 | A Woman is a Weather-cocke |  |
Actus 3
scen. Prima.
Enter Strange, knocking at a doore. Enter a Seruingman.Stran.
I yes Captaine Powts heere pray?
Ser.
Sir he does.
Stran.
I prethee tell him heere's a Gentleman
Would speake with him.
Ser.
What may I call your name Sir?
Stra.
No matter for my name.
Ser.
Troth Sir, the Captaine is somewhat doubtfull of
strangers; and being as most Captaines are, a little in debt,
I know he will not speake with you, vnlesse you send your
Name.
Stra.
Tell him my name is Strange, that I am come
About that businesse he spake off to day.
Exit Seruant.
To haue sent a formall Challenge by a Gentleman,
He being to choose his time, might peraduenture
Haue made him shift himselfe the sooner ouer.
Enter Powts aboue.
Powts.
Sir, I know your businesse, you are come to serue
a warrant, ot a Scitation, I will not speake with you: and
get you gone quickly too, or I may happen send a Bullet
through your Mazard.
Exit.
Stran.
Strange Crosse, past expectation: well Ile try,
My other course may speed more happily.
Exit.
Musicke.
Enter with Table Napkins. Count, Worldly, Neuill, Pendant, Sir Innocent, Lady, Sir Abraham, Seruants with wine, Plate, Tobacco and pipes.
World.
Sir, had you borne vs company to Church,
You had beene the better welcome.
Count.
Faith you had, I must needs say so to.
And I must needs say as my Lord saies.
Neu.
Sir Iohn I thanke you, and my honor'd Lord:
But I am sorrie for this other Newes
Concerning Mistris Kate, and my good friend.
World.
Tis certaine true: He keepes his word well too,
He saide he would come to dinner.
Lady.
All we cannot get M. Katherine out of hir chamber.
World.
Oh good old woman, she is topshackeld.
Lady.
Tis pestlence Sacke, and cruell Clarret. Knight,
stand to me Knight I say, vp, a cold stomacke; giue me my
Aqua-vitæ bottle.
Inno.
Oh Guiniuer, as I am a Iustice of peace and Coram,
t'were a good deed to commit thee, Fie, fie, fie.
Sir Abra.
Why alas, I cannot helpe this and I should
bee hang'd, shee'le bee as drunke as a Porter: Ile tell
you my Lorde, I haue seene her so bepisse the Rushes,
as shee has danc'd at a Wedding: Her bellie, and that
Aqua-vitæ bottle, haue almost vndone my Father: VVell
I thinke in Conscience, shee is not my naturall begotten
Mother.
Om.
Ha, ha, ha.
Luce.
Well said my wise Sir Abraham.
Count.
Oh this Musicke
and good Wine is the soule of all the world.
World.
Come, wil your Lordship make one at Primero,
vntill your Bride come foorth.
Neu.
You can play well my Lord.
Count.
VVho I?
Pend.
VVho my Lord, the onelie player at Primero i'th
Court.
Abra.
I'de rather play at Bowles.
Pen.
My Lords for you for that too: the onely, Bowler
in London, that is not a Churchwarden.
Luce.
Can he fence well too M. Pendant?
Pen.
Who my Lord? the only Fencer in Christendom, hee'l hit you.
Luce.
He shall not hit me, I assure you now.
Neu.
Is he good at the exercise of drinking Sir?
Who my Lord; the onely Drunkard i'th VVorld,
drinker I would say.
Luci.
Godamercie for that.
Neu.
I would he heard him.
Abra.
I know a better VVhoremaister then he.
Neu,
Oh sie no, none so good as my Lord.
Pen,
Hardly, berladie, hardlie.
Count.
How now, whose this?
Enter Scudmore like a Seruingman, with a Letter.
World.
VVhat would you?
Scud.
I would speake with the Ladie Bellafront,
From the young Ladie Lucie.
World.
You had beft send in your Letter, shee is withdrawne.
Scud.
My Ladie gaue me charge of the deliuery,
And I must doo't my selfe, or carrie it backe.
World.
A trustie seruant, that way leads you to her.
Count.
This trust in Seruants is a Iewell; Come,
Let vs to Bowles i'th Garden.
Exeunt
Scud.
Blessed fate.
Scudmore passeth one doore, and entereth the other, where Bellafront sits in a Chaire, vnder a Taffata Canopie,
Scud.
Oh thou, whose words and actions seemd to me,
As innocent as this smooth sleepe, which hath
Lockt vp thy powers: would thou hadst slept, when first
Thou sent'st and profferedst me beautie and loue:
I had bin ignorant then of such a losse,
Happie's that wretch in my opinion,
That neuer ownd scarse Iewels, or bright Somes,
He can loose nothing but his constant wants:
But speaklesse is his plague, that once had store,
and from superfluous state fals to be poore:
Such is my hell-bred hap, couid Nature make
So faire a superficies, to enclose
So false a heart; This is like gilded Tombes,
Compacted of Iet Pillars, Marble stones,
Pallas so sat (methinkes) in Hectors Tent;
But time so precious and so dangerous
Why do I loose thee? Madam, my Lady, Madam.
