 | A Fine Companion |  |
Actvs II.
Scena I.
Spruse, Littlegood, Valeria.Spr.
But are you certaine of it?
Lit.
I oreheard it.
And seald it with her hand, and kist upon't.
You know Aurelio?
Spr.
Yes sir, was it he?
Lit.
That Begger, that undone thing.
Spr.
Let me alone
To fetch her off the quick-sands, and then Ile board her,
And steere her my selfe.
Lit.
That I were so happy
To know she lou'd you. Huswife doe you heare?
Here is a Gentleman has Land and meanes,
And wit, and beauty, more I wis then tother:
Make much of him, and what he sayes, be rul'd by him.
Spr.
Let me alone, I warrant you.
Lit.
I leaue you.
Exit Littlegood.
Spr.
Now all the powers of loue assist me in it,
To counterfeit a Passion and Dissemble.
All my delight's to foole them, and then leaue them.
I serue your women, as the Hollanders
Doe by some townes they get; when they haue wonne them,
They slight them straight. Now I addresse my selfe.
Lady how fare you? you are melancholy.
Val.
If you doe know't so well, why doe you aske me?
Spr.
Tis from the tender care I haue of you:
But an ill fate pursues my true endeavours,
To haue them still misconstrued: Tis not well done,
To lay the burthen of your cruelty
On my affection, and to make that faith,
The passiue subject of your dire disdaine,
That is so actiue in obedience.
Ual.
Pray let me counsell you.
Spr.
Counsell, whats that?
Not Phœbus with his art, or all the drugs
Of Thessaly can ease my griefe; the Sea
Knowes no such straight as I now labour in.
Val.
Why whats the matter?
Spr.
Oh my heart, my heart.
Would you would rip it up, that you might see
Your selfe enthron'd, and all my faculties
Paying their homage to your memory.
Val.
All this and more, Lovers can speake at pleasure.
Spr.
Propose a course how I might winne beliefe:
Were there a way to it, as deepe with danger,
As to the Center, I will search it out.
When I haue nothing else to doe.
Ual.
Your thoughts haue found such easie utterance,
That I suspect their truth, they seeme to savour
Of art, more then of passion. I haue heard
Great griefes are silent, neither doe I find
Those Symptomes of affection in your lookes.
You change no colour, and your ioynts are stedy.
Your eyes appeare too full of petulancie,
As if they did reflect with inward scorne,
T'upbrayd your falshood.
Spr.
Now by all my hopes,
By all the rites that crowne a happy vnion,
And by the rosie tincture of your cheeks,
And by your all subduing eyes, more bright
Then heaven.
Val.
Hold there.
Spr.
I prize you 'boue the world.
What should I say, when vowes cannot prevaile:
If you persist, and still so cruell be,
Ile sweare there's no plague like loues tyrannie.
And all this while I doe not care a pin for her.
Aside.
Ual.
I haue engagd it to your friend already.
Spr.
But loue makes no distinction.
Val.
If you say so,
I must debarre my heart the knowledge of you.
Spr.
This will not doe, I must be more lascivious.
Come my faire Venus, sit by thy Adonis.
What doe you start? are you afraid of loue,
That is all faire, and from whose brightest heaven,
Are blowne away all swolne clouds of despaire?
His brow is smooth, and all his face beset
With bankes full of delight, a golden Chaine
Of wanton smiles hangs round about his neck;
And all his way before him strew'd with roses.
Come let us sit and dally, tast those pleasures.
And yet our dainties still remaine as fresh,
As they were never toucht.
Val.
Ist come to that?
I thought whither you tended. I am unskilfull:
Vntaught in those deepe, but ill mysteries.
Spr.
Ile teach you all, and lead your wandring steps,
Through all those wayes, where to find the way
Will be to loose it.
Ual.
I am very sorry,
The times disease has so prevail'd upon you.
Tis the perfection now of complement,
The onely end to corrupt honesty.
To prostitute your oathes, and winne our hearts
To your beliefe, is the Court eloquence.
Spr.
These are harsh tunes, and ill become your beauty:
Whose proper passion should be wantonnesse.
Why should you loose the benefit of youth,
And the delights? giue freedome to your will.
