wise widows do of their states, before they marry, in trust to some friend, sir: who can tell? Or if she have not done it yet, she may do, upon the wedding-day, or the night before, and antedate you, cuckold. The like has been heard of in nature. "Tis no devised, impossible thing, sir. God be wi' you. I'll be bold to leave this rope with you, sir, for a remembrance.-Farewell, Mute! [Exit. Mor. Come, have me to my chamber; but first shut the door. [TRUEWIT winds the horn without.] Oh, shut the door, shut the door! is he come again? Enter CUTBEARD. Cut. 'Tis I, sir, your barber. Mor. Oh, Cutbeard, Cutbeard, Cutbeard! here has been a cut-throat with me: help me in to my bed, and give me physic with thy counsel. ACT II-SCENE II. [Exeunt. A Room in Sir JOHN DAW's House. Daw. Nay, an she will, let her refuse at her own charges; 'tis nothing to me, gentlemen: but she will not be invited to the like feasts or guests every day. Cler. Oh, by no means, she may not refuse-to stay at home, if you love your reputation. 'Slight, you are invited thither o' purpose to be seen, and laughed at by the lady of the college, and her shadows. This trumpeter hath proclaim'd you. [Aside to EPI. Daup. You shall not go; let him be laugh'd at in your stead, for not bringing you: and put him to his extemporal faculty of fooling and talking loud, to satisfy the company. [Aside to EPI. Cler. He will suspect us; talk aloud.-'Pray, Mistress Epicone, let's see your verses; we have Sir John Daw's leave; do not conceal your servant's merit, and your own glories. Epi. They'll prove my servant's glories, if you have his leave so soon. Daup. His vain-glories, lady! Daw. The dor 1 on Plutarch and Seneca! I hate it: they are mine own imaginations, by that light. I wonder those fellows have such credit with gentlemen. Cler. They are very grave authors. Daw. Grave asses! mere essayists: a few loose sentences, and that's all. A man would talk so, his whole age. I do utter as good things every hour, if they were collected and observed, as either of them. Daup. Indeed, Sir John! Cler. He must needs; living among the wits and braveries too. Daup. Ay, and being president of them, as he is. Daw. There's Aristotle, a mere commonplace fellow; Plato, a discourser; Thucydides and Livy, tedious and dry; Tacitus, an entire knot: sometimes worth the untying, very seldom. Cler. What do you think of the poets, Sir John? Daw. Not worthy to be named for authors. Homer, an old tedious, prolix ass, talks of curriers and chines of beef; Virgil, of dunging of land, and bees; Horace, of I know not what. Cler. I think so. Dow. And so, Pindarus, Lycophron, Anacreon, Catullus, Seneca the tragedian, Lucan, Propertius, Tibullus, Martial, Juvenal, Ausonius, Statius, Politian, Valerius Flaccus, and the rest Cler. What a sackful of their names he has got! Daup. And how he pours them out! Politian with Valerius Flaccus! Cler. Was not the character right of him? Daw. And Persius, a crabbed coxcomb, not to be endured. Daup. Why, whom do you account for authors, Sir John Daw? Daw. Syntagma 2 juris civilis; Corpus juris civilis; Corpus juris canonici; the king of Spain's Bible Daup. Is the king of Spain's Bible an author? Cler. Yes, and Syntagma. Daup. What was that Syntagma, sir? Daw. A civil lawyer, a Spaniard. Daup. Sure, Corpus was a Dutchman. Cler. Ay, both the Corpuses, I knew 'em: they were very corpulent authors. Daw. And then there's Vatablus, Pomponatius, Symancha: the other are not to be received within Daw. Show them, show them, mistress; I dare the thought of a scholar. own them. Daup. 'Fore God, you have a simple learned servant, lady,-in titles. [Aside. Cler. I wonder that he is not called to the helm, and made a counsellor. Daup. He is one extraordinary. Cler. Nay, but in ordinary: to say truth, the state wants such. Daup. Why, that will follow. Cler. I muse a mistress can be so silent to the dotes of such a servant. Daw. 