That wantoned in your blood rebelled against
All rules of honest duty, you might, sir,
Have found out some more fitting place than here
To have built a stews in. All the country whispers
How shamefully thou hast undone a maid,
Approved for modest life, for civil carriage,
Till thy prevailing perjuries enticed her
To forfeit shame. Will you be honest yet,
Make her amends and marry her?
I might bring both myself and her to beggary;
And that would be a shame worse than the other.
Your reason would have overswayed the passion
Of your unruly lust. But that you may
Be left without excuse, to salve the infamy
Of my disgracèd house, and ’cause you are
A gentleman, and both of you my servants,
I’ll make the maid a portion.
Before, in case I married her. I know
Sir Arthur Clarington deserves the credit
Report hath lent him, and presume you are
A debtor to your promise: but upon
What certainty shall I resolve? Excuse me
For being somewhat rude.
Well, Frank, what think’st thou of two hundred pounds
And a continual friend?
Might happily prefer me to a choice
Of a far greater portion, yet, to right
A wrongèd maid and to preserve your favour,
I am content to accept your proffer.
The use of what you please to give.
Your promise.—We are man and wife.
Free entertainment in her uncle’s house
Near Waltham Abbey, where she may securely
Sojourn, till time and my endeavours work
My father’s love and liking.
Without a daily charge.
’Tis all thine own! and though I cannot make thee
A present payment, yet thou shalt be sure
I will not fail thee.
Talk not of your occasions; trust my bounty;
It shall not sleep.—Hast married her, i’faith, Frank?
’Tis well, ’tis passing well!—then, Winnifred,
Once more thou art an honest woman. Frank,
Thou hast a jewel; love her; she’ll deserve it.
And when to Waltham?
Frank, I will be thy friend, and such a friend!—
Thou’lt bring her thither?
My father sent me word I should come to him.
To handle him.
Anything, Frank; command it.
By letters to assure my father that
I am not married.
Hath certainly informed him that I purposed
To marry Winnifred; on which he threatened
To disinherit me:—to prevent it,
Lowly I crave your letters, which he seeing
Will credit; and I hope, ere I return,
On such conditions as I’ll frame, his lands
Shall be assured.
My knowledge of the marriage?
A witness to it.
His land confirmed, thou wilt acquaint him throughly
With all that’s past.
I never was made privy to’t.
Am I a talker?
I’ll put my hand to’t. I commend thy policy;
Thou’rt witty, witty, Frank; nay, nay, ’tis fit:
Dispatch it.
One trouble, then, is freed. He that will feast
At other’s cost must be a bold-faced guest.
Re-enter Winnifred in a riding-suit.
The worst is past: thy lip, wench [Kisses her]: I must bid
Farewell, for fashion’s sake; but I will visit thee
Suddenly, girl. This was cleanly carried;
Ha! was’t not, Win?
That I in heart repent I did not bring him
The dower of a virginity. Sir, forgive me;
I have been much to blame: had not my lewdness[413]
Given way to your immoderate waste of virtue,
You had not with such eagerness pursued
The error of your goodness.
I hug this art of thine; it shows how cleanly
Thou canst beguile, in case occasion serve
To practise; it becomes thee: now we share
Free scope enough, without control or fear,
To interchange our pleasures; we will surfeit
In our embraces, wench. Come, tell me, when
Wilt thou appoint a meeting?
Our secret game.
As you’re a noble gentleman, forget
A sin so monstrous: ’tis not gently done
To open a cured wound: I know you speak
For trial; ’troth, you need not.
Not I, by this good sunshine!
That syllable of good, and yet not tremble
To think to what a foul and black intent
You use it for an oath? Let me resolve[414] you:
If you appear in any visitation
That brings not with it pity for the wrongs
Done to abusèd Thorney, my kind husband,—
If you infect mine ear with any breath
That is not thoroughly perfumed with sighs
For former deeds of lust,—may I be cursed
Even in my prayers, when I vouchsafe
To see or hear you! I will change my life
From a loose whore to a repentant wife.
After so many months to be honest at last?
Away, away! fie on’t!
Is built upon a rock. This very day
Young Thorney vowed, with oaths not to be doubted,
That never any change of love should cancel
The bonds in which we are to either bound
Of lasting truth: and shall I, then, for my part
Unfile the sacred oath set on record
In Heaven’s book? Sir Arthur, do not study
To add to your lascivious lust the sin
Of sacrilege; for if you but endeavour
By any unchaste word to tempt my constancy
You strive as much as in you lies to ruin
A temple hallowed to the purity
Of holy marriage. I have said enough;
You may believe me.
There freeze in your cold cloister: this is fine!
