Infomotions, Inc.Wit Without Money The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher / Beaumont, Francis, 1584-1616



Author: Beaumont, Francis, 1584-1616
Title: Wit Without Money The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher
Publisher: Project Gutenberg
Tag(s): isab; val; fran; luce; lan; unc; lance; widow; uncle
Contributor(s): Benham, William, 1831-1910 [Translator]
Versions: original; local mirror; HTML (this file); printable
Services: find in a library; evaluate using concordance
Rights: GNU General Public License
Size: 23,129 words (really short) Grade range: 3-6 (grade school) Readability score: 83 (very easy)
Identifier: etext13425
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Title: Wit Without Money
       The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

Author: Francis Beaumont

Release Date: September 10, 2004 [EBook #13425]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WIT WITHOUT MONEY ***




Produced by Jonathan Ingram, David Garcia and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.







WIT WITHOUT MONEY,

A COMEDY.

       *       *       *       *       *

Persons Represented in the Play.


Valentine, _a Gallant that will not be perswaded to keep his Estate_.

Francisco, _his younger Brother_.

_Master_ Lovegood _their Uncle_.

_A_ Merchant, _Friend to Master_ Lovegood.

  Fountain, }
  Bellamore,} _companions of_ Valentine, _and Sutors to the_ Widow.
  Hairbrain,}

Lance, _a Falkner, and an ancient servant to_ Valentines _Father_.

Shorthose, _the Clown, and servant to the_ Widow.

Roger, Ralph, _and_ Humphrey, _three servants to the_ Widow.

_Three Servants_.

_Musicians_.

Lady Hartwel, a _Widow_.

Isabel, _her Sister_.

Luce, _a waiting Gentlewoman to the Widow_.

       *       *       *       *       *




_Actus primus. Scena prima._

       *       *       *       *       *

_Enter_ Uncle _and_ Merchant.

_Merc._ When saw you _Valentine_?

_Uncle._ Not since the Horse-race, he's taken up with those that
woo the Widow.

_Mer._ How can he live by snatches from such people? he bore a
worthy mind.

_Uncle._ Alas, he's sunk, his means are gone, he wants, and which
is worse,
Takes a delight in doing so.

_Mer._ That's strange.

_Unc._ Runs Lunatick, if you but talk of states, he cannot be
brought (now he has spent his own) to think there's inheritance, or
means, but all a common riches, all men bound to be his Bailiffs.

_Mer._ This is something dangerous.

_Uncle._ No Gentleman that has estate to use it in keeping house,
or followers, for those wayes he cries against, for Eating sins, dull
Surfeits, cramming of Serving-men, mustering of Beggars, maintaining
Hospitals for Kites, and Curs, grounding their fat faiths upon old
Country proverbs, God bless the Founders; these he would have ventured
into more manly uses, Wit, and carriage, and never thinks of state, or
means, the ground-works: holding it monstrous, men should feed their
bodies, and starve their understandings.

_Mer._ That's most certain.

_Uncle._ Yes, if he could stay there.

_Mer._ Why let him marry, and that way rise again.

_Uncle._ It's most impossible, he will not look with any
handsomeness upon a Woman.

_Mer._ Is he so strange to Women?

_Uncle._ I know not what it is, a foolish glory he has got, I know
not where, to balk those benefits, and yet he will converse and flatter
'em, make 'em, or fair, or foul, rugged, or smooth, as his impression
serves, for he affirms, they are only lumps, and undigested pieces,
lickt over to a form by our affections, and then they show. The Lovers
let 'em pass.

_Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, Hairbrain.

_Mer._ He might be one, he carries as much promise; they are
wondrous merry.

_Uncle._ O their hopes are high, Sir.

_Fount._ Is _Valentine_ come to Town?

_Bella._ Last night, I heard.

_Fount._ We miss him monstrously in our directions, for this Widow
is as stately, and as crafty, and stands I warrant you--

_Hair._ Let her stand sure, she falls before us else, come let's go
seek _Valentine_.

_Mer._ This Widow seems a Gallant.

_Uncle._ A goodly Woman, and to her handsomness she bears her
state, reserved, and great Fortune has made her Mistress of a full
means, and well she knows to use it.

_M[e]r._ I would _Valentine_ had her.

_Uncle._ There's no hope of that, Sir.

_Mer._ O' that condition, he had his Mortgage in again.

_Uncle._ I would he had.

_Mer._ Seek means, and see what I'le do, however let the Money be
paid in, I never sought a Gentlemans undoing, nor eat the bread of other
mens vexations, you told me of another Brother.

_Uncle._ Yes Sir, more miserable than he, for he has eat him, and
drunk him up, a handsome Gentleman, and fine Scholar.

_Enter three_ Tenants.

_Mer._ What are these?

_Unc._ The Tenants, they'll do what they can.

_Mer._ It is well prepared, be earnest, honest friends, and loud
upon him, he is deaf to his own good.

_Lance._ We mean to tell him part of our minds an't please you.

_Mer._ Do, and do it home, and in what my care may help, or my
perswasions when we meet next.

_Unc._ Do but perswade him fairly; and for your money, mine, and
these mens thanks too, and what we can be able.

_Mer._ Y'are most honest, you shall find me no less, and so I leave
you, prosper your business my friends. [_Ex._ Mer.

_Unc._ Pray Heaven it may, Sir.

_Lance._ Nay if he will be mad, I'le be mad with him, and tell him
that I'le not spare him, his Father kept good Meat, good Drink, good
Fellows, good Hawks, good Hounds, and bid his Neighbours welcome; kept
him too, and supplied his prodigality, yet kept his state still; must
we turn Tenants now, after we have lived under the race of Gentry, and
maintained good Yeomantry, to some of the City, to a great shoulder of
Mutton and a Custard, and have our state turned into Cabbidge Gardens,
must it be so?

_Unc._ You must be milder to him.

_Lance._ That's as he makes his game.

_Unc._ Intreat him lovingly, and make him feel.

_Lance._ I'le pinch him to the bones else.

[_Valen._ _Within_.] And tell the Gentleman, I'le be with him
presently, say I want money too, I must not fail boy.

_Lance._ You'l want Cloaths, I hope.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Bid the young Courtier repair to me anon, I'le read to him.

_Unc._ He comes, [b]e diligent, but not too rugged, start him, but
affright him not.

_Val._ Phew, are you there?

_Unc._ We come to see you Nephew, be not angry.

_Val._ Why do you dog me thus, with these strange people? why, all
the world shall never make me rich more, nor master of these troubles.

_Tenants._ We beseech you for our poor Childrens sake.

_Val._ Who bid you get 'em? have you not threshing work enough, but
Children must be bang'd out o'th' sheaf too? other men with all their
delicates, and healthful diets, can get but wind eggs: you with a clove
of Garlick, a piece of Cheese would break a Saw, and sowre Milk, can
mount like Stallions, and I must maintain these tumblers.

_Lance._ You ought to maintain us, we have maintained you, and when
you slept provided for you; who bought the Silk you wear? I think our
labours; reckon, you'll find it so: who found your Horses perpetual
pots of Ale, maintain'd your Taverns, and who extol'd you in the
Half-crown-boxes, where you might sit and muster all the Beauties?
we had no hand in these; no, we are all puppies? Your Tenants base
vexations.

_Val._ Very well, Sir.

_Lance._ Had you Land, Sir, and honest men to serve your purposes,
honest and faithful, and will you run away from 'em, betray your self,
and your poor Tribe to misery; mortgage all us, like old Cloaks; where
will you hunt next? you had a thousand Acres, fair and open: The
Kings-Bench is enclos'd, there's no good riding, the Counter is full
of thorns and brakes, take heed Sir, and boggs, you'l quickly find what
broth they're made of.

_Val._ Y'are short and pithy.

_Lance._ They say y'are a fine Gentleman, and of excellent
judgement, they report you have a wit; keep your self out o'th' Rain,
and take your Cloak with you, which by interpretation is your State,
Sir, or I shall think your fame belied you, you have money, and may
have means.

_Val._ I prethee leave prating, does my good lye within thy brain
to further, or my undoing in thy pity? go, go, get you home, there
whistle to your Horses, and let them edifie; away, sow Hemp to hang your
selves withal: what am I to you, or you to me; am I your Landlord,
puppies?

_Unc._ This is uncivil.

_Val._ More unmerciful you, to vex me with these Bacon
Broth and Puddings, they are the walking shapes of all my
sorrows.

_3 Tenants._ Your Fathers Worship would have used us better.

_Val._ My Fathers Worship was a Fool.

_Lance._ Hey, hey boys, old _Valentine_ i'faith, the old boy still.

_Unc._ Fie Cousin.

_Val._ I mean besotted to his state, he had never left me the
misery of so much means else, which till I sold, was a meer meagrim to
me: If you will talk, turn out these Tenants, they are as killing to my
nature Uncle, as water to a Feaver.

_Lance._ We will go, but it is like Rams, to come again the
stronger, and you shall keep your state.

_Val._ Thou lyest, I will not.

_Lance._ Sweet Sir, thou lyest, thou shalt, and so good morrow.
[_Exeunt_ Tenants.

_Val._ This was my man, and of a noble breeding: now to your
business Uncle.

_Unc._ To your state then.

_Val._ 'Tis gone, and I am glad on't, name it no more, 'tis that
I pray against, and Heaven has heard me, I tell you, Sir, I am more
fearful of it, I mean, of thinking of more lands, or livings, than
sickly men are travelling o' Sundays, for being quell'd with Carriers;
out upon't, _caveat emptor_, let the fool out-sweat it, that thinks
he has got a catch on't.

_Unc._ This is madness to be a wilful begger.

_Val._ I am mad then, and so I mean to be, will that content you?
How bravely now I live, how jocund, how near the first inheritance,
without fears, how free from title-troubles!

_Unc._ And from means too.

_Val._ Means? why all good men's my means; my wit's my Plow, the
Town's my stock, Tavern's my standing-house, and all the world knows
there's no want; all Gentlemen that love Society, love me; all Purses
that wit and pleasure opens, are my Tenants; every mans Cloaths fit me,
the next fair lodging is but my next remove, and when I please to be
more eminent, and take the Air, a piece is levied, and a Coach prepared,
and I go I care not whither, what need state here?

_Unc._ But say these means were honest, will they last, Sir?

_Val._ Far longer than your jerkin, and wear fairer, should I take
ought of you, 'tis true, I beg'd now, or which is worse than that, I
stole a kindness, and which is worst of all, I lost my way in't; your
mind's enclosed, nothing lies open nobly, your very thoughts are Hinds
that work on nothing but daily sweat and trouble: were my way so full of
dirt as this, 'tis true I'd shift it; are my acquaintance Grasiers? but
Sir, know, no man that I am allied to, in my living, but makes it equal,
whether his own use, or my necessity pull first, nor is this forc'd, but
the meer quality and poisure of goodness, and do you think I venture
nothing equal?

_Unc._ You pose me Cousin.

_Val._ What's my knowledge Uncle, is't not worth mony? what's my
understanding, travel, reading, wit, all these digested, my daily making
men, some to speak, that too much flegm had frozen up, some that spoke
too much, to hold their peace, and put their tongues to pensions, some
to wear their cloaths, and some to keep 'em, these are nothing Uncle;
besides these wayes, to teach the way of nature, a manly love, community
to all that are deservers, not examining how much, or what's done for
them, 'tis wicked, and such a one like you, chews his thoughts [double],
making 'em only food for his repentance.

_Enter two_ Servants.

_1 Ser._ This cloak and hat Sir, and my Masters love.

_Val._ Commend's to thy Master, and take that, and leave 'em at my
lodging.

_1 Ser._ I shall do it Sir.

_Val._ I do not think of these things.

_2 Ser._ Please you Sir, I have gold here for you.

_Val._ Give it me, drink that and commend me to thy Master; look
you Uncle, do I beg these?

_Unc._ No sure, 'tis your worth, Sir.

_Val._ 'Tis like enough, but pray satisfie me, are not these ways
as honest as persecuting the starved inheritance, with musty Corn, the
very rats were fain to run away from, or felling rotten wood by the
pound, like spices, which Gentlemen do after burn by th' ounces? do not
I know your way of feeding beasts with grains, and windy stuff, to blow
up Butchers? your racking Pastures, that have eaten up as many singing
Shepherds, and their issues, as _Andeluzia_ breeds? these are
authentique, I tell you Sir, I would not change ways with you, unless it
were to sell your state that hour, and if it were possible to spend it
then too, for all your Beans in _Rumnillo_, now you know me.

_Unc._ I would you knew your self, but since you are grown such a
strange enemy to all that fits you, give me leave to make your Brothers
fortune.

_Val._ How?

_Unc._ From your mortgage, which yet you may recover, I'le find the
means.

_Val._ Pray save your labour Sir, my Brother and my self will run
one fortune, and I think what I hold a meer vexation, cannot be safe
for him, I love him better, he has wit at will, the world has means,
he shall live without this trick of state, we are heirs both, and all
the world before us.

_Unc._ My last offer, and then I am gone.

_Val._ What is't, and then I'le answer.

_Unc._ What think you of a wife yet to restore you, and tell me
seriously without these trifles.

_Val._ And you can find one, that can please my fancy, you shall
not find me stubborn.

_Unc._ Speak your Woman.

_Val._ One without eyes, that is, self commendations, for when they
find they are handsom, they are unwholsome; one without ears, not giving
time to flatterers, for she that hears her self commended, wavers, and
points men out a way to make 'em wicked; one without substance of her
self; that woman without the pleasure of her life, that's wanton; though
she be young, forgetting it, though fair, making her glass the eyes of
honest men, not her own admiration, all her ends obedience, all her
hours new blessings, if there may be such a woman.

_Unc._ Yes there may be.

_Val._ And without state too.

_Unc._ You are disposed to trifle, well, fare you well Sir, when
you want me next, you'l seek me out a better sence.

_Val._ Farewell Uncle, and as you love your estate, let not me hear
on't. [_Exit._

_Unc._ It shall not trouble you, I'le watch him still,
And when his friends fall off then bend his will. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Luce._ I know the cause of all this sadness now, your sister has
ingrost all the brave Lovers.

_Isab._ She has wherewithall, much good may't do her, prethee speak
softly, we are open to mens ears.

_Luce._ Fear not, we are safe, we may see all that pass, hear all,
and make our selves merry with their language, and yet stand
undiscovered, be not melancholy, you are as fair as she.

_Isab._ Who I? I thank you, I am as haste ordain'd me, a thing
slubber'd, my sister is a goodly portly Lady, a woman of a presence, she
spreads sattens, as the Kings ships do canvas every where, she may spare
me her misen, and her bonnets, strike her main Petticoat, and yet
outsail me, I am a Carvel to her.

_Luce._ But a tight one.

_Isab._ She is excellent, well built too.

_Luce._ And yet she's old.

_Isab._ She never saw above one voyage _Luce_, and credit me
after another, her Hull will serve again, a right good Merchant: she
plaies, and sings too, dances and discourses, comes very near Essays, a
pretty Poet, begins to piddle with Philosophic, a subtil Chymick Wench,
and can extract the Spirit of mens Estates, she has the light before
her, and cannot miss her choice for me, 'tis reason I wait my mean
fortune.

_Luce._ You are so bashfull.

