[Exeunt.

ACT II. SCENE I.

Before the Palace.
Enter Evander, three Courtiers, and Cratilus.

Evan. Executioner!

Crat. My lord.

Evan. How did old Diocles take his death?

Crat. As weeping brides receive their joys at night;[117] With trembling, yet with patience.

Evan. Why, ’twas well.

First Court. Nay, I knew my father would do well, my lord,
Whene’er he came to die; I’d that opinion of him,
Which made me the more willing to part from him;
He was not fit to live i’ the world, indeed
Any time these ten years, my lord,
But I would not say so much.
Evan. No! you did not well in’t,
For he that’s all spent is ripe for death at all hours,
And does but trifle time out.
First Court. Troth, my lord,
I would I had known your mind nine years ago.
Evan. Our law is fourscore years, because we judge
Dotage complete then, as unfruitfulness
In women at threescore; marry, if the son
Can, within compass, bring good solid proofs
Of his own father’s weakness, and unfitness
To live, or sway the living, though he want five
Or ten years of his number, that’s not it;
His defect makes him fourscore, and ’tis fit
He dies when he deserves; for every act
Is in effect then, when the cause is ripe.
Second Court. An admirable prince! how rarely he talks!
O that we’d known this, lads! What a time did we endure
In two-penny commons, and in boots twice vamp’d!
First Court. Now we have two pair a week, and yet not thankful;
’Twill be a fine world for them, sirs, that come after us.
Second Court. Ay, and[118] they knew’t.
First[119] Court. Peace, let them never know’t.
Third Court. A pox, there be young heirs will soon smell’t out.
Second Court. ’Twill come to ’em by instinct, man. May your grace
Never be old, you stand so well for youth!
Evan. Why now, methinks, our court looks like a spring,
Sweet, fresh, and fashionable, now the old weeds are gone.
First Court. ’Tis as a court should be:
Gloss and good clothes, my lord, no matter for merit;
And herein your law proves a provident act,[120]
When men pass not the palsy of their tongues,
Nor colour in their cheeks.
Evan. But women,
By that law, should live long, for they’re ne’er past it.
First Court. It will have heats though, when they see the painting
Go an inch deep i’the wrinkle, and take up
A box more than their gossips: but for men, my lord,
That should be the sole bravery of a palace,
To walk with hollow eyes and long white beards,
As if a prince dwelt in a land of goats;
With clothes as if they sat on[121] their backs on purpose
To arraign a fashion, and condemn’t to exile;
Their pockets in their sleeves, as if they laid
Their ear to avarice, and heard the devil whisper!
Now ours lie downward, here, close to the flank;
Right spending pockets, as a son’s should be
That lives i’ the fashion: where[122] our diseas’d fathers,
Wood[123] with the sciatica and aches,
Brought up your pan’d hose[124] first, which ladies laugh’d at,
Giving no reverence to the place lies ruined:
They love a doublet that’s three hours a buttoning,
And sits so close makes a man groan again,
And his soul mutter half a day; yet these are those
That carry sway and worth: prick’d up in clothes,
Why should we fear our rising?
Evan. You but wrong
Our kindness, and your own deserts, to doubt on’t.
Has not our law made you rich before your time?
Our countenance then can make you honourable.
First Court. We’ll spare for no cost, sir, to appear worthy.
Evan. Why, you’re i’the noble way then, for the most
Are but appearers; worth itself is lost,
And bravery[125] stands for’t.
Enter Creon, Antigona, and Simonides.
First Court. Look, look, who comes here!
I smell death, and another courtier,
Simonides.
Second Court. Sim!
Sim. Push![126] I’m not for you yet,
Your company’s too costly; after the old man’s
Despatch’d, I shall have time to talk with you;
