[Embraces Mistress Low-water and kisses
Beveril.
Sir O. Twi. Why, now the bells they go trim, they go trim.—
I wish’d thee, sir, some unexpected blessing,
For my wife’s ransom, and ’tis faln upon thee.

Wea. A pox of this! my almanac ne’er gulled me till this hour: the thirteenth day, work for the hangman, and there’s nothing toward it. I’d been a fine ass if I’d given twelvepence for a horse to have rid to Tyburn to-morrow. But now I see the error, ’tis false-figured; it should be, thirteen days and a half, work for the hangman, for he ne’er works under thirteenpence halfpenny; beside, Venus being a spot in the sun’s garment, shews there should be a woman found in hose[175] and doublet.

Sir O. Twi. Nay, faith, sweet wife, we’ll make no more hours on’t now, ’tis as fine a contracting time as ever came amongst gentlefolks.—Son Philip, master Sandfield, come to the book here.

Phil. Now I’m wak’d
Into a thousand miseries and their torments.

Sav. And I come after you, sir, drawn with wild horses; there will be a brave show on’s anon, if this weather continue.

Sir O. Twi. Come, wenches, where be these young gen[tle]men’s hands now?
L. Twi. Poor gentleman, my son! [Aside.]—Some other time, sir.
Sir O. Twi. I’ll have’t now, i’faith, wife.
L. Gold. What are you making here?
Sir O. Twi. I’ve sworn, sweet madam,
My son shall marry master Sunset’s daughter,
And master Sandfield mine.
L. Gold. So you go well, sir;
But what make you this way then?
Sir O. Twi. This? for my son.
L. Gold. O back, sir, back! this is no way for him.

Sunset.
Sir O. Twi. bracket How!

L. Gold. O, let me break an oath, to save two souls,
Lest I should wake another judgment greater!
You come not here for him, sir.
Sir O. Twi. What’s the matter?
L. Gold. Either give me free leave to make this match,
Or I’ll forbid the banes.[176]
Sir O. Twi. Good madam, take it.
L. Gold. Here, master Sandfield, then——
Sir O. Twi. Cuds bodkins!
L. Gold. Take you this maid.
[Giving Jane to Sandfield.
Sand. You could not please me better, madam.
Sir O. Twi. Hoyday! is this your hot love to my daughter, sir?
L. Gold. Come hither, Philip; here’s a wife for you.
[Giving Grace to Philip Twilight.
Sir O. Twi. Zouns, he shall ne’er do that; marry his sister!
L. Gold. Had he been rul’d by you, he had married her,
But now he marries master Sunset’s daughter,
And master Sandfield yours: I’ve sav’d your oath sir.
Phil. O may this blessing hold!
Sav. Or else all the liquor runs out.
Sir O. Twi. What riddle’s this, madam?
L. Gold. A riddle of some fourteen years of age now.—
You can remember, madam, that your daughter
Was put to nurse to master Sunset’s wife.
L. Twi. True, that we talk’d on lately.
Sir O. Twi. I grant that, madam.
L. Gold. Then you shall grant what follows: at that time,
You likewise know, old master Sunset here
Grew backward in the world, till his last fortunes
Rais’d him to this estate.
Sir O. Twi. Still this we know too.
L. Gold. His wife, then nurse both to her own and yours,
And both so young, of equal years, and daughters,
Fearing the extremity of her fortunes then
Should fall upon her infant, to prevent it,
She chang’d the children, kept your daughter with her,
And sent her own to you for better fortunes.
So long, enjoin’d by solemn oath unto’t
Upon her deathbed, I have conceal’d this;
But now so urg’d, here’s yours, and this is his.
Sav. Whoop, the joy is come of our side!

Wea. Hey! I’ll cast mine almanac to the moon too, and strike out a new one for next year.

Phil. It wants expression, this miraculous blessing!
Sav. Methinks I could spring up and knock my head
Against yon silver ceiling now for joy!

Wea. By my faith, but I do not mean to follow you there, so I may dash out my brains against Charles’ wain, and come down as wise as a carman.

Sir O. Twi. I never wonder’d yet with greater pleasure.
L. Twi. What tears have I bestow’d on a lost daughter,
And left her [here] behind me!
L. Gold. This is Grace,
This Jane; now each has her right name and place.
Sun. I never heard of this.
L. Gold. I’ll swear you did not, sir.
Sir O. Twi. How well I’ve kept mine oath against my will!
Clap hands, and joy go with you! well said, boys!
Phil. How art thou blest from shame, and I from ruin!
[To Grace.
Sav. I from the baker’s ditch, if I’d seen you in.
Phil. Not possible the whole world to match again
Such grief, such joy, in minutes lost and won!
Bev. Who ever knew more happiness in less compass?
Ne’er was poor gentleman so bound to a sister
As I am, for the weakness[177] of thy mind;
Not only that thy due, but all our wealth
Shall lie as open as the sun to man,
For thy employments; so the charity
Of this dear bosom bids me tell thee now.
Mis. Low. I am her servant for’t.
L. Gold. Hah, worthy sister!
The government of all I bless thee with.
Bev. Come, gentlemen, on all perpetual friendship.
Heaven still relieves what misery would destroy;
Never was night yet of more general joy.
[Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE

Spoken by Weatherwise.
Now, let me see, what weather shall we have now?
Hold fair now, and I care not [looking at almanac]: mass, full moon too
Just between five and six this afternoon!
This happens right; [reads] the sky for the best part clear,
Save here and there a cloud or two dispers’d,—
That’s some dozen of panders and half a score
Pickpockets, you may know them by their whistle;
And they do well to use that while they may,
For Tyburn cracks the pipe and spoils the music.
What says the destiny of the hour this evening?
Hah, [reads] fear no colours! by my troth, agreed then;
The red and white looks cheerfully; for, know ye all,
The planet’s Jupiter, you should be jovial;
There’s nothing lets[178] it but the Sun i’ the Dog:
Some bark in corners that will fawn and cog,[179]
Glad of my fragments for their ember-week;
The sign’s in Gemini too, both hands should meet,
There should be noise i’ th’ air, if all things hap,
Though I love thunder when you make the clap.
Some faults perhaps have slipt, I am to answer:[180]
And if in any thing your revenge appears,
Send me in with all your fists about mine ears.