Actus Primus.

NAy let's not part so heavilie.

For my own part, it does not trouble me so much,

That you have broke up house.

And yet that sticks in my stomack:

For hospitality went out of fashion, with crop-doublets and cod­pieces.

But I have worne out so many liveries, under your wor­shpful father.

My father had an office which brought in

A fair Revenew; I inherit but

His little land, whose annual profits will not

Encourage me to live at the same hight:

You may meet better fortunes; there's enough

Preferment in the world: my love and best

Assistance promise to your selves.

I do not stand upon wages, sir, I wont leave you.

Not leave me? how wilt thou live?

Live? as other mortals do: yet I wont play th [...] thief, that's a course may be taken, by which a man may ascend the ladder of preferment; but I never lov'd to climb trees: I must confess I cannot cheat; I have heard there's a devilish deal of knowledge in the dice, and if men wont lend mony, they'll fetch it out o'th' bones: but it's best casting in a Tavern, when the reckoning and the wine come up together. Some men have [Page 2] a trick to spin out a living by't: there be many secret ways for Servingmen to live: alas 'tis not wages that does maintain all our tribe; especially those that have Mistresses.

But I am a batchelour.

I pray let me be one of your buttons still then; I am not half worne out; ye know what mould I am made of: I e­ver did you honest service: and though the rest of my fellow­vermine can leave your falling house, I do not fear the rafters: By this hand I will wait upon you, though as some gr [...]at mens servants, I live upon nothing but the air of commendation

Well, since y'are so resolute, still attend me; the rest I here discharge: there's somewhat more, not worth the Name of bounty; I will all

A happier entertainment.

Heaven bless you, sir, and there be no remedy.

Farewell Close.

Pray give me leave to wet my lips with my old fellows; sorrow makes a dry proverb; I must to a Tavern, and condole a quart with 'em.

Meet me at Mistress Bellamy's.—

I shall, sir.

How now, my Masters?

You do not speak to me, sir? I am a servant still: in­deed, the case is alter'd with them; they are Masters for want of a service.

Oh Master Playfaire!

It is not now as when Andrea liv'd.

This place was made for pleasure, not for dearth.

There was a time, when Mortals whetted knives. Play. What's the matter?

In time of yore, when men kill'd brutish beasts.

Oh cruel butcher, whosoere thou wert!

Do you not know what all this signifies?

Not I.

My Master has given over house-keeping.

Burglary, sir, burglary; our young Master has broke up the Celler, and thrown the Kitchen out of the Hall-window.

Nay, he has thrown the house out at window; it has a superscription already; and is directed to his next loving friend, that will pay the rent. You'll hardly know me, I have no fellow.

Y'are very merry.

He has casheer'd a company.

And taken our good names from us.

I know his nature is more noble; thou wort his groom.

Right, and now I am turn'd off, that good name is taken away; nay I am not company for his horse.

Grass and Hay, we are all mortal.

VVe may see what it is to be prick'd with provender; now we must bite o'th' bridle for't; all discharg'd.

Certain?

Yes, certain of us are; for my Master only belongs to me: if you would speak with him, you may overtake him, he's gone to Mistress B [...]llamies: in the mean time I give you to understand, that I Close do still follow my Master; have great hope to continue eating, though the rest of my fellows here be blanks, and want filling.

My Masters, I have known you long; and though you be at loss, in the confidence of your future honesties, I will employ yo [...] in a device, which if it prove happy, mayreward you hand­somly.

And me too?

No, sir, you are another mans servant; follow you your Master: if there be occasion, I'll enquire for you: will you be faithful to a project of mine?

Doubt it not, sweet Master Playfair, any thing.

Follow me for your instructions: Farewel Close, com­mend me to your Master.

'Buy Close, honest Close, we are blanks.—

Roul your selves up, and be drawn at the next lotterie: I wont leave my certainty, for all your projects, take my word for't; if your project fail, I shall find some of you in Pauls, watching behind a pillar, with a prayer that some gentleman will read the bedrol, and take pitty of a very serviceable fellow, to wait on him; but wants a cloak, Much good do ye with your Project.—

Come widow, be rul'd by me; I know the world,

And I have studied it these fifty years:

There's no man to be trusted.

Without good

[Page 4]

Security, you mean.

No young man, widow,

That talks and says he loves you, writes you verses,

And swears he shall go hang himself unless

You pitty him: take me an old man.

Take you an old man: so.

Season'd with care and thrift, not led away

By vitious conversations, nor corrupted

With pride and surfeit: one that knows the use

Of money? d'ye mark? the use.

Yes, sir; use upon use, you mean.

And dares not spend it prodigally; knowing

The principal end it was ordain'd to was,

To relieve necessity, and lay up

VVhat is above.

To help the poor.

You may,

If you be so dispos'd; but 'tis as commendable

To give it in our will, to build an hospital,

And so our charity comes all together.

Besides, who knows what tempests while we live

May rise? 'tis wisdom not to be without

A sun-shine in our bags to quiet all:

I know you want no suitors in the City,

There be courtiers, great ones, with large titles,

Cold in their own estates, would warm themselves

At your rich City-bonefire: there's no Alderman

Or wealthy Merchant, leaves his widow wealthy,

But streight some noble blood, or lustie kindred,

Claps in with his guilt coach and Flandrian Trotters,

And hurr [...]es her away to the next Countess:

No matter for corruption of their blood;

Some undone courtier made her husband rich,

And this new Lord receives it back again.

I would not have your state thus eaten up

By caterpillers, but preserv'd and made

Greater by marrying a discreet old man.

And such a one you shew your self.

You happily interpret me.

I will not tell you till we meet again,

What operation your good counsel has upon me.

She inclines; 'tis your good nature.

I'm plain Hornet, and have no tricks; I'll tell you all

My fault, I'm given much to gather wealth;

No kindred, only a neece, left to my trust

With a great portion; one that is never like to marry.

Why?

She never thriv'd since she came to me.

I easily believe it.

Melancholy

VVill kill her, and yet I pursue all ways

That promise her delight; I spare no cost

Of physick; what her Doctor says, is done.

'Tis lovingly perform'd.

VVhat's he?

A Gentleman that bears my daughter much affection.

Sure I have seen him.

Master Hartwel.

Oh he's a begger, or must be very shortly.

Have you his lands in morgage?

Not yet, not yet, but he'll want money too:

His kinsman Playfair keeps him company;

Take heed on him.

He has good breeding.

Hang breeding, 'tis unluckie:

They never keep their state that have too much on't:

Counsel your daughter, Mistress Bellamy,

To throw him off.

You direct well.

VVhen we are married, I'll provide a match

For her.

You have care on us.

It will become me.

Is a suiter to thy mother.

He would be such a thing, were I not happy

In such a jolly father in law.

A looks like some cast money-bag, that had given up

The stuffing, and for want of use grown mouldy:

He dares not keep a fire in's Kitchen, lest

VVarming his hands, which rather look like gloves so tan'd,

And thin, he lets 'em scorch, and gather into a heap.

I do not think he ever put off his clothes:

He would run mad at sight of's own anatomie.

That such a wretch should have so vast a wealth!

I'll not be his Neece,

For all his fortune.

I presume

Your mother is more noble, then to encourage

Him in his courtship: her estate would mix

[Page 6]

Not well with his ill-gotten wealth, extorted

From widows and from orphans: not will all

His plenty keep his soul one day from famine:

'Tis time ill spent, to mention him; let's talk

Of something else.

Of what?

Of love again,

Whose flames we equally divide.

Your table

Is a devourer, and they shut up doors

First, that keep open house and entertainments:

This Lord is feasted, and that young Ladies sweet tooth

Must have a banquet: t'other old

Madam with ne'er a tooth, must have some marchpane

Coral to rub her gums withal: these are

Vain and ridiculous expences.

'Tis not too late to thrive.

This room has too rich furniture, and worse

Hangings would serve the turn; if I may be

Worthy to counsel, pictures are too

Superfluous, of this and t'other masters

Doing: hang Michael Angelo and his oyls;

If they be given, y'are the more excus'd

To let 'em hang; but have a care you let not

Appear either in Arras or in Picture,

The storie of the prodigal, 'twill fright

Young gentlemen from spending of their portions

That come to visit you; whose unbounden Riots

May enrich you, with their forfeited estates:

I have a thousand precepts more.

But d'ye not

Think all this while of Heaven?

'Tis in my wealth.

Or hell?

A fable to fright fools and children; but

I cannot stay, my Scrivener does expect me;

I'll visit you another time, sweet widow,

And give you more instructions.

Spare your labour,

I sha'not practice these in haste, and must

Declare, these precepts make not for your welcome.

My patience was no vertue all this while.

If you but think you have a soul, repent:

Your rules I am not covetuous to follow;

I dare not love 'em.

Live, and be undone then;

[Page 7]

You'll tell me another tale hereafter, widow.—

If it please you, here's a letter from Master Startup

The Country-Gentleman.

What's he?

A fresh suitor of my Nurses commendations.

Heaven deliver me! What have I seen? sure this

Thing was once at Bartholomew-Fire, or such another

Furr'd Baboon for all the world: do'st know him?

And yet why do I ask? the devil would hardly

Take acquaintance with him.

'Tis master Hornet the great Usurer.

Hornet?

Nay then my wonder's over; and the devil himself

Be such another, they may be sworn brothers, and divide

Hell betwixt 'em.

Who's that you talk on, sirrah?

Of the disease that heaven be thank'd has left you,

Hornet. But sir, I have news for you.

Franck?

I'll hear it in the Garden.—

Do you love this Gentleman?

I hope you move not this as if you doubted;

I took him first upon your character,

Into my good opinion.

But things alter;

What then I thought him, I delivered you,

Nor since hath he deserv'd a less esteem

In his own person: but the circumstance

Is not the same; his fortune I have examined,

Which rises not to such a value I

Did apprehend it; it becomes my care,

Being at one gift to depart with thee

And my estate, to look for one whose purse

May carry a proportion.

Make me not

Imagine you would wed me to a heap

Of shining dust, a golden bondage.

Nor to penury:

His birth and education are not unworthy, he's hansome too:

But be not govern'd by your eye too much;

Children and age pursue us, and some storms

Hover about our frail conditions:

[Page 8]

All these must be provided for: they are not

Kisses will make our winters warm; and therefore

Confident of your obedience, I propound

Another to your best thoughts.

Oh my unhappyness!

