Wife. Will the tide never turn? Was ever woman
 Thus burden'd with unhappy happiness?
 Did I from riot take him to waste my goods,
 And he strives to augment it? I did mistake him.
Doc. Spoil not a good text with a false comment;
 All these are blessings, and from heaven sent;
 It is your husband's good; he's now transform'd
 To a better shade; the prodigal's return'd.
 Come, come, know joy, make not abundance scant;
 You 'plain of that which thousand women want. [Exeunt.

Enter Brewen and Old Foster; George and Richard follow them, carrying several bags of money across the stage.

Brew. So, so,
 Haste home, good lads, and return for the rest.
 Would they were cover'd, George; 'tis too public
 Blazon of my estate; but 'tis no matter now;
 I'll bring it abroad again, ere it be long.
 Sir, I acknowledge receipt of my full half debt,
 Twelve thousand five hundred pounds; it now remains
 You seal those writings as assurance for the rest,
 And I am satisfied for this time.
O. Fos. Pray stay, sir, I have bethought me: let me once
 Throw dice at all, and either be a complete
 Merchant, or wrack my estate for ever:
 Hear me, sir; I have of wares, that are now vendible,
 So much as will defray your utmost penny;
 Will you accept of them, and save this charge
 Of wax and parchment?
Brew. Be they vendible, sir, I am your chapman:
 What are they, Master Foster?

O. Fos. Broadcloths, kerseys, cochineal, such as will not stay two days upon your hands.

Brew. I find your purpose; you'd have your warehouses empty for the receipt of your full fraught: I'll be your furtherer; make so your rates that I may be no loser.

Enter George and Richard.

O. Fos. I have no other end, sir; let our factors peruse and deal for both.

Brew. Mine is returned. George, here's a new business; you and Richard must deal for some commodities betwixt us; if you find 'em even gain or but little loss, take carriage presently, and carry 'em home.

George. I shall.

O. Fos. Richard, have you any further news yet from our shipping?

Rich Not yet, sir; but by account from the last, when they put from Dover, this tide should bring them into Saint Catherine's pool; the wind has been friendly.

O. Fos. Listen their arrival, and bid the gunner speak it
 In his loud thunder all the city over;
 Tingle the merchants' ears at the report
 Of my abundant wealth. Now go with George.
Rich I shall do both, sir. [Exeunt Factors.
O. Fos. I must plainly now confess, master alderman,
 I shall gain much by you. The half of your ship
 Defrays my full cost.
Brew. Beshrew me, if I grudge it, being myself
 A sufficient gainer by my venture, sir.

Enter Mistress Foster.

Mrs Fos. Still flows the tide of my unhappiness;
 The stars shoot mischief, and every hour
 Is critical to me.
O. Fos. How now, woman?
 Wrecked in the haven of felicity? What ail'st thou?
Mrs Fos. I think the devil's mine enemy.
O. Fos. I hope so too; his hate is better than his friendship.
Mrs Fos. Your brother—your good brother, sir——
O. Fos. What of him? he's in Ludgate again.
Mrs Fos. No, he's in Highgate; he struts it bravely—
 An alderman's pace at least.
O. Fos. Why, these
 Are oracles, doubtful enigmas!
Mrs Fos. Why,
 I'm sure you have heard the news; he's married, forsooth.
O. Fos. How, married?
 No woman of repute would choose so slightly.
Mrs Fos. A woman, in whose breast I'd thought had liv'd
 The very quintessence of discretion:
 And who is't, think you? nay, you cannot guess,
 Though I should give you a day to [un]riddle it:
 It is my gossip, man, the rich
 Widow of Cornhill.
O. Fos. Fie, fie! 'tis fabulous.
Mrs Fos. Are you my husband? then is she his wife.
 How will this upstart beggar shoulder up,
 And take the wall of you! his new-found pride
 Will know no eldership.
O. Fos. But, wife, my wealth will five times double his
 Ere this tide ebb again: I wonder I hear not
 The brazen cannon proclaim the arrival
 Of my infinite substance.
Mrs Fos. But beggars
 Will be proud of little, and shoulder at the best.
O. Fos. Let him first pay his old score, and then reckon:
 But that she——
Mrs Fos. Ay, that's it mads me too.
 Would any woman, 'less to spite herself,
 So much profane the sacred name of wedlock:
 A dove to couple with a stork, or a lamb a viper?
O. Fos. Content thee; forgive her; she'll do so no more.
 She was a rich widow: a wife he'll make her poor.
Brew. So, sir, you have clos'd it well; if so ill it prove,
 Leave it to proof, and wish not misery

Enter Stephen and Robert.

