 | The Damoiselle, or The New Ordinary |  |
ACT. II.
Scene I.
Oliver. Ambrose.Ol.
And why this Gullery to me, good Ambrose?
Am.
J swear J am serious, and you may
may beleeve it.
Ol.
What, that there can be in the World an Asse
(Wert thou a fool to credit it) that would keep
A House, by way of publike Ordinary,
For fashionable Guests, and curious stomacks;
The daintiest Pallats, with rich Wine and Chear;
And all for nothing, but alls paid and welcome?
Vall Dryground told it me, whose truth deserves
So well my credit, that, prove you it false,
Ile pay all Ord'naries and Taverne reckonings
You shall be at this twel'moneth.
Ol.
J have heard
Of all the Mockeries, the Ape, the Ram, the Hornes,
The Goat, and such tame Monsters, whom poor wits
Have sent wise Tradesmen to, as to a Knight,
A Lord, or forrain Prince; to be his Mercer,
His Taylor, Semster, Millener, or Barber:
When those, that have beene mock'd, still sent their Neighbours,
Till halfe the City have bee fool-found. Ha!
Ist not some such poor trick?
Am.
Here comes my Author.
Enter Valentine.
Ol.
O Mr. Bridegroom, that stole the wealthy match!
How got you loose so soone? J thought you had beene
tyed up by the Loines, like a Monkey to the Bed-post,
for a fortnight at the least. How does old Bumpsey, that
Freecost Drunkard, thy mad Father-in-Law, take thy
stolne Marriage? I am sure he knows on't.
Val.
He found's abed last night i'th' nick, as we say.
But we are peec'd this morning.
Am.
Then he wrangled it out, of himselfe. J know
his singular humour.
Ol.
What has he gi'n thee?
Val.
Halfe, of all he has.
Am.
How?
Val.
On this Condition, that, if J save
That halfe untill he dyes, the rest is mine too.
Ol.
What if thou spendst thy halfe?
Val.
Heel spend the tother; and the same way, hee sweares.
Ol.
Hee'l nere keep Covenant.
Val.
Ile tell you how he runs at waste already,
Of the fashion, for my Wife. He bought one
Streight, ready made, for his old Gentlewoman,
That never wore so rich in all her life.
Am.
O brave old woman! How will shee carry it?
Val.
I spoke but of a Coach, and he bespoke one.
Ol.
Wonder upon wonder! Nam was telling one
Before thou cam'st.
Val.
What the new Ordnary?
Ol.
Dost know the man that keeps it?
Val.
They call him Osbright.
A brave old Blade. He was the President
Of the Can-quarrelling Fraternity,
Now calld the Roaring Brotherhood, thirty years since,
But now grown wondrous civill, free, and hospitable,
Having had something fallen to him, as it seemes.
Ol.
That Osbright has been dead these many years.
Val.
It was given out so: But he lived beyond Sea.
Ol.
There's some strange plot in't.
Val.
O thou pollitick Noll.
Ol.
Judge thy selfe, Val, what can the mystery be?
He tells me there's no Gaming, so no Cheating;
Nor any other by-way of expence,
By Bawdry, or so, for privy profit.
Val.
Such a suspition were a sin. But now
I will unfold the Riddle to you. This feasting
Has been but for three dayes, and for great persons,
That are invited, and to be prepar'd
To venture for a prize. This very night
There will be some great Rifling for some Jewell,
Or other rare Commodity they say.
I cannot nam't: tis twenty pound a man.
Ol.
Is not that gaming prithee?
Val.
Thats to come:
But, hitherto, nor Dice, nor Cards, nor Wench,
Ol.
O! has he Daughter there? Mark that Nam.
No gaming sayst thou? Ods me, and they play not
At the old Game of old there, I dare—
Val.
I dare be sworne thou dost 'em wrong.
Ol.
Shees too stale, is shee?
Tis above twenty yeares since he went over,
And was reported dead (they say) soon after,
In France, I take it: But, then, it seemes, he lived,
And got this Damsell there? Is she French borne?
Val.
Yes, she was born and bred there: And can speak
English but brokenly. But, for French behaviour,
Shees a most compleat Damoiselle, and able
To give instructions to our Courtliest Dames.