Bella.
Beleeue me my deare friend, I was enforcst: Ha,
I had a Dreame as strange as thou art fellow,
How cam'st thou hether? What's thy businesse?
Scud.
That Letter Madam tels you.
Bell.
Letter: Ha?
What doost thou mocke me? Heere is nothing writ.
Scud.
Can you read any thing then in this face?
Bell.
Oh Basiliske, remooue thee from my sight,
Or thy harts bloud shall pay thy rash attempt.
Ho, Who attends vs there?
Scud.
Stirre not a foote,
And stop your clamorous acclamations,
Or by the bitternesse of my fresh wrongs,
Ile send your Ladiship to the Deuill quicke;
I know the hazard I do vndergo,
and whatsoere after becomes of me,
Ile make you sure first: I am come to speake,
and speake I will freely, and to bring backe
Your Letters, and such things you sent; and then,
Ile nere see those deceiuing eyes agen.
Bell.
Oh, I am sicke of my corruption,
For Godsake do not speake a word more to me.
Scud.
Not speake, yes woman, I will rore a lowd,
Call thee the falsest faire that euer breath'd,
Tell thee, that in this marriage, thou hast drown'd
All vertue, left to credit thy weake sex,
which being (as t'were) committed to thy trust,
Thou traiterously hast betraid it thus.
Did I intice, or euer send thee guifts
To allure thee, to reflect a beame on me?
Nay, didst not thou thy selfe send and inuent
Past humaine wit, our meanes of intercourse?
Why dost thou then proue base vnto thy selfe,
In my opinion; doth outvalue farre
The airy honors thou art married to.
Bell.
Oh peace, for you speake sharpnesse to my soule
More tortuious, then hels plagues to the damn'd,
For loue sake heare me speake.
Scud.
For loues sake, no:
Loue is my surfet, and is turn'd in me
To a disease.
Bell.
Tyrant, my knees shall beg,
Till they get liberty for my tongue to speake,
Drown'd almost in the Riuers of mine eyes.
Scud.
What canst thou say, art thou not married?
Bell.
Alas I was enforst, first by the threats
Of a seuere Father, that in his hand
Did gripe my fortunes; next to that, the fame
Of your neglect, and liberall tongue,
Which bred my honour an eternall wrong.
Scud.
Pish, these are painted causes, till this Morne
He liu'd not in this land, that durst accuse
My intergritie, of such an ignorance.
But take your Letters heere, your paper Vowes,
Your Picture, and your Bracelets: and if euer
I build againe vpon a womans faith,
May sence forsake me: I will sooner trust
Dice, or a reconciled enemy: Oh God,
VVhat an internall ioy my heart has felt,
Sitting at one of these same idle playes,
When I haue seene a Maids inconstancie
Presented to the life; how glad my eies
Haue stole about me, fearing least my lookes
Should tell the companie contented there,
I had a Mistris free of all such faults.
Bell.
Oh! still retaine her, deare Scudmore heare me.
Scud.
Retaine thee so, it is impossible,
Art thou not married? Tis impossible,
Oh no! I do despise thee, and will flie
and by some learn'd Magitian, whose deepe art
Can know thy residence on this Hemispheare;
There Ile be placst, my feete iust against thine,
To expresse the opposite Nature, which our harts
Must henceforth hold.
Bell.
Oh rather shoot me friend.
Then let me heare thee speake such bitternesse.
Oh pitty me, redeeme from the hell
That in this Marriage I am like to feele,
Ile rather flye to barren wildernesses,
and suffer all wants with thee Scudmore, then
Liue with all plentie in this husbands armes,
Thou shalt perceiue I am not such a woman,
That is transported with vaine dignities,
Oh thy deare words haue knockt at my harts gates,
and entred: They haue pluckt the Diuels Vizard.
(That did deforme this face, and blinde my soule)
Off, and thy Bellafront presents her selfe,
(Lau'd in a Bath of contrite Virginall teares,)
Cloath'd in the Originall beautie that was thine:
Now for thy loue to God, count this not done,
Let time go backe, and be as when before it,
Or from thy memorie race it for euer.
Scud.
Ha, ha, hart was there euer such strange creatures fram'd,
Why dost thou speake such foolish sencelesse things?
Can thy forsaking him redeeme thy fault?
No, I will neuer mend an ill with worse.
Why this example will make weomen false,
When they shall heare it, that before were true,
For after ill examples we do fly,
But must be vow'd to deeds of piety:
Oh woman, woman, woman, woman, woman,
The cause of future and Originall sinne,
How happy (had you not) should we haue beene,
False where you kisse, but murthering in your ire,
Loue all that woe, know all men you desire.
