The Project Gutenberg eBook of Beaumont & Fletcher's Works (7 of 10), by Francis Beaumont; John Fletcher.

Lop. When shall he dye, Sir,
By whom, and how?

Cla. Hast thou betraid me, woman?

Isab. Base man, thou would'st [h]ave ruin'd me, my name too
And like a Toad, poison'd my virtuous memory:
Further than all this, dost thou see this friend here,
This only friend, shame take thy Lust and thee,
And shake thy soul, his life, the life I love thus,
My life in him, my only life thou aim'st at.

Cla. Am I catcht thus?

Lop. The Law shall catch ye better.

Isab. You make a trade of betraying Womens honors,
And think it noble in ye to be lustful,
Report of me hereafter—

Cla. Fool'd thus finely?

Lop. I must intreat ye walk, Sir, to the Justice,
Where if he'll bid ye kill me—

Cla. Pray stay awhile, Sir,
I must use a Players shift, do you know me now Lady?

Lop. Your brother Claudio sure.

Isab. Oh me, 'tis he Sir,
Oh my best brother.

Cla. My best sister now too,
I have tryed ye, found ye so, and now I love ye,
Love ye so truly nobly.

Lop. Sir, I thank ye,
You have made me a most happy man.

Cla. Thank her Sir,
And from this hour preserve that happiness,
Be no more fool'd with jealousie.

Lop. I have lost it,
And take me now new born again, new natur'd.

Isab. I do, and to that promise tye this faith,
Never to have a false thought tempt my virtue.

Lop. Enough, enough, I must desire your presence,
My Cosin Rhodope has sent in all haste for us,
I am sure you will be welcome.

Cla. I'll wait on ye.

Lop. What the Project is—

Isab. We shall know when we are there, Sir. [Exeunt.

Scæna Tertia.

Dutch. Joy to you Silvio, and your young fair Bride,
You have stolen a day upon us; you cannot wooe, Sir.

Sil. The joyes of Hell hang over me, oh mischief,
To what a fortune has the Devil driven me!
Am I reserv'd for this?

Sy. Beshrew me, Sir,
But you have gotten you a right fair bedfellow,
Let you alone to chuse.

Sil. I beseech your Grace,
'Tis misery enough to have met the Devil,
Not mens reproaches too.

Sy. How old is she?

Dutch. A very Girl, her eye delivers it.

Sy. Her teeth are scarce come yet.

Lord. What goodly children
Will they two have now! she is rarely made to breed on,
What a sweet timber'd body!

Dutch. Knotty i' th' back,
But will hold out the stronger; What a nose!

Sy. I marry, such a nose, so rarely mounted,
Upon my conscience, 'twas the part he doted on.

Dutch. And that fine little eye to it, like an Elephant's.

Lord. Yes, if her feet were round, and her ears sachels.

Sy. For any thing we know.

Sil. Have ye no mercy?
No pity in your bloods to use a wretch thus?
You Princes in whose hearts the best compassions,
Nearest to those in Heaven, should find fit places,
Why do you mock at misery? fling scorns and baseness
Upon his broken back, that sinks with sorrows?
Heaven may reward you too, and an hour come,
When all [your] great designes shall shew ridiculous,
And your hearts pinch'd like mine. [Musick in divers places.

Dutch. Fie Sir, so angry
Upon your wedding day? go smug your self,
The Maid will come anon: what Musick's this?

Sy. I warrant you some noble preparation.

Dutch. Let's take our places then.

Sil. More of these Devils dumps?
Must I be ever haunted with these witchcrafts?

Enter a Masquerado of several shapes, and Dances, after which, enter Belvidere and disperses them; before the Maskers enter two Presenters, among which are Bartello, Lopez, Claudio, Isabella, Rhodope, Soto, Penurio, Jaquenet.

1 Pre. Room, room for merry spirits, room,
Hither on command we come,
From the good old Beldam sent,
Cares and sorrows to prevent.

2. Look up Silvio, smile, and sing,
After winter comes a Spring.

1. Fear not faint fool what may follow,
Eyes that now are sunk and hollow,
By her Art may quick return
To their flames again, and burn.

