Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.
Enter Valentine, Alice, and Servant.
Can he be so unkind? he's but retir'd
Into the Garden or the Orchard: see Sirs.
Only for walks I take it.
Had he a horse out?
Somewhat before the break of day.
My best friend's gone Alice; I have lost the noblest,
The truest, and the most man I e're found yet.
All, all, and all too little: O that honesty,
That ermine honesty, unspotted ever,
That perfect goodness.
He cannot be so harsh.
Never return, thou know'st not where the cause lyes.
Within this hour, things that shall startle thee,
He never must return.
Enter Michael.
Me thinks you are stirring early since your travel,
You have learn'd the rule of health sir, where's your mistress?
She keeps her warm I warrant ye, i' bed yet?
Nor any night this week else.
I left her at her prayers: why do ye ask me?
All this long night, and after many wakings,
The same dream still; me thought I met young Cellide
Just at S. Katherines gate the Nunnery.
Me thought she cry'd unto the Lady Abbess,
For charity receive me holy woman,
A Maid that has forgot the worlds affections,
Into thy virgin order: me thought she took her,
Put on a Stole, and sacred robe upon her,
And there I left her.
Do me the favour (yet to satisfie me)
To step but up, and see.
And all this but a dream.
Dream of a Nunnery?
About the nature of his sickness Valentine?
That forc'd her to this nunnery? did she not curse me?
For God sake speak: did you not dream of me too,
How basely, poorly, tamely, like a fool,
Tir'd with his joyes?
Ye promis'd me Sir to bear all these crosses.
Truly to weigh.
Ye do but fling flax on my fire: where is she?
Enter Alice.
Been in her bed.
And now I'le shew ye why I came: this morning
A man of mine being employed about business,
Came early home, who at S. Katherines Nunnery,
About day peep, told me he met your Mistress,
And as I spoke it in a dream, so troubled
And so received by the Abbess, did he see her,
The wonder made me rise, and hast unto ye
To know the cause.
At home good Alice, and trust him to my counsel,
Nay, do not weep, all shall be well, despair not. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Enter Sebastian, and a Servant.
But twenty noyses.
Enter Launcelot.
He can inform ye all: he was among 'em,
A mad thing too: I stood but in a corner.
Your Master may return?
I will assure your worship on my credit
By the faith of a Travellor, and a Gentleman,
Your son is found again, the son, the Tom.
Last night Sir, as we handled it: cap à pe,
Footra for leers, and learings; O the noise,
The noise we made.
And all the Chambermaids in such a whobub,
One with her smock half off, another in hast
With a serving-mans hose upon her head.
And his mouth stopt with durt.
Inviron'd with his furious Myrmidons
The fiery Fidler, and my self; now singing,
Now beating at the door, there parlying,
Courting at that window, at the other scalling
And all these several noises to two Trenchers,
Strung with a bottom of brown thred, which show'd admirable.
Gave we the frolick over: though at length
We quit the Ladies Skonce on composition;
But to the silent streets we turn'd our furies:
A sleeping watchman here we stole the shooes from,
There made a noise, at which he wakes, and follows:
The streets are durty, takes a queen-hith cold,
Hard cheese, and that choaks him o' Munday next:
Windows, and signs we sent to Erebus;
A crue of bawling curs we entertain'd last,
When having let the pigs loose in out parishes,
O the brave cry we made as high as Algate!
Down comes a Constable, and the Sow his Sister
Most traiterously tramples upon Authority,
There a whole stand of rug gowns rowted manly
And the Kings peace put to flight: a purblind pig here
Runs me his head into the Admirable Lanthorn,
Out goes the light, and all turns to confusion:
A potter rises, to enquire this passion,
A Boar imbost takes sanctuary in his shop,
When twenty dogs rush after, we still cheering,
Down goe the pots, and pipkins, down the pudding pans,
The cream-bolls cry revenge here, there the candlesticks.
Enter Servant.
Enter Thomas.
Because I feel a scruple in my conscience
Concerning thy demeanour, and a main one,
And therefore like a Father would be satisfi'd,
Get up to that window there, and presently
Like a most compleat Gentleman, come from Tripoly.
(Fitter for idle boys, and drunkards, let me speak't,
And with a little wonder I beseech [y]ou)
Choak up your noble judgement?
You lying Rascal.
Why, what a Devil do you mean?
Ye keep a company of sawcy fellows,
Debosh'd, and daily drunkards, to devour ye,
Things, whose dull souls, tend to the Celler only,
Ye are ill advis'd Sir, to commit your credit.
