Opening…

Dramatis Personæ

SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND. SIR OLIVER KIX.[1] TOUCHWOOD senior. TOUCHWOOD junior. ALLWIT. YELLOWHAMMER, a goldsmith. TIM, his son. Tutor to Tim. DAVY DAHANNA,[2] _Sir Walter’s poor kinsman and attendant._ Parson. WAT } sons to Sir Walter by mistress Allwit. NICK} Two Promoters. Porter, Watermen, &c. LADY KIX. MISTRESS TOUCHWOOD, wife to Touchwood senior. MISTRESS ALLWIT. MAUDLIN, wife to Yellowhammer. MOLL, her daughter. Welshwoman, mistress to Sir W. Whorehound. Country Girl. SUSAN, _Maid, Midwife, Nurses, Puritans and other gossips, &c._

Scene, LONDON.

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A CHASTE MAID IN CHEAPSIDE.

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Act I, Scene I

YELLOWHAMMER’S Shop.

Enter MAUDLIN and MOLL.

MAUD. Have you played over all your old lessons o' the virginals?[3] MOLL. Yes. MAUD. Yes? you are[4] a dull maid a' late; methinks you had need have somewhat to quicken your green sickness—do you weep?—a husband: had not such a piece of flesh been ordained, what had us wives been good for? to make salads, or else cried up and down for samphire. To see the difference of these seasons! when I was of your youth, I was lightsome and quick two years before I was married. You fit for a knight’s bed! drowsy-browed, dull-eyed, drossy-spirited! I hold my life you have forgot your dancing: when was the dancer with you? MOLL. The last week. MAUD. Last week? when I was of your board[5] He miss’d me not a night; I was kept at it; I took delight to learn, and he to teach me; Pretty brown gentleman! he took pleasure in my company: But you are dull, nothing comes nimbly from you; You dance like a plumber’s daughter, and deserve Two thousand pound in lead to your marriage, And not in goldsmith’s ware.

Enter YELLOWHAMMER.

YEL. Now, what’s the din Betwixt mother and daughter, ha? MAUD. Faith, small; Telling your daughter, Mary, of her errors. YEL. Errors? nay, the city cannot hold you, wife, But you must needs fetch words from Westminster: I ha'[6] done, i’faith. Has no attorney’s clerk been here a' late, And chang’d his half-crown-piece his mother sent him, Or rather cozen’d you with a gilded twopence, To bring the word in fashion for her faults Or cracks in duty and obedience? Term ’em even so, sweet wife, As there’s no woman made without a flaw; Your purest lawns have frays, and cambrics bracks.[7] MAUD. But ’tis a husband solders up all cracks. MOLL. What, is he come, sir? YEL. Sir Walter’s come: he was met At Holborn Bridge, and in his company A proper fair young gentlewoman, which I guess, By her red hair and other rank descriptions, To be his landed niece, brought out of Wales, Which Tim our son, the Cambridge-boy, must marry: ’Tis a match of sir Walter’s own making, To bind us to him and our heirs for ever. MAUD. We’re honour’d then, if this baggage would be humble, And kiss him with devotion when he enters. I cannot get her for my life To instruct her hand thus, before and after,— Which a knight will look for,—before and after: I've told her still ’tis the waving of a woman Does often move a man, and prevails strongly. But, sweet, ha' you sent to Cambridge? has Tim word on’t? YEL. Had word just the day after, when you sent him The silver spoon to eat his broth in the hall Amongst the gentlemen-commoners. MAUD. O, ’twas timely.

Enter Porter.

YEL. How now? POR. A letter from a gentleman in Cambridge. [Gives letter to YELLOWHAMMER. YEL. O, one of Hobson’s porters:[8] thou art welcome.— I told thee, Maud, we should hear from Tim. [Reads] Amantissimis carissimisque ambobus parentibus, patri et matri. MAUD. What’s the matter? YEL. Nay, by my troth, I know not, ask not me: He’s grown too verbal; this learning's a great witch. MAUD. Pray, let me see it; I was wont to understand him. [Reads] Amantissimis carissimis, he has sent the carrier’s man, he says; ambobus parentibus, for a pair of boots; patri et matri, pay the porter, or it makes no matter. POR. Yes, by my faith, mistress; there’s no true construction in that: I have took a great deal of pains, and come from the Bell[9] sweating. Let me come to’t, for I was a scholar forty years ago; ’tis thus, I warrant you: [reads] Matri, it makes no matter; ambobus parentibus, for a pair of boots; patri, pay the porter; amantissimis carissimis, he’s the carrier’s man, and his name is Sims; and there he says true, forsooth, my name is Sims indeed; I have not forgot all my learning: a money-matter, I thought I should hit on’t. YEL. Go, thou’rt an old fox; there’s a tester[10] for thee. [Gives money. POR. If I see your worship at Goose-fair, I have a dish of birds for you. YEL. Why, dost dwell at Bow? POR. All my lifetime, sir; I could ever say bo to a goose. Farewell to your worship. [Exit. YEL. A merry porter! MAUD. How can he choose but be so, Coming with Cambridge-letters from our son Tim? YEL. What’s here? maximus diligo; faith, I must to my learned counsel with this gear,[11] ’twill ne’er be discerned else. MAUD. Go to my cousin then, at Inns-of-court. YEL. Fie, they are all for French, they speak no Latin. MAUD. The parson then will do it. YEL. Nay, he disclaims it, Calls Latin papistry, he will not deal with it.—

Enter a Gentleman.

What is’t you lack,[12] gentleman? GENT. Pray, weigh this chain. [Gives chain, which YELLOWHAMMER weighs.

Enter SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND, Welshwoman, and DAVY.

SIR WAL. Now, wench, thou art welcome To the heart of the city of London. WELSH. Dugat a whee. SIR WAL. You can thank me in English, if you list. WELSH. I can, sir, simply. SIR WAL. ’Twill serve to pass, wench; ’Twas strange that I should lie with thee so often, To leave thee without English, that were unnatural. I bring thee up to turn thee into gold, wench, And make thy fortune shine like your bright trade; A goldsmith’s shop sets out a city maid.— Davy Dahanna, not a word. DAVY. Mum, mum, sir. SIR WAL. Here you must pass for a pure virgin. DAVY. Pure Welsh virgin! She lost her maidenhead in Brecknockshire. [Aside. SIR WAL. I hear you mumble, Davy. DAVY. I have teeth, sir; I need not mumble yet this forty years. SIR WAL. The knave bites plaguily! YEL. What’s your price, sir? GENT. A hundred pound, sir. YEL. A hundred marks[13] the utmost; ’Tis not for me else.—What, sir Walter Whorehound? [Exit Gentleman.

MOLL. O death! [Exit. MAUD. Why, daughter—Faith, the baggage [is] A bashful girl, sir; these young things are shame-fac’d; Besides, you have a presence, sweet sir Walter, Able to daunt a maid brought up i' the city: A brave court-spirit makes our virgins quiver, And kiss with trembling thighs; yet see, she comes, sir.

Re-enter MOLL. SIR WAL. Why, how now, pretty mistress? now I've caught you: What, can you injure so your time to stray Thus from your faithful servant? YEL. Pish, stop your words, good knight,—'twill make her blush else,— Which wound[14] too high for the daughters of the freedom. Honour and faithful servant! they are compliments For the worthies of Whitehall or Greenwich; E'en plain, sufficient subsidy-words serve[15] us, sir. And is this gentlewoman your worthy niece? SIR WAL. You may be bold with her on these terms, ’tis she, sir, Heir to some nineteen mountains. YEL. Bless us all! You overwhelm me, sir, with love and riches. SIR WAL. And all as high as Paul’s. DAVY. Here’s work, i’faith! [Aside. SIR WAL. How sayst thou, Davy? DAVY. Higher, sir, by far; You cannot see the top of ’em. YEL. What, man!— Maudlin, salute this gentlewoman, our daughter, If things hit right.

Enter TOUCHWOOD junior. TOUCH. JUN. My knight, with a brace of footmen, Is come, and brought up his ewe-mutton to find A ram at London; I must hasten it, Or else pick[16] a' famine; her blood is mine, And that’s the surest. Well, knight, that choice spoil Is only kept for me. [Aside. MOLL. Sir—— TOUCH. JUN. Turn[17] not to me till thou mayst lawfully; it but whets my stomach, which is too sharp-set already. Read that note carefully [giving letter to MOLL]; keep me from suspicion still, nor know my zeal but in thy heart:

Read, and send but thy liking in three words; I'll be at hand to take it. YEL. O turn, sir, turn.[18] A poor, plain boy, an university man; Proceeds next Lent to a bachelor of art; He will be call’d sir Yellowhammer then Over all Cambridge, and that’s half a knight. MAUD. Please you, draw near And taste the welcome of the city, sir. YEL. Come, good sir Walter, and your virtuous niece here. SIR WAL. ’Tis manners to take kindness. YEL. Lead ’em in, wife. SIR WAL. Your company, sir? YEL. I'll give’t you instantly.

[Exeunt MAUDLIN, SIR W. WHOREHOUND, _Welchwoman, and_ DAVY. TOUCH. JUN. How strangely busy is the devil and riches! Poor soul! kept in too hard, her mother’s eye Is cruel toward her, being to him. 'Twere a good mirth now to set him a-work To make her wedding-ring; I must about it: Rather than the gain should fall to a stranger, ’Twas honesty in me t' enrich my father. [Aside. YEL. The girl is wondrous peevish. I fear nothing But that she’s taken with some other love, Then all’s quite dash’d: that must be narrowly look’d to; We cannot be too wary in our children.— [Aside. What is’t you lack?[19] TOUCH. JUN. O, nothing now; all that I wish is present: I'd have a wedding-ring made for a gentlewoman With all speed that may be. YEL. Of what weight, sir? TOUCH. JUN. Of some half ounce, stand fair And comely, with the spark of a diamond; Sir, ’twere pity to lose the least grace. YEL. Pray, let’s see it. [Takes stone from TOUCHWOOD junior.

Indeed, sir, ’tis a pure one. TOUCH. JUN. So is the mistress. YEL. Have you the wideness of her finger, sir? TOUCH. JUN. Yes, sure, I think I have her measure about me: Good faith, ’tis down, I cannot shew it you; I must pull too many things out to be certain. Let me see—long and slender, and neatly jointed; Just such another gentlewoman—that’s your daughter, sir? YEL. And therefore, sir, no gentlewoman. TOUCH. JUN. I protest I ne’er saw two maids handed more alike; I'll ne’er seek farther, if you’ll give me leave, sir. YEL. If you dare venture by her finger, sir. TOUCH. JUN. Ay, and I'll bide all loss, sir. YEL. Say you so, sir? Let us see.—Hither, girl. TOUCH. JUN. Shall I make bold With your finger, gentlewoman? MOLL. Your pleasure, sir. TOUCH. JUN. That fits her to a hair, sir. [Trying ring on MOLL’S finger. YEL. What’s your posy now, sir? TOUCH. JUN. Mass, that’s true: posy? i’faith, e’en thus, sir: _Love that’s wise Blinds parents' eyes_. YEL. How, how? if I may speak without offence, sir, I hold my life—— TOUCH. JUN. What, sir? YEL. Go to,—you’ll pardon me? TOUCH. JUN. Pardon you? ay, sir. YEL. Will you, i’faith? TOUCH. JUN. Yes, faith, I will. YEL. You’ll steal away some man’s daughter: am I near you? Do you turn aside? you gentlemen are mad wags! I wonder things can be so warily carried, And parents blinded so: but they’re serv’d right, That have two eyes and were so dull a' sight. TOUCH. JUN. Thy doom take hold of thee! [Aside. YEL. To-morrow noon Shall shew your ring well done. TOUCH. JUN. Being so, ’tis soon.— Thanks, and your leave, sweet gentlewoman. MOLL. Sir, you’re welcome.— [Exit TOUCHWOOD junior.

O were I made of wishes, I went with thee! [Aside. YEL. Come now, we’ll see how the rules[20] go within. MOLL. That robs my joy; there I lose all I win. [Aside. Exeunt.

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Act I, Scene II

A hall in ALLWIT’S house.

Enter DAVY and ALLWIT severally.

DAVY. Honesty wash my eyes! I've spied a wittol.[21] [Aside.

ALLWIT. What, Davy Dahanna? welcome from North Wales, i’faith! And is sir Walter come? DAVY. New come to town, sir. ALLWIT. In to the maids, sweet Davy, and give order His chamber be made ready instantly. My wife’s as great as she can wallow, Davy, and longs For nothing but pickled cucumbers and his coming; And now she shall ha’t, boy. DAVY. She’s sure of them, sir. ALLWIT. Thy very sight will hold my wife in pleasure Till the knight come himself; go in, in, in, Davy. [Exit DAVY. The founder’s come to town: I'm like a man Finding a table furnish’d to his hand, As mine is still to me, prays for the founder,— Bless the right worshipful the good founder’s life! I thank him, has maintain’d my house this ten years; Not only keeps my wife, but ’a keeps me And all my family; I'm at his table: He gets me all my children, and pays the nurse Monthly or weekly; puts me to nothing, rent, Nor church-duties, not so much as the scavenger: The happiest state that ever man was born to! I walk out in a morning; come to breakfast, Find excellent cheer; a good fire in winter; Look in my coal-house about midsummer eve, That’s full, five or six chaldron new laid up; Look in my back-yard, I shall find a steeple Made up with Kentish faggots, which o’erlooks The water-house and the windmills: I say nothing, But smile and pin the door. When she lies in, As now she’s even upon the point of grunting, A lady lies not in like her; there’s her embossings, Embroiderings, spanglings, and I know not what, As if she lay with all the gaudy-shops[22] In Gresham’s Burse[23] about her; then her restoratives, Able to set up a young pothecary, And richly stock the foreman of a drug-shop; Her sugar by whole loaves, her wines by rundlets. I see these things, but, like a happy man, I pay for none at all; yet fools think’s[24] mine; I have the name, and in his gold I shine: And where[25] some merchants would in soul kiss hell To buy a paradise for their wives, and dye Their conscience in the bloods of prodigal heirs To deck their night-piece, yet all this being done, Eaten with jealousy to the inmost bone,— As what affliction nature more constrains, Than feed the wife plump for another’s veins?— These torments stand I freed of; I'm as clear From jealousy of a wife as from the charge: O, two miraculous blessings! ’tis the knight Hath took that labour all out of my hands: I may sit still and play; he’s jealous for me, Watches her steps, sets spies; I live at ease, He has both the cost and torment: when the string[26] Of his heart frets, I feed, laugh, or sing, La dildo, dildo la dildo, la dildo dildo de dildo! [Sings.

Enter two Servants.

FIRST SER. What, has he got a singing in his head now? SEC. SER. Now’s out of work, he falls to making dildoes. ALLWIT. Now, sirs, sir Walter’s come. FIRST SER. Is our master come? ALLWIT. Your master! what am I? FIRST SER. Do not you know, sir? ALLWIT. Pray, am not I your master? FIRST SER. O, you’re but Our mistress’s husband. ALLWIT. Ergo, knave, your master. FIRST SER. Negatur argumentum.—Here comes sir Walter:

Enter SIR WALTER and DAVY.

