Actus Primus.
Enter the Lady Widdow-Plus, her two Daughters, Frank
and Moll, her husbands Brother an old Knight Sir
Godfrey, with her Son and Heir Master Edmond, all
in mourning apparell, Edmond in a Cypresse Hat.
The Widow wringing her hands, and bursting out into
passion, as newly come from the Buriall of her husband.
Widow.
Oh, that ever I was born, that ever I was born!
Sir Godfrey.
Nay good sister, dear sister,
sweet sister, be of good comfort, shew your
self a woman, now or never.
Wid.
Oh, I have lost the dearest man, I have buried
the sweetest husband that ever lay by woman.
Sir God.
Nay give him his due, he was indeed an honest,
virtuous, discreet wise man,—he was my Brother,
as right, as right.
Wid.
O, I shall never forget him, never forget him,
he was a man so well given to a woman—oh!
Sir God.
Nay, but kind sister, I could weep as much
as any woman, but alass, our teares cannot call him again:
me thinks you are well read, sister, and know that death
is as common as Homo, a common name to all men;—a
man shall be taken when he's making water,—nay,
did not the learned Parson Master Pigman tell us e'ne
now, that all Flesh is frail, we are born to die, Man has
but a time: with such like deep and profound perswasions,
as he is a rare fellow you know, and an excellent
Reader: and for example, (as there are examples abundance)
did not Sir Humphrey Bubble die tother day,
there's a lusty Widow, why she cri'd not above half an
hour—for shame, for shame: then followed him old Master
Fulsome the Usurer, there's a wise Widow, why she
cry'd ne're a whit at all.
Wid.
O ranck not me with those wicked women, I
had a husband out-shin'd 'em all.
Sir God.
I that he did, ifaith, he out-shin'd 'em all.
Wid.
Dost thou stand there and see us all weep, and
not once shed a tear for thy fathers death? oh thou ungracious
son and heir thou?
Edm.
Troth, Mother, I should not weep I'me sure;
I am past a Child I hope, to make all my old School-fellowes
laugh at me; I should be mockt, so I should; pray
let one of my sisters weep for me, I'le laugh as much for
her another time?
Wid.
O thou past-Grace thou, out of my sight, thou
gracelesse Imp, thou grievest me more then the death of
thy Father: oh thou stubborn onely Son: hadst thou such
an honest man to thy Father—that would deceive all the
world to get riches for thee, and canst thou not afford a
little salt water? he that so wisely did quite overthrow
the right heir of those Lands, which now you respect not:
up every morning betwixt four and five, so duely at Westminster-Hall
every Tearm-time, with all his Cards and
Writings, for thee, thou wicked Absalon—oh dear husband!
Edm.
Weep, quotha? I protest I am glad he's Churched?
for now he's gone I shall spend in quiet.
Fran.
Dear Mother, pray cease, half your teares suffice,
'Tis time for you to take truce with your eyes,
Let me weep now?
Wid.
O such a dear Knight, such a sweet Husband have
I lost, have I lost?—if blessed be the Coarse the rain
rains upon, he had it, pouring down?
Sir. God.
Sister, be of good cheer, we are all mortall
our selves, I come upon you freshly, I ne're speak without
comfort, hear me what I shall say;—my brother has left
you wealthy, y'are rich.
Wid.
Oh!
Sir God.
I say y'are rich: you are also fair.
Wid.
Oh!
Sir God.
Go to, y'are fair, you cannot smother it,
beauty will come to light; nor are your yeares so far enter'd
with you, but that you will be sought after, and
may very well answer another husband; the world is
full of fine Gallants, choyce enow, sister,—for what
should we doe with all our Knights I pray? but to marry
rich Widowes, wealthy Citizens Widowes; lusty fairbrow'd
Ladies; go to, be of good comfort I say, leave
snobbing and weeping—yet my Brother was a kindhearted
man—I would not have the Elf see me now?
—come, pluck up a womans heart—here stands your
Daughters, who be well estated, and at maturity will also
be enquir'd after with good husbands, so all these teares
shall be soon dried up, and a better world then ever—
what, Woman? you must not weep still? he's dead, he's
buried—yet I cannot chuse but weep for him.
Wid.
Marry again! no, let me be buried quick then!
And that same part of Quire whereon I tread
To such intent, O may it be my grave:
And that the Priest may turn his wedding prayers,
-- 56 --
Even with a breath, to funerall dust and ashes;
Oh, out of a million of millions, I should ne're find such
a husband; he was unmatchable—unmatchable: nothing
was so hot, nor too dear for me, I could not speak of
that one thing that I had not, beside, I had keyes of all,
kept all, receiv'd all, had money in my purse, spent what
I would, went abroad abroad when I would, came home when I
would, and did all what I would: Oh—my sweet husband;
I shall never have the like.
Sir God.
Sister? ne're say so, he was an honest Brother
of mine, and so, and you may light upon one as honest
again, or one, as honest again may light upon you,
that's the properer phrase indeed.
Wid.
Never: oh if you love me urge it not:
Oh may I be the by-word of the world,
The common talk at Table in the mouth
Of every Groom and Waiter, if e're more
I entertain the carnall suit of man.
Mol.
I must kneel down for fashion too.
Franck.
And I, whom never man as yet hath scal'd,
E'ne in this depth of generall sorrow, vow
Never to marry, to sustain such losse,
As a dear husband seems to be, once dead.
Mol.
I lov'd my Father well too; but to say,
Nay vow, I would not marry for his death,
Sure I should speak false Latin, should I not?
I'de as soon vow never to come in Bed:
Tut, Women must live by th' quick, and not by th' dead.
Wid.
Dear Copy of my husband, oh let me kiss thee:
Drawing out her Husbands Picture.
How like him is their Model; their brief Picture
Quickens my teares: my sorrowes are renew'd
At their fresh sight.
Sir God.
Sister—
Wid.
Away,
All honesty with him is turn'd to clay,
Oh my sweet husband, oh—
Frank.
My dear Father?
Exeunt mother & daughters.
Mol.
Here's a puling indeed! I think my Mother
weeps for all the women that ever buried husbands: for if
from time to time all the Widowers teares in England
had been bottled up, I doe not think all would have fill'd
a three-half-penny Bottle: alass, a small matter bucks a
Handkercher,—and sometimes the spittle stands too
nigh Saint Thomas a Watrings: well, I can mourn in
good sober sort as well as another? but where I spend one
tear for a dead Father, I could give twenty kisses for a
quick husband.
Exit Mol.
Sir God.
Well, go thy wayes, old Sir Godfrey, and
thou may'st be proud on't, thou hast a kind loving sister-in-law:
how constant? how passionate? how full of April
the poor soules eyes are; well, I would my Brother
knew on't, he should then know what a kind Wife he
had left behind him; truth, and 'twere not for shame that
the neighbours at th'next Garden should hear me betwixt
joy and grief, I should e'ne cry out-right.
Exit Sir Godfrey.
Edmond.
So, a fair riddance, my Father's laid in dust,
his Coffin and he is like a whole Meat-Pye, and the
wormes will cut him up shortly: farewell, old Dad, farewell;
I'le be curb'd in no more: I perceive a son and heir
may quickly be made a fool and he will be one, but I'le
take another order;—Now she would have me weep
for him forsooth, and why; because he cozen'd the right
heir being a fool, and bestow'd those Lands on me his
eldest Son; and therefore I must weep for him, ha, ha:
why all the world knowes, as long as 'twas his pleasure to
get me, 'twas his duty to get for me: I know the Law in
that point, no Atturney can gull me. Well, my Unckle
is an old Asse, and an admirable Coxcombe, I'le rule the
Roast my self, I'le be kept under no more, I know what
I may doe well enough by my Fathers Copy: the Law's
in mine own hands now: nay now I know my strength,
I'le be strong enough for my Mother I warrant you?
Exit.
Enter George Py-bord a Schollar and a Citizen, and unto him an old Souldier, Peter Skirmish.
Pye.
What's to be done now, old Lad of War, thou
that wert wont to be as hot as a turn-spit, as nimble as a
Fencer, and as lowsie as a Schoole-master; now thou
art put to silence like a Sectary,—War sits now like a
Justice of peace, and does nothing: where be your Muskets,
Calivers and Hotshots? in Long-lane, at pawn, at
pawn;—Now keyes are out onely Guns, Key-guns, Key-guns,
and Bawdes the Gunners,—who are your sentinells
in peace, and stand ready charg'd to give warning;
with hems, hums, and pocky-coffs; onely your Chambers
are licenst to play upon you, and Drabs enow to give fire
to 'em.
Skir.
Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it goes wrong
with me, for since the cessure of the wars, I have spent above
a hundred Crownes out a purse: I have been a Soldier
any time this forty yeares, and now I perceive an old
Soldier, and an old Courtier have both one destiny, and in
the end turn both into hob-nayles.
Pye.
Pretty mystery for a Beggar, for indeed a hobnaile
is the true embleme of a Beggar's Shoe-soale.
Skir.
I will not say but that War is a bloud-sucker,
and so; but in my conscience, (as there is no soldier but
has a piece of one, though it be full of holes like a shot
Ancient, no matter, 'twill serve to swear by) in my conscience,
I think some kinde of Peace has more hidden oppressions,
and violent heady sins, (though looking of a
gentle nature) then a profest warre.
Pye.
Troth, and for mine own part, I am a poor Gentleman,
and a Schollar, I have been matriculated in the
University, wore out six Gowns there, seen some fools,
and some Schollars, some of the City, and some of the
Countrey, kept order, went bare-headed over the Quadrangle,
eat my Commons with a good stomack, and
Battled with Discretion; at last, having done many
slights and tricks to maintain my wit in use (as my brain
would never endure me to be idle,) I was expell'd the
University, onely for stealing a Cheese out of Jesus Colledge.
Skir.
Is't possible?
Pye.
Oh! there was one Welshman (God forgive him)
pursued it hard? and never left, till I turn'd my staffe toward
London, where when I came, all my friends were
pit-hold, gone to Graves, (as indeed there was but a few
left before) then was I turn'd to my wits, to shift in the
world, to towre among Sons and Heires, and Fooles, and
Gulls, and Ladies eldest Sons, to work upon nothing, to
feed out of Flint, and ever since has my belly been much
beholding to my brain: But now to return to you, old
Skirmish. I say as you say, and for my part wish a Turbulency
in the world, for I have nothing in the world,
but my wits, and I think they are as mad as they will be:
and to strengthen your Argument the more, I say an honest
warre, is better than a bawdy peace: as touching
-- 57 --
my profession; the multiplicity of Schollars, hatch, and
nourisht in the idle Calmes of peace, makes'em like Fishes
one devour another; and the communitie of Learning
has so plaid upon affections, and there by almost Religion
is come about to Phantasie, and discredited by being
too much spoken of—in so many and mean mouths. I
my self being a Schollar and a Graduate, have no other
comfort by my learning, but the affection of my words,
to know how Schollar-like to name what I want, and
can call my self a Beggar both in Greek and Latine, and
therefore not to cog with Peace, I'le not be afraid to say,
'tis a great Breeder, but a bad Nourisher: a great getter
of Children, which must either be Thieves or Rich men,
Knaves or Beggars.
Skirmish.
Well, would I had been born a Knave then,
when I was born a Beggar, for if the truth were known,
I think I was begot when my Father had never a penny
in his purse.
Pye.
Puh, faint not old Skirmish, let this warrant thee,
Facilis Descensus Averni, 'tis an easie journey to a
Knave, thou maist be a Knave when thou wilt; and
Peace is a good Madam to all other professions, and an
arrant Drab to us, let us handle her accordingly, and by
our wits thrive in despight of her; for the law lives by
quarrels, the Courtier by smooth good-morrows, and
every profession makes it self greater by imperfections,
why not we then by shifts, wiles, and forgeries? and
seeing our brains are the onely Patrimonies, let's spend
with judgement, not like a desperate son and heir, but
like a sober and discreet Templer,—one that will never
march beyond the bounds of his allowance, and for our
thriving means, thus, I my self will put on the Deceit of
a Fortune-teller, a Fortune-teller.
Skirm.
Very proper.
Pye.
And you a figure-caster, or a Conjurer.
Skir.
A Conjurer.
Pye.
Let me alone, I'le instruct you, and teach you to
deceive all eyes, but the Devils.
Skir.
Oh I, for I would not deceive him and I could
choose, of all others.
Pye.
Fear not I warrant you; and so by these means
we shall help one another to Patients, as the condition of
the age affords creatures enow for cunning to work upon.
Skir.
Oh wondrous, new fools and fresh asses.
Pye.
Oh, fit, fit, excellent.
Skir.
What in the name of Conjuring?
Pye-boord.
My memory greets me happily with an admirable
subject to graze upon. The Lady-Widow, who
of late I saw weeping in her Garden, for the death of her
Husband, sure she's but a watrish soul, and half on't by
this time is dropt out of her eyes: device well manag'd
may do good upon her: it stands firme, my first practise
shall be there.
Skir.
You have my voice, George.
Pye-board.
Sh'as a gray Gull to her Brother, a fool to
her onely son, and an ape to her youngest Daughter;—
I over-heard'em severally, and from their words I'le drive
my device; and thou old Peter Skirmish shalt be my second
in all slights.
Skir.
Ne're doubt me, George Pye-board,—only you
must teach me to conjure.
Enter Captain Idle, pinion'd, and with a guard of Officers passeth over the Stage.
Pye.
Puh, I'le perfect thee, Peter:
How now? what's he?
Skir.
Oh George! this sight kills me,
'Tis my sworn Brother, Captain Idle.
Pye.
Captain Idle.
Skir.
