 | The Wedding |  |
Actus Primi.
Scœna Prima.
Enter Sir Iohn Belfare, and Isaac his man, seruants bringing in Prouision.Belfare.
Well done my Masters, yee bestirre your selues, I see
we shall feast to morrow.
Ser.
Your worship shall want no Wood-cockes
at the Wedding.
Isa.
Thou hast as many as thou canst carry, and
thirteene to the last dozen.
Bel.
Isaac.
Isa.
Sir.
Bel.
Haue you beene carefull, to inuite those friends, you had
direction for?
Isa.
Yes sir, I haue beene a continuall motion euer since I rise,
Bel.
We shall want no guests then.
Isa.
I haue commanded most on'em.
Bel.
How sir?
Isa.
I ha'bid 'em sir, there's two in my list, will not fayle to
dine w'ee.
Bel.
Who are they?
Isa.
Master Rawbone, the yong vsurer.
Bel.
Oh hees reported a good Trencher-man,
He has a tall stomacke, he shall be welcome.
Isa.
They say, he has made an Obligation to the Diuell, if euer
he eate a good meale at his owne charge, his soule is forfeit.
Bel.
How does he liue?
Isa.
Vpon his mony sir.
Bel.
He does not eate it.
Isa.
No the Diuell choake him, it were a golden age, if all the
Vsurers in London should ha'no other dyet; hee has a thingut
waytes vpon him, I thinke, one of his bastards, be got vppon a spider,
I hope to liue, to see 'em both drawne through a ring.
Bel.
Who is the other?
Isa.
The other may be knowne too, the barrell at Heidelberg was
the patterne of his belly, Master Lodam sir.
Bel.
Hee's a great man indeede.
Isa.
Something giuen to the wast, for he liues within no reasonable
compasse I'm sure.
Bel.
They will be well met.
Isa.
But very ill matcht to draw a Coach, yet at prouender, there
wil be scarce an Oate betweene the leane iade, and the fat Gelding.
Bel.
How liues he?
Isa.
Religiously sir; for hee that feedes well, must by consequence
liue well, hee holds none can be dam'd but leane men, for
fat men he sayes must needes bee sau'd by the faith of their body.
Enter Mr Beauford, and Captaine Landby.
Bel.
Mr. Beauford and Captayne Landby: Isaac, call forth my
Daughter.
Sir Iohn, I hope you make no stranger of me,
To morrow, I shall change my title for
Your sonne, soone as the holy rites shall make me
The happy husband to your daughter, in the meane time
It will become me wayte on her.
Bel.
I possesse nothing but in trust for thee,
Gratiana makes all thine.
Cap.
I shall presume to follow.
Bel.
Your friendship noble Captaine to Mr. Beauford,
Makes your person most welcome,
Had you no other merit, pray enter.
Exe. Bea. & Cap.
Heauen hath already crownd my gray hayres!
I liue to see my daughter married
To a noble husband, the enuye of our time,
And exact patterne of a Gentleman,
As hopefull as the Spring, I am growne proud,
Euen in my age.
Exit.
Enter Marwood.
Mar.
Dost heare sirra?
Isa.
I sirra.
Mar.
Is Master Beauford within?
Isa.
No sir.
Mar.
I was inform'd he came hither, is he not here?
Isa.
Yes sir.
Mar.
Thou sayst he's not within.
Is.
No sir, but tis very like he wilbe to morrow night sir.
Mar.
How is this?
Is.
Would you haue him be within before he is married.
Mar.
Witty Groome, prethee inuite him forth; say here's a friend
Is.
Now you talke of inuiting, I haue two or three guests to inuite
yet: let me see.
Mar.
Why dost not mooue?
Is.
And you make much adoe, ile inuite you: pray come to the
Wedding to morrow.
Exit.
Enter Sir Iohn Belfare, Beauford, and Captaine.
Tis hee.
Bea.
You were my happy prospect from the window, Coose
you are a most welcome guest.
Bel.
Mr. Marwood, you haue beene a great stranger to the City,
or my house for the course entertaynement you receiu'd, hath
beene vnworthy of your visit.
Mar.
Twas much aboue my desert sir: Captayne.
Cap.
I congratulate your returne.
Bel.
Beauford, Gentlemen enter my house,
And perfect your embraces there: I lead the way.
Exit.
Bea.
Pray follow.
Mar.
Your pardon.
Cap.
We know you haue other habit,
You were not wont to affect ceremony.
Mar. & Bea whisper,
Bea.
How?
Cap.
I do not like his present countenance,
It does threaten somewhat; I wo'd not prophesie.
Bea.
Good Captayne,
Excuse my absence to our friends within,
I haue affayres concernes me with my kinsman,
Which done, we both returne to wayte on 'em.
Cap.
I shall sir.
Bea.
