THE HUMOROUS. LIEUTENANT.
ACT I. SCENE I.
ROund, round, perfume it round, quick, look ye diligently the state be right; Are these the Richest Cushions? Fie, fie, who waits i'th' Wardrobe?
But pray tell me, do you think for certain these Ambassadors shall have this morning Audience?
They shall have it: Lord, that you live at Court and understand not? I tell you they must have it.
Upon what necessity?
Still you are Ignorant of the Trick of Court, sell your Place.
And Sow your Grounds, you are not for this Tillage. Ladies, the best way is the upper Lodgings, there you may see at ease.
We thank you, Sir.
Would you have all these slighted? Who should report then the Embassadors were handsome Men? his Beard a neat one? the fire of his eyes quicker then Lightning, and when it breaks, as blasting? his Legs, tho little ones, yet movers of a Mass of Understanding? Who shall commend their Clothes: who shall take notice of the most wise behaviour of their Feathers? ye live a raw Man here.
I think I do so.
Why, whether would you all press?
Good Master Vsher.
My Wife, and some few of my honest Neighbours here.
Prethee be gone thou and thy honest Neighbours, thou look'st like an Ass; why, Whether would you Fish-Face?
If I might have the honour to see you at my poor House, Sir, a Capon bridled, and sadl'd I'll assure your Worship, a Shoulder of Mutton, and a Bottle of Wine Sir; I know your Brother, he was as like ye, and shot the best at Buts—
A—upon thee.
Some Musick I'll assure you too, my Toy, Sir, can play o'th' Virginals.
Prethee good Toy take away thy Shoulder of Mutton, it is Flieblown, and Shoulder, take thy Flap along, here's no place for ye; nay then you had best knock'd.
What's your business? who keeps the outward door there? here's fine shufling, you wastcoateer you must go back.
Death, she is Mad.
And were your self an honest Man? it cannot—
What a Devil hast thou to do with me or my honesty? Will you be jogging, good nimble Tongue? my fellow Door-keeper?
Prethee let her alone.
The King is coming, and shall we have an Agent from the Suburbs come to crave Audience too?
What's that?
You must be modester.
A parlous Wench.
Thrust her into a corner, I'll no more on her.
You have enough, go pretty Maid, stand close, and use that little Tongue with a little more temper.
I thank ye, Sir.
When the Shews are past, I'll have ye into the Cellar, there wee'l Dine, a very pretty [...], a witty Rogue, and there wee'l be as merry, Can ye be Merry
O very merry.
Only our selves; this churlish fellow shall not know.
By no means.
And can you love a little?
Love exceedingly:
I have cause to love you dear sir.
Then I'll carry ye, and shew you all the Pictures, and the Hangings, the Lodgings, Gardens, and the Walks: and then (sweet) you shall tell me where you lye.
Yes marry will I.
And't shall go hard but I'll send ye a Venison Pasty, and a Bottle of Wine.
Make room there.
Room there afore, stand close, the Train is coming.
Conduct in the Embassadors.
Make room there.
They shall not wait long Answer—
Yet he comes not.
Room for the Prince there.
Hail Royal Father.
Well, I could curse now: but that will not help me, I made as sure account of this Wench now, immediately, Do but consider how the devil has crost me, Meat for my Master she cries, well—
I saw him leave the Court, dispatch his Followers, and met him [...] in a bye-street: I think he has some Wench, or such a Toy, to lick over before he go: would I had such another to draw this foolish Pain down.
Scaene 2.
Ye are a tall Soldier: Here, take these, and these; this Gold to furnish ye, and keep this Bracelet; Why do you weep now? You a Masculine Spirit?
ACT II. SCENE I.
I have found her Sir, I mean the place she is lodg'd in; her name is Celia, And much a do I had to purchase that too.
There's not a handsome wench of any mettle within an hundred miles, but her intelligence reaches her, and out-reaches her, and brings her as considently to Court, as to a sanctuary: What had his mouldy brains ever arriv'd at, had not she beaten it out oth' Flint to fasten him? They say she keeps an office of Concealements: there is no young wench, let her be a Saint, Unless she live ith' Center, but she finds her, and every way prepares addresses to her: if my wife would have followed her course Charintbus, her lucky course, I had the day before him: O what might I have been by this time, Brother? But she (forsooth) when I put these things to her, these things of honest thrift, groans, O my conscience, the load upon my conscience, when to make us cuckolds, they have no more burthen then a broodgoose, brother; but let's do what we can, though this wench fail us, another of a now way will be lookt at: Come, let's abroad, and beat our brains, time may for all his wisdome, yet give us a day.
Seaene. 2.
I am pepper'd, I was i'th' midst of all: and bang'd of all hands: They made an Anvil of my Head, it rings yet; never so thresh'd: Do you call this Fame? I have fam'd it; I have got Immortal fame, but I'll no more on't; I'll no such scratching Saint to serve hereafter; O' my Conscience I was kill'd above Twenty [...], and yet I know not what a Devil's in't, I crawl'd away, and liv'd again still; I am hurt plaguily, but now I have nothing neer so much pain Colonel, they have sliced me for that Malady.
I am glad you are here: but they are all i'th' pound Sir, they'l never ride o'r other Mens Corn again, I take it, such frisking, and such flaunting with their Feathers, and such careering with their Mistriss favours; and here must he be pricking out for honour, and there got he a knock, and down goes Pilgarlick, commends his Soul to his She Saint, and Exit. Another spurs in there, cries, Make room Villaines, I am a Lord, scarce spoken, but with reverence a Rascal takes him o'r the Face, and fells him, there lies the Lord, the Lord be with him.
Even cool enough too: for to say truth, he has been shrewdly heated, the Gentleman no doubt will fall to his Jewlips.
No, plague take him, he'll kiss our Tailes as soon; he looks upon us, as if he would say, If ye will turn again, Friends, we will belabour you a little better, and beat a little more care into your Coxcombs. Now shall we have damnable Ballads out against us, most wicked Madrigals: and ten to one, Collonel, Sung to such lowsie, lamentable Tunes.
