 | The Antipodes |  |
Act 1.
Scene 1.
Blaze, Ioylesse.
To me, and to the City, Sir, you are welcome,
And so are all about you: we have long
Suffer'd in want of such faire Company.
But now that Times calamity has given way
(Thankes to high Providence) to your kinder visits,
We are (like halfe pin'd wretches, that have lain
Long on the plankes of sorrow, strictly tyed
To a forc'd abstinence, from the sight of friends)
The sweetlier fild with joy.
Ioy.
Alas, I bring
Sorrow too much with me to fill one house,
In the sad number of my family.
Bla.
Be comforted good Sir, my house, which now
You may be pleas'd to call your owne, is large
Enough to hold you all; and for your sorrowes,
Is readily at hand: The Doctor's comming,
Who, as by Letters, I advertis'd you,
Is the most promising man to cure your Sonne,
The Kingdome yields; it will astonish you
To heare the mervailes he hath done in cures
Of such distracted ones, as is your sonne,
And not so much by bodily Physicke (no!
He sends few Recipes to th'Apothecaries)
As medicine of the minde, which he infuses
So skilfully, yet by familiar wayes,
That it begets both wonder and delight
In his observers, while the stupid patient
Finds health at unawares.
Ioy.
You speak well of him:
Yet I may feare, my sonnes long growne disease
Is such he hath not met with.
Bla.
Then ile tell you Sir,
He cur'd a Country gentleman, that fell mad
For spending of his land before he sold it:
That is, 'twas sold to pay his debts: All went
That way, for a dead horse, as one would say,
He had not money left to buy his dinner,
Upon that whole-sale day. This was a cause,
Might make a gentleman mad you'll say; and him
It did, as mad as land lesse Squire could bee.
This Doctor by his art remov'd his madnesse,
And mingled so much wit among his braines,
That, by the over-flowing of it meerely,
He gets and spends five hundred pound a yeare now,
As merily as any Gentleman
In Darby shire; I name no man. But this
Was pretty well you'll say.
Ioy.
My sonne's disease
Growes not that way.
Bla.
There was a Lady mad,
I name no Lady: but starke mad she was,
As any in the Country, City, or almost
In Court could be.
How fell she mad?
Bla.
With study;
Tedious and painfull study: And for what
Now can you thinke?
Ioy.
For painting, or new fashions.
I cannot thinke for the Philosophers stone.
Bla.
No, twas to finde a way to love her husband;
Because she did not, and her friends rebuk'd her.
Ioy.
Was that so hard to find if she desir'd it.
Bla.
She was seven years in search of it, & could not,
Though she consum'd his whole estate by it.
Ioy.
Twas he was mad then.
Bla.
No; he was not borne
With wit enough to loose, but mad was she
Untill this Doctor tooke her into cure,
And now she lies as lovingly on a flockebed
With her owne Knight, as she had done on downe,
With many others, but I name no parties,
Yet this was well you'l say.
Ioy.
Would all were well.
Bla.
Then sir, of Officers, and men of place,
Whose sences were so numm'd, they understood not
Bribes from dew fees, and fell on premunires,
He has cur'd diverse, that can now distinguish,
And know both when, and how to take, of both;
And grow most safely rich by't, tother day
He set the braines of an Attorney right,
That were quite topsie turvy overturn'd
In a pitch ore the Barre; so that (poore man)
For many Moones, he knew not whether he
Went on his heeels or's head, till he was brought
To this rare Doctor, now he walkets again,
As upright in his calling, as the boldest
Amongst 'hem. This was well you'l say.
Joy.
Tis much.
Bla.
And then for horne mad Citizens my neighbours,
He cures them by the dozens, and we live
As gently with our wives, as Rammes with Ewes.
Ioy.
We doe you say, were you one of his Patients.
'Slid he has almost catch'd me; No Sir no,
I name no parties I, But wish you merry;
I straine to make you so, and could tell forty
Notable cures of his to passe the time
Untill he comes.
Ioy.
But pray, has he the art
To cure a husbands Iealousie?
Bla.
Mine sir he did: 'Sfoot I am catcht againe.
Ioy.
But still you name no Party, pray how long,
Good master Blaze, has this so famous doctor
Whom you so well set out, beene a professor?
