Boy. Sir, I saw my Lady Constance smile as she went out: I am confident she's angry but from the teeth outwards: you might easily make fair weather with her, if you could get the money you promised her, but there's the devil—
Lov. Where is he, boy? shew me him quickly.
Boy. Marry, God bless us! I mean, sir, there's the difficulty.
Lov. Damned rogue, to put me in hope so—
Enter BIBBER at the other end.
Lov. Uds so, look where Bibber is: Now I think on't, he offered me a bag of forty pounds, and the lease of his house yesterday: But that's his pocky humour; when I have money, and do not ask him, he will offer it; but when I ask him, he will not lend a farthing.—Turn this way, sirrah, and make as though we did not see him.
Bib. Our gentleman, I think, a-talking with his boy there.
Lov. You understand me?—
Boy. I warrant you, sir.
Lov. No news yet; what an unlucky rascal 'tis! if the rogue should hereafter be reduced to the raiment of his own shreds, I should not pity him.
Bib. How's this!
Lov. Now is this rascal hunting after jests, to make himself the greatest to all that know him.
Bib. This must be me.
Boy. I can hear neither tale nor tidings of him: I have searched him in all his haunts; amongst his creditors; and in all companies where they are like to break the least jest. I have visited the coffee-houses for him; but among all the news there, I heard none of him.
Bib. Good, i' faith.
Lov. Where's the warrant? I'll put in my own name, since I cannot find him.
Boy. Sir, I gave it a scrivener at next door, because I could not write, to fill up the blank place with Mr Bibber's name.
Lov. What an unlucky vermin 'tis! now, for an hundred pound, could I have gratified him with a waiter's place at the custom-house, that had been worth to him an hundred pound a-year upon the nail.
Bib. Could you so, could you so, sir? give me your hand, and I thank you heartily, Mr Loveby.
Lov. Art thou honest Will? faith, 'tis not worth thy thanks, till it be done: I wish I had the money for thee.
Bib. How much is't, sir?
Lov. An hundred pounds would do it.
Bib. Let me see: forty, I have already by me; take that in part, sir;—and that, and the lease of my house, would over-do it.
Lov. By all means thy lease, Will: ne'er scruple at that; hang a piece of parchment, and two bits of soft wax! thou shalt do't, thou shalt, boy.
Bib. Why, then I will, sir:—But stay, stay: now I think on't, Frances has one hundred and twenty pieces of old grandam-and-aunt gold left her, that she would never let me touch: if we could get that, Mr Loveby! but she'll never part with it.
Lov. Tis but saying the place is for her; a waiting woman's place in the custom-house: Boy, go, and tell her on't immediately. [Exit Boy
Bib. Hold a little; she has been very desirous to get a place in court, that she might take place as the queen's servant.
Lov. She shall have a dresser's place, if thou'lt keep counsel. The worst on't is, I have never a warrant ready.
Bib. 'Tis all one for that, sir; she can neither write nor read; 'tis but my telling her 'tis a warrant, and all's well. I can't but laugh to think how she'll be choused.
Lov. And you too: [Aside.] Mum, she's here, Will.
Enter FRANCES.
Franc. A waiting-woman's place in the custom-house! there's news for me! thank you, kind Mr Loveby; you have been instrumental, I hear, of my preferment.
Lov. No, 'tis a dresser's place at court, landlady.
Franc. O gemini! that's better news.
Bib. Aye, but you must make haste and fetch an hundred pieces: I can assure you five hundred are bidden for it: And the courtiers are such slippery youths, they are ever for the fairest chapman.
Franc. I'll fetch it presently;—oh how my heart quops now, as they say: I'll fetch it presently: Sweet Mr Loveby, if the business can be done, it shall be a good thing in your worship's way, I promise you: O the father! that it could be done: O sweet father! [Loveby plucks out a paper.
Lov. Here, Mr Bibber, pray put in Madam Bibber's name into the warrant.
Bib. Madam Bibber! there's joy!—I must call you wife no more, 'tis Madam Bibber now.
Franc. Pray read it, Mr Bibber.
Bib. An order for the admission of the illustrious lady, Madam Bibber, into her majesty's service.
Franc. Pray give me the paper, I'll have nobody touch it but myself; I am sure my money pays for it, as they say. These are the finest words; Madam Bibber! pray, chicken, shew me where Madam is written, that I may kiss it all over. I shall make bold now to bear up to those flirting gentlewomen, that sweep it up and down with their long tails. I thought myself as good as they, when I was as I was; but now I am as I am.
Lov. Good landlady, dispatch, and bring the money—
Franc. Truly, in the place of a dresser, I dare be bold to say, as they say, I shall give their majesties worships good content: I'll go fetch it.
[Exit FRANCES.
Bib. We must keep the poor soul in ignorance as long as we can, sir; for when she has once smoked it, I have no other way but to retreat into the body of my janizaries, my journey-men; and never come out into her presence more. Where will you be at nine o'clock, sir, that we may rejoice over our good fortune?
Lov. Call me at my Lord Nonsuch's house, and I'll go with you.
Bib. We'll have the fiddles, and triumph, i'faith.
[Exit BIBBER.
