Sand. Unmerciful in torment!
Will this disease never forsake mine eye?
Phil. It must be kill’d first, if it grow so painful;
Work it out strongly at one time, that th’ anguish
May never more come near thy precious sight.
If my eternal sleep will give thee rest,
Close up mine eyes with opening of my breast.
Sand. I feel thy wrongs at midnight, and the weight
Of thy close treacheries: thou hast a friendship
As dangerous as a strumpet’s, that will kiss
Men into poverty, distress, and ruin;
And to make clear the face of thy foul deeds,
Thou work’st by seconds. [Drawing his sword.
Phil. Then may the sharp point of an inward horror
Strike me to earth, and save thy weapon guiltless!
Sand. Not in thy father?
Phil. How much is truth abus’d
When ’tis kept silent! O defend me, friendship!
Sav. True,
[7] your anger’s in an error all this while, sir,
But that a lover’s weapon ne’er
[8] hears reason,
’Tis out still, like a madman’s: hear but me, sir;
’Tis my young master’s injury, not yours,
That you quarrel with him for; and this shews
As if you’d challenge a lame man the field,
And cut off’s head, because he has lost his legs:
His grief makes him dead flesh, as it appear’d
By offering up his breast to you; for, believe it, sir,
Had he not greater crosses of his own,
Your hilts could not cross him——
Sand. How!
Sav. Not your hilts, sir.
Come, I must have you friends; a pox of weapons!
There’s a whore gapes for’t; put it up i’ the scabbard.
Sand. [sheathing his sword] Thou’rt a mad slave!
Sav. Come, give me both your hands,
You’re in a quagmire both; should I release you now,
Your wits would both come home in a stinking pickle;
Your father’s old nose would smell you out presently.
Phil. Tell him the secret, which no mortal knows
But thou and I; and then he will confess
How much he wrong’d the patience of his friend.
Sav. Then thus the marigold opens at the splendour
Of a hot, constant friendship ’twixt you both.
’Tis not unknown to your ear, some ten years since,
My mistress, his good mother, with a daughter
About the age of six, crossing to Guernsey,
Was taken by the Dunkirks,
[9] sold both, and separated,
As the last news brings hot,—the first and last
So much discover’d; for in nine years’ space
No certain tidings of their life or death,
Or what place held ’em, earth, the sea, or heaven,
Came to the old man’s ears, the knight my master,
Till about five months since a letter came,
Sent from the mother, which related all
Their taking, selling, separation,
And never meeting; and withal requir’d
Six hundred crowns for ransom; which my old master
No sooner heard the sound, but told the sum,
Gave him
[10] the gold, and sent us both aboard:
We landing by the way—having a care
To lighten us of our carriage, because gold
Is such a heavy metal—eas’d our pockets
In wenches’ aprons: women were made to bear,
But for us gentlemen ’tis most unkindly.
[11]Sand. Well, sir?
Phil. A pure rogue still!
Sav. Amongst the rest, sir,
’Twas my young master’s chance there to doat finely
Upon a sweet young gentlewoman, but one
That would not sell her honour for the Indies,
Till a priest struck the bargain, and then half
A crown despatch’d it;
To be brief, wedded her and bedded her,
Brought her home hither to his father’s house,
And, with a fair tale of mine own bringing up,
She passes for his sister that was sold.
Sand. Let me not lose myself in wondering at thee!
But how made you your score even for the mother?
Sav. Pish, easily; we told him how her fortunes
Mock’d us as they mock’d her; when we were o’ the sea
She was o’ the land; and, as report was given,
When we were landed, she was gone to heaven.
So he believes two lies one error bred,
The daughter ransom’d, and the mother dead.
Sand. Let me admire thee, and withal confess
My injuries to friendship!
Phil. They’re all pardon’d:
These are the arms I bore against my friend.
Sav. But what’s all this to the present? this discourse
Leaves you i’ the bog still.
Phil. On, good Savourwit.
Sav. For yet our policy has cross’d ourselves;
For the old knave, my master, little thinking her
Wife to his son, but his own daughter still,
Seeks out a match for her——
Phil. Here I feel the surgeon
At second dressing.
Sav. And has entertain’d,
Even for pure need, for fear the glass should crack
That is already broken but well solder’d,
A mere sot for her suitor, a rank fox,
One Weatherwise, that wooes by the almanac,
Observes the full and change, an arrant moon-calf;
And yet, because the fool demands no portion
But the bare dower
[12] of her smock, the old fellow,
Worn to the bone with a dry, covetous
[13] itch,
To save his purse, and yet bestow his child,
Consents to waste [her on] lumps of almanac-stuff
Kned with May-butter.
[14] Now, as I have thought on’t,
I’ll spoil him in the baking.
Sand. Prithee, as how, sirrah?
Sav. I’ll give him such a crack in one o’ the sides,
He shall quite run out of my master’s favour.
Phil. I should but too much love thee for that.
Sav. Thus, then,
To help you both at once, and so good night to you:
After my wit has shipp’d away the fool,
As he shall part, I’ll buzz into the ear
Of my old master, that you, sir, master Sandfield,
Dearly affect his daughter, and will take her
With little or no portion; well stood out in’t;
Methinks I see him caper at that news,
And in the full cry, O! This brought about
And wittily dissembled on both parts—
You to affect his love, he to love yours—
I’ll so beguile the father at the marriage,
That each shall have his own; and both being welcom’d
And chamber’d in one house.—as ’tis his pride
To have his children’s children got successively
On his forefathers’ feather-beds,—in the daytimes,
To please the old man’s eyesight, you may dally,
And set a kiss on the wrong lip—no sin in’t,
Brothers and sisters do’t, cousins do more;
But, pray, take heed you be not kin to them:
So in the night-time nothing can deceive you,
Let each know his own work; and there I leave you.
Sand. Let me applaud thee!
Phil. Blest be all thy ends
That mak’st arm’d enemies embracing friends!
About it speedily. [Exit with Sandfield.
Sav. I need no pricking;
I’m of that mettle, so well pac’d and free,
There’s no good riders that use spur to me.