 | The Fatall Dovvry |  |
Scæna prima.
Enter Nouall Iunior, as newly dressed, a Taylor, Barber, Perfumer, Liladam, Aymour, Page.Nou.
Mend this a little: pox! thou hast burnt me. oh fie
vpon't, O Lard, hee has made me smell (for
all the world) like a flaxe, or a red headed womans chamber:
powder, powder, powder.
Perf.
Oh sweet Lord!
Nouall sits in a chaire, Barber orders his haire, Perfumer giues powder, Taylor sets his clothese.
Page.
That's his Perfumer.
Tayl.
Oh deare Lord,
Page.
That's his Taylor.
Nou.
Monsieur Liladam, Aymour, how allow you the
modell of these clothes?
Aym.
Admirably, admirably, oh sweet Lord! assuredly
it's pitty the wormes should eate thee.
Page.
Here's a fine Cell: a Lord, a Taylor, a Perfumer, a
Barber, and a paire of Mounsieurs: 3 to 3, as little will in the
one, as honesty in the other. S'foote ile into the country againe,
learne to speake truth, drinke Ale, and conuerse with
vpon my soule as I am a Gentleman, and an honest
man.
Aym.
I vow and affirme, your Taylor must needs be an expert
Geometrician, he has the Longitude, Latitude, Altitude,
Profundity, euery Demension of your body, so exquisitely,
here's a lace layd as directly, as if truth were a
Taylor.
Page.
That were a miracle.
Lila.
With a haire breadth's errour, ther's a shoulder
piece cut, and the base of a pickadille in puncto.
Aym.
You are right, Mounsieur his vestaments sit: as if
they grew vpon him, or art had wrought 'em on the same
loome, as nature fram'd his Lordship as if your Taylor were
deepely read in Astrology, and had taken measure of your
honourable body, with a Iacobs staffe, an Ephimerides.
Tayl.
I am bound t'ee Gentlemen.
Page.
You are deceiu'd, they'l be bound to you, you must
remember to trust 'em none.
Nou.
Nay, fayth, thou art a reasonable neat Artificer, giue
the diuell his due.
Page.
I, if hee would but cut the coate according to the
cloth still.
Nou.
I now want onely my misters approbation, who is
indeed, the most polite punctuall Queene of dressing in all
Burgundy, Pah, and makes all other young Ladies appeare,
as if they came from boord last weeke out of the country,
Is't not true, Liladam?
Lila.
True my Lord, as if any thing your Lordship could
say, could be otherwise then true.
Nou.
Nay, a my soule, 'tis so, what fouler obiect in the
world, then to see a young faire, handsome beauty, vnhandsomely
dighted and incongruently accoutred; or a hopefull
Cheualier, vnmethodically appointed, in the externall ornaments
of nature? For euen as the Index tels vs the contents
of stories, and directs to the particular Chapters, euen so
(in man or woman) giue vs a tast of the spirit, and demonstratiuely
poynt (as it were a manuall note from the margin)
all the internall quality, and habiliment of the soule, and
there cannot be a more euident, palpable, grosse manifestation
of poore degenerate dunghilly blood, and breeding, then
rude, vnpolish'd, disordered and slouenly outside.
Page.
An admirable lecture, Oh all you gallants, that hope
to be saued by your cloathes, edify, edify.
Aym.
By the Lard, sweet Lard, thou deseru'st a pension
o'the State.
Page.
Oth' Taylors, two such Lords were able to spread
Taylors ore the face of a whole kingdome.
Nou.
Pox a this glasse lit flatters, I could find in my heart
to breake it.
Page.
O saue the glasse my Lord, and breake their heads,
they are the greater flatterers I assure you.
Aym.
Flatters, detracts, impayres, yet put it by,
Lest thou deare Lord (Narcissus-like) should doate
Vpon thy selfe, and dye; and rob the world
Of natures copy, that she workes forme by.
Lila.
Oh that I were the Infanta Queene of Europe,
Who (but thy selfe sweete Lord) shouldst marry me.
Nou.
I marry? were there: Queene oth' world, not I.
Wedlocke? no padlooke, horslocke, I weare spurrs
He capers.
To keepe it off my heeles; yet my Aymour
Like a free wanton iennet i'th meddows,
I looke about, and neigh, take hedge and ditch,
Feed in my neighbours pastures, picke my choyce
Of all their faire-maind-mares: but married once,
A man is stak'd, or pown'd, and cannot graze
Beyond his owne hedge.
Enter Pontallier, and Malotin.
Pont.
I haue waited, sir,
Three houres to speake w'ee, and not take it well,
Such magpies, are admited, whilst I daunce
Attendance.
Magpies? what d'ee take me for?
Pont.
A long thing with a most vnpromising face.
Aym.
I'll ne're aske him, what he takes me for?
Mal.
Doe not, sir,
For hee'l goe neere to tell you.
Pont.
Art not thou a Barber Surgeon?
Barb.
Yes sira why?
Pont.
My Lord is sorely troubled with two scabs.
Lila., Aym.
Humph—
Pont.
I prethee cure him of 'em.
Nou.
Pish: no more,
Thy gall sure's ouerthrowne; these are my Councell,
And we were now in serious discourse.
Pont.
Of perfume and apparell, can you rise
And spend 5 houres in dressing talke, with these?
Nou.
Thou'ldst haue me be a dog: vp, stretch and shake,
And ready for all day.
Pont.
Sir, would you be
More curious in preseruing of your honour.
