University of Virginia Library

Scene. VI.

Fitz-dottrell. Mistresse Fitz-dottrel. Wittipol. Manly.
[Fit.]
Come wife, this is the Gentleman. Nay, blush not.

Mrs. Fi.
Why, what do you meane Sir? ha'you your reason?

Fit.
Wife,
I do not know, that I haue lent it forth
To any one; at least, without a pawne, wife:
Or that I'haue eat or drunke the thing, of late,
That should corrupt it. Wherefore gentle wife,
Obey, it is thy vertue: hold no acts
Of disputation.

Mrs. Fi.
Are you not enough
The talke, of feasts, and meetingy, but you'll still
Make argument for fresh?

Fit.
Why, carefull wedlocke,
If I haue haue a longing to haue one tale more
Goe of mee, what is that to thee, deare heart?
Why shouldst thou enuy my delight? or crosse it?
By being solicitous, when it not concernes thee?

Mrs. Fi.
Yes, I haue share in this The scorne will fall
As bitterly on me, where both are laught at.

Fit.
Laught at, sweet bird? is that the scruple? Come, come,
Thou art a Niaise. Which of your great houses,
(I will not meane at home, here, but abroad)
A Niaise is a young Hawke tane crying out of the nest.
Your families in France, wife, send not forth
Something, within the seuen yeere, may be laught at?
I doe not say seuen moneths, nor seuen weekes,
Nor seuen daies, nor houres: but seuen yeere wife.
I giue 'hem time. Once, within seuen yeere,
I thinke they may doe something may be laught at.
In France, I keepe me there, still. Wherefore, wife,
Let them that list, laugh still, rather then weepe
For me; Heere is a cloake cost fifty pound, wife,
Which I can sell for thirty, when I ha' seene
All London in't, and London has seene mee.
To day, I goe to the Black fryers Play-house,
Sit ithe view, salute all my acquaintance,
Rise vp betweene the Acts, let fall my cloake,
Publish a handsome man, and a rich suite
(As that's a speciall end, why we goe thither,
All that pretend, to stand for't o'the Stage)
The Ladies aske who's that? (For, they doe come
To see vs, Loue, as wee doe to see them)
Now, I shall lose all this, for the false feare
Of being laught at? Yes, wusse. Let 'hem laugh, wife,
Let me haue such another cloake to morrow.
And let 'hem laugh againe, wife, and againe,
And then grow fat with laughing, and then fatter,
All my young Gallants, let 'hem bring their friends too:
Shall I forbid 'hem? No, let heauen forbid 'hem:
Or wit, if't haue any charge on 'hem. Come, thy eare, wife,
Is all, I'll borrow of thee. Set your watch, Sir,
Thou, onely art to heare, not speake a word, Doue,
To ought he sayes. That I doe gi'you in precept,
No lesse then councell, on your wiue-hood, wife,
Not though he flatter you, or make court, or Loue,
(As you must looke for these) or say, he raile;
What ere his arts be, wife, I will haue thee
Delude 'hem with a trick, thy obstinate silence;
I know aduantages; and I loue to hit
These pragmaticke young men, at their owne weapons.
He disposes his wife to his place, and sets his watch.
Is your watch ready? Here my saile beares, for you:
Tack toward him, sweet Pinnace, where's your watch?

Wit.
I'le set it, Sir, with yours.

Mrs. Fi.
I must obey.

Man.
Her modesty seemes to suffer with her beauty,
And so, as if his folly were away,
It were worth pitty.

Fit.
Now, th'are right, beginne, Sir.
But first, let me repeat the contract, briefely,
I am, Sir, to inioy this cloake, I stand in,
Freely, and as your gift; vpon condition
Hee repeats his contract againe.
You may as freely, speake here to my spouse,
Your quarter of an houre alwaies keeping
The measur'd distance of your yard, or more,
From my said Spouse: and in my sight and hearing.
This is your couenant?

Wit.
Yes, but you'll allow
For this time spent, now?

Fit.
Set 'hem so much backe.

Wit.
I thinke, I shall not need it.

Fit.
Well, begin, Sir,
There is your bound, Sir. Not beyond that rush.

