 | The Blind-Beggar of Bednal-Green |  |
ACT IV.
Enter Tom Strowd and Swash.Y. Stro.
How's this, shall I see all Norwitch in the corner of
a little Chamber? I had as lieve thou hadst told me
Charing cross stood in Cheapside, and all one.
Swash.
And you will not believe me you shall see it your self, 'tis
in this house, 'tis called a motion: there's first the Master of the motion,
then the Master's Mate, the Mate's Consort, the Consort's
Cabin-fellow, the Cabin-fellows Hangby, the Hangby's Man, the
Man's Boy, the Boy's Page, the Page's Wench, and all these live
upon the motion.
Y. Stro.
This is old excellent y'faith; come, and I had but one
cross in the world to bless me with I'de see it; go you afore Swash
and shew me thither.
Enter Snip like a Wench drest up.
Swash.
Do you see yon Wench Master? she is Door-keeper, I
have given her earnest to enter her soberly, and pass through her
quarters at my pleasure.
Y. Stro.
Is this she? how now pretty Mother? what Gamballs
hast ta? canst thou describe them? sen ye?
Snip.
Not I Sir, the Master of the Motion can Sir.
Y. Stro.
Go call him out then,—What's he? is he asham'd to shew
his face trow? or is it the fashion trow ye? what Gamballs have ye
here now? ha?
Enter Canbee and Hadland disguised.
Can.
Why This is Strowd that I fetc'd over with the counterfeit
Repreeve, but 'tis no matter, wee'll out-face him. Gentlemen the
first conceit you are to see is Tumbling.
Y. Stro.
Stumbling, What stumbling? I think the fellow be
straught.
Had.
Sir he means Tumbling, and feats of Activity.
Y. Stro.
Why man that's as stale as Bancks curtal, there were a sort of
Tumblers at Windham fair last week, and they have made that so stale
In Norfolk and Suffolk, that every wench is turn'd Tumbler, and ye
Can.
You shall likewise see the famous City of Norwitch, and
the stabbing of Julius Cæsar in the French Capitol by a sort of Dutch
Mesapotamians.
Y. Stro.
How the French Capitol! nay I remember Tully's Offices
sayes the Capitol that Cæsar was stab'd in was at Rome.
Can.
Impute the gross mistake to the fault of the Author; you
shall likewise see the amorous conceits and Love songs betwixt Captain
Pod of Py-corner, and Mrs. Rump of Ram-alley, never described
before.
Swash.
Good Master let's see Mrs. Rump of Ram-alley.
Y. Stro.
How? Captain Pod and Mrs. Rump?—I think this snufling
slave flouts us; then y'faith let's see the sawing of the Devil with
a wooden saw.
Can.
Or if it please you shall see a stately combate betwixt Tamberlayn
the Great, and the Duke of Guyso the less, perform'd on
the Olympick Hills in France.
Y. Stro.
France?—Thou speakest all French to me; but off with
this snuffling French Mask, and speak in your English voyce, or as
God sa me I'll beat thy nostrils as flat as a pancake, or a barly froyes.
Had.
Alas Sir, the Gentleman has got a mischance lately, and
broke his Brow, that makes him wear a Visard.
Y. Stro.
Dost tell me on his Brow? what car'd I and he had broke
his Neck, I'll have it off; what are you the Master of the Motion?
—I am glad I know it; Swash look thee here's Canby that cosen'd
me with the false Repreeve.
Swash.
And here's the slave Snip that ran away with your
Sword in a Wenches Petticoat; we'll spoyle your motion now we
have ye.
Had.
I beseech you good Master Swash.
Swash.
What Gypsie? are you turn'd Jugler? I'll tickle you.
Can.
Heark ye Mr. Strowd.
Had.
Mr. Swash as you ever came of a woman—
Swash.
Let me never come off a woman while I live again if I do
not terrifie you, I'll motion you, I'll murther your Tamberlayn and
his Coatch-horses, I'll stab your Cæsar, I'll ravish your Rump,
I'll peper your Pod, I'll powder your Motion, your Norwitch
shall down, I am fire, and I'll consume your Motion in a twinkling.
Exit with Snip.
Y. Stro.
Do Swash, and let me alone with these till thou come again.
Mr. Stro. For mine own part I protest unto you I love you as
dear as the heart in my bosom, and protest unto you it went to the
very soul of me to hear how that slave Canbee, like a Gypsy, cosen'd
you of a sattin suit.
Y. Stro.
How? how's this, was he the Gypsie that cosen'd me of
my suit?
Can.
