goe for this time, get ye gone sirra.

Yes and shall please your worship — gone quoth a? Ile see your worship hang'd before Ile come neere ye againe.

O Hilts, this wicked fellow has undone us.

Who dee meane sir? Mr. Crambagge?

The same.

What has he done sir?

What? my cheeks wud burne to speake it, uncon­trouleable fates — is there no pitty in your votes.

What then?

I'de make him an example to all the young lads in England, I wud fustinado the carkasse of him till the limbs of the rogue flew one from another, and then I wud beate 'em together againe.

No, no, if we shud hurt him Hilts, the Law wud be of his side.

Hurt him, no forsooth, I wud onely bestow a little timber upon the shoulders of him.

Pish, pish, come, goe your wayes to my cosin Muchcraft the Atturney, tell him I'me comming to him for [Page] his advice; in the meane time doe you put the Case to him for comming into the house at an unseasonable time of the night, goe your wayes, Ile be with ye presently.

Your father's comming after us here.

Where is he?

O sonne—I have beene so abus'd—nay, and a hundred to one but I had beene soundly basted too, and all this to please thee.

As how pray sir?

I went to treat with sir Timothy about the marriage, and because I stood upon a portion, old Testy was pleas'd to call me a thousand rascalls; and in the heate of the businesse (O my armes!) comes me in that same great horse-bon'd Hilts, and so shakes me; well sonne, Ile even walke in, if a­ny body come to pay money tell 'em I'me within, if they come for money, tell 'em I'me not well, for this fellow has so bruis'd my armes that I'me not able to tell it; dee heare what I say, to ye sonne?

Nay lowre and pout till Doomsday, tis all one, I will have money before I give my consent, come, come, tell mee no more tales—love quoth a? If I had married for love cosin, I had beene a rogue, a foole, a begger; no, no sonne, I must have money, and I will have mony.

Sir, the last night your sonne went to see his Mistresse, and prevail'd so farre with her, that to tell you the naked truth, they lay together all night; he perceiving her so easily wonne to wantonnesse, and fearing hereafter she might be a little too liberall of her entertainement, has cast her quite off now feares your displeasure for his too much forwardnesse, and that's the cause of his sadnesse.

How? lay with her—'tis not possible.

Not for a gentleman to lie with a hansome wench, why, 'tis one of the possiblest things that can be sir.

I'ame sorry to heare it cosin, but I'me glad hee has put her off, a company of rascalls, they are serv'd well enough, [Page] I warrant ye, the poore boy hearing how her father had abus'd me, cud not finde in's heart to love her a jot longer; yet for all that cosin, I like not's humor in this, that he cannot talke with a woman but he must be jobbing presently, I doe not like that I must tell ye — well 'tis done and past now.

I but I'me afraid you'le heare on't again, sir Timothy intends to clap him up till he has made satisfaction, but pray sir voyce it not that I told ye.

Will he so? tell him, Ile see him hang'd by the necke in the high way to Paddington first; he clap him up? he shall not have so much as a haire of his head except it were to choak himselfe with, and yet my sonne shall goe up and downe, aye, and job him upon the nose too and hee shall not know him; and if you please tell him, that I'me resolv'd before I have done with him, so bitterly to vexe him, that he shall be glad to come with a rope in's hand, and make a humble petition to the Hingman, that he may have lycence to hang himselfe to save his cloathes — come along.

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Ladies, thus it is, hee has disguis'd himselfe, goes in womans apparell, if ye please Ile bring ye to him, where, if there be occasion, you shall command my best assistance.

Pray ye sir where is the place?

It is at A Shoomakers house in the Strand, but that's all one, follow me.

Budget.

Sir.

Have ye drawne William Woodcocks plea to Tri­stram Widgroms declaration — ha?

No sir, the cause is remov'd, Woodcocke fearing to be overthrowne at Common Law, comes with a pittifull long bill, makes a case of conscience on't, and so is flowne away.

Is he so? if I had knowne that Budget, I wud have Pluckt his feathers a little first, but 'tis no matter, let him goe.

What's your errand fellow?

Fellow? Sir I'me none of your fellowes, not I.

I beleeve ye are not, whats your businesse before me?

Sir I doe not come to doe my businesse before you.

What meane these frivolous answers? Whose man are ye sir?

My masters sir.

Very good — what mad man are you pray?

Mad sir, no more than your selfe—mad sir? —umph.