Now proceed.
Mar.
We are kinsmen.
Bea.
More we are friends.
Mar.
And shal I doubt to speak to Beauford any thing,
My loue directs me to?
Bea.
What needs this circumstance?
Wee were not wont to talke at such a distance,
You appeare wild.
Ma.
I haue beene wilde indeede
In my vngouernd youth, but ha' reclaimd it,
And am so laden with the memory of former errours,
That I desire to be confest.
Bea.
Confest? I am no Gostly father.
But you must heare, you may absolue mee too:
Bea.
If thou hast any discontentments prethee take other time
For their discourse, I am in expectation of Marriage,
I would not interrupt my ioyes.
Ma.
I must require your present hearing,
It concernes vs both, as neere as fame, or life.
Bea.
Ha! what is it?
Ma.
Wee shall haue opportunity at your lodging,
The streetes are populous and full noise,
So please you walke, Ile wait one you.
Bea.
Ime your seruant.
Exeunt.
Enter Iustice Landby, and Milisent.
Iust.
Milisent. Where's my daughter?
Mil.
In complement with Mr. Rawbone, who is newly entred sir.
Iust.
O there's a peece of folly.
A thing made vp of parchment and his bonds
Are of more value then his soule and body,
Were any man the purchaser, onely wise
In his hereditary trade of vsury,
Vnderstands nothing but a scriuener,
As if he were created for no vse
But to grow rich with intrest, to his ignorance,
He ha's the gift, of being impudent,
What will he grow to, if he liue, that is
So young a monster?
Mil.
With your fauour sir
If you hold no better opinion of this Citizen
It puzles, mee why you inuite him, to your house
And entertainement, he pretending affection to your daughter,
Pardon me sir if I seeme bold.
Iust.
As some men Milisent
Do suffer spiders in their Chamber, while
They count them profitable vermine.
Mil.
But he's most like to scatter poyson sir,
Your fame is precious, and your family
An entire Riuer, still maintayn'd his current
Chast, and delightfull.
Iust.
Sha't receiue my bosome,
Ile sooner match her with an Ethiope,
Then giue consent, she should disgrace our blood;
And herein I but trye her strength of iudgement
In giuing him accesse; if she haue lost
Remembrance of her birth, and generous thoughts,
She suck'd from her dead mother, with my care
Ile striue to reinforce her natiue goodnesse,
Or quite diuorse her from my blood: and Milisent
Ile vse your vigilance.
Mil.
Sir command.
Iust.
I will,
Not vrge how I receiu'd you first a stranger,
Nor the condition of your life, with me,
Aboue the nature of a seruant, to
Obliege your faith: I haue obserued thee honest.
Mil.
You are full of noble thoughts.
Iust.
Though I suspect not
The obedience of my daughter, yet her youth
Is apt to erre, let me employ your eye
Vpon her still, and receiue knowledge from you,
How she dispenceth fauours, you shall binde
My loue the stronger to you.
Mil.
Sir, I shall be ambitious to deserue your fauour
Withall the duties of a seruant, and
I doubt not, but your Daughter is so full
Of conscience, and care in the conformity
Of her desires to your will, I shall
Inrich my sight with obseruation,
And make my intelligence happy.
Enter Cameleon.
Iust.
How now: what's he?
Tis Mr. Rawbones squire.
Cam.
Pray is not my Masters worship here?
Iust.
Your Masters worship!
What's that, his Spaniell?
Cam.
No sir, but a thing that does follow him.
Iust.
In what likenesse,
I hope he does not conuerse with spirits.
Cam.
Heele not entertayne an Angell,
But he will weigh him first, indeede
I am all the spirits that belong to him.
Mil.
So I thinke, but none of his familiar.
Iust.
What's thy name?
Cam.
Cameleon.
Iust.
Good; didst euer eate?
Cam.
Yes once.
Iust.
And then thou caught'st a surfeit,
thou couldst nere endure meate since: wer't euer christned.
Cam.
Yes twice, first in my infancy,
And the last time about a yeare agoe,
When I should haue beene prentise to an Anabaptist.
Iust.
Does thy Master loue thee?
Cam.
Yes, for, and I would gold I might haue it,
But my stomacke would better digest beefe, or mutton,
If there be any such things in nature.
Mil.
Here is his Master sir, and Mistris Iane.
Enter Rawbone, and Iane.
Raw.
How now Cameleon, hast din'd?
Cam.
Yes sir,
I had a delicate fresh ayre to dinner.
Raw.
And yet thou lookst as thou hadst eate nothing this
se'night, here prouide me a Capon, and halfe a dozen of Pidgeons
to supper, and when will your worship come home, and
tast my Hospitality.
When you please sir,
Raw.
Yet now I thinke on't,
I must feede more sparingly.
Ian.
More liberally in my opinion.
