 | The Constant Maid |  |
Act. I.
Enter Hartwell, Close, Servants.Hartwell.
Nay, let's not part so heavily.
Clo.
For mine owne part
It does not trouble me so much, that you
Have broke up house; for hospitalitie
Went out of fashion with crop-doublets
And cod-peeces: but I that have worne out
So many liveries under the worshipfull
Old Gentleman your father.
Hart.
My father had an office, which brought in
A faire revenew; I inherit but
His little land, whose annuall profits wo'not
Encourage me to live at the same height:
Yee may meet better fortunes, there's enough
Preferment in the world; my love and best
Assistance promise to your selves.
I do not
Stand upon wages, Sir, I will not leave you.
Hart.
How woot thou live?
Clo.
As other mortals do; yet I'll not play
The thiefe, that is a course by which a man
May soone ascend the ladder of preferment:
But I ne're lov'd these climbing trees. I cannot
Cheat, though I have heard there is an art,
A devillish deale of knowledge in the dice;
And if men wonot part with money, some
Will fetch it out o'th' bones: but the best casting
Is in a Taverne, when the wine and reckoning
Come up together; some doe spin a living by't:
And there are many secret wayes for Serving-men
To live, it is not wages does maintaine
All of our Tribe, Sir; and especially
Those that have Mistresses.
Hart.
But I am a Bachelour.
Clo.
I pray let me be one of your buttons still then,
I am not halfe worne out; you know what mould
I'm made off, I did ever honest service;
And though my fellow Vermin can forsake
Your falling house, I doe not feare the rafters;
By this hand, Sir, I'll wait upon you, though
Like great mens servants, I do live on nothing
But looks, and the aire of commendations.
Hart.
Well, since you are so resolute, attend me,
The rest I here discharge, there's somewhat more,
Not worth the name of bountie, I wish all
A happier entertainment.
2 Serv.
And there be
No remedy, heaven blesse you, Sir.
Clo.
Pray give me leave to wet my lips with these
My fellowes, sorrow has made but a dry proverb,
I must toth' Taverne, and condole a quart.
Hart.
Meet me at Mistresse Bellamies then.
Exit.
I shall, Sir.
Enter Playfare.
Play.
How now Masters.
Clo.
You speake not
To me, Sir, I am a servant still indeed;
With them the case is alter'd, they are masters,
For they want services.
1 Ser.
Oh, Master Playfare.
2
It is not now as when Andrea liv'd,
3
This place was made for pleasure, not for death.
1
There was a time when mortals whetted knives.
2
In time of yore, when men kill'd brutish beasts.
3
Oh cruell Butcher, whosoe're thou wert.
Clo.
Do not you know what all this signifies?
Play.
Not I.
Clo.
My master has given over house-keeping.
1
He has committed Burglarie, broke up the cellar,
And throwne the kitchin out at the hall window.
Clo.
His house, Sir, has a superscription,
And is directed to his loving friend
Will pay the rent, you'l hardly know me now,
I have no fellow.
Play.
You are verie merrie, Sir.
2
He has some cause, we are discharg'd.
Clo:
For certaine, my master only
Belongs to me, if you would speake with him,
He's gone to Mistresse Bellamies, Sir;
In the meane time, please you to understand,
I Close follow my master, and shall feed still,
Although my fellowes here are become blanks,
And do want filling.
Play.
Lads, I have knowne you long:
Although you be at losse, in confidence
Of all your future honesties, I'll employ yee
In a device, which if it hit, may
Reward your paines.
Clo.
All?
Your Master only, Sir, belongs to you,
Follow him still, and if there be occasion,
I shall enquire for you; you will be faithfull.
Ser. omnes.
Doubt not, M. Playfaire.
Play.
I have a project,
Follow me for instructions; farewell Close,
Commend me to your master.
2
Buoy Close, buoy honest Close, we are blanks, blanks.
Clo.
