University of Virginia Library

Act. 1.

Scene. 1.

Arthur. Dionysia.
Ar.
Dear Sister, bear with me.

Di.
I may not, brother.
What! suffer you to pine, and peak away
In your unnatural melancholy fits;
Which have already turn'd your purer blood
Into a toad-pool dye. I am asham'd
(Upon my life) almost to call you brother
But nature has her swing in me. I must.
Therefore I crave you (as you are my brother)
To shake this dull and muddy humor off,
By visiting the streets, and quit your chamber,
Which is a sickness to you.

Ar.
O my sister!

Di.
I can say, O my brother too, to shew you
How it becomes you. I have the same cause
Equally with your self, to spend my life
In sollitary mourning; and would do it,
Could it make good our loss: My honor'd Father!
A tear has scap'd me there: But that's by th'by,
And more of anger 'gainst his enemy,
And his for ever curs'd posterity,
That rob'd us of a Father, then of sorrow
For what we know is unrecoverable.
But to sit grieving over his Memory
In a resolved silence, as you do;
Killing your own blood while a vein holds any
Proceeding from the flesh, that drew out his,
Is meerly idle. Mingle then your grief
With thought of brave revenge: And do it not
In private Meditation in your Chamber;
But bear it out till it proceed to Action.

Ar.
By powring blood on blood?

Di.
By quenching fire
Of high revenge, with base unmanly blood;
By stopping of our Fathers cureless wounds
(Which still bleed fresh in our vex'd memories)
With the proud flesh of him that butcher'd ours.

Ar.
We know he lives not that has slain our Father:
Or, if he lives, tis where I cannot reach him:
He nere saw English harbour since his sword
Unfortunately had the better of my father.

Di.
But his son lives.

Ar.
Good sister cool thy passion
With reasonable means.

Di.
O where's the spirit
That my slain father had. Have you no part of't?
Must I now play the Man, whilst you inherit
Onely my Mothers puling disposition?

Ar.
I know thy drift, good sister Dionisia,
Is not unto revenge, or blood; but to stir up
Some motion in me, to prevent the danger
A sad retiredness may bring upon me.

Di.
Bee't as you think it, so you will abroad;
And make the house no longer dark with sighing.
Ent. Rafe
Now Sir the newes with you?

Ra.
Newes worth your hearing,
Meerly to laugh at: Good for nothing else.

Di.
Is the old Ruffian tane, and hang'd, that slew
My Father; or his son Brain-battered; or
His Daughter made a prostitute to shame?

Ar.
How merciless are your wishes!

Ra.
Lady, no.
But as I was hankring at an ordinary,
In quest of a new Master (for this, here,
Will never last to a new livory
'Less he were merrier) I heard the bravest noise
Of Laughter at a wicked accident
Of Marriage, that was chopt up this Morning.

Di.
What marriage? Quickly.

Ra.
Who do you think
Has married fair Mistris Millicent?

Di.
Theophilus (I can name him, though his father
Was fatal unto mine) was sure to her.

Ra.
Yes, but without a Priest. She has slipt his hold,
And is made fast enough unto another,
For which fine Mr. The. so whines and chafes,
And hangs the head! More then he would do
For's father, were he hanged, as you did wish
For laughing newes eene now. Ther's sport for you.

Di.
It does me good to hear of any cross
That may torment their family. I wish
Joy to the man that did beguile him of her
What ere he be.

Ar.
But who has married her?

Ra.
Thence springs the jest. Old Mr. Quicksands, Sir,
The bottomless devourer of young Gentlemen;
He that has liv'd, till past three-score, a batcheler,
By three-score i'the hundred; he that has
Undone by Mortgages and under-buyings
So many Gentlemen, that they all despair'd
Of means to be reveng'd.

Ar.
But where's your Jest?

