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A SELECT COLLECTION
OF
OLD ENGLISH PLAYS.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY ROBERT DODSLEY
IN THE YEAR 1744.
FOURTH EDITION.
NOW FIRST CHRONOLOGICALLY ARRANGED, REVISED AND ENLARGED
WITH THE NOTES OF ALL THE COMMENTATORS,
AND NEW NOTES
BY
W. CAREW HAZLITT.
BENJAMIN BLOM, INC.
First published 1874-1876
Reissued 1964 by Benjamin Blom, Inc.
L.C. Catalog Card No.: 64-14702
Printed in U.S.A. by
NOBLE OFFSET PRINTERS, INC.
NEW YORK 3, N.Y.
THE OLD COUPLE
A WOMAN NEVER VEXED.
THE ORDINARY
THE LONDON CHANTICLEERS.
THE SHEPHERDS' HOLIDAY.
FUIMUS TROES: THE TRUE TROJANS
THE LOST LADY.
EDITION.
The Old Couple. A Comedy. By Thomas May, Esq.;
London, Printed by J. Cottrel, for Samuel Speed, at
the signe of the Printing-press in S. Paul's Churchyard.
1658. 4o.
[A MS. note in one of the former editions says:
"This comedy is pleasingly and fluently written, and
though it contains little poetry, is not without some
eloquent and beautiful passages. The first scene is the
best in the play."]
INTRODUCTION
It seems probable that this comedy, as it is called, was
never acted, and on the title-page of the old edition
(not printed until 1658, eight years after the death of
the author), it is not mentioned that it was performed
by any private or public company. This fact was
usually stated, though during the period when the
theatres were silenced exceptions were not very
uncommon. It is pretty obvious, however, from the
general structure of the piece and the nature of the
dialogue, that "The Old Couple" was not calculated or
intended by the author to please the multitude. No
inconsiderable part of the plot, and some of the
characters, may be considered allegorical, and for the
sake of preserving it, some constraint is used in a few
of the incidents, and forced and unnatural conversions
take place among the persons.[1]
As to the period when it was written, judging from
internal evidence, it might be thought that May produced
"The Old Couple" late in life, and it was certainly
the last printed of any of his works. It will be
observed that two lines in the last scene of this play
close "The Goblins" of Sir John Suckling.
"Gently my joys distil,
Lest you should break the vessel you should fill."
Sir J. Suckling does not introduce them as a quotation,
but nevertheless, from the situation in which
they are found in his comedy, it seems likely that they
were so, and that they originally belong to May. If
this supposition be correct, "The Old Couple" must
have been written before 1641, in which year Suckling
died, and the latter must have seen it in MS.[2]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
MEN.
- Sir Argent Scrape, an old covetous rich knight.
- Earthworm, an old miserly niggard.
- Master Freeman.
- Eugeny, Sir Argent Scrape's nephew.
- Euphues (Freeman's nephew) Scudmore's friend.
- Theodore, Earthworm's virtuous son.
- Scudmore, supposed to be slain by Eugeny.
- Fruitful, the Lady Covet's chaplain (Scudmore disguised).
- Barnet.
- Dotterel, a gull, married to the Lady Whimsey.
- Trusty, the Lady Covet's steward.
- Jasper, Earthworm's servant.
- Three neighbours of Earthworm's.
- Officers.
WOMEN.
- The Lady Covet, betrothed to Sir Argent Scrape.
- Matilda (Earthworm's niece), Scudmore's love.
- Artemia (Freeman's daughter), Eugeny's love.
- The Lady Whimsey, married to Dotterel.
THE OLD COUPLE
ACT I.
Eugeny solus.
Eug. This is the hour which fair Artemia
Promis'd to borrow from all company,
And bless me only with it; to deny
Her beauteous presence to all else, and shine
On me, poor me! Within this garden here,
This happy garden once, while I was happy,[3]
And wanted not a free access unto it;
Before my fatal and accursed crime
Had shut these gates of paradise against me;
When I, without control alone might spend
With sweet Artemia in these fragrant walks
The day's short-seeming hours; and (ravish'd) hear
Her sweet discourses of the lily's whiteness,
The blushing rose, blue-mantled violet,
Pale daffodil, and purple hyacinth:
With all the various sweets and painted glories
Of Nature's wardrobe, which were all eclips'd
By her diviner beauty. But alas!
