Phœ. Of all deeds yet this strikes the deepest wound
Into my apprehension.
Reverend and honourable Matrimony,[844]
Mother of lawful sweets, unshamed mornings,
Dangerless pleasures! thou that mak’st the bed
Both pleasant and legitimately fruitful!
Without thee,[845]
All the whole world were soiled bastardy.
Thou art the only and the greatest form
That put’st a difference between our desires
And the disorder’d appetites of beasts,
Making their mates those that stand next their lusts.
Then,—
With what base injury is thy goodness paid!
First, rare to have a bride commence a maid,
But does beguile joy of the purity,
And is made strict by power of drugs and art,
An artificial maid, a doctor’d virgin,
And so deceives the glory of his bed;
A foul contempt against the spotless power
Of sacred wedlock! But if chaste and honest,
There is another devil haunts marriage—
None fondly loves but knows it—jealousy,
That wedlock’s[846] yellow sickness,
That whispering separation every minute,
And thus the curse takes his effect or progress.
The most of men in their first sudden furies
Rail at the narrow bounds of marriage,
And call’t a prison; then it is most just,
That the disease a’ th’ prison, jealousy,
Should still affect a’m.[847] But O! here I am fix’d,
To make sale of a wife, monstrous and foul,
An act abhorr’d in nature, cold in soul:
Who that has man in him could so resign
To make his shame the posy to the coin?

Cap. Right, i’faith, my lord; fully five hundred.

Prod. I said how you should find it, captain; and with this competent sum you rest amply contented?

Cap. Amply contented.

Fid. Here’s the pen, captain: your name to the sale.

Cap. ’S foot, dost take me to be a penman? I protest I could ne’er write more than A B C, those three letters, in my life.

Fid. Why, those will serve, captain.

Cap. I could ne’er get further.

Phœ. Would you have got further than A B C? Ah, base captain! that’s far enough, i’faith.

Fid. Take the seal off, captain.

Cap. It goes on hardly, and comes off easily.

Phœ. Ay, just like a coward.

Fid. Will you write witness, gentleman?

Cap. He? he shall. Prithee, come and set thy hand for witness, rogue: thou shalt venture with me?

Phœ. Nay, then I ha’ reason, captain, that commands me.

[Writes.

Cap. What a fair fist the pretty whorson writes, as if he had had manners and bringing up! A farmer’s son! his father damns himself to sell musty corn, while he ventures the money: ’twill prosper well at sea, no doubt; he shall ne’er see’t again.

Fid. So, captain, you deliver this as your deed?

Cap. As my deed; what else, sir?

Phœ. The ugliest deed that e’er mine eye did witness.
[Aside.

Cap. So, my lord, you have her; clip[848] her, enjoy her; she’s your own: and let me be proud to tell you now, my lord, she’s as good a soul if a man had a mind to live honest and keep a wench, the kindest, sweetest, comfortablest rogue——

Prod. Hark in thine ear,—
The baser slave art thou; and so I’ll tell her:
I love the pearl thou sold’st, hate thee the seller.
Go to sea; the end of thee—is lousy.

Cap. This [is] fine work! a very brave end, hum——

Prod. Well thought upon, this scrivener may furnish me. Whispers Fidelio.
Phœ. Why should this fellow be a lord by birth,
Being by blood a knave, one that would sell
His lordship if he lik’d her ladyship? [Aside.
Fid. Yes, my lord.
Phœ. What’s here now?
Prod. I have employment for a trusty fellow,
Bold, sure,—
Fid. What if he be a knave, my lord?
Prod. There thou com’st to me: why, he should be so;
And men of your quill are not unacquainted.

Fid. Indeed all[849] our chief living, my lord, is by fools and knaves; we could not keep open shop else; fools that enter into bonds, and knaves that bind ’em.

Prod. Why, now we meet.

Fid. And, as my memory happily leads me, I know a fellow of a standing estate, never flowing:

I durst convey treason into his bosom,
And keep it safe nine years.
Prod. A goodly time.
Fid. And if need were, would press to an attempt,
And cleave to desperate action.
Prod. That last fits me;
Thou hast the measure right: look I hear from thee.
Fid. With duteous speed.
Prod. Expect a large reward.—
I will find time of her to find regard. [Exit.
Cap. The end of me is lousy!
Fid. O my lord, I have strange words to tell you!
Phœ. Stranger yet?
I’ll choose some other hour to listen to thee;
I am yet sick of this. Discover quickly.[850]
Fid. Why, will you make yourself known, my lord?
Phœ. Ay:
Who scourgeth sin let him do’t dreadfully.

