Edmond, all in Mourning. The
Widow wringing her Hands, and bursting out
into Passion, as newly come from the Burial of her Husband.
WIDOW.
Oh, that ever I was Born, that ever I was
Born!
Sir God.
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.
-- 3186 --
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 alas, our Tears cannot call him again: methinks
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'en 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 t'other Day, there's a lusty Widow,
why she cry'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'er a whit
at all.
Wid.
O rank not me with those wicked Women, I had a
Husband out-shin'd 'em all.
Sir God.
Ay that he did, i'faith, he out-shin'd 'em all.
Wid.
Dost thou stand there and see us all weep, and not
once shed a Tear for thy Father's Death? oh thou ungracious
Son and Heir thou?
Edm.
Troth, Mother, I should not weep I'm sure; I
am past a Child I hope, to make all my old School-Fellows
laugh at me; I should be mockt, so I should; pray let
one of my Sisters weep for me, I'll laugh as much for her
another time?
Wid.
O thou past-Grace thou, out of my sight thou graceless
Imp, thou grievest me more than the Death of thy Father:
O thou stubborn only 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 duly at Westminster-Hall
every Term-time, with all his Cards and Writings,
for thee, thou wicked Absalon—
O dear Husband!
Edm.
Weep, quotha? I protest I am glad he's Churched;
for now he's gone, I shall spend in quiet.
-- 3187 --
Fran.
Dear Mother, pray cease, half your Tears 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 chear, we are all mortal our
selves, I come upon you freshly, I ne'er speak without comfort,
hear me what I shall say,—my Brother has left you
wealthy, you're rich.
Wid.
O!
Sir God.
I say you're rich: you are also fair.
Wid.
O!
Sir God.
Go to, you're fair, you cannot smother it,
Beauty will come to light; nor are your Years 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, choice enow, Sister,—for what should
we do with all our Knights, I pray? but to marry rich
Widows, wealthy Citizens Widows, lusty fair-brow'd Ladies.
Go to, be of good comfort, I say, leave snobbing and
weeping,—yet my Brother was a kind-hearted Man.—
I would not have the Elf see me now,—come, pluck
up a Woman's Heart,—here stand your Daughters, who
be well Estated, and at maturity will also be inquir'd after
with good Husbands, so all these Tears shall be soon dry'd
up, and a better World than 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,
Even with a breath, to Funeral dust and ashes;
O, out of a Million of Millions, I should ne'er 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 Keys of all, kept all, receiv'd
all, had Mony in my Purse, spent what I would, went abroad
when I would, came home when I would, and did all what
I would: O—my sweet Husband; I shall never have the like.
-- 3188 --
Sir. God.
Sister? ne'er 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: O if you love me urge it not.
O may I be the by-word of the World,
The common talk at Table in the Mouth
Of every Groom and Waiter, if e'er more
I entertain the carnal suit of Man.
[Kneels.
Moll.
I must kneel down for fashion too.
Fran.
And I, whom never Man as yet hath scal'd,
E'en in this depth of general Sorrow, vow
Never to marry, to sustain such loss,
As a dear Husband seems to be, once Dead.
Moll.
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'd 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, O let me kiss thee:
[Drawing out her Husband's Picture.
How like him is their Model; their brief Picture
Quickens my Tears: my sorrows are renew'd
At their fresh sight.
Sir God.
Sister—
Wid.
Away,
All honesty with him is turn'd to Clay,
O my sweet Husband, O—
Fran.
My dear Father?
[Exeunt Wid. and Fran.
Moll.
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 Tears in England had been
Botled up, I do not think all would have fill'd a three-half-peny
Bottle: alas, a small matter bucks a Handkerchief,—
and sometimes the Spittle stands too nigh Saint Thomas a
Watring's. 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 Moll.
Sir God.
Well, go thy ways, old Sir Godfrey, and thou
may'st be proud on't, thou hast a kind loving Sister-in-law.
-- 3189 --
How constant? how passionate? how full of April the
poor Soul's 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'en cry out-right.
[Exit Sir Godfrey.
Edm.
So, a fair riddance, my Father's laid in dust, his
Coffin and he is like a whole Meat-Pye, and the Worms
will cut him up shortly: Farewel, old Dad, farewel; I'll
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'll 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 knows, as long as 'twas his Pleasure to
get me, 'twas his Duty to get for me: I know the Law
in that point, no Attorney can gull me. Well, my Uncle
is an old Ass, and an admirable Coxcomb, I'll rule the
Roast my self, I'll be kept under no more, I know what
I may do well enough by my Father's Copy: the Law's
in mine own Hands now: Nay, now I know my strength,
I'll be strong enough for my Mother, I warrant you.
[Exit.
Enter George Pye-boord, and Peter Skirmish.
Pye.
What's to be done now, old Lad of War, thou
that were wont to be as hot as a Turn-spit, as nimble as a
Fencer, and as lousie as a School-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 Hot-shots? in Long-lane, at pawn, at
pawn?—Now Keys are our only Guns, Key-guns,
Key-guns, and Bawds the Gunners,—who are your
Sentinels in Peace, and stand ready charg'd to give warning;
with hems, hums, and pocky-coughs; only 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 Crowns out of Purse: I have been a Soldier
-- 3190 --
any time this forty Years, and now I perceive an old
Soldier, and an old Courtier have both one Destiny, and in
the end turn both into Hob-nails.
Pye.
Pretty Mystery for a Beggar, for indeed a Hob-nail
is the true Emblem of a Beggar's Shoe-soal.
Skir.
I will not say but that War is a Blood-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 kind of Peace has more hidden oppressions, and
violent heady Sins, (though looking of a gentle Nature) than
a profest War.
