 | The English Moor, or The Mock-Marriage |  |
Act. 4.
Scene 1.
Dionysia in mans habit, Rafe.Dio.
How does my habit and my arms become me?
Ra.
Too well to be a woman, manly Mistress.
Dio.
Wher's the pistol you provided for me.
Ra.
Here Mistress and a good one.
Dio.
Tis too long.
Ra.
No Lady would wish a shorter. If it were
'Twould bear no charge, or carry nothing home.
Dio.
Ile try what I can do. Thou think'st me valiant.
I'm sure I have often felt it.
Ra.
All the virago's that are found in story,
Penthesilea and Symaramis
Were no such handy strikers as your self:
But they had another stroke, could you but find it,
Then you were excellent. I could teach it you.
Dio.
I dare not understand thee yet. Be sure
As you respect my honour, or your life
That you continue constant to my trust,
And so thou canst not know how much Ile love thee.
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There is a hope as good, now, as a promise.
Dio.
Here at this Inne abide, and wait my coming
Be careful of my guildings: Be not seen
Abroad for fear my brother may surprise you.
Ther's money for you; and ere that be spent
Tis like I shall return.
Exit.
Ra.
Best stars attend you,
Mars arm thee all the day; and Venus light
Thee home into these amorous arms at night.
Exit.
Scene 2.
Quicksands. Millicent, her face black.Quic.
Be chear'd my love; help to bear up the joy,
That I conceive by thy concealed Beauty,
Thy rich imprison'd beauty, whose infrenchisement
Is now at hand, and shall shine forth again
In its admired glory. I am rapt
Above the sphear of common joy and wonder
In the effects of this our quaint complot.
Mil.
In the mean time, though you take pleasure in't,
My name has dearly suffered.
Quic.
But thine honor
Shall, in the vindication of thy name,
When envy and detraction are struck dumb
Gain an eternal memory with vertue;
When the discountenanc'd wits of all my jierers
Shall hang their heads, and fall like leaves in Autumn.
O how I laugh to hear the cozen'd people
As I pass on the streets abuse themselves
By idle questions and false reports.
As thus: good morrow Master Quicksands; pray
How fares your beauteous bedfellow? says another
I hear she's not at home. A third sayes no:
He saw her yesterday at the still-yard
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In Rhemish, Deal, and Back-rag: Then a fourth
Sayes he knowes all her haunts and Meetings
At Bridgfoot, Bear, the Tunnes, the Cats, the Squirels;
Where, when, and in what company to find her,
But that he scornes to do poor me the favour:
Because a light piece is too good for me.
While a fifth youth with counterfeit shew of pity,
Meets, and bewails my case, and saies he knowes
A Lord that must be nameless keeps my wife
In an inchanted Castle two miles West
Upon the River side: but all conclude—
Mil.
That you are a monstrous cuckold, and deserve it.
Quic.
Knowing my safety, then, and their foul errors,
Have I not cause to laugh? Yes, in abundance.
Now note my plot, the height of my invention
I have already given out to some,
That I have certain knowledge you are dead,
And have had private burial in the countrey;
At which my shame, not grief, forbad my presence:
Yet some way to make known unto the world
A husbands duty, I resolve to make
A certain kind of feast, which shall advance
My joy above the reach of spight or chance.
Mil.
May I partake, Sir, of your rich conceit?
Quic.
To morrow night expires your limited moneth
Of vow'd virginity; It shall be such a night;
In which I mean thy beauty shall break forth
And dazle with amazement even to death
Those my malicious enemies, that rejoyc'd
In thy suppos'd escape, and my vexation.
I will envite 'hem all to such a feast
As shall fetch blushes from the boldest guest;
I have the first course ready—
Mil.
And if I
Fail in the second, blame my houswifery.
Aside, one knocks.
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Away, some body comes; I guess of them
That have jeer'd me, whom I must jeer again.
Ex. Mil.
En. Nat. Vin. Ed.
Gallants y'are welcom. I was sending for ye.
Nat.
To give us that we come for?
