 | The Coxcombe |  |
Actus Secundus
Scena Prima.
Enter Mercury.Mercury.
I cannot sleep for thinking of this Asses wife,
I'le be gon presently, ther's no staying heere,
with this Divell about me? hoe, this is the house of sleep,
hoe? againe ther'sfoote the darknesse, and this love together,
will make mee lunaticke; ho?
Enter a Servingman aboue unready.
Ser.
Who calls there?
Mer.
Pray take the paines to rise and light a candle.
Ser.
Presently,
Mer.
Was ever man but I in such a stockes? well this shal
be a warning to me, and a faire one too, how I betray my
selfe to such a dunce, by way of benefit.
Enter Servingman.
Ser.
Did you call?
Mer.
Yes, pray doe me the kindnesse sir, to let me out
and not to enquire why, for I must needs be gone.
Ser.
Not to night, I hope sir.
Mer.
Good sir to night, I would not have troubled you
else, pray let it be so.
Ser.
Alas sir, my Master will be offended.
Mer.
That I have businesse? no I warrant yee.
Ser.
Good sir take your rest.
Mer.
Pray my good friend let me appoint my owne rest.
Ser.
Yes sir.
Mer.
Then shew me the way out, I'le consider you.
Ser.
Good Lord, sir.
Mer.
If I had not an excellent tempered patience, now
should I breake this fellowes head, and make him understand
'twere necessary; the onely plague of this house
is the unhandsome love of servants, that neere doe their
duty in the right place, but when they muster before dinner,
and sweep the table with a wodden dagger, and then
they are troublesom too, to all mens shoulders, the Woodcocks
flesht agen, now I shall have a new stir.
Enter Antonio.
Ant.
VVhy how now friend? what do you up so late?
are you well? do you want any thing? pray speake.
Mer.
Onely the cause I rise for.
Ant.
What knaues are these? what do you want? why
sirrah?
Mer.
Nothing i'the world, but the keyes to let me out
of dores; I must be gon, bee not against it, for you cannot
stay me.
Ant.
Begon at this time? that were a merry jest.
Mer.
If there be any mirth in't, make you use on't, but I
must go.
Ant.
Why for loves sake?
Mer.
'Twill benefit your understanding nothing to
know the cause, pray go to bed, I'le trouble your man
only.
Ant.
Nay Sir you have rais'd more, that has reason to
curse you, and you knew all, my wifes up, and comming
downe too.
Mer.
Alas it will be a trouble, pray go up to her and let
me disturbe no more, 'tis unmannerly.
Enter Wife as out of her bed.
Ant.
Shee's here already; sweet hart: how say you by this
Gentleman? he would away at midnight.
Wife.
That I am sure hee will not.
Mer.
Indeed I must.
Mari.
Good Sir let not your homely entertainement
presse you to leave your bed at midnight; if you want,
what my house or your towne may afford you, make it
your own fault if you call not for it pray go to bed again;
let me compell you, I am sure you have no power to denye
a woman; the ayre is piercing, & to a body beaten with
long travell, 'twill prove an ill Physitian.
Mer.
If she speake longer I shall be a knaue, as ranke as
ever sweat for't; Sir if you will send your wife up presently,
I will either stay with you, d'ye marke, me or deliver
you, so just a cause, that you your selfe, shall thrust me out
of doores, both suddainly and willingly.
Ant.
I would falne heare that faith, pray thee go up
sweet hart, I have halfe perswaded him, besides, he hath
some private businesse with mee.
Mer.
Good night Sir, and what content you would
have, I wish with you.
Exit.
Mer.
Could any man that had a back aske more? o me! o
the!
Ant.
Now deale directly with me: why should you go?
Mer.
If you be wise do not enquire the cause, 'twill trouble
you:
Ant.
VVhy? prithee why?
Mer.
Faith I would not have you know it, let me go,
'twill be far better for you.
Ant.
Who's that, that knocks there? i'st not at the
street doore?
Ser.
Yes sir.
Ant.
Who's there, cannot you speake?
Within Vio.
A poore distressed maid, for gods sake let me in.
Mer.
Let her in and me out together, 'tis but one labour,
tis pity shee should stand ith' street, it seemes she knowes
you.
