University of Virginia Library

Scæn. 3.

Enter Slightall, Roger, and Geffrey.
Sl.
You have serv'd me long, what have you got by me?

Gef.
Good Wine, good Victualls, Liveries;
And the countenance of a good Master.

Sl.
And pray what's all this?

Gef.
That's as your worship shall be pleased to call it.

Sl.
Nay, name it you.

Rog.
So please you sir, I shall;
That which I thinke y'are brought to now your selfe,
Or within little of't.

Sl.
And what's that?

Rog.
Nothing.

Sl.
Thy plaines I commend, thee and thy wit,
That canst give nothing name, such is my state;
Yet out of this confused lumpe of nought,
That which no man of sence can say it is,
Or Title by the name of any thing,
Something I have extracted, and reserved
For you, for you my servants; take this Gold.

Gef.
All this sir?

Sl.
Why, all this alas is nothing.

Rog.
What call you something then?

Sl.
To me it is not, for now it is yours,
And may it ever after something prove
To you and your succession, as a Stocke
To thrive and prosper by; I onely was,
But am not now; however be you still,
And may this give you Essence.

Rog.
Pray keepe mine,
Your service sir is all the heritage that I expect from you.

Sl.
Thou never wast one that did seeke to husband my estate,
Which I have vainely wasted; just, and honest,
In all my loose designes did'st counsell well,
And still perswadest me to providence,
That thrift of which I was uncapable,
Employ it to thy owne ends; had it bin more,
Greater had bin thy stocke.

Rog.
Ile keepe it sir, as Steward to your use, but
Alwaies ready to furnish your least wants.

Gef.
And how for mine?

Sl.
Though thou wast ever Pander to my lusts,
And gav'st me Spurres to all my vanities,
Fedd'st on my riots, and my loose excesse,
Encourag'st still to surfeits, prayd'st not for me
But still prey'st on me Geffery; yet, because
Thou once did'st claime dependance on my love,
And did'st me some slight service; still report
Thou had'st a bounteous Master; so farewell both.

Gef.
If this be all, as where no more is left
What more can be expected? this's my portion,
Ile husband't for my selfe; he that gets this,
Or part of this, must have more share in me
Than either man or Master.

Sl.
Adieu good fellowes, report y'have left a cleane
Gentleman, without or meanes, or mony.

Rog.
'Tis my sorrow.

Gef.
And my neglect; so I be stor'd my selfe,
Which hand with him goes forward.

Sl.
A woman; that inconstant Feminine Sex,
Exit Rog. & Geffry.
That changes humours oftner than the Moone
Waynes, or supplyes his Orbe: that moving Creature
Hath beene my quicke subversion:
Had she prov'd firme, for her I had husbanded
All that I now have lavish'd; but too late,
What shall I now doe! travell? who shall furnish me?
What comfort can there be to beg abroad?
Or make my selfe a storme to forraigne Nations,
After I too much have bin toss'd at home?
Ile prove my kindred; kindred he hath none
That hath not in his purse to ranke with them,
My Kindred wasted, as I spent my meanes,
Want makes me a meere stranger: then my friends,
There's no such name for him whom need compells
To such extreames as I am newly falne:
Reliefe from them, such as in Cakes of Ice
To him, whose Nerves and Arteries are shrunke up
By bitter winters fury: then behold,
I here expose me to the fate, and force
Of all disasters threaten me; I am ready
With a pinch'd stomacke, and cold Arctos breath,
With a bare breast, armed with patience
Against the sharpest storme, and thin necessity;
T'encounter with the keene and piercing fangs
Of what want can inflict on my poore Carkesse.

Enter Anne
An.
Let Father frowne, or movingly intreat,
My Mother chide, or threaten menaces,
Raile till her Tongue, that yet was never tyr'd,
Cleave to her Roofe in midd'st of her exclaimes:
Let my spruce Lord cogge in his courtly termes,
And woe me with a thousand vaine protests;
Not all my Fathers hate, my Mothers fury,
Nor all his Alphabet of Stiles and Names,
Could they a Sheep-skin fill, shall me divert
From that which I have vow'd, to seeke him out
And prostrate my first love.

Sl.
The Divell, hee
My mind suggests when all my meanes else faile;
That Bug-beare will supply me.

An.
Have I found thee?

Sl.
I am not yet provided friend, not yet;
Thou tak'st me on a sudden.

An.
Doe you not love me?