Jack y'are a Gypsie; believe him not Mr. Strowd, he has
been prov'd perjur'd, the slave will fight with his own Father for a
Jack of Beer, and kill a sucking Infant for a pint of Wine, and where
he sayes I cosen'd you of your suit, 'twas his damn'd counsell that
Swash was rob'd yesterday of the 100 l.
Had.
Mr. Strowd, by this hollow tooth that shall tear that slaves
Nose like a piece of Swines flesh, 'twas he that rob'd him, and counterfeited
the Repreeve; indeed I must confess I had my share; some
I have spent, the rest is here, take it Mr. Strowd, and think of honest
Jack Hadland as he deserves.
Can.
I must give him some to; Mr. Strowd there's 20 l. towards
your losses, because I would not have my reputation come in question
afore the Protector, nor seem to stain my Lord Cardinal's
cloath; there should be an old Harry Angel amongst it, lend it me to
swear by a little.
Y. Stro.
Not one of them and there were a hundred of 'em.
Can.
Let me be torn into mammocks with wilde Bears if I make
not a gallemaufry of thy heart, and keep thy Skull for my quaffing
bowl you base cheating Slave.
Y. Stro.
—Here's the old Proverb right, When false Theeves
fall out, true men come to their own; but say I should take this
40 l. in part of payment, what security shall I have to get the rest?
for my Father has vow'd nere to take me for his Son, till I get his
mony again, or see you at the Gallows.
Can.
Are you faln out with your father? fall in with us helter
shelter, you shall fare no worse than we do.
Y. Stro.
—Man, what wouldst thou have me to turn Cony-catcher?
Can.
Oh Sir, your only bravest life that can be.
Y. Stro.
—I think it were not amiss, for I ha seen Wheat and
Barley grow amongst cockell and darnell, and many an honest man
keep Knaves company; How now Swash, what hast thou done?
Enter Swash and Snip.
Swash.
I have confounded their Motion, beleaguer'd their
Prisoner in a pursute, to the utter undoing of all Motion-Monger
and Puppit-players.
Y. Stro.
'Tis well done Swash, but wotts thou what man? I am
turn'd Cony-catcher since thou wentst.
Swash.
Cony-catcher? the Devill you are?
Y. Stro.
Yes y'faith Swash, and if thou wou't do one thing for
me now, I'll teach thee to conycatch too when I come into Norfolk.
Swash.
On that condition Master I'll do it what ere it be.
Y. Stro.
Do but go thy waies to Mile-end-Green to my fathers
lodging at the 3 Colts, & do but tell him I cannot find these fellows
yet, but as soon as I do meet with them, tell him he shal hear from me.
Swash.
Yes Sir, I'll go tell him you are with 'em, but you bid me
say you could not find 'em.
Y. Stro.
—By no means Swash, then thou marr'st all, tell him I
cannot find 'em, make a lye for me now, I'll make two for thee another
time.
Swash.
Well on this condition you'll teach me to cony, I am
content to lye for you.
Y. Stro.
Do so; Now Sirs, what course will you take, that I may
come by the rest of my mony?
Can.
Tush we have 100 l. tricks when we want cash one amongst
us undertakes the name and habit of some swashing Italian
or French Noble-man at least, the rest in Liveries attending, then
we come and sojourn at some honest Gentlemans house, till we have
eat him out of house and home in diet, and wore his credit out at
elbows with taking up commodities at his Merchants, in hope to
have all his mony at a day, before which day we give him the slip,
and to escape pursute attire our selves like Gypsies, Pedlars, Tinkers,
or such like disguise; how like you this?
Y. Stro.
This is old excellent y'faith; well I see I might a kept
company with honest men all the daies a my life ere I should a
learn'd half this Knavery: but heark my Masters, yonder's the
Blind-Beggar of Bednall-Green has the prettiest Mother to his
Daughter as a man need to lay his leg over, now if all the wit in
your heads can but get her to be my wife, I sho'd think my mony
every penny better bestowed than other.
Can.
You shall have Sir her.
Y. Stro.
Shall, why well said; come then my mad Viragoes I
in my daies that I never drunk for, and now I'll turn swaggerer
my self, I'll keep you company and't be but to keep you honest,
true men I cannot, for there's nere a finger on your hands but
is as bad as a lime twig, I'll do my good will, and I can bring ye to
any goodness, then say God a mercy honest Tom Strowd of Harling.
Can.
Thou shalt be our chief Captain amongst us.
Y. Stro.
How your Captain?—I'll make all split then, come my
hearts.
Exeunt.
Enter old Momford and sits down, to him Bess Momford.
Bess.