Nor feel the blessing of another blew-coat,
If this young Gentleman, sweet Master Thomas,
Be not as mad as heart can wish: your heart Sir,
If yesternights discourse: speak fellow Robin,
And if thou speakest less than truth.
Can hear and see.
Can ye deny, ye beat a Constable
Last night?
I violate the Law?
And put 'em into pudding lane?
Those civil things you did at M. Valentines,
The Fiddle, and the fa'las.
I do beseech you Sir give no such licence
To knaves and drunkards, to abuse your son thus:
Be wise in time, and turn 'em off: we live Sir
In a State govern'd civilly, and soberly,
Where each mans actions should confirm the Law,
Not crack, and cancel it.
Get you upon adventures: cast your coat
And make your exit.
I'le beat ye purblind else, out ye eight languages.
I will have one shall please me. [Exit servant.
Enter two Servants with two bags.
Good Gentleman be cover'd.
You have been thought my son, and by my self too,
And some things done like me: ye are now another:
There is two hundred pound, a civil summe
For a young civil man: much land and Lordship
Will as I take it now, but prove temptation
To dread ye from your setled, and sweet carriage.
For the word civil, and more setled course
It may but put to use, that on the interest
Like a poor Gentleman.
To mine again: do you see Sir: good fine Gentleman,
I give no brooding mony for a Scrivener,
Mine is for present traffick, and so I'le use it.
Enter Dorothy, and four Maids.
I sent to treat with you about, behold it;
Behold that piece of story work, and view it.
I want a right heir to inherit me,
Not my estate alone, but my conditions,
From which you are revolted, therefore dead,
And I will break my back, but I will get one.
In mine own tribe: I know their qualities
Which cannot fail to please me: for their beauties
A matter of a three farthings, makes all perfect,
A little beer, and beef broth: they are sound too.
Stand all a breast: now gentle M. Thomas
Before I choose, you having liv'd long with me,
And happily sometimes with some of these too,
Which fault I never frown'd upon; pray shew me
(For fear we confound our Genealogies)
Which have you laid aboord? speak your mind freely,
Have you had copulation with that Damsel?
Was ever sin so glorious?
In again all: and to your several functions. [Ex. Maids.
What say you to young Luce, my neighbours Daughter,
She was too young I take it, when you travel'd;
Some twelve years old?
For I have many yet to ask ye of,
Where I can choose, and nobly, hold up your finger
When ye are right: what say ye to Valeria
Whose husband lies a dying now? why two,
And in that form?
The Sisters of St. Albons, all five; dat boy,
Dat's mine own boy.
A straw on pardon: prethee need no pardon:
I'le aske no more, nor think no more of marriage,
For o' my conscience I shall be thy Cuckold:
There's some good yet left in him: bear your self well,
You may recover me, there's twenty pound Sir,
I see some sparkles which may flame again,
You may eat with me when you please, you know me. [Exit Seb.
And do as I would have thee, or by this hand
I'le kill thy Parrat, hang up thy small hand,
And drink away thy dowry to a penny.
For abusing their wives and children?
Mens wives and children can be abus'd too much?
Before I have done.
E're I be twelve hours older: there's my business,
She is monstrous subtile Dol.
Cannot out-subtile thee.
Come, you must help me presently.
No bawd to your abuses.
Nothing but in the way of honesty.
Honestly marry her, if I mean not honourably,
Come, thou shalt help me, take heed how you vex me,
I'le help thee to a husband too, a fine Gentleman,
I know thou art mad, a tall young man, a brown man,
I swear he has his maidenhead, a rich man.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter Michael, and Valentine.
Sores are not cur'd by sorrows, nor time broke from us,
Pull'd back again by sighs.
Sebastians Daughter can prevail much with her,
The Abbess is her Aunt too.
Whose love and loss is equal ty'd.
That shall be my task if he be alive,
Or where my travel and my care may reach him,
I'le bring him back again.
To piece his poor friends life out? and my Mistress
Be vow'd for ever a recluse?
She cannot, hast ye therefore instantly away Sir,
To put that Daughter by; first as to a Father,
Then as a friend she was committed to ye,
And all the care she now has: by which priviledge
She cannot do her this violence,
But you may break it, and the law allows ye.
Against your self, if you will needs be miserable
Spight of her goodness, and your friends perswasions.
Think on, and thrive thereafter.
And follow your advice, and good, good Michael.
