The Magnetick Lady :or, Hvmors Reconcil'd | ||
Scene VII.
Chaire. Needle. Polish. Keepe.Cha.
Goe, get a Nurse, procure her at what rate
You can: and out o'th' house with it, sonne Needle.
49
Nee.
Good Mother,
I know it, but the best would now be made on't.
Cha.
And shall: you should not fret so, Mrs. Polish,
Nor you Dame Keepe; my Daughter shall doe well,
When she has tane my Cawdle. I ha' knowne.
Twenty such breaches piec'd up, and made whole,
Without a bum of noise. You two fall out?
And teare up one another?
Pol.
Blessed woman?
Blest be the Peace-maker.
Kee.
The Peace-dresser!
Ile heare no peace from her. I have beene wrong'd,
So has my Lady, my good Ladies worship,
And I will right her, hoping shee'll right me.
Pol.
Good gentle Keepe, I pray thee Mistris Nurse,
Pardon my passion, I was misadvis'd,
Be thou yet better, by this grave sage woman,
Who is the Mother of Matrons, and great persons,
And knowes the world.
Kee.
I doe confesse, she knowes
Something—and I know something—.
Pol.
Put your somethings
Together then.
Cha.
I, here's a chance falne out
You cannot helpe; lesse can this Gentlewoman;
I can and will, for both. First, I have sent
By-chop away; the cause gone, the fame ceaseth.
Then by my Cawdle, and my Cullice, I set
My Daughter on her feet, about the house here:
Shee's young, and must stirre somewhat for necessity,
Her youth will beare it out. She shall pretend,
T'have had a fit o' the Mother: there is all.
If you have but a Secretary Landresse,
To blanch the Linnen—Take the former counsels
Into you; keepe them safe i' your owne brests;
And make your Merkat of hem at the highest.
Will you goe peach, and cry your selfe a foole
At Granam's Crosse? be laugh'd at, and dispis'd?
Betray a purpose, which the Deputie
Of a double Ward, or scarce his Alderman,
With twelve of the wisest Questmen could find out,
Imployed by the Authority of the Citie?
Come, come, be friends: and keepe these women-matters,
Smock-secrets to our selves, in our owne verge.
Wee shall marre all, if once we ope the mysteries
O' the Tyring-house, and tell what's done within:
No Theaters are more cheated with apparances,
Or these shop-lights, then th'Ages, and folke in them,
That seeme most curious.
Pol.
Breath of an Oracle!
You shall be my deare Mother; wisest woman
That ever tip'd her tongue, with point of reasons,
To turne her hearers! Mistris Keepe, relent,
I did abuse thee; I confesse to pennance:
And on my knees aske thee forgivenesse.
Cha.
Rise,
She doth begin to melt, I see it—.
Kee.
Nothing
52
Witch did not trouble me, nor Gipsie; no
Nor Beggar. But a Baud, was such a name!
Cha.
No more rehearsals; Repetitions
Make things the worse: The more wee stirre (you know
The Proverbe, and it signifies a) stink.
What's done, and dead, let it be buried.
New houres will fit fresh handles, to new thoughts.
The Magnetick Lady :or, Hvmors Reconcil'd | ||