Ol.
Shee must be seen.
Am.
But see who here comes first.
Enter Vermine Servant.
Ver.
Thou hast undone me Villaine.
Ser.
Out alas!
I was as ignorant of the deceit,
As your owne innocent worship ever was
Of cozening any man of Land or Living.
Ver.
Was ever man so cursed in his Children!
Val.
Tis the wretch Vermine.
Ol.
What makes he here, trow, in the Temple Walks?
Val.
What should he do elsewhere, when Law's his Lechery.
The Devils itch dry up his marrow for't.
He undid a worthy Gentleman I know.
Ol.
I, Brookall, thrusting him out of his Land.
Am.
Hee's fitted with an Heire for't; one that can
Justly inherit nothing but the Gallows.
Ol.
Wheres Brookalls son? He had a hopefull one;
And, at sixteen, a Student here ith' Temple.
Val.
Alasse his Fathers fall has ruined him.
In which hee's lately travell'd into France.
Ver.
Go backe to the Recorders: Fetch the Warrant,
Ile search the City and the Suburbs for her.
Exit Servant.
Amp.
But Vermine has a daughter may prove good,
Val.
A good one like enough: Ile lay a wager
Hee's poching 'mong the trees here, for a Broker,
To match his daughter to a landed husband.
This is their walk.
Ol.
Let's try if we can fit him.
Val.
Thou'lt nere indure his breath, it stinkes of
brimstone.
Ol.
Ile take the wind of him: You are well met,
Sir.
Ver.
It may be I have; it may be not; How then?
What's that to you?
Ol.
Pray be not angry Sir.
The worst of us has land, and may deserve her.
Ver.
Pray let me ask you first, if you be not.
The knaves confederates that stole her from me?
Val.
Is she stolne from you Sir? In troth I am glad on't.
Amp.
Tis the first newes we heard on't.
Ol.
Though I assure you
We heard none ill to day: But very good,
As that of the New Ordinary.—
Amp.
Then the good successe
This Gentleman had lately with a wife—
Val.
And lastly, this you tell us; which, but that
It comes from your own mouth, were e'en too good
For our belief, me-thinks.
Ol.
Pray, is it true Sir?
Amp.
May we report it after you, good Sir?
Ver.
What are you? I would know.
Val.
Gentlemen, Sir,
That cannot but rejoyce at your affliction,
And therefore blamelesse, that desire to hear it.
Ver.
Cannot this place, where Law is chiefly studied,
Relieve me with so much, as may revenge
Me on these scorners? How my Slave stayes too!
Yet I may find a time.
Exit.
All.
Ha ha ha.—
Ol.
Look, look, what thing is this?—
Enter Amphilus, Trebasco.
Amb.
Trebasco, Skip-kennel.
Tre.
[OMITTED]
Amp.
It speaks, me-thinks.
Ol.
Yes, and its shadow answers it in Cornish.
Val.
I know him; 'tis the wise Western Knight, that should
Have married Vermines daughter.
Amp.
Skipkennell, you shall turn Footman, now, Skipkennell.
I'le nere keep horse more—
Tre.
You must be Footman then your self Sir.
Amp.
No nor Mare neither.
Tre.
You need not Sir, now you be determined to
marry, and live here i'the City altogether. And truly,
Sir, she could never ha' dyed better, nor been taken
from you (as they say) in a better time, so neere her
journeys end.
Amb.
His Mare's dead it seems.
Amp.
Was it well done of her, dost thinke, to die
to morrow in Smithfield: Poor fool, I think she dyed
for grief I would ha' sold her.
Tre.
'Twas unlucky to refuse Reynold Pengutlings
money for her.
Amp.
Would I had taken't now: and she had not
dyed mine own, 'twould nere have griev'd me.
Tre.
Pray bear it Sir, as they say—We are all mortall
you know, and her time was come, we must think.
Amp.
And 't had not been the first losse that ere I
had in my life, I could ha' born it.
Tre.
And grace og (as they say) it shall not be the
last.
Amp.
I would thou couldst ascertain me that; but
mischiefes are taild to one another, and I must grieve
as well for the what's to come, as the departed.