Father, dear father succour me from shame,
Young Mr. Playnsey is entered our house,
Hath shut the fore-door up, detains the keys,
And swears to kill me, if I do not yield
To his abhorrid and intemperate lust,
Help me good father o're the Garden pale,
That I may call for succour on the Green.
Momf.
No Daughter, sit thee down, sit down by me,
I call you Daughter, being your own desire,
If you be nobly born as you report,
Why should you to escape your own distress
Leave me poor man alone, and comfortless?
Enter Y. Playn.
Bess.
He comes!
Momf.
Let him, sit down, sit down I say.
Bess.
O how shall I escape reproach this day?
Momf.
Peace, heaven may give my byzon'd eyes their light,
Stretching these crooked limbs strait and upright.
Y. Playn.
Art thou fled hither? thinkest thou his weak strength
Can free thee? come, why should this frosty ice
Clasp his cold arms about thy flowring spring?
Nay strive not Bayard, if ye do, by Heaven
I'll draw my Rapier, and with one thrust
Send thee to Charon as a Passenger:
Momf.
Oh, I am feeble, pray ye hurt me not,
If it be true, as I have heard it told
You maried lately with Sir Robert's Daughter.
Y. Playn.
Father, I hate her, and she scorneth me,
She pules, she sighs, she pines, she leaves her meat,
She flies my Bridal-bed, she bans, she raves
Bess.
Good Sir comfort her.
Y. Playn.
Comfort thou me, and I will comfort her.
Bess.
I will not yield consent to such a sin,
I scorn to be a Princes Concubine.
Y. Playn.
Wilt thou be then my wife?
Bess.
No, I have sworn
To dye as pure a Maid as I was born.
Momf.
How can she be your Wife?
Y. Stro.
My wife will die.
Momf.
Tarry that time.
Y. Playn.
All lingering I defie.
Old man I'll make thee happy by thy grant;
Fair Maid thou shalt be blest in thy consent;
Deny me and I'll turn a Tereus,
Murder thy Father, then cut out thy tongue,
Deform thy beauty with the hand of wrath,
Lastly make spoyl of thy Virginity,
Then leave thee wretched; where if now thou yield,
'Gainst all reproach and wrong I'll be thy shield.
Bess.
Help me good Father.
Y. Playn.
Bid a sere dry'd Reed
Oppose his sapless strength 'gainst a green Oak.
See me, I am all youth, all love, all beauty,
Thou beautious, lovely, youthfull, 'tis thy duty
To love thy like, which duty if thou shun,
My hate thy beautious youth shall overturn.
Momf.
Good Sir stand but aside a little while;
I do remember since my self was young
The strong effects of lust; both she and I
Must yield to your desire.
Bess.
I'll rather dye.
Momf.
Nay say not so, listen to me my Child.
Y. Playn.
I marry father if thou canst perswade her
I'll make thee rich, and one day mary her.
Momf.
Fear nothing Child, but use him gently,
And I will fit his hot lust presently.
Y. Playn.
Come, what resolve you? either yield or dye.
Momf.
Sir I commit my Daughter to your hands,
But I beseech you woo her with fair words,
I'll in and weep, for what can I do more?
You're rich and strong, and I am week and poor.
Y. Playn.
Hold Father, take that Gold to comfort thee.
Momf.
For mony few men now shun infamy.
Bess.
Oh me, do you forsake me!
Momf.
I a while I do,
But Playnsey I'll anon be even with you.
Ex. Momf.
Y. Playn.
Now prettie Virgin how are you resolv'd?
Bess.
I yield, yet though I yield I bend my knees,
And ere my spotless Virgin shape I leese
Kneels.
Let me delate the many miseries—
Y. Playn.
Come do not stain thy lilly cheeks with tears,
Nor fashion to thy self a form of dread,
Thou talk'st of loss of shape, a fair Lass bears
A shape as goodly in lost Maiden-head,
And far more lovely; then with smiling grace,
They boldly look upon a Lovers face,
Try once, then be assur'd thoul't not refuse,
Hadst thou a hundred Maiden-heads to lose.
Bess.
Impious temptation! I defie thee Playnsey,
Setting my weak strength to resist thy lust;
Off with thy poysonous hands, help, help me Heaven.
Enter Momford like a Serving-man.
Momf.
But a poor earthly man guided by Heaven
Will keep thee from this deed, hatefull as Hell;
Playnsey forbear as thou respects thy life.
Y. Playn.
Thou Autum-shaken leaf, thou bare Anatomie,
Thou wither'd Elder-pith, thou shape of death,
Sent by that blind exorcist to disturb
The pleasures that young Playnsey's heart affects,
Vanish, I know thou art but lither Ayr,
Thy hand fell lightly on me like thin smoak
That is disperc'st amongst the spreading clowds.
