University of Virginia Library

Actus tertius

Scena prima.

Enter Shaveem and Secret.
Secret.
Dead doings, Daughter.

Shave'm.
Doings! sufferings mother:
Men have forgot what doing is;
And such as have to pay for what they do,
Are impotent, or Eunuchs.

Secret.
You have a friend yet,
Musick come down.
And a striker too, I take it.

Shaveem.
Goldwire is so,
And comes to me by stealth, and as he can steal, maintains me
In cloaths, I grant; but alas Dame, what's one friend?
I would have a hundred for every hour, and use
And change of humour I am in a fresh one.
'Tis a flock of Sheep that makes a lean Wolf fat,
And not a single Lambkin. I am starv'd,
Starv'd in my pleasures. I know not what a Coach is,
To hurrie me to the Burse, or old Exchange,
The Neathouse for Musk-mellons, and the Gardens
Where we traffick for Asparagus, are to me
In the other world.

Secret.
There are other places Ladie.
Where you might find customers.

Shaveem.
You would have me foot it
To the Dancing of the Ropes, sit a whole afternoon there
In expectation of Nuts and Pippins;
Gape round about me, and yet not find a Chapamn
That in courtesie will bid a chop of mutton,
Or a pint of Drum-wine for me.

Secret.
You are so impatient.
But I can tell you news will comfort you,
And the whole Sister-hood.

Shavem.
What's that?

Secret.
I am told
Two Embassadours are come over. A French Monsieur,
And a Venetian, one of the Clarissimi,
A hot rein'd Marmosite. Their followers,
For their Countries honor, after a long Vacation,
Will make a full term with us.

Shavem.
They indeed are
Our certain and best customers: Who knocks there?

Knock within.
Within Ramble.
Open the door.

Secret.
What are you?

Within Ramble.
Ramble.

Within Scuffle.
Scuffle.

Within Ramble.
Your constant visitants.

Shaven.
Let 'em not in.
I know em swaggering, suburbian roarers,
Six-penny truckers

Within Ramble.
Down go all your windows,
And your neighbours too shall suffer.

Within Scuffle.
Force the doors.

Secret.
They are out-laws, mistrisse Shavem, and there is
No remedie against em, what should you fear?
They are but men, lying at your close ward,
You have foyl'd their betters.

Shavem.
Out you Baud. You care not
Upon what desperate service you imploy me,
Nor with whom, so you have your fee.

Secret.
Sweet ladie-bird
Sing a milder key.

Enter Ramble and Scuffle.
Scuffle.
Are you grown proud?

Ramble.
I knew you a wastcotier in the garden allies,
And would come to a saylors whistle.

Secret.
Good Sir Ramble,
Use her not roughly. Shee is very tender.

Ramble.
Rank and rotten, is she not?

She draws her knife. Ramble his sword.
Shavem.
Your spittle rogueships
Shall not make me so.

Secret.
As you are a man, Squire Scuffle,
Step in between em. A weapon of that length
Was ne're drawn in my house.

Shavem.
Let him come on,
I'le scoure it in your guts, you dog.

Ramble.
You brach,
Are you turn'd mankind. You forgot I gave you,
When wee last join'd issue, twenty pound.

Shavem.
O're night,
And kickt it out of me in the morning. I was then
A novice, but I know to make my game now.
Fetch the Constable.

Enter Goldwire like a Justice of Peace, Dingem like a Constable, the Musicians like watch men.
Secret.
Ah me. Here's one unsent for,
And a Justice of Peace too.

Shavem.
I'le hang you both you rascalls,
I can but ride. You for the purse you cut
In Powl's at a sermon. I have smoak'd you. And you for the bacon
You took on the high way from the poor market woman
As she road from Rumford.

Ramble.
Mistris Shavem.

Scuffle.
Mistris Secret,
On our knees we beg your pardon.

Scuffle.
Set a ransom on us.

Secret.
We cannot stand trifling. If you mean to save them,
Shut them out at the back-door.

Shavem.
First for punishment
They shall leave their cloaks behind em, and in sign
I am their soveraign, and they my vassalls,
Exeunt Ramble and Scuffle.
For homage kiss my Shoo-sole rogues, and vanish.

Goldwire.
My brave virago. The coasts clear. Strike up.

Shavem.
My Goldwire made a Justice.

