 | The Wedding |  |
Actus Tertij.
Scena Prima.
Enter Beauford and Captayne.Cap.
You amaze me Beauford, Gratiana false?
I shall suspect the truth of my conception,
And thinke all women monsters, though I neuer
Lou'd with that neerenesse of affection
To marry any, yet I mourne they should
Fall from their vertue, why may not Marwood
Iniure her goodnesse?
Beau.
What, and damme his soule?
Shall I thinke any with his dying breath
Would shipwracke his last hope? he mixt it with
His praiers, when in the streame of his owne blood,
His soule was lanching forth.
Cap.
That circumstance takes away al suspition agen,
Where left you Marwood?
Bea.
I'the Parke.
Cap.
Quite dead?
Beau.
Hopelesse, his weapon might haue proued so happy,
To haue released me of a burthen too;
And but that man-hood, and the care of my
Eternity forbids, I would force out
That which but wearies me to carry it,
Vnwelcome life?
Cap.
VVould he were buried,
You fight, the circumstance must needes
Betray you: what's he.
Enter a Surgeon.
Sur.
I would borrow your eare in priuate.
Beau.
We are but one to heare, his loue hath
Made him? to great a part of my affliction:
Speake it.
Sur.
The body is taken thence.
Beau.
Ha.
Sur.
I cannot be deceiued sir: I beheld
Too plaine a demonstration of the place;
But he that suffred such a losse of blood,
Had not enough to maintayne life till this time,
Which way so ere his body was conuey'd:
I must conclude it short liu'd, I am sorry
I could not serue you.
Beau.
Sir,—I thanke you,
You deserue I should be gratefull:
giues him mony. Exit Surgeon.
It must be so—
Cap.
What fellow's this?
Beau.
A Surgeon.
Cap.
Dare you trust him?
Beau.
Yes, with my life.
Cap.
You haue done that already in your discouery.
Pray heauen he prooue your friend,
You must resolue for flight, ye shall take ship—
Beau.
Neuer.
Cap.
Will you ruine your selfe? there's no security—
Beau.
There is not Captayne,
Therefore Ile not change my ayre.
Cap.
How?
Beau.
Vnlesse thou canst instruct me how to fly from
My selfe, for wheresoeuer else I wander,
I shall but carry my accuser with me.
Cap.
Are you mad?
Beau.
I haue heard in Affricke, is a tree, which tasted
Of their Country, canst direct me thither?
Yet 'twere in vaine, vnlesse it can extinguish,
And drowne the remembrance I am Beauford:
No—Ile not moue, let those poore things that dare not
Dye, obey their feares, I will expect my fate here.
Cap.
This is wildnesse,
A desperate folly, pray be sensible:—
Whose this, tis Gratiana.
Enter Gratiana with a Cabinet of Iewels.
Bea.
Ha, farwell.
Cam.
You shall stay now a little.
Bea.
I will not heare an accent, I shall loose
My memory, be charmed into beliefe
That she is honest with her voyce, I dare not
Trust my frailty with her.
Cam.
She speakes nothing,
Is all a weeping Nyobe, a statue,
Or in this posture, doth shee not present
A water Nymph, placed in the midst of some
Faire Garden, like a Fountaine to dispence
Her Christal streames vpon the flowers? which cannot
But so refresht, looke vp, and seeme to smile
Vpon the eyes that feed em:
Will she speake?
Grat.
Though by the effusion of my teares, you may
Conclude, I bring nothing but sorrow with me,
Yet heare me speake, I come not to disturbe
Your thoughts, or with one bold and daring language
Say how vniust you make my sufferings:
I know not what
Hath raised this mighty storme to my destruction,
But I obey your doome, and after this,
Will neuer see you more. First I release
And giue you back your vowes; with them, your hart,
Better, mine I'm sure does bleed to part with't,
All that is left of yours, this Cabinet
Deliuers backe to your possession,
There's euery iewell you bestowed upon me,
The pledges once of loue.
Bea.
Pray keepe em.
Grat.
They are not mine, since I haue lost the opinion
Of what I was, indeed I haue nothing else,
I would not keepe the kisses, once you gaue me,
If you would let me pay them backe againe.
Beau.
