University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius.

Scæna prima.

Enter Theodor, Putskey, Ancient, and Servant.
The.
I wonder we heare no newes.

Put.
Heere's your fathers servant,
He comes in haste too, now we shall know all sir.

The.
How now?

Ser.
I am glad I have met you sir; your father
Intreats ye presently make haste unto him.

The.
What newes?

Ser.
None of the best Sir, I am asham'd to tell it,
Pray aske no more.

The.
Did not I tell ye Gentlemen?
Did not I prophesie? he is undone then.

Ser.
Not so Sir, but as neare it—

Put.
There's no help now;
The Armye's scatter'd all, though discontent,
Not to be rallied up in haste to help this.

Anc.
Plague of the devill; have ye watch'd your seasons?
We shall watch you ere long.

The.
Farewell, there's no cure,
We must endure all now: I know what I'le doe.

Ex. The. & Ser.
Put.
Nay there's no striving, they have a hand upon us,
A heavy, and a hard one.

Anc.
Now I have it,
We have yet some Gentlemen, some boyes of mettle,
(What, are we bob'd thus still, colted, and carted?)
And one mad trick wee'l have to shame these vipers;
Shall I blesse 'em?

Put.
Farwell: I have thought my way too.

Exit.
Anc.
Were never such rare cryes in Christendome,
As Mosco shall affoord: wee'l live by fooling,
Now fightings gone, and they shall find & feele it.

Exit.

Scæne 2.

Enter Archas, Honora, and Viola.
Ar.
No more: it must be so; do you think I would send ye
Your father, and your friend—

Viol.
Pray Sir be good to us,
Alas, we know no Court, nor seeke that knowledge;
We are content like harmles things at home,
Children of your content, bred up in quiet,
Only to know our selves, to seeke a wisedome
From that we understand, easie, and honest;
To make our actions worthy of your honour,
Their ends as innocent as we begot 'em:
What shall we looke for Sir, what shall we learne there,
That this more private sweetnesse cannot teach us?
Vertue was never built upon ambition,
Nor the soules beauties bred out of braverie:
What a terrible Father would you seeme to us,
Now you have moulded us, and wrought our tempers
To easie and obedient waies, uncrooked,
Where the faire minde can never lose, nor loiter,
Now to divert our Natures, now to stem us
Roughly against the tide of all this treasure?
Would ye have us proud? 'tis sooner bred, then buried;
Wickedly proud? for such things dwell at Court Sir.

Ho.
Would you have your children learn to forget their father,
And when he dies dance on his Monument?
Shall we seeke vertue in a Sattin gowne,
Imbroider'd vertue? faith in a well-curl'd feather?
And set our credits to the tune of green sleeves?
This may be done; and if you like, it shall be.
You should have sent us thither, when we were younger,
Our Maiden-heads at a higher rate, our Innocence
Able to make a Mart indeed: we are now too old Sir,
Perhaps they'l think too cunning too, and slight us,
Besides we are altogether unprovided,
Unfurnish'd utterly of the rules should guide us:
This Lord comes licks his hand; and protests to me:
Compares my beauty to a thousand fine things;
Mountaines, and fountaines, trees, and stars, and goblins;
Now have not I the fashion to beleeve him;
He offers me the honourable curtesie,
To lye with me all night, what a miserie is this?
I am bred up so foolishly alas I dare not,
And how madly these things will shew there.

Ar.
I send ye not,
Like parts infected, to draw more corruption;
Like Spiders to grow great, with growing evill:
With your owne vertues season'd, and my prayers,
The card of goodnes in your minds, that showes ye
When ye saile false; the needle touch'd with honour,
That through the blackest stormes, still points at happines:
Your bodies the tall barks, rib'd round with goodnes;
Your heavenly soules the Pilots, thus I send you;
Thus I prepare your voyage, sound before ye,
And ever as you saile through this worlds vanitie,
Discover sholes, rocks, quicksands, cry out to ye,
Like a good Master tack about for honour:
The Court is vertue's schoole; at least it should be;
Nearer the Sun the Mine lies, the mettels purer:
Be it granted, if the Spring be once infected.
Those branches that flow from him must run muddy;
Say you find some sins there, and those no small ones,
And they like lazie fits begin to shake ye:
Say they affect your strengths, my happy children,
Great things through greatest hazards are atchiev'd still,
And then they shine, then goodnes has his glory,
His Crowne fast rivited, then time moves under,
Where, through the mist of errors, like the Sun,
Through thicke and pitchie clouds, he breaks out nobly.