2. Art commands all youth, and blood,
Strength and beauty it makes good.

1. Fear not then, despair not, sing
Round about as we do spring:
Cares and sorrows cast away,
This is the old wives Holy-day. [Dance here, then enter Belvidere.

Dutch. Who is this?

Sy. The shape of Belvidere.

Bel. Now Silvio,
How dost thou like me now?

Sil. Thus I kneel to thee.

Bel. Stand up, and come no nearer, mark me well too,
For if thou troublest me, I vanish instantly:
Now chuse wisely, or chuse never,
One thou must enjoy for ever.
Dost thou love me thus?

Sil. Most dearly.

Bel. Take heed fool, it concerns thee nearly.
If thou wilt have me young and bright,
Pleasing to thine eye and sight,
Courtly, and admir'd of all,
Take heed lest thy fame do fall,
I shall then be full of scorn,
Wanton, proud, beware the horn,
Hating what I lov'd before,
Flattery apt to fall before,
All consuming, nothing getting,
Thus thy fair name comes to setting.
But if old, and free from these
Thou shalt chuse me, I shall please:
I shall then maintain thee still,
With my virtue and my skill
Still increase and build thy name,
Chuse now Silvio here I am.

Sil. I know not what to say, which way to turn me,
Into thy Soveraign will I put my answer.

Bel. I thank ye Sir, and my Will thus rewards ye,
Take your old Love, your best, your dearest Silvio:
No more Spells now, nor further shapes to alter me,
I am thy Belvidere indeed. Dear Mother,
There is no altering this; heavens hand is with it:
And now you ought to give me, he has fairly won me.

Sil. But why that Hag?

Bel. In that shape most secure still,
I followed all your fortunes, serv'd, and counsell'd ye,
I met ye at the Farmers first, a Countrey wench,
Where fearing to be known, I took that habit,
And to make ye laughing sport at this mad marriage,
By secret aid of my friend Rhodope
We got this Maske.

Sil. And I am sure I have ye.

Bel. For ever now, for ever.

Dutch. You see it must be,
The wheel of destiny hath turn'd it round so.

Sy. It must, it is, and curs'd be he that breaks it.

Dutch. I'll put a choice to you, Sir: ye are my prisoner.

Sy. I am so, and I must be so, till it please you—

Dutch. Chuse one of these, either to pay a Ransom,
At what [rate] I shall set it, which shall be high enough,
And so return a Free-man, and a Batchelor,
Or give me leave to give you a fit wife,
In honor every way [your] Graces equal,
And so your Ransom's paid.

Sy. You say most nobly,
Silvio's example's mine, pray chuse you for me.

Dutch. I thank ye Sir, I have got the mastry too,
And here I give your Grace a Husbands freedom:
Give me your hand, my Husband.

Sy. You much honor me,
And I shall ever serve ye for this favour.

Bart. Come Lop[e]z, let us give our wives the breeches too,
For they will have 'em.

Lop. Whilst they rule with virtue
I'll give 'em, skin and all.

Isa. We'll scra[t]ch it off else.

Sil. I am glad ye live, more glad ye live to honor,
And from this hour a stronger love dwell with us;
Pray you take your man again.

Cla. He knows my house, Sir.

Dutch. 'Tis sin to keep you longer from your loves,
We'll lead the way; and you young men that know not
How to preserve a wife, and keep her fair,
Give 'em their soveraign Wills, and pleas'd they are.

THE
NIGHT-WALKER,
OR THE
LITTLE THIEF.

The Actors Names.

Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.

Lur. JAck.

Wild. What wind brought thee hither?
In what [old] hollow tree, or rotten wall
Hast thou been like a Swallow all this winter,
Where hast thou been man?

Lur. Following the Plow.

Wild. What Plow? Thou hast no Land,
Stealing is thy own purchase.

Lur. The best inheritance.

Wild. Not in my opinion,
Thou hadst five hundred pound a year.

