University of Virginia Library

Act 5.

Scene 1.

Ioylesse: with a light in his hand.
Ioy.
Diana! ho! where are you? she is lost.
Here is no further passage. All's made fast.
This was the Bawdy way, by which she scap'd
My narrow watching. Have you privy posternes
Behind the hangings in your strangers Chambers?
She's lost from me, for ever. Why then seek I?
O my dull eyes, to let her slip so from yee,
To let her have her lustfull will upon me!
Is this the Hospitality of Lords?
Why, rather, if he did intend my shame,
And her dishonour, did he not betray me
From her out of his house, to travaile in
The bare suspition of their filthinesse;
But hold me a nose-witnesse to its ranknesse?
No: This is sure the Lordlier way; and makes
The act more glorious in my sufferings. O—
May my hot curses on their melting pleasures,
Cement them so together in their lust,
That they may never part, but grow one monster.

Scene 2.

Enter Barbara.
Bar.
Good gentleman! he is at his prayers now,
For his mad sonnes good night-worke with his bride.
Well fare your heart Sir; you have pray'd to purpose;
But not all night I hope. Yet sure he has,
He looks so wild for lacke of sleepe. Y'are happy sir.
Your prayers are heard, no doubt, for I'm perswaded
You have a childe got you to night.

Ioy.
Is't gone
So farre doe you thinke?

Bar.
I cannot say how farre.
Not fathome deepe I thinke. But to the scantling
Of a Child-getting, I dare well imagine.
For which, as you have pray'd, forget not sir
To thanke the Lord oth' house.

Ioy.
For getting me
A child? why I am none of his great Lordships tenants.
Nor of his followers, to keepe his Bastards.
Pray stay a little.

Bar.
I should goe tell my Lord
The newes: he longs to know how things doe passe.

Ioy.
Tell him I take it well; and thanke him.
I did before despaire of Children I.
But ile goe wi' yee, and thanke him.

Bar.
Sure his joy
Has madded him: Here's more worke for the Doctor.

Ioy.
But tell me first: were you their Bawd that speak this?

Bar.
What meane you with that Dagger?

Ioy.
Nothing I,
But play with't. Did you see the passages
Of things? I aske, were you their Bawd?

Bar.
Their Bawd?
I trust she is no Bawd, that sees, and helpes
(If need require) an ignorant lawfull paire
To doe their best.

Ioy.
Lords actions all are lawfull.
And how? and how?

Bar.
These old folkes love to heare.
Ile tell you sir—and yet I will not neither.

Ioy.
Nay, pray thee out with't.

Bar.
Sir, they went to bed.

Ioy.
To bed! well on.

Bar.
On? they were off sir yet;
And yet a good while after. They were both
So simple, that they knew not what, nor how.
For she's sir, a pure maid.

Ioy.
Who dost thou speake of?

Bar.
Ile speake no more, lesse you can looke more tamely.

Ioy.
Goe bring me to 'hem then. Bawd will you goe?

Bar.
Ah—

Scene 3.

Enter Byplay and holds Ioylesse.
Byp.
What aile you sir: why Bawd? whose Bawd is she?

Ioy.
Your Lords Bawd, and my wives.

Byp.
You are jealous mad.
Suppose your wife be missing at your Chamber,
And my Lord too at his, they may be honest:
If not, what's that to her, or you I pray,
Here in my Lords owne house?

Ioy.
Brave, brave, and monstrous!

Byp.
Shee has not seene them. I heard all your talke.
The Child she intimated, is your grandchild
In posse sir, and of your sonnes begetting.

Bar.
I, ile be sworne I meant, and said so too?

Ioy.
Where is my wife?

Byp.
I can give no account,
If she be with my Lord I dare not trouble hem.
Nor must you offer at it: no nor stab your selfe.
Byp. takes away his dagger.
But come with me: ile counsell, or, at least,
Governe you better: Shee may be, perhaps,
About the Bride-chamber, to heare some sport;
For you can make her none; 'lasse good old man.

Ioy.
J'me most insufferably abus'd.

Byp.
Vnlesse
The killing of your selfe may do't; and that
I would forbeare, because, perhaps 'twould please her.