Nay let him alone Budget, wee shall have a brave action of battery here by and by.

Sir, I belong to the right worshipfull Sir Timothy Testy; my master sent me for your Vice, the Case is this; a Gentleman comes into my masters house at an unreasonable time of the night contrary to my Masters knowne will and command, whether is this a trespasse or no?

No, no, prethee doe not trouble me, I'me a little [Page] busie.

Cosin Muchcraft, how dee sir?

Sir Timothy Testy, you are kindely welcome sir, how dee sir?

Never worse cosin, — even almost dead with griefe, most abominably abus'd.

Wherein, pray ye sir?

That I will tell more at large hereafter sir, not one­ly a peece, but my whole love attends ye sir — the case is this; a Gentleman comes into my house, at an uncivill and un­seasonable time of the night, contrary to my knowne will and command; a Trespasse or no?

A trespasse: a transcedent crime sir; a most foule matter, Ile assure ye; your man did not put the Case to mee in this manner.

Not? ye whoreson blockhead, are yee not able to speake to a man? wherefore doe I keepe ye? —ha?

I cud not, I had not instructions in my pocket.

'Tis well enough sir, both Law and Equitie supports your cause; come, wee'le walke out and talke of it.

Your tongue drops honey cosin, and you have re­vived my staggering spirits:

Actus Quartus.

Come, pray sir doe not thinke on't.

Sirra, what say you? where's your Master?

Ah, I wud I cud tell ye, he has left me in a pittifull case here, if old sir Plenteous doe not take pitty upon me, I must even go and drive Wheele-barrowes in Lincolnes-Inne-fields, for ought I know.

Alas poore fellow, I'me sorry for that, what canst doe?

I have a qualitie sir, but the world now adayes does not respect men of parts.

What ist?

A Bagge-piper, an't shall please your worship,

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A Bagpiper?

Yes indeede sir, as simple as I stand here, I have plaid before as good Beares as be in the Kingdome of England.

Where dost live now?

Sir, in the meane time J waite upon the Lady that lies in the house here.

Trash.

Madam.

Come ye hither.

Vnhappy eyes ye have undone my heart.

I come forsooth.

Stay faire one, stay,

Speake ye to me sir?

Your conceit was in an error sir.

My gratitude entertaines your loving directions sir, A word sir,

What gentleman is this? me thinkes he much resembles Sabina Testy, know ye him not?

Not I, I met him here by chance, it matters not who 'tis, take you his gifts —and be sure to yeeld what hee would have yee doe, and wee shall want neither gold nor jewels, I see that: and dee heare, you will by this meanes put such a tricke upon your sweete-hearts Champion as never was,—and in the issue it will be found to be but a jest, there's and end.

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Pray accept of this.

I were to blame if I shud not sir; Wheelebarrowes, quoth a? Ile see 'em all hang'd first, a hansome gentlewomans service is as good as fee taile, I see that.

Me thinkes Lady, you much resemble a gentleman I know, one Mr. Valentine Crambagge, one that I wud be every glad to see.

I know the gentleman sir, he is, I take it, a friend to one Mistresse Sabina Testy.

Pray you why sir?

Sir, I am yours.

O the sweetnesse of those words!

Nay, there's a pound of Sugar almost in every word she speakes sir.

O no sir.

Nay you are now my captive.

I hope I shall easily procure my redemption.

Pish.

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How, not marry?

Remember what I told you cosin; Sir, I know shee will be perswaded, but that gentlewomen, yee know, thinke it a kinde of disparagement to be too soone wone, that's all sir.

Pray expresse your intentions Lady.

I have already sir.

And is that your resolution?

Indeede it is sir.

Sir, I consent to marry, and am content to be dispos'd of as you shall please.

Your breath is musicke now, come lets along.

Why, but sir, you will not carry away my Mistresse I hope in this manner, will ye? and I have but newly got her neither — slid, these are tricks indeede?

Sirra, there's for you hold you, your peace, it is my humor.

Blesse your worship sir, and keepe ye in this humor still say I.

Well sir, I heare ye, but yee have not spoke toth [Page] purpose yet.

Accept this from me sir, Ile proove sir, that my sonne was invited and sent for, and that her maide and she both us'd all meanes possible to allure him thither.

Ay, now you have spoke home sir, this is some­thing now, I feele your cause a little better▪ and thus much for your comfort, never trouble your selfe

about it, Ile take such a course that his cause shall ne're proceed Ile warrant yee, alas sir Timothy's cause is not worth the legge of a Fly, and yet he does so torment my house, that I can neither eate, drinke, nor sleepe; yee know Budget how often I have desir'd him to forbeare my house▪ and yet all will not doe.