_Isab._ It is not at first word up and ride, thou art cozen'd,
that would shew mad i' faith: besides, we lose the main part of our
politick government: if we become provokers, then we are fair, and fit
for mens imbraces, when like towns, they lie before us ages, yet not
carried, hold out their strongest batteries, then compound too without
the loss of honour, and march off with our fair wedding, Colours flying.
Who are these?

_Enter_ Franc, _and_ Lance.

_Luce._ I know not, nor I care not.

_Isab._ Prethee peace then, a well built Gentleman.

_Luce._ But poorly thatcht.

_Lance._ Has he devour'd you too?

_Fran._ H'as gulp'd me down _Lance_.

_Lance._ Left you no means to study?

_Fran._ Not a farthing: dispatcht my poor annuity I thank him,
here's all the hope I have left, one bare ten shillings.

_Lan._ You are fit for great mens services.

_Fran._ I am fit, but who'le take me thus? mens miseries are now
accounted stains in their natures. I have travelled, and I have studied
long, observed all Kingdoms, know all the promises of Art and manners,
yet that I am not bold, nor cannot flatter, I shall not thrive, all
these are but vain Studies, art thou so rich as to get me a lodging
_Lance_?

_Lan._ I'le sell the titles of my house else, my Horse, my Hawk,
nay's death I'le pawn my wife: Oh Mr. _Francis_, that I should see
your Fathers house fall thus!

_Isab._ An honest fellow.

_Lan._ Your Fathers house, that fed me, that bred up all my name!

_Isab._ A gratefull fellow.

_Lan._ And fall by--

_Fran._ Peace, I know you are angry _Lance_, but I must not
hear with whom, he is my Brother, and though you hold him slight, my
most dear Brother: A Gentleman, excepting some few rubs, he were too
excellent to live here else, fraughted as deep with noble and brave
parts, the issues of a noble and manly Spirit, as any he alive. I must
not hear you; though I am miserable, and he made me so, yet still he
is my Brother, still I love him, and to that tye of blood link my
affections.

_Isab._ A noble nature! dost thou know him _Luce_?

_Luce._ No, Mistress.

_Isab._ Thou shouldest ever know such good men, what a fair body
and mind are married! did he not say he wanted?

_Luce._ What's that to you?

_Isab._ 'Tis true, but 'tis great pity.

_Luce._ How she changes! ten thousand more than he, as handsom men too.

_Isab._ 'Tis like enough, but as I live, this Gentleman among ten
thousand thousand! is there no knowing him? why should he want? fellows
of no merit, slight and puft souls, that walk like shadows, by leaving
no print of what they are, or poise, let them complain.

_Luce._ Her colour changes strangely.

_Isab._ This man was made, to mark his wants to waken us; alas poor
Gentleman, but will that keep him from cold and hunger, believe me he is
well bred, and cannot be but of a noble linage, mark him, mark him well.

_Luce._ 'Is a handsom man.

_Isab._ The sweetness of his sufferance sets him off, O _Luce_, but
whither go I?

_Luce._ You cannot hide it.

_Isab._ I would he had what I can spare.

_Luce._ 'Tis charitable.

_Lance._ Come Sir, I'le see you lodg'd, you have tied my tongue
fast, I'le steal before you want, 'tis but a hanging.

_Isab._ That's a good fellow too, an honest fellow, why, this would
move a stone, I must needs know; but that some other time.
[_Exit_ Lance, _and_ Franc.

_Luce._ Is the wind there? that makes for me.

_Isab._ Come, I forgot a business.




_Actus [Secundus]. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Widow, _and_ Luce.


_Wid._ My sister, and a woman of so base a pity! what was the
fellow?

_Luce,_ Why, an ordinary man, Madam.

_Wid._ Poor?

_Luce._ Poor enough, and no man knows from whence neither.

_Wid._ What could she see?

_Luce._ Only his misery, for else she might behold a hundred handsomer.

_Wid._ Did she change much?

_Luce._ Extreamly, when he spoke, and then her pity, like an
Orator, I fear her love framed such a commendation, and followed it so
far, as made me wonder.

_Wid._ Is she so hot, or such a want of lovers, that she must doat
upon afflictions? why does she not go romage all the prisons, and there
bestow her youth, bewray her wantonness, and flie her honour, common
both to beggery: did she speak to him?

_Luce._ No, he saw us not, but ever since, she hath been mainly
troubled.

_Wid._ Was he young?

_Luce._ Yes, young enough.

_Wid._ And looked he like a Gentleman?

_Luce._ Like such a Gentleman, that would pawn ten oaths for twelve
pence.

_Wid._ My sister, and sink basely! this must not be, does she use
means to know him?

_Luce._ Yes Madam, and has employed a Squire called _Shorthose_.

_Wid._ O that's a precious Knave: keep all this private, but still
be near her lodging: _Luce_, what you can gather by any means, let
me understand: I'le stop her heat, and turn her charity another way, to
bless her self first; be still close to her counsels; a begger and a
stranger! there's a bless'dness! I'le none of that; I have a toy yet,
sister, shall tell you this is foul, and make you find it, and for your
pains take you the last gown I wore; this makes me mad, but I shall
force a remedy.

_Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain, Valentine.

_Fount._ Sirra, we have so lookt for thee, and long'd for thee;
this widow is the strangest thing, the stateliest, and stands so much
upon her excellencies.

_Bel._ She hath put us off, this month now, for an answer.

_Hare._ No man must visit her, nor look upon her, no, not say, good
morrow, nor good even, till that's past.

_Val._ She has found what dough you are made of, and so kneads you:
are you good at nothing, but these after-games? I have told you often
enough what things they are, what precious things, these widows--

_Hare._ If we had 'em.

_Val._ Why the Devil has not craft enough to wooe 'em, there be three
kinds of fools, mark this note Gentlemen, mark it, and understand it.

_Fount._ Well, go forward.

_Val_ An Innocent, a knave fool, a fool politick: the last of which
are lovers, widow lovers.

_Bell._ Will you allow no fortune?

_Val._ No such blind one.

_Fount._ We gave you reasons, why 'twas needful for us.

_Val._ As you are those fools, I did allow those reasons, but as my
Scholars and companions damn'd 'em: do you know what it is to wooe a
widow? answer me coolely now, and understandingly.

_Hare._ Why to lie with her, and to enjoy her wealth.

_Val._ Why there you are fools still, crafty to catch your selves,
pure politick fools, I lookt for such an answer; once more hear me, it
is, to wed a widow, to be doubted mainly, whether the state you have be
yours or no, or those old boots you ride in. Mark me, widows are long
extents in Law upon news, livings upon their bodies winding-sheets, they
that enjoy 'em, lie but with dead mens monuments, and beget only their
own ill Epitaphs: Is not this plain now?

_Bell._ Plain spoken.

_Val._ And plain truth; but if you'le needs do things of danger, do
but lose your selves, not any part concerns your understandings, for
then you are Meacocks, fools, and miserable march off amain, within an
inch of a Fircug, turn me o'th' toe like a Weather-cock, kill every day
a Sergeant for a twelve month, rob the Exchequer, and burn all the
Rolls, and these will make a shew.

_Hare._ And these are trifles.

_Val._ Considered to a Widow, empty nothings, for here you venture
but your persons, there the varnish of your persons, your discretions;
why 'tis a monstrous thing to marry at all, especially as now 'tis made;
me thinks a man, an understanding man, is more wise to me, and of a
nobler tie, than all these trinkets; what do we get by women, but our
senses, which is the rankest part about us, satisfied, and when that's
done, what are we? Crest-fallen Cowards. What benefit can children be,
but charges and disobedience? What's the love they render at one and
twenty years? I pray die Father: when they are young, they are like
bells rung backwards, nothing but noise and giddiness; and come to years
once, there drops a son by th' sword in his Mistresses quarrel, a great
joy to his parents: A Daughter ripe too, grows high and lusty in her
blood, must have a heating, runs away with a supple ham'd Servingman:
his twenty Nobles spent, takes to a trade, and learns to spin mens hair
off; there's another, and most are of this nature, will you marry?

_Fount._ For my part yes, for any doubt I feel yet.

_Val._ And this same widow?

_Fount._ If I may, and me thinks, however you are pleased to
dispute these dangers, such a warm match, and for you, Sir, were not
hurtfull.

_Val._ Not half so killing as for you, for me she cannot with all
the Art she has, make me more miserable, or much more fortunate, I have
no state left, a benefit that none of you can brag of, and there's the
Antidote against a Widow, nothing to lose, but that my soul inherits,
which she can neither law nor claw away; to that, but little flesh, it
were too much else; and that unwholsom too, it were too rich else; and
to all this contempt of what she do's I can laugh at her tears, neglect
her angers, hear her without a faith, so pity her as if she were a
Traytour, moan her person, but deadly hate her pride; if you could do
these, and had but this discretion, and like fortune, it were but an
equal venture.

_Fount._ This is malice.

_Val._ When she lies with your land, and not with you, grows great
with joyntures, and is brought to bed with all the state you have,
you'le find this certain; but is it come to pass you must marry, is
there no buff will hold you?

_Bel._ Grant it be so.

_Val._ Then chuse the tamer evil, take a maid, a maid not worth a
penny; make her yours, knead her, and mould her yours, a maid worth
nothing, there's a vertuous spell in that word nothing; a maid makes
conscience of half a Crown a week for pins and puppits, a maid will be
content with one Coach and two Horses, not falling out because they are
not matches; with one man satisfied, with one rein guided, with one
faith, one content, one bed, aged she makes the wise, preserves the fame
and issue; a widow is a Christmas-box that sweeps all.

_Fount._ Yet all this cannot sink us.

_Val._ You are my friends, and all my loving friends, I spend your
mony, yet I deserve it too, you are my friends still, I ride your
horses, when I want I sell 'em; I eat your meat, help to wear her
linnen, sometimes I make you drunk, and then you seal, for which I'le do
you this commodity, be ruled, and let me try her, I will discover her,
the truth is, I will never leave to trouble her, till I see through her,
then if I find her worthy.

_Hare._ This was our meaning _Valentine_.

_Val._ 'Tis done then, I must want nothing.

_Hare._ Nothing but the woman.

_Val._ No jealousie; for when I marry, the Devil must be wiser than
I take him; and the flesh foolisher: come let's to dinner, and when I am
well whetted with wine, have at her. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Isab._ But art thou sure?

_Luce._ No surer than I heard.

_Hare._ That it was that flouting fellows Brother?

_Luce._ Yes, _Shorthose_ told me so.

_Hare._ He did searc[h] out the truth?

_Luce._ It seems he did.

_Har._ Prethee _Luce_ call him hither, if he be no worse, I
never repent my pity, now sirra, what was he we sent you after, the
Gentleman i'th' black?

_Enter_ Shorthose.

_Short._ I'th' torn black?

_Isab._ Yes, the same Sir.

_Short._ What would your Worship with him?

_Isab._ Why, my Worship would know his name, and what he is.

_Short._ 'Is nothing, he is a man, and yet he is no man.

_Isab._ You must needs play the fool.

_Short._ 'Tis my profession.

_Isab._ How is he a man, and no man?

_Short._ He's a begger, only the sign of a man, the bush pull'd
down, which shows the house stands emptie.

_Isab._ What's his calling?

_Short._ They call him begger.

_Isab._ What's his kindred?

_Short._ Beggers.

_Isab._ His worth?

_Short._ A learned begger, a poor Scholar.

_Isab._ How does he live?

_Short._ Like worms, he eats old Books.

_Isab._ Is _Valentine_ his Brother.

_Short._ His begging Brother.

_Isab._ What may his name be?

_Short._ _Orson_.

_Isab._ Leave your fooling.

_Short._ You had as good say, leave your living.

_Isab._ Once more tell me his name directly.

_Short._ I'le be hang'd first, unless I heard him Christned, but I
can tell what foolish people call him.

_Isab._ What?

_Short._ _Francisco_.

_Isab._ Where lies this learning, Sir?

_Short._ In _Pauls_ Church yard forsooth.

_Isab._ I mean the Gentleman, fool.

_Short._ O that fool, he lies in loose sheets every where, that's
no where.

_Luce._ You have glean'd since you came to _London_: in the
Country, _Shorthose_, you were an arrant fool, a dull cold
coxcombe, here every Tavern teaches you, the pint pot has so belaboured
you with wit, your brave acquaintance that gives you Ale, so fortified
your mazard, that now there's no talking to you.

_Isab._ 'Is much improved, a fellow, a fine discourser.

_Short._ I hope so, I have not waited at the tail of wit so long to
be an Ass.

_Luce._ But say now, _Shorthose_, my Lady should remove into
the Country.

_Short._ I had as lieve she should remove to Heaven, and as soon I
would undertake to follow her.

_Luce._ Where no old Charnico is, nor no Anchoves, nor Master
such-a-one, to meet at the Rose, and bring my Lady, such-a-ones chief
Chamber-maid.

_Isab._ No bouncing healths to this brave Lad, dear
_Shorthose_, nor down o'th' knees to that illustrious Lady.

_Luce._ No fiddles, nor no lusty noise of drawer, carry this pottle
to my Father _Shorthose_.

_Isab._ No plays, nor gaily foists, no strange Embassadors to run
and wonder at, till thou beest oyl, and then come home again, and lye
byth' Legend.

_Luc._ Say she should go.

_Short._ If I say, I'le be hang'd, or if I thought she would go.

_Luce._ What?

_Short._ I would go with her.

_Luce._ But _Shorthose_, where thy heart is?

_Isab._ Do not fright him.

_Luce._ By this hand Mistris 'tis a noise, a loud one too, and from
her own mouth, presently to be gone too, but why, or to what end?

_Short._ May not a man die first? she'l give him so much time.

_Isab._ Gone o'th' sudden? thou dost but jest, she must not mock
the Gentlemen.

_Luce._ She has put them off a month, th[e]y dare not see her,
believe me Mistris, what I hear I tell you.

_Isab._ Is this true, wench? gone on so short a warning! what trick
is this? she never told me of it, it must not be, sirra, attend me
presently, you know I have been a carefull friend unto you, attend me in
the Hall, and next be faithful, cry not, we shall not go.

_Short._ Her Coach may crack.

_Enter_ Valentine, Francisco, _and_ Lance.

_Val._ Which way to live! how darest thou come to town, to ask such
an idle question?

_Fran._ Me thinks 'tis necessary, unless you could restore that
Annuitie you have tipled up in Taverns.

_Val._ Where hast thou been, and how brought up _Francisco_,
that thou talkest thus out of _France_? thou wert a pretty fellow,
and of a handsom knowledge; who has spoiled thee?

_Lan._ He that has spoil'd himself, to make him sport, and by
Copie, will spoil all comes near him: buy but a Glass, if you be yet so
wealthy, and look there who?

_Val._ Well said, old Copihold.

_Lan._ My heart's good Freehold Sir, and so you'l find it, this
Gentleman's your Brother, your hopeful Brother, for there is no hope of
you, use him thereafter.

_Val._ E'ne as well as I use my self, what would'st thou have _Frank_?

_Fran._ Can you procure me a hundred pound?

_Lan._ Hark what he saies to you, O try your wits, they say you are
excellent at it, for your Land has lain long bedrid, and unsensible.

_Fran._ And I'le forget all wrongs, you see my state, and to what
wretchedness your will has brought me; but what it may be, by this
benefit, if timely done, and like a noble Brother, both you and I may
feel, and to our comforts.

_Val._ (A hundred pound!) dost thou know what thou hast said Boy?

_Fran._ I said a hundred pound.