Goldwire, and the rest discovered.
Secret.
And your scout
Turn'd Constable, and the Musicians watch-men.

Goldwire.
We come not to fright you, but to make you merry.
A light Lavolto.

They dance.
Shavem.
I am tir'd. No more.
This was your device.

Dingem.
Wholly his own. He is
No pig sconce Mistris.

Secret.
He has an excellent head-peece

Goldwire.
Fie no, not I: your jeering gallants say
We Citizens have no wit.

Dingem.
He dyes that says so.
This was a master-piece.

Goldwire.
A trifling stratagem,
Not worth the talking of.

Shavem.
I must kiss thee for it
Again, and again.

Dingem.
Make much of her. Did you know
What suiters she had since she saw you.

Goldwire.
I'the way of marriage.

Dingem.
Yes Sir, for marriage, and the other thing too,
The commoditie is the same. An Irish Lord offer'd her
Five pound a week.

Secret.
And a cashier'd Captain, half
Of his entertainment.

Dingem.
And a new made Courtier
The next suit he could beg.

Goldwire.
And did my sweet one
Refuse all this for me?

Shavem.
Weep not for joy,
'Tis true. Let others talk of Lords, and Commanders,
And country heirs for their servants; but give mee
My gallant prentice. He parts with his mony
So civilly, and demurely; keeps no account
Of his expences, and comes ever furnish'd.
I know thou hast brought money to make up
My gown and petticoat, with th'appurtenances.

Goldwire.
I have it here Duck, thou shalt want for nothing.

Shavem.
Let the chamber be perfum'd, and get you Sirrah
His cap, and pantables ready.

Goldwire.
There's for thee,
And thee. That for a banquet.

Secret.
And a cawdle
Again you rise.

Goldwire.
There.

Shavem.
Usher us up in state.

Goldwire.
You will be constant.

Exeunt wanton, Musick plaid before'em
Shavem.
Thou art the whole world to me.

Scena secunda.

Enter Luke.
Within Anne.
Where is this Uncle?

Within Lady.
Call this Beadsman, brother: he hath forgot attendance.

Within Mary.
Seek him out: idlenesse spoils him.

Luke.
I deserve much more then their scorn can load me with, and 'tis but justice,
That I should live the families drudge, design'd
To all the sordid offices their pride
Imposes on me; since if now I sate
A Judge in mine own cause, I should conclude
I am not worth their pitie: such as want
Discourse, and judgment, and through weaknesse fall,
May merit man's compassion; but I
That knew profusenesse of expence the parent
Of wretched poverty, her fatal daughter,
To riot out mine own, to live upon
The alms of others! steering on a rock
I might have shun'd: O heaven! 'tis not fit
I should look upward, much lesse hope for mercy.

Enter Lady, Anne, Mary, Stargaze, and Milliscent.
Lady.
What are you devising, Sir?

Anne.
My Uncle is much given to his devotion.

Mary.
And takes time to mumble
A Pater noster to himself.

Lady.
Know you where
Your brother is? It better would become you
(Your means of life depending wholly on him)
To give your attendance.

Luke.
In my will I do:
But since he rode forth yesterday with Lord Lacie,
I have not seen him.

Lady.
And why went not you
By his stirrup? how do you look? were his eies clos'd,
You'd be glad of such imploiment.

Luke.
'Twas his pleasure
I should wait your commands, and those I am ever
Most ready to receive.

Lady.
I know you can speak well,
But say and do.

Enter Lord Lacie with a Will.
Luke.
Here comes my Lord.

Lady.
Further off:
You are no companion for him, and his businesse
Aims not at you, as I take it.

Luke.
Can I live in this base condition?

aside
Lady.
I hop'd, my Lord,
You had brought Mr. Frugall with you, for I must ask
An account of him from you.

Lord.
I can give it, Ladie;
But with the best discretion of a woman,
And a strong fortifi'd patience, I desire you
To give it hearing.

Luke.
My heart beats.

Lady.
My Lord, you much amaze me.

Lord.
I shall astonish you. The noble Merchant,
Who living was for his integritie
And upright dealing (a rare miracle
In a rich Citizen) Londons best honour;
Is—I am loth to speak it.

Luke.
Wondrous strange!

Lady.
I do suppose the worst, not dead I hope?

Lord.
Your supposition's true, your hopes are false.
Hee's dead.

