Re-enter Servant, shewing in Beveril.
How now?
Ser. With much entreating, sir, he’s come. [Exit.
Mis. Low. Sir, you’re—my brother! joys come thick together.—— [Aside.
Sir, when I see a scholar—pardon me—
I am so taken with affection
[105], for him,
That I must run into his arms and clasp him.
[Embracing him.
Bev. Art stands in need, sir, of such cherishers;
I meet too few: ’twere a brave world for scholars,
If half a kingdom were but of your mind, sir;
Let ignorance and hell confound the rest.
Mis. Low. Let it suffice,
[106] sweet sir, you cannot think
How dearly you are welcome.
Bev. May I live
To shew you service for’t!
Mis. Low. Your love, your love, sir;
We go no higher, nor shall you go lower.
Sir, I am bold to send for you, to request
A kindness from your wit, for some device
To grace our wedding; it shall be worth your pains,
And something more t’ express my love to art;
You shall not receive all in bare embracements.
Bev. Your love I thank; but, pray, sir, pardon me,
I’ve a heart says I must not grant you that.
Mis. Low. No! what’s your reason, sir?
Bev. I’m not at peace
With the lady of this house; now you’ll excuse me;
Sh’as wrong’d my sister; and I may not do’t.
Mis. Low. The widow knows you not.
Bev. I never saw her face to my remembrance:
O that my heart should feel her wrongs so much,
And yet live ignorant of the injurer!
Mis. Low. Let me persuade thee, since she knows you not,
Make clear the weather, let not griefs betray you;
I’ll tell her you’re a worthy friend of mine,
And so I tell her true, thou art indeed.
Sir, here she comes.
Re-enter Lady Goldenfleece.
L. Gold. What, are you busy, sir?
Mis. Low. Nothing less, lady; here’s a gentleman
Of noble parts, beside his friendship to me;
Pray, give him liberal welcome.
L. Gold. He’s most welcome.
Mis. Low. The virtues of his mind will deserve largely.
L. Gold. Methinks his outward parts deserve as much then;
A proper
[107] gentleman it is.
[Aside.Mis. Low. Come, worthy sir.
Bev. I follow.
[Exeunt L. Goldenfleece and Mis. Low-water.
Check thy blood,
For fear it prove too bold to wrong thy goodness:
A wise man makes affections but his slaves;
Break ’em in time, let ’em not master thee.
O, ’tis my sister’s enemy! think of that:
Some speedy grief fall down upon the fire,
Before it take my heart; let it not rise
’Gainst brotherly nature, judgment, and these wrongs.
Make clear the weather!
[108]O who could look upon her face in storms!
Yet pains may work it out; griefs do but strive
To kill this spark, I’ll keep it still alive. [Exit.
Before Lady Goldenfleece’s house.
Enter Weatherwise, Pepperton, Overdone, and Sir Gilbert Lambstone.
Wea. Faith, sir Gilbert, forget and forgive;
there’s all our hands to a new bargain of friendship.
Pep. Ay, and all our hearts to boot, sir Gilbert.
Wea. Why, la, you, there’s but four suitors left
on’s in all the world, and the fifth has the widow;
if we should not be kind to one another, and so
few on’s, i’faith, I would we were all raked up in
some hole or other!
Sir G. Lamb. Pardon me, gentlemen; I cannot but remember
Your late disgraceful words before the widow,
In time of my oppression.
Wea. Pooh, Saturn reigned then, a melancholy,
grumbling planet; he was in the third house of
privy enemies, and would have bewrayed[110] all our
plots; beside, there was a fiery conjunction in the
Dragon’s tail,[111] that spoiled all that e’er we went
about.
Sir G. Lamb. Dragon or devil, somewhat ’twas, I’m sure.
