[Kneels.
L. Twi. [raising him] Rise, and a thousand blessings spring up with thee!
Sav. I would we had but one in the meantime;
Let the rest grow at leisure. [Aside.
L. Twi. But know you not this gentleman yet, son?
Phil. I take it’s master Beveril.
Bev. My name’s Beveril, sir.
Phil. Right welcome to my bosom! [Embracing him.
L. Twi. You’d not think, son,
How much I am beholding
[76] to this gentleman,
As far as freedom; he laid out the ransom,
Finding me so distress’d.
Phil. ’Twas worthily done, sir,
And I shall ever rest your servant for’t.
Bev. You quite forget your worth: ’twas my good hap, sir,
To return home that way, after some travels;
Where, finding your good mother so distress’d,
I could not but in pity see her releas’d.
Phil. It was a noble charity, sir; heaven quit
[77] you!
Sav. It comes at last! [Aside.
Bev. I left a sister here,
New married when I last took leave of England.
Phil. O, mistress Low-water.
Bev. Pray, sir, how does she?
Phil. So little comfort I can give you, sir,
That I would fain excuse myself for silence.
Bev. Why, what’s the worst, sir?
Phil. Wrongs have
[78] made her poor.
Bev. You strike my heart: alas, good gentlewoman!
Phil. Here’s a gentleman—
You know him—master Sandfield—
Bev. I crave pardon, sir.
Phil. He can resolve
[79] you from her kinswoman.
Sand. Welcome to England, madam!
Lady Twi. Thanks, good sir.
Phil. Now there’s no way to ’scape, I’m compass’d round;
My shame is like a prisoner set with halberds.
Sav. Pish, master, master, ’tis young flood again,
And you can take your time now; away, quick!
Phil. Push,
[80] thou’st a swimming head.
Sav. Will you but hear me?
When did you lose your tide when I set forth with you?
Phil. That’s true.
Sav. Regard me then, though you’ve no feeling;
I would not hang by the thumbs with a good will.
Phil. I hang by th’ heart, sir, and would fain have ease.
Sav. Then this or none: fly to your mother’s pity,
For that’s the court must help you; you’re quite gone
At common law, no counsellor can hear you;
Confess your follies, and ask pardon for ’em;
Tell her the state of all things, stand not nicely;
The meat’s too hard
To be minc’d now, she breeds young bones by this time;
Deal plainly, heaven will bless thee; turn out all,
And shake your pockets after it; beg, weep,
Kneel, any thing, it will break no bones, man:
Let her not rest, take breathing time, nor leave thee,
Till thou hast got her help.
Phil. Lad, I conceive thee.
Sav. About it, then; it requires haste—do’t well;
There’s but a short street between us and hell.
Bev. Ah, my poor sister!
L. Twi. ’Las, good gentlewoman!
My heart even weeps for her.—Ay, son, we’ll go now.
Phil. May I crave one word, madam?
[
Staying Lady Twilight.
[81]
L. Twi. With me, son?
The more, the better welcome.
Sav. Now, now, luck!
I pray not often; the last prayer I made
Was nine-year old last Bartholomew-tide; ’twould have been
A jolly chopper and
[82] ’t had liv’d till this time.
L. Twi. Why do your words start back? are they afraid
Of her that ever lov’d them?
Phil. I’ve a suit to you, madam.
L. Twi. You’ve told me that already; pray, what is’t?
If’t be so great, my present state refuse it,
I shall be abler, then command and use it;
Whate’er ’t be, let me have warning, to provide for’t.
Phil. [kneels] Provide forgiveness then, for that’s the want
My conscience feels. O, my wild youth has led me
Into unnatural wrongs against your freedom once!
I spent the ransom which my father sent,
To set my pleasures free, while you lay captive.
Sav. He does it finely, faith. [Aside.
L. Twi. And is this all now?
You use me like a stranger; pray, stand up.
Phil. Rather fall flat; I shall deserve yet worse.
L. Twi. [raising Philip] Whate’er your faults are, esteem me still a friend,
Or else you wrong me more in asking pardon
Than when you did the wrong you ask’d it for;
And since you have prepar’d me to forgive you,
Pray, let me know for what; the first fault’s nothing.
