 | The Old Couple |  |
1
[Actus Primus.}
Incipit Actus Primus.Eugeny solus.
Eug.
This is the hour which fair Artemia
Promis'd to borrow from all company,
And bless me only with it, to deny
Her beauteous presence to all else, and shine
On me, poor me! within this garden here,
This happy garden, once while I was happy,
And wanted not a free access unto it,
Before my fatal and accursed crime
Had shut these gates of paradise against me,
When I without controul alone might spend
With sweet Artemia in these fragrant walks
The days short-seeming hours, and ravish'd, hear
Her sweet discourses of the lillyes whiteness,
The blushing rose, blew-mantled violet,
Pale daffodil, and purple hyacinth,
With all the various sweets, and painted gloryes
Of natures wardrobe, which were all eclips'd
By her diviner beauty; but alas!
What boots the former happiness I had,
But to increase my sorrow? my sad crime
Has left me now no entrance but by stealth,
When death and danger dog my venterous steps.
But welcome danger, since thou find'st so fair
A recompence, as my Artemiaes sight.
Artemia.
Eugeny.
And art thou come, my dearest Eugeny?
Has thy true love broke through so many hazards
To visit me? I prethee chide my fondness
That did command thee such a dangerous task.
I did repent it since, and was in hope
Thou wouldst not come.
Eug.
Why hop'd Artemia so?
Wouldst thou not see me then? or can the hazard
Of ten such lives as mine is, countervail
2
Art.
Why dost thou use that language to a heart
Which is thy captive, Eugeny, and lives
In nothing happy but in thee?
Eug.
Ah! love,
There lyes my greatest sorrow, that the storms
Of spiteful fortune which orewhelm my state,
Should draw thy constant goodness to a suffring,
A goodness worthy of the happyest man.
Art.
Those storms of fortune will be soon oreblown
When once thy cause shall be but truly known,
That chance, not malice wrought it; and thy pardon
Will be with ease obtain'd
Eug.
It may be, love,
If old Sr. Argent do deal truly in it.
Art.
But keep thy self conceal'd, do not rashly
Venture two lives in one, or when thou com'st
Let it be still in silence of the night.
No visitation then, or other strange
Unlook'd for accident can bar our joyes.
The Moon is now in her full orb, and lends
Securer light to lovers then the Sun.
Then onely come, but prethee tell me love,
How dost thou spend thy melancholy time?
Eug.
Within the covert of yon shady wood
Which cloathes the mountains rough and craggy top,
A little hovel built of boughs and reeds
Is my abode, from whence the spreading trees
Keep out the Sun, and do bestow in lieu
A greater benefit, a safe concealment.
In that secure and solitary place,
I give my pleas'd imagination leave
To feast it self with thy supposed presence,
Whose only shadow brings more joy to me
Then all the substance of the world beside.
Art.
Just so alone am I, nay want the presence
Of mine own heart, which strayes to finde out thee.
But who comes to thee to supply thy wants?
Eug.
There Artemia names my happiness,
A happiness, which next thy love, I hold
To be the greatest that the world can give,
And I am proud to name it. I doe there
Enjoy a friend, whose sweet society
Makes that dark wood a palace of delight;
One stor'd with all that can commend a man,
In whom refined knowledge and pure art
Mixing with true and sound morality
Is crown'd with piety.
Art.
What wonder's this
3
Eug.
But I in vain, alas!
Doe strive to make with my imperfect skill
A true dissection of his noble parts:
He loses, Love, by all that I can say,
For praise can come no neerer to his worth.
Then can a Painter with his mimick Sun,
Express the beauty of Hyperion.
Art.
What is his name?
Eug.
His name is Theodore,
Rich Earthworms son, lately come home from travel.
Art.
Oh heavens! his son! Can such a caitif wretch
Hated and curst by all, have such a son?
The miser lives alone, abhorr'd by all
Like a disease, yet cannot so be scap'd,
But cankerlike, eats through the poor mens hearts
That live about him, never has commerce
With any but to ruine them; his house
Inhospitable as the wilderness,
And never look'd upon but with a curse:
He hoords in secret places of the earth
Not only bags of treasure, but his corn,
Whose every grain he prizes 'bove a life,
And never prayes at all, but for dear years.