Wit.
If you interrupt me, Sir, I shall discloake you.
Wittipol beginnes.
The time I haue purchast, Lady, is but short;
And, therefore, if I imploy it thriftily,
I hope I stand the neerer to my pardon.
I am not here, to tell you, you are faire,
Or louely, or how well you dresse you, Lady,
I'll saue my selfe that eloquence of your glasse,
Which can speake these thing's better to you then I.
And 'tis a knowledge, wherein fooles may be
As wise as a Court Parliament. Nor come I,
With any preiudice, or doubt, that you
Should, to the notice of your owne worth, neede
Least reuelation. Shee's a simple woman,
Know's not her good: (who euer knowes her ill)
And at all caracts. That you are the wife,
To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soule,
In stead of salt, to keepe it sweete; I thinke,
Will aske no witnesses, to proue. The cold
Sheetes that you lie in, with the watching candle,
That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty,
Pieces, and quarters, halfe, and whole nights, sometimes,
The Diuell-giuen Elfine Squire, your husband,
Doth leaue you, quitting heere his proper circle,
For a much-worse i'the walks of Lincolnes Inne,
Vnder the Elmes, t'expect the feind in vaine, there
Will confesse for you.

Fit.
I did looke for this geere.

Wit.
And what a daughter of darknesse, he do's make you,
Lock'd vp from all society, or object;
Your eye not let to looke vpon a face,
Vnder a Conjurers (or some mould for one,
Hollow, and leane like his) but, by great meanes,
As I now make; your owne too sensible sufferings,
Without the extraordinary aydes,
Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, Lady.
For my part, I protest 'gainst all such practice,
I worke by no false arts, medicines, or charmes
To be said forward and backward.

Fit.
No, I except:

Wit.
Sir I shall ease you.

Fit.
Mum.

Wit.
Nor haue I ends, Lady,
He offers to discloake him.
Vpon you, more then this: to tell you how Loue
Beauties good Angell, he that waits vpon her
At all occasions, and no lesse then Fortune,
Helps th'aduenturous, in mee makes that proffer,
Which neuer faire one was so fond, to lose;
Who could but reach a hand forth to her freedome:
On the first sight, I lou'd you: since which time,
Though I haue trauell'd, I haue beene in trauell
More for this second blessing of your eyes
Which now I' haue purchas'd, then for all aymes else.
Thinke of it, Lady, be your minde as actiue,
As is your beauty: view your object well.
Examine both my fashion, and my yeeres
Things, that are like, are soone familiar:
And Nature ioyes, still in equality.
Let not the signe o'the husband fright you, Lady.
But ere your spring be gone, inioy it. Flowers,
Though faire, are oft but of one morning. Thinke,
All beauty doth not last vntill the autumne.
You grow old, while I tell you this. And such,
As cannot vse the present, are not wise.
If Loue and Fortune will take care of vs,
Why should our will be wanting? This is all.
Wha doe you answer, Lady?

Fit.
Now, the sport comes.
Shee stands mute.
Let him still waite, waite, waite: while the watch goes,
And the time runs. Wife!

Wit.
How! not any word?
Nay, then, I taste a tricke in't. Worthy Lady,
I cannot be so false to mine owne thoughts
Of your presumed goodnesse, to conceiue
This, as your rudenesse, which I see's impos'd.
Yet, since your cautelous Iaylor, here stands by you,
And yo'are deni'd the liberty o' the house,
Let me take warrant, Lady, from your silence,
(Which euer is interpreted consent)
To make your answer for you: which shall be
To as good purpose, as I can imagine,
And what I thinke you'ld speake.

Fit.
No, no, no, no.

He sets Mr. Manly, his friend in her place.
Wit.
I shall resume, Sr.

Man.
Sir, what doe you meane?

Wit.
One interruption more, Sir, and you goe
Into your hose and doublet, nothing saues you.
And therefore harken. This is for your wife.

Man.
You must play faire, Sr.