Qui.
What may that be?
Vin.
Trifles you have of ours.
Qui.
Of yours, my Masters?
Ed.
Yes, you have in mortgage
Three-score pound Land of mine inheritance.
Vin.
And my Annuity of a hundred Marks.
Nat.
And Jewels, Watches, Plate, and cloaths of mine,
Pawn'd for four hundred pound. Will you restore all?
Qui.
You know all these were forfeited long since,
Yet I'le come roundly to you, Gentlemen.
Ha'you brought my moneys, and my interest?
Nat.
No surely. But we'le come as roundly to you
As moneyless Gentlemen can. You know
Good Offices are ready money Sir.
Qui.
But have you Offices to sell, good Sirs.
Nat.
We mean to do you Offices worth your money.
Qui.
As how, I pray you.
Nat.
Marry, Sir, as thus;
We'le help you to a man that has a friend—
Vin.
That knows a party, that can go to the house—
Ed.
Where a Gentleman dwelt, that knew a Scholar
Nat.
That was exceeding wel acquainted with a Traveler
Vi.
That made report of a great Magician beyond the Seas.
Ed.
That might ha'been as likely as any man in all the world.
Nat.
To have helpt you to your wife again.
Qui.
You are the merriest mates that ere I cop'd withal.
But to be serious Gentlemen, I am satisfied
Concerning my lost Wife. She has made even
With me and all the World.
Nat.
What is she dead?
Qui.
Dead, Dead: And therefore as men use to mourn
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Their choicest friends unto a solemn banquet
Serv'd out with sighs and sadness, while the widowers
Blubber, and bath in tears (which they do seem
To wring out of their fingers ends and noses)
And after all the demure ceremony.
Are subject to be thought dissemblers, I
(To avoid the scandal of Hypocresie,
Because 'tis plain she lov'd me not) invite
You and your like that lov'd her and not me,
To see me in the pride of my rejoycings,
You shall find entertainment worth your company,
And that let hie intreat to morrow night.
Nat.
You shall ha'mine.
Uin.
To morrow night say you.
Quic.
Yes gallants: fail not, as you wish to view
Your mortgages and pawns again. Adieu.
Exit.
Nat.
We came to jear the Jew, and he jears us.
Uin.
How glad the raschal is for his Wives death.
Nat.
And honest man could not have had such luck.
Ed.
He has some further end in't, could we guess it,
Then a meer merriment for his dead wives riddance.
Uin.
Perhaps he has got a new Wife, and intends
To make a funeral and a Marriage feast
In one to hedge in charges.
Ed.
He'll be hang'd rather then marry again.
Nat.
Zooks, would he had some devilish jealous hilding,
'Twould be a rare addition to his mirth,
For us to bring our antick in betwixt 'em
Of his changling Bastard.
Uin.
Now ere we'll grace his feast with our presentment.
Nat.
When's the Buzzard?
Uin.
We left him with his softer father, Arnold,
Busy at rehearsal practising their parts.
Ed.
They shall be perfect by to morrow night.
Nat.
If not unto our profit, our delight.
Exeunt omnes.
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Scene 3.
Theophilus. Lucy.Lu.
Brother be comforted.
The.
Let not the name
Or empty sound of comfort mix with th'air
That must invade these ears: They are not capable,
Or, if they be, they dare not, for themselves,
Give the conveyance of a sillable
Into my heart, that speak nor grief or sorrow.
Lu.
Be griev'd then, Ile grieve with you: For each sigh
You waste for Millicents untimely death
Ile spend a tear for your as fruitless sorrow.
The.
That's most unsutable; y'are no company
For me to grieve with if you grieve for me;
Take the same cause with me; you are no friend
Or sister else of mine. It is enough
To set the world a weeping!
Lu.
So it is;
All but the stony part of't.
The.
Now you are right. Her husband's of that part;
He cannot weep by nature: But Ile find
A way by art in Chymistry to melt him.
At least extract some drops. But do you weep
Indeed for Millicent? What, all these tears?
Lu.
All for your love.