Ioy.
Jf fire, or water, poyson, cord, or steele,
Or any meanes be found to do it: ile doe it;
Not to please her, but rid me of my torment.

Ex. Joy, and Byp.
Byp.
J have more care and charge of you than so.

Bar.
What an old desperate man is this, to make
Away your selfe for feare of being a Cuckold!
If every man that is, or that but knowes
Himselfe to be oth' order, should doe so,
How many desolate widowes would here be,
They are not all of that minde. Here's my husband.

Scene 4.

Ent. Blaze with a habit in his hand.
Bla.
Bab! art thou here?

Bar.
Looke well. How thinkst thou Tony?
Hast not thou neither slept to night?

Bla.
Yes, yes.
I lay with the Butler. Who was thy bed-fellow?

Bar.
You know I was appoynted to sit up.

Bla.
Yes, with the Doctor in the Bride-chamber.
But had you two no waggery? Ha!

Bar.
Why how now Tony?

Bla.
Nay facks I am not jealous:
Thou knowst I was cur'd long since, and how.
I jealous! I an asse. A man sha'n't aske
His wife shortly, how such a gentleman does?
Or how such a gentleman did? or which did best?
But she must thinke him jealous.

Bar.
You need not: for
If I were now to dye on't, nor the Doctor,
Nor I came in a bed to night: I meane
Within a bed.

Bla.
Within, or without, or over, or under,
I have no time to thinke o' such poore things.

Bar.
What's that thou carriest Tony?

Bla.
O ho Bab.
This is a shape.

Bar.
A shape? what shape I prethee Tony?

Bla.
Thou'lt see me in't anon; but shalt not know me
From the starkst foole ith' Towne. And I must dance
Naked in't Bab.

Bar.
Wil I here be Dancing Tony?

Bla.
Yes Bab. My Lord gave order for't last night.
It should ha' bin ith' Play: But because that
Was broke off, he will ha't today.

Bar.
O Tony.
I did not see thee act ith' Play.

Bla.
O, but
I did though Bab, two Mutes.

Bar.
What in those Breeches?

Bla.
Fie foole, thou understandst not what a Mute is.
A Mute is a dumbe Speaker in the Play.

Bar.
Dumbe Speaker! that's a Bull. Thou wert the Bull
Then, in the Play. Would I had seene thee rore.

Bla.
That's a Bull too, as wise as you are Bab.
A Mute is one that acteth speakingly,
And yet sayes nothing. I did two of them.
The Sage Man-midwife, and the Basket-maker.

Bar.
Well Tony, I will see thee in this thing.
And tis a pretty thing.

Bla.
Prethee good Bab,
Come in, and help me on with't in our Tyring-house.
And helpe the Gentlemen, my fellow dancers,
And thou shalt then see all our things, and all
Our properties and practice to the Musicke.

Bar.
O Tony come, I long to be at that.

Exeunt.

Scene 2.

Letoy, and Diana.
Dia.
My Lord, your strength and violence prevaile not.
There is a Providence above my vertue,
That guards me from the fury of your lust.

Let.
Yet, yet, I prethee yield. Is it my person
That thou despisest? See, here's wealthy treasure,
a table set forth, covered with treasure.
Jewells, that Cleopatra would have left
Her Marcus for.

Dia.
My Lord tis possible,
That she who leaves a husband, may be bought
Out of a second friendship.

Let.
Had stout Tarquin
Made such an offer, he had done no Rape,
For Lucrece had consented, sav'd her owne,
And all those lives that followed in her cause.

Dia.
Yet then she had beene a loser.

Let.
Wouldst have gold?
Mammon, nor Pluto's selfe should over-bid me,
For il'd give all. First, let me raine a showre,
To out-vie that which overwhelmed Danaë;
And after that another; a full river
Shall from my chests perpetually flow
Into thy store.

Dia.
I have not much lov'd wealth,
But have not loath'd the sight of it, till now,
That you have soyld it with that foule opinion
Of being the price of vertue. Though the Metall
Be pure, and innocent in it selfe; such use
Of it is odious, indeed damnable,
Both to the seller, and the purchaser:
Pitty it should be so abus'd. It beares
A stampe upon't, which but to clip is treason.
Tis ill us'd there, where Law the life controules;
Worse, where tis made a salary for soules.

