 | A Fine Companion |  |
Actvs V.
Scena I.
Lackwit with a Head-piece and a long sword, Crochet, Carelesse disguised like Dotario.Lack.
How doe I looke now Crochet?
Cro.
Very dreadfully: like a Citizen in a fray, as feare
full as Priapus in a garden.
Lack.
Well, and thou art sure there is but one of them, and
Cro.
Yes sir, and this is the old Gentleman himselfe, and
somebody has stole away his habite to abuse him.
Lack.
That man that has done so shall thinke of me and
this place as long as he lives for it: Goe and give warning
Crochet, that no man withstand me, unlesse he be weary of
his life.
Cro.
If any man be so hardy, let him take his chance.
Lack.
Let him expect my fury Crochet. I will batter any
man that shall come neere me, my fist is like a Sling, my head
like a Ram, and my whole body an Engine, and I will make
any man toothlesse that shall offend me.
Cro.
Then you will make his mouth as unserviceable as
your fathers gumm'd velvet.
Lack.
I long to exercise my puissance: thou art sure there
is but one of them? stand by a little, and let me flourish with
my sword, to animate my spirits; now whatsoever hee is,
that comes in my way, I pronounce him to be a miserable
mortall.
Crochet pulls out 3 or 4 Napkins.
What hast thou there Crochet.
Cro.
I imagin'd there would be a great deale of blood spilt
in the skirmish, and so I brought these to wipe the wounds,
nothing else sir: looke you here they come.
Enter Dotario, Æmilia.
Lack.
Give by Crochet, till I question them: it behooves
a wise man to deal with words, before he descend to blowes:
what arrant knight are you sir? and whither doe you travell
with that Damosell?
Cro.
Presse that point home.
Dot.
O brother Lackwit, how came you so accoutred? or
were you set here for a watch-man to guard us?
Lack.
No sir, I doe not guard, nor regard any man, and
yet Ile stand upon my guard, and this is the poynt Ile maintaine.
Dot.
What doe you meane brother Lackwit?
Lack.
How, I your brother? No, I scorne to have affiance
with such a conny-catcher: you sir Nessus, deliver
Dot.
I am going to marry her, my name is Dotario, and
this is your sister Æmilia.
Lack.
I, she is my sister, but you are a counterfeit, and
have stolne her away.
Cro.
Seize her for fellons goods, she belongs to the Lord
of the soyle.
Lack.
Thou villaine, dost thou not know, if I were dead,
and her other sister, she would be next heire, and then thou
mightst be hangd for her?
Dot.
But I had her consent, and her fathers, my name is
Dotario your neighbour, that have fed you with custard and
apple-pie a hundred times.
Lack.
I, this Gentleman has, but you have abus'd him, and
tooke his wrong name upon you.
Dot.
I am the same.
Cro.
He lyes, beat him for lying, what doe you stay for?
Lack.
I am considering with my eye, which part of him
I shall first cut off.
Cro.
Let's bind him fast, and then lay him upon his backe,
and geld him.
Lack.
A match. Let's lay hold on him; what is he gone?
how finely might my father have been cheated, and all wee
now, if I had not beene: that's some roguing Servingman
disguis'd Ile lay my life on't; if I be not fit to be chronicled
for this act of discretion, let the world judge of it. Well
Crochet, when I have marryed her to the right party, if my
father does not give me forty pounds more, he shall marry
the next daughter himselfe.
Cro.
You must not be too sudden now in the opening of
your plot, after you have marryed them.
Lac.
Advise me good Crochet.
Cro.
Why before you reveale your proceedings, you shall
present your selfe with a great deale of confidence, and promise
of desert; walke up and downe, with a joyfull agony,
and a trembling joy, as if you had escapt from a breach, or redeem'd
your country: then when you see them sufficiently
fill'd with expectation, you may draw the curtaine of your
valour, and stound them with admiration.
So I will Crochet, come let us to the Church.
Exeunt.
Scena. II.
Littlegood, Spruse, Fondling, Fido.Spr.
Come Master Littlegood, be comforted,
I have as great a share in the misfortunes
Of your distracted daughter, as your selfe.
Lit.
O doe not say so, she was all my joy.
Fido.
Then men begin to understand their good,
When they have lost it, and an envious eye
Seekes after vertue when it is extinct,
That hated it alive.
Lit.
You have reason
To pitty me the more, and lament for her,
Because I destin'd her in marriage to you.
Spr.
And I had well hoped to have been made happy
In her affection, a true Lovers griefes
Transcend a parents.
Lit.
