University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Sir John Traffic's Counting-House.
Enter Invoice and Ledger.
Ledger.
The ship is safe i'th' pool then?

Invoice.
And makes good
In her rich freight the name she bears, the Speedwell.
Our master, Sir John Traffic, never made
A braver speculation. On my knowledge,
Who sailing in her can pronounce her value,
For ev'ry hundred that he ventur'd in her,
She hath return'd him five.

Ledger.
Would it were mine,
Or but a tythe on't!—Well, our master needs
Supplies like this; his out-goings are great.

Invoice.
Why, truly, things seem chang'd. This gorgeous mansion,
The hangings and the furniture o' th' chambers,
Rather bespeak the state of some great lord,
Than of a London merchant. Where's our lady?
How sits her title on her? and her daughters,
Fair Moll, and blooming Bess?

Ledger.
Plain Moll and Bess?
An' thou would'st 'scape correction, thou had'st best
Give them some other titles.—Miss Maria,
And Miss Eliza, and with reverence too,
Or 'tis more punishable in our house
Than scandalum magnatum.

Invoice.
'Tis great pity,
That such a gentleman as our good master,
Whose boundless wealth can so maintain a title,
Should want a son to inherit his estate,
And keep his name alive.

Ledger.
The want of one
Swells my young mistresses and their proud stepmother
With hopes above their birth and scale: their dreams are
Of being made countesses, and they take state
As they were such already. When you went
To th' Indies, there was some proportion
Becoming traders in our house; but since
My master was by royal favour knighted,
'Tis grown a little court in bravery.

Invoice.
Is Luke, his brother, living?

Ledger.
Yes, the more
His misery, poor man!

Invoice.
And still in prison?

Ledger.
In a worse place, for he's translated hither.

Invoice.
How's that?

Ledger.
Why, Sir, since here, as says the proverb,
Our mare's the better horse, poor master Luke
Hath made an ill exchange. He's freed indeed,
But our proud madam takes especial care
He still shall feel dependence. She admits him,
As 'tis our master's pleasure, to the table,
Where, after grace is said, with humble rev'rence
He takes the lowest place, and sits the subject
Of her contempt and scorn; and, dinner ended,
She finds employment for him, suited better
To a mere lackey.

Invoice.
Strange, he should endure it,
When other means of living may be found.
But hold.—How wears the time?

Ledger.
'Tis almost noon.

Invoice.
Then must we hasten to th' Exchange.

Ledger.
I'm with you.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.

Lady Traffic's Apartment.
Enter Furbish.
Furbish.
I vow 'tis almost noon, and nothing 's ready.
Holdfast!—We shall have pretty work anon,
When her sweet, patient ladyship returns.
There has she been since morn, gadding about;
Her two full-grown daughters-in-law mop'd up,
As if they still were children.—Well! 'tis strange,
That an old gentleman, like my wise master,
Should match himself with such a—
Oh! you're here.—

Enter Holdfast.
Holdfast.
Can one ne'er be at rest?—What with your calling,
My lady's fancies, and Sir John's commands,
I have a blessed time of it among you.
What is't you want?

Furbish.
Good Holdfast, lend a hand—
My lady will be back immediately
Her toilet's unprepared—

Holdfast.
What 's that to me?
I'm not to comb her hair, or fix her patches.

Furbish.
I wish you were, you'd then have work enough.
But do, dear Holdfast, help me to set out
These boxes—

Holdfast.
What! her red paint and her white?—
Faugh! how these perfumes smell!—Well, wise Sir John,
You never made so ruinous a bargain,
As when you brought this shrew from Lothbury,
And, like an amorous dotard, made her tyrant
Over yourself, your daughters, and your servants.

Furbish.
There, that will do.—I told you she was coming.
D'ye hear her?

Holdfast.
Can St. Paul's great bell be heard?
It's clamour is the gentlest of the two.

Furbish.
Forbear—she'll hear you.