Raw.
Would not any body in the world thinke so? did you euer
see two such eare-wigges as my man and I: doe wee not
looke like.
Ian.
I thinke the picture of eyther o'your faces in a ring, with a
Memento mori, would be as sufficient a mortification, as lying
with an Anotomy.
Raw.
The reason why wee are so leane and consum'd, is nothing,
but eating too much: Cameleon now I thinke on't, let
the Pygeons alone, the Capon will bee enough for thee
and I.
Cam.
The rumpe would last vs a se'night.
Raw.
I tell you forsooth, I ha brought my selfe so low, with a
great dyet, that I must be temperate, or the Doctor sayes there's
no way but one wo'me.
Cam.
That's not the way of all flesh I'm sure.
Raw.
It is a shame to say, what we eate euery day.
Ian.
I thinke so.
Cam.
By this hand: if it would beare an oath: wee haue had
nothing this two dayes but halfe a Larke; which by a mis-chance
the Cat had kild too, the Cage being open: I will prouide my
belly another Master.
Iust.
Now Ile interrupt em Master Rawbone.
Raw.
I hope your Worship will repriue my boldnesse,
Tis out of loue to your daughter.
Iust.
Sir, I haue a businesse to you, a friend of mine vpon some
necessity would take vp a hundred pounds.
Raw.
Ile pawne some ounces to pleasure him.
Iust.
It is more friendly sayd then I expected.
Raw.
So he bring me good security, some three or
Foure, or fiue sufficient and able Citizens, for
Mortalities sake, ile lend it him.
Will you not take an honest mans word.
Raw.
Few words to the wise, I will take any mans word to
owe me a hundred pound, but not a Lords to pay me fifty.
Iust.
Well: tis a curtesie.
Raw.
He shall pay nothing to me but lawfull consideration
from time to time, beside the charges of th'ensealing, because he
is your friend.
Iust.
This is extreamity, can you require more?
Raw.
More? whats eight in the hundred to me? my Scriuener
knowes, I haue taken forty and fifty in the hundred vijs and
modis of my owne kins-men, when they were in necessity.
Iust.
I apprehend the fauour:
Enter Isaac.
How now Isaac?
Is.
My master commends his loue to you sir, and does desire
your presence together with your Daughter and Nephew, at the
arraignement of my young mistresse to morrow.
Iust.
How knaue?
Is.
Shee is to be married or arraign'd, ith'morning, and at night
to suffer execution and loose her head.
Iust.
Returne our thankes, and say wee'le waite vppon the
Bride Iane.
Exeunt Iustice and Iane.
Is.
Deare Master Rawbone, I doe beseech you bee at these
Sessions.
Raw.
Thou didst inuite me before.
Is.
I know it, but our Cooke has a great minde, that sentence
should likewise passe vppon the toast, the boyld, and
the bak'd, and hee feares vnlesse you be a Commissioner, the
meate will hardly bee condemn'd to morrow, so that I can
neuer often enough desire your stomacke to remember, you
will come.
Raw.
Dost thinke I wonot keepe my word?
Is.
Alas, wee haue nothing, but good cheere to entertayne
you, I beseech you sir howsoeuer to feast with us, though
you goe away after dinner.
There's my hand—
Isa.
I thanke you.
Raw.
Is master Iustice gone, and mistresse Iane too? follow me
Cameleon. Ile take my leaue when I come agen.
Mil.
Isaac.
Isa.
My little wit, thou wo't come with thy master tomorrow,
Ile reserue a bottle of wine to warme thy sconce.
Mil.
I cannot promise.
Isa.
If I durst stay three minutes, I would venture a cup with
thee ith'buttery, but tis a busie time at home:
Exit.
Mil.
Marriage as much ioy waite vpon the Bride,
As the remembrance of it brings me sorrow,
A woman has vndone me, when I dye
A Coffin will enclose this misery.
Exit.
Enter Beauford and Marwood.
Beau.
You prepare me for some wonder.
Mar.
I doe:
And ere I come to the period of my Story,
Your vnderstanding will admire.
Beau.
Teach my soule the way.
Mar.
I am not Cose ith'number of those friends
Come to congratulate your present marriage.
Beau.
Ha?
Mar.
I am no flatterer, the blood you carry
Doth warme my veines, yet could nature be
Forgetfull and remoue it selfe, the loue
I owe your merit, doth oblige me, to
Relation of a truth which else would fire
My bosome with concealement. I am come
To deuide your soule, rauish all your pleasures,
Poyson the very ayre maintaynes your breathing,
You must not marry.
Beau.
Must not? though as I
Am mortall I may be compeld within
My soule already Bride-groome to her vertue,
Shall laugh at Death that would vnmarry vs,
And call her mine eternally.
Mar.