_Val._ Thou hast said more than any man can justifie, believe it:
procure a hundred pounds! I say to thee there's no such sum in nature,
forty shillings there may be now i'th' Mint and that's a Treasure,
I have seen five pound, but let me tell it, and 'tis as wonderful as
Calves with five Legs; here's five shillings, _Frank_, the harvest
of five weeks, and a good crop too, take it, and pay thy first fruits,
I'le come down and eat it out.

_Fran._ 'Tis patience must meet with you Sir, not love.

_Lanc._ Deal roundly, and leave these fiddle faddles.

_Val._ Leave thy prating, thou thinkest thou art a notable wise
fellow, thou and thy rotten Sparrow Hawk; two of the reverent.

_Lanc._ I think you are mad, or if you be not, will be, with the
next moon, what would you have him do?

_Val._ How?

_Lanc._ To get money first, that's to live, you have shewed him how
to want.

_Val._ 'Slife how do I live? why, what dull fool would ask that
question? three hundred three pilds more, I and live bravely: the better
half o'th' Town live most gloriously, and ask them what states they
have, or what Annuities, or when they pray for seasonable Harvests: thou
hast a handsome Wit, stir into the world, _Frank_, stir, stir for
shame, thou art a pretty Scholar: ask how to live? write, write, write
any thing, the World's a fine believing World, write News.

_Lan._ Dragons in _Sussex_, Sir, or fiery Battels seen in the
Air at _Aspurge_.

_Val._ There's the way _Frank_, and in the tail of these,
fright me the Kingdom with a sharp Prognostication, that shall scowr
them, Dearth upon Dearth, like leven Taffaties, predictions of
Sea-breaches, Wars, and want of Herrings on our Coast, with bloudy
Noses.

_Lan._ Whirl-winds, that shall take off the top of _Grantham_
Steeple, and clap it on _Pauls_, and after these, a Lenvoy to the
City for their sins.

_Val._ _Probatum est_, thou canst not want a pension, go
switch me up a Covey of young Scholars, there's twenty nobles, and two
loads of Coals, are not these ready wayes? Cosmography thou art deeply
read in, draw me a Map from the Mermaid, I mean a midnight Map to scape
the Watches, and such long sensless examinations, and Gentlemen shall
feed thee, right good Gentlemen, I cannot stay long.

_Lan._ You have read learnedly, and would you have him follow these
Megera's, did you begin with Ballads?

_Fran._ Well, I will leave you, I see my wants are grown
ridiculous, yours may be so, I will not curse you neither; you may
think, when these wanton fits are over, who bred me, and who ruined me,
look to your self, Sir, a providence I wait on.

_Val._ Thou art passionate, hast thou been brought up with Girls?

_Enter_ Shorthose _with a bag_.

_Short._ Rest you merry, Gentlemen.

_Val._ Not so merry as you suppose, Sir.

_Short._ Pray stay a while, and let me take a view of you, I may
put my Spoon into the wrong Pottage-pot else.

_Val._ Why, wilt thou muster us?

_Short._ No, you are not he, you are a thought too handsome.

_Lan._ Who wouldst thou speak withal, why dost thou peep so?

_Short._ I am looking birds nests, I can find none in your bush
beard, I would speak with you, black Gentleman.

_Fran._ With me, my friend?

_Short._ Yes sure, and the best friend, Sir, it seems you spake
withal this twelve-month, Gentleman, there's money for you.

_Val._ How?

_Short._ There's none for you, Sir, be not so brief, not a penny;
law how he itches at it, stand off, you stir my colour.

_Lan._ Take it, 'tis money.

_Short._ You are too quick too, first be sure you have it, you seem
to be a Faulkoner, but a foolish one.

_Lan._ Take it, and say nothing.

_Short._ You are cozen'd too, 'tis take it, and spend it.

_Fran._ From whom came it, Sir?

_Short._ Such another word, and you shall have none on't.

_Fran._ I thank you, Sir, I doubly thank you.

_Short._ Well, Sir, then buy you better Cloaths, and get your Hat
drest, and your Laundress to wash your Boots white.

_Fran._ Pray stay Sir, may you not be mistaken.

_Short._ I think I am, give me the money again, come quick, quick,
quick.

_Fran._ I would be loth to render, till I am sure it be so.

_Short._ Hark in your ear, is not your name _Francisco_?

_Fran._ Yes.

_Short._ Be quiet then, it may Thunder a hundred times, before such
stones fall: do you not need it?

_Fran._ Yes.

_Short._ And 'tis thought you have it.

_Fran._ I think I have.

_Short._ Then hold it fast, 'tis not fly-blown, you may pay for the
poundage, you forget your self, I have not seen a Gentleman so backward,
a wanting Gentleman.

_Fran._ Your mercy, Sir.

_Short._ Friend, you have mercy, a whole bag full of mercy, be
merry with it, and be wise.

_Fran._ I would fain, if it please you, but know--

_Short._ It does not please me, tell over your money, and be not
mad, Boy.

_Val._ You have no more such bags?

_Short._ More such there are, Sir, but few I fear for you, I have
cast your water, you have wit, you need no money. [_Exit._

_Lan._ Be not amazed, Sir, 'tis good gold, good old gold, this is
restorative, and in good time, it comes to do you good, keep it and use
it, let honest fingers feel it, yours be too quick Sir.

_Fran._ He named me, and he gave it me, but from whom.

_Lan._ Let 'em send more, and then examine it, this can be but a
Preface.

_Fran._ Being a stranger, of whom can I deserve this?

_Lan._ Sir, of any man that has but eyes, and manly understanding
to find mens wants, good men are bound to do so.

_Val._ Now you see, _Frank_, there are more wayes than
certainties, now you believe: What Plough brought you this Harvest, what
sale of Timber, Coals, or what Annuities? These feed no Hinds, nor wait
the expectation of Quarterdaies, you see it showers in to you, you are
an Ass, lie plodding, and lie fooling, about this Blazing Star, and that
bo-peep, whining, and fasting, to find the natural reason why a Dog
turns twice about before he lie down, what use of these, or what joy in
Annuities, where every man's thy study, and thy Tenant, I am ashamed on
thee.

_Lan._ Yes, I have seen this fellow, there's a wealthy Widow hard
by.

_Val._ Yes marry is there.

_Lan._ I think he's her servant, or I am couzen'd else, I am sure
on't.

_Fran._ I am glad on't.

_Lan._ She's a good Woman.

_Fran._ I am gladder.

_Lan._ And young enough believe.

_Fran._ I am gladder of all, Sir.

_Val_. _Frank_, you shall lye with me soon.

_Fran._ I thank my money.

_Lan._ His money shall lie with me, three in a Bed, Sir, will be
too much this weather.

_Val._ Meet me at the Mermaid, and thou shalt see what things--

_Lan._ Trust to your self Sir. [_Exeunt_ Fran. _and_ Val.

_Enter_ Fount. Bella. _and_ Valentine.

_Fount._ O _Valentine_!

_Val._ How now, why do you look so?

_Bella._ The Widow's going, man.

_Val._ Why let her go, man.

_Hare._ She's going out o'th' Town.

_Val._ The Town's the happier, I would they were all gone.

_Fount._ We cannot come to speak with her.

_Val._ Not to speak to her?

_Bel._ She will be gone within this hour, either now _Val._

_Fount._ _Hare._ Now, now, now, good _Val._

_Val._ I had rather march i'th' mouth o'th' Cannon, but adiew, if
she be above ground, go, away to your prayers, away I say, away, she
shall be spoken withall. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Shorthose _with one boot on_, Roger,_and_ Humphrey.

_Rog._ She will go, _Shorthose_.

_Short._ Who can help it _Roger_?

_Raph._ [_within._] Help down with the hangings.

_Rog._ By and by _Raph._ I am making up o'th' trunks here.

_Raph._ _Shorthose_.

_Short._ Well.

_Raph._ Who looks to my Ladys wardrobe? _Humphrey_.

_Hum._ Here.

_Raph._ Down with the boxes in the gallery, and bring away the
Coach cushions.

_Short._ Will it not rain, no conjuring abroad, nor no devices to
stop this journey?

_Rog._ Why go now, why now, why o'th' sudden now? what preparation,
what horses have we ready, what provision laid in i'th' Country?

_Hum._ Not an egge I hope.

_Rog._ No nor one drop of good drink boyes, there's the devil.

_Short._ I heartily pray the malt be musty, and then we must come
up again.

_Hum._ What sayes the Steward?

_Rog._ He's at's wits end, for some four hours since, out of his
haste and providence, he mistook the Millars mangie mare, for his own
nagge.

_Short._ And she may break his neck, and save the journy. Oh
_London_ how I love thee!

_Hum._ I have no boots nor none I'le buy: or if I had, refuse me if
I would venture my ability, before a Cloak-Bag, men are men.

_Short._ For my part, if I be brought, as I know it will be aimed
at, to carry any durty dairy Cream-pot, or any gentle Lady of the
Laundry, Chambring, or wantonness behind my Gelding, with all her
Streamers, Knapsacks, Glasses, Gugawes, as if I were a running flippery,
I'le give 'em leave to cut my girts, and slay me. I'le not be troubled
with their Distibations, at every half miles end, I understand my self,
and am resolved.

_Hum._ To morrow night at _Olivers_! who shall be there boys,
who shall meet the wenches?

_Rog._ The well brew'd stand of Ale, we should have met at!

_Short._ These griefs like to another Tale of _Troy_, would
mollifie the hearts of barbarous people, and Tom Butcher weep,
_Aeneas_ enters, and now the town's lost.

_Raph._ Well whither run you, my Lady is mad.

_Short._ I would she were in Bedlam.

_Raph._ The carts are come, no hands to help to load 'em? the stuff
lies in the hall, the plate. [_Within Widow._] Why knaves there,
where be these idle fellows?

_Short._ Shall I ride with one Boot?

_Wid._ Why where I say?

_Raph._ Away, away, it must be so.

_Short._ O for a tickling storm, to last but ten days. [_Exeunt._




_Actus Tertius. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.


_Luc._ By my troth Mistris I did it for the best.

_Isab._ It may be so, but _Luce_, you have a tongue, a dish of
meat in your mouth, which if it were minced _Luce_, would do a
great deal better.

_Luce._ I protest Mistress.

_Isab._ It will be your own one time or other: _Walter_.

_Walter_ [_within._] Anon forsooth.

_Isab._ Lay my hat ready, my fan and cloak, you are so full of
providence; and _Walter_, tuck up my little box behind the Coach,
and bid my maid make ready, my sweet service to your good Lady Mistress;
and my dog, good let the Coachman carry him.

_Luce._ But hear me.

_Isab._ I am in love sweet _Luce_, and you are so skilfull,
that I must needs undo my self; and hear me, let _Oliver_ pack up
my Glass discreetly, and see my Curles well carried. O sweet
_Luce_, you have a tongue, and open tongues have open you know
what, _Luce._

_Luce._ Pray you be satisfied.

_Isab._ Yes and contented too, before I leave you: there's a
_Roger_, which some call a Butcher, I speak of certainties, I do
not fish _Luce_, nay do not stare, I have a tongue can talk too:
and a Green Chamber _Luce_, a back door opens to a long Gallerie;
there was a night _Luce_, do you perceive, do you perceive me yet?
O do you blush _Luce_? a Friday night I saw your Saint, _Luce_:
for t'other box of Marmalade, all's thine sweet _Roger_, this I heard
and kept too.

_Luce._ E'ne as you are a woman Mistress.

_Isab._ This I allow as good and Physical sometime, these meetings,
and for the cheering of the heart; but _Luce_, to have your own
turn served, and to your friend to be a dog-bolt.

_Luce._ I confess it Mistress.

_Isab._ As you have made my sister jealous of me, and foolishly,
and childishly pursued it, I have found out your haunt, and traced your
purposes; for which mine honour suffers; your best waies must be applied
to bring her back again, and seriously and suddenly, that so I may have
a means to clear my self, and she a fair opinion of me, else you
peevish--

_Luce._ My power and prayers Mistress.

_Isab._ What's the matter?

_Enter_ Shorthose, _and_ Widow.

_Short._ I have been with the Gentleman, he has it, much good may
do him with it.

_Wid._ Come, are you ready? you love so to delay time, the day
grows on.

_Isab._ I have sent for a few trifles, when those are come; And now
I know your reason.

_Wid._ Know your own honour then, about your business, see the
Coach ready presently, I'le tell you more then.

[_Ex._ Luce, _and_ Shorthose.

And understand it well, you must not think your sister so tender eyed as
not to see your follies, alas I know your heart, and must imagine, and
truly too; 'tis not your charitie can coin such sums to give away as you
have done, in that you have no wisdom _Isabel_, no nor modesty,
where nobler uses are at home; I tell you, I am ashamed to find this in
your years, far more in your discretion, none to chuse but things for
pity, none to seal your thoughts on, but one of no abiding, of no name;
nothing to bring you to but this, cold and hunger: A jolly Joynture
sister, you are happy, no mony, no not ten shillings.

_Isab._ You search nearly.

_Wid._ I know it as I know your folly, one that knows not where he
shall eat his next meal, take his rest, unless it be i'th' stocks; what
kindred has he, but a more wanting Brother, or what vertues.

_Isab._ You have had rare intelligence, I see, sister.

_Wid._ Or say the man had vertue, is vertue in this age a full
inheritance? what Joynture can he make you, _Plutarchs Morals_, or
so much penny rent in the small Poets? this is not well, 'tis weak, and
I grieve to know it.

_Isab._ And this you quit the town for?

_Wid._ Is't not time?

_Isab._ You are better read in my affairs than I am, that's all I
have to answer, I'le go with you, and willingly, and what you think most
dangerous, I'le sit laugh at. For sister 'tis not folly but good
discretion governs our main fortunes.

_Wid._ I am glad to hear you say so.

_Isa._ I am for you.

_Enter_ Shorthose, _and_ Humphrey, _with riding rods._

_Hum._ The Devil cannot stay her, she'l on't, eat an egg now, and
then we must away.

_Short._ I am gaul'd already, yet I will pray, may _London_
wayes from henceforth be full of holes, and Coaches crack their wheels,
may zealous Smiths so housel all our Hackneys, that they may feel
compunction in their feet, and tire at _High-gate_, may it rain
above all Almanacks till Carriers sail, and the Kings Fish-monger ride
like _Bike Arion_ upon a Trout to _London_.

_Hum._ At S. _Albanes_, let all the Inns be drunk, not an Host
sober to bid her worship welcom.

_Short._ Not a Fiddle, but all preach't down with Puritans; no meat
but Legs of Beef.

_Hum._ No beds but Wool-Packs.

_Short._ And those so crammed with Warrens of starved Fleas that
bite like Bandogs; let _Mims_ be angry at their S. _Bel-Swagger_,
and we pass in the heat on't and be beaten, beaten abominably, beaten
horse and man, and all my Ladies linnen sprinkled with suds and
dish-water.

_Short._ Not a wheel but out of joynt.

_Enter_ Roger _laugh-ing._

_Hum._ Why dost thou laugh?

_Rog._ There's a Gentleman, and the rarest Gentleman, and makes the
rarest sport.

_Short._ Where, where?

_Rog._ Within here, h'as made the gayest sport with _Tom_ the
Coachman, so tewed him up with Sack that he lies lashing a But of
Malmsie for his Mares.

_Short._ 'Tis very good.

_Rog._ And talks and laughs, and sings the rarest songs, and
_Shorthose_, he has so maul'd the Red Deer pies, made such an alms
i'th' butterie.