Let.
Deny'st thou wealth? wilt thou have pleasure then
Given, and ta'ne freely, without all condition?
Ile give thee such, as shall (if not exceed)
Be at the least, comparative with those,
Which Iupiter got the Demy-gods with; and
Juno was mad she mist.

Dia.
My Lord, you may
Glose o're and gild the vice, which you call pleasure,
With god-like attributes; when it is, at best
A sensuality, so farre below
Dishonourable, that it is meere beastly;
Which reason ought to abhorre; and I detest it,
More than your former hated offers.

Let.
Lastly.
Wilt thou have honour! Ile come closer to thee;
(For now the Flames of Love grow higher in me,
And I must perish in them, or enjoy thee)
Suppose I finde by Power, or Law, or both,
A meanes to make thee mine, by freeing
Thee from thy present husband.

Dia.
Hold, stay there.
Now should I utter volumes of perswasions;
Lay the whole world of Riches, pleasures, honours,
Before me in full grant, that one, last word
Husband, and from your owne mouth spoke, confutes
And vilifies even all. The very name
Of husband, rightly weigh'd, and well remembred,
Without more Law or discipline, is enough.
To governe woman-kinde in due obedience;
Master all loose affections, and remove
Those Idolls, which too much, too many love;
And you have set before me, to beguile
Me of the faith I owe him. But, remember
You grant I have a husband; urge no more,
I seek his love. Tis fit he loves no whore.

Let.
This is not yet the way. You have seene Lady,
My ardent love, which you doe seeme to slight,
Though to my death, pretending zeale to your husband.
My person, nor my proffers are so despicable,
But that they might (had I not vow'd affection
Intirely to your selfe) have met with th'embraces
Of greater persons, no lesse faire, that can
Too, (if they please) put on Formality,
And talke in as divine a straine, as you.
This is not earnest, make my word but good,
Now with a smile, ile give thee a thousand pound.
Looke o' my face—Come—prithee looke and laugh not—
Yes, laugh, and dar'st—Dimple this cheek a little;
Ile nip it else.

Dia.
I pray forbeare my Lord:
I'me past a childe, and will be made no wanton.

Let.
How can this be? so young? so vigorous?
And so devoted to an old mans bed!

Dia.
That is already answerd. He's my husband.
You are old too my Lord.

Let.
Yes, but of better metall:
A jealous old man too, whose disposition
Of injury to beauty, and young blood,
Cannot but kindle fire of just revenge
In you, if you be woman, to requite
With your owne pleasure his unnaturall spight.
You cannot be worse to him than he thinkes you,
Considering all the open scornes and jeeres
You cast upon him, to a flat defiance;
Then the affronts I gave, to choake his anger:
And lastly your stolne absence from his chamber:
All which confirmes (we have as good as told him)
That he's a Cuckold, yet you trifle time,
As 'twere not worth the doing.

Dia.
Are you a Lord?
Dare you boast honor, and be so ignoble?
Did not you warrant me upon that pawne
(Which can take up no mony) your blanck honour,
That you would cure his jealousie, which affects him
Like a sharpe sore, if I to ripen it
Would set that counterfeit face of scorne upon him,
Onely in shew of disobedience, which
You wonne me to, upon your protestation,
To render me unstain'd to his opinion,
And quit me of his jealousie for ever.

Let.
No: not unstain'd by your leave, if you call
Unchastity a staine. But for his yellows,
Let me but lye with you, and let him know it,
His jealousie is gone, all doubts are clear'd,
And for his love and good opinion,
He shall not dare deny't. Come; be wise,
And this is all: all is as good as done
To him already: let't be so with us;
And trust to me, my power, and your owne,
To make all good with him—If not: Now marke,
To be reveng'd for my lost hopes (which yet
I pray thee save) Ile put thee in his hands,
Now in his heat of fury; and not spare
To boast thou art my Prostitute; and thrust yee
Out of my gates, to try't out by your selves.

Dia.
this you may doe, and yet be still a Lord;
This can I beare, and still be the same woman!
I am not troubled now, your wooing oratory,
Your violent hands (made stronger by your lust)
Your tempting gifts, and larger promises
Of honor and advancements were all frivolous;
But this last way of threats, ridiculous,
To a safe minde, that beares no guilty grudge:
My peace dwells here, while yonder sits my judge.
And in that faith ile dye.