When age and weakenesse mortifies your thoughts,
You may correct this loosenesse.
Val.
Sir I cannot
Heare you with safetie.
Spr.
I must dye then, I am slaine, unlesse
Those words, and smiles, that wounded me, doe heale me.
Ual.
Had I knowne that, I'd haue condemnd them both,
To silence and obscurity.
Spr.
You had then,
Rob'd nature of her best perfection,
And that had beene a sacriledge. Nay sweet,
Your beauty is a thing communicable,
And though you doe impart, you may retaine it.
Val.
Sir I haue summ'd th'accounts of all your cares,
And I doe find their number more then weight.
Things but of custome with you, and your vowes
Are but a cloud of wind, and emptinesse;
Forc'd by the storme of lust. When it is over,
And your thoughts calm'd, then you will loue that vertue,
Which as a tye and Anchor did withhold you,
From driving to destruction. So I leaue you.
Exit Ualeria.
That ever any woman should be vertuous;
I haue inclos'd a fire within my breast,
Will burne this frame of nature into cinders,
Her beauty has surpris'd mee, I am caught
In love; by this light, twere a mad jest now
If I should turne honest, and woe her so:
If shee persists, I must doe so beleeu't,
And hate my selfe, as long as I liue for it.
Well I have playd so long about the candle,
That my wings are sing'd with it, shee is honest
I see it, and that something in this age.
Out of these doubts some strange thing vvill arise,
A strong disease must have strong remedies.
Scena II.
Littlegood, Crochet.Lit.
Crochet vvhere are you?
Cro.
I am heere sir.
Lit.
Crochet you know, that I am determind to marry my
other daughter Æmilia, to old Dotario the Citizen.
Cro.
Yes sir, and then shee and I shall be both in one
predicament.
Lit.
How so man?
Cro.
Why sir, for ought that I can perceive, shee is like
to haue but a cold reversion, and thats the ordinary allowance
for men of my function, ther's not so much left of him, as
will satisfie a Ladyes appetite for once, hee is pickt to the
very bones vvith age, and diseases.
Lit.
Tis no matter so long as his purse is vvell cram'd.
Cro.
His purse that shee lookes after is lanke enough I
vvarrant it, it greiues mee to the heart, that such a young
beginner as my Mistrisse, should have no better hopes of
trading.
Lit.
Belike thou thinkst that Nature is vncharitable in
him, no he has benevolence in store for her; vvhat because he
is old, I am old my selfe, man.
Cro.
And if he vvere older, tvvere no great matter.
Lit.
If I vvere older knave?
Cro.
No sir, if he vvere older.
Lit.
Why vvhat then?
His death would the sooner make her honourable:
for hauing one foote in the bed, and the other in the grave,
if shee be rul'd by mee, 'tis but her giving him a lift, and the
next turne marry with a Lord.
Lit.
Sayst thou mee so?
Cro.
Yes sir, a Citizens wife no sooner casts her rider, but
one of your Court gallants mounts her presently.
Lit.
The knaue is very pleasant.
Cro.
Why sir, your Citizens widdows are the onely rubbish
of the kingdom, to fill vp the breaches of decayed houses.
Lit.
Whats her preferment then, Crochet?
Cro.
Why then sir, shee shall be made a Lady at the least,
and take place of her mother. Shee shall haue clyents waite
at her gates with presents, and yet haue their servile offices
passe vnregarded, shee shall mannage her husbands estate, and
advise him in his office.
Lit.
Is that all?
Cro.
No sir, shee shall haue more privileges then that, to
be as proud as shee list, and haue new wayes to expresse it,
shee shall ride vp and downe in her Litter, and haue a Coach,
and foure Horses follow after, full of Gentlemen Vshers and
waiting women.
Lit.
And yet the foolish girle will not perceiue it.
Cro.
Alas sir, though you and I haue so much wit to looke
into these things, how should my yong Mistrisse be capable of
it, when her husband that shall be is not able to put the case
to her?
Lit.
Go, fetch her hither, Ile advise my selfe.
Exit Crot.
O these perverse girles, that are led with nothing, but fancy
foolish things, and yet have wit to bee obstinate, if they
set vpon a toy, they must haue it because they are wilfull, then
they are as changeable in love as a Camelion, and thinke they
can liue by the ayre of it. They wil venter to sell their fathers
fortunes and their owne, for a nights lodging.
