Theo. Come, neighbours, pray draw near; my fellow Jasper
Has told you wherefore you were sent for hither.
1st Neigh. Ay, I thank you, friend.
2d Neigh. And my good master too.
Theo. My master, touch'd with sorrow and remorse
For that unhappy error of his life—
That fault (alas!) which by too true a name
Is termed misery, determines now
By deeds of tender charity to make
The wronged poor amends, and to the world
Declare the fruits of a reformed life.
And first your pardon, neighbours, he would beg,
And, next to heaven, be reconcil'd to you.
1st Neigh. Now blessing on his heart!
2d Neigh. Good tender soul!
3d Neigh. I ever thought him a right honest man.
Theo. He that before did churlishly engross
And lock those blessings up, which from the hand
Of heaven were shower'd upon him, has at last
Found their true use, and will henceforth redeem
The former misspent time. His wealthy stores
Shall be no longer shut against the poor;
His bags seal'd up no longer, to debar
The course of fitting bounty. To you all,
Of corn and money, weekly he'll allow
In recompense a greater quantity
By far than men of greater rank shall do:
Nor will he come himself to take your thanks,
Till, as he says, he has deserv'd them better.
Meantime, by me he pours his bounty forth,
Which he desires with greatest secrecy
May be perform'd; for all vainglorious shows
And ostentation does his soul abhor.
He sounds no trumpet to bestow his alms;
Nor in the streets proclaims his charity,
Which makes the virtue vice; nor would he have
The world take notice of you at his doors.
1st Neigh. See, see, religious man!
2d Neigh. Ah, neighbour!
Some in the world have been mistaken in him.
Theo. Nor would he have you blaze his bounty forth,
And praise him openly: forbear it, neighbours;
Your private prayers only he desires
And hearty wishes; for true charity,
Though ne'er so secret, finds a just reward.
I am his servant, newly entertain'd,
But one to whom he does commit the trust
Of his desires in this; and I should wrong
His goodness strangely, if I should keep
The least of what his bounty doth intend.
Come in with me; I'll fill your sacks with corn,
And let you see what money he bestows.
Omnes Neigh. We'll pray to heaven to reward his goodness.
[Exeunt.
Euphues, Barnet.
Euph. Our Dotterel, then, is caught?
Bar. He is, and just
As Dotterels[16] used to be: the lady first
Advanc'd toward him, stretch'd forth her wing, and he
Met her with all expressions; and he's caught
As fast in her lime-twigs as he can be,
Until the church confirm it.
Euph. There will be
Another brave estate for her to spend.
Bar. Others will be the better for't; and if
None but a Dotterel suffer for't, what loss
Of his can countervail the least good fortune
That may from thence blow to another man?
Euph. She spent her t'other husband a great fortune.
Bar. Dotterel's estate will find her work again
For a great while: two thousand pounds a year
Cannot be melted suddenly; when 'tis,
Men can but say her prodigality
Has done an act of justice, and translated
That wealth, which fortune's blindness had misplac'd
On such a fellow. What should he do with it?
Euph. And thou say'st right: some men[17] were made to be
The conduit-pipes of an estate, or rather
The sieves of fortune, through whose leaking holes
She means to scatter a large flood of wealth,
Besprinkling many with refreshing showers.
So usurers, so dying aldermen
Pour out at once upon their sieve-like heirs
Whole gusts of envi'd wealth; which they together
Through many holes let out again in showers,
And with their ruin water a whole country.
But will it surely be a match?
Bar. As sure
As the two old death's-heads to-morrow morning
Are to be join'd together.
Euph. Who, Sir Argent and his lady?
Bar. Yes, if she keep touch
In what she promis'd me, I'll undertake
Her Dotterel shall be sure, and given to her
In matrimony.
Euph. Given to his wife?
I see thou mean'st in Dotterel to bring back
The ancient Spanish custom, where the women
Inherited the land, rul'd the estates;
The men were given in marriage to the women
With portions, and had jointures made to them:
Just so will be his case; he will be married
Unto a brave subjection. How the fool
Is caught in his own noose! What confidence
Had he, that he would never marry any,
But such, forsooth, as must first fall in love
With him, not knowing of his wealth at all?