Bla.
Never in publike: Nor indures the name
Of Doctor, though I call him so, but lives
With an odde Lord in towne, that lookes like no Lord,
My Doctor goes more like a Lord then he.
Ex. Doctor.
O welcome sir, I sent mine owne wife for you:
Ha you brought her home againe?
Scen. 2.
Blaze, Doctor, Ioylesse.Doct.
She's in your house,
With Gentlewomen, who seeme to lodge here.
Bla.
Yes sir, this Gentlemans wife, and his sonnes wife:
They all ayle something, but his sonne (tis thought)
Is falling into madnesse, and is brought
Up by his carefull father to the towne here
To be your patient, speake with him about it.
Doct.
How doe you finde him Sir? do's his disease
Take him by fits; or is it constantly,
And at all times the same?
Ioy.
For the most part
It is onely inclining still to worse,
As he growes more in dayes; by all the best
Conjectures we have met with in the countrey,
Tis found a most deepe melancholy.
Doct.
Of what yeares is he?
Ioy.
Of five and twenty Sir.
Doct.
Was it borne with him? is it naturall,
Or accidentall? have you or his mother
Beene so at any time affected?
Ioy.
Never,
Knew what a sadnesse meant; though since, I have
In my sonnes sad condition, and some crosses
In my late marriage, which at further time
I may acquaint you with.
Bla.
the old man's jealous
Of his young wife; I finde him by the question
He put me to ere while.
Doct.
Is your sonne married?
Ioy.
Diverse yeares since; for we had hope a wife
Might have restrain'd his travelling thoughts, and so
Have beene a meanes to cure him; but it fail'd us.
Doct.
What has he in his younger yeares been most
Addicted to? what study? or what practise?
Ioy.
You have now, Sir, found the question, which I thinke
Will lead you to the ground of his distemper.
Doct.
That's the next way to the cure, Come quickely, quickly,
Ioy.
In tender yeares he alwayes lov'd to read
Reports of travailes, and of voyages;
And when young boyes, like him, would tire themselves
With sports, and pastimes, and restore their spirits
Againe by meate and sleepe; he would whole dayes
And nights (sometimes by stealth) be on such bookes
As might convey his fancy round the world.
Doct.
Very good, on.
Ioy.
When he grew up towards twenty,
His minde was all on fire to be abroad;
Nothing but travaile still was all his aime;
There was no voyage or forraine expedition
Be said to be in hand, but he made sute
To be made one in it His mother and
My selfe oppos'd him still in all, and strongly
Against his will, still held him in; and wonne
Him into marriage; hoping that would call
In his extravagant thoughts, but all prevail'd not,
Nor stayd him (though at home) from travailing
So farre beyond himselfe, that now too late,
I wish he had gone abroad to meet his fate.
Doct.
Well sir, upon good termes Ile undertake
Ioy.
Yet there's more: his wife Sir.
Doct.
Ile undertake her too. Is she mad too?
Bla.
They'll ha' mad children then.
Doct.
Hold you your peace.
Ioy.
Alas the danger is they will have none,
He takes no joy in her; and she no comfort
In him: for though they have bin three yeeres wed,
They are yet ignorant of the marriage bed.
Doct.
I shall finde her the madder of the two then.
Ioy.
Indeed she's full of passion, which she utters
By the effects, as diversly, as severall
Objects reflect upon her wandring fancy,
Sometimes in extream weepings, and anon
In vehement laughter; now in sullen silence,
And presently in loudest exclamations.
Doct.
Come let me see 'hem Sir, ile undertake
Her too: ha' you any more? how does your wife?
Ioy.
Some other time for her.
Doct.
Ile undertake
Her too: and you your selfe Sir (by your favour,
And some few yellow spots, which I perceive
About your Temples) may require some Councell.
Scene 3.
Enter Barbara.Bla.
So, he has found him.
Ioy.
But my sonne, my sonne sir?
Bla.
Now Bab, what newes?
Bar.
There's newes too much within,
For any home-bred Christian understanding.
Ioy.
How does my sonne?
Bar,
He is in travaile Sir.
Ioy.
His fits upon him?
Bar.