Momf.
What mak'st thou me a Ghost? come take thy weapons,
Thou shalt soon try I am both flesh and bone.
Fight, Playnsey is down.
Y. Playn:
Hold Villain hold!
Momf.
No Boy, I am a Man,
Uncle to that wrong'd Maid, the Blind-mans brother,
Who quaking sits within mourning his Child;
Westford and you are flesh't in villanies;
Think on your plot about the banish'd Momford,
If you'll repent it I will use you well;
Make means that Momford may be proved clear,
As you know best his harmless innocence,
And on a Souldiers word I do protest
Momford shall make your peace, and sue your pardon.
Y. Playn.
What dost thou mean? what's this thou talk'st to
me?
Momf.
I talk of Treason, rapine, slander, wrong;
Go get thee to Sir Robert, hee's hard by,
I saw him walking up along the Green;
Stand not to talk, if thou accept my offer
I'll be a faithfull servant in this business,
Preserve your credits, and confer with you;
If not, resolve on this, I'll to the King,
And there accuse you of this haynous wrong.
Y. Playn.
Wilt thou stay here untill I fetch Sir Robert?
Momf.
I will. Go Maid, help the old man to bed,
Ex. Pl.
Hee's shrowdly frighted by this violence.
Bess.
What reverend man art thou? or Angel rather,
That speak'st these wonders of my banish'd father?
Momf.
Go honorable Maiden, Momford's Heir,
A little help the old weak blinded man,
That weeping sits within, trembling for dread
Lest Playnsey had thy chast youth injured,
Help him, and then I'll tell thee many wonders.
Bess.
To hear but one word of my fathers weal,
I'll undergo all work, all pain, all toyl.
Ex. Bess.
Momf.
Poor Girl, how glad she is to hear the voyce
Of Momford's honor? with what nimble speed
She hyes to help a shadow, there's no beggar,
No poor blind man, that wants her comforting;
I wonder what she'll think, when she shall find
Only a staff, a scrip, a gown, a bonnet,
And nere a body to make use of them?
Enter Bess.
She comes, and is amazed as she comes.
Bess.
Where is the blind man I beseech you Sir?
Alone I find his garments in his Chair,
Momf.
He is within fair Maid.
Bess.
Aged man,
I should give credit to your milk-white hairs;
Tell me, O tell me, why within a Chair
The case is left; are you a Conjuror,
Where is the blind man that I call'd my father?
Momf.
I am no Conjuror, stay here but a while,
And I will bring the blind-man to thy sight,
Stay here, look on this clowdy Element,
And I'll produce him to your hearts content.
Ex. Momf.
Bess.
Alas where am I! sure this Beggars Cell
Is a base Cottage to betray my honor;
I took him at the first to be a Comforter,
But now I see he is expert in shapes:
But why should I dispraise him? he did free
My body from vild Playnsey's luxury.
Methinks he has been all my Joy to me,
Why should there now arise this difference?
Enter Momford like a Beggar.
Momf.
Daughter where are you?
Bess.
Pray where is your brother?
Momf.
I have no Brother, no kin but one Daughter.
Bess.
Hee's an inchanter sure, his waies I'll shun.
Momf.
Daughter where are you? I conjure you Child
By the true honor of old Momford's name,
By Momford's faith, that was by fraud exil'd,
You would not let his honor die in shame.
Bess.
Help me ye powers, that give all Mortals power,
To scape this heavy and too troublous hour.
Spirit avoid me, or if thou be no spirit
Surely it is a damn'd Magicion.
Fly me, thou alter'st shapes, I do not love thee.
Momf.
Thou dost; see here the Gold thou sent'st thy father,
When I, even I my self brought these fair Arms
To wicked Westford's Gate; poor Child be not amaz'd,
I am thy Father Momford, by trayterous practise banished.
Bess.
Ah me, that I have liv'd so long unknown,
I still had such a hope.
Mom.
Fair Child forbear,
Or one of them at least, will come forthwith;
Say you the blind man is in his bed sick,
And call me Uncle; come, be comforted,
Our sum of honor in despight of guile
Shall brightly shine in England's Hemisphere,
We have been clowded long, but mauger hate,
Truth will advance desert to honor's state.
Exeunt.
Enter Sir Robert Westford, Y. Playnsey, Canbee, Hadland, and Tom Strowd.
Y. Playn.
Dare you trust Strowd in this same stratagem?
Can.
