 | The VVitts |  |
Act. 1.
Scen. 1.
Enter Young Pallatine, Meager, Pert.Young Pallatine.
Welcome o'shore Meager! Give me thy hand!
Tis a true one, and will no more forsake
A Bond, or Bill, then a good Sword; a hand
That will shift for the Body, till the Lawes
Provide for both.
Meag.
Old Wine, and new Cloathes Sir,
Make you wanton! D'you not see Pert, my Comrade?
Yo: Pallat.
Ambiguous Pert! hast thou danc'd to the Drum too?
Could a Taff'ta scarfe, a long Estridge whing,
A stiffe Iron Doublet, and a Brazeele Pole
Tempt thee from Cambrick sheets, fine active Thighs,
From Caudles where the precious Amber swims?
Pert.
Faith, wee have been to kill, wee know not whom,
Nor why: Led on to break a Commandement,
With the consent of Custom and the Lawes.
Meag.
Mine was a certaine inclination Sir
To doe mischiefe, where good men of the Iury,
And a dull Congregation of gray-Beards
Might urge no tedious Statute 'gainst my life!
Yo: Pallat.
Nothing but Honor could seduce thee, Pert!
Honor! which is the hope of the Youthfull,
And the old Souldiers wealth, a jealousie
To the Noble, and mist'ry to the wise.
Pert.
It was Sir, no Geographicall fancie
(Cause in our Maps, I lik'd this Region here
More than that Countrey lying there) made mee
Partiall which to fight for.
Yo: Pallat.
True, sage Pert.
What is't to thee whether one Don Diego
Of Bombell, doe Conquer that Parapet,
Redout, or Towne, which thou nere saw'st before?
Pert.
Not a brasse Thimble to mee! but Honor!—
Yo: Pallat.
Why right! els wherfore shouldst thou bleed for him,
Whose Money, Wine, nor Wench, thou nere hast us'd?
Or why destroy some poore Root-eating Souldier,
That never gave thee the ly, deny'd to pledge
Thy Cockatrices health, nere spit upon
Thy Dog, jear'd thy Spur-leather, or return'd
Thy Tooth-pick ragged, which hee borrowed whole?
Pert.
Never to my knowledge!
Meag.
Comrade! tis time—
Yo: Pallat.
What, to unship your Trunkes at Billingsgate?
Fierce Meager! why such haste? doe not I know,
That a Mouse yoak'd to a Pescod, may draw
With the fraile Cordage of one haire, your Goods
About the World?
Pert.
Why wee have Linnen Sir!
Yo. Pallat.
As much Sir as will fill a Tinder Box,
Or make a Frog a shirt. I like not friends,
This quiet, 'mo iest posture of your Shoulders!
Why stir you not, as you were practising
To Fence, or doe you hide your Cattell, least
The Skipper make you pay their passage over?
Pert.
Know Pallatine! Truth is a naked Lady,
Shee will shew all! Meager, and I have not—
Yo: Pall.
The Treasure of Saint Marks I believe Sir,
Though you are as rich as cast Servingmen,
Or Bawdes led thrice into Captivity!
Pert.
Thou hast a heart of the right stamp; I find
It is not comely in thine eyes, to see
Vs Sons of war walke by the pleasant Vines
Of Gascoiny, as wee believ'd the Grapes
Forbidden Fruit: sneake through a Taverne with
Remorse, as wee had read the Alcharon,
And made it our best Faith.
Meag.
And abstaine flesh,
As if our English Beefe were all reserv'd
For Sacrifice.
Whilst Colon keepes more noyse
Than Mariners at Playes, or Apple-wives
That wrangle for a Sive!
Meag.
Contribute, come!
Yo: Pallat.
Stand there close on you lives! here in this house
Lives a rich old Hen, whose young Egge (though not
Of her owne laying) I have in the Embers!
Shee may prove a Morsell for a discreet Mouth,
If the kind Fates have but the leasure to
Betray the old one.
Pert.
Pallatine.
No plots upon generation; wee two
Have fasted so long, that wee cannot thinke
Of begetting any thing, unlesse
Like Cannibals, wee might eate our owne Issue.
Yo: Pallat.
I say close; shrinke in your Morions! goe!
Meager.
Why hidden thus? a Souldier may appeare.
Yo: Pallat.
