University of Virginia Library

Scene. I.

Enter Scarlet and Bobbington.
Even now the welcome twilight doth salute
Th'approaching night clad in black sable weedes.
Blacke as my thoughts, that harbour nought but death,
Thefts, murthers, rapes and such like damned actes,
The infant babes to whom my soule is nurse:
Come Bobbinton, this starre-bespangled skie
Bodeth some good, the wether's faire and dry.

Bob.
My scarlet-hearted Scarlet, gallant blood,
Whose bloody deeds are worthy memorie
Of after ages, let me imbrace thee: so,
So, now me thinkes I fold a richer iemme,
Than wealthy India can afford to Spaine:
There lies my treasure, and within thy armes
Securitie that neuer breedeth harmes.

Scar.
Braue resolution, I am prowde to see
So sweet a graft vpon a worm-wood tree,
Whose iuyce is gall, but yet the fruite most rare:
Who wreakes the tree, if that the fruite be faire?
Therefore resolue, if we a booty get,
It bootes not whence, from whom, when, where, or what.

Bob.
Well (God forgiue vs) heere lets take our stands,
We must haue gold although we haue no lands.

Enter Phillis and Vrsula.
Phil.
Stay Vrsula, haue you those futes of Ruffes,
Those stomachers, and that fine peece of Lawne,
Marck'd with the Letters CC. and S.

Ursula.
I haue.

Phil.
If your forgetfulnesse cause any defect,
You'r like to pay for't, therefore looke vnto it.

Vrsu.
I would our iourney had as safe an end,
As I am sure my Ladyes ruffes are heere,
And other wares which she bespoke of you.

Phil.
Tis good; but stay, giue me thy hand my girle,
Tis somewhat darke, come, let vs helpe each other:
She past her word one of her gentlemen
Should meet vs at the bridge, and thats not farre,
I muse they are not come, I doe assure thee,
Were I not much beholding to her Ladiship
For many kindenesses: Mile-end, should stand
This gloomie night vnuisited for vs.
But come, me thinkes I may discerne the bridge,
And see a man or two, in very deed
Her word, her loue and all is honourable.

Bob.
A prize yong Scarlet, Oh, a gallant prize,
And we are Pirots that will seaze the same
To our owne vses.

Scar.
But hold man, not too fast:
As farre as I can gather by their words,
They take vs for my Ladyes Gentlemen,
Who as it seemes should meet them on their way,
Then if thou saist the word weele seeme those men,
And by those meanes withdraw thē from their way,
Where we may rifle them of what they carry,
I meane, both goods, and their virginitie.

Bob.
Tis well aduisde, but Scarlet, giue me leaue
To play the Gentleman and welcome them.

Scar.
Inioy thy wish.

Bob.
Welcome you sacred starres,
That adde bright glory to the sable night.

Scarl.
Excellent, by heauen.

Bob.
I am sorry your beautie's so discomfited,
Treading so many tedious weary steps,
And we not present to associate you.

Scar.
Oh, blessed Bobbington.

Phil.
Sir, I do thanke you for this taken paines,
That as your worthy Lady promisde me,
We now inioy your wished companie.

Scar.
Shee's thine owne boy, I warrant thee.

Bob.
And I am prowd, too prowd of this imploymēt,
Come M. Scarlet take you that pretie sweet,
You see my Ladyes care; she promisde one
But hath sent two.

Phil.
Tis honourably done.

Bob.
This is your way.

Phil.
That way, alas sir no.

Bob.
Come, it is: nay then it shall be so.

Phil.
What meane you Gentlemen?

Vrsu.
O he will rob me.

Phil.
Looke to the boxe Vrsula.

Phil. & Vrsu.
Helpe, helpe, murther, murther.

Enter the Cripple.
Crip.
Now you supporters of decrepite youth,
That mount this substance twixt faire heauen and earth,
Be strong to beare that huge deformitie,
And be my hands as nimble to direct them,
As your desires to waft mee hence to London.

Phil. & Vrsu.
Helpe, helpe, heele rauish me.

Crip.
My thinkes I heare the sound of rauishment.

Phil. & Vrsu.
Helpe, helpe.

Crip.
Marry and will, knew I but where, and how.
What do I see?
Theeues full of lust beset virginitie!
Now stirre thee cripple, and of thy foure legs
Make vse of one, to doe a virgin good:
Hence rauening curres: what, are you at a prey?
Will nothing satisfie your greedy chappes
But virgins flesh? Ile teach you prey on carrion,
Fight & beat them away.
Packe damned rauishers, hence villaines.

Phil.
Thanks, honest friend, who from the gates of death
Hath set our virgin soules at libertie.

Crip.
Giue God the glory that gaue me the power.

Phil.
I do, kind Sir, and thinke my selfe much bound
To him aboue, to thee that treads this ground,
And for this aid, Ile euer honour thee;
My honor you haue sau'd redeem'd it home:
Which wer't not done, by this time had beene gone.

Crip.
Hereafter more of this; but tell me now
The cause of these euents, the effect, and how.

Phil.
Ile tell you sir; but let vs leaue this place,
And onward on our way.

Enter Scarlet and Bobbington.
Bob.
It shall be so, see where they walke along,
Ile crosse the other way and meet them full,
Keepe thou this way, and when thou hearst vs chat,
Come thou behinde him snatch away his crutches,
And then thou knowst he needs must fall to ground,
And what shall follow leaue the rest to mee.

Exit Bobb.
Scar.
About it then.

Crip.
Yfaith she is an honourable Lady,
And I much wonder that her Ladiship
Giues intertaine to such bad men as these.

Enter Bobbington.
Bob.
Stand thou that hast more legs than nature gaue thee.

Crip.
Mongrell, ile choose.

Scar.
Then go to sir, you shall.

All, All.
Murder murder.

Enter Franke Goulding.
Frank.
Stay there my horse:
Whence comes this eccho of extreamitie?

All.
Helpe, helpe.

Frank.
What doe I heare, a virgin call for helpe?
Hands off dam'nd vilaines, or by heauen I sweare,
Ile send you all to hell.

Fight and driue them away.
Crip.
Hold, forbeare.
I came in rescue of Virginitie.

Phil.
He did, he did, and freed vs once from thrall.
But now the second time they wrought his fall.

Frank.
Now you distressed obiects, do you tell
Vpon what mount of woe your sorrowes dwell.

Phil.
First get we hence away, and as we goe,
Kinde gentleman, our fortunes you shall know.

Crip.
Thanks worthy sir, may but the Cripple be,
Of power to gratifie this courtesie,
I then shall thinke the heauens fauour me.

Phil.
No more now for Gods sake, let vs hence.

Crip.
If I doe liue, your loue Ile recompence.

Exeunt.
Enter Mall Berrie.
Mall.
Now for my true-loues hand-kercher; these flowers
Are pretie toyes, are very pretie toyes:
O but me thinkes the Peascod would doe better,
The Peascod and the Blossome, wonderfull!
Now as I liue, ile surely haue it so.
Some maides will chuse the Gilliflower, some the Rose,
Because their sweet cents do delight the nose,
But very fooles they are in my opinion,
The very worst being drawen by cunning art,
Seemes in the eye as pleasant to the heart.
But heer's the question, whether my loue or no
Will seeme content? I, there the game doth goe:
And yet ile pawne my head he will applaude
The Pescod and the flower my pretie choice.
For what is he louing a thing in heart,
Loues not the counterfeit, though made by art?
I cannot tell how others fancie stand,
But I reioyce sometime to take in hand,
The simile of that I loue; and I protest,
That pretie pescod likes my humor best.
But ile vnto the Drawers, heele counsell me,
Heere is his shop: alas, what shall I doe?
Hee's not within, now all my labor's lost,
See, see, how forward loue is euer crost,
But stay, what Gallant's this?

Enter M. Bowdler.
Bow.
A plague on this Drawer, hee's neuer at home?
Good morrow sweet-heart, tell me, how thou dost?

Mall.
Vpon what acquaintance?

Bow.
That's all one, once I loue thee, giue me thy hand and say, Amen.

Mall.
Hands off, sir Knaue, and weare it for a fauor.

Bowd.
What? dost thou meane thy loue pretie foole?

Mall.
No foole, the knaue, O grosse;
A gentleman and of so shallow wit!

Bowd.
I know thou camst to the drawer.

Mall.
How then?

Bowd.
Am not I the propperer man?

Mall.
Yes, to make an asse on.

Bowd.
Will you get vp and ride?

Mall.
No, ile lackey by his side, and whip the asse.

Bowd.
Come, come, leaue your iesting, I shall put you down.

Mall.
With the face! away you want-wit.

Bowd.
By this hand, I shall.

Mall.
By the asse-head you shall not.

Bowd.
Go to, you are a woman.

Mall.
Come, come, ye are a man.

Bowd.
I haue seene as faire.

Mall.
I haue heard as wise.

Bowd.
As faire as Mall Berry.

Mall.
As wise as yong Bowdler.

Bowd.
As M. Bowdler.

Mall.
Hoida; come vp.

Bowd.
Go thou down then.

Mall.
No good asse, bate an Ase of that.

Enter Barnard.
Bar.
What M. Bowdler, will it nere be otherwise?
Still, still a hunting, euery day wenching?

Bowd.
Faith sir, the modest behauior of this Gentlewoman,
Hath insinuated my company.

Mall.
Lord, how eloquence flowes in this Gentleman!

Bowd.
Faith, I shall put you downe in talke, you were best to yeeld.

Mall.
No sir, I will hold out as long as I may,
Though in the end you beare the foole away.

Bowd.
Meane you by me? you gull me not?

Mall.
No by this night, not I.

Bowd.
For if you did, I would intoxicate my head.

Mall.
Yea, I dare sware you'le goe a foole to bed.

Bowd.
Meane you by mee? you gull me not?

Bar.
No, I dare sweare the Gentlewoman meanes well.

Mall.
And so I doe indeed, himselfe can tell:
But this it is, speake Maidens what they will,
Men are so captions the ile euer conster ill.

Barn.
To her sir, to her, I dare sware she loues you.

Bowd.
Well then faire Mall, you loue me as you say.

Mall.
I neuer made you promise, did I, I pray?

Bowd.
All in good time you will do, else you lie,
Will you not?

Mall.
No for-sooth not I.

Bowd.
Barnard, she gulles me still.

Barn.
T'is but your mis-conceit, try her againe:
You know by course all women must be coy;
To her againe, then she may happely yeeld.
Not I, in faith.

Mall.
Then mine shall be the field:
Wisedome, adue, once more faint heart farewell;
Yet if thou seest the Drawer, I prethee tell him,
Mall Berry hath more worke for him to doe;
And for your selfe, learne this when you doe woe,
Arme you with courage, and with good take heede,
For he that spares to speake must spare to speede,
And so farewell.

Exit.
Bowd.
Call her againe, Barnard.

Barn.
Shee's too swift for me:
Why this is the right course of gullerie,
What did you meane hauing so faire an aime
So fondly to let slip so faire a game?
Bowdler become a man for maides will stand,
And then strike home, art thou not yong and lustie,
The minion of delight, faire from thy birth,
Adonis play-pheere, and the pride of earth?

Bowd.
I know it, but a kind of honest blood
Tilts in my loynes, with wanton appetites,
She bade me doe a message to the Drawer,
And I will doe it; there will come a day,
When Humfry Bowdler, will keepe holiday,
Then Mall looke to your selfe, see that you be sped,
Or by this light Ile haue your maidenhead.

Barn.
Spoke like a gallant, spoke like a gentleman, spoke like your selfe:
Now doe I see some sparkes of manhoode in you,
Keepe in that key, keepe in the selfe same song,
Ile gage my head youle haue her loue ere long.

Exeunt.
Enter Ferdinand, and Franke.
Franke
Wilt thou not tell me (brother Ferdinand)
Now by this light Ile haunt thee like a sprite,
Vntill I know whence springs this melancholy.

Ferd.
O brother!
Thou art too yong to reach the depth of griefe,
That is immur'd within my hearts deepe closet,
A thousand sighes keepe daily centinell,
That beate like whirle-winds all my comfort backe,
As many sobbes guard my distressed heart,
That no reliefe comes neere to ayde my soule,
Millions of woes like bands of armed men,
Stop vp the passage of my sweete reliefe:
And arte thou then perswaded that thy wordes,
Can any comfort to my soule afford?
No, no, good Franke, deere brother then forbeare,
Vnlesse with griefe in me youle take a share.

Fran.
Griefe me no griefes, but tell me what it is
Makes my (sweete Ferdinand) thus passionate:
Ile coniure griefe, if griefe be such an euill,
In spite of Fortune, Fates, or any Deuill.

Ferd.
Wilt thou not leaue me to my selfe alone?

Fran.
Brother, you know my minde,
If you will leaue your dumpish melancholy,
And like my selfe banish that puling humour,
Or satisfie my expectation,
By telling whence your sorrow doth proceede,
I will not onely cease to trouble you,
But like a true skilfull phisition,
Seeke all good meanes for your recouerie.

Fer.
Well brother, you haue much importun'd me,
And for the confidence I haue in you,
That youle proue secret, I will now vnfold,
The loade of care that presseth downe my soule:
Know then good Franke, loue is the cause hereof.

Frank.
How, loue! why whats that loue?

Ferd.
A child, a little little boy thats blind.

Frank.
And be ore-come by him! plagude by him!
Driuen into dumps by him! put downe by a boy!
Master'd by loue! O, I am mad for anger:
By a Boy! is there no rosemary and bayes in England
To whip the Ape? by a boy!

Ferd.
I, such a boy as thou canst neuer see,
And yet ere long mayst feele his tirranie:
Hee's not visible, yet aimes at the heart,
Wo be to those that feele his wounding dart;
And one of them I am: wounded so deepe,
That in my passions I no meane can keepe:
Vnhappy time, woe to that dismall howre,
When loue did wound me with faire Phillis flowre:
O Phillis, Phillis; of flowers sweetest flower,
That euer garnish'd any princely bowre:
Farewell, farewell, my woes will ne're remoue,
Till I inioy faire Phillis for my loue.

Exit.
Frank.
Whats heere, Phillis and loue, and loue and Phillis:
I haue seene Phillis, and haue heard of loue;
I will see Phillis, and will heare of loue:
But neither Phillis, nor the power of loue,
Shall make me bond-slaue to a womans becke.
Enter Anthonie.
Who's here, my second brother male-content?
Ile stand aside and note his passions.

Ant.
O loue, that I had neuer knowne thy power.

Frank.
More louers yet! what the deuill is this loue?

Anth.
That these my wandring eyes had kept their stay;
That I my selfe had still beene like my selfe;
That my poore heart had neuer felt the wound,
Whose anguish keepes me in a deadly sound:
Oh how deluding dreames this night ore-past,
Drench'd my sad soule in pleasures floting sea!
Me thought I clasp'd my loue within my armes,
And circling her, sau'd her from threatning harmes;
Me thought there came an hundred in an houre
That sought to rob me of my sweetest flower:
But like a champion I did keepe her still
Within this circle, free from euery ill:
But when I wak'd and missd my Phillis there,
All my sweete ioyes conuerted into feare.

