University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

—Exterior of a Tavern and Dicing House in the suburbs of London, with Garden and Entrance to Bowling Alley.
Stephen, Foster, Sharpe, Fleece, and Gauntlet, seated at a Table in front of the House, drinking.
All.
Ha! ha! ha!

Steph.
[Sings.

Enter Host, from the House.
Host.

Now my merchants of Bona Speranza? What's
your will, my brave bullies?

Steph.

Dice, dice, mine Host! and some more sack
here.—Ha! say I right, gentlemen? Shall we trundle
—shall we cut—shall we handle the bones?

Sharpe.

Passage, novum, mumchance—what you
will—

Gaunt.

Who's in the bowling alley?

Host.

Honest traders—thrifty lads—towardly boys, I
promise you.

Steph.

Give us a bale of dice—Presto, man! will ye
sweet wags?

[Sings again

Host.
[Who has entered the house, returns with dice.]
—Here, my brave bursemen—

Fleece.
But have you no room empty?

Host.
Not a hole unstopp'd in my house.

Steph.
No matter—no matter—come—trip!

Fleece.
Up with's heels!

Sharpe.
A fair passage, sweet bones!

[Throws.—Noise in the Bowling Alley (L. U. E.) of betting and wrangling
Host.

How now, my fine trundletails!—My bowling
alley in an uproar?—Take heed, my roaring Tamberlanes—the
Soldan comes; he that breaks the peace, I
break his pate. Have among you then!

[Exit Host.
Steph.

The dice are mine—set me fair—aloft now!

[Throws.
Fleece.

Out!

Steph.

What was't?

Sharpe.

Two treys and an ace.

Steph.

Seven still! Plague on't, that number of the
deadly sins haunts me cursedly! Come, sir, throw.
Dame fortune, I drink to thee.

[Drinks.
Fleece.

Have at 'em, faith!

[Throws.
Gaunt.

Two quatres and a trey!

Steph.

The devil's in the dice! [Throws down money.]

More sack here!

Gaunt.

Now sweet bones!—Twelve at all!

[Throws.
Steph.

Done, by Jupiter! [Throws down more money.]

Soft! this die is false!

Gaunt.

I'll be hang'd then!

Steph.

I say it's false, and I'll have my money again.

Gaunt.

Will you? You shall have cold iron with your
silver then.

[Draws—Stephen snatches up a chair.
Steph.

Have at thee, scum!

Sharpe.

Stand by our fellow.

[They draw and attack Stephen, who defends himself with the chair. Enter Host and Robert Foster. R.
Host.

Hold, hold! An' ye be gentlemen, hold!

Rob.

Away varlets!

[Draws and beats off Gamesters, who fly. Exit Host, into house.
Steph.

The coney-catching rascals!

Rob.

Uncle, uncle, is this the reformation you promised
me?

Steph.

Coz, after this day I protest you shall never
see me handle those bones again!—This day I break
up school—If ever you call me unthrift after this day—
you do me wrong.

Rob.

I should be glad to wrong you so, uncle; come
this way, sir—I would not for the world a friend of my
father's should see you thus, or here.

Enter behind, the Widow Welsted, Mrs. Foster, and Clown, R.
Clown.
[Stands back.]

You've hunted well, mistress,
the hare's in sight.

Mrs. F.
(R.)

Did I not tell you so?—I knew his gait—
And with his uncle!

Wid.
(R.) [Aside.]
A proper man that uncle.

Rob.
[Seeing Mrs. Foster.]
Mother!—I'm sorry you have trod this path!

Mrs. F.
(C.)
Mother, thou wretch!—Hang thee!—I bore thee not.
But much affliction have I borne for thee:
Wert thou mine own, I'd see thee coffin'd, filth,
Ere thou shouldest vex me thus.

Rob.
(C.)
Were I your own,
You could not use me worse than you do now.

Mrs. F.
I'll make thy father turn thee out for ever,
Or else I'll make him wish him in his grave,
You'll witness with me, gossip, where I found him.

