Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.
Enter De Gard, and Leverdure, alias Lugier.
What I am, I am; I pity your poor Sister,
And heartily I hate these Travellers,
These Gim-cracks, made of Mops, and Motions:
There's nothing in their houses here but hummings;
A Bee has more brains. I grieve, and vex too
The insolent licentious carriage
Of this out-facing fellow, Mirabell,
And I am mad to see him prick his plumes up.
Since he has begun with wit, let wit revenge it;
Keep your sword close, we'll cut his throat a new way.
I am asham'd the Gentlewoman should suffer
Such base lewd wrongs.
And left to your revenge.
He makes a common scorn of handsome Women;
Modesty, and good manners are his May-games:
He takes up Maidenheads with a new Commission;
The Church warrant's out of date: follow my Counsel,
For I am zealous in the Cause.
And will be still directed: for the truth is
My Sword will make my Sister seem more monstrous:
Besides there is no honour won on Reprobates.
Sets me a fire too: go I'le prepare your Sister,
And as I told ye.
See that observ'd; and then.
Enter Lillia, Rosalure, and Oriana.
We thank ye, Sir, ye have set us off most gallantly
With your grave precepts.
Out of your Documents, and taught behaviours;
Excellent Husbands, thought men would run stark mad on us,
Men of all Ages, and all states: we expected
An Inundation of desires, and offers,
A Torrent of trim Suitors: all we did,
Or said, or purpos'd to be Spells about us,
Spells to provoke—
We follow'd your directions, we did rarely,
We were Stately, Coy, Demure, Careless, Light, Giddy,
And play'd at all points: This you swore would carry.
With such a reverent put-on Reservation
Which could not miss according to your Principles,
Now gave more hope again. Now close, now publick,
Still up and down, we beat it like a Billow;
And ever those behaviours you read to us,
Subtil, and new. But all this will not help us.
They have frighted off all Friends: what am I better
For all my Learning, if I love a Dunce,
A handsome dunce? to what use serves my Reading?
You should have taught me what belongs to Horses,
Doggs, Dice, Hawks, Banquets, Masks, free and fair Meetings,
To have studied Gowns and Dressings.
I'le take mine own way now.
We may live Maids else till the Moon drop Mil-stones;
I see your modest Women are taken for monsters,
A Dowry of good breeding is worth nothing.
And ye shall see how I'le convert this Heretick;
Mark how this Mirabell—
For, though I long for a Husband, I hate him,
And would be marryed sooner to a Monkey,
Or to a Jack of Straw, than such a Juggler.
And plays at fast and loose too learnedly
For a plain-meaning Woman; that's the truth on't.
Here's one too, that we love well, would be angry;
And reason why: No, no, we will not trouble ye
Nor him, at this time: may he make you happy.
We'll turn our selves loose now, to our fair fortunes,
And the down-right way.
We'll bait, that men may bite fair, and not be frighted;
Yet we'll not be carryed so cheap neither: we'll have some sport,
Some mad-Morris or other for our mony, Tutor.
Ye are old enough to choose: But for this Gentlewoman,
So please her, give me leave.
To find a friend, whose pity may direct me.
But then ye must be ruled.
And hunts the recovery of a lost Lover deadly.
Here ye can know no more.
And all our Fortunes, arrive at our own wishes.
He is within: to do her good, take any thing,
Take us, and all.
And so we'll leave ye to your own disposes. [Exeunt.
A safe, and sure way too: and yet a by-way,
I must confess I have a great mind to be married.
And would as fain be dispatch'd. But this Monsieur Quicksilver.
There is no safety in his Surquedrie:
An Army-Royal of women, are too few for him,
He keeps a Journal of his Gentleness,
And will go near to print his fair dispatches,
And call it his triumph over time and women:
Let him pass out of memory: what think ye
Of his two Companions?
A little modestie he has brought home with him,
And might be taught in time some handsom duty.
A free light touch or two becomes a Gentleman,
And sets him seemly off: so he exceed not,
But keep his compass, clear he may be lookt at;
I would not marry a man that must be taught,
And conjur'd up with kisses; the best game
Is plaid still by the best Gamesters.
What talk hast thou?
