The divell is an asse a comedie acted in the yeare 1616, by His Majesties servants / the author, Ben. Iohnson.

Author: Jonson, Ben, 1573?-1637.1641

[Page]

THE DIVELL IS AN ASSE.

A COMEDIE ACTED IN THE YEARE, 1616. BY HIS MAIESTIES SERVANTS.

The Author BEN: IOHNSON.

HOR. de ART. POET.

Fucta voluptatis Causa, sint proxima veris.

Imprinted at London, 1641.

[Page]

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY.

SATAN.: The great divell.
PVG.: The lesse divell.
INIQVITY.: The vice.
FITZ-DOTTREL.: A Squire of Norfolk.
Mistresse FRANCES.: His wife.
MEERE-CRAFT.: The Projector.
EVERILL.: His Champion.
WITTIPOL.: A young Gallant.
MANLY.: His friend.
INGINE.: A Broaker.
TRAINES.: The Projectors man.
GVILT-HEAD.: A Gold-smith.
PLVTARCHUS.: His sonne.
Sir POVLE EITHER-SIDE.: A Lawyer, and Iustice.
Lady EITHER-SIDE.: His wife.
Lady TAILE-BUSH.: The Lady Projectresse.
PIT-FALL.: Her Woman.
AMBLER.: Her Gentleman usher.
SLEDGE.: A Smith, the Constable.
SHACKLES.: Keeper of Newgate.
SERIEANTS.

The Sceane, LONDON.

[Page]
The Prologue.THe DIVELL is an ASSE. That is, to day,
The name of what you are met for, a new Play,
Yet Grandee's, would you were not come to grace
Our matter, with allowing us no place.
Though you presume SATAN a subtill thing,
And may have heard he's worne in a thumb-ring;
Doe not on these presumptions, force us act,
In compasse of a cheese-trencher. This tract
Will ne're admit our vice, because of yours.
Anone, who, worse then you, the fault endures
That your selves make? when you will thrust and spurne,
And knocke us o'the  [...]lbowes and bid, turne;
As if, when we had spoke, we must be gone,
Or, till we speake, must all runne in, to one;
Like the young adders, at the old ones mouth?
Would we could stand due North; or had no South,
If that offend: or were Muscovy glasse,
That you might looke our Scenes through as they passe.
We know not how to affect you. If you'll come
To see new Plaies, pray you affoord us roome,
And shew this, but the same face you have done
Your deare delight the Divell of Edmunton.
Or, if, for want of roome, it must mis-carry,
'Twill be but Iustice, that your censure tarry,
Till you give some. And when six times you ha'seen't,
If this Play doe not like, the Divell is in't.

[Page]

THE DIVELL IS AN ASSE.

Act. I. Scene. I.Divell. Pug. Iniquity.
HOh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c.
To earth? and why to earth, thou foolish Spirit?
What wold'st thou do on earth?
Pug.
For that, great Chiefe [...]
As time shall work, I do but aske my mon'th.
Which every petty pui'nee Divell has;
Within that terme, the Court of Hell will heare
Something may gaine a longer grant, perhaps.
Sat.
For what? the laming a poore Cow, or two?
Entring a Sow, to make her cast her farrow?
Or crossing of a Market-womans Mare,
'Twixt this and Tot [...]am? these were wont to bee
Your maine atchievements, Pug, you have some plot, now,
Vpon a tonning of Ale, to stale the yest,
Or keepe the churne so, that the butter come not;
Spight o'the houswives cord, or her hot spit?
Or some good Ribibe, about Kentish Towne,
Or Hogsden, you would hang now, for a witch,
Because shee will not let you play round Robbin:
And you'll goe sowre the Cittisens Creame 'gainst Sunday?
That she may be accus'd fort, and condemn'd
By a Middlesex Jury; to the satisfaction
Of their offended friends, the Londoners wives
Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish fiend,
Stay i'your place, know your owne strengths, and put not
Beyond the spheare of your activity.
You are too dull a Divell to be trusted
Forth into those parts, Pug, upon any affaire
That may concerne our name, on earth. It is not
Every ones worke. The state of Hell must care
Whome it imployes, in point of reputation,
Heere about London. You would make, I thinke
[Page 2]An Agent, to be sent, for Lancashire,
Proper inough; or some parts of Northumberland,
So yo'had good instructions, Pug.
Pug.
O Chiefe!
You doe not know, deare Chiefe, what there is in mee.
Prove me but for a fortnight, for a weeke,
And lend me but a Vice, to carry with me,
To practice there-with any play-fellow,
And, you will see, there will come more upon't,
Then you'll imagine, pretious Chiefe.
Sat.
What Vice?
What kinde wouldst th'have it of?
Pug.
Why, any Fraud;
 [...] Covetousnesse; or Lady Vanity;
 [...] Iniquity: I'll call him hither.
 [...]
What is he, calls upon me, and would seem to lack a Vice?
 [...] words be halfe spoken, I am with him in a trice;
 [...] there, and every where, as the Cat is with the mice:
True vetus iniquitas. Lack'st thou Cards, friend, or Dice?
I will teach thee cheat, Child, to cog, lye, and swagger,
And ever and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger:
To sweare by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty Iuventus,
In a cloake to thy heele, and a hat like a pent-house.
 [...] breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly,
With a Wench that shall feed thee, with cock-stones and gelly.
Pug.
Is it not excellent, Chiefe? how nimble he is!
Ini.
Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leape
From the top of Pauls-steeple, to the Standard in Cheape:
And lead thee a dance, through the streets without faile,
Like a needle of Spaine, with a thred at my taile.
We will survay the Suburbs, and make forth our sallyes,
Downe Petticoate-lane, and up the Smock-allies,
To Shoreditch, Whitechappell, and so to Saint Kathernes.
To drinke with the Dutch there, and take forth their patternes:
From thence, we will put in at Custome-house key there,
And see, how the Factors, and Prentizes play there,
False with their Masters; and gueld many a full packe,
To spend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Wool sacke.
Pug.
Brave, brave, Iniquity! will not this doe, Chiefe?
Ini.
Nay, boy, I will bring thee to the Bawds, and the Roysters,
At Belins-gate, feasting with claret-wine, and oysters,
From thence shoot the Bridge, childe, to the Cranes i'the Vintry,
And see, there the gimblets, how they make their entry!
Or, if thou hadst rather, to the Strand downe to fall,
'Gainst the Lawyers come dabled from Westminster-hall
And marke how they cling, with their clients together,
Like Ivie to Oake; so Velvet to Leather:
Ha, boy, I would shew thee.
Pug.
Rare, rare!
Div.
Peace, dotard,
And thou more ignorant thing, that so admir'st.
Art thou the spirit thou seem'st? so poore? to choose
This, for a Vice, t'advance the cause of Hell,
Now? as Vice stands this present yeare? Remember,
What number it is. Six hundred and sixteen.
[Page 3]Had it but beene five hundred, though some sixty
Above; that's fifty yeeres agone, and six.
(When every great man had his Vice stand by him,
In his long coat, shaking his woodden dagger)
I could consent, that, then this your grave choice
Might have done that, with his Lord Chiefe, the which
Most of his chamber can doe now. But Pug,
As the times are, who is it, will receive you?
What company will you goe to? or whom mix with?
Where canst thou carry him? except to Tavernes?
To mount up on a joynt-stoole, with a Iewes-trumpe,
To put downe Cokeley, and that must be to Citizens?
He ne're will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes.
He may perchance, in taile of a Sheriffes dinner,
Skip with a rime o'the Table, from New-nothing,
And take his Almaine-leape into a custard,
Shall make my Lad Majoresse, and her sisters,
Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders. But,
This is not that will doe, they are other things
That are receiv'd now upon earth, for Vices;
Stranger, and newer: and chang'd every houre.
They ride 'hem like their horses off their legges,
And here they come to Hell, whole legions of'hem,
Every weeke tyr'd. Wee, still strive to breed,
And reare 'hem up new ones; but they doe not stand,
When they come there: they turne'hem on our hands.
And it is fear'd they have a stud o'their owne
Will put downe ours. Both our breed, and trade
Will suddenly decay, if we prevent not.
Unlesse it be a Vice of quality,
Or fashion, now, they take none from us. Car-men
Are got into the yellow starch, and Chimney-sweepers
To their tobacco, and strong-waters, H [...]m,
Meath, and Obarni. Wee must therefore aime
At extraordinary subtile ones, now,
When we do send to keepe us up in credit.
Not old Iniquities. Get you e'ne back, Sir,
To making of your rope of sand againe.
You are not for the manners, nor the times:
They have their Vices, there, most like to Vertues;
You cannot know 'hem, apart, by any difference:
They weare the same clothes, eate the same meate,
Sleepe i'the selfe-same beds, ride i'those coaches.
Or very like, foure horses in a coach,
As the best men and women. Tissue gownes,
Garters and roses, fourescore pound a paire;
Embrothered stockins, cut-worke smocks, and shirts,
More certaine marks of lechery, now, and pride,
Then ere they were of true nobility!
But Pug, since you doe burne with such desire
[Page 4]To doe the Common-wealth of Hell some service;
I am content, assuming of a body,
You goe to earth, and visit men, a day.
But you must take a body ready made, Pug,
I can create you none, nor shall you forme
Your selfe an aery one, but become subject
To all impression of the flesh, you take,
So farre as humane frailty. So, this morning,
There is a handsome Cutpurse hang'd at Tiborne,
Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body:
 [...] clothes imploy your credit, with the Hangman,
 [...] let our tribe of Brokers furnish you.
 [...] looke, how farre your subtilty can worke
Though those organs, with that body, spie
Amongst mankind, (you cannot there want vices,
And therefore the lesse need to carry 'hem wi'you)
But as you make your soone at nights relation,
And we shall find, it merits from the State,
You shall have both trust from us, and imploiment.
Pug.
Most gracious Chiefe!
Div.
Onely, thus more I bind you,
To serve the first man that you meete; and him
He shewes Fitz-dot­trel to him, comming forth.
I'll shew you, now: Observe him. Yon' is he,
You shall see, first after your clothing. Follow him:
But once engag'd, there you must stay and fix;
Not shift, untill the midnights cocke doe crow.
Pug.
Any conditions to be gone.
Div.
Away, then.

Act. I. Scene II.Fitz-dottrell.
I, they doe, now, name Bretnor, as before;
They talk'd of Gresham, and of Doctor Fore-man,
Franklin, and Fiske, and Savory (he was in too)
But ther's not one of these, that ever could
Yet shew a man the Divell, in true sort.
They have their christalls, I doe know, and rings,
And virgin parchment, and their dead-mens sculls
Their ravens wings, their lights, and pentacles,
With characters; I ha' seene all these. But—
Would I might see the Divell. I would give
A hundred o'these picture,, to see him
Once out of picture. May I prove a cuckold,
(And that's the one maine mortall thing I feare)
If I beginne not, now, to thinke, the Painters
Have only made him. 'Slight, he would be seene.
One time or other else. He would not let
An ancient gentleman, of a good house,
As most are now in England, the Fitz-dottrel's,
[Page 5]Runne wild, and call upon him thus in vaine,
As I ha'done this twelue mone'th. If he be not,
At all, why, are there Conjurers? If they be not,
Why, are there lawes against 'hem? The best artists
Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London,
Essex, and Kent, I have had in pay to raise him;
These fifty weekes, and yet h'appeares not. 'Sdeath,
I shall suspect, they, can make circle onely,
Shortly, and know but his hard names. They doe say,
H'will meet a man (of himselfe) that has a mind to him.
If he would so, I have a minde and a halfe for him:
He should not be long absent.He expres­ses a longing to see the Divell.
 Pray thee, come
I long for thee. An' I were with child by him,
And my wife, too; I could not more. Come, yet,
Good Beelezebub. Were he a kind divell,
And had humanity in him, he would come, but
To save ones longing. I should use him well,
I sweare, and with respect (would he would try me)
Not, as the Conjurers doe, when they ha' rais'd him.
Get him in bonds, and send him post, on errands.
A thousand miles, it is preposterous, that:
And I beleeve, is the true cause he comes not.
And he has reason. Who would be engag'd,
That might live freely, as he may doe? I sweare,
They are wrong all. The burn't child dreads the fire.
They doe not know to entertaine the Divell.
I would so welcome him, obserue his diet,
Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of'hem,
I' my owne house; lend him my wives wrought pillowes:
And as I am an honest man, I thinke,
If he had a minde to her, too; I should grant him,
To make our friend-ship perfect. So I would not
To every man. If he but heare me, now?
And should come to me in a brave yong shape,
And take me at my word? ha! Who is this?

Act. I. Scene. III.

Pug. Fitz-dottrell.

SIr, your good pardon, that I thus presume

Upon your privacy. I am borne a Gentleman,

A younger brother; but in some disgrace,

Now, with my friends: and want some little meanes,

To keepe me upright, while things be reconcil'd.

Please you, to let my service be of use to you, Sir.

Fit.

Service?

H [...] lookes and sur [...]'s his feet; over and over.

'fore hell, my heart was at my mouth,

Till I had view'd his shooes well: for, those roses

Were bigge inough to hide a cloven foot.

[Page 6]No, friend, my number's full. I have one servant,

Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broome

Unto the brush: for, just so farre, I trust him.

He is my Ward-robe man, my Cater, Cooke,

Butler, and Steward; lookes unto my horse:

And helpes to watch my wife. H'has all the places,

That I can thinke on, from the garret downward,

E'en to the manger, and the curry-combe.

Pug.

Sir, I shall put your worship to no charge,

More then my meate, and that but very little,

I'll serve you for your love.

Fit.

Ha? without wages?

I'le harken o'that eare, were I at leasure.

But now, I'm busie. 'Pr'ythe, friend forbeare mee,

And'thou hadst beene a Divell, I should say

Somewhat more to thee. Thou dost hinder, now,

My meditations.

Pug.

Sir, I am a Divell.

Fit.

How!

Pug.

A true Divell, Sir.

Fit.

Nay, now, you ly:

Under your favour, friend, for, I'll not quarrell.

I look'd o'your feet, afore, you cannot coozen me,

He viewes his feet againe.

Your shoo's not cloven, Sir, you are whole hoof'd.

Pug.

Sir that's a popular error deceives many:

But I am that, I tell you.

Fit.

What's your name?

Pug.

My name is Divell, Sir.

Fit.

Sai'st thou true.

Pug.

Indeed, Sir.

Fit.

'Slid! there's some omen i'this! what countryman?

Pug.

Of Derby-shire, Sir, about the Peake.

Fit.

That Hole

Belong'd to your Ancestors?

Pug.

Yes, Divells arse, Sir.

Fit.

I'll entertaine him for the name sake. Ha?

And turne away my tother man? and saue

Foure pound a yeere by that? there's luck and thrift too!

The very Divell may come hereafter, as well.

Friend, I receive you: but (withall) I acquaint you,

Aforehand, if yo'offend mee, I must beat you.

It is a kind of exercise, I use.

And cannot be without.

Pug.

Yes, if I doe not

Offend, you can, sure.

Fit.

Faith, Divell, very hardly:

I'll call you by your surname, 'cause I love it.

Act. I. Scene. IIII.

Ingine. Wittipol. Manly. Fitzdottrell. Pug.

YOnder he walkes, Sir, I'll goe lift him for you.

Wit.

To him, good Ingine, raise him up by degrees,

Gently, and hold him there too, you can doe it.

Shew your selfe now, a Mathematicall broker.

Ing.

I'll warrant you for halfe a piece.

Wit.

'Tis done, Sir.

Man.

Is't possible there should be such a man?

Wit.

You shall be your owne witnesse, I'll not labour

To tempt you past your faith.

Man.

And is his wife

[Page 7]So very handsome, say you?

Wit.

I ha' not seene her,

Since I came home from travell: and they say,

Shee is not alter'd. Then before I went,

I saw her once; but so, as she hath stucke

Still i'my view, no object hath remov'd her.

Man.

'Tis a faire guest, Friend, beauty: and once lodg'd

Deepe in the eyes, she hardly leaves the Inne.

How do's he keepe her?

Wit.

Very brave. However,

Himselfe be sordide, he is sensuall that way.

In every dressing, he do's study her.

Man.

And furnish forth himselfe so from the Brokers?

Wit.

Yes, that's a hyr'd suite, he now has on,

To see the Divell is an Asse, to day, in

(This Ingine gets three or foure pound a weeke by him)

He dares not misse a new Play, or a Feast,

What rate soever clothes be at; and thinkes

Himselfe still new in other mens old.

Man.

But stay,

Do's he love meat so?

Wit.

Faith he do's not hate it.

But that's not it. His belly and his palate

Would be compounded with for reason. Mary,

A wit he has, of that strange credit with him,

'Gainst all mankinde; as it doth make him doe

Just what it list: it ravishes him forth,

Whither it please, to any assembly or place,

And would conclude him ruin'd, should he scape

One publike meeting, out of the beliefe

He has of his owne great,

Ingine hath won Fitz-dottrel, to say on the cloak [...].

and Catholike strengths,

In arguing, and discourse. It takes, I see:

H'has got the cloake upon him.

Fit.

A faire garment,

By my faith, Ingine!

Ing.

It was never made, Sir,

For threescore pound, I assure you: 'Twill yeeld thirty.

The plush, Sir, cost three pound, ten shillings a yard!

And then the lace, and velvet.

Fit.

I shall, Ingine,

Be look'd at, prettily, in it! Art thou sure

The Play is play'd to day?

Ing.

ô here's the bill, Sir.

He giv [...] him the Play-bill.

had forgot to gi't you.

Fit.

Ha? the Divell!

I will not loose you, Sirah! But, Ingine, thinke you,

The Gallant is so furious in his folly?

So mad upon the matter, that he'll part

With's cloake upo'those termes?

Ing.

Trust not your Ingine,

Breake me to pieces else, as you would doe

A rotten Crane, or an old rusty Iacke,

That has not one true wheele in him. Doe but talke with him.

Fit.

I shall doe that, to satisfie you, Ingine,

And my selfe too.

He turnes to Wittipol.

With your leave, Gentlemen.

Which of you is it, is so meere Idolater

To my wives beauty, and so very prodigall

Unto my patience, that, for the short parlee?

Of one swift houres quarter, with my wife,

He will depart with (let me see) this cloake here

The price of folly? Sir, are you the man?

Wit.

[Page 8]

I am that vent'rer, Sir.

Fit.

Good time! your name

Is Witty-pol?

Wit.

The same, Sir.

Fit.

And'tis told me,

Yo'have travell'd lately?

Wit.

That I have, Sir.

Fit.

Truly,

Your travells have alter'd your complexion;

But sure your wit stood still.

Wit.

It may well be, Sir.

All heads ha'not like growth.

Fit.

The good mans gravity,

That left you land, your father, never taught you

These pleasant matches?

Wit.

No, nor can his mirth,

With whom I make'hem, put me off.

Fit.

You are

Resolv'd then?

Wit.

Yes, Sir.

Fit.

Beauty is the Saint,

You'll sacrifice your selfe, into the shirt too?

Wit.

So I may still cloth, and keepe warme your wisdome?

Fit.

You lade me Sir!

Wit.

I know what you will beare, Sir,

Fit.

Well, to the point. 'Tis only, Sir, you say,

To speake unto my wife?

Wit.

Only, to speake to her.

Fit.

And in my presence?

Wit.

In your very presence.

Fit.

And in my hearing?

Wit.

In your hearing: so,

You interrupt us not.

Fit.

For th [...] short space

You doe demand, the fourth part of an houre,

Hee shrugs himselfe up in the cloak.

I think I shall, with some convenien [...] study,

And this good helpe to boot, bring my selfe to't.

Wit.

I aske no more.

Fit.

Please you, walk to'ard my house,

Speake what you list; that times yours: My right

I have departed with. But, not beyond,

A minute, or a second, looke for. Length,

And drawing out, ma'advance much, to these matches.

And I except all kissing. Kisses are

Silent petitions still with willing Lovers.

Wit.

Lovers? How falls that o'your phantsie?

Fit.

Sir.

I doe know somewhat, I forbid all lip-worke.

Wit.

I am not eager at forbidden dainties.

Who covets unfit thinks, denies him selfe.

Fit.

You say well, Sir, 'Twas prettily said, that same,

He do's, indeed. I'll have no touches, therefore,

Nor takings by the armes, nor tender circles

Cast'bout the wast, but all be done at distance.

Love is brought up with those soft migniard handlings;

His pulse lies in his palme: and I defend

All melting joynts, and fingers, (that's my bargaine)

I doe defend 'hem any thing like action.

But talke, Sir, what you will. Use all the Tropes

And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you:

And much good do your Rhetoriques heart. You are welcome, Sir.

Ingine, God b'w'you.

Wit.