Bar. Well, now he's fitted: he begun at first
With fair Artemia.
Euph. He might have told
Her of his wealth, and miss'd her too, or else
I am deceiv'd in her: true virtuous love
Cannot be bought so basely; she besides
Has been in love, I'm sure; and may be still,
Though he be fled the land. But, now I think on't,
I must go see whether old Earthworm's son
Has yet perform'd what she desir'd: she stays
At home.
Bar. I'll in, and see how Dotterel
Courts his brave mistress: I left him composing
A sonnet to her. There are the old couple
Within too.
Euph. If a man could get to hear
Their way of courting, 'twould be full as strange
As Dotterel's is ridiculous: but stay,
Sir Argent Scrape and Lady Covet
brought in in chairs.
Here come the lovely bride and bridegroom forth.
Prythee, let's venture to stay here a little
Behind the hangings, man: we shall be sure
To hear their love; they are both somewhat deaf,
And must speak loud.
Bar. Content, I'll stay with thee.
Sir Arg. Leave us awhile. Now, madam, you have seen,
So have your learned counsel, that I deal
Squarely with you: my personal estate
Is no less worth than I profess'd, when first
I mov'd my loving suit.
Bar. Ay, marry, sir, a loving suit indeed!
[Aside.
Euph. Let 'em go on in their own proper dialect.
[Aside.
Lady C. I find it;
And should be loth but to requite your truth
In the same kind: you seem'd at first to question,
How strong my title was in that estate
Which was young Scudmore's once: 'tis a fair manor.
Euph. 'Tis true, old rottenness—too good for you.
[Aside.
Lady C. My counsel can inform you that I kept it,
And did enjoy possession while he liv'd;
And now he's dead, who should recover it?
The heirs are poor and beggarly.
Sir Arg. Nay, I think
We need not fear their suing against us.
Lady C. If they should stir, a little piece of money
Would stop their mouths.
Euph. A little piece of dirt
Will stop your mouth ere long, and then the suit
Will go against thee, mischief!
[Aside.
Bar. Prythee, peace;
Thou art not merry now, but choleric. [Aside.
Euph. I think of my wrong'd friend. [Aside.
Lady C. But you were saying
You made no doubt but shortly to enjoy
Your kinsman Eugeny's estate: that were
A fair addition to your land; they say
It goes at fifteen hundred pounds a year.
Sir Arg. 'Tis true, and 'tis well worth it.
Lady C. But what hopes have you to gain it shortly?
Sir Arg. He, you know,
By Scudmore's death has forfeited his life
Unto the law; and the estate's entail'd
On me as the next heir.
Lady C. But he is fled.
Sir Arg. No, no; I know he lurks not far from hence,
And I shall shortly learn the very place
By some intelligence. I have provided
My secret scouts; and then you know th' assizes
Are now at hand: the time will be too short
To get a pardon, specially as I
Have laid some friends to stall it underhand.
Euph. Here's a new mischief, Barnet! [Aside.
Bar. And a strange one. [Aside.
Lady C. And then you must not spare a little money
To hasten execution at an hour
Unusual. Those things may well be done:
Else what were money good for?
Sir Arg. You say right.
If 'twere once come to that, I fear it not.
Lady C. Well, sir, I see all's right and straight between us.
You understand how welcome you are hither;
I need not tell it o'er again.
Sir Arg. No, lady;
I will be bold to say, I do not come
Now as a stranger, but to take possession
Both of your house and you.
Euph. He cannot speak
Out of that thriving language in his love. [Aside.
Lady C. Will you go in again? our guests, perhaps,
Think the time long.
Sir Arg. With all my heart:
A cup of sack would not do much amiss.
Lady C. We'll have it with a toast. Who's near there, ho!
Enter Servants, and carry them out.
Bar. What a strange kind of pageant have we seen?
Euph. Barnet, I cannot tell whether such strange
Unsatiable desires in these old folks,
That are half earth already, should be thought
More impious or more ridiculous.
Bar. They are both alike.