Ol.
We will have a bout with him: Who is departed,
Sir?
Amp.
My Mare, my Mare Sir: 'Twas the prettiest
Tit—But she is gone—
Ol.
How, is she gone Sir?
Tre.
You will not talk to 'em.
Val.
How is she gone, I pray Sir?
Tre.
Sir, as it were, because she could goe no further.
Val.
Good angry man give us leave to talk with thy
Master.
Ol.
Good Sir, a little more of your Mare.
Tre.
I would you had her all to do you good Sir:
she lies but a quarter of a mile beyond Brainford.
Val.
Did you leave skin and shooes, and all behind
Sir?
Tre.
Shoes all behind? I thought how wise you
were: Come away Master. No, while she liv'd, she
never wore but two behind Sir,
Gramercy honest fellow, thou hast wit in thy
anger.
Amp.
Sirrah, answer not the Gentleman so snappishly.
Tre.
How can I choose, when they do nothing but
make a foole of your Worship before your Worships
face, and your Worship perceives it not.
Val.
Good Sir, fall from your man to your beast againe.
Tre.
There againe, another main mock: He would
have him fall from a man to a beast.
Amp.
Give me the shoon; let 'em go I say, I will
have 'em.
Tre.
Pray take 'em then, hee'l ne're be wiser.
Amp.
These were her shoon Gentlemen, I'le keep
'em for her sake, that little Tit, my little poor Gonhelly,
that would have carried me on this little iron from
Pensans to S. Columb on a day. And that's a way
would try a stumbler you'l say, if you know it.
Val.
'Tis enough, I know you Sir Amphilus, and
have fool'd enough with you. Adieu; my businesse
calls me. Gentlemen, will you meet me to night at the
Ordinary.—
Exit.
Ol.
Yes, and perhaps, be there before you too.
Come Ambrose—
Exeunt.
Amp.
Old Gentlemen, me-thinks
Tre.
Why did you talk with 'em? What had you
to make with 'em?
Amp.
True, wee have other matters to think on:
Your first course Trebasco, after we come to our lodging,
shall be to Turnbull-street, to the Cobler,
Tre.
Your Dog-tutor.
Yes, and see how my whelp proves, I put to
him last Term.
Tre.
Yes, Sir.
Amp.
And know of him what Gamesters came to
the Ponds now adayes, and what good dogs.
Tre.
Yes Sir.
Amp.
And ask him—Dost thou heare? If he ha' not
done away his own dog yet, Blackswan with the white
foot? If I can but purchase him, and my own whelp
prove right, I will be Duke of the Ducking-pond.
Tre.
Never misdoubt, your whelp's right I warrant
you; for why, he could lap before he could well go:
And at ten weeks old he could pisse under leg.
Amp.
He was a fine forward Puppy, true enough:
But and that be a signe of short life, and he should
peak away after my Mare now—Here, prethee take
her shoon againe: What should I keep 'em for? They
put me too much in mind of mortality, do 'em away,
make money of 'em, and Ile convert it into a Dog-Collar—
Enter Vermine. Servant.
Tre.
Ile try the Market with 'em.
Ver.
the frumping Jacks are gone.—
Amp.
See my Aldermanicall Father-in-Law! How
d'yee do Sir? I am come. I keep my day you see before
I am a Cittiner among you. How does my best belov'd
I pray, your daughter? You do not speak me-thinks.
Ver.
Ask you for my daughter? Let me aske you
first what was your plot to put me in this fright, to
make me trudge to your Inn, whilst knave your man
here—Is not this he?
Ser.
I doubt Sir he was taller.
Ver.
Having first left a bag of Trumpery with me,
Amp.
This is abhomination! What Inn? and what
old iron? I came at no Inne to day, nor touch old Iron,
but that with sorrow enough, my poore Mares
shoes, she left me at her sad decease to Brainford. I
had rather ha' lost the best part of five Mark J wusse:
From whence I came by water, landed here at the
Temple, to leave a Letter to a kinsmans chamber, now
right as sure as can be. Say Trebasco.
Tre.
He tells you true.
Amp.
But is your daughter gone?
