 | Wit without Money |  |
Actus primus.
Scena prima.
Enter Uncle and Merchant.Merc.
When saw you Valentine?
Uncle.
Not since the Horse-race,
he's taken up with those that woo
the Widow.
Mer.
How can, he live by snatches from such people?
he bore a worthy mind,
Uncle.
Alas, he's sunk, his means are gone, he wants,
and which is worse,
Mer.
That's strange.
Unc.
Runs Lunatick, if you but talk of states, he cannot
be brought (now he has spent his own) to think there's
inheritance, or means, but all a common riches, all men
bound to be his Bailiffs.
Mer.
This is something dangerous.
Uncle.
No Gentleman that has estate to use it in keeping
house, or followers, for those wayes he cries against,
for Eating sins, dull Surfeits, cramming of Serving men,
mustering of Beggars, maintaining Hospitals for Kites, and
Curs, grounding their fat faiths upon old Country proverbs,
God bless the Founders; these he would have ventured into
more manly uses, Wit, and carriage, and never thinks
of state, or means, the ground-works: holding it monstrous,
men should feed their bodies, and starve their understandings.
Mer.
That's most certain.
Uncle.
Yes, if he could stay there.
Mer.
Why let him marry, and that way rise again.
Uncle.
It's most impossible, he will not look with any
handsomeness upon a Woman.
Mer.
Is he so strange to Women?
Uncle.
I know not what it is, a foolish glory he has got,
I know not where, to balk those benefits, and yet he will
converse and flatter 'em, make 'em, or fair, or foul, rugged,
or smooth, as his impression serves, for he affirms,
they are only lumps, and undigested pieces, lickt over to
a form by our affections, and then they show. The Lovers
let 'em pass.
Enter Fountain, Bellamore, Hairbrain.
Mer.
He might be one, he carries as much promise; they
are wondrous merry.
Uncle.
O their hopes are high, Sir.
Fount.
Is Valentine come to Town?
Bella.
Last night, I heard.
Fount.
We miss him monstrously in our directions, for
this Widow is as stately, and as crafty, and stands I warrant
you—
Hair.
Let her stand sure, she falls before us else, come
let's go seek Valentine.
Mer.
This Widow seems a Gallant.
Uncle.
A goodly Woman, and to her handsomness she
bears her state, reserved, and great Fortune has made her
Mistress of a full means, and well she knows to use it.
I would Valentine had her.
Uncle.
There's no hope of that, Sir.
Mer.
O' that condition, he had his Mortgage in again.
Uncle.
I would he had.
Mer.
Seek means, and see what I'le do, however let
the Money be paid in, I never sought a Gentlemans undoing,
nor eat the bread of other mens vexations, you told
me of another Brother.
Uncle.
Yes Sir, more miserable than he, for he has eat
him, and drunk him up, a handsome Gentleman, and fine
scholar.
Enter three Tenants.
Mer.
What are these?
Unc.
The Tenants, they'll do what they can.
Mer.
It is well prepared, be earnest, honest friends, and
loud upon him, he is deaf to his own good.
Lance.
We mean to tell him part of our minds an't please
you.
Mer.
Do, and do it home, and in what my care may
help, or my perswasions when we meet next.
Unc.
Do but perswade him fairly; and for your money,
mine, and these mens thanks too, and what we can be able.
Mer.
Y'are most honest, you shall find me no less, and
so I leave you, prosper your business my friends.
Unc.
Pray Heaven it may, Sir.
Lance.
Nay if he will be mad, I'le be mad with him, and
tell him that I'le not spare him, his Father kept good Meat,
good Drink, good Fellows, good Hawks, good Hounds,
and bid his Neighbours welcome; kept him too, and supplied
his prodigality, yet kept his state still; must we turn
Tenants now, after we have lived under the race of Gentry,
and maintained good Yeomantry, to some of the City, to
a great shoulder of Mutton and a Custard, and have our
state turned into Cabbidge Gardens, must it be so?
Unc.
You must be milder to him.
Lance.
That's as he makes his game.
Unc.
Intreat him lovingly, and make him feel.
Lance.
I'le pinch him to the bones else.
[Valen. Within.]
And tell the Gentleman, I'le be with
him presently, say I want money too, I must not fail boy.
Lance.
