University of Virginia Library

Actus Quintus.

Enter Allwit, his Wife, and Dauy Dahumma.
Wife.
A miserie of a House.

All.
What shall become of vs?

Dauy.
I thinke his wound be mortall.

All.
Think'st thou so Dauy?
Then am I mortall too, but a dead Man Dauy,
This is no world for me, when e're he goes,
I must e'ne trusse vp all, and after him Dauy,
A Sheet with two knots, and away.

Enter Sir Walter led in hurt.
Dauy.
O see Sir,
How faint he goes, two of my Fellowes lead him.

Wife.
O me!

All.
Hyday, my wife's layd downe too, here's like to be
A good House kept, when we are altogether downe,
Take paynes with her good Dauy, cheere her vp there,
Let me come to his Worship, let me come.

S. Walt.
Touch me not Villaine, my wound akes at thee,
Thou poyson to my Heart.

All.
He raues already,
His sences are quite gone, he knowes me not,
Looke vp an't like your Worship, heaue those Eyes,
Call me to mind, is your remembrance lost?
Looke in my face, who am I an't like your Worship?

S. Walt.
If any thing be worse then Slaue or Villaine,
Thou art the Man.

All.
Alas his poore Worships weakenesse,
He will begin to know me by little and little.

Walt.
No Diuell can be like thee.

All.
Ah poore Gentleman,
Me thinkes the paine that thou endurest.

S. Walt.
Thou know'st me to be wicked for thy basenesse
Kept the Eyes open still on all my sinnes,
None knew the deere account my soule stood charg'd with
So well as thou, yet like Hels flattering Angel,
Would'st neuer tell me an't, let'st me goe on,
And ioyne with Death in sleepe, that if I had not wak't
Now by chance, euen by a strangers pittie,
I had euerlastingly slept out all hope
Of grace and mercie.

All.
Now he is worse and worse,
Wife, to him wife, thou wast wont to doe good on him.

Wife.
How ist with you Sir?

S. Walt.
Not as with you,
Thou loathsome strumpet: some good pittying Man
Remoue my sinnes out of my fight a little,
I tremble to behold her, she keepes backe
All comfort while she stayes, is this a time,
Vnconscionable Woman, to see thee,
Art thou so cruell to the peace of Man,
Not to giue libertie now, the Diuell himselfe
Shewes a farre fairer reuerence and respect
To goodnesse then thy selfe, he dares not doe this,
But part in time of penitence, hides his Face,
When Man with-drawes from him, he leaues the place,
Hast thou lesse manners, and more impudence,
Then thy instructer, prethee shew thy modestie,
If the least graine be left, and get thee from me,
Thou should'st be rather lock't many Roomes hence,
From the poore miserable sight of me,
If either loue or grace had part in thee.

Wife.
He is lost for euer.

All.
Run sweet Dauy quickly,
And fetch the Children hither, sight of them,
Will make him cheerefull straight.

S. Walt.
O Death! Is this
A place for you to weepe? What teares are those?
Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse,
As long as they are a weeping, they worke against me,
There's nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow,
Thou weep'st for Lust, I feele it in the slacknesse
Of comforts comming towards me,
I was well till thou began'st to vndoe me,
This shewes like the fruitlesse sorrow of a carelesse mother
That brings her Sonne with dalliance to the Gallowes,
And then stands by, and weepes to see him suffer.

Enter Dauy with the Children.
Dauy.
There are the children Sir, an't like your worship,
Your last fine Girle, in troth she smiles,
Looke, looke, in faith Sir.

S. Walt.
O my vengeance, let me for euer hide my cursed Face
From sight of those that darkens all my hopes,
And stands betweene me and the sight of Heauen,
Who sees me now, ho to and those so neere me,
May rightly say, I am o're-growne with sinne,
O how my offences wrastle with my repentance,
It hath scarce breath,
Still my adulterous guilt houers aloft,
And with her blacke Wings beats downe all my prayers.
Ere they be halfe way vp, what's he knowes now,
How long I haue to liue? ô what comes then,
My tast growes bitter, the round World, all Gall now,
Her pleasing pleasures now hath poyson'd me,
Which I exchang'd my Soule for,
Make way a hundred sighes at once for me.