All women is a laborinth, we can,
Measure the height of any starre, point out
All the dimensions of the earth, examine
The Seas large wombe, and sounds its subtle depth,
But arte will nere be able to finde out,
A demonstration of a womans heart,
Thou hast enough vndone me, make me not
More miserable, to beleeue thou canst be vertuous:
Farwell, enioy you this, I shall finde out
Another roome to weepe in.
Exit.
Cap.
Lady I would aske you a rude question:
Are you a maide?
Grat.
Do I appeare so Monstrous? no man will
Beleeue my iniury: has heauen forgot
To protect innocence, that all this while
It hath vouchsafed no miracle, to confirme
A Virgins honour?
Cap.
I am answered:
I do beleeue shees honest; Oh that I could
But speake with Marwoods ghost now, and thou beest
In hell, I'de meete thee halfe way, to conuerse
One quarter of an houre with thee, to know
The truth of all things, thy Diuell Iaylour
May trust thee without a waiter, he has security
I'me full of pitty now, and spite of man-hood
Cannot forbeare, come Lady, I am confident,
I know not which way—that y'are vertuous—
Pray walke with mee, ile tell you the whole story;
For yet you know not your accuser.
Grat.
I am an exile hence, and cannot walke
Out of my way, Beauford farwell, may Angels
Dwell round about thee, liue vntill thou find,
When I am dead, thou hast bin too vnkind.
Exeunt.
Enter Milisent and Mistris Iane.
Iane.
May I beleeue thee Milisent, that my father
Though hee giue such respect to him I hate,
Intends no marriage? thou hast releast
My heart of many feares, that I was destin'd
To be a sacrifice.
Mil.
It had beene sinne
That Milisent should suffer you perplexe
Your noble soule, when it did consist in
His discouery, to giue a freedome
To your labouring thoughts, tis now no more a secret,
Your father makes a triall of your nature,
By giuing him such countenance.
Iane.
What thankes shall I giue?
Mil.
Your vertue hath both vnseal'd
My bosome, and rewarded me.
Iane.
Oh Milisent:
Thou hast deseru'd my gratitude; and I cannot
But in exchange of thy discouery
Giue to thy knowledge, what I should tremble
To let another heare; for I dare trust thee with it.
Mil.
If I haue any skill
In my owne nature, shall nere deceiue
So to be made your treasurer.
Iane.
Tis a treasure,
And all the wealth I haue, my life, the summe
Of all my ioyes on earth, and the expectation
Of future blessings too depend vpon it.
Mil.
Can I be worthy of so great a trust?
Iane.
Thou art, and shalt receiue it, for my heart
Is willing to discharge it selfe into thee:
Oh Milisent! though my father would ha beene
So cruell to his owne, to haue wished me marry
Him, twas not in the power of me obedience
To giue consent to't, for my loue already
Is dedicate to one, whose worth hath made
Me, but his steward of it, and although
His present fortune doth ecclipse his lustre,
With seeming condition of a seruant,
He has a minde deriued from honour, and
May boast himselfe a Gentle-man: is not
Thy vnderstanding guilty of the person
I point at? sure thou canst not choose but know him.
Mil.
Not I.
Enter Hauer.
Iane.
Then looke vpon him Milisent.
Mil.
Ha?
Hau.
My master, mistresse Iane sent me before,
To say, be comes to visite you.
Iane.
But thou art before him in acceptance, nay
You stand discouered here, in Milisent you may
Repose safe trust.
Hau.
Her language makes me confident,
You are a friend.
Mil.
To both a feruant.
Hau.
I shall desire your loue.
Iane.
But where's this man of morgages?
Hau.
I left him chawing the cud, ruminating
Some speech or other, with which, he meanes to
Arrest you.
Mil.
He is entred.
Enter Rawbone.
Hau.
I haue prepar'd her.
Raw.
Fortune be my guide then.
Hau.
And she's a blind one.
Raw.
Mistresse Iane, I would talke with you in priuate, I haue
fancied a businesse, I know you are witty, and loue inuention, tis
my owne, and no-body else must heare it—
Be it knowne to all men by these presents.
Ian.
This is like to be a secret.
Raw.
That I Iasper Rawbone Citizen, and House-keeper of
London.