Yes in a Sutlers Hut on the Pay-day:
But doe you know the silence of this house,
The gravity and awe? here dwels a Lady,
That hath not seene a street, since good King Harry
Cald her to a Masque: shee is more devout
Then a Weaver of Banbury, that hopes
T'intice Heaven (by singing) to make him Lord
Of twenty Loomes. J never saw her yet:
And to arrive at my preferment first,
In your sweet company will (I take it)
Add but little to my hopes. Retire! goe!
They step aside, whilst he cals betweene the Hangings
Pert.
We shall obey, but doe not tempt us now
With sweet meates for the neather Pallat! doe not—
Yo: Pallat.
What Lucy! Luce! now is the old Beldame
Misleading her to a Cushion; where she
Must pray, and sigh, and fast, untill her knees
Grow smaller then her Knockles. Lucy! Luce,
No hope! she is undone! shele number o're
As many Orisons, as if she had
A Bushell of Beades to her Rosary!
Lucy! my Aprill love! my Mistresse speake!—
Enter Lucy.
Lucy.
Pallatine, for Heavens sake keepe in your voice!
Yo: Pallat.
What can she heare, when her old eares are stuff'd
With as much warme waxe, as will seale nine Leases?
What a pox does she listning upon earth?
I'st not time for her t'affect privacie?
To creepe into a close darke Vault, there gossip.
With wormes, and such small tame creatures, as Heaven
Provided to accompany old People?
Lucy.
Still better'd unto worse! but that my heart
Consents not to disfigure thee, thou wouldst be torne
To pieces numberlesse as sand, or as
The doubts of guilt, or love, in Cowards are!
Yo: Pal.
How now Luce! from what strange coast this storm! hah!
Lucy.
Thou dost out-drinke the youth of Norway at
Their Marriage feasts, out-sweare a puny Gamster
When his first misfortune rages out quarrell,
One that rides post, and is stopt by a Cart:
Thy walking houres are later in the night,
Then those which Drawers, Traytors, or Constables
Themselves doe keepe; for Watchmen know thee better
Then their Lanthorne! and here's your Surgeons Bill,
Your kind thrift (I thanke you) hath sent it me
To pay, as if the poore exhibition
My Aunt allowes for Aprons, would maintaine
You in Seareclothes.—
Gives him a paper.
Meger.
Can the Daughters of Brabant
Talke thus when Younker-gheek leads 'em to a Stove?
Pert.
I say (Meager) there is a small parcell
Of Man, that rebels more then all the rest
Of his body, and I shall need (if I
Stay here) no Elixer of Beefe to exalt
Nature, though I were leaner then a groat!
Yo: Pallat.
This Surgeon's a Rogue (Luce) a fellow Luce
That hath no more care of a Gentlemans
Credit, then of the Lint, he hath twice us'd!
Lucy.
Well Sir, but what's that Instrument he names?
Yo: Pall.
He writes down here for a toole of Injection
Luce, a small water Engine which I bought
For my Taylors Child to squirt at Prentises!
Luce.
I Sir, he sins more against wit then Heaven,
I shall be old at twenty Pallatine,
My griefe to see thy manners, and thy mind
Hath wrought so much upon my heart!
Yo: Pallat.
I'de as live keepe our Marriage Supper
In a Churchyard, and beget our Children
In a Coffin, as heare thee prophesie;
Luce, thou art drunke Luce; farre gone in Almond Milke,
Kisse me!—
Pert.
Now I dissolve like an Eringo?
Meager.
He's ploughing o'the Indies, good Gold appeare!
Yo: Pallat.
I am a new man Luce; thou shalt find me
In a Geneva-band, that was reduc'd
From an old Alder-mans Cuffe; no more haire left
Then will shakle a flea; this debash'd Whineyard,
I will reclaime to comely Bow and Arrowes,
And shoot with Haberdashers at Finsbury,
And be thought the Grand-child of Adam-Bell!
And more (my Luce) hang at my velvet Girdle,
A Booke wrapp'd in a greene Dimity Bagge,
And squire thy untooth'd Aunt to an exercise.
Lucy.
Nothing but strict Lawes, and age will tame you.
Yo: Pallat.
What money hast thou Luce?
Lucy.
I there's your busines.