'Tis her virtue, sir. I have written somewhat of her silence too. Daup. In verse, Sir John? Cler. What else? Daup. Why, would not you live by your verses, Sir John? Cler. No, 'twere pity he should. A knight live by his verses! He did not make them to that end, I hope. Daup. And yet the noble Sydney lives by his, and the noble family not ashamed. Cler. Ay, he professed himself; but Sir John Daw has more caution: he'll not hinder his own rising in the state so much. Do you think he will? Your verses, good Sir John, and no poems. Daw. Silence in woman is like speech in man; Daup. Not I, believe it: your reason, sir. Prov'd with increase; I know to speak and she to hold her peace. Do you conceive me, gentlemen? Daup. No, faith; how mean you with increase, Sir John? Daw. Why, with increase is, when I court her for the common cause of mankind, and she says nothing, but consentire videtur; and in time is gravida. Daup. Then this is a ballad of procreation? [Walks aside with the papers. Enter TRUEWIT with his horn. Cler. See, here's Truewit again!-Where hast thou been, in the name of madness, thus accoutred with thy horn? True. Where the sound of it might have pierced your senses with gladness, had you been in earreach of it. Dauphine, fall down and worship me; I have forbid the bans, lad; I have been with thy virtuous uncle, and have broke the match. Daup. You have not, I hope. True. Yes, faith; an thou shouldst hope otherwise, I should repent me. This horn got me entrance; kiss it. I had no other way to get in, but by feigning to be a post; but when I got in once, I proved none, but rather the contrary, turn'd him into a post, or a stone, or what is stiffer, with thundering into him the incommodities of a wife, and the miseries of marriage. If ever Gorgon were seen in the shape of a woman, he hath seen her in my description: I have put him off o' that scent for ever. Why do you not applaud and adore me, sirs? why stand you mute? are you stupid? You are not worthy of the benefit. Daup. Did not I tell you? Mischief!Cler. I would you had placed this benefit somewhere else. True. Why so? Cler. 'Slight, you have done the most inconsiderate, rash, weak thing, that ever man did to his friend. Daup. Friend! if the most malicious enemy I have, had studied to inflict an injury upon me, it could not be a greater. True. Wherein, for God's sake? Gentlemen, come to yourselves again. Daup. But I presaged thus much afore to you. Cler. Would my lips had been solder'd when I spake on't! 'Slight, what moved you to be thus impertinent? True. My masters, do not put on this strange 1'seems to consent." face to pay my courtesy; off with this vizor. Have good turns done you, and thank 'em this way! Ďaup. 'Fore heaven, you have undone me. That which I have plotted for, and been maturing now these four months, you have blasted in a minute. Now I am lost, I may speak. This gentlewoman was lodged here by nie o' purpose, and, to be put upon my uncle, hath profest this obstinate silence for my sake; being my entire friend, and one that for the requital of such a fortune as to marry him, would have made me very ample conditions; where now, all my hopes are utterly miscarried by this unlucky accident. Cler. Thus 'tis when a man will be ignorantly officious, do services, and not know his why. I wonder what courteous itch possest you. You never did absurder part in your life, nor a greater trespass to friendship or humanity. Daup. Faith, you may forgive it best; 'twas your cause principally. Cler. I know it; would it had not. Enter CUTBEARD. Daup. How now, Cutbeard! what news? Cut. The best, the happiest that ever was, sir. There has been a mad gentleman with your uncle this morning, [seeing TRUEWIT.]-I think this be the gentleman-that has almost talk'd him out of his wits, with threatening him from marriageDaup. On, I prithee. Cut. And your uncle, sir, he thinks 'twas done by your procurement; therefore he will see the party you wot of presently; and if he like her, he says, and that she be so inclining to dumb as I have told him, he swears he will marry her today, instantly, and not defer it a minute longer. Daup. Excellent! beyond our expectation! True. Beyond our expectation! By this light, I knew it would be thus. Daup. Nay, sweet Truewit, forgive me. True. No, I was ignorantly officious, imperti nent; this was the absurd, weak part. Cier. Wilt thou ascribe that to merit now, was mere fortune! True. Fortune! mere providence. had not a finger in't. I saw it must necessarily in nature fall out so: my genius is never false to me in these things. Show me how it could be otherwise. Fortune Daup. Nay, gentlemen, contend not; 'tis well now. True. Alas, let him go on with inconsiderate, and rash, and what he pleased. Cler. Away, thou strange justifier of thyself, to be wiser than thou wert, by the event! True. Event! by this light, thou shalt never