Earth. I do not more rejoice in all my stores,
My wealthy bags, fill'd garners, crowded chests,
And all the envi'd heaps that I have glean'd
With so long care and labour, than I do
In thy most frugal nature, Theodore,
Concurring just with mine. In thee, my son,
I see, methinks, a perpetuity
Of all the projects which my soul has hatch'd,
And their rich fruits: I see my happiness,
When I consider what great hoards of wealth,
With long care rak'd together, I have seen
Even in a moment scatter'd; when I view
The gaudy heirs of thriving aldermen
Fleeting like short-liv'd bubbles into air,
And all that fire expiring in one blaze,
That was so long a-kindling. But do thou,
Do thou, my son, go on, and grow in thrift;
It is a virtue that rewards itself.
'Tis matterless in goodness who excels;
He that hath coins hath all perfections else.
My wealthy bags, fill'd garners, crowded chests,
And all the envi'd heaps that I have glean'd
With so long care and labour, than I do
In thy most frugal nature, Theodore,
Concurring just with mine. In thee, my son,
I see, methinks, a perpetuity
Of all the projects which my soul has hatch'd,
And their rich fruits: I see my happiness,
When I consider what great hoards of wealth,
With long care rak'd together, I have seen
Even in a moment scatter'd; when I view
The gaudy heirs of thriving aldermen
Fleeting like short-liv'd bubbles into air,
And all that fire expiring in one blaze,
That was so long a-kindling. But do thou,
Do thou, my son, go on, and grow in thrift;
It is a virtue that rewards itself.
'Tis matterless in goodness who excels;
He that hath coins hath all perfections else.
Theo. Sir, I am wholly yours, and never can
Degenerate from your frugality;
Or, if my nature did a little stray,
Your good example would direct it still,
Till it were grown in me habitual.
Degenerate from your frugality;
Or, if my nature did a little stray,
Your good example would direct it still,
Till it were grown in me habitual.
Earth. 'Twill be a greater patrimony to thee
Than all my wealth: strive to be perfect in't;
Study the rules. One rule is general.
And that is, give away nothing, son;
For thrift is like a journey; every gift,
Though ne'er so small, is a step back again.
He that would rise to riches or renown
Must not regard, though he pull millions down.
Than all my wealth: strive to be perfect in't;
Study the rules. One rule is general.
And that is, give away nothing, son;
For thrift is like a journey; every gift,
Though ne'er so small, is a step back again.
He that would rise to riches or renown
Must not regard, though he pull millions down.
Theo. That lesson, sir, is easy to be learn'd.
Earth. Laugh at those fools that are ambitious
Of empty air, to be styl'd liberal!
That sell their substance for the breath of others,
And with the flattering thanks of idle drones
Are swelled, while their solid parts decay.
What clothes to wear?—the first occasion
Of wearing clothes will teach a wise man best.
Of empty air, to be styl'd liberal!
That sell their substance for the breath of others,
And with the flattering thanks of idle drones
Are swelled, while their solid parts decay.
What clothes to wear?—the first occasion
Of wearing clothes will teach a wise man best.
Theo. True, sir; it teacheth us how vain a thing
It is for men to take a pride in that,
Which was at first the emblem of their shame.[9]
It is for men to take a pride in that,
Which was at first the emblem of their shame.[9]
Earth. Thou hitt'st it right: but canst thou be content
With my poor diet too?
With my poor diet too?
Theo. O, wondrous well!
'Twas such a diet which that happy age,
That poets style the golden, first did use.
'Twas such a diet which that happy age,
That poets style the golden, first did use.
Theo. Beside the gain
That flows upon us, health and liberty
Attend on these bare meals: if we all were bless'd
With such a temperance, what man would fawn,
Or to his belly sell his liberty?
There would be then no slaves, no sycophants
At great men's tables. If the base Sarmentus
Or that vile Galba[10] had been thus content,
They had not borne the scoffs of Cæsar's board.
He whose cheap thirst the springs and brooks can quench,
How many cares is he exempted from?
He's not indebted to the merchant's toil,
Nor fears that pirates' force or storms should rob him
Of rich Canaries or sweet Candian wines:
He smells nor seeks no feasts; but in his own
True strength contracted lives, and there enjoys
A greater freedom than the Parthian king.
That flows upon us, health and liberty
Attend on these bare meals: if we all were bless'd
With such a temperance, what man would fawn,
Or to his belly sell his liberty?
There would be then no slaves, no sycophants
At great men's tables. If the base Sarmentus
Or that vile Galba[10] had been thus content,
They had not borne the scoffs of Cæsar's board.
