 | A Pleasant Comedy, Called :The Case is Altered |  |
Actus secundi
Scæna prima.
Enter Iaques solus.So now inough my heart, beat now no more;
At least for this afright, what a could sweat
Flow'd on my browes, and ouer all my bosome!
Had I not reason? to behold my dore
Beset with vnthrifts, and my selfe abroad?
Why Iaques? was their nothing in the house
Worth a continuall eye, a vigelent thought,
Looke on my coate, my thoughts, worne quite thredbare,
That time could neuer couer with a nappe,
And by it learne, neuer with nappes of sleepe,
To smother your conceipts of that you keepe.
But yet, I maruell, why these gallant youths
Spoke me so faire, and I esteemd a beggar?
The end of flattery, is gaine, or lechery:
If they seeke gaine of me, they thinke me rich,
But that they do not: for their other obiect:
Tis in my handsome daughter, if it be.
And by your leaue, her handsomnesse may tell them
My beggery counterfeits, and, that her neatnesse,
Flowes from some store of wealth, that breakes my coffers,
With this same engine, loue to mine owne breed,
But this is answered: Beggers will keepe fine,
Their daughters, being faire, though themselues pine.
Well then, it is for her, I, t'is sure for her,
And I make her so briske for some of them,
That I might liue alone once with my gold.
O t'is a sweet companion! kind and true,
A man may trust it when his father cheats him,
Brother, or friend, or wife, ô wondrous pelfe,
“That which makes all men false, is true it selfe.
But now this maid, is but suppos'd my daughter:
For I being Steward to a Lord of France,
Of great estate, and wealth, called Lord Chammount,
He gone into the warres, I stole his treasure;
(But heare not, any thing) I stole his treasure,
And this his daughter, being but two yeares old,
Because it lou'd me so, that it would leaue
The nurse her selfe, to come into mine armes,
And had I left it, it would sure haue dyed.
Now herein I was kinde, and had a conscience;
And since her Lady mother that did dye
In child-bed of her, loued me passing well,
Both in the child and her: but hees ill bred,
That ransackes tombes, and doth deface the dead.
I'le therefore say no more: suppose the rest,
Here haue I chang'd my forme, my name and hers.
And liue obsurely, to enioy more safe
Enter Rachel.
My deerest treasure. But I must abroad, Rachel,
Rach.
VVhat is your pleasure sir?
Iaq.
Rachel I must abroad.
Lock thy selfe in, but yet take out the key,
That whosoeuer peepes in at the key-hole,
May yet imagine there is none at home.
Rach.
I will sir.
Iaq.
But harke thee Rachel: say a theefe should come,
And misse the key, he would resoule indeede
None were at home, and so breake in the rather:
Ope the doore Rachel, set it open daughter;
But sit in it thy selfe: and talke alowd,
As if there were some more in house with thee:
Put out the fire, kill the chimnies hart,
That it may breath no more then a dead man,
The more we spare thy child, the more we gaine.
Exeunt.
Scæne 2.
Enter Christophero, Iuniper and Onion.Christ.
What sayes my fellow Onion? come on.
Oni.
All of a house sir, but no fellowes, you are my Lords
Steward, but I pray you what thinke you of loue, sir?
Christ.
Of loue Onion? Why it's a very honourable humor.
Oni.
Nay if it be but worshipfull I care not.
Iunip.
Go to, it's honorable, checke not at the conceit of the
Gentleman.
Oni.
But in truth sir, you shall do well to think well of loue:
For it thinkes well of you, in me, I assure you.
Gramercy fellow Onion: I do thinke well, thou are
in loue, art thou?
Oni.
Partly sir, but I am asham'd to say wholy.
Chris.
Well, I will further it in thee to any honest woman,
or maiden, the best I can.
Iunip.
Why now you come neere him sit, he doth vaile,
He doth remunerate, he doth chaw the cud in the kindnesse
Of an honest imperfection to your worship.
Chris.
But who is it thou louest fellow Onion?
Oni.
Mary a pooremans daughter, but none of the honestest,
I hope.
Chris.
Why, wouldst thou not haue her honest?
Oni.
O no, for then I am sure she would not haue me.