All.
Speake to him Nicke.

Nicke.
I dare not, I am afraid.

All.

Tell him he hurts his wounds Wat, with making
moane.

S. Walt.
Wretched, death of seauen.

All.
Come let's be talking somewhat to keepe him aliue
Ah sira Wat, and did my Lord bestow that Iewell on thee,
For an Epistle thou mad'st in Latine,
Thou art a good forward Boy, there's great ioy on thee.

S. Walt.
O sorrow!

All.
Heart will nothing comfort him?
If he be so farre gone, 'tis time to moane,
Here's Pen, and Incke, and Paper, and all things ready,
Wil't please your Worship for to make your Will?

S. Walt.

My Will? Yes, yes, what else? Who writes
apace now?

All.
That can your man Dauy an't like your Worship,
A faire, fast, legible Hand.

S. Walt.
Set it downe then:
Inprimis, I bequeath to yonder Witall,
Three times his weight in Curses,

All.
How?

S. Walt.
All Plagues of Body and of Mind,

All.
Write them not downe Dauy.

Dauy.
It is his Will, I must.

S. Walt.
Together also,
With such a Sicknesse, ten dayes ere his Death.

All.
There's a sweet Legacie,
I am almost choak't with't.

S. Walt.
Next I bequeath to that foule whore his Wife,
All barrennesse of Ioy, a drouth of Vertue,
And dearth of all repentance: For her end,
The common miserie of an English Strumpet,
In French and Duch, beholding ere she dyes
Confusion of her Brats before her Eyes,
And neuer shed a teare for it.

Enter a Seruant.
Seru.
Where's the Knight?
O Sir, the Gentleman you wounded, is newly departed.

S. Walt.
Dead? Lift, lift, Who helpes me?

All.
Let the Law lift you now, that must haue all,
I haue done lifting on you, and my Wife too.

Seru.
You were best locke your selfe close.

All.
Not in my House Sir,
I'le harbour no such persons as Men-slayers,
Locke your selfe where you will.

S. Walt.
What's this?

Wife.
Why Husband.

All.
I know what I doe Wife.

Wife.
You cannot tell yet,
For hauing kild the Man in his defence,
Neither his Life, nor estate will be touch't Husband.

All.

Away Wife, heare a Foole, his Lands will hang
him.

S. Walt.
Am I deny'd a Chamber?
What say you forsooth?

Wife.
Alas Sir, I am one that would haue all well,
But must obey my Husband. Prethee Loue
Let the poore Gentleman stay, being so sore wounded,
There's a close Chamber at one end of the Garret
We neuer vse, let him haue that I prethee.

All.
We neuer vse, you forget sicknesse then,
And Physicke times: Ist not a place for easement?

Enter a Seruant.
S. Walt.
O Death! doe I heare this with part
Of former life in me? What's the newes now?

Seru.
Troth worse & worse, you'r like to lose your land
If the Law saue your life Sir, or the Surgeon.

All.
Harke you there Wife.

S. Walt.
Why how Sir?

Seru.
Sr Oliuer Kixes Wife is new quickned,
That Child vndoes you Sir.

S. Walt.
All ill at once.

All.
I wonder what he makes here with his consorts?
Cannot our House be priuate to our selues,
But we must haue such Guests? I pray depart Sirs,
And take your Murtherer along with you,
Good he were apprehended ere he goe,
H'as kild some honest Gentleman, send for Officers.

S. Walt.
I'le soone saue you that labour.

All.
I must tell you Sir,
You haue beene some-what boulder in my House,
Then I could well like of, I suffred you
Till it stucke here at my Heart, I tell you truly
I thought you had beene familiar with my Wife once.