He whose cheap thirst the springs and brooks can quench,
How many cares is he exempted from?
He's not indebted to the merchant's toil,
Nor fears that pirates' force or storms should rob him
Of rich Canaries or sweet Candian wines:
He smells nor seeks no feasts; but in his own
True strength contracted lives, and there enjoys
A greater freedom than the Parthian king.
Earth. Thou mak'st me more in love with my bless'd life.
Theo. Besides, pure cheerful health ever attends it;
Which made the former ages live so long.
With riotous banquets sicknesses came in;
When death 'gan muster all his dismal band
Of pale diseases, such as poets feign
Keep sentinel before the gates of hell,
And bad them wait about the gluttons' tables,
Whom they, like venom'd pills in sweetest wines,
Deceiv'd, swallow down, and hasten on
What most they would eschew—untimely death.
But from our tables here no painful surfeits,
No fed diseases grow, to strangle nature
And suffocate the active brain; no fevers,
No apoplexies, palsies, or catarrhs
Are here, where nature, not entic'd at all
With such a dangerous bait as pleasant cates,
Takes in no more than she can govern well.
Which made the former ages live so long.
With riotous banquets sicknesses came in;
When death 'gan muster all his dismal band
Of pale diseases, such as poets feign
Keep sentinel before the gates of hell,
And bad them wait about the gluttons' tables,
Whom they, like venom'd pills in sweetest wines,
Deceiv'd, swallow down, and hasten on
What most they would eschew—untimely death.
But from our tables here no painful surfeits,
No fed diseases grow, to strangle nature
And suffocate the active brain; no fevers,
No apoplexies, palsies, or catarrhs
Are here, where nature, not entic'd at all
With such a dangerous bait as pleasant cates,
Takes in no more than she can govern well.
Earth. But that which is the greatest comfort, son,
Is to observe with pleasure our rich hoards
Daily increase, and stuff the swelling bags.
Come, thou art mine, I see! Here, take these keys.
Is to observe with pleasure our rich hoards
Daily increase, and stuff the swelling bags.
Come, thou art mine, I see! Here, take these keys.
[Gives Theodore the keys.
These keys can show thee such amazing plenty,
Whose very sight would feed a famish'd country.
I durst not trust my servants.
Whose very sight would feed a famish'd country.
I durst not trust my servants.
Theo. Me you may,
Who equal with my life do prize your profit.
Who equal with my life do prize your profit.
Earth. Well, I'll go in: I feel myself half sleepy
After the drink I took. [Exit.
After the drink I took. [Exit.
Theo. 'Twill do you good, sir.
Work sweetly, gentle cordial! and restore
Those spirits again which pining avarice
Has 'reft him of. Ah me! how wondrous thin,
How lean and wan he looks! How much, alas!
Has he defrauded his poor genius
In raking wealth, while the pale, grisly sighs
Of famine dwell upon his aged cheeks.
O avarice! than thee a greater plague
Did ne'er infest the life of wretched man!
Heaven aid my work! That rare extraction
Which he has drunk, beside the nourishment,
Will cast him in a safe and gentle sleep,
While I have liberty to work my ends;
And with his body's cure a means I'll find
To cure his fame, and (which is more) his mind.
Jasper!
Work sweetly, gentle cordial! and restore
Those spirits again which pining avarice
Has 'reft him of. Ah me! how wondrous thin,
How lean and wan he looks! How much, alas!
Has he defrauded his poor genius
In raking wealth, while the pale, grisly sighs
Of famine dwell upon his aged cheeks.
O avarice! than thee a greater plague
Did ne'er infest the life of wretched man!
Heaven aid my work! That rare extraction
Which he has drunk, beside the nourishment,
Will cast him in a safe and gentle sleep,
While I have liberty to work my ends;
And with his body's cure a means I'll find
To cure his fame, and (which is more) his mind.
Jasper!
Enter Jasper.
Jas. Sir!
Theo. Are those disguises ready,
Which I bespoke?
Which I bespoke?
Jas. They are all fitted, sir.
Theo. Then at the hour, which I appointed thee,
Invite those people, Jasper; but be true
And secret to me.
Invite those people, Jasper; but be true
And secret to me.
Jas. As your own heart, sir.
Theo. Take this: I will reward thy service better,
As soon as these occasions are dispatch'd.
As soon as these occasions are dispatch'd.
Jas. I thank you, sir. I have a letter for you,
Left here but now, from Master Euphues,
Old Master Freeman's nephew.
Left here but now, from Master Euphues,
Old Master Freeman's nephew.
