University of Virginia Library

Act. I.

Scene. I.

Divell. Pvg. Iniqvity.
[Sat.]
Hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c.
To earth? and, why to earth, thou foolish Spirit?
What wold'st thou do on earth?

Pvg.
For that, great Chiefe!
As time shal work. I do but ask my mon'th.
Which euery petty pui'nee Diuell has;
Within that terme, the Court of Hell will heare
Some thing, may gaine a longer grant, perhaps.

Sat.
For what? the laming a poore Cow, or two?
Entring a Sow, to make her cast her farrow?
Or crossing of a Mercat-womans Mare,
Twixt this, and Totnam? these were wont to be
Your maine atchieuements, Pug, You haue some plot, now,
Vpon a tonning of Ale, to stale the yest,
Or keepe the churne so, that the butter come not;
Spight o'the housewiues cord, or her hot spit?
Or some good Ribibe, about Kentish Towne,
Or Hogsden, you would hang now, for a witch,
Because shee will not let you play round Robbin:
And you'll goe sowre the Citizens Creame 'gainst Sunday?
That she may be accus'd for't, and condemn'd,
By a Middlesex Iury, to the satisfaction
Of their offended friends, the Londiners wiues
Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish feind,
Stay I' your place, know your owne strengths, and put not
Beyond the spheare of your actiuity.
You are too dull a Diuell to be trusted
Forth in those parts, Pug, vpon any affayre
That may concerne our name, on earth. It is not
Euery ones worke. The state of Hell must care
Whom it imployes, in point of reputation,
Heere about London. You would make, I thinke
An Agent, to be sent, for Lancashire,
Proper inough; or some parts of Northumberland,
So yo' had good instructions, Pug.

Pvg.
O Chiefe!
You doe not know, deare Chiefe, what there is in mee.
Proue me but for a fortnight, for a weeke,
And lend mee but a Vice, to carry with mee,
To practice there-with any play-fellow,
And, you will see, there will come more vpon't,
Then you'll imagine, pretious Chiefe.

Sat.
What Vice?
What kind wouldst th'haue it of?

Pvg.
Why, any Fraud;
Or Couetousnesse; or Lady Vanity;
Or old Iniquity: I'll call him hither.

Ini.
What is he, calls vpon me, and would seeme to lack a Vice?
Ere his words be halfe spoken, I am with him in a trice;
Here, there, and euery where, as the Cat is with the mice:
True vetus Iniquitas. Lack'st thou Cards, friend, or Dice?
I will teach thee cheate, Child, to cog, lye, and swagger,
And euer and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger:
To sweare by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty Inuentus,
In a cloake to thy heele, and a hat like a pent-house.
Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly,
With a Wench that shall feede thee, with cock-stones and gelly.

Pvg.
Is it not excellent, Chiefe? how nimble he is!

Ini.
Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leape
From the top of Pauls-steeple, to the Standard in Cheepe:
And lead thee a daunce, through the streets without faile,
Like a needle of Spaine, with a thred at my tayle.
We will suruay the Suburbs, and make forth our sallyes,
Downe Petticoate-lane, and vp the Smock-allies,
To Shoreditch, Whitechappell, and so to Saint Kathernes.
To drinke with the Dutch there, and take forth their patternes:
From thence, wee will put in at Custome-house key there,
And see, how the Factors, and Prentizes play there,
False with their Masters; and gueld many a full packe,
To spend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Wool-sacke.

Pvg.
Braue, braue, Iniquity! will not this doe, Chiefe?

Ini.
Nay, boy, I will bring thee to the Bawds, and the Roysters,
At Belins-gate, feasting with claret-wine, and oysters,
From thence shoot the Bridge, childe, to the Cranes i' the Vintry,
And see; there the gimblets, how they make their entry!
Or, if thou hadst rather, to the Strand downe to fall,
'Gainst the Lawyers come dabled from Westminster-hall
And marke how they cling, with their clyents together,
Like Iuie to Oake; so Veluet to Leather:
Ha, boy, I would shew thee.

Pvg.
Rare, rare!

