University of Virginia Library

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

—Walter Brown's Garden.
Enter Jane and Sir Godfrey, hand in hand, and Master Lambskin following, R.
Jane.
(R. C.)

Gentlemen, my father's not within:
please you to walk a turn or two here in the garden,
he'll not be long.

Lambs.
(C.)

Your father, Mistress Jane,—Dear
heart!—I hope you think not we come a-wooing to
your father.

Sir G.
(C.)

A truce to your folly. [Jane retires

up the Stage.]
Thou art all innocence, and thy name is
Lambskin.—The wench cares not a pin for thy squibs
and crackers—My old dry wood shall be a lusty bonfire,
when thy green chips lie hissing in the chimney
corner.

Lambs.

I pray thee do not stand troubling the gentlewoman
with thy musty sentences, but, let her love
be laid down betwixt us like a pair of cudgels, and into
whose hands she thrusts them first let him take up the
bucklers.

[She comes down, L.
Sir G.
(C.)
A match between us!

Lambs.
(R. C.)
Lady, you must tell us who most deserves your favor.

Jane.
But will you stand by my decision?

Lambs.
Else may I never stand but in the pillory.

Jane.
(C.)
You love me, both, you say?

Lambs.
I do, by this hand!

Sir G.
Hand! Zounds! by the four-and-twenty elements!

Jane.
Pray spare your oaths, I do believe you do,
Or else you would not make this stir to woo me.
It cannot be, I'm sure, for what I have.
I will not wrong you by such foul suspicion.
You look not like such money-traps—besides
You're rich, Sir Godfrey—or at least you say so.
What then, you're but a gilded piece of clay!

Lambs.
[Aside.] (L. C.)
A piece of gingerbread—I could find it in my heart to eat him!

Jane.
Should I wed you—the fire with frost would marry
Winter and spring—I, for a younger tarry—

[Sir Godfrey retires up the Stage.
Lambs.

That's I—In troth I'll be thy young Lambskin;
thou shalt find me as innocent as a sucking dove.
Speak, sweet mistress—am I the youth in a basket?

Jane.
You must be wiser ere you win my love.

Sir G.
Ah! ha! Is your coxcomb cut? 'Tis I must board this pinnace.
[Comes down C.
Lady, a word in private—

[Both C.
Lambs.
Nay, I'll have no words in private unless I hear too—

[They retire up the Stage disputing
Enter Brown, Stephen Foster, and Robert. Robert stands R.
Brown.
Come, gentlemen, we'll make few words about it.
The broad cloths, wools, and such commodities,
I lately from your brother bought, are yours.

[To Stephen Foster.
Steph.
(C.)
'Tis well.

[Sir Godfrey and Lambskin urge their respective suit to Jane in the back ground.
Brown.
(L. C.)
Then be not angry, Master Sheriff,
If now a string be touch'd which hath too long
Sounded so harshly over all the city.

Steph.
Good Master Brown, I greatly fear that string
Will still offend mine ear—you mean the jarring
Betwixt me and my brother?

Brown.
Sir, I do.

Steph.
I hate no poison, like that brother's name!
Uncivil churl! when all his sails were up,
And that his proud heart danced on golden waves—

Brown.
As, Heav'n be thank'd, it still does.

Steph.
Yet, sir, then,
I being well nigh sunk in misery,
He would not cast out a poor line of thread
To bring me to the shore—I might have drown'd
And died for him!

Brown.
A better fate, good sir,
Stood at your elbow.

Steph.
Aye, sir, this was he,
[Taking Robert by the hand.
That lifted me from want and wretchedness.
Whose cruel father hath, for that kind act,
Cast him away, scorning his name and blood;
Lopp'd from his side this branch that held me dear,
For which he's now my son, my joy, my heir.
But for his father! Hang him!

Brown.
Fie!

Steph.
By Heav'n!

Brown.
Live in more charity—he is your brother:
Well—if his name offend—I'll say no more—
Yonder's my daughter busy with her suitors;
We'll speak with them. Bid your friends welcome, Jane,

Jane.
They must be welcome, sir, that come with you.
[Aside to Rob.]
To thee ten thousand welcomes.

