A Hall in Tailby’s Lodging.
Enter Tailby, and Jack trussing him.[624]

Tai. Came this suit from mistress Cleveland?

Jack. She sent it secretly, sir.

Tai. A pretty requiteful squall! I like that woman that can remember a good turn three months after the date; it shews both a good memory and a very feeling spirit.

Jack. This came fortunately, sir, after all your ill luck last night.

Tai. I’d beastly casting, Jack.

Jack. O abominable, sir! you had the scurviest hand: the old serving-man swooped up all.

Tai. I am glad the fortune lighted upon the poor fellow, by my troth; it made his master mad.

Jack. Did you mark that, sir? I warrant he has the doggedest master of any poor fellow under the dog-sign: I’d rather serve your worship, I’ll say that behind your back, sir, for nothing, as indeed I have no standing wages at all, your worship knows.

Tai. O, but your vails, Jack, your vails considered, when you run to and fro between me and mistresses——

Jack. I must confess my vails are able to keep an honest man, go I where I list.

Tai. Go to then, Jack.

Jack. But those vails stand with the state of your body, sir, as long as you hold up your head: if that droop once, farewell you, farewell I, farewell all; and droop it will, though all the caudles in Europe should put to their helping hands to’t: ’tis e’en as uncertain as playing, now up and now down;[625] for if the bill down rise to above thirty, here’s no place for players; so if your years rise to above forty, there’s no room for old lechers.

Tai. And that’s[626] the reason all rooms are taken up for young templars.

Jack. You’re in the right, sir.

Tai. Pize on’t, I pawned a good beaver hat to master Frip last night, Jack: I feel the want of it now. Hark, who’s that knocks? [Knocking within.

Enter a Servant, bringing in a letter and a beaver hat.

Ser. Is master Tailby stirring?

Jack. What’s your pleasure with him? he walks here i’ th’ hall.

Ser. Give your worship good morrow.

Tai. Welcome, honest lad.

Ser. A letter from my mistress.

Tai. Who’s thy mistress?

Ser. Mistress Newblock.

Tai. Mistress Newblock, my sincere love! how does she?

Ser. Faith, only ill in the want of your sight.

Tai. Alas, dear sweet! I’ve had such business, I protest I ne’er stood still since I saw her.

Ser. She has sent your worship a beaver hat here, with a band best in fashion.

Tai. How shall I requite this dear soul?

Ser. ’Tis not a thing fit for me to tell you, sir, for I have three years to serve yet: your worship knows how, I warrant you.

Tai. I know the drift of her letter; and for the beaver, say I accept it highly.

Ser. O, she will be a proud woman of that, sir!

Tai. And hark thee; tell thy mistress, as I’m a gentleman, I’ll despatch her out of hand the first thing I do, a’ my credit: canst thou remember these words now?

Ser. Yes, sir; as you are a gentleman, you’ll despatch her out of hand the first thing you do.

Tai. Ay, a’ my credit.

Ser. O, of your credit; I thought not of that, sir.

Tai. Remember that, good boy.

Ser. Fear it not now, sir. [Exit.

Tai. I dreamt to-night, Jack, I should have a secret supply out a’ th’ city.

Jack. Your dream crawls out partly well, sir.—

Enter a Servant, bringing in a purse.

What news there now?

Ser. I have an errand to master Tailby.

Jack. Yonder walks my master.

Ser. Mistress Tiffany commends her to your worship, and has sent you your ten pound in gold back again, and says she cannot furnish you of the same lawn you desire till after All-holland-tide.[627]

Tai. Thank her she would let me understand so much. [Exit Servant.]—Ha, ha!

This wench will live: why, this was sent like a
Workwoman now; the rest are botchers to her.
Faith, I commend her cunning: she’s a fool
That makes her servant fellow to her heart;
It robs her of respect, dams up all duty,
Keeps her in awe e’en of the slave she keeps:
This takes a wise course—I commend her more—
Sends back the gold I never saw before.
Well, women are my best friends [still], i’faith.
Take[628] lands: give me
Good legs, firm back, white hand, black eye, brown hair,
And add but to these five a comely stature;
Let others live by art, and I by nature. [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Room, with a door opening into Fitsgrave’s Bed-chamber.
Enter Goldstone.

