Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 07 of 10

La. Didst think Maria, this poor outside, and
Dissembling of thy voice could hide thee from
A mothers searching eye, though too much fear,
Lest thou wert not the same, might blind a Lover
That thought thee dead too; oh my dear Maria,
I hardly kept my joyes in from betraying thee:
Welcome again to life, we shall find out
The mystery of thy absence; conceal
Thy person still, for Algripe must not know thee:
And exercise this pretty Dialect;
If there be any course in Law to free thee,
Thou shalt not be so miserable; be silent
Good Nurse.

Nur. You [shall] not need to fear me, Madam,
I do not love the usuring Jew so well;
Beside, 'twas my trick to disguise her so.

La. Be not dejected Mall.

Ma. Your care may comfort me;
But I despair of happiness:
Hartlove, I dare not see him.

Nur. We'll withdraw.

L[a]. I shall but grieve to see his passions too,
Since there's no possibility to relieve him.

Enter Hartlove.

Ha. The world's a Labyrinth, where unguided men
Walk up and down to find their weariness;
No sooner have we measured with much toil
One crooked path with hope to gain our freedom,
But it betrays us to a new affliction;
What a strange mockery will man become
Shortly to all the creatures?
Oh Mariah!

If thou be'st dead, why does thy shadow fright me?
Sure 'tis because I live; were I but certain
To meet thee in one grave, and that our dust
Might have the priviledge to mix in silence,
How quickly should my soul shake off this burthen!

Enter Boy.

[Boy.] Thus far my wishes have success, I'll lose
No time: Sir, are not you call'd Mr. Hartlove?
Pardon my rudeness.

Ha. What does that concern
Thee Boy, 'tis a name cannot advantage thee;
And I am weary on't.

Boy. Had you conceal'd,
Or I forgot it, Sir, so large were my
Directions, that you could not speak this language,
But I should know you by your sorrow.

Ha. Thou
Wert well inform'd, it seems; well, what's your business?

Boy. I come to bring you comfort.

Ha. Is Maria
Alive agen? that's somewhat, and yet not
Enough to make my expectation rise, to
Past half a blessing; since we cannot meet
To make it up a full one; th'art mistaken.

Boy. When you have heard me, you'll think otherwise:
In vain I should report Maria living:
The comfort that I bring you, must depend
Upon her death.

Ha. Th'art a dissembling boy,
Some one has sent thee to mock me; though my anger
Stoop not to punish thy green years unripe
For malice; did I know what person sent thee
To tempt my sorrow thus, I should reveng it.

Boy. Indeed I have no thought so uncharitable,
Nor am I sent to grieve you, let me suffer
More punishment than ever boy deserv'd,
If you do find me false; I serve a Mistriss
Would rather dye than play with your misfortunes;
Then good Sir hear me out.

Ha. Who is your Mistriss?

Boy. Before I name her, give me some encouragement,
That you receive her message: she is one
That is full acquainted with your misery,
And can bring such a portion of her sorrow
In every circumstance so like your own,
You'll love and pity her, and wish your griefs
Might marry one anothers.

Ha. Thou art wild.
Canst thou bring comfort from so sad a creature?
Her miserable story can at best,
But swell my Volume, large enough already.

Boy. She was late belov'd, as you were, promis'd faith
And marriage; and was worthy of a better
Than he, that stole Maria's heart.

Ha. How's that?

Boy. Just as Maria dealt with your affection,
Did he that married her deal with my Mistriss,
When careless both of Honor and Religion;
They cruelly gave away their hearts to strangers.

Ha. Part of this truth I know, but prethee boy
Proceed to that thou cam'st for; thou didst Promise
Something, thy language cannot hitherto
Encourage me to hope for.

Boy. That I come to:
My Mistriss thus unkindly dealt withal,
You may imagine, wanted no affliction;
And had e'r this, wept her self dry as Marble,
Had not your fortune come to her relief,
And twinn to her own sorrow brought her comfort.

Ha. Could the condition of my fate so equal,
Lessen her sufferings?

Boy. I know not how
Companions in grief sometimes diminish
And make the pressure easie by degrees:
She threw her troubles off, remembring yours,
And from her pity of your wrongs, there grew
Affection to your person thus increas'd,
And with it, confidence, that those whom Nature
Had made so even in their weight of sorrow,
Could not but love as equally one another,
Were things but well prepar'd, this gave her boldness
To employ me thus far.