[...], send one presentlie away To 'th' King, and let him know our state: and [...] ye, be sure the messenger advise his Majesty to comfort up the Prince: he's full of sadness.
Scaene 3.
Her maiden-head will yield me, let me see now, She is not fifteen they say: for her complexion—Cloe, Cloe, Cloe, here, I have her, Cloe, the Daughter of a Countrey gentleman; Her age upon fifteen: now her complexion, a lovely brown; here 'tis; eyes black and rolling, The body neatly built: she strikes a Lute well, sings most inticingly: these helps consider'd, Her maiden-head will amount to some three hundred, or three hundred and fifty crowns; 'twill bear it handsomly. Her father's poor, some little share deducted, to buy him a hunting Nag: I, 'twill be pretty: Who takes care of the Merchants wife.
Very well, Madam, though very much ado, I had to make her apprehend that happiness.
Good signs, very good signs, symptoms of easie nature. Had she the plate?
Dispatch a Packet, and tell her, her Superiour here commands her, the next Month not to fail, but see deliver'd here to our use, some Twenty young and handsome, as also able Maids, for the Court service, as she will answer it: we are out of beauty, Utterly out, and rub the time away here, With such blown stuff, I am asham'd to send it.
Who's that? look out, to your business maid, there's nothing got by idleness: There is a Lady, Which if I can but buckle with, Altea, A, A, A, A, Altea, young, and married, and a great lover of her husband, well, not to be brought to Court: say ye so? I am sorry, the Court shall be brought to you then: how now, who is't?
An ancient Woman, with a Maid attending, a pretty Girle, but out of Cloathes; for a little Money, it seems she would put her to your bringing up, Madam,
Let her come in. Would ye ought with us, good Woman? I pray be short, we are full of Business.
Ye say well: come ye hither, Maid, let me feel your Pulse, 'tis somewhat weak but Nature will grow stronger; let me see your Leg, she treads but low ith' Pasterns.
We know what will do it, without your aim, good Woman: What do you pitch her at? she's but a slight Toy—cannot hold out long.
Give her Ten Crowns, we are full of business, she is a poor Woman, let her take a Cheese home: Enter the Wench in the Office.
A pretty Name; 'twill do well: Go in, and let the other Maid instruct ye Phebe;
Let my old Velvet Skirt be made sit for her, I'll put her into action for a Wastcoat, and when I have rigg'd her up once, this small Pinnace shall sail for Gold, and good store too: Who's there?
Lord, shall [Page 18] we never have any case in this World? still troubled? still molested? What would you have? I cannot furnish ye faster then I am able.
And ye were my Husband a Thousand times, I cannot do it; at least a dozen Poasts are gone this Morning for several parts of the Kingdom: I can do no more but pay 'em, and instruct 'em.
Prethee, good sweet heart, I come not to disturb thee, nor discourage thee, I know thou labour'st truly: hark in thine ear.
Ha? What do you make so dainty on't? look there, I am an Ass, I can do nothing.
Prithee, my best Leucippe, ther's much hangs on't, lodg'd at the end of Marse's street? that's true too; at the sack of such a Town, by such a Souldier preserv'd a prisoner: and by Prince Demetrius bought from that man again, maintain'd, and favourd: How came you by this knowledge?
Poor weak man, I have a thousand eyes, when thou art sleeping, abroad, and full of business.
No, she is beyond my level; so hedg'd in by the Princes insinite love, and favour to her—
Come in then; I have a great design from the King to you, and you must work like wax now.
I have done Toyes in my time of some note; old as I am, I think my brains will work without barme, take up the Books.
Scaene. 4.
Good Prince, grieve not: we are not certain of their Deaths: the Enemy, though he be hot and keen, yet holds good Quarter. What Noise is this?
Scaene. 5.
ACT III. SCENE I.
Lodge her to all delight then: For I would have her tri'd toth'test: I know she must be some crackt Coyn, not sit his Traffique; which, when we have found, the shame will make him leave her, or we shall work a nearer way, I'll bury him, and with him all the hopes I have cast upon him, ere he shall dig his own Grave in that Woman: you know which way to bring her: I'll stand close there, to view her as she passes: And do you hear Menippus, observe her with all sweetness: humour her, 'twill make her lie more careless to our purposes. Away, and take what helpes you please.
Seaene 2.
Governess, From whom was this Gown sent me; Prithee be serious true; I will not wear't else: 'Tis a handsome one.
No Faith: But I believe for certain too, yet I wonder, because it was his caution, this poor way, still to preserve me from the curious searchings of greedy eyes.
Quick, good Governess: Fie on't, How beastly it becomes me? poorly? A trick put upon me? well said Governess: I vow I would not wear it—out, it smells musty. Are these your tricks? now I begin to smell it abominable musty; Will ye help me? The Prince will come again—
As I live Ill' cut it off: a Pox upon it; for sure it was made for that use; Do you bring me Livories? Stales to catch Kites? Dost thou Laugh too, thou base Woman?
I shall Curse thee fearfully, if thou provok'st me further: and take heed, Woman; my [...] never miss.
How? he that sent it? Is't come to that again? thou canst not be so foolish prithee speak out, I may mistake thee.
Curse o' my life: Why dost thou vex me thus? I know thou meanst Demetrius, dost thou not? I charge thee speak truth: if it be any other, thou knowst the charge he gave thee, and the justice his anger will inflict, if e're he know this, as know he shall, he shall, thou spiteful Woman, thou beastly Woman; and thou shalt know to late too, and feel too sensible, I am no Ward, no Sale-stuff for your Money-Merchants that sent it? Who dare send me, or how durst thou, thou—
What you please: for this is ever the reward of service. The Prince will bring the next himself.
'Tis strange that you should deal so peevishly: beshrew ye, you have put me in a heat.
I am sure ye have kill'd me: I ne're receiv'd such language: I can but wait upon ye, and be your drudge; keep a poor life to serve ye.