Frank.
What brother Anthony, at praiers so hard?
Tell me what saint it is thou inuocates?
Is it a male, or female? howsoeuer,
God blesse thee brother, th'art in a good mind,
But now I remember me, thy saint is blind.

Anth.
How, blind?

Frank.
I brother, blind, I heard thee talke of loue,
And loue is blind they say.

Anth.
I would it were as blinde as Ebon night,
That loue had neuer hit my heart so right;
But what is loue in your opinion?

Frank.
A voluntary motion of delight,
Touching the superficies of the soule;
A substance lesse diuine then is the soule,
Yet more then any other power in man
Is that which loues, yet neither is enforc'd,
Nor doth enforce the heart of man to loue:
Which motion as it vnbeseemes a man,
So by the soule and reason which adorne,
The life of man it is extinguished,
Euen at his pleasure that it doth possesse.

Anth.
Thus may the free-man iest at mannacles,
The furre-clad citizen laugh at a storme,
The swartie Moore diuing to gather pearle,
Challenge the scalding ardor of the sunne;
And aged Nestor sitting in his tent,
May tearme wounds sport, & warre but merriment.

Frank.
Tis true, fore God it is, and now me thinks,
My heart begins to pittie hearts in loue:
Say once more, Anthony, tell me thy griefes,
Let me haue feeling of my passion,
Possesse me deeply of thy melting state,
And thou shalt see.

Anth.
That thou wilt pittie me,

Frank.
No by my troth, if euery tale of loue,
Or loue it selfe, or foole-bewitching beautie,
Make me crosse-arme my selfe; studdy ay-mees;
Defie my hat-band; tread beneath my feete
Shoo-strings and garters; practise in my glasse
Distressed lookes, and dry my liuer vp,
With sighes enough to win an argosie.
If euer I turne thus fantastical,
Loue plague me, neuer pittie me at all.

Enter Phillis.
Anth.
Yonder she comes that holds me prisoner.

Frank.
What? Phillis, the faire maid of the Exchange?
Is she god Cupids iudge ouer mens hearts?
Brother, ile haue one venny with her tongue,
To breathe my wit, and iest at passion:
By your leaue Mistresse Flower.

Phil.
Your rude behauiour scarse offers you welcome.

Frank.
I prethee tell me Phillis, I heare say,
Thou keepst loue captiue in thy maiden thoughts.

Phil.
That is a thought beyond your reach to know.

Frank.
But shall I know it?

Phil.
On what acquaintance? then might you deeme mee fond,
If (as you say) loue be at my command.

Frank.
May not your friend command as great a matter?

Phil.
Ile know him well first, for that friend may flatter.

Frank.
Why, I hope you know me.

Phil.
That's a question.

Franke
Well, if you doe not, you shall before I stirre.
Know you yonder lump of melancholie,
Yonder bundle of sighes yonder wad of grones,
The same and I were chickins of one broode,
And if you know him, as I am sure you doe,
Being his brother, you needes must know me too.

Phil.
I partly haue a guesse of yonder Gentleman,
His name is Maister Golding as I take it.

Ant.
Golding I am, and thine sweete faire I am,
And yet not thine, but a most wretched man,
Thou knowst my cause of griefe, my wound of woe:
And knowing it, why wilt thou see it so?
Put salues of comfort to my griefes vnrest,
So maist thou heale my sore of the heauinesle.

Franke
Hearke you faire maide, are you a Surgeon?
I prethee giue my brother Anthony
Somewhat to heale the loue sore of his mind,
And yet tis pitty that he should haue help:
A man as free as aire, or the Sunnes raies,
As boundlesse in his sunction as the heauens,
The male and better part of flesh and blood,
In whom was powrde the quintessence of reason,
To wrong the adoration of his Maker,
By worshipping a wanton female skirt,
And making Loue his Idoll: fie dotard, fie,
I am ashamde of this apostacie,
Ile talke with her to hinder his complaints.
Phillis, a word in priuate ere you goe,
I loue yee sweete.

Phil.
Sowre, it may be so.

Franke
Sowre, and sweete; faith that doth scarce agree.

Phil.
Two contraries, and so be we.

Fra.
A plague on this courting, come, weele make an end.

Phil.
I am sory for it since you seeme my friend.

Franke
I, but thou canst not weepe.

Phil.
Then had I a hard heart.

Franke
How say you? come brother, now to your part.

Ant.
At your direction: no, this merry glee,
(Good brother) sortes not with my melancholie,
Loue couets priuate conference, so my sorrow,
Craueth your absence which I faine would borrow.

Franck.
No maruell then we say that loue is blind,
If it still reuell in obscurity,
I will depart I will not hinder loue,
Ile wash my handes fare well sweet turtle doue.

Exit.
Phil.
Yfaith your brother is a proper man.

Franck.
Whats your will with me.

Phil.
Euen what you please.

Franck.
Did you not call me backe?

Phil.
Not, to my knowledge.

Franck.
No, sbloud somewhat did, farewell, farewell.

Phil.
He is a very very proper man.

Franck.
I am in haste pray vrge me not to stay.

Phil.
The man doth dote pray God he hits his way.

Franck.
Fore God ther's not a maide in all this towne,
Should sooner winne me, but my busines calls me,
Giue me thy hand, next time I meete with thee,
Lesser intreaty shall wooe my company.

Phil.
Yfaith yfaith.

Franck.
Yfaith, this was the hand, what meanes my bloud,
Doe I not blush, nor looke extreamely pale?
Is not my head a fire, my eyes nor heart?
Ha, art thou here? I feele thee loue I faith,
By this light, well via farewell, farewell.

Exit.
Antho.
Now he is gonne, and we in priuate talke,
Say, wilt thou graunt me loue, wilt thou be mine?
For all the interest in my loue is thine.

Phil.
Your brother Ferdinand hath vowd as much,
Na more, he sweres what man so ere he be,
Presumes to be corriuall in his loue,
He will reuenge it as an iniurie,
And clothe the theefe in basest obloquie.

Antho.
I, is my brother my competitor?
Ile court my loue and will solicite thee,
Were Ferdinand himselfe in company.
What saist thou to my sute?

Phil.
Time may doe much, what I intend to doe
I meane to pawse vpon.

Ant.
Let it be so;
If that my brothers hinderance be all,
Ile haue thy loue though by my brothers fall.

Exit
Phil.
Two brothers drownd in loue, I and the third
For all his outward habite of neglect,
If I iudge rightly if I did not dreame,
Hath dipt his foote too in Loues scalding streame.
Well, let them pleade and perish if they will;
Cripple, my heart is thine, and shall be still.

Exit.
Franke
I am not well, and yet I am not ill,
I am, what am I? not in loue I hope?

In loue! let me examine my selfe, who should I loue? who did
I last conuerse with, with Phillis: why should I loue Phillis? is
she faire? faith so so: her forehead is pretty, somewhat resembling
the forehead of the signe of the maidenhead in, &c.
Whats her haire? faith to Bandora wiars, theres not the like
simile: is it likely yet that I am in loue? Whats next? her
cheekes, they haue a reasonable scarlet, never a Diars
daughter in the towne goes beyond her. Well, yet I am not
in loue. Nay, she hath a mole in her cheeke too: Venus mole
was not more naturall; but what of that, I am Adonis, and
will not loue. Good Venus pardon me. Let vs descend: her
chinne, O Helen, Helen, wheres your dimple Helen? it was
your dimple that bewitcht Paris, and without your dimple I
will not loue you Helen, No, yet I am safe. Her hand, lettes
handle that, I sawe her hand, and it was lilly white, I toucht
her palme, and it was soft and smoothe: and then what then?
her hand did then bewitch me, I shall be in loue now out of
hand. In loue! shall I that euer yet haue prophand loue, now
fall to worship him? Shall I that haue ieasted at louers sighes
now raise whirlewindes? shall I that haue flowted ay-mees
once a quarter, now practise ay-mees euery minute? shal I defie
hat-bands, and treade garters and shoostrings vnder my
feete? shall I fall to falling bands and be a ruffin no longer? I
must; I am now liege man to Cupid, and haue read all these
informations in his booke of statutes, the first chapter, page
millesimo nono, therefore, hat-band avaunt, ruffe regard your

selfe, garters adue, shoo-strings so and so; I am a poore enamorate,
and enforcde with the Poet to say, Loue orecomes
all, and I that loue obey.

Exit.
Enter M. Flower.
Flow.
Now afore God a very good conceit,
But too much sleepe hath ouer taken me,
The night hath plaid the swift-foote runne-away:
A good conceit, a very good conceit,
What Fiddle, arise Fiddle, Fiddle I say.

Enter Fiddle.
Fid.

Heer's a fidling indeed, I thinke your tongue be made
of nothing but fiddlestrings, I hope the fiddle must haue
some rest as well as the fiddle-sticke: well Crowde, what say
you to Fiddle now?

Flow.

Fiddle, it is a very good conceit.

Fid.

It is indeed, Master.

Flow.

What dost thou meane?

Fid.

To goe to bed againe Sir.

Flow.

No, Fiddle, that were no good conceit Fiddle,

Fid.

What a fidling doe you keepe, are you not ashamde
to make such musicke; I hope sir, you will christen mee anew
shortly, for you haue so worne this name, that ne're a wench
in all the towne but will scorne to dance after my fiddle.

Flow.

Well Fiddle, thou art an honest fellow.

Fid.

Thats more than you know, Master.

Flow.

Ile sweare for thee Fiddle.

Fid.

Youle be damn'd then, Master.

Flow.

I loue thee Fiddle.

Fid.

I had rather your daughter lou'd me,

Flow,

Tis a rare conceit ifaith.

Fid.

I hold with you Master, if my yong mistresse would
like so well of my musicke, that she would dance after no bodies
instrument but mine.

Flow.

No Fiddle, that were no good conceit.

Fid.

A shame on you, I thought you would not heare on that side

Flow.

Fiddle, thou toldst me, M. Golding was in loue with my daughter.

Fid.

True, master; therin you say well.

Flow.

And he intreats me to meet him at the starre in cheap,
to talke concerning the match.

Fiddle

True still maister.

Flo.

And I haue sent for my neighbour M. Berry to beare
me company,

Fiddle

True, all this is most naturall truth.

Flo.

And now Fiddle, I am going on my way.

Fiddle

Nay thats a lie, that hath marrd all, was your conceipt
so tirde you could tel troth no longer?

Flo.

Why Fiddle, are we not going?

Fiddle

No indeede sir, we are not, we stand still, your conceit
failde in that.

Flo.

Fore God tis true, I am not ready yet: whats hee?

Enter Bobbington.
Bob.

By your leaue sir, I would craue a word in secret sir.

Flo.

At your pleasure, heeres none but my man Fiddle,

Fiddle

I sir, maister Fiddle is my name, sir Laurence Syro was
my father.

Bob.

Sir, this is my businesse, my name is Racket, I haue a
ship of my owne vpon the riuer.

Flo.

By your leaue sir, captaine Racket is your name.

Bob.

Some call me so indeede sir.

Flo.

It is a good conceit, I pray proceede.

Bob.

Sir, I am now bound to sea, and wanting some monie
for the better furnishing of my wants.

Flo.

O, you would borrow mony of me.

Bob.

Thats my sute indeede.

Flo.

Thats no good conceit.

Bob.

Na, heare me sir, if you wil supply me with ten pound
til my returne from Barbary, I will leaue in your hands a diamond
of greater value than the mony.

Flo.
A Diamond, is it a Diamond, or but a counterfet?
Fiddle, my spectacles.

Bob.
Tis right, I assure you sir.

Flo.
Then tis a good conceit: my spectacles.

Fiddle
Heere sir.

Flo.
Where sir?

Fiddle
You cannot see maister, but I can.

Flo.
O tis good, it is a good conceit: wel sir, tenne pound,
You are content if at three months end,
You bring me not ten pound in English coine,
This diamond shall be my proper owne.

Bob.
I am sir, shall I receiue the money now?

Flow.
I, heere it is, and tis a good conceit.
Will you goe neere sir? Fiddle, make him drinke.

Fiddle

Will you approch caualiero, if I speake not in season,
tis because I was neuer in the salt country, where you sea
captaines vse to march.

Bob.
You are very eloquent sir, ile follow you.

Fiddle
Let me alone then for leading my men.

Exeunt Bobbington and Fiddle.
Flo.
A diamond worth forty for tenne pound,
If he returne not safe from Barbarie,
Tis good, a very good conceit.

Enter M. Berry.
Berry
By your leaue maister Flower.

Flow.

Welcome good maister Berry, I was bold to intreat
your company to speake with a friend of mine,

It is some trouble, but the conceit is good.

Berry
No trouble at all sir, shall we be going?

Flo.
With all my heart sir, and as we goe,
Ile tell you my conceit, come maister Berry.

Exeunt.
Enter at one doore Cripple, at the other Bowdler.
Bow.
Well met my deere bundle of rew, well met.

Crip.
As much to thee my humorous blossome.

Bow.

A plague on thee for a dog, haue I found thee? I hate
thee not, and yet by this hand I could finde in my heart: but
sirra, Crutch, I was encountred.

Crip.

Who became your baile?

Bow.

Ye filthy dog, I was encountred by a wench I say.

Crip.

In a wenches counter! I thought no lesse: what sirra
didst thou lie in the Knights warde, or on the maisters side?

Bow.

Neither, neither yfaith.

Crip.

Where then, in the Hole?

Bow.

By this hand Cripple ile bombaste thee!

Crip.

My crutch you meane for wearing out my clothes.

Bow.

Thy nose dogge, thy nose, a plague on thee, I care
not for thee, and yet I cannot choose but loue thee.

Sirra, Mall Berry was heere about woorke thou hast ofhers,
hadst thou been here to haue heard how I spurrd the wench
with incantations, thou wouldst haue giuen me the praise for
a jeaster.

Cripple

True maister Bowdler, I yeelde it you, I holde you
for the absolutst jeaster; O mis-take me not, I meane to jest
vpon, a juggling gull, a profound seeing man of shallow wit,
that Europe, na the world I thinke affords.

Bow.

Well, thou art a Iew sirra, Ile cut out that venomous
tongue of thine one of these dayes.

Cripple

Doe it in time, or Ile crush the heart of thy wit till
I haue straind foorth thy infectious humour to a drop yfaith.

Enter Mall Berry.
Bow.

Heere comes my amorous vessell, ile boorde her yfaith:
Well encountred Mall, how doost thou wench, how
doost thou?

Mall.

Whats that to you sir

Bow.

Why I aske thee in kindnesse.

Mal.

Why then in kindenes you are a foole for asking.

Bow.

Is the foole your liuerie?

Mal.

Not so, for then you wearing that liuerie, woulde
terme your selfe my foole.

Bow.