Pye.
Troth, and for mine own part, I am a poor Gentleman,
and a Scholar, I have been matriculated in the University,
wore out six Gowns there, seen some Fools, and some Scholars,
some of the City, and some of the Country, kept Order,
went bare-headed over the Quadrangle, eat my Commons
with a good Stomach, 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, only for stealing a Cheese out
of Jesus Colledge.
Skir.
Is't possible?
Pye.
O! there was one Welshman (God forgive him) pursued
it hard, and never left, 'till I turn'd my Staff 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 I was turn'd to my Wits, to shift in the World, to towre
among Sons and Heirs, and Fools, and Gulls, and Ladies
eldest Sons, to work upon nothing, to feed out of Flint,
and ever since has my Belly been much beholden 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 War is better
than a bawdy Peace. As touching my Profession; the multiplicity
of Scholars, hatcht and nourisht in the idle Calms
of Peace, makes 'em like Fishes, one devour another; and
the Community of Learning has so plaid upon affections,
and thereby almost Religion is come about to Phantasie,
-- 3191 --
and discredited by being too much spoken of—in so many
and mean Mouths. I my self being a Scholar and a
Graduate, have no other comfort by my Learning, but the
Affection of my words, to know how Scholar-like to name
what I want, and can call my self a Beggar both in Greek
and Latin, and therefore not to cog with Peace, I'll 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.
Skir.
Well, would I had been born a Knave then, when
I was born a Beggar; for if the truth was known, I think
I was begot when my Father had never a Penny in his
Purse.
Pye.
Puh, saint not, old Skirmish, let this warrant thee,
Facilis Descensus Averni, 'tis an easie Journey to a Knave,
thou may'st 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 only
Patrimonies, let's spend with judgment, 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.
Skir.
Very proper.
Pye.
And you Figure-caster, or a Conjurer.
Skir.
A Conjurer?
Pye.
Let me alone, I'll instruct you, and teach you to
deceive all Eyes, but the Devil's.
Skir.
O ay, for I would not deceive him, and I could
chuse, 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.
O wondrous, new Fools and fresh Asses.
Pye.
O, fit, fit, excellent.
Skir.
What in the name of Conjuring?
-- 3192 --
Pye.
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 firm, my first practice shall be there.
Skir.
You have my Voice, George.
Pye.
Sh'as a grey Gull to her Brother, a Fool to her only
Son, and an Ape to her youngest Daughter;—I overheard
'em severally, and from their words I'll drive my device;
and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shalt be my second in
all slights.
Skir.
Ne'er doubt me, George Pye-Boord,—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'll perfect thee, Peter:
How now! what's he?
Skir.
O 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, has 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 imploy'd, 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 Mony 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 this offence, and what we can stead
him in, he shall be sure of; and I'll uphold it still, that
a charitable Knave is better than a soothing Puritan.
[Exeunt.
Enter at one Door Corporal Oath, and at the other three of
the Widow Puritan's Serving-Men, Nicholas St. Antlings,
Simon St. 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
-- 3193 --
forbidden to keep company withal, we must not swear I can
tell you, and you have the name for Swearing.
Sim.
Ay, 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 Scrape-shooes,
Flesh a Good-Fridays; a Hand.
All.
Oh.
Corp.
Why Nicholas St. Antlings, Simon St. Mary-Overies,
has the De'il possest you, that you swear no better,
you Half-Christen'd Katomites, you Un-godmother'd Varlets,
does the first Lesson teach you to be Proud, and the second
to be Coxcombs; proud Coxcombs; not once to do duty to
a Man of Mark.
Frail.
A Man of Mark, quotha, I do not think he can
shew a Beggar's Noble.
Corp.
A Corporal, a Commander, one of Spirit, that is able
to blow you up all dry with your Books at your Girdles.
Sim.
We are not taught to believe that, Sir, for we
know the Breath of Man is weak.
[Corporal breathes on Frailty.
Frail.
Foh, you lye, Nicholas; for here's one strong
enough; blow us up, quotha, 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
Leads of Ludgate.
Corp.
Sirrah, thou hollow Book of Wax-candle.
Nich.
Ay, 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 Swoon presently.
Corp.
I must and will swear: you quivering Coxcombs,
my Captain is imprison'd, and by Vulcan's Leather Codpiece
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.
-- 3194 --
Corp.
With these, my Bully-Fleet, I will thump ope the
Prison Doors, and brain the Keeper with the Begging-Box,
but I'll set my honest sweet Captain Idle at liberty.
Nich.
How, Captain Idle? my old Aunt's Son, my dear
Kinsman in Cappadochio.
Corp.
Ay, thou Church-peeling, thou Holy-paring, Religious
outside thou; if thou hadst any grace in thee, thou
wouldst visit him, relieve him, swear to get him out.
Nich.
Assure you, Corporal, indeed-la, 'tis the first time
I heard on't.
Corp.
Why do't now then, Marmaset; bring forth thy
yearly Wages, let not a Commander perish?
Sim.
But if he be one of the wicked, he shall perish.
Nich.
Well, Corporal, I'll 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 St. Mary-Overies and Frailty,
pray make a Lie for me to the Knight, my Master, old
Sir Godfrey.
Corp.
A Lie? may you lie then?
Frail.
O ay, we may lie, but we must not swear.
Sim.
True, we may lye with our Neighbour's Wife, but
we must not swear we did so.
Corp.
O, an excellent Tag of Religion.
Nich.
O, Simon, I have thought upon a sound excuse, it
will go currant, say that I am gone to a Fast.
Sim.
To a Fast? very good.
Nich.
Ay, 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 and Nicholas.
Frail.