Ha. A strange message, boy.

Boy. If you incline to meet my Mistriss love,
It may beget your comforts; besides that,
'Tis some revenge, that you above their scorn
And pride can laugh at them, whose perjury
Hath made you happy, and undone themselves.

Ha. Have you done boy?

Boy. Only this little more;
When you but see, and know my Mistriss well,
You will forgive my tediousness, she's fair,
Fair as Maria was.

Ha. I'll hear no more,
Go foolish boy, a[n]d tell thy fonder Mistriss
She has no second Faith to give away;
And mine was given to Maria, though her death
Allow me freedom, see the Picture of her.

Enter Maria, Nurse.

I would give ten thousand Empires for the substance;
Yet for Maria's sake, whose divine Figure
That rude frame carries, I will love this counterfeit
Above all the world, and had thy Mistriss [all]
The grace and blossom of her sex; now she
Is gone, that was [a walking] Spring of beauty,
I would not look upon her.

Boy. Sir, your pardon,
I have but done a message, as becomes
A servant, nor did she on whose commands
I gladly waited, bid me urge her love
To your disquiet, she would chide my diligence
If I should make you angry.

Ha. Pretty boy.

Boy. Indeed I fear I have offended you:
Pray if I have, enjoyn me any pennance for it:
I have perform'd one duty, and could as willingly
To purge my fault, and shew I suffer with you,
Plead your cause to another.

Ha. And I'll take thee
At thy word boy, thou hast a moving language,
That pretty innocent, Copy of Maria
Is all I love, I know not how to speak,
Winn her to think well of me, and I will
Reward thee to thy wishes.

Boy. I undertake
Nothing for gain, but since you have resolv'd,
To love no other, I'll be faithful to you,
And my prophetick thoughts bid me already
Say I shall prosper.

Ha. Thou wert sent to bless me.

Boy. Pray give us opportunity.

Ha. Be happy. [Exit.

Nur. He's gone.

Boy. With your fair leave Mistriss.

Ma. Have you [pusinesse] with her pray you

Boy. I have a message from a Gentleman,
Please you vouchsafe your ear more private.

Nur. You shall have my absence Neece. [Exit.

Ma. Was the sentleman afear'd to declare his matters openly, here was no bodies was not very honest, if her like not her errands the petter, was wist to keep her preaths to cool her porridges, can tell her, that now for aule her private hearings and tawgings.

Boy. You may, if please you, find another language.
And with less pains be understood.

Ma. What is her meaning?

Boy. Come, pray speak your own English.

Ma. Have boyes lost her itts and memories? [plesse] us aule.

Boy. I must be plain then, come, I know you are
Maria, this thin vail cannot obscure you:
I'll tell the world you live, I have not lost ye,
Since first with grief and shame to be surpriz'd,
A violent trance took away shew of life;
I could discover by what accident
You were convey'd away at midnight, in
Your coffin, could declare the place, and minute,
When you reviv'd, [and] what you have done since as perfectly—

Ma. Alas, I am betraid to new misfortunes.

Boy. You are not, for my knowledge, I'll be dumb
For ever, rather than be such a traitor;
Indeed I pity you, and bring no thoughts,
But full of peace, call home your modest blood,
Pale hath too long usurp'd upon your face;
Think upon love agen, and the possession
Of full blown joyes, now ready to salute you.

Ma. These words undo me more than my own griefs.
Boy. I see how fear would play the tyrant with you,
But I'll remove suspition; have you in
Your heart, an entertainment for his love
To whom your Virgin faith made the first promise?

Ma. If thou mean'st Hartlove, thou dost wound me still,
I have no life without his memory,
Nor with it any hope to keep it long:
Thou seest I walk in darkness like a thief,
That fears to see the world in his own shape,
My very shadow frights me, 'tis a death
To live thus, and not look day in the face,
Away, I know thee not.

Boy. You shall hereafter know, and thank me Lady,
I'll bring you a discharge at my next visit,
Of all your fears, be content, fair Maria,
'Tis worth your wonder.

Ma. Impossible.