Cap. Pox of his dissemblance! I will to sea.

Phœ. Nay, you shall to sea, thou wouldst poison the whole land else. [Aside.]—Why, how now, captain?

Cap. In health.

Fid. What, drooping?

Phœ. Or ashamed of the sale of thine own wife?

Cap. You might count me an ass then, i’faith.

Phœ. If not ashamed of that, what can you be ashamed of then?

Cap. Prithee ha’ done; I am ashamed of nothing.

Phœ. I easily believe that. [Aside.

Cap. This lord sticks in my stomach.

Phœ. How? take one of thy feathers down, and fetch him up.

Fid. I’d make him come.

Phœ. But what if the duke should hear of this?

Fid. Ay, or your son-in-law Fidelio know[851] of the sale of his mother?

Cap. What and[852] they did? I sell none but mine own. As for the duke, he’s abroad by this time; and for Fidelio, he’s in labour.

Phœ. He in labour?

Cap. What call you travelling?

Phœ. That’s true: but let me tell you, captain, whether the duke hear on’t, or Fidelio know on’t, or both, or neither, ’twas a most filthy, loathsome part——

Fid. A base, unnatural deed——

[They discover themselves, and lay hands on him.

Cap. Slave, and fool——Ha, who? O!——

Phœ. Thou hateful villain! thou shouldst choose to sink,
To keep thy baseness shrouded.
Enter Castiza.
Fid. Ugly wretch!
Cas. Who hath laid violence upon my husband,
My dear sweet captain? Help!
Phœ. Lady, you wrong your value:
Call you him dear that has sold you so cheap?
Cas. I do beseech your pardon, good my lord.
[Kneels.
Phœ. Rise.
Fid. My abused mother!
Cas. My kind son!
Whose liking I neglected in this match.
Fid. Not that alone, but your far happier fortunes.
Cap. Is this the scrivener and the farmer’s son?
Fire on his lordship! he told me they travell’d.
Phœ. And see the sum told out to buy that jewel,
More precious in a woman than her eye,
Her honour.—
Nay, take it to you, lady; and I judge it
Too slight a recompense for your great wrong,
But that his riddance helps it.
Cap. ’S foot, he undoes me! I’m[853] a rogue and a beggar:
The Egyptian plague creeps over me already;
I begin to be lousy.
Phœ. Thus happily prevented, you’re set free,
Or else made over to adultery.
Cas. To heaven and to you my modest thanks.
Phœ. Monster, to sea! spit thy abhorred foam
Where it may do least harm; there’s air and room;
Thou’rt dangerous in a chamber, virulent venom
Unto a lady’s name and her chaste breath.
If past this evening’s verge the dukedom hold thee,
Thou art reserv’d for abject punishment.

Cap. I do beseech your good lordship, consider the state of a poor downcast captain.

Phœ. Captain? off with that noble title! thou becomest it vildly;[854] I ne’er saw the name fit worse: I’ll sooner allow a pander a captain than thee.

Cap. More’s the pity.

Phœ. Sue to thy lady for pardon.

Cas. I give it without suit.

Cap. I do beseech your ladyship not so much for pardon, as to bestow a few of those crowns upon a poor unfeathered rover, that will as truly pray for you,—and wish you hanged, [aside]—as any man breathing.

Cas. I give it freely all.

Phœ. Nay, by your favour;
I will contain[855] you, lady.—Here, be gone:
Use slaves like slaves: wealth keeps their faults unknown.
Cap. Well, I’m yet glad I’ve liberty and these:
The land has plagu’d me, and I’ll plague the seas. [Exit.
Phœ. The scene is clear’d, the bane of brightness fled;
Who sought the death of honour is struck dead.—
Come, modest lady.
Fid. My most honest mother!
Phœ. Thy virtue shall live safe from reach of shames:
That act ends nobly preserves ladies’ fames. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Room in Falso’s House.
Enter Falso, Knight, and Jeweller’s Wife.