Prethee be well, and tell me, did he speak of me, since he came? nay, see now, if thou wilt leave this tyranny? good sweet governess: did he but name his Celia? look upon me, upon my faith I meant no harm: here, take this, and buy thy self some trifles: did a good Girle?
More: richer and braver; I can tell ye that news; And twenty glorious things.
Ye are too good for our house now: we poor wretches Shall lose the comfort of ye.
'Tis sure it must be so: you must shine now at Court: such preparation, such hurry, and such hanging rooms—
Toth' Court? this stumbles me: art sure for me, wench, this preperation is?
She is perilous crafty: I fear too honest for us all too. Am I sure I live?
Toth' Court? this cannot down: what should I do there? why should he on a sudden change his mind thus, and not make me acquainted? sure he loves me; his vow was made against it, and mine with him: At least while this King liv'd: he will come hither, and see me ere I go?
Wou'd some wise woman had her in working: that I think he will not, because he means with all joy there to meet ye. Ye shall hear more within this hour?
A Courtier? what may the meaning be? sure he will see me if he be come, he must: Hark ye Governess, what age is the King of?
Scaene 3.
Why look ye now: What a strange Man are you? Would you have a Man fight at all houres all alike.
Do but fight something; but half a blow, and put thy Stomach to't: turn but thy face, and do but make Mouthes at 'em.
And have my Teeth knockt out; I thank ye heartily, ye are my dear Friend.
Faith, Sir, I make no suit for't: but rather then I would live thus out of Charity, continually in brawling—
That in the midst of thy most hellish pains, when thou wert crawling sick, didst aim at wonders, when thou wert mad with pain?
Ye have found the cause out; I had ne're been mad to sight else: I confess, Sir, the daily torture of my side that vext me, made me as daily careless what became of me, till a kind Sword there wounded me, and eas'd me; 'twas nothing in my valour fought; I am well now, and take some pleasure in my life: methinks now it shews as mad a thing to me to see you [...], and kill one another foolishly for Honour, as 'twas to you, to see me play the Coxcombe.
If all the Arts that are can make a Collick, therefore look to't: or if imposthumes, mark me, as big as foot-balls—
Or stones of ten pound weight i'th' kidneys through [...] and ugly dyets may be gather'd; I'll feed ye up my self Sir, I'll prepare ye, you cannot sight, unless the devil tear ye, you shall not want provocations, I'll [...] ye, I'll have thee have the tooth-ach, and the head-ach.
No, no, nothing—then will I have thee blown with a pair of Smiths bellowes, because ye shall be sure to have a round gale with ye, sil'd full of oyle, o' devil, and [...] fortis, and let these work, these may provok.
Where are you Colonel
The Prince expects ye Sir; has hedg'd the Enemy within a straight, where all the hopes and valours of all Men living cannot force a passage, he has 'em now.
You may help it; yet you may help it: I'll do ye any Courtesie: I know you love a Wench well.
Stinks like a dead Dog, Carrion—There's no such damnable smell under Heaven, as the faint sweat of a Coward: Will ye sight yet?
Nay, now I desie ye; ye have spoke the [...] ye can of me, and if [...] Man should take what you say to the heart—
God a mercy, God a mercy with all my heart; here I forgive thee; and fight, or fight not, do but go along with us, and keep my Dog.
'Pox take thee. Sure I shall love this Rogue, he's so pretty a Coward: Come, Gentlemen, let's up now, and if fortune dare play the Slut again, I'll never more Saint her; Come, Play-fellow, come, prithee come up; come Chicken, I have a way shall sit yet: A tame knave —Come, look upon us.
Scaene 4.
No, she believ'd it quickly, and quickly made her self sit, the Gown a little, and those new things she has not been acquainted with, at least in this place, where she liv'd a Prisoner, troubled and stirr'd her Mind: But believe me, Sir, she has worn as good, they sit so apted to her; and she is so great a Mistriss of disposure: Here they come now: but take a full view of [...].
I could Laugh now, to see how finely I am cozn'd: yet I fear not, for sure I know a way to scape all dangers.
I dare believe ye, but I dare not trust ye: catch'd with a trick? well, I must bear it patiently: methinks this Court's a neat place: all the people of such resin'd a size—
Take breath; you are fat and many words may melt ye, this is three Bawds beaten into one; bless me heaven, what shall become of me? I am [...] pitfal: o' my conscience, this is the old viper, and all these little ones creep every night into her belly; do you hear plump servant, and my little sucking Ladies, you must teach me, for I know you are excellent at carriage, how to behave my self, for I am rude yet, but you say the Prince will come?
There's the matter, there's the main doctrin now, and I may miss it; Or a kind hansome Gentleman?
I find a notable volume here, a learned one; which way? for I would fain be in my chamber; in truth sweet Ladies, I grow weary; sie, how hot the air beats on me?
Scaene 5.
We must keep a round, and a strong watch to night, the Prince will not charge the Enemy till the morning: but for the trick I told ye for this rascal, this rogue, that health and strong heart makes a coward.
Ne're fear it, the Prince has it, and if he let it fall, I must not know it; he will suspect me presently: but you two may help the plough.
The Prince has been upon him, what a flatten face he has now? It takes believe it; how like an asse he looks?
I feel no great pain, at least, I think I do not; yet I feel sensibly I grow extreamely faint: how cold I sweat now?
And now 'tis ev'n too true, I feel a pricking, a pricking, a strang pricking: how it tingles? and as it were a slitch too: the Prince told me, and every one cri'd out I was a dead man; I had thought I had been as well—
I ever told ye, This Man was never Cur'd, I see it too plain now; How do you feel your self? you look not perfect: How dull his eyes hangs?
Believe me Friend, I would not suffer now the tithe of those paines this Man feels; mark his Forehead; What a cloud of cold dew hangs upon't?
I have it, again I have it; How it grows upon me? a miserable Man I am.
Ha, ha, ha, A miserable Man thou shalt be; this is the tamest Trout I ever tickell'd.