Ant.
There shee shall stand for me, you are ignorant;
this is a common custome of the Rogues that lie about
the loose parts of the City.
Mer.
As how?
Ant.
To knock at doores in dead time of night, and
use some fained voyce to raise compassion, and when the
doores are open, in they rush, and cut the throats of all
and take the booty, we cannot be too carefull.
Within Ui.
As ever you had pity let me in, I am undone
else.
Ant.
Who are you?
Vio.
My name is Viola, a Gentlewoman, that ill chance
hath distressed, you know my father.
Mer.
Alas of god we'll let her in, 'tis one of the Gentlewomen
were here ith' evening, I know her by her
name, (poore soule) shee's cold I warrant her, let her have
my warme Bed, and Ile take her fortune; come, pray
come.
Ant.
It is not Viola that's certaine, she went home to
her fathers, I am sure;
Vio.
Will not you be so good to let me in?
Ant.
I'le be so good to have you whipt away if you stay
a little longer: Shee's gone I warrant her, now let mee
know your cause for I will heare it, and not repent the
knowing.
Mer.
Since you are so importunate, I'le tell you, I love
your wife extreamly.
Ant.
Uery well.
Mer.
And so well that I dare not stay.
Ant.
VVhy?
For wronging you, I know I am flesh and blood,
and you have done me friendships infinite and often, that
must require me honest and a true man, and I will be so or
I'le breake my heart.
Ant.
VVhy, you may stay for all this, methinks.
Mer.
No, though I wood be good, I am no saint, nor is
it safe to try mee, I deale plainely.
Ant.
Come, I dare try you, do the best you can.
Mer.
You shall not when I am right agen, I'le come and
see you, till when, I'le use all Countryes and all meanes, but
I will loose this folly, 'tis a Divell.
Ant.
Is there no way to stay you?
Mer.
No, unles you will have me such a villaine to you
as all men shall spit at mee.
Ant.
Do's she know you love her?
Mer.
No I hope not, that were recompence fit for a
Rogue to render her.
Ant.
If ever any had a faithfull friend I am that man,
and I may glory in't, this is he, that ipse, he that passes all
Christendome for goodnesse, hee shall not over go me in
his friendship twere recreant and base, and I'le be hang'd
first, I am resolv'd, go thy wayes, a wife shall never part us,
I have consider'd and I finde her nothing to such a friend
as thou art; I'le speake a bold word, take your time and
woe her, you have overcome me cleerely, and do what's
fitting with her, you conceive mee, I am glad at hart you
love her: by this light, ne're stare upon me for I will not
flye from it, if you had spoken sooner, sure you had bin
serv'd; Sir, you are not every man, now to your taske, I
give you free leave, and the sinne is mine if there be any
in it.
Mer.
Hee will be hang'd before he makes this good, hee
cannot be so innocent a Coxcombe, he can tell ten sure, if
I had never knowne you as I have done, I might be one, as
others perhaps sooner, but now 'tis impossible ther's too
much good betweene us.
Ant.
Well thou art een the best man—I can say no more,
I am, so over joy'd, you must stay this night, and in the
morning go as earely as you please, I have a toy for you.
Mer.
I thought this pill would make you sicke.
Ant.
But where you meane to be I must have notice,
And it must be hard by too, do you marke me?
Mer.
Why? what's the matter?
Ant.
There is a thing in hand.
Mer.
Why? what thing?
Ant.
A sound one, if it take right, and you be not peevish
We two will be—you would little thinke it; as famous
for our friendship—
Mer.
How?
Ant.
If God please, as ever Damon was and Pytheas or Pylades,
and Orestes, or any two that ever were: do you conceive
me yet?
Mer.
No by my troth Sir; he will not help me up sure.
Ant.
You shall anon, and for our names, I thinke they
shal live after us, and be remember'd while there is a story;
or I loose my aime.
Mer.
What a vengeance ailes hee? how do you?
Ant.
Yes faith, wee two wilbe such friends as the world
shall ring off.
Mer.
And why is all this?
Ant.
You shall enjoy my wife.
Mer.
Away, away.
Ant.