Lur. 'Tis gone,
Prethee no more on't, have I not told thee,
And oftentimes, nature made all men equal,
Her distribution to each child alike;
Till labour came and thrust a new Will in,
Which I allow not: till men won a priviledge
By that they call endeavour, which indeed
Is nothing but a lawful Cosenage,
An allowed way to cheat, why should my neigh[bou]r
That hath no more soul than his Horse-keeper,
Nor bounteous faculties above a Broom-man,
Have forty thousand pounds, and I four groats;
Why should he keep it?

Wi[l]. Thy old opinion still.

Lur. Why should that Scrivener,
That ne'er writ reason in his life, nor anything
That time e'ver gloried in, that never knew
How to keep any courtesie conceal'd,
But Noverint Universi must proclaim it,
Purchase perpetually, and I a rascal:
Consider this, why should that mouldy Cobler
Marry his Daughter to a wealthy Merchant,
And give five thousand pounds, is this good justice?
Because he has a tougher constitution;
Can feed upon old Songs, and save his money,
Therefore must I go beg?

Wild. What's this to thee?
Thou canst not mend [it], if thou beest determin'd
To rob all like a Tyrant, yet take heed
A keener justice do not overtake thee,
And catch you in a Nooze.

Lur. I am no Wood-cock,
He that shall sit down frighted with that foolery
Is not worth pity, let me alone to shuffle,
Thou art for wenching.

Wild. For beauty I, a safe course,
No halter hangs in [my] way, I defie it.

Lur. But a worse fate, a wilful poverty,
For where thou gain'st by one that indeed loves thee,
A thousand will draw from thee, 'tis thy destiny;
One is a kind of weeping cross Jack,
A gentle Purgatory, do not fling at all,
You'll pay the Box so often, till you perish.

Wild. Take you no care for that sir, 'tis my pleasure,
I will imploy my wits a great deal faster
Than you shall do your fingers, and my loves,
If I mistake not, shall prove riper harvest
And handsomer, and come within less danger.
Where's thy young Sister?

Lur. I know not where she is, she is not worth caring for,
She has no wit.
Oh you'd be nibling with her,
She's far enough I hope, I know not where,
She's not worth caring for, a sullen thing,
She wou'd not take my counsel Jack,
And so I parted from her.

Wild. Leave her to her wants?

Lur. I gave her a little money, what I could spare,
She had a mind to th'Countrey, she is turn'd,
By this, some Farriers dairy maid, I may meet her
Riding from Market one day, 'twixt her Dorsers,
If I do, by this hand I wo'not spare
Her butter pence.

Wild. Thou wilt not rob thy Sister.

Lur. She shall account me for her Egs and Cheeses.

Wild. A pretty Girl, did not old Algripe love her?
A very pretty Girl she was.

Lur. Some such thing,
But he was too wise to fasten; let her pass.

Wild. Then where's thy Mistriss?

Lur. Where you sha'not find her,
Nor know what stuff she is made on; no indeed Sir,
I choose her not for your use.

Wild. Sure she is handsome.

Lur. Yes indeed is she, she is very handsome, but that's all one.

Wild. You'll come to th' Marriage?

Lur. Is it to day.

Wild. Now, now, they are come from Church now.

Lur. Any great preparation,
Does Justice Algripe shew his power?

Wild. Very glorious, and glorious people there.

Lur. I may meet with him yet e're I dye as cunning as he is.

Wild. You may do good Tom, at the [m]arriage,
We have plate and dainty things.

Lur. Do you no harm Sir;
For yet methinks the Marriage should be mar'd
If thou maist have thy will, farewell, say nothing. [Exit.

Wild. You are welcome noble friends.

1. I thank you Sir,
Nephew to the old Lady, his name is Wildbrain,
And wild his best condition.

2. I have heard of him,
I pray ye tell me Sir, is young Maria merry
After her Marriage rites? does she look lively?
How does she like her man?

Wild. Very scurvily,
And as untowardly she prepares her self,
But 'tis mine Aunts will, that this dull mettal
Must be mixt with her to allay her handsomeness.

1. Had Heartlove no fast friends?

Wild. His means are little,
And where those littles are, as little comforts
Ever keep company: I know she loves him,
His memory beyond the hopes of ——
Beyond the Indies in his mouldy Cabinets,
But 'tis her unhandsome fate.

