 | The Little French Lawyer |  |
Actus Secundus.
Scena Prima.
Enter Cleremont, as in the field.Cler.
I am first i'th field that honours gain'd of our side
Pray Heaven I may get of as honourablie,
The houre is past, I wonder Dinant comes not,
This is the place, I cannot see him yet;
It is his quarrell too, that brought me hither,
And I ne'r knew him yet, but to this honour,
A firme and worthy Friend, yet I see nothing,
Nor Horse nor man; 'twould vex me, to be left here,
To th mercy of two swords, and two approved ones
I never knew him last.
Enter Beaupre and Verdoone.
Beaup.
You are well met Cleremont.
Verdo.
You are a faire Gentleman, & love your friend Sir
What are you ready the time has over tane us?
Beaup.
And this you know the place.
Cler.
No Dinant yet?
Beaup.
We come not now to argue, but to doe;
We waite you Sir,
Cler.
Ther's no time past yet. Gentlemen,
We have day enough: i'st possible he comes not?
You see I am ready here, and doe but stay,
Till my Friend come, walke but a turne or two,
'Twill not be long.
Verd.
We came to fight.
Cler.
Yee shall fight Gentlemen,
And fight enough, but a short turne or two
I thinke I see him, set up your watch, wee'l fight by it.
Beau.
That is not hee; we will not be deluded.
Cler.
Am I bobd thus, pray take a pipe of tobacco?
Or sing but some new ayre; by that time, Gentlemen—
Verd.
Come draw your sword, you know the custome here Sir
First come, first serv'd
Cler.
Though it be held a custome,
And practised so, I doe not hold it honest;
What honour can you both win on me single?
Beaup.
Yeild up you sword then.
Cler.
Yeild my Sword? that's Hebrew;
I'll be first cut a peices; hold but a while,
I'll take the next that comes,
Enter an old Gentleman.
You are an old Gentleman.
Gent.
Yes indeed am I, Sir.
Cler.
And weare no Sword?
Gent.
I need none; Sir,
Cler.
I would you did, and had one;
I want now such a foolish courtesie
You see these Gentlemen;
Gent.
You want a second.
In good Faith Sir, I was never handsome at it,
I would you had my Son, but hee's in Italy,
A proper Gentleman; you may doe well gallants
If you quarrell be not capitall, to have more mercy,
The Gentleman may doe his Country—
Cler.
Now I beseech you, Sir,
If you dare not fight, doe not stay to beg my pardon,
There lies your way.
Gent.
Good morrow Gentlemen.
Exit.
Verd.
You see your fortune,
You had better yeild your sword.
Cler.
Pray yee stay a little
Enter two Gentlemen.
Upon mine honestie, you shall be fought with;
Well, Dinant, well, these we are swords and seeme brave fellowes
As you are Gentlemen, one of you supply me
I want a second now to meete these gallants,
You know what honour is,
1 Gent.
Sir you must pardon us,
We goe about the same worke, you are ready for;
And must fight presently, els we were your servants,
2 Gent.
God speed you, and good day.
Exit Gent.
Cler.
Am I thus Colted?
Beaup.
Come either yeild—
Cler.
As you are honest Gentlemen,
Stay but the next, and then i'll take my fortune,
And if I fight not like a man—Fy Dinant,
Cold now and treacherous,
Enter Monsieur la Writ within.
La Writ.
I understand your causes.
Yours about corne, yours about pinnes and glasses,
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And his Petition too, about Bell-founding?
Send in your witnesses, what will you have me doe?
Will you have me break my heart? my brains are melted;
And tell your Master, as I am a gentleman,
His Cause shall be the first, commend me to your Mistris,
And tell her, if there be an extraordinary feather,
And tall enough for her: I shall dispatch you too,
I know your Cause, for transporting of Farthingales
Trouble me no more, I say, againe to you,
No more vexation: bid my wife send me some puddings;
I have a Cause to run through, requires puddings,
Puddings enough. Farewell.
Cler.
God speed you, sir.
Beaup.
Would he would take this fellow.
Verd.
A rare Youth.
Cler.
If you be not hastie, sir.
La-writ.
Yes, I am hastie,
Exceeding hastie, sir, I am going to the Parliament,
You understand this bag, if you have any businesse
Depending there, be short, and let me heare it,
And pay your Fees.
Cler.