Yes, pray Doctor Hughball
Play the Man-midwife, and deliver him
Of his huge Timpany of newes; of Monsters,
Pigmies, and Gyants, Apes, and Elephants,
Griffons, and Crocadiles; men upon women,
And women upon men; the strangest doings
As farre beyond all Christendome, as tis to't.
How, how?
Bar.
Beyond the Moone and Starres I think,
Or mount in Cornwall either.
Bla.
How prettily like a foole she talkes?
And she were not mine owne wife, I could be
So taken with her.
Doct.
'Tis most wondrous strange.
Bar.
He talks much of the Kingdome of Cathaya,
Of one great Caan, and goodman Prester Iohn,
(What e're they be) and sayes that Caan's a Clowne
Vnto the Iohn he speaks of: And that Iohn
Dwels up almost at Paradice: But sure his mind
Is in a wilder nesse: For there he sayes
Are Geese that have two heads a peece, and Hens
That beare more wooll upon their backs than sheep.
Doct.
O Mandevile, lets to him Lead the way sir.
Bar.
And men with heads like hounds.
Doct.
Enough, enough.
Bar.
You'll finde enough within I warrant yee.
Ex. 3.
And here comes the poore mad gentlemans wife,
Ent. Mar.
Almost as mad as he: she haunts me all
About the house to impart something to me:
Poore heart I gesse her griefe, and pitty her.
To keepe a Maiden-head three yeares after Marriage,
Vnder wed-locke and key, insufferable! monstrous,
It turnes into a wolfe within the flesh,
Not to be fed with Chickens, and tame Pigeons.
J could wish maids be warn'd by't, not to marry
Before they have wit to lose their Maiden-heads,
For feare they match with men whose wits are past it.
What a sad looke, and what a sigh was there?
Sweet Mistris Joylesse, how is't with you now?
Mar.
When J shall know Jle tell, pray tell me first,
How long have you beene married?
Bar.
Now she is on it. Three yeares forsooth.
Mar.
And truely so have J, we shall agree J see.
Bar.
If you'll be merry.
Mar.
No woman merrier, now J have met with one
Of my condition Three yeares married say you, ha, ha, ha,
What ayles she trow?
Mar.
Three yeares married, Ha, ha, ha.
Bar.
Is that a laughing matter?
Mar.
Tis just my story. And you have had no child,
That's still my story, Ha, ha, ha.
Bar.
Nay I have had two children.
Mar.
Are you sure on't,
Or does your husband onely tell you so,
Take heed o'that, for husbands are deceitfull.
Bar.
But I am o'the surer side, I am sure
I groan'd for mine and bore 'hem, when at best,
He but beleeves he got 'hem.
Mar.
Yet both he
And you may be deceiv'd, for now Ile tell you,
My husband told me, fac'd me downe and stood on't,
We had three sonnes, and all great travellers,
That one had shooke the great Turke by the beard,
I never saw 'hem, nor am I such a foole
To thinke that children can be got and borne,
Train'd up to men, and then sent out to travell,
And the poore mother never know nor feele
Any such matter; there's a dreame indeede.
Bar.
Now you speake reason, and tis nothing but
Your husbands madnesse that would put that dreame
Into you.
Mar.
He may put dreames into me, but
He nere put child nor any thing towards it yet
To me to making: something sure belongs
weepe.
To such a worke; for I am past a child
My selfe to thinke they are found in parsley beds,
Strawberry banks or Rosemary bushes, though
I must confesse I have sought and search'd such places,
Because I would faine have had one.
Bar.
Lasse poore foole.
Mar.
Pray tell me, for I thinke no body heares us,
How came you by your babes? I cannot thinke
Your husband got them you.
Bar.
Foole did I say?
She is a witch I thinke: why not my husband,
Mar.
Nor with him neither, be not angry pray now.
For were I now to dye, I cannot guesse
What a man do's in child-getting, I remember
A wanton mayd once lay with me, and kiss'd
And clip't, and clapt me strangely, and then wish'd
That I had beene a man to have got her with childe:
What must I then ha' done, or (good now tell me)
What has your husband done to you?
Bar.
Was ever
Such a poore peece of innocence, three yeeres married?
Does not your husband use to lye with you?
Mar.