I wish hee were hang'd, he makes me tell a hundred lies in a weeke in telling him ye are not within, of purpose to be rid of him.

Here's a rogue.

Alasse for's businesse, were my case, if any body wud but give me a sawcer of Mustard sor't, he shud have it.

Sawcy rascall.

Suppose he brings his action, what can he doe in▪t? — not this, tis true, he wud have retain'd me to have ta­ken out a Writ against ye, but when I perceived that it was nothing but a malicious humor, I bid him goe and be hang'd with this brabbles▪ I wud not be troubled with 'em.

Very good, but you were willing enough to be troubled with my money, I have heard you all this while, and this your sucking knave too.

Sir Timothy, come, come, Ime glad you are come, Ime glad you are here with all my heart, come, I must have you made friends by all meanes.

Friends? Ile see him stand bare to the taile of a Cart first, I friends with him? —hang him rascall.

Sir, I make no doubt but I shall make you know, and your daughter too before I have done with her, that shee has abus'd my sonne, I cannot tell, I will not say she has be­witch'd him, but if I prove it, Ile make ye all stinke with a [Page] vengeance.

Why, ye worme-eaten slave, does my daughter looke like a Witch?

Budget, pray ye put downe worme-eaten slave, and the day of the moneth too, bee heare?

Didst not come thy selfe (you whorson gull▪)

Write ye whoreson gull.

Yes sir.

Didst not come, thy selfe, I say to know what por­tion I wud give her? Now I find it was but a meere pretence, ye cheating rogue you.

Write ye cheating rogue you.

Yes forsooth.

If my man Hilts were here I wud beate thy very nose into thy face, and afterwards beat it out agen.

What wud ye doe sir?

Nay pray gentlemen forbeare while ye are in my house.

I can forbeare him no longer.

Come sit Timothy, pray goe along with me.

Sir Plenteous, pray ye goe along with me sir.

Prethee let me beate the rogue first.

Nay come sir, come, come.

Sir, I wud they wud come once, my very heeles are up ith' aire already me thinkes in this humour, I cud wish the whole world were a Morrice dance for foure & forty houres outright.

O thou egregious puppy, if the whole world were a Morris dance for foure and fortie houres outright, what shud, nay, what does thou thinke wud the good people of New England doe all that while.

I doe thinke they wud pray for a timely cessation of the noise of the superstitious bells hanging about their knees.

A most damnable witch in my conscience.

Come sweet-heart, rush up your spirits, put on a re­solution to be jocund; thinke but on what must passe betwixt us two this very night;

Pish.

Ay, ay, doe so, what? upon your joviall day be sad? but where be these Fidlers?

We are come sir.

Nay sir, Ile promise ye this, that as long as she is your wife, no man breathing shall ere bring Acteons punishment [Page] upon your head —I will not say what the woman may doe, and that's a rare blessing Rowland betwixt you and me, I can tell yee.

Nay, you are a happy man, that's certaine sir, if all men had such wives, we shud have a strange world, for then we shud be troubled neither with children nor cuckholds.

Pray ye sir forbeare a little.

I will sweet-heart.

Cosin Fairefaith, a word, you have brought me here upon a businesse will utterly disgrace me; what will this gen­tleman thinke of me dee thinke, when he findes that I have gull'd him thus.

Nay, come sweete-heart, why these delayes?

Pray yee sir deale gently with her, she's yong and fearefull to lie with a man, and that's the businesse sir, that makes her so loth t'unpin.

Alas poore soule, in my conscience you had rather lie with a woman, than with these rude men behalfe, wud not ye forsooth?

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Come, give me your hand.

Good sir.

Why? what's the matter?

Nothing sir.

Nothing? I know tis something; are not y [...] well?

Yes forsooth.

What's the reason yee will not goe to bed then? pray ye come without more adoe.

Fie upon't cosin, a woman wud scorne these things.

Nay, yee are ith' right sir, I doe beleeve she wud defie it.

Come, what's the businesse with ye? will ye not goe to bed —ha?

Sir, Ile consider of it presently.

Pray ye doe not fright her too much, she's a very ten­der hearted thing forsooth — pray ye speake her faire.

Hold you your prating sirra, she shall observe my will now.