Let.
She is invicible!
Come ile relate you to your husband.

Act.5.Sce.
Ent, Ioylesse and Byplay.
Ioy.
No,
Ile meet her with more joy then I receiv'd
Upon our marriage-day. My better soule.
Let me againe embrace thee.

Byp.
Take your dudgeon Sir,
I ha done you simple service.

Ioy.
O my Lord,
My Lord, you have cur'd my jealousie, I thanke you;
And more, your man for the discovery;
But most the constant meanes, my vertuous wife,
Your medicine my sweet Lord.

Let.
she has tane all
I meane to give her sir Now sirrah, speake.

Byp.
I brought you to the stand from whence you saw
How the game went.

Ioy.
Oh my deare, deare Diana.

Byp.
I seem'd to doe it against my will, by which I gain'd
Your bribe of twenty peeces.

Ioy.
Much good doe thee.

Byp.
But I assure you, my Lord give me order,
To place you there, after it seemes he had
Well put her to't within.

Ioy.
Stay, stay, stay, stay;
Why may not this be then a counterfeit action,
Or a false mist to blinde me with more error?
The ill I fear'd may have beene done before,
And all this but deceit to dawbe it ore.

Dia.
Doe you fall backe againe?

Ioy.
Shugh, give me leave.

Byp.
I must take charge I see o'th' dagger againe.

Let.
Come Ioylesse, I have pitty on thee; Heare me.
I swear upon mine honor she is chast.

Ioy.
Honor! in oath of glasse!

Let.
I prithee Heare me.
I try'd and tempted her for mine owne ends,
More then for thine.

Ioy.
That's easily beleev'd.

Let.
And had she yielded, I not onely had
Rejected her (for it was ne're my purpose,
(Heaven I call thee to witnesse) to commit
A sinne with her) but layd a punishment
Upon her, greater then thou couldst inflict.

Ioy.
But how can this appeare?

Let.
Doe you know your father Lady?

Dia.
I hope I am so wise a childe.

Let.
Goe call
In my friend Truelocke,

Byp.
Take your dagger Sir
Now I dare trust you.

Let.
Sirrah dare you foole.
When I am serious? send in master Truelocke.

Exit Byp.
Dia.
That is my fathers name.

Ioy,
Can he be here?

Let.
Sir, I am neither conjurer nor witch,
But a great Fortune-teller, that you I finde,
You are happy in a wife sir, happier—yes
Happier by a hundred thousand pound,
Then you were yesterday—

Ioy.
So, so, now he's mad.

Let.
I meane in possibilities: provided that
You use her well, and never more be jealous.

Ioy.
Must it come that way.

Let.
Looke you this way sir,
When I speake to you, ile crosse your fortune else,
As I am true Letoy.

Ioy.
Mad, mad, he's mad,
Would we were quickly out on's fingers yet.

Let.
When saw you your wives father? answer me?

Ioy.
He came for London foure dayes before us.

Sc. 6.

Let.
Tis possible he's here then, doe you know him.

Dia.
I am happy in his sight. Deare sir.

Enter Truelocke. she kneeles.
Let.
Tis but so much knee-labour lost, stand up,
Stand up, and minde me.

True.
You are well met, sonne Ioylesse.

Ioy.
How have you beene conceald, and this house?
Here's mystery in this.

Tru.
My good Lords pleasure.

Let.
know sir, that J sent for him, and for you,
Jnstructing your friend Blaze my instrument,
To draw you to my Doctor with your sonne,
Your wife J knew must follow, what my end
Was in't shall quickely be discover'd to you,
In a few words, of your supposed father.

Dia.
Supposed father!

Let.
Yes, come master Truelocke,
My constant friend of thirty yeares acquaintance,
Freely declare with your best knowledge now.
Whose childe this is.

Tru.
Your honor do's as freely
Release me of my vow, then in the secret
I lock'd up in this brest these seaventeene yeares
Since she was three dayes old.

Let.
True, master Truelocke,
I doe release you of your vow: Now speake.