Thou art heart whole yet; I see he alters strangely, and that apace too; I saw it this morning in him, when he poor Man I dare swear—
The Imposthume, fed with a new malignant Humour now, will grow to such a bigness, 'tis incredible, the compass of a Bushel will not hold it, and with such a Hell of torture it will rise too—
Good Master Doctor, let me be beholding to you, I feel I cannot last.
Among the Gentlemen, even all I have left; I am a poor Man, naked, yet something for remembrance: four a peece, Gentlemen, and so my Body where you please.
You must not cut him: he's gone then in a moment; all the hope left, is to work his weakness into sudden anger, and make him raise his passion above his pain, and so dispose him on the Enemy; his body then, being stirr'd with violence, will purge it self, and break the sore.
And some brave thing, or let mine Eares be cut off. He's sinely wrought.
I pray Sir; But how Rogue, when this Cloud's melted in him, and all discover'd—
Scaene 6.
How now? who charged first? I seek a brave hand to set me off in death.
ACT IV. SCENE I.
True by her carriage, for she's as wanton as a kid to th' out side, as full of mocks and taunts: I kiss'd her hand too, walkt with her half an hour.
Away, away, thou art some foolish fellow, and now I think thou hast stole 'em too; the King sent 'em? Alas good man, wouldst thou make me believe he has nothing to do with things of these worths, but wantonly to fling 'em? he's an old man, a good old man, they say too: I dare swear full many a year ago he left these gambols: here, take your trinkets.
Lady, look on 'em wisely, and then consider who can send such as these, but a King only? and, to what beauty can they be oblations, but only yours? For me that am the carrier, 'tis only sit you know I am his servant, and have fulfil'd his will
Sweet Lady, you cannot be so hard of understanding, when a King's favour shines upon ye gloriously, and speaks his love in these—
O then love's the matter; Sir reverence love: now I begin to feel ye: and I should be the Kings Whore, a brave title: and go as glorious as [Page 42] the Sun, O brave still: the chief Commandress of his Concubines, hurried from place to place to meet his pleasures.
And when the good old spunge has suckt my youth dry, and left some of his Royal aches i' my bones: when time shall tell me I have plough'd my life up, and cast long furrows in my face to [...] me.
Prethee peace: If thou knewst how ill favouredly thy tale becomes thee, and what ill root it takes—
It seems so by thy Office: he loves thy use, and when that's ended, hates thee: thou seemest to me a Souldier.
And I as free as you, mine own Disposer: There, take your Jewels; let them give them lustres that have dark Lives and Souls; wear 'em your [Page 43] self, Sir, you'l seem a Devil else.
I cannot love ye; without the [...] of faith I cannot hear ye; ye hand upon my love, like frosts on Lilies: I can dye, but I cannot love: you are answer'd.
Scaene 2.
Yes Sir, I am sure on't: for whilst I waited 'on ye, putting my Wife in trust, I know not by what means, but the King found her, and hither she was brought; how, or to what end—
Is he so cunning? there is some trick in this, and you must know it, and be an agent too: which if it prove so—
I do indeed, and with much grief conceive ye; with full as much grief as your Mother bare you. There was such a Woman: would I might as well say, there was no such, Demetrius.
She was vertuous, and therefore not unfit my youth to love her: she was as fair—
Her beauty I'll proclaim too, to be as rich as ever raign'd in Woman; but how she made that good, the Devil knows.
Thou hast abus'd thy youth, drawn to thy Fellowship, instead of Arts and Arms, a Womans kisses, the subtilties, and soft heats of a Harlot.
I have done then. O matchless sweetness, whither art thou vanished? O thou fair soul of all thy Sex, what Paradise hast thou inrich'd and blest? I am your Son, Sir, and to all you shall command stand most obedient; only a little time I must intreat you to study to forget her; 'twill not be long, Sir, nor I long after it: Art thou dead Celia? Dead my poor Wench? my joy, pluckt green with violence: O fair sweet flower, farewell? Come thou destroyer Sorrow, thou melter of the Soul, dwell with me; dwell with me solitary thoughts, tears, cryings, nothing that loves the day, love me, or seek me, nothing that loves its own life haunt about me: and Love, I charge thee, never charm mine eyes more, nor ne're betray a Beauty to my curses: for I shall curse all now, hate all, forswear all, and all the brood of fruitful nature yex at, for she is gone that was all, and I nothing—
Let him go; I can at mine own pleasure draw him to th' right again: wait your Instructions, and see the Souldier paid Leontius: once more ye are wellcome all.
'Tis all thy Living, we must not suffer this, we dare not suffer it: for when these tender Souls meet deep [...], they are not strong enough to struggle with 'em, but drop away as Snow does, from a Mountain, and in the torrent of their own sighs sink themselves: I will, and must speak to him.
That's all one, I'll raise 'em to a Regiment, und then command 'em, when they turn disobedient, unbeget 'em: knock 'em o'th' head, and put in new.
A rare way; but for all this, thou art not valiant enough to dare to see the Prince now?
Yet, if thou couldst but win him out, what e're thy suit were, believe it granted presently.
Not absolutely so neither: no it cannot be, I want my Impostumes, and my things about mt, yet I'll make danger, Colonel.
'Till be rare sport, howe'r it take; give me thy hand; if thou dost this, I'll raise thee up a Horse Troop, take my word for't.
Scaene 3.
Sir, Sir, will't please you hear Sir? your Grace, I'll look again, what's that?
He's there now. Lord! How he stares! I ne'r yet saw him thus, alter'd: Stand now, and take the Troop.
Would I were in't, and a good horse under me: I must knock again, the Devil's at my fingers ends: He comes now. Now Colonel, if I live—
I protest he's almost stiff: bend him and rub him, hold his Nose close, you if you be a woman, help us a little: here's a man near perish'd.
Alas alas, I have nothing here about me. Look to my Bowl; I'll run in presently and fetch some waters: bend him, and set him upwards.
A goodly man—Here's a brave heart: he's warm again: you shall not leave us i'th' [...] so, Sirrah.
If we had but any drink to raise his Spirits. What's that i'th' Bowl? upon my life, good Liquor, she would not own it else.
