Jane. Ay, marry, sir, these are better conditions
than the inheritance of three fathers. Let me have
love in esse; let lands follow in posse. Now I'll
have thee as fast as the priest can despatch us, let
him read as fast as he can.
King. The liveliest harmony that e'er I heard!
All instruments compar'd to these sweet tunes
Are dull and harsh: I joy to see so good a child,
A woman wonder; brothers reconciled.
[To Brewen.] You, worthy sir, did invite us to a feast,
We'll not forget it, but will be your guest;
Because we'll view these wonders o'er again,
Whose records do deserve a brazen pen;
But this above the rest in golden text
Shall be insculp'd, A woman never vex'd.
EDITION.
The Ordinary, a Comedy, Written by William Cartwright,
M.A. Ch. Ch. Oxon. London, Printed for
Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his shop
at the Sign of The Princes Armes in St Paul's
Churchyard. 1651. 8o.[109]
INTRODUCTION
William Cartwright was, according to Lloyd,[110] born
the 16th of August 1615, though Wood[111] says he was
born at Northway, near Tewksbury, Gloucestershire, in
September 1611, and christened on the 26th of the same
month. There is as much difference between these two
writers, with respect to his father, as there is concerning
the time of his birth. Lloyd says he was the son
of Thomas Cartwright of Burford, in Oxfordshire.
Wood asserts that his father's name was William Cartwright,
one who had dissipated a fair inheritance, and
was at last reduced to keep an inn at Cirencester.
These contradictory accounts are totally irreconcilable.
Wood's, however, is probably the true one.[112] That
author says that Cartwright received part of his education
under Mr William Top, master of the Free School
at Cirencester; was from thence sent to Westminster,
where he completed his education under Mr Lambert
Osbaldiston; and in the year 1628[113] was chosen a student
of Christ Church in Oxford, and placed under the
care of Mr Terrent. He took his several degrees of
Bachelor and Master of Arts—the latter in 1635; and
afterwards entering into holy orders, became, as Wood[114]
expresses it, "the most florid and seraphical preacher
in the University." In October 1642, Bishop Duppa
conferred on him the place of Succentor in the Church
of Salisbury; and on the 12th of April 1643, he was
admitted junior proctor of the University. He died
the 29th of November following of a malignant fever,
universally lamented by every person who knew him,
even by his sovereign, who showed him particular
marks of his respect.[115] He was buried at the upper end
of the south aisle, adjoining to the choir of the cathedral
of Christ Church. "He was," says Langbaine,
"extremely remarkable both for his outward and
inward endowments, his body being as handsome as his
soul. He was an expert linguist, understanding not
only Greek and Latin, but French and Italian, as perfectly
as his mother tongue. He was an excellent
orator, and yet an admirable poet, a quality which
Cicero, with all his pains, could not attain to. Nor
was Aristotle less known to him than Cicero and
Virgil; and those who heard his metaphysical lectures
gave him the preference to all his predecessors, the
present Bishop of Lincoln (Dr Barlow) excepted. His
sermons were as much admired as his other composures;
and one fitly applied to our author that
saying of Aristotle concerning Æschrion the poet, that
he could not tell what Æschrion could not do."
Ben Jonson said of him with some passion, My son
Cartwright writes all like a man; and Dr Fell, Bishop
of Oxford, gave him this character: Cartwright was
the utmost man could come to.
Besides a sermon and some Greek and Latin poems, he
was the author of four plays, one only of which, I
believe, was published in his lifetime, viz.—
1. "The Royal Slave, a Tragi-Comedy, presented to
the king and queen by the students of Christ Church in
Oxford, August 30, 1636; presented since to both their
majesties, at Hampton Court, by the king's servants."
4o, 1639-40; 8vo, 1651.
This play, in which the celebrated Dr Busby performed
a part, gave so much satisfaction to their
majesties, that it was by their orders performed at
Hampton Court by their own servants. Langbaine
says the preference was given to the representation by
the collegians, as much superior to that of the players.
2. "The Lady Errant, a Tragi-Comedy."
3. "The Ordinary, a comedy," [probably written in
1634.]
4. "The Siege; or, Love's Convert, a Tragi-Comedy."
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.
- Hearsay, an intelligencer. } complices
- Slicer, a lieutenant. } in
- Meanwell, (Littleworth disguised), } the
- a decayed knight's son. } Ordinary
- Shape, a cheater.