T'is Rachel de Prie.
Chris.
Why, she hath the name of a very vertuous mayden.
Iunip.
So shee is sir, but the fellow talkes in quiddits, he.
Chris.
What wouldst thou haue me do in the matter?
Oni.
Do nothing sir, I pray you, but speake for me.
Chris.
In what maner?
Oni.
My fellow Iuniper can tell you sir.
Iunip.
Why as thus sir. Your worship may commend him
for a fellow fit for consanguinity, and that he shaketh with
desire of procreation, or so.
Chris.
That were not so good, me thinkes.
Iunip.
No sir, why so sir? what if you should say to her,
correborate thy selfe: sweete soule, let me distinguish thy
pappes with my fingers, diuine Mumps, prety Pastorella?
lookest thou so sweet and bounteous? comfort my friend
here.
Chris.
Well I perceiue you wish, I should say something
may do him grace, and further his desires, and that be sure
I will.
Oni.
I thanke you sir, God saue your life, I pray God
sir.
Iunip.
Your worship is too good to liue long youle contaminate
me no seruice.
Command thou wouldest say, no good Iuniper.
Iunip.
Health and wealth sir.
Exeunt Onion and Iuniper.
Chris.
This wench wil I solicite for my selfe,
Making my Lord and maister priuy to it;
And if he second me with his consent,
I will proceede, as hauing long ere this,
Thought her a worthy choyce to make my wife.
Exit.
Scæne 3.
Enter Aurelia, Phœnixella.Avre.
Roome for a case of matrons coloured blacke,
How motherly my mothers death hath made vs?
I would I had some girles now to bring vp;
O I could make a wench so vertuous,
She should say grace to euery bit of meate,
And gape no wider then a wafers thicknesse:
And she should make French cursies, so most low,
That euery touch should turne her ouer backward.
Phœni.
Sister, these words become not your attire,
Nor your estate: our vertuous mothers death
Should print more deepe effects of sorrow in vs,
Then may be worne out in so little time.
Aure.
Sister, faith you take too much Tobacco,
It makes you blacke within, as y' are without.
What true-stich sister? both your sides alike?
Be of a sleighter worke: for of my word,
You shall be sold as deere or rather deerer?
Will you be bound to customes and to rites?
Shed profitable teares, weepe for aduantage;
Or else, do all things, as you are enclynd,
Hate when your stomacke serues (saith the Physitian)
Not at eleuen and sixe. So if your humour
Be now affected with this heauinesse.
In this my pleasurable appetite,
It is Præcisianisme to alter that
With austere iudgement, that is giuen by nature.
I wept you saw too, when my mother dyed:
For then I found it easier to do so,
And fitter with my moode, then not to weepe.
But now tis otherwise, another time
Perhaps I shall haue such deepe thoughts of her,
That I shall weepe a fresh, some tweluemonth hence,
And I will weepe, if I be so disposd,
And put on blacke, as grimly then, as now;
Let the minde go still with the bodies stature,
Iudgement is fit for Iudges, giue me nature.
Scæne. 4.
Enter Aurelia, Phænixella, Francisco, Angelo.Fran.
See Signior Angelo here are the Ladies,
Go you and comfort one, Ile to the other.
Ange.
Therefore I come sir, I'le to the eldest.
God saue you Ladies, these sad moodes of yours,
That make you choose these solitary walkes,
Are hurtfull for your beauties.
Aure.
If we had them.
Ange.
Come, that condition might be for your hearts,
When you protest faith, since we cannot see them.
But this same heart of beauty, your sweet face
Is in mine eye still.
Aure.
O you cut my heart
with your sharpe eye.
Ange.
Nay Lady thats not so, your heart's to hard.
Aure.
My beauties hart?
Ange.
O no.
I meane that regent of affection, Maddam,
In this faire breast.
Aur.
No more, your drift is sauour'd,
I had rather seeme hard hearted
Ang.
Then hard fauour'd,
Is that your meaning, Lady?
Aur.
Go too sir.
Your wits are fresh I know, they need no spur.
Ang.
And therefore you wil ride them.
Aur.
Say I doe.
They will not tire I hope?
Ang.
No not with you, hark you sweet Lady.