Sir, I must condition

To have this Gentleman by, a witnesse.

Fit.

Well,

I am content so he be silent.

Man.

Yes, Sir.

Fit.

Come Divell, I'll make you roome, streight. But I'll shew you

First, to your Mistresse, who's no common one,

You must conceive, that brings gaine to see her.

I hope thou'st brought me good lucke.

Pug.

I shall do't. Sir.

[Page 9]

Act. I. Scene. V.

Wittipol. Manly.

INgine,

Wittipol knocks his friend o'the brest.

you hope o'your halfe piece? 'Tis there, Sir.

Be gone. Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed?

Man.

I am directly in a fit of wonder

What'll be the issue of this conference!

Wit.

For that, ne'r ve [...] your selfe, till the event.

How like yo'him?

Man.

I would faine see more of him.

Wit.

What thinke you of this?

Man.

I am past degrees of thinking.

Old Africk, and the [...]ew America,

With all their fruite of Monsters cannot shew

So just a prodigie.

Wit.

Could you have beleev'd,

Without your sight, a minde so sordide inward,

Should be so specious, and laid forth abroad,

To all the shew, that ever shop, or ware was?

Man.

I beleeve any thing now, though I confesse

His Vices are the most extremities

I ever knew in nature. But, why loves he

The Divell so?

Wit.

O Sir! for hidden treasure,

He hopes to finde: and has propos'd himselfe

So infinite a Masse as to recover,

He cares not what he parts with, of the present,

To his men of Art, who are the race, may coine him.

Promise gold-mountaines, and the covetous

Are still most prodigall.

Man.

But ha' you faith,

That he will hold his bargaine?

Wit.

O deare, Sir!

He will not off on't. Feare him not. I know him.

One basenesse still accompanies another.

See! he is heere already, and his wife too.

Man.

A wondrous handsome creature, as I live!

Act. I. Scene. VI.Fitz-dottrell. Mistresse Fitz-dottrell. Wittipol. Manly.
COme wife, this is the Gentleman. Nay, blush not.
Mrs. Fit.
Why what doe you meane Sir? ha' you your reason?
Fit.
Wife,
I do not know, that I have lent it forth
To any one at least without a pawne, wife:
Or that I'have eate or drunke the thing, of late,
That should corrupt it. Wherefore gentle wife,
Obey, it is thy vertue: hold no acts
Of disputation.
Mrs. Fit.
Are you not enough
The talke, of feasts, and meetings, but you'll still
Make argument for fresh?
Fit.
Why, carefull wedlocke,
[Page 10]If I have a longing to have one tale more
Goe of me, what is that to thee, deare heart?
Why shouldst thou envie my delight? or crosse it?
By being solicitous, when it not concernes thee?
Mis. Fit.
Yes I have share in this. The scorne will fall
As bitterly on me, where both are laught at.
Fit.
Laught at, sweet bird? is that the scruple? Come, come,
A Niaise is a young Hawke,  [...]an [...] crying out of the nest.
Thou art a Niaise. Which of your great houses,
(I will not meane at home, here, but abroad)
Your families in France, wife, send not forth
Something, within the seven yeere, may be laught at?
I doe not say seven moneths, nor seven weekes,
Nor seven daies, nor houres: but seven yeere wife.
I give 'hem time. Once within seven yeere,
I thinke they may doe something may be laught at.
In France, I keepe me there, still. Wherfore, wife,
Let them that list, laugh still, rather then weepe
For mee; Heere is a cloake cost fifty pound, wife,
Which I can fell for thirty, when I ha' seene
All London in't, and London has seene me.
To day, I goe to the Black-friers Play-house,
Sit i'the view, salute all my acquaintance,
Rise up betweene the Acts, let fall my cloake,
Publish a handsome man, and a rich suite
(As thats a speciall end, why we goe thither,
All that pretend, to stand for't o'the Stage)
The Ladies aske who's that? (For, they do come
To see us, Love, as we doe to see them)
Now, I shall lose all this, for the false feare
Of being laught at? Yes, wusse. Let'hem laugh, wife,
Let me have such another cloake to morrow.
And let 'hem laugh againe, wife, and againe,
And then grow fat with laughing and then fatter,
All my young Gallants, let 'hem bring their friends too:
Shall I forbid 'hem? No let heaven forbid 'hem:
Or wit, if't have any charge on 'hem. Come, thy eare, wife,
Is all I'll borrow of thee. Set your watch, Sir,
Thou, only art to heare, not speake a word, Dove,
To ought he saies. That I do gi'you in precept,
No lesse then councell, on your wive-hood, wife,
Not though he flatter you, or make court, or Love,
(As you must loke for these) or say, he raile;
What ere his arts bee, wife, I will have thee
Delude 'hem with a trick, thy obstinate silence;
I know advantages; and I love to hit
He disposes his wife to his place, and sets his watch.
These pragmaticke young men, at their owne weapons.
Is your watch ready? Here my saile beares, for you:
Tack toward him, sweet Pinnace, wher's your watch?
Wit.
I'll set it, Sir, with yours.
Mis. Fit.
I must obey.
Man.
Her modesty seemes to suffer with her beauty,
[Page 11]And so, as if his folly were away,
It were worth pitty.
Fit.
Now, th'art right, beginne, Sir.
But first, let me repeat the contract, briefely.
I am, Sir, to injoy this cloake, I stand in,
Freely, and as your gift; upon condition
You may as freely,He repeats his contract againe.
 speake here to my spouse,
Your quarter of an houre alwaies keeping
The measur'd distance of your yard, or more,
From my said Spouse: and in my sight and hearing.
This is your covenant?
Wit.
Yes, but you'll allow
For this time spent, now?
Fit.
Set 'hem so much backe.
Wit.
I thinke, I shall not need it.
Fit.
Well, begin, Sir,
There is your bound, Sir. Not beyond that rush.
Wit.
If you interrupt me,Wittipol beginnes.
 Sir, I shall discloake you.
The time I have purchast, Lady, is but short;
And, therefore, if I imploy it thriftily,
I hope I stand the neerer to my pardon.
I am not here, to tell you, you are faire,
Or lovely, or how well you dresse you, Lady,
I'll save my selfe that eloquence of your glasse,
Which can speake these things better to you then I,
And 'tis a knowledge, wherein fooles may be
As wise as a Court Parliament. Nor come I,
With any prejudice, or doubt, that you
Should, to the notice of your owne worth, neede
Least revelation. Shee's a simple woman,
Know's not her good: (who ever knowes her ill)
And at all caracts. That you are the wife,
To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soule,
In stead of salt, to keepe it sweet; I thinke,
Will aske no witnesses, to prove. The cold
Sheetes that you lie in, with the watching candle,
That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty,
Pieces, and quarters, halfe, and whole nights, sometimes,
The Divell-given Elfine Squire, your husband,
Doth leave you, quitting heere his proper circle,
For a much-worse i'the walks of Lincolnes Inne,
Under the Elmes, t'expect the feind in vane, there
Will confesse for you.
Fit.
I did looke for this geere.
Wit.
And what a daughter of darknesse, he do's make you,
Lock'd up from all society, or object;
Your eye not let to looke upon a face,
Under a Conjurers (or some mould for one,
Hollow, and leane like his) but, by great meanes,
As I now make; your owne too sensible sufferings,
Without the extraordinary aydes,
Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, Lady.
For my part, I protest 'gainst all such practice,
I work by no false arts, medicines, or charmes
To be said forward and backward.
Fit.
No, I except:
Wit.
[Page 12]He offers to discloake him.
Sir, I shall ease you.
Fit.
Mum.
Wit.
Nor have I ends, Lady,
Upon you, more then this: to tell you how Love
Beauties good Angell, he that waits upon her
At all occasions, and no lesse then Fortune,
Helps th'adventurous, in me makes that proffer,
Which never faire one was so fond, to lose;
Who could but reach a hand out to her freedome.
On the first sight I lov'd you: since which time,
Though I have travell'd, I have beene in travell
More for this second blessing of your eies
Which now I'have purchas'd, then for all aimes else.
Thinke of it, Lady, be your mind as active,
As is your beauty: view your object well.
Examine both my fashion, and my yeeres
Things, that are like, are soone familiar:
And Nature joyes, still in equality.
Let not the signe o'the husband fright you, Lady.
But ere your spring be gone, injoy it. Flowers,
Though faire, are oft but of one morning. Think,
All beauty doth not last untill the Autumne.
You grow old, while I tell you this. And such,
As cannot use the present, are not wise,
If Love and Fortune will take care of us,
Why should our will be wanting? This is all.
Wha doe you answer, Lady?
Fit.
Now, the sport comes.
Shee stands mute.
Let him still waite, waite, waite: while the watch goes,
And the time runs. Wife!
Wit.
How! not any word?
Nay, then, I taste a tricke in't. Worthy Lady,
I cannot be so false to mine owne thoughts
Of your presumed goodnesse, to conceive
This as your rudenesse, which I see's impos'd.
Yet, since your cautelous Iaylor, here stands by you,
And yo'are deni'd the liberty o'the house;
Let me take warrant, Lady, from your silence,
(Which ever is interpreted consent)
To make your answer for you: which shall be
To as good purpose, as I can imagine,
And what I thinke you'ld speak.
Fit.
No, no, no, no.
Wit.
He sets Mr. Manly his friend in her place.
I shall resume, Sir.
Man.
Sir, what doe you meane?
Wit.
One interruption more, Sir, and you goe
Into your hose and doublet, nothing saves you.
And therefore harken. This is for your wife.
Man.
You must play faire, Sir.
Wit.
Stand for me, good friend.
Troth, Sir, tis more then true, that you have uttred
And speakes for her.
Of my unequall, and so sordide match heere,
With all the circumstances of my bondage.
I have a husband, and a two-legg'd one,
But such a moon-ling, as no wit of man
Or roses can redeeme from being an Asse.
H'is growne too much, the story of mens mouthes
[Page 13]To scape his lading: should I mak't my study,
And lay all waies, yea, call mankind to helpe,
To take his burden off, why, this one act
Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,
And, at a price, proclaimes his asinine nature
So lowd, as I am weary of my title to him.
But Sir, you seeme a Gentleman of vertue,
No lesse then blood; and one that every way
Lookes as hee were of too good quality,
To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her
Since you have paid thus deare, Sir, for a visit,
And made such venter, on your wit, and charge
Meerely to see me, or at most to speake to me,
I were too stupid; or (what's worse) ingrate
Not to returne your venter. Thinke, but how,
I may with safety doe it; I shall trust
My love and honour to you, and presume,
You'll ever husband both, against this husband;
Who, if we chance to change his liberall eares,
To other ensignes, and with labour make
A new beast of him, as he shall deserve,
Cannot complaine, he is unkindly dealth with.
This day he is to goe to a new play, Sir,
From whence no feare, no, nor authority,
Scarsely the Kings command, Sir, will restraine him,
Now you have fitted him with a Stage-garment,
For the meere names sake, were there nothing else,
And many more such journeies, he will make.
Which, if they now, or, any time heereafter,
Offer us opportunity, you heare, Sir,
Who'll be as glad, and forward to imbrace,
Meete, and enjoy it chearefully as you.
I humbly thanke you, Lady.
Fit.
Keepe your ground Sir.
Wit.
Will you be lightned?
Fit.
Mum.
Wit.
And but I am,
By the sad contract, thus to take my leave of you
At this so envious distance, I had taught
Our lips ere this, to seale the happy mixture
Made of our soules. But we must both, now, yeeld
To the necessity. Doe not thinke yet, Lady,
But I can kisse, and touch, and laugh, and whisper,
And doe those crowning court-ships too, for which
Day, and the publike have allow'd no name
But, now, my bargaine binds me. 'Twere rude injury,
T'importune more, or urge a noble nature,
To what of it's owne bounty it is prone to:
Else, I should speake—But, Lady, I love so well,
As I will hope, you'll do so to. I have done, Sir.
Fit.
Well, then, I ha'won?
Wit.
Sir, And I may win, too.
Fit.
O yes! no doubt on't. I'll take carefull order,
That shee shall hang forth ensignes at the window,
[Page 14]To tell you when I am absent. Or I'll keepe
Three or foure foote-men, ready still of purpose,
To runne and fetch you at her longings, Sir.
I'll goe bespeake me straight a guilt caroch,
For her and you to take the aire in: yes,
Into Hide-parke, and thence into Black-Friers,
Visit the painters, where you may see pictures,
And note the properest limbs, and how to make 'hem.
Or what doe you say unto a middling Gossip?
To bring you aye together, at her lodging?
Under pretext of teaching o'my wife
Some rare receit of drawing almond milke? ha?
It shall bee a part of my care. Good Sir, God b'w'you.
I ha' kept the contract, and the cloak is mine owne.
Wit.
Why, much good do't you Sir; it may fall out,
That you ha'bought it deare, though I ha' not sould it.
Fit.
A pretty riddle! Fare you well, good Sir.
He turnes his wife a­bout.
Wife, your face this way, looke on me: and thinke
Yo'have had a wicked dreame, wife, and forget it.
Man.
This is the strangest motion I ere saw.
Fit.
Now, wife, sits this faire cloake the worse upon me,
For my great sufferings, or your little patience? ha?
They laugh, you thinke?
Mis. Fit.
Why Sir, and you might see't.
What thought, they have of you, may be soone collected
By the young Gentlmans speach.
Fit.
Young Gentleman?
Death! you are in love with him, are you? could he not
Be nam'd the Gentleman, without the young?
Up to your Cabbin againe.
Mis. Fit.
My cage, yo'were best
To call it?
Fit.
Yes, sing there. You'ld faine be making
Blanck Manger with it at your mothers! I know you.
Goe get you up. How now! what say you, Divell?

Act. I. Scene. VII.

Pug. Fitz. dottrell. Ingine.

HEere is one Ingine, Sir, desires to speake with you.

Fit.

I thought he brought some newes, of a broker! well,

Let him come in, good Divell: fetch him else

O, my fine Ingine! what's th'affaire? more cheats?

Ing.

No Sir, the Wit, the Braine, the great Projector,

I told you of, is newly come to towne.

Fit.

Where, Ingine?

Ing.

I ha'brought him▪ (H'is without)

Ere he pull'd off his boots, Sir, but so follow'd,

For businesse:

Fit.

But what is a Projector?

I would conceive.

Ing.

Why, one Sir, that projects

Waies to enrich men, or to make 'hem great,

But suites, by marriages, by undertaking:

According as he sees they humour it.

Fit.

[Page 15]

Can he not conjure at all?

Ing.

I thinke he can, Sir.

(To tell you true) but, you doe know, of late,

The State hath tane such note of'hem, and compell'd 'hem,

To enter such great bonds, they dare not practice.

Fit.

'Tis true, and I lie fallow for't, the while!

Ing.

O, Sir! you'll grow the richer for the rest.

Fit.

I hope I shall: but Ingine, you do talke

Somewhat too much, o'my courses. My Cloake-customer

Could tell me strange particulars.

Ing.

By my meanes?

Fit.

How should he have 'hem else?

Ing.

You doe not know, Sir,

What he has: and by what arts! A monied man, Sir,

And is as great with your Almanack-Men, as you are!

Fit.

That Gallant?

Ing.

You make the other waite too long, here:

And he is extreme punctuall.

Fit.

Is he a gallant?

Ing.

Sir you shall see: He'is in his riding suit,

As he comes now from Court. But heere him speake:

Minister matter to him, and then tell me.

Act. II. Scene. I.

Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. Traines. Pug.

SIr, money's a whore, a bawd, a drudge;

Fit to runne out on errands: Let her goe.

Via pecunia! when she's runne and gone,

And fled and dead; then will I fetch her, againe,

With Aqua-vitae, out of an old Hogs-head!

While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beere,

I'll never want her! Coine her out of cobwebs,

Dust, but I'll have her! Raise wooll upon egge-shells,

Sir, and make grasse grow out o'marro-bones.

To make her come.

To a waiter.

(Commend me to your Mistresse,

Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready,

And it is done) I would but see the creature

(Of flesh, and blood) the man, the Prince, indeed,

That could imploy so many millions

As I would helpe him to.

Fit.

How, talks he? millions?

Mer.

(I'll give you an account of this to morrow.)

Yes,

To another.

I will take no lesse, and doe it too;

If they were Myriades: and without the Divell,

By direct meanes, it shall be good in law.

Ing.

Sir.

Mer.

Tell Mr. Wood-cock, I'll not faile to meet him

Upon th'Exchange at night. Pray him to have

The writings there, and wee'll dispatch it: Sir,

You are a Gentleman of a good presence,

A handsome man (I have considered you)

[Page 16]As a fit stocke to graft honours upon:

I have a Project to make you a Duke, now.

That you must be one, within so many moneths,

And I set down, out of true reason of state,

You sha' not avoid it. But you must harken, then.

Ing.

Harken? why Sir, doe you doubt his eares? Alas!

You doe not know Master Fitz-dottrel.

Fit.

He do's not know me indeed. I thank you, Ingine,

For rectifying him.

Mer.

Good! Why, Ingine, then

I'll tell you. (I see you ha' credit, here,

And, that you can keepe counsell, I'll not question.)

He shall but be an undertaker with me,

In a most feasible bus'nesse. It shall cost him

Nothing.

Ing.

Good, Sir.

Mer.

Except he please, but's count'nance;

(That I will have) t'appeare in't, to great men,

For which I'll make him one. He shall not draw

A string of's purse. I'll drive his pattent for him.

We'll take in Cit'zens, Commoners, and Aldermen,

To beare the charge, and blow 'hem off againe,

Like so many dead flies, when 'tis carried.

The thing is for recovery of drown'd Land,

Whereof the Crown's to have a moiety,

If it be owner; Else, the Crowne and Owners

To share that moiety: and the recoverers

T'enjoy the tother moiety, for their charge.

Ing.

Throughout England?

Mer.

Yes, which will arise

To eighteene millions, seven the first yeere:

I have computed all, and made my survay

Unto an acre, I'll beginne at the Pan,

Not, at the skirts: as some ha' done, and lost,

All that they wrought, their timber-worke, their trench,

Their bankes all borne away, or else fill'd up

By the next winter. Tut, they never went

The way. I'll have it all.

Ing.

A Gallant tract

Of land it is!

Mer.

'Twill yeeld a pound an acre.

We must let cheape, ever, at first. But Sir,

This lookes too large for you, I see. Come hither,

We'll have a lesse. Here's a plaine fellow, you see him,

Has his black bag of papers, there, in Buckram,

Wi'not be sould for th'Earldome of Pancridge: Draw,

Gi'me out one, by chance▪ Project; foure dogs skins?

Twelve thousand pound! the very worst, at first.

Fit.

Pray you let's see't Sir.

Mer.

'Tis a toy, a trifle!

Fit.

Trifle! 12. thousand pound for dogs-skins?

Mer.

Yes,

But, by way of dressing, you must know, Sir,

And med'cining the leather, to a height

Of improv'd ware, like your Borachio

Of Spaine, Sir. I can fetch nine thousand for't—

Ing.

Of the Kings glover?

Mer.

Yes, how heard you that?

Ing.

Sir, I doe know you can.

Mer.

Within this houre

[Page 17]And reserve halfe my secret.

He pluckes out the 2. Bottle-ale.

Pluck another;

See if thou hast a happier hand: I thought so.

The very next worse to it! Bottle-ale.

Yet, this is two and twenty thousand! Pr'y thee

Pull out another, two or three.

Fit.

Good, stay, friend,

By bottle-ale, two and twenty thousand pound?

Mer.

Yes, Sir, it's cast to penny-hal'penny-farthing,

O'the back-side, there you may see it, read,

I will not bate a Harrington o'the summe.

I'll winne it i'my water, and my malt,

My furnaces, and hanging o'my coppers,

The tonning, and subtilty o'my yest;

And, then the earth of my bottles, which I dig,

Turne up, and steepe, and worke, and neale, my selfe,

To a degree of Proc'lane. You will wonder,

At my proportions, what I will put up

In seven yeeres! for so long time, I aske

For my invention. I will save in corke,

In my mere stop'ling, 'bove three thousand pound,

Within that terme: by googing of 'hem out

Just to the size of my bottles, and not flieing.

There's infinite losse i'that. What hast thou there?

O'making wine of raisins:

Hee drawes out an other Raisines.

this is in hand, now,

Ing.

Is not that strange, Sir, to make wine of raisins?

Mer.

Yes, and as true wine, as th'wines of France,

Or Spaine, or Italy, Looke of what grape

My raisin is, that wine I'll render perfect,

As of the muscatell grape, I'll render muscatell;

Of Canary, his; the Claret, his;

So of all kinds: and bate you of the prices,

Of wine, throughout the kingdome, halfe in halfe.

Ing.

