University of Virginia Library

Act 2

S. 1

enter Mistress Truestroak, Sir Wary Wastefull, & Isaheraea, the nurse, Jenkin the butler. ec.
Mistress Truestroak.
fac law: tis the finest boy,
pray come upp Sir!
comfort your lady; shee has groan'd for you
to bring you a plumpe heire: his legge is measurd,
and 'tis already bigger then my Armerist.

Sir Wary.
faith; and thats pretty & faire;
but to the comfort of my sickly lady.

exit
Isaheraea.
Jenkin; lay open, draw, provide, & tappe
against the gossips simper, & come downe
o how the bells ring; sure heel be a ringer,
the bells so welcome him into the world.
these tunes o the bells are pretty: but Joane o'the may pole
above your changes, alwaies for my money:
Ile fling, & firke that over.

Jenkin.
wilt have a cup before hand?

Isahaerea.
yes; let it come:
I must encrease my milke, and drinke it roundly;
or else I shall give, but a flaggy mouthfull?

Jenk.
heeres a health then to the young master, the fine squire,
that shall be heyre to 5, & 40 mannours;
and keepe his distance 'mongst the Lawndresses,
before full 6 yeeres old: & before tenne
have his younger page, his little barbary
bought out of some firme parke; & ride a huntinge
each Thursday in the afternoone.

Isah.
yet, marry; & shall
with flagmoares kill the stares, with an elder popgun,
my boy shall be his page;

Jenkin.
faith; and a good preferment for the boy
he may grow up with captaine, till he goes
to Scoole at oxford: & there be (under leave)
admitted to the hatch for dry provaunt.

Mistress Truestroake.
The very same good cheare, which we have now
why does this drink praesume a sediment?
attended on by anticipating witts?

Isah.
why then a whole one:

Nurse.
one calls.

Isa.
what. what—what ist? I come.

Serv. 1
they'r
ready for you.

Isa.
why I come I say. farewell;

Jen.
remember sharers—

Isa.
done as I am a
virgin.

Jen:
an oath; writt in a witches ruine.
exeunt. remanet Jenkin Butler, solus.
the ancient fiery fiend, fierce Asmotheos
surely resides in many woemens stomakes
(besides the furies of lust, & revenge)
some alwaies beare an exsquisite receipt
and drink, as though, they did presume upon
the lardgenesse of their passadge: If I marry
I must have a conversion for my water
by helpe of Rhenish wines, or parsley seede
or else my rimme will breake. Jove send me downe
when I doe marry, Nectar by the tunne.

scena 2

enter Sir Francis Caster, Honoria his lady, & James Selcottage
Sir Francis.
—Reported this for certaine.

Honor.
yes to your cost youl find it; now youl feele
your vanities at Ticktack, and backgammon;
your madde & furious zeale unto Primeiro
Sant, Primavistae, cribbage, & new cutt;
gleeke, hazard, In & Inne; Palmaile & tennis;
and all your other city Vanities,
which cause a dead, & a mortifyde estate.

Sir Fran.
why? what can these games hurt? we must do somethinge
we gentlemen: some take your clean Tobacco
or some your fowler whiffe; some hunt away
their praetious time after a fearefull hare;
hare,
that flyes away, as they doe from their time,
o swiftly, monstrous swiftly; another spends
all the corrasions of his braine & purse
upon some mooving Image, which can't stirre
without her horses of the Sun; nor burne in love
at noe place, but at phoenix: yet a fifth
runs on the greene the price of a whole mannour,
either at bowles, or on his horses backe.
I have beene spending, but a paltry pars'nage
a thing impropriate, unfittinge to be kept
though paid for by a layman: & that's in sute
too.

Honoria.
yet it might serve to buy your children bread
if you would keepe it.—

Sir Francis.
children, foh! poore triflers
morsels of mans flesh, sprawling stale decoctions
of sacke, & lusty beefe—chines—

Honor.
fy. for shame!

Sir Fran.
I say they are but minoms, but Ile make
them semiquavers, & whole quavers too
before I leave them off—

James S.
hard unto all but boxes; post & peare
with the square trencher.—

Sir Fran.
yould have your brats maintain'd like the young ward,
(my great legd cosen of the Kentish Kind)
in satin sleeves, a pinkt lac't coate;
Thus I doe heare he goes; but for a ward,
I doubt not on't, & then.—

Honor.
what then? why lives hee not to keepe thee out?

Sir Fran.
puh! I have a budget bought of an Attorney
and in that one, or two, or more fine bills
that may bode somewhat.—

James.
pray Sir your augury.

Sir Fran.
Admit Sir Wary dies, as dye he must,
(hees aged now, & sinking, spent in the lunges)
Ile sue for an entaile, of all the land
unto our family: the which in time of yore,
was promised before witnesse; & the last
is not yet Cancelld.—

James.
will the witnesse doe
their best endeavours for you?

