 | A Fine Companion |  |
Actvs III.
Scena I.
Æmilia, Ualeria.Æmi.
Come sister, though our liberty be straightned,
Our mind stands free, without compulsion,
There's none can make a rape upon our will.
Well if they understood a woman truely,
They would not seeke to curbe so, whose nature
Rejoyces like a torrent, to make way
Spight of impediments. Now if their wisedome
Should let us alone, we might perhaps our selues
Find out the inconvenience, and prevent it,
Which they like a false perspectiue would seeke,
To multiply upon us.
Val.
I shall never
Recall that faith, which I haue plighted once
To my Aurelio. Ile runne all hazards,
And violent attempts, to throw my selfe
Into his armes.
Æmi.
I would not haue you leaue him,
Nor yet turne desperate. Now would I rather
Get him by some devise, I loue a witty
And an ingenuous tricke aboue my life:
And should take more delight to over-reach them,
Then to enjoy my purpose.
Val.
But I dare not
Play with my fortune so, nor trust adventures,
If Fate would be so gratious to present
An opportunity.
Æmi.
Come feare it not.
You see what a man they would put upon me,
Might be my father. H'has lesse vigour in him,
Then any Catamite. There's not reseru'd
So much as one masculine graine in him.
A fellow that's as bald, as a Lookinglasse,
And whose diseases are beyond Arithmeticke:
Not a joynt of him free, a gowty numnesse
The stiffenesse he has left: and were I married
I must spend all my life in rubbing of him
With hot wollen cloaths, and applying Plaisters,
And Cataplasmes, and trenchers to his belly;
Must undergoe the person of a Chirurgion,
Not of a wife: and yet I am not terrified:
It moues me not, I make a jeast of it;
Because I meane t'abuse them all, and chuse
Where I like best.
Ual.
It is a happy spirit,
That rules in you, I would I had one like it.
Æmi.
Like me; thou hast not studied thy selfe so well:
Nor hast that season of thy mother in thee.
Obserue her fashions, take example by them:
Although her husband be penurious,
Hard as the mettle, that he dotes upon.
Yet she can make him mallemable, and worke him,
And turne, and hammer him, and wire-draw him,
And rule him with as much correction,
As one would wish to governe. For my part;
When I haue stretcht my braines, made all the shifts,
The wit of woman can be pregnant of.
And shew'd my loue by such experience,
As shall outstrip beliefe, all for his sake
That shall enioy me, which is Master Carelesse.
And when he has me, if hee shall presume,
On former passages of my affection,
To oversway me in the least desire,
To contradict, and tempt my patience,
Ile shake off all obedience, and forget it.
Ile slight him, yet prevaile.
Ual.
Alasse my heart is
Tender, and violable with the least weapons,
Sorrow can dart at me.
Æmi.
You are a foole,
And every one that will can make you so:
When was your sweet heart Master Spruse here with you?
Ual.
But lately, and presented such a Scene
Of protestations, and then varied it,
Were interwoven with such subtle threads,
That I could scarce distinguish them.
Æmi.
Take heed,
What ere he speakes, it tends but to corrupt you,
I'de ioyne commerce of language with a Sphinx,
Ere I'de daigne to answer him. Master Carelesse
Told me his humours, seemes he boasted of it,
He gaue his character, the most perfideous,
And loue abusing creature in the world;
That all his vowes were treacherous: his smiles,
His words, and actions, like small Rivulets,
Through twenty turnings of loose passions,
At last would runne to the dead sea of sinne.
Val.
What ere he sayes, I resolue nere to trust him.
Æmi.
Bee wise, and constant, and then governe fate:
And in the interim, how ere matters fall,
Wee'l find a tricke wench, how to cheat them all.
Scena. II.
Valeria, Æmilia, Spruse.Val.
See here he comes againe.
Spr.
I come sweet Lady,
To reare the trophies of your conquest up.
And yield my selfe the greatest.
Val.
What's the matter?
Spr.
Your lookes haue tane me prisoner. I am captiu'd,
Bound with the golden chaine of your loose haire,
And on your frownes depends my destiny.
Val.
Tis about the old matter; you may saue
This labour or goe seeke some new devise.
In faith these stale exordiums can not take me.
Val.
Indeed my sister, and I, know you well enough.
Spr.
But Lady since my change you doe not know me.
I am now Metamorphis'd, and that fancy
That roved, and was rebellious, by her power
Is brought within command.
Val.
I so you told me.
Spr.
Here I present a sad oblation.
And burnes before your beauties diety.