_Short._ Better still.

_Enter_ Val. Widow.

_Hum._ My Lady in a rage with the Gentleman?

_Short._ May he anger her into a feather. [_Exeunt._

_Wid._ I pray tell me, who sent you hither? for I imagine it is not
your condition, you look so temperately, and like a Gentleman, to ask me
these milde questions.

_Val._ Do you think I use to walk of errands, gentle Lady, or deal
with women out of dreams from others?

_Wid._ You have not know[n] me sure?

_Val._ Not much.

_Wid._ What reason have you then to be so tender of my credit, you
are no kinsman?

_Val._ If you take it so, the honest office that I came to do you,
is not so heavy but I can return it: now I perceive you are too proud,
not worth my visit.

_Wid._ Pray stay, a little proud.

_Val._ Monstrous proud, I griev'd to hear a woman of your value,
and your abundant parts stung by the people, but now I see 'tis true,
you look upon me as if I were a rude and saucie fellow that borrowed all
my breeding from a dunghil, or such a one, as should now fall and
worship you in hope of pardon: you are cozen'd Lady, I came to prove
opinion a loud liar, to see a woman only great in goodness, and Mistress
of a greater fame than fortune, but--

_Wid._ You are a strange Gentleman, if I were proud now, I should be
monstrous angry, which I am not, and shew the effects of pride; I should
despise you, but you are welcom Sir: To think well of our selves, if we
deserve it, it is a lustre in us, and every good we have, strives to
shew gracious, what use is it else? old age like Seer-trees, is seldom
seen affected, stirs sometimes at rehearsal of such acts as his daring
youth endeavour'd.

_Val._ This is well, and now you speak to the purpose, you please
me, but to be place proud?

_Wid._ If it be our own, why are we set here with distinction else,
degrees, and orders given us? In you men, 'tis held a coolness, if you
lose your right, affronts and loss of honour: streets, and walls, and
upper ends of tables, had they tongues could tell what blood has
followed, and what feud about your ranks; are we so much below you, that
till you have us, are the tops of nature, to be accounted drones without
a difference? you will make us beasts indeed.

_Val._ Nay worse than this too, proud of your cloaths, they swear
a Mercers Lucifer, a tumour tackt together by a Taylour, nay yet worse,
proud of red and white, a varnish that butter-milk can better.

_Wid._ Lord, how little will vex these poor blind people! if my
cloaths be sometimes gay and glorious, does it follow, my mind must be
my Mercers too? or say my beauty please some weak eyes, must it please
them to think, that blows me up, that every hour blows off? this is an
Infants anger.

_Val._ Thus they say too, what though you have a Coach lined
through with velvet, and four fair _Flanders_ mares, why should the
streets be troubled continually with you, till Carmen curse you? can
there be ought in this but pride of shew Lady, and pride of bum-beating,
till the learned lawyers with their fat bags, are thrust against the
bulks till all their causes crack? why should this Lady, and t'other
Lady, and the third sweet Lady, and Madam at _Mile-end_, be daily
visited, and your poorer neighbours, with course napfes neglected,
fashions conferr'd about, pouncings, and paintings, and young mens
bodies read on like Anatomies.

_Wid._ You are very credulous, and somewhat desperate, to deliver
this Sir, to her you know not, but you shall confess me, and find I will
not start; in us all meetings lie open to these lewd reports, and our
thoughts at Church, our very meditations some will swear, which all
should fear to judge, at least uncharitably, are mingled with your
memories, cannot sleep, but this sweet Gentleman swims in our fancies,
that scarlet man of war, and that smooth senior; not dress our heads
without new ambushes, how to surprize that greatness, or that glorie;
our very smiles are subject to constructions; nay Sir, it's come to this
we cannot pish, but 'tis a favour for some fool or other: should we
examine you thus, wer't not possible to take you without Perspectives?

[_Val._] It may be, but these excuse not.

_Wid._ Nor yours force no truth Sir, what deadly tongues you have,
and to those tongues what hearts, and what inventions? O' my conscience,
and 'twere not for sharp justice, you would venture to aim at your own
mothers, and account it glorie to say you had done so: all you think are
counsels, and cannot erre, 'tis we still that shew double, giddy, or
gorg'd with passion; we that build Babels for mens conclusions, we that
scatter, as day does his warm light; our killing curses over Gods
creatures, next to the devils malice: lets intreat your good words.

_Val._ Well, this woman has a brave soul.

_Wid._ Are not we gaily blest then, and much beholding to you for
your substance? you may do what you list, we what beseems us, and
narrowly do that too, and precisely, our names are served in else at
Ordinaries, and belcht abroad in Taverns.

_Val._ O most brave Wench, and able to redeem an age of women.

_Wid._ You are no Whoremasters? Alas, no, Gentlemen, it were an
impudence to think you vicious: you are so holy, handsome Ladies fright
you, you are the cool things of the time, the temperance, meer Emblems
of the Law, and veils of Vertue, you are not daily mending like Dutch
Watches, and plastering like old Walls; they are not Gentlemen, that
with their secret sins increase our Surgeons, and lie in Foraign
Countries, for new sores; Women are all these Vices; you are not
envious, false, covetous, vain-glorious, irreligious, drunken,
revengeful, giddie-eyed like Parrots, eaters of others honours.

_Val._ You are angry.

_Wid._ No by my troth, and yet I could say more too, for when men
make me angry, I am miserable.

_Val._ Sure 'tis a man, she could not bear it thus bravely else, it
may be I am tedious.

_Wid._ Not at all, Sir, I am content at this time you should
trouble me.

_Val._ You are distrustful.

_Wid._ Where I find no truth, Sir.

_Val._ Come, come, you are full of passion.

_Wid._ Some I have, I were too near the nature o' God else.

_Val._ You are monstrous peevish.

_Wid._ Because they are monstrous foolish, and know not how to use
that should try me.

_Val._ I was never answered thus; were you never drunk Lady?

_Wid._ No sure, not drunk, Sir; yet I love good Wine, as I love
health and joy of heart, but temperately, why do you ask that question?

_Val._ For that sin that they most charge you with, is this sin's
servant, they say you are monstrous--

_Wid._ What, Sir, what?

_Pal._ Most strangely.

_Wid._ It has a name sure?

_Pal._ Infinitely lustful, without all bounds, they swear you
kill'd your Husband.

_Wid._ Let us have it all for Heavens sake, 'tis good mirth, Sir.

_Val._ They say you will have four now, and those four stuck in
four quarters, like four winds to cool you: will she not cry nor curse?

_Wid._ On with your story.

_Val._ And that you are forcing out of dispensations with sums of
money to that purpose.

_Wid._ Four Husbands! should not I be blest, Sir, for example?
Lord, what should I do with them? turn a Malt-mill, or Tithe them out
like Town-bulls to my Tenants, you come to make me angry, but you
cannot.

_Val._ I'le make you merry then, you are a brave Woman, and in
despite of envy a right one, go thy wayes, truth thou art as good a
Woman, as any Lord of them all can lay his Leg over, I do not often
commend your Sex.

_Wid._ It seems so, your commendations are so studied for.

_Val._ I came to see you and sift you into Flowr to know your
pureness, and I have found you excellent, I thank you; continue so, and
shew men how to tread, and women how to follow: get an Husband, an
honest man, you are a good woman, and live hedg'd in from scandal, let
him be too an understanding man, and to that stedfast; 'tis pity your
fair Figure should miscarry, and then [you] are fixt: farewel.

_Wid._ Pray stay a little, I love your company now you are so
pleasant, and to my disposition set so even.

_Val._ I can no longer. [_Exit._

_Wid._ As I live a fine fellow, this manly handsome bluntness shews
him honest; what is he, or from whence? bless me, four Husbands! how
prettily he fooled me into Vices, to stir my jealousie, and find my
nature; a proper Gentleman: I am not well o'th' sudden, such a companion
I could live and dye with, his angers are meer mirth.

_Enter_ Isabella.

_Isa._ Come, come, I am ready.

_Wid._ Are you so?

_Isa._ What ails she? the Coach stales, and the people, the day
goes on, I am as ready now as you desire, Sister: fie, who stays now,
why do you sit and pout thus?

_Wid._ Prethee be quiet, I am not well.

_Isa._ For Heav'us sake let's not ride staggering in the night,
come, pray you take some Sweet-meats in your pocket, if your stomach--

_Wid._ I have a little business.

_Isab._ To abuse me, you shall not find new dreams, and new
suspicions, to horse withal.

_Wid._ Lord who made you a Commander! hey ho, my heart.

_Isab._ Is the wind come thither, and Coward like, do you lose your
Colours to 'em? are you sick o'th' _Valentine_? sweet Sister, come
let's away, the Country will so quicken you, and we shall live so
sweetly: _Luce_, my Ladies Cloak; nay, you have put me into such a
gog of going, I would not stay for all the world; if I live here, you
have so knock'd this love into my head, that I shall love any body, and
I find my body, I know not how, so apt--pray let's be gone, Sister,
I stand on thorns.

_Wid._ I prethee _Isabella_, i'faith I have some business that
concerns me, I will suspect no more, here, wear that for me, and I'le
pay the hundred pound you owe your Taylor.

_Enter_ Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph.

_Isab._ I had rather go, but--

_Wid._ Come walk in with me, we'll go to Cards, unsaddle the
Horses.

_Short._ A Jubile, a Jubile, we stay, Boys.

_Enter_ Uncle, Lan. Foun. Bella. Harebrain _following_.

_Unc._ Are they behind us?

_Lan._ Close, close, speak aloud, Sir.

_Unc._ I am glad my Nephew has so much discretion, at length to
find his wants: did she entertain him?

_Lance._ Most bravely, nobly, and gave him such a welcome!

_Unc._ For his own sake do you think?

_Lance._ Most certain, Sir, and in his own cause bestir'd himself
too, and wan such liking from her, she dotes on him, h'as the command of
all the house already.

_Unc._ He deals not well with his friends.

_Lance._ Let him deal on, and be his own friend, he has most need
of her.

_Unc._ I wonder they would put him--

_Lan._ You are in the right on't, a man that must raise himself, I
knew he would couzen 'em, and glad I am he has: he watched occasion, and
found it i'th' nick.

_Unc._ He has deceived me.

_Lan._ I told you howsoever he wheel'd about, he would charge home
at length: how I could laugh now, to think of these tame fools!

_Unc._ 'Twas not well done, because they trusted him, yet.

_Bel._ Hark you Gentlemen.

_Unc._ We are upon a business, pray excuse us, they have it home.

_Lane._ Come let it work good on Gentlemen.

[_Exeunt_ Uncle, Lance.

_Font._ 'Tis true, he is a knave, I ever thought it.

_Hare._ And we are fools, tame fools.

_Bell._ Come let's go seek him, he shall be hang'd before he colt
us basely. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Isabella, Luce.

_Isab._ Art sure she loves him?

_Luce._ Am I sure I live? and I have clapt on such a commendation
on your revenge.

_Isab._ Faith, he is a pretty Gentleman.

_Luce._ Handsome enough, and that her eye has found out.

_Isa._ He talks the best they say, and yet the maddest.

_Luce._ H'as the right way.

_Isa._ How is she?

_Luce._ Bears it well, as if she cared not, but a man may see with
half an eye through all her forced behaviour, and find who is her
_Valentine_.

_Isa._ Come let's go see her, I long to prosecute.

_Luce._ By no means Mistress, let her take better hold first.

_Isab._ I could burst now. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Valentine, Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain.

_Val._ Upbraid me with your benefits, you Pilchers, you shotten,
sold, slight fellows? was't not I that undertook you first from empty
barrels, and brought those barking mouths that gaped like bung-holes to
utter sence? where got you understanding? who taught you manners and apt
carriage to rank your selves? who filled you in fit Taverns? were those
born with your worships when you came hither? what brought you from the
Universities of moment matter to allow you, besides your small base
sentences?

_Bell._ 'Tis well, Sir.

_Val._ Long Cloaks with two-hand-rapiers, boot-hoses with
penny-poses, and twenty fools opinions, who looked on you but piping
rites that knew you would be prizing, and Prentices in Paul's
Church-yard, that scented your want of _Britains_ Books.

_Enter_ Widow, Luce, Hairbrain.

_Font._ This cannot save you.

_Val._ Taunt my integrity you Whelps?

_Bell._ You may talk the stock we gave you out, but see no further.

_Hair._ You tempt our patience, we have found you out, and what
your trust comes to, ye're well feathered, thank us, and think now of an
honest course, 'tis time; men now begin to look, and narrowly into your
tumbling tricks, they are stale.

_Wid._ Is not that he?

_Luce._ 'Tis he.

_Wid._ Be still and mark him.

_Val._ How miserable will these poor wretches be when I forsake
'em! but things have their necessities, I am sorry, to what a vomit must
they turn again, now to their own dear Dunghil breeding; never hope
after I cast you off, you men of _Motley_, you most undone things
below pity, any that has a soul and six-pence dares relieve you, my name
shall bar that blessing, there's your Cloak, Sir, keep it close to you,
it may yet preserve you a fortnight longer from the fool; your Hat, pray
be covered, and there's the Sattin that your Worship sent me, will serve
you at a Sizes yet.

_Fount._ Nay, faith Sir, you may e'ne rub these out now.

_Val._ No such relique, nor the least rag of such a sordid weakness
shall keep me warm, these Breeches are mine own, purchased, and paid
for, without your compassion, a Christian Breeches founded in
Black-Friers, and so I'le maintain 'em.

_Hare._ So they seem, Sir.

_Val._ Only the thirteen shillings in these Breeches, and the odd
groat, I take it, shall be yours, Sir, a mark to know a Knave by, pray
preserve it, do not displease more, but take it presently, now help me
off with my Boots.

_Hare._ We are no Grooms, Sir.

_Val._ For once you shall be, do it willingly, or by this hand I'le
make you.

_Bell._ To our own, Sir, we may apply our hands.

_Val._ There's your Hangers, you may deserve a strong pair, and a
girdle will hold you without buckles; now I am perfect, and now the
proudest of your worships tell me I am beholding to you.

_Fount._ No such matter.

_Val._ And take heed how you pity me, 'tis dangerous, exceeding
dangerous, to prate of pity; which are the poorer? you are now puppies;
I without you, or you without my knowledge? be Rogues, and so be gone,
be Rogues and reply not, for if you do--

_Bell._ Only thus much, and then we'll leave you: the Air is far
sharper than our anger, Sir, and these you may reserve to rail in
warmer.

_Hare._ Pray have a care, Sir, of your health. [_Ex. Lovers._

_Val._ Yes Hog-hounds, more than you can have of your wits; 'tis
cold, and I am very sensible, extreamly cold too, yet I will not off,
till I have shamed these Rascals; I have indured as ill heats as
another, and every way if one could perish my body, you'll bear the
blame on't; I am colder here, not a poor penny left.

_Enter_ Uncle _with a Bag_.

_Unc._ 'Thas taken rarely, and now he's flead he will be ruled.

_Lan._ To him, tew him, abuse him, and nip him close.

_Unc._. Why how now, Cousin, sunning your self this weather?

_Val._ As you see, Sir, in a hot fit, I thank my friends.

_Unc._ But Cousin, where are your Cloaths man? those are no
inheritance, your scruple may compound with those I take it, this is no
fashion, Cousin.

_Val._ Not much followed, I must confess; yet Uncle I determine to
try what may be done next Term.