Boy. Be wise and silent,
Dress your self, you shall be what you wish.

Ma. Do this, and be
My better Angel.

Boy. All your care's on me. [Exeunt.

Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima.

Enter Lurch, and Boy.

Lur. I must applaud thy diligence.

Boy. It had been nothing
To have left him in the Porch; I call'd his servants,
With wonders they acknowledg'd him, I pretended
It was some spice sure of the falling sickness,
And that, 'twas charity to bring him home;
They rubb'd and chaf'd him, ply'd him with Strong water,
Still he was senseless, clamors could not wake him;
I wish'd 'em then get him to bed, they did so,
And almost smother'd him with ruggs and pillows;
And 'cause they should have no cause to suspect me,
I watch'd them till he wak'd.

Lur. 'Twas excellent.

Boy. When his time came to yawn, and stretch himself,
I bid 'em not be hasty to discover
How he was brought home; his eyes fully open
With trembling he began to call his servants,
And told 'em he had seen strange visions,
That should convert him from his heathen courses;
They wondred, and were silent, there he preach'd
How sweet the air of a contented conscience
Smelt in his nose now, ask'd 'em all forgiveness
For their hard pasture since they liv'd with him;
Bid 'em believe, and fetch out the cold Sur-loin;
Pierce the strong beer, and let the neighbors joy in't:
The conceal'd Muskadine should now lie open
To every mouth; that he would give to th' poor,
And mend their wages; that his doors should be
Open to every miserable sutor.

Lur. What said his servants then?

Boy. They durst not speak,
But blest themselves, and the strange means that had
Made him a Christian in this over-joy,
I took my leave, and bad 'em say their prayers,
And humor him, lest he turn'd Jew agen.

Lur. Enough, enough. Who's this?

Enter Toby.

'Tis one of my ringers; stand close, my Ladies Coachman.

To. Buy a mat for a bed, buy a mat;
Would I were at rack and manger among my horses;
We have divided the Sextons
Houshold-stuff among us, one has the rugg, and he's
Turn'd Irish, and another has a blanket, and he must beg in't,
The sheets serve another for a frock, and with the bed-cord,
He may pass for a Porter, nothing but the mat would fall
To my share, which with the help of a tune and a hassock
Out o'th' Church, may disguise me till I get home;
A pox o' bell-ringing by the ear, if any man take me
At it agen, let him pull mine to the Pillory: I could wish
I had lost mine ears, so I had my cloaths again:
The weather wo'not allow this fashion,
I do look for an Ague besides.

Lur. How the raskal shakes!

To. Here are company:
Buy a Mat for a Bed, buy a Mat,
A hassock for your feet, or a Piss clean and sweet;
Buy a Mat for a Bed, buy a Mat:
Ringing I renounce thee, I'll never come to church more.

Lur. You with a Mat.

Tob. I am call'd.
If any one should offer to buy my Mat, what a case were I in?
Oh that I were in my Oat-tub with a horse-loaf,
Something to hearten me:
I dare not hear 'em;
Buy a mat for a bed, buy a mat.

Lur. He's deaf.

Tob. I am glad I am: buy a mat for a bed.

Lur. How the raskal sweats! What a pickle he's in!
Every street he goes through will be a new torment.

Tob. If ever I meet at midnight more a jangling:
I am cold, and yet I drop; buy a mat for a bed, buy a mat.

Lur. He has punishment enough. [Exit.

Enter Wildbrain.

Who's this, my tother youth? he is turn'd Bear.

Wild. I am halfe afraid of my self: this poor shift
I got 'o th' Sexton to convey me handsomly
To some harbor, the wench will hardly know me;
They'll take me for some Watchman o'th' parish;
I ha ne'r a penny left me, that's one comfort;
And ringing has begot a monstrous stomach,
And that's another mischief: I were best go home,
For every thing will scorn me in this habit.
Besides, I am so full of these young bell-ringers;
If I get in adoors, not the power o'th' countrey,
Nor all my Aunts curses shall disembogue me.

Lur. Bid her come hither presently,—hum, 'tis he. [Exit. Serv.

Wild. I am betraid to one that will eternally laugh at me,
Three of these rogues will jeer a horse to death.