You'l want Cloaths, I hope.
Enter Valentine.
Val.
Bid the young Courtier repair to me anon, I'le read
to him.
Unc.
He comes, de diligent, but not too rugged, start
him, but affright him not.
Val.
Phew, are you there?
Unc.
We come to see you Nephew, be not angry.
Val.
Why do you dog me thus, with these strange people?
why, all the world shall never make me rich more,
Nor master of these troubles.
Tenants.
We beseech you for our poor Childrens sake.
Val.
Who bid you get 'em? have you not threshing work
enough, but Children must be bang'd out o'th' sheaf too?
other men with all their delicates, and healthful diets, can
get but wind eggs: you with a clove of Garlick, a piece of
Cheese would break a Saw, and sowre Milk, can mount
like Stallions, and I must maintain these tumblers.
Lance.
You ought to maintain us, we have maintained
you, and when you slept provided for you; who bought the
Silk you wear? I think our labours; reckon, you'll find it
so: who found your Horses perpetual pots of Ale, maintain'd
your Taverns, and who extol'd you in the Half-crown-boxes,
where you might sit and muster all the Beauties? we
had no hand in these; no, we are all puppies?
Your Tenants base vexations.
Val.
Very well, Sir.
Lance.
Had you Land, Sir, and honest men to serve your
purposes, honest and faithful, and will you run away from
'em, betray your self, and your poor Tribe to misery; mortgage
all us, like old Cloaks; where will you hunt next? you
had a thousand Acres, fair and open: The Kings-Bench is
enclosed, there's no good riding, the Counter is full of
thorns and brakes; take heed Sir, and boggs, you'l quickly
find what broth they're made of.
Val.
Y'are short and pithy.
Lance.
They say y'are a fine Gentleman, and of excellent
judgement, they report you have a wit; keep yourself out
o'th' Rain, and take your Cloak with you, which by interpretation
is your State, Sir, or I shall think your fame
belied you, you have money, and may have means.
Val.
I prethee leave prating, does my good lye within
thy brain to further, or my undoing in thy pity? go, go,
get you home, there whistle to your Horses, and let them
edifie; away, sow Hemp to hang your selves withal: what
am I to you, or you to me; am I your Landlord, puppies?
Unc.
'This is unevil.
Val.
More unmerciful you, to vex me with these Bacon
Broth and Puddings, they are the walking shapes of all my
sorrows.
3 Tenants.
Your Fathers Worship would have used us
better.
Val.
My Fathers Worship was a Fool.
Lance.
Hey, hey boys, old Valentine i'faith, the old boy
still.
Unc.
Fie Cousin.
Val.
I mean besotted to his state, he had never left me
the misery of so much means else, which till I sold, was a
meer meagrim to me: If you will talk, turn out these
Tenants, they are as killing to my nature Uncle, as water
to a Feaver.
Lance.
We will go, but it is like Rams, to come again the
stronger, and you shall keep your state.
Val.
Thou lyest, I will not.
Lance.
Sweet Sir, thou lyest, thou shalt, and so good
morrow.
[Exeunt Tenants.
Val.
This was my man, and of a noble breeding: now
to your business Uncle.
Unc.
To your state then.
Val.
'Tis gone, and I am glad on't, name it no more, 'tis
that I pray against, and Heaven has heard me, I tell you,
Sir, I am more fearful of it, I mean, of thinking of more
lands, or livings, than sickly men are travelling o' Sundays,
for being quell'd with Carriers; out upon't, caveat emptor,
let the fool out-sweat it, that thinks he has got a catch on't.
Unc.
This is madness to be a wilful begger.
Val.
I am mad then, and so I meant to be, will that content
you? How bravely now I live, how jocund, how near
the first inheritance, without fears, how free from title-troubles!
Unc.
And from means too.
Val.
Means? why all good men's my means; my wit's
my Plow, the Town's my stock, Tavern's my standing-house,
and all the world knows there's no want; all Gentlemen
that love Society, love me; all Purses that wit and pleasure
opens, are my Tenants; every mans Cloaths fit me, the
next fair lodging is but my next remove, and when I please
to be more eminent, and take the Air, a piece is levied,
and a Coach prepared, and I go I care not whither, what
need state here?
Unc.
But say these means were honest, will they last, Sir?