Ver.
Gone, gone.
Amp.
All ill go with her: Did not I say I should
hear of more mischief, and that one was ever tail'd to
another?
Tre.
You said so indeed: but if she had been tail'd
to your Mare, I should have seen her sure, when I stript
her.
Ver.
This is the day of my affliction,
This day Ile crosse out of my Almanack
For ever having any thing to do on't.
Amp.
Why then, you will not seeke her out to
day?
To find her, as to lose her, if luck serve.
Ser.
What else did you intend Sir by the warrant?
Best lose no time Sir.
No, no, wee'l go.
Enter Brookeall.
Broo.
First take my execration with thee, Monster.
Ver.
Hell vomits all her malice this day on me.
Broo.
Hell sends by mee this commendation to thee,
That gapes to entertain thee.
Amp.
Who's this, a Conjurer that knowes
hell so?
Ser.
No, but a certain Spirit, that my Master
Conjur'd out of his Land.
Amp.
If you can conjure,
Here's money to be got Sir, but to tell us
What may be now betid of this mans daughter?
Broo.
Himself, and his Posterity must all
Sink unavoydably to hell.
Amp.
You are most deeply read! May not a Son-in-Law—
Ver.
Why talk you to that Rayler?
Amp.
Pray Sir, may not
A Son-in-Law escape in your opinion?
Broo.
No Sir: it was by Law he made the purchase,
And by his Son-in-Law, or out-law'd, down he must.
If he set ventrous foot, as his Inheritor,
Upon the mould, was got by his oppression.
Amp.
Pretty mad reason me-thinks; where's that
Land?
Ver.
Sirrah, Ile tame thy tongue?
Broo.
No, wretch, thou canst not,
Nor fly out of the reach of my fell curses,
That freedome (being all that thou hast left me)
Thou canst not rob me of.
Ver.
I shall find meanes
Then to confine it, and your self in Bedlame:
Broo.
Thou canst not be so just sure, to exchange
Thine own inheritance for mine.
Amp.
Have you made
A purchase there too, Father-Law that should be?
Ver.
How am I tortur'd! I will fly this place.
Phil.
Nay prethee stay a little, good old man,
Give something to my box.
Ver.
Out on thee Baggage.
Phil.
A little something, prethee; but a tester.
Ver.
Out, out.
Phil.
Thou look'st like a good Penny-father,
A little of thy money would so thrive here,
'Twould grow, by that I were ready for a husband,
Up to a pretty portion. Pray thee now—
Ver.
What canst thou be?
Phil.
Insooth a Gentlewoman, but a By-blow,
My Father is a Knight, but must be namelesse.
Ver.
Can Knights get Beggars?
Phil.
Why not? when such as thou get Knights.
Nay, prethee, prethee now gi' me a tester.
I ne're ask lesse: My mother's a poore Gentlewoman,
And has no meanes, but what comes through my fingers.
And this is all my work: Come, wring it out.
Oh how I love a hard-bound Money-master,
Whose count'nance shewes how loath hee is to part with't!
It comes so sweetly from him, when it comes:
Nay, when? I pray thee when? Pish, make an end.
Amp.
It is the prettiest merry Beggar.
Ver.
Huswife Ile ha' you whipt.
Phil.
I, when I beg i'th' streets.
I have allowance here, as well as any
Brokers, Projectors, Common Bail, or Bankrupts,
Pandars, and Cheaters of all sorts, that mix here
Mongst men of honor, worship, lands and money.
O rare Beggar-wench!
Lawyers and others passe over the Stage as conferring by two and two.
Phil.
I come not hither to intrap
or cozen.
With, will you give me? Praythee, hard old man.
Ver.
Away, away.
Phil.
What though thou com'st to deal
For this mans Land, or sell anothers right,
Or els to match thy daughter, if thou hast one
To this young Gentleman—Thou wilt give mee something.
Ver.
The Devill haunts me.
Amp.
Shee makes a youth of me.
Phil.
Yet I prethee make not
Thy money such an Idoll, as to think
Thou shalt dishonor't, or impaire this bargain,
That match, or whatsoever thou hast in traffick,
By parting with a silly silver sixpence.
