University of Virginia Library

ACT II.

SCENE I.

—Exterior of a Tavern and Dicing House in the suburbs of London, with Garden and Entrance to Bowling Alley.
Stephen, Foster, Sharpe, Fleece, and Gauntlet, seated at a Table in front of the House, drinking.
All.
Ha! ha! ha!

Steph.
[Sings.

Enter Host, from the House.
Host.

Now my merchants of Bona Speranza? What's
your will, my brave bullies?

Steph.

Dice, dice, mine Host! and some more sack
here.—Ha! say I right, gentlemen? Shall we trundle
—shall we cut—shall we handle the bones?

Sharpe.

Passage, novum, mumchance—what you
will—

Gaunt.

Who's in the bowling alley?

Host.

Honest traders—thrifty lads—towardly boys, I
promise you.

Steph.

Give us a bale of dice—Presto, man! will ye
sweet wags?

[Sings again

Host.
[Who has entered the house, returns with dice.]
—Here, my brave bursemen—

Fleece.
But have you no room empty?

Host.
Not a hole unstopp'd in my house.

Steph.
No matter—no matter—come—trip!

Fleece.
Up with's heels!

Sharpe.
A fair passage, sweet bones!

[Throws.—Noise in the Bowling Alley (L. U. E.) of betting and wrangling
Host.

How now, my fine trundletails!—My bowling
alley in an uproar?—Take heed, my roaring Tamberlanes—the
Soldan comes; he that breaks the peace, I
break his pate. Have among you then!

[Exit Host.
Steph.

The dice are mine—set me fair—aloft now!

[Throws.
Fleece.

Out!

Steph.

What was't?

Sharpe.

Two treys and an ace.

Steph.

Seven still! Plague on't, that number of the
deadly sins haunts me cursedly! Come, sir, throw.
Dame fortune, I drink to thee.

[Drinks.
Fleece.

Have at 'em, faith!

[Throws.
Gaunt.

Two quatres and a trey!

Steph.

The devil's in the dice! [Throws down money.]

More sack here!

Gaunt.

Now sweet bones!—Twelve at all!

[Throws.
Steph.

Done, by Jupiter! [Throws down more money.]

Soft! this die is false!

Gaunt.

I'll be hang'd then!

Steph.

I say it's false, and I'll have my money again.

Gaunt.

Will you? You shall have cold iron with your
silver then.

[Draws—Stephen snatches up a chair.
Steph.

Have at thee, scum!

Sharpe.

Stand by our fellow.

[They draw and attack Stephen, who defends himself with the chair. Enter Host and Robert Foster. R.
Host.

Hold, hold! An' ye be gentlemen, hold!

Rob.

Away varlets!

[Draws and beats off Gamesters, who fly. Exit Host, into house.
Steph.

The coney-catching rascals!

Rob.

Uncle, uncle, is this the reformation you promised
me?

Steph.

Coz, after this day I protest you shall never
see me handle those bones again!—This day I break
up school—If ever you call me unthrift after this day—
you do me wrong.

Rob.

I should be glad to wrong you so, uncle; come
this way, sir—I would not for the world a friend of my
father's should see you thus, or here.

Enter behind, the Widow Welsted, Mrs. Foster, and Clown, R.
Clown.
[Stands back.]

You've hunted well, mistress,
the hare's in sight.

Mrs. F.
(R.)

Did I not tell you so?—I knew his gait—
And with his uncle!

Wid.
(R.) [Aside.]
A proper man that uncle.

Rob.
[Seeing Mrs. Foster.]
Mother!—I'm sorry you have trod this path!

Mrs. F.
(C.)
Mother, thou wretch!—Hang thee!—I bore thee not.
But much affliction have I borne for thee:
Wert thou mine own, I'd see thee coffin'd, filth,
Ere thou shouldest vex me thus.

Rob.
(C.)
Were I your own,
You could not use me worse than you do now.

Mrs. F.
I'll make thy father turn thee out for ever,
Or else I'll make him wish him in his grave,
You'll witness with me, gossip, where I found him.

[To Widow.
Clown.
Nay, I'll be sworn upon a book of that.