What boots the former happiness I had,
But to increase my sorrow?[4] My sad crime
Has left me now no entrance but by stealth,
When death and danger dog my vent'rous steps.
But welcome danger, since thou find'st so fair
A recompense as my Artemia's sight!
Enter Artemia.
Art. And art thou come, my dearest Eugeny?
Has thy true love broke through so many hazards
To visit me? I prythee, chide my fondness,
That did command thee such a dangerous task.
I did repent it since, and was in hope
Thou wouldst not come.
Eug. Why hop'd Artemia so?
Wouldst thou not see me then? Or can the hazard
Of ten such lives as mine is countervail
One glance of favour from thy beauteous eyes?
Art. Why dost thou use that language to a heart,
Which is thy captive, Eugeny, and lives,
In nothing happy but in thee?
Eug. Ah, love!
There lies my greatest sorrow; that the storms
Of spiteful fortune, which o'erwhelm my state,
Should draw thy constant goodness to a suff'ring—
A goodness worthy of the happiest man.
Art. Those storms of fortune will be soon o'er-blown,
When once thy cause shall be but truly known,
That chance, not malice, wrought it; and thy pardon
Will be with ease obtain'd.
Eug. It may be, love,
If old Sir Argent do deal truly in it.
Art. But keep thyself conceal'd: do not rashly
Venture two lives in one: or, when thou com'st,
Let it be still in silence of the night.
No visitation then, or other strange
Unlook'd-for accident, can bar our joys.
The moon is now in her full orb, and lends
Securer light to lovers than the sun:
Then only come. But prythee, tell me, love,
How dost thou spend thy melancholy time?
Eug. Within the covert of yon shady wood,
Which clothes the mountain's rough and craggy top,
A little hovel built of boughs and reeds
Is my abode: from whence the spreading trees
Keep out the sun, and do bestow in lieu
A greater benefit, a safe concealment.
In that secure and solitary place
I give my pleas'd imagination leave
To feast itself with thy supposed presence,
Whose only shadow brings more joy to me,
Than all the substance of the world beside.
Art. Just so alone am I; nay, want the presence
Of mine own heart, which strays to find out thee.
But who comes to thee to supply thy wants?
Eug. There Artemia names my happiness—
A happiness which, next thy love, I hold
To be the greatest that the world can give,
And I am proud to name it. I do there
Enjoy a friend, whose sweet society
Makes that dark wood a palace of delight:
One stor'd with all that can commend a man;
In whom refined knowledge and pure art,
Mixing with true and sound morality,
Is crown'd with piety.
Art. What wonder's this,
Whom thou describ'st?
Eug. But I in vain, alas!
Do strive to make with my imperfect skill
A true dissection of his noble parts:
He loses, love, by all that I can say;
For praise can come no nearer to his worth
Than can a painter with his mimic sun
Express the beauty of Hyperion.
Art. What is his name?
Eug. His name is Theodore,
Rich Earthworm's son, lately come home from travel.
Art. O heavens! his son? Can such a caitiff wretch,
Hated and curs'd by all, have such a son?
The miser lives alone, abhorr'd by all,
Like a disease, yet cannot so be 'scap'd;
But, canker-like, eats through the poor men's hearts,
That live about him: never has commerce
With any, but to ruin them; his house
Inhospitable as the wilderness,
And never look'd upon but with a curse.
He hoards, in secret places of the earth,
Not only bags of treasure, but his corn,
Whose every grain he prizes 'bove a life,
And never prays at all but for dear years.
Eug. For his son's sake, tread gently on his fame.
Art. O love! his fame cannot be redeemed
From obloquy; but thee I trust so far,
As highly to esteem his worthy son.
Eug. That man is all, and more than I have said:
His wondrous virtues will hereafter make
The people all forgive his father's ill:
I was acquainted with him long ago
In foreign parts. And, now I think on't, love,
He'll be the fittest man to be acquainted
With all our secrecies, and be a means
To further us; and think I trust his truth,
That dare so much commend his worth to thee.