Rob.
[Kissing her hand.]
My sweet mistress.

[Goes up the Stage.
Lamb.
[Aside to Sir Godfrey, R.]

Eh! Why, Sir
Knight, we've stood beating the bush, and the bird's
flown away. Yon city bowler hath kiss'd the mistress
at first cast.

Brown.
(C.)

How fare you, gentlemen? What cheer,
Sir Knight?

Sir G.
An adventurer still, sir, to this new found land.

Lamb.
We sail about the point, sir.

Brown.
You'd best cast anchor, or the wind may change.
A word, Master Sheriff.

[They converse apart.
Lamb.
[Aside to Sir Godfrey.]

You see, Sir Godfrey,
what card has turn'd up for trump. I'll lay my life
this spruce citizen will forestall the market.

Sir G.

An' he play the merchant with us, Master Lambskin,
I'll cut off's ears.

Lamb.

Marry, and I would fain see you do that, Sir
Godfrey. That would be rare sport!

Sir G.

Thou shalt see it, by my knighthood!

Brown.
[Aside to Stephen, L.]

They are both suitors,
sir, yet both shoot wide. My daughter must be your
nephew's.

Steph.

I'll give her a wedding ring on that condition,
and put a stone in it with a thousand pounds, sir.

Brown.

You have my hand and heart to't; be she
pleas'd too.

Lamb.
[Aside to Sir Godfrey, R.]

Let us show ourselves
gallants, Sir Godfrey. Shall we be out-faced by a
cockney? [Aloud to Robert.]
Look you, sir.

Rob.

Well, sir!

[Comes down, C.
Lamb.

I beseech you to observe, while you angle for

maids, here be those who have gone fishing, and can give
you a gudgeon.

Rob.
(C.)

I would not require a greater one than yourself,
sir. But you had best go fish for better manners, or I
shall bob for eels with you.

Lamb.
Sir, let me tell you—

Rob.
Do you prate, poppinjay?—Take that!

[Strikes him—returns to Jane.
Lamb.
Zounds! are you a striker? Draw, Sir Knight!
Cut off his ears!

[Runs behind Sir Godfrey.
Brown.
Not in my garden. Pray be quiet, gentlemen.

Rob.
He dares not do't, believe me, sir.

Steph.
Now by my soul, my boy, for this brave spirit,
I'll hug thee in my arms. Lose life and limbs,
Ere thou forsake thy love!

Lamb.
Sir, he has struck me, and I'm a gentleman—

Sir G.

And hear you, sir—let him seek out his equals,
for some of us are in danger to make that damsel a lady
shortly. I know what I speak, and what I speak I'll do.

Steph.
Speak what you please, sir; he's a gentleman
As good as either of you. Aye, and shall,
In list of love for such a bed-fellow,
Brave him who dares; or here lay down more gold
(If that may win her love), than you're both worth.

Sir G.

Ah! Do you know us, sir? You grow too
bold. I know you now: you were once a tatter'd fellow,
and your name is Foster. Have you such gold to
give?

Lamb.

Yes, yes, he has won it at bowls, or at the
pigeon-holes, or the garden-alleys.

Steph.
(C.)
Ye muddy grooms, who dare upbraid me thus
With follies which my virtue now gilds over,
What are your names?

Lamb.
(C.)

Our names are in the Herald's books, sir, I
warrant you. My name is Master Innocent Lambskin,
and this knight, though he stand simply here, is known to
be Sir Godfrey Speedwell.

Steph.
(L. C.)
Lambskin and Speedwell! Ah, ha! Is it so?
[Pulls out a parchment.
Very good, sir. My little Lambskin (C.)
I
Have you in Sheep-skin here. And you, Sir Knight, too.
Look, Master Brown, these two crack'd blusterers
Are bound in several deeds to my wife's first husband
For debts of full two thousand pounds a-piece.
Go, cousin—fetch a sergeant straight.