Lov. Lord, how eager this vermin was to cheat himself! Well, I'll after; I long to finger these Jacobus's: Perhaps they may make my peace again with my mistress.
[_Exit _LOVEBY.
SCENE II.
Enter FAILER and NONSUCH. [CONSTANCE and ISABELLA listening.]
Fail. I vow to gad, my lord, Sir Timorous is the most dejected person in the world, and full of regret for what is past. 'Twas his misfortune to be drawn in by such a person as Madam Isabella.
Non. Tis well his estate pleads for him; he should ne'er set foot more within my doors else.
Fail. I'll be security for him for time to come: Leave it to me to get the licence: All I desire is, your daughter may be ready to-morrow morning.
Non. Well, let me alone with her.
[Exeunt FAILER and NONSUCH.
Isa. You heard the dreadful sound, to-morrow, cousin.
Const. I would not throw myself away upon this fool, if I could help it.
Isa. Better marry a tertian ague than a fool, that's certain; there's one good day and night in that.
Const. And yet thou art mad for him thyself.
Isa. Nay, the fool is a handsome fool, that's somewhat; but 'tis not that; 'tis a kind of fancy I have taken to a glass coach, and six Flanders mares; rich liveries, and a good fortune.
Const. Pr'ythee do not mind me of 'em; for though I want 'em not, yet I find all women are caught with gaieties: One grain more would turn the balance on his side; I am so vexed at the wild courses of this Loveby.
Isa. Vexed? why vexed? the worst you can say of him is, he loves women: And such make the kindest husbands, I'm told. If you had a sum of money to put out, you would not look so much whether the man were an honest man, (for the law would make him that) as if he were a good sufficient pay-master.
Enter SETSTONE.
Const. As I live, thou art a mad girl.
Set. She must be used as mad folks are then; had into the dark and cured.
Const. But all this is no comfort to the word, to-morrow.
Isa. Well, what say you, if I put you to-night into the arms of Loveby?
Const. My condition's desperate, and past thy physic.
Isa. When physic's past, what remains but to send for the divine? here's little Nicodemus, your father's chaplain: I have spoke with him already; for a brace of angels he shall make all sure betwixt you without a license; aye, and prove ten at night a more canonical hour than ten i'the morning.
Const. I see not which way thou can'st perform it; but if thou do'st, I have many admirations in store for thee. [Whispers.
Isa. Step in, and get a cushion underneath your apron.
Const. O, I must be with child, it seems!
Isa. And Loveby shall bring you to bed to-night, if the devil be not in the dice: away, make haste;—[Exit CONSTANCE.] Setstone, be not you far off: I shall have need of you too: I hear my uncle coming—Methinks I long to be revenged of this wicked elder, for hindering of my marriage to-day: Hark you, Setstone— [Whispers;
Set. Tis impossible, madam; 'twill never take.
Isa. I warrant you; do not I know him? he has not brains enough, if they were buttered, to feed a blackbird—Nay, no replies—out of what I have said, you may instruct my cousin too.
[Exit SETSTONE.
Enter NONSUCH.
Isa. Oh, are you there, sir? Faith, it was kindly done of you to hinder me of a good husband this afternoon: And but for one thing, I would resolve to leave your house.
Non. I'm glad there's any thing will stay thee.
Isa. If I stay, 'tis for love of my cousin Constance, not of you: I should be loth to leave her in this sad condition.
Non. What condition?
Isa. Nay, I know not; she has not worn her busk this fortnight. I think she's grown fat o'the sudden.
Non. O devil, devil! what a fright I'm in!
Isa. She has qualms too every morning: ravens mightily for green fruit; and swoons at the sight of hot meat.
Non. She's with child: I am undone! I am undone!
Isa. I understand nothing of such matters: She's but in the next room; best call her, and examine her about it.
Non. Why Constance, Constance!
Enter CONSTANCE, as with child.
Isa. Now for a broad-side; turn your prow to him, cousin.
[To her.
Non. Now, gentlewoman! is this possible?
Const. I do not reach your meaning, sir.
Non. Where have you been of late?
Const. I seldom stir without you, sir: These walls most commonly confine me.
Non. These walls can get no children; nor these hangings; though there be men wrought in 'em.
Isa. Yet, by your favour, nuncle, children may be wrought behind the hangings.
Non. O Constance, Constance! How have my grey hairs deserved this of thee? Who got that belly there?
Const. You, I hope, sir.
Non. Tell me the truth, for I will know it; come, the story.
Const. The story's quickly told, sir; I am with child.
Non. And who is the father?
Const. I do not know, sir.
Non. Not know! went there so many to't?
Const. So far from that, that there were none at all, to my best knowledge, sir.
Non. Was't got by miracle? Who was the father?
Const. Who got your money, sir, that you have lost?
Non. Nay, Heaven knows who got that.
Const. And, Heaven knows who got this: for, on my conscience, he, that had your money, was the father on't.
Non. The devil it was as soon.
Const. That's all I fear, sir.
Isa. 'Tis strange;—and yet 'twere hard, sir, to suspect my cousin's virtue, since we know the house is haunted.
Non. 'Tis true, that nothing can be laid, though under lock and key, but it miscarries.
Isa. 'Tis not to be believed, what these villainous spirits can do: they go invisible.