Shalt not i'fecks la, shalt not; Ile strike luck to it,
Thy match shall thrive the better. Look, I have got
Here, four and sixpence, Prethee make it a Crowne,
Twill nere be mist in thy dear daughters Dowry,
If (as I said) thou hast one.
Ver.
Hellish baggage!
Phil.
Hee'l gi't me by and by. I prethee find
Thy money out the while. Come out with it man:
Ver.
Pull her away,
I fly thee, as I would the Devill that sent thee:
Amp.
Yes, let's away, tis time, she begs of mee now.
Phil.
The Devill is not surer to o're-take thee.—
Exeunt omnes preter Brookeall.
Broo.
Good child I thanke thee: Thou hast somewhat eas'd
She spake as Divination had inspir'd her
With knowledge of my wrongs; and his oppression,
To take my part: Take thou a blessing for't
Who ere thou art, whilst I recalculate
The miseries of a distressed man,
Cast out of all. Unhappy chance of Law!
More false and mercilesse then Dice or Strumpets;
That hast into thy Hydra-throated mawe
Gulp'd up my lives supportance; left me nothing;
Not means for one dayes sustenance, for breath
To cry thy cruelty before my death.
That Law, once called sacred, and ordain'd
For safety and reliefe to innocence,
Should live to be accurs'd in her succession,
And now be stil'd Supportresse of oppression;
Ruine of Families, past the bloody rage
Of Rape or Murder: All the crying sins
Negotiating for Hell in her wild practise.
Enter Attorney.
At.
A man I hope for my purpose, and save me a
going to the Church for one: Will you make an Oath
Sir?
Broo.
An Oath? for what?
At.
For two shillings; and it be half a Crowne,
my Client shall not stand w'ye; the Judge is at leisure,
and the other of our Bail is there already. Come, go
along.
Broo.
I guesse you some Attorney: Do you know me?
At.
No, nor any man we imploy in these cases.
Broo.
He takes me for a common Bail; a Knight o'th Post,
Thou art a villaine, and crop-ear'd I doubt not:
At.
I cry you mercy: I must up (I see)
To the old Synagogue, there I shall be fitted—
Exit.
Broo.
Can I appear so wretched? or can grief
So soile the face of poverty, which is vertue,
To make it seem that Monster Perjury?
Rather let sorrow end me all at once,
Then vertue be misconstrued in my looks,
Which I will hide from such interpretation.
He lies on his face.
Enter Frendly.
Frend.
Alas hee's sore afflicted, and my newes,
I fear, will strike him dead; yet I must speak,
Sir, give not misery that advantage on you,
To make your self the lesse, by shrinking under
The buffetings of fortune.
Broo.
I desir'd you
To seek my son. Ha' you found him at his Chamber?
Or has not want of fatherly supplies
(VVhich heaven knowes I am robb'd of) thrust him out
Of Commons, to the Common VVorld for succour?
Where is he, have you found him?
Fren.
No, not him.
But I have found what may be comfort to you,
If you receive it like a man of courage.
Broo.
Hee's dead then, farewell my tender boy!
Fren.
Indeed, Sir, hee's not dead.
Broo.
Phew—
Fren.
Pray, sir, heare me.
Broo.
You'll tell me, man nere dies; But changeth Life,
That goes the right way soonest: Nature sent us
All naked hither; and all the Goods we had
We onely took on Credit with the World.
And that the best of men are but meer borrowers:
Though some take longer day. Sir, J know all
Your Arguments of Consolation—
Fren.
Indeed he is not dead; but lives—
Broo.
In Heaven.
J am the surer on't; for that he liv'd
Not to learn Law enough, to—hush. No more.
Fren.
Substantially he lives in flesh, as we do.
Broo.
Speak that again.
Fren.
A Gentleman of the next Chamber told me so.
Onely, sir, this; if you can brook his absence
Without feare, or mistrust; then he is well.
Broo.
How thou playest with me!
Fren.
He's gone to travell, sir. Here comes the Gentleman.
Enter Valentine.
Val.
J am sure he does not know me. If he could,
J were as sure this Charity would be rejected.
So much J know his Spirit. Is your name Brookeall, sir?