Lady.
Ay mee.

Anne.
My Father.

Mary.
My kind Father.

Luke.
Now they insult not.

Lord.
Pray hear me out.
Hee's dead. Dead to the world, and you. And now
Lives onely to himself.

Luke.
What Riddle's this?

Lady.
Act not the torturer in my afflictions;
But make me understand the summe of all
That I must undergo.

Lord.
In few words take it;
He is retir'd into a Monastery,
Where he resolves to end his daies.

Luke.
More strange.

Lord.
I saw him take poste for Dover, and the wind
Sitting so fair, by this hee's safe at Calice,
And ere long will be at Lovain.

Lady.
Could I guesse
What were the motives that induc'd him to it,
'Twere some allay to my sorrows.

Lord.
I'le instruct you,
And chide you into that knowledg: 'twas your pride
Above your rank, and stubborn disobedience
Of these your daughters, in their milk suck'd from you:
At home the harshnesse of his entertainment,
You wilfully forgetting that your all
Was borrowed from him; and to hear abroad
The imputations dispers'd upon you,
And justly too, I fear, that drew him to
This strict retirement: And thus much said for him,
I am my self to accuse you.

Lady.
I confesse
A guilty cause to him, but in a thought,
My Lord, I ne're wrong'd you.

Lord.
In fact you have;
The insolent disgrace you put upon
My onely Son, and Mr. Plenty; men, that lov'd
Your daughters in a noble way, to wash off
The scandal, put a resolution in 'em
For three years travel.

Lady.
I am much griev'd for it.

Lord.
One thing I had forgot; your rigor to
His decaied brother, in which your flatteries,
Or sorceries, made him a coagent with you,
Wrought not the least impression.

Luke.
Humph! this sounds well.

Lady.
'Tis now past help: after these storms, my Lord,
A little calme, if you please.

Lord.
If what I have told you
Shew'd like a storm, what now I must deliver
Will prove a raging tempest. His whole estate
In lands and leases, debts and present moneys,
With all the movables he stood posses'd of,
With the best advice which he could get for gold
From his learned counsel, by this formall Will
Is pass'd o're to his brother. With it take
The key of his counting house. Not a groat left you,
Which you can call your own.

Ladie.
Undone for ever.

Ann. Marie.
What will become of us?

Luke.
Humph!

Lord.
The Scenes chang'd,
And he that was your slave, by fate appointed
Your governour, you kneel to me in vain,
I cannot help you, I discharge the trust
Impos'd upon me. This humilitie
From him may gain remission, and perhaps
Forgetfulnesse of your barbarous usage to him.

Lady.
Am I come to this.

Lord.
Enjoy your own, good Sir,
But use it with due reverence. I once heard you
Speak most divinely in the opposition
Of a revengefull humor, to these shew it;
And such who then depended on the mercy
Of your brother wholly now at your devotion,
And make good the opinion I held of you;
Of which I am most confident.

Luke.
Pray you rise,
And rise with this assurance, I am still,
As I was of late, your creature; and if rais'd
In any thing, 'tis in my power to serve you,
My will is still the same. O my Lord!
This heap of wealth which you possesse me of.
Which to a worldly man had been a blessing,
And to the messenger might with justice challenge
A kind of adoration, is to me
A curse, I cannot thank you for; and much lesse
Rejoyce in that tranquility of mind,
My brothers vows must purchase. I have made
A dear exchange with him. He now enjoyes
My peace, and poverty, the trouble of
His wealth confer'd on me, and that a burthen
Too heavy for my weak shouldiers.

Lord.
Honest soul,
With what feeling he receivs it.

Lady.
You shall have
My best assistance, if you please to use it
To help you to suport it.

Luke.
By no means,
The waight shall rather sinck me, then you part
With one short minute from those lawfull pleasures
Which you were born to in your care to aid me,
You shall have all abundance. In my nature
I was ever liberall, my Lord you know it.
Kind, affable. And now me thinks I see
Before my face the Jubile of joy
When it is assur'd, my brother lives in me,
His debtors in full cups crown'd to my health,
With Pæaus to my praise will celebrate.
For they well know 'tis far from me to take
The forfeiture of a bond. Nay I shall blush
The interest never paid after three years
When I demand my principall. And his servants
Who from a slavish fear pai'd her obedience
By him exacted; now when they are mine
Will grow familiar friends, and as such use me,
Being certain of the mildnesse of my temper,
Which my change of fortune, frequent in most men
Hath not the power to alter.

