Enter four Towns-men.
1. Heaven bless us,
What a thund'ring's here! what fire-spitting!
We cannot drink, but our Cans are mauld amongst us.
2. I wou'd they would mall our scores too:
Shame o' their Guns, I thought they had been bird-pots,
Or great Candle-cases, how devilishly they bounce,
And how the Bullets borrow a piece of a house here,
There another, and mend those up agen
With another Parish; here flies a poudring-tub,
The meat ready rosted, and there a barrel pissing vinegar,
And they two over-taking the top of a high Steeple,
Newly slic'd off for a Sallet.
3. A vengeance fire 'em.
2. Nay, they fire fast enough;
You need not help 'em.
4. Are these the Portugal Bulls—
How loud they bellow!
2. Their horns are plaguy strong, they push down Palaces
They toss our little habitations like whelps,
Like grindle-tails, with their heels upward;
All the windows i'th Town dance a new Trenchmore,
'Tis like to prove a blessed age for Glasiers,
I met a hand, and a Letter in't, in great haste,
And by and by, a single leg running after it,
As if the arm had forgot part of his errand,
Heads flie like Foot-balls every where.
1. What shall we do?
2. I care not, my shop's cancell'd,
And all the Pots, and earthen Pans in't vanish't:
There was a single Bullet, and they together by the ears;
You would have thought Tom Tumbler had been there,
And all his troop of devils.
3. Let's to the King,
And get this Gentleman deliver'd handsomly:
By this hand, there's no walking above ground else.
2. By this leg—let me swear nimbly by it,
For I know not how long I shall owe it,
If I were out o'th' Town once, if I came in agen to
Fetch my breakfast, I will give 'em leave to cramm me
With a Portugal Pudding: Come; let's doe any thing
To appease this thunder. [Exeunt.
Enter Pyniero and Panura.
Py. Art sure it was that blind Priest?
Pan. Yes most certain,
He has provok'd all this; the King is merciful,
And wond'rous loving; but he fires him on still,
And when he cools, enrages him, I know it:
Threatens new vengeance, and the gods fierce justice
When he but looks with fair eyes on Armusia,
Will lend him no time to relent; my royal Mistriss,
She has entertain'd a Christian hope.
Py. Speak truly.
Pan. Nay, 'tis most true, but Lord! how he lies at her,
And threatens her, and flatters her, and damns her,
And I fear, if not speedily prevented,
If she continue stout, both shall be executed,
Py. I'll kiss thee for this news, nay more Panura,
If thou wilt give me leave I'll get thee with Christian,
The best way to convert thee.
Pan. Make me believe so?
Py. I will y'faith. But which way cam'st thou hither?
The Pallace is close guarded, and barricado'd.
Pan. I came through a private vault, which few there know of;
It rises in a Temple not far hence,
Close by the Castle here.
Py. How—To what end?
Pan. A good one:
To give ye knowledge of my new-born Mistriss;
And in what doubt Armusia stands,
Think any present means, or hope to stop 'em
From their fell ends: the Princes are come in too,
And they are harden'd also.
Py. The damn'd Priest—
Pan. Sure he's a cruel man, methinks Religion
Should teach more temperate Lessons.
Py. He the fire-brand?
He dare to touch at such fair lives as theirs are?
Well Prophet, I shall prophesie, I shall catch ye,
When all your Prophecies will not redeem ye?
Wilt thou do one thing bravely?
Pa. Any good I am able.
Py. And by thine own white hand, I'll swear thou art virtuous,
And a brave wench, durst thou but guide me presently,
Through the same vault thou cam'st, into the Pallace
And those I shall appoint, such as I think fit.
Pa. Yes I will do it, and suddainly, and truly.
Py. I wou'd fain behold this Prophet.
Pa. Now I have ye:
And shall bring ye where ye shall behold him,
Alone too, and unfurnish'd of defences:
That shall be my care; but you must not betray me.
Py. Dost thou think we are so base, such slaves, rogues?
Pa. I do not:
And you shall see how fairly I'll work for ye.
Py. I must needs steal that Priest,
Steal him, and hang him.
Pa. Do any thing to remove his mischief, strangle him—
Py. Come prethee love.
Pa. You'll offer me no foul play?
The Vault is dark.
Py. 'Twas well remember'd.
Pa. And ye may—
But I hold ye honest.
Py. Honest enough I warrant thee.
Pa. I am but a poor weak wench; and what with the place,
And your perswasions Sir—but I hope you will not;
You know we are often cozen'd.
Py. If thou dost fear me,
Why dost thou put me in mind?
Pa. To let you know Sir,
Though it be in your power, and things fitting to it,
Yet a true Gent—
Py. I know what he'll do:
Come and remember me, and I'll answer thee,
I'll answer thee to the full; we'll call at th' Castle,
And then my good guide, do thy Will; sha't find me
A very tractable man!
Pa. I hope I shall Sir. [Exeunt.
Enter Bakam, Syana, and Soldiers.
Bak. Let my men guard the Gates.
Syan. And mine the Temple,
For fear the honor of our gods should suffer,
And on your lives be watchful.
Ba. And be valiant;
And let's see, if these Portugals dare enter;
What their high hearts dare do: Let's see how readily,
The great Ruy Dias will redeem his Countrey-men;
He speaks proud words, and threatens.
Sy. He is approv'd, Sir,
And will put fair for what he promises;
I could wish friendlier terms,
Yet for our liberties and for our gods,
We are bound in our best service
Even in the hazard of our lives.
Enter the King above.
King. Come up Princes,
And give your counsels, and your helps: the Fort still
Plays fearfully upon us, beats our buildings,
And turns our people wild with fears.
Ba. Send for the prisoner,
And give us leave to argue. [Exit Ba. and Sy. then,
Enter Ruy Dias, Emanuel, Christoph. Pedro, with Sold.
Ru. Come on nobly,
And let the Fort play still, we are
Strong enough to look upon 'em,
And return at pleasure; it may
Be on our view they will return him.
Chr. We will return 'em such thanks else,
Shall make 'em scratch where it itches not.
Em. How the people stare,
And some cry, some pray, and some curse heartily:
But it is the King—
Enter Syana, Bakam, Quisara, Armusia, with Soldiers above.
Ruy. I cannot blame their wisdoms.
They are all above, Armusia chain'd and bound too?
Oh, these are tha[n]kful Squires.
Ba. Hear us Ruy Di[a]s,
Be wise and hear us, and give speedy answer,
Command thy Cannon presently to cease,
No more to trouble the afflicted people,
Or suddainly Armusia's head goes off;
As suddainly as said.
Em. Stay Sir, be moderate.
Arm. Do nothing that's dishonourable Ruy Dyas
Let not the fear of me, master thy valour;
Pursue 'em still, they are base malicious people.
King. Friend, be not desperate.
Ar. I scorn your courtesies;
Strike when you dare, a fair arm guide the Gunner
And may he let flie still with fortune: friend,
Do me the honor of a Soldiers funerals,
The last fair Christian right, see me i'th' ground,
And let the Palace burn first, then the Temples,
And on their scorn'd gods, erect my monument:
Touch not the Princess, as you are a Soldier.
Quisar. Which way you goe, Sir,
I must follow necessary.
One life, and one death.
King. Will you take a truce yet?
Enter Pyniero, Soza, and Soldiers, with the Governor.
