Re-enter Groom.

Groom. Sir.

Tan. Now, sir?

Groom. There’s a kind of captain very robustiously inquires for you.

Tan. For me? a man of war? A man of law is fit for a man of war: we have no leisure to say prayers; we both kill a’ Sunday mornings. I’ll not be long from your sweet company.

Phœ. O, no, I beseech you.

[Exit Tangle with Groom.
Fid. What captain might this be?
Phœ. Thou angel sent amongst us, sober Law,
Made with meek eyes, persuading action,
No loud immodest tongue,
Voic’d like a virgin, and as chaste from sale,
Save only to be heard, but not to rail;
How has abuse deform’d thee to all eyes,
That where thy virtues sat, thy vices rise!
Yet why so rashly for one villain’s fault
Do I arraign whole man? Admired Law,
Thy upper parts must needs be sacred, pure,[825]
And incorruptible; they’re grave and wise:
’Tis but the dross beneath ’em, and the clouds
That get between thy glory and their praise,
That make the visible and foul eclipse;
For those that are near to thee are upright,
As noble in their conscience as their birth;
Know that damnation is in every bribe,
And rarely[826] put it from ’em; rate the presenters,
And scourge ’em with five years’ imprisonment,
For offering but to tempt ’em.
Thus is true justice exercis’d and us’d:
Woe to the giver when the bribe’s refus’d!
’Tis not their will to have law worse than war,
Where still the poor’st die first;
To send a man without a sheet to his grave,
Or bury him in his papers;
’Tis not their mind it should be, nor to have
A suit hang longer than a man in chains,
Let him be ne’er so fasten’d. They least know
That are above the tedious steps below:
I thank my time, I do.
Fid. I long to know what captain this should be.
Phœ. See where the bane of every cause returns.
Re-enter Tangle with Captain.

Fid. ’S foot, ’tis the captain my father-in-law, my lord.

Phœ. Take heed.

Cap. The divorce shall rest then, and the five hundred crowns shall stand in full force and virtue.

Tan. Then do you wisely, captain.

Cap. Away sail I: fare thee well.

Tan. A lusty crack of wind go with thee!

Cap. But ah——

Tan. Hah?

Cap. Remember, a scrivener.

Tan. I’ll have him for thee. [Exit Captain.]—Why, thus am I sought after by all professions. Here’s a weather-beaten captain, who, not long since new married to a lady widow, would now fain have sued a divorce between her and him, but that her honesty is his only hinderance: to be rid of which, he does determine to turn her into white money; and there’s a lord, his chapman, has bid five hundred crowns for her already.

Fid. How?

Tan. Or for his part or whole in her.

Phœ. Why, does he mean to sell his wife?

Tan. His wife? Ay, by th’ mass, he would sell his soul if he knew what merchant would lay out money upon’t; and some of ’em have need of one, they swear so fast.

Phœ. Why, I never heard of the like.

Tan. Non audivisti, didst ne’er hear of that trick? Why, Pistor, a baker, sold his wife t’other day to a cheesemonger, that made cake and cheese; another to a cofferer; a third to a common player: why, you see ’tis common. Ne’er fear the captain: he has not so much wit to be a precedent himself. I promised to furnish him with an odd scrivener of mine own, to draw the bargain and sale of his lady. Your horses stand here, gentlemen?[827]

Phœ. Ay, ay, ay.

Tan. I shall be busily plunged till towards bedtime above the chin in profundis. [Exit.

Phœ. What monstrous days are these!
Not only to be vicious most men study,
But in it to be ugly; strive to exceed
Each other in the most deformed deed.
Fid. Was this her private choice? did she neglect
The presence and opinion of her friends
For this?
Phœ. I wonder who that one should be,
Should so disgrace that reverend name of lord,
So loathsomely to buy adultery?
Fid. We may make means to know.
Phœ. Take courage, man; we’ll beget some defence.
Fid. I’m[828] bound by nature.
Phœ. I by conscience.
To sell his lady! Indeed, she was a beast
To marry him; and so he makes of her.—
Come, I’ll thorough now I’m enter’d. [Exeunt.

SCENE V.

A Street.
Enter Jeweller’s Wife and Boy.

Jew. Wife. Is my sweet knight coming? are you certain he’s coming?

Boy. Certain, forsooth; I am sure I saw him out of the barber’s shop, ere I would come away.

