 | The Marriage-Broaker, or The Pander |  |
Act III.
Scæn. 1.
Enter Crab, Lydia, Goodwit, Mrs. Cunnimonger, Hog.Crab.
Cheer up my little melancholie mouse,
This is the hour which blest the fatal world
With my auspicious birth, cheer up I say;
I will reward this joy, here's gold to buy
Thee pins, here's more to purchase busks and laces;
And for thy Aunt, here woman hold thy hand,
Here's price for suppage; you noble Frank, and you
Captain, with this and this, carouse a health
Vnto your Soveraign, that's I; this day
I'le be your King.
Goodw.
Marrie and shall, great Sir,
For Neptune in his regions cannot shew
A fairer King—
Hog.
Then your Highness is.
Mrs. Cun.
May happiness be my fellow handmaid
Vnto your worth, which crowns you King of bountie.
Hog.
Fond woman, leave thy timorous devotion,
Awake my drowsie blade, and boldly dare
Blind Fortune to forsake this royal wight,
That is to be her self unfortunate.
37
Treason against my royal Majestie,
Good subjects all arrest the treacherous fleet.
Lyd.
Fie Michael, are not you asham'd to draw
A naked sword in so great a presence?
Hog.
If I thought any treacherie, may you,
Your Aunt, and all the women of the Citie
Prove honest; that is, may I be quite undon.
Crab.
For once I'le pardon you my own mistake,
But for the honour of the day; this sword
Shall not be wak't in vain, come kneel you all,
Your loyaltie becomes you, which I'le honour
By dubbing you all Knights and Ladies rise
Sir Francis Curtis, and Sir Captain Hog,
Knights of the noble order of the Crab:
Rise you a toothless Ladie of the same.
Goodw.
Vnder your pardon, leige Lord, you might
In more decorum dub Sir Michael Hog
With sword of Bacon, then with Knightly arms.
Crab.
Your Pardon graciously prevents your chiding.
Because you beg'd it e're you did offend.
You are too bold to interrupt my course,
And I do make my Queen to kneel too long.
Arise my Empress, for a day,
My love, my dove, for ever and aye.
Goodw.
Now Mrs. Cunnimonger, thy dull faith may see
What I oft told thee, that I was thy better
Genius, to guide good fortune to thy home;
Whose blindnesse else could never find the way;
In gratefulnesse let thy devotion then
Build Altars to my bountie, and enshrine
Your great protecting power in beds of down;
38
The first fruits of mature beauties, and their
Sweet maiden honours to my just desires.
Which merits more then naked thanks can pay.
Mrs. Con.
Sir I am wholly yours, what would you more?
Good.
What would you more? is thy cold putrid corps
An equal recompence, to my rich desert?
You should have wrack't your ingrate fansie, to
Devise a thousand waies for my delight.
You should incontinently send this meazled page
To cater for my taste, untasted beauties;
But now you'r wholly mine, what should I more?
Mrs. Cun.
My meaning was, that my endeavours sweat
For your content, and all I can call mine
I freely prostitute to your command.
Hog.
And fear not Sir, I will present you fruits
In full maturitie, readie to fall;
But never yet did suffer bruise by falling;
Yet stirred with your gentle breath, their fall
Shall (as your servant) lowly wait your call.
Goodw.
Then I will gild thy fangs, officious swine,
And thou shalt wear my cloth of richest blue,
Shall make thee known by the right famous name
Of the blue Boar of the Bank-side; but while
We talk away the day, our Sovereign
Is still as night; awake, most mighty Sir,
And blesse us with the storie of your dream.
Crab.
Why I was thinking how unkinde, and most
Vnnatural fool, my wretched father was.
And that which grieves my Highness most, they say,
39
Mrs. Cun.
Let not untimely grief
Eclipse the birth-day of your Majestie;
'Tis in your power to be like whom you please,
Now then be like your self, that is a King.
Crab.
I will be like to any man, before
Such an old, doting, and penurious drivel.
Lyd.
Now by my truly it doth ill beseem
Your son-ship to revile your father thus.
Crab.
Peace Chicken; I may call him any thing
Now he's dead, and would that I had known
Him such a coxcombe while he was alive,
I would have better tutour'd him, yfaith la.
Goodw.
Though Princes need not show a reason of
Their sayings, yet, dread Sir, give us to know
The cause of this opinion of your father.
Crab.
First then you shall swear I am not like him.
Hog.
