 | The New Academy, Or, the New Exchange |  |
ACT. II.
SCENE I.
Camelion. Hannah.Cam.
I prithee now, I prithee, prithie now
Urge me no more in this case; for I cannot,
Of mine own wife, mine own dear flesh and blood?
That's such a thing! I pidee speak no more on't.
Han.
You shew you love Kafe.
Cam.
So I hope I do Nan.
My cock, my pity nittle nansie cocksie,
Do I not shew my love when I deny thee
Vnreasonable requests? I never heard
Of woman that desir'd a loving husband
To be a jealous Master over her.
Especially a City-Shopkeeper.
The best part of whose trade runs through the hands
Of his faire wife too! 'Tis unreasonable.
And thou the first that e're take up the humour.
Han.
And you the first that e're I knew besotted
Into a wilful confidence, which renders
Me to a vile construction; and your selfe
By leaving me to all assaults and hazards
Have got the reputation of a Wittal.
Or one that seems contented to become so.
Cam.
Hon soit qui maly ponse.
My Cock, my Nansie Cock, my Cocksie Nansie,
Kisse me, and use thine own conscience: I scorn
The yellow sicknesse, I, let 'hem all say what they will.
D'einty, come thou to me. I will not lose
An haires bredth o' my humour, nor retain
An ill thought o' my Cocks honestie
For all the wealth i' the Exchange, not I
Han.
I not desire you should, but only that
You will not seem so carelesse of my credit,
Exposing me to all temptations
Of the wilde Gallantry of the wanton time.
By whom (although my chastity remaines
Untouch't) my name and your discretion suffers.
Cam.
Pish, Honi soit again: Cock, I defie
Calumniation and detraction I.
And let me be with hornets stung to death.
Han.
Still you flie from the point, I would not
have
Over my constant love; but only seem
A little watchful o're my reputation.
Whereby you may decline mens leud attempts.
And not to throw me upon opportunities
To draw them on; as if I were a thing
Sit out, as in your shop, for common sale.
Cam.
Cock, Thou shalt never tie me to't: not I.
I must not lose my harmlesse recreations
Abroad to snook over my wife at home.
Thought'st ha' me like the hair-brain'd Point-tagger,
That us'd to hammer his fingers at one end
O'th' shop, while's wife was bargaining at the other?
Not I; sweet Cock, pidee lets heare no more on't.
Enter Foot-post.
Now friend! Is your businesse to me or my wife?
Post.
This Superscription will inform you, sir.
Cam.
To my deare daughter Mrs. Hannah Camelion,
at her shop or house in or near the New Exchange.
Cock.
Take it quickly, what a Knave art thou to
put a letter in my hands, that is directed to my wife.
Sbobs I would not ha' open'd it for fourty
pound.
Post.
If all husbands in the City were of his minde,
it were a Forrest of fooles indeed.
Cam.
Cock, I must leave thee.
Han.
Pray stay a little. This letter's from my father.
Cam.
I hope the good Captaine's well.
Yes, very well, pray read his Letter here.
Cam.
Cock, you shall pardon me. Not I.
I have a match to play at the ducking-pond.
Prithee fore-slow not my occasions, Cock,
As I forbear to pry into thy secrets.
Han.
Here's nothing but what I would have you
see.
Post.
I thank you, Mystris.
Han.
But if you will not stay to reade this Letter.
You shall not deny me one thing.
Cam.
What is it, quickly? my sweet Nanny
Cock.
Han.
Here, take this pen: write here a word or
sentence.
And look that you be sure to know't agen
When I shall shew't you.
Cam.
'Tis done, there: I defie, and dare the devil
and all his Clerks to counterfeit my hand. So, my
sweet Cock, a kisse and adieu.
Han.
Well Rafe, remember that you won't be jealous.
Cam.
Not I, Sbobs yonder comes one of the
Blades,
That lives by his wits, and yet is seldom sober:
That goes so gallantly, and has no credit,
Nor ever buyes with ready money; But
Barters commodity for commodity.
