 | The Noble Gentleman |  |
Actus secundus.
Enter Gentleman Solus.Gent.
Jaques.
Jaq.
Sir.
within.
Gent.
Rise Jaques 'tis growne day,
The country life is best, where quietly
Free from the clamour of the troubled Court,
We may enjoy our own greene shadowed walkes,
And keepe a moderate diet without art.
Why did I leave my house and bring my wife,
To know the manner of this subtile place?
I would when first the lust to fame an honour,
Possest me, I had met with any evill.
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And earn the bread for the whole family
With my own hand happy had I been.
Enter Jaques.
Ja.
Sir this is from your wonted course at home,
When did ye there keep such inordinate hours?
Goe to bed late? start thrice? and call on me?
Would you were from this place; our Countrey sleepes,
Although they were but of that moderate length
That might maintain us in our daily worke,
Yet were they sound and sweet.
Gent.
I Jaques, there we dreamt not of our wives, wee lay together;
And needed not; now at length my Cozins words,
So truly ment, mixt with thy timely prayers
So often urged, to keepe me at my home,
Condemne me quite.
Ja.
'Twas not your fathers course:
He liv'd and dy'd in Orleance, where he had
His Vines as fruitfull as experience
(Which is the art of husbandry) could make;
He had his presses for 'em, and his wines
Were held the best, and out-sold other mens,
His corne and cattell serv'd the neighbour Townes
With plentifull provision, yet his thrift
Could misse one beast amongst the heard,
He rul'd more where he liv'd, then ever you will here.
Gent.
'Tis true, why should my wife then 'gainst my good,
Perswade me to continue in this course?
Ja.
Why did you bring her hither at the first,
Before you warm'd her blood with new delights!
Our countrey sports could have contented her,
When you first married her; a puppet-play
Pleas'd her as well as now the tilting doth.
She thought her selfe brave in a bugle chaine,
Where Orient pearle will scarce content her now.
Gent.
Sure Jaques, she sees something for my good
More then I doe, she oft will talk to me
Of offices, and that she shortly hopes
By her acquaintance with the friends she hath
To get a place shall many times outway
Our great expences, and if this be so—
Ja.
Think better of her words, she doth deceive you,
And only for her vaine and sensuall ends
Perswade ye thus. Let me be set to dwell
For ever naked in the barest soile
So you will dwell from hence.
Gent.
I see my folly,
Packe up my stuffe, I will away this morne.
Haste—haste.
Ja.
I, Now I see your Fathers honours
Trebling upon you, and the many prayers
The countrey spent for him, which almost now
Begun to turn to curses, turning backe,
And falling like a timely shower
Upon ye.
Gent.
Goe, call up my wife.
Ja.
But shall she not prevaile,
And sway you, as she oft hath done before?
Gent.
I will not heare her, but raile on her
Till I be ten miles off.
Ja.
If you be forty,
'Twill not be worse Sir:
Gent.
Call her up,
Ja.
I will Sir.
Exit.
Gent.
Why what an Asse was I that such a thing
As a wife is could rule me?
Know not I that woman was created for the man,
That her desires, nay all her thoughts should be
As his are? is my sense restor'd at length?
Now she shall know, that which she should desire,
She hath a husband that can govern her,
Enter Wife.
If her desires leades me against my will;
Are you come?
Wife.
What sad unwonted course
Makes you raise me so soone, that went to bed
So late last-night.
Gent.
O you shall goe to bed sooner hereafter,
And be rais'd againe at thriftie hours,
In Summer-time wee'l walke,
An houre after our supper, and to bed,
In winter you shall have a set at Cards,
And set your maids to worke.
Wife.
What do you meane?
Gent.
I wil no more of your new tricks, your honours,
Your offices, and all your large preferments,
Which still you beate into my eares, hang ore me.
I'le leave behind for others, the great sway
Which I shall beare at Court; my living here
With countenance of your honoured friends
I'le be content to loose: for you speake this
Only that you may still continue here
In wanton ease: and draw me to consume
In cloaths and other things idle for shew
That which my Father got with honest thrift.
Wife.
Why, who hath been with you Sir,
That you talke thus out of Frame.
Gent.
You make a foole of me:
You provide one to bid me forth to supper
And make me promise; then must some one or other
Invite you forth, if you have borne your selfe
Loosely to any Gentleman in my sight
At home, you ask me how I like the carriage,
Whether it were not rarely for my good,
And open'd not a way to my preferment?