Roule up your selves in paper-liveries, and
Be drawne at the next Lotterie; I wo'not
Forsake my certaintie for all your projects,
If it should faile I shall find some of you
Sneaking in Pauls behind a pillar, with
A zealous prayer, some Gentleman would read
The bed-roll of your commendation,
And pitie a verie serviceable fellow,
That would faine wait on him, but wants a cloake:
Go, prosper with your project.
Exeunt.
Enter Hornet, Mistresse Bellamy.
Horn.
Widdow, be rul'd by me, I know the world,
And I have studied it these fiftie yeares:
There's no man to be trusted.
Bell.
Without good.
Securitie, you meane.
Horn.
No young man, widdow,
That talks, and sayes he loves you, writes you verses,
And sweares he shall goe hang himselfe, unlesse
You pitie him; take me an old man.
Bell.
So, take you an old man.
Horn.
Season'd with care and thrift, not led away
By vicious conversation; nor corrupted
With pride and surfet, one that knowes the use
Of money; Do yee mark the use?
Bell.
Yes, Sir:
Use upon use, you meane.
Hor.
And dares not spend it prodigally, knowing
To releeve our necessitie, and lay up
What is above.
Bell.
To help the poore.
Horn.
You may,
If you be so dispos'd; but 'tis as commendable
To give it in your will, to build an Hospitall,
And so our charitie comes altogether:
I would not have your state be eaten up
By Catterpillers, but preserv'd and made
Greater, by marrying some discreet old man.
Bell.
And such an one you shew your selfe.
Horn.
You happily
Interpret me.
Bell.
I would not tell you, Sir,
Till our next meeting, how much you have won,
By your good counsell, on me.
Horn.
She inclines.
'Tis your good nature, I am plaine, and have
No tricks, I'll tell you all my fault, I am
Addicted verie much to gather wealth;
I have no children to devoure my state,
Nor kinred, only a Neece left to my trust,
One that is never like to marrie.
Bell.
Why?
Horn.
She never thriv'd since she came to mee.
Bell.
I easily beleeve it.
Horn.
Melancholly
Will kill her, and yet I pursue all wayes
That promise her delight: I spare no cost
Of Physick, what her Doctor sayes, is done.
Bell.
'Tis lovingly perform'd.
Enter Hartwell and Mistresse Frances.
Horn.
What's he?
Bell.
A Gentleman that beares my daughter much
Affection.
Sure I have seene him.
Bell.
Master Hartwell.
Horn.
Oh, he's a beggar, or must be verie shortly.
Bell.
Have you his lands in morgage?
Horn.
Not yet, not yet; but he'll want money, widdow.
Bell.
He has had good breeding.
Horn.
Hang breeding, 'tis unlucky,
They never keep their state that have too much on't,
Counsell your daughter, Mistresse Bellamy,
To throw him off betime.
Bell.
You direct well.
Horn.
When we are married, I'll provide a match for her.
Bell.
You have care on's.
Horn.
It will become me.
Hart.
Is he Suitor to your mother, Lady?
Fra.
He would be such a thing: Were not I blest
In such a jolly father in law?
Hart.
He looks like some cast money-bag, that had given up
The stuffing, and for want of use growne mouldy:
He dares not keep much fire in's kitchin, lest
Warming his hands, which rather looke like gloves,
So tann'd and thin, he let em scorch, and gather
Into a heap. I do not think he ever
Put off his clothes, he would run mad to see
His owne anatomy, that such a wretch
Should have so vast a wealth.
Fran.
I wod not be his
Niece for all his fortune.
Hart.
I presume
Your mother is more noble, than to encourage him
In his pretence, and her estate would mix
But ill with his ill-gotten wealth, extorted
From widdowes and from orphans, nor will all
His plentie keep his soule one day from famine:
'Tis time ill spent to mention him, let's talk
Of something else.
Of what?
Hart.
Of love agen,
Whose flame we equally divide.
Horn.