_Lance._ How came you thus, Sir, for you are strangely moved.

_Val._ Rags, toys and trifles, fit only for those fools that first
possessed 'em, a[n]d to those Knaves they are rendred. Freemen, Uncle,
ought to appear like innocents, old _Adam_, a fair Fig-leaf sufficient.

_Unc._ Take me with you, were these your friends, that clear'd you
thus?

_Val._ Hang friends, and even reckonings that make friends.

_Unc._ I thought till now, there had been no such living, no such
purchase, for all the rest is labour, as a list of honourable friends;
do such men as you, Sir, in lieu of all your understandings, travels,
and those great gifts of nature, aim at no more than casting off your
Coats? I am strangely cozen'd.

_Lance._ Should not the Town shake at the cold you feel now, and
all the Gentry suffer interdiction, no more sense spoken, all things
_Goth_ and _Vandal_, till you be summed again, Velvets and Scarlets,
anointed with gold Lace, and Cloth of silver turned into _Spanish_
Cottens for a penance, wits blasted with your Bulls and Taverns withered,
as though the Term lay at _St. Albans_?

_Val._ Gentlemen, you have spoken long and level, I beseech you
take breath a while and hear me; you imagine now, by the twirling of
your strings, that I am at the last, as also that my friends are flown
like Swallows after Summer.

_Unc._ Yes, Sir.

_Val._ And that I have no more in this poor Pannier, to raise me up
again above your rents, Uncle.

_Unc._ All this I do believe.

_Val._ You have no mind to better me.

_Unc._ Yes, Cousin, and to that end I come, and once more offer you
all that my power is master of.

_Val._ A match then, lay me down fifty pounds there.

_Unc._ There it is, Sir.

_Val._ And on it write, that you are pleased to give this, as due
unto my merit, without caution of land redeeming, tedious thanks, or
thrift hereafter to be hoped for.

_Unc._ How? [Luce _lays a Suit and Letter at the door._

_Val._ Without daring, when you are drunk, to relish of revilings,
to which you are prone in Sack, Uncle.

_Unc._ I thank you, Sir.

_Lance._ Come, come away, let the young wanton play a while, away I
say, Sir, let him go forward with his naked fashion, he will seek you
too morrow; goodly weather, sultry hot, sultry, how I sweat!

_Unc._ Farewel, Sir. [_Exeunt_ Uncle _and_ Lance.

_Val._ Would I sweat too, I am monstrous vext, and cold too; and
these are but thin pumps to walk the streets in; clothes I must get,
this fashion will not fadge with me; besides, 'tis an ill winter
wear,--What art thou? yes, they are clothes, and rich ones, some fool
has left 'em: and if I should utter--what's this paper here? Let these
be only worn by the most noble and deserving Gentleman _Valentine,_--dropt
out o'th' clouds! I think they are full of gold too; well, I'le leave
my wonder, and be warm again, in the next house I'le shift. [_Exit._




_Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Francisco, Uncle, _and_ Lance.


_Fran._ Why do you deal thus with him? 'tis unnobly.

_Unc._ Peace Cousin peace, you are too tender of him, he must be
dealt thus with, he must be cured thus, the violence of his disease
_Francisco,_ must not be jested with, 'tis grown infectious, and
now strong Corrosives must cure him.

_Lance._ H'as had a stinger, has eaten off his clothes, the next
his skin comes.

_Unc._ And let it search him to the bones, 'tis better, 'twill make
him feel it.

_Lance._ Where be his noble friends now? will his fantastical
opinions cloath him, or the learned Art of having nothing feed him?

_Unc._ It must needs greedily, for all his friends have flung him
off, he is naked, and where to skin himself again, if I know, or can
devise how he should get himself lodging, his Spirit must be bowed, and
now we have him, have him at that we hoped for.

_Lance._ Next time we meet him cracking of nuts, with half a cloak
about him, for all means are cut off, or borrowing sixpence, to shew his
bounty in the pottage Ordinary?

_Fran._ Which way went he?

_Lance._ Pox, why should you ask after him, you have been trimm'd
already, let him take his fortune, [he] spun it out himself, Sir,
there's no pitie.

_Unc._ Besides some good to you now, from this miserie.

_Fran._ I rise upon his ruines! fie, fie, Uncle, fie honest
_Lance._ Those Gentlemen were base people, that could so soon take
fire to his destruction.

_Unc._ You are a fool, you are a fool, a young man.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Morrow Uncle, morrow _Frank_, sweet _Frank_, and
how, and how d'ee, think now, how shew matters? morrow Bandog.

_Unc._ How?

_Fran._ Is this man naked, forsaken of his friends?

_Val._ Th'art handsom, _Frank_, a pretty Gentleman, i'faith
thou lookest well, and yet here may be those that look as handsom.

_Lance._ Sure he can conjure, and has the Devil for his Tailor.

_Unc._ New and rich! 'tis most impossible he should recover.

_Lan._ Give him this luck, and fling him into the Sea.

_Unc._ 'Tis not he, imagination cannot work this miracle.

_Val._ Yes, yes, 'tis he, I will assure you Uncle, the very he, the
he your wisdom plaid withall, I thank you for't, neighed at his
nakednesse, and made his cold and poverty your pastime; you see I live,
and the best can do no more Uncle, and though I have no state, I keep
the streets still, and take my pleasure in the Town, like a poor
Gentleman, wear clothes to keep me warm, poor things they serve me, can
make a shew too if I list, yes uncle, and ring a peal in my pockets,
ding dong, uncle, these are mad foolish wayes, but who can help 'em?

_Unc._ I am amazed.

_Lan._ I'le sell my Copyhold, for since there are such excellent
new nothings, why should I labour? is there no Fairy haunts him, no Rat,
nor no old woman?

_Unc._ You are _Valentine_.

_Val._ I think so, I cannot tell, I have been call'd so, and some
say Christened, why do you wonder at me, and swell, as if you had met a
Sergeant fasting, did you ever know desert want? y'are fools, a little
stoop there may be to allay him, he would grow too rank else, a small
eclipse to shadow him, but out he must break, glowingly again, and with
a great lustre, look you uncle, motion and majesty.

_Unc._ I am confounded.

_Fran._ I am of his faith.

_Val._ Walk by his careless kinsman, and turn again and walk, and
look thus Uncle, taking some one by the hand, he loves best, leave them
to the mercy of the hog-market, come _Frank_, Fortune is now my
friend, let me instruct thee.

_Fran._ Good morrow Uncle, I must needs go with him.

_Val._ Flay me, and turn me out where none inhabits, within two
hours I shall be thus again, now wonder on, and laugh at your own
ignorance. [_Ex._ Val. _and_ Franc.

_Unc._ I do believe him.

_Lan._ So do I, and heartily upon my conscience, burie him stark
naked, he would rise again, within two hours imbroidered: sow
mustard-seeds, and they cannot come up so thick as his new sattens do,
and clothes of silver, there's no striving.

_Unc._ Let him play a while then, and let's search out what hand:--

_Lan._ I, there the game lies. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, _and_ Harebrain.

_Foun._ Come, let's speak for our selves, we have lodg'd him sure
enough, his nakedness dare no[t] peep out to cross us.

_Bel._ We can have no admittance.

_Hare._ Let's in boldly, and use our best arts, who she deigns to
favour, we are all content.

_Foun._ Much good may do her with him, no civil wars.

_Bel._ By no means, now do I wonder in what old tod Ivie he lies
whistling for means, nor clothes he hath none, nor none will trust him,
we have made that side sure, teach him a new wooing.

_Hare._ Say it is his Uncles spite.

_Foun._ It is all one Gentlemen, 'thas rid us of a fair
incumbrance, and makes us look about to our own fortunes. Who are these?

_Enter_ Isabel _and_ Luce.

_Isab._ Not see this man yet! well, I shall be wiser: but
_Luce_, didst ever know a woman melt so? she is finely hurt to
hunt.

_Luce._ Peace, the three Suitors.

_Isab._ I could so titter now and laugh, I was lost _Luce_,
and I must love, I know not what; O _Cupid_, what pretty gins thou
hast to halter Woodcocks! and we must into the Country in all haste,
_Luce_.

_Luce._ For Heaven's sake, Mistris.

_Isab._ Nay, I have done, I must laugh though; but Scholar, I shall
teach you.

_Foun._ 'Tis her sister.

_Bel._ Save you Ladies.

_Lab._ Fair met Gentlemen, you are visiting my sister, I assure my
self.

_Hare._ We would fain bless our eyes.

_Isab._ Behold and welcom, you would see her?

_Foun._ 'Tis our business.

_Isab._ You shall see her, and you shall talk with her.

_Luce._ She will not see 'em, nor spend a word.

_Isab._ I'le make her fr[e]t a thousand, nay now I have found the
s[c]ab, I will so scratch her.

_Luce._ She cannot endure 'em.

_Isab._ She loves 'em but too dearly, come follow me, I'le bring
you toth' party Gentlemen, then make your own conditions.

_Luce._ She is sick you know.

_Isab._ I'le make her well, or kill her, and take no idle answer,
you are fools then, nor stand off for her state, she'I scorn you all
then, but urge her still, and though she fret, still follow her, a widow
must be won so.

_Bel._ She speaks bravely.

_Isab._ I would fain have a Brother in law, I love mens company,
and if she call for dinner to avoid you, be sure you stay; follow her
into her chamber, if she retire to Pray, pray with her, and boldly, like
honest lovers.

_Luce._ This will kill her.

_Foun._ You have shewed us one way, do but lead the tother.

_Isab._ I know you stand o'thorns, come I'le dispatch you.

_Luce._ If you live after this.

_Isab._ I have lost my aim.

_Enter_ Valentine, _and_ Francisco.

_Fran._ Did you not see 'em since.

_Val._ No hang 'em, hang 'em.

_Fran._ Nor will you not be seen by 'em?

_Val._ Let 'em alone _Frank_, I'le make 'em their own justice,
and a jerker.

_Fran._ Such base discourteous Dog-whelps.

_Val._ I shall dog 'em, and double dog 'em, ere I have done.

_Fran._ Will you go with me, for I would fain find out this piece
of bountie, it was the Widows man, that I am certain of.

_Val._ To what end would you go?

_Fran._ To give thanks.

_Val._ Hang giving thanks, hast not thou parts deserve it? it
includes a further will to be beholding, beggars can do no more at door,
if you will go, there lies your way.

_Fran._ I hope you will go.

_Val._ No not in ceremony, and to a woman, with mine own Father,
were he living _Frank_; I would toth' Court with Bears first, if it
be that wench, I think it is, for t'other's wiser, I would not be so
lookt upon, and laught at, so made a ladder for her wit, to climb upon,
for 'tis the tartest tit in Christendom, I know her well _Frank_,
and have buckled with her, so lickt, and stroaked, flear'd upon, and
flouted, and shown to Chambermaids, like a strange beast, she had
purchased with her penny.

_Fran._ You are a strange man, but do you think it was a woman?

_Val._ There's no doubt on't, who can be there to do it else?
besides the manner of the circumstances.

_Fran._ Then such courtesies, who ever does 'em sir, saving your
own wisdom, must be more lookt into, and better answered, than with
deserving slights, or what we ought to have conferred upon us, men may
starve else, means are not gotten now with crying out I am a gallant
fellow, a good Souldier, a man of learning, or fit to be employed,
immediate blessings cease like miracles, and we must grow by second
means, I pray go with me, even as you love me Sir.

_Val._ I will come to thee, but _Frank_, I will not stay to
hear your fopperies, dispatch those e're I come.

_Fran._ You will not fail me.

_Val._ Some two hours hence expect me.

_Fran._ I thank you, and will look for you. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Widow, Shorthose, _and_ Roger.

_Wid._ Who let in these puppies? you blind rascals, you drunken
Knaves several.

_Short._ Yes forsooth, I'le let 'em in presently,--Gentlemen.

_Wid._ Sprecious, you blown Pudding, bawling Rogue.

_Short._ I bawl as loud as I can, would you have me fetch 'em upon
my back.

_Wid._ Get 'em out rascal, out with 'em, out, I sweat to have 'em
near me.

_Short._ I should sweat more to carry 'em out.

_Roger._ They are Gentlemen Madam.

_Short._ Shall we get 'em into th' butterie, and make'em drunk?

_Wid._ Do any thing, so I be eased.

_Enter_ Isabel, Fount, Bella, Hare.

_Isab._ Now to her Sir, fear nothing.

_Rog._ Slip aside boy, I know she loves 'em, howsoever she carries
it, and has invited 'em, my young Mistress told me so.

_Short._ Away to tables then. [_Exeunt._

_Isab._ I shall burst with the sport on't.

_Fount._ You are too curious Madam, too full of preparation, we
expect it not.

_Bella._ Me thinks the house is handsom, every place decent, what
need you be vext?

_Hare._ We are no strangers.

_Fount._ What though we come e're you expected us, do not we know
your entertainments Madam are free, and full at all times?

_Wid._ You are merry, Gentlemen.

_Bel._ We come to be merry Madam, and very merry, men love to laugh
heartily, and now and then Lady a little of our old plea.

_Wid._ I am busie, and very busie too, will none deliver me.

_Hare._ There is a time for all, you may be busie, but when your
friends come, you have as much power Madam.

_Wid._ This is a tedious torment.

_Foun._ How hansomly this little piece of anger shews upon her!
well Madam well, you know not how to grace your self.

_Bel._ Nay every thing she does breeds a new sweetness.

_Wid._ I must go up, I must go up, I have a business waits upon me,
some wine for the Gentlemen.

_Hare._ Nay, we'l go with you, we never saw your chambers yet.

_Isab._ Hold there boyes.

_Wid._ Say I go to my prayers?

_Foun._ We'l pray with you, and help your meditations.

_Wid._ This is boysterous, or say I go to sleep, will you go to
sleep with me?

_Bel._ So suddenly before meat will be dangerous, we know your
dinner's ready Lady, you will not sleep.

_Wid._ Give me my Coach, I will take the air.

_Hare._ We'l wait on you, and then your meat after a quickned
stomach.

_Wid._ Let it alone, and call my Steward to me, and bid him bring
his reckonings into the Orchard, these unmannerly rude puppies--
[_Exit Widow._

_Foun._ We'l walk after you and view the pleasure of the place.

_Isab._ Let her not rest, for if you give her breath, she'l scorn
and flout you, seem how she will, this is the way to win her, be bold
and prosper.

_Bel._ Nay if we do not tire her.--
                                                           [_Exeunt._

_Isab._ I'le teach you to worm me, good Lady sister, and peep into
my privacies to suspect me, I'le torture you, with that you hate, most
daintily, and when I have done that, laugh at that you love most.

_Enter_ Luce.

_Luce._ What have you done, she chafes and fumes outragiously, and
still they persecute her.

_Isab._ Long may they do so, I'le teach her to declaim against my
pities, why is she not gone out o'th' town, but gives occasion for men
to run mad after her?

_Luc._ I shall be hanged.

_Isab._ This in me had been high treason, three at a time, and
private in her Orchard! I hope she'l cast her reckonings right now.

_Enter_ Widow.

_Wid._ Well, I shall find who brought 'em.

_Isab._ Ha, ha, ha.

_Wid._ Why do you laugh sister? I fear me 'tis your trick, 'twas
neatly done of you, and well becomes your pleasure.

_Isab._ What have you done with 'em?