Fran.
Tis much pitty Maddam.
You should haue any reason to retaine
This signe of griefe, much lesse the thing disignde.
Phœ.
Griefes are more fit for Ladies then their pleasures.
Fran.
That is for such as follow nought but pleasures.
But you that temper them so wel with vertues,
Vsing your griefes so it would prooue them pleasures.
And you would seeme in cause of griefes & pleasures equally
pleasant.
Phœ
Sir so I do now.
It is the excesse of either that I striue
So much to shun in all my proou'd endeauours,
Although perhaps vnto a generall eye,
I may appeare most wedded to my griefes,
Yet doth my mind forsake no tast of pleasure,
I meane that happy pleasure of the soule,
Deuine and sacred contemplation
Of that eternall, and most glorious blisse,
Proposed as the crowne vnto our soules.
Fran.
I will be silent, yet that I may serue
But as a Decade in the art of memory
To put you stil in mind of your owne vertues
When your too serious thoughts make you too sad)
Accept me for your seruant honored Lady.
Those cerimonies are too comon signior Francis,
For your vncommon grauitie, and iudgement,
And fits them onely, that are nought but cerimony.
Ang.
Come, I will not sue, stally to be your seruant,
But a new tearme, will you be my refuge?
Aur.
Your refuge, why sir.
Ange.
That I might fly to you, when all else faile me.
Aur.
And you be good at flying, be my Plouer.
Ang.
Nay take away the P.
Aur.
Tut, then you cannot fly:
Ang.
Ile warrant you. Ile borrow Cupids wings.
Aur.
Masse then I feare me youle do strange things:
I pray you blame me not, if I suspect you,
Your owne confession simply doth detect you,
Nay and you be so great in Cupids bookes,
T'will make me Iealous. you can with your lookes
(I warrant you) enflame a womans heart,
And at your pleasure take loues golden dart,
And wound the brest of any vertous maide.
Would I were hence: good Faith I am affraid,
You can constraine one ere they be aware,
To run mad for your loue?
Ang.
O this is rate.
Scæne 6.
Aurelio, Phœnixella, Francisco, Angelo, Count.Count.
Close with my daughters gentlemen? wel done,
Tis like your selues: nay lusty Angelo,
Let not my presence make you bauke your sport,
I will not breake a minute of discourse
Twixt you and one of your faire Mistresses.
Ang.
One of my mistresses? why thinks your Lordship
I haue so many.
Count.
Many? no Angelo.
I here thou hast, euen of our worthiest dames,
Of any note, in Millaine.
Ang.
Nay good my Lord fourteene: it is not so.
Count.
By'th the Masse that ist, here are their names to shew
Fourteene, or fifteene t'one. Good Angelo.
You need not be ashamd of any of them,
They are gallants all.
Ang.
Sbloud you are such a Lord.
Count.
Nay stay sweet Angelo, I am disposed
Exit Ang:
A little to be pleasant past my coustome,
He's gone? he's gone, I haue disgrast him shrewdly,
Daughters take heede of him, he's a wild youth,
Looke what he sayes to you beleeue him not,
He will sweare loue to euery one he sees.
Francisco, giue them councell, good Francisco,
I dare trust thee with both, but him with neither.
Fran.
Your Lordship yet may trust both them with him.
Exunt.
Scæne 7.
Count. Christopher,Count.
Well goe your waies away, how now Christopher,
What newes with you?
Christ.
I haue an humble suit to your good Lordship.
Count.
A suit Christopher? what suit I prithee?
Christ.
I would craue pardon at your Lordships hands,
If it seeme vaine or simple in your sight.
Count.
Ile pardon all simplicity, Christopher,
What is thy suit?
Christ.
Perhaps being now so old a batcheler,
I shall seeme halfe vnwise, to bend my selfe
In strict affection to a poore yong maide.
Count.
What? is it touching loue Christopher?
Art thou dispost to marry, why tis well.
Christo.
I, but your Lordship may imagine now
That I being steward of your honours house.
The maintenance of my wife and of my charge,
Then the due discharge of my place and office:
Count.
No, no, Christopher, I know thee honest.
Christo.
Good faith my Lord, your honour may suspect it
but—
Count.
