Enter Lethe.

Master Lethe.

Let. What’s your name, sir? O, cry you mercy, master Easy.

Easy. When parted you from master Blastfield, sir?

Let. Blastfield’s an ass: I have sought him these two days to beat him.

Easy. Yourself all alone, sir?

Let. Ay, and three more. [Exit.

Sho. I am glad I am where I am, then; I perceive ’twas time of all hands. [Aside.

Rear. Content, i’faith; let’s trace him.

[Exit with Salewood.

Sho. What, have you found him yet? neither? what’s to be done now? I’ll venture my body no further for any gentleman’s pleasure: I know not how soon I may be called upon, and now to overheat myself——

Easy. I’m undone!

Sho. This is you that slept with him! you can make fools of us; but I’ll turn you over to Quomodo for’t.

Easy. Good sir——

Sho. I’ll prevent mine own danger.

Easy. I beseech you, sir——

Sho. Though I love gentlemen well, I do not mean to be undone for ’em.

Easy. Pray, sir, let me request you, sir; sweet sir, I beseech you, sir—— [Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Quomodo’s Shop.
Enter Quomodo, Shortyard and Falselight disguised as before,[1093] after whom Easy follows hard.

Sho. Made fools of us! not to be found!

Quo. What, what?

Easy. Do not undo me quite, though, master Quomodo.

Quo. You’re very welcome, master Easy: I ha’ nothing to say to you; I’ll not touch you; you may go when you please; I have good bail here, I thank their worships.

Easy. What shall I say, or whom shall I beseech?

Sho. Gentlemen! ’slid, they were born to undo us, I think: but, for my part, I’ll make an oath before master Quomodo here, ne’er to do gentlemen good while I live.

Fal. I’ll not be long behind you.

Sho. Away! if you had any grace in you, you would be ashamed to look us i’ th’ face, i-wis:[1094] I wonder with what brow you can come amongst us. I should seek my fortunes far enough, if I were you; and neither return to Essex, to be a shame to my predecessors, nor remain about London, to be a mock to my successors.

Quo. Subtle Shortyard! [Aside.

Sho. Here are his lands forfeited to us, master Quomodo; and to avoid the inconscionable trouble of law, all the assurance he made to us we willingly resign to you.

Quo. What shall I do with rubbish? give me money: ’tis for your worships to have land, that keep great houses; I should be hoisted.

Sho. But, master Quomodo, if you would but conceive it aright, the land would fall fitter to you than to us.

Easy. Curtsying about my land! [Aside.

Sho. You have a towardly son and heir, as we hear.

Quo. I must needs say, he is a Templar indeed.

Sho. We have neither posterity in town, nor hope for any abroad: we have wives, but the marks have been out of their mouths these twenty years; and, as it appears, they did little good when they were in. We could not stand about it, sir; to get riches and children too, ’tis more than one man can do: and I am of those citizens’ minds that say, let our wives make shift for children and[1095] they will, they get none of us; and I cannot think, but he that has both much wealth and many children has had more helps coming in than himself.

Quo. I am not a bow wide[1096] of your mind, sir: and for the thrifty and covetous hopes I have in my son and heir, Sim Quomodo, that he will never trust his land in wax and parchment, as many gentlemen have done before him——

Easy. A by-blow for me. [Aside.

Enter Thomasine.

Quo. I will honestly discharge you, and receive it in due form and order of law, to strengthen it for ever to my son and heir, that he may undoubtedly enter upon’t without the let[1097] or molestation of any man, at his or our pleasure whensoever.

Sho. ’Tis so assured unto you.

Quo. Why, then, master Easy, you’re a free man, sir; you may deal in what you please, and go whither you will.—Why, Thomasine, master Easy is come from Essex; bid him welcome in a cup of small beer.

Tho. Not only vild,[1098] but in it tyrannous.

[Aside.

Quo. If it please you, sir, you know the house; you may visit us often, and dine with us once a-quarter.

Easy. Confusion light on you, your wealth, and heir!
Worm gnaw your conscience as the moth your ware!
I am not the first heir that robb’d or begg’d. [Exit.

Quo. Excellent, excellent, sweet spirits![1099]

[Exit Thomasine.

