Scena 1.

SIgnior Antonio, pray how did you like the Maske wee had here to night, for my Lord Lucilio's ben venuto?

Well of a wooden one, set forth by a Dancer and an Architect, as the fashion is.

Alas Signior, there must bee something to prolong and strengthen these devices, when Poëts, in favour of the ignorant, are faine to leave 'hem so short winded, and al­most speechlesse.

So sir; But now tell mee Rigazzo, what have you learn'd all this time you have beene with your Lord at the Vni­versitie?

More than I can reckon Signior, and yet I have the Art of memorie to help me.

As what sir?

I can name you all the Alehouses and Tavernes in A­thens, and most part of the Bawdy-houses; marry to know them all, onely Night, that has beene some scores of yeares acquainted with 'hem, and the Devill that gathers their rents, could teach me: and indeed I was too young to be their scholler, else I might have beene a better proficient in them too.

I thinke sir your time was spent in such studies.

No, not all Signior, I can steale as desperately as a Pursi­vant; fiddle the Geese, Ducks, Hens, Lambs, and Calves, five mile [Page 2] round by booke; and cover the matter as smoothly as your Citi­zen does his perjury, and your Stoick his Lecherie: for I had most sober Graduates for my Tutors in all.

'Twas pitty your Rogueship had not proceeded Master of Art in the facultie of theeving.

It's no matter Signior for theeves to proceed Masters of Art, when so many Masters of Art doe proceed theeves, and that's the least conversion, you know Signior.

Are you so nimble at your Logick sir?

As a hungry Scholler at a Henroost.

Take heed you labour not your selfe out o'breath, your learning's but short winded.

Long enough to runne with a Stoick, Signior. I may bee able to reade moralitie, get me some night-geere, and a red Nose, and then I am most illustriously compleate.

Away, the Duke.

Faith prettily well Mistris Fraileware, as a man of my profession might; I had all the chiefe trades in the City to help mee doe well.

What trades were they, thou wert too young for any occupation yet.

Not above three yeares at most: but I earn'd something with working and wayting on my Lord, as Tankard-bearers, La­bourers, and Servingmen doe: I stole and cozen'd, as Taylors, Shopkeepers and Cutpurses doe; I let out my Lords books, and tooke money for the use of'hem, as the later ends of gouty Mer­chants doe: and yet for all this I was forc'd (as many of you Ci­tizens are) to goe many times to bed with a hungry conscience.

You'll never leave your crackery, but tell mee prethee sirrha, is Athens a fine Towne? What be these Colle­ge, like? didst thou goe to schoole there?

O, an excellent place for a woman that will use trading: You shall have the Schollers lie at your sweet Frailes night and day; they bee forc'd to sweeten their disputations with Grocers reasons: and custome could not but make your husband one of the head men of the City presently.

Now by my troth I thinke it were a very good place for a stale shopkeepers wife of the City to set up in: o'my conscience, a woman of our occupation might thrive there.

I, and she were down never so low, the schollers would doe it—and how does Master Damasippios the lecturing Stoick? When was he here?

Dost remember him? let me see—o'my hone­sty, I never saw him since his last morall Lecture against the sinnes of the flesh—yes heaven forgive me to sweare, now I remember me, the same day my husband went a duck-hunting; and then he came hither, and brought mee many good things: wilt thou goe to him againe sometimes for mee? Ile give thee some figges and Tobacco.

Yours to command; Ile smoake in your businesse then i'faith.

Prethee come to me when my husband is out of the shoppe.

Adieu the two desiring sinnes of the City. Avarice and Lechery: if I doe not meet with your morall venery, would I [Page 7] might goe lowsie, and have but three pence to play with this moneth.

Here's a villanous pitfall to stifle a poore wench in; who can bee a beggar, now, that's not afraid to bee damn'd? well, I can no more tell how to thrive without doing villany, than greatnesse can without doing injury. Pretty peece of man's flesh I my heart will leap when I see thee come off the Rock like a Mag-Pie; and I shall wish, for thy sake, that nature had made women a litle lighter, all of feathers, that they might have taken hurt by [Page 8] no manner of falling: but pitty is a thing clean out of fashion, and the high way to irreparable Beggary; Ile none of it.

Nay, good Signior follow him, put him out of the hu­mour, or else he will turne madman shortly.

Because he thats first a Scholler, next in love, the yeare after, is either an arrant foole or a starke madman.

As fooles doe by newes, some body told me so, and I be­leeve it. But in good earnest I had forgot to tell my Lord of the message he sent me in.

Yesterday her Monkey had a fall off the side table, and ever since she has had a strange fit of an ague.

Faith not well neither, and therefore he begins to be most sparingly vertuous.

On my fidelitie you are the foule mouth'dst gallant that ever wore Cloves in's Gummes: you say an Italian Count has the pox.

By this light you Courtiers bee the dullest creatures li­ving; you learne nothing but flattery and begging. You must know sir in a Nobleman 'tis abusive; no; in him the Sarpigo; in a Knight the Grincomes; in a Gentleman the Neopolitan scabb; and in a Servingman or Artificer the plaine Pox: Iust as your saying goes, that Noblemen bee never drunke, but take a surfeit; Schollers be ill at ease; and poore men onely they are drunke, yet all's but one disease: There's an old rime for you: adieu Signior, I must to my Lord.

He did, and does intend to use my help alone in effecting of his project.

Sweet villany, thou art the thrivingst trade under heaven.

Scena 1.

ILe ensure you 'tis true Mistris Abigail, my Husband was call'd from my side at midnight by the Dukes Pursivant at Armes, commanded to bring his weapon ready with him, because they would reprehend my Ladie Iulia's daughter in her bed; nay, I am serv'd so many times in the yeare; and if it were not for a little honour wee have by being the Constables wife of the Parish, or leave to build a new Pue in the Lecture house, or meeting at the Quest-house sometimes; wee had better never bee in authoritie, than have so many hewings and cryings, such pasportings; that the whole yeare while our Husbands be Magistrates, we be very widdowes, for any feeling we have of thē; and if we had not their company in the day sometimes, we should eene forget wee were maried: 'tis too true Mistris Abigail: but you have a happy turne.