The.
She is my love indeed; and was my wife.
But for the empty name of marriage onely,
But now she's yours for ever. You enjoy her.
In her fair blessed memory; in her goodness,
And all that has prepar'd her way for glory.
The.
Let me embrace thee sister. How I reverence
Any fair honour that is done to her,
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In shewing me how she's mine. And tears indeed
Are all too weak a sacrifice for her
But such as the heart weeps.
Enter Page.
Lu.
Sit down brother.
Sing boy the mornful song I bad you practise.
Song.
The.
Call you this mournful. Tis a wanton air.
Go y'are a naughty child indeed, Ile whip you
If you give voice unto such notes,
Lu.
I know not brother how you like the air,
But in my mind the words are sad, Pray read 'em.
The.
They are sad indeed. How now my boy, dost weep?
I am not angry now.
Pa.
I do not weep,
Sir, for my self. But ther's a youth without
(A handsome youth) whose sorrow works in me:
He sayes he wants a service, and seeks yours.
The.
Dost thou not know him.
Pa.
No: but I pity him.
The.
O, good boy, that canst weep for a strangers misery!
The sweetness of thy dear compassion
Even melts me too. What does he say he is.
Pa.
Tis that Sir, that wil I grieve you when you hear it.
He is a poor kinsman to the gentlewoman
Lately deceas'd that you so lov'd and mourn for.
The.
And dost thou let him stay without so long?
Merciless Villain! run and fetch him quickly.
Lu.
O brother—
The.
Sister, can I be too zealous
In such a cause as this? For heark you, sister,
Enter Dionisia
Dio.
There was no way like this to get within 'em,
Now courage keep true touch with me. Ile vex
Your cunning and unnatural purpose, brother,
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Pa.
Sir, here's the youth?
The.
A lovely one he is, and wondrous like her,
O let me run and clasp him; hang about him,
And yoak him to me with a thousand kisses!
I shall be troublesome and heavy to thee,
With the pleas'd waight of my incessant love.
Youth of a happy kindred, which foreruns
A happy fortune ever. Pray thee, sister,
Is he not very like her?
Lu.
If I durst
I would now say, this were the better beauty,
For it resembles Arthurs.
The,
I'st not her face? you do not mind me sister.
Lu.
Hers was a good one once, and this is now.
The.
Why sister, you were wont to take delight
In any comfort that belong'd to me;
And help to carry my joyes sweetly: now
You keep no constant course with me.
Dio.
This man
Melts me—alas, Sir, I am a poor boy.
The.
What, and allied to her? impossible!
Where ere thou liv'st her name's a fortune to thee.
Her memory amongst good men sets thee up;
It is a word that commands all in this house.
Dio.
This snare was not well laid. I fear my self.
The.
Live my companion; my especial sweet one,
My brother and my bedfellow thou shalt be.
Dio.
By lakin but I must not, though I find
But weak matter against it.—This my courage!
The.
She took from earth, how kind is heaven, how good
To send me yet, a joy so near in blood!
Good noble youth, if there be any more
Distres'd of you, that claims aliance with her
Though a far off; deal freely; let me know it,
Give me their sad names; Ile seek 'em out,
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Nere cease until I plant 'em all in fortunes,
And see 'em grow about me.
Dio.
I hear of none, my self excepted, Sir.
The.
Thou shalt have all my care then, all my love.
Dio.
What make I here? I shall undo my self.
The.
Yet note him sister.
Dio.
I ther's the mark my malice chiefly aims at;
But then, he stands so near, I wound him too.
I feel that must not be. Art must be shewen here.
The.
Come, you shall kiss him for me, and bid him welcome.
Lu.
You are most welcome, Sir, and were her name
To which you are allied, a stranger here,
Yet, Sir, believe me, you in those fair eyes
Bring your own welcome with you.
Dio.
Never came Malice 'mong so sweet a people.
It knowes not how to look, nor I on them.
Lu.
Let not your gentle modesty make you seem
Ungentle to us, by turning so away.
The.
