University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius.

Scæna Prima.

Enter Old Knight and Sir Gregory.
O. K.
Why now you take the course Sir Gregory Fop:
I could enforce her and I list, but love
That's gently wonne; is a mans owne for ever,
Have you prepar'd good musick?

Sir Greg.
As fine a noyse, Uncle, as heart can wish:

O. K.
Why that's done like a Suitor,
They must be woo'd a hundred severall waies,
Before you obtaine the right way in a woman,
'Tis an odde creature, full of creeks and windings.
The Serpent has not more; for sh'as all his,
And then her owne beside came in by her mother.

Sir Greg.
A fearefull portion for a man to venter on.

O. K.
But the way found once by the wits of men,
There is no creature lyes so tame agen.

Sir Greg.
I promise you, not a house-Rabbit, Sir.

O. K.
No sucker on 'em all.

Sir Greg.
What a thing 's that?
They're pretty Fooles I warrant, when they're tame
As a man can lay his lips to.

O. K.
How were you bred, Sir?
Did you never make a foole of a Tenants daughter?

Sir Greg.
Never i'faith, they ha' made some fooles for me,
And brought 'em many a time under their aprons.

O. K.
They could not shew you the way plainlier, I thinke,
To make a foole againe.

Sir Greg.
There's fooles enough, Sir,
Lesse they were wiser.

O. K.
This is wondrous rare,
Come you to London with a Maiden-head, Knight?
A Gentleman of your ranke ride with a Cloak-bag?
Never an Hostesse by the way to leave it with;
Nor Tapsters sister? nor head Ostlers wife?
What no body?

Sir Greg.
Well mockt old Wit Monger,
I keep it for your Neece.

O. K.
Do not say so for shame, shee'l laugh at thee,
A wife ne're looks for't, 'tis a Batchellors penny,
He may giv't to a beggar-wench, i'th progresse time,
And never call'd to account for't.

Exit.
Sir Greg.
Would I'de knowne so much,
I could ha' stopt a beggars mouth by'th way,
Enter Page.
That rail'd upon me cause I'de give her nothing—
What, are they come?

Pag.
And plac'd directly, Sir,
Under her window.

Sir Greg.
What may I call you Gentleman?

Boy.
A poore servant to the Violl, I'me the Voyce, Sir.

Sir Greg.
In good time Master Voyce.

Boy.
Indeed good time doe's get the mastery.

Sir Greg.
What Countryman Master Voyce?

Boy.
Sir, borne at Ely, we all set up in Ely,
But our house commonly breakes in Rutland Shire.

Sir Greg.
A shrewd place by my faith, it may well break your voyce,
It breaks many a mans back; come, set to your businesse.

Sir Greg.
I heare her up, here Master Voyce,
Pay you the Instruments, save what you can,
Enter Neece above.
To keep you when you're crackt.

Exit Boy.
Neece.
Who should this be?
That I'me so much beholding to, for sweetnesse?
Pray Heaven it happens right.

Sir Greg.
Good morrow Mistris.

Neece.
An ill day and a thousand come upon thee.

Sir Greg.
'Light that's sixe hundred more then any Almanack has.

Neece.
Comes it from thee? it is the mangiest Musick
That ever woman heard.

Sir Greg.
Nay say not so Lady,
There's not an itch about 'em.

Neece.
I could curse
My attentive powers, for giving entrance to't;
There is no boldnesse like the impudence
That's lock't in a fooles blood, how durst you do this?
In conscience I abus'd you as sufficiently
As woman could a man; insatiate Coxcombe,
The mocks, and spitefull language I have given thee,
Would a' my life ha' serv'd ten reasonable men,
And rise contented too, and left enough for their friends.
You glutten at abuses, never satisfied?
I am perswaded thou devour'st more flouts
Then all thy body's worth, and still a hungred!
A mischiefe of that mawe; prethee seeke elsewhere,
Introth I am weary of abusing thee;
Get thee a fresh Mistris, thou't make worke enough;
I do not thinke there's scorne enough in Towne
To serve thy turne, take the Court Ladies in,
And all their women to 'em, that exceed 'em.

Sir Greg.
Is this in earnest, Lady?

Neece.
Oh unsatiable!
Dost thou count all this but an earnest yet?
I'de thought I'de paid thee all the whole summe, trust me;
Thou't begger my derision utterly
If thou stai'st longer, I shall want a laugh:
If I knew where to borrow a contempt
Would hold thee tack, stay and be hang'd thou should'st then,
But thou'st no conscience now to extort hate from me,
When one has spent all she can make upon thee;
Must I begin to pay thee hire againe?
After I have rid thee twice? faith 'tis unreasonable.

Sir Greg.
Say you so? I'le know that presently.