[Exit Holdfast.
Enter Lady Traffic and Servants.
Lady Traffic.
Tell Sir John, I wonder.
He'll keep that blundering coachman, when he knows
How I detest his sluggish stile of driving;
Drawl! drawl along, like the Lord Mayor's state-coach,
Or Mrs. Deputy Comfit, with her pair
Of sleek dock'd cart-horses!—Go, tell him, sirrah,
To turn him off, and see I have another
Befitting Lady Traffic. [Exeunt Servants.]
Furbish!

Furbish.
Madam!

Lady Traffic.
I'm tir'd to death!—I have such poor weak nerves!
Why, don't you see I'm absolutely fainting
From mere fatigue—and there you stand, and gape,
And twirl your fingers—

Furbish.
Shall I get your ladyship
The cordial water?

Lady Traffic.
Name it not—a chair!
Don't you see, ideot! how I shake and tremble?

Furbish.
There, Madam.—

Lady Traffic.
There!—Has the wench lost her senses?
I'd better wait upon myself at once,
Than to be telling you—There, put it there!

Furbish.
I'm sure, Ma'am—

Lady Traffic.
Silence!—Take my hood off, can't you?
How do I look now?

Furbish.
As I hope to see
A poor knight's son and heir walk bare before you
When you're a countess (as you may be one
Should Sir John die, or leave off merchandize)
You look as handsome now as when you married.

Lady Traffic.
Why, in good truth, I think I use my fortune
With a becoming grace.—And why not use it,
Since I am wedded to a wealthy cit,
Who doubles me in years?—With two grown girls
Who strive to vie with me in fashion's walk.
I'll prove to all the world I know my rights,
And choose to claim them—or wherefore did I marry?

Furbish.
I vow you've not your equal in the city.

Lady Traffic.
Nay, now you're quite ridiculous.—Where are
Those gawky misses whom I call my daughters?
'Tis a sad thing to have two may-pole creatures
Give themselves airs, as if they had pretensions
To attract the attentions of the men.

Furbish.
Why truly
They're old enough to come in for a share.

Lady Traffic.
Ay, so Sir John says. 'Twere a pretty jest
For me to sacrifice my youth and beauty
To an old man like him, and have his daughters
Become my rivals!—No—no—I'll take care
To keep them at a proper distance, 'till
Some lord, attracted by their rumour'd wealth,
Or gallant courtier, take them off my hands.

Furbish.
Your ladyship is right.—But here they are.

Lady Traffic.
Aye,—let them come—I want to speak to them.
Begone!—
[Exit Furbish.
Enter Maria and Eliza.
So; here you are—Well, as I live
You've taken pains, Maria, to disfigure
Yourself with that strange head. And you, Eliza,
You've made yourself a fright.

Maria.
Will you still treat us
As we were children, when you know our age?

Lady Traffic.
Your age indeed! Do you think, because you're tall
That, therefore, you're to shove me from my place,
And take upon you to be mistresses?

Eliz.
If we believe one half our suitors say—

Maria.
We may believe them, surely.

Lady Traffic.
No, you may not.
Think you that any will discover faults
In Sir John Traffic's heirs?—Were you as swarth
As the foul Ethiop, red-hair'd, lame, and crooked,
Let them but glance an eye upon his coffers,
And all an angel's attributes are your's.

Maria.
Whate'er may bring them, we've enough of 'em.
My father, ere this morning he went forth,
Warn'd us we might expect two new gallants.

Lady Traffic.
Their names?

Maria.
Sir Maurice Lacey's eldest son and heir;
And a rich country gentleman, one Heartwell.

Lady Traffic.
What, commoners?—A knight's son and a 'squire?
A fit assortment for his lady daughters!
Child! There's a native grossness in your father,
Which even all my counsels cannot cure.—

Enter Sir John Traffic.
Sir John.
So, Madam, at your old amusements still,
Teaching these children to despise their father!

Lady Traffic.
Why who, Sir John, could have expected you?
Cannot I be in private with my daughters
Without your troubling us?