Lur. 'Tis Mr. Wildbrain sure, and yet me thinks
His fashion's strangely alt'red, sirrah Watchman,
You ragamuffin, turn you louzie Bears skin:
You with the Bed-rid Bill.

Wild. H'as found me out;
There's no avoiding him, I had rather now
Be arraign'd at Newgate for a robbery,
Than answer to his Articles: your Will Sir,
I am in haste.

Lur. Nay, then I will make bold wi'ye;
A Watchman, and asham'd to shew his countenance,
His face of authority? I have seen that physiognomy;
Were you never in prison for pilfering?

Wild. How the rogue worries me.

Lur. Why may not this
Be the villain robb'd my house last night,
And walks disguis'd in this malignant rugg,
Arm'd with a tun of Iron? I will have you
Before a Magistrate.

Wild. What will become of me?

Lur. What art thou? speak.

Wild. I am the wandring Jew, and please your worship.

Lur. By your leave Rabbi, I will shew you then
A Synagogue, iclip't Bridewel, where you,
Under correction, may rest your self:
You have brought a bill to guard you, there be dog-wh[ip]s
To firk such rugg'd currs, whips without bells
Indeed.

Wild. Bells.

Lur. How he sweats!

Wild. I must be known, as good at first; now jeer on,
But do not anger me too impudently,
The Rabbi will be mov'd then.

Lur. How? Jack Wildbrain,
What time o'th' Moon man, ha? what strange bells
Hast in thy brains?

Wild. No more bells,
No more bells, they ring backwards.

Lur. Why, where's the wench, the blessing that befel thee?
The unexpected happiness? where's that Jack?
Where are thy golden days?

Wild. It was his trick, as sure as I am louzie,
But how to be reveng'd—

Lur. Fie, fie, Jack,
Marry a Watchmans widow in thy young daies,
With a revenue of old Iron and a Rugg?
Is this the Paragon, the dainty piece,
The delicate divine rogue?

Wild. 'Tis enough, I am undone,
Mark'd for a misery, and so leave prating;
Give me my Bill.

Lur. You need not ask your Taylors,
Unless you had better Linings; it may be,
To avoid suspition, you are going thus
Disguis'd to your fair Mistriss.

Wild. Mock no further,
Or as I live, I'll lay my Bill o' thy pate,
I'll take a Watchmans fury into my fingers,
To ha no judgement to distinguish persons,
And knock thee down.

Lur. Come, I ha done, and now
Will speak some comfort to thee, I will lead thee
Now to my Mistriss hitherto conceal'd;
She shall take pity on thee too, she loves
A handsome man; thy misery invites me
To do thee good, I'll not be jealous, Jack;
Her beauty shall commend it self; but do not,
When I have brought you into grace, supplant me.

Wild. Art thou in earnest? by this cold Iron—

Lur. No oaths, I am not costive; here she comes.

Enter Mistriss.

Sweet-heart, I have brought a Gentleman,
A friend of mine to be acquainted with you,
He's other than he seems; why d'ye stare thus?

Mist. Oh Sir, forgive me, I have done ye wrong.

Lur. What's the matter? didst ever see her afore Jack?

Wild. Prethee do what thou wot wi'me, if thou hast
A mind, hang me up quickly.

Lur. Never despair, I'll give thee my share rather,
Take her, I hope she loves thee at first sight,
She has petticoats will patch thee up a suit;
I resign all, only I'll keep these trifles.
I took some pains for 'em, I take it Jack;
What think you pink of beauty, come let me
Counsel you both to marry, she has a trade,
If you have audacity to hook in Gamesters:
Let's ha a wedding, you will be wondrous rich;
For she is impudent, and thou art miserable;
'Twill be a rare match.

Mist. As you are a man, forgive me, I'll redeem all.

Lur. You wo'not to this geer of marriage then?

Wild. No, no, I thank you Tom, I can watch for
A groat a night, and be every gentlemans fellow. [Exit Mi.

Lur. Rise and be good, keep home and tend your business.

Wild. Thou hast don't to purpose, give me thy hand Tom;
Shall we be friends? thou seest what state I am in,
I'll undertake this pennance to my Aunt,
Just as I am, and openly I'll goe;
Where, if I be received again for currant,
And fortune smile once more—

Lur. Nay, nay, I'm satisfied, so farewel honest louzie Jack.