persuade me, but I foresaw it as well as the stars themselves. Daup. Nay, gentlemen, 'tis well now. Do you two entertain Sir John Daw with discourse, while I send her away with instructions. True. I'll be acquainted with her first, by your favour. Cler. Master Truewit, lady, a friend of ours. True. I am sorry I have not known you sooner, lady, to celebrate this rare virtue of your silence. [Exeunt DAUP., EPI., and CUTBEARD. Cler. Faith, an you had come sooner, you should have seen and heard her well celebrated in Sir John Daw's madrigals. True. [advances to DAW.] Jack Daw, God save you! When saw you La-Foole ? Daw. Not since last night, Master Truewit. True. That's a miracle! I thought you two had been inseparable. Daw. He's gone to invite his guests. True. 'Odso! 'tis true! What a false memory have I towards that man! I am one: I met him even now, upon that he calls his delicate, fine black horse, rid into foam, with posting from place to place, and person to person, to give them the cue Cler. Lest they should forget? True. Yes. There was never poor captain took more pains at a muster to show men, than he, at this meal, to show friends. Daw. It is his quarter-feast, sir? Cler. What! do you say so, Sir John? True. Nay, Jack Daw will not be out, at the best friends he has, to the talent of his wit. Where's his mistress, to hear and applaud him? Is she gone? Daw. Is Mistress Epicone gone? Cler. Gone afore, with Sir Dauphine, I warrant, to the place. True. Gone afore! that were a manifest injury, a disgrace and a half, to refuse him at such a festival-time as this, being a bravery, and a wit too! Cler. Tut, he'll swallow it like cream. He's better read in Jure civili, than to esteem anything a disgrace is offer'd him from a mistress. Daw. Nay, let her e'en go; she shall sit alone, and be dumb in her chamber a week together, for John Daw, I warrant her. Does she refuse me? Cler. No, sir, do not take it so to heart; she does not refuse you, but a little neglects you. Good faith, Truewit, you were to blame, to put it into his head, that she does refuse him. Cutbeard, with the same discipline I use to my family, I will question you. As I conceive, Cutbeard, this gentlewoman is she you have provided, and brought, in hope she will fit me in the place and person of a wife? Answer me not but with your leg, unless it be otherwise. [CUT. makes a leg.]-Very well done, Cutbeard. I conceive besides, Cutbeard, you have been pre-acquainted with her birth, education, and qualities, or else you would not prefer her to my acceptance, in the weighty consequence of marriage, [makes a leg.] -This I conceive, Cutbeard. Answer me not but with your leg, unless it be otherwise, [bows again.]-Very well done, Cutbeard. Give aside now a little, and leave me to examine her condition, and aptitude to my affection, [goes about her and views her.]-She is exceeding fair, and of a special good favour; a sweet composition or harmony of limbs; her temper of beauty has the true height of my blood. The knave hath exceedingly well fitted me without: I will now try her within.-Come near, fair gentlewoman; let not my behaviour seem rude, though unto you, being rare, it may haply appear strange. [EPI. curtsies.1-Nay, lady, you may speak, though Cutbeard and my man might not; for of all sounds, only the sweet voice of a fair lady has the just length of mine ears. I beseech you, say, lady; out of the first fire of meeting eyes, they say, love is stricken: do you feel any such motion suddenly shot into you, from any part you see in me? Ha, lady? [EPI. curtsies.]-Alas, lady, these answers by silent curtsies from you are too courtless and simple. I have ever had my breed must be accomplished with courtly and audacious1 ornaments. Can you speak, lady? Epi. [softly.] Judge you, forsooth. True. Sir, she does refuse him palpably, how-ing in court; and she that shall be my wife, ever you mince it. An I were as he, I would swear to speak ne'er a word to her to-day for't. Daw. By this light, no more I will not. True. Nor to anybody else, sir. Daw. Nay, I will not say so, gentlemen. Cler. It had been an excellent, happy condition for the company, if you could have drawn him to [Aside. it. Daw. I'll be very melancholy, i'faith. Cler. As a dog, if I were as you, Sir John. True. Or a snail, or a hog-louse. would roll myself up for this day; in troth, they should not unwind me. Daw. By this pick-tooth, so I will. Mor. What say you, lady? Speak out, I beseech you. Epi. Judge you, forsooth. Mor. On my judgment, a divine softness! But can you naturally, lady, as I enjoin these by doctrine and industry, refer yourself to the search of my judgment, and, not taking pleasure in your tongue, which is a woman's chiefest pleasure, think it plausible to answer me by silent gestures, so long as my speeches jump2 right with what you conceive? [EPI. curtsies.]