Const. First, they stole away my prayer-book; and, a little after that, a small treatise I had against temptation; and when they were gone, you know, sir—
Isa. If there be such doings, pray heaven we are not all with child. 'Tis certain, that none live within these walls, but they have power of: I have reared Toby, the coachman, any time this fortnight.
Non. Out, impudence! A man with child! why 'tis unnatural.
Isa. Ay, so is he that got it.
Non. Thou art not in earnest?
Isa. I would I were not:—Hark! I hear him groan hither. Come in, poor Toby.
Enter TOBY, the coachman, with an urinal.
Non. How now! what have you there, sirrah?
Tob. An't please your worship, 'tis my water. I had a spice o'the new disease here i'the house; and so carried it to master doctor.
Non. Well; and what did he say to you?
Tob. He told me very sad news, an' please you: I am somewhat bashful to speak on't.
Isa. Out with it, man.
Tob. Why, truly, he told me, the party that owned the water was with child.
Isa. I told you so, uncle.
Non. To my best remembrance, I never heard of such a thing before.
Tob. I never stretch out myself to snap my whip, but it goes to the heart of me.
Isa. Alas, poor Toby!
Non. Begone, and put off your livery, sirrah!—You shall not stay a minute in my service.
Tob. I beseech your good worship, be good to me; 'twas the first fault I ever committed in this kind. I have three poor children by my wife; and if you leave me to the wide world, with a new charge upon myself—
Non. Begone! I will not hear a word.
Tob. If I must go, I'll not go alone: Ambrose Tinis, the cook, is as bad as I am.
Non. I think you'll make me mad. Call the rascal hither! I must account with him on another score, now I think on't.
Enter AMBROSE TINIS.
Non. Sirrah, what made you send a pheasant with one wing to the table yesterday?
Amb. I beseech your worship to pardon me; I longed for't.
Isa. I feared as much.
Amb. And I beseech your worship let me have a boy, to help me in the kitchen; for I find myself unable to go through with the work. Besides, the doctor has warned me of stooping to the fire, for fear of a mischance.
Non. Why, are you with child, sirrah?
Amb. So he tells me; but, if I were put to my oath, I know not that ever I deserved for't.
Non. Still worse and worse. And here comes Setstone groaning.
Enter SETSTONE.
Set. O, sir! I have been so troubled with swooning fits; and have so longed for cherries!
Non. He's poopt too.
Isa. Well, this is not the worst yet: I suspect something more than I will speak of.
Non. What dost thou suspect, ha!
Isa. Is not your lordship with child, too?
Non. Who, I with child! marry, heaven forbid! What dost thou see by me, to ground it on?
Isa. You're very round of late;—that's all, sir.
Non. Round! that's only fat, I hope. I have had a very good stomach of late, I'm sure.
Isa. Alas, and well you may;—You eat for two, sir.
Non. Setstone, look upon me, and tell me true: Do you observe any alteration in me?
Set. I would not dishearten your ladyship—your lordship, I would say—but I have observed, of late, your colour goes and comes extremely. Methinks your lordship looks very sharp, and bleak i'the face, and mighty puffed i'the body.
Non. O, the devil! Wretched men, that we are all! Nothing grieves me, but that, in my old age, when others are past child-bearing, I should come to be a disgrace to my family.
Const. How do you, sir? Your eyes look wondrous dim. Is not there a mist before 'em?
Isa. Do you not feel a kicking in your belly—When do you look, uncle?
Non. Uh, uh!—Methinks, I am very sick o'the sudden.
Isa. What store of old shirts have you against the good time? Shall I give you a shift, uncle?
Non. Here's like to be a fine charge towards! We shall all be brought to-bed together! Well, if I be with devil, I will have such gossips: an usurer, and a scrivener, shall be godfathers.
Isa. I'll help you, uncle; and Sawney's two grannies shall be godmothers. The child shall be christened by the directory; and the gossips' gifts shall be the gude Scotch kivenant.
Const. Set. Non. Tob. Amb. Uh! uh! uh!
Isa. What rare music's here!
Non. Whene'er it comes from me, 'twill kill me; that's certain.
Set. Best take a vomit.
Isa. An't come upward, the horns will choke him.
Non. Mass! and so they will.
Isa. Your only way, is to make sure o'the man-midwife.
Non. But my child's dishonour troubles me the most. If I could but see her well married, before I underwent the labour and peril of child-bearing!—What would you advise, niece?
Isa. That which I am very loth to do. Send for honest Jack Loveby, and let him know the truth on't: He's a fellow without a fortune, and will be glad to leap at the occasion.
Non. But why Loveby, of all the world? 'Tis but staying 'till to-morrow, and then Sir Timorous will marry her.
Const. Uh!—I swell so fast, I cannot hide it 'till to-morrow.
Isa. Why, there's it now!
Non. I'll send for the old alderman, Getwell, immediately: He'll father the devil's bastard, I warrant you.
Isa. Fie, uncle! my cousin's somewhat too good yet for an alderman. If it were her third child, she might hearken to you.
Non. Well, since it must be so, Setstone, go you to Loveby; make my excuse to him for the arrest, and let him know, what fortune may attend him.