Div.
Peace, dotard,
And thou more ignorant thing, that so admir'st.
Art thou the spirit thou seem'st? so poore? to choose
This, for a Vice, t'aduance the cause of Hell,
Now? as Vice stands this present yeere? Remember,
What number it is. Six hundred and sixteene.
Had it but beene fiue hundred, though some sixty
Aboue; that's fifty yeeres agone, and six,
(When euery great man had his Vice stand by him,
In his long coat, shaking his wooden dagger)
I could consent, that, then this your graue choice
Might haue done that, with his Lord Chiefe, the which
Most of his chamber can doe now. But Pug,
As the times are, who is it, will receiue you?
What company will you goe to? or whom mix with?
Where canst thou carry him? except to Tauernes?
To mount vp on a joynt-stoole, with a Iewes-trumpe,
To put downe Cokeley, and that must be to Citizens?
He ne're will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes.
Hee may perchance, in taile of a Sheriffes dinner,
Skip with a rime o'the Table, from New-nothing,
And take his Almaine-leape into a custard,
Shall make my Lad Maioresse, and her sisters,
Laugh all their hoods ouer their shoulders. But,
This is not that will doe, they are other things
That are receiu'd now vpon earth, for Vices;
Stranger, and newer: and chang'd euery houre.
They ride 'hem like their horses off their legges,
And here they come to Hell, whole legions of 'hem,
Euery weeke tyr'd. Wee, still striue to breed,
And reare 'hem vp new ones; but they doe not stand,
When they come there: they turne 'hem on our hands.
And it is fear'd they haue a stud o'their owne
Will put downe ours. Both our breed, and trade
VVill suddenly decay, if we preuent not.
Vnlesse it be a Vice of quality,
Or fashion, now, they take none from vs. Car-men
Are got into the yellow starch, and Chimney-sweepers
To their tabacco, and strong-waters, Hum,
Meath, and Obarni. VVe must therefore ayme
At extraordinary subtill ones, now,
VVhen we doe send to keepe vs vp in credit.
Not old Iniquities. Get you e'ne backe, Sir,
To making of your rope of sand againe.
You are not for the manners, nor the times:
They haue their Vices, there, most like to Vertues;
You cannnot know 'hem, apart, by any difference:
They weare the same clothes, eate the same meate,
Sleepe i'the selfe-same beds, ride i'those coaches.
Or very like, foure horses in a coach,
As the best men and women. Tissue gownes,
Garters and roses, fourescore pound a paire,
Embroydred stockings, cut-worke smocks, and shirts,
More certaine marks of lechery, now, and pride,
Then ere they were of true nobility!
But Pug, since you doe burne with such desire
To doe the Common-wealth of Hell some seruice;
I am content, assuming of a body,
You goe to earth, and visit men, a day.
But you must take a body ready made, Pug,
I can create you none: nor shall you forme
Your selfe an aery one, but become subiect
To all impression of the flesh, you take,
So farre as humane frailty. So, this morning,
There is a handsome Cutpurse hang'd at Tiborne,
Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body:
For clothes imploy your credit, with the Hangman,
Or let our tribe of Brokers furnish you.
And, looke, how farre your subtilty can worke
Thorow those organs, with that body, spye
Amongst mankind, (you cannot there want vices,
And therefore the lesse need to carry 'hem wi'you)
But as you make your soone at nights relation,
And we shall find, it merits from the State,
You shall haue both trust from vs, and imployment.

Pvg.
Most gracious Chiefe!

Div.
Onely, thus more I bind you,
He shewes Fitz-dottrel to him, comming forth.
To serue the first man that you meete; and him
I'le shew you, now: Obserue him. Yon' is hee,
You shall see, first, after your clothing. Follow him:
But once engag'd, there you must stay and fixe;
Not shift, vntill the midnights cocke doe crow.

Pvg.
Any conditions to be gone.

Div.
Away, then.

Scene. II.