Sho. Landed master Quomodo!

Quo. Delicate Shortyard, commodious Falselight,
Hug and away, shift, shift:
’Tis slight,[1100] not strength, that gives the greatest lift. [Exeunt Shortyard and Falselight.
Now my desires are full,—for this time.
Men may have cormorant wishes, but, alas,
A little thing, three hundred pound a-year,
Suffices nature, keeps life and soul together!
I’ll have ’emlopt[1101] immediately; I long
To warm myself by th’ wood.

A fine journey in the Whitsun holydays, i’faith, to ride down with a number of citizens and their wives, some upon pillions, some upon side-saddles, I and little Thomasine i’ th’ middle, our son and heir, Sim Quomodo, in a peach-colour taffeta jacket, some horse-length, or a long yard before us;—there will be a fine show on’s, I can tell you;—where we citizens will laugh and lie down,[1102] get all our wives with child against a bank, and get up again. Stay; hah! hast thou that wit, i’faith? ’twill be admirable: to see how the very thought of green fields puts a man into sweet inventions! I will presently possess Sim Quomodo of all the land; I have a toy[1103] and I’ll do’t: and because I see before mine eyes that most of our heirs prove notorious rioters after our deaths, and that cozenage in the father wheels about to folly in the son, our posterity commonly foiled at the same weapon at which we played rarely; and being the world’s beaten[1104] word,—what’s got over the devil’s back (that’s by knavery) must be spent under his belly (that’s by lechery): being awake in these knowings, why should not I oppose ’emnow, and break Destiny of her custom, preventing that by policy, which without it must needs be destiny? And I have took the course: I will forthwith sicken, call for my keys, make my will, and dispose of all; give my son this blessing, that he trust no man, keep his hand from a quean and a scrivener, live in his father’s faith, and do good to nobody: then will I begin to rave like a fellow of a wide conscience, and, for all the world, counterfeit to the life that which I know I shall do when I die; take on[1105] for my gold, my lands, and my writings, grow worse and worse, call upon the devil, and so make an end. By this time I have indented with a couple of searchers,[1106] who, to uphold my device, shall fray them out a’ th’ chamber with report of sickness; and so, la, I start up, and recover again! for in this business I will trust, no, not my spirits,[1107] Falselight and Shortyard, but, in disguise, note the condition of all; how pitiful my wife takes my death, which will appear by November in her eye, and the fall of the leaf in her body, but especially by the cost she bestows upon my funeral, there shall I try her love and regard; my daughter’s marrying to my will and liking; and my son’s affection after my disposing: for, to conclude, I am as jealous of this land as of my wife, to know what would become of it after my decease. [Exit.

SCENE II.

The Country Wench’s Lodging.
Enter Country Wench and Father.

Fa. Though I be poor, ’tis my glory to live honest.

Coun. W. I prithee, do not leave me.

Fa. To be bawd!
Hell has not such an office.
I thought at first your mind had been preserv’d
In virtue and in modesty of blood;
That such a face had not been made to please
Th’ unsettled appetites of several men;
Those eyes turn’d up through prayer, not through lust:
But you are wicked, and my thoughts unjust.

Coun. W. Why, thou art an unreasonable fellow, i’faith. Do not all trades live by their ware, and yet called honest livers? do they not thrive best when they utter most, and make it away by the great?[1108] is not whole-sale the chiefest merchandise? do you think some merchants could keep their wives so brave[1109] but for their whole-sale? you’re foully deceived and[1110] you think so.

Fa. You are so glu’d to punishment and shame.
Your words e’en deserve whipping.
To bear the habit of a gentlewoman,
And be in mind so distant!

Coun. W. Why, you fool you, are not gentlewomen sinners? and there’s no courageous sinner amongst us but was a gentlewoman by the mother’s side, I warrant you: besides, we are not always bound to think those our fathers that marry our mothers, but those that lie with our mothers; and they may be gentlemen born, and born again for ought we know, you know.

Fa. True:
Corruption may well be generation’s first;
We’re bad by nature, but by custom worst.
[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Quomodo’s Shop.

Tho. [within] O, my husband![1111]'

Sim. [within] My father, O, my father!

Fal. [within] My sweet master, dead!