I shall come into the fashion, ye shall see too,
After a day or two; in the mean time,
I am not for your company.
Evan. Old Creon, you have been expected long;
Sure you’re above fourscore.
Sim. Upon my life,
Not four-and-twenty hours, my lord; I search’d
The church-book yesterday. Does your grace think
I’d let my father wrong the law, my lord?
’Twere pity a’ my life then! no, your act
Shall not receive a minute’s wrong by him,
While I live, sir; and he’s so just himself too,
I know he would no[t] offer’t:—here he stands.
Creon. ’Tis just
I die, indeed, my lord; for I confess
I’m troublesome to life now, and the state
Can hope for nothing worthy from me now,
Either in force or counsel; I’ve a’ late
Employ’d myself quite from the world, and he
That once begins to serve his Maker faithfully
Can never serve a worldly prince well after;
’Tis clean another way.
Ant. O, give not confidence
To all he speaks, my lord, in his own injury.
His preparation only for the next world
Makes him talk wildly, to his wrong, of this;
He is not lost in judgment.
Sim. She spoils all again. [Aside.
Ant. Deserving any way for state employment.
Sim. Mother——
Ant. His very household laws prescrib’d at home by him
Are able to conform seven Christian kingdoms,
They are so wise and virtuous.
Sim. Mother, I say——
Ant. I know your laws extend not to desert, sir,
But to unnecessary years; and, my lord,
His are not such; though they shew’ white, they’re worthy,
Judicious, able, and religious.
Sim. I’ll help you to a courtier of nineteen, mother.
Ant. Away, unnatural!
Sim. Then I am no fool, I’m sure,
For to be natural at such a time
Were a fool’s part indeed.
Ant. Your grace’s pity, sir,
And ’tis but fit and just.
Creon. The law, my lord,
And that’s the justest way.
Sim. Well said, father, i’ faith!
Thou wert ever juster than my mother still.
Evan. Come hither, sir.
Sim. My lord.
Evan. What are those orders?
Ant. Worth observation, sir,
So please you hear them read.
Sim. The woman speaks she knows not what, my lord.
He make a law, poor man! he bought a table, indeed,
Only to learn to die by’t, there’s the business, now;
Wherein there are some precepts for a son too,
How he should learn to live, but I ne’er look’d upon’t:
For, when he’s dead, I shall live well enough,
And keep a better table[127] than that, I trow.
Evan. And is that all, sir?
Sim. All, I vow, my lord;
Save a few running admonitions
Upon cheese-trenchers,[128] as——
Take heed of whoring, shun it;
’Tis like a cheese too strong of the runnet.
And such calves’ maws of wit and admonition,
Good to catch mice with, but not sons and heirs;
They’re not so easily caught.
Evan. Agent for death!
Crat. Your will, my lord?
Evan. Take hence that pile of years,
Forfeit before[129] with unprofitable age,
And, with the rest, from the high promontory,
Cast him into the sea.
Creon. ’Tis noble justice!
[Exit Cratilus with Creon.
Ant. ’Tis cursed tyranny!
Sim. Peace! take heed, mother;
You’ve[130] but a short time to be cast down yourself;
And let a young courtier do’t, and[131] you be wise,
In the mean time.
Ant. Hence, slave!
Sim. Well, seven-and-fifty,[132]
You’ve but three years to scold, then comes your payment.
[Exit Antigona.
First Court. Simonides.
Sim. Push,[133] I’m[134] not brave enough to hold you talk yet;
Give a man time; I have a suit a making.
Second Court. We love thy form first; brave clothes will come, man.
Sim. I’ll make ’em come else, with a mischief to ’em,
As other gallants do, that have less left ’em.
[Recorders within.
Evan. Hark! whence those sounds? what’s that?
First Court. Some funeral,
It seems, my lord; and young Cleanthes follows.
Enter a funeral procession; the hearse followed by Cleanthes and Hippolita gaily dressed.[135]
Evan. Cleanthes!
Second Court. ’Tis, my lord, and in the place