Wea. Why, I tell you, sir Gilbert, we were all
out of our wits in’t; I was so mad at that time myself,
I could have wished an hind quarter of my
Bull out of your belly again, whereas now I care
not if you had eat tail and all; I am no niggard in
the way of friendship; I was ever yet at full moon
in good fellowship; and so you shall find, if you
look into the almanac of my true nature.
Sir G. Lamb. Well, all’s forgiven for once; hands a-pace, gentlemen.
Wea. Ye shall have two of mine to do you a
kindness; yet, when they’re both abroad, who shall
look to th’ house here?
[Giving his hands to Sir G. Lambstone.
Pep.
Over. bracket Not only a new friendship, but a friend.
[Giving their hands to Sir G. Lambstone.
Sir G. Lamb. But upon this condition, gentlemen,
You shall hear now a thing worth your revenge.
Wea. And
[112] you doubt that,
You shall have mine beforehand, I’ve one ready;
I never go without a black oath about me.
Sir G. Lamb. I know the least touch of a spur in this
Will now put your desires to a false gallop,
By all means slanderous in every place,
And in all companies, to disgrace the widow;
No matter in what rank, so it be spiteful
And worthy your revenges: so now I;
It shall be all my study, care, and pains;
And we can lose no labour; all her foes
Will make such use on’t, that they’ll snatch it from us
Faster than we can forge it, though we keep
Four tongues at work upon’t, and never cease.
Then for th’ indifferent world, faith, they are apter
We have the odds of our side: this in time
May grow so general, as disgrace will spread,
That wild dissension may divide the bed.
Wea.
Pep. bracket Excellent!
Over. A pure revenge! I see no dregs in’t.
Sir G. Lamb. Let each man look to his part now, and not feed
Upon one dish all four on’s, like plain maltmen;
For at this feast we must have several kickshaws
And delicate-made dishes, that the world
May see it is a banquet finely furnish’d.
Wea. Why, then, let me alone for one of your kickshaws,
I’ve thought on that already.
Sir G. Lamb. Prithee, how, sir?
Wea. Marry, sir, I’ll give it out abroad that I
have lain with the widow myself, as ’tis the fashion
of many a gallant to disgrace his new mistress
when he cannot have his will of her, and lie with
her name in every tavern, though he ne’er came
within a yard of her person; so I, being a gentleman,
may say as much in that kind as a gallant; I
am as free by my father’s copy.
Sir G. Lamb. This will do excellent, sir.
Wea. And, moreover, I’ll give the world thus
much to understand beside, that if I had not lain
with the widow in the wane of the moon, at one of
my Seven Stars’ houses, when Venus was about
business of her own, and could give no attendance,
she had been brought a-bed with two roaring boys
by this time; and the Gemini being infants, I’d
have made away with them like a step-mother, and
put mine own boys in their places.
Sir G. Lam. Why, this is beyond talk; you out-run your master.
Pick. Whoop! draw home next time; here are
all the old shooters that have lost the game at
pricks! What a fair mark had sir Gilbert on’t, if
he had shot home before the last arrow came in!
methinks these shew to me now, for all the world,
like so many lousy beggars turned out of my lady’s
barn, and have ne’er a hole to put their heads in. [Aside.
Wea. Mass, here’s her ladyship’s ass; he tells us any thing.
Sir G. Lamb. Ho, Pickadill!
Pick. What, sir Gilbert Lambstone!
Gentlemen, outlaws all, how do you do?
Sir G. Lamb. How! what dost call us? how goes the world at home, lad?
What strange news?
Pick. This is the state of prodigals as right as
can be; when they have spent all their means on
brave feasts, they’re glad to scrape to a serving-man
for a meal’s meat:
So you that whilom,
[114] like four prodigal rivals,
Could goose or capon, crane or woodcock choose,
Now’re glad to make up a poor meal with news;
A lamentable hearing!
Wea. He’s in passion
[115]
Up to the eyebrows for us.
Pick. O master Weatherwise, I blame none but you!