-Excellent! Cler. 'Tis well done. He begins already to be divine! if it were possible she could hold out angry with his teeth. Daw. Will you go, gentlemen? Cler. Nay, you must walk alone, if you be right melancholy, Sir John. True. Yes, sir, we'll dog you, we'll follow you afar off. [Exit DAW. Cler. Was there ever such a two yards of knighthood measured out by time, to be sold to laughter? True. A mere talking mole, hang him! no mushroom was ever so fresh. A fellow so utterly nothing, as he knows not what he would be. Cler. Let's follow him: but first let's go to Dauphine, he's hovering about the house to hear what news. True. Content. ACT II-SCENE III. A Room in MOROSE'S House. [Exeunt. Enter MOROSE and MUTE, followed by CUTBEARD with EPICIENE. Mor. Welcome, Cutbeard! draw near with your fair charge and in her ear softly entreat her to unmask. [EPI. takes off her mask.]-So! Is the door shut? [MUTE makes a leg.]-Enough. Now, thus!-Peace, Cutbeard, thou art made for ever, as thou hast made me, if this felicity have lasting: but I will try her further.-Dear lady, I am courtly, I tell you, and I must have mine ears banquetted with pleasant and witty conferences, pretty girds, scoffs, and dalliance in her that I mean to choose for my bed-phere. The ladies in court think it a most desperate impair to their quickness of wit, and good carriage, if they cannot give occasion for a man to court 'em; and when an amorous discourse is set on foot, minister as good matter to continue it, as himself. And do you alone so much differ from all them, that what they, with so much circumstance, affect and toil for, to seem learn'd, to seem judicious, to seem sharp and conceited, you can bury in yourself with silence, and rather trust your graces to the fair conscience of virtue, than to the world's or your own proclamation? Epi. [softly.] I should be sorry else. 1 audacious-liberal, spirited. 2 jump-fit, agree. See note 1, p. 46, col. 2. a girds-jokes, or jibes. See note 7, p. 49, col. 1. Abed-phere.-Phere or fere means companion, partner, husband; Anglo-Saxon, gefera. Epi. I should be sorry else. Mor. That sorrow doth fill me with gladness. O Morose, thou art happy above mankind! pray that thou mayest contain thyself. I will only put her to it once more, and it shall be with the utmost touch and test of their sex.-But hear me, fair lady; I do also love to see her whom I shall choose for my heifer, to be the first and principal in all fashions, precede all the dames at court by a fortnight, have council of tailors, lineners, lacewomen, embroiderers; and sit with them sometimes twice a day upon French intelligences, and then come forth varied like nature, or oftener than she, and better by the help of art, her emulous servant. This do I affect: and how will you be able, lady, with this frugality of speech, to give the manifold but necessary instructions, for that bodice, these sleeves, those skirts, this cut, that stitch, this embroidery, that lace, this wire, those knots, that ruff, those roses, this girdle, that fan, the t'other scarf, these gloves? Ha! what say you, lady? Epi. [softly. I'll leave it to you, sir. Mor. How, lady? Pray you rise a note. Epi. I leave it to wisdom and you, sir. Mor. Admirable creature! I will trouble you no more: I will not sin against so sweet a simplicity. Let me now be bold to print on those divine lips the seal of being mine.-Cutbeard, I give thee the lease of thy house free; thank me not but with thy leg. [CUT. shakes his head.]-I know what thou wouldst say, she's poor, and her friends deceased. She has brought a wealthy dowry in her silence, Cutbeard; and in respect of her poverty, Cutbeard, I shall have her more loving and obedient, Cutbeard. Go thy ways, and get me a minister presently, with a soft, low voice, to marry us; and pray him he will not be impertinent, but brief as he can; away: softly, Cutbeard. [Exit CUT.]-Sirrah, conduct your mistress into the dining-room, your now mistress. [Exit MUTE, followed by EPI.]