Torturous as hell, insatiate as the graue:
Lustfull as Monkies, grinning in your ease,
Whom if we make not Idols, we neare please.
More vainly proud then fooles, as ignorant;
Baser then Parasites, Witches that enchant
And make vs sencelesse, to thinke death or life
Is yours to giue, when onely our beleefe
Doth make you able to deceiue vs so,
Begot by Drunkards, to breed sin and wo.
As many foule diseases hide your vaines,
as there are mischiefes coin'd in your quicke braines;
Not quicke in wit, fit to performe least good,
But to subuert whole States, shed Seas of blood;
Twice as deceitfull as are Crocodiles,
For you betray both waies; with teares and smiles,
Yet questionlesse there are as good, as bad:
Hence, let me go.
Bell.
Heare me, and thou shalt go:
I do confesse I do deserue all this,
Haue wounded all the Faith my sex doth owe,
But will recouer it, or pay my life:
Striue not to go, for you shall heare me first,
I charge thee Scudmore, thou hard-hearted man,
Vpon my knees: thou most implacable man,
since penitence
and satisfaction to, gets not thy pardon,
I charge thee vse some meanes to set me free,
Before the Reuels of this night haue end,
Preuent my entering to this marriage bed;
Or by the memorie of Lucretiaes knife,
Ere Morne Ile die a Virgin, though a wise.
Exit.
Scud.
Pish do, the world will haue one mischiefe lesse.
Exit
Enter Sir Abraham throwing downe his Bowles.
Abra.
Bowle they that list, for I will Bowle no more,
Cupid that little Bowler in my brest
Rub, rub, within, flye, flye.
I, I, you may crie rub, flie to your Bowles,
For you are free, loue troubles not your iowles,
But from my head to heele; from heele to hart,
Behind, before, and round about I smart,
Then in this Arbor sitting all alone,
In dolefull Dittie, let me howle my mone.
Oh Boy, leaue pricking, for I vaile my Bonnet,
Giue me but breath while I do write a Sonnet.
Enter Pendant.
Pen.
I haue lost my monie, and Sir Abraham too, yonder
he sits at his Muse by heauen, drownd in the Ocean of
his loue, Lord how hee labours, like a hard bounde Poet,
whose braines had a frost in em, now it comes.
Abra.
I die, I sigh.
Pend.
What after you are dead? Verie good,
Abra.
I die, I sigh, thou precious stonie Iewell.
Pen.
Good: because she is hard-hearted.
Abra.
I die.
Write.
Pen.
He has di'de three times, and come againe.
Abra.
I sigh thou precious stonie Iewell,
Wearing of silke, why art thou still so cruell.
Write.
Pe.
Oh Newington conceit, and quieting eke.
Abra.
Thy seruant Abraham sends this foolish Dittie.
Pen.
You say true introth Sir.
Abra.
Thy Seruant Abra. sends this foolish Dit
Write
Tie vnto thee, pittie both him and it.
Write
Pen.
Tie vnto thee: well, if shee do not pittie both, tis
pittie she should liue.
Abra.
But if thou still wilt poore Sir Abra: frump
Write
Come grim death come, heere giue thy mortall thumpe.
So now Ile read it together.
Oh wherefore wear'st thou Silke, yet art so cruell:
To thee thy Ninnie sends this foolish Dit—
Tie, and pittie both him and it,
Come grim death come, heere giue thy mortall thumpe.
Let mee see, who shall I get now, to set too a dumpish
Note.
In good faith I doo not know, but Nobody that is
wise, I am sure of that. It will be an excellent matter sung
to the knacking of the tongues. But to my businesse, God
saue the right Worthy and Woorshipfull Sir Abraham:
what musing and writing: oh, this loue will vndoo vs all,
and that made me preuent loue, and vndoo my selfe: but
what newes of Mistris Lucida, ha, will shee not come off,
nor cannot you come on little Abraham.
Abra.
Faith, I haue courted her, and courted her: and
she does as euerie bodie else does, laughes at all I can doo
or say.
Pen.
Laughes, why that's a signe she is pleasd; doo you
not know when a woman laughes, shees pleasd.
Ab.
I but she laughes most shamefully, & most scornfully.
Pend.
Scornfully, hang her, shees but a bable.
Abra.
Shees the fitter for my turne Sir, for they will not
sticke to say, I am a foole for all I am a Knight.
Pen.
Loue has made you witty little Nab, but what a
mad villaine art thou, a striker, a fiftieth part of Hercules,
to get one VVench with Childe, and go a wooing to another.
Abra.
With child, a good iest efaith, whom haue I got
with child.
Pen.