Offer'd vp with as much deuotion,
As ever true loue sacrifised any.
Val.
Well you may jest with mortalls, but I am not
So blind, but I can see through all your mists:
Were I a goddesse, as you terme mee one,
Sister to Phœbus, or armd like Minirva.
I would transforme you straight; and fix you vp
A monument, for your Hypocrisy.
Spr.
Now by that sacred shrine, brighter then Venus.
To whom I pay my Orizons: that forme
That faire Idea, that rules all my thoughts,
Thy selfe I meane, that spotlesse seat of pleasure:
The continent of all perfection,
This spring of loue, that issues from my soule.
Runnes in a streame as pure, as are your vertues,
Full fraught with zeale, immaculate and free
From all adulterate mixtures.
Ual.
On my life.
I can not frame mee to beleeue one word.
Æmi.
Hold thy owne there wench, and I warrant thee.
Spr.
Phœbus, how haue I anger'd thee, to lay
Cassandra's curse on mee that was not trusted:
When shee spake true and most prophetically?
Æmi.
Sir, he that is accustom'd to deceiue.
Gaines this reward by it when he speakes truth,
Not to be credited.
Spr.
Observe mee Lady.
And marke the harmony, does it not sound
Vpon the string; as if my heart kept touch?
Val.
And so it sounded first to the same tune.
Spr.
That was ill sett, this is a different passion.
Val.
But 'tis all shew; and nothing serious.
Spr.
You can not judge by former evidence.
It is no fitt proofe to confirme this motion,
This is a true text, that a false glosse of it.
Val.
But I shall never so interpret it.
Spr.
What can I say more, then to sware I loue you.
Ual.
But should you now dissolve your eyes to teares,
And every gesture, every motion in you,
An Hierogliphicke to comend that loue:
Had you the spells of it, and magicke charmes
Set round about the circle of your armes,
To draw mee to you, I would seale my eares,
Deafe as the sea, to shiprack't marriners:
And so I leave you to your better fortunes.
Exunt Ualeria, Æmilia.
Valeria looses her ring in a paper.
Spr.
Am I despis'd, and slighted? foolish girle,
Th'hast lost thy selfe, that which is best in nature,
Turnes to the worst corruption, my scorn'd loue
Shall now convert to hatred. Tis decreed,
Fraud and revenge shall be my counsellors;
Whats heere, a ring? shee lost it now. I know it,
The same Aurelio, wont to weare on's finger;
He sent it as a gift, 'tis so, the poesy.
In loue I write
All my griefe, all my delight.
The very same. Were I best poyson it,
And send it backe to her? No, it shall serve
To poyson her good name; there's no foule fact,
That Love, when it is injur'd, dares not act.
Exit.
Scena III.
Aurelio, Fido.Aur.
Come honest Fido, thy best love supplys,
Part of my hoped fortunes. Thats true freindship,
Misery cannot shake, which crownes thy merit.
Fid.
Sir, could my power produce forth any thing
Worthy your acceptation, or my service,
I would with hazard of my life performe it.
So much I owe your vertues, so much pitty
Your injuryes; but this poore taske so easy,
Consisting more of pollicie, then danger,
Giues not my loue an equall testimony.
Aur.
You could not doe an office more deserving,
Or gratefull to my soule, then to bring tidings
Hovv my love fares, each syllable shee spake,
Is able to inspire new life into mee.
How do's shee? is shee well? and mindfull of us:
Speake it a thousand times; never did sound
Touch a more gladsome eare.
Fid.
By all curcumstance
I could conjecture, I read in her lookes
A strange disturbance. When I gaue the ring,
A Letter to her, as if joy and feare,
Had runne on seuerall arrants, and return'd,
Swift as her thoughts, and spoke her loue in silence.
Aur.
Th'hast seene the treasury of my happinesse.
Speake, am I rich or no?
Fid.
Shee is a Mine,
A store-house of all beauty, all content:
Her brow a banke of pleasure; her bright eyes
The cheese and onely moouer of your loue,
So multiplyed their flames, that they appear'd
To mee most like a firmament of fires,
Yet chaster then the Vestall; and below
Clouded with sorrow, which dropt pearles for you,
And do's inclose a soule richer then it,
Wherein is lockt the wardrope of all vertues;
Yet sure that soule had left her mansion,
But that shee stayes to bid you wellcome thither.
Aur.
And why should I be staid from going to her?
Why should a couetuous eye watch ore that wealth
That is my right, I will goe claime my due,
And justifie the seisure. Why should parents,
That can giue to their children, neither mindes,
Nor yet affections, striue to governe both?
