Enter Dancing-Master.
Mast. Here, sir.
Lys. Come, come, come, one trick a day,
And I shall soon recover all again.
Eug. ’Slight, and[183] you laugh too loud, we are all discover’d.[184]
Sim. And I have a scurvy grinning[185] laugh a’ mine own,
Will spoil all, I am afraid.
Eug. Marry, take heed, sir.
Sim. Nay, and[186] I should be hang’d, I cannot[187] leave it;
Pup!—there ’tis. [Bursts into a laugh.
Eug. Peace! O, peace!
Lys. Come, I am ready, sir.
I hear the church-book’s lost where I was born too,
And that shall set me back one[188] twenty years;
There is no little comfort left in that:
And—[then] my three court-codlings, that look parboil’d,
As if they came from Cupid’s scalding-house——
Sim. He means me specially, I hold my life.
Mast. What trick will your old worship learn this morning, sir?
Lys. Marry, a trick, if thou couldst teach a man,
To keep his wife to himself; I’d fain learn that.
Mast. That’s a hard trick, for an old man specially;
The horse-trick comes the nearest.
Lys. Thou sayst true, i’faith,
They must be hors’d indeed, else there’s no keeping on ’em,
And horse-play at fourscore is not so ready.
Mast. Look you, here’s your worship’s horse-trick,[189] sir. [Gives a spring.
Lys. Nay, say not so,
’Tis none of mine; I fall down horse and man,
If I but offer at it.
Mast. My life for yours, sir.
Lys. Sayst thou me so? [Springs aloft.
Mast. Well offer’d, by my viol, sir.
Lys. A pox of this horse-trick! ’t has play’d the jade with me,
And given me a wrench i’the back.
Mast. Now here’s your inturn, and your trick above ground.
Lys. Prithee, no more, unless thou hast a mind
To lay me under ground; one of these tricks
Is enough in a morning.
Mast. For your galliard, sir,
You are complete enough, ay, and may challenge
The proudest coxcomb of ’em all, I’ll stand to’t.
Lys. Faith, and I’ve other weapons for the rest too:
I have prepar’d for ’em, if e’er I take
My Gregories here again.
Sim. O, I shall burst,
I can hold out no longer.
Eug. He spoils all. [They come forward.
Lys. The devil and his grinners! are you come?
Bring forth the weapons, we shall find you play;
All feats of youth too, jack-boys, feats of youth,
And these the weapons, drinking, fencing, dancing:
Your own road-ways, you glyster-pipes! I’m old, you say;
Yes, parlous old, kids, and[190] you mark me well!
This beard cannot get children, you lank suck-eggs,
Unless such weasels come from court to help us.
We will get our own brats, you lecherous dog-bolts!
Enter a Servant with foils and glasses.
Well said, down with ’em; now we shall see your spirits.
What! dwindle you already?
Second Court. I have no quality.
Sim. Nor I, unless drinking may be reckon’d for one.
First Court. Why, Sim, it shall.
Lys. Come, dare you choose your weapon now?
First Court. I? dancing, sir, and[191] you will be so hasty.
Lys. We’re for you, sir.sir.
Second Court. Fencing, I.
Lys. We’ll answer you too.
Sim. I am for drinking; your wet weapon there.
Lys. That wet one has cost many a princox life;
And I will send it through you with a powder!
Sim. Let [it] come, with a pox! I care not, so’t be drink.
I hope my guts will hold, and that’s e’en all
A gentleman can look for of such trillibubs.[192]
Lys. Play the first weapon; come, strike, strike, I say.
Yes, yes, you shall be first; I’ll observe court rules:
Always the worst goes foremost, so ’twill prove, I hope.
[First Courtier dances a galliard.[193]
So, sir! you’ve spit your poison; now come I.
Now, forty years go[194] backward and assist me,
Fall from me half my age, but for three minutes,
That I may feel no crick! I will put fair for’t,
Although I hazard twenty sciaticas. [Dances.
So, I have hit you.
First Court. You’ve done well, i’faith, sir.
Lys. If you confess it well, ’tis excellent,
And I have hit you soundly; I am warm now:
The second weapon instantly.
Second Court. What, so quick, sir?
Will you not allow yourself a breathing-time?
Lys. I’ve breath enough at all times, Lucifer’s musk-cod,
To give your perfum’d worship three vennies:[195]
A sound old man puts his thrust better home
Than a spic’d young man: there I. [They fence.
Second Court. Then have at you, fourscore.