Rob.
Yes, sir.

[Pretends to go.
Sir G.

A sergeant! [Aside.]
Nay, then, legs be strong
and bold.—I'll shift for one.

[Exit Sir Godfrey running, R.
Lamb.
[Feeling behind him.]

Knight! Knight!
[Turns and misses him.—Aside.]
Mass! If an errant
knight run away, I were an errant ass to tarry. I love
the wench well—but a sergeant!—I—I'll begone and
leave them, that's flat.

[Exit Lamb., R.
Brown.

Ha! ha! You've scared the archers from their
mark, sir.

[Rob. and Jane come down on R.
Steph.
I'm glad on't, Master Brown—they did but seek
To build their state on you, and with your wealth
To under-prop their weakness.

Jane.
See—your wife, sir.

Enter Mrs. Stephen Foster, L.
Brown.
The city's wonder! Fortune's favourite!
The happy woman who was never vex'd!
You're welcome, Mrs. Foster.

Mrs. S.
(L.)
I thank you.

Steph.
Wife, your two debtors were this moment here—
Speedwell and Lambskin. By my holy dame!
A wolf could not have scared poor Lambskin worse
Than the bare name of sergeant. The mere thought
Made them both take their heels and run away!

Mrs. S.
Alas! they're poor and lean—and being so—
Kill them not till they're fatter.

Steph.
As you will.
For at thy girdle, sweet, do hang the keys
To lock the prison doors or let them loose.
'Twas my intent, only in way of mirth,
To drive them from the presence of this lady,
That our adopted son might have no bar
Unto his love.

Mrs. S.
[To Jane, crossing to her.]
Sweetheart, we must be friends
And kinswomen. The happy knot once tied,
I'll send some angels to attend the bride.

Enter George, L.
Jane.
[To Brown.]
Your factor, sir.

Brown.
Are the wares ready, George?

George.
Yes, and deliver'd, sir, unto the servants
Of yonder gentleman. [Pointing to Stephen.]
But going with them
I met ill news.

Brown.
Ill news! What is it, George?

George.
Old Master Foster's ships, so richly laden,
By strange misfortunes, sir, are cast away.

Brown.
Now Heav'n forbid!

Rob.
Alas!

Steph.
How? cast away!

Brown.
Impossible! They rid at Dover safe,
When he out-bought my int'rest in the fraught,
And paid me down full twenty thousand pounds
In wares and money.

George.
Sir, it is too true.
By Master Foster's own command, they weigh'd
Their anchors up, and so to come for London;
But by a merciless storm they all were swallowed,
E'en in the mouth of Thames. The men were saved,
But all the goods were lost.

Rob.
Oh, my poor father!
This loss, I fear, will be his utter ruin.

Steph.
Ha! What is that to you?—If in my favour
You'd still sit warm, bury all love to him.
Nay, duty: hear you, sir?—What! shed'st thou tears
For him, who had no care to see thy heart
Drop blood—He was unnatural, and Heav'n
Hath justly now rewarded him.

[Crosses to L.
Brown.
(L.)
Most strange!
He needs would buy my part at any rate,
And now all's lost!

Steph.
He would have swallow'd all
[Returns to C.
And now is swallow'd—Sir, 'tis but his hire,
And I'll not pity it, no more than he,
In his abundance, did my misery.

Mrs. S.
I grieve for my old gossip, his poor wife;
She never met good fortune all her days,
And this will break her heart-strings.—In good sooth
I'll go and comfort her.

Steph.
In good sooth you shall not—
Nor him, nor her, at this time, gentle wife.
He scorn'd me in his height, now being fallen,
If that he need my help, he knows my door.
Sir, [To Brown]
Fare you well: at fitter leisure we
Will have this marriage talk'd of.

Brown.
As you please.

Steph.
Come, wife. Go not to see your father, sir.
[To Robert.
I charge you [To Brown]
do not stir.

Brown.
You'll pardon me,
I'll see you to the gate.