Py. No, no, go on:
Look here, your god, your prophet.
King. How came he taken?
Py. I conjur'd for him, King.
I am a sure Curr at an old blind Prophet.
I'll haunt ye such a false knave admirably,
A terrier I; I eartht him, and then snapt him.
Soz. Saving the reverence of your grace, we stole him,
E'en out of the next chamber to ye.
Py. Come, come, begin King,
Begin this bloudy matter when you dare;
And yet I scorn my sword should touch the rascal,
I'll tear him thus before ye. Ha?
What art thou? { Pulls his Beard and hair off.
King. How's this!
Art thou a Prophet?
Ru. Come down Princes.
King. We are abus'd—
Oh my most dear Armusia—
Off with his chains. And now my noble Sister,
Rejoyce with me, I know ye are pleas'd as I am.
Py. This is a precious Prophet. Why Don Governor,
What make you here, how long have you taken Orders?
Ruy. Why what a wretch
Art thou to work this mischief?
To assume this holy shape to ruine honor,
Honor and chastity?
Enter King, and all from above.
Gov. I had paid you all,
But fortune plaid the slut. Come,
Give me my doom.
King. I cannot speak for wonder.
Gov. Nay, 'tis I Sir,
And here I stay your sentence.
King. Take her friend,
You have half perswaded me to be a Christian,
And with her all the joyes, and all the blessings.
Why what dream have we dwelt in?
Ru. All peace to ye,
And all the happiness of heart dwell with ye,
Children as sweet and noble as their Parents.
Py. And Kings at least.
Ar. Good Sir, forget my rashness.
And noble Princess[e], for I was once angry,
And out of that, might utter some distemper,
Think not 'tis my nature.
Sya. Your joy is ours, Sir.
And nothing we find in ye, but most noble.
King. To prison with this dog, there let him houl,
And if he can repent, sigh out his villanies:
His Island we shall seize into our hands,
His Father and himself have both usurp'd it,
And kept it by oppression; the Town and Castle,
In which I lay my self most miserable,
Till my most honourable friend redeem'd me,
Signior Pyniero, I bestow on you,
The rest of next command upon these Gentlemen,
Upon ye, all my love.
Arm. Oh brave Ruy Dias,
You have started now beyond me. I must thank ye,
And thank ye for my life, my wife and honor.
Ruy. I am glad I had her for you, Sir.
King. Come Princes,
Come Friends and Lovers all, come noble Gentlemen,
No more Guns now, nor hates, but joyes and triumphs,
An universal gladness fly about us:
And know however subtle men dare cast,
And promise wrack, the gods give peace at last. [Exeunt.
Monsieur Marine, the Noble Gent. but none of the wisest.
Jaques, an old servant to Marine's family.
Clerimont, a Gull, Cosin to Monsieur Marine.
A Gentleman, Servant to Marine's wife.
Lo[n]gueville, } two Courtiers that plot to abuse Marine.
Beaufort,
Shattillion, a Lord, mad for Love.
Doctor.
Page.
Gentlemen.
Servants.
Duke.
Marine's Wife, a witty wanton.
Clerimont's Wife, a simple countrey Gentlewoman.
Shattillion's Mistriss, a virtuous Virgin.
Maria, Servant to Marine's wife.
Wit is become an Antick, and puts on
As many shapes of variation,
To court the times applause, as the times dare,
Change several fashions, nothing is thought rare
Which is not new, and follow'd, yet we know
That what was worn some twenty years agoe,
Comes into grace again, and we pursue
That custom, by presenting to your view
A Play in fashion then, not doubting now
But 'twill appear the same, if you allow
Worth to their noble memory, whose name,
Beyond all power of death, live in their fame.
Enter Gentleman a[n]d Jaques.
Gent. What happiness waits on the life at Court,
What dear content, greatness, delight and ease!
What ever-springing hopes, what tides of honor!
That raise their fortunes to the height of wishes!
What can be more in man, what more in nature,
Than to be great and fear'd? A Courtier,
A noble Courtier, 'Tis a name that draws
Wonder and duty from all eyes and knees.
Jaq. And so your Worships Land within the Walls,
Where you shall have it all inclos'd, and sure.
Gent. Peace knave; dull creature, bred of sweat and smoke,
These mysteries are far above thy faith:
But thou shalt see—
Jaq. And then I shall believe;
Your fair revenues, turn'd into fair suits;
I shall believe your Tenant's bruis'd and rent
Under the weight of Coaches, all your state
Drawn through the streets in triumph, suits for places
Plied with a Mine of Gold, and being got
Fed with a great stream. I shall believe all this.
Gent. You shall believe, and know me glorious.
Cosin, good day and health.
Enter Cosin.
Cosin. The same to you, Sir,
And more, without my wishes, could you know
What calm content dwels in a private house:
Yet look into your self, retire: this place
Of promises, and protestations, fits
Minds only bent [t]o ruin, you should know this,
You have their language perfect, you have tutors
I do not doubt, sufficient: but beware.
Gent. You are merry Cosin:
Cosin. Yet your patience,
You shall learn that too, but not like it self,
Where it is held a virtue; tell me Sir,
Have you cast up your State, rated your Land,
And find it able to endure the change
Of time and fashion? is it always harvest?
Always vintage? have you Ships at Sea,
To bring you Gold and Stone from rich Peru,
Monthly returning Treasure? doth the King
Open his large Exchequer to your hands
And bid ye be a great man? can your wife
Coin off her beauty? or the week allow
Suits to each day? and know no ebb in honor?
If these be possible, and can hold out,
Then be a Courtier still, and still be wasting.
Gent. Cosin, pray give me leave:
Cos. I have done.
Gent. I could requite your gall, and in a strain
As bitter, and as full of Rubarb, preach
Against your Countrey life, but 'tis below me
And only subject to my pitty, know
The eminent Court, to them that can be wise,
And fasten on her blessings, is a Sun
That draws men up from course and earthly Being,
I mean these men of merit that have power
And reason to make good her benefits,
Learns them a manly boldness, gives their tongues
Sweetness of Language, makes them apt to please;
Files of all rudeness, and uncivil haviour,
Shews them as neat in carriage, as in cloaths;
Cosin, have you ever seen the Court?
Cos. No Sir,
Nor am I yet in travel with that longing.
Gent. Oh the state and greatness of that place
Where men are found
Only to give the first creation glory!
Those are the models of the antient world
Left like the Roman Statues to stir up
Our following hopes, the place it self puts on
The brow of Majesty, and flings her lustre
Like the air newly light'ned; Form, and Order,
Are only there themselves, unforc'd, and sound,
As they were first created to this place.
Cos. You nobly came, but will goe from thence base.
Gent. 'Twas very pretty, and a good conceit;
You have a wit good Cosin, I do joy in't,
Keep it for Court: but to my self again,
When I have view'd these pieces, turn'd these eyes,
And with some taste of superstition,
Look'd on the wealth of Nature, the fair dames,
Beauties, that light the Court, and make it shew
Like a fair heaven, in a frosty night:
And 'mongst these mine, not poorest, 'tis for tongues
Of blessed Poets, such as Orpheus was,
To give their worth and praises; Oh dear Cosin:
You have a wife, and fair, bring her hither,
Let her not live to be the Mistriss of a Farmers heir
And be confin'd ever to a searge,
Far courser than my horse-cloth.