Ra.
The Jest is, that they now have found that means
(As they suppose) by making of him Cuckold.
They are laying their heads together in every corner,
Contriving of his horns, and drinking healths
To the success. And there were sport for you now,
If you were any body.

Ar.
I'le abroad however.

Di.
That's nobly said. Take courage with you Brother.

Ar.
And yet me thinks I know not how to look
The wide world in the face, thus on the sudden
I would fain get abroad, yet be unknown.

Ra.
For that Sir (look you) I have here, by chance,
A false beard which I borrowed, with a purpose
To ha' worn't and put a jest upon your sadness.

Ar.
Does it do well with me?

Ar. puts on the beard.
Ra.
You'l never have
One of your own so good: you look like Hector.

Ar.
Go fetch my sword and follow me.

Di.
Be sure you carry a strict eye o're his actions,
And bring me a true account.

Ra.
I warrant you Mistriss.

Di.
Do, and I'le love thee everlastingly.
Why, now you are my brother.

Ar.
Farewel Sister.

Exit. Ar. Ra.
Di.
I hope he has some stratagem a foot
In our revenge to make his honour good:
It is not grief can quit a fathers blood.

Exit.

Scene 2.

Nathaniel. Phillis.
Nat.
Prithee be and answered, and hang off o'me,
I ha' no more to say to you in the way
You wot on Phillis.

Phi.
Nor do I seek to you
In that way which you wot on, wanton Sir,
But to be honest, and to marry me.
You have done too much the tother way already.

Nat.
I wish you were more thankful, Mrs. Phillis,
To one has taught you a trade to live upon:
You are not th'first by twenty I have taught it
That thrive well i'the world.

Phi.
There are so many
Such teachers in the world; and so few
Reformers, that the world is grown so full
Of female frailties, the poor Harlotries
Can scarce already live by one another,
And yet you would have me thrust in among 'em.

Nat.
I do not urge you. Take what course you please,
But look not after me: I am not mark'd
For Matrimony, I thank my stars.

Phi.
Should I run evil courses, you are the cause;
And may in time, curse your own act in it:
You'l find th'undoing of an honest Maid
Your heaviest sin upon your bed of sickness;
Twill cost your soul the deepest groan it fetches;
And in that hope I leave you.

Exit.
Nat.
Farewel wag-tail.
Marry thee quoth a! That's wise work indeed!
If we should marry every Wench we lie with,
'Twere after six a week with some of us.
(Marry love forbid) when two is enough to hang one.

Enter Vincent and Edmond.
Vin.
Nat, we have sought diligently, for fear
The news that is abroad should flie before us.

Nat.
What news? What flying fame do you Edmond labour with?

Ed.
News that makes all the Gallants i'the Town
Fly out o'their little wits: They are so eager,
Upon the joy. I mean such youthful Gallants
As have, or sold, or mortgag'd; or been cheated
By the grave patron of Arch-cosonage,
Whose sad misfortune we are come to sing:
Shall I need to name him to thee?

Nat.
Who, the old Rascal Quicksands? speak good Vince,
What! has he hangd himself? speak quickly prithe.

Uin.
Worse, worse by half man. Durst thou hear a news
Whose mirth will hazzard cracking of a rib?

Nat.
I, and't be two. Here's hoopes enough besides
To hold my drink in. Pray thee speak; what mischief
Is come upon him.

Ed.
I pray thee guess again.

Nat.
Has somebody over-reach'd him in his way
Of damnable extortion; and he cut his throat,
Or swallowed poison?

Uin.
Ten times worse then that too.

Nat.
Is he then hoisted into the Star-Chamber
For his notorious practises? or into
The high Commission for his blacker arts?

Ed.
Worse then all this.

Nat.
Pax, keep it to your self then,
If you can think it be too good for me.
Why did you set me a longing? you cry worse
And ten times worse; and know as well as I,
The worse it is to him, the better wel-come
Ever to me: And yet you tell me nothing.

Uin.
He has married a young wife.