Fal. Why, this is but the second time of your coming, kinsman; visit me oftener.—Daughter, I charge you bring this gentleman along with you:—gentleman! I cry ye mercy, sir; I call you gentleman still; I forget you’re but a knight; you must pardon me, sir.

Knight. For your worship’s kindness—worship! I cry you mercy, sir; I call you worshipful still; I forget you’re but a justice.

Fal. I am no more, i’faith.

Knight. You must pardon me, sir.

Fal. ’Tis quickly done, sir: you see I make bold with you, kinsman, thrust my daughter and you into one chamber.

Knight. Best of all, sir: kindred you know may lie any where.

Fal. True, true, sir.—Daughter, receive your blessing: take heed the coach jopper not too much; have a care to the fruits of your body.—Look to her, kinsman.

Knight. Fear it not, sir.

Jew. Wife. Nay, father, though I say it, that should not say it, he looks to me more like a husband than a kinsman.

Fal. I hear good commendations of you, sir.

Knight. You hear the worst of me, I hope, sir: I salute my leave, sir.

Fal. You’re welcome all over your body, sir. [Exeunt Knight and Jeweller’s Wife.]—Nay, I can behave myself courtly, though I keep house i’ th’ country. What, does my niece hide herself? not present, ha?—Latronello.

Enter Latronello.

Lat. Sir.

Fal. Call my niece to me.

Lat. Yes, sir. [Exit.

Fal. A foolish, coy, bashful thing it is; she’s afraid to lie with her own uncle: I’d do her no harm, i’faith. I keep myself a widower a’ purpose, yet the foolish girl will not look into’t: she should have all, i’faith; she knows I have but a time, cannot hold long. See, where she comes.

Enter Niece.
Pray, who[856] am I, niece?
Niece. I hope you’re yourself,
Uncle to me, and brother to my father.
Fal. O, am I so? it does not appear so, for
surely you would love your father’s brother for
your father’s sake, your uncle for your own sake.
Niece. I do so.
Fal. Nay, you do nothing, niece.
Niece. In that love which becomes you best I love you.
Fal. How should I know that love becomes me best?
Niece. Because ’tis chaste and honourable.
Fal. Honourable? it cannot become me then, niece,
For I’m scarce worshipful. Is this an age
To entertain bare love without the fruits?
When I receiv’d thee first, I look’d
Thou shouldst have been a wife unto my house,
And sav’d me from the charge of marriage.

Do you think your father’s five thousand pound would ha’ made me take you else? no, you should ne’er ha’[857] been a charge to me. As far as I can perceive yet by you, I’ve as much need to marry as e’er I had: would not this be a great grief to your friends, think you, if they were alive again?

Niece. ’Twould be a grief indeed.
Fal. You have[858] confess’d,
All about house, that young Fidelio,
Who in his travels does attend the prince,
Is your vow’d love.
Niece. Most true, he’s my vow’d husband.

Fal. And what’s a husband? Is not a husband a stranger at first? and will you lie with a stranger before you lie with your own uncle? Take heed what ye do, niece: I counsel you for the best. Strangers are drunken fellows, I can tell you; they will come home late a’ nights, beat their wives, and get nothing but girls: look to’t; if you marry, your stubbornness is your dowry: five thousand crowns were bequeathed to you, true, if you marry with my consent; but if e’er you go to marrying by my consent, I’ll go to hanging by yours: go to, be wise, and love your uncle.

Niece. I should have cause then to repent indeed.
Do you so far forget the offices
Of blushing modesty? Uncles are half fathers;
Why, they come so near our bloods, they’re e’en part of it.

Fal. Why, now you come to me, niece: if your uncle be part of your own flesh and blood, is it not then fit your own flesh and blood should come nearest to you? answer me to that, niece.

Niece. You do allude all to incestuous will,
Nothing to modest purpose. Turn me forth;
Be like an uncle of these latter days,
Perjur’d enough, enough unnatural;
Play your executorship in tyranny,
Restrain my fortunes, keep me poor,—I care not.
In this alone most women I’ll excel,
I’ll rather yield to beggary than to hell. [Exit.

Fal. Very good; a’ my troth, my niece is valiant: sh’as made me richer by five thousand crowns, the price of her dowry. Are you so honest? I do not fear but I shall have the conscience to keep you poor enough, niece, or else I am quite altered a’ late.