Apprehended for some fellonious act or other,
he has started out, h'as made a Night on't, lackt silver;
I cannot but commend his resolution, he would not pawn
his Buff-Jerkin, I would either some of us were employed,
or might pitch our Tents at Usurers doors, to kill the
slaves as they peep out at the Wicket.
Pye.
Indeed those are our ancient enemies; they keep
our money in their hands, and make us to be hang'd for
robbing of'em, but come let's follow after to the Prison,
and know the nature of his offence, and what we can
stead him in, he shall be sure of; and I'le uphold it still,
that a charitable Knave, is better then a soothing Puritan.
Exeunt.
Enter as one door Corporal Oath, a vain-glorious fellow,
and at the other, three of the Widdow Puritans Servingmen,
Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint
Mary-Overies, and Frailty in black scurvy mourning
coats, and Books at their Girdles, as coming from Church.
They meet.
Nich.
What Corporal Oath? I am sorry we have
met with you next our hearts; you are the man that we
are forbidden to keep company withall, we must not
swear I can tell you, and you have the name for swearing.
Sim.
I, Corporal Oath, I would you would do so
much as forsake us, we cannot abide you, we must not be
seen in your company.
Frail.
There is none of us I can tell you, but shall be
soundly whipt for swearing.
Corp.
Why how now? we three? Puritanical Scrapeshooes,
Flesh a good Fridayes; a hand.
All.
Oh.
Corp.
Why Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint
Mary-Overies, has the De'il possest you, that you swear
no better, you half-Christened Katomites, you ungodmother'd
Varlets, do's the first lesson teach you to be
proud, and the second to be Cox-combs; proud Cox-combs;
not once to do duty to a man of Mark.
Frail.
A man of Mark, quatha, I do not think he can
shew a Beggars Noble.
Corp.
A Corporal, a Commander, one of spirit, that
is able to blow you up all drye with your Books at your
Girdles.
Simon.
We are not taught to believe that, sir, for we
know the breath of man is weak.
Corp breaths on Frailty.
Frail.
Foh, you lie Nicholas; for here's one strong
enough; blows us up, quatha, he may well blow me above
twelve-score off on him: I warrant if the wind stood
right, a man might smell him from the top of Newgate, to
the the Leads of Ludgate.
Corp.
Sirrah, thou hollow book of Wax-candle.
Nich.
I, you may say what you will, so you swear not.
Corp.
I swear by the—
Nich.
Hold, hold, good Corporal Oath; for if you
swear once, we shall fall down in a sown presently.
Corp.
I must and will swear: you quivering Cox-combs,
my Captain is imprisoned, and by Vulcan's Leather
Cod-piece point—
Nich.
O Simon, what an oath was there.
Frail.
If he should chance to break it, the poor man's
Breeches would fall down about his heels, for Venus allows
but one point to his hose.
-- 58 --
Cor.
With these, my Bully-Feet, I will thump ope the
Prison doors, and brain the Keeper with the begging-Box,
but I'le set my honest sweet Captain Idle at liberty.
Nic.
How, Captain Idle? my old Aunts son, my
dear Kinsman in Cappadochio.
Cor.
I, thou Church-peeling, thou Holy-paring, Religious
out-side thou; if thou had'st any grace in thee,
thou would'st visit him, relieve him, swear to get him out.
Nic.
Assure you, Corporal, indeed-la, 'tis the first
time I heard on't.
Cor.
Why do't now then, Marmaset; bring forth
thy yearly-wages, let not a Commander perish?
Simon.
But if he be one of the wicked, he shall perish.
Nic.
Well Corporal, I'le e'en along with you, to visit
my Kinsman, if I can do him any good, I will,—but I
have nothing for him, Simon Saint Mary Ovaries and
Frailty, pray make a Lye for me to the Knight my Master,
old Sir Godfrey.
Cor.
A Lye? may you lye then?
Frail.
O I, we may lye, but we must not swear.
Sim.
True, we may lie with our Neighbour's wife,
but we must not swear we did so.
Cor.
Oh, an excellent Tag of Religion!
Nic.
Oh Simon, I have thought upon a sound excuse,
it will go currant, say that I am gon to a Fast.
Sim.
To a Fast? very good.
Nic.
I, to a Fast say, with master Full-belly the Minister.
Sim.
Master Full-belly? an honest man: he feeds the
flock well, for he's an excellent Feeder.
Exeunt Corporal & Nicholas.
Frail.
O I, I have seen him eat up a whole Pig, and
afterwards fall to the pettitoes.
Exeunt Sim. & Frailty.
The Prison, Marshalsea.
Enter Captain Idle at one door, and old Souldier at the other.
George Pye-board speaking within.
Pye.
Pray turn the key.
Skir.
Turn the key I pray?
Cap.
Who should those be, I almost know their voices?
O my friends!
Entring.
Y'are welcome to a smelling Room here? you newly
took leave of the air, is't not a strange savour?
Pie.
As all Prison's have smells of sundry wretches;
Who though departed, leave their sents behind 'em,
By Gold Captain, I am sincerely sorry for thee.
Cap.
By my troth, George, I thank thee; but, pish—
what must be, must be.
Skir.
Captain, what do you lie in for? is't great?
what's your offence?
Cap.
Faith, my offence is ordinary,—common, a
High-way, and I fear me my penalty will be ordinary
and common too, a Halter.
Pye.
Nay, prophesie not so ill, it shall go hard
But I'le shift for thy life.
Cap.
Whether I live or dye, thou'rt an honest George.
I'le tell you—Silver flow'd not with me, as it had done,
(for now the tide runs to Bawds and Flatterers) I had a
start out, and by chance set upon a fat Steward, thinking
his Purse had been as pursie as his body; and the slave
had about him but the poor purchase of ten groats: notwithstanding
being descryed, pursued, and taken, I know
the Law is grim, in respect of many desperate, unsetled
Souldiers, that I fear me I shall dance after their pipe
for't.
Skir.
I am twice sorry for you, Captain; first, that
your purchase was so small, and now that your danger is
so great.
Cap.
Push, the worst is but death,—ha you a pipe of
Tobacco about you?
Skir.
I think I have thereabouts about me!
Captain blows a pipe.
Cap.
Here's a clean Gentlman too, to receive.
Pye.
Well, I must cast about some happy slight:
Work brain, that ever did'st thy Master right.
Cor.
Keeper, let the key be turn'd.
Corporal and Nicholas within.
Nic.
I, I, pray master Keeper give's a cast of your office.
Cap.
How now? more visitants?—what, Corporal Oath?
Pye. Skir.
Corporal.
Cor.
In prison, honest Captain? this must not be.
Nic.
How do you, Captain Kinsman?
Cap.
Good Coxcomb, what makes that pure,—starcht
fool here?
Nic.
You see, Kinsman, I am somewhat bold to call
in, and see how you do; I heard you were safe enough,
and I was very glad on't, that it was no worse.
Cap.
This is a double torture now,—this fool by th'
book doth vex me more then my imprisonment. What
meant you, Corporal, to hook him hither?
Cor.
Who, he? he shall relieve thee, and supply thee,
I'le make him do't.
Cap.
Fie, what vain breath you spend:
He supply? I'le sooner expect mercy from a Usurer when
my Bond's forfeited, sooner kindnesse from a Lawyer
when my money's spent: nay, sooner charity from the
Devil, then good from a Puritan. I'le look for relief from
him, when Lucifer is restor'd to his bloud, and in Heaven
again.
Nic.
I warrant my Kinsman's talking of me, for my
left ear burns most tyrannically.
Pye.
Captain Idle? what's he there? he looks like a
Monkey upward, and a Crane downward.
Cap.
Pshaw; a foolish cousin of mine: I must thank
God for him.
Pye.
Why the better subject to work a scape upon;
thou shalt e'en change cloathes with him, and leave him
here, and so—
Cap.
Push, I publisht him e'en now to my Corporal,
he will be damn'd ere he do me so much good; why I
know a more proper, a more handsome device then that,
if the slave would be sociable,—now goodman Fleer-face?
Nic.
Oh, my Cousin begins to speak to me now, I
shall be acquainted with him again, I hope.
Skir.
Look! what ridiculous Raptures take hold of his
wrinckles.
Pye.
Then what say you to this device, a happy one,
Captain?
Cap.
Speak low, George; Prison Rats have wider
eares then those in Malt-lofts.
Nic.
Cousin, if it lay in my power, as they say—to—do—
Cap.
'Twould do me an exceeding pleasure indeed,
that; nere talk forder on't, the fool will be hang'd ere
he do't.
Cor.
Pax, I'le thump'im to't.
Pye.
Why do but try the Fopster, and break it to
him bluntly.
Cap.
And so my disgrace will dwell in his Jawes, & the
-- 59 --
Slave slaver out our purpose to his Master, for would I
were but as sure on't, as I am sure he will deny to do't.
Nic.
I would be heartily glad, Cousin, if any of my
friendships, as they say, might—stand, ah—
Pye.
Why, you see he offers his friendship foolishly to
you already.
Cap.
I, that's the hell on't, I would he would offer it
wisely.
Nic.
Verily, and indeed-la, Cousin—
Cap.
I have took note of thy fleers a good while, if
thou art minded to do me good? as thou gap'st upon me
comfortably, and giv'st me charitable faces; which indeed
is but a fashion in you all that are Puritans, wilt soon at
night steal me thy Master's Chain?
Nic.
Oh, I shall sowne!
Pye.
Corporal, he starts already!
Cap.
I know it to be worth three hundred Crowns,
and with the half of that, I can buy my life at a Brokers,
at second hand, which now lies in pawn to the
Law, if this thou refuse to do, being easie and nothing
dangerous, in that thou art held in good opinion of thy
Master; why 'tis a palpable Argument thou hold'st my
life at no price, and these thy broken and unjoynted
offers, are but only created in thy lip, now born, and
now buried, foolish breath only: what, woult do't? shall I
look for happinesse in thy answer?
Nich.
Steal my Master's Chain quoth he? no, it shall
nere be said, that Nicholas Saint Tantlings committed
Bird-lime!
Cap.
Nay, I told you as much, did I not? though he
be a Puritan, yet he will be a true man.
Nic.
Why Cousin, you know 'tis written, Thou shalt
not steal.
Cap.
Why, and fool, thou shalt love thy Neighbour,
and help him in extremities.
Nic.
Mass I think it be indeed; in what Chapter's
that, Cousin?
Capt.
Why in the first of Charity, the second verse.
Nic.
The first of Charity, quath a, that's a good
jest, there no such Chapter in my book!
Cap.
No, I know twas torn out of thy Book, and that
makes so little in thy heart.
Pye.
Come, let me tell you, y'are too unkind a Kinsman
ifaith; the Captain loving you so dearly, I, like the
Pomwater of his eye, & you to be so uncomfortable, fie, fie.
Nic.
Pray do not wish me to be hang'd, any thing else
that I can do; had it been to rob, I would ha don't, but I
must not Steal, that's the word, the literal, Thou shalt
not steal; and would you wish me to steal then?
Pye.
No faith, that were too much, to speak truth;
why wilt thou Nim it from him?
Nic.
That I will.
Pye.
Why enough, Bully; he will be content with that,
or he shall ha none; let me alone with him now, Captain,
I ha dealt with your Kinsman in a corner; a good,
—kind-natur'd fellow, me thinks: go to, you shall not
have all your own asking, you shall bate somewhat on't,
he is not contented absolutely, as you would say, to steal
the Chain from him, but to do you a pleasure, he will nim
it from him.
Nic.
I, that I will, Cousin.
Cap.
Well, seeing he will do no more, as far as I see,
I must be contented with that.
Cor.
Here's no notable gullery?
Pye.
Nay, I'le come nearer to you, Gentleman, because
we'll have only but a help and a mirth on't, the Knight
shall not lose his Chain neither, but be only laid out of
the way some one or two dayes.
Nic.
I, that would be good indeed, Kinsman.
Pye.
For I have a farder reach, to profit us better, by
the missing on't only, then if we had it out-right, as my
discourse shall make it known to you;—when thou hast
the Chain, do but convey it out at a back-door into the
Garden, and there hang it close in the Rosemary banck,
but for a small season; and by that harmlesse device, I
know how to wind Captain Idle out of prison, the Knight
thy Master shall get his pardon, and release him, and he
satisfie thy Master with his own Chain, and wondrous
thanks on both hands.
Nic.
That were rare indeed la, pray let me know how.
Pye.
Nay, 'tis very necessary thou should'st know,
because thou must be employ'd as an Actor?
Nic.
An Actor? O no, that's a Player? and our Parson
rails against Players mightily I can tell you, because
they brought him drunk upo'th'Stage once,—as he will be
horribly drunk.
Cor.
Mass I cannot blame him then, poor Church-spout.
Pye.
Why as an Intermedler then?
Nic.
I, that, that.
Pye.
Give me audience then; when the old Knight thy
Master has rag'd his fill for the loss of the Chain, tell him
thou hast a Kinsman in prison, of such exquisite Art, that
the Devil himself is French Lackey to him, and runs
bare-headed by his horse—belly (when he has
one:) whom he will cause, with most Irish dexterity
to fetch his Chain, though 'twere hid under a mine
of Sea-coal, and ne're make Spade or Pick-axe his
instruments; tell him but this, with farder instructions
thou shalt receive from me, and thou show'st thy self a
Kinsman indeed.
Cor.
A dainty Bully.
Skir.
An honest—Book-keeper.
Cap.
And my three times thrice honey-Cousin.
Nic.
Nay, grace of God I'le rob him on't suddenly,
and hang it in the Rosemary banck, but I bear that mind,
Cousin, I would not Steal any thing, me thinks, for mine
own Father.
Skir.
He bears a good mind in that, Captain.
Py.
Why well said, he begins to be an honest fellow, faith.