Let her have Velvets, Tiffinies, Jewels, Pearls,
A Coach, an Usher, and her two Lacquies,
And I will send my wife to give her rules,
And read the rudiments of Court to her.
Cos. Sir, I had rather send her to Virginia
To help to propagate the English Nation.
Enter Servant.
Gent. Sirrah, how slept your Mistriss, and what visitants
Are to pay service?
Serv. As I came out,
Two Counts were newly ent'red.
Gent. This is greatness,
But few such servants wait a Countrey beauty.
Cos. They are the more to thank their modesty,
God keep my Wife, and all my Issue Female
From such uprisings.
Enter a Doctor.
Gent. What? my learned Doctor?
You will be welcome, give her health and youth
And I will give you gold. [Exit Doctor.
Cosin, how savors this? is it not sweet
And very great, tasts it not of Nobleness?
Cos. Faith Sir, my pallat is too dull and lazie
I cannot taste it, 'tis not for my relish,
But be so still.
Since your own misery must first reclaim ye,
To which I leave you, Sir,
If you will, yet be happy, leave the humor
And base subjection to your Wife, be wise,
And let her know with speed, you are her Husband,
I shall be glad to hear it.
My horse is sent for. [Exit.
Gent. Even such another countrey thing as this
Was I, such a piece of dirt, so heavy,
So provident to heap up ignorance,
And be an ass: such musty cloaths wore I,
So old and thred-bare, I do yet remember
Divers young Gallants lighting at my Gate,
To see my honoured Wife, have offered pence,
And bid me walk their horses, such a slave
Was I in shew then: but my eyes are open'd.
Enter Gent. Wife.
Many sweet morrows to my worthy Wife.
Wife. 'Tis well, and aptly given, as much for you,
But to my present business, which is money—
Gent. Lady, I have none left.
Wife. I hope you dare not say so, nor imagine so base and low,
A thought: I have none left?
Are these words fitting for a man of worth,
And one of your full credit? Do you know
The place you live in? me? and what I labour
For, you? and your advancement?
Gent. Yes my dearest.
Wife. And do you pop me off with this slight answer,
In troth I have none left? in troth you must have;
Nay stare not, 'tis most true, send speedily
To all that love you, let your people flye
Like thunder, through the City,
And not return under five thousand Crowns.
Try all, take all, let not a [wealthy] Merchant be untempted
Or any one that hath the name of Money,
Take up at any Use, give Band, or Land,
Or mighty Statutes, able by their strength,
To tye up Sampson, were he now alive,
There must be money gotten; for be perswaded,
If we fall now, or be but seen to shrink,
Under our fair beginnings, 'tis our ruin,
And then good night to all, (but our disgrace)
Farewel the hope of coming happiness,
And all the aims we levied at so long.
Are ye not mov'd at this? no sense of want,
Towards your self yet breeding? be old,
And common; jaded to the eyes
Of Grooms, and Pages, Chamber-maids, and Guarders,
And when you have done, put your poor house in order
And hang your self, for such must be the end
Of him that willingly forsakes his hopes
And hath a joy to tumble to his ruin.
All that I say is certain, if ye fail
Do not [impute] me with it, I am clear.
Gent. Now heaven forbid I should do wrong to you
My dearest Wife, and Madam; yet give leave
To your poor creature to unfold himself.
You know my debts are many more than means,
My bands not taken in, my friends at home
Drawn dry with these expences, my poor Tenants
More full of want than we, then what new course
Can I beget, to raise those crowns by? speak,
And I shall execute.
Wife. Pray tell me true,
Have you not Land in the Countrey?
Gent. Pardon me, I had forgot it.
Wife. Sir, you must remember it,
There is no remedy, this Land must be,
In Paris e'r to morrow night.
Gent. It shall, let me consider, some 300 acres
Will serve the turn.
Wife. 'Twill furnish at all points,
Now you speak like your self, and know like him,
That means to be a man, suspect no less
For the return will give ye five for one,
You shall be great to morrow, I have said it.
Farewel, and see this business be a-foot,
With expedition. [Exit Wife.
Gent. Health, all joy, and honor
Wait on my lovely Wife. What? Jaques, Jaques.
Enter Jaques.
Jaq. Sir, did you call?
Gent. I did so, hie thee Jaques.
Down to the Bank, and there to some good Merchant
(Conceive me well, good Jaques, and be private)
Offer 300 acres of my Land:
Say it is choice and fertile, ask upon it
Five thousand Crowns, this is the business
I must employ thee in, be wise and speedy.
Jaq. Sir, do not do this.
Gent. Knave, I must have money.
Jaq. If you have money thus, your knave must tell ye
You will not have a foot of Land left, be more wary,
And more friend to your self, this honest Land
Your Worship has discarded, has been true,
And done you loyal service.
Gent. Gentle Jaques,
You have a merry wit, employ it well
About the business you have now in hand.
When ye come back, enquire me in the Presence,
If not in the Tennis-Court, or at my house. [Exit.
Jaq. If this vain hold, I know where to enquire ye.
Five thousand Crowns! this, with good husbandry,
May hold a month out, then 5000 more,
And more Land a bleeding for't, as many more,
And more Land laid aside. God and St. Dennis
Keep honest minded young men batchelors.
'Tis strange, my Master should be yet so young
A puppy, that he cannot see his fall
And got so near the Sun. I'll to his Cosin.
And once more tell him on't, if he fail,
Then to my Mortgage, next unto my sale. [Exit.
Enter Longovile, Bewford, and the Servant.
Serv. Gentlemen, hold on discourse a while,
I shall return with knowledge how and where
We shall have best access unto my Mistriss
To tender your devotions. [Exit.
Long. Be it so:
Now to our first discourse.
Bew. I prethee peace;
Thou canst not be so bad, or make me know
Such things are living, do not give thy self
So common and so idle, so open vile,
So great a wronger of thy worth, so low,
I cannot, nor I must not credit thee.
Lon. Now by this light I am a whoremaster,
An open, and an excellent whormaster,
And take a special glory that I am so:
I thank my Stars I am a whoremaster,
And such a one as dare be known and seen,
And pointed at to be a noble wencher.
Bew. Do not let all ears hear this, hark [y]e Sir,
I am my self a whoremaster, I am
Believe it Sir (in private be it spoken)
I love a whore directly, most men are wenchers,
And have profest the Science, few men
That look upon ye now, but whoremasters,
Or have a full desire to be so.
Lon. This is noble.
Bew. It is without all question, being private,
And held as needful as intelligence,
But being once discover'd, blown abroad,
And known to common senses, 'tis no more
Than geometrical rules in Carpenters,
That only know some measure of an Art,
But are not grounded: be no more deceived,
I have a conscience to reclaim you, Sir.
Mistake me not: I do not bid you leave your whore
Or less to love her; forbid it,
I should be such a villain to my friend,
Or so unnatural: 'twas never harbor'd here,
Learn to be secret first, then strike your Deer.
Lon. Your fair instructions, Mo[n]sieur, I shall learn.
Bew. And you shall have them; I desire your care.
Lon. They are your servants.
Bew. You must not love.
Lon. How Sir?
Bew. I mean a Lady, there's danger.
She hath an Usher and a Waiting Gentlewoman,
A Page, a Coach-man, these are fee'd and fee'd
And yet for all that will be prating.
Lon. So.