Gol. Master Bouser, master Bouser! ha, ha, ho! master Bouser!

Fit. [within] Holla!

Gol. What, not out of thy kennel, master Bouser?

Fit. [within] Master Goldstone? you’re an early gallant, sir.

Gol. A fair cloak yonder, i’faith. [Aside.]—By my troth, ’a bed, master Bouser? you remember your promise well o’ernight!

Fit. [within] Why, what’s a’ clock, sir?

Gol. Do you ask that now? why, the chimes are spent at Saint Bride’s.

Fit. [within] ’Tis a gentleman’s hour: faith, master Goldstone, I’ll be ready in a trice.

Gol. Away, there’s no trust to you!

Fit. [within] Faith, I’ll come instantly.

Gol. Nay, choose whether you will or no,—by my troth, your cloak shall go before you.

[Aside, and takes Fitsgrave’s cloak.

Fit. [within] Nay, master Goldstone, I ha’ sworn: do you hear, sir?

Gol. Away, away! faith, I’m angry with you: pox, a-bed now! I’m ashamed of it. [Exit.

As Goldstone goes out, Fitsgrave enters in his shirt.

Fit. Foot, my cloak, my cloak, master Goldstone! ’slife, what mean you by this, sir? you’ll bring it back again, I hope. No? not yet? by my troth, I care very little for such kind of jesting: methinks this familiarity now extends a little too far, unless it be a new fashion come forth this morning secretly; yesterday ’twould have shewn unmannerly and saucily. I scarce know yet what to think on’t. Well, there’s no great profit in standing in my shirt, I’ll on with my clothes: has bound me to follow the suit: my cloak’s a stranger; he was made but yesterday, and I do not love to trust him alone in company. [Exit.

SCENE IV.

A Street.
Enter Frippery, wearing Fitsgrave’s cloak.

Fri. What may I conjecture of this Goldstone? he has not only pawned to me this cloak, but the very diamond and sapphire which I bestowed upon my new love at master Primero’s house: the cloak’s new, and comes fitly to do me great grace at a wedding this morning, to which I was solemnly invited. I can continue change more than the proudest gallant of ’em all, yet never bestow penny of myself, my pawns do so kindly furnish me: but the sight of these jewels is able to cloy me, did I not preserve my stomach the better for the wedding-dinner. A gift could never have come in a more patient hour, nor to be better disgested.[629] Is she proved false?

But I’ll not fret to-day nor chafe my blood.

Enter Pursenet.

Pur. Ha! yonder goes Bouser: the place is fit.—[Calling out to Boy within.] Boy, stand with my horse at corner.—

I owe you for a pink three inches deep, sir.

[Strikes down Frippery.
Fri. O—O—O!
Pur. Take that in part of payment for Combe Park. [Exit.
Fri. O—O—O!
Enter Fitsgrave.

Fit. How now, who’s this? ’sfoot, one of our gallants knocked down like a calf! Is there such a plague of ’em here at London, they begin to knock ’em a’ th’ head already?

Fri. O master Bouser! pray, lend me your hand, sir; I am slain!

Fit. Slain and alive? O cruel execution!
What man so savage-spirited durst presume
To strike down satin on two taffetas cut,
Or lift his hand against a beaver hat?

Fri. Some rogue that owes me money, and had no other means. To a wedding-dinner! I must be dressed myself, methinks.

Fit. How? why, this [is] my cloak: life, how came my cloak hither?

Fri. Is it yours, sir? master Goldstone pawned it to me this morning fresh and fasting, and borrowed five pound upon’t.

Fit. How, pawned it? pray, let me hear out this story: come, and I’ll lead[630] you to the next barber-surgeon’s.—Pawned my cloak?

[Exit, leading out Frippery.

SCENE V.

Another Street.
Enter Bungler, Goldstone, and Marmaduke.

Bun. How now, Marmaduke? what’s the wager?

Mar. Nay, my care is at end, sir, now I am come to the sight of you. My mistress, your cousin, entreats you to take part of a dinner with her at her house,[631] and bring what gentleman you please to accompany you.

Bun. Thank my sweet coz: I’ll munch with her, say.

Mar. I’ll tell her so.

Bun. Marmaduke——

Mar. Sir?