Theo. Give it me;
I will anon peruse it. But my haste
Permits not now: Eugeny waits my coming. [Exit Theodore.
I will anon peruse it. But my haste
Permits not now: Eugeny waits my coming. [Exit Theodore.
Jas. I like this well; yet, if I should prove false
To my old master for my young master's sake,
Who can accuse me? For the reason's plain
And very palpable; I feel it here.
This will buy ale; so will not all the hoards,
Which my old master has: his money serves
For nothing but to look upon; but this
Knows what the common use of money is.
Well, for my own part, I'm resolv'd to do
Whatever he commands me; he's too honest
To wrong his father in it: if he should,
The worst would be his own another day. [Exit.
To my old master for my young master's sake,
Who can accuse me? For the reason's plain
And very palpable; I feel it here.
This will buy ale; so will not all the hoards,
Which my old master has: his money serves
For nothing but to look upon; but this
Knows what the common use of money is.
Well, for my own part, I'm resolv'd to do
Whatever he commands me; he's too honest
To wrong his father in it: if he should,
The worst would be his own another day. [Exit.
Eugeny solus.
Eug. Just thus, in woods and solitary caves,
The ancient hermits liv'd; but they liv'd happy!
And in their quiet contemplations found
More real comforts than society
Of men could yield, than cities could afford,
Or all the lustres of a court could give.
But I have no such sweet preservatives
Against the sadness of this desert place.
I am myself a greater wilderness
Than are these woods, where horror and dismay
Make their abodes; while different passions
By turn do reign in my distracted soul.
Fortune makes this conclusion general—
All things shall help th' unfortunate man to fall.
First sorrow comes, and tells me I have done
A crime whose foulness must deserve a sea
Of penitent tears to wash me clean again.
Then sear[11] steps in, and tells me, if surpris'd,
My wretched life is forfeit to the law.
When these have done, enters the tyrant love,
And sets before me fair Artemia;
Displays her virtues and perfections;
Tells me that all those graces, all those beauties,
Suffer for me, for my unhappiness,
And wounds me more in her than in myself.
Ah, Theodore! would I could ever sleep
But when thou com'st, for in myself I find
No drop of comfort? Welcome, dearest friend!
The ancient hermits liv'd; but they liv'd happy!
And in their quiet contemplations found
More real comforts than society
Of men could yield, than cities could afford,
Or all the lustres of a court could give.
But I have no such sweet preservatives
Against the sadness of this desert place.
I am myself a greater wilderness
Than are these woods, where horror and dismay
Make their abodes; while different passions
By turn do reign in my distracted soul.
Fortune makes this conclusion general—
All things shall help th' unfortunate man to fall.
First sorrow comes, and tells me I have done
A crime whose foulness must deserve a sea
Of penitent tears to wash me clean again.
Then sear[11] steps in, and tells me, if surpris'd,
My wretched life is forfeit to the law.
When these have done, enters the tyrant love,
And sets before me fair Artemia;
Displays her virtues and perfections;
Tells me that all those graces, all those beauties,
Suffer for me, for my unhappiness,
And wounds me more in her than in myself.
Ah, Theodore! would I could ever sleep
But when thou com'st, for in myself I find
No drop of comfort? Welcome, dearest friend!
Enter Theodore.
Theo. Pardon the slowness of my visit, friend;
For such occasions have detain'd me hence,
As, if thou knew'st, I know thou wouldst excuse.
For such occasions have detain'd me hence,
As, if thou knew'st, I know thou wouldst excuse.
Eug. I must confess, I thought the hours too long;
But the fruition of thy presence now
Makes me forget it all.
But the fruition of thy presence now
Makes me forget it all.
Thou droop'st too much, my dearest Eugeny,
And art too harsh and sour a censurer
Of that unhappy crime which thou wert forc'd
Lately to act. I did allow in thee
That lawful sorrow that was fit; but let
Well-grounded comforts cure thee: nought extreme
Is safe in man.
And art too harsh and sour a censurer
Of that unhappy crime which thou wert forc'd
Lately to act. I did allow in thee
That lawful sorrow that was fit; but let
Well-grounded comforts cure thee: nought extreme
Is safe in man.
Eug. 'Tis time must work that cure.
Theo. But why thy pardon is not yet obtain'd,
Let me be free in my conjectures to thee.
Let me be free in my conjectures to thee.
Eug. Speak, friend, as to thyself.
Theo. Sir Argent Scrape,
Your old rich kinsman, who to-morrow morning
Is to be married to the Lady Covet——
Your old rich kinsman, who to-morrow morning
Is to be married to the Lady Covet——
Eug. Is that match come about? O avarice!