Unto your enemy. Look, here he comes.
O. Fos. You say true; 'tis my enemy indeed.
Steph. Save you, master alderman, I have some business with you.
Brew. With me, sir? and most welcome; I rejoice to see you.
Mrs Fos. Do you observe, sir, he will not know you now?
 Jockey's a gentleman now.[90]
O. Fos. Well fare rich widows, when such beggars flourish;
 But ill shall they fare that flourish o'er such beggars.
Steph. Ha! ha! ha!
Mrs Fos. He laughs at you.
O. Fos. No wonder, woman, he would do that in Ludgate;
 But 'twas when his kind nephew did relieve him:
 I shall hear him cry there again shortly.
Steph. Oysters, new Walfleet oysters!
O. Fos. The gentleman is merry.
Mrs Fos. No, no, no; he does this to spite me; as who should say,
 I had been a fishwife in my younger days.
Brew. Fie, fie, gentlemen! this is not well;
 My ears are guilty to hear such discords.

[Robert kneels to his father.

Look, Master Foster; turn your eye that way;
 There's duty unregarded, while envy struts
 In too much state: believe me, gentlemen,
 I know not which to chide first.
O. Fos. What idol kneels that heretic to?
Steph. Rise, boy, thou art now my son, and owest no knee
 To that unnatural: I charge you, rise.
O. Fos. Do, sir, or turn your adoration that way;
 You were kind to him in his tatter'd state;
 Let him requite it now.
Mrs Fos. Do, do, we have paid for't aforehand.
Rob. I would I were divided in two halves,
 So that might reconcile your harsh division.
Steph. Proud sir, this son, which you have alienated
 For my love's sake, shall by my love's bounty
 Ride side by side in the best equipage
 Your scorns dare pattern him.
O. Fos. Ay, ay, a beggar's gallop up and down.
Mrs Fos. Ay, 'tis up now, the next step down.
Steph. Ha, ha! I laugh at your envy, sir. My business
 Is to you.
Brew. Good sir, speak of anything but this.
Steph. Sir, I am furnishing some shipping forth,
 And want some English traffic, broadcloths, kerseys,
 Or suchlike; my voyage is to the Straits:
 If you can supply me, sir, I'll be your chapman.
Brew. That I shall soon resolve you, sir.

Enter Factors.

Come hither, George.
O. Fos. This is the rich merchantman;
Mrs Fos. That's neither grave nor wise;
O. Fos. Who will kill a man at Tyburn shortly.
Mrs Fos. By carts that may arise;[91]
 Or if the hangman die, he may have his office.
Brew. Then you have bargain'd, George?
George. And the ware carried home, sir; you must look
 To be little gainer; but lose you cannot.
Brew. 'Tis all I desire from thence. Sir, I can furnish you
 With wares I lately from your brother bought:
 Please you go see them, for I would fain divide you,
 Since I can win no nearer friendship.
Steph. I'll go with you, sir.

[Exeunt Brewen, Stephen, and George.

O. Fos. Take your adoption with you, sir.
Rob. I crave but your blessing with me, sir.
O. Fos. 'Tis my curse then; get thee out of mine eye:
Thou art a beam in't, and I'll tear it out,
 Ere it offend to look on thee.[92]
Mrs Fos. Go, go, sir; follow your uncle-father,
 Help him to spend what thrift has got together;
 It will be charity in you to spend,
 Because your charity it was to lend.
Rob. My charity! you can a virtue name,
 And teach the use, yet never knew the same. [Exit.

Enter Richard.