Scena III.
Littlegood, Æmillia, Crochet.Lit.
Come Æmilia, these showers are vnseasonable. They
will extinguish the torch, that should burne bright before thy
nuptiall; be not dismayd, you are young and so is Aurora, shee
Tithon, and lyes all night with him, and when shee rises, betrayes
with her blushes, the wanton heat of her paramour.
Æmi.
Good sir, thinke your power may command my duty,
but not my affection.
Lit.
Tempt not my patience, I would not willingly vse the
authority of a father to command, what I had rather winne
by entreaty.
Æmi.
You know sir, the inconvenience still happens to
these forc'd matches, they never come to good, and if you
compell mee to like of him, you must expect the same issue,
you shall neuer make mee any other president.
Lit.
Not when I entreat you?
Æmi.
I shall never love him.
Cro.
And you know sir, what an ominous thing it is, when
a woman does not loue her husband, shee will either cuckold
him, or poyson him, and so be burnt for a Martyr in wedlock.
Lit.
Shee must fashion her selfe to loue him, I have vndertooke
it.
Cro.
And then Ile vndertake for the tother.
Lit.
Will shee haue her liberty restrain'd? will shee renounce
my protection? shall not I dispose of her? if not, let
her vse her pleasure, betray her selfe, like her other sister to
beggery, be like Scylla, cut the purple haire of my life, and
then turne Monster, let her.
Æmi.
Oh mee, what shall I doe? would my life were a
sacrifice.
Lit.
Ile tell you what you shall doe, be advis'd; refuse not
a good offer, thinke of old Dotario, thinke how to love him,
thinke of his wealth, thinke of his honour, thinke of mee,
thinke of your selfe, thinke what will come after, if you be
stubborne.
Cro.
And what ere you think to do, say nothing Mistresse.
Lit.
Well Crochet, Ile leaue thee to perswade her whil'st I
fetch the old man to confime it
Æmi.
O my distracted thoughts, and the rash counsell
Of loue and hatred, when they are oppos'd
By avarice of parents, that confine
Their childrens fancies to there sordid mind.
Were the bright sunne their ofspring, they would joyne him,
Wee in our selues haue no part, if debard
The election of our love, and our condition
Is worse then beasts, whose will acknowledgeth
No check in that; the Turtle takes her mate
Without compulsion, and in Summers prime,
Each bird will chuse out her owne Valentine.
Cro.
Well, Mistresse you doe not apprehend the good you
may have, by marrying of an old man.
Æmi.
Prethee what good?
Cro.
First, besides the honour he shall conferr vpon you by
his age, you shall not find him so fiery, and vnruly as commonly
your youths are, and therevpon being cold of his tempter,
you may the easier mannage him.
Æmi.
Thy mirth comes importunely on my greife.
Cro.
Then you shall be his darling, and he shall dote vpon
you, aud though he striues to please you never so much, he
shall lament, that he can doe it no better, and acknowledge his
weakenesse, that he comes short of your desert, and what he
desires, and be sorry, that all he has, is too little for you.
Æmi.
I perceive it well enough Crochet.
Cro.
The onely thing that you need feare him for, is his
tongue, for they say old men are great talkers, but you'l match
that member well enough, and for any other part about him,
you'l have but little to doe withall.
Scena IIII.
Enter to them Littlegood, Dotario.Lit.
Looke you here comes the old Leacher, he lookes as
fresh as an old play new vampt, pray see how trim hee is, and
how the Authours have corrected him, how his Taylor, and
his Barber have set him forth; sure he has receiued an other
impression
Æmi.
I thinke the foole will be tedious.
Lit.
Well, now I have brought you together, heere Ile
leaue you, when lovers parly, Parents are no fitt Auditors; see
that you vse the Gentleman respectiuely, and though sir, shee
seeme coy and deny you, impute it not to perversenes but modesty.
Mayds in their first assaults consult with shame, in the
next with weakenesse. So I leave you,
Faire Mistresse, I would aske you a question, if you
please to answer me.
Æmil.
No Mistresse of yours Sir, yet if you aske nothing
but what I please to answer, you may.