Cor.
In troth he does.
Nic.
You see, Cousin, I am willing to do you any kindness,
alwayes saving my self harmless.
Exit Nicholas.
Captain.
Why I thank thee, fare thee well, I shall requite
it.
Cor.
'Twill be good for thee, Captain, that thou hast
such an egregious Asse to thy Cousin.
Cap.
I, is not that a fine fool, Corporal?
But George, thou talk'st of Art and Conjuring,
How shall that be?
Pyb.
Puh, be't not in your care,
Leave that to me and my directions;
Well, Captain, doubt not thy delivery now,
E'en with the vantage, man, to gain by Prison,
As my thoughts prompt me: hold on brain and plot,
I aim at many cunning far events,
All which I doubt not to hit at length,
I'le to the Widow with a quaint assault,
Captain be merry.
Cap.
Who I? Kerry merry Buffe-Jerkin.
Pye.
Oh, I am happy in more slights, and one will
knit strong in another,—Corporal Oath.
Cor.
Hoh Bully!
-- 60 --
Pye.
And thou, old Peter Skirmish, I have a necessary
task for you both.
Skir.
Lay't upon George Pye-bord.
Corp.
What e're it be, we'll manage it.
Pye.
I would have you two maintain a quarrell before
the Lady Widdowes door, and draw your Swords ith'edge
of the Evening: clash a little, clash, clash.
Corp.
Fuh.
Let us alone to make our Blades ring noon,
Though it be after supper.
Pye.
I know you can;
And out of that false fire, I doubt not but to raise strange
belief—and, Captain, to countenance my device the better,
and grace my words to the Widow, I have a good
plain Sattin Sute, that I had of a young Reveller tother
night, for words pass not regarded now a dayes, unless they
come from a good suit of cloathes, which the Fates and my
wits have bestowed upon me. Well, Captain Idle, if I
did not highly love thee, I would ne're be seen within
twelve score of a prison, for I protest at this instant, I
walk in great danger of small debts; I owe money to severall
Hostesses, and you know such Jills will quickly be
upon a mans Jack.
Capt.
True, George?
Pye.
Fare thee well, Captain. Come Corporall and
Ancient, thou shalt hear more newes next time we greet
thee.
Corp.
More newes? I, by yon Bear at Bridge-Foot in
heaven shalt thou.
Exeunt.
Capt.
Enough: my friends farewell,
This prison shewes as if Ghosts did part in Hell.
Enter Moll youngest Daughter to the Widow, alone.
Moll.
Not marry? forswear marriage? why all women
know 'tis as honourable a thing as to lie with a man;
and I to spight my Sisters vow the more, have entertain'd
a Suiter already, a fine Gallant Knight of the last Feather,
he sayes he will Coach me too, and well appoint me,
allow me money to Dice withall, and many such pleasing
protestations he sticks upon my lips: indeed his short-winded
Father ith' Countrey is wondrous wealthy, a most
abominable Farmer, and therefore he may dote in time:
troth I'le venter upon him; women are not without
wayes enough to help themselves: if he prove wise and
good as his word, why I shall love him, and use him
kindly; and if he prove an Asse, why in a quarter of an
houres warning I can transform him into an Oxe;—
there comes in my relief again.
Enter Frailty.
Frail.
O, Mistresse Moll, Mistresse Moll.
Moll.
How now? what's the newes?
Frail.
The Knight your Suiter, Sir John Penny-Dub.
Moll.
Sir John Penny-Dub? where? where?
Frail.
He's walking in the Gallery.
Moll.
Has my Mother seen him yet?
Frail.
O no, she's—spitting in the Kitchin.
Moll.
Direct him hither softly, good Frailty,
I'le meet him half way.
Frail.
That's just like running a Tilt; but I hope he'll
break nothing this time.
Enter Sir John Penny-Dub.
Moll.
'Tis happinesse my Mother saw him not:
O welcome, good Sir John.
Penny-Dub.
I thank you faith,—Nay you must stand
me till I kisse you: 'tis the fashion every where ifaith,
and I came from Court enow.
Moll.
Nay the Fates forfend that I should anger the
fashion?
Penny.
Then not forgetting the sweet of new ceremonies,
I first fall back, then recovering my self; make
my honour to your lip thus: and then accost it.
Moll.
Trust me, very pretty, and moving, y'are worthy
on't, sir.
O my Mother, my Mother, now she's here,
Kissing. Enter Widow and Sir Godfrey.
We'll steale into the Gallery.
Exeunt.
Sir Godf.
Nay, Sister, let Reason rule you, doe not
play the foole, stand not in your own light, you have
wealthy offers, large tendrings, doe not withstand your
good fortune: who comes a wooing to you I pray? no
small fool, a rich Knight oth' City, Sir Oliver Muck-hill,
no small fool I can tell you: and furthermore as I heard late
by your Maid-servants (as your Maid-servants will say
to me any thing, I thank 'em) both your Daughters are
not without Suiters, I, and worthy ones too; one a brisk
Courtier, Sir Andrew Tip-staffe, suiter afar off to your
eldest Daughter, and the third a huge wealthy Farmers
Son, a fine young Country Knight, they call him Sir
John Penny-Dub, a good name marry, he may have it
coyn'd when he lacks money: what blessings are these,
Sister?
Wid.
Tempt me not, Satan.
Sir God.
Satan? doe I look like Satan? I hope the
Devil's not so old as I, trow.
Wid.
You wound my sences, Brother, when you name
A suiter to me,—oh I cannot abide it,
I take in poyson when I hear one nam'd.
Enter Simon.
How now, Simon? where's my son Edmond?
Sim.
Verily, Madam, he is at vain Exercise, dripping
in the Tennis-Court.
Wid.
At Tennis-Court? oh, now his Father's gone,
I shall have no rule with him; oh wicked Edmond, I
might well compare this with the Prophecy in the Chronicle,
though far inferiour, as Harry of Monmouth won
all, and Harry of Windsor lost all; so Edmond of Bristow
that was the Father, got all, and Edmond of London
that's his son now, will spend all.
Sir Godf.
Peace, sister, we'll have him reform'd, there's
hope on him yet, though it be but a little.
Enter Frailty.
Frail.
Forsooth Madam; there are two or three Archers
at door would very gladly speak with your Ladiship.
Wid.
Archers?
Sir God.
Your Husbands Fletcher I warrant.
Wid.
Oh,
Let them come near, they bring home things of his,
Troth I should ha forgot 'em, how now?
Villain, which be those Archers?
Enter the Suiters, Sir Andrew Tipstaffe, Sir Oliver Muck-hill, and Penni-Dub.
Frail.
Why, do you not see 'em before you? are not
-- 61 --
these Archers, what do you call'em Shooters: Shooters
and Archers are all one I hope.
Wid.
Out ignorant slave.
Muck.
Nay, pray be patient Lady,
We come in way of honorable love.
Tipst. Penny.
We do.
Muck.
To you.
Tipst. Penny.
And to your Daughters.
Wid.
O why will you offer me this, Gentlemen? indeed
I will not look upon you; when the tears are scarce
out of mine eyes, not yet washt off from my cheeks, and
my deer husbands body scarce so cold as the Coffin, what
reason have you to offer it? I am not like some of your
Widows that will bury one in the evening, and be sure
to another ere morning; pray away, pray take your answers
good Knights, and you be sweet Knights, I have
vow'd never to marry;—and so have my daughters too!
Penny.
I, two of you have, but the third's a good wench!
Muck.
Lady, a shrewd answer marry; the best is, 'tis
but the first, and he's a blunt wooer, that will leave for
one sharp answer.
Tip.
Where be your Daughters Lady, I hope they'll
give us better encouragements?
Wid.
Indeed they'll answer you so, take't a my word
they'll give you the very same answer Verbatim truly la.
Penny.
Mum: Moll's a good wench still, I know what
she'll do?
Muck.
Well, Lady, for this time we'll take our leaves,
hoping for better comfort.
Wid.
O never, never: and I live these thousand years;
and you be good Knights, do not hope; 'twill be all Vain,
Vain,—look you put off all your suits, and you come to
me again.
Frail.
Put of all their suits, quatha? I that's the best
wooing of a Widdow indeed, when a man's Nonsuted,
that is, when he's a bed with her.
Going out Muckhill and Sir Godfrey.
Muck.
Sir Godfrey? here's twenty Angels more, work
hard for me; there's life in't yet.
Exit Muckhill.
Sir Godf.
Fear not Sir Oliver Muckhill, I'le stick
close for you, leave all with me.
Enter George Pye-board the Schollar.
Pye.
By your leave Lady Widow.
Wid.
What another suiter now?
Pye.
A suiter, no, I protest Lady? if you'd give me
your self, I'de not be troubled with you.
Wid.
Say you so Sir, then you're the better welcome sir.
Pye.
Nay, Heaven blesse me from a Widow, unlesse I
were sure to bury her speedily!
Wid.
Good bluntnesse: well, your businesse, si ?
Pye.
Very needfull; if you were in private once.
Wid.
Needfull? Brother, pray leave us; and you sir.
Frail.
I should laugh now, if this blunt fellow should
put'em all beside the stirrop, and vault into the saddle
himself, I have seen as mad a trick.
Exit Frailty.
Enter Daughters.
Wid.
Now Sir?—here's none but wee—Daughters
forbear.
Pye.
O no, pray let'em stay, for what I have to speak
importeth equally to them as you?
Wid.
Then you may stay.
Pye.
I pray bestow on me a serious ear,
For what I speak is full of weight and fear.
Wid.
Fear?
Pye.
I, if't passe unregarded, and uneffected,
Else peace and joy:—I pray Attention.
Widow, I have been a meer stranger for these parts that
you live in, nor did I ever know the Husband of you,
and Father of them, but I truly know by certain spiritual
Intelligence, that he is in Purgatory.
Wid.
Purgatory? tuh; that word deserves to be spit
upon; I wonder that a man of sober tongue, as you seem
to be, should have the folly to believe there's such a place.
Pye.
Well Lady, in cold bloud I speak it, I assure you
that there is a Purgatory, in which place I know your
husband to recide, and wherein he is like to remain, till
the dissolution of the world, till the last general Bon-fire:
when all the earth shall melt into nothing, and the Seas
scald their finny labourers: so long is his abidance, unlesse
you alter the property of your purpose, together with
each of your Daughters theirs, that is, the purpose of single
life in your self and your eldest Daughter, and the
speedy determination of marriage in your youngest.
Moll.
How knows he that, what, has some Devil told
him?
Wid.
Strange he should know our thoughts:—
Why but Daughter, have you purpos'd speedy Marriage?
Pye.
You see she tells you I, she sayes nothing.
Nay, give me credit as you please, I am a stranger to you,
and yet you see I know your determinations, which
must come to me metaphisically, and by a super-natural
intelligence.
Wid.
This puts amazement on me.
Frank.
Know our secrets?
Mol.
I'de thought to steal a marriage, would his tongue
Had dropt out when he blab'd it.
Wid.
But sir, my husband was too honest a dealing
man, to be now in any Purgatories—
Pye.
O do not load your conscience with untruths,
'Tis but meer folly now to gild'em ore:
That has past but for Copper; Praises here,
Cannot unbind him there: confesse but truth,
I know he got his wealth with a hard gripe:
Oh hardly, hardly.
Wid.
This is most strange of all, how knows he that?
Pye.
He would eat fools and ignorant heirs clean up;
And had his drink from many a poor mans brow,
Even as their labour brew'd it.
He would scrape riches to him most unjustly;
The very dirt between his nails was ill got
And not his own,—oh
I groan to speak on't, the thought makes me shudder!—
shudder!
Wid.
It quakes me too, now I think on't—sir, I am
much griev'd, that you a stranger, should so deeply wrong
my dead husband!
Pye-board.
Oh?
Wid.
A man that would keep Church so duly; rise
early before his servants, and e'en for Religious hast, go
ungarter'd, unbutton'd, nay sir Reverence untrust, to
Morning Prayer?
Pye.
Oh uff.
Wid.
Dine quickly upon high-dayes, and when I had
great guesse, would e'en shame me, and rise from the Table,
to get a good seat at an after-noon Sermon.
Pye.
There's the devil, there's the devil, true, he thought
it Sanctity enough, if he had kill'd a man, so t'ad bin
done in a Pue, or undone his Neighbour, so t'ad bin
-- 62 --
near enough to th' Preacher, Oh!—a Sermon's a fine
short Cloak of an hour long, and will hide the upper part
of a dissembler,—Church, I, he seem'd all Church, and
his conscience was as hard as the Pulpit.
Wid.
I can no more endure this.
Pye.
Nor I, Widow,
Endure to flatter.
Wid.
Is this all your business with me?
Pye.
No, Lady, 'tis but the induction to't,
You may believe my strains, I strike all true.
And if your conscience would leap up to your tongue,
your self would affirm it, and that you shall perceive
I know of things to come, as well as I do of what is present;
a Brother of your husband's shall shortly have a
loss.
Wid.
A loss? marry Heaven forfend, Sir Godfrey, my
Brother!
Pye.
Nay, keep in your wonders, 'till I have told you
the fortunes of you all; which are more fearfull, if not
happily prevented,—for your part and you: Daughters, if
there be not once this day some bloud-shed before your
door, whereof the humane creature dyes, of you two the
elder shall run mad.
Mother & Frank.
Oh!
Mol.
That's not I yet.
Pye.
And with most impudent prostitution, show your
naked Bodies to the view of all beholders.
Wid.
Our naked Bodies? fie for shame.
Pye.
Attend me, and your younger Daughter be
strucken dumb.
Mol.
Dumb? out alas; 'tis the worst pain of all for
a Woman, I'de rather be mad, or run naked, or any
thing: dumb?