Val.
Far longer than your jerkin, and wear fairer, should
I take ought of you, 'tis true, I beg'd now, or which is
worse than that, I stole a kindness, and which is worst of
all, I lost my way in't; your mind's enclosed, nothing lies
open nobly, your very thoughts are Hinds that work on
nothing but daily sweat and trouble: were my way so
full of dirt as this, 'tis true I'd shift it; are my acquaintance
Grasiers? but Sir, know, no man that I am allied to, in
my living, but makes it equal, whether his own use, or
my necessity pull first, nor is this forc'd, but the meer quality
and poisure of goodness, and do you think I venture
nothing equal?
Unc.
You pose me Cousin.
Wal.
What's my knowledge Uncle, is't not worth mony?
what's my understanding, travel, reading, wit, all these
much flegm had frozen up, some that spoke too much, to
hold their peace, and put their tongues to pensions, some to
wear their cloaths, and some to keep 'em, these are nothing
Uncle; besides these wayes, to teach the way of nature, a
manly love, community to all that are deservers, not examining
how much, or what's done for them, 'tis wicked, and
such a one like you, chews his thoughts doule, making 'em
only food for his repentance.
Enter two Servants.
1 Ser.
This cloak and hat Sir, and my Masters love.
Val.
Commend's to thy Master, and take that, and leave
'em at my lodging.
1 Ser.
I shall do it Sir.
Val.
I do not think of these things.
2 Ser.
Please you Sir, I have gold here for you.
Val.
Give it me, drink that and commend me to thy Master;
look you Uncle, do I beg these?
Unc.
No sure, 'tis your worth, Sir.
Val.
'Tis like enough, but pray satisfie me, are not these
ways as honest as persecuting the starved inheritance, with
musty Corn, the very rats were fain to run away from, or
selling rotten wood by the pound, like spices, which Gentlemen
do after burn by th'ounces? do not I know your way of
feeding beasts with grains, and windy stuff, to blow up
Butchers? your racking Pastures, that have eaten up as many
singing Shepherds, and their issues, as Andeluzsa breeds?
these are authentique, I tell you Sir, I would not change
ways with you, unless it were to sell your state that hour,
and if it were possible to spend it then too, for all your Beans
in Rumnillo, now you know me.
Unc.
I would you knew your self, but since you are grown
such a strange enemy to all that fits you, give me leave to
make your Brothers fortune.
Val.
How?
Unc.
From your mortgage, which yet you may recover,
I'le find the means.
Val.
Pray save your labour Sir, my Brother and my self
will run one fortune, and I think what I hold a meer
vexation, cannot be safe for him, I love him better, he has
wit at will, the world has means, he shall live without this
trick of state, we are heirs both, and all the world before
us.
Unc.
My last offer, and then I am gone.
Val.
What is't, and then I'le answer.
Unc.
What think you of a wife yet to restore you, and
tell me seriously without these trifles.
Val.
And you can find one, that can please my fancy, you
shall not find me stubborn.
Unc.
Speak your Woman.
Val.
One without eyes, that is, self commendations, for
when they find they are handsom, they are unwholsome,
one without ears, not giving time to flatterers, for she that
hears her self commended, wavers, and points men out a
way to make 'em wicked; one without substance of her self;
that woman without the pleasure of her life, that's wanton;
though she be young, forgetting it, though fair, making her
glass the eyes of honest men, not her own admiration, all
her ends obedience, all her hours new blessings, if there may
be such a woman.
Unc.
Yes there may be.
Val.
And without state too.
Unc.
You are disposed to trifle, well, fare you well Sir,
when you want me next, you'l seek me out a better sence.
Val.
Farewell Uncle, and as you love your estate, let not
me hear ou't.
[Exit.
Unc.
It shall not trouble you, I'le watch him still,
And when his friends fall off then bend his will.
[Exit.
Enter Isabella, and Luce.
Luce.
I know the cause of all this sadness now, your sister
has ingrost all the brave Lovers.
Isab.
She has wherewithall, much good may't do her, prethee
speak softly, we are open to mens ears.
Luce.
Fear not, we are safe, we may see all that pass, hear
all; and make our selves merry with their language, and
yet stand undiscovered, be not melancholy, you are as fair
as she.
Isab.