Euph. But such a monstrous
Unnatural plot as his, to apprehend
His kinsman, I ne'er heard of! If I knew
Where Eugeny remain'd, though 'twere his fortune
To kill a friend of mine, I'd rescue him
From this unnatural and wolfish man.
Bar. That would betray his life to satisfy
His avarice, not justice of the law.
Enter Dotterel, Lady Whimsey.
Here comes another piece of matrimony,
That may be shortly.
Euph. 'Tis better far than t'other:
They are the last couple in hell.
Dot. Save you, gallants!
Bar. You are the gallant, sir, that on your arm
Do wear the trophies of a conquer'd lady.
Euph. Madam, I had almost mistaken my salutation,
And bid God give you joy.
Lady W. Of what, I prythee?
Euph. Of this young gallant, call him by what name
Or title you are pleas'd, husband or servant.
Bar. He may be both, sir: he is not the first
Has been a husband and a servant too.
Dot. I am her servant, sir: and I confess
Have an ambition, and so forth.
Lady W. How now, servant!
Euph. I tell you truly, madam, 'tis reported
(And those reports are fatal still, you know)
That Master Dotterel and you are purpos'd
To bear the old knight and lady company
To-morrow to the church.
Lady W. That I confess, and so will you, I think.
Euph. Nay, but to do
As they do, madam—tie the lasting knot.
Lady W. Do you hear, servant? This it is to have
So proper a servant: every one supposes
I must needs be in love.
Dot. I would you were
As deep in Cupid's books as I.
Euph. That is
In Cupid's favour: you are a happy man.
Lady W. My servant has been searching Cupid's books,
I think, to find that sonnet that he gave me.
Are you content that I should show your poetry?
Dot. Do, mistress, I am not asham'd on't;
But you shall give me leave to read it to 'em.
'Tis but a sonnet, gentlemen, that I fitted
To my fair mistress here.
Euph. Let us be happy
To hear it, sir.
Dot. Take it as it is— [He reads.
Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong;
In thinking still you are too young.
Euph. How! too young?
Bar. Let him alone; I know the song.
Dot. The rose and lilies in your cheek
Flourish, and no more ripeness seek;
Your cherry lip, red, soft and sweet,
Proclaims such fruit for taste most meet:
Then lose no time, for love has wings,
And flies away from aged things.
How do you like it, gentlemen?
Euph. Very well. The song's a good one.
Bar. O, monstrous!
Never man stole with so little judgment.
Euph. Of all the love-songs that were ever made,
He could not have chose out one more unfit,
More palpably unfit, that must betray
His most ridiculous theft.
Lady W. Who would have thought
My servant should suppose I think myself
Too young to love, that have already had
One husband!
Euph. O, excuse him, gentle madam,
He found it in the song.
Bar. And, it should seem,
He could get no other song but this.
Lady W. Surely a woman of five-and-thirty year old
Is not too young to love!
Bar. O, spare him, madam!
Euph. Let's raise him up. I think the sonnet's good:
There's somewhat in't to th' purpose. Read it again.
[He reads it again.
Euph. ——For taste most meet.
Very good; and there he tickled it?
Mark'd you that, madam! The two last of all?
Then lose no time, for love hath wings—
He gives you fitting counsel.
Dot. I thought, when they understood it, they would like it:
I am sure, I have heard this song prais'd ere now.
Lady W. This does deserve a double favour, servant.
Dot. Let this be the favour, sweet mistress. [Kisses her.
Euph. How some men's poetry happens to be rewarded!
Lady W. Shall we go in? But, prythee, Euphues,
What is the reason sweet Artemia,
Thy cousin, is not here?
Euph. I know not, madam;
But her pretence was business. I am going
To visit her. If you go in to keep
Th' old couple company, I'll fetch her to you.
Lady W. I prythee, do! Farewell. Come, servant,
Shall we go in?
Dot. I'll wait upon you, mistress. [Exeunt.
Theodore, Artemia.
Theo. I will acquaint him, lady, with the hour,
And to his longing ear deliver all
Your sweet salutes; which is the only air
Of life and comfort Eugeny takes in.
Your constant love and virtues, sweetest lady,
Are those preservatives, which from his heart
Expel the killing fits of melancholy,
And do, in spite of fortune, quicken him.