A Country gentleman of spreading fortunes,

Young too, and not uncomely; for his breeding,

It was not spun the finest: but his riches

Able to guild deformity, and make

Even want of wit a vertue, when your life

Renders it self more sweet by your command:

His name is Master Startup, expected

Our guest to morrow; that's his letter, read it.

This may seem strange, while it is coming toward you:

But when discretion comes to examine what

A fruitful consequence attends it, you

Will thank me for't.

But with your pardon, mother:

Although I could dispence with my own thoughts,

And frame them to obedience, will this change

Be for your honour, or mine own? when such,

When such a noble gentleman shall boast he had

With your consent my liking? or admit

That which we gain by riches of the second,

Seem to authorize, and may justifie

The act with some: How can it cure the wound,

Which the poor heart that loves shall find too soon,

When 'tis neglected, and so cruelly,

Where it hopes for cherishing? Oh think

How you did love my father, first; and be

Now gentle to your daughter: your estate

Is above needy providence, or grafting

Into a new stock; it does grow already

Fair from his own root, and does want no piecing;

Nor are the means of Hartwel so contemptible.

No more: when y'ave consider'd well, you'll shape

Another answer; i'th' mean time dispose

Your countenance to entertain this new

And able lover: leave the satisfaction

Of Hartwel to my care; he's here, to your chamber.—

I know not what's the trick on't, nor themselves yet,

But he has a project to employ 'em in.

I wisH it well—But do you work your self

[Page 9]

Into the opinion of the Nurse, she is

The Major Domo, and has all the intelligence.

Let me alone, I'll work her, sir, like wax,

To print what form you please upon her; 'tis

A loving croan to me already:

I'll speak her fair, and in my drink may marry her.

Master Hartwel?

About your business.

There is a business, sir, which I must open,

And you perhaps will wonder at.

You prepare my attention.

You do love my daughter,

At least I think so.

If you knew my heart,

You might be confident; in her I sum

All my desires on earth.

Be not so fixt.

How, Lady?

When you have heard me out, perhaps you'll find

Your consent easie to call back a promise

Made to your disadvantage.

I acknowledge

This makes me wonder; pray interpret Lady,

And speak a language I may understand;

I love your daughter.

But must never glory

In the reward which you expect should be

Her marriage.

In the number of my actions

There is not one that's guilty of so much

Offence to you, that I should be so soon

Lost to your favour.

Have no thought so poor,

You can deserve less; my opinion

Is [...]icher laden with your merit then before.

Now

I fear again, this violent turn of praise,

Makes me suspect my state: if I be fallen,

Teach me to know my trespass.

I ne'er look'd

With so cleer eyes into your worth; and 'twere

A sin to general goodness to delay

The free resign of that, your truth may challenge.

If this be meant, pray pardon my mistake

Of something went before: love made me fear

You said I never should enjoy your daughter

[Page 10]

In marriage, which your self so late incline to.

And must again repeat, you sha' not call

Her bride.

Can you forbid this happiness, and love me?

Yes, so dearly, Hartwel, I present

My self to thy affections.

You amaze me, and fright my understanding.

Does the name

Of widow sound displeasing? I have learn'd

Already to obey; my years are not

So many with a thought to freeze your blood;

I wear no print of time, deep on my brow,

Nor have my hairs the innocence of age:

Gentlemen active, and of noble birth,

Think no dishonour to beseech my love,

And if they flatter not, commend my person:

Adde unto this my wealth, no narrow fortune,

And without competition, my daughter

Depending on my love, whose portion must

Flow from my bounty, or be nothing: make

A sober apprehension of this Tender,

And think I was not able to suppress

These flames of love increase still by your vertues:

This minute quit all hopes of Frances,

Whose mother will admit no Rival; 'tis

Within your own election to be happy:

My love accepted comes with fair attendance;

Deny'd, you hasten your own exile; think on't,

To morrow sometime, I'll expect your answer.—

What have I heard? Was it her Mother spake thus?

As Pilgrimes by mistake of some small path,

Having told many weary steps, at night

When their hopes flatters 'em they are not far

From some kind entertainment, finde themselves

Lost in a wilderness; so am I miserable:

Thus Love delights to wound and see us bleed,

He were a gentle god to kill indeed.—

Actus Secundus.

WO'd thou wo'dst speak a good word for me: I am

Weary of my indentures: I like a fool was in good hope

He should have married Mistress Frances.

He's a begger; she his wife? no, Master Startup

Is the man, the man of lands and mony.

Into whose service if I could wriggle my self, a

Word of thy mouth does it.

I must tell you by the way, he is little better then a fool.

The fitter for her husband, and my master.

Y'are i'th' right, he's innocent to your hands, and

You may soon come to nonage his estate

VVhich if I do, thou sha't want no petticoats,

All's thine own.

VVhat?

VVhy all that I can beg, borrow or steal from him:

VVhat should he do with so much riches? I'd perswade my young Mistress, after the first year, to put him to his pension: he should pay for's diet; and after a month or two, for every time he comes aloft. Hang him, Cuckow-pintle.

Nay, let her begin betimes, if she mean to rule the roast: I'll give her Documents; and be you sure you stick close to your Mistriss; there's something to be got that way.

Excellent Verges!

How I do love thy documents! I but he's here,

I'll not be seen with thee; farewell:

At night we'll talk the rest over a sack-posset.—

I will use this advantage to over-hear a little.

You tell me strange things; is it possible

The widow her self loves you?

VVould I had reason but to suspect.

Turn Colt again; this love will kill's all:

And can she make no choice, but where her daughter

Has the same longing? not her dancing days done yet?

VVhy there's no remedy, you must love her.

How? and violate my faith to Frances?

Thou wilt not be so much an infidel,

To think I mean thou shouldst forsake the wench.

Tell me the mother a fine tale of love,

Print kisses on her paper-lip, and hug

Her reverend body; any thing but lie with her:

VVrite sonnets on the ivorie tooth afore;

Swear she does cough distinctly; get a rime

To bless her when she sneezes, and cry up

The method of her nose, which sweats and falls

So perpendicular; admire the motion

Of her blew eyes that look three ways at once:

Praise her above thy reason, or her daughter,

And then she will believe, thou maist be mad for her.

Is this the way to do me good? she comes

Too fast upon me already.

Let her flie to thee,

Thou maist clip her wings the sooner, this secures thee:

Should you hold off, and play the modest creature,

Nay but deny as maids do, when they love it,

And bending of your hams cry, No forsooth,

Profess your self, with coxcomb like civility,

You are not worthy of her carnal favours,

She may believe it; and in very spight

Marry her daughter to a Citizen;

Or should you be so mad to think to win her

To your first choice, withholding your passions

For Mistress Frances, complaining how Don Cupid

Hath sacrific'd your heart; you may go hang your self:

Go to the Barbers, let him firk your hair up,

And spend his powder; wash your sullen face,

And starch your infant, upper-lip to look

Like one that would run desp [...]rate on a widow.

Here's pretious conspiracie!

This is the way:

At leasure, you may tell your natural Mistress,

Like Jove you have but put another shape on

To cheat the Beldame Juno.

Foul-mouth rascal, I'm glad I know your plot.

I apprehend, th'ast given me good counsel:

I'll watch the first occasion to assure,

I have prefer'd her in my heart already.

I'll conjure up a cross plot, and that quickly,

Shall mar your mirth, and pay your fine dissembling;

Are you so cunning, my love gamester?—

So I'll take my leave then, y'ave no other service

To use my stay: I have a project, Hartwel,

That must not be neglected.

May not communicate?

Thou art ingag'd to wait

Upon thine own affair, or I should trouble thee

To be an actor in't; thou know'st Hornet.

He is a sutor to the widow, and

After the rate we cast the plot, my rival.

I'll rival him; he smothers a poor gentlewoman

At home with Sea-coal, and allowes her no

More light then serves to read in painted cloth,

The exposition of the harlots storie.

Hartwel, I love her; and before her Father

Dyed, we exchang'd our honest hearts; 'tis here

To free her from that slavery she lives in

Under the iron-hearted Jaylor, else

I shall repent my aim; he broods upon

Her portion, but I have a trick may spoil

His hatching of young bags; thou shalt know all

Hereafter; to the widow, Hartwol: I am

For state-affairs; be faithful, and pray for me.

We must be bold: farewell, if something hit,

We'll laugh in spight of Dives and the Devil.—

This is the thing, sir, that must carry away

The garland; they have given him a cup or two

Of sack, and he has the prettiest humour,

He does so whistle out his complement:

He wears his feather like the captain of

A country team, and would become a horse-coller

Rarely; I do not think, but were he put to't

With little switching, he would draw the Cart well.

Sweet Lady, I am your humble servant; 'tis well known what I am, where I live; my father dyed since I was of age, and left me a younger brothers portion.

A younger brother?

Sweet Lady, I know what you would say, my father had no more children; but I speak modestly of my estate; I have land enough for two or three wives; I have a horse in Town; your daughter shall ride behind me: Sweet Lady, did you ever see the country?

What country, sir?

VVhy, any country living: sweet Lady, I am your humble servant; if you love hawking, hunting, or drinking, there be good fellows will bear you company. Is there any good Tobacco in London?

Virginia. Tobacco grows here.

Sweet sir, I am your humble servant, you seem to be a gentleman will fetch me a pipe: there's half a piece, if I be not troublesome: perhaps, sweet Lady, you do not love it: if it offend you, let it alone.

A very pretious widgen.

La, la, la, lere.

You dance well, sir.

He has a strong back, I warrant him.

Sweet Lady, is this your daughter?

Ask that question now?

I was her mother, sir.

That may be too; what gentleman is that? sweet sir, I am your humble servant likewise.

You are too humble, sir, to stoop so low;

It would become my duty.

Sweet sir, 'tis all one; a leg or an arm is not cast away among friends: I am a Country-Gentleman, all the world knows; sweet sir, I have no business in Town.

I thought you came to see my daughter.

That may be too; sweet Lady, pray excuse me, I ho­nour your fair daughter; for I know as well as another, what belongs to a gentlewoman: she's not the first sweet Lady I have lov'd i'th' way of Matrimony.

Were you ever married?

Sweet sir, no; all men are not alike.

For some are fools.

Sweet sir, I do confess it;

But wit is never good till it be bought,

They say; there are very good wits in Town,

I have brought money a purpose with me to buy;

If any will sell me a good pennyworth,

I'll give him a hundred pieces, because

I would carry a little down into the Country.

Is there a dearth in your Country?

Sweet sir, there's plenty.

Of wild-o [...]ts; I heard you had much to sow still.

