Seathrift, Mistress Seathrift, Mistress
Holland, Mistress Scruple.
Sea. I did commit her to your charge, that you
Might breed her, Mistress Scruple, and do require
Her at your hand. Here be fine tricks, indeed!
My daughter Susan to be stol'n a week,
And you conceal it. You were of the plot,
I do suspect you.
Mis. Scr. Sir, will you but hear me meekly?
Sea. No, I'll never trust again
A woman with white eyes, that can take notes,
And write a comment on the catechism:
All your devotion's false. Is't possible
She could be gone without your knowledge?
Mis. Scr. Will you
Attend me, Mistress Seathrift? If my husband,
To wean her from love-courses, did not take
More pains with her than with his Tuesday lectures,
And if I did not every day expound
Some good things to her 'gainst the sin o' th' flesh,
For fear of such temptations, to which frail girls
Are very subject, let me never more
Be thought fit t' instruct young gentlewomen
Or deal in tent-stitch. Whoe'er 'twas that seduced her,
She took my daughter Emlin's gown and ruff,
And left her own clothes; and my scholars say,
She often would write letters.
Sea. Why, 'tis right:
Some silenc'd minister has got her. That I
Should breed my daughter in a conventicle!
Mis. Sea. Pray, husband, be appeas'd.
Sea. You are a fool.
Mis. Sea. You hear her mistress could not help it.
Sea. Nor your son help being a fish.
Mis. Hol. Why, sir, was he
The first that was abus'd by captains?
Sea. Go: you talk like prating gossips.
Mis. Hol. Gossips! 'slight, what gossips, sir?
Mis. Sea. What gossips are we? speak.
Sea. I'll tell you, since you'd know. My wife and you,
Shrill Mistress Holland, have two tongues, that when
They're in conjunction, are busier, and make
More noise than country fairs, and utter more tales
Than blind folks, midwifes, nurses. Then no show,
Though't be a juggler, 'scapes you: you did follow
The Elephant so long, and King of Sweden,
That people at last came in to see you. Then
My son could not be made a fish, but who
Should I find there, much taken with the sight,
But you two! I may now build hospitals,
Or give my money to plantations. [Exit Seathrift.
Mis. Sea. Let's follow him. Come, Mistress Scruple,.
Mis. Hol. Just as your Sue left her schoolmistress,
My Pen left me.
Mis. Scr. They'll come again, I warrant you. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.
Plotwell, Aurelia.
Plot. Sister, 'tis so projected, therefore make
No more demurs: the life of both our fortunes
Lies in your carriage of things well. Think therefore
Whether you will restore me, and advance
Your own affairs; or else within this week
Fly this your lodging, like uncustom'd sinners,
And have your coach-horses transform'd to rent;
Have your apparel sold for properties,[244]
And you return to cut-work. By this hand,
If you refuse, all this must happen.
Aur. Well, sir,
Necessity, which hath no law, for once
Shall make me o' th' conspiracy; and since
We are left wholly to our wits, let's show
The power and virtue of 'em. If your Bannswright
Can but persuade my uncle, I will fit
Him with a bride.
Plot. The scene is laid already:
I have transform'd an English poet into
A fine French teacher, who shall join your hands
With a most learned legend out of Rab'lais.
Aur. But for my true groom who, you say, comes hither
For a disguis'd knight, I shall think I wed
His father's counting-house, and go to bed
To so much bullion of a man. Faith, I've
No mind to him: brother, he hath not wit enough
To make't a lawful marriage.
Plot. Y' are deceiv'd:
I'll undertake, by one week's tutoring,
And carrying him to plays and ordinaries,
Engaging him in a quarrel or two, and making
Some captain beat him, to render him a most
Accomplish'd gallant. Or say he be born, sister,
Under the city-planet, pray, what wise lady
Desires to match a wise knight? You'd marry some
Philosopher now, that should every night
Lie with you out of Aristotle, and loose
Your maidenhead by demonstration.
Or some great statesman, before whom you must sit
As silent and reserv'd, as if your looks
Had plots on foreign princes; and must visit
And dress yourself by Tacitus. What he wants
In naturals, his fortunes will make up
In honours, Pen. When he's once made a lord,
Who'll be so saucy as to think he can
Be impotent in wisdom? She that marries
A fool is an Hermaphrodite; the man
And wife too, sister. Besides, 'tis now too late;
He'll be here presently, and comes prepar'd
For Hymen. I took up a footman for him,
And left him under three tiremen's hands, besides
Two barbers.