_Wid._ Lockt 'em i'th' Orchard, there I'le make 'em dance and caper
too, before they get their liberty, unmannerly rude puppies.

_Isab._ They are somewhat saucy, but yet I'le let 'em out, and once
more sound 'em, why were they not beaten out?

_Wid._ I was about it, but because they came as suiters.

_Isab._ Why did you not answer 'em?

_Wid._ They are so impudent they will receive none: More yet! how
came these in?

_Enter_ Francisco _and_ Lance.

_Lan._ At the door, Madam.

_Isab._ It is that face.

_Luce._ This is the Gentleman.

_Wid._ She sent the money to?

_Luce._ The same.

_Isab._ Fie leave you, they have some business.

_Wid._ Nay, you shall stay, Sister, they are strangers both to me;
how her face alters!

_Isab._ I am sorry he comes now.

_Wid._ I am glad he is here now though. Who would you speak with,
Gentlemen?

_Lan._ You Lady, or your fair Sister there, here's a Gentleman that
has received a benefit.

_Wid._ From whom, Sir?

_Lan._ From one of you, as he supposes, Madam, your man delivered
it.

_Wid._ I pray go forward.

_Lan._ And of so great a goodness, that he dares not, without the
tender of his thanks and service, pass by the house.

_Wid._ Which is the Gentleman?

_Lan._ This, Madam.

_Wid._ What's your name, Sir?

_Fran._ They that know me call me _Francisco_, Lady, one not
so proud to scorn so timely a benefit, nor so wretched to hide a
gratitude.

_Wid._ It is well bestowed then.

_Fran._ Your fair self, or your Sister as it seems, for what desert
I dare not know, unless a handsome subject for your charities, or
aptness in your noble will to do it, have showred upon my wants a timely
bounty, which makes me rich in thanks, my best inheritance.

_Wid._ I am sorry 'twas not mine, this is the Gentlewoman, fie, do
not blush, go roundly to the matter, the man is a pretty man.

_Isab._ You have three fine ones.

_Fran._ Then to you, dear Lady?

_Isab._ I pray no more, Sir, if I may perswade you, your only
aptness to do this is recompence, and more than I expected.

_Fran._ But good Lady.

_Isab._ And for me further to be acquainted with it besides the
imputation of vain glory, were greedy thankings of my self, I did it not
to be more affected to; I did it, and if it happened where I thought it
fitted, I have my end; more to enquire is curious in either of us, more
than that suspicious.

_Fran._ But gentle Lady, 'twill be necessary.

_Isab._ About the right way nothing, do not fright it, being to
pious use and tender sighted, with the blown face of Complements, it
blasts it; had you not come at all, but thought thanks, it had been too
much, 'twas not to see your person.

_Wid._ A brave dissembling Rogue, and how she carries it!

_Isa._ Though I believe few handsomer; or hear you, though I affect
a good tongue well; or try you, though my years desire a friend, that I
relieved you.

_Wid._ A plaguie cunning quean.

_Isab._ For so I carried it, my end's too glorious in mine eyes,
and bettered the goodness I propounded with opinion.

_Wid._ Fear her not, Sir.

_Isa._ You cannot catch me, Sister.

_Fran._ Will you both teach, and tie my tongue up Lady?

_Isa._ Let it suffice you have it, it was never mine, whilest good
men wanted it.

_Lan._ This is a Saint sure.

_Isa._ And if you be not such a one, restore it.

_Fran._ To commend my self, were more officious than you think my
thanks are, to doubt I may be worth your gift a treason, both to mine
own good and understanding, I know my mind clear, and though modesty
tells me, he that intreats intrudes; yet I must think something, and of
some season, met with your better taste, this had not been else.

_Wid._ What ward for that, wench?

_Isa._ Alas, it never touched me.

_Fran._ Well, gentle Lady, yours is the first money I ever took
upon a forced ill manners.

_Isa._ The last of me, if ever you use other.

_Fran._ How may I do, and your way to be thought a grateful taker?

_Isa._ Spend it, and say nothing, your modesty may deserve more.

_Wid._ O Sister will you bar thankfulness?

_Isa._ Dogs dance for meat, would ye have men do worse? for they
can speak, cry out like Wood-mongers, good deeds by the hundreds, I did
it that my best friend should not know it, wine and vain glory does as
much as I else, if you will force my merit, against my meaning, use it
in well bestowing it, in shewing it came to be a benefit, and was so;
and not examining a Woman did it, or to what end, in not believing
sometimes your self, when drink and stirring conversation may ripen
strange perswasions.

_Fran._ Gentle Lady, I were a base receiver of a courtesie, and you
a worse disposer, were my nature unfurnished of these fore-sights.
Ladies honours were ever in my thoughts, unspotted Crimes, their good
deeds holy Temples, where the incense burns not; to common eyes your
fears are vertuous, and so I shall preserve 'em.

_Isa._ Keep but this way, and from this place to tell me so, you
have paid me; and so I wish you see all fortune. [_Exit._

_Wid._ Fear not, the Woman will be thanked, I do not doubt it. Are
you so crafty, carry it so precisely? this is to wake my fears, or to
abuse me, I shall look narrowly: despair not Gentlemen, there is an hour
to catch a Woman in, if you be wise, so, I must leave you too; Now will
I go laugh at my Suitors. [_Exit._

_Lan._ Sir, what courage?

_Fran._ This Woman is a founder, and cites Statutes to all her
benefits.

_Lan._ I never knew yet, so few years and so cunning, yet believe
me she has an itch, but how to make her confess it, for it is a crafty
Tit, and plays about you, will not bite home, she would fain, but she
dares not; carry your self but so discreetly, Sir, that want or
wantonness seem not to search you, and you shall see her open.

_Fran._ I do love her, and were I rich, would give two thousand
pound to wed her wit but one hour, oh 'tis a Dragon, and such a spritely
way of pleasure, ha _Lance_.

_Lan._ Your ha _Lance_ broken once, you would cry, ho, ho,
_Lance_.

_Fran._ Some leaden landed Rogue will have this wench now, when
all's done, some such youth will carry her, and wear her, greasie out
like stuff, some Dunce that knows no more but Markets, and admires
nothing but a long charge at Sizes: O the fortunes!

_Enter_ Isabel _and_ Luce.

_Lan._ Comfort your self.

_Luce._ They are here yet, and alone too, boldly upon't; nay,
Mistress, I still told you, how 'twould find your trust, this 'tis to
venture your charity upon a boy.

_Lan._ Now, what's the matter? stand fast, and like your self.

_Isa._ Prethee no more Wench.

_Luce._ What was his want to you?

_Isa._ 'Tis true.

_Luce._ Or misery, or say he had been i'th' Cage, was there no
mercy to look abroad but yours?

_Isa._ I am paid for fooling.

_Lu._ Must every slight companion that can purchase a shew of
poverty and beggerly planet fall under your compassion?

_Lane._ Here's a new matter.

_Luce._ Nay, you are served but too well, here he staies yet, yet
as I live.

_Fran._ How her face alters on me!

_Luce._ Out of a confidence I hope.

_Isab._ I am glad on't.

_Fran._ How do you gentle Lady?

_Isab._ Much ashamed Sir, (but first stand further off me, y'are
infectious) to find such vanitie, nay almost impudence, where I believ'd
a worth: is this your thanks, the gratitude you were so mad to make me,
your trim counsel Gentlemen?

_Lane._ What, Lady?

_Isab._ Take your device again, it will not serve Sir, the woman
will not bite, you are finely cozened, drop it no more for shame.

_Luce._ Do you think you are here Sir amongst your wast-coateers,
your base wenches that scratch at such occasions? you are deluded: This
is a Gentlewoman of a noble house, born to a better fame than you can
build her, and eyes above your pitch.

_Fran._ I do acknowledge--

_Isab._ Then I beseech you Sir, what could 'see, (speak boldly, and
speak truly, shame the Devil,) in my behaviour of such easiness that you
durst venture to do this?

_Fran._ You amaze me, this Ring is none of mine, nor did I drop it.

_Luce._ I saw you drop it, Sir.

_Isab._ I took it up too, still looking when your modesty should
miss it, why, what a childish part was this?

_Fran._ I vow.

_Isab._ Vow me no vowes, he that dares do this, has bred himself to
boldness, to forswear too; there take your gew-gaw, you are too much
pampered, and I repent my part, as you grow older grow wiser if you can,
and so farewel Sir.

[_Exeunt_ Isabella, _and_ Luce.

_Lan._ Grow wiser if you can? she has put it to you, 'tis a rich
Ring, did you drop it?

_Fran._ Never, ne're saw it afore, _Lance_.

_Lan._ Thereby hangs a tail then: what slight she makes to catch
her self! look up Sir, you cannot lose her if you would, how daintily
she flies upon the Lure, and cunningly she makes her stops! whistle and
she'l come to you.

_Fran._ I would I were so happy.

_Lan._ Maids are Clocks, the greatest Wheel they show, goes slowest
to us, and make's hang on tedious hopes; the lesser, which are
concealed, being often oyl'd with wishes, flee like desires, and never
leave that motion, till the tongue strikes; she is flesh, blood and
marrow, young as her purpose, and soft as pity; no Monument to worship,
but a mould to make men in, a neat one, and I know how e're she appears
now, which is near enough, you are stark blind if you hit not soon at
night; she would venture forty pounds more but to feel a Flea in your
shape bite her: drop no more Rings forsooth, this was the prettiest
thing to know her heart by.

_Fran._ Thou putst me in much comfort.

_Lan._ Put your self in good comfort, if she do not point you out
the way, drop no more Rings, she'l drop her self into you.

_Fran._ I wonder my Brother comes not.

_Lan._ Let him alone, and feed your self on your own fortunes; come
be frolick, and let's be monstrous wise and full of counsel, drop no
more Rings. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Widow, Fountain, Bellamore, Harebrain.

_Wid._ If you will needs be foolish you must be used so: who sent
for you? who entertained you Gentlemen? who bid you welcom hither? you
came crowding, and impudently bold; press on my patience, as if I kept a
house for all Companions, and of all sorts: will 'have your wills, will
vex me and force my liking from you I ne're ow'd you?

_Fount._ For all this we will dine with you.

_Bel._ And for all this will have a better answer from you.

_Wid._ You shall never, neither have an answer nor dinner, unless
you use me with a more staid respect, and stay your time too.

_Enter_ Isabella, Shorthose, Roger, Humphrey, Ralph, _with dishes
of meat_.

_Isab._ Forward with the meat now.

_Rog._ Come Gentlemen, march fairly.

_Short._ _Roger_, you are a weak Serving-man, your white
broath runs from you; fie, how I sweat under this Pile of Beef; an
Elephant can do more! Oh for such a back now, and in these times, what
might a man arrive at! Goose, grase you up, and Woodcock march behinde
thee, I am almost foundred.

_Wid._ Who bid you bring the meat yet? away you knaves, I will not
dine these two hours: how am I vext and chafed! go carry it back and
tell the Cook, he's an arrant Rascal, to send before I called.

_Short._ Face about Gentlemen, beat a mournfull march then, and
give some supporters, or else I perish--
                                                  [_Exeunt_ Servants.

_Isab._ It does me much good to see her chafe thus.

_Hare._ We can stay Madam, and will stay and dwell here, 'tis good
Air.

_Fount._ I know you have beds enough, and meat you never want.

_Wid._ You want a little.

_Bel._ We dare to pretend no. Since you are churlish, we'l give you
Physick, you must purge this anger, it burns you and decays you.

_Wid._ If I had you out once, I would be at the charge of a
portcullis for you.

_Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Good morrow noble Lady.

_Wid._ Good morrow Sir. How sweetly now he looks, and how full
manly! what slaves were these to use him so!

_Val._ I come to look a young man I call Brother.

_Wid._ Such a one was here Sir, as I remember your own Brother, but
gone almost an hour agoe.

_Val._ Good ee'n then.

_Wid._ You must not so soon Sir, here be some Gentlemen, it may be
you are acquainted with 'em.

_Hare._ Will nothing make him miserable?

_Fount._ How glorious!

_Bel._ It is the very he, does it rain fortunes, or has he a
familiar?

_Hare._ How doggedly he looks too?

_Fount._ I am beyond my faith, pray let's be going.

_Val._ Where are these Gentlemen?

_Wid._ Here.

_Val._ Yes I know 'em, and will be more familiar.

_Bel._ Morrow Madam.

_Wid._ Nay stay and dine.

_Val._ You shall stay till I talk with you, and not dine neither,
but fastingly my fury, you think you have undone me, think so still, and
swallow that belief, till you be company for Court-hand Clarks, and
starved Atturnies, till you break in at playes like Prentices for three
a groat, and crack Nuts with the Scholars in peny Rooms again, and fight
for Apples, till you return to what I found you, people betrai'd into
the hands of Fencers, Challengers, Tooth-drawers Bills, and tedious
Proclamations in Meal-markets, with throngings to see Cutpurses: stir
not, but hear, and mark, I'le cut your throats else, till Water works,
and rumours of New Rivers rid you again and run you into questions who
built Thames, till you run mad for Lotteries, and stand there with your
Tables to glean the golden Sentences, and cite 'em secre[t]ly to
Servingmen for sound Essayes, till Taverns allow you but a Towel room to
Tipple Wine in, that the Bell hath gone for twice, and Glasses that look
like broken promises, tied up with wicker protestations, English Tobacco
with half Pipes, nor in half a year once burnt, and Bisket that Bawds
have rubb'd their gums upon like Corals to bring the mark again, tell
these hour Rascals so, this most fatal hour will come again, think I sit
down the looser.

_Wid._ Will you stay Gentlemen, a piece of Beef and a cold Capon,
that's all, you know you are welcom.

_Hum._ That was cast to abuse us.

_Bel._ Steal off, the Devil is in his anger.

_Wid._ Nay I am sure you will not leave me so discourteously, now I
have provided for you.

_Val._ What do you here? why do ye vex a woman of her goodness, her
state and worth? can you bring a fair certificate that you deserve to be
her footmen? husbands, you puppies? husbands for Whores and Bawds, away
you wind suckers; do not look big, nor prate, nor stay, nor grumble and
when you are gone, seem to laugh at my fury, and slight this Lady, I
shall hear, and know this: and though I am not bound to fight for women,
as far they are good I dare preserve 'em: be not too bold, for if you
be, I'le swinge you monstrously without all pity, your honours now goe,
avoid me mainly. [_Exeunt._

_Wid._ Well Sir, you have delivered me, I thank you, and with your
nobleness prevented danger, their tongues might utter, we'll all go and
eat Sir.

_Vol._ No, no, I dare not trust my self with women, go to your
meat, eat little, take less ease, and tie your body to a daily labour,
you may live honestly, and so I thank you. [_Exit._

_Wid._ Well go thy ways, thou art a noble fellow, and some means I
must work to have thee know it. [_Exit._




_Actus Quintus. Scena Prima._

_Enter_ Uncle, _and_ Merchant.


_Unc._ Most certain 'tis her hands that hold him up, and her sister
relieves _Frank_.

_Mer._ I am glad to hear it: but wherefore do they not pursue this
fortune to some fair end?

_Unc._ The women are too craftie, _Valentine_ too coy, and
_Frank_ too bashfull, had any wise man hold of such a blessing,
they would strike it out o'th' flint but they would form it.

_Enter_ Widow, _and_ Shorthose.

_Mer._ The Widow sure, why does she stir so early?