Why should we be asham'd to speak what we think? thy Gentleman
The tall fat fellow; he that came to see thee.
H'as weight enough I warrant thee: Mercy upon me;
What a Serpent wilt thou seem under such a S. George.
Brings substance with him; needs no Broths to Lare him:
These little fellows shew like Fleas in boxes,
Hop up and down, and keep a stir to vex us;
Give me the puissant Pike, take you the small shot.
A bashfulness, which is a point of grace, wench:
But when these fellows come to moulding, Sister,
To heat, and handling: as I live, I like him;
Enter Mirabel.
Sweet wits: sweet humours: 'Bless you, learned Lady,
And you, most holy Nun; 'Bless your Devotions.
They are in Trav[ail], may they be delivered
Of a most hopeful Wild-Goose.
They say ye are a Gentleman of action,
A fair accomplish'd man; and a rare Engineer,
You have a trick to blow up Maidenheads,
A subtle trick, they say abroad.
I have a speedy trick: please you to try it:
My Engine will dispatch ye instantly.
As there be such, no doubt, may Engine you too;
May with a Counter-mine blow up your valour:
But in good faith, Sir, we are both too honest:
And the plague is, we can not be perswaded:
For, look ye: if we thought it were a glory
To be the last of all your lovely Ladies.
This pride, and pufft-up heart, will make ye fast, Ladies,
Fast, when ye are hungry too.
Have made men stand amaz'd; those men that lov'd ye;
Men of fair States and parts; your strange conventions
Into I know not what, nor how, nor wherefore;
Your scorns of those that came to visit ye;
Your studied Whim-whams; and your fine set faces:
What have these got ye? proud, and harsh opinions:
A Travel'd-Monsieur, was the strangest Creature,
The wildest Monster to be wondred at:
His Person made a publique Scoff, his knowledge,
(As if he had been bred 'mongst Bears or Bandoggs)
Shunn'd and avoided: his conversation snuft at.
What Harvest brings all this?
An understanding Gentleman, and a Monsieur
Is to be held, and to your griefs confess it,
Both to your griefs, and galls.
We would be glad to understand your excellence.
For me, I have blest me from ye, scoff on seriously,
And note the Man ye mock'd: you, (Lady Learning)
Note the poor Traveller, that came to visit ye,
That flat unfurnish'd fellow: note him throughly,
You may chance to see him anon.
Held dear, and honour'd by a vertuous virgin,
May be a Beautie, not far short of yours, neither
It may be, clearer.
As killing eyes as yours: a wit as poynant
May be, a State to that may top your Fortune;
Enquire how she thinks of him, how she holds him;
His good parts; in what precious price already;
Being a stranger to him, how she courts him;
A stranger to his Nation too, how she dotes on him:
Enquire of this; be sick to know: Curse, Lady,
And keep your chamber: cry, and curse: a sweet one,
A thousand in yearly land; well bred; well friended:
Travell'd, and highly followed for her fashions.
I think they call his name Pinac; this serving-man
That brought ye Venison, as I take it, Madam;
Note but this Scab; 'tis strange that this course creature,
That has no more set off, but his jugglings,
His travell'd tricks.
Nor envy not his fortune: yet I wonder,
He's handsom; yet I see no such perfection.
Of that sweet temper'd nature, and that judgment,
Besides her state, that care, clear understanding,
And such a wife to bless him.
So modest that mens eyes are frighted at her,
And such a noble carriage. How now Sirrah?
Enter a Boy.
Where you may see her plain: Monsieur Pinac,
The only man that leads her.
Enter Pinac, Mariana, and Attendants.
Would I had such a favour: now vex Ladies,
Envy, and vex, and rail.
A sweet and delicate aspect: mark, mark, and wonder!
Hast thou any hope of her?
She is well.
A well bred woman, I warrant her.
May I crave this Gentlewomans name?
For making me your Stale: a noble Gentleman
Would have had more courtesie; at least, more faith,
Than to turn off his Mistris at first trial:
You know not what respect I might have shew'd ye;
I find ye have worth.