Brook.
My losses, wrongs, and sorrowes, speak my name.
Val.
You had a Son late of this house.
Broo.
And do not you infer by that he's dead?
Good, do not mock me, sir.
Val.
If this be gold,
He lives and sent it to you; forty peeces?
Pray, sir, from whence, or where might he atchieve
So great a Sum? Not in this World, J feare.
A handsome possibility he had once,
Could J ha' kept it for him.
Val.
He's in a way,
Now to a hopefull fortune. A Noble Gentleman,
Late gone to travell, ta'ne with good affection
Towards your Son, has ta'ne hin to his care:
And like a Father, not a Master, keeps him.
From whose free bounty he receiv'd this meanes.
Broo.
Do you think the Boy did well to send it me then:
When twas intended for his Masters honour,
To flye in Silks and Feathers? Tis not Servant like
To wave a Masters meaning so.
Val.
J had a Letter too;
Though most unhappily mislay'd.
Broo.
VVhat from my Boy?
Val.
In his own hand.
Broo.
Ha!—but mislay'd, you say. Ha, ha, ha,—
VVhat is the Gentleman? Or whither travell'd?
Val.
That's all J crave excuse for.
Broo.
Keep your money.
If you can render me my Son, Ile thank you.
Val.
You speak not like a Father: wanting meanes
Your selfe for his advancement, would you bar him
The bounty of anothers full ability?
Broo.
J speak more like a Father, then a Beggar:
Although no Beggar poorer. And J feare,
J am no Father: for J would not give
My Son to gain a Province, nor except
This Coyne to save my life: If he b[illeg.]
Let me look neerer [illeg.]
Fren.
I hope
Was nere so coy else.
Broo.
J cannot remember,
J ever saw this face: But J have seen
(Many yeares since) one, that it so resembles,
As J could spit defiance on't—
Val.
What mean you?
Broo.
And charge thee with the Murther of my Son
Val.
Pray, sir, collect your selfe.
Broo.
Your name is Valentine.
Val.
Right, sir.
Broo.
Sir Humphrey Drygrounds Son:
Val.
Most true.
Broo.
Even so thy Father look'd, when, at like years
He was my Rivall: For young man, I tell thee
Thou hadst a virtuous, well deserving Mother.
He won her without losse of my known Friend-ship:
But, since her death, you cannot but have heard,
He basely wrong'd my Sister, and, in her,
Mee, and my Family: Whor'd her, and cast her off,
On the appointed Marriage day.
Val.
O, sir.
Broo.
You cannot but have heard on't. Nay, it seems,
My Boy has charg'd thee with't, before his yeares
Could warrant his ability in Combate,
And so is fallen; Or thou, not daring stand
Tryall in such a cause, by treachery
Hast cut him off; And com'st to make thy peace:
Presuming on my Poverty, with money.
Worse then the base Attornies Project this!
Val.
This is meer madnesse. In an Act so foule,
As your wilde Fancy gathers this to be;
Who could escape the Law?
Broo.
The Law; Ha, ha, ha.
Talk not to me of Law, Law's not my Friend.
I have enough of Law; pray stand you off.
Will you, sir, furnish me, but with a Sword;
And bring me to fit ground to end this difference?
Will you do so, and like a Gentleman?
Val.
VVhat shall J do for pity?—Now J have it.
Broo.
Talk not to me of Law.
[He fenceth.]
Val.
Pray heare me, sir.
Broo.
Now sir, your wil before your end. Be briefe.
Val.
You know me for a Gentleman, though an Enemy.
(I must speak in his phrase) and by that honour
A Gentleman should keep sacred, two houres hence
Ile meet you in this place—
Broo.
Pray stand you off—to Friendly.
Val.
From whence wee'll walke—
Broo.
Silent, as nothing were—
Val.
As nothing were betwixt us—to some other
fit ground, (as you propounded) where wee'll end
the difference.
Broo.
By the Sword, no otherwise.
No whinnelling satisfaction.
Val.
You shall see, sir.
Broo.
Go set thy house in order. Here Ile meet thee,
Exit.
| The Damoiselle, or The New Ordinary | |