 | The Chances |  |
Scæn. 3.
Enter Constantia, and Land-lady.Con.
I have told yee all I can, and more then yet
Those Gentlemen know of me; ever trusting
Your Councell and concealement: for to me
You seem a worthy woman; one of those
Are seldome found in our sex, wise and vertuous,
Direct me I beseech ye.
Land.
Ye say well Lady,
And hold yee to that poynt; for in these businesses
A womans councell that conceives the matter,
(Doe ye marke me, that conceives the matter Lady)
Is worth ten mens engagements: She knows something
And out of that can worke like wax: when men
Are giddy-headed, either out of wine,
Or a more drunkennesse, vaine ostentation,
Discovering all: there is no more keep in 'em,
Then hold upon an Eeles taile: nay 'tis held fashion
To defame now all they can.
Con.
I, but these gentlemen—
Land.
Doe not you trust to that: these gentlemen
Are as all Gentlemen of the same Barrell:
I, and the selfe same pickle too. Be it granted,
They have us'd yee with respect and faire behaviour,
Yet since ye came: doe you know what must follow?
They are Spaniards, Lady, Gennets of high mettle,
Things that will thrash the devill, or his dam,
Let 'em appeare but cloven.
Con.
Now heaven blesse me.
Lan.
Mad Colts will court the wind: I know 'em Lady
To the least haire they have; and I tell you,
Old as I am, let but the pinte pot blesse 'em,
They'll offer to my yeares—
Con.
How?
Lan.
Such rude gambolls—
Con.
To you?
Lan.
I, and so handle me, that oft I am forc'd
To fight of all foure for my safety: there's the yonger,
Don John, the arrantst Jack in all this City:
The other, time has blasted, yet he will stoop,
If not ore-flowne, and freely on the quarry;
Has been a Dragon in his dayes. But Tarmont,
Don Jenkin is the Devill himselfe, the Dog-dayes,
The most incomprehensible whore-master,
Twenty a night is nothing: Beggers, Broom-women,
And those so miserable, they look like famine,
Are all sweet Ladies in his drink.
Con.
He's a handsome Gentleman.
Pitty he should be master of such follies.
Land.
Hee's ne're without a noise of Sirrenges
In's pocket, those proclame him; birding pills,
Waters to coole his conscience, in small Viols;
13
Whose chastity he chops upon, he cares not.
He flies at all; Bastards upon my conscience,
He has now in making multitudes; The last night
He brought home one; I pitty her that bore it,
But we are all weake vessels, some rich woman
(For wise I dare not call her) was the mother,
For it was hung with Jewels; the bearing cloath
No lesse then Crimson Velvet.
Con.
How?
Land.
'Tis true Lady.
Con.
Was it a Boy too?
Land.
A brave Boy; deliberation
And judgement shewd in's getting, as I'le say for him,
He's as well paced for that sport—
Con.
May I see it?
For there is a neighbour of mine, a Gentlewoman,
Has had a late mischance, which willingly
I would know further of; now if you please
To be so curteous to me.
Land.
Ye shall see it:
But what do ye thinke of these men now ye know 'em,
And of the cause I told ye of? Be wise,
Ye may repent too late else; I but tell ye
For your owne good, and as you will find it Lady.
Con.
I am advis'd.
Land.
No more words then; do that,
And instantly, I told ye of be ready:
Don Iohn, I'le fit ye for your frumps,
Con.
I shall be:
But shall I see this Child?
Land.
Within this halfe houre,
Let's in, and there thinke better; she that's wise,
Leapes at occasion first; the rest pay for it.
Exeunt.
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