Yes he do's use to lye with me, but he do's not
Lye with me to use me as she should I feare,
Nor doe I know to teach him, will you tell me,
Ile lye with you and practise if you please.
Pray take me for a night or two: or take
My husband and instruct him, But one night,
Our countrey folkes will say, you London wives
Doe not lye every night with your owne husbands.
Bar.
Your countrey folkes should have done well to ha' sent
Some newes by you, but I trust none told you there,
We use to leave our fooles to lye with mad-men.
Mar.
Nay now againe y'are angry.
Bar.
No not I
But rather pitty your simplicity.
Come Ile take charge and care of you.
Mar.
I thanke you.
Bar.
And wage my skill, against my doctors art,
Sooner to ease you of these dangerous fits,
Then he shall rectifie your husbands wits.
Ex.
Mar.
Indeed, indeed, I thanke you.
Scene. 5.
Letoy, Blaze.Let.
Why broughtst thou not mine Armes, and Pedegree
Home with thee Blaze, mine honest Heralds, Painter?
Bla.
I have not yet my Lord, but all's in readinesse,
According to the Heralds full directions.
Let.
But has he gone to the root, has he deriv'd me,
Ex origine, ab antiquo? has he fetch'd me
Bla.
Full foure descents beyond
The conquest my good Lord, and findes that one
Of your French ancestry came in with the conqueror.
Let.
Iefrey Letoy, twas he, from whom the English
Letoy's have our descent; and here have tooke
Such footing, that we'll never out while France
Is France, and England England,
And the Sea passable to transport a fashion.
My ancestors and I have beene beginners
Of all new fashions in the Court of England
From before Primo Ricardi Secundi
Untill this day.
Bla.
I cannot thinke my Lord
They'll follow you in this though.
Let.
Marke the end,
I am without a precedent for my humour.
But is it spread, and talk'd of in the towne?
Bla.
It is my Lord, and laught at by a many.
I am more beholding to them, then all the rest:
Their laughter makes me merry; others mirth,
And not mine owne it is, that feeds me that
Battens me as poore mens cost do's Usurers.
But tell me Blaze, what say they of me, ha?
Bla.
They say my Lord you looke more like a pedlar,
Then like a Lord, and live more like an Emperor.
Let.
Why there they ha' me right, let others shine
Abroad in cloth o' bodkin, my broad cloath,
Pleases mine eye as well, my body better,
Besides I'm sure tis paid for (to their envy)
I buy with ready money: and at home here
With as good meat, as much magnificence,
As costly pleasures, and as rare delights,
Can satisfie my appetite and senses,
As they with all their publique shewes, and braveries.
They runne at ring, and tilt 'gainst one another,
I and my men can play a match at football,
Wrastle a hansome fall, and pitch the barre,
And crack the cudgells, and a pate sometimes,
Bla.
More then to feel't.
Let.
They hunt the Deere, the Hare, the Fox, the Otter,
Polcates, or Harlots, what they please, whilst I
And my mad Grigs, my men can runne at base,
And breath our selves at Barly-breake, and dancing.
Bla.
Yes my Lord i'th countrey when you are there.
Let.
And now I am here i'th city, Sir, I hope
I please my selfe with more choyse home delights,
Then most men of my ranke.
Bla.
I know my Lord
Your house in substance is an Amphitheater
Of exercise and pleasure.
Let.
Sir, I have
For exercises, Fencing, Dancing, Vaulting,
And for delight, Musique of all best kindes:
Stage-playes, and Masques, are nightly my pastimes,
And all within my selfe. My owne men are
My Musique, and my Actors. J keepe not
A man or boy but is of quality:
The worst can sing or play his part o'th' Violls,
And act his part too in a Comedy,
For which I lay my bravery on their backs;
And where another Lord undoes his followers,
J maintaine mine like Lords. And there's my bravery.
Hoboyes. A service as for dinner, passe over the Stage, borne by many Servitors richly apparreld, doing honor to Letoy as they passe.
Ex.
Now tell me Blaze, looke these like Pedlers men?
Bla.
Rather an Emperors my Lord.
Let.
I tell thee,
These lads can act the Emperors lives all over,
And Shakespeares Chronicled histories, to boot,
And were that Cæsar, or that English Earle,
That lov'd a Play and Player so well now living,
I would not be out-vyed in my delights.
