 | The Coxcombe |  |
Actus Quartus
Scæna Prima.
Enter Pedro and Vberto, severally.Pedro.
How now, any good newes yet?
Siluio.
Faith not any yet.
Ped.
This comes a tipling; would 'twere treason an't
pleas'd God to drinke more then three draughts at a
meale.
Sil.
When did you see Richardo?
Ped.
I crost him twice to day.
Sil.
You have heard of a young wench that was seen last night?
Ped.
Yes.
Sil.
Has Richard hard of this?
Ped.
Yes and I thinke hee's ridden after, farewell I'le
have another round.
Sil.
If you heare any thing, pray spare no horse-fleshe
I'le do the like.
Ped.
Do.
Exeunt
Enter Richardo, and Ualerio.
Rich.
Sir, I did thinke 'twas you by all discriptions.
Ual.
Tis so,
I tooke her up indeed, the manner how
You have heard already, and what she had about her,
As Iewels, gold and other trifling things:
And what my end was, which because she slighted,
I left her there i'the feildes.
Rich.
Left i'th feildes? could any but a Rogue
That had despis'd humanity and goodnesse,
To loose his noblest part, and be a beast,
Have left so innocent, unmatch'd a virtue,
To the rude mercy of a wildernesse?
Val.
Sir If you come to raile, pray quit my house,
I do not use to have such language given;
Within my doores to me; for your wench,
You may go seeke her with more patience,
Shee's tame enough I warrant you.
Ric.
Pray forgive me.
I do confesse my much forgetfullnesse;
And weigh my words no farther I be seech you,
Then a meere madnesse; for such a griefe has seiz'd mee
So strong and deadly, as a punishment,
And a just one too,
That 'tis a greater wonder I am living,
Then any thing I utter; yet let me tel you thus much,
'Twas a fault for leaving her
So in the fieldes.
Ual.
Sir I will thinke so now, and credit me,
You have so wrought me with your griefe, that I
Do both forgive and pitty you:
And if youle please to take a bed this night heere;
Too morrow I'le bring you where I left her.
Rich.
I thanke you, no, shall I be so unworthy,
To think upon a bed, or ease or comfort,
And have my heart stray from me God knowes where,
Cold and forsaken, destitute of friends,
And all good comforts else, unlesse some tree
Whose speechlesse charity must better ours,
With which the bitter east winds made their sport
And sung through hourely, hath invited her
To keep off halfe a day? shall shee be thus,
And I draw in soft slumbers? God forbid.
No, night and bitter coldnesse I provoke thee,
And all the dewes that hang upon thy locks,
Showers, hailes, snowes, frosts, & two edged windes that prime
The maiden blossoms, I provoke you all,
And dare expose this body to your sharpnesse,
'Till be made a land marke.
Ual.
Will you then stay and eate with mee?
Rich.
Y'are angry with me, I know you'r angry,
You would not bid me eate else; my poore Mistris,
For ought I know thou art famish't, for what else
Can the feilds yeeld thee, and the stubborne season,
That yet holds in the fruite? good Gentle Sir,
Thinke not ill manners in mee for denying
Your offer'd meate, for sure I cannot eate
While I do thinke she wants; well I'me a rascall;
A villaine, slave, that onely was begotten,
To murder women and of them the best.
Val.
This is a strange affliction.
If you'le accept no greater courtisy, yet drink Sir.
Ric.
Now I am sure you hate me, and you knew
What kinde of man I am, as indeed 'tis fitt,
That every man should know me to avoide me.
If you have peace within you Sir, or goodnesse
Name that abhor'd word drinke no more unto mee,
You had safer strike me.
I pray you do not, if you love me do not.
Ual.
Sir, I meane no ill by it.
Rich.
It may be so,
Nor let me see
None sir, if you love heaven;
You know not what offence it is unto mee,
Nor good now, do not aske me why:
And I warne you once againe, let no man else speake of't,
I feare your servants will be prating to me.
Ual.
Why Sir what aile you?
Rich.
I hate drinke, ther's the end on't,
And that man that drinkes with meate is dambn'd
without an age of prayers and repentance,
And ther's a hazard too; good Sir no more,
If you will do me a free courtisy;
That I shall know for one, go take your horse,
And bring me to the place where you left her:
Val.