Jew. Wife. A barber’s shop? O, he’s a trim knight! would he venture his body into a barber’s shop, when he knows ’tis as dangerous as a piece of Ireland? O, yonder, yonder he comes! Get you back again, and look you say as I advised you.

Boy. You know me, mistress.

Jew. Wife. My mask, my mask. [Exit Boy.

Enter Knight, and Lackey following at some distance.

Knight. My sweet Revenue!

Jew. Wife. My Pleasure, welcome! I have got single; none but you shall accompany me to the justice of peace, my father’s.

Knight. Why, is thy father justice of peace, and I not know it?

Jew. Wife. My father? i’faith, sir, ay; simply though I stand here a citizen’s wife, I am a justice of peace’s daughter.

Knight. I love thee the better for thy birth.

Jew. Wife. Is that your lackey yonder, in the steaks[829] of velvet?

Knight. He’s at thy service, my sweet Revenue, for thy money paid for ’em.

Jew. Wife. Why, then, let him run a little before, I beseech thee; for, a’ my troth, he will discover us else.

Knight. He shall obey thee.—Before, sirrah, trudge. [Exit Lackey.]—But do you mean to lie at your father’s all night?

Jew. Wife. Why should I desire your company else?

Knight. ’S foot, where shall I lie then?

Jew. Wife. What an idle question’s that! why, do you think I cannot make room for you in my father’s house as well as in my husband’s? they’re both good for nothing else.

Knight. A man so resolute in valour as a woman in desire, were an absolute leader. [Exeunt.

SCENE VI.

A Room in Falso’s House.
Enter Falso and two Suitors.

First Suit. May it please your good worship, master justice——

Fal. Please me and please yourself; that’s my word.

First Suit. The party your worship sent for will by no means be brought to appear.

Fal. He will not? then what would you advise me to do therein?

First Suit. Only to grant your worship’s warrant, which is of sufficient force to compel him.

Fal. No, by my faith, you shall not have me in that trap: am I sworn justice of peace, and shall I give my warrant to fetch a man against his will? why, there the peace is broken. We must do all quietly: if he come, he’s welcome; and as far as I can see yet, he’s a fool to be absent,—ay, by this gold is he—which he gave me this morning.

[Aside.

First Suit. Why, but may it please your good worship—

Fal. I say again, please me and please yourself; that’s my word still.

First Suit. Sir, the world esteems it a common favour, upon the contempt of the party, the justice to grant his warrant.

Fal. Ay, ’tis so common, ’tis the worse again; ’twere the better for me ’twere otherwise.

First Suit. I protest, sir, and this gentleman can say as much, it lies upon my half undoing.

Fal. I cannot see yet that it should be so,—I see not a cross ye.[830] [Aside.

First Suit. I beseech your worship shew me your immediate favour, and accept this small trifle but as a remembrance to my succeeding thankfulness.

Fal. Angels?[831] I’ll not meddle with them; you give ’em to my wife, not to me.

First Suit. Ay, ay, sir.

Fal. But I pray tell me now, did the party viva voce, with his own mouth, deliver that contempt, that he would not appear, or did you but jest in’t?

First Suit. Jest? no, a’ my troth, sir; such was his insolent answer.

Fal. And do you think it stood with my credit to put up such an abuse? Will he not appear, says he? I’ll make him appear with a vengeance.—Latronello!

Enter Latronello.

Lat. Does your worship call?

Fal. Draw me a strong-limbed warrant for the gentleman speedily; he will be bountiful to thee.—Go and thank him within.

First Suit. I shall know your worship hereafter.

Fal. Ay, I prithee do. [Exeunt Suitors with ᚳLatronello.] Two angels one party, four another: and I think it a great spark of wisdom and policy, if a man come to me for justice, first to know his griefs by his fees, which be light, and which be heavy; he may counterfeit else, and make me do justice for nothing: I like not that; for when I mean to be just, let me be paid well for’t: the deed so rare purges the bribe.

Enter Furtivo.

How now? what’s the news, thou art come so hastily? how fares my knightly brother?

Fur. Troth, he ne’er fared worse in his life, sir; he ne’er had less stomach to his meat since I knew him.

Fal. Why, sir?

Fur. Indeed he’s dead, sir.

Fal. How, sir?

Fur. Newly deceased, I can assure your worship: the tobacco-pipe new dropt out of his mouth before I took horse; a shrewd sign; I knew then there was no way but one with him; the poor pipe was the last man he took leave of in this world, who fell in three pieces before him, and seemed to mourn inwardly, for it looked as black i’ th’ mouth as my master.