Sir John.
Why truly, madam,
Your manners and your style of conversation
Of late are such—

Lady Traffic.
Aye, aye, reproach me, Sir.

Sir John.
You wrong me, madam; I would not reproach you,
But I would wish you to respect yourself,
And learn more deference to your husband's will.
These endless broils, this matrimonial sparring,
Are senseless, scandalous. How can these children
Feel rev'rence for us, when we prove to them
We rev'rence not ourselves? Think you our servants
Make not their comments on us, and retail
Through the whole parish what they see and hear?
But let us have a truce. I came to tell you,
Two gentlemen, of fortune and desert,
Have ask'd my licence to present themselves
As suitors to my daughters.

Lady Traffic.
How, Sir John!
I should have thought, Sir, you might have known better
What's due to me, and to your daughters, Sir,
Than thus to hawk them round to ev'ry one
Who has assurance to present himself.
You know I am resolv'd no commoner
Shall be my son-in-law. Ladies like them
May well aspire to rank and dignity.
Take them to court, let them be seen by lords—

Sir John.
Aye, aye, let them be seen; but meantime, madam,
My pleasure is that they receive such suitors
As I select for them.

Lady Traffic.
Mighty well, Sir!—
You always will insist upon your way,
And treat me—yes, you treat me shamefully,
Thwart all my wishes, always contradict me—

Sir John.
For shame, for shame! Your conscience, madam' knows
How falsely you accuse me. But no more—
I come not here to squabble, but to tell you
Sir Maurice Lacey's heir and Master Heartwell
Purpose this morning to present themselves
As suitors to our daughters. 'Tis my pleasure,
They should receive them as becomes their duty.
[Exit Sir John

Lady Traffiic.
Aye, Hector on, Sir!—Commoners, indeed,
When there are Earls at court, to make you ladies!

Maria.
We may wait long enough before they ask us.
Sure, madam, if these two are proper gentlemen,
Of courtly breeding, handsome too, and rich,
We may and ought receive them.

Lady Traffic.
Grant me patience!
Have I for this taught you to bear yourselves
As suits my daughters, Lady Traffic's daughters?
Given you mine own instructions how to hold
Yourselves above the rank of city misses?

Eliza.
Nay, madam, I am not to blame; I'm sure
You can't deny I've follow'd your instructions.
I long as much as you can do to soar
Into the splendid sphere where pleasure reigns,
To give up Easter balls for balls at court,
And change the city feasts for the delights
Which none but fashion's happy votaries know.

Lady Traffic.
Answer me not, but do as I command you.
Furbish!
Enter Furbish.
My gloves! I vow I had forgot them.

Furbish.
Those that your ladyship was pleas'd to order
Should be made of the Spanish perfum'd skins?

Lady Traffic.
The same.

Furbish.
I sent the prison-bird, poor master Luke,
This morning for them, and I marvel why
He's not ere this return'd.

Lady Traffic.
I am surpriz'd
Sir John should ever think of making him
An inmate as he is. A poor, mean wretch,
Idle and sluggish, fitter for a gaol
Than to disgrace us as he does at table!

Furbish.
He's grown extremely careless, and sometimes
Presumes to grumble when we give him orders.
Were I your Ladyship, I vow I'd clear
The house of him.

Maria.
Poor creature! I don't wonder
He feels his change of fortune.

Lady Traffic.
Feel indeed!
What right has he to feel?

Maria.
The same that we
Ourselves would have, were we like him reduc'd
To sudden misery.

Lady Traffic.
When that season comes
We may begin to think on't.—Oh! you're here!
Enter Luke, laden with band-boxes and parcels.
You seem, Sir, strangely to forget yourself.
Were you tippling last night, you rose no sooner
To do what she commanded?

Luke.
Tippling, so please you?

Lady Traffic.
Answer me not. Dost dare to grumble, thou,
Whom, when thy patrimony was all spent,
We sav'd from prison!