Fitz-dottrell.
I, they doe, now, name Bretnor, as before,
They talk'd of Gresham, and of Doctor Fore-man,
Francklin, and Fiske, and Sauory (he was in too)
But there's not one of these, that euer could
Yet shew a man the Diuell, in true sort.
They haue their christalls, I doe know, and rings,
And virgin parchment, and their dead-mens sculls
Their rauens wings, their lights, and pentacles,
With characters; I ha' seene all these. But—
Would I might see the Diuell. I would giue
A hundred o'these pictures, to see him
Once out of picture. May I proue a cuckold,
(And that's the one maine mortall thing I feare)
If I beginne not, now, to thinke, the Painters
Haue onely made him. 'Slight, he would be seene,
One time or other else. He would not let
An ancient gentleman, of a good house,
As most are now in England, the Fitz-dottrel's,
Runne wilde, and call vpon him thus in vaine,
As I ha' done this twelue mone'th. If he be not,
At all, why, are there Coniurers? If they be not,
Why, are there lawes against 'hem? The best artists
Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London,
Essex, and Kent, I haue had in pay to raise him,
These fifty weekes, and yet h'appeares not. 'Sdeath,
I shall suspect, they, can make circles onely
Shortly, and know but his hard names. They doe say,
H'will meet a man (of himselfe) that has a mind to him.
If hee would so, I haue a minde and a halfe for him:
He should not be long absent. Pray thee, come
I long for thee. An' I were with child by him,
He expresses a longing to see the Diuell.
And my wife, too; I could not more. Come, yet,
Good Beelezebub. Were hee a kinde diuell,
And had humanity in him, hee would come, but
To saue ones longing. I should vse him well,
I sweare, and with respect (would he would try mee)
Not, as the Conjurers doe, when they ha' rais'd him.
Get him in bonds, and send him post, on errands.
A thousand miles, it is preposterous, that:
And I beleeue, is the true cause he comes not.
And hee has reason. Who would be engag'd,
That might liue freely, as he may doe? I sweare,
They are wrong all. The burn't child dreads the fire.
They doe not know to entertaine the Diuell.
I would so welcome him, obserue his diet,
Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of 'hem,
I' my own house; lend him my wiues wrought pillowes:
And as I am an honest man, I thinke,
If he had a minde to her, too; I should grant him,
To make our friend-ship perfect. So I would not
To euery man. If hee but heare me, now?
And should come to mee in a braue young shape,
And take me at my word? ha! Who is this?

Scene. IIJ.

Pvg. Fitz-dottrell.
[Pvg.]
Sir, your good pardon, that I thus presume
Vpon your priuacy. I am borne a Gentleman;
A younger brother; but, in some disgrace,
Now, with my friends: and want some little meanes,
To keepe me vpright, while things be reconcil'd.
Please you, to let my seruice be of vse to you, Sir.

Fit.
Seruice? 'fore hell, my heart was at my mouth,
Hee lookes and suruay's his feet: ouer and ouer.
Till I had view'd his shooes well: for, those roses
Were bigge inough to hide a clouen foote.
No, friend, my number's full. I haue one seruant,
Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broome
Vnto the brush: for, iust so farre, I trust him.
He is my Ward-robe man, my Cater, Cooke,
Butler, and Steward; lookes vnto my horse:
And helpes to watch my wife. H'has all the places,
That I can thinke on, from the garret downward,
E'en to the manger, and the curry-combe.

Pvg.
Sir, I shall put your worship to no charge,
More then my meate, and that bu very little,
I'le serue you for your loue.

Fit.
Ha? without wages?
I'le harken o'that eare, were I at leasure.
But now, I'm busie. 'Pr'y the, friend forbeare mee,
And' thou hadst beene a Diuell, I should say
Somewhat more to thee. Thou dost hinder, now,
My meditations.

Pvg.
Sir, I am a Diuell.

Fit.
How!

Pvg.
A true Diuell, Sr.

Fit.
Nay, now, you ly:
Vnder your fauour, friend, for, I'll not quarrell.
I look'd o'your feet, afore, you cannot coozen mee,
Your shoo's not clouen, Sir, you are whole hoof'd.

He viewes his feete againe.
Pvg.
Sir, that's a popular error, deceiues many:
But I am that, I tell you.

Fit.
What's your name?

Pvg.
My name is Diuell, Sr.

Fit.
Sai'st thou true.

Pvg.
Indeed, Sr.

Fit.
'Slid! there's some omen i'this! what countryman?

Pvg.
Of Derby-shire, Sr. about the Peake.

Fit.
That Hole
Belong'd to your Ancestors?

Pvg.
Yes, Diuells arse, Sr.

Fit.
I'll entertaine him for the name sake. Ha?
And turne away my tother man? and saue
Foure pound a yeere by that? there's lucke, and thrift too!
The very Diuell may come, heereafter, as well.
Friend, I receiue you: but (withall) I acquaint you,
Aforehand, if yo' offend mee, I must beat you.
It is a kinde of exercise, I vse.
And cannot be without.

Pvg.
Yes, if I doe not
Offend, you can, sure.

Fit.
Faith, Diuell, very hardly:
I'll call you by your surname, 'cause I loue it.

Scene. IIII.

Ingine. VVittipol. Manly. Fitzdottrell. Pvg.
[Ing.]
Yonder hee walkes, Sir, I'll goe lift him for you.

Wit.
To him, good Ingine, raise him vp by degrees,
Gently, and hold him there too, you can doe it.
Shew your selfe now, a Mathematicall broker.

Ing.
I'll warrant you for halfe a piece.

Wit.
'Tis done, Sr.

Man.
Is't possible there should be such a man?

Wit.
You shall be your owne witnesse, I'll not labour
To tempt you past your faith.