Bun. Will there be any stock-fish, thinkest thou?

Mar. How, sir?

Bun. Tell my coz I’ve a great appetite to stock-fish, i’faith. [Exit Marmaduke.]—Master Goldstone, I’ll entreat you to be the gentleman that shall accompany me.

Gol. Not me, sir?

Bun. You, sir.

Gol.[632] By my troth, concluded. What state bears thy coz, sirrah?

Bun. O, a fine merchant’s wife.

Gol. Or rather, a merchant’s fine wife.

Bun. Trust me, and that’s the properer phrase here at London; and ’tis as absurd too to call him fine merchant, for, being at sea, a man knows not what pickle he is in.

Gol. Why, true.

Bun. Yet my coz will be served in plate, I can tell you; she has her silver jugs and her gilt tankards.

Gol. Fie!

Bun. Nay, you shall see a house dressed up, i’faith; you must not think to tread a’ th’ ground when you come there.

Gol. No? how then?

Bun. Why, upon paths made of fig-frails[633] and white blankets cut out in steaks.[634]

Gol. Away!—I have thought of a device. [Aside.]—Where shall we meet an hour hence?

Bun. In Paul’s.

Gol. Agreed. [Exit Bungler.

Enter Fitsgrave.
Fit. The broker-gallant and the cheating-gallant:
Now I have found ’em all, I so rejoice,
That the redeeming of my cloak I weigh not.
I have spied him.

Gol. Pax,[635] here’s Bouser.

Fit. Master Goldstone, my cloak! come, where’s my cloak, sir?

Gol. O, you’re a sure gentleman, especially if a man stand in need of you! he may be slain in a morning to breakfast ere you vouchsafe to peep out of your lodging.

Fit. How?

Gol. No less than four gallants, as I’m a gentleman, drew all upon me at once, and opposed me so spitefully, that I not only lost your cloak i’ th’ fray——

Fit. Comes it in there?

Gol. But my rich hangers,[636] sirrah,—I think thou hast seen ’em.

Fit. Never, i’faith, sir.

Gol. Those with the two unicorns, all wrought in pearl and gold: pox on’t, it frets me ten times more than the loss of the paltry cloak: prithee, and[637] thou lovest me, speak no more on’t; it brings the unicorns into my mind, and thou wouldst not think how the conceit grieves me. I will not do thee that disgrace, i’faith, to offer thee any satisfaction, for in my soul I think thou scornest it; thou bearest that mind, in my conscience; I have always said so of thee. Fare thee well: when shall I see thee at my chamber, when?

Fit. Every day, shortly.

Gol. I have fine toys to shew thee.

Fit. You win my heart then. [Exit Goldstone.] The devil scarce knew what a portion he gave his children when he allowed ’em large impudence to live upon, and so turned ’em into th’ world: surely he gave away the third part of the riches of his kingdom; revenues are but fools to’t.

The filed[638] tongue and the undaunted forehead
Are mighty patrimonies, wealthier than those
The city-sire or the court-father leaves:
In these behold it: riches oft, like slaves,
Revolt; they bear their foreheads to their graves.
What soonest grasps advancement, men’s[639] great suits,
Trips down rich widows, gains repute and name,
Makes way where’er it comes, bewitches all?
Thou, Impudence! the minion of our days,
On whose pale cheeks favour and fortune plays.
Call you these your five gallants? trust me, they’re rare fellows:
They live on nothing; many cannot live on something;
Here they may take example.—Suspectless virgin,
How easy had thy goodness been beguil’d!
Now only rests, that as to me they’re known,
So to the world their base arts may be shewn. Exit.

SCENE VI.

The Middle Aisle of St. Paul’s.[640]
Enter Pursenet and Boy.

Pur. Art sure thou sawest him receive’t, boy?

Boy. Forty pound in gold, as I’m a gentleman born.

Pur. Thy father gave the ram’s head,[641] boy?

Boy. No, you’re deceived; my mother gave that, sir.

Pur. What’s thy mother’s is thy father’s.

Enter Pyamont.

Boy. I’m sorry it holds in the ram’s head. See, here he walks; I was sure he came into Paul’s: the gold had been yours, master, long ere this, but that he wears both his hands in his pockets.