Come I perceive all: talke not, we'le away.
Wife.
Why Sir, you'le stay till the next triumph
Day be past?
Gent.
I, you have kept me here triumphing
This seven yeares, and I have ridden through the streetes,
And bought embroyderd hose and foote-cloths too,
To shew a subjects zeale, I rode before
In this most gorgeous habit, and saluted
All the acquaintance I could espie
From any window, these were wayes ye told me
To raise me; I see all: make you ready straight,
And in that gowne which you came first to Town in,
Your safe-guard, cloake, and your hood sutable:
Thus on a duble gelding shall you amble,
And my man Jaques shall be set before you.
Wife.
But will you goe?
Gent.
I will.
Wife.
And shall I too?
Gen.
And you shall too.
Wife.
But shall I by this light?
Gen.
Why by this light you shall.
Wife.
Then by this light
You have no care of your estate, and mine.
Have we been seven years venturing in a ship,
And now upon return with a faire winde
And a calme sea, full fraught with our own wishes
Laden with wealth and honour to the brim,
And shall we flye away and not receive it?
Have we been tilling, sowing, labouring
With paine and charge a long and tedious winter,
And when we see the corne above the ground,
32
That promises to stuffe our spatious garners,
Shall we then let it rot, and never reap it?
Gent.
Wife talke no more, your Retoricke comes too late,
I am inflixable: and how dere you
Adventure to direct my course of life?
Was not the husband mad to rule the wife?
Wife.
'Tis true but where the man doth misse his way,
It is the womans part to set him right;
So Fathers have a power to guide their Sonnes
In all their courses, yet you oft have seene
Poore litle children that have both their eyes
Lead their blind Fathers.
Gen.
She has a plaguy witt,
I say you'r but a little piece of man.
Wife.
But such a peice, as being tane away
Man cannot last: the fairest and tallest ship,
That ever saild, is by a little peice of the same
Wood, steerd right, and turnd about.
Gen.
'Tis true she sayes, her answers stand with reason.
Wife.
But Sir, your Cozin put this in your head
Who is an enemie to your preferment,
Because I should not take place of his wife;
Come by this kisse thou shalt not go sweete heart.
Gen.
Come, by this kisse I will goe Sweet-heart,
On with your riding stuffe; I know your tricks,
And if preferment fall ere you be ready,
'Tis welcome, else adue the Citie life.
Wife.
Well Sir I will obey.
Gent.
About it then,
Wife.
To please your humour I would dresse my selfe,
In the most loathsome habit you could name
Or travell any whether ore the world
If you command me, it shall neere be said
The fraylty of a woman whose weake minde,
Is often set on loose delights and shewes,
Hath drawne her husband to consume his state,
In the vaine hope of that which never fell.
Gen.
About it then, women are pleasant creatures,
When once a man begins to know himselfe.
Wife.
But harke you Sir because I wilbe sure,
You shall have no excuse, no word to say
In your defence hereafter; when you see
What honours were preparde for you and me
Which you thus willingly have throwne away,
I tell you I did looke for present honour,
This morning for you, which I know had come
But if they do not come ere I am ready
(Which I will be the sooner least they should)
When I am once set in a countrey life,
Not all the power of earth shall alter me,
Not all your prayers or threats shall make me speak
The Least words to my honourable freinds
To do you any grace.
Gent.
I will not wish it.
Wife.
And never more hope to be honourable,
Gent.
My hopes are lower.
Wife.
As I live you shall not,
You shall be so farr from the name of noble
That you shall never see a Lord againe;
You shall not see a maske, or Barriers,
Or tilting or a solemn christning,
Or a great marriage, or new fire-works,
Or any bravery; but you shall live
At home bespotted with your owne loved durt
In scurvy cloathes as you were wont to doe,
And to content you I will live so too.
Gen.
'Tis all I wish, make hast the day drawes on,
It shall be my care to see your stuffe pact up.
Wife.
It shall be my care to gul you: you shall stay.
Ex. Gen.
And more then so intreat me humbly too
You shall have honours presently; Maria.
Enter Maria.
Mar.
Madam.
Wife.
Bring hither, pen, inke, and paper.
Ma.
'Tis here.
Wife.
Your Master Will not stay,
Unlesse preferment come within an houre.