My Tenants have, sweet sir, but 'tis all one;

This Lady shall be Lord o'the Soil: I wo'nt

Give any man six pence for a bushel of mony.

Oh brave sack!

I am a gentleman, my Father was a Yeoman;

But that's all one, sweet Lady: howsoever I am yours,

And every limb is at your service;

My hands shall walk, my feet shall run.

Away, away.

By this bright gold they shall.

He keeps his oath.—

Not run?

My Grand-father was a Noblemans Footman, and

Indeed he run his Country; my Father did

Outrun the Constable.

And he, sweet Lady,

Being his fathers issue, must run naturally.

If I live.—

He'll run himself out of all.

Not run,

Sweet Lady? if you have occasion to use me,

I wo'nt stand upon my feet.

No, sir?

Nay I'll stand upon my head, sweet Lady,

To do you courtesie.

Then his heels were upwards.

Please you, a sorry dinner stays for you.

Sweet Lady, I am your servant; will this Gentleman dine with us?

I'll prevail with Master Hartwel.

D'ye know what you have done? he's rival

Mistress; why, d'ye mean to invite him?

Sweet sir, I invite nobody; if you love

Any body here.—

What then?

Sweet sir,

I sha'not take it kindly, I do not use

To quarrel.

When y'are beaten, sir, he sha'not wrong you:

Then lay lay him o'er the face.

Sweet sir,

'Tis dinner-time, fair Lady.

Mastert Hartwel?—

I had a great mind to have him beaten;

But he's not valiant at meals: would I

Were hired to beat him hansomly after dinner,

And make him thank me for't; I'll have some plot

Upon your pretious body, my sweet sir.—

You [...]ll me wonders, Doctor.

I have cur'd

Her melancholy; but she's o't' other side

Now extream merry, dance and sing, all air.

'Tis strange methinks, nothing, but extremities:

Good Master Doctor, could you not have par'd

Her t'other leaden humour?

Sir, I could not

Kill the malignity of her melancholy

Another way: extreamities must be cur'd

With extreme applications: my next work

Shall be to abate this levity of her brain,

To qualifie her spleen, sir, by degrees;

So state her body in that modest temper

She was possest of.

I complain'd before

Of quietness; now she's all noise and madness,

By your description.

You must have patience

A month or so, she is not mad but merry;

Some stange figaries: you must understand,

I have open'd, sir, her fancie, wherein lay

All her imaginations confus'd,

And of a heap, smother'd for want of vent;

And now the spirits that were imprison'd

Rush out, which causeth all her faculties

Before opprest, to exercise themselves

So unexpectedly, as the agitation of her tongue

Soon will manifest: she's here.

Unkle, how does your body? you appear

As lean as Lent: I've a great mind to dance

About a Maypole; shall we?

She is mad.

This Doctor has so tickled me,

I cannot chuse but laugh; ha, ha, ha:

Unkle, if you'll procure a dispensarion

To marry me your self, deduct the charges

Out of my portion: I'll have no other

Husband; I could affect an old man now

With all my heart.

[Page 17]

An old man with a bed full of bones,

Turn to me hony and give me a kiss, &c.

Unkle, when did you put on a clean shirt?

Not since your wife dyed; that was a pretty shift.

Indeed I dream'd o'th' devil the last night;

They say 'tis good luck: d'ye not know him, Unkle?

I know the devil!

He's a fine old gentleman,

And something like you; no such bugbear as

The world imagines; you and he'll keep house

Together one day: but you'll burn sea-coal too,

To save charges, and stink the poor souls so.

Shall we go hunt to day? I long to strike

A Deer; pray lend me a Cross-Bow, will you, sir?

I'll pay you use for't.

And still she cry'd, Shepherd shoot home.

Unkle, you are not merry, I pray laugh

A little; imagine y'ad undone a widow,

Or turn'd an orphan begging now: ha, ha!

How many Churches, 'faith, will you build when

You dye? I'll have six Bells in every Steeple,

And they shall go to th'tune of Turn again

Whittington, who let out his land

For nine lives, cause it came in by a Cat.

Die Unkle, die, at all adventures.

Why does she talk of dying? she's stark mad;

Could you not put into the next receipt,

Something to make her sleep well

Opium.

In a good quantity.

I could so proportion it,

She should not wake at all to trouble you:

I did it for a Merchants wife last week,

Which lov'd a Knight. A great man not long since,

Was weary of his Countess; and I cur'd him

So artificially of the disease.—

She hears.

But collects nothing, yet her sences

Are scattered.

You shall give towards the building

Of Pauls—Nothing: see the mony first

Laid out that's given already; it were much

[Page 18]

Sin to bely the dead; but 'tis no matter,

You may be as famous, sir, for pulling down

The Parish; for the Church will fall of't self,

With a ding dong Bell.

Why did they put the poor fellow in prison?

Whom? what fellow?

Why the Corn-cutter,

Poor gentleman he meant the City

No harm; his feet were weary, and that made him

In every street cry out, Have ye any Co [...]ns

I'your head or toes?

Which is Master Horn [...]t?

Ha! with me?

A word, sir.

Prethee what's he? he comes to borrow money

On his wives wedding-ring, or his childs whistle now:

You may see by his nose, he has no land, he looks

As hungry as a Hawk: what do you dream on?

Or what Ladies tympany is your next cure?

Or whose state body must be rectified

With your quaint glister?

There is no disputing, I must attend you.

I am sent for by a Pursivant: the King?

Alas, I am undone, I never saw him;

How should he know me? a poor wretch.

Is't not

Some complaint? think.

That's my fear, there be

Too many Knaves i'th' world; and a man cannot

Grow rich, but one state-surgeon or other

Must practice on his purse: before this Lord

One veyn is opened, in t'other Court

So many ounces he must bleed again.

Let me see: all the treason I committed,

Is, that I shifted houses; for I took

Delight to cozen him of his subsidies.

I live obscurely, to avoid

Taxations: I never paid the Church

Her superstitious tythes, nor come to trouble

Sermons, for fear of homilies before,

That beg for burning.

Why how now, Uncle? Is your Scrivener broke,

You talk such lamentation?

I am sent for

To the King, Neece, and shall be made a beggar,

As I was born: I see my Chattels seiz'd;

This Chest is ransack'd, and that bag deflour'd;

My dore seal'd up; and with this hungry messenger

I am already marching to the Fleet

Nay, and you be at that ward, I leave you.

Masty, farewel: pray do not bite my Uncle

Too hard; and so I leave you all to th' mercy

Of the Bear-Garden.

Best make fast her chamber.

I, I, cursed Dog: and

Set a thousand guards about her,

Love will find out a way.

Wo'nt some money qualifie your haste,

And give him time to appear?

Good Mr. Doctor,

Teach your Apothecary: Galen nor

Hippocrates can perswade me from my duty.

Will you go, sir? or shall I certifie?

Go! I must go.

Have comfort, sir: this cloud

May soon blow over.

Yes, when I'm blown up:

I read imprisonment in his very looks,

And all my gold confiscate.

I heard her say, she would walk up to her chamber:

The trick was but to teach him whither he

Should follow, who as nimbly apprehended,

To acquaint her with his new affections.

I did this for your good, that Mrs. Francis,

Whom I'll send presently to you, may be

Convinc'd in Hartwel's falshood, and transplant

Her love on you.

This will be excellent!

So shall we strangle him in his own noose,

And he ne'er know who hurt him.

I'll loose no time, you know my instructions.

I almost had forgot; there is a cast

Of angels more.

They are not cast away.

If thou dost fear they'll drown, Nurse, I can give

Thee lighter, I have some want weight.

If you have an evil angel about you, your business will thrive the better, when 'tis departed.

There, Mother of the Maids.

Now all the good ones wait upon your worship.

These things that go to and again, must have

Their fees, they'll never speak in our cause else.

Aha, sweet sir! we'll be too cunning for you.

She's come already: sweet Lady, how do ye do?

Y'are melancholy, you shall have some cause

If I can help you to't; if you be sad

Because I love you as I do, be merry

Again: there's no man cares a button for you

Besides my self.

I am very ill befriended.

You are deceiv'd in some body, and me too;

I love you I confess, but how? not for

Want of a Mistress; I came not a woing

For such necessity, although you have

So little wit, to believe something that

I know concerning t'other party.

How's this?

Tell me, have you opinion, sweet Lady,

That any man besides my self does love

This face of yours? but understand, I'll mak't

Appear, and presently.

VVhy I dare shew my face:

My glass cannot so much deceive me, sir:

I shou'd be asham'd it should appear.

Nay I am

For that, a your side; d'ye conceive me right?

A worse face will become the Country, and

Shew well enough at the mustering; but that

You should be such an ass.

This is plain Courtship.

Be sure you understand me, and you do not

Repent it, I dare give one of these ears.

You do not threaten me?

Understand me right,

But if I do, and will threaten you agen,

Because you shall live long to see your folly,

And what a Coxcomb you have made your self,

To love a man that is a suitor to

Your mother: ha, ha!

VVhom do you mean?

E'en Mr. Hartwel:

Are you such a buzzard

You cannot see't? then you shall hear it: step

Behind these hangings, and he'll justifie it.

I have consider'd perfectly; and if

You will vouchsafe me hearing, dare pour forth

My heart, which full of love tenders it self

To your acceptance: I acknowledge, Lady,

My passions are but young, for could I hope

You should with so much favour look upon me?

But may I credit this?

But to suspect,

Were an injustice to my faith, which looks

Upon your vertue with as much religion

As love is able to receive: your age

Hath struck a reverence into my eye;

And what you want of youth and spring upon you,

Your wisdom richly satisfies. Those characters

Which time hath written on your careful forehead,

Are but his envie, and your ornament,

VVhen it shall come to pass by your example,

That youth shall be esteem'd an infancy,

And women never ripe for love or marriage

VVithout your age upon them; 'tis a fault

That men not guided by the tract of reason,

But heat and wantonness of blood, run giddy

To seal such weighty covenants; better 'twere

The world should end in our Virginitie,

Then spin it self more length, by inconsiderate

And hasty marriages.

Have you already

Retriv'd the affection which pursu'd my daughter?

Shall I believe no seeds of love remain,

VVhich may grow up and ripen with repentance?

For this exchange I do allow you, sir,

The consideration of my fortune, which

Might in it self incline you to accept me.

That is but an attendant, as you use it,

I must confess a welcome one, although

The mind is the first beauty which true love

Aspires to, when 'tis waited on with person

[Page 22]

And an estate; it comes with greater priviledge

To win upon's: I do not wish you, Lady,

Rashly believe what I profess, but measure

My service by the tryal; I'll expect,

And write your smiles a competent reward,

Till time and your demand demonstrate me,

Although not equal to your full deservings,

Yet one that has ambition to be thought

Not too unworthy.