Fal. Would he die so like a politician, and not once write his mind to me?

Fur. No, I’ll say that for him, sir, he died in the perfect state of memory; made your worship his full and whole executor, bequeathing his daughter, and with her all his wealth, only to your disposition.

Fal. Did he make such a godly end, sayest thou? did he die so comfortably, and bequeath all to me?

Fur. Your niece is at hand, sir, the will, and the witnesses.

Fal. What a precious joy and comfort’s this, that a justice’s brother can die so well, nay, in such a good and happy memory, to make me full executor! Well, he was too honest to live, and that made him die so soon. Now I beshrew my heart, I am glad he’s in heaven, has left all his cares and troubles with me, and that great vexation of telling of money: yet I hope he had so much grace before he died to turn his white money into gold, a great ease to his executor.

Fur. See, here comes your niece, my young mistress, sir.

Enter Niece and two Gentlemen.

Fal. Ah, my sweet niece, let me kiss thee, and drop a tear between thy lips! one tear from an old man is a great matter; the cocks of age are dry. Thou hast lost a virtuous father, to gain a notable uncle.

Niece. My hopes now rest in you next under heaven.
Fal. Let ’em rest, let ’em rest.
First Gent. Sir——
Fal. You’re most welcome ere ye begin, sir.
First Gent. We are both led by oath and dreadful promise,
Made to the dying man at his last sense,
First to deliver these into your hands,
The sureties and revealers of his state——
[Giving papers.
Fal. Good.
First Gent. With this his only daughter, and your niece,
Whose fortunes are at your disposing set;
Uncle and father are in you both met.
Fal. Good, i’faith; a well-spoken gentleman!
You’re not an esquire, sir?
First Gent. Not, sir.

Fal. Not, sir? more’s the pity; by my faith, better men than you are, but a great many worse: you see I have been a scholar in my time, though I’m a justice now.—Niece, you’re most happily welcome: the charge of you is wholly and solely mine own; and since you are so fortunately come, niece, I’ll rest a perpetual widower.

Niece. I take the meaning chaster than the words:
Yet I hope well of both, since it is thus,
His phrase offends least that’s known humorous.

Fal. [reading the will.] I make my brother, says he, full and whole executor: honestly done of him, i’faith! seldom can a man get such a brother: and here again says he, very virtuously, I bequeath all to him and his disposing. An excellent fellow, a’ my troth! Would you might all die no worse, gentlemen!

Enter Knight and Jeweller’s Wife.

First Gent. But as much better as might be.

Knight. Bless your uprightness, master justice!

Fal. You’re most soberly welcome, sir.—Daughter, you’ve that ye kneel for: rise, salute your weeping cousin.

Jew. Wife. Weeping, cousin?

Niece. Ay, cousin.

Knight. Eye to weeping is very proper, and so is the party that spake it; believe me, a pretty, fine, slender, straight, delicate-knit body:

O, how it moves a pleasure through our senses!
How small are women’s waists to their expenses!
I cannot see her face, that’s under water yet.

Jew. Wife. News as cold to the heart as an old man’s kindness; my uncle dead!

Niece. I have lost the dearest father!

Fal. [reading the will.] If she marry by your consent, choice, and liking, make her dowry five thousand crowns: hum, five thousand crowns? therefore by my consent she shall ne’er marry; I will neither choose for her, like of it, nor consent to’t. [Aside.

Knight. Now, by the pleasure of my blood, a pretty cousin! I would not care if I were as near kin to her as I have been to her kinswoman. [Aside.

Fal. Daughter, what gentleman might this be?

Jew. Wife. No gentleman, sir; he’s a knight.

Fal. Is he but a knight? troth, I would a’ sworn had been a gentleman, to see, to see, to see.

Jew. Wife. He’s my husband’s own brother, I can tell you, sir.

Fal. Thy husband’s brother? speak certainly, prithee.

Jew. Wife. I can assure you, father, my husband and he have[833] lain both in one belly.

