A TRICK
TO CATCH THE OLD ONE.
A Tricke to Catch the Old-one. As it hath beene often in Action, both at Paules, and the Black-Fryers. Presented before his Maiestie on New-yeares night last. Composde by T. M. At London Printed by G: E. and are to be sold by Henry Rockytt, at the long shop in the Poultrie vnder the Dyall. 1608. 4to. Second ed., 1616. 4to.
This drama (which Langbaine not undeservedly calls “excellent”) is reprinted in the 5th vol. of A Continuation of Dodsley’s Old Plays, 1816.
A Trick to catch the Old One was licensed by Sir George Bucke, 7th Oct. 1607: see Chalmers’s Suppl. Apol. p. 201.
- Witgood.
- Lucre, his uncle.
- Hoard.
- Onesiphorus Hoard, his brother.
- Limber,
Kix,[1]
Lamprey,
Spichcock,friends of Hoard. - Dampit.
- Gulf.
- Freedom, son to Mistress Lucre.
- Moneylove.
- Host.
- Sir Launcelot.
- Creditors.
- Gentlemen.
- George.
- Drawer.
- Boy.
- Scrivener.
- Servants, &c.
- Courtesan.
- Mistress Lucre.
- Joyce, niece to Hoard.
- Lady Foxstone.
- Audrey, servant to Dampit.
ACT I. SCENE I.
Wit. All’s gone! still thou’rt a gentleman, that’s all; but a poor one, that’s nothing. What milk bring[2] thy meadows forth now? where are thy goodly uplands, and thy down lands? all sunk into that little pit, lechery. Why should a gallant pay but two shillings for his ordinary[3] that nourishes him, and twenty times two for his brothel[4] that consumes him? But where’s Long-acre?[5] in my uncle’s conscience, which is three years’ voyage about: he that sets out upon his conscience ne’er finds the way home again; he is either swallowed in the quicksands of law-quillets, or splits upon the piles of a præmunire; yet these old fox-brained and ox-browed uncles have still defences for their avarice, and apologies for their practices, and will thus greet our follies:
and that’s his uncle; ’tis a principle in usury. I dare not visit the city: there I should be too soon visited by that horrible plague, my debts; and by that means I lose a virgin’s love, her portion, and her virtues. Well, how should a man live now that has no living? hum,—why, are there not a million of men in the world that only sojourn upon their brain, and make their wits their mercers; and am I but one amongst that million, and cannot thrive upon’t? Any trick out of the compass of law[6] now would come happily to me.
Cour. My love!
Wit. My loathing! hast thou been the secret consumption of my purse, and now comest to undo my last means, my wits? wilt leave no virtue in me, and yet thou ne’er the better?
Cour. I know I am your loathing now; farewell.
Wit. Stay, best invention, stay.
Cour. I that have been the secret consumption of your purse, shall I stay now to undo your last means, your wits? hence, courtesan, away!
Wit. I prithee, make me not mad at my own weapon: stay (a thing few women can do, I know that, and therefore they had need wear stays), be not contrary: dost love me? Fate[9] has so cast it that all my means I must derive from thee.
Wit. So, so, so: thou shalt presently take the name and form upon thee of a rich country widow, four hundred a-year valiant,[11] in woods, in bullocks, in barns, and in rye-stacks; we’ll to London, and to my covetous uncle.
Cour. I begin to applaud thee; our states being both desperate, they are soon resolute: but how for horses?
Wit. Mass, that’s true; the jest will be of some continuance. Let me see; horses now, a bots on ’em! Stay, I have acquaintance with a mad host, never yet bawd to thee; I have rinsed the whoreson’s gums in mull-sack many a time and often: put but a good tale into his ear now, so it come off cleanly, and there’s horse and man for us, I dare warrant thee.