Art. He is my neighbour here: that house is Earthworm's,
That stands alone beside yon grove of trees;
And fear not, dearest love, I'll find a means
To send for him: do you acquaint him first. [Exeunt.
Euphues, Dotterel, Barnet.
Euph. Then shall I tell my cousin that you are
A younger brother, Master Dotterel?
Dot. O yes, by any means, sir.
Euph. What's your reason?
Dot. A crotchet, sir, a crotchet that I have:
Here's one can tell you I have twenty of 'em.
Bar. Euphues, dissuade him not; he is resolv'd
To keep his birth and fortunes both conceal'd;
Yet win her so, or no way. He would know
Whether himself be truly lov'd or no;
And not his fortunes only.
Euph. Well, access
You have already found; pursue it, sir,
But give me leave to wonder at your way.
Another wooer, to obtain his love,
Would put on all his colours; stretch t' appear
At his full height, or a degree beyond it;
Belie his fortunes; borrow what he wanted;
Not make himself less than he truly is.
What reason is there that a man possess'd
Of fortunes large enough, that they may come boldly
A welcome suitor to herself and friends,
And, ten to one, speed in his suit the fair
And usual way, should play the fool, and lose
His precious time in such a hopeless wooing?
Dot. Alas, sir! what is a gentleman's time?
Bar. Euphues, he tells you true; there are some brains
Can never lose their time, whate'er they do:
Yet I can tell you, he has read some books.
Dot. Do not disparage me.
Bar. I warrant thee;
And in those books he says he finds examples
Of greatest beauties that have so been won.
Euph. O, in "Parismus" and the "Knight o' th' Sun!"[5]
Are those your authors?
Dot. Yes, and those are good ones.
Why should a man of worth, though but a shepherd,
Despair to get the love of a king's daughter?
Euph. I prythee, Barnet, how hast thou screw'd up
This fool to such a monstrous confidence?
Bar. He needs no screwing up; but let him have
His swing a little.
Euph. He shall have it freely.
But you have seen your mistress, Master Dotterel?
How do you find her? coming?
Dot. That's all one;
I know what I know.
Bar. He has already got
Some footing in her favour.
Euph. But I doubt
He'll play the tyrant; make her doat too long,
Wear the green-sickness as his livery,
And pine a year or two.
Dot. She's not the first
That has done so for me.
Euph. But if you use
My cousin so, I shall not take it well.
Dot. O, I protest I have no such meaning, sir.
See, here she comes! the Lady Whimsey too.
Enter Lady Whimsey, with Artemia.
Lady W. I thought, sweetheart, th' hadst wanted company.
Art. Why, so I did—yours, madam.
Lady W. Had I known
Your house had been so full of gallants now,
I would have spar'd my visit. But 'tis all one,
I have met a friend here.
Euph. Your poor servant, madam.
Lady W. I was confessing of your cousin here
About th' affairs of love.
Euph. Your ladyship, I hope, will shrieve her gently.[6]
Lady W. But I tell her
She shall not thank me now for seeing her;
For I have business hard by. I am going
A suitor to your old rich neighbour here—
Earthworm.
Euph. A suitor! He is very hard
In granting anything, especially
If it be money.
Lady W. Yes, my suit's for money;
Nay, all his money, and himself to boot.
Bar. His money would do well without himself.
Lady W. And with himself.
Bar. Alas! your ladyship
Should too much wrong your beauty, to bestow it
Upon one that cannot use it, and debar
More able men their wishes.
Euph. That's true, Barnet,
If she should bar all other men: but that
Would be too great a cruelty.
Art. Do you hear my cousin, madam?
Lady W. Yes, he will be heard:
Rather than fail, he'll give himself the hearing.
But, prythee, Euphues, tell me plainly now,
What thou dost think of me? I love thy freeness
Better than any flattery in the world.
Euph. I think you wondrous wise.
Lady W. In what?
Euph. In that
That makes or mars a woman—I mean love.
