[Page] THE DAMOISELLE, OR THE NEW ORDINARY.
A COMEDY.
LONDON, Printed by T. R. for Richard Marriot, and Thomas Dring, and are to be sold at their Shops in Fleet-street, 1653.
[Page] Prologue.
OƲR Playmaker (for yet he won't be calld
Author, or Poet) nor beg to be installd
[...]ir Lawreat) has sent me out t'invite
Your fancies to a full and cleane delight:
And bids me tell you, That though he be none
Of those, whose towring Muses scale the Throne
Of Kings, yet his familiar mirth's as good,
When tis by you approv'd and understood.
As if h' had writ strong lines, and had the fate,
Of other Fools for medling with the State.
Readers and Audients make good Playes or Books,
Tis appetite makes Dishes, tis not Cooks.
But let me tell you, though you have the power,
To kill or save; They're Tyrants that devoure,
And Princes that preserve: He does not ayme,
So much at praise, as pardon; nor does claime
Lawrell, but Money; Bayes will buy no Sack,
And Honour fills no belly, cloaths no back.
And therefore you may see his maine intent
Is his owne welfare, and your merriment.
Then often come, 'twill make us and him the wetter,
Wee'l drown the faults of this, in one that's better.
Dramatis Personae.
- VErmine,an old Ʋsurer.
- Dryground,an old decayed Knight.
- Sir Amphilus,a Cornish Knight.
- Bumpsey,an old Justice.
- Brookeall,a Gentleman, undone by Vermine.
- Valentine, Drygrounds Son.
- Wat, Vermins Son.
- Freindly,a Templer.
- Two Gallants
- Oliver,
- Ambrose,
- Trebasco.Sir Amphilushis Footman.
- Attorney.
- Mrs. Magdalen, Bumpseys Wife.
- Jane,his Daughter.
- Alice, Vermins Daughter:
- Frances,a young Gentlewoman:
- Phillis, a poore Wench.
- Elianor.
- Lawyers.
- Serjeants.
- Servants.
- Rabble:
The Scene LONDON.
THE DAMOISELLE, OR, The New Ordinary.
ACT. I. Scene I.
Vermine, Dryground.
Ver.
YOU have your Money; full a thousand pound,
Sir Humfrey Dryground.
Dry.
And you have my Mortgage.
Ver.
All well and good; all well and good. But, now,
Sir Humfrey Dryground, let me counsell you.
You have already spent a faire Estate;
A goodly, great estate: I do not taunt,
Nor taxe you for't.
Dry.
Because its pumpt into
The purses of such wretches as thy selfe.
Ver.
But give me leave, now, fairely to admonish
You, to a care, how you do part with this.
[Page] You spirited men call Money Dirt and Mud.
I say it is the Eele.
Dry.
And you the Mud
That foster it.
Ver.
It is an Eele, I say,
In such sleek hands, as yours; from whence it glides—
Dry.
Into the Mud, oft-times, from whence it came.
Ver.
I know you doe conceive me. Therefore, Sir,
(As I before was saying) Hold it fast.
Dry.
According to the Ballad.
[He sings.]
Youth keep thy Money fast,
And tye it in thy Purse:
For that must be thine onely Friend,
For better and for worse.
Ver.
So so, I see it going already.
Dry.
I, to thy comfort. This is the Usurers Scripture;
And all that they pretend Salvation by:
To give good admonition with their Money;
Though, in their hearts they wish the quick subversion
Of all they deal with. This is all they plead
Against the curses of oppressed soules:
Did not I warne you? Did not I say, take heed?
And so, and so forth. I must thank you Sir.
Ver
You say, youle make a venture of this Money.
Dry.
Yes Mr. Vermine, in a Project, that—
Ver.
Out upon Projects. Fy fy, out out out.
Dry.
I 'm confident shall set me out of debt,
With you and all the World; and reap, againe,
All, that I formerly have sowne, with profit.
Ver.
Sowne! There's a word! Prodigall wast is sowing.
We shall call Shipwrack, shortly, sowing too.
Heark you Sir Humfrey Dryground, may not I
[Page] Be privy to your Project? Will you tell me,
If I guesse on it?
Dry.
That I will in sooth.
Ver.
Is 't not to dreine the Goodwins? To be Lord
Of all the Treasure, buryed in the Sands there?
And have a Million yearely, from the Merchants
To cleer the passage.
Dry.
You have had your blow.
No Sir, my Project is in the behalfe
Of the poor Gentleman, you overthrew
By the strong hand of Law, Bribes, and oppression;
Brookall: Do you know him Sir? whose state you suck'd▪
That wrought him to a poverty that cryes
Your sinfull Covetise up to the heighth;
And renders you the Monster of our time,
For avarice and cruelty.
Ver.
No more of that.
Dry.
You should do well to add a sum, like this
To his releife: To wave the bitter curse
That will in time fall on you and your house.
Ver.
O ho! I now remember, you have reason.
That Brookall had a Sister, whom you vitiated
In your wild heat of blood, and then deny'd
Her promis'd Marriage; turnd her off with Childe
A dozen yeares since, and since that, never heard of▪
Ha! Is't not so? Pray, did you know her Sir?
Dry.
I wish I could redeem that ruthfull fault,
By all expiatory meanes: But thy
Inhumane cruelty is inexpiable:
Unlesse (it comes from Heaven into my heart
To move thee to't) thou tak'st a speedy course
To give him threefold restitution.
Ile put thee in the way. He has a Son,
A hopefull Youth, a Student in the Law,
If his poor Fathers want of means have not
[Page] Declined his course: Give him thy onely Daughter,
And make his Fathers owne Inheritance
(By thee unrighteously usurpt) her Dowry;
And pray a blessing may go with it; And then
Thou mayst regaine a Christian reputation,
Till age shall lead thee to a quiet Grave.
Come, is't a match? Will you bestow your Daughter
On Brookalls Son, and make your way to Heaven by't?
Ver.
You have your Money.
Dry.
And thou hast Adders eares
To all such Counsells.
Ver.
If you break your day
I shall thinke of your counsell.
Dry.
Farewell Vermine.
Exit.
Ver.
And farewéll Dryground.
This parcell of thy Land, Ile keep from wetting:
The Mortgage.
Tis not in thee to turne an Acre of it
Into pure Liquor, for a twelvemoneths day.
And break that day thy payment, and the Sun
Sets not more sure, then all this Land is mine.
My Daughter! ha! Can't be in thought of man
To dreame of such a Match? A wretch, a Beggar?
Within there! Where▪s my Girle? What Ally? Ally?
Enter Alice.
Ali.
Here Sir—
Vir.
Myblessing, and good morne: Now heare me Girle.
Ali.
Now for a Speech—
Ver.
The care of Children's such a startle-braine,
That had I more then one, I should run Wild-cat,
(Then one I mean, to care for) that▪s thy selfe,
My sober discreet Daughter. Note my care,
Pil'd up for thee in massy sums of wealth;
Too weighty for thy weak consideration
[Page] To guesse from whence it came, or how together
So layd in mountainous heaps.
Ali.
It is indeed
As strange to me, as are the stony wonders
On Salsbury Plaine to others. But my duty
Perswades me twas your thrift, and that great blessing
That gives increase to honest Industry,
Drawne on it by your prayers and upright life,
That wrought these heaps together.
Ver.
O, Ally Ally,
Tis well if thine with all thy Huswifry
Can keep 'em so. I thanke thee for thy judgement
And charitable thoughts. But—
Ali.
You had other wayes.
Ver.
I say, thou art the onely Childe I care for▪
Thy Brother (though I loath to call him so)
Is, now, an utter stranger to my blood;
Not to be nam'd but with my curse, a Wolfe
That teares my very bowells out.
Ali.
Your Money.
Ver.
A riotous Reprobate, that hath consum'd
His last, already, of my meanes and blessing.
Ali.
But he yet may be turn'd Sir.
Ver.
Out oth' Compter!
May he be so, dost think? Could I but dream
His Creditors, that have him fast, could be
So idly mercifull, or that his youthfull Ghing
Could stretch, to get him out, Ile lay, my selfe,
An Action on him weightier, then the strength
Of all their poor abilities could lift:
HisJacks, hisToms, hisNams, Nolls, Gills, andNuns,
The roaring fry of his Blade-brandishing mates
Should not release his Carcasse: If they did,
I'de force him to a tryall for his life,
For the two hundred Peices that he pilfred.
[Page] Out of my Counting-house. He shall up.
Ali.
I will not forfeit my obedience Sir,
To urge against your Justice, onely I crave
Your leave to grieve, that I have such a Brother.
Ver.
Thou shalt defie the name of Brother in him,
My onely, onely Childe; and but in one command
Obey me further, all my estate is thine,
Tis that I cald thee for.
Ali.
I do not crave
More, then your daily blessing; but desire
To know what youle impose upon my duty.
Ver.
Thou shalt, and stile thy selfe a Lady by't.
Ali.
Now Love defend me from the man I feare.
Ver.
This day Ile match thee to a matchlesse Knight.
Ali.
The Westerne Kight Sir, that was here last Term?
Ver.
Even he, this day he comes to Towne.
Ali.
Would I
Were out on't first. A matchlesse Knight
[Aside.]
Indeed, and shall be matchlesse still for me.
Ver.
I like those blushes well: I read his welcome
Upon her cheeks.
Ali.
Sir, I have heard, he has
But little Land.
Ver.
But he has Money Girle
Enough to buy the best Knights Land, that is
A selling Knight, in the West part of England.
Ali.
He's well in yeares.
Ver.
A lusty Batchelor of two and fifty,
With, O, the husbandry thats in him.
Ali.
How came he by his Knighthood? Cost it nothing?
Ver.
No: He was one oth' Cobbe-Knights in the throng,
When they were dubd in Clusters.
Enter Servant.
Ser.
Sir, the Knight,
[Page] That you expect this day, is come to Towne.
His man has brought's Portmantue.
Ver.
Fetch the Man.
The welcomst man alive is come to Towne.
Ally, my Girle, my Daughter, Lady Bride!
What title shall I give thee? Now bestirr you,
I know his thrift, he has rid hard to day
To save his Dinner
Enter Wat disguised like a Countrey Servingman.
Welcome honest freind.
And how does the right worshipfull Sir Amphilus?
Wat.
My Master is in health Sir, prays'd be Go—
A little weary, or so, as I am of my carriage,
Which I must not lay down, but in the hands
Of your owne Worship.
Ver.
Tis of weight and lock'd: I guesse the worth;
And warrant him the safety under these Keyes.
But where's thy Master?
Wat.
At his Inne in Holborne
Telling a little with the Host, till I
Bring word from you.
Ver.
No, I will run to him
My selfe: you shall stay here. his Chamber
Fitted against he comes, Ally, bestirr you,
And thinke no paines your trouble on this day,
To morrows Sun shall light your Wedding way.
Exit.
Ali.
Unlesse some unexpected Fate releive me,
I shall be hurried to my endlesse ruine.
Wat.
You are sad, me thinks, young Mistresse, I can tell you,
My Master, when he comes, will make you merry.
Ali.
How? As he is a Foole?
Wat.
No: But as he has
The soule of mirth and Musick at command;
Money, the all-rejoycing spirit, that
Hee'l make you merry with: Not that alone,
[Page] But Dignity, which Women prise 'bove money,
You are a Lady by't: Mark that. And if
He has a weaknesse, which you reckon folly;
It laies you open way to Soveraignty;
The thing which is of most esteem. You'll be
His Lady Regent; rule all his, and him.
Ali.
This Fellow talkes not like a Serving-man:
A forty shilling wages Creature, but
Some disguis'd spokes-man. What may be the trick o'nt?
Wat.
You cannot, in th [...] estate you are, imagine
What tis to be a Wife to such a man.
Ali.
No more then you perceive the paines you loose
In fooling for him thus. But spare your breath,
And take this briefe tast of his Entertainment.
First know, that J do know the man you speak of,
To be a covetous Miser; old and foolish.
Not worth in my estimation the worst Meale
That ever he himselfe paid three pence for.
Wat.
Who do you mean? Sir Amphilus my Knight.
Ali.
Yes Squire, J know him and his qualities;
The waies he got his Wealth by, casuall Matches;
Of forty, fifty, and sometimes a hundred
For one. When bounteous Fortune (seldome failing
Men of his Brain) cast all into his mouth,
The Gudgeon gap d for. And how slight a thing
It is, for such base Worldlings to be rich?
That study nothing but to scrape and save.
That have no Faith, but in their ready money,
Nor love to Worldly pleasures above those
Poor Coblers use.
Wat.
Cheap Whores, and Duck-hunting:
There s his delight indeed.
Ali.
J hate to think of of such a Dunghill Scarab.
A water-Dog Knight!
Wat.
But Wedlock, to his age, will bring him home
[Page] To choicer pleasures, and abandon such.
Ali.
His Age is fit for nothing, but to rock
Anothers Child; and to rejoyce through Spectacles,
At the strong Guesse he has, it is his owne.
Wat.
You slight him strangely yet: but when you see
Him, and his weighty reasons to confute you.—
Ali.
J will nor weigh, nor see him, or his reasons.
And if thou ow'st him so much Service, tell him;
Go back and tell him strait: save him the end
Of his intended Journey. For to come
Hither, will be to drive me hence. And tell
My Father, ere he shall enforce me, take him;
Ile flye into the Armes of one he hates.
Wat.
Are you in earnest?
Ali.
Yes, by all my hopes.
Wat.
These are the armes that must receive thee then.
Nay, be not frighted Sister; look, tis J.
Off his Beard, &c.
Ali.
Beshrew me but J am. How got you hither?
Could not the Compter hold you?
Wat.
So it seems,
My Virtue was not to be so obscur'd.
Noble Sir Humphrey Dryground, Sister, was
My franck Infranchiser. O, J have wonders
To tell thee Sister. Thou must go with me.
But first, lend me some money. Borrow some;
(And let it be a good Summe) of my Father,
Now in his absence. Come, supply, supply
My Pockets and thine owne. For we must hence.
Th'art made for ever, Sister. Quick, dispatch.
Ali.
What's the meaning of all this?
Wat.
Twill be too long to tell it here.
The Rascall foole, to whom my Fathergives thee,
Is come to Towne: And should he now surprise thee,
Here in my Fathers power, thy strength might faile thee.
[Page] Be therefore at a sure Guard, O, Sir Humphrey,
How are my Sister and my selfe bound to thee,
That plottest this escape. Dispatch good Ally,
And heare thee rest by th' way.
Ali.
Why? Wither? What▪s the matter?
Wat.
Say thou will have that Coxcomb, Ile but kill thee,
And leave the here: And all my care is over.
Ali.
Ile sooner dye then have him.
Wat.
Why do you not shun him then? O, sweet Sir Humphrey,
Is thy care slighted thus, in my delivery?
In my disguise? In sending out my Father
On Tom-fooles Errant? While a Coach is sent
To the back-doore here; All to save my Sister,
My thanklesse Sister here, from worse then Rape.
Ali.
Why, whither would you have me?
Wat.
But hard-by.
But till the Wilde-fire of my Fathers Passion
Shall be run out. Slid, J had eene forgot.
Beare money with us, Sister; pretty store.
Who knowes occasions? Let him keep in pawne
My rich Portmantue for▪t.
Ali.
There's some good stuff in▪t.
Wat.