Lord.
Yet take heed Sir
You ruine it not with too much lenity,
What his fit severity rais'd.

Lady.
And we fall from
That height we have maintain'd

Luke.
I'le build it higher
To admiration higher. With disdain
I look upon these habits, no way suiting
The wife, and daughters of a knighted Citizen
Blessed with abundance.

Lord.
There Sir. I joyn with you
A fit decorum must be kept, the Court
Distinguished from the City.

Luke.
With your favour
I know what you would say, but give me leave
In this to be your advocate. You are wide
The whole region in what I purpose.
Since all the titles, honours, long descents
Borrow their gloss from wealth ye'r rich with reason
May challenge their perogatives. And it shall be
My glory, nay a triumph to revive
In the pomp that these shall shine, the memory
Of the Roman matrons who kep't captive Queens
To be their hand-maids. And when you appear
Like Juno in full majesty, and my Neeces
Like Iris, Hebe, or what deities else
Old Poets fancie; your examin'd ward robes richer
Then various natures, and draw down the envy
of our western world upon you, onely hold me
your vigillant Hermes with aeriall wings,
My caducevs my strong zeal to serve you,
Press'd to feth in all rarities may delight you,
And am made immortall.

Lord.
A strang frensie.

Luke.
Off with these rags, and then to bed. There dream
Of future greatnesse, which when you awake
I'le make a certain truth: but I must be
A doer, not a promiser. The peformance
Requiring hast, I kisse your hands, and leave you.
Exit Luke.

Lord.
Are we all turn'd statues? have his strange words charm'd us?
What muse you on Lady?

Lady.
Do not trouble me.

Lord.
Sleep you to young ones?

Anne.
Swift wing'd time till now
Was never tedious to me. Would 'twere night

Mary.
Nay morning rather

Lord.
Can you ground your faith
On such impossibilities? have you so soon
Forgot your good Husband?

Lady.
Hee was a vanitie
I must no more remember.

Lord.
Excellent!
You your kind Father?

Anne.
Such an Uncle never
Was read of in Storie!

Lord.
Not one word in answer
Of my demands?

Mary.
You are but a Lord, and know
My thoughts soar higher.

Lord.
Admirable! I will leave you
To your Castles in the Air, when I relate this
It will exceed belief, but he must know it.
Exit Lord.

Stargaze.
Now I may boldly speak: May it please you Madam,
To look upon your Vassal; I foresaw this,
The Starrs assur'd it.

Lady.
I begin to feel
My self another woman.

Stargaze.
Now you shall find
All my predictions true, and nobler matches
Prepar'd for my young Ladies.

Milliscent.
Princely Husbands.

Anne.
I'le go no lesse.

Mary.
Not a word more,
Provide my night-rayl.

Millisc.
What shall we be to morrow.

Exeunt

Scena tertia.

Enter Luke with a key.
Luke.
'Twas no phantastick object, but a truth
A reall truth. Nor dream I did not slumber,
And could wake ever with a brooding eye
To gaze upon't! It did indure the touch,
I saw, and felt it. Yet what I beheld
And handl'd oft, did so transcend beleese
(My wonder, and astonishment pass'd ore)
I faintly could give credit to my senses.
Thou dumb magician that without a charm
Did'st make my entrance easie, to possesse
What wise men wish, and toyl for. Hermes Moly;
Sybilla's golden bough; the great Elixar,
Imagin'd onely by the Alchymist
Compar'd with thee are shadows, thou the substance
And guardian of felicity. No marvail,
My brother made thy place of rest his bosome,
Thou being the keeper of his heart, a mistris
To be hugg'd ever. In by corners of
This sacred room, silver in bags heap'd up
Like billets saw'd, and ready for the fire,
Unworthy to hold fellowship with bright gold
That flow'd about the room, conceal'd it self.
There needs no artificiall light, the splendor
Makes a perpetuall day there, night and darknesse
By that still burning lamp for ever banish'd.
But when guided by that, my eyes had made
Discovery of the caskets, and they open'd,
Each sparkling diamond from it self shot forth
A pyram'd of flames, and in the roof
Fix it a glorious Star, and made the place
Heavens abstract, or Epitome. Rubies, Saphires,
and ropes of Orient pearl; these seen I could not
But look on with contempt. And yet I found
What weak credulity could have no faith in
A treasure far exceeding these. Here lay
A mannor bound fast in a skin of parchment,
The wax continuing hard, the acres melting.
Here a sure deed of gift for a market town,
If not redeem'd this day, which is not in
The unthrifts power. There being scarce one shire
In Wales or England, where my moneys are not
Lent out at usurie, the certain hook
To draw in more. I am sublim'd! grosse earth
Supports me not. I walk on ayr! who's there
Theivs, raise the street, thievs!