Wit.
Stand for mee, good friend.
And speaks for her.
Troth, Sir, tis more then true, that you haue vttred
Of my vnequall, and so sordide match heere,
With all the circumstances of my bondage.
I haue a husband, and a two-legg'd one,
But such a moon-ling, as no wit of man
Or roses can redeeme from being an Asse.
H'is growne too much, the story of mens mouthes,
To scape his lading: should I make't my study,
And lay all wayes, yea, call mankind to helpe,
To take his burden off, why, this one act
Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,
And, at a price, proclaimes his asinine nature
So lowd, as I am weary of my title to him.
But Sir, you seeme a Gentleman of vertue,
No lesse then blood; and one that euery way
Lookes as he were of too good quality,
To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her:
Since you haue payd thus deare, Sir, for a visit,
And made such venter, on your wit, and charge
Meerely to see mee, or at most to speake to mee,
I were too stupid; or (what's worse) ingrate
Not to returne your venter. Thinke, but how,
I may with safety doe it; I shall trust
My loue and honour to you, and presume;
You'll euer husband both, against this husband;
Who, if we chance to change his liberall eares,
To other ensignes, and with labour make
A new beast of him, as hee shall deserue,
Cannot complaine, hee is vnkindly dealth with.
This day hee is to goe to a new play, Sir.
From whence no feare, no, nor authority,
Scarcely the Kings command, Sir, will restraine him,
Now you haue fitted him with a Stage-garment,
For the meere names sake, were there nothings else,
And many more such iourneyes, hee will make.
Which, if they now, or, any time heereafter,
Offer vs opportunity, you heare, Sir,
Who'll be as glad, and forward to imbrace,
Meete, and enioy it chearefully as you.
I humbly thanke you, Lady.

Fit.
Keepe your ground Sir.

Wit.
Will you be lightned?

Fit.
Mum.

Wit.
And but I am,
By the sad contract, thus to take my leaue of you
At this so enuious distance, I had taught
Our lips ere this, to seale the happy mixture
Made of our soules. But we must both, now, yeeld
To the necessity. Doe not thinke yet, Lady,
But I can kisse, and touch, and laugh, and whisper,
And doe those crowning court-ships too, for which
Day, and the publike haue allow'd no name
But, now, my bargaine binds me. 'Twere rude iniury,
T'importune more, or vrge a noble nature,
To what of it's owne bounty it is prone to:
Else, I should speake—But, Lady, I loue so well,
As I will hope, you'll doe so to. I haue done, Sir.

Fit.
Well, then, I ha'won?

Wit.
Sir, and I may win, too.

Fit.
O yes! no doubt on't. I'll take carefull order,
That shee shall hang forth ensignes at the window,
To tell you when I am absent. Or I'll keepe
Three or foure foote-men, ready still of purpose,
To runne and fetch you at her longings, Sir.
I'll goe bespeake me straight a guilt caroch,
For her and you to take the ayre in: yes,
Into Hide-parke, and thence into Black-Fryers,
Visit the painters, where you may see pictures,
And note the properest limbs, and how to make 'hem.
Or what doe you say vnto a middling Gossip?
To bring you aye together, at her lodging?
Vnder pretext of teaching o' my wife
Some rare receit of drawing almond milke? ha?
It shall be a part of my care. Good Sir, God b'w'you.
I ha'kept the contract, and the cloake is mine owne.

Wit.
Why, much good do't you Sr; it may fall out,
That you ha' bought it deare, though I ha'not sold it.

Fit.
A pretty riddle! Fare you well, good Sir.
Hee turnes his wife about.
Wife, your face this way, looke on me: and thinke
Yo'haue had a wicked dreame, wife, and forget it.

Man.
This is the strangest motion I ere saw.

Fit.
Now, wife, sits this faire cloake the worse vpon me,
For my great sufferings, or your little patience? ha?
They laugh, you thinke?

Mrs. Fi.
Why Sr. and you might see't.
What thought, they haue of you, may be soone collected
By the young Genlemans speache.

Fit.
Young Gentleman?
Death! you are in loue with him, are you? could he not
Be nam'd the Gentleman, without the young?
Vp to your Cabbin againe.

Mrs. Fi.
My cage, yo' were best
To call it?

Fit.
Yes, sing there. You'ld faine be making
Blanck Manger with him at your mothers! I know you.
Goe get you vp. How now! what say you, Diuell?