Ye see my charge: I am beholding to ye
For all your merry tricks ye put upon me,
Your bobs, and base accounts: I came to love ye,
To wooe ye, and to serve ye; I am much indebted to ye
For dancing me off my legs; and then for walking me;
For telling me strange tales I never heard of,
More to abuse me; for mistaking me,
When ye both knew I was a Gentleman,
And one deserv'd as rich a match as you are.
She is young enough, and fair enough to please me,
A woman of a loving mind, a quiet,
And one that weighs the worth of him that loves her,
I am content with this, and bless my fortune,
Your curious Wits, and Beauties.
And in your bitterness, ye may abuse her;
Which if she comes to know, (for she understands ye not)
It may breed such a quarrel to your kindred,
And such an indiscretion fling on you too;
For she is nobly friended.
And afford your honest neighbours some of your prayers. [Exit.
She has got a pretty catch too.
Monstrous angry now; grievously angry;
And the pretty heart does swell now.
And it will curse it self: and eat no meat, Lady;
And it will fight.
It will be very merry.
There are no more men living, nor no handsomer
Than he, or you, By this light there be ten thousand?
Ten thousand thousand: comfort your self, dear Monsieur,
Faces, and bodies, Wits, and all Abiliments
There are so many we regard 'em not.
Enter Belleur, and two Gentlemen.
So far above such trifles?
And I know why ye laughed.
If we did laugh, we had some private reason,
And not at you.
Stand this way, and look sad; I'le be no May-game;
Sadder; demurer yet.
And not a simper on your lives.
You are strangely humorous: is there no mirth, nor pleasure,
But you must be the object?
Where ever I am nam'd;
The very word shall raise a general sadness,
For the disgrace this scurvy woman did me;
This proud pert thing; take heed ye laugh not at me;
Provoke me not, take heed.
Do any thing to keep ye quiet.
Till I receive a satisfaction
Equal to the disgrace, and scorn ye gave me:
Ye are a wretched woman; till thou woo'st me,
And I scorn thee asmuch, as seriously
Jear, and abuse thee; ask what Gill thou art;
Or any baser name; I will proclaim thee;
I will so sing thy vertue; so be-paint thee.
Because ye are a woman ye are lawless,
And out of compass of an honest anger.
Than falling out with your friends?
And thou shalt see how prosperously 'twill guide thee.
I never should have made a civil Suiter.
Well, I'le about it still. [Exit.
What sport do I make with these fools! What pleasure
Feeds me, and fats my sides at their poor innocence!
Enter Leverduce, alias Lugier, Mr. Illiard.
Witty and dainty mirth: I shall grow in love sure
With mine own happy head. Who's this? To me, Sir?
What youth is this?
If your name be Monsieur Mirabel.
Your business, I beseech ye?
There is a Gentlewoman hath long time affected ye,
And lov'd ye dearly.
'Tis long enough: I have no faith in women, Sir.
Or sing her praises, though she well deserve 'em,
I come to tell ye, ye have been cruel to her,
Unkind and cruel, falser of faith, and careless,
Taking more pleasure in abusing her,
Wresting her honour to your wild disposes,
Than noble in requiting her affection:
Which, as ye are a man, I must desire ye
(A Gentleman of rank) not to persist in,
No more to load her fair name with your injuries.
And I'le be short: I'le tell ye, because I love ye,
Because I would have you shun the shame may follow:
There is a noble man, new come to Town, Sir,
A noble and a great man that affects her,
A Cou[n]trey-man of mine, a brave Savoyan,
Nephew to th'Duke, and so much honours her,
That 'twill be dangerous to pursue your old way,
To touch at any thing concerns her honour,
Believe, most dangerous: her name is Oriana,
And this great man will marry her: take heed, Sir;
For howsoe'r her Brother, a staid Gentleman,
Lets things pass upon better hopes, this Lord, Sir,
Is of that fiery, and that poynant metal,
(Especially provok'd on by affection)
That 'twill be hard: but you are wise.
This will not stir her Lord; a Barronness,
Say ye so; say ye so? by'r Lady, a brave title;
Top, and top gallant now; 'save her great Ladiship.
