University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

SCENE I.

EUCLIO driving out STAPHILA.
EUCLIO.
Out of my house, I say;—out of my house;
Nay, but you must and shall;—out of my doors,
Good gossip Pry-about,—poking your eyes,
And peering, here and there, in ev'ry corner.

Staph.
Why do you beat me, a poor wretch?

Eucl.
To make you
A poor wretch;—you shall lead a sorry life on't.

Staph.
Why have you thrust me out o'doors?

Eucl.
You jade!
Give you a reason?—Get you from the door,—
There,—there.—See how she crawls!—Do you know what?
If I but take a stick in hand, I'll quicken
That tortoise-pace of yours.

Staph.
Would I were hang'd
Rather than serve you at this rate.

Eucl.
The beldam!
See how she grumbles to herself!—You jade,
I'll tear your eyes out; I'll prevent your watching,
Peeping and prying into all I do.
Get farther off there,—farther,—farther still,—
Farther.—So,—stand there.—If you dare to budge
A finger or a nail's breadth from that place,
Or if you turn your head once till I bid you,
I'll send you for a schooling to the gallows.—
(Aside)
Was ever such a beldam!—I'm afraid,
She'll catch me unawares, and smell the place out
Where I have hid my money.—The curs'd jade!
Why, she has eyes too in her pole.—I'll go,
And see whether my gold is as I lodg'd it,—
My gold, which gives me so much pain and trouble.

[Goes in.

SCENE II.

STAPHILA
alone.
Egad, I can't tell what's come to my master:
He's out of his senses.—Here now in this manner
He turns me out o'doors ten times a day,
Ever so often.—Troth I can't imagine
What whim-whams he has got into his head.—
He lies awake all night, and then he sits
Purring and poring the whole day at home,
Like a lame cobler in his stall.—And then
My poor young mistress, she's upon the point
Of being brought to bed; and how shall I
Hide her disgrace?—The best thing I can do is
To get a rope, and stretch me at full length.

SCENE III.

Re-enter EUCLIO.
Eucl.
So, so—my heart's at ease,—all's safe within.
(To Staph.)
Come, hussy, get you in now,—and be sure
Take care of all within.

Staph.
Take care of what?
Will any one, think you, run away with the house?
I'm sure there's nothing else to carry off,
Except the cobwebs.—Troth, it's full of emptiness.

Eucl.
You hag of hags! Why Jove, to satisfy you,
Should make me a king Philip, or Darius.—
Hearkye, I'd have you to preserve those cobwebs.
I'm poor, I'm very poor, I do confess;
Yet I'm content: I bear what heav'n allots.—
Come get you in: bolt the door after you;—
I shall be back directly;—and be sure
Don't let a soul in.

Staph.
What if any one
Should beg some fire?

Eucl.
I'd have you put it out,
That there may be no plea to ask for any.
If you do leave a spark of fire alive,
I'll put out ev'ry spark of life in you.
If any body wants to borrow water,
Tell them, 'tis all run out; and if, as is
The custom among neighbours, they should want
A knife, an ax, a pestle, or a mortar,
Tell them, some rogues broke in, and stole them all.
Be sure let no one in, while I'm away;—
I charge you, even if Good Luck should come,
Don't let her in.

Staph.
Good Luck quotha! I warrant you,
She's not in such a hurry: she has never
Come to our house, though she is ne'er so near.

Eucl.
Have done,—go in.

Staph.
I say no more,—I'm gone.

Eucl.
Be sure you bolt the door both top and bottom.—
I shall be back this instant.

[Exit Staphila.

SCENE IV.

