The works of Thomas Middleton, Volume 2 (of 5)

[Exit.

Maw. Faith, and you are like to have no other guess,^[796] sir Bounteous, if you have none but us; I’ll give you that gift, i’faith. [Exit.^[797]

ACT III. SCENE I.

A Hall in Harebrain’s House.

Enter Harebrain, Inesse, and Possibility.

Pos. You see bold guests, master Harebrain.

Har. You’re kindly welcome to my house, good master Inesse and master Possibility.

In. That’s our presumption, sir.

Har. Ralph!

Enter Ralph.

Ral. Here, sir.

Har. Call down your mistress to welcome these two gentlemen, my friends.

Ral. I shall, sir. [Exit.

Har. I will observe her carriage, and watch
The slippery revolutions of her eye;
I’ll lie in wait for every glance she gives,
And poise her words i’ th’ balance of suspect:
If she but swag,[798] she’s gone; either on this hand
Over familiar, or this too neglectful:
It does behove her carry herself even. [Aside.

Pos. But, master Harebrain——

Har. True, I hear you, sir; was’t you said?

Pos. I have not spoke it yet, sir.

Har. Right, so I say.

Pos. Is it not strange, that in so short a time my little lady Gullman should be so violently handled?

Har. O, sickness has no mercy, sir!
It neither pities lady’s lip nor eye;
It crops the rose out of the virgin’s cheek,
And so deflowers her that was ne’er deflower’d.[799]
Fools, then, are maids to lock from men that treasure
Which death will pluck, and never yield ’em pleasure.

Ah, gentlemen, though I shadow it, that sweet virgin’s sickness grieves me not lightly! she was my wife’s only delight and company. Did you not hear her, gentlemen, i’ th’ midst of her extremest fit, still how she called upon my wife, remembered still my wife, sweet mistress Harebrain? When she sent for me, a’ one side of her bed stood the physician, the scrivener on the other; two horrible objects, but mere opposites in the course of their lives, for the scrivener binds folks, and the physician makes them loose.

Pos. But not loose of their bonds, sir.

Har. No, by my faith, sir, I say not so: if the physician could make ’em loose of their bonds, there’s many a one would take physic, that dares not now for poisoning. But, as I was telling of you, her will was fashioning, wherein I found her best and richest jewel given as a legacy unto my wife: when I read that, I could not refrain weeping. Well, of all other my wife has most reason to visit her; if she have any good nature in her, she’ll shew it there.—

Re-enter Ralph.

Now, sir, where’s your mistress?

Ral. She desires you, and the gentlemen your friends, to hold her excused; sh’as a fit of an ague now upon her, which begins to shake her.

Har. Where does it shake her most?

Ral. All over her body, sir.

Har. Shake all her body? ’tis a saucy fit, I’m jealous of that ague. [Aside.]—Pray, walk in, gentlemen; I’ll see you instantly. [Exeunt Inesse and Possibility.

Ral. Now they are absent, sir, ’tis no such thing.
Har. What?
Ral. My mistress has her health, sir,
But ’tis her suit she may confine herself
From sight of all men but your own dear self, sir;
For since the sickness of that modest virgin,
Her only company, she delights in none.
Har. No? visit her again, commend me to her,
Tell her they’re gone, and only I myself
Walk here t’ exchange a word or two with her.
Ral. I’ll tell her so, sir. [Exit.
Har. Fool that I am, and madman, beast! what worse?
Suspicious o’er a creature that deserves
The best opinion and the purest thought;
Watchful o’er her that is her watch herself;
To doubt her ways that looks too narrowly
Into her own defects: I, foolish-fearful,
Have often rudely, out of giddy flames,
Barr’d her those objects which she shuns herself.
Thrice I’ve had proof of her most constant temper:
Come I at unawares by stealth upon her,
I find her circled in with divine writs
Of heavenly meditations; here and there
Chapters with leaves tuck’d up, which when I see,
They either tax pride or adultery.
Ah, let me curse myself, that could be jealous
Of her whose mind no sin can make rebellious!
And here the unmatch’d comes.

Enter Mistress Harebrain.