Yo: Pallat,
It is the busines of the world: Injuries grow
To get it, Iustice sits for the same end;
Men are not wise without it; for it makes
Wisedome knowne; and to be a Foole, and poore,
Is next t'old Aches and bad Fame; tis worse
Than to have six new Creditors, they each
Twelve Children, and not bread enough to make
The Landlord a Tost, when hee cals for Ale
And Rent. Think on that, and rob thy Aunts Trunks
Ere shee hath time to make an Inventory.
Pert.
A cunning Pioner! hee works to th'bottome.
Lucy.
Hast thou no taste of Heav'n? wert thou begot
In a Prison, and bred up in a Galley?
Yo: Pallat.
Luce! I speake like one that hath seene the Booke
Of Fate: I'm loath (for thy sake) to mount a Coach
With two wheeles; whilst the Damzels of the Shop
Hee dyes, for robbing an Atturnies Cloak-bag
Of Copper-seales, foule Night-caps, together
With his wives Bracelet of Mill-Testers!
Lucy.
There Sir!—
Flings him a Purse.
Tis gold! my Pendants, Carckanets, and Rings,
My Christning Caudle-cup, and Spoones
Are dissolv'd into that Lumpe. Nay, take all!
And with it as much anger as would make
Thy Mother write thee illegitemate!
See me no more! I will not stay to blesse
My gift; lest I should teach my patience suffer
Till I convert it into Sin.
Exit.
Yo: Pallat.
Temptations will not thrive. This Bagadge sleeps
Crosse legg'd, and the Devill has no more power
O're that charme, than dead Men o're their lewd Heires.
I must marry her, and spend my revenue
In Cradles, Pins, and Sope! That's th'end of all
That scape a deepe River, and a tall Bough.
Meag.
Pallatine! How much?
Pert.
Honorable Pall!
Yo: Pallat.
Gentlemen, you must accept without gaging
Your corporall Oathes, to repay in three dayes!
Pert.
Not wee (Pall) in three Iubilies, feare not!
Yo: Pallat.
Nor shall you charge mee with loud vehemence
(Thrice before company) to wait you in
My chamber such a night; for then, a certaine
Drover of the South comes to pay you money!
Meag.
On our new Faithes!
Pert.
On our Allegiance Pall!
Yo: Pall.
Go then!—shift, and brush your skins well, d'you hear!
Meet me at the new Play; faire, and perfum'd!
There are strange words hang on the lips of Rumor!
Pert.
Language of joy deere Pall!
Yo: Pallat.
This day is come
To Towne, the Minion of the womb (my Lads)
My elder Brother, and hee moves like some
Assyrian Prince; his Chariots measure Leagues
Witty, as youthfull Poets in their wine!
Bold as a Centaure at a Feast, and kind
I seeke him now, meet and triumph!
Meager, Pert.
King Pall!—
Exeunt Omnes.
Enter Sir Morglay Thwack, Eld. Pallatine, new and richly clothed, buttoning themselves.
Eld. Pallat.
Sir Morglay! come! the houres have wings, and you
Are growne too old, t'overtake them: The Towne
Lookes (me thinkes) as it would invite the Countrey
To a Feast.
Thwack.
At which Serjeants and their Yeomen
Must be no Waiters (Pallatine) lest some
O'the Guests pretend busines: how dost like me?
Eld. Pallat.
As one, old women shall no more avoid,
Then they can warme Furs or Muskadell!
Thwack.
Pallatine! to have a volatile Ache,
That removes oftner then the Tartars Campe;
To have a stich that sucks a man awry,
Till he shew crooked as a Chestnut Bough,
Or stand in the deform'd Guard of a Fencer;
To have these hid in Flesh, that has liv'd sinfull
Fifty long yeares; yet husband, so much strength
As could convay mee hither, fourscore Miles
On a disigne of Wit, and glory may
Be Registred for a strange Northerne Act.
Eld. Pallat.
I cannot boast those Noble Malladies
As yet; but Time (deare Knight) as I have heard,
May make mans knowledge bold upon himselfe.
We travell in the grand cause! These smooth Rags,
These Iewels too, that seeme to smile e're they
Betray, are certaine silly snares, in which
Your Lady-wits, and their wise Compeers-Male
May chance be caught!
Enter Young Pallatine.
Yo: Pallat.
Your welcome (Noble Brother)
Must be hereafter spoke, for I have lost
With glad haste to find you, much of my Breath!—
Eld. Pallat.