Look up Boy. And take this Cup, and drink it off; I'll pledge thee. Guide it to his mouth, he swallows heartily.
Go, I must see the Prince, he must not live thus; and let me hear an hour hence from ye. Well Sir—
The Devil choak him; I am undone: h'as twenty Devils in him; undone for ever, left he none?
No, not a drop: what shall become of me now? had he no where else to swound? a vengeance swound him: Undone, undone, undone: stay, I can lye yet and swear too at a pinch, that's all my comfort. Look to him; I say look to him, and but mark what follows.
What a Devil ails the Woman? here comes the Prince again, with such a sadness on his sace, as sorrow, sorrow her self but poorly imitates. Sorrow of Sorrows on that heart that caus'd it.
Why might she not be false and treacherous to me? and found so by my Father? she was a Woman, and many a one of that Sex, young and fair, as full of faith as she, have fallen, and foully.
Why might not, to preserve me from this ruine, she having lost her honour, and abused me, my father change the forms o'th' coins, and execute his anger on a falt she ne'r committed, only to keep me safe? why should I think so? She never was to me, but all obedience, sweetness and love.
How heartily he weeps now? I have not wept this thirty years, and upward; but now, if I should be hang'd I cannot hold from't: It grieves me to the heart.
A plague of him that mocks ye: I grieve truly, truly, and heartily to [...] you thus, Sir: and if it lay in my power, gods are my witness, who e'r he be that took your sweet peace from you; I am not so old yet, nor want I spirit—
No more of that, no more Leonitus, revenges are the gods: our part is sufferance: farewel, I shall not see thee long.
Good Sir, tell me the cause, I know there is a woman in't; do you hold me faithful? dare you trust your Souldier? sweet Prince, the cause?
'Tis wondrous well: you think now this becomes ye. Shame on't, it does not, Sir, it shews not handsomely; If I were thus; you would swear I were an Ass straight; a wooden ass; whine for a Wench?
For that you may have any where for six pence, and a dear penny worth too.
Not half so troublesome as you are to your self, Sir; was that brave [...] made to pant for a placket: and now i'th' dog-days too, when nothing dare love! That noble Mind to melt away and moulder for a hey nonny, nonny! Would I had a Glass here, to shew ye what a pretty toy ye are turn'd to.
Will ye but let me know her? I'll once turn Bawd: go to, they are good mens offices, and not so contemptible as we take 'em for: and if she be above ground, and a Woman; I ask no more; I'll bring her o' my back, Sir, By this hand I will, and I had as lieve bring the Devil, I care not who she be, nor where I have her; and in your arms, or the next Bed deliver her, which you think fittest, and when you have danc'd your galliard.
Away, and fool to them are so affected: O thou art gone, and all my comfort with thee! Wilt thou do one thing for me?
Give you good ev'n Sir; If you be suffer'd thus, we shall have [...] sport. I will be sorry yet.
Nay, if I tell ye, hang me, or any man else that hath his nineteen wits; he has the bots I think, he groans, and roars, and kicks.
Not willingly: shortly he will not see a man; if ever I look'd upon a Prince so metamorphos'd, so juggl'd into I know not what, shame take me; this 'tis to be in love
What is it not the cause of but bear-baitings? And yet it stinks much like it: out upon't; what giants, and what dwarffs what owls and apes, what dogs, and cats it makes us? men that are possest with it, live as if they had a Legion of Devils in 'em, and every Devil of a several nature; nothing but Hey-pass,, re-pass: where's the Lieutenant? Has he gather'd up the end on's wits again?
He is alive: but you that talk of wonders, shew me but such a wonder as he is now.
What ails the Fool? and what Star reigns now Gentlemen we have such Prodigies?
'Twill pose your heaven-hunters; he talks now of the King, no other language, and with the King as he imagines, hourly. Courts the King, drinks to the King, dies for the King, buys all the Pictures of the King, wears the Kings colours.
He's going thither, makes prayers for the King in sundry languages, turns all his Proclamations into metre; is really in love with the King, most dotingly, and swears Adonis was a Devil to him: A sweet King, a most comely King, and such a King—
Then down on's murrow-bones; O excellent King, thus he begins, Thou Light, and Life of Creatures, Angel-ey'd King, vouchsafe at length thy favour; and so proceeds to incision: what thinst ye of this sorrow?
Will as familiarly kiss the Kings horses as they pass by him: ready to ravish his footmen.
Nay that's to understand yet, but thus it is, and this part but the poorest, 'twould make a man leap over the Moon to see him act these.
With sighs as though his heart would break: cry like a breech'd boy, not eat a bit.
I must go see him presently, for this is such a gig, for certain Gentlemen, the Fiend rides on a Fiddle-stick.
Scaene 5.
There will be, for he is the greatest Artist living made it. Where is she now?
A very youth, Sir, upon my maiden-head as [...] as April: heaven bless that sweet face, 'twill undo a thousand; many a soft heart must sob yet, [...] that wither, your Grace can give content enough.
How shall I keep her off me? go, and perfume the room: make all things ready.
No hope yet of the Prince! no comfort of him! they keep me mew'd up here, as they mew mad folks, no company but my afflictions. This royal Devil again! strange, how he hants me! how like a poyson'd potion his eyes fright me! has made himself handsome-too.
Cnrl'd and Perfum'd? I smell him; he looks on's Legs too, sure he will cut a Caper; God a Mercy dear December.
O do you smile now; I knew it would work with you; come hither pretty one.
I am reading, Sir, of a short Treatise here, that's call'd the Vanity of [...]: Has your Grace seen it? He says here, that an Old Man's loose desire, [...] like the Glow-worms light, the Apes so wondr'd at: which, when they gather'd Sticks, and laid upon't, and blew, and blew, turn'd Tail, and went out presently: And in another place he calls their Loves, [...] smells of dying Flowers, carry no comforts; they'r doting, stinking Foggs, so thick and muddy, [...] with all his beams cannot beat through 'em.