O I, I have seen him eat a whole Pig, and afterward
fall to the Pettitoes.
[Exeunt Simon and Frailty.
The Marshalsea Prison. Enter Captain Idle at one Door, and an old Soldier at the other.
Pye.
Pray turn the Key.
[Speaking within.
Skir.
Turn the Key, I pray.
Capt.
Who should those be, I almost know their Voices?
O my Friends!
[Entring.
-- 3195 --
You're welcome to a smelling Room here; you newly took
leave of the Air, is't not a strange savour?
Pye.
As all Prisons have smells of sundry Wretches;
Who, though departed, leave their scents behind 'em.
By Gold, Captain, I am sincerely sorry for thee.
Capt.
By my troth, George, I thank thee; but, pish—
what must be, must be.
Skir.
Captain, what do you lye in for? is't great? what's
your Offence?
Capt.
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'll shift for thy Life.
Capt.
Whether I live or die, thou'rt an honest George.
I'll 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 purchace of ten Groats: Notwithstanding
being descryed, pursued, and taken, I know
the Law is so grim, in respect of many desperate, unsetled
Soldiers, that I fear me I shall dance after their Pipe
for't.
Skir.
I am twice sorry for you, Captain; first, that
your Purchace was so small, and now that your Danger is
so great.
Capt.
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.
Capt.
Here's a clean Gentleman too, to receive.
Pye.
Well, I must cast about some happy slight:
Work Brain, that ever didst thy Master right.
[Corporal and Nicholas within.
Corp.
Keeper, let the Key be turn'd.
Nich.
Ay, ay, pray, Master Keeper, give's a cast of your
Office.
Capt.
How now? more Visitants?—what, Corporal
Oath?
Pye. Skir.
Corporal.
-- 3196 --
Corp.
In Prison, honest Captain? this must not be.
Nich.
How do you, Captain Kinsman?
Capt.
Good Coxcomb, what makes that pure—starcht
Fool here?
Nich.
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.
Capt.
This is a double torture now,—this Fool by th'
Book doth vex me more than my Imprisonment. What
meant you, Corporal, to hook him hither?
Corp.
Who, he? he shall relieve thee, and supply thee,
I'll make him do't.
Capt.
Fy, what vain Breath you spend:
He supply? I'll sooner expect Mercy from an Usurer when
my Bond's forfeited, sooner Kindness from a Lawyer when
my Mony's spent: nay, sooner Charity from the Devil,
than Good from a Puritan. I'll look for Relief from him
when Lucifer is restor'd to his Blood, and in Heav'n again.
Nich.
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.
Capt.
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 Clothes with him, and leave him here,
and so—
Capt.
Push, I publisht him e'en now to my Corporal,
he will be damn'd e'er he do me so much good; why, I
know a more proper, a more handsome Device than that,
if the Slave would be Sociable,—now Goodman Fleerface?
Nich.
O, 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
Wrinkles.
Pye.
Then what say you to this Device, a happy one
Captain?
Capt.
Speak low, George; Prison Rats have wider Ears
than those in Malt-lofts.
-- 3197 --
Nich.
Cousin, if it lay in my power, as they say,—
to—do—
Capt.
'Twould do me an exceeding pleasure indeed, that;
ne'er talk furder on't, the Fool will be hang'd e'er he do't.
Corp.
Pox, I'll thump 'im to't.
Pye.
Why, do but try the Fopster, and break it to him
bluntly.
Capt.
And so my disgrace will dwell in his Jaws, and the
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.
Nich.
I would be heartily glad, Cousin, if any of my
Friendships, as they say, might—stand, ha—
Pye.
Why, you see he offers his Friendship foolishly to
you already.
Capt.
Ay, that's the Hell on't, I would he would offer it
wisely.
Nich.
Verily, and indeed la, Cousin—
Capt.
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?
Nich.
Oh, I shall fowne!
Pye.
Corporal, he starts already!
Capt.
I know it to be worth three hundred Crowns, and
with the half of that, I can buy my Life at a Broker's, at
second hand, which now lyes 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 unjointed Offers are but only
created in thy Lip, now Born, and now Buried, foolish
Breath only: what, woult do't? shall I look for Happiness
in thy answer?
Nich.
Steal my Master's Chain, quoth he? no, it shall
ne'er be said, that Nicholas St. Antlings committed Birdlime!
Capt.
Nay, I told you as much, did I not? though he be
a Puritan, yet he will be a true Man.
Nich.
Why Cousin, you know 'tis written, Thou shalt
not Steal.
-- 3198 --
Capt.
Why, and Fool, thou shalt love thy Neighbour,
and help him in Extremities.
Nich.
Mass I think it be indeed; in what Chapter's that,
Cousin?
Capt.
Why in the first of Charity, the second Verse.
Nich.
The first of Charity, quoth a, that's a good Jest,
there's no such Chapter in my Book!
Capt.
No, I know 'twas torn out of thy Book, and that
makes it so little in thy Heart.
Pye.
Come, let me tell you, you're too unkind a Kinsman
i'faith; the Captain loving you so dearly, ay, like the
Pomwater of his Eye, and you to be so uncomfortable,
fie, fie.
Nich.
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?
Nich.
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, methinks: 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.
Nich.
Ay, that I will, Cousin.
Capt.
Well, seeing he will do no more, as far as I see, I
must be contented with that.
Corp.
Here's no notable gullery?
Pye.
Nay, I'll 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 Days.
Nich.
Ay, that would be good indeed, Kinsman.
Pye.
For I have a farther reach, to profit us better, by
the missing on't only, than 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
-- 3199 --
Garden, and there hang it close in the Rosemary Bank, but
for a small Season; and by that harmless 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.