Now ’a stands bare as well as we; make the most of him, He’s but one peep above a serving-man, And so much his horns make him. SIR WAL. How dost, Jack? ALLWIT. Proud of your worship’s health, sir. SIR WAL. How does your wife? ALLWIT. E'en after your own making, sir; She’s a tumbler, ’afaith, the nose and belly meet.[27] SIR WAL. They’ll part in time again. ALLWIT. At the good hour they will, and[28] please your worship. SIR WAL. Here, sirrah, pull off my boots.—Put on,[29] put on, Jack. [Servant pulls off his boots. ALLWIT. I thank your kind worship, sir. SIR WAL. Slippers! heart, you are sleepy! [Servant brings slippers. ALLWIT. The game begins already. [Aside. SIR WAL. Pish, put on, Jack. ALLWIT. Now I must do’t, or he’ll be as angry now, As if I had put it on at first bidding; ’Tis but observing, ’Tis but observing a man’s humour once, And he may ha' him by the nose all his life. [Aside. SIR WAL. What entertainment has lain open here? No strangers in my absence? FIRST SER. Sure, sir, not any. ALLWIT. His jealousy begins: am not I happy now, That can laugh inward whilst his marrow melts? [Aside. SIR WAL. How do you satisfy me? FIRST SER. Good sir, be patient! SIR WAL. For two months' absence I'll be satisfied. FIRST SER. No living creature enter’d—— SIR WAL. Enter’d? come, swear! FIRST SER. You will not hear me out, sir—— SIR WAL. Yes, I'll hear’t out, sir. FIRST SER. Sir, he can tell himself—— SIR WAL. Heart, he can tell? Do you think I'll trust him? as a usurer With forfeited lordships:—him? O monstrous injury! Believe him? can the devil speak ill of darkness?— What can you say, sir? ALLWIT. Of my soul and conscience, sir, She’s a wife as honest of her body to me As any lord’s proud lady [e’er] can be! SIR WAL. Yet, by your leave, I heard you were once offering To go to bed to her. ALLWIT. No, I protest, sir! SIR WAL. Heart, if you do, you shall take all! I'll marry. ALLWIT. O, I beseech you, sir! SIR WAL. That wakes the slave, And keeps his flesh in awe. [Aside. ALLWIT. I'll stop that gap Where’er I find it open: I have poison’d His hopes in marriage already [with] Some old rich widows, and some landed virgins; And I'll fall to work still before I'll lose him; He’s yet too sweet to part from. [Aside.

Enter WAT and NICK.

WAT. God-den,[30] father. ALLWIT. Ha, villain, peace! NICK. God-den, father. ALLWIT. Peace, bastard! Should he hear ’em! [Aside.]—These are two foolish children, They do not know the gentleman that sits there. SIR WAL. O, Wat—how dost, Nick? go to school, ply your books, boys, ha? ALLWIT. Where’s your legs, whoresons?—They should kneel indeed, If they could say their prayers. SIR WAL. Let me see, stay,— How shall I dispose of these two brats now When I am married? for they must not mingle Amongst my children that I get in wedlock; 'Twill make foul work that, and raise many storms. I will bind Wat prentice to a goldsmith, My father Yellowhammer, as fit as can be; Nick with some vintner; good, goldsmith and vintner; There will be wine in bowls, i’faith. [Aside.

Enter MISTRESS ALLWIT.

MIS. ALL. Sweet knight, Welcome! I've all my longings now in town; Now welcome the good hour! SIR WAL. How cheers my mistress? MIS. ALL. Made lightsome e’en by him that made me heavy. SIR WAL. Methinks she shews gallantly, like a moon at full, sir. ALLWIT. True, and if she bear a male child, there’s the man in the moon, sir. SIR WAL. ’Tis but the boy in the moon yet, good-man calf. ALLWIT. There was a man, the boy had ne’er been there else. SIR WAL. It shall be yours, sir. ALLWIT. No, by my troth, I'll swear It’s none of mine; let him that got it keep it!— Thus do I rid myself of fear,[31] Lie soft, sleep hard, drink wine, and eat good cheer. [Aside. Exeunt.

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Act II, Scene I

A Street.

Enter TOUCHWOOD senior and MISTRESS TOUCHWOOD.

MIS. TOUCH. ’Twill be so tedious, sir, to live from you, But that necessity must be obey’d. TOUCH. SEN. I would it might not, wife! the tediousness Will be the most part mine, that understand The blessings I have in thee; so to part, That drives the torment to a knowing heart. But, as thou sayst, we must give way to need, And live awhile asunder; our desires Are both too fruitful for our barren fortunes. How adverse runs the destiny of some creatures! Some only can get riches and no children; We only can get children and no riches: Then ’tis the prudent’s[t] part to check our will,[32] And, till our state rise, make our bloods lie still. 'Life, every year a child, and some years two! Besides drinkings abroad, that’s never reckon’d; This gear[33] will not hold out. MIS. TOUCH. Sir, for a time I'll take the courtesy of my uncle’s house, If you be pleas’d to like on’t, till prosperity Look with a friendly eye upon our states. TOUCH. SEN. Honest wife, I thank thee! I never knew The perfect treasure thou brought’st with thee more Than at this instant minute: a man’s happy When he’s at poorest, that has match’d his soul As rightly as his body: had I married A sensual fool now, as ’tis hard to ’scape it 'Mongst gentlewomen of our time, she would ha' hang’d About my neck, and never left her hold Till she had kiss’d me into wanton businesses, Which at the waking of my better judgment I should have curs’d most bitterly, And laid a thicker vengeance on my act Than misery of the birth; which were enough If it were born to greatness, whereas mine Is sure of beggary, though ’t were got in wine. Fulness of joy sheweth the goodness in thee; Thou art a matchless wife: farewell, my joy! MIS. TOUCH. I shall not want your sight? TOUCH. SEN. I'll see thee often, Talk in mirth, and play at kisses with thee; Any thing, wench, but what may beget beggars: There I give o’er the set, throw down the cards, And dare not take them up. MIS. TOUCH. Your will be mine, sir! [Exit. TOUCH. SEN. This does not only make her honesty perfect, But her discretion, and approves her judgment. Had her desire[s] been wanton, they’d been blameless, In being lawful ever; but of all creatures, I hold that wife a most unmatchèd treasure, That can unto her fortunes fix her pleasure, And not unto her blood: this is like wedlock; The feast of marriage is not lust, but love, And care of the estate. When I please blood, Merrily I sing and suck out others' then: ’Tis many a wise man’s fault: but of all men I am the most unfortunate in that game That ever pleas’d both genders; I ne’er play’d yet Under a bastard; the poor wenches curse me To the pit where’er I come; they were ne’er serv’d so, But us’d to have more words than one to a bargain: I've such a fatal finger in such business, I must forth with’t; chiefly for country wenches, For every harvest I shall hinder hay-making; I had no less than seven lay in last progress,[34] Within three weeks of one another’s time.

Enter a Country Girl with a child.

C. GIRL. O snaphance,[35] have I found you? TOUCH. SEN. How snaphance? C. GIRL. Do you see your workmanship? nay, turn not from’t, Nor offer to escape; for if you do, I'll cry it through the streets, and follow you. Your name may well be call’d Touchwood,—a pox on you! You do but touch and take; thou hast undone me: I was a maid before, I can bring a certificate For it from both the churchwardens. TOUCH. SEN. I'll have The parson’s hand too, or I'll not yield to’t. C. GIRL. Thou shalt have more, thou villain! Nothing grieves me But Ellen my poor cousin in Derbyshire; Thou’st crack’d her marriage quite; she’ll have a bout with thee. TOUCH. SEN. Faith, when she will, I'll have a bout with her. C. GIRL. A law-bout, sir, I mean. TOUCH. SEN. True, lawyers use Such bouts as other men do; and if that Be all thy grief, I'll tender her a husband; I keep of purpose two or three gulls in pickle To eat such mutton[36] with, and she shall choose one. Do but in courtesy, faith, wench, excuse me Of this half yard of flesh, in which, I think, It wants a nail or two. C. GIRL. No; thou shalt find, villain, It hath right shape, and all the nails it should have. TOUCH. SEN. Faith, I am poor; do a charitable deed, wench; I am a younger brother, and have nothing. C. GIRL. Nothing? thou hast too much, thou lying villain, Unless thou wert more thankful! TOUCH. SEN. I've no dwelling; I brake up house but this morning; pray thee, pity me; I'm a good fellow, faith; have been too kind To people of your gender; if I ha’t Without my belly, none of your sex shall want it: That word has been of force to move a woman. There’s tricks enough to rid thy hand on’t, wench; Some rich man’s porch, to-morrow before day, Or else anon i' the evening; twenty devices. Here’s all I have, i’faith; take purse and all, And would I were rid of all the ware i' the shop so! [Gives money.

C. GIRL. Where I find manly dealings, I am pitiful: This shall not trouble you. TOUCH. SEN. And I protest, wench, The next I'll keep myself. C. GIRL. Soft, let it be got first. This is the fifth; if e’er I venture more, Where I now go for a maid, may I ride for a whore! [Exit. TOUCH. SEN. What shift she’ll make now with this piece of flesh In this strict time of Lent, I cannot imagine; Flesh dare not peep abroad now: I have known This city now above this seven years, But, I protest, in better state of government I never knew it yet, nor ever heard of; There have[37] been more religious wholesome laws In the half-circle of a year erected For common good than memory e’er knew of, Setting apart corruption of promoters,[38] And other poisonous officers, that infect And with a venomous breath taint every goodness.

Enter SIR OLIVER KIX and LADY KIX.

LADY KIX. O that e’er I was begot, or bred, or born! SIR OL. Be content, sweet wife. TOUCH. SEN. What’s here to do now? I hold my life she’s in deep passion[39] For the imprisonment of veal and mutton, Now kept in garrets; weeps for some calf’s head now: Methinks her husband’s head might serve, with bacon. [Aside.

Enter TOUCHWOOD junior.

TOUCH. JUN.[40] Hist! SIR OL. Patience, sweet wife. TOUCH. JUN. Brother, I've sought you strangely. TOUCH. SEN. Why, what’s the business? TOUCH. JUN. With all speed thou canst Procure a license for me. TOUCH. SEN. How, a license? TOUCH. JUN. Cud’s foot, she’s lost else! I shall miss her ever. TOUCH. SEN. Nay, sure thou shalt not miss so fair a mark For thirteen shillings fourpence.[41] TOUCH. JUN. Thanks by hundreds! [Exeunt TOUCHWOOD senior and junior. SIR OL. Nay, pray thee, cease; I'll be at more cost yet, Thou know’st we’re rich enough. LADY KIX. All but in blessings, And there the beggar goes beyond us: O-o-o! To be seven years a wife, and not a child! O, not a child! SIR OL. Sweet wife, have patience. LADY KIX. Can any woman have a greater cut? SIR OL. I know ’tis great, but what of that, [sweet] wife? I cannot do withal;[42] there’s things making, By thine own doctor’s advice, at pothecary’s: I spare for nothing, wife; no, if the price Were forty marks a spoonful, I would give A thousand pound to purchase fruitfulness: It is but bating so many good works In the erecting of bridewells and spittlehouses, And so fetch it up again; for having none, I mean to make good deeds my children. LADY KIX. Give me but those good deeds, and I'll find children. SIR OL. Hang thee, thou’st had too many! LADY KIX. Thou liest, brevity! SIR OL. O horrible! dar’st thou call me brevity? Dar’st thou be so short with me? LADY KIX. Thou deserv’st worse: Think but upon the goodly lands and livings That’s kept back through want on’t. SIR OL. Talk not on’t, pray thee; Thou’lt make me play the woman and weep too. LADY KIX. ’Tis our dry barrenness puffs up sir Walter; None gets by your not getting but that knight; He’s made by th' means, and fats his fortunes shortly In a great dowry with a goldsmith’s daughter. SIR OL. They may be all deceiv’d; be but you patient, wife. LADY KIX. I've suffer’d a long time. SIR OL. Suffer thy heart out; A pox suffer thee! LADY KIX. Nay, thee, thou desertless slave! SIR OL. Come, come, I ha' done: you’ll to the gossiping Of master Allwit’s child? LADY KIX. Yes, to my much joy! Every one gets before me; there’s my sister Was married but at Bartholomew-eve last, And she can have two children at a birth: O, one of them, one of them, would ha' serv’d my turn! SIR OL. Sorrow consume thee! thou’rt still crossing me, And know’st my nature.

Enter Maid. MAID. O mistress!—weeping or railing, That’s our house-harmony. [Aside. LADY KIX. What sayst, Jug? MAID. The sweetest news! LADY KIX. What is’t, wench? MAID. Throw down your doctor’s drugs, They’re all but heretics; I bring certain remedy, That has been taught and prov’d, and never fail’d. SIR OL. O that, that, that, or nothing! MAID. There’s a gentleman, I haply have his name too, that has got Nine children by one water that he useth: It never misses; they come so fast upon him, He was fain to give it over. LADY KIX. His name, sweet Jug? MAID. One master Touchwood, a fine gentleman, But run behind-hand much with getting children. SIR OL. Is’t possible! MAID. Why, sir, he’ll undertake, Using that water, within fifteen year, For all your wealth, to make you a poor man, You shall so swarm with children. SIR OL. I'll venture that, i’faith. LADY KIX. That shall you, husband. MAID. But I must tell you first, he’s very dear. SIR OL. No matter, what serves wealth for? LADY KIX. True, sweet husband; There’s land to come; put case his water stands me In some five hundred pound a pint, 'Twill fetch a thousand, and a kersten[43] soul, And that’s worth all, sweet husband: I'll about it.[44] [Exeunt.

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Act II, Scene II

Before ALLWIT’S house.[45]

Enter ALLWIT.

ALLWIT. I'll go bid gossips presently myself, That’s all the work I'll do; nor need I stir, But that it is my pleasure to walk forth, And air myself a little: I am tied To nothing in this business; what I do Is merely recreation, not constraint. Here’s running to and fro! nurse upon nurse, Three charewomen, besides maids and neighbours' children. Fie, what a trouble have I rid my hands on! It makes me sweat to think on’t.

Enter SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND. SIR WAL. How now, Jack? ALLWIT. I'm going to bid gossips for your worship’s child, sir; A goodly girl, i’faith! give you joy on her; She looks as if she had two thousand pound To her portion, and run away with a tailor; A fine plump black-ey’d slut: under correction, sir, I take delight to see her.—Nurse!

Enter Dry Nurse. DRY N. Do you call, sir? ALLWIT. I call not you, I call the wet nurse hither. [Exit Dry Nurse. Give me the wet nurse!—

Enter Wet Nurse carrying child.

Ay, ’tis thou; come hither, Come hither: Let’s see her once again; I cannot choose But buss her thrice an hour. WET N. You may be proud on’t, sir; 'Tis the best piece of work that e’er you did. ALLWIT. Think’st thou so, nurse? what sayst to Wat and Nick? WET N. They’re pretty children both, but here’s a wench Will be a knocker. ALLWIT. Pup,—sayst thou me so?—pup, little countess!— Faith, sir, I thank your worship for this girl Ten thousand times and upward. SIR WAL. I am glad I have her for you, sir. ALLWIT. Here, take her in, nurse; Wipe her, and give her spoon-meat. WET N. Wipe your mouth, sir. [Exit with the child. ALLWIT. And now about these gossips. SIR WAL. Get but two; I'll stand for one myself. ALLWIT. To your own child, sir? SIR WAL. The better policy, it prevents suspicion; ’Tis good to play with rumour at all weapons. ALLWIT. Troth, I commend your care, sir; ’tis a thing That I should ne’er have thought on. SIR WAL. The more slave: When man turns base, out goes his soul’s pure flame, The fat of ease o’erthrows[46] the eyes of shame. ALLWIT. I'm studying who to get for godmother, Suitable to your worship. Now I ha' thought on’t. SIR WAL. I'll ease you of that care, and please myself in’t— My love the goldsmith’s daughter, if I send, Her father will command her. [Aside.]—Davy Dahanna![47]

Enter DAVY. ALLWIT. I'll fit your worship then with a male partner. SIR WAL. What is he? ALLWIT. A kind, proper gentleman, Brother to master Touchwood. SIR WAL. I know Touchwood: Has he a brother living? ALLWIT. A neat bachelor. SIR WAL. Now we know him, we will make shift with him: Despatch, the time draws near.—Come hither, Davy. [Exit with DAVY. ALLWIT. In troth, I pity him; he ne’er stands still: Poor knight, what pains he takes! sends this way one, That way another; has not an hour’s leisure: I would not have thy toil for all thy pleasure.