Now, wife, i’faith, they’re gone;
Push,[800] see how fearful ’tis! will you not credit me?
They’re gone, i’faith; why, think you I’ll betray you?
Come, come; thy delight and mine,
Thy only virtuous friend, thy sweet instructress,
Is violently taken, grievous sick,
And, which is worse, she mends not.

Mis. H. Her friends are sorry for that, sir.

Har. She calls still upon thee, poor soul, remembers thee still, thy name whirls in her breath; where’s mistress Harebrain? says she.

Mis. H. Alas, good soul!

Har. She made me weep thrice:
Sh’as put thee in a jewel in her will.
Mis. H. E’en to th’ last gasp a kind soul!
Har. Take my man, go, visit her.
Mis. H. Pray, pardon me, sir;
Alas, my visitation cannot help her!
Har. O, yet the kindness of a thing, wife!—Still
She holds the same rare temper. [Aside.]—Take my man, I say.
Mis. H. I would not take your man, sir,
Though I did purpose going.
Har. No? thy reason.
Mis. H. The world’s condition is itself so vild,[801] sir,
’Tis apt to judge the worst of those deserve not;
’Tis an ill-thinking age, and does apply
All to the form of its own luxury;[802]
This censure flies from one, that from another;
That man’s her squire, says he; her pimp, the tother;
She’s of the stamp, a third; fourth, I ha’ known her:
I’ve heard this, not without a burning cheek.
Then our attires are tax’d; our very gait
Is call’d in question; where[803] a husband’s presence
Scatters such thoughts, or makes ’em sink for fear
Into the hearts that breed ’em: nay, surely,
If I went, sir, I would entreat your company.
Har. Mine? prithee, wife;—I have been there already.

Mis. H. That’s all one; although you bring me but to th’ door, sir, I would entreat no farther.

Har. Thou’rt such a wife! why, I will bring thee thither then, but not go up, I swear.

Mis. H. I’faith, you shall not; I do not desire it, sir.

Har. Why, then, content.

Mis. H. Give me your hand, you will do so, sir?

Har. Why, there’s my lip I will.

Mis. H. Why, then I go, sir.

Har. With me, or no man! incomparable such a woman! [Aside.]

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

The Courtesan’s Bed-chamber. The Courtesan ^[804] discovered in bed; phials, gallipots, plates, and an hour-glass by her.

Enter Penitent Brothel, disguised as a doctor of physic.

Pen. B. Lady!

Cour. Ha, what news?

Pen. B. There’s one sir Bounteous Progress newly alighted from his foot-cloth,^[805] and his mare waits at door, as the fashion is.

Cour. ’Slid, ’tis the knight that privately maintains me; a little, short, old, spiny ^[806] gentleman in a great doublet?

Pen. B. The same; I know ’m.

Cour. He’s my sole revenue, meat, drink, and raiment. My good physician, work upon him; I’m weak.

Pen. B. Enough.

Enter Sir Bounteous.

Sir B. Why, where be these ladies? these plump, soft, delicate creatures? ha?

Pen. B. Who would you visit, sir?

Sir B. Visit, who? what are you, with the plague in your mouth?

Pen. B. A physician, sir.

Sir B. Then you are a loose-liver, sir; I have put you to your purgation.

Pen. B. But you need none, you’re purged in a worse fashion.

Cour. Ah, sir Bounteous!

Sir B. How now? what art thou?

Cour. Sweet sir Bounteous!

Sir B. Passion of me, what an alteration’s here! Rosamond sick, old Harry? here’s a sight able to make an old man shrink! I was lusty when I came in, but I am down now, i’faith: mortality! yea, this puts me in mind of a hole seven foot deep; my grave, my grave, my grave. Hist, master doctor, a word, sir; hark, ’tis not the plague, is’t?

Pen. B. The plague, sir? no.

Sir B. Good.

Pen. B. He ne’er asks whether it be the pox or no; and of the twain that had been more likely. [Aside.

Sir B. How now, my wench? how dost?

Cour. Huh,—weak, knight,—huh.

Pen. B. She says true, he’s a weak knight indeed.

[Aside.

Sir B. Where does it hold thee most, wench?

Cour. All parts alike, sir.

Pen. B. She says true still, for it holds her in none.

[Aside.

Sir B. Hark in thine ear, thou’rt breeding of young bones; I am afraid I have got thee with child, i’faith.