Pye.
Give ear: ere the evening fall upon Hill, Bog,
and Meadow, this my speech shall have past probation,
and then shall I be believed accordingly.
Widow.
If this be true, we are all sham'd, all undone.
Mol.
Dumb? I'le speak as much as ever I can possible
before evening.
Pye.
But if it so come to pass (as for your fair sakes I
wish it may) that this presage of your strange fortunes
be prevented by that accident of death and bloud-shedding,
which I before told you of; take heed upon your
lives, that two of you which have vow'd never to marry,
seek out Husbands with all present speed, and you the
third, that have such a desire to outstrip Chastity, look
you meddle not with a Husband.
Moll.
A double Torment.
Pye.
The breach of this keeps your Father in Purgatory,
and the punishments that shall follow you in this
world, would with horrour kill the ear should hear 'em
related.
Wid.
Marry? why I vow'd never to marry.
Frank.
And so did I.
Moll.
And I vow'd never to be such an Ass, but to
marry: what a cross Fortune's this?
Pye.
Ladies, though I be a Fortune-teller, I cannot better
Fortunes, you have'em from me as they are revealed
to me: I would they were to your tempers, and fellows
with your blouds, that's all the bitterness I would you.
Widow.
Oh! 'tis a just vengeance, for my Husband's
hard purchases.
Pye.
I wish you to bethink your selves, and leave'em.
Wid.
I'le to Sir Godfrey my Brother, and acquaint
him with these fearfull presages.
Frank.
For, Mother, they portend losses to him.
Wid.
Oh I, they do, they do;
If any happy issue crown thy words,
I will reward thy cunning.
Pye.
'Tis enough, Lady,
I wish no higher.
Exit.
Moll.
Dumb? and not Marry? worse,
Neither to speak, nor kiss, a double curse.
Exit.
Pye.
So, all this comes well about yet, I play the Fortune-teller,
as well as if I had had a Witch to my Grannam:
for by good happinesse, being in my Hostesses Garden,
which neighbours the Orchard of the Widow, I
laid the hole of mine ear to a hole in the wall, and heard
'em make these Vowes, and speak those words, upon which
I wrought these advantages; and to encourage my forgerie
the more, I may now perceive in 'em a natural simplicitie
which will easily swallow an abuse, if any covering
be over it: and to confirm my former presage to the
Widow, I have advis'd old Peter Skirmish the Souldier,
to hurt Corporal Oath upon the Leg, and in that hurry,
I'le rush amongst'em, and in stead of giving the Corporal
some Cordial to comfort him, I'le pour into his mouth
a potion of a sleepy nature, and make him seem as dead;
for the which the old Souldier being apprehended, and
ready to be borne to execution, I'le step in, and take upon
me the cure of the dead man, upon pain of dying the
condemned's death: the Corporal will wake at his minute,
when the sleepy force hath wrought it self, and so
shall I get my self into a most admired opinion, and under
the pretext of that cunning, beguile as I see occasion:
and if that foolish Nicholas Saint Tantlings keep true
time with the Chain, my plot will be sound, the Captain
delivered, and my wits applauded among Schollars and
Souldiers for ever.
Exit Pye-board.
Enter Nicholas Saint Tantlings, with the Chain.
Nic.
Oh, I have found an excellent advantage to take
away the Chain, my Master put it off e'en now, to say on
a new Doublet, and I sneakt it away by little and little,
most Puritanically? we shall have good sport anon
when has mist it, about my Cousin the Conjurer; the world
shall see I'me an honest man of my word, for now I'me
going to hang it between Heaven and Earth among the
Rosemary branches.
Exit Nich.
Actus Tertius.
Enter Simon Saint Mary-Overies, and Frailty.
Frail.
Sirrah Simon Saint Mary-Overies, my Mistris
sends away all her suiters, and puts fleas in their eares.
Sim.
Frailty, she does like an honest, chast, and virtuous
woman; for Widows ought not to wallow in the
puddle of Iniquity.
Frail.
Yet, Simon, many Widows will do't, what so
ere comes on't.
Sim.
True, Frailty, their filthy flesh desires a Conjunction
Copulative; what strangers are within,
Frailty?
Frail.
There's none, Simon; but master Pilfer the Taylor:
he's above with Sir Godfrey, praising of a Doublet:
and I must trudge anon to fetch Master Suds the Barber.
-- 63 --
Sim.
Master Sud's a good man, he washes the sins of
the Beard clean.
Skir.
How now, creatures? what's a Clock?
Enter old Skirmish, the Soldiers.
Frail.
Why, doe you take us to be Jack at th'Clockhouse?
Skir.
I say again to you what's a Clock?
Sim.
Truly la, we go by the Clock of our Conscience,
all worldly Clocks we know go false, and are set by
drunken Sextons.
Skir.
Then what's a Clock in your Conscience?—oh,
I must break off, here comes the Corporall—hum, hum:
—what's a Clock?
Enter Corporall.
Corp.
A Clock? why past seventeen.
Frail.
Past seventeen? nay, h'as met with his match
now, Corporall Oath will fit him.
Skir.
Thou dost not bawke or baffle me, dost thou?
I am a Souldier—past seventeen.
Corp.
I, thou art not angry with the figures, art thou?
I will prove it unto thee, 12. and 1. is thirteen I hope,
2. fourteen, 3. fifteen, 4. sixteen, and 5. seventeen, then
past seventeen, I will take the Dialls part in a just cause.
Skir.
I say 'tis but past five then.
Corp.
I'le swear 'tis past seventeen then: dost thou
not know numbers? canst thou not cast?
Skir.
Cast? dost thou speak of my casting ith' street?
Draw.
Corp.
I, and in the Market place.
Sim.
Clubs, Clubs, Clubs.
Simon runs in.
Frail.
I, I knew by their shuffling Clubs would be
Trump; masse here's the Knave, and he can do any good
upon 'em: Clubs, Clubs, Clubs.
Enter Pye-boord.
Cap.
O Villain, thou hast open'd a vain in my Leg.
Pye.
How now? for shame, for shame, put up, put up.
Cap.
By yon blew Welkin, 'twas out of my part,
George, to be hurt on the Leg.
Enter Officers.
Pye.
Oh peace now—I have a Cordiall here to comfort
thee.
Offi.
Down with 'em, down with 'em, lay hands upon
the Villain.
Skir.
Lay hands on me?
Pye.
I'le not be seen among 'em now.
Cap.
I'me hurt, and had more need have Surgeons,
Lay hands upon me then, rough Officers.
Offi.
Go, carry him to be drest then:
This mutinous Soldier shall along with me to prison.
Skir.
To prison? where's George?
Offi.
Away with him.
Exeunt with Skir.
Pye.
So,
All lights as I would wish, the amaz'd Widow,
Will plant me strongly now in her belief,
And wonder at the virtue of my words:
For the event turns these presages from 'em,
Of being mad and dumb, and begets joy
Mingled with admiration: these empty creatures,
Souldier and Corporall, were but ordain'd
As instruments for me to work upon.
Now to my Patient, here's his Potion.
Exit Pye-boord.
Enter the Widow with her two Daughters.
Wid.
O wondrous happinesse, beyond our thoughts!
O luckky fair event! I think our fortunes
Were blest e'ne in our Cradles: we are quitted
Of all those shamefull violent presages
By this rash bleeding chance: go, Frailty, run, and know
Whether he be yet living, or yet dead,
That here before my door receiv'd his hurt.
Frail.
Madam, he was carried to the superiour, but if
he had no money when he came there, I warrant he's
dead by this time.
Exit Frailty.
Franck.
Sure that man is a rare fortune-teller, never
lookt upon our hands, nor upon any mark about us, a
wondrous fellow surely.
Moll.
I am glad I have the use of my tongue yet,
though of nothing else, I shall find the way to marry too,
I hope shortly.
Wid.
O where's my Brother sir Godfrey, I would he
were here, that I might relate to him how prophetically
the cunning Gentleman spoke in all things.
Enter Sir Godfrey in a rage.
Sir God.
O my Chain, my Chain, I have lost my
Chain, where be these Villains, Varlets?
Wid.
Oh, h'as lost his Chain.
Sir God.
My Chain, my Chain.
Wid.
Brother, be patient, hear me speak, you know
I told you that a Cunning-man told me, that you should
have a losse, and he has prophecied so true.
Sir God.
Out, he's a Villain to prophecy of the losse
of my Chain, 'twas worth above three hundred Crowns,
besides 'twas my Fathers, my Fathers Fathers, my Grandfathers
huge Grandfathers: I had as lieve ha lost my
Neck, as the Chain that hung about it; O my Chain, my
Chain.
Wid.
Oh, Brother, who can be against a misfortune,
'tis happy 'twas no more.
Sir God.
No more! O goodly godly sister, would you
had me lost more? my best Gown too, with the Cloth
of Gold-Lace? my holyday Gascoins, and my Jerkin
set with Pearl? no more!
Wid.
Oh, Brother, you can read.—
Sir God.
But I cannot read where my Chain is: what
strangers have been here? you let in strangers, Thieves
and Catch-poles: how comes it gone? there was none above
with me but my Taylor, and my Taylor will not—
steale I hope?
Moll.
No, he's afraid of a Chain.
Enter Frailty.
Wid.
How now, sirrha? the newes?
Frail.
O, Mistresse, he may well be call'd a Corporall
now, for his Corps are as dead as a cold Capons?
Wid.
More happinesse.
Sir God.
Sirrha, what's this to my Chain? where's
my Chain, knave?
Frail.
Your Chain, sir?
Sir God.
My Chain is lost, Villain.
Frail.
I would he were hang'd in Chains that has it
then for me: Alass, sir, I saw none of your Chain since
you were hung with it your self.
-- 64 --
Sir God.
Out varlet? it had full three thousand Lincks,
I have oft told it over at my prayers:
Over and over, full three thousand Lincks.
Frail.
Had it so, sir, sure it cannot be lost then; I'le
put you in that comfort.
Sir God.
Why? why?
Frail.
Why if your Chain had so many Lincks, it
cannot chuse but come to light.
Enter Nicholas.
Sir God.
Delusion. Now, long Nicholas, where is my
Chain.
Nich.
Why about your neck, is't not, sir?
Sir God.
About my neck, Varlet? my Chain is lost,
'Tis stoln away, I'me robb'd.
Wid.
Nay, Brother, show your self a man.
Nic.
If it be lost or stole, if he would be patient, Mistresse,
I could bring him to a Cunning Kinsman of mine
that would fetch it again with a Sesarara.
Sir God.
Canst thou? I will be patient, say, where
dwells he?
Nic.
Marry he dwells now, sir, where he would not
dwell and he could choose, in the Marshalsea, sir; but
he's an exlent fellow if he were out: h'as travell'd all the
world o're, he, and been in the seven and twenty Provinces:
why he would make it be fetcht, sir, if it were rid a
thousand mile out of town.
Sir God.
An admirable fellow, what lies he for;
Nic.
Why he did but rob a Steward of ten groats
tother night, as any man would ha done, and there he
lies for't.
Sir God.
I'le make his peace, a trifle, I'le get his pardon,
Besides a bountifull reward, I'le about it,
But see the Clerks, the Justice will do much;
I will about it straight, good sister pardon me,
All will be well I hope, and turn to good,
The name of Conjurer has laid my blood.
Exeunt.
Enter Puttock and Ravenshaw two Serjeants, with Yeoman
Dogson, to arrest the Scholler George Pye-boord.
Put.
His Hostesse where he lies will trust him no
longer, she hath feed me to arrest him; if you will accompany
me, because I know not of what nature the
Schollar is, whether desperate or swift, you shall share
with me, Serjeant Raven-shaw, I have the good Angel to
arrest him.
Raven.
Troth I'le take part with thee then, Serjeant,
not for the sake of the money so much, as for the hate I
bear to a Schollar: why, Serjeant, 'tis naturall in us
you know to hate Schollars: naturall besides, they will
publish our imperfections, knaveries, and Conveyances
upon Scaffolds and Stages.
Put.
I, and spightfully too; troth I have wondred
how the slaves could see into our breasts so much, when
our Doublets are button'd with Pewter.
Raven.
I, and so close without yielding: oh, their
parlous fellowes, they will search more with their wits,
than a Constable with all his Officers.
Put.
Whist, whist, whist, Yeoman Dogson, Yeoman
Dogson.
Dog.
Ha? what sayes Serjeant?
Put.
Is he in the Pothecaries shop still,
Dog.
I, I.
Put.
Have an eye, have an eye.
Raven.
The best is, Serjeant, if he be a true Schollar
he weares no weapon I think.
Put.
No, no, he weares no weapon.
Raven.
Masse, I am right glad of that: 'thas put me
in better heart; nay if I clutch him once, let me alone
to drag him if he be stiff-necked; I have been one of
the six my self, that has dragg'd as tall men of their hands,
when their weapons have bin gone, as ever bastinado'd
a Serjeant—I have done I can tell you.
Dog.
Serjeant Puttock, Serjeant Puttock.
Put.
Hoh.
Dog.
He's comming out single.
Put.
Peace, peace, be not too greedy, let him play a
little, let him play a little, we'll jerk him up of a sudden,
I ha fisht in my time.
Raven.
I, and caught many a fool, Serjeant.
Enter Pye-boord.
Pye.
I parted now from Nicholas: the Chain's couch't,
And the old Knight has spent his rage upon't,
The Widow holds me in great admiration
For cunning Art: 'mongst joyes I'me e'ne lost,
For my device can no way now be crost,
And now I must to prison to the Captain, and there—
Put.
I arrest you, sir.
Pye.
Oh—I spoke truer then I was aware, I must to
prison indeed.
Put.