Your joy becomes you it hath Courtship in't!
Yo: Pallat.
Sir Morglay Thwack! I did expect to see
The Archer Cimbeline, or old King Lud
'Mongst so much smoke, diseases, Law, and noyse!
Thwack.
What your Towne gets by mee, let 'um lay up
For their Orphans, and Record in their Annals!
I come to borrow where Ile never lend,
And buy what Ile never pay for.
Yo: Pallat.
Not your Debts?
Thwack.
No Sir, though to a poore Brownists widdow!
Though shee sigh all night, and have the next morning
Nothing to drinke, but her owne Teares.
Eld. Pallat.
Nor shalt thou lend money to a sick friend,
Though the sad wormely morgag'd in his bed
For the hire of his Sheets.
Yo: Pallat.
These are Resolves,
That give mee newer wonder than your Cloathes;
Why in such shining Trim, like Men that come
From rifled Tents, loaden with victory?
Eld. Pal.
Yes Brother, or like eager heires new dipp'd
In Inke, that seal'd the day before in haste,
Lest Parchment should grow deere. Know Youth wee come
To be the businesse of all Eyes, to take
The wall of our St. George on his Feast day!
Thwack.
Yes, and then imbarke at Dover, and doe
The like to St. Dennis: All this (young Sir)
Without charge too; I meane, to us; wee bring
A humerous odd Phylosophy to Towne
That sayes, pay nothing!
Yo: Pal.
Why, where have I liv'd?
Eld. Pal.
Brother be calme, and edifie! But first
Receive a Principle, never hereafter
(From this warme breathing, till your last cold sigh)
Will I disburse for you agen; Never!
Yo: Pal.
Brother mine, if that be your Argument,
I deny the Maior!
Thwack.
Resist Principles?
El. Pal.
Good faith, though you should send me more Epistles
Than young Factors in their first voyage write
Vnto their short hair'd Friends; than absent Lovers
Pen neere their Mariage weeke, t'excuse the slow
Arrivall of the License, and the Ring,
Not one clipp'd penny should depart my reach.
Yo: Pal.
This Doctrine will not passe, how shall I live?
As we intend to doe, by our good witts!
Yo: Pall.
How, Brother, how?
Eld: Pall.
Truth is a pleasant knowledge;
Yet you shall have her cheape, Sir Morglay here,
(My kind Disciple) and my selfe, have leas'd
Out all our Rents and Lands for pious uses!
Yo: Pall.
What, Co-founders! give Legacies ere death!
Pallatine the pious, and St Morglay!
Your names will sound but ill ith Kallender.
How long must this fierce raging zeale continue?
Eld: Pall.
Till we subsist here no more by our wit,
Then weele renounce the Towne, and patiently
Vouchsafe to reassume our Mother Earth,
Lead on our Ploughs into their rugged walkes
Agen, grope our young Heifers in the flanke,
And swagger in the wooll, wee shall borrow
From our owne flocks.
Thwack.
But ere we goe, we may
From the vast treasure purchas'd by our wit,
Leave heere some Monument to speake our Fame.
I have a strong mind to reedifie
The decayes of Fleet-Ditch, from whence I heare
The roaring Vestals late are fled, through heat
Of persecution.
Yo: Pal.
What a small star have I,
That never yet could light mee to this way!
Live by our wits?
El: Pall.
So live, that Usurers,
Shall call their Moneys in, remove their Banke
T'Ordinaries, Spring-garden, and Hide-parke,
Whilst their glad Sons are left seven for their chance,
At Hazard, Hundred, and all made at Sent;
Three motly Cocks o'th right Derby straine,
Together with a Foale of Beggibrigge!
Thwa.
Sir, I will match my Lord Maiors horse, make Iockeys
Of his Hench-boyes, and run 'em through Cheap-side.
Eld. Pallat.
What beauties Girles of feature governe now
I'th towne? tis long since wee did traffique here,
In midnight whispers, when the Dialect
Of Loves loose Wit, is frighted into signes,
And secret laughter stifled into smiles:
When nothing's loud but the old Nurses Cough!
Who keepes the Game up, hah! who misled now?
Not Sir, that if wee wooe, weele be at charge
For Looks; or if wee marry, make a Ioynture,
Entaile Land on women? entaile a Back,
And so much else of Man, as Nature did
Provide for the first wife.