'Tis not justice: yet where should I complaine?
Loue has no barre to pleade at, nor no lawes
To rule vs by, nor Court to judge our cause.
Scena IIII.
Enter Captaine Whibble.Aur.
Whats he that interrupts our quiet sorrow?
Fid.
Sir, this is Captain Whibble, the Towne stale,
Of a new sect: none of your soothing Varletts,
But a swearing Sycophant, that frights a man
Into a beliefe of his worth; his Dialect
Is worse then the report of a Cannon,
And deafes a stranger with tales of his valour,
Till his conclusion be to borrow money.
His company is a Cipher in the reckoning,
'That helpes to multiply it: your deare brother
Admires his discipline, and will sweare to it.
Aur.
Is this one of his comrades?
Fid.
Sir, this is
His prime associate. Ile lay a hundred pound,
I guesse by his physiognomy his businesse,
Hee is either trudging now vnto a broaker,
Or to invite some new heire to a breakefast,
To seale for the commodity; or else
Wandring abroad to skelder for a shilling
Amongst your bowling alleyes; most commonly
There lyes his scene: or perhapps man some whore,
A province that he vsually adornes.
Aur.
Prethee good Fido, goe and baffull him:
Put an affront vpon him, if his valour
Prompt him to make resistance, Ile step out
And second thee.
Fid.
His valour? 'tis the least
Thing to be fear'd, he has not one sparke in him
To kindle a true anger.
Fido instles him
Cap.
Sulphur of Styx,
Can you not see? Death where be your eyes?
You'd haue me wash them in the chanell, would you?
Fid.
Yes very faine sir, if you durst attempt it.
Cap.
Heart, doe you stemme mee? and he had a beake
He might have split mee: body of Iupiter,
He ranne mee athwart the midships. Spirit of fury,
I thinke that he has sprung a planke in mee.
Fid.
Then you may lye by the Lee, and mend it.
Horrour of man, lay a Captaine aboard.
A man of warre, and not cry amaine to him?
Fid.
How, you a Captaine? I rather beleeue
That you are one of those that vpon service,
Were seene to carry Tomkins in your Gunnes,
And made a shift to discharge a league of:
Was it not so? that might take vp your bullet,
And shoote againe, and doe no hurt with it,
You a man of warre?
Cap.
S'life doe you question it?
Ile tell thee Slaue to thy astonishment,
I haue bene stil'd, the rocke of Pirats, I;
I haue plowd vp the Sea, till Bosphorus
Has worshipt me; I haue shot all the Gulphes,
And seene the navell of the world, you stinkard.
Fid.
How slaue, and stinkard, since you are so stout,
I will see your Commission ere I part.
Cap.
Strength of my braines, see my Commission?
Ile blow thee up like a deck. Sonne of Neptune,
Off or ile fire thee.
Fid.
I am grapled with you,
And will hang by your side, till you be calmer,
And be so, or Ile lay my trident on you.
Come to your tacklings.
Cap.
Tis a bold actiue boy,
I see there's nothing to be got but knocks by him.
Giue me thy hand old Rover, hoise up thy top Sayle,
And goe in peace.
Fid.
Sir this will not appease me,
I must haue satisfaction.
Cap.
Reach me thy fist,
And be reconcil'd: what thou dost not know me:
Though I am valiant, yet tis out of the road
Of my humour, to disgrace any man.
Fid.
This will not satisfie me.
Cap.
I say againe,
Giue me thy wrist. Know me, and my lodging;
Ile giue thee a Supper: there's a good plumpe wench,
My Hostesse, a watermans widdow at the signe
Fid.
But I must haue you leaue your swearing first,
And be temperate.
Cap.
Heare me honest Trojan.
As I am vertuous, as I loue my friends,
That I may sweare.
Fid.
No, not as you are vertuous.
Cap.
Why then on my word, ile giue thee a supper.
What? I will not offend thee my good drumsticke;
Ile conforme my selfe, come to me at night,
And ile be as good as my word, old Bracer.
Fid.
But if I come, and loose my labour, what followes?
Cap.
Then Teucer, in pure zeale and verity,
Fid.
Ile belabour you the next time I meet you.
Cap.
What Scufler, dost thou thinke ile faile my friends?
No Hector I scorne it. Ile pawne my cloake first.
Farewell Actorides.
Exit Captaine.
Enter Aurelio.
Aur.
What is he gone?
Fid.
I, and as glad he has escapt from me,
As from the Syrtes.
Aur.