They say you're a Schollar, nay sir—Yeoman
Dogson, have care to his armes—you'll raile again Serjeants,
and stage 'em: you tickle their vices.
Pye.
Nay, use me like a Gentleman, I'me little lesse.
Put.
You a Gentleman? that's a good jest ifaith;
can a Schollar be a Gentleman,—when a Gentleman
will not be a Schollar;—look upon your wealthy Citizens
Sons, whether they be Schollars or no, that are Gentlemen
by their Fathers Trades: a Schollar a Gentleman!
Pye.
Nay, let Fortune drive all her stings into me,
she cannot hurt that in me, a Gentleman, Accidens inseparabile
to my blood.
Raven.
A rablement, nay you shall have a bloody
rablement upon you I warrant you.
Put.
Go, Yeoman Dogson, before, and enter the Action
ith' Counter.
Pye.
Pray doe not handle me cruelly, I'le go
Ex. Dogs.
Whether you please to have me.
Put.
Oh, he's tame, let him loose Serjeant.
Pye.
Pray at whose Suit is this?
Put.
Why, at your Hostesses Suit where you lie, Mistresse
Cunniburrow, for bed and board, the summe four
pound five shillings and five pence.
Pye.
I know the summe too true, yet I presum'd
Upon a farther day; well, 'tis my starres:
And I must bear it now, though never harder.
I swear now, my device is crost indeed.
Captain must lie by't: this is Deceits seed.
Put.
Come, come away.
Pye.
Pray give me so much time as to knit my garter,
and I'le away with you.
Put.
Well, we must be paid for this waiting upon you,
this is no pains to attend thus.
Making to tie his Garter.
Pye.
I am now wretched and miserable, I shall ne're
recover of this disease: hot Iron gnaw their fists: they
have struck a Fever into my shoulder, which I shall ne're
shake out again I fear me, till with a true Habeas Corpus
the Sexton remove me, oh if I take prison once, I shall be
-- 65 --
prest to death with Actions, but not to happy as speedily;
perhaps I may be forty year a pressing till I be a thin old
man, that looking through the grates, men may look
through me; all my means is confounded, what shall I
do? has my wit served me so long, and now give me the
slip (like a train'd servant) when I have most need of
'em: no device to keep my poor carcase from these Puttocks?
—yes, happinesse, have I a paper about me now?
yes too, I'le try it, it may hit, Extremity is Touch-stone
unto wit, I, I.
Put.
'Sfoot how many yards are in thy Garters, that
thou art so lo long a tying on them? come away sir.
Pye.
Troth Serjeant I protest; you could never ha
took me at a worse time, for now at this instant, I have
no lawfull picture about me.
Put.
'Slid how shall we come by our fees then.
Rav.
We must have fees, sirra.
Pye.
I could have wisht ifaith, that you had took me
halfe an hour hence for your own sake, for I protest if
you had not crost me, I was going in great joy to receive
five pound of a Gentleman, for the Device of a Mask
here, drawn in this paper but now, come, I must be contented,
'tis but so much lost, and answerable to the rest of
my fortunes.
Put.
Why how far hence dwells that Gentleman?
Rav.
I, well said Serjeant, 'tis good to cast about for
mony.
Put.
Speak, if it be not far—
Pye.
We are but a little past it, the next streeet behind us.
Put.
'Slid we have waited upon you grievously already,
if you'll say you'll be liberal when you ha't, give us double
fees, and spend upon's, why we'll show you that kindness,
and go along with you to the Gentleman.
Rav.
I, well said still Serjeant, urge that.
Pye.
Troth if it will suffice, it shall all be among you,
for my part I'le not pocket a penny, my Hostess shall
have her four pound five shillings, and bate me the five
pence, and the other fifteen shillings I'le spend upon you.
Ravinish.
Why now thou art a good Schollar.
Put.
An excellent Schollar ifaith; has proceeded very
well alate; come, we'll along with you.
Exeunt with him, passing in they knock at the door with a knocker withinside.
Ser.
Who knocks, whose at door? we had need of a
Porter.
Pye.
A few friends here.—pray is the Gentleman
your Master within?
Ser.
Yes, is your business to him?
Pye.
I, he knows it, when he sees me:
I pray you, have you forgot me.
Ser.
I by my troth, sir, pray come near, I'le in and
tell him of you, please you to walk here in the Gallery till
he comes.
Pye.
We will attend his worship,—worship I think,
for so much the posts at his door should signifie, and the
fair coming in, and the wicket, else I neither knew him
nor his worship, but 'tis happiness he is within doors,
what so'ere he be, if he be not too much a formal Citizen,
he may do me good: Serjeant and Yeoman, how do you
like this house, is't not most wholsomely plotted?
Rav.
Troth prisoner, an exceeding fine house.
Pye.
Yet I wonder how he should forget me, for he
ne're knew me: No matter, what is forgot in you, will be
remembred in your Master.
A pritty comfortable room this methinks:
You have no such roomes in prison now?
Put.
Oh dog-holes to't.
Pye.
Dog-holes indeed—I can tell you I have great
hope to have my Chamber here shortly, nay and dyet
too, for he's the most free-hearted'st Gentleman where he
takes: you would little think it? and what a fine Gallery
were here for me to walk and study, and make verses.
Put.
O it stands pleasantly for a Schollar.
Enter Gentleman.
Pye.
Look what maps, and pictures, and devices, and
things, neatly, delicately? Masse here he comes, he should
be a Gentleman, I like his Beard well;—All happinesse
to your worship.
Gent.
You're kindly welcome, sir.
Put.
A simple salutation.
Rav.
Masse it seems the Gentleman makes great account
of him.
Gent.
I have the thing here for you, sir.
Pye.
I beseech you, conceal me sir, I'm undone else,—
I have the Mask here for you sir, Look you sir,—I beseech
your worship, first pardon my rudenesse, for my
extreams makes me boulder then I would be; I am a poor
Gentleman and a Schollar, and now most unfortunately
falne into the hands of unmercifull Officers, arrested for
debt, which though small, I am not able to compasse, by
reason I'm destitute of lands, mony, and friends, so that
if I fall into the hungry swallow of the prison, I am like
utterly to perish, and with fees and extortions be pincht
clean to the bone: Now, if ever pitty had interest in the
bloud of a Gentleman, I beseech you vouchsafe but to
favour that means of my escape, which I have already
thought upon.
Gent.
Go forward.
Put.
I warrant he likes it rarely.
Pye.
In the plunge of my extremities, being giddy,
and doubtfull what to do; at last it was put in my labouring
thoughts, to make a happy use of this paper, and to
blear their unlettered eyes, I told them there was a Device
for a Mask drawn in't, and that (but for their interception,)
I was going to a Gentleman to receive my reward
for't: they greedy at this word, and hoping to make purchase
of me, offered their attendance, to go along with
me, my hap was to make bold with your door, sir, which
my thoughts shew'd me the most fairest and comfortablest
entrance, and I hope I have happened right upon understanding,
and pitty: may it please your good worship
then, but to uphold my Device, which is to let one of your
men put me out at a back door, and I shall be bound to
your worship for ever.
Gent.
By my troth, an excellent Device.
Put.
An excellent Device he sayes; he likes it wonderfully.
Gent.
A my faith, I never heard a better.
Raven.
Hark, he swears he never heard a better,
Serjeant.
Put.
O there's no talk on't, he's an excellent Schollar,
and especially for a Mask.
Gent.
Give me your Paper, your Device; I was never
better pleas'd in all my life: good wit, brave wit, finely
wrought, come in sir, and receive your mony, sir.
Pye.
I'le follow your good Worship,—
You heard how he like't it now?
Put.
Puh, we know he could not choose but like it:
go thy wayes, thou art a fine witty fellow ifaith, thou
shalt discourse it to us at the Tavern anon, wilt thou?
-- 66 --
Pye.
I, I, that I will,—look Serjeants, here are Maps,
and pretty toyes, be doing in the mean time, I shall quickly
have told out the money, you know.
Put.
Go, go, little villain, fetch thy chinck, I begin
to love thee, I'le be drunk to night in thy company.
Pye.
This Gentleman I may well call a part
Of my salvation, in these earthly evils,
For he has sav'd me from three hungry Devils.
Exit George.
Put.
Sirrah Serjeant, these Maps are pretty painted
things, but I could nere fancie them yet, me thinks they're
too busie, and full of Circles and Conjurations; they say
all the World's in one of them, but I could nere find the
Counter in the Poultry.
Rav.
I think so: how could you find it? for you know
it stands behind the houses.
Dog.
Mass that's true, then we must look oth'backside
for't: sfoot here's nothing, all's bare.
Rav.
I warrant thee that stands for the Counter, for
you know there's a company of bare fellows there.
Put.
Faith like enough, Serjeant, I never markt so
much before. Sirrah Serjeant, and Yeoman, I should
love these Maps out a cry now, if we could see men peep
out of door in 'em, oh we might have'em in a morning to
our Break-fast so finely, and nere knock our heels to the
ground a whole day for 'em.
Rav.
I marry sir, I'de buy one my self.
But this talk is by the way, where shall's sup to night:
Five pound receiv'd, let's talk of that.
I have a trick worth all, you two shall bear him toth'Tavern,
whilst I go close with his Hostess, and work out of
her, I know she would be glad of the summe, to finger
money; because shee knows 'tis but a desperate debt, and
full of hazard: what will you say if I bring it to pass, that
the Hostess shall be contented with one half for all, and
we to share tother fifty shillings, Bullies.
Put.
Why I would call thee King of Serjeants, and
thou should'st be Chronicled in the Counter-Book for
ever.
Ra.
Well, put it to me, we'll make a Night on't ifaith.
Dog.
Sfoot, I think he receives more money, he stayes
so long.
Put.
He tarries long indeed, may be, I can tell you,
upon the good liking on't the Gentleman may prove
more bountifull.
Rav.
That would be rare, we'll search him.
Put.
Nay be sure of it, we'll search him, and make
him light enough.
Enter the Gentleman.
Ra.
Oh here comes the Gentleman, by your leave, Sir.
Gen.
God you god den sirs,—would you speak with me?
Put.
No, not with your worship, sir; only we are bold
to stay for a friend of ours, that went in with your worship.
Gen.
Who? not the Schollar?
Put.
Yes, e'en he, an it please your worship.
Gen.
Did he make you stay for him? he did you wrong
then: why, I can assure you he's gon above an hour ago.
Rav.
How, Sir?
Gen.
I paid him his money, and my man told me he
went out at back-door.
Put.
Back-door?
Gen.
Why, what's the matter?
Put.
He was our prisoner, sir, we did arrest him.
Gen.
What he was not? you the Sheriff's Officers—
you were too blame then,
Why did you not make known to me as much;
I could have kept him for you, I protest,
He receiv'd all of me in Britain Gold,
Of the last coyning.
Ra.
Vengeance dog him with't.
Put.
Sfoot has he gull'd us so?
Dog.
Where shall we sup now, Serjeants?
Put.
Sup Simon, now, eat Porridge for a month.
Well, we cannot impute it to any lack of good will in
your Worship,—you did but as another would have
done, 'twas our hard fortunes to miss the purchase, but
if e'er we clutch him again, the Counter shall charm him.
Ra.
The Hole shall rot him.
Dog.
Amen.
Exeunt.
Gent.
So,
Vex out your Lungs without doors, I am proud,
It was my hap to help him, it fell fit,
He went not empty neither for his wit:
Alas poor wretch, I could not blame his brain,
To labour his delivery, to be free,
From their unpittying fangs,—I'me glad it stood,
Within my power to do a Scholar good.
Exit.
Enter in the Prison, meeting George and Captain, George coming in muffled.
Cap.
How now, who's that? what are you?
Pye.
The same that I should be, Captain.
Cap.
George Pye-board, honest George? why cam'st
thou in half-fac'd, muffled so?
Pye.
Oh Captain, I thought we should nere ha laught
agen, never spent frolick hour agen.
Cap.
Why? why?
Pye.
I coming to prepare thee, and with news
As happy as thy quick delivery,
Was trac'd out by the sent, arrested, Captain.
Cap.
Arrested, George?
Pye.
Arrested; guess, guess, how many Dogs do you
think I'de upon me?
Cap.
Dogs? I say, I know not.
Pye.
Almost as many as George Stone the Bear:
Three at once, three at once.
Cap.
How did'st thou shake'em off then?
Pye.
The time is busie, and calls upon our wits, let it suffice,
Here I stand safe, and scap't by miracle:
Some other hour shall tell thee, when we'll steep
Our eyes in laughter: Captain, my device
Leans to thy happiness, for ere the day
Be spent toth' Girdle, thou shalt be free:
The Corporal's in's first sleep, the Chain is mist,
Thy Kinsman has exprest thee, and the old Knight
With Palsey-hams now labours thy release.
What rests, is all in thee, to Conjure, Captain?
Cap.
Conjure? sfoot, George, you know, the Devil a
conjuring I can conjure.
Pye.
The Devil of conjuring? nay by my fay, I'de not
have thee do so much, Captain, as the Devil a conjuring:
look here, I ha brought thee a Circle ready charactered
and all.
Ca.
Sfoot, George, art in thy right wits, dost know what
thou sayst? why dost talk to a Captain a conjuring? didst
thou ever hear of a Captain conjure in thy life? dost call't
a Circle? 'tis too wide a thing, me thinks; had it been
a lesser Circle, then I knew what to have done.
-- 67 --
Pye.
Why every fool knowes that Captain: nay then
I'le not cog with you, Captain, if you'll stay and hang
the next Sessions you may.
Cap.
No, by my faith, George, come, come, let's to
conjuring.
Pye.