Tru.
Now she is yours my Lord; your onely daughter,
And know you master Ioylesse, for some reason
Knowne to my Lord; and large reward to me,
Shee has beene from the third day of her life
Reputed mine; and that so covertly,
That not her Lady mother, nor my wife
Knew to their deaths, the change of my dead infant,
Nor this sweet Lady, tis most true we had
A trusty Nurses helpe and secresie,
Well paid for, in the carriage of our plot.

Let.
Now shall you know what mov'd me sir. I was
A thing beyond a mad-man, like your selfe,
Jealous; and had that strong distrust, and fancied
Such proofes unto my selfe against my wife,
That I conceiv'd the childe was not mine owne,
And scorn'd to father it; yet I gave to breed her
And marry her as the daughter of this gentleman
(Two thousand pound I guesse you had with her)
But since your match, my wife upon her death-bed,
So clear'd her selfe of all my foule suspitions,
(Blest be her memory) that J then resolv'd
By some quaint way (for J am still Letoy)
To see and try her throughly; and so much
To make her mine, as I should find her worthy.
And now thou art my daughter, and mine heire.
Provided still (for I am still Letoy)
You honourably love her, and defie
The Cuckold-making fiend foule jealousie.

Joy.
My Lord, tis not her birth and fortune, which
Do joyntly claime a priviledge to live
Above my reach of jealousie, shall restraine
That passion in me, but her well tried vertue:
Jn the true faith of which J am confirmd,
And throughly cur'd.

Let.
As J am true Letoy
Well said. J hope thy son is cur'd by this too.

Sce. 7.

Enter Barbara.
Bar.
Truly my Lord, my husband has tane bread
And drunke upon't, that under heaven he thinkes,
You were the meanes to make me an honest woman,
Or (at the least) him a contented man.

Let.
Ha done, ha done.

Bar.
Yes, I beleeve you have done
And if your husband, Lady, be cur'd, as he should be;
And as all foolish jealous husbands ought to be,
I know what was done first, if my Lord tooke
That course with you as me—

Let.
Prithee why canst thou for?

Bar.
My Lord to tell you, (As the Doctor tels me)
The Bride and Bridegroome, Both, are comming on,
The sweetliest to their wits againe.

Let.
I told you.

Bar.
Now you are a happy man sir; and I hope a quiet man.

Ioy.
Full of content and joy.

Bar.
Content! So was my husband, when he knew
The worst he could by his wife. Now youle live quiet Lady.

Let.
Why flyest thou off, thus woman, from the subject
Thou wert upon?

Bar.
I beg your Honours pardon.
And now ile tell you. Be it by skill or chance,
Or both, was never such a Cure, as is
Vpon that couple: now they strive which most
Shall love the other.

Let.
Are they up, and ready?

Bar.
Vp! up, and ready to lye downe againe:
There is no ho with them;
They have bin in th'Antipodes to some purpose;
And, now, are risen, and return'd themselves:
He's her deare Per, and she is his sweet Mat.
His Kingship and her Queenship are forgotten.
And all their melancholly and his Travailes past,
And but suppos'd their dreams.

Let.
Tis excellent.

Bar.
Now sir, the Doctor, (for he is become
An utter stranger to your sonne; and so
Are all about em) craves your presence,
And such as he's acquainted with.

Let.
Go sir.
And go you daughter.

Bar.

Daughter! that's the true trick
of all old whore-masters, to call their wenches daughters.

Let.

Has he knowne you friend Trulock too?

Tru.

Yes from his child-hood.

Let.

Go, then, and possesse him
(Now, he is sensible) how things have gone; what Arte, what
meanes, what friends have bin imploy'd in his rare cure; and
win him, by degrees, to Sense of where he is; bring him to me;
and I have yet an entertainment for him,

Of better Settle-braine, then Drunkards porridge,
To set him right. As I am true Letoy,
I have one Toy left. Go, and go you, why stayst thou?

Exe. Ioy.
Bar.
If I had beene a Gentle-woman borne,
I should have bin your daughter too my Lord.

Let.
But never as she is.
You'le know anon.

Bar.
Neat city-wives flesh, yet may be as good,
As your course countrey gentlewomans blood.
Exit Bar.