Wife.
With me? I'le see him hang'd first, I defie him,
And all such Gentlemen in the like extremitie.

S. Walt.
If euer Eyes were open, these are they,
Gamsters farewell, I haue nothing left to play.

Exit
All.
And therefore get you gone Sir.

Dauy.
Of all Wittalles,
Be thou the Head. Thou the grand whore of Spittles.

Exit
All.
So, since he's like now to be rid of all,
I am right glad, I am so well rid of him.

Wife.
I knew he durst not stay, when you nam'd Officers

All.
That stop't his Spirits straight,
What shall we doe now Wife?

Wife.
As we were wont to doe.

All.
We are richly furnish't wife, with Houshold-stuffe

Wife.
Let's let out Lodgings then,
And take a House in the Strand.

All.
In troth a match Wench:
We are simply stock't, with Cloath of Tissue Cussions,
To furnish out bay-windows: Push, what not that's queint
And costly, from the top to the bottome:
Life, for Furniture, we may lodge a Countesse:
There's a Cloase-stoole of tawny Veluet too,
Now I thinke on't Wife.

Wife.
There's that should be Sir,
Your Nose must be in euerie thing.

All.
I haue done Wench,
And let this stand in euerie Gallants Chamber,
There's no Gamster like a politike sinner,
For who e're games, the Box is sure a winners

Exit
Enter Yellowhammer, and his Wife.
Maudl.
O Husband, husband, she will dye, she will dye
There is no signe but death.

Yell.
'Twill be our shame then.

Maudl.
O how she's chang'd in compasse of an houre:

Yell.
Ah my poore girle! good faith thou wert too cruell
To dragge her by the Hayre.

Maudl.
You would haue done as much Sir,
To curbe her of her humor.

Yell.
'Tis curb'd sweetly, she catch't her bane o'th water.

Enter Tim.
Maudl.
How now Tim.

Tim.
Faith busie Mother about an Epitaph,
Vpon my Sisters death.

Maudl.
Death! She is not dead I hope?

Tim.
No: but she meanes to be, and that's as good,
And when a thing's done, 'tis done,
You taught me that Mother.

Yell.
What is your Tutor doing?

Tim.
Making one too, in principall pure Latine,
Cul'd out of Ouid de Tristibus.

Yell.
How does your Sister looke, is she not chang'd?

Tim.
Chang'd? Gold into white Money was neuer so chang'd,
As is my Sisters colour into palenesse.

Enter Moll.
Yell.
O here she's brought, see how she looks like death

Tim.
Lookes she like Death, and ne're a word made yet,
I must goe beat my Braines against a Bed-post,
And get before my Tutor.

Yell.
Speake, how do'st thou?

Moll.
I hope I shall be well, for I am as sicke at Heart,
As I can be.

Yell.
'Las my poore Girle,
The Doctor's making a most soueraine drinke for thee,
The worst Ingredience, dissolu'd Pearle and Amber,
We spare no cost Girle.

Moll.
Your loue comes to late,
Yet timely thankes reward it: What is comfort,
When the poore Patients Heart is past reliefe?
It is no Doctors Art can cure my griefe.

Yell.
All is cast away then,
Prethee looke vpon me cheerfully.

Maudl.
Sing but a straine or two, thou wilt not thinke
How 'twill reuiue thy Spirits: striue with thy fit,
Prethee sweet Moll.

Moll.
You shall haue my good will Mother.

Maud.
The Song.

Enter Tuchwood Senior with a Letter.
Maudl.
O, I could die with Musicke: well sung Girle.

Moll.
If you call it so, It was.

Yell.
She playes the Swan, and sings her selfe to death.

T.S.
By your leaue Sir.

Yell.
What are you Sir? Or what's your businesse pray?

T.S.
I may be now admitted, tho the Brother
Of him your hate pursude, it spreads no further,
Your malice sets in death, does it not Sir?