But, how, Sir, if you raise the other commodity,

Raisins?

Mer.

Why, then I'll make it out of black-berries:

And it shall doe the same. 'Tis but more art,

And the charge lesse. Take out another.

Fit.

No, good Sir.

Save you the trouble, I'll not looke, nor heare

Of any, but your first, there; the Drown'd-land:

If't will doe, as you say.

Mer.

Sir, there's not place,

To gi'you demonstration of these things.

They are a little to subtle. But, I could shew you

Such a necessity in't, as you must be

But what you please: against the receiv'd heresie,

That England beares no Dukes. Keepe you the land, Sir,

The greatnesse of th'estate shall throw't upon you.

If you like better turning it to money,

What may not you, Sir, purchase with that wealth?

Say, you should part with two o'your millions,

To be the thing you would, who would not do't?

As I protest, I will, out of my divident,

Lay, for some pretty principality,

[Page 18]In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps,

Fancy the smoake of England, rather? But—

Ha'you no private roome, Sir, to draw to,

T'enlarge our selves more upon.

Fit.

O yes, Divell!

Mer.

These, Sir, are bus'nesses, aske to be carried

With caution▪ and in cloud.

Fit.

I apprehend,

They doe so, Sir, Divell, which way is your Mistresse?

Pug.

Above, Sir, in her chamber.

Fit.

O that's well.

Then this way good, Sir.

Mer.

I shall follow you; Traines,

Gi'me the bag, and goe you presently,

Commend my service to my Lady Tail-bush.

Tell her I am come from Court this morning; say,

I'have got our bus'nesse mov'd, and well: Intreat her,

That she give you the foure-score Angels, and see 'hem

Dispos'd of to my Councel, Sir Poul Eitherside.

Sometime, to day, I'll waite upon her Ladiship,

With the relation.

Ing.

Sir, of what dispatch,

He is! Do you mark?

Mer.

Ingine, when did you see

My cousin Ever-ill? keepes he still your quarter?

I'the Bermudas?

Ing.

Yes, Sir, he was writing

This morning, very hard.

Mer.

Be not you knowne to him,

That I am come to Towne: I have effected

A businesse for him, but I would have it take him,

Before he thinks for't.

Ing.

It is past?

Mer.

Not yet.

'Tis well o'the way.

Ing.

O Sir! your worship takes

Infinite paines.

Mer.

I love Friends, to be active:

A sluggish nature puts off man, and kinde.

Ing.

And such a blessing followes it.

Mer.

I thanke

My fate. Pray you let's be private, Sir?

Fit.

In, here.

Mer.

Where none may interrupt us.

Fit.

You heare, Divell,

Lock the street-doores fast, and let no one in

(Except they be this Gentlemans followers)

To trouble me. Doe you marke? Yo'have hard and seene

Something, to day; and, by it, you may gather

Your Mistresse is a fruite, that's worth the stealing

And therefore worth the watching. Be you sure, now,

Yo'have all your eies about you; and let in

No lace-woman; nor bawd, that brings French-masques,

And cut-works. See you? Nor old croanes, with wafers,

To convey letters. Nor no youths, disguis'd

Like country-wives, with creame, and marrow-puddings.

Much knavery may be vented in a pudding,

Much baudy intelligence: They'are shrewd ciphers.

Nor turne the key to any neighbours need;

Be't but to kindle fire, or begg a little,

Put it out, rather: all out, to an ashe,

That they may see no smoke. Or water, spill it:

Knock o'the empty tubs, that by the sound,

They may be forbid entry. Say, we are robb'd,

If any come to borrow a spoone, or so.

[Page 19]I wi'not have good fortune, or gods blessing

Let in, while I am busie.

Pug.

I'll take care, Sir,

They sha'not trouble you, if they would.

Fit.

Well doe so.

Act. II. Scene. II.Pug. Mistresse Fitz-dottrell.
I Have no singular service of this, now?
Nor no superlative Master? I shall wi [...]h
To be in hell againe, at leasure? Bring,
A Vice from thence? That had bin such a subtilty,
As to bring broad-clothes hither: or transport
Fresh Oranges into Spaine. I finde it, now;
My Chiefe was i'the right. Can any fiend
Boast of a better Vice, then heere by nature,
And art, th'are owners of? Hell ne'r owne me,
But I am taken! the fine tract of it
Pulls me along! To heare men such professors
Growne in our subtlest Sciences! My first Act, now,
Shall be, to make this Master of mine cuckold:
The primitive worke of darkenesse, I will practise!
I will deserve so well of my faire Mistresse,
By my discoveries, first; my counsells after;
And keeping counsell, after that: as who,
So ever, is one, I'll be another, sure,
I'll ha'my share. Most delicate damn'd flesh!
She will be! O! that I could stay time, now,
Midnight will come too fast upon me, I feare,
To cut my pleasure—
Mis. Fit.
Looke at the back-doore,She sends Divell out ▪
One knocks, see who it is.
Pug.
Dainty she Divell!
Mis. Fit.
I cannot get this venter of the cloake,
Out of my fancie; nor the Gentlemans way,
He tooke, which though 'twere strange, yet 'twas handsome,
And had a grace withall, beyond the newnesse.
Sure he will thinke me that dull stupid creature,
He said, and may conclude it; if I finde not
Some thought to thanke th'attempt. He did presume,
By all the carriage of it, on my braine,
For answer; and will sweare 'tis very barren,
If it can yeeld him no returne.Divell re­turnes.
 Who is it?
Pug.
Mistresse, it is, but first, let me assure
The excellence, of Mistresses, I am,
Although my Masters man, My Mistresse slave,
The servant of her secrets, and sweet turnes,
And know, what fitly will conduce to either.
Mis. Fit.
What's this? I pray you come to your selfe and thinke
What your part is: to make an answer. Tell,
Who is it at the doore?
Pug.
The Gentleman, Mistresse,
[Page 20]Who was at the cloake-charge to speake with you,
This morning, who expects onely to take
Some small command'ments from you, what you please,
Worthy your forme, he saies, and gentlest manners.
Mis. Fit.
O! you'll anon prove his hir'd man, I feare,
What has he giv'n you, for this message? Sir,
Bid him put off his hopes of straw, and leave
To spread his nets, in view, thus. Though they take
Master Fitz-dottrel, I am no such foule,
Nor faire one, tell him, will be had with stalking.
And wish him to for-beare his acting to me,
At the Gentlemans chamber-window in Lincolnes-Inne there,
That opens to my gallery: else, I sweare
T'acquaint my husband with his folly, and leave him
To the just rage of his offended jealousie.
Or if your Masters sense be not so quicke
To right me, tell him, I shall finde a friend
That will repaire me. Say, I will be quiet
In mine owne house? Pray you, in those words give it him.
Pug.
This is some foole turn'd!
Mis. Fit.
If he be the Master,
He goes out.
Now, of that state and wit, which I allow him;
Sure, he will understand me: I durst not
Be more direct. For this officious fellow,
My husbands new groome, is a spie upon me,
I finde already. Yet, if he but tell him
This in my words, he cannot but conceive
Himselfe both apprehended, and requited.
I would not have him thinke he met a statue:
Or spoke to one, not there, though I were silent.
How now? ha'you tould him?
Pug.
Yes.
Mis. Fit.
And what saies he?
Pug.
Saies he? That which my selfe would say to you, if I durst.
That you are proude, sweet Mistresse! and with-all,
A little ignorant, to entertaine
The good that's proffer'd; and (by your beauties leave)
Not all so wise, as some true politique wife
Would be: who having match'd with such a Nupson
(I speake it with my Masters peace) whose face
Hath left t'accuse him, now, for't doth confesse him,
What you can make him; will yet (out of scruple,
And a spic'd conscience) defraud the poore Gentleman,
At least delay him in the thing he longs for,
And makes it his whole study, how to compasse,
Onely a title. Could but he write Cuckold,
He had his ends. For, looke you—
Mis. Fit.
This can be
None but my husbands wit.
Pug.
My pretious Mistresse.
Mis. Fit.
It creaks his Ingine: The groome never durst
Be, else, so saucy—
Pug.
If it were not clearely,
His worshipfull ambition; and the top of it;
The very forked top too: why should he
Keepe you, thus mur'd up in a back-roome, Mistresse,
[Page 21]Allow you ne'r a casement to the streete,
Feare of engendring by the eyes, with gallants,
Forbid you paper, pen and inke, like Rats-bane.
Search your halfe pint of muscatell, lest a letter
Be suncke i'the pot: and hold your new-laid egge
Against the fire▪ least any charme be writ there?
Will you make benefit of truth, deare Mistresse,
If I doe tell it you: I do't not often?
I am set over you, imploy'd, indeed,
To watch your steps, your lookes, your very breathings,
And to report them to him. Now, if you
Will be a true, right, delicate sweet Mistresse,
Why, we will make a Cokes of this Wise Master,
We will, my Mistresse, an absolute fine Cokes,
And mock, to aire, all the deepe diligences
Of such a solemne, and effectuall Asse,
An Asse to so good purpose, as we'll use him.
I will contrive it so, that you shall goe
To Plaies, to Masques, to Meetings, and to Feasts.
For, why is all this Rigging, and fine Tackle, Mistresse,
If you neate handsome vessells, of good saile,
Put not forth ever, and anon, with your nets
Abroad into the world. It is your fishing.
There you shall chuse your friends, your servants, Lady,
Your squires of honour; I'll convey your letters,
Fetch answers, doe you all the offices,
That can belong to your bloud, and beauty. And,
For the variety, at my times, although
I am not in due symmetrie, the man
Of that proportion; or in rule
Of physicke, of the just complexion;
Or of that truth of Piccardell, in clothes,
To boast a soveraignty o're Ladies: yet
I know, to doe my turnes, sweet Mistresse. Come, kisse—
Mis. Fit.
How now!
Pug.
Deare delicate Mistresse, I am your slave,
Your little worme, that loves you: your fine Monkie;
Your Dogge, your Iack, your Pug, that longs to be
Stil'd, o'your pleasures.
Mis. Fit.
Heare you all this?She thinke [...] ▪ her husband watches.
 Sir, Pray you,
Come from your standing, doe, a little, spare
Your selfe, Sir, from your watch, t'applaud your Squire,
That so well followes your instructions!

Act. II. Scene. III.

Fitz-dottrell. Mis. Fitz-dottrell. Pug.

HOw now, sweetheart? what's the matter?

Mis. Fit.

Good!

You are a stranger to the plot! you set not

Your saucy Divell, here, to tempt your wife,

[Page 22]With all the insolent uncivill language,

Or action, he could vent?

Fit.

Did you so, Divell?

Mis. Fit.

Not you? you were not planted i'your hole to heare him,

Upo'the stayres? or here, behinde the hangings?

I doe not know your qualities? he durst doe it,

Her husband goes out, and enters presently with a cudgell upon him.

And you not give directions?

Fit.

You shall see, wife,

Whether he durst, or no: and what it was

I did direct.

Pug.

Sweet Mistresse, are you mad?

Fit.

You most meere Rogue! you open manifest Villaine!

You Fiend apparant you! you declar'd Hel-hound!

Pug.

Good Sir.

Fit.

Good Knave, good Rascall, and good Traitor.

Now, I doe finde you parcel-Divell, indeed.

Upo' the point of trust? I'your first charge?

The very day o'your probation?

To tempt your Mistresse? You doe see, good wedlocke,

How I directed him,

Mis. Fit.

Why, where Sir, were you?

Fit.

After a pause.

Nay, there is one blow more, for exercise:

I told you, I should doe it.

Pug.

Would you had done, Sir.

Fit.

He strikes him againe▪

O wife, the rarest man! yet there's another

To put you in mind o' the last. Such a brave man, wife!

Within, he has his projects, and do's vent 'hem,

and againe.

The gallantest! where you tentiginous? ha?

Would you be acting of the Incubus?

Did her silkes rustling move you?

Pug.

Gentle Sir.

Fit.

Out of my sight. If thy name were not Divell,

Thou should'st not stay a minute with me. In,

Goe, yet stay: yet goe too. I am resolv'd,

What I will doe: and you shall know't afore-hand.

Divell goes out.

Soone as the Gentleman is gone, doe you heare?

I'll helpe your lisping. Wife, such a man, wife!

He has such plots! He will make me a Duke!

No lesse, by heaven! six Mares, to your coach, wife!

That's your proportion! And your coach-man bald!

Because he shall be bare, inough, Doe not you laugh,

We are looking for a place, and all, i'the map

What to be of. Have faith, be not an Infidell.

You know I am not easie to be gull'd.

I sweare, when I have my millions, else, I'll make

Another Dutchesse; if you ha' not faith.

Mis. Fit.

You'll ha' too much, I feare, in these false spirits,

Fit.

Spirits? O, no such thing! wife! wit, meere wit!

This man defies the Divell, and all his works!

He dos't by Ingine, and devises, he!

He has his winged ploughes, that goe with sailes,

Will plough you forty acres, at once! and [...]ills,

Will spout you water, ten miles off! All Crowland

Is ours, wife; and the fens, from us, in Norfolke,

To the utmost bound of Lincoln-shire! we have view'd it.

And measur'd it within all; by the scale!

The richest tract of land, Love, i'the kingdome▪

[Page 23]There will be made seventeene, or eighteene millions;

Or more, as't may be handled! wherefore, thinke,

Sweet heart, if th'hast a fancy to one place,

More then another, to be Dutchesse of;

Now, name it: I will ha't, what ere it cost,

(If't will be had for mony) either here,

Or'n France, or Italy.

Mis. Fit.

You ha'strange phantasies!

Act. II. Scene. IV.

Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ingine.

WHere are you, Sir?

Fit.

I see thou hast no talent

This way, wife. Up to thy gallery; doe, Chuck,

Leave us to talke of it, who understand it.

Mer.

I thinke we ha' found a place to fit you, now, Sir.

Gloc'ster.

Fit.

O, no, I'll none!

Mer.

Why, Sir?

Fit.

Tis fatall.

Mer.

That you say right in. Spenser, I thinke, the younger,

Had his last honour thence. But, he was but Earle.

Fit.

I know not that, Sir. But Thomas of Woodstocke,

I'm sure, was Duke, and he was made away,

At Calice; as Duke Humphrey was at Bury:

And Richard the third, you know what end he came too.

Mer.

By m'faith you are cunning i'the Chronicle, Sir.

Fit.

No, I confesse I ha't from the Play-bookes,

And thinke they'are more authentique.

Ing.

That's sure, Sir.

Mer.

What say you (to this then)

Fit.

No a noble house.

He whispers him of a place.

Pretends to that. I will doe no man wrong.

Mer.

Then take one proposition more, and here it

As past exception.

Fit.

What's that?

Mer.

To be

Duke of those lands, you shall recover: take

Your title, thence, Sir, Duke of the Drown'd-lands,

Or Drown'd-land.

Fit.

Ha? that last has a good sound!

I like it well. The Duke of Dround-'land?

Ing.

Yes;

It goes like Gr [...]en-land, Sir, if you marke it.

Mer.

And drawing thus your honour from the worke,

You make the reputation of that, greater;

And stay't the longer i'your name.

Fit.

'Tis true.

Droun'd-lands will live in Droun'd-land!

Mer.

Yes, when you

Ha' no foote left; as that must bee, Sir, one day.

And, though it tarry in your heyres, some forty,

Fifty descents, the longer liver, at last, yet,

Must thrust 'hem out on't: if no quirk in law,

Or odde Vice o'ther owne not do't first.

We see those changes, daily: the faire lands,

That were the Clyents, are the Lawyers, now:

And those rich Mannors, there, of good man Tailors,

Had once more wood upon 'hem then the yard,

By which th'were measur'd out for the last purchase.

[Page 24]Nature hath these vicissitudes. Shee makes

No man a state of perpetuity, Sir.

Fit.

Hee spies Divell.

Yo'are i'the right. Let's in then, and conclude.

I my sight, againe? I'll talke with you, anon.

Act. II. Scene. V.Pug.
SUre he will geld me, if I stay: or worse,
Pluck out my tongue, one o'the two. This Foole,
There is no trusting of him: and to quit him,
Were a contempt against my Chiefe, past pardon.
It was a shrewd disheartning this at first!
Who would ha'thought a woman so well harness'd,
Or rather well-caparison'd, indeed,
That weares such petticoates, and lace to her smoks,
Broad seaming laces (as I see 'hem hang there)
And garters which are lost, if she can shew 'hem,
Could ha'done this? Hell! why is shee so brave?
It cannot be to please Duke Dottrel, sure,
Nor the dull pictures, in her gallery,
Nor her owne deare reflection, in her glasse;
Yet that may be: I have knowne many of'hem,
Beginne their pleasure, but none end it, there:
(That I consider, as I goe a long with it)
They may, for want of better company,
Or that they thinke the better, spend an houre;
Two, three, or foure, discoursing with their shaddow:
But sure they have a farther speculation.
No woman drest with so much care, and study,
Doth dresse her selfe in vaine. I'll vexe this probleme,
A little more, before I leave it, sure.

Act. II. Scene. VI.

Wittipol. Manly. Mistresse Fitz-dottrell. Pug.

THis was a fortune,, happy aboue thought,

That this should prove thy chamber; which I fear'd

Would be my greatest trouble! this must be

The very window, and that the roome.

Man.

It is.

I now remember, I have often seen there

A woman but I never mark'd her much.

Wit.

Where was your soule, friend?

Man.

Faith, but now, and then,

Awake unto those objects.

Wit.

You pretend so.

Let me not live, if I am not in love

More with her wit, for this direction, now,

[Page 25]Then with her forme, though I ha' prais'd that prettily,

Since I saw her,

He gives him a paper, wherein is the copy of a Song.

and you, to day. Read those.

They'll goe unto the aire you love so well.

Try 'hem unto the note, may be the musique

Will call her sooner; light, shee's here! Sing quickly.

Mis. Fit.

Either he understood him not: or else,

The fellow was not faithfull in delivery,

Of what I bad. And, I am justly pay'd,

That might have made my profit of his service,

But, by mis-taking, have drawne on his envy,

And done the worse defeate upon my selfe.

How!

Manly sings, Pug enters perceives it.

Musique? then he may be there: and is sure.

Pug.

O! Is it so? Is there the enter-view?

Have I drawne to you, at last, my cunning Lady?

The Divell is an Asse! fool'd off! and beaten!

Nay, made an instrument! and could not sent it!

Well, since yo'have showne the malice of a woman,

No lesse then her true wit, and learning, Mistresse,

I'll try, if little Pug have the malignity

To recompence it, and so save his danger.

'Tis not the paine, but the discredite of it,

The Divell should not keepe a body intire.

Wit.

Away, fall backe, shee comes.

Man.

I'll leave you, Sir,

The Master of my chamber. I have businesse.

Wit.

Mis.!

Mis. Fit.

You make me paint, Sir.

Wit.

The'are faire colours,

Lady, and naturall! I did receive

Some commands from you lately,

This Scene is acted at two windo's, as out of two contiguous buildings.

gentle Lady,

But so perplex'd, and wrap'd in the delivery,

As I may feare t'have mis-interpreted:

But must make sute still, to be neere your grace.

Mis. Fit.

Who is there with you, Sir?

Wit.

None, but my selfe.

It falls out, Lady, to be a deare friends lodging.

Wherein there's some conspiracy of fortune

With your poore servants blest affections.

Mis. Fit.

Who was it sung?

Wi.

He, Lady, but he's gone,

Upon my intreaty of him, seeing you

Approach the window. Neither need you doubt him,

If he were here. He is too much a gentleman.

Mis. Fit.

Sir if you judge me by this simple action

And by the outward habite, and complexion

Of easinesse, it hath, to your designe;

You may with Justice, say, I am a woman:

And a strange woman. But when you shall please,

To bring but that concurrence of my fortune,

To memory, which to day your selfe did urge:

It may beget some favor like excuse,

Though none like reason.

Wit.

No, my tune-full Mistresse?
Then, surely, Love hath none; nor Beauty any;
Nor Nature violenced, in both these:
With all whose gentle tongues you speake, at once.
[Page 26]I thought I had inough remov'd, already,
That scruple from your brest, and left yo'all reason;
When, through my mornings perspective I shewd you
A man so above excuse, as he is the cause,
Why any thing is to be done upon him:
And nothing call'd an injury, mis-plac'd.
I'rather now had hope, to shew you how Love
By his accesses, growes more naturall:
And, what was done, this morning, with such force
Was but devis'd to serve the present, then.
Hee growes more fami­liar in his Court-ship.
That since love hath the honour to approach
These sister-swelling brests; and touch this soft,
And rosie hand; he hath the skill to draw
Their Nectar forth, with kissing; and could make
More wanton salts, from this brave promontory,
Plaies with her paps, kis­seth her hands, &c.
Downe to this valley, then the nimble Roe;
Could play the hopping Sparrow, 'bout these nets;
And sporting Squirell in these crisped groves;
Bury himselfe in every Silke-wormes kell,
Is here unravel'd; runne into the snare,
Which every haire is, is cast into a curle,
To catch a Cupid flying: Bath himselfe
In milke, and roses, here, and dry him, there;
Warme his cold hands, to play with this smooth, round,
And well torn'd chin, as with the Billyard ball;
Rowle on these lips, the banks of love, and there
At once both plant, and gather kisses. Lady,
Shall I, with what I have made to day here, call
All sense to wonder, and all faith to signe
The misteries revealed in your forme?
And will Love pardon me the blasphemy
I utter'd, when I said, a glasse could speake
This beauty, or that fooles had power to judge it?