Mar.
Let him commande one of the Citie gates
In time of mutiny, or you may provide him,
To be one of the counsell for invading,
Some savage countrey to plant christian faith.
Wife.
No, no, I have it for him, call my page
Now my deare husband there it is will fit you.
Exit. Maria
And when the world shall see what I have done,
Let it not move the spleene of any wife,
To make an asse of her beloved husband
Without good ground, but if they will be drawne
To any reason by you, do not gull them;
But if they grow conceited of themselves,
And be fine Gentlemen, have no mercie,
Publish them to the world, 'twill do them good
When they shall see their follies understood,
Go beare these letters to my servant,
And bid him make hast, I will dresse my selfe,
In all the journey cloathes I used before
Not to ride but to make the laughter more.
Exit.
Enter. Gentleman. and Jaques.
Gent.
Is all pact up?
Ja.
All, all Sir, there is no tumbler,
Runs throw his hoop with more dexteritie
Then I aboute this businesse: tis a day
That I have long longd to see.
Gent.
Come wheres my spurs?
Ja.
Here Sir, and now 'tis come.
Gent.
I Jaques now
I thanke my fates, I can command my wife.
Ja.
I am glad to see it Sir.
Gent.
I do not love alwayes,
To be made a puppie, Iaques.
Ja.
But yet me thinkes your worship does not looke,
Right like a countrey Gentleman.
Gent.
I will, give me my tother hat.
Ja.
Here.
Gen.
So, my Ierkin.
Ja.
Yes Sir.
Gent.
On with it Jaques, thou and I
Will live so finely in the countrey, Jaques,
And have such pleasant walks into the woods
A mornings, and then bring whom riding rods,
And walking staves—
Ja.
And I will beare them Sir,
And skurdge-sticks for the children.
Gen.
So thou shalt,
And thou shalt do all, over see my worke folkes
And at the weekes end pay them all their wages.
Ja.
I will Sir, so your worship give me mony.
Gent.
Thou shalt receive all too: give me my drawers
Ja.
They are ready Sir.
Gent.
And I will make thy Mistriss,
My wife, looke to her landrie and her dayry,
That we may have our linnen cleane on Sundayes.
Ja.
And holy dayes.
Gent.
I and ere we walke about the grounds
Provide our breake-fast,
Or she shall smoke, I'le have her a good huswife
33
But she shall live at home,
And feed her pullen fat, and see her maides
In bed before her, and locke all the doores
Ja.
Why that will be a life for Kings and Queenes.
Gen.
Give me my Scarfe with the great button quickly.
Ia.
'Tis done Sir.
Gen.
Now my Mittens.
Ia.
Here they are Sir.
Gen.
'Tis well? now my great dagger.
Ia.
There.
Gen.
Why so; thus it should be, now my riding rod.
Iaq.
There's nothing wanting Sir.
Gen.
Another, man, to sticke under my girdle.
Ia.
There it is.
Gen.
All is well.
Ia.
Why now me thinks your Worship looks
Like to your selfe, a man of meanes and credit,
So did your grave and famous Ancestors,
Ride up and down to faires, and cheapen cattell.
Gent.
Goe, hasten your Mistrisse, Sirra.
Ia.
It shall be done.
Exit Iaques.
Enter servant and Page.
Ser.
Who's that? who's that boy?
Page.
I thinke it be my Master.
Ser.
Who, he that walkes in gray whisking his riding rod?
Page.
Yes Sir, 'tis he.
Ser.
'Tis he indeed; he is prepar'd
For his new journey; when I wink upon you
Runne out and tell the Gentleman 'tis time—
Monsieur good day.
Gen.
Monsieur your Mistrisse is within, but yet not ready.
Ser.
My businesse is with you Sir; 'tis reported,
I know not whether by some enemie
Maliciously that envies your great hopes,
And would be ready to sow discontents
Betwixt his Majesty and you, or truly,
Which on my faith I would be sorry for,
That you intend to leave the Court in hast.
Gen.
Faith Sir within this halfe houre. Iaques?
Iaques
within:
Sir?
Gen.
Is my wife ready?
Ia.
Presently.
Ser.
But Sir,
I needs must tell you as I am your friend,
You should have tane your journey privater
For 'tis already blaz'd about the Court.
Gen.
Why Sir, I hope it is no Treason, is it?