Yell.
In Death?

T.S.
He's dead: 'twas a deere Loue to him,
It cost him but his life, that was all Sir:
He pay'd enough, poore Gentleman, for his Loue.

Yell.
There's all our ill remou'd, if she were well now:
Impute not Sir, his end to any hate
That sprung from vs, he had a faire wound brought that.

T.S.
That helpt him forward, I must needs confesse:
But the restraint of Loue, and your vnkindnesse,
Those were the wounds, that from his Heart drew Blood,
But being past helpe, let words forget it too:
Scarcely three Minutes, ere his Eye-lids clos'd,
And tooke eternall leaue of this Worlds light,
He wrot this Letter, which by Oath he bound me,
To giue to her owne Hands, that's all my businesse.

Yell.
You may performe it then, there she sits.

T.S.
O with a following looke.

Yell.
I trust me Sir, I thinke she'le follow him quickly.

T.S.
Here's some Gold,
He wil'd me to distribute faithfully amongst your Seruants.

Yell.
'Las what doth he meane Sir?

T.S.
How cheere you Mistris?

Moll.
I must learne of you Sir.

T.S.
Here's a Letter from a Friend of yours,
And where that fayles, in satisfaction
I haue a sad Tongue ready to supply.

Moll.
How does he, ere I looke on't?

T.S.
Seldome better, h'as a contented health now.

Moll.
I am most glad on't.

Maudl.
Dead Sir?

Yell.
He is: Now Wife let's but get the Gerle
Vpon her Legges againe, and to Church roundly with her.

Moll.
O sicke to Death he telles me:
How does he after this?

T.S.
Faith feeles no paine at all, he's dead sweet Mistris.

Moll.
Peace close mine Eyes.

Yell.
The Girle, looke to the Girle Wife.

Maudl.
Moll, Daughter, sweet Girle speake,
Look but once vp, thou shalt haue all the wishes of thy hart
That wealth can purchase.

Yell.
O she's gone for euer, that Letter broake her hart.

T.S.
As good now then, as let her lye in torment,
And then breake it.

Enter Susan.
Maudl.
O Susan, she thou louedst so deere, is gone.

Sus.
O sweet Mayd!

T.S.
This is she that help't her still,
I'ue a reward here for thee

Yell.
Take her in,
Remoue her from our sight, our shame, and sorrow.

T.S.
Stay, let me helpe thee, 'tis the last cold kindnesse
I can performe for my sweet Brothers sake.

Yell.
All the whole Street will hate vs, and the World
Point me out cruell: It is our best course Wife,
After we haue giuen order for the Funerall,
To absent our selues, till she be layd in ground.

Maudl.
Where shall we spend that time?

Yell.
I'le tell thee where Wench, goe to some priuate Church,
And marry Tim to the rich Brecknocke Gentlewoman.

Maudl.
Masse a match,
We'le not loose all at once, some-what we'le catch.

Exit
Enter Sir Oliuer and Seruants.
S. Ol.
Ho my Wiues quickned, I am a Man for euer,
I thinke I haue bestur'd my stumps I faith:
Run, get your Fellowes altogether instantly,
Then to the Parish-Church, and ring the Belles.

Seru.
It shall be done Sir.

S. Ol.

Vpon my loue I charge you Villaine, that you
make a Bon-fier before the Doore at night.

Seru.
A Bon-fier Sir?

S. Ol.
A thwacking one I charge you.

Seru.
This is monstrous.

S. Ol.
Run, tell a hundred pound out for the Gentleman
That gaue my Wife the Drinke, the first thing you doe.

Seru.
A hundred pounds Sir?

S. Ol.
A bargaine, as our ioyes growes,
We must remember still from whence it flowes,
Or else we proue vngratefull multiplyers:
The Child is comming, and the Land comes after,
The newes of this will make a poore Sr Walter.
I haue strooke it home I faith.