Hau.
A very poore one I'me sure.
Raw.
Do owe to mistresse Iane, Lady of my thoughts, late of
London Gentle-woman.
Hau.
Is she not still a Gentle-woman?
Raw.
Still a Gentle-woman good-man Coxe-combe? did I
not say she was Lady of my thoughts? where was I now?
Hau.
At good-man Coxe-combe sir.
Raw.
—Do owe to mistresse Iane, Lady of my thoughts,
late of London Gentle-woman, my true and lawfull heart of England
—to be payd to his sayd mistresse, her executors, or assignes.
Hau.
To her executors? what will you pay your heart, when
she is dead?
Raw.
Tis none of my fault, and she will dye, who can helpe it?
thou dost nothing but interrupt me: I say to be payd, to his sayde
mistresse, her executors, or assignes, whensoeuer she demaund
it, at the font-stone of the Temple—
Hau.
Put it, the top of Paules and please you; your conceite
wilbe the higher.
Raw.
Which payment to bee truely made and performed, I
Hau.
How your soule sir?
Raw.
Peace foole, my soule will shift for it selfe, when I am
dead that wilbe sure enough:—In witnesse whereof, I haue
here-vnto put my hand and seale, which is a hansome spiny youth,
with a bag of mony in one hand, a bond in the t'other, an Indenture
betweene his legs, the last day of the first merry moneth,
and in the second yeare of the raigne of King Cupid.
Hau.
Excellent! but in my opinion, you had better giue her
possession of your heart, I do not like this owing: fayth plucke it
out, and deliuer it in the presence of vs.
Raw.
Thou talk'st like a puisne, I can giue her possession of it,
by deliuery of two-pence wrapt vp in the wax, twill hold in Law
man;—and how, and how d'ee like it? I could haue come ouer
you with Verse, but hang Ballads, giue me Poeticall prose, euery
Mounte-banke can rime, and make his lines crye twang, though
there be no reason in em.
Ian.
What Musique haue I heard?
Raw.
Musique? Oh rare!
Ian.
Hee has Medusaes noble countenance,
His haires do curle like soft and gentle Snakes:
Did euer puppy smile so? or the Asse
Better become his eares? oh generous beast
Of sober carriage, sure he's valiant too,
Those blood-shot eyes betray him, but his nose
Fishes for commendation.
Raw.
What does she meane Iasper?
Hau.
D'ee not see her loue sir? why she does doate vpon you,
Which makes her talke so madly.
Raw.
Forsooth I know you are taken with me, alas these things
are naturall with me, when shall we be married forsooth?
Ian.
With your licence sir—
Hau.
D'ee not obserue her? you must first procure a Licence.
Raw.
You shall heare more from mee, when I come agen—
Iasper—
Exit Rawbone hastily.
My heart doth breath it selfe vppon your hand—
Exit.
Mil.
Your father and Master Lodam.—
Enter Lodam, Iustice, Cameleon.
Lod.
Sir I doe loue your daughter:—I thought it necessary
to acquaint you first, because I would go about the businesse iudicially.
Iust.
You obliege vs both.
Lod.
Ile promise you one thing.
Iust.
What's that?
Lod.
Ile bring your daughter no wealth.
Iust.
Say you so: what then you promise her nothing.
Lod.
But I will bring her that which is greater then wealth.
Iust.
What's that?
Lod.
My selfe.
Iust.
A faire ioynture.
Lod.
Nay, ile bring her more.
Iust.
It sha'not neede, no woman can desire more of a man.
Lod.
I can bring her good qualities, if she want any: I ha trauail'd
for em.
Iust.
What are they?
Lod.
The Languages.
Iust.
You suspect thee will want tongue:—let me see—
Parlez franzois monsieur.
Lod.
Diggon a camrag.
Iust.
That's Welch.
Lod.
Pocas palabras.
Iust.
That's Spanish.
Lod.
Troth I haue such a confusion of languages in my head,
you must e'en take em as they come.
Iust.
You may speake that more exactly—Hauelar spagniol
Signior?
Lod.
Serge-dubois,—Calli-mancho, et Perpetu-ana.
Iust.