Pur. How unfortunately is my purpose seated! what the devil should come in his mind to keep in his hands so long? the biting but of a paltry louse would do me great kindness now; I’d know[642] not how to requite it: will no rascal creature assist me? Stay, what if I did impudently salute ’em out? goodgood. Boy, be ready, boy.

Boy. Upon the least advantage, sir.

Pur. You’re most devoutly met in Paul’s, sir.

Py. So are you, but I scarce remember you, sir.

Pur. O, I cry you mercy, sir; I pray, pardon me; I fear I have tendered an offence, sir: troth, I took you at the first for one master Dumpling, a Norfolk gentleman.

[While Pursenet speaks, the Boy watches in vain for an opportunity to pick Pyamont’s pocket.

Py. There’s no harm done yet, sir.

Pur. I hope he is there by this time. [Aside.]—How now, boy, hast it?

Boy. No, by troth, have I not; this labour’s lost: ’tis in the right pocket, and he kept that hand in sure enough.

Pur. Unpractised gallant! salute me but with one hand, like a counterfeit soldier? O times and manners! are we grown beasts? do we salute by halves? are not our limbs at leisure?

Where’s comely nurture? the Italian kiss,
Or the French cringe, with the Polonian waist?
Are all forgot?
Then misery follows.—Surely fate forbade it:
Had he employ’d but his right hand, I’d had it.
Enter Bungler.

It must be an everlasting device, I think, that procures both his hands out at once.

[Aside, and exit with Boy.

Py. Do you walk, sir?[643]

Bun. No, I stay a little for a gentleman’s coming too.

Py. Farewell then, sir: I have forty pound in gold about me, which I must presently send down into the country.

Bun. Fare you well, sir. [Exit Pyamont.]—I wonder master Goldstone spares my company so long; ’tis now about the navel of the day, upon the belly of noon.

Enter Goldstone and Fulk, both disguised.

Gol. See where he walks: be sure you let off at a twinkling, now.

Fulk. When did I miss you?—Your worship has forgot you promised mistress Newcut, your cousin, to dine with her this day.

Gol. Mass, that was well remembered.

Bun. I am bold to salute you, sir.

Gol. Sir?

Bun. Is mistress Newcut your cousin, sir?

Gol. Yes, she’s a cousin of mine, sir.

Bun. Then I am a cousin of yours, by the sister’s side.

Gol. Let me salute you then; I shall be glad of your farther acquaintance.

Bun. I am a bidden guest there too.

Gol. Indeed, sir!

Bun. Faith, invited this morning.

Gol. Your good company shall be kindly embraced, sir.

Bun. I walk a turn or two here for a gentleman, but I think he’ll either overtake me, or be before me.

Gol. ’Tis very likely, sir.—There, sirrah, go to dinner, and about two wait for me.

Bun. Nay, let him come between two and three, cousin, for we love to sit long at dinner i’ th’ city.

Gol. Come, sweet cousin.

Bun. Nay, cousin; keep your way, cousin; good cousin, I will not, i’faith, cousin. [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.

A Room in Mistress Newcut’s House: Marmaduke laying the cloth for dinner.
Enter Mistress Newcut.

Mis. N. Why, how now, sirrah? upon twelve of the clock, and not the cloth laid yet? must we needs keep Exchange time still?

Mar. I am about it, forsooth.

Mis. N. You’re about it, forsooth? you’re still about many things, but you ne’er do one well. I am an ass to keep thee in th’ house, now my husband’s at sea; thou hast no audacity with thee; a foolish, dreaming lad, fitter to be in the garret than in any place else; no grace nor manly behaviour: when didst thou ever come to me but with thy head hanging down? O decheerful ’prentice, uncomfortable servant! [Exit Marmaduke.]—Pray heaven the gull, my cousin, has so much wit left as to bring master Tailby along with him, my comfort, my delight! for that was the chiefest cause I did invite him. I bade him bring what gentleman he pleased to accompany him; as far as I durst go: why may he not then make choice of master Tailby? had he my wit or feeling he would do’t.

Enter Bungler, and Goldstone disguised.

Bun. Where’s my sweet cousin here? does she lack any guess?[644]

Mis. N. Ever such guess as you: you’re welcome, cousin.