1. I am sorry for't,
Here comes poor Frank, nay we are friends, start not Sir,
We see you'r willow and are sorry for't,
And though it be a wedding we are half mourners.

Fr. Good Gentlemen remember not my fortunes,
They are not to be help'd by words.

Wild. Look up man,
A proper sensible fellow and shrink for a wench?
Are there no more? or is she all the handsomness?

Fr. Prethee leave fooling.

Wild. Prethee leave thou whining,
Have maids forgot to love?

Fr. You are injurious.

Wild. Let 'em alone a while, they'll follow thee.

1. Come good Frank.
Forget now, since there is no remedy,
And shew a merry face, as wise men would do.

2. Be a free guest, and think not of those passages.

Wild. Think how to nick him home, thou knowst she dotes on thee
Graff me a dainty medler on his crabstocke;
Pay me the dreaming puppy.

Fr. Well, make your mirth, the whilst I bear my misery:
Honest minds would have better thoughts.

Wild. I am her Kinsman,
A[n]d love her well, am tender of her youth,
Yet honest Frank, before I would have that stinkard,
That walking rotten tombe, enjoy her maidenhead.

Fr. Prethee leave mocking.

Wild. Prethee Frank believe me,
Go to consider, hark, they knock to dinner. [Knock within.
Come wo't thou go?

2. I prethee Frank go with us,
And laugh and dance as we do.

Fr. You are light Gentlemen,
Nothing to weigh your hearts, pray give me leave,
I'll come and see, and take my leave.

Wild. We'll look for you,
Do not despair, I have a trick yet. [Exit.

Fr. [Yes,]
When I am mischievous I will believe your projects:
She is gone, for ever gone, I cannot help it,
My hopes and all my happiness gone with her.
Gone like a pleasing dream: what mirth and j[o]llity
Raigns round about this house! how every office
Sweats with new joyes, can she be merry too?
Is all this pleasure set by her appointment?
Sure she hath a false heart then; still they grow lowder,
The old mans God, his gold, has won upon her,
(Light hearted Cordial Gold) and all my services
That offered naked truth, are clean forgotten:
Yet if she were compell'd, but it cannot be,
If I could but imagine her will mine,
Although he had her body.

La. He shall come in.
Walk without doors o'this day, though an enemy,
It must not be.

Wild. You must compel him Madam.

La. No she shall fetch him in, Nephew it shall be so.

Wild. It will be fittest. [Exit.

Fr. Can fair Maria look again upon me?
Can there be so much impudence in sweetness?

Or has she got a strong heart to defie me?
She comes her self: how rich she is in Jewels!
Methinks they show like frozen Isicles,
Cold winter had hung on her, how the Roses
That kept continual spring within her cheeks
Are withered with [the] old mans dull embraces!
She would speak to me. I can sigh too Lady
But from a sounder heart: yes, and can weep too
But 'tis for you, that ever I believ'd you,
Tears of more pious value than your marriage;
You would encase your self, and I must credit you,
So much my old obedience compels from me;
Go, and forget me, and my poverty,
I need not bid you, you are too perfect that way:
But still remember that I lov'd Maria,
Lov'd with a loyal love, nay turn not from me,
I will not ask a tear more, you are bountiful,
Go and rejoyce, and I will wait upon you
That little of my life left.

Mar. Good Sir hear me,
What has been done, was the act of my obedience
And not my will: forc'd from me by my parents,
Now 'tis done, do as I do, bear it handsomly
And if there can be more society
Without dishonor to my tye of marriage
Or place for noble love, I shall love you still,
You had the first, the last, had my will prosper'd;
You talk of little time of life: dear Frank,
Certain I am not married for eternity,
The joy my marriage brings tells me I am mortal.
And shorter liv'd than you, else I were miserable;
Nor can the gold and ease his age hath brought me
Add what I coveted, content; go with me,
They seek a day of joy, prethee let's show it,
Though it be forc'd, and by this kiss believe me
However, I must live at his command now,
I'll dye at yours.

