University of Virginia Library

Scene 2.

Lady.
Prudence. Host. Fly.
Sweet Pru, I, now thou art a Queene indeed!
These robes doe royally! and thou becom'st 'hem!
So they doe thee! rich garments only fit
The partyes they are made for! they shame others.
How did they shew on good'y Taylors back!
Like a Caparison for a Sow, God saue vs!
Thy putting hem on hath purg'd, and hallow'd 'hem
From all pollution, meant by the Mechanicks.

Pru.
Hang him poore snip, a secular shop-wit!
H' hath nought but his sheeres to claime by, & his measures,
His prentise may as well put in, for his needle,
And plead a stitch.

Lad.
They haue no taint in 'hem,
Now o' the Taylor.

Pru.
Yes, of his wiues hanches,
Thus thick of fat; I smell 'hem, o'the say.

Lad.
It is restoratiue, Pru! with thy but chafing it,
A barren Hindes grease may worke miracles.
Finde but his chamber doore, and he will rise
To thee! or if thou pleasest, faine to be
The wretched party her selfe, and com'st vnto him
Informa pauperis, to craue the aide
Of his Knight errant valour, to the rescue
Of thy distressed robes! name but thy gowne,
And he will rise to that!

Pru.
Ile fire the charme first,
I had rather dye in a ditch, with Mistresse Shore,
Without a smock, as the pitifull matter has it,
Then owe my wit to cloathes, or ha' it beholden.

Host.
Still spirit of Pru!

Fly.
And smelling o'the Soueraigne!

Pru.
No, I will tell him, as it is, indeed;
I come from the fine, froward, frampull Lady,
One was runne mad with pride, wild with selfe-loue,
But late encountring a wise man, who scorn'd her,
And knew the way to his owne bed, without
Borrowing her warming-pan, she hath recouer'd
Part of her wits: so much as to consider
How farre she hath trespass'd, vpon whom, and how.
And now sits penitent and solitary.
Like the forsaken Turtle, in the volary
Of the light Heart, the cage, she hath abus'd,
Mourning her folly, weeping at the height
She measures with her eye, from whence she is falne,
Since she did branch it, on the top o'the wood.

Lad.
I pr'y thee Pru, abuse me enough, that's vse me
As thou thinkest fit, any course way, to humble me,
Or bring me home againe, or Lovel on:
Thou doest not know my suffrings, what I feele,
My fires, and feares, are met: I burne, and freeze,
My liuer's one great coale, my heart shrunke vp
With all the fiuers, and the masse of blood
Within me, is a standing lake of fire,
Curl'd with the cold wind of my gelid sighs,
That driue a drift of sleete through all my body,
And shoot a February through my veines.
Vntill I see him, I am drunke with thirst,
And surfeted with hunger of his presence.
I know not whêr I am, or no, or speake,
Or whether thou doest heare me.

Pru.
Spare expressions.
Ile once more venture for your Ladiship,
So you will vse your fortunes reuerendly.

Lad.
Religiously, deare Pru, Loue and his Mother,
Ile build them seuerall Churches, Shrines, and Altars,
And ouer head, Ile haue, in the glasse windowes,
The story of this day be painted, round,
For the poore Layety of loue to read,
Ile make my selfe their booke, nay their example,
To bid them take occasion by the forelock,
And play no after-games of Loue, hereafter.

Host.
And here your Host, and's Fly, witnes your vowes.
And like two lucky birds, bring the presage
Of a loud iest: Lord Beaufort married is.

Lad.
Ha!

Fli.
All to be married.

Pru.
To whom, not your sonne?

Host.
The same

Pru.
If her Ladiship could take truce
A little with her passion, and giue way
To their mirth now running.

Lad.
Runn's it mirth, let't come,
It shall be well receiu'd, and much made of it.

Pru.
We must of this, It was our owne conception.