EUCLIO
alone.
I am vex'd,
Whenever I'm oblig'd to be from home.
I don't care to go out;—but now I must.
The master of our ward has given notice,
He shall distribute money to each family.
If I forego my share, and don't put in for it,
They will suspect I have an hoard at home:
For 'tis not likely a poor man would slight
The smallest sum, and not make application.
Nay now indeed, maugre my utmost pains
To hide it from the knowledge of each soul,
Yet ev'ry one seems to be in the secret;
They're so much civiller than they us'd to be;
They come up to me, take me by the hand,
Ask how I do, and what I am upon.—
Well,—but I'll go now whither I was going,
And make haste back again as fast as possible.

[Exit.

SCENE V.

Enter EUNOMIA and MEGADORUS.
Eun.
I'd have you think, my brother, what I say
Arises purely from my friendship for you,
And a regard for what concerns your interest,
Such as in short becomes a loving sister.
I know, we women are accounted troublesome,
Nor without reason look'd on as mere praters.
'Tis true, there never was in any age
Such a wonder to be found as a dumb woman.—
But to be serious, do but think, my brother,
That I am near to you, as you to me:
We should consult with and advise each other
In ev'ry thing we think for our advantage;
Nor should we hide from one another aught,
Or hesitate through fear about communicating
Whatever may advantage either party.
On this account I've taken you aside,
And brought you out here, to discourse with you
Upon a subject that concerns you nearly.

Meg.
Give me thy hand, thou best of women.

Eun.
Ha!
Where is she? and who is—that best of women?

Meg.
Yourself.

Eun.
What I? a pretty joke, 'faith.

Meg.
Nay,
If you deny it, I deny it too.

Eun.
You should say nothing but the truth, good brother.
Your best of women you can pick out no-where:
One is indeed worse, brother, than another.

Meg.
In troth I'm of the same opinion, sister,
Nor shall I differ with you in that point.

Eun.
Joking apart,—attend to me, I beg you.

Meg.
Use and command me, as you will.

Eun.
I'm going
T'advise you what will be most for your interest.

Meg.
'Tis your way, sister, ever.

Eun.
What will bring
Eternal satisfaction. You should have
An heir to your estate.—Heav'n grant you may!—
What say you?—In a word, my dearest brother,
I'd have you marry.

Meg.
Oh! I'm slain.

Eun.
How so!

Meg.
You've cut me to the brain by what you've said:
Oh! you speak daggers.

Eun.
Poh now, prithee do
As I advise.

Meg.
Well,—if you'll have it so.

Eun.
It is for your advantage.

Meg.
Yes, to die
Sooner than marry.—Lookye, my good sister,
If you will have me wiv'd, it shall be only
On this condition:—Let her be brought home
To-morrow, and the next day carried out.
On these terms you may marry me: I'm ready.

Eun.
I can indeed help you to one, my brother,
That's very rich; but then she is not young;
She's middle-aged. What say you? Shall I ask her
The question for you?

Meg.
Shall I ask you a question?

Eun.
Ask what you will.

Meg.
Suppose a man in years
Marry a woman, middle-ag'd we'll say,
And she is pregnant by him, can you doubt
But that the child will have the name of Posthumus?
Come, come, I'll save you any further trouble.—
Thanks to the Gods, and to my ancestors,
I'm rich enough: nor do I value power,
Pomp, honours, acclamations of the people,
Ivory cars, rich robes, and purple vestments,
Which by their cost may bring a man to beggary.

Eun.
Tell me, who is she you would take to wife?

Meg.
I'll tell you. Do you know our poor old neighbour
Euclio?

Eun.
I know him,—a good sort of man.

Meg.
His daughter I would marry.—Nay, nay, sister,
Speak not a word,—I know what you would say,—
She has no fortune.—What of that?—I like her.

Eun.
Well then,—heav'ns prosper you!

Meg.
I hope the same.

Eun.
Any commands?

Meg.
Your servant.

Eun.
Brother, your's.
[Exit Eunomia.

Meg.
I'll go meet Euclio, if he be at home.—
But see, he's coming hither,—whence I know not.

SCENE VI.