Fr. I have enough, I'll honor ye. [Exeunt.

Lur. Here are my trinkets, and this lusty marriage
I mean to visit, I have shifts of all sorts,
And here are a thousand wheels to set 'em working,
I am very merry, for I know this wedding
Will yield me lusty pillage: if mad Wildgoose
That debosh'd rogue keep but his antient revels,
And breed a hubbub in the house I am happy.

Now what are you?

Boy. A poor distressed Boy, Sir,
Friendless and comfortless, that would intreat
Some charity and kindness from your worship,
I would fain serve, Sir, and as fain endeavour
With duteous labour to deserve the love
Of that good Gentleman should entertain me.

Lur. A pretty Boy, but of too mild a breeding,
Too tender, and too bashful a behaviour,
What canst thou do?

Boy. I can learn any thing,
That's good and honest, and shall please [Master.]

Lur. He blushes as he speaks, and that I like not,
I love a bold and secure confidence,
An impudence that one may trust, this boy now:
Had I instructed him, had been a Jewel,
A treasure for my use, thou canst not lye?

Boy. I would not willingly.

Lur. Nor thou hast not wit
To dissemble neatly?

Boy. Do you love such boys, Sir?

Lur. Oh mainly, mainly, I would have my Boy impudent,
Out-face all truth, yet do it piously:
Like Proteus, cast himself into all forms,
As suddain and as nimble as his thoughts,
Blanch at no danger, though it be the Gallows,
Nor make no conscience of a cosenage,
Though it be i' th' Church. Your soft, demure, still children—
Are good for nothing, but to get long Graces——
And sing Songs to dull tunes; I would keep thee
And cherish thee, hadst thou any active quality,
And be a tender Master to thy knavery,
But thou art not for my use.

Bo[y]. Do you speak this seriously?

Lur. Yes indeed do I.

Boy. Would you have your boy Sir
Read in these moral mischiefs?

Lur. Now thou mov'st me.

Boy. And be a well-train'd youth in all activities?

Lur. By any means.

Boy. Or do you this to try me,
Fearing a prone[nesse].

Lur. I speak this to make thee.

Boy. Then take me Sir, and cherish me, and love me,
You have me what you would: believe me, Sir
I can do any thing for your advantage,
I guess at what you mean; I can lie naturally,
As easily, as I can sleep Sir, and securely:
As naturally I can steal too.

Lur. That I am glad on,
Right heartily glad on, hold thee there, thou art excellent.

Boy. Steal any thing from any body living.

Lur. Not from thy Master.

Boy. That's mine own body:
And must not be.

Lur. The boy mends mightily.

Boy. A rich man, that like snow heaps up his moneys,
I have a kind of pious zeal to meet still;
A fool that not deserves 'em, I take pitty on,
For fear he should run mad, and so I ease him.

Lur. Excellent boy, and able to instruct me,
Of mine own nature just.

Boy. I scorn all hazard,
And on the edge of danger I do best, Sir,
I have a thousand faces to deceive,
And to those, twice so many tongues to flatter,
An impudence, no brass was ever tougher,
And for my conscience.

Lur. Peace, I have found a Jewel,
A Jewel all the Indies cannot match,
And thou sha't feel—

Boy. This title, and I ha' done, Sir;
I never can confess, I ha' that spell on me;
And such rare modesties before a Magistrate,
Such innocence to catch a Judge, such ignorance.

Lur. I'll learn of thee, thou art mine own, come boy,
I'll give thee action presently.

Boy. Have at you.

Lur. What must I call thee?

Boy. Snap, Sir.

Lur. 'Tis most natural,
A name born to thee, sure thou art a Fairy,
Shew but thy skill, and I shall make thee happy.

La. Where be these knaves? who strues up all the liveries.
Is the Bride's bed made?

Tob. Yes Madam and a Bell
Hung under it artificially.

La. Out knave, out,
Must we have 'larms now?

Tob. A little warning
That we may know [when] to begin our healths Madam;
The Justice is a kind of old Jade, Madam,
That will go merriest with a Bell.

La. All the house drunk.

