 | The Constant Maid |  |
Act. III.
Enter Nurse and Startup.Nurs.
Fye, fie, I am asham'd of you, a Gentleman
Of your high promising, and be put off
So slightly?
Start.
Why Nurse, what would you ha' me do?
Nurs.
Do? I would have you do something; a man
Of your ability, and cannot turne.
And winde a woman?
Star.
You wo'd not ha' wish'd me
To ha' put her to't behinde the hangings?
Nurs.
You should ha' been round with her.
Start.
I was round with her. I call'd her asse and coxcombe,
And twenty more names, unlesse I should
Ha' call'd her whore, I could not be more round with her.
Nurs.
I do not mean that way.
Start.
And she call'd me,
I thank her.
Nurs.
What?
Start.
Why no worse than her sins, heaven forgive her,
Not stick to bid me die too, in that desparate
Estate.
Nurs.
Come, you shall take another course.
Enter Close.
Clo.
What ayles my Masters sweet-heart, she frighted?
I met and askt her for my Master, and
She turn'd tayle lik a hound had lost the scent;
There's something in the winde, my three pil'd worship
Are you there with my Lady o'th' Larder,
Now in that posture? do not they two look like
A fine Brick house and a thatched Barne in the Countrey,
Laying their heads together? they ha' spied me.
Nurs.
Come hither Close, nay he's faithfull, and one that
Has a desire to serve you; you may trust him.
Clo.
Your worship may trust me a bed with—I
Have had a itch this great while, sit, a Kinde
Of longing to be one of your appurtenances:
I have some faults, and I'll confesse 'em; I have
A humour now and then, when I am ask'd
A question, to tell true, though I be chid for't;
And I do not love blowes; you may sooner beat
My braines out, than a word of flattery:
I cannot batten upon commendation,
Without my wages, nor be valiant
Upon small Beere; I am not overmuch
Given to be drunke, but I've a tricke o'th Dutchman,
To do your businesse as well drunke as sober:
I have not impudence enough to pimpe
For you, but I have a gift I can say nothing:
I was borne upon Shrovetuesday, and shall be
Now and then given to rebellion:
My flesh will once a year rise at a Chamber-maid;
If none such take me downe, I shall in malice
And deep revenge, fling out upon May-day,
Among the Prentices, without fear or wit.
I like this humour.
Nurs.
Nay he has a sconce,
And shall be of our counsell: Look you Close,
There is a plot to helpe this Gentleman,
At night when they're a bed, and if you went
To bed betimes, to avoid suspicion,
'Twere nere the worse; I'll say you are not well:
D'ee marke? this honest, honest Gentleman shall be
Let into Mistris Francis Bed-chamber.
Clos.
Without her knowledge?
Nurs.
You shall only attend,
To give him notice from me when to come,
And watch about the house, he may get off
Without discovery; this is all.
Clos.
So, so, I sha'not keep the doore.
Nurs.
I can do that.
Clos.
Let me alone to give you notice who
Stirs about house.
Enter Hartwell.
Nurs.
Away, 'tis Mr. Hartwell;
We'll not be seen together.
Clos.
Go your wayes,
A foolish Knave and Bawd, that do want nothing
But carting; I would sooner see that triumph,
Than all the Pageans, a day after Symon
And Jude, when the fine City goes a feasting.
Oh Sir, I have newes; yes, they are gone, brave newes;
Your Gentlewoman can hold out no longer;
This night there will be a stratagem:
Old Madam Humpe a pompe, the Nurse, has promis'd
To admit the Countrey Gentleman, when all
Are a bed, into her chamber; yes, your Mistris:
I'm o'th' plot, to lye Perdue, and give
The word, if any Fire-lock approach
The rest; imagine if he have not art to
Perswade her to the feat with him, yet there
Be tricks, and he may be surprized in the Chamber,
Her owne defence; there have been such devises.
Hart.
Does he consent?
Clos.
She is betraid to't, sir.
Hart.
Then thou wo't be so base?
Clos.
And I had meant it,
I nere had told you this: can you make use
Of this intelligence?
Hart.
Thou art my honest servant.
Clos.
I promis'd to be his.
Hart.
I have it; Canst
By any meanes procure me but his clothes?