You'le never doe good sir with foule meanes.

By your favour my friend, I know this out of my owne knowledge, that a froward sharpe husband will pre­sently make a woman doe what she list.

Stoppe your mouthes.

Sir, for my part I will not stop my mouth, I under­derstand [Page] what I say sir, I'me a married man my selfe sir, and 'tis well knowne to be true, that I cud never yet get any thing of my wife by harsh words.

Once more I bid you hold your babling.

Sir, she shall not goe to bed till shee has a minde to goe to bed, nor I will not hold my babling neither sir.

Hold your peace Trash.

Yes forsooth.

You'le close your mouth by and by I hope.

Yes marry will J sir, but not at your bidding sir: what now—what dee thinke I'me a foole in a Play?

Will you hold your tongue or no?

Yes forsooth and please your worship.

Ay, you want but a little whipping.

What say you sirra?

I say, a woman that has a good husband, and all things else, and will not goe to bed, wants nothing but whipping.

We shall have the Peace broken, here presently, I see that.

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Peace, quoth a? nay and my head be not broken I care not.

Come, she is content to goe sir.

Give the word.

Sir, I will goe to bed.

Come your wayes then.

Nay, what if your Master shud get that gentleman with childe.

I cannot tell what hee may doe for men, but I ne're knew him doe such a courtesie for a woman yet.

Mr. Fairefaith, pray tell me one thing, why did you being my Masters kinsman, and an old souldier stand so pati­ently, and see him so affronted.

J that's true indeede Rowland, he being an old beaten souldier too.

A beaten souldier?

An old souldier I meane sir.

I confesse I had no disposition to medle in't, because J know they'le agree themselves, I know the bowels of the businesse, which you doe not, come, goe along, and by the way Ile tell ye the plot.

Actus Quintus.

O My poore sister!

There's no question but we shall finde her, how long has she beene wanting forsooth?

A great while Kate, a little faster, what shall I tread upon your heeles?—not so fast neither.

What the devill ayles ye? too soft, and then too fast, here's more adoe with you, than with all the Pageants in [Page] my Lord Majors show; he that waites on you, had neede to have his steppes prick'd out with a paire of Compasses, for ought I see.

What a surly groome are you, may not one speake to you?

Speake? yes forsooth you may speake, but I doe not love to walke before a Gentlewoman like one of these gin­gerly youthes that goe before their Mistresses, as if the streets were pav'd with egges, not I.

Why, how now sir sawce boxe, what is't all fellowes with ye, ye filthy, stinking, sawcy, dirty, scabbed, paltry, lousie, mangie rogue ye.

Heyda, Mistresse Iuniper, what's the matter with you tro? you were not us'd to be so snappish, I'me sure on't, I have both gone and rid before you, and you ne're found fault with it.

O ye lying rascall, did ye ever ride before me in your life?

Yes marry have I forsooth.

'Tis as false a tale Mistresse as ever was told; 'tis true, [...]e rid before me one night a little short journey; 'twas no­thing, I cud even a gone as farre a soote upon the matter.

Who doubts that forsooth?

Why will you lie then ye rascall?

Why, whats the businesse? what the mischiefe ayles ye? sure ye have not made water today I thinke.

Come Hilts come, you shud beare with her.

Beare forsooth, shee shud beare, shee's us'd too' it, more than I am forsooth.

What shud I beare pray? suffer such an Asse as you to ride upon my backe, shud I not?

Why not? aswell as alwayes upon your belly for­sooth?

Come, come, pray ye goe along, we have something else to thinke on than stand here.

Very well sir, I shall thinke upon your words.

This way forsooth?

Yes, yes, goe on.

How now daughter, whether are you going?

To see if I can finde my sister sir.

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Come, come, doe not trouble your selfe to no pur­pose, I have order'd it already, Ile have these men goe that have authority to make the doores and gates flie open where they come and goe, and dee heare Officers, looke too' it, and be sure to search very narrowly the places that I told ye of, and especially the house where young Crambagge is suspected to lie, and if yee finde either one or both of 'em, bring 'em away, dee heare?

We shall sir.

Daughter, I rather thinke (to put her selfe out of th-way of this approaching disparagement) shee has runne her selfe upon some desperate course.

But dee thinke these men will finde her sir?

I cannot tell, wee shall know presently.

Doe not weepe Mistresse, I hope shee's well, and will be here agen shortly.

Come, come, lets have no weeping.