I was a poor servant of hers, I must confess, Sir,
And in those daies, I thought I might be jovy,
And make a little bold to call into her:
But Basto, now; I know my rules and distance;
Yet, if she want an Usher; such an implement;
One that is throughly pac'd; a clean made Gentleman;
Can hold a hanging up; with approbation
Plant his hat formally, and wait with patience
I do beseech you, Sir.
And as ye are a Gentleman, deal fairly:
I have given ye a friends counsel, so I'le leave ye.
I may believe what you say?
No Pitfals to catch Puppies?
You may believe; if not, stand to the danger. [Exeunt.
A man so mighty? By 'Lady a fair marriage;
By my faith, a handsom fortune: I must leave prating;
For to confess the truth, I have abused her,
For which I should be sorry, but that will seem scurvy;
I must confess, she was ever since I knew her
As modest, as she was fair: I am sure she lov'd me;
Her means good; and her breeding excellent;
And for my sake she has refus'd fair matches:
I may play the fool finely. Stay who are these?
Enter De-Gard, Oriana, and Attendants.
He carries a fair Port; is a handsom man too:
I do begin to feel, I am a Coxcomb.
I am so far below your rank and honour,
That what ye can say this way, I must credit
But spoken to beget your self sport: Alas, Sir,
I am so far off from deserving you,
My beauty so unfit for your Affection,
That I am grown the scorn of common Railers,
Of such injurious things, that when they cannot
Reach at my person, lie with my reputation:
I am poor besides.
And none but such as are the scum of men,
The Ulcers of an honest state; Spight-weavers,
That live on poyson only, like swoln spiders,
Dare once profane such excellence, such sweetness.
Let me but know these poor, and base depravers;
Lay but to my revenge their persons open,
And you shall see how suddenly, how fully
For your most beauteous sake, how direfully
I'le handle their despights. Is this thing one?
Be what he will.
This Gentleman's a stranger to my knowledge,
And no doubt, Sir, a worthy man.
But had he been a tainter of your honour;
A blaster of those beauties raign within ye;
But we shall find a fitter time: dear Lady,
As soon as I have freed ye from your Guardian,
And done some honour'd offices unto ye,
I'le take ye with those faults the world flings on ye;
And dearer than the whole world I'le esteem ye. [Exeunt.
How lovingly the wench disclaim'd my villany!
I am vext now heartily that he shall have her;
Not that I care to marry, or to lose her;
But that this Bilbo-Lord shall reap that Maiden-head
That was my due; that he shall rig and top her;
I'de give a thousand Crowns now, he might miss her.
Enter a Servant.
You have good luck, Sir; I'le teach ye to strike lighter.
Where this great Lord lies? This Savoy Lord? Thou met'st him;
He now went by thee certain.
I know him; and I know you are fool'd.
Here's all this, give me truth.
(And yet that may do much) but I have been beaten:
And by the worshipfull Contrivers beaten, and I'le tell ye;
This is no Lord, no Savoy Lord.
By one Lugier; the Lord is Monsieur de-Gard, Sir;
An honest Gentleman, and a neighbour here;
Their ends you understand better than I, sure.
Know him now plain.
All the whole cast on's face, though 'twere umber'd,
And mask'd with patches: what a dunder-whelp
To let him domineer thus: how he strutted,
And what a load of Lord he clapt upon him!
Would I had him here again, I would so bounce him,
I would so thank his Lordship for his lewd plot:
Do they think to carry it away, with a great band made of bird-pots,
And a pair of pin-buttockt breeches? Ha! 'Tis he again.
He comes, he comes, he comes; have at him.
Enter de-Gard, Oriana, &c.
And will that favour never sweeter be?
Wilt thou I say, for ever play the fool?
de-Gard be wise, and Savoy go to School.
My Lord de-Gard, I thank ye for your Antick;
My Lady bright, that will be sometimes Frantick;
You worthy Train, that wait upon this Pair,
'Send you more wit, and they a bouncing Baire
And so I take my humble leave of your honours. [Exit.
Lilia Biancha's man upon my life,
In stubbornness, because Lugier corrected him.
(A shameless slaves plague on him for a Rascal.)
He will make mirth on mirth, to persecute us.
I'le try once more; then if I fail: Here's one speaks.
Away, and let me shift; I shall be hooted else. [Exeunt.