Mean. One, sir, to lead you home.
And. Who? tutor Meanwell?
[Shape counterfeits Mistress Jane's voice.
Shape. Yes, I do commit you
Unto your trusty friend: if you perform
This vow, we may——
And. I'll say your sentence out—
Be man and wife.
Shape. If you'll do something else
That I'll propose.
And. Pray make your own conditions.
Shape. You'll promise me you'll not be jealous of me?
And. Do what you will, I'll trust you.
Shape. Never hire
Any to tempt me?
And. By this light (I would say,
By this darkness), I never will.
Shape. Nor mark
On whom I laugh?
And. No.
Shape. Nor suspect my smiles,
My nods, my winks?
And. No, no.
Shape. Nor yet keep count
From any gallant's visit?
And. I'll ne'er reckon:
You shall do what you will.
Shape. You'll never set
Great chests and forms against my chamber-door;
Nor pin my smock unto your shirt a-nights,
For fear I should slip from you ere you wake?
And. As I do hope for day, I will not.
Shape. Give me
Some small pledge from you to assure your love;
If that you yet prove false, I may have something
To witness your inconstancy. I'll take
This little ruby—this small blushing stone
From your fair finger.
And. Take it, sweet. There is
A diamond in my band-string; if you have
A mind to that, I pray, make use of't too.
Shape. In troth, a stone of lustre. I assure you,
It darts a pretty light, a veget spark,[221]
It seems an eye upon your breast.
And. Nay, take it,
For love's sake, take it then: leave nothing that
Looks like an eye about me.
Shape. My good Andrew,
'Cause of thy resolution, I'll perform
This office for thee. Take my word for't, this
Shall ne'er betray thee. [Exit Shape.
And. Farewell, honest Jany;
I cannot see to thank thee, my sweet Jany.
Tutor, your hand; good tutor, lead me wisely.
Mean. Take comfort, man; I have good news for thee:
Thine eyes shall be thine own before next morning. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Shape, Chirurgeon, Mercer.
Shape. He's a good friend of mine, and I presume
Upon your secrecy.
Chir. O sir, the deed
By which it came was not more close. D' y' think
I would undo myself by twitting? 'Twere
To bring the gallants all about mine ears,
And make me mine own patient. I'm faithful
And secret, though a barber.
Shape. Nay, but hear me;
He's very modest: 'twas his first attempt
Procur'd him this infirmity. He will
Be bashful, I am sure, and won't be known
Of any such thing at the first. You must
Be sure to put him to't.
Chir. Let me alone:
He knows not yet the world, I do perceive.
It is as common now with gentlemen,
As 'tis to follow fashion: only here
Lieth the difference, that they keep in this
A little longer. I shall have so much
Upon your word, sir?
Shape. If you do perform
The cure by that time, twenty pieces, sir:
You are content?
Mer. Yes, sir.
Chir. It shall be done [Exit Shape.
According to your own prescription.
Sit down, I pray you, sir: this gentleman
Is a good friend of yours.
Mer. Indeed he is a very honest man,
As any one can wish to deal with, verily.
Chir. Believe't, he loves you very well.
Mer. I am most ready
To do him any service truly. Pray you,
Good brother, don't delay me: I'm in haste.
Chir. Indeed-and truly-verily-good brother!
How could these milksop words e'er get him company
That could procure the pox? [Aside.] Where do you feel
You[r] grief most trouble you?
Mer. I'm very well: what mean you, brother?
Chir. Nay, be not so modest:
'Tis no such heinous fault, as that you should
Seek thus to hide it; mere ill-fortune only—
Mer. Surely you do forget yourself.
Chir. Come, come,
He told me you'd be shamefac'd: you must be
Wary hereafter.
Mer. I do perceive
He is a little mad indeed: the gentleman
Told me so much just as I came along. [Aside.
Yes, yes, I will be wary; I'll take heed.
Come, pray y', despatch me.
Chir. So, I like you now.
It is the custom of most gentlemen
Not to confess until they feel their bones
Begin t' admonish 'em.
Mer. You are i' th' right.
Good friend, make haste; I've very urgent business.
Chir. Not rashly neither. Is your gristle sound?
Methinks 'tis very firm as yet to the touch.
You fear no danger there as yet, sir, do you?
Mer. No, I'll assure you. He must have his humour:
I see he is not to be cross'd. [Aside.
Chir. When did you
Feel the first grudging on't? 'Tis not broke out
In any place?
Mer. No, no: I pray y', despatch me.