You’re a gentleman deeply read in Pond’s Almanac,
[116]Methinks you should not be such a shallow fellow;
You knew this day, the twelfth of June, would come,
When the sun enters into the Crab’s room,
And all your hopes would go aside, aside.
Wea. The fool says true, i’faith, gentlemen; I
knew ’twould come all to this pass; I’ll shew’t you
presently. [Takes out almanac.
Pick. If you had spar’d but four of your Twelve Signs now,
You might have gone to a tavern and made merry with ’em.
Wea. Has the best moral meaning of an ass that
e’er I heard speak with tongue.—Look you here,
gentlemen [reads almanac], Fifth day,[117] neither fish
nor flesh.
Pick. No, nor good red herring, and
[118] you look again.
Wea. [reads] Sixth day, privily prevented.
Pick. Marry, faugh!
Wea. [reads] Seventh day, shrunk in the wetting.
Pick. Nay, so will the best ware bought for love or money.
Wea. [reads] The eighth day, over head and ears.
Pick. By my faith, he come[s] home in a sweet pickle then!
Wea. [reads] The ninth day, scarce sound at heart.
Pick. What a pox ailed it?
Wea. [reads] The tenth day, a courtier’s welcome.
Pick. That’s a cup of beer, and[118] you can get it.
Wea. [reads] The eleventh day, stones against the wind.
Pick. Pox of an ass! he might have thrown ’em better.
Wea. Now the twelfth day, gentlemen, that was our day; [Reads.
Past all redemption.
Pick. Then the devil go with’t!
Wea. Now you see plainly, gentlemen, how we’re us’d;
The calendar will not lie for no man’s pleasure.
Sir G. Lamb. Push,
[119] you’re too confident in almanac-posies.
Pep. Faith, so said we.
Sir G. Lamb. They’re mere delusions.
Wea. How!
You see how knavishly they happen, sir.
Sir G. Lamb. Ay, that’s because they’re foolishly believ’d,
[120] sir.
Wea. Well, take your courses, gentlemen, without
’em, and see what will come on’t: you may
wander like masterless men, there’s ne’er a planet
will care a halfpenny for you; if they look after
you, I’ll be hanged, when you scorn to bestow twopence
to look after them.
Sir G. Lamb. How! a device at the wedding,
sayest thou?
Pick. Why, have none of you heard of that yet?
Sir G. Lamb. ’Tis the first news, i’faith, lad.
Pick. O, there’s a brave travelling scholar entertained
into the house a’ purpose, one that has
been all the world over, and some part of Jerusalem;
has his chamber, his diet, and three candles[121]
allowed him after supper.
Wea. By my faith, he need not complain for
victuals then, whate’er he be.
Pick. He lies in one of the best chambers i’ th’
house, bravely matted; and to warm his wits as
much, a cup of sack and an aqua vitæ[122] bottle stand[123]
just at his elbow.
Wea. He’s shrewdly hurt, by my faith; if he
catch an ague of that fashion, I’ll be hanged.
Pick. He’ll come abroad anon.
Sir G. Lamb. Art sure on’t?
Pick. Why, he ne’er stays a quarter of an hour
in the house together.
Sir G. Lamb. No? how can he study then?
Pick. Faugh, best of all; he talks as he goes, and
writes as he runs; besides, you know ’tis death to
a traveller to stand long in one place.
Sir G. Lamb. It may hit right, boys!—Honest Pickadill,
Thou wast wont to love me.
Pick. I’d good cause, sir, then.
Sir G. Lamb. Thou shalt have the same still;
take that. [Giving money.
Pick. Will you believe me now? I ne’er loved
you better in my life than I do at this present.
Sir G. Lamb. Tell me now truly; who are the presenters?
What parsons
[124] are employ’d in the device?
Pick. Parsons? not any, sir; my mistress will
not be at the charge; she keeps none but an old
Welsh vicar.
Sir G. Lamb. Prithee, I mean, who be the
speakers?
Pick. Troth, I know none but those that open
their mouths. Here he comes now himself, you
may ask him.