Aur. Well, sir, I must then accept him
With all his imperfections. I have
Procured a Sir John yonder.
Plot. Who is't?
Aur. One that preaches the next parish once a week
Asleep for thirty pounds a year.
Enter a Footman.
Foot. Here is a knight
Desires your ladyship will give him audience.
Aur. 'Tis no knight ambassador?
Foot. He rather looks like a Knight o' th' Sun.
Plot. 'Tis he.
Aur. Let him come in.
Plot. If you be coy now, Pen, [Exit Footman.
You spoil all.
Aur. Well, sir, I'll be affable.
SCENE III.
Enter Timothy fantastically dressed, and a
Footman.
Plot. Here he comes!
Tim. Sirrah, wait me in the hall,
And let your feet stink there: your air's not fit
To be endured by ladies.
Plot. What! quarrel with your footman, sir?
Tim. Hang him, he casts a scent
That drowns my perfumes, and is strong enough
To cure the mother of palsy. Do I act
A knight well?
Plot. This imperiousness becomes you,
Like a knight newly dubb'd, sir.
Tim. What says the lady?
Plot. Speak lower. I have prepar'd her; show yourself
A courtier: now she's yours!
Tim. If that be all,
I'll court her as if some courtier had begot me
I' th' gallery at a masque.
Plot. Madam, this gentleman
Desires to kiss your hands.
Tim. And lips too, lady.
Aur. Sir, you much honour both.
Tim. I know that,
Else I'd not kiss you. Yesterday I was
In company with ladies, and they all
Long'd to be touch'd by me.
Aur. You cannot cure
The evil, sir; nor have your lips the virtue
To restore ruins, or make old ladies young?
Tim. Faith, all the virtue that they have is, that
My lips are knighted. I am born, sweet lady,
To a poor fortune, that will keep myself
And footman, as you see, to bear my sword
In cuerpo[245] after me. I can at court,
If I would, show my gilt[246] i' th' presence; look
After the rate of some five thousands
Yearly in old rents; and, were my father once
Well wrapp'd in sear-cloth, I could fine for sheriff.
Plot. Heart! you spoil all. [Aside.
Tim. Why?
Plot. She verily believ'd y' had ne'er a father. [Aside.
Aur. Lives your father then, sir?
That gentleman told me he was dead.
Tim. 'Tis true,
I had forgot myself: he was drowned, lady,
This morning, as he went to take possession
Of a summer-house and land in the Canaries.
Plot. Now y' have recovered all.
Tim. D' you think I have
Not wit enough to lie? [Aside.
Plot. Break your mind to her;
She does expect it.
Tim. But, lady, this is not
The business which I came for.
Aur. I'm at leisure
To hear your business, sir.
Plot. Mark that!
Tim. Indeed,
Sweet lady, I've a motion which was once
Or twice this morning in my mouth, and then
Slipp'd back again for fear.
Aur. Cowards ne'er won
Ladies or forts, sir.
Tim. Say then I should feel
Some motions, lady, of affection, might
A man repair Paul's with his heart, or put it
Into a tinder-box?
Aur. How mean you, sir?
Tim. Why, is your heart a stone or flint?
Aur. Be plain, sir, I understand you not.
Tim. Not understand me?
Y'are the [first] lady that e'er put a man
To speak plain English: some would understand
Riddles and signs. Say, I should love you, lady!
Aur. There should be no love lost, sir.
Tim. Say you so?
Then, by this air, my teeth e'en water at you:
I long to have some offspring by you. We
Shall have an excellent breed of wits:
I mean my youngest son shall be a poet; and
My daughters, like their mother, every one
A wench o' th' game. And for my eldest son,
He shall be like me, and inherit. Therefore
Let's not defer our joys, but go to bed
And multiply.
Aur. Soft, sir, the priest must first
Discharge his office. I do not[247] mean to marry,
Enter Dorcas out of her Puritan dress.
Like ladies in New England, where they couple
With no more ceremony than birds choose their mate
Upon St Valentine's day.