Indeed Mistris Frailware our Husbands should not be troubled with common businesse; and Master Damasip­pus does meditate and practise his Principles by my side till nine a Clock many times. But I pray, what did you heare was the cause of my Lady Iulia's daughters contamination?

O, why shee was in love with my young Lord Lucilio, and would have, God blesse us, stabb'd' the Duke with a panado, and then be marry'd where the Dutches would or no.

Now Iove forsend it! How desperate be these princock Gentlewomen when they be in love! they'll venture up­on any weapons: I marvell themselves be not afraid of stabbing: I warrant you shee'll to the Rock for it.

I cannot tell that; but a Friend I have in the Court was here before breake of day and told me all.

Lord Mistris Frailware have you any friends in the Court?

I these seven years, Mistris Abigail, have I had friends there, and acquaintance too, I thanke my beautie, three yeares before I was marri'd. Ile tell you Mistris Abigail, these Courtiers be the finest, sweetest smelling Gentlemen that be; they will have some friends in the City now and then, for varieties sake, but they'll pick and chuse: and for mine owne part Ile en­sure you, that before I was marry'd, of a browne-wench, marke what I say, to speake of a browne-wench, I was as sweet a crea­ture as liv'd. There was a Nobleman here in Florence—I, there was a Knight too that would eate but little meate except—how ever it was my hap to fell figges in the Citie; Ile ensure you that my flesh was so tender, that if a fellow with a strong breath had kiss'd me, all my lips would have blister'd. I wore my silke Stoc­kins then, and my Bodkins of beaten Gold, I thanke my own wit, and had Velvet Cloakes, and Velvet Coloches come to see mee.

Doubtlesse you were one of the happiest living, to have such blessings: I would to heavens my husband, or I, might have an Office under these Courtiers, that I might have friends at Court too.

Ile ensure you Mistris Abigail, many of 'hem be able to doe a woman a good pleasure sometimes; and yet there be some againe that promise more than all their strength can per­forme too, when they be put to it; for alas, Courtiers doe for so many, that they cannot doe for all: for mine owne part, I have try'd 'hem, and try'd 'hem agen; and some of 'hem have stood to mee very sufficiently and friendly, when I have come to see the Masking and Beare-baiting there.

God's my pitty, is there Beare-baiting at Court? doe the Ladies love Beare-baiting?

O, abomination: they'll so shift for corners and places to be at it, that their waiting gentlewomen can seldome come to the pastime. And how does your good husband Master Damasippus?

In good deed la not well: hee has beene ill at ease ever since t'other night.

Ah sweet man! he does so labour, and labour to fill us with moralitie, that hee's ee'n tyr'd out in the Citie a­mongst us.

Fie upon't: how heavy this authoritie sits up­on us! ever since midnight in the Dukes businesse! but it stands us upō it; 'tis for the credit of the City: we must doe more than one bare Office, or wee cannot bee good subjects. Here take in my weapon.

I'faith 'tis a fine time o'day to come home at: Gods my precious, doe you thinke to leave me so still? from twelve a Clock till I rise I must he alone dreaming, and dreaming, sometimes that you are dead; sometimes that I am with childe, and a lust for a thing that I cannot have; sometimes again that you have falne downe the Stayres, and broke your back; and such fear­full dreames that I cannot rest an houre, because I can doe no­thing but dreame.

O, good wife! we be for this yeare Magistrates Officers of place, men of imployment, the upholders of the Citie, the eyes of the Common-wealth: and therefore when matters of State call, wee must come with wisedome, and with severity an­swer our Vocation.

Focation me no Vocation: for as true as I am marry'd, if you put me in such frights by going away, and leaving mee in the darke, Ile get me a bedfellow shall stick closer to mee, so I will; cannot you have a Deputy as well as an Alderman? I hope you are in authority too.

O patience deare Mistris Frailware! patience with your Spouse: my husband told me that patience was one of the ten morall vertues.

I Mistris Abigail, if a woman had such a hus­band as you have, that were able to put patience into a woman; she might easily be content and have mortall vertues enough too.

Nay prethee Duck be quiet: when the Sessions are past wee shall have more leisure; meane while lets in, and drinke this fury over in a cup of Canary. Come Mistris Abigail.

Whose that?

Lucilio.

Come dispatch, the Duke's at hand.

I wonder he sits himselfe in judgement to day.

The matter in question is great.

Many thinke the poore Gentlewoman is innocent.

They be fooles to say so.

Why, is't a folly to speake what they thinke?

I, as very a folly as to be vertuous indeed: Do'st ima­gin twill gaine any thing but hate?

Yet many dare pawne their lives that shee is guiltlesse.

None but such as were predestin'd never to bee great; they bee tender conscienc'd dunces: they never leatn'd Esops Fables.

Why for that?

Do'st not remember the tale of the Lion that banish'd all horn'd beasts from Court?

That was a madd Lion i'faith—

That then the Foxe went away as banish'd too, because if the Lion should say his prickt eares were Hornes, what then?

But she was thought ever vertuous and modest.

Shee would not have beene guilty so soone else: shall a swaggering wench that will take Tobacco eight and forty times in foure and twenty houres; talke bawdy as familiar as an Oyster wife; retaine seven servants with good backes, and a weake hus­band to keep Doggs from doore; have no priviledge above su­spected vertue?

Faith I remember when I went to Schoole, my Master vs'd to tell us a Verse or two out of a Poet— & hic damnatus inani—Iudicio: I ha'forgot the Poëts name, but I remembred the Verse by another, where he instructs creatures of our faculty.