-Oh, my felicity! how shall I be revenged on mine insolent kinsman, and his plots to fright me from marrying! This night I will get an heir, and thrust him out of my blood, like a stranger. He would be knighted, forsooth, and thought by that means to reign over me! his title must do it. No, kinsman, I will now make you bring me the tenth lord's and the sixteenth lady's letter, kinsman; and it shall do you no good, kinsman. Your knighthood itself shall come on its knees, and it shall be rejected; it shall be sued for its fees to execution, and not be redeem'd; it shall cheat at the twelve-penny ordinary, it knighthood, for its diet, all the term-time, and tell tales for it in the vacation to the hostess; or it knighthood shall do worse, take sanctuary in Cole harbour,2 and fast. wives, and be refused, when the master of a ACT II.-SCENE IV. A Lane near MOROSE's House. Daup. No, I told him I would be here at this True. What a barbarian it is to stay then! Cler. And his charge left behind him, which is a very good sign, Dauphine. Enter CUTBEARD. Daup. How now, Cutbeard! succeeds it, or no? could not have pray'd to have had it so well. Cut. Past imagination, sir, omnia secunda;2 you Saltat senex, as it is in the proverb; he does triumph in his felicity, admires the party! he has given me the lease of my house too! and I am now going for a silent minister to marry them, and away. True. Slight! get one of the silenced ministers; a zealous brother would torment him purely. Cut. Cum privilegio, sir. Daup. Oh, by no means; let's do nothing to When 'tis done and finished, I hinder it now. am for you, for any device of vexation. Cut. And that shall be within this half hour, upon my dexterity, gentlemen. Contrive what you can in the meantime, bonis avibus.s [Exit. Cler. How the slave doth Latin it! True. It would be made a jest to posterity, sirs, this day's mirth, if ye will. Cler. Beshrew his heart that will not, I pro nounce. Daup. And for my part. What is it? Daup. Ay, marry; but how will't be done? It shall fright all its friends with borrow-lady-guests thither, and then the meat must ing letters; and when one of the fourscore hath brought it knighthood ten shillings, it knighthood shall go to the Cranes, or the Bear at the Bridge foot, and be drunk in fear; it shall not have money to discharge one tavern-reckoning, to invite the old creditors to forbear it knighthood, or the new, that should be, to trust it knighthood. It shall be the tenth name in the bond to take up the commodity of pipkins and stone-jugs: and the part thereof shall not furnish it knighthood forth for the attempting of a baker's widow, a brown baker's widow. It shall give it knighthood's name for a stallion, to all gamesome citizens' follow. Cler. For God's sake, let's effect it; it will be an excellent comedy of affliction, so many several noises. Daup. But are they not at the other place already, think you? 1 to repair itself, &c. This alludes probably to James's schemes for establishing order in Ireland, one of which was the grant of lands, about this time, to English settlers in Ulster, and for the revival of the colonies in Virginia. What is meant by Constantinople is not so easy to guess.-GIFFORD. 2 'everything favourable.' 4 See note 5, p. 185, col. 1. 5 bonis avibus-with good birds; ie. with favourable omens. bride-ale.-Ale means a festival. True. I'll warrant you for the college-honours: one of their faces has not the priming colour laid on yet, nor the other her smock sleek'd. Cler. Oh, but they'll rise earlier than ordinary to a feast. True. Best go see, and assure ourselves. True. I'll lead you. Were you never there yet? Daup. Not I. Cler. Nor I. True. Where have you lived then? not know Tom Otter! Cler. No; for God's sake, what is he? True. An excellent animal, equal with your Daw or La-Foole, if not transcendent, and does Latin it as much as your barber. He is his wife's subject; he calls her princess, and at such times as these follows her up and down the house like a page, with his hat off, partly for heat, partly for reverence. At this instant he is marshalling of his bull, bear, and horse. Daup. What be those, in the name of Sphynx? True. Why, sir, he has been a great man at the Bear-garden in his time; and from that subtle sport has ta'en the witty denomination of his chief carousing cups. One he calls his bull, another his bear, another his horse. And then he has his lesser glasses, that he calls his deer and his ape; and several degrees of them too; and never is well, nor thinks any entertainment perfect, till these be brought out, and set on the cupboard. Cler. For God's love!