Doe but looke, on her eies! They doe light—
All that Love's world comprizeth!
Doe but looke on her haire! it is bright,
As Love's starre, when it riseth!
Doe but marke, her fore-head smoother,
Then words that sooth her!
And from her arched browes, such grace
Sheds it selfe through the face;
As alone, there triumphs to the life,
All the gaine, all the good, of the elements strife!

Have you seene but a bright Lilly grow,
Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall of Snow,
Before the soyle hath smutch'd it?
Have you felt the wooll o'the Bever?
[Page 27]Or Swans downe, ever?
Or, have smelt o'the bud o'the Brier?
Or the Nard i'the fire?
Or, have tasted the bag o'the Bee?
O, so white! O, so soft! O, so sweet is shee.

Act. II. Scene. VII.

Fitz-dottrell. Wittipol. Pug.

IS shee so,

Her husband appeares at her back.

Sir? and, I will keepe her so.

If I know how, or can: that wit of man

Will doe't, I'll goe no farther. At this window'

She shall no more be buz'd at. Take your leave on't.

If you be sweet meates,

Hee speakes out of his wives window.

wedlock, or sweet flesh,

Alls one: I doe not love this hum about you.

A fly-blowne wife is not so proper, In:

For you, Sir, looke to heare from me..

Wit.

So, I doe, Sir.

Fit.

No, but in other tearmes. There's no man offers

This to my wife, but paies for't,

Wit.

That have I, Sir.

Fit.

Nay, then, I tell you, you are.

Wit.

What am I, Sir?

Fit.

Why, that I'll thinke on, when I ha'cut your throat.

Wit.

Goe, you are an Asse.

Fit.

I am resolv'd on't, Sir.

Wit.

I thinke you are.

Fit.

To call you to a reckoning.

Wit.

Away, you brokers blocke, you property.

Fit.

S'light, if you strike me, I'll strike your Mistresse,

Wit.

He strikes his wife.

I could shoote my eyes at him, for that, now;

Or leave my teeth in him, were they cuckolds bane,

Inough to kill him. What prodigious,

Blinde, and most wicked change of fortune's this?

I ha'no aire of patience: all my vaines

Swell, and my sinewes start at iniquity of it.

I shall breake, breake.

Pug.

This for the malice of it,

The Divell speakes below.

And my revenge may passe! But, now, my conscience

Tells mee, I have profited the cause of Hell

But little, in the breaking-off their loves.

Which, if some other act of mine repaire not,

I shall heare ill of my accompt.

Fit.

O, Bird!

Could you doe this?

Fitz-dottr [...] enters with his wife as come down.

'gainst me? and at this time, now?

When I was so imploy'd, wholly for you,

Drown'd i'my care (more, then the land, I sweare,

I'have hope to win) to make you peere-lesse? studying,

For footmen for you, fine pac'd huishers, pages,

To serve you o'the knee; with what Knights wife,

To beare your traine, and sit with your foure women

In councell, and receive intelligences,

From forraine parts, to dresse you at all pieces!

Y'have (a'most) turn'd my good affection, to you;

Sowr'd my sweet thoughts; all my pure purposes:

[Page 28]I could now finde (i'my very heart) to make

Another, Lady Dutchesse; and depose you.

Well, goe your waies in. Divell, you have redeem'd all.

I doe forgive you. And I'll doe you good.

Act. III. Scene. VIII.

Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. Traines.

WHy ha'you these excursions? where ha'you beene, Sir?

Fit.

Where I ha'beene vex'd a little, with a toy!

Mer.

O Sir! no toies must trouble your grave head,

Now it is growing to be great. You must

Be above all those things.

Fit.

Nay, nay, so I will.

Mer.

Now you are to'ard the Lord, you must put off

The man, Sir.

Ing.

He saies true.

Mer.

You must doe nothing

As you ha'done it heretofore; not know,

Or salute any man.

Ing.

That was your bed-fellow,

The other moneth.

Mer.

The other moneth? the weeke.

Thou dost not know the priviledges, Ingine,

Follow that Title; nor how swift: To day,

When he has put on his Lords face once, then—

Fit.

Sir, for these things I shall doe well enough,

There is no feare of me. But then, my wife is

Such an untoward thing! shee'll never learne

How to comport with it! I am out of all

Conceipt, on her behalfe.

Mer.

Best have her taught, Sir.

Fit.

Where? Are there any Schooles for Ladies? Is there

An Academy for women? I doe know,

For men there was: I learn'd in it, my selfe,

Ingine whispers Merecraft, Merecraft turnes to Fitz-dottrel.

To make my legges, and doe my postures.

Ing.

Sir.

Doe you remember the conceipt you had—

O'the Spanish gowne, at home?

Mer.

Ha! I doe thanke thee,

With all my heart, deare Ingine. Sir, there is

A certaine Lady, here about the Towne,

An English widdow, who hath lately travell'd,

But shee's call'd the Spaniard; cause she came

Latest from thence: keeps the Spanish habit.

Such a rare woman! all our women heere,

That are of spirit, and fashion flocke, unto her,

As to their President; their Law; their Canon;

More then they ever did, to Oracle-Foreman.

Such rare receipts she has, Sir, for the face;

Such oyles; such tinctures; such pomatumn's;

Such perfumes; med'cines; quintessences, &c.

And such a mistresse of behavior;

She knowes, from the Dukes daughter, to the Doxey,

What is their due just: and no more!

Fit.

O, Sir!

You please me i'this, more then mine owne greatnesse.

[Page 29]Where is she? Let us have her.

Mer.

by your patience,

We must use meanes; cast how to be acquainted —

Fit.

Good Sir, about it.

Mer.

We must think how, first,

Fit.

I do not love to tarry for a thing,

When I have a mind to't. You doe not know me.

If you doe offer it.

Mer.

Your wife must send

Some pretty token to her, with a complement,

And pray to be receiv'd in her graces,

All the great Ladies do't,

Fit.

She shall, she shall,

What were it best to be?

Mer.

Some little toy,

I would not have it any great matter, Sir:

A Diamant ring, of forty or fifty pound,

Would doe it handsomely: and be a gift

Fit for your wife to send, and her to take.

Fit.

I'll goe,

Fitz-dottrel goes out.

and tell my wife on't, streight.

Mer.

Why this

Is well! the clothes we'have now: But where's this Lady?

If we could get a witty boy, now, Ingine;

That were an excellent cracke. I could instruct him,

To the true height. For any thing takes this dottrel.

Ing.

Why, Sir your best will be one o'the players!

Mer.

No, there's no trusting them. They'll talke on't,

And tell their Poets.

Ing.

What if they doe? the jest

Will brooke the Stage. But there be some of'hem

Are very honest Lads. There's Dicke Robinson

A very pretty fellow, and comes often

To a Gentlemans chamber, a friends of mine. We had

The merriest supper of it there, one night,

The Gentlemans Land-lady invited him

To'a Gossips feast, Now, he Sir brought Dick Robinson,

Drest like a Lawyers wife, amongst'hem all;

(I lent him cloathes) but, to see him behave it;

And lay the law; and carve; and drinke unto'hem;

And then talke baudy: and send frolicks! o!

It would have burst your bottons, or not left you

A seame.

Mer.

They say hee's an ingenious youth!

Ing.

O Sir! and dresses himselfe, the best! beyond

Forty o'your very Ladies! did you ne'r see him?

Mer.

No, I doe seldome see those toyes. But thinke you,

That we may have him?

Ing.

Sir, the young Gentleman

I tell you of, can command him. Shall I attempt it?

Mer.

Yes doe it.

Fit.

S'light,

Enters again.

I cannot get my wife

To part with a ring, on any termes: and yet,

The sollen Monkey has two.

Mer.

It were'gainst reason,

That you should urge it; Sir, send to a Gold-smith,

Let not her lose by't.

Fit.

How do's she lose by't?

Is't not for her?

Mer.

Make it your owne bounty,

It will ha'the better successe; what is a matter

Of fifty pound to you, Sir.

Fit.

I have but a hundred

Pieces, to shew here; that I would not breake—

Mer.

You shall ha'credit, Sir. I'll send a ticket

[Page 30]Unto my Gold-smith. Heere, my man comes too,

Traines enters.

To carry it fitly. How, now, Traines? What birds?

Tra.

Your Cousin Ever-ill met me, and has beat me,

Because I would not tell him where you were:

I thinke he has dogd me to the house too.

Fit.

Well—

You shall goe out at the back-doore, then, Traines.

You must get Guilt-head hither, by some meanes:

Tra.

'Tis impossible!

Fit.

Tell him we have venison,

I'll g'him a piece, and send his wife a Phesant.

Tra.

A Forrest moves not till that forty pound,

Yo'had of him, last, be pai'd. He keepes more stirre,

For that same petty some, then for your bond

Of sixe; and Statute of eight hundred!

Fit.

Tell him

Wee'll hedge in that. Cry up Fitz-dottrell to him,

Double his price: Make him a man of mettall.

Tra.

That will not need, his bond is currant inough.

Act. III. Scene. I.Guilt-head. Plutarchus.
ALl this is to make you a Gentleman:
I'll have you learne, Sonne. Wherefore have I plac'd you
With Sir. Pould Either-side, but to have so much Law
To keepe your owne? Besides, he is a Iustice,
Here i'the Towne; and dwelling, Sonne, with him,
You shall learne that in a yeere, shall be worth twenty
Of having stay'd you at Oxford, or at Cambridge,
Or sending you to the Innes of Court, or France.
I am call'd for now in haste, by Master Meere-craft
To trust Master Fitz-dottrell, a good man:
I'have inquir'd him, eighteene hundred a yeere,
(His name is currant) for a diamant ring
Of forty, shall not be worth thirty (thats gain'd)
And this is to make you a Gentleman!
Plu.
O, but good father, you trust too much!
Gui.
Boy, boy,
We live, by finding fooles out, to be trusted.
Our shop-bookes are our pastures, our corn-grounds,
We lay'hem op'n, for them to come into:
And when we have 'hem there, we drive 'hem up
In t'one of our two Pounds, the Compters, streight,
And this is to make you a Gentleman!
We Citizens never trust, but we doe coozen:
For, if our debters pay, we coozen them;
And if they do not, then we coozen our selves.
But that's a hazard every one must runne,
[Page 31]That hopes to make his Sonne a Gentleman!
Plu.
I doe not wish to be one, truly, Father.
In a descent, or two, we come to be
Just 'itheir state, fit to be coozend, like 'hem.
And I had rather ha'tarried i'your trade:
For, since the Gentry scorne the Citty so much,
Me thinks we should in time, holding together,
And matching in our owne tribes, as they say,
Have got an Act of Common Councell, for it,
That we might coozen them out of rerum natura.
Gui.
I, if we had an Act first to forbid
The marrying of our wealthy heires unto 'hem:
And daughters, with such lavish portions,
That confounds all.
Plu.
And makes a Mungril breed, Father.
And when they have your money then they laugh at you:
Or kick you downe the staires. I cannot abide 'hem.
I would faine have 'hem coozen'd, but not trusted.

Act. III. Scene. II.

Meere-craft. Guilt-head. Fitz-dottrell. Plutarchus.

O, Is he come! I knew he would not faile me.

Welcome, good Guilt-head, I must ha'you doe

A noble Gentleman, a courtesie, here:

In a mere toy (some pretty Ring, or Jewell)

Of fifty, or threescore pound (Make it a hundred,

And hedge in the last forty, that I owe you,

And your owne price for the Ring) He's a good man, Sir,

And you may hap' see him a great one! He,

Is likely to bestow hundreds, and thousands,

Wi'you; if you can humour him. A great Prince

He will be shortly. What doe you say?

Gui.

In truth, Sir

I cannot. 'T has beene a long vacation with us.

Fit.

Of what, I pray thee? of wit? or honesty?

Those are your Citizens long vacations.

Plu.

Good Father do not trust 'hem.

Mer.

Nay, Thom. Guilt-head.

He will not buy a courtesie and begge it:

He'll rather pay, then pray. If you doe for him,

You must doe cheerefully. His credit, Sir,

Is not yet prostitute! Who's this? thy sonne?

A pretty youth, what's his name?

Plu.

Plutarchus, Sir.

Mer.

Plutarchus! How came that about?

Gui.

That yeere Sir,

That I begot him, I bought Plutarch's lives,

And fell s' in love with the booke, as I call'd my sonne

By'his name; In hope he should be like him:

And write the lives of our great men!

Mer.

I'the City?

And you doe breed him, there?

Gui.

His mind, Sir, lies

Much to that way.

Mer.

Why, then, he is i'the right way.

Gui.

[Page 32]

But, now, I had rather get him him a good wife,

And plant him i'the country; there to use

The blessing I shall leave him.

Mer.

Out upont't!

And lose the laudable meanes, thou hast at home, here,

T'advance, and make him a young Alderman?

Buy him a Captaines place, for shame; and let him

Into the world, early, and with his plume,

And Scarfes, march through Cheapside, or along Cornehill,

And by the vertue' of those, draw downe a wife

There from a windo', worth ten thousand pound!

Get him the posture booke, and's leaden men,

To set upon a table, 'gainst his Mistresse

Chance to come by, that he may draw her in,

And shew her Finsbury battells.

Gui.

I have plac'd him

With Justice Etherside, to get so much law—

Mer.

As thou hast conscience! Come, come, thou dost wrong

Pretty Plutarchus, who had not his name,

For nothing: but was borne to traine the youth

Of London, in the millitary truth—

That way his Genius lies. My Cousin Ev [...]rill!

Act. III. Scene. III.

Ever-ill. Plutarchus. Guilt-head. Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell.

O, Are you heere, Sir? 'pray you let us whisper.

Plu.

Father, deare Father, trust him if you love me.

Guil.

Why, I doe meane it, boy; but, what I doe,

Must not come easily from me: Wee must deale

With Courtiers, boy, as Courtiers deale with us.

If I have a Businesse there, with any of them,

Why, I must waite, I'am sure on't, Son▪ and though

My Lord dispatch me, yet his worshipfull man—

Will keepe me for his sport, a moneth, or two,

To shew me with my fellow Cittizens.

I must make his traine long, and full, one quarter;

And helpe the spectacle of his greatnesse. There,

Nothing is done at once, but injuries, boy:

And they come head-long! all their good turnes move not,

Or very slowly.

Plu.

Yet sweet father, trust him.

Gui.

Well, I will thinke..

Ev.

Come, you must do't, Sir.

I'am undone else, and your Lady Tail-bush

Has sent for me to dinner, and my cloaths

Are all at pawne. I had sent out this morning,

Before I heard you were come to towne, some twenty

Of my Epistles, and no one returne—

Mer.

Why, I ha' told you o'this. This comes of wearing

Mere-craft [...]ells him of his faults.

Scarlet, gold lace, and cut-works! your fine gartring!

With your blowne roses, Cousin! and your eating

[Page 33] Phesant, and Godwit. here in London! haunting

The Globes, and Mermaides! and wedging in with Lords,

Still at the table! and affecting lechery,

In velvet! where could you ha'contented your selfe

With cheese, salt-butter, and a pickled hering,

I'the Low-countries; there worne cloth, and fustian!

Beene satisfied with a leape o'your Host's daughter,

In garrison, a wench of a stoter! or,

Your Sulters wife, i'the leaguer, of two blanks!

You never, then, had runne upon this flat,

To write your letters missive, and send out

Your privy seales, that thus have frighted off

All your acquaintance; that they shun you at distance,

Worse, then you do the Bailies!

Eve.

Pox upon you.

I come not to you for counsell,

He repines,

I lack money.

Mer.

You doe not thinke, what you owe me already?

Eve.

They owe you that meane to pay you. I'll besworne,

I never meant it. Come, you will project, [...]

I shall undoe your practice,

and threatens him.

for this moneth [...]

You know me.

Mer.

I yo'are a right sweet nature!

Eve.

Well, that's all one!

Mer.

You'll leave this Empire, one day?

You will not ever have this tribute payd,

Your scepter o'the sword?

Eve.

Tye up your wit,

Doe, and provoke me not—

Mer.

Will you, Sir, helpe,

To what I shall provoke another for you?

Eve.

I cannot tell; try me: I thinke I am not

So utterly, of an ore un-to-be-melted,

But I can doe my selfe good, on occasions.

Mer.

Strike in then,

They joyne [...]

for your part. Mr. Fitz-dottrel

If I transgresse in point of manners, afford me

Your best construction; I must beg my freedome

From your affaires, this day.

Fit.

How, Sir.

Mer.

It is

In succor of this Gentlemans occasions,

Meere-craft pretends businesse.

My kins-man—

Fit.

You'll not doe me that affront, Sir.

Mer.

I am sorry you should so interpret it,

But, Sir, it stands upon his being invested,

In a new, office, he has stood for, long:

Master of the Dependances!

Meere-craft describes the office of Dependancy.

A place

Of my projection too, Sir, and hath met

Much opposition; but the State, now see's

That great necessity of it, as after all

Their writing, and their speaking, against Divells,

They have erected it. His booke is drawne—

For, since, there will be differences, daily,

'Twixt Gentlemen; and that the roaring manner

Is growne offensive; that those few, we call

The civill men o'the sword, abhorre the vapours;

They shall refer now, hither, for their processe;

And such as trespasse 'gainst the rule of Court,

Are to be fin'd—

Fit.

In troth, a pretty place!

Mer.

[Page 34]

A kinde of arbitrary Court 'twill be, Sir.

Fit.

I shall have matter for it, I beleeve,

Ere it be long: I had a distast.

Mer.

But now, Sir,

My learned councell, they must have a feeling,

They'll part, Sir, with no bookes, without the hand gout

Be oyld, and I must furnish. If 't be money,

To me streight. I am Mine, Mint and Exchequer,

To supply all. What is't? a hundred pou [...]d?

Eve.

No th'Harpey, now stands on a hundred pieces.

Mer.

Why, he must have 'hem, if he will. To morrow, Sir,

Will equally serve your occasion's,—

And therefore, let me obtaine, that you will yeeld

To timing a poore Gentlemans distresses,

In termes of hazard.—

Fit.

By no meanes!

Mer.

I must

Get him him this money, and will.—

Fit.

Sir, I protest,

I'd rather stand engag'd for it my selfe:

Then you should leave me.

Mer.

O good Sir, doe you thinke

So coursely of our manners, that we would,

For any need of ours, be prest to take it:

Though you be pleas'd to offer it.

Fit.

Why by heaven,

I meane it!

Mer.

I can never beleeve lesse.

He offers to be gone.

But we, Sir, must preserve our dignity,

As you doe publish yours. By your faire leave, Sir.

Fit.

As I am a Gentleman, if you doe offer

To leave me now, or if you doe refuse me,

I will not thinke you love me.

Mer.

Sir, I honour you.

And with just reason, for these noble notes,

Of the nobility, you pretend too! But, Sir —

I would know, why? a motive (he a stranger)

You should doe this?

(Eve.

You'll mar all with your finenesse)

Fit.

Why, that's all one, if 'twere, Sir, but my fancy.

But I have a Businesse, that perhaps I'd have

Brought to his office.

Mer.

O, Sir! I have done, then;

If he can be made profitable, to you.

Fit.

Yes, and it shall be one of my ambitions

To [...] it the first Businesse? May I not?

Eve.

So you doe meane to make't, a perfect Businesse.

Fit.

Nay I'll doe that assure you: shew me once.

[...]

Sir [...] [...] concernes, the first be a perfect Businesse,

[...] his ow [...] [...]onour!

Eve.

I, and th'reputation

To [...] my place.

Fit.

Why, why, doe I take this course, else?

[...] not altogether, an Asse, good Gentlemen,

Wherefore should I consult you? doe you thinke?

To make a song on't? How's your manner? tell us.

Mer.

Doe, satisfie him: give him the whole course.

Eve.

First, by request, or otherwise you offer

Your Businesse to the Court: wherein you crave:

The judgement of the Master and the Assistants.

Fit.