Man.
And is his wife
So very handsome, say you?

Wit.
I ha' not seene her,
Since I came home from trauell: and they say,
Shee is not alter'd. Then, before I went,
I saw her once; but so, as shee hath stuck
Still i' my view, no obiect hath remou'd her.

Man.
'Tis a faire guest, Friend, beauty: and once lodg'd
Deepe in the eyes, shee hardly leaues the Inne.
How do's he keepe her?

Wit.
Very braue. Howeuer,
Himselfe be sordide, hee is sensuall that way.
In euery dressing, hee do's study her.

Man.
And furnish forth himselfe so from the Brokers?

Wit.
Yes, that's a hyr'd suite, hee now has one,
To see the Diuell is an Asse, to day, in:
(This Ingine gets three or foure pound a weeke by him)
He dares not misse a new Play, or a Feast.
What rate soeuer clothes be at; and thinkes
Himselfe still new, in other mens old.

Man.
Put stay,
Do's he loue meat so?

Wit.
Faith he do's not hate it.
But that's not it. His belly and his palate
Would be compounded with for reason Mary,
A wit he has, of that strange credit with him,
'Gainst all mankinde; as it doth make him doe
Iust what it list: it rauishes him forth,
Whither it please, to any assembly or place,
And would conclude him ruin'd, should hee scape
One publike meeting, out of the beliefe
Ingine hath won Fitz-dottrel, to say on the cloake.
He has of his owne great, and Catholike strengths,
In arguing, and discourse. It takes, I see:
H'has got the cloak vpon him.

Fit.
A faire garment,
By my faith, Ingine!

Ing.
It was neuer made, Sir,
For three score pound, I assure you: 'Twill yeeld thirty.
The plush, Sir, cost three pound, ten shillings a yard!
And then the lace, and veluet.

Fit.
I shall, Ingine,
Be lock'd at, pretitly, in it! Art thou sure
The Play is play'd to day?

Ing.
ô here's the bill, Sr.
Hee giues him the Play-bill.
I', had forgot to gi't you.

Fit.
Ha? the Diuell!
I will not lose you, Sirah! But, Ingine, thinke you,
The Gallant is so furious in his folly?
So mad vpon the matter, that hee'll part
With's cloake vpo'these termes?

Ing.
Trust not your Ingine,
Breake me to pieces else, as you would doe
A rotten Crane, or an old rusty Iacke,
That has not one true wheele in him. Doe but talke with him.

Fit.
I shall doe that, to satisfie you, Ingine,
And my selfe too. With your leaue, Gentlemen.
Hee turnes to Wittipol.
Which of you is it, is so meere Idolater
To my wiues beauty, and so very prodigall
Vnto my patience, that, for the short parlee?
Of one swift houres quarter, with my wife,
He will depart with (let mee see) this cloake here
The price of folly? Sir, are you the man?

Wit.
I am that vent'rer, Sir.

Fit.
Good time! your name
Is Witty-pol?

Wit.
The same, Sr.

Fit.
And 'tis told me,
Yo' haue trauell'd lately?

Wit.
That I haue, Sr.

Fit.
Truly,
Your trauells may haue alter'd your complexion;
But sure, your wit stood still.

Wit.
It may well be, Sir.
All heads ha'not like growth.

Fit.
The good mans grauity,
That left you land, your father, neuer taught you
These pleasant matches?

Wit.
No, nor can his mirth,
With whom I make 'hem, put me off.

Fit.
You are
Resolu'd then?

Wit.
Yes, Sr.

Fit.
Beauty is the Saint,
You'll sacrifice your selfe, into the shirt too?

Wit.
So I may still cloth, and keepe warme your wisdome?

Fit.
You lade me Sr!

Wit.
I know what you will beare, Sr.

Fit.
Well, to the point. 'Tis only, Sir, you say,
To speake vnto my wife?

Wit.
Only, to speake to her.

Fit.
And in my presence?

Wit.
In your very presence.

Fit.
And in my hearing?

Wit.
In your hearing: so,
You interrupt vs not.

Fit.
For the short space
You doe demand, the fourth part of an houre,
I thinke I shall, with some conuenient study,
Hee shrugs himselfe vp on the cloake.
And this good helpe to boot, bring my selfe to't.

Wit.
I aske no more.

Fit.
Please you, walk to'ard my house,
Speake what you list; that time is yours: My right
I haue departed with. But, not beyond,
A minute, or a second, looke for. Length,
And drawing out, ma'aduance much, to these matches.
And I except all kissing. Kisses are
Silent petitions still with willing Louers.