Cour. I fear that much, sir.

Sir B. O, O, if it should! a young Progress when all’s done!

Cour. You have done your good will, sir.

Sir B. I see by her ’tis nothing but a surfeit of Venus, i’faith; and though I be old, I have gi’n’t her;—but since I had the power to make thee sick, I’ll have the purse to make thee whole, that’s certain.—Master doctor.

Pen. B. Sir?

Sir B. Let’s hear, I pray, what is’t you minister to her.

Pen. B. Marry, sir, some precious cordial, some costly refocillation,^[807] a composure comfortable and restorative.

Sir B. Ay, ay, that, that, that.

Pen. B. No poorer ingrediences than the liquor of coral, clear amber, or succinum; unicorn’s horn, six grains; magisterium perlarum, one scruple——

Sir B. Ah, hah!^[808]

Pen. B. Ossis de corde cervi, half a scruple; aurum potabile, or his tincture——

Sir B. Very precious, sir.

Pen. B. All which being finely contunded, and mixed in a stone or glass mortar with the spirit of diamber——

Sir B. Nay, pray, be patient, sir.

Pen. B. That’s impossible; I cannot be patient and a physician too, sir.

Sir B. O, cry you mercy, that’s true, sir.

Pen. B. All which aforesaid——

Sir B. Ay, there you left, sir.

Pen. B. When it is almost exsiccate or dry, I add thereto olei succini, olei masi, et cinnamomi.

Sir B. So, sir, olei masi, that same oil of mace is a great comfort to both the counters.^[809]

Pen. B. And has been of a long time, sir.

Sir B. Well, be of good cheer, wench; there’s gold for thee, huh.—Let her want for nothing, master doctor; a poor kinswoman of mine, nature binds me to have a care of her.—There I gulled you, master doctor. [Aside.]—Gather up a good spirit, wench! the fit will away; ’tis but a surfeit of gristles:—ha, ha, I have fitted her: an old knight and a cock a’ th’ game still; I have not spurs for nothing, I see.

Pen. B. No, by my faith, they’re hatched; they cost you an angel,^[810] sir.

Sir B. Look to her, good master doctor; let her want nothing: I’ve given her enough already, ha, ha, ha!

[Exit.

Cour. So, is he gone?

Pen. B. He’s like himself, gone.

Cour. Here’s somewhat to set up with. How soon he took occasion to slip into his own flattery, soothing his own defects! He only fears he has done that deed which I ne’er feared to come from him in my life. This purchase ^[811] came unlooked for.

Pen. B. Hist, the pair of sons and heirs.

Cour. O, they’re welcome! they bring money.

Enter Inesse and Possibility.

Pos. Master doctor.

Pen. B. I come to you, gentlemen.

Pos. How does she now?

Pen. B. Faith, much after one fashion, sir.

In. There’s hope of life, sir?

Pen. B. I see no signs of death in ^[812] her.

Pos. That’s some comfort; will she take any thing yet?

Pen. B. Yes, yes, yes, she’ll take still; sh’as a kind of facility in taking. How comes your band ^[813] bloody, sir?

In. You may see I met with a scab, sir.

Pen. B. Diversa genera scabierum, as Pliny reports, there are divers kind of scabs.

In. Pray, let’s hear ’em, sir.

Pen. B. An itching scab, that is your harlot; a sore scab, your usurer; a running scab,^[814] your promoter; a broad scab, your intelligencer; but a white scab, that’s a scald knave and a pander: but, to speak truth, the only scabs we are now-a-days troubled withal are new officers.^[815]

In. Why, now you come to mine, sir; for I’ll be sworn one of them was very busy about my head this morning, and he should be a scab by that; for they are ambitious, and covet the head.

Pen. B. Why, you saw I derived him, sir.

In. You physicians are mad gentlemen.

Pen. B. We physicians see the most sights of any men living. Your astronomers look upward into th’ air, we look downward into th’ body; and, indeed, we have power upward and downward.

In. That you have, i’faith, sir.

Pos. Lady, how cheer you now?

Cour. The same woman still,—huh!

Pos. That’s not good.

Cour. Little alteration. Fie, fie, you have been too lavish, gentlemen.