But as you bring your power to [...] me, your Traps to catch mine [...] to [...]; as you [...] out your [...] to overwhelm me, Hell never haved good, as I [...] you, Sir; and I dare tell it to your Face: What [Page 53] glory now, after all your Conquests got, your Titles, the ever-living Memories rais'd to you; Can my defeat be? my poor [...], What triumph? and when you crown your swelling Cups to Fortune, What honourable Tongue can sing my Story? Be as your Emblem is, a glorious Lamp set on the top of all, to light all perfectly: Be as your office is, a god-like Justice, into all shedding equally your Vertues.
She has drencht me now; now I admire her goodness; so young, so nobly strong, I never tasted: Can nothing in the power of Kings perswade ye?
Your Will's a poor one; and though it be a King's Will, a despised one. Weaker than Infants legs, your Will's in Swadling-Clouts; a thousand ways my will has found to [...] ye; a thousand doors to 'scape ye, I dare die, Sir; as suddenly [...] die, as you can offer: Nay, say you had your Will, say you had ravish'd me, perform'd your lust, What had you purchas'd by it? What Honour won? Do you know who dwells above, Sir, And what they have prepar'd for Men turn'd Devils? Did you never hear their Thunder? start and tremble, Death sitting on your blood, when their sires visit us. VVill nothing wring you then do you think? sit hard here, and like a Snail curl round about [...] Conscience, biting and stinging: VVill you not roar too late then? then when rou shake in horrour of this Villany, then will I rise a Star in Heaven, and scorn ye.
Lust, how I hate thee now! and love this sweetness! VVill you be my Queen? Can that price purchase ye?
Not all the VVorld, I am a Queen already, Crown'd by his Love, I must not lose for Fortune; I can give none away, sell none away, Sir, can lend no love, am not mine own Exchequer; for in anothers heart my hope and peace lies.
Your fair hands, Lady? for yet I am not pure enough to touch these Lips, in that sweet Peace ye spoke of. Live now for ever, and I to serve your Vertues—
VVhy now you show a god! now I kneel to ye: This Sacrifice of Virgins Joy send to ye: Thus I hold up my hands to Heaven that touch'd ye, and pray [...] Blessings dwell about ye.
Vertue commands the Stars: rise more than Vertue; your present comfort shall be now my business.
Scaene 6.
O King that thou knew'st I lov'd thee, how I lov'd thee, and where, O King, I barrel up thy beauty.
Shall then that thing that honours thee? How miserable a thing soever, yet a thing still; And though a thing of nothing, thy thing ever.
VVhen e're it be, [...] day I'll dye with Ringing. And there's the resolution of a Lover.
A goodly resolution sure I take it. He is [...], or moop'd, or his brains [...], Could he find no body to fall in Love with but the King, the good old [...], to doat upon him too? Stay, now I remember, what the Fat Woman warn'd me, bad me remember, and look to him to: I'll hang if she have not a hand in this: he's conjur'd, go after him, I pity the poor Rascal; In the mean time I'll wait occasion to work upon the Prince.
Scaene 7.
I am very sorry for't, and much asham'd I have wrong'd his Innocence; Menippus, guide her to the Princes Lodgings, there leave her to his love again.
Scaene 8.
There's no way now to get in: all the Light stopt too; nor can I hear a sound of him, pray Heaven he use no violence: I think he has more Soul, stronger, and I hope nobler: VVould I could but see once this Beaty he groans under, or come to know but any circumstance. What noise is that there? I think I heard him groan: here are some coming; a VVoman too, I'll stand aloof, and view 'em.
Well, some of you have been to blame in this point, but I forgive ye: The King might have pickt out too some sitter VVoman to have tri'd his Valour.
I know that VVomans Tongue, I think I have seen her Face too: I'll go nearer: If this be she, he has some cause of Sorrow: 'Tis the same Face; the same, most excellent VVoman.
I will not off yet: She goes to knock at's Door: This must be she the [...] told me of: right glad I am on't, he will bolt now for certain.
[...] Sir? I'll trouble ye no more: I thank your courtesie, [...].
So now my [...] are off: Pray Heaven he be here! Master, my Royal Sir Do [...] who calls ye! Love, my Demetrius.
[...] sound sure: the sweetness of that Tongue draws all [...] to it [...] the shape too.
[...] eyes abuse me? 'tis she, the living Celia: your hand Lady?
Only turn'd brave. I heard you were dead my dear one, compleat, She is wondrous brave, a wondrous Gallant Courtier.
It was a kind of Death, Sir, I suffer'd in your absence, mew'd up here, and kept conceal'd I know not how.
'Tis likely: How came you hither Celia? wondrous Gallant: Did my Father send for ye?
I wanted nothing: My Maiden-head to a mote i'th' Sun, he's jealous: I must now play the Knave with him, tho' I dye [...], [...] in my nature.
Her very eyes are alter'd: Jewels, and rich ones too, I never saw yet— And what were those came for ye?
Monstrous Jealous: Have I liv'd at the rate of these scorn'd questions? they seem'd of good sort, Gentlemen.
They were wondrous kind: I was much beholding to 'em; There was one [...] Sir.
And thou most treacherous: my Fathers bawds by—they never miss course; and were these [...] with ye?
This is a poor one: alas, I have twenty richer: do you see these jewels? why, they are the poorest things, to those are sent me, and sent me hourly too.
Come hither; thou art dead indeed, lost tainted; all that I left thee fair, and innocent, sweet as thy youth, and carrying comfort in't; all that I hoped for vertuous, is fled from thee, turn'd back, and bankrupt.
Thou art dead, for ever dead; sins surfeit [...] thee; the ambition of those wanton eyes betrai'd thee; go from me, grave of honour; go thou foul one, thou glory of thy sin; go thou despis'd one, and where there is no vertue, nor no virgin; where Chastity was never known, nor heard of; where nothing reigns but impious lust, and looser faces. Go thither, child of blood, and [...] my doating.
Look not upon me, there is more hell in those eyes, than hell harbours; and when they flame, more torments.