Art. O, would those comforts could arrive at him,
That from my wishing thoughts are hourly sent!
Theo. Such virtuous wishes seldom are in vain.
Art. I should be far more sad in the behalf
Of my dear Eugeny, but that I know
He does enjoy your sweet society,
Which he beyond all value does esteem.
Theo. His own is recompense enough for mine.
And I the gainer in it; did not grief
For his misfortune stain that perfect joy,
Which I could take in his dear company.
Art. If I should speak, sir, how he values you,
I should too much oppress your modesty.
Theo. Our friendship, fairest lady, is more old,
And he more true, than that his heart so long
Should be unknown to me. I'll not be long,
Before I visit him to let him know,
What hour shall make him happy in your sight.
My longer stay, sweet lady, might be more
Observ'd and pry'd into: let me be bold
To leave you now, but be your servant ever.
Art. All happiness attend you, worthy sir. [Exit Theodore.
Would I myself might go as well as send,
And see that seeming solitary place,
That place of woe. Sure, it would be to me
No desert wood, while Eugeny were there,
But a delightful palace. Here at home,
The more that company comes in, the more
I am alone, methinks. Wanting that object
On which my heart is fix'd, I cannot be
Possess'd of anything. Nothing can be
My comfort but a hope that these sad clouds
Of our misfortunes will at last blow over.
But mischief's like a cockatrice's eyes—
Sees first and kills, or is seen first and dies.
Enter Euphues.
Euph. How dost thou, coz? I wrote a letter for thee
To Earthworm's son: has the young ten-i'-th'-hundred
Been here?
Art. I thank you, cousin; the gentleman
Was with me, and but newly parted hence.
Euph. H' has got a title then by coming hither:
But he may be a gentleman; his wealth
Will make it good.
Art. His virtues make it good:
Believe it, cousin, there's a wealthy mind
Within that plain outside.
Euph. How's this?
Have your quick eyes found out his worth already?
Art. They must be blind that cannot, when they know him.
Well, cousin, you may laugh at me.
Euph. By no means;
I know your judgment's good.
Art. As good as 'tis,
It must content a woman. When you know him,
You'll find a man that may deserve your friendship,
And far above all slighting.
Euph. I am sorry
I came not soon enough: but prythee, cousin,
What are the ways have taken thee so soon?
Art. What taking do you mean? You promis'd me
You would not ask the cause I sent for him,
Though you shall know hereafter. But I hope
You do not think I am in love with him?
Euph. I'll look upon the man, and then resolve you.
Art. Well, do; perhaps you'll know him better, then:
He knows you well.
Euph. Me! Has he told you how?
Art. Did you ne'er meet one Theodore at Venice?
Art. Yes, very well; although
He be old Earthworm's son, and make no shew
At home.
Euph. And have you found out so much worth
In him already?
Art. How do you esteem him?
We women well may err.
Euph. I smell a rat;
And, if my brain fail not, have found out all
Your drifts, though ne'er so politicly carri'd.
Art. I know your brain, cousin, is very good;
But it may fail.
Euph. It comes into my head
What old Sir Argent Scrape told to his lady.
His kinsman Eugeny lurk'd hereabouts:
He was her sweetheart once, and may be still;
I think she's constant, though she keep it close.
This Theodore and he were fam'd for friendship.
[Aside.
I have collected, cousin, and have at you?
Art. Let's hear it, pray.
Euph. You shall. This Theodore
I do confess a most deserving man;
And so perchance your lover Eugeny
Has told you, cousin. Ha! do you begin
To blush already? I am sure those two
Were most entirely friends; and I am sorry
To hear what I have heard to-day, concerning
Young Eugeny.
Art. What, prythee, cousin? Tell me.
Euph. Now you are mov'd; but I may err, you know.
Art. Good cousin, tell me what.
Euph. Nay, I believe
I shall worse startle you, though you would make
Such fools as I believe he is in France.
Yes, yes, it may be so; and then, you know,
He's safe enough.
Art. O cousin, I'll confess
What you would have me do; but tell me this.