Well, that's done, now, what doe you upon it▪

Eve.

We streight Sir, haue recourse to the spring-head;

[Page 39]Visit the ground; and so disclose the nature:

If it will carry, or no. If we doe finde,

By your proportions it is like to prove

A sullen, and blacke Bus'nesse That it be

Incorrigible; and out of, treaty; then,

We file it, a Dependance!

Fit.

So 'tis fil'd.

What followes? I doe love the order of these things.

Eve.

We then advise the party, if he be

A man of meanes and havings▪ that forth-with,

He settle his estate: if not, at least

That he pretend it. For, by that, the world

Takes notice, thatt inow is a Dependance.

And this we call, Sir, Publication.

Fit.

Very sufficient! After Publication, now?

Eve

Then we grant out our Processe, which is divers▪

Either by Chartell, Sir, or ore-tenus,

Wherein the Challenger, and Challengee

Or (with your Spaniard) your Provocador,

And Provocado, have their severall courses—

Fit.

I have enough on't! for an hundred pieces?

Yes, for two hundred, under-write me doe.

Your man will take my bond?

Mer.

That he will, sure,

But, these same Citizens, they are such sharks!

There's an old debt of forty,

He whispers Fitz-dottrel aside.

I ga'my word

For one is runne away, into the Bermudas,

And he will hooke in that, or he wi'not doe.

Fit.

Why let him. That and the ring, and a hundred pieces,

Will all but make two hundred?

Mer.

No,

And then Guilt-head.

no more, Sir.

What ready Arithmetique you have? do you heare?

A pretty mornings worke for you, this? Do it,

You shall ha' twenty pound on't.

Gui.

Twenty pieces?

(Plu.

Good Father, do't)

Mer.

You will hooke still? well▪

Shew us your ring. You could not ha'done this, now

With gentlenesse, at first, we might ha'thank'd you▪

But groane, and ha'your courtesies come from you

Like a hard stoole, and stinke? A man may draw

Your teeth out easier, then your money? Come,

Were little Guilt-head heere, no better a nature,

I should ne'r love him,

He pulls Plutarchus by the lips.

that could pull his lips off, now▪

Was not thy mother a Gentlewoman?

Plu.

Yes, Sir.

Mer.

And went to the Court at Christmas, and St. Georges-tide?

And lent the Lords-men, chaines?

Plu.

Of gold, and pearle, Sir.

Mer.

I knew, thou must take, after some body!

Thou could'st not be else. This was no shop-looke

I'll ha'thee Captaine Guilt-head, and march up,

And take in Pimlico, and kill the bush,

At every taverne! Thou shalt have a wife,

If smocks will mount,

He tu [...]ns to old Guilt-head.

boy. How now? you ha'there now

Some Bristo-stone, or Cornish counterfet

You'ld put upon us.

Guil.

No, Sir, I assure you:

[Page 36]Looke on his luster! he will speake himselfe!

I'le gi'you leave to put him i'the Mill,

H'is no great, large stone, but a true Paragon,

H'has all his corners, view him well.

Mer.

H'is yellow.

Gui.

Vpo'my faith, Sir, o'the right black-water,

And very deepe! H'is set without a foyle, too.

Here's one o'the yellow water, I'll sell cheape.

Mer.

And what doe you valew this at? thirty pound?

Gui.

No, Sir, he cost me forty, ere he was set.

Mer.

Turnings, you meane? I know your Equivocks ▪

You'are growne the better Fathers of'hem o'late,

Well, where't must goe, twill be judg'd, and therefore,

Looke you't be right. You shall have fity pound for't.

Now to Fitz-dottrel.

Not a dencer more! And because you would

Have things dispatch'd, Sir, I'll goe presently,

Inquire out this Lady, If you thinke good Sir.

Having an hundred pieces ready, you may

Part with those, now, to serve my kinsmans turnes,

That he may wait upon you, anon, the freer;

And take 'hem when you ha' seal'd, againe, of Guilt-head.

Fit.

I care not if I doe!

Mer.

And dispatch all,

Together,

Fit.

Th'are just: a hundred pieces!

I' ha' told 'hem over, twice a day, these two months.

Mer.

He turnes 'hem out together. And Everill and he fall to share.

Well, goe and seale then, Sir, make your returne

As speedy as you can.

Eve.

Come gi' me.

Mer.

Soft Sir.

Eve.

Marry, and faire too, then. I'll no delaying, Sir.

Mer.

But you will heare?

Eve.

Yes, when I have my divident.

Mer.

There's forty pieces for you.

Eve.

What is this for?

Mer.

Your halfe. You know that Guilt-head must ha'twenty.

Eve.

And what's your ring there? shall I ha' none o'that?

Mer.

O, that's to be given to a Lady!

Eve.

Is't so?

Mer.

By that good light, it is.

Eve.

Come, gi'me

Ten pieces more then.

Mer.

Why?

Eve.

For Guilt, head? Sir,

Doe you thinke, I'll [...]low him any such share.

Mer.

You must.

Eve.

Must I? Doe you your musts, Sir, I'll doe mine,

You wi'not part with the whole, Sir? Will you? Goe too.

Gi' me ten pieces!

Mer.

By what law doe you this?

Eve.

E'n Lyon-law, Sir, I must roare else.

Mer.

Good!

Eve.

Yo'have heard, how th' Asse made his divisions wisely?

Mer.

And I am he, I thanke you.

Eve.

Much good doe you, Sir.

Mer.

I shall be rid o'this tyranny, one day?

Eve.

Not,

While you doe eate, and lie about the towne here;

And coozen i'your bullions and I stand

Your name of credit, and compound your businesse;

Adjourne beatings every terme; and make

New parties for your projects. I have now

A pretty tasque of it, to hold you in

Wi'your Lady Taile-bush: but the toy will be,

How we shall both come off?

Mer.

Leave your doubting,

And doe your portion, what's assign'd you: I

[Page 37]Never fail'd yet.

Eve.

With reference to your aides?

You'll still be unthankfull. Where shall I meete you anon?

You ha' some feate to be done alone, now, I see;

You wish me gone, well, I will finde you out,

And bring you after to the audit.

Mer.

S'light!

There's Ingines share too▪ I had forgot! This raigne

Is too-too unsuportable! I must

Quit my selfe of this vassalege! Ingine! welcome.

Act. III. Scene. IV.

Meer-craft. Wittipol. Ingine.

HOw goes the cry?

Ing

Excellent well!

Mer.

Wil't do?

Where's Robinson?

Ing.

Here is the Gentleman, Sir.

Will undertake t'himselfe. I have acquainted him.

Mer.

Why did you so?

Ing.

Why, Robinson would ha'told him,

You know. And he's a pleasant wit! will hurt

Nothing you purpose. Then, he'is of opinion,

That Robinson might have audacity,

She being such a gallant. Now, he has beene,

In Spaine, and knowes the fashions there, and can

Discourse; and being but mirth (he saies) leave much,

To his care:

Mer.

But he is too tall!

Ing.

For that,

He has the bravest device!

He excepts at his stature.

(you'll love him for't)

To say, he weares Cioppin [...]s: and they doe so

In Spaine. And Robinson's as tall, as he.

Mer.

Is he so?

Ing.

Every jot.

Mer.

Nay, I had rather

To trust a Gentleman with it, o'the two.

Ing.

Pray you goe to him, then, Sir, and salute him.

Mer.

Sir, my friend Ingine has acquainted you

With a strange businesse, here.

Wit.

A merry one, Sir.

The Duke of Droun'd land, and his Dutchesse?

Mer.

Yes, Sir.

Now, that the Conjurers ha'laid him by,

I ha'made bold to borrow him a while;

Wit.

With purpose, yet, to put him out I hope

To his best use?

Mer.

Yes, Sir.

Wit.

For that small part,

That I am trusted with, put off your care:

I would not lose to doe it, for the mirth,

Will follow of it; and well I have a fancy.

Mer.

Sir, that will make it well.

Wit.

You will report it so.

Where must I have my dressing?

Ing.

At my house, Sir.

Mer.

You shall have caution, Sir, for what he yeelds,

To six pence.

Wit.

You shall pardon me. I will share, Sir,

I' your sports, only: nothing i'your purchase.

But you must furnish me with complements,

To th'manner of Spaine; my coach, my guarda duenn'as;

Mer.

Ingine's your Pro'vedor. But, Sir, I must

(Now I'have entred trust wi'you, thus farre)

[Page 38]Secure still i'your quality, acquaint you

With somewhat, beyond this. The place design'd

To be the Scene, for this our merry matter,

Because it must have countenance of women,

To draw discourse, and offer it, is hereby,

At the Lady Taile-bushes.

Wit.

I know her, Sir▪

And her Gentleman huisher.

Mer.

Mr. Ambler?

Wit.

Yes, Sir.

Mer.

Sir, it shall be no shame to me, to confesse

To you that we poore Gentlemen, that want acres,

Must for our needs, turne fooles up, and plough Ladies

Sometimes, to try what glebe they are: and this

Is no unfruitfull piece. She and I now,

Are on a project for the fact, and venting

Of a new kinde of fucus (paint for Ladies)

To serve the kingdome: wherein she her selfe

Hath travell'd, specially by way of service

Vnto her sexe, and hopes to get the Monopoly,

As the reward of her invention.

Wit.

What is her end, in this▪

[...].

Merely ambition,

Sir, to grow great, and court it with the secret:

Though she pretend some other. For she's dealing,

Already, upon caution for the shares,

And Mr. Ambler, is he nam'd Examiner

For the ingredients; and the Register

Of what is vented; and shall keepe the Office.

Now, if she breake with you, of this (as I

Must make the leading thred to your acquaintance,

That how experience gotten i'your being

Abroad, will helpe our businesse) thinke of some

Pretty additions, but to keepe her floting:

It may be, she will offer you a part,

Any strange names of—

Wit.

Sir, I have my instructions.

Is it not high time to be making ready?

Mer.

Yes, Sir,

Ing.

The foole's in sight, D [...]ttrel.

Mer.

Away then.

Act. III. Scene. V.

Mere-craft, Fitz-dottrell, Pug.

REturn'd so soone?

Fit.

Yes, here's the ring: I ha' seal'd.

But there's not so much gold in all the row, he saies—

Till't come fro' the Mint. 'Tis tane up for the gamsters.

Mer.

There's a shop-shift! plague on'hem.

Fit.

He do's sweare it.

Mer.

He'll sweare, and forsweare too, it is his trade,

You should not have left him.

Fit.

S'lid, I can goe backe,

And beat him, yet.

Mer.

No, now let him alone.

Fit.

I was so earnest, after the maine Businesse,

To have this ring, gone.

Mer.

True, and 'tis time.

I have learn'd, Sir, sin'you went, her Ladiship eats

[Page 39]With the Lady Tail-bush, here, hard by.

Fit.

I'the lane here?

Mer.

Yes, if yo'had a servant, now of presence,

Well cloth'd, and of an aëry voluble tongue,

Neither too bigge, or little for his mouth,

That could deliver your wives complement;

To send along withall.

Fit.

I have one Sir,

A very handsome, gentleman-like-fellow,

That I doe meane to make my Dutchesse Vsher—

I entertain'd him, but this morning, too:

I'll call him to you. The worst of him, is his name!

Mer.

She'll take no note of that, but of his message.

Fit.

Divell!

He shewes him his Pug.

How like you him, Sir. Pace, go a little.

Let's see you move.

Mer.

He'll serve, Sir, give it him:

And let him goe along with me, I'll helpe

To present him, and it.

Fit.

Looke, you doe sirah,

Discharge this well, as you expect your place.

Do'you heare,

Gives him instructions.

goe on, come off with all your honours.

I would faine see him, do it.

Mer.

Trust him, with it;

Fit.

Remember kissing of your hand, and answering

With the French-time, in flexure of your body.

I could not so instruct him— and for his words—

Mer

I'll put them in his mouth.

Fit.

O, but I have 'hem

O'the very Academies!

Mer.

Sir, you'll have use for'hem,

Anon,

He longs to see the play.

your selfe, I warrant you: after dinner,

When you are call'd.

Fit.

S'light, that'll be just play-time.

It cannot be, I must not lose the play!

Mer.

Sir,

Because it is the Divell.

but you must, if she appoint to sit.

And, she's president.

Fit.

S'lid, it is the Divell!

Mer.

And 'twere his Damme too, you must now apply

Your selfe, Sir, to this, wholly; or lose all.

Fit.

If I could but see a piece—

Mer.

Sir. Never think on't.

Fit.

Come but to one act, and I did not care—

But to be seene to rise, and goe away,

To vex the Players, and to punish their Poet—

Keepe him in awe!

Mer.

But say, that he be ont,

Wi'not be aw'd [...] but laugh at you. How then?

Fit.

Then he shall pay for'his dinner himselfe.

Mer.

Perhaps,

He would do that twice, rather then thanke you.

Come, get the Di [...]ell out of your head, my Lord,

(I'll call you so in private still) and take

Your Lord-ship i'your minde.

He puts him in mind of his quarrell.

You were, sweet Lord,

In talke to bringe a Businesse to the Office.

Fit.

Yes.

Mer.

Why should not you, Sir, carry it o'your selfe,

Before the Office be up? and shew the world,

You had no need of any mans direction;

In point, Sir, of sufficiency. I speake

Against a kinsman, but as one that [...]enders

Your graces good.

Fit.

I thanke you; to proceed—

Mer.

To Publications: ha'your Deed drawne presently.

And leave a blancke to put in your Fe [...]ffees

[Page 40]One, two, or more, as you see cause —

Fit.

I thanke you

Heartily, I doe thanke you. Not a word more,

I pray you, as you love me. Let me alone.

He is angry with himselfe.

That I could not thinke o'this, as well as he?

O, I could beate my infinite blocke-head —!

Mer.

Come, we must this way.

Pug.

How far is't.

Mer.

Hard by here

Over the way. Now, to atchieve this ring,

He thinkes how to coozen the bearer of the ring.

From this same fellow, that is to assure it;

Before he give it. Though my Spanish Lady,

Be a young Gentleman of meanes, and scorne

To share as he doth say, I doe not know

How such a toy may tempt his Ladyship:

And therefore, I thinke best, it be assur'd.

Pug.

Sir, be the Ladies brave, we goe unto?

Mer.

O, yes.

Pug.

And shall I see 'hem, and speake to 'hem?

Mer.

Questions his man.

What else? ha'you your false beard about you? Traines.

Tra.

Yes.

Mer.

And is this one of your double Cloakes?

Tra.

The best of 'hem.

Mer.

Be ready then. Sweet Pitfall!

Act. III. Scene. VI.

Mere-craft, Pitfall, Pug, Traines.

COme, I must busse —

Pit.

Away.

Mer.

I'll set thee up againe;

Offers to kisse.

Never feare that: canst thou get ne'r a bird?

No Thrushes hungry? Stay till cold weather come,

I'll helpe thee to an Ousell, or a Field-fare.

She runs in, in haste: he followes.

Who's within with Madame?

Pit.

I'll tell you straight.

Mer.

Please you stay here a while Sir, I'll goe in.

Pug.

I doe so long to have a little venery,

Pug leaps at Pitfall's comming in.

While I am in this body! I would taste

Of every sinne, a little, if it might be

After the manner of man! Sweet heart!

Pit.

What would you, Sir?

Pug.

Nothing but fall in, to you, be your Blacke-bird,

My pretty pit (as the Gentleman said) your Throstle:

Lye tame, and taken with you; here'is gold!

To buy you so much new stuffes from the shop,

Traine's in his false cloak brings a false message, & gets the ring.

As I may take the old up —

Tra.

You must send, Sir,

The Gentleman the ring.

Pug.

There 'tis. Nay looke,

Will you be foolish, Pit.

Pit.

This is strange rudenesse.

Pug

Deare Pit.

Pit.

I'll call, I sweare.

Mer.

Where are you, Sir?

Is your ring ready? Goe with me.

Pug.

I sent it you.

Mer.

Mere craft followes presently, and askes for it.

Me? When? by whom?

Pug.

A fellow here, e'en now,

Came for it i'your name.

Mer.

I sent none, sure.

My meaning ever was, you should deliver it,

Your selfe: So was your Masters charge, you know.

Ent. Train's as himselfe againe.

What fellow was it, doe you know him?

Pug.

Here,

But now, he had it.

Mer.

Saw you any? Traines?

Tra.

Not I.

Pug.

The gentleman saw him.

Mer.

Enquire.

Pug.

[Page 41]

I was so earnest upon her, I mark'd not!

The Divell confesseth himselfe coozen'd.

My divellish Chiefe has put me here in flesh,

To shame me! This dull body I am in,

I perceive nothing with! I offer at nothing,

That will succeed!

Tra.

Sir, she saw none, she saies.

Pug.

Satan himselfe, has tane a shape t'abuse me.

It could not be else!

Meere-craft accuseth him of negligence.

Mer.

This is above strange?

That you should be so retchlesse. What'll you do Sir?

How will you answer this, when you are question'd?

Pug.

Run from my flesh, if I could: put off mankind!

This's such a scorne! and will be a new exercise,

For my Arch-Duke! Woe to the severall cudgells,

Must suffer,

He asketh aide.

on this backe! Can you no suckers? Sir?

Mer.

Alas! use of it is so present.

Pug.

I aske,

Sir, credit for another, but till to morrow?

Mer.

There is not so much time, Sir. But how ever,

The Lady is a noble Lady, and will

(To save a Gentleman from check) be intreated

Merecraft promiseth faintly, yet comfor [...] him.

To say, she ha's receiv'd it.

Pug.

Do you thinke so?

Will she be won?

Mer.

No doubt, to such an office,

It will be a Lady's bravery, and her pride.

Pug.

And not be knowne on't after, unto him?

Mer.

That were a treachery! Upon my word.

Be confident. Returne unto your master,

My Lady President sits this after-noone,

Ha's tane the ring, commends her services

Vnto your Lady-Dutchesse. You may say

She's a civell Lady, and do's give her

All her respects, already: Bad you tell her

She lives, but to receive her wish'd commandements,

And have the honour here to kisse her hands:

For which shee'll stay this houre yet. Hasten you

Your Prince, away.

Pug.

And Sir, you will take care

Th'excuse be perfect?

The Divell is doubtfull.

Mer.

You confesse your feares.

Too much.

Pug.

The shame is more, I'll quit you of either.

Act. VI. Scene. I.

Taile▪ bush. Mere-craft, Manly.

APox upo' referring to Commissioners,

I'had rather heare that it were past the seales:

Your Courtiers move so Snaile-like i'your Businesse.

Would I had not begun wi'you.

Mer.

Wee must move,

Madame, in order, by degrees [...] not jump.

Tai.

Why, there was Sr. Iohn M [...]mis-man could jump

[Page 42]A Businesse quickely.

Mer.

True he had great friends,

But because some, sweet Madame, can leape ditches,

We must not all shunne to goe over bridges,

The harder parts, I make account are done:

He flatters her.

Now 'tis referr'd. You are infinitely bound

Vnto the Ladies, they ha' so cri'd it up!

Tay.

Doe they like it then?

Mer.

They ha' sent the Spanish Lady

To gratulate with you—

Tay.

I must send 'hem thankes

And some remembrances.

Mer.

That you must, and visit 'hem.

Where's Ambler?

Tay.

Lost to day, we cannot heare of him.

Mer.

Not madame?

Tay.

No in good faith. They say he lay not

At home to night, And here has fallen a Businesse

Betweene your Cousin and Master Manly, has

Vnquieted us all.

Mer.

So I heare, madame.

Pray you how was it?

Tay.

Troth, it but appeares

Ill o'your Kinsmans part. You may have heard,

That Manly is a su [...]or to me, I doubt not:

Mer.

I guess'd it, madame.

Tay.

And it seemes he trusted

Your Cousin to let fall some faire reports

Of him unto me.

Mer.

Which he did!

Tay.

So farre

From it, as he came in and tooke him rayling

Against him.

Mer.

How! And what said Manly to him?

Tay.

Enough, I doe assure you: and with that scorne

Of him, and the injury, as I doe wonder

How Everill bore it! But that guilt undoe's

Many mens valors.

Mer.

Here comes Manly. Man. madame,

Manly offers to be gone.

I'll take my leave—

Tay.

You sha'not goe, [...]'faith.

I'll ha' you stay and see this Spanish miracle,

Of our English Lady.

Man.

Let me pray your Ladiship,

Lay your commands on me some other time.

Tay.

Now, I protest: and I will have all piec'd,

And friends againe.

Man.

It will be but ill [...]older'd!

Tay.

You are too much affected with it.

Man.

I cannot

Madame, but thinke on't for th'injustice.

Tay.

Sir,

Meer-craft denies him.