[To Widow.
Clown.
Nay, I'll be sworn upon a book of that.

Rob.
It shall not need, for I will not deny it.

Mrs. F.
And that shall disinherit thee.
Thou'dst better
Have been a viper born, than tempt me thus!

Steph.
(L.)
Thou liest, Xantippe. It had been better
Thou hadst been press'd to death between two rugs,
Than ride that Socrates, thy husband, thus,
And rate his honest child.

Mrs. F.
Thou ragamuffin!
Thou sot!—Dost thou talk?—I shall see thee shortly.
Again in Ludgate.

Steph.
No, at Moorgate, beldame,
Where I shall see thee in the ducking stool!
If you complain upon mine honest coz,
And that his father be offended with him,
The next time that I meet thee in the streets
I'll dance i'the dirt upon thy velvet hood—
Nay, worse than that—
I'll—

Rob.
Uncle! Uncle!—

Mrs. F.
Oh! my heart!—my heart!
Was ever woman thus abus'd?—Oh! that I could
Spit wildfire!—But I'll do your errands, rogues!
I will, or I'm no honest woman!—Nay—
Excuse me, gossip, I must to my husband!

[Exit Mrs. Foster, L.
Rob.
[To Widow.]
Kind gentlewoman, you have some patience—

Wid.
I have too much, sir,—

Rob.

You may do a good office, and make yourself a
peaceful moderator between me and my angry father,
whom his wife hath moved to spleen against me.

Wid.

Sir, I will think of it—but with your leave,
I'd now speak with your uncle.

Clown.
[To Robert.]

You may talk with me, sir, in the mean time.

[Robert and Clown retire, R. U. E.
Wid.
[To Stephen.]

Sir;—Master Stephen Foster!—

Steph.
(L. C.)

Well,—what would you with me, gentlewoman?

Wid.
(C.)

You are a brave unthrift—

Steph.

Whate'er I be—I'll be no pupil to a woman,
so you may leave your discipline.

Wid.

Nay, pray you hear me, sir,—I cannot chide—I
would but counsel you:—this is not a good course which
you run.

Steph.

Good or bad, I must run to the end of it—

Wid.

I would teach you a better, if you would stay
where you are.

Steph.

Stay where I am, that would I willingly, an' I
had any more money.

Wid.

What, in the dicing house?

Steph.

Aye, marry would I! I've play'd at passage all
this while, now I'd go to hazard.

Wid.

Hast thou no wit?

Steph.

No wit, say'st thou? by'r Lady? what dost
think I live on?—why 'tis all the portion I have—
I've nothing to maintain me but my wit, my coin's too
scant, I'm sure.

[Robert and Clown go off, R. U. E.
Wid.

I cannot believe thy wit more than thy coin—a
man so well limb'd and want!

Steph.

Why, mistress, my shoulders were not made
for a frock and basket, nor a coal-sack—no—nor my
hands to turn a trencher at a table's side. I'm a gentleman!

Wid.
A very poor one.

Steph.
The fortune of the dice.

Wid.
They are the only wizards, I confess.
The only fortune tellers, but he that goes
To seek his fortune from them, ne'er must hope
To have good destiny allotted him.
'Tis not the course that I dislike in thee
So much, but thou can'st not make that course
To out-cross them that cross thee, were but I,
As thou art—

Steph.
You'd be beggarly as I am.

Wid.

Marry I'll be hang'd first—I would tell some rich
widow such a tale in her ear—

[Looking archly from under her veil.
Steph.

Ha!—some rich widow! by this pennyless
pocket! I think 'twere not the worst way.

Wid.

Art not ashamed to take such a fruitless oath?—
I say, seek out some rich widow—promise her fair—she's
apt to believe a young man—marry her and let her estate
fly; 'tis charity. This is not one of Hercules' labours.

Steph.

Humph! Let me recount these articles: “seek

her out—promise her fair—marry her—let her estate fly”
—But where shall I find her?

