 | A New Wonder, A Woman Never Vext |  |
Actus Quintus.
Enter Old Foster, his Wife, and Keeper.Keeper.
Come, come, be merry Sir; doe as mourners doe at
Funerals, weare your Hat in your eyes, and
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O. Fost.
I have no such fat legacie left me,
To teach me how to play the hypocrite.
Keep.
No? Why looke yee Sir, you shall want neither
Meate, drinke, money, nor any thing that the
House affords, or if any thing abroad like yee,
Sir, here's money, send for what you will Sir:
Nay, you shall beg no more at the Grate neither.
O. Fost.
Ha? Is not this Ludgate?
Keep.
Yes Sir.
O. Fost.
A Iayle, a prison, a tombe of men lock'd up;
Alive and buryed?
Keep.
'Tis what you please to call it.
O. Fost.
O, at what crevice then hath comfort
Like a Sun-beame crept? for all the doores
And windowes are of Iron, and barr'd to keepe
Her out; I had a limbe cut from my body
Deare to me as life; I had a son and brother too;
Oh griefe, they both would give me poyson first
In gold, before their hollow palmes ten
Drops should hold of natures drinke, cold water,
But to save my life one minute; whence
Should pitty come, when my best friends doe.
Beate it from this roome.
Keep.
No matter Sir, since you have good meat set
Before you, never aske who sent it; if heaven
Provide for you, and make the fowles of the
Ayre your Cators, feed you fat, and be thankefull,
And so I leave you.
Exit.
M. Fost.
The Keeper is your friend, and powres true balme
Into your smarting wounds; therefore deare
Husband endure the dressing with patience.
O. Fost.
O wife, my losses are as numberlesse as the
Sea's sands that swallowed them. And shall
I in reckoning them, my sad griefes multiply?
M. Fost.
You may Sir, but your dim eyes so thick with teares doe run.
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Besides your debts being truly counted cannot
Be great.
O. Fost.
But all my wealth and state lyes in the seas
Bottome.
M. Fost.
It againe may rise.
O. Fost.
Oh never.
M. Fost.
Good Sir, so hope, for I from heaven espy
An arme to plucke you from this misery.
Enter Keeper.
Keep.
Sir, there's one without desires to speake with you.
O. Fost.
Goe send him in; none comes to doe me good
My wealth is lost, now let them take my blood.
Enter Robert.
Ha? what art thou? Call for the Keeper there
And thrust him out of doores, or locke me up.
M. Fost.
O 'tis your son, Sir.
O. Fost.
I know him not:
I am no King, unlesse of scorne and woe,
Why kneel'st thou then; why dost thou mock me so?
Rob.
O my deare father, hither am I come
Not like a threatning storme to encrease your wrack
For I would take all sorrowes from your backe
To lay them all on my owne.
O. Fost.
Rise mischiefe, rise, away and get thee gone.
Rob.
O if I be thus hatefull to your eye
I will depart, and wish I soone may dye;
Yet let your blessing, Sir, but fall on me.
O. Fost.
My heart still hates thee.
M. Fost.
Sweet husband.
O. Fost.
Get you both gon;
That misery takes some rest that dwells alone;
Away thou villaine.
Rob.
Heaven can tell, ake but your finger, I to make it
Well, would cut my hand off.
O. Fost.
Hang thee, hang thee.
M. Fost.
Husband.
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Destruction meete thee, turne the key there ho.
Rob.
Good Sir: I'm gone, I will not stay to grieve you:
Oh knew you (for your woes) what paines I feele,
You would not scorne me so. See Sir, to coole
Your heate of burning sorrow I have got
Two hundred pounds and glad it is my lot
To lay it downe, with reverence at your feete;
No comfort in the world to me is sweet,
Whil'st thus you live in moane.
O. Fost.
Stay.
Rob.
Good troth Sir, I'l have none on't back,
Could but one penny of it save my life.
M. Fost.
Yet stay and heare him; Oh unnaturall strife,
In a hard fathers bosome.