Fal. I’ll swear then he is his brother indeed, and by the surer side.—I crave hearty pardon, sweet kinsman, that thou hast stood so long unsaluted in the way of kindred:

Welcome[834] to my board: I have a bed for thee:
My daughter’s husband’s brother shall command
Keys of my chests and chambers:
I have stable for thy horse, chamber for thyself,
AndAnd a loft above for thy lousy lackey, all fit.
Away with handkerchers, [and] dry up eyes:
At funeral we must cry; now let’s be wise.
[Exeunt all but Knight and Jeweller’s Wife.
Jew. Wife. I told you his affection.
Knight.[835] It falls sweetly.
Jew. Wife. But here I bar you from all plots to-night,
The time is yet too heavy to be light.
Knight. Why, I’m content; I’ll sleep as chaste as you,
And wager night by night who keeps most true.
Jew. Wife. Well, we shall see your temper.
[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

A Room in an Inn.
Enter Phœnix and Fidelio.

Phœ. Fear not me, Fidelio: become you that invisible ropemaker the scrivener, that binds a man as he walks, yet all his joints at liberty, as well as I’ll fit that common folly of gentry, the easy-affecting venturer; and no doubt our purpose will arrive most happily.

Fid. Chaste duty, my lord, works powerfully in me; and rather than the poor lady my mother should fall upon the common side of rumour to beggar her name, I would not only undergo all habits, offices, disguised professions, though e’en opposite to the temper my blood holds; but in the stainless quarrel of her reputation, alter my shape for ever.

Phœ. I love thee wealthier; thou hast a noble touch:[836] and by this means, which is the only safe means to preserve thy mother from such an ugly land and sea monster as a counterfeit captain is, he resigning and basely selling all his estate, title, right, and interest in his lady, as the form of the writing shall testify,

What otherwise can follow but to have
A lady safe deliver’d of a knave?

Fid. I am in debt my life to the free goodness of your inventions.

Phœ. O, they must ever strive to be so good!
Who sells his vow is stamp’d the slave of blood.
[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in the Captain’s House.
Enter Captain, and Castiza following him.
Cap. Away!
Cas. Captain, my husband——
Cap. Hence! we’re at a price for thee, at a price;
Wants but the telling and the sealing; then——
Cas. Have you no sense, neither of my good name
Or your own credit?
Cap. Credit? pox of credit,
That makes me owe so much! it had been
Better for me by a thousand royals[837]
I had lost my credit seven year ago.
It has[838] undone me: that’s it that makes me fly:
What need I to sea else, in the spring-time,
When woods have leaves, to look upon bald oak?
Happier that man, say I, whom no man trusts!
It makes him valiant, dares outface the prisons;
Upon whose carcass no gown’d raven jets:[839]
O, he that has no credit owes no debts!
’Tis time I were rid on’t.
Cas. O, why do you
So wilfully cherish your own poison,
And breathe against the best of life, chaste credit?
Well may I call it chaste; for, like a maid,
Once falsely broke, it ever lives decay’d.
O captain, husband! you name that dishonest,
By whose good power all that are honest live:
What madness is it to speak ill of that,
Which makes all men speak well! Take away credit,
By which men amongst men are well reputed,
That man may live, but still lives executed.
O, then, shew pity to that noble title,
Which else you do usurp! you’re no true captain,
To let your enemies lead you: foul disdain
And everlasting scandal, O, believe it!
The money you receive for my good name
Will not be half enough to pay your shame.
Cap. No? I’ll sell thee then to the smock: see, here comes
My honourable chapman.
Enter Proditor and Lackey.
Cas. O my poison!
Him whom mine honour and mine eye abhors. [Exit.
Prod. Lady,—what, so unjovially departed?

Cap. Fine she-policy! she makes my back her bolster; but before my face she not endures him: tricks!

Prod. Captain, how haps it she remov’d so strangely?[840]
Cap. O, for modesty’s cause, awhile, my lord,
She must restrain herself; she’s not yours yet.
Beside, it were not wisdom to appear
Easy before my sight.

Faugh! wherefore serves modesty but to pleasure a lady now and then, and help her from suspect? that’s the best use ’tis put to.

Prod. Well observed of a captain!

Cap. No doubt you’ll be soon friends, my lord.

Prod. I think no less.

Cap. And make what haste I can to my ship, I durst wager you’ll be under sail before me.

Prod. A pleasant voyage, captain!

Cap. Ay, a very pleasant voyage as can be. I see the hour is ripe:

Here comes the prison’s bawd, the bond-maker,
One that binds heirs before they are begot.

Prod. And here are the crowns, captain.

[Giving him money.
Enter Phœnix and Fidelio, both disguised.

Go, attend: let our bay-courser wait.

Lackey. It shall be obeyed. [Exit.

Cap. A farmer’s son, is’t true?