No, you are deceived,
A parent is confin'd, and his joyes bounded,
And only limited to such a subject,
And driven from thence, have no where else to rest on:
For if his children be once taken from him,
Which are the cause, then his delight and comfort,
That are the effects, needs must vanish with them:
But in a Lover it falls otherwise,
Such as your selfe, whose passion, like a deaw,
Can dry up with the beames of every beauty
That shall shine warme upon you, need not prize
The losse of any; you have no alliance,
Nor naturall tye commands you to love any,
More then your fancy guides you; and the windes
Have not so many turnings, nor the Sands
So many shiftings, nor the Moone changes.
Fido.
Sir you speake truth, upon my knowledge that,
He is as slippery, as an Eele, in love,
And wriggles in and out, sir, at his pleasure;
As sweare them; and can at a minutes warning,
If an occasion serve, supply himselfe
With a continuall, and fresh entertainment
Of a new Mistris.
Spr.
Troth I must confesse,
I have been a little faulty that way.
Fon.
And why would you sir, knowing this before,
Suffer your daughter to be abus'd by him?
Now by my life, I thinke, and 'twere not for me,
You'd wind your selfe into such labyrinths,
You'd not know how to extricate your selfe.
Lit.
Peace good Wife, since there is no remedy.
Spr.
Doe not despaire, there is yet remedy;
I know a scholler, a great Naturallist,
Whose wisedome does transcend all other Artists,
A traveller besides, and though his body
Be distant from the Heavens, yet his mind
Has pierc't unto the utmost of the Orbes,
Can tell how first the Chaos was distinguisht,
And how the Sphæres are turnd, and all their secrets,
The motion and influence of the starres,
The mixture of the Elements, and all
The causes of the Winds, and what moves the earth,
And then he has subjected to his knowledge
The vertues, and the workings of all hearbs,
And is an Æsculapius in Physicke,
No griefe above his art.
Lit.
Can he heale mad folkes?
Spr.
Were they as mad as Ajax Telamon,
That slew an Oxe instead of Agamemnon,
Hee'l warrant them.
Fond.
How should one speake with him?
Spr.
I brought him with me, he is at the doore.
Prithee goe call him Fido, you shall heare him,
And as you like his speech, so credite him.
Enter Aurelio like a Doctour.
Lit.
Is this the man?
This is the Doctour sir.
I am bold to make relation of your skill here
To this old Gentleman, who has a daughter
That is suspected to be mad.
Aur.
Suspected, is she no otherwise?
Lit.
She is starke mad.
Aur.
It came by love?
Lit.
Yes sure, what thinke you on't?
Au.
An ordinary disease, and cure, in some things
I am of an opinion that Stertinius
The Stoick was, who held all the world mad.
Fond.
As how, good Master Doctour?
Aur.
Thus I prove it;
What is ambition, and covetousnesse,
Or luxury, or supersticion,
But madnesse in men? and these raigne generally.
Your Lawyer trots, and writes, as he were mad,
His Clyent is madder then he; your Merchant that marryes
A faire wife, and leaves her at home, is mad:
Your Courtier is mad to take up silkes and velvets
On ticket for his Mistris; and your Citizen
Is mad to trust him.
Fido.
Nay he is a rare man,
And has done many and strange Cures sir.
Aur.
I have indeed.
Fond.
Pray relate some of them.
Aur.
To satisfy your Ladiship, I will.
Fond.
Yes good Sir, let us heare them.
Aur.
Then Ile tell you. I here was once an Astrologer
brought mad before me, the circulations of the Heavens had
turn'd his braines round, he had very strange fits, he would
ever be staring, and gazing, and yet his eyes were so weake,
they could not looke up without a staffe.
Spr.
A Iacobs staffe you meane?
Aur.
I, and hee would watch whole nights, there could
not a starre stirre for him, he thought there was no hurt done,
but they did it, and that made him look so narrowly to them.
Fond.
How did you heale him sir?
Aur.
Onely with two or three sentences out of Picus
Agrippa, for the vanity of it.
Fond.
That was excellent.
Aur.
The next was a Souldier, and he was very furious;
but I quieted him, by getting his arrerages payd, and a Pension
for his life.
Fond.
You tooke a hard taske in hand, M
r Doctour.
Aur.
But the most dangerous of all was a Puritan Chandler,
and he ran mad with illuminations, he was very strangely
possest, and talkt idly, as if he had had a noyse of bells in
his head; he thought a man in a Surplesse to be the Ghost of
Heresy, and was out of love with his owne members, because
they were called Organs.
Fond.
O monstrous!
Aur.
I and held very strange positions, for he counted Fathers
to be as unlawfull in the Church, as Plato did Poets in
his Common-wealth, and thereupon grounded his conclusion
for the lawfulnesse of whoredome; for he said that marriage,
as it is now used, was the only ring-leader of all mischiefe.
Fond.
How did you heale him sir?
Aur.
Why Lady with certaine pills of sound doctrine, and
they purg'd his ill humours.
Lit.
That was very speedy.
Aur.