And I guess ere long,

Such an occasion will present it self.

Till then have Hartwel in your loving memory,

Who wishes no more happyness of life

Then to be call'd yours.—

VVhat have I understood?

Will you believe me another time, sweet Lady?

It is not he, some devil does but cozen us,

And mock our sence, with these phantastick bodies.

Hartwel!

Nay 'tis the man, I hope you'll be converted,

And think a Country-Gentleman worth favour

That brought you to this knowledge; I deserve.—

My curses for this black discovery:

VVhereas before 'twas not impossible

In time I might be brought to pitty thee;

Henceforth I'll look upon thee as my sins,

And beg as much forgiveness, that I knew thee.

Nay, but d'ye hear?

Die quickly, and be forgotten.

This is very fine, sweet Lady!

My mother! Oh my fate! see me no more,

And I'll forgive thee.—

Is't come to this? I see

I am a fool, and there's no remedy—

Actus Tertius.

Fie, fie, I am asham'd on you, a Gentleman

Of your high promising, and be put off

So slightly?

VVhy Nurse? what would you have me do?

Do? I would have you do—something; a man of your ability, and cannot turn and wind a woman?

You would not have wished me

To have put her to't behind the hangings?

You should have been round with her.

I was round

With her; I call'd her ass, I think, and coxcomb:

Unless I should have given her the lye,

And call'd her whore, I could not be more round with her.

I do not mean that way.

And she call'd me,

I think, her—

VVhat?

Why no worse then all her sins; heaven forgive her,

She has the more to answer; nay she did

Not stick to bid me dye too, in that desperate

Estate.

Come, you shall take another course.

What ailes my Masters sweet-heart? is she frighted?

I met and ask'd her for my Master, and

She turn'd tail like a hound had lost the sent:

There's something in the wind: my three pil'd worshipful,

Are you there, with my Lady o'the larder?

Now in that posture, do not they two look like

[Page 24]

A fine Brick-House and a Thatch'd-Barn i'th' Country,

Laying their heads together? without doubt

Some pretious consultation: what poesie

Will fit his joynt ring, or how many yards

Of Holland without seaming-lace will make

His Mistress smock: they have spied me.

Close,

Come hither; nay he's faithful, and one that

Has a desire to serve you: you may trust him.

Your worship may trust me abed w'ye;

Have had an itch this great while, sir, a kinde

Of longing, to be one of your appurtenances;

I have some faults, and I'll confess 'em: I have

A humour now and then when I am asked

A question, to tell truth, though I be chid for't;

And I do not love blows: you may sooner beat

My brains out, then a word of flattery:

I cannot batten upon commendation,

Without my wages, nor be valiant

Upon small beer; I am not overmuch

Given to be drunk, but I've a trick o'th' Dutchman,

To do your business as well drunk as sober:

I have not impudence enough to pimp

For you; but I have a gift, I can say nothing

As well as your chaplain; I suck'd secresie

From mine own mother, once a baudy Mid-wife:

I was born upon Shrove-Tuesday, and shall be

Now and then given to rebellion:

My flesh will once a year rise at a chambermaid,

If none such take me down; I shall in malice

And deep revenge, fling out upon May-Day

Among the Apprentices without fear or wit:

If you chance to be arrested, I dare kill

Any thing, but a Sergeant; he's lapt

In law, a wearing stronger far then buff:

If any gentleman ne'er so much provok'd,

Prick him between the seams, or knock his brains out,

Which is the surer way (for most a these

Vermine, would fain be kill'd) he is sure to take

His leave at the Towns end; his breakfast is

Tyed up, and stays for him, neer my Lord Mayors

Banquetting house, made for the City-progress.

I like his humour.

Nay he has a sconce,

And shall be of our counsel; afterward,

[Page 25]

Your worship may entertain him: Look you Close,

There is a plot to help this Gentleman

At night, when they are abed: and if you went

To bed betimes, to avoid suspition,

'Twere never the worse; I'll say you are not well:

D'ye mark? this honest Gentleman shall be

Let into Mrs. Frances bedchamber.

Without her knowledge?

You shall only attend

To give him notice from me when to come,

And watch about the house, he may get off

Without discovery; this is all.

So, so, I sha' not keep the door.

I can do that.

Let me alone to give you notice who

Stirs about house.

Away, 'tis Master Hartwel,

We'll not be seen together,

Go your ways.—

A foolish knave and baud, that do want nothing

But carting; I would sooner see that Tryumph

Then all the Pageants a day after Simon

And Jude, when the fine City goes a feasting.

Oh sir, I have news; yes, they are gone, brave news,

Your gentlewoman can hold out no longer:

This night there will be a stratagem; the governess

Old madam Humpeapampe, the Nurse, has promis'd

To admit the Country Gentleman, when all

Are abed, into her chamber; yes, your Mistrisses:

I'm o'the plot to lie perdue, and give

The word if any fire-lock approach;

The rest imagine: if he have not art to

Perswade her to the feat with him, yet there

Be tricks, and he may be surpriz'd i'th' chamber,

And she may be compell'd to marry him, in

Her own defence: there have been such devices.

Does she consent?

She is betray'd to't, Sir.

Thou wo't not be so base.

And I had meant it,

I ne'er had told you this: can you make use

[Page 26]

Of this intelligence?

Th'art my honest servant.

I promis'd to be his.

I have it, canst

By any means procure me but his cloathes?

With ease: he'll go to bed betimes, to void

Suspition, that's a part of our designe.

I could not wish a happier opportunity,

To try how she affects this gaudy fool,

And cleer my faith to her; which her mothers watch

Will not permit: she has I fear observ'd

My new familiarity with the mother,

Which I'm compell'd to, and must cure this way:

Fail me not, Close, and propound thy own

Reward.

Tell me your purpose, and let my wit

Dispose of him.

Prosper me Love in this.

And you fall to your prayers

With good Love look about us, I shall suspect

You will not thrive: you should go to a wench

As gentlemen fall to Oysters, without ceremony,

Or saying grace; devotion will spoil all.—

Right as an arrow.

Witty engineer:

But was she taken with the plot?

I was

Compell'd to frame an outside of a reason,

Lest her own mirth should play the traytor with us,

Her spleen was so dilated; he believes

She's mad: which change makes for us.

Excellent.

And he that you employ'd, the Pursivant,

Shew'd such a surly rascal, the poor Usurer

Trembled as Bauds beneath the lash.

He comes then.

With as much joy, as to receive a hanging.

He would be whipt, and say his prayers at Pauls in a white sheet.

That were penance to him:

Nay he would pay as much as he should fine

[Page 27]

For Alderman, though half his soul went with it,

For his Quietus; he does apprehend

Nothing but earthquakes.

How I am rampant

With the imagination? bid the musick

Be ready, they know all their flourishes:

But shift you quickly—My honourable Lords.—

How they do look like States-men! where's your tooth-pick?

Excellent! bear your staff hansomly; contract

Your brow, and look more superciliously.

I warrant you for my part.

We came now from practice.

Can ye do't with confidence?

These very cloathes have made me proud already:

It was some Lords cast sute, I'll lay my life.

And mine; it smells of honour.

More perfume, so, so; how now man?

He looks pale; my Lord, how d'ye?

Well, well, I hope 'tis but conceipt.

Of what?

Will the pox lie in cloathes? I cannot tell,

I finde some alteration in my body

Since I shifted.

'Tis a meer conceipt;

They were an honest mans, upon my knowledge,

A Captain of the Train'd-Band in the Country:

They were bought against the general muster last;

He wore 'em that day, and most carefully sent 'em up

To tast our London lavender.

Sir, you have

Satisfied me.

Be sprighful: where's this Prince,

Whose nod must make us double before age?

I long to kiss his hand.

He's here.

Now by that sprig, a pretty lump of Majesty,

No actor could become it half so royally:

But wilt thou not be out of thy Kings part,

And when wine is wanting at the banquet,

Call upon drawers, quarrel with your Nobles?

Or when we shall present our man of morgages,

Take him aside, and borrow half a crown

To give your whore benevolence, which trusted

For you last tilting; or be drunk too soon,

And leave our project in the durt?

My Lords,

This fellow's insolence must be corrected:

Dispose him in what prison you think fit.

He's mad, I think.

To Bedlam with him then:

Is this a place for fools and madmen? who

Admitted him? take him away; see you

He be well whipt, and let him thank our mercy,

Bandog.

I quake already; excellent Lambert!

Cool, cool thy lungs, and whisper with some Lord,

Thou wo't be a key too high else: good sir Poldavis,

Master of the house, at whose cost we are

Entertained!

My part is rotten

In my head, doubt not.

Is he come?

He waits at the first chamber.

Then let the Lutes

Begin, and then admit him.

Here's revelling, my purse must be squeez'd for't:

That's the King, the rest are bare; how supple they are

[Page 29]

I'th' hams? that Courtier has oyled his joynts:

He looks this way, they point at me; a rot

O'that knaves finger.

What fellow's this? who waits?

It was his Graces pleasure he was sent for.

My good Lord.

My Lord of Noland, as you were saying.

Is this the man whom you so much commended for his abilities?

I smell no good from that word ability.

Discreet, and read i'th' Common-wealth, a man

Fit for employment in some Embassie?

The very same.

His countenance is promising.

If the King

Of Spain had but his head, that politick head,

I know who might go fish for the Low-Countries.

His garments are but course.

His mind is rich.

They praise me: I am a thousand pounds the worse.

Kneel down, thy name?

Gyles Hornet, your poor creature.

We'll knight him.

I do beseech you, sir, to spare this honour,

I am not able to maintain my self;

There be more Knights then can live well already.

Neglect his favour?

Be it your care

To give his body more becoming ornaments,

He shall be like himself then; we will confer

More honours on him.

Do you make haste, his Grace

Will have you new thatch'd; you must have rich cloaths

Fitting your state and honourable title.

These will be good enough for me, 'las I am not able.

Nay you must have them from his Wardrobe, sir,

They'll cost you nothing; you'll not look in these

Like a poor Knight of Windsore.

Where be the Ladies, and the Bride?

She's your Graces handmaid; they

Are dancing, sir, within.

Direct us to 'em prethee;

VVhen he is ready give us knowledge—

Yes, sir.

VVhat will become of me?