Enter Shortyard and Boy.
Sho. Run, boy; bid ’em ring out; he’s dead, he’s gone.

Boy. Then is as arrant a knave gone as e’er was called upon. [Exit.

Sho. The happiest good that ever Shortyard felt!
I want to be express’d, my mirth is such.
To be struck now e’en when his joys were high!
Men only kiss their knaveries, and so die;
I’ve often mark’d it.
He was a famous cozener while he liv’d,
And now his son shall reap’t;[1112] I’ll ha’ the lands,
Let him study law after; ’tis no labour
To undo him for ever: but for Easy,
Only good confidence did make him foolish,
And not the lack of sense; that was not it:
’Tis worldly craft beats down a scholar’s wit.
For this our son and heir now, he
From his conception was entail’d an ass,
And he has kept it well, twenty-five years now:
Then the slightest art will do’t; the lands lie fair:
No sin to beggar a deceiver’s heir. [Exit.
[Bell tolls.
Enter Thomasine and Winefred in haste.

Tho. Here, Winefred, here, here, here; I have always found thee secret.

Win. You shall always find me so, mistress.

Tho. Take this letter and this ring——

[Giving them.

Win. Yes, forsooth.

Tho. O, how all the parts about me shake!—inquire for one master Easy, at his old lodging i’ the Blackfriars.

Win. I will indeed, forsooth.

Tho. Tell him, the party that sent him a hundred pound t’other day to comfort his heart, has likewise sent him this letter and this ring, which has that virtue to recover him again for ever, say: name nobody, Winefred.

Win. Not so much as you, forsooth.

Tho. Good girl! thou shalt have a mourning-gown at the burial of mine honesty.

Win. And I’ll effect your will a’ my fidelity.

[Exit.

Tho. I do account myself the happiest widow that ever counterfeited weeping, in that I have the leisure now both to do that gentleman good and do myself a pleasure; but I must seem like a hanging moon, a little waterish awhile.

Enter Rearage and Country Wench’s Father.
Rear. I entertain both thee and thy device;
’Twill put ’emboth to shame.
Fa. That is my hope, sir;
Especially that strumpet.
Rear. Save you, sweet widow!
I suffer for your heaviness.

Tho. O master Rearage, I have lost the dearest husband that ever woman did enjoy!

Rear. You must have patience yet.

Tho. O, talk not to me of patience, and[1113] you love me, good master Rearage.

Rear. Yet, if all tongues go right, he did not use you so well as a man mought.[1114]

Tho. Nay, that’s true indeed, master Rearage; he ne’er used me so well as a woman might have been used, that’s certain; in troth, ’t’as been our greatest falling out, sir; and though it be the part of a widow to shew herself a woman for her husband’s death, yet when I remember all his unkindness, I cannot weep a stroke, i’faith, master Rearage: and, therefore, wisely did a great widow in this land comfort up another; Go to, lady, quoth she, leave blubbering; thou thinkest upon thy husband’s good parts when thou sheddest tears; do but remember how often he has lain from thee, and how many naughty slippery turns he has done thee, and thou wilt ne’er weep for him, I warrant thee. You would not think how that counsel has wrought with me, master Rearage; I could not dispend another tear now, and[1115] you would give me ne’er so much.

Rear. Why, I count you the wiser, widow; it shews you have wisdom when you can check your passion:[1116] for mine own part, I have no sense to sorrow for his death, whose life was the only rub to my affection.

Tho. Troth, and so it was to mine: but take courage now; you’re a landed gentleman, and my daughter is seven hundred pound strong to join with you.

Rear. But Lethe lies i’ th’ way.

Tho. Let him lie still: You shall tread o’er him, or I’ll fail in will.

Rear. Sweet widow! [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Before Quomodo’s door.
Enter Quomodo disguised as a Beadle.

Quo. What a beloved man did I live! My servants gall their fingers with ringing,[1117] my wife’s cheeks smart with weeping, tears stand in every corner,—you may take water in my house. But am not I a wise fool now? what if my wife should take my death so to heart that she should sicken upon’t, nay, swoon, nay, die? When did I hear of a woman do so? let me see; now I remember me, I think ’twas before my time; yes, I have heard of those wives that have wept, and sobbed, and swooned; marry, I never heard but they recovered again; that’s a comfort, la, that’s a comfort; and I hope so will mine. Peace; ’tis near upon the time, I see: here comes the worshipful Livery; I have the hospital boys;[1118] I perceive little Thomasine will bestow cost of me.