[Exeunt Brown, Stephen, Mrs. S., and George, L.
Rob.
(C.)
Sweet love, adieu!

Jane.
(R.)
Whate'er befal I fear not—rest thou true!

Rob.
Then uncle, an' thou wilt bar up thy door,
I'll help my father, though myself grow poor!

[Exeunt Jane, R. and Robert, L.

SCENE II.

—Exterior of the Prison of Ludgate.
Enter Old Foster and Richard, R.
Rich.
(C.)
Good sir, resolve not thus—return again,
Your debts are not so great that you should yield
Your body thus to prison, unconstrain'd.

Fos.
(L. C.)
I will not trust the iron hearts of men.
My credit's lost!—my wealth the sea hath swallow'd,
Wreck'd at my door, even in the mouth o'the Thames!
Oh, my misfortune!—Never man like me
Was so thrown down and cast to wretchedness!

Rich.
Dear sir, be patient.

Fos.
Prithee, get thee gone,
And with thy diligence assist thy mistress
To keep what little's left to help herself;
Whilst here in Ludgate I secure my body
From writs, arrests, and executions, which
Full well I know, my cruel creditors
Will thunder on me. Go, go—get thee gone;
If what is left they'll take, do thou agree;
If not, I have resolv'd, stay here and die!

Rich.
I'll do my best, sir, to procure your peace—

[Foster rings the prison bell.]
[Exit Rich., R.
Enter Keeper from Prison.
Fos.
[To Keeper.]
Come, sir, I yield myself your prisoner: you are the keeper of this Ludgate.

Keeper.
Yes, sir.

Fos.
I pray thee, bar me of no privilege
Due to a citizen.—Thou know'st me well?

Keeper.
Yes, Master Foster, and I grieve your losses;
Yet doubt not but your son and brother—

Fos.
Ha!
Speak not of them, man!—Do not kiss and kill me!—
I have no son nor brother who esteems me,
And I for ever hate their memory!
Prithee, no more, good friend; I am come sick
To a bad inn, and look for poor attendance.
I've ta'en a surfeit of misfortunes, and
Must swallow pills with poison to re-cure me.
I'm sea-sick, sir; and heave my hands to Heaven!—
Ne'er to so low an ebb was Foster driven!

Keeper.
There be some fees to pay, sir.

Fos.
So, so, so.—
If this old walnut-tree, after such cudgelling,
Have but one cluster left, thou shalt have that too.
If not, take off these leaves that cover me,
Pull off these white locks—rend them from my head,
And let them in my woes be buried.

Keeper.
Sir,
This house is poor, alas!

Fos.
I do not doubt it—
Well—well—What book must I read over now?
What servile oar must I be tied to here,
Slave like, to tug within this Christian galley?

Keeper.
Sir, being the latest-enter'd prisoner,
You must beg at the iron-grate within,
As others do, for your relief and theirs.

Fos.
Well, for a beggar 'tis no shame to beg;
And for the iron-grate, it bears an emblem
Of iron-hearted creditors, who force
Their fellow-men to starve and die in prisons.
[Keeper retires back.
Enter Robert, R.
O torment of my soul!—what mak'st thou here!
Cannot the picture of my misery
Be drawn and hung out to the eyes of men,
But thou must come to scorn and laugh at it?

Rob.
(R. C.)
Dear sir, believe I come to thrust my back
Under your load, to make the burden lighter.

Fos.
(C.)
Hence from my sight—Dissembling villain, hence!
Thine uncle sends defiance to my woe,
And thou must bear it—Hence thou basilisk,
That kill'st me with thine eyes!

Rob.
Alas! I come
In natural duty, sir, to beg your blessing.
And for mine uncle—

Fos.
Him and thee I curse!—
I'll die ere I eat bread from out the hand
Of either—Hence, I say!—And tell that cur,
Thy barking uncle, that I lie not here
Upon the bed of riot, as he did,
Cover'd with all the villainies which man
Had ever woven:—tell him I lie not so.
It was the hand of Heav'n struck me down,
And I do bless it!—Get thee gone, I say.
Or, if thou'lt laugh thy fill at my poor state,
Then stay, and hear thy father—an old man
Who yesterday had thousands, beg, and cry
To get a penny!