Lys. You lie, twenty, I hope, and you shall find it.
Sim. I’m glad I miss’d this weapon, I[’d] had an eye
Popt out ere this time, or my two butter-teeth
Thrust down my throat instead of a flap-dragon.[196]
Lys. There’s two, pentweezle. [Hits him.
Mast. Excellently touch’d, sir.
Second Court. Had ever man such luck! speak your opinion, gentlemen.
Sim. Methinks, your luck’s good, that your eyes are in still;
Mine would have dropt out, like a pig’s half-roasted.
Lys. There wants a third—and there it is[197] again!
[Hits him again.'
Second Court. The devil has steel’d him.
Eug. What a strong fiend is jealousy!
Lys. You’re despatch’d, bear-whelp.
Sim. Now comes my weapon in.
Lys. Here, toadstool, here.
’Tis you[198] and I must play these three wet vennies.[199]
Sim. Vennies in Venice glasses! let ’em come,
They’ll bruise no flesh, I’m sure, nor break no bones.
Second Court. Yet you may drink your eyes out, sir.
Sim. Ay, but that’s nothing;
Then they go voluntarily: I do not
Love to have ’em thrust out, whether they will or no.
Lys. Here’s your first weapon, duck’s-meat.
Sim. How! a Dutch what-you-call-’em,
Stead of a German faulchion! a shrewd weapon,
And, of all things, hard to be taken down:
Yet down it must, I have a nose goes into’t;
I shall drink double, I think.
First Court. The sooner off, Sim.
Lys. I’ll pay you speedily, —— with a trick[200]
I learnt once amongst drunkards; here’s [a] half-pike.
[Drinks.
Sim. Half-pike comes well after Dutch what-you-call-’em,
They’d never be asunder by their good will.[201]
First Court. Well pull’d of an old fellow!
Lys. O, but your fellows
Pull better at a rope.
First Court. There’s a hair, Sim,
In that glass.
Sim. An’t be as long as a halter, down it goes;
No hair shall cross me. [Drinks.
Lys. I[’ll] make you stink worse than your pole-cats do:
Here’s long-sword, your last weapon.
[Offers him the glass.
Sim. No more weapons.
First Court. Why, how now, Sim? bear up, thou sham’st us all, else.
Sim. [’S]light, I shall shame you worse, and[202] I stay longer.
I ha’ got the scotomy[203] in my head already,
The whimsey: you all turn round—do not you dance, gallants?
Second Court. Pish! what’s all this? why, Sim, look, the last venny.[204]
Sim. No more vennies go[205] down here, for these two
Are coming up again.
Second Court. Out! the disgrace of drinkers!
Sim. Yes, ’twill out;
Do you smell nothing yet?
First Court. Smell!
Sim. Farewell quickly, then;
You[206] will do, if I stay. [Exit.
First Court. A foil go with thee!
Lys. What, shall we put down youth at her own virtues?
Beat folly in her own ground? wondrous much!
Why may not we be held as full sufficient
To love our own wives then, get our own children,
And live in free peace till we be dissolv’d,
For such spring butterflies that are gaudy-wing’d,
But no more substance than those shamble-flies
Which butchers’ boys snap between sleep and waking?
Come but to crush you once, you are[207] but maggots,
For all your beamy outsides!
Enter Cleanthes.
Eug. Here’s Cleanthes;
He comes to chide;—let him alone a little,
Our cause will be reveng’d; look, look, his face
Is set for stormy weather; do but mark
How the clouds gather in ’t, ’twill pour down straight.
Clean. Methinks, I partly know you, that’s my grief.
Could you not all be lost? that had been handsome;
But to be known at all, ’tis more than shameful.
Why, was not your name wont to be Lysander?
Lys. ’Tis so still, coz.
Clean. Judgment, defer thy coming! else this man’s miserable.
Eug. I told you there would be a shower anon.
Second Court. We’ll in, and hide our noddles.
[Exeunt Eugenia and Courtiers.
Clean. What devil brought this colour to your mind,
Which, since your childhood, I ne’er saw you wear?
[Sure] you were ever of an innocent gloss
Since I was ripe for knowledge, and would you lose it,
And change the livery of saints and angels
For this mixt monstrousness; to force a ground
That has been so long hallow’d like a temple,
To bring forth fruits of earth now; and turn back[208]
To the wild cries of lust, and the complexion
Of sin in act, lost and long since repented!
Would you begin a work ne’er yet attempted,
To pull time backward?