Rob.
It shall not need, for I will not deny it.

Mrs. F.
And that shall disinherit thee.
Thou'dst better
Have been a viper born, than tempt me thus!

Steph.
(L.)
Thou liest, Xantippe. It had been better
Thou hadst been press'd to death between two rugs,
Than ride that Socrates, thy husband, thus,
And rate his honest child.

Mrs. F.
Thou ragamuffin!
Thou sot!—Dost thou talk?—I shall see thee shortly.
Again in Ludgate.

Steph.
No, at Moorgate, beldame,
Where I shall see thee in the ducking stool!
If you complain upon mine honest coz,
And that his father be offended with him,
The next time that I meet thee in the streets
I'll dance i'the dirt upon thy velvet hood—
Nay, worse than that—
I'll—

Rob.
Uncle! Uncle!—

Mrs. F.
Oh! my heart!—my heart!
Was ever woman thus abus'd?—Oh! that I could
Spit wildfire!—But I'll do your errands, rogues!
I will, or I'm no honest woman!—Nay—
Excuse me, gossip, I must to my husband!

[Exit Mrs. Foster, L.
Rob.
[To Widow.]
Kind gentlewoman, you have some patience—

Wid.
I have too much, sir,—

Rob.

You may do a good office, and make yourself a
peaceful moderator between me and my angry father,
whom his wife hath moved to spleen against me.

Wid.

Sir, I will think of it—but with your leave,
I'd now speak with your uncle.

Clown.
[To Robert.]

You may talk with me, sir, in the mean time.

[Robert and Clown retire, R. U. E.
Wid.
[To Stephen.]

Sir;—Master Stephen Foster!—

Steph.
(L. C.)

Well,—what would you with me, gentlewoman?

Wid.
(C.)

You are a brave unthrift—

Steph.

Whate'er I be—I'll be no pupil to a woman,
so you may leave your discipline.

Wid.

Nay, pray you hear me, sir,—I cannot chide—I
would but counsel you:—this is not a good course which
you run.

Steph.

Good or bad, I must run to the end of it—

Wid.

I would teach you a better, if you would stay
where you are.

Steph.

Stay where I am, that would I willingly, an' I
had any more money.

Wid.

What, in the dicing house?

Steph.

Aye, marry would I! I've play'd at passage all
this while, now I'd go to hazard.

Wid.

Hast thou no wit?

Steph.

No wit, say'st thou? by'r Lady? what dost
think I live on?—why 'tis all the portion I have—
I've nothing to maintain me but my wit, my coin's too
scant, I'm sure.

[Robert and Clown go off, R. U. E.
Wid.

I cannot believe thy wit more than thy coin—a
man so well limb'd and want!

Steph.

Why, mistress, my shoulders were not made
for a frock and basket, nor a coal-sack—no—nor my
hands to turn a trencher at a table's side. I'm a gentleman!

Wid.
A very poor one.

Steph.
The fortune of the dice.

Wid.
They are the only wizards, I confess.
The only fortune tellers, but he that goes
To seek his fortune from them, ne'er must hope
To have good destiny allotted him.
'Tis not the course that I dislike in thee
So much, but thou can'st not make that course
To out-cross them that cross thee, were but I,
As thou art—

Steph.
You'd be beggarly as I am.

Wid.

Marry I'll be hang'd first—I would tell some rich
widow such a tale in her ear—

[Looking archly from under her veil.
Steph.

Ha!—some rich widow! by this pennyless
pocket! I think 'twere not the worst way.

Wid.

Art not ashamed to take such a fruitless oath?—
I say, seek out some rich widow—promise her fair—she's
apt to believe a young man—marry her and let her estate
fly; 'tis charity. This is not one of Hercules' labours.

Steph.

Humph! Let me recount these articles: “seek

her out—promise her fair—marry her—let her estate fly”
—But where shall I find her?

Wid.

The easiest of all—Why, man, they are more
common than tavern bushes. Two fairs might be furnish'd
every week in London with 'em, though no
foreigners came in, if the charter were once granted.
'Tis thought if the horse-market be removed that Smithfield
shall be so employed, and then, I'll warrant you,
it will be as well furnish'd with widows, as it was with
trotting jades before.