Dare ye trust me? you durst once even with all you had: your love Sir? by this fair light I am honest.
Thou subtle Circe, cast not upon the maiden light eclipses: curse not the day.
Come, come, you shall not do this: how fain you would seem angry now, to fright me; you are not in the field among your Enemies; come, I must cool this courage.
Out thou impudence, thou ulcer of thy Sex; when I first saw thee, I drew into mine eyes mine own destruction, I pull'd into my heart that sudden poyson, that now consumes my dear content to cinders: I am not now Demetrius, thou hast chang'd me; thou woman, with thy thousand wiles hast chang'd me; thou Serpent with thy angel-eyes hast slain me; and where, before I touch'd on this fair ruine, I was a man, and reason made, and mov'd me, now one great lump of grief, I grow and wander.
I will go from ye, never more to see ye. I will flie from ye, as a plague hangs o're me; and through the progress of my life hereafter; where ever I shall sind a fool, a false man, one that ne're knew the worth of polish'd vertue; a base suspecter of a virgins honour, a child that flings away the wealth he cry'd for, him will I call Demetrius: that fool Demetrius, that mad man a Demetrius; and that false man, the Prince of broken faiths, even Prince Demetrius. You think now, I should cry, and kneel down to ye, petition for my peace; let those that feel here the weight of evil, wait for such a favour, I am above your hate, as far above it, in all the actions of an innocent life, as the pure Stars are from the muddy meteors, cry when you know your folly: howl and curse then, beat that unmanly breast, that holds a false heart, when ye shall come to know, whom ye have flung from ye.
Not your hopes can alter me. Then let a thousand black thoughts muster in ye, and with those enter in a thousand doatings; those eyes be never shut, but drop to nothing: my innocence for ever haunt and fright ye: those arms together grow in folds; that tongue, that bold bad tongue that barks out these disgraces. When you shall come to know how nobly vertuous I have preserv'd my life, rot, rot within ye.
Live a lost man for ever. Go ask your Fathers conscience what I suffered, and through what seas of hazards I sayl'd through: mine honour still advanced in spight of tempests, then take your leave of love; and confess freely, you were never worthy of this heart that serv'd ye, and so farewel ungratefull—
I'le follow her, and will sind out this matter.—
Are ye pleas'd now? have you got your heart again? have I restor'd ye that?
Sir even for Heaven [...], and sacred truth [...], tell me how ye found her.
I will, and in few words. Before I try'd her, 'tis true, I thought her most unfit her fellowship, and fear'd her too: which fear begot that story I told ye first: but since, like gold I toucht her.
Heavens holy light's not purer: the constancy and goodness of all women that ever liv'd, to win the names of worthy, this noble Maid has doubled in her: honour, all promises of wealth, all art to win her, and by all tongues imploy'd, wrought as much on her as one may do upon the Sun at noon day by lighting Candles up: her shape is heavenly, and to that heavenly shape her thoughts are angels.
'Tis true, I err'd in't: but since I made a full proof of her vertue, I find a King too poor a servant for her. Love her, and honour her; in all observe her. She must be something more than time yet tells her: and certain I believe him best, enjoyes her: I would not lose the hope of such a Daughter, to add another Empire to my honour.—
O wretched state! to what end shall I turn me? and where begins my penance? now, what service will win her love again? my death must do it: and if that sacrifice can purge my follies, be pleas'd, O mighty Love, I dye thy servant—
ACT V. SCENE I.
I Know he do's not deserve ye; h'as us'd you poorly: and to redeem himself—
For Heavens sake do not Name him, do not think on him, Sir, he's so far from me in all my thoughts now, methinks I never knew him.
I do not mean to lend him any comfort; but to asslict him, so to torture him; that even his very Soul may shake within him; to make him know, though he be great and powerful, 'tis not within his aim to deal dishonourably, and carry it off, and with a Maid of your sort.
I must confess, I could most spightfully asslict him; now, now, I could whet my anger at him; now, arm'd with bitterness, I could shoot through him; I long to vex him.
Not only to disclaim me, when he had seal'd his Vowes in Heaven, sworn to me, and poor believing I became his servant: but most maliciously to brand my Credit, stain my poor Name.
I would not suffer it: see him I would again, and to his teeth too: Od's precious, I would ring him such a Lesson—
Nothing, nothing: It was too poor a purge; besides, by this time he has found his fault, and feels the Hells that follow it. That, and your urg'd on anger to the highest, why, 'twill be such a stroak—
Say he repent then, and seek with tears to soften, I am a Woman; a Woman that have lov'd him, Sir, have honour'd him: I am no more.
Hold there then, the sport will be to what a poor submission—but keep you strong.
I know 'tis sit so. But why should I that lov'd him once, destroy him? O had he scap't this sin, what a brave Gentleman—
I must confess, had this not faln, a nobler, a handsomer, the whole VVorld had not show'd ye: And to his making such a mind—
You shall not if I have any art: go up sweet Lady, and trust my truth.
I would not for the honour ye are born to, but you shall see him, and neglect him too, and scorn him.
I will be with ye; yet there's some hope to stop this gap, I'll work hard.
Scaene 2.
It seems so by the violence it wrought with, yet now the fits ev'n off.
Nay, I forgive thy Wife with all my heart, and am right-glad she drank it not her self, and more glad that the vertuous Maid escap't it, I would not for the VVorld 'thad hit: but that this Souldier, Lord how he looks, that he should take this Vomit; Can he make Rimes too?
H'as made a thousand, Sir, and playes the burthen to 'em on a Jews-trump.
I thank ye; I am glad I have so good a subject: But pray ye tell me, How much did ye love me, before ye drank this matter?
Even as much as a sober Man might; and a Souldier that your Grace owes just half a years pay to.
Lv'n, that I had been a Wench of Fifteen for ye, a handsom Wench Sir.
Not with a King, and hope I shall never be again: Truly Sir, I have had such plunges, and such bickrings, and as it were such runnings atilt within me, for whatsoever it was provok't me toward ye.