Meaning me? you gull me not, if you doe:

Mal.

What then?

Bow.

O vile! I woud take you downe.

Mal.

Alas it wants wit, his wit is too narrow.

Bowdler

Ile stretch my wit but I will take you downe.

Mal.

How, vpon the tenters? indeede if the whole peece
were so stretcht, and very well beaten with a yeard of reformation,
no doubt it would grow to a goodly breadth.

Bow.

By this hand.

Mal.

Away you asse, hinder not my businesse.

Crip.

Finely put off wench yfaith.

Mal.

By your leaue maister Drawer.

Cripple

Welcome mistris Berry, I haue beene mindefull of
your worke.

Mal.
Is it done?

Crip.
Yes, and heere it is.

Mal.
Heere is your money.
Cripple, ere long ile visit thee againe,
I haue some ruffes and stomachers to drawe.

Crip.
At your pleasure.

Bow.
By thy leaue Mall, a word.

Mal.
Away you bundle of nothing, away.

Exit Mal.
Crip.
She hath a wit as sharpe as her needle.

Bowdler

Alas, my selfe haue beene her whetstone with my
conference in th'Exchange any time these many yeares.

Crip.

In th'Exchange! I haue walkt with thee there, before
the visitation of my legges, and my expence in timber, at the
least a hundred times, and neuer heard thee speak to a wench.

Bow.

Thats a lie, thou wert by when I bought these gloues
of a wench.

Cripple.

Thats true, they cost thee an English shilling at a
word, mary it followes in the text, that your shilling proou'd
but a harper, and thou wert shamefully arraignd for it.

Bow.

Good, but I excusde my selfe.

Crip.

True, that thou thoughtst it had bin a shilling, mary
thou hadst neuer an other, nor so much as a shilling more
to change it. Thou talke in th'Exchange!

Bowdler

Indeede my best gift is in the morning when the
Maides visite my chamber, with such necessaries as I vsually
buy of them.

Crip.

O thou art one of those, that if an honest Maid be
sent to thy chamber with her Mistris goodes, and returne as
honest and chaste as the moone: Sirra, you are one of those
that will slaunder the poore wenches, by speaking liberally
of their pronenesse to loue; and withall, bragge how cheap
you haue bought their ware metaphorically, when indeede
they depart as honest as they came thither, and leaue you all
the day after to sigh at the sight of an ill bargaine.

Bowd.

When wilt thou spit out this serpents tong of thine?

Crip.

When wilt thou cast off this anticke garment of ostentation?
do it, do it, or by the Lord I wil impresse thy vanities,
and so anotomize the very bowells of thy absurdities,
that all the worlde shall take notice of thee for a foole, and
shunne thee as the pox or the pestilence.

Enter Barnard.
Barn.
Newes, newes, newes.

Bowd.
Sweete rogue, whats the matter?

Barn.
By Iesu the rarest dauncing in christendome.

Bowd.
Sweet rascall, where, O doe not kill my soule
With such delayes, tell me kinde rogue, O tell me where it is.

Barn.
At a wedding in Gratious streete.

Bow.
Come, come, away, I long to see the man
In dauncing Arte that does more than I can.

Bar.
Than you sir! he liues not.

Bow.
Why I did vnderstand thee so.

Bar.
You onely excepted, the world besides
Cannot afford more exquisite dauncers
Than are now capring in that bridale house.

Bow.
I will beholde them, come crutch, thou shalt with vs.

Crip.
Not I.

Bow.
Downe dogge, ile haue thy company.

Crip.
I haue businesse.

Bow.
By this hand thou shalt goe with vs.

Crip.
By this leg I will not.

Bow.
A lame othe, neuer stand to that.

Crip.
By this crutch but I will.

Bar.
Come, you loose time, supper is done long since,
And they are now a dauncing.

Enter master Berry and Fiddle.
Berry
Stay Fiddle with thy torch, Gentlemen, good eeuen.

Barn.
Maister Berry!

Bow.

Maister Berry, I wish you well sir: maister Fiddle I
am yours for a congee.

Fiddle

After the French salutation I am yours for the like
curtesie.

Berry
Maister Barnard, to morrow is your day
Of payment sir, I meane the hundred pound,
For which I haue your bond, I know tis sure,
You will not breake an houre; then if you please
To come to dinner sir, you shall be welcome.

Barn.
Sir, I did meane to visite you at home,
Not to pay downe the money, but intreate
Too moneths for-bearance.

Ber.
How! forbeare my money?
Your reason, why I should forbeare my owne?

Barn.
You know at first the debt was none of mine,
I was a suretie, not the principall:
Besides, the money that was borrowed
Miscarried in the ventures my friend died,
And once already haue you prisoned me,
To my great charge, almost my ouer-throw,
And some-what raisde the debt by that aduantage:
These things considered, you may well forbeare
For two moneths space, so small a summe as this.

Ber.
How! I may forbeare; Sir, I haue neede of money:
I may indeed sit monilesse at home,
And let you walke abroad spending my coyne.
This I may doe, but sir you know my minde,
If you do breake your day, assure your selfe,
That I will take the forfeit of your bond.

Crip.
The forfeit of his bond!

Ber.
I sir, the forfeit; tis no charitie
To fauour you that liue like Libertines:
Heer's a Crew!

All.
A crew; what Crew?

Ber.
A crew of vnthrifts, carelesse dissolutes,
Licencious prodigalls, vilde tauern-tracers.
Night watching money-wasters, what should I call yee?
O I want words for to define you rightly;
But this I know, London ne're fostred such
As Barnard, Bowdler, and this paltrie crutch.

Crip.
And you want words sirra, ile teach thee words;
Thou shouldst haue come to euery one of vs
As thus: thou wretch, thou miser thou vilde slaue
And drudge to money, bond-man to thy wealth,
Apprentice to a penny, thou that hourds vp
The frie of siluer pence and half-penies,
With shew of charitie to giue the poore,
But putst them to increase, where in short time
They grow a childs part, or a daughters portion.
Thou that inuents new clauses for a bond
To cousin simple plainenesse: O not a Dragon,
No, nor the deuils fangs are halfe so cruell
As are thy clawes; thus, thus thou shouldst haue railde:
The forfeit of his bond, O I could spit
My heart into his face; thou blood-hound that dost hunt
The deere, deere life of noble Gentrie.

Berry.
Cripple, tis knowne I am an honest man;
But for thy wordes, Barnard shall fare the worse:
As for thy selfe.

Fid.

Who he sir, neuer regard him, I know the vildest
thing by him, O tis abhominable!

Ber.

Dost thou so Fiddle, speake, hold, take thou that speake
of his shame, speake freely, ile protect thee.

Fid.

I tell you sir, twill make your haire to stand on end as
stiffe as a Rubbing-brush, to heare his villanies.

What's this you haue giuen me?

Ber.

A shilling Fiddle.

Fid.

Haue you any skill in Arithmeticke?

Ber.

Why dost thou aske?

Fid.

Sir, I would haue you to multiply; could you not make
this one shilling two or three? I would not be knowne to beg,
but if out of your cunning you can doe this tricke of multiplication,
I shall speake the better.

Ber.

O ther's another shilling for thee, now let mee heare
what villanies thou canst charge the Cripple with.

Fid.

So sir, this is multiplication, now sir, if you know the
Rule of addition you are an excellent Scholler: can you not
adde?

Berry.

What dost thou meane?

Fid.

An other shilling sir.

Ber.

There is another shilling; now Fiddle speake.

Fid.

Why then attend you Hilles and Dales, and stones so
quicke of hearing, this Cripple is.

All.

What is he villaine?

Fid.

An honest man, as any is in all the towne.

Ber.

An honest man!

Fid.

I by this siluer, and as good a fellow as euer went vpon

foure legges, if you would multiply till mid-night, I would
neuer speake otherwise.

Ber.
Fiddle, thou art a knaue, and so is hee:
Come let vs home; Barnard, looke to thy bond,
If thou doe breake thy day, I do protest,
By yon chaste Moone.

Fid.
The chaste Moone, why the Moone is not chaste.

Ber.
How prou'st thou that?

Fid.

Why sir, ther's a man in the middle of her, how can
she be chaste then?

Berr.
Then by my life I sweare, ile clap him vp
Where he shall see neither the sunne nor moone,
Till I be satisfied the vtmost penny,
And so fare-well.

Exit.
Fid.

Gallants good-night; if time and place were in prosperitie,
I were yours for an houres societie, I must after yon
mulbery with my torch: adue deare hearts, adue.

Exit.
Bowd.
Come Barnard, lets to the dancing, lets tickle it to night,
For to morrow thy heeles may be too heauy.

Barn.
Alls one; my heart shall be as light as fire.
Come, shall we goe?

Bowd.
Cripple, will you along?

Crip.
My busines stayes me heere.

Bowd.
Fare-well then dogge of Israell, farewell.

Exeunt.
Crip.
Als one, my heart shall be as light as fire:
Sblood, were I endebted a hundred pound,
My fortune faild, and fled as Barnards are,
Not worth a hundred pence as Barnards is:
I should be now deuising sentences
And Caueats, for posteritie to carue
Vpon the inside of the counter wall:
Therefore Ile now turne prouident; Ile to my shoppe
And fall to worke.

Enter Phillis.
Phil.
Yonder's his shop, O now you gods aboue
Pittie poore Phillis heart, that melts in loue;
Instruct the Cripple to finde out my loue,
Which I will shadow vnder the conceit
Of my inuention for this piece of worke;
O teach him how to yeeld me loue againe,
A little little loue, a dramme of kinde affection,
His many vertues are my true direction:
By your leaue M. Drawer.

Crip.
Welcome Mistresse Flower, whats your pleasure?

Phil.
My cause of comming is not vnknowne to you,
Here is bespoken worke which must be wrought
With expedition, I pray haue care of it;
The residue I referre to your direction:
Onely this hankercher, a yong Gentlewoman,
Wishd me acquaint you with her mind herein:
In one corner of the same, place wanton loue,
Drawing his bow shooting an amorous dart,
Opposite against him an arrow in a heart,
In a third corner picture foorth disdaine,
A cruell fate vnto a louing vaine:
In the fourth drawe a springing Lawrell tree,
Circled about with a ring of poesie: and thus it is:
Thus you haue heard the Gentle-womans minde,
I pray be carefull that it be well done:
And so I leaue you, more I faine would say,
But shame forbids and calles me hence away.

Exit.
Crip.
Sweet faire, I pittie, yet no reliefe
Harbors within the closet of my soule:
This Phillis beares me true affection,
But I detest the humor of fond loue:
Yet am I hourely solicited
As now you see, and faine she would make knowne
The true perplexion of her wounded heart:
But modestie checking her forwardnesse
Bids her be still; yet she in similies
And loue-comparisons, like a good Scholler
By figures makes a demonstration
Of the true loue enclosed in her heart.
I know it well, yet will not tell her so,
Fancie shall neuer marry me to woe;
Take this of me, a yong man's neuer mar'd,
Till he by marriage from all ioy be bar'd.

Exit.
Enter Franke singing,
Frank.
Was euer man thus tormented with loue?
Song.
Auaunt delusion, thoughts cannot winne my loue;
Loue, though diuine, cannot diuine my thoughts:
Why to the ayre then do I idle heere
Such heedles words farre off, and ne're the neere;
Hie thee yong Franke, to her that keepes thy heart,
There let sweet words they sweeter thoughts impart.
But stay; here comes my mellancholly brothers both,
Ile step aside, and heare their conference.

Exit aside.
Antho.
What? is my brother Ferdinand so neere?
He is my elder, I must needs giue place;
Anthony, stand by, and list what he doth say,
Haste calles me hence, yet I will brooke delay.

Ferd.
Shall I exclaime gainst fortune and mishap,
Or raile on Nature who first framed me?
Is it hard chance that keepes me from my loue?
Or is this heape of loathd deformitie,
The cause that breeds a blemmish in her eye?
I know not what to thinke, or what to say,
Onely one comfort yet I haue in store,
Which I will practise though I ne're try more.

Anth.
Oh, for to heare that comfort I doe long,
Ile turne it to a straine to right my wrong.

Ferd.
I haue a brother riuall in my loue;
I haue a brother hates me for my loue;
I haue a brother vowes to winne my loue;
That brother too, he hath incenst my loue,
To gaine the beauty of my deerest loue;
What hope remaines then to inioy my loue?

Anth.
I am that brother riuall in his loue,
I am that brother hates him for his loue:
Not his but mine, and I will haue that loue,
Or neuer liue to see him kisse my loue;
What thou erst sayd, I am that man alone,
That will depose you brother from loues throne;
I am that man, though you my elder be,
That will aspire beyond you one degree.

Ferd.
I haue no meanes of priuate conference,
So narrowly pursues my hinderer,
No sooner am I entred the sweet court
Of louely rest, my loues rich mansion,
But riuall loue to my affection
Followes me, as a soone enforced strawe,
The drawing vertue of a sable jeat:
This therefore's my determination,
Within the close wombe of a sealed paper,
Will I right downe in bloody Characters,
The burning zeale of my affection:
And by some trusty messenger or other,
Conuey the same into my loues owne hand;
So shall I know her resolution,
And how she fancies my affection.

Antho.
Yet subtill Fox, I may perchance to crosse you:
Brother, well met; whither away so fast?

Ferd.
About affaires that doe require some haste.

Antho.
Tis well done brother, you seeke still for gaine.

Ferd.
But you would reape the haruest of my paine:
Farewell good brother, I must needes be gone,
I haue serious businesse now to thinke vpon:
Yet for I feare my brother Anthonie,
Ile step aside and stand a while vnseene,
I may perchance discry which way he goes;
Thus policie must worke twixt friends and foes.

Aside.
Anth.
So, hee is gone, I scarsely trust him neither;
For tis his custome, like a sneaking foole,
To fetch a compasse of a mile about,
And creepe where he would be; well, let him passe,
I heard him say, that since by word of mouth
He could not purchase his sweet mistresse fauour,
He would endeuour what his wit might doe
By writing, and by tokens; O tis good
Writing with inke; O no, but with his blood.
Well, so much for that, now I know his minde
I doe intend not to be farre behinde:
Heele send a letter, I will write another,
Doe what you can, ile be before you brother;
Ile entercept his letter by the way,
And as time serues, the same I will bewray:
Mine being made, a Porter Ile procure,
That shall conuey that heart-inticing lure;
About it then, my letter shall be writ,
Though not with blood, yet with a reaching wit.

Exit.
Ferd.
And shall it so, good brother Anthonie?
Were you so neere when we in secret talk'd?
Wilt ne're be otherwise? will you dog me still?
Enter Franke.
Welcome sweete Frank; such news I haue to tell,
As cannot chuse but like thee passing well:
Thou knowest my loue to Phillis?

Frank.
Brother, say on.

Ferd.
Thou likewise art acquainted with my riuall,
And I doe build vpon your secrecie.

Frank.
Sblood, and I thought you did not, Ide retire:
Brother you know, I loue you as my life.