Dor. Madam, the preacher
Is sent for to a churching, and doth ask
If you be ready: he shall lose, he says,
His chrysome[248] else.
Aur. O miracle! out of
Your little ruff, Dorcas, and in the fashion!
Dost thou hope to be saved?
Dor. Pray, madam, do not
Abuse me; I will tell you more anon.
Plot. Tell him she's coming.
Aur. Sir, please you, partake
Of a slight banquet? [Exit Dorcas.
Plot. Just as you are sat,
I'll steal the priest in.
Tim. Do.
Plot. When you are join'd,
Be sure you do not oversee, but straight
Retire to bed: she'll follow.
'Tis not three o'clock i' th' afternoon.
Tim. 'Tis but drawing
Your curtains, and you do create your night.
All times to lovers and new-married folks
May be made dark.
Tim. I will, then. By this room,
She's a rare lady! I do almost wish
I could change sex, and that she might beget
Children on me.
Plot. Nay, will you enter?
Tim. Lady,
Pray, will you show the way?
Plot. Most city-like!
'Slid, take her by the arm, and lead her in.
Tim. Your arm, sweet lady. [Exeunt.
SCENE IV.
Bright, Newcut.
Bright. But are you sure they're they?
New. I'll not believe
My treacherous eyes again, but trust some dog
To guide me, if I did not see his uncle
Coming this way, and Bannswright with him.
Bright. Who?
The fellow that brings love to banns, and banns
To bare thighs 'bout the town?
New. The very same, sir;
The City-Cupid, that shoots arrows betwixt
Party and party. All the difference is,
He has his eyes, but they he brings together
Sometimes do not see one another, till
They meet i' th' church.
Bright. What say you now, if Warehouse
Should in displeasure marry?
New. 'Tis so; this fellow
In's company confirms me. 'Tis the very business,
Why Plotwell has sent for us.
Bright. Here they come:
Prythee, let's stand and overhear 'em.
New. Stand close, then.
SCENE V.
Enter Warehouse, Bannswright.
Ware. Madam Aurelia is her name?
Ban. Her father
Was, sir, an Irish baron, that undid
Himself by housekeeping.
Ware. As for her birth,
I could wish it were meaner: as many knights
And justices of peace as have been of
The family are reckoned into the portion.
She'll still be naming of her ancestors,
Ask jointure by the herald's book, and I,
That have no coat, nor can show azure lions
In fields of argent, shall be scorn'd; she'll think
Her honour wrong'd to match a man that hath
No 'scutcheons but them of his company,
Which once a year do serve to trim a lighter
To Westminster and back again.
Ban. You are mistaken, sir. This lady, as she is
Descended of a great house, so she hath
No dowry but her arms: she can bring only
Some libbards'[249] heads or strange beasts which, you know,
Being but beasts, let them derive themselves
From monsters in the globe, and lineally
Proceed from Hercules' labours, they will never
Advance her to a husband equal to
Herself in birth, that can give beasts too. She
Aims only to match one that can maintain
Her some way to her state. She is possess'd,
What streams of gold you flow in, sir.
Ware. But can she
Affect my age?
Ban. I ask'd her that, and told her
You were about some threescore, sir, and ten;
But were as lusty as one of twenty, or [Aside.
An aged eunuch.
Ware. And what replied she?
Ban. She,
Like a true Lucrece, answer'd it was fit
For them to marry by the church-book, who
Came there to cool themselves; but to a mind
Chaste, and endued with virtue, age did turn
Love into reverence.
Bright. Or sir-reverence. [Aside.
New. Prythee, observe.
Ware. Is she so virtuous, then?
Ban. 'Tis all the fault she has: she will outpray
A preacher at St Antlin's, and divides
The day in exercise. I did commend
A great precisian to her for her woman,
Who tells me that her lady makes her quilt
Her smocks before for kneeling.
Ware. Excellent creature!
Ban. Then, sir, she is so modest.
Ware. Too?
Ban. The least
Obscene word shames her; a lascivious figure
Makes her do penance, and she maintains the law,
Which forbids fornication, doth extend
To kissing too.
Ware. I think the time an age,
Till the solemnity be pass'd.
Ban. I have
Prepar'd her, sir, and have so set you out!