'Faith, sir, I have a businesse,
But it depends upon no Parliament.
La-writ.
I have no skill in't then.
Cler.
I must desire you,
'Tis a Sword matter, sir.
La-writ.
I am no Cutler,
I am an Advocate, sir.
Beau.
How the thing lookes?
Verd.
When he brings him to fight.
Cler.
Be not so hastie,
You weare a good Sword.
La-writ.
I know not that,
I never drew it yet, or whether it be a Sword—
Cler.
I must entreat you try, sir, and beare a part
Against these Gentlemen, I want a second;
Yee seeme a man, and 'tis a noble office.
La-writ.
I am a Lawyer, sir, I am no fighter.
Cler.
You that breed quarrells, sir, know best to satisfie.
Beau.
This is some sport yet.
Verd.
If this fellow should fight.
La-writ.
And for any thing I know, I am an arrant coward
Doe not trust me, I thinke I am a coward.
Cler.
Try, try, you are mistaken: walke on gentlemen,
The man shall follow presently.
La-writ.
Are ye mad gentleman?
My businesse is within this halfe houre,
Cler.
That's all one,
We'll dispatch within this quarter, there in that bottome,
'Tis most convenient gentlemen.
Beau.
Well, we'll wait, sir.
Verd.
Why this will be a comick fight, you'll follow.
La-w.
As I am a true man, I cannot fight.
Ex. Beaup. Verdone.
Cler.
Away, away,
I know you can: I like your modesty,
I know you will fight, and so fight, with such mettall,
And with such judgement, meet your enemies fury;
I see it in your eye, sir.
La-writ.
I'le be hang'd then;
And I charge you in the Kings name, name no more fighting.
Cler.
I charge you in the Kings name play the man,
Which if you doe not quickly, I begin with you,
Ile make you dance, doe you see your fiddle sticke?
Sweet Advocate thou shalt fight.
La-writ.
Stand farther gentleman.
Or I'le give you such a dust o'th' chapps—
Cler.
Spoke bravely,
And like thy selfe, a noble Advocate:
Come to thy tooles.
La-writ.
I doe not say I'le fight.
Cler.
I say thou shalt, and bravely.
La-writ.
If I doe fight;
I say, if I doe but doe not depend upon't,
And yet I have a foolish itch upon me,
What shall become of my Writings?
Cler.
Let 'em ly by,
They will not run away, man.
La-writ.
I may be kil'd too,
And where are all my causes then? my businesse?
I will not fight, I cannot fight, my Causes—
Cler.
Thou shalt fight, if thou hadst a thousand causes,
Thou art a man to fight for any cause,
And carry it with honour.
La-writ.
Hum! say you so? if I should
Be such a coxcombe to prove valiant now—
Cler.
I know thou art most valiant.
La-writ.
Doe you thinke so?
I am undone for ever, if it prove so,
I tell you that, my honest friend, for ever;
For I shall ne're leave quarrelling.
How long must we fight? for I cannot stay,
Nor will not stay, I have businesse.
Cler.
We'll do't in a minute in a moment.
La-writ.
Here will I hang my bag then, it may save my belly,
I never lov'd cold iron there.
Cler.
You doe wisely.
La-writ.
Help me to pluck my sword out then, quickly, quickly,
'T has not seen Sun these ten yeares.
Cler.
How it grumbles?
This Sword is vengeance angry.
La-writ.
Now I'le put my hat up,
And say my prayers as I goe; away boy,
If I be kill'd, remember the little Lawyer.
Exeunt.
Enter Beaupre.
Beaup.
They are both come on, that may be a stubborne rascall,
Take you that ground,
Enter La-writ.
Ile stay here, fight bravely.
La-wr.
To't chearfully my boyes, you'll let's have faire play,
None of your foyning tricks.
Beau.
Come forward Monsieur;
Fight.
What hast thou there? a pudding in thy belly?
I shall see what it holds.
La-writ.
Put your spoone home then:
Nay, since I must fight, have at you without wit, sir:
God a mercy bagg.
Beau.
Nothing but bumbast in yee?
The rogue winkes and fights.
La-wr.
Now your fine fencing, sir:
Beau. loses his sword, La. writ treads on it.
Stand off, thou diest on point else,
I have it, I have it: yet further off:
I have his Sword.
Beau.
Then keep it, be sure you keep it.