Wit. Why, then, all’s furnished.[12] I shall go nigh to catch that old fox mine uncle: though he make but some amends for my undoing, yet there’s some comfort in’t, he cannot otherwise choose (though it be but in hope to cozen me again) but supply any hasty want that I bring to town with me. The device well and cunningly carried, the name of a rich widow, and four hundred a-year in good earth, will so conjure up a kind of usurer’s love in him to me, that he will not only desire my presence,—which at first shall scarce be granted him, I’ll keep off a’ purpose,—but I shall find him so officious to deserve, so ready to supply! I know the state of an old man’s affection so well: if his nephew be poor indeed, why, he lets God alone with him; but if he be once rich, then he’ll be the first man that helps him.
Cour. ’Tis right the world; for, in these days, an old man’s love to his kindred is like his kindness to his wife, ’tis always done before he comes at it.
Wit. I owe thee for that jest. Begone: here’s all my wealth; prepare thyself, away. I’ll to mine host with all possible haste; and with the best art, and most profitable form, pour the sweet circumstance into his ear, which shall have the gift to turn all the wax to honey. [Exit Courtesan.]—How no[w]? O, the right worshipful seniors of our country!
Ones. H. Who’s that?
Lim. O, the common rioter; take no note of him.
Lim. What was the quarrel, sir?
Ones. H. Faith, about a purchase, fetching over a young heir. Master Hoard, my brother, having wasted much time in beating the bargain, what did me old Lucre, but as his conscience moved him, knowing the poor gentleman, stept in between ’em, and cozened him himself.
Lim. And was this all, sir?
Ones. H. This was e’en it, sir; yet, for all this, I know no reason but the match might go forward betwixt his wife’s son and my niece: what though there be a dissension between the two old men, I see no reason it should put a difference between the two younger; ’tis as natural for old folks to fall out, as for young to fall in. A scholar comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he’s wise, but he’s poor: her son comes a-wooing to my niece; well, he’s a fool, but he’s rich.
Lim. Ay, marry, sir.
Ones. H. Pray, now, is not a rich fool better than a poor philosopher?
Lim. One would think so, i’faith.
Ones. H. She now remains at London with my brother, her second uncle, to learn fashions, practise music; the voice between her lips, and the viol[15] between her legs, she’ll be fit for a consort very speedily: a thousand good pound is her portion; if she marry, we’ll ride up and be merry.
Kix. A match, if it be a match. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Wit. Mine host!
Host. Young master Witgood!
Wit. I have been laying[16] all the town for thee.
Host. Why, what’s the news, bully Had-land?
Wit. What geldings are in the house, of thine own? answer me to that first.
Host. Why, man, why?
Wit. Mark me what I say: I’ll tell thee such a tale in thine ear, that thou shalt trust me spite of thy teeth, furnish me with some money wille nille, and ride up with me thyself contra voluntatem et professionem.
Host. How? let me see this trick, and I’ll say thou hast more art than a conjurer.
Wit. Dost thou joy in my advancement?
Host. Do I love sack and ginger?
Wit. Comes my prosperity desiredly to thee?
Host. Come forfeitures to a usurer, fees to an officer, punks to an host, and pigs to a parson desiredly? why, then, la.
Wit. Will the report of a widow of four hundred a-year, boy, make thee leap, and sing, and dance, and come to thy place again?
Host. Wilt thou command me now? I am thy spirit; conjure me into any shape.
Wit. I ha’ brought her from her friends, turned back the horses by a slight;[17] not so much as one among her six men, goodly large yeomanly fellows, will she trust with this her purpose: by this light, all unmanned, regardless of her state, neglectful of vain-glorious ceremony, all for my love. O, ’tis a fine little voluble tongue, mine host, that wins a widow!
Host. No, ’tis a tongue with a great T, my boy, that wins a widow.
Wit. Now, sir, the case stands thus: good mine host, if thou lovest my happiness, assist me.
Host. Command all my beasts i’ th’ house.