Enter two Promoters.[48]

Ha, how now? what are these that stand so close At the street-corner, pricking up their ears And snuffing up their noses, like rich men’s dogs When the first course goes in? By the mass, promoters; ’Tis so, I hold my life; and planted there T' arrest the dead corps[49] of poor calves and sheep, Like ravenous creditors, that will not suffer The bodies of their poor departed debtors To go to th' grave, but e’en in death to vex And stay the corps with bills of Middlesex. This Lent will fat the whoresons up with sweet-breads, And lard their whores with lamb-stones: what their golls[50] Can clutch goes presently to their Molls and Dolls: The bawds will be so fat with what they earn, Their chins will hang like udders by Easter-eve, And, being stroak’d, will give the milk of witches. How did the mongrels hear my wife lies in? Well, I may baffle ’em gallantly. [Aside.]—By your favour, gentlemen, I am a stranger both unto the city And to her carnal strictness. FIRST PRO. Good; your will, sir? ALLWIT. Pray, tell me where one dwells that kills this Lent? FIRST PRO. How? kills?—Come hither, Dick; a bird, a bird! SEC. PRO. What is’t that you would have? ALLWIT. Faith, any flesh; But I long especially for veal and green-sauce. FIRST PRO. Green goose, you shall be sauc’d. [Aside. ALLWIT. I've half a scornful stomach, No fish will be admitted. FIRST PRO. Not this Lent, sir? ALLWIT. Lent? what cares colon[51] here for Lent? FIRST PRO. You say well, sir; Good reason that the colon of a gentleman, As you were lately pleas’d to term your worship['s], sir, Should be fulfill’d with answerable food, To sharpen blood, delight health, and tickle nature. Were you directed hither to this street, sir? ALLWIT. That I was, ay, marry. SEC. PRO. And the butcher, belike, Should kill and sell close in some upper room? ALLWIT. Some apple-loft, as I take it, or a coal-house; I know not which, i’faith. SEC. PRO. Either will serve: This butcher shall kiss Newgate, ’less he turn up The bottom of the pocket of his apron.— [Aside. You go to seek him? ALLWIT. Where you shall not find him: I'll buy, walk by your noses with my flesh, Sheep-biting mongrels, hand-basket freebooters! My wife lies in—a foutra for[52] promoters! [Exit. FIRST PRO. That shall not serve your turn.— What a rogue’s this! How cunningly he came over us!

Enter Man with a basket under his cloak. SEC. PRO. Hush’t, stand close! MAN. I have ’scap’d well thus far; they say the knaves Are wondrous hot and busy. FIRST PRO. By your leave, sir, We must see what you have under your cloak there. MAN. Have? I have nothing. FIRST PRO. No? do you tell us that? what makes this lump Stick out then? we must see, sir. MAN. What will you see, sir? A pair of sheets and two of my wife’s foul smocks Going to the washers. SEC. PRO. O, we love that sight well! You cannot please us better. What, do you gull us? Call you these shirts and smocks? [Seizes basket, and takes out of it a piece of meat. MAN. Now, a pox choke you! You’ve cozen’d me and five of my wife’s kindred Of a good dinner; we must make it up now With herrings and milk-pottage. [Exit. FIRST PRO. ’Tis all veal. SEC. PRO. All veal? Pox, the worse luck! I promis’d faithfully To send this morning a fat quarter of lamb To a kind gentlewoman in Turnbull Street[53] That longs, and how I'm crost! FIRST PRO. Let us share this, and see what hap comes next then. SEC. PRO. Agreed. Stand close again; another booty.

Enter Man with a basket.

What’s he? FIRST PRO. Sir, by your favour. MAN. Meaning me, sir? FIRST PRO. Good master Oliver? cry thee mercy, i’faith! What hast thou there? MAN. A rack of mutton, sir, And half a lamb; you know my mistress' diet. FIRST PRO. Go, go, we see thee not; away, keep close!— Heart, let him pass! thou’lt never have the wit To know our benefactors. SEC. PRO. I have forgot him. FIRST PRO. ’Tis master Beggarland’s man, the wealthy merchant, That is in fee with us. SEC. PRO. Now I've a feeling of him. [Exit Man. FIRST PRO. You know he purchas’d the whole Lent together, Gave us ten groats a-piece on Ash-Wednesday. SEC. PRO. True, true. FIRST PRO. A wench! SEC. PRO. Why, then, stand close indeed.

Enter Country Girl with a basket. C. GIRL. Women had need of wit, if they’ll shift here, And she that hath wit may shift anywhere. [Aside. FIRST PRO. Look, look! poor fool, sh’as left the rump uncover’d too, More to betray her! this is like a murderer That will outface the deed with a bloody band.[54] SEC. PRO. What time of the year is’t, sister? C. GIRL. O sweet gentlemen! I'm a poor servant, let me go. FIRST PRO. You shall, wench, But this must stay with us. C. GIRL. O you undo me, sir! ’Tis for a wealthy gentlewoman that takes physic, sir; The doctor does allow my mistress mutton. O, as you tender the dear life of a gentlewoman! I'll bring my master to you; he shall shew you A true authority from the higher powers, And I'll run every foot. SEC. PRO. Well, leave your basket then, And run and spare not. C. GIRL. Will you swear then to me To keep it till I come? FIRST PRO. Now by this light I will. C. GIRL. What say you, gentleman? SEC. PRO. What a strange wench ’tis!— Would we might perish else. C. GIRL. Nay, then I run, sir. [Leaves the basket, and exit. FIRST PRO. And ne’er return, I hope. SEC. PRO. A politic baggage! she makes us swear to keep it: I prithee look what market she hath made. FIRST PRO. Imprimis, sir, a good fat loin of mutton. [Taking out a loin of mutton.

What comes next under this cloth? now for a quarter Of lamb. SEC. PRO. Not, for a shoulder of mutton. FIRST PRO. Done! SEC. PRO. Why, done, sir! FIRST PRO. By the mass, I feel I've lost; ’Tis of more weight, i’faith. SEC. PRO. Some loin of veal? FIRST PRO. No, faith, here’s a lamb’s head, I feel that plainly; Why, [I'll] yet win my wager. SEC. PRO. Ha! FIRST PRO. ’Swounds, what’s here! [Taking out a child. SEC. PRO. A child! FIRST PRO. A pox of all dissembling cunning whores! SEC. PRO. Here’s an unlucky breakfast! FIRST PRO. What shall’s do? SEC. PRO. The quean made us swear to keep it too. FIRST PRO. We might leave it else. SEC. PRO. Villanous strange! 'Life, had she none to gull but poor promoters, That watch hard for a living? FIRST PRO. Half our gettings Must run in sugar-sops and nurses' wages now, Besides many a pound of soap and tallow; We’ve need to get loins of mutton still, to save Suet to change for candles. SEC. PRO. Nothing mads me But this was a lamb’s head with you; you felt it: She has made calves' heads of us. FIRST PRO. Prithee, no more on’t; There’s time to get it up; it is not come To Mid-Lent Sunday yet. SEC. PRO. I am so angry, I'll watch no more to-day. FIRST PRO. Faith, nor I neither. SEC. PRO. Why, then, I'll make a motion. FIRST PRO. Well, what is’t? SEC. PRO. Let’s e’en go to the Checker at Queenhive,[55] And roast the loin of mutton till young flood; Then send the child to Branford.[56] [Exeunt.

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Act II, Scene III

A hall in ALLWIT’S house.

Enter ALLWIT in one of SIR WALTER’S suits, and DAVY trussing him.[57]

ALLWIT. ’Tis a busy day at our house, Davy. DAVY. Always the kursning-day,[58] sir. ALLWIT. Truss, truss me, Davy. DAVY. No matter and[59] you were hang’d, sir. [Aside. ALLWIT. How does this suit fit me, Davy? DAVY. Excellent neatly; My master’s things were ever fit for you, sir, E'en to a hair, you know. ALLWIT. Thou’st hit it right, Davy; We ever jump’d in one this ten years, Davy; So, well said.—

Enter Man with a box.

What art thou? MAN. Your comfit-maker’s man, sir. ALLWIT. O sweet youth! In to the nurse, quick, quick, ’tis time, i’faith. Your mistress will be here? MAN. She was setting forth, sir. [Exit. ALLWIT. Here come[60] our gossips now: O, I shall have Such kissing work to-day!—

Enter two Puritans.

Sweet mistress Underman, Welcome, i’faith. FIRST PUR. Give you joy of your fine girl, sir: Grant that her education may be pure, And become one of the faithful! ALLWIT. Thanks to your sisterly wishes, mistress Underman. SEC. PUR. Are any of the brethren’s wives yet come? ALLWIT. There are some wives within, and some at home. FIRST PUR. Verily, thanks, sir. [Exeunt Puritans. ALLWIT. Verily you’re an ass, forsooth: I must fit all these times, or there’s no music. Here comes a friendly and familiar pair:

Enter two Gossips.

Now I like these wenches well. FIRST GOS. How dost, sirrah? ALLWIT. Faith, well, I thank you, neighbour;—and how dost thou? SEC. GOS. Want nothing but such getting, sir, as thine. ALLWIT. My gettings, wench? they’re poor. FIRST GOS. Fie, that thou’lt say so; Thou’st as fine children as a man can get. DAVY. Ay, as a man can get, and that’s my master. [Aside. ALLWIT. They’re pretty foolish things, put to making in minutes, I ne’er stand long about ’em. Will you walk in, wenches? [Exeunt Gossips.

Enter TOUCHWOOD junior and MOLL.

TOUCH. JUN. The happiest meeting that our souls could wish for! Here is the ring ready; I'm beholding[61] Unto your father’s haste, has kept his hour. MOLL. He never kept it better.

Enter SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND.

TOUCH. JUN. Back, be silent. SIR WAL. Mistress and partner, I will put you both Into one cup. DAVY. Into one cup? most proper; A fitting compliment for a goldsmith’s daughter. [Aside. ALLWIT. Yes, sir, that’s he must be your worship’s partner In this day’s business, master Touchwood’s brother. SIR WAL. I embrace your acquaintance, sir. TOUCH. JUN. It vows your service, sir. SIR WAL. It’s near high time; come, master Allwit. ALLWIT. Ready, sir. SIR WAL. Wilt please you walk? TOUCH. JUN. Sir, I obey your time. [Exeunt.

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Act II, Scene IV

Before ALLWIT’S house.

Enter from the house[62] Midwife with the child, LADY KIX and other Gossips, who exeunt; then MAUDLIN, Puritans, and other Gossips.

FIRST GOS. Good mistress Yellowhammer—— MAUD. In faith, I will not. FIRST GOS. Indeed it[63] shall be yours. MAUD. I have sworn, i’faith. FIRST GOS. I'll stand still then. MAUD. So, will you let the child Go without company, and make me forsworn? FIRST GOS. You are such another creature! [Exeunt First Gossip and MAUDLIN. SEC. GOS. Before me? I pray come down a little. THIRD GOS. Not a whit; I hope I know my place. SEC. GOS. Your place? great wonder, sure! Are you any better than a comfit-maker’s wife? THIRD GOS. And that’s as good at all times as a pothecary’s. SEC. GOS. Ye lie! yet I forbear you too. [Exeunt Second and Third Gossips. FIRST PUR. Come, sweet sister; we go In unity, and shew the fruits of peace, Like children of the spirit. SEC. PUR. I love lowliness. [Exeunt Puritans. FOURTH GOS. True, so say I, though they strive more; There comes as proud behind as goes before. FIFTH GOS. Every inch, i’faith. [Exeunt.

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Act III, Scene I

A room in TOUCHWOOD junior’s lodgings.

Enter TOUCHWOOD junior and Parson.

TOUCH. JUN. O sir, if e’er you felt the force of love, Pity it in me! PAR. Yes, though I ne’er was married, sir, I've felt the force of love from good men’s daughters, And some that will be maids yet three years hence. Have you got a license? TOUCH. JUN. Here, ’tis ready, sir. PAR. That’s well. TOUCH. JUN. The ring, and all things perfect; she’ll steal hither. PAR. She shall be welcome, sir; I'll not be long A clapping you together. TOUCH. JUN. O, here she’s come, sir!

Enter MOLL and TOUCHWOOD senior.

PAR. What’s he? TOUCH. JUN. My honest brother. TOUCH. SEN. Quick, make haste, sirs! MOLL. You must despatch with all the speed you can, For I shall be miss’d straight; I made hard shift For this small time I have. PAR. Then I'll not linger. Place that ring upon her finger: [TOUCHWOOD junior puts ring on MOLL’S finger. This the finger plays the part, Whose master-vein shoots from the heart: Now join hands——

Enter YELLOWHAMMER and SIR W. WHOREHOUND.

YEL. Which I will sever, And so ne’er again meet, never! MOLL. O, we’re betray’d! TOUCH. JUN. Hard fate! SIR WAL. I'm struck with wonder! YEL. Was this the politic fetch, thou mystical baggage, Thou disobedient strumpet!—And were [you] So wise to send for her to such an end? SIR WAL. Now I disclaim the end; you’ll make me mad. YEL. And what are you, sir? TOUCH. JUN. And[64] you cannot see With those two glasses, put on a pair more. YEL. I dream’d of anger still.—Here, take your ring, sir,— [Taking ring off MOLL’S finger. Ha! this? life, ’tis the same! abominable! Did not I sell this ring? TOUCH. JUN. I think you did; You receiv’d money for’t. YEL. Heart, hark you, knight; Here’s no[65] inconscionable villany! Set me a-work to make the wedding-ring, And come with an intent to steal my daughter! Did ever run-away match it! SIR WAL. This your brother, sir? TOUCH. SEN. He can tell that as well as I. YEL. The very posy mocks me to my face,— _Love that’s wise Blinds parents' eyes._ I thank your wisdom, sir, for blinding of us; We’ve good hope to recover our sight shortly: In the meantime I will lock up this baggage As carefully as my gold; she shall see As little sun, if a close room or so Can keep her from the light on’t. MOLL. O sweet father, For love’s sake, pity me! YEL. Away! MOLL. Farewell, sir; All content bless thee! and take this for comfort, Though violence keep me, thou canst lose me never, I'm ever thine, although we part for ever. YEL. Ay, we shall part you, minx. [Exit with MOLL. SIR WAL. Your acquaintance, sir, Came very lately, yet it came too soon; I must hereafter know you for no friend, But one that I must shun like pestilence, Or the disease of lust. TOUCH. JUN. Like enough, sir; You ha' ta’en me at the worst time for words That e’er ye pick’d out: faith, do not wrong me, sir. [Exit with Parson. TOUCH. SEN. Look after him, and spare not: there he walks That ne’er yet receiv’d baffling:[66] you are blest More than ever I knew; go, take your rest. [Exit. SIR WAL. I pardon you, you are both losers. [Exit.

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Act III, Scene II

A bed-chamber:[67] MISTRESS ALLWIT discovered in bed.

Enter Midwife with the child, LADY KIX, MAUDLIN, Puritans, and other Gossips.

FIRST GOS. How is it, woman? we have brought you home A kursen[68] soul. MIS. ALL. Ay, I thank your pains. FIRST PUR. And, verily, well kursen’d, i' the right way, Without idolatry or superstition, After the pure manner of Amsterdam.[69] MIS. ALL. Sit down, good neighbours.—Nurse. NURSE. At hand, forsooth. MIS. ALL. Look they have all low stools. NURSE. They have, forsooth. [All the Gossips seat themselves. SEC. GOS. Bring the child hither, nurse.—How say you now, gossip, Is’t not a chopping girl? so like the father. THIRD GOS. As if it had been spit out of his mouth! Ey’d,[70] nos’d, and brow’d, as like [as] a girl can be, Only, indeed, it has the mother’s mouth. SEC. GOS. The mother’s mouth up and down, up and down. THIRD GOS. ’Tis a large child, she’s but a little woman. FIRST PUR. No, believe me, A very spiny[71] creature, but all heart; Well mettled, like the faithful, to endure Her tribulation here, and raise up seed. SEC. GOS. She had a sore labour on’t, I warrant you; You can tell, neighbour? THIRD GOS. O, she had great speed; We were afraid once, but she made us all Have joyful hearts again; ’tis a good soul, i’faith; The midwife found her a most cheerful daughter. FIRST PUR. ’Tis the spirit; the sisters are all like her.