La-writ.
I'le put it in my mouth else.
Stand further off yet, and stand quietly,
And looke another way, or I'le be with you.
Is this all? I'le undertake within these two dayes
To furnish any Cutler in this Kingdome.
Beau.
Pox, what a fortune's this? disarm'd by a puppie?
A snaile? a dog?
La-Writ.
No more o'these words Gentleman,
Sweet gentleman no more, doe not provoke me,
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What must I doe now?
Enter Cleremont, pursued by Verdoone.
Cler.
Help me, I am almost breathlesse.
La-writ.
With all my heart, there's a cold py for you, sir.
Cler.
Thou strik'st me, foole.
La-writ.
Thou foole, stand further off then,
Deliver, deliver.
Cler.
Hold fast.
He strikes up the others heeles, and takes his Sword too.
La-writ.
I never faile in't
There's twelve pence, go buy you two leaden Daggers,
Have I done well?
Cler.
Most like a gentleman.
Beau.
And we two basely lost.
Verd.
'Tis but a fortune,
We shall yet find an houre.
Ex. Beau. Verdoone sad.
Cler.
I shall be glad on't.
La-writ.
Where's my cloake, and my trinkets?
Or will you sight any longer, for a crash or two?
Cler.
I am your noble friend, sir.
La-writ.
It may be so.
Cler.
What honour shall I doe you,
For this great courtesie?
La-writ.
All I desire of ye,
Is to take the quarrell to your selfe, and let me heare no more on't
I have no liking to't, 'tis a foolish matter,
And help me to put up my Sword.
Cler.
Most willingly,
But I am bound to gratifie you, and I must not leave you.
La-writ.
I tell you I will not be gratified,
Nor I will heare no more on't: take the Swords too,
And doe not anger me but leave me quietly.
For the matter of honour, 'tis at your owne disposure,
And so, and so.
Cler.
This is a most rare Lawyer:
I am sure most valiant. Well Dinant as you satisfie me,
I say no more: I am loden like an Armorer.
Exit. Cler.
Enter Dinant.
Din.
To be dispatcht upon a sleevelesse errand?
To leave my friend engag'd, mine honour tainted?
These are trim things. I am set here like a Perdue,
To watch a fellow, that has wrong'd my Mistris,
A scurvy fellow, that must passe this way,
But what this scurvy fellow is, or whence,
Or whether his name be William or John,
Or Anthony or Dick or anything, I know not;
A scurvy rascally fellow. I must aime at,
And there's the office of an Asse flung on me.
Sure Cleremont has fought, but how come off,
And what the world shall thinke of, me hereafter:
Well, woman, woman, I must looke your rascalls,
And loose my reputation: ye have a fine power over us.
These two long houres I have trotted here, and curiously
Survei'd all goers by, yet find no rascall.
Nor any face to quarrell with:
La-writ sings within then Enters.
What's that?
This is a rascaly voice sure it comes this way.
La-writ.
He strooke so hard the Bason broke
And Tarquin heard the sound.
Din.
What master thing is this? let me survey it.
La-writ.
And then he strooke his necke in two.
Din.
This may be a rascall, but 'tis a mad rascall,
What an Alphabet of faces he puts on?
Hey how it fences? if this should be the rogue,
As 'tis the likeliest rogue I see this day—
Lawr.
Was ever man for Ladies sake? down, down.
Di.
And what are you good sir? down, down, down, down.
La-wr.
What's that to you, good sir? downe, downe.
Din.
A pox on you good, sir, downe, downe, downe.
You with your Buckram bag, what make you here?
And from whence come you? I could fight with my shadow now.
La-w.
Thou fierce man, that like sir Lancelot dost appear,
I need not tell thee what I am, nor eke what I make here.
Din.
This is a pretious knave, stay, stay, good Tristram,
And let me aske thy mightinesse a question,
Did ye never abuse a Lady?
La-writ.
Not; to abuse a Lady, is very hard, sir,
Din.
Say you so, sir?
Didst thou never abuse her honour?
La-writ.
Not; to abuse her honour, is impossible.
Din.
Certaine this is the rascall: What's thy name?
La-writ.
My name is Cock a two, use me respectively.
I will be Cocke of three else.
Din.
What's all this?
You say, you did abuse a Lady;
La-writ.
You ly.
Din.
And that you wrong'd her honour.