Sav. ’Tis a sweet lady every inch of her! [Aside.
Phil. Here comes the wrong then that drives home the rest:
I saw a face at Antwerp that quite drew me
From conscience and obedience; in that fray
I lost my heart, I must needs lose my way;
There went the ransom, to redeem my mind;
’Stead of the money, I brought over her;
And to cast mists before my father’s eyes,
Told him it was my sister, lost so long,
And that yourself was dead: you see the wrong.
L. Twi. This is but youthful still.—O, that word sister
Afflicts me when I think on’t!—I forgive thee
As freely as thou didst it; for, alas,
This may be call’d good dealing to
[83] some parts
That love and youth play
[84] daily among sons.
Sav. She helps our knavery well, that’s one good comfort. [Aside.
Phil. But such is the hard plight my state lives in,
That ’twixt forgiveness I must sin again,
And seek my help where I bestow’d my wrongs:
O mother, pity once, though against reason,
’Cause I can merit none; though my wrongs grieve ye,
[85]Yet let it be your glory to relieve me!
L. Twi. Wherein have I given cause yet of mistrust,
That you should doubt my succour and my love?
Shew me but in what kind I may bestow ’em.
Phil. There came a Dutchman with report this day
That you were living.
L. Twi. Came he so lately?
Phil. Yes, madam;
Which news so struck my father on the sudden,
That he grows jealous
[86] of my faith in both:
These five hours have I kept me from his sight,
And wish’d myself eternally so hid;
And surely, had not your blest presence quicken’d
The flame of life in me, all had gone out.
Now, to confirm me to his trust again,
And settle much aright in his opinion,
Say but she is my sister, and all’s well.
L. Twi. You ask devotion
[87] like a bashful beggar,
That pure need urges, and not lazy impudence;
And to express how glad I am to pity you,
My bounty shall flow over your demand;
I will not only with a constant breath
Approve
[88] that, but excuse thee for my death.
Sav. Why, here’s
A woman made as a man would wish to have her! [Aside.
Phil. O, I am plac’d higher in happiness
Than whence I fell before!
Sav. We’re brave fellows once again, and
[89] we can keep our own:
Now hoffte toffte, our pipes play as loftily! [Aside.
Bev. My sister fled!
Sand. Both fled, that’s the news now: want must obey;
Oppressions came so thick, they could not stay.
Bev. Mean are my fortunes, yet, had I been nigh,
Distress nor wrong should have made virtue fly.
L. Twi. Spoke like a brother, worthy such a sister!
Bev. Grief’s like a new wound, heat beguiles the sense,
For I shall feel this smart more three days hence.
Come, madam, sorrow’s rude, and forgets manners.
[Exeunt all except Savourwit.
Sav. Our knavery is for all the world like a
shifting bankrupt; it breaks in one place, and sets
up in another: he tries all trades, from a goldsmith
to a tobacco-seller; we try all shifts, from an outlaw
to a flatterer: he cozens the husband, and compounds
with the widow; we cozen my master, and
compound with my mistress: only here I turn o’
the right hand from him,—he is known to live like
a rascal, when I am thought to live like a gentleman. [Exit.
SCENE III.
A room in Lady Goldenfleece’s house.
Enter Mistress Low-water and Low-water, both disguised as before.
Mis. Low. I’ve sent in one to the widow.
Low. Well said, Kate!
Thou ply’st thy business close; the coast is clear yet.
Mis. Low. Let me but have warning,
I shall make pretty shift with them.
Low. That thou shalt, wench. [Exit.
Ser. My lady, sir, commends her kindly to you,
And for the third part of an hour, sir,
Desires your patience;
Two or three of her tenants out of Kent
Will hold her so long busied.
Mis. Low. Thank you, sir;
’Tis fit I should attend her time and leisure.
[Exit Servant.
Those were my tenants once; but what relief
Is there in what hath been, or what I was?
’Tis now that makes the man: a last-year’s feast
Yields little comfort for the present humour;
He starves that feeds his hopes with what is past.—
How now?
Low. They’re come, newly alighted.
Mis. Low. Peace, peace!
I’ll have a trick for ’em; look you second me well now.
Low. I warrant thee.