Chir. These things desire deliberation;
Care is requir'd.
Mer. Good brother, go t' your chest.
Chir. How can I know what med'cines to apply,
If that you tell me not where lies your grief?
Mer. Nay, good, now let me go.
Chir. I must not, sir,
Nor will not, truly. Trust me, you will wish
You had confess'd, and suffer'd me in time,
When you shall come to dry-burnt racks of mutton,
The syringe, and the tub.[222]
Mer. So: now enough.
Pray fetch me what you promis'd.
Chir. Are you wild
Or mad? I do protest, I ne'er did meet
A gentleman of such perverseness yet.
I find you just as I was told I should.
Mer. I lose the taking, by my swear, of[223]
As much, whiles that I am receiving this.
Chir. I will not hinder you, if that you do
Prefer your gain before your health.
Mer. Well then,
I pray you tell it out: we tradesmen are not
Masters of our own time.
Chir. What would you have?
Mer. What would I have? as if you did not know!
Come, come, leave jesting now at last, good brother.
Chir. I am in earnest, sir.
Mer. Why, I would have
My money, sir; the twenty pieces that
The gentleman did give you order now
To pay me for the velvet that he bought
This morning of me.
Chir. O, the gentleman——
Mer. You should not make a laughingstock, good brother,
Of one that wrongs you not; I do profess
I wont be fubb'd, ensure yourself.
Chir. The gentleman!
O, O, the gentleman! Is this the cure
I should perform? Truly I dare not venture
Upon such desperate maladies.
Mer. You are but merrily dispos'd?
Chir. Indeed, they are
Too high for my small quality. Verily
Perhaps, good brother, you might perish under
Mine hands truly. I do profess, I am not
Any of your bold mountebanks in this.
Mer. You're still dispos'd——
Chir. To laugh at you, good brother.
Gull'd, by my swear: by my swear, gull'd! he told me
You had a small infirmity upon you,
A grief of youth or two: and that I should
Have twenty pieces for the cure. He ask'd you,
If that you were content? you answered, yes.
I was in hope I had gain'd a patient more.
Your best way is to make haste after him.
Mer. Now could I beat myself for a wise fool
That I was, thus to trust him. [Exit.
Chir. B' w' y', brother.
'Fore God, a good one. O, the gentleman! [Exit laughing.
SCENE V.
Rhymewell, Bagshot, Catchmey, Sir Christopher:
a song at a window, congratulating (as
they think) Master Meanwell's marriage.
1. Whiles early light springs from the skies
A fairer from your bride doth rue;
A brighter day doth thence appear,
And makes a second morning there.
Her blush doth shed
All o'er the bed
Clean shamefac'd beams,
That spread in streams,
And purple round the modest air.
2. I will not tell what shrieks and cries,
What angry pishes, and what fies,
What pretty oaths then newly born,
The list'ning taper heard there sworn:
Whiles froward she
Most peevishly
Did yielding fight
To keep o'er night,
What she'd have proffer'd you ere morn.
3. Fair, we know, maids do refuse
To grant what they do come to lose.
Intend a conquest, you that wed;
They would be chastely ravished.
Not any kiss
From Mistress Pris,
If that you do,
Persuade and woo:
Know pleasure's by extorting fed.
4. O, may her arms wax black and blue
Only by hard encircling you:
May she round about you twine,
Like the easy-twisting vine;
And whiles you sip
From her full lip
Pleasures as new
As morning dew,
Let those soft ties your hearts combine.
Singer. God give you joy, Master Meanwell!
God give your worship good morrow!
Rhyme. Come, let's be going.
Chris. Hold, a blow I'll have,
One jerk at th' times, wrapp'd in a benediction
O' th' spouse's teeming, and I'll go with you.
A Song.
Now thou, our future brother,
That shalt make this spouse a mother,
Spring up, and Dod's blessing on't.[224]
Show thy little sorrel pate,
And prove regenerate,
Before thou be brought to the font.
May the parish surplice be
Cut in pieces quite for thee,
To wrap thy soft body about;
So 'twill better service do,
Reformed thus into
The state of an orthodox clout.
When thou shalt leave the cradle,
And shalt begin to waddle,
And trudge in thy little apron;
May'st thou conceive a grace
Of half an hour's space,
And rejoice in thy Friday capon.
For an error that's the flock's,
Name Master Paul, but urge St Knox;[225]
And at every reform'd dinner,
Let cheese come in, and preaching,
And by that third course teaching
Confirm an unsatisfi'd sinner.