Eld. Pallat.
I could keepe thee,
Thy future Pride, thy Surfets, and thy Lust,
(I meane, in such a garb as may become
A Christian Gentleman) with the sole Tithe
Of Tribute, I shall now receive from Ladies.
Thwack.
Your Brother, and my selfe have seal'd to Covenants!
The Female Youth o'th towne are his; but all
From forty to fourscore, mine owne: A widow
(You'l say) is a wise, solemne, wary Creature;
Though she hath liv'd to'th cunning of dispatch,
Clos'd up nine Husbands eies, and have the wealth
Of all their Testaments, in one Month Sir,
I will waste her to her first Wedding-smock,
Her single Ring, Bodkin, and Velvet-Muffe.
Yo: Pallat.
Your Rents expos'd at home, for Pious uses
Must expiate your behaviour here; Tell mee,
Is that the subtle plot you have on Heaven?
Thwack.
The worm of your worships conscience would appear
As big as a Conger, but a good eye
May chance to find it slender as a Grigge!
Yo: Pallat.
Amazement knowes no case, but in demands,
Pray tell mee Gentlemen, to all this vaste
Disignment (which so strikes my Eare) deduct
You nought from your revenue, nought that may
Like Fuell, feed the flame of your expense?
Eld. Pall.
Brother, not so much as will find a Iew
Bacon to his Egges: These gay tempting Weeds,
These Easterne stones of cunning foile, bespoke
Gainst our arrivall here, together with
A certaine stock of Crownes in eithers purse,
Is all the charge that from our proper owne,
Begins or furthers the magnifique plot,
And of these Crownes, not one must be usurp'd
By you.
Thwack.
No reliefe, but Wit and good Counsell!
Eld. Pallat.
The stock my Father left you, if your care
Had purpos'd so discreet a course might well
Our Coach is yet unwheel'd, Sir Morglay, come,
Lets sute those Friesland horse with our owne straine!
Yo: Pallat.
Why Gentlemen, will the disigne keepe horses?
Thwack.
May be Sir they shall live by their Wits too!
Yo: Pall.
Their Masters are bad Tutors else; well, how
You'l worke the Ladies, and weake Gentry here
By your fine gilded Pills, a Faith that is
Not old may guesse without distrust. But Sirs,
The Citty (take't on my experiment)
Will not be gull'd!
Thwack.
Not gull'd? they dare not be
So impudent! I say they shall be gull'd,
And trust, and breake, and pawne their Charter too!
Yo: Pallat.
Is it lawfull (Brother) for me to laugh
That have no money?
Eld. Pallat.
Yes Sir, at your selfe!
Yo: Pallat.
Two that have tasted Natures kindnesse Arts,
And men, have shin'd in moving Camps; have seene
Courts in their solemne businesse, and vaine pride;
Convers'd so long i'th towne here, that you know
Each Signe, and Pibble in the streets; for you
(After a long retirement) to lease forth
Your wealthy pleasant Lands, to feed Iohn Crump,
The Cripple, Widow Needy, and Abraham
Sloath, the Beads-man of More-dale? Then (forsooth)
Perswade your selves to live here by your Wits.
Thwack.
Where wee nere cheated in our Youth, we resolve
To couzen in our Age.
Eld. Pallat.
Brother, I came
To be your wise example in the Arts
That lead to thriving glory, and supreame life;
Not through the humble wayes wherein dull Lords
Of Lands, and Sheepe doe walke; Men that depend
On the fantastick winds on fleeting Clowds,
On seasons more uncertaine than themselves,
When they would hope or feare; But you are warme
In anothers silke, and make your tame ease
Virtue, call it content, and quietnesse!
Thwack.
Write Letters to your Brother! do! and be
Forsworne, in every long Parenthesis,
For twenty pound sent you in Butchers silver!
Eld. Pall.
Rebukes are precious! cast them not away!
Neither of these Philosophers were borne
To above five Senses; why then should they
Have hope, to doe things greater, and more new
I'th world, than I? This Devill Plenty thrusts
Strange boldnesse upon Men! well, you may laugh
With so much violence, till it consume
Your breath! Though sullein want, the Enemy
Of Wit, have sunke her low; if pregnant Wine
Can raise her up, this day she shall be mine.
Exit.
| The VVitts | |