More then hee ll thank me for. Wee'll talke i'th' Coach
In, in, and furnish; & so through the Garden,
And, whirre, we are gone. If we should be prevented;
By this good steele, if J but heare one knock,
Jle make sure work o thee. J can but trusse for t.
There's a faire end on's both. And what will he
Do with his money then? Look how thou standst.
Jf you respect your Father, or the Dog-Master,
To be your Husband, better then me, then take
You your owne course: Mine shall be known next Sessions.
Ali.
Better then you, don't you respect your Father
Better then me?
Wat.
No, if J do, let me be hang'd for nothing:
[Page] And that would anger any man I think.
Slid, thou and J had one Mother, (which
We both take after) so had not he and we.
And he takes after no body, that J know.
He loves a stranger better then's owne Childe:
And that mans money, better then that man,
The Devill 'bove all J think. Thou dost not know
What Coales we stand on.
Ali.
Who shall look toth' house?
Wat.
Wilt loose thy selfe with keeping that? Is that
All now? Away, away.
Ali.
Y'are a precious Brother.—
Exeunt.
ACT. I. Scene II.
Bumpsey, Dryground, Valentine, Magdalen, Jane.
Bum.
ALL this needs not Sir Humphrey.
Dry.
Do but heare patiently, and do your pleasure.
J go not about to stop your course, Mr. Bumpsey.
Bum.
Nor J yours, Sir Humphrey; Nor your Sonnes here; Nor his Wifes there: Onely this Gentlewoman, in mine owne right J may be bold withall, while you depart my house, if you may be intreated, so. Is not this right? Is not this plain?
Mag.
Yet heare his Worship speak, good Bump.
Bum.
Good Whirly, what can his Worship speak? Or your wisdome twatle for him, in this [...] J do not understand already? Has not his [...] wedded our Daughter? How directly, [...] [Page] rectly, who meddles with his match? Nay more, has he not bedded her? How, directly or indirectly, who meddles with that either? Let him have and hold, possesse (Hmh.) and enjoy; do his worst, and make his best of her, though she be an Heire, J will not sue him out of her: No, J protest; were it Ante Copulam, as it is post, J would not crosse 'em. Is not this right and plaine enough.
Dry.
But good Mr. Bumpsey, Brother Bumpsey, I would call you—
Bum.
Keep your Brothers and your Goods to your selfe, Sir, I have no need of 'em.
You are a Knight, and a man ot Worship—
Val.
He will speake all himselfe.
Bum.
J am a plaine Fellow, and out of debt.
Mag.
J, let him run on.
Bum.
J sought none of your Allyance, J—
Val.
Has he the speed to run beyond himselfe?
Ja.
Yes, and bring himselfe about, J warrant you.
Bum.
Nor to be joyned with houses of great sound,
Whose noise growes from their hollow emptinesse.
J could have matcht my Daughter here, that was,
But now a Barronettesse in Reversion,
To a substantiall Heire of two faire Lordships.
Dry.
Perhaps no Gentleman.
Bum.
Yet honourable, Land-Lordship's reall honour,
Though in a Trades-man Son: when your faire Titles
Are but the shadowes of your Ancestry;
And you walk in'em, when your Land is gone:
Like the pale Ghosts of dead Nobilitie.
Ha! Ist not so? Is not this right and plaine?
Dry.
Yes like the priviledge you use in your owne house here.
Bum.
Nay I come up to you now Sir Humfry Dryground;
[Page] Up in a point of Chivalry. You are a Knight,
A Baronet to boot: Your son is like
T'inherit that deare paid-for title, but
(Youle give me leave to use my plainnesse)
Dry.
Freely.
Bum.
Your son (I say) is Heire to your bought honour.
Which may hereafter Ladifie my Daughter:
But where s the Land you once were Lord of? Ha!
The goodly Cornfields, Medows, Woods, and Pastures,
That must maintain the House, the Gownes, the Coach,
With all by complements of Horses, Hawks, and Hounds.
Val.
Now hees in.
Bum.
Where be the Parks, the Warrens, Herds, and Flocks?
Besides the Gardens, Orchards, Walks, and Fish-ponds?
Dry.
For that heare me.
Bum.
Ods pitty, give me leave,
You, that had all these once, in three faire Lordships,
To be wrought on, and tonyed out of all,
But a small pittance of Trois Cents per Annum,
By Providence intayld upon the Heire,
(Or thad had wasted too) which now maintaines you,
In a proportion of Smoak, and Sack,
To wash your mouth with after, where you live
Confin'd in Milford Lane, or Fullers Rents,
Or who knows where, it skills not—
Dry.
Must I heare this too.
Mag.
Now he has almost done.
Bum.
Can you (I say) think your good husbandry
A lawfull Precedent for your Gamesome son
To make my Daughter happy in a Marriage,
Though he had twice my Fortunes?
Ja.
Now hee's coming:
Beare but with this; and if he offer not
[Page] More then you would request, Ile lose your love
Bum.
But here's the substance of't, you have my Daughter,
Your Son, sir, has my Daughter, that must have,
And shall, my whole Estate at my Decease;
(No Law exacts it sooner) This Estate
You safely may suppose ten thousand pounds,
Which J have got by thrifty Industry.
Onely one thousand, J confesse, my Wife
Improv'd my Fortune with, Here's the just summe▪
I give her leave to give it to her Daughter:
She may endow her Husband with it. So,
Is not this plaine? Now note me further, sir;
What J have left is my owne; and you, sir, may
Which what is theirs take hence your Son & Daughter,
Till you shall heare old Bumpsey is deceast.
Then let him come, and challenge all—that's left;
Mean time J know my course.
Ja.
Now chop in with him, Mother, you know how apt
Hee is to crosse you in these Moods.
Val.
Deare, worthy, honour'd, sir,
Bum.
sh't, sh't, sh't; Woman come you with me.
Mag.
J Bump. Let us go our way, and let them take theirs agods name.
Val.
Pray heare me, sir.
Mag.
At this time, sir, he shall not.
Bum.
Shall not! He shall sure: Ods pity! shall not: Are you pleas'd to speak, sir.
Val.
not to offend—
Bum.
Not to a Fiddlestick. Shall not! Can you speak or not?
If not, pray yell me so.
Val.
J married, sir, your Daughter.
Bum.
You may thank her Mother for't, not me.
Well, will you speake?
Val.
[Page]J married her in a firme hope to winne
Your Love and favour.
Bum.
Well.
Ʋal.
Which, since I have not yet; and time must worke it,
I would make this my suit.
Bum.
Would I could heare it once.
Ʋal.
That you would take
With re-acceptance of this thousand pound
Your Daughter and me into your Family.
Bum.
And why the thousand pound; doe's't burn your Fingers?
Give us but meat and lodging for t: My Father,
Out of his little left Estate will give us
A hundred yearely for other necessaries.
Bump.
With all my heart.
Val.
And as you finde my regular life deserve
Your future favour, so extend your bounty,
When Age shall call upon you to dispose
Of all your faire Possessions.
Bum.
Humh! A pretty od speech this! I would I knew
The meaning on t.
Val.
I mean, Sir, as I speak; that till you finde
Strong probability in me to manage
A good estate, you trust me not with any.
Bum.
Ha! Is it so? Then J come to a point with you.
Mag.
Marke him now, Sir Humfrey.
Bum.
You look, Sir, in my Daughters right, to have,
After my death, my whole Estate, by shewing
Me, in my life time, your good husbandry, by husbanding of nothing:
Y' have tane off halfe my purpose; for J meant
To have kept it in my power, whether to leave her
Any, or nothing: And, perhaps (d'yee heare)
By an odd course, that J was thinking on
[Page] To ha' made all nothing ere J dy'd: But now
Halfe of that power Ile put into your hands,
Ile try what you can do with something.
Mag.
Halfe? What meane you halfe?
Bum.
Even halfe of all J have.
Mag.
J hope you will not deal so.
Bum.
And as he deals with that, Ile use the rest.
Mag.
Pray be advis'd.
Bum.
Never by you 'gainst this:
Ile give him instantly the free possession
Of halfe J have: Now marke; if you increase,
Or keep that halfe, then, doubtlesse, J shall do,
As well with tother for you: If you diminish
Or waste it all, ile do the like with my part.
Mag.
Husband.
Bum.
Ile do't: Together we will live:
And Ile along with you in your owne course,
And, as you play your game, you win or lose all:
Thrive and ile thrive: Spend you, and J will spend:
Save, and Jle save; scatter, and Ile scatter.
Mag.
You won't be mad.
Bum.
Ile do't: Let him throw Money
Into the Thames, make Ducks and Drakes with Peices,
Ile do the like: till he has made a match
Or no match of my Daughter: There's the point
And the whole substance on't.
Dry.
Will you do so?
Bum.
Will I? Tis done. Ile make him a good husband,
Or be no husband for him: And so see
Whats mine, out of the danger of his waste,
And have some sport too for my Money: Ha!
I love to do these things.
Mag.
Nay, but in one thing, Bump. let me advise you.
Bump.
In nothing `gainst this course, good whirly: no,
Tis so set downe. I know I shall be counted
[Page] An odde old humorous Cockscombe for't by some:
But the truth is, I love to do these things:
And so God gi yee joy.
Dry.
Ile take my leave Sir.
Bum.
Not so I hope, Sir Humfry.
Dry.
I have businesse,
And go well satisfied with this agreement:
And, Val. take briefly this my Charge: You are now
A Husband, be a good one: Y' have my blessing.
But (heark you) do you remember 'gainst the evening?
Val.
All Sir, all: I have spread my Nets already.
Dry.
Sir, fare you well.
Bum.
At your pleasure Sir.
Dry.
Ile shortly visit you.
Bum.
At your own good time Sir-
Exit Drygr.
These shall stay here, Ile blindfold them with Money,
And by a new way try, if they can grope
The right way into th' World. Come your way.
ACT. II. Scene I.
Oliver. Ambrose.
Ol.
ANd why this Gullery to me, good Ambrose?
Am.
J swear J am serious, and you may may beleeve it.
Ol.
What, that there can be in the World an Asse
(Wert thou a fool to credit it) that would keep
A House, by way of publike Ordinary,
For fashionable Guests, and curious stomacks;
The daintiest Pallats, with rich Wine and Chear;
And all for nothing, but alls paid and welcome?
Am.
[Page]Vall Dryground told it me, whose truth deserves
So well my credit, that, prove you it false,
Ile pay all Ord'naries and Taverne reckonings
You shall be at this twel'moneth.
Ol.
J have heard
Of all the Mockeries, the Ape, the Ram, the Hornes,
The Goat, and such tame Monsters, whom poor wits
Have sent wise Tradesmen to, as to a Knight,
A Lord, or forrain Prince; to be his Mercer,
His Taylor, Semster, Millener, or Barber:
When those, that have beene mock d, still sent their Neighbours,
Till halfe the City have bee fool-found. Ha!
Ist not some such poor trick?
Am.
Here comes my Author.
Enter Valentine.
Ol.
O Mr. Bridegroom, that stole the wealthy match! How got you loose so soone? J thought you had beene tyed up by the Loines, like a Monkey to the Bed-post, for a fortnight at the least. How does old Bumpsey, that Freecost Drunkard, thy mad Father-in-Law, take thy stolne Marriage? I am sure he knows on't.
Val.
He found's abed last night i'th' nick, as we say.
But we are peec'd this morning.
Am.
Then he wrangled it out, of himselfe. J know his singular humour.
Ol.
What has he gi'n thee?
Val.
Halfe, of all he has.
Am.
How?
Val.
On this Condition, that, if J save
That halfe untill he dyes, the rest is mine too▪
Ol.
What if thou spendst thy halfe?
Val.
Heel spend the tother; and the same way, hee sweares.
Ol.
Hee'l nere keep Covenant.
Val.
Ile tell you how he runs at waste already,
[Page] This morning the French Taylor brought a Gowne home,
Of the fashion, for my Wife. He bought one
Streight, ready made, for his old Gentlewoman,
That never wore so rich in all her life.
Am.
O brave old woman! How will shee carry it?
Val.
I spoke but of a Coach, and he bespoke one.
Ol.
Wonder upon wonder! Nam was telling one
Before thou cam'st.
Val.
What the new Ordnary?
Ol.
Dost know the man that keeps it?
Val.
They call him Osbright.
A brave old Blade. He was the President
Of the Can-quarrelling Fraternity,
Now calld the Roaring Brotherhood, thirty years since,
But now grown wondrous civill, free, and hospitable,
Having had something fallen to him, as it seemes.
Ol.
That Osbright has been dead these many years.
Val.
It was given out so: But he lived beyond Sea.
Ol.
There s some strange plot in't.
Val.
O thou pollitick Noll.
Ol.
Judge thy selfe, Val, what can the mystery be?
He tells me there's no Gaming, so no Cheating;
Nor any other by-way of expence,
By Bawdry, or so, for privy profit.
Val.
Such a suspition were a sin. But now
I will unfold the Riddle to you. This feasting
Has been but for three dayes, and for great persons,
That are invited, and to be prepar'd
To venture for a prize. This very night
There will be some great Rifling for some Jewell,
Or other rare Commodity they say.
I cannot nam t: tis twenty pound a man.
Ol.
Is not that gaming prithee?
Val.
Thats to come:
But, hitherto, nor Dice, nor Cards nor Wench,
[Page] Is seen ith' house, but his owne onely Daughter▪
Ol.
O! has he Daughter there? Mark that Nam.
No gaming sayst thou? Ods me, and they play not
At the old Game of old there, I dare—
Val.
I dare be sworne thou dost 'em wrong.
Ol.
Shees too stale, is shee?
Tis above twenty yeares since he went over,
And was reported dead (they say) soon after,
In France, I take it: But, then, it seemes, he lived▪
And got this Damsell there? Is she French borne?
Val.
Yes, she was born and bred there: And can speak
English but brokenly. But, for French behaviour,
Shees a most compleat Damoiselle, and able
To give instructions to our Courtliest Dames.
Ol.
Shee must be seen.
Am.
But see who here comes first.
Enter Vermine. Servant.
Ver.
Thou hast undone me Villaine.
Ser.
Out alas!
I was as ignorant of the deceit,
As your owne innocent worship ever was
Of cozening any man of Land or Living.
Ver.
Was ever man so cursed in his Children!
Val.
Tis the wretch Vermine.
Ol.
What makes he here, trow, in the Temple Walks?
Val.
What should he do elsewhere, when Law's his Lechery.
The Devils itch dry up his marrow for't.
He undid a worthy Gentleman I know.
Ol.
I, Brookall, thrusting him out of his Land.
Am.
Hee's fitted with an Heire for't; one that can
Justly inherit nothing but the Gallows.
Ol.
Wheres Brookalls son? He had a hopefull one;
And, at sixteen, a Student here ith' Temple.
Val.
Alasse his Fathers fall has ruined him.
[Page] Meere want of maint'nance forc'd him to service,
In which hee's lately travell'd into France.
Ver.
Go backe to the Recorders: Fetch the Warrant,
Ile search the City and the Suburbs for her.
Exit Servant.
Amp.
But Vermine has a daughter may prove good,
Val.
A good one like enough: Ile lay a wager
Hee's poching 'mong the trees here, for a Broker,
To match his daughter to a landed husband.
This is their walk.
Ol.
Let's try if we can fit him.
Val.
Thou'lt nere indure his breath, it stinkes of brimstone.