Bew. You understand me Sir, they will discover't,
And there is a loss of credit, Table-talk
Will be the end of this, or worse, than that;
Will this be worthy of a Gentleman?
Long. Proceed good Sir.
Bew. Next leave your City Dame;
The best of that Tribe, are most meerly coy,
Or most extreamly foolish, both which vices
Are no great stirrers up, unless in Husbands
That owe this Cattle, fearing her that's coy
To be but seeming, her that's fool too forward.
Lon. This is the rarest fellow, and the soundest,
I mean in knowledge, that e'r wore a Codpiece,
H'as found out that will pass all Italy,
All France and England; to their shames I speak,
And to the griefs of all their Gentlemen,
The noble Theory of Luxury.
Bew. Your patience,
And I will lay before your eyes a course
That I my self found out, 'tis excellent,
Easie, and full of freedome.
Long. O good Sir,
You rack me till I know it.
Bew. This it is,
When your desire is up, your blood well heated
And apt for sweet encounter, chuse the night,
And with the night your Wench, the streets have store,
There seize upon her, get her to your chamber,
Give her a cardecew, 'tis royal payment;
When ye are dull, dismiss her, no man knows,
Nor she her self, who hath encountred her.
Lon. O but their faces.
Bew. Nere talke of faces:
The night allows her equal with a Dutchess,
Imagination doth all think her fair,
And great, clapt in Velvet, she is so,
Sir, I have tryed those, and do find it certain
It never failes me, 'tis but twelve nights since
My last experience.
Lon. O my meiching Varlet, I'll fit ye as I live.
'Tis excellent, I'll be your Scholar Sir.
Enter Lady and Servant.
Wife. You are fairly welcome both: troth Gentlemen
You have been strangers, I could chide you for't,
And taxe ye with unkindness, What's the news?
The Town was never empty of some novelty;
Servant, What's your intelligence?
Ser. Faith nothing.
I have not heard of any worth relating.
Bew. Nor I sweet Lady.
Lon. Then give me attention,
Monsieur Shattillion's mad.
Wife. Mad?
Lon. Mad as May-butter,
And which is more, mad for a Wench.
Lady. 'Tis strange, and full of pity.
Lon. All that comes near him
He thinks are come of purpose to betray him,
Being full of strange conceit: the wench he loved
Stood very near the Crown.
Lady. Alass good Monsieur;
A' was a proper man, and fair demean'd,
A Person worthy of a better temper.
Lon. He is strong opinion'd that the Wench he lov'd
Remains close prisoner by the Kings command:
Fearing her title, when the poor grieved Gentlewoman
Follows him much lamenting, and much loving
In hope to make him well, he knows her not,
Nor any else that comes to visit him.
Lady. Let's walk in Gentlemen, and there discourse
His further miseries, you shall stay dinner,
In truth you must obey.
Om. We are your servants. [Exeunt.
Enter Couzen.
Cous. There's no good to be done, no cure to be wrought
Upon my desperate Kinsman: I'll to horse
And leave him to the fools whip, misery.
I shall recover twenty miles this night,
My horse stands ready, I'll away with speed.
Enter Shattillion.
Shat. Sir, may I crave your name?
Cous. Yes Sir you may:
My name is Cleremont.
Shat. 'Tis well, your faction?
What party knit you with?
Cous. I know no parties,
Nor no Factions, Sir.
Shat. Then weare this Cross of white:
And where you see the like they are my friends,
Observe them well, the time is dangerous.
Cous. Sir keep your cross, I'll weare none, sure this fellow
Is much beside himself, grown mad.
Shat. A word Sir;
You can pick nothing out of this, this cross
Is nothing but a cross, a very cross,
Plain, without spell, or witchcraft, search it,
You may suspect, and well, there's poyson in't,
Powder, or wild-fire, but 'tis nothing so.
Cous. I do believe you, Sir, 'tis a plain cross.
Shat. Then do your worst, I care not, tell the King,
Let him know all this, as I am sure he shall;
When you have spit your venome, then will I
Stand up a faithful, and a loyal Subject,
And so God save His Grace, this is no Treason.
Cous. He is March mad, farewell Monsieur. [Exit Couzen.
Shat. Farewel;
I shall be here attending, 'tis my life
They aime at, there's no way to save it, well
Let 'em spread all their nets: they shall not draw me
Into any open Treason, I can see,
And can beware, I have my wits about me,
I thank heaven for't.
Enter Love.
Love. There he goes,
That was the fairest hope the French Court bred,
The worthiest and the sweetest temper'd spirit,
The truest, and the valiantest, the best of judgment,
Till most unhappy I: sever'd those virtues,
And turn'd his wit wild with a coy denial,
Which heaven forgive me, and be pleas'd, O heaven
To give again his senses: that my love
May strike off all my follies.
Shat. Lady.
Love. I Sir.
Shat. Your will with me sweet Lady.
Love. Sir, I come.
Shat. From the dread sovereign King, I know it Lady,
He is a gracious Prince, long may he live,
Pertain you to his chamber?
Lov. No indeed Sir,
That place is not for women, Do you know me?
Shat. Yes, I do know you.
Lov. What's my name? pray you speak.
Shat. That's all one, I do know you and your business,
You are discover'd Lady, I am wary,
It stands upon my life; pray excuse me,
The best man of this Kingdom sent you hither,
To dive into me, have I toucht you? ha?
Lov. You are deceiv'd Sir, I come from your love,
That sends you fair commends, and many kisses.
Shat. Alass, poor soul, How does she? Is she living?
Keeps she her bed still?
Lov. Still Sir, She is living,
And well, and shall do so.
Shat. Are ye in counsel?
Lov. No Sir, nor any of my sex.
Shat. Why so,
If you had been in counsel, you would know,
Her time to be but slender; she must die.
Lov. I do believe it, Sir.
Shat. And suddenly,
She stands too near a fortune.
Lov. Sir?
Shat. 'Tis so,
There is no jesting with a Princes Title,
Would we had both been born of common parents,
And liv'd a private and retir'd life,
In homely cottage, we had then enjoyed,
Our loves, and our embraces, these are things,
That cannot tend to Treason—
Lov. I am wretched.
Shat. O I pray as often for the King as any,
And with as true a heart, for's continuance,
And do moreover pray his heirs may live;
And their fair issues, then as I am bound
For all the states and commons: if these prayers
Be any wayes ambitious, I submit,
And lay my head down, let 'em take it off;
You may informe against me, but withall
Remember my obedience to the Crown,
And service to the State.
Lov. Good Sir, I love ye.
Shat. Then love the gracious King, and say with me.
Lov. Heaven save his Grace.
Shat. This is strange—
A woman should be sent to undermine me,
And buz love into me to try my spirit;
Offer me kisses, and enticing follies,
To make me open, and betray my self;
It was a subtile and a dangerous plot,
And very soundly followed, farewel Lady,
Let me have equal hearing, and relate
I am an honest Man. Heaven save the King. [Exit.
Love. I'll never leave him, till, by art or prayer,
I have restor'd his senses, If I make
Him perfect Man again, he's mine, till when,
I here abjure all loves of other men. [Exit.
Enter Cozen, and Jaques.
Jaques. Nay, good Sir be perswaded, go but back,
And tell him hee's undone, say nothing else;
And you shall see how things will work upon't.