There's stuffe indeede, since you are so perfect, Ile trust
you for the rest. I must referre you sir vnto my daughter, if you
can winne her faire opinion, my consent my happily follow: so
Lod.
Mercie Madame—
Salutes Iane.
Iust.
This fellow lookes like the principall in Vsury, and this
Rat followes him like a pittifull eight in the hundred:—come
hither sirra, your name is Cameleon.
Cam.
It is too true sir.
Iust.
You did liue with master Rawbone.
Car.
No sir, I did starue with him, and please you:
I could not liue with him.
Iust.
How doe you like your change?
Cam.
Neuer worse.
Iust.
Master Lodam wants no flesh.
Cam.
But I doe:—I ha no Iustice sir, my leane master
would eate no meate, and my fat master eates vp all—is your
Worships house troubled with Vermin?
Iust.
Something at this time.
Cam.
Peace and ile catch a mouse then.—
lies downe.
Enter Captaine and Gratiana.
Iust.
My nephew turn'd Gentle-man Vsher.
Cap.
Sir Iohn Belfares daughter.
Iust.
'Las poore Gentle-woman,
I compassionate her vnkind destiny.
Cap.
Let vs intreat a word in priuate sir—
Lod.
I cannot tell how you stand affected, but if you can loue
a man, I know not what is wanting, greatnesse is a thing that
your wisest Ladies haue an itch after: for my owne part I was neuer
in loue before, and if you haue me not, neuer wilbee agen.
Thinke on't betweene this and after dinner, I will stay o'purpose
for your answere.
Ian.
Y'are very short.
Lod.
I wod not be kept in expectation aboue an houre, for loue
is worse then a Lent to me, and fasting is a thing my flesh abhorres,
if my doublet be not fir'd, I know who fares the worse for't. I
would keepe my flesh to sweare by, and if you and I cannot agree
vpon the matter, I would loose nothing by you.
Y'are very resolute.
Lod.
Euer while you liue, a fat man, and a man of resolution
goe together: I doe not commend my selfe, but there are no such
fiery things in nature.
Iane.
Fiery?
Lod.
Tis prou'd, put em to my action, and see, if they do not
smoake it, they are men of mettle, and the greatest melters in
the World, one hot seruice makes em rost, and they haue enough
in em to bast a hundred—you may take a leane man, marry
your selfe to famine, and beg for a great belly, you see what became
of sir Iohns daughter:—come I would wish you be well
aduis'd, there are more commodities in me, then you are aware
of, if you and I couple, you shall fare like an Empresse.
Iane.
That will be somewhat costly.
Lod.
Not a token. I haue a priuiledge:—I was at the Tauerne
tother day, i'the next roome I smelt hot Venison, I sent but
a Drawer to tell the Company, one in the house with a great belly,
long'd for a corner, and I had halfe a pasty sent me immediately:
I will hold intelligence with all the Cookes i'the Towne, and what
dainty, but I haue greatnesse enough to command?
Iust.
I like it well:—be as wel-come heere, as at your Fathers.
Milisent—make it your care to waite vpon this Gentlewoman,
but conceale shee is our guest. I should reioyce to see
this storme blowne ouer.—Nephew attend her to her
Chamber.
Exeunt Gratiana, Captaine, Milisent.
Enter Rawbone and Hauer hastily.
Raw.
I ha bin about it—
iustles Lodam, and fals downe.
Lod.
Next time you ride post, wind your horne, that one may
get out a'the way.
Iust.
What's the matter Iane.
Raw.
Tis guts, if I durst, my teeth waters to strike him.
Iust.
What ha you done?
Lod.
Let him take heed another time.
Hau.
Take such an affront before your mistresse.
Raw.
I haue a good stomacke—
Hau.
That's well sayd.
Raw.
I could eate him.
Hau.
Oh is it that?
Lod.
Let me alone, no-body hold me.
Ile haue an action of battery.
Lod.
Whorson mole-catcher—
Come not neere me Weezel.
Raw.
Prethee Iasper do not thrust me vpon him—
I do not feare you sit.
Lod.
Agen shall I kicke thee to peeces.
Hau.
Let him baffull yee—to him—
Hauer thrusts him vpon him.
Raw.
I do not feare you.
Iust.
Iane remooue your selfe.
Iane.