Lady W. Why, prythee?
Euph. I think you understand so well
What the true use of man is, that you'll ne'er
Trouble your thoughts with care, or spoil your beauty
With the green-sickness, to obtain a thing
Which you can purchase a discreeter way.
Art. How do you like this, madam?
Lady W. Wondrous well;
'Tis that I look'd for. But what entertainment
Would old rich Earthworm give us, do you think?
Bar. Unless your presence, madam, could infuse
A nobler soul into him, 'tis much fear'd
'Twould be but mean.
Lady W. Because (you'll say) he's covetous?
Tut! I can work a change in any man.
If I were married to him, you should see
What I would make him.
Euph. I believe we should,
If cuckold's horns were visible.
Art. But could
Your ladyship be pleas'd with such a husband?
Lady W. Who could not well be pleas'd with such a fortune?
Art. Wealth cannot make a man.
Lady W. But his wealth, lady,
Can make a woman.
Euph. Yet, I doubt, old Earthworm
Would prove too subtle to be govern'd so.
You'll find him, madam, an old crabbed piece:
Some gentle fool were better for a husband.
Art. Fie, cousin, how thou talk'st!
Lady W. He's in the right:
Fools are the only husbands; one may rule 'em.
Why should not we desire to use men so,
As they would us? I have heard men protest
They would have their wives silly, and not studied
In anything, but how to dress themselves;
And not so much as able to write letters.
Just such a husband would I wish to have,
So qualifi'd, and not a jot beyond it;
He should not have the skill to write or read.
Art. What could you get by that?
Lady W. I should be sure
He could not read my letters; and for bonds,
When I should have occasion to use money,
His mark would serve.
Art. I am not of your mind:
I would not have a fool for all the world.
Bar. No, fairest lady, your perfections
None but the wisest and the best of men
Can truly find and value.
Dot. And I protest, lady,
I honour you for not loving a fool.
Lady W. You would love a wife, it seems, that loves not you?
Euph. A tart jest, Barnet!
Bar. But he feels it not. [Aside.
Euph. Fie, Master Dotterel! 'tis not nobly done
In you to hate a fool: a generous spirit
Would take the weakest' part; and fools, you know,
Are weakest still.
Dot. Faith, Master Euphues,
I must confess I have a generous spirit,
And do a little sympathise with fools:
I learn'd that word from a good honest man.
But hark you, cousin Barnet, this same lady
Is a brave woman.
Bar. Are you taken with her?
Dot. I love a wit with all my heart.
Bar. 'Tis well;
He is already taken off, I see,
From fair Artemia, or may be soon;
Upon this t'other I may build a fortune. [Aside.
Euph. But, madam, if your ladyship would marry
Upon those terms, 'twere better that you took
Old Earthworm's son.
Lady W. Has he a son, I prythee?
Euph. Yes, lately come from travel, as they say,
We have not seen him yet; he has kept close
Since his arrival; people give him out
To be his father's own.
Lady W. Nay, then I swear
I'll none of him. If he be covetous,
And young, I shall be troubled too long with him:
I had rather have the old one.
Art. Here's my father.
Enter Master Freeman.
Free. Health to this good society: I am sorry
That my poor house must not to-day enjoy
The happiness to entertain you all.
We are invited to th' old Lady Covet's;
And thither must our company remove.
Lady W. Sir, I'll be govern'd by you. I was bold
To come and see Mistress Artemia.
Free. She's much beholden to your ladyship
For doing her that honour.
Euph. Tell me, uncle:
I hear Sir Argent Scrape is at her house.
Free. Nephew, 'tis true; and, which thou'lt wonder at,
That marriage, which we talk'd of as a jest,
In earnest now's concluded of, and shall
To-morrow morning be solemnised.
Euph. Betwixt Sir Argent and the Lady Covet?
I do not think it strange; there's but one hedge
Has a long time divided them—I mean
Their large estates; and 'tis th' estate that marries.
Free. But is't not strange, nay, most unnatural—
And I may say ridiculous, for those years
To marry, and abuse the ordinance?