That's well said sister, but he will and shall
Be bolder with us, ere we part.
Dio.
I shall too much I fear.—
The.
Come gentle blessing,
Let not a misery be thought on here,
(If ever any were so rude to touch thee)
Between us we'll divide the comfort of thee.
Exeunt Omnes.
Scene. 4.
Millicent. Phillis.Mil.
I have heard thy story often, and with pitty
As often thought upon't, and that the father.
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His, then, friend Master Meanwell (who have since
Become each others deathsman as tis thought)
By suits in Law wrought the sad overthrow
Of thy poor Fathers fortune; by which means,
Poor Gentleman he was enforc'd to leave
His native Country to seek forrain meanes
To maintain life.
Phi.
Or rather to meet death.
For since his traval, which is now six years,
I never heard of him.
Mil.
Much pittiful!
Phi.
So is your story, Mistress unto me.
But let us dry our eyes; and know we must not
Stick in the mire of pitty; but with labour
Work our delivery: yours is now at hand
If you set will and brain to't. But my honor
(If a poor wench may speak so) is so crack'd
Within the ring, as 'twill be hardly solder'd
By any art. If on that wicked fellow,
That struck me into such a desperate hazard.
Mil.
He will be here to night, and all the crew
And this must be the night of my delivery,
I am prevented else for ever, wench.
Phi.
Be sure, among the guests, that you make choise
Of the most civil one to be your convoy,
And then let me alone to act your Mores part.
Mil.
Peace, he comes.
Phi.
Ile to my shift then.
Enter Quic. Exit. Phi.
Quic.
Wher's my hidden beauty?
That shall this night be glorious.
Mil.
I but wait the good hour
For my deliverance out of this obscurity.
Quic.
Tis at hand.
So are my guests. See some of 'em are enter'd.
Enter Nat. Arthur.
O my blith friend, Master Nathaniel, welcome.
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Nat.
Yes, Sir, a Gentleman late posses'd with sadnes,
Whom I had much a do to draw along
To be partaker more of your mirth then chear.
You say here shall be mirth. How now, what's that?
Ha'you a black coney-berry in your house?
Quic.
Stay Catelina. Nay, she may be seen.
For know, Sirs, I am mortified to beauty
Since my wives death. I will not keep a face
Better then this under my roof I ha'sworn.
Ar.
You were too rash, Sir, in that oath, if I
May be allowed to speak.
Quic.
Tis done and past, Sir.
Nat.
If I be not taken with yon'd funeral face,
And her two eyes the scutcheons, would I were whipt now.
Art.
Suppose your friends should wish you to a match
Prosperous in wealth and honour.
Quic.
Ile hear of none, nor you if you speak so.
Art.
Sir, I ha'done.
Nat.
It is the handsom'st Rogue
I have ere seen yet of a deed of darkness;
Tawney and russet faces I have dealt with,
But never came so deep in blackness yet.
Quic.
Come hither Catelyna. You shall see, Sir,
What a brave wench she shall be made anon
And when she dances how you shall admire her.
Art.
Will you have dancing here to night.
Quic.
Yes I have borrowed other Moors of Merchants
That trade in Barbary, whence I had mine own here,
And you shall see their way and skill in dancing.
Nat.
He keeps this Rie-loaf for his own white white tooth
With confidence none will cheat him of a bit;
Ile have a sliver though I loose my whittle.
Quic.
Here take this key, twill lead thee to those ornaments
That deck'd thy mistress lately. Use her casket,
And with the sparklingst of her jewels shine;
Flame like a midnight beacon with that face,
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And the keel mourning, (how I shall rejoyce
At these prepostrous splendours) get thee glorious;
Be like a running fire-work in my house.
Nat.
He sets me more a fire at her. Well old stick breech
If I do chance to clap your Barbary buttock
In all her bravery, and get a snatch
In an odd corner, or the dark to night
To mend your chear, and you hereafter hear on't,
Say there are as good stomacks as your own,
Hist, Negro, hist.
Mil.
No fee, O no, I darea notta.