Ferd.
I dare professe as much, and there-vpon
Make bold to craue thy furtherance, in a thing
Concernes me much.

Franke.
Out with it brother;
If I shrinke backe, repose trust in some other.

Ferd.
Then thus it is; my brother all in haste
Is gone, to write a letter to my loue,
And thinkes thereby to crosse me in my sute,
Sending it by a Porter to her hand;
If euer therefore thou wilt aid thy brother,
Helpe me in this, who seekes helpe from no other.

Frank.
By the red lippe of that daintie saint, Ile aid thee all I may.

Ferd.
It is enough; then brother Ile prouide
A Porters habite, alike in euery point,
Will you but so much humble your estate,
To put your selfe in that so base attyre,
And like so meane a person waite his comming,
About his doore which will not be ore long,
Thou shalt for euer binde me to thy loue.

Franke
Brother, tis a base taske, by this light,
But to procure a further force of loue,
Ile doot, yfaith I will sweete Ferdinand,
About it then, prouide thee some disguise,
But see you stay not long in any wise,
Heere shall you finde me, goe, dispatch.

Ferd.
For this ile loue thee euerlastingly.

Franke
Meane time ile crosse your loue and if I can,
Heeres no villanie twixt vs three brothers:
My brother Ferdinand he would haue the wench,
And Anthonie he hopes to haue her too:
Then what may I? faith hope well, as they doe.
Neither of them know that I loue the Maide;
Yet by this hand I am halfe mad for loue.
I know not well what loue is, but tis sure,
Ile die if I haue her not, therefore
Good brothers mine beguile you one an other,
Till you be both gulld by your yonger brother.

Enter Ferdinand.
Ferd.
Heere is a Porters habite, on with it brother.

Frank.
Your hand then brother for to put it on,
So now tis well, come brother, whats my taske?

Ferd.
This first, that thou make haste to Anthonies,
Aske for a burden and thou shall be sure
To haue his letter to my deere loue Phillis,
Deliuer it not, but keepe it to thy selfe,
Till thou hast giuen this paper to her hands,
Whose lines do intimate thy chaste desires,
This is the summe of all, good Franke, make haste,
Loue burnes in me, and I in loue doe waste.

Exit.
Franke
Waste still, but let me in my loue increase,
Now would not all the world take me for a Porter?
How strangely am I metamorphosed?
And yet I neede not be ashamed neither,
Ioue when his loue-scapes when he attempted euer
Transformd himselfe; yet euer sped in loue,
Why may not I then in this strange disguise?
This habite may prooue mighty in loues powre,
As beast, or bird, bull, or swanne, or golden showre.

Enter Anthonie.
Antho.
Within the centre of this paper square,
Haue I wrote downe in bloudy characters,
A pretty poesie of a wounded heart,
Such is loues force once burst into a flame,
Doe what we can we cannot quench the same,
Vnlesse the teares of pitty moue compassion,
And so quench out the fire of affection,
Whose burning force heats me in euery vaine,
That I to Loue for safety must complaine:
This is my Orator whose dulcet tongue
Must pleade my loue to beauteous Phillis.
Now for a trusty messenger to be
Imployd heerein betwixt my loue and me,
And in good time I see a Porter nie,
Come hither fellow, dwellst thou heere about?

Franke
Sir, my abiding is not farre from hence,
And Trusty Iohn men call me by my name.

Anth.
Canst thou be trusty then, and secret too,
Being imployd in weighty businesse?

Franke
Sir, I was neuer yet disproou'd in eyther.

Anth.
Then marke me well, in Cornhill by th'Exchange,
Dwells an old Merchant, Flower they call his name,
He hath one onely daughter, to whose hands,
If thou conueniently canst giue this letter,
Ile pay thee well, make thee the happiest Porter
That euer vndertooke such businesse.

Franke
Sir, giue me your letter, if I doe it not,
Then let your promisde fauour be forgot.

Anth.
Anthony Golding is my name, my friend,
About it then, thy message being done,
Make haste to me againe, till when, I leaue thee.

Exit.
Franke
And so fare thee well louing brother,
It had bin better you had sent some other,
Let me consider what is best be done,
Shall I deliuer his letter? No:
Shall I conuey it to my riuall brother? Nor so:
Shall I teare the same? No not for a million:
What shall I then do? mary like a kinde brother,
Open the booke, see what is written there,
If nought but loue, in loue haue thou a share.
Brother, by your leaue I hope youle not deny,
But that I loue you: God blesse my eie-sight,
A Sonnet tis in verse, now on my life
He hath perusde all the impressions
Of Sonnets since the fall of Lucifer,
And made some scuruy quaint collection
Of fustian phrases, and vplandish wordes. A Letter.

Faire glory of vertue, thy enamorate
Pleades loyally in pure affection,
Whose passion Loue do thou exonorate,
And he shall liue by thy protection:
Nor from thy loue shall he once derogate,
For any soule vnder this horizon,
Yeeld thou to loue, and I will faile in neither,
So loue and truth shall alwayes liue together.

Yours denoted, Anthony Golding.

Before God, excellent good Poetry,
Sbloud what meanes he by this line?
For any soule vnder this horizon?
No matter for his meaning, meane what he will,
I meane his meaning shall not be deliuered,
But for my other trust my other letter,
That shall come short too of faire Phillis hands,
There is a Cripple dwelling heere at hand,
Thats very well acquainted with the Maide,
And for I once did rescue them from thieues,
Swore, if he liude, he would requite that kindnes,
To him I will for councell, he shall be
My tutor by his wit and pollicie.

Exit.
Enter Boy in a Shop cutting of square parchments, to him enter Phillis.
Phi.
Why how now sirra, can you finde nought to doe,
But waste the parchment in this idle sort?

Boy
I do but what my mistris gaue in charge.

Phi.
Your mistris! in good time: then sir it seemes
Your duety cannot stoope but to her lewre:
Sir, I will make you knowe, that in hir absence
You shall accompt to my demaund, your mistris
And your mistris will is thus, and thus youle doe:
But answere to the motion I haue made,
Or you shall feele you haue another mistris now:
Speake, why when I say?

Boy
Indeede I know your glory,
Your pride's at full in this authoritie:
But, were it not for modest bashfulnesse,
And that I dread a base contentious name,
I would not be a by-word to th'Exchange,
For euery one to say (my selfe going by)
Yon goes a vassall to authoritie.

Phil.
You would not sir: had I the yeard in hand,
Ide measure your pate for this delusion,
And by my maiden chastitie I sweare,
Vnlesse

Reach for the yeard, and the boy stay her hand.
Boy
What vnlesse! I know your wilfulnes,
These wordes are but to shew the world your homour;
I often vse to square these parchment peeces
Without occasion: I am sure you are not witting
The Lawnes you lately bought of maister Brookes
Are new come home, brought by the Merchants seruant:
I know you are short membred, but not so short
Of your remembrance, that this is newes to you.

Phil.
Y'are best to braue me in a taunting humour,
Wilt please you ope the doore? wheres Vrsula?
Oh heeres good stuffe, my backe's no sooner turnd
But she must needes be gadding, and where I pray?

Boy.
Shee's gone to M. Pawmers on th'other side.

Phil.
On great occasions, sir, I doubt it not.

Sit and worke in the shop.
Enter M. Richard Gardiner booted, and M. William Bennet, two gentlemen, at one ende of the stage.
Ben.
Kinde Dicke, thou wilt not be vnmindfull of my dutie
To that same worthy Arts-master, Lyonell Barnes.

Gard.
Thy loue, sweet Will, hath chainde it to my memory.

Ben.
Then with this kinde imbrace I take my leaue,
Wishing thou wert as safe arriu'd at Cambridge,
As thou art at this present neere the Exchange.

Gard
And well remembred, kind Will Bennet,
Others affaires made me obliuious
Of mine owne; I pray thee goe to the Exchange,
I haue certaine bands, and other linnen to buy,
Prethee accompanie me.

Ben.
With all my heart.

Gard.
Sure, this is a beauteous gallant walkes
Were my continuall residence in London,
I should make much vse of such a pleasure:
Me thinkes the glorious virgins of this square
Giues life to dead strucke youth; Oh heauens!

Ben.
Why how now Dicke?

Gard.
By my sweete hopes of an hereafter blisse,
I neuer saw a fairer face then this:
O for acquaintance with so rich a beautie.

Ben.
Take thy occasion, neuer hadst thou better.

Gard.
Haue at her then.

Phil.
What lacke you Gentlemen?

Gard.
Faith nothing, had I thee.
For in thine eye all my desires I see.

Phil.
My shop you meane sir, there you may haue choice
Of Lawnes, or Cambricks, Ruffes well wrought, Shirts,
Fine falling bands of the Italian cut-worke,
Ruffes for your hands, wast-cotes wrought with silke,
Night-caps of gold, or such like wearing linnen,
Fit for the Chap-man of what ere degree.

Gard.
Faith virgin in my dayes, I haue worne & out-worne much,
Yea, many of these golden necessaries;
But such a gallant beautie, or such a forme
I neuer saw, nor neuer wore the like:
Faith be not then vnkinde, but let me weare
This shape of thine, although I buy it deere.

Phil.
What hath the Tailor plaide his part so well,
That with my gowne you are so farre in loue?

Gard.
Mistake not sweet, your garment is the couer,
That vailes the shape and pleasures of a louer.

Phil.
That argues then, you doe not see my shape,
How comes it then you are in loue with it?

Gard.
A garment made by cunning Arts-mens skill,
Hides all defects that Natures swaruing hand
Hath done amisse, and makes the shape seeme pure;
If then it grace such lame deformitie,
It addes a greater grnce to puritie.

Phil.
Oh short liu'd praise! euen now I was as faire
As any thing; now fouler nothing.
Dissembling men, what maide will credite them?

Gard.
How misconstruction leades your thoughts awry.

Ben.
I prethee Dicke adone; thinke on thy iourney.

Phil.
You counsell well sir, I thinke the Gentleman
Comes but to whet his wit, and tis but need;
Tis blunt enough, he may ride farre vpon't.

Gard.
Mary gip Minx.

Phil.
A fine word in a Gentlemans mouth;
T'were good your backe were towards me,
There can I reade better content, then in the face of lust.

Gard.
Now you display your vertues, as they are.

Phil.
What am I, you, Cipher, parrenthesis of words,
Stall-troubler, prater, what sit I heere for naught?
Bestow your lustfull court-ships on your minions,
This place holds none; you and your companion
Get you downe the staires, or I protest
Ile make this squared walke too hotte for you,
Had you been as you seemd in out-ward shew,
Honest Gentlemen, such termes of vilde abuse
Had not been proffred to virginitie;
But Swaines will quickly shew their base desent.

Gard.
This is no place for brawles, but if it were,
Your impositions are more then I would beare.

Ben.
Come, shee's a woman, I prethee leaue her.

Exeunt Gard. and Ben.
Phil.
Nay sure a maid, vnlesse her thoughts deceiue her.
God speede you well: sirra boy.

Boy.
Anone.
Go to the Starchers for the sute of ruffes,
For M. Bowalers bands, and M. Goldings shirts,
Lets haue a care to please our prooued friends:
As for our strangers, if they vse vs well,
For loue and money, loue and ware weele sell.

Exeunt
Enter Franke.
The Cripple at worke.
Frank.
Now fortune be my guide, this is the shop;
And in good time the Cripple is at worke:
God speede you sir.

Crip.
Welcome honest friend; whats thy will with me?

Frank.
I would entreat you reade a letter for me.

Crip.
With all my heart:
I know the maide to whom it is directed.

Frank.
I know you doe Cripple, better then you thinke.

Crip.
I pray you, what Gentleman writ the same?

Frank.
Sir, a Gentleman of good learning, and my friend;
To say the truth, t'was written for my selfe,
Being some-what ouertaken with fond loue,
As many men be sir.

Crip.
Why art thou perswaded, or haste thou any hope,
So beautifull a virgin as she is,
Of such faire parentage; so vertuous,
So gentle, kinde, and wise as Phillis is,
That she will take remorse of such base stuffe,
I thinke not so: but let me see, whats thy name?

Frank.
Trustie Iohn men call me sir.

Crip.
How comes it then your blinded Secretarie,
Hath writ another name vnto the letter?
Yours deuoted Anthony Golding.
But sure this letter is no right of thine,
Either thou foundst the same by happy chance,
Or being imployed as a Messenger,
Plaid'st leger dumaine with him that sent the same:
Wherefore the maid (well knowne vnto my selfe)
I will reserue the letter to her vse,
That she, if by the name herein set downe,
She know the Gentleman that doth wish her well,
She may be gratefull for his courtesie.

Frank.
Nay then I see I must disclose my selfe:
Sir, might I build vpon your secrecie,
I would disclose a secret of import.

Crip.
Assure thy selfe I will not iniure thee.

Frank
Then Cripple know, I am not what I seem,
But tooke this habite to deceiue my friend:
My friend indeed, but yet my cruell foe;
Foe to my good, my friend in outward show:
I am no Porter, as I seeme to bee,
But yonger brother to that Anthony;
And to be briefe, I am in loue with Phillis,
Which my two elder brothers do affect:
The one of them seekes to defeat the other:
Now if that I, being their yonger brother
Could gull them both, by getting of the wench,
I would requite it with loues recompence.
Cripple, thou once didst promise me thy loue,
When I did rescue thee on Mile-end Greene,
Now is the time, now let me haue thy ayd,
To gull my brothers of that beauteous mayd.

Crip.
Sir, what I promisde I will now performe;
My loue is yours, my life to doe you good,
Which to approue, follow me but in all,
Weele gull your brothers in the wench, and all.

Frank.
Saist thou me so friend, for that very word
My life is thine, command my hand and sword.

Crip.
Then let me see this letter; it should see me
You vnder-tooke to carry from your brother
To the maide.

Franke
I did, and from my brother Ferdinand,
This other letter to the same effect.

Crip.
Well, list to me, and follow my aduise,
You shall deliuer neither of them both;
But frame two letters of your owne inuention,
Letters of flat deniall to their sutes,
Giue them to both your brothers as from Phillis,
And let each line in either Letter tend
To the dispraise of both their features;
And the conclusion I would haue set downe,
A flat resolue bound with some zealous oath,
Neuer to yeeld to eyther of their sutes:
And if this sort not well to your content,
Condemne the Cripple.

Franke
But this will aske much time,
And they by this time looke for my returne.

Crip.
Why then my selfe will fit you presently,
I haue the Coppies in my custody,
Of sundry Letters to the same effect.

Franke
Of thy owne writing?

Crip.
My owne I assure you, sir.

Franke
Faith thou hast robd some Sonet booke or other,
And now wouldst make me thinke they are thine owne.

Crip.
Why, thinkst thou that I cannot write a letter,
Ditty, or Sonnet with iudiciall phrase,
As pretty, pleasing, and patheticall,
As the best Ouid-immitating dunce
In all the towne.

Franke
I thinke thou canst not.

