The Widdow A Comedie. As it was Acted at the private House in Black-Fryers, with great Applause, by His late Majesties Servants.
Written by { Ben: Johnson.
John Fletcher.
Tho: Middleton. } Gent.
Printed by the Originall Copy. London, Printed for Humphrey Moseley and are to be Sold at his Shop, at the Sign of the Princes Arms in St. Pauls Church-yard. 1652. 4to.
On the title-page of a copy of the 4to, in my possession, “Ben: Johnson” and “John Fletcher” are drawn through with a pen, and the word “alone” is written, in an old hand, after “Tho: Middleton.”
This drama has been reprinted in the various editions of Dodsley’s Old Plays (vol. vi. of the first ed. and vol. xii. of the last two eds.); also in Weber’s edition of Beaumont and Fletcher’s Works, vol. xiv.
Malone, by mistake, has stated that “Middleton wrote The Widow with Fletcher and Massinger:” Life of Shakespeare, p. 434—(Sh. by Boswell, vol. ii.)
“He [Ben Jonson] is said to have assisted Middleton and Fletcher in writing The Widow, which must have appeared about this time [i. e. soon after 1621]. This comedy was very popular, and not undeservedly, for it has a considerable degree of merit. I cannot, however, discover many traces of Jonson in it. The authors’ names rest, I believe, on the authority of the editor, A. Gough, who sent the play to the press in 1652.” Such is Gifford’s note on Memoirs of B. Jonson, p. cxliv. But in a note on Jonson’s New Inn (Works, vol. v. p. 433), he says, that The Widow “appeared on the stage so early as 1618.”
The last editor of Dodsley’s Old Plays thinks “there is internal evidence that Ben Jonson contributed to The Widow, and it is rather surprising that Mr. Gifford did not trace his pen through the whole of the fourth act.”
The mention of “yellow bands” as “hateful” (see act v. sc. 1, and note), in consequence of Mrs. Turner’s execution, November 1615, shews that The Widow was written after that period: but in all probability it was produced very soon after, for a play, entitled The Honest Lawyer, by S. S., and printed in 1616, contains a manifest imitation of a passage in act iv. sc. 2: vide note. We can hardly suppose that the author (or authors) of The Widow would have borrowed from the dramatist just mentioned.
We learn from Sir Henry Herbert’s papers that The Widow was one of the stock-pieces belonging to the Red Bull actors, who afterwards became the king’s servants, and that it was played in 1660: see Malone’s Hist. Acc. of the English Stage, pp. 273-5 (Shakespeare, by Boswell, vol. iii.). Downes also mentions that it was performed at a somewhat later period: vide Roscius Anglicanus, p. 17, ed. Waldron. And Langbaine says, “It was reviv’d not many years ago, at the King’s House, with a new Prologue and Epilogue, which the Reader may find in London Drollery, p. 11, 12.” Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets, p. 298.
Considering how the curious pay some part of their esteem to excellent persons in the careful preservation but of their defaced statues; instead of decayed medals of the Romans’ greatness, I believed it of more value to present you this lively piece, drawn by the art of Jonson, Fletcher, and Middleton, which is thought to have a near resemblance to the portraiture we have in Terence of those worthy minds, where the great Scipio and Lælius strove to twist the poet’s ivy with the victor’s bays. As the one was deserved by their work in subduing their country’s enemies, so the other by their recreation and delight, which was to banish that folly and sadness that were worse than Hannibal or all the monsters and venom of Africa. Since our own countrymen are not in any thing inferior, it were to be wished they had but so much encouragement, that the past license and abuses charged on the stage might not ever be thought too unpardonable to pass in oblivion, and so good laws and instructions for manners, uncapable of being regulated, which, if but according to this pattern, certainly none need think himself the less a good Christian for owning the same desire as
Fran. Martino!
Mar. Signor Francisco? you’re the luckiest gentleman to meet or see first in a morning: I never saw you yet but I was sure of money within less than half an hour.
Fran. I bring you the same luck still.
Mar. What, you do not? I hope, sir, you are not come for another warrant?
Fran. Yes, faith, for another warrant.
Mar. Why, there’s my dream come out then. I never dreamed of a buttock but I was sure to have money for a warrant; it is the luckiest part of all the body to me: let every man speak as he finds. Now your usurer is of opinion, that to dream of the devil is your wealthier dream; and I think if a man dream of that part that brings many to the devil, ’tis as good, and has all one smatch indeed, for if one be the flesh, th’ other’s the broth: so ’tis in all his members, and[579] we mark it; if gluttony be the meat, lechery is the porridge; they’re both boiled together, and we clerks will have our modicum too, though it conclude in the twopenny chop.
Fran. There’s like to be a good house kept then when fire and water’s forbidden to come into the kitchen.—
Fran. That one turn help’d you well.
Mar. 'T has helped me to money indeed for many a warrant. I am forty dollars the better for that one turn; and[582] 'twould come off quicker, 'twere ne’er a whit the worse for me. But indeed, when thieves are taken, and break away twice or thrice one after another, there’s my gains; then go[583] out more warrants to fetch 'em again. One fine nimble villain may be worth a man ten dollars in and out a’ that fashion: I love such a one with my heart; ay, and will help him to ’scape too, and[582] I can: hear you me that: I’ll have him in at all times at a month’s warning; nay, say I let him run like a summer nag all the vacation—see you these blanks? I’ll send him but one of these bridles, and bring him in at Michaelmas with a vengeance. Nothing kills my heart but when one of 'em dies, sir; then there’s no hope of more money: I had rather lose at all times two of my best kindred than an excellent thief, for he’s a gentleman I’m more beholding[584] to.