Mis. Low. I must seem very imperious, I can
tell you; therefore, if I should chance to use you
roughly, pray, forgive me beforehand.
Low. With all my heart, Kate.
Mis. Low. You must look for no obedience in
these[90] clothes; that lies in the pocket of my gown.
Low. Well, well, I will not then.
Mis. Low. I hear ’em coming, step back a little,
sir. [Low-water retires.]—Where be those fellows?
Enter Weatherwise, Pepperton, and Overdone.
Who looks out there? is there ne’er a knave i’ th’
house to take those gentlemen’s horses? where wait
you to-day? how stand you, like a dreaming goose
in a corner? the gentlemen’s horses, forsooth!
Low. Yes, an’t like[91] your worship. [Exit.
Pep. What’s here? a strange alteration!
Wea. A new lord! would I were upon my mare’s
back again then!
Mis. Low. Pray, gentlemen, pardon the rudeness of these grooms,
I hope they will be brought to better fashion;
In the meantime, you’re welcome, gentlemen.
All. We thank you, sir.
Wea. Life, here’s quick work! I’ll hold my life,
has struck the widow i’ the right planet, Venus in
cauda! I thought ’twas a lecherous planet that goes
to’t with a caudle.
Mis. Low. How now, sir?
Low. The gentlemen’s horses are set up, sir.
Pep. No, no, no, we’ll away.
Wea. We’ll away.
Mis. Low. How! by my faith, but you shall not
yet, by your leave.—Where’s Bess?—Call your
mistress, sir, to welcome these kind gentlemen, my
friends.
[Exit Low-water.
Pep. How! Bess?
Over. Peg?
Wea. Plain Bess? I know how the world goes
then; he has been a-bed with Bess: i’faith, there’s
no trust to these widows; a young horsing gentleman
carries ’em away clear.
Mis. Low. Now, where’s your mistress, sir? how chance she comes not?
Low. Sir, she requests you to excuse her for a
while; she’s busy with a milliner about gloves.
Mis. Low. Gloves!
Wea. Hoyday! gloves too!
Mis. Low. Could she find no other time to choose
gloves but now, when my friends are here?
Pep. No, sir, ’tis no matter; we thank you for
your good will, sir: to say truth, we have no
business with her at all at this time, i’faith, sir.
Mis. Low. O, that’s another matter; yet stay,
stay, gentlemen, and taste a cup of wine ere you
go.
Over. No, thank you, sir.
Mis. Low. Master Pepperton—master Weatherwise,
will you, sir?
Wea. I’ll see the wine in a drunkard’s shoes
first, and drink’t after he has brewed it. But let
her go; she’s fitted, i’faith; a proud, surly sir here,
he domineers already; one that will shake her
bones, and go to dice with her money, or I have no
skill in a calendar: life, he that can be so saucy to
call her Bess already, will call her prating quean a
month hence.
[Exeunt Weatherwise, Pepperton, and Overdone.
Low. They’ve given thee all the slip.
Mis. Low. So, a fair riddance!
There’s three rubs gone, I’ve a clear way to the mistress
[92].
Low. You’d need have a clear way, because you’re a bad pricker.
Mis. Low. Yet if my bowl take bank, I shall go nigh
To make myself a saver,
Here’s alley-room enough; I’ll try my fortune:
I’m to begin the world like a younger brother;
I know that a bold face and a good spirit
Is all the jointure he can make [a] widow,
And’t shall go hard but I’ll be as rich as he.
Or at least seem so, and that’s wealth enough;
For nothing kills a widow’s heart so much
As a faint, bashful wooer; though he have thousands,
And come with a poor water-gruel spirit
And a fish-market face, he shall ne’er speed;
I would not have himself left a poor widower.
Low. Faith, I’m glad I’m alive to commend thee,
Kate; I shall be sure now to see my commendations
delivered.
Mis. Low. I’ll put her to’t, i’faith.
Low. But soft ye, Kate;
How and
[93] she should accept of your bold kindness?
Mis. Low. A chief point to be thought on, by my faith!
Marry, therefore, sir, be you sure to step in,
For fear I should shame myself and spoil all.
Low. Well, I’ll save your credit then for once;
but look you come there no more.
Mis. Low. Away! I hear her coming.