Ser.
'Tis true Sir, but 'tis grown the common talk,
There's no discovery else held, and in the presence
All the Nobility and Gentry
Have nothing in their mouths but only this,
Monsieur Marine that noble Gentleman,
Is now departing hence, every mans face
Looks ghastly on his fellows, such a sadnesse
(Before this day) I nere beheld in Court,
Mens hearts begin to faile them when they heare it,
In expectation of the great event
That needs must follow it, pray heaven it be good!
Gen.
Why I had rather all their hearts should faile
Then I stay here untill my purse faile me.
Ser.
But yet you are a Subject, and beware
I charge you by the love I beare to you
How you doe venture rashly on a course
To make your soveraign jealous of your deeds
For Princes jealousies where they love most,
Are easily found, but they be hardly lost.
Gen.
Come these are tricks, I smell 'em, I will goe.
Ser.
Have I not still profest my selfe your friend?
Gen.
Yes, but you never shewd it to me yet.
Ser.
But now I will, because I see you wise,
And give ye thus much light into a businesse
That came to me but now, be resolute,
Stand stifly to it that you will depart,
And presently.
Gen.
Why so I meane to doe.
Ser.
And by this light you may be what you will;
Will you be secret Sir?
Gen.
Why? what's the matter?
Ser.
The King does feare you.
Gent.
How?
Ser.
And is now in Counsell;
Gent.
About me;
Ser.
About you, and you be wise,
You'l finde hee's in Counsell about you?
His Councellours have told him all the truth.
Gent.
What truth?
Ser.
Why? that which now he knows too well.
Gent.
What is't?
Ser.
That you have followed him seven years
With a great traine: and though he have not grac't you,
Yet you have div'd into the hearts of thousands,
With liberality and noble carriage;
And if you should depart home unprefer'd
All discontented, and seditious spirits
Would flocke to you and thrust you into action:
With whose help, & your Tenants, who doth not know
(If you were so dispos'd:)
How great a part of this yet fertile peaceful realm of Fran.
You might make desolate? but when the King
Heard this—
Gent.
what said he?
Ser.
Nothing, but shook,
As never Christian Prince did shake before.
And to be short you may be what you will?
But be not ambitious Sir, sit downe
With moderate honours, least you make your selfe
More feard.
Gent.
I know Sir what I have to doe
In mine own businesse.
Enter Longavile.
Long.
Where's Monsieur Mount Marine.
Ser.
Why there he stands, will you ought with him?
Long.
Yes: Good day Monsieur Marine.
Gent.
Good day to you.
Long.
His Majesty doth commend himselfe,
Most kindly to you Sir, and hath by me,
Sent you this favour: kneele downe, rise a Knight.
Gent.
I thank his Majesty.
Long.
And he doth further request you,
Not to leave the Court so soone,
For though your former merits have been slighted,
After this time there shall no Office fall;
Worthy your spirit, as he doth confesse
There's none so great, but you shall surely have it.
Ser.
Do you heare, if you yield yet you are an asse.
Gent.
I'le shew my service to his Majesty
In greater things then these, but for this small one
I must intreat his Highnesse to excuse me.
Long.
I'le beare your Knightly words unto the King,
And bring his Princely answer backe againe.
Exit Long.
Ser.
VVell said, be resolute a while, I know
There is a tide of honours comming on.
I warrant you.
Enter Bewford.
Bew.
VVhere is this new made Knight?
Gent.
Here Sir.
34
Let me enfold you in my arms,
Then call you Lord, the King will have it so,
Who doth entreat your Lordship to remember
His message sent to you by Longavile.
Ser.
If ye be durty, and dare not mount aloft;
You may yield now, I know what I would do.
Gent.
Peace, I will fit him; tell his Majesty
I am a Subject, and I do confesse
I serve a gracious Prince, that thus hath heapt
Honours on me without desert, but yet
As for the message, businesse urgeth me,
I must be gone, and he must pardon me,
Were he ten thousand Kings and Emperours.
Bew.
I'le tell him so.
Ser.
Why, this was like your selfe.
Bew.
As he hath wrought him, 'tis the finest fellow
That ere was Christmas Lord, he carries it
So truly to the life, as though he were
One of the plot to gull himselfe.
Exit Bewf.
Ser.
Why so, you sent the wisest and the shrewdest
Unto the King, I swear, my honoured friend
That ever any Subject sent his Liege.
