Bran. Welcome, sweet sister! which is the man must have you?
I’d welcome nobody else.
First Suit. Come to me then, sir.
Bran. Are you he, faith, my chain of gold?
[686] I’m glad on’t.
Val. I wonder you can have the face to follow me,
That have so prosecuted things against me.
But I ha’ resolv’d
[687] myself ’tis done to spite me.
Ric. O dearth of truth!
Sec. Suit. Nay, do not spoil thy hair;
Hold, hold, I say; I’ll get thee a widow somewhere.
Ric. If hand and faith be nothing for a contract,
What shall man hope?
Sec. Suit. 'Twas wont to be enough, honey,
When there was honest meaning amongst widows;
But since your bribes came in, ’tis not allow’d
A contract without gifts to bind it fast;
Every thing now must have a feeling
[688] first.—
Do I come near you, widow?
Val. No, indeed, sir,
Nor ever shall, I hope:—and for your comfort, sir,
That sought all means t’ entrap me for my wealth,
Had law unfortunately put you upon me,
You’d lost your labour, all your aim and hopes, sir;
Here stands the honest gentleman, my brother,
To whom I’ve made a deed of gift of all.
Bran. Ay, that she has, i’faith; I thank her, gentlemen;
Look you here, sirs. [Shews writing.
Val. I must not look for pleasures,
That give more grief if they prove false, or fail us,
Than ever they gave joy.
First Suit. Ha’ you serv['d] me so, widow?
Sec. Suit. I’m glad thou hast her not.—Laugh at him, honey; ha, ha!
Val. I must take one that loves me for myself:
Here’s an old gentleman looks not after wealth,
But virtue, manners, and conditions.
[689]First Suit. Yes, by my faith, I must have lordships too, widow.
Val. How, sir?
First Suit. Your manners, virtue, and conditions, widow,
Are pretty things within doors, I like well on 'em;
But I must have somewhat without, lying or being
In the tenure or occupation of master
[690] such a one, ha?
Those are fine things indeed.
Val. Why, sir, you swore to me it was for love.
First Suit. True; but there’s two words to a bargain ever,
All the world over; and if love be one,
I’m sure money’s the other; ’tis no bargain else:
Pardon me, I must dine as well as sup, widow.
Val. Cry mercy, I mistook you all this while, sir;
It was this ancient gentleman indeed,
Whom I crave pardon on.
Sec. Suit. What of me, widow?
Val. Alas, I’ve wrong’d you, sir! ’twas you that swore
You lov’d me for myself.
Sec. Suit. By my troth, but I did not;
Come, father not your lies upon me, widow:
I love you for yourself?—Spit at me, gentlemen,
If ever I’d such a thought.—Fetch me in, widow!
You’ll find your reach too short.
Val. Why, you’ve enough, you say.
Sec. Suit. Ay, but I’ll have
My humour too; you never think of that;
They’re coach-horses, they go together still.
Val. Whom should a widow trust? I’ll swear ’twas one of you
That made me believe so.—Mass, think ’twas you, sir,
Now I remember me.
Ric. I swore too much,
To be believ’d so little.
Val. Was it you then?
Beshrew my heart for wronging of you!—
Ric. Welcome blessing!
Are you mine faithfully now?
Val. As love can make one.
First Suit. Why, this fills the commonwealth so full of beggars,
Marrying for love, which none of mine shall do.
Val. But, now I think on’t, we must part again, sir.
Ric. Again?
Val. You’re in debt, and I, in doubt of all,
Left myself nothing too; we must not hold,
Want on both sides makes all affection cold:
I shall not keep you from that gentleman,
You’ll be his more than mine; and when he list,
He’ll make you lie from me in some sour prison;
Then let him take you now for altogether, sir,
For he that’s mine shall be all mine, or nothing.
Ric. I never felt the evil of my debts
’Till this afflicting minute.
Sec. Suit. I’ll be mad
Once in my days: I have enough to cure me,
And I will have my humour; they are now
But desperate debts again, I ne’er look for 'em:
And ever since I knew what malice was,
I always held it sweeter to sow mischief
Than to receive money; ’tis the finer pleasure.
I’ll give him in his bonds, as 'twere in pity,
To make the match, and bring 'em both to beggary:
Then will they ne’er agree, that’s a sure point;
He’ll give her a black eye within these three days,
Beat half her teeth out by All-hallowtide,
And break the little household stuff they have
With throwing at one another: O sweet sport!— [Aside.
Come, widow, come, I’ll try your honesty:
Here to my honey you’ve made many proffers,
I fear they’re all but tricks.—Here are his debts, gentlemen;