Nat.
Has he Cadzooks?

Ed.
We bring you no comfort, we.

Nat.
Nere go fine sport, Ha, ha, ha. What is she?
Would he had my wench, was here eene now,
What is she he has married? quickly prithe.

Uin.
One much too good for him.

Ed.
The beauteous Millicent.
Driven by the tempest of her Uncles will,
Is like a pinnace forc'd against the Rock.

Nat.
But he will never split her, that's the best on't.
I hope she'le break his heart first. Gentlemen,
I thank you for your news; and know what I
Will presently go do.

Vin.
Pray stay a little.

Ed.
And take us with you. What will you go do?

Nat.
That which we can all at once. Do not hold me.

Vin.
We came to cast a plot w'ye.

Nat.
Cast a pudding—How long ha'they been married?

Ed.
But this morning.

Nat.
You'l ha'me come too late.
Ne're go 'tis a shame he was not Cuckolded
'Fore Dinner.

Vin.
That had been a fine first course
At a wedding feast indeed. A little patience.

Nat.
Pray let me take my course 'fore supper yet.

Ed.
The business 'longs to us as much as you,
He has wrong'd us all alike. He has cozened us
As much as you.

Nat.
He has made me so poor
That my poor whore eene now claim'd marriage of me.

Vin.
The case is ours. His wrongs are common to us,
So shall his wife be, can we purchase her:
Did we bring you the news for you to run
And prevent us do you think?

Nat.
Pardon my zeal good Gentlemen; which onely
Considered but the fitness of the Act,
And that 'tis more then time 'twere done ifaith.

Enter Theophilus & Arnold.
Ed.
And see here comes a fourth man that has lost
More on her part, then we upon the Bridegrooms.

Vin.
He's very sowre and sad. 'Tis crept upon him
By this untoward accident.

Nat.
'Twould anger any man to be nos'd of such a match;
But Ile remove his sorrow—
Gentle Theophilus, you are well met,
Your sorrow is familiar with us all
In the large loss of your betrothed love;
But, sir, be comforted: you have our pitty
And our revenge to ease you. Tis decreed
Her husband shall be instantly a Cuckold.

The.
Most sinfully thou lyest; and all that give
Breath to that foul opinion.

Draw and fight.
Nat.
What do you mean.

The.
Give me that thought from you; nay, from you all,
Or I will rip you for't.

Nat.
Zooks what mean you.

Uin.
Hold, Sir, forbear.

The.
Ile have that thought out first.

Nat.
I say he does deserve to be a Cuckold;
Let him be what he will, a pox upon him.

Ed., Uin.
So we say all.

The.
What's that to ill in her?
I stand upon that point. Mans evil merit's
No warrant for a womans dishonesty.
I say had shee a man forty degrees
Beneath his undeservings, twere more possible
For him to deceive her with a good Life,
Then shee him with a wicked.

Nat.
I say so too.
But then I say again, The more's the pitty.

The.
Do and undoe.

He hurts him.
Nat.
Zookes now your bitch has bit me,
I say he will be one, he shall be one;
Il'e make him one my self.

Ed., Uin.
And weell both help him.

Ent. Ar. in his fals beard he sides with Theoph.
Arn.
Why here's trim stuff. Help ho, Murder, Murder.

Art.
This is oppression gentlemen; an unmanly one.

Nat.
What devils this rais'd? fall off, tis an ill business.

Ext. Nat. Vin. Ed.
Arn.
Have you no hurt Sir.

The.
No I'm confident.

Arn.
By your favour, I will see.

Arnold searches Theoph.
Art.
What fortune's this,
I fought 'gainst friends to save mine enemy,
But I hope neither know me. I desire
To rest hid to my friends for my offence to them,
And to mine enemy, till I make him dearer.

Exit.
The.
I told thee there was none.

Arn.
I'm glad it proves so.

The.
But wher's the Gentleman?