Isa. Mr Setstone, pray acquaint him with my cousin's affection to him; and prepare him to father the cushion underneath her petticoat.
[Aside to SETSTONE. Exit.]
Set. I'll bring him immediately.
Isa. When he comes, uncle, pray cover your great belly with your hat, that he may not see it.
Non. It goes against my heart to marry her to this Loveby; but, what must be, must be.
Enter LOVEBY.
Const. O, Mr Loveby! The welcomest man alive! You met Setstone, I hope, that you came so opportunely?
Lov. No, faith, madam; I came of my own accord.
Isa. 'Tis unlucky; he's not prepared.
Lov. Look you, madam, I have brought the hundred pounds; the devil was as punctual as three o' clock at a playhouse. Here; 'tis right, I warrant it, without telling: I took it upon his word.
[Gives it.
Const. Your kindness shall be requited, servant: But I sent for you upon another business. Pray, cousin, tell it him, for I am ashamed to do't.
Lov. Ha! 'tis not that great belly, I hope. Is't come to that?
Isa. Hark you, Mr Loveby; a word with you.
Lov. A word with you, madam: Whither is your cousin bound?
Isa. Bound, sir?
Lov. Ay, bound: Look you, she's under sail, with a lusty fore-wind.
Non. I sent for you, sir; but, to be plain with you, 'twas more out of necessity than love.
Lov. I wonder, my lord, at your invincible ill-nature. You forget the arrest, that I passed by: But this it is to be civil to unthankful persons; 'tis feeding an ill-natured dog, that snarls while he takes victuals from your hand.
Non. All friends! all friends! No ripping up old stories; you shall have my daughter.
Lov. Faith, I see your lordship would let lodgings ready furnished; but I am for an empty tenement.
Non. I had almost forgot my own great belly. If he should discover that too! [Claps his hat before it.
Isa. [To Lov.] You will not hear me, sir. 'Tis all roguery, as I live.
Lov. Flat roguery, I'll swear! If I had been father on't, nay, if I had but laid my breeches upon the bed, I would have married her: But I see we are not ordained for one another.
[Is going.
Non. I beseech you, sir.
Lov. Pray cover, my lord.
Isa. He does his great belly, methinks.
Non. I'll make it up in money to you.
Lov. That cannot tempt me. I have a friend, that shall be nameless, that will not see me want; and so, your servant.
[Exit LOVEBY.
Isa. I'll after, and bring him back.
Non. You shall not stir after him;—Does he scorn my daughter?
Isa. Lord, how fretful you are! This breeding makes you so peevish, uncle.
Non. 'Tis no matter, she shall straight be married to Sir Timorous.
Const. I am ruined, cousin.
[Aside.
Isa. I warrant you.—My lord, I wish her well married to Sir Timorous; but Loveby will certainly infect him with the news of her great belly.
Non. I'll dispatch it, ere he can speak with him.
Isa. Whene'er he comes, he'll see what a bona roba she is grown.
Non. Therefore, it shall be done i'the evening.
Isa. It shall, my lord.
Const. Shall it?
[Aside.
Isa. Let me alone, cousin.—And to this effect she shall write to him, that, to conform to your will, and his modesty, she desires him to come hither alone this evening.
Non. Excellent wench!—I'll get my chaplain ready.
[Exit NONSUCH.
Const. How can you hope to deceive my father?
Isa. If I don't, I have hard luck.
Const. You go so strange a way about, your bowl must be well bias'd to come in.
Isa. So plain a ground, there's not the least rub in't. I'll meet Sir Timorous in the dark; and, in your room, marry him.
Const. You'll be sure to provide for one.
Isa. You mistake me, cousin:—Oh! here's Setstone again.
Enter SETSTONE.
Mr Jeweller, you must again into your devil's shape, and speak with
Loveby. But pray be careful not to be discovered.
Set. I warrant you, madam. I have cozened wiser men than he in my own shape; and, if I cannot continue it in a worse, let the devil, I make bold with, e'en make as bold with me.
Isa. You must guide him, by back ways, to my uncle's house, and so to my cousin's chamber, that he may not know where he is when he comes there. The rest I'll tell you as we go along.
[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Enter TIMOROUS; after him BURR and FAILER.
Tim. Here, here, read this note; there's news for us.
Fail. Let me see't. [Reads.
Sir Timorous, Be at the garden-door at nine this evening; there I'll receive you with my daughter. To gratify your modesty I designed this way, after I had better considered on it: and pray leave your caterpillars, Burr and Failer, behind you. Yours, Nonsuch.
There is some trick in this, whate'er it be. But this word, caterpillars—You see, Burr, Sir Timorous is like to be lured from us. [Aside.
Burr. Is there no prevention? [Aside.
Fail. One way there is.—Sir Timorous, pray walk a turn, while Burr and I confer a little upon this matter.—Look you, Burr, there is but one remedy in nature, I vow to gad; that is, for you to have a new Sir Timorous, exceeding this person in bounty to you. Observe, then; in Sir Timorous' place will I go, and, egad, I'll marry my lady Constance; and then, from the bowels of friendship, bless thee with a thousand pounds, besides lodging and diet for thy life, boy.