(Such as it is) with Tradesmens wives, they say.
What call you him, oh Askal; there's another
Comes with him too. Into thy shop, good Cock.
I wo' not stay, not I. So, farewel Cock.
Ex.
And farewel Coxscombe, some wife would say
now.
And would to right me, straine a womans wit,
Knew I with modesty how to answer it.
Something I'le do.
Enter Erasmus, Valentine.
Er.
Was ever such a humour in a man, as this mad
Merchant Matchil is possest with.
Val.
He has made his daughter by't a match worth
nothing.
Er.
And yours in me.
For as I said before, good Valentine.
I must returne you to your City-wives.
By the old trade to pick your maintenance
Out of 'em, as you boast you can.
Val.
'Tis well, sir.
And now to let you know that I can live
Without the helps of such cool friends as you.
I'le shew you a present probability.
Val.
Doest see yond pretty mumping peece i'th'
shop there?
Er.
Yes, is that one—?
Val.
One o'th' fourty, boy,
That renders tribute in to my Exchecquer.
Er.
Didst ever lie with her?
Val.
How plain you are. Not I, not I.
That's her fool-husbands word.
Let it suffice that I have seen her thrice.
And that I lay with, drink, and weare her money.
O 'tis the sweetest Rogue.
Er.
How got you acquainted.
I'le tell you that, walking by chance as now,
Before her shop, where a young Gentleman
Was bargaining, he call'd me by my name,
Val Askall. Instantly her eye was fixt,
And streight ran over my delineaments,
Which I set to her view; and took occasion
To ask her how the object pleas'd her.
Er.
Bold-face.
Val.
I never lost by that.
She then demands, Is your name Askall, sir?
I answer, Yes. Pray of what countrey, sir?
I told her; when a sudden flaming blush
Did in her face betray the fire of love,
That was at th' instant raging in her breast,
She look't me through and through. Sigh'd, turn'd away.
Then look't again under her hat-brims thus.
And thus I nimbly catch't her with mine eye.
Er.
I, thou hast a devillish catch i'that same eye.
Val.
Sir, what I have, I have. I gave a leere
With that same eye that made her turne her whites up.
Er.
But to the point.
Val.
Why do you think a woman's so quickly
brought to th' point?
Er.
VVhat follow'd then?
Val.
I saw she was struck, and thus I gave her line
To play withal. I whisper'd in her eare,
The way to finde my lodging and my service.
Next morning early comes a message to me,
Inviting me to dinner: Chear and welcome
Plenteously flowed; and sir, before we parted
Upon some private conference, twenty pieces
Were clutch't into this hand, but with a caution
To be discreet and thrifty of her purse,
And keep a friend in store. I have been modest,
And have not struck her since, but for ten more.
And that's your last.
Val.
Ile hold you ten o'that
See she has spied me.
Han.
VVhat lack ye, Gentlemen; faire cut-work
bands, boot-hoose, or boot-hoose tops, shirts, wast-coats,
night-caps, what will you buy?
Val.
I come not now to buy.
But in plain termes to borrow. Do you not know me?
Han.
Not on these termes.
Er.
Sure thou mistak'st the woman.
This is not she, thou talk'st so freely on Bounce.
Val.
She's cautious before thee. Walk off a little.
Now you may hear me, Lady.
Han.
Give me leave
A little, first to wonder at your rashnesse,
To talk so openly before a stranger.
Val.
My intimate friend: I'le trust him with my life.
Han.
What's that to my unblemish't reputation?
'Tis not your life can salve that, being wounded,
But thus it is, when women out of goodnesse
Hazard their fortunes to relieve the wants
Of such as you, that carry no respect,
But to your own licentious Appetites.
And think no favour's sweet, unlesse you may
Have priviledge to boast 'hem to our shame.
Val.
I do not boast of yours.
Han.
Pray, boast no more
Then you have found, and much good may they do you.
'Tis not poor thirty pieces can undo me.
Val.
No, nor ten more I hope; and that's the summe
I would entreat: all makes but fourty pound.