Bla.
My Lord tis well.
Let.
I love the quality of Playing I, J love a Play withall
My heart, a good one; and a Player that is
No men love them, I thinke, and therefore
I write all my playes my selfe, and make no doubt
Some of the Court will follow
Me in that too. Let my fine Lords
Talke o' their Horse-tricks, and their Jockies, that
Can out-talke them. Let the Gallants boast
Their May-games, Play-games, and their Mistresses,
I love a Play in my plaine cloaths, I,
And laugh upon the Actors in their brave ones.
Ent. Quailp.
Re.
My Lord, your dinner stayes prepar'd.
Let.
Well, well,
Be you as ready with your grace as I
Ex. Quail.
Am for my meate, and all is well. Blaze we have rambled
From the maine poynt this while, it seems by his letter,
My Doctor's busie at thy house. I know who's there,
Beside, give him this Ring, Tell him it wants
A finger: farewell good Blaze.
Bla.
Tell him it wants a finger! My small wit,
Already finds what finger it must fit.
Scene 6.
Enter Doctor, Peregrine, a Booke in his hand, Ioylesse, DianaDoct.
Sir I applaud your noble disposition,
And even adore the spirit of Travaile in you,
And purpose to waite on it through the world,
In which I shall but tread againe the steps
I heretofore have gone.
Per.
All the world o're ha' you bin already?
Doct.
Over and under too.
Per.
In the Antipodes?
Doct.
Yes, through, and through:
No Isle nor Angle in that Neather world,
But I have made discovery of: Pray sir sit;
And sir be you attentive, I will warrant
His speedy cure without the helpe of Gallen,
Hippocrates, Avicen, or Dioscorides.
Dia.
A rare man: Husband, truely I like his person
As well as his rare skill.
Joy.
Into your chamber.
Doct.
Nay Lady you may stay: Heare and admire,
If you so please: But make no interruptions.
Joy.
And let no looser words, or wandring looke
Bewray an intimation of the slight
Regard you beare your husband, lest I send you
Upon a further pilgrimage, than he
Feignes to convay my sonne.
Dia.
O jealousie!
Doct.
Doe you thinke sir, to th'Antipodes such a journey?
Per.
I thinke there's none beyond it; and that Mandevile
Whose excellent worke this is, was th'onely man
That e're came neare it.
Doct.
Mandevile went farre.
Per.
Beyond all English legges that I can read of.
Doct.
What thinke you sir of Drake, our famous Countriman?
Per.
Drake was a Dy'dapper to Mandevile,
Candish, and Hawkins, Furbisher, all our voyagers
Went short of Mandevile: But had he reach'd
To this place here—yes here—this wildernesse,
And seene the trees of the Sunne and Moone, that speake,
And told King Alexander of his death, he then
Had left a passage ope for Travailers:
That now is kept and guarded by wild beasts,
Dragons, and Serpents, Elephants white and blue
Vnicornes, and Lyons of many colours,
And monsters more, as numberlesse, as namelesse.
Doct.
Stay there,
Per.
Read here else: can you read?
Is it not true?
Doct.
No truer than I ha' seen't.
Dia.
Ha' you bin there Sir, ha' you seene those trees?
Doct.
And talk'd with 'hem, and tasted of their fruit.
Per.
Read here againe then: it is written here,
That you may live foure or five hundred yeere.
Dia.
Brought you none of that fruit home with you sir?
Joy.
You would have some of't would you, to have hope
T'out-live your husband by't.
Dia.
Y'd ha't for you,
Doct.
Your patience both I pray; I know the griefe
You both doe labour with, and how to cure it.
Joy.
Would I had given you halfe my land 'twere done.
Dia.
Would I had given him halfe my love, to settle
The tother halfe free from incumbrances
Upon my husband.
Doct.
Doe not thinke it strange sir:
Ile make your eyes witnesses of more
Than J relate, if you'll but travaile with me.
You heare me not deny that all is true
That Mandevile delivers of his Travailes,
Yet J myselfe may be as well beleev'd.
Per.
Since you speake reverently of him, say on.
Doct.