But if you look to be released, as my wits have
took pain to work it, and all means wrought to farther it,
besides to put Crowns in your purse, to make you a man
of better hopes, and whereas before you were a Captain
or poor Souldier, to make you now a Commander of rich
fooles, (which is truly the onely best purchase peace can
allow you) safer then High-wayes, Heath, or Cony-groves,
and yet a far better booty; for your greatest thieves are
never hang'd, never hang'd; for why? they're wise, and
cheat within doores; and we geld fooles of more money
in one night, then your false-tail'd Gelding will purchase
in a twelve-moneths running, which confirmes the old
Bedlams saying, he's wisest, that keeps himself warmest,
that is, he that robs by a good fire.
Capt.
Well opened ifaith, George, thou hast pull'd
that saying out of the husk.
Pye.
Captain Idle, 'Tis no time now to delude or delay,
the old Knight will be here suddenly, I'le perfect
you, direct you, tell you the trick on't: 'tis nothing.
Capt.
'Sfoot, George, I know not what to say to't,
conjure? I shall be hang'd ere I conjure.
Pye.
Nay, tell not me of that, Captain, you'll ne're
conjure after you're hang'd, I warrant you, look you, sir,
a parlous matter, sure, first to spread your circle upon the
ground, then with a little conjuring ceremony, as I'le
have an Hackney-mans wand silver'd o're a purpose for
you, then arriving in the circle, with a huge word, and a
great trample, as for instance: have you never seen a stalking,
stamping Player, that will raise a tempest with his
tongue, and thunder with his heeles?
Cap.
O yes, yes, yes; often, often.
Pye.
Why be like such a one? for any thing will blear
the old Knights eyes: for you must note, that he'll ne're
dare to venture into the room, onely perhaps peep fearfully
through the Key-hole, to see how the Play goes forward.
Capt.
Well, I may go about it when I will, but mark
the end on't, I shall but shame my self ifaith, George,
speak big words, and stamp and stare, and he look in at
Key-hole, why the very thought of that would make me
laugh out-right, and spoile all: nay I'le tell thee, George,
when I apprehend a thing once, I am of such a laxative
laughter, that if the Devil himself stood by, I should
laugh in his face.
Pye.
Puh, that's but the babe of a man, and may easily
be husht, as to think upon some disaster, some sad misfortune,
as the death of thy Father ith' Countrey.
Cap.
'Sfoot, that would be the more to drive me into
such an extasie, that I should ne.re lin laughing.
Pye.
Why then think upon going to hanging else.
Cap.
Masse that's well remembred, now I'le doe well,
I warrant thee, ne're fear me now: but how shall I doe,
George, for boysterous words, and horrible names?
Pye.
Puh, any fustian invocations, Captain, will serve
as well as the best, so you rant them out well, or you may
go to a Pothecaries shop, and take all the words from the
Boxes.
Cap.
Troth, and your say true, George, there's strange
words enow to raise a hundred Quack-salvers, though
they be ne're so poor when they begin? but here lies the
fear on't, how in this false conjuration, a true Devil
should pop up indeed.
Pye.
A true Devil, Captain? why there was ne're such
a one, nay faith he that has this place, is as false a Knave
as our last Church-warden.
Cap.
Then h'as false enough a conscience ifaith, George.
The Cry at Marshalsea.
Cry prisoners.
Good Gentlemen over the way, send
your relief:
Good Gentlemen over the way,—Good sir Godfrey?
Pye.
He's come, he's come.
Nich.
Master, that's my Kinsman yonder in the Buff-Jerkin
—Kinsman, that's my Master yonder ith' Taffaty
Hat—pray salute him intirely?
They salute: and Pye-boord salutes Master Edmond.
Sir God.
Now my friend.
Pye.
May I partake your name, sir?
Edm.
My name is Master Edmond.
Pye.
Master Edmond,—are you not a Welsh-man, sir?
Edm.
A Welsh-man? why?
Pye.
Because Master is your Christen name, and Edmond
your sir-name.
Edm.
O no: I have more names at home, Master
Edmond Plus is my full name at length.
Pye.
O cry you mercy sir?
Whispering.
Cap.
I understand that you are my Kinsmans good
Master, and in regard of that, the best of my skill is at
your service: but had you fortun'd a meer stranger, and
made no meanes to me by acquaintance, I should have
utterly denyed to have been the man; both by reason of
the Act of Parliament against Cojurers and Witches,
as also, because I would not have my Art vulgar, trite,
and common.
Sir God.
I much commend your care there, good
Captain Conjurer, and that I will be sure to have it private
enough, you shall do't in my Sisters house,—mine
own house I may call it, for both our charges therein are
proportion'd.
Capt.
Very good, sir,—what may I call your losse, sir?
Sir God.
O you may call't a great losse, a grievous
losse, sir, as goodly a Chain of Gold, though I say it, that
wore it: how sayest thou, Nicholas?
Nich.
O 'twas as delicious a Chain a Gold, Kinsman
you know,—
Sir God.
You know? did you know't, Captain?
Cap.
Trust a fool with secrets?—Sir he may say I
know: his meaning is, because my Art is such, that by it
I may gather a knowledge of all things.—
Sir God.
I very true.
Capt.
A pax of all fooles—the excuse stuck upon my
tongue like Ship-pitch uoon a Mariners Gown, not to
come off in haste—ber-lady, Knight, to lose such a fair
Chain a Gold, were a foule losse: Well, I can put you in
this good comfort on't, if it be between heaven and earth,
Knight, I'le ha't for you?
Sir God.
A wonderfull Conjurer,—O I, 'tis between
heaven and earth I warrant you, it cannot go out of the
Realm,—I know 'tis somewhere about the earth.
Cap.
I, nigher the earth then thou wot'st on.
Sir God.
For first my Chain was rich, and no rich
thing shall enter into heaven, you know.
Nich.
And as for the Devil, Master, he has no need
on't, for you know he has a great Chain of his own.
-- 68 --
Sir Godf.
Thou say'st true, Nicholas, but he has put
off that now, that lyes by him.
Cap.
Faith Knight, in few words, I presume so much
upon the power of my Art, that I could warrant your
Chain agen.
Sir Godf.
O dainty Captain!
Cap.
Marry it will cost me much sweat, I were better
go to sixteen Hot-houses.
Sir Godf.
I, good man, I warrant thee.
Cap.
Beside great vexation of Kidney and Liver.
Nic.
O, 'twill tickle you hereabouts, Cousin, because
you have not been us'd to't.
Sir Godf.
No? have you not been us'd to't, Captain?
Cap.
Plague of all fools still;—indeed Knight I have
not us'd it a good while, and therefore 'twill strain me so
much the more, you know.
Sir Godf.
Oh it will, it will.
Cap.
What plunges he puts me to? were not this
Knight a fool, I had been twice spoil'd now; that Captain's
worse then accurst that has an Asse to a Kinsman,
sfoot I fear he will drivel't out before I come to't.—Now
sir,—to come to the point indeed,—you see I stick here
in the jaw of the Marshalsea, and cannot do't.
Sir Godf.
Tut tut, I know thy meaning, thou wouldst
say thou'rt a prisoner, I tell thee th'art none.
Cap.
How, none? why is not this the Marshalsea?
Sir Godf.
Woult hear me speak? I heard of thy rare
Conjuring:
My Chain was lost, I sweat for thy release,
As thou shalt do the like at home for me:
Keeper.
Enter Keeper.
Keep.
Sir.
Sir Godf.
Speak, is not this man free?
Keep.
Yes, at his pleasure, Sir, the Fees discharg'd.
Sir Godf.
Go, go, I'le discharge them, I.
Keep.
I thank your Worship.
Exit Keeper.
Cap.
Now, trust me, y'are a dear Knight; kindnesse
unexpected! oh there's nothing to a free Gentleman.—I
will Conjure for you, sir, 'till Froth come through my
Buffe-Jerkin.
Sir Godf.
Nay, then thou shalt not passe with so little
a bounty, for at the first sight of my Chain agen,—
Fourty five Angels shall appear unto thee.
Cap.
'Twill be a glorious show, ifaith Knight, a very
fine show; but are all these of your own house? are you
sure of that, Sir?
Sir Godf.
I, I, no, no; what's he yonder talking with
my wild Nephew, pray heaven he give him good counsel.
Cap.
Who, he? he's a rare friend of mine, an admirable
fellow, Knight, the finest Fortune-teller.
Sir Godf.
Oh! 'tis he indeed, that came to my Lady
sister, and foretold the losse of my Chain; I am not angry
with him now, for I see 'twas my Fortune to lose it:
By your leave, Mr. Fortune-teller, I had a glimps of you
at home, at my Sisters the Widows, there you prophesied
of the loss of a Chain:—simply though I stand here,
I was he that lost it.
Pye.
Was it you, sir?
Edm.
A my troth, Nuncle, he's the rarest fellow, has
told me my fortune so right; I find it so right to my nature.
Sir Godf.
What is't? God send it a good one.
Edm.
O, 'tis a passing good one, Nuncle: for he sayes
I shall prove such an excellent Gamester in my time, that
I shall spend all faster then my Father got it.
Sir Godf.
There's a Fortune indeed.
Edm.
Nay, it hits my humour so pat.
Sir Godf.
I, that will be the end on't: will the Curse
of the Beggar prevail so much, that the son shall consume
that foolishly, which the father got craftily; I, I, I;
'twill, 'twill, 'twill.
Pye.
Stay, stay, stay.
Pye-board with an Almanack, and the Captain.
Cap.
Turn over, George.
Pye.
June, July; here, July, thats the month, Sunday
thirteen, yesterday fourteen, to day fifteen.
Cap.
Look quickly for the fifteen day,—if within the
compasse of these two dayes there would be some Boystrous
storm or other, it would be the best, I'de defer him
off till then; some Tempest, and it be thy will.
Pye.
Here's the fifteen day,—Hot and fair.
Cap.
Puh, would t'ad been, Hot and foul.
Pye.
The sixteen day, that's to morrow; The morning
for the most part, fair and pleasant.
Cap.
No luck.
Pye.
But about high-noon, Lightning and thunder.
Cap.
Lightning and thunder? admirable! best of all!
I'le Conjure to morrow just at high-noon, George.
Pye.
Happen but true to morrow, Almanack, and I'le
give the leave to lye all the year after.
Cap.
Sir, I must crave your patience, to bestow this
day upon me, that I may furnish my self strongly,—I sent
a Spirit into Lancashire tother day, to fetch back a knave
Drover, and I look for his return this evening—to morrow
morning, my friend here, and I will come and breakfast
with you.
Sir Godf.
Oh, you shall be most welcome.
Cap.
And about noon, without fail, I purpose to Conjure.
Sir Godf.
Mid-noon will be a fit time for you.
Edm.
Conjuring? do you mean to Conjure at our
house, to morrow, Sir?
Cap.
Marry do I, sir? 'tis my intent, young Gentleman.
Edm.
By my troth, I'le love you while I live for't: ô
rare! Nicholas, we shall have Conjuring to morrow.
Nic.
Puh I, I could ha told you of that.
Cap.
Law, he could ha told him of that, fool, coxcomb,
could ye?
Edm.
Do you hear me, sir, I desire more acquaintance
on you, you shall earn some money of me, now I know
you can Conjure; but can you fetch any that is lost?
Cap.
Oh, anything that's lost.
Edm.
Why look you, sir, I tell't you as a friend and a
Conjurer; I should marry a Pothecaries Daughter, and
'twas told me, she lost her Maiden-head at Stonie-Stratford:
now if you'll do but so much as Conjure for't, and
make all whole agen—
Cap.
That I will, Sir.
Edm.
By my troth I thank you, la.
Cap.
A little merry with your sisters son, sir.
Sir Godf.
Oh, a simple young man, very simple, come
Captain, and you, sir; we'll e'en part with a gallon of
wine 'till to morrow break-fast.
Tip. Cap.
Troth, agreed, sir.
Nic.
Kinsman—Scholar.
Pye.
Why now thou art a good Knave, worth a hundred
Brownists.
Nic.
Am I indeed, la: I thank you heartily, la.
Exeunt.
-- 69 --
Actus Quartus.
Enter Moll, and Sir John Penny-Dub.
Pen.
But I hope you will not serve a Knight so, Gentlewoman,
will you? to casheer him, and cast him off
at your pleasure; what doe you think I was dubb'd for
nothing, no by my faith Ladies daughter.
Moll.
Pray Sir John Penny-Dub, let it be defer'd awhile,
I have a heart to marry as you can have; but as
the Fortune-teller told me.
Penny.
Pax-oth' Fortune-teller, would Derrick had
been his fortune seven yeare ago, to crosse my love thus:
did he know what case I was in? why this is able to make
a man drown himself in's Father's Fish-pond.
Moll.
And then he told me moreover, Sir John, that
the breach of it, kept my Father in Purgatory.
Penny.
In Purgatory? why let him purge out his heart
there, what have we to doe with that? there's Physicians
enow there to cast his water, is that any matter to us?
how can he hinder our love? why let him be hang'd now
he's dead?—Well, have I rid post day and night, to
bring you merry newes of my Fathers death, and now—
Moll.
Thy Fathers death? is the old Farmer dead?
Penny.
As dead as his Barn door, Moll.
Moll.
And you'll keep your word with me now, sir
John, that I shall have my Coach and my Coach-man?
Penny.
I faith.
Moll.
And two white Horses with black Feathers to
draw it?
Penny.
Too.
Moll.
A guarded Lackey to run befor't, and py'd Liveries
to come trashing after't.
Pen.
Thou shalt Moll.
Mol.
And to let me have money in my purse to go whether
I will.
Pen.
All this.
Moll.
Then come, whatsoe're come's on't, we'll be
made sure together before the Maids oth' Kitchin.
Exe.
Enter Widow with her eldest Daughter, Franck and Frailty.