Seru.
That you haue marry Sir.
But will not your Worship goe to the Funerall
Of both these Louers?

S. Ol.
Both, goe both together?

Seru.
I Sir, the Gentlemans Brother will haue it so,
'Twill be the pittifullest sight, there's such running,
Such rumours, and such throngs, a paire of Louers
Had neuer more spectators, more Mens pitties,
Or Womens wet Eyes.

S. Ol.
My Wife helpes the number then?

Seru.
There's such drawing out of Handkerchers,
And those that haue no Handkerchers, lift vp Aprons.

S. Ol.
Her Parents may haue ioyfull Hearts at this,
I would not haue my crueltie so talk't on,
To any Child of mine, for a Monopoly.

Seru.
I beleeue you Sir.
'Tis cast so too, that both their Coffins meet,
Which will be lamentable.

S. Ol.
Come, we'le see't.

Exit
Recorders dolefully playing: Enter at one Dore the Coffin of the Gentleman, solemnly deck't, his Sword vpon it, attended by many in Blacke, his Brother being the chiefe Mourner: At the other Doore, the Coffin of the Virgin, with a Garland of Flowres, with Epitaphes pin'd on't,

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68

attended by Mayds and Women: Then set them downe one right ouer-against the other, while all the Company seeme to weepe and mourne, there is a sad Song in the Musicke-Roome.
T.S.
Neuer could Death boast of a richer prize
From the first Parent, let the World bring forth
A paire of truer Hearts, to speake but truth
Of this departed Gentleman, in a Brother,
Might by hard censure, be call'd flatterie,
Which makes me rather, silent in his right,
Then so to be deliuer'd to the thoughts,
Of any enuious hearer, staru'd in vertue,
And therefore pining to heare others thriue.
But for this Mayd, whom Enuy cannot hurt
With all her Poysons, hauing left to Ages,
The true, chast Monument of her liuing name,
Which no time can deface, I say of her
The full truth freely, without feare of censure
What Nature could there shine, that might redeeme
Perfection home to Woman, but in her
Was fully glorious, bewtie set in goodnesse
Speakes what she was, that Iewell so infixt,
There was no want of any thing of life,
To make these vertuous presidents, Man and Wife.

Allw.
Great pittie of their deathes.

All.
Ne're more pittie.

Lady.
It makes a hundred weeping Eyes, sweet Gossip.

T.S.
I cannot thinke, there's any one amongst you,
In this full faire assembly, Mayd, Man, or Wife,
Whose Heart would not haue sprung with ioy & gladnesse
To haue seene their marriage day?

All.
It would haue made a thousand ioyfull Hearts.

T.S.
Vp then a pace, and take your fortunes,
Make these ioyfull Hearts, here's none but Friends.

All.
Aliue Sir? ô sweet deere Couple.

T.S.
Nay, do not hinder 'em now, stand from about 'em,
If she be caught againe, and haue this time,
I'le nere plot further for 'em, nor this honest chambermaid
That helpt all at a push.

T.S.
Good Sir a pace.

Pars.
Hands ioyne now, but Hearts for euer,
Which no Parents mood shall seuer.
You shall forsake all Widowes, Wiues, and Mayds:
You, Lords, Knights, Gentlemen, and Men of Trades:
And if in hast, any Article misses,
Goe inter-line it with a brace of kisses.

T.S.
Here's a thing trould nimbly. Giue you ioy brother
Were't not better thou should'st haue her,
Then the Mayd should dye?

Wife.
To you sweet Mistris Bride.

All.
Ioy, ioy to you both.

T.S.

Here be your Wedding Sheets you brought along
with you, you may both goe to Bed when you please too.

T.I.
My ioy wants vtterance.

T.S.
Vtter all at night then Brother.

Moll.
I am silent with delight.

T.S.
Sister, delight will silence any Woman,
But you'le find your Tongue againe, among Mayd Seruants,
Now you keepe House, Sister.