My Lady Covet is, at least, fourscore,
And he, this year, is fourscore and fifteen:
Besides, he has been bed-rid long, and lame
Of both his feet.
Euph. Uncle, he's not too old
To love—I mean her money; and in that
The chiefest end of marriage is fulfill'd:
He will increase and multiply his fortunes:
Increase, you know, is the true end of marriage!
Free. They have already almost the whole country.
Euph. But you shall see how now they'll propagate.
Free. Is such a marriage lawful?
Euph. Ah! good uncle,
Dispute not that, the church has nought in this;
Their lawyer is the priest that marries them,
The banns of matrimony are the indentures,
The bounds and landmarks are the ring that joins them.
Art. But there's no love at all.
Euph. Yes, pretty cousin,
If thou art read in amorous books, thou'lt find
That Cupid's arrow has a golden head;
And 'twas a golden shaft that wounded them.
Free. Well, thither we must go; but, prythee, nephew,
Forbear thy jesting there.
Euph. I warrant you;
I'll flatter the old lady, and persuade her
How well she looks: but when they go to bed,
I'll write their epitaph.
Free. How, man! their epitaph?
Their epithalamium thou mean'st.
Euph. No, sirs;
Over their marriage-bed I'll write their ages,
And only say, Here lies Sir Argent Scrape,
Together with his wife, the Lady Covet.
And whosoever reads it will suppose
The place to be a tomb, no marriage-bed.
Lady W. How strangely thou art taken with this wedding,
Before thou see'st it!
Euph. And then, let me see:
To fit them for an Hymeneal song,
Instead of those so high and spirited strains,
Which the old Grecian lovers us'd to sing
When lusty bridegrooms rifled maidenheads,
I'll sing a quiet dirge, and bid them sleep
In peaceful rest, and bid the clothes, instead
Of earth, lie gently on their aged bones——[7]
Free. Thou'lt ne'er have done. Well, gallants, 'tis almost
The time that calls us: I must needs be gone.
Lady W. We'll wait upon you, sir.
Free. Your servant, madam.
[Exeunt Lady Whimsey, Freeman, Dotterel, and Barnet.
Art. Stay, cousin, I have a request to thee.
Euph. Thou canst not fear that I'll deny it thee.
Speak it: 'tis done.
Art. Why, then, in short, 'tis this—
Old Earthworm, cousin, has a son (they say)
Lately come home; his name, as I have heard,
Is Theodore.
Euph. Yes, I have heard of him.
Art. I would entreat you, by some means or other,
To draw him hither; I'd fain speak with him:
Ask not the cause, but do what I request—
You may hereafter know.
Eup. Well, I'll not question't,
But bring him hither, though I know him not.
Art. Cousin, farewell; I shall be look'd for straight.
[Exit Artemia.
Manet Euphues.
Euph. Rich Earthworm's son! why, in the name of wonder,
Should it be her desire to speak with him?
She knows him not. Well, let it be a riddle;
I have not so much wit as to expound it;
Nor yet so little as to lose my thoughts
Or study to find out what the no reason
Of a young wench's will is. Should I guess—
I know not what to think; she may have heard
That he's a proper man, and so desire
To satisfy herself? What reason then
Can she allege to him? Tut, that's not it:
Her beauty and large dow'r need not to seek
Out any suitors; and the odious name
Of his old wretched father would quite choke it.
Or have some tattling gossips or the maids
Told her, perchance, that he's a conjuror?
He goes in black: they say he is a scholar:
Has been beyond sea, too; there it may lie:
And he must satisfy her longing thought,
What or how many husbands she shall have;
Of what degree; upon what night she shall
Dream of the man; when she shall fast,[8] and walk
In the churchyard, to see him passing by,
Just in those clothes that first he comes a suitor.
These things may be; but why should she make me
To be her instrument? Some of the men
Or maids might do't as well. Well, since you have
Us'd me, fair cousin, I will sound your drifts,
Or't shall go hard. The fellow may abuse her;
Therefore, I'll watch him too, and straight about it.
But now I think on't, I'll solicit him
By letter first, and meet him afterward. [Exit.
Earthworm, Theodore.