Wid.

The easiest of all—Why, man, they are more
common than tavern bushes. Two fairs might be furnish'd
every week in London with 'em, though no
foreigners came in, if the charter were once granted.
'Tis thought if the horse-market be removed that Smithfield
shall be so employed, and then, I'll warrant you,
it will be as well furnish'd with widows, as it was with
trotting jades before.

Steph.

S'foot! if it were, I would be a chapman—I'd
see, for my pleasure, and buy for my love, for money I
have none.

Wid.

That shall not stay the market, if thou'lt be
ruled. I'll find thee out a widow, if thou'lt but promise
me the last—to let her estate fly: for she is one I love not,
and I'd be glad to see that revenge on her.

Steph.

Spend her estate!—that would I—wer't five
Aldermen's!—I'll put you in security for that—All my
neighbours shall be bound for me—nay, my kind sister-in-law
shall pass her word for that.

[Rob. and Clown re-enter R. U. E.
Wid.

I'll show thee the party—what sayst thou to myself?
[Takes off her veil.]
Agnes Welsted, the Widow
of Cornhill?—

Steph.

Yourself, gentlewoman! by'r lady! I would it
were no worse!

Wid.

I have a lease of thousands or so—what say you,
sir?—

Steph.

Say! Why that I'll let out your leases for you,
if you'll allow me the power—aye, and love thee heartily
too, lady.

Wid.

That's my hope, sir, give me thy company home,
thou shalt have better clothes, and if I like thee, then we
may chance make a blind bargain of it.

Steph.

No, I'll make no blind bargain—either promise
me marriage or I'll not budge a foot.

Wid.

Are you grown so stout already?

Steph.

I'll grow stouter when I'm married!—

Wid.

Here's my hand, I'm thine, thou'rt mine. I'll have
thee with all thy faults.

Steph.

You shall have one with some an' you have me.

Wid.

Here are witnesses: [To Rob.]
Come hither,
sir; cousin I must call you shortly—and you, sirrah, [To

Clown.]
be witness of this match. Here are man and
wife.

[Rob. and Clown come down on R.
Rob.
(R. C.)

I joy at my uncle's happiness, widow.

Clown.

I do forbid the banns. Alas, poor bird! my
mistress doth but gull thee.

[To Steph.
Wid.

You'll let me dispose of myself, I hope?

Clown.
(C.)

Ay!—you love to be merry, mistress.
Come, come, give him four farthings and let him go—
he'll pray for his good dame and be drunk—Why, if
you must have a husband—how think you?—I should
say this were the sweeter bit—
[Pointing to himself.]
Choose, mistress.

Wid.

Fool, I have chosen, this is my husband.

Steph.
[Kissing her.]

'Tis sealed! I'm thine. Now
coz, [Crosses to Rob.]
—fear no black storms, if thy father
thunder, come to me for shelter; thou shalt be my
son now.

Wid.

His word's a deed, sir.

Rob.

I thank you both—Uncle—what my joy conceives,
I cannot utter yet.

Clown.

I will make black Monday of this! Ere I suffer
this disgrace, the kennel shall run with blood and rags.

Rob.

Sir, I'm your opposite.

Clown.

I have nothing to say to you, sir, I aim at your
uncle.

Rob.

He hath no weapon, sir fool.

Clown.

That's all one. I'll take him as I find him.

Wid.

I have taken him so, before you, sirrah: will you
be quiet?—

Steph.

Wife, your hand. Son, you will follow us.

Rob.

Upon the instant.

[Exeunt Steph. and Wid. R.
Clown.

Is it come to this? Have I stood all this while
to my mistress, and honest, handsome, plain-dealing, serving
creature, and she to marry a tytyre-tu-tattere with
never a good rag about him. [Half drawing his

Sword.]
Stand thou to me and be my friend; and since
my mistress hath forsaken me—

Rob.

Well, sirrah—

[Pulling him round.
Clown.

I'll go get my dinner.

[Exeunt, R.