Enter SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND _carrying a silver standing-cup and two spoons, and_ ALLWIT. SEC. GOS. O, here comes the chief gossip, neighbours! [Exit Nurse. SIR WAL. The fatness of your wishes to you all, ladies! THIRD GOS. O dear, sweet gentleman, what fine words he has! The fatness of our wishes! SEC. GOS. Calls us all ladies! FOURTH GOS. I promise you, a fine gentleman and a courteous. SEC. GOS. Methinks her husband shews like aclown to him. THIRD GOS. I would not care what clown my husband were too, So I had such fine children. SEC. GOS. Sh’as all fine children, gossip. THIRD GOS. Ay, and see how fast they come! FIRST PUR. Children are blessings, If they be got with zeal by the brethren, As I have five at home. SIR WAL. The worst is past, I hope, now, gossip. MIS. ALL. So I hope too, good sir. ALLWIT. Why, then, so hope I too, for company; I've nothing to do else. SIR WAL. A poor remembrance, lady, To the love of the babe; I pray, accept of it. [Giving cup and spoons. MIS. ALL. O, you are at too much charge, sir! SEC. GOS. Look, look, what has he given her? what is’t, gossip? THIRD GOS. Now, by my faith, a fair high standing-cup And two great ’postle-spoons,[72] one of them gilt. FIRST PUR. Sure that was Judas then with the red beard.[73] SEC. PUR. I would not feed My daughter with that spoon for all the world, For fear of colouring her hair; red hair The brethren like not, it consumes them much; ’Tis not the sisters' colour.

Re-enter Nurse with comfits and wine. ALLWIT. Well said, nurse; About, about with them amongst the gossips!— [Nurse hands about the comfits. Now out come[74] all the tassell’d handkerchers, They’re spread abroad between their knees already; Now in go[75] the long fingers that are wash’d Some thrice a-day in urine; my wife uses it. Now we shall have such pocketing: see how They lurch at the lower end! [Aside. FIRST PUR. Come hither, nurse. ALLWIT. Again? she has taken twice already. [Aside. FIRST PUR. I had forgot a sister’s child that’s sick. [Taking comfits. ALLWIT. A pox! it seems your purity Loves sweet things well that puts in thrice together. Had this been all my cost now, I'd been beggar’d; These women have no consciences at sweetmeats, Where’er they come; see and[76] they’ve not cull’d out All the long plums too, they’ve left nothing here But short wriggle-tail comfits, not worth mouthing: No mar’l[77] I heard a citizen complain once That his wife’s belly only broke his back; Mine had been all in fitters[78] seven years since, But for this worthy knight, That with a prop upholds my wife and me, And all my estate buried in Bucklersbury.[79] [Aside. MIS. ALL. Here, mistress Yellowhammer, and neighbours, To you all that have taken pains with me, All the good wives at once! [Drinks; after which Nurse hands round the wine. FIRST PUR. I'll answer for them; They wish all health and strength, and that you may Courageously go forward, to perform The like and many such, like a true sister, With motherly bearing. [Drinks. ALLWIT. Now the cups troll about To wet the gossips' whistles; it pours down, i’faith; They never think of payment. [Aside. FIRST PUR. Fill again, nurse. [Drinks. ALLWIT. Now bless thee, two at once! I'll stay no longer; It would kill me, and if I paid for it.— [Aside. Will’t please you to walk down, and leave the women? SIR WAL. With all my heart, Jack. ALLWIT. Troth, I cannot blame you. SIR WAL. Sit you all merry, ladies. GOSSIPS. Thank your worship, sir. FIRST PUR. Thank your worship, sir. ALLWIT. A pox twice tipple ye, you’re last and lowest! [Aside. [Exeunt SIR WAL. WHOREHOUND and ALLWIT. FIRST PUR. Bring hither that same cup, nurse; I would fain Drive away this—hup—antichristian grief. [Drinks. THIRD GOS. See, gossip, and[80] she lies not in like a countess; Would I had such a husband for my daughter! FOURTH GOS. Is not she toward marriage? THIRD GOS. O no, sweet gossip! FOURTH GOS. Why, she’s nineteen. THIRD GOS. Ay, that she was last Lammas; But she has a fault, gossip, a secret fault. FOURTH GOS. A fault? what is’t? THIRD GOS. I'll tell you when I've drunk. [Drinks. FOURTH GOS. Wine can do that, I see, that friendship cannot. [Aside. THIRD GOS. And now I'll tell you, gossip; she’s too free. [Exit Nurse. FOURTH GOS. Too free? THIRD GOS. O ay, she cannot lie dry in her bed. FOURTH GOS. What, and nineteen? THIRD GOS. ’Tis as I tell you, gossip.

Re-enter Nurse, and whispers MAUDLIN.

MAUD. Speak with me, nurse? who is’t? NURSE. A gentleman From Cambridge; I think it be your son, forsooth. MAUD. ’Tis my son Tim, i’faith; prithee, call him up Among the women, ’twill embolden him well,— [Exit Nurse.

For he wants nothing but audacity. Would the Welsh gentlewoman at home were here now! [Aside. LADY KIX.[81] Is your son come, forsooth? MAUD. Yes, from the university, forsooth. LADY KIX. ’Tis great joy on ye. MAUD. There’s a great marriage Towards[82] for him. LADY KIX. A marriage? MAUD. Yes, sure, A huge heir in Wales at least to nineteen mountains, Besides her goods and cattle.[83]

Re-enter Nurse with TIM.

TIM. O, I'm betray’d! [Exit. MAUD. What, gone again?—Run after him, good nurse; He is so bashful, that’s the spoil of youth: [_Exit Nurse._ In the university they’re kept still to men, And ne’er train’d up to women’s company. LADY KIX. ’Tis a great spoil of youth indeed.

Re-enter Nurse and TIM.

NURSE. Your mother will have it so. MAUD. Why, son! why, Tim! What, must I rise and fetch you? for shame, son! TIM. Mother, you do intreat like a fresh-woman;[84] ’Tis against the laws of the university For any that has answer’d under bachelor To thrust ’mongst married wives. MAUD. Come, we’ll excuse you here. TIM. Call up my tutor, mother, and I care not. MAUD. What, is your tutor come? have you brought him up? TIM. I ha' not brought him up, he stands at door; Negatur, there’s logic to begin with you, mother. MAUD. Run, call the gentleman, nurse; he’s my son’s tutor.— [Exit Nurse. Here, eat some plums. [Offers comfits. TIM. Come I from Cambridge, And offer me six plums? MAUD. Why, how now, Tim? Will not your old tricks yet be left? TIM. Serv’d like a child, When I have answer’d under bachelor! MAUD. You’ll ne’er lin[85] till I make your tutor whip you; You know how I serv’d you once at the free-school In Paul’s Churchyard? TIM. O monstrous absurdity! Ne’er was the like in Cambridge since my time; 'Life, whip a bachelor! you’d be laugh’d at soundly; Let not my tutor hear you, ’twould be a jest Through the whole university. No more words, mother.

Re-enter Nurse with Tutor.

MAUD. Is this your tutor, Tim? TUTOR. Yes, surely, lady, I am the man that brought him in league with logic, And read the Dunces[86] to him. TIM. That did he, mother; But now I have ’em all in my own pate, And can as well read ’em to others. TUTOR. That can he, Mistress, for they flow naturally from him. MAUD. I am the more beholding[87] to your pains, sir. TUTOR. Non ideo sane. MAUD. True, he was an idiot indeed When he went out of London, but now he’s well mended. Did you receive the two goose-pies I sent you? TUTOR. And eat them heartily, thanks to your worship. MAUD. ’Tis my son Tim; I pray bid him welcome, gentlewomen. TIM. Tim? hark you, Timotheus, mother, Timotheus. MAUD. How, shall I deny your name? Timotheus, quoth he! Faith, there’s a name!—’Tis my son Tim, forsooth. LADY KIX. You’re welcome, master Tim. [Kisses TIM. TIM. O this is horrible, She wets as she kisses! [Aside.]—Your handkercher, sweet tutor, To wipe them off as fast as they come on. SEC. GOS. Welcome from Cambridge. [Kisses TIM. TIM. This is intolerable! This woman has a villanous sweet breath, Did she not stink of comfits. [Aside.]—Help me, sweet tutor, Or I shall rub my lips off! TUTOR. I'll go kiss The lower end the whilst. TIM. Perhaps that’s the sweeter, And we shall despatch the sooner. FIRST PUR. Let me come next: Welcome from the wellspring of discipline, That waters all the brethren. [Attempts to kiss TIM, but reels and falls. TIM. Hoist, I beseech thee! THIRD GOS. O bless the woman!—Mistress Underman—— [They raise her up. FIRST PUR. ’Tis but the common affliction of the faithful; We must embrace our falls. TIM. I'm glad I ’scap’d it; It was some rotten kiss sure, it dropt down Before it came at me.

Re-enter ALLWIT with DAVY.

ALLWIT. Here is a noise! not parted yet? hoida, A looking-glass!—They’ve drunk so hard in plate, That some of them had need of other vessels.— [Aside.

Yonder’s the bravest shew! GOSSIPS. Where, where, sir? ALLWIT. Come along presently by the Pissing-conduit,[88] With two brave drums and a standard-bearer. GOSSIPS. O brave! TIM. Come, tutor. [Exit with Tutor. GOSSIPS. Farewell, sweet gossip! MIS. ALL. I thank you all for your pains. FIRST PUR. Feed and grow strong. [Exeunt LADY KIX, MAUD., and all the Gossips. ALLWIT. You had more need to sleep than eat; Go take a nap with some of the brethren, go, And rise up a well-edified, boldified sister. O, here’s a day of toil well pass’d over, Able to make a citizen hare-mad! How hot they’ve made the room with their thick bums! Dost not feel it, Davy? DAVY. Monstrous strong, sir. ALLWIT. What’s here under the stools? DAVY. Nothing but wet, sir; Some wine spilt here belike. ALLWIT. Is’t no worse, think’st thou? Fair needlework stools cost nothing with them, Davy. DAVY. Nor you neither, i’faith. [Aside. ALLWIT. Look how they have laid them, E'en as they lie themselves, with their heels up! How they have shuffled up the rushes[89] too, Davy, With their short figging little shittle-cork[90] heels! These women can let nothing stand as they find it. But what’s the secret thou’st about to tell me, My honest Davy? DAVY. If you should disclose it, sir—— ALLWIT. ’Life, rip my belly up to the throat then, Davy! DAVY. My master’s upon marriage. ALLWIT. Marriage, Davy? Send me to hanging rather. DAVY. I have stung him! [Aside. ALLWIT. When, where? what is she, Davy? DAVY. Even the same was gossip, and gave the spoon. ALLWIT. I have no time to stay, nor scarce can speak: I'll stop those wheels, or all the work will break. [Exit. DAVY. I knew ’twould prick. Thus do I fashion still All mine own ends by him and his rank toil: ’Tis my desire to keep him still from marriage; Being his poor nearest kinsman, I may fare The better at his death; there my hopes build, Since my lady Kix is dry, and hath no child. [Exit.

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Act III, Scene III

A room in SIR OLIVER KIX’S house.

Enter TOUCHWOOD senior and TOUCHWOOD Junior.

TOUCH. JUN. You’re in the happiest way t' enrich yourself, And pleasure me, brother, as man’s feet can tread in; For though she be lock’d up, her vow is fix’d Only to me; then time shall never grieve me, For by that vow e’en absent [I] enjoy her, Assuredly confirm’d that none else shall, Which will make tedious years seem gameful to me: In the mean space, lose you no time, sweet brother; You have the means to strike at this knight’s fortunes, And lay him level with his bankrout[91] merit; Get but his wife[92] with child, perch at tree-top, And shake the golden fruit into her lap; About it before she weep herself to a dry ground, And whine out all her goodness. TOUCH. SEN. Prithee, cease; I find a too much aptness in my blood For such a business, without provocation; You might well spar’d this banquet of eringoes, Artichokes, potatoes, and your butter’d crab; They were fitter kept for your own wedding-dinner. TOUCH. JUN. Nay, and[93] you’ll follow my suit, and save my purse too, Fortune doats on me: he’s in happy case Finds such an honest friend i' the common-place.[94] TOUCH. SEN. Life, what makes thee so merry? thou’st no cause That I could hear of lately since thy crosses, Unless there be news come with new additions. TOUCH. JUN. Why, there thou hast it right; I look for her This evening, brother. TOUCH. SEN. How’s that? look for her? TOUCH. JUN. I will deliver you of the wonder straight, brother: By the firm secrecy and kind assistance Of a good wench i' the house, who, made of pity, Weighing the case her own, she’s led through gutters, Strange hidden ways, which none but love could find, Or ha' the heart to venture: I expect her Where you would little think. TOUCH. SEN. I care not where, So she be safe, and yours. TOUCH. JUN. Hope tells me so; But from your love and time my peace must grow. TOUCH. SEN. You know the worst then, brother. [Exit TOUCHWOOD jun.]—Now to my Kix, The barren he and she; they’re i' the next room; But to say which of their two humours hold[s] them Now at this instant, I cannot say truly. SIR OL. [within] Thou liest, barrenness! TOUCH. SEN. O, is’t that time of day? give you joy of your tongue, There’s nothing else good in you: this their life The whole day, from eyes open to eyes shut, Kissing or scolding, and then must be made friends; Then rail the second part of the first fit out, And then be pleas’d again, no man knows which way: Fall out like giants, and fall in like children; Their fruit can witness as much.

Enter SIR OLIVER KIX and LADY KIX.

SIR OL. ’Tis thy fault. LADY KIX. Mine? drouth and coldness! SIR OL. Thine; ’tis thou art barren. LADY KIX. I barren? O life, that I durst but speak now In mine own justice, in mine own right! I barren? ’Twas otherwise with me when I was at court; I was ne’er called so till I was married. SIR OL. I'll be divorc’d. LADY KIX. Be hang’d! I need not wish it, That will come too soon to thee: I may say Marriage and hanging go[95] by destiny, For all the goodness I can find in’t yet. SIR OL. I'll give up house, and keep some fruitful whore, Like an old bachelor, in a tradesman’s chamber; She and her children shall have all. LADY KIX. Where be they? TOUCH. SEN. Pray, cease; When there are friendlier courses took for you, To get and multiply within your house At your own proper costs, in spite of censure, Methinks an honest peace might be establish’d. SIR OL. What, with her? never. TOUCH. SEN. Sweet sir—— SIR OL. You work all in vain. LADY KIX. Then he doth all like thee. TOUCH. SEN. Let me entreat, sir—— SIR OL. Singleness confound her! I took her with one smock. LADY KIX. But, indeed, you Came not so single when you came from shipboard. SIR OL. Heart, she bit sore there! [Aside.]—Prithee, make us friends. TOUCH. SEN. Is’t come to that? the peal begins to cease. [Aside. SIR OL. I'll sell all at an out-cry.[96] LADY KIX. Do thy worst, slave!— Good, sweet sir, bring us into love again. TOUCH. SEN. Some would think this impossible to compass.—— [Aside. Pray, let this storm fly over. SIR OL. Good sir, pardon me; I'm master of this house, which I'll sell presently; I'll clap up bills this evening. TOUCH. SEN. Lady, friends, come! LADY KIX. If ever ye lov’d woman, talk not on’t, sir: What, friends with him? good faith, do you think I'm mad? With one that’s scarce th' hinder quarter of a man? SIR OL. Thou art nothing of a woman. LADY KIX. Would I were less than nothing! [Weeps. SIR OL. Nay, prithee, what dost mean? LADY KIX. I cannot please you. SIR OL. I'faith, thou’rt a good soul; he lies that says it; Buss, buss, pretty rogue. [Kisses her. LADY KIX. You care not for me. TOUCH. SEN. Can any man tell now which way they came in? By this light, I'll be hang’d then! [Aside. SIR OL. Is the drink come? TOUCH. SEN. Here is a little vial of almond-milk, That stood me in some threepence. [Aside. SIR OL. I hope to see thee, wench, within these few years, Circled with children, pranking up[97] a girl, And putting jewels in her[98] little ears; Fine sport, i’faith! LADY KIX. Ay, had you been ought, husband, It had been done ere this time. SIR OL. Had I been ought? Hang thee, hadst thou been ought! but a cross thing I ever found thee. LADY KIX. Thou’rt a grub, to say so. SIR OL. A pox on thee! TOUCH. SEN. By this light, they’re out again At the same door, and no man can tell which way! [Aside. Come, here’s your drink, sir. SIR OL. I'll not take it now, sir, And[99] I were sure to get three boys ere midnight. LADY KIX. Why, there thou shew’st now of what breed thou com’st To hinder generation: O thou villain, That knows how crookedly the world goes with us For want of heirs, yet put[s] by all good fortune! SIR OL. Hang, strumpet! I will take it now in spite. TOUCH. SEN. Then you must ride upon’t five hours. [Gives vial to SIR OLIVER. SIR OL. I mean so.— Within there!