Thence grow up to hate a ring,
And defy an offering;
And learn to sing what others say.
Let Christ-tide be thy fast,
And Lent thy good repast;
And regard not an holy-day.
Enter CONSTABLE and Assistants.
Con. Lay hold on them! lay hold on them, I say!
I'll hamper them.
Catch. Hell take your headlong zeal!
You must be jerking at the times, forsooth.
I am afraid the times will 'scape, and we,
The men of them, shall suffer now the scourge.
Con. Let none escape.
Chris. 'Twas godliness, verily:
It was a hymn I warbled.
Con. Thou dost lie,
It was no hymn, it was a song. Is this
Your filthy rendezvous? you shall be taught
Another tune.
Chris. I do beseech you, show
Merciful cruelty, and as 'twere a kind
Of pitiful hard-heartedness. I'm strong.
[They bring in Andrew and Priscilla.
Con. I'm glad you told me so, I will provide
Your ward accordingly. Drag 'em out both.
And. Let me but send to th' ordinary.
Con. You shall not;
The ord'nary hath sent to you. No bail:
I will take none. I'll suffer no such sneaks
As you to offend this way: it doth belong
T'your betters, sir.
And. Here's a sufficient man,
I do assure you; take my word for that.
Con. This staff was made to knock down sin. I'll look
There shall be no advoutry[226] in my ward,
But what is honest. I'll see justice done
As long as I'm in office. Come along. [Exeunt.
ACT V., SCENE I.
Sir Thomas Bitefig as sick, Jane.
Sir T. Now that I have made even, girl, with heaven,
Though I am past the worst, and I perceive
My dinner only griev'd me; yet 'cause life's
Frail and uncertain, let me counsel thee—
'Tis good to be beforehand still. First, then,
I charge thee, lend no money; next, serve God;
If ever thou hast children, teach them thrift;
They'll learn religion fast enough themselves.
Nay, do not weep, but hearken. When heaven shall
Please to call in this weary soul of mine;
Ben't idle in expense about my burial:
Buy me a shroud—any old sheet will serve
To clothe corruption; I can rot without
Fine linen; 'tis but to enrich the grave,
And adorn stench—no reverence to the dead,
To make them crumble more luxuriously.
One torch will be sufficient to direct
The footsteps of my bearers. If there be
Any so kind as to accompany
My body to the earth, let them not want
For entertainment: prythee, see they have
A sprig of rosemary dipp'd in common water,
To smell to, as they walk along the streets.
Eatings and drinkings are no obsequies.
Raise no oppressing pile to load my ashes;
But if thou'lt needs b' at charges of a tomb,
Five or six foot of common stone, engraved
With a good hopeful word, or else a couple
Of capital letters filled up with pitch,
Such as I set upon my sheep, will serve:
State is not meet for those that dwell in dust.
Mourn as thou pleasest for me; plainness shows
True grief. I give thee leave to do it for
Two or three years, if that thou shalt think fit;
'Twill save expense in clothes. And so now be
My blessing on thee, and my means hereafter.
Jane. I hope heaven will not deal so rigidly
With me, as to preserve me to th' unwelcome
Performance of these sad injunctions.
SCENE II.
To them Meanwell.
Mean. Good health unto you, sir.
Sir T. I have the more
By reason of the care you took in sending
A confessor unto me.
Mean. I? a confessor?
Sure, there is some design, some trick or other
Put on you by those men, who never sleep,
Unless they've cheated on that day.
Sir T. I hope
You do mean your partners my good friends?
Mean. They ne'er deserve the name of friends; they do
Covet, not love. If any came from them,
It was some vulture in a holy habit,
Who did intend your carcase, not your safety.
Indeed I know not of't; I've all this while
Appear'd another to you than I am. [Discloseth himself.
Perhaps you know me now, I'm he whom you
Pleas'd to forbid your house—whom Master Credulous
Takes leave to style lost man and vagabond.
Sir T. That I forbad you my house, was only
In care to my daughter, not in hate to you.
Mean. That I frequented it without your leave,
Was both in love to you and to your daughter:
That I have all this while liv'd thus disguis'd,
Was only to avert the snare from you,
Not to entrap you: that you might not be
Blinded by those who, like to venomous beasts,
Have only sight to poison; that you might not
Ruin your daughter in a compliment.
Sir T. This may b' your plot, and this discovery
Feign'd only to secure your own designs;
For't cannot sink into me, that they durst
Make mirth of my repentance, and abuse
My last devotion with a scene of laughter.
