University of Virginia Library

SCENE I.

Camelion. Hannah.
Cam.
I prithee now, I prithee, prithie now
Urge me no more in this case; for I cannot,
Nor I wo' not so I wo' not, I be jealous
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.
When I am jealous, let the horne-curse take me;
And let me be with hornets stung to death.

Han.

Still you flie from the point, I would not
have

You vex your self with causelesse jealousie
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.

Han.
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.

There's for your postage, friend. It needs no answer.

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.

What you please. But keep it well in minde,
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 thou would'st have me have an eye to; He
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.
Han.

And farewel Coxscombe, some wife would say
now.

I am much troubled at his sillinesse.
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.

To marry so, to spight his childe and kindred.

Val.

He has made his daughter by't a match worth
nothing.

And there your hope is gone.

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.

Val.
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.

Er.
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,
Thy husband's a dull ducking Gamester. And
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.

Han.

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.

Nor ever shall: doest think I am so foolish
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
O'one of your sweet courses, or at least
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.