His Kinsman here is sorry. Not I Madame,

I am no kin to him, we but call Cousins,

And if we were, I have no relation

Vnto his crimes.

Man.

You are not urged with 'hem.

I can accuse Sir, none but mine owne judgement,

For though it were his crime so to betray me:

I am sure 'twas more mine owne, at all to trust him.

But he therein did use but his old manners,

And [...]avor strongly what he was before.

Tay.

Come, he will change!

Man.

Faith, I must never thinke i [...].

Nor were it reason in me to expect

That for my sake, he should put off a nature

He suck'd in with his milke. It may be Madame,

Deceiving trust is all he has to trust to:

If so, I shall be loath that any hope

Of mine should bate him of his meanes.

Tay.

Yo'are sharpe Sir.

[Page 43]This act may make him honest!

Man.

If he were

To be made honest, by an act of Parliament,

I should not alter,

She spies the Lady Either-side.

i'my faith of him.

Tay.

Either-side!

Welcome, deare Either-side! how hast thou done, good wench?

Thou hast beene a stranger [...] I ha'not seene thee, this weeke.

Act. IIII. Scene. II.

Either-side. To them

EVer your servant, madame.

Tay.

Where hast'hou beene?

I did so long to see thee.

Eit.

Visiting, and so tir'd!

I protest, madame, 'tis a monstrous trouble!

Tay.

And so it is. I sweare I must to morrow,

Begin my visits (would they were over) at Court.

It tortures me, to thinke on'hem.

Eit.

I doe heare

You ha'cause, madame, your sute goes on.

Tay.

Who told thee?

Eit.

One, that can tell: Mr. Either-side.

Tay.

O, t [...]y husband!

Yes faith, their's life in't, now: It is referr'd.

If we once see it under the seales, wench, then,

Have with 'hem for the great Carroch, sixe horses,

And the two Coach-men, with my Ambl [...]r, bare,

And my three women: we will live, i'faith,

The examples o'the towne, and governe it.

I'll leade the fashion still.

Eit.

You doe that, now,

Sweet madame.

Tay.

O, but then, I'll every day

Bring up some new device. Thou and I, Either-side,

Will first be in it, I will give it thee;

And they shall follow us. Thou shalt, I sweare,

Weare every moneth a new gowne, out of it.

Eit.

Thanke you good madame.

Tay.

Pray thee call mee Taile-bush

As I thee, Either-side; I not love this, madame.

Eit.

Then I protest to you Taile bush, I am glad

Your Businesse so succeeds.

Tay.

Thanke thee, good Either-side.

Eit.

But Mr. Either-side tells me, that he likes

Your other Businesse better.

Tay.

Which?

Eit.

O, the Toothpicks.

Tay.

I never heard on't.

Eit.

Aske Mr. Mere-craft.

Mer.

Madame? H'is one, in a word, I'll trust his malice,

With any mans credit,

Meere-craft hath whisper'd with the while.

I would have abus'd!

Man.

Sir, if you thinke you doe please me, in this,

You are deceiv'd!

Mer.

No, but because my Lady,

Nam'd him my kinsman, I would satisfie you,

What I thinke of him: and pray you, upon it

To judge mee!

Man.

So I doe: that ill mens friendship,

Is as unfaithfull, as themselves.

Tay.

Doe you heare?

Ha'you a Businesse about Tooth-picks?

Mer.

Yes, madame.

Did I ne'r tellt you? I ment to have offer'd it

Your Lady-ship, on the perfecting the pattent.

Tay.

How is't!

Mer.

For serving the whole state with Tooth picks;

[Page 44](Somewhat in intricate Businesse to discourse) but—

The Project for Toothpicks.

I shew, how much the Subject is abus'd,

First in that one commodity? then what diseases,

And putrefactions in the gummes are bred,

By those are made' of' adultrate, and false wood?

My plot, for reformation of these, followes.

To have all Tooth-picks, brought unto an office,

There seal'd; and such as counterfait 'hem, mulcted.

And last, for venting 'hem to have a booke

Printed, to teach their use, which every childe

Shall have throughout the kingdome, that can read,

And learne to picke his teeth by. Which beginning

Early to practice, with some other rules,

Of never sleeping with the mouth open, chawing

Some graines of mastick, will preserve the breath

Trains his man whispers him.

Pure, and so free from taint— ha'what is't? sai'st thou?

Tay.

Good faith, it sounds a very prety Bus'nesse!

Eit.

So Mr. Either-side saies, madame.

Mer.

The Lady is come.

Tay.

Is she? Good, waite upon her in. My Ambler

Was never so ill absent. Either-side,

How doe I looke to day? Am I not drest,

She lookes in her glasse.

Spruntly?

Fit.

Yes, verily, madame.

Tay.

Pox o'madame,

Will you not leave that?

Eit.

Yes good Tail-bush.

Tay.

So?

Sounds not that better? What vile Fucus is this,

Thou hast got on?

Eit.

'Tis Pearle.

Tay.

Pearle? oister-shells:

As I breath, Either-side, I know't. Here comes

(They say) a wonder, sirrah, has beene in Spaine!

Wil teach us all! shee's sent to me, from Court.

To gratulate with me! Pr'y thee, let's observe her,

What faults she has, that wee may laugh at 'hem,

When she is gone.

Eit.

That we will heartily, Tail bush.

Tay.

Wittipol enters.

O, me! the very Infanta of the Giants!

Act. IV. Scene. III.

Mere-craft. Wittipol. to them

MER.

Here is a noble Lady, madame, come,

Wittipol is drest like a Spanish Lady.

From your great friends, at Court, to see your Ladi-ship:

And have the honour of your acquaintance.

Tay.

Sir.

She do's us honour.

Wit.

Pray you, say to her Ladiship,

It is the manner of Spaine, to imbrace onely,

Excuses him selfe for not kissing.

Never to kisse. She will excuse the custome!

Tay.

Your use of it is law. Please you, sweete madame,

To take a seate.

Wit.

Yes, madame, I'have had

The favour, through a world of faire report

To know your vertues, madame,; and in that

Name have deserv'd the happinesse of presenting

My service to your Ladiship!

Tay.

Your love, madame,

[Page 45]I must not owne it else.

Wit.

Both are due madame,

To your great undertakings.

Tay.

Great? In troth, madame,

They are my friends, that thinke 'hem any thing:

If I can doe my sexe (by 'hem) any service,

I'have my ends, madame.

Wit.

And they are noble ones,

That make a multitude beholden, madame:

The common-wealth of Ladies, must acknowledge from you.

Eit.

Except some envious, madame.

Wit.

Yo'are right in that, madame,

Of which race, I encountred some but lately.

Who ('t seemes) have studied reasons to discredit

Your businesse.

Tay.

How sweet madames?

Wit.

Nay, the parties

W [...]'not be worth your p [...]use— Most ruinous things, madame,

That have put off all hope of being recover'd▪

To a degree of handsomenesse.

Tay.

But their reasons, madame?

I would faine heare.

Wit.

Some madame, I remember.

They say, that painting quite destroyes the face—

Eit.

O, that's an old one, madame.

Wit.

There are new ones, too.

Corrupts the breath; hath left so little sweetnesse

In kissing, as 'tis now us'd, but for fashion:

And shortly will be taken for a punishment.

Decaies the fore-teeth, that should guard the tongue;

And suffers that runne riot everlasting!

And (which is worse) some Ladies when they meete

Cannot be merry,

Manly begins to know him.

and laugh, but they doo spit

In one anothers faces!

Man.

I should know

This voice, and face too:

Wit.

Then they say, 'tis dangerous

To all the falne, yet well dispos'd Mad-dames,

That are industrious, and desire to earne

Their living with their sweate! For any distemper

Of heate, and motion, may displace the colours;

And if the paint once runne about their faces,

Twenty to one, they will appeare so ill-favour'd,

Their servants run away, too, and leave the pleasure

Imperfect, and the reckoning als'unpay'd.

Eit.

Pox, these are Poets reasons.

Tay.

Some old Lady

That keeps a Poet, has devis'd these scandals.

Eit.

Faith we must have the Poets banish'd, madame,

As Master Either-side saies.

Mer.

Master Fitz-dottrell?

And his wife: where? madame, the Duke of Droun'd-land,

That will be shortly.

Wit.

Is this my Lord?

Mer.

The same.

Act. IV. Scene. IV.

Fitz-dottrell. Mistresse Fitz-dottrell. Pug. to them.

YOur servant,

Wittipol whispers with Man [...]ly.

madame!

Wit.

How now? Friend? offended,

That I have found your haunt here?

Man.

No but wondring

At your strange fashion'd venture, hither.

Wit.

It is

To shew you what they are, you so pursue.

Man.

[Page 46]

I thinke 'twill prove a med'cine against marriage;

To know their manners.

Wit.

Stay, and profit then.

Mer.

The Lady, madame, whose Prince has brought her here,

He presents Mistresse Fitz-dottrell.

To be instructed.

Wit.

Please you sit with us Lady.

Mer.

That's Lady-President.

Fit.

A goodly woman!

I cannot see the ring, though.

Mer.

Sir, she has it.

Tay.

But madame, these are very feeble reasons!

Wit.

So I urg'd madame, that the new complexion,

Now to come forth, in name o'your Ladishipes fucus,

Had no ingredient—

Tay.

But I durst eate, I assure you.

Wit.

So doe they in Spaine.

Tay.

Sweet madame be so liberall,

To give us some o'your Spanish Fucuses!

Wit.

They are infinite madame.

Tay.

So I heare they have

Water of Gourdes, of Radish, the white Beanes,

Flowers of Glasse, of Thistles, Rose-marine.

Raw Honey, Mustard-seed, and bread dough-bak'd,

The crums o'bread, Goates milke, and whites of Egges,

Campheere and Lilly-rootes, the fat of Swannes,

Marrow of Veale, white Pidgeons, and pine-kernells,

The seed of Nettles, perse'line, and hares gall.

Limons, thine skind—

Eit.

How, her Ladiship has studied

All excellent things!

Wit.

But ordinary madame,

No, the true rarities are th'Alvagada,

And Argentata of Queene Isabella!

Tay.

I, what are their ingredients, gentle madame?

Wit.

Your Allum Scagliola, or Pol [...]dipedra;

And Zuccarino; Turpentine of Abezzo,

Wash'd in nine waters: Soda di gotta;

Grosia di serpe; Porcelleto marin [...];

Oyles of Lentisco; Zucchi Mugia; make

The admirable Vernish for the face,

Gives the right luster; but two drops rub'd on

With a piece of scarlet, makes a Lady of sixty

Looke at sixteene. But above all, the water

Of the white Hen, of the Lady Estifanias!

Tay.

O I, that same good madame, I have heard of:

How is it done?

Wit.

madame, you take your Hen,

Plume it, and skin it, cleanse it o'the inwards:

Then chop it, bones and all: adde to foure ounces

Of Carrnuacins, Pipitas, Sope of Cyprus,

Make the decoction, straine it. Then distill it,

And keepe it in your galley-pot well glidder'd:

Three droppes preserves from wrinkles, warts, spots, moles,

[...]lemish, or Sun-burnings, and keepes the skin

In decimo sexto, ever bright, and smooth,

As any looking-glasse; and indeed is call'd

The Virgins milke for the face, Ogl [...]oreale;

A Ceruse, neither cold or heat will hurt;

And mixt with oyle of myrrhe, and the red Gilli-flower

[Page 47]Call'd Cataputia; and flowers of Rovistico;

Makes the best muta ▪ or die of the whole world.

Tay.

Deare madame, will you let us be familiar?

Wit.

Your Ladiships servant.

Mer.

How doe you like her.

Fit.

Admirable!

But,

He is jealous about his ring, and Mere-craft delivers it.

yet, I cannot see the ring.

Pug.

Sir.

Mer.

I must

Deliver it, or marre all. This fool [...]'s so jealous.

Madame— Sir, weare this ring, and pray you take knowledge,

'Twas sent you by his wife. And give her thanks,

Doe not you dwindle, Sir, beare up.

Pug.

I thanke you, Sir.

Tay.

But for the manner of Spaine! Sweet, madame, let us

Be bold, now we are in: Are all Ladies,

There, i'the fashion?

Wit.

None but Grandee's, madame.

O'the clasp'd traine, which may be worne at length, too,

Or thus, upon my arme.

Tay.

And doe they weare

Cioppino's all?

Wit.

If they be drest in punto, madame.

Eit.

Guilt as those are? madame?

Wit.

Of Goldsmiths work, madame;

And set with diamants: and their Spanish pumps

Of perfum'd leather.

Tay.

I should thinke it hard

To goe in 'hem, madame.

Wit.

At the first, it is, madame.

Tai.

Do you never fall in 'hem?

Wit.

Never.

Eit.

I sweare, I should

Six times an houre.

Wit.

But you have men at hand, still,

To helpe you, if you fall?

Eit.

Onely one, madame,

The Guardo duennas, such alittle old man,

As this.

Eit.

Alas! he can doe nothing! this!

Wit.

I'll tell you, madame, I saw i'the Court of Spaine once,

A Lady fall i'the Kings sight, along.

And there she lay, flat spred, as an Vmbrella,

Her hoope here crack'd; no man durst reach a hand

To helpe her, till the Guarda duenn as came,

Who is the person one l'allowed to touch

A Lady there: and he but by this finger.

Eit.

Ha'they no servants, madame, there▪ nor friends?

Wit.

An Escudero, or so madame, that waits

Vpon 'hem in another Coach, at distance,

And when they walke, or dance, holds by a hand-kercher,

Never presumes to touch 'hem.

Eit.

This's scurvy!

And a forc'd gravity! I doe not like it.

I like our owne much better.

Tay.

'Tis more French,

And Courtly ours.

Eit.

And tasts more liberty.

We may have our doozen of visiters, at once,

Make love t'us.

Tay.

And before our husbands?

Eit.

Husband?

As I am honest, Tayle-bush I doe thinke

If no body should love me, but my poore husband,

I should e'n hang my selfe.

Tay.

Fortune forbid, wench:

So faire a necke should have so foule a neck-lace,

Eit.

'Tis true, as I am handsome!

Wit.

I receiv'd, Lady,

A token from you, which I would not be

Rude to refuse, being your first remembrance.

(Fit.

O, I am satisfied now!

Mer.

Do you see it, Sir.)

Wit.

But since you come, to know me, neerer, Lady,

[Page 48]I'll begge the honour, you will weare it for me,

It must be so.

Mist. Fit.

Surely I have heard this tongue.

Mer.

What doe you meane Sir?

Wit.

Would you ha'me mercenary?

Wittipol gives it Mistresse Fitzdottrell. Mere-craft murmures. He is satisfied, now he sees it.

We'll recompence it anon, in somwhat else.

Fit.

I doe not love to be gull'd, though in a toy.

Wife, doe you heare? yo'are come in the schoole, wife,

Where you may learne, I doe perceive it, any thing!

How to be fine, or faire, or great, or proud,

Or what you will, indeed, wife; here 'tis taught.

And I am glad on't, that you may not say,

Another day, when honours come upon you,

You wanted meanes. I ha'done my parts: beene,

He upbraids her with his Bill of costs.

To day at fifty pound charge, first, for a ring,

To get you entred. Then let my new Play ▪

To wait upon you, here, to see't confirm'd.

That I may say, both to mine owne eyes, and eares,

Senses, you are my witnesse, sha'hath injoy'd

All helpes that could be had for love or money—

Mrs. Fit.

To make a foole of her.

Fit.

Wife, that's your malice,

The wickednesse o'your nature to interpret

Your husbands kindnesse thus. But I'll not leave;

Still to doe good for your deprav'd affections:

Intend it. Bend this stubborne will; be great.

Tay.

Good Madame, whom do they use in messages?

Wit.

They commonly use their slaves Madam.

Tai.

And do's your Ladiship.

Thinke that so good, Madame?

Wit.

No indeed Madame; I,

Therein preferre the fashion of England farre,

Of your young delicate Page, or discreet Vsher.

Fit.

And I goe with your Ladiship in opinion,

Directly for your Gentleman-usher,

There's not a finer Officer goes on ground.

Wit.

If he be made and broken to his place once.

Fit.

Nay so I presuppose him.

Wit.

And they are fitter

Managers too Sir, but I would have 'hem call'd

Our Escudero's.

Fit.

Good.

Wit.

Say I should send

To your Ladiship, who (I presume) has gather'd

All the deare secrets to know how to make

Pastillos of the Dutchesse of Braganza,

Coquettas, Almoiavana's, Mantecada's,

Alcoreas, Mustaccioli; or say it were

The Peladore of Isabella, or balls

Against the itch, or aqua nanfa, or oyle

Of Iessamine for gloves, of the Marquesse Muja;

Or for the head and haire: why, these are offices.

Fit.

Fit for a gentleman, not a slave. They onely

Might aske for your pivety, Spanish-cole,

To burne and sweeten a roome: but the Arcana

He enters himselfe with the Ladies.

Of Ladies Cabinets—

Fit.

Should be else-where trusted.

Yo'are much about the truth. Sweet honoured Ladies,

Let me fall in wi'you. I ha' my female wit,

[Page 49]As well as my male. And I doe know what sutes

A Lady of spirit, or a woman of fashion!

Wit.

And you would have your wife such.

Fit.

Yes, madame, aërie,

Light; not to plaine dishonesty, I meane:

But, somewhat o'this side.

Wit.

I take you, Sir.

H'has reason Ladies. I'll not give this rush

For any Lady, that cannot be honest

Within a thred.

Tay.

Yes, madame, and yet venter

As far for th'other, in her Fame—

Wit.

As can be;

Coach it to Pimlico; dance the Saraband,

Heare, and talke baudy; laugh as loud, as a larum;

Squeake, spring, do any thing.

Eit.

In young company, madame.

Tay.

Or afore gallants. If they be brave, or Lords,

A woman is ingag'd.

Eit.

I say so, Ladies,

It is civility to deny us nothing.

Pug.

You talke of a Vniversity! why, Hell is

A Grammer-schoole to this!

Eit.

But then,

The Divell admires him.

Shee must not lose a looke on stuffes, or cloth, madame.

Tay.

Nor no course fellow.

Wit.

She must be guided, madame

By the clothes he weares, and company he is in;

Whom to salute, how farre—

Fit.

I ha'told her this.

And how that baudery too, upo'the point,

Is (in it selfe) as civell a discourse—

Wit.

As any other affaire of flesh, what ever.

Fit.

But shee will ne'r be capable, she is not

So much as comming, madame; I know not how

Shee loses all her opportunities

With hoping to be forc'd.

He shews his Pug.

I'have entertain'd

A gentleman, a younger brother, here,

Whom I would faine breed up, her Escudero,

Against some expectation's that I have,

And she'll not countenance him.

Wit.

What's his name?

Fit.

Divell, o'Darby-shire.

Eit.

Blesse us from him!

Tay.

Divell?

Call him De-vile, sweet madame.

Mis Fit.

What you please, Ladies.

Tay.

De-vile's a prettier name!

Eit.

And sounds, me thinks,

As it came in with the Conqueronr—

Man.

Over smocks!

What things they are? That nature should be at leasure

Ever to make 'hem!

Manly goes out with indignation.

my woing is at an end.

Wit.

What can he do?

Eit.

Lets heare him.

Tay.

Can he manage?

Fit.

Please you to try him, Ladies. Stand forth, Divell.

Pug.

Was all this but the preface to my torment?

Fit.

Come, let their Ladiship see your honours.

Eit.

He makes a wicked leg.

Tay.

As ever I saw!

Wit.

Fit for a Divell.

Tay.

Good madame, call him De-vile.

Wit.

De-vile, what property is there most required

I'your conceit, now, in the Escudero?

Fit.

Why do you not speake?

Pug.

A setled discreet pause,

They begin their Catechisme.

madame.

Wit.

I thinke, a barren head, Sir, Mountaine-like,

To be expos'd to the cruelty of weathers—

Fit.

I, for his Valley is beneath the waste, madame,

[Page 50]And to be fruitfull there, it is sufficient.

Dulnesse upon you! Could not you hit this?

Pug.

Good Sir—

Wit.

He then had had no barren head.

He strikes him.

You daw him too much, in troth, Sir.

Fit.

I must walke

With the French sticke, like an old vierger, for you.

Pug.

The Divell praies.

O, Chiefe, call me to Hell againe, and free me.

Fit.

Do you murmur now?

Pug.

Not I, Sir.

Wit.

What do you take

Mr. Divele, the height of your imployment,

In the true perfect Escudero?

Fit.

When?

What doe you answer?

Pug.

To be able, madame,

First to enquire, then report the working,

Of any Ladies physicke, in sweete phrase,

Wit.

Yes, that's an act of elegance, and importance.

But what above?

Fit.

O, that I had a goad for him.