Wea. Is this he? by my faith, one may pick a
gentleman out of his calves and a scholar out on’s
cheeks; one may see by his looks what’s in him:
I warrant you there has ne’er a new almanac come
out these dozen years, but he has studied it over
and over. [Aside.
Sir G. Lamb. Do not reveal us now.
Pick. Because you shall be sure on’t, you have
given me a ninepence here, and I’ll give you the
slip[125] for’t.
Sir G. Lamb. Well said. [Exit Pickadill.]—Now the fool’s pleas’d, we may be bold.
Bev. Love is as great an enemy to wit
As ignorance to art; I find my powers
So much employ’d in business of my heart,
That all the time’s too little to despatch
Affairs within me. Fortune, too remiss,
I suffer for thy slowness: had I come
Before a vow had chain’d their souls together,
There might have been some hope, though ne’er so little;
Now there’s no spark at all, nor e’er can be,
But dreadful ones struck from adultery;
And if my lust were smother’d with her will,
O, who could wrong a gentleman so kind,
A stranger made up with a brother’s mind! [Aside.
Sir G. Lamb. Peace, peace, enough; let me alone to manage it.—
A quick invention, and a happy one,
Reward your study, sir!
Bev. Gentlemen, I thank you.
Sir G. Lamb. We understand your wits are in employment, sir,
In honour of this wedding.
Bev. Sir, the gentleman
To whom that worthy lady is betroth’d
Vouchsafes t’accept the power of my good will in’t.
Sir G. Lamb. I pray, resolve
[126] us then, sir—for we’re friends
That love and honour her—
Whether your number be yet full, or no,
Of those which you make choice of for presenters?
Bev. First, ’tis so brief, because the time is so,
We shall not trouble many; and for those
We shall employ, the house will yield in servants.
Sir G. Lamb. Nay, then, under your leave and favour, sir,
Since all your pains will be so weakly grac’d,
And, wanting due performance, lose their lustre,
Here are four of us gentlemen, her friends,
Both lovers of her honour and your art,
That would be glad so to express ourselves,
And think our service well and worthily plac’d.
Bev. My thanks do me no grace for this large kindness;
You make my labours proud of such presenters.
Sir G. Lamb. She shall not think, sir, she’s so ill belov’d,
But friends can quickly make that number perfect.
Bev. She’s bound t’acknowledge it.
Sir G. Lamb. Only thus much, sir,
Which will amaze her most; I’d have’t so carried,
As you can do’t, that neither she nor none
Should know what friends we were till all were done.
Wea. Ay, that would make the sport!
Bev. I like it well, sir:
My hand and faith amongst you, gentlemen,
It shall be so dispos’d of.
Sir G. Lamb. We’re the men then.
Bev. Then look you, gentlemen; the device is single,
Naked, and plain, because the time’s so short,
And gives no freedom to a wealthier sport;
’Tis only, gentlemen, the four elements
In liveliest forms, Earth, Water, Air, and Fire.
Wea. Mass, and here’s four of us too.
Bev. It fits well, sir:
This the effect,—that whereas all those four
Maintain a natural opposition
And untruc’d war the one against the other,
To shame their ancient envies, they should see
How well in two breasts all these do agree.
Wea. That’s in the bride and bridegroom; I am quick, sir.
Sir G. Lamb. In faith, it’s pretty, sir; I approve it well.
Bev. But see how soon my happiness and your kindness
Sir G. Lamb. Crost? I hope not so, sir.
Bev. I can employ but two of you.
Pep. How comes that, sir?
Bev. Air and the Fire should be by me[n] presented,
But the two other in the forms of women.
Wea. Nay, then, we’re gone again; I think these women
Were made to vex and trouble us in all shapes. [Aside.
Sir G. Lamb. Faith, sir, you stand too nicely.
[128]
Wea. So think I, sir.