Dot.
I would first demand your opinion of me.
Æmi.
Truly I have no skill to make any conjecture by the
outward appeareance, but by the Title page of your face, I
should judge you to be somewhat ancient.
Dot.
Take my word for it, the Index is false printed, if
you please to turne to the booke, you shall find no such thing
written.
Æmi.
O tis worme eaten, time has cankerd it, besides there
be so many dashes, my vnderstanding will not serve mee to
reade it, and a woman has no vse of her Clergy.
Dot.
But love has renew'd it sweete Lady, and this is another
edition.
Æmi.
How long is it since the coppy has beene alter'd?
Dot.
Let it not seeme strange to you that I have felt this
transformation, your forme has wrought a miracle vpon me,
the pulchritude of your feature, that is able to extract youth
out of age, and could make Æson young againe, without the
helpe of Medea, it has put a fire into mee, and I must impute
it neither to Herbes, nor Philtrums, but to the influence, and
power of your beauty.
Æmi.
A fire, 'tis a foolish one, that leades you without the
precinct of your gravity, I strange, a man of your judgement
should talke so preposterously.
Dot.
Why sweete Lady?
Æmi.
Sweete Lady, what a petulant word is there, for
a man of your beard? a Boy of fifteene would not have
spoke it without blushing, and ther's a smile able to turne my
stomack. I wonder you will make your selfe so ridiculous.
Cro.
If this be the best language shee can afford him,
'twere safe for mee not to heare it. I may be call'd for a
witnesse.
Dot.
Stay Crochet, whither goest thou?
Cro.
Ile come presently sir, Ile come presently.
Æmi.
Now you are alone, Ile tell you what I thinke of
you, you are an old doting foole, one that twenty yeares
sexe thou wert, worne out of all remembrance of thy
selfe, thou hast a body, that a feaver cannot heat, nor poyson
worke upon, a face more rugged then winter, thy beard
is mosse, and thy skin so hard, that the perpetuall dropping
of thy nose cannot soften it.
Dot.
These indignities are not to be endur'd, her abuses
are more monstrous, then the prodegie shee would make of
me.
Æmi.
And yet you would bee in loue forsooth, whom Cupid
with all his strength is not able to pierce, you haue not one
pore open to let in an Arrow, more need haue a cordiall to
comfort you.
Dot.
Ranke iniuries, mocke me to my teeth.
Æmi.
If you had any.
Dot.
I would your father heard you: he left no such thing
in your Commission. How dare you doe it?
Æmi.
Yes and if I marry you, Ile use you accordingly, Ile
haue no mercy on thy age, I tell you before hand, that when
it happens, it may not seeme strange to you.
Dot.
Well shee may play with the line, Ile giue her scope
enough, but when I haue her fast, Ile twitch her, and draw
her as I list to me.
Æmi.
Doe but heare what I say to you, and it shall fall out,
no Prognostication like it.
Dot.
Sure tis some fury, it cannot be a woman shee is so
impudent.
Æmi.
When I am your wife, if you are so hardy to venter
on me, your whole study shall be to please me, and yet I
will not grace it with acceptance; I will liue as your Empresse,
lye a bed, and command you, and your servants, and
you shall not dare to anger me.
Dot.
Not dare to anger you.
Æmi.
No if you doe, I will fill the house with noyse, and
deafe thee with clamours.
Dot.
Sweet heart you shall haue all content, I loue a life
these spirited wenches, that are all fire and motion, they stirre
a quicknesse in a man, infuse an activity.
Æmi.
Hee will not be put off, I must terrifie him farther:
and for your estate, you shall not meddle with it, Ile take up
Ile allow you to carry some farthings in your pouch to giue
to Beggers.
Dot.
And what will you doe with the rest sweeting?
Æmi.
For the rest, Ile spend it upon my selfe in bravery:
there shall not be a new fashion, but Ile haue it. Ile looke after
nothing else; your house shall be a mart for all trades. Ile
keepe twenty continually at worke for me; as Taylors, Perfumers,
Painters, Apothecaries, Coach-makers, Sempsters, and
Tire-women. Besides Embroyderers, and Pensions for intelligencers.
Dot.
Shee'l waste all I haue in a moneth: the expences of
an Army will not maintaine her.