Wit. Nay, that’s not all neither: prithee, take truce with thy joy, and listen to me. Thou knowest I have a wealthy uncle i’ th’ city, somewhat the wealthier by my follies: the report of this fortune, well and cunningly carried, might be a means to draw some goodness from the usuring rascal; for I have put her in hope already of some estate that I have either in land or money: now, if I be found true in neither, what may I expect but a sudden breach of our love, utter dissolution of the match, and confusion of my fortunes for ever?
Host. Wilt thou but trust the managing of thy business with me?
Wit. With thee? why, will I desire to thrive in my purpose? will I hug four hundred a-year, I that know the misery of nothing? Will that man wish a rich widow, that has ne’er a hole to put his head in? With thee, mine host? why, believe it, sooner with thee than with a covey of counsellors.
Host. Thank you for your good report, i’faith, sir; and if I stand you not in stead, why then let an host come off hic et hæc hostis, a deadly enemy to dice, drink, and venery. Come, where’s this widow?
Wit. Hard at Park-end.
Host. I’ll be her serving-man for once.
Wit. Why, there we let off together: keep full time; my thoughts were striking then just the same number.
Host. I knew’t: shall we then see our merry days again?
SCENE III.
Enter[19] Lucre and Hoard quarrelling; Lamprey, Spichcock, Freedom, and Moneylove, coming between to pacify them.
Lam. Nay, good master Lucre, and you, master Hoard, anger is the wind which you’re both too much troubled withal.
Hoa. Shall my adversary thus daily affront[20] me, ripping up the old wound of our malice, which three summers could not close up? into which wound the very sight of him drops scalding lead instead of balsamum.
Luc. Why, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard, Hoard! may I not pass in the state of quietness to mine own house? answer me to that, before witness, and why? I’ll refer the cause to honest, even-minded gentlemen, or require the mere indifferences of the law to decide this matter. I got the purchase, true: was’t not any man’s case? yes: will a wise man stand as a bawd, whilst another wipes his nose[21] of the bargain? no; I answer no in that case.
Lam. Nay, sweet master Lucre.
Hoa. Was it the part of a friend—no, rather of a Jew;—mark what I say—when I had beaten the bush to the last bird, or, as I may term it, the price to a pound, then, like a cunning usurer, to come in the evening of the bargain, and glean all my hopes in a minute? to enter, as it were, at the back door of the purchase? for thou ne’er camest the right way by it.
Luc. Hast thou the conscience to tell me so without any impeachment to thyself?
Hoa. Thou that canst defeat thy own nephew, Lucre, lap his lands into bonds, and take the extremity of thy kindred’s forfeitures, because he’s a rioter, a wastethrift, a brothel-master,[22] and so forth; what may a stranger expect from thee but vulnera dilacerata, as the poet says, dilacerate dealing?
Luc. Upbraidest thou me with nephew? is all imputation laid upon me? what acquaintance have I with his follies? if he riot, ’tis he must want it; if he surfeit, ’tis he must feel it; if he drab it, ’tis he must lie by’t: what’s this to me?
Hoa. What’s all to thee? nothing, nothing; such is the gulf of thy desire and the wolf of thy conscience: but be assured, old Pecunius[23] Lucre, if ever fortune so bless me, that I may be at leisure to vex thee, or any means so favour me, that I may have opportunity to mad thee, I will pursue it with that flame of hate, that spirit of malice, unrepressed wrath, that I will blast thy comforts.
Luc. Ha, ha, ha!
Lam. Nay, master Hoard, you’re a wise gentleman——
Hoa. I will so cross thee——
Luc. And I thee.
Hoa. So without mercy fret thee——
Luc. So monstrously oppose thee——
Hoa. Dost scoff at my just anger? O, that I had as much power as usury has over thee!
Luc. Then thou wouldst have as much power as the devil has over thee.
Hoa. Toad!
Luc. Aspic!
Hoa. Serpent!
Luc. Viper!
Spi. Nay, gentlemen, then we must divide you perforce.