Bev. Yet, when we tax ourselves, it may the better
Set off our errors, when the fine eyes judge ’em;
But Water certainly should be a woman.
Wea. By my faith, then, he is gelded since I saw
him last; he was thought to be a man once, when
he got his wife with child before he was married.
Bev. Fie, you are fishing in another stream, sir.
Wea. But now I come to yours, and[129] you go to
that, sir; I see no reason then but Fire and Water
should change shapes and genders.
Bev. How prove you that, sir?
Wea. Why, there’s no reason but Water should
be a man, because Fire is commonly known to be a
quean.
Bev. So, sir; you argue well.
Wea. Nay, more, sir; water will break in at a
little crevice, so will a man, if he be not kept out;
water will undermine, so will an informer; water
will ebb and flow, so will a gentleman; water will
search any place, and so will a constable, as lately
he did at my Seven Stars for a young wench that
was stole; water will quench fire, and so will Wat
the barber: ergo, let Water wear a codpiece-point.
Bev. Faith, gentlemen, I like your company well.
Wea. Let’s see who’ll dispute with me at the full o’ the moon!
Bev. No, sir; and[129] you be vain-glorious of your
talent, I’ll put you to’t once more.
Wea. I’m for you, sir, as long as the moon keeps
in this quarter.
Bev. Well, how answer you this then? earth and
water are both bearers, therefore they should be
women.
Wea. Why, so are porters and pedlars, and yet
they are known to be men.
Bev. I’ll give you over in time, sir; I shall repent
the bestowing on’t else.
Wea. If I, that have proceeded[130] in five-and-twenty
such books of astronomy, should not be able to put
down a scholar now in one thousand six hundred
thirty and eight, the dominical letter being G, I
stood for a goose.
Sir G. Lamb. Then this will satisfy you; though that be a woman,
Oceanus the sea, that’s chief of waters,
He wears the form of a man, and so may you.
Bev. Now I hear reason, and I may consent.
Sir G. Lamb. And so, though earth challenge a feminine face,
The matter of which earth consists, that’s dust,
The general soul of earth is of both kinds.
Bev. Fit yourselves, gentlemen, I’ve enough for me;
Earth, Water, Air, and Fire, part ’em amongst you.
Wea. Let me play Air,[131] I was my father’s eldest
son.
Bev. Ay, but this Air never possess’d the lands.
Wea. I’m but disposed to jest with you, sir; ’tis
the same my almanac speaks on, is’t not?
Bev. That ’tis, sir.
Wea. Then leave it to my discretion, to fit both
the part and the person.
Bev. You shall have your desire, sir.
Sir G. Lamb. We’ll agree
Without your trouble now, sir; we’re not factious,
Or envy one another for best parts,
Like quarrelling actors that have passionate fits;
We submit always to the writer’s wits.
Bev. He that commends you may do’t liberally,
For you deserve as much as praise can shew.
Sir G. Lamb. We’ll send to you privately.
Bev. I’ll despatch you.
Sir G. Lamb. We’ll poison your device.
[Aside, and exit.
Pep. She must have pleasures,
Shows, and conceits, and we disgraceful doom.
[Aside, and exit.
Wea. We’ll make your Elements come limping home. [Aside, and exit.
Bev. How happy am I in this unlook’d-for grace,
This voluntary kindness, from these gentlemen!
Enter behind Mistress Low-water and Low-water, both disguised as before.
’Twill set off all my labours far more pleasing
Before the widow, whom my heart calls mistress,
But my tongue dares not second it.
Low. How say you now, Kate?
Mis. Low. I like this music well, sir.
Bev. O unfortunate!
Yet though a tree be guarded from my touch,
There’s none can hinder me to love the fruit.
Mis. Low. Nay, now we know your mind, brother,
we’ll provide for you.
[Exeunt Mistress Low-water and Low-water.
Bev. O were it but as free as late times knew it,
I would deserve, if all life’s wealth could do it! [Exit.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
A room in Sir Oliver Twilight’s house.