Nat.
Why, why—pish—pox I love thee,
Mil.
O no de fine white Zentilmanna
Cannot a love a the black a thing a.
Nat.
Cadzooks the best of all wench.
Mill.
O take—a heed—a my mastra see—a.
Nat.
When we are alone, then wilt thou.
Mil.
Then I shall speak a more a.
Nat.
And Ile not lose the Moor-a for more then I
Will speak-a.
Quic.
I muse the rest of my invited Gallants
Come not away.
Nat.
Zooks the old angry justice.
Enter Testy.
Tes.
How comes it Sir, to pass, that such a newes
Is spread about the town? is my Neece dead,
And you prepar'd to mirth Sir, hah?
Is this the entertainment I must find
To welcome me to town?
Quic.
She is not dead, Sir. But take you no notice
You shall have instantly an entertainment, that
Shall fill you all with wonder.
Exit.
Tes.
Sure he is mad;
Or do you understand his meaning sirs?
Or how or where his wife died?
Nat.
I know nothing;
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He's guilty of her death; therefore I hope
Hee'l hang himself anon before us all
To raise the mirth he speaks of.
Art.
Fie upon you.
Yet trust me, sir, there have been large constructions,
And strong presumptions, that the ill made match
Betwixt her youthful beauty and his covetous age;
Between her sweetness and his frowardness
Was the unhappy means of her destruction;
And you that gave strength to that ill tied knot
Do suffer sharply in the worlds opinion,
While she, sweet virgin, has its general pity.
Tes.
Pray what have you been to her? I nere found you
Appear a suiter to her.
Art.
I nere saw her,
Nor ever should have sought her, Sir; For she
Was onely love to my sworne enemy,
On whom yet (were she living and in my gift
Rather a thousand times I would bestow her
Then on that man that had, and could not know her.
Tes.
I have done ill; and wish I could redeem
This act with half my estate.
Nat.
This Devels bird,
This Moor runs more and more still in my mind.
Enter Uin. & Edm.
O are you come? And ha'you brought your scene
Of Mirth along with you?
Uin.
Yes, and our actors
Are here at hand: But we perceive much business
First to be set a foot. Here's Revels towards.
Ed.
A daunce of furies or of Blackamores
Is practising within;
Uin.
But first there is to be some odd collation
In stead of supper.
Nat.
Cheap enough I warrant,
But saw you not a Moor-hen there amongst 'em.
Ed.
A pretty little Rogue, most richly deck'd
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Of the Nights triumph.
Nat.
If you chance to spy me
Take her aside, say nothing.
Ed.
Thou wilt filch
Some of her jewels perhaps.
Nat.
Ile draw a lot
Enter Quicksands.
For the best jewel she wears. But mum my Masters.
Quic.
Enter the house pray Gentlemen: I am ready
Now with your entertainment.
Exit.
Tes.
Wee'l follow you.
Nat.
Now for six penny custards, a pipkin of bak'd
Pears, three sawcers of stew'd prunes, a groats worth
Of strong ale, and two peniworth of Gingerbread.
Ext. 3.
Tes.
If she does live (as he bears me in hand
She is not dead) Ile tell you briefly, Sir,
If all the law bodily and ghostly,
And all the conscience too, that I can purchase
With all the wealth I have can take her from him,
I will recover her, and then bestow her
(If you refuse her) on your fo you speak of,
(Whose right she is indeed) rather then he
Shall hold her longer. Now mine eyes are open'd.
Will you walk in.
Ar.
I pray excuse me, Sir,
I cannot fit my self to mirth.
Exit, Enter Mili. white-fac'd & in her ovvn habit.
Tes.
Your pleasure.
Mil.
Have I with patience waited for this hour,
And does fear check me now? I'le break through all,
And trust my self with yon'd milde Gentleman.
He cannot but be noble.
Art.
A goodly creature!
The Rooms illumin'd with her; yet her look
Sad, and cheek pale, as if a sorrow suck'd it.
Hovv came she in? What is she? I am fear-struck.