Low. I am vanish’d. [Exit.
Mis. Low. How does my life, my soul, my dear sweet madam?
L. Gold. I’ve wrong’d your patience, made you stand too long here.
Mis. Low. There’s no such thing, i’faith, madam,
you’re pleas’d to say so.
L. Gold. Yes, I confess I was too slow, sir.
Mis. Low. Why, you shall make me amends for
that, then, with a quickness in your bed.
L. Gold. That were a speedy mends, sir.
Mis. Low. Why, then, you are out of my debt;
I’ll cross the book, and turn over a new leaf with
you.
L. Gold. So, with paying a small debt, I may
chance run into a greater.
Mis. Low. My faith, your credit will be the
better then; there’s many a brave gallant would
be glad of such fortune, and pay use for’t.
L. Gold. Some of them have nothing else to do;
they would be idle and[94] ’twere not for interest.
Mis. Low. I promise you, widow, were I a setter
up, such is my opinion of your payment, I durst
trust you with all the ware in my shop.
L. Gold. I thank you for your good will, I can
have no more.
Mis. Low. Not of me, i’faith; nor that neither,
and[94] you knew[95] all. [Aside.]—Come, make but
short service, widow, a kiss and to bed; I’m very
hungry, i’faith, wench.
L. Gold. What, are you, sir?
Mis. Low. O, a younger brother has an excellent
stomach, madam, worth a hundred of your
sons and heirs, that stay their wedding-stomachs
with a hot bit of a common mistress, and then come
to a widow’s bed like a flash of lightning: you’re
sure of the first of me, not of the five-hundredth of
them: I never took physic yet in my life; you shall
have the doctor continually with them, or some
bottle for his deputy, out flies your moneys for
restoratives and strengthenings; in me ’tis saved
in your purse and found in your children: they’ll
get peevish[96] pothecaries’ stuff, you may weigh ’em
by th’ ounces; I, boys of war, brave commanders,
that shall bear a breadth in their shoulders and a
weight in their hips, and run over a whole country
with a pound a’ beef and a biscuit in their belly.
Ho, widow, my kisses are virgins, my embraces
perfect, my strength solid, my love constant, my
heat comfortable; but, to come to the point, inutterable——
L. Gold. But soft ye, soft ye; because you stand so strictly
Upon your purity, I’ll put you to’t, sir;
Will you swear here you never yet knew woman?
Mis. Low. Never, as man e’er knew her, by this light, widow!
L. Gold. What, what, sir?—’Shrew my heart, he moves me much.
[Aside.
Mis. Low. Nay, since you love to bring a man on’s knees,
I take into the same oath thus much more,
That you are the first widow, or maid, or wife,
That ever I in suit of love did court,
Or honestly did woo: how say you to that, widow?
L. Gold. Marry, I say, sir, you had a good portion
of chastity left you, though ill fortune run
away with the rest.
Mis. Low. That I kept for thee, widow; she’s
of fortune, and all her strait-bodied daughters;
thou shalt have’t, widow. [Kissing her.
L. Gold. Push,[97] what do you mean?
Mis. Low. I cannot bestow’t better.
L. Gold. I’ll call my servants.
Mis. Low. By my troth, you shall not, madam.
Low. Does your worship call, sir?
Mis. Low. Ha, pox! are you peeping?—
[
Throws[98] something at Low-water,
who goes out.
He came in a good time, I thank him for’t. [Aside.
L. Gold. What do you think of me? you’re very forward, sir!
Mis. Low. Extremity of love.
L. Gold. You say you’re ignorant;
It should not seem so surely by your play,
For aught I see, you may make one yourself,
You need not hold the cards to any gamester.
Mis. Low. That love should teach men ways to wrong itself!
L. Gold. Are these the first-fruits of your boldness, sir?
If all take after these, you may boast on ’em,
There comes few such to market among women;
Time you were taken down, sir.—Within there!
Mis. Low. I’ve lost my way again:
There’s but two paths that lead
[99] to widows’ beds,
That’s wealth or forwardness, and I’ve took the wrong one. [Aside.
Re-enter Weatherwise, Pepperton, and Overdone, with Servant.
Ser. He marry my lady! why, there’s no such thought yet. [Exit.