O. Fost.
I see mine error now: oh can there grow
A Rose upon a Bramble? did there e'r flow
Poyson and health together in one tide?
I'm borne a man; reason may step aside.
And leade a father's love out of the way:
Forgive me, my good Boy, I went astray;
Looke, on my knees I beg it; not for joy
Thou bringst this golden rubbish, which I spurne
But glad in this, the heaven's mine eye balls turne,
And fixe them right to looke upon that face
Where love remaines with pitty, duty, grace.
Oh my deare wronged boy!
Rob.
Gladnesse o'rwhelmes my heart with joy I cannot speak
M. Fost.
Crosses of this foolish world.
Did never grieve my heart with torments more
Than it is now growne light,
With joy and comfort of this happy sight.
O. Fost.
Yet wife, I disinherited this boy.
Rob.
Your blessings all I crave.
O. Fost.
And that enjoy for ever, evermore; my
Blessings fly, to pay thy vertues, love and charity.
Enter Stephens Wife
M. Fost.
Here comes your brothers wife,
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Wife.
I thanke you; how fare you brother?
O. Fost.
Better than your husband's hate could wish me,
That laughes to see my backe with sorrowes bow:
But I am rid of halfe my ague now.
Wife.
Had you an ague then?
O. Fost.
Yes, and my heart had every houre a fit.
But now 'tas left me well, and I left it.
Wife.
O, 'tis well Cozin, what make you heare I pray?
Rob.
To support a weake house falling to decay.
Wife.
'Tis well, if you can doe't, and that the timber
You under-prop it with be all your owne.
Hearke Cuz, where's your Vncles mony?
Rob.
Faith Aunt 'tis gone, but not at dice,
Nor drabbing.
Wife.
Sir, I believe with your Vncles gold your father
You relieve.
Rob.
You are sav'd believing so, your beliefe's true.
Wife.
You cut large thongs of that's another's due
And you will answer't ill: now in good troth
I laugh at this jest, much good doe them both:
My wager I had won, had I but layd.
O. Fost.
What has my poore boy done, that you have
Made so much blood rise in's cheekes?
Wife.
Nothing deare brother, indeed all's well:
The course that he has runne I like and love,
Let him hold on the same;
A sons love to a father none can blame;
I will not leave your brother's iron heart
Till I have beate it soft with my intreates.
O. Fost.
'Twill ne'r be musick 'tis so full of frets.
Wife.
Frets make best musike: strings the higher
Rack'd sound sweetest.
O. Fost.
And sound nothing when they are crackt,
As is his love to me, and mine to him.
Wife.
I hope you both in smoother streames shall swim:
Hee's now the Sheriffe of London, and in counsell
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With Maior and Aldermen, how to receive the King,
Who comes to see Master Bruines Hospitall
To morow consecrated by'th Cardinall,
And old Saint Marie's Spittle, here by Shoreditch.
M. Fost.
I sister, he and you may sit 'bout what you will;
Heaven I'm sure prospers it, but I am ever crost;
You have bin bound for thee great voyages,
Yet ne're run a ground; maid, wife, and widdow,
And wife agen; have spread full and faire sayles,
No wracks you e're did dread, nor e're felt any;
But even close a shore, I'm sunke, and midst of
All my wealth made poore.
Wife.
You must thanke heaven.
M. Fost.
I doe indeed, for all.
Wife.
Sister, that hand can raise that gives the fall.
Enter Keeper.
Keep.
Master Foster, the new Sheriffe your brother
Is come to Ludgate, and I am come in haste
To know your pleasure, if you would see him.
O. Fost.
I'l see a fury first, hence, clap to the doore I prethee.
Wife.
Why, 'tis your brother Sir.
Rob.
Father let's flye the thunder of his rage.
Wife.
Stand valiantly, and let me beare the storme, all hurts
That are, and ruines in your bosomes I'l repayre.
Enter Stephen Foster.
Ste.