Crip.
Yea, ile sweare I cannot,
Yet sirra, I could conny-catch the world,
Make my selfe famous for a sodaine wit,
And be admirde for my dexteritie,
Were I disposde.

Franke
I pre thee how.

Crip.
Why thus there liu'd a Poet in this towne,
(If we may terme our moderne Writers Poets)
Sharpe-witted, bitter-tongd, his penne of steele,
His incke was temperd with the biting iuyce,
And extracts of the bitterst weedes that grew,
He neuer wrote but when the elements
Of Fire and Water tilted in his braine:
This fellow ready to giue vp his ghost
To Luciaes bosome, did bequeathe to me
His Library, which was iust nothing,
But rolles, and scrolles, and bundles of cast wit,
Such as durst neuer visit Paules churchyard:
Amongst them all, I happened on a quire
Or two of paper filld with Songs and Ditties,
And heere and there a hungry Epigramme,
These I reserue to my owne proper vse,
And Pater-noster-like haue kon'd them all.
I could now when I am in company,
A tale house, tauerne, or an ordinarie,
Vpon a theame make an extemporall ditty,
(Or one at least should seeme extemporall)
Out of th'aboundance of this Legacie,
That all would judge it, and report it too,
To be the infant of a sodaine wit,
And then were I an admirable fellow.

Franke
This were a peece of cunning.

Crip.
I could doe more for I could make enquirie
Where the best witted Gallants vse to dine,
Follow them to the tauerne, and there sit
In the next rowme with a calues head and brimstone,
And ouer heare their talke, obserue theit humours,
Collect their jeasts, put them into a play,
And tire them too with payment to behold
What I haue filcht from them. This I could doe:
But O for shame that men should so arraigne
Their owne feesimple wits, for verball theft!
Yet men there be that haue done this and that,
And more by much more than the most of them.

Franke
But to our purpose Cripple to these letters.

Cripple
I haue them ready for you, heere they be,
Giue these to your two brothers, say that Phillis
Deliuered them with frownes, and though her name
Be not subscribde (which may not well be done)
It may perhaps giue them occasion
To thinke she scornd them so much grace and fauour.
This done, returne to me, and let me know
Th'occurrants of this prastise as they growe,
And so farewell, I can no longer stand
To talke with you, I haue some worke in hand.

Exit.
Franke
Farewell mad Cripple, now Franke Golding slie,
To put in practise this new pollicie:
But soft, heere comes the Maide, I wil assay
Enter Phillis and Fiddle.
To pleade my owne loue by a stranger way,
By your leaue sir.

Fid.

Porter, I am not for you, you see I am perambulating
before a female.

Franke

I would craue but a word with you.

Fid.

Speake in time then Porter, for otherwise I doe not
loue to answer you, and bee as briefe as you can, good Porter.

Fran.

I pray you sir, what Gentlewoman is this?

Fiddle.

Certes Porter, I serue a Gentleman, that Gentleman
is father to this Gentlewoman, this Gentlewoman is
a maide, this maide is faire, and this faire maide belongeth to
the Exchange, and the Exchange hath not the like faire maid
now Porter, put al this together, and tel me what it spels.

Franke

I promise you sir, you haue posde me.

Fid.

Then you are an asse Porter, tis the faire Maide of the
Exchange.

Fran.

Hir name I pray you sir.

Fiddle.

Her name Porter requires much poeticalitie in the
subscription, and no lesse iudgement in the vnderstanding;
her name is Phillis, not Phillis that same dainty lasse that
was beloued of Amintas, nor Phillis shee that doated on that
comely youth Demophoon, but this is Phillis, that most strange
Phillis, the flowre of the Exchange.

Phil.
What, would that Porter any thing with me?

Franke
Yes Mistris, since by chaunce I meete you heere,
Ile tell you, though it not concernes my selfe,
What I this morning sawe; there is a Gentleman
One master Golding the yongest of three brothers,
They call him Franke; O this man lies very sicke,
I being at his house perchance enquired
What his disease was of a seruant there,
Who said, the doctors cannot tell themselues,
But in his fittes he euer calles on Loue,
And prayes to Loue for pitty, and then names you,
And then names Loue againe, and then calles Phillis,
And sometime startes, and would forsake his bed,
And being askt whither, he sayes he would goe to Phillis,
My business calld me hence, but I heard say
His friends doe meane to intreate you to take the paines
To visit him, because they do suppose,
The sicke man loues you, and thence his sickenes growes.

Phi.
Porter, is this true?
Or art thou hired to this, I prethee tell me.

Franke
Mistris, not hired, my name is Trusty Iohn.
If I delude you, neuer trust me more.

Phi.
I thanke thee Porter, and thanke Loue withall,
That thus hath wrought the tyrant Goldings fall,
He once scornd Loue, jeasted at wounded hearts,
Challengde almighty beauty, raild at passion,
And is he now caught by the eies and heart?
Now by Dianaes milke white vaile I sweare,
The goddesse of my maiden chaste desires,
I am as glad of it glad may be,
And I will see him, if but to laugh at him,
And torture him with jeasts; Fiddle, along,
When we returne, if they doe send for me,
Ile arme my selfe with flowts and crueltie.

Fiddle

Porter, wee committe you, if you be a crafty knaue,
and lay in the winde for a vantage, you haue your answere:
marke her last wordes, ile arme my selfe with flowtes and
cruelty.

Exeunt.
Frank.
Ile arme my selfe with floutes and crueltie.
Will you so Phillis, what a state am I in?
Why I of all am furthest from her loue:
Sblood, if I now should take conceit at this,
Fall sicke with loue indeed, were not my state
Most lamentable? I by this hand were it:
Well heart, if thou wilt yeeld, looke to thy selfe,
Thou wilt be tortur'd, well what remedie.
Enter Anthonie.
Here comes my brother Anthonie, I am for him.

Anth.
Porter, what newes? spake you with Phillis?

Frank.
I too late, to my griefe,
Spoke with her, sir, Yfaith I thinke I haue;
Heer's a letter for you, and by that
You shall be iudge if I did speake with her;
Now Cripple, shall we prooue your learned wit?

Anth.
Zounds am I mad, or is she mad that writ this?
Ile reade it or'e againe:

A Letter.
Antho.
Blancke, I am strucke blancke, and blind, and mad withall,
Heere is a flat denyall to my sute,
A resolution neuer to be wonne:
What shall I doe? assist me God of loue,
Instruct me in thy schoole-tricks; be my guide
Out of this laborinth of loue and feare,
Vnto the pallace of faire Phillis fauour:
I haue it; I will intimate her mother
In my behalfe, with letters and with gifts,
To her ile write to be my aduocate:
Porter farewell, ther's for thy paines,
Thy profite by this toyle passeth my gaines.

Exit.
Frank.
You haue your answer, and a kind one too;
Cripple ile make thee chrutches of pure siluer
For this deuise, thou hast a golden wit;
Now if my brother Ferdinand were heere
To reade his absolution, heere he comes.
Enter Ferdinand.
Brother.

Ferd.
Franke.
What hast thou giuen the letter to her hand,
And staid my brother Anthonies withall?

Frank.
I haue done both, and more then that, behold
Heere is an answere to your letter brother.

Anth.
Franke, I will loue thee, whiles I liue for this.

Franke.
Scarce, when you reade what there contained is.

A Letter.
Ferd.
O vnkinde answere to a Louers letter;
Let me suruay the end once more:

For I neuer looke you in the face but I am sicke: and so praiing God to continue me in health, by keeping you from mee.

Is shee so farre from yeelding? is this sort
Of her chaste loue yet so impregnable?
What shall I doe? this is the furthest way,
A labour of impossibilities:
This way to winne her? I will once againe,
Challenge the promise that her father made me;
To him ile write, and he I know will pleade
My loue to Phillis, and so winne the maide.

Exit.
Frank.
Farewell poore tortur'd heart; was euer knowne
Two louing brothers in such miserie?
Let me consider of my owne estate:
What profit do I reape by this delusion?
Why none; I am as farre from Phillis heart
As when she first did wound me with her eyes:
Cripple, to thee I come, tis thou must be
My counsellor in this extreamitie.

Exit.
Enter Cripple, Bowdler, and Barnard.
Crip.
Sirra Bowdler, what makes thee in this merry vaine?

Bowd.

O Lord sir, it is your most eleuated humor to be merry,
to be concise, set vp the coller, and looke thus with a double
chinne, like Diogenes peering ouer his Tub, is too cymicall,
the signe of Melancholly, and indeede, the meere effect
of a salt rhume.

Crip.

Who would thinke this Gentleman yesterdayes distemperature
should breed such motions? I thinke it be restoratiue
to actiuitie, I neuer saw a gentleman caper so excellent,
as he did last night.

Bow.
Meane you me sir?

Crip.
Your owne selfe, by this hand.

Bowd.
You gull me not.

Crip.
How, gull you!
Me thinkes a man so well reputed of,
So well commended for your quallities
In Schooles of nimble actiuenesse,
And places where diuinest Querristers
Warble inchanting harmonie, to such
As thinke there is no heauen on earth but theirs:
And knowing your selfe to be the Genius
Of the spectators, and the audience hearts,
You wrong your worthy selfe intollerably,
To thinke our words sauor of flatterie.

Bowd.

Sirra dogge, how didst thou like my last caper, and
turne a the toe?

Crip.
Before God passing well.

Barn.
I know his worship made it, tis so excellent,

Bowd.
It was my yesterdayes exercise.

Crip.
After the working of your purgation, was it not?

Bowd.
What purgation, you filthy curre?

Crip.
After the purging of your braine Sir.

Bow.
Be still dogge, barke not, though by mis-fortune
I was last night somewhat distempered:
I will not be vpbraided; t'was no more
But to refine my wit; but tell me truely,
How dost thou like my caper?

Crip.
Farre better than I can commend it.

Bowd.
Now as I am a Gentleman
My Tutor was not witting of the same;
And in my opinion t'will doe excellent:
O this aire! heer's a most eloquious aire for the memorie,
I could spend the third part of my Armes in siluer,
To be encountred by some good wit or other.

Crip.
What say you to your sweet heart, Mall Berry?

Bowd.

Peace Cripple, silence, name her not, I could not
indure the carrire of her wit, for a million, shee is the onely
shee Mercury vnder the heauens; her wit is all spirit; that spirit
fire, that fire flies from her tongue, able to burne the radix of
the best inuention; in this Element shee is the abstract and
breefe of all the eloquence since the incarnation of Tullies
I tell thee Cripple, I had rather incounter Hercules with
blowes, than Mall Berry with words: And yet by this light I
am horribly in loue with her.

Enter Mall Berry.
Crip.
See where she comes, O excellent!

Bowd.
Now haue I no more blood than a bull-rush.

Barn.
How now; what aile you sir?

Crip.
Whats the matter man?

Bowd.
See, see, that glorious angell doth approach,
What shall I doe?

Crip.

Shee is a saint indeed; Zounds to her, court her, win
her, weare her, wed her, and bed her too.

Bowd.

I would it were come to that, I win her! by heauen,
I am not furnish'd of a courting phrase, to throw at a dogge.

Crip.

Why no, but at a woman you haue; O sir, seeme not
so doultish now, can you make nofustian, aske her if sheele

take a pipe of Tobacco.

Bow.
It will offend her iudgement, pardon me.

Cri.
But heare you sir? reading so much as you haue done,
Doe you not remember one pretty phrase,
To scale the walles of a faire wenches loue?

Bow.
I neuer read any thing but Venus and Adonis.

Crip.
Why thats the very quintessence of loue,
If you remember but a verse or two,
Ile pawne my head, goods, lands and all twill doe.

Bow.
Why then haue at her.
Fondling I say, since I haue hemd thee heere,
Within the circle of this iuory pale,
Ile be a parke.

Mal.
Hands off fond sir.

Bow.
And thou shalt be my deere;
Feede thou on me, and I will feede on thee,
And Loue shall feede vs both.

Ma.
Feede you on woodcockes, I can fast awhile.

Bow.
Vouchsafe thou wonder to alight thy steede.

Crip.
Take heede, shees not on horsebacke.

Bow.
Why then she is alighted,
Come sit thee downe where neuer serpent hisses,
And being set, ile smother thee with kisses.

Ma.
Why is your breath so hot? now God forbid
I should buy kisses to be smotherd.

Bow.
Meane you me? you gull me not?

Ma.
No, no, poore Bowdler, thou dost gull thy selfe:
Thus must I do to shadow the hid fire,
That in my heart doth burne with hot desire:
O I doe loue him well what ere I say,
Yet will I not my selfe selfe loue bewray,
If he be wise hee'l sue with good take heede:
Bowdler, doe so, and thou art sure to speede:
I will flie hence to make his loue the stronger,
Though my affection must lie hid the longer.
What maister Bowdler, not a word to say?

Bow.
No by my troth, if you stay heere all day.

Ma.
Why then ile beare the bucklers hence away.

Exit.
Crip.

What maister Bowdler, haue you let her passe vnconquerd?

Bow.

Why what could I doe more? I lookt vpon her with
iudgement, the strings of my tongue were well in tune, my
embraces were in good measure, my palme of a good constitution,
onely the phrase was not moouing; as for example,
Venus her selfe with all her skill could not winne Adonis, with
the same wordes: O heauens! was I so fond then to thinke
that I could conquer Mall Berry? O the naturall fluence of my
owne wit had beene farre better!

Godden good fellow.

Enter Fiddle.
Fid.

God giue you the time of the day, pardon mee Gallants,
I was so neere the middle that I knew not which hand
to take.

Bow.

A very good conceit.

Fid.

And yet because I wil be sure to giue you a true salutation,
Cripple, quomodo vales? Good morrow Cripple, goodden
good maister Barnard, maister Bowdler, Bonos noches, as
they say, good night; and thus you haue heard my manner
of salutation.

Crip.

You are very eloquent, sir; but Fiddle, whats the
best newes abroad?

Fid.

The best newes I know not sir, but the newest news
is most excellent yfaith.

Barn.

Prethee lets heare it.

Fid.

Why this it is, the Serieants are watching to arrest
you at maister Berries sute.

Barn.

Wounds, where?

Fid.

Nay, I know not where; alas sir, there is no such matter,
I did but say so much, to make you warme the handle of
your rapier: But M. Bawdler, I haue good newes for you.

Bow.

Let me heare it, my sweete russetting.

Fid.

How, russeting?

Bow.

I my little apple Iohn.

Fid.

You are a

Bow.

A what?

Fid.

You are a, O that I could speake for indignation!

Bow.

Nay, what am I?

Fid.

Yon are a pippinmonger to call me Russetting or apple
Iohn.

Bow.

Sirra Russetting, ile pare your head off.

Fid.

You pippinmonger, Ile cut off your legs, and make
you trauel so neere the mother earth, that euery boy shall be
high enough to steale apples out of thy basket, call mee Russetting?

Crip.

Nay, be friends, be friends.

Fid.