You were best prepare,

Your cloaths will be here presently; the King

VVill send to you before y'are ready; cast

Your old skin off: do you not to save sheets

And trouble, wrap your selfanights i'th' blankets?

Or are they asham'd to shew the linings?

Hum; if this be but a preparative for a whipping,

VVhat case am I in?

VVell said, now they are come,

Be nimble now, and help to strip him.

'Las, must I wear this doublet? it would yeild

Heaven knows how much to burn.

You may be desperate

VVhen 'tis on, and burn your body with it, sir.

I sha'not know my self.

Fit as 'twere made, sir.

Which is sir Gyles?

I am not Knighted yet.

You have your grace, and may be call'd so.

Have I the grace to be a Knight?

I am the man you please to call sir Gyles.

Then I congratulate your happy fortune;

Y'are like to be exalted; his Grace talks

Much on you; I'll be proud to be your servant:

Sir Robert, a word.

VVhat gentleman is this?

The Bridegroom, sir; in great favour I can tell you,

And new created by his Highness, Baron

Of Landskip; his living is far off.

My very good Lord, my breeches are almost on.

Here be your keys.

His Majesty has pleas'd to shine upon

A piece of barren earth.

You are too modest:

The King hath been informed, sir Gyles, you are

One of the ablest men in his Dominions:

Should vertue still be cloath'd in rags? advance it

[Page 31]

To honour and regard: you waste your brain

At home in cheap and low engagements, sweat

Your soul out, for a poor and paltry living:

Old houses, let 'em fall to the dull Lord

O'th' Manner; switch me up a town together,

Or meddle not; this and that strading Acre

Not worth your care: study some Monopoly,

May sweep the Kingdom at a stroak: despise

A project will not bring in half the City:

Find out a way to forfeit all the Charters:

Have an exchequer of your own, and keep

The Princes round about in pension:

These are becoming businesses, and speak a States-man.

You do talk strange things, my Lord:

So, now my keys, good gentlemen, my keys.

You have 'em, sir.

Cry mercy.

They are things

Material to our business.

And we'll have 'em again:

Let me alone, the Barbour has not done yet;

When he's i'th' suds, we may be more familiar

With's worships pocket, and return 'em quaintly.

I will account it one of my felicities

To be a witness of your honour, sir.

Oh my good Lord of Landskip.—

How shall we dispose of these?

The Hangman will not have 'em; and I fear

They will corrupt the well; faith give 'em stable-room,

The are dung already.—

My Lord, the King asks for you; good sir Gyles, 'tis so decreed; write me i'th' number of your faithful friends.

We must attend.

Do not yet say he's ready,

The Barber has a duty to dispatch,

He will be an hour a rubbing, washing, powdering:

Then I'll attend him to his presence.

We shall excuse him so long, still your servant—

The Barber, sir, attends in the next room.

I wo'not shave.

He fears his throat.

I never

Give above three pence.

Talk not you of charge,

You have but yet your welcome; do not you

Think, good sir Gyles, but we can shave you too.—

Where is he, Close?

I told him, sir,

You lay in a chamber o'the t'other side

The house, whither he's gone with his sword drawn,

And curses of themselves able to kill you;

You did affront him once, and now his Mistress

Has quite neglected him, for your love, he thinks;

He'll make you an example to all rivals;

I'll bring your cloaths t'ye after: yet your fear

And running, sir, will keep you warm enough.

Honest Close, thou hast sav'd my life.

Death, is he not behind you? this way, good sir.—

Have you not made a fine choice? I did ever

Think he was false; your mother did but counterfeit

The love-sick widow, all this while, to try him.

To try him, Nurse?

She told me so her self,

Assuring him the state was hers, and you

At her devotion: put him to his choice

To take her with the wealth, or you with nothing;

What followed you have heard: come, be wise yet,

And love the Country-Gentleman, that dotes on you;

He's rich and half a fool: I'll fetch him to you.—

My mother counterfeit? why may not Hartwel

Pretend as well as she, fearing her anger

And policy, if he refus'd her love?

I have observ'd some sorrow in his gesture,

As he were willing to deliver something,

If opportunity would give him leave:

He cannot be so false; now I suspect

He does obey some dire necessity;

Twould puzzle a wise lover to be so

[Page 33]

Severely put to't.

On like a bold Captain,

Give her a broad side, she's within your shot;

I'll leave you.—

'Tis the fool; why Nurse?

Nay, flee not,

Before you hear.

'Tis Hartwel.

If my voice

Betray me not.

Why in this shape? some trick in't,

He hides his face; I'll put him to't however,

Although the hour be unseasonable; any time

We may express our joy: my Nurse once told me

You were not well, and gone to bed: your health

Is welcome as mine own; I dare not, sir,

In modesty presume to bid you stay,

And to requite your pains, kind Master Startup.

She knows me not.

Forgive me if I blush:

I have no other way, but to declare

My eyes that late frown'd on your love, shall smile.

On me?

On none but you: I have been too

Unkindly dealt withal by Hartwel, whom

How dearly I affected, good heavens knows:

But I have read discretion to my fancie,

And were he here, he should be witness of

My vows to you, if you accept my heart,

And can with equal truth embrace it: I

Will chuse my husband here; you, only you:

This Faith is registred in heaven, shall challenge

From me a wives obedience.

Away, her mother's up; I would not for

A thousand pound she finde you in this chamber.—

I have undone my self.

Sweet Master Startup

To your own lodging, take this close lanthorn with ye.

[Page 34]

Passion of me, what makes her rise?

I will discover yet.

Discover what?

How! Master Hartwel!

You have midnight-plots.

Oh we are wretched miserable! what have I done?—

Oh who shall lead me to a world where are

No women! farewell all: I'll be above

Your charms, and finde out death a cure for love.—

Actus Quartus.

WHere are we now? 'tis very cold, why dost not

Lead to some house?

What at this time of night?

All people are abed; the very Owls

Are in their dead sleep: or if we could

Be admitted, would you venture a this fashion,

And publish your disgrace? proclaim your self

Coward, and lay some imputation

Upon the place you came from, where your hopes

May yet be fair for marriage? this brunt over,

To meet a drunkard now were comfortable,

Whose eyes inflam'd would serve instead of torches,

Or he might spit Flap-Dragons from his fire

Of Sack, and light us; but no sober man

Considering what case you are in, sir,

By my consent should see us.—

Ha, what's that?

Where? where? a fire-Drake?

Now 'tis gone, 'tis bright

[Page 35]

Again, is't not a spirit? Oh deliver me!

I have heard some such things use to walk the Fields.

What shall I do?

Pray, pray, with as much strength

As if you had no land, or were confin'd

To my Annuity; now I hear no spirits,

This riches makes us cowards: hide your self,

I will go nearer.—

Dost know the devil if thou seest him, Close?

A pox a love, if this be the reward on't;

Some call it fire, but I find no such matter;

I am frozen to the blanket, and my teeth

Strike one another, and keep time like hammers;

I do believe if they were beaten out,

They would make false Dice, there's Quick-silver in 'em

Already by their dancing.

Sir, where are you?

Here I am, here still.

Y'are a dead man.

More terrour? what's the matter?

'Tis my Master

With a dark lanthorn, and pursues us, by

This darkness; 'tis his voice, wrap your self up,

And roul into some ditch; flight will betray us.

I were as good be kil'd, and yet I'll venter.—

'Tis he indeed, and more then I expected:

The matters do not fadge well with his Mistress.

What a sweet thing is night! how calm and harmless!

No whispering but of leaves, on which the breath

Of heaven plays musick, to the birds that slumber:

Here are no objects to betray our sence

To a repentance; nor can women thus

Advantag'd by the tapers of the night,

Spread their temptations to undo poor man:

What a fine book is heaven! which we may read

Best now when every star is a fair letter:

How much they wrong thee, night, that call thee guilty

Of rapes and murders? 'tis the day that like

A glorious whore ingageth men to act 'em;

[Page 36]

And taking then the darkness to obscure 'em,

We unjustly lay the shame upon thy brows

That art so innocent, thou never sawst 'em:

Befriended with the silence I begin

To wander; there's no wilderness abroad

To him, that's lost at home.

Sir.

Who's that?

One that has ta'en some pains for you to night:

I am Close.

VVhat mak'st thou here?

I wait upon my charge,

I lead your Rival a procession

In's shirt, perswading him you had resolv'd

To cut his throat else: he's hard by at's prayers,

And thinks you have pursu'd him.

Ha! I'll do't:

Shew me the fool, by all my hopes I'll kill him,

And send his base heart, as a present to her:

Fate has presented me with this revenge,

And I will not delay his death a minute.

Indeed, indeed you sha'not.

How?

You dare not.

My drudge offront me? are you grown his champion?

Not I, sir, but you dare not do an act

So much against the honour of a gentleman;

You wo'not kill him basely.

No.

VVhy then

There is no fear, but he'll live long enough:

I'll undertake, he ne'er shall grow provided

To fight with ye; and other satisfaction,

Name it and take it; so I'll fetch him to you.

Stay, I have been too passionate, let him live

To be her punishment; that's revenge enough

While I pursue my own ways.

VVhither now?

VVhither you must not follow, by thy honesty:

I charge thee come not after me.

That binds my attendance, sir.

But not when I command the contrary:

If thou dost move this way, thou draw'st mine anger:

Mind the preservation of the same thing you

Undertook: farewel; if thou dost love me,

[Page 37]

Follow, not, nor question; 'tis in my power

To loose thee or my self.—

I cannot see i'th' dark with spectacles,

And mine eyes have lost him o'the sudden;

VVell, I must hope the best: what shall I do

VVith my hen-hearted lover, who would give

Half his estate, this cold fit were well over?

I shall make work for the Physitians:

Caudles and Cullices will not restore him;

If he but scape with life, I am not sorry:

He may be a souldier, and endure the trenches;

I put him first to the becoming sufferance.

But what are these? an army of horns and halberts?

Upon my conscience the VVatch: I thought

The Fields had not been haunced with these goblins:

I cannot run; if I should squat, and they

Find me, there were no mercy but Bridewel,

Or some such lousie place: I am resolv'd

To cast away a few good words upon 'em;

A leg, and worshipping the Constable

That leads the rusty regiment, will quit me;

I pass the gates with't often, and so may

The devil, if he pay the Porter. Bless ye

My Masters, what a clock is't?

VVho goes there?

I charge you stand.

Your worship may do much.

VVhere have you been?

At Islington, an't please you, about business.

Some thief I warrant him, no honest man,

I know by his basket-hilt; some rogue that watches:

The Fields are pester'd with such sturdy robbets.