Since you are so importunate I will;
But I will wish Sir you had stay'd to night
Upon my credit, you shall see no drinke.
Rich.
Be gon the hearing of it makes me giddy,
Sir will you be intreated to forbeare it,
I shall be mad else.
Val.
I pray no more of that, I am quiet,
I'le but walke in and away straight.
Rich.
Now I thanke you,
But what you do, do in a twinckling, Sir.
Ual.
As soone as may bee.
Exeunt.
Enter Mother, Viola, and 2. Milckmaides.
Moth.
Is this the wench? you have brought me some
catch I warrant;
Madge.
Yes forsooth this is the maiden.
Moth.
Come hither, wood you serve?
Viola.
If it shalt please you to accept my service I hope I
shall do something that shall like you, though it be but
truth, and often praying for you.
Moth.
You are very curious of your hand me thinks,
You preserve it so with gloves, let me see it;
I marry, here's a hand of march-pane wenches:
This pretty palme never knew sorrow yet;
How soft it is I warrant you, and supple:
O' my word this is fitter for a pocket to filch withall
Then to worke, I feare me little one,
You are no better then you should be; goe too.
Vio.
My Conscience yet is but one witnesse to me,
And that heaven knows is of mine innocence,
Tis true, I must confesse, with shame enough,
The time that I have lead yet never taught me
What t'was to breake a sleep, or to be weary.
Moth.
You can say well: if you be mine, Wench, you
must doe well too, for words are but slow workers, yet
so much hope I have of you, that I'le take you so you'l bee
diligent, and do your duty: how now?
Enter Alexander.
Alex.
There is a messenger come from your son
That brings you word he is return'd from travell,
And will be here this night.
Moth.
Now joy upon thee for it, thou art ever
A bringer of good tidings, there, drinke that:
In troth thou hast much contented me, my son?
Lord how thou hast pleas'd me, shall I see my Son
Yet e're I dye? take care my house be handsome,
And the new stooles set out, and boughes and rushes,
And flowers for the window, and the Turky Carpet,
And the great parcell salt, Nan, with the Cruets,
And prethee Alexander goe to the Cooke,
And bid him spare for nothing, my son's come home,
Who's come with him?
Alex.
I heare of none yet, but a Gentlewoman?
Moth.
A Gentlewoman? what Gentlewoman.
Alex.
I know not but such a one there is, he sayes.
Moth.
Pray God he have nor cast away himselfe
Upon some snout-faire piece, I do not like it.
Alex.
No sure, my Master has more discretion.
Moth.
Well, be it how it will, he shall be welcome.
Sirs, to your tasks, and shew this little novice
Exit.
Madg.
We will forsooth, I can tell you my mistris is a
stirring woman.
Nan.
Lord how shee'le talke some times? tis the maddest
cricket—
Vio.
Mee thinks she talkes well, and shewes a great deale
of good huswifry, pray let me deck the chambers, shall I?
Nan.
Yes you shall, but doe not scorne to be avis'd sister,
for there belongs more to that then you are aware
on; why would you venture so fondly upon the strowings?
ther's mighty matters in them I'le assure you, and
in the spreading of a bough pot, you may misse if you
were ten yeares elder, if you take not a speciall care before
you.
Vio.
I will learne willingly, if that be all.
Nan.
Sirrah where is't they say my young master hath
beene?
Mag.
Faith I know not, beyond the sea, where they are
borne without noses.
Nan.
Iesse blesse us! without noses? how doe they doe
for handkerchers?
Mag.
So Richard saies, and sirrah, their feet stands in
their foreheads.
Nan.
Thats fine by my troth, these men have pestilence
running heads then; doe they speake as we doe?
Mag.
No, they never speake.
Nan.
Are they cursend?
Mag.
No they call them Infidells, I know not what
they are.
Nan.
Sirrah we shall have fine courting now my young
master is come home, were you never courted sister?
Vio.
Alas I know it not.
Mag.
What is that courting sirrah?
Nan.
I can tell, for I was once, courted in the matted
chamber, you know the party Madge, faith hee courted
finely.
Mag.
Pray thee what ist?
Nan.
Faith nothing but he was some what figent with
me, faith tis fine sport, this courting.
Alex.
within.
Where be the Maids there?
Mag.
