 | The Honest Lavvyer |  |
Act. Tertius.
Enter Robert Vaster, and Anne.Rob.
Come, sister to my sorrowes, and my selfe.
They say, society in woes doth lighten
Our pressures; but I finde the contrary.
My woes are heauier by thy companie
My griefe for thy distresse, doubles mine owne.
I should be farre lesse wretched, if alone.
Sweet brother, since we must both suffer, thinke it some
comfort, that we share an equall fortune.
Where mutuall loues contend to beare their parts.
Rob.
Little once thought thy mother, that thy fate
Should stoope to seruice to relieue thy state:
We are not try'd, but in our miserie.
He is a cunning Coach-man that can turne
Well in a narrow roome. To manage plenty
In a right forme, commends the state, not person.
Hee's blest, that to be rich can giue consent
With honestie, or rest poore with content.
I wonder, Beniamin doth not visit vs.
His last reliefe is done: if that spring drye,
We faint for succour, and must fainting dye.
Enter Bromley.
See, here comes Bromley, once our fathers Steward: Sure, hee'l
support vs. Sister, cry his kindnesse: thy speech is more pathetical.
Brom.
Theeues, Lawyers, Rogues, Harlots, and Inne-keepers,
are mens purgations. Griffin has cheated mee: tooke twenty angels
from me; theeues tooke 'hem from him. He promis'd to draw
Sager to compound; now the day's gone against me.
That I might teare their flesh in mammocks, raise
My losses from their carcases turn'd Mummy.
Ann.
Good Sir, a word—
Brom.
Now Kitlin, what would you haue?
Ann.
Sir, remember we are the miserable children of lost Uaster;
whom once you seru'd.
Brom.
What's that to me?
Ann.
I hope, Sir, you can spare somewat to vs distressed.
Brom.
This is plaine begging. Minion, fall to worke,
And earne supply to wants with diligent labour.
For Vasters sake I will not vrge the Statute.
Rob.
The Statute, Iudas? w'are no Beggers, though
We try'd thy courtesie. Cursed be thy fate,
Thou from our father gott'st thy whole estate.
If thou stay'st miscreant—
Brom.
Boy, Ile smoke you for't.
Rob.
Do thy worst diuell. An insatiate worme strike deepe into
thy conscience, file thy heart strings with rubbing frets:
On foggy blastings of eternall shame.
Exit.
Enter Gripe.
Ingratitude is gone; and in his roome,
Extortion and a fiend is hither come.
Grip.
I'm going to see my morgage—
Ann.
Good Sir, shew mercy on't we wretched Orphans.
Grip.
Out beggers, mercie? what dost talke to me of mercy?
I'm going to let my grounds. I haue no leasure for mercy.
Rob.
Goe thou accursed Cain: in miserie,
When thou begg'st mercy, be't as farre from thee.
Ann.
Sir; y'haue vndone our Parents; pittie vs.
Grip.
I cannot stay to heare you, I haue businesse.
Exit.
Rob.
Heauen, be as deafe to thee, when thy foule breath
Shall begge some respite at thy violent death.
Enter Nice.
This fellow sure will succour vs.
Nic.
Iune, Iuly, August, September—the first day—
Ann.
Sir, raise our prostrate fortunes with some helpe:
Some little helpe, you know vs.
Nic.
Yes, yes, I remember I haue seene you. Let's see—
The fourteenth day—bad. I must do no deed of charitie to day;
I haue president for it. 't is lost.
Rob.
Now I remember, when I went to schoole,
I read of one Vespasian a good Emperour,
That told his Courtiers if a day out-slipt him,
Wherein he did not good, that day was lost.
The next he would redeem't with double cost.
Ill colour'd sinne, how shamefull dost thou looke,
In them that plead thy warrant from their booke!
Nic.
Fourteenth day. A good turne forgotten. Oh heres learning
from the starres.
Like citizens, I would not ha't forgotten.
Yet let me study on't: though a man may not giue, he
May buy, I hope without danger. Faire sister,
What shall I giue you for your maiden-head?
Rob.
Thus much: a broken head.
Ni.
Oh—Oh—Forgiue me, good Calender—I perceiue now, thy
counsel's true. It's an euil day indeed: I should neither haue bought
nor sold on't.
Exi.
Rob.
Hence, skie-consulting Gypsie: men commit
Sinnes darke as night, and blame the starres for it.
Enter Sager.
Another passenger—Oh this is Sager.
His wife was once a seruant to our mother.
Alas, when these built from our ruinous woe
Releeue vs not, what should this poore man doe.
Sag.