Wit.
Louers? How falls that o'your phantsie?

Fit.
Sir.
I doe know somewhat, I forbid all lip-worke.

Wit.
I am not eager at forbidden dainties.
Who couets vnfit things, denies him selfe.

Fit.
You say well, Sir, 'Twas prettily said, that same,
He do's, indeed. I'll haue no touches, therefore,
Nor takings by the armes, nor tender circles
Cast 'bout the wast, but all be done at distance.
Loue is brought vp with those soft migniard handlings;
His pulse lies in his palme: and I defend
All melting ioynts, and fingers, (that's my bargaine)
I doe defend 'hem; any thing like action.
But talke, Sir, what you will. Vse all the Tropes
And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you:
And much good do your Rhetoriques heart. You are welcome, Sir.
Ingine, God b'w'you.

Wit.
Sir, I must condition
To haue this Gentleman by, a witnesse.

Fit.
Well,
I am content, so he be silent.

Man.
Yes, Sir.

Fit.
Come Diuell, I'll make you roome, streight. But I'll shew you
First, to your Mistresse, who's no common one,
You must conceiue, that brings this gaine to see her.
I hope thou'st brought me good lucke.

Pvg.
I shall do't. Sir.

Scene. V.

VVittipol. Manly.
Wittipol knocks his friend o'the brest.
[Wit.]
Ingine , you hope o'your halfe piece? 'Tis there, Sir.
Be gone. Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed?

Man.
I am directly in a fit of wonder
What'll be the issue of this conference!

Wit.
For that, ne'r vex your selfe, till the euent.
How like yo'him?

Man.
I would faine see more of him.

Wit.
What thinke you of this?

Man.
I am past degrees of thinking.
Old Africk, and the new America,
With all their fruite of Monsters cannot shew
So iust a prodigie.

Wit.
Could you haue beleeu'd,
Without your sight, a minde so sordide inward,
Should be so specious, and layd forth abroad,
To all the shew, that euer shop, or ware was?

Man.
I beleeue any thing now, though I confesse
His Vices are the most extremities
I euer knew in nature. But, why loues hee
The Diuell so?

Wit.
O Sr! for hidden treasure,
Hee hopes to finde: and has propos'd himselfe
So infinite a Masse, as to recouer,
He cares not what he parts with, of the present,
To his men of Art, who are the race, may coyne him.
Promise gold-mountaines, and the couetous
Are still most prodigall.

Man.
But ha' you faith,
That he will hold his bargaine?

Wit.
O deare, Sir!
He will not off on't. Feare him not. I know him.
One basenesse still accompanies another.
See! he is heere already, and his wife too.

Man.
A wondrous handsome creature, as I liue!

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?

Scene. VII.

Pvg. Fitzdottrel. Ingine.
[Pvg.]
Heere is one Ingine, Sir, desires to speake with you.

Fit.
I thought he brought some newes, of a broker! Well,
Let him come in, good Diuell: fetch him else.
O, my fine Ingine! what's th'affaire? more cheats?

Ing.
No Sir, the Wit, the Braine, the great Proiector,
I told you of, is newly come to towne.

Fit.
Where, Ingine?

Ing.
I ha'brought him (H'is without)
Ere hee pull'd off his boots, Sir, but so follow'd,
For businesses:

Fit.
But what is a Proiector?
I would conceiue.

Ing.
Why, one Sir, that proiects
Wayes to enrich men, or to make 'hem great,
By suites, by marriages, by vndertakings:
According as hee sees they humour it.

Fit.
Can hee not coniure at all?

Ing.
I thinke he can, Sir.
(To tell you true) but, you doe know, of late,
The State hath tane such note of 'hem, and compell'd 'hem,
To enter such great bonds, they dare not practice.

Fit.
'Tis true, and I lie fallow for't, the while!

Ing.
O, Sir! you'll grow the richer for the rest.

Fit.
I hope I shall: but Ingine, you doe talke
Somewhat too much, o'my courses. My Cloake-customer
Could tell mee strange particulars.

Ing.
By my meanes?

Fit.
How should he haue 'hem else?

Ing.
You do not know, Sr,
What he has: and by what arts! A monei'd man, Sir,
And is as great with your Almanack-Men, as you are!

Fit.
That Gallant?

Ing.
You make the other wait too long, here:
And hee is extreme punctuall.

Fit.
Is he a gallant?

Ing.
Sir, you shall see: He'is in his riding suit,
As hee comes now from Court. But heere him speake:
Minister matter to him, and then tell mee.