Of Europe ile not speak, tis too neare home:
Who's not familiar with the Spanish garbe,
Th'Jtalian shrug. French cringe, and German hugge?
Nor will J trouble you with my observations
Fetcht from Arabia, Paphlagonia,
Mesepotamia, Mauritania,
Syria, Thessalia, Persia, India,
All still is too neare home: though I have touch'd
The Clouds upon the Pyrenæan mountaines,
And bin on Paphos isle, where I have kist
The image of bright Venus: All is still
Too neare home to be boasted.
Dia.
That I like well in him too, he will not boast of kissing
A woman too neare home.
Doct.
These things in me are poore: they sound
In a farre travellers eare,
Like the reports of those, that beggingly
Have put out, on returnes from Edenburgh,
Paris, or Venice, or perhaps Madrid,
Whither a Millaner may with halfe a nose
Smell out his way: And is not neare so difficult,
As for some man in debt, and unprotected
To walke from Charing-crosse to th'old Exchange
No, J will pitch no nearer than th'Antipodes;
That which is farthest distant, foot to foote
Dia.
What with their heeles upwards?
Blesse us! how scape they breaking o' their necks?
Doct.
they walke upon firme earth, as we doe here,
And have the Firmament over their heads,
As we have here
Dia.
And yet just under us!
Where is hell then? if they whose feet are towards us,
At the lower part of the world have heaven too
Beyond their heads, where's hell?
Ioy.
You may finde that
Without inquiry: Cease your idle questions.
Dia.
Sure Hell's above ground then in jealous husbands.
Per.
What people sir (J pray proceed) what people
Are they of the Antipodes? are they not such
As Mandevile writes of, without heads or necks,
Having their eyes plac'd on their shoulders, and
Their mouths amidst their breasts?
Dia.
J so indeed,
Though heeles goe upwards, and their feet should slip,
They have no necks to breake.
Doct.
Silence sweete Lady.
Pray give the gentleman leave to understand me.
The people through the whole world of Antipodes,
In outward feature, language, and religion,
Resemble those to whom they are supposite:
They under Spaine appeare like Spaniards,
Vnder France French-men, under England English
To the exterior shew: but in their manners,
Their carriage, and condition of life
Extreamly contrary. To come close to you,
What part o' th'world's Antipodes shall J now
Decipher to you, or would you travaile to?
Per.
The furthest off.
Doct.
That is th'Antipodes of England.
The people there are contrary to us.
As thus; here (heaven be prais'd) the Magistrates
Governe the people: there the people rule
The Magistrates.
There's pretious bribing then.
Ioy.
You'l hold your peace,
Doct.
Nay Lady tis by Nature,
Here generally men governe the women.
Ioy.
I would they could else.
Dia.
You will hold your peace.
Doct.
But there the women over-rule the men,
If some men faile here in their power, some women
Slip their holds there. As parents here, and masters,
Command, there they obey the childe and servant.
Dia.
But pray Sir, is't by nature or by art,
That wives oresway their husbands there?
Doct.
By nature.
Dia.
Then art's above nature, as they are under us.
Doct.
In briefe Sir, all
Degrees of people both in sex, and quality,
Deport themselves in life and conversation,
Quite contrary to us.
Dia.
Why then the women
Doe get the men with child: and put the poore fooles
To grievous paine I warrant you in bearing.
Ioy.
Into your Chamber, get you in I charge you.
Doct.
By no meanes, as you tender your sonnes good.
No Lady no; that were to make men women,
And women men. But there the maids doe woe
The Batchelors, and tis most probable,
The wives lye uppermost.
Dia.
That is a trim
Upside-downe Antipodian tricke indeed.
Doct.
And then at christenings and gossips feasts,
A woman is not seene, the men doe all
The tittle-tattle duties, while the women
Hunt, Hawke, and take their pleasure.
Per.
Ha' they good game I pray Sir?
Doct.
Excellent,
But by the contraries to ours, for where
We Hawke at Pheasant, Partrich, Mallard, Heron,
With Goshawke, Tarsell, Falcon, Laneret;
Our Hawks, become their game, our game their Hawks,
Pursue the Hounds, and (which you may thinke strange)
I ha' seene one Sheepe worry a dozen Foxes,
By Moone-shine, in a morning before day,
They hunt, trayne-sents with Oxen, and plow with Dogges.