O. Fos. See, wife, here comes Richard; now listen,
 And hear me crown'd the wealthiest London merchant.
 Why dost thou look so sadly?
Mrs Fos. Why dost not speak? hast lost thy tongue?
Rich. I never could speak worse.
O. Fos. Why, thy voice is good enough.
Rich. But the worst accent that ever you heard;
 I speak a screech-owl's note. O, you have made
 The most unhappiest bargain that ever merchant did!
O. Fos. Ha?
 What can so baleful be, as thou wouldst seem
 To make by this sad prologue? I am no traitor,
 To confiscate my goods: speak, whate'er it be.
Rich. I would you could conceit it, that I might
 Not speak it.
O. Fos. Dally not with torments,
 Sink me at once.
Rich. Now you've spoke it half;
 'Tis sinking I must treat of: your ships are all sunk.
O. Fos. Ha!
Mrs Fos. O thou fatal raven! let me pull thine eyes out
 For this sad croak. [Flies at Richard.
O. Fos. Hold, woman! hold, prythee! 'tis none of his fault.
Mrs Fos. No, no, 'tis thine, thou wretch; and therefore
 Let me turn my vengeance all on thee; thou
 Hast made hot haste to empty all my warehouses,
 And made room for that the sea hath drunk before thee.
O. Fos. Undone for ever! Where could this mischief fall?
 Were not my ships in their full pride at Dover;
 And what English Charybdis has the devil digg'd
 To swallow nearer home.
Rich. Even in the mouth
 And entrance of the Thames they were all cast away.
O. Fos. Dam up thy mouth
 From any further mischievous relation.
Rich. Some men were sav'd, but not one pennyworth
 Of goods.
O. Fos. Even now thy baleful utterance
 Was chok'd, and now it runs too fast;
 Thou fatal bird, no more.
Mrs Fos. May serpents breed,
 And fill this fatal stream, and poison her for ever.
O. Fos. O, curse not; they come too fast!
Mrs Fos. Let me curse somewhere, wretch, or else I'll throw
 Them all on thee; 'tis thou, ungodly slave,
 That art the mark unto the wrath of heaven:
 I thriv'd ere I knew thee.
O. Fos. I prythee, split me too.
Mrs Fos. I would I could! I would I had ne'er seen thee,
 For I ne'er saw hour of comfort since I knew thee.
O. Fos. Undone for ever! My credit I have crack'd
 To buy a venture, which the sea has soak'd;
 What worse can woe report?
Mrs Fos. Yes, worse than all,
 Thy enemies will laugh, and scorn thy fall.
O. Fos. Be it the worst, then: that place I did assign
 My unthrifty brother, Ludgate, must now be mine.
 Break, and take Ludgate.
Mrs Fos. Take Newgate rather.
O. Fos. I scorn'd my child, now he may scorn his father.
Mrs Fos. Scorn him still!
O. Fos. I will: would he my wants relieve,
 I'd scorn to take what he would yield to give.
 My heart be still my friend, although no other.
 I'll scorn the help of either son or brother.
 My portion's begging now: seldom before,
 In one sad hour, was man so rich and poor. [Exeunt.

FOOTNOTES:

[77] There were several works published about this time containing the results of the various writers' experiences and observations in the new plantations in America.

[78] [Shafts.]

[79] You acquired citizenship in right of your father, and without personal service.

[80] An allusion to Godfrey of Boulogne or Bulloigne.

[81] Innocent, it must be remembered, in the language of our old dramatic writers, denotes an idiot.

[82] [Enjoy, in the sense of a man having knowledge of a woman.] Doll Tearsheet says of Pistol, in the "Second Part of Henry IV.," "These villains will make the word captain as odious as the word occupy, which, was an excellent good word before it was ill-sorted," [See Nares, edit. 1859, in v.; and Percy Folio MS. ("Loose and Humorous Songs," p. 29.)]

[83] "Tallies," says Johnson, "are sticks cut in conformity to others, by which accounts were kept." Jack Cade reproaches the Lord Say, "with having caused printing to be used, whereas before no other books were made use of by their forefathers but the score and tally. And Cade has the Exchequer Office on his side, where accounts are still partially kept after this most barbarous fashion."

[84] The name of a tooth-drawer, real or imaginary, who attended fairs. In 1592 Chettle printed his tract called "Kindhart's Dream." Dilke observes: "I am inclined to think, however, that kind-heart was the 'travelling name' of some notorious quack tooth-drawer, or a cant name given to the whole race of them. So the stage-keeper, in the induction to 'Bartholomew Fair,' when expressing his fear of the author's success, says: 'He has ne'er a sword-and-buckler man in his fair, nor a little Davy, to take toll of the bawds there, as in my time; nor a kind-heart, if anybody's teeth should chance to ake in his play.' And further, it is part of the 'covenant and agreement,' in the same induction, that the audience shall not 'look back to the sword-and-buckler age of Smithfield, but content themselves with the present. Instead of a little Davy, to take toll of the bawds, the author doth promise a strutting horse-courser, with a leer drunkard, two or three to attend him in as good equipage as you would wish. And then for kind-heart the tooth-drawer, a fine oily pig-woman, with,'" &c., &c. [Lambskin's reply is obviously allusive to the name by which Stephen has just addressed the widow.]

[85] The artemisia or southern wood is meant.