In. Puh, talk not of that, lady; thy health’s worth a million.—Here, master doctor, spare for no cost.

[Giving money.

Pos. Look what you find there, sir.

Cour. What do you mean, gentlemen? put up, put up;
You see I’m down, and cannot strive with you,
I’d[816] rule you else; you have me at advantage;
But if e’er[817] I live, I will requite it deeply.

In. Tut, an’t come to that once, we’ll requite ourselves well enough.

Pos. Mistress Harebrain, lady, is setting forth to visit you too.

Cour. Ha?—huh!

Pen. B. There struck the minute[818] that brings forth the birth
Of all my joys and wishes: but see the jar now!
How shall I rid these from her? [Aside.
Cour. Pray, gentlemen,
Stay not above an hour from my sight.
In. ’S foot, we are not going, lady!
Pen. B. Subtilely brought about! yet ’twill not do; they’ll stick by’t.—      [Aside.
A word with you, gentlemen.
Both. What says master doctor?
Pen. B. She wants but settling of her sense with rest;
One hour’s sleep, gentlemen, would set all parts in tune.

Pos. He says true, i’faith.

In. Get her to sleep, master doctor; we’ll both sit here and watch by her.

Pen. B. Hell’s angels watch you! no art can prevail with ’em:
What with the thought of joys, and sight of crosses,
My wits are at Hercules’ Pillars; non plus ultra.

[Aside.

Cour. Master doctor, master doctor!

Pen. B. Here, lady.

Cour. Your physic works; lend me your hand.

Pos. Farewell, sweet lady.

In. Adieu, master doctor.

[Exeunt Possibility and Inesse.

Cour. So.

Pen. B. Let me admire thee!
The wit of man wanes and decreases soon,
But women’s wit is ever at full moon.

Enter Mistress Harebrain.

There shot a star from heaven!
I dare not yet behold my happiness,
The splendour is so glorious and so piercing.

Cour. Mistress Harebrain, give my wit thanks hereafter; your wishes are in sight, your opportunity spacious.

Mis. H. Will you but hear a word from me?

Cour. Whooh!

Mis. H. My husband himself brought me to th’ door, walks below for my return; jealousy is prick-eared, and will hear the wagging of a hair.

Cour. Pish, you’re a faint liver; trust yourself with your pleasure, and me with your security; go.

Pen. B. The fulness of my wish!

Mis. H. Of my desire!

Pen. B. Beyond this sphere I never will aspire!

[Exeunt Pen. Brothel and Mis. Harebrain.
[Harebrain opens the door and listens;
the Courtesan perceiving him.

Har. I’ll listen: now the flesh draws nigh her end,
At such a time women exchange their secrets,
And ransack the close corners of their hearts:
What many years have[819] whelm’d, this hour imparts.

[Aside.

Cour. Pray, sit down, there’s a low stool. Good mistress Harebrain, this was kindly done,—huh,—give me your hand,—huh,—alas, how cold you are! even so is your husband, that worthy, wise gentleman; as comfortable a man to woman in my case as ever trod—huh—shoe-leather. Love him, honour him, stick by him: he lets you want nothing that’s fit for a woman; and, to be sure on’t, he will see himself that you want it not.

Har. And so I do, i’faith; ’tis right my humour.

[Aside.

Cour. You live a lady’s life with him; go where you will, ride when you will, and do what you will.

Har. Not so, not so, neither; she’s better looked to.

[Aside.

Cour. I know you do, you need not tell me that: ’twere e’en pity of your life, i’faith, if ever you should wrong such an innocent gentleman. Fie, mistress Harebrain, what do you mean? come you to discomfort me? nothing but weeping with you?

Har. She’s weeping! t’as made her weep: my wife shews her good nature already. [Aside.

Cour. Still, still weeping? huff, huff, huff; why, how now, woman? hey, hy, hy, for shame, leave; suh, suh, she cannot answer me for snobbing.^[820]

Har. All this does her good; beshrew my heart, and ^[821] I pity her; let her shed tears till morning, I’ll stay for her. She shall have enough on’t, by my good will; I’ll not be her hinderance. [Aside.

Cour. O no! lay your hand here, mistress Harebrain; ay, there: O there, there lies my pain, good gentlewoman! Sore? O ay, I can scarce endure your hand upon’t!