I'll pay thee like a Gentleman, as I am one,
Either in money; or doest hear me. Rogue,
In what shall please thee better. Come, be wise,
Kennels his water-dog in Turnbull-street.
We'll answer his delights with better sport.
Han.
There's your presumption.
Val.
No, 'tis my ambition.
When shall we walk to Totnam? or crosse-o're
The water, or take Coach to Kengington
Or Padington; or to some one or other
O'th' City out-leaps for an afternoon,
And hear the Cuckow sing to th'purpose? when?
Had.
A woman were a wise one that would trust
Her selfe in such wilde hands as yours; to have
Her name made Tavern-talk among your blade,
And thrust i'th' list of your loose-hilted Mystresses:
Val.
O no; fie no: you cannot think how close
And careful I will be. Heark in thine eare.
Er.
I cannot blame this fellow now so much
For using of his wits to get his living,
Though in an idle way; as for traducing
People of worth and vertue, as this woman
Who I am credibly inform'd is vertuous
And too discreet for him to shark upon.
Therefore to grace himself, he slanders her.
I have alwayes lik't his company till now,
And shall hereafter be more wary of him.
Han.
Well sir, upon pour faithful protestation,
And vow of secresie, here's ten pieces more.
You have found a tender-hearted woman of me
Over your wants; and all the satisfaction
That I desire, is, that I may not suffer
Under a lavish tongue; 'tis easie payment.
Val.
Yes, but I'le pay thee better. Therefore
tell me, when we shall meet and have a spirt abroad.
Han.
Your friend stayes for you, sir.
Val.
Pish, let him stay.
You slight him now, but he knows all your
Councels.
Val.
By this good tongue, no more then the unbegotten
Hans that I mean to clap into thy Kelder.
To talk away my hopes? No, thou art my Faëry,
Pinch me to death when I discover thee.
Han,
Go to, avoid suspition then, besides
I have occasions that do call me hence.
Ex.
Er.
Your stay was somewhat long.
Val.
Yet 'twas to purpose.
As here you may behold, but I must make no words on't.
[1. 2, 3, 4, &c.
She has enjoyn'd me that. O 'tis a cunning Gypsie.
Er.
So't seems, by trusting thee that hast no power
to keep a secret.
Val.
Troth, to tell you true.
My conscience will not beare't, I cannot be
So ungrateful to receive a courtesie,
But to acknowledge it.
Er.
Yet thou hast the conscience
To work a mans estate out of his hands
By his wives frailty, even to break his back.
Val.
'Tis rather to be fear'd she may break mine.
She's a tight strong dock'r Tit.
Er.
O Tradesmen, why do you marry?
Val.
Why? to make Tradeswomen.
For Gentlemen that want money and commodity.
You know the thing that I call father-in-law,
That had my mothers whole estate, and buried her,
Allowes me nothing.
Er.
Thank your own sweet courses.
Val.
My courses are sweet courses, they serve me
to live upon.
Er.
But I shall put you off
I'le strain a point of friendship to be satisfied
Touching this woman, 'twill be worth discovery.
Val.
But why these cloudy looks? do not you like
my courses? ha!
Er.
I cry thee mercy, Val.
I was upon our former subject Matchil.
Val.
I there's a hasty match clap't up. You ask't
Why Tradesmen marry, there's a marriage now!
A humorous Coxscombe that could never laugh
In all his last wives dayes; and since her death
Could ne're be sad. For him to marry his Malkin
For poor and course obedience. Well. I hope
To take my course in his house yet for all.
Her boasted chastity and obedience.
Er.
Wouldest thou touch such a thing?
Val.
What, not for money?
She can pay well and her uglinesse cannot fright me.
I can do that work winking.
Er.
She can be no such woman.
Val.
Tell not me
What any woman can or cannot be,
You'll give me leave to try my fortune with her,
Er.
Yes, and walk with you towards it.
Ex. Ambo.
Scœn. 2.
Enter Lady Nestlecock, Ephraim.La.