Clos.
With ease, he'll go to bed betimes, to avoid
Suspicion; that's a part of our designe.
Hart.
I could not wish a happy opportunity,
To try how she affects this gaudy foole,
And clear my faith to her, which her mothers watch
Will not permit; she has, I feare, perceiv'd
My new familiarity with her mother,
Which I am compell'd too, and must cleer this way:
Faile me not, Close, and propound thy owne
Reward.
Clos.
Tell me your purpose, and let my wit
Dispose of him.
Hart.
Prosper me love in this.
Clos.
And you fall to prayers
With good love, look about us, I shall suspect
You wo'not thrive; you should go to a wench,
As Gentlemen to Oysters, without ceremony
Or saying grace; devotion will spoile all.
Exeunt.
Enter Playfaire and his Cousen.
Cous.
Right as an Arrow Couze.
Play.
Witty enginere;
But was she taken with the plot?
I was compell'd to frame the outside of a reason,
Lest our owne mirth should play the Traytor with us,
Her spleene was so dilated, he beleeved
I have made her mad, which change makes for us.
Play.
Excellent.
Cous.
And he that we employed, the Pursevant,
Shewed such a fierie Raskall, the poore Usurer
Trembled, as Bawds beneath the lash.
Play.
He comes then?
Cous.
With as much joy, as to receive a hanging:
He would be whipt, and say his prayers i'th' Church
In a white sheet.
Play.
That were no pennance to him.
Cous.
Nay, he would pay as much as he should fine
For Alderman, though halfe his soule went with it,
For his quietnesse; he doth apprehend
Nothing but earth-quakes.
Enter three Lords.
Play.
How am I rampant
With the imagination? bid the musick
Be ready, they know all their flourishes;
But shift you quickly for your other part,
My honourable Lords;
How they doe look like States-man, where's your tooth-pick?
Excellent; beare your staffe handsomely, contract
The brow, and look more superciliously.
1.
I warrant you for my part.
2.
We came now
From practise.
Play.
Can ye do't with confidence?
3.
These verie clothes have made me proud already,
It was some Lords cast sute, I'll lay my life.
Enter one with perfume.
1.
And mine, it smels of honour.
Play.
So, so, how now man?
2.
He looks pale: My Lord, how d'ee?
Well, well, I hope 'tis but conceit.
3.
Of what?
1.
Will the pox lye in clothes? I cannot tell,
I finde some alteration in my body,
Sinbe I shifted.
Play.
'Tis a meere conceit,
They were an honest mans, upon my knowledge,
A Captaine of the traine Band in the Countrey,
They were brought against the generall Muster last;
He wore 'em that day, and to Church the Sunday
Following, and most carefully sent 'em up,
To taste our London Lavender.
1.
Sir, you have satisfied me.
Play.
Be sprightly; where's this Prince?
See and attend him in fit state.
Enter Cousen for the King, and Lords, Sir Clement. Flourish.
2.
He's here.
Play.
Now by that sprig, a pretty Majesty;
But wo't thou not be out of thy Kings part?
And when the Wine is wanting at the Banquet,
Call upon drawers, quarrell with your Nobles,
Or when we shall present our man of morgages,
Take him aside, and borrow halfe a crowne,
To give you whore benevolence, which trusted
For you last tilting, or be drunke too soone,
And leave our project in the dirt.
Cous.
My Lords,
This fellowes insolence must be corrected;
Dispose him in what prison you think fit.
Lo.
He's mad, I thinke.
Cous.
To Bedlam with him then,
Is this a place for fools or madmen, who
Admitted him? take him, see you
He be well whipt, and let him thanke our mercy,
Bandog.
I quake already, excellent Warbeck,
Coole, coole thy lungs, and whisper with some Lord,
Thou wo't be a key too high else, good Sr. Clement,
Master of the house, at whose cost we are entertain'd.
Sr. Cle.
My part is rotten
In my head, doubt not.
Enter Pursevant.
Play.
Is he come?
Purs.
He waits in the first chamber.
Play.
Let the Lutes
Begin, and their best voice, and then admit him.
Soft Musicke.
Enter Hornet.
Horn.