Sl.
For a She-divell; but I meant not her,
My businesse lyes with him that's Lord and Captaine
Of all the Fiends and fire-brands; haunt me not,
Thou canst doe me no pleasure.

An.
Sure hee's Mad?

Sl.
There can be no more terrour in his looke
Than in the face of my extreame distresse:
His Visage cannot be so horrible
As my despaire; what should I feare then, ha?
An Usurer may weare Hornes, a Scrivener too,
Should I be more affraide of his then theirs?
I know no reason for't.

An.
Good sir, take comfort.

Sl.
Man can no sooner thinke upon the Divell,
But a woman is at's Elbow; trust me not
I've no affaires with thee.

An.
Leave those vaine thoughts
As Fantasies of a distracted braine;
I come with sorrow, and repentant teares;
To bring you backe your owne.

Sl.
Not possible,
That's all in Hucksters handling, and canst thou
Bring it from thence? why the great Divell himselfe
Can never do't; some is distribued
'Mong Baudes, and Whores; here Panders have a part,
And Cheaters there a share; Tavernes, and Ordinaries:
But the prime part the Usurer hath in's Chest,
I would 'twere in his Belly: and the choise
Of all I had, for which these were reserv'd,
Priz'd by me but as triviall ornaments
T'adorne one Jewell, rated above them,
Higher than gold above the basest drosse,
And that the Lord hath seiz'd.

An.
The Lord? what Lord?

Scri.
Lord of this Soyle; which I will ne're repurchase
After his so base sullying.

An.
Oh, but sir.

Sl.
What sayes my Donna Anne, my Lady Serpent
Armed in her golden scales? What sayes Madona?

An.
That I preferre thy basest poverty
Before all glorious Titles; give me eare,
And Ile redeeme thy former injuries
With ample satisfaction.

Sl.
Heare mee first;
Backe to your Lord, and if you want reparations,
First fall into his hands.

An.
It was my folly,
My appetite too childish novelty,
Of which I now crave pardon.

Sl.
Oh woman, woman,
Thou hast undone me, spent me to my Shirt,
Nay beyond that, even almost to my soule;
For I am circled in with blacke despaire,
And know not how to free me.

An.
I can doe't,
And to that end I come; wants thy soule comfort?
Behold, I bring you comfort: Is your state
Decayed and wasted? see, I offer thee
A second making, all my hopes and fortunes,
I throw on thee; I am possest of nothing
Of which thou art not Lord.

Sl.
Lord? there it goes;
And get thee to him, for in rifling thee
He hath robb'd my braine of sence, my life of meanes,
My soule of solace, and my dayes of rest;
Henceforth Ile be a Mad-man, turne as Savage
As thou to me was't brutish: Ile seeke out
Some fine familiar Divell, and with him
Converse, when I have left mans company;
Ile make my selfe companion with the Night,
And Traffique with her servants like the Owle;
Ile take my Lodging in some hollow Cave,
Till I be growne so out of name and knowledge,
That if I chance but to appeare by day,
Men, Beasts, and Birds shall all stand wondring at me;
As at some progedy, and point at thee
For this my transformation.

An.
Iealousie, oh what a fury art thou?

Sl.
Fury, where? kept it within my bosom I would cherish it,
And hugg't as one that I accounted most:
Lay't in this hand I'de brandish't 'gainst my starres
And dare them to encounter: lodg'd it here,
Within my eyes, I would out-stare the Divell,
The Divell, I the Divell.

An.
That foule fiend,
Why doe you name so oft? oh study better thoughts,
And set him at defiance.

Sl.
Canst not endure his name, yet com'st thy selfe
To tempt me with his Sattin? oh those eyes,
That once appear'd like to those glorious Tapers
That spangle Heaven, shew like blacke funeralls
The Sisters beare, that blast where ere they burne:
Farewell my ruine, my decay and fall,
And what sinister Fate so ere I have.
May thy false pride b'insculpt upon my grave.

Exit.
An.
Curse on that pride, that such a hopefull Gentleman
Should in his prime be lost by that and me;
But who was cause? who first traduc'd me to't?
My Mother, and that Lord; the sin be theirs:
Offend they, and must scape due punishment?
Then let me loose, what womankind best armes,
My use of Tongue; if but this Pipe hold cleare,
Ile make both curse them taught me first to speake,
And wish I from my Cradle had bin dumbe:
My hate to him shall in his charge and cost,
Redeeme the love that I to this have lost.

Exit.