He is a rogue that watches, for my part.

He calls my VVatch-men rogues, perfidious traytor.

How! Master Constable,

You are one your self

Sitrah I will teach you to commit felony.

How, sir? will you teach me to commit felony? take heed what you say, if I commit fellony by your authority.

My tority shall stretch for't: away with him; if you be not whipt for these intergatories, his Majesty shall keep his own peace himself; is this a time anight to call honest men rogues? away with him.

Good sir.

We will provide you lodging.

Where?

New prison.

But are you in earnest, gentlemen? for what?

For answering the Constable.

Cry him mercy,

I shew'd him too much manners, if there be

No remedy.

We'll humble you.

I have a

Companion hereabouts: where are you, sir?

Here in a ditch.

They seldom go alone,

We'll find him out. Ha sirrah?

Do you hear,

You watch about these places for no good,

It seems.

We watch indeed for knaves.

You dare not

Speak to their faces: some of you I am sure

Do watch for your good Masters o'th' Parish.

I thank you honest men; where art thou, Close?

Here: these good men will help us to a lodging.

Blessing a'their heart; I am almost starv'd.

Yes, yes, we'll d'ye that favour: come away, sir.

Where shall we go now?

To prison.

How, Close?

You shall be close enough.

I follow, sir,

I cannot leave you in adversity:

All this is for your health: clean straw is warm, sir.

You have the benefit of being naked;

I shall have work to morrow in my woollen.

Away, away, bring 'em away.—

I heard some noise, look, call up the servants,

See if the gentlemen be abed; I'm troubled

I have not dealt so nobly as became me

[Page 39]

With Hartwel; and that love which I pretended,

If I have drawn his fancy to affect me,

Must make him satisfaction; his language

And soft demeanor, when he gave me up

His resolution, made me quite forget

My purpose to have chid him for his levity,

So soon to leave my daughter, who I know

Hath plac'd him neer her heart; and I have done

Her injurie, by this tryal of her truth.

Oh Mistress!

What's the matter?

Master Startup

Is not abed, nor Master Hartwel.

This is very strange.

I dare not tell her of his shift, they're gone,

The doors I found left open, and no signe

Which way they are bestowed.

This puzzles me:

Pray heaven there be no mischief in this absence:

Is Franck abed?

Yes.

What should

Move 'em to leave my house so late? and Master Hartwel

Without his cloaths? some knock; they're there; go see.—

Beshrow me but I trembled.

'Tis a stranger,

And says he would speak with you.

At this late hour?

What accidents are these? from whence?

I know not.

Has he no name? what should this mean?

He says,

He is a Country-man of Master Startups.

Admit him, he perhaps may bring some newes.

By your leave Mistress, pardon my importunity

[Page 40]

At so unfit an hour.

Y'are welcome, sir.

I met with fortunate directions,

Though I came l [...]te: I understand you have

A guest, one Startup, of Northamptonshire,

That comes a woing to your daughter.

Such

A one there was that supt with us, and went

To bed; but since, as I have faith, I know not

Which way he has convey'd himself: another

Gentleman too is missing, and his rival.

Pray do not mock me, Lady; I have rid

A great way, and the business much concerns him.

You may believe me: he is no such treasure,

I should conceal him.

Then I see you dally;

Know, Mistress, you may slack your preparations,

Your daughter must look out another husband;

He is contracted.

How!

And something more,

Gotten with childe one that without blushing

I cannot call my daughter; he shall make

Her credit streight again: although my fortunes

Have no equality with his, I shall

Finde law to force him.

You prefer'd this sutor:

This news returns my blood.

Sir, you shall finde

All truth I have delivered; I am not sorry

To hear this news; this is no time to seek him:

Please you accept the lodging that was his:

My servant shall attend you in the morning,

To help you search.

You seem a noble gentlewoman,

I take your courtesie.

a light: pray walk, sir.—

I was unkind to Hartwel, he not wise:

But love still apprehends too much or nothing.

a word: do you not know what is

Become o'these Gentlemen?

Not I, their absence is strange to me.

Oh Franck, I am undone.

Good heaven forbid.

This Gentleman, Master Hartwel,

Whom we shall never see again, I fear.

How, mother! are you acquainted with any cause to fear thus?

'Tis in vain to tell thee how I lov'd him.

Bless my sences! you love him?

'Bove all the world, affectionately plac'd him

Too neer my heart.

I heard you made pretence

Of love, to try him for my sake; and pardone me

If yet I dare not believe more.

Oh Franck!

My heart doth tremble, I feel coldness run

Through all my veins.

I had no other thought

At first, but wisely to distinguish whether

His heart was fixt on thee, or my estate;

With resolution, if I found him more

A courtier of thy fortune, then thy person,

To punish him with loss of both: but love

Hath chang'd the scoene and title of our Comedy;

And what I meant should slip—All his hopes,

Hath ruin'd us: his modest and calm answer,

To accept my tender, with such force and reason

Directed to my fancie, turn'd my purpose,

And made me his indeed, his perfect lover:

But now we have both lost him.

All the piety

That ever taught children to love their mother,

Will but suffice to keep my heart obedient:

Was ever maid so miserable? was there

No other in my fate to be my rival?

I live too long: Oh break, my poor heart, break;

Then she that gave me life, hath took it from me.

Why do you weep?

I do not weep; or if

I do, I know not why.

Now I perceive,

Thy duty was but counterfeit; you love him,

Upon my life you love him still: have my

Commands no more respect? my care and love

So ill rewarded? that I desiring

One comfort in the world, and shall my childe

[Page 42]

Rise up to take that from me?

Alas, I knew not

You lov'd him too; indeed I had rather die

Then you should call me rebel: parents often

Affect not where their children love; but you

With too much loving what my thoughts delight in,

Have quite undone your daughter.

Now I see

The cause of his departure in this fashion:

Pray heaven he have not made away himself:

Did ever childe deceive a mother so?

I have a sad presage: you may to bed,

And rise again without my blessing; yet

You may stay—Wherefore should I despair

Of his return? you say you could not tell

That I affected him.

Indeed not I,

And do believe it now against my will;

But I am your daughter.

Shewing it in conforming

Your self to my desires, and what is past

I can forgive you: if he come again,

Will you be rul'd, and shew no favour to him?

For 'tis in you I see to make me happy:

I will not tye you to affect th'other:

Chuse any for your husband, but this man,

My love and prayers shall go along with you.

Answer.

Indeed I dare not, yet could I

Put off the knowledge that you are my mother.

What then?

Though my imagination allow'd you

The greatest Empress in the world, whose frown

Could kill, and eyes at pleasure make alive

Again, thus I could answer.

pray let's hear?

You do not well to heap oppression:

Authority was given to preserve,

Not kill the poor beneath you: I durst tell you

In confidence of my cause, that you betray

Two innocents to sorrow; and though heaven

Look on, and seem to smile upon your cruelty,

Yet there is thunder, for divorcing those,

Whose hearts That hath conjoyn'd: I durst say more,

Though all your terrors were prepar'd to punish

My bold defence, and call you tyrant.

How?

A most unjust, a sacrilegious tyrant.

You would not be so violent.

That do

Not onely ruine and deface the altar,

But steal away the very sacrifice:

And I durst adde, and smile upon your anger,

Though as you frown'd, death lurk'd in every wrinkle,

My soul's above your tyranny; and would

From torturing flames receive new fire of love,

And make your eye faint to behold the brightness

Of my poor bodies Martyrdome; and if ever

Love shew'd a miracle, my heart should bear

The characters of him you have torn from it,

With beams about it like a Saint that suffer'd.

But as you are my mother, thus I kneel,

And beg a pardon for my innocence;

If that offend you, live you happy still,

And be the Mistress of your vows: live to

Enjoy whom you affect; may every hour

Return new blessings on you both; renew

Your spring, and let him think you young again;

And let me beg but this for all my duty,

Against the day you marry him, to provide

My cosfin; for I fear, I sha'not have

Breath many minutes after, to pray for you:

The herbs that shall adorn your bridal chamber,

Will serve my funeral, and deck my hearse:

Beneath which you shall say, There lies your daughter

That dy'd to shew obedience.

Why shouldst thou

Continue thus to him?

I know he loves me

Still, though hereafter your affections

May meet.

And they shall meet,

But never to procure thee one bad thought:

Now I have tryed you both, assure my child

I lov'd him but for thee; dispose thy self

To be his bride; this news at his return

VVill make all well:—To rest.

Can this be true?

'Twere sin to mock thee any more—To bed.

No, I'll spend all this night in prayers for you,

My dearest mother: Oh my Hartwel!—

How like you her now?

The morning never bloom'd

So fresh, nor Venus with more charms upon her:

Adon would melt before her eye, and woo

Her kisses at the expence of her last breath:

Cupid himself, could he but see, would fall

In love with her, and throwing away his shafts,

Offer the empty quiver to her eyes,

Ambitious to fill it with her beams,

The least of which would wound more hearts, then all

His stock of golden arrows.

No more raptures.

Didst thou not know before, that love is able

VVithout the help of sack to make a poet?

My nimble Mercury; Joves Herald in

Reversion.

I confess,

I had a trick of Mercury, when I pick'd

His pocket for the keys.

He never mist 'em.

His eyes were drench'd in suds, and we return'd 'em

Ere they recover'd light.

'Twas excellent,

He was in darkness still.

D'ye think he'll know her?

His cloaths already have.

Made him forget himself; or if he have

But the remembrance of such a woman,

The more he sees her now, the more he'll think

The change impossible.

VVhere have you left him?

I'th' Gallery, where with much patience,

He does expect his Highness will send for him.

Then all runs smooth, his wonder does continue.

I fed that humour artificially,

He is half perswaded all is but a dream yet:

To which imagination, his cloaths

Are a great help, because he paid not for 'em:

Sometimes he is very merry, then again

He struts about with such a scurvie pride,

As some new crept into nobility,

VVhen some of their first livery come to see 'em.

[Page 45]

His honour has so chang'd him, that he now

Knows not of what religion he is;

Or if by chance he thinks of his first faith,

He spits o'th' hangings, and excuses with

I do not like the story, 'tis apocryphal:

Sometimes he'll offer at a jest,

Frown upon any man that will presume

To have more knowledge in worse cloaths: I told him

It was his Graces pleasure he should be

Controuler at the Mask, and he did sweat

As he were studying for some mighty oaths

To clear the presence.—He is here, away—

Are you the Master of the house, sir Poldavis?

I heard you call'd.