Luke.
I confess I am
Your creature, madam, for to your goodness
I owe it all. For it you have my prayers,
The beggar's satisfaction: all my studies
(Forgetting what I was, but with all duty
Rememb'ring what I am) are how to please you;
And if in my long stay I have offended,
I ask your pardon; tho' you may consider,
Being forc'd to fetch these from th' old Exchange,
These from the Tower, and these from Westminster,
I could not come much sooner.

Lady Traffic.
Silence! Bear them
To the next chamber, Sir.—Why dost not move?

Luke.
I will!
I will, good madam.

Lady Traffic.
No more murmuring,
But go.
[Exit Luke.
(To Maria and Eliza.)
You two may follow me—I've more
To say to you. You seem to think yourselves
Above my governance; but you shall find,
Howe'er Sir John pretends to give the law,
That Lady Traffic can maintain her rights,
And make you feel her just prerogative.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III.

A Hall in Sir John Traffic's House.
Enter Sir Maurice Lacey, Edward Lacey, and Holdfast.
Sir Maurice.
Be pleas'd, good fellow, to acquaint your master,
Sir Maurice Lacey and his son are here,
Awaiting his good pleasure.

Holdfast.
You have chosen
A time ill-suited to your purposes,
For he hath occupation.—Who comes here?

Enter Heartwell.
Heartwell.
Art thou Sir John's domestic?

Holdfast.
Aye; what then?

Heartwell.
Then I request thee to apprize him that
One master Heartwell comes to wait on him,
And his two fair daughters.

E. Lacey.
(aside)
Mark'd you that?

Sir Maurice.
Be patient for awhile.

Heartwell.
Did'st thou not hear?

Holdfast.
I did.

Heartwell.
And wherefore go'st thou not?

Holdfast.
I will.
[Exit Holdfast.

Heartwell.
A crusty knave methinks.—Whom have we here?
The goodness of the day be on you, gentlemen.

Sir Maurice.
On you, Sir, equally. May I enquire
What bus'ness brings you hither?

Heartwell.
Marry, Sir,
My business soon is told; if 'twere as soon
Brought to conclusion happily, 'twere well.
You doubtless know Sir John hath two fair daughters,
Joint heirs to his great wealth. To try my chance
Of gaining one of them am I come hither.

E. Lacey.
And which of them d'you mean, Sir, to address?

Heartwell.
Faith, Sir, that's as it proves. I'll see them both,
And, as I like them, choose.

E. Lacey.
And do you think,
Thus like the Turk to throw your handkerchief,
And grace submissive beauty by your choice?
I wish to know your name and quality.

Heartwell.
So courteous is your greeting, I will tell you,
Frank Heartwell is my name; my quality,
A Glos'tershire esquire, whose lands return him
Three thousand pounds a year. You know me now.

E. Lacey.
I do; and now Sir 'Squire, you shall know me.
I am this gentleman's apparent heir;
Be pleas'd to know him as Sir Maurice Lacey,
Who, or his reputation on the Exchange
Is falsely rated, hath a fortune far
Exceeding your poor rents. And Sir, moreover,
I'm here to claim the first choice of his daughters.

Heartwell.
Concise and pithy. Now hear my reply.
Tho' all his rich reversion now were thine,
It should not in the way of affection make me
Give thee precedence. I will visit them,
Tho' thou stood'st porter to deny me entrance.

Sir Maurice.
We shall have quarrelling anon:—Sweet son!
Be patient—

E. Lacey.
I do hereby give you caution,
As you esteem the safety of your life—

Sir Maurice.
Good Master Heartwell—

Heartwell.
Nay, an he begin,
I'll not be first to end—

(They draw.)
Enter Sir John Traffic and Luke.
Sir John.
What's here to do?
Men of your quality to breed this stir!
Hath this fair kingdom no presumptuous foe,
That thus you turn your swords against each other?

Heartwell.
He claims precedence in your daughters' favour—

E. Lacey.
He takes upon him to dispute my right
Of prior choice—

Sir John.
Was this your ground of quarrel?
Is your hot moody-blood so quickly stirr'd,
That thus you make my hall your fencing-school?