Euph. Nay, now I will not thank you; I have found it:
And though you dealt in riddles so with me,
I'll plainly tell you all, and teach you how
You may perchance prevent your lover's danger.
Art. O, I shall ever love you.
Euph. Well, come in;
I'll tell you all, and by what means I knew it.
Earthworm, Jasper.
Earth. Out, villain! how could any fire come there
But by thy negligence? I do not use
To keep such fires as should at all endanger
My house, much less my barn.
Jas. I know not, sir;
But there I'm sure it was, and still continues,
Though without danger now; for the poor people,
Ere this, have quench'd it.
Earth. There my wonder lies.
Why should the people come to quench my fire?
Had it been a city, where one house
Might have endanger'd all, it justly then
Might have engag'd the people's utmost aid,
And I ne'er bound to give them thanks at all;
But my house stands alone, and could endanger
No other building. Why should all the people
Come running hither so to quench the fire?
They love not me.
Jas. Sure, sir, I cannot tell;
Perhaps the people knew not what to do,
And might be glad to see a sight.
Earth. Methought,
As I came by, I saw them wondrous busy;
Nay, more—methought I heard them pray for me,
As if they lov'd me. Why should they do so?
I ne'er deserv'd it at the people's hands.
Go, Jasper, tell me whether it be quench'd,
And all secure: I long to hear the news.
Enter Theodore.
Theo. I come to bring you happy tidings, sir.
The fire is quench'd, and little hurt is done.
Earth. That's well, my son.
Theo. But, sir, if you had seen
How the poor people labour'd to effect it,
And (like so many salamanders) rush'd
Into the fire, scorching their clothes and beards,
You would have wonder'd justly, and have thought
That each man toil'd to save his father's house
Or his own dear estate; but I conceive
'Twas nothing but an honest charity,
That wrought it in them.
Earth. Ha! a charity!
Why should that charity be show'd to me?
Theo. If I mistake not strangely, he begins
To apprehend it.
Earth. As I came along,
I heard them pray for me; but those good prayers
Can never pierce the skies in my behalf,
But will return again, and ever lodge
Within those honest breasts, that sent them forth.
Theo. Surely it works.
Earth. O! all the world but I are honest men! [He weeps.
Theo. What is't that troubles you?
Your goods are safe; there's nothing lost at all.
You should rejoice, methinks. You might have suffer'd
A wondrous loss in your estate!
Earth. Ah, son!
'Tis not the thought of what I might have lost,
That draws these tears from me.
Theo. Does he not weep,
Or do my flattering hopes deceive my sight?
He weeps, and fully too; large show'rs of tears
Bedew his aged cheeks. O happy sorrow,
That makes me weep for joy! Never did son
So justly glory in a father's tears. [Aside.
Sir, you are sad, methinks.
Earth. No sadness, son,
Can be enough to expiate the crimes
That my accursed avarice has wrought.
Where are the poor?
Theo. Why, sir, what would you do?[18]
Earth. Ask me not, Theodore. Alas, I fear
Thou art too much my son; my bad example
Has done thee much more harm than all the large
Increase of treasure I shall leave behind
Can recompence. But leave those wretched thoughts,
And let me teach thee a new lesson now:
But thou art learned, Theodore, and soon
Wilt find the reasons of it.
Theo. Do you please
To speak it, sir, and I will strive to frame
Myself to follow.
Earth. Where are all the poor?
Jasper, go call them in. Now, prythee, learn
(For this late accident may truly teach
A man what value he should set on wealth)
Fire may consume my houses; thieves may steal
My plate and jewels; all my merchandise
Is at the mercy of the winds and seas;
And nothing can be truly term'd mine own,
But what I make mine own by using well.
Those deeds of charity which we have done,
Shall stay for ever with us; and that wealth
Which we have so bestowed, we only keep:
The other is not ours.
Theo. Sir, you have taught me
Not to give anything at all away.
Earth. When I was blind, my son, and did miscall
My sordid vice of avarice true thrift:
But now forget that lesson; I prythee, do.
That cosening vice, although it seem to keep
Our wealth, debars us from possessing it,
And makes us more than poor.
Theo. How far beyond
All hope my happy project works upon him!
Enter Neighbours.