Ol.
Ile take the wind of him: You are well met, Sir.
They say you have a daughter you would match, Sir.
Ver.
It may be I have; it may be not; How then?
What's that to you?
Ol.
Pray be not angry Sir.
The worst of us has land, and may deserve her.
Ver.
Pray let me ask you first, if you be not
The knaves confederates that stole her from me?
Val.
Is she stolne from you Sir? In troth I am glad on't.
Amp.
Tis the first newes we heard on't.
Ol.
Though J assure you
We heard none ill to day: But very good,
As that of the New Ordinary.—
Amp.
Then the good successe
This Gentleman had lately with a wife—
Val.
And lastly, this you tell us; which, but that
It comes from your own mouth, were e'en too good
For our belief, me-thinks.
Ol.
Pray, is it true Sir?
[Page] That your daughter's gone, lost, or stolne, as you say?
Amp.
May we report it after you, good Sir?
Ver.
What are you? J would know.
Val.
Gentlemen, Sir,
That cannot but rejoyce at your affliction,
And therefore blamelesse, that desire to hear it.
Ver.
Cannot this place, where Law is chiesly studied,
Relieve me with so much, as may revenge
Me on these scorners? How my Slave stayes too!
Yet I may find a time.—
Exit:
All.
Ha ha ha.—
Ol.
Look, look, what thing is this?—
Enter Amphilus, Trebasco.
Amb.
Trebasco, Skip-kennel.
Tre.
....
Amp.
It speaks, me-thinks.
Ol.
Yes, and its shadow answers it in Cornish▪
Val.
I know him; 'tis the wise Western Knight, that should
Have married Vermines daughter.
Amp.
Skipkennell, you shall turn Footman, now, Skipkennell.
I'le nere keep horse more—
Tre.
You must be Footman then your self Sir.
Amp.
No nor Mare neither.
Tre.
You need not Sir, now you be determined to marry, and live here i'the City altogether. And truly, Sir, she could never ha' dyed better, nor been taken from you (as they say) in a better time, so neere her journeys end.
Amb.
His Mare's dead it seems.
Amp.
Was it well done of her, dost thinke, to die [Page] to day upon the way, when she had been i'my purse to morrow in Smithfield: Poor fool, I think she dyed for grief I would ha' sold her.
Tre.
Twas unlucky to refuse Reynold Pengutlings money for her.
Amp.
Would I had taken't now: and she had not dyed mine own, 'twould nere have griev'd me.
Tre.
Pray bear it Sir, as they say—We are all mortall you know, and her time was come, we must think.
Amp.
And't had not been the first losse that ere I had in my life, I could ha' born it.
Tre.
And grace og (as they say) it shall not be the last.
Amp.
I would thou couldst ascertain me that; but mischiefes are taild to one another, and I must grieve as well for the what's to come, as the departed.
Ol.
We will have a bout with him: Who is departed, Sir?
Amp.
My Mare, my Mare Sir: 'Twas the prettiest
Tit—But she is gone—
Ol.
How, is she gone Sir?
Tre.
You will not talk to 'em.
Val.
How is she gone, I pray Sir?
Tre.
Sir, as it were, because she could goe no further.
Val.
Good angry man give us leave to talk with thy Master.
Ol.
Good Sir, a little more of your Mare.
Tre.
I would you had her all to do you good Sir:
she lies but a quarter of a mile beyond Brainford.
Val.
Did you leave skin and shooes, and all behind Sir?
Tre.
Shoes all behind? I thought how wise you were: Come away Master. No, while she liv'd, she never wore but two behind Sir.
Ol.
[Page]Gramercy honest fellow, thou hast wit in thy anger.
Amp.
Sirrah, answer not the Gentleman so snappishly.
Tre.
How can I choose, when they do nothing but make a foole of your Worship before your Worships face, and your Worship perceives it not.
Val.
Good Sir, fall from your man to your beast againe.
Tre.
There againe, another main mock: He would have him fall from a man to a beast.
Amp.
Give me the shoon; let 'em go I say, I will have 'em.
Tre.
Pray take 'em then, hee'l ne're be wiser.
Amp.
These were her shoon Gentlemen, I'le keep 'em for her sake, that little Tit, my little poor Gonhelly, that would have carried me on this little iron from Pensans to S. Columb on a day. And that's a way would try a stumbler you'l say, if you know it.
Val.
'Tis enough, I know you Sir Amphilus, and have fool'd enough with you. Adieu; my businesse calls me. Gentlemen, will you meet me to night at the Ordinary▪—
Exit.
Ol.
Yes, and perhaps, be there before you too▪
Come Ambrose—
Exeunt.
Amp.
Od Gentlemen, me-thinks
Tre.
Why did you talk with 'em?
What had you to make with 'em?
Amp.
True, wee have other matters to think on: Your first course Trebasco, after we come to our lodging, shall be to Turnbull-street, to the Cobler,
Tre.
Your Dog-tutor.
Amp.
[Page]Yes, and see how my whelp proves, I put to him last Term.
Tre.
Yes, Sir.
Amp.
And know of him what Gamesters came to the Ponds now adayes, and what good dogs.
Tre.
Yes Sir.
Amp.
And ask him—Dost thou heare? If he ha' not done away his own dog yet, Blackswan with the white foot? If I can but purchase him, and my own whelp prove right, I will be Duke of the Ducking-pond.
Tre.
Never misdoubt, your whelp's right I warrant you; for why, he could lap before he could well go: And at ten weeks old he could pisse under leg.
Amp.
He was a fine forward Puppy, true enough: But and that be a signe of short life, and he should peak away after my Mare now—Here, prethee take her shoon againe: What should I keep 'em for? They put me too much in mind of mortality, do 'em away, make money of 'em, and Ile convert it into a Dog-Collar—
Enter Vermine. Servant.
Tre.
Ile try the Market with 'em.
Ver.
the frumping Jacks are gone.—
Amp.
See my Aldermanicall Father-in-Law! How d'yee do Sir? I am come. I keep my day you see before I am a Cittiner among you. How does my best belov'd I pray, your daughter? You do not speak me-thinks.
Ver.
Ask you for my daughter? Let me aske you first what was your plot to put me in this fright, to make me trudge to your Inn, whilst knave your man here.—Is not this he?
Ser.
I doubt Sir he was taller.
Ver.
Having first left a bag of Trumpery with me, [Page] stones, and old iron, steals away the beggage.
Amp.
This is abhomination! What Inn? and what old iron? I came at no Inne to day, nor touch old Iron, but that with sorrow enough, my poore Mares shoes, she left me at her sad decease to Brainford. I had rather ha' lost the best part of five Mark J wusse: From whence I came by water, landed here at the Temple, to leave a Letter to a kinsmans chamber, now right as sure as can be. Say Trebasco.
Tre.
He tells you true.
Amp.
But is your daughter gone?
Ver.
Gone, gone.
Amp.
All ill go with her: Did not I say I should hear of more mischief, and that one was ever tail'd to another?
Tre.
You said so indeed: but if she had been tail'd to your Mare, I should have seen her sure, when I stript her.
Ver.
This is the day of my affliction,
This day Ile crosse out of my Almanack
For ever having any thing to do on't.
Amp.
Why then, you will not seeke her out to day?
Although me-thinks the day might serve as well
To find her, as to lose her, if luck serve.
Ser.
What else did you intend Sir by the warrant?
Best lose no time Sir.
No, no, wee'l go.
Enter Brookeall.
Broo.
First take my execration with thee, Monster.
Ver
Hell vomits all her malice this day on me.
Broo.
Hell sends by mee this commendation to thee,
[Page] That thou hast there a most deserved Possession,
That gapes to entertain thee.
Amp.
Who's this, a Conjurer that knowes hell so?
Ser.
No, but a certain Spirit, that my Master
Conjur'd out of his Land.
Amp.
If you can conjure,
Here's money to be got Sir, but to tell us
What may be now be [...]id of this mans daughter?
Broo.
Himself, and his Posterity must all
Sink unavoydably to hell.
Amp.
You are most deeply read! May not a Son-in-Law—
Ver.
Why talk you to that Rayler?
Amp.
Pray Sir, may not
A Son-in-Law escape in your opinion?
Broo.
No Sir: it was by Law he made the purchase.
And by his Son-in-Law, or out-law'd, down he must:
If he set ventrous foot, as his Inherltor,
Upon the mould, was got by his oppression.
Amp.
Pretty mad reason me-thinks; where's that
Land?
Ver.
Sirrah, Ile tame thy tongue▪
Broo.
No, wretch, thou canst not,
Nor fly out of the reach of my fell curses,
That freedome (being all that thou hast left me)
Thou canst not rob me of.
Ver.
I shall find meanes
Then to confine it, and your self in Bedlame.
Broo.
Thou canst not be so just sure, to exchange
Thine own inheritance for mine.
Amp.
Have you made
A purchase there too, Father-Law that should be?
Ver.
How am I tortur'd! I will fly this place.
[Page] Enter Phillis, a box in her hand.
Phil.
Nay prethee stay a little, good old man,
Give something to my box.
Ver.
Out on thee Baggage.
Phil.
A little something, prethee; but a tester.
Ver.
Out, out.
Phil.
Thou look'st like a good Penny-father,
A little of thy money would so thrive here,
'Twould grow, by that I were ready for a husband,
Up to a pretty portion. Pray thee now—
Ver.
What canst thou be?
Phil.
Insooth a Gentlewoman, but a By-blow,
My Father is a Knight, but must be namelesse.
Ver.
Can Knights get Beggars?
Phil.
Why not? when such as thou get Knights.
Nay, prethee, prethee now gi' me a tester.
I ne're ask lesse: My mother's a poore Gentlewoman,
And has no meanes, but what comes through my fingers.
And this is all my work: Come, wring it out.
Oh how I love a hard-bound Money-master,
Whose count'nance shewes how loath hee is to part with't!
It comes so sweetly from him, when it comes:
Nay, when? I pray thee when? Pish, make an end.
Amp.
It is the prettiest merry Beggar.
Ver.
Huswife Ile ha' you whipt.
Phil.
J, when I beg i'th' streets.
I have allowance here, as well as any
Brokers, Projectors, Common Bail, or Bankrupts,
Pandars, and Cheaters of all sorts, that mix here
Mongst men of honor, worship, lands and money.
Amp.
[Page]O rare Beggar-wench!
Lawyers and others passe over the Stage as conferring by two and two.
Phil.
I come not hither to intrap or cozen.
My work lies plain before me as my way.
With, will you give me? Praythee, hard old man.
Ver.
Away, away.
Phil.
What though thou com'st to deal
For this mans Land, or sell anothers right,
Or els to match thy daughter, if thou hast one
To this young Gentleman—Thou wilt give mee something.
Ver.
The Devill haunts me.
Amp.
Shee makes a youth of me.
Phil.
Yet I prethee make not
Thy money such an Idoll, as to think
Thou shalt dishonor't, or impaire this bargain,
That match, or whatsoever thou hast in traffick,
By parting with a silly silver sixpence.
Shalt not i'fecks la, shalt not; Ile strike luck to it,
Thy match shall thrive the better. Look, I have got
Here, four and sixpence, Prethee make it a Crowne,
Twill nere be mist in thy dear daughters Dowry,
If (as I said) thou hast one.
Ver.
Hellish baggage!
Phil.
Hee'l gi't me by and by. I prethee find
Thy money out the while. Come out with it man▪
Ver.
Pull her away,
I fly thee, as I would the Devill that sent thee:
Amp.
Yes, let's away, tis time, she begs of mee now.
Phil.
The Devill is not surer to o're-take thee.—
Exeunt omnes preter Brookeall.
Broo.
Good child I thanke thee: Thou hast somewhat eas'd
[Page] My pensive heart by his vexation:
She spake as Divination had inspir'd her
With knowledge of my wrongs, and his oppression,
To take my part: Take thou a blessing fort
Who ere thou art, whilst I recalculate
The miseries of a distressed man,
Cast out of all. Unhappy chance of Law!
More false and mercilesse then Dice or Strumpets;
That hast into thy Hydra-throated mawe
Gulp'd up my lives supportance; left me nothing;
Not means for one dayes sustenance, for breath
To cry thy cruelty before my death.
That Law, once called sacred, and ordain'd
For safety and reliefe to innocence,
Should live to be accurs'd in her succession,
And now be stil'd Supportresse of oppression;
Ruine of Families, past the bloody rage
Of Rape or Murder: All the crying sins
Negotiating for Hell in her wild practise.
Enter Attorney.
At.
A man I hope for my purpose, and save me a going to the Church for one: Will you make an Oath Sir?
Broo.
An Oath? for what?
At.
For two shillings; and it be half a Crowne, my Client shall not stand w'ye; the Judge is at leisure, and the other of our Bail is there already. Come, go along.
Broo.
I guesse you some Attorney: Do you know me?
At.
No, nor any man we imploy in these cases.
Broo.
He takes me for a common Bail; a Knight o'th Post,
Thou art a villaine, and crop-ear'd I doubt not:
[Page] What, dar'st thou say, thou seest upon me, that—
At.
I cry you mercy: I must up (I see)
To the old Synagogue, there I shall be fitted—
Exit.
Broo.
Can I appear so wretched? or can grief
So soile the face of poverty, which is vertue,
To make it seem that Monster Perjury?
Rather let sorrow end me all at once,
Then vertue be misconstrued in my looks,
Which I will hide from such interpretation.
He lies on his face.
Enter Frendly.
Frend.
Alas hee's sore afflicted, and my newes,
I fear, will strike him dead; yet I must speak.
Sir, give not misery that advantage on you,
To make your self the lesse, by shrinking under
The buffetings of fortune.
Broo.
I desir'd you
To seek my son. Ha' you found him at his Chamber?
Or has not want of fatherly supplies
(VVhich heaven knowes I am robb'd of) thrust him out
Of Commons, to the Common VVorld for succour?
Where is he, have you found him?
Fren.
No, not him.
But I have found what may be comfort to you,
If you receive it like a man of courage.
Broo.
Hee's dead then, farewell my tender boy!
Fren.
Indeed, Sir, hee's not dead.
Broo.
Phew—
Fren.
Pray, sir, heare me.
Broo.
You'll tell me, man nere dies; But changeth Life,
[Page] And happily for a better. He is happiest
That goes the right way soonest: Nature sent us
All naked hither; and all the Goods we had
We onely took on Credit with the World.
And that the best of men are but meer borrowers:
Though some take longer day. Sir, J know all
Your Arguments of Consolation—
Fren.
Indeed he is not dead; but lives—
Broo.
In Heaven.
J am the surer on't; for that he liv'd
Not to learn Law enough, to—hush. No more.
Fren.
Substantially he lives in flesh, as we do.
Broo.
Speak that again.
Fren.
A Gentleman of the next Chamber told me so.
Onely, sir, this; if you can brook his absence
Without feare, or mistrust; then he is well.
Broo.
How thou playest with me!
Fren.
He's gone to travell, sir. Here comes the Gentleman.
Enter Valentine.
Val.
J am sure he does not know me. If he could,
J were as sure this Charity would be rejected.
So much J know his Spirit. Is your name Brookeall, sir?
Brook.
My losses, wrongs, and sorrowes, speak my name.
Val.
You had a Son late of this house.
Broo.
And do not you infer by that he▪s dead?
Good, do not mock me, sir.
Val.