Tis some unresting shaddow. Or, if not,
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The master being an enemy to beauty?
She modestly makes to me.
Mil.
Noble Sir,—
Art.
Speaks too.
Mil.
If ever you durst own a goodness,
Now crown it by an act of honour and mercy.
Art.
Speak quickly; lose no time then: say, what are you?
You look like one that should not be delai'd.
Mil.
I am th'unfortunate woman of this house,
To all mens thoughts at rest. This is the face
On which the Hell of jealousie abus'd
The hand of Heaven, to fright the world withall.
Ar.
Were you the seeming Moor was here?
Mil.
The same;
And onely to your secresie and pitty
I have ventur'd to appear my self again.
Ar.
What's to be done? Pray speak, and tis perform'd.
Mil.
In trust and Manhood Sir, I would commit
A great charge to you, even my life and honor
To free me from this den of misery.
Art.
A blessed tasque! But when you are freed Lady.—
Mil.
I would desire Sir, then to be convei'd.—
Ar.
Whither? to whom? speak quickly: why do you stoop?
Mil.
Pray let that rest. I will relieve your trouble
When I am freed from hence, and use some others.
Art.
Nay, that were cruelty. As you love goodness tell me.
Mil.
Why dare you bear me Sir, to one you hate.
Art.
What's that, if you love? Tis your peace I wait on.
I look upon your service, not mine own.
Were he the mortall'st enemy flesh bred up
To you I must be noble.
Mil.
You profess—
Ar.
By all that's good and gracious, I will die
Ere I forsake you, and not set you safe
Within those walls you seek.
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Then, as we pass
Ile tell you where they stand, Sir.
Ar.
You shall grace me.
Exit.
Scene 5.
Quicksands. Testy. Nath. Uincent. Edmond.Qui.
Now to our Revels. Sit ye, sit ye gallants
Whilst, Uncle, you shall see how I'le requite
The masque they lent me on my wedding night.
Twas but lent Gentlemen, your masque of horns,
And all the private jears and publick scorns
Y'have cast upon me since. Now you shall see
How Ile return them; and remarried be.
Uin.
I hope he'l marry his Moor to anger us.
Nat.
Ile give her something with her, if I catch her,
And't be but in the cole-house.
Florish enter Inductor like a Moor leading Phillis (black and) gorgeously deck't with jewels.
Tes.
Attend Gentleman.
Ind.
The Queen of Ethiop dreampt upon a night
Her black womb should bring forth a virgin white.
Ed.
Black womb!
Ind.
She told her king; he told thereof his Peeres.
Till this white dream fil'd their black heads with fears.
Nat.
A whorson blockheads.
Ind.
Blackheads I sai'd. Ile come to you anon
Tes.
He puts the blockheads on'hem grosly.
Quic.
Brave impudent rogue. He made the speeches last year
Before my Lord Marquess of Fleet Conduit.
Ind.
Till this white dream fil'd their blackheads with fear,
For tis no better then a Prodegy
To have white children in a black countrey.
So 'twas decreed that if the child prov'd white,
It should be made away. O cruel spight!
The Queen cry'd out, and was delivered
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That if this damsel liv'd married to be
To a white man, she should be white as he.
Vin.
The moral is, If Quicksands marry her,
Her face shall be white as his conscience.
Ind.
The careful Queen, conclusion for to try,
Sent her to merry England charily
(The fairest Nation man yet ever saw)
To take a husband; such as I shall draw,
Being an Ægyptian Prophet.
Ed.
Draw me, and ile hang thee.
Ind.
Now I come to you, Gentlemen.
He looks in Edmonds hand.
Qui.
Now mark my Jeeres.
Ind.
You must not have her: For I find by your hand
You have forfeited the mortgage of your land.
Ed.
Pox o'your Palmistrie.
Ven.
Now me.
Ind.
Nor you: For here I plainly see
In Vin. his hand.
You have sold and spent your lifes Annuity.
Vin.
The devil take him, made thee a soothsayer.
Nat.