[86] Jane has been too successful in her play on the names and qualities of the flowers to have chosen this at random; and I am inclined to think the following extract from the "Winter's Tale" will serve to elucidate her meaning—

"The fairest flowers o' the season
 Are our carnations and streak'd gilliflowers.
 Which some call nature's bastards: of that kind
 Our rustic garden's barren; and I care not
 To get slips of them.

Pol. Wherefore, gentle maiden,
 Do you neglect them?

Per. For I have heard it said,
 There is an art, which, in their piedness, shares
 With great creating nature."

"This art," says Steevens, in a note on that passage, "is pretended to be taught at the end of some of the old books that treat of cookery." As I understand the passage then, Jane means to say, I have such good qualities and beauty as nature has given, but none that are produced by art. If the passage be thus understood, the opposition of the rose and the gilliflower is complete. If the reader is not satisfied with this conjecture, I will further suggest that gill-flirt was then a well-known term for a wanton; and Steevens has informed us that gilly'vors (the vulgar way of calling gilly-flowers) is still in use in Sussex to denote a harlot. Jane has spoken more than once of her honesty, and here may be the allusion.

[87] [Old copy, and.]

[88] [The 4o reads eares.]

[89] [Old copy, new to.]

[90] [Or, Jack will be a gentleman. This is a common proverb. It occurs in "A Garden of Spiritual Flowers," 1610, edit. 1638, part ii. p. 303.]

[91] These four lines seem to be a quotation, probably from some old ballad.

[92] Here is an evident allusion to two passages in the Gospel of St Matthew.

ACT IV., SCENE I.

Enter Mistress Jane, Godfrey Speedwell, and Master Lambskin.

Jane. Gentlemen, my father's not within; please you to walk a turn or two in the garden; he'll not be long.

Lamb. Your father, Mistress Jane? I hope you have observation in you, and know our humours; we come not a-wooing to your father.

Speed. Experience must bear with folly; thou art all innocent, and thy name is Lambskin; grave sapience guides me, and I care not a pin for thy squibs and thy crackers. My old dry wood shall make a lusty bonfire when thy green chips shall lie hissing in the chimney-corner. Remember, mistress, I can make you a lady by mine own experience.

Lamb. Prythee, do not stand troubling the gentlewoman with thy musty sentences, but let her love be laid down betwixt us like a pair of cudgels, and into whose hands she thrusts the weapons first, let him take up the bucklers.[93]

Speed. A match between us.

Jane. Must I be stickler, then?

Lamb. We are both to run at the ring of your setting-up, and you must tell us who deserves most favour.

Jane. But will you stand both at my disposing?

Lamb. Else let me never stand but in a pillory.

Jane. You love me both, you say?

Speed. By this hand!

Lamb. Hand? Zounds! by the four-and-twenty elements.

Jane. Pray spare your oaths; I do believe you do,
 You would not else make all this stir to woo.
 Sir Godfrey, you are a knight both tough and old;
 A rotten building cannot long time hold.

Lamb. Speedwell, live well, die well, and be hanged well, change your copy well, your experience will not carry it else.

Jane. You're rich too, at least yourself so say;
 What, though you're but a gilded man of clay.

Lamb. A man of gingerbread; i' faith, I could find in my heart to eat him.

Jane. Should I wed you, the fire with frost must marry,
 January and May! I for a younger tarry.

Lamb. That's I! In troth, I'll be thy young Lambskin; thou shalt find me as innocent as a sucking dove. Speak, sweet mistress, am I the youth in a basket?

Jane. You are the sweet youth, sir, whose pretty eyes
 Would make me love; but you must first be wise.

Speed. Ha, ha! Is your coxcomb cut? I see experience must board this fair pinnace. A word in private.

Lamb. I'll have no words in private, unless I hear too. [Retire.

Enter Master Brewen, Stephen, and Robert.