Trim, 'twere more manly. I am come to wake
Your reputation, from this lethargy
You let it sleepe in, to perswade, importune,
Nay, to prouoke you, sir, to call to account
This Collonell Romont, for the foule wrong
Which like a burthen, he hath layd on you,
And like a drunken porter, you sleepe vnder.
'Tis all the towne talkes, and beleeue, sir,
If your tough sence persist thus, you are vndone,
Vtterly lost, you will be scornd and baffled
By euery Lacquay; season now your youth,
With one braue thing, and it shall keep the odour
Euen to your death, beyond, and on your Tombe,
Sent like sweet oyles and Frankincense; sir, this life
Which once you sau'd, I ne're since counted mine,
I borrow'd it of you; and now will pay it;
I tender you the seruice of my sword
To beare your challenge, if you'l write, your fate:
That haue liu'd by you, by your side will dye.
Nou.
Ha, ha, would'st ha' me challenge poore Romont?
Fight with close breeches, thou mayst thinke I dare not.
Doe not mistake me (cooze) I am very valiant,
But valour shall not make me such an Asse.
What vse is there of valour (now a dayes?)
'Tis sure, or to be kill'd, or to be hang'd.
Fight thou as thy minde moues thee, 'tis thy trade,
Thou hast nothing else to doe; fight with Romont?
No, i'le not fight vnder a Lord.
Pont.
Farewell, sir, I pitty you.
Such louing Lords walke their dead honours graues,
For no companions fit, but fooles and knaues.
Come Malotin.
Exeunt Pont. Mal.
Enter Romont.
Lila.
'Sfoot, Colbran, the low gyant.
Aym.
He has brought a battaile in his face, let's goe.
Page.
Colbran d'ee call him? hee'l make some of you
smoake, I beleeue.
Rom.
By your leaue, sirs.
Aym.
Are you a Consort?
Rom.
D'ee take me for
A fidler? ya're deceiu'd: looke. Ile pay you.
Kickes 'em.
Page.
It seemes he knows you one, he bumfiddles you so.
Lila.
Was there euer so base a fellow?
Aym.
A rascall?
Lila.
A most vnciuill Groome?
Aym.
Offer to kicke a Gentleman, in a Noblemans chamber?
A pox of your manners.
Lila.
Let him alone, let him alone, thou shalt lose thy
arme, fellow; if wee stirre against thee, hang vs.
Page.
S'foote. I thinke they haue the better on him,
though they be kickd, they talke so.
Lila.
Let's leaue the mad Ape.
Nou.
Gentlemen.
Lilad.
Nay, my Lord, we will not offer to dishonour you
Nou.
Harke you.
Aym.
We doubt the cause, and will not disparage you, so
much as to take your Lordships quarrell in hand. Plague on
him, how he has crumpled our bands.
Page.
Ile eene away with 'em, for this souldier beates
man, woman and child.
Exeunt. Manent Nou. Rom.
Nou.
What meane you, sir? My people.
Rom.
Your boye's gone,
Lockes the doore.
And doore's lockt, yet for no hurt to you,
But priuacy: call vp your blood againe, sir, be not affraid, I do
Beseech you, sir, (and therefore come) without, more circumstance
Tell me how farre the passages haue gone
'Twixt you, and your faire Mistresse Beaumelle.
Tell me the truth, and by my hope of Heauen
It neuer shall goe further.
Nou.
Tell you why sir?
Are you my confessor?
Rom.
I will be your confounder, if you doe not.
Drawes a pocket dag.
Stirre not, nor spend your voyce.
Nou.
What will you doe?
Rom.
Nothing but lyne your brayne-pan, sir, with lead,
If you not satisfie me suddenly,
I am desperate of my life, and command yours.
Nou.
Hold, hold, ile speake. I vow to heauen and you,
Shee's yet vntouch't, more then her face and hands:
I cannot call her innocent; for I yeeld
On my sollicitous wrongs she consented
Where time and place met oportunity
To grant me all requests.
Rom.
But may I build on this assurance?
Nou.
As vpon your fayth.
Drawes Inkehorne and paper.
Rom.
Write this, sir, nay you must.
Nou.
Pox of this Gunne.
Rom.
Withall, sir, you must sweare, and put your oath
Vnder your hand, (shake not) ne're to frequent
This Ladies company, nor euer send
This (too much prone already) yeelding Lady.
Nou.
'Tis done, sir.
Rom.
Let me see, this first is right,
And here you wish a sudden death may light
Vpon your body, and hell take your soule,
If euer more you see her, but by chance,
Much lesse allure her. Now, my Lord, your hand.
Nou.
My hand to this?
Rom.
Your heart else I assure you.
Nou.
Nay, there 'tis.
Rom.
So keepe this last article
Of your fayth giuen, and stead of threatnings, sir,
The seruice of my sword and life is yours:
But not a word of it, 'tis Fairies treasure;
Which but reueal'd, brings on the blabbers, ruine.
Vse your youth better, and this excellent forme
Heauen hath bestowed vpon you. So good morrow to your Lordship.
Nou.
Good diuell to your rogueship. No man's safe:
Ile haue a Cannon planted in my chamber,
Exit.
Against such roaring roagues.
Enter Bellapert.
Bell.
My Lord away
The Coach stayes: now haue your wish, and iudge,
If I haue beene forgetfull.
Nou.
Ha?
Bell.
D'ee stand
Humming and hawing now?
Exit.
Nou.
Sweete wench, I come.
Hence feare,
I swore, that's all one, my next oath 'ile keepe
That I did meane to breake, and then 'tis quit.
No paine is due to louers periury.
If loue himselfe laugh at it, so will I.
Exit Noual.
| The Fatall Dovvry | |