Per.
Hugh, hugh, hugh.
Dia.
Are not their Swannes all blacke, and Ravens white?
Doct.
Yes indeed are they; and their Parrets teach
Their Mistresses to talke.
Dia.
That's very strange.
Doct.
They keepe their Cats in cages,
From Mice that would devoure them else; and birds
Teach 'hem to whistle, and cry beware the Rats Pusse.
But these are frivolous nothings. I have knowne
Great Ladyes ride great horses run at tilt;
At Ring, Races, and hunting matches, while
Their Lords at home have painted, pawned their Plate
And Jewels to feast their honourable servants.
And there the Merchants wives doe deale abroad
Beyond seas, while their husbands cuckold them
At home.
Dia.
Then there are cuckolds too it seemes,
As well as here.
Ioy,
Then you conclude here are.
Dia.
By hearesay Sir. I am not wise enough
To speake it on my knowledge yet.
Ioy.
Not yet!
Doct.
Patience good Sir,
Per.
Hugh, hugh, hugh.
Doct.
What do you laugh, that there is cuckold-making
In the Antipodes, I tell you Sir,
It is not so abhorr'd here as tis held
In reputation there: all your old men
Doe mary girles, and old women boyes,
As generation were to be maintain'd
Onely by cuckold making.
Ioy.
Monstrous.
Doct.
Pray your Patience.
There's no such honest men there in their world,
Their practise; and t'enable 'hem to doe so,
Being all handy-crafts, or Labouring men,
They work (poore hearts full hard) in the vacations,
To give their law for nothing in the terme times.
No fees are taken: Which makes their divines,
Being generally covetous, the greatest wranglers
In Law sutes of a kingdome, you have not there
A gentleman in debt, though citizens
Haunt them with cap in hand to take their wares,
On credit.
Dia.
What fine sport would that be here now!
Doct.
All wit and mirth and good society
Is there among the hirelings, clownes, and tradesmen,
And all their Poets are Puritanes.
Dia.
Ha' they Poets.
Doct.
And players too. But they are all the sobrest
Precisest people pickt out of a nation.
Dia.
I never saw a play.
Doct.
Lady you shall.
Ioy.
She shall not.
Doct.
She must if you can hope for any cure,
Be govern'd Sir: your jealousie will grow
A worse disease then your sonnes madnesse else,
You are content I take the course I told you of
To cure the gentleman.
Ioy.
I must be Sir.
Doct.
Say Master Perigrine, will you travaile now
With mee to the Antipodes, or has not
The journey wearied you in the description.
Per.
No I could heare you a whole fortnight, but
A Bowle on the table.
Let's loose no time, pray talke on as we passe.
Doct.
First, Sir a health to auspicate our travailes,
And wee'll away.
Per.
Gi' mee't. What's he? One sent
Scene. 7.
Ent. Bla.
I feare from my dead mother, to make stop
Of our intended voyage.
Doct.
Of our intended voyage.
No Sir: drink.
Bla.
My Lord, Sir understands the course y'are in,
This Ring, which wants a finger here he sayes.
Per.
Wee'll not be stayd.
Doct.
No Sir, he brings me word
The Marriner calls away; the winde and tyde
Are faire, and they are ready to weigh anchor,
Hoyst sayles, and onely stay for us, pray drinke Sir.
Per.
A health then to the willing winds and seas,
And all that steere towards th'Antipodes.
Ioy.
He has not drunke so deepe a draught this twelvmonth.
Doct.
Tis a deepe draught indeed, and now tis downe,
And carries him downe to the Antipodes?
I meane but in a dreame.
Ioy.
Alasse I feare.
See he beginnes to sink.
Doct.
Trust to my skill,
Pray take an arme, and see him in his cabbin.
Good Lady save my Ring that's fallen there.
Dia.
In sooth a mervailous neate and costly one!
Bla.
So, so, the Ring has found a finger.
Doct.
Come sir, aboord, aboord, aboord, aboord.
Bla.
To bed, to bed, to bed: I know your voyage,
And my deare Lords deare plot, I understand,
Whose Ring hath past here by your flight of hand.
| The Antipodes | |