Enter Sir Oliver Twilight, Lady Twilight, Sunset, Sandfield, Dutch Merchant, Philip Twilight, Servants, and Savourwit aloof off.[132]
Sir O. Twi. O my reviving joy! thy quickening presence
Makes the sad night of threescore and ten years
Sit like a youthful spring upon my blood:
I cannot make thy welcome rich enough
With all the wealth of words!
L. Twi. It is exprest sir,
With more than can be equall’d; the ill store
Lies only on my side, my thanks are poor.
Sir O. Twi. Blest be the goodness of his mind for ever
That did redeem thy life, may it return
Upon his fortunes double! that worthy gentleman,
Kind master Beveril! shower upon him, heaven,
Some unexpected happiness to requite him
For that my joy
[133] unlook’d for! O, more kind,
And juster far, is a mere stranger’s goodness
Than the sophistic faith of natural sons!
Here’s one could juggle with me, take up the ransom,
He and his loose companion——
Sav. Say you me so, sir?
I’ll eat hard eggs for that trick. [Aside.
Sir O. Twi. Spend the money,
And bring me home false news and empty pockets!
In that young gallant’s tongue there, you were dead
Ten weeks before this day, had not this merchant
Brought first the truth in words, yourself in substance.
L. Twi. Pray, let me stay you here, ere you proceed, sir;
Did he report me dead, say you?
Sir O. Twi. Else you live not.
L. Twi. See now, sir, you may lay your blame too rashly,
When nobody look’d after it! let me tell you, sir,
A father’s anger should take great advice,
Ere it condemn flesh of so dear a price.
He’s no way guilty yet; for that report
The general tongue of all the country spread;
For being remov’d far off, I was thought dead.
Phil. Can my faith now be taken into favour, sir?
Is’t worthy to be trusted?
Sav. No, by my troth, is’t not,
’Twould make shift to spend another ransom yet. [Aside.
Sir O. Twi. Well, sir, I must confess you’ve here dealt well with me,
And what is good in you I love again.
Sav. Now am I half-ways in, just to the girdle,
But the worst part’s behind. [Aside.
Sir O. Twi. Marry, I fear me, sir,
This weather is too glorious to hold long.
L. Twi. I see no cloud to interpose it, sir,
If you place confidence in what I’ve told you.
Sir O. Twi. Nay, ’tis clear sky on that side; would ’twere so
All over his obedience! I see that,
And so does this good gentleman——
L. Twi. Do you, sir?
Sir O. Twi. That makes his honesty doubtful.
L. Twi. I pray, speak, sir;
The truth of your last kindness makes me bold with you.
D. Mer. The knight, your husband, madam, can best speak;
He trueliest can shew griefs whose heart they break.
L. Twi. I’m sorry yet for more; pray, let me know’t, sir,
That I may help to chide him, though ’twould grieve me.
Sir O. Twi. Why then prepare for’t; you came over now
In the best time to do’t you could pick out:
Not only spent my money, but, to blind me,
He and his wicked instrument——
Sav. Now he fiddles me! [Aside.
Sir O. Twi. Brings home a minion here, by great chance known;
Told me she was his sister; she proves none.
L. Twi. This was unkindly done, sir; now I’m sorry
My good opinion lost itself upon you;
You are not the same son I left behind me,
More grace took him.—O, let me end in time,
For fear I should forget myself, and chide him!—
Where is [s]he, sir? though he beguil’d your eyes,
He cannot deceive mine, we’re now too hard for him;
For since our first unfortunate separation
I’ve often seen the girl—would that were true!— [Aside.
By many a happy accident, many a one,
But never durst acknowledge her for mine own,
And therein stood my joys distress’d again.
Sir O. Twi. You rehearse miseries, wife.—Call the maid down. [Exit Servant.
Sav. Sh’as been too often down to be now call’d so;
She’ll lie down shortly, and call somebody up.