Nich.
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?
Nich.
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.
Corp.
Mass I cannot blame him then,
Poor Church spout.
Pye.
Why as an Intermedler then?
Nich.
Ay, 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'er
make Spade or Pick Axe his Instruments; tell him but this,
with farther Instructions thou shalt receive from me, and
thou shewest thy self a Kinsman indeed.
Corp.
A dainty Bully.
Skir.
An honest—Book-keeper.
Capt.
And my three times thrice honey Cousin.
Nich.
Nay, grace of God I'll rob him on't suddenly,
and hang it in the Rosemary bank, but I bear that mind,
Cousin, I would not steal any thing, methinks, for mine
own Father.
Skir.
He bears a good Mind in that, Captain.
Pye.
Why, well said,
He begins to be an honest Fellow, faith.
Corp.
In truth he does.
-- 3200 --
Nich.
You see, Cousin, I am willing to do you any kindness,
always saving my self harmless.
[Exit Nicholas.
Capt.
Why I thank thee, fare thee well, I shall requite
it.
Corp.
'Twill be good for thee, Captain, that thou hast
such an egregious Ass to thy Cousin.
Capt.
Ay, is not that a fine Fool, Corporal?
But, George, thou talk'st of Art and Conjuring,
How shall that be?
Pye.
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'll to the Widow with a quaint Assault;
Captain, be merry.
Capt.
Who I? Kerry merry Buffe-Jerkin.
Pye.
Oh, I am happy in more slights, and one will knit
strong in another—Corporal Oath.
Corp.
Ho! Bully!
Pye.
And thou, old Peter Skirmish, I have a necessary
task for you both.
Skir.
Lay't upon George Pye-boord.
Corp.
What e'er it be, we'll manage it.
Pye.
I would have you two maintain a Quarrel before the
Lady Widow's Door, and draw your Swords i'th' 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 Suit, that I had of a young Reveller t'other
Night, for words pass not regarded now a-days, unless they
come from a good Suit of Cloaths, which the Fates and my
Wits had bestowed upon me. Well, Captain Idle, if I did
not highly love thee, I would ne'er be seen within twelve
-- 3201 --
score of a Prison, for I protest at this instant, I walk in
great danger of small Debts. I owe Mony to several Hostesses,
and you know such Jills will quickly be upon a
Man's Jack.
Capt.
True, George.
Pye.
Fare thee well, Captain. Come Corporal and Ancient,
thou shalt hear more News next time we greet
thee.
Corp.
More News? Ay, by yon Bear at Bridge-Foot in
Heav'n shalt thou.
[Exeunt.
Capt.
Enough; my Friends, farewel,
This Prison shews as if Ghosts did part in Hell.
ACT II.
Enter Moll, youngest Daughter to the Widow, alone.
Moll.
Not marry? forswear Marriage? why all Women
know 'tis as honourable a thing as to lye
with a Man; and I, to spight my Sister's Vow the more,
have entertain'd a Suiter already, a fine Gallant Knight of
the last Feather, he says he will Coach me too, and well
appoint me, allow me Mony to Dice withal, and many such
pleasing Protestations he sticks upon my Lips: Indeed his
short-winded Father i'th' Country is wondrous wealthy, a
most abominable Farmer, and therefore he may dote in time;
troth I'll venture upon him; Women are not without ways
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 Ass, why in a quarter of an Hour's warning I
can transform him into an Oxe;—there comes in my relief
again.
Enter Frailty.
Frail.
O, Mistress Moll, Mistress Moll.
Moll.
How now? what's the News?
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?
-- 3202 --
Frail.
O no, she's—spitting in the Kitchin.
Moll.
Direct him hither softly, good Frailty,
I'll 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 happiness my Mother saw him not.
O welcome, good Sir John.
Dub.
I thank you faith—Nay you must stand me 'till
I kiss you: 'Tis the Fashion every where i'faith, and I came
from Court e'now.
Moll.
Nay, the Fates forefend that I should anger the
Fashion?
Dub.
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, you're worthy
on't, Sir.
O my Mother, my Mother, now she's here,
Kissing. Enter Widow and Sir Godfrey.
We'll steal into the Gallery.
[Exeunt.
Sir God.
Nay, Sister, let Reason rule you, do not play
the Fool, stand not in your own Light, you have wealthy
Offers, large Tendrings, do not withstand your good Fortune;
who comes a wooing to you I pray? no small Fool,
a rich Knight o'th' 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
Suitors, ay, and worthy ones too; one a brisk Courtier,
Sir Andrew Tipstaffe, suiter afar off to your eldest Daughter,
and the third a huge wealthy Farmer's Son, a fine young
Country Knight, they call him Sir John Penny-Dub, a good
Name marry, he may have it coin'd when he lacks Mony;
what Blessings are these, Sister?
Wid.
Tempt me not, Satan.
Sir God.
Satan? do I look like Satan? I hope the Devil's
not so old as I, I trow.
Wid.
You wound my Senses, Brother, when you name
A Suiter to me,—oh I cannot abide it,
I take in Poison when I hear one nam'd.
-- 3203 --
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 inferior, 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 God.
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 Ladyship.
Wid.
Archers?
Sir God.
Your Husband's 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 Penny-Dub.
Frail.
Why, do you not see 'em before you? are not
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 honourable Love.
Tipst. Dub.
We do.
Muck.
To you.
Tipst. Dub.
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 wash'd off from my Cheeks, and my dear
Husband's 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
e'er Morning; pray away, pray take your Answers, good
-- 3204 --
Knights, and you be sweet Knights, I have vow'd never to
marry;—and so have my Daughters too!
Dub.
Ay, 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.