Enter Servant.

SER. Sir? SIR OL. Saddle the white mare: [Exit Servant. I'll take a whore along, and ride to Ware. LADY KIX. Ride to the devil! SIR OL. I'll plague you every way: Look ye, do you see? ’tis gone. [Drinks. LADY KIX. A pox go with it! SIR OL. Ay, curse, and spare not now. TOUCH. SEN. Stir up and down, sir; You must not stand. SIR OL. Nay, I'm not given to standing. TOUCH. SEN. So much the better, sir, for the———[100] SIR OL. I never could stand long in one place yet; I learnt it of my father, ever figient.[101] How if I cross’d this,[102] sir? [Capers. TOUCH. SEN. O, passing good, sir, And would shew well a' horseback: when you come to your inn, If you leapt over a joint-stool or two, 'Twere not amiss—although you brake your neck, sir. [Aside. SIR OL. What say you to a table thus high, sir? TOUCH. SEN. Nothing better, sir, if’t be furnish’d with good victuals. You remember how the bargain runs ’bout this business? SIR OL. Or else I had a bad head: you must receive, sir, Four hundred pounds of me at four several payments; One hundred pound now in hand. TOUCH. SEN. Right, that I have, sir. SIR OL. Another hundred when my wife[103] is quick; The third when she’s brought a-bed; and the last hundred When the child cries, for if’t should be still-born, It doth no good, sir. TOUCH. SEN. All this is even still: A little faster, sir. SIR OL. Not a whit, sir; I'm in an excellent pace for any physic.

Re-enter Servant.

SER. Your white mare’s ready. SIR OL. I shall up presently.— [Exit Servant. One kiss and farewell. [Kisses her. LADY KIX. Thou shalt have two, love. SIR OL. Expect me about three. LADY KIX. With all my heart, sweet. [Exit SIR OLIVER KIX. TOUCH. SEN. By this light, they’ve forgot their anger since, And are as far in again as e’er they were! Which way the devil came they? heart, I saw ’em not! Their ways are beyond finding out. [Aside.]—Come, sweet lady. LADY KIX. How must I take mine, sir? TOUCH. SEN. Clean contrary; Yours must be taken lying. LADY KIX. A-bed, sir? TOUCH. SEN. A-bed, or where you will, for your own ease; Your coach will serve. LADY KIX. The physic must needs please. [Exeunt.

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Act IV, Scene I

A room in YELLOWHAMMER’S house.

Enter TIM and Tutor.

TIM. Negatur argumentum, tutor. TUTOR. Probo tibi, pupil, stultus non est animal rationale. TIM. Falleris sane. TUTOR. Quæso ut taceas,—probo tibi—— TIM. Quomodo probas, domine? TUTOR. Stultus non habet rationem, ergo non est animal rationale. TIM. Sic argumentaris, domine; stultus non habet rationem, ergo non est animal rationale: negatur argumentum again, tutor. TUTOR. Argumentum iterum probo tibi, domine; qui non participat de ratione, nullo modo potest vocari rationalis;[104] but stultus non participat de ratione, ergo stultus nullo modo potest dici[105] rationalis. TIM. Participat. TUTOR. Sic disputas; qui participat, quomodo participat? TIM. Ut homo, probabo tibi in syllogismo. TUTOR. Hunc proba. TIM. Sic probo, domine; stultus est homo, sicut tu et ego sum[us]; homo est animal rationale, sicut stultus est animal rationale.

Enter MAUDLIN.

MAUD. Here’s nothing but disputing all the day long with ’em! TUTOR. _Sic disputas; stultus est homo, sicut tu et ego sum[us]; homo est animal rationale, sicut stultus est animal rationale._ MAUD. Your reasons are both good, whate’er they be, Pray, give them over; faith, you’ll tire yourselves; What’s the matter between you? TIM. Nothing but reasoning About a fool, mother. MAUD. About a fool, son? Alas, what need you trouble your heads ’bout that! None of us all but knows what a fool is. TIM. Why, what’s a fool, mother? I come to you now. MAUD. Why, one that’s married before he has wit. TIM. ’Tis pretty, i’faith, and well guessed of a woman never brought up at the university; but bring forth what fool you will, mother, I'll prove him to be as reasonable a creature as myself or my tutor here. MAUD. Fie, ’tis impossible! TUTOR. Nay, he shall do’t, forsooth. TIM. ’Tis the easiest thing to prove a fool by logic; By logic I'll prove any thing. MAUD. What, thou wilt not? TIM. I'll prove a whore to be an honest woman. MAUD. Nay, by my faith, she must prove that herself, Or logic will ne’er do’t. TIM. ’Twill do’t, I tell you. MAUD. Some in this street would give a thousand pounds That you could prove their wives so. TIM. Faith, I can, And all their daughters too, though they had three bastards. When comes your tailor hither? MAUD. Why, what of him? TIM. By logic I'll prove him to be a man, Let him come when he will. MAUD. How hard at first Was learning to him! truly, sir, I thought He would never ’a took the Latin tongue: How many accidences do you think he wore out Ere he came to his grammar? TUTOR. Some three or four. MAUD. Believe me, sir, some four and thirty. TIM. Pish, I made haberdines[106] of ’em in church-porches. MAUD. He was eight years in his grammar, and stuck horribly At a foolish place there, call’d as in præsenti. TIM. Pox, I have it here now. MAUD. He so sham’d me once, Before an honest gentleman that knew me When I was a maid. TIM. These women must have all out! MAUD. Quid est grammatica? says the gentleman to him,— I shall remember by a sweet, sweet token,— But nothing could he answer. TUTOR. How now, pupil, ha? Quid est grammatica? TIM. Grammatica? ha, ha, ha! MAUD. Nay, do not laugh, son, but let me hear you say’t now: There was one word went so prettily off The gentleman’s tongue, I shall remember it The longest day of my life. TUTOR. Come, quid est grammatica? TIM. Are you not asham’d, tutor, grammatica? Why, recte scribendi atque loquendi ars, Sir-reverence[107] of my mother. MAUD. That was it, i’faith: why now, son, I see you’re a deep scholar:—and, master tutor, A word, I pray; let us withdraw a little Into my husband’s chamber; I'll send in The North Wales gentlewoman to him, she looks for wooing: I'll put together both, and lock the door. TUTOR. I give great approbation to your conclusion. [Exeunt MAUDLIN and Tutor. TIM. I mar’l[108] what this gentlewoman should be That I should have in marriage; she’s a stranger to me; I wonder what my parents mean, i’faith, To match me with a stranger so, A maid that’s neither kiff nor kin[109] to me: 'Life, do they think I've no more care of my body Than to lie with one that I ne’er knew, a mere stranger, One that ne’er went to school with me neither, Nor ever play-fellows together? They’re mightily o’erseen in it, methinks. They say she has mountains to her marriage, She’s full of cattle, some two thousand runts: Now, what the meaning of these runts[110] should be, My tutor cannot tell me; I have look’d In Rider’s Dictionary[111] for the letter R, And there I can hear no tidings of these runts neither; Unless they should be Romford hogs, I know them not.

Enter Welshwoman.

And here she comes. If I know what to say to her now In the way of marriage, I'm no graduate: Methinks, i’faith, ’tis boldly done of her To come into my chamber, being but a stranger; She shall not say I am so proud yet but I'll speak to her: marry, as I will order it, She shall take no hold of my words, I'll warrant her. [Welshwoman curtsies.

She looks and makes a curtsy.—

Salve tu quoque, puella pulcherrima; quid vis nescio nec sane curo,—

Tully’s own phrase to a heart. WELSH. I know not what he means: a suitor, quoth’a? I hold my life he understands no English. [Aside. TIM. _Fertur, mehercule, tu virgo,[112] Walliâ ut opibus abundas maximis._ WELSH. What’s this fertur and abundundis? He mocks me sure, and calls me a bundle of farts. TIM. I have no Latin word now for their runts; I'll make some shift or other: [Aside. _Iterum dico, opibus abundas maximis, montibus, et fontibus, et ut ita dicam rontibus; attamen vero homunculus ego sum natura, simul et arte baccalaureus, lecto profecto non parato._[113] WELSH. This is most strange: may be he can speak Welsh.— Avedera whee comrage, der due cog foginis. TIM. Cog foggin? I scorn to cog[114] with her; I'll tell her so too in a word near her own language.—_Ego non cogo._ WELSH. Rhegosin a whiggin harle ron corid ambro. TIM. By my faith, she’s a good scholar, I see that already; She has the tongues plain; I hold my life sh’as travell’d: What will folks say? there goes the learned couple! Faith, if the truth were known, she hath proceeded.[115]

Re-enter MAUDLIN.

MAUD. How now? how speeds your business? TIM. I'm glad My mother’s come to part us. [Aside. MAUD. How do you agree, forsooth? WELSH. As well as e’er we did before we met. MAUD. How’s that? WELSH. You put me to a man I understand not; Your son’s no Englishman, methinks. MAUD. No Englishman? Bless my boy, and born i' the heart of London! WELSH. I ha' been long enough in the chamber with him, And I find neither Welsh nor English in him. MAUD. Why, Tim, how have you us’d the gentlewoman? TIM. As well as a man might do, mother, in modest Latin. MAUD. Latin, fool? TIM. And she recoil’d in Hebrew. MAUD. In Hebrew, fool? ’tis Welsh. TIM. All comes to one, mother. MAUD. She can speak English too. TIM. Who told me so much? Heart, and[116] she can speak English, I'll clap to her; I thought you’d marry me to a stranger. MAUD. You must forgive him; he’s so inur’d to Latin He and his tutor, that he hath quite forgot To use the Protestant tongue. WELSH. ’Tis quickly pardon’d, forsooth. MAUD. Tim, make amends and kiss her.— He makes towards you, forsooth. TIM. O delicious! One may discover her country by her kissing: ’Tis a true saying, there’s nothing tastes so sweet As your Welsh mutton.—’Twas reported you could sing. MAUD. O rarely, Tim, the sweetest British songs! TIM. And ’tis my mind, I swear, before I marry, I would see all my wife’s good parts at once, To view how rich I were. MAUD. Thou shalt hear sweet music, Tim.— Pray, forsooth. WELSH. [sings][117]

_Cupid[118] is Venus' only joy, But he is a wanton boy, A very, very wanton boy; He shoots at ladies' naked breasts, He is the cause of most men’s crests, I mean upon the forehead, Invisible but horrid; ’Twas he first thought[119] upon the way To keep a lady’s lips in play._

_Why should not Venus chide her son For the pranks that he hath done, The wanton pranks that he hath done? He shoots his fiery darts so thick, They hurt poor ladies to the quick, Ah me, with cruel wounding! His darts are so confounding, That life and sense would soon decay, But that he keeps their lips in play._

_Can there be any part of bliss In a quickly fleeting kiss, A quickly fleeting kiss? To one’s pleasure leisures are but waste, The slowest kiss makes too much haste, And lose it[120] ere we find it: The pleasing sport they only know That close above and close below._ TIM. I would not change my wife for a kingdom: I can do somewhat[121] too in my own lodging.

Enter YELLOWHAMMER and ALLWIT.

YEL. Why, well said, Tim! the bells go merrily; I love such peals a' life.[122]—Wife, lead them in awhile; Here’s a strange gentleman desires private conference.— [Exeunt MAUDLIN, Welshwoman, and TIM. You’re welcome, sir, the more for your name’s sake, Good master Yellowhammer; I love my name well: And which a' the Yellowhammers take you descent from, If I may be so bold with you? which, I pray? ALLWIT. The Yellowhammers in Oxfordshire, near Abingdon. YEL. And those are the best Yellowhammers, and truest bred; I came from thence myself, though now a citizen: I will be bold with you; you are most welcome. ALLWIT. I hope the zeal I bring with me shall deserve it. YEL. I hope no less: what is your will, sir? ALLWIT. I understand, by rumours, you’ve a daughter, Which my bold love shall henceforth title cousin. YEL. I thank you for her, sir. ALLWIT. I heard of her virtues And other confirm’d graces. YEL. A plaguy girl, sir! ALLWIT. Fame sets her out with richer ornaments Than you are pleas’d to boast of; ’tis done modestly: I hear she’s towards marriage. YEL. You hear truth, sir. ALLWIT. And with a knight in town, sir Walter Whorehound. YEL. The very same, sir. ALLWIT. I'm the sorrier for’t. YEL. The sorrier? why, cousin? ALLWIT. ’Tis not too far past, is’t? It may be yet recall’d? YEL. Recall’d! why, good sir? ALLWIT. Resolve[123] me in that point, ye shall hear from me. YEL. There’s no contract past. ALLWIT. I'm very joyful, sir. YEL. But he’s the man must bed her. ALLWIT. By no means, coz; She’s quite undone then, and you’ll curse the time That e’er you made the match; he’s an arrant whoremaster, Consumes his time and state——[124] Whom in my knowledge he hath kept this seven years; Nay, coz, another man’s wife too. YEL. O, abominable! ALLWIT. Maintains the whole house, apparels the husband, Pays servants' wages, not so much, but——[125] YEL. Worse and worse; and doth the husband know this? ALLWIT. Knows? ay, and glad he may too, ’tis his living; As other trades thrive, butchers by selling flesh, Poulters by vending conies,[126] or the like, coz. YEL. What an incomparable wittol’s[127] this! ALLWIT. Tush, what cares he for that? believe me, coz, No more than I do. YEL. What a base slave’s that! ALLWIT. All’s one to him; he feeds and takes his ease, Was ne’er the man that ever broke his sleep To get a child yet, by his own confession, And yet his wife has seven. YEL. What, by sir Walter? ALLWIT. Sir Walter’s like to keep ’em and maintain ’em In excellent fashion; he dares do no less, sir. YEL. ’Life, has he children too? ALLWIT. Children! boys thus high, In their Cato[128] and Corderius.[129] YEL. What? you jest, sir! ALLWIT. Why, one can make a verse, and’s now at Eton College. YEL. O, this news has cut into my heart, coz! ALLWIT. ’Thad eaten nearer, if it had not been prevented: One Allwit’s wife. YEL. Allwit! ’foot, I have heard of him; He had a girl kursen’d[130] lately? ALLWIT. Ay, that work Did cost the knight above a hundred mark.[131] YEL. I'll mark him for a knave and villain for’t; A thousand thanks and blessings! I have done with him. ALLWIT. Ha, ha, ha! this knight will stick by my ribs still; I shall not lose him yet; no wife will come; Where’er he woos, I find him still at home: Ha, ha! [Aside, and exit. YEL. Well, grant all this, say now his deeds are black, Pray, what serves marriage but to call him back? I've kept a whore myself, and had a bastard By mistress Anne, in anno ——[132] I care not who knows it; he’s now a jolly fellow, Has been twice warden; so may his fruit be, They were but base begot, and so was he. The knight is rich, he shall be my son-in-law; No matter, so the whore he keeps be wholesome, My daughter takes no hurt then; so let them wed: I'll have him sweat well ere they go to bed.