Æmi.
Besides, I will haue acquaintance with all the Ladies
in Court, and entertaine them with banquets, yet for all
that I will make my complaint of you to them, traduce your
infirmities, and they shall conspire against you, and pitty mee.
Dot.
I had rather bee under twenty Executions, then the
lash of their tongue.
Æmi.
Then you shall kisse mee very seldome, and when I
vouchsafe you the favour: and you shall doe it not as a husband,
but as a father, not a smacke of lasciviousnesse.
Dot.
What a sanctified creature shall I enioy?
Æmi.
I will lye with you the first yeare once a moneth, as
a Parson vses to instruct his Cure, and yet not bee question'd
for neglect, or non residence: marry the next yeare, if you
liue so long, once a quarter shall suffice you.
Dot.
The next yeare if I liue so long? shee thinkes of my
death already.
Æmi.
These are the least of your evils. I will haue one to
cuckold you, and you shall take it for a curtesie, and use him
the kindlier for it.
Dot.
Oh me, I can endure it no longer, that word strikes
cold to my heart: were I an enemy, and shee had vanquisht
mee, I would not yield to such Articles. Ile propose these
conditions to her father, and see if hee will allow them in all
conscience to be reasonable.
Æmi.
Master Carelesse promis'd to bee here instantly. Ile
tell him what a fine youth he has to his Vncle.
Car.
Here is the Gulph that swallowes all my Land:
And to this desperate Whirlepit am I reeling.
And there's the smooth streame that must guide me to it.
Were I as provident, as was Ulisses,
That Syren there might sing me to my ruine.
Saue you faire Lady.
Æmi.
Saue you Master Carelesse.
Car.
Will you heare me speake any wise sentences?
I am now as discreet in my conceit,
As the seven Sophyes of Greece, I am full
Of Oracles, I am come from Apollo,
Would he had lent me his Tripos to stand upon;
For my two legges can hardly carry me.
Æmi.
Whence come you, from Apollo!
Car.
From the heaven
Of my delight, where the boone Delphicke God,
Drinkes sacke, and keepes his Bacchanalias,
And has his incense, and his Altars smoaking,
And speakes in sparkeling prophesies; thence doe I come.
My braines perfum'd with the rich Indian vapour,
And heightned with conceits: from tempting beauties,
From dainty Musicke and Poeticke straines,
From bowles of Nectar, and Ambrosiacke dishes:
From witty Varlets, fine Companions,
And from a mighty continent of pleasure,
Sayles thy braue Carelesse. Where's your father Lady?
Æmi.
I thought I had beene worthy salutation.
Car.
These Ceremonies are abolisht with me.
I kisse none but my Punke, but in this humour,
Ile kisse any body. Ile marry thee;
But not a penny joynture.
Æmi.
Where I loue,
I will not stand upon conditions.
Car.
I would accept this invitation,
But thy father is a Vsurer, a Iew.
And if I marry in his tribe I shall thriue,
And I hate thriving. I am come to morgage,
To pawne, or sell Lady.
Æmi.
Doe you want money?
Doe I want money? let me conster this.
Tis a good promising question, and requires
A sober politicke answer, yes I want money.
Æmi.
I haue not ready coyne; but there's a jewell
Will fetch you twenty pound.
Car.
But doe you dare trust me?
Æmi.
I giue it freely.
Car.
Then I say thy father,
In getting thee has redeemed all his sinne.
She has confirm'd my loue, and I will marry her.
Let me survay it well, tis an Amethist.
Æmi.
Why doe you aske?
Æmi.
Because they say that stone
Has secret vertue in it to recover,
A man that's intoxicated, and I doe find
That I am not so drunke, as I was.
Æmi.
O Master Carelesse here has beene your Vncle
A woing to me.
Car.
What that peece of stockfish,
That has kept Lent thus long, would haue young flesh now.
Æmi.
If hee could get it.
Car.
Tis such a ranke Goat.
Æmi.
I made such sport with him, and terrified him, how I
would use him if I were his wife,
That he is frighted hence.
Car.
Tis well done of you, he upbrayded me to
That he would marry, but Ile crosse his worship.