Tipst.
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.
Dub.
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 off all their Suits, quotha? ay, that's the best
wooing of a Widow indeed, when a Man's Nonsuted, that
is, when he's a-bed with her.
[Going out Muckhil and Sir Godfrey.
Muck.
Sir Godfrey, here's twenty Angels more, work
hard for me; there's life in't yet.
[Exit Muckhil.
Sir God.
Fear not Sir Oliver Muckhil, I'll stick close for
you, leave all with me.
Enter George Pye-boord the Scholar.
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'd not be troubled with you.
Wid.
Say you so, Sir, then you're the better welcome, Sir.
Pye.
Nay, Heav'n bless me from a Widow, unless I were
sure to bury her speedily!
Wid.
Good bluntness; well, your Business, Sir?
Pye.
Very needful; if you were in private once.
Wid.
Needful? 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.
-- 3205 --
Enter Daughters.
Wid.
Now, Sir?—here's none but we—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.
Ay, if't pass unregarded, and uneffected,
Else peace and joy;—I pray Attention.
Widow, I have been a meer Stranger for these Parrs 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 Blood I speak it, I assure you
that there is a Purgatory, in which place I know your Husband
to reside, and wherein he is like to remain, 'till the
dissolution of the World, 'till the last general Bonfire; when
all the Earth shall melt into nothing, and the Seas scald
their finny Labourers; so long is his abidance, unless 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 ay, she says 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 metaphysically, and by a super-natural Intelligence.
Wid.
This puts amazement on me.
Fran.
Know our Secrets?
-- 3206 --
Moll.
I'd 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 o'er;
That has past but for Copper; Praises here,
Cannot unbind him there: confess 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 Man's 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.
Oh!
Wid.
A Man that would keep Church so duly; rise early
before his Servants, and e'en for Religious haste, go ungarter'd,
unbutton'd, nay Sir Reverence untrust, to Morning
Prayer?
Pye.
Oh uff.
Wid.
Dine quickly upon High-days, and when I had great
Guests, would e'en shame me, and rise from the Table, to
get a good Seat at an Afternoon-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 been done
in a Pue, or undone his Neighbour, so 't'ad been near enough
to the Preacher. Oh!—a Sermon's a fine short Cloak of
an Hour long, and will hide the upper part of a Dissembler.—
Church, ay, 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?
-- 3207 --
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 forefend, Sir Godfrey, my Brother!
Pye.
Nay, keep in your wonders, 'till I have told you
the Fortunes of you all; which are more fearful, if not happily
prevented,—for your part and your Daughters, if
there be not once this Day some Blood-shed before your
Door, whereof the humane Creature dyes, of you two the
eldest shall run Mad.
Wid. and Fran.
Oh!
Moll.
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.
Moll.
Dumb? out, alas; 'tis the worst pain of all for a
Woman, I'd rather be Mad, or run Naked, or any thing.
Dumb?
Pye.
Give Ear: E'er the Evening fall upon Hill, Bog,
and Meadow, this my Speech shall have past Probation, and
then shall I be believ'd accordingly.
Wid.
If this be true, we are all sham'd, all undone.
Moll.
Dumb? I'll 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 Blood-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 out-strip 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
-- 3208 --
World, would with horror kill the Ear should hear 'em related.
Wid.
Marry? Why I vow'd never to marry.
Fran.
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 reveal'd
to me: I would they were to your Tempers, and
Fellows with your Bloods; that's all the bitterness I would
you.
Wid.
O! 'tis a just vengeance, for my Husband's hard
purchases.
Pye.
I wish you to bethink your selves, and leave 'em.
Wid.
I'll to Sir Godfrey, my Brother, and acquaint him
with these fearful presages.
Fran.
For, Mother, they portend losses to him.
Wid.
O ay, they do, they do;
If any happy issue crown thy words,
I will reward thy cunning.
[Exit Wid. and Fran.
Pye.
'Tis enough, Lady, I wish no higher.
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 happiness, 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 vows, and speak those words, upon which I
wrought these advantages; and to encourage my Forgery
the more, I may now perceive in 'em a natural simplicity
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 Soldier, to
hurt Corporal Oath upon the Leg, and in that hurry I'll
rush amongst 'em, and instead of giving the Corporal
some Cordial to comfort him, I'll pour into his Mouth a
Potion of a sleepy Nature, and make him seem as dead;
for the which the old Soldier being apprehended, and
ready to be born to Execution, I'll step in, and take upon
me the Cure of the dead Man, upon pain of dying the
-- 3209 --
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 admir'd Opinion, and under the pretext
of that cunning, beguile as I see occasion: and if that
foolish Nicholas St. Antlings keep true time with the Chain,
my Plot will be sound, the Captain deliver'd, and my Wits
applauded amongst Scholars and Soldiers for ever.
[Exit Pye-boord.
Enter Nicholas St. Antlings, with the Chain.
Nich.
O, 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 he has miss'd
it, about my Cousin the Conjurer; the World shall see I'm
an honest Man of my word, for now I'm going to hang it
between Heaven and Earth among the Rosemary-branches.
[Exit Nich.
ACT. III.
Enter Simon St. Mary-Overies, and Frailty.
Frail.
Sirrah, Simon St. Mary-Overies, my Mistress sends
away all her Suiters, and puts Fleas in their Ears.
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, whatsoe'er
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.
Sim.
Master Sud's a good Man, he washes the sins of the
Beard clean.
Enter old Skirmish the Soldier.
Skir.
How now, Creatures? what's a Clock?
Frail.
Why, do you take us to be Jack at the Clock-House?
-- 3210 --
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?—O,
I must break off, here comes the Corporal—hum, hum:
—what's a Clock?