As I am a gentleman cripple, I meant him no harme,
but the name of Russetting to maister Fiddle, that many times
trauells vnder the arme in veluet, but for the most part in leather
trussd with calue-skinne points, tis most tolerable, and
not to be indured, flesh and bloud cannot beare it.

Crip.

Come, come, all shall be well.

Bow.

Fiddle, giue me thy hand, a plague on thee, thou knowest
I loue thee.

Fid.

Say you so? why then anger auoid the roume, melancholy
march away, choler to the next chamber, and heres my
hand I am yours to command from this time foorth, your very
mortall frend, and louing enemy, maister Fiddle.

Bow.

Now tell vs, what is the newes you had for me?

Fid.

O, the sweet newes, faith sir, this it is, that I was sent
to the Cripple from my young Mistris. Maister Cripple you
know I haue spent some time in idle words, therefore be you
compendions, and tell me if my mistris handkercher be done
or no.

Cri.

Fiddle tis done, & peace it is, cōmend me to thy mistris.

Fidd.

After the most humble maner I will; and so gentlemen
I commit you all: you Cripple to your shop; you sir, to
a turn-vp and dish of capers; and lastly, you M. Barnard, to
the tuition of the Counter-keeper: theres an Item for you,
and so fare-well.

Exit.
Crip.

M. Bowdler, how do you like his humour?

Bowd.

By this light, I had not thought the clod had had so
nimble a spirit: but Cripple farewell, Ile to Mall Berry, come
Barnard along with me.

Crip.

Farewel sweet Signiors both, farewel, farewel.

Exeunt.
Enter M. Flower at one doore reading a letter from Ferdinand, at the other Mistris Flower, with a Letter from Anthonie.
Maister Flo.

The conceit is good, Ferdinand intreats a marriage
with my daughter; good, very good: for he is a Gentleman
of good carriage, a wise man, a rich man, a carefull man,
and therefore worthy of my daughters loue: it shall be so.

Mistris Flo.

Mary and shall, kind Gentleman, my furtherance
saist thou? Yes Anthony, assure thy selfe, for by the motherly
care that I beare to my daughter, it hath been a desire
that long hath lodgde within my carefull breast, to match hir
with thy well-deseruing selfe; and to this end haue I sent for
my daughter, and chargde my seruants, that presently vpon
her repaire hither from her Mistrisses, that shee enter this
priuate walke, where, and with whome, I will so worke, that
doubt it not, deere sonne, but she shall be thine.

Master Flo.

And I will make her ioyncture of a hundred
pounds by yeare: it is a very good conceit, and why? bicause
the worthy portion betters my conceit, which being good in
conceiuing well of the Gentlemans good partes, the proffered
ioyncture addes to my conceit, and betters it, very good.

Mistris Flo.

A thousand crowns for you to make the match,
pretty heart, how loue can worke! by Gods blest mother, I
vow she shall be thine, if I haue any interest in my daughter;
Flower smiles reading the Letter, they snatch the Letter from each other.
but stay, whom haue I espied? my husband likewise reading
of a Letter, and in so good an humour, ile lay my life, good
Gentleman hee hath also wrought with him for his good wil;
and for I long to know the truth thereof, my sodaine purpose
shall experience it. Whats heere husband?
She reades priuately, and frownes.
a Letter from maister Ferdinand, to intreate a marriage with
your daughter.

Maister Flo.

And here the like to you from Anthony to that
effect, this is no good conceit, if shee be mine, shee shall be
Ferdinand.

Mistris Flo.
If shee respect her mothers fauour,
Tis Anthony shall be her loue.

Maister Flo.
How wife?

Mistris Flo.
Euen so husband.

Maister Flo.
You will not crosse my purpose, will you?

Mistris Flo.
In this you shall not bridle me I sweare.

Maister Flo.
Is she not my daughter?

Mistris Flo.
You teach me husband, what your wife should say,
I thinke her life is deerest vnto me,
Though you forget the long extreamitie
And paine which I indurd, when foorth this wombe
With much adoe she did inioy the life she now doth breathe,
And shall I now suffer her destruction?

Maister Flo.
Yea but conceit me wife.

Mistris Flo.

A figge for your conceits, in this I know there
can be none that:

Say he be his fathers eldest sonne, and a merchaunt of good
wealth, yet my deere Anthonies as rich as he:

What though his portion was but small at first,
His industrie hath now increasd his talent;
And he that knoweth the getting of a penny,
Will feare to spend, she shall haue him, if any.

Maister Flo.
By the Mary God wife, you vex me.

Mistris Flo.
Tis your owne impatience, you may chuse.

Maister Flo.
I will not wed my daughter to that Anthony.

Mistris Flo.
By this.

Maister Flo.
Hold wife, hold, I aduise thee sweare not,
For by him that made me, first I vow,
She shall not touch the bed of Anthony.

Mistris Flo.
And may I neuer liue (so God me help)
If euer she be wed to Ferdinand.

Maister Flo.

The diuel's in this woman, how she thwartes
me still!

Mistris Flo.

Fret on, good husband, I will haue my will.

Maister Flo.

But conceit me wife, suppose we should consent
our daughter should wedde either of them both, and shee
dislike the match, were that a good conceit?

Mistris Flo.

All's one for that, I know my daughters mind
if I but say the word.

Maister Flo.
I would be loath to wed her against hir will,
Content thee wife, weele heare her resolution,
And as I finde her, to her owne content
To either of them she shall haue my consent.

Mistris Flo.
Why now old Flower speaketh like himselfe.

Maister Flo.
Agreed, and faith wife tis a good conceit,
Enter Phillis.
And see where my daughter comes: welcome gerle,
How doth your Mistris Phillis? God blesse thee Phillis, rise.

Phi.
God haue the glory, in perfect health she is.

Maister Flo.
Tis good, I am glad she doth so well;
But list my daughter, I haue golden newes
To impart vnto thee:
A golden, Golding, wench, must be thy husband,
Is't not a good conceit?

Phi.
Father, I vnderstand you not.

Maister Flo.
Then, my gerle, thy conceit is very shallow,
Maister Ferdinand Golding is in loue with thee.

Mistris Flo.
No daughter, tis thine Anthony.

Maister Flo.
Ferdinand is rich, for he hath store of gold.

Mistris Flo.
Anthony is rich, yet is not so old.

Maister Flo.
Ferdinand is vertuous, full of modestie.

Mistris Flo.
Anthony's more gratious, if more may be.

Maister Flo.
Ferdinand is wise (being wise) who would not loue him.

Mistris Flo.
Anthony more wise, then Gerle desire to proue him.

Maister Flo.
In Ferdinand is all the beauty that may be.

Mistris Flo.
He is deceiu'd, tis in thine Anthony.

Phi.
Deare Parents, you confound me with your wordes,
I pray what meane these hote perswasions?

Maister Flo.
Thy good my daughter.

Mistris Flo.
If but rulde by me.

Maister Flo.
But for thy ill-fare.

Mistris Flo.
If she tend to thee.

Maister Flo.
The trueth is this, that each of vs hath tane
A solemne vow, that thou my louing daughter
Shalt wed with one of those two gentlemen:
But yet referre the choice vnto thy selfe,
One thou shalt loue, loue Ferdinand, if me.

Mistresse Flo.
If loue thy mother, loue thine Anthonie.

Phil.
In these extreames what shall become of me?
I pray you giue me respite to consider
How to disgest these impositions,
You haue imposde a busines of such weight,
Pray God your daughter may discharge her selfe.

Maister Flo.
Thinke on't, my gerle, we will withdrawe awhile.

Phi.
A little respite fits my resolution,
They walke.
Those Gentles sue too late, there is another,
Of better worth, though not of halfe their wealth,
What though deform'd, his vertue mends that misse;
What though not rich, his wit doth better gold,
And my estate shall adde vnto his wants,
I am resolu'd (good father, and deere mother,)
Phillis doth choose a Cripple, and none other;
But yet I must dissemble.

Maister Flo.
How now my soules best hope! tell mee, my gerle,
Shall Ferdinand be he?

Phi.
I pray a word in priuate.

Maister Flo.
Mary with all my heart.

Phi.
In all the duety that a childe can shew,
The loue that to a father it doth owe;
I yeeld my selfe to be at your commaund,
And vow to wed no man but Ferdinand.
But if you please, at your departure hence,
You may inforce dislike to cloude your brow,
To avoyde my mothers anger and suspition.

M Flo.
Before God a very good conceit,
Hence baggage, out of my sight,
Come not within my doores, thou hadst been better,
Runne millions of miles barefooted, then
Thus by your coy disdaine to haue deluded me.
Oh mine owne flesh and blood, the mirror of wit!
Now will I hence, and with all the speed I may
Send for my sonne, ile haue it done this day.

Exit old Flow.
Mistresse Flow.
What, is he gone? and in so hot a chafe?
Well let him goe, I need not question why,
For well I wote his sute is cold, t'must die.
Daughter, I gather by thy pleasant smiles,
Thy mother hath more interest in thy loue,
Than discontented Flower thy aged father.

Phi.
Mother, you haue, for when I well consider
A mothers care vnto her deere bought childe,
How tenderly you nurcde and brought me vp,
I could not be so much vnnaturall
As to refuse the loue you proffer me,
Especially being for my chiefest good;
Therefore when married I intend to be,
My loyall husband shall be Anthony.

Mistris Fl.
Liue euer then my deere deere daughter Phillis,
Let me imbrace thee in a mothers armes;
Thus, thus, and thus ile euer hugge my daughter,
Him hence thou sendst with frowns, me hence with laughter,
Come Phillis let vs in.
Exit Mistris Flower.

Phi.
Forsooth ile follow you.
Am not I a good childe thinke you,
To play with both hands thus against my parents?
Well, tis but a tricke of youth: say what they will,
Ile loue the Cripple, and will hate them still.

Exit.
Enter Cripple in his shop, and to him enters Franke.
Franke
Mirrour of kindnesse, extremities best friend,
While I breathe, sweete bloud, I am thine,
Intreate me, nay commaund thy Frances heart,
That wilt not suffer my insuing smart.

Cripp.
Sweet signior, my aduise in the reseruation of those Letters,
Which I will haue you hide from eie of day,
Neuer to feele the warmth of Phœbus beames,
Till my selfes care, most carefull of your weale,
Summon those lines vnto the barre of Ioy.

Francke
I will not erre, deere friend, in this commaund.

Cripple
So much for that, now listen further Francke,
Not yet two houres expiration,
Haue taken finall end, since Beauties pride,
And Natures better part of workemanship,
Beauteous Phillis was with me consorted;
Where she mongst other pleasing conference,
Burst into termes of sweet affection,
And said, ere long she would conuerse with me
In priuate at my shop, whose wounded soule
Strucke with loues golden arrow liues in dread,
Till she doe heare the sentence of my loue,
Or be condemn'd by iudgement of fell hate.
Now since that gracious opportunitie
Thus smiles on me, I will resigne the same
To you my friend, knowing my vnworthy selfe
Too foule for such a beautie, and too base
To match in brightnesse with that sacred comet.
That shines like Phæbus in Londons Element;
From whence inferior starres deriue their light:
Wherefore I will immediately you take
My crooked habite, and in that disguise
Court her, yea win her, for she will be wonne,
This will I doe, to pleasure you my friend.

Frank.
For which my loue to thee shall neuer end.

Crip.
About it then, assume this shape of mine,
Take what I haue, for all I haue is thine?
Supply my place, to gaine thy hearts desire,
So may you quench too hearts that burne like fire:
Shee's kind to mee, be she as kinde to you,
What admiration will there then insue?
Franke, I will leaue thee, now be thou fortunate,
That we with ioy your loues may consummate,
Farewell, farewell, when I returne againe,
I hope to finde thre in a pleasing vaine.

Exit.
Fran.
Farewell deere friend; was euer known a finer policie?
Now brothers, haue amongst you for a third part,
Nay, for the whole, or by my soule, ile loose all,
What though my father did bequeath his lands
To you my elder brethren, the moueables I sue for
Were none of his: and you shall runne through fire,
Before you touch one part of my desire:
Am I not like my selfe in this disguise,
Crooked in shape, and crooked in my thoughts:
Then am I a Cripple right, come wench, away,
Thy absence breeds a terror to my stay.
Enter Phillis.
Yonder she comes, now frame thy hands to draw,
A worser workeman neuer any saw.

Phil.
Yea yonder sits the wonder of mine eye;
I haue not been the first whom destenie
Hath thwarted thus; imperious Loue,
Either withdraw the shaft that wounds my heart,
Or grant me patience to indure my smart:
Remorcelesse loue, had any but thy selfe
Beene priuie to my direfull passion,
How I consume and waste my selfe in loue,
They would haue beene, yea much more pittifull:
But all auailes not; demaunding for my worke
Shall be a meanes to haue some conference.
Shee speakes to Franke.
Good morrow to you, is my handkercher done?

Frank.
Yea Mistresse Flower, it is finished.

Phil.
How sweetly tunes the accent of his voyce!
Oh, do not blame me, deerest loue aliue,
Though thus I dote in my affection;
I toyle, I labor, and I faine would thriue,
And thriue I may if thou wouldst giue direction:
Thou art the starre whereby by my course is led,
Be gracious then, bright sunne, or I am dead.

Frank.
Faire Mistresse Phillis, such wanton toyes as these,
Are for yong Nouices that will soone bee pleasde,
The carefull thoughts that hammer in my braine,
Bid me abandon wanton loue; tis vaine.

Phil.
For me it is.

Frank.
Is my vngarnishd, darke, and obscure Cell,
A mansion fit for all-commanding loue?
No, if thou wilt sport with loue,
And dally with that wanton amorous boy;
Hie thee vnto the odoriferous groues.

Phil.
There is no groues more pleasant vnto me,
Then to be still in thy societie.

Franke.
There of the choisest fragrant flowers that grow
Thou maist deuise sweete rose at Corronets,
And with the Nimphs that haunt the siluer streames,
Learne to entice the affable yong wagge;
There shalt thou finde him wandring vp and downe,
Till some faire saint impale him with a crowne:
Be gone I say, and doe not trouble mee,
For to be short, I cannot fancy thee.

Phil.
For to be short, you cannot fancie me:
Oh cruell word, more hatefull then pale death,
Oh, would to God it would conclude my breath.

Frank.
Forbeare, forbeare, admit that I should yeild:
Thinke you, your father would applaud your choice.

Phil.
Doubt not thereof, or if he do not, alls one,
So you but grant to my affection.

Crip.
I am too base.

Phil.
My wealth shall raise thee vp.

Crip.
I am deform'd.

Phil.
Tut, I will beare with that.

Crip.
Your friends dislike brings all this out of frame.

Phil.
By humble sute I will redresse the same.

Frank.
Now to employ the vertue of my shape:
Faire mistresse,
If heretofore I haue remorselesse beene,
And not esteemd your vndeserued loue,
Whereby in the glasse of your affection
I see my great vnkindnesse; forgiue what's past,
And here I proffer all the humble seruice
Your hie prizde loue doth merrit at my hands,
Which I confesse is more then I vnable
Can gratefie: therefore command my toyle,
My trauell, yea, my life to pleasure you.