Cure but that part at home with speedy marriage
E're my return, for then those thoughts that vext her,
While there ran any stream for loose affections,
Will be stopt up, and chaste ey'd honour guide her.
Away, and hope the best still: I'le work for ye,
And pray too heartily, away, no more words. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Enter Hylas, and Samuel.
But that it should be his plot, and a wench too,
A lowzie, lazie wench prepar'd to do it.
He'l put another on thee else.
To call him to account, was it not manifest
He meant a mischief to me, and laughed at me,
When he lay roaring out, his leg was broken,
And no such matter? had he broke his neck,
Indeed 'twould ne'r have griev'd me; gallows gall him.
Why should he chuse out me?
To thrust thy self into these she occasions,
And he as full of knavery to accept it.
Is to no purpose; besides, he's truly valiant,
And a most deadly hand; thou never fought'st yet,
Nor o' my Conscience hast no faith in fighting.
Which has a woman in't to make it scurvy,
Who would lye stinking in a Surgeons hands,
A month or two this weather? for believe it,
He never hurts under a quarters healing.
But watch my time.
Watch him too, I would wish ye; prithee tell me,
Dost thou affect these women still?
I love 'em ev'n as well as e'r I did,
Nay, if my brains were beaten out, I must to 'em.
Of what degree or calling.
Of any fashion.
For those I love to lead me to repentance;
A woman with no Nose, after my surquedry,
Shews like King Philip's Moral, Memento mori;
And she that has a wooden leg, demonstrates
Like Hypocrites, we halt before the gallows;
An old one with one tooth, seems to say to us,
Sweets meats have sowr sauce; she that's full of aches,
Crum not your Bread before you taste your Porridge,
And many morals we may find.
Ye make so worthy uses; but quid igitur,
What shall we now determine?
An hour or two how I may fit this fellow.
But take heed to your self, and say I warn'd ye;
He has a plaguey pate.
[Musick.
SCENE V.
Enter Saylers singing, to them Michael, and Francis.
What men they take aboard.
Heavens goodness keep thee ever, and all vertue
Dwell in thy bosome, Cellide, my last tears
I leave behind me thus, a sacrifice,
For I dare stay no longer to betray ye.
By virtue of this Warrant, as you will answer it,
For both your Ship and Merchant I know perfectly,
Lay hold upon this fellow.
Fetch out the manacles.
But I beseech you, Sir, inform me truly
How I am guilty.
One that you are bound to for your life and being;
Money and horse unjustly ye took from him,
And something of more note, but—for y'are a Gentleman.
Since friendship is so cruel, I confess it,
And which is more, a hundred of these robberies:
This Ring I stole too from him, and this Jewel,
The first and last of all my wealth; forgive me
My innocence and truth, for saying I stole 'em,
And may they prove of value but to recompence
The thousandth part of his love, and bread I have eaten;
'Pray see 'em render'd noble Sir, and so
I yield me to your power.
I charge you, Saylers, there I will receive him,
And back convey him to a Justice.
Look to your neck, you are like to sail i'th' air now.
[Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Enter Thomas, Dorothy, and Maid.
Take heed my nose be not in grain too;
Come Doll, Doll, disen me.
Your Devils parts again.
Which only is access.
Out with this hair, Doll, handsomely.
What, dost thou think I love to blast my Buttocks?
What ye intend, Sir.
What, broke i'th bum? hold up your head.
I shall bepiss my Breeches if I cowr thus,
Come, I am ready.
As if you were my Mistress.
Now run for thy life, and get before him,
Take the by-way, and tell my Cousin Mary
In what shape he intends to come to cozen her;
I'll follow at thy heels my self, fly Wench.
Enter Sebastian, and Thomas.
And I'll away in time; look to your Skin, Thomas. [Exit.
You will not know your Father? what vagaries
Have you in hand? what out-leaps, durty heels,
That at these hours of night ye must be gadding,
And through the Orchard take your private passage?
What, is the breeze in your Breech? or has your Brother
Appointed you an hour of meditation
How to demean himself; get ye to bed, drab,
Or I'll so crab your Shoulders; ye demure Slut,
Ye civil dish of sliced Beef, get ye in.
Have at ye with a night Spell then.
He walks by day, so does he by night,
And when he had her found,
He her beat, and her bound,
Until to him her troth she plight,
She would not stir from him that night.
From Elves, Hobs, and Fayries, that trouble our Dayries,
From Fire-Drakes and Fiends, and such as the Devil sends,
Defend us good Heaven. [Exit.
Enter Launcelot.