Why what does he teach us?

Nay nothing but tells us onely, that if wee will thrive by service, we must be either close Panders, palpable flatterers, or cozening Villaines.

A good Servingmans Tutor was that Poët I warrant him.

My little least of any thing, thou parcell of man, what's the newes with thee?

Newes from the Fortunate Ilands Master Damasippus: The very Elizium of your delight, and delicious Nectar of plea­sure; Mistris Ambrosia Frailware commands halfe her selfe to your learned conceipts, and the rest to the heate of your inferiour Moralities.

O the odoriferous flowre of Florence! How does shee?

In able strength and strong appetite: and earnestly en­treates this evening your presence at Supper: her Husband will bee forc'd by Oath businesse to be absent; and therefore you must feed her with the fruits of your company, and you shall bee fed with the strength of confirming meates that edifie.

Thy reward shall overtake thee: I will first accompany this Lady to her death, and prepare and strengthen her according to moralitie, and then I will be ready to give all moral comfort to the sweet desires of our deare Paramour.

Ile meet your moral comfort with such a Physicall counter-buffe, that Ile spoile your tilting for that night i'faith.

Scena 1.

ANd as I told you sweet Lady, make your reconcilement with the world, that you bee not hindred from your death: if you owe any thing, you must forgive and forget it, that you may dye according to moralitie.

My Head's in labour with a jest Master Constable, and I have a warrant to your authoritie to see me well deliver'd on't.

I can drinke Sack, and talke bawdy for a need, if it come within the compasse of my Office.

Why there be two ingredients then to the composition of a Midwife, and if you'll be rul'd in the Action, wee shall laugh and lie downe, and have an excellent banquet at the delivery.

Gi'me thy warrant then, and Ile serve it as greedily as a beggarly Vndersherife does an Action of slander: But what is't? what is't boy?

Faith sir, the common danger that haunts men of your place, fils Theaters, and gives many of your Landlesse Gallants their gilt Spurres, and their feathers.

Vnshale it, unshale it,

Why Sir, in sober City Italian, that man of little wit, lesse learning, and no honesty M. Damasippus the Stoick meanes this Evening with pure moralitie to—

What sir?

Cuckold you sir.

Body o'mee! that embleme of hypocrisie; hee lookes as cold and mortifi'd as a Capon of a weekes killing.

Hang him Lobster, hee's as hot as a Cocksparrow, and as irreligious as as a Low-Countrey Lombard: Hee's good for no­thing but that which men keepe old Stallions for: he would have done rarely well after Deucalions flood, or five hundred of 'hem [Page 33] now for the new plantation—But i'faith I would bee reveng'd on him.

Reveng'd? I'll give up my shop to be reveng'd on him, turne Summer to plague him with Citations—

And then out-bribe him, that hee shall finde no mercy i'th Bumme-Court.

Or else I will be sterne in my authoritie, set him in the Stocks, and set the Stocks at mine owne doore—

Or else I would hire some Iew to make him factious, And then get him banish'd to Amsterdam to saw Brazill.

Or hire a Witch to take away his Instrument of lust, and then he'll hang himselfe in his owne girdle.

Or get some body to promise him some Bookes and a new Gowne to deny the plurality of the gods, then informe a­gainst him, and goe drunke to see him burnt.

Else Ile get him Carted, and lye with his wife the while.

I, and send him word of it when he is i'th Cart.

Some dreadfull vengeance or other my offended Au­thority shall take on him. I protest I never mistrusted it.

Alas no; I knew you were a true Cuckold innocent.

A Cuckold innocent: what's that?

One of the eight Tribes into which your liverie is divi­ded—Nay, nay, nay sober Master Constable, be not dejected; let not your head sinke before it has ful lading: for look you, I'll shew you the dignitie of your estate: your Cuckoldhood sir is more worshipfull than the best of all the foure and twenty Companies; Because in some ages you have had some of the best of all those Companies Fellowes of the Liverie. Secondly, you have had all states and rankes belonging to it. Sylla, Domitian and Claudius, great Emperours of the world, never car'd to be free of the Gold­smiths or Merchant-Taylors Hall, yet they were huge Cuckolds. Thirdly, you have your wit in chusing approv'd, which must of necessitie show you to have beene wise men, and therefore most commonly you are in Offices. Fourthly you have sometimes bet­ter men to be your followers than your selfe, for they be glad to follow and come after, where you have beene before. Fiftly, you have others to worke for the propagation of your name, while you be idle, and reape the fruits of their labours. And lastly, it [Page 34] makes your way to heaven Master Constable, infallible for if you die quickly, you die an innocent—But let me be your Pilot, and if I doe not learne you a course to pay this Puffin, this all Priapus, this Goate rampant in's owne kinde, let my wit bee for ever crack't.

If thou couldst doe it in some bitter manner.

Trust me not else—for looke you Sir, if it were a Cour­tier of a good perfume, and rich Garter; or a Gallant of the new fashion, with fresh insides; nay, an 'twere a barren Alderman that would visit his Wench secretly, and were in the way to authority, why, 'twere something tolerable. But to be horn'd by a Sir, that's no Knight, one that will lie as fast as an Alminack-maker, a thred-bare-grogran-worsted-lack-Latin! 'tis insufferable.

O 'tis, I know 'tis.

Your onely revenging remedie, then, is prevention in the same kinde, which you shall most dexterously atchieve me du­ce, id esh, si ego dux fuero, little Master Constable.

How sweet boy, how?

Doe you but invite Mistris Abigail to Supper this eve­ning, who knowes nothing of her husbands being there, and leave the rest to my providence.

Ile doe it Boy i'faith, I will, I will indeed Boy.

About it then, Ile meet you at your comming backe and give directions for the rest.