Tush fear him not, since his father hath given him over, he
hath given o're all honesty and lives upon the spoyl; come ye mad
Rogues here's three of us, and here's 30 l. each man take his share,
and with his share his charge; We are all for this mony to cut the
throat of the Blind-beggar, his Brother, and his Daughter.
Y. Stro.
How? cut their Throats?—I'll see ye hang'd first.
Can.
Jack thou and I will keep quarter at this end of the Green,
and Waylay the old spruce Serving-man, he shall be our share, and
Tom Strowd thou shalt ly at this corner for the wench, for this
way she comes unto the Conduit-head for water, she falls to
thee.
Had.
And fall thou to her, and ye can but agree of price.
Y. Stro.
Nay let me alone for falling upon the Wench I warrant
ye.
Can.
Mr. Playnsey and Sir Robert do you keep about the old
Mans Cottage, and when you see his Daughter gone knock out his
Brains with his Crutches; thus have you heard your several charges;
every man to his Court of Guard, and keep fair quarter.
Sir Rob.
Plotted with good discretion; Son Playnsey
I like it well, that you and I go walk
Near to this Cottage, for it much concerns us
To see this Beggar dead, upon whose breath
Proud slander sits to blemish our good names,
And blast our honest reputations;
Shake hands and part in hope when next we meet,
Ex. Sir Rob. & Can. & Had.
Their deaths shall lay all danger at our feet.
Y. Playn.
Pray heaven it may; a word good Mr. Strowd.
Although you had in charge to kill the Maid,
In your attempt, and in the stead of death
Tell her I love her dearly, and that love
Enforc'd this shift: for though the Wench be poor,
Yet in the glass of my affection
She seems right wealthy, fair and vertuous;
Commend me to her Strowd, and since my wife
Hath given her latest farewell to the world,
Ready Swash.
Tell her I do intend to mary her;
Mean time convey her to my farm at Rederiff,
And there's 10 Angels more for thy reward:
But be as trusty to me, as the thought
That sleeps within my bosome, so adue,
I trust the richest of my hopes with you.
Ex. Playn.
Y. Stro.
Do so, and I do not deceive you let me dye like a Dog on
a Pitch-fork;—This is excellent, hire me to steal away the Wench
I am in love withall my self, this comes just in the nick yfaith,
I desire no more, but to meet her. Whose yonder Swash? how now?
whither away so fast Swash ha?
Enter Swash.
Swash.
What my young Master? why I am going to the three
Colts to saddle your Fathers Gelding; we both ride into Norfolk
this afternoon.
Y. Stro.
—Better and better still, thou com'st as fit for the purpose
as a Pudding for a Fryers mouth, so dost thou: I do but
stay here to talk 3 or 4 cold words in hugger-mugger with the
Blind-beggars Daughter, and I'll ride down into Norfolk with
you; and as God wo'd ha't, yonder comes the Mother.
Enter Bess Momford.
Bess.
Oh what content attends this Country life?
Here proud Ambition's emulating eye
Playes not the find-fault; our thatch'd-shed is built
Without the reach of Treasons bloody Gripe.
Swash.
To her Master; 'tis an old saying in our Country, Long
Standers are but short Doers, Wenches cannot away with
them.
Y. Stro.
Mass Swash I think thou sayst true; I'll to her, How
now pretty Mother, whither are you going so fast?
Bess.
Alas good Sir I am a poor man's Child,
My Father is the Beggar of this Green,
That ives upon good peoples charities,
To fetch clean water from the Conduit-head;
VVe eat the herbs that grow on the Springs brinck,
And count the Conduit-water wholsom drink.
Y. Stro.
Nay you drink water you are no hostess for me:
Swash.
You are no hostess for me, fie, fie, I am ashamed of
you.
Y. Stro.
Why? what should I say to her?
Swash.
VVhat? you should have prais'd her little foot,
Her hansome shooe belonging to't:
And then a come to her round knee,
And then Master to her belly.
Y. Stro.
I marry Swash, and I were there once I'de do well enough:
but pray, thee let me alone, I'll talk to her well enough I
warrant thee; this is to the purpose, VVench you know young Mr.
Playnsey?
Bess.
I do remember I have seen the man,
He loves my Father well; why names he Playnsey?
I hope he'ill do me no more injury?
Swash.
Fie, fie, what have you to do with Playnsey? come to
your own business; as thus you must come upon her, Oh Lady
bright, pity this Knight, that in this plight is thus tormented, if you
be willing, to be billing, I dare hold a shilling you shall be contented.
Y. Stro.
I marry Swash, this is excellent yfaith; could'st not
thou a taught me this? but all's one Swash, I'll win her without
these Ballads I warrant you; VVell wench, to come to the point,
there's young Playnsey loves you well, and he has hired me to
watch for thee here, and carry thee to his Farm house at Rederiff,
where if he find thee, soon at night thou art like to lose thy
Maiden-head afore morning.