Cozen. Not so good Jaques, I am held an asse,
A Countrey Fool, good to converse with dirt,
And eate course bread, weare the worst Wooll,
Know nothing but the high-way to Paris,
And wouldst thou have me bring these stains,
And imperfections to the rising view
Of the right worshipful thy worthy Master?
They must be bright, and shine, their cloaths
Soft Velvet, and the Tyrian Purple
Like the Arabian gums, hung like the Sun,
Their golden beames on all sides;
Such as these may come and know
Thy Master, I am base, and dare not speak unto him,
Hee's above me.
Ja. If ever you did love him, or his state,
His name, his issue, or your self, go back:
'Twill be an honest and a noble part
Worthy a Kinsman; save 300 Acres
From present execution; they have had sentence,
And cannot be repriev'd, be merciful.
Co. Have I not urg'd already all the reasons,
I had to draw him from his will? his ruin?
But all in vain, no counsel will prevail;
H'as fixt himself, there's no removing, Jaques,
'Twill prove but breath and labor spent in vain,
I'll to my horse, farewell.
Ja. For Gods sake, Sir,
As ever you have hope of joy, turn back;
I'll be your slave for ever, do but go,
And I will lay such fair directions to you
That if he be not doting on his fall,
He shall recover sight, and see his danger,
And ye shall tell him of his Wives abuses,
I fear, too foul against him; how she plots,
With our young Mounsiers, to milk-dry her husband,
And lay it on their backs; the next her pride;
Then what his debts are, and how infinite
The curses of his Tenants, this will work
I'll pawn my life and head, he cries away,
I'll to my house in the Countrey.
Co. Come, I'll go, and once more try him,
If he yield not, so,
The next that tryes him shall be want and woe. [Exeunt.
Enter Gentleman, Solus.
Gent. Jaques.
Jaq. Sir. [Within.
Gent. Rise Jaques 'tis grown day,
The Country life is best, where quietly,
Free from the clamor of the troubled Court,
We may enjoy our own green shadowed walks,
And keep a moderate diet without art.
Why did I leave my house, and bring my Wife,
To know the manner of this subtile place?
I would, when first the lust to fame and honor,
Possest me, I had met with any evil,
But that; had I been tied to stay at home,
And earn the bread for the whole family,
With my own hand, happy had I been.
Enter Jaques.
Jaq. Sir, this is from your wonted course at home,
When did ye there keep such inordinate hours?
Goe to bed late? start thrice? and call on me?
Would you were from this place; our Countrey sleeps,
Although they were but of that moderate length
That might maintain us in our daily work,
Yet were they sound and sweet.
Gent. I Jaques, there we dreamt not of our Wives, we lay together;
And needed not; now at length my Cozens words,
So truly meant, mixt with thy timely prayers
So often urged, to keep me at my home,
Condemn me quite.
Ja. 'Twas not your fathers course:
He liv'd and dy'd in Orleance, where he had
His Vines as fruitful as experience
(Which is the art of Husbandry) could make;
He had his presses for 'em, and his wines
Were held the best, and out-sold other Mens,
His corn and cattel serv'd the neighbor Towns
With plentiful provision, yet his thrift
Could miss one Beast amongst the heard;
He rul'd more where he liv'd, than ever you will here.
Gent. 'Tis true, why should my Wife then, 'gainst my good,
Perswade me to continue in this course?
Ja. Why did you bring her hither at the first,
Before you warm'd her blood with new delights?
Our Countrey sports could have contented her;
When you first married her a puppet-play
Pleas'd her as well as now the tilting doth.
She thought her self brave in a bugle chain,
Where Orient pearl will scarce content her now.
Gent. Sure Jaques, she sees something for my good
More than I do; she oft will talk to me
Of Offices, and that she shortly hopes,
By her acquaintance with the friends she hath,
To get a place shall many times outweigh
Our great expences, and if this be so—
Ja. Think better of her words, she doth deceive you,
And only for her vain and sensual ends
Perswade ye thus. Let me be set to dwell
For ever naked in the barest soil,
So you will dwell from hence.
Gent. I see my folly,
Pack up my stuffe, I will away this morne.
Haste—haste.
Ja. I, now I see your Father's honors
Trebling upon you, and the many prayers
The Countrey spent for him, which almost now
Begun to turn to curses, turning back,
And falling like a [timely] shower
Upon ye.
Gent. Goe, call [up] my Wife.
Ja. But shall she not prevail,
And sway you, as she oft hath done before?
Gent. I will not hear her, but raile on her,
Till I be ten miles off.
Ja. If you be forty,
'Twill not be worse Sir:
Gent. Call her up.
Ja. I will Sir. [Exit.
Gent. Why what an Ass was I that such a thing
As a Wife is could rule me!
Know not I that woman was created for the man,
That her desires, nay all her thoughts should be
As his are? is my sense restor'd at length?
Now she shall know, that which she should desire,
She hath a husband that can govern her,
Enter Wife.
If her desires leads me against my will;
Are you come?
Wife. What sad unwonted course
Makes you raise me so soon, that went to bed
So late last-night.
Gent. O you shall goe to bed sooner hereafter,
And be rais'd again at thrifty hours:
In Summer time wee'l walk
An hour after our Supper, and to bed,
In Winter you shall have a set at Cards,
And set your Maids to work.
Wife. What do you mean?
Gent. I will no more of your new tricks, your honors,
Your Offices, and all your large preferments,
Which still you beat into my ears, hang o'er me,
I'll leave behind for others, the great sway
Which I shall bear at Court: my living here
With countenance of your honoured friends,
I'll be content to lose: for you speak this
Only that you may still continue here
In wanton ease: and draw me to consume,
In cloaths and other things idle for shew,
That which my Father got with honest thrift.
Wife. Why, who hath been with you Sir,
That you talk thus out of Frame.
Gent. You make a fool of me:
You provide one to bid me forth to supper,
And make me promise; then must some one or other
Invite you forth, if you have born your self
Loosely to any Gentleman in my sight
At home, you ask me how I like the carriage,
Whether it were not rarely for my good,
And open'd not a way to my preferment?
Come, I perceive all: talk not, we'll away.
Wife. Why Sir, you'll stay till the next triumph
Day be past?
Gent. I, you have kept me here triumphing
This seven years, and I have ridden through the streets,
And bought embroyder'd hose and foot-cloths too,
To shew a subjects zeal, I rode before
In this most gorgeous habit, and saluted
All the acquaintance I could espie
From any window, these are wayes ye told me
To raise me; I see all: make you ready straight,
And in that Gown which you came first to Town in,
Your safe-guard, cloak, and your hood sutable:
Thus on a double gelding shall you amble,
And my man Jaques shall be set before you.
Wife. But will you goe?
Gent. I will.
Wife. And shall I too?
Gent. And you shall too.
Wife. But shall I by this light?
Gent. Why by this light you shall.
Wife. Then by this light
You have no care of your Estate, and mine.
Have we been seven years venturing in a Ship,
And now upon return, with a fair wind,
And a calm Sea, full fraught with our own wishes,
Laden with wealth and honor to the brim,
And shall we flye away and not receive it?
Have we been tilling, sowing, labouring,
With pain and charge a long and tedious winter,
And when we see the corn above the ground,
Youthful as is the Morn and the full eare,
That promises to stuffe our spacious garners,
Shall we then let it rot, and never reap it?
Gent. Wife talke no more, your Rhetorick comes too late,
I am inflixible; and how dare you
Adventure to direct my course of life?
