University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Travers' Lodgings. Ruffler, Travers, and Goldstraw, discovered.
Travers.
Your plot comes hardly, Ruffler.

Ruffler.
Not at all:
But, as you say, if the old lady's follies
Could reach the end they aim at, she would find
A keen repentance following her success.
She must be married; that 's the starting-point.

Goldstraw.
“Married!” Nay, that 's the ending-point, I fear.
For, in a furious outburst of her folly,
Or by the coming of some needy fellow,
Of handsome person and adroit designs,
She may be cozened to clap up a match,
Either with one who dangles in her train,
Or an adventurer who will spend her wealth,
Rob my poor cousin of her heritage,
And break both hearts together.

Trav.
A shrewd fear.
For, Guy, suppose yourself a ruined man;
How easy would it be to mend your rents
With Lady Goldstraw's patches!

Ruf.
True enough.

Trav.
'T is well all sharpers have not your address,
Or heaven protect rich widows!

Ruf.
Hum! Suppose
That I should marry her.

[Laughing.]
Trav.
He takes the bait.
[Aside.]
'Sdeath! what a life you 'd lead her! It would cure
Her amorous fancies till her dying day.
Lord! how she 'd shy, and try to throw you off,
And how you 'd cling and spur! I understand:
Married in jest, by Darkly, or some knave
With reverend face;—just for a day or so?
'T would work like poison. Ah! you cunning dog,
What nimble wits you have!

[Laughing.]
Gold.
Yes; how they skip,
When Travers pulls the wires! [Aside.]


Ruf.
Well, there 's my plan;
Born by due course of nature, as you see,
Without the aid of doctors.

Trav.
Brava, wife!
No; pshaw! you gull us. What, you will not dare
To carry out your artful project, man?
I doubt your courage. Hal, what think you, Hal?

Gold.
I would be loath to see her ladyship
The victim of a plot.

Trav.
Yet, after all,
Could it exceed the antics of to-day—
The lovers, and the sonnet, and the swoon?
And why not touch her feelings, and awake
The torpid heart that smothers in her follies,
And makes her monstrous? Ruffler's scheme is good—
Excellent, exquisite, without a flaw—
And easily practised.

Ruf.
Ay, simplicity,
That 's your true mark of genius!

Gold.
I'll consider.

Ruf.
Nay, now, you shall consent. I will not have
The travail of my brain miscarry quite
Through stupid counsel. 'T is the only way;
And if you shrink, I'll offer no more plans.
Live on, and suffer by your obstinacy.

Gold.
What think you, Travers?

Trav.
Soberly, I think
The plot a sound one: and, besides, if he
Wring the old lady past her sufferance,
We can remit; for then the cure will be,
Beyond a doubt, accomplished.

Gold.
I consent.
But deal as a good surgeon; give no pain
Where pain is needless; cut the cancer out,
But spare the patient.

Ruf.
Mark me, gentlemen;
I'll have no interference; you must be
But instruments, not artists, in my work.
Prepare yourselves for orders.

Trav.
We'll obey.

[Ruffler struts up the stage.]
Gold.
Travers, I never saw such vanity—
Of all complexions, shapes, and shades—in man.
He takes your thoughts out of your very teeth,
Swallows, and casts them up, as carelessly
As though your brain were his.

Trav.
(Laughing.)
And so it is.
His weakness does not hide his nobler parts
From my respect. We'll hit upon some way
To cure both patients with one medicine.

(Enter Darkly.)
Ruf.
(Seizing him.)
Where have you tarried? By the holy rood,
I feel like basting you!

Darkly.
Swear Christian oaths!
Do not afflict me with the filth of Rome—
The bells, the candles, or the holy rood—
The graven images, or painted saints—
The monks, or bulls, or other hornéd beasts—
The—

Trav.
Peace! you hypocrite, you sightless mole,
Who burrow in the dirt and lees of things,
Nor see the flowers that root in the decay
Of Roman greatness, to delight our time!
Peace, wretch! that ancient church held up a torch,
To light our fathers through the utter gloom
Of feudal ignorance! Learning lived in her;
Her cloisters saved the wondrous minds that made
Greece beautiful and Rome imperial.
What if she lag behind this rapid age?
Is she not old? and age claims man's respect.
What if the daylight show the torch's smoke?
Did it not serve us in the middle night,
And light us towards the morning? Rome, thou fool!
There 's not a church, from Luther to George Fox,
That on her broad foundations is not built!

Ruf.
You hurl a thunderbolt against a gnat.
Peace, father Will!

Trav.
You heard the villain prate.
I am no Papist, yet it angers me
To see that noble bulwark of our faith
Touched with irreverent hands.

Ruf.
Well, sirrah, well!
Where have you been?

Dark.
I tarried round the house
Of the gay gentile, near the offices,
Over against the backside of the court;
And there I saw her handmaids and her men
Bear the repast to its allotted place.

Ruf.
(Mimicking him.)
And, peradventure, thou didst enter in,
To fill thy inward man with broken meats.
Yea, and I marvel that thou didst not burst
Thy hide with stuffing. For, bethink thee, brother,
It falls on fast-day, when it is thy use
To cram thee grossly, just to scorn the church.

Dark.
Yea, verily.

Ruf.
Out, glutton!

Dark.
And it chanced,
A maid of comly mien, and smooth of skin—

Ruf.
How did you know the texture of her skin?

Dark.
In divers ways.

Ruf.
Ugh, losel!

Dark.
And I called,
And said unto the maid, in modest tongue—

Ruf.
With a most filthy leer.

Dark.
Whose habitation,
Or whose dwelling-place, dost thou abide in?
And she answered me, “The Lady Goldstraw's,
Widow to a mayor of mighty London;
A brave and portly dame, stricken in years,
But full of amorous blood.” And who the damsel?
I questioned; and she made reply, “Young Madge,
A child of twenty summers.” So I rose,
And came my way.

Ruf.
Unconscionable liar!
You have been nobbing in stale beer with her,
Eating cold pasties; and, for after cates,
You stole a brace of kisses. Come, put on
Your sanctimonious garb, and follow me.—
Are you prepared?

[To Travers and Goldstraw.]
Trav.
Yea, verily!

Gold.
In sooth!

Dark.
O, O, alas! how the profane ones scoff!

[Exeunt.]