Eug.
For his sons sake tread gently on his fame.
Art.
Oh! Love, his fame cannot be redeem'd
From obloquy; but thee I trust so far
As highly to esteem his worthy son.
Eug.
That man is all, and more then I have said:
His wondrous vertues will hereafter make
The people all forgive his father's ill.
I was acquainted with him long ago
In forreign parts. And now I think on't, Love,
He'll be the fittest man to be acquainted
With all our secresies, and be a means
To further us; and think I trust his truth,
That dare so much commend his worth to thee.
Art.
He is my neighbour here, that house is Earthworms,
That stands alone beside yon grove of trees:
And fear not, dearest Love, Ile finde a means
To send for him, doe you acquaint him first.
Exeunt.
Euphues, Dotterel, Barnet.
Euph.
Then shall I tell my cozen that you are
A younger brother, Mr. Dotterel?
Dot.
Oh yes, by any means Sir.
Euph.
What's your reason?
Dot.
A crotchet Sir, a crotchet that I have.
Here's one can tell you I have twenty of 'um.
4
Euphues disswade him not, he is resolv'd
To keep his birth and fortunes both conceal'd,
Yet win her so or no way: he would know
Whether himself be truly lov'd or no,
And not his fortunes only.
Euph.
Well, access
You have already found, pursue it Sir;
But give me leave to wonder at your way.
Another wooer to obtain his love
Would put on all his colours, stretch t'appear
At his full height, or a degree beyond it;
Bely his fortunes, borrow what he wanted,
Not make himself less then he truly is.
What reason is there that a man possest
Of fortunes large enough, that may come boldly
A welcome suiter to her self and friends,
And ten to one, speed in his suit the fair
And usual way, should play the fool and lose
His precious time in such a hopeless wooing!
Dot.
Alas Sir, what is a Gentlemans time?
Bar.
Euphues he tels you true, there are some brains
Can never lose their time what ere they do:
Yet I can tell you, he has read some books.
Dot.
Doe not disparage me.
Bar.
I warrant thee,
And in those books he says he findes examples
Of greatest beauties that have so been won.
Euph.
Oh! in Parismus, and the Knight o'th Sun.
Are those your Authors?
Dot.
Yes, and those are good ones:
Why should a man of worth, though but a shepherd,
Despair to get the love of a Kings daughter?
Euph.
I prethee Barnet how hast thou skrew'd up
This fool to such a monstrous confidence?
Bar.
He needs no skrewing up; but let him have
His swinge a little.
Euph.
He shall have it freely.
But you have seen your mistres, Mr Dotterel,
How doe you finde her? coming?
Dot.
That's all one,
I know what I know.
Bar.
He has already got
Some footing in her favor.
Euph.
But I doubt
Hee'l play the tyrant, make her doat too long,
Wear the green sickness as his livery,
And pine a yeer or two
Dot.
Shee's not the first
That has done so for me.
Euph.
But if you use
My Cozen so, I shall not take it well.
Dot.
Oh, I protest I have no such meaning Sir,
See, here she comes, the Lady Whimsey too.
5
Lad.
I thought sweet heart, th'had'st wanted company.
Art.
Why so I did yours, Madam.
Lad.
Had I known
Your house had been so full of gallants now,
I would have spar'd my visit. But 'tis all one,
I have met a friend here.
Euph.
Your poor servant, Madam.
Lad.
I was confessing of your cozen here
About th'affairs of love.
Euph.
Your Ladiship
I hope will shrieve her gently.
Lad.
But I tell her
She shall not thank me now for seeing her,
For I have business hard by. I am going
A suitor to your old rich neighbor here,
Earthworm.
Euph.
A suitor? he is very hard
In granting any thing, especially
If it be money.
Lad.
Yes, my suit's for money,
Nay all his money, and himself to boot.
Bar.
His money would doe well without himself.
Lad.
And with himself.
Bar.
Alas! your Ladiship
Should too much wrong your beauty to bestow it
Upon one that cannot use it, and debar
More able men their wishes.
Euph.
That's true, Barnet,
If she should bar all other men, but that
Would be too great a cruelty.
Art.
Doe you hear
My cozen Madam?