We shall be hang'd anon, away good wenches, and
a care you dight things handsomely, I will looke over
you.
Exeunt.
Enter Mercury and Maria.
Mer.
If your sorrow will give you so far leave, pray
thinke your selfe most welcome to this place, for so upon
my life you are, and for your owne faire sake, take truce
a while with these immoderate mournings.
Wife.
I thanke you sir, I shall doe what I may;
Pray leade me to a chamber.
Enter Mother and Alexander.
Mer.
Presently,
Before your blessing mother, I entreate ye
To know this Gentlewoman, and bid her welcome,
The vertuous wife of him that was my selfe
In all my travells.
Moth.
Indeed she is most welcom, so are you son
(kneele.
Now all my blessing on thee; thou hast made me
Younger by 20 yeares, then I was yesterday,
Will you walke in? what ayles this Gentlewoman?
Alas I feare she is not well, good Gentlewoman.
Mer.
You feare right.
Moth.
She has fasted over long,
You shall have supper presently o'th boord.
Mer.
She will not eate I can assure you mother,
For Gods sake let your maide conduct her up
Into some faire becomming Chamber
Fit for a woman of her being and
As soone as may be,
I know shee's very ill, and wood have rest.
Moth.
There is one ready for her, the blew chamber.
Mer.
Tis well, I'le leade you to your Chamber doore
And there I'le leave you to your quiet, Mistris.
Wife.
I thanke you Sir, good rest to every one,
You'le see me once againe to night I hope.
Exit.
Mer.
When you shall please, I'le waite upon you Lady.
Moth.
Where are these maides attend upon the Gentlewoman,
and see she want no good thing in the house?
goodnight with all my heart forsooth, good Lord how
you are growne? is he not Alexander?
Allex.
Yes truly he's shot up finely god be thanked.
Mer.
An ill weed Mother will do so.
Allex.
You say true Sir, an ill weede growes a pace.
Mer.
Allexander the sharpe, you take me very quickly.
Moth.
Nay I can tell, Allexander will do it, do you reade
madcapp still?
Allex.
Sometimes forsooth.
Moth.
But faith son what countries have you traveld?
Mer.
Why many, Mother, as they lay befor me, France,
Spaine, Italy and Germany, and other Provinces that I am,
sure you are not betterd by, when you heare of them.
Moth.
And can you these tongues perfectly?
Mer.
Of some a little, Mother.
Moth.
Pray spout some french sonne.
Mer.
You understand it not, and to your eares 'twill
go like an unshod cart upon the stones, onely a rough unhandsome
sound.
Moth.
Faith I would faine heare some french.
Allex.
Good Sir speake some french to my Mistris.
Mer.
At your entreaty Allexander, I will, who shall
speake to?
Allex.
If your worship will do me the favour Sir, to me.
Mer.
Mounseir, Poultron, Coukew, Cullione, Besay, Man cur.
Allex.
Awe Mounseir.
Moth.
Ha, ha, ha, this fine indeed, gods blessing 'on thy
hart Son, by my troth thou art growne a proper Gentleman,
cullen and pullen, good god what aucey words they
use beyond the seas, ha, ha, ha?
Allex.
Did not you sweare right?
Mer.
Yes good Allexander, if you had done so to
But good Mother I am very hungry and have rid farr to
day and am fasting.
Moth.
You shall have your supper presently my sweet
Sonne.
Mer.
As soone as you please, which once ended,
I'le go and visit you sicke gentlewoman.
Mo.
Come then.
Exeunt.
Enter Antonio, like a Post, with a letter.
Ant.
I have ridden like a fury to make up this worke
and I will do it bravely ere I leave it, this is the house I
am sure.
Enter Allexander.
Allex.
Whood you speake with Sir?
Ant.
Marry Sir I would speake with a Gentlewoman,
came this night late heere from the City, I have some
letters of Importance to her, I am a Post Sir and would bee
dispatch'd in hast.
Allex.
Sir, cannot I deliver 'em? for the truth is shee's ill
and in her chamber.
Ant.
Pray pardon me I must needes speake with her, my
businesse is so weighty.
Allex.
I'le tell her so, and bring you present word.
Ant.
Pray do so, and I'le attend her, pray god the
griefe of my imaginde death spoyle not what I intend, I
hope it will not.
Allex.