I’ll listen to the common censure[1119] now,
How the world tongues me when my ear lies low.
Enter the Livery, &c.
First Liveryman. Who, Quomodo? merely enrich’d by shifts
And cozenages, believe it.
Quo. I see the world is very loath to praise me;
’Tis rawly friends with me: I cannot blame it,
For what I’ve[1120] done has been to vex and shame it.
Here comes my son, the hope, the landed heir,
One[1121] whose rare thrift will say, men’s tongues you lie,
I’ll keep by law what was got craftily.
Enter Sim.
Methinks I hear him say so:
He does salute the Livery with good grace
And solemn gesture. [Aside.

O my young worshipful master, you have parted from a dear father, a wise and provident father!

Sim. Art thou grown an ass now?

Quo. Such an honest father——

Sim. Prithee, beadle, leave thy lying; I am scarce able to endure thee, i’faith: what honesty didst thou e’er know by my father, speak? Rule your tongue, beadle, lest I make you prove it; and then I know what will become of you: ’tis the scurviest thing i’ th’ earth to belie the dead so, and he’s a beastly son and heir that will stand by and hear his father belied to his face; he will ne’er prosper, I warrant him. Troth, if I be not ashamed to go to church with him, I would I might be hanged; I hear[1122] such filthy tales go on him. O, if I had known he had been such a lewd[1123] fellow in his life, he should ne’er have kept me company!

Quo. O, O, O! [Aside.

Sim. But I am glad he’s gone, though ’twere long first: Shortyard and I will revel it, i’faith; I have made him my rent-gatherer already.

Quo. He shall be speedily disinherited, he gets not a foot, not the crown of a mole-hill: I’ll sooner make a courtier my heir, for teaching my wife tricks, than thee, my most neglectful son. O, now the corse; I shall observe yet farther. [Aside.

A coffin brought in,[1124] followed by Thomasine, Susan, Thomasine’s Mother, and other mourners.

O my most modest, virtuous, and remembering wife! she shall have all when I die, she shall have all.

[Aside.
Enter Easy.

Tho. Master Easy? ’tis: O, what shift shall I make now? [Aside.]—O!

[Falls down in a feigned swoon, while the coffin is carried out; the mourners, except Thomasine’s Mother, following it.

Quo. Sweet wife, she swoons: I’ll let her alone, I’ll have no mercy at this time; I’ll not see her, I’ll follow the corse. [Aside, and exit.

Easy. The devil grind thy bones, thou cozening rascal!

T.’s Moth[1125] Give her a little more air; tilt up her head.—Comfort thyself, good widow; do not fall like a beast for a husband: there’s more than we can well tell where to put ’em, good soul.

Tho. O, I shall be well anon.

T.’s Moth. Fie, you have no patience, i’faith: I have buried four husbands, and never offered ’em such abuse.

Tho. Cousin,[1126] how do you?

Easy. Sorry to see you ill, coz.

Tho. The worst is past, I hope.

[Pointing after the coffin.

Easy. I hope so too.

Tho. Lend me your hand, sweet coz; I’ve[1127] troubled you.

T.’s Moth. No trouble indeed, forsooth.—Good cousin, have a care of her, comfort her up as much as you can, and all little enough, I warrant ye. [Exit.

Tho. My most sweet love!

Easy. My life is not so dear.

Tho. I’ve[1128] always pitied you.

Easy. You’ve shewn it here,
And given the desperate hope.
Tho. Delay not now; you’ve understood my love;
I’ve[1129] a priest ready; this is the fittest season.
No eye offends us: let this kiss[1130]
Restore thee to more wealth, me to more bliss.
Easy. The angels have provided for me. [Exeunt.

ACT V. SCENE I.