Bess.
Unhappy wretch, that Playnsey sure was born
To make our House and Family a scorn.
Swash.
Shee begins to yield Master, give her not o're, to her again
Master.
Y. Stro.
I warrant thee Swash now I am in let me alone. VVell
VVench, this is the plain English on't, and thou lovest me no worse
than I love thee, instead of carrying thee to his Farm-house at Rederiff,
I'll ha thee to the Church and mary thee, and of a poor
Beggars Daughter, I'll make thee a wealthy Norfolk Yeomans
Bess.
Alas my Father is a poor Blind-man,
And I am all the comfort that he has,
I am his eyes to see, his feet to go,
And hands to dress him, I being gone hee's left
Eyeless, handless, footless, comfortless,
Yet if you love me as you make a show,
Come to our Cottage: though our State be poor,
We live content and that's a good mans store,
Y. Stro.
Lay thee Swash, I must go into her Cot-house she says;
Well VVench, and thou wot not go with me, thou art ne're like to
see thy Father, nor his Shed more, for Mr. Playnsey and Sir
Robert Westford has hired a couple of false Knaves to cut thy fathers
throat, therefore and thou canst love me, say, and hold,
go thou with Swash and raise the Town, and I'll go back and save
thy Father's life I warrant thee.
Bess.
I'll go with ye, love ye, I'll do any thing so thou wilt save
my aged Fathers life.
Y. Stro.
—Let me be hang'd like a Dog and I do not; Swash
go you with her and raise the Town, I'll but cross o're the Summer
lay by the Broom field o're goodman Dawson's Close and be
with you presently;—whither art thou going? thou dost not hear
me.
Swash.
Yes, yes, I must go by the Broom-field, I hear you Sir,
come VVench come.
Y. Stro.
Nay since you are so forward hold, take you the Pitcher,
I'll go with her my self,—I wod not for anything but I had
turn'd Cony-catcher, here had been a black day with some body
else; come VVench, dry thine eyes, never cry for the matter, the
worst is past, thou shalt see the case altered I warrant thee, I'll save
thy Father's life fear not.
Swash.
Oh, oh, oh, I carry the Pitcher! there let it lye, I'll after
them.
Exeunt.
Enter Momford driving in Canbee and Hadland.
Can.
—I am hurt.
Had.
Hold, and thou com'st of the noble blood of the Trojans
hold.
Momf.
Nay do not think you desperate Cast-aways,
Though time hath hid me with the rynd of Age,
And hung his snowy livery of my face,
If you be men whose fortune's has been shak'd
By the rough arm of want, or Servitors
That have consum'd your living in the wars,
I have a poor blind Brother on this Green,
Who by the Alms of charitable men,
And with the wealth I brought him out of France,
Hath store of Gold, and had you shown your wants
To him or me—
Can.
I scorn to make my state known to e're a prowling Beggar
on ye all, we know your Brother has Gold, and 'tis that we
come for.
Had.
And we'll ha't or dye for't.
Both.
Murther, help, help.
They fight.
Enter Sir Robert Westford, and young Playnsey.
Sir Rob.
What murder? where's the Murderers?
Y. Playn.
Sir Robert draw, it is my friend that's wrong'd.
Momf.
Nay I beseech your worship hold your hands,
Though I be old, I am sufficient
To answer two far better men than these.
Can.
Sir Robert, as you are a Knight lay hold upon one, who was
not content to rob us in the Kings high way, but would likewise
have taken away our lives.
Y. Playn.
Upon my Soul you do the fellow wrong.
Sir Rob.
Nay, nay Son Playnsey, never take his part;
How should the Beggar here of Bednall-Green
Get so much wealth, as the world thinks he hath,
And keep his minion at the Beggars house,
But by such practices? yield up thy weapons,
Or set upon him all, I'll answer it.
Momf.
Well, well, Sir Robert Westford, time has been
The Blind-man and his Daughter did deserve
More friendship at your hands: and Mr. Playnsey
I could repeat, but let old matters rest.
They beat Momf.
Sir Rob.
What do ye brave us? set upon the slave.
Y. Playn.
What is he gone? how did he scape our hands?
Can.
—I know not, I had a full blow at his left leg, I had thought
I had cut it off.
Enter Tom Stroud.
Tom Stro.
Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, Canbee! Pray Heaven keep
the old man from killing ere I come, and I care not.
What Tom Strowd? well met, where's the Wench? is she
safe?