Arn.
Do you not know him sir?

The.
Not I, tis the first time that ere I saw him,
To my remembrance; yet he fought for me.
Beshrew thy idler care that made me lose him,
What should he be that so could fight for me,
Yet care not for my company? beshrew thy heart.
Why should he use me thus? I shall be sick to think on't.
I'm made beholding now to I know not whom;
And I'm the worst to sue or seek to a man—

Arn.
That scurvy, between proud and bashful quality,
You are famous for, as tother toy that haunts you.

The.
What's that?

Arn.
Why, to be deadly angry, sir,
On least occasion, and friends as quickly.
Hot and cold in a breath: you are angry now
With him that fought for you I warrant you.

The.
In troth I am, and friends with them I fought with;
He us'd me peevishly to leave me so,
Ere I could thank him.

Arn.
So tis that I told you.

The.
But did you mark th'humanity of my Gentlemen,
Cause shee's dispos'd by her self willed uncle
On that unworthy Quicksands (Devil take him)
They thought twould sound like musick in my ears
To hear her disgrace sung; when her fair honour
Is all I have to love, now shee's took from me:
And that they'd go about to rob me of.
Heaven grant me patience. O my slaughter'd father!
I am thy son, and know by thy infirmity.

Arn.
Me thinks, Sir, his example should allay you:
Impatience was his ruine.

The.
Push, we see
Thieves daily hang'd for Robberies; yet some
Go on still in the practice! What a fine
Is set upon the head of foul Adultery,
And yet our neighbours Wives can hardly scape us!
There's Lawes against extortion, and sad penalties
Set upon Bribes,
Yet great mens hands ha'their fore-fathers itch!
Prisons are fill'd with Banckrupts; yet we see
How crafty Merchants often wrong their credits,
And Lond'ners flie to live at Amsterdam!
Nothing can banish Nature: That's the Moral.

Arn.
It was indeed your Fathers known infirmity,
And ever incident to the noblest Natures.
But of your Father, is there yet no hope
Of better news?

The.
No, certainly he's slain.

Arn.
I have not heard a story of more wonder;
That two such men, of such estates and years,
Having liv'd alwayes friends and neighbours nearly,
Should at the last fall out so mortally
On a poor cast at bowles! Where wast they fought?

The.
It is uncertain. All we heard of 'em
Was, they rode forth ('tis now a whole year past)
Singly to end their quarrel: But to what
Part of the kingdom, or the world they took,
We can by no inquiry find or hear
Of either of them. Sure they crost the Seas,
And both are slain.

Arn.
You speak poor comfort Sir.

The.
I speak as my heart finds. She's gone for ever too;
Her hearts desire be with her.

Arn.
Now he's there again.

The.
Then my poor Sisters sickness; that torments me,
Never in health since our dear Father left us.

Arn.
And now there.

The.
How shall I do to see these men again?
I shall not be at rest till I be friends with 'em.

Arn.
Why here's the noble nature still. 'Twil shew it self.

The.
I'le seek 'em out. Nathaniel alwayes lov'd me.

Exit.
Arn.
Here's an unsettled humor. In these fits
Hel'e nere be mad, nor ever well in's wits.

Exit.

Scene 3.

Testy. Quicksands. Millicent.
Tes.
Go to I say, go to; as y're my Neece,
And hope t'inherit any thing that's mine:
Shake off this Maiden peevishness. Do you whimper
Upon your wedding day? Or, do you think
You are not married yet? Did you not say
I Millicent take Mandevill? A ha!
Was it not so? Did not I give you too?
I that have bred you from the cradle up
To a fit growth to match with his fair years;
And far more fair estate.

Mil.
I, there's the Match—

Tes.
Love him I charge you.

Mil.
Ile endeavour't Sir.

Tes.
You will endeavour't! Is't no further yet?
Stand from her, Nephew! I'le so swinge her. Ha!