Doe not you greeve, and for them 'tis not a pinne matter, let them alone, weeping is as wholesome for a woman sir as making of water.

Ne're feare, shee's well enough Ile warrant ye.

Nay then sir feare nothing, for if shee had so much wit to carry away her rings and jewells, she has wit enough to keepe her selfe from killing or drowning, I warrant ye.

Rowland, Rowland▪ Rowland; I say.

It was I.

What wud ye have sir, are not ye well?

I wud I were.

I'me sorry you are not well sir?

Call Trash, call Trash.

Trash, Trash.

What's the matter?

Nothing, nothing at all.

Rowland, where art foole?

Here, here man, whether dost goe?

What's the matter Rowland—ha?

Your Master's not well here.

Not well? O alas! Ile runne and fetch some hot wa­ter presently.

Stay, whether dee goe? come your wayes hither, what will you fetch man, I'me not sicke.

Not? you're but a yawling rascall Rowland for waking of me, I was in the daintiest sleepe, and the sweetest dreame; me thought my Master was in bed with the bravest wench—

'Twas too true.

How? was it too true? introth, I thanke yee for no­thing, you ne're dream'd so for me I'me sure on't.

O Rowland, I'me undone, I'me undone.

What's the matter sir?

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Ile warrant yee the gentleman that went to bed with him, finding himselfe cosen'd has kill'd himselfe, or one mis­chiefe or other, I thought no good wud come on't.

No, no, 'twas a woman all the while, 'twas a woman.

'Twas a woman good man simple, what? dost thou thinke that I dreame out of Aesops Fables?

'Twud vexe a man to marry in jest, and then to have it prove plaine earnest, Ile assure yee that.

O Trash, I'me undone.

Why undone sir, why dee say so, and please your wor­ship.

Why so am I too sir; but how shud we helpe it, can ye tell that sir.

O Rowland, what shall I doe? where shall I goe? where shall I runne?

Run quoth a? nay, if you'r married once, Ile trust ye for running.

I am married, and I know not to whom, did I but know that.

That's no great matter, 'tis but going to the Church Booke, and you may know that presently.

Accursed Fate, what marriages might I have had? to what a pitch might I have mounted up my fortunes? which now I see are nothing but confusion:

Yes and please your worship.

But dee heare, let not my Landlady, nor her husband have so much as a glimpse of it, for I have no money for 'em.

Nay sir, if you intend to travell, be sure ye take all your money along with ye, especially if you meane to be merry, for you shall finde that money is the most daintie companion sir; but Rowland, dee heare? scatter no words.

By no meanes.

Very well, how dee you Rowland?

Troth, pretty well, Servingman like, carelesse of much, proud of a little, drunke for want of wit, and some­times sober for want of money.

I thought ye had beene sicke, because I have not seene yee this long time.

Sicke quoth a? my pockets are a little cowardly now and then indeede, that's all my sicknesse.

What? wud ye have 'em quarrelsome?

Quarrelsome? no, but I wud have 'em to have a little more mettall in 'em for all that.

Wher's your Master pray?

Nay I know not, I have not seene him this sixe houres.

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There is a little money due to me from him, I wish he wud take the payment of it into consideration, I have ex­extraordinary occasion to use the money, if he please to let me have but some of it, it will doe mee a courtesie, he shall finde me reasonable.

How idlely you talke husband? Is that a way to live in the world, doe you thinke it is for my ease to have gentle­men come, and lie in my house, and goe away and pay nothing — ha?

Pay? yes good sweetheart, why shud he not pay; there's no body speakes against that, sweetheart.

Why doe you talke so foolishly then of being reaso­nable, and I cannot tell what, I doe not like such words I tell ye truely; —reasonable quoth a? Eate my meate, drinke my drinke, burne my wood, foule my roomes, weare my sheets, make use of my servants, and yet I must be reasonable; if ye can talke no wiselier before folkes, pray ye hold your peace and let your wife speake — besides, yee know he owes me both for bootes, shooes, and pantables, and I shall give him that too shall not I? no indeede forsooth, I wud have your Master to know that I do not buy my lether so cheape, Ile as­sure ye — be reasonable quoth a? besides, I have pro­mis'd to pay Mr. Sugerbox the Chandler, nutmegges and sugar for his mornings draughts, and Mr. Dash the Vintener for wine in's chamber, and shall I pay them before your Ma­ster has paid me —introth I doe not meane it.

'Tis fit a gentleman shud pay you before, that's the truth of it.