Hon.
I thanke you Sir, you have made me half a souldier,
I will to court most willingly, most fondly.
And if there be such stirring things amongst 'em,
Such travellers into Virginia,
As fame reports, if they can win me, take me:
I thinke I have a close ward, and a sure one;
A honest mind I hope, 'tis petticote-proofe,
Chaine proofe, and jewell-proof: I know 'tis gold proof,
A Coach and foure horses cannot draw me from it:
As for your hansome faces, and filed tongues,
Curl'd Millers heads; I have another word for them,
And yet I'le flatter too, as fast as they doe,
And lye, but not as lewdly: Come, be valiant sister,
She that dares not stand the push o'th' Court, dares nothing,
And yet come off ungrased: Sir, like you,
We both affect great dangers now; & the world shall see
All glory lies not in mans victorie.

Ar.
Mine owne Honora.

Viol.
I am very fearfull,
Would I were stronger built? you would have me honest?

Ar.
Or not at all my Viola.

Viol.
I'le thinke on't,
For 'tis no easie promise, and live there;
Doe you thinke we shall doe well?

Hon.
Why what should aile us?

Viol.
Certaine they'l tempt us strongly: beside the glory
Which women may affect: they are hansome gentlemen,
Every part speaks: nor is it one deniall,
Nor two, nor ten: from every looke we give 'em,
They'le frame a hope: even from our prayers, promises.

Ho.
Let 'em feed so, & be fat: there is no feare wench,
If thou bee'st fast to thy self.

Viol.
I hope I shall be:
And your example will work more.

Enter Theod.
Hon.
Thou shalt not want it.

The.
How doe you Sir, can you lend a man an Angell?
I heare you let out money.

Ar.
Very well Sir,
You are pleasantly dispos'd: I am glad to see it,
Can you lend me your patience, and be rul'd by me?

Theod.
Is't come to Patience now?

Arch.
Is't not a vertue?

Theod.
I know not. I ne're found it so.

Ar.
That's because
Thy anger ever knowes, and not thy judgement.

Theod.
I know you have been rifl'd.

Ar.
Nothing lesse boy:
Lord what opinions these vaine people publish?
Rifl'd of what?

The.
Study your vertue patience,
It may get Mustard to your meat. Why in such haste sir,
Sent ye for me?

Ar.
For this end onely, Theodore,
To wait upon your sisters to the Court;
I am commanded they live there.

The.
Toth' Court sir?

Ar.
Toth' Court I say.

The.
And must I wait upon 'em?

Ar.
Yes, 'tis most fit yee should, ye are their brother.

The.
Is this the businesse? I had thought your mind sir
Had been set forward on some noble action,
Something had truely stirr'd ye. To th'Court with these?
Why they are your daughters sir.

Ar.
All this I know sir.

The.
The good old woman on a bed he threw.
Toth' Court?

Ar.
Thou art not mad.

The.
Nor drunke as you are:
Drunke with your duty sir: doe you call it duty?
A pox o' duty, what can these doe there?
What should they doe? Can ye look Babies sisters
In the young Gallants eyes, & twirle their Band-strings?
Can ye ride out to ayre your selves? pray sir,
Be serious with me: doe you speake this truely?

Ar.
Why didst thou never heare of women
Yet at Court boy?

The.
Yes, and good women too, very good women,
Excellent honest women: but are you sure sir,
That these will prove so?

Hon.
There's the danger brother.

The.
God a mercy wench, thou hast a grudging of it.

Ar.
Now be you serious sir, and observe what I say,
Doe it, and doe it handsomely: goe with 'em.

The.
With all my heart sir; I am in no fault now;
If they be thought whores for being in my company;
Pray write upon their backs, they are my sisters,
And where I shall deliver 'em.

Ar.
Ye are wondrous jocund,
But prethee tell me, art thou so lewd a fellow,
I never knew thee faile a truth,

The.
I am a souldier,
And spell you what that meanes.

Ar.
A Souldier?
What dost thou make of me?

The.
Your Pallat's downe sir.

Ar.
I thanke yee sir.

The.
Come, shall we to this matter?
You will to Court?

Hon.
If you will please to honour us.

The.
Ile honour yee, I warrant: Ile set yee off
With such a lustre wenches: Alas poore Viola,
Thou art a foole, thou criest for eating white-bread:
Be a good huswife of thy teares, and save 'em,
Thou wilt have time enough to shed 'em sister.
Doe you weep too? nay then Ile foole no more.
Come worthy sisters, since it must be so,
And since he thinks it fit to trie your vertues,
Be you as strong to truth, as I to guard yee,
And this old gentleman shall have joy of ye.

Exeunt.

Scæne 3.

Enter Duke and Burris.
Duke.
Burris take you ten thousand of those Crowns,
And those two chaines of Pearle they hold the richest,
I give 'em yee.

Bur.
I humbly thanke your grace;
And may your great example worke in me
That noble charity to men more worthy,
And of more wants.

Duke.
You beare a good minde Burris;
Take twenty thousand now: Be not so modest,
It shall be so, I give 'em: goe, there's my ring for't.

Bur.
Heaven blesse your Highnesse ever.

Exit.
Duke.
You are honest.

Enter Alinda, and Putskie at doore.
Puts.
They're comming now to Court, as faire as vertue:
Two brighter starres ne're rose here.

Al.
Peace, I have it,
And what my Art can doe; the Duke—

Put.
I am gone,
Remember.

Exit.
Al.
I am counsell'd to the full sir.

Duke.
My prettie Mistris, whither lyes your businesse?
How kindly I should take this, were it to me now?

Al.
I must confesse immediately to your grace,
At this time.

Du.
You have no addresse, I doe believe ye,
I would yee had.

Al.
'Twere too much boldnesse Sir,
Upon so little knowledge, lesse deserving.

Du.
You'll make a perfect Courtier.

Al.
A very poore one.

Du.
A very faire one sweet: come hither to me.
What killing eyes this wench has? in his glorie
Not the bright Sun, when the Sirian starre reignes,
Shines halfe so fierie.

Al.
Why does your grace so view me?
Nothing but common handsomenesse dwells here sir,
Scarce that: your grace is pleas'd to mock my meanness.

Du.
Thou shalt not goe: I doe not lie unto thee,
In my eye thou appear'st—

Al.
Dim not the sight sir,
I am too dull an object.

Duke.
Canst thou love me?
Canst thou love him will honour thee?

Al.
I can love,
And love as you doe too: but 'twill not shew well:
Or if it doe shew here where all light lustres,
Tinsell affections, make a glorious glistering,
Twill halt ith' handsome way.

Du.
Are yee so cunning?
Dost think I love not truely?

Al.
No, ye cannot,
You never travell'd that way yet: pray pardon me,
I prate so boldly to you.

Du.
There's no harme done:
But what's your reason, sweet?

Al.
I would tell your grace,
But happily—

Du.
It shall be pleasing to me.

Al.
I should love you again, & then you would hate me.
With all my service I should follow yee,
And through all dangers.

Du.
This would more provoke me,
More make me see thy worthes,
More make me meet 'em.

Al.
You should doe so, if yee did well and truely.
But though yee be a Prince, and have power in ye,
Power of example too, ye have fail'd and falter'd.

Du.
Give me example where?

Al.
You had a Mistris,
Oh heaven, so bright, so brave a dame, so lovely,
In all her life so true.

Du.
A Mistris?

Al.
That serv'd yee with that constancy, that care,
That lov'd your will, and woo'd it too.

Du.
What Mistris?

Al.
That nus'rd your honour up, held fast your vertue,
And when she kist encreas'd, not stole your goodnesse.

Du.
And I neglected her?

Al.
Lost her, forsook her,
Wantonly slung her off.

Du.
What was her name?

Al.
Her name as lovely as her selfe, as noble,
And in it all that's excellent.

Du.
What was it?

Al.
Her name was Beau-desert:
Doe you know her now sir?

Du.
Beau-desert? I not remember—

Al.
I know you doe not:
Yet she has a plainer name; Lord Archas service;
Do you yet remember her? there was a Mistris
Fairer then women, far fonder to you sir,
Then Mothers to their first-borne joyes: Can you love?
Dare you professe that truth to me a stranger,
A thing of no regard, no name, no lustre,
When your most noble love you have neglected,
A beautie all the world would wooe and honour?
Would you have me credit this? thinke ye can love me,
And hold ye constant, when I have read this storie?
Is't possible you should ever favour me,
To a slight pleasure prove a friend, and fast too,
When, where you were most ty'd, most bound to benefit,
Bound by the chaines of honesty and honour,
You have broke and boldly too? I am a weak one,
Arm'd onely with my feares: I beseech your Grace
Tempt me no further.

Du.
Who taught you this Lesson?

Al.
Woefull experience Sir: if you seek a faire one,
Worthy your love, if yet you have that perfect,
Two daughters of his ruin'd vertue now
Arive at Court, excellent faire indeed sir,
But this will be the plague on't, they'r excellent honest.

Enter Olimpia and Petesca privately.
Duk.
I love thy face.

Al.
Upon my life yee cannot.
I doe not love it my selfe Sir, 'tis a lewd one,
So truely ill Art cannot mend it; 'sod if 'twere handsome,
At least if I thought so, you should heare me talke sir
In a new straine; and though ye are a Prince,
Make ye Petition to me too, and wait my answers;
Yet o my conscience I should pitty yee,
After some ten yeares siege.

Du.
Prethee doe now.

Al.
What would ye doe?

Du.
Why I would lye with yee.

Al.
I doe not think yee would.

Du.
Introth I would wench.
Here, take this Jewell.

Al.
Out upon't that's scurvee.
Nay, if we doe, sure wee'll doe for good fellowship,
For pure love, or nothing: thus you shall be sure sir
You shall not pay too deare for't.

Duke.
Sure I cannot.

Alin.
By'r Lady but yee may: when ye have found me able,
To doe your work well, ye may pay my wages.

Pet.
Why does your Grace start back?

Olim.
I ha' seen that shakes me:
Chills all my bloud: O where is faith or goodnesse?
Alinda thou art false, false, false thou faire one,
Wickedly false; and (woe is me) I see it.
For ever false.

Pet.
I am glad 't has taken thus right.

Exit.
Alin.
Ile goe aske my Lady, sir.

Du.
What?

Al.
Whether I shall lye with ye, or no: If I find he willing—
For look ye sir, I have sworn, while I am in her service—
('Twas a rash oath I must confesse.)

Duke.
Thou mockst me.

Al.
Why, would yee lye with me, if I were willing?
Would you abuse my weaknesse?

Du.
I would peece it,
And make it stronger.

Al.
I humbly thank your highnesse,
When you piece me, you must piece me to my Coffin:
When you have got my Maiden-head, I take it,
'Tis not an inch of an Apes taile will restore it;
I love ye, and I honour yee, but this way
Ile neither love nor serve yee:
Heaven change your minde sir.

Exit.
Duke.
And thine too:
For it must be chang'd, it shall be.

Exit.

Scæne 4.

Enter Boroskie, Burris, Theodore, Viola, and Honora.
Bor.
They are goodly gentlewomen.

Bur.
They are,
Wondrous sweet women both.

The.
Does your Lordshid like 'em?
They are my sisters sir; good lusty Lasses,
They'll doe their labour well, I warrant yee
You'll finde no bed-straw here sir.

Hon.
Thanke yee brother.

The.
This is not so strongly built: but she is good mettle,
Of a good stirring straine too: she goes tish sir.
Here they be gentlemen must make ye merry,
Enter 2. Gent.
The toyes you wot of: doe you like their complexions?
They be no Moors: what think ye of this hand gentlemen?
Here's a white Altar for your sacrifice:
A thousand kisses here. Nay, keep off yet gentlemen,
Let's start first, & have fair play: what would ye give now
To turne the globe up, and finde the rich Moluccas?
To passe the straights? here (doe ye itch) by St. Nicolas,
Here's that will make ye scratch and claw,
Claw my fine Gentlemen, move ye in divers sorts:
Pray ye let me request yee, to forget
To say your prayers, whilst these are Courtiers;
Or if yee needs will thinke of heaven, let it be no higher
Then their eyes?

Bor.
How will ye have 'em bestow'd sir?

Theo.
Even how your Lordship please,
So you doe not bake 'em.

Bor.
Bake 'em.

Th.
They are too high a meat that way, they run to gelly.
But if you'l have 'em for your own dyet, take my counsel,
Stew 'em between two feather-beds.

Bur.
Please you Colonell
To let 'em wait upon the Princesse?

Theo.
Yes sir,
And thanke your honour too: but then happily,
These noble Gentlemen shall have no accesse to 'em,
And to have 'em buy new cloathes, studdy new faces,
And keep a stinking stirre with themselves for nothing,
'Twill not be well y'faith: they have kept their bodies,
And bin at charge for Bathes: do you see that shirt there?
Way but the morall meaning, 'twill be grievous:
Alas, I brought 'em to delight these gentlemen,
I weigh their wants by mine: I brought 'em wholsome,
Wholsome, and young my Lord, and two such blessings
They will not light upon againe in ten yeare.

Bor.
'Tis fit they wait upon her.

The.
They are fit for any thing.
They'll wait upon a man, they are not bashfull,
Carrie his cloak, or untie his points, or any thing,
Drink drunk, and take Tobacco; the familiarst fooles—
This wench will leap over stools too, & sound a Trumpet,
Wrastle, and pitch the Bar; they are finely brought up,

Bor.
Ladies, ye are bound to your brother,
And have much cause to thank him:
Ile ease ye of this charge, and to the Princesse,
So please you, Ile attend 'em.

The.
Thank your Lordship:
If there be e're a private corner as yee goe Sir,
A foolish lobbie out oth' way, make danger,
Trie what they are, trie.

Bor.
Ye are a merrie gentleman.

The.
I would faine be your honours kinseman.

Bor.
Ye are to curst sir.

Th.
Farewel wenches, keep close your ports y'are washt else.

Ho.
Brother bestow your fears where they are needfull.

Exit Boros. Honor. Viol.
The.
Honor thy name is, and I hope thy nature.
Goe after, Gentlemen, goe, get a snatch if you can,
Yond'old Erra Pater will never please 'em.
Alas I brought 'em for you, but see the luck on't,
I sweare I meant as honestlie toward ye—
Nay doe not crie good gentlemen: a little counsell
Will doe no harme: they'll walke abroad ith' evenings,
Ye may surprize 'em easily, they weare no Pistols.
Set downe your mindes in Metre, flowing Metre,
And get some good old linnen woman to deliver it,
That has the trick on't: you cannot faile:
Farewell gentlemen.

Exit.
Bur.
You have frighted off these flesh-flies.

The.
Flesh-flies indeed my Lord.
Enter a Serv.
And it must be verie stinking flesh they will not seize on.

Serv.
Your Lordship bid me bring this Casket.

Bur.
Yes. Good Colonell
Commend me to your worthy father, and as a pledge
He ever holds my love, and service to him,
Deliver him this poore, but hearty token,
And where I may be his—

The.
Ye are too noble;
A wonder here my Lord, that dare be honest,
When all men hold it vitious: I shall deliver it,
And with it your most noble love. Your servant.
Ex. Bur.
Were there but two more such at Court, 'twere Sainted,
This wil buy brawn this Christmas yet, & Muscadine.

Ex.

Scæne 5.

Enter Ancient, crying Broomes, and after him severally, foure Souldiers, crying other things. Boroskie and Gent. over the Stage observing them.
1. Song.
Anc.
Broom, Broom, the bonnie Broom,
Come buy my Birchen Broom,
Ith' warres we have no more room,
Buy all my bonnie Broom.
For a kisse take two;
If those will not doe,
For a little, little pleasure,
Take all my whole treasure:
If all these will not do't,
Take the Broom-man to boot.
Broom, Broom, the bonnie Broome.

2. Song.
1 Sol.
The wars are done and gone,
And Souldiers now neglected, Pedlers are,
Come maidens, come alone,
For I can shew you handsome, handsome ware.
Powders for, for the head,
And drinks for your bed,
To make yee blith and bonney.
As well in the night we souldiers can fight,
And please a young wench as any.

2 Sol.
I have fine Potato's,
Ripe Potato's.

3. Song.
3 Sol.
Will ye buy any Honesty, come away,
I sell it openly by day,
I bring no forced light, nor no Candle
To cozen yee; come buy and handle:
This will shew the great man good,
The Trades-man where he sweares and lyes,
Each Lady of a noble bloud,
The Citie dame to rule her eyes:
Ye are rich men now: come buy, and then
Ile make yee richer, honest-men.

4. Song.
4 Sol.
Have ye any crackt maiden-heads, to new leach or mend?
Have ye any old maiden-heads to sell or to change?
Bring 'em to me with a little pretty gin,
Ile clout 'em, Ile mend 'em, Ile knock in a pin,
Shall make 'em as good maids agen,
As ever they have bin.

Bor.
What means all this, why do y' sel Brooms Ancient?
Is it in wantonnesse, or want?

An.
The onely reason is,
To sweep your Lordships conscience: here's one for the nonce.
Gape sir, you have swallowed many a goodlier matter—
The onely casting for a crazie conscience.

3 Sol.
Will your Lordship buy any honestie? 'twill be worth your money.

Bor.
How is this?

3 Sol.
Honestie my Lord, 'tis here in a quill.

An.
Take heed you open it not, for 'tis so subtle,
The least puffe of wind will blow it out oth' kingdome.

2 Sol.
Will your Lordship to taste a fine Potato?
'Twill advance your wither'd state.

Anc.
Fill your honour full of most noble itches,
And make Jack dance in your Lordships breeches.

1 Sol.
If your daughters on their beds,
Have bowd, or crackt their maiden-heads;
If in a Coach with two much tumbling,
They chance to crie, fie, fo, what fumbling;
If her foot slip, and downe fall shee,
And break her leg 'bove the knee,
The one and thirtieth of Februarie let this be tane,
And they shall be arrant maids againe.

Bor.
Ye are brave souldiers; keep your wantonnesse,
A winter will come on to shake this wilfulnesse.
Disport your selves, & when you want your money—

Ex.
Anc.
Broom, Broom, &c.

Exit singing.

Scæne 6.

Enter Alinda, Honora, Viola.
Al.
You must not be so fearefull, little one,
Nor Lady you so sad, you will ne're make Courtiers
With these dull sullen thoughts; this place is pleasure,
Preserv'd to that use, so inhabited;
And those that live here, live delightfull, joyfull:
These are the Gardens of Adonis, Ladies,
Where all sweets to their free and noble uses,
Grow ever young and courted.

Hon.
Blesse me heaven,
Can things of her yeares arrive at these rudiments?
By your leave fair gentlewoman, how long have you bin here?

Al.
Faith much about a week.

Hon.
You have studied hard,
And by my faith arriv'd at a great knowledge.

Viol.
Were not you bashfull at first?

Al.
I, I, for an houre or two:
But when I saw people laugh'd at me for it,
And thought it a dull breeding—

Hon.
You are govern'd here then
Much after the mens opinions.

Al.
Ever Ladie.

Hon.
And what they think is honourable.—

Al.
Most precisely
We follow with all faith.

Hon.
A goodly Catechisme.

Viol.
But bashfull for an houre or two?

Al.
Faith to say true,
I do not think I was so long: for look yee,
'Tis to no end here, put on what shape ye will,
And soure your selfe with ne're so much austeritie,
You shall be courted in the same, and won too,
'Tis but some two houres more; and so much time lost,
Which we hold pretious here: In so much time now
As I have told you this, you may lose a servant,
Your age, nor all your Art can e're recover.
Catch me occasion as she comes, hold fast there,
Till what you doe affect is ripn'd to yee.
Has the Duke seen yee yet?

Ho.
What if he have not?

Al.
You doe your beauties too much wrong, appearing
So full of sweetnesse, newnesse; set so richly,
As if a Councell beyond nature fram'd yee.

Hon.
If we were thus? say heaven had given these blessings,
Must we turne these to sin-oblations?