What monsters thou begett'st in this vile age!
What monsters thou begett'st in this vile age!
Theo. Sir Argent Scrape, I say, is next heir male,
On whom thy whole estate was long ago
Entail'd.
On whom thy whole estate was long ago
Entail'd.
Eug. 'Tis true.
Theo. He must inherit it,
Should thy life fail.
Should thy life fail.
Eug. 'Tis granted.
Theo. Then, friend, hear
What not a bare conjecture, but strong grounds
Move me to utter. Think upon that word
Thou spok'st so lately: think what avarice
Can make her bondmen do—that such a price
As fifteen hundred pounds a year will make
Him labour, not thy pardon, but thy death.
What not a bare conjecture, but strong grounds
Move me to utter. Think upon that word
Thou spok'st so lately: think what avarice
Can make her bondmen do—that such a price
As fifteen hundred pounds a year will make
Him labour, not thy pardon, but thy death.
Eug. Can there be such a miscreant in nature?
Theo. I should not think so, if I weigh'd him only,
As he's thy kinsman. I have been inform'd
He labours underhand to apprehend thee
Just at the assizes now, and has laid plots
To stop all pardons, which in that short time
Might be procur'd: and then what bribes may do
In hastening execution, do but consider.
If this be false, some courtiers have abus'd
His fame: and pardon me, my dearest friend,
If I suspect the worst for fear of thee.
As he's thy kinsman. I have been inform'd
He labours underhand to apprehend thee
Just at the assizes now, and has laid plots
To stop all pardons, which in that short time
Might be procur'd: and then what bribes may do
In hastening execution, do but consider.
If this be false, some courtiers have abus'd
His fame: and pardon me, my dearest friend,
If I suspect the worst for fear of thee.
Eug. When I consider what accurs'd effects
Proceed from wretched avarice, I begin
To feel a fear.
Proceed from wretched avarice, I begin
To feel a fear.
Theo. This very age hath given
Horrid examples lately: brothers have been
Betray'd by brothers in that very kind.
When pardons have been got by the next heirs,
They have arriv'd too late. No tie so near,
No band so sacred, but the cursed hunger
Of gold has broke it, and made wretched men
To fly from nature, mock religion,
And trample under feet the holiest laws.
Horrid examples lately: brothers have been
Betray'd by brothers in that very kind.
When pardons have been got by the next heirs,
They have arriv'd too late. No tie so near,
No band so sacred, but the cursed hunger
Of gold has broke it, and made wretched men
To fly from nature, mock religion,
And trample under feet the holiest laws.
Eug. He has been ever noted for that vice
Which, with his age, has still grown stronger in him.
Which, with his age, has still grown stronger in him.
Theo. Ah, Eugeny! how happy were that last
Age of a man, when long experience
Has taught him knowledge, taught him temperance,
And freed him from so many loose desires
In which rash youth is plung'd, were not this vice—
But hark, hark, friend! what ravishing sound is that?
Age of a man, when long experience
Has taught him knowledge, taught him temperance,
And freed him from so many loose desires
In which rash youth is plung'd, were not this vice—
But hark, hark, friend! what ravishing sound is that?
Eug. Ha! wondrous sweet! 'tis from th' adjoining thicket.
Song.
This is not the Elysian grove;
Nor can I meet my slaughter'd love
Within these shades. Come, Death, and be
At last as merciful to me,
As in my dearest Scudmore's fall,
Thou show'dst thyself tyrannical.
Then did I die when he was slain;
But kill me now, I live again,
And shall go meet him in a grove
Fairer than any here above.
Nor can I meet my slaughter'd love
Within these shades. Come, Death, and be
At last as merciful to me,
As in my dearest Scudmore's fall,
Thou show'dst thyself tyrannical.
Then did I die when he was slain;
But kill me now, I live again,
And shall go meet him in a grove
Fairer than any here above.
O, let this woful breath expire!
Why should I wish Evadne's fire,
Sad Portia's coals, or Lucrece' knife,
To rid me of a loathed life?
'Tis shame enough that grief alone
Kills me not now, when thou art gone!
But, life, since thou art slow to go,
I'll punish thee for lasting so;
And make thee piecemeal every day
Dissolve to tears, and melt away.
Why should I wish Evadne's fire,
Sad Portia's coals, or Lucrece' knife,
To rid me of a loathed life?
'Tis shame enough that grief alone
Kills me not now, when thou art gone!
But, life, since thou art slow to go,
I'll punish thee for lasting so;
And make thee piecemeal every day
Dissolve to tears, and melt away.