It is my name,

Sir Gyles, unworthy of this Grace his Highness

Is daign'd to shew in honouring of my daughter.

And was she married this morning, say you?

This morn she lost her Virgin-Name.

I have

Not seen her yot, nor any of the Ladies;

You have but little noise methinks i'th' house.

It would offend his Grace.

VVho as you say

Came hither privately, with a small train

Of Lords: would I might see his face again:

I am not sent for yet; I have been ready,

Sir Pol—these three hours; and I do wonder

His Grace so much forgets himself.

Pol. That musick

Speaks him on entrance.

I, this garb becomes him;

How was his person lost within that shape

He was first presented to me!

Indeed the case

Is something altered, by your Highness bounty,

To your poor servant Hornet.

How he looks

[Page 46]

As he did scorn the Quorum, and were hungry

To eat a States-man! 'las an office in

The houshold is too little for a breakfast,

A Baron but a mornings draught, he'll gulp it

Like a round egge in Muscadine; methinks

At every wiping of his mouth, should drop

A golden saying of Pythagoras:

A piece of Matchiavel I see already

Hang on his beard, which wants but stroking out;

The statutes and the Magna Charta have

Taken a Lease at his tongues end.

We'll think on't; he shall be—But

To the banquet: Then let the Mask be ready,

There we shall employ your worthy diligence.—

Heaven bless your mighty Grace.

You'll follow.—

I attend you presently:

I know not what to think of these things yet;

'Tis very strange I should be thus exalted,

Without desert, best known unto my self:

Princes I see are mortal, and may be

Deceived in placing of their honours: I

Am little better then a favorite,

If these be true, if these be true; 'tis a question,

Let me consider wisely; it may be

I am not I, not Hornet, no, I'm a Knight:

Are these my cloaths? I do not use to wear such:

A pocket in my sleeve, and velvet hose,

Six times translated since they were a Midwifes

Forepart, were things I wore on holydays:

The price of these would break a Camels back;

And yet some men walk under them like Elephants,

And have variety as the devil were

Their Taylour; who best knows where all their land lies:

Then why this cost on me?—'Tis a dream;

I am now confirm'd, a very idle dream,

And I am very glad on't: 'tis impossible

It should be true, it does not hang together:

I will have paience, till I wake again,

And care not what becomes on't.

'Tis his highness pleasure,

[Page 47]

Now the banquet's done.—

How, the banquet done! I was coming to't'

You could hardly say grace by this time.

That's a ceremony

Grown out of use; it was a running banquet.

A running! so it seems, it was a galloping banquet,

For you made haste: I do dream certainly,

There's no sence nor reason in any thing they do.

You know your place,

The Mask will streight begin; and his Grace will not

Have any one admitted: he resolves,

If the conceipt affects him, it shall be

Perform'd at Court hereafter: i'th' mean time

He does command all privacie; they are

Some set to guard the door, but your care must

Provide his Highness be not interrupted:

Hark, they are rude already—

Let me alone:

What turbulent knave is that?

I am a Country-Gentleman, sir Gyles;

And if I may presume upon good cloaths,

You may before his Grace call me your Cozen,

And not be asham'd: here is a Lady too.

A Lady too? is she with child? what makes she

Here, and she be with child already? I

Tell thee, none such shall be admitted while

I am in place—More rapping?—Keep the doors,

If I do fall a swearing once, look to't.

I beseech you for my wives sake.

Thy wives?

What's he that pleads in forma pauperis?

A Citizen, and like me.

Like me? thou liest, I am more like a Lord,

Thou sha't fare ne'er the better for that word:

Knock down the women, if there be a hundred,

And make their husbands drunk, the guard are lazie:

These womens insolence will force a statute:

I will petition to the Prince my self,

They may have liberty but once a year

To see the galliefoyst, then be consin'd

To their chamber and one 'Prentise—Yet again?

Sir Gyles, sir Gyles, you know me well enough.

But while I am in office, I know no body.

I am your Scrivener.

Draw the purse wherein

[Page 48]

Thou keptst thy ears, and leave 'em at the door,

The guard trusts none without a pawn; they'll serve

If they be ne'er redeem'd, to seeth in milk

For a sore throat.

Sir Gyles, here is your Neece.

My Neece! the devil she is.

VVithin. Pray Unckle let me in.

Her very voice—Ha, open the doors there:

Where is she?

Whom?

My Neece that call'd me?

None call'd, nor was there any women here.

No, nor my Scrivener, hawling out sir Gyles?

Not any nam'd your worship.

Then I dream,

And I am a fool to make a question on't.—

Ha, ha, ha.

The Knaves laugh at me too; but let 'em: I

Shall be as merry with this tale to morrow.

What fancies men have in their sleep sometimes!

His Highness! where be the Ladies?

They are all i'th' Mask.

Nay, no matter where; why do I ask the question?

You'll see them, sir, anon.

Wilt please your Grace,

And you, sir Gyles, the subject of the Mask?

What's here? The three Goddesses Contention for the Gol­den Ball.

This is Paris, ha! I have seen that fa [...]e before now.

These are the three Goddesses.

Juno, Pallas and Venus.

Juno doth woo him with her State and Kingdom.

But he refuses.

He is not for her service, though she offer

To make him Scholar and a Souldier,

A compleat man.

That Fairy wins the Ball.

Ha! that is my Neece.

Which, sir Gyles?

That Lady whom Dame Venus and her brat are busie withal.

Contain your self, sir Gyles, that is the Bride.

The Bride quotha!

Married this morning.

These are my keys; she's safe enough at home,

And has but half her wits, as I remember:

The devil cannot juggle her from my custody: Ha, ha,

I do dream still.

'Tis time to break off sports: how like you this,

Sir Gyles?

A very pretty dream.

I see you wo'd be abed, you are not us'd to such late hours.

Lights for his Highness.

I humbly beg your licence,

I may return to my old lodging.

Well sir, 'tis easily granted.—

Lights for sir Gyles, one shall attend you home.

Ha, ha, ha.

Why do you laugh?

At a conceipt, at a conceipt:

What did I eat last night, to make me dream thus?—

Actus Quintus.

YOu have done well.

VVwould you had done no worse:

These are his cloaths, and you must give account

How you came by 'em, and produce him safe,

Ere you acquit your self: we may suspect

You have kill'd him.

Then I obey my destiny:

Justice will still pursue the guilty person;

Dispose me where you please.

He does confess.

What ere you [...], you can but have my life

For his, all your revenge can reach no higher,

And to the law I yeild my self.

My hopes are

Cold as his blood whom thou hast slain: thou hast

Been cruel in this act, to me and mine,

VVhose fames in him are miserably wounded;

But look for the reward.

I must expect it:

In the mean time, I wo'not beg your mercy;

Life is a burden I would fain be rid of,

[Page 51]

Does weary me to carry it.

I'll acquaint

My Mistress.

Do so: to the next justice with him,

Come away.—

She's gone; she's gone, I shall run mad: my Neece,

Rob'd of three thousand pounds in her escape,

And yet the doors were safe: some witch has taught her,

Or some French boy, to clime a chimney; else

I cannot think which way she is convey'd:

I find too late, I am awake and gul'd,

Nor know I whom to accuse for my tormentors,

Devils or men; but sure they were not men,

But very fiends I revell'd with last night:

Though mortals want no malice, they have not art

To undo me of this fashion: Oh that I

Knew where to meet the prince of devils knighted me;

The Poets call him Pluto, god of riches;

I and my learned counsel would undo him

In law, in very law, which he should find

Hotter ere I had done, then hell it self,

And call his place of torments in three terms,

But a refreshing to't: yet let me see,

I have her portion still, though she be vanisht;

That's better then my Neece; but if she marry,

I loose it all; there, there is the vexation.

Save Master Hornet.

'Tis too late, away,

I do not love unnecessary complement.

This he?

Yes I am he, am I not very fine?

What do you think this trim will cost me? ha!

Three thousand pound, no more.

The broker wo'not

Lend half the mony.

Will you, sir, be gone?

I have no money to lend now; it is not

You know in fashion, with rich cloaths.

I am

[Page 52]

For other purpose, and with news perhaps

You would be willing to receive; you have

A Neece.—

No, such a creature was in my possession:

Do you know where she is?

I imagine.

Ha! good Master Lambert, on, pray forward;

You shall have mony upon good security.

I think you sir, for nothing; I owe you

Too much already, on these terms.

My Neece,

As you were saying.

Were you knighted lately?

Ha! is that talk abroad?

No general rumour; by a chance I came

Where such a thing was whisper'd, only whisper'd,

Just as he was describ'd: in my opinion

Y'are very hansome, and do look as like.—

An ass.

VVhy you shall have it, sir.

But touching

My Neece, good sir, that most ungratious giglot,

That's run or stolen away, juggled last night

Out of my doors.

Did she not leap the Casement?

Do not encrease my agonie, you came.—

With civil meaning to discover how

You may be abus'd.

VVhat mony do you want, sir?

Your own bond shall suffice.

I have forsworn

Writing my name, or mark; but I can tell you.—

Where I may finde this Girl?

More I can do,

If need require; 'tis in my power to give

Her back to your possession, and I am willing.

An honest man.

On reasonable conditions,

And such as shall not trench on borrowing mony.

Honester yet.

For you shall give it freely, and get by it:

Sir, you must understand, if I do this,

I shall betray a friend of mine, that has

Put me in trust; one that intends to marry her,

D'ye mark? and get three thousand pound upon her;

[Page 53]

One that has lent me sums too, without parchment,

Or foolish circumstance to be return'd;

VVhich you were never yet so much a Christian,

As to be guilty of, in your Usurers Gallon

Of Conscience-melting Sack: this deserves something,

'Tis part of my revenew: younger brothers

Are glad of pension; it helps to tooke

At Ordinaries, and pay trifling reckonings, that

Arise to a bill or tedious circumstance

Of cleer Orphographie, for Cock and Mallard,

VVhich puts the Bar-boy to Arithmetick,

Because some expedition is required;

You have a bond of mine.

For fifty pounds.

I had but forty, and the Scrivener paid;

VVith whom your worship too perhaps divided:

If you remember, there were pretious dinners,

Ere I could count the chickens all together;

Which was your thrift and my expence: you shall

First cancel that bond; nay this wo'not do't,

And give, d'ye mark? give me a hundred pieces,

Perhaps I'll drink your health; this shall betray

Your Neece again, give her into your hands,

Though for my treachery I be sung in ballads,

And have the Town-curse, if I ever marry,

To shew my wife can graft well.