Why Mistris Wagtaile is with childe, and will bee
deposd as yours, she is my Kinswoman, and I wold be loth
our house should suffer any disgrace in her, if there be law
in England, which there should be, if wee may iudge by
their Consciences, or if I haue any friendes, the VVench
shall take no wrong, I cannot tell, I thinke my Lorde will
sticke to me.
Abra.
De'e heare, talke not to me of Friends, Lawe, or
Conscience, if your Kinswoman say she is with Childe by
me, your Kinswoman is an arrant whore; Vds-will, haue
Wagtaile is a whore, and Ile stand to it.
Pend.
Nay, you haue stood to it alreadie; but to call my
Cozen whore, you haue not a minde to haue your throat
cut: ha you?
Abra.
Truth no great minde Sir.
Drawes his sword.
Pen.
Recant your words, or die.
Abra.
Recant, oh base; out sword, my honor keepe,
Loue, thou hast made a Lyon of a Sheepe.
Pen.
But will you fight in this quarrell.
Abra.
I am resolu'd.
Pen.
Hart, I haue puld an olde house ouer my heade;
heeres like to bee a tall fray, I perceiue a foole's valianter
then a Knaue at all times, would I were well ridde of him,
I had as liue meet Hector God knowes, if he dare fight at
all: they are all one to mee, or to speake more modernly,
with one of the Roaring Boyes.
Abra.
Haue you done your prayers?
Pen.
Pray giue me leaue Sir, put vp an't please you: are
you sure my Cossen Wagtaile is a Whore?
Abra.
With sword in hand I do it not recant.
Pen.
VVell, it shall neuer bee saide Iacke Peudant would
venter his blood in a VVhores quarrell: but VVhore or
no VVhore, she is most desperately in Loue with you,
praises your head, your face, your nose, your eies, your
mouth; the fire of her commendations, makes the potte
of your good parts runne ouer; and to conclude, if the
whore haue you not, I thinke the Pond at Islington, will
bee her Bathing-tubbe, and giue an ende to mortall
Miserie, but if shee belye you (pray put vppe Sir:)
she is an arrant whore, and so let her go.
Abra.
Does she so loue me say you?
Pen.
Yes, yes, out of all question the whore does loue
you abhominable.
No more of these foule termes if she do loue me,
That goes by fate, I know it by my selfe,
Ile not denie but I haue dallied with her.
Pen.
I, but hang her whoore, dallying will get no Children.
Abra.
Another whore, and draw; where is the Girle.
Pen.
Condouling her misfortune in the Gallery,
Vpon the rushes, sitting all alone,
and for Sir Abrahams loue venting her mone.
Abra.
I know not what to say, Fates aboue all,
Come lets go ouer-heare her, be this true,
Welcome my Wagtayle, scornfull Luce adue.
Exit.
Pen.
One way it takes yet, tis a Fooles condition,
Whom none can loue: out of his penurie,
To catch most greedily at any wench
That giues way to his loue, or faignes her owne,
First vnto him, and so Sir Abraham now
I hope will buy the poole where I will Fish,
Thus a quicke Knaue makes a fat foole his dish.
Exit.
Enter Powts.
Powts.
I haue plaide the melancholy Asse, and partlie
the Knaue, in this last businesse, but as the Parson said that
got the wench with child, Tis done now Sir, it cannot bee
vndone, and my purse or I must smart for it.
Enter Seruant.
Ser.
Your Trunks are shipt, and rhe Tide fals out about
twelue to night.
Powts.
Ile away, this Law is like the Basiliske, to see it
first, is the death ont this night: and noble London farewell,
I will neuer see thee more, till I be knighted for my
Vertues. Let me see, when shall I returne; and yet I doo
not thinke but there are a great manie dubd for their Vertues;
otherwise how could there be so many poor knights,
what att thou? whats thy newes?
Enter Strange like a Souldier amazedly.
Stra.
Zoones, a man is faine to breake open doores,
ere he can get in to you.
Cap.
Sir you may, hee owes lesse peraduenture: or if
more, he is more able to pay't: What ar't?
Stran.
A Soldier, one that liues vpon this Buffe Ierkin,
t'was made of Fortunatus his pouch; and these are the
points I stand vpon, I am a Soldier.
Cap.
A counterfet Rogue you are.
Stra.
As true a Rogue as thy selfe: Thou wrong'st me,
send your man away, go too, I haue strange and welcome
businesse to impart, the Merchant is deade, for shame let's
walke into the fields, send away your man.
Cap.
How?
Stra.
Heere is a Letter from the lusty Kate
That tels you all, I must not giue it you
But vpon some conditions. Let vs walke,
and send away your man.
Cap.
Go Sirrha, and bespeake Supper at the Beare, and
prouide Oares, Ile see Graues-end to night.
Exit.
Stra.
The Gentlewoman will run mad after you then,
Ile tell you more, let's walke.
Exit.
| A Woman is a Weather-cocke | |