Master Rawbone, I am sorry for your hurt.
Exit.
Hau.
She jeeres you.
Lod.
For this time I am content with kicking of thee.
As Lodam offers to goe out, Hauer puls him backe.
Hau.
My master desires another word w'ee sir.—
You must fight with him—
To Rawbone.
Raw.
Who I fight?
Lod.
You spider catcher, ha you not enough? you see I doe
not draw.
Iust.
Very well.
Hau.
By this hand, you shall challenge him then, if hee dare
accept it, ile meete him in your clothes.
Raw.
Will yee. Hum—I do not feare you—satisfaction—
Hau.
That's the word.
Raw.
That's the word—youle meete me guts.
Lod.
Meete thee by this flesh, if thou dost but prouoke me:
—you do not challenge me—do not—d'ee long to be minc'd?
Hau.
At Finsbury—
Raw.
At Finsbury.
Hau.
To morrow morning—
Raw.
To morrow morning—you shall finde I dare fight.
Lod.
Say but such another word.
Raw.
Finsbury, to morrow morning, there tis agen—
Iust.
I cannot contayne my laughter, ha, ha, ha.
Ex.
Raw.
So, lets begone quickly, before he threaten me, you
made mee challenge him, looke to't.
Feare not, I warrant you.
Exeunt Raw & Hauer.
Lod.
Sirra Nouerint, if I can but prooue, thou dost come with
in three furlongs of a wind-mill, ile set one a top of Paules to watch
thee—sha't forfeit thy soule, and ile cancell thy body worse then
any debtor of thine did his obligation—hee's gone—and now
I thinke vpon the matter, I haue somewhat the worst on't, for
if I should kill him, I shall neuer bee able to flye, and hee has
left a peece of his scull, I thinke, in my shoulder—whither am
I bound to meet him, or no? I will consult some o'the sword men,
and know whether it be a competent challenge—Cameleon.
Cam.
Sir.
Lod.
Has the Rat, your master that was, any spirit in him?
Cam.
Spirit? the last time hee was in the field, a boy of seauen
yeares old, beate him with a Trap-sticke.
Lod.
Saist thou so? I will meet him then, and hew him to peeces.
Cap.
I haue an humble suite—if it be so, that you kill him, let
me beg his body for an Anatomy, I haue a great mind to eate a
peece on him.
Lod.
Tis granted, follow me, ile cut him vp I warrant thee.
Exe.
Enter Beauford, and Captayne.
Cap.
I haue a letter.
Beau.
From whom?
Cap.
Gratiana.
Bea.
I would forget that name, speake it no more.
Cap.
She is abus'd, and if you had not beene
Transported from vs, with your passion,
You would ha chang'd opinion, to haue heard
How well she pleaded.
Bea.
For her-selfe.
Cap.
You might,
With little trouble gather from her teares
How cleare she was, which more transparent, then
The morning dew, or christall, fell neglected
Vpon the ground: some cunning Ieweller
To ha seene em scattred, would a thought some Princesse
Gathered them vp for Dyamonds.
Beau.
You are then conuerted.
Cap.
Oh you were too credulous,
Marwood has playd the Vilaine, and is damn'd for't:
Could but his soule be brought to heare her answere
The accusation, she wo'd make that blush,
And force it to confesse a treason, to
Her honour, and your loue.
Beau.
You did beleeue her.
Cap.
I did, and promis'd her to do this seruice,
She begd of me at parting, if she sent
A letter, to conuey it to your hand,
Pray read, you know not what this paper carries.
Beau.
Has shee acquainted you?
Cap.
Not me, I guesse,
It is some secret, was not fit for my
Relation, it may be, worth your knowledge;
Do her that iustice, since you would not heare
What she could say in person, to peruse
Her paper.
Bea.
It can bring nothing to take off
Th'offence committed.
Cap.
Sir you know not
What satisfaction it contaynes;
Or what she may confesse in't for my sake—
Reads.
Beau.
To him that was—what?
Confident of her Vertue
Once an admirer, now a mourner for
Her absent goodnesse; she has made the change,
From her that was, would ha become this paper
Had she conseru'd her first immaculate whitenesse,
It had beene halfe prophane, not to salute
Her letter with a kisse, and touch it with
More veneration then a Sybils leafe;
A superstition, to the blotted scrole,
Of a more stained writer—Ile not reade:
If vnprepar'd, she win with her Discourse,
What must she do, when she has time, and study,
To apparrell her defence?
