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secaena. 1.
—enter Sir Wary Wastefull, Mr Hollow-heart, Mr Grum-chine, Lady Wastefull, & Mr Tingle her owne brother.Sir Wary.
And thus farre are we come, with right good speed;
Noe rubb did much offend us: that's the prime
of every action, when the strength of monney
can ripen a rich harvest for the sicle
of one good meaninge: then the blooming bud
doth softly ripen a prosperity.
Whereas to stop our hopes with want,
& wyerdraw out our deepe occassions,
(which weightily doe make or marre a state)
This folly oftentimes doth wound the body
of our most deare Intentions, & surround us
amidst our thoughts' & comments politique.
Mr Hollowheart
—we have indeed (good brother) prettily well
indifferent well I say, encompassed
the grudge of all the foes 'to your estate;
and drawne a cypresse, 'fore the waining light
of the decaied symptoms left unto yee;
but yet all is not done;
Sir Wary
not all yet done?
you say true (brother) more is to be done.
I'le call in all my monneys personall,
and send my servant Blinko to spy out
a purchase for a seat to place my baggs on.
good earth is solid; flashy paper light:
houses but candle rents: ground feares no blight.
39
I pray sweet doe! call for your monneys quickly
The scrivener much deceaves yee: bonds are paper:
& credit sincks, where reputation's lost.
At best, the trade's uncomly for high blood;
It seldom does the noble any good.
vertue and honour claime a share in such
to make vile gaines wise people think it much.
Sir Wary.
I shall effect thy counsell very shortly:
I like good solid earth: this paltry Coine
Is like old homers, επεα πτεροεντα
I think your purchasers (most of them) are graecians.
'Tis store will make a frozen melancholy
(for all your mortifying sharpe dicteriums)
to pergraecari, skip, & friske it oft.
well—well—this manour itches.
Holl.
rub sir, rubbe.
'Tis well you can rub, where it itches, brother.
your debters rub, oft where it doth not Itch.
pray call not in your bonds soe soone; one match
is yet to make before this mocke water.
what? Shall my cozen Claribell sit downe
& keep your conies, or your colts, or sheepe,
in the new mannour perke? because her hopes
are buried in a new Inheritance,
for my younge nephewes, who are heyres in Taile.
Pray think on her, shee is your very child
'Tis well you can rub, where it itches, brother.
your debters rub, oft where it doth not Itch.
pray call not in your bonds soe soone; one match
is yet to make before this mocke water.
what? Shall my cozen Claribell sit downe
& keep your conies, or your colts, or sheepe,
in the new mannour perke? because her hopes
are buried in a new Inheritance,
for my younge nephewes, who are heyres in Taile.
Pray think on her, shee is your very child
your very lovely child. I think hee's purg'd.
aside.
Sir Wary.
Tis true she is soe; and Ile place her first.
for noe girle
shall soare aloft in my deceasd estate.
They'l loose our name. o for a brave male issue
to be an heyre to 5 and 40 mannours!
Tingle.
—I, god send it, Sir,
I hope 'twill not be long ere that I see it
beare up my sisters apron; faith these robes
doe not become you sister.
40
—well thats' all one; when it shall please my starrs
I may conceave: before the fates deny.
or should I? what fortune would attend my child
would pose the Artists in their horoscope.
Sir Wary.
Well! would it please the supreme deity
the feeder of our nature & emplanter
of all the secret moisture in our veines
which springs an action for humanity:
to lend an aide beyond these sterved powers
to quicken happy life, & masculine
attractive spright, within dame natures Arke;
I would sollicite every minutes passe,
with a robustious micant horizon,
which should breathe forth the strong desire of him
whose emulation, & sole chiefest aime
is soe to be expressd, but in the shape
and pourtraid by a stripling of my owne.
Hollowh.
I shall arrest those praises, sir, untill
I see a better warrant from above.
Tingle.
pray! let them breath; thei'r pious: to desire
is modest asking: boldnesse to require.
Lady W.
—when nature pleaseth, I shall fitted bee
I hope for fruitfull & blest progeny.
men wish to please their fancies: but they'r serv'd
when time is fitted, or the bones deserv'd,
I pray as much as any: to want race
is womans skorne; which doth here quite deface.
A numerous issue is a mothers pleasure
a fathers joy, welbred; a grandsires treasure.
Sir Wary.
Let's put a period then, and recreate
our weary thoughts, which busied were with state:
to observe our owne occasions does us good,
but too much dulnesse childs & dreines our blood.
A little of the one, commends the other:
This is the way to make your wife a mother.
Finis ac. 1 secaena. 1.
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