No newes, no tidings of 'em, Ephraim, ha!
Was ever such a 'scape?
Eph.
Not since the Rape
Of Hellen I ha perswaded. I have search't
With narrow eyes (as I may say) with care,
And diligence in most secret places.
And can no way inform my self, what is
Betide of the young Damosels, or old Squire.
Your Neece, and the French Virgin, and the man
La.
O hang him Villain.
Eph.
Doubtlesse 'twas his plot
To work upon your Ladiships good nature
To harbour them, that he might take th' advantage
Of stealing them away.
La.
What to do, ha?
Eph.
To do? much may be done, by his seducements,
On two such tender Virgins, though he should
But plant them in our suburbs: but my feare
Is that he has transported them beyond seas
Into some Nunnery. Your Ladiship
Knows he is adverse in Religion.
La.
I know he is of none.
Eph.
Satan will work.
The stronger in him, then to their subversion.
La.
How shall I answer now my brother Matchil?
But he is justly serv'd to marry so.
The thought of it torments me. Where's my comfort?
Where's Nehemiah, ha?
Eph.
He's busie, Madam.
La.
What, at his book? or at his musick, ha?
Eph.
That is, his Ballet, or his Jewes Trump, No,
Madam. He is busie at his exercise of Armes
With a new Casting top, a Cat and Catstick,
I bought and brought him home.
La.
I thank you for 'hem,
My careful discreet Ephraim, I like
His harmlesse exercises well.
Eph.
I hope,
Your Ladiship can say since I have had
The Government of him under your Ladiship,
I have been careful of the Gentleman,
And have his love withal so much, that I
Dare say (I hope you'll pardon the comparison)
That had you married me (which was as likely
I think that Mr. Nehemiah would not
Have run away in hatred of our Match,
As Mrs. Joyce. It seems, hath done of theirs.
I hope your Ladiships pardon, I understand
My duty.
La.
And you speak but reason Ephraim.
Eph.
I have given her there a touch of my affection.
Who knowes how it may work?
La.
Go call him in.
I would not have him over heat himself.
Eph.
'Tis a good care. And Madam, by the way,
Let me advise, that since his riper yeares
Require, and that faire Propositions
Of marriage are tender'd for him, that
We gently by degrees, do take him off
From childish exercise, indeed plaine boyes play.
More manly would become him.
La.
You would have him
Do worse then, would you? and be nought, you varlet?
What! would you have him play at Mans-game, ha?
'Fore he be married, ha! what, what! how now!
Is it but up and ride w'ye, ha!
Eph.
I humbly
Beseech your Ladiships pardon, I will call
Sweet Mr. Nehemiah to your worship.
La.
Go, th'art an honest man. I know thou lov'st
him.
Indeed he's all my comfort and my care
And I must naturally respect all those
That do partake with me my care of him.
Enter Nehemiah, looking down and eating.
Neh.
my boy Negh, Sonne Nehemiah.
Neh.
F'sooth.
That's my good Lamb. Hold up thy head;
and thou.
Neh.
But mother f'sooth, when I have her,
Will she play with me at peg-top?
La.
At any thing, my boy.
Neh.
And she ha' not good box and steel, I shall
so grull her.
La.
But when y'are married, you'll finde other pastime.
Neh.
Whate're I say, I have a meaning though.
But yet, I doubt, I shall not forsake all
My old fagaries in a yeare or two.
La.
I know thy will is good to leave thy wag-tricks.
And I commend your understanding in it.
It shewes you man, and ready for a wife.
Neh.
Amardla, f'sooth, I think so; I Amardla.
For I did beat a boy as high as my selfe
Yesterday, with one hand.
La.
Where was thy tother.
Neh.
The boy had but one hand f'sooth. I us'd
both.
La.
Well th'art too witty to live long, I feare.
But as I was saying, sonne, I do expect
Sir Swithen Whimlby to bring his Neece.
Neh.