Lam. When the fire grows too unreasonable hot, there’s no better way than to take off the wood.
[Exeunt Lamprey and Spichcock, drawing off Lucre and Hoard different ways: manent[24] Freedom and Moneylove.
Free. A word, good signior.
Mon. How now, what’s the news?
Free. ’Tis given me to understand that you are a rival of mine in the love of mistress Joyce, master Hoard’s niece: say me ay, say me no?
Mon. Yes, ’tis so.
Free. Then look to yourself, you cannot live long: I’m practising every morning; a month hence I’ll challenge you.
Mon. Give me your hand upon’t; there’s my pledge I’ll meet you. [Strikes him, and exit.
Free. O, O! what reason had you for that, sir, to strike before the month? you knew I was not ready for you, and that made you so crank:[25] I am not such a coward to strike again, I warrant you. My ear has the law of her side, for it burns horribly. I will teach him to strike a naked face, the longest day of his life: ’slid, it shall cost me some money but I’ll bring this box into the chancery. [Exit.
SCENE IV.
Host. Fear you nothing, sir; I have lodged her in a house of credit, I warrant you.
Wit. Hast thou the writings?
Host. Firm, sir.
Wit. Prithee, stay, and behold two the most prodigious rascals that ever slipt into the shape of men; Dampit, sirrah, and young Gulf his fellow-caterpillar.
Host. Dampit? sure I have heard of that Dampit?
Wit. Heard of him? why, man, he that has lost both his ears may hear of him; a famous infamous trampler of time; his own phrase. Note him well: that Dampit, sirrah, he in the uneven beard and the serge cloak, is the most notorious, usuring, blasphemous, atheistical, brothel-vomiting rascal, that we have in these latter times now extant; whose first beginning was the stealing of a masty[26] dog from a farmer’s house.
Host. He looked as if he would obey the commandment[s] well, when he began first with stealing.
Wit. True: the next town he came at, he set the dogs together by th’ ears.
Host. A sign he should follow the law, by my faith.
Wit. So it followed, indeed; and being destitute of all fortunes, staked his masty against a noble,[27] and by great fortune his dog had the day: how he made it up ten shillings, I know not; but his own boast is, that he came to town but with ten shillings in his purse, and now is credibly worth ten thousand pound.
Host. How the devil came he by it?
Wit. How the devil came he not by it? If you put in the devil once, riches come with a vengeance: has been a trampler of the law,[28] sir; and the devil has a care of his footmen. The rogue has spied me now; he nibbled me finely once, too:—a pox search you! [Aside.]—O, master Dampit!—the very loins of thee! [Aside.]—Cry you mercy, master Gulf; you walk so low, I promise you I saw you not, sir.
Wit. ’Twas a merry world when thou camest to town with ten shillings in thy purse.
Dam. And now worth ten thousand pound, my boy. Report it; Harry Dampit, a trampler of time, say, he would be up in a morning, and be here with his serge gown, dashed up to the hams in a cause; have his feet stink about Westminster Hall, and come home again; see the galleons, the galleasses,[29] the great armadas of the law; then there be hoys and petty vessels, oars and scullers of the time; there be picklocks of the time too; then would I be here; I would trample up and down like a mule: now to the judges, May it please your reverend honourable fatherhoods; then to my counsellor, May it please your worshipful patience; then to the examiner’s office, May it please your mastership’s gentleness; then to one of the clerks, May it please your worshipful lousiness,—for I find him scrubbing in his cod-piece; then to the hall again, then to the chamber again——
Wit. And when to the cellar again?
Dam. E’en when thou wilt again: tramplers of time, motions of Fleet Street, and visions of Holborn;[30] here I have fees of one, there I have fees of another; my clients come about me, the fooliaminy and coxcombry of the country: I still trashed[31] and trotted for other men’s causes; thus was poor Harry Dampit made rich by others’ laziness, who, though they would not follow their own suits, I made ’em follow me with their purses.