Mean. They dare beyond your thought. When parted this
Your confessor?
Sir T. You could not choose but meet him:
He is scarce yet at home.
Mean. If that you dare
But venture with me home, I'll almost promise
I'll make it plain they've put a trick upon you.
Sir T. Though every step were so much toward my grave,
I'd tread them o'er with comfort, that I might
Discover this religious villany. [Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Hearsay, Slicer, and Shape in his Confessor's
habit.
Hear. Come, my good vulture, speak; what prey? what mirth?
Slicer. What income, my dear holiness? what sport?
Shape. Give me the chair: imagine me the knight
(When I sit down), and (when I stand) the confessor.
[As he is thus acting, Meanwell and Sir
Thomas discover themselves above.
Thus I come in peace to thy soul, good son.
'Tis you must give it, father: I am ill,
I'm very ill; fit only now for heaven.
My soul would fain be flying, were't not for
A sin or two that clogs her. But for a sin
Or two that clogs her? Take heed; don't, so near
Your last deliverance, play the sophister
With heaven. A sin or two! why, I've heard say
You're wont to screw your wretched tenants up
To th' utmost farthing, and then stand upon
The third rent-capon. Then he answers me
In the small doleful tune of a country wench
Examin'd by th' official for the mischance
Of a great belly caught at a Whitson-ale:[227]
I could not help it. Then it is your custom,
When you invite, to think your meat laid out,
You write your beef disburs'd, are wont to call
For the return of't just as for a debt;
True. That two chimneys ne'er yet smok'd at once
In all your buildings. All most true. That you
Are wont to keep an untouch'd capon, till
Corruption makes it able to walk out
And visit the barn-door again. I could
Say much more, but I had rather have you
Come so much nearer pardon, as t' accuse
Yourself by your own mouth.
Slicer. How grave the rogue was!
Shape. I'll do't as strictly as mine enemy.
Sir T. I cannot hold: I'll break in as I am,
And take my vengeance whilst my fury's hot. [Above.
Mean. Repress it, sir, awhile; h' hath but begun.
[Above.
Shape. Then thus he drawls it out, I do confess
I've been addicted to frugality.
Son, do not mince: pray, call it covetousness.
Imprimis, It hath ever been my custom
To ride beyond an inn to save my horse-meat.
Item, When once I had done so, and found
No entertainment, I beguil'd the children
Of their parch'd peas: my man being left to that
We make the emblem of mortality.
What? Grass, you mean? Or sweet hay, which you please.
Hear. Methinks this is truly coming to a reckoning.
He doth account for's sins with Item so.
Shape. Item, I've often bought a Cheapside custard,
And so refresh'd my soul under my cloak,
As I did walk the streets. Cloaking of sins,
Although they be but eating sins, I do
Pronounce most dangerous. I find this so,
I'd almost lost mine eyes by't, being justled.
Slicer. O thou rich soul of roguery!
Shape. Moreover,
I once sung Psalms with servants, where I lodg'd,
And took part with 'em in their lovely reliques;
Truly my soul did lust, they were temptations.
What! sing that you might eat? It is the sin
O' th' brethren, son; but that their reliques are
Whole widows' houses.
Hear. O thou preaching devil!
Shape. Item, I entered into a chandler's shop,
And eat my bread in secret, whilst my man
Fed on the wholesome steam of candle-suet,
Item, which grieves me most, I did make bold
With the black puddings of my needy tailor:
Satan was strong; they did provoke me much.
Sir T. Wretch that I was, to trust my bosom to
One so exactly bad that, if the book
Of all men's lives lay open to his view,
Would meet no sin unpractis'd by himself.
I will rush in. [Above.
Mean. Good sir, keep close awhile. [Above.
Shape. I see no tears, no penitential tears.
Alas! I cannot weep, mine eyes are pumice:
But alms I hope may yet redeem. Alms given
In a large manner, son. Won't fifty pounds
Wipe off my score? If doubled, 't may do something.
Can I be sav'd no cheaper? Take this, then,
And pray for me. With that I thus dismiss'd him.
Bless'd son, for now I dare pronounce thee bless'd,
Being thou'st pour'd thus out thy soul.—The wolf!
The wolf! 'Sfoot, peace, we're in the noose;
We are betray'd; yon's Meanwell and the knight!
Truly he is as good a man as any
I ever yet confess'd—don't look that way—
A very honest, charitable man,
Full of sincerity and true devotion.
Sir T. Patience itself would now turn furious.
Let's for some officers.
[Exeunt Sir Thomas and Meanwell.