University of Virginia Library

Scæn. 1.

Enter Mother.
Moth.
I would my Son would either keep at home,
Or I were in my grave; she was but one day abroad, but ever since
She's grown so cutted, there's no speaking to her:
Whether the sight of great chear at my Ladies,
And such mean fare at home, work discontent in her,
I know not; but I'm sure she's strangely alter'd.
I'll nev'r keep daughter-in-law i'th' house with me
Again, if I had an hundred: When read I of any
That agreed long together, but she and her mother
Fell out in the first quarter! nay, sometime
A grudging of a scolding the first week by'r Lady;
So takes the new disease methinks in my house;
I'm weary of my part, there's nothing likes her;
I know not how to please her, here a-late;
And here she comes.

Enter Brancha:
Bran:
This is the strangest house
For all defects, as ever Gentlewoman
Made shift withal, to pass away her love in.
Why is there not a Cushion-cloth of Drawn work,
Or some fair Cut-work pin'd up in my Bed-chamber.
A silver and gilt-casting Bottle hung by't?
Nay, since I am content to be so kinde to you,
To spare you for a silver Bason and Ewre,
Which one of my fashion looks for of duty;
She's never offered under, where she sleeps.

Moth.
She talks of things here my whole state's not worth.

Bran.
Never a green silk quilt is there i'th' house Mother,
To cast upon my Bed?

Moth.
No by troth is there,
Nor orange tawny neither.

Bran.
Here's a house
For a yong Gentlewoman to be got with childe in.

Moth.
Yes, simple though you make it, there has been three
Got in a year in't, since you move me to't;
And all as sweet fac'd children, and as lovely,
As you'll be Mother of; I will not spare you.
What cannot children be begot think you,
Without gilt casting Bottles? Yes, and as sweet ones.
The Millers daughter brings forth as white boys
As she that bathes her self with Milk and Bean flower.
'Tis an old saying, One may keep gook cheer
In a mean house; so may true love affect
After the rate of Princes in a Cottage.

Bran.
Troth you speak wondrous well for your old house here;
'Twill shortly fall down at your feet to thank you,
Or stoop when you go to Bed, like a good childe
To ask you blessing. Must I live in want,
Because my fortune matcht me with your Son?
Wives do not give away themselves to husbands,
To the end to be quite cast away; they look
To be the better us'd, and tender'd rather,
Highlier respected, and maintain'd the richer;
They're well rewarded else for the free gift
Of their whole life to a husband. I ask less now
Then what I had at home when I was a Maid,
And at my Fathers house, kept short of that
Which a wife knows she must have, nay, and will;
Will Mother, if she be not a fool born;
And report went of me, that I could wrangle
For what I wanted when I was two hours old,
And by that copy, this Land still I hold.
You hear me Mother.

Exit.
Moth.
I too plain methinks;
And were I somewhat deafer when you spake,
'Twere nev'r awhit the worse for my quietness.
'Tis the most sudden'st, strangest alteration,
And the most subtilest that ev'r wit at threescore
Was puzzled to finde out: I know no cause for't; but
She's no more like the Gentlewoman at first,
Then I am like her that nev'r lay with man yet,
And she's a very yong thing where ere she be;
When she first lighted here, I told her then
How mean she should finde all things; she was pleas'd forsooth,
None better: I laid open all defects to her,
She was contented still; but the Devil's in her,
Nothing contents her now: To night my Son
Promisd to be at home, would he were come once,
For I'm weary of my charge, and life too:
She'ld be serv'd all in silver by her good will,
By night and day; she hates the name of Pewterer,
More then sickmen the noise, or diseas'd bones
That quake at fall o'th' Hammer, seeming to have
A fellow-feeling with't at every blow:
What course shall I think on? she frets me so.

Enter Leantio.
Lean.
How near am I now to a happiness,
That Earth exceeds not? not another like it;
The treasures of the deep are not so precious,
As are the conceal'd comforts of a man,
Lockt up in womans love. I sent the air
Of Blessings when I come but near the house:
What a delicious breath Marriage sends forth!
The Violet-beds not sweeter. Honest wedlock
Is like a Banquetting-house built in a Garden,
On which the Springs chaste flowers take delight
To cast their modest odors; when base Lust
With all her powders, paintings, and best pride,
Is but a fair house built by a Ditch side.
When I behold a glorious dangerous Strumpet,
Sparkling in Beauty and Destruction too,
Both at a twinkling, I do liken straight
Her beautifi'd body to a goodly Temple
That's built on Vaults where Carkasses lie rotting,
And so by little and little I shrink back again,
And quench desire with a cool Meditation,
And I'm as well methinks: Now for a welcome
Able to draw mens envies upon man:
A kiss now that will hang upon my lip,
As sweet as morning dew upon a Rose,
And full as long; after a five days fast
She'll be so greedy now, and cling about me;
I take care how I shall be rid of her,
And here't begins.

Bran.
Oh Sir, y'are welcome home.