All.
Neuer was houre, so fild with ioy and wonder.

T.S.
To tell you the full storie of this Chamber-Mayd,
And of her kindnesse in this businesse to vs,
'Twould aske an houres discourse: In briefe 'twas she,
That wrought it to this purpose cunningly.

All.
We shall all loue her for't.

Enter Yellow-hammer, and his Wife.
All.
See who comes here now.

T.S.
A storme, a storme, but we are sheltred for it.

Yell.
I will preuent you all, and mocke you thus,
You, and your expectations, I stand happy,
Both in your liues, and your Hearts combination.

T.S.
Here's a strange day againe.

Yell.
The Knights prou'd Villaine,
Al's come out now, his Neece an arrant Baggage,
My poore Boy Tim, is cast away this morning,
Euen before Breakefast: Married a Whore
Next to his Heart.

All.
A Whore?

Yell.
His Neece forsooth.

Allw.
I thinke we rid our Hands in good time of him.

Wife.
I knew he was past the best, when I gaue him ouer.
What is become of him pray Sir?

Yell.
Who the Knight? he lies i'th' Knights ward now.
Your Belly Lady begins to blossom, ther's no peace for him
His Creditors are so greedy.

S. Ol.
Mr Tuchwood, hear'st thou this newes?
I am so indeer'd to thee for my Wiues fruitfulnesse,
That I charge you both, your Wife and thee,
To liue no more asunder for the Worlds frownes,
I haue Purse, and Bed, and Bord for you:
Be not afraid to goe to your businesse roundly,
Get Children, and I'le keepe them.

T.S.
Say you so Sir?

S. Ol.
Proue me, with three at a birth, & thou dar'st now.

T.S.
Take heed how you dare a Man, while you liue Sir
That has good skill at his Weapon.

Enter Tim and Welch Gentlewoman.
S. Ol.
'Foot, I dare you Sir.

Yell.
Looke Gentlemen, if euer you say the picture
Of the vnfortunate Marriage, yonder 'tis.

W.G.
Nay good sweet Tim.

Tim.
Come from the Vniuersitie,
To marry a Whore in London, with my Tutor too?
O Tempora! O Mors!

Tut.
Prethee Tim be pacient.

Tim.
I bought a Iade at Cambridge,
I'e let her out to execution Tutor,
For eighteene pence a day, or Brainford Horse-races,
She'le serue to carrie seuen Miles out of Towne well.
Where be these Mountaines? I was promis'd Mountaines,
But there's such a Mist, I can see none of 'em.
What are become of those two thousand Runts?
Let's haue about with them in the meane time.
A Vengeance Runt thee.

Maudl.
Good sweet Tim haue patience.

Tim.
Flectere si neguro Superos Acheronta mourbo, mother

Maudl.
I thinke you haue maried her in Logicke Tim.
You told me once, by Logicke you would proue
A Whore, an honest Woman, proue her so Tim
And take her for thy labour.

Tim.
Troth I thanke you.
I grant you I may proue another Mans Wife so,
But not mine owne.

Maudl.
There's no remedy now Tim,
You must proue her so as well as you may.

Tim.
Why then my Tutor and I will about her,
As well as we can.
Uxor non est Meritrix, ergo falacis.

W.G.
Sir if your Logicke cannot proue me honest,
There's a thing call'd Marriage, and that makes me honest.

Maudl.
O there's a tricke beyond your Logicke Tim.

Tim.

I perceiue then a Woman may be honest according
to the English Print, when she is a Whore in the Latine.
So much for Marriage and Logicke. I'le loue her for her
Wit, I'le picke out my Runts there: And for my Mountaines,
I'le mount vpon—

Yell.
So Fortune seldome deales two Marriages
With one Hand, and both lucky: The best is,
One Feast will serue them both: Marry for roome,
I'le haue the Dinner kept in Gold-Smithes-Hall,
To which kind Gallants, I inuite you all.