Who f'sooth, the crying Knight, he that has
wept
Speaks nothing but in verse, and gives me Ballats;
The old Knight Powel, that pronounces what dee call 'hem?
La.
Odes childe and Elegies. He has been inspir'd.
With the infection of Poetry,
E're since his wives departure: and 'tis thought
But a new wife to kill the furious itch of't,
Neh.
But is not his Neece too big for me? I would
be loth
La.
O witty, witty, still.
But when she comes Nehemiah, What'll you say to her?
Neh.
I'll give her the time of the day or the night
I warrant her, come at what houre she will.
Why if I eat not all before she come.
(And she must try her, if I do'nt) I'll ask her
If she can speak with plums in her mouth; and then
I'll offer her a long one and two round ones,
And nod at her.
La.
You will not, will you, ha?
Neh.
Mother, I know both what to say and do
I trust I am not to be taught to wooe.
La.
Too witty still, I say, to be long-liv'd.
Neh.
But heark you mother f'sooth; I am told
that you
And a crosse match is talk't on betwixt you
And the old Knight, and me and his young Neece.
O ho—is't so?
La.
This is no crafty childe.
Neh.
Let me but see how you will handle him now
And mark how I'le come over her with small Jerks.
La.
O th'art a witty wag. A blessing on it.
Enter Ephraim, ushering Whimlby and Blith.
Eph.
Madam, Sir Swithen Whimlby and his Neece,
Mrs. Blith Tripshort.
La.
They are very welcome,
Noble Sir Swithen.
[Kisse.
Neh.
Noble Mrs. Blith.
[Kisse.
Sweet Knight, y'are welcome.
Neh.
Welcome, sweet Lady.
La.
Still weeping.
Whi.
O good Madam.
Neh.
Still weeping for a husband.
Bli.
Ha, ha, ha.
Neh.
Mother, she puts me on't,
She laughes.
La.
Laugh with her then.
Neh.
Amardla, so I will, and if you laugh
At me, I'll laugh at you again, so I will.
Bli.
Ha, ha.
Neh.
Are you there with me? I'le be here with
you then.
There's ha, ha, ha, ha, for you now.
La.
Do you note, Sir Swithin, what a wag it is.
Walk into the next room Nehemiah. Did you note him?
Ex. Neh. Blith.
Whi.
Madam, to tell you true.
My love to you
Springs from the joy,
I take in your sweet boy
Eph.
And that's the way to win her.
[Whi.]
I can take no delight
But in his sight,
Nor any pride
Since my dear Grissel di'd,
In all, I see on earth or finde in books,
But that which overcomes me in his lookes.
La.
O sweet Sir Swithen, you have all woo'd and won me.
Eph.
Then all my hopes are frustrate.
La.
My sonne shall have your Neece, and for mine
own part.
Whi.
Gentle Madam.
Eph.
She offers up her selfe; now may the proverb
Of proffer'd service light upon her.
La.
Nay, Sir Swithen.
Let me entreat you to leave weeping now.
Whi.
Madam, I cannot so
Forego my woe.
For while I strive
My solace to revive,
I do but still restore
My grief, before
That did beti'd
When my dear Grissel di'd.
And when your Ladiship appears in sight.
(Pardon) I cannot chuse but cry out-right.
La.
Alas, good Knight. He weeps pure Helicon.
He has not wherewithal to quench his love,
But his own teares. A wife would cool him better.
Why sir, does sight of me renew your grief?
Whi.
O Madam, Madam, yes;
In you the blisse,
That I do misse,
I finde inshrined is.
And till, to ease my paine,
I shall regain
In you the Bride,
That in my Grissel di'd.
So oft as she in you to me appears
My numbers cannot cease to flow in tears.
La.
Good sir, collect your self, and be assur'd
I am your own, so Neh. may have your Neece,
With her full Dowry of foure thousand pounds.
My personal estate is full as much.
That and my self are yours on the crosse marriage,
You making me an answerable Joincture.
Is't come so near; I'le crosse it, or my stars
Drop crosses on my head. O vain, vain woman,
To doat on Poetry in an old man.