Soft, Ile not leave you to goe seek that end: your name shall travaile, but Ile not carry it. Though you have vow'd not to procure your death; you are in love—manet.

D'sfoote Sir, your speeches be peremptory.

Why Sir, I said it, and I say it agen, that the Dukes Sonne was a foole, and a mad-man, to venture his life for ere a womans love in Italy.

I yeeld Sir, 'twas a mad part to venture a painful death for a woman, when a woman will venture nothing, but she'll have pleasure at one end of it, for the life of a man; yet the Dukes Sonne was not a madman for it.

I say he was.

Yes, and whip thee with Birch i'the Nose.

Bravely perform'd Alastor, 'tis politiquely done, bee noble and doe not strike.

Why sir, this is not mine owne sword.

And therefore thou hadst no authority to use it: Come I have other businesse for thee, that shall gaine thee gold.

I thanke you sir, for indeed I had a suit to you before.

It is the better trade of the two by halfe: I know thou canst begg valiantly: but to the businesse. Thou knowst my Lord Lucilio goes away in disgrace 'twixt banishment and travaile: he is not well, and therefore would stay behinde a while un­knowne: onely thou must goe before and put on his name, that the world may take notice of his passage, and hold rumour busie, till hee comes privately and overtakes thee—But come to my lodging, where Ile dispose of farther particulars, and furnish thee with apparell and crownes for thy journey.

I attend you sir.

Why Debora I say! why Debora.

Anon forsooth. —

Come bring away the Napkins quickly, and make ready here, (these heavy Ars'd wenches are so slow) and doe you heare, bid one of the Boyes fetch me a Pinte of Oligant, Buls Blood, and a quart of Canary; and look that the white Broth with Eringoes and Marrow be not over-boyl'd; I know M. Da­masippus loves it well.

Ioy and peace of minde be to my deare Pupill, let mee give thee a morall kisse.

In pure moralitie M. Damasippus, you are most heartily welcome— Would this wench would come away that wee had Supper once.

That word hath eterniz'd thee my sweet Ambrosia; [Page 40] and thy name is written in Elizium among Ioves paramours: Wherefore let the beloved of Iove feast and banquet according to moralitie.

You are so full of learned sayings still: I have studyed too a great while, would I could reade once.

Soule of the world! thou shalt bee illuminated without reading, for I will infuse knowledge into thee, and thou shalt bee repleate.

Can you doe so M. Damasippus?

I can my Summum bonum: and thou shalt have the Mandragoras for thy fecundity; and I will free thee from the vici­ous note of sterility.

O the blessings of these Philosophers! Come sweet M. Damasippus, sit, and lets sup quickly.

Content.

O Mistris! my Master and Mistris Abigail are comming up the street together.

Thunder from heaven confound 'hem, and the fire of Aetna consume their steps.

Charitable M. Damasippus, get in here till I can shift 'hem—so, 'tis well,

Good Mistris Abigail, I was sure before hee was not here. How now wife! at high Supper! and Wine! and Iunkets! and knacks! and all alone! this feast would have beseem'd thy friends and Neighbours, the worshipfull of the Parish, our fellow Magistrates: but I thanke thee for't, I have a stomacke now as sharp—as if I would eate for anger. I would not for a pound I were to beguile any one of his Supper to night, Come sit Mistris Abigail.

Mistris Frailware will you sit by your husband?

No forsooth, my stomack does so wamble: when Supper was dressing methought I could eate such a deale; [Page 41] and now the sight of—the meat does so fill mee: I pray Husband bring Mistris Abigal into my Chamber, I think I shall be very ill.

By and by duck, we follow thee—so, sit as close to mee now as mine Office, and here's a health in Canary to the formall Cuckold thy Husband.

Fy M. Frailware that you'll have such a fearfull word in your mouth.

Hang him, hee's a Goate, and thou hast, and shalt make him deserve it.

I must confesse hee has a stinking breathe indeed; & that I have traversd the paths of goodfellowship for your sake.

I, and wilt doe still, though thy Husband heard thee say so.

I and will doe it though my husband heard mee.

Why now thou speak'st like a sister of the Lecture, and according to moralitiy.

Nay I have been forward enough to you M. Frailware, ever since my first mariage: for in good earnest I did marry M. Da­masippus, only because I saw the Philosophers wives goe with the first of the Parish, and so forth—but my heart—

Let the City have it wench, and let my fine pure formall peece of Stoicity weare out six grogran Elbowes with pleading moralities, and counterfeit railing against the sinnes of the flesh; spend all hee can flatter from women to play the Epicure; and then make ragged Lectures and exercises in Cellars and Gravell Pits for a collection of seven pence, ere thou giv'st him so much as a good wish.

Nay so hee shall; for truely he is growne a very Pharao, a hard-hearted Mirmidon to me of late.

A ficus for him whorson Crab; hee playes the Goate rampant abroad I heare.

It eene makes me many times wish him in his grave, that he might sleepe and I were free.

Thou art free now my sweet Ab: come, gi'me a threave of kisses—who would live tyed to such a Bull of Bason.

Will please you have any Musick?

Musick! most opportunely welcome; wee'll make a night on't now: strike up Tigellius.

Away with him prophane Tavern-Leech.

Nay prethee Mistris Abigail have patience.

I will not heare it.

By this kisse you must—play on sirrha— Musick is a noble Science.

Well this fit would cost me an exercise if my Husband knew it: but I can endure any thing for your sake sweet M. Frailware.

God a mercy—

What an earthquake! more Devils i'the Vault? are you fir'd, and will blow us up? who have we here?

The very'st Cuckold of a dozen.

Neighbour Damasippus! now by my authoritie welcome into the Livery: wee'll have a company shortly.

O, my husband! I will goe to an exercise presently, that the gods may appease your wrath.

I see our wives will bring us to all the venerable degrees of the City, before they have done.