Y. Stro.
Safe! Dost thou make a question on't? I warrant she
is safe enough for telling any more tales, I am no Bunglar about a
VVench; but where's the Blind-beggar and his Brother?
Can.
The Beggar is a Devil, and his Brother his familiar; here's old
Madge has bit off 100 and 50 Legs and Arms in her daies, and yet
she could not so much as draw blood of him, hee's Musket-proof,
or he had dyed for't else.
Y. Playn.
She is at Rederiff then, there I sent Strowd;
VVe'll end this task, and then I'll visit her:
But here's the Cottage, pull the Villain out,
They knock.
Hee's both a Fellon, and a Murderer.
Enter Momford like a Beggar.
Momf.
VVhat means this out-rage at a Blind mans door?
Are Englishmen become so inhumane
That Beggars cannot scape their violence?
Sir Rob.
Leave this dissembling, and send forth thy Brother,
For he hath rob'd these honest Gentlemen,
VVe follow'd him, and saw him enter here,
Therefore dispatch, and either send him out,
Or else wee'll lock the Doors upon you both,
And fire the rotten Cottage 'ore your ears.
Momf.
Indeed I must confess I have a Brother,
An antient Serving-man, maym'd in the wars
Under Lord Momfords colours.
Y. Playn.
For naming Momford run him through the heart.
T. Stro.
—Touch him he that dares; as God fa' me I'll be his
Priest that toucheth but a hair of him?
Can.
Strowd, I hope you do but jest with us.
T. Stro.
Jest me no jests shall ne're be said, Tom Strowd of Harling
stood by and saw a Blind-man murthered, therefore courage
old Father, set thy back to mine, and cover thy head with thy Crutches;
I'll take up my lodging on Gods dear ground, er'e
thou shalt take any harm, for the pretty Mother thy Daughters
sake.
Enter old Playnsey, old Strowd, and Captain VVestford, Sill. Clark.
Old Playn.
How now? what quarrels have we here?
Sir Robert Westford, it ill beseems a man of your estate
To have a hand in such unlawfull riots;
The timeless death of your deceased wife,
To follow such unseemly practises?
Old. Stro.
Ha, sest me so? dost take the blind mans part?
Th'art a Strowd right, a Norfolk, Yeoman right,
To take part with the weakest; Well done my Boy,
I do forgive all matters that are past,
For joy to see thy heart so well inclin'd.
T. Stro.
VVhy I thank you Father, and I forgive you too
withall my heart.
Sir Rob.
Sir Walter Playnsey you are mis-inform'd,
We come with no intent of injury,
These Gentlemen were Strangers unto us,
We found sore hurt and rob'd by a false Theef,
And Brother to this Beggar, whom we saw
Enter into his house.
Old Playn.
What say'st thou Father?
Know'st thou of such a practise by thy Brother?
Or to thy knowledge is he in the house?
Momf.
Sir Walter Playnsey, that I take's your name,
So help me Heaven, as I am ignorant
From any such lewd practise of my Brothers:
But since your worships here, I'll call him forth
In person, to make answer for himself,
Desiring you to pardon me a while,
For what with sorrow and with cares down prest,
My sightless eyes had need to take their rest.
Exit.
Old Payn.
Send us thy Brother and be thou discharg'd:
But Mr. Strowd, what can you say to this?
T. Stro.
Faith Sir, 'tis a common saying in our Country, You
shall know by the Market-folks how the Market goes; and none
knows their Knavery better than I that was one of their company.
Father do you see those two fellows there?
Old Stro.
I son, what of them?
T. Stro.
Why these were they that cosen'd me of my sattin sute,
and with the false Repreeve that had like to a hang'd you, and rob'd
Swash of the 100 l. too.
Old Stro.
What these Gentlemen?
T. Stro.
Gentlemen! as God mend me, a couple of as arrant Cony-catchers
as e're pist.
Is't possible Son?
T. Stro.
Push, you are a Fool Father, you know nothing, I
have paid for my learning; and falling into their company in hope to
get some satisfaction for all my losses; it was my chance to be by
when Sir Robert Westford and Mr. Playnsey there gave them 30 l. to
murder the Blind-beggar, his Brother, and his Daughter: but by
my means the Beggar and his Daughter are alive, but what's become
of his Brother I know not; this, as I am Tom Strowd of Harling,
and a true-hearted Norfolk-man, I'll justifie against one, two,
three, or the whole pack of em', when, where, or how they dare,
for the very ears and guts of 'em all.
Can.
Strowd, y'are a Nit, a Slave, and a Pessant.