Wild. I cannot help it, some men meet with strange destinies.
If things go right thou mayst be hang'd, and I
May live to see't, and purchase thy apparel:
So farewel Tom, commend me to thy Polcat. [Exit.

Enter Lady, Nurse, Servant.

La. Now that I have my counsel ready, and my cause ripe;
The Judges all inform'd of the abuses;
Now that he should be gone.

Nur. No man knows whether,
And yet they talk he went forth with a Constable
That told him of strange business that would bring him
Money and Lands, and Heaven knows what; but they
Have search'd, and cannot find out such an Officer:
And as a secret, Madam, they told your man
Nicholas, whom you sent thither as a spie,
They had a shrewd suspition 'twas the devil
I' th' likeness of a Constable, that has tempted him:
By this time to strange things; there have been men
As rich as he, have met convenient rivers,
And so forth; many trees have born strange fruits:
D'ye think he has not hang'd himself?

La. If he be hang'd, who has his goods?

Nur. They are forfeited, they say.

La. He has hang'd himself for certain then,
Only to cosin me of my Girls portion.

Nur. Very likely.

La. Or did not the Constable carry him to some prison?

Nu. They thought on that too, and search'd every where.

La. He may be close for treason, perhaps executed.

Nu. Nay, they did look among the quarters too,
And mustered all the bridge-house for his night-cap.

Enter Servant.

Ser. Madam, here is the gentleman agen.

La. What Gentleman?

Ser. He that lov'd my young Mistriss.

La. Alas, 'tis Hartlove, 'twill but feed his melancholy.
To let him see Maria, since we dare not
Yet tell the world she lives; and certainly,
Did not the violence of his passion blind him,
He would see past her borrowed tongue and habit.

Nu. Please you entertain him awhile, Madam,
I'll cast about for something with your daughter.

La. Do what thou wot, pray Mr. Hartlove enter.

[Exit Ser. and Nur. severally.

Enter Hartlove.

Ha. Madam, I come to ask your gentle pardon.

La. Pardon, for what? you ne'r offended me.

Ha. Yes, if ye be the mother of Maria.

La. I was her mother, but that word is cancell'd,
And buried with her in that very minute
Her soul fled from her; we lost both our names
Of mother and of daughter.

Ha. Alas, Madam,
If your relation did consist but in
Those naked terms, I had a title nearer,
Since love unites more than the tie of blood;
No matter for the empty voice of mother;
Your nature still is left, which in her absence
Must love Maria, and not see her ashes
And memory polluted.

La. You amaze me, by whom?

Ha. By me, I am the vile profaner.

La. Why do you speak thus indiscreetly, Sir?
You ever honour'd her.

Ha. I did [a]live,
But since she died, I ha been a villain to her.

La. I do beseech you say not so; all this
Is but to make me know how much I sinn'd
In forcing her to marry.

Ha. Do not mock me,
I charge you by the Virgin you have wept for;
For I have done an impious act against her,
A deed able to fright her from her sleep,
And through her marble, ought to be reveng'd;
A wickedness, that if I should be silent,
You as a witness must accuse me for't.

La. Was I a witness?

Ha. Yes, you knew I lov'd
Maria once; or grant, you did but think so,
By what I ha profest, or she has told you,
Was't not a fault unpardonable in me,
When I should drop my tears upon her grave,
Yes, and proof sufficient.

La. To what?

Ha. That I, forgetful of my fame and vows
To fair Maria, e'r the worm could pierce
Her tender shroud, had chang'd her for another;
Did you not blush to see me turn a rebel?
So soon to court a shadow, a strange thing,
Without a name? Did you not curse my levity,
Or think upon her death with the less sorrow
That she had scap'd a punishment more killing,
Oh how I shame to think on't.

La. Sir, in my
Opinion, 'twas an argument of love
To your Maria, for whose sake you could
Affect one that but carried her small likeness.

Ha. No more, you are too charitable, but
I know my guilt, and will from henceforth never
Change words with that strange maid, whose innocent face
Like your Maria's won so late upon me:
My passions are corrected, and I can
Look on her now, and woman-kind, without
Love in a thought; 'tis thus, I came to tell you,
If after this acknowledgement, you'll be
So kind to shew me in what silent grave
You have dispos'd your daughter, I will ask
Forgiveness of all her dust, and never leave,
Till with a loud confession of my shame,
I wake her ghost, and that pronounce my pardon:
Will you deny this favour? then farewel,
I'll never see you more: ha!