Besides, I told her how you had cast off
Your nephew; and, to leave no doubt that you
Would e'er be reconcil'd, before she went
To church, would settle your estate on her
And on the heirs of her begotten.
Ware. To make all sure,
We'll call upon my lawyer by the way,
And take him with us.
Ban. You must be married, sir,
At the French church: I have bespoke the priest;
One that will join you i' th' right Geneva form,
Without a licence.
Ware. But may a man
Wed in a strange tongue?
Ban. I have brought together
Some in Italian, sir; the language doth
Not change the substance of the match; you know
No licence will be granted; all the offices
Are beforehand brib'd by your nephew.
Ware. Well,
Let's to the lady straight. To cross him, I
Would marry an Arabian, and be at charge
To keep one to interpret, or be married
In China language, or the tongue that's spoke
By the Great Cham. [Exeunt Warehouse and Bannswright.
Bright. Now, Newcut, you perceive
My divination's true; this fellow did
Portend a wedding.
New. Plague o' th' prognostication!
Who'd think that madam were the party?
Bright. O sir,
She'll call this wit, to wed his bags and lie
With some Platonic servant.
New. What if we,
Before we go to Plotwell, went to her,
And strived to dissuade her?
Bright. Let's make haste,
They'll be before us, else. [Exeunt.
SCENE VI.
Enter Timothy unbuttoning himself; Aurelia,
Plotwell, Dorcas, Footman.
Tim. By this hand, lady, you shall not deny me:
Since we are coupled, I shall think the priest
Has not done all, as long as I'm a virgin.
Aur. Will you not stay till night, sir?
Tim. Night! No, faith;
I've sworn to get my first child by day: you may
Be quick by night.
Plot. Madam, your knight speaks reason.
Tim. I will both speak and do it.
Aur. Well, sir, since
There is no remedy, your bed's prepar'd;
By that time you are laid, I'll come. Meantime,
I'll pray that gentleman to conduct you. There's
My footman to pluck off your stockings.
Plot. Come, sir.
Tim. Sweet lady, stay not long.
Plot. I'll promise for her.
[Exeunt Timothy, Plotwell, and Footman.
Dor. Faith, I admire your temperance, to let
Your bridegroom go to bed, and you not follow.
Were I in your case, I should ha' gone first,
And warm'd his place.
Aur. Well, wench; but that thou hast
Reveal'd thyself unto me, I'd admire
To hear a saint talk thus. To one that knows not
The mystery of thy strange conversion, thou
Wouldst seem a legend.
Dor. Faith, I've told you all,
Both why I left my schoolmistress, who taught me
To confute curling-irons, and why I put
Myself on this adventure.
Aur. Well, wench, my brother
Has had his plots on me, and I'll contribute
My help to work thy honest ones on him:
Do but perform thy task well, and thou winn'st
him.
Dor. Let me alone; never was man so fitted
With a chaste bride, as I will fit his uncle.
Enter Footman.
Foot. Madam, your knight doth call most fiercely for you. [Exit.
Aur. [to Dorc.] Prythee, go tell him some business keeps me yet,
And bid him stay himself with this kiss.
SCENE VII.
As they kiss, enter Bright, Newcut.
Bright. By your leave, madam! What, for practice' sake,
Kissing your woman? Lord, how a lady's lips
Hate idleness, and will be busied when
The rest lies fallow! and rather than want action,
Be kind within themselves, an't be t' enjoy
But the poor pleasure of contemplation.
New. And how do you find her, madam?
Aur. Stay, wench.
New. Lord!
Does it not grieve you now, and make you sigh,
And very passionately accuse nature,
And say she was too hard to make your woman
Able to kiss you only, and do no more?
Bright. Is it not pity, but, besides the gift
Of making caudles, and using of her pencil,
She had the trick o' th' other sex?
Aur. Methinks
Your own good breeding might instruct you that
My house is not a new foundation, where
You might, paying the rate, approach, be rude,
Give freedom to your unwash'd mouths.
Dor. My lady
Keeps no poor nuns, that sin for victuals, for you,
With whom this dead vacation[250] you may trade
For old silk stockings and half-shirts. They say
You do offend o' th' score, and sin in chalk,[251]
And the dumb walls complain you are behind
In pension;[252] so that your distressed vestals
Are fain to foot their stockings, pay the brewer
And landlord's rent in woman-kind, and long
More earnestly for the term than Norfolk lawyers.