Ladies may love it in the young and bold,
And when they are sick give gally-pots of gold,
For cordial Electuaries to chear
Their crop-sick Muses; but to an old and sere
Man that out-lives his labours, who can be
So vain to give her self away but she.
I had been sitter for her, and I'le watch
Occasion yet, perhaps, to crosse the match,
I can turn Poet too.
Ex.
La.
Dry now your eyes, and answer me in prose,
Are you content to yield to those conditions
I have propounded, ha!
VVhim.
I am content.
And now for joy could weep,
Finding my Grissel in your Ladiship.
La.
I hope the young ones do accord as well.
Enter Nehemiah, Blith.
Bli.
Protest, I cannot abide you.
Neh.
Nor I you.
Amardla, that I cannot.
Whim.
They'r agreed.
Madam, it seems they both are of one minde.
La.
I do not like it. What's the matter Nehemiah?
Neh.
She is no wife for me, she has broke my Jewes-trump;
look you here else. And almost broke my
head with one of my bounding stones.
La.
Blesse my boy; she has not, has she, ha!
Neh.
And yet after all that, and for all I offered to
teach her to shoot in my Trunk and my Stone-bowe,
do you think she would play with me at Trou, Madam?
no, nor at any thing else. I'll none of her.
as I would have her hereafter.
La.
There, do you note him there, Sir Swithen?
This childe has no childish meaning in't, I warrant
you.
Whim.
No, Madam, no, I know him inwardly
He is my joy, and she shall be conformable,
Or fare the worse.
La.
She will, I know she will.
Will you not have my son, sweet Mrs. Blith?
Bli.
Sweet Madam, what to do? ha, ha, I shall be
quickly weary with laughing at him. His fooling will
soon be stale and tedious; and then to beat him would
be as toilsome to me; and lastly, to be tied to nothing
but to cuckold him, is such a common Town-trick, that
I scorne to follow the fashion.
La.
Can she talk thus? ha!
Whim.
A merry harmlesse Girle.
Fear not, good Madam, she will come about.
Bli.
A thousand mile about rather then meet
him.
La.
I much desire she would; for now my sonne
Is set a marrying, I warrant it pure thing
It is in paine, till it be at it: ha!
Pray bring her on, Sir Swithen, let him kisse her.
Poor heart, he licks his lips; and look how arseward
she is.
Whi.
Fie Blith, be courteous, Blith.
Neh.
Mother,—she has spit Amard just in my
mouth.
Bli.
Amard, what's that? if you speak French you
wrong me.
La.
Gip, Mrs. Tripshort. Is this the manners your
Mother left you?
Bli.
Speak not you of Mothers, Madam.
La.
Sir Swithen, will you see my childe abus'd so, ha?
I can but grieve for't, Madam.
Neh.
My mother is as good as your mother, so she
is, for all she's dead.
La.
I, well-said Neh.
Bli.
Yes, it appears in your good breeding
Your fine qualities expresse her vertues sufficiently.
La.
How dare you Huswife talk thus to my son,
of me, and before my face too? ha! Sir Swithen, can
you think well of me, and suffer this, ha?
Whim.
Alas, good Madam, I am down again I know
not what to think of living woman now.
La.
Do you bring your Neece to abuse me?
Whim.
I am so drown'd in teares, that I cannot see
what to say to't.
Neh.
Mother, Amardla, the more I look on her, the
better I like her. La. Sayest so, my boy. Besides, I
have a conceit she can out-scold you, and that's more
then ever woman did, I think f'sooth.
La.
For thee, I do forbear her.
Enter Matchil, Rachel.
Mat.
By your leave, my Lady Nestlecock, I have
brought a sister of yours here to salute you.
La.
Though unworthy to be of your Counsel, or
at the Ceremony, I heard you were married brother.
And by a Sisters name you are welcome.
Rac.
I thank your Ladiship.
Mat.
Sir Swithen Whimlby! and your pretty Neece!
well met, what affairs have you in hand here? what
do you cry for your old wife still or for a new one?