-we should miss this, if we should not go. True. Nay, he has a thousand things as good, that will speak him all day. He will rail on his wife, with certain commonplaces, behind her back; and to her face Daup. No more of him. Let's go see him, I petition you. [Exeunt. ACT III-SCENE I A Room in OTTER'S House. Enter Captain OTTER with his cups, and Ott. Nay, good princess, hear me pauca verba, Mrs. Ott. By that light, I'll have you chain'd up, with your bull-dogs and bear-dogs, if you be not civil the sooner. I'll send you to kennel, i'faith. You were best bait me with your bull, bear, and horse. Never a time that the courtiers or collegiates come to the house, but you make it a Shrove-Tuesday! I would have you get your Whitsuntide velvet cap, and your staff in your hand, to entertain them. Yes, in troth, do. Ott. Not so, princess, neither; but under correction, sweet princess, give me leave.-These things I am known to the courtiers by. It is reported to them for my humour, and they receive it so, and do expect it. Tom Otter's bull, bear, and horse is known all over England, in rerum natura.2 Mrs. Ott. 'Fore me, I will na-ture them over to Paris-garden, and na-ture you thither too, if you pronounce them again. Is a bear a fit beast, or a bull, to mix in society with great ladies? Think in your discretion, in any good policy. Ott. The horse, then, good princess. Mrs. Ott. Well, I am contented for the horse; they love to be well horsed, I know: I love it myself. Ott. And it is a delicate, fine horse this: Poetarum Pegasus. Under correction, princess, Jupiter did turn himself into a-taurus, or bull, under correction, good princess. Enter TRUEWIT, CLERIMONT, and DAUPHINE, behind. Mrs. Ott. By my integrity, I'll send you over to the Bank-side; I'll commit you to the master of the Garden, if I hear but a syllable more. Must my house or my roof be polluted with the scent of bears and bulls, when it is perfumed for great ladies? Is this according to the instrument, when I married you? that I would be princess, and reign in mine own house, and you would be my subject, and obey me? What did you bring me, should make you thus peremptory? Do I allow you your half-crown a day, to spend where you will, among your gamesters, to vex and torment me at such times as these? Who gives you your maintenance, I pray you? who allows you your horse-meat and man's meat? your three suits of apparel a year? your four pair of stockings, one silk, three worsted?_your clean linen, your bands and cuffs, when I can get you to wear them?-'tis marles you have them on now. Who graces you with courtiers or great personages, to speak to you out of their coaches, and come home to your house? Were you ever so much as look'd upon by a lord or a lady, before I married you, but on the Easter or Whitsun-holidays, and then out at the banqueting-house window, when Ned Whiting or George Stone were at the stake? 4 True. For God's sake, let's go stave her off him. Mrs. Ott. Answer me to that. And did not I take you up from thence, in an old greasy buffdoublet, with points, and green velvet sleeves, out at the elbows? You forget this. True. She'll worry him, if we help not in time. [They come forward. Mrs. Ott. Oh, here are some of the gallants! Go to, behave yourself distinctly, and with good morality; or, I protest, I'll take away your exhibition.5 True. By your leave, fair Mistress Otter, I'll be bold to enter these gentlemen in your acquaintance. Mrs. Ott. It shall not be obnoxious or difficil. sir. True. How does my noble captain? Is the bull, bear, and horse in rerum natura still? Ott. Sir, sic visum superis.' Mrs. Ott. I would you would but intimate them-do. Go your ways in, and get toasts and butter made for the woodcocks; that's a fit province for you. [Drives him off. Cler. Alas! what a tyranny is this poor fellow married to! True. Oh, but the sport will be anon, when we get him loose. Daup. Dares he ever speak? True. No Anabaptist ever rail'd with the like licence: but mark her language in the meantime, I beseech you. Mrs. Ott. Gentlemen, you are very aptly come. My cousin, Sir Amorous, will be here briefly. |