Thus burden'd with unhappy happiness?
Did I from riot take him to waste my goods,
And he strives to augment it? I did mistake him.
All these are blessings, and from heaven sent;
It is your husband's good; he's now transform'd
To a better shade; the prodigal's return'd.
Come, come, know joy, make not abundance scant;
You 'plain of that which thousand women want. [Exeunt.
Enter Brewen and Old Foster; George and Richard follow them, carrying several bags of money across the stage.
Haste home, good lads, and return for the rest.
Would they were cover'd, George; 'tis too public
Blazon of my estate; but 'tis no matter now;
I'll bring it abroad again, ere it be long.
Sir, I acknowledge receipt of my full half debt,
Twelve thousand five hundred pounds; it now remains
You seal those writings as assurance for the rest,
And I am satisfied for this time.
Throw dice at all, and either be a complete
Merchant, or wrack my estate for ever:
Hear me, sir; I have of wares, that are now vendible,
So much as will defray your utmost penny;
Will you accept of them, and save this charge
Of wax and parchment?
What are they, Master Foster?
O. Fos. Broadcloths, kerseys, cochineal, such as will not stay two days upon your hands.
Brew. I find your purpose; you'd have your warehouses empty for the receipt of your full fraught: I'll be your furtherer; make so your rates that I may be no loser.
Enter George and Richard.
O. Fos. I have no other end, sir; let our factors peruse and deal for both.
Brew. Mine is returned. George, here's a new business; you and Richard must deal for some commodities betwixt us; if you find 'em even gain or but little loss, take carriage presently, and carry 'em home.
George. I shall.
O. Fos. Richard, have you any further news yet from our shipping?
Rich Not yet, sir; but by account from the last, when they put from Dover, this tide should bring them into Saint Catherine's pool; the wind has been friendly.
In his loud thunder all the city over;
Tingle the merchants' ears at the report
Of my abundant wealth. Now go with George.
I shall gain much by you. The half of your ship
Defrays my full cost.
A sufficient gainer by my venture, sir.
Enter Mistress Foster.
The stars shoot mischief, and every hour
Is critical to me.
Wrecked in the haven of felicity? What ail'st thou?
An alderman's pace at least.
Are oracles, doubtful enigmas!
I'm sure you have heard the news; he's married, forsooth.
No woman of repute would choose so slightly.
The very quintessence of discretion:
And who is't, think you? nay, you cannot guess,
Though I should give you a day to [un]riddle it:
It is my gossip, man, the rich
Widow of Cornhill.
How will this upstart beggar shoulder up,
And take the wall of you! his new-found pride
Will know no eldership.
Ere this tide ebb again: I wonder I hear not
The brazen cannon proclaim the arrival
Of my infinite substance.
Will be proud of little, and shoulder at the best.
But that she——
Would any woman, 'less to spite herself,
So much profane the sacred name of wedlock:
A dove to couple with a stork, or a lamb a viper?
She was a rich widow: a wife he'll make her poor.
Leave it to proof, and wish not misery
Enter Stephen and Robert.
Jockey's a gentleman now.[90]
But ill shall they fare that flourish o'er such beggars.
But 'twas when his kind nephew did relieve him:
I shall hear him cry there again shortly.
I had been a fishwife in my younger days.
My ears are guilty to hear such discords.
[Robert kneels to his father.
There's duty unregarded, while envy struts
In too much state: believe me, gentlemen,
I know not which to chide first.
To that unnatural: I charge you, rise.
You were kind to him in his tatter'd state;
Let him requite it now.
So that might reconcile your harsh division.
For my love's sake, shall by my love's bounty
Ride side by side in the best equipage
Your scorns dare pattern him.
And want some English traffic, broadcloths, kerseys,
Or suchlike; my voyage is to the Straits:
If you can supply me, sir, I'll be your chapman.
Enter Factors.
Or if the hangman die, he may have his office.
To be little gainer; but lose you cannot.
With wares I lately from your brother bought:
Please you go see them, for I would fain divide you,
Since I can win no nearer friendship.
[Exeunt Brewen, Stephen, and George.
Ere it offend to look on thee.[92]
Help him to spend what thrift has got together;
It will be charity in you to spend,
Because your charity it was to lend.
And teach the use, yet never knew the same. [Exit.
Enter Richard.
And hear me crown'd the wealthiest London merchant.
Why dost thou look so sadly?
I speak a screech-owl's note. O, you have made
The most unhappiest bargain that ever merchant did!
What can so baleful be, as thou wouldst seem
To make by this sad prologue? I am no traitor,
To confiscate my goods: speak, whate'er it be.
Not speak it.
Sink me at once.
For this sad croak. [Flies at Richard.
Let me turn my vengeance all on thee; thou
Hast made hot haste to empty all my warehouses,
And made room for that the sea hath drunk before thee.
Were not my ships in their full pride at Dover;
And what English Charybdis has the devil digg'd
To swallow nearer home.
And entrance of the Thames they were all cast away.
From any further mischievous relation.
Of goods.