Enter Nurse, Maria in her own apparel, after some shew of wonder, he goes towards her.

La. Be not deluded, Sir, upon my life
This is the soul whom you but thought Maria
In my daughters habit; what did you mean Nurse?
I knew she would but cozen you, is she not like now?
One dew unto another is not nearer.

Nu. She thinks she is a gentlewoman;
And that imagination has so taken her,
S[h]e scorns to speak, how handsomly she carries it,
As if she were a well bred thing, her body!
And I warrant you, what looks!

La. Pray be not foolish.

Ha. I disturb no body, speak but half a word
And I am satisfied, but what needs that?
I'll swear 'tis she.

La. But do not, I beseech you,
For trust me, Sir, you know not what I know.

Ha. Peace then,
And let me pray, she holds up her hands with me.

La. This will betray all.

Ha. Love ever honor'd,
And ever young, thou Soveraign of all hearts
Of all our sorrows, the sweet ease. [She weeps now.
Does she still cosin me?

Nur. You will see anon,
'Twas her desire, expect the issue, Madam.

Ha. My soul's so big, I cannot pray; 'tis she,
I will go nearer.

Enter Algripe, Lurcher, Boy.

Nur. Here's Mr. Algripe, and other strangers, Madam.

Al. Here good Lady,
Upon my knees I ask thy worships pardon;
Here's the whole summ I had with thy fair Daughter;
Would she were living, I might have her peace too,
And yield her up again to her old liberty:
I had a wife before, and could not marry;
My pennance shall be on that man that honor'd her,
To conferr some Land.

La. This is incredible.

Al 'Tis truth.

Lu. Do you know me, Sir?

Al. Ha, the Gentleman I deceiv'd.

Lur. My name is Lurcher.

Al. 'Shat have thy Mortgage.

Lu. I ha that already, no matter for the Deed
If you release it.

Al. I'll do't before thy witness;
But where's thy Sister? if she live I am happy, though
I conceal our contract, which was
Stolen from me with the Evidence of this Land.

The Boy goes to Maria, and gives her a paper; she wonders, and smiles upon Hartlove, he amaz'd, approaches her: afterward she shews it her mother, and then gives it to Hartlove.

Nur. Your daughter smiles.

Lur. I hope she lives, but where, I cannot tell, Sir.

Boy. Even here, and please you, Sir.

Al. How?

Boy. Nay, 'tis she;
To work thy fair way, I preserved you brother,
That would have lost me willingly, and serv'd ye
Thus like a boy; I served you faithfully,
And cast your plots [but] to preserve your credit;
Your foul ones I diverted to fair uses;
So far as you would hearken to my counsel;
That all the world may know how much you owe me.

Al. Welcome entirely, welcome my dear Alathe,
And when I lose thee agen, blessing forsake me:
Nay, let me kiss thee in these cloaths.

Lur. And I too,
And bless the time I had so wise a sister, wer't thou the little thief?

Boy. I stole the contract, I must confess,
And kept it to my self, it most concern'd me.

Ha. Co[n]tracted? this destroys his after marriage.

Ma. Dare you give this hand
To this young Gentleman? my heart goes with it.

Al. Maria alive! how my heart's exalted, 'tis my duty;
Take her Frank Hartlove, take her; and all joyes
With her; besides some Lands to advance her Joynture:

La. What I have is your own, and blessings crown ye.

Ha. Give me room,
And fresh air to consider, Gentlemen,
My hopes are too high.

Ma. Be more temperate,
Or I'll be Welsh again.

Al. A day of wonder.

Lur. Lady, your love, I ha kept my word; there was
A time, when my much suffering made me hate you,
And to that end I did my best to cross you:
And fearing you were dead, I stole your Coffin,
That you might never more usurp my Office:
Many more knacks I did, which at the Weddings
Shall be told of as harmless tales. [Shout within.

Enter Wildbrain.

Beaumont and Fletcher's Works, Vol. 07 of 10

About This Book

Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima.