University of Virginia Library

Actus Quintus.

Scena Prima.

Enter Uncle, and Merchant.
Unc.

Most certain 'tis her hands that hold him up, and
her sister relieves Frank.

Mer.

I am glad to hear it: but wherefore do they not
pursue this fortune to some fair end?

Unc.

The women are too craftie, Valentine too coy, and
Frank too bashfull, had any wise man hold of such a blessing,
they would strike it out o'th' slint but they would form it.

Enter Widow, and Shorthose.
Mer.

The Widow sure, why does she stir so early?

Wid.

'Tis strange, I cannot force him to understand me,
and make a benefit of what I would bring him: tell my
sister I'le use my devotions at home this morning, she may
if she please go to Church.

Short.

Hey ho.

Wid.

And do you wait upon her with a torch Sir.

Short.

Hey ho.

Wid.

You lazie Knave.

Short.

Here is such a tinkle tanklings that we can ne're
lie quiet, and sleep our prayers out. Ralph, pray emptie my
right shooe that you made your Chamber pot, and burn a
little Rosemarie in't, I must wait upon my Lady. This morning
Prayer has brought me into a consumption, I have nothing
left but flesh and bones about me.

Wid.

You drousie slave, nothing but sleep and swilling?

Short.

Had you been bitten with Bandog fleas, as I have
been, and haunted with the night Mare.

Wid.

With an Ale-pot.

Short.

You would have little list to morning Prayers,
pray take my fellow Ralph, he has a Psalm Book, I am an
ingrum man.

Wid.

Get you ready quickly, and when she is ready wait
upon her handsomely; no more, be gone.

Short.

If I do snore my part out—

[Exit Short.

Unc.

Now to our purposes.

Mer.

Good morrow, Madam.

Wid.

Good morrow, Gentlemen.

Unc.

Good joy and fortune.

Wid.

These are good things, and worth my thanks, I
thank you Sir.

Mer.

Much joy I hope you'l find, we came to gratulate
your new knit marriage-band.

Wid.

How?

Unc.

He's a Gentleman, although he be my kinsman
my fair Niece.

Wid.

Niece, Sir?

Unc.

Yes Lady, now I may say so, 'tis no shame to you, I
say a Gentleman, and winking at some light fancies, which
you most happily may affect him for, as bravely carried, a
nobly bred and managed.

Wid.

What's all this? I understand you not, what Niece,
what marriage-knot?

Unc.

I'le tell plainly, you are my Niece, and Valentine the
Gentleman has made you so by marriage.

Wid.

Marriage?

Unc.

Yes Lady, and 'twas a noble and vertuous part, to
take a falling man to your protection, and buoy him up again
to all his glories.

Wid.

The men are mad.

Mer.

What though he wanted these outward things
that flie away like shadows, was not his mind a full one,
and a brave one? You have wealth enough to give him
gloss and outside, and he wit enough to give way to love
a Lady.

Unc.

I ever thought he would do well.

Mer.

Nay, I knew how ever he wheel'd about like
a loose Cabine, he would charge home at length, like a
brave Gentleman; Heavens blessing o' your heart Lady,
we are so bound to honour you, in all your service so
devoted to you.

Unc.

Do not look so strange Widow, it must be known,
better a general joy; no stirring here yet, come, come, you
cannot hide 'em.

Wid.

Pray be not impudent, these are the finest toyes, be
like I am married then?

Mer.

You are in a miserable estate in the worlds account
else, I would not for your wealth it come to doubting.

Wid.

And I am great with child?

Unc.

No, great they say not, but 'tis a full opinion you are
with child, and great joy among the Gentlemen, your husband
hath bestirred himself fairly.

Mer.

Alas, we know his private hours of entrance, how
long, and when he stayed, could name the bed too, where he
paid down his first-fruits.

Wid.

I shall believe anon.

Unc.

And we consider for some private reasons, you would
have it private, yet take your own pleasure; and so good
morrow, my best Niece, my sweetest.

Wid.

No, no, pray stay.

Unc.

I know you would be with him, love him, and love
him well.

Mer.

You'l find him noble, this may beget—

Unc.

It must needs work upon her.

[Exit Uncle, and Mer.
Wid.

These are fine bobs i'faith, married, and with child
too! how long has this been, I trow? they seem grave fellows,
they should not come to flout; married, and bedded,
the world takes notice too! where lies this May-game? I
could be vext extreamly now, and rail too, but 'tis to no
end, though I itch a little, must I be scratcht I know not how,
who waits there?

Enter Humphrey, a Servant.
Hum.

Madam.

Wid.

Make ready my Coach quickly, and wait you only,
and hark you Sir, be secret and speedy, inquire out where
he lies.

Hum.

I shall do it, Madam.

Wid.

Married, and got with child in a dream! 'tis
fine i'faith, sure he that did this, would do better waking

[Exit.
Enter Valentine, Fran. Lance, and a Boy with a Torch.
Val.

Hold thy Torch handsomely: how dost thou Frank?
Peter Bassel, bear up.

Fran.

You have fried me soundly, Sack do you call this
drink?

Val.

A shrewd dog, Frank, will bite abundantly.

Lan.

Now could I fight, and fight with thee.

Val.

With me, thou man of Memphis?

Lan.

But that thou art mine own natural master, yet
my sack says thou art no man, thou art a Pagan, and -pawn
of thy land, which a noble cause.

Val.

No arms, nor arms, good Lancelot, dear Lance,
no fighting here, we will have Lands boy, Livings, and
titles, thou shalt be a Vice-Roy, hang fighting, hang't 'tis
out of fashion.

Lan.

I would fain labour you into your lands again, go
to, it is behoveful.

Fran.

Fie Lance, fie.

Lan.

I must beat some body, and why not my Master,
before a stranger? charity and beating begins at home.

Val.

Come, thou shalt beat me.

Lan.

I will not be compel'd, and you were two Masters,
scorn the motion.

Val.

Wilt thou sleep?

Lan.

I scorn sleep.

Val.

Wilt thou go eat?

Lan.

I scorn meat, I come for rompering, I come to
wait upon my charge discreetly; for look you, if you will
not take your Mortgage again, here do I lie St George, and
so forth.

Val.

And here do I St George, bestride the Dragon, thus
with my Lance.

Lan.

I sting, I sting with my tail.

Val.

Do you so, do you so, Sir? I shall tail you presently.

Fran.

By no means, do not hurt him.

Val.

Take this Nelson, and now rise, thou Maiden Knight
of Malligo, lace on thy Helmet of inchanted Sack, and
charge again.

Lan.

I'le play no more, you abuse me, will you go?

Fran.

I'le bid you good morrow, Brother, for sleep I
cannot, I have a thousand fancies.

Val.

Now thou art arrived, go bravely to the matter,
and do something of worth, Frank.

Lan.

You shall hear from us.

[Exeunt Lance and Frank.
Val.

This Rogue, if he had been sober, sure had beaten
me, is the most tettish Knave.

Enter Uncle and Merchant, Boy with a Torch.
Unc.

'Tis he.

Mer.

Good morrow.

Val.

Why, Sir, good morrow to you too, and you be
so lusty.

Unc.

You have made your Brother a fine man, we met
him.

Val.

I made him a fine Gentleman, he was a fool before,
brought up amongst the midst of Small-Beer-Brew-houses,
what would you have with me?

Mer.

I come to tell you, your latest hour is come.

Val.

Are you my sentence?

Mer.

The sentence of your state.

Val.

Let it be hang'd then, and let it be hang'd high
enough, I may not see it.

Unc.

A gracious resolution.

Val.

What would you have else with me, will you go
drink, and let the world slide, Uncle? Ha, ha, ha, boyes,
drink Sack like Whey, boyes.

Mer.

Have you no feeling, Sir?

Val.

Come hither Merchant: make me a supper, thou
most reverent Land-catcher, a supper of forty pounds.

Mer.

What then, Sir?

Val.

Then bring thy Wife along, and thy fair Sisters,
thy Neighbours and their Wives, and all their trinkets,
let me have forty Trumpets, and such Wine, we'll laugh
at all the miseries of Mortgage, and then in state I'le render
thee an answer.

Mer.

What say you to this?

Unc.

I dare not say, nor think neither.

Mer.

Will you redeem your state, speak to the point,
Sir?

Val.

Not, not if it were mine heir in the Turks Gallies.

Mer.

Then I must take an order?

Val.

Take a thousand, I will not keep it, nor thou shalt
not have it, because thou camest i'th' nick, thou shalt not
have it, go take possession, and be sure you hold it, hold
fast with both hands, for there be those hounds uncoupled,
will ring you such a knell, go down in glory, and march up
on my land, and cry, All's mine; cry as the Devil did,
and be the Devil, mark what an Echo follows, build fine
March-panes, to entertain Sir Silk-worm and his Lady, and
pull the Chappel down, and raise a Chamber for Mistress
Silver-pin, to lay her belly in, mark what an Earthquake
comes. Then foolish Merchant my Tenants are no Subjects,
they obey nothing, and they are people too never Christened,
they know no Law nor Conscience, they'll devour
thee; and thou mortal, the stopple, they'll confound thee
within three days; no bit nor memory of what thou wert,
no not the Wart upon thy Nose there, shall be e're heard
of more; go take possession, and bring thy Children down,
to rost like Rabbets, they love young Toasts and Butter,
Bow-bell Suckers; as they love mischief, and hate Law, they
are Cannibals; bring down thy kindred too, that be not
fruitful, there be those Mandrakes that will mollifie 'em,
go take possession. I'le go to my Chamber, afore Boy go.

[Exeunt.
Mer.

He's mad sure.

Unc.

He's half drunk sure: and yet I like this unwillingness
to lose it, this looking back.

Mer.

Yes, if he did it handsomely, but he's so harsh
and strange.

Unc.

Believe it 'tis his drink, Sir, and I am glad his
drink has thrust it out.

Mer.

Cannibals? if ever I come to view his Regiment,
if fair terms may be had.

Unc.

He tells you true, Sir, they are a bunch of the
most boisterous Rascals disorder ever made, let 'em be mad
once, the power of the whole Country cannot cool 'em, be
patient but a while.

Mer.

As long as you will, Sir, before I buy a bargain
of such Runts, I'le buy a Colledge for Bears, and live among
'em.

Enter Francisco, Lance, Boy with a Torch.
Fran.

How dost thou now?

Lan.

Better than I was, and straighter, but my head's
a Hogshead still, it rowls and tumbles.

Fran.

Thou wert cruelly paid.

Lan.

I may live to requite it, put a Snaffle of Sack in
my mouth and then ride me very well.

Fran.

'Twas all but sport, I'le tell thee what I mean now,
I mean to see this Wench.

Lan.

Where a Devil is she? and there were two, 'twere
better.

Fran.

Dost thou hear the Bell ring?

Lan.

Yes, yes.

Fran.

Then she comes to prayers, early each morning
thither: Now if I could but meet her, for I am of another
mettle now.

Enter Isabel, and Shorthose with a Torch.
Lan.

What light's yon?

Fran.

Ha, 'tis a light, take her by the hand and court her.

Lan.

Take her below the girdle, you'l never speed else,
it comes on this way still, oh that I had but such an opportunity
in a Saw-pit, how it comes on, comes on! 'tis here.

Fran.

'Tis she: fortune I kiss thy hand—Good morrow
Lady.

Isa.

What voice is that, Sirra, do you sleep as you go,

'tis he, I am glad on't. Why, Shorthose?

Short.

Yes forsooth, I was dreamt, I was going to Church.

Lan.

She sees you as plain as I do.

Isab.

Hold the torch up.

Short.

Here's nothing but a stall, and a Butchers Dog asleep
in't, where did you see the voice?

Fran.

She looks still angry.

Lan.

To her and meet Sir.

Isab.

Here, here.

Fran.

Yes Lady, never bless your self, I am but a man, and
like an honest man, now I will thank you—

Isab.

What do you mean, who sent for you, who desired
you?

Short.

Shall I put out the Torch forsooth?

Isab.

Can I not go about my private meditations, Ha, but
such companions as you must ruffle me? you had best go with
me Sir?

Fran.

'Twas my purpose.

Isab.

Why, what an impudence is this! you had best,
being so near the Church, provide a Priest, and perswade
me to marry you.

Fran.

It was my meaning, and such a husband, so loving,
and so carefull, my youth, and all my fortunes shall arrive
at—Hark you?

Isab.

'Tis strange you should be thus unmannerly, turn
home again sirra, you had best now force my man to lead
your way.

Lan.

Yes marry shall he Lady, forward my friend.

Isab.

This is a pretty Riot, it may grow to a rape.

Fran.

Do you like that better? I can ravish you an hundred
times, and never hurt you.

Short.

I see nothing; I am asleep still, when you have done
tell me, and then I'le wake Mistris.

Isab.

Are you in earnest Sir, do you long to be hang'd?

Fran.

Yes by my troth Lady in these fair Tresses.

Isab.

Shall I call out for help?

Fran.

No by no means, that were a weak trick Lady,
I'le kiss, and stop your mouth.

Isab.

You'l answer all these?

Fran.

A thousand kisses more.

Isab.

I was never abused thus, you had best give out too,
that you found me willing, and lay I doted on you?

Fran.

That's known already, and no man living shall now
carry you from me.

Isab.

This is fine i'faith.

Fran.

It shall be ten times finer.

Isab.

Well, seeing you are so valiant, keep your way, I
will to Church.

Fran.

And I will wait upon you.

Isab.

And it is most likely there's a Priest, if you dare
venture as you profess, I would wish you look about you, to
do these rude tricks, for you know the recompences, and
trust not to my mercy.

Fran.

But I will Lady.

Isab.

For I'le so handle you.

Fran.

That's it I look for.

Lan.

Afore thou dream.

Shor.

Have you done?

Isab.

Go on Sir, and follow if you dare.

Fran.

If I do not, hang me.

Lan.

'Tis all thine own boy, an 'twere a million, god a
mercy Sack, when would small Beer have done this?

Knocking within.
Enter Valentine.
Val.

Whose that that knocks and bounces, what a Devil
ails you, is hell broke loose, or do you keep an Iron mill?

Enter a Servant.
Ser.

'Tis a Gentlewoman Sir that must needs speak with
you.

Val.

A Gentlewoman? what Gentlewoman, what have I
to do with Gentlewomen?

Ser.

She will not be answered Sir.

Val.

Fling up the bed and let her in, I'le try how gentle
she is—
[Exit Servant.
This Sack has fill'd my head so full of bables, I am almost
mad; what Gentlewoman should this be? I hope she has
brought me no butter print along with her to lay to my
charge, if she have 'tis all one, I'le forswear it.

Enter Widow.
Wid.

O you're a noble Gallant, send off your Servant
pray.

[Exit Servant.
Val.

She will not ravish me? by this light she looks as
sharp set as a Sparrow hawk, what wouldst thou woman?

Wid.

O you have used me kindly, and like a Gentleman,
this is to trust to you.

Val.

Trust to me, for what?

Wid.

Because I said in jest once, you were a handsom man,
one I could like well, and fooling, made you believe I loved
you, and might be brought to marrie.

Val.

The widow is drunk too.

Wid.

You out of this, which is a fine discretion, give out
the matter's done, you have won and wed me, and that
you have put, fairly put for an heir too, these are fine rumours
to advance my credit: i'th' name of mischief what
did you mean?

Val.

That you loved me, and that you might be brought
to marrie me? why, what a Devil do you mean, widow?

Wid.

'Twas a fine trick too, to tell the world though you
had enjoyed your first wish you wished, the wealth you
aimed at, that I was poor, which is most true, I am, have
sold my lands, because I love not those vexations, yet for
mine honours sake, if you must be prating, and for my credits
sake in the Town.

Val.

I tell thee widow, I like thee ten times better, what
thou hast no Lands, for now thy hopes and cares lye on thy
husband, if e're thou marryest more.

Wid.

Have not you married me, and for this main cause,
now as you report it, to be your Nurse?

Val.

My Nurse? why, what am I grown to, give me the
Glass, my Nurse.

Wid.

You n'er said truer, I must confess I did a little favour
you, and with some labour might have been perswaded,
but when I found I must be hourly troubled, with making
broths, and dawbing your decayes with swading, and
with stitching up your ruines, for the world so reports.

Val.

Do not provoke me.

Wid.

And half an eye may see.

Val.

Do not provoke me, the world's a lying world, and
thou shalt find it, have a good heart, and take a strong faith
to thee, and mark what follows, my Nurse, yes, you shall
rock me: Widow I'le keep you waking.

Wid.

You are disposed Sir.

Val.

Yes marry am I Widow, and you shall feel it, nay
and they touch my freehold, I am a Tiger.

Wid.

I think so.

Val.

Come.

Wid.

Whither?

Val.

Any whither.

[Sings.

Take me quickly, while I am in this vein, away with me,
for if I have but two hours to consider, all the widows in the
world cannot recover me.

Wid.

If you will, go with me Sir.

Val.

Yes marrie will I, but 'tis in anger yet, and I will
marrie thee, do not cross me; yes, and I will lie with thee,
and get a whole bundle of babies, and I will kiss thee, stand
still and kiss me handsomely, but do not provoke me, stir
neither hand nor foot, for I am dangerous, I drunk sack
yesternight, do not allure me: Thou art no widow of this
world, come in pitie, and in spite I'le marrie thee, not a word
more, and I may be brought to love thee.

[Exeunt.
Enter Merchant, and Uncle, at several doors.
Mer.

Well met again, and what good news yet?

Unc.

Faith nothing.

Mer.

No fruits of what we sowed?

Unc.

Nothing I hear of.

Mer.

No turning in this tide yet?

Unc.

'Tis all flood, and till that fall away, there's no
expecting.

Enter Fran. Isab. Lance, Shorthose, a torch.
Mer.

Is not this his younger Brother?

Unc.

With a Gentlewoman the widow's sister, as I live
he smiles, he has got good hold, why well said Frank i'faith,
let's stay and mark.

Isab.

Well, you are the prettiest youth, and so you have
handled me, think you ha' me sure.

Fran.

As sure as wedlock.

Isab.

You had best lie with me too.

Fran.

Yes indeed will I, and get such black ey'd boyes.

Unc.

God a Mercy, Frank.

Isab.

This is a merrie world, poor simple Gentlewomen
that think no harm, cannot walk about their business, but
they must be catcht up I know not how.

Fran.

I'le tell you, and I'le instruct ye too, have I caught
you, Mistress?

Isab.

Well, and it were not for pure pity, I would give
you the slip yet, but being as it is.

Fran.

It shall be better.

Enter Valentine, Widow, and Ralph, with a torch.
Isab.

My sister, as I live, your Brother with her! sure, I
think you are the Kings takers.

Unc.

Now it works.

Val.

Nay, you shall know I am a man.

Wid.

I think so.

Val.

And such proof you shall have.

Wid.

I pray speak softly.

Val.

I'le speak it out Widow, yes and you shall confess
too, I am no Nurse-child, I went for a man, a good one, if
you can beat me out o'th' pit.

Wid.

I did but jest with you.

Val.

I'le handle you in earnest, and so handle you: Nay,
when my credit calls.

Wid.

Are you mad?

Val.

I am mad, I am mad.

Fran.

Good morrow, Sir, I like your preparation.

Val.

Thou hast been at it, Frank.

Fran.

Yes saith, 'tis done Sir.

Val.

Along with me then, never hang an arse, widow.

Isab.

'Tis to no purpose, sister.

Val.

Well said Black-brows, advance your torches
Gentlemen.

Unc.

Yes, yes Sir.

Val.

And keep your ranks.

Mer.

Lance, carrie this before him.

Unc.

Carrie it in state.

Enter Musicians, Fount. Hare. Bel.
Val.

What are you, Musicians? I know your coming, and
what are those behind you?

Musi.

Gentlemen that sent us to give the Lady a good
morrow.

Val.
O I know them, come boy sing the song I taught you,
And sing it lustily, come forward Gentlemen, you're welcom,
Welcom, now we are all friends, go get the Priest ready,
And let him not be long, we have much business:
Come Frank, rejoyce with me, thou hast got the start boy,
But I'le so tumble after, come my friends lead,
Lead cheerfully, and let your Fiddles ring boyes,
My follies and my fancies have an end here,
Display the morgage Lance, Merchant I'le pay you,
And every thing shall be in joynt again.

Unc.
Afore, afore.

Val.
And now confess, and know,
Wit without Money, sometimes gives the blow.

[Exeunt.