But heark, you Lady Sister, where's my daughter?
La.
Now for a tempest. Truly sir, I know
not.
Mat.
Is she not with you, ha?
No truly, sir.
She's slipt from me with her good Uncle Strigood.
Mat.
That Thief has sold her then into some Bawdihouse.
Was this your project for her education,
To steal my childe to make a whore of her?
Are you turn'd Lady-baud now for your Neece
Because you have no daughter? O the devil!
If there be Law, I'll trounce your Lady Hagship.
La.
VVhat, what? how now? do you taunt me,
sirrah, ha?
Mat.
I'll make thee an example.
La.
Thou hast made thy self an example, and the
scorne of thine own childe in marrying of thy drudge
there; and thats the cause of her running away thou
mayest think, because she hates to live where she must
call her mother that was thy droile.
Ra.
Droile, I think, she said.
Mat.
Speak to her, I charge thee, on thy obedience
to speak to her.
Ra.
The droile is now your brothers wife, Madam,
and in that setting your Ladiships lavish tongue aside, as
good a woman as your selfe, none disprais'd, ha.
Mat.
Well-said Rachel, hold thine own Rachel. And
so to you, sir Swithen.
Neh.
Mother, come away, mother.
La.
By and by, my boy.
Rac.
Do you presume to call me drudge and droile,
that am a Ladies Sister every day in the week; and have
been any time these three dayes, ha.
Bli.
That's not every day in a whole week
yet.
La.
Thou shalt not dare to call me sister Huswife.
Ra.
Cods so, and why troe? because a Lady scornes to
be a huswife, ha. If you be no huswife, I scorn to call
From whence came you troe, ha?
La.
I know not what to say to the bold-face.
Neh.
Pray f'sooth come away, I am afear'd she'l
beat you.
La.
Thanks, my good childe, but do not be afraid
my Lamb.
Ra.
Boldface, ha! Her brothers wife's a bold-face,
but her face is not varnish't over, yet like his Lady-sisters
face, but it may be in time when she learnes the
trick on't, and have as many flies upon't, though not
so troubled with 'hem, as a bald mare at Midsummer,
hah.
La.
I know not what to say to her, she has charm'd
the vertue of my tongue.
Mat.
I never heard her speak so much in all her
life, Sir Swithin, nor half so loud. Thank heaven, she
has a voice yet on a good occasion. And so farre I'll
maintain her in it. Nephew Nehemiah, when saw you
your Cousin Joyce.
Neh.
O Lud, O mother f'sooth, look you, mine
Uncle holds me.
Mat.
Ah, naughty man, did a so gi'me a stroke, and
I'll beat it, ah—.
La.
Your wife has taught you to play the rude
companion, has she? Pray take her home sir, and let
her discipline your owne childe if you have one, and
let mine alone. You know the way you came, sir;
or if you have a minde to stay here, Come Sir Swithen,
come away children. I hope I shall finde some other
room in mine own house, free from your assaults, if
not, I'm sure there's Law against Riots. Come Sir
Swithen.
Mat.
Not yet good Madam Nestlecock, you shall
hear me.
And your small worme here, to catch up for Gudgeons.
Sir Swithen and his Neece, I know your plot.
She's not fit match for you Sir Swithen; and her son
Much lesse for your faire Neece. Come dry your eyes,
And look upon him, and not only look,
But laugh at him, I charge you.
Bli.
I could now for him heartily.
Mat.
Mark how his mothers milk drops at his
nose, while I shew you the mother and the childe.
He was her youngest sonne, and all that's left of
seven, and dreaming that he needs must prove a Prophet,
she has bred him up a fool.
Neh.
F'sooth mother he mocks me, oh.—
La.
O prophane wretch, worse then thy brother
Strigood.
Do not cry, Nehemiah, peace, good boy, peace. So
so.
Mat.
A tender mother I must say she has been.
For till he was fifteen, none but her selfe
Must look his head, or wash his pretty face
For making of it cry. Laugh at her good Sir Swithen.