How he bore it out
With impudence?
Fid.
Yes did you obserue him?
There's nothing can discountenance him, still
This is his posture, he were excellent,
To venter at a Lottery.
Aur.
Why mischiefe?
Fid.
I doe not thinke he would ever draw a blank.
Aur.
We must pursue the project. Sup with him
At any hand.
Fid.
The jest is behind to see,
In what a miserable perplexity,
He will be put to entertaine us.
Aur.
Come.
Exeunt.
Scena. V.
Dotario, Littlegood, Æmilia.Dot.
You know father, for I must still call you so, how you
Lit.
Yes marry did I: and to shew a double dutie, as might
suite with the reverence of your age, and honour of her husband.
Dot.
Well, and as soone as you were gone, she had no more
regard to mee, then if I had beene an old horse, or an old Servingman.
Lit.
Why tis impossible shee should transgresse in such a
high poynt of humanity.
Dot.
Else there was some fury in her shape that did so.
I am sure she shapt me out to bee the ridiculousest old asse in
Europe.
Lit.
Her modesty would not permit it in her.
Dot.
If my words haue any weight in them; she set as
light by me, as by the least feather in her Fanne.
Lit.
Why is this true Æmilia?
Æmi.
No indeed sir.
Dot.
How no indeed; doe you deny it? O palpable, shee
reckond up a whole Catalogue of abuses, and malicious practises,
that she would assault me with, if I were her husband,
the least of which were aboue all patience.
Æmi.
Doe you thinke sir, if I intended any such thing, I
would haue forewarned you?
Lit.
No tis not likely.
Dot.
That you had but heard the disgrace she put upon me,
in calumniating the vigour, and ability of my person.
Lit.
I cannot beleeue it.
Dot.
And then terrified me, that the wind of her humour
should be still against me, to crosse me in every thing I desired,
yet the course of my destiny should be more impetuous then
before.
Æmi.
The old Gentleman did but dreame so.
Dot.
Nay more, she said I was an old dry stumpe, that had
not the least drop of moisture in me, yet by the vertue of her
humidity, shee would make my temples so supple, that they
should sprout, and bud a fresh.
Lit.
Come she would not say so.
Dot.
Yes, and that all my estate should bee too little, to
maintaine her in prodigality, and invite acquaintance.
Alasse good Gentleman, I told him how other women
vsed their husbands, but I would conforme my selfe to
obedience.
Lit.
I, that you might know what a blessing you had in her.
Dot.
Oh was it so? I cry you mercy, I mistooke you.
Here take this Pearle for amends; I am sorry I haue sinned
against so sweet a simplicity.
Lit.
Come I knew you were in an error.
Dot.
Then to avoyd all cavillation hereafter, see what I
haue provided.
Lit.
What haue you there?
Dot.
I haue here a Syngtaphus, a writing with articles, that
must be drawn between us, before there can be any copulation.
Lit.
Wherefore did you so?
Dot.
Looke you sir, I was in a little suspense of her behaviour,
and therefore in relation of that, which I thought she
objected, yet has since proved to be otherwise: notwithstanding
these rules, which may so much conduce to my happinesse,
and haue beene so much advis'd upon with deliberation,
I would haue establish't.
Lit.
Pray lets heare them.
Dot.
They are onely some few propositions, and exceptions
to bee observed on her behalfe, for the better security of
my quiet, when I shall be married to her.
Lit.
Now I conceiue you, reade them out.
Dot.
First, that after Hymen has once joyned us together,
she shall admit of no man whatsoever, to intitle him with any
suspitious name of friend, or servant: doe you marke me.
Lit.
Well proceed.
Dot.
Next, if any of her old acquaintance come to visit
her, as Nurses, Midwifes, and the like, creatures of secresie,
she shall returne them word, she is not within, or otherwise
accommodated.
Lit.
Very good.
Dot.
Ile haue it written so upon the doores.
Lit.
You may perceiue by her silence, shee will consent to
any thing.
Dot.
Then to avoyd all occasions of writing Epistles, she
shall receiue none, nor haue any Paper, Pen, Inke, or Waxe in
her closet.
Lit.
That's somewhat hard.
Shee shall not haue any masculine bawdy Picture
hang in her Chamber, but shall take it downe, and sell it away
as a thing unprofitable, and an inticement of phantasie.
Lit.
That in my conceit is very reasonable.
Dot.
She shall bid no man to dinner, but I will invite them,
and when they are set, shee shall not cast amorous glances upon
them, nor drinke to them, nor licke her lips at them, nor
shew her teeth when she laughs, nor her tongue when shee
sneezes.