What e're ill manner'd tongue dares to affirm,
Our royal Prince is like the Clown his father;
This often well-approved steel defies him,
Whose righteous point shall stop the mouth of slander.
Good.
Sir, by your worth and virtues I doe swear,
This confirmes you most unlike your father,
Who never was guiltie of worth of virtue.
Mrs. Cun.
Sir, I do swear you are most like to him
Whom most you ever lov'd, your lovely self.
Crab.
Whom best I ever lov'd, is naught to thee;
I'me sure 'twas not my father: but whom now
40
Who now must kisse the book before she swear.
Lyd.
Then by my maidenhead I swear, for I
Have learn't to swear by nothing else, that you
Are so unlike unto your worthless Sire,
That loving you I hate his memorie.
Crab.
Then listen Knights and Ladies to my tale,
My doating daddie (most unworthie he
Of such a hopefull son) when he lay sick,
(Most worthie he for to be ever sick,
But that he was more worthie to be dead:)
Fearing his death was nigh, in foolish spight.
Depriv'd his heir the blessing of his life.
Mrs. Cun.
O cruel man, O most unnatural father!
Crab.
First, on that blessing which he then did fear
Would be his last, he charg'd me I should ne're
(Vnlesse I were perplext with suites in Law.)
Behold this glorious and delightfull Citie,
Which he then call'd expensive, proud, and vain
Hog.
O most ignoble slander! and the foule
That ever stain'd the mouth of Gentleman.
Crab.
But that he is descended from my self,
My roial self, he were no Gentleman;
But that's not all; next this, my son, said he,
Abstain from stranger women, that's as I
Interpret it, tast not fair Lydia's sweetnesse.
Good.
I rather think he meant that you should feast
Vpon no other dainties, she must be
No stranger to you; is she not your Queen?
Crab.
Faith I could give thee leave to beat me Frank,
If I did love it; what a dolt was I,
41
Goodw.
Your royaltie has power to absolve
It self, great Sir, from a far greater crime.
Mrs. Cun.
Well, if your father's cruelty did lay
Any more such commands upon your Youth,
It will become your age and noble virtue,
With speed to disobey his crueltie.
Crab.
Thy words perswade me: if they do not come
Vnder the name of counsel, I'le not be
Counsell'd by any she in Christendome.
Mrs Cun.
The heavens bless thee from all other counsel
But what thy own discretion shall suggest.
Crab.
Well said, this night we'le sup with thee, here's gold
To buy engendring meats. I like my Father?
My Lydia adieu until the evening.
Lyd.
May mirth still wait on you till your return.
Mrs. Cun.
Farewell till then, sweet man, and I'le take care
That then, than thee there's none shall better fare.
Exeunt Cun. & Lydia.
Crab.
Come noble Frank, how shall we overcome,
Or (as some say) beguile these tedious houres?
Goodw.
Nay as you please, this day your Kingdome lasts;
You may command these winged posts to flie
With greater speed, or slowly for to wait
Your will; but if you please, we'le hear a Play.
Crab.
Content yfaith, they say they are brave things.
Good.
They are the truest Image of all Humors,
Manners, Conditions; there you may behold
42
Who like a Cuttle do conceal their fraud
In their own Ink, while they exonerate
The old suspicious Father's purse, to store
The thriftlesse Sons; here may you see the vain
And boasting Souldiers, talking wounds & scars,
To comfort his long fasting steel with
Of some ensuing bloudie feast, and here
Is seen presented the penurious Heir.
The lively image of his Father's manners,
As the Comœdian is of his; but you
Are made of purer clay, sifted and strain'd
From all your Father's dregs; whose tender age
Did nere own Folly for to feed the Stage.
Crab.
Thou know'st I am no Niggard, and my Father
Was wont to say I had a Courtly humour,
To which he often did professe such hate,
As now, me thinks, I long to be a Courtier.
Goodw.
Sir, the first Element of a Courtier is
To be in Debt, the Cris cross is the last.
Crab.
Let me alone, Il'e learn that lesson quickly
If that thy care will purchase me a Book,
I mean a man of legible belief.
Goodw.
Doubt not of store of Horn-books in the Citie;
But know, that my presaging care prevents
Your wishes; I appointed to observe
This road and hour a Draper, whom I meant
To practise Courtship on my self, and if
Enter Whittington
You please, he is your Book, & you may read
Faith in his looks; & timely here he coms,
Mr. Whittington, a good and happy day
Shine fair successe unto your Busie thoughts.
Whit.
They meet with good success in meeting you,
43
Which blesseth us with the sight of an old friend
Good.