I find from whence your skill comes. Yet take me
For thy little Princess of darknesse, and if
I rub her not as white as another can
Let me be hung up with her for a new
Sign of the labour in vain.
Ind.
Nor you, sir: For
In Nats hand.
The onely sute you wear smels of the chest
That holds in Limbo Lavender all your rest.
Nat.
Would his brains were in thy belly that keeps the key on't.
Ind.
This is the worthy man, whose wealth and wit,
To make a white one, must the black mark hit.
In Quic. hand
Qui.
Your jeers are answer'd, gallants. Now your dance.
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Nat.
We applaud your devise, and you'l give me leave
To take your black bride here, forth in a daunce.
Quic.
With all my heart, sir.
Nat.
Musick, play a Galliard,
You know what you promised me, Bullis.
Phi.
But howa can ita be donea.
Nat.
How I am taken with the elevation of her nostrils.
Nat.
Play a little quicker—Heark you—if I lead you
A dance to a couch or a bed side, will you follow me?
Phi.
I will doa my besta.
Nat. daunces vily. Quicks. & Tes. laughs & looks off.
Nat.
So, so; quick Musick, quick.
Qui.
O ougly! call you this dauncing; ha, ha, ha.
Nat.
Do you laugh at me.
Enter Arnold like a Countrey man, and Buz. like a changling, and as they enter, exit Nat. with Phil. the Musick still playing. He sings and dances and spins with a Rock & spindle.
Arn.
By your leave Gentlefolks.
Buz.
O brave, o brave.
Quic.
How now.
Tes.
What are these?
Buz.
Hack ye there, hack ye there,
O brave pipes, Hack ye there.
Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.
Qui.
What are you men or devils?
Arn.
You are advis'd enough: Sir, if you please
But to be short, I'le shew you I am a Norfolk man,
And my name is John Hulverhead.
Quic.
Hold thy peace.
Softly.
Arn.
You cannot hear o'that side it seems.
Qui.
I know thee not, not I.
Arn.
But you know my brother Matthew Hulverhead
68
Qui.
I plac't no childe in Norfolk, nor Suffolk nor any
Folk I—say thou mistookst me: Ile reward thee. Go.
Arn.
I cannot hear o'that ear neither, sir.
Vin.
What's the matter, Mr. Quicksands?
Ed.
Ha'you any more jeeres to put upon us? what are these?
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.
Qui.
Get you out of my house.
Arn.
I may not till I be righted. I come for right, and
I will have right, or the best of the Citie shall
Hear on't.
Vin.
I swear the Rascals act it handsomly.
Tes.
What art thou fellow? What dost thou seek?
Vin.
Tell that Gentleman: He is an upright Majestrate
And will see thee righted.
Arn.
I am a poor Norfolk man, sir. And I come to ease
my self of a charge, by putting off a childe nat'ral to
the natural father here.
Quic.
My child! Am I his father? Darst thou speak it.
Arn.
Be not asham'd on't, sir: You are not the first
grave and wise Citizen that has got an ideot.
Tes.
Here's good stuff towards.
Buz.
Ha, ha, ha—with a Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.
Qui.
How should I get him. I was never married till this moneth.
Arn.
How does other bawdy Batchelors get children?
Buz.
With a hay toodle loodle loodle loo, &c.
Tes.
Have you been a bastard-getter and marry my Neece.
Vin.
Now it works.
Tes.
Ile teach you to get a bastard, sirrah.
Arn.
He needs none o'your skill it seems.
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle, &c.
Qui.
Well, Gentlemen, to take your wonder off,
I will lay truth before you.
For a poor servant that I had, I undertook and paid
For keeping of an ideot.
69
Who, your man Buzzard?
Qui.
Even he.
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle, &c.
Qui.
'Tis like this is the child. But for a certain sum
Which I did pay, 'twas articled, that I should nere be
Troubled with it more.
Tes.
Now what say you to that Sir?
Arn.
'Tis not denyed Sir, There was such agreement,
But now he is another kind of charge.
Vin.
Why, he gets something towards his living me thinks.