To weep and pray for your conversion?
Away to Waltham! Pox on your honesty!
Had you no other trick to fool me? well,
You may want money yet.
To you, for hire of a damnation.
When I am gone, think on my just complaint:
I was your devil; O, be you my saint! [Exit.
As ever cozened knight: I’m glad I’m rid of her.
Honest! marry, hang her! Thorney is my debtor;
I thought to have paid him too; but fools have fortune. [Exit.
SCENE II.—Edmonton. A Room in Carter’s House.
Enter Old Thorney and Carter.
O. Thor. You offer, Master Carter, like a gentleman; I cannot find fault with it, ’tis so fair.
Car. No gentleman I, Master Thorney; spare the Mastership, call me by my name, John Carter. Master is a title my father, nor his before him, were acquainted with; honest Hertfordshire yeomen; such an one am I; my word and my deed shall be proved one at all times. I mean to give you no security for the marriage money.
O. Thor. How! no security? although it need not so long as you live, yet who is he has surety of his life one hour? Men, the proverb says, are mortal; else, for my part, I distrust you not, were the sum double.
Car. Double, treble, more or less, I tell you, Master Thorney, I’ll give no security. Bonds and bills are but terriers to catch fools, and keep lazy knaves busy; my security shall be present payment. And we here about Edmonton hold present payment as sure as an alderman’s bond in London, Master Thorney.
O. Thor. I cry you mercy, sir; I understood you not.
Car. I like young Frank well, so does my Susan too; the girl has a fancy to him, which makes me ready in my purse. There be other suitors within, that make much noise to little purpose. If Frank love Sue, Sue shall have none but Frank. ’Tis a mannerly girl, Master Thorney, though but a homely man’s daughter; there have worse faces looked out of black bags, man.
O. Thor. You speak your mind freely and honestly. I marvel my son comes not; I am sure he will be here some time to-day.
Car. To-day or to-morrow, when he comes he shall be welcome to bread, beer, and beef, yeoman’s fare; we have no kickshaws: full dishes, whole bellyfuls. Should I diet three days at one of the slender city-suppers, you might send me to Barber-Surgeons’ hall the fourth day, to hang up for an anatomy.[415]—Here come they that—
Enter Warbeck with Susan, Somerton with Katherine.
How now, girls! every day play-day with you? Valentine’s day too, all by couples? Thus will young folks do when we are laid in our graves, Master Thorney; here’s all the care they take. And how do you find the wenches, gentlemen? have they any mind to a loose gown and a strait shoe? Win ’em and wear ’em; they shall choose for themselves by my consent.
The liberty that’s granted thee; what say’st thou?
Wilt thou be mine?
Never your wife.
Considering how dearly I affect thee,
Nay, dote on thy perfections?
Too scholar-like, in words I understand not.
I am too coarse for such a gallant’s love
As you are.
Prevail above all oaths you can invent.
Fie, fie! flatter the wise; fools not regard it,
And one of these am I.
Car. Let ’em talk on, Master Thorney; I know Sue’s mind. The fly may buzz about the candle, he shall but singe his wings when all’s done; Frank, Frank is he has her heart.
Than be a desperate man.
I level at: wert thou as poor in fortunes
As thou art rich in goodness, I would rather
Be suitor for the dower of thy virtues
Than twice thy father’s whole estate; and, prithee,
Be thou resolved[416] so.
It is an easy labour to deceive
A maid that will believe men’s subtle promises;
Yet I conceive of you as worthily
As I presume you to deserve.
And when I fail, may all my joys forsake me!
Car. Warbeck and Sue are at it still. I laugh to myself, Master Thorney, to see how earnestly he beats the bush, while the bird is flown into another’s bosom. A very unthrift, Master Thorney; one of the country roaring-lads: we have such as well as the city, and as arrant rake-hells as they are, though not so nimble at their prizes of wit. Sue knows the rascal to an hair’s-breadth, and will fit him accordingly.
O. Thor. What is the other gentleman?
Car. One Somerton; the honester man of the two by five pound in every stone-weight. A civil fellow; he has a fine convenient estate of land in West Ham, by Essex: Master Ranges, that dwells by Enfield, sent him hither. He likes Kate well; I may tell you I think she likes him as well: if they agree, I’ll not hinder the match for my part. But that Warbeck is such another—I use him kindly for Master Somerton’s sake; for he came hither first as a companion of his: honest men, Master Thorney, may fall into knaves’ company now and then.
By sea or by land? I think by sea.
Should all that use the seas be reckoned captains,
There’s not a ship should have a scullion in her
To keep her clean.
Am I a subject to be jeered at?