- Sir Thomas Bitefig, a covetous knight.
- Simon Credulous, a citizen.
- Andres, his son, suitor to Mistress Jane.
- Robert Moth, an antiquary.
- Caster, } gamesters.
- Have-at-all, }
- Rimewell, a poet.
- Bagshot, a decayed clerk. } clubbers
- Sir Christopher, a curate. } at
- Vicar Catchmey, a cathedral } the
- singing-man. } Ordinary.
- Mistress Jane, daughter to Sir Thomas.
- Priscilla, her maid.
- Joan Potluck, a vintner's widow.
- Shopkeeper, Chirurgeon, Officers, Servants.
The scene, London.
'Twould wrong our author to bespeak your ears;
Your persons he adores, but judgment fears:
For where you please but to dislike, he shall
Be atheist thought, that worships not his fall.
Next to not marking, 'tis his hope that you,
Who can so ably judge, can pardon too.
His conversation will not yet supply
Follies enough to make a comedy:
He cannot write by th' poll; nor act we here
Scenes, which perhaps you should see liv'd elsewhere.
No guilty line traduceth any; all
We now present is but conjectural;
'Tis a mere guess: those then will be to blame
Who make that person, which he meant but name.
That web of manners which the stage requires,
That mass of humours which poetic fires
Take in, and boil, and purge, and try, and then
With sublimated follies cheat those men
That first did vent them, are not yet his art;
But, as drown'd islands or the world's fifth part,
Lie undiscover'd; and he only knows
Enough to make himself ridiculous.
Think, then, if here you find nought can delight,
He hath not yet seen vice enough to write.
THE ORDINARY.
ACT I., SCENE I.
Hearsay, Slicer, Shape, Meanwell.
Hear. We're made, my boys, we're made! methinks I am
Growing into a thing that will be worshipp'd.
Slicer. I shall sleep one day in my chain and scarlet
At Spital-sermon.
Shape. Were not my wit such,
I'd put out moneys of being Mayor.
But, O this brain of mine! that's it that will
Bar me the city honour.
Hear. We're cri'd up
O' th' sudden for the sole tutors of the age.
Shape. Esteem'd discreet, sage trainers up of youth.
Hear. Our house becomes a place of visit now.
Slicer. In my poor judgment, 'tis as good my lady
Should venture to commit her eldest son
To us as to the Inns-of-Court: He'll be
Undone here, only with less ceremony.
Hear. Speak for our credit, my brave man of war.
What, Meanwell, why so lumpish?
Mean. Pray you, be quiet.
Hear. Thou look'st as if thou plott'st the calling in
O' th' Declaration, or the abolishing[116]
O' th' common prayers. Cheer up; say something for us.
Mean. Pray, vex me not.
Slicer. These foolish, puling sighs
Are good for nothing, but to endanger buttons.
Take heart of grace, man.[117]
Mean. Fie, y' are troublesome!
Hear. Nay, fare you well then, sir.
[Exeunt Hearsay, Slicer, Shape.
Mean. My father still
Runs in my mind, meets all my thoughts, and doth
Mingle himself in all my cogitations.
Thus to see eager villains drag along
Him unto whom they crouch'd! to see him hal'd,
That ne'er knew what compulsion was, but when
His virtues did incite him to good deeds,
And keep my sword dry! O unequal nature!
Why was I made so patient as to view,
And not so strong as to redeem? Why should I
Dare to behold, and yet not dare to rescue?
Had I been destitute of weapons, yet
Arm'd with the only name of son, I might
Have outdone wonder. Naked piety
Dares more than fury well-appointed[118]; blood
Being never better sacrificed, than when
It flows to him that gave it. But, alas!
The envy of my fortune did allow
That only which she could not take away—
Compassion, that which was not in those savage
And knowing beasts, those engines of the law
That even killed as uncontroll'd as that.
How do I grieve when I consider from
What hands he suffer'd! Hands that do excuse
Th' indulgent prison, shackles being here
A kind of rescue. Young man, 'tis not well
To see thy aged father thus confin'd.
Good, good old man! alas! thou'rt dead to me,
Dead to the world, and only living to
That which is more than death, thy misery!
The grave could be a comfort: and shall I—
O, would this soul of mine—But death's the wish
Of him that fears; he's lazy that would die.
I'll live and see that thing of wealth, that worm
Bred out of splendid muck, that citizen,
Like his own sullied wares thrown by into
Some unregarded corner; and my piety
Shall be as famous as his avarice.