Brew. Come, gentlemen, we'll make few words about it:
 Merchants in bargaining must not, like soldiers
 Lying at a siege, stay moneths, weeks, days,
 But strike at the first parley.
 Broadcloths and wools, and other rich commodities,
 I lately from your brother brought, are all your own.
Steph. 'Tis well.
Brew. Then be not angry, gentle sir,
 If now a string be touch'd, which hath too long
 Sounded so harshly over all the city;
 I now would wind it to a musical height.
Steph. Good master alderman, I think that string
 Will still offend mine ear; you mean the jarring
 'Twixt me and my brother?
Brew. In troth, the same.
Steph. I hate no poison like that brother's name.
Brew. O fie! not so.
Steph. Uncivil churl, when all his sails were up,
 And that his proud heart danc'd on golden waves——
Brew. As, heaven be thanked, it still does!
Steph. Yet, sir, then,
 I being sunk, and drown'd in mine own misery,
 He would not cast out a poor line of thread,
 And bring me to the shore; I had been dead,
 And might have starv'd for him.
Brew. A better fate, sir,
 Stood at your elbow.
Steph. True, sir: this was he,
 That lifted me from want and misery;
 Whose cruel father, for that [act of] good,
 Cast him away, scorning his name and blood;
 Lopp'd from his side this branch that held me dear;
 For which he's now my son, my joy, my heir.
 But, for his father, hang him!
Brew. Fie, fie!
Steph. By heaven!
Brew. Come, come,
 Live in more charity, he is your brother;
 If that name offend, I'll sing that tune no more.
 Yonder's my daughter busy with her suitors;
 We'll visit them. Now, Jane, bid your friends welcome.
Jane. They must be welcome, sir, that come with you;
 To thee ten thousand welcomes still are due.
Rob. My sweet mistress! [Kisses her.

Lamb. Zounds! Sir knight, we have stood beating the bush, and the bird's flown away; this city bowler has kissed the mistress[94] at first cast.

Brew. How fare ye, gentlemen? what cheer, sir knight?

Speed. An adventurer still, sir, to this new-found land.[95]

Lamb. He sails about the point, sir; but he cannot put in yet.

Brew. The wind may turn, sir. [To Stephen.] A word, Master Foster. [They converse apart.

Lamb. You see, Sir Speedwell, what card is turned up for trump; I hold my life, this spruce citizen will forestall the market: O, these brisk factors are notable firkers.

Speed. I doubt, sir, he will play the merchant[96] with us.

Brew. They both are suitors, sir, yet both shoot wide;
 My daughter, sure, must be your kinsman's bride.
Steph. I'll give her a wedding-ring on that condition,
 And put a stone in't worth a thousand pound, sir.

Brew. You have my hand and heart to't, be she pleased so.

Lamb. 'Sfoot! let's show ourselves gallants or gallymawfries:[97] shall we be outbraved by a cockney? [To Robert.] A word, my fair Zenocrates; do you see, sir, here be those that have gone a-fishing, and can give you a gudgeon?

Rob. You were best go fish for better manners, or I shall bob for eels[98] with you. [Strikes him.

Lamb. Zounds! are you a striker? Draw, sir knight.

Brew. Not in my house; I pray, be quiet, gentlemen.

Rob. He dares not do't abroad, believe me, sir.

Steph. Now, by my life, my boy, for this brave spirit
 I'll hug thee in mine arms: lose life and limbs,
 Ere thou forsake thy love.
Lamb. He is no rival he, sir,[99] has struck me;
 And we are gentlemen.

Speed. And hear ye, sir; let him seek out his equals; for some of us are in danger to make her a lady shortly: I know what I speak; what I speak I'll do; yet I'll do nothing but what comes from grave experience.

Steph. Speak what you please, sir; he's a gentleman
 As good as either of you both; and shall
 In list of love, for such a bedfellow,
 Brave him that dares; and here lay down more gold
 To win her love than both your states are worth.

Speed. Ha! do you know us, sir? you grow too bold; my experience now hath found you: you were once a tattered fellow, your name is Foster; have you such gold to give?

Lamb. Yes, yes, 'has won it betting at the bowling-alleys, or at the pigeon-holes in the garden-alleys.

Steph. You are muddy grooms[100] to upbraid me with that scorn
 Which virtue now gilds over. Pray ye, gentlemen,
 May I request your names?
Lamb. Our names are in the heralds' books, I warrant you;
 My name is Innocent Lambskin; and this knight,
 Simply though he stands here, is known to be
 Sir Godfrey Speedwell.

Steph. Well may he speed, sir. Lambskin and Speedwell. Ha! is't so? I think I shall give you a medicine to purge this itch of love, sir.

Lamb. No itch neither, sir; we have no scabs here
 But yourself and your cousin.
Steph. Very good, sir! my little Lambskin, I have you
 Here in sheep's-skin [Produces a parchment]; look you, 'tis so, i' faith.
 See, master alderman, these two crack'd gallants
 Are in several bonds to my predecessor
 For a debt of full two thousand a-piece.
 Cousin, fetch me a sergeant straight.
Rob. Yes, sir.
Speed. O, let him: I have a protection, sir.
Steph. I'll try that, sir.
Speed. A sergeant? nay, then,
 Experience must work: legs be strong and bold:
When sergeants wait at feasts, the cheer's but cold.
 I'll shift for one. [Exit.