Was chok'd, and now it runs too fast;
Thou fatal bird, no more.
And fill this fatal stream, and poison her for ever.
Them all on thee; 'tis thou, ungodly slave,
That art the mark unto the wrath of heaven:
I thriv'd ere I knew thee.
For I ne'er saw hour of comfort since I knew thee.
To buy a venture, which the sea has soak'd;
What worse can woe report?
Thy enemies will laugh, and scorn thy fall.
My unthrifty brother, Ludgate, must now be mine.
Break, and take Ludgate.
I'd scorn to take what he would yield to give.
My heart be still my friend, although no other.
I'll scorn the help of either son or brother.
My portion's begging now: seldom before,
In one sad hour, was man so rich and poor. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[77] There were several works published about this time containing the results of the various writers' experiences and observations in the new plantations in America.
[78] [Shafts.]
[79] You acquired citizenship in right of your father, and without personal service.
[80] An allusion to Godfrey of Boulogne or Bulloigne.
[81] Innocent, it must be remembered, in the language of our old dramatic writers, denotes an idiot.
[82] [Enjoy, in the sense of a man having knowledge of a woman.] Doll Tearsheet says of Pistol, in the "Second Part of Henry IV.," "These villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy, which, was an excellent good word before it was ill-sorted," [See Nares, edit. 1859, in v.; and Percy Folio MS. ("Loose and Humorous Songs," p. 29.)]
[83] "Tallies," says Johnson, "are sticks cut in conformity to others, by which accounts were kept." Jack Cade reproaches the Lord Say, "with having caused printing to be used, whereas before no other books were made use of by their forefathers but the score and tally. And Cade has the Exchequer Office on his side, where accounts are still partially kept after this most barbarous fashion."
[84] The name of a tooth-drawer, real or imaginary, who attended fairs. In 1592 Chettle printed his tract called "Kindhart's Dream." Dilke observes: "I am inclined to think, however, that kind-heart was the 'travelling name' of some notorious quack tooth-drawer, or a cant name given to the whole race of them. So the stage-keeper, in the induction to 'Bartholomew Fair,' when expressing his fear of the author's success, says: 'He has ne'er a sword-and-buckler man in his fair, nor a little Davy, to take toll of the bawds there, as in my time; nor a kind-heart, if anybody's teeth should chance to ake in his play.' And further, it is part of the 'covenant and agreement,' in the same induction, that the audience shall not 'look back to the sword-and-buckler age of Smithfield, but content themselves with the present. Instead of a little Davy, to take toll of the bawds, the author doth promise a strutting horse-courser, with a leer drunkard, two or three to attend him in as good equipage as you would wish. And then for kind-heart the tooth-drawer, a fine oily pig-woman, with,'" &c., &c. [Lambskin's reply is obviously allusive to the name by which Stephen has just addressed the widow.]
[85] The artemisia or southern wood is meant.
[86] Jane has been too successful in her play on the names and qualities of the flowers to have chosen this at random; and I am inclined to think the following extract from the "Winter's Tale" will serve to elucidate her meaning—
Are our carnations and streak'd gilliflowers.
Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
To get slips of them.
Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
Do you neglect them?
Per. For I have heard it said,
There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares
With great creating nature."
"This art," says Steevens, in a note on that passage, "is pretended to be taught at the end of some of the old books that treat of cookery." As I understand the passage then, Jane means to say, I have such good qualities and beauty as nature has given, but none that are produced by art. If the passage be thus understood, the opposition of the rose and the gilliflower is complete. If the reader is not satisfied with this conjecture, I will further suggest that gill-flirt was then a well-known term for a wanton; and Steevens has informed us that gilly'vors (the vulgar way of calling gilly-flowers) is still in use in Sussex to denote a harlot. Jane has spoken more than once of her honesty, and here may be the allusion.
[87] [Old copy, and.]
[88] [The 4o reads eares.]
[89] [Old copy, new to.]
[90] [Or, Jack will be a gentleman. This is a common proverb. It occurs in "A Garden of Spiritual Flowers," 1610, edit. 1638, part ii. p. 303.]
[91] These four lines seem to be a quotation, probably from some old ballad.
[92] Here is an evident allusion to two passages in the Gospel of St Matthew.
ACT IV., SCENE I.
Enter Mistress Jane, Godfrey Speedwell, and Master Lambskin.
Jane. Gentlemen, my father's not within; please you to walk a turn or two in the garden; he'll not be long.
Lamb. Your father, Mistress Jane? I hope you have observation in you, and know our humours; we come not a-wooing to your father.
Speed. Experience must bear with folly; thou art all innocent, and thy name is Lambskin; grave sapience guides me, and I care not a pin for thy squibs and thy crackers. My old dry wood shall make a lusty bonfire when thy green chips shall lie hissing in the chimney-corner. Remember, mistress, I can make you a lady by mine own experience.
Lamb. Prythee, do not stand troubling the gentlewoman with thy musty sentences, but let her love be laid down betwixt us like a pair of cudgels, and into whose hands she thrusts the weapons first, let him take up the bucklers.[93]
Speed. A match between us.