Then I should wrong thee, thou hast euer been
Honest and true, and will be still I knowe.
Chris.
I but this marriage alters many men:
And you may feare, it will do me my Lord,
But ere it do so? I will vndergoe
Ten thousand seuerall deaths.
Count.
I know it man.
Who wouldst thou haue I prithee?
Chris.
Rachel de prie,
If your good Lordship, graunt me your consent.
Count.
Rachel de prie? what the poore beggers daughter?
Shees a right handsome maide, how poore soeuer,
And thou hast my consent, with all my hart.
Chris.
I humbly thanke your honour. Ile now aske her
father.
Exit.
Count.
Do so Christofero thou shalt do well.
Tis strange (she being so poore) he should affect her,
But this is more strange that my selfe should loue her.
I spide her, lately, at her fathers doore,
And if I did not see in her sweet face
Gentry and noblenesse, nere trust me more:
But this perswasion, fancie wrought in me,
That fancie being created with her lookes,
For where loue is he thinke his basest obiect
Gentle and noble: I am farre in loue,
And shall be forc'd to wrong my honest steward,
For I must suc, and seeke her for my selfe;
How much my duetie to my late dead wife,
And my owne deere renowne so ere it swaies,
Ile to her father straight. Loue hates delays.
Exit.
Scæne 8.
Enter Onion, Iuniper, Valentine, Sebastian, Balthasar, Martino.Onion.
Come on Ifaith, lets to some exercise or other my hearts:
Fetch the hilts fellow Iuniper, wilt thou play:
Exit Martino.
Iun.
I cannot resolue you? tis as I am fitted with the ingenuity,
quantity, or quality of the cudgell.
Valen.
How dost thou bastinado the poore cudgell with
tearmes?
Iuni.
O Ingle, I haue the phrases man, and the Anagrams and
the Epitaphs, fitting the mistery of the noble science.
Oni.
Ile be hangd & he were not misbegotten of some fencer.
Sebast.
Sirrah Valentine, you can resolue me now, haue they
their maisters of defence in other countries as we haue here in
Italy?
Valen.
O Lord, I, especially they in Vtopia, there they performe
their prizes and chalenges, with as great cerimony as the
Italian or any nation else.
Balt.
Indeed? how is the manner of it (for gods loue) good
Valeniine?
Iuni.
Ingle? I prithee make recourse vnto vs, wee are thy
friends and familiars: sweet Ingle.
Valen.
Why thus sir.
Oni.
God a mercy good Valentine, nay go on.
Iuni.
Silentium bonus socius Onionus, good fellow Onion be
not so ingenious, and turbulent: so sir? and how? how sweete
Ingle?
Valen.
Marry, first they are brought to the publicke Theater:
Iuni.
What? ha? they Theater there
Valen.
Theaters? I and plaies to: both tragidy and comedy
& set foorth with as much state as can be imagined?
Iuni.
By Gods so; a man is nobody, till he has trauelled.
And how are their plaies? as ours are? extemporall?
Valen.
O no? all premeditated things, and some of them very
good I faith, my maister vsed to visite them often when he
was there.
Balth.
Why how are they in a place where any man may see
them?
Valen.
I, in the common Theaters, I tell you. But the sport
is at a new play to obserue the sway and variety of oppinion
that passeth it. A man shall haue such a confus'd mixture of
iudgement, powr'd out in the throng there, as ridiculous, as
laughter it selfe: one saies he likes not the writing, another
likes not the plot, another not the playing. And sometimes a
fellow that comes not there past once in fiue yeare at a Parliament
time or so, will be as deepe myr'd in censuring as the
best, and sweare by Gods foote he would neuer stirre his foote
to see a hundred such as that is.
Oni.
I must trauell to see these things, I shall nere think well
of my selfe else.
Iunip.
Fellow Onion, Ile beare thy charges and thou wilt
but pilgrimize it along with me, to the land of Vtopia.
Sebast.
Why but me thinkes such rookes as these should be
asham'd to iudge.
Valen.
Not a whit? the rankest stinkard of them all, will take
vpon him as peremptory, as if he had writ himselfe in artibus
magister.
Sebast.