Phil.
I take thee at thy word, prowd of thy seruice,
But yet no seruant shalt thou be of mine,
I will serue thee, command, and ile obey:
This doth my soule more good, yea, ten times more
Then did thy harsh deniall harme before,
Let vs imbrace like two vnited friends,
Heere loue begins, and former hatred ends.

Enter Ferdinand and Anthonie walking together.
Ferd.
Brother Anthony, what newes from Venice?
Are your ships return'd? I had rather
aside.
Heare newes from Phillis: Oh, brother Franke,
Thy absence makes me burne in passion.

Anth.
Sir, I had letters from my factors there
Some three dayes since; but the returne of one,
aside.
Of one poore letter, yet not answered,
Makes me starke madde: a plague vpon that Porter,
Damn'd may he be for thus deluding me.
Ferdinand spies Phillis and turnes backe.
How now brother, why retire you so?

Ferd.
Yonders a friend of mine acquaintance,
With whom I would gladly haue some conference,
I pray thee stay I will returne immediatly.

Goe to Phillis and court her to themselues.
Anth.
Of your acquaintance; is she so good brother?
Onely with you acquainted, and no other?
Faith ile trie that, take heed sir what you doe.
If you begin to court, I needs must woe,
Go to her too.
Brother haue you done?

Ferd.
But two words more at most:
You haue not then receiu'd any such letter?
A vengeance take the lazie messenger;
Brother if I liue, ile quittance thee for this,

Fran.
Good words, deere brother, threatned men liue long.

Anth.
You haue done.

Ferd.
Yes.

Anth.
Then by your leaue brother,
You had one word, I must haue another.

Talke in priuate.
Ferd.
I know our busiuesse tends to one effect:
O that villaine Franke, it mads my soule
I am so wrong'd, by such a foolish Boy.

Frank.
That foolish boy may chance prooue to be witty:
What, and the elder brothers fooles? Oh ti's pittie!

Anth.
That villaiue Porter hath deluded me,
Confusion guerdon his base villaine.

Frank.
What are you cursing too? then we catch no fish:
Comes there any more, heeres two Snights to a dish.

Ferd.
Well, since I haue such opportunitie,
Ile trust no longer to vncertaintie.

He courts her againe in priuate.
Anth.
At it so hard brother; well, woe apace,
A while I am content to giue you place.

Frank.
Well, to her both, both doe the best you can;
I feare yong Franke will prooue the happier man.

Phil.
You haue your answere, trouble me no more.

Fer.
Yet this is worse then my suspence before,
For then I liu'd in hope, now hope is fled.

Anth.
What, male content? is Ferdinand strooke dead,
Fortune be blithe, and aide the second brother.

Talke in priuate.
Franke.
Thinke you to haue more fauour then an other?
To her a Gods name, liue not in suspence,
While you two striue, I needs must get the wench.

Phil.
I am resolu'd, and, sir you know my minde.

Frank.
What, you repulst too? Phillis is too vnkinde.

Phil.
Here sits my Loue, within whose louely brest
Liues my content, and all my pleasures rest,
And for a further confirmation,
Which to approoue, euen in sight of both you here present,
I giue my hand, and with my hand, my heart,
My selfe, and all to him; and with this ring
Ile wed my selfe.

Frank.
I take thy offering,
And for the gift you gaue to me, take this,
And let vs seale affection with a kisse.

Ferd.
Oh sight intollerable.

Anth.
A spectacle worse then death.

Frank.

Now gentlemen, please you draw neere and listen
to the Cripple.

Giue them the letters and they stampe and storme.
Know you that letter? sir, what say you to this?

Both.
How came they to your hands?

Frank
Sirs, a porter euen of late left them with me,
To be deliuered to this Gentlewoman.

Anth.
A plague vpon that Porters if ere I meete him,
My rapiers point with a deaths wound shall greet him.

Exit.
Ferd.
Franke thou art a villaine, thou shalt know't ere long,
For proffering me such vndeserued wrong.

Exit.
Frank.
So, vomit forth the rhume of all your spight,
These threats of yours procure me more delight.

Phil.
Now gentle loue, all that I haue to say,
Is to entreat you seeke without delay,
My fathers kinde consent, for thou hast mine,
And though he storme yet will I still be thine;
Make triall then, tis but thy labour lost,
Though he denie thee, it requires no cost.

Frank.
I will assaile with expedition.

Phil.
God, and good fortune go with thee, farewell.

Exit.
Frank.
Well, I will goe, but not in this disguise;
Arme thee with policie Franke, Franke must be wise:
Now would the substance of this borrowed shape
Were here in presence, and see where he comes,
Enter the Cripple.
Poore in the well framd limbes of nature, but
Rich in kindnesse beyond comparison.
Welcome deere friend, the kindest soule aliue,
Here I resigne thy habite backe againe,
Whereby I prooue the happiest man that breaths.

Crip.
Hast thou then, sweet blood, been fortunate?

Frank.
Harke, I will tell thee all:

Whisper in priuate.
Enter Bowdler, Mall Berry, and Ralfe, Bowdler capers and sings.
Ralf.
Faith sir, me thinkes of late you are very light.

Bowd.
As a feather, sweet Rogue, as a feather:
Haue I not good cause, sweet Mall, sweet Mall,
Hath she not causde the same: well, if I liue, sweet wench,
Either by night or day I will requite your kindenesse.

Franke.
Now I will take my leaue, to put the same in practise.
Exit Franke.

Crip.
Good fortune waite on thee.

Bowd.
Mall, thou art mine, by thine owne consent;
How saist thou Mall?

Mall.
Yes forsooth.

Ralfe.
I am witnesse sir.

Bowd.

But that is not sufficient Mall, if thou art content
Mall, heer's a Rogue hard by, a friend of mine, whom I will
acquaint with our loues, and hee shall bee partaker of the
match.

Ralf.

Nay sir, if you meane to haue partners in the match,
I hope Ralfe can helpe to serue your wiues turne as well as another,
what ere he be. How say you mistresse?

Mall.
Alls one to me, whom he please.

Bowd.
Come then sweet Mall, weele to the Drawer,
There to dispatch what I further intend.

Mall.
And well remembred husband.

Ralfe.

A forward maiden by this light; husband before
the Clarke hath said Amen.

Mall.

He hath worke of mine, I pray forget it not.

Bowd.

I will not Mall. Now you lame Rogue, where is
this maidens worke? my wiues worke you rascall, quicke, giue
it her?

Crip.

Sweet Seignior, the sweet Nimphes worke is almost
finished, but sweete blood, you driue me into admiration
with your latter words, your sweet wiues worke, I admire it!

Bowd.

I yee halting Rascall, my wiues worke; shee's my
wife before God and Ralfe, how saist thou Mall, art thou not?

Mal.
Yes forsooth, and to confirme the same,
Heere in this presence I plight my faith againe;
And speake againe, what erst before was said,
That none but you shall haue my maiden-head.

Bowd.

A good wench Mall, ifaith, now will I to thy father
for his good wil, Cripple, see you remember what is past,
for I will call thee in question for a witnesse if neede require,
farewell curre, farewell dogge.

Exit. Bowdler and Ralfe.
Crip.
Adue fond humorist, Parenthesis of iests,
Whose humour like a needlesse Cypher fils a roome:
But now Mall Berry, a word or two with you:
Hast thou forgotten Barnet? thy thoughts were bent on him.

Mall.
On him Cripple! for what? was it for marriage?

Crip.
It was for loue, why not for marriage? O monstrous!
Were I a maide and should be so bewitch'd,
I'de pull my eyes out that did lend me light,
Exclaime against my fortune, banne my starres,
And teare my heart, so yeelding her consent
To Bowdlers loue, that froth of complemént.

Mall.
Cripple, you lose your time, with your faire teares
To circumuent my heart: Bowdler I loue thee,
Barnard I hate, and thou shalt neuer mooue me.

Crip.
I will; thou dost loue Barnard, and I can prooue it.

Mall.
That I loue Barnard! by heauens I abhorre him.

Crip.
Thou lou'st him, once againe I say, thou lou'st him,
For all thou hast borne Bowdler still in hand.

Mall.
What wilt thou make me mad? I say, I hate him.

Crip.
I say thou lou'st him: haue not I been at home,
And heard thee in thy chamber praise his person,
And say he is a proper little man,
And pray that he would be a suter to thee?
Haue I not seene thee in the Bay-window
To sit crosse-armde, take counsell of thy glasse,
And prune thy selfe to please yong Barnards eye?
Some times curling thy haire, then practising smiles,
Sometimes rubbing thy filthy butter-teeth,
Then pull the haires from off thy beetle-browes.
Painting the veins vpon thy breasts with blew,
An hundred other trickes I saw thee vse,
And all for Barnard.

Mall.
For Barnard! twas for Bowdler.

Crip.
I say, for Barnard.
Nay more, thou knowst I lay one night at home,
And in thy sleepe I heard thee call on Barnard
Twentie times ouer.

Mall.
Will you be sworne I did.

Crip.
I, I will sweare it:
And art thou not ashamde thus to be changde,
To leaue the loue of a kinde Gentleman
To dote on Bowdler? Fie, fie, reclaime thy selfe:
Imbrace thy Barnard, take him for thy husband,
And saue his credite, who is else vndone,
By thy hard fathers hatefull crueltie.

Mall.
Cripple, If thou canst prooue that euer I
Did fancie Barnard, I will loue him still.

Crip.
Why ile be sworne thou didst.

Mal.
And that I doated on him in my sleepe.

Crip.
Ile be sworne I could not sleepe all night
In the next roome, thou didst so raue on him.

Mal.
I cannot tell, I may well be deceiu'd,
I thinke I might affect him in my sleepe,
And yet not know it; let me looke on him,
Yfaith he is a pretty hansome fellow,
Tis pitty he should waste himselfe in prison;
Hey ho.

Crip.
Whats the mater wench?

Mal.
Cripple, I will loue him.

Crip.
Wilt thou yfaith?

Mal.
Yfaith I will.

Enter two Serieants
Crip.
Giue me thy hand, a bargaine, tis enough.

Mal.
But how shall he know I loue him?

Crip.
Why thus: I will intreate the Serieants
To goe with him along vnto thy father,
And by the way ile send yong Bowdler from vs,
And then acquaint my Barnard with thy loue,
He shall accept it and auouch the same
Vnto thy father, wench do thou the like,
And then I hope his bonds are cancelled.

Barn.
Cripple, shall we haue your company?

Crip.
My friends, hold here, theres mony for your paines,
Walke with your prisoner but to maister Berry,
And ye shall either finde sufficient baile,
Or else discharge the debt, or I assure you
Weele be your ayde to guarde him safe to prison.

1. Serieant
Well, we are willing sir, we are content
To shew the Gentleman any kind of fauour.

Crip.
Along then; hearke maister Bowdler.

Exeunt.
Enter Maister Flower, Mistris Flower, Maister Berry, and Fiddle.
Maist. Flo.

Welcome good maister Berry, is your stomack
vp sir? It is a good conceit yfaith.

Fiddle

It is indeede sir.

Master Flo.

What, Fiddle!

Fid.

If his stomacke be vp to goe to diuner.

Maister Flo.

Fiddle, bid maister Berry welcome.

Fid.

What else maister? with the best belly in my heart, the
sweetest straine in my musicke, and the worst entertainment
that may be, Fiddle bids your worship adesdum.

Berry

Thankes Fiddle, and maister Flower, I am much beholding
to your curtesie.

Mistris Flo.
Fiddle, I wonder that he staies so long,
Thou toldst me Anthony would follow thee.

Fid.
I, and heele be heere I warrant you.

Maister Flo.
Ile tell you sir, it is a rare conceit,
My wife would haue her marry Anthony,
The yonger brother, but against her minde,
I will contract her vnto Ferdinand,
And I haue sent for you and other friends,
To witnes it; and tis a good conceit.

Mistris Flo.
Fiddle, are all things ordred well within?

Fid.
Alls well, alls well, but there wants some saffron,
To colour the custards withall.

Mistris Flo.
Heere, take my keyes, bid Susan take enough.

Maister Flo.
Fiddle, are all our guests come yet?

Fid.
I, sir and here comes one more than you lookt for.

Exit.
Enter Franke.
Franke

God saue you Master Flower, as much to you Master
Berry.

Maister Flo.
Welcome M. Golding, yare very welcome sir.

Franke
My brother Ferdinand commends him to you,
And heeres a letter to you from himselfe.

Maister Flo.
A letter sir, it is a good conceit,
Ile reade it strait,
Giues the other Letter to mistris Flower.

Maister Flower, I am beholding to you for your kindenesse,
and your furtherance in my loue-suite, but my minde is changed,
and I will not marry your daughter, and so farewell.

This is no good conceit: what Ferdinand,
Delude olde Flower, make me deceiue my friends,
Make my wife laugh, and triumph in her will,
What thinke you Fiddle?

Fid.
Why sir I thinke it is no good conceit.

Maister Flo.
Thou saist true Fiddle, tis a bad conceit,
But heare you sir.
Mistris Flower reades her Letter.

I vnderstand by Fiddle your forwardnesse in my sute to your
daughter: but neuertheles I am determined to drawe backe,
and commit your daughter to her best fortunes, and your selfe
to God; Farewell.

Why this is like my husbands bad conceit,
Haue you ore-reachd me Flower, you crafty fox?
This is your doing, but for all your sleight
Ile crosse you if my purpose hit aright.

Fra.

Tut, tell not me sir, for my credite and reputation is as
it is, and theres an end: if I shall haue her, why so.

Maist. Flo.

Sir, the conceit is doubtfull, giue me leaue but
to consider of it by my selfe.

Franke
With all my heart.

Mistris Flo.
Maister Golding, a word I pray sir,
You know my daughter Phillis, doe you not?

Franke
Mistris, I doe.

Mistris Flo.
She is a starre I tell you.

Franke
She is no lesse indeede.

Mistris Flo.
I tell you sir vpon the sodaine now,
There came an odde conceit into my head,
Are you a batcheller?

Franke
I am indeede.

Mistris Flo.
And are you not promisde?

Franke
Not yet beleeue me.

Maister Flo.
Maister Golding.

Mistris Flo.
Well, do you heare sir? if you will be pleasde
To wed my daughter Phillis, you shall haue her.

Franke
To wed your daughter, why she loues me not.

Mistris Flo.
Alls one for that, she will be rulde by me:
Disdaine her not because I proffer her,
I tell you sir, Merchants of great account
Haue sought her loue, and Gentlemen of worth,
Haue humbly sude to me in that behalfe:
To say the trueth, I promisde her to one,
But I am crossd and thwarted by my husband,
Who meanes to marry hir vnto another:
Now sir, to cry but quittance for his guile,
I offer her to you; if you accept her,
Ile make her dowrie richer by a paire
Of hundred pounds than else it should haue beene.