I long to heare from London; how my suite
Ends, or depends: if lost, I'm lost with it.
Who would trust any barres this tottring world
Can plot to fortifie our wheeling states!
When the strong dores of Iustice may be broke,
Or lifted from the hinges by the force
Of politike engines: or the safest locke
Be pickt with a false key.
An.
Sir, dwels there any mercie in your heart?
Sag.
Yes: or of mercy, I must hope no part.
I know yon, and your wants. My wife was once your Parents seruant.
An.
True, but that time is past,
And in her seruice now I would be plac't.
Sag.
That were too lauish yeelding to your woe.
I am but poore, troubles haue made me so.
Yet of that small life-blood, which my drencht state
H'as left it by the Lawes sharpe surgerie,
Embrace a portion, as your needs require;
Enter Beniamin.
And I may giue. Here comes your enemies Sonne.
I haue bene seeking all you three with newes.
Good newes; friend Sager, the day's yours.
Sag.
It's welcome. I haue the better meanes to succour these.
Ben.
You haue preuented my request: I purpos'd
To beg that kindnesse of you. Robin, I would
Intreat you to accept my seruice, but
I meane the name of it: for in deed Ile vse thee
As my most equall and respected friend.
Nan, in thine armes I throw and locke my selfe;
My fortunes be all thine: the key's thy loue;
Let this kisse be the seale. Ye sacred powers
Make indissoluble this knot of ours.
Now, master Sager, giue her that respect,
You would my wife: all charges are my debt.
Robin, you know the house; conduct your sister thither; that done,
conuey these letters to the widdow Sorrow; (that's her borrowed name) she lies at my fathers.
Rob.
With iust hands.
I'm prouder of thy loue, then of thy lands.
Ann.
Oh pure quintessence of thy profession.
How many hast thou robd, thus to make vp
Thy perfect godnesse! as if wiser nature
Had made an extract of ten thousand Lawyers,
And thrise refin'd it with immortall fires:
Then set it like a sanctified Lampe
On th'Altar of thy soule; to giue exemplar light,
In the dull darkenesse of this sinne-borne night.
Exeunt.
Ben.
Bromley's growne mad with rage: I'm iealous of him. You
know the hopes of your posteritie dwell on your present fortunes:
all which burne with the short Taper of your singular life,
Say he should quench it.
Sag.
How Sir? murder me?
Ben.
I cannot tell, it's but my iealousie.
Tis not amisse, to keepe preuentions eye
Open and wary. Instruments of death
Stand ready prest to a malicious arme.
And policie, like a cunning Iesuite,
Watches behind the Arras for a call.
Sag.
What ground for this suspition find your thoughts?
Ben.
The fury of his madnesse, Enuies some,
That surges from the poyson'd auarice
Of his swolne heart: his broken resolutions,
Wherein his traitor-tongue can scarce forbeare
The protestation. Giue me leaue to feare.
Sag.
What will you counsell me?
Ben.
That must be study'd. Thus—
Listen—We'll trie what mischeefes he can warpe:
With woodden wasters learne to play at sharpe.
Exit Sager.
Enter Gripe, Nice, Thirsty.
Grip.
Oh my backe, my backe—
Ben.
How do you, Sir?
Grip.
Oh sonne, sonne, worse then euer. The Gowt was but a
stitch to this. Oh the Collicke, the Collicke and stone.
Thirst.
There be two of them master, aske the widdow else.
Grip.
Sure it will rend my bowels out.
Ben.
It's iust: The stone ith' bladder now should make him smart
That has so long bene sicke of stone ith' heart.
Grip.
Oh that I knew where my old Physician liu'd.
Enter Vaster and Curfew.
Vast.
Keepe on your habite. Our walke's turn'd Pouls, I thinke.
Curf.
Zlid, if our third party were here, wee would venter on
'hem all. Th'are but welsh freeze; they would shrinke at the sense
of yron.
Uast.
Let's muffle vp our villaines with the shadow
Of some great conference: if a cheate be offer'd,
We'll not refuse: but now to compasse it,
Must not be done by force of armes, but wit.
Grip.
Sonne Beniamin, you must to Goldington,
To view yong Brusters lands: th'are offer'd me
This morne in morgage. Harke you—
Nic.
Thirsty, come hither.
Thirst.
Ha'you any drink there?
Nic.
No; but come drinke thy selfe drunke with Poetrie.
Thirst.
Faith, Poetrie now a daies will scarce make a man drink.
I had as liefe be a pot as a Poet: then I should sometimes be full of
good liquour.
Oh, your Poet is too full of that, it makes him thred bare.