Of a chief mourner too, but strangely habited.
Evan. Yet suitable to his behaviour; mark it;
He comes all the way smiling, do you observ’t?
I never saw a corse so joyfully follow’d:
Light colours and light cheeks! who should this be?
’Tis a thing worth resolving.
Sim. One, belike,
That doth participate this[136] our present joy.
Evan. Cleanthes.
Clean. O my lord!
Evan. He laugh’d outright now;
Was ever such a contrariety seen
In natural courses yet, nay, profess’d openly?
First Court. I ha’ known a widow laugh closely, my lord,
Under her handkercher, when t’other part
Of her old face has wept like rain in sunshine;
But all the face to laugh apparently,
Was never seen yet.
Sim. Yes, mine did once.
Clean. ’Tis, of a heavy time, the joyfull’st day
That ever son was born to.
Evan. How can that be?
Clean. I joy to make it plain,—my father’s dead.
Evan. Dead!
Second Court. Old Leonides!
Clean. In his last month dead:
He beguil’d cruel law the sweetliest
That ever age was blest to.——
It grieves me that a tear should fall upon’t,
Being a thing so joyful, but his memory
Will work it out, I see: when his poor heart broke,
I did not [do] so much: but leap’d for joy
So mountingly, I touch’d the stars, methought;
I would not hear of blacks, I was so light,
But chose a colour orient like my mind;
For blacks are often such dissembling mourners,
There is no credit given to’t; it has lost
All reputation by false sons and widows.
Now I would have men know what I resemble,
A truth, indeed; ’tis joy clad like a joy,
Which is more honest than a cunning grief,
That’s only fac’d with sables for a show,
But gawdy-hearted. When I saw death come
So ready to deceive you, sir,—forgive me,
I could not choose but be entirely merry,
And yet to see now!—of a sudden,
Naming but death, I shew myself a mortal,
That’s never constant to one passion long.
I wonder whence that tear came, when I smil’d
In the production on’t! sorrow’s a thief,
That can, when joy looks on, steal forth a grief.
But, gracious leave, my lord; when I’ve[137] perform’d
My last poor duty to my father’s bones,
I shall return your servant.
Evan. Well, perform it;
The law is satisfied; they can but die:
And by his death, Cleanthes, you gain well,
A rich and fair revenue.
[Flourish. Exeunt Duke, Courtiers, &c.
Sim. I would I had e’en
Another father, condition[138] he did the like.
Clean. I have past it bravely now; how blest was I
To have the duke in sight![139] now ’tis confirm’d,
Past fear or doubts confirm’d: on, on, I say,
Him[140] that brought me to man, I bring to clay.
[Exit funeral procession, followed by Cleanthes and Hippolita.
Sim. I’m rapt now in a contemplation,
Even at the very sight of yonder hearse;
I do but think what a fine thing ’tis now
To live, and follow some seven uncles thus,
As many cousin-germans, and such people,
That will leave legacies; a pox! I’d see ’em hang’d else,
Ere I’d follow one of them, and[141] they could find the way.
Now I’ve enough to begin to be horrible covetous.
Enter Butler, Tailor, Bailiff,[142] Cook, Coachman, and Footman.
But. We come to know your worship’s pleasure, sir,
Having long serv’d your father, how your good will
Stands towards our entertainment.
Sim. Not a jot, i’faith:
My father wore cheap garments, he might do’t;
I shall have all my clothes come home to-morrow;
They will eat up all you, and[143] there were more of you, sirs.
To keep you six at livery, and still munching!
Tail. Why, I’m a tailor; you’ve most need of me, sir.
Sim. Thou mad’st my father’s clothes, that I confess;
But what son and heir will have his father’s tailor,
Unless he have a mind to be well laugh’d at?
Thou’st been so used to wide long-side things, that when
I come to truss, I shall have the waist of my doublet
Lie upon my buttocks, a sweet sight!
But. I a butler.