See what your wife will do! are your wits perfect?
Lys. My wits!
Clean. I like it ten times worse; for’t had been safer
Now to be mad,[209] and more excusable:
I hear you dance again, and do strange follies.
Lys. I must confess I have been put to some, coz.
Clean. And yet you are not mad! pray, say not so;
Give me that comfort of you, that you are mad,
That I may think you are at worst; for if
You are not mad, I then must guess you have
The first of some disease was never heard of,
Which may be worse than madness, and more fearful:
You’d weep to see yourself else, and your care
To pray would quickly turn you white again.
I had a father, had he liv’d his month out,
But to ha’ seen this most prodigious folly,
There needed not the law to have him cut off;
The sight of this had prov’d his executioner,
And broke his heart: he would have held it equal
Done to a sanctuary,—for what is age
But the holy place of life, chapel of ease
For all men’s wearied miseries? and to rob
That of her ornament, it is accurst
As from a priest to steal a holy vestment,
Ay, and convert it to a sinful covering.
[Exit Lysander.
I see’t has done him good; blessing go with it,
Such as may make him pure again.
Re-enter Eugenia.
Eug. ’Twas bravely touch’d, i’faith, sir.
Clean. O, you’re welcome.
Eug. Exceedingly well handled.
Clean. ’Tis to you I come; he fell but i’ my way.
Eug. You mark’d his beard, cousin?
Clean. Mark me.
Eug. Did you ever see a hair so changed?
Clean. I must be forc’d to wake her loudly too,
The devil has rock’d her so fast asleep.—Strumpet!
Eug. Do you call, sir?
Clean. Whore!
Eug. How do you, sir?
Clean. Be I ne’er so well,
I must be sick of thee; thou’rt a disease
That stick’st to th’ heart,—as all such women are.
Eug. What ails our kindred?
Clean. Bless me, she sleeps still!
What a dead modesty is i’ this woman,
Will never blush again! Look on thy work
But with a Christian eye, ’twould turn thy heart
Into a shower of blood, to be the cause
Of that old man’s destruction; think upon’t,
Ruin eternally; for, through thy loose follies,
Heaven has found him a faint servant lately:
His goodness has gone backward, and engender’d
With his old sins again; has[210] lost his prayers,
And all the tears that were companions with ’em:
And like a blindfold man, (giddy and blinded,)
Thinking he goes right on still, swerves but one foot,
And turns to the same place where he set out;
So he, that took his farewell of the world,
And cast the joys behind him, out of sight,
Summ’d up his hours, made even with time and men,
Is now in heart arriv’d at youth again,
All by thy wildness: thy too hasty lust
Has driven him to this strong apostacy.
Immodesty like thine was never equall’d:
I’ve heard of women, (shall I call ’em so?)
Have welcom’d suitors ere the corpse were cold;
But thou, thy husband living:—thou’rt[211] too bold.
Eug. Well, have you done now, sir?
Clean. Look, look! she smiles yet.
Eug. All this is nothing to a mind resolv’d;
Ask any woman that, she’ll tell you so much:
You have only shewn a pretty saucy wit,
Which I shall not forget, nor to requite it.
You shall hear from me shortly.
Clean. Shameless woman!
I take my counsel from thee, ’tis too honest,
And leave thee wholly to thy stronger master:
Bless the sex of thee from thee! that’s my prayer.
Were all like thee, so impudently common,
No man would [e’er] be found to wed a woman. [Exit.
Eug. I’ll fit you gloriously.
He that attempts to take away my pleasure,
I’ll take away his joy; and I can sure.
His conceal’d father pays for’t: I’ll e’en tell
Him that I mean to make my husband next,
And he shall tell the duke—mass, here he comes.
Re-enter Simonides.
Sim. Has[212] had a bout with me too.
Eug. What! no? since, sir?
Sim. A flirt, a little flirt; he call’d me strange names,
But I ne’er minded him.
Eug. You shall quit him, sir,
When he as little minds you.
Sim. I like that well.
I love to be reveng’d when no one thinks of me;
There’s little danger that way.
Eug. This is it then;
He you shall strike, your stroke shall be profound,
And yet your foe not guess who gave the wound.
Sim. A’ my troth, I love to give such wounds.
[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.