Tob. This is a [day] of Jubile.

La. Are the best hangings up? and the Plate set out?
Who makes the Posset, Nurse?

Nur. The dayrie mayd,
And she'll put that in, will make him caper:
Well Madam, well, you might ha'chose another,
A handsomer for your years.

La. Peace, he is rich Nurse,
He is rich, and that's beauty.

Nur. I am sure he is rotten,
Would he had been hang'd when he first saw her. Termagant!

La. What an angry Quean is this, where,
Who looks to him?

Tob. He is very merry Madam,
M. Wildbrain, has him in hand, ith'bottom o'th'Sellar
He sighs and tipples.

Nur. Alass good Gentleman,
My heart's sore for thee.

La. Sorrow must have his course, sirra,
Give him some Sack to dry up his remembrance,
How does the Bridegroom, I was afraid of him.

Nur. He is a trim youth to be tender of, hemp take him.
Must my sweet new blown Rose find such a winter
Before her spring be near.

La. Peace, peace, thou art foolish.

Nur. And dances like a Town-top: and reels, and hobbles.

La. Alass, good Gentleman, give him not much wine.

Tob. He shall ha'none by my consent.

La. Are the women comforting my daughter?

New. Yes, yes, Madam,
And reading to her a pattern of true patience,
They read and pray for her too.

Nur. They had need,
Ye had better marry her to her grave a great deal:
There will be peace and rest, alass poor Gentlewoman,
Must she become a Nurse now in her tenderness?
Well Madam, well my heart bleeds.

La. Thou art a fool still.

Nur. Pray heaven I be.

La. And an old fool to be vext thus.
'Tis late she must to bed, go knave be merry,
Drink for a boy, away to all your charges. [Exit.

Wild. Do as thou wo't, but if thou dost refuse it
Thou art the stupid'st ass, there's no long arguing,
Time is too precious Frank.

Fr. I am hot with wine.
And apt now to believe, but if thou dost this
Out of a villany, to make me wrong her,
As thou art prone enough.

Wild. Does she not love thee?
Did she not cry down-right e'n now to part with thee?
Had she not swounded if I had not caught her?
Canst thou have more?

Fr. I must confess all this.

Wild. Do not stand prating, and misdoubting, casting,
If she go from thee now, she's lost for ever;
Now, now she's going, she that loves thee going,
She whom thou lov'st.

Fr. Pray let me think a little.

Wild. There is no leisure; think when thou hast imbrac'd her
Can she imagine thou di[d]st ever honor her?
Ever believe thy oaths, that tamely suffer'st
An old dry ham of horse-flesh to enjoy her?
Enjoy her maiden-head; take but that from her
That we may tell posterity a man had it,
A handsome man, a Gentleman, a young man,
To save the honor of our house, the credit,
'Tis no great matter I desire.

Fr. I hear you.

Wild. Free us both from the fear of breeding fools
And ophs, got by this shadow: we talk too long.

Fr. She is going [now] to bed, among the women,
What opportunity can I have to meet her?

Wild. Let me alone, hast thou a will? speak soundly,
Speak discreetly, speak home and handsomly,
Is't not pitty, nay misery, nay infamy to leave
So rare a pie to be cut up by a raskal.

Fr. I will go presently, now, now, I stay thee.

Wild. Such a dainty Doe, to be taken
By one that knows not neck-beef from a Phesant,
Nor cannot rellish Braggat from Ambrosia.
Is it not conscience?

Fr. Yes, yes, now I feel it.

Wild. A meritorious thing.

Fr. Good Father Wildgoose,
I do confess it.

Wild. Come then follow me.
And pluck a mans heart up, I'll lock thee privately,
Where she alone shall presently pass by,
None near to interupt thee but be sure.

Fr. I shall be sure enough, lead on, and crown me.

Wild. No wringings in your mind now as you love me. [Ex.

Scæna Tertia.

THE NIGHT-WALKER, OR THE LITTLE THIEF.

The Actors Names.

Actus Primus. Scæna Prima.

THE
NIGHT-WALKER,
OR THE
LITTLE THIEF.