Here's revelling, my purse must be squeez'd for't:
That's the King, the rest are bare; how supple they are
I'th hams, that Courtier has Oyl'd his joynts,
He looks this way, they point at me; a rot
O'that knaves finger.
1 Lo.
What fellow's this? who waits?
Purs.
It was his graces pleasure, he was sent for,
My good Lord.
1.
Mr. Hornet?
Let me have the honour to present him.
War.
Is this the man whom all so much commend
For his ability.
Horn.
I smell no good from that word, ability.
War.
Discreet and read i'th' Common-wealth, a man
Fit for employment in the State.
2.
The very same.
War.
His countenance is promising.
Sr. Clem.
If the King of Spaine
Had but his head, that politick head,
I know who might go fish for the Low-Countreyes.
War.
His garments are but course.
Sr. Cle.
His minde is rich.
Hor.
They praise me, I am a thousand pound the worse for't.
3.
Wilt please your Majesty?
Kneel downe; Thy name?
Horn.
Giles Hornet, your poore creature.
War.
Rise up, Sir Giles Hornet.
Horn.
But am I Knighted?
Lords.
We congratulate your honour.
Horn.
What must I pay for it?
I'll sell it any friend of yours againe,
For halfe the money.
War.
Some have care to give
His body more becomming ornaments;
He shall be like himselfe, and then we will confer
More honors on him.
Exit Pursevant.
1 Lo.
Do you make haste, his Grace
Will have you new thatch'd; you must have clothes
Fitting your State and honorable title.
Horn.
These will be good enough for me, 'las I am not able.
1 Lo.
Nay, you must have 'em from his Wardrobe, sir,
They'll cost you nothing; You'll not looke in those,
Like a poore Knight of Windsor.
War.
When he is ready, give us knowledge.
1 Lo.
Yes, sir.
Exeunt. Flourish.
Horn.
What will become of me?
1.
You were best prepare,
Your cloathes will be here presently, the King
Will send for you before you be ready; Cast
Your old skin off: Do you not to save sheets
And trouble, wrap your selves a nights i'th' blankets?
Or are they ashamed to show the Linings?
Horn.
Hum? if this be but preparative to a whipping,
What case am I in?
Enter servants with clothes.
1.
Well said, now they are come;
Be nimble now, and helpe to fit Sr. Gyles.
Horn.
Alas, must I weare this doublet? it would yield
Heaven knowes how much to burne.
1 Lo.
You may be desparate
When 'tis on, and burne your body with it, sir,
I sha'not know my selfe.
1 Lor.
Be that time we ha' done wi'ye.
Ser.
Fit as they were made, sir.
Enter Playfaire.
Play.
Which is Sir Gyles?
Horn.
I am the man you please to call Sir Gyles.
Play.
Then I congratulate your happy fortune;
Y'are like to be exalted, his Grace talkes
Much on you, I'll be proud to be your servant:
My Lord, a word.
Horn.
What Gentleman is that?
Ser.
The Bridegroom, Sir, in great favour, I can tell you,
And new created by his Highnesse, Baron
Of Landskip; his living is far off.
Horn.
My very good Lord, my breeches are almost on.
Ser.
There be the Keyes.
Horn.
His Grace has pleas'd to shine upon
A piece of barren earth.
Play.
You are too modest;
The King has been informed, Sir Gyles, you are
One of the ablest men in his Dominion:
Should vertue still be cloath'd in rags? Advance it
To honour, and regard you waste your braine
At home, in cheap and low engagements, sweat
Your soule out, for a poore and paltry living;
Old houses, let 'em fall to the dull Lord
O'th' Manner; switch me up a Towne together,
Or meddle not; This or that stragling Acre's
Not worth your care; Study some Monopoly,
May sweep the Kingdome at a stake; Despise
A project wo'not bring in halfe the City;
Finde out a way to forfeit all the Charters;
Have an Exchequer of your owne, and keep
The Princes round about in pension:
These are becomming businesses, and speake
An active State-man.
You do talk strange things,
My Lord.
Play.
His keyes are things verie
Materiall to our businesse.
1 Lo.
And I have 'em.
Play.
So, so:
I will account it one of my felicities,
To be a witnesse of your Honour, Sir.
Horn.
Oh, my good Lord of Landskip.
Ser.