Exit.
Neece.
Now he runs
To fetch my Uncle to this musty bargaine,
But I have better ware alwaies at hand.
And lay by this still when he comes to cheapen.

Enter Cuningame.
Cun.
I met the Musick now, yet cannot learne
What entertainment he receiv'd from her.

Nee.
There's some body set already, I must to't, I see,
Well, well, Sir Gregory.

Cun.
Hah, Sir Gregory?

Neece.
Where e're you come you may well boast your conquest.

Cun.
She's lost y'faith, enough, has fortune then
Remembred her great boy? she seldome failes 'em.

Neece.
He was the unlikeliest man at first, me thought,
To have my love, we never met but wrangled,

Cun.
A pox upon that wrangling, say I still,
I never knew it faile yet, where er't came;
It never comes but like a storme of haile,
'Tis sure to bring fine weather at the tayle on't,
There's not one match 'mongst twenty made without it,
It fights i'th tongue, but sure to agree i'th haunches.

Neece.
That man that should ha' told me, when time was,
I should ha' had him, had been laught at pitteously,
But see how things will change?

Cun,
Here's a heart feeles it—O the deceitfull promises of love!
What trust should a man put i'th lip of woman?
She kist me with that strength, as if sh'ad meant
To ha' set the faire print of her soule upon me.

Neece.
I would ha' sworne 'twould ne're ha' beene a match once.

Cun.
Ile heare no more, I'me mad to heare so much,
Why should I aime my thoughts at better fortunes
Then younger brothers have? that's a Maid with nothing,
Or some old Soap-boylers Widow, without teeth,
There waits my fortune for me, seeke no farther.

Exit Cun.
Enter Old Knight, and Sir Gregory.
O. K.
You tell me things, Sir Gregory, that cannot be,
She will not, nor she dares not.

Sir Greg.
Would I were whipt then.

Neece.
Ile make as little show of love, Sir Gregory,
As ever woman did, you shall not know
You have my heart a good while.

O. K.
Heard you that?

Neece.
Man will insult so soone, 'tis his condition,
'Tis good to keep him off as long as we can,
I've much a do, I sweare; and love i'th end
Will have his course, let Maids do what they can,
They are but fraile things, till they end in man.

O. K.
What say you to this, Sir?

Sir Greg.
This is somewhat handsome.

Neece.
And by that little wrangling that I fain'd,
Now I shall try how constant his love is,
Although't went sore against my heart to chide him.

Sir Greg.
Alas poore Gentlewoman.

O. K.
Now y'are sure of truth,
You heare her owne thoughts speak.

Sir Greg.
They speake indeed.

O. K.
Go, you're a brainelesse Coxe, a Toy, a Fop,
Ile go no farther then your name, Sir Gregory,
Ile right my self there; were you from this place,
You should perceive I'me heartily angry with you,
Offer to sowe strife 'twixt my Neece and I?
Good morrow Neece, good morrow.

Neece.
Many faire ones to you, Sir.

O. K.
Go, your'e a Coxcombe. How dost Neece this morning?
An Idle shallow foole: Slep'st thou well, Girle?
Fortune may very well provide thee Lordships,
For honesty has left thee little manners.

Sir Greg.
How am I bang'd a' both sides?

O. K.
Abuse kindnesse? Wil't take the ayre to day Neece?

Neece.
When you please, Sir,
There stands the Heyre behinde you I must take,
(Which I'de as live take, as take him I sweare.)

O. K.
La' you; do you hear't continued to your teeth now?
A pox of all such Gregories; what a hand
Neece lets fall her Scarfe.
Have I with you?

Sir Greg.
No more y'feck, I ha' done, Sir:
Lady, your Scarfe's falne downe.

Neece.
'Tis but your luck, Sir,
And doe's presage the Mistris must fall shortly,
You may weare it, and you please.

O. K.
There's a trick for you,
You'r parlously belov'd, you should complaine.

Sir Greg.
Yes, when I complaine, Sir,
Then do your worst, there Ile deceive you Sir.

O. K.
You are a Dolt, and so I leave you, Sir.

Exit.
Sir Greg.
Ah sirra, Mistris, were you caught y'faith?
We overheard you all; I must not know
I have your heart, take heed a that, I pray,
I knew some Scarfe would come.

Neece.
He's quite gone, sure:
Ah you base Coxcomb, couldst thou come againe?
And so abus'd as thou wast?

Sir Greg.
How?

Neece.
'Twould ha' kill'd
A sensible man, he would ha' gone to his Chamber,
And broke his heart by this time.

Sir Greg.
Thank you heartily.

Neece.
Or fixt a naked rapier in a wall,
Like him that earn'd his Knighthood e're he had it,
And then refus'd upon't, ran up to'th hilts.

Sir Greg.
Yes, let him run for me, I was never brought up to't,
I never profest running i' my life.