The wonder must begin, so I have cast it, 'twill be
scurvy else, you shall not stirr a foote i'nt, pray be quiet
'till I have made it perfect.
Mer.
What shall a man do with this wretched fellow?
there is no mercy to be used towards him, he is not capable
of any pitty, he will in spight of course be a Cuckold,
And who can help it? must it begin so needs Sir?—
thinke agen.
Ant.
Yes marry must it, and I my selfe will woe this woman
for you, do you perceive it now? ha?
Mer.
Yes now I have a little sight i'th matter; o that
thy head should be so monstrous, that al thy Servants hatts
may hang upon't! but do you meane to do this?
Ant.
Yes certaine, I will woe her, and for you, strive not
against it, 'tis the overthrow of the best plott that ever
was then.
Mer.
Nay I'le assure you Sir, I'le do no harme, you have
too much about you of your owne.
Ant.
Have you thought of a place yet?
Mer.
A place?
Ant.
I a place where you will bide, pre'thee no more of
this modesty, 'tis foolish, and we were not determinde to be
absolute friends indeed, 'twere tolerable.
Mer.
I have thought, and you shall heare from me.
Ant.
Why? this will gaine me everlasting glory; I have
the better of him, that's my comfort, good night.
Exit.
Mer.
Good night, well go thy wayes, thou art the tydiest
wittall this day I thinke above ground, and yet thy
end for all this must bee mottly.
Exit.
Enter a Tincker, with a cord, and Dorathy.
Tinck.
'Tis bitter cold; a plague upon these Rogues,
how wary they are growne? not a doore open now, but
double bard, not a window, but up with a case of wood
like a spice box, and their locks unpickable, the very
smithes that were halfe venturers, drink penitent
single Ale, this is the Iron age, the Ballad sings of; well I
shall meet with some of our loose Linnen yet, good fellowes
must not starve; heer's he shall shew you God a
mighties dog bolts, if this hold.
Dorathy.
Faith thou art but too mercifull, that's thy
fault thou art as sweete a thiefe, that sin excepted ever
sufferd, that's a proud word and I'le maintaine it.
Tinck.
Come prethee let's shogg off, & brouze an hower
or two, ther's ale will make a Cat speake, at the harrow,
we shall get nothing now, without we batter, 'tis
growne too neere morning, the Rogues sleep sober, and
are watchfull.
Dorit.
Wee want a Boy extreamely for this function
kept under for a yeare, vvith milke and knott-grasse; in my
time I have seene a boy do wonders Robbin the red Tincker
had a boy Rest his soule he sufferd this time 4. yeares for
two spoones, & a Pevvter Candlestick, that svveet man had
a Boy as I am Curstend Whore, would have run through
a Cat hole, he vvold have boulted such a peece of linen
in an evening—
Tinck.
Well, vve vvill have a Boy, prethee lets go, I am
vengeance cold I tell thee.
Dorithy.
I'le be hang'd before I stirr vvithout some purchase
by these ten bones, I'le turne she ape and untile a
house, but I'le have it, it may be I have an humour to bee
hang'd, I cannot tell.
Enter Uiola,
Tinck.
Peace, you flead vvhore, thou hast a mouth like a
Bloodhounde, heere comes a night shade.
Dorit.
A Gentlevvoman vvhore, by this darkenesse I'le
case her to the skin.
Tinck.
Peace I say.
Uiola.
What feare have I endured this dismall night?
And vvhat disgrace if I vvere seene and knovvne?
In vvhich this darkenesse, onely is my friend,
That onely has undone me; a thousand curses
Light on my easy, foolish childish, love,
That durst so lightly lay a confidence
Upon a man, so many being false;
My wearinesse, and weeping makes me sleepie, I must lye
downe.
Tin.
VVhats this? a prayer, or a homilie, or a Ballad of
good councell? she has a gowne, I am sure.
Dor.
Knock out her braines and then shee'le neere byte.
Tin.
Yes I will knock her, but not yet, you? woman?
Viol.
For gods sake what are you?
Tin.
One of the groomes of your wardrobe, come uncase,
uncase; byr lady a good Kersey.
Uio.
Pray doe not hurt me sir.