His son, whom we have in our tuition,
Shall be the subject of my good revenge:
I'll count myself no child, till I have done
Something that's worth that name. My brain shall be
Busy in his undoing; and I will
Plot ruin with religion: his disgrace
Shall be my zeal's contrivement; and when this
Shall style me son again, I hope 'twill be
Counted not wrong, but duty. When that time
Shall give my actions growth, I will cast off
This brood of vipers, and will show that I
Do hate the poison which I meant t' apply. [Exit.
SCENE II.
Mistress Potluck.
Pot. Now help, good heaven! 'tis such an uncouth thing
To be a widow out of term-time: I
Do feel such aguish qualms and dumps, and fits,
And shakings still an end! I lately was
A wife, I do confess; but yet I had
No husband; he, alas! was dead to me,
Even when he lived unto the world: I was
A widow, whilst he breath'd. His death did only
Make others know so much; but yet—
Enter Hearsay.
Hear. How now?
So melancholy, sweet?
Pot. How could I choose,
Being thou wert not here? The time is come:
Thou'lt be as good unto me as thy word?
Hear. Nay, hang me, if I e'er recant. You'll take me
Both wind and limb at th' venture, will you not?
Pot. Ay, good chuck, every inch of thee; she were no true woman that would not.
Hear. I must tell you one thing—and yet I'm loth.
Pot. I am thy rib,
Thou must keep nothing from thy rib, good chuck:
Thy yoke-fellow must know all thy secrets.
Hear. Why then, I'll tell you, sweet. [He whispers her.
Pot. Heaven defend!
Hear. 'Tis true.
Pot. Now, God forbid! and would you offer
T' undo a widow-woman so? I had
As lief the old vintner were alive again.
Hear. I was born[119] with it, I confess; but lying
In Turkey for intelligence, the Great Turk,
Somewhat suspicious of me, lest I might
Entice some o' th' seraglio, did command
I should be forthwith cut.
Pot. A heathen deed
It was! none but an infidel could have
The heart to do it.
Hear. Now you know the worst
That you must trust to. Come, let's to the church.
Pot. Good Master Hearsay, nature ne'er intended
One woman should be joined to another:
The holy blessing of all wedlock was
T' increase and multiply, as Master Christopher
Did well observe last Sabbath. I'll not do
Anything 'gainst God's word. I do release you
Of all your promises; and that it may not
Be said you lost by loving me, take this.
Perhaps I may get you a contribution
O' th' women of the parish, as I did
The broken-bellied man the other day.
Hear. Seeing you needs will cast me off, let me
Entreat this one thing of you: that you would not
Make me your table-talk at the next gossiping. [Exit.
Pot. Indeed I pity thee, poor thing; or rather
I pity thee, poor nothing!
Enter Slicer.
Good lieutenant,
How dost thou? Thou art mindful of thy promise.
Slicer. What else, my jolly wench?
Pot. Good sweet lieutenant,
Give me but leave to ask one question of you:
Art thou entire and sound in all thy limbs?
Slicer. To tell the very truth, ere now I've had
A spice o' the pox or so; but now I am sound
As any bell—hem! was't not shrill, my girl? ha!
Pot. I do not ask thee about these diseases:
My question is, whether thou'st all thy parts?
Slicer. Faith, I have lost a joint or two; as none
Of our profession, come off whole, unless
The general and some sneaks.
Pot. My meaning is,
Whether that something is not wanting that
Should write thee husband?
Slicer. Ne'er fear that, my wench:
Dost think the king would send me to the wars
Without I had my weapons? Eunuchs are not
Men of employment in these days. His majesty
Hath newly put me on a piece of service;
And if I e'er come off (which I do fear
I sha'n't, the danger is so great) brave widow,
We'll to't, and get commanders.
Pot. If you can
Leave me, I can leave you. There are other men
That won't refuse a fortune when 'tis proffer'd.
Slicer. Well, I must to his majesty: think on't:
So fare thee well. Thine, to his very death,
That is, a month or two, perhaps, D. Slicer. [Exit.
Enter Shape.
Pot. Kind Master Shape, you are exceeding welcome.
Here hath been Master Hearsay and Lieutenant
Slicer: you may guess at their business, but
I hope you think me faithful.