Jane. Must I be stickler, then?
Lamb. We are both to run at the ring of your setting-up, and you must tell us who deserves most favour.
Jane. But will you stand both at my disposing?
Lamb. Else let me never stand but in a pillory.
Jane. You love me both, you say?
Speed. By this hand!
Lamb. Hand? Zounds! by the four-and-twenty elements.
You would not else make all this stir to woo.
Sir Godfrey, you are a knight both tough and old;
A rotten building cannot long time hold.
Lamb. Speedwell, live well, die well, and be hanged well, change your copy well, your experience will not carry it else.
What, though you're but a gilded man of clay.
Lamb. A man of gingerbread; i' faith, I could find in my heart to eat him.
January and May! I for a younger tarry.
Lamb. That's I! In troth, I'll be thy young Lambskin; thou shalt find me as innocent as a sucking dove. Speak, sweet mistress, am I the youth in a basket?
Would make me love; but you must first be wise.
Speed. Ha, ha! Is your coxcomb cut? I see experience must board this fair pinnace. A word in private.
Lamb. I'll have no words in private, unless I hear too. [Retire.
Enter Master Brewen, Stephen, and Robert.
Merchants in bargaining must not, like soldiers
Lying at a siege, stay moneths, weeks, days,
But strike at the first parley.
Broadcloths and wools, and other rich commodities,
I lately from your brother brought, are all your own.
If now a string be touch'd, which hath too long
Sounded so harshly over all the city;
I now would wind it to a musical height.
Will still offend mine ear; you mean the jarring
'Twixt me and my brother?
And that his proud heart danc'd on golden waves——
I being sunk, and drown'd in mine own misery,
He would not cast out a poor line of thread,
And bring me to the shore; I had been dead,
And might have starv'd for him.
Stood at your elbow.
That lifted me from want and misery;
Whose cruel father, for that [act of] good,
Cast him away, scorning his name and blood;
Lopp'd from his side this branch that held me dear;
For which he's now my son, my joy, my heir.
But, for his father, hang him!
Live in more charity, he is your brother;
If that name offend, I'll sing that tune no more.
Yonder's my daughter busy with her suitors;
We'll visit them. Now, Jane, bid your friends welcome.
To thee ten thousand welcomes still are due.
Lamb. Zounds! Sir knight, we have stood beating the bush, and the bird's flown away; this city bowler has kissed the mistress[94] at first cast.
Brew. How fare ye, gentlemen? what cheer, sir knight?
Speed. An adventurer still, sir, to this new-found land.[95]
Lamb. He sails about the point, sir; but he cannot put in yet.
Brew. The wind may turn, sir. [To Stephen.] A word, Master Foster. [They converse apart.
Lamb. You see, Sir Speedwell, what card is turned up for trump; I hold my life, this spruce citizen will forestall the market: O, these brisk factors are notable firkers.
Speed. I doubt, sir, he will play the merchant[96] with us.
My daughter, sure, must be your kinsman's bride.
And put a stone in't worth a thousand pound, sir.
Brew. You have my hand and heart to't, be she pleased so.
Lamb. 'Sfoot! let's show ourselves gallants or gallymawfries:[97] shall we be outbraved by a cockney? [To Robert.] A word, my fair Zenocrates; do you see, sir, here be those that have gone a-fishing, and can give you a gudgeon?
Rob. You were best go fish for better manners, or I shall bob for eels[98] with you. [Strikes him.
Lamb. Zounds! are you a striker? Draw, sir knight.
Brew. Not in my house; I pray, be quiet, gentlemen.
Rob. He dares not do't abroad, believe me, sir.
I'll hug thee in mine arms: lose life and limbs,
Ere thou forsake thy love.
And we are gentlemen.
Speed. And hear ye, sir; let him seek out his equals; for some of us are in danger to make her a lady shortly: I know what I speak; what I speak I'll do; yet I'll do nothing but what comes from grave experience.
As good as either of you both; and shall
In list of love, for such a bedfellow,
Brave him that dares; and here lay down more gold
To win her love than both your states are worth.
Speed. Ha! do you know us, sir? you grow too bold; my experience now hath found you: you were once a tattered fellow, your name is Foster; have you such gold to give?
Lamb. Yes, yes, 'has won it betting at the bowling-alleys, or at the pigeon-holes in the garden-alleys.
Which virtue now gilds over. Pray ye, gentlemen,
May I request your names?
My name is Innocent Lambskin; and this knight,
Simply though he stands here, is known to be
Sir Godfrey Speedwell.
Steph. Well may he speed, sir. Lambskin and Speedwell. Ha! is't so? I think I shall give you a medicine to purge this itch of love, sir.
But yourself and your cousin.
Here in sheep's-skin [Produces a parchment]; look you, 'tis so, i' faith.
See, master alderman, these two crack'd gallants
Are in several bonds to my predecessor
For a debt of full two thousand a-piece.
Cousin, fetch me a sergeant straight.
I'll shift for one. [Exit.