Lit.
For all these, ile engage my selfe.
Dot.
Besides, she shall not take upon her, to contrary me
in any thing, nor seeme more or lesse wise then my selfe.
Lit.
That's not much amisse neither.
Dot.
Shee shall send no Hierogliphicks, nor meate cut in
Characters, nor tread upon any mans foote under the Table,
nor when they are risen, giue them her hand to kisse, or open
her palme to haue her fortune told her, nor yet shew them her
ring, or receiue any of theirs, and read the poesies.
Lit.
Is this all?
Dot.
She shall know no lauguage but her owne, nor speake
any equivocating word.
Lit.
In my mind now these lawes are very consonant to a
good disposition, and if I were to marry my selfe, I'de propose
the like.
Dot.
And for her religion, she may pray to any innocent
goddesse, as Diana and the graces, but if she haue any thing
to say to Mars, Mercury, or Apollo, she shall acquaint mee
with it, and I will present her devotions.
Lit.
Haue you done now?
Dot.
Last of all, when she is ready to goe to bed, she shall
not put out the candle to walke up and downe in her smocke,
and shake her body in the darke, and if she be content, I take
her as my owne.
Lit.
All these she shall subscribe to, if shee be my daughter.
Dot.
Why then weele proceed to the Church:
Lit.
Are you agreed or no?
Æmi.
Pray let me speake one word with him in private.
Dot.
Yes what you please sweet Lady, it is granted; were
it a hundred pound to buy pins and petticoats.
Tis not a thing Sir, of that deare expense:
Though you were pleasd to tax me for that crime,
'Tis onely this, time was, I could not loue you;
Though reason since, has rectified my iudgement,
And clear'd my eyes, that I can see my good.
Then I confesse I made a solemne oath,
None should enioy my loue; but he that durst
Attempt to steale mee; this is not intended,
For any perill to you, but for safeguard
Of my first vow, which I must needs performe.
Now if you please to come at a set houre,
None but your selfe, and fetch mee, I will yeeld
To goe with you, whither you shall command.
Dot.
'Tis done bright Hellen, I will be thy Paris,
And fetch thee, though thou wer't at Lacedemon,
And care not a pinne, for all the power of Greece.
Lit.
What are you agreed?
Dot.
Yes, wee are both agreed.
Some few ceremonies, and then wee haue finish.
Exunt.
Scena VI.
Aurelio Fido.Aur.
Fido, I am now advis'd vpon a plot,
If it succeed, shall crowne my invention.
Fid.
Something about the Captaine.
Aur.
Hang him Kastrill.
I scorne to loose a thought on him; my braines
Repine at his memory. Tis a new deuise,
The issue of extremity. Tis thus,
I will turne a desperate Gamester in loue,
And venter all vpon one cast.
Fid.
Take heed sir,
There may be plots, but little policy,
Fortune and loue, are insolent, and ticklish.
Aur.
Come Ile doe it. Ile send thee with a letter
Vnto my Mistresse, that shall make her mad.
How, make her mad, what doe you expect from
that: what can you gaine by the losse of her wits?
Aur.
I shall gaine my desire.
Fido.
And doe you prize
The satisfying of a lewd desire
So much, to rob your Mistris of her senses?
Can you accuse her of inconstancy?
Or taxe her of dishonesty? Or will you
Prove false to her? what miscief do you intend?
What hopes can you conceive, that may secure
So great a sinne from Heavens just punishment?
Have you a drug or incantation,
And thinke to make her senselesse of her griefe,
With the privation of her understanding?
Aur.
Not any of these.
Fido.
If you doe, you must imploy
Some other messenger. Let me advise you
Keep her in her right mind while you have her:
Love of it selfe is an illusive spirit,
And will enough distract her without helpe.
Aur.
She shall seeme mad but in appearance Fido;
And with that feigned frenzy move a pitty
From all, that must impute it to her sufferings.
Fid.
Twere a mad jest: but is this all your plot?
Aur.
No, this is not the maine one, theres another
Of greater consequence, and secrecy,
For a sound mind to beare, and tis a burthen
Worthy thy care and honesty: Thinke not
I am so desperate and heady, to launch forth
Into those dangerous Seas without a Pilote,
And I have chose thee for my Palinurus.
Fid.
You never knew a man of lesse experience,
I doe not kenne one Rocke, or Shelfe, and Love
Has many.
Aur.
Tis no matter, thou and I
Will sinke a Pæan to loves victory.
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