Enter Corporal.
Corp.
A Clock? why past seventeen.
Frail.
Past seventeen? nay, h'as met with his match now,
Corporal Oath will fit him.
Skir.
Thou dost not bawk nor baffle me, dost thou? I am
a Soldier—past seventeen?
Corp.
Ay, 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 Dial's part in a just Cause.
Skir.
I say 'tis but past five then.
Corp.
I'll swear 'tis past seventeen then: dost thou not
know Numbers? canst thou not cast?
Skir.
Cast? dost thou speak of my casting i'th street?
[Draw.
Corp.
Ay, and in the Market-place.
Sim.
Clubs, Clubs, Clubs.
[Simon runs in.
Frail.
Ay, I knew by their shuffling, Clubs would be
Trump: Mass here's the Knave, and he can do any good
upon 'em: Clubs, Clubs, Clubs,
Enter Pye-boord.
Capt.
O Villain, thou hast open'd a Vein in my Leg.
Pye.
How now? for shame, for shame, put up, put up.
Capt.
By yon blue Welkin, 'twas out of my part, George,
to be hurt on the Leg.
Enter Officers.
Pye.
Oh, peace now—I have a Cordial here to comfort
thee.
Offi.
Down with 'em, down with 'em, lay Hands upon the
Villain.
Skir.
Lay Hands on me?
Pye.
I'll not be seen among 'em now.
Capt.
I'm hurt, and had more need have Surgeons
Lay Hands upon me, than rough Officers.
-- 3211 --
Offi.
Go, carry him to be dress'd then:
Thus 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,
Soldier and Corporal, 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 happiness, beyond our thoughts!
O lucky fair event! I think our Fortunes
Were blest e'en in our Cradles: we are quitted
Of all those shameful 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 Superior, but if he
had no Mony when he came there, I warrant he's dead by
this time.
[Exit Frailty.
Fran.
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, tho' 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, he'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
loss, and he has Prophesied so true.
-- 3212 --
Sir God.
Out, he's a Villain to prophesie of the loss of my
Chain, 'twas worth above three hundred Crowns, besides
'twas my Father's, my Father's Father's, my Grandfather's
huge Grandfather's: I had as lief 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 Holiday 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—steal
I hope?
Moll.
No, he's afraid of a Chain.
Enter Frailty.
Wid.
How now, Sirrah? the news?
Frail.
O, Mistress, he may well be call'd a Corporal
now, for his Corps are as dead as a cold Capon's?
Wid.
More happiness.
Sir God.
Sirrah, 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: Alas, Sir, I saw none of your Chain since you were
hung with it your self.
Sir God.
Out Varlet; it had full three thousand Links, I
have oft told it over at my Prayers:
Over and over, full three thousand Links.
Frail.
Had it so, Sir, sure it cannot be lost then; I'll put
you in that comfort.
Sir God.
Why? why?
Frail.
Why if your Chain had so many Links, it cannot
chuse but come to light.
Enter Nicholas.
Sir God.
Delusion. Now, long Nicholas, where is my
Chain?
-- 3213 --
Nich.
Why about your Neck, is't not, Sir?
Sir God.
About my Neck, Varlet? my Chain is lost,
'Tis stoll'n away, I'm robb'd.
Wid.
Nay, Brother, show your self a Man.
Nich.
If it be lost or stole, if he would be patient, Mistress,
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?
Nich.
Marry he dwells now, Sir, where he would not
dwell, and he could chuse, in the Marshalsea, Sir; but he's
an excellent Fellow if he were out: h'as travell'd all the
World o'er, he, and been in the seven and twenty Provinces:
why, he would make it be fecht, Sir, if it were rid a thousand
Mile out of Town.
Sir God.
An admirable Fellow, what lies he for?
Nich.
Why, he did but rob a Steward of ten Groats
t'other Night, as any Man would ha done, and there he lies
for't.
Sir God.
I'll make his peace,
A trifle, I'll get his pardon,
Besides a bountiful reward, I'll 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 George Pye-boord.
Put.
His Hostess 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
Scholar is, whether desperate or swift, you shall share with
me, Serjeant Ravenshaw, I have the good Angel to arrest
him.
Rav.
Troth I'll take part with thee then, Serjeant, not
for the sake of the Mony so much, as for the hate I bear
to a Scholar. Why, Serjeant, 'tis natural in us you know to
hate Scholars; natural besides, they will publish our Imperfections,
Knaveries, and Conveyances upon Scaffolds and
Stages.
Put.
Ay, and spightfully too; troth I have wondred how
-- 3214 --
the Slaves could see into our Breasts so much, when our Doublets
are button'd with Pewter.
Rav.
Ay, and so close without yielding: oh, they're parlous
Fellows, they will search more with their Wits, than a
Constable with his Officers.
Put.
Whist, whist, whist, Yeoman Dogson, Yeoman
Dogson.
Dog.
Ha? what says Serjeant?
Put.
Is he in the Pothecaries Shop still?
Dog.
Ay, ay.
Put.
Have an Eye, have an Eye.
Rav.
The best is, Serjeant, if he be a true Scholar, he
wears no Weapon I think.
Put.
No, no, he wears no Weapon.
Rav.
Mass, 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 been gone, as ever Bastinado'd a Serjeant—
I have done I can tell you.
Dog.
Serjeant Puttock, Serjeant Puttock.
Put.
Hoh.
Dog.
He's coming 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 fish'd
in my tune.
Rav.
Ay, and caught many a Fool, Serjeant.
Enter Pye-boord.
Pye.