Where's the Keeper, goe Sir, take
My Officers, and see your prisoners
Presently convey'd from Ludgate unto
Newgate, and the Counters.
Keep.
I shall Sir.
Ste.
Let the Constables of the Wards assist you,
Goe, dispatch and take these with you; how now,
What mak'st thou here thou Catiffe? ha! com'st
Thou to stitch his wounds that seekes to cut
My Throate, dar'st thou in dispight releeve this
Dotard?
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Get thee from my sight, thou divell in red;
Com'st thou in scarlet pride to tread on thy poore
Brother in a Iayle, Is there but one small conduit-
pipe that runs could water to my comfort, and
Wouldst thou cut off that thou cruell man?
Ste.
Yes, I'l stop that pipe that thou maist pining sit,
When drops but fell on me, thou poysond'st it:
Thou thrust'st a sonnes name from thy cruell brest,
For cloathing of his Vncle; now that Vncle
Shall thrust him naked forth for clothing thee,
Banisht for ever from my wealth and me.
O. Fost.
Thou canst not be to nature so uneven,
To punish that which has a pay from heaven;
Pirty I meane, and duty; Wouldst thou strike?
Wound me then, that will kill thee if I can,
Tha'rt no brother, and I'le be no man.
Ste.
Thou ravest.
O. Fost.
How can I choose? thou makest me mad,
For shame thou shouldst not make these white haires sad;
Churle, beat not my poore boy, let him not lose
Thy love for my sake, I had rather bruise
My soule with torments for a thousand yeeres, could
I but live them, rather than salt teares thy
Malice draw from him; see here's thy gold,
Tell it, none's stole, my woes can ne'r be told.
Rob.
O misery! Is nature quite forgot?
O. Fost.
Choke with thy dung-hill muck, and vex me not.
Ste.
No, keepe it, he perhaps, that money stole
From me, to give it thee, for which to vex thy
Soule, I'l turne him forth of doores, make him
Thy heire, of Iayles, miseries, curses, and dispaire;
For here I disinherit him of all.
O. Fost.
No matter, lands to him in heaven will fall.
Wife.
Good Husband.
M. Fost.
Gentle brother.
Rob.
Deare Vncle.
Ste.
I am deafe.
O. Fost.
And damn'd, the divels thumbs stop thine eares.
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I'l make thee wash those curses off with teares.
Keeper, away with him out of my sight,
And doe Sir, as I charg'd you.
Keep.
Yes Sir; I will.
O. Fost.
Poore tyranny; when Lions weake Lambs kill.
Ex.
Ste.
How now wife, art vext yet?
Wife.
Never so well content, beleeve me Sir;
Your mildnesse weares this maske of cruelty well.
Ste.
I'm glad th'are gone, mine eyes with raine did swell,
And much adoe they had from powring downe:
The Keeper knows my minde, Wife I have paid
My brothers debts; and when he's out of doore:
To march to Newgate, he shall be set free.
Wife.
O let me kisse thee for this charity;
But for your Cozin Sir.
Ste.
He's my lives best health,
The Boy shall not miscarry for more wealth
Than London Gates locke safe up every night,
My breath in blacke clouds flyes, my thoughts
Are white.
Wife.
Why from Ludgate doe you remove prisoners?
Ste.
This is my meaning wife;
I'l take the prison downe and build it new,
With Leads to walke on, Roomes large and faire:
For when my selfe lay there, the noysome ayre,
Choakt up my spirits, and none better know,
What prisoners feele, than they that taste the woe.
The workmen are appointed for the businesse,
I will ha't dispatcht before 'tis thought on.
Wife.
In good deeds I will walke hand in hand with you,
There is a faire tenement, adjoyning close to the Gate
That was my fathers, I'l give it freely, take it downe,
And adde so much ground to the worke.
'Tis fairely given.
Thy soule on prisoners prayers shall mount to heaven:
The Plummers and the Workemen have survey'd the ground
From Paddington; from whence I'l have laid pipes
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From fresh Springs: when charity tunes the, pipe the
Poore man sings.