Pug.

To finde out a good Corne-cutter.

Tay.

Out on him!

Eit.

Most barbarous!

Fit.

Why did you doe this, now?

Of purpose to discredite me? you damn'd Divell.

Pug.

Sure, if I be not yet, I shall be. All

My daies in Hell, were holy-daies to this!

Tay.

'Tis labour lost, madame?

Eit.

H'is a dull fellow

Of no capacity!

Tay.

Of no discourse!

O, if my Ambler had beene here!

Eit.

I, madame;

You talke of a man, where is there such another?

Wit.

Mr. Devile, put case, one of my Ladies, heere,

Had a fine brach: and would imploy you forth

To treate 'bout a convenient match for her.

What would you observe?

Pug.

The color, and the size, madame.

Wit.

And nothing else?

Fit.

The Moon, you calfe, the Moone!

Wit.

I, and the Signe.

Tay.

Yes, and receits for pronenesse.

Wit.

Then when the Puppies came, what would you doe?

Pug.

Get their nativities cast!

Wit.

This's well. What more?

Pug.

Consult the Almanack-man which would be least?

Which cleaneliest?

Wit.

And which silentest? This's well, madame?

Wit.

And while she were with puppy?

Pug.

Walke her out,

And aire her every morning!

Wit.

Very good!

And be industrious to kill her fleas?

Pug.

Yes!

Wit.

He will make a pretty proficient.

Pug.

Who,

Comming from Hell, could look for such Catechising?

The Divell is an Asse. I doe acknowledge it.

Fit.

Fitz-dottrel amires Wittipol.

The top of woman! All her sex in abstract!

I love her, to each syllable, falls from her.

Tay.

Good madame give me leave to goe aside with him!

And try him a little!

Wit.

Do, and I'll with-draw, madame,

The Divell praies againe.

With this faire Lady: read to her the while.

Tay.

Come, Sir.

Pug.

Deare Chiefe, relieve me, or I perish.

Wit.

Lady, we'll follow. You are not jealous Sir?

Fit.

O, madame! you shall see. Stay wife, behold,

He gives his wife to him, taking him to be a Lady.

I give her up heere, absolvtely, to you,

She is your owne. Doe with her what yo will!

Melt, cast, and forme her as you shall thinke good!

[Page 51]Set any sttamp on! I'll receive her from you

As a new thing, by your owne standard!

Wit.

Well, Sir!

Act. IV. Scene. III.

Mere-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Pit-fall Ever-ill. Plutarchus.

BUt what ha'you done i'your Dependance, since?

Fit.

O, it goes on, I met your Cousin, the Master—

Mer.

You did not acquaint him, Sir?

Fit.

Faith, but I did, Sir.

And upon better thought, not without reason!

He being chiefe Officer, might ha'taine it ill, else,

As a Contempt against his Place, and that

In time Sir, ha'drawne on another Dependance.

No, I did finde him in good termes, and ready

To doe me any service.

Mer.

So he said to you?

But Sir, you doe not know him.

Fit.

Why, I presum'd

Because this bus'nesse of my wives, requir'd me,

I could not ha'done better: And he told

Me, that he would goe presently to your Councell,

A Knight, here, i'the Lane—

Mer.

Yes, Iustice Either-side.

Fit.

And get the Feoffment drawne, with a letter of Atturney.

For livery and seisen!

Mer.

That I knowe's the course.

But, Sir, you meane not to make him Feoffee?

Fit.

Nay, that I'll pause on!

Mer.

How now little Pit-fall?

Pit.

Your Cousin Mr. Ever-ill, would come in—

But he would know if Master Manly were here.

Mer.

No,

Mere-craft whispers against him.

tell him, if he were, I ha'made his peace!

Hee's one, Sir, has no state, and a man knowes not,

How such a trust may tempt him.

Fit:

I conceive you.

Eve.

Sir, this same deed is done here.

Mer.

Pretty Plutarchus?

Art thou come with it? and has Sir Paul view'd it?

Plu.

His hand is to the draught.

Mer.

Will you step in, Sir,

And reade it?

Fit.

Yes.

Eve.

I pray you a word wi'you,

Everil whispers against Mere-craft.

Sir Paul Either-side will'd me give you caution

Whom you did make Feoffee: for 'tis the trust

O'your whole State: and though my Cousin heere

Be a worthy Gentleman, yet his valour has

At the tall board bin question'd; and we hold

Any man so impeach'd of doubtfull honesty!

I will not justifie this; but give it you

To make your profit of it: if you utter it,

I can forswere it!

Fit.

I beleeve you, and thanke you, Sir.

[Page 52]
Act. IV. Scene. VI.Wittipol. Mistresse Fitz-dottrel. Manly. Mere-craft.
BE not afraid, sweet Lady: yo'are trusted
To love, not violence here; I am no ravisher,
But one, whome you, by your faire trust againe,
May of a servant make a most true friend.
Mis. Fit.
And such a one I need, but not this way:
Sir, I confesse me to you, the meere manner
Of your attempting me, this morning tooke mee,
And I did hold m'invention, and my manners,
Were both engag'd, to give it a requitall;
But not unto your ends: my hope was then,
(Though interrupted, ere it could be utter'd)
That whom I found the Master of such language,
That braine and spirit, for such an enterprise,
Could not but if those succours were demanded
To a right use, employ them vertuously!
And make that profit of his noble parts,
Which they would yeeld. Sir, you have now the ground,
To exercise them in: I am a woman,
That cannot speake more wretchednesse of my selfe,
Then you can read; march'd to a masse of folly;
That every day makes haste to his owne ruine;
The wealthy portion, that I brought him, spent;
And (through my friends neglect) no joynture made me.
My fortunes standing in this precipice,
'Tis Counsell that I want, and honest aides:
And in this name, I need you, for a friend!
Never in any other; for his ill,
Must not make me, Sir, worse.
Man.
O friend! forsake not
Manly, con­ceal'd this while, shews himselfe.
The brave occasion, vertue offers you,
To keepe you innocent: I have fear'd for both;
And watch'd you to prevent the ill I fear'd.
But since the weaker side hath so assur'd me,
Let not the stronger fall by his owne vice,
Or be the lesse a friend, cause vertue needs him.
Wit.
Vertue shall never aske my succours twice;
Most friend, most man; your Counsells are commands:
Lady, I can love goodnesse in you, more
Then I did Beauty; and doe here intitle
Your vertue to the power, upon a life
Meere [...]craft taks Witti­pol aside, & meves a project for himselfe.
You shall engage in any faithfull service,
Even to forfeit.
Mer.
Madame: Do you heare, Sir,
We have another leg-strain'd, for this Dottrel.
He'ha's a quarrell to carry, and ha's caus'd
A deed of Feoffment, of his whole estate
[Page 53]To be drawne yonder;  [...]a'st within: And you,
Only, he meanes to make Feoffee. H'is falne
So desperatly enamour'd on you, and talkes
Most like a mad-man: you did never heare
A Phrentick, so in love with his owne favour!
Now, you doe know, 'tis of no validity
In your name, as you stand; Therefore advise him
To put in me. (h'is come here:) You shall share Sir.

Act. IV. Scene. VII.

Wittipoll. Mistresse Fitz-doftrell. Manly. Meere-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ever-ill. Plutarchus.

FIT.

Madame, I have a sute to you; and a fore-hand,

I doe bespeake you; you must not deny me,

I will be graunted.

Wit.

Sir, I must know it, though.

Fit.

No Lady; you must not know it: yet, you must too.

For the trust of it, and the fame indeed,

Which else were lost me. I would use your name,

But in a Feoffment: make my whole estate

Over unto you: a trifle a thing of nothing,

Some eighteene hundred.

Wit.

Alas! I understand not

Those things Sir. I am a woman, and most loath,

To embarque my selfe—

Fit.

You will not slight me, madame?

Wit.

Nor you'll not quarrell me?

Fit.

No, sweet madame, I have

Already a dependance; for which cause

I doe this: let me put you in, deare madame,

I may be fairely kill'd.

He hopes to be the man.

Wit.

You have your friends, Sir,

About you here, for choice.

Eve.

She tells you right, Sir.

Fit.

Death, if she doe, what doe I care for that?

Say, I would have her tell me wrong.

Wit.

Why, Sir,

If for the trust, you'll let me have the honor

To name you one.

Fit.

Nay, you doe me honor, madame:

Who is't?

Wit.

This Gentleman.

Fit.

O, no, sweet madame,

H'is friend to him, with whom I ha'the dependance.

She designe ▪ Manly.

Wit.

O, might he be?

Fit.

One Wittipol: do you know him?

Wit.

Alas Sir, he, a toy: This Gentleman

A friend to him, no more then I am Sir!

Fit.

But will your Ladiship undertake that, madame?

Wit.

Yes, and what else, for him, you will engage me.

Fit.

What is his name?

Wit.

His name is Eustace Manly.

Fit.

Whence do's he write himselfe?

Wit.

Of Middle-sex,

Esquire.

Fit.

Say nothing, madame. Clerke, come hether,

Write Eustace Manly, Squire o' Middle-sex.

Mer.

What ha'you done, Sir?

Wit.

Nam'd a gentleman,

That I'll be answerable for, to you, Sir.

Had I nam'd you, it might ha'beene suspected:

[Page]This way, 'tis safe.

Fit.

Come Gentlemen, your hands,

Everil applaudes it.

For witnes.

Man.

What is this?

Eve.

You ha'made Election

Of a most worthy Gentleman!

Man.

Would one of worth

Had spoke it: whence it comes, it is

Rather a shame to me, then a praise.

Eve.

Sir, I will give you any Satisfaction.

Man.

Be silent then: "falshood commends not truth.

Plu.

You do deliver this, Sir, as your deed,

To th'use of Mr. Manly?

Fit.

Yes: and Sir—

When did you see yong Wittipol? I am ready,

For processe now; Sir, this is Publication.

He shall heare from me, he would needs be courting

Ny Wife, S [...]r.

Man.

Yes: So witnesseth his Cloake there.

Fit.

Fitz-dottrel is suspicious of Manly still.

Nay good Sir,— Madame, you did undertake—

What.

What?

Fit.

That he was not Wittipols friend.

Wit.

I heare

Sir, no confession of it.

Fit.

O she knows not;

Now I remember, madame! This young Wittipol,

Would ha' debauch'd my wife, and made me Cuckold,

Through a casement; he did fly her home

To mine owne window: but I thinke I sou't him,

And ravish'd her away, out of his pownces.

I ha' sworne to ha' him by the eares: I fear

The toy, wi' not do me right.

Wit.

No? that were pitty!

What right doe you aske, Sir? Here he is will do't you?

Fit.

Wittipol discovers himselfe.

Ha? Wittipol?

Wit.

I Sir, no more Lady now,

Nor Spaniard!

Man.

No indeed, 'tis Wittipol.

Fit.

Am I the thing I feard'd?

Wit.

A Cuckold? No Sir,

But you were late in possibility,

I'll tell you so much.

Man.

But your wife's too vertuous!

Wit.

Wee'll see her Sir, at home, and leave you here,

To be made Duke o'Shore-ditch with a project.

Fit.

Theeves, ravishers.

Wit.

Crie but another note, Sir,

He would have his deed again.

I'll marre the tune, o'your pipe!

Fit.

Gi'me my deed, then.

Wit.

Neither: that shall be kept for your wives goood,

Who will know, better how to use it.

Fit.

Ha'

To feast with my land?

Wit.

Sir, be you quiet,

Or I shall gag you, ere I goe, consult

You Master of dependances; how to make this

A second businesse, you have time Sir.

Fit.

Oh!

What will the ghost of my wise Grandfather,

Wittipol baffles him, and goes out.

My learned Father, with my worshipfull Mother

Thinke of me now, that left me in this world

In state to be their Heire? that am become

A Cuckold, and an Asse, and my wives Ward;

Likely to lose my land; ha'my throat cut:

All, by her practice!

Mer.

Sir, we are all abus'd!

Fit.

And be so still! Who hinders you, I pray you,

Let me alone, I would injoy my selfe,

And be the Duke o'Dround'd-Land, you ha' made me.

Mer.

Sir, we must play an after-game o' this

Fit.

[Page 55]

But I am not in case to be a Gam-ster:

I tell you once againe—

Mer.

You must be rul'd

And take some counsell.

Fit.

Sir, I doe hate counsell,

As I doe hate my wife, my wicked wife!

Mer.

But we may thinke how to recover all:

If you will act.

Fit.

I will not think; nor act;

Nor yet recover; do not talke to me?

I'll runne out o'my witts, rather then heare;

I will be what I am, Fabian Fitz dottrel,

Though all the world say nay to't.

Mer.

Let's follow him.

Act. V. Scene. I.

Ambler. Pitfall, Mere-craft,

BUt ha's my Lady mist me?

Pit.

Beyond tell [...]ng!

Here has been that infinity of strangers!

And then she would ha'had you, to ha'sampled you

With, one within, that they are now a teaching;

And do's pretend to your ranck.

Amb.

Good fellow Pit-fall

Tel Mr. Meer-craft, I intreat a word with him.

This most unlucky accident will goe neare

Pitfall goes out.

To be the losse o'my place; I am indoubt!

Mer.

With me? what say you Mr. Ambler?

Amb.

Sir,

I would beseech your worship stand betwene

Me, and my Ladies displeasure, for my absence.

Mer.

O, is this all? I warrant you.

Amb.

I would tell you Sir

But how it happnened.

Mer.

Briefe, good Mr. Ambler,

Put your selfe to your rack:

Meere-cr [...] seemes fu [...] of busine [...]

for I have a tasque

Of more importance.

Amb.

Sir you'll laugh at me!

But (so is Truth) a verie friend of mine,

Finding by conference with me, that I liv'd

Too chast for my complexion (and indeed

Too honest for my place, Sir) did advise me

If I did love my selfe (as that I do,

I must confesse)

Mer.

Spare your Parenthesis,

Amb.

To gi' my body a little evacuation—

Mer.

Well, and you went to a whore?

Amb.

No, Sir. I durst not

(For feare it might arive at some body's eare,

It should not) trust my selfe to a common house;

Ambler [...] this wit [...] extraor [...]nary spe [...]

But got the Gentlewoman to goe with me,

And carry her bedding to a Conduit-head,

Hard by the place toward Tiburne, which they call

My L. Majors Banqueting-house. Now, Sir, This morning

Was Execution; and I ne'e dream't on't,

Till I heard the noise o'the people, and the horses;

[Page 56]And neither I, nor the poore Gentlewoman

Durst stirre, till all was done and past: so that

H [...] stags

I'the Interim, we fell a sleepe againe.

Mer.

Nay, if you fall, from your gallop, I am gone Sir.

Amb.

But when I wak'd, to put on my cloathes, a sute,

I made new for the action, it was gone,

And all my mony, with my purse, and seales,

My hard-wax, and my table-books, my studies,

And a fine new devise, I had to carry

My pen, and inke, my civet, and my tooth-picks,

All under one. But, that which greiv'd me, was

The Gentlewomans shoes (with a paire of roses,

And garters, I had given her for the businesse)

So as that made us stay, till it was darke.

For I was faine to lend her mine, and walke

In a rug, by her, bare foot, to Saint Giles'es.

Mer.

A kind of Irish penance! Is this all, Sir?

Amb.

To satisfie my Lady.

Mer.

I will promise you, Sir.

Amb.

I ha'told the true Disaster.

Mer.

I cannot stay wi'you

Sir, to condole; but gratulate your returne.

Amb.

An honest gentleman, but he's never at leisure

To be himselfe: He ha's such tides of businesse.

Act. V. Scene. II.

Pug. Ambler.

O, Call me home againe, deare Chiefe, and put me

To yoaking foxes, milking of Hee-goates,

Pounding of water in a morter, laving

The sea dry with a nut-shell, gathering all

The leaves are falne this Autumne, drawing farts

Out of dead bodies, making ropes of sand,

Catching the windes together in a net,

Mustring of ants, and numbring atomes; all

That hell, and you thought exquisite torments, rather

Then stay me here, a thought more: I would sooner

Keepe fleas within a circle, and be accomptant

A thousand yeere, which of'hem and how far

Out leap'd the other, then endure a minute

Such as I have within. There is no hell

To a Lady of fashion. All your tortures there

Are pastimes to it. 'Twould be a refreshing

[...]mbler [...]omes in, & [...]vaies [...].

For me, to be i'the fire againe, from hence.

Amb.

This is my suite, and those the shoes and roses!

Pug.

Th'have such impertinent vexations,

A generall Councell o' divels could not hit—

Ha! This is he I tooke a sleepe with his Wench,

And borrowed his cloathes. What might I doe to balke him?

Amb.

[Page 57]

Do you heare, Sir?

Pug.

Answer but not to th'purpose.

Amb.

What is your name,

He answers quite from the purpose.

I pray you Sir.

Pug.

Is't so late Sir?

Amb.

I aske not o'the time, but of your name, Sir.

Pug.

I thanke you, Sir. Yes it dos hold Sir, certaine.

Amb.

Hold, Sir? What holds? I must both hold, and talke to you

About these clothes.

Pug.

A very pritty lace!

But the Taylor cossend me.

Amb.

No, I am cossend

By you! robb'd.

Pug.

Why, when you please Sir, I am

For three peny Gleeke, your man.

Amb.

Pox o' your gleeke,

And three pence. Give me an answere.

Pug.

Sir,

My master is the best at it.

Amb.

Your master!

Who is your Master.

Pug.

Let it be friday night.

Amb.

What should be then?

Pug.

Your best songs Tom o' Bet'lem

Amb.

I thinke, you are he. Do's he mocke me trow, from purpose?

Or doe not I speake to him, what I meane?

Good Sir your name.

Pug.

Only a couple a'Cocks Sir,

If we can get a Widgin, 'tis in season.

Amb.

He hopes to make one o'these Scipticks o'me

For Scepticks.

(I thinke I name'him right) and do's not flie me.

I wonder at that! 'tis a strange confidence!

I'll proove another way, to draw his answer.

Act. V. Scene. III.

Mere-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Everill. Pug.

IT is the easiest thing Sir, to be done.

As plaine, as fizzling: roule but wi'your eies,

And foame at th'mouth. A little castle-soape

Will do't, to rub your lips: And then a nutshell,

With toe, and touch-wood in it to spit fire,

Did you ner'e read, Sir, little Darrels tricks,

With the boy o' Burton, and the 7 in Lancashire,

Summers at Nottingham? All these do teach it.

And wee'll give out,

They repai [...] their old plot.

Sir, that your wife ha's bewitch'd you:

Eve.

And practised with those two, as Sorcerers.

Mer.

And ga'you potions, by which means you were

Not Compos mentis, when you made your feoffment.

There's no recovery o'your estate, but this:

This, Sir, will sting.

Eve.

And move in a court of equity.

Mer.

For it is more then manifest, that this was

A plot o'your wives, to get your land.

Fit.

I thinke it.

Eve.

Sir it appeares.

Mer.

Nay and my cossen has knowne

These gallants in these shapes.

Eve.

T'have done strange things, Sir.

One as the Lady, the other as the Squire.

Mer.

How, a mans honesty may be fool'd! I thought him

A very Lady.

Fit.

So dd I: renounce me else.

Mer.

But this way, Sir you'll be reveng'd at height.

Eve.

Upon 'hem all.

Mer.

Yes faith, and since your Wife

[Page 58]Has runne the way of woman thus, e'en give her—

Fit.

Lost by this hand, to me; dead to all ioyes

Of her deare Dottrell, I shall never pitty her:

That could, pitty her selfe.

Mer.

Princly resolv'd Sir,

And like your selfe still, in Potentiâ.

Act. V. Scene. IV.

Mere-craft, &c. to them. Gvilt-head. Sledge. Plutarchus. Serjants.

Fitz dottrel askes for his money.

GVilt-head what newes?

Fit.

O Sir, my hundred peices:

Let me ha'them yet.

Gui.

Yes Sir, officers

Arrest him.

Fit.

Me?

Ser.

I arrest you.

Sle.

Keepe the peace,

I charge you gentlemen.

Fit.

Arrest me? Why?

Gui.

For better security, Sir. My sonne Plutarchus

Assures me, y'are not worth a groat.

Plu.

Pardon me, Father,

I said his worship had no foot of Land left:

And that I'll justifie, for I writ the deed.

Fit.

Ha'you these tricks i'the citty?

Gui.

Yes, and more.

Meaning Mere-raft.

Arrest this gallant too, here, at my sute.

Sle.

I, and at mine. He owes me for his lodging

Two yeere and a quarter.

Mer.

Why M. [...]uilt-head, Land-Lord,

Thou art not mad, though th'art Constable

Puft up with the pride of the place? Doe you heare, Sirs.