Mis. Low. O, here they are all again too! [Aside.
L. Gold. Are you come, gentlemen?
I wish no better men.
Wea. O, the moon’s chang’d now!
L. Gold. See you that gentleman yonder?
Pep. Yes, sweet madam.
L. Gold. Then, pray, be witness all of you, with this kiss [Kisses Mistress Low-water.
I choose him for my husband——
Wea.
Pep.
Over. bracket A pox on’t!
L. Gold. And with this parted gold, that two hearts join.
[Breaks gold into two pieces, and gives one to
Mistress Low-water.
Mis. Low. Never with chaster love than this of mine!
L. Gold. And those that have the hearts to come to the wedding,
They shall be welcome for their former loves. [Exit.
Pep. No, I thank you; you’ve choked me already.
Wea. I never suspected mine almanac till now;
I believe he plays cogging[100] John with me, I bought
it at his shop; it may learn the more knavery by
that.
Mis. Low. Now indeed, gentlemen, I can bid you welcome;
Before ’twas but a flourish.
Wea. Nay, so my almanac told me there should
be an eclipse, but not visible in our horizon, but
about the western inhabitants of Mexicana and
California.
Mis. Low. Well, we have no business there, sir.
Wea. Nor we have none here, sir; and so fare
you well.
Mis. Low. You save the house a good labour,
gentlemen. [Exeunt Weatherwise, Pepperton, and
Overdone.]—The fool carries them away in a
voider.[101] Where be these fellows?
Re-enter Servant, Pickadill, and Low-water.
Ser. Sir?
Pick. Here, sir!
Ser. What[’s] your worship[’s] pleasure?
Mis. Low. O, this is something like.—Take you your ease, sir;
Here are those now more fit to be commanded.
Low. How few women are of thy mind! she
thinks it too much to keep me in subjection for one
day; whereas some wives would be glad to keep
their husbands in awe all days of their lives, and
think it the best bargain that e’er they made. [Aside, and exit.
Mis. Low. I’ll spare no cost for the wedding; some device too,
To shew our thankfulness to wit and fortune;
It shall be so.—Run straight for one o’ the wits.
Pick. How? one o’ the wits? I care not if I run
on that account: are they in town, think you?
Mis. Low. Whither runnest thou now?
Pick. To an ordinary for one of the wits.
Mis. Low. Why to an ordinary above a tavern?
Pick. No, I hold your best wits to be at ordinary;
nothing so good in a tavern.
Mis. Low. And why, I pray, sir?
Pick. Because those that go to an ordinary[102] dine
better for twelve pence than he that goes to a
tavern for his five shillings; and I think those have
the best wits that can save four shillings, and fare
better too.
Mis. Low. So, sir, all your wit then runs upon
victuals?
Pick. ’Tis a sign ’twill hold out the longer then.
Mis. Low. What were you saying to me?
Ser. Please your worship,
I heard there came a scholar over lately
With old sir Oliver’s lady.
Mis. Low. Is she come?— [Aside.
What is that lady?
Ser. A good gentlewoman,
Has been long prisoner with the enemy.
Mis. Low. I know’t too well, and joy in her release.—
[Aside.
Go to that house then straight, and in one labour
You may bid them, and entreat home that scholar.
Ser. It shall be done with speed, sir. [Exit.
Pick. I’ll along with you, and see what face that
scholar has brought over; a thin pair of parbreaking[103]
sea-water green chops, I warrant you. [Exit.
Mis. Low. Since wit has pleasur’d me, I’ll pleasure wit;
Scholars shall fare the better. O my blessing!
I feel a hand of mercy lift me up
Out of a world of waters, and now sets me
Upon a mountain, where the sun plays most,
To cheer my heart even as it dries my limbs.
What deeps I see beneath me, in whose falls
Many a nimble mortal toils,
And scarce can feed
[104] himself! the streams of fortune,
’Gainst which he tugs in vain, still beat him down,
And will not suffer him—past hand to mouth—
To lift his arm to his posterity’s blessing:
I see a careful sweat run in a ring
About his temples, but all will not do;
For, till some happy means relieve his state,
There he must stick, and bide the wrath of fate.
I see this wrath upon an uphill land;
O blest are they can see their falls and stand!