Franke
Why this is excellent, past all compare,
Sude to to haue her, gentle mistris Flower,
Let me consider of it.

Mistris Flo.
Nay, nay, deferre no time if you will haue her,
Ile search my coffers for another hundred.

Fran.
Say I should yeeld, your husband will withstand it.

Mistris Fl.
Ile haue it closely done without his knowledge;
Is it a match?

Franke
Well, well, I am content.

Mast. Fl.
Why then old Flower, ile crosse your close intent.

Master Flo.
It shall be so; and tis a good conceit,
It shall be so if but to crosse my wife,
Hearke maister Golding, the conceit doth like me.
You loue my daughter, so me thought you said;
You said moreouer, that she loues you well,
This loue on both sides is a good conceit.
But are you sure sir, that my daughter loues you?

Franke
For proofe thereof shew her this ring.

Maister Flo.
A ring of hers! tis well.

Franke
I but conceit mee,
If I had wood her in my proper shape,
I do beleeue she neuer would haue likde me,
Therefore since I shall haue her, giue me leaue
To come and court hir in my borrrowed shape.

Maister Flo.
With all my heart, and tis a good conceit,
And heeres my hand, sonne Golding, thou shalt haue her.

Franke
Then father Flower, I rest vpon your promise,
Ile leaue you for a while, till I put on
My counterfeited shape, and then returne.

Exit.
Maister Flo.
Welcome good sonne, tis wel, by this conceit
My wife will be preuented of her will:
I would not for the halfe of all my wealth,
My crosse-word wife had compassd her intent:
Now wife.

Mistris Flo.
Now husband.

Maister Flo.
You still maintaine the sute for Anthony,
Youle haue your will, and I must breake my worde.

Mist. Flo.
Ieast on old Flower, be crosse, and do thy worst,
Worke the best meanes thou canst, yet whiles I liue
I sweare she neuer shall wed Ferdinand.

Mast. Flo.
What shall she not?

Mist. Flo.
No that she shall not.

Master Flo.
I say, she shall.

Mistris Flo.
Yfaith she shall not.

Maister Flo.
No!

Mistris Flo.
No.

Maister Flo.
Well wife, I am vext, and by Gods pretious.

Maister Berry
O sir, be patient gentle mistris Flower,
Crosse not your husband, let him haue his will.

Mistris Flo.
His will!

Maister Flo.
Hearst thou wife, be quiet, thou knowest my humor,
Thus to be crossde, it is no good conceit.

Mistris Flo.
A fig for your conceit; yet for because,
I know I shall preuent him of the match,
That he intends, henceforth I will dissemble.
Well maister Flower, because it shalbe saide,
And for kind maister Berry may report
The humble loyalty I beare to you,
Such as a wife should doe vnto her husband.
I am content to yeeld to your desires,
Protesting, whiles I liue, I neuer more
Will speake that Anthony may marry her.

Maister Flo.
Wife, speakst thou with thy heart?

Mistris Flo.
Husband, I doe.

Maister Flo.
Doost thou indeede?

Mistris Flo.
Indeede forsooth I doe.

Maister Flo.
Then tis a good conceit: ha, ha;
I see tis sometimes good to looke aloft,
Come hither wife, because thou art so humble,
Ile tell thee all, I haue receiu'd a letter
From Ferdinand, wherein he sends me word,
He will not marry with my daughter Phillis,
And therefore I was full determined
To crosse thy purpose, that his brother Franke
Should marry her, and so I still intend:
What saist thou wife, dost thou assent thereto?

Mist. Flo.
That Franke should marry her, I haue sworne he shall,
And since this falles so right, ile not disclose,
That I did meane so much; but now Ile yeeld,
That it may seeme my true humilitie:
Husband, because heere after you may say,
And thinke me louing, loyall, and submisse,
I am content, Franke shall haue my consent.

Maister Flo.
Why now thou shewst thy selfe obedient,
And thou dost please me with thy good conceit.

Enter Barnard, Mall, and two Serieants.
Barn.
By your leaue maister Flower,
Berry I am arrested at your sute.

Berry
And I am glad of it with all my heart;
Hold friends, theres somewhat more for you to drinke,
Away with him to prison.

Barn.
Stay maister Berry, I haue brought you baile.

Berry
What baile? where is your baile? heres none I know
Will bee thy baile, away with him to prison.

Mall
Yes, I forsooth father, ile be his baile,
Body for body; thinke you ile stay at home,
And see my husband carried to the Iaile?

Berry
How, thy husband!

Mall
My husband I assure you:
Father, these Serieants both can witnes it.

1. Ser.
We saw them both contracted man and wife,
And therefore thought it fit to giue you knowledge,
Before we carried him vnto the prison.

Berry
But ile vndoe this contract on my blessing,
Daughter, come from him, hee's a reprobate.

Mall
He is my husband.

Berry
But thou shalt not haue him.

Mall
Faith but I will, Barnard, speake for thy selfe.

Barn.
Why M. Berry, tis well knowne to you,
I am a gentleman, though by misfortune,
My ventures in the world haue somewhat faild me:
Say that my wealth disables my desert,
The diffrence of our bload supplies that want?
What though my lands be morgagde, if you please,
The dowrie you intend to giue your daughter,
May well redeeme them. You perhaps imagine
I will be wilde, but I intend it not.
What shall I say, if you will giue consent?
As you redeeme my lands, so I my time ill spent
Meane to redeeme; with frugall industry,
Ile be your councells pupill, and submit
My follies to your will, mine to your wit.

Berry
What thinke you maister Flower?

Maister Flo.
Faith maister Berry,
Barnara speakes well, and with a good conceit.

Mal.
Doost thou loue him Mall?

Mall
Yes sir, and heere protest,
Of all in London I loue Barnard best.

Maister Flo.
Then maister Berry follow my conceit,
Cancell his bond, and let him haue your daughter.

Berry
Well Barnard, since I see my daughter loues thee,
And for I hope thou wilt be kinde and louing,
Regard thy state, and turne an honest man,
Heere, take my daughter, ile giue thee in thy bond,
Redeeme thy landes, and if thou please me well,
Thou shalt not want all that I haue is thine.

Barn.
I am loue-bound to her, to you in duety,
You conquer me with kindenesse, she with beauty.

1. Ser.
Then Maister Berry I thinke we may depart.

Berry
I, when you please, you see the matter ended,
The debt dischargde, and I can aske no more.

1. Ser.
Why then we take our leaues.

Exeunt Serieants.
Ma. Flo.
Now wife, if yong Franke Golding were come back,
To summe our wish, it were a good conceit:
Enter Phi.
Why how now Phillis, sad, come tell me wench,
Art thou resolu'd yet for to haue thy husband?

Phi.
A golden Golding, tis a good conceit.
That golden Golding is but loathsome drosse,
Nor is it golde that I so much esteeme;
Dust is the richest treasure that we haue,
Nor is the beauty of the fairest one,
Of higher price or valew vnto me,
Than is a lumpe of poore deformity.
Father, you know my minde, and what I saide,
Which if you graunt not, I will rest a maide.

Enter Fid.
Maister Flo.
To die a maide, that is no good conceit.

Fid.

Master, wheres my maister? heeres one would couple
a brace of words with you.

Maister Flo.
With me sir.

Fid.
No sir, with my yong mistris.

Maister Flo.
What is he knaue?

Fid.
A crooked knaue sir, tis the Cripple.

Mai. Flo.
What would he haue? he hath no good conceit,
Tis he that hath bewitcht my daughters heart,
He is a knaue, goe send him packing hence.

Phi.
As you respect the welfare of your childe,
Deere father, let me speake with him.

Maister Flo.
Speake with him! no, it is no good conceit,
I know hee comes to runne away with thee.

Fid.

Runne away with her? well may shee carry him, but
if he runne away with her, ile neuer trust crutch more.

Maister Flo.
Thou saist true Fiddle, tis a good conceit:
Go call him in, Franke Golding, it is he.
Exit Fid.
In the lame knaues disguise, a good conceit;
Enter Frank

Now sir, whats the newes with you, you come to speake with
my daughter?

Franke

Yea sir, about a little worke I haue of hers.

Maister Flo.

What worke, you knaue? no, thou hast some
conceit, to robbe me of my daughter; but away:

I like not that conceit out of my doores.

Phi.
Vnhappy Phillis, and vnfortunate.

Fra.
Sir, I am content, ile not moue your patience.

Phi.
Life of my liuing body, if thou goe,
Though not aliue take me hence dead with woe.

she sounds
Berry.
In troth sir, you are too blame.

Master Flow.
What? is she dead? it is no good conceit.
Speake to me Phillis, O vnhappy time,
Sweete Girle, deere daughter, O my onely ioy,
Speake to thy father wench, in some conceit,
What, not a word?

Berry.
Now may you see, what fell impatience
Begets vpon such tender plants as these.

Mistris Flow.
Now may we see the folly of old age,
Gouern'd by spleene, and ouerweening rage.

Master Flow.
Speake to me, daughter.
And thou shalt haue, what not? couetst thou gold?
Thou shalt not want for crownes, thou shalt haue all.
O was my furie author of thy trance?
Did I deny thy loues accesse to thee?
Speake but one word and thou shalt be his wife,
By heauen thou shalt.

Phil.
I take you at your word; it is no paine
To die for loue, and then reuiue againe.

Berry.
Now M. Flower how like you this conceit,
Hath shee not ouer reach'd you?

M. Flow.
My word is past, and yet for all my rage,
I rather choose to faile in my conceit,
And wed thee Phillis to thy owne content.
Heere, take my daughter, Cripple, loue her well,
Be kinde to her, and ile be kinde to thee,
Thou art but poore, well I will make thee rich,
And so God blesse you, with a good conceit.

Frank.
I thanke you, when I leaue to loue my wife,
Heauen hasten death and take away my life.

M. Flow.
Tis well done Franke, I applaude thy wit,
And now I know I faile not in conceit.

Enter Cripple, Fredinand, Anthonie, Bowdler.
Crip.
Gentlemen sweet bloods, or brethren of familiarity,
I would speake with Phillis, shall I haue audience?

Phil.
Helpe me derre father, O helpe me Gentlemen,
This is some spirit, driue him from my sight.

Frank.
Were he the deuill, thou shalt not budge a foote.

Bowd.
Zounds two Cripples, two dogs two curres, tis wonderfull?

Frank.
Feare not deare heart.

Phil.
Hence foule deformitie.
Nor thou nor he, shall my companion be,
If Cripples dead, the liuing seeme to haunt,
Ile neither of either, therefore I say auaunt;
Helpe, me father.

Frank.
Deere heart, reuoke these words,
Here are no spirites nor deformities,
I am a counterfeit Cripple now no more,
But yong Franke Golding as I was before:
Amaze not loue, nor seeme not discontent,
Nor thee nor him shall euer this repent.

Ferd.
M. Flower, I come to claime your promise.

Anth.
I come for yours, your daughter I doe meane.

M. Flow.
My promise; why sir, you refusde my promise,
And sent me word so in your letter.

Mistresse Flow.
And so did you to me, and now tis past,
Your brother Franke hath both our free consents.

Ferd.
Sir, sir, I wrote no letter.

Anth.
By heauen, nor I.

Frank.
But I did for you both; I was your Scribe,
The whilst you went to see your house a fire:
And you (as I remember) I did send,
To see your sister drown at London-Bridge.

Ferd.
Yfaith good brother haue you ore reachd, vs so?

Anth,
So cunningly, that none of vs could know.

Ferd.
For all this cunning, I will breake the match.

Anth.
And so will I.

Frank.
Why brothers, shee's mine by her fathers gift.

Ferd.
Brother you lie, you got her with a shift.

Franke.
I was the first that lou'd her.

Ferd.
That's not so, t'was I.

Anth.
Catch that catch can, then brothers both you lie.

M. Flow.

Yea, but conceit me Gentlemen, what doe you

meane to spoile my daughter? you claime her, and I haue giuen
her your yonger brother; this is no good conceite: why
how now Phillis, still drooping, cheare thee my girle, see a
companie of Gentlemen are at strife for thy loue; looke vp,
and in this faire assembly make thine owne choise; choose
where thou wilt, and vse thine owne conceit.

Phil.
But will my father then applaud my choise?

M. Flow.
I will.

Phil.
And will these worthy Gentlemen be pleasde,
How euer my dislike or liking prooue?

All.
We will.

Phil.
I must confesse you all haue taken paines,
And I can giue but all for that paines taken,
And all my all, is but a little loue,
And of a little who can make deuision,
I would I knew what would content you all.

Ferd.
Thy loue.

Anoth.
Thy life and loue.

Frank.
Thy life, thy loue, thy selfe, and all for me,
For if I want but one, I then want thee.

Phil.
If then I giue what either if you craue,
Though not what you desire will it suffice.

Ferd.
I wish but loue.

Phil.
And as a friend you haue it.

Anth.
I life and loue.

Phil.
And as your friend, I vow, to loue you whilst I liue, as doe now.

Frank.
I aske but all for I deserue no more.

Phil.
And thou shalt haue thy wish, take all my store,
My loue my selfe.

Frank.
By heauen, I aske no more:
Brothers, haue done, and Dad to end all strife,
Come take her hand and giue her for my wife.

M. Flow.
Withall my heart, and tis a good conceit.

Bowd.
Gentlemen, patience is your fairest play.

Ferd.
Impatience puls me hence, for this disdaine,
I am resolu'd neuer to loue againe.

Exit.
Anth.
Stay brother Ferdinand, ile follow thee,
Farewell all loue, tis full of treacherie.

Exit.
Bow.
By heauens Franke I do commend thy wit,
Come Mall, shall thou and I aske blessing too for company?

Mall.

You and I sir, alas, we are not play-fellowes, though
we be turtles: I am prouided.

Bowd.
Prouided! why am not I thy Menelaus?

Mall.
I sir, but this is my Paris, I am resolu'd,
And what I doe is by authoritie.

Bowd.
Is it euen so, is Hellen stolne by Paris?
Then thus in armes will Menelaus mourne,
Till Troy be sack'd, and Hellena returne.

Exit
Enter M. Wood, and Officers.
Wood.
This is the man, officers attach him vpon fellonie.

Office.

M. Flower, I arrest you vpon fellonie, and charge
you to obey.

M. Flow.

Arrest me vpon fellonie! at whose sute?

Wood.

Sir, at mine; where had you that Dyamond on your
finger? it was stole from me, and many other Iewels; to the value
of a hundred pownd.

M. Flo.
This is no good conceit; hath Captaine Racket,
Banded old Flower to such an exegent?
I hope my credit somewhat will asist me;
Well, whither must I goe?

Wood.
Straight to the bench, where now the Iudges are
To giue you speedy tryall.

M. Flow.
Words here are little worth, wife and friends all
Goe with me to my tryall, you shall see
A good conceit now brought to infamie.

Exeunt.