Fid. Has crowns to scatter.

Cap. I give you your salute, sir.

Phœ. I take it not unthankfully, sir.

Cap. I hear a good report of you, sir; you’ve money.

Phœ. I have so, true.

Cap. An excellent virtue.

Phœ. Ay, to keep from you. [Aside.

Hear you me, captain? I have a certain generous itch, sir, to lose a few angels[841] in the way of profit: ’tis but a game at tennis, where, if

The ship keep above line, ’tis three to one;
If not, there’s but three hundred angels gone.

Cap. Is your venture three hundred? you’re very preciously welcome: here’s a voyage toward[842] will make us all——

Phœ. Beggarly fools and swarming knaves. [Aside.

Prod. Captain, what’s he?

Cap. Fear him not, my lord; he’s a gull: he ventures with me; some filthy farmer’s son; the father’s a Jew, and the son a gentleman: faugh!

Prod. Yet he should be a Jew too, for he is new come from giving over swine.

Cap. Why, that in our country makes him a gentleman.

Prod. Go to; tell your money, captain.

Cap. Read aloft, scrivener.—One, two.

[Counting the money.

Fid. [reads.] To all good and honest Christian people, to whom this present writing shall come: know you for a certain, that I captain, for and in the consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns, have clearly bargained, sold, given, granted, assigned, and set over, and by these presents do clearly bargain, sell, give, grant, assign, and set over, all the right, estate, title, interest, demand, possession, and term of years to come, which I the said captain have, or ought to have——

Phœ. If I were as good as I should be. [Aside.

Fid. In and to Madonna Castiza, my most virtuous, modest, loving, and obedient wife——

Cap. By my troth, my lord, and so she is.—Three, four, five, six, seven. [Counting the money.

Phœ. The more slave he that says it, and not sees it. [Aside.

Fid. Together with all and singular those admirable qualities with which her noble breast is furnished.

Cap. Well said, scrivener; hast put ’em all in?—You shall hear now, my lord.

Fid. In primis, the beauties of her mind, chastity, temperance, and, above all, patience——

Cap. You have bought a jewel, i’faith, my lord.—Nine and thirty, forty. [Counting the money.

Fid. Excellent in the best of music, in voice delicious, in conference wise and pleasing, of age contentful, neither too young to be apish, nor too old to be sottish——

Cap. You have bought as lovely a pennyworth, my lord, as e’er you bought in your life.

Prod. Why should I buy her else, captain?

Fid. And which is the best of a wife, a most comfortable sweet companion.

Cap. I could not afford her so, i’faith, but that I am going to sea, and have need of money.

Fid. A most comfortable sweet companion.

Prod. What, again? the scrivener reads in passion.[843]

Fid. I read as the words move me; yet if that be a fault, it shall be seen no more:—which said Madonna Castiza lying and yet being in the occupation of the said captain——

Cap. Nineteen—[counting the money]—occupation? Pox on’t, out with occupation; a captain is of no occupation, man.

Phœ. Nor thou of no religion. [Aside.

Fid. Now I come to the habendum,—to have and to hold, use, and——

Cap. Use? put out use too, for shame, till we are all gone, I prithee.

Fid. And to be acquitted of and from all former bargains, former sales——

Cap. Former sales?—nine and twenty, thirty—[counting the money]—by my troth, my lord, this is the first time that ever I sold her.

Prod. Yet the writing must run so, captain.

Cap. Let it run on then,—nine and forty, fifty. [Counting the money.

Fid. Former sales, gifts, grants, surrenders, re-entries——

Cap. For re-entries I will not swear for her.

Fid. And furthermore, I the said, of and for the consideration of the sum of five hundred crowns to set me aboard, before these presents, utterly disclaim for ever any title, estate, right, interest, demand, or possession in or to the said Madonna Castiza, my late virtuous and unfortunate wife——

Phœ. Unfortunate indeed! that was well plac’d. [Aside.

Fid. As also neither to touch, attempt, molest, or incumber any part or parts whatsoever, either to be named or not to be named, either hidden or unhidden, either those that boldly look abroad, or those that dare not shew their face[s]——

Cap. Faces? I know what you mean by faces: scrivener, there’s a great figure in faces.

Fid. In witness whereof, I the said captain have interchangeably set to my hand and seal, in presence of all these, the day and date above written.

Cap. Very good, sir; I’ll be ready for you presently—four hundred and twenty, one, two, three, four, five. [Counting the money.