Sir Maurice.
Nay, good Sir John, on your old friend's account
Pass over this extravagance. (To Edward.)
Why, Ned!
Has't not a word? E'en now you said too much.

E. Lacey.
I humbly beg forgiveness for my share
In this offence; but, as for him who caus'd it—

Heartwell.
Nay, Sir, I ask your pardon too; but for
That delicate young gentleman, a time
May come—

Sir John.
A time may come?—For what, I pray?
For shame, young men! Do you think my daughters can
Be won by such behaviour? You are both
Men of respect, and so should treat each other.
For my sake do so. Here, approach, shake hands.
Come, I'll conduct you to my daughters; there
Make your approaches, and, if their affections
Can sympathize with your's, they shall not come,
On my credit, beggars to you. Good Sir Maurice,
I pray excuse me.

[Exeunt Sir John, E. Lacey, and Heartwell.
Sir Maurice.
How now, Master Luke?
I'm glad to see you here.

Luke.
I thank your worship.

Sir Maurice.
Your hand, good Master Luke! The world's chang'd with you,
Within these few months. Then you were the gallant;
No meeting at a horse-race, cocking, hunting,
Shooting or bowling, at which Master Luke
Was not a principal gam'ster, and companion
For the nobility.

Luke.
I have paid dear,
Good Sir, for all these follies: 'tis but justice,
That such as soar above their pitch, and will not
Be warn'd by my example, should, like me,
Share in the miseries that wait upon it.
Your honour in your charity may do well
Not to upbraid me with those weaknesses
Too late repented.

Sir Maurice.
I nor do, nor will;
And you shall find I'll lend a helping hand
To raise your fallen fortunes.

Luke.
Generous Sir!
Your goodness far exceeds my poor desert.
Alas! I have not merited such kindness,
Nor can I make return, save by my pray'rs
And endless benedictions.

Sir Maurice.
Say no more—
Rely on me. I have it in my power
To be of service to you: if henceforth
You do renounce your follies, and pursue
A wiser course, I'll put you in a way
To bring up what is past.

Luke.
I've had enough
Of folly, worthy Sir, and have reflected
Too seriously upon my late misconduct,
Again to be seduc'd by her enticements.
Believe me, Sir, I am an alter'd man:
My mind is strengthen'd by adversity;
And, if good fortune ever should befriend me,
I'll make a different use of it.

Sir Maurice.
That's well.
I trust you will. How deals your brother with you?

Luke.
Beyond my merit. Thank his goodness for it,
I am a free man, all my debts discharg'd,
Nor does one creditor, undone by me,
Curse my loose riots. I have meat and cloaths;
Time to ask heav'n remission for what's past;
Cares of the world by me are laid aside;
My present poverty's a blessing to me;
And, tho' I have liv'd long, I dare not say
I ever liv'd till now.

Sir Maurice.
You bear it well,
Your brother's generous treatment of you shews
He has more feeling than the world allows him.
I've heard, that, in th' acquirement of his wealth,
He has been accounted harsh, as one who weighs not
Whose ruin he builds upon.

Luke.
In that, report
Doth foully wrong him. He is a merchant, Sir,
Who would encrease his heap, and will not lose
What the law gives him.

Sir Maurice.
Therein he is right,
Nay, much to be commended. Thus it is,
That envy oft depreciates good desert!
'Tis certain you are like to know him best;
And, were it merely gratitude which makes you
Give him this commendation, it becomes you.

Luke.
My gratitude is boundless, I confess;
Yet cannot that, or any other feeling,
Lead me beyond the truth. I know him, Sir,
For what I do report him, kind and noble.
But since your honour, as I grieve to think,
Still doubts my unsupported testimony,
You are come opportunely. I can bring you,
Where you unseen may see and hear his carriage
Tow'rds some poor men, whose making or undoing
Depends upon his pleasure.

Sir Maurice.
To my wish.
I know no object that could more content me.

[Exeunt.