Dor.
Lets have no pitty, for if you doe, heres that shall
cutt your whistle.
Uiol.
Alas what would you have? I am as miserable
as you can mak me any way.
Dor.
That shall be tryde.
Uio.
Here, take my gowne if that will doe you pleasure.
Tin.
Yes marry will it, looke in the pockets Doll, there
may be birds.
Dor.
They are flovvn a pox goe with them, I'le have
this Hatt, and this Ruffe too, I like it, novv vvill I flourish
like a Lady, brave I faith boy.
Uio.
Y'are so gentle people to my seeming,
That by my truth I could live vvith you.
Tin.
Could you so? a pretty young round vvench, vvell
bloudded, I am for her, theeves.
Dor.
But by this I am not, coole your Codpiece, Rogue,
or Ile clap a spell upon't, shall take your edge off with a
very vengeance.
Tin.
Peace horse-flesh, peace, Ile cast off my Amazon,
she has walked too long, and is indeede notorious, sheele
fight and scould, and drinke like one of the worthies.
Dort.
Vds pretious you young contagious whore must
you be ticing? and is your flesh so wrank sir, that two
may live upon't? I am glad to heare your cortall growne
so lusty; he was dry foundered tother day, weehee my
pampered lade of Asia.
Vio.
Good woman doe not hurt me, I am sorry that I
have given any cause of anger.
Dor.
Either binde her quickly and come away, or by
this steele Ile tell though I trusse for company; now could
leate her broyld, or any way, without vinegar, I must
have her nose.
Vio.
By any thing you love best, good sir, good woman.
Tin.
Why her nose Dorithy?
Dor.
If I have it not and presently and warme, I loose
that I goe withall.
Tin.
Wood the Devill had that thou goest withall, and
thee together, for sure he got thy whelps if thou hast any,
shees thy deere dad, whore I put up your cutpurse; an I
take my swich up, twill be a black time with you else
sheth your bung whore.
Dor.
Will you binde her? we shall stand here prating
and be hang both.
Tin.
Come I must bind you, not a word, no crying.
Vio.
Doe what you will, indeed I will not cry.
Tin.
Hurt her not, if thou dost by Ale and Beare Ile
clout thy old bald braine pan, with a peece of brasse, you
bitch incarnate.
Exeunt Tinker and Dorithy.
Uiola.
O God to what am I reserved, that knew not
Through all my childish howers and actions
More sinne then poore imagination,
And too much loving of a faithlesse man?
For which I am paid, and so, that not the day
That now is rising to protect the harmelesse,
And give the innocent a sanctuary
From theeves and spoylers, can deliver me
From shame, at least suspition—
Enter Valerio.
Val.
Sirrah leade downe the horses easily, I'le walke a
foot till I be downe the hill, tis very early, I shall reach
home betimes. How now, whose there?
Vio.
Night that was ever friend to lovers, yet
Has rais'd some weary soule, that hates his bed
To come and see me blush, and then laugh at me.
Val.
H'ad a rude heart that did this.
Vio.
Gentle sir,
If you have that which honest men call pitty,
And be as far from evill as you shew;
Helpe a poore maide, that this night by bad fortune
Has beene thus us'd by Robbers.
Val.
A pox upon his heart that would not helpe thee,
this theefe was halfe a Lawyer, by his bands, how long
have you bin tyed here?
Viol.
Alas this hower, and with cold and feare am almost
perisht.
Val.
Where were the watch the while? good sober Gent.
they were like carefull members of the City, drawing in
diligent ale and singing catches, while Mr. Constable contrived
the tosts: these fellowes would bee more severely
punisht then wandring Gipsies, that every statute whipps,
for if they had every one two eyes a peece more, three
pots would put them out.
Viol.
I cannot tell I found no Christian to give me succour.
Val.
When they take a theefe, I'le take Ostend agen;
the whorsons drinke opium in their Ale, & then they sleep
like topps; as for their bills; they onely serve to reach
downe Bacon to make Rashers on; now let mee know
whom I have done this courtesie too, that I may thanke
my early rising for it?
Viol.
Sir, All I am, you see.
Val.