Theo. Ah, Eugeny! some heavenly nymph descends
To make thee music in these desert woods,
To quench or feed thy baleful melancholy:
It is so sweet, I could almost believe,
But that 'tis sad, it were an angel's voice.
To make thee music in these desert woods,
To quench or feed thy baleful melancholy:
It is so sweet, I could almost believe,
But that 'tis sad, it were an angel's voice.
Eug. What, in the name of miracle, is this?
Theo. Remove not thou; I'll make discovery
Within this thicket.
Within this thicket.
Eug. Ha! what means thy wonder?
What dost thou see?
What dost thou see?
Theo. I know not how to tell thee:
Now I could wish myself to be all eyes,
As erst all ears. I see a shape as fair,
And as divine, as was the voice it sent;
But clouded all with sorrow: a fair woman,
If by a name so mortal I may term her.
In such a sorrow sat the Queen of Love,
When in the wood she wail'd Adonis' death,
And from her crystal-dropping eyes did pay
A lover's obsequy.
Now I could wish myself to be all eyes,
As erst all ears. I see a shape as fair,
And as divine, as was the voice it sent;
But clouded all with sorrow: a fair woman,
If by a name so mortal I may term her.
In such a sorrow sat the Queen of Love,
When in the wood she wail'd Adonis' death,
And from her crystal-dropping eyes did pay
A lover's obsequy.
Theo. Sure, black is Cupid's colour; Death and he
Have chang'd their liveries now, as in the fable
They did their quivers once.[12]
Have chang'd their liveries now, as in the fable
They did their quivers once.[12]
Eug. Ah, woe is me!
Theo. What means that woe?
Eug. Ah, Theodore! my guilt
Pursues me to the woods! No place can keep
The monuments of my misdeeds away.
Pursues me to the woods! No place can keep
The monuments of my misdeeds away.
Theo. I understand you not.
Eug. It is Matilda,
The slaughter'd Scudmore's love, his virtuous love,
Whose life by me unhappily was spilt.
The sad, melodious ditty, which so late
Did pierce our ravish'd ears, was but the note
Of this fair turtle for her slaughter'd mate;
In which perchance, amidst her woes, she sends
Black curses up against my spotted self.
But I with prayers and blessings will repay
Whate'er thou vent'st 'gainst me. O, do not wish
More wretchedness to my distracted soul
Than I already feel! Sad sighs and tears
Are all the satisfaction that is left
For me to make to thy dead love and thee.
The slaughter'd Scudmore's love, his virtuous love,
Whose life by me unhappily was spilt.
The sad, melodious ditty, which so late
Did pierce our ravish'd ears, was but the note
Of this fair turtle for her slaughter'd mate;
In which perchance, amidst her woes, she sends
Black curses up against my spotted self.
But I with prayers and blessings will repay
Whate'er thou vent'st 'gainst me. O, do not wish
More wretchedness to my distracted soul
Than I already feel! Sad sighs and tears
Are all the satisfaction that is left
For me to make to thy dead love and thee.
Theo. Those lips can vent no curses; 'twould take off
Much from the sweetness of her virtuous sorrow.
Where lives this lovely maid?
Much from the sweetness of her virtuous sorrow.
Where lives this lovely maid?
Eug. In the next village.
Theo. Has she a father living?
Eug. No, friend; he died
When she was in her infancy. Her mother
Two years ago deceas'd, and left her all
The substance that she had; which was not great,
But does maintain her. In that little house,
E'er since this fatal accident, she lives
A miracle of truth and constancy,
Wailing her love; and now, it seems, has[13] come
To vent her woful passions to the woods.
When she was in her infancy. Her mother
Two years ago deceas'd, and left her all
The substance that she had; which was not great,
But does maintain her. In that little house,
E'er since this fatal accident, she lives
A miracle of truth and constancy,
Wailing her love; and now, it seems, has[13] come
To vent her woful passions to the woods.
Theo. How happy had he been in such a love,
If fate had spar'd his life! But he is dead,
And time at last may wear this sorrow off,
And make her relish the true joys of love.
But why do I thus wander in my thoughts?
This passion must be curb'd in the beginning;
'Twill prove too stubborn for me, if it grow. [Aside.
If fate had spar'd his life! But he is dead,
And time at last may wear this sorrow off,
And make her relish the true joys of love.
But why do I thus wander in my thoughts?
This passion must be curb'd in the beginning;
'Twill prove too stubborn for me, if it grow. [Aside.
Eug. Come, let us to my cave, as we intended,
Ere this sad object stay'd us.
Ere this sad object stay'd us.
Theo. Sad indeed!