Har. Poor soul, how she’s tormented! [Aside.

Cour. Yes, yes; I eat a cullis ^[822] an hour since.

Har. There’s some comfort in that yet, she may ’scape it. [Aside.

Cour. O, it lies about my heart much!

Har. I’m sorry for that, i’faith; she’ll hardly ’scape it. [Aside.

Cour. Bound? no, no; I’d a very comfortable stool this morning.

Har. I’m glad of that, i’faith, that’s a good sign; I smell she’ll ’scape it now. [Aside.

Cour. Will you be going then?

Har. Fall back, she’s coming. [Aside.

Cour. Thanks, good mistress Harebrain; welcome, sweet mistress Harebrain; pray, commend me to the good gentleman your husband.

Har. I could do that myself now. [Aside.

Cour. And to my uncle Winchcomb, and to my aunt Lipsalve, and to my cousin Falsetop, and to my cousin Lickit, and to my cousin Horseman, and to all my good cousins in Clerkenwell and St. John’s.

Re-enter Mis. Harebrain and Pen. Brothel.

Mis. H. At three days’ end my husband takes a journey.
Pen. B. O thence I derive a second meeting!
Mis. H. May it prosper still!
Till then I rest a captive to his will.—

Once again, health, rest, and strength to thee, sweet lady: farewell, you witty squall.—Good master doctor, have a care to her body; if you stand her friend, I know you can do her good.

Cour. Take pity of your waiter; go: farewell, sweet mistress Harebrain.

Har. [coming forward] Welcome, sweet wife, alight upon my lip!
Never was hour spent better.
Mis. H. Why, were you
Within the hearing, sir?
Har. Ay, that I was, i’faith,
To my great comfort; I deceiv’d you there, wife;
Ha, ha!
I do entreat thee, nay, conjure thee, wife,
Upon my love, or what can more be said,
Oftener to visit this sick virtuous maid.
Mis. H. Be not so fierce, your will shall be obey’d.
Har. Why, then, I see thou lov’st me.

[Exit with Mis. Harebrain.

Pen. B. Art of ladies!
When plots are e’en past hope, and hang their head,
Set with a woman’s hand, they thrive and spread.

[Exit.

SCENE III.

A Room.^[823]

Enter Follywit, Mawworm, Hoboy, and others.

Fol. Was’t not well managed, you necessary mischiefs? did the plot want either life or art?

Maw. ’Twas so well, captain, I would you could make such another muss ^[824] at all adventures.

Fol. Dost call’t a muss? I am sure my grandsire ne’er got his money worse in his life than I got it from him. If ever he did cozen the simple, why, I was born to revenge their quarrel; if ever oppress the widow, I, a fatherless child, have done as much for him. And so ’tis through the world, either in jest or earnest. Let the usurer look for’t; for craft recoils in the end, like an overcharged musket, and maims the very hand that puts fire to’t. There needs no more but a usurer’s own blow to strike him from hence to hell; ’twill set him forward with a vengeance. But here lay the jest, whoresons; my grandsire, thinking in his conscience that we had not robbed him enough o’ernight, must needs pity me i’ th’ morning, and give me the rest.

Maw. Two hundred pounds in fair rose-nobles,^[825] I protest.

Fol. Push,^[826] I knew he could not sleep quietly till he had paid me for robbing of him too: ’tis his humour, and the humour of most of your rich men in the course of their lives; for, you know, they always feast those mouths that are least needy, and give them more that have too much already; and what call you that but robbing of themselves a courtlier way?—O!——

Maw. Cuds me, how now, captain?

Fol. A cold fit that comes over my memory, and has a shrewd pull at my fortunes.

Maw. What’s that, sir?

Fol. Is it for certain, lieutenant, that my grandsire keeps an uncertain creature, a quean?

Maw. Ay, that’s too true, sir.

Fol. So much the more preposterous for me; I shall hop shorter by that trick; she carries away the thirds at least: ’twill prove entailed land, I am afraid, when all’s done, i’faith. Nay,

The works of Thomas Middleton, Volume 2 (of 5)

About This Book

ACT III. SCENE I.

SCENE II.

SCENE III.