Death is
A mockery to that diuorce I bring,
Come you must not loue her.
Beau,
Did I hope thou couldst
Giue me a reason, I would aske one.
Mar.
Do not,
I will too soone arriue, and make you curse
Your knowledge, couldst exchange thy temper for
An angels, at the hearing of this reason,
'Twould make you passionate, and turne man agen.
Beau.
Can there be reason for a sinne so great,
As changing my affection from Gratiana?
Name it, and teach me how to be a monster,
For I must loose humanity, oh Marwood,
Thou leadst me into a Wildernesse, she is—
Mar.
False, sinnefull, a blacke soule she has.
Bea.
Thou hast a hell about thee, and thy language
Speakes thee a Diuell, that to blast her innocence
Dost belch these vapours: to say thou lyest,
Were to admit, thou hast but made in this
A humane errour, when thy sinne hath aym'd
The fall of goodnesse. Gratiana false?
The snow shall turne a Salamander first
And dwell in fire; the ayre retreate, and leaue
An emptinesse in nature, angels be
Corrupt, and brib'd by mortals sell their charity
Her innocence is such, that wert thou Marwood
For this offence condemn'd to lodge in flames,
It would for euer cure thy burning feauer,
If with thy sorrow thou procure her shed
One teare vpon thee, now, thou art lost for euer,
I reach thy heart.
Drawes:
Mar.
Stay Beauford,
Since you dare be so confident of her chastity
Heare me conclude, I bring no idle fable
Patcht vp betweene suspition, and report
Of scandalous tongues, my eares were no assurance
To conuince me without my eyes.
Bea.
What horror!
Be more particular:
Mar.
I did prophesie,
That it would come to this, for I haue had
A tedious strugling with my nature, but
The name of friend ore-ballanc'd the exception:
Forgiue me Ladies, that my loue to man
Hath power to make me guilty of such language,
As with it, must betray a womans honour:
Bea.
You torture me, be briefe.
Mar.
Then, though it carry shame to the reporter,
Forgiue me heauen, and witnesse an vnwelcome truth.
Bea.
Stay, I am too hasty for the knowledge
Of something thou prepar'st for my destruction,
May I not thinke what tis, and kill my selfe?
Or at least by degrees, with apprehending
Some strange thing done, infect my fancy with
Opinion first, and so dispose my selfe
To death? I cannot, when I thinke of Gratiana
I entertayne a heauen: the worst, Ile heare it.
Mar.
It will enlarge it selfe too soone, receiue it;
I haue enioyd her.
Bea.
Whom?
Mar.
Gratiana sinnefully, before your loue
Made she and you acquainted.
Bea.
Ha? th'ast kept thy word thou camst to poison all
My comfort.
Your friendship I ha preferred
To my owne fame, and but to saue you from
A lasting shipwrack, noble Beauford, thinke
It should haue rotted here, she that will part
With Virgin honour, nere should wed the heart.
Bea.
Was euer woman good, and Gratiana
Vitious? lost to honour? at the instant
When I expected all my Haruest ripe,
The golden Summer tempting me to reape
The well growne eares, comes an impetuous storme
Destroyes an ages hope in a short minute,
And lets me liue, the copy of mans frailty:
Surely, some one of all the female sexe,
Engrost the vertues, and fled hence to Heauen,
Left woman-kind dissemblers.
Mar.
Sir, make vse
Of reason, tis a knowledge should reioyce you,
Since it does teach you to preserue your selfe.
Bea.
Enioyd Gratiana sinnefully, tis a sound
Able to kill with horror; it infects
The very aire, I see it like a mist
Dwell round about, that I could vncreate
My selfe, or be forgotten, no remembrance
That euer I lou'd woman: I haue no
Genius left to instruct me—it growes late:
Within—
Waite o'my kinsman to his Chamber,
I shall desire your rest, pray giue me leaue
To thinke a little—
Mar.
Cosen: I repent
I haue beene so open breasted, since you make
This seuere vse on't, and afflict your minde
With womanish sorrow, I haue but caution'd you
Against a danger, out of my true friendship:
Prosper me goodnesse as my ends are noble:
Exit.
Bea.
And why may not a kinsman be a Vilaine?
Perhaps he loues Gratiana, and enuying
My happinesse, doth now traduce her chastity
To find this out, time will allow but narrow
Limits: His last words bad me be a man.
A man? yes I haue my soule, t'does not become
A manly resolution to be tame thus,
And giue vp the opinion of his mistresse
For one mans accusation;—ha: ith'morning?
Proper. Yes Marwood I will be a man:
His sword, shall eyther make past the sence
Of this affliction, or mine enforce
A truth from him, if thou beest wrongd Gratiana
Ile dye thy Martyr, but if false, in this
I gayne to dye, not liue a sacrifice.
Exit.
| The Wedding | |