Believe me, friend, I suffer with thee in it;
But we were wounded in two different kinds. [Aside.
Come, let's be gone; though—I could still—dwell here. [Exeunt.
Believe me, friend, I suffer with thee in it;
But we were wounded in two different kinds. [Aside.
Come, let's be gone; though—I could still—dwell here. [Exeunt.
Enter Matilda.
Mat. Methought I heard a noise within the wood;
As if men talk'd together not far off;
But could discover none. The time has been,[14]
In such a solitary place as this,
I should have trembled at each moving leaf;
But sorrow and my miserable state
Have made me bold. If there be savages
That live by rapine in such woods as these,
As I have heard in ancient times there were,
My wretched state would move their pity rather
Than violence. I'll confidently go,
Guarded with nothing but my innocence. [Exit.
As if men talk'd together not far off;
But could discover none. The time has been,[14]
In such a solitary place as this,
I should have trembled at each moving leaf;
But sorrow and my miserable state
Have made me bold. If there be savages
That live by rapine in such woods as these,
As I have heard in ancient times there were,
My wretched state would move their pity rather
Than violence. I'll confidently go,
Guarded with nothing but my innocence. [Exit.
Enter Fruitful, Trusty.
Fruit. Come, master steward, you have had a time
Of sweating for this wedding.
Of sweating for this wedding.
Trusty. I have ta'en
A little pains to-day: yours, Master Fruitful,
Is yet to come; I mean your sermon.
A little pains to-day: yours, Master Fruitful,
Is yet to come; I mean your sermon.
Fruit. Yes, but the pains are pass'd; and that's the study.
But to our business that more concerns us:
Is the deed ready-written that my lady
Must seal to-day?
But to our business that more concerns us:
Is the deed ready-written that my lady
Must seal to-day?
Trusty. Do you believe she'll seal it?
Fruit. I warrant you; I have so followed her,
And laid it to her conscience, that I dare
Hazard my life 'tis done.
And laid it to her conscience, that I dare
Hazard my life 'tis done.
Trusty. Well, here's the deed: 'tis plainly written.
Fruit. I'll peruse't anon.
I know the other feoffees are as true
And honest men as any are i' th' world. [Exit Trusty.
I know the other feoffees are as true
And honest men as any are i' th' world. [Exit Trusty.
Enter Freeman, Euphues, Barnet, Dotterel, Lady Whimsey.
Free. Save you, Master Fruitful!
Fruit. Worthy Master Freeman!
Free. How does my lady, sir? I have made bold
To bring her company.
To bring her company.
Fruit. Please you draw near, sir;
I will go up and signify unto my lady
That you are here. [Exit Fruitful.
I will go up and signify unto my lady
That you are here. [Exit Fruitful.
Bar. What's he? her chaplain, Euphues?
Euph. O yes.
Lady W. She uses praying then, it seems?
Euph. Yes, madam, and fasting too, but gives no alms.
Lady W. Cannot he teach her that?
Euph. 'Tis to be doubted:
But he has other ways, which are far safer—
To speak against the fashion, against painting,
Or fornication. If he were your chaplain,
He would inveigh as much 'gainst covetousness.
But he has other ways, which are far safer—
To speak against the fashion, against painting,
Or fornication. If he were your chaplain,
He would inveigh as much 'gainst covetousness.
Lady W. He would hurt me little in that.
But has he learning?
But has he learning?
Euph. No, surely, madam; he is full of knowledge,
But has no learning at all: he can expound,
But understands nothing. One thing in him
Is excellent: though he do hate the bishops,
He would not make them guilty of one sin,
Which was to give him orders; for he hates
Orders as much as them.
But has no learning at all: he can expound,
But understands nothing. One thing in him
Is excellent: though he do hate the bishops,
He would not make them guilty of one sin,
Which was to give him orders; for he hates
Orders as much as them.
Free. Well, I have heard,
Though he came lately to her, he has got
A great hand over her, and sways her conscience
Which way he list.
Though he came lately to her, he has got
A great hand over her, and sways her conscience
Which way he list.
Euph. Uncle, 'tis very easy
To rule a thing so weak as is her conscience.
I'll undertake, that a twin'd thread would do it
As well as a strong cable. If he could
Rule her estate too, he would have a place on't.
To rule a thing so weak as is her conscience.
I'll undertake, that a twin'd thread would do it
As well as a strong cable. If he could
Rule her estate too, he would have a place on't.
Free. Why, that will follow t'other.
Euph. I think not;
Rather her conscience follows her estate,
Oppression had not else increas'd it so.