Burr. Umph, very well thought on.—No, sir! you shall trust to my bounty; I'll go in his place. Murmur or repine, speak the least word, or give thy lips the least motion, and I'll beat thee till thou art not in condition to go.
Fail. I vow to gad, this is extreme injustice.—Was it not my invention?
Burr. Why, dost thou think thou art worthy to make use of thy own invention?—Speak another word, d'ye see!—Come, help me quickly to strip Sir Timorous; his coat may conduce to the deceit.—Sir Timorous, by your leave. [Fatts on him.
Tim. O, Lord! what's the matter?—Murder? murder!
Burr. D'ye open? I have something in my pocket that will serve for a gag, now I think on't.
[Gags, and binds him.
So, lie there, knight. Come, sir, and help to make me Sir Timorous; and, when I am married, remember to increase your manners with my fortune.—Yet we'll always drink together. [Exeunt.
ACT V. SCENE I.
Enter CONSTANCE, ISABELLA, and NONSUCH.
Const. This is just the knight's hour; and lovers seldom come after their time.
Non. Good night, daughter; I'll to bed, and give you joy to-morrow morning. [Exit.
Isa. I'm glad he's gone: What, your train takes?
Const. Yes, yes; Loveby will come: Setstone has been with him in disguise; and promised him golden mountains, if he will not be wanting to his own fortune.
Isa. Is your habit provided too?
Const. All is ready.
Isa. Away then; for this is the place where we must part like knights errant, that take several paths to their adventures.
Const. 'Tis time, for I hear somebody come along the alley; without question 'tis Timorous. Farewell; the chaplain stays for me in the chamber.
Isa. And I'll post after you to matrimony; I have laid a fresh parson at the next stage, that shall carry me tantivy.
[Exit CONSTANCE.
Enter BURR with TIMOROUS'S coat on.
Burr. My lady Constance!
Isa. The same: Sir Timorous?
Burr. The same.
Isa. Sir Timorous takes me for my cousin.
[Aside.
Burr. My lady Constance mistakes me for the knight.
[Aside.
Isa. Here, sir; through the dark walk: 'tis but a little way about—He's my own beyond redemption—
[Aside.
Burr. The Indies are mine; and a handsome lady into the bargain.
[Excunt.
Enter FAILER, dogging them, as they go off.
Fail. He shall be hanged, ere he shall get her. Thus far I have dogged them, and this way I am sure they must pass, ere they come to the house. The rogue had got the old dog-trick of a statesman; to fish things out of wiser heads than his own, and never so much as to take notice of him that gave the counsel—
Enter ISABELLA and BURR again.
Now, if I can but give her the hint without his knowledge!—Madam—my lady Constance!
Isa. What voice is that?
Fail. A word in private, or you are undone—Pray step aside.
Burr. Where are you, madam?
Isa. Immediately, Sir Timorous.
Fail. You are mistaken, madam; 'tis not Sir Timorous, but Burr in his clothes; he has stripped the knight, gagged him, and locked him up.
Isa. Failer?
Fail. The same. I could not but prevent your unhappiness, though I hazard my person in the discovery, I vow to gad, madam.
Burr. Who's that talks to you, my lady Constance?
Isa. A maid of my acquaintance, that's come to take her leave of me before I marry; the poor soul does so pity me.
Burr. How will that maid lie, thinking of you and me to-night!
Isa. Has he the key about him? [To FAILER.
Fail. I think so, madam.
Isa. Could not you possibly pick his pocket, and give me the key? then let me alone to release Sir Timorous; and you shall be witness of the wedding.
Fail. Egad, you want your cousin Isabella's wit to bring that to pass, madam.
Isa. I warrant you, my own wit will serve to fool Burr—and you too, or I am much deceived. [Aside.
Fail. I am a little apprehensive of the rascal's fingers, since I felt them last; and yet my fear has not power to resist the sweet temptation of revenge; I vow to gad I'll try, madam.
Isa. Never fear; let me alone to keep him busy.
Burr. Come, madam, and let me take off these tasteless kisses the maid gave you; may we not join lips before we are married?
Isa. No; fie, Sir Timorous.
[They struggle a little, and in that time FAILER picks his pocket of the key.
Fail. I have it—here it is—now, shift for yourself, as I'll do; I'll wait you in the alley.
[Exit.
Isa. Sir Timorous, pray go into my chamber, and make no noise till I return; I'll but fetch the little man of God, and follow you in a twinkling.
Burr. There's no light, I hope?
Isa. Not a spark.
Burr. For to light me to the mark—
[Exit.
Isa. What a scowering have I 'scaped to-night! Fortune, 'tis thou hast been ingenious for me! Allons, Isabella! Courage! now to deliver my knight from the enchanted castle.
[Exit.
Enter LOVEBY, led by SETSTONE, antickly habited; with a torch in one hand, and a wand in the other.
Lov. What art thou, that hast led me this long hour through lanes and alleys, and blind passages?
Set. I am thy genius; and conduct thee to wealth, fame, and honour; what thou comest to do, do boldly; fear not; with this rod I charm thee; and neither elf nor goblin now can harm thee.
Lov. Well, march on; if thou art my genius, thou art bound to be answerable for me; I'll have thee hanged, if I miscarry.
Set. Fear not, my son.