Then there was a Musician that runne mad with
Crochets, the fit was so violent upon him, that he would nothing
but sound perpetually.
Fond.
How did you with him sir?
Aur.
I serv'd him as Hercules serv'd his Master Linus,
broke his Fiddle about his pate, and sent him away without
ere a penny, and that brought his head in tune.
Fond.
Ile remember this ifaith.
Aur.
Then there was a Huntsman that was very wood,
he would nothing but hoope and hollow, and was wonderfully
in love with an Eccho.
Fond.
How did you reclaime him?
Aur.
Why I serv'd him in his owne kind, he had a very
handsome wench to his wife, and while he was playing the
Cephalus abroad, and courting his Aura, I turn'd him into an
Actæon at home, set a faire paire of hornes on his head, and
made him a tame beast.
Husband that was exellent, was it not?
Aur.
I cured a poet too, and indeede, they are a generation
that are little better then mad at all times. I was faine to
giue him over, because himselfe, and others tooke such
delight in his fury. I could not tell what to make of him, his
disease was so pretty and conceited, and he was no sooner
well, but he would presently fall into a relapse. I could
make relation of a thousand such, as Painters, Alchymists
and the like, but it would be tedious.
Lit.
Nay sir, wee are confirm'd of your skill. Will you
haue my daughter brought forth to you sir, that you may
see her in her fit?
Aur.
No by no meanes, 'twill spend her spirits too much.
Ile take her home with mee, and anoynt her browes with a
little Helleborum, and some other receipts that Ile giue her,
and Ile warrant you, Ile bring her safe too in three houres,
and well recovered.
Spr.
Sir, you will doe an office, that will not more deserue
honour then reward.
Aur.
Sir, I shall desire nothing but my paines for my satisfaction.
Fond.
Good sweet Fido conduct him in, and goe along with
him, that if any heereafter shall be so averse, in his ignorance,
to all goodnesse, as to question this miracle, you may be produc'd
as a witnesse.
Lit.
And what will you doe sweet wife?
Fond.
Why Ile stay heere, and expect my sonne Lackwit,
with his project. He sent mee word he would come presently,
and see where he enters.
Enter Lackwit, Crochet.
Lack.
Crochet, bid them stay without, till I call for them.
Make roome there, and let such produce there Game, that
haue good cardes to shew.
Fond.
How now sonne Lackwit; whither away so furious?
Lack.
I am sure all the wit and valour I had, was at stake
for it.
Lit.
Why whats the matter
Lack.
There was old shuffling and cuting amongst
them, and I had not spied their knavery they might haue
put a tricke vpon vs, faith.
Why were you at cardes sonne?
Lack.
No, I was at dice. I came the Caster with some of
them I thinke, and I had like to haue made their bones rattle
for it. There was a Rooke would haue gone at In and In
with my sister, if I had not made a third man, he would haue
swept all away, and wiped our noses when he had done.
Fond.
Tell vs how was it sonne?
Lack.
No matter how; but if I haue not playd the wise
man now, and done an act worthy of applause, let mee bee
hist off for my labour.
Lit.
Letts heare, what is it?
Lack.
If it be no more thankes worthy, Ile tell you at my
leasure, when you haue prepar'd your vnderstanding.
Lit.
What is it Crochet?
Lack.
Peace sirrah, Ile haue no man tell it but my selfe,
because the prayse of it belongs wholy to mee; and I could
but effect halfe a dozen more such exployts, Ide write my
owne Commentaries.
Fond.
You put vs too much into a longing, sonne.
Lack.
Well I am content to open the sluses of your happinesse;
let them in Crochet, but take heed you be not too greedy
of it, lest the sodaine joy overwhelme you.
Enter Carelesse, Æmilia, Crochet.
Lit.
Whats heere, Master Dotario, and my daughter Æmilia,
hand in hand, & married together? Nay then tis as I would
haue it. The boy has done well, and I must applaud him for it.
Lack.
O must you so sir? Well, there they are Barke and
Tree, but as I am a hairy beast, if I had not been, they had been
as farre a sunder, as Temple barre and Algate.
Fond.
How so sonne?
Lack.
Why Ile shew you, there was an other Changling
as like to him in shape, as Iupiter to Amphuruo, nay if I
should say, as I am to, let mee see what?
Cro.
To a foole.
Lack.
No, to my selfe.
Cro.
Tis all one.
Lack.
That would haue married her in his stead, and carried
her away, if I had not prevented them.
Whether it bee a shadow or a ghost, that haunts him in his
owne proper forme, I know not, but there he comes againe.
Lit.
Why, how now sonne Dotario, you haue made haste
to beget one so like you already.
Dot.
O sir, tis I am cheated, guld, and abus'd, and which is
worse, by one that sayes he is my selfe too.
Lit.
Why what are you?
Dot.