Well, go thy ways, of all the lusty lovers that e're I saw— wilt have another potion?
Ha, ha, ha: give me thy hand, from henceforth thou art my souldier, do bravely, I'll love thee as much.
I thank ye; but if you were mine enemy, I would not wish it ye: I beseech your Grace, pay me my charge.
That's certain Sir; h'as bought up all that e're he found was like ye, or any thing you have lov'd, that he could purchase; old horses, that your Grace has ridden blind, and foundr'd; dogs, rotten kawks, and which is more than all this, has worn your Graces Gauntlet in his Bonnet.
Bring in your Bills: mine own love shall be satisfi'd; and sarrah, for this potion you have taken, I'll point ye out a portion ye shall live on.
Come then, make ready for their entertainment, which presently we'l give: wait you on me Sir.
Scaene 3.
Would that would do it: if I knew where she lay now, with what honesty, you having flung so main a mischief on her, and on so innocent and sweet a Beauty, dare I present your visit?
I'll repent all: and with the greatest sacrifice of sorrow, that ever Lover made.
It may be to her sight: What are you nearer? She has Sworn she will not speak to ye, look upon ye, and to Love ye again, O she cries out, and thunders, she had rather love— there is no hope—
Yes [...], there is a hope, which though it draw no Love to it, at least will draw her to lament my fortune, and that hope shall relieve me.
I will not trifle; both together bring ye, you know the wrongs ye' done.
And if you should then jump into your fury, and have another Querk in your head.
You must say nothing to her; for 'tis certain, the nature of your crime will admit to excuse.
That look will do it: stay here, I'll bring her to you instantly: but take heed how you bear your self: sit down there, the more humble you are, the more she'll take compassion. Women are per'lous thing to deal upon.
What shall become of me? to curse my fortune were but to curse my Father; that's too impious; but under whatsoever fate I suffer, bless I beseech thee, Heaven, her harmless goodness.
Yes Faith, and there he is: you see in what poor plight too, now you may do your will, kill him, or save him.
There was a Sigh to blow a Church down; So, now their eyes are fixt, the Small-shot plays, they will come toth' Battery anon.
You may, blest Beauty, for those thick streams that troubled my Repentance, are crept out long ago.
What have I to do how he looks? How lookt he then, when with a poison'd Tooth he bit mine honour? It was your Counsel too, to scorn and slight him.
I, if ye saw sit cause; and you confest too, except this sin, he was the bravest Gentleman, the sweetest, noblest. I take nothing from ye, nor from your anger; use him as you please: for to say truth, he has deserv'd your Justice; but still consider what he has been to you.
O Gentle Mistriss, If there were any way to expiate a sin so great as mine, by intercession, by prayers, by daily tears, by dying for ye: O what a joy would close these eyes that love ye.
They say Women have tender hearts, I know not, I am sure mine melts.
She has directed ye: Up, up, and follow like a Man: away Sir, She lookt behind her twice: her heart dwells here Sir, ye drew tears from her too: she cannot freeze thus; the Door's set open too, Are ye a Man? are ye alive? Do ye understand her meaning? Have ye blood and spirit in ye?
Scaene 4.
Would your Grace wish us to put in more: take what you please, we yield it; the honour done us by your Son constrains it, your noble Son.
It is sufficient, Princes; and now we are one again, one mind, one body, and one sword shall strike for us.
Let Prince Demetrius but lead us on: for we are his vowed servants; against the strength of all the World we'll buckle.
O had I now recover'd but the fortune I lost in Antioch, when mine Unckle perish'd; but that were but to surfeit me with blessings.
Name it no more Sir; this is no time to entertain such sorrows; Will your Majesty do us the honour, we may see the Prince, and wait upon him?
Your Graces are welcome: your son and't please you Sir, is new cashiered yonder, cast from his Mistris favour: and such a coil there is; such fending, and such proving; she stands off, and will by no means yield to composition: he offers any price; his body to her.
And now they whine, and now they rave: faith Princes, 'twere a good point of charity to piece 'em; for less than such a power will do just nothing: and if you mean to see him, there it must be, for there will he grow, till he be transplanted.
Beseech your grace, let's wait upon you thither, that I may see that beauty dares deny him, that scornful beauty.
She has too much reason sor't; which with too great a grief, I shame to think of, but we'll go see this game.
Scaene 5.
Thus far you shall perswade me, still to honour ye, still to live with ye, Sir, or near about ye; for not to lye, you have my first and last love but since you have conceiv'd an evil against me, an evil that so much concerns your honour, that honour aim'd by all at for a pattern: and though there be a false thought, and confest too, and much repentance faln in showrs to purge it; yet, whilest that great respect I ever bore ye, dwells in my blood, and in my heart that duty; had it but been a dream, I must not touch ye.
Those I'll give ye, so there you will be pleas'd to pitch your [...] ultra, I will be merry with ye; sing, discourse with ye, be your poor Mistriss still: in truth I love ye.
Ha? pray ye a word Leontius, pray a word with ye, Lysimachus? [Page 64] you both knew mine Enanthe, I lost in Antioch, when the Town was taken, mine Uncle slain, Antigonus had the sack on't?
Methinks now that face is wondrous like her: I have her picture, the same, but more years on her; the very same.
Most certain she is like her: many a time have I dandled her in these arms, Sir, and I hope who will more.
At the Sack of Antioch, where my good Uncle dy'd, and I was taken, by a mean Souldier taken: by this Prince, this noble Prince, redeem'd from him again, where ever since I have remain'd his Servant.
My joys are now too full: welcome Enanthe, mine own, my dearest, and my best Enanthe.
By me, I am sure he must not: sure he shall not; kneeling I give it too; kneeling I take it; and from this hour, no envious spight e're part us.
Come, beat all the Drumes up, and all the noble instruments of War: let 'em sill all the Kingdom with their sounds: and those the brazen Arch of Heaven break through, while to the Temple we conduct these two.
May they be ever loving, ever young, and ever worthy of those lines they sprung; may their fair issues walk with time along.