Bright. Why, you have got a second, lady: your woman
Doth speak good country language.
New. Offers at wit, and shows teeth for a jest.
Bright. We hear you are to marry an old citizen.
Aur. Then surely you were not deaf.
New. And do you mean his age—
Which hath seen all the kingdom buried thrice,
To whom the heat of August is December. [Exit Dorcas.
Who, were he but in Italy, would save
The charge of marble vaults, and cool the air
Better than ventiducts—shall freeze between
Your melting arms? Do but consider, he
But marries you as he would do his furs,
To keep him warm.
Aur. But he is rich, sir.
Bright. Then,
In wedding him you wed more infirmities
Than ever Galen wrote of: he has pains
That put the doctors to new experiments.
Half his diseases in the city bill
Kill hundreds weekly: alone [an] hospital
Were but enough for him.
New. Besides,
He has a cough that nightly drowns the bellman;
Calls up his family; all his neighbours rise,
And go by it, as by the chimes and clock.
Not four loam walls, nor sawdust put between,
Can dead it.
Aur. Yet he is still rich.
Bright. If this
Cannot affright you, but that you will needs
Be blind to wholesome counsel, and will marry
One who, by th' course of nature, ought t' have been
Rotten before the queen's time, and in justice
Should now have been some threescore years a ghost,
Let pity move you. In this match you quite
Destroy the hopes and fortunes of a gentleman,
For whom, had his penurious uncle starv'd,
And pin'd himself his whole life, to increase
The riches he deserves t' inherit, it
Had been his duty.
Aur. You mean his nephew Plotwell?
A prodigal young man: one whom the good
Old man, his uncle, kept to th' inns-of-court,
And would in time ha' made him barrister,
And rais'd him to his satin cap and biggon,[253]
In which he might ha' sold his breath far dearer,
And let his tongue out at a greater price
Than some their manors. But he did neglect
These thriving means, followed his loose companions,
His Brights and Newcuts—two, they say, that live
By the new heresy, Platonic love;
Can take up silks upon their strengths, and pay
Their mercer with an infant.[254]
Bright. Newcut!
New. Ay, I do observe her character. Well, then,
You are resolved to marry?
Aur. Were the man
A statue, so it were a golden one,
I'd have him.
Bright. Pray, then, take along to church
These few good wishes. May your husband prove
So jealous to suspect that, when you drink
To any man, you kiss the place where his
Lips were before, and so pledge meetings: let him
Think you do cuckold him by looks; and let him
Each night, before you go to rest, administer
A solemn oath, that all your thoughts were chaste
That day, and that you sleep with all your hairs.
New. And, which is worse, let him forget he lay
With you himself; before some magistrate
Swear 'twas some other, and have it believ'd
Upon record.
Enter Plotwell.
Plot. Sister, I've left your bridegroom
Under this key lock'd in, t' embrace your pillow.
Sure, he has ate eringoes, he's as hot—
He was about to fetch you in his shirt.
Bright. How's this? His sister!
New. I conceive not this.
Plot. My noble friends, you wonder now to hear
Me call her sister.
Bright. Faith, sir, we wonder more
She should be married.
New. If't be your sister, we
Have labour'd her she should not match her uncle,
And bring forth riddles: children that should be
Nephews to their father, and to their uncle sons.
Plot. I laugh now at your ignorance: why, these
Are projects, gentlemen: fine gins and projects.
Did Roseclap's boy come to you?
Bright. Yes.
Plot. I have
A rare scene for you.
New. The boy told us you were
Upon a stratagem.
Plot. I've sent for Roseclap
And Captain Quartfield to be here: I have
Put Salewit into orders; he's inducted
Into the French Church: you must all have parts.
Bright. Prythee, speak out of clouds.
Plot. By this good light,
'Twere justice now to let you both die simple
For leaving us so scurvily.
New. We were
Sent for in haste by th' benchers to contribute
To one of 'em that's Reader.[255]
Plot. Come with me;
I'll tell you then. But first I'll show you a sight
Much stranger than the fish.
Enter Dorcas.