If this be gold,
He lives and sent it to you; forty peeces?
Broo.
[Page]Pray, sir, from whence, or where might he atchieve
So great a Sum? Not in this World, J feare▪
A handsome possibility he had once,
Could J ha' kept it for him.
Val.
He's in a way,
Now to a hopefull fortune. A Noble Gentleman,
Late gone to travell, ta'ne with good affection
Towards your Son, has ta'ne hin to his care:
And like a Father, not a Master, keeps him.
From whose free bounty he receiv'd this meanes.
Broo.
Do you think the Boy did well to send it me then:
When twas intended for his Masters honour,
To flye in Silks and Feathers? Tis not Servant like
To wave a Masters meaning so.
Val.
J had a Letter too;
Though most unhappily mislay'd.
Broo.
VVhat from my Boy?
Val.
In his own hand.
Broo.
Ha!—but mislay'd, you say. Ha, ha, ha,—
VVhat is the Gentleman? Or whither travell'd?
Val.
That's all J crave excuse for.
Broo.
Keep your money.
If you can render me my Son, Ile thank you.
Val.
You speak not like a Father: wanting meanes
Your selfe for his advancement, would you bar him
The bounty of anothers full ability?
Broo.
J speak more like a Father, then a Beggar:
Although no Beggar poorer. And J feare,
J am no Father: for J would not give
My Son to gain a Province, nor except
This Coyne to save my life: If he be lost,
Let me look neerer on you, sir.
Fren.
I hope
[Page] He will accept the Money. Poverty
Was nere so coy else.
Broo.
J cannot remember,
J ever saw this face: But J have seen
(Many yeares since) one, that it so resembles,
As J could spit defiance on't—
Val.
What mean you?
Broo.
And charge thee with the Murther of my Son
Val.
Pray, sir, collect your selfe.
Broo.
Your name is Valentine.
Val.
Right, sir.
Broo.
Sir Humphrey Drygrounds Son:
Val.
Most true.
Broo.
Even so thy Father look'd, when, at like years
He was my Rivall: For young man, I tell thee
Thou hadst a virtuous, well deserving Mother.
He won her without losse of my known Friend-ship:
But, since her death, you cannot but have heard,
He basely wrong'd my Sister, and, in her,
Mee, and my Family: Whor'd her, and cast her off,
On the appointed Marriage day.
Val.
O, sir.
Broo.
You cannot but have heard on't. Nay, it seems,
My Boy has charg'd thee with't, before his yeares
Could warrant his ability in Combate,
And so is fallen; Or thou, not daring stand
Tryall in such a cause, by treachery
Hast cut him off; And com'st to make thy peace:
Presuming on my Poverty, with money.
Worse then the base Attornies Project this!
Val.
This is meer madnesse. In an Act so foule,
As your wilde Fancy gathers this to be;
Who could escape the Law?
Broo.
The Law; Ha, ha, ha.
Talk not to me of Law, Law's not my Friend.
[Page] Law is a Fatall to me, as your house.
I have enough of Law; pray stand you off.
Will you, sir, furnish me, but with a Sword;
And bring me to fit ground to end this difference?
Will you do so, and like a Gentleman?
Val.
VVhat shall J do for pity?—Now J have it.
Broo.
Talk not to me of Law.
[He fenceth.]
Val.
Pray heare me, sir.
Broo.
Now sir, your wil before your end Be briefe.
Val.
You know me for a Gentleman, though an Enemy.
(I must speak in his phrase) and by that honour
A Gentleman should keep sacred, two houres hence
Ile meet you in this place—
Broo.
Pray stand you off—to Friendly.
Val.
From whence wee'll walke—
Broo.
Silent, as nothing were—
Val.
As nothing were betwixt us—to some other Fit ground, (as you propounded) where wee'll end the difference.
Broo.
By the Sword, no otherwise.
No whinnelling satisfaction.
Val.
You shall see, sir.
Broo.
Go set thy house in order. Here Ile meet thee,
Exit.
ACT. III. Scene I.
Francis—Wat.
Fra.
I Shall repent me, sir, that ere I yeilded,
In that faire Noble way, if you expresse
Your selfe in this regardlesse of my honour.
Wat.
I like a Whore, withall my heart, that talkes
So like an honest woman.
Fra.
Can you expect
A Chast and constant Wife of her, Whom you
Have wrought to Lewdnesse before Marriage?
Or may I not as well deserve as well in bringing
A Maidenhead into your Marriage-bed,
As a polluted Body?
Wat.
Here's a coyle,
For a poore bit afore-hand! Is it so?
'Heart, if a man bespeak a Tavern Feast
For next day Dinner; and give earnest for't
To half the value, (as my Faith and Troth
I think, is somewhat towards your Marriage payment
To be to morrow) Will not the Hostesse give him
A Modicum o're night to stay his stomack?
Your Father comes: Ile whisper yet more reason.
EnterDryground disguis'd.Alice.
Dry.
Now pretty Mr. Alice, you see the end
I had upon you: All the scope thereof
Tending to your contentment. Are you pleas'd?
Ali.
So well, that could I but shake off the feare
[Page] (Which is most dangerous) of a Fathers curse,
I durst prouounce; nay, boast my happinesse,
To be above my Virgin hopes, or wishes.
Dry.
Let your feare vanish then: And, if this night,
The happiness you are ambitious of,
Together with your Fathers leave and blessing
Crown not your Bed, let all the Infamy
Due to all perjur'd Wretches, that have wrong'd
Beauty and Chastity be branded here.
Ali.
The faire respect I have, sir, to your Noblesse▪
For what you have already shown me, bars
Mine eares 'gainst protestation. I dare trust you.
Dry.
As I have trusted you with my whole project,
My discreet Alice, further then I dare trust
My Instrument your Brother; though he thinks
He understands it all. Yonder he is,
Profoundly Love-struck too, I make no doubt.
Fry.
Fye! Can you be so lew'd? Is that your reason?
Wat.
Yes; can the Parish Parson give you better?
Fra.
His Parish Bull's as civill.
Wat.
Well no more.
Ile talke with your Father about it.
Fra.
I with your Sister, and to better purpose.
Dry.
Now Wat, what think you of my course, and habit?
Wat.
As I love mischiefe, and desire to live by't;
It is the daintiest course.—O, brave sir Humphrey,
How I am taken with your Shape! Old Osbright,
The Father of the Swindgers; so much talk'd on
Could nere ha' borne it up so. Nor his Daughter,
That was French born indeed, could ere have clipp'd,
And Frenchified our English better, then
She counterfeits to Coxcombes that do Court her:
With her fine Fee-fees, and her Laisse-moys;
[Page] Her Prea-awayes; Intrat a you mak a me blus [...]a.
O, I am tickled with it.
Dry.
A, ha, my Lad.
Wat.
slid I could dote upon you. Had I been
Your Son now, how I could have honour'd you!
Though I had kept a Precept by t, I care not.
Dry.
Notable Reprobate.
Wat.
The Devill sure
Ought me a mischiefe, when he enabled that
Old Wretch, my Father to beget me. Oh,
Tis in my bones; I feele it in my Youth:
I know from whence the Pocks is now descended.
The Gout begets it. There's no Usurers Son,
But's born with an hereditary spice on't.
Dry.
Had I rak'd Limbo, as I did the Compter,
I were not better fitted with a Copesmate.
Wat.
' [...]light, I could ask you blessing.
Dry.
And I think,
That curtesie you have seldome done your Father.
Wat.
Nere since I grew to any understanding:
Nor (as I know) before, but whipt and held to't.
Dry.
Well Wat. You see how far I have trusted you,
To have the second hand in our great work;
Our Project here. Though you must seem my Servant,
You are like to have the better share, if you agree.
Upon the Match, and make your selfe my Son.
How like you your new Mistresse, sir, my Daughter▪
The Maidenhead here, the new Ordinary—
The Damoyselle, or what you please to call her?
What ist a Match Wat? Condescendeth she?
Wat.
No man shall be her Husband, but my selfe;
Who ere she lies withall, before or after.
That she has roundly promis'd. But she balkes,
And Boggles with me in a lesse request.
Dry.
[Page]She shall deny thee nothing. What ist Wat?
Wat.
You may command her duty, if you please.
Dry.
What is it man?
Wat.
'Troth, sir, but one nights knowledge
Of her aforehand. One word of your mouth,
I know would do it, sir.
Dry.
O Devilish Rascall,
That can imagine this a Fathers Office!
Patience good Wat.
Wat.
But that I am afeard
My Father would be pleas'd with't, Il'd take home
My Sister else, and presently.
Dry.
In Maides about your work. And heare you Franck
Discharge the Butchers, and the Chandlers Bills.
They wait below. The Baker and the Brewer,
I have made even with.
Fra.
And the Vintner too.
Dry.
The Bottle-man too, and Tobacco Merchant.
Do as I bid you, go. Now Wat Observe me:
As an ingenious Critick would observe
The first Scene of a Cemedy, for feare
He lose the Plot.
Wat.
I do observe you, sir.
Dry.
I have, you know, releas'd from your thralldome.
Upon condition you should steale your Sister,
To be at my dispose. You have perform'd it:
Wat.
Honestly, sir.
Dry.
Yes▪ honestly, as you say.
And though it be for her own absolute good;
Yet was your Act so gratefull to me, that
I promis'd you my Daughter.
VVat.
Right sir, on.
Dry.
I shall be briefe: you know my Fortune, VVat
[Page] Are sunk, and you have heard, I make no doubt,
'Mongst other of my follies, of a Child
I got on Brookealls sister, on the by, Wat.
Wat.
And this is she, I love a bastard naturally,
Ah thy are bouncing spirits: Now I love her
More then I did Sir.
Dry.
You come fairely on.
But now, my poverty affords no portion.
Now, Wat, to raise a portion!
Wat.
J, now, now.
Dry.
Now I come to it, Wat: J tooke this house,
And in this habit here, turn'd pimping Host,
To make the most of her, and find a Husband
To take her with all faults.
Wat.
That's I, that's I Sir: this has musick in't.
Dry.
You will be secret Wat.
Wat.
No dumb Bawde like me.
Dry.
Nay in a plot of villany I dare trust thee.
Wat.
In troth you cannot thinke how much I love it;
How I am tickled with it! Good Sir, on.
Dry.
This I have design'd to put her off
(I mean her Maiden-head) at such a rate
Shall purchase Land.
Wat.
How, good Sir Humphrey, how?
Dry.
She shall be rifled for.
Wat.
How! Rifled Sir?
Dry.
Yes, rifled Wat; the most at three fair throws,
With three fair Dice, must win and wear her, Wat.
Youle take her with all faults?
Wat.
Can you suspect me?
It is the rarest invention, if the Gamesters
Be stiffe and strait, that ever was projected!
What is't a man?
Dry.
[Page]But twenty Pie ces, boy.
Wat.
I vow too little, lesse their number help us.
How many Gamsters have you?
Dry.
A full hundred.
Wat.
Two thousand pound! A merry portion,
And worth as many Maiden-heads in the sport
A man shall finde in spending it▪ Me-thinks
I feele my self even flying with't already.
Dry.
What art thou thinking, Wat?
Wat.
That here may grow
A danger Sir, the Gamesters being so many.
Dry.
Why, there's but one must use her.
Wat.
Phew, for that
I were indifferent, if'twere all or more
(As it is possible a wench might bear it)
If they come single, and in civill sort,
Allow her breathing-whiles—
Dry.
Here's a ripe Rascall!
Wat.
But my doubt is, that such a multitude
May fly into combustion, blow up all
The businesse and our hopes.
Dry.
Now your doubt
Reflects upon my Iudgement: didst thou note
How quietly those Gallants here to day
Parted with their gold?
Wat.
Yes, very gallantly.
Dry.
They shall agree as well for the Commodity,
As I have cast it, VVat; so well my boy,
That no distaste shall be or ta'ne, or given,
Anon youle see.
VVat.
She knows not on't you say,
Dry▪
Nor shall she VVat, till at the push I charge her
To be obedient in the undertaking.
VVat.
And that's a sweet obedience: I could kneel
[Page] Before my wretched Sire in such commands.
Enter Francis.
Dry.
Anon Ile make [...]t all plain to you. How now Frank?
Fran.
There are two Gentlemen in the next room,
That by all meanes would speake with you: I have had
The foulest coyle with one of 'em, that perswades
Himselfe you keep a Bawdy-house, by somewhat
He gather'd Evesdropping, by your discourse here,
While t'other held me talking; who is civill,
And loves me with a modest fair affection.
Dry.
Where is his sister, Alice?
Fran.
Unseen I wrrrant you.
Dry.
Then let them enter. Whip into your disguise Wat—
Exit Fran.
And be at call.
VVat.
Presto, Anon, anon Sir.
Ex. VVat Stands aside.
Dry.
Did they Eavesdrop me? I will Eavesdrop too.—
Enter Oliver, Ambrose.
Ol.
Did not I tell thee't was a Bawdy-house?
Am
I cannot think so yet: there is some other
Trick in it; the Maid you see is very modest.
Ol.
That is the trick on it man, she must seem so.
Her Father deals for her.
Am.
Fye! Can there be such Fathers?
Ol.
Yes, and such Mothers too: The Towne's too full of 'em.
Come, shee's a Jugling whore I warrant thee,
For all her Fee-fees, and her Laisse-moys.
[Page] Pox of her counterfeit Gibbrish Ile make her speak
In plainer English, ere I ha' done with her.
Dry.
I have enough. You are welcome Gentlemen.
Ol.
He looks like such a Blade. Are you the Master here Sir?
Dry.
I am the man that's much rejoyc'd to see
Such sparkling Spirits underneath this Roofe,
Where all you finde is yours. Sirrah Varlet.
Ol.
Each syllable he speaks bewrays him.
Dry.
Varlet I say.
Wat.
Here Sir.
Enter Wat with Wine.
Dry.
Give me the Complement. Gallants,
Wilt please you taste your welcome in a Cup,
The spirit of whose never dying Liquor,
Speaks ore the brim in this high Language to you.
Full six and thirty times hath Luna wan'd
The strength she got in six and thirty growths
From Phoebus vertuous beames, into this Juyce,
To make it Nectar for Phoebean wits.
Tis this inspires their braines with fire Divine,
By which to write high straines; and herein lurks,
The gift, One has to bounce up his own works.
Ol.
Your meaning is good Sack, and three years old.
To put you by your Beverage and your Bombast,
I will nor drinke, nor talke of other thing,
But the choice thing of things, your Daughter Sir.
Dry.
Thou shalt not wooe my Daughter, nor ne man for thy sake,
Sing.
Unlasse thou come untill her by her Daddy nak'd.
Her Mammy's gone to Heaven Sir. And I pray,
Let Fathers poor breed Daughters as they may.
Ol.
Your care, no doubt, is great what will it hold?
[Page] The Rifling Sir, I meane. Is your number full?
May not a man put in Sir for a chance?
Dry.
What do you mean Sir?
Ol.
May not we
Come it adventurers? Here are twenty peeces.
Dry.
I finde you have overheard me. Call my Daughter.
Exit Wat.
Now Ile disclose a secret to you. But Gentlemen,
As you love wit and mirth, censure me mildly.
I am a Gentleman decayd in Fortune.
Ol.
And canst thou be so base to sell thy Childe
To Lust and Impudence?
Dry.
Be not too rash.