La-writ.
That's two lyes,
Speake suddenly, for I am full of businesse.
Din.
What art thou, or what canst thou be, thou pengoose,
That dar'st give me the ly thus? thou mak'st me wonder.
Law.
And wonder on, till time makes all this plaine.
Din.
You must not part so, sir, art thou a gentleman?
La-w.
Aske those, upon whose ruines, I am mounted.
Din.
This is some Cavellero Knight o'th' Sun.
La-w.
I tell thee, I am as good a gentleman as the Duke;
I have atchieved—goe follow thy businesse.
Din.
But for this Lady, sir—
La-writ.
Why, hang this Lady, sir,
And the Lady Mother too, sir, what have I to do with Ladies?
Enter Cleremont.
Cler.
'Tis the little Lawyers voice: has he got my way?
It should be here abouts.
Din.
Ye dry bisket rogue,
I wil so swinge you for this blasphemie—
Have I found you out?
Cler.
That should be Dinants tongue too.
La-w.
And I defy thee do thy worst: ô ho quoth Lancelot tho.
And that thou shalt know, I am a true gentleman,
And speake according to the phrase triumphant;
Thy Lady, is a scurvy Lady, and a shitten Lady,
And though I never heard of her, a deboshed Lady,
And thou, a squire of low degree; will that content thee?
Dost thou way-lay me with Ladies? A pretty sword, sir,
A very pretty sword, I haue a great mind to't.
Din.
You shall not loose your longing, rogue.
Cler.
Hold, hold.
Hold Dinant, as thou art a gentleman.
La-writ.
As much as you will, my hand is in now.
Cler.
I am your friend, sir: Dinant you draw your sword
Upon the gentleman, preserv'd your honour:
This was my second and did back me nobly,
For shame forbeare.
Din.
I aske your mercy, sir, and am your servant now.
La-writ.
May we not fight then?
Cler.
I am sure you shall not now.
La-w.
I am sorry for't I am sure I'le stay no longer then.
Not a jot longer: are there any more on ye afore?
I will sing still, sir.
Exit La-writ.
Din.
I looke now you should chide me, and 'Tis fit,
And with much bitternesse, expresse your anger,
I have deserv'd: yet when you know—.
59
I thanke ye,
Doe you thinke, that the wrong you have offred me,
The most unmanly wrong, unfriendly wrong—
Din.
I doe confesse—
Cler.
That boyish sleight—
Din.
Not so, sir.
Cler.
That poore, and base renouncing of your honour,
Can be allaied with words?
Din.
I give you way still.
Cler.
Coloured with smooth excuses? Was it a friends part,
A Gentlemans, a mans that weares a Sword,
And stands upon the point of reputation,
To hide his head, then, when his honour call'd him?
Call'd him alowd, and lead him to his fortune?
To halt and slip the coller? by my life,
I would have given my life, I had never knowne thee,
Thou hast eaten Canker-like into my judgement
With this disgrace, my whole life, cannot heale agiine.
Din.
This I can suffer too, I find it honest.
Cler.
Can you pretend an excuse now may absolve you,
Or any thing like honest, to bring you off?
Ingage me like an Asse?
Din.
Will you but heare me?
Cler.
Expose me like a Jade, to tug, and hale through,
Laugh'd at, and almost hooted? your disgraces,
Invite mens Swords, and angers to dispatch me.
Din.
If you will be patient.
Cler.
And be abus'd still: But that I have call'd thee friend,
And to that name, allow a Sanctuary,
You should heare further from me, I would not talk thus:
But henceforth stand upon your owne bottome, sir,
And beare your owne abuses, I scorne my sword
Should travell in so poore and empty quarrells.
Din.
Ha, you done yet? take your whole swinge of anger,
I'le beare all with content.
Cler.
Why were you absent?
Din.
You know I am no Coward, you have seene that,
And therefore, out of feare, forsooke you not:
You know I am not false, of a treacherous nature,
Apt to betray my friend I have fought for you too;
You know no businesse, that concern'd my state,
My kindred, or my life.
Cler.
Where was the fault then?
Din.
The honour of that Lady I adore
Her credit, and her name: ye know she sent for me,
And with what hast.
Cler.
What was he that traduc'd?
Din.
The man i'th' Moone, I think, hither I was sent,
But to what end—
Enter old Lady.