Re-enter MAUDLIN.

MAUD. O husband, husband! YEL. How now, Maudlin? MAUD. We are all undone; she’s gone, she’s gone! YEL. Again? death, which way? MAUD. Over the houses: lay[133] the water-side, She’s gone for ever else. YEL. O venturous baggage! [Exeunt.

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Act IV, Scene II

Another room in YELLOWHAMMER’S house.

Enter TIM and Tutor severally.

TIM. Thieves, thieves! my sister’s stoln! some thief hath got her: O how miraculously did my father’s plate ’scape! ’Twas all left out, tutor. TUTOR. Is’t possible? TIM. Besides three chains of pearl and a box of coral. My sister’s gone; let’s look at Trig-stairs for her; My mother’s gone to lay the common stairs At Puddle-wharf; and at the dock below Stands my poor silly father; run, sweet tutor, run! [Exeunt.

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Act IV, Scene III

A street by the Thames.

Enter TOUCHWOOD senior and TOUCHWOOD junior.

TOUCH. SEN. I had been taken, brother, by eight sergeants, But for the honest watermen; I'm bound to them; They are the most requitefull’st people living, For as they get their means by gentlemen, They’re still the forwardest to help gentlemen: You heard how one ’scap’d out of the Blackfriars,[134] But a while since, from two or three varlets came Into the house with all their rapiers drawn, As if they’d dance the sword-dance on the stage, With candles in their hands, like chandlers' ghosts; Whilst the poor gentleman so pursu’d and banded, Was by an honest pair of oars safely landed. TOUCH. JUN. I love them with my heart for’t!

Enter several Watermen.

FIRST W. Your first man, sir. SEC. W. Shall I carry you, gentlemen, with a pair of oars? TOUCH. SEN. These be the honest fellows: take one pair, And leave the rest for her. TOUCH. JUN. Barn Elms. TOUCH. SEN. No more, brother. [Exit. FIRST W. Your first man. SEC. W. Shall I carry your worship? TOUCH. JUN. Go; and you honest watermen that stay, Here’s a French crown for you [gives money]: there comes a maid With all speed to take water, row her lustily To Barn Elms after me. SEC. W. To Barn Elms, good, sir.— Make ready the boat, Sam; we’ll wait below. [Exeunt Watermen.

Enter MOLL.

TOUCH. JUN. What made you stay so long? MOLL. I found the way more dangerous than I look’d for. TOUCH. JUN. Away, quick; there’s a boat waits for you; and I'll Take water at Paul’s wharf, and overtake you. MOLL. Good sir, do; we cannot be too safe. [Exeunt.

Enter SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND, YELLOWHAMMER, TIM, and Tutor.

SIR WAL. Life, call you this close keeping? YEL. She was kept Under a double lock. SIR WAL. A double devil! TIM. That’s a buff sergeant, tutor; he’ll ne’er wear out. YEL. How would you have women lock’d? TIM. With padlocks, father; The Venetian uses it; my tutor reads it. SIR WAL. Heart, if she were so lock’d up, how got she out? YEL. There was a little hole look’d into the gutter; But who would have dreamt of that? SIR WAL. A wiser man would. TIM. He says true, father; a wise man for love Will seek every hole; my tutor knows it. TUTOR. Verum poeta dicit. TIM. Dicit Virgilius, father. YEL. Prithee, talk of thy gills somewhere else; sh’as play’d The gill[135] with me: where’s your wise mother now? TIM. Run mad, I think; I thought she would have drown’d herself; She would not stay for oars, but took a smelt-boat; Sure I think she be gone a-fishing for her. YEL. She’ll catch a goodly dish of gudgeons now, Will serve us all to supper.

Enter MAUDLIN drawing in MOLL by the hair, and Watermen.

MAUD. I'll tug thee home by the hair. FIRST W. Good mistress, spare her! MAUD. Tend your own business. FIRST W. You’re a cruel mother. [Exeunt Watermen. MOLL. O, my heart dies! MAUD. I'll make thee an example For all the neighbours' daughters. MOLL. Farewell, life! MAUD. You that have tricks can counterfeit. YEL. Hold, hold, Maudlin! MAUD. I've brought your jewel by the hair. YEL. She’s here, knight. SIR WAL. Forbear, or I'll grow worse. TIM. Look on her, tutor; She hath brought her from the water like a mermaid; She’s but half my sister now, as far as the flesh goes, The rest may be sold to fish-wives. MAUD. Dissembling, cunning baggage! YEL. Impudent strumpet! Sir Wal. Either give over, both, or I'll give over.— Why have you us’d me thus unkind[ly], mistress? Wherein have I deserv’d? YEL. You talk too fondly, sir: We’ll take another course and prevent all; We might have done’t long since; we’ll lose no time now, Nor trust to’t any longer: to-morrow morn, As early as sunrise, we’ll have you join’d. MOLL. O, bring me death to-night, love-pitying fates; Let me not see to-morrow up on[136] the world! YEL. Are you content, sir? till then she shall be watch’d. MAUD. Baggage, you shall. TIM. Why, father, my tutor and I Will both watch in armour. [Exeunt MAUDLIN, MOLL, and YELLOWHAMMER. TUTOR. How shall we do for weapons? TIM. Take you No care for that; if need be, I can send For conquering metal, tutor, ne’er lost day yet, ’Tis but at Westminster; I am acquainted With him that keeps the monuments; I can borrow Harry the Fifth’s sword; it will serve us both To watch with. [Exeunt TIM and Tutor. SIR WAL. I never was so near my wish As this chance makes me: ere to-morrow noon I shall receive two thousand pound in gold, And a sweet maidenhead worth forty.

Re-enter TOUCHWOOD junior and Waterman.

TOUCH. JUN. O, thy news splits me! WATER. Half-drown’d, she cruelly tugg’d her by the hair, Forc’d her disgracefully, not like a mother. TOUCH. JUN. Enough; leave me, like my joys.— [Exit Waterman. Sir, saw you not a wretched maid pass this way? Heart, villain, is it thou? SIR WAL. Yes, slave, ’tis I. TOUCH. JUN. I must break through thee then: there is no stop That checks my tongue[137] and all my hopeful fortunes, That breast excepted, and I must have way. SIR WAL. Sir, I believe ’twill hold your life in play. TOUCH. JUN. Sir, you will gain the heart in my breast first.[138] SIR WAL. There is no dealing then; think on the dowry For two thousand pounds. [They fight. TOUCH. JUN. O, now ’tis quit, sir. SIR WAL. And being of even hand, I'll play no longer. TOUCH. JUN. No longer, slave? SIR WAL. I've certain things to think on, Before I dare go further. TOUCH. JUN. But one bout! I'll follow thee to death, but ha' it out. [Exeunt.

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Act V, Scene I

A room in ALLWIT’S house.

Enter ALLWIT, MISTRESS ALLWIT, and DAVY.

MIS. ALL. A misery of a house! ALLWIT. What shall become of us! DAVY. I think his wound be mortal. ALLWIT. Think’st thou so, Davy? Then am I mortal too, but a dead man, Davy; This is no world for me, whene’er he goes; I must e’en truss up all, and after him, Davy; A sheet with two knots, and away. DAVY. O see, sir!

Enter SIR WALTER WHOREHOUND led in by two Servants, who place him in a chair.

How faint he goes! two of my fellows lead him. MIS. ALL. O me! [Swoons. ALLWIT. Heyday, my wife’s laid down too; here’s like to be A good house kept, when we’re all together down: Take pains with her, good Davy, cheer her up there; Let me come to his worship, let me come. SIR WAL. Touch me not, villain! my wound aches at thee, Thou poison to my heart! ALLWIT. He raves already; His senses are quite gone, he knows me not.— Look up, an’t like your worship; heave those eyes, Call me to mind; is your remembrance left? Look in my face; who am I, an’t like your worship? SIR WAL. If any thing be worse than slave or villain, Thou art the man! ALLWIT. Alas, his poor worship’s weakness! He will begin to know me by little and little. SIR WAL. No devil can be like thee! ALLWIT. Ah, poor gentleman, Methinks the pain that thou endurest [mads thee]. SIR WAL. Thou know’st me to be wicked; for thy baseness Kept the eyes open still on all my sins; None knew the dear account my soul stood charg’d with So well as thou, yet, like hell’s flattering angel, Wouldst never tell me on’t, lett’st me go on, And join with death in sleep; that if I had not Wak’d now by chance, even by a stranger’s pity, I had everlastingly slept out all hope Of grace and mercy. ALLWIT. Now he’s worse and worse. Wife, to him, wife; thou wast wont to do good on him. MIS. ALL. How is it with you, sir? SIR WAL. Not as with you, Thou loathsome strumpet! Some good, pitying man, Remove my sins out of my sight a little; I tremble to behold her, she keeps back All comfort while she stays. Is this a time, Unconscionable woman, to see thee? Art thou so cruel to the peace of man, Not to give liberty now? the devil himself Shews a far fairer reverence and respect To goodness than thyself; he dares not do this, But part[s] in time of penitence, hides his face; When man withdraws from him, he leaves the place: Hast thou less manners and more impudence Than thy instructor? prithee, shew thy modesty, If the least grain be left, and get thee from me: Thou shouldst be rather lock’d many rooms hence From the poor miserable sight of me, If either love or grace had part in thee. MIS. ALL. He’s lost for ever! [Aside. ALLWIT. Run, sweet Davy, quickly, And fetch the children hither; sight of them Will make him cheerful straight. [Exit DAVY. SIR WAL. O death! is this A place for you to weep? what tears are those! Get you away with them, I shall fare the worse As long as they’re a-weeping, they work against me; There’s nothing but thy appetite in that sorrow, Thou weep’st for lust; I feel it in the slackness Of comforts coming towards me; I was well Till thou begann’st t' undo me: this shews like The fruitless sorrow of a careless mother, That brings her son with dalliance to the gallows, And then stands by and weeps to see him suffer.

Re-enter DAVY with NICK, WAT, and other children.

DAVY. There are the children, sir, an’t like your worship, Your last fine girl; in troth, she smiles;[139] Look, look, in faith, sir. SIR WAL. O my vengeance! Let me for ever hide my cursed face From sight of those that darken[140] all my hopes, And stand[141] between me and the sight of heaven! Who sees me now, O too,[142] and those so near me, May rightly say I am o’ergrown with sin. O, how my offences wrestle with my repentance! It hath scarce breath; Still my adulterous guilt hovers aloft, And with her black wings beats down all my prayers Ere they be half-way up. What’s he knows now How long I have to live? O, what comes then? My taste grows bitter; the round world all gall now; Her pleasing pleasures now have[143] poison’d me, Which I exchang’d my soul for: Make way a hundred sighs at once for me! ALLWIT. Speak to him, Nick. NICK. I dare not, I'm afraid. ALLWIT. Tell him he hurts his wounds, Wat, with making moan. SIR WAL. Wretched, death of seven![144] ALLWIT. Come, let’s be talking Somewhat to keep him alive. Ah, sirrah Wat, And did my lord bestow that jewel on thee For an epistle thou mad’st in Latin? thou Art a good forward boy, there’s great joy on thee. SIR WAL. O sorrow! ALLWIT. Heart, will nothing comfort him? If he be so far gone, ’tis time to moan. [Aside. Here’s pen and ink, and paper, and all things ready; Will’t please your worship for to make your will? SIR WAL. My will! yes, yes, what else? who writes apace now? ALLWIT. That can your man Davy, an’t like your worship; A fair, fast, legible hand. SIR WAL. Set it down then. [DAVY writes. Imprimis, I bequeath to yonder wittol[145] Three times his weight in curses. ALLWIT. How! SIR WAL. All plagues Of body and of mind. ALLWIT. Write them not down, Davy. DAVY. It is his will; I must. SIR WAL. Together also With such a sickness ten days ere his death. ALLWIT. There’s a sweet legacy! I'm almost chok’d with’t. [Aside. SIR WAL. Next, I bequeath to that foul whore his wife All barrenness of joy, a drouth of virtue, And dearth of all repentance: for her end, The common misery of an English strumpet, In French and Dutch; beholding, ere she dies, Confusion of her brats before her eyes, And never shed a tear for’t.

Enter third Servant.

THIRD SER. Where’s the knight?— O sir, the gentleman you wounded is Newly departed! SIR WAL. Dead? lift, lift, who helps me? ALLWIT. Let the law lift you now, that must have all; I have done lifting on you, and my wife too. THIRD SER. You were best lock yourself close. ALLWIT. Not in my house, sir; I'll harbour no such persons as men-slayers; Lock yourself where you will. SIR WAL. What’s this? MIS. ALL. Why, husband! ALLWIT. I know what I do, wife. MIS. ALL. You cannot tell yet; For having kill’d the man in his defence, Neither his life nor estate will be touch’d, husband. ALLWIT. Away, wife! hear a fool! his lands will hang him. SIR WAL. Am I denied a chamber?—What say you, forsooth? MIS. ALL. Alas, sir, I am one that would have all well, But must obey my husband.—Prithee, love, Let the poor gentleman stay, being so sore wounded: There’s a close chamber at one end of the garret We never use; let him have that, I prithee. ALLWIT. We never use? you forget sickness then, And physic-times; is’t not a place for easement? SIR WAL. O, death! do I hear this with part[146] Of former life in me?—

Enter Fourth Servant.

What’s the news now? FOURTH SER. Troth, worse and worse; you’re like to lose your land, If the law save your life, sir, or the surgeon. ALLWIT. Hark you there, wife. SIR WAL. Why, how, sir? FOURTH SER. Sir Oliver Kix’s wife is new quicken’d; That child undoes you, sir. SIR WAL. All ill at once! ALLWIT. I wonder what he makes here with his consorts? Cannot our house be private to ourselves, But we must have such guests? I pray, depart, sirs, And take your murderer along with you; Good he were apprehended ere he go, Has kill’d some honest gentleman; send for officers. SIR WAL. I'll soon save you that labour. ALLWIT. I must tell you, sir, You have been somewhat bolder in my house Than I could well like of; I suffer’d you Till it stuck here at my heart; I tell you truly I thought y’had been familiar with my wife once. MIS. ALL. With me! I'll see him hang’d first; I defy him, And all such gentlemen in the like extremity. SIR WAL. If ever eyes were open, these are they: Gamesters, farewell, I've nothing left to play. ALLWIT. And therefore get you gone, sir. [Exit SIR WALTER, led off by Servants. DAVY. Of all wittols[147] Be thou the head—thou the grand whore of spittles! [Exit. ALLWIT. So, since he’s like now to be rid of all, I am right glad I'm so well rid of him. MIS. ALL. I knew he durst not stay when you nam’d officers. ALLWIT. That stopp’d his spirits straight. What shall we do now, wife? MIS. ALL. As we were wont to do. ALLWIT. We’re richly furnish’d, wife, With household stuff. MIS. ALL. Let’s let out lodgings then, And take a house in the Strand. ALLWIT. In troth, a match, wench: We’re simply stock’d with cloth-of-tissue cushions To furnish out bay-windows; push,[148] what not That’s quaint and costly, from the top to the bottom; Life, for furniture we may lodge a countess: There’s a close-stool of tawny velvet too, Now I think on it, wife. MIS. ALL. There’s that should be, sir; Your nose must be in every thing. ALLWIT. I've done, wench; And let this stand in every gallant’s chamber,— There is no gamester like a politic sinner, For whoe’er games, the box is sure a winner. [Exeunt.