_Wid._ 'Tis strange, I cannot force him to understand me, and make
a benefit of what I would bring him: tell my sister I'le use my
devotions at home this morning, she may if she please go to Church.

_Short._ Hey ho.

_Wid._ And do you wait upon her with a torch Sir.

_Short._ Hey ho.

_Wid._ You lazie Knave.

_Short._ Here is such a tinkle tanklings that we can ne're lie
quiet, and sleep our prayers out. _Ralph_, pray emptie my right
shooe that you made your Chamber-pot, and burn a little Rosemarie in't,
I must wait upon my Lady. This morning Prayer has brought me into a
consumption, I have nothing left but flesh and bones about me.

_Wid._ You drousie slave, nothing but sleep and swilling!

_Short._ Had you been bitten with Bandog fleas, as I have been, and
haunted with the night Mare.

_Wid._ With an Ale-pot.

_Short._ You would have little list to morning Prayers, pray take
my fellow _Ralph_, he has a Psalm Book, I am an ingrum man.

_Wid._ Get you ready quickly, and when she is ready wait upon her
handsomely; no more, be gone.

_Short._ If I do snore my part out--      [_Exit_ Short.

_Unc._ Now to our purposes.

_Mer._ Good morrow, Madam.

_Wid._ Good morrow, Gentlemen.

_Unc._ Good joy and fortune.

_Wid._ These are good things, and worth my thanks, I thank you Sir.

_Mer._ Much joy I hope you'l find, we came to gratulate your new
knit marriage-band.

_Wid._ How?

_Unc._ He's a Gentleman, although he be my kinsman, my fair Niece.

_Wid._ Niece, Sir?

_Unc._ Yes Lady, now I may say so, 'tis no shame to you, I say a
Gentleman, and winking at some light fancies, which you most happily may
affect him for, as bravely carried, as nobly bred and managed.

_Wid._ What's all this? I understand you not, what Niece, what
marriage-knot?

_Unc._ I'le tell plainly, you are my Niece, and _Valentine_
the Gentleman has made you so by marriage.

_Wid._ Marriage?

_Unc._ Yes Lady, and 'twas a noble and vertuous part, to take a
falling man to your protection, and buoy him up again to all his
glories.

_Wid._ The men are mad.

_Mer._ What though he wanted these outward things, that flie away
like shadows, was not his mind a full one, and a brave one? You have
wealth enough to give him gloss and outside, and he wit enough to give
way to love a Lady.

_Unc._ I ever thought he would do well.

_Mer._ Nay, I knew how ever he wheel'd about like a loose Cabine,
he would charge home at length, like a brave Gentleman; Heavens blessing
o' your heart Lady, we are so bound to honour you, in all your service
so devoted to you.

_Unc._ Do not look so strange Widow, it must be known, better a
general joy; no stirring here yet, come, come, you cannot hide 'em.

_Wid._ Pray be not impudent, these are the finest toyes, belike I
am married then?

_Mer._ You are in a miserable estate in the worlds account else, I
would not for your wealth it come to doubting.

_Wid._ And I am great with child?

_Unc._ No, great they say not, but 'tis a full opinion you are with
child, and great joy among the Gentlemen, your husband hath bestirred
himself fairly.

_Mer._ Alas, we know his private hours of entrance, how long, and
when he stayed, could name the bed too, where he paid down his
first-fruits.

_Wid._ I shall believe anon.

_Unc._ And we consider for some private reasons, you would have it
private, yet take your own pleasure; and so good morrow, my best Niece,
my sweetest.

_Wid._ No, no, pray stay.

_Unc._ I know you would be with him, love him, and love him well.

_Mer._ You'l find him noble, this may beget--

_Unc._ It must needs work upon her.

[_Exit_ Uncle, _and_ Mer.

_Wid._ These are fine bobs i'faith, married, and with child too!
how long has this been, I trow? they seem grave fellows, they should not
come to flout; married, and bedded, the world takes notice too! where
lies this May-game? I could be vext extreamly now, and rail too, but
'tis to no end, though I itch a little, must I be scratcht I know not
how, who waits there?

_Enter_ Humphrey, _a_ Servant.

_Hum._ Madam.

_Wid._ Make ready my Coach quickly, and wait you only, and hark you
Sir, be secret and speedy, inquire out where he lies.

_Hum._ I shall do it, Madam.

_Wid._ Married, and got with child in a dream! 'tis fine i'faith,
sure he that did this, would do better waking. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Valentine, Fran. Lance, _and a Boy with a Torch_.

_Val._ Hold thy Torch handsomely: how dost thou _Frank_?
_Peter Bassel_, bear up.

_Fran._ You have fried me soundly, Sack do you call this drink?

_Val._ A shrewd dog, _Frank_, will bite abundantly.

_Lan._ Now could I fight, and fight with thee.

_Val._ With me, thou man of _Memphis_?

_Lan._ But that thou art mine own natural master, yet my sack says
thou art no man, thou art a Pagan, and pawnest thy land, which a noble
cause.

_Val._ No arms, nor arms, good _Lancelot_, dear _Lance_,
no fighting here, we will have Lands boy, Livings, and Titles, thou
shalt be a Vice-Roy, hang fighting, hang't 'tis out of fashion.

_Lan._ I would fain labour you into your lands again, go to, it is
behoveful.

_Fran._ Fie _Lance_, fie.

_Lan._ I must beat some body, and why not my Master, before a
stranger? charity and beating begins at home.

_Val._ Come, thou shalt beat me.

_Lan._ I will not be compel'd, and you were two Masters, I scorn
the motion.

_Val._ Wilt thou sleep?

_Lan._ I scorn sleep.

_Val._ Wilt thou go eat?

_Lan._ I scorn meat, I come for rompering, I come to wait upon my
charge discreetly; for look you, if you will not take your Mortgage
again, here do I lie S' George, and so forth.

_Val._ And here do I S' George, bestride the Dragon, thus with my
Lance.

_Lan._ I sting, I sting with my tail.

_Val._ Do you so, do you so, Sir? I shall tail you presently.

_Fran._ By no means, do not hurt him.

_Val._ Take this _Nelson_, and now rise, thou Maiden Knight of
Malllgo, lace on thy Helmet of inchanted Sack, and charge again.

_Lan._ I'le play no more, you abuse me, will you go?

_Fran._ I'le bid you good morrow, Brother, for sleep I cannot, I
have a thousand fancies.

_Val._ Now thou art arrived, go bravely to the matter, and do
something of worth, _Frank_.

_Lan._ You shall hear from us. [_Exeunt_ Lance _and_
Frank.

_Val._ This Rogue, if he had been sober, sure had beaten me, is the
most tettish Knave.

_Enter_ Uncle _and_ Merchant, _Boy with a Torch_.

_Unc._ 'Tis he.

_Mer._ Good morrow.

_Val._ Why, Sir, good morrow to you too, and you be so lusty.

_Unc._ You have made your Brother a fine man, we met him.

_Val._ I made him a fine Gentleman, he was a fool before, brought up
amongst the midst of Small-Beer-Brew-houses, what would you have with me?

_Mer._ I come to tell you, your latest hour is come.

_Val._ Are you my sentence?

_Mer._ The sentence of your state.

_Val._ Let it be hang'd then, and let it be hang'd high enough, I
may not see it.

_Unc._ A gracious resolution.

_Val._ What would you have else with me, will you go drink, and let
the world slide, Uncle? Ha, ha, ha, boyes, drink Sack like Whey, boyes.

_Mer._ Have you no feeling, Sir?

_Val._ Come hither Merchant: make me a supper, thou most reverent
Land-catcher, a supper of forty pounds.

_Mer._ What then, Sir?

_Val._ Then bring thy Wife along, and thy fair Sisters, thy
Neighbours and their Wives, and all their trinkets, let me have forty
Trumpets, and such Wine, we'll laugh at all the miseries of Mortgage,
and then in state I'le render thee an answer.

_Mer._ What say you to this?

_Unc._ I dare not say, nor think neither.

_Mer._ Will you redeem your state, speak to the point, Sir?

_Pal._ Not, not if it were mine heir in the _Turks_ Gallies.

_Mer._ Then I must take an order?

_Val._ Take a thousand, I will not keep it, nor thou shalt not have
it, because thou camest i'th' nick, thou shalt not have it, go take
possession, and be sure you hold it, hold fast with both hands, for
there be those hounds uncoupled, will ring you such a knell, go down in
glory, and march upon my land, and cry, All's mine; cry as the Devil
did, and be the Devil, mark what an Echo follows, build fine
March-panes, to entertain Sir Silk-worm and his Lady, and pull the
Chappel down, and raise a Chamber for Mistress Silver-pin, to lay her
belly in, mark what an Earthquake comes. Then foolish Merchant my
Tenants are no Subjects, they obey nothing, and they are people too
never Christened, they know no Law nor Conscience, they'll devour thee;
and thou mortal, the stopple, they'll confound thee within three days;
no bit nor memory of what thou wert, no not the Wart upon thy Nose
there, shall be e're heard of more; go take possession, and bring thy
Children down, to rost like Rabbets, they love young Toasts and Butter,
_Bow-bell_ Suckers; as they love mischief, and hate Law, they are
Cannibals; bring down thy kindred too, that be not fruitful, there be
those Mandrakes that will mollifie 'em, go take possession. I'le go to
my Chamber, afore Boy go. [_Exeunt._

_Mer._ He's mad sure.

_Unc._ He's half drunk sure: and yet I like this unwillingness to
lose it, this looking back.

_Mer._ Yes, if he did it handsomely, but he's so harsh and strange.

_Unc._ Believe it 'tis his drink, Sir, and I am glad his drink has
thrust it out.

_Mer._ Cannibals? if ever I come to view his Regiment, if fair
terms may be had.

_Unc._ He tells you true, Sir, they are a bunch of the most
boisterous Rascals disorder ever made, let 'em be mad once, the power of
the whole Country cannot cool 'em, be patient but a while.

_Mer._ As long as you will, Sir, before I buy a bargain of such
Runts, I'le buy a Colledge for Bears, and live among 'em.

_Enter_ Francisco, Lance, _Boy with a Torch_.

_Fran._ How dost thou now?

_Lan._ Better than I was, and straighter, but my head's a Hogshead
still, it rowls and tumbles.

_Fran._ Thou wert cruelly paid.

_Lan._ I may live to requite it, put a Snaffle of Sack in my mouth
and then ride me very well.

_Fran._ 'Twas all but sport, I'le tell thee what I mean now, I mean
to see this Wench.

_Lan._ Where a Devil is she? and there were two, 'twere better.

_Fran._ Dost thou hear the Bell ring?

_Lan._ Yes, yes.

_Fran._ Then she comes to prayers, early each morning thither: Now
if I could but meet her, for I am of another mettle now.

_Enter_ Isabel, _and_ Shorthose _with a Torch_.

_Lan._ What light's yon?

_Fran._ Ha, 'tis a light, take her by the hand and court her.

_Lan._ Take her below the girdle, you'l never speed else, it comes
on this way still, oh that I had but such an opportunity in a Saw-pit,
how it comes on, comes on! 'tis here.

_Fran._ 'Tis she: fortune I kiss thy hand--Good morrow Lady.

_Isa._ What voice is that, Sirra, do you sleep as you go, 'tis he,
I am glad on't. Why, _Shorthose_?

_Short._ Yes forsooth, I was dreamt, I was going to Church.

_Lan._ She sees you as plain as I do.

_Isab._ Hold the torch up.

_Short._ Here's nothing but a stall, and a Butcher's Dog asleep
in't, where did you see the voice?

_Fran._ She looks still angry.

_Lan._ To her and meet Sir.

_Isab._ Here, here.

_Fran._ Yes Lady, never bless your self, I am but a man, and like
an honest man, now I will thank you--

_Isab._ What do you mean, who sent for you, who desired you?

_Short._ Shall I put out the Torch forsooth?

_Isab._ Can I not go about my private meditations, Ha, but such
companions as you must ruffle me? you had best go with me Sir?

_Fran._ 'Twas my purpose.

_Isab._ Why, what an impudence is this! you had best, being so near
the Church, provide a Priest, and perswade me to marry you.

_Fran._ It was my meaning, and such a husband, so loving, and so
carefull, my youth, and all my fortunes shall arrive at--Hark you?

_Isab._ 'Tis strange you should be thus unmannerly, turn home again
sirra, you had best now force my man to lead your way.

_Lan._ Yes marry shall he Lady, forward my friend.

_Isab._ This is a pretty Riot, it may grow to a rape.

_Fran._ Do you like that better? I can ravish you an hundred times,
and never hurt you.

_Short._ I see nothing, I am asleep still, when you have done tell
me, and then I'le wake Mistris.

_Isab._ Are you in earnest Sir, do you long to be hang'd?

_Fran._ Yes by my troth Lady in these fair Tresses.

_Isab._ Shall I call out for help?

_Fran._ No by no means, that were a weak trick Lady, I'le kiss, and
stop your mouth.

_Isab._ You'l answer all these?

_Fran._ A thousand kisses more.

_Isab._ I was never abused thus, you had best give out too, that
you found me willing, and say I doted on you?

_Fran._ That's known already, and no man living shall now carry you
from me.

_Isab._ This is fine i'faith.

_Fran._ It shall be ten times finer.

_Isab._ Well, seeing you are so valiant, keep your way, I will to
Church.

_Fran._ And I will wait upon you.

_Isab._ And it is most likely there's a Priest, if you dare venture
as you profess, I would wish you look about you, to do these rude
tricks, for you know the recompences, and trust not to my mercy.

_Fran._ But I will Lady.

_Isab._ For I'le so handle you.

_Fran._ That's it I look for.

_Lan._ Afore thou dream.

_Shor._ Have you done?

_Isab._ Go on Sir, and follow if you dare.

_Fran._ If I do not, hang me.

_Lan._ 'Tis all thine own boy, an 'twere a million, god a mercy
Sack, when would small Beer have done this?

_Knocking within. Enter_ Valentine.

_Val._ Whose that that knocks and bounces, what a Devil ails you,
is hell broke loose, or do you keep an Iron mill?

_Enter a_ Servant.

_Ser._ 'Tis a Gentlewoman Sir that must needs speak with you.

_Val._ A Gentlewoman? what Gentlewoman, what have I to do with
Gentlewomen?

_Ser._ She will not be answered Sir.

_Val._ Fling up the bed and let her in, I'le try how gentle she is--
                                                    [_Exit_ Servant.

This Sack has fill'd my head so full of babies, I am almost mad; what
Gentlewoman should this be? I hope she has brought me no butter print
along with her to lay to my charge, if she have 'tis all one, I'le
forswear it.

_Enter_ Widow.

_Wid._ O you're a noble Gallant, send off your Servant pray.
[_Exit_ Servant.

_Val._ She will not ravish me? by this light she looks as sharp set
as a Sparrow hawk, what wouldst thou woman?

_Wid._ O you have used me kindly, and like a Gentleman, this is to
trust to you.

_Val._ Trust to me, for what?

_Wid._ Because I said in jest once, you were a handsom man, one I
could like well, and fooling, made you believe I loved you, and might be
brought to marrie.

_Val._ The widow is drunk too.

_Wid._ You out of this, which is a fine discretion, give out the
matter's done, you have won and wed me, and that you have put, fairly
put for an heir too, these are fine rumours to advance my credit: i'th'
name of mischief what did you mean?

_Val._ That you loved me, and that you might be brought to marrie
me? why, what a Devil do you mean, widow?