Before a Tavern.
Enter Gnotho, Butler, Bailiff, Tailor, Cook, Drawer, and Courtezan.
Draw. Welcome, gentlemen; will you not draw
near? will you drink at door, gentlemen?
But. O, the summer air’s best.
Draw. What wine will[’t] please you drink, gentlemen?
But. De Clare, sirrah. [Exit Drawer.
Gnoth. What, you’re all sped already, bullies?
Cook. My widow’s a’ the spit, and half ready,
lad; a turn or two more, and I have done with her.
Gnoth. Then, cook, I hope you have basted her
before this time.
Cook. And stuck her with rosemary too, to
sweeten her; she was tainted ere she came to my
hands. What an old piece of flesh of fifty-nine,
eleven months, and upwards! she must needs be
fly-blown.
Gnoth. Put her off, put her off, though you lose
by her; the weather’s hot.
Cook. Why, drawer!
Re-enter Drawer.

Draw. By and by:—here, gentlemen, here’s the quintessence of Greece; the sages never drunk better grape.

Cook. Sir, the mad Greeks of this age can taste their Palermo as well as the sage Greeks did before ’em.—Fill, lick-spiggot.

Draw. Ad imum, sir.

Gnoth. My friends, I must doubly invite you all, the fifth of the next month, to the funeral of my first wife, and to the marriage of my second, my two to one; this is she.

Cook. I hope some of us will be ready for the funeral of our wives by that time, to go with thee: but shall they be both of a day?

Gnoth. O, best of all, sir; where sorrow and joy meet together, one will help away with another the better. Besides, there will be charges saved too; the same rosemary that serves for the funeral will serve for the wedding.

But. How long do you make account to be a widower, sir?

Gnoth. Some half an hour; long enough a’ conscience. Come, come, let’s have some agility; is there no music in the house?

Draw. Yes, sir, here are sweet wire-drawers in the house.

Cook. O, that makes them and you seldom part; you are wine-drawers, and they wire-drawers.

Tail. And both govern by the pegs too.

Gnoth. And you have pipes in your consort[213] too.

Draw. And sackbuts too, sir.

But. But the heads of your instruments differ; yours are hogs-heads, their[s] cittern and gittern-heads.

Bail. All wooden heads; there they meet again.

Cook. Bid ’em strike up, we’ll have a dance, Gnotho;[214] come, thou shalt foot[215] it too. [Exit Drawer.

Gnoth. No dancing with me, we have Siren here.

Cook. Siren! ’twas Hiren, the fair Greek,[216] man.

Gnoth. Five drachmas of that. I say Siren, the fair Greek, and so are all fair Greeks.

Cook. A match; five drachmas her name was Hiren.

Gnoth. Siren’s name was Siren, for five drachmas.

Cook. ’Tis done.

Tail. Take heed what you do, Gnotho.[217]

Gnoth. Do not I know our own countrywomen, Siren and Nell of Greece, two of the fairest Greeks that ever were?

Cook. That Nell was Helen of Greece too.

Gnoth. As long as she tarried with her husband, she was Ellen; but after she came to Troy, she was Nell of Troy, or Bonny Nell, whether you will or no.

Tail. Why, did she grow shor[t]er when she came to Troy?

Gnoth. She grew longer,[218] if you mark the story. When she grew to be an ell, she was deeper than any yard of Troy could reach by a quarter; there was Cressid was Troy weight, and Nell was avoirdupois;[219] she held more, by four ounces, than Cressida.

Bail. They say she caused many wounds to be given in Troy.

Gnoth. True, she was wounded there herself, and cured again by plaster of Paris; and ever since that has been used to stop holes with.

Re-enter Drawer.

Draw. Gentlemen, if you be disposed to be merry, the music is ready to strike up; and here’s a consort[220] of mad Greeks, I know not whether they be men or women, or between both; they have, what-you-call-’em, wizards[221] on their faces.