Wid.
How now? where's my Brother Sir Godfrey?
went he forth this morning?
Frail.
O no Madam, he's above at break-fast, with
sir reverence a Conjurer.
Wid.
A Conjurer? what manner of fellow is he?
Frail.
Oh, a wondrous rare fellow, Mistresse, very
strongly made upward, for he goes in a Buff-Jerkin: he
sayes he will fetch Sir Godfrey's Chain agen, if it hang
between heaven and earth.
Wid.
What he will not? then he's an exlent fellow I
warrant: how happy were that woman to be blest with
such a Husband, a man cunning? how do's he look, Frailty?
very swartly I warrant, with black beard, scorcht
cheeks, and smoaky eye-browes.
Frail.
Fooh—he's neither smoak-dryed, nor scorcht,
nor black, nor nothing, I tell you, Madam, he looks as
fair to see to, as one of us; I do think but if you saw him
once, you'de take him to be a Christian.
Franck.
So fair, and yet so cunning, that's to be wondred
at, mother.
Enter Sir Andrew Muck-hill, and Sir Andrew Tipstaffe.
Muck.
Blesse you, sweet Lady.
Tip.
And you, fair Mistresse.
Exit Frailty.
Wid.
Coades, what do you mean, Gentlemen? fie,
did I not give you your answers?
Muck.
Sweet Lady?
Wid.
Well, I will not stick with you for a kisse:
Daughter, kisse the Gentleman for once.
Franck.
Yes forsooth.
Tip.
I'me proud of such a favour.
Wid.
Truly la, sir Oliver, y'are much to blame to
come agen when you know my mind, so well deliver'd—
as a Widow could deliver a thing.
Muck.
But I exspect a farther comfort, Lady.
Wid.
Why la you now, did I not desire you to put off
your suit quite and clean when you came to me again?
how say you? did I not?
Muck.
But the sincere love which my heart beares to
you—
Wid.
Go to, I'le cut you off; and Sir Oliver to put
you in comfort, afar off, my fortune is read me, I must
marry again.
Muck.
O blest fortune!
Wid.
But not as long as I can choose; nay, I'le hold
out well.
Enter Frailty.
Frail.
O Madam, Madam.
Wid.
How now? what's the haste?
In her ear.
Tipst.
Faith, Mistresse Frances, I'le maintain you gallantly,
I'le bring you to Court, wean you among the fair
society of Ladies poor Kinswomen of mine in cloth of
Silver, beside you shall have your Moncky, your Parrat,
your Muskat, and your Pisse, Pisse, Pisse.
Franck.
It will doe very well.
Wid.
What, do's he mean to Conjure here then? how
shall I do to be rid of these Knights,—please you Gentlemen
to walk a while ith' Garden, to gather a pinck, or
a Jillly-flower.
Both.
With all our hearts, Lady, and count us favour'd.
Exit.
Sir God. within.
Step in Nicholas, look, is the coast
clear?
Nich.
Oh, as clear as a Carter's eye, sir.
Sir God.
Then enter Captain Conjurer:—now—
how like you our Room, sir?
Enter Sir Godfrey, Captain, Pye-boord, Edmond, Nicholas.
Cap.
O wonderfull convenient.
Edm.
I can tell you, Captain, simply though it lies
here, tis the fairest Room in my Mothers house, as dainty
a Room to Conjure in, me thinks,—why you may bid,
I cannot tell how many Devils welcome in't; my Father
has had twenty in't at once!
Pye.
What Devils?
Edm.
Devils, no Deputies, and the wealthiest men he
could get.
Sir God.
Nay put by your chats now, fall to your businesse
roundly, the Fescue of the Diall is upon the Chriscrosse
of Noon: but oh, hear me, Captain, a qualme
comes o're my stomack.
Cap.
Why, what's the matter, sir?
Sir God.
Oh, how if the Devil should prove a knave,
and tear the hangings.
-- 70 --
Cap.
Fuh, I warrant you, Sir Godfrey.
Edm.
I, Nuncle, or spit fire upo'th'sealing.
Sir Godf.
Very true too, for 'tis but thin plaistered,
and 'twill quickly take hold a the laths: and if he chance
to spit downward too, he will burn all the boards.
Cap.
My life for yours, Sir Godfrey.
Sir Godf.
My sister is very curious and dainty ore this
room I can tell you, and therefore if he must needs spit, I
pray desire him to spit i'th' Chimney.
Pye.
Why, assure you, sir Godfrey, he shall not be brought
up with so little manners, to spit and spawl a'th'floor.
Sir Godf.
Why I thank you, good Captain, pray have a
care I,—fall to your Circle, we'll not trouble you I warrant
you, come, we'll into the next room, and because
we'll be sure to keep him out there, we'll bar up the door
with some of the Godlies Zealous works.
Edm.
That will be a fine device, Nuncle; and because
the ground shall be as holy as the door, I'le tear two or
three Rosaries in pieces, and strew the pieces about the
Chamber: Oh! the Divil already.
runs in. Thunders.
Pye.
Sfoot, Captain, speak somewhat for shame: it
lightens and thunders before thou wilt begin, why when?
Cap.
Pray peace, George,—thou'lt make me laugh
anon, and spoil all.
Pye.
Oh, now it begins agen; now, now, now! Captain.
Cap.
Rhumbos-ragdayon, pur, pur, colucundrion Hois-Plois.
Sir Godfrey through the key-hole, within.
Sir Godf.
Oh admirable Conjurer! has fetcht Thunder
already.
Pye.
Hark hark, agen Captain.
Cap.
Benjamino,-gaspois-kay-gosgothoteron-umbrois.
Sir Godf.
Oh, I would the Devil would come away
quickly, he has no conscience to put a man to such pain.
Pye.
Agen.
Cap.
Flowste-kakopumpos-dragone-leloomenos-hodge-podge.
Pye.
Well said, Captain.
Sir Godf.
So long a coming? Oh would I had nere begun't
now, for I fear me these roaring Tempests will destroy
all the fruits of the earth, and tread upon my corn—oh,
i'th' Countrey.
Cap.
Gog de gog, hobgoblin, huncks, hounslow, hockley
te coome park.
Wid.
O brother, brother, what a Tempest's ith'Garden,
sure there's some Conjuration abroad.
Sir Godf.
'Tis at home, sister.
Pye.
By and by I'le step in, Captain.
Cap.
Nunck-Nunck-Rip-Gascoines, Ips, Drip-Dropite.
Sir God.
He drips and drops, poor man: alas, alas.
Pye.
Now, I come.
Cap.
O Sulphure Sootface.
Pye.
Arch-Conjurer, what would'st thou with me?
Sir Godf.
O, the Devil, sister, i'th' dining-Chamber:
sing sister, I warrant you that will keep him out; quickly,
quickly, quickly.
goes in.
Pye.
So, so, so; I'le release thee: enough Captain, enough:
allow us some time to laugh a little, they're
shuddering and shaking by this time, as if an Earthquake
were in their kidneyes.
Cap.
Sirrah George, how was't, how was't? did I do't
well enough?
Pye.
Woult believe me, Captain, better then any Conjurer,
for here was no harm in this; and yet their horrible
expectation satisfied well, you were much beholding
to Thunder and Lightning at this time, it grac'st you well,
I can tell you.
Cap.
I must needs say so, George: sirrah if we could
ha convey'd hither cleanly a cracker, or a fire-wheel,
t'ad been admirable.
Pye.
Blurt, blurt, there's nothing remains to put thee
to pain now, Captain.
Cap.
Pain? I protest, George, my heels are sorer then
a Whison Morris-dancer's.
Pye.
All's past now,—onely to reveal that the Chain's
i'th' Garden, where, thou know'st, it has lain these two
dayes.
Ca.
But I fear, that fox Nicholas has reveal'd it already.
Pye.
Fear not, Captain, you must put it toth' venture
now: Nay 'tis time, call upon 'em, take pitty on 'em, for
I believe some of 'em are in a pittifull case by this time.
Cap.
Sir Godfrey, Nicholas, Kinsman,—sfoot they're
fast at it still: George, Sir Godfrey?
Sir Godf.
Oh, is that the Devil's voice? how comes
he to know my name?
Cap.
Fear not, Sir Godfrey, all's quieted.
Sir Godf.
What, is he laid?
Cap.
Laid: and has newly dropt
Your chain i'th' Garden.
Sir Godf.
I'th' Garden! in our Garden?
Cap.
Your Garden.
Sir Godf.
O sweet Conjurer! whereabouts there?
Cap.
Look well about a banck of Rosemary.
Sir Godf.
Sister, the Rosemary-banck, come, come;
there's my chain he sayes.
Wid.
Oh happiness! run, run.
supposed to goe. Edm. at key-hole.
Edm.
Captain Conjurer?
Cap.
Who? Master Edmond?
Edm.
I, Master Edmond; may I come in safely without
danger, think you?
Cap.
Puh, long agoe, 'tis all as 'twas at first:
Fear nothing, pray come near,-how now, man?
Edm.
Oh! this room's mightily hot ifaith: slid, my
shirt sticks to my Belly already: what a steam the Rogue
has left behind him? foh, this room must be air'd, Gentlemen,
it smells horribly of Brimstone,-let's open the
windows.
Pye.
Faith, Master Edmond, 'tis but your conceit.
Edm.
I would you could make me believe that, ifaith,
why do you think I cannot smell his savour, from another:
yet I take it kindly from you, because you would not
put me in a fear, ifaith: a my troth I shall love you for
this the longest day of my life.
Cap.
Puh, 'tis nothing, Sir, love me when you see
more.
Edm.
Mass, now I remember, I'le look whether he
has singed the hangings, or no.
Pye.
Captain, to entertain a little sport till they come:
make him believe, you'll charm him invisible, he's apt to
admire any thing, you see, let me alone to give force to't.
Cap.
Go, retire to yonder end then.
Edm.
I protest you are a rare fellow, are you not?
Cap.
O Master Edmond, you know but the least part of
me yet; why now at this instant I could but flourish my
wand thrice ore your head, and charm you invisible.
Edm.
What you could not? make me walk invisible
man? I should laugh at that ifaith; troth I'le require your
kindness, an you'll do't, good Captain Conjurer.
Cap.
Nay, I should hardly deny you such a small
kindness, Master Edmond Plus, why, look you, sir, 'tis no
more but this, and thus agen, and now y'are invisible.
Edm.
Am I faith? who would think it?
Capt.
You see the Fortune-teller yonder at farder end
-- 71 --
a'th'chamber, go toward him, do what you will with him,
he shall nere find you.
Edm.
Say you so, I'le try that ifaith,—
Justles him.
Pye.
Hoe now, Captain? whose that justled me?
Cap.
Justled you? I saw no body.
Edm.
Ha, ha, ha,—say 'twas a spirit.
Cap.
Shall I?—may be some spirit that haunt the circle.
Pye.
O my nose, agen, pray conjure then Captain.
Pulls him by the Nose.
Edm.
Troth this is exlent, I may do any knavery now
and never be seen,—and now I remember me, Sir Godfrey
my Uncle abus'd me tother day, and told tales of me
to my Mother—Troth now I'me invisible, I'le hit
him a sound wherrit a'th'ear, when he comes out a'th'garden,
—I may be reveng'd on him now finely.
Enter Sir Godfrey, Widow, Frank, Nicholas with the Chain.
Sir Godf.
I have my Chain again, my Chain's found
again,
Edmond strikes him.
O sweet Captain, O admirable Conjurer.
Oh, what mean you by that, Nephew?
Edm.
Nephew? I hope you do not know me, Uncle?
Wid.
Why did you strike your Uncle, Son?
Edm.
Why Captain, am I not invisible?
Cap.
A good jest, George,—not now you are not sir,
Why did you not see me, when I did uncharme you?
Edm.
Not I, by my troth, Captain:
Then pray you pardon me, Uncle,
I thought I'de been invisible when I struck you.
Sir Godf.
So, you would do't? go,—y'are a foolish boy,
And were I not ore-come with greater joy,
I'de make you taste correction.
Edm.
Correction, push—no, neither you nor my
Mother, shall think to whip me as you have done.
Sir Godf.
Captain, my joy is such, I know not how
to thank you, let me embrace you, O my sweet Chain,
gladnesse e'en makes me giddy, rare man: 'twas just i'th'
Rosemary bank, as if one should ha laid it there,—oh
cunning, cunning!
Wid.
Well, seeing my fortune tells me I must marry;
let me marry a man of wit, a man of parts, here's a worthy
Captain, and 'tis a fine Title truly la to be a Captain's
Wife, a Captain's Wife, it goes very finely, beside
all the world knows that a worthy Captain, is a fit Companion
to any Lord, then why not a sweet bed-fellow
for any Lady,—I'le have it so—
Enter Frailty.
Frail.
O Mistris, Gentlemen, there's the bravest sight
coming along this way.
Wid.
What brave sight?
Frail.
Oh, one going to burying, and another going
to hanging.
Wid.
A ruefull sight.
Pye.
'Sfoot Captain, I'le pawn my life the Corporal's
coffin'd, and old Skirmish the souldier going to execution,
and 'tis now about the time of his waking; hold out a
little longer sleepy potion, and we shall have exlent admiration;
for I'le take upon me the cure of him.
Enter the Coffin of the Corporal, the souldier bound, and led by Officers, the Sheriff there,
Frail.
Oh here they come, here they come!
Pye.
Now must I close secretly with the Souldier,
prevent his impatience, or else all's discovered.
Wid.
O lamentable seeing, these were those Brothers,
that fought and bled before our door.
Sir Godf.
What they were not, Sister?
Skirm.
George, look to't, I'le peach at Tiburn else.
Pye.