Lad.
Yes, he will be heard:
Rather then fail, he'll give himself the hearing.
But prethee Euphues tell me plainly now
What thou dost think of me. I love thy freeness
Better then any flattery in the world
Euph.
I think you wondrous wise.
Lad.
In what?
Euph.
In that
That makes or mars a woman, I mean love.
Lad.
Why prethee?
Euph.
I think you understand so well
What the true use of man is, that you'll nere
Trouble your thoughts with care, or spoyl your beauty
With the green sickness, to obtain a thing
Which you can purchase a discreeter way.
Art.
How doe you like this, Madam?
Lad.
Wondrous well,
'Tis that I look'd for. But what entertainment
Would old rich Earthworm give us, do you thinke?
Bar.
Unless your presence, Madam, could infuse
A nobler soul into him, 'tis much fear'd
'Twould be but mean.
Lad.
Because (you'll say) hee's covetous:
Tut, I can work a change in any man:
If I were married to him, you should see
What I would make him.
Euph.
I beleeve we should,
aside
If cuckolds horns were visible.
Art.
But could
6
Lad.
Who could not well be pleas'd with such a fortune?
Art.
Wealth cannot make a man
Lad.
But his wealth, Lady,
Can make a woman.
Euph.
Yet I doubt old Earthworm
Would prove too subtle to be govern'd so:
You'll finde him, Madam, an old crabbed piece
Some gentle fool were better for a husband.
Art.
Fie, cozen, how thou talk'st.
Lad.
Hee's in the right:
Fools are the only husbands, one may rule 'um.
Why should not we desire to use men so
As they would us? I have heard men protest
They would have their wives silly, and not study'd
In any thing but to dress themselves,
And not so much as able to write letters.
Just such a husband would I wish to have,
So qualify'd, and not a jot beyond it,
He should not have the skill to write or read.
Art.
What could you get by that?
Lad.
I should be sure
He could not read my letters; and for bonds,
When I should have occasion to use money,
His mark would serve.
Art.
I am not of your minde,
I would not have a fool for all the world.
Bar.
No, fairest Lady, your perfections
None but the wisest and the best of men
Can truly finde and value.
Dot.
And I protest, Lady,
I honour you for not loving a fool.
Lad.
You would love a wife it seems that loves not you.
Euph.
A tart jest, Barnet.
Bar.
But he feels it not.
Euph.
Fie, Mr. Dotterel, 'tis not nobly done
In you to hate a fool: a generous spirit
Would take the weakest parts, and fools you know
Are weakest still.
Dot.
Faith, Mr. Euphues,
I must confess I have a generous spirit,
And do a little sympathize with fools
I learn'd that word from a good honest man.
But hark you, cozen Barnet, this same Lady
Is a brave woman.
Bar.
Are you taken with her?
Dot.
I love a wit with all my heart.
Bar.
'Tis well,
He is already taken off, I see,
Aside
From fair Artemia, or may be soon;
Upon this tother I may build a fortune.
Euph.
But, Madam, if your Ladyship would marry
Upon those terms, 'twere better that you took
Old Earthworms son.
Lad.
Has he a son, I prethee?
Euph.
Yes, lately come from travel, as they say,
We have not seen him yet, he has kept close
7
To be his father's own.
Lad.
Nay, then I swear
Ile none of him, if he be covetous
And young, I shall be troubled too long with him:
I had rather have the old one.
Art.
Here's my father.
Enter Mr. Freeman.
Free.
Health to this good society; I am sorry
That my poor house must not to day enjoy
The happiness to entertain you all.
We are invited to th'old Lady Covets,
And thither must our company remove.
Lad.
Sir, Ile be govern'd by you. I was bold
To come and see Mrs Artemia.
Free.
Shee's much beholding to your Ladyship
For doing her that honor.
Euph.
Tell me, Uncle,
I hear Sir Argent Scrape is at her house.
Free.
Nephew, 'tis true, and which thou'lt wonder at,
That marriage, which we talk'd of as a jest,
In earnest now's concluded of, and shall
To morrow morning be solemnized
Euph.
Betwixt Sr. Argent and the Lady Covet?
I doe not thinke it strange; there's but one hedge
Has a long time divided them, I mean
Their large estates, and 'tis th'estate that marries.