Mar. I’m ready now, signor. Here are blank warrants of all dispositions; give me but the name and nature of your malefactor, and I’ll bestow him according to his merits.
Mar. Wilful murder? O, I love a’ life[586] to have such a fellow come under my fingers! like a beggar that’s long a-taking leave of a fat louse, I’m loath to part with him; I must look upon him over and over first. Are you wilful? i’faith, I’ll be as wilful as you then. [Writes.
Phil. Ay, there’s thy love now! it begins in barbarism. She buys a goose with feathers that loves a gentleman for’s hair; she may be cozened to her face, wench. Away: he takes his leave. Reach me that letter hither; quick, quick, wench.
Mar. [giving warrant to Francisco] Nay, look upon’t, and spare not: every one cannot get that kind of warrant from me, signor. Do you see this prick i’ th’ bottom? it betokens power and speed; it is a privy mark that runs betwixt the constables and my master: those that cannot read, when they see this, know ’tis for lechery or murder; and this being away, the warrant comes gelded and insufficient.
Mar. Paper?—’Tis the warrant, I hope: if it be, I’ll hide it, and make him pay for’t again. No, pox; ’tis not so happy. [Aside.
Phil. What is’t, sirrah?
Mar. ’Tis nothing but a letter, forsooth.
Phil. Is that nothing?
Mar. Nothing in respect of a warrant, mistress.
Phil. A letter? why, 't has been many a man’s undoing, sir.
Mar. So has a warrant, and[591] you go to that, mistress.
Mar. Why, mistress, this letter is at home already.
Phil. At home? how mean you, sir?
Mar. You shall hear, mistress [reads]:—To the deservingest of all her sex, and most worthy of his best respect and love, mistress Philippa Brandino.
A man that has a place must take money of any body: please you to throw me down but half a dollar, and I’ll make you a warrant for him now; that’s all I care for him.
Mar. He needs no warrant, master, that goes about such business: a cuckold-maker carries always his warrant about him.
Mar. [reads letter] Fair, dear, and incomparable mistress——
Bran. O, every letter draws a tooth, methinks!
Mar. And it leads mine to watering.
Phil. Here’s no villany![593]
Mar. [reads] My love being so violent, and the opportunity so precious in your husband’s absence to-night, who, as I understand, takes a journey this morning——
Mar. [reads] I will make bold, dear mistress, though your chastity has given me many a repulse, to wait the sweet blessings of this long-desired opportunity at the back gate, between nine and ten this night——
Mar. [reads] Where, if your affection be pleased to receive me, you receive the faithfullest that ever vowed service to woman.—Francisco.
Ric. Nay, mark, mark it, Francisco; it was the naturallest courtesy that ever was ordained; a young gentleman being spent, to have a rich widow set him up again. To see how fortune has provided for all mortality’s ruins! your college for your old-standing scholar, your hospital for your lame-creeping soldier, your bawd for your mangled roarer,[595] your open house for your beggar, and your widow for your gentleman;—ha, Francisco?
Fran. Ay, sir, you may be merry; you’re in hope of a rich widow.
Ric. And why shouldst not thou be in hope of another, if there were any spirit in thee? thou art as likely a fellow as any is in the company. I’ll be hanged now if I do not hit the true cause of thy sadness; and confess truly, i’faith; thou hast some land unsold yet, I hold my life.
Fran. Marry, I hope so, sir.
Ric. A pox on’t, have I found it? ’Slight, away with’t with all speed, man! I was never merry at heart while I had a foot. Why, man, fortune never minds us till we are left alone to ourselves; for what need she take care for them that do nothing but take care for themselves? Why, dost think if I had kept my lands still, I should ever have looked after a rich widow? alas, I should have married some poor young maid, got five and twenty children, and undone myself!
Fran. I protest, sir, I should not have the face though, to come to a rich widow with nothing.
Ric. Why, art thou so simple as thou makest thyself? dost think, i’faith, I come to a rich widow with nothing?
Fran. I mean with state not answerable to her’s.
Come, I perceive I must shew you a little of my fortune, and instruct you.
I perceive you must begin like a young vaulter, and get up at horse-tail before you get into the saddle: have you the boldness to utter your mind to me now, being but in hose[600] and doublet? I think, if I should put on a farthingale, thou wouldst never have the heart to do’t.
Fran. Perhaps I should not then for laughing at you, sir.
Ric. In the mean time I fear I shall laugh at thee without one.
Ric. You shall pardon me for that, friend: I will not think it till I see’t.
Now ’tis my best course to look mildly; I shall put him out at first else.
Ric. ’Tis a good hearing, sir.—If he be not out now, I’ll be hanged!
Fran. You play a scornful woman! I perceive, Ricardo, you have not been used to 'em: why, I’ll come in at my pleasure with you. Alas, ’tis nothing for a man to talk when a woman gives way to’t! one shall seldom meet with a lady so kind as thou playedst her.
Ric. Not altogether, perhaps: he that draws their pictures must flatter 'em a little; they’ll look he that plays 'em should do’t a great deal then.
Ric. Pox on thee, thou art the beastliest, crossest baggage that ever man met withal! but I’ll see thee hanged, sweet lady, ere I be daunted with this.—Why, thou’rt too awkward, sirrah.
Fran. Hang thee, base fellow!