Sir Fran.
yes, noe doubt.
I'le send them some good Angells for subpaenaes
and oyle their tounges with the most happy Juice,
the Latins Call, aurum potabile—

Honor.
that's a good liquour: would our well would flow
such phisique, but for one good draught or twoo.

Sir Fran.
And then I have a friend, my brother Hollowheart,
but for a paire of gloves, your cordevant,
tasseld with blacke, will frame a new Indenture
& make him set, his hand to'ot, with commendinge
the papermill.—

James.
a pretty fetch to bring him on: they say
he will doe anything, if you once Commend
the papermill—.

Sir Fran.
if this be not compleat, I have another
will take exactly: Ile persuade my Brother
good Mr Hollowheart, to draw in by witt
mee as a feoffee, for the deed of guift
he meanes to make in trust of all his land
to cut of thirds & wardship.—

Honor.
that's a good one—

Jam.
It savours well.—

Sir Fran.
but I dare say theyle proove but projects. death
is ready for my younglinge: assoone a lambe
as an old sheep.—

Honor.
Tis sometimes true. yet rely not on't.

Sir Fran.
I say he Cannot live; all the generation
have a strange trick: they never vomit, but
but—
up come their lunges.

Honor.
now god forefend.

Sir Fran.
yes faith.

Hon.
well god's will be done.
Sir Francis.—meane time Ile play.
whilst my estate can make it holliday.

scaena 3.

enter, Sir Wary Wastefull thrust forth on the stage in a couche sicke; the Lady Wastefull, Mr. Tingle, & Blinko comfortinge him.
Lady Wast.
Pray Sir be yet a little comforted;
“patience is the best cure & phisique too
“for all diseases: Nature works sometimes
beyond the reach of art, if with a quiet
& sweet Tranquility, we can beare our fitts.

Sir Wary.
Patience is stale (my deare); uh, uh, coughs
bidde a phrenetique man be patient,
or one in flames embroild, & not to turne
or seeke for ease, & then uh, uh, I may be patient.

Blinko.
good Sir, remember the new purchase, thinke
of a killing a fat brace of buckes, & then
of rinzing downe the venison, with pure claret.

Tingle.
These are the strangest comfort's to a sicke man
that I ere I heard of: Venison & bucks, & claret,
why these are able to make a sound man Sicke.
the very steeme is able to dispatch him.

Sir Wary.
uh. uh. coughs. oh I am deadly sicke.
my very Inwards burne. bring hither,
whole butts of my large River! or carry mee
up to the climbing hills, that I may sucke
the breath of Boreas, till my sinews quake. uh.

Lady Wast.
o Sir. Temperance is better
& a more powerfull cooler, then all these.
Tis time & patience with the helpes of art,
must weare the virulent cansers of this heate
into a naturall temper. your Impatience
adds to the fury of your fierce disease.

Sir.
your babling scalds mee. prethe peace; no more.

Blink.
please you to taste the barbary conserves
were left to coole yee?

Sir Wary.
Barbarous conserves? noe give them to the Indians.

Tingle.
Hearke sister! sure he raves.

Lady Was.
Tis the impatience, of his furious paine
makes him to scatter these unmanly words.

Sir Wary.
where is my sonne?

Lad.
The boy is gone to scoole, Sir very earely
this morning about 5 a clocke.—

Sir W.
send for him. gone to scoole
at 5 a clocke?

Ting.
yes Sir, tis the scollers houre
5 in the morning; and at 4 yeeres old,
we keep our colts (till their just growth) from backing,
& then 'tis held ill horsemanship, to streine them,
but for our onely children, out of pure love
we send them before day, for to be nipt
by frostes, & then at scoole for to be whipt.

Blinko.
a very godly resolution. is't not.
we know our beasts are but for a short time,
& therefore spare them, to make them last
the longer. but four our children,
we know they are immortal; and should they
swivell into a pithole, we have more
for to enjoy, our mannours & our store.

Ting.
an eloquent Blinko.
I see thou lovst the pastime better then
the quarry; when 'tis gotten.—

Blink.
I were noe good falconer else.

Lad.
peace, & disturbe him not, you see he nodds;
send for the boy, from scoole.

Ting.
we goe to bid the little ward to play.
his fathers death makes him a Holiday.

scena 4

enter Sir Petronell Flash; Sir Rauncefort Bloteface; Mr Scatterbraine;
Sir Petronell.
Now brother Bloteface,
we have the rich Peru in our possession,
Potossi mines are all unlockt; & all
the treasures of the mountains are our owne.