Neece.
What art thou made on? thou tough villanous vermin,
Will nothing destroy thee?

Sir Greg.
Yes, yes, assure your selfe
Unkinde words may do much.

Neece.
Why, dost thou want 'em?
I've e'ne consum'd my spleene to help thee to 'em,
Tell me what sort of words they be would speed thee?
Ile see what I can do yet.

Sir Greg.
I'me much beholding to you,
Your'e willing to bestow huge paines upon me.

Neece.
I should account nothing too much to rid thee.

Sir Greg.
I wonder you'd not offer to destroy me,
All the while your Uncle was here?

Neece.
Why there thou betray'st thy house, we of the Old-Crafts
Were borne to more wit then so.

Sir Greg.
I weare your favour here.

Neece.
Would it might rot thy arme off: if thou knewst
With what contempt thou hast it, what hearts bitternesse,
How many cunning curses came along with it,
Thoud'st quake to handle it.

Sir Greg.
A pox, tak't againe then;
Who'd be thus plagu'd of all hands?

Nee.
No, weare't still,
But long I hope thou shalt not, 'tis but cast
Upon thee, purposely to serve another
That has more right to't, as in some Countries they convey
Their treasure upon Asses to their friends,
If mine be but so wise and apprehensive
As my opinion gives him to my heart,
It stayes not long on thy desertlesse arme;
Ile make thee e're I ha' done not dare to weare
Any thing of mine, although I give't thee freely;
Kisse it you may, and make what shew you can,
But sure you carry't to a worthier man,
And so good morrow to you.

Sir Greg.
Hu hum, ha hum;
I han't the spirit now to dash my braines out,
Nor the audacity to kill my selfe,
But I could cry my heart out, that's as good,
For so't be out no matter which way it comes,
If I can dye with a fillip, or depart
At hot cockles, what's that to any man?
If there be so much death that serves my turne there.
Every one knowes the state of his owne body,
No Carrion kills a Kite, but then agen
There's Cheese will choak a Daw; time I were dead ifaith,
If I knew which way without hurt or danger.
I am a Maiden-Knight, and cannot looke
Upon a naked weapon with any modesty,
Else 'twould go hard with me, and to complaine
To Sir Perfidious the old Knight agen,
Were to be more abus'd; perhaps he would beat me well,
But ne're beleeve me;
Enter Cuningame.
And few men dye a beating, that were lost too:
Oh, here's my friend, ile make my moane to him.

Cun.
I cannot teare her memory from my heart,
That treads mine downe, was ever man so fool'd
That profest wit?

Sir Greg.
O Cuningame?

Cun.
Sir Gregory?
The choyce, the Victor, the Townes happy man?

Sir Greg.

Sniggs, what dost meane? come I to thee for
comfort, and dost abuse me too?

Cun.
Abuse you? how Sir?
With justifying your fortune, and your joyes?

Sir Greg.
Pray hold your hand, Sir i've bin bold enough,
You come with a new way now; strike me merrily,
But when a man's sore beaten a both sides already,
Then the least tap in jest goes to the guts on him;
Wilt ha the truth? i'me made the ranckest asse
That e're was borne to Lordships.

Cun.
What? no Sir;

Sir Greg.
I had not thought my body could a yeelded
All those foule scurvie names that she has call'd me,
I wonder whence she fecht 'em?

Cun.
Is this credible?

Sir Greg.
She pin'd this scarfe upon me afore her Unckle,
But his back turn'd, she curst me so for wearing on't,
The very brawne of mine arme has ak'd ever since,
Yet in a manner forc't me to weare't still,
But hop't I should not long; if good luck serve
I should meet one that has more wit and worth
Should take it from me, 'twas but lent to me,
And sent to him for a token.

Cun.
I conceit it, I know the man
That lyes in wait for't, part with't by all meanes,
In any case, you are way-laid about it.

Sir Greg.
How Sir? way-laid?

Cun.
Pox of a Scarfe say I,
I prize my friends life 'bove a million on 'em,
You shall be rul'd, Sir, I know more then you.

Sir Greg.
If you know more then I, let me be rid on't,
Lasse 'tis not for my wearing, so she told me.

Cun.
No, no, give me't, the knave shall misse his purpose,
And you shall live.

Sir Greg.
I would, as long as I could, Sir.

Cun.
No more replyes, you shall, Ile prevent this,
Pompey shall march without it.

Sir Greg.
What, is't he?
My man that was?

Cun.
Call him your deadly Enemy;
You give him too faire a name, you deale too nobly,
He beares a bloody minde, a cruell foe, Sir,
I care not if he heard me.

Sir Greg.
But do you heare, Sir?
Can't sound with reason she should affect him?