O sir I am that old Gentleman, that should haue married
your daughter, and there's an Asmodeus, a devill in my
habit, that has beguild me of her.
Crot.
Come sir uncase, your selfe; tis no glory for you to
lurke any longer under the person of such a wretch.
Carelesse puts off his disguise.
Dot.
Who is here, my Nephew Carelesse? nay then tis
ten times worse then I thought of: my disgrace will bee as
common as Conduit water, the very Tankard-bearers will
mocke at me, I shall be made their laughter at Tavernes, the
table talke at Ordinaries.
Car.
Nay good Vncle doe not thinke so ill of me, a brace
of thousands shall chaine up my tongue, that you may liue as
conceal'd as you please.
Dot.
O sir you haue proved your selfe to bee a fine Companion.
Lit.
Nay hold up your head sir, this was your devise, your
master peece of wit, and valour? nay you may bragge of it,
the credit belongs to you.
Lack.
Crotchet I would thou wert a post, that I might
beat out my braines against thee.
Enter Fido, Aurelio, Valeria.
Fid.
Saue you Gentlemen.
Spr.
Looke you sir; here's the Doctor, and your daughter
already.
Lit.
Well there's some comfort yet to make amends for
the rest.
Fid.
Come downe on your knees sir.
Aurelio uncases.
Lit.
How now what are you?
Aur.
Lately the Doctor, but now your sonne Aurelio.
What more gulleries yet? they haue cosend mee of
my daughters, I hope they will cheate me of my wife too:
haue you any more of these tricks to shew, ha?
Aur.
No more sir, if we may obtaine your favour for these,
and thinke good sir, what loue may doe; you haue beene
young your selfe.
Lit.
Troth and so I haue, and beene as waggish as the best
of you. Well Master Dotario, what shall we doe? the boyes
haue out stript us, there's now no remedy, and my affection
relents.
Dot.
So does mine too, and I would doe any thing, if I
might bee freed of this ignominie, that it might not bee
knowne what a foole this loue has made of me.
Fid.
Ile undertake for that sir if you will yeeld to a motion.
Dot.
Any thing upon these termes.
Fid.
Then thus: you are rich, and your Nephew Aurelio
here is poore, yet hee was borne to an inheritance; now doe
you but conferre something presently upon him, and assure
him the rest after your death, and Ile promise they shall obserue
you with as much obsequiousnesse, as you desire.
Dot.
And what shall my Nephew Carelesse doe?
Fid.
Why Master Littlegood shall giue him his Land againe.
Dot.
If he will doe one, Ile doe the other.
Fond.
That he shall, Ile see that done upon my word.
Lit.
Ile not stand against a good motion at any time.
Dot.
Why then boyes be happy in your Mistresses.
Car.
Sir this speech from you is more comfortable then
if Hymen had spoke it: and for my brother Lackwit Ile take
him to my protection, and stand in his defence against all machinous
Engines that shall bee planted for the battery of his
wit and fortune.
Crot.
Pray sir will you get him his cloake and hat againe
that he lost in the skirmish.
Car.
I so I will; Fido shall restore them to him.
Lack.
Well I would know, how all these things had come
to so good perfection but for me now.
Crot.
Nay, if fortune should not favour such as you and
I are, shee would leaue her old wont.
Car.
What's my old Reformado come againe?
Cap.
Nay you need not feare me now, I am as mild as my
beere: I am her husband and your Host till death.
Car.
What turn'd Host?
Cap.
Yes, and I thought it my duety to present you with
the first fruits of my profession. Fill out a glasse Tapster,
that I may drinke to this good company. Gentlemen you are
all welcome.
Fid.
Is this your Tapster Captaine?
Cap.
Yes, and does he not suit well with his function? he
has learnt already to runne up staires and downe staires, as
nimble as a Squirill, and can answer to any man that shall call
him, as loud and peremptorily as the best of them.
Car.
Thats a good entrance.
Cap.
He is a little out of countenance at the first, but when
you come to my house, you shall heare him speake in a big
accent, whats to pay in the Lyon? whats to pay in the Dragon?
be not dismaid Tapster, be not dismaid.
Car.
Well I perceiue we must keepe Holiday: there's nothing
angers me now, but Master Spruse is disappoynted of
his Mistresse.
Spr.
Take no care for that, I haue more Mistresses then I
can tell what to doe with.
Car.
Sir I haue a sister, though shee had no part in this busines,
yet for her beauty, vertues, and Dowry, may well deserue
you: if you can like of her, Ile doe what I can to obtaine
her for you.
Spr.
Sir you shall command mee in what you please, and
my thankes for your loue; and here I vow never to dissemble
any more in this kind, but to be truely and sincerely affectionated
to whom soever you shall commend me.
Car.
Nay if you would not doe so, you were unworthy
of her.
But wealth shall be put backe, when wit shall thriue.
| A Fine Companion | |