T. Stro.
How a Fessant?—I scorn to soyl my hands about thee:
but and I had thee alone, with a tough Ashen Gibbet in my hand,
and I did not dry bang ye all one after another, I'de eat no meat
but Mustard; sen ye?
Old Playn.
Strowd have a care you speak nought but truth.
Old Stro.
And speak the truth Boy as thou art my Son.
T. Stro.
And I do not I'll give you leave to call me Cut, sen ye?
Old Playn.
Sir Robert Westford this concerns you near,
And Son it touches your reputation too?
Y. Playn.
But it shall touch his life that Authors it;
Strowd you are a villain, and for old grudge
Enter Momford like a Serving-man.
Betwixt your Father and Sir Robert Westford,
Forg'd this surmise, as both these Gentlemen
Are ready on their oaths to justifie.
Can.
No more, here comes the Slave that rob'd us.
T. Stro.
Rob'd ye! of what I trow? of your good conditions?
Had.
This is he that hack't my Thygh like a leg of Beef.
T. Stro.
Thou lyest like a Theef.
Old Playn.
Are you the Blind-mans Brother?
Momf.
Sir, I am.
Old Playn.
You are accus'd here of a Robbery,
What can you answer in your own defence?
Momf.
Sir Walter Playnsey, and good Captain Westford,
First as I look for comfort from above
I never nurs'd a thought to that intent:
Indeed these Gentlemen, Strangers to me,
Did draw upon me, and as I suppose,
By the provokement of Sir Robert Westford
Old Playn.
What reason should they have for that?
Momf.
Your worship shall perceive; Sir Robert Westford
Wounded by Strowd, and desperate of life,
Confest unto my Brother the Blind-man,
That by the means of him and Mr. Playnsey
They counterfeited these Letters that wrought
Momford's banishment; Besides all this,
My Sword shall justifie, that first by briber,
And then by forcive means he would have forc'd
My Neece unto his lust. All this is true,
And this I'll justifie upon their bodies in the open lists.
Y. Playn.
Thou dar'st not for thy life?
Momf.
Playnsey I dare,
And wo'd my Soveraign Liege give me but leave,
This Sun should see thy Treasons punished.
Sir Rob.
Wert thou a Gentlemen as thou art a Slave,
I'de make thee eat thy words or dig thy Grave.
T. Stro.
Eat a Pudding's end, the old man shall take no wrong
Sir.
Cap. West.
Sir Robert Westford, your Gentility
Shall not tread down the truth; long has my Soul
Thirsted for this occasion: for when I saw
You falsifie your faith, wedding your Daughter
Unto Playnsey's Son, that was the Troth-plight Husband to Bess Momford,
I thought as much as this poor man now speaks,
And will in single combate prove as much;
He of you both that thinks himself most touch'd,
Take up my Gage.
Y. Playn.
Westford I'll answer thee.
Can.
And I'll maintain Sir Robert Westford's cause.
Momf.
Take up my Glove then.
Sir Rob.
Give me it, I'll maintain it my self.
Had.
This shall justifie that Strowd
And that base Villain were agreed to murder us.
T. Stro.
I is the wind ei' that door, I'll take up thy Glove: but
—and I bang not thy Coxcomb, hang me la.
Old Playn.
I hope this challeng'd combate will decide the truth.
Cap. West.
Which Heaven assisting, and the King well pleas'd,
I'll to the King, and never raise my Knee from the cold earth,
Till I obtain, by privilege of flight
A black revenge for worthy Momford's fall.
Ex. Cap. West.
Y. Playn.
And thither Westford will I follow thee,
Or born upon the wings of my just cause,
Arive before thee.
Exit Y. Playn.
Sir Rob.
Each man take his way.
St. George and Conquest guide our swords this day.
[Exeunt, manent
Old Stro.
Courage my Boy, if thou prevail in fight,
[the Strowds.
I'll swear Lord Momford hath not had his right.
T. Stro.
Courage sa' ye? as God mend me, I respect them no
more than I do a flap with a Fox tayl, and I do not beat 'em as ye
sho'd cuyle a side of dry'd Stock-fish, I'll be bound to go to Rome
with a Morter a my head.
Old Stro.
Why well said my Son, let's away.
T. Stro.
But heark ye Father; you know I am to go amongst
the Court-nowles, you must needs let me have good store of mony
with me, let not the name of STROWDS be disgrac'd, I pray Father.
Old Stro.
Tush Boy, fear not, I'll carry 500 l. with me, and that
shall fly ere thou want.
T. Stro.
—And I'll bring some of my own too, or it shall go
hard.
Exeunt.
Musick. Cornets.
| The Blind-Beggar of Bednal-Green | |