Cook. Vizards, good man lick-spiggot.

But. If they be wise women, they may be wizards too.

Draw. They desire to enter amongst any merry company of gentlemen good-fellows, for a strain or two.

Enter old Women and Agatha in masks.

Cook. We’ll strain ourselves with ’em, say; let ’em come, Gnotho;[222] now for the honour of Epire!

Gnoth. No[223] dancing with me, we have Siren here.

[A dance by the old Women and Agatha; they offer to take the men, all agree except Gnotho, who sits with the Courtezan.[224]

Cook. Ay! so kind! then every one his wench to his several room; Gnotho,[225] we are all provided now, as you are.

[Exeunt all but Gnotho, Courtezan, and
Agatha.

Gnoth. I shall have two, it seems: away! I have Siren here already.

Aga. What, a mermaid?[226] [Takes off her mask.

Gnoth. No, but a maid, horse-face: O old woman! is it you?

Aga. Yes, ’tis I; all the rest have gulled themselves, and taken their own wives, and shall know that they have done more than they can well answer; but I pray you, husband, what are you doing?

Gnoth. Faith, thus should I do, if thou wert dead, old Ag; and thou hast not long to live, I’m sure: we have Siren here.

Aga. Art thou so shameless, whilst I am living, to keep one under my nose?

Gnoth. No, Ag, I do prize her far above thy nose; if thou wouldst lay me both thine eyes in my hand to boot, I’ll not leave her: art not ashamed to be seen in a tavern, and hast scarce a fortnight to live? O old woman, what art thou? must thou find no time to think of thy end?

Aga. O unkind villain!

Gnoth. And then, sweetheart, thou shalt have two new gowns; and the best of this old[227] woman’s shall make thee raiments for the working days.

Aga. O rascal! dost thou quarter my clothes already too?

Gnoth. Her ruffs will serve thee for nothing but to wash dishes; for thou shalt have thine[228] of the new fashion.

Aga. Impudent villain! shameless harlot!

Gnoth. You may hear, she never wore any but rails all her lifetime.

Aga. Let me come, I’ll tear the strumpet from him.

Gnoth. Darest thou call my wife strumpet, thou preterpluperfect tense of a woman! I’ll make thee do penance in the sheet thou shalt be buried in; abuse my choice, my two to one!

Aga. No, unkind villain! I’ll deceive thee yet;
I have a reprieve for five years of life;
I am with child.

Court. Cud so, Gnotho,[229] I’ll not tarry so long; five years! I may bury two husbands by that time.

Gnoth. Alas! give the poor woman leave to talk: she with child! ay, with a puppy: as long as I have thee by me, she shall not be with child, I warrant thee.

Aga. The law, and thou, and all, shall find I am with child.

Gnoth. I’ll take my corporal oath I begat it not, and then thou diest for adultery.

Aga. No matter, that will ask some time in the proof.

Gnoth. O, you’d be stoned to death, would you? all old women would die a’ that fashion with all their hearts; but the law shall overthrow you the tother way, first.

Court. Indeed, if it be so, I will not linger so long, Gnotho.[230]

Gnoth. Away, away! some botcher has got it; ’tis but a cushion, I warrant thee: the old woman is loath to depart[231]; she never sung other tune in her life.

Court. We will not have our noses bored with a cushion, if it be so.

Gnoth. Go, go thy ways, thou old almanac at the twenty-eighth day of December, e’en almost out of date! Down on thy knees, and make thee ready; sell some of thy clothes to buy thee a death’s head, and put upon thy middle finger: your least-considering bawd does[232] so much; be not thou worse, though thou art an old woman, as she is: I am cloyed with old stock-fish; here’s a young perch is sweeter meat by half: prithee, die before thy day, if thou canst, that thou mayst not be counted a witch.

Aga. No, thou art a witch, and I’ll prove it: I said I was with child, thou knewest no other but by sorcery: thou saidst it was a cushion, and so it is; thou art a witch for’t, I’ll be sworn to’t.

Gnoth. Ha, ha, ha! I told thee ’twas a cushion. Go, get thy sheet ready; we’ll see thee buried as we go to church to be married.