Who I? I thank you, I am as haste ordain'd me a
thing slubber'd, my sister is a goodly portly Lady, a woman
of a presence, she spreads sattens, as the Kings ships do
canvas every where, she may spare me her misen, and her
bonnets, strike her main Petticoat, and yet outsail me, I
am a Carvel to her.
Luce.
But a tight one.
Isab.
She is excellent, well built too.
Luce.
And yet she's old.
Isab.
She never saw above one voyage Luce, and credit
me after another, her Hull will serve again, a right good
Merchant: she plaies, and sings too, dances and discourses,
comes very near Essays, a pretty Poet, begins to piddle with
Philosophie, a subtil Chymick Wench, and can extract
the Spirit of mens Estates, she has the light before her, and
cannot miss her choice for me, 'tis reason I wait my my mean
fortune.
Luce.
You are so bashfull.
Isab.
It is not at first word up and ride, thou art cozen'd;
that would shew mad i'faith: besides, we lose the main part
of our politick government: if we become provokers, then
we are fair, and fit for mens imbraces, when like towns,
they lie before us ages, yet not carried, hold out their
strongest batteries, then compound too without the loss
of honour, and march off with our fair wedding, Colours
flying. Who are these?
Enter Franc. and Lance.
Luce.
I know not, nor I care not.
Isab.
Prethee peace then, a well built Gentleman.
Luce.
But poorly thatcht.
Lance.
Has he devour'd you too?
Fran.
H'as gulp'd me down Lance.
Lance.
Left you no means to study?
Fran.
Not a farthing: dispatcht my poor annuity I thank
him, here's all the hope I have left, one bare ten shillings.
Lan.
You are fit for great mens services.
Fran.
I am fit, but who'le take me thus? mens miseries are
now accounted stains in their natures. I have travelled, and I
have studied long, observed all Kingdoms, know all the
promises of Art and manners, yet that I am not bold, nor
cannot flatter, I shall not thrive, all these are but vain Studies,
art thou so rich as to get me a lodging Lance?
Lan.
I'le sell the titles of my house else, my Horse, my
Hawk, nay's death I'le pawn my wife: Oh Mr
Francis, that
I should see your Fathers house fall thus!
Isab.
An honest fellow.
Lan.
Your Fathers house, that fed me, that bred up all
my name!
Isab.
A gratefull fellow.
Lan.
And fall by—
Fran.
Peace, I know you are angry Lance, but I must
not hear with whom, he is my Brother, and though you
hold him slight, my most dear Brother: A Gentleman; excepting
some few rubs, he were too excellent to live here
else, fraughted as deep with noble and brave parts, the issues
of a noble and manly Spirit, as any he alive. I must not hear
you; though I am miserable, and he made me so, yet still
he is my Brother, still I love him, and to that tye of blood
link my affections.
Isab.
A noble nature! dost thou know him Luce?
Luce.
No, Mistress.
Isab.
Thou shouldest ever know such good men, what a
fair body and mind are married!—did he not say he
wanted?
Luce.
What's that to you?
Isab.
'Tis true, but 'tis great pity.
Luce.
How she changes! ten thousand more than he, as
handsom men too.
'Tis like enough, but as I live, this. Gentleman
among ten thousand thousand! is there no knowing him?
Why should he want? fellows of no merit, slight and pust
souls, that walk like shadows, by leaving no print of what
they are, or poise, let them complain.
Luce.
Her colour changes strangely.
Isab.
This man was made, to mark his wants to waken
us; alas poor Gentleman, but will that keep him from cold
and hunger, believe me he is well bred, and cannot be but of
noble linage, mark him, mark him well.
Luce.
'Is a handsom man.
Isab.
The sweetness of his sufferance sets him off, O Luce,
but whither go I?
Luce.
You cannot hide it.
Isab.
I would he had what I can spare.
Luce.
'Tis charitable.
Lance.
Come Sir, I'le see you lodg'd, you have tied my
tongue fast, I'le steal before you want, 'tis but a hanging.
Isab.
That's a good fellow too, an honest fellow, why, this
would move a stone, I must needs know; but that some
other time.
[Exit Lance, and Franc.
Luce.
Is the wind there? that makes for me.
Isab.
Come, I forgot a business.
| Wit without Money | |