I parted now from Nicholas: the Chain's couch'd,
And the old Knight has spent his rage upon't,
The Widow holds me in great admiration
For cunning Art: 'mongst joys, I'm e'en 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 than I was aware, I must to
Prison indeed.
Put.
They say you're a Scholar, nay Sir—Yeoman
Dogson, have care to his Arms—you'll rail against Serjeants,
and stage 'em, you tickle their Vices.
Pye.
Nay, use me like a Gentleman,—I'm little less.
-- 3215 --
Put.
You a Gentleman? that's a good Jest i'faith; can a
Scholar be a Gentleman—when a Gentleman will not be
a Scholar;—look upon your wealthy Citizens Sons, whether
they be Scholars or no, that are Gentlemen by their
Fathers Trades: a Scholar 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.
Rav.
A rablement, nay, you shall have a bloody rablement
upon you I warrant you.
Put.
Go, Yeoman Dogson, before, and enter the Action
i'th' Counter.
[Exit Dog.
Pye.
Pray do not handle me cruelly, I'll go
Whither 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 lye, Mistress
Cunniburrow, for Bed and Board, the Sum four Pound five
Shillings and five Pence.
Pye.
I know the Sum too true, yet I presum'd
Upon a farther day; well, 'tis my Stars:
And I must bear it now, though never harder.
I swear now, my device is crost indeed.
Captain must lye by't: this is Deceit's seed.
Put.
Come, come away.
Pye.
Pray give me so much time as to knit my Garter, and
I'll 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'er
recover of this Disease: hot Iron gnaw their Fists: they
have struck a Fever into my Shoulder, which I shall ne'er
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
press'd to death with Actions, but not so 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 Wits 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?
-- 3216 --
—yes, happiness, have I a Paper about me now?
yes too, I'll try it, it may hit, Extremity is Touch-stone unto
Wit, ay, ay.
Put.
'Sfoot how many yards are in thy Garters, that thou
art so 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 lawful
Picture about me.
Put.
'Slid how shall we come by our Fees then?
Rav.
We must have Fees, Sirrah.
Pye.
I could have wish'd i'faith, that you had took me
half an Hour hence for your own sake, for I protest if you
had not cross'd 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.
Ay, 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 Street 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.
Ay, well said still, Serjeant, urge that.
Pye.
Troth if it will suffice, it shall all be among you,
for my part I'll 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'll spend upon you.
Rav.
Why, now thou art a good Scholar.
Put.
An excellent Scholar i'faith; 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, who's at Door? we had need of a
Porter.
Pye.
A few Friends here,—pray is the Gentleman your
Master within?
-- 3217 --
Ser.
Yes, is your business to him?
Pye.
Ay, he knows it, when he sees me:
I pray you, have you forgot me?
Ser.
Ay by my troth, Sir, pray come near, I'll 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 Post 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, whatsoe'er
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'er
knew me: No matter, what is forgot in you, will be remembred
in your Master.
A pretty comfortable Room this methinks:
You have no such Rooms 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-heartedst 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 Scholar.
Enter Gentleman.
Pye.
Look what Maps, and Pictures, and Devices, and
things, neatly, delicately? Mass here he comes, he should
be a Gentleman, I like his Beard well;—All happiness to
your Worship.
Gent.
You're kindly welcome, Sir.
Put.
A simple salutation.
Rav.
Mass, 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 rudeness, for my
extreams make me bolder than I would be; I am a poor
Gentleman, and a Scholar, and now most unfortunately
-- 3218 --
fall'n into the hands of unmerciful Officers, arrested for
Debt, which though small, I am not able to compass, 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 pinch'd
clean to the Bone: Now, if ever pity had interest in the
Blood 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
doubtful what to do; at last it was put in my labouring
thoughts, to make a happy use of this Paper, and to blear
their unletter'd 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, offer'd
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 Pity: 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 says; 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 Scholar, 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'll follow your good Worship,—
You heard how he lik'd it now?
Put.
Puh, we know he could not chuse but like it: go
thy ways, thou art a fine witty Fellow i'faith, thou shalt
Discourse it to us at the Tavern anon, wilt thou?
-- 3219 --
Pye.
Ay, ay, that I will,—look, Serjeants, here are
Maps, and pretty Toys, be doing in the mean time, I shall
quickly have told out the Mony, you know.
Put.
Go, go, little Villain, fetch thy chink, I begin to
love thee, I'll 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 Pye.
Put.
Sirrah Serjeant, these Maps are pretty painted things,
but I could ne'er fancy them yet, methinks they're too busie,
and full of Circles and Conjurations; they say all the
World's in one of them, but I could ne'er 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 o'th' back-side
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 mark'd 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 Breakfast
so finely, and ne'er knock our Heels to the ground a whole
Day for 'em.
Rav.
Ay marry Sir, I'd 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 to th' Tavern,
whilst I go close with his Hostess, and work out of her,
I know she would be glad of the Sum, to finger Mony; because
she 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 t'other
fifty Shillings, Bullies?
Put.
Why, I would call thee King of Serjeants, and
thou should'st be Chronicled in the Counter-Book for
ever.
Rav.
Well, put it to me, we'll make a Night on't
i'faith.
-- 3220 --
Dog.
'Sfoot, I think he receives more Mony, he stays so
long.
Put.
He tarrys long indeed, may be, I can tell you, upon
the good liking on't the Gentleman may prove more
bountiful.
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.
Rav.
Oh, here comes the Gentleman,—By your leave, Sir.
Gent.
God you god den Sirs,—would you speak with
me?
Put.
No, not with your Worship, Sir; only we are hold
to stay for a Friend of ours that went in with your Worship.
Gent.
Who? not the Scholar?
Put.
Yes, e'en he, an it please your Worship.
Gent.