Let.
Goe with thy flesh to Turn-bull shambles? Hoe
Within there.

Sce. 8.

Ent. Quailpipe.
Qua.
Here my Lord.

Let.
The musicke, songs,
And dance I gave command for, are they ready?

Qua.

All my good Lord: and (in good sooth) I cannot enough
applaude your honours quaint conceit in the designe; so apt, so
regular, so pregnant, so acute, and so (withall) poetice legitimate,
as I may say justly with Plautus—

Let.

Prithee say no more, but see upon my signall given, they
act as well as I design'd.

Qua.

Nay not so well my exact Lord, but as they may, they
shall.

Exit.
Let.
I know no flatterer in my house but this,
But for his custome I must beare with him.
'Sprecious they come already. Now beginne.

Sce. 9.

A solemne lesson upon the Recorders. Ent. Truelocke, Ioylesse and Diana, Peregrine and Martha, Doctor, and Barbara, Letoy meets them. Truelocke presents Peregrine and Martha to him, he salutes them. They seeme to make some short discourse. Then Letoy appoints them to sit Peregrine seemes somthing amazed. The Musicke ceases.
Let.
Againe you are welcome sir and welcome all.

Per.

I am what you are pleas'd to make me; but withall, so ignorant
of mine owne condition; whether I sleepe, or wake, or
talke, or dreame; whether I be, or be not; or if I am, whether I
doe, or doe not any thing: for I have had (if I now wake) such
dreames, and been so far transported in a long and tedious voyage
of sleep, that I may fear my manners can acquire no welcome,
where men understand themselves.

Let.

This is Musick, Sir, you are welcome; and I give full power
Unto your father, and my daughter here, your mother to make
you welcome.

Joylesse whispers Peregrine.
Per.

How! your daughter sir?

Doct.

My Lord you'l put him backe againe, if you trouble his
braine with new discoveries.

Let.

Fetch him you on againe then: pray are you Letoy or I?

Joy.

Indeed it is so sonne.

Doct.

I feare your show will but perplex him too.

Let.

I care not sir, ile have it to delay your cure a while, that
he recover soundly. Come sit again, again you are most welcome.

Sce. 10.

A most untunable florish. Ent. Discord attended by Folly, Iealousie, Melancholy and madnesse.

There's an unwelcome guest; uncivill Discord that traines
into my house her followers, Folly, and Jealousie, Melancholy,
and madnesse.

Bar.

My husband presents jealousie in the black
and yellow jaundicd sute there, halfe like man, and tother halfe
like woman with one horne, and asse-eare upon his head.

Let.

Peace woman, marke what they doe: but but by the way,
conceive me this, but shew sir, and devise.

Per.

I thinke so.

Let.
Discord. Song in untunable notes.

Scene 11.

They dance.
After a while they are broke off by a flourish, and the approach of Harmony followed by Mercury, Cupid, Bacchus and Apollo. Discord and her faction fall downe.
Let.
See Harmony approaches, leading on,
Gainst Discords factions, feare great deities;
Mercury, Cupid, Bacchus, and Apollo.
Wit against Folly, Love against Jealousie,
Wine against Melancholly, and 'gainst Madnesse, Health.
Observe the matter and the Method.

Per.
Yes.

Let.
Harmony. Song.

After a straine or two, Discord cheares up her faction. They all rise, and mingle in the dance with Harmony and the rest. Daunce.
Let.
Note there how Discord cheares up her disorders,
To mingle in defiance with the Vertues:
But soone they vanish; and the mansion quit
Ex. Discord.
Unto the Gods of health, love, wine and wit,
Who triumph in their habitation new,
Which they have taken, and assigne to you;
In which they now salute you—Bids you bee
Salute Exe.
Of cheare; and for it, layes the charge on me.
And unto me y'are welcome, welcome all.
Meat, wine, and mirth shall flow, and what I see,
Yet wanting in your cure, supplied shall be.

Per.
Indeed I finde me well.

Mar.
And so shall I,
After a few such nights more.

Bar.
Are you there?
Good Madam, pardon errors of my tongue.

Dia.
I am too happy made to thinke of wrong.

Let.
We will want nothing for you that may please,
Though we dive for it to th'Antipodes.