'Tis too much,

For no more labour, sir.

If you consider,

Two hundred will not bring me to't again:

Thus fair I'll deal with ye, I'll not have a cross

Till I have don't, but then I will be sure on't:

Fetch, fetch the business.

The bond is ready.

I will have ready mony too, you have

Bags of all sizes, and denominations;

Those things do promise well,

Now I attend you.

Do this feat for me, and 'tis all thine own.—

Now we may wish you joy, the Priest hath tyed

That knot, no subtlety nor malice can

Dissolve; and I repent not I have been

[Page 44]

An actor in your Comedy; though I should not

Be temped easily to such another

Engagement: for your sake, I have dispenc'd with

My person and my place

You were always

My loving Unkle.

Sir, you have in this

Deserv'd our lives and fortunes.

I have plaid

My part too.

Thou hast shewed thy self a Doctor,

VVhich shall be a happy Omen to thy studies.

I have shew'd my self a Brother, sir.

That name

I must know often too.

Most happy in

A vertuous Sister, I congratulate

Again your wish'd enlargement, and the meeting

Of both your loving hearts.

It was good mirth,

To hear him confident all our device

VVas but a dream.

He is awake by this time,

Should Lambert fail, we'll have another way

To invite him; and if honestie prevail not,

Force shame, till he consent.

Some offenders, sir,

Are brought to be examined.

Nephew, withdraw, with your fair Bride; these troubles

Are incident to my place, I'll soon dispatch 'em.—

How now, my Masters; Master Hartwel? ha!

Look on me, sir, as a delinquent: these

Are able to accuse me.

VVhat's his offence?

Nothing but killing of a man.

VVhat proof?

He has confest it, sir.

Mistress Bellamy,

Y'are come in a sad time; here's Master Hartwel

Accus'd for killing.—

'Tis not possible:

Good sir, believe it not.

He does confess.

I am not worth your pity, gentle Lady:

In vain I should extenuate my fact,

To save the trouble of examinations;

Here I confess again my hand is guilty

Of killing him, whose feeble arm durst not

Lift up a weapon to defend himself.

That was not manly.

I but slew a coward so,

Startup; and could I call his life again,

I should as soon destroy it; you perhaps

Know not my provocations; he was

My Rival, sir: pardon me, Mistress Bellamy,

To whom I only seem'd a proselyte

In love: I had no heart to give from her;

And in my study to decline your anger,

I fell upon her scorn; which in a few minutes

Engag'd me to this fate: nor am I troubled,

That I must die; when she upon whose faith

I durst have laid the hopes of my eternity,

Hath violated all the trust of woman.

Will't please you, sir?

Forbear a little.

Tell me, thou most unkind, if thou didst love

At all; how couldst thou think I could be such

A desperate Atheist, that thou so soon,

With so strange Apostacie, should'st revenge it?

These swelling drops, which in thy innocence

Might have prevail'd to have restor'd the dead,

Heaven now doth look on, and despise; and though

Thou shed moist tribute on this tomb,'t shall slide

Neglected on the marble, and be lost;

As if the stone had sence, to punish thy

Disdain of me; I can behold thee weeping,

And not be mov'd to wish I were not guilty

Of killing him, whose love had been thy tryumph;

And I dare boldly still stand in the contempt

[Page 56]

Of what I am to suffer, and the justice

Of my own truth; challenge thy soul to answer,

In what I was beneath that gaudy fool,

Excepting that he had more earth then I

To help his scale, which yet he may be in debt for

To his fathers sins; alive he could not merit

One cold disdain from thee; and dead, how comes it

He should be worth thy tears? but let thy eyes

Chide this unruly sorrow: dress thy cheeks

With thy fresh blood again, and let thy face

Open a book of smiles, in the assurance

I have not long to live: when I have numbred

A few sad minutes, thou sha't be reveng'd,

And I shall never trouble thee; if this

Be not enough, extend thy malice further,

And if thou find'st one man that lov'd me living.

Will honour this cold body with a grave,

Be cruel, and corrupt his charity:

So fare you well.

Yet you must stay and hear me.

He sha'not suffer, if my friends or state

Can purchase him a pardon: where's the body

Of him that's slain?

We know not, here is all

The free confession of the fact.

This may

Proceed from discontents: life to some men

Is but their torment, in whose pain they will

As on the rack, often confess what never

VVas in their thought.

Speak it again, and I

Dare promise thee to live.

My heart was ever

Constant, my mothers love was but thy tryal,

As mine, a seeming change in thy disguise,

Applied by thy too tender apprehension;

The words were, I would chuse my husband here:

But what will this avail us?

Master Justice, I here discharge you.

How!

My joy obeys

No limits, I accus'd my self unjustly:

Startup's alive.

Where?

Nay I know not that:

[Page 57]

My servant's with him; but if he have plaid

The hangman, sta [...]y'd or smother'd him in a ditch,

I have made fair work.

This wore a welcome truth.

Sir, the Constable.

I had rather it had been Lambert and the Usurer.

But wait, and give me knowledge when they come.—

Where's Master Justice?

Ha! 'tis he and Close,

Then I am secure, your pardon and thy love.

You have it freely, and a mothers prayers

For both your happiness.

Please your worship, I have brought before you two vagrants that we took last night i'th' field, between one and two a clock in the morning; very suspicious vagrants; and by my own authority, I condemn'd 'em because it was late.

Shall we be hang'd, Close? we are condemn'd already.

Coming this morning to the prison, I found them drinking away sorrow in double juggs, to the very staggering of my authority: I beseech your worship to draw a pair of Mit­tens for 'em both; for they deserve to be made samplers, and whipt for the edification of the Common-wealth.

This is the Gentleman was kill'd, sir.

No, sir,

Not kill'd outright, but I was almost starv'd

With cold; these Gentlewomen know me,

And I should know that hose and doublet;

Those garments that you wear, I oft have seen.

Well said Jeronymo.

I was fain to borrow

These of a prisoner, that lies in upon

A diamond.

Officers you are discharg'd—

And we too?

Yes, and joy in every bosom.

Close, you must know this Mistress.

How!

My wife, sir.

It is enough for you to know her, sir,

And me to acknowledge.

D'ye know me, sir?

Yes, and your daughter too:

Who brought you to town?

And you shall right her.

Is she grown crooked? pox on her, I know too well:

Peace, not a word more, I know your meaning,

Do not discredit me, and we'll steal down

And marry her, ere any be aware on't:

I wo'not stay to shift me, take no leave:

The jest will be, when I am in the Country,

How like an Ass he'll look on my apparel.—

Sir, Master Lambert, and if I be not

Mistaken, the Usurer Hornet very gallant.

I must entreat your patience a while;

You'll meet with friends i'the next room.—

Excuse

Our boldness, sir, this gentleman.

I should know him:

Master Hornet, you are very welcome.

Good sir,

No ceremony, we are come to you

'Bout business: I have lost my Neece, and would

Know where she is.

D'ye take me for a Wizzard?

With your favour, our desires are that you would

Be witness to a bargain, and receive

Some trifles, sir, in trust to be delivered

To me, if I restore his kinswoman.

Not else, on that condition I deposite

These hundred pieces and a bond; if he

Deliver me my Neece, they are his fraught;

If not, they call me owner.

Pardon, sir,

That I presume to bring this trouble to ye.

'Tis none at all.

You sha'not expect long;

So rest you merry.—

How fare you, sir?

As you see, faln away an inch since morning;

But this will physick me: if I possess

This harlotry again, I'll make her sure:

Trust not a woman, they have found the herb

To open locks, not brasen towers can hold 'em:

Or if they get not loose, they have the vertue

Of Load-stones shut up in a box; they'll draw

Customers to 'em; nay being dead and buryed,

There is suspition they will break the grave;

Which puts so many husbands to the charge

Of heavie stones, to keep their bad wives under.

You are mov'd.

Oh Master Justice, you are honest:

I have been abus'd, so miserable cheated,

I am asham'd to think on't: stay, what Musick?—

Ha! 'tis my Neece; the very, very same.

There, sir, you have her, and the rest is mine.

Take it—And you shall go along with me.

How, Unkle!

A reveller? you'll lead me a Coranto.

You shall dance homewards.

What make you so familiar with my wife?

Ha! wife! is she married?

'Tis upon record,

I'll bring a Parson that shall take his oath on't.

Give me my bond and mony, Master Justice:

Where? where?

Here, but they are not to be recover'd

By law: I have a judgement, sir, against you.

You have conspir'd, to rob, cheat and undo me:

You shall be all Star-Chamber'd.

Sir, be calm, and hear us.

I'll hear nothing.

Yes, you shall,

It will be necessary: I am bold,

Persuming on her favour to demand

[Page 60]

A parcel of three thousand pound; the sum

Belongs to me by vertue of a marriage,

And I must have it.

Vertue of a marriage?

I saw the Priest conjoyn their hands; he will

Deserve your love.

Perhaps you may continue

A thousand, or two thousand on security.

What persecution this?

Faith sir consider,

'Tis more safe to see her thus bestowed,

Then trust a Jury; if the Doctor had

Given her too much Opium, or purg'd

Her soul away, things might go worse: but I'll

Keep counsel.

So, so, have ye mortified me yet?

For your own sake, and as you are a true knight,

I'll tell no tales.

Now have ye done?—The widow,

Not a word more: take her, I'll pay you, sir,

Three thousand pound to morrow: Noble widow,

You were in the first list to be invited;

My Neece I told you of, is married to

This worthy Gentleman.

You look like a bridegroom.

'Tis in your power to make it good, what say you?

Shall we joyn issue?

I will never matry.

You are resolv'd, why so? come hither Nephew,

Sha't be my heir, I love thee for thy wit;

But charm thy friends, they do not laugh at me:

I'll be a knight too, if I live, and build

An Hospital for twenty more o'th' Order;

Which I'll reduce my self, out of the Suburbs,

In women's petticoats, and turn Squires again

To Whores, or Parasites to Noblemen,

For want of fit provision.

An excellent

Foundation: but where's Startup?

Sunk, I think.

Ne'er conjure for him: we are ingrateful to

Our bliss, for wasting of these pretious minutes,

[Page 61]

Which are so many ages, till the Church

Hath made us perfect.

Is there any more work

For the Priest? then give you joy beforehand,

And let us celebrate the day together.

I am glad of your conversion, y'are the first

Jew, that in my remembrance has turn'd Christian.

Walk on to joyes;

Twixt Love and Fortune, now th' accompts are even.

A chain of Hearts, and the first linck in Heaven.