Was not the husband made to rule the Wife?
Wife. 'Tis true: but where the man doth miss his way,
It is the Womans part to set him right;
So Fathers have a power to guide their Sons
In all their courses, yet you oft have seen
Poor little children, that have both their eyes,
Lead their blind Fathers.
Gen. She has a plaguy wit,
I say you'r but a little piece of man.
Wife. But such a piece, as being tane away,
Man cannot last: the fairest and tallest ship,
That ever sail'd, is by a little piece of the same
Wood, steer'd right, and turn'd about.
Gen. 'Tis true she sayes, her answers stand with reason.
Wife. But Sir, your Cozin put this in your head,
Who is an enemy to your preferment,
Because I should not take place of his wife;
Come, by this kiss, thou shalt not go sweet heart.
Gen. Come, by this kiss I will go Sweet-heart,
On with your riding stuffe: I know your tricks,
And if preferment fall ere you be ready,
'Tis welcome, else adieu the City life.
Wife. Well, Sir, I will obey.
Gent. About it then.
Wife. To please your humor I would dress my self,
In the most loathsome habit you could name,
Or travel any whether o're the World,
If you command me, it shall ne'r be said,
The frailty of a woman, whose weak mind,
Is often set on loose delights, and shews,
Hath drawn her husband to consume his state,
In the vain hope of that which never fell.
Gen. About it then, women are pleasant creatures,
When once a man begins to know himself.
Wife. But hark you Sir, because I will be sure,
You shall have no excuse, no word to say
In your defence hereafter; when you see
What honors were prepar'd for you and me,
Which you thus willingly have thrown away,
I tell you I did look for present honor,
This morning for you, which I know had come:
But if they do not come ere I am ready
(Which I will be the sooner least they should)
When I am once set in a countrey life,
Not all the power of earth shall alter me,
Not all your prayers or threats shall make me speak
The least words to my honorable friends,
To do you any grace.
Gent. I will not wish it.
Wife. And never more hope to be honorable.
Gent. My hopes are lower.
Wife. As I live you shall not,
You shall be so far from the name of noble
That you shall never see a Lord again;
You shall not see a Maske, or Barriers,
Or Tilting, or a solemn Christning,
Or a great Marriage, or new Fire-works,
Or any bravery; but you shall live
At home, bespotted with your own lov'd durt,
In scurvy cloaths, as you were wont to doe,
And to content you, I will live so too.
Gen. Tis all I wish, make haste, the day draws on,
It shall be my care to see your Stuffe packt up.
Wife. It shall be my care to gull you: you shall stay. [Ex. Gen.
And more than so, intreat me humbly too,
You shall have honors presently; Maria.
Enter Maria.
Mar. Madam.
Wife. Bring hither, pen, ink, and paper.
Ma. 'Tis here.
Wife. Your Master will not stay,
Unless preferment come within an hour.
Mar. Let him command one of the City gates,
In time of mutiny, or you may provide him,
To be one of the counsel for invading,
Some savage Countrey to plant Christian faith.
Wife. No, no, I have it for him, call my page;
Now, my dear husband, there it is will fit you. [Ex. Maria.
And when the world shall see what I have done,
Let it not move the spleen of any Wife,
To make an Ass of her beloved husband,
Without good ground, but if they will be drawn
To any reason by you, do not gull them;
But if they grow conceited of themselves,
And be fine Gentlemen, have no mercy,
Publish them to the World, 'twill do them good
When they shall see their follies understood,
Go bear these Letters to my servant,
And bid him make haste, I will dress my self,
In all the Journey-Cloaths I us'd before,
Not to ride, but to make the Laughter more. [Exit.
Enter Gentleman, and Jaques.
Gent. Is all packt up?
Ja. All, all Sir, there is no tumbler
Runs through his hoop with more dexterity,
Then I about this business: 'Tis a day,
That I have long long'd to see.
Gent. Come, Where's my Spurs?
Ja. Here, Sir, and now 'tis come.
Gent. I, Jaques, now,
I thank my fates, I can command my Wife.
Ja. I am glad to see it, Sir.
Gent. I do not love alwayes,
To be made a puppie, Jaques.
Ja. But, yet me thinks your Worship does not look,
Right like a Countrey Gentleman.
Gent. I will, give me my t'other hat.
Ja. Here.
Gent. So, my Jerkin.
Ja. Yes, Sir.
Gent. On with it Jaques, thou and I
Will live so finely in the Countrey, Jaques,
And have such pleasant walks into the Woods
A mornings, and then bring home riding-rods,
And walking staves—
Ja. And I will bear them, Sir,
And Skurdge-sticks for the children.
Gent. So thou shalt,
And thou shalt do all, over-see my Work-folkes,
And at the weeks end pay them all their wages.
Ja. I will, Sir, so your Worship give me Money.
Gent. Thou shalt receive all too: give me my Drawers.
Ja. They are ready, Sir.
Gent. And I will make thy Mistriss,
My wife, look to her landrie, and her dairy,
That we may have our linnen clean on Sundayes.
Ja. And Holy-dayes.
Gent. I, and ere we walk about the Grounds
Provide our break-fast,
Or she shall smoke, I'll have her a good huswife;
She shall not make a voyage to her Sisters,
But she shall live at home,
And feed her pullen fat, and see her Maides
In bed before her, and lock all the doors.
Ja. Why that will be a life for Kings and Queens.
Gen. Give me my Scarfe with the great Button quickly.
Ja. 'Tis done, Sir.
Gen. Now my Mittens.
Ja. Here they are, Sir.
Gen. 'Tis well: now my great dagger.
Ja. There.
Gen. Why so; thus it should be, now my riding rod.
Ja. There's nothing wanting, Sir.
Gen. Another, man, to stick under my girdle.
Ja. There it is.
Gent. All is well.
Ja. Why now methinks your Worship looks
Like to your self, a Man of means and credit,
So did your grave and famous Ancestors,
Ride up and down to Fairs, and cheapen cattel.
Gent. Goe, hasten your Mistriss, Sirra.
Ja. It shall be done. [Ex. Jaques.
Enter Servant and Page.
Ser. Who's that? who's that Boy?
Page. I think it be my Master.
Ser. Who, he that walkes in gray, whisking his riding rod?
Pag. Yes, Sir, 'tis he.
Ser. 'Tis he indeed; he is prepar'd
For his new journey; when I wink upon you,
Run out and tell the Gentleman 'tis time—
Monsieur good day.
Gen. Monsieur, your Mistriss is within, but yet not ready.
Ser. My business is with you, Sir; 'tis reported,
I know not whether by some enemy
Maliciously, that envies your great hopes,
And would be ready to sow discontents
Betwixt his Majesty, and you, or truely,
Which on my faith I would be sorry for,
That you intend to leave the Court in haste.
Gen. Faith, Sir, within this half hour. Jaques?
Jaques within: Sir?
Gent. Is my Wife ready?
Ja. Presently.
Ser. But Sir,
I needs must tell you, as I am your friend,
You should have ta'en your journey privater,
For 'tis already blaz'd about the Court.
Gen. Why Sir, I hope it is no Treason, is it?