Rob.
Sir, for pity hear me!—

Fos.
Keeper, away!— [To Rob.]
I charge thee come no nearer—
I'll be no father to so vile a son.

[Exeunt Foster and Keeper into Prison, in the back ground.
Rob.
(C.)
Alas! why am I paid for good, with hate.
From this sad place of Ludgate here, I freed
An uncle, and I lost a father for it.
Now is my father here, whom if I succour
I lose that uncle's love!—Oh! misery,
How bitter is thy taste!—Yet I will drink
Thy strongest poison: fret what mischief can,
I'll feed my father, though like the pelican
I peck my own breast for him.
[Puts money in the box.
Ah!—mine uncle!—

Enter Stephen Foster, R.
Steph.
(C.)
Now, sir, what make you here, so near the prison?

Rob.
I pray you pardon—I was going, sir,
To buy meat for a poor bird that I have,
That sits so sadly in his cage of late,
I think he'll die for sorrow—

Steph.
Aye, indeed—
I fear me I shall find that bird to be
That churlish wretch thy father, who hath taken
Shelter in Ludgate here—Sir, urge me not!
Go not you near him if you'd have my love.
I give you warning, sir.

Rob.
Alas! good uncle!
You know, when you lay here, I succour'd you,
So let me now help him.

Steph.
Yes, as he helped me,
You freed me with his gold, but 'gainst his will.
For him I might have rotted, starv'd, and so
Shall he do now.

Fos.
[Within.]
Some charitable man
Remember the poor prisoners!

Rob.
O, sir! listen!
'Tis my poor father's voice!

[Attempts to cross.
Steph.
[Stopping him.]
There let him howl!
Begone, and come not near him!

Rob.
O, my soul!
What tortures dost thou feel? Earth ne'er shall find
A son so true, yet forced to be unkind!

[Exit Robert, R.
Steph.
Well, go thy way, thou pattern of true virtue!
My heart is full, I could scarce keep from tears
To hear a brother begging in a prison,
Who but ere while spread up a lofty sail
As proudly as the best. Oh! 'twere a sin
Unpardonable not to succour him,
But I will do it closely, for I know
That he would scorn assistance at my hands
In's present mood. He shall not know from whence
His comforts come. [Knocks at the gate.]
What ho! within there, keeper!

Enter Keeper.
Keeper.
Your pleasure, sir.

Steph.
Who's he begs at the gate?

Keeper.
(C.)
One master Foster, a decay'd citizen,
But new come in. I cry you mercy, sir,
You know him better than myself, I think.

Steph.
(C.)
I should do, knew he me as I would have him.
Pray take him from the grate, and that he stand
No more at it to beg. There are ten pounds
To pay his fees and take off all his wants.
If he demands who sends it, tell him 'tis
Thine own free hand to lend him so much money.
Spend what he will, my purse shall pay for all,
And at his parting hence, which shall be soon,
The poorest prisoner that lives in Ludgate,
Shall bless his coming in: I'll for his sake
Do something now, that while this city stands
Shall keep the Foster's name engraven so high,
As no black storm shall cloud its memory.

[Exit, L.
Keeper.
Heav'n bless your purpose, sir. I shall be mindful.

[Exit into the Prison.

SCENE III.

—Apartment at Stephen Foster's.
Enter Mrs. Foster and Mrs. Stephen Foster, R.
Mrs. Steph.
(C.)
Sister, there's no way to make sorrow light
But in the noble bearing; be content,
Blows given from Heav'n are our due punishment.
All shipwrecks are not drownings: you see buildings
Made fairer from their ruins; he that I married,
The brother to your husband, laid, you know,
On the same bed of misery: yet now
He's rank'd with the best citizens.

Mrs. F.
(C.)
Oh, you
Were born to wealth and happiness, but I
To want and scorn.