You have a name I'm sure, and a kindred, a father,
friend or something that must owne you; shee's a handsome
young wench; what Rogues were these to Rob
her?
Vio.
Sir you see all I dare reveale,
And as you are a Gent presse me no further;
For there begins a griefe whose bitternesse
Will breake a stronger heart then I have in me,
And twill but make you heavie with the hearing,
For your owne goodnesse sake desire it not.
Val.
If you would not have me enquire that, how do
you live then?
Viol.
How I have lived, is still one question,
Which must not be resolu'd—
How I desire to live, is in your liking,
So worthy an opinion I have of you,
Val.
Is in my liking? how I pray thee? tell me, ifaith
I'le do you any good lys in my power; she has an eye would
raise a bedrid man; come leave your feare and tell mee,
thats a good wench.
Uiol.
Sir I would serve—
Ual.
Who wouldst thou serve? doe not weepe and tell
me.
Uiol.
Faith sir even some good woman, and such a
wife if you be married, I doe imagine yours.
Ual.
Alas! thou art young and tender, let me see thy
hand, this was neere made to wash or wind up water, beate
cloaths, or rub a floore, by this light, for one use that shall
be namelesse, tis the best wanton hand that ere I lookt
on.
Uio.
Dare you accept me sir, my heart is honest,
Among your vertuous charitable deeds;
This will not be the least.
Thou canst in a Chamber.
Uio.
In a Chamber sir.
Ual.
I meane waite there upon a Gentlewoman,
How quick she is, I like that mainely too;
Ile have her, though I keepe her with maine strength
like a besieged towne, for I know I shall have the enemy
afore me within a weeke.
Uiol.
Sir I can sow too, and make pretty laces,
Dresse a head handsome, teach young gentlewomen,
For in all these I have a little knowledge.
Ual.
Tis well, no doubt I shall encrease that knowledge;
I like her better still, how she provokes me; pritty
youngmaid you shall serve a good Gentlewoman, though
I say't that will not be unwilling you should please mee,
nor I forgetfull if you doe.
Uiol.
I am the happier.
Ual.
My man shall make some shift to carry you behind
him, can you ride well?
Uiola.
But I'le hold fast for catching of a fall.
Ual.
That's the next way to pull another on you, I'le
worke her as I go I know shee's wax, now, now, at this
time could I begett a worthy on this wench.
Uiol.
Sir for this Gentlenesse, may heaven requite you tenfold.
Ual.
'Tis a good wench however others use thee, be
sure I'le bee a loving master to thee, come.
Exeunt.
Enter Antonio like an Irish Footman, with a letter.
Ant.
I hope I am vvilde enough for being knovvne I
have vvrit a letter here, and in it have abus'd my selfe
most bitterly, yet all my feare is not enough, for that must
do it, that must lay it on, I'le vvin her out i'th flint, 'tvvill
be more famous, novv for my language.
Enter Servingman.
Ser.
Now Sir vvho vvould you speake vvith?
Ant.
Where be thy Mastres man? I vvould speake ith her.
I have a letter.
Ser.
Cannot I deliver it?
Ant.
No by my trot and fait can'st thou not man.
Ser.
Well Sir I'le call her to you, pray shake your eares
vvithout a little.
Ant.
Cran a Cree do it quickly; this rebbell tonge sticks
in my teeth vvorse then a toughe hen, sure it vvas nere
knovvne at Babell, for they soul'd no apples, and this
vvas made for certaine at the first planting of Orchards
'tis so crabbed.
Enter. Wife, and servingman.
Mar.
Whats he wood speake with me?
Ser.
A kill kenny ring, there he stands Madam.
Mar.
What would you have with me, friend?
Ant.
He has a letter for other women, wilt thou read it.
Mar.
From whence?
Ant.
De Crosse creest from my Master.
Mar.
Who is your Master?
Ant.
I pray do you looke.
Mar.
Doe you know this fellow?
Ser.
No Maddam not I; more then an Irish footman
stand further friend, I doe not like your roperunners,
what stallion Rogues are these, to weare such dovvsetts,
the very Cotton may commit adultery.
Mar.