Steph.

S'foot! if it were, I would be a chapman—I'd
see, for my pleasure, and buy for my love, for money I
have none.

Wid.

That shall not stay the market, if thou'lt be
ruled. I'll find thee out a widow, if thou'lt but promise
me the last—to let her estate fly: for she is one I love not,
and I'd be glad to see that revenge on her.

Steph.

Spend her estate!—that would I—wer't five
Aldermen's!—I'll put you in security for that—All my
neighbours shall be bound for me—nay, my kind sister-in-law
shall pass her word for that.

[Rob. and Clown re-enter R. U. E.
Wid.

I'll show thee the party—what sayst thou to myself?
[Takes off her veil.]
Agnes Welsted, the Widow
of Cornhill?—

Steph.

Yourself, gentlewoman! by'r lady! I would it
were no worse!

Wid.

I have a lease of thousands or so—what say you,
sir?—

Steph.

Say! Why that I'll let out your leases for you,
if you'll allow me the power—aye, and love thee heartily
too, lady.

Wid.

That's my hope, sir, give me thy company home,
thou shalt have better clothes, and if I like thee, then we
may chance make a blind bargain of it.

Steph.

No, I'll make no blind bargain—either promise
me marriage or I'll not budge a foot.

Wid.

Are you grown so stout already?

Steph.

I'll grow stouter when I'm married!—

Wid.

Here's my hand, I'm thine, thou'rt mine. I'll have
thee with all thy faults.

Steph.

You shall have one with some an' you have me.

Wid.

Here are witnesses: [To Rob.]
Come hither,
sir; cousin I must call you shortly—and you, sirrah, [To

Clown.]
be witness of this match. Here are man and
wife.

[Rob. and Clown come down on R.
Rob.
(R. C.)

I joy at my uncle's happiness, widow.

Clown.

I do forbid the banns. Alas, poor bird! my
mistress doth but gull thee.

[To Steph.
Wid.

You'll let me dispose of myself, I hope?

Clown.
(C.)

Ay!—you love to be merry, mistress.
Come, come, give him four farthings and let him go—
he'll pray for his good dame and be drunk—Why, if
you must have a husband—how think you?—I should
say this were the sweeter bit—
[Pointing to himself.]
Choose, mistress.

Wid.

Fool, I have chosen, this is my husband.

Steph.
[Kissing her.]

'Tis sealed! I'm thine. Now
coz, [Crosses to Rob.]
—fear no black storms, if thy father
thunder, come to me for shelter; thou shalt be my
son now.

Wid.

His word's a deed, sir.

Rob.

I thank you both—Uncle—what my joy conceives,
I cannot utter yet.

Clown.

I will make black Monday of this! Ere I suffer
this disgrace, the kennel shall run with blood and rags.

Rob.

Sir, I'm your opposite.

Clown.

I have nothing to say to you, sir, I aim at your
uncle.

Rob.

He hath no weapon, sir fool.

Clown.

That's all one. I'll take him as I find him.

Wid.

I have taken him so, before you, sirrah: will you
be quiet?—

Steph.

Wife, your hand. Son, you will follow us.

Rob.

Upon the instant.

[Exeunt Steph. and Wid. R.
Clown.

Is it come to this? Have I stood all this while
to my mistress, and honest, handsome, plain-dealing, serving
creature, and she to marry a tytyre-tu-tattere with
never a good rag about him. [Half drawing his

Sword.]
Stand thou to me and be my friend; and since
my mistress hath forsaken me—

Rob.

Well, sirrah—

[Pulling him round.
Clown.

I'll go get my dinner.

[Exeunt, R.

SCENE II.

—An Apartment at Walter Brown's.
Enter Brown leading Jane, and followed by Sir Godfrey Speedwell and Master Innocent Lambskin, R
Brown.
(R.)

Gentlemen, you are welcome; that once
well pronounced hath a thousand echoes: let it suffice I

have spoke it to the full. Here's your merchandise, this
is your prize— [Pointing to Jane.]
If you can mix your
gentle bloods with that of a poor citizen, here is my
daughter to greet and court; clap hands and strike the
bargain; please her and you please me, sirs.