Free.
But is't not strange? nay, most unnatural?
And I may say ridiculous, for those years
To marry, and abuse the ordinance?
My Lady Covet is at least fourscore,
And he this year is fourscore and fifteen:
Besides, he has been bedrid long, and lame
Of both his feet.
Euph.
Uncle, hee's not too old
To love, I mean her money, and in that
The chifest end of marriage is fulfill'd,
He will increase and multiply his fortunes;
Increase you know, is the true end of marriage.
Free.
They have already almost the whole country.
Euph.
But you shall see how now they'll propagate
Free.
Is such a marriage lawful?
Euph.
Ah! good Uncle,
Dispute not that, the Church has nought in this;
Their Lawyer is the Priest that marries them,
The banes of matrimony are the indentures,
The bounds and land-marks are the ring that joyns them.
Art.
But ther's no love at all.
Euph.
Yes, pretty cozen,
If thou art read in amorous books, thou'lt finde
That Cupids arrow has a golden head,
8
Free.
Well, thither we must go; but prethee nephew
Forbear thy jesting there.
Euph.
I warrant you,
Ile flatter the old Lady, and persuade her
How well she looks: but when they go to bed
Ile write their epitaph.
Free.
How man? their epitaph?
Their epithalamion thou mean'st.
Euph.
No Sirs
Over their marriage bed Ile write their ages,
And only say, Here lies Sir Argent Scrape
Together with his wife the Lady Covet;
And whosoever reads it, will suppose
The place to be a Tomb, no marriage bed.
Lad.
How strangely thou art taken with this wedding
Before thou seest it!
Euph.
And then let me see,
To fit them for an Hymenæan song,
In stead of those so high and spirited strains
Which the old Græcian Lovers us'd to sing
When lusty Bridegrooms rifled mayden-heads,
Ile sing a quiet dirge, and bid them sleep
In peaceful rest; and bid the cloathes, instead
Of earth, lie gently on their aged bones—
Free.
Thou'lt nere have done. Well, gallants, 'tis almost
The time that calls us, I must needs be gone.
Lad.
We'll wait upon you Sir Free. Your servant, Madam.
Exeunt.
Manent Artemia, Euphues.
Art.
Stay, cozen, I have a request to thee.
Euph.
Thou canst not fear that Ile deny it thee:
Speak it, 'tis done.
Art.
Why then in short 'tis this:
Old Earthworm, cozen, has a son they say
Lately come home; his name, as I have heard
Is Theodore.
Euph.
Yes, I have heard of him.
Art.
I would intreat you by some means or other
To draw him hither, I'de fain speak with him:
Ask not the cause, but do what I request:
You may hereafter know.
Euph.
Well, Ile not question't,
But bring him hither, though I know him not.
Art.
Cozen, farewel, I shall be look'd for straight.
Exit Artemia. Manet Euphues.
Euph.
Rich Earthworm's son? why in the name of wonder
Should it be her desire to speak with him?
She knows him not: wel, let it be a riddle,
I have not so much wit as to expound it;
Nor yet so little, as to lose my thoughts,
Or study to finde out, what the no reason
9
I know not what to think; may she have heard
That hee's a proper man, and so desire
To satisfie her self? What reason then
Can she alledge to him? Tut, that's not it;
Her beauty, and large dower, need not to seek
Out any suitors, and the odious name
Of his old wretched father would quite choak it:
Or have some tattling gossips, or the maids
Told her perchance that hee's a conjurer?
He goes in black; they say he is a scholar,
Has been beyond sea too, there it may lie;
And he must satisfie her longing thought,
What, or how many husbands she shall have,
Of what degree, upon what night she shall
Dream of the man, when she shall fast and walk
In the Church-yard to see him passing by
Just in those cloathes that first he comes a suitor:
These things may be; but why should she make me
To be her instrument? some of the men
Or maids might do't as well: well, since you have
Us'd me, fair cozen, I will sound your drifts,
Or't shall go hard. The fellow may abuse her:
Therefore Ile watch him too, and straight about it;
But now I think on't, Ile sollicite him
By letter first, and meet him afterward.
Exit.
| The Old Couple | |