ACT I., SCENE I.
Warehouse, Seathrift.
Brought forth the like: I would have them that have
Fin'd twice for sheriff, mend it.
'Tis past the wit o' th' court of aldermen.
Next merchant-tailor, that writes chronicles,[181]
Will put us in.
Though, sir, my nephew, as you may observe,
Seem quite transfigur'd, be as dutiful
As a new 'prentice, in his talk declaim
'Gainst revelling companions, be as hard
To be entic'd from home as my door-posts,
This reformation may but be his part,
And he may act his virtues. I have not
Forgot his riots at the Temple. You know, sir——
When it devour'd my ships, cost me so much
As did his vanities. A voyage to the Indies
Has been lost in a night: his daily suits
Were worth more than the stock that set me up;
For which he knew none but the silk-man's book,
And studied that more than the law. He had
His loves, too, and his mistresses; was enter'd
Among the philosophical madams;[182] was
As great with them as their concerners; and, I hear,
Kept one of them in pension.
Hath had his errors: I could tell the time
When all the wine which I put off by wholesale
He took again in quarts; and at the day
Vintners have paid me with his large scores: but
He is reformed too.
In a design.
Friends in alliance, sir.
I think well of your son.
The like opinion of my nephew, sir;
Yet he is young, and so is your son; nor
Doth the church-book say they are past our fears.
Our presence is their bridle now; 'tis good
To know them well whom we do make our heirs.
How they will use their fortune, or what place
We have in their affection, without trial?
Some wise men build their own tombs; let us try,
If we were dead, whether our heirs would cry,
Or wear[183] long cloaks. This plot will do't.
Famous upon the Exchange for ever. I'll home,
And take leave of my wife and son.
Come to you at your garden-house.[184] Within there.
[Exit Seathrift.
SCENE II.
Enter Cypher.
Reading a letter which a footman brought
Just now to him from a lady, sir.
Could overhear the fellow say she must
Sell her coach-horses, and return again
To her needle, if your nephew don't supply her
With money.
I am now confirm'd: they say he keeps a lady,
And this is she. Well, Cypher, 'tis too late
To change my project now. Be sure you keep
A diary of his actions; strictly mark
What company comes to him; if he stir
Out of my house, observe the place he enters:
Watch him, till he come out: follow him (disguis'd)
To all his haunts.
But, sir, when you are absent, if he draw not
A lattice to your door, and hang a bush out——
SCENE III.
Enter Plotwell, in a sad posture. Warehouse, Plotwell, Cypher.
This melancholy?
Clouds in my face, when I must venture, sir,
Your reverend age to a long-doubtful voyage,
And not partake your dangers?
Though they become you, nephew, are ominous.
When heard you from your father?
Is't true he took your sister with him?
Her mistress thinks, sir: one day she left th' Exchange,
And has not since been heard of.
How like you your new course; which place prefer you—
The Temple or Exchange? Where are, think you,
The wealthier mines—in the Indies or
Westminster Hall?
And form from yours.
I' th' city-tongue. I'd have you speak like Cypher:
I do not like quaint figures, they do smell
Too much o' th' inns-of-court.
Is ready for all impressions which——
Nor shall I e'er repent the benefits
I have bestow'd; but will forget all errors [Exit Cypher.
As mere seducements, and will not only be
An uncle, but a father to you; but then
You must be constant, nephew.
To my good fortune, sir.
In time make thee o' th' city-senate, and raise thee
To the sword and cap of maintenance.
Ride to the 'spital on thy free beast.
Free of your company. [Aside.
As low to his trappings, as if he thrice had fin'd
For that good time's employment.
He had his rider's wisdom. [Aside.
To sleep the sermon in my chain and scarlet. [Aside.
To sit at sermon in my chain and scarlet.
Master Recorder to save me the trouble,
And understand things for me. [Aside.
And in the stars and winds: therefore, dear nephew,
You shall pursue this course; and, to enable you,
In this half-year that I shall be away,
Cypher shall teach you French, Italian, Spanish,
And other tongues of traffic.
Arithmetic too, sir, and shorthand?
Enter Cypher.
The boat stays for you.