Though she be very ill, and desires no trouble,
Yet if your businesse be so urgent, you may come up and
speake with her.
Ant.
I thanke you Sir, I follow you.
Exeit. Allex.
Enter Wife.
Wife.
What should this fellow be i'th name of heaven
that comes with such Post businesse? sure my husband
hath reveal'd himselfe, and in this hast sent after she, are
you the Post my friend?
Enter Antonio.
Ant.
Yes for sooth Mistriss.
Wife.
What good newes hast thou brought me gentle Post?
For I have woe and griefe too much already.
Ant.
I would you had lesse, Mistris, I could wish it, beshrow
my hart she moves me cruelly.
Wife.
Have I found you once more Iugler? well Iewell,
thou hast onely vetrtue in thee, of all I read of yet; what
eares has this asse to betray him with? well, what's your
businesse then?
Ant.
I have brought a letter from your servant, Mistris,
in hast.
Wife.
Pray give it me, I hope the best still.
Ant.
This is the upshot and I know I have hit it,
Well if the spirits of the dead do walke, I shall
Heare more of this one hundred yeares hence.
Wife.
By any meanes you must have speciall care, for
now the Citty is possest for certaine, my Matter is made
away, which for ought I knowe is a truth indeed; good
Mistris leave your griefe and see your danger, and let that
wise and noble Gentleman with whome you are, bee your
right hand in all things.
Ant.
Now do I know I have the better on't by the languishing
of her eye at this neere instant, 'tis stil simming in
her blood, in coyning somewhat to turne Mercury I know
it.
Wife.
He is my husband, and 'tis reasonable he should
command in all things, since he will be an asse again the
haire at his one perill be it, in the morne you shall have
a packet, 'till I must intreate you stay, you shall not loose
by it.
Ant.
I do not doubt it, Mistris; I'le leave you to your
rest and waite your pleasure.
Wife.
Do, and speake out the Gentleman of the house,
bid him come to me presently.
Ant.
Who, Mr. Mercury?
Wife.
Do you know him, post?
Ant.
Onely by sight forsooth, now I remember your
servant wild me to let you know he is the onely man, you
and your fortunes, are now to rest upon.
Wife.
Prethee no more, I know all this already.
Ant.
I'le take my leave now, I am made for ever.
Exit.
Wife.
Good night I am provided for you my fine youth
Exit.
Enter Mother beating Uiola, Allexander, with a broken glasse.
Mother.
I'le make thee have more care.
Uiola.
Good Mistris pardon me.
Moth.
Thou't neere be good I warrant thee, can your
fine fingers hold no faster?
Uiola.
Indeed it was against my will.
Moth.
Allexander, let's see the glasse, as I am true kirsome
woman, it is one of the christall glasses my cozen sent
mee and the baggage hath broake it where it cannot bee
mended, Allexander, can Humfrey mend this thinke you?
Allex.
No truly this will neere be mended.
Uiola.
Truly I meant but to wash it for the Gentlewoman,
that is sick above, and shaking out the water, knockt
it against the paile side.
Moth.
Did you so? be sure I'le stop it, 'twill make a good
gap in your quarters wages, can tell you.
Uiola.
I pray forgive me, and let me have no wages this
first quarter.
Moth.
Go whimling, and fetch two or three grating
loaves out of the kitching, to make gingerbread of, 'tis
such an untoward thing.
Exit. Uiola.
Allex.
Shee's somewhat simple indeed, she knew not
what a kimnell was, she wants good nurture mightily.
Moth.
My Sonne tells me, Alexander, that this young
widdow meanes to sojourne here, she offers largly for
her board, I may offer her good cheere, preythee make a
step i'th morning downe to the parsonage for some Pigions?
what are you mad there; what noyse is that? are you
at bowles within? why do you whine?
Enter Uiola, weeping.
Uiola.
I have done another fault, I beseech you sweete
Mistris of give me.
Mother.
What's the matter.
Uiola.
As I was reaching for the bread that lay upon the
shelfe, I have throwne downe the minct meate, that should
have made the pyes to morrow.
Moth.
Get thee out of my house thou filthy destroying
Harlot, thou, I'le not keepe thee an howre longer.
Uiola.
Good Mistris beate me rather for my fault as
much as it deserves, I do not know whether to go.