Mum,—Gentles all, vouchsafe me audience, and
you especially Master Sheriff:
Yon man is bound to execution,
Because he wounded this that now lies coffin'd?
Sher.
True, true, he shall have the law,—and I know
the law.
Pye.
But under favour, Master Sheriff, if this man had
been cured and safe agen, he should have been releas'd
then?
Sher.
Why, make you question of that, Sir?
Pye.
Then I release him freely, and will take upon me
the death that he should die, if within a little season, I do
not cure him to his proper health again.
Sher.
How sir? recover a dead man?
That were most strange of all.
Frank comes to him.
Frank.
Sweet sir, I love you dearly, and could wish
my best part yours,—oh do not undertake such an impossible
venture.
Pye.
Love you me; then for your sweet sake I'le do't:
Let me entreat the corps to be set down.
Sher.
Bearers set down the Coffin,—this is wonderfull,
and worthy Stoes Chronicle.
Pye.
I pray bestow the freedome of the aire upon our
wholsome Art,—Masse his cheeks begin to receive natural
warmth: nay good Corporal wake betime, or I shall
have a longer sleep then you,—'Sfoot if he should prove
dead indeed now, he were fully reveng'd upon me for
making a property on him, yet I had rather run upon
the Ropes, then have the Rope like a Tetter run upon me,
oh—he stirs—he stirs agen—look Gentlemen, he recovers,
he starts, he rises.
Sher.
Oh, oh, defend us—out alas.
Pye.
Nay pray be still; you'll make him more giddy
else,—he knows no body yet.
Cor.
Zowns: where am I? cover'd with snow? I marvail?
Pye.
Nay, I knew he would swear the first thing he
did, as soon as he came to life again.
Corp.
'Sfoot Hostesse—some hot porridge,—oh, oh,
lay on a dozen of Fagots in the Moon Parler, there.
Pye.
Lady, you must needs take a little pitty of him
ifaith, and send him into your Kitchin fire.
Wid.
Oh, with all my heart sir, Nicholas and Frailty,
help to bear him in.
Nic.
Bear him in, quatha, pray call out the Maids, I
shall nere have the heart to do't indeed la.
Frail.
Nor I neither, I cannot abide to handle a Ghost
of all men.
Cor.
'Sloud, let me see, where was I drunk last night, hah—
Wid.
Oh, shall I bid you once agen take him away.
Frai.
Why, we're as fearfull as you I warrant you—oh—
Wid.
Away villains, bid the maids make him a Cawdle
presently to settle his brain—or a posset of Sack,
quickly, quickly.
Exeunt, pushing in the corps.
Sher.
Sir, what so ere you are, I do more then admire
you.
Wid.
O I, if you knew all, Master Sheriff, as you shall
do, you would say then, that here were two of the rarest
men within the walls of Christendome.
Sher.
Two of 'em, O wonderfull: Officers I discharge
you, set him free, all's in tune.
-- 72 --
Sir God.
I, and a banquet ready by this time, Master
Sheriffe, to which I most cheerfully invite you, and your
late prisoner there: see you this goodly Chain, sir, mum,
no more words, 'twas lost and is found again; come, my
inestimable Bullies, we'll talk of your noble Acts in
sparkling Charnico, and instead of a Jester, we'll ha the
Ghost ith' white sheet sit at upper end oth' Table.
Sheriffe.
Exlent merry man ifaith.
Exit.
Franck.
Well, seeing I am enjoyn'd to love and marry,
My foolish vow thus I casheere to aire
Which first begot it,—now love play thy part;
The Schollar reads his lecture in my heart.
Actus Quintus.
Enter in haste Master Edmond and Frailty.
Edm.
This is the Marriage morning for my Mother
and my Sister.
Frail.
O me, Master Edmond, we shall have rare doings.
Edm.
Nay go, Frailty, run to the Sexton, you know
my mother will be married at Saint Antlings, hie thee, 'tis
past five, bid them open the Church door, my Sister is almost
ready.
Fra.
What already, Master Edmond?
Edm.
Nay go hie thee, first run to the Sexton, and
run to the Clerk, and then run to Master Pigman the
Parson, and then run to the Milliner, and then run home
agen.
Frail.
Here's run, run, run—
Ed.
But hark, Frailty.
Fra.
What, more yet?
Edm.
Has the Maids remembred to strew the way to
the Church.
Fra.
Foh, an hour ago I helpt 'em my self.
Ed.
Away, away, away, away then.
Frail.
Away, away, away, away, then.
Exit Frailty.
Edm.
I shall have a simple Father-in-law, a brave
Captain, able to beat all our street: Captain Idle, now
my Lady Mother will be fitted for a delicate name, my
Lady Idle, my Lady Idle, the finest name that can be for
a woman, and then the Schollar, Master Pye-boord for
my Sister Frances, that will be Mistresse Frances Pye-boord,
Mistresse Frances Pye-boord, they'll keep a good
Table I warrant you: Now all the Knights noses are put
out of joynt, they may go to a Bone-setters now.
Enter Captain and Pye-boord.
Hark, hark; oh who comes here with two Torches before
'em, my sweet Captain, and my fine Schollar? oh how
bravely they are shot up in one night, they look like fine
Britains now me thinks, here's a gallant change ifaith;
'slid, they have hir'd men and all by the Clock.
Cap.
Master Edmond, kind, honest, dainty Master
Edmond.
Edm.
Poh, sweet Ceptain Father-in-law, a rare perfume
ifaith.
Pye.
What, are the Brides stirring? may we steall upon
'em think'st thou, Master Edmond?
Edm.
Faw, their e'ne upon readinesse I can assure
you: for they were at their Torch e'ne now, by the same
token I tumbled down the staires.
Pye.
Alass, poor Master Edmond.
Enter Musicians.
Cap.
O, the Musicians! I prethee, Master Edmond,
call 'em in and liquor 'em a little.
Edm.
That I will, sweet Captain Father-in-law, and
make each of them as drunk as a common Fidler.
Exeunt omnes.
Enter Sir John Penny-Dub, and Moll above lacing of her cloathes.
Pen.
Whewh, Mistresse Moll, Mistresse Moll.
Moll.
Who's there?
Pen.
'Tis I.
Moll.
Who, Sir John Penny-Dub? O you're an early
Cock ifaith, who would have thought you to be so rare a
stirrer?
Pen.
Prethee, Moll, let me come up.
Moll.
No by my faith Sir John, I'le keep you down,
for you Knights are very dangerous if once you get above.
Pen.
I'le not stay ifaith.
Mol.
Ifaith you shall stay: for, Sir John, you must
note the nature of the Climates: your Northern Wench
in her own Countrey may well hold out till she be fifteen,
but if she touch the South once, and come up to
London, here the Chimes go presently after twelve.
Pen.
O th'art a mad Wench, Moll, but I prethee
make haste, for the Priest is gone before.
Moll.
Do you follow him, I'le not be long after.
Exeunt.
Enter Sir Oliver Muck-hill, Sir Andrew Tipstaffe, and old Skirmish talking.
Muck.
O monstrous unheard of forgery.
Tip.
Knight, I never heard of such villany in our own
Countrey, in my life.
Muck.
Why 'tis impossible. dare you maintain your
words?
Skir.
Dare we? e'ne to their wezen pipes: we know
all their plots, they cannot squander with us, they have
knavishly abus'd us, made onely properties on's to advance
their selves upon our shoulders, but they shall rue
their abuses, this morning they are to be married.
Muck.
'Tis too true, yet if the Widow be not too
much besotted on slights and forgeries, the revelation of
their villanies will make 'em loathsome, and to that end,
be it in private to you, I sent late last night to an honourable
personage, to whom I am much indebted in
kindnesse, as he is to me, and therefore presume upon
the payment of his tongue, and that he will lay out good
words for me, and to speak truth, for such needfull occasions,
I onely preserve him in bond, and sometimes he
may doe me more good here in the City by a free word
of his mouth, then if he had paid one half in hand, and
took Doomesday for tother.
Tip.
Introth, sir, without soothing be it spoken, you
have publisht much judgement in these few words.
Muck.
For you know, what such a man utters will
be thought effectuall; and to weighty purpose, and therefore
into his mouth we'll put the approved theame of
their forgeries.
Skir.
And I'le maintain it, Knight, if she'll be true.
-- 73 --
Enter a Servant.
Muck.
How now, fellow.
Serv.
May it please you, sir, my Lord is newly lighted
from his Coach.
Muck.
Is my Lord come already? his honour's early:
You see he loves me well; up before heaven,
Trust me, I have found him night-capt at eleven:
There's good hope yet: come, I'le relate all to him.
Exeunt.
Enter the two Bridegrooms, Captain and Scholar after
them, Sir Godfrey and Edmond, Widow changed in apparel,
Mistress Frances led between two Knights, Sir
John Penny-dub and Moll: there meets them a Noble
man, Sir Oliver Muck-hill, and Sir Andrew Tip-staff.
Nob.
By your leave, Lady.
Wid.
My Lord, your honour is most chastly welcome.
Nob.
Madam, though I came now from Court, I come
not to flatter you: upon whom can I justly cast this blot,
but upon your own forehead, that know not Ink from
Milk, such is the blind besotting in the state of an unheaded
woman that's a Widow. For it is the property
of all you that are Widows (a handfull excepted) to hate
those that honestly and carefully love you, to the
maintenance of credit, state, and posterity, and strongly
to doat on those, that onely love you to undoe you: who
regard you least, are best regarded; who hate you most,
are best beloved. And if there be but one man amongst,
ten thousand millions of men, that is accurst, disastrous,
and evilly Planeted; whom Fortune beats most, whom
God hates most, and all Societies esteem least, that man
is sure to be a Husband—Such is the peevish Moon that
rules your blouds. An impudent fellow best woos you, a
flattering lip best wins you, or in mirth, who talks roughliest,
is most sweetest; nor can you distinguish truth from
forgeries, mists from simplicity: witness those two deceitfull
Monsters, that you have entertain'd for Bride-grooms.
Wid.
Deceitfull—
Pye.
All will out.
Cap.
Sfoot, who has blab'd, George? that foolish Nicholas.
Nob.
For, what they have besotted your easie bloud
withall, were nought but forgeries, the Fortune-telling
for Husbands, and the Conjuring for the Chain; Sir
Godfrey heard the falshood of all: nothing but meer
knavery, deceit, and cozenage.
Wid.
O wonderfull! indeed I wondred that my Husband
with all his craft, could not keep himself out of
Purgatory:
Sir Godf.
And I more wonder, that my Chain should
be gon, and my Taylor had none of it.
Moll.
And I wondred most of all, that I should be
tyed from Marriage, having such a mind to't: come Sir
John Penny-dub, fair weather on our side, the Moon has
chang'd since yesternight.
Pye.
The Sting of every evil is within me.
Nob.
And that you may perceive I feign not with you,
behold their fellow-actor in those forgeries, who full of
Spleen and envy at their so sudden advancements, ravel'd
all their Plot in anger.
Pye.
Base Souldier, to reveal us.
Wid.
Is't possible we should be blinded so, and our
eyes open?
Nob.
Widow, will you now believe that false, which
too soon you believed true?
Wid.
O, to my shame, I do.
Sir Godf.
But under favour, my Lord, my Chain was
truly lost, and strangely found again.
Nob.
Resolve him of that, Souldier.
Skir.
In few words, Knight, then thou wert the arch-Gull
of all.
Sir Godf.
How, Sir?
Skir.
Nay I'le prove it: for the Chain was but hid
in the Rosemary-banck all this while, and thou gotst
him out of prison to Conjure for it, who did it admirably
fustianly, for indeed what needed any others, when he
knew where it was?
Sir Godf.
O villany of villains! but how came my
Chain there?
Skir.
Where's, Truly la, Indeed la? he that will not
Swear, but Lye; he that will not Steal, but Rob: pure
Nicholas Saint Antlings.
Sir Godf.
O villain! one of our Society,
Deem'd alwayes holy, pure, religious:
A Puritan, a thief? when was't ever heard?
Soon we'll kill a man, then Steal, thou know'st.
Out Slave, I'le rend my Lyon from thy back—with mine
own hands.
Nich.
Dear Master, oh.
Nob.
Nay Knight, dwell in patience.
And now, Widow, being so near the Church, 'twere
great pitty, nay uncharit; to send you home again without
a Husband: draw near, you of true Worship, state
and credit, that should not stand so far off from a Widow,
and suffer forged shapes to come between you: Not
that in these I blemish the true Title of a Captain, or blot
the fair margent of a Scholar: for I honour worthy and
deserving parts in the one, and cherish fruitfull Virtues in
the other. Come Lady, and you Virgin, bestow your eyes
and your purest affections, upon men of estimation,
both in Court and City, that have long wooed you, and
both with their hearts and wealth, sincerely love you.
Sir Godf.
Good sister, do: sweet little Frank, these
are men of reputation, you shall be welcome at Court: a
great credit for a Citizen, sweet sister.
Nob.
Come, her silence do's consent to't.
Wid.
I know not with what face.
Nob.
Pah, pah, with your own face, they desire no other.
Wid.
Pardon me, worthy Sirs, I and my daughter have
wrong'd your loves.
Muck.
'Tis easily pardon'd, Lady,
If you vouchsafe it now.
Wid.
With all my soul.
Fran.
And I, with all my heart.
Moll.
And I, Sir John with soul, heart, lights and all.
Sir Godf.
They are all mine, Moll.
Nob.
Now, Lady:
What honest Spirit, but will applaud your choice,
And gladly furnish you with hand and voice;
A happy change, which makes e'en heaven rejoice.
Come, enter in your Joyes, you shall not want,
For, fathers, now I doubt it not, believe me,
But that you shall have hands enough to give me.
Exeunt omnes.