Enter Latronello.

The news, may it please you, sir?

Lat. Sir, there’s an old fellow, a kind of law-driver, entreats conference with your worship.

Fal. A law-driver? prithee, drive him hither.

[Exit Latronello.
Enter Tangle.

Tan. No, no, I say; if it be for defect of apparance,[859] take me out a special significavit.

Suitor[860] [within.] Very good, sir.

Tan. Then if he purchase an alias or capias, which are writs of custom, only to delay time, your procedendo does you knight’s service—that’s nothing at all; get your distringas out as soon as you can for a jury.

Suit. [within] I’ll attend your good[861] worship’s coming out.

Tan. Do, I prithee, attend me; I’ll take it kindly, a voluntate.

Fal. What, old signior Tangle!

Tan. I am in debt to your worship’s remembrance.

Fal. My old master of fence! come, come, come, I have not exercised this twelve moons; I have almost forgot all my law-weapons.

Tan. They are under fine and recovery; your worship shall easily recover them.

Fal. I hope so.—When,[862] there?

Enter Latronello.

Lat. Sir?

Fal. The rapier and dagger foils instantly.—[Exit ᚳLatronello.]—And what’s thy suit to me, old Tangle? I’ll grant it presently.

Tan. Nothing but this, sir; to set your worship’s hand to the commendation of a knave whom nobody speaks well on.

Fal. The more shame for ’em: what was his offence, I pray?

Tan. Vestras deducite culpas; nothing but robbing a vestry.

Fal. What, what? alas, poor knave! Give me the paper. He did but save the churchwardens a labour: come, come, he has done a better deed in’t than the parish is aware of, to prevent[863] the knaves; he robs but seldom, they once a quarter: methinks ’twere a part of good justice to hang ’em at year’s end, when they come out of their office, to the true terrifying of all collectors and sidemen.[864]

Tan. Your worship would make a fruitful commonwealth’s man: the constable lets ’em alone, looks on, and says nothing.

Fal. Alas, good man! he lets ’em alone for quietness-sake, and takes half a share with ’em: they know well enough too he has an impediment in his tongue; he’s always drunk when he should speak.

Tan. Indeed, your worship speaks true in that, sir: they blind him with beer, and make him so narrow-eyed, that he winks naturally at all their knaveries.

Fal. So, so; here’s my hand to his commendations.

[Signs the paper.

Tan. A caritate, you do a charitable deed in’t, sir.

Fal. Nay, if it be but a vestry matter, visit me at any time, old Signior Law-thistle.

Re-enter Latronello with rapier and dagger foils, and then exit.
O well done! here are the foils: come, come, sir;
I’ll try a law-bout with you.

Tan. I am afraid I shall overthrow you, sir, i’faith.

Fal. ’Tis but for want of use then, sir.

Tan. Indeed, that same odd word, use, makes a man a good lawyer, and a woman an arrant——tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh, tuh! Now am I for you, sir: but first to bring you into form; can your worship name all your weapons?

Fal. That I can, I hope. Let me see: Longsword, what’s Longsword? I am so dulled with doing justice, that I have forgot all, i’faith.

Tan. Your Longsword, that’s a writ of delay.

Fal. Mass, that sword’s long enough, indeed; I ha’ known it reach the length of fifteen terms.

Tan. Fifteen terms? that’s but a short sword.

Fal. Methinks ’tis long enough: proceed, sir.

Tan. A writ of delay, Longsword; scandala magnatum,[865] Backsword.

Fal. Scandals are backswords indeed.

Tan. Capias cominus, Case of Rapiers.

Fal. O desperate!

Tan. A latitat, Sword and Dagger; a writ of execution, Rapier and Dagger.[866]

Fal. Thou art come to our present weapon: but what call you Sword and Buckler, then?

Tan. O, that’s out of use now! Sword and Buckler was called a good conscience, but that weapon’s left long ago: that was too manly a fight, too sound a weapon for these our days. ’Slid, we are scarce able to lift up a buckler now, our arms are so bound to the pox; one good bang upon a buckler would make most of our gentlemen fly a’ pieces: ’tis not for these linty times: our lawyers are good rapier and dagger men; they’ll quickly despatch your—money.