Buzzard spinns.
Ar.
Yes, he has learn'd to thrip among the Mothers;
But Sir, withal, to do more harm then good by't,
And that's the charge I speak of: we are not bound
To keep your child, and your childes children too.
Tes.
How's that?
Arn.
Sir, by his cunning at the Rock,
And twirling of his spindle on the Thrip-skins,
He has fetch'd up the bellies of sixteen
Of his Thrip-sisters.
Buz.
Hay toodle, loodle, loodle, &c.
Tes.
Is't possible.
Arn.
So well he takes after his father here it seems.
Ed.
Take heed o'that friend: you heard him say it was his mans child.
Arn.
He sha'not fright me with that, though it be
A great mans part to turn over his bastards
To his servants. I am none of his hirelings, nor
His Tenants I. But I know what I say; and I know
What I come about; and not without advise; And you
May know, that Norfolk is not without as knavish
Councel, as another County may be. Let his man Buz.
Be brought forth, and see what he will say to't.
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle, &c.
Qui.
Wretch that I was to put away that fellow!
70
Vin.
What say you, Sir?
Qui.
My Moor I would say. Which way went my Moor?
Vin.
Your Ethiopian Princess. Nat. is gone to dance
with her in private, because you laught him out of
countenance here.
Qui.
Mischief on mischief! worse and worse I fear.
Tes.
What do you fear, why stare you? Are you frantick?
Qui.
I must have wits and fits, my fancies and fegaries.
Ed.
Your jeers upon poor Gallants.
Vin.
How do you feel your self.
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle, &c.
Arn.
Ask your father blessing Timsy.
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle, &c.
Arn.
Upon your knees man.
Buz.
Upon all my knees. A—ah. Hay toodle loodle.
Enter Nat. & Phillis pul'd in by the Moors.
Nat.
What was't to you, you slaves?
Must you be peeping.
Tes.
What's the matter now?
Nat.
What was't to you, ye Rascals?
Moor.
It is to us Sir, We were hir'd to dance and to
speak speeches; and to do the Gentleman true service in
his house: And we will not see his house made a baudy
house, and make no speech o'that.
Tes.
What is the business?
Moor.
Marry Sir a naughty business. This Gentleman
has committed a deed of darkness with your Moor, Sir;
We all saw it.
Tes.
What deed of darkness? speak it plainly.
Moor.
Darkness or lightness; call it which you will.
They have lyen together; made this same a baudy house;
How will you have it?
Qui.
Undone, most wretched. O, I am confounded.
I see no art can keep a woman honest.
Nat.
I love her, and will justifie my Act.
71
And I the best of any man on earth.
Nat.
Thou speakest good English now.
Qui.
O Ruine, ruine, ruine—
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle, &c.
Vin.
Why take you on so, for an ougly feind?
Qui.
She is my wife, Gentlemen.
All.
How Sir, your wife.
Ed.
In conceit you mean.
Qui.
I say my lawful wife; your Neece; and so disguis'd
By me on purpose.
Tes.
I said he was mad before, ha, ha, ha.
Nat.
Now I applaud my act, 'twas sweet and brave.
Qui.
I'le be divorc'd before a Court in publique.
Tes.
Now will I use Authority and skill.
Friends, guard the doors. None shall depart the house.
Nat., Mun., Vin.
Content, content.
Arn.
Shall I, Sir, and my charge stay too?
Qui.
Oh—
Tes.
Marry Sir, shall you.
Buz.
I fear we shall be smoak'd then.
Arn.
No, no, fear nothing.
Tes.
You know your Chamber huswife. I'le wait o'your Master
To night. We will not part until to morrow day,
Justice and Law lights every one his way.
Vin.
Is this your merry night, Sir?
Qui.
Oh—oh—oh—o—
Ed.
Why roar you so?
Nat.
It is the Cuckolds howle. A common cry about the City.
Qui.
Oh o—
Buz.
Hay toodle loodle, &c.
Exeunt omnes.
| The English Moor, or The Mock-Marriage | |