I cannot find whose hand this should be, Ile reade,
to the beauteous vvife of Don Antonio, sure this is some
blind scrib—vvell novv vvhat follovves?
Ant.
Pray God it take, I have given her, that will stirr
her conscience, how it workes with her; hope if it be thy
will let the flesh have it.
Mar.
This is the most abhor'd, intollerable knavery,
that ever slave entertain'd, sure there is more then thine
owne head in this villany, it goes like practic'd mischeife,
disabled in his body? o good God, as I live he lyes fearefully,
and basely, ha? I should know that Iewell, 'tis my
husband, come hither shat, are you an Irish man?
Ant.
Sweete woman a Cree I am an Irish man.
Mar.
Now I know it perfectly; is this your trick Sir? I'le
trick you for it; how long have you serv'd this Gentleman?
Ant.
Please thee a little day, o my Mac dermond put me
to my mastree, 'tis don I know.
Mar.
By my faith he speakes as well as if he had been
lousy for the language a yeare or two; well Sir, you had
bin better have kept your owne shape as I will use you,
what have I don that should deserve this tryall, I never
made him cuckold to my knowledge, Sirrah com hither.
Ant.
Now will she send some Iewell, or some letter
I know her minde as well; I shall be famous.
Mar.
Take this Irish bawde heere.
Ant.
How?
Mar.
And kicke him till his breeches and breech bee of
one colour a bright blew both.
Ant.
I may be well swing'd thus, for I dare not reveale
my selfe, I hope shee does not meane it, o hone o hone, o
St. Patricke, o a Cree, o sweet woman.
Mar,
No turne him and kick him o tother side, that's well.
Ant.
O good waiting man, I beseech thee good waiting
man, a pox fyre your leggs.
Mar.
You Rogue you enimy to all, but little breeches
how darst thou come to me with such a letter?
Ant.
Prethee pitty the poore Irishman, all this makes
for me, if I win her yet, I am still more glorious.
Mar.
Now could I weep at what I have don, but I'le
harden my hart agen, go shut him up, 'till my husband
comes home, yet thus much ere ye go, sirrah thatch'd head,
would'st not thou be whipt & think it justice? well Aquavitæ
Barrell, I will bounce you.
Ant.
I pray do, I beseech you be not angry.
Mar.
O you hobby headed Raskall, I'le have you flead,
and trossers made of thy skin to tumble in, go a way with
him, let him see no sun, 'till my husband come home,
sir I shall meet with you for your knavery, I feare it not.
Ant.
Wilt thou not let mee go? I do not like this.
Mar.
Away with him.
Servingman.
Come I'le lead you in by your Iacke a lent
haire, go quietly or I'le make your crupper cracke.
Mar.
And do you heare me sirrah? and when you have
done, make my Coach ready.
Serving.
Yes forsooth.
Exit. Servingman with Antonio.
Mar.
Locke him up safe enough I'le to this Gentleman,
I know the reson of all this businesse, for I do suspect it,
If he have this plott, I'le ring him such a peale, shall make
his eares deafe for a moneth at least.
Exit.
Enter Richardo.
Ric.
Am I not mad? can this weake temper'd head,
That will be mad with drink, endure the wrong
That I have done a virgin and my love?
Be mad, for so thou ought'st, or I vvill beate
The vvalls and trees, dovvne vvith thee, and vvill let
Either thy memory out or madnesse in,
But sure I never lov'd faire Uiola:
I never lov'd my Father nor my Mother,
Or any thing but drinke; had I had love;
Nay, had I knovvne so much charity,
As would have sav'd an Infant from the fire,
I had bin naked, raving in the street:
With halfe a face, gashing my selfe with knives,
Two howers ere this time.
Enter Pedro, Siluio, Vberto.
Ped.
Good morrow Sir.
Rich.
Good morrow Gentlemen, shal we go drink agen?
Ped.
So have I but they are unsetled ones, would I had
some porrige.
Rich.
The taverne boy was here this morning with mee
And told me that there was a Gentlewoman,
Which he tooke for a whore that hung on me:
For whom we quarrel'd, and I know not what.
Ped.
I faith nor I.
Ube.
I have a glimmering of some such thing.
Rich.