Moth.
Oh is he come, I am glad on't.

Lean.
Is that all?
Why this? as dreadful now as sudden death
To some rich man, that flatters all his sins
With promise of Repentance, when he's old,
And dies in the midway before he comes to't.
Sure y'are not well, Brancha! How do'st prethee?

Bran.
I have been better then I am at this time.

Lean.
Alas, I thought so.

Bran.
Nay, I have been worse too,
Then now you see me Sir.

Lean.
I'm glad thou mendst yet,
I feel my heart mend too: How came it to thee?
Has any thing dislik'd thee in my absence?

Bran.
No certain, I have had the best content
That Florence can afford.

Lean.
Thou makest the best on't,
Speak Mother, what's the cause? you must needs know.

Moth.
Troth I know none Son, let her speak her self;
Unless it be the same 'gave Lucifer a tumbling cast; that's pride.

Bran.
Methinks this house stands nothing to my minde;
I'ld have some pleasant lodging i'th' high street Sir,
Or if 'twere neer the Court Sir, that were much better;
'Tis a sweet recreation for a Gentlewoman,
To stand in a Bay-window, and see gallants.

Lean.
Now I have another temper, a meer stranger
To that of yours, it seems; I should delight
To see none but your self.

Bran.
I praise not that:
Too fond is as unseemly as too churlish;
I would not have a husband of that proneness,
To kiss me before company, for a world:
Beside 'tis tedious to see one thing still (Sir)
Be it the best that ever heart affected;
Nay, wer't your self, whose love had power you know
To bring me from my friends, I would not stand thus,
And gaze upon you always: Troth I could not Sir;
As good be blinde, and have no use of sight
As look on one thing still: What's the eyes treasure,
But change of objects? You are learned Sir,
And know I speak not ill; 'till full as vertuous
For womans eye to look on several men,
As for her heart (Sir) to be fixed on one.

Lean.
Now thou com'st home to me; a kiss for that word.

Bran.
No matter for a kiss Sir, let it pass,
'Tis but a toy, we'll not so much as minde it,
Let's talk of other business, and forget it.
What news now of the Pirats, any stirring?
Prethee discourse a little:

Moth.
I am glad he's here yet
To see her tricks himself; I had lied monst'rously,
If I had told 'em first.

Lean.
Speak what's the humor (Sweet)
You make your lip so strange? this was not wont.

Bran.
Is there no kindness betwixt man and wife,
Unless they make a Pigeon-house of friendship,
And be still billing; 'tis the idlest fondness
That ever was invented, and 'tis pity
Its grown a fashion for poor Gentlewomen;
There's many a disease kiss'd in a year by't,
And a French cursie made to't: Alas Sir,
Think of the world, how we shall live, grow serious,
We have been married a whole fortnight now.

Lean.
How? a whole fortnight! why is that so long?

Bran.
'Tis time to leave off dalliance; 'tis a doctrine
Of your own teaching, if you be remembred,
And I was bound to obey it.

Moth.
Here's one fits him;
This was well catch'd y'faith Son, like a fellow
That rids another Countrey of a Plague,
And brings it home with him to his own house
Knock within.
Who knocks?

Lean.
Who's there now? withdraw you Brancha,
Thou art a Jem no strangers eye must see,
How ev'r thou pleas'd now to look dull on me.
Exit.
Enter Messenger.
Y'are welcome Sir; to whom your business, pray?

Mess.
To one I see not here now.

Lean.
Who should that be Sir?

Mess.
A yong Gentlewoman, I was sent to.

Lean.
A yong Gentlewoman?

Mess.
I Sir, about sixteen; why look you wildly Sir?

Lean.
At your strange error: Y'have mistook the house Sir.
There's none such here, I assure you.

Mess.
I assure you too,
The man that sent me, cannot be mistook.

Lean.
Why, who is't sent you Sir?

Mess.
The Duke.

Lean.
The Duke?

Mess.
Yes, he entreates her company at a Banquet
At Lady Livia's house.

Lean.
Troth shall I tell you Sir,
It is the most erroneous business
That ere your honest pains was abus'd with;
I pray forgive me, if I smile a little,
I cannot chuse y'faith Sir, at an error
So Comical as this (I mean no harm though)
His grace has been most wondrous ill inform'd,
Pray so return it (Sir). What should her name be?

Mess.
That I shall tell you straight too, Brancha Capella.

Lean.
How Sir, Brancha? What do you call th'other.

Mess.
Capella; Sir, it seems you know no such then?

Lean.
Who should this be? I never heard o'th' name.

Mess.
Then 'tis a sure mistake.

Lean.
What if you enquir'd
In the next street Sir? I saw Gallants there
In the new houses that are built of late.
Ten to one, there you finde her.

Mess.
Nay no matter,
I will return the mistake, and seek no further.

Lean.
Use your own will and pleasure Sir, y'are welcome.
Exit Messenger.
What shall I think of first? Come forth Brancha,
Thou art betraid I fear me.