She wrong'd a worthy friend of mine—young Scudmore,
And by mere fraud and bribery took away
His whole estate, five hundred pound a year.
Rather her conscience follows her estate,
Oppression had not else increas'd it so.
She wrong'd a worthy friend of mine—young Scudmore,
And by mere fraud and bribery took away
His whole estate, five hundred pound a year.
Free. I must confess, 'twas a foul cause indeed;
And he, poor man, lack'd means to prosecute
The cause against her. But he feels it not
At this time, nephew.
And he, poor man, lack'd means to prosecute
The cause against her. But he feels it not
At this time, nephew.
Bar. Was't that Scudmore, sir,
Whom Eugeny, Sir Argent Scrape's young kinsman,
Unfortunately kill'd?
Whom Eugeny, Sir Argent Scrape's young kinsman,
Unfortunately kill'd?
Free. The same. Well, let
All these things pass: we come now to be merry.
All these things pass: we come now to be merry.
Lady W. Let's eat up her good cheer: a niggard's feast
Is best, they say.
Is best, they say.
Dot. Shall we have wine good store?
Bar. O, fear not that.
Dot. Hold, belly, hold, i' faith!
Bar. Yes, and brain too.
Dot. Nay, for my brain,
Let me alone, I fear not that: no wine
Can hurt my brain.
Let me alone, I fear not that: no wine
Can hurt my brain.
Lady W. Say you so, Master Dotterel?
Why, such a brain I love.
Why, such a brain I love.
Dot. Madam, I am glad
I had it for you.
I had it for you.
Lady W. For me, sir?
Bar. Yes, rarely.
Lady W. Shall I presume to call you servant, then?
Dot. O Lord, madam! if I were worthy to be.
Lady W. Nay, I know you have good courtship, servant.
Wear this for my sake. [Gives him a scarf.
Wear this for my sake. [Gives him a scarf.
Dot. 'Tis your livery, madam.
Bar. Well, th' art a happy man, if thou knew'st all.
Euph. Madam, I see your ladyship can tell
How to make choice in dealing of your favours.
How to make choice in dealing of your favours.
Dot. It pleases you to say so, good Master Euphues.
Euph. Why, sir, I speak of the lady's judgment.
Dot. 'Twas more of her courtesy than my desert.
Enter Lady Covet on crutches.
Euph. Here comes the lady bride.
Free. Joy to your ladyship!
Lady C. I thank you, sir: y' are very welcome all.
Free. I have made bold to bring my friends along,
As you commanded, lady.
As you commanded, lady.
Lady C. They are most welcome.
Euph. Methinks your ladyship looks fresh to-day,
And like a bride indeed.
And like a bride indeed.
Lady C. Ah, Master Euphues!
You, I perceive, can flatter.
You, I perceive, can flatter.
Euph. Does your glass
Tell you I flatter, madam?
Tell you I flatter, madam?
Lady C. Bestow this
Upon young maids; but let me tell you, sir,
Old folks may marry too. It was ordain'd
At first to be as well a stay to age
As to please youth. We have our comforts too,
Though we be old.
Upon young maids; but let me tell you, sir,
Old folks may marry too. It was ordain'd
At first to be as well a stay to age
As to please youth. We have our comforts too,
Though we be old.
Euph. Madam, I doubt it not:
You are not yet so old but you may have
Your comfort well; and if Sir Argent Scrape
Were but one threescore years younger than he is——
You are not yet so old but you may have
Your comfort well; and if Sir Argent Scrape
Were but one threescore years younger than he is——
Bar. What a strange but thou mak'st!
Euph. You would perceive it.
Lady W. Servant, could you find in your heart to marry
Such an old bride?
Such an old bride?
Dot. No, mistress, I protest
I had rather have none.
I had rather have none.
Lady W. What age would you desire
To choose your wife of?
To choose your wife of?
Dot. Just as old as you are.
Lady W. Well, servant, I believe you can dissemble.
Lady C. Will't please you to draw near? Sir Argent stays
Expecting within.
Expecting within.
Free. We'll wait upon you. [Exeunt.
Manent Barnet, Dotterel.
Bar. To what strange fortune, friend, are some men born,
I mean by thee. Surely, when thou wert young,
The fairies dandled thee.
I mean by thee. Surely, when thou wert young,
The fairies dandled thee.
Dot. Why, prythee, Barnet?
Bar. That ladies thus should doat upon thy person.
Dost thou not see how soon the Lady Whimsey
Is caught in love with thee?
Dost thou not see how soon the Lady Whimsey
Is caught in love with thee?
Bar. Is she! Come, thou perceiv'st it well enough;
What else should make her court thee, and bestow
Her favours openly? And such a lady!