Mrs. Steph.
Nay, hush this useless grief,
And I will move my husband.
Enter Clown, L.
Now, your business?—

Clown.
(L.)

Marry, mistress, there are two creatures
below would speak with you—

Mrs. Steph.

What are they?—learn their titles—

Clown.

That I have already, the one is a thing that
was pluck'd into the world by the head and shoulders to
be wonder'd at, and 'tis called a Knight—the other is a
coach horse of the same overridden race, and that's a
foolish gentleman.

Mrs. Steph.
O, they're my debtors, Speedwell and Lambskin.
Go call them in.
[Exit Clown, L.
And you, my gentle sister,
Comfort yourself and my imprisoned brother,
What good I can, I'll do for him—be bold.

Mrs. F.

May heavenly blessings guard you—Never
woman was vex'd as I am still.

[Exit Mrs. Foster, R.
Re-enter Clown, L.
Clown.

They are coming up, mistress, and my master
with them.

Enter Stephen, Robert, Lambskin, and Sir Godfrey, L.
Steph.
(C.)
So, sirs, you cannot pay the whole, you say.
What present money do you come to offer?

Sir God.
(L.)

I can put down about two hundred
pounds.

Lambs.
(L.)

So can I too, and take up seven times as
much—if I knew where to get it—but that's my lamentable
case. If you strip me any nearer, you shall strip skin and
all, I promise you.

Mrs. Steph.
(C.)

We'll sheer no sheep so close— [To

Steph.]
Good sweetheart, say—shall it be put to me?—

Steph.
Do as you please.
In all thy deeds thou'rt govern'd by good stars;
Therefore, if thou cry'st peace—why peace be with them.
E'en order it as thou wilt.

Mrs. Steph.
I thank you, sir.
All your two thousand pounds then we will quit
For your two hundred each—pay to my coz
The money, and receive your cancell'd bonds.

Both.
Now Heav'n be with you, lady—

Steph.
Cousin [To Rob.]
go.
Receive their money—and sirrah [To Clown.]
make them drink—

Rob.
Follow me, gentlemen.

[Exeunt Robert, Sir Godfrey and Lambskin, L.
Clown.
(L.)

I'll make 'em drink if they will—They
shall empty their purses, and I'll fill their stomachs.
Marry, an' that will be no easy task with the Knight;
but as for the lean gentleman, it's a question whether he
hath a stomach to fill.—Heav'n send he pass not the doghouse!
Jowler hath a keen nose for carrion!—

[Exit Clown, L.
Steph.
How now, sweet wife—what art thou musing on?

Mrs. Steph.
I must come wooing to you, sir.

Steph.
For what?—

Mrs. Steph.
For your poor brother, sir,—O 'tis unmeet,
For souls framed by one square to grow uneven;
'Tis like a war 'mongst the great lights of Heaven,
One cannot lose his beauty, but the other
Suffers eclipse.

Steph.
Thy songs are angel tunes,
And on thy wings I'll fly with thee to Heaven.
Thou speak'st as I would have thee, dearest wife!—
His debts I've justly weigh'd and found them light,
But I of purpose keep aloof to try
My kinsman, Robert, whom I spied but now
Hovering about the grate whare his poor father
With piteous voice ask'd charity.—I chid,
And rail'd against the boy—but my heart leap'd
To see such goodness in a son—I'll wager
That the four hundred pounds paid by these fellows
Will by our coz be given to his father.

Mrs. Steph.
Troth, would it might!

Enter Brown, L.
Brown.
Where's Master Stephen Foster?—
Oh, you are here, sir, you must hence with speed—
The city officers stay at Guildhall,
And need your aid, as sheriff, to make order—
Touching the entertainment of the King,
Who will to-morrow dine with the new Mayor
On his return from Westminster.

Steph.
I thank you—
Come—to the Guildhall.—Wife, look to our kinsman.—
Let me know all his steps, but do not hinder him,
If he relieve his father—Sir, have with you.—

[Exeunt Mrs. Foster, R. Stephen and Brown, L.