Enter Brancha.
Bran.
Betraid, how Sir?

Lean:
The Duke knows thee:

Bran.
Knows me! how know you that Sir?

Lean.
Has got thy name.

Bran.
I, and my good name too,
That's worse o'th' twain.

Lean.
How comes this work about?

Bran:
How should the Duke know me? can you ghess Mother?

Moth.
Not I with all my wits, sure we kept house close.

Lean.
Kept close! not all the Locks in Italy
Can keep you women so; you have been gadding,
And ventur'd out at twilight, to th' Court-green yonder,
And met the gallant Bowlers coming home;
Without your Masks too, both of you, I'll be hang'd else;
Thou hast been seen Brancha by some stranger;
Never excuse it.

Bran.
I'll not seek the way Sir;
Do you think y'have married me to mew me up
Not to be seen; what would you make of me?

Lean.
A good wife, nothing else:

Bran.
Why, so are some
That are seen ev'ry day, else the Devil take 'em.

Lean.
No more then I believe all vertuous in thee,
Without an argument; 'twas but thy hard chance
To be seen somewhere, there lies all the mischief;
But I have devis'd a riddance.

Moth.
Now I can tell you Son,
The time and place.

Lean.
When, where?

Moth.
What wits have I?
When you last took your leave, if you remember,
You left us both at Window.

Lean.
Right, I know that.

Moth.
And not the third part of an hour after,
The Duke past by in a great solemnity,
To St. Marks Temple, and to my apprehension
He look'd up twice to th' Window.

Lean.
Oh there quick'ned
The mischeif of this hour!

Bran.
If you call't mischeif,
It is a thing I fear I am conceiv'd with:

Lean.
Look'd he up twice, and could you take no warning!

Moth.
Why once may do as much harm Son, as a thousand;
Do not you know one spark has fir'd an house,
As well as a whole Furnace?

Lean.
My heart flames for't,
Yet let's be wise, and keep all smother'd closely;
I have bethought a means; is the door fast?

Moth.
I lockt it my self after him.

Lean.
You know Mother,
At the end of the dark Parlor there's a place
So artificially contriv'd for a Conveyance,
No search could ever finde it: When my Father
Kept in for man-slaughter, it was his Sanctuary;
There will I lock my lifes best treasure up.
Brancha?

Bran.
Would you keep me closer yet?
Have you the conscience? y'are best ev'n choke me up Sir?
You make me fearful of your health and wits,
You cleave to such wilde courses, what's the matter?

Lean.
Why, are you so insensible of your danger
To ask that now? the Duke himself has sent for you
To Lady Livia's, to a Banquet forsooth.

Bran.
Now I beshrew you heartily, has he so!
And you the man would never yet vouchsafe
To tell me on't till now: You shew your loyalty
And honesty at once, and so farewel Sir.

Lean.
Brancha, whether now?

Bran:
Why to the Duke Sir.
You say he sent for me.

Lean.
But thou dost not mean to go, I hope.

Bran.
No? I shall prove unmannerly,
Rude, and uncivil, mad, and imitate you.
Come Mother come, follow his humor no longer,
We shall be all executed for treason shortly.

Moth.
Not I y'faith; I'll first obey the Duke,
And taste of a good Banquet, I'm of thy minde.
I'll step but up, and fetch two Handerchiefs
To pocket up some Sweet-meats, and o'r take thee:

Exit.
Bran.
Why here's an old Wench would trot into a Baud now,
For some dry Sucket, or a Colt in March-pain.

Exit.
Lean.
Oh thou the ripe time of mans misery, wedlock;
When all his thoughts like over laden Trees,
Crack with the Fruits they bear, in cares, in jealousies.
Oh that's a fruit that ripens hastily,
After 'tis knit to marriage; it begins
As soon as the Sun shines upon the Bride
A little to shew colour. Blessed Powers!
Whence comes this alteration! the distractions;
The fears and doubts it brings are numberless,
And yet the cause I know not: What a peace
Has he that never marries! if he knew
The benefit he enjoy'd, or had the fortune
To come and speak with me, he should know then
The infinite wealth he had, and discern rightly
The greatness of his treasure by my loss:
Nay, what a quietness has he 'bove mine,
That wears his youth out in a strumpets arms,
And never spends more care upon a woman,
Then at the time of Lust; but walks away,
And if he finde her dead at his return,
His pitty is soon done, he breaks a sigh
In many parts, and gives her but a peece on't!
But all the fears, shames, jealousies, costs and troubles,
And still renew'd cares of a marriage Bed,
Live in the issue, when the wife is dead.

Enter Messenger.
Mess.
A good perfection to your thoughts.

Lean.
The news Sir?

Mess.
Though you were pleas'd of late to pin an error on me,
You must not shift another in your stead too:
The Duke has sent me for you.

Lean.
How for me Sir?
I see then 'tis my theft; w'are both betraid.
Well, I'm not the first h'as stoln away a Maid,
My Countrymen have us'd it: I'll along with you Sir.

Exeunt.