So full of wit as she is, too! Would she
Betray the secrets of her heart so far,
But that love plays the tyrant in her breast,
And forces her?
What else should make her court thee, and bestow
Her favours openly? And such a lady!
So full of wit as she is, too! Would she
Betray the secrets of her heart so far,
But that love plays the tyrant in her breast,
And forces her?
Dot. True, and, as thou say'st, Barnet,
She's a brave, witty lady; and I love
A wit with all my heart. What would she say
If she should know me truly, that thus loves,
And thinks I am but a poor younger brother?
She's a brave, witty lady; and I love
A wit with all my heart. What would she say
If she should know me truly, that thus loves,
And thinks I am but a poor younger brother?
Bar. Why, still the greater is thy happiness:
Thou may'st be sure she loves thee truly now,
And not thy fortunes.
Thou may'st be sure she loves thee truly now,
And not thy fortunes.
Dot. Has she found me out,
For all I sought to hide myself?
For all I sought to hide myself?
Bar. The more
Thy worth appears, the more her judgment's seen.
O, 'tis a gallant lady! Well, she might
Have cast her eye on me or Euphues;
But 'twas not our good fortune!
Thy worth appears, the more her judgment's seen.
O, 'tis a gallant lady! Well, she might
Have cast her eye on me or Euphues;
But 'twas not our good fortune!
Dot. Do not despair;
Some other woman may love thee as well:
Come, thou hast worth, Barnet, as well as I.
Some other woman may love thee as well:
Come, thou hast worth, Barnet, as well as I.
Bar. Nay, nay, abuse not your poor friends; but tell me,
What dost thou think of young Artemia now?
What dost thou think of young Artemia now?
Dot. Of her! a foolish girl, a simple thing!
She'd make a pretty wife for me! I confess
I courted her; but she had not the wit
To find out what I was, for all my talk.
She'd make a pretty wife for me! I confess
I courted her; but she had not the wit
To find out what I was, for all my talk.
Bar. And that was strange she should not; but 'tis fate
That governs marriages.
That governs marriages.
Dot. Let her repent,
And know what she hath lost, when 'tis too late.
But dost thou think this gallant Lady Whimsey
Will marry me?
And know what she hath lost, when 'tis too late.
But dost thou think this gallant Lady Whimsey
Will marry me?
Bar. Mak'st thou a doubt of that?
'Tis thy own fault, boy, if thou hast her not.
'Tis thy own fault, boy, if thou hast her not.
Dot. That I protest it shall not be; but, tell me,
Shall I express my love to her in verse
Or prose?
Shall I express my love to her in verse
Or prose?
Bar. In which you will.
Dot. I am alike at both of them indeed.
Bar. I know thou art.
Dot. Come, let's go in.
Bar. Thou long'st to see thy mistress?
Dot. We'll drink her health in a crown'd cup,[15] my lad. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Richard Braithwaite printed precisely the same thought in 1621, in his "Times Curtaine Drawne"—
"For who (remembering the cause why clothes were made,
Even then when Adam fled unto his shade,
For covert nakedness) will not blame
Himself to glory in his parents' shame?"
Even then when Adam fled unto his shade,
For covert nakedness) will not blame
Himself to glory in his parents' shame?"
The coincidence is remarkable.—Collier.
[11] [Conscience.]
[12] Mr Gifford, in a note on Massinger's "Virgin Martyr," points out an elegy by Secundus as the origin of this pretty fancy, which is thus employed by Fairfax in his translation of Tasso's "Jerusalem Delivered"—
"Death hath again exchanged his darts with Love,
And Cupid thus lets borrow'd arrows fly."
And Cupid thus lets borrow'd arrows fly."
The allusion is not to be found in the original Italian (bk. ii. s. 34). Davenant, in bk. ii. c. 7, of his "Gondibert," also mentions the fable, and it would be easy among foreign writers to point out many instances in which more extensive use has been made of it. The sonnets by Annibale Nozzolini and by Girolamo Pompei are well known.—Collier.
[13] [Old copy, was.]
[14] So in "Macbeth," act v. sc. 5—
"I have almost forgot the taste of fears:
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir
As life were in't. I have supt full with horrors!
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me."
The time has been, my senses would have cool'd
To hear a night-shriek; and my fell of hair
Would at a dismal treatise rouse, and stir
As life were in't. I have supt full with horrors!
Direness, familiar to my slaught'rous thoughts,
Cannot once start me."
[And see note to the "Heir," xi. 449.]
ACT III.
[Earthworm's house.]
Theodore, Neighbours with sacks.