Quomodo’s Shop.
Enter Shortyard with writings.[1131]
Sho. I have not scope enough within my breast
To keep my joys contain’d: I’m Quomodo’s heir;
The lands, assurances, and all are mine:
I’ve[1132] tript his son’s heels up above the ground
His father left him: had I not encouragement?
Do not I know, what proves the father’s prey,
The son ne’er looks on’t, but it melts away?
Do not I know, the wealth that’s got by fraud,
Slaves share it, like the riches of a bawd?
Why, ’tis a curse unquenchable, ne’er cools;
Knaves still commit their consciences to fools,
And they betray who ow’d ’em. Here’s all the bonds,
All Easy’s writings: let me see. [Reads.
Enter Thomasine and Easy.[1133]
Tho. Now my desires wear crowns.
Easy. My joys exceed:
Man is ne’er healthful till his follies bleed.
Tho. O,
Behold the villain, who in all those shapes
Confounded your estate!
Easy. That slave! that villain!
Sho. So many acres of good meadow——
Easy. Rascal!
Sho. I hear you, sir.
Easy. Rogue, Shortyard, Blastfield, sergeant, deputy, cozener!
Sho. Hold, hold!
Easy. I thirst the execution of his ears.
Tho. Hate you that office.
Easy. I’ll strip him bare for punishment and shame.
Sho. Why, do but hear me, sir; you will not think
What I’ve[1134] done for you.
Easy. Given his son my lands!
Sho. Why, look you, ’tis not so; you’re not told true:
I’ve cozen’d him again merely for you,
Merely for you, sir; ’twas my meaning then
That you should wed her, and have all agen.[1135]
A’ my troth, it’s true, sir: look you then here, sir:
[Giving the writings.
You shall not miss a little scroll, sir. Pray, sir,
Let not the city know me for a knave;
There be richer men would envy my preferment,
If I should be known before ’em.
Easy. Villain, my hate to more revenge is drawn:
When slaves are found, ’tis their base art to fawn.—
Within there!
Enter Officers[1136] with Falselight bound.
Sho. How now? fresh warders!
Easy. This is the other, bind him fast.—Have I found you,
Master Blastfield? [Officers bind Shortyard.
Sho. This is the fruit of craft:
Like him that shoots up high, looks for the shaft,
And finds it in his forehead, so does hit
The arrow of our fate; wit destroys wit;
The head the body’s bane and his own bears.—
You ha’ corn enough, you need not reap mine ears,
Sweet master Blastfield!
Easy. I loathe his voice; away!
[Exeunt Officers with Shortyard and Falselight.

Tho. What happiness was here! but are you sure you have all?

Easy. I hope so, my sweet wife.

Tho. What difference there is in husbands! not only in one thing but in all.

Easy. Here’s good deeds and bad deeds; the writings that keep my land[1137] to me, and the bonds that gave it away from me.

These, my good deeds, shall to more safety turn,
And these, my bad, have their deserts and burn.
I’ll see thee again presently: read there. [Exit.
Tho. Did he want all, who would not love his care?
[Reads the writings.
Enter Quomodo disguised as before.[1138]

Quo. What a wife hast thou, Ephestian Quomodo! so loving, so mindful of her duty; not only seen to weep, but known to swoon! I knew a widow about Saint Antling’s[1139] so forgetful of her first husband, that she married again within the twelvemonth; nay, some, byrlady,[1140] within the month: there were sights to be seen! Had they my wife’s true sorrows, seven [months] nor seven years would draw ’em to the stake. I would most tradesmen had such a wife as I: they hope they have; we must all hope the best: thus in her honour,—

A modest wife is such a jewel,
Every goldsmith cannot shew it:
He that’s honest and not cruel
Is the likeliest man to owe[1141] it—

and that’s I: I made it by myself; and coming to her as a beadle for my reward this morning, I’ll see how she takes my death next her heart. [Aside.

Tho. Now, beadle.

Quo. Bless your mistresship’s eyes from too many tears, although you have lost a wise and worshipful gentleman.

Tho. You come for your due, beadle, here i’ th’ house?

Quo. Most certain; the hospital money, and mine own poor forty pence.

Tho. I must crave a discharge from you, beadle.

Quo. Call your man; I’ll heartily set my hand to a memorandum.

Tho. You deal the truelier.

Quo. Good wench still. [Aside.

Tho. George!