Sir G.
(L. C.)

Well spoken, by my knighthood! Sweet
virgin, to be prolix and tedious fits me not; my name is
Speedwell by my father's copy, to which my godfather
by his bounty, being an old soldier and having served in
the wars as far as Boulogne, prefix'd the name of Godfrey,
a title of large renown. My wealth and wit have
added to those the paraphrase of knighthood; so that
my name is in full length Sir Godfrey Speedwell.

Jane.
(R. C.)

A fair name, sir.

Lamb.
(L.)

Nay, if names can do any good: I beseech
you to observe mine, sweet mistress; my name is Lambskin—

Jane.

A most harmless name, sir.

Lamb.

Aye, marry it is; and in good troth—and
moreover, lady, my godfather seeing in my face some
notes of disposition, did give me in my cradle the name
of Innocent, which I trust I have deserved all my lifetime,
and since my father's decease, my wealth has purchased
me the paraphrase of gentility: so that I am called
Master Innocent Lambskin.

Jane.
[Aside.]

I am like to have a couple of fair
chapmen; if they were at my own dispose, I would willingly
raffle them both at twelve-pence a share.

Sir G.

But to the purpose, sweet female. I do love you
with a most singular affection.

Jane.

Sir, I thank you—

Lamb.

Nay, for the matter of that, I love you too, fair
maid, double and treble, if it please you.

Jane.

I thank you too, sir. I am so much beholden to
you both, I am afraid I shall never requite it.

Sir G.

Requite one, sweet chastity! and let it be Sir
Godfrey,—I will maintain you like a lady. I will, by my
knighthood! and that will be bravely, as you shall find
by experience.

Lamb.

I will maintain you like a gentlewoman, mistress.
And that may be better maintenance than a lady's,
as you may find by observation.

Sir G.

How dare you maintain that, sir?

Lamb.

I dare maintain it with my purse, sir.

Sir G.
[Draws his sword and drives him L.]

I dare
cross it with my sword, sir!

Lamb.

If you dare cross my purse with your sword, sir,

I'll lay an action of suspicion of felony to you, that's flat,
sir.

Jane.

Nay, pray gentlemen do not quarrel, till you
know what for.

Brown.

O, no quarrelling, I beseech you, gentlemen!
the reputation of my house is soiled if any uncivil noise
arise in it.

Lamb.

Let him but shake his blade at me, and I'll throw
down my purse and cry thieves!—I scorn to kill him, but
I'll hang his knighthood, I warrant him, if he offer assault
and battery on my purse.

Jane.
[To Sir Godfrey.]

Nay, good sir, keep up
your sword.

Sir G.

Your command, lady, could make a very coward
of me. I speak sooth, by my knighthood!—Master
Lambskin, you may live. [Turns and takes the hand of

Jane.]
The conjunction of Venus and Mars is a white
hour in thy nativity.

Enter George, L.
George.
[To Brown.]

Sir, here's young Master Foster
desires to speak with you.

Brown.

Please you, gentlemen, to taste the sweetness
of my garden awhile, and let my daughter bear you
company.

Sir G.

Where she is leader there will be followers.

Jane.
[Aside to her Father.]

You send me to the gallies,
sir; pray you redeem me as soon as you can: these
are pretty things for mirth but not for serious uses.

Brown.

Pr'ythee be merry with 'em awhile, if but
for courtesy; thou hast wit enough; but take heed they
quarrel not.

Jane.

Nay, I dare take in hand to part them without
danger, but I beseech you let me not be too long a prisoner.
[Aloud to Sir G. and Lamb.]
Will you walk,
gentlemen?

Lamb.
[Going to Jane, R. C.]

If it please you to place
one of us for your conduct, mistress.

Jane.

Sir Godfrey, you are the eldest, pray, lead the
way.

Sir G.

Ah, ha! Sayst thou so, sweet virgin.—Master
Innocent, come you behind. [Thrusts him back.]
Your
hand, fair feminine.

[Sir Godfrey leads out Jane, R.]
Lamb.
(C.)