Gent.
Nay now I know I have him on the hip,
I'le follow it.
Enter Longavile.
Long.
My honourable Lord,
Give me your noble hand right courteous Peer,
And from henceforth be a courtly Earl;
The King so wills, and Subjects must obey:
Only he doth desire you to consider
Of his request.
Ser.
Why faith you'r well my Lord, yield to him.
Gent.
Yield? why 'twas my plot.
Ser.
Nay 'twas your wives plot.
Gent.
To get preferment by it,
And thinks he now to pop me ith mouth
But with an Earldome, Ile be one step higher.
Ser.
'Tis the finest Lord, I am afraid anon
He will stand upon't to share the Kingdome with him.
Enter Bewford.
Bew.
Wher's this Courtly Earle?
His Majesty commends his love unto you;
And will you but now grant to his request,
He bids you be a Duke, and chuse of whence.
Ser.
Why if you yield not now, you are undone,
What can you wish to have more, but the Kingdome?
Gent.
So please his Majesty, I would be Du. of Burgundy
Because I like the place.
Bew.
I Know the King is pleas'd.
Gen.
Then will I stay and kisse his Highnesse hand.
Bew.
His Majesty wil be a glad man when he hears it.
Lon.
But how shall we keep this from the worlds eare
That some one tell him not, he is no Duke?
Ser.
Wee'l think of that anon.
Why Gentlemen, is this a gracious habit for a Duke?
Each gentle body set a finger to
To pluck the clouds of this his riding weeds
From off the orient sunne of his best cloths;
I'le pluck one boot and spur off.
Long.
I another.
Bew.
Ile pluck his Jerkin off.
Ser.
Sit down my Lord;
Both his spurs off at once good Longavile
And Bewford take that scarfe off, and that hat
Doth not become his largely sprouting fore-head.
Now set your gracious foot to this of mine,
One pluck will do it, so, off with the other.
Lon.
Loe thus your servant Longavile doth pluck
The trophy of your former gentry off,
Off with his Jerkin Bewford.
Ser.
Didst thou never see
A nimble footed Taylor stand so in his stockings,
Whilst some friend help to pluck his Jerkin off,
To dance a Jigg?
Enter Jaques.
Lon.
Here's his man Jaques come
Booted and ready still.
Ja.
My Mistris stayes;
Why how now Sir? what do your Worship mean,
To plucke your grave and thrifty habit off?
Gent.
My slippers, Jaques.
Lon.
O thou mighty Duke
Pardon this man,
That thus hath trespassed in ignorance.
Gent.
I pardon him.
Lon.
His Graces slippers, Jaques.
Ia.
Why what's the matter?
Lon.
Foot-man, hee's a Duke:
The King hath rais'd him above all his land.
Ja.
I'le to his Couzen presently, and tell him so;
O what a dung-hill countrey rogue was I!
Exit Iaques.
Enter Wife.
Ser.
See, see, my Mistrisse.
Lon.
Let's observe their greeting.
Wife.
Unto your will as every good wife ought,
I have turnd all my thoughts, and now am ready.
Gent.
O Wife I am not worthy to kisse the least
Of all thy toes, much lesse thy thumb,
Which yet I would be bold with; all thy counsell
Hath been to me Angelicall, but mine to thee
Hath been most durty like my mind:
Deare Duchesse I must stay.
Wife.
What are you mad to make me
Dresse, and undresse, turne and winde me,
Because you find me plyant? said I not
The whole world should not alter me, if once
I were resolv'd? and now you call me Duchesse:
Why what's the matter?
Gent.
Loe a Knight doth kneel.
Wife.
A Knight?
Gent.
A Lord.
Wife.
A foole.
Gent.
I say doth kneele an Earle, a Duke.
Long.
In drawers.
Bew.
Without shoes.
Wife.
Sure you are lunatick.
Ser.
No honoured Duchesse
If you dare but believe your servants truth,
I know he is a Duke.
Long.
God save his Grace.
Wife.
I aske your Graces pardon.
Gent.
Then I rise,
And here in token that all strife shall end
'Twixt thee and me, I let my drawers fall
And to thy hands I do deliver them:
Which signifies, that in all acts and speeches,
From this time forth my wife shall wear the breeches.
Ser.
An honourable composition.
Exeunt omnes.
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