Cler.
This is a pretty flim-flam.
O. La.
I am glad I have met you sir, I have bin seeking,
And seeking every where.
Cler.
And now you have found him,
Declare that businesse, our Embassadour.
O. Lady.
What's that to ye good man flouter? O sir, my Lady.
Din.
Prethee no more of thy Lady, I have too much on't.
Cler.
Let me have a little, speake to me.
Old Lady.
To you sir?
'Tis more then time: All occasions set aside sir,
Or whatsoever may be thought a businesse—
Din.
What then?
Old Lady.
Repaire to me within this houre.
Cler.
Where?
O. Lady.
What's that to you? come you, sir, when y'are sent for.
Cler.
God a mercy Mumpsimus,
You may goe Dinant, and follow this old Fairie,
Till you have lost your selfe, your friends, your credit,
And hunny out your youth, in rare adventures,
I can but grieve, I have knowne you.
Old Lady.
Will ye goe sir?
I come not often to you with these blessings,
You may believe that thing there, and repent it,
That dogged thing.
Cler.
Peace touchwood.
Din.
I will not goe:
Goe bid your Lady seeke some foole, to fawne on her
Some unexperienc'd puppie, to make sport with,
I have bin her mirth too long, thus I shake from me
The fetters she put on; thus her enchantments
I blow away like wind, no more her beauty.
Old Lady.
Take heed sir, what you say.
Cler.
Goe forward Dinant.
Din.
The charmes shot from her eyes—
O. Lady.
Be wise.
Cler.
Be Valiant.
Din.
That tongue that tells faire tales to mens destructions
Shall never rack me more.
Old Lady.
Stay there.
Cler.
Goe forward.
Din.
I will now heare her, see her as a woman,
Survey her, and the power man has allowed, sir,
As I would due the course of common things,
Unmov'd, unstruck.
Cler.
Hold there, and I forgive thee.
Din.
She is not faire, and that that makes her proud,
Is not her owne, our eies bestow it on her,
To touch and kisse her, is no blessednesse,
A Sun-burnt Ethiopes lip's as soft as hers.
Goe bid her stick some other triumph up,
And take into her favour some dull foole,
That has no pretious time to loose, no friends,
No honour, nor no life, like a bold Merchant,
A bold and banquerupt man, I have ventur'd all these,
And split my bottome: returne this answer to her,
I am awake againe, and see her mischiefes,
And am not now, on every idle errand,
And now coyn'd anger, to be hurried,
And then despis'd againe, I have forgot her.
Cler.
If this be true—
O. Lady.
I am sorry, I have troubled you,
More sorrie, that my Lady has adventur'd
So great a favour, in so weake a mind:
This houre you have refus'd, that when you come to know it,
Will run you mad, and make you curse that fellow,
She is not faire, nor handsome, so I leave you.
Cler.
Stay Lady, stay, but is there such a businesse?
O. Lady.
You would breake your neck 'twere yours.
Cler.
My back, you would say.
O. La.
But play the friends part still, sir, and undoe him,
'Tis a faire office.
Din.
I have spoke too liberally.
O. Lady.
I shall deliver what you say.
Cler.
You shall be hang'd first,
You would faine be prating now; take the man with you.
O. Lady.
Not I, I have no power.
Cler.
You may goe Dinant.
O. Lady.
'Tis in's own will, I had no further charge, sir,
Then to tell him what I did, which if I had thought
It should have bin receiv'd so—
Cler.
'Faith you may,
You doe not know, how far it may concerne you.
60
Din.
'Twill end there.
Cler.
'Tis my fault then, there is an houre in fortune,
That must be still observ'd: you thinke I'll chide you.
When things must be nay see, an he will hold his head up?
Would such a Lady send with such a charge too?
Say she has plaid the foole, play the foole with her againe,
The great foole, the greater still the better,
He shall goe with you woman.
Old Lady.
As it please him,
I know the way alone else.
Din.
Where is your Lady?
O. Lady.
I shall direct you quickly.
Din.
Well, I'll goe,
But what her wrongs, will give me leave to say.
Cler.
We'll leave that to your selves: I shall heare from you.
Din.
As soone as I come off—
Cler.
Come on then bravely;
Farewell till then, and play the man.
Din.
You are merry;
All I expect is scorne: Ile lead you Lady.
Exeunt severally.
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