Sirrah, I ha' made a Sonnet here to my Mistresse; she n'ere wrought
such a one on her Samplar. Lay thine eare close to my musicall
tongue, I shall rauish her.
Thirst.
You shall be hang'd for't then.
Ni.
Open time eares, like an Oyster a sunning
Euen as the bird, which we Camelion call,
doth liue on aire for aye:
So my kinde heart, euer like a stocke-Doue shall
feede on thy loue all day.
Thirst.
I, and all night too.
Nic.
I, and all night too: but that night would make the verse
too long. Now I talke of night, let me see what time of day it is. I
haue businesse, must not be rim'd away.
Curf.
Pray y' Sir, how speakes your watch? One? mine lies inclining
to two. You haue a prettie interpreter of the time there.
Who made it, French or Dutch? You need not doubt me, Sir, I am
the new Parson of Saint Peters in Bedford.
Nic.
Sir, then as I may say, haue ioy in your new Benefice, for belly-peece
you must ha' none. Pray' lets peruse your watch, see you
mine.
Vast.
Fezz 'Sir, y'haue a braue wash there. Chill warrant the
Kings wash-maker made it. Beseech you mezter Nice, let me see
master Parson wash. Master Pason will you zell your wash, chill
giue you good cash for it.
Curf.
No, my honest friend, I will not sell it.
Vast.
Will you runne with me for it?
Grif.
Runne? no.
Vast.
Cheuore ye runne for't, you shall nere ha't else.
Excurrit.
Curf.
Oh my watch—
Nic.
Oh my watch.
Curf.
Stop the theefe, stop the theefe.
Vaster runs away with Curfews watch: Curfew with Nices.
Nic.
Stop the Priest, stop the Priest.
Thirst.
Let him go, he runs for a wager.
Ben.
How now? is my cousin Nice playing at Bace?
I know one of them well, by his sad tale
Of Vasters death: for that Ile not pursue him.
Grip.
Son, I did rest me, hoping to go forward.
But so increase my paines, I am not able.
Suruey you Brusters lands, and speed returne.
Ben.
And his hydroppicke spirits can looke through
His bodies loope-holes, and conuey the pleasure
Of his contemplate gold, his lusts sole God,
Through those windowes to th'admiring heart:
Nothing comes from him; not the superfluities
Of basers things, not being first improu'd.
I am his onely issue, and on me
I thinke he meanes to settle all his state.
It's the onely way to giue me curst and poore,
To build my nest on such extorted store.
“As scaffolds to build vp their racked wealth,
“Proue in the eud, like citie-houses, that
“On small foundations carry spacious roofes:
“When the incensed heauens in tempests frowne,
“Their owne top-heauy weight tumbles them downe.
“The first or second generation spils
“By ryot, what by wrong the father fils.
In this Ile be a mirror to these times:
And by the hand of charitie returne
To euery man, what by his couetous rape
Their states are rauish'd of: so worke my rest.
Th'ill gotten gone, that which remaines is blest.
Exit.
Grip.
Oh Thirsty, honest Thirsty. Thy old master is but a dead
man. I cannot pisse man: my vrine's stop'd.
Thirst.
You should drinke, hard, master: all this comes with
pinching your selfe of your liquour. This is the reason, that
so few Dutchmen are troubled with the stone. Your miserable
Churle dribbles like the pissing Conduit: but his iouiall sonne
with a streame like Ware-water-spout. This is the cause, the
Vsurer falling sicke, so seldome rises by the staffe of Physicke:
for he has no water for the Physician to cast.
Nic.
Now the Gowt, Dropsie, Lethargie take possession of
their legs. I ha'lost my wind, and my watch, and I feare, my
wench too.
Thirst.
You haue watch'd faire: sure that Parson was some
Irishman.
Nice.
Some hangman vncase him. I ha'bene at the Parsons,
and he's no such manner of man.
Enter Marre-maide, Constable, with Valentine.
Grip.
What crew's this?
Mar.
Blesse your worship: I am your Worships sonnes
Tenant. I ha'brought a rogue to your worship, to be examin'd.
Grip.
What fault hath has he committed? Clarke, to your
office: take his examination. Now neighbour Sleepy, are you
Constanble?
Thirst.
A good harmelesse Constable, a theefe may take
him napping.
Marm.
An't please your worship, the rude Raggamuffin
comes into my house, cals for drinke; and when the Tapster
came with a reckoning, he broke the pot about's head; because
he had not a cleane Apron on.
Val.
No, because he misreckoned me.
Mar.
Whose fault was it, to wipe out the score?
Ual.