Quick.
Let me intreat your patience. She's my wife Sir.

Tes.
Dandle her in her humour, do; and spoyle her.

Quick.
'Tis but her modesty.

Tes.
Her sullen doggedness,
I'le baste it out of her. You do not know her
As I do, Nephew.

Quick.
I shall, Sir, before morning
Better I doubt not. Come we shall agree.

Tes.
You will endeavour't! Come I'le see it done.
Marry a man first, and then endeavour
To love him will you? Ha! Is it but so?
I'le see you love him presently. So to bed.

Mil.
What before Supper?

Tes.
A posset and to bed,
I'le see it done. And cause you are so nice
(To bed I say) there I will see more done
Then I will speak. Tell me of your endeavour!

Quick.
Be not so rough and stiffe with her, good Uncle,
I know my supple tender dealing will
Get more upon her love then all your chidings.

Tes.
Such tender dealers spoyle young Brides; and get
Nothing of stubborness. Down with her I say
Now in her wedding sheets: She will be naught else.

Mil.
Construe more charitably, I beseech you,
My Virgin blushes.

Tes.
'Tis your sullenness;
Would you have brided it so lumpishly
With your spruce younker, that fine silken beggar,
Whose Land lies in your Husbands counting house,
Or the most part.

Mil.
O my Theophilus.

Quick.
Indeed the better half; not without hope
To have the rest as he may want my money.

Tes.
Would you have whin'd and pul'd, had you had him,
To bedward think you? yet to speak the truth,
And that wherein she has vext me a thousand times,
I never saw her laugh, nor heard her sing
In all my life: yet she could both, I have heard,
In company she lik'd.

Mil.
It has been 'mong Maidens then.
But honour'd Sir (I know what I will do)
To let you see and hear, since you desire
To have me shew a cheerfulness unto
My reverend Husband. Look you Sir, I'le kiss him,
Clap him, and stroke him: Ha, my Joe, ha, ha, ha, &c.

Tes.
Hey day.

Quick.
She'l make me blush anon I think.

Mil.
I'le sing him songs too.

Tes.
Whoop, how's this?

Mil.
That I will chick, old songs and over old ones,
Old as thy reverend self, my Chick a bird.

Quic.
She cals me chick and bird: The common names
With wives that Cuckold their old cravend husbands.

Mil.
(She sings)
She made him a bed of the thistle down soft,
Shee laid her self under to bear him a loft,
And ever she sung sweet turn thee to me,
Wee'l make the new bed cry Jiggy Joggy.

Tes.
What impudence is this.

Quic.
Shee's gon as far
Beyond it now as it was to't.

Mil.
Now may you answer.
(She sings)

Quic.
Is this your bashful Neece.

Tes.
What canst thou mean by this? dos this become thee?

Mil.
Pray do not beat me o'my wedding might but tell me
How this and half a dozen chopping Children may
Become an old mans wife some five years hence.

Quic.
O intollerable!

Tes.
Is't possible thou canst do thus?

Mil.
Let women judge. Tis very possible
That a young lusty wife may have six Children
By one at once in five years, Sir, and by
One Father too. Ile make him young enough
To Father mine.

Quic.
Shee'l make a youth of me.

Mil.
(She sings.)
There was a Lady lov'd a swine. Honey, quoth she,
And wilt thou be true love mine. Hoogh, quoth he.

Tes.
Do you hear gentlewoman; are you i'your wits?

Mil.
Yes, and my own house I hope I pray be civil,
Shall we to bed, Sir, supperless? you need
No stirring meats, it seems. I'm glad on't.
Come, biddy, come away, will you see Uncle
How I will love him i'oed? come away.

Quic.
My edge is taken off: this impudence
Of hers, has outfac'd my concupisence.
Dasht all quite out o' Countenance! what a beast
Was I to marry? Rather, what a beast
Am I to be? A sowgelders horn blown.
How now! O horrible.