Frailware, I will curse thee from the Temple of Diana; and thou shalt be excarnify'd by doggs.

We are Acteons both: let us knock heads.

Step before him and shut the doore, I have a plot against his Beard. ha ha ha—

How doe you point the formes which they assume?

Each hath his private Charme, peculiar for the shape which pleaseth most, and is least fearfull.

What Spirit is this?

This is a common spirit of much practise; it goes in the forme of a young Gentlewoman worne out of service, and keepes her residence in the Suburbs, till she has ingross'd all the diseases of the City, which she delivers by whole sale to her customers: From sixteene to foure and twenty; shee is for none but Bever Hats, Gold Lace, and Taffety Linings: Before thirty she fals to Roaring Boyes, Sharks, Servingmen and Artificers: from thence to Porters and Skavingers; till freed by all degrees, she becomes a Nurse of the Trade by five and forty; then many times a six penny Witch, and so back againe to an everlasting Devill.

What is this?

This is a Spirit Madam that takes many times the habit of an old Gentlewoman, gets into Ladies familiarities, & teaches the tempers of Complexion; the composition of meats that strengthen and provoke luxury: the use of quelque choses and Dildoes: has Aretine at her fingers ends. 'Twas she that first invented double Locks, and a sute of Keyes to every Office: Shee exalted the horne of the Buttery, & made the Silver Bole neglect the company of the black Iack: and preferr'd a Bill against eating Breakfasts and sit­ting up late, to the prejudice of Tallow-Chandlers. In fine, shee sets Families together by the eares, and flattering her selfe into great mens expenses, becomes the bane of Hospitalitie.

'Tis a familiar Spitit, methinkes I could bee acquainted with her—But who is this?

O this is a Devill of many shapes, and indeed Madam sel­dome at leisure, that wee can have any use of him. He fawnes him into services of place, and perswades men, otherwise morally civil, from the chaste Sheets of their beautifull and vertuous mariages: becomes an Intelligencer, and panders them to Milk-maids, Kit­chin-wenches, [Page 45] and Oyster-wives. Hee refuses no deed that hea­ven abhorres, and Hell trembles at, so his Lord sin with him. He is a very chain'd slave to his Masters vices, and leaves him in nothing but Actions of honour and vertue. An other time hee is a concea­led Druggist or Apothecary, puts on the name of a great Traviller, poysons at an houre, and is in great request.

Speake to him good Micale, and let him know our bu­sinesse.

But how shall we procure her death?

Scena 1.

And gladly too, for I am as weary of travell, as I am of a Shepheards life.

I Camilla, the desire of being publike is the disease of our Sex: we thinke the Countries free breathing spaciousnesse a pri­son, where the losse of libertie is the want of company. But if there were one of us, whose contents were not without her, she would shun that common concurse of eyes, as she does the opini­on of deformity; and perceive that the best perfectiō had no grea­ter enemy than publike aspects.

This is forc'd now, and savours not of your temper and womans seasoning, to hold Paradoxes against nature, and opinions opposite to our owne feelings. 'Sprecious Madam, if Nature fram'd us to please, how can we please where's none to be pleas'd but Beasts and Birds, whose apprehension was ne'r made capable of proportion, and therefore regard it not.

And therefore condemne us of unnaturalnesse, that when beauty was equally shar'd 'twixt them and us, they respect it as it is; whil'st wee, blinded by reasonable sense, conceive it the richest gift Heaven could give, study it above the soule, and equall to life, tho it meerly touch our outsides, as clothes doe.

Nay deare Mistris, let's talke a little now like our selves like women; and tell mee whether an excellent Qualitie forc'd from operation, or a rare peece of worke held from sight, bee not a wrong to the Author, as well as the thing? O they were fowly deceiv'd that sought perfection in a Nunnery!

Thats the errour of our ambition, that while wee take our ayme at admiration, by publikenesse and common flattery, we misse that repute among the wisest, which our beauties not pro­stituted would infallibly merit; because every thing, though lesse perfect, yet lesse common, is more admired, as we see in the Sunne and a Comet.

You are Bookish still: and Ile stand to it yet, there's no woman but loves them both: and therefore being naturall to our Sex, why should it bee tearmed unnaturalnesse in us, to cherish beautie, or wish the perfection of civill mens amiable societie, when that ever begets love, and love is ever secōded with flattery. I like a Wench that's pure mettall, and spirit, and the very foule of her kinde; that when a Lord wantons her, will forsake her home, give off her father and competent meanes to the poore of the Parish; stick to the City, like a Prodigall to the Counter, that cannot be drawne out by all the friends, he has; lives clearely by her wits, yet reasonable honest too and all to be flatter'd.

Such Camilla be the disgrace of their Sex: whose appe­tites change with varietie; and taint the generall name of women with the vicious note of inconstancy.

That's the folly of men, to terme inconstancie vicious in us, for were they not so prone to wrong us, they would ne'r expect it, but know that to bee too constant to them, were to bee too disloyall to our selves, which I hope ne'r came nigh a womans wit.

Yet it is the perfection of vertue to lose by the exercise.

By the pleasures of change, I sweare this constancy is a mortall sinne, and not a vertue in any of us.

A sinne! and mortall!

A sinn, and most mortall, because most against nature, and brings many of us to lead Apes in Hell. To lose the sweets of youth, the very Nectar of Nature, and frustrate the end of our Creation; can this be lesse than a mortall sinne?

'Tis a worke of merit, and they be Saints worthy to have their names written upon the Altar of Chastity. 'Tis belov'd of Heaven, and sometimes fortunately rewarded here.

My selfe you meane.

I am no Divine, spight of the time I must speake my thoughts.