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Act V, Scene II

A room in YELLOWHAMMER’S house.

Enter YELLOWHAMMER and MAUDLIN.

MAUD. O husband, husband, she will die, she will die! There is no sign but death. YEL. ’Twill be our shame then. MAUD. O, how she’s chang’d in compass of an hour! YEL. Ah, my poor girl! good faith, thou wert too cruel To drag her by the hair. MAUD. You’d have done as much, sir, To curb her of her humour. YEL. ’Tis curb’d sweetly; She catch’d her bane o' th' water.

Enter TIM.

MAUD. How now, Tim? TIM. Faith, busy, mother, about an epitaph Upon my sister’s death. MAUD. Death? she’s not dead, I hope? TIM. No, but she means to be, and that’s as good, And when a thing’s done, ’tis done; you taught me[149] that, mother. YEL. What is your tutor doing? TIM. Making one too, in principal pure Latin, Cull’d out of Ovid[150] de Tristibus. YEL. How does your sister look? is she not chang’d? TIM. Chang’d? gold into white money was ne’er so chang’d As is my sister’s colour into paleness.

Enter MOLL, led in by Servants, who place her in a chair.

YEL. O, here she’s brought; see how she looks like death! TIM. Looks she like death, and ne’er a word made yet? I must go beat my brains against a bed-post, And get before my tutor. [Exit. YEL. Speak, how dost thou? MOL. I hope I shall be well, for I'm as sick At heart as I can be. YEL. ’Las, my poor girl! The doctor’s making a most sovereign drink for thee, The worst ingredience dissolv’d pearl and amber; We spare no cost, girl. MOLL. Your love comes too late, Yet timely thanks reward it. What is comfort, When the poor patient’s heart is past relief? It is no doctor’s art can cure my grief. YEL. All is cast away, then; [I] prithee, look upon me cheerfully. MAUD. Sing but a strain or two; thou wilt not think How ’twill revive thy spirits: strive with thy fit, Prithee, sweet Moll. MOLL. You shall have my good will, mother. MAUD. Why, well said, wench. MOLL. [sings]

_Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part. Cruel fates true love do soonest sever: O, I shall see thee never, never, never! O, happy is the maid whose life takes end Ere it knows parent’s frown or loss of friend! Weep eyes, break heart! My love and I must part._

MAUD. O, I could die with music!—Well sung, girl. MOLL. If you call’t so, it was. YEL. She plays the swan, And sings herself to death.

Enter TOUCHWOOD senior.

TOUCH. SEN. By your leave, sir. YEL. What are you, sir? or what’s your business, pray? TOUCH. SEN. I may be now admitted, though the brother Of him your hate pursu’d: it spreads no further; Your malice sets in death, does it not, sir? YEL. In death? TOUCH. SEN. He’s dead: ’twas a dear love to him, It cost him but his life, that was all, sir; He paid enough, poor gentleman, for his love. YEL. There’s all our ill remov’d, if she were well now.— [Aside. Impute not, sir, his end to any hate That sprung from us; he had a fair wound brought that. TOUCH. SEN. That help’d him forward, I must needs confess; But the restraint of love, and your unkindness, Those were the wounds that from his heart drew blood; But being past help, let words forget it too: Scarcely three minutes ere his eyelids clos’d, And took eternal leave of this world’s light, He wrote this letter, which by oath he bound me To give to her own hands; that’s all my business. YEL. You may perform it then; there she sits. TOUCH. SEN. O, with a following look! YEL. Ay, trust me, sir, I think she’ll follow him quickly. TOUCH. SEN. Here’s some gold He will’d me to distribute faithfully Amongst your servants. [Gives gold to Servants. YEL. ’Las, what doth he mean, sir? TOUCH. SEN. How cheer you, mistress? MOLL. I must learn of you, sir. TOUCH. SEN. Here is a letter from a friend of yours, [Giving letter to MOLL. And where that fails in satisfaction, I have a sad tongue ready to supply. MOLL. How does he, ere I look on’t? TOUCH. SEN. Seldom better; Has a contented health now. MOLL. I'm most glad on’t. MAUD. Dead, sir? YEL. He is: now, wife, let’s but get the girl Upon her legs again, and to church roundly with her. MOLL. O, sick to death, he tells me: how does he after this? TOUCH. SEN. Faith, feels no pain at all; he’s dead, sweet mistress. MOLL. Peace close mine eyes! [Swoons. YEL. The girl! look to the girl, wife! MAUD. Moll, daughter, sweet girl, speak! look but once up, Thou shalt have all the wishes of thy heart That wealth can purchase! YEL. O, she’s gone for ever! That letter broke her heart. TOUCH. SEN. As good now then As let her lie in torment, and then break it.

Enter SUSAN.

MAUD. O Susan, she thou loved’st so dear is gone! SUSAN. O sweet maid! TOUCH. SEN. This is she that help’d her still.— I've a reward here for thee. YEL. Take her in, Remove her from our sight, our shame and sorrow. TOUCH. SEN. Stay, let me help thee, ’tis the last cold kindness I can perform for my sweet brother’s sake. [Exeunt TOUCHWOOD senior, SUSAN, _and Servants, carrying out_ MOLL. YEL. All the whole street will hate us, and the world Point me out cruel: it’s our best course, wife, After we’ve given order for the funeral, T' absent ourselves till she be laid in ground. MAUD. Where shall we spend that time? YEL. I'll tell thee where, wench: Go to some private church, and marry Tim To the rich Brecknock gentlewoman. MAUD. Mass, a match; We’ll not lose all at once, somewhat we’ll catch. [Exeunt.

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Act V, Scene III

A room in SIR OLIVER KIX’S house.

Enter SIR OLIVER KIX and Servants.

SIR OL. Ho, my wife’s quicken’d; I'm a man for ever! I think I have bestirr’d my stumps, i’faith. Run, get your fellows all together instantly, Then to the parish church and ring the bells. FIRST SER. It shall be done, sir. [Exit. SIR OL. Upon my love I charge you, villain, that you make a bonfire Before the door at night. SEC. SER. A bonfire, sir? SIR OL. A thwacking one, I charge you. SEC. SER. This is monstrous. [Aside, and exit. SIR OL. Run, tell a hundred pound out for the gentleman That gave my wife the drink, the first thing you do. THIRD SER. A hundred pounds, sir? SIR OL. A bargain: as our joy[151] grows, We must remember still from whence it flows, Or else we prove ungrateful multipliers: [Exit Third Servant. The child is coming, and the land comes after; The news of this will make a poor sir Walter: I've strook it home, i’faith. FOURTH SER. That you have, marry, sir; But will not your worship go to the funeral Of both these lovers? SIR OL. Both? go both together? FOURTH SER. Ay, sir, the gentleman’s brother will have it so; 'Twill be the pitifull’st sight! there is such running, Such rumours, and such throngs, a pair of lovers Had never more spectators, more men’s pities, Or women’s wet eyes. SIR OL. My wife helps the number then. FOURTH SER. There is such drawing out of handkerchers; And those that have no handkerchers lift up aprons. SIR OL. Her parents may have joyful hearts at this: I would not have my cruelty so talk’d on To any child of mine for a monopoly. FOURTH SER. I believe you, sir. ’Tis cast[152] so, too, that both their coffins meet, Which will be lamentable. SIR OL. Come, we’ll see’t. [Exeunt.

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Act V, Scene IV

Near a church.

_Recorders[153] dolefully playing, enter at one door the coffin of_ TOUCHWOOD _junior, solemnly decked, his sword upon it, attended by many gentlemen in black, among whom are_ SIR OLIVER KIX, ALLWIT, and Parson, TOUCHWOOD _senior being the chief mourner: at the other door the coffin of_ MOLL, _adorned with a garland of flowers, and epitaphs pinned on it,[154] attended by many matrons and maids, among whom are_ LADY KIX, MISTRESS ALLWIT, and SUSAN: _the coffins are set down, one right over against the other; and while all the company seem to weep and mourn, there is a sad song in the music-room_.[155]

TOUCH. SEN. Never could death boast of a richer prize From the first parent; let the world bring forth A pair of truer hearts. To speak but truth Of this departed gentleman, in a brother Might, by hard censure, be call’d flattery, Which makes me rather silent in his right Than so to be deliver’d to the thoughts Of any envious hearer, starv’d in virtue, And therefore pining to hear others thrive; But for this maid, whom envy cannot hurt With all her poisons, having left to ages The true, chaste monument of her living name, Which no time can deface, I say of her The full truth freely, without fear of censure: What nature could there shine,[156] that might redeem Perfection home to woman, but in her Was fully glorious? beauty set in goodness Speaks what she was; that jewel so infix’d, There was no want of any thing of life To make these virtuous precedents man and wife. ALLWIT. Great pity of their deaths! FIRST MOUR.[157] Never more pity! LADY KIX. It makes a hundred weeping eyes, sweet gossip. TOUCH. SEN. I cannot think there’s any one amongst you In this full fair assembly, maid, man, or wife, Whose heart would not have sprung with joy and gladness To have seen their marriage-day. SEC. MOUR. It would have made A thousand joyful hearts. TOUCH. SEN. Up then apace, And take your fortunes, make these joyful hearts; Here’s none but friends. [MOLL and TOUCHWOOD junior rise out of their coffins. THIRD MOUR. Alive, sir? FOURTH MOUR. O sweet, dear couple! TOUCH. SEN. Nay, do not hinder ’em now, stand from about ’em; If she be caught again, and have this time, I'll ne’er plot further for ’em, nor this honest chambermaid, That help’d all at a push. TOUCH. JUN.[158] Good sir, apace. PARSON. Hands join now, but hearts for ever, [MOLL and TOUCHWOOD junior join hands. Which no parent’s mood shall sever. You shall forsake all widows, wives, and maids— You lords, knights, gentlemen, and men of trades;— And if in haste any article misses, Go interline it with a brace of kisses. TOUCH. SEN. Here’s a thing troll’d nimbly.—Give you joy, brother; Were’t not better thou shouldst have her than the maid should die? MIS. ALL. To you, sweet mistress bride. FIRST MOUR.[159] Joy, joy to you both. TOUCH. SEN. Here be your wedding-sheets you brought along with you; You may both go to bed when you please too. TOUCH. JUN. My joy wants utterance. TOUCH. SEN. Utter all at night Then, brother. MOLL. I am silent with delight. TOUCH. SEN. Sister, delight will silence any woman; But you’ll find your tongue again ’mong maid servants, Now you keep house, sister. SEC. MOUR. Never was hour so fill’d with joy and wonder. TOUCH. SEN. To tell you the full story of this chambermaid, And of her kindness in this business to us, 'Twould ask an hour’s discourse; in brief, ’twas she That wrought it to this purpose cunningly. THIRD MOUR. We shall all love her for’t. FOURTH MOUR. See, who comes here now!

Enter YELLOWHAMMER and MAUDLIN.

TOUCH. SEN. A storm, a storm! but we are shelter’d for it. YEL. I will prevent[160] you all, and mock you thus, You and your expectations; I stand happy, Both in your lives, and your hearts' combination. TOUCH. SEN. Here’s a strange day again! YEL. The knight’s prov’d villain; All’s come out now, his niece an arrant baggage; My poor boy Tim is cast away this morning, Even before breakfast, married a whore Next to his heart. MOURNERS. A whore! YEL. His niece, forsooth. ALLWIT. I think we rid our hands in good time of him. MIS. ALL. I knew he was past the best when I gave him over.— What is become of him, pray, sir? YEL. Who, the knight? He lies i' th' Knights' ward,[161]— now your belly, lady, [To LADY KIX. Begins to blossom, there’s no peace for him, His creditors are so greedy. SIR OL. Master Touchwood, Hear’st thou this news? I'm so endear’d to thee For my wife’s fruitfulness, that I charge you both, Your wife and thee, to live no more asunder For the world’s frowns; I've purse, and bed, and board for you: Be not afraid to go to your business roundly; Get children, and I'll keep them. TOUCH. SEN. Say you so, sir? SIR OL. Prove me with three at a birth, and[162] thou dar’st now. TOUCH. SEN. Take heed how you dare a man, while you live, sir, That has good skill at his weapon. SIR OL. ’Foot, I dare you, sir!

Enter TIM, Welshwoman, and Tutor.

YEL. Look, gentlemen, if e’er you saw[163] the picture Of the unfortunate marriage, yonder ’tis. WELSH. Nay, good sweet Tim—— TIM. Come from the university To marry a whore in London, with my tutor too! O tempora! O mores! TUTOR. Prithee, Tim, be patient. TIM. I bought a jade at Cambridge; I'll let her out to execution, tutor, For eighteenpence a-day, or Brainford[164] horse-races, She’ll serve to carry seven miles out of town well. Where be these mountains? I was promis’d mountains, But there’s such a mist, I can see none of ’em. What are become of those two thousand runts?[165] Let’s have a bout with them in the meantime; A vengeance runt thee! MAUD. Good sweet Tim, have patience. TIM. _Flectere[166] si nequeo superos, Acheronta movebo_, mother. MAUD. I think you have married her in logic, Tim. You told me once by logic you would prove A whore an honest woman; prove her so, Tim, And take her for thy labour. TIM. Troth, I thank you: I grant you, I may prove another man’s wife so, But not mine own. MAUD. There’s no remedy now, Tim; You must prove her so as well as you may. TIM. Why then My tutor and I will about her as well as we can: Uxor non est meretrix, ergo falleris.[167] WELSH. Sir, if your logic cannot prove me honest, There’s a thing call’d marriage, and that makes me honest. MAUD. O, there’s a trick beyond your logic, Tim! TIM. I perceive then a woman may be honest According to the English print, when she’s A whore in the Latin; so much for marriage and logic: I'll love her for her wit, I'll pick out my runts there; And for my mountains, I'll mount upon ——[168] YEL. So fortune seldom deals two marriages With one hand, and both lucky; the best is, One feast will serve them both: marry, for room, I'll have the dinner kept in Goldsmiths' Hall, To which, kind gallants, I invite you all. [Exeunt omnes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

THE SPANISH GIPSY.

The Spanish Gipsie. As it was Acted (with great Applause) at the Privat House in Drury-Lane, and Salisbury Court.

{ Thomas Midleton } Written by { and } Gent. { William Rowley }

Never Printed before. London, Printed by J. G. for Richard Marriot in St. Dunstans Church-yard, Fleetstreet, 1653. 4to.

Another ed. appeared in 1661. 4to.

The Spanish Gipsy has been reprinted in the 4th vol. of A Continuation of Dodsley’s Old Plays, 1816.

I have met with no earlier mention of it than that which occurs under a “Note of such playes as were acted at court in 1623 and 1624,” in Sir Henry Herbert’s office-book; “Upon the fifth of November att Whitehall, the prince being there only, The Gipsye, by the Cockpitt company.” Malone’s Shakespeare (by Boswell), vol. iii. p. 227.

“The Story of Roderigo and Clara,” says Langbaine, “has a near resemblance with (if it be not borrow’d from) a Spanish Novel, writ by Miguel de Cervantes, call’d The Force of Blood.” Acc. of Engl. Dram. Poets, p. 373. The editor of 1816 chooses to “think it not improbable that the other plot was suggested to our writers by the Beggar’s Bush of Fletcher, and the play-scene by the similar one in the Hamlet of Shakespeare.”

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Dramatis Personæ

FERNANDO DE AZEVIDA, corregidor of Madrid. PEDRO DE CORTES. FRANCISCO DE CARCOMO. RODERIGO, son to Fernando. LOUIS DE CASTRO. DIEGO, his friend. JOHN, son to Francisco. SANCHO, ward to Pedro. SOTO, his man. ALVAREZ DE CASTILLA, _disguised as the father of the gipsies_. CARLO, } ANTONIO, } disguised as gipsies. and others, } Servants.