Enter Keeper.
How now Keeper.
Keep.
The prisoners are remov'd Sir.
Ste.
What did you with my brother?
Keep.
As you commanded Sir, I have discharged him.
Ste.
How did he meet that unexpected kindnesse?
Keep.
Troth Sir, as a man or'ecome 'twixt griefe and gladnes,
But turning to his sonne, he fetcht a sigh
So violent, as if his heart would breake,
And silent, wept, having no power to speake.
Wife.
'Las good old man, some sweet bird must sing,
And give his sorrowes present comforting.
Ste.
Not yet, I'l wracke his sorrowes to the height,
And of themselves they'l then sinke softly downe;
Keeper, goe thou agen after my brother,
Charge in my name him and his sonne to appeare
Before the King, to whom I will make knowne
Their wrongs against me; shewing just cause
To disinherit both by course of law. Be gone.
Keep.
I am gone Sir.
Exit.
Ste.
Come Wife.
Wife.
What's your meaning Sir?
Ste.
Thou shall know that anon.
The heavens oft scowle, clouds thicken, winds blow high,
Yet the brightest Sunne cleares all, and so will I.
Exeunt.
Enter, Henry the third, Mountford, Pembroke, Arundell, Lord Maior, Sheriffe Foster, Cardinall, Bruine, &c.
King.
O! welcome is all love, our peoples shouts
In their hearts language, make our benvenues,
Most high and soveraigne; we returne all thankes
Vnto our loving Cittizens, chiefely to you Sir,
Whose pious worke invites our Majesty to royallize
This place with our best presence, accompanied with this
Reverend Cardinall; would we might, after many broyles,
End our dayes in these religious toyles;
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How doe you call your buildings?
Bru.
Vnlesse it please your Majesty to change it,
I call it, Domus Dei.
King.
The house of God, it is too good to change, pray you proceede.
Bru.
These are my ends to all distressed Christians,
Whose travailes this way bends the hospitall,
Shall free souccour be, for three dayes, and three nights
Sojourne, for dyet, and lodging, both sweet, and
Satisfying; and if their neede be such, as much in
Coyne, as shall for three dayes more defray their
Futher travaile; this unto heaven, be you
Testator, good my Liege, and witnesse with me, noble
Gentlemen, most free and faithfully, I dedicate.
King.
An honourable worke, and deserves large memory.
Moun.
'Tis a good example, 'tis pitty 'tis no better followed.
Arun.
But say Sir, now in some future age, perhaps some
two or three hundred yeere behinde us, this place
Intended for a use so charitable, should bee
Vnhallowed agen, by villanous inhabitants; say whores,
In the stead of christians, and your hospitable
Tenements, turn'd into stewes; would not this grieve
You in your grave?
Bru.
If my grave were capable of griefe: sure it would Sir.
King.
Prethee be a false Prophet.
Arun.
I will, if I can, my Lord.
King.
Let now our Heraulds in the streets proclaime,
The title, and office, of this hospitall;
Make knowne to all distressed travellors, that
We'le accept this charitable house, this Domus Dei:
Shall be their free sojourne, as is propos'd.
Enter the one way, Stephens wife, the other, Mistris Foster, Jane, Old Foster, Robert and Keeper,
All kneele.
King.
What are these peticioners?
Rob.
Each hath a knee for duty, the other for petition,
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Rise, your dutie's done, your petitions shall neede
No knees, so your intents be honest, does
None here know them?
Ste.
Yes my good Lord, there's now a wonder in your sight.
King.
A wonder, Master Sheriffe, you meane for beauty.
Ste.
No my Lege, I would not so boast mine
Owne wife, but 'tis a wonder that excels beauty.
King.
A wonder in a woman; What is't I prethee?
Ste.
Patience my Leige, this is a woman that
Was never vext.
King.
You may boast it largely; 'tis a subjects happinesse
Above a Queenes; Have you suites to us?
Rob.
I am the suppliant plaintiffe, royall Henry
From me their griefes take their originall.