I now pronounce you happy in a new,
That is, I will enrich you with the knowledge
Of this deserving Gentleman, whom when
You have read throughly, you'l maintain, that all
Are Dunces which are ignorant of him.
Whit.
Grant me your favour, noble Sir, to study you,
That I may thrive in goodnesse by the great
Example of your most amazing worth.
Crab.
I am no Conjuring book, to be lockt up
From publick view; you have fair leave and free,
Lo I unclasp my self unto your reading
Good.
To grace you Sir, his outward worth alone
Shall fill large pages in your Common place Book;
Where at your leisure, you with joy may read
Your self inroll'd in number of the Faithfull.
Whit.
He'le highly grace me; would he try my Faith?
Crab.
Gramercie honestie; when I am Sheriff,
I'le prove thy Faith for half a hundred Liveries.
Goodw.
Mean while make trial of his Faith for one,
You see my upper garment's course and thin,
Make me in this your servant, and by th'Faith
Of Mr. Whittington I'le ever call you Master.
Crab.
Thou injur'st much thy self, to take upon thee
This dear condition, and thy friend to boot,
That dost prevent his bounty by thy suite;
For that which he should pray thee to accept,
Command my word, for as my word commands
Good.
Let it be of the finest black I pray Sir,
44
Dispose for an equality of Plush;
I love to have my garments like my self,
Though plain without, yet richly lin'd within.
Whit.
It shall be done Sir, and upon my credit,
The outside shall be like your self, that is,
A traveller from Spain; although I dare
Say, that the nappe shall not be worn so bare.
Crab.
I pray you Sir acquaint me with some time
Of leisure you can grace me at my lodging;
Some urgent businesse now calls loudly on us,
Or else this afternoon should not divorce us.
Good.
That was well spoken Sir & gracefully.
Whit.
To wait on you, each minute yeilds me leisure,
Who now am more your servant then the times.
Good.
Each morning doth confine him to his studies,
You cannot miss him then within, since you
Have made him now more bookish then he was.
Whit.
His nobleness commands my often visits;
But at this time my business equals yours,
Though I in all things else am most unequal:
Therefore I'le beg your leave to take my leave.
Crab.
Farewel til next we meet, my faithfull Friend.
Good.
Adieu kind Sir; come Master lets away.
'Tis almost time we now were at the Play.
Exeunt.
Enter Dove and Elisa.
Dove.
Prepare your eyes and ears, the Scæne is ready;
Your servant acts the Blackamore so well,
You cannot easily know him for your Friendly.
Elis.
Not know him? 'tis a slanderous untruth,
To say a slight disguise can hide his graces:
45
By some mysterious charm, a lover's eye
Can chase away those mists, and make them flie
Like to a yeilding vapour 'fore the Sun.
Dove.
Well I am sure, if that he had not bin
Of mine own making, I should nere have known him;
And, but we Painters by our trade do fear
No colours, sure his looks had scar'd me,
So they will you, if that you not consider
The inside of the Gipsie is your Friendly.
Elis.
'Tis not his outside that I lov'd him for.
Though he be most beyond expression lovely;
For were he truly so as he is painted,
Love should shake hands with Ioy for to embrace him:
But truly say, how this disguise becomes him.
Dove.
When I had finisht half my smooty piece,
I did present him with a Glass, wherein
He might behold, and wonder at my skill;
Me seem'd that I had learnt the art to frame
In one space various shapes, for such was he;
Half white and red, and half a Blackamore:
But lo, in him blushing usurpt the place
Of Wonder; 'twas a pleasant sight, to see
On the one side a gracefull modestie
Repose her self upon a bed of roses;
When on the other, the pure sanguine streaming
Striving to overcome the Injurie
The Painter did him, made him appear to be
Iust like a Negro blowing of a coal.
Elis.
For love's sake make no sport of our misfortunes;
What is all this unto my question?
Dove.
I'me shewing how he becomes his vizor;
When I had fully finisht all my work,
He then begins to practise servile gestures,
46
It is no wonder then if you not know him.
Elis.
Pray strike no more on this ill sounding string;
Thy self hast seen his modestie to shine
Through his benighted looks, & dost thou think
His other graces are less eminent?
Think'st thou an envious cloud can quite eclipse
Or darken the bright glory of the Sun?
They only yeild a shade, so does this die
Of my best Friendly like a shadow, make
This outward glory greater to appear.
Knock within.
Dove.
I say no more—these are your servants knock.
