University of Virginia Library

Scena prima:

Welborne. Tapwell. Froth.
Welborne.
No bouze? nor no Tobacco?

Tapwell.
Not a sucke Sir,
Nor the remainder of a single canne
Left by a drunken porter, all night palde too.

Froth.
Not the dropping of the tappe for your mornings draught, Sir,
'Tis veritie I assure you.

Welborne.
Verity, you brach!
The Diuell turn'd precisian? Rogue what am I?

Tapwell.
Troth durst I trust you with a looking glasse,
To let you see your trimme shape, you would quit me,
And take the name your selfe.

Welborne.
How! dogge?

Tapwell.
Euen so, Sir.
And I must tell you if you but aduance,
Your plimworth cloke, you shall be soone instructed
There dwells, and within call, if it please your worship,
A potent monarch, call'd the Constable,
That does command a Citadell, call'd the Stockes;
Whose guards are certaine files of rusty Billmen,
Such as with great dexterity will hale
Your tatter'd, louzie—

Welborne.
Rascall, slaue.

Froth.
No rage, Sir.

Tapwell.
At his owne perill, doe not put your selfe
In too much heate, there being no water neare
To quench your thirst, and sure for other liquor,
As mighty Ale, or Beere, they are things I take it
You must no more remember, not in a dreame Sir.

Wellborne.
Why thou vnthankefull villaine dar'st thou talke thus?
Is not thy house, and all thou hast my gift?

Tapwell.
I find it not in chalke, and Timothie Tapwell
Does keepe no other register.

Welborne.
Am not I Hee
Whose riots fed, and cloth'd thee? wert thou not
Borne on my fathers land, and proud to bee
A drudge in his house?

Tapwell.
What I was Sir, it skills not,
What you are is apparent. Now for a farewell;
Since you talke of father, in my hope it will torment you,
I'le briefly tell your story. Your dead father,
My quondam master, was a man of worship,
Old Sir John Wellborne, Iustice of peace, and quorum,
And stood faire to bee Custos rotulorum;
Bare the whole sway of the shire; kep't a great house;
Relieu'd the poore, and so forth; but Hee dying,
And the twelue hundred a yeare comming to you,
Late Master Francis, but now forlorne Welborne.

Welborne.
Slaue, stoppe, or I shall lose my selfe.

Froth.
Very hardly;
You cannot out of your way.

Tapwell.
But to my story.
You were then a Lord of Akers; the prime gallant;
And I your vnder-butler; note the change now.
You had a merry time of't. Hawkes, and Hounds,
With choice of running horses; Mistrisses
Of all sorts, and all sizes; yet so hot
As their embraces made your Lordships melt;
Which your Vncle Sir Giles Ouerreach obseruing,
Resoluing not to lose a droppe of 'em,
On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds,
For a while suppli'd your loosenesse, and then left you.

Welborne.
Some Curate hath penn'd this inuectiue, mongrell,
And you haue studied it.

Tapwell.
I haue not done yet:
Your land gone, and your credit not worth a token,
You grew the common borrower, no man scap'd
Your paper-pelletts, from the Gentleman
To the beggers on high wayes, that sold you switches
In your gallantry.

Welborne.
I shall switch your braines out.

Tapwell.
Where poore Tim Tapwell with a little stocke
Some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage,
Humbled my selfe to marriage with my Froth here;
Gaue entertainment.

Welborne.
Yes, to whores, and canters,
Clubbers by night.

Tapwell.
True, but they brought in profit,
And had a gift to pay for what they call'd for,
And stucke not like your mastership. The poore Income
I glean'd from them, hath made mee in my parish,
Thought worthy to bee Scauinger, and in time
May rise to be Ouerseer of the poore;
Which if I doe, on your petition Welborne,
I may allow you thirteene pence a quarter,
And you shall thanke my worship.

Welborne.
Thus you doggebolt,
And thus.

beates, and kicks him.
Tapwell.
Cry out for helpe.

Welborne.
Stirre and thou diest:
Your potent Prince the Constable shall not saue you.
Heare me vngratefull hell-hound; did not I
Make purses for you? Then you lick'd my bootes,
And thought your holy day cloke too course to cleane 'em.
'Twas I that when I heard thee sweare, if euer
Thou could'st arriue at forty pounds, thou would'st
Liue like an Emperour: 'twas I that gaue it,
In ready gold. Denie this, wretch.

Tapwell.
I must Sir,
For from the tauerne to the taphouse, all
On forfeiture of their licences stand bound,
Neuer to remember who their best guests were,
If they grew poore like you.

Welborne.
They are well rewarded
That begger themselues to make such cuckolds rich.
Thou viper thanklesse viper; impudent bawde!
But since you are grow'n forgetfull, I will helpe
Your memory, and tread thee into mortar:
Not leaue one bone vnbroken.

Tapwell.
Oh.

Froth.
Aske mercie.