_Wid._ 'Twas a fine trick too, to tell the world though you had
enjoyed your first wish you wished, the wealth you aimed at, that I was
poor, which is most true, I am, have sold my lands, because I love not
those vexations, yet for mine honours sake, if you must be prating, and
for my credits sake in the Town.

_Val._ I tell thee widow, I like thee ten times better, now thou
hast no Lands, for now thy hopes and cares lye on thy husband, if e're
thou marryest more.

_Wid._ Have not you married me, and for this main cause, now as you
report it, to be your Nurse?

_Val._ My Nurse? why, what am I grown to, give me the Glass, my
Nurse.

_Wid._ You n'er said truer, I must confess I did a little favour
you, and with some labour might have been perswaded, but when I found I
must be hourly troubled, with making broths, and dawbing your decayes
with swadling, and with stitching up your ruines, for the world so
reports.

_Val._ Do not provoke me.

_Wid._ And half an eye may see.

_Val._ Do not provoke me, the world's a lying world, and thou shalt
find it, have a good heart, and take a strong faith to thee, and mark
what follows, my Nurse, yes, you shall rock me: Widow I'le keep you
waking.

_Wid._ You are disposed Sir.

_Val._ Yes marry am I Widow, and you shall feel it, nay and they
touch my freehold, I am a Tiger.

_Wid._ I think so.

_Val._ Come.

_Wid._ Whither?

_Val._ Any whither. [_Sings._

  The fit's upon me now, the fit's upon me now,
  Come quickly gentle Ladie, the fit's upon me now,
  The world shall know they're fools,
  And so shalt thou do too,
  Let the Cobler meddle with his tools,
  The fit's upon me now.


Take me quickly, while I am in this vein, away with me, for if I have
but two hours to consider, all the widows in the world cannot recover
me.

_Wid._ If you will, go with me Sir.

_Val._ Yes marrie will I, but 'tis in anger yet, and I will marrie
thee, do not cross me; yes, and I will lie with thee, and get a whole
bundle of babies, and I will kiss thee, stand still and kiss me
handsomely, but do not provoke me, stir neither hand nor foot, for I am
dangerous, I drunk sack yesternight, do not allure me: Thou art no widow
of this world, come in pitie, and in spite I'le marrie thee, not a word
more, and I may be brought to love thee. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Merchant, _and_ Uncle, _at several doors_.

_Mer._ Well met again, and what good news yet?

_Unc._ Faith nothing.

_Mer._ No fruits of what we sowed?

_Unc._ Nothing I hear of.

_Mer._ No turning in this tide yet?

_Unc._ 'Tis all flood, and till that fall away, there's no expecting.

_Enter_ Fran. Isab. Lance, Shorthose, _a torch_.

_Mer._ Is not this his younger Brother?

_Unc._ With a Gentlewoman the widow's sister, as I live he smiles,
he has got good hold, why well said _Frank_ i'faith, let's stay and
mark.

_Isab._ Well, you are the prettiest youth, and so you have handled
me, think you ha' me sure.

_Fran._ As sure as wedlock.

_Isab._ You had best lie with me too.

_Fran._ Yes indeed will I, and get such black ey'd boyes.

_Unc._ God a Mercy, _Frank_.

_Isab._ This is a merrie world, poor simple Gentlewomen that think
no harm, cannot walk about their business, but they must be catcht up I
know not how.

_Fran._ I'le tell you, and I'le instruct ye too, have I caught you,
Mistress?

_Isab._ Well, and it were not for pure pity, I would give you the
slip yet, but being as it is.

_Fran._ It shall be better.

_Enter_ Valentine, Widow, _and_ Ralph, _with a torch_.

_Isab._ My sister, as I live, your Brother with her! sure, I think
you are the Kings takers.

_Unc._ Now it works.

_Val._ Nay, you shall know I am a man.

_Wid._ I think so.

_Val._ And such proof you shall have.

_Wid._ I pray speak softly.

_Val._ I'le speak it out Widow, yes and you shall confess too, I am
no Nurse-child, I went for a man, a good one, if you can beat me out
o'th' pit.

_Wid._ I did but jest with you.

_Val._ I'le handle you in earnest, and so handle you: Nay, when my
credit calls.

_Wid._ Are you mad?

_Val._ I am mad, I am mad.

_Fran._ Good morrow, Sir, I like your preparation.

_Val._ Thou hast been at it, _Frank_.

_Fran._ Yes faith, 'tis done Sir.

_Val._ Along with me then, never hang an arse, widow.

_Isab._ 'Tis to no purpose, sister.

_Val._ Well said Black-brows, advance your torches Gentlemen.

_Unc._ Yes, yes Sir.

_Val._ And keep your ranks.

_Mer._ _Lance_, carrie this before him.

_Unc._ Carrie it in state.

_Enter_ Musicians, Fount. Hare. Bel.

_Val._ What are you, Musicians? I know your coming, and what are
those behind you?

_Musi._ Gentlemen that sent us to give the Lady a good morrow.

_Val._ O I know them, come boy sing the song I taught you,
And sing it lustily, come forward Gentlemen, you're welcom,
Welcom, now we are all friends, go get the Priest ready,
And let him not be long, we have much business:
Come _Frank_, rejoyce with me, thou hast got the start boy,
But I'le so tumble after, come my friends lead,
Lead cheerfully, and let your Fiddles ring boyes,
My follies and my fancies have an end here,
Display the morgage _Lance_, Merchant I'le pay you,
And every thing shall be in joynt again.

_Unc._ Afore, afore.

_Val._ And now confess, and know, _Wit without Money, sometimes
gives the blow_. [_Exeunt._




APPENDIX


WIT WITHOUT MONEY.


(A) Wit with-|out Money. | A Comedie, | As it hath beene
Presented with good | Applause at the private house in Drurie Lane, | by
her Majesties Servants. | Written by Francis Beamount, and John Flecher.
Gent. | London | Printed by Thomas Cotes, for Andrew Crooke, | and
William Cooke. 1639.

(B) Wit | without | Money. | A | Comedie, | As it hath been
Presented with good Ap-|plause at the private house in Drury Lane, by |
Her Hajesties (sic) Servants | Written by Francis Beamount and John
Flecher. Gent. | The second Impression Corrected. | London, | Printed
for Andrew Crooke, at the Green Dragon in | St. Pauls-Church-Yard, 1661.

On the last leaf appears a list of 17 'Plays written by Francis Beamount
and John Flecher, | printed in Quarto.'

(C)= The Second Folio.

p. 146,
  l.  6. A and B] The Actors names.

p. 147,
  l.  7. A and B] No Gent.
  l. 10. A and B] maintaine Hospitals.
  l. 24. A and B] flatter um, make um. (The same form occurs almost
throughout A and B and is not here repeated.)

p. 148,
  l.  4. C _misprints_] Mar.
  l.  6. A and B] A that.
  l. 10. A _adds_] vexations, the morgage shall be rendred backe,
         take time fort, you.
  l. 13. A] and a fine.

p. 149,
  l.  9. C _misprints_] de.
  l. 21. A _omits_] can mount like Stallions.
  l. 29. A _omits_] all.
  l. 32. A _omits_] Sir.

p. 150,
  l.  2. A and B _omit_] of.
  l. 10. A] and hang.
  l. 24. A and B] meagrom.
  l. 24. A] tenements.
  l. 37. A and B] a Sundaies.

p. 151,
  l. 10. A] next remove, and when I please to remove; and when.
  l. 18. A] are hid, that work.
  l. 20. A and B] I shifted; are.
  l. 27. A] my travel.
  l. 29. A] some other that.
  l. 35. B and C _misprint_] doule.

p. 152,
  l. 14. A and B] Andeluria.
  l. 24. B _omits_] find.
  l. 27. A] safe from.

p. 153,
  l. 17. A] may do.
  l. 24. A] satten.
  l. 32. A] and a.

p. 154,
  l.  1. A] meane part.
  l.  5. A] with the loss.
  l. 35. A _omits_] the.

p. 155,
  l.  3. A] married there together.
  ll. 10 and 11. B] puft solus.
  ll. 15 and 16. A] but will that fledge him, keep him from cold,
      beleeve me.
  l. 17. A] him, and marke.
  l. 31. C _misprints_] Quartus.

p. 156,
  l. 18. A _omits_] that.
  l. 34. A] lookt thee.
  l. 37. A] She has.
  ll. 38 and 39. A] her, not say.

p. 157,
  l. 23. A] or no, are those.
  l. 37. A] empty nothing.

p. 158,
  l.  9. A] in's.
  l. 11. A] supple hand.

p. 159,
  l.  2. A] a maid content.
  l.  5. A] makes the wife.
  l. 28. B _omits_] _Hare_. C _misprints_] searce.

p. 160,
  l. 28. A and B] that Gentleman.

p. 161,
  l. 12. B] Legend.
  l. 14. A] say so. A] hangd first.
  l. 27. C _misprints_] thy.
  l. 34. A _adds_] Exeunt.

p. 162,
  l. 4. A] himself sport.
  l. 5. A] by his Copie.
  l. 9. A] Gentleman your.

p. 163,
  l. 3. A and B] towne, and live. A and B _omit_] and.

p. 164,
  l.  8. A] twelve moneths.
  l. 17. A] spent it.
  l. 30. A] do not you.

p. 165,
  l. 30. A] servant, I am cosend if after her, I.

p. 166,
  l. 22. A and B] Roger help down.

p. 167,
  l. 25. A] Why whither.

p. 168,
  l. 27. A] sometimes.

p. 169,
  l. 11. A] my sister.
  l. 19. A] bring you but this.
  l. 22. A and B] that know not.
  l. 29. A] small pots.
  l. 32. A] Its.
  l. 35. A] sit and laugh.

p. 170,
  l. 27. A and B] here, has made.

p. 171,
  l.  6. C _misprints_] know.
  l. 14. A and B] I grieve to.
  l. 25. A] deserve it, is a.
  l. 28. A _omits_] as.

p. 172,
  l. 14. A] their Cases.
  l. 32. A and B] Prospectives.
  l. 33. C _misprints_] Wid.
  l. 36. A and B] Ah my.
  l. 40. A] mens confusions.

p. 173,
  l. 32. A and B] a god else.
  l. 36. B] was you never.

p. 174,
  l.  8. A] Lets have.
  l. 31. C _misprints_] your.

p. 175,
  l. 17. A and B] sick ath.
  l. 32. A _adds_] Exeunt.

p. 176,
  l.  6. A and B] has.
  l. 16. A] charge whom.
  l. 35. A and B] Has the.
  l. 38. A and B] behaviours.

p. 177,
  l. 10. A] filed.
  l. 13. A] small bare.

p. 178,
  l.  2. A and B] worships.
  l.  3. A] at a sizer.
  ll. 7 and 8. A] and Christian bleeches.
  l. 12. A] displease me more.
  l. 37. A and B _omit_] Enter.

p. 179,
  l.  9. B] Tarm.
  l. 12. C _misprints_] and.

p. 180,
  l.  1. A] pound.
  l. 30. A] most cure.
  l. 31. A and B] Has had.

p. 181,
  l.  7. A] clocke.
  l. 11. C] som spun.

p. 182,
  l. 33. C] nor.
  l. 39. A] he has none.

p. 183,
  ll. 27 and 28. B and C] frat ... sab.

p. 184,
  l.  5. A] but lend.
  l.  6. A and B] a thornes.
  l. 22. A] thanks Sir.
  l. 23. B] part. A and B] deserves.
  l. 24. A and B] to a.
  l. 25. A] doores.

p. 185,
  l. 15. A] let me in.
  l. 18. A] Spercious. A] you bawling.
  l. 30. B] aside bay.
  l. 37. A] be so vext.

p. 186,
  ll. 5 and 6. A] men live.
  l. 12. A] title peece.

p. 187,
  l. 23. A] more hound um.

p. 188,
  l. 20. A] wils.

p. 189,
  l.  7. A and B] and bartered.
  l. 31. A] would you.

p. 190,
  l. 35. A and B] and a love too.
  l. 36. A] how'would.

p. 191,
  l. 18. A and B] I beleeve.

p. 193,
  l. 18. A and B] Faces about.
  l. 19. B] I or else perish.
  l. 27. A] pretend on.
  l. 30. A and B] at charge.
  l. 35. A and B] was these.

p. 194,
  l.  1. A] God e'n then.
  l. 28. C _misprints_] secrely.
  l. 30. A and B] tipple in wine.

p. 195,
  l.  3. A _omits_] ye.
  l. 11. A _repeats_] He swinge you.
  l. 15. A] utter, will all.
  l. 35. A and B] any devotions.

p. 196,
  l.  2. B] with torch.
  l. 18. A _misprints_] _Short_, for _Wid._

p. 197,
  l.  2. A] and a vertuous
  l.  3. A] bay him up.
  l. 13. B] a your.

p. 198,
  l.  2. A] take.
  l.  3. A _omits_] a.
  l. 25. A] No armes, no armes.
  l. 27. A and B] hang 'tis.
  l. 33. A _omits_] a.

p. 199,
  l.  5. B] An here.
  l. 10. A] his Nelson.
  l. 37. A _omits_] have.

p. 200,
  l.  3. A] pound.
  l. 10. A _omits_] you.
  l. 20. B] such knell.
  ll. 23 and 24. A] to raise.

p. 201,
  l.  5. A] regements.
  l. 30. A and B] yond.

p. 202,
  l.  2. B] sees yon.
  l.  3. A and B] thy Torch.
  l. 13. A] hay, but.
  l. 26. A and B] shall a Lady.

p. 203,
  l. 10. A] their recompences.
  l. 20. A and B _add_] Exeunt.

p. 204,
  l.  2. B _omits_] as.
  l.  4. A and B] this 'tis to.
  l. 12. A _omits_] put.
  l. 28. A and B] too.

p. 205,
  l. 10. A] they are. B] they 'are.

p. 207,
  l. 21. A and B _add_] Finis.

       *       *       *       *       *


BEGGARS BUSH


(A) The First Folio, 1647.


(B) The | Beggars | Bush. | Written by | Francis Beaumont, and
John Fletcher, Gentlemen. | [wood-cut] London, | Printed for Humphrey
Robinson, and Anne Mosley, | at the three Pigeons, and at the Princes
Arms | in Saint Pauls Church-yard, 1661.

Another issue of the above, dated 1661, has a fresh title-page and bears
the following notice:--'You may speedily expect those other Playes,
which | Kirkman, and his Hawkers have deceived the | buyers withall,
selling them at treble the value, that | this and the rest will be sold
for, which are the | onely Originall and corrected copies, as they |
were first purchased by us at no mean | rate, and since printed by us.'

B prints the Prologue and Epilogue to _The Captaine_ as though they
belonged to _Beggars Bush_, apparently treating the last page of
_The Captain_ in A as though it were the first page of _Beggars
Bush_.

(C) The Second Folio.

p. 208.
  A _omits_] A Comedy ... The Scene Flanders.
  ll. 2-4. B] Dramatis Personae. _These are as follows:_

Dramatis Personae.

_Goswin_ a young Merchant of _Bruges_, viz. _Florez_ the right Earl
 of _Flanders_

_Woolfort_, Usurper of the Earldome,

_Clause_ King of Beggars, _viz. Gerrard_ Father to _Florez_,

_Hubert_ disguised like a Huntsman, A Lord of Flanders

_Hemskirk_, A Favourite of the Usurper.







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