Sim. There’s least need of thee, fellow; I shall ne’er drink at home, I shall be so drunk abroad.

But. But a cup of small beer will do well next morning, sir.

Sim. I grant you; but what need I keep so big a knave for a cup of small beer?

Cook. Butler, you have your answer. Marry, sir, a cook I know your mastership cannot be without.

Sim. The more ass art thou to think so; for what should I do with a mountebank, no drink in my house?—the banishing the butler might have been a warning for thee, unless thou meanest to choke me.

Cook. I’ the mean time you have chok’d me, methinks.
Bail. These are superfluous vanities, indeed,
And so accounted of in these days, sir;
But then, your bailiff to receive your rents——

Sim. I prithee, hold thy tongue, fellow; I shall take a course to spend ’em faster than thou canst reckon ’em; ’tis not the rents must serve my turn, unless I mean to be laughed at; if a man should be seen out of slash-me, let him ne’er look to be a right gallant. But, sirrah, with whom is your business?

Coach. Your good mastership.

Sim. You have stood, silent all this while, like men
That know their strengths: i’these days, none of you
Can want employment; you can win me wagers,
Footman, in running races.
Foot. I dare boast it, sir.
Sim. And when my bets are all come in, and store,
Then, coachman, you can hurry me to my whore.
Coach. I’ll firk ’em into foam else.
Sim. Speaks brave matter:
And I’ll firk some too, or’t shall cost hot water.
[Exeunt Simonides, Coachman, and Footman.
Cook. Why, here’s an age to make a cook a ruffian,
And scald the devil indeed! do strange mad things,
Make mutton-pasties of dog’s flesh,
Bake snakes for lamprey-pies, and cats for conies.

But. Come, will you be ruled by a butler’s advice once? for we must make up our fortunes somewhere now, as the case stands: let’s e’en, therefore, go seek out widows of nine and fifty, and[144] we can, that’s within a year of their deaths, and so we shall be sure to be quickly rid of ’em; for a year’s enough of conscience to be troubled with a wife, for any man living.

Cook. Oracle butler! oracle butler! he puts down all the doctors a’ the name.[145] [Exeunt.

SCENE II.

A Room in Creon’s House.
Enter Eugenia and Parthenia.
Eug. Parthenia.
Parth. Mother.
Eug. I shall be troubled
This six months with an old clog; would the law
Had been cut one year shorter!
Parth. Did you call, forsooth?
Eug. Yes, you must make some spoonmeat for your father,
And warm three nightcaps for him. [Exit Parthenia.] Out upon’t!
The mere conceit turns a young woman’s stomach.
His slippers must be warm’d, in August too,
And his gown girt to him in the very dog-days,
When every mastiff lolls out’s tongue for heat.
Would not this vex a beauty of nineteen now?
Alas! I should[146] be tumbling in cold baths now,
Under each armpit a fine bean-flower bag,
To screw out whiteness when I list——
And some seven of the properest men i’the dukedom
Making a banquet ready i’the next room for me;
Where he that gets the first kiss is enviéd,
And stands upon his guard a fortnight after.
This is a life for nineteen! ’tis but justice:
For old men, whose great acts stand in their minds,
And nothing in their bodies, do ne’er think
A woman young enough for their desire;
And we young wenches, that have mother-wits,
And love to marry muck first, and man after,
Do never think old men are old enough,
That we may soon be rid on ’em; there’s our quittance.
I’ve[147] waited for the happy hour this two year,
And, if death be so unkind to let him live still,[148]
All that time I have[149] lost.
Enter Courtiers.
First Court. Young lady!
Second Court. O sweet precious bud of beauty!
Troth, she smells over all the house, methinks.
First Court. The sweetbriar’s but a counterfeit to her——
It does exceed you only in the prickle,
But that it shall not long, if you’ll be rul’d, lady.
Eug. What means this sudden visitation, gentlemen?
So passing well perfumed[150] too! who’s your milliner?
First Court. Love, and thy beauty, widow.
Eug. Widow, sir!
First Court. ’Tis sure, and that’s as good: in troth, we’re suitors;
We come a wooing, wench; plain dealing’s best.
Eug. A wooing! what, before my husband’s dead?
Second Court. Let’s lose no time; six months will have an end, you know;
I know’t by all the bonds that e’er I made yet.
Eug. That’s a sure knowledge; but it holds not here, sir.
First Court. Do not we know the craft of you young[151] tumblers?
That [when] you wed an old man, you think upon
Another husband as you are marrying of him;—
We, knowing your thoughts, made bold to see you.
Enter Simonides richly drest, and Coachman.
Eug. How wondrous right he speaks! ’twas my thought, indeed.
Sim. By your leave, sweet widow, do you lack any gallants?
Eug. Widow, again! ’tis a comfort to be call’d so.
First Court. Who’s this? Simonides?
Second Court. Brave Sim, i’faith!
Sim. Coachman!
Coach. Sir.
Sim. Have an especial care of my new mares.
They say, sweet widow, he that loves a horse well,
Must needs love a widow well.—When dies thy husband?
Is’t not July next?
Eug. O, you’re too hot, sir!
Pray cool yourself, and take September with you.
Sim. September! O, I was but two bows wide.
First Court. Simonides.[152]
Sim. I can entreat you, gallants, I’m in fashion too.
Enter Lysander.
Lys. Ha! whence this herd of folly? what are you?
Sim. Well-willers to your wife: pray, ’tend your book, sir;
We’ve[153] nothing to say to you, you may go die,
For here be those in place that can supply.
Lys. What’s thy wild business here?
Sim. Old man, I’ll tell thee;
I come to beg the reversion of thy wife:
I think these gallants be of my mind too.—