Enter Lord, Sir John, Lacie, and Plenty, as Indians.
Lord.
What strange passion's this?
Have you your eies? do you know me?

Luke.
You, my Lord!
I do: but this retinue, in these shapes too,
May well excuse my fears. When 'tis your pleasure
That I should wait upon you, give me leave
To do it at your own house, for I must tell you,
Things as they now are with me, well consider'd,
I do not like such visitants.

Lord.
Yesterday
When you had nothing, praise your poverty for't,
You could have sung secure before a thief;
But now you are grown rich, doubts and suspitions,
And needless fears possess you. Thank a good brother,
But let not this exalt you.

Luke.
A good brother:
Good in his conscience, I confesse, and wise,
In giving o're the world. But his estate
Which your Lordship may conceive great, no way answers
The general opinion. Alas,
With a great charge, I am left a poor man by him.

Lord.
A poor man, say you?

Luke.
Poor, compar'd with what
'Tis thought I do possesse. Some little land,
Fair houshold furniture; a few good debts,
But empty bags I find: yet I will be
A faithful Steward to his wife and daughters,
And to the utmost of my power obey
His will in all things

Lord.
I'le not argue with you
Of his estate, but bind you to performance
Of his last request, which is for testimony
Of his religious charitie, that you would
Receive these Indians, lately sent him from
Virginia, into your house; and labour
At any rate with the best of your endeavours,
Assisted by the aids of our Divines,
To make 'm Christians.

Luke.
Call you this, my Lord,
Religious charitie? to send Infidells,
Like hungrie Locusts, to devour the bread
Should feed his family. I neither can,
Nor will consent to't.

Lord.
Do not slight it, 'tis
With him a businesse of such consequence;
That should he onely hear 'tis not embrac'd,
And charfully, in this his conscience aiming
At the saving of three souls, 'twill draw him o're
To see it himself accomplish'd.

Luke.
Heaven forbid
I should divert him from his holy purpose
To worldly cares again. I rather will
Sustain the burthen, and with the converted
Feast the converters, who I know will prove
The greater feeders.

Sir John.
Oh, ha, enewah Chrish bully leika.

Plenty.
Enaula.

Lacy.
Harrico botikia bonnery.

Luke.
Ha! In this heathen language,
How is it possible our Doctors should
Hold conference with 'em? or I use the means
For their conversion?

Lord.
That shall be no hinderance
To your good purposes. They have liv'd long
In the English Colonie, and speak our language
As their own Dialect; the businesse does concern you:
Mine own designs command me hence. Continue,
As in your poverty you were, a pious
And honest man

Exit.
Luke.
That is, interpreted,
A slave, and begger.

Sir John.
You conceive it right,
There being no religion, nor virtue
But in abundance, and no vice but want.
All deities serve Plutus.

Luke.
Oracle.

Sir John.
Temples rais'd to our selvs in the increase
Of wealth, and reputation, speak a wiseman;
But sacrifice to an imagin'd power,
Of which we have no sense, but in belief,
A superstitious fool.

Luke.
True worldly wisdom.

Sir John.
All knowledge else is folly.

Lacie.
Now we are yours,
Be confident your better Angel is
Enter'd your house.

Plenty.
There being nothing in
The compasse of your wishes, but shall end
In their fruition to the full.

Sir John.
As yet,
You do not know us, but when you understand
The wonders we can do, and what the ends were
That brought us hither, you will entertain us
With more respect.

Luke.
There's somthing whispers to me,
These are no common men; my house is yours,
Enjoy it freely: onely grant me this,
Not to be seen abroad till I have heard
More of your sacred principles, pray enter.
You are learn'd Europians, and wee worse
Then ignorant Americans.

Sir John.
You shall find it.

Exeunt