Why then 'tis you: would any woman breathing, that had her 5 senses, and no red head, no blew lips nor raw Nose, no desperate fortunes, nor crackt reputatiō, but walk'd upright in the face of the world, and in the Aprill of her age, so devote her selfe to one, that she must undergoe these miseries, when by renouncing him, shee may underlie so many commodities? To turne Savage here, and hold conference with none but hils and sheepe, when she might have variety of fashions, wits, and breathes to Court her at home. I protest I would love over a whole Play-house of Gallants first.

I could be angry with thee Camilla, for Ile first be trea­cherous to my owne soule, ere buy content or kingdomes with perfidiousnesse.

God reward you, for man will never.

Vertue is rich, and rewards it selfe: and if my wrongs merit Lucilios safetie, Heaven redouble 'hem.

What is shee? Sure some voluntary occasion has dri­ven her this way.

'Tis some Camelion perhaps, that lives upon the breath of newes, and comes to intelligence us here.

Faith Mistris my stomack takes this for an invitation, I have a great appetite to be acquainted with the honest Shepher­desse, for I am dry at heart, though my teeth water.

Yet be not impudent, invite not thy selfe.

Why no, I shall doe as custome and fashion forces us in wooing, forbeare and be coy, look to be invited and pray'd, when we be ready to starve: Ile to her & dine, that's past resolving— Come will you goe?

Not I.

Your reason?

Because I have none to goe.

Nor I to stay—Shepherdesse proface: I thinke your feast be neither gluttonous nor miserable, that thus you make it in the sight of heaven.

'Tis the Countries priviledge faire Shepherdesse to shun both: will't please you sit and eate?

Your kindnesse makes mee presume, yet I feare to be o­ver bold.

Command and try, these Hill-Inhabitants dissemble not.

I have a melancholy friend here by, whom discontent makes scarce sociable: yet perhaps company & your Bottle would infuse a little spirit, and make a Sunshine on her thoughts.

You are too blame if you left her then, solenesse feeds me­lancholy: please you we goe and sit with her?

That were to trouble your kindnesse.

Nay you mistake me then, methinks Shepheards should not know these Court complements, more then that does the Countries honesty.

Come, rouze your selfe, and meet a banquet that comes freely to you.

I cannot eate.

Why then you cannot live.

And therefore I cannot eate, because I cannot live.

Yet strengthen Nature, and out-live sorrow.

'Twere Tytius plague, to renew strength for griefe to feed on.

And to let sorrow keepe you fasting were to starve with Tantalus.

A hard choise for me the while.

Vertuous constancy; thou art belov'd of Heaven, and fortunately rewarded.

Peace good Eccho.

Come Nymph, you must bee joviall, these love griefes availe you nothing: men perhaps laugh at 'hem.

Both to your selfe, I am not sick.

Pledge her faire Nymph.

See what a company of religious fooles wee maides bee, to sigh and hang the head for ere a rough-hewne-stubble cheeke on 'hem all, when a Crab-fac'd Cynick, that has neither land nor hansomnesse, will scoffe at affection, and say hee knowes foure Wenches, who if they were stampt and strain'd, so, that he might draw out the vertue of one, the beauty of another, the witty good nature of a third, and the Portion of a fourth; he could make a rea­sonable good Wife for ere a yonger brother in the land.

By Pan but such a wife would right well fit a Worship­full Heire.

Nay that were pity faith, then fooles should trouble two houses. Come will you take your Liquor?

good Spirit leave thy tempting: my heart growes cold and pants, as if it did presage some fatall ill stood nigh me.

These be the dreames of love: here take a draught, and waken imagination, fancy is strong with you.

I thinke so too; pray heaven it be no more.

I cannot drinke—were you in the City late?

I feare some of us shall recompence our sloth too soone, for I am wondrous ill.

Poore wench, these newes have wounded thee.

Then they have reason, for they that live by showes must paint faire.

Alas, what's here? a Shepherdesse asleep!

Sweet benefit of our life, to whom a Turfe gives a more secure sleep, than a Palace doth a Monarch.

But this is death, not sleep.

Why then shee's absolutely blest: Nature has given her an acquitance from the reckonings of fortune and miserie.

We must in charity bury her.

To your Tooles then, we can doe no lesse: though it bee scarce in fashion now to be charitable.

Fashion is a Traviller, and Shepheards cannot follow it.

I Laurinda, it travels into all Nations the world o'r.

And therefore should goe round.

And therefore does goe round, blindfold, like a Mill-Horse, who thinkes he goes forward, yet keeps his course circu­lar. But now Laurinda what further Ceremony can you devise for this Funerall? poore haplesse Coarse!

To mourne for we know not whom, and when perad­venture death was the beginning of her happinesse, were to a­buse our selves, and be sorry she could be no longer miserable.

Yes, wee must have a Countrey Song for her farewell from the earth, and welcome to the earth.

Ile doe my best, though it bee unseasonable to sing at burials.

Poore Wench, even in the flower of her age! although I knew thee not, yet for thy memory Ile change with thee—

Your hand Arminio.

'Tis too late, I have miss'd him, and all my labour's lost. Speed you shepheards and your worke.

Sir, you are welcome, but our sad worke is sped alrea­dy, and so are they for whom we worke.

Why is it sad then if both be sure of speeding?

Because Sir the bestspeed our labour can have, is the sad end of their life for whom we worke. We have buried the dead.

'Tis well that Charity is not runne the Countrey then. But whom have you buried?

One doubtlesse as unfortunate as unknowne, a stran­ger sure in these parts, and as shee seem'd, a maid: further parti­culars we know not: but pittying shee should want a buriall, as we came by and saw her dead, we gave her that which earth denies to no misfortune, a poore grave.

And tooke from off her face this Scarfe, bless'd with the last kisse her dying lips could give.

O my apprehensive soule!

What meane you Sir? doe you know it?