King.
What art thou?
Rob.
Even what your Grace shall please to make of me;
I was the son to this distressed father, untill he
Tooke his paternity off, and threw me from his love,
Then I became son to mine Vncle by adoption,
Who likewise that hath tane away againe,
And throwne me backe to poverty; never was
Son so tost betwixt two fathers, yet knowes
Not one, for still the richest does despise his heire,
And I am backe expulst into despaire.
King.
This may your vices cause.
Rob.
For that I come to your impartiall censure for a doome.
King.
We heare, speake on, we know the parties,
Each one relate his griefe, and if it lye in us,
We'l yeeld reliefe; 'tis first requisite that we
Know of you Sir, the cause of this your Sonnes disiuheritance
O. Fost.
Before I understood his vertuous minde,
Or weighed his disposition to be kind,
I did that froward worke; This now great man,
Was an unthrifty wretch, a prodigall then.
And I disdain'd to know his brotherhood,
Denyed reliefe to him; this childe kinde and good
Against my contradiction, did him releive, as his
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Still hee holds on his course,
He growes more kinde, and he in wasting worse;
My rage continued as it had begun,
And in that rage I threw away my sonne.
Ste.
The like plead I, my Lord: for when my state
Had rais'd it selfe by an uncertaine fate,
I tooke this out-cast childe, made him my owne,
As full and free, as I my selfe had sowne
The seede that brought him forth; for this my loue,
His oblieg'd duty presently did prove
A traytor to my trust, against my will,
Succouring that foe, which I did love so ill,
Onely for hating him; my charity being thus
Abus'd, and quit with injurie, what could I then
But as his father erst, so I agen might throw
Him from my love? for worse is love abus'd
Then new borne hate, and should be soe refus'de:
I did a fathers part, if it were bad,
Blame him for both, there I my patterne had.
King.
You fall betwixt two pillars Sir, is't not so?
Rob.
Vnhappy fate, my Lord, yet thus I pleade:
For this my fathers hate I might deserve,
I broke his precepts, and did unchildly swerve
From his commission, I to my Vncle gave
What was my fathers, striving thereby to save
His falne repute; he rag'd, I did it still,
Yet must confesse as it was well, twas ill,
Well in my love, me thought, ill to my sate:
For I thereby ruin'd my owne estate,
But that mine Vncle throwes me forth of doore
For the same cause he tooke me in before,
Beats forest, gainst my bosome; if twere good
To take from a father for an Vncles foode,
In lawes of love and nature, how much rather
Might I abridge an Vncle for a father?
Charitie's, a vertue generally stands,
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Then would you keep't alone; for when you heire
I first adopted was, charity was there:
How er'rs your judgement then? seeing you see
What was good in you, makes sin in mee;
You'l say my father did it, oh throw away
That foule excuse; let not discretion stray
So farre a side; if custome lawfull make,
Then sin were lawfull for example sake;
Nor were those wasted goods only your owne,
Since part was mine having adoption;
Then doe him right, my Lord, yet doe no wrong,
For where my duty fai'ld my love was strong.
King.
With an impartiall eare we have heard your
Loving story, 'tis both fayre and honest.
Ste.
O let me now anticipate your Grace,
And casting off the shadow of a face,
Shew my hearts true figure, how have I striv'd
To make this forc't counterfeit long liu'd,
And now it bursts; come into my heart,
I have two iewells here shall never part
From my loves eye watch, two worthy to be fil'd,
On times best record; a woman and a child,
Now Sir, to you I come, we must be friends,
Though envie wils not so, yet love contends
Gainst envy and her forces; my young yeares
Say I must offer first, a peace in teares.
O. Fost.
O let my shame my bosomes center breake!
Love is so young it coyes, but cannot speake.
King.
You blesse mine eyes with objects that become
The theater of Kings to looke upon.
Ste.