Enter EUCLIO.
Eucl.
My mind misgave me, soon as I went out,
That I should go on a fool's errand: therefore
I went against the grain. There was not one
Of all our ward there,—no one there, whose business
'Twas to make distribution of the money.—
So now I'll hie me home as fast as possible,
For tho' myself am here, my mind's at home.

Meg.
May health and happiness attend you, Euclio!

Eucl.
Heav'ns bless you, Megadorus!

Meg.
How is't with you?
Are you as hearty and as well in health
As you could wish to be?

Eucl.
(Aside)
'Tis not for nothing,
When a rich man speaks kindly to a poor one.
Now to be sure he knows I have got money;
And therefore he's so wondrous complaisant.

Meg.
How are you?

Eucl.
'Faith but poorly as to circumstances.

Meg.
If you are but content, you have enough
To live upon with comfort.

Eucl.
(Aside)
The old woman
Has told him of the gold:—yes, all's discover'd:—
The jade! I'll cut her tongue out, tear her eyes out,
When I get home.

Meg.
What is it you are muttering?

Eucl.
I was lamenting of my poverty:
I have a great girl unprovided for,
And can't dispose of her without a portion.

Meg.
No more;—take courage;—she shall be dispos'd of;—
I'll stand your friend;—say what you want, command me.

Eucl.
(Aside)
He asks and promises both in a breath:
He's gaping for my treasure, to devour it.—
And so he thinks to 'tice me like a dog,
By holding bread in one hand, and a stone,
Ready to knock my brains out, in the other!
I place no confidence in your rich man,
When he's so monstrous civil to a poor one:
If he holds out his hand to you in courtesy,
'Tis with design to gripe you.—Ah, I know 'em;
They are a kind of polype, that hold fast,
Whatever they once touch.

Meg.
Attend a while;
I've something, Euclio, to communicate
In common, that concerns both you and me.

Eucl.
(Aside)
Undone!—my money's stole,—and now he wants
To enter into composition with me.—
I'll in.

(Going.
Meg.
Where going?

Eucl.
I'll be back this instant.—
There's something I must look into at home.

[Euclio goes in.
Meg.
I verily believe, that when I come
To ask him to bestow his daughter on me,
He'll think I only mean to make a jest of him.
Never was man so close and niggardly!

Eucl.
(returning)
Well, heav'n be prais'd, all's safe: if nothing's lost,
All's right.—But I was terribly afraid;
Before I went in, I was almost dead.—
(To Meg.)
You see I am come back;—your pleasure, Sir?

Meg.
I thank you.—Prithee now resolve me readily
In what I ask.

Eucl.
Provided you don't ask
What I don't chuse to answer.

Meg.
Tell me then,
What think you of my family?

Eucl.
'Tis good.

Meg.
My honour?

Eucl.
Strict.

Meg.
My actions?

Eucl.
Neither bad,
Nor wicked.

Meg.
Do you know what age I'm of?

Eucl.
I know you are advanc'd in years, as also
Advanc'd in circumstances.

Meg.
I have always
Thought you an honest fellow free from guile,
And think so still.

Eucl.
Oh ho, he scents the money.—
Would you aught farther?

(Going.
Meg.
Since we know each other,
And what we are, I you, you me, I ask
Your daughter for a wife; and may it prove
A blessing to us all, to me, to you,
And to your daughter!—Give me your consent.

Eucl.
O Megadorus, it but ill becomes
Your character to mock a poor man thus,
Who never gave offence to you or your's,
Or ever merited in word or deed
That you should treat me as you do.

Meg.
By heav'ns
I come not to deride, I do not mock you,
Nor do I think you merit it.

Eucl.
Then why
D'ye ask my daughter for a wife?

Meg.
To serve you,
And to promote my good through you and your's.