Your table
Is a devourer, and they shut up doores
First, that keep open house and entertainments:
This Lord is feasted, and that young Ladies
Sweet tooth must have a banquet; t'other old
Madam with ne're a tooth must have some marchpane
Corall to rub her gums withall; these are
Ridiculous expences.
Bell.
Far from thrift.
Horn.
This roome has too rich furniture, and worse
Hangings would serve the turne; if I may be
Worthy to counsell, costly pictures are
Superfluous, though of this, or t'other masters
Doing: Hang Michael Angelo and his oyles.
If they be given, y'are the more excus'd
To let 'em shew; but have a care you let not
Appeare, either in Arras, or in picture,
The storie of the Prodigall, 'twill fright
Young Gentlemen that come to visit you
From spending o'their portions, whose riot
May enrich you with their forfeited estates;
I have a thousand precepts more.
Bell.
But do not
Think all this while of heaven.
Horn.
'Tis in my chest,
And multiplyed in everie bag.
Bell.
Or hell.
Horn.
A fable to fright fooles, or children; but
I cannot stay, my Scrivener doth expect me,
I'll visit you another time, sweet widdow,
And give you more instructions.
Bell.
Spare your travell,
I sha'not practise these in haste, and must
My patience was a vertue all this while,
If you but think you have a soule; repent;
Your rules I am not covetous to follow,
Good master Hornet.
Horn.
Live and be undone then:
You'l tell me another tale hereafter widdow.
Exit.
Enter Nurse and Close.
Nur.
Letters from Master Startup, the countrey Gentleman.
Har.
What's he?
Fran.
A Sutor of my Nurses commendations.
Clo.
Now heaven deliver me, what have I seen?
This monster once was shewne i'th' faire, or such
Another furr'd Baboone for all the world,
Do'st know him? Why do I ask such a question?
He's such a thing the Devill would not owne's
Acquaintance.
Nur.
Master Hornet, the great Usurer.
Clo.
Hornet? Nay then, my wonder's over, and the
Devill be but such another, they
May be sworne brothers; yes, and divide hell
Betwixt em.
Hart.
Who is that you talk on, Sir?
Clo.
The beast, that Heaven be thank'd, has left you,
Hornet; but I ha newes for you.
Bell.
Frances.
Hart.
I'll heare it in the garden.
Exit Hart. Close.
Bell.
Do you love
That Master Hartwell? do not blush, but answer.
Fran.
I hope you move not this, as if you doubted;
I took him first, upon your character,
Into my good opinion.
Bell.
But things alter:
What then I thought, I deliver'd yee;
Nor since hath he deserv'd a lesse esteeme
In his owne person, but the circumstance
Which rises not to such a value, I
Did apprehend; and it becomes my care,
Being at one gift to depart with thee
And my estate, to look for one whose purse
May carrie a proportion.
Fran.
Make me not
Imagine you would wed me to a heap
Of shining dust, a golden bondage.
Bell.
Nor
To penurie; his birth and education
Are not unworthy, he's a handsome man too;
But be not govern'd by your eye too much:
Children and age pursue, and many stormes
Hover about our fraile conditions:
All these must be provided for, they are not
Kisses will arme you against winter, therefore
Confident of your obedience, I propound
Another to your best thoughts,
Fran.
Oh my unhappinesse.
Bell.
A Countrey Gentleman of spreading fortunes,
Young too, and not uncomely; for his breeding,
It was not spun the finest, but his wealth,
Able to guild deformitie, and make
Even want of wit a vertue, when your life
Renders it selfe more sweet by your command;
His name is Master Startup, whom I expect
Our guest to morrow, that's his letter, read it.
This may seeme strange at the first coming toward you;
But when discretion comes to examine what
A fruitfull consequence attends it, you
Will thank me for't.
Fran.