My Child's as deare in my respect, as you
Were ever to your Father.
Am.
Devill thou lyest—
Draw.
Ol.
Nay, hold, good Ambrose; you een now were angry
With me, that did oppose your faire Construction
Of this good Gentleman and his vertuous Daughter.
Am.
My ignorance wrong▪d us both.
Ol.
Good modest Ambrose,
What do you thinke of this discovery?
Dry.
You had discover'd more, if his impatience
Had not prevented me: But now I am dumb to you
In all, but this. If youle be pleas'd to sup here,
I shall afford you welcome. I have businesse.
Exit.
Ol.
What can we make of this?
Am.
I know what to do.
If City Justice, grave Authority
Protect it not, Ile surely spoyle the sport.
Ol.
Canst thou be so malicious, that, but now
Didst love this Wench so dearly, as to run her
Into the hazard of Correction?
Stay: Here she comes, and the Pimp whiskin with her.
[Page] Enter Wat. Fran.
Do thou take him in hand. Ile handle her.
Now Madam, twenty pound a man! Nay do not
Coy it too much? Your provident Father left us,
To make our selves more known to you; as your price
Is known to us already: Look upon us.
Fra.
Pre ye Sir, have you been ever in France?
Ol.
In France? No surely, nor in Doctors hands
Since I was Placket high. Why ask you Lady?
Fra.
For, if you could speak Fransh, I could the better
Find what you say. I can no understand
What tis you mean by price. What is that Price,
If it be no Welch Gentleman?
Ol.
I meane
The price of three throws for your Maydenhead,
Tis twenty peeces. If I win it (Hearke you)
What will you give me out of your grosse sum
To take it neatly off; and like an Operator,
Put you to no paine?
Fra.
Parle Françoy Monsieur, Je vou prie.
Ol.
Thou art a handsome Hyppocrite: And this
Cunning becomes thee well. Ile kisse thee for't.
Fra.
Fee fee Monsieur. O fee! tis no good fashion,
For the young Man and Mayd to no ting but kisse!
Ol.
Tis not so good indeed; nothing but kisse.
A little of tone with tother will doe well.
Fra.
Fee fee, you no understand. That Gentleman,
Speaks he no Fransh?
Ol.
Yes yes. He speaks no French.
Fra.
He Monsieur vou mocque de Moy.
Ol.
Owie par ma foy.
Fra.
Ha Monsieur vou parle francoy. Je sui' bien aisie.
Ol.
Easie! Yes yes, I thinke you would be easie
[Page] To one that knew but how to manage you,
For all the boast of your Virginity.
Fra.
Excuse me Sir, I can no understand.
Ol.
Me thinks you should. Come prithee leave this fooling,
I know you can good English, if you list.
Fra.
Indeed I can. But, in my best, and all
I cannot understand you Sir, nor frame
An answer to your rudenesse. When you know me
Better, youle speak in better phrase, and then
Tis like you may finde better language from me:
Till when, pray give me leave to leave you Sir.
Ol.
Nay heark you Lady, heark you (still more mysticall!)
Nay since you can speak English, I must talke w'ye.
Fra.
So youle be civill.
Ol.
Civill I swear, and private.
They go aside.
Am.
Does shee not know on't, sayst thou?
Wat.
No Sir, no:
Not the least inckling of it: The old man
Carryes it so discreetly.
Am.
Blesse me Heaven?
Discreetly sayst thou. To betray his Childe,
To sale of her Virginity.
Wat.
Yes, discreetly.
She dreames of no such businesse; such intent:
No more then the Cud-chewing Heifer knowes
The Butcher, that must knock her down ifaith.
O, twill be bravely carried! I my selfe
Knew nothing till this houre: though I saw
Money put in his hand by divers Gallants:
Men of great place and worship; which I gather
Are to be of the Riflers.
Amb.
Prithee who?
Wat.
All must be namelesse. There are Lords among 'em.
[Page] And some of civill Coat, that love to draw
New stakes at the old Game, as well as they;
Truckle-breech'd Justices, and bustling Lawyers,
That thrust in with their Motions; Muffled Citizens;
Old Money-Masters some, that seek the Purchace:
And Merchant Venturers that bid for the
Forreine Commodity, as faire, as any.
Amb.
Was ever such an outrage! Heark thee fellow—
They aside.
Fra.
Sir, I have heard you with that patience
(And with no better) as the troubled Pilot
Endures a Tempest, or contrary winds:
Who, finding nerethelesse his Tackling sure,
His Vessell tight, and Sea-room round about him,
Playes with the waves, and vies his confidence
Above the blasts of Fortune, till he winns
His way, through all her threatnings, to his Port.
You may apply this.
Ol.
And you may be plainer.
Is there not such a project for your Maydenhead?
Fra.
It deserves no answer.
But to be rid of you, together with
The Devill, that inflam'd you to that question;
Know, that knew I of such a plot or project;
Or, that I had a Father (as injuriously
You have suggested) could be so inhumane,
To prostitute my spotlesse Virgine honour
To Lust for Salary, I would as sure prevent it,
As there is force in poyson, Cord, or Steel,
At price of both our lives. Sir, I have sayd—
Exit.
Ol.
This Wench amazes me. Could I beleeve now
There could be truth in Woman, I could love her.
Amb.
Well, Ile make one: Meet me there two houres hence,
And fetch my twenty Peices.
Wat.
[Page]I will not faile you. In the Temple Walkes—
Exit.
Amb.
Where, if I fit you not—
Ol.
Nam! What discovery?
Amb.
A villany enough to blow the house up.
Ol.
And I have found (I thinke) a vertue, that
Might save a City: But let's hence. We may
Conferr our notes together by the way.
Exeunt.
ACT. III. Scene II.
Bumpsey, Magdalen, Jane, all in brave Cloaths.
Bum.
NAy, nay, I know he is flown out, and I
Am prettily provided for like flight:
And if I do not pitch as high, and souse
As deep, as he, while there is Game to fly at—
Five hundred Peices he took out you say?
Ja.
And sayd he would venter't at the Ordinary.
Bum.
Thats hee, thats he! Why this is excellent.
Mag.
This was your folly Bump. He was content
To have walk'd moneylesse you saw, but you
Would force him. At a word you did la' Bump.
Bum.
I force him, ha?
Mag.
I, at a word, you put it in his head,
And put the Sword into the Madmans hand,
As one would say.
Bum.
Good Mrs. At-a-word.
Let not your fine French Frippery, which I bought,
Turn'd oth' Taylors hands (as one would say)
Huffle you up to Soveraignty: Nor your Coach,
Which I have but bespoak, whirle you away,
Before tis finish'd) from obedience.
Mag.
[Page]Good lack fine Gentleman, that weares the Purchase
Of a pawn'd forfeiture. Must I not speak trow?
Bum.
Excellent Magdaten!
Mag.
Sir, J will speak; and be allow'd to speak.
Bum.
And speak allow'd too; will you Magdalen?
Mag.
J, at a word; Since you have put me to't,
J will uphold the Fashion; Learn, and practise
Behaviour and carriage above my' parrell.
J at a word, J will la, that J will.
Bum.
This is most excellent! My old Beast is
Infected with the Fashions; Fashion-sick!
Pray Ma-dame take your course, uphold your Fashion:
And learn and practise Carriage to your Cloaths:
I will maintain my humour, though all split by't.—
Enter Servant.
Ser.
Mr. Ʋermine desires to speak with you.
Bum.
Ifaith I will Ma-dame.—
[Exit with Servant.]
Ja.
My Husband, Mother,
Reports of a rare Creature come to Towne,
Of a French breed; a Damoysell, that professeth
The teaching of Court-carriage and behaviour:
The rar'st he saies—
Mag.
Can she teach the elder sort?
Ja.
All ages from six yeares to sixty six.
Unlesse they be indocible he saies.
Mag.
Indocible! What's that?
Ja.
Stift i' the hammes, I think.
Mag.
Nay, then wee'll to her.
I can yet bowe my Haunches, come and go
With them, as nimbly as the barren Doe.
My Gimboles don't complain for want of Oyle yet▪
Wee'll have this Madame; and we will be Madames
[Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] Ourselves, or it shall cost us each a Crown
A month the teaching. In a Month we may,
Practising but one houre in a day,
Be Madames, may we not?
Ja.
Yes, if we give our mindes to't; and but steale
Fit times to practise.
Mag.
Wee'll find Lecture times:
Or baulk St. Antlins for't the while. But mum.
Enter Bumpsey, Vermine.
Bum.
Do you wonder at my bravery? Look you here:
This is my Wife; and this my Daughter, sir.
You have lost yours, you say: Perhaps for want
Of Hufty- [...]usties, and of Gorgets gay.
Ha! ist not so?
Ʋer.
The World's turn'd prodigall.
You do not well to mock me, when I come
For comfort and advise.
Bum.
Shall I be plain w'ye;
My best advise is, since your Daughters gone,
To turn your Son after her. He lies not in
For much above a hundred pound. Pay it,
And let him take his course: If he be not
Got loose already. Then (observe my Counsell)
Spend you the rest of your Estate your selfe;
And save your Heires the sin. It is the course
I have in hand, and mean to follow it.
You like it not (it seems) but thus it is,
VVhen men advise for nothing. Had your Lawyer
Now for his fee, given Counsell, might have damn'd you:
You would have thought it worth your Gold, and follow'd it.
[Page] VVill you go with me to an Ordinary?
Venter five hundred or a thousand Peeces,
To begin a new VVorld with.
Ver.
Mrs. Bumpsey, I take it you are she.
Mag.
An old Ape has an old eye.
He knowes me through all my cuts and slashes.
Ʋer.
How long I pray, has my good friend your Husband
Been thus distracted?
Mag.
But when I am perfect
In the quaint Courtly carriages, that belong
Unto this habit: in which, I confesse,
I am yet but raw; how will you know me then?
Ʋer.
She is as mad as he.
Bum.
How Lady-like she talkes!
Mag.
Or, now my black Bag's on, I hold a penny
You do not know me. Bogh-who am I now?
Ʋer.
Most unrecoverably mad! young Gentlewoman:
Nay, I intreat your favour for an answer?
As you can pity a wrong'd mans distresse.
Give me what light you can of my lost Daughter▪
You have been inward alwaies, and partook
The nearest of her Counsels. Tell me fairely
I do beseech you in this gentle way.
Though I professe I have a strong presumption
Against your Husband, and his young Associates
I met to day; and bore their mocks and taunts:
On which I have good ground for a strickt course
To force 'em to examination.
Yet I intreat you see.
Ja.
The VVorld is turn'd
Quite upside downe: Else I should wonder
How you could make requests, that [...]
You have (too much) by Rapine and O [...]
Ʋer.
Do you upbraid me?
Bum.
[Page]What's the matter Jane?
Ja.
The Fox here learns to sing.
Mag.
Ile fox him out oth' hole if he sing here.
Will no Prey serve you but new married wives, Fox?
Ver.
Why do you abuse me thus?
Ja.
I heard you, sir, with too much patience,
Abuse my Husband with your foule Suspition.
Who is as cleer, I know, from wronging you,
As your own Son.
Ver.
Your mocks are monstrous.
Were not he fast enough, I would resolve
No other friend had robb'd me.
Mag.
Is your son a friend? At a word, hee's like you.
Enter Sir Amphilus, Servant.
Amp.
J pray, if my man aske for mee, send him to me, by your Masters leave. By your leave Sir, I made bold to follow a Father-in-Law of mine that should have been, into your house here, with much ado to find it. Any good newes Sir yet? Ha' you heard of her? J cry these Ladies mercy; though you may take me for a Clowne, J must not forget I am a Knight, and give you the curtesie of my lips—
Bum.
In the name of Peasantry, what Knight art thou,
If not the Knight of the Plough-share?
Mag.
A fine spoken, and a well-bred man, at a word: He call'd us Ladies. To see what Apparell can do! How long might I have trudg'd about in my old coats before J had been a Lady? And then hee would do us the curtesie to kisse us: Sure, sure, as curtesie makes a Knight, so cloaths makes a Lady.
Amp.
It seems she's lost then. All ill go with her.
Bum.
[Page]What old youth can this be?
Amp.
Your warrant, perhaps, may find her though.
And J tell you what.
J ha' sent my man to lay the Ducking Ponds for her.
Bum.
Do you think she would drown her selfe?
Amp.
Who knowes what toy might take her? Is she not a woman, as other flesh and blood is? I had another occasion to one that belongs to the Ponds. I tell you as a Friend, I had not sent els: Come Father-in-Law that should have been; hang sorrow. You have had but one Losse to day. I have had two. Ile gi't you in Rhime.
My Mare and my Mistresse I lost on a day,
T'one of▪em dyed, and t'other ran away.
Ja.
You are acquainted among the Poets it seems, sir?
Amp.
Truly but one that's a Gamster amongst us at the ducking Pond; a Cobler, but the neatest Fellow at Poetry, that ever was handicrafts-man; & no Scholler, to enable him by learning, to borrow of the Ancients: Yet he is a Translator too. And he makes the sweetest Posies for Privie-houses.
Ja.
Ha, ha, ha.
Bum.
What a youth's this for a Knight!
Enter Trebasco.
Amp.
Ile tell yee Ladies—O Trebasco. Good newes at last I hope.
Tre.
J can never finde you any where, but jeer'd and laugh'd at, and are fool'd, (as I have often told you) to your Worships face, and your Worship perceives it not.
Amp.
To the point, man. How does my Whelp? He [Page] is grown a tall Dog by this J hope: resolve me quickly.
Tre.
Why, to put you out of your pain; your Whelp's grown a tall Dog.
Amp.
Good
Ja.
You said you would tell us, sir; What will you tell us?
Tre.
And a handsome Dog.
Amp.
Good again.
Ja.
What a Dog-trick's is this?
Tre.
And h'as learnt, besides the main Game, all the rare tricks and qualities his Tutor could teach.
Amp.
Excellent.
Ja.
Will you not tell us, sir, about your Poet?
Amp.
Hang him, my Dogs worth 'em all, in ready money.
Mag.
I pray, sir.
Amp.
I will not give his eares for the swolnst headfull of wit among 'em.
Are not his Eares finely curl'd Trebasco? Like his Dam Flapses.
Tres
Yes, and his Coat all over, sir, they told me.
Amp.
Told thee! Didst thou not see him? My heart misgives me.
Tre.
See him? No indeed, sir; but J pray beare it as well as you may:
And set not your heart too much upon transportable things.
Amp.
Ha!
Tre.
The Dog is gone, sir.
Amp.
How!
Tre.
Stolne from Schoole, sir; and sold to a great Monsieur,
And Shipt away foure daies ago.
Amp.
O my heart will break.
J.a
[Page]Do not faint Knight; Cheare up your heart with your Muse.
Amp.
My veine is yet too dul; But I will o ffer at it.
Three Losses I have had; gone, past all help.
My Mare, my Mistresse, And (which grieves me most of all) my whelp.
Ia.
That line is long enough to reach him.
Amp.
I would it were else.—o—
Bum.
Od's pity. Look you, sir, your Son-in-Law, that should ha' been, is in much passion too. But you'll be rul'd by me, you say. And if J lead you not to comfort, never trust Neigbours counsell while you live. Is not this plain enough? My own case at this time is as dangerous as yours.
Ver.
That's all that comforts me.
Bum.