Master Brown, I pray you observe it is the
lady I follow. I pray you conceit not that I page the
heels of that scurvy knight. It is the lady I follow;
mark you that, Master Brown.

[Exit Lamb. R.
Brown.

So—Now request young Master Foster in,
George—but hark! does that news hold still—that our
ships are so near return as riding in the Downs?

George.

Yes, sir; and the next tide purpose to put into
the river.

Brown.

Let Him be ever bless'd who sent!—Now, call
in the young man, and from him run to his father, and request
him to me: this news I am sure makes him a joyful
merchant. [Exit George, L.]
Would that this son of
his were a third suitor to my daughter Jane!—I should
like him better than all who have come before.—Well,
who can say?—he hath not seen her yet.

Enter Robert, L.

Now, Master Robert, are your father and yourself yet
reconciled?

Rob.
(L.)
Sir, 'twas my business in your courteous tongue
To place the arbitration.—I've again
Reliev'd my uncle and displeased my father,
Whose anger now so great is multiplied,
I dare not venture in his house or sight
Till your persuasion shall with fair excuse
Have made my satisfaction.

Brown.
(C.)
Mother-o'pearl!
'Tis a shrewd task, sir. I will do my best.
But womens' tongues are dangerous stumbling blocks
To lie in the way of peace.
Re-enter George, L.
Now, George, what say'st thou?

George.
Sir, Master Foster's coming—

Rob.
(C.)
I beseech you,
Let us not meet till you have spoken with him.

Brown.
You shall not—George, go call my daughter forth
From out the garden.

[Exit George, R.
Rob.
Daughter, said you, sir?

Brown.
Aye, sir, my daughter Jane; you've heard me speak
Of one I had i' the North with some kind friends,
Who took her from a widow'd home, and rear'd
A plant that thriv'd not in this city's air.
It is a fair tree now, I promise you,
And well worth looking on; but tell me, sir,
How fares your uncle?

Rob.
Sir, he fares so well,
That I'd be loth t'anticipate the fame
That will spread shortly of his mended fortunes.

Brown.
Why I commend thee still—he lacks, I find,
No good from thee, not even in report;
'Tis well done, sir, and you show duty in it.
Re-enter Jane, R.
Daughter, this is young Master Foster, the good son
Of my old friend—Where are your lusty suitors?

Jane.

I was glad of my release, sir.—Suitors call you
them; in good truth they suit not me; I'd keep water
continually boiling but I'd seeth such suitors! I have
had much ado to keep them from bloodshed! Ha! ha!
ha! I have seen for all the world a couple of cowardly
curs quarrel in the same fashion; as the one turns his
head, the other snaps behind, ha! ha! ha! But, thank
heaven, they are gone for the present.

[Talks aside with her Father up the Stage.
Rob.
[Aside, L.]
Can she be mortal? I have read of shapes
Like that, in legends of the olden days—
The beautiful imaginings of men,
Rapt and inspired! Such a form she wore,
The nymph of Elis, whom the river god
Through earth and ocean follow'd—or young Thisbe,
The fond, ill-fated girl of Babylon!
How fair her forehead is! and that soft cheek
Wherein the bashful blood seems loath to dwell
Lest it should stain such purity! her eyes,
How bright, and yet how full of gentleness!
Fit lamps for such a shrine! what heart may 'scape
The silken meshes of yon nut-brown hair,
That clusters round her neck, like a dark vine,
About the shaft of some unspotted column;
I will not wink, for fear the vision pass,
And leave me sorrowing.

Brown.
[Aside to Jane coming down on R.]
Well daughter, well—
Say a third trouble came—say in the person of young Master Foster,
Here came a third suitor: How then?

Jane.

Three's the woman's total arithmetic: Indeed I
would learn to number no further, if there was a good
account made of that.

Brown.
[Aloud.]

Go, get you together. [Turns to

Robert.]
Your father, sir, will be soon here, leave me

with your suit to him. [Aside.]
Jane, use him kindly,
he shall be his father's heir, I can tell thee.

Jane.

Never the more for that, sir; if I use him kindly,
it shall be for his own sake and not for any good he borrows
of his father. [Aloud to Robert.]
Sir, will you
walk into the garden?