As I hear of your carriage, you do know
What my intentions are; and, for a token
How much I trust your reformation,
Take this key of my counting-house, and spend
Discreetly in my absence. Farewell. Nay,
No tears; I'll be here sooner than you think on't.
Cypher, you know what you have to do.
Shall be such tears as shall increase the tide
To carry you from hence.
Read to you this morning?
Of sugar goes; how many pints of olives
Go to a jar; how long wine works at sea;
What difference is in gain between fresh herrings
And herrings red?
Forgot your uncle's charge?
If I have tongue enough to say my prayers
I' th' phrase o' th' kingdom, I care not: otherwise,
I'm for no tongues but dried ones, such as will
Give a fine relish to my backrag;[187] and for mathematics,
I hate to travel by the map; methinks
'Tis riding post.
Here be his comrades. [Aside.
SCENE IV.
Enter Bright and Newcut.
Gone the wish'd voyage?
He die by th' way, hath bequeath'd me but some
Twelve hundred pound a year in Kent; some three-
Score thousand pound in money, besides jewels, bonds,
And desperate debts.
To do thee justice?
To take him off i' th' middle?
Soft-hearted friends?
To make thee an old juryman, a Whittington?
Into a velvet jacket, which hath seen
Aleppo twice, is known to the great Turk,
Hath 'scap'd three shipwrecks to be left off to thee,
And knows the way to Mexico as well as the map?
The north-east passage out, or the same jacket
That Coriat[188] died in.
There is not such a metamorphosis
As thou art now. To be turned into a tree
Or some handsome beast, is courtly to this.
But for thee, Frank, O transmutation!
Of satin chang'd to kersey hose I sing.[189]
'Slid, his shoes shine too.[190]
Dost thou not dress thyself by 'em? I can see
My face in them hither.
Dost thou bear in the parish this year? Let's feel:
No batteries[191] in thy head, to signify
Th' art a constable?
In the king's name?
By the way, gentlemen?
Thou shouldst turn tradesman, and this pagan dress,
In which if thou shouldst die, thou wouldst be damn'd
For an usurer, is comical at the Temple.
We were about to bring in such a fellow
For an apostate in our antimasque.
Set one to keep the door, provide half-crown rooms,
For I'll set bills up of thee. What shall I
Give thee for the first day?
For thou'lt endure twice or thrice coming in.
O' th' female silkworm and tailor male, I deny not
But you look well in your unpaid-for glory;
That in these colours you set out the Strand,
And adorn Fleet Street; that you may laugh at me,
Poor working-day o' th' city, like two festivals
Escap'd out of the Almanac.
Didst look to hear such language beyond Ludgate?
But wit that goes o' th' score, that may extend,
If't be a courtier's wit, into Cheapside.
He has the patience of a burnt heretic.
The very faith that sold to you these silks,
And thinks you'll pay for 'em, is strong enough
To save the infidel part o' th' world or Antichrist.
With as much ease and willingness as two cowards.
[They tear off his jacket.
One of thy Temple suits, and accompany us,
Or else thy dimity breeches will be mortal.
And light, a butterfly's wings put to't would make it
A Mercury's flying hat, and soar aloft.
You tempt me? Should my uncle know I come
Within the air of Fleet Street——
Yourself fit for a coach again, and come
Along with us?
You shall prevail. But whither now are your
Lewd motions bent?
We shall meet Captain Quartfield and his poet;
They shall show us another fish.
A lady, you mechanic.
That keeps her coachman, footboy, woman, and spends
A thousand pounds a year by wit.
The fortune she is born to will not buy
A bunch of turnips.
Were't in a lawyer's mouth, would make him buy
All young heirs near him.
Choose her own pedigree: it is unknown
Whether she be descended of some ditch
Or duchess.
And talk o' th' town.
And answers challenges in wit.
Has conquer'd, with no second but her woman,
A Puritan, and has return'd with prizes.
Flourish'd. She has made a vow never to marry,
'Till she be won by stratagem.
SCENE V.
Enter Timothy.
Welcome from the new world. I look'd you should
Ha' past through half the signs in heaven by this,
And ha' convers'd with the dolphins. What! not gone
To sea with your father?