MARIA, wife to Pedro. CLARA, their daughter. GUIAMARA, _wife to Alvarez and sister to Fernando, disguised as the mother of the gipsies, and called by the name of Eugenia_. CONSTANZA, _daughter to Fernando, disguised as a gipsy, and called by the name of Pretiosa_. CHRISTIANA, disguised as a gipsy. CARDOCHIA, hostess to Alvarez and his companions.

Scene, MADRID[169] and its neighbourhood.

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THE SPANISH GIPSY.

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Act I, Scene I

The neighbourhood of Madrid.

Enter RODERIGO, LOUIS, and DIEGO.

LOUIS. Roderigo! DIEGO. Art mad? ROD. Yes, not so much with wine: it’s as rare to see a Spaniard a drunkard as a German sober, an Italian no whoremonger, an Englishman to pay his debts. I am no borachio;[170] sack, malaga, nor canary, breeds the calenture in my brains; mine eye mads me, not my cups. LOUIS. What wouldst have us do? ROD. Do? DIEGO. So far as ’tis fit for gentlemen[171] we’ll venture. ROD. I ask no more. I ha' seen a thing has bewitched me; a delicate body, but this in the waist [shewing the size by a sign]; foot and leg tempting; the face I had [only] a glimpse of, but the fruit must needs be delicious, the tree being so beautiful. LOUIS. Prithee, to the point. ROD. Here ’tis: an old gentleman—no matter who he is—an old gentlewoman—I ha' nothing to do with her—but a young creature that follows them, daughter or servant, or whatsoever she be, her I must have: they are coming this way; shall I have her? I must have her. DIEGO. How, how? LOUIS. Thou speakest impossibilities. ROD. Easy, easy, easy! I'll seize the young girl; stop you the old man; stay you the old woman. LOUIS. How then? ROD. I'll fly off with the young bird, that’s all; many of our Spanish gallants act these merry parts every night. They are weak and old, we young and sprightly: will you assist me? LOUIS. Troth, Roderigo, any thing in the way of honour. ROD. For a wench, man, any course is honourable. LOUIS. Nay, not any; her father, if he be[172] her father, may be noble. ROD. I am as noble. LOUIS. Would the adventure were so! ROD. Stand close, they come.

Enter PEDRO, MARIA, and CLARA.

PED. ’Tis late; would we were in Madrill![173] MAR. Go faster, my lord. PED. Clara, keep close. [LOUIS and DIEGO hold PEDRO and MARIA, while RODERIGO seizes CLARA. CLA. Help, help, help! ROD. Are you crying out? I'll be your midwife. [Exit, bearing off CLARA. PED. What mean you, gentlemen? MAR. Villains! thieves! murderers! PED. Do you [not] know me? I am De Cortes, Pedro de Cortes. LOUIS. De Cortes?—Diego, come away. [Exit with DIEGO. PED. Clara!—where is my daughter? MAR. Clara!—these villains Have robb’d us of our comfort, and will, I fear, Her of her honour. PED. This had not wont to be Our Spanish fashion; but now our gallants, Our gentry, our young dons, heated with wine,— A fire our countrymen do seldom sit at,— Commit these outrages.—Clara!—Maria, Let’s homeward; I will raise Madrill to find These traitors to all goodness.—Clara! MAR. Clara! [Exeunt.

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Act I, Scene II

Another place in the neighbourhood of Madrid.

Enter LOUIS and DIEGO.

LOUIS. O Diego, I am lost, I am mad! DIEGO. So we are all. LOUIS. ’Tis not with wine; I'm drunk with too much horror, Inflam’d with rage, to see us two made bawds To Roderigo’s lust: did not the old man Name De Cortes, Pedro de Cortes? DIEGO. Sure he did. LOUIS. O Diego, as thou lov’st me, nay, on the forfeit Of thine own life or mine, seal up thy lips, Let ’em not name De Cortes! stay, stay, stay; Roderigo has into his father’s house A passage through a garden—— DIEGO. Yes, my lord. LOUIS. Thither I must, find Roderigo out, And check him, check him home: if he but dare— No more!—Diego, along! my soul does fight A thousand battles blacker than this night. [Exeunt.

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Act I, Scene III

A bed-chamber in FERNANDO’S house.

RODERIGO and CLARA discovered.

CLA. Though the black veil of night hath overclouded The world in darkness, yet ere many hours The sun will rise again, and then this act Of my dishonour will appear before you More black than is the canopy that shrouds it: What are you, pray? what are you? ROD. Husht—a friend, a friend. CLA. A friend? be then a gentle ravisher, An honourable villain: as you have Disrob’d my youth of nature’s goodliest portion, My virgin purity, so with your sword Let out that blood which is infected now By your soul-staining lust. ROD. Pish! CLA. Are you noble? I know you then will marry me; say. ROD. Umh. CLA. Not speak to me? are wanton devils dumb? How are so many harmless virgins wrought By falsehood of prevailing words to yield Too easy forfeits of their shames and liberty, If every orator of folly plead In silence, like this untongu’d piece of violence? You shall not from me. [Holding him. ROD. Phew!—no more. CLA. You shall not: Whoe’er you are, disease of nature’s sloth, Birth of some monstrous sin, or scourge of virtue, Heaven’s wrath and mankind’s burden, I will hold you; I will: be rough, and therein merciful, I will not loose my hold else. ROD. There; ’tis gold. [Offers money. CLA. Gold? why, alas, for what? the hire of pleasure Perhaps is payment, mine is misery; I need no wages for a ruin’d name, More than a bleeding heart. ROD. Nay, then, you’re troublesome; I'll lock you safe enough. [Shakes her off, and exit. CLA. They cannot fear Whom grief hath arm’d with hate and scorn of life. Revenge, I kneel to thee! alas, ’gainst whom? By what name shall I pull confusion down From justice on his head that hath betray’d me? I know not where I am: up, I beseech thee, Thou lady regent of the air, the moon, And lead me by thy light to some brave vengeance! It is a chamber sure; the guilty bed, Sad evidence against my loss of honour, Assures so much. What’s here, a window-curtain? O heaven, the stars appear too! ha, a chamber, A goodly one? dwells rape in such a paradise? Help me, my quicken’d senses! ’tis a garden To which this window guides the covetous prospect, A large one and a fair one; in the midst A curious alablaster[174] fountain stands, Fram’d like—like what? no matter—swift, remembrance! Rich furniture within too? and what’s this? A precious crucifix! I have enough. [Takes the crucifix, and conceals it in her bosom. Assist me, O you powers that guard the innocent!

Re-enter RODERIGO.

ROD. Now. CLA. Welcome, if you come armed in destruction: I am prepar’d to die. ROD. Tell me your name, And what you are. CLA. You urge me to a sin As cruel as your lust; I dare not grant it. Think on the violence of my defame; And if you mean to write upon my grave An epitaph of peace, forbear to question Or whence or who I am. I know the heat Of your desires is,[175] after the performance Of such a hellish act, by this time drown’d In cooler streams of penance;[176] and for my part, I have wash’d off the leprosy that cleaves To my just shame in true and honest tears; I must not leave a mention of my wrongs, The stain of my unspotted birth, to memory; Let it lie buried with me in the dust; That never time hereafter may report How such a one as you have made me live. Be resolute, and do not stagger; do not, For I am nothing. ROD. Sweet, let me enjoy thee Now with a free allowance. CLA. Ha, enjoy me? Insufferable villain! ROD. Peace, speak low; I mean no second force; and since I find Such goodness in an unknown frame of virtue, Forgive my foul attempt, which I shall grieve for So heartily, that could you be yourself Eye-witness to my constant vow’d repentance, Trust me, you’d pity me. CLA. Sir, you can speak now. ROD. So much I am the executioner Of mine own trespass, that I have no heart Nor reason to disclose my name or quality; You must excuse me that; but, trust me, fair one, Were this ill deed undone, this deed of wickedness, I would be proud to court your love like him Whom my first birth presented to the world. This for your satisfaction: what remains, That you can challenge as a service from me, I both expect and beg it. CLA. First, that you swear, Neither in riot of your mirth, in passion Of friendship, or in folly of discourse, To speak of wrongs done to a ravish’d maid. ROD. As I love truth, I swear! CLA. Next, that you lead me Near to the place you met me, and there leave me To my last fortunes, ere the morning rise. ROD. Say more. CLA. Live[177] a new man, if e’er you marry— O me, my heart’s a-breaking!—but if e’er You marry, in a constant love to her That shall be then your wife, redeem the fault Of my undoing. I am lost for ever: Pray, use no more words. ROD. You must give me leave To veil you close. CLA. Do what you will; no time Can ransom me from sorrows or dishonours. [RODERIGO throws a veil over her. Shall we now go? ROD. My shame may live without me, But in my soul I bear my guilt about me. Lend me your hand; now follow. [Exeunt.

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Act I, Scene IV

Before FERNANDO’S house.

Enter LOUIS, DIEGO, and Servant.

LOUIS. Not yet come in, not yet? SER. No, I'll assure your lordship; I've seldom known him Keep out so long; my lord usually observes More seasonable hours. LOUIS. What time of night is’t? SER. On the stroke of three. LOUIS. The stroke of three? ’tis wondrous strange! Dost hear?—— SER. My lord? LOUIS. Ere six I will be here again; Tell thy lord so; ere six; ’a must not sleep; Or if ’a do, I shall be bold to wake him: Be sure thou tell’st him, do. SER. My lord, I shall. [Enters the house. LOUIS. Diego, Walk thou the street that leads about the Prado; I'll round the west part of the city: meet me At the Inquisition-chapel; if we miss him, We’ll both back to his lodgings.[178] DIEGO. At the chapel? LOUIS. Ay, there we’ll meet. DIEGO. Agreed, I this way. [Exit LOUIS:[179] as DIEGO is going out,

Enter JOHN reading.[180]

JOHN. She is not noble, true; wise nature meant Affection should ennoble[181] her descent, For love and beauty keep[182] as rich a seat Of sweetness in the mean-born as the great. I am resolv’d. [Exit. DIEGO. ’Tis Roderigo certainly, Yet his voice makes me doubt; but I'll o’erhear him. [Exit.

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Act I, Scene V

A street.

Enter LOUIS.

LOUIS. That if [I], only I should be the man Made accessary and a party both To mine own torment, at a time so near The birth of all those comforts I have travail’d with So many, many hours of hopes and fears; Now at the instant—

Enter RODERIGO.

Ha! stand! thy name, Truly and speedily. ROD. Don Louis? LOUIS. The same; But who art thou? speak! ROD. Roderigo. LOUIS. Tell me, As you’re a noble gentleman, as ever You hope to be enroll’d amongst the virtuous, As you love goodness, as you wish t' inherit The blessedness and fellowship of angels, As you’re my friend, as you are Roderigo, As you are any thing that would deserve A worthy name, where have you been to-night? O, how have you dispos’d of that fair creature Whom you led captive from me? speak, O speak! Where, how, when, in what usage have you left her? Truth, I require all truth. ROD. Though I might question The strangeness of your importunity, Yet, ’cause I note distraction in the height Of curiosity, I will be plain And brief. LOUIS. I thank you, sir. ROD. Instead of feeding Too wantonly upon so rich a banquet, I found, even in that beauty that invited me, Such a commanding majesty of chaste And humbly glorious virtue, that it did not More check my rash attempt than draw to ebb The float[183] of those desires, which in an instant Were cool’d in their own streams of shame and folly. LOUIS. Now all increase of honours Fall in full showers on thee, Roderigo, The best man living! ROD. You are much transported With this discourse, methinks. LOUIS. Yes, I am. She told ye her name too? ROD. I could not urge it By any importunity. LOUIS. Better still! Where did you leave her? ROD. Where I found her; farther She would by no means grant me to wait on her: O Louis, I am lost! LOUIS. This self-same lady Was she to whom I have been long a suiter, And shortly hope to marry. ROD. She your mistress, then? Louis, since friendship And noble honesty conjure[184] our loves To a continu’d league, here I unclasp The secrets of my heart. O, I have had A glimpse of such a creature, that deserves A temple! if thou lov’st her—and I blame thee not, For who can look on her, and not give up His life unto her service?—if thou lov’st her, For pity’s sake conceal her; let me not As much as know her name, there’s a temption[185] in’t; Let me not know her dwelling, birth, or quality, Or any thing that she calls hers, but thee; In thee, my friend, I'll see her: and t' avoid The surfeits and[186] those rarities that tempt me, So much I prize the happiness of friendship, That I will leave the city—— LOUIS. Leave it? ROD. Speed me For Salamanca; court my studies now For physic ’gainst infection of the mind. LOUIS. You do amaze me. ROD. Here to live, and live Without her, is impossible and wretched. For heaven’s sake, never tell her what I was, Or that you know me! and when I find that absence Hath lost her to my memory, I'll dare To see ye again. Meantime, the cause that draws me From hence shall be to all the world untold; No friend but thou alone, for whose sake only I undertake this voluntary exile, Shall be partaker of my griefs: thy hand, Farewell; and all the pleasures, joys, contents, That bless a constant lover, henceforth crown thee A happy bridegroom! LOUIS. You have conquer’d friendship Beyond example.

Enter DIEGO.

DIEGO. Ha, ha, ha! some one That hath slept well to-night, should ’a but see me Thus merry by myself, might justly think I were not well in my wits. LOUIS. Diego? DIEGO. Yes, ’Tis I, and I have had a fine fegary,[187] The rarest wild-goose chase! LOUIS. ’Thad made thee melancholy. DIEGO. Don Roderigo here? ’tis well you met him; For though I miss’d him, yet I met an accident Has almost made me burst with laughter. LOUIS. How so? DIEGO. I'll tell you: as we parted, I perceiv’d A walking thing before me, strangely tickled With rare conceited raptures; him I dogg’d, Supposing ’t had been Roderigo landed From his new pinnace, deep in contemplation Of the sweet voyage[188] he stole to-night. ROD. You’re pleasant. LOUIS. Prithee, who was’t? ROD. Not I. DIEGO. You’re i' the right, not you indeed; For ’twas that noble gentleman Don John, Son to the count Francisco de Carcomo. LOUIS. In love, it seems? DIEGO. Yes, pepper’d, on my life; Much good may’t do him; I'd not be so lin’d[189] For my cap full of double pistolets. LOUIS. What should his mistress be? DIEGO. That’s yet a riddle Beyond my resolution; but of late I have[190] observ’d him oft to frequent the sports The gipsies newly come to th' city present. LOUIS. It is said there is a creature with ’em, Though young of years, yet of such absolute beauty, Dexterity of wit, and general qualities, That Spain reports her not without admiration. DIEGO. Have you seen her? LOUIS. Never. DIEGO. Nor you, my lord? ROD. I not remember. DIEGO. Why, then, you never saw the prettiest toy That ever sung or danc’d. LOUIS. Is she a gipsy? DIEGO. In her condition, not in her complexion: I tell you once more, ’tis a spark of beauty Able to set a world at gaze; the sweetest, The wittiest rogue! shall’s see ’em? they’ve fine gambols, Are mightily frequented; court and city Flock to ’em, but the country does ’em worship: This little ape gets money by the sack-full, It trolls upon her. LOUIS. Will ye with us, friend? ROD. You know my other projects; sights to me Are but vexations. LOUIS. O, you must be merry!— Diego, we’ll to th' gipsies. DIEGO. Best take heed You be not snapp’d. LOUIS. How' snapp’d? DIEGO. By that little fairy; 'T has a shrewd tempting face and a notable tongue. LOUIS. I fear not either. DIEGO. Go, then. LOUIS. Will you with us? ROD. I'll come after.— [Exeunt. LOUIS and DIEGO.

Pleasure and youth like smiling evils woo us To taste new follies; tasted, they undo us. [Exit.

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