Wee'll vexe him ten times worse yet, I haue plots
Maturing in my head, shall crowne thy wit,
And make him desperate, that he shall dye,
And leaue us nothing. I would not be troubled,
With any of his wealth, no not so much,
As to mourne for him, but I cannot stand
Now to relate it. Come Æmilia.
I haue declar'd my mind, but when ile doe it,
Ile in, and sleepe, and dreame upon't, and tell thee.
Scena. VI.
Enter Littlegood, Mistresse Fondling.Fond.
Bring me to that, and ile yield to any thing.
Nay, good wife heare me.
Fond.
You shall pardon me: he is my sonne I hope, as well
as yours, and he shall bee fashion'd after my humour: why,
should you thinke to hinder my prospect from looking to
him? I say he shall ranke with the best, spend his money and
learne breeding.
Lit.
Doe, make a Gallant of him or a Gull, either will
serue, he may ride up and downe, and haue his Coach waite
for him at Playes and Tavernes, take up upon trust, consort
with wits and sword-men, bee afraid of Sergeants, and spend
more for his Protection then would pay the debt: he may be
a Stickler for quarrels, and compound them at his owne
charge: reele every night to his lodging, and be visited in the
morning with borrowing Letters, dice at Ordinaries, and lend
on all hands.: seale at all houres, or be beaten to it. These are
gifts in a sonne, beyond art or nature, for a father to be proud
of, or else he may runne away with all he can get, and when
tis gone, lye at a neighbours house till his peace be made.
Fond.
No you shall keepe him still at home with you; he
shall not dare to enlarge his Charter, to haue any more wit
then his father, let him sit in the shop with nere a paire of
cuffs on his hands, and play at Fox and Geese with the foreman,
entertaine customers, with a discourse as moatheaten as
your cloath, and not be able to looke upon a Lady, but court
some silly creature of his owne tribe, with speeches out of
bookes, ten times worse then any remnant; and after supper
steale abroad and be drunke in feare, this you can be content
with. Well, when he was a child, it was the prettiest talking
thing, and the wittiest withall, the neighbours tooke such
delight to heare it. There was a good Knight lay in my house
then was so kind to him, but you nere knew the reason, since
you haue cleane marr'd him that's apparant.
Lit.
Ile doe any thing wise that you will haue me.
Fond.
Yes when tis too late; and the custome of rusticity
is growne into an other nature with him, when his mind is
setled upon the Lees of it, and the edge of his humour quite
taken off, when learning has brought downe his spirit, then
you'l repent his restraint; has he not a pretty ingenuity?
Lit.
So much the worse, when tis corrupted: marke mee
what I say, giue him the reines, and if Fidlers sleepe in a
on a stall in peace, or wenches walke the streets for him (if he
be like his father) nere credit me againe.
Fond.
So much the better, I would haue it so, giue him
meanes to performe it, shew your selfe a loving father, and
be true in your prophesie.
Lit.
I must yield to her for my quietnesse sake, was ever
man thus tyed to a Chymera, thus vext with that should bee
his happinesse. I haue married with tumult, and begot my
affliction, not one of my generation will be rul'd; and for
my wife, shee has a tongue will runne post sixteene stages together,
and nere tire for it; with that she can worke me to any
agreement. Well take your sonne to your charge, doe what
you list with him: but for the wenches, Ile either chuse
them husbands, or else they shall trudge without any other
Dowry, then what nature has bestowed on them, that's certaine.
Fond.
Within there, call your young Master hither Crotchet,
hee has beene all this day at his study, makes the boy
mopish with his scholership, for want of better exercise; as
revelling, courting, feasting, and the like, he stands plodding
and musing as if his eyes turn'd with a wire, it has poysond
his very complexion, he is growne sallow with it, I know not
what would become of him, if I did not sometimes put money
in his purse, and send him abroad, to sinne for his recreation.
Lit.
Sweet wife be pacified.
Fond.
No, Ile teach you what tis to anger a woman that
brought a Dowry with her.
See what a Picture of formality you haue made of him,
come hither sonne Lackwit, what booke haue you there?
Lack.