Ser. 'Tis true, Sir, but 'tis grown the common talk,
There's no discovery else held, and in the presence
All the Nobility and Gentry,
Have nothing in their mouths but only this,
Monsieur Marine, that noble Gentleman,
Is now departing hence: every Mans face
Looks ghastly on his fellows; such a sadness
(Before this day) I ne'er beheld in Court,
Mens hearts begin to fail them when they hear it,
In expectation of the great event
That needs must follow it, pray Heaven it be good!
Gen. Why, I had rather all their hearts should fail,
Than I stay here until my purse fail me.
Ser. But yet you are a Subject, and beware,
I charge you by the love I bear to you,
How you do venture rashly on a course,
To make your Sovereign jealous of your deeds,
For Princes jealousies, where they love most,
Are easily found, but they be hardly lost.
Gen. Come, these are tricks, I smell 'em, I will goe.
Ser. Have I not still profest my self your friend?
Gen. Yes, but you never shewd it to me yet.
Ser. But now I will, because I see you wise,
And give ye thus much light into a business,
That came to me but now, be resolute,
Stand stifly to it that you will depart,
And presently.
Gen. Why so I mean to doe.
Ser. And by this light you may be what you will;
Will you be secret, Sir?
Gen. Why? What's the matter?
Ser. The King does fear you.
Gent. How?
Ser. And is now in Counsel;
Gent. About me?
Ser. About you, and you be wise,
You'll find he's in Counsel about you:
His Counsellors have told him all the truth.
Gent. What truth?
Ser. Why, that which now he knows too well.
Gent. What is't?
Ser. That you have followed him seven years,
With a great train: and though he have not grac't you,
Yet you have div'd into the hearts of thousands,
With liberality and noble carriage;
And if you should depart home unprefer'd,
All discontented, and seditious spirits
Would flock to you, and thrust you into action:
With whose help, and your Tenants, who doth not know
(If you were so dispos'd:)
How great a part of this yet fertile peaceful Realm of France
You might make desolate? but when the King
Heard this—
Gent. What said he?
Ser. Nothing, but shook,
As never Christian Prince did shake before.
And to be short, you may be what you will
But be not ambitious Sir, sit down
With moderate honors, least you make your self
More fear'd.
Gent. I know, Sir, what I have to doe
In mine own business.
Enter Longavile.
Long. Where's Monsieur Mount Marine?
Ser. Why there he stands, will you ought with him?
Long. Yes: Good day Monsieur Marine.
Gent. Good day to you.
Long. His Majesty doth commend himself,
Most kindly to you Sir, and hath, by me,
Sent you this favor: kneel down, rise a Knight.
Gent. I thank his Majesty.
Long. And he doth further request you,
Not to leave the Court so soon,
For though your former merits have been slighted,
After this time there shall no Office fall;
Worthy your spirit, as he doth confess
There's none so great, but you shall surely have it.
Ser. Do you hear? if you yield yet you are an ass.
Gent. I'll shew my service to his Majesty
In greater things than these, but for this small one
I must intreat his Highness to excuse me.
Long. I'll bear your Knightly words unto the King,
And bring his Princely answer back again. [Exit Long.
Ser. Well said, be resolute a while, I know
There is a tide of honors coming on.
I warrant you.
Enter Bewford.
Bew. Where is this new made Knight?
Gent. Here, Sir.
Bew. Let me enfold you in my arms,
Then call you Lord, the King will have it so,
Who doth entreat your Lordship to remember
His Message sent to you by Longavile.
Ser. If ye be durty, and dare not mount aloft;
You may yield now, I know what I would do.
Gent. Peace, I will fit him; tell his Majesty
I am a Subject, and I do confess
I serve a gracious Prince, that thus hath heapt
Honors on me without desert, but yet
As for the Message, business urgeth me,
I must be gone, and he must pardon me,
Were he ten thousand Kings and Emperors.
Bew. I'll tell him so.
Ser. Why, this was like your self.
Bew. As he hath wrought him, 'tis the finest fellow
That e're was Christmas Lord, he carries it
So truely to the life, as though he were
One of the plot to gull himself. [Exit Bewf.
Ser. Why so, you sent the wisest and the shrewdest answer
Unto the King, I swear, my honored friend,
That ever any Subject sent his Liege.
Gent. Nay now I know I have him on the hip,
I'll follow it.
Enter Longavile.
Long. My honorable Lord,
Give me your noble hand right courteous Peer,
And from henceforth be a courtly Earl;
The King so wills, and Subjects must obey:
Only he doth desire you to consider
Of his request.
Ser. Why faith you'r well my Lord, yield to him.
Gent. Yield? why 'twas my plot.
Ser. Nay, 'twas your Wives plot.
Gent. To get preferment by it,
And thinks he now to pop me i'th' mouth
But with an Earldome? I'll be one step higher.
Ser. 'Tis the finest Lord, I am afraid anon
He will stand upon't to share the Kingdom with him.
Enter Bewford.
Bew. Where's this Courtly Earl?
His Majesty commends his love unto you;
And will you but now grant to his request,
He bids you be a Duke, and chuse of whence.
Ser. Why if you yield not now, you are undone,
What can you wish to have more, but the Kingdom?
Gent. So please his Majesty, I would be D. of Burgundy,
Because I like the place.
Bew. I know the King is pleas'd.
Gent. Then will I stay and kiss his Highness hand.
Bew. His Majesty will be a glad man when he hears it.
Lon. But how shall we keep this from the world's ear,
That some one tell him not, he is no Duke?
Ser. Wee'l think of that anon.
Why Gentlemen, Is this a gracious habit for a Duke?
Each gentle body set a finger to
To pluck the clouds of this his riding weeds
From off the orient Sun of his best cloaths;
I'll pluck one Boot and spur off.
Long. I another.
Bew. I'll pluck his Jerkin off.
Ser. Sit down my Lord;
Both his spurs off at once good Longavile,
And Bewford, take that Scarfe off, and that Hat,
Doth not become his largely sprouting fore-head.
Now set your gracious foot to this of mine,
One pluck will do it, so, off with the other.
Lon. Loe, thus your servant Longavile doth pluck
The trophy of your former gentry off.
Off with his Jerkin Bewford.
Ser. Didst thou never see
A nimble footed Taylor stand so in his stockings,
Whilst some friend help'd to pluck his Jerkin off,
To dance a Jigg?
Enter Jaques.
Lon. Here's his man Jaques come,
Booted and ready still.
Jaq. My Mistriss stayes;
Why how now Sir? What do's your Worship mean,
To pluck your grave and thrifty habit off.
Gent. My slippers, Jaques.
Lon. O thou mighty Duke,
Pardon this Man,
That thus hath trespassed in ignorance.
Gent. I pardon him.
Lon. His Graces slippers, Jaques.
Ja. Why what's the matter?
Lon. Foot-man, he's a Duke:
The King hath rais'd him above all his Land.
Ja. I'll to his Cozen presently, and tell him so;
O what a dung-hill Countrey rogue was I. [Exit Jaques.
Enter Wife.
Ser. See, see, my Mistriss.
Lon. Let's observe their greeting.
Wife. Unto your will, as every good Wife ought,
I have turn'd all my thoughts, and now am ready.
Gent. O Wife, I am not worthy to kiss the least
Of all thy toes, much less thy Thumb,
Which yet I would be bold with; all thy counsel
Hath been to me Angelical, but mine to thee
Hath been most dirty, like my mind:
Dear Duchess I must stay.