Scatterb.
Is it not brave Sir Rancefort, to heare sylver
& goulden bells sound in our pockets? thus.

dances
Sir Petronell.
Now we may play the princes, & command
at the best Tavernes, the best wine & doxeys,
fare like the easterne monarchs, have our dishes
receive the praetious guste of Amber-griece,
burne Aromatique spices for perfumes,
& ly on beds made out of that swanny downe
In which Jove 'clad himselfe, when he descended
from the olimpian dwellings to embrace
to embrace
the beautious Laeda, & be rockt into
sanquine & pleasant dreames, by the sweet touch
of orphaeus Junior; or sunge into a slumber
by the soft pleasing voice of tender phryne.

Sir Rauncefort.
but what, when your potossi mines doe sinke
and grow not correspondent to these charges?
what then will be the issue? when your lands
are rackt & then extended? and your houses
left to preserve themselves, with a lame fellow
(which hops to your poore almshouse,) for a porter?

Mr Scatterb.
thou art to supercilious (Ran:) & doubtfull;
you must not be soe scrupulous. away:
I know the world cannot last much above
these 5 yeeres following; and if soe, as certaine
it must be soe; I then shall have enough
to keepe me at this rate.

Sir Petronell.
If not; wee'l travaile
when all is spent, & traile a pike. a bullet
will quit us presently from a consumption,
& then it may be said. this man did invoke
the Indian god & liv'd and dyde in smoke.

Scatterb.
yes, for whilst he liv'd he did Tobacco take
& now a smoaking gun, his end doth make.

Sir Rance.
but suppose, fortune be not soe friendly
to leade your Petronell the way; but misse you
& leave you to foule linnen & diseases?

Sir Petro.
suppose we miss the Bullets, we'll get maimes
by Taverne brawles, enough to make us fit
to begge an almes; I have a Kinseman
ith'court, hath promised me, when I come, backe
I shall enrolled be a Knight of Windsore,
dost marke mee Knight of Windsore; or poore Knight
of contribution; where I'le say devotions
& purge my youthful crimes.

Sir Ran.
sweet resolution—then to prove devout,
when the last dram of time almost runs out.

Mr Scatter.
prethe Sir (pet:) lets to the Taverne, &
give him a rowze; that is the course we take
with our young proselites

Sir Petr.
And 'tis the only course. a cup of wine
wil purge his spleene, & make his wit divine.

Sir Ran.
wel for this once I follow. he that hath
trusted on others faith to Scriveners, may
with some sort of excuse, dare to partake
the charges, which the ranting Tavernes make.

scaena 4

enter as to the scoole, hearkning Mr Tingle, Blinko, the ward Thomaso singeth.
Thomaso.
I see there's none heare yet; the master
is safe for this long houre; a mischiefe
upon our carters & the lying clocke!
tis alwaies 5 by that. & then we cannot
sleepe for the old mans arguments, & calvin
wel had I not a heart made of an oke
twould cracke, I thinke. heeres load upon load still
to make us Scollors; would I were the follower
of a blind harper, for my tounge is tuning
& harping alwaies in some song or other,
And now have at it; whilst I am alone.
the song.

Mr Tingle.
now cozen; what soe early chirping? who
taught you that pretty song?

Thomaso.
my nurse writ it,
& I did learne to sing it. truth mee thinks
tis very proper for my pitteous usage.

Blink.
morrow to my young master; what in rime
so young Sir; pray take heed, youl grow a poet
& that's a dangerous folly in these times.
and ground to disinherit you.
I would not for my hope of the copyhold,
your father should heare soe much.

1. Thomaso.
why democritus?

2. Blin.
wherefore dee call me soe?

Thom.
Democritus was blind; & you are Blinko.

Ting.
you'r sharpe this frosty morning. o heres his
master!

enter Richardetto.
Ric.
bonum mane Mr Tingle

Ting.
et tu quoque. Sir I am come to get leave for my coz
to visit his sick father; who is now
upon departing.

Ric.
departing whither? any long Journey?

Blin.
yes faith, I think the Journeis long enough
for he is bound for heaven—

Ric.
I fancy thy expression, signieur Tingle
he is upon his death bed.—

Tin.
right Sir; therefore pray Sir
give my smal Kinseman heere, your leave to visit
his father fore he dies—

Ric.
the reasons you produce, are ponderous
& may praevaile; but I wish you too
resend my Juvenall, after the fates have shorne
the old mans thread in two.—

Ting.
Yes Sir, weel take care
he shall be long from you: for our owne ends.

Ric.
Adesdum, Thomaso: paucis te volo.

Tho.
quid vis praeceptor?

Ric.
qui mihi discipulus puer es, cupis atque doceri
huc adses.

Tho.
adsum.

R:
wel go your waies for once. but come
againe within this houre.—

Tho.
gratias.

T.
by your leave Sir.

Ric:
farewell
If Wary dies, I shall Know it by the bell.