Neighbourly said. I thank you. Come, Sir, will you joyn with your Father-in Law that should ha' been, and me in a Cup of VVine to order a designe.
Tre.
There's a reckoning towards.
Bum.
It shall cost you nothing.
Am.
To the next Tavern then. Ladies adieu.
To part with such as you to some are crosses.
Yet Ile not put you down among my Losses.
Exeunt.
Mag.
Daughter while they are gone, let us fall on our project.
Ja:
For Courtly carriage and behaviour.
Mag.
I long to see this French young schoolmistress.
The Damasin do you call her?
Ja.
The Damoiselle, Ile wait on you.—
Exit.
ACT. IIII. Scene I.
A Rabble of rude Followes pulling in Wat after them, Valentine, Oliver, Ambrose, Phillis.
Wat.
You Rogues, Slaves, Villaines, will you murther me?
Rab.
To the Pump with him: To the Pump, to the Pump.
Val.
Prithee beat off the Curs.
Rab.
No, to the Thames, the Thames.
Phil.
Why do you use the man so? Is he not a Christian▪
Or is he not Christen'd enough think you, that you would dip him?
Ol.
Pray Gentlemen forbeare: It is thought fit,
Upon request made by a Noble Friend,
Favouring his Person, not his quality;
That for this time the Pandar be dismis'd,
So all depart in peace.
Enter Rabble.
Rab.
Away, away, lets go then.
1. A Noble Friend! Pox of his Noble Friendship.
He has spoyl'd our sport. O! how we would a sous'd him?
Ol.
Now, Mr. Hackney-man, if you have so much grace▪
Render due thanks,
Wat.
[Page]I thank you Gentlemen.
Phil.
I thank you for him too.
Ol.
On both your Knees; unless you hold it better
To kneele yet to the Pump: which you had done,
My most officious Pimp, had not his pity
Prevayl'd against our Justice.
Val.
So, arise; enough, enough.
Amb.
Troth tis a shame be should get off so easily;
Let him be yet but duck'd, or shew'd the way
Over the Garden Wall into the Thames.
Val.
Good Ambrose, be not so severe▪ who knowes
What need we may of him? We are all
Flesh and blood Ambrose.
Phil.
Thou art a Wag I warrant thee.
Amb.
Are not you married?
Val.
Mass, twas so late, I had almost forgotten it.
Amb.
No, tis so late you ha' not yet forgot
Some Office he has done you in his way.
Ol.
Didst ever pimp for him? Protest by what thou fear'd most.
VVat.
No, as I hope to escape this Gentlemans fury.
Amb.
Go, get the hence, insufferable Villaine.
I could een kick thee into twenty peeces,
[He kicks Wat.]
Soon, at his Rifling.
Think whilst thou liv'st what tis to be Pandar.—
A Pandar,—Pandar—there's for your remembrance.
[He kicks him]
Val.
Enough. Amb. This touch, & I have done—▪
Val.
Away
Phil.
Pray let him go, Ile schoole him
[Exeunt Wat Phillis.]
Val.
This may work good upon the Rascall, if he
Have but humanity, although no grace.
Ol.
We have discovered the great Rifling Val.
[Page] We know the Jewell now; the rich Comodity.
Val.
And think you have done wondrous wisely; do you not?
To sneak before me thither. I know all
You have discover'd; and how far you are
Mistaken in the old man and his Daughter.
All shall be plaine to you soon. Walk off a little.
Ol.
We'll leave you till anon we meet at the Ordinary.
[Exit. Ol. Amb.]
Enter Vermine—Amphilus Bumpsey.
Amp.
I protest, Gentlemen, I have not drown▪d sorrow
With so much merry go-down, these three halfe years.
Bump.
As with your part of three halfe pintes of Sack.
We had no more amongst us.
Amp.
How much was that a peece think you?
Ver.
It was enough to shew his Prodigality.
In over-wastfull Cost. You were not wont
To be a Boordsend-King; a pay-all in a Tavern.
Bum.
But now I love to do these things.
Amp.
Now if you could be drawn to the ducking▪ Pond,
To joyn your Groat sometimes with me; or two-pence▪
There were a Recreation indeed▪
That Peerlesse Princely sport, that undoes no man:
Though cheating there; and rooking be as free
As there is square play at the Ordinaries.
Bum.
Well the point is: My swaggering Son-in-Law,
Appointed to be here among the Trees.
My Daughter told me so. Walk here-about.
If he can give light of your light, hee'd chide.
[Page] Well try what may be done. Ile but step up
Into Ram-Alley-Sanctuary, to Debtor,
That praies and watches there for a Protection;
And presently return to you.—
Exit.
Amp.
Let it be so; slid the old angry man!
Enter Brookeall.
He'll cross us if he see us walke this [Exit Amp. Vermine.]
Broo.
These walks afford to miserable man,
Undone by Suits, leave, yet, to sit, or go,
Though in a ragged one; and look upon
The Giants, that over-threw him: Though they strut
[Lawyers and others pass over the Stage.]
And are swolne bigger by his emptiness.
Twas here, that we appointed, further meeting.
The two houres respited are almost run:
And he engag'd his honour in such tearmes,
As I presume he'll come. Honour! From whence
Can he derive that Princely attribute,
VVhose Father has descended to a Villany?
His house was Noble though: and this young man
Had a right virtuous Mother, whom I lov'd,
Intirely lov'd: and was in Competition
For marriage with her; when high Providence
Allotted her to him; who since her Death,
Defam'd my Sister, and disgrac'd our house.
My quarrell is not good against his Son
For that: But for my Boy! His doubtfull talk
Of him distracts me.
See the Vermine,
That hath devoured me living, His Aspect
Addes to my Passion such a bitterness,
That turnes me all to gall. I must avoid him,
Exit.
Amb.
Introth Father-in-Law that should ha ▪been, or that
May be yet (come, who knowes what luck we may have,
Though the dancing Planets have cut cross Capers over
Out heads.) I like this old fellows humour of chearing up
The heart well! And would I were lost too, after my Mare,
My Dog and your Daughter: If this warm Sack has not
Kindled a desire in me to play the good fellow, so it might
Be of free cost, to drown these dry remembrances.
Enter Valentine.
See▪ one of the jeerers. Is this he, that stole the marriage?
Ver.
Yes, and perhaps my Daughter too. His Father's gone
Now, and I know not how to question him.
Amp.
Let me alone to question him. Did you see this Gentleman's
Daughter, sir, my Wife, that should have been?
Val.
Since when, sir.
Amp.
Since she was stolne away, sir. It were good
You would let us have her again; and quickly too,
Ere she be worse for wearing, as we say.
Val.
[Page]Old Brookall is not come yet.
Amp.
VVill you answer me?
Val.
You are a busy foole.
Amp.
I am satisfied. He knowes nothing.
Val.
You lye, Sir.
Amp.
I think I do, You know nothing of her I mean, Sir.
Val.
You lye again, Sir.
Amp.
I think I do again, Sir. Pray be not so terrible;
Examine him your selfe, if it please you.
Enter Brookall.
Broo.
VVere his eyes Basiliskes; or did he beare
Upon his hellish Countenance the faces
Of all the Furies (that no doubt attend him)
Ile shun no place for him. Are they acquainted?
O most prodigious!
Ver.
VVhat do you know, Sir, of my Daughter, I beseech you?
Val.
That she has a wretch, a miserable Caitiff
Unto her Father.
Broo.
How is that?—
[aside.]
Ʋal.
A villain that has scrap'd up by oppression
Law-strife and Perjury, a Dowry for her,
So mixt with curses, that it would consume
An Earles Estate to match with it and her.
And leave him curs'd in his Posterity.
Amp.
How blest was J to miss her!
Broo.
Can he speak thus to him?
[aside.]
Ʋer.
Dar'st thou confront me thus?
Ʋal
Dar'st thou yet keep a Groat of thine extorted Wealth,
And seest what Judgments fall one thee already?
Can all thy Gold redeem thy good opinion,
[Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] [...][Page] To thine owne Son? And though thou wouldst no give
(In case he wanted it) to save his life,
A Hangmans Fee, much lesse a Judges thanks,
Or price of a Lords Letter to reprieve him;
Yet may this Son survive thee; and hourely he
Unto thy last houre, thine Affliction be.
Amp.
O happy condition of a Batchelor!
Broo.
I like this well in the young man▪—
[aside.]
Ver.
How can you say you know this?
Val.
Prethee how can't be otherwise?
Hadst thou a vertuous Childe (as here and there,
Some Mothers win a soule) it would be taken
Dead or alive from thee, unto thy greife too,
To scape the curse might come with a Childs part
Of thine ill-got estate: that's thy Daughters case.
Ver.
Oh—
Brro.
Brave young fellow!
Val.
But shew me where an evill Off-spring has not
Surviv'd to spurn the dust of such a Father;
And lewdly wast in one or two descents
(Unto their own destruction) what was purchased
At price of soules departed?
Ver.
Will you vouchsafe to leave me?
Amp.
Pretty odd Doctrine, this!
Val.
I have not done w'yee yet.
What corrupt Lawyer, or usurious Citizen,
Oppressing Landlord, or unrighteous Judge,
But leaves the World with horror? and their wealth,
(By rapine forc'd from the oppressed Poor)
To Heires, that (having turnd their Sires to th' Devil)
Turne Idiots, Lunaticks, Prodigals, or Strumpets?
All wanting either wit, or will, to save
Their fatall Portions from the Gulfe of Law.
Pride, Ryot, Surfets, Dice, and Luxury,
[Page] Till Beggary, or diseases turnes them after?
Ver.
Ha' you done yet?
Val.
A word or two for use; and so an end.
Broo.
Not so: It must be amplified a little further.
Ver.
Torment and death! Is he come? Let me go;
Amp.
Nay pray Sir heare them; though you profit not;
I may perhaps. Methinks it edifies.
Broo.
You sayd, and you sayd well; His tainted wealth,
Got by corruption, kept by niggardise,
Must flye as ill, through Luxury and Riot:
I add, that they who get it so, shall leave it,
To run at the like waste, through their succession
Even to the Worlds end: tis not one age,
Though spent in prayers, can expiate the wrong
Such an estate was gotten by, though the estate
Be, to a doyt, spent with it: But it shall
Fly like a fatall scourge, through hand to hand;
Through Age to Age, frighted by Orphans crys,
And Widows tears, the groanes and Lamentations,
Of oppressed Prisoners, mingled with the curses
Of hunger-bitten Labourers, whose very sweat
Thou robst them of: this charming noise is up
Of many sad, some mad afflicted wretches,
Whose marrow thou hast suck'd; and from whose bowels,
The nourishment was crushd that fed thee, and
That ravenous Wolfe, thy conscience.
Ver.
I shall trounce you.
Enter Bumpsey.
Bum.
What's here? Worrying of Vermine?
Broo.
This noyse, I say, of hideous cryes and curses,
[Page] That follows thine estate, will not be layd
In thy deare life time; nor in theirs, the strangers,
That must be curs'd with the division
Of it, when thou art gone: But, still, it shall
Pursue, to all succeeding times, all those,
That entertaine least parcels of thy money,
When they shall finde at best, it can but buy
Disgrace, diseases, overthrows at Law,
And such deare punishments; untill, at last,
All hands, affrighted with the touch of it,
Shall let it fall to earth; where it shall sinke
And run into a veyne of Ore, shall reach—
To Hell. And they, that shall, hereafter, dig it,
Hundreds of Ages hence, must all compound
With the grand Lord o'th Soyle, the Devill, for't.
Amp.
So they make hot Purchases!
Broo.
Now Sir, you may instruct the Usurer, to make use
Of all he has heard, while I avoyd his sight;
Heaven knows I am sick on't: you forget me Sir.
Val.
Feare not: I will not fayle you.
Bum.
No: Ile deliver him the use of all.
Ver.
Oh the variety of my vexation—
Bum.
And all is this (as I advis'd before.)
Spend all your felfe, and save your Heires the sin;
The shame, the sorrows, and the punishments,
That are joynt-heritable with your wealth:
As very learnedly hath been related.
And there's the point, and the whole substance on't.
Ver.
Bestow your Substance so Sir, if you like it.
Bump.
Sir, my condition runs another way.
To the same end perhaps; following my Leader, here.
Amp.
Your Son in Law? Trust me, a most fine man:
And, if his life be answerable to his Doctrine,
Tis like heele lead you to a faire end of all.
[Page] Doubtlesse he is a fine young Man indeed.
A proper teacher and an edifying.
Bump.
Come Sir, lead on, I heare you are provided
Five hundred thick for this free nights adventure.
Val.
I am Sir, here it is.
Bump.
I am so too Sir.
And here it is: And here it is, and here and there, and here it is.
Amp.
O brave old man.
Bump.
Ile make one w'ye at your new Ordinary,
They lay tis excellent.
Val.
For rarity and plenty,
There's no such Pension in all this City.
Amp.
And all for nothing?
Val.
For lesse then kisse your Hostesse.
Amp.
And is there delicate Wine too? I must thither.
Val.
The flowre of France, and quintessence of Spaine
Flow like a Spring-tyde through the House.
Amp.
O rare!
And all for nothing?
Bump.
Hang nothing. Be it as twill,
I am for any thing; and as well provided,
As you, or any the best Gamester there.
Ver.
Sir.
Bum.
I love to do these things. But first, pray tel me
Can you tell tale or tydings of his Daughter here?
Val.
Not of his Daughter: But I heard his Son
Was freed, this day, from Prison.
Ver.
How, how, how?
Enter Brookall, Phillis:
Broo.
Yonder he is, still, busie.
Phil.
Ile among 'em. Walke you back a little,
And, get I any money, Ile lend thee some.
Val.
[Page]Ile tell you how. Some freind has paid his debt,
The Action is dischargd; and he's releas d.
Ver.
You practise my abuse. Tis not in man,
To do me such a mischeife.
Amp.
Away Girle.
Phil.
Thou art as hard, as this dry crust, here, was.
But he is better minded now, I hope:
Now, old man I am sure thou art for me,
Thou cursedst me before, but now thou wilt
Blesse me, I hope, and not without a Crosse
Of a faire Silver Sixpence.
Ver.
Hence you Harlot.
Phil.
Nay look you, if I could afford it, thinke you
I'de make two words w'ye: tis but a sixpenny matter
Between us; why will you be so hard: tis but
So little lesse left among all thy Children;
And Ile bate it them in their prayers for thee,
Though I be at the trouble, my selfe, to do it.
Val.
Troth, she begs prettily. I must give her something.
Here Wench.
Bum.
What is it, J will see it.
Phil.
Tis a good Shilling, and a vie; will you see't Sir?
Bam.
Look you, tis cover'd.
Phil
Gentlemen, will you come in? will you vie it?
Amp.
No we deny it.
Phil.
You may revye it then, if you please. They come not in to binde it.
Val.
Will you come in againe Sir?
Bum.
Sir, after you, and't be to my last sixpence.
I will keep Covenant w'ye.
Val.
A shilling more on that.
Bum.
Done Sir: there tis.
Phil.
Why, these are Lads of bounty! Have you any minde yet Gentlemen?
Ver.
[Page]What, to be Bankrupts?
Phil.
Troth, thou wouldst feare as much, shouldst thou but break
Thy Porredge Pipkin.
Val.
Prithee what's thy name?
Phil.
Nell, my Mother calls me. J nere knew Sire, nor Godsire.
Val.