Cap.
Deny her this.
Beau.
Well, I will read it.
Enter Seruant.
Ser.
Here's Sir Iohn Belfare.
Beau.
Say any thing t'excuse me, beet your care
That none approach the Chamber.
Cap.
So, so, now vnrip the seale.
Enter Sir Iohn Belfare, Isaac.
Bel.
Not speak with him, he must haue stronger guard
To keepe me out: where's Beauford?
Beau.
Here.
Bel.
Then there's a Villaine.
Beau.
That's course language.
Bel.
I must not spin it finer, till you make me
Vnderstand better, why my daughter, and
In her, my family is abus'd.
Beau.
Shee has not then accus'd her selfe—Ile tell you,
I did expect your daughter would haue beene
My Virgin bride; but she reseru'd for me
The ruines of her honour, I wod not speake
I'the rude dialect, you may sooner collect,
An English.
Bel.
Is she not honest, will you
Make her then a whore?
Beau.
Not I, her owne sinne made her.
Thou lyest, nor can my age make me appeare
Vnworthy a satisfaction from thy sword.
Isa.
Does not he call my young mistresse whore?
Bel.
Keep me not from him Captaine, he has in this
Giuen a fresh wound, I came t'expostulate,
The reason of a former suffering,
Which vnto this was charity, as thou art
A Gentle-man, I dare thee to the Combate:
Contemne not Beauford my gray haires, if t'hast
A Noble soule, keepe not this distance; meete me,
Thou art a Souldier: for heauens sake, permit me
Chastise the most vncharitable slander
Of this bad man.
Beau.
I neuer iniur'd you.
Bel.
Not iniur'd me? what is there then in nature,
Left, to be cald an iniury? didst not mocke
Me, and my poore fond girle with marriage?
Till all things were design'd, the very day
When Hymen should haue worne his saffron robe:
My friends inuited, and prepar'd to call
Her Bride; and yet, as if all this could not
(Summ'd vp together) make an iniury:
Does thy corrupted soule at last conspire
To take her white name from her?—giue me leaue
To expresse a Father, in a teare, or two,
For my wrong'd child. O Beauford! thou hast rob'd
A father, and a daughter—but I wo not
Vsurpe heauens iustice, which shall punish thee
'Boue my weake arme; mayst thou liue, to haue
Thy heart as ill rewarded, to be a father
At my yeares, haue one daughter, and no more
Belou'd as mine, so mock'd, and then cald Whore.
Cap.
'Las good old man.
Exit Bel. Isaac.
Bea.
My afflictions
Are not yet numbred in my fate, nor I
Cap.
Now read the Letter.
Beau.
Yes, it cannot make me know more misery.
Reads.
Beauford, I dare not call thee mine, though I could not hope,
(while I was liuing,) thou wouldst beleeue my innocence, deny mee
not this fauour after Death, to say I once lou'd thee—
Cap.
I hope shee employd not me, to bring this newes.
Beau.
Yes, Death—ha?
Prethee read the rest; there's something
In my eyes, I cannot well distinguish
Her small Characters.
Cap.
My Accuser by this time, knowes the reward of my iniury:
Farewell, I am carrying my Prayers for thee to another World—
her owne Martyr, drown'd Gratiana.
Beau.
Read all.
Cap.
I haue.
Beau.
It cannot be, for when thou mak'st an end,
My heart should giue a tragicke period,
And with a loud sigh breake: drown'd!
Twas no sinne aboue heauens pardon,
Though thou hadst beene false,
To thy first vow, and me, I wod not had
Thee dyed so soone: or if thou hadst affected
That death, I could ha'drownd thee with my teares,
Now they shall neuer find thee, but be lost
Within thy watery Sepulcher.
Cap.
Take comfort.
Beau.
Art dead?
Then here ile Coffin vp my selfe, vntill
The Law vnbury me for Marwoods death,
I wonot hope for life, mercy sha'not saue
Him, that hath now a pattent for his Graue.
Exeunt.
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