Exit Dove.
El.
Well, let them in; O heaven, how shall I keep
My countenance, when Friendly is so chang'd;
But when my Love's disguised look's unknown,
Love pardon me, if I not keep my own.
Enter Shift, Friendly, Dove.
Shift.
Lady vouchsafe a servant from me, whose desert
Doth lay just claim unto so high preferment.
Eli.
I dare not trust your commendations Sir,
You did deceive me in the last you brought me.
Shift.
Therefore my care hath sought out one, whose worth
Will expiate my former Injurie.
Elis.
Where is this man of men you so extol?
Shift.
Lo this is he, whose waiting humbleness
Doth speak both his condition and desire.
Elis.
What do you mock me? have you brought this Glass
To shew my feature, I confess not fair;
Yet not so foul as you would make my soul.
Shift.
Fair, do not overthrow me with your scorn,
47
Giving this servant for a tast to shew
Your rich perfections by comparison,
Though judging proof will find his service can
Deserve, if nothing else, at least to serve you.
Elisa.
What strange device is this? or what new way,
That sonnes of night should serve us in the day?
Friend.
Think Ladie, that with vigilant delight,
My care shall act your pleasure day and night.
Dove.
Vouchsafe his service Mistress, let him be
Your black Postillion, and a lively Embleme
Of darksome night that ushers in the day.
Elis.
First let me know his properties kind Sir.
Pray you what name doth sign your Blackamore?
Shift.
His name was once Thuano hence he is
What your sweet goodness now shall please to call him.
Elis.
Thuano, canst thou cross thy armes and sigh:
Or hast thou learnt to personate a sorrow,
To darken more thy darkned countenance?
Hast taught thy eyes to weep, as if thy tears
Did strive to wash thee into red and white?
Canst thou exclaim on cruel Beauty; crie
Ay me! with a most sad dejected grace?
Shift.
What have I done? sure she would fain perswade
This smooty Blackamore to be my rival.
Elis.
Canst change with art the tenour of thy looks?
Now casting up thy wretched eyes to heaven,
As if from thence thou mean'st to beg for pity;
Now fixing them on earth, as if thou had'st
48
Canst thou profoundly now be perjur'd too?
For know Thuano, all this thou must doe,
And swear that so does he who did present thee:
Yet none can personate these graces truly,
But he who feels the passion which he acts.
Shift.
She doth abuse me, evidently mock me;
Ladie, the Page I praise hath worthier gifts
Then those you name, his skil holds in his hand
The little Statute-book of heaven can read
The Starres decrees, and shew what they intend
Of weal or woe.
Friend.
Pardon me, noble goodnesse,
That I am dumb so long unto your quæries,
Which do so feelingly describe my state,
That in them I may read the lively picture
Of the commanding passion in my breast;
For know, (if you will others fortunes know
Before your own) that once it was my lot
For to be lov'd; O most unworthy I,
For to be lov'd by one so good, so fair!
Whom yet my youthfull carelesnesse or pride
Did so neglect, that love did in revenge
Blast me with this deserv'd deformitie.
But seeing in my punishment, my fault,
And looking back upon the happinesse
I had so wretchedly forsook, I then
Too late began to love, though yet (they say)
Her love continues still; but sooner shall
The night and day be one, e're I'le bestow
This foul Thuano on so sweet so fair,
Elis.
Loves penance is but short, if you repent;
Sir I accept your gift, whose worth doth lesse
Measure my thanks then your more worthy love,
I now will take my leave, to study how
49
Exit.
Shift.
The thanks you leave behind,
Are far above the gift you carrie hence.
Courage, my heart; she cannot be unkind,
If that her words be image of her mind.
Exeunt
Enter Crab, Goodwit, Cunnimonger, Lydia.
Crab.
My prettie Lydia, I have seen to day
The cruel'st sight, it grieves my heart to speak't.
Lyd.
And I to hear't; I pray you talk of mirth,
I can't endure these tales of crueltie.
Crab.
But I must tell it too; a handsom woman,
'Cause the King's son in love would ly with her
Against her will, would needs go kill her self.
Lyd.
What did she kill her self against her will?
Crab.
I say against her will he lay with her:
I have forgot the foolish woman's name.
Goodw.
It was Lucrece the chast, a primitive
Roman, who in the humor of the time,
Did in vain-glory kill her self for Fame;
But know, our soil breeds none so desperate.
Cun.
'Faith and the Romans too are now more wise.
Good.