How shall we dispose these?
1 Lo.
The Hang-man will not have them, and I feare,
They will corrupt a well; 'faith give them stable roome.
Enter 3 Lord.
3 Lo.
My Lord, the King asks for you; Good Sir Gyles
Write me i'th' number of your faithfull friends.
Play.
We must attend.
1 Lo.
Do not yet say he's ready,
The Barber has a dutie to dispatch,
He will be houres a rubbing, washing, powdering,
Then I'll attend him to his Presence.
Play.
We shall excuse him so long, still your servant.
1 Lo.
The Barber, sir, attends in the next roome.
Horn.
I wo'not shave.
1 Lo.
He feares his throat.
Horn.
I never give above three-pence.
1 Lo.
Talk not you of charge,
You have but yet your welcome: do not you
Think, good sir Gyles, but we can shave you too.
Exeunt.
Enter Close, Startup in his shirt.
Star.
Where is he, Close?
Clo.
I told him, sir,
You lay in a chamber o'th t'other side,
And curses of themselves able to kill you:
You did affront him once, and now his Mistresse
Has quite neglected him, for your love, he thinks:
He'll make you an example to all Rivals;
I'll bring your clothes hereafter, yet your feare
And running, sir, will keep you warme enough.
Star.
Honest Close, thou hast sav'd my life.
Clo.
Death, is he not behind you? this way, good sir.
Exeunt.
Enter Nurse, and Mistresse Frances.
Nur.
Ha' you not made a fine choyce, I did ever
Think he was false; your mother did but counterfeit
The love-sick widdow all this while, to trie him.
Fran.
Trie him, Nurse.
Nur.
She told me so her selfe,
Assuring him the state was hers, and you
At her devotion; put him to his choyce,
To take her with the wealth, or you with nothing:
What followed, you have heard, come be wise yet,
And love the Countrey Gentleman that dotes on you;
He's rich, and halfe a foole, I'll fetch him to you.
Fran.
My mother counterfeit? why may not Hartwell
Pretend as well as she, fearing her anger
And policie, if he refus'd her love?
I have observ'd some sorrow in his gestures,
As he were willing to deliver something,
If opportunitie would give him leave:
He cannot be so false, now I suspect
He does obey some dire necessitie:
'Twould puzzle a wise lover to be so
Severely put to't.
Nurse brings in Hartwell in Startups clothes.
Nur.
On like a bold Captaine,
Give her a broad side, she's within your shot,
Fran.
'Tis the foole, Why Nurse?
Hart.
Nay, fly not before you heare.
Fran.
'Tis Hartwell.
Hart.
If my voyce
Betray me not.
Fran.
Why in this shape? some trick in't,
He hides his face, I'll put him to't however,
Although the houre be unseasonable, any time
We may expresse our joy: my Nurse once told me
You were not well, and gone to bed, your health
Is welcome as my owne; I dare not, sir,
In modestie presume to bid you stay,
And to requite your paines, kind Mr. Startup.
Hart.
She knowes me not.
Fran.
Forgive me if I blush,
I have no other way, but to declare
My eyes that late frown'd on your love shall smile.
Hart.
On me?
Fran.
On none but you: I have beene too
Unkindly dealt withall by Hartwell, whom
How dearly I affected, good Heaven knowes:
But I have read discretion to my fancie,
And were he here, he should be witnesse of
My vowes to you, if you accept my heart,
And can with equall truth embrace it, I
Will chuse my husband here; you, only you,
This faith be registred in Heaven, shall challenge
from me a wives obedience.
Hart.
Planet-struck.
Enter Nurse.
Nur.
Away, your mother's up; I wo'd not for
A thousand pound she find you in this chamber.
Fran.
I have undone my selfe.
Exit Frances.
Nur.
Sweet Mr, Startup, to your owne lodging,
Take that close lanthorne with you:
Passion of me, what makes her rise?
I will discover yet.
Nur.
Discover; what?
Ha, Mr. Hartwell.
Hart.
You ha' midnight plots.
Nur.
Oh, we are wretched, miserable, what have I done?
Hart.
Oh, who shall lead me to a world where are
No women? Farewell all, I'll be above
Your charms, and find out death, a cure for love.
Exit.
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