Not mine. Indeede I anointed the score with butter,
and the Tapsters owne dog lick't it out.
Nic.
Vncle, vncle, as sure as my watch is lost, this is master
Valentine the Physician.
Grip.
Oh Coz, that it were true. Pray 'Sir, let me mooue a
question.
Val.
You may command my answer Sir, y'are a Iustice.
Grip.
Were not you the man, that heald me o'the Gowt?
Val.
Troth Sir, I haue done so many cures, that I forget a
number of my patients. Th'other day I cured a lunaticke
the Physicians. I let him bloud, tooke three Hen-egges, suck'd
'hem out, into the shels I put his bloud, set them vnder a
brood-Goose. When she had hatcht the rest, I gaue these
three putrified egges to a Dogge: the Dogge grew madde, the
Cobler sober. And now my memorie runs backe, I call to
mind one of Bedford, sicke of the Gowt, whom I cured.
Grip.
I am the man, my renowned Paracelsian: thou shalt
haue the other 25. pound. Constable, I discharge you. Ostice,
I'le see you payd: set your reckoning on my score: trouble
me no further: leaue vs, leaue vs. Now my deepe.
(Exeunt.)
diuer into the secrets of nature, I haue a cure for
thee, more desperate then the former.
Val.
What is't Sir, that my Art cannot extend to?
Grip.
The stone, the stone: I am pittifully grip'd with the
stone, I ha' lost my pissing.
Val.
Sir, the disease is somewhat dangerous.
Yet if that your expulsiue facultie
Retaine true force, I'le warrant to make you pisse.
I must a while withdraw to study Sir.—
Now am I puzzled: bloud, what medicine
Should I deuise to do't? It must be violent.
Give him some Aqua-fortis; that would speed him.
Let's see. Me thinks—a little Gun-powder
Should haue some strange relation to this fit.
I haue seene Gun-powder oft driue out stones
From Forts and Castle-walls, huger then he
Has any in his reynes or bladder, sure.
Faith, 'cause I am a souldier, i'le make triall
Of that same blacke and vaporous Minerall.
I'le shoote into his belly: if the gunne hold,
Ile giue him charge enough: some Aquavitæ
First brewd together would allay it well.
Ile sweare to try it, if I doe not misse,
By a strange tricke Ile make my Vsurer pisse.
Sir, Ile goe in and prepare for aou.
Grip.
Doe so. Here, Thirsty, there be the Keys of the Buttry:
lou'st me.
Thirst.
I loue you Master, but here's a good key I loue
better. Sweete instrument of my ioy, let me kisse thee. Alas,
that thou and I should be such strangers. Wee ha' but
one barrell: now if that should bee in my masters disease,
troubled with the strangullion, and could not runne—
well, if it bee not emptie, Ile giu't a scowring.
Exit.
Grip.
Now if this rare wonder of leaches can cure mee of
this griping, that I may haue some fortie or threescore yeares
more to gather'in, by that time I shall gather enough to
keepe me all the rest of my life. When a man growes vp to
to sixe or seuen score, it is high time to thinke of mortalitie,
and to take some ease. These three or foure nights I ha'bene
haunted with Fairies: they dance about my bed-side, poppe
in a peece of gold betweene the sheetes, scatter here and
there fragments of siluer, in euery corner. I keepe my chamber
swept, cleane linnen, fire to warme them euery night.
I was at first afraide, they had beene spirits; now I see, they
are good harmelesse Fairies. If I can please them, I shall
grow rich, rich.
Enter Beniamin.
Ben.
You haue done your health the more wrong, Sir.
Grip.
How dost like my morgage?
Ben.
It's a faire liuing, Sir; but I would not haue you meddle
with it.
Grip.
Why, my wise sonne?
Ben.
Oh Sir, good deeds are scant,
When we aduantage take of poore mens want.
Bruster's an honest man; lend him some money without such
sharpe securitie.
Grip.
Not a doyt. If he come to me, and conuey the morgage
I haue it ready; els I haue no money.
Sonne come and sup with me.
Th'erection of our faces should instruct
Our groueling thoughts t'ascend. How do men thwart
The teaching hand of Nature, and our birth!
I looke for Sager here. He's come.
Enter Sager.
Sag.
Heer's my owne case and counterfeit; by this dangerlesse
plummet, we may sound the depth of his more close and
intricate stratagems.
Ben.
So wiser masters lay some easie baites,
At once to tempt and trie their seruants truth.
The subiect for quack-saluing Empirickes
To exercise their inexperience on,
Should not be men, but malkins.
Sag.