Fal. Indeed, since sword and buckler time, I have observed there has been nothing so much fighting: where be all our gallant swaggerers? there are no good frays a’ late.

Tan. O, sir, the property’s altered; you shall see less fighting every day than other; for every one gets him a mistress, and she gives him wounds enow; and you know the surgeons cannot be here and there too: if there were red wounds too, what would become of the Reinish[867] wounds?

Fal. Thou sayst true, i’faith; they would be but ill-favouredly looked to then.

Tan. Very well, sir.

Fal. I expect you, sir.

Tan. I lie in this court for you, sir; my Rapier is my attorney, and my Dagger his clerk.

Fal. Your attorney wants a little oiling, methinks; he looks very rustily.

Tan. ’Tis but his proper colour, sir; his father was an ironmonger; he will ne’er look brighter, the rust has so eat into him; has never any leisure to be made clean.

Fal. Not in the vacation?

Tan. Non vacat exiguis rebus adesse Jovi.[868]

Fal. Then Jove will not be at leisure to scour him, because he ne’er came to him before.

Tan. You’re excellent at it, sir: and now you least think on’t, I arrest you, sir.

Fal. Very good, sir.

Tan. Nay, very bad, sir, by my faith: I follow you still, as the officers will follow you, as long as you have a penny.

Fal. You speak sentences, sir: by this time have I tried my friends, and now I thrust in bail.

Tan. This bail will not be taken, sir; they must be two citizens that are no cuckolds.

Fal. Byrlady,[869] then I’m like to lie by it; I had rather ’twere a hundred that were.

Tan. Take heed I bring you not to an nisi prius, sir.

Fal. I must ward myself as well as I may, sir.

Tan. ’Tis court-day now; declarat atturnatus, my attorney gapes for money.

Fal. You shall have no advantage yet; I put in my answer.

Tan.[870] I follow the suit still, sir.

Fal. I like not this court, byrlady: I take me out a writ of remove; a writ of remove, do you see, sir?

Tan. Very well, sir.

Fal. And place my cause higher.

Tan. There you started me, sir: yet for all your demurs, pluries, and sursurraras,[871] which are all Longswords,[872] that’s delays, all the comfort is, in nine years a man may overthrow you.

Fal. You must thank your good friends then, sir.

Tan. Let nine years pass, five hundred crowns cast away a’ both sides, and the suit not twenty, my counsellor’s wife must have another hood, you know, and my attorney’s wife will have a new forepart; yet see at length law, I shall have law: now, beware, I bring you to a narrow exigent, and by no means can you avoid the proclamation.

Fal. O!

Tan. Now follows a writ of execution; a capias utlagatum gives you a wound mortal, trips up your heels, and lays you i’ th’ counter. [Overthrows him.

Fal. O villain!

Tan. I cry your worship heartily mercy, sir; I thought we had been in law together, adversarius contra adversarium, by my troth.

Fal. O, reach me thy hand! I ne’er had such an overthrow in my life.

Tan. ’Twas ’long of your attorney there; he might a’ stayed the execution of capias utlagatum, and removed you, with a supersedeas non molestandum, into the court of equity.

Fal. Pox on him, he fell out of my hand when I had most need of him.

Tan. I was bound to follow the suit, sir.

Fal. Thou couldst do no less than overthrow me, I must needs say so.

Tan. You had recovered cost else, sir.

Fal. And now, by th’[873] mass, I think I shall hardly recover without cost.

Tan. Nay, that’s certo scio, an execution is very chargeable.

Fal. Well, it shall teach me wit as long as I am a justice. I perceive by this trial, if a man have a sound fall in law, he[874] shall feel it in his bones all his life after.

Tan. Nay, that’s recto upon record; for I myself was overthrown in 88 by a tailor, and I have had a stitch in my side ever since,—O! [Exeunt.[875]

ACT III. SCENE I.

A Hall in Falso’s House.
Enter Falso untrussed.

Fal. Why, Latronello! Furtivo! Fucato! Where be these lazy knaves that should truss me?[876] not one stirring yet?

[A Cry within.] Follow, follow, follow!

Fal. What news there?

[A Cry within.] This way, this way; follow, follow!

Fal. Hark, you sluggish soporiferous villains! there’s knaves abroad when you are a-bed: are ye not ashamed on’t? a justice’s men should be up first, and give example to[877] all knaves.