This is a booke of Heraldry forsooth, and I doe
find by this booke that the Lackwits are a very ancient name,
and of large extent, and come of as good a Pedegree, as any
is in the Citie; besides they haue often matcht themselues
into very great families, and can quarter their Armes, I will
not say with Lords, but with Squiers, Knights, Aldermen, and
the like, and can boast their descent to be as generous, as any
of the Lafooles, or the Iohn Dawes whatsoever.
What be the Armes sonne?
Lack.
The Lackwits Armes, why they are three Asses rampant,
with their eares prickant, in a field Or, and a Rams head
for their crest, that's the Armes.
Fond.
Well said sonne, stand for the credit of the house.
Lack.
Nay, I will uphold it besides, though my father be
a Citizen, yet I am a Gentlemans sonne by the mothers side.
Fond.
I that he is ile be sworne, the Fondlings are as good
Gentlemen, as any be in the Citie, the boy has a Parlous head,
how should he find out this I marvaile?
Lack.
Find it out, as if I were such a foole, I did not
know my owne Coat.
Fond.
Yet husband, I never saw you weare one in my life.
Lit.
Not a fooles coate, but I shall haue one of your
Spinning very shortly.
Lack.
Ile tell you father if I list now; I can goe twenty
degrees backe like a crab, to find out the tracke of our gentility.
Fond.
Loe you there, can you bee content thou man perverse
to all reason, having a sonne of so large and prosperous
hopes, that might stand up the glory of his kindred, of such
pregnancie of wit and understanding, so rich in the qualities
that can beare up a Gentleman, to let him sinke, and not cherish
him with those helpes that might advance his gallantry.
You haue had your florishing season, and are now withered,
your blossomes of beauty are blowne off & therefore must be
content out of that dry stalke to afford some sap to maintaine
his succession; pray how many young Gentlemen haue you in
this Towne, that goe in plush, and their fathers to plow in
the countrey? shall we haue worse Presidents in the Citie?
impart I say, and giue him twenty peeces, and when they are
gone giue him twenty more.
Lit.
What to doe?
Fond.
Will you disparadge him, as if he knew not what
to doe with it? doe you thinke that Fencers, Dancers, Horsematches
(Ile haue him verst in all these, and omit nothing
that may demonstrate his breeding;) besides Mistresses, and
implements that belong to them require, nothing?
Lit.
Was ever any mother in this humour? that should reclaime
her sonne from his ill courses, to animate him, and supply
then repent; here hold, there's twenty peeces, I am sure all
throwne away, they are in a consumption already, and will
be dead, and drawne out by to morrow. What thinkest thou
Crotchet?
Crot.
Nay sir they are condemn'd, that's certaine, you haue
past your iudgement upon them, and my young Master must
execute it.
Lit.
I giue it lost Crotchet, I giue it lost; but stay, my
daughters; I had need haue Argus eyes to looke about mee,
or the Dragons that watcht the Hesperides: I am beset on all
hands; my daughters are wily, my wife wilfull, my sonne I
know not what, with the feare of my money, doe so distract
me, that my wits are disioynted amongst them, all the remainder
of my hopes is, if Valeria haue prooved tractable to Mr.
Spruse, and that Dotario has received comfort in his Æmilia.
I labour with expectation till I goe in, and be delivered.
Fon.
Stay husband, Ile go with you: but harke you son Lackwit,
doe you know to what purpose this gold was given you?
Lack.
To no purpose at all, but I know, what I purpose to
doe with it.
Fond.
What ist?
Lack.
I purpose to make a medicine of it.
Fond.
A medicine.
Lac.
Yes I will dissolue it into Aurum potabile, and drinke
nothing but healths with it.
Fond.
Then you are right.
Lac.
Nay I will domineer, and haue my humors about me
too.
Fond.
Doe any thing, for the improuement of your
discipline. Come Crotchet.
Lac.
Stay Crotchet, doe you perceiue nothing? you dull
animall looke here.
Cro.
I sir, I hope you meane to giue me one, or two of them.
Lac.
No, I will not giue, nor lend a friend a penny, there's
no such confutation of a mans being a Gentleman; but when
I am drunke, and haue my wine and my whores about me, Ile
spend twenty or thirty shillings upon you, but I will not giue
you a penny Crotchet.
Crot.
Then farewell sir.
Lac.
You know where to come to me, you shall find me in
my pontificalibus.
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