The keeper is discharg'd Sir, your debts are paid,
And from the prison yare a new free man made:
Theres not a Creditor can aske you ought,
As your sonne did forme, so have I bought
Your liberty with mine, and to encrease it more,
Because I know bare liberty is poore
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The thirds of mine are yours, say you Amen.
Wife.
No, not to that, you are kind brothers now,
Divide by halfes that love, and I'l allow.
Ste.
Thou art onely wife in vertue, as thou setst downe,
So let it be, halfe my estate's your owne.
O. Fost.
It whole redownes agen, for I am yours;
Forget this minute my forgetfull houres.
Ste.
O, they are buried all Sir.
King.
This union's good, such league should ever be in brotherhood.
Ste.
Yet without boast, my Leige, let me relate
One small thing more, remorse of my owne state,
And my deare brothers worse succession;
For that we both have prisoners been in one
Selfe-same place of woe, and felt those throwes
That Ludgate yeelds; my charity bestowes
Some almes of comfort: Keeper you can speake it.
Keep.
And many hundreds more Sir, you have reedified
And built it faire, adding more ground to it,
And by pipes of lead from Paddingtun, drawne
Water thither, free for all prisoners, lodgings
Likewise free, and a hundred pounds yearely, to make
Them fires for better comfort: all this is almost finisht:
Kin.
A worthy work, the better being done in the Founders eie,
Not left unto succession.
Ste.
O my good Lord, I ever keep in mind an English
Sentence, which my tutor is, and teaches me to act my
Charity with mine owne handes so doubtfull is
Performance, when the Benefactor's dead.
King.
What is't I prethee?
Ste.
This my good Lord, women are forgetfull.
Children unkind, Executors covetous, and take what they find,
If any man aske where the deads goods became,
The Executor sweares he dyed a poore man.
King.
You have prevented well, so has this good Alderman,
I wish you many Schollers.
Wife.
You make some doubt of me in this Sir;
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King.
You have vext her now Sir, how doe you answer that?
Ste.
No my Lord, she's exempt from the proverbe.
Wife.
No my Lord, I'l helpe it better, I doe confesse
That women are forgetfull, yet ne'r the lesse
I am exempt, I know my fate, and finde
My deare husband must not leave me behind,
But I must goe before him, and 'tis said,
The grave's good rest when women goe first to bed.
Ste.
Thankes for thy excuse good wife, but not thy love
To fill my grave before me, I would not live to see that day.
Wife.
Prethee no more, I had rather be angry than flatter'd.
King.
You have a wonder Master Sheriffe, a prizelesse jewell.
Ste.
Many jewels my good Lord; a brother, wife, and child,
For this I would have strove even with a father,
How ere rough stormes did in my brows appeare,
Within my bosome it was alwaies cleare.
O. Fost.
I give him to you now Sir.
Ste.
I take him, and to him backe doe give,
All that my selfe behind in state shall leave.
O. Fost.
And all that you gave me, I doe bestow,
So in one houre become full heire to two.
Bru.
I claime a third by this bonds vertue,
See as a third father, thou art heire to those.
Iane.
I will not goe to him father on any of these conditions.
Rob.
You shall have love to boote too, sweet Jane.
Iane.
Nay, and you play booty, I dare not trust you,
Rob.
What shall I say, except my hand and heart,
Ty'de in a True-loves Knot, ne'r to part.
Iane.
I marry Sir, these are better conditions than the
Inheritance of three fathers; let me have
Love in Esse, let lands follow in Posse:
Now I'l have thee as fast as the Priest
Can dispatch us, let him read as fast as he can.
King.
The liveliest harmony that ere I heard:
All instruments compar'd to these sweet tunes,
Are dull and harsh; I joy to see so good a childe.
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You worthy Sir, did invite us to a feast,
Wee'l not forget it, but will bee your guest,
Because wee'l veiw these wonders o're agen,
Whose records doe deserve a brazen Pen,
But this above the rest, in golden text,
Shall be insculpt; A Woman never Vext.
Exeunt.
FINIS.
| A New Wonder, A Woman Never Vext | |