Moth.
No I warrant thee, out of my dores.
Uiola.
Indeed I'le mend, I pray speake you for me.
Allex.
If thou had'st hurl'd downe any thing but the
pye meate, I would have spoake for thee, but I cannot
finde in my hart now.
Moth.
Art thou here yet? I thinke I must have an officer
to thrust thee out of my dores, must I?
Uiola.
Why you may stop this in my wages too,
For Gods sake do, I'le finde my selfe this yeare;
And let me stay.
Mer.
Thou't spoyle ten times as much, I'le cudgell thee
out of my dores.
Uiola.
I am assur'd you are more mercifull,
Then thus to beate me and discharge me too.
Moth.
Dost thou dispute with mee, Allexander, carry the
prating hilding forth.
Uiola.
Good Mistris heere me I have heard a Jewell,
My Mother left me and 'tis something worth:
Receive it and when all my faulte together
Come to the worth of that, then turne me forth,
'Till then I pray you keep mee.
Moth.
What giggombob have wee here? pray god you
have not pilfer'd this some where; th'art such a pulling
thing, wipe your eyes, and rise go your wayes, Allexander,
bid the Cook mince some more meate, come and get you
to bed quickly that you may up betime i'th morning a
milking or you and I shall fall out worse yet.
Exit Mother and Allexander.
Uiola.
She has hurt my arme; I am a fraid, she is a very
angry woman, but blesse him heaven that did me the most
wrong, I am a fraide Antonibus wife should see mee, she
will knowe mee.
Mother
within.
Melvia.
Uiola.
I am coming, shee's not angry agen I hope.
Exit.
Enter Mercury.
Mer.
Now what am I the better for enjoying
This woman that I lov'd? so all I finde,
That I before immaginde to be happy:
Now I have done, it turnes to nothing else
But a poore pittied and a base repentance,
Udsfoote I am monstrous angry with my selfe:
And knowes how neere he looses all in these things,
Covet to have his wishes satisfied;
Which when they are, are nothing but the shame
I do begin to loath this woman straingly,
And I thinke justly too, that durst adventure,
Flinging away her modesty to take
A stranger to her bed, her husbands body
Being scarce cold in the earth for her content,
It was no more to take my sences with,
Then if I had an idle dream had in sleep
Yet I have made her promises: which grieves me,
And I must keep 'em too, I thinke she hunts me:
The Devill cannot keep these women off,
When they are fletched once.
Enter VVife in night atire.
VVife.
To bed for gods sake, Sir, why do you stay heer?
Some are up i'th house, I hard the wife,
Good deare sweete hart to bed.
Merc.
Why I am going? why do you follow me?
You would not have it knowne I hope, pray get you
Back to your chamber, the dores hard by for mee,
Let me alone I warrant you, this it is
To thresh well, have got a customer,
Will you go to bed?
VVife.
Will you?
Mer.
Yes I am going.
VVife.
Then remember your promise you made to
marry mee.
Mer.
I will, but it was your fault, that it came
To this pinch now, that it must neede remembrance:
For out of honesty I offer'd you
To marry you first, why did you slacke that offer?
Wife.
Alas I told you the inconvenience of it,
And what wrong it would appeare to the world
If I had married you in such post hast
After his death: beside, the foolish people
VVould have beene bold to have thought wee had lyen
together in his time, and like enough imagin'd
Mer.
I love her tongue yet,
If I were a Saint
A gilded Saint, and such a thing as this
Should prate thus wittily and feelingly
Unto my holinesse, I cannot tell,
But I feare shrewdly I should doe something
That would quite scratch me out o'the Kallender,
And if I stay longer talking with her,
Though I am mad at what I have done already,
Yet I shall forget my selfe againe;
I feele the Divell
Ready to hold my stirrop; pray to bed, god-night.
Wife.
This kisse, god-night sweet Love,
And peace goe with thee: thou hast prov'd thy selfe
The honestest man that ever was entic'd
To that sweet sin as people please to call it,
Of lying with anothers VVife, and I,
I thinke the honestest woman without blushing,
That ever lay with another man, I sent my husband
Into a Cellar, post, fearing, and justly,
He should have knowne him, which I did not purpose
Till I had had my end.
VVell, now this plot is perfect, let him bragge on't.
Exit.
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