Am I a property for you to use
As stale[417] to your fond wanton loose discourse:
Pray, sir, be civil.
Car. God-a-mercy, Sue! she’ll firk him, on my life, if he fumble with her.
Enter Frank.
Master Francis Thorney, you are welcome indeed; your father expected your coming. How does the right worshipful knight, Sir Arthur Clarington, your master?
You come as I could wish.
Kind Mistress Katharine. [Kisses them.]—Gentlemen, to both
Good time o’ th’ day.
A word, friend. [Aside to Som.] On my life, this is the man
Stands fair in crossing Susan’s love to me.
He that can win her best deserves her.
A serving-man? mew!
Car. Gentlemen all, there’s within a slight dinner ready, if you please to taste of it; Master Thorney, Master Francis, Master Somerton.—Why, girls! what huswives! will you spend all your forenoon in tittle-tattles? away! it’s well, i’faith.—Will you go in, gentlemen?
Have a few words of business.
I sent for you.
With what a labyrinth of dangers daily
The best part of my whole estate’s encumbered;
Nor have I any clue to wind it out
But what occasion proffers me; wherein
If you should falter, I shall have the shame,
And you the loss. On these two points rely
Our happiness or ruin. If you marry
With wealthy Carter’s daughter, there’s a portion
Will free my land; all which I will instate,[418]
Upon the marriage, to you: otherwise
I must be of necessity enforced
To make a present sale of all; and yet,
For aught I know, live in as poor distress,
Or worse, than now I do. You hear the sum?
I told you thus before; have you considered on’t?
To enjoy the benefit of single freedom,—
For that I find no disposition in me
To undergo the burthen of that care
That marriage brings with it,—yet, to secure
And settle the continuance of your credit,
I humbly yield to be directed by you
In all commands.
Such thriving protestations to the maid
That she is wholly yours; and—speak the truth—
You love her, do you not?
I should deceive her.
But is your love so steady that you mean,
Nay, more, desire, to make her your wife?
It were a wrong not to be righted.
It were: and you will marry her?
I do intend it.
A devil like a man! Wherein have I
Offended all the powers so much, to be
Father to such a graceless, godless son?
Son of my curse. Speak truth and blush, thou monster!
Hast thou not married Winnifred, a maid
Was fellow-servant with thee?
Has blown this news abroad; I must outface it.
Is full on’t.
I’m sure it is not fatherly, so much
To be o’erswayed with credulous conceit
Of mere impossibilities; but fathers
Are privileged to think and talk at pleasure.
One that nor hopes the blessedness of life
Hereafter, neither fears the vengeance due
To such as make the marriage-bed an inn,
Which travellers, day and night,
After a toilsome lodging, leave at pleasure?
Am I become so insensible of losing
The glory of creation’s work, my soul?
O, I have lived too long!
Dar’st thou perséver yet, and pull down wrath
As hot as flames of hell to strike thee quick
Into the grave of horror? I believe thee not;
Get from my sight!
Needs not a stronger witness than the clearness
Of an unperished conscience, yet for that
I was informed how mainly you had been
Possessed of this untruth,—to quit all scruple,
Please you peruse this letter; ’tis to you.
Am waded deeper into mischief
Than virtue can avoid; but on I must:
Fate leads me; I will follow.—There you read
What may confirm you.
Forgive me, Frank; credulity abused me.
My tears express my joy; and I am sorry
I injured innocence.
Your rage and grief proceeded from your love
To me; so I conceived it.
I’ll bear with many faults in thee hereafter;
Bear thou with mine.
Re-enter Carter and Susan.
Car. Why, Master Thorney, d’ye mean to talk out your dinner? the company attends your coming. What must it be, Master Frank? or son Frank? I am plain Dunstable.[419]
From what I left her at our parting last:—
Are you, fair maid?
Of an engagèd heart.
Take her to thee; get me a brace of boys at a burthen,
Frank; the nursing shall not stand thee in a pennyworth
of milk; reach her home and spare not: when’s
the day?
Of charge and custom were to little purpose;
Their loves are married fast enough already.
Car. A good motion. We’ll e’en have an household dinner, and let the fiddlers go scrape: let the bride and bridegroom dance at night together; no matter for the guests:—to-morrow, Sue, to-morrow.—Shall’s to dinner now?
O. Thor. We are on all sides pleased, I hope.
Now my heart is settled.
Frank. So is mine.
Car. Your marriage-money shall be received before your wedding-shoes can be pulled on. Blessing on you both!
In vain he flees whose destiny pursues him. [Exeunt.
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE I.—The Fields near Edmonton.
Enter Mother Sawyer gathering sticks.
Throw all their scandalous malice upon me?