Lov. Fear not, quotha! then, pr'ythee, put on a more familiar shape:—one of us two stinks extremely: Pr'ythee, do not come so near me; I do not love to have my face bleached like a tiffany with thy brimstone.
Set. Fear not, but follow me.
Lov. 'Faith, I have no great mind to't; I am somewhat godly at present; but stay a month longer, and I'll be proud, and fitter for thee. In the mean time, pr'ythee, stay thy stomach with some Dutchman; an Hollander, with butter, will fry rarely in hell.
Set. Mortal, 'tis now too late for a retreat; go on, and live; step back, and thou art mine.
Lorn. So I am, however, first or last; but for once I'll trust thee. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
_The scene opens, and discovers CONSTANCE, and a Parson by her; she habited like Fortune.
Enter again_.
Set. Take here the mighty queen of good and ill, Fortune; first marry, then enjoy thy fill Of lawful pleasures; but depart ere morn; Slip from her bed, or else thou shalt be torn Piecemeal by fiends; thy blood caroused in bowls, And thy four quarters blown to the top of Paul's.
Lov. By your favour, I'll never venture. Is marrying the business? I'll none, I thank you.
[Here CONSTANCE whispers SETSTONE.
Set. Fortune will turn her back if twice denied.
Lav. Why, she may turn her girdle too on t'other side[A]. This is the devil; I will not venture on her.
[Footnote A: A usual expression of indifference for a man's displeasure.]
Set. Fear not; she swears thou shalt receive no harm.
Lov. Ay, if a man durst trust her; but the devil is got into such an ill name of lying—
Set. Whene'er you are not pleased, it shall be lawful to sue out your divorce.
Lov. Ay, but where shall I get a lawyer? there you are aforehand with me; you have retained most of them already. For the favours I have received, I am very much her servant; but, in the way of matrimony, Mr Parson there can tell you 'tis an ordinance, and must not be entered into without mature deliberation; besides, marriages, you know, are made in heaven; and that I am sure this was not.
Set. She bids you then, at least, restore that gold, which she, too lavishly, poured out on you, unthankful man.
Lov. Faith, I have it not at present; 'tis all gone, as I am a sinner; but, 'tis gone wickedly; all spent in the devil her father's service.
Set. Where is the grateful sense of all your favours? Come, fiends, with flesh-hooks, tear the wretch in pieces, And bear his soul upon your leather wings, Below the fountain of the dark abyss.
Lov. What, are you a-conjuring? If you are good at that sport, I can conjure as well as you—[Draws his sword.
Const. Hold; for Heaven's sake, hold! I am no spirit; touch but my hand; ghosts have no flesh and blood. [Discovering.
Lov. My lady Constance! I began to suspect it might be a trick, but never could imagine you the author. It seems you are desirous I should father this hans en kelder here?
Const. I know not how, without a blush, to tell you, it was a cheat I practised for your love.
Set. A mere tympany, sir, raised by a cushion; you see 'tis gone already.
Const. Setstone was sent to have acquainted you; but, by the way, unfortunately missed you.
Lev. Twas you, then, that supplied me all this while with money? pretty familiar, I hope to make thee amends ere I sleep to-night. Come, parson, pr'ythee make haste and join us. I long to be out of her debt, poor rogue.
[The parson takes them to the side of the stage; they turn their backs to the audience, while he mumbles to them.
Set. I'll be the clerk; Amen—give you joy, Mr Bridegroom, and Mrs Bride.
Lov. Const. Thanks, honest Setstone.
[BIBBER, FRANCES, and music without—they play.
Music. God give your worship a good even, Mr Loveby.
Const. Hark! what noise is that! Is this music of your providing, Setstone?
Set. Alas, madam, I know nothing of it.
Lov. We are betrayed to your father; but the best on't is, he comes too late to hinder us—fear not, madam, I'll bear you through them all.
[As they rush out, BIBBER, FRANCES, and Music are entering in; BIBBER and FRANCES are beaten down.—Exeunt LOVEBY; CONSTANCE, SETSTONE, and Parson.
All cry out. Oh the devil! the devil! the devil!
Bib. Lord bless us, where are you, Frances!
Fran. Here, William! this is a judgment, as they say, upon you, William, for trusting wits, and calling gentlemen to the tavern, William.
Bib. No; 'twas a judgment upon you, for desiring preferment at court, Frances. Let's call up the watch, and Justice Trice, to have the house searched.
Fran. Ay, ay; there's more devils there, I warrant you. [Exeunt.
Enter LOVEBY, CONSTANCE, and SETSTONE again.
Lov. It was certainly Will Bibber and his wife, with music; for, now I remember myself, I 'pointed him this hour at your father's house: but we frighted them worse than they frighted us.
Const. Our parson ran away too, when they cried out the devil!
Lov. He was the wiser; for if the devil had come indeed, he has preached so long against him, it would have gone hard with him.
Set. Indeed, I have always observed parsons to be more fearful of the devil than other people.
Lov. Oh, the devil's the spirit, and the parson's the flesh; and betwixt those two there must be a war; yet, to do them both right, I think in my conscience they quarrel only like lawyers for their fees, and meet good friends in private, to laugh at their clients.