Shape. I believe
The memory of your husband's ashes, which
Scarce yet are cold, extinguisheth all flames
That tend to kindling any love fire. 'Tis
A virtue in you which I must admire,
That only you, amongst so many, should
Be the sole turtle of the age.
Pot. I do
Bear him in memory, I confess; but when
I do remember what your promise was
When he lay sick, it doth take something from
The bitterness of sorrow. Woman was
Not made to be alone still.
Shape. Tender things
At seventeen may use that plea; but you
Are now arriv'd at matron. These young sparks
Are rak'd up, I presume, in sager embers.
Pot. Nay, don't abuse her that must be your wife.
You might have pity, and not come with your nicknames,
And call me turtle. Have I deserved this?
Shape. If that you once hold merits, I have done.
I'm glad I know what's your religion.
Pot. What's my religion? 'Tis well known there hath
Been no religion in my house, e'er since
My husband died.
Enter Slicer, Hearsay.
Hear. How now, sweet Shape'! So close alone
Wi' your widow!
Shape. Sirs, dare you believe it?
This thing, whose prayer it hath been these ten
Years that she may obtain the second tooth
And the third hair, now doats on me; on me,
That do refuse all that are past sixteen.
Slicer. Why, faith, this was her suit to me just now.
Hear. I had the first on't, then. A coachman or
A groom, were fitter far for her.
Slicer. You do
Honour her too much to think she deserves
A thing that can lust moderately: give her
The sorrel stallion in my lord's long stable.
Shape. Or the same-colour'd brother, which is worse.
Pot. Why, gentlemen——
Hear. Foh, foh! She hath let fly.
Pot. D'you think I have no more manners than so?
Shape. Nay, faith, I can excuse her for that; but
I must confess she spoke, which is all one.
Slicer. Her breath would rout an army sooner than
That of a cannon.
Hear. It would lay a devil
Sooner than all Trithemius' charms.[120]
Shape. Hark how
It blusters in her nostrils, like a wind
In a foul chimney!
Pot. Out, you base companions,
You stinking swabbers!
Hear. For her gait, that's such
As if her nose did strive t' outrun her heels.
Shape. She's just six yards behind when that appears.
It saves an usher, madam.
Pot. You are all
Most foul-mouth'd knaves to use a woman thus.
Slicer. Your plaster'd face doth drop against moist weather.
Shape. Fie, how you writhe it! Now it looks just like
A ruffled boot.
Slicer. Or an oil'd paper-lantern.
Hear. Her nose the candle in the midst of it.
Shape. How bright it flames! Put out your nose, good lady;
You burn daylight.[121]
Pot. Come up, you lousy rascals.
Hear. Not upon you for a kingdom, good Joan.
The Great Turk, Joan, the Great Turk!
Slicer. Kiss him, chuck;
Kiss him, chuck, open-mouth'd, and be reveng'd.
Pot. Hang you, base cheating varlet!
Slicer. Don't you see
December in her face?
Shape. Sure, the surveyor
Of the highways will have to do with her
For not keeping her countenance passable.
Hear. There lies a hoar-frost on her head, and yet
A constant thaw in her nose.
Shape. She's like a piece
Of firewood, dropping at one end, and yet
Burning i' th' midst.
Slicer. O that endeavouring face!
When will your costiveness have done, good madam?
Hear. Do you not hear her guts already squeak
Like kit-strings?
Slicer. They must come to that within
This two or three years: by that time she'll be
True perfect cat. They practise beforehand.
Pot. I can endure no longer, though I should
Throw off my womanhood.
Hear. No need, that's done
Already: nothing left thee that may style thee
Woman, but lust and tongue: no flesh but what
The vices of the sex exact, to keep them
In heart.
Shape. Thou art so lean and out of case,
That 'twere absurd to call thee devil incarnate.
Slicer. Th' art a dry devil, troubled with the lust
Of that thou hast not, flesh.
Pot. Rogue, rascal, villain!
I'll show your cheating tricks, i' faith: all shall
Be now laid open. Have I suffer'd you
Thus long i' my house, and ne'er demanded yet
One penny rent for this? I'll have it all:
By this good blessed light, I will!
Hear. You may,
If that you please undo yourself; you may:
I will not strive to hinder you. There is
Something contriving for you, which may be
Perhaps yet brought about: a match or so;
A proper fellow: 'tis a trifle, that;
A thing you care not for, I know. Have I
Plotted to take you off from these, to match you
In better sort, and am us'd thus? As for
The rent you ask, here take it; take your money;
Fill, choke your gaping throat: but if as yet
You are not deaf to counsel, let me tell you,
It had been better that you ne'er had took it;
It may stop some proceedings.