Gol. I am rude, lady.

Mis. N. You’re most welcome, sir.

Bun. There will be a gallant here anon, coz; he promised faithfully.

Mis. N. Who is’t? master Tailby?

Bun. Master Tailby? no, master Goldstone.

Mis. N. Master Goldstone? I could think well of that Goldstone were’t not for one vild[645] trick he has.

Gol. What’s that, lady?

Mis. N. In jest he will pawn his punks for suppers.

Gol. That’s a vild part in him, i’faith, and[646] he were my brother.

Mis. N. Pray, gentlemen, sit awhile; your dinner shall come presently. [Exit.

Gol. Yea, mistress Newcut? at first give me a trip?
A close bite always asks a secret nip. [Aside.

Bun. My cousin here is a very kind-natured soul, i’faith, in her humour.

Gol. Pooh, you know her not so well as I, coz; I have observed her in all her humours; you ne’er saw her a little waspish, I think.

Bun. I have [not], i’faith.

Gol. Pooh, then ye ne’er saw pretty humour in your life; I can bring her into’t when I list.

Bun. Would you could, i’faith!

Gol. Would I could? by my troth, and I were sure thou couldst keep thy countenance, coz, what a pretty jest have I thought upon already to entertain time before dinner!

Bun. Prithee, coz, what is’t? I love a jest a’ life,[647] i’faith.

Gol. Ah, but I am jealous[648] you will not keep your countenance, i’faith! Why, ye shall see a pretty story of a humour.[649] Faith, I’ll try you for once: you know my cousin will wonder when she comes in to see the cloth laid, and ne’er a salt upon the board.

Bun. That’s true, i’faith.

Gol. Now will I stand a while out of sight with it, and give her humour play a little.

Bun. Coz, dost thou love me? and thou wilt ever do any thing for me, do’t.

Gol. Marry, I build upon you[r] countenance.

Bun. Why, dost thou think I’m an ass, coz?

Gol. I would be loath to undertake it else; for if you should burst out presently, coz, the jest would be spoiled.

Bun. Why, do not I know that? Away, stand close: [exit Goldstone with the salt-cellar] so, so; mum, cousin.—A merry companion, i’faith: here will be good sport anon,—whist, she comes.

Re-enter Mistress Newcut.

Mis. N. I make you stay[650] long for a bad dinner here, cousin; if master Goldstone were come, the meat’s e’en ready.

Bun. Some great business detains him, cousin; but he’ll not be long now.

Mis. N. Why, how now? cuds my life!——

Bun. Why——

Mis. N. Was ever mistress so plagued with a shuttle-headed servant!—Why, Marmaduke!

Re-enter Marmaduke.

Mar. I come, forsooth.

Mis. N. Able to shame me from generation to generation!

Mar. Did you call, forsooth?

Mis. N. Come hither, forsooth: did you lay this cloth?

Mar. Yes, forsooth.

Mis. N. Do you use to lay a cloth without a salt, a salt, a salt, a salt, a salt, a salt!

Mar. How many salts would you have? I’m sure I set the best i’ th’ house upon the board.

Bun. How, cousin? [sings] Cousin, cousin, did call, coz?

Mis. N. Did you see a salt upon the board when you came in?

Bun. Pooh!

Mis. N. Come, come, I thought as much; beshrew your fingers, where is’t now?

Bun. Your cousin yonder——

Mis. N. Why, the man’s mad!

Bun. Cousin, hist, cousin!

Mis. N. What say you?

Bun. Pooh, I call not you, I call my cousin.—Come forth with the salt, cousin! Ha! how? nobody? Why, was not he that came in e’en now your cousin?

Mis. N. My cousin? O my bell-salt, O my great bell-salt!

Re-enter Goldstone in his own dress.

Bun. The tenor bell-salt. O, here comes master Goldstone now, cousin; he may tell us some news on him.—Did you not meet a fellow about door with a great silver salt under his arm?

Gol. No, sure; I met none such.

Mis. N. Pardon me, sir, I forgot all this while to bid you welcome. I shall loathe this room for ever. Take hence the cloth, you unlucky, maple-faced[651] rascal.—Come, you shall dine in my chamber, sir.

Gol. No better place, lady. [Exeunt.

SCENE VIII.