Nell?
Phil.
Yes: And tis as bonny a Beggars name, as ever came from beyond Trent.
Val.
This Girle, methinks, howere necessitated
Into this course, declares she has a spirit
Of no grosse ayre: And J dare think her Blood,
Although, perhaps, of some unlawfull mixture,
Deriv'd from Noble veines. One may perceive
Much in her Language, in her Looks, and Gesture,
That pleads, methinks, a duty above pitty,
To take her from this way, wherein she wanders
So farr from the intent of her Creation.
Bump.
Your meaning is, you would buy her out of her Calling.
Is it not so?
Val.
Ten Peices J would give
Towards a new one for her.
Bump.
Here's ten more
To bind you quite from begging. Can you afford it?
If yes, accept it. And let's see your back.
Phil.
J make no Curtsies, nor send thanks that way.
No, Ile be forwards in them. May my thanks and prayers
Multiply years and blessings on your heads.
And when J beg againe, may Beadles take
Advantage on my back, and lash the skin off,
So Heaven be ever with you—
Val.
Stay. Who would not have given this Money? Gentlemen,
[Page] Dost not move you to give a packing penny?
Phil.
Nor move you them for me. J should, now, feare
One of their ill-got pence, here mingled, would
Corrupt and overthrow my righteous Fortune.
Exit Phil.
Amp.
Ovillanous Vixen.
Ver.
Each minute of this day augments my torment,
Yet J have coold it with some patience;
Attending Sir your answer.
Val.
For your son.
Ver.
J have no Son. J aske you for my Daughter.
Val.
Be this your pennance for your misbeleife,
Hye you to the Compter: if you finde not there
Your son; meet me an hour hence at my Fathers,
Ile tell you news of him; and he perhaps
May tell you of his Sister. This deserves
A fee. Your absence pays it me. Go quickly,
We have some businesse: And your stay will but
Make the Scene tedious.
Ver.
Weel go. Wil't please you?
Amp.
Yes: we will off in Rhime. There is no doubt,
Jf Wats be not [...]he Compter, he is out.
Exit Ver. Amp.
Bump.
Now, what's the next vagary?
Val.
Onely this Sir.
You have playd at small Game with me. Now there is
A greater try all of my Love and Bounty,
Instantly to be made. A Gentleman,
(J stay too long) an intimate Freind's arrested,
But for two hundred pound on execution:
Will you joyne Charity to fetch him off?
Bump.
J would 't had been thine owne case two dayes since.
One of your fine Companions, some poor Shark?
[Page] Ha, ist not so?
Ʋal.
Will you be pleasd to see him?
Bump.
J am halfe sick of this Condition!
J do begin, not altogether, now,
To love these things so well methinks. Humh ha!
Ʋal.
Nay, if you go not chearfully—
Bump.
Yes: J go.
Exeunt ambo.
ACT. IV. Scene II.
Brookall, Phillis:
Broo.
GOod Childe, thy tale is pittifull; yet it sorts
So with the fell condition of my Fortune,
That J crave more of it.
Phil.
J came not to
Discourse of sorrow, but to bring you comfort:
VVill you yet have a Crowne?
Broo.
J prithee keep
Thy Money Child; and forwards with thy story.
Thou saydst thy Mother was a Gentlewoman.
Phil.
Jle give you reason. Since J can remember,
Shee never did a wrong, though suffered much;
Nor the least unjust thing: No, though her poverty
And care of me have pinch'd her very bowels,
Shee knew not how to seek anothers good,
So much as by request. Shee never durst borrow,
For feare to come so neer the danger of
A promise-breach: And, for base ends, to lye
Shee holds it sacriledge. Ifaith she jerk'd
That humour out of me; for J was given
(I tell you as a Freind) a little to't.
[Page] It came sure by the Father. God forgive him.
Broo.
Thou saydst, thou thoughtst, thy Father was a Knight.
How thinkst thou he could lye then, [...]o abuse
A Virgine of that goodnesse, as it seemes
Shee, that by him became thy Mother, was.
Phil.
The Devill, sure, was powerfull with him, then.
Nor do you hear me say▪ all Gentlefolkes
Are of one minde. Alasse they could not live
One by another then.
Broo.
Peace, stay a little:
How came thy Mother to decline her spirit
So low, as thus to suffer thee to beg?
Phil.
Vertue goes often wet-shod, and is faine
To coble it selfe up to hold out water
And cold necessity: But sure, the quality
Came to me by the Fathers side too: For
Tis a more commendable, and Courtly practise
To beg, then steale. He was perhaps, a Courtier.
J rather would be rob'd of all J have,
Then steale one farthing.
Broo.
Thou say'st thy Mother never would reveale
To thee, or any one, her Birth, or Fortune.
Answer me, prethee, how dost thou collect
Th' hadst such a Father? Or that he has thus
Wrong▪d thy poore Mother, by not marrying her?
Phil.
Now you come to me indeed old man: How now,
What do you weep?
Broo.
The sharpness of the Aire
Strikes on mine eyes a little. Prethee say.
Phil.
J first, as fain would know the hidden cause
That works this aptness in me, to discover
My Mother and my selfe to you. J know not
How to look off o'you. I [...]aith you weep.
[Page] I have heard some talk of naturall instinct,
But know not what it is. Pray can you tell me?
Or any like reason, why J should
Thus doat, and hang about you? Or tell me this,
Have you not been of better Fortune? Are not you
Some decayed Knight? Be not asham'd, but tell me.
They cannot all be rich, there are so many.
Broo.
Oh my heart!
Phil.
Yea, are your Conscience struck?
Have at you for a father then: And yet
Me-thinks you are more old in goodness, then
To be, so late, so wicked, as to wrong
A woman of her sweetness. Yet Ile try you.
Here is a long-kept Paper. This is all
That ere I gathered of my Mothers wrong,
And of my Fathers cruelty, and condition.
It seemes this was his hand, and ruthfull farewell,
He turn'd her off withall. See, if you know it.
More then a thousand times I have observ'd her
Weep o're that Paper; ever carefull, though,
Her teares might not deface it. If by chance,
As when those teares prevented had her sight,
Some soft ones did on that hard Sentence light,
Her Lips took off the Trespass of her Eye;
And her hot Sighes restor'd the Paper dry.
Broo.
This comes so neer a Miracle; that my faith
I feare is staggering. How got'st, thou this paper?
Phil.
I stole it from my Mother, (and in Troth
Tis all that ere I stole) because she should not
Weep out her eyes upon't. I do not love,
Although I am a beggar, to lead blind folks.
Do you not find there, that he is a Knight,
Though he subscribes no name? He tells her there,
And tauntingly, he knowess she is more sorry
For the lost Ladyship he promis'd her,
[Page] Then for her Maiden-head. Let me heare you read it.
Broo.
Mine eyes, are now, too full indeed; I cannot.
Phil.
Are you the man then, whom I must ask blessing?
If you bee, speak. Ile have you to my Mother,
Though, I dare sweare, she had rather dye, then you,
Or any of your Race, or hers, should see her,
Whilst she has breath. Yet I will undertake
To prattle you both good friends.
And you shall have my Mammy,
And she shall have her Nell (that's J.)
The man shall have his Mare againe,
And all shall be well. How do you?
Broo.
Prethee forbeare me good wench but a little.
Enter Valentine.
Val.
I have kept my time you see; and shall not faile
In any Circumstance. Here are two Swords,
Pray take your choice. I have bespoke a Boat
Shall land us o're the water, where you please;
Though, I Protest, I yet would beg your Love,
Next to my Naturall Fathers.
Broo.
This I fear d.
And charg'd the plain way. But't shall not serve.
Val.
You took my part of late, against old Vermin
Broo.
Prethee who would not? This is another case
Val.
Why, if there be no remedy, pray accept
Your forty pounds. The money, Sir, may stead you
For your escape, when you have ta'ne my Life.
Broo.
Your money 'wou'ld hang me, Sir. Your lifes not worth it.
Ʋal.
Tis your own money; sent you by your Son.
Broo.
How know I that? Or that I have a Son
By thee unmurther'd.
Val.
[Page]I told you of a Letter I had mislaid:
Look you. Do you know his hand?
Broo.
If it be not,
Much chang'd, and lately, here is that wil match.
Val.
Was ever given Gold so weigh'd, and try'd?
What Lawyer, Nay, what Judge would be so scrupulous?
No want corrupts good Conscience: Nor excess
Allaies in bad, the thirst of Cov'tousness.
Phil.
What do you think, Sir?
Val.
I think you beg again, and would be whipt.
Phil.
I fecks, I do not beg; but came to offer
This griev'd old man some of my infinite fortune
Found in your lucky money: Lucky indeed;
For I have found a Father by'c. I vow
I think my Father. I'st not a fine old man?
I shall know more anon.
Val.
Her money, sure,
Has made her Mad: How do you finde it, Sir?
Broo.
My wonder now, is, how thou canst be Son
Of such a Father! Thou art honest sure.
Here is your Sword, I will accept the money.
Ʋal.
Then I shall live, and so may want the money.
Will you forbeare it for a day or two?
Broo.
Your Sword again.
Now, I profess to you, I have present need on't,
And am as strict, Sir, for my right, as I
Before was to decline it.
Ʋal.
Pray, Sir, take it;
And give me leave to beg your charitable
Construction of my Father.
Broo.
How is that?
Ʋal.
Did you but know the care, the cost, and travell
He has been at a thousand waies, to finde
[Page] Your injur'd Sister, to make good his fault,
If possibly he might—
Broo.
O fie, O fie!
Val.
Till all Opinion gave her dead; and then
The meanes he has sought to do you Offices
Against your knowledge. For he knew your Spirit
Would not except of his benevolence.—
Broo.
Read that, and guesse whose deed 'tis. Stand off Girle.
Phil.
Yes forsooth Father, I shall learn in time,
Ile call him Father till he findes me another.
J know he could not shed those teares for nothing.
Ʋal.
But does she live, to whom this was directed?
Broo.
Speak low: is that your Fathers hand?
Ʋal.
It is.
Broo.
Along with me then. Girle, lead you the way.
Phil.
Anan forsooth Father,
Broo.
Shew us to your Mother.
Phil.
Shall he go too? What will the Neighbours think?
There's none but Beggars all about us. Ods so,
There'll be a show indeed.
Ʋal.
No matter. Will you go?
Phil.
Sir, they will hale you to peeces.
Ʋal.
Will you deny me?
Phil.
How shall I answer't to my Mother? She
Never saw man, nor has been seen by man,
That J know, in my life.
Ʋal.
No matter: Will you on?
Broo.
Ile save thee blamelesse.
Phil.
Troth Ile venter.—
Exeunt Oes.
ACT. V. Scene I.
Frances, Magdalen, Jane, Alice. Wine on a Table.
Fra.
TRes bien venue Madames.
You are very welcome.
Mag.
Good lack! And is it you, Mrs. Alice? I'st possible: Are you come to learn Carriage too? I will make bold with tother Glasse of Wine. At a word, J like your French Carriage the better, that it allowes elder Women to drink VVine.
Ali.
They have no other drink, except water. And Maids are allowed but that.
Ja.
And young wives (they say) wine with their water.
Mag.
Mingle your Glasse, then, Daughter. This for me. Your father has so sought you Mrs. Alice.
Ja.
My Father has mist us too, by this time.
Mag.
But neither of 'em can dream French enough, to direct'em hither, J warrant you. And does she learn the Carriages very well, Madamsilly?
Fra.
Madamoyselle, si vous plaist.
Mag.
What do yee cal't? I shall never hit it. ▪How do you finde your Schollar?
Fra.
O, she is very good. She learn very well.
Mag.
But how much carriage hath she learnt? Heark [Page] you Mrs. Alice. Have you not learnt to carry a man? Has not a good Husband stolne you hither?
I can think waggishly I tell you: And an old Ape has an old eye. Go to.
Ali.
No such matter, Mrs. Bumpsey.
Fra.
VVhat is that you say?
Mag.
I ask you how much carriage she has learnt?
Fra.
She come but dis day; And she carry both the hands already.
Mag.
How say by that. I'st possible? Can she carry both her hands in one day?
Fra.
Yes, and before to morrow, she shall carry the foot as well.
Mag.
It seems, then, you teach handling before footing in your French way.
Fra.
You may learn dat of de leetle Shild. De leetle Shild you see will handle de ting, before it can set one foot to de ground. Come, let me see you make a Reverance.
Mag.
Reverance! VVhat's that?
Fra.
Tis dat you call a Curtsie. Let me see you make Curtsie.
Mag.
Look you heare then.
Fra.
O fee, fee—dat is de gross english Douck, for de swagbuttock'd-wife of de Pesant.
Mag.
How like you this then? There's a Reverence I warrant you.
Fra.
Fee, dat is worse. See how you carry de hands like de Comedien dat act de shangling.
Mag.
Shall I ever hit on't troe? I must take tother Glass.
Ali.
Take heed she does not take too much.
Ja.
I hope she will not. But there's no crossing her.
Fra.
Let me see your hands.
Mag.
[Page]There they bee. They have been a little too familiar with Sea-coale fires, and much other course houswifry, which J shall utterly abhor, and wash off, when J have learnt to carry them Courtly.
But shall J ever do it, think you?
Fra.
Yes, yes, and all your other parts and members.
Mag.
I may winne my Husband to love mee Courtly then.
Fra.
To love, and lye with you Courtly.
Mag.
That's but seldome, I doubt.
Fra.
You shall know all de waies to winne his Love,
Or any mans, to multiply your honour.—
Mag.
J will so multiply then.
Fra.
Not onely in your looks, your smiles and sweet Caresses.
(Besides the help of Painting) that adorn
The face; But with the motion of each Lineament,
Of the whole frame of your wel order'd body.
An Eye, a Lip, a finger shall not move;
A Toe trip unregarded. But your Geat
And your whole gracefull Presence shall attract,
(Beyond affection) admiration:
As Ile artifice you.
Mag.
Ile be a Nimph. Diana and her Dearlings, deare, deare, deare, &c.
[sing.]
But may I paint, say you?
Fra.
O most allowably; nay, commendably.
Mag.
Tother Glass for that.
Fra.
Then for the Art of dressing, setting forth Head, Face, Neck, Breast,; with which I will inspire you.
To cover, or discover any part—
Unto de best advantage.
Mag.
[Page]That is to say,
To hide shame, or shew all: that's her meaning.
Fra.
You shall have no defect perceiv'd, no grace conceal'd.
Mag.
I am for the naked Neck and Shoulders, then.
For (I tell you Mistress) I have a white Skin,
And a round streight Neck: smooth and plump Shoulders,
Free from French Flea-bits, and never a wrinckle
Neare'em, though I say't.
Fra.
Thas been suggested by invective men,
Women, to justifie themselves that way,
Began that Fashion. As one tother side,
The fashion of mens Brow-locks was perhaps
Devis'd out of necessity, to hide
All il-grac'd forehead; Or besprinckled with
The outward Symptomes of some inward griefe.
As, formerly the Saffron-steeped Linnen,
By some great man found usefull against Vermine,
Was ta'ne up for a fashionable wearing.
Some Lord that was no Niggard of his Beauty,
Might bring up narrow brims to publish it.
Another, to obscure his, or perhaps
To hide defects thereof, might bring up broad ones.