And do they stand to a popular censure for any thing
they present.
Valen.
I euer, euer, and the people generally are very acceptiue
and apt to applaud any meritable worke, but there are
two sorts of persons that most commonly are infectious to a
whole auditory.
Balth.
What be they?
Iunip.
I come lets know them.
Oni.
It were good they were noted.
Valen.
Marry? one is the rude barbarous crue a people that
haue no braines, and yet grounded iudgements, these will hisse
the other are worth the obseruation, I faith.
Omnes.
What be they? what be they?
Valen.
Faith a few Caprichious gallants.
Iunip.
Caprichious? stay, that word's for me.
Valen.
And they haue taken such a habit of dislike in all
things, that they will approue nothing, be it neuer so conceited
or elaborate, but sit disperst, making faces, and spitting,
wagging their vpright eares and cry filthy, filthy. Simply vttering
their owne condition, and vsing their wryed countenances
in stead of a vice, to turne the good aspects of all that shall
sit neere them, from what they behold.
Enter Martino with cudgels.
Oni.
O that's well sayd, lay them downe, come sirs.
Who plaies, fellow Iuniper, Sebastian, Balthasar:
Some body take them vp, come.
Iunip.
Ingle Valentine?
Valen.
Not I sir, I professe it not.
Iunip.
Sebastian.
Sebast.
Balthasar.
Balth.
Who? I?
Oni.
Come, but one bout, Ile giue hem thee, I faith.
Balth.
Why, heres Martino.
Oni.
Foe he, alas he cannot play a whit, man.
Iunip.
That's all one: no more could you in stata quo prius,
Martino, play with him, euery man has his beginning and
conduction.
Mart.
Will you not hurt me fellow Onion?
Oni.
Hurt thee, no? and I do, put me among pot-hearbs,
And chop me to peeces, come on?
Iunip.
By your fauor sweet bullies giue them roome, back, so,
Martino, do not looke so thin vpon the matter.
Oni.
Ha, well-plaid, fall ouer to my legge now? so, to your
guard againe, excellent, to my head now, make home your
blow: spare not me, make it home, good, good againe.
Sebast.
Why how now Peter?
Gods so, Onion has caught a bruise.
Iunip.
Couragio? be not caprichious? what?
Oni.
Caprichious? not I, I scorn to be caprichious for a scrach,
Martino must haue another bout, come.
Val. Seb. Balth.
No, no, play no more, play no more.
Oni.
Foe, tis nothing, a philip, a deuise, fellow Iuniper prithee
get me a Plantan, I had rather play with one that had skil
by halfe.
Mart.
By my troth, fellow Onion, twas against my will.
Oni.
Nay that's not so, twas against my head,
But come, weele ha oue bout more.
Iunip.
Not a bout, not a stroke.
Omnes.
No more, no more.
Iunip.
Why Ile giue you demonstration, how it came,
Thou openest the dagger to falsifie ouer with the back sword
frick, and he interrupted, before he could fall to the close.
Oni.
No, no, I know best how it was better thē any man here,
I felt his play presently: for looke you, I gathered vpon him
thus, thus do you see? for the double locke, and tooke it single
on the head.
Valen.
He sayes very true, he tooke it single on the head.
Sebast.
Come lets go.
Enter Martino with a cob-web.
Mar.
Here fellow Onion, heres a cob-web.
Oni.
How? a cob-web Martino, I will haue another bout
with you? S'wounds do you first breake my head, and then
giue me a plaister in scorne? come to it, I will haue a bout.
Mart.
God's my witnesse.
Oni.
Tut! your witnesse cannot serue.
Iunip.
S'bloud? why what, thou art not lunatike, art thou?
and thou bee'st auoide Mephostophiles. Say the signe shoud be
in Aries now: as it may be for all vs, where were your life? Answere
me that?
Sebast.
Hee sayes well, Onion.
Valen.
I indeed doo's he.
Iunip.
Come, come, you are a foolish Naturalist, go, get a
white a of an egge, and a little flax, and close the breach of the
not insinuate vpon your good fortune, but play an honest part
and beare away the bucklers.
Exeunt.
| A Pleasant Comedy, Called :The Case is Altered | |