Faith Sir since I perceive you long for it, you shall pre­vaile: and if shee were of your acquaintance, keepe it as a monu­ment of her untimely death. So fare you well Sir.

Now Master Constable, how like you this project? Doe I not draw all things to the life?

Excellent Boy! for a searching braine thou mightst have made a Head-borrough.

What an ambidextrous shaver have I got to doe the feate?

Can he draw teeth I wonder?

I, who doubts it? 'tis the semi-sphere of his Profes­sion: why doe you aske?

because I would have this hatefull Stoiks two rowes of teeth drawne, for trespassing at my Table.

You'll save nothing by that, for the want of teeth will make him come the oftner to your wifes White-broth, her Mar­row, and Eringoes, who will likewise cram him up with Potatoes, Oysters, metamorphis'd Mushromes, and such like self-swallowing provocatives, that will runne down his throate as glibbie, as your pils of Butter, and make as much haste into his Belly, as they will make out againe into hers.

How thou doest charge my head with scruples!

No; the way to destroy all fundamentall reference be­tweene him and your wife hereafter, and to spoyle him for ever giving fresh sappe unto your hornes, let his offensive member be now lopt off, before the Sunne enters the Ramme.

And what then Boy?

Why when we have reduc'd him to this impotent state, we will straight divest him, and trusse him up naked in a Wheele-barrow, and send him home in the posture of an innocent, with his hands cleaving to the outsides of his knees, and his nose be­tweene his two Thumbes.

Content; and wee'll goe pawne his clothes the while, and be drunke with the money.

Stay, this is a little two Tragicall, now I thinke on't: wee'll spare his wifes night-peece for her sake, till the next con­junction—

Harke—our Checkerman has him by the Poll already: now Master Constable stand close to your revenge, dissemble a feare a while, wee shall be summon'd straight.

Come out you unpoll'd Stoick, 'tis time you had the cur­tesie of my Razer.

Good sir, I need it not.

I'll force it on you sir: as I am Pluto's Barber in Ordinary I will trimme you, come, I long to doe it, therefore sit downe, and make your Beard ready for dissection—wee must have help I see; Constable come hither, come I say, and feare not, but doe your [Page 58] Office, force him to fit, if your Authoritie bee strong enough: you trembling slave come helpe.

I come, I come sir.

Damasippus I command you to sit in the devils name.

So, hold him there. Now Damasippus before my mortall Razer seize your morall Beard, what can you say to save it?

Oh sir, it is an Ornament and speciall gravity belonging to our Sect.

Impossible that haire should argue wit; I rather thinke it does ecclipse a good disputative face, and makes you look more like a Travelling Greeke, then an Italian Stoick.

Yet for Antiquitie-sake spare me these haires that never yet were cut.

How! Nunquam tondenti Barba cadebat?

Never since 'twas a Beard sir, it is yet tipt with the Downe, the reliques of my youth, and in a primitive state.

Why then sir the antiquitie of this your primitive Beard showes you to have beene a ranke enemy to our Profession.

Why sir, I kept it for that end that Nature gave it, as a garment to cloathe the face of age in winter.

Yet know Damasippus, tho it keep your face lukewarme, then; it breeds a frost in your Liver, devours the radicall humour of your body, and endangers you to a Consumption: But in Sum­mer, especially the Dog-dayes, such a Dung-mix of haire, and vast foregrowne Beard as this, were enough to keepe your Chin swea­ting, nine dayes together, and turne every haire of these to Snakes.

Most devillishly argu'd.

Now Saturne, Vertumnus, and the god of Sheep-sheare guide my hand—

Oh, oh—

Hold, I have almost done.

Shave him close.

And wash him too in Lethe-wa­ter, that he may forget his way to my house.

So, let him rise.

Why this was quickly done.

And valiantly suffer'd.

Now Damasippus, in hope that you'll heareafter bee a [Page 59] reform'd man, Ile bee no more a Devill.

Nor Fidler I.

Would I could cast my head too.

O you damn'd Villaines! have you betraid mee thus to shame and horrour!

Be not angry Damasippus: now the Antependium of your face is off, you have a more Sibiline aspect a great deale.

True, hee lookes now just like a Goose return'd out of an inchaunted hole without her feathers.

Wee have already Damasippus, our wives have min­gled it.

And you have both tasted of the horne of abundance—

That your heads may be exalted like a brace of Bucks—

According to moralitie vertuous Damasippus.

And have still Madam, for rumour sayes she lives.

I Madam, what of that?

It's strange I heare not from the Prince, nor Antonio, who promis'd to meet mee here, where I have now stay'd three dayes in expectance, and had the winde bin faire, must have pass'd for Greece—'Fore Heaven it's a gallant thing to be a Lord, if but in name, you shall be so applauded in every vanitie, scurrill jest, and impious action: A Satten Thersites that stalks among the Pesants like the Stork that Iupiter sent among the frogs, will so bend and bow to your little Toe, fawne and protest your excel­lencies; Si bene ructavit—Sirectum minxit— I would I had the faith that some have, I would never be unlorded againe. 'Fore Heaven I must begin to fawne, and get my selfe created: This service done for the Prince is a good step to it.

Now Captaine, the winde's unconstant still, every where save where to steed us.

Womanish my Lord, womanish.

Indeed their levity has gotten them now that Simile appropriated.

But they shew'd other Cards before they wonne it, too.

Nay, that's enough i'faith.

Yet they had more.

As what!

Why their tongues, which fill houses, as the bustling of Windes doe Climates: they overturne Families, and States, as winds doe Trees, Towres, Ships. And for your diversitie of winds you have your diversitie of women: for your whirlewindes that claspe and carry a thing in the ayre, till it fall dasht to peeces; you have of your Females that will claspe and beare you, till at your next fall you will thinke one peece will scarce hang by another. For your freezing windes, you have them that will breed such a frost in your bones, that change of weather will make 'hem as rotten as the ground after a sudden thaw: And for your blitting and burning windes, you have of them too, that will blast and scorch [Page 63] most ambidextrously. Onely the difference is, that there bee but sixteene points in the Card, where the winde can be unprofitable to a man: but a woman has for the most part, the whole compasse of her Card unprofitable, which containes two and thirty points at least.