As questionless, the streight, neat timber'd Leg,
First wore the Troncks, and long Silk-hole: As likely
The Baker-knees, or some strange shamble shanks,
Begat the Ancle-breeches.
Mag.
Sure the men
Took that conceit from us. What woman shewes
A Leg, that's not a good one?—
[She shewes a swadled leg.]
Fra.
These among men, are followed for the fashions,
That were invented for the better grace.
(As our Attires) to set off Limb, or face.
Mag.
[Page]Good lack! What knowledge comes from forraigne parts?
Enter Dryground, VVat.
Dry.
I prethee Wat, have patience for an houre.
Wat.
Not for a minute, Sir, Ile not be kick'd,
And call'd base Pandar for your baseness.
Dry.
Nay, look you Wat.
Wat.
And had almost been pump'd,
And made a sport for Water-men i'th' Thames.
Dry.
But Heare me, Wat.
Wat.
Ile heare my Father sooner. (Give me hence
My Sister) were he a ravenous Beast, a Wolfe,
J would obey him rather then trudge a foot
Further in your base way. Heart J am hip-shot.
Dry.
Now, would his Bodies paines convert his Soule,
Twere a good work.
Wat.
J am in desperate feare
O'th' Mourning of the Chine too with the kicks,
And hunches they o're-said me with. O base!
Without resistance. Give me hence my Sister.
Dry.
But how was it my fault?
Wat.
Was't not your project?
Ja.
What may this mean?
Ali.
No harm J warrant you.
Wat.
Nay, it shall out. Your base inhumane Project,
To sell your Daughters Maiden-head. (J care not
Who heares me, J.) And cunningly to make me
Your Hackney-jade to fetch your Chapmen in.
Mag.
Where are we now?
Ja.
What did my Husband mean to wish us hither?
Wat.
Baseness! J cannot call it bad enough.
Dry.
[Page]You were as forward in it as my selfe,
And wooed me you might have her without all faults.
Wat.
Mine eyes are opened now.
Dry.
But J believe,
They were almost beaten out first.
Wat.
And J vow
Ere J will marry so, Ile take a Beggar,
And joyn in trade with her, though I get nothing
But—My name is Vermine already, J
Thank a good Father for't.
Dry.
A Beggar-wenches breed would propagate
Your name most numerously.
Wat.
Much better then your Sale-ware, and more lasting.
J think J saw her to day must be the woman,
Good Madame Polcat, the trim Schoole-mistriss.
Ile make bold with your Schollar. What! you have more.
Ile carry her and her Virginity
Unto some fitter place of Execution.
Ali.
You brought me hither, Sir, and here Ile stay.
Wat.
What! in a Bawdy-house?
Mag.
O deare! and is it so? VVhat are we then?
Is this your boun fashion? Is this the carriage of the Body, that you would teach us? What, to bee VVhores? VVe could learn that at home, and there were need, without your teaching,
Ja.
Mother; what do you mean?
Ali.
Mrs Bumpsey; pray feare no harm.
Mag.
O good lack ! what will become of us? where are we now, Jane?
Betray'd! betray'd! Our honours are betray'd. O my poor Bump. how will thou take this at my hands, though J carry them never so Courtly?
Dry.
'Sfoot, she's in her Mawdlin fit: All her wine [Page] showres out in teares.
Mag.
Oh, oh, oh,—
[She falls]
Dry.
Pray have her in. Look carefully to her,
Mag.
I, I, I.
Dry.
In all to the next Room.—
Exeunt Fra. Jane leading out Magdalen.
Wat.
Sir, she shall with me. Ile leave her where J found her.
Dry.
Sir, no such matter.
Wat.
'Sfoot, Gentlewoman, must I kick you out o' doores?
Dry.
No, nor depart your selfe, but by Authority.
J am provided for you. Friends come in.
Enter two Sergeants.
And do your Office.
Ser.
We arrest you, Sir▪ Nay, we shall rule you.
Wat.
Ha, ha, ha. VVhy, this is well, and very hospitably done.
VVould any man but an old Bawde ha' done this?
Dry.
Sir, J mistrusted your Apostacy.
Since you revolt, J must recall my money;
Or lay you where J found you, as you threatned your Sister here.
Wat.
Baser, and baser still. Are you a Knight?
A Knight, a Post-Knight. A Postillion,
That rides a fore-horse, o're the Eares in durt,
Three fingers thick, is not so base. You Varlets,
Do you arrest folkes in a bawdy-house?
Ser.
VVe do not finde it so; Or, if it be,
The place may be as honest as our Office.
VVill you walk, Sir?
Wat.
Stay; Let me consider,
[Page] If now my Father (as some in like cases
Have done) would take a fine submission.
I could affoard to kneele and whine, me-thinks,
Rather then back to my old Ward again.
Twill nere be handsome though.
Enter Valentine.
Val.
The business Gentlemen.
Wat.
My lucky friend.
Sir, you reliev'd me lately. Could you now
But add another Favour, it might teach
One, that nere learnt to pray, to pray for you.
Do you not know me, Sir? Twas I you sav'd
Out of the Temple Sudds.
Val.
Hast thou been shav'd since?
Wat.
No, Sir, I was disguis'd.
Val.
Disguis'd!
Wat.
Disguis'd in villany, which I recant.
Val.
Who knowes but he may prove an honest man?
Pray, Sir, a word.
Ser.
We do not use to wait dry-fisted; nor dry throated.
Wat.
I would you were as wet all over, as I was like to have been: Or, as you are Catchpoles, I would you had been but in those hands I escap'd from.
Dry.
You have prevail'd, Sir.
Val.
Sergeants you shall not out of the House. Here's for halfe an houres attendance. Go into that Room with your Prisoner. You shall have Wine, and Smoak too.
Be of good cheere friend; if thou canst be honest,
I can relieve thee: feare not.
Wat.
[Page]Sir, get my Father but to say as much,
And you shall be Co-heire with me. I vow you shall have halfe.
[ExeuntWat, Sergeants]
Val.
VVee'll talk anon. The Youth appeares converted.
Dry.
There was no other meanes to work it by,
But that I us'd; to urg'd him past his Nature.
He was so free in's Villany, that I
Giving the Spurs, ran him beyond his speed;
Quite off his Legs, and glad to be led home.
Val.
His Father comes on fairely: I have follow'd
All your Instructions concerning him,
And my fantastick Father 'Law. Both whom
Are hard at hand, with the wise western Knight.
He too's content to go to the best Ordinary,
VVhile tis best cheap he saies. VVhere are the women?
Dry.
Your Mother-'Law, after she had got
As much French Carriage, as might serve to furnish
A petty Court; is fallen into a fit,
To over-throw it all againe.
Val.
The better.
But is the house cleare, Sir, of all your Riflers?
Dry.
As I could wish; And well satisfied.
For, when they understood the honest end,
My Project aim'd at; which, by an Oration
VVell charg'd with virtuous Sentences, I forc'd
Into the nobler Breasts: they all recanted
The barbarous purpose; and as freely left
Their money for that Charitable use,
To which I pre-intended it. The rest
Purs'd theirs again. But yet I have collected
In this odd uncouth way, five hundred Pounds,
That was laid down at stake for a Virginity,
To make an honest stock for Franck.
Val.
Tis good.
[Page] I may fetch in my Guests In the mean time
You may be pleas'd, Sir, to peruse this Baper.—
Exit.
Dry.
How now! what's here? How might he come by this?
It is the scorn I sent my injur'd Love;
My abus'd Elynor: The hand, that threw
Her from me. O, that at the price of it
I could receive her.
Enter Oliver. Ambrose.
Ol.
Sir, by your leave,
VVe come to sup w'yee. Does your Rifling hold?
Amb.
VVhat, you are off o'the hooks, me-thinks.
Ol.
If there be no such thing, tell us the Riddle?
Dry.
You shall know all, and briefely. Franck, come in.
Enter Franck.
Now Gentlemen—
Ol.
Let us salute her first.—
Salute, then whisper▪
Dry.
She does not tast of sin. Faire Chastity
Sits crown'd upon her Brow, with an aspect,
May beat down Lust to Hell, from whence it rose.
Fra.
You professe Nobly, sir.
Ol.
I vow, and do not lye to you: If I finde
Your Father so inhumane, you against it:
VVee'll be your Rescue, if forty able sword-men
VVhich we have, at the signall of a finger,
Planted in readiness, can fetch you off:
Do you approve?
Fran.
Yes, and admire your goodness.
Ol.
Now we are for you, sir:
Dry.
Then heare the story; which your late Impatience [Page] would not permit.
Amb.
You speak not now
In that high Phrase, or tone, as you did then.
Enter Valentine. Bumpsey, Vermine, Amphilus, Brookall, Elynor, Phillis.
Val.
Stand here, unseene; and heare attentively.
Dry.
I am a Gentleman, that by foule misdeed
(Heaven, Heaven I aske thee pardon) once did wrong
To an unfortunate Family, by rejecting,
After affiance, and her love abus'd,
A Gentlewoman—
Ol.
You got with child, and then deny'd her Marriage.
Dry.
Twas so.
Ely.
Ay me!
Val.
No passion, gentle Soule.
Phil.
If this should prove my Father now!—
Ol.
Well Sir, your Gentlewoman!
Dry.
Shee, on the discontent, (poore haplesse Soule)
Now foureteen Winters since though sadly burden'd,
Fled, and no more is heard of: at the first
My wildnesse took no sense of this deare Losse;
But drew me through the wayes of carelesse pleasure,
By riotous expence, that mine estate
And Credit ran at waste, and was nigh spent,
Untill my trespasse cry'd against my Conscience
To render satisfaction: but in vaine
We offer to the dead. My Genius therefore
Prompts me to gratefull deeds unto her Blood▪
Amb.
What can this come to?
Dry.
Shee had a Brother, that lost his estate
By Law—
Br.
Means he not mee?
Dry.
To a Corrupt Oppressor—
Ver.
Ha! How's that?
Dry.
Was stript out of the very Coat he wore,
[Page] Had nothing left him, but a Sonne—
Ol.
What's all this to your Daughter?
Dry.
Even all that may be; (see) His Sonne's my Daughter.
Discover Franc.
Now do you find my project Gentlemen?
It has at Charge of three dayes House-keeping
Put halse a thousand pounds in's purse; Besides
A faire pull for his Fathers Land againe:
For he has, by a lawfull Church-man, married
The Daughter of his Fathers Adversary.
Ol.
Why, here are wonders!
Amb.
Bravely, nobly done
Dry.
Come Mrs. Alice; and justifie your Act.
Enter Alice
Ver.
My Daughter, ha!
Amp.
My sweetheart, hoe!
Fra.
Your haes and hoes can not draw her from me, shee is my Wife.
Ver.
By what witch-craft?
Dry.
By stronger Charmes, then your Art can dissolve. You know me now, Sir—And my Project, do you not?
Discovers himselfe.
Ol.
Amb. SirHumfrey Dryground.
Ver.
I am struck dum with wonder.
Elin.
O tis he, tis hee.
Val.
Alasse she swounes, Sir cheare you up this Lady,
While I appease the rest. A word with you Sir.
Amp.
I will not be appeas'd.
Dry.
My love! my Elynor!
Bump.
So, cheare her up Sir Humfry. To her againe Sir Humfry; your Sonne and mine in Law has told me all your story, and reconcil'd your Brother Brookall to you before your interview. I know all, the full point and the whole substance; the flat and plaine of the businesse; and now I love these things againe. How now Sir Amphilus [Page] Drown'd in Melancholly?
Amp.
No: But and I were at the Duckingpond, I know what I know. But when I drown my selfe, I'll give you leave to hang me.
Ali.
Your pardon, and your blessing, I beseech you.
Ver.
Hence.
Exit Valentine.
Broo.
Was this thy Journey into France my Boy?
High Providence hath made it good. But tell mee,
Was Love your chiefe Instructor to this Marriage?
Fran.
Indeed it was equall in her and mee.
Ali.
Pray Sir your blessing.
Ver.
Away.
Broo.
Turne this way for a blessing then my Daughter,
Bump.
Shall I tell you Neighbour? Law has no reliefe for you; And Conscience and you have a longe time been strangers. Could you be friends and embrace Conscience now, all would be well. And there's the substance. Is it plaine?
Ver.
Conscience! do you know where she is?
Enter Val. Wat. Magdalen, Jane.
Val.
Heeres one has brought her in his true Conversion.
Wat.
Sir, If you can forgive, and can obey you—
I now can better kneele, then speak
He weeps
Val.
Do you note those teares, Sir? Had you lost your Daughter,
My Father had in this made you amends,
In finding you a Son. His Art converted him.
Ver.
Sure, all's but Apparition, or a dream.
Bump.
Ha! Think you so? Tis your own flesh and blood: And by your leave and liking, may prove as honest a Man, as his Father. Is not this plaine now? Forgive and blesse e▪m all over, and so Kisse'em too. They are your Children.
Mag.
[Page]O my deare Bump! Art thou there? Thou mayst kisse, and forgive me all over too, for any harm, or dishonesty; though the place be as they say-at a word, Bump. Thou mayst beleive me, I came but to learn Carriage of the Body, nor to carry no bodies body, but my owne body, Bump. No truely, truely Bump. o—o—that ever I did that.
Bump.
Peace, peace: All's well. At least I know your Disease.
Mag.
Think me not drunk, good Bump, a little fashion-sick, or so.
Amp.
Fashion-sick! a fine civill word. To be drunk, is fashion-sick.
Ver.
I am awak'd out of the Lethargy
Of Avarice: Blest may our Friendship be.
Dry.
I will not sleep, before the holy Priest
Has done the Office. Blessing on my Girle.
Val,
Thou hast made me young againe: the best
Occurrents in this Project have been thine.
Thy Accidents exceeded my designe.
Val.
They do not yet cease here: For see, the strife
Betwixt these long continued Adversaries
Perfectly reconcil'd; and both have given
The young and hopefull married paire their Blessings.
Amp.
To which I have given my Consent most freely.
For it was Nolens volens as they say.
Val.
They are beholden to you. Mr. Vermine
Restores unto the Son the Fathers Land,
For Dowry with his Daughter: And is taken
So with the good you wrought upon his Son,
The Convertite here; that if he stand firme
Till' the determination of your Mortgage,
Heel cancell it, and send it Gratis to you.
Wat.
That's sure enough. But Sir, the other businesse.
Dry.
[Page]What's that?
Val.
The most to be admir'd of all;
He loves my Sister here; and has done long:
But, now, that he perceaves her worth (being yours)
And, since you promis'd him your Daughter too,
He makes it his faire suit.
Dry.
I'll talk with his Father.
And Wat stand you but firme, and live reform'd,
Winning my Daughters love, you shall have mine.
Phil.
That Fortune is not blinde, that shew'd me way
To Father, Friends, and Husband in one day.
Dry.
This binds us all into a Brother-hood.
Bro.
And with a Brothers Love I now salute you.
Dry.
So may we with a generall embrace,
Create the Heart of Friendship, not the Face.
Come Gentlemen, your Ordinary stayes,
Twill prove good fare (I hope) though no rich Feast;
And acceptable to each welcome Guest.
Epilogue.
NO way ambitious yet of vulgar praise,
The writer of these Scenes desires to know,
By your faire leave, though he assume no Bayes,
Whether he pull'd faire for a leafe or no▪
If yes, then let your hands assistant be,
Tincourage him to climb Apollo's tree.
FJNJS.