Wit. Didst thou so, old Harry?
Dam. Ay, and I soused ’em with bills of charges, i’faith; twenty pound a-year have I brought in for boat-hire, and I ne’er stept into boat in my life.
Wit. Tramplers of time!
Dam. Ay, tramplers of time, rascals of time, bull-beggars![32]
Wit. Ah, thou’rt a mad old Harry!—Kind master Gulf, I am bold to renew my acquaintance.
Gulf. I embrace it, sir. [Exeunt.
ACT II. SCENE I.
Luc. My adversary evermore twits me with my nephew, forsooth, my nephew: why may not a virtuous uncle have a dissolute nephew? What though he be a brotheller, a wastethrift, a common surfeiter, and, to conclude, a beggar, must sin in him call up shame in me? Since we have no part in their follies, why should we have part in their infamies? For my strict hand toward his mortgage, that I deny not: I confess I had an uncle’s pen’worth; let me see, half in half, true: I saw neither hope of his reclaiming, nor comfort in his being; and was it not then better bestowed upon his uncle than upon one of his aunts?—I need not say bawd, for every one knows what aunt stands for in the last translation.
Now, sir?
Ser. There’s a country serving-man, sir, attends to speak with your worship.
Luc. I’m at best leisure now; send him in to me.
Host. Bless your venerable worship.
Luc. Welcome, good fellow.
Host. He calls me thief[33] at first sight, yet he little thinks I am an host. [Aside.
Luc. What’s thy business with me?
Host. Faith, sir, I am sent from my mistress, to any sufficient gentleman indeed, to ask advice upon a doubtful point: ’tis indifferent, sir, to whom I come, for I know none, nor did my mistress direct me to any particular man, for she’s as mere a stranger here as myself; only I found your worship within, and ’tis a thing I ever loved, sir, to be despatched as soon as I can.
Luc. A good, blunt honesty; I like him well. [Aside.]—What is thy mistress?
Host. Faith, a country gentlewoman, and a widow, sir. Yesterday was the first flight of us; but now she intends to stay till a little term business be ended.
Luc. Her name, I prithee?
Host. It runs there in the writings, sir, among her lands; widow Medler.
Luc. Medler? mass, have I ne’er heard of that widow?
Host. Yes, I warrant you, have you, sir: not the rich widow in Staffordshire?
Luc. Cuds me, there ’tis indeed; thou hast put me into memory: there’s a widow indeed! ah, that I were a bachelor again!
Host. No doubt your worship might do much then; but she’s fairly promised to a bachelor already.
Luc. Ah, what is he, I prithee?
Host. A country gentleman too; one whom your worship knows not, I’m sure; has spent some few follies in his youth, but marriage, by my faith, begins to call him home: my mistress loves him, sir, and love covers faults, you know: one master Witgood, if ever you have heard of the gentleman.
Luc. Ha! Witgood, sayst thou?
Host. That’s his name indeed, sir; my mistress is like to bring him to a goodly seat yonder; four hundred a-year, by my faith.
Luc. But, I pray, take me with you.[34]
Host. Ay, sir.
Luc. What countryman might this young Witgood be?
Host. A Leicestershire gentleman, sir.
Luc. My nephew, by th’ mass, my nephew! I’ll fetch out more of this, i’faith: a simple country fellow, I’ll work’t out of him. [Aside.]—And is that gentleman, sayst thou, presently to marry her?
Host. Faith, he brought her up to town, sir; has the best card in all the bunch for’t, her heart; and I know my mistress will be married ere she go down; nay, I’ll swear that, for she’s none of those widows that will go down first, and be married after; she hates that, I can tell you, sir.
Luc. By my faith, sir, she is like to have a proper gentleman, and a comely; I’ll give her that gift.
Host. Why, does your worship know him, sir?
Luc. I know him? does not all the world know him? can a man of such exquisite qualities be hid under a bushel?