Have I deserv'd this from you two? for all

My paines at Court, to get you each a patent.

Gui.

The Project of [...]orks.

For what?

Mer.

Upo' my project o' the forkes.

Sle.

Forkes? what be they?

Mer.

The laudable use of forkes,

Brought into custome here, as they are in Italy,

To th'sparing o'Napkins. That, that should have made

Your bellowes goe at the forge, as his at the furnace.

I ha'procured it, ha'the Signet for it,

Dealt with the Linnen-drapers, on my private,

By cause, I fear'd, they were the likeliest ever

To stirre against, to crosse it: for 'twill be

A mighty saver of Linnen through the Kingdome

(As that is one o'my grounds, and so spare washing)

Now, on you two, had I laid all the profits.

Guilt-head to have the making of all those

Of gould and silver, for the better personages;

And you of those of Steele for the common sort.

And both by Pattent, I had brought you your seales in.

Sledge is brought about.

But now you have prevented me, and I thanke you.

Sle.

Sir, I will baile you, at my owne ap-perill.

Mer.

And Guilt-head comes.

Nay choose.

Plu.

Do you so too, good Father.

Gui.

I like the fashin o'the project, well,

The forkes! It may be a lucky one! and is not

Intricate, as one would say, but fit for

Plaine heads, as ours, to deale in. Do you heare.

[Page 59] Officers, we discharge you.

Mer.

Why this shewes

A little good nature in you, I confesse,

But doe not tempt your friends thus. Little Guilt-head,

Advise your fire, great Guilt-head from these courses:

And, here, to trouble a great man in reversion,

For a matter o'fifty on a false Alarme,

Away, it shewes not well. Let him get the pieces

And bring 'hem. Yo'll heare more else.

Plu.

Father.

Act. V. Scene. V.

Ambler.

To them.

O Master Sledge, are you here? I ha'been to seeke you.

You are the Constable, they say. Here's one

That I do charge with Felony, for the suite

He weares, Sir.

Mer.

Who? M. Fitz-dottrels man?

Ware what you do, M. Ambler.

Amb.

Sir, these clothes

I'll sweare, are mine: and the shooes the gentlewomans

I told you of: and ha'him afore a Iustice,

I will.

Pug.

My master, Sir, will passe his word for me.

Amb.

Fitz-dottrel disclaimes him.

can you speake to purpose now?

Fit.

Not I,

If you be such a one Sir, I will leave you

To your God-fathers in Law. Let twelve men worke.

Pug.

Do you heare Sir, pray, in private.

Fit.

Well, what say you?

Briefe, for I have no time to loose.

Pug.

Truth is, Sir,

I am the very Divell, and had leave

To take this body, I am in, to serve you:

Which was a Cutpurses, and hang'd this Morning.

And it is likewise true, I stole this suite

To cloth me with. But Sir let me not goe

To prison for it. I have hitherto

Lost time, done nothing; showne, indeed, no part.

O'my Divels nature. Now, I will so helpe

Your malice, 'gainst these parties: so advance

The businesse, that you have in hand of witchcraft,

And your possession, as my selfe were in you.

Teach you such tricks, to make your belly swell,

And your eyes turne, to foame, to stare, to gnash

Your teeth together, and to beat your selfe,

Laugh loud, and faine six voices—

Fit.

Out you Rogue!

You most infernall counterfeit wretch! Avant!

Do you thinke to gull me with your AEsops Fables?

Here take him to you, I ha'no part in him.

Pug.

Sir.

Fit.

Away,

And sends him away.

I do disclaime, I will not heare you.

Mer.

What said he to you, Sir?

Fit.

Like a lying raskall

Told me he was the Divell.

Mer.

How! a good jest!

Fit.

And that he would teach me, such fine divels tricks

For our new resolution.

Eve.

O'pox on him,

[Page 60]'Twas excellent wisely done, Sir, not to trust him.

Mer.

Mere-craft gives the instructions to him and the rest.

Why, if he were the Divell, we sha'not need him,

If you'll be rul'd. Goe throw your selfe on a bed, Sir,

And faine you ill. We [...]'ll not be seen wi'you,

Till after, that you have a fit: and all

Confirm'd within. Keepe you with the two Ladies

And perswade them. I'll to Iustice Either-side,

And possesse him with all. Traines shall seeke out Ingine,

And they to fill the towne with' [...], every cable

It is to be veer'd. We must imploy out all

Our emissaries now; Sir, I will send you

Bladders and Bellowes. Sir, be confident,

'Tis no hard thing t'out doe the Divell in:

A Boy o'thirteen yeere old made him an Asse

But t'toher day.

Fit.

Well, I'll beginne to practice,

And scape the imputation of being Cuckold,

By mine owne act.

Mer.

Yo'are right.

Eve.

Come, you ha'put

Your selfe to a simpe coile here, and your freinds,

By dealing with new Agents, in new plots.

Mer.

No more o'that, sweet cousin.

Eve.

What had you

To doe with this same Wittipol, for a Lady?

Mer.

Question not that: 'tis done.

Eve.

You had some straine

'Bove E-la?

Mer.

I had indeed.

Eve.

And, now, you crack fort.

Mer.

Do not upbraid me.

Eve.

Come, you must be told on't;

You are so covetous, still, to imbrace

More then you can, that you loose all.

Mer.

'Tis right.

What would you more, then Guilty? Now, your succours.

Act. V. Scene. VI.Shakles. Pug. Iniquity. Divell.
HEre you are lodg'd, Sir, you must send your garnish,
If you'll be privat.
Pug.
There it is, Sir, leave me.
Pug is brought to New-gate.
To New-Gate, brought? How is the name of Divell
Discredited in me! What a lost fiend
Shall I be, on returne? My Chiefe will roare
In triumph, now, that I have beene on earth,
A day, and done no noted thing, but brought
That body back here, was hang'd out this morning.
Enter Iniquity the Vice.
Well! would it once were midnight, that I knew
My utmost. I thinke Time be drunke, and sleepes:
He is so still, and moves not! I do glory
Now i'my torment. Neither can I expect it,
I have it with my fact.
Ini.
Child of hell, be thou merry▪
Put a looke on, as round, boy, and red as a cherry.
Cast care at thy posternes; and firke in thy fetters,
They are ornaments, Baby, have graced thy betters▪
Looke upon me, and hearken. Our Chiefe doth salute thee,
[Page 61]And least the could yron should chance to confu [...]e thee,
H'hath sent thee, grant-paroll by me to stay longer
A moneth here on earth, against cold Child, or honger
Pug.
How? longer here a moneth?
Ini.
Yes, boy, till the Session,
That so thou maiest have a triumphall egression.
Pug.
In a cart, to be hang'd.
Ini.
No, Child, in a Ca [...]te,
The charriot of Triumph, which most of them are.
And in the meane time, to be greazy, and bouzy,
And nasty, and filthy, and ragged and louzy,
With dam'n me, renounce me, and all the fine phrases;
That bring, unto Tiborne, the plentifull gazes.
Pug.
He is a Divell! and may be our Chiefe!
The great superior Divell! for his malice:
Arch-divel! I acknowledge him. He knew
What I would suffer, when he tie'd me up thus
In a rogues body: and he has (I thanke him)
His tirannous pleasure on me, to confine me
To the unlucky carcasse of a Cutpurse
Wherin I could do nothing.
Div.
Impudent fiend,
Stop thy lewd mouth.The great Divell en­ters, and up­braids him with all his daies work.
 Doest thou not shame and tremble
To lay thine owne dull damn'd defects upon
An innocent case, there? Why thou heavy slave!
The spirit, that did possesse that flesh before
Put more true life, in a finger, and a thumbe.
Then thou in the whole Masse. Yet thou rebell'st
And murmurst? What one proffer hast thou made,
Wicked inough, this day, that might be call'd
Worthy thine owne, much lesse the name that sent thee?
First, thou did'st helpe thy selfe into a beating
Promptly, and with't endangerdd'st too thy tongue:
A Divell, and could not keepe a body intire
One day! That, for our credit. And to vindicate it,
H [...]nderd'st (for ought thou know'st) a deed of darknesse:
Which was an act of that egregious folly,
As no one, to'ard the Divell, could ha'thought on.
This for your acting! but for suffering! why
Thou hast beene cheated on, with a false beard,
And a turn'd cloake. Faith would your predecessour
The Cutpurse, thinke you, ha' been so? Out upon thee,
The hurt th'hast don, to let men know their strength,
And that they are able to out-doe a divel
Put in a body, will for ever be
A scarre upon our Name! whom hast thou dealt with,
Woman or man, this day, but have out-gone thee
Some way, and most have prov'd the better fiends?
Yet, you would be imploy'd▪ Yes, hell shall make you
Provinciall o'the heaters! or Baud-ledger,
For this side o'the towne! No doubt you'll render
A rare account of things. Bane o'your itch,
And scratching for imployme [...]t. I'll ha'brimstone
[Page 62]To allay it sure, and fire to singe your nailes off,
But, that I would not such a damn'd dishonor
Sticke on our state, as that the divell were hang'd;
And could not save a body, that he tooke
Iniquity takes him on his back.
From Tiborne, but it must come thither againe:
You should e'en ride. But up away with him—
Ini.
Mount, dearling of darknesse, my shoulders are broad:
He that caries the fiend, is sure of his loade.
The Divell was wont to carry away the evill;
But, now, the Evill out-carries the Divell.

Act. V. Scene. VII.

Shackles. Keepers.

A great noise is heard in Newgate, and the Keepers come out affrighted.

O mee!

Kee. 1.

What's this?

A peece of Iustice Hall

Is broken downe.

Fough! what a steeme of brimstone

Is here?

The prisoner's dead, came in but now!

Sha.

Ha? where?

Look here.

Kee.

S'lid I should know his countenance!

It is Gil-Cut-purse, was hang'd out, this morning!

Sha.

'Tis he!

The Divell, sure, has a hand in this!

What shall we doe?

Sha.

Carry the newes of it

Unto the Sherifes.

And to the Iustices.

This strange!

And savours of the Divell, strongly!

I' ha' the sulphure of Hell-coale i'my nose.

Fough.

Sha.

Carry him in.

Away.

How ranke it is!

Act. V. Scene. VIII.

Sir Poule. Meere-craft. Ever-ill. Traines. Pitfall. Fitz-dottrell. to them. Wittipoll. Manly. Mistresse Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. to them Guilt-head. Sledge. to them. Shackles.

The Iustice comes out wondring and the rest informing him.

THis was the notablest Conspiracy,

That ere I heard of.

Mer.

Sir, they had giv'n him potions,

That did enamour him on the counterfeit Lady—

Eve..

Iust to the time o'delivery o'the deed—

Mer.

And then the witchcraft 'gan't'appeare, for straight

He fell into his fit.

Eve.

Of rage at first, Sir,

Which since has so increased.

Tay.

Good Sir Poule, see him,

And punish the impostors.

Pou.

Therefore I come, madame.

Eit.

Let M. Eitherside alone, madame.

Pou.

Do you heare?

Call in the Constable, I will have him by:

H'is the Kings Officer! and some Cittizens,

Of creadit! I'll discharge my conscience clearly.

Mer.

Yes, Sir, and send for his wife.

Eve.

And the two Sorcerers,

By any meanes!

Tay.

I thought one a true Lady,

I should be sworne. So did you, Either-side?

Eit.

[Page 63]

Yes, by that light, would I might ne'r stir else, Tailbush.

Tay.

And the other a civill Gentleman.

Eve.

But, madam,

You know what I tould your Ladiship.

Tay.

I now see it:

I was providing of a banquet for 'hem

After I had done instructing o' the fellow

De-vile, the Gentlemans man.

Mer.

Who's found a thiefe, madam.

And to have rob'd your Usher, Master Ambler

This morning.

Tay.

How?

Mer.

Ile tell you more, anon.

Fit.

Gi'me some garlicke, garlicke, garlicke, garlicke.

Mer.

Harke the poore Gentleman,

He beginnes his fit.

how he is tormented!

Fit.

My wife is a whore, I'll kisse her no more: and why?

Ma'st not thou be a Cuckold as well as I?

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, &c.

Pou.

That is the Divell speakes, and laughes in him.

Mer.

Do you think so Sir.

Pou.

I discharge my conscience.

The Iustic [...] interpret all

Fit.

And is not the Divell good company? Yes, wis.

Eve.

How he changes, Sir, his voice!

Fit.

And a Cuckold is

Where ere hee put his head, with a Wanion,

If his hornes be forth, the Divells companion!

Looke, looke, looke, else.

Mer.

How he fomes!

Eve.

And swells!

Tay.

O, me! what's that there, rises in his belly!

Eit.

A strange thing! hold it downe:

Tra. Pit.

We cannot, madame.

Pou.

'Tis too apparent this!

Fit.

Wittipol,

Wittipol, and Manly and Mistr-Fitz-dottre enter.

Wittipol.

Wit.

How now, what play ha'we here.

Man.

What fine new, matters?

Wit.

The Cockscombe, and the Coverlet.

Mer.

O strange impudence!

That these should come to face their sinne!

Eve.

And ou [...]-face

Iustice, they are the parties, Sir.

Pou.

Say nothing.

Mer.

Did you marke, Sir, upon their comming in,

How he call'd Wittipol.

Eve.

And never saw 'hem.

Pou.

I warrant you did I, let 'hem play a while.

Fit.

Buz, buz, buz, buz.

Tay

Lasse poore Gentleman!

How he is tortur'd! Mis. Fit F [...]e, Master Fitz-dottrel!

What doe yo meane to counterfait thus?

Fit.

His wife goes to hi [...]

ô,

Shee comes with a needle, and thrusts it in,

She pulls out that, and shee puts in a pinne,

And now, and now, I doe not know how, nor where,

But shee pricks mee heere, and shee pricks me there: ôh, ôh,

Pou.

Woman forbeare.

Wit.

What, Sir?

Pou.

A practice foule

For one so faire:

Wit.

Hath this, then, credit with you?

Man.

Do you bel [...]eve in't?

Pou.

Gentlemen, I'll discharge

My conscience: 'Tis a cleare conspiracy▪

A darke and divellish practice! I detest it!

Wit.

The Iustice sure will prove to be the merrier!

Man.

This is most strange, Sir.

Pou.

Come not to confront

Authority with insolence: I tell you,

I doe detest it. Here comes the Kings Constable,

And with him a right worshipfull Commoner;

My good friend, Master Guilt-head! I am glad

I can before such witnesses, professe

My conscience, and my detestation of it.

[Page 64]Horrible! most unaturall! Abominable!

Eve.

They whisper him.

You doe not [...]umble enough.

Mer.

Wallow, gnash:

Tay.

O, how he is vexed!

Pou.

'Tis too manifest.

Eve.

And give sope to act with.

Give him more sope to foame with, now lie still.

Mer.

And act a little.

Tay.

What do's he now, Sir.

Pou.

Shew

The taking of Tobacco, with which the Divell

Is so delighted.

Fit.

Hum!

Pov.

And calls for Hum.

You takers of Waters and Tobacco,

Marke this.

Fit.

Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow, &c.

Pou.

That's Starch! the Divells Idoll of that colour.

He ratifies it, clapping of his hands.

The proofes are pregnant.

Gui.

How the Divel can act!

Pou.

He is the Master of Players? Master Guilt-head,

And Poets, too! you heard him talke in rime!

Sir Poule interprets Figgum a Iuglers game.

I had forgot to observe it to you, ere while!

Tay.

See, he spits fire.

Pou.

O no, he plaies at Figgum,

The Divell is the Author of wicked Figgum—

Man.

Why speake you not unto him?

Wit.

If I had

All innocence of man to be indanger'd

And he could save, or ruine it: I'ld not breath

A syllable in request, to such a fellow,

I'd rather fall.

Fit.

ô they whisper, they whisper, whisper, &c.

We shall have more, of Divells a score,

To come to dinner, in me the sinner.

Eyt.

Alas, poore Gentleman!

Pou.

Put'hem asunder.

Keepe 'hem one from the other.

Man.

Are you phrenticke, Sir,

Or what grave dotage moves you, to take part

With so much villany? we are not afraid

Either of law, or tryall; let us be

Examin'd what our ends were, what the meanes,

To worke by; and possibility of those meanes.

Doe not conclude against us, ere you heare us.

Pou.

I will not heare you, yet I will conclude

Out of the circumstances.

Man.

Will you so, Sir?

Pou.

Yes they are palpable:

Man.

Not as your folly:

Pou.

I will discharge my conscience, and doe all

To the Merid [...]an of Iustice.

Gui.

You doe well, Sir:

Fit.

Provide me to eate, three or foure dishes o'good meat,

I'll feast them, and their traines, a Iustice head and braines

Shall be the first.

Pou.

The Divell loves not Iustice,

There you may see.

Fit.

A spare-rib o'my wife,

And a whores purt'nance! a Guilt-head whole.

Pou.

Be not you troubled, Sir, the Divell speakes it.

Fit.

Yes, wis, Knight, shite, Poule, Ioule, owle, foule, troule, boule.

Pou.

Crambe, another of the Divell's games!

Mer.

Speake, Sir, some Greeke, if you can. Is not the Iustice

A solemne gamester?

Eve.

Peace.

Fit.

[...],

[...].

Pou.

Hee curses

In Greeke, I thinke.

Eve.

Your Spanish, that I taught you.

Fit.

[Page 65]

Qu brémosel ojo de burlas.

Eve.

How? your rest—

Let's breake his necke in jest, the Divell saies,

Fit.

Di gratia, Signòr mio se baúete denári fataméne parte.

Mer.

What, would the Divell borrow money?

Fit.

Ouy,

Ouy, Monsiur, ùn pàuure Diable! Diablet in!

Pou.

It is the Divell, by his severall languages.

Sha.

Where's Sir Paule Either-side?

Pou.

Here,

Enter the Keeper of New-gate

what's the matter?

Sha.

O! such an accident falne out at Newgate, Sir:

A great piece of the prison is rent downe!

The Divell has beene there, Sir, in the body—

Of the young Cut-purse, was hang'd out this morning,

But in new clothes, Sir, every one of us know him.

These things were found in his pocket.

Amb.

Those are mine, Sir.

Sha.

I thinke he was committed on your charge, Sir.

For a new felony

Amb.

Yes.

Sha.

Hee's gone, Sir, now,

And left us the dead body. But with all, Sir,

Such an infernall stinke, and steeme behind,

You cannot see St. Pulchars Steeple, yet.

They smell't as far as Ware, as the winde lies,

By this time, sure.

Fit.

Is this upon your credit, friend?

Sha.

Sir,

Fitx. dottrel leaves counterfaiting.

you may see, and satisfie your selfe.

Fit.

Nay, then, 'tis time to leave off counterfeiting.

Sir I am not bewitch'd, nor have a Divell ▪

No more then you. I doe defie him, I,

And did abuse you. These two Gentlemen

Put me upon it. (I have faith against him)

They taught me all my trickes. I will tell truth,

And shame the Fiend. See, here, Sir are my bellowes,

And my falle belly, and my Mouse, and all

That should ha'come forth?

Man.

Sir, are not you asham'd

Now of your solemne, serious vanity?

Pou.

I will make honourable amends to truth.

Fit.

And so will I. But these are Coozners, still;

And ha'my land, as plotters, with my wife:

Who, though she be not a witch, is worse, a whore.

Man.

Sir, you belie her. She is chast, and vertuous,

[...]nd we are honest. I doe know no glory

[...] man should hope, by venting his owne follies,

[...]ut you'll still be an Asse, in spite of providence.

[...]ase you goe in, Sir, and here truths, then judge 'hem:

[...]nd make amends for your late rashnesse; when,

[...]o [...] shall but here the paines and care was taken,

[...]o save this foole from ruine (his Grace of Droun'd land)

Fit.

My land is droun'd indeed—

Pou.

Peace.

Man.

And how much

[...]s modest and too worthy wife hath suffer'd

[...] misconstruction, from him, you will blush,

[...]st for your owne beliefe, more for his actions!

[...] land is his: and never, by my friend,

[...] by my selfe, meant to another use,

[...] for her succours, who hath equall right.

[Page 66]If any other had worse counsells in't,

(I know I speake to those can apprehend me)

L [...]t'hem repent 'hem, and be not detected.

It is not manly to take joy, or pride

In humane errours (we doe all ill things,

They doe 'hem worst that love 'hem, and dwell there,

Till the plague comes) The few that have the seeds

Of goodnesse left, will sooner make their way

To a true life, by shame, then punishment.

The End.

The Epilogue.

THus, the Projector, here, is over-throwne.

But I have now a Project of mine owne,

If it may passe: that no man would invite

The Poet from us, to sup forth to night,

If the play please. If it displeasant be,

We doe presume, that no man will: nor we:

[Page]

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