Did he make you stay for him? he did you wrong
then: why, I can assure you he's gone above an Hour ago.
Rav.
How, Sir?
Gent.
I paid him his Mony, and my Man told me he went
out at Back-door.
Put.
Back-door?
Gent.
Why, what's the matter?
Put.
He was our Prisoner, Sir, we did arrest him.
Gent.
What he was not? you the Sheriff's Officers—
you were to blame then,
Why did not you 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.
Rav.
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.
Rav.
The Hole shall rot him.
Dog.
Amen.
[Exeunt.
Gent.
So,
-- 3221 --
Vex out your Lungs without Doors, I am proud,
It was my hap to help him, it sell 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 unpitying fangs,—I'm glad it stood
Within my power to do a Scholar good.
[Exit.
Enter in the Prison, meeting, Pye-boord and Captain, Pye-boord coming in muffled.
Capt.
How now, who's that? what are you?
Pye.
The same that I should be, Captain.
Capt.
Geore Pye-boord, honest George? why cam'st thou
in half fac'd, muffled so?
Pye.
Oh Captain, I thought we should ne'er ha'laugh'd
again, never spent frolick Hour again.
Capt.
Why? why?
Pye.
I coming to prepare thee, and with News
As happy as thy quick Delivery,
Was trac'd out by the scent, arrested, Captain.
Capt.
Arrested, George?
Pye.
Arrested; guess, guess, how many Dogs do you think
I'd upon me?
Capt.
Dogs? I say, I know not.
Pye.
Almost as many as George Stone the Bear:
Three at once, three at once.
Capt.
How didst thou shake 'em off then?
Pye.
The time is busie, and calls upon our Wits, let it suffice,
Here I stand safe, and scap'd by Miracle:
Some other Hour shall tell thee, when we'll steep
Our Eyes in laughter: Captain, my device
Leans to thy Happiness, for e'er the Day
Be spent to th' Girdle, thou shalt be free:
The Corporal's in's first sleep, the Chain is miss'd,
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.
Capt.
Conjure? 'sfoot, George, you know, the Devil a
conjuring I can conjure.
Pye.
The Devil of conjuring? nay by my fay, I'd not
have thee do so much, Captain, as the Devil a conjuring;
-- 3222 --
look here, I ha brought thee a Circle ready charactered
and all.
Cap.
'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, methinks;
had it been a lesser Circle, then I knew what to have
done.
Pye.
Why every Fool knows that, Captain; nay then
I'll not cog with you, Captain, if you'll stay and hang the
next Sessions you may.
Capt.
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 Soldier,
to make you now a Commander of rich Fools, which
is truly the only best purchace Peace can allow you, safer
than High-ways, 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 Doors;
and we gold Fools of more Mony in one Night, than your
false-tail'd Gelding will purchase in a Twelve-Months running,
which confirms the old Beldams saying, He's wisest,
that keeps himself warmest, that is, he that robs by a good
Fire.
Capt.
Well opened i'faith, 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'll 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 e'er I conjure.
Pye.
Nay, tell not me of that, Captain, you'll ne'er 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'll have
an Hackney-man's Wand silver'd o'er 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,
-- 3223 --
stamping Player, that will raise a tempest with his Tongue,
and Thunder with his Heels?
Capt.
O yes, yes, yes; often, often.
Pye.
Why be like such a one? for any thing will blear
the old Knight's Eyes; for you must note, that He'll ne'er
dare to venture into the Room, only 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 i'faith, 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 outright,
and spoil all; nay I'll 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 hush'd, as to think upon some disaster, some sad Misfortune,
as the Death of thy Father i'th' Country.
Capt.
'Sfoot, that would be the more to drive me into
such an ecstasie, that I should ne'er lin laughing else.
Pye.
Why then think upon going to hanging.
Capt.
Mass that's well remembered, now I'll do well, I
warrant thee, ne'er fear me now; but how shall I do, George,
for boisterous 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 Pothecary's Shop, and take all the words from the
Boxes.
Capt.
Troth, and you say true, George, there's strange
words enow to raise a hundred Quack-salvers, though they
be ne'er so poor when they begin? but here lyes the fear
on't, how if in this false Conjuration, a true Devil should
pop up indeed.
Pye.
A true Devil, Captain? why there was ne'er such a
one, nay faith he that has this place, is as false a Knave as
our last Church-warden.
Capt.
Then he's false enough a Conscience i'faith
George.
-- 3224 --
The Cry at Marshalsea. Enter Sir Godfrey, Mr. Edmond, and Nicholas.
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 i'th 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 Welshman, Sir?
Edm.
A Welshman? 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.
Capt.
I understand that you are my Kinsman's 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 means to me by acquaintance, I should have utterly denied
to have been the Man; both by reason of the Act
of Parliament against Conjurers 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 Sister's 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 loss, Sir?
Sir God.
O you may call't a great Loss, a grievous Loss,
Sir, as goodly a Chain of Gold, though I say it, that wore
it; how say'st thou, Nicholas?
Nich.
O 'twas as delicious a Chain of Gold, Kinsman, you
know—
Sir God.
You know, did you know't, Captain?
-- 3225 --
Capt.
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.
Ay, very true.
Capt.
A pox of all Fools—the excuse stuck upon my
Tongue like Ship-pitch upon a Mariner's Gown, not to come
off in haste—ber-lady, Knight, to lose such a fair Chain
of Gold, were a foul Loss; Well, I can put you in this good
comfort on't, if it be between Heav'n and Earth, Knight,
I'll ha't for you.
Sir God.
A wonderful Conjurer,—O I, 'tis between
Heav'n and Earth, I warrant you, it cannot go out of the
Realm,—I know 