Al.
How foolishly this Countrey way shewes in ye?
How full of flegme? doe you come here to pray Ladies.
You had best crie, stand away, let me alone gentlemen,
Ile tell my father else.

Viol.
This woman's naught sure,
A verie naughtie woman.

Hon.
Come, say on friend,
Ile be instructed by ye.

Al.
You'll thank me for't.

Ho.
Either I or the devil shal: The Duke you were speaking of.

Al.
'Tis well remembred: yes, let him first see you,
Appeare not openly till he has view'd yee.

Hon.
Hee's a very noble Prince they say.

Al.
O wondrous gracious;
And as you may deliver your selfe at the first viewing.
For look ye, you must beare your selfe; yet take heed
It be so season'd with a sweet humilitie,
And grac'd with such a bountie in your beautie—

Hon.
But I hope he will offer me no ill?

Al.
No, no:
'Tis like he will kisse ye, and play with ye.

Hon.
Plaie with me, how?

Al.
Why, good Lord, that you are such a foole now.
No harme assure your selfe.

Viol.
Will ye play with me too?

Al.
Look babies in your eyes, my prettie sweet one:
Ther's a fine sport: doe you know your lodgings yet?

Hon.
I heare of none.

Al.
I doe then, they are handsome,
Convenient for accesse.

Viol.
Accesse?

Al.
Yes little one,
For visitation of those friends and servants,
Your beauties shall make choice of: friends and visits:
Doe not you know those uses? Alas poore novice;
There's a close Cowch or two, handsomely placed too.

Viol.
What are those I pray you?

Al.
Who would be troubled with such raw things? they are to lie upon,
And your love by ye; and discourse, and toy in.

Viol.
Alas I have no love.

Al.
You must by any meanes:
You'll have a hundred, feare not.

Viol.
Honestie keep me:
What shall I doe with all those?

Al.
You'll finde uses:
Ye are ignorant yet, let time work; you must learne too,
To lie handsomly in your bed a mornings, neatly drest
In a most curious VVastcoat, to set ye off well,
Play with your Bracelets, sing you must learn to rhime to,
And riddle neatlie; studie the hardest language,
And 'tis no matter whether it be sense, or no,
So it goe seemlie off. Be sure yee profit
In kissing, kissing sweetly: there lies a maine point,
A key that opens to all practick pleasure;
Ile helpe yee to a friend of mine shal teach ye,
And suddenlie: your Countrey way is fulsome.

Hon.
Have ye schooles for all these mysteries?

Al.
O yes,
And severall houres prefix'd to studie in:
Ye may have Kalanders to know the good houre,
And when to take a jewell: for the ill too,
VVhen to refuse, with observations on 'em;
Under what Signe 'tis best meeting in an Arbor,
And in what Bower, and houre it works; a thousand,
VVhen in a Coach, when in a private lodging,
VVith all their vertues.

Hon.
Have ye studied these?
How beastly they become your youth? how bawdily?
A woman of your tendernesse, a teacher,
Teacher of these lewd Arts? of your full beauty?
A man made up in lust would loath this in yee:
The rankest Leacher, hate such impudence.
They say the devill can assume heavens brightnesse,
And so appeare to tempt us: sure thou art no woman.

Al.
I joy to finde ye thus,

Hon.
Thou hast no tendernesse,
No reluctation in thy heart: 'tis mischiefe.

Al.
All's one for that; read these and then be satisfi'd,
A few more private rules I have gather'd for ye,
Read 'em, and well observe 'em: so I leave ye.

Exit.
Viol.
A wondrous wicked woman: shame go with thee.

Hon.

Vio.
Feare not thou yet unblasted Violet,
Nor let my wanton words a doubt beget,
Live in that peace and sweetnessr of thy bud,
Remember whose thou art, and grow still good.
Remember what thou art, and stand a storie
Fit for thy noble Sex, and thine owne glorie.

Hon.
I know not what to thinke.

Viol.
Sure a good woman,
An excellent woman, sister.

Hon.
It confounds me;
Let 'em use all their arts, if these be their ends,
The Court I say breeds the best foes and friends.
Come, let's be honest wench, and doe our best service.

Vio.
A most excellent woman, I will love her.

Exeunt.