Was it you Silvio,
That made me drinke so much? 'twas you or Pedro.
Ped.
I know not who.
Sil.
We were all apt enough.
Rich.
But I will lay the fault on none but me,
That I would be so entreated, come Silvio,
Shall we goe drinke agen, come Gentlemen,
Why do you stay, let's never leave off now,
Whilst we have Wine and throates, I'le practise it,
Till I have made it my best quality;
For what is best for me to do but that?
For Gods sake come and drinke; when I am nam'd
Men shall make answer, which Richado meane you?
The excellent drinker? I will have it so,
Will you goe drinke?
Silv.
We drunke too much too lately.
Rich.
Why there is then the lesse behind to drinke,
Let's end it all, dispatch that, wee'l send abroad,
And purchase all the Wine the world can yield,
And then drinke it off, then take the fruits o'the earth,
Distill the Juice from them, and drinke that off;
Wee'l catch the raine before it fall to ground,
And drinke off that that never more may grow;
Wee'l set our mouths to Springs, and drinke them off,
And all this while wee'l never thinke of those
That love us best, more then we did last night.
We will not give unto the poore a drop
Of all this drinke, but when we see them weepe,
Weel run to them, and drinke their teares off too,
Wee'l never leave whilst there is heate or moysture,
In this large globe, but suck it cold and dry,
Till we have made it Elementall earth,
Meerly by drinking.
Ped.
Is't flattery to tell you, you are mad?
Rich.
If it be false,
There's no such way to bind me to a man;
He that will have me, lay my goods and lands,
My life down for him, need no more, but say
Richardo thou art mad, and then all these
Are at his service, then he pleases me,
And makes me thinke that I had vertue in me,
That I had love, and tendernesse of heart,
That though I have committed such a fault,
As never creature did, yet runinng mad,
As honest men should doe for such a crime,
I have exprest some worth, though it be late:
But I alas have none of these in me,
But keep my wits still like a frozen man,
That had no fire within him.
Sil.
Nay good Richardo leave this wild talk, and send a
letter to her, I'le deliver it.
Rich.
'Tis to no purpose; perhaps she's lost last night,
Or she got home agen, she's now so strictly
Look'd to, the wind can scarce come to her, or admit
She were her selfe; if she would hear from me,
From me unworthy, that have us'd her thus,
She were so foolish, that she were no more
To be beloved.
Enter Servant with a Night-gown.
Ser.
Sir, we have foūd this night-gown she took with her.
An.
Where?
Rich.
Where? where? speake quickly.
Ser.
Searching in the Suburbs, we found a Tinker and
his whore, that had in it a sap-house, whom we apprehended,
and they confest they stole it from her.
Rich.
And murthered her?
Sil.
What aile you Man?
Rich.
Why all this doth not make me mad.
Sil.
It does, you would not offer this else, good Pedro
looke to his sword.
Ser.
They do deny the killing of her, but swore they
left her tyed to a tree, in the fields, next those Suburbs
that are without our Ladies gate, neer day, & by the rode,
so that some passinger must needs unty her quickly.
And.
The will of heaven be done? Sir I wil only entreat
you this, that as you were the greatest occasion of her
losse, that you will be pleased to urge your friends, and be
your selfe earnest in the search of her; if she be found, she
is yours, if she please, I my selfe only; see these people better
examin'd, and after follow some way in search, God
keepe you Gentlemen.
Exit.
Sil.
Alas good man!
Ric.
VVhat think you now of me, I think this lump
Is nothing but a piece of fleagme congeal'd
VVithout a soule, for where theres so much spirit
As would but warm a flea, those faults of mine
VVould make it glow and flame in this dull heart,
And run like molten gold through every sin,
Till it could burst these walls and fly away.
Shall I intreat you all to take your horses,
And search this innocent?
Ped.
VVith all our hearts.
Ric.
Do not devide your selves till you come there,
VVhere they say she was ty'd, I'le follow too,
But never to return till she be found.
Give me my sword good Pedro, I will do
No harme believe me with it, I am now
Farre better temper'd, If I were not so,
I have enow besides, God keep you all,
And send us good successe.
Exeunt.
| The Coxcombe | |