Tes.
What hidious noise is this.

Ent. Buzzard.
Buz.
I cannot help it.
While I went forth for the half pint of Sack
To make your prodigal posset; and the maid
(Watching the Milk, for running ore) forgot
To shut the door, they all rush'd in.

Quic.
What they, what all?

Buz.
Vizarded people, Sir, and odly shap'd.
You'l see anon. Their tuning o'their pipes,
And swear they'll gi'ye a willy nilly dance
Before you go to bed, tho' you stole your Marriage.

Quic.
Outragious Roysters.

Tes.
Call and raise the street.

Mil.
That were to let in violence indeed.
These are some merry harmeless friends I warrant.
I knew I could not be so ill belov'd
Among the batchelers, but some would find
Way to congratulate our honoured Marriage.

Quic.
What, with horn musick?

Tes.
A new kind of flourish.

Quic.
Tis a flat conspiracy.
This is your bashful modest whimpring Neece.

Tes.
Then let 'em in. If they wrong us to night,
The Law to morrow shall afford us right.
Pray let's resolve to seet. Here comes their Prologue.

florish,
Ent. Mercury.
Mer.

Tes.
A special drove of horn beasts.

Enter four Masquers with horns on their heads: a Stag, a Ram, and Goar, a an Ox followed by four persons, a Courtier, a Captain, a Schollar and a Butcher.
Mer.

They dance to musick of Cornet; & Violins.
The Daunce.
Exit. Masquers.
Tes.
How now! all vanisht! The devil take the hidmost.

Qui.
The foremost I say; and lay him a block
For all the rest to break their necks upon.

Tes.
Who are they? Can you guesse.

Mil.
Truly, not I Sir.
Some of my husbands friends perhaps, that came
To warn him of his fortune.

Qui.
Well consider'd.

Mil.
Lock the doors after 'em, and let us to bed;
And lock our selves up, chick, safe from all danger.

Qui.
We will to bed chick, since you'l have it so.
This key shall be your guard: And here's another
Shall secure me. My house has store of beds in't.
I bring you not to an unfurnisht dwelling.

Mil.
Be not afraid to lie with me, good man,
Ile so restore thee 'gain: with Cawdels and Cock-broths,
So cuckle the up to morrow, thou shalt see—

Quic.
O immodestie.

Mil.
Thou hast good store of gold, and shalt not want it
In Cullises: in every broth Ile boil
An angel at the least.

Qui.
Ile hang first.

Tes.
I am quite out of wits; and yet Ile counsel
Thee, Nephew. Heark thee.

They whisper
Buz.
Tis like to be mad counsel.

Mil.
But will you not lie with me then?

Tes.
No marry shall he not.
Nephew, You shall not, till shee bride it modestly,
Tis now too late, but Ile so rattle her up to morrow.

Buz.
Tis too late now, & yet he'l do't to morrow! good!

Tes.
Will you to your lodging?

Mil.
Where be my bride-maids?

Tes.
They wait you in your chamber.

Buz.

The devil o'maid's i'this but my fellow Madg the
Kitching maid, and Malkin the Cat, or batchelor but my
self, and an old Fox, that my master has kept a prentiship
to palliate his palsie.

Mil.
Where be the maids, I say; and Batchelors
To disappoint my husband.

Qui.
Mark you that?

Mil.
I mean, to take your points. But you have none.
O thrifty age! My Bridegroom is so wise,
Instead of points, to hazzard hooks and eyes.

Buz.
Shee means the eyes in's head, Ile hang else.
My Master is like to make a blind match here.

Tes.
Take up the lights, sirrah.

Qui.
I hope she talks so idly, but for want
Of sleep; and sleep she shall for me to night.

Tes.
And well said Nephew. Will you to your chamber,
Mistress?—

Mil.
Hey ho, to bed, to bed, to bed.
No Bride so glad—to keep her Maiden-head.

Exeunt omnes.