Pot. Master Hearsay,
You know you may have even my heart out of
My belly (as they say), if you'll but take
The pains to reach it out. I am sometimes
Peevish, I do confess. Here, take your money.
Hear. No.
Pot. Good sir.
Hear. No, keep it and hoard it up;
My purse is no safe place for it.
Pot. Let me
Request you that you would be pleas'd to take it.
Hear. Alas! 'twould only trouble me: I can
As willingly go light as be your treasurer.
Pot. Good Master Slicer, speak to him to take it.
Sweet Master Shape, join with him.[122]
Slicer. Nay, be once
O'errul'd by a woman.
Shape. Come, come; you shall take it.
Pot. Nay, faith you shall. Here, put it up, good sir.
Hear. Upon entreaty, I'm content for once;
But make no custom of't. You do presume
Upon my easy foolishness: 'tis that
Makes you so bold. Were it another man,
He ne'er would have to do with you. But mark me—
If e'er I find you in this mood again,
I'll dash your hopes of marriage for ever.
[Exeunt all but Hearsay.
SCENE III.
To him Meanwell, Andrew.
And. God save you, tutors both!
Mean. Fie, Andrew, fie!
What, kiss your hand! You smell not compliment.
Hear. Besides you come too near, when you salute.
Your breath may be discover'd; and you give
Advantage unto him you thus accost
To shake you by the hand: which often doth
Endanger the whole arm. Your gallant's, like
The crystal glass, brittle; rude handling cracks him.
To be saluted so were to be wounded:
His parts would fall asunder like unto
Spill'd quicksilver. An ear, an eye, a nose,
Would drop, like summer fruit from shaken trees.
Mean. For the same reason, I'd not have you dance.
Some courtiers, I confess, do use it; but
They are the sounder sort; those foolish ones
That have a care of health, which you shall not,
If you'll be rul'd by me. The hazard's great:
'Tis an adventure, an exploit, no[123] piece
Of service for a gentleman, to caper.
Hear. A gallant's like a leg of mutton boil'd
By a Spanish cook: take him but by the one end,
And shake him, all the flesh falls from the bones,
And leaves them bare immediately.
And. I would
Not be a leg of mutton here.
Hear. I saw
In France a monsieur, only in the cutting
Of one cross caper, rise a man, and come
Down, to th' amazement of the standers-by,
A true extemporary skeleton;
And was straight read on.[124]
And. Sure, this man,
Good tutor, was quite rotten.
Mean. See how you
Betray your breeding now. Quite rotten! 'Tis
Rottenness, perhaps, in footmen or in yeomen:
'Tis tenderness in gentlemen; they are
A little over-boil'd, or so.
Hear. He is
A churl, a hind, that's wholesome; some raw thing
That never was at London: one in whom
The clown is too predominant. Refin'd
People feel Naples in their bodies; and
An ache i' th' bones at sixteen passeth now
For high descent: it argues a great birth.
Low bloods are never worthy such infection.
And. Ay, but my father bid me I should live
Honest, and say my prayers; that he did.
Hear. If that you cannot sleep at any time, we do
Allow you to begin your pray'rs, that so
A slumber may seize on you.
Mean. But as for
Your living honest, 'twere to take away
A trade i' th' commonwealth! the surgeons'
Benefit would go down. You may go on
In foolish chastity, eat only salads,
Walk an unskilful thing, and be to learn
Something the first night of your wife; but that's
To marry out of fashion.
And. Here's no proofs,
No doctrines, nor no uses. Tutor, I
Would fain learn some religion.
Hear. Religion!
Yes, to become a martyr, and be pictur'd
With a long label out o' your mouth, like those
In Fox's book;[125] just like a juggler drawing
Riband out of his throat.
And. I must be gone.
Mean. Obedience is the first step unto science:
Stay, and be wise.
And. Indeed, I dare not stay;
The clyster works you sent to purge gross humours. [Exit.
Mean. Being you will not take your lecture out,
Good-morrow to y', good Andrew. This soft fool
Must swim in's father's wealth! It is a curse
That fortune justly makes the city's lot;
The young fool spends whate'er the old knave got. [Exit Meanwell.
SCENE IV.
To Hearsay enter Slicer and Credulous.