And before that, till he was twelve yeares old
She would dance him on her knee, and play with's
Cock.
Whim.
Ah ah ah ah.—
Mat.
So well-said, Sir Swithen.
Whim.
Just so efac my mother would serve me, ha, ha.
Is not this better then whining.
Yes, or perhaps then wiving either.
Rac.
Do you say so.
Wh.
Ha, ha.
Mat.
Well said, Sir Swithen, laugh on.
I hope I ha' done a cure on him, by shewing him a
of's tears.
Wh.
Ha, ha.
Mat.
Laugh still, defie the fiends, women, and all
their works.
Wh.
Ha, ha, ha, let the dead go, and the quick care
for themselves. You buri'd your wife, and cri'd, and
I buried mine.
Ra.
He knows not that he is married agen.
Whi.
You are the merriest Merchant, ha, ha, ha.
I think I shall not marry again in haste, ha, ha.
Mat.
Well-said, hold there. And for your Neece
Let me alone. I'le fit her with a match.
I know a Lad that's worthy of her.
Whi.
Ha, ha, ha.—
Mat.
He'll laugh too much, I feare.
Ra.
He may at you,
For your officiousnesse.
Mat.
How's that?
Whi.
Ha, ha.—
Ra.
To thrust your self into unthankful offices.
In things concerne you not. Will you turne Match-maker
For others un-intreated, tis enough.
For you, I hope, that you have match't your selfe,
ha.
Mat.
Hah! Do you hah, or talk to me?
Ra.
Who else
Should talk or give you counsel but your wife?
La.
VVell-said Rachel, hold thine own Rachel.
Mat.
I am match't again.
Whi.
Ha, ha, ha.
Mat.
Pax, cry again, or burst thy self with laughing.
Whi., La.
Ha, ha, ha. Laugh son Nehemiah.
Neh.
Ha, ha, ha.
What am I? what do you make of me?
La.
Nay, what ha' you made your self? best ask
the Chimney piece that you have married there.
Mat.
Durst thou advance a voice against me, ha?
Ra.
You did commend it in me against your Sister.
And I may better be familiar with you;
Hah, are you not my husband? I am sure
'Tis not so long since we were married, that
You can forget it, or repent so soon.
I am not now your slave, to have my face
Wash't with your snuffes, nor to be kick't and trod on
VVithout resistance, nor to make you answers
Meerly with silent court'sies, run when you bid go
To fetch and carry like your Spaniel,
In which condition I liv'd long enough,
And was content until you freed me out on't.
Now free I am, and will be a free woman,
As you are a free-man, ha.
Whi.
Ha, ha, ha.
Mat.
O base-borne begger.
Ra.
You wrong your wife in that.
Mat.
How she holds up the wife.
Ra.
I never beg'd
Nor mov'd a lip to be your wife, not I,
You held my service portion good enough,
And for my blood 'tis no more base then yours,
Since both are mixt in marriage.
Mat.
Come your way.
And let me hear you speak so much at home.
Ra.
I hope I may be bolder in mine own house.
So Madam, for the love I have found in yours,
You shall be welcome thither, when y' are sent for.
La.
What a bold piece of Kitchin-stuffe is this?
Brothery' are match't.
And catch't isac la, ha, ha, ha.
La.
He has not a word to speak.
Mat.
Follow me home and durst.
Ex.
Ra.
Yes, sir, I dare without more leave taking,
ha.
Ex.
La.
Was ever combe so cut.
Whi.
Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Neh.
There's a new Aunt indeed! she brought me
nothing.
Whi.
I have not laught so much I know not when,
H'has made me laugh until I cry agen.
La.
Again, you are welcom, Sir, Mrs. Blith
Now the unwelcome guests are gone, lets in
And dine, then will we after meat
Whi.
Of Joinctures, Madam, and of Nuptials
treat.
La.
Right sir.
Bli.
Love, as I shall adore thee for a deity.
Rid me of this ridiculous society.
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