Const. I saw him run in at my cousin Isabella's chamber door, which was wide open; I believe she's returned: We'll fetch a light from the gallery, and give her joy.
Lov. Why, is she married, madam?
Const. I'll tell you as we go. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
BURR and the Parson enter, meeting in the dark.
Burr. My lady Constance, are you come again? That's well; I have waited sufficiently for you in the dark.
Par. Help, help, help, good Christian people! the devil, the devil's here.
Burr. 'Tis I, madam; what do you mean?
Par. Avoid, Satan! avoid, avoid.
Burr. What have I here, the hairy woman?
Enter LOVEBY, and CONSTANCE with the light.
Ha! yonder's my lady Constance! who have I got? a stone priest, by this good light. How's this, Loveby too!
Lov. Burr a-beating my reverend clergy? What makes you here at this unseasonable hour? I'll know your business. [Draws.
Burr. Will you, sir? [They fight.
Const. Set. Par. Help, murder, murder!
Enter, at one door, TRICE drunk, with the Watch; BIBBER and FRANCES following; at the other, NONSUCH and Servants, and FAILER.
Non. Murder, murder! beat down their weapons. Will you murder Sir Timorous, Mr Loveby?—[They disarm both.] Sir Timorous?—ha, Burr! Thieves, thieves!—sit down, good Mr Justice, and take their examinations. Now I shall know how my money went.
Trice. They shall have justice, I warrant them. [Goes to sit, and misses the chair.
Bib. The justice is almost dead drunk, my lord.
Fran. But an't please your worship, my lord, this is not the worst sight that we have seen here to-night in your worship's house; we met three or four hugeous ugly devils, with eyes like saucers, that threw down my husband, that threw down me, that made my heart so panck ever since, as they say!—
Non. The devil again in my house?
Lov. Nay, here he was, that's certain; he brought me hither, I know not how myself, and married me; Mr Setstone there can justify it: But the best is, I have a charm about me, that will lay him yet ere midnight.
Fail. And I vow to gad, my lord, I know as little how I came hither as any man.
Burr. Nor I.
Trice. Nor I.
Lot. No, I dare swear do'st thou not, Mr Justice.
Trice. But I wonder how the devil durst come into our ward, when he knows I have been at the duties of—my family—this evening.
Enter one of the Watch, with TIMOROUS and ISABELLA.
Watch. An please your worship, I met this couple in the street late, and so, seeing them to be a man and woman, I brought them along with me, upon suspicion of felony together.
Fran. This is the proud minx, that sought shelter in my house this afternoon, Mr Justice.
Fail. Sir Timorous and Madam Isabella! I vow to gad, we are undone, Burr.—
Isa. Do not you know me, Mr Justice?
Lov. Justice is blind, he knows nobody.
Isa. My name is Isabella.
Fran. No, thy name is Jezebella; I warrant you, there's none but rogues and papists would be abroad at this time of night.
Bib. Hold, Frances.—
Trice. She's drunk, I warrant her, as any beast. I wonder, woman, you do not consider what a crying sin drunkenness is: Whom do you learn it from in our parish? I am sure you never see me worse.
Isa. Burr and Failer, acknowledge yourselves a couple of recreant knights: Sir Timorous is mine: I have won him in fair field from you.
Const. Give you joy, cousin, give you joy!
Lov. Married!
Isa. And in Diana's grove, boy.
Lov. Why, 'tis fine, by Heaven; 'tis wondrous fine; as the poet goes on sweetly.
Tim. I am sure they had gagged me, and bound me, and stripped me almost stark naked, and locked me up as fast as a butterfly, 'till she came and made me a man again; and therefore I have reason to love her the longest day I have to live.
Isa. Ay, and the longest night too, or you are to blame. And you have one argument I love you, if the proverb be true, for I took you almost in your bare shirt.
Burr. So much for us, Failer!
Const. Well, my lord, it had as good out at first as at last: I must beg your lordship's blessing for this gentleman and myself. [Both kneel.
Non. Why, you are not married to him, I hope! he's married to the devil.
Lov. 'Twas a white devil of your lordship's getting, then; Mr Setstone and the reverend here can witness it.
Set. Par. We must speak truth, my lord.
Non. Would I had another child for your sake! you should ne'er see a penny of my money.
Lov. Thank you, my lord; but methinks 'tis much better as it is.
Isa. Come, nuncle, 'tis in vain to hold out, now 'tis past remedy: 'Tis like the last act of a play, when people must marry; and if fathers will not consent then, they should throw oranges at them from the galleries. Why should you stand off, to keep us from a dance?
Non. But there's one thing still that troubles me; that's her great belly, and my own too.
Const. Nay, for mine, my lord, 'tis vanished already; 'twas but a trick to catch the old one.
Lov. But I'll do my best; she shall not be long without another.
Isa. But as for your great belly, nuncle, I know no way to rid you on't, but by taking out your guts.
Lov. 'Tis such a pretty smart rascal, 'tis well I am pleased with my own choice: but I could have got such Hectors, and poets, and gamesters, out of thee!—
Const. No, no; two wits could never have lived well together; want would have so sharpened you upon one another.
Isa. A wit should naturally be joined to a fortune; by the same reason your vintners feed their hungry wines.