But thou art but a dead man, therefore what should a man do talking with thee? Come, widow, stand to your tackling.

Lys. Impious blood-hounds!
Sim. Let the ghost talk, ne’er mind him.
Lys. Shames of nature!
Sim. Alas, poor ghost! consider what the man is.
Lys. Monsters unnatural! you that have been covetous
Of your own fathers’ deaths, gape ye for mine now?
Cannot a poor old man, that now can reckon
E’en all the hours he has to live, live quiet,
For such wild beasts as these, that neither hold
A certainty of good within themselves,
But scatter others’ comforts that are ripen’d
For holy uses? is hot youth so hasty,
It will not give an old man leave to die,
And leave a widow first, but will make one,
The husband looking on? May your destructions
Come all in hasty figures to your souls!
Your wealth depart in haste, to overtake
Your honesties, that died when you were infants!
May your male seed be hasty spendthrifts too,
Your daughters hasty sinners, and diseas’d
Ere they be thought at years to welcome misery!
And may you never know what leisure is,
But at repentance!—I am too uncharitable,
Too foul; I must go cleanse myself with prayers.
These are the plagues of fondness to old men,
We’re punish’d home with what we dote upon. [Exit.
Sim. So, so!
The ghost is vanish’d: now, your answer, lady.
Eug. Excuse me, gentlemen; ’twere as much impudence
In me to give you a kind answer yet,
As madness to produce a churlish one.
I could say now, come a month hence, sweet gentlemen,
Or two, or three, or when you will, indeed;
But I say no such thing: I set no time,
Nor is it mannerly to deny any.
I’ll carry an even hand to all the world:
Let other women make what haste they will,
What’s that to me? but I profess unfeignedly,
I’ll have my husband dead before I marry;
Ne’er look for other answer at my hands, gentlemen.
Sim. Would he were hanged, for my part, looks for other!
Eug. I’m at a word.
Sim. And I am[154] at a blow then;
I’ll lay you o’ the lips, and leave you. [Kisses her.
First Court. Well struck, Sim.
Sim. He that dares say he’ll mend it, I’ll strike him.
First Court. He would betray himself to be a botcher,[155]
That goes about to mend it.
Eug. Gentlemen,
You know my mind; I bar you not my house:
But if you choose out hours more seasonably,
You may have entertainment.
Re-enter Parthenia.
Sim. What will she do hereafter, when she’s a widow,
Keeps open house already?
[Exeunt Simonides and Courtiers.'
Eug. How now, girl!
Parth. Those feather’d fools that hither took their flight
Have griev’d my father much.
Eug. Speak well of youth, wench,
While thou’st a day to live; ’tis youth must make thee,
And when youth fails, wise women will make it;
But always take age first, to make thee rich:
That was my counsel ever, and then youth
Will make thee sport enough all thy life after.
’Tis [the] time’s policy, wench; what is’t to bide
A little hardness for a pair of years, or so?
A man whose only strength lies in his breath,
Weakness in all parts else, thy bedfellow,
A cough o’ the lungs, or say a wheezing[156] matter;
Then shake off chains, and dance all thy life after?
Parth. Every one to their liking; but I say
An honest man’s worth all, be he young or gray.
Yonder’s my cousin. [Exit.