Rob.
[Aside.]

She speaks, and to me. [Aloud.]

Sweet, may I take this hand?

Jane.
(C.)

Aye, sir, so you play it fairly. You'll lose
by it else, believe me.

Rob.
I would lose more than I shall ever own for it.

Brown.
Away! here comes your father.
[Exeunt Rob. and Jane, R.
Enter Foster and Mrs. Foster, usher'd in by George, L.
Now, my good friend, have you heard the news?—

Fos.
(C.)
I have! I have! our ventures have returned
At sixty fold increase.

Brown.
(C.)
Heav'n take the glory!
[Mrs. F. goes back on L.
And keep us strong against these flowing tides!
Man is too weak to bound himself below,
When such high waves do mount him.

Fos.
Sir, if you please, I'll ease you of all care;
And, like a full adventurer here, bid you
A certain ready sum for your part traffic.

Brown.
With all my heart, and be you gainer by it.

Fos.
Come, shall I bid you, venture at a venture?

Brown.
I pray you do, sir.

Fos.
Twenty thousand pounds.

Brown.
Well, it is yours, sir.

Fos.
And if you like my payment;
'Tis half in ready cash, the other sealed
For six months.

Brown.
Why, tis merchant-like and fair,
George; you observe this. See the papers drawn.

George.
I will, sir.

Fos.
Now your hazard's past.

Brown.
I do
Rejoice at it, and shall not grudge your gains,
Though multiplied by thousands; but one thing
At this advantage of my love to you,
Let me entreat—

Fos.
Speak, Master Brown, what is it?

Brown.
Faith, my old suit. To reconcile these breaches
'Twixt your kind son and you; let not the love
He shows his uncle longer be a bar
Between your blessing and his duty, sir.

Fos.
I would you had enjoin'd me some great labour,
For your own love's sake: for to that my vow
Stands fix'd—

Mrs. F.
(L. C.)
Nay, Master Brown, if you knew all,
You would not waste your words in such a suit;
Since his last reformation he hath flown
Out, once again, and in my sight relieved
His uncle in the dicing house, for which,
Or he shall be no father unto him,
Or husband unto me.

Brown.
George, call my daughter,
And bid her bring her friend along with her.
[Exit George.
Sir, I must needs make him your son again.

Fos.
Sir, I have no such thing akin to me.

Re-enter Robert and Jane, R.
Brown.
Know you not this youth, sir?

Fos.
Not I, sir, he's a stranger to me.

Mrs. F.
[To Robert.]
Go to your uncle, sir, you know where to find him;
He's at his old haunts, and wants more money by this time.

Fos.
Did he not say he'd beg for you?—You'd best make use of his bounty.

Brown.
Nay, good sir—

Fos.

Sir, if your daughter cast any eye of favour upon
this unthrift—restrain it—he's a beggar. Mistress Jane,
take heed what you do.

Mrs. F.
[Crosses to her.]

Aye, aye, be wise, Mistress
Jane; do not you trust to time turning spleen to pity;
you'll not find it so; therefore, good gentlewoman, take
heed.

Brown.

Nay, then you're too impenetrable.

Fos.

Sir, your money shall be ready, and your bills—
other business I have none with you. For thee [to Robert]

beg, steal, hang, die!—Such blessing only shalt
thou have from me.

[Exeunt Foster and Mrs. Foster, L
Brown.
(C.)
Young man be comforted;
I will not leave till I find some remorse.
Meantime, I pray, let not want trouble you,
You shall not know it.

Rob.
(C.)
'Tis not want I fear,
But want of blessing, sir.

Brown.
[To Jane.]
Hark, in your ear, child.
How have you parley'd in the garden, eh?

Jane.

Well, father, yet not much. I requested him to
pull me a pear; and, had I not look'd to him, he'd have
mistook, and given me a popperin.

Brown.

Ha! are there sparks kindled?—Quench them
not for me.—'Tis not a parent's roughness shall deter
me. [Aloud.]
Sir, I must presently rejoin your father,
whom I'll once more move in your behalf; and, if I can,
return him back to love. Come, walk you both till then
with me.

[Exeunt, L.