And thou saist true, for they who read her storie,
And in their antick Arras see her bleed,
Pitie her Folly, and not praise her deed.
Crab.
Well I am sure she was a handsom wench,
And but for shame, I could have found my heart—
Good.
A wench Sir, 'twas a boy did personate
Unto those times, a well becoming fate.
But then was then, and women now are women.
Cun.
And you say true; for is it not think you
A most unnatural thing, for any woman
To stab herself: well, had my Lydia bin
50
Ent. Falconer.
I'le say no more, but truly you shall finde
Her neither to her self, nor you unkinde.
Crab.
I hope so, else I must with sorrow sing,
Why should passion lead the blinde?
'Cause my Lydia proves unkind.
Falc.
This is vile musick, not to be compar'd
With the melodious bleating of my sheep.
Good.
What means the man? I hear no sheep but one.
Falc.
'Tis true, while you now spoke, but one did bleat;
But if you heard a hundred chime together,
You'd swear it were most admirably sweet.
How like you this my hearts? dost not exceed
The Quire of pauls, or all the holy bells
Shakes his bag,
Which most devoutly sing the time o'th'day?
Crab.
'Faith Dick this sheepish harmonie is sweetest,
When they are pen'd up in these narrow folds;
But where's my Ring, the token that I sent?
Falc.
The stubborn Bailie swears that he will keep it
To shew your uncle for his own discharge;
But who regards the bait, that has the fish?
Cun.
'Tis a wise sentence Richard, and a true;
But this is now no time for sentences,
'Tis eight a clock, and supper stayes for you.
Falc.
And let it stay; I know you long to sup
Upon my mutton: but where's all my thanks
For my good speed? does it deserve no more,
That by a trick I chang'd my tired Iade,
To hasten my return, that by my wits
I took the prey out of the Harpies foot,
Who strongly gript it, 'till I boldly swore,
51
And shew'd his bag and wallet in the starres;
Does not all this deserve a welcom home?
Cun.
Sir you are welcome home most heartily.
Falc.
That's not enough: you now ought all do penance
For your neglect; you Mrs. Cunnimonger,
And Mr. Goodwit too, shall wait on me
This night at Supper; Lydia I pardon
For my good Masters sake, him for his own:
So Lydia, seal this pardon with a kiss.
Crab.
O traitor, villain, sacrilegious villain!
Falc.
Nay 'tis decreed, and she must offer't too,
Or else farewell, this purchase is my own.
Cun.
Alas sir, what's a kiss? what would you do
If his desert should ask a greater thing?
Crab.
If it must needs be so, I prethee sweet
Lydia, dispatch me quickly from my pain.
Lyd
Sir I obey your praiers, not his commands.
Falc.
Here, take the price of my felicitie.
Crab.
And be thou honour'd with our order more,
Thy carefull speed dubs thee a knight o'th'post:
Thy office be, for to begin the way,
While I behind do wipe thy kiss away.
Exeunt.
Enter old Goodwit (vvith a letter and the ring,) Dove.
Old Good.
Cheated by fools and villains? this is fine;
And my wise Baily thinks he has done well,
Because he kept this token, when he should
Arrest the slave which brought it, and now bere
He writes the threats which overcame him: well,
I will go down to prevent further ills,
52
Dove.
I warrant you, if sense and skill can do't.
This afternoon a little businesse called me
Into a Draper's shop, whom I did find,
Booking a debt, to which was superscrib'd
My stragling master's name, though he indeed
Was but a surety (as the Draper told me)
For the poor sneak which did intice him hither,
Who now it seems is casting of his skin,
O. Good.
Imploy your time and study to rewinde
This snake from his Caduceus, the main staff,
Which doth support him, and unsinuate
Him from that breast that gives him lively heat.
Dove.
Sir, I have won upon this Citizen
To know their lodging and their daily haunt,
And for some future curtesies of hope,
He will arrest this Snake, in's cloak of credit
As soon as it can warm him, and will free
My Master, whom I mean for to secure
From the enquirie of this noisome viper.
O. Good.
Be speedie in your course; I hope you see
Your charge alreadie, to insafe my neece
And daughter in my absence, from the busie
Courtship of idle suits, and to finde
My nephew In this peopled wildernesse.
Dove.
This is my task alone, your Neece and Daughter
Will finde sufficient guard in their own virtues.
O. Goodw.
Well, now the night invites to bed, betimes
I'th'morn, my jorney, and your charge begins.
Exeunt.
| The Marriage-Broaker, or The Pander | |