But with your pardon, mother,
Although I could dispence with my owne thoughts,
And frame them to obedience, will this change
Be for my honour, or my fame? when such
With your consent, my love? or pray admit
That which we gaine by riches of the second,
Seeme to authorize, and may justifie
The act with some; how can it cure the wound,
Which the poore heart, which loves, shall find too soone,
When 'tis neglected, and so cruelly,
Where it did hope for cherishing? Oh think
How you did love my father first, and be
More gentle to your daughter, your estate
Is above needy providence, or grafting
Into a new stock; it doth grow already
Faire from his owne root, and doth want no peecing:
Nor are the meanes of Hartwell so contemptible.
Bell.
No more: y'have consider'd well, you'l shape
Another answer; i'th' meane time dispose
Your countenance to entertaine this new
And able Lover: leave the satisfaction
Of Hartwell to my care:
He's here, to your chamber.
Enter Hartwell, Close.
Clo.
I know not what's the trick on't, nor themselves yet;
But he has a project to employ 'em all.
Hart.
I wish it well; but do you work your selfe
Into the opinion of her Nurse, she is
The Major Domo, and has all the intelligence.
Clo.
Let me alone, I'll work her Sir like wax,
To print what forme you please upon her, 'tis
A Loving Crone already to me, I
Will speake her faire, and in my drink may marrie her.
Bell.
Master Hartwell.
Hart.
About your businesse.
Exit Close.
Bell.
There is a matter, Sir, which I must open,
And you perhaps will wonder at.
Hart.
You prepare my attention.
Bell.
You do love my daughter,
Hart.
If you knew my heart,
You might be confident, in her I sum
All my desires on earth.
Bell.
Be not so fixt.
Hart.
How Lady?
Bell.
When you have heard me out, you'l find
Your consent easie to call back a promise
Made to your disadvantage.
Hart.
I acknowledge;
This makes me wonder, pray interpret Lady,
And speake the dialect I understand:
I love your daughter.
Bell.
But must never glorie
In the reward which you expect should be,
Her marriage.
Hart.
In the number of my actions
There is not one that's guiltie of so much
Offence to you, that I should be so soone
Lost to your favour.
Bell.
Have no thought so poore
You can deserve lesse, my opinion
Is richer laden with your merit.
Hart.
Now I feare agen, this violent turne of praise
Makes me suspect my state; if I be falne,
Teach me to know my trespasse.
Bell.
I ne're look'd
With such cleere eyes into your worth, and 'twere
A sin to generall goodnesse, to delay
The free resigne of that your worth may challenge.
Hart.
If this be meant, pray pardon my mistake
Of something went before, love made me feare;
You said I never should enjoy your daughter
In marriage, which your selfe so late enclined to.
Bell.
And must agen repeat, you cannot call
Her Bride.
Can you forbid this happinesse,
And love me?
Bell.
Yes, so deerly, Hartwell, I
Present my selfe to thy affection.
Hart.
You fright my understanding.
Bell.
Does the name
Of widdow sound displeasing, I have learn'd
Already to obey; my yeares are not
So many, with the thought, to freeze your bloud,
I weare no print of time deep in my brow:
Have my haires the innocence of age,
To speake me twice a child? Gentlemen active,
And of great birth, have courted my affection,
And if they flatter not, commend my person.
Adde unto this my wealth, no narrow fortune,
And without competition, my daughter,
Depending on my love, whose portion must
Flow from my bountie, or be nothing; make
A sober apprehension of this tender,
And think I was not able to suppresse
My silent flame, increast still by your vertues:
This minute give all hopes up for my daughter,
I can admit no Rivall; 'tis within
Your election to be happie, Sir:
My love accepted comes with faire attendance,
Deny'd, you hasten your owne exile, think on't,
I will expect your answer.
Exit.
Hart.
I am destroy'd:
Was it her mother that spake all this while?
As pilgrims, by mistake of some small path,
Having told many wearie steps, at night,
When their hopes flatter em, they are not far
From some kind entertainment, find themselves
Lost in a wildernesse; so am I miserable:
Thus love delights to wound, and see us bleed,
He were a gentle god to kill indeed.
Exit.
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