Then the Grāmarians methinkes did ill to make Ventus of the Masculine Gender.

The Grāmarians my Lord were meere Schollers, & meere Schollers be meere fooles, and meere fooles are easily deceiv'd in matter of Gendring.

Impossible sir, they couple Genders by Booke.

Right my Lord: so they all study Riders Dictionary, and therefore become excellent Horsemen.

Newes from Court to your Grace; a stiffe robustious Letter-Carrier makes much inquiry where he may be delivered of some matters he has beene in travaile withall.

Cozenage and dissimulation help me, it's impossible to scape discovering. D'sfoote I must walke stately, looke scornfully, talke simply, and be Noble at all points now. But it fals out some­thing fortunately to be in the Evening: let him have entrance.

Health to your Grace.

As much to them that bring it: how fare our friends at Court?

As wanting no part of welfare but your wish'd presence.

Have you ought to impart that concerns us?

I have my Lord, and must have private conference with your Grace.

Attend us then on the Litto, where Ile presently meete you, and take this soft Evening breath.

Heaven, Ayre, Place, Time, and all will fit thy death.

By Iove methinks I begin to be my Craftes-Master and Lord it handsomely. If it were as easie for a Villaine to be a Lord, as a Lord to be a villaine, I would write noble instantly: get mee a Herald for seven shillings, or a frowne to forsweare himselfe, and draw my Pedigree as deep as Romulus. Captaine, as the wind serves, either on the Litto, or at my Lodging.

Wee will attend your Grace.

'Tis strange that such a personage should thus obscurely travell.

Tush Navarchus, our common-wealth is among fishes, and our pollicie with the windes, and therefore no marvell if Courtiers tricks savour not on our palats.

Yet fearing disgrace above damnation, and loving a popular esteeme more then heaven; methinkes obscuritie should fright 'hem.

Faith no; for you shall have a Courtier of the first Velvet head, when the tide runnes low, and in a place unknowne, will fa­miliarly turne you to his old trade, accoutre his palfrey most neat­ly, and thanke obscurity for drowning the unfit honour hee had lately slipt on and off.

'Tis a disease indeed they have, to feele no touch of fu­ture honour, nor taste any thing more than what lies before 'hem.

Tut, they be wise in that, for their conception being pre­cipitate, and their births rash, they knew their glories birth would bee like the flies I have seene by a River in Aegypt, that begin to live in the morning, are at full age by noone, and die before Sunne set: and therefore their honour feeds like mothes upon apparell, and objects meerly present—flashes—flashes.

But such an imputation cannot staine his honor, whose graine taken in the die of a Dukes blood, stands immaculate spight of all fortunes.

'Tis true, and therefore peradventure parsimony invites him to this obscuritie, for Ile assure you, that to be miserable, and not fight, are growne to be two right honourable qualities,—

Captaine, you stand talking here of a Cock and a Bull, while our rich fare is gone another way.

Who? my Lord the Prince?

I your Lord the Prince.

Which way, for profits sake?

That way that many Lords doe for profits sake: down­wards, downwards.

Prethee speake not in enigmas; be understood.

In plaine Dagger termes the Prince is slaine.

D'foot 'tis sharp newes.

By whom?

Why, that swart Rutter that brought the message from Court, delivered it in such keene termes, that it went to his heart: & when he had done, tumbled him off the Litto into the water to catch Whitings. But two Merchants spying it, rais'd the people and tooke him, and now the Governour is gone a fishing after the Body.

This amazes mee, done so suddenly.

Death's a quick Carver when he comes in that shape.

Who set him on sayes he?

Some valiant Squire or other, who is yet unknowne, nor will the Governour urge the knowledge, but sends him back to Court, that the Duke may take notice of all.

Come, lets to the the Litto, and set our helps to find the Body.

Content.

Scena 1.

BVt have you found the body?

Who's this? Fioretta the Lady Iulia's woman? My heart! what meanes her habit?

Saving your mirth faire Lady, what preparation's this?

a Bridall sir; true love and greatnesse be divorc'd, and now they bee both going to be married to misfortune.

'Twas a marriage long since, my selfe was at the wedding: But be a little plainer, & tell me who it is to be maried?

Indeed Sir, Beauty, Vertue, and too much faith for a wo­man, are going to the cold armes of a sullen Churle, one that consumes ere hee lets goe: yet hee is better than your other husbands are; he forsakes them not, leaves them not in misery, hee wooes them not with flatteries, and poysons with unkind­nesse: hee never sweares, and lies, but continues faithfull till Doomes-day. Who be you?

A stranger in your City, a poore Husbandman.

A poore Husband? then thou art a poore dissembler, a poore murderer: O you husbands kill more than scurvie Physiti­ans, or a plaguy Summer. But art a stranger?

A very stranger here.

Why that's all one, thou canst not bee a stranger to her fame, if thou hast liv'd but a moneth in the world. Poor innocent Althea makes her last mariage, and I am one of her Bridemaids.

To whom for loves sake?

To her grave for love's sake, an honest Husband: tis better then the Dukes sonne, that sent her from the City, to dye in the Mountaines? Ah 'twas unkindly done, not to goe nor send after her! yet poore Lord hee is kill'd, dead too now, and has met her Hearse here—

So those two soules that ne'r were borne to have

[Page 68]A Nuptiall Bed, have found a Nuptiall Grave.

Stay.

Speake.

O stay deare love!

Why, I doe live.

Wonder and amazement do not oppresse me!

O we are blest beyond desert!