Eucl.
I'm thinking, Megadorus;—you are rich
And pow'rful, I am of poor men the poorest.
Now if I give my daughter to your worship,
It comes into my head, you'll be the ox,
And I the ass. When I am coupled with you,
Unequal to the load that you can bear,
I the poor ass shall founder in the mire,
And you the proud ox will no more regard me,
Than if I never had existed: you
Will treat me with disdain, and my own kind
Will hold me in derision: if we separate,
I shall get stable-room from neither quarter:
The asses they will bite me, and the oxen
Will gore me with their horns.—The hazard's great,
To quit the asses to go herd with oxen.

Meg.
'Tis for your interest, the nearer you
Can form affinity with men of worth
And means. Accept my proffer, hearken to me,
And give me your consent.

Eucl.
But I can give
No portion with her.

Meg.
You need give her none.
She, that has virtue, has sufficient dower.

Eucl.
I tell it you, because you may not think
I've found a treasure.

Meg.
Say no more; I know it.—
You'll give her to me then?

Eucl.
O Jupiter!
I am undone! I'm ruin'd!

Meg.
What's the matter?

Eucl.
What noise was that there, like the crash of iron?

[Euclio runs in hastily.
Meg.
They're digging in my garden.—Hey! where is he?
He's gone, and left me in uncertainty.—
He treats me with disdain, because he sees
I court his friendship. 'Tis the way of them:
If a rich man seek favour from a poor one,
The poor man is afraid to treat with him,
And by his aukward fear hurts his own interest;
Then, when the opportunity is lost,
Too late he wishes to recover it.

Eucl.
Returning. (to his Maid within)
If I don't tear your tongue out from the root,
I'll give them leave to unman me.

Meg.
Oh, I see
You think me a fit object for your sport,
Though at these years; but sure I don't deserve it.

Eucl.
Not I indeed;—nor could I, if I would.

Meg.
Well, will you now betroth your daughter to me?

Eucl.
Upon the terms I said,—without a portion.

Meg.
You do betroth her then?

Eucl.
I do betroth her.
Heav'ns prosper it!

Meg.
I say the same.

Eucl.
Remember,
'Tis the agreement, that she bring no dowry.

Meg.
I shan't forget it.

Eucl.
But I know your tricks:
'Tis off or on, 'tis done or not done with you,
Just as you like.

Meg.
We shall have no dispute.
What hinders but the wedding be to-day?

Eucl.
'Tis best.

Meg.
I'll go then, and get all things ready.
Would you aught else?

Eucl.
Nothing but what you say.

Meg.
It shall be done. Your servant.—
(Calling at the door of his house)
Strobilus—
(Strobilus enters)
Here,—follow me directly to the market.

[Megadorus goes off with Strobilus.

SCENE VII.

EUCLIO alone.
Eucl.
He's gone.—Ye Gods, what cannot money do!
He must have heard, that I've an hoard within:
'Tis that he wants; and therefore has he been
So obstinately bent on this alliance.
(Calling)
Where are you?—you, that have run gossiping,
And chitter-chattering to all the neighbours,
That I would give a portion with my daughter?
Hoa, Staphila,—I call you,—don't you hear?

SCENE VIII.

Enter STAPHILA.
Eucl.
Make haste, and clean the vessels for a sacrifice.
I have betroth'd my daughter, and to-day
She marries with our neighbour Megadorus.

Staph.
Heav'n's blessings on't!—but 'faith it cannot be:
It is too sudden.

Eucl.
Silence, and be gone:
See that all things be ready by the time
I return home from market; and d'ye hear?
Fasten the door: I shall be back directly.
[Exit Euclio.

SCENE IX.

STAPHILA alone.
Staph.
What's to be done now? we are both of us,
I and my mistress, on the brink of ruin.
She's just upon delivery, and her shame
Must come at last to light; what hitherto
We have conceal'd, we can no longer hide.
I'll in, and do what master order'd me
Against his coming. Troth I'm sore afraid,
Poor I shall have a bitter pill to swallow.
[Exit Staphila.