Wife. What are you mad, to make me
Dress, and undress, turn and wind me,
Because you find me plyant? said I not
The whole world should not alter me, if once
I were resolv'd? and now you call me Duchess:
Why what's the matter?
Gent. Loe a Knight doth kneel.
Wife. A Knight?
Gent. A Lord.
Wife. A Fool.
Gent. I say doth kneel an Earl, a Duke.
Long. In Drawers.
Bew. Without shoes.
Wife. Sure you [are] lunatick.
Ser. No, honoured Duchess,
If you dare but believe your servants truth,
I know he is a Duke.
Long. God save his Grace.
Wife. I ask your Graces pardon.
Gent. Then I rise,
And here, in token that all strife shall end,
'Twixt thee and me, I let my drawers fall,
And to thy hands I do deliver them:
Which signifies, that in all acts and speeches,
From this time forth, my Wife shall wear the breeches.
Ser. An honorable composition. [Exeunt omnes.
Enter Cozen, and Jaques.
Coz. Shall I believe thee, Jaques?
Ja. Sir you may.
Coz. Didst thou not dreame?
Ja. I did not.
Coz. Nor imagine?
Ja. Neither of both: I saw him great and mighty,
I saw the Monsieurs bow, and heard them cry,
Good health and fortune to my Lord the Duke.
Coz. A Duke art sure? a Duke?
Ja. I am sure a Duke,
And so sure, as I know my self for Jaques.
Coz. Yet the Sun may dazel; Jaques, Was it not
Some leane Commander of an angry Block-house
To keep the Fleemish Eele-boats from invasion,
Or some bold Baron able to dispend
His fifty pounds a year, and meet the foe
Upon the Kings command, in gilded canvas,
And do his deeds of worth? or was it not
Some place of gain, as Clerk to the great Band
Of maribones, that people call the Switzers?
Men made of Beufe, and Sarcenet?
Ja. Is a Duke his chamber hung with Nobles like a presence?
Coz. I am something wavering in my faith;
Would you would settle me, and swear 'tis so,
Is he a Duke indeed?
Ja. I swear he is.
Coz. I am satisfied, he is my Kinsman. Jaques,
And I his poor unworthy Cozen.
Ja. True, Sir.
Coz. I might have been a Duke too, I had means,
A wife as fair as his, and as wise as his;
And could have brookt the Court as well as his,
And laid about her for her husbands honor:
O Jaques, had I ever dreamt of this,
I had prevented him.
Ja. Faith Sir it came
Above our expectation, we were wise
Only in seeking to undoe this honor,
Which shewed our dung-hill breeding and our durt.
Coz. But tell me Jaques,
Why could we not perceive? what dull Divel
Wrought us to cross this noble course, perswading
'Twould be his overthrow? 'fore me a Courtier
Is he that knows all, Jaques, and does all,
'Tis as his noble Grace hath often said,
And very wisely, Jaques, we are fools,
And understand just nothing.
Ja. I, as we were, I confess it.
But rising with our great Master,
We shall be call'd to knowledge with our places,
'Tis nothing to be wise, not thus much there,
There's not the least of the billet dealers,
Nor any of the Pastry, or the Kitchin,
But have it in measure delicate.
Coz. Methinks this greatness of the Dukes my Cozens,
(I ask you mercy, Jaques, that near name
Is too familiar for me) should give promise
Of some great benefits to his attendants.
Ja. I have a suit my self, and it is sure,
Or I mistake my ends much.
Coz. What is't Jaques,
May I not crave the place?
Ja. Yes, Sir, you shall,
'Tis to be but his Graces Secretary,
Which is my little all, and my ambition,
Till my known worth shall take me by the hand,
And set me higher; how the fates may do
In this poor thread of life, is yet uncertain;
I was not born I take it for a Trencher,
Nor to espouse my Mistriss Dairy-maid.
Couz. I am resolv'd my Wife shall up to Court;
I'll furnish her, that is a speeding course,
And cannot chuse but breed a mighty fortune;
What a fine youth was I, to let him start,
And get the rise before me! I'll dispatch,
And put my self in Moneys.
Ja. Mass 'tis true,
And now you talke of Money; Sir, my business
For taking those Crowns must be dispatcht:
This little plot in the Countrey lies most fit
To do his Grace such serviceable uses,
I must about it.
Couz. Yet, before you goe,
Give me your hand, and bear my humble service
To the great Duke your Master, and his Duchess,
And live your self in favor: say my Wife
Shall there attend them shortly, so farewell.
Ja. I'll see you mounted, Sir.
Couz. It may not be,
Your place is far above it, spare your self,
And know I am your servant, fare ye well. [Exit Couzen.
Ja. Sir I shall rest to be commanded by you,
This place of Secretary will not content me,
I must be more and greater: let me see;
To be a Baron is no such great matter
As people take it: for say I were a Count,
I am still an under-person to this Duke,
Which methinks sounds but harshly: but a Duke?
O I am strangely taken, 'tis a Duke
Or nothing, I'll advise upon't, and see
What may be done by wit and industry. [Exit.
Enter Wife, Longoveil, Bewford, Servants.
Wife. It must be carried closely with a care
That no man speak unto him, or come near him,
Without our private knowledge, or be made
Afore-hand to our practice:
My good husband,
I shall entreat you now to stay a while,
And prove a noble coxcomb.
Gentlemen,
Your counsel and advice about this carriage.
Ser. Alas good man, I do begin to mourn
His dire Massacre: what a persecution
Is pouring down upon him! sure he is sinful.
Long. Let him be kept in's chamber under shew
Of state and dignity, and no man suffer'd
To see his noble face, or have access,
But we that are Conspirators.
Bew. Or else down with him into the Countrey amongst his Tenants,
There he may live far longer in his greatness,
And play the fool in pomp amongst his fellows.
Wife. No, he shall play the fool in the City, and stay,
I will not lose the greatness of this jest,
That shall be given to my wit, for the whole Revenues.
Ser. Then thus wee'll have a guard about his person,
That no man come too near him, and our selves
Alwayes in company; have him into the City
To see his face swell; whilst, in divers corners,
Some of our own appointing shall be ready
To cry heaven bless your Grace, long live your Grace.
Wife. Servant, your counsel's excellent good,
And shall be follow'd, 'twill be rarely strange
To see him stated thus, as though he went
A shroving through the City, or intended
To set up some new [stake]:
I shall not hold
From open laughter, when I hear him cry,
Come hither my sweet Duchess: let me kiss
Thy gracious lips: for this will be his phrases?
I fear me nothing but his legs will break
Under his mighty weight of such a greatness.
Bew. Now me thinks dearest Lady you are too cruel;
His very heart will freeze in knowing this.
Wife. No, no, the man was never of such deepness,
To make conceit his Master: Sir, I'll assure ye
He will out-live twenty such pageants.
Were he but my Cozen, or my Brother,
And such a desperate killer of his fortune,
In this belief he should dye, though it cost me
A thousand Crowns a day to hold it up;
Or were I not known his wife, and so to have
An equal feeling of this ill he suffers,
He should be thus till all the Boyes i'th' Town
Made sute to weare his badges in their hats,
And walk before his Grace with sticks and nose-gayes,
We Married Women hold—
Ser. 'Tis well, no more.
The Duke is entring, set you[r] faces right,
And bow like Countrey Prologues: here he comes.
Make room afore, the Duke is entring.