Do you thinke, that he would doe me violence asleepe?
would he not wake me to some conference?
Ben.
No, hee's a most ranke Coward; and I know,
Dares not come neere thee, though thou wert asleepe.
If he does ought, he'l do't by that long Engine.
Conceale your selfe a while. How fares my name?
How does she brooke my slow-pac'd comming to her?
Sag.
Faith, in your constancie lightens all griefe.
She neuer heares you mention'd, but she startles:
As if your name like some celestiall fire
Quicken'd her slow-pac'd spirits with new life.
I neuer knew vertue and beauty meete
In a more happy mixture. I remoue.
Exit.
Ben.
I loue her freely: shee's to me as th'ayre.
Her beauty is best and blest, whose soule is faire.
The Wolfe is come.
Brom.
Good euening to you Sir.
Ben.
My wish requite you.
You walke to haue a shoot, Sir: I depart.
I would be loth to preiudice your sport.
Brom.
Saw you not Mr Sager, Sir, of late?
This is his walke: I would faine speake with him.
Ben.
Why would you speake with him?
Brom.
Sir, for no harme.
Ben.
I do not thinke you meane it; but you know,
hee's valiant like a Lyon: if crosse words should stirre your
blouds to quarrell—Sir, take heed. Hee'l be too hard for you,
and your long weapon. This medow is his euening walke.
Farewell to you Sir.
Brom.
Good night M. Beniamin; you need not doubt me.
If I could meet him at th'aduantage now,
He is the Fowle I'd shoot at. His life done,
The Farme is mine. Oh ye, whose hopes depend,
Like lingring shadowes, on anothers end,
What need you waite with patience natures leasure,
When such an engine can soone work your pleasure?
Tarry: yonder's a man—now by his habite
It should be Sager. What? and fast asleepe?
Wish'd opportunity to my reuenge.
Ile kill him ere he wakes. Stay, grant he should
In this vnbeaten medow lately act
Some horrid sinne, please his adulterous lust:
I should then with his body strike his soule,
And sinke them both together. Reason no further
Thou chiding conscience. See, the Fates haue plac't
Him fit for vengeance: enemie, sleepe thy last.
Hee's Planet-strucke, falne downe: now to my Farme.
He that would rise, must thanke his wit or arme.
Oh but my murder! pish, who euer stood
Exit.
In fortunes height, without some touch of blood?
Ben.
This I diuin'd.
Sag.
Happy preuention!
Ben.
Goe, thou despairing wretch, and for thy will,
Ten thousan swords shall thy vex'd conscience kill.
'T was vaine blow to vs, and no bloud spilt,
Not lesse in thy intention is thy guilt.
This Clergy-habite which you haue assum'd,
Make good a while for your supposed death;
Allow his tyrannie free scope: liue close:
Till time shall ripen those euents, we striue
To build on this vile ground. Hold, ther's my key:
Into my chamber; I sup at my fathers.
Exit Sager.
What, come againe?
Enter Bromley.
Brom.
If this late murdered corps remoued be.
Some gold I haue put vp in this Portmantua:
If I should be pursu'd, this may relieue me.
Ay me! the bodi's gone: sure it's reueal'd:
What shall I doe? sit downe: lye there, my gold.
Enter Nice, and Thirsty, on either side, crying So ho.
Nic.
Holla, Cousin Beniamin. So ho ho.
Thir.
Oh ho ho.
Brom.
Oh me, the Countrie's vp, what shall I do?
(excurrit.
Ben.
This foole hath frayd him.
Oh guilt! how hast thou made
Cowherd of man to fly at his owne shade!
Now Cousin Nice, what holla you for?
Nic.
You had need of a bell to ring you in. Your father
has stayd supper for you this houre.
Ben.
Come then, let's walke on—what's here a Portmantua?
Nic.
Oh, oh, do not touch it: it's venome.
Ben.
Why my wise Cousin? why are you so timorous?
Oh it lies there for a wager: there be theeues about it.
Take heed Cousin; I found a Portmantua once, and lost all
the money in my purse. Fly, fly—
Exit.
Ben.
Are you gone? Well, I see now, hee that will be wise
by Calendar, shall be a foole by destinie.
Put vp for his escape: 'tis so by th'weight.
It falls into my hands most luckily:
For I haue need of cash in these occasions.
Yet Ile repay't againe: my honestie
Shall be his friend, whose feare was friend to me.
Oh, in this glasse my represented soule
Stands manifest to my impartiall eye.
Ye heauens rayne showers of mercy on my sins:
Lest where my pleasure ends my wo begins.
| The Honest Lavvyer | |