’Cause I am poor, deformed, and ignorant,
And like a bow buckled and bent together
By some more strong in mischiefs than myself,
Must I for that be made a common sink
For all the filth and rubbish of men’s tongues
To fall and run into? Some call me witch,
And being ignorant of myself, they go
About to teach me how to be one; urging
That my bad tongue—by their bad usage made so—
Forspeaks[420] their cattle, doth bewitch their corn,
Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse.
This they enforce upon me, and in part
Make me to credit it; and here comes one
Of my chief adversaries.
Enter Old Banks.
O. Banks. I do, witch, I do; and worse I would, knew I a name more hateful. What makest thou upon my ground?
M. Saw. Gather a few rotten sticks to warm me.
O. Banks. Down with them when I bid thee quickly; I’ll make thy bones rattle in thy skin else.
M. Saw. You won’t, churl, cut-throat, miser!—there they be [Throws them down]: would they stuck cross thy throat, thy bowels, thy maw, thy midriff!
O. Banks. Sayest thou me so, hag? Out of my ground! [Beats her.
M. Saw. Dost strike me, slave, curmudgeon! Now, thy bones ache, thy joints cramp, and convulsions stretch and crack thy sinews!
O. Banks. Cursing, thou hag! take that and that. [Beats her and exit.
Whose blows have lamed me drop from the rotten trunk.
Abuse me! beat me! call me hag and witch!
What is the name, where and by what art learned,
What spells, what charms, or invocations,
May the thing called Familiar be purchased?
Enter Cuddy Banks and several other Clowns.
Cud. A new head for the tabor, and silver tipping for the pipe; remember that: and forget not five leash of new bells.
1st Cl. Double bells;—Crooked Lane[421]—ye shall have ’em straight in Crooked Lane:—double bells all, if it be possible.
Cud. Double bells? double coxcombs! trebles, buy me trebles, all trebles; for our purpose is to be in the altitudes.
2nd Cl. All trebles? not a mean?[422]
Cud. Not one. The morris is so cast, we’ll have neither mean nor base in our company, fellow Rowland.
3rd Cl. What! nor a counter?[423]
Cud. By no means, no hunting counter;[424] leave that to Enfield Chase men: all trebles, all in the altitudes. Now for the disposing of parts in the morris, little or no labour will serve.
2nd Cl. If you that be minded to follow your leader know me—an ancient honour belonging to our house—for a fore-horse i’ th’ team and fore-gallant[425] in a morris, my father’s stable is not unfurnished.
3rd Cl. So much for the fore-horse; but how for a good hobby-horse?
Cud. For a hobby-horse? let me see an almanac. Midsummer-moon, let me see ye. “When the moon’s in the full, then’s wit in the wane.” No more. Use your best skill; your morris will suffer an eclipse.
1st Cl. An eclipse?
Cud. A strange one.
2nd Cl. Strange?
Cud. Yes, and most sudden. Remember the fore-gallant, and forget the hobby-horse! The whole body of your morris will be darkened.—There be of us—but ’tis no matter:—forget the hobby-horse!
1st Cl. Cuddy Banks!—have you forgot since he paced it from Enfield Chase to Edmonton?—Cuddy, honest Cuddy, cast thy stuff.
Cud. Suffer may ye all! it shall be known, I can take mine ease as well as another man. Seek your hobby-horse where you can get him.[426]
1st Cl. Cuddy, honest Cuddy, we confess, and are sorry for our neglect.
2nd Cl. The old horse shall have a new bridle.
3rd Cl. The caparisons new painted.
4th Cl. The tail repaired. The snaffle and the bosses new saffroned o’er.
1st Cl. Kind,—
2nd Cl. Honest,—
3rd Cl. Loving, ingenious,—
4th Cl. Affable Cuddy.
Cud. To show I am not flint, but affable, as you say, very well stuffed, a kind of warm dough or puff-paste, I relent, I connive, most affable Jack. Let the hobby-horse provide a strong back, he shall not want a belly when I am in him—but [Seeing Sawyer]—’uds me, Mother Sawyer!
1st Cl. The old Witch of Edmonton!—if our mirth be not crossed—
2nd Cl. Bless us, Cuddy, and let her curse her t’other eye out.—What dost now?
Cud. “Ungirt, unblest,” says the proverb; but my girdle shall serve for a riding knot; and a fig for all the witches in Christendom!—What wouldst thou?
1st Cl. The devil cannot abide to be crossed.
2nd Cl. And scorns to come at any man’s whistle.
3rd Cl. Away—
4th Cl. With the witch!
All. Away with the Witch of Edmonton! [Exeunt in strange postures.