Host. Then your worship may save me a labour, for I had charge given me to inquire after him.
Luc. Inquire of him? If I might counsel thee, thou shouldst ne’er trouble thyself further; inquire of him of no more but of me; I’ll fit thee. I grant he has been youthful; but is he not now reclaimed? mark you that, sir: has not your mistress, think you, been wanton in her youth? if men be wags, are there not women wagtails?
Host. No doubt, sir.
Luc. Does not he return wisest that comes home whipt with his own follies?
Host. Why, very true, sir.
Luc. The worst report you can hear of him, I can tell you, is that he has been a kind gentleman, a liberal, and a worthy: who but lusty Witgood, thrice-noble Witgood!
Host. Since your worship has so much knowledge in him, can you resolve[35] me, sir, what his living might be? my duty binds me, sir, to have a care of my mistress’ estate; she has been ever a good mistress to me, though I say it: many wealthy suitors has she nonsuited for his sake; yet though her love be so fixed, a man cannot tell whether his non-performance may help to remove it, sir: he makes us believe he has lands and living.
Luc. Who, young master Witgood? why, believe it, he has as goodly a fine living out yonder,—what do you call the place?
Host. Nay, I know not, i’faith.
Luc. Hum—see, like a beast, if I have not forgot the name—pooh! and out yonder again, goodly grown woods and fair meadows: pax[36] on’t, I can ne’er hit of that place neither: he? why, he’s Witgood of Witgood Hall; he, an unknown thing!
Host. Is he so, sir? To see how rumour will alter! trust me, sir, we heard once he had no lands, but all lay mortgaged to an uncle he has in town here.
Luc. Push,[37] ’tis a tale, ’tis a tale.
Host. I can assure you, sir, ’twas credibly reported to my mistress.
Luc. Why, do you think, i’faith, he was ever so simple to mortgage his lands to his uncle? or his uncle so unnatural to take the extremity of such a mortgage?
Host. That was my saying still, sir.
Luc. Pooh, ne’er think it.
Host. Yet that report goes current.
Luc. Nay, then you urge me: Cannot I tell that best that am his uncle?
Host. How, sir? what have I done!
Luc. Why, how now! in a swoon, man?
Host. Is your worship his uncle, sir?
Luc. Can that be any harm to you, sir?
Host. I do beseech you, sir, do me the favour to conceal it: what a beast was I to utter so much! pray, sir, do me the kindness to keep it in; I shall have my coat pulled o’er my ears, an’t should be known; for the truth is, an’t please your worship, to prevent much rumour and many suitors, they intend to be married very suddenly and privately.
Luc. And dost thou think it stands with my judgment to do them injury? must I needs say the knowledge of this marriage comes from thee? am I a fool at fifty-four? do I lack subtlety now, that have got all my wealth by it? There’s a leash of angels[38] for thee: come, let me woo thee speak where lie they?
Host. So I might have no anger, sir——
Luc. Passion of me, not a jot: prithee, come.
Host. I would not have it known, sir,[39] it came by my means.
Luc. Why, am I a man of wisdom?
Host. I dare trust your worship, sir; but I’m a stranger to your house; and to avoid all intelligencers, I desire your worship’s ear.
Luc. This fellow’s worth a matter of trust. [Aside.]—Come, sir. [Host whispers to him.] Why, now thou’rt an honest lad.—Ah, sirrah, nephew!
Host. Please you, sir, now I have begun with your worship, when shall I attend for your advice upon that doubtful point? I must come warily now.
Luc. Tut, fear thou nothing; To-morrow’s evening shall resolve the doubt.
Host. The time shall cause my attendance.
Luc. Fare thee well. [Exit Host.]—There’s more true honesty in such a country serving-man than in a hundred of our cloak companions:[40] I may well call ’em companions, for since blue coats have been turned into cloaks,[41] we can scarce know the man from the master.—George!