Enter Allworth.
Welborne.
'Twill not be granted.

Alworth.
Hold, for my sake hold.
Deny mee, Franke? they are not worth your anger.

Welborne.
For once thou hast redeem'd them from this scepter:
His Cudgell.
But let 'em vanish, creeping on their knees,
And if they grumble, I reuoke my pardon.

Froth.
This comes of your prating husband, you presum'd
On your ambling wit, and must vse your glib tongue
Though you are beaten lame for't.

Tapwell.
Patience Froth.
There's law to cure our bruizes.

They goe off on their hands, and knees.
Welborne.
Sent to your mother?

Alworth.
My Lady, Franke, my patronesse! my all!
Shee's such a mourner for my fathers death,
And in her loue to him, so fauours mee,
That I cannot pay too much obseruance to her.
There are few such stepdames.

Welborne.
'Tis a noble widdow,
And keepes her reputation pure, and cleere
From the least taint of infamie; her life
With the splendour of her actions leaues no tongue
To Enuy, or Detraction, Prethee tell mee;
Has shee no suitors?

Alworth.
Euen the best of the shire, Franke,
My Lord excepted. Such as sue, and send,
And send, and sue againe, but to no purpose.
Their frequent visits haue not gain'd her presence;
Yet shee's so far from sullennesse, and pride,
That I dare vndertake you shall meete from her
A liberall entertainment. I can giue you
A catalogue of her suitors names.

Welborne.
Forbeare it,
While I giue you good counsaile. I am bound to it;
Thy father was my friend, and that affection
I bore to him, in right descends to thee;
Thou art a handsome, and a hopefull youth,
Nor will I haue the least affront sticke on thee,
If I with any danger can preuent it.

Alworth.
I thanke your noble care, but pray you in what?
Doe I run the hazard?

Welborne.
Art thou not in loue?
Put it not off with wonder.

Allworth.
In loue at my yeares?

Welborne.
You thinke you walke in clouds, but are transrent,
I haue heard all, and the choice that you haue made;
And with my finger can point out the North starre,
By which the loadstone of your follie's guided.
And to confirme this true, what thinke you of
Faire Margaret the only child, and heyre
Of Cormorant Ouerreach? does it blush? and start,
To heare her only nam'd? blush at your want
Of wit, and reason.

Alworth.
You are too bitter Sir.

Welborne.
Wounds of this nature are not to bee cur'd
With balmes, but corrosiues. I must bee plaine:
Art thou scarce manumiz'd from the porters lodge,
And yet sworne seruant to the pantophle,
And dar'st thou dreame of marriage? I feare
'Twill bee concluded for impossible,
That there is now, nor ere shall bee hereafter,
A handsome page, or players boy of fourteene,
But either loues a Wench, or drabs loue him;
Court-waiters not exempted.

Alworth.
This is madnesse.
How ere you haue discouer'd my intents,
You know my aimes are lawfull, and if euer
The Queene of flowers, the glory of the spring,
The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose
Sprang from an enuious brier, I may inferre
There's such disparitie in their conditions,
Betweene the goddesse of my soule, the daughter,
And the base churle her father.

Welborne.
Grant this true
As I beleeue it; canst thou euer hope
To enioy a quiet bed with her, whose father
Ruin'd thy state?

Alworth.
And yours too.

Welborne.
I confesse it.
True I must tell you as a friend, and freely,
That where impossibilities are apparent,
'Tis indiscretion to nourish hopes.
Canst thou imagine, (let not selfe-loue blind thee)
That Sir Giles Ouerreach, that to make her great
In swelling titles, without touch of conscience,
Will cut his neighbours throate, and I hope his owne too;
Will ere consent to make her thine? Giue or'e
And thinke of some course sutable to thy rancke,
And prosper in it.

Alworth.
You haue well aduis'd me.
But in the meane time, you that are so studious
Of my affaires, wholly neglect your owne.
Remember your selfe, and in what plight you are.

Welborne.
No matter, no matter.

Alworth.
Yes, 'tis much materiall:
You know my fortune, and my meanes, yet something,
I can spare from my selfe, to helpe your wants.

Welborne.
How's this?

Alworth.
Nay bee not angry. There's eight peeces
To put you in better fashion.

Welborne.
Money from thee?
From a boy? a stipendary? one that liues
At the deuotion of a stepmother,
And the vncertaine fauour of a Lord?
Ile eate my armes first. Howsoe're blind fortune
Hath spent the vtmost of her malice on mee;
Though I am vomited our of an Alehouse,
And thus accoutred; know not where to eate,
Or drinke, or sleepe, but vnderneath this Canopie;
Although I thanke thee, I despise thy offer.
And as I in my madnesse broke my state,
Without th'assistance of anothers braine,
In my right wits Ile peece it; at the worst
Dye thus, and bee forgotten.

Alworth.
A strange humor.

Exeunt.