Const. And if Sir Timorous and I had married, we two fortunes must have built hospitals with our money; we could never have spent it else.
Lov. Or what think you of paying courtiers' debts with it?
Isa. Well, to shew I am in charity with my enemies, I'll make a motion: While we are in town, let us hire a large house, and live together: Burr and Failer—
Fail. Shall be utterly discarded; I knew 'twould come to that, I vow to gad.
Isa. Shall be our guests.
[BURR and FAILER throw up their caps, and cry, Vive Madam ISABELLA!
Lov. And Bibber shall make our wedding clothes without trusting.
Bib. No, henceforward I'll trust none but landed men, and such as have houses and apple-trees in the country, now I have got a place in the custom-house.
Fran. Nothing vexes me, but that this flirting gentlewoman should go before me; but I'll to the herald's office, and see whether the queen's majesty's dresser, should not take place of any knight's wife in Christendom.
Bib. Now all will out—no more, good Frances.
Fran. I will speak, that I will, so I will: What! shall I be a dresser to the queen's majesty, and nobody must know on't? I'll send Mr Church-warden word on't; and, gentlemen, when you come to St Bride's church (if ever you come to church, gentlemen), you shall see me in the pew that's next the pulpit; thank Mr Loveby's worship for it.
Lov. Spare your thanks, good landlady; for the truth is, they came too late, the place is gone; and so is yours, Will; but you shall have two hundred pounds for one, if that will satisfy you.
Fran. This is bitter news, as they say.
Lov. Cheer up thy wife, Will. Where are the fiddles? A dance should do it.
Bib. I'll run and call them.
Isa. I have found out that, will comfort her: Henceforward I christen her by the name of Madam Bibber.
All. A Madam Bibber, a Madam Bibber!
Fran. Why, I thank you, sweet gentlemen and ladies; this is a cordial to my drooping spirits: I confess I was a little eclipsed; but I'll cheer up with abundance of love, as they say. Strike up, fiddles.
Lov. That's a good wench.
DANCE.
Trice. This music and a little nod has recovered me. I'll in, and provide for the sack posset.
Non. To bed, to bed; 'tis late. Son Loveby, get me a boy to-night, and I'll settle three thousand a-year upon him the first day he calls me grandsire.
Lov. I'll do my best, To make the bargain sure before I sleep. Where love and money strike, the blow goes deep.
[Exeunt omnes.
EPILOGUE,
WHEN IT WAS FIRST ACTED.
The Wild Gallant has quite played out his game;
He's married now, and that will make him tame;
Or if you think marriage will not reclaim him,
The critics swear they'll damn him, but they'll tame him.
Yet, though our poet's threatened most by these,
They are the only people he can please:
For he, to humour them, has shown to-day,
That which they only like, a wretched play:
But though his play be ill, here have been shown
The greatest wits, and beauties of the town;
And his occasion having brought you here,
You are too grateful to become severe.
There is not any person here so mean,
But he may freely judge each act and scene:
But if you bid him chuse his judges, then,
He boldly names true English gentlemen:
For he ne'er thought a handsome garb or dress
So great a crime, to make their judgment less:
And with these gallants he these ladies joins,
To judge that language, their converse refines.
But if their censures should condemn his play,
Far from disputing, he does only pray
He may Leander's destiny obtain:
Now spare him, drown him when he comes again.
EPILOGUE,
WHEN REVIVED.
Of all dramatic writing, comic wit,
As 'tis the best, so 'tis most, hard to hit.
For it lies all in level to the eye,
Where all may judge, and each defect may spy.
Humour is that, which every day we meet,
And therefore known as every public street;
In which, if e'er the poet go astray,
You all can point, 'twas there he lost his way.
But, what's so common, to make pleasant too,
Is more than any wit can always do.
For 'tis like Turks, with hen and rice to treat;
To make regalios out of common meat.
But, in your diet, you grow savages:
Nothing but human flesh your taste can please;
And, as their feasts with slaughtered slaves began,
So you, at each new play, must have a man.
Hither you come, as to see prizes fought;
If no blood's drawn, you cry, the prize is naught.
But fools grow wary now; and, when they see
A poet eyeing round the company,
Straight each-man for himself begins to doubt;
They shrink like seamen when a press comes out.
Few of them will be found for public use,
Except you charge an oaf upon each house,
Like the train bands, and every man engage
For a sufficient fool, to serve the stage.
And when, with much ado, you get him there,
Where he in all his glory should appear,
Your poets make him such rare things to say,
That he's more wit than any man i' th' play:
But of so ill a mingle with the rest,
As when a parrot's taught to break a jest.
Thus, aiming to be fine, they make a show,
As tawdry squires in country churches do.
Things well considered, 'tis so hard to make
A comedy, which should the knowing take,
That our dull poet, in despair to please,
Does humbly beg, by me, his writ of ease.
'Tis a land-tax, which he's too poor to pay;
You therefore must some other impost lay.
Would you but change, for serious plot and verse,
This motely garniture of fool and farce,
Nor scorn a mode, because 'tis taught at home,
Which does, like vests, our gravity become,
Our poet yields you should this play refuse:
As tradesmen, by the change of fashions, lose,
With some content, their fripperies of France,
In hope it may their staple trade advance.