 | The Bride |  |
The sixth Scene.
To him Goodlove, Father, Mother, Ferret, Mr s. Ferret, Maligo, and Rhenish.The old man! aide me now hypocrisie,
Or all miscarries. Oh sir I have search't for you all the house over.
Good.
Hast observ'd any thing?
Rav.
I left them here so close condoling. They are questionles
stolne to some private place. I'le sent them out, and bring you
word.
For this faire entrance doth discover me.
Exit.
Good.
Father in expectation I have suddainly
Bethought me of a businesse.
Fat.
Pray' what is't?
Good.
You see I am old; unfit for such a Bride.
Suppose I make a resignation,
And give my right up to another man,
One that your daughter and your self should like of.
What if my son were Bridegroom? 'twere a match
Would carry more proportion.
Fat.
None more gladly,
So you'l confer upon him an estate
Answering her portion.
Good.
It shall be considered of.
Wee'l know their likings.
Fer.
Will you not Marry her your self then after all these preparations?
Why sir the world takes notice of it, and it may concern
your credit.
Good.
Your husband counsailes well M
r
s. Ferret.
M. Fe.
I cannot in obedience but allow of his wisdom. Thou
changling nurst with the milke of an asse whence thou derivest
thy great empty noddle: must you hinder a good motion? Are
there not cuckolds enough already?
Good.
Wher's the Bride Cousin?
Raven returns.
Vanish't sir, not to be found. They are questionlesse
run away together: the water gate is fast lockt, and the key
without. You were doubtfull sir, and would hardly give credit
to my relation.
Fat.
How! stolne away together! what plots are these?
Good.
Yours sir, to undoe the reputation
Of an old man.
Fat.
Rather your own, to ruine?
My only comfort.
Fer.
Proceed you sir in your late motion and this difference
will soone find a reconciliation. Is not the Gentleman his only
son.
Good.
No sonne of mine, but the most monstrous birth
Of base ingratitude that ever made
Charity frozen. I found him in the fields,
An Infant almost starv'd, and bred him up.
It seems for this.
Moth.
Alasse our child's undone.
Fat.
Pursue the villaine. If the extremity
Of Law can do it, I will hang him for't.
Rav.
I should be glad of that.
Fat.
If I can prove sir your least knowledge makes you
A party in't, your state or mine shall crack for't.
Good.
Do you sir threaten me in mine own house.?
My credit's more at stake, then that I should
Be calme: but once I give you priviledge.
Fat.
Come lets' to water: we perhaps may take them.
Rav.
Yes at the Tower questionlesse.
Exeunt. Father and Mother.
Fer.
Sir if I find them in my precinct.
M. Fer.
What will you do? If thou dost the least wrong to
the loving couple, though I burn for it, I will roast thee alive and
sell thy greasie kidnies for kitchinstuffe.
Kickshaw enters with plate under his cloake.
Rav.
A good proceeding hitherto.
Kick
No vench, no veding? Me bid you adiew Mounsieur;
you no need a me varke.
Good.
Farewell Mounsieur. Reward him Cosin.
Kick.
Here be revard: two, tree silver dish, and tree, foure
spoone make Mounsieur a jentleman an buy de fine vench beyond
Exit.
Good.
Ha hah hah he.
Laughs.
Mal.
Why laugh you sir? make you no more account of so
great an injurie?
Good.
They'r gone: and now I'le tell ye gentlemen,
I knew the boy did love her, and I meant
He only should enjoy her; but pretended
My self would marry her, thereby to worke
A greater portion out of her covetous Father;
And to insinuate my selfe into
A perfect knowledge of his true estate.
Now since h' hath play'd the wagge, preventing me
Of mine own plot, you all shall in and witnesse
My act of love to him: I'le instantly
Confirm him my full heire, reserving something
For you my kinsman: whom I desire
Use your best diligence to finde them out,
And bring them home, but coupled. And you gentlemen
Dispense with this dayes accident, your cheer
To morrow shall be doubled.
Exeunt.
Rav.
How is this?
My plot's prevented too; curse on the charme
That witcheth you to love him. Bring them home,
But coupled: fine employment. Yet 'tis well
You tell me your intent. My brain must work
Some more succesfull mischiefe that may hit.
No villaine can prosper without wit.
Exit.
| The Bride | |