Ye say right Rowland, I see you have more conside­ration with yee than my husband has — be reasonable quoth a? —marry whoope.

Why dee keepe all this stirre, my Master's not run­ning away woman — here's a quarter indeede, if hee will be ruled by me, he shall not give you one farthing, because you keepe such a coile.

How keepe such a coile ye jacke sawee? how now? such a coile? dee thinke ye are talking to your companions sirra? such a coile? and in my owne house too sirra? and you [Page] must stand by forsooth like Iohn a Noakes, and see every Ser­vingman runne upon me in this manner; remember this when ye come to bed; and for your Masters not paying of me, ye Sawcebox, I'me at the better end of the staffe with him, for I have lockt up all his clothes; nay if you'r so Sawcy, Ile fit him, Ile warrant ye.

Ye will?

Yes indeede will I?

Rowland, Rowland, Rowland, theeves, theeves, theeves, theeves, Rowland, theeves.

How now? how now?

All my Masters clothes are stolne quite a way Rowland, all stolne every jot, breeches, doublet, boots, spurres, cloaks, gownes, hats, bands, cuffes, ruffes, caps, shooes, shirts, all gone, all stolne, every jot.

Here's the theefe.

Where? where?

Here I say.

Who, my Landlady, did you steale my Masters clothes — ha? wherefore pray ye?

Steale 'em? no sir J scorne it; I tooke 'em indeede, and Ile justifie it; and more than so sir, I have lockt 'em up, and Ile justifie that too.

How? lockt up my Masters clothes, wherefore I pray ye?

Wherefore? doe not yee know your Master owes me money? doe not you know I have often askt it, and can­not get it? doe not ye know that it is a pretty summe? doe not you know that it is for meate, drinke, lodging, fire, and candle-light, washing, wringing, and starching; besides, boots, shooes, pantables, and galosheas: if, I had the Booke I cud shew ye.

Nay, you're perfect enough without booke for ought I see.

Trash, Your Master's come home, and you must come to him presently.

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Here's a creature Ile sweare upon a booke, this woman has no bones in her tongue, if any man love trumpets, there's a noise for him, sure I doe not thinke but this Shoomaker's a witch, he wud never a contracted himselfe to the devill else.

What, are ye here? and I have nothing put up yet?

Sir, your clothes are all put up, and safe under locke and key.

Nay then 'tis no matter; who put 'em up?

That did my Landlady sir, shee has lockt 'em up, and sweares she'le keepe 'em safe till she can perswade ye to part with some pocket mettle sir.

Enough, enough, I will not be beholden to her, Ile satisfie her.

O sir, have I found ye out in the end, Come Officers lay hold on him — but stay lets talke with ye a little first.

Sure my master was borne when the signe was in Can­cer, for whatsoever he does intend, goes alwayes quite back­wards, well some body shall know on't presently, that shall fetch him off againe for all this sir.

Sir, I am content to engage all my possibilities to ac­complish your desires.

There may be some hope in this.

Nothing but marriage?

Not any thing ith' world but Marriage▪

Not?

No indeede.

It is unknowne to me sir.

I aske ye who 'tis you have married?

Has thy leudnesse brought thee to distraction; mar­ried, and yee know not to whom? come take him away, 'tis in vaine to talke—but stay a little. Ile see what creature 'tis.

'Tis very true sir.

Yes.

Married already quoth a? and ye know not to whom neither, here's a marriage with a vengeance.

We heard ye sent for my cosin Valentines wife sir.

I did so.

We have brought her to you sir, here she is sir.

Very well, in good time: what are you gentlewo­man? whence are ye? ha? — speake; nay, if you will not give me an account, I must punish ye;

Dee know me sir, nay gaze on sir.

He knowes her present I see that.

Know her? he has beene familiarly with her—be­fore man, and that thee didst not know.

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With all my heart, with all my heart, but sonne, I have one petition to preferre to you.

You may stile it a command sir.

You must needs bestow upon me your servant Trash.

Heyda? now I'me a beg'd foole, I see that.

Sirra, attend my father.

Your worships humble servant sir.

Nay sir, for an oversight in any businesse let me alone.

Hilts, come hither —Sirra, doe you waite upon me.

Yes forsooth.

I did ever thinke thou wudst come to some good, for thou hast beene alwayes an honest Trojan; Dee heare, if you had carried me to Bridewell, when ye were bid —where had your proferments beenethen Hilts.