To go to sea; it makes one lousy, lays him
In wooden sheets, and lands him a preservative
Against the plague: besides, my mother was
Afraid to venture me.
Not to trust such a wit to a thin frail bark,
Where you had sail'd within three inches of
Becoming a Jonas. Besides the tossing, to have
All the fierce blust'ring faces in the map
Swell more tempestuously upon you than
Lawyers preferr'd or trumpeters. And whither
Were you bound now?
Your judgment of my suit.
Has done his part.
For she has paid for't. I never durst be seen
Before my father out of duretta[192] and serge:
But if he catch me in such paltry stuffs,
To make me look like one that lets out money,
Let him say, "Timothy was born a fool."
Before he went, he made me do what he list;
Now he's abroad, I'll do what I list. What
Are these two? Gentlemen?
Their heraldry.
Beat drawers, play at dice, and court their mistress?
I mean forthwith to get a mistress?
How comes this, Master Timothy? you did not
Rise such a gallant this morning.
My mother lost her maidenhead that I
Might come first into the world; and, by God's lid,
I'll bear myself like the elder brother, I.
D'you think, I'll all days of my life frequent
Saint Antlins, like my sister? Gentlemen,
I covet your acquaintance.
Is not much worth. I'm born to a small fortune;
Some hundred thousand pound, if once my father
Held up his hands in marble, or kneel'd in brass.
What are you? inns-of-court men?
Were false, should we deny it.
Be one myself; I learn to dance already,
And wear short cloaks. I mean in your next masque
To have a part: I shall take most extremely.
Who shall most privately convey jewels
Into your hand.
Who is't?
This morning with my uncle.
Whose sister thou shouldst marry? The wench that brings
Ten thousand pound?
But I have cast her off.
And had a good wit; but her schoolmistress
Has made her a rank Puritan.
Along with us, and Captain Quartfield shall show him.
I have a project on him.
Will but shift clothes, then we'll associate you,
But first you shall with us, and see a lady
Rich as your father's chests and odd holes,[193] and
Fresh as Pygmalion's mistress, newly waken'd
Out of her alabaster.
I long to see a lady, and to salute her. [Exeunt.
FOOTNOTES:
[180] In the year 1755, a gentleman of great eminence in his profession made a few alterations in this play, and presented it to the governors of the Lock Hospital, near Hyde Park Corner, who obtained a representation of it at Drury Lane for the benefit of that charity. It was at the same time printed in 8o, under the title of "The Schemers; or, The City-Match."
Mr Bromfield, the surgeon, as Mr Davies, who acted in it, told me.—Reed.
[181] The merchant-tailor here alluded to was John Stowe, author of the "Chronicles of England," who was of that company, and a tailor by profession.
[182] See Ben Jonson's "Silent Woman."—Pegge.
[183] All the editions read their.
[184] See extract from Stubbes, quoted in note to "The Miseries of Enforced Marriage" [ix., 538.]
[185] [An allusion to the Lord Mayor's Show, into which were generally introduced symbolical representations of the civic virtues.]
[186] At St Paul's Cross, where [the Lord Mayor heard his inauguration sermon.]
[187] This was a wine which was brought from Baccarach, in Germany, as appears from Heywood's "Philo-cothonista," 1635, p. 48. It is there mentioned along with Rhenish.
Ray, in his "Travels," vol. i. p. 64, says: "Next we came to Baccarach, a walled town on the right hand, having many towers, subject to the Prince Elector Palatine, famous for the goodness of its wine, as is also Rhincow, a town not far from Mentz."—Reed.
[188] See note to "The Ordinary" [xii., 227.]
[189] [A sort of playful parody on the exordium to Ovid's "Metamorphoses."]
[190] The citizens of Charles I.'s time, and earlier, were as famous for the brightness of their shoes as some particular professions at present. In "Every Man in his Humour," act ii. sc. 1, Kitely says—
Make their loose comments upon every word,
Gesture, or look, I use; mock me all over,
From my flat cap unto my shining shoes."
[191] [Bruises or contusions occasioned by assaults.]
[192] [Probably some strong, coarse sort of substance like corduroy.]
[193] [Apparently this word means the secret pigeon-holes in a desk or secretary.]