Cun.
Do you talk of reason? I never thought to have heard
Such a word come from you; reason in love?
Would you give that, no Doctor could e're give?
Has not a Deputy married his Cooke-maid?
An Aldermans Widow one that was her turne broach?
Nay, has not a great Lady brought her Stable
Into her Chamber: lay with her Horse-keeper?

Sir Greg.
Did ever love play such Jades tricks, Sir?

Cun.
Oh thousands, thousands: Beware a sturdy Clown ere while you live, Sir;
'Tis like a huswifery in most Shires about us;
You shall ha' Farmers widowes wed thinne Gentlemen,
Much like your selfe, but put 'em to no stresse;
What worke can they do, with small trap-stick leggs?
They keep Clownes to stop gaps, and drive in peggs,
A drudgery fit for Hindes, e'ne back agen, Sir,
You'r safest at returning.

Sir Greg.
Thinke you so, Sir?

Cun.
But how came this Clowne to be cal'd Pompey first?

Sir Greg.
Push, one good man Cæsar, a Pump-maker kersen'd him;
Pompey he writes himselfe, but his right name's Pumpey,
And stunke too when I had him, now he's cranke.

Cun.
I'me glad I know so much to quell his pride, Sir,
Walke you still that way, Ile make use of this,
To resolve all my doubts, and place this favour
On some new Mistris, only for a try,
And if it meet my thoughts, Ile sweare 'tis I.

Exit.
Sir Greg.
Is Pompey growne so malepert? so frampell?
The onely cutter about Ladies honours?
Enter Old Knight.
And his blade soonest out?

O. K.
Now, what's the newes, Sir?

Sir Gre.
I dare not say but good; oh excellent good, Sir.

O. K.
I hope now you'r resolv'd she loves you, Knight?

Sir Gr.
Cuds me, what else Sir? that's not to do now.

O. K.
You would not think how desperately you anger'd me,
When you belyed her goodnesse; oh you vext me,
Even to a Palsey.

Sir Greg.
What a thing was that, Sir?

Enter Neece.
Nee.
'Tis, that 'tis; as I have hope of sweetnes, the Scarfe's gone;
Worthy wise friend, I doat upon thy cunning,
We two shall be well matcht, our Issue male, sure
Will be borne Counsellors; is't possible?
Thou shalt have another token out of hand for't;
Nay since the way's found, pitty thou shouldst want, y'faith,
O my best joy, and dearest.

O. K.
Well said, Neece,
So violent fore your Uncle? what will you do
In secret then?

Sir Greg.
Marry call me slave, and rascall.

Neece.
Your Scarfe—the Scarfe I gave you—

O. K.
Masse that's true Neece,
I ne're thought upon that; the Scarfe she gave you-Sir?
What dumbe? no answer from you? the Scarfe?

Sir Greg.
I was way-laid about it, my life threatned;
Life's life, Scarfe's but a Scarfe, and so I parted from't.

Neece.
Unfortunate woman! my first favour too?

O. K.
Will you be still an asse? no reconcilement
Twixt you and wit? are you so far fallen out,
You'l never come together? I tell you true,
I'me very lowsily asham'd on you,
That's the worst shame that can be;
Thus bayting on him: now his heart's hook't in,
Ile make him, e're I ha' done, take her with nothing,
I love a man that lives by his wits alife;
Nay leave, sweet Neece, 'tis but a Scarfe, let it go.

Neece.
The going of it never grieves me, Sir.
It is the manner, the manner—

Sir Greg.
O dissembling Marmaset! if I durst speake,
Or could be believ'd when I speake,
What a tale could I tell, to make haire stand upright now?

Neece.
Nay, Sir, at your request you shall perceive, Uncle,
With what renewing love I forgive this?
Here's a faire Diamond, Sir, Ile try how long
You can keep that?

Sir Greg.
Not very long, you know't too,
Like a cunning witch as you are.

Neece.
Y'are best let him ha' that too.

Sir Greg.
So I were, I think, there were no living else,
I thank you, as you have handled the matter.

O. K.
Why this is musicall now, and Tuesday next
Shall tune your Instruments, that's the day set.

Neece.
A match, good Uncle.

O. K.
Sir, you heare me too?

Sir Greg.
Oh very well, I'me for you.

Neece.
What e're you heare, you know my minde.

Exeunt Old Knight, and Neece.
Sir Gre.

I a—on't, too well, if I do not wonder how
we two shall come together, I'me a beare whelpe? he talks
of Tuesday next, as familiarly as if we lov'd one another,
but 'tis as unlikely to me, as 'twas seven yeare before I saw
her; I shall try his cunning, it may be he has a way was
never yet thought on, and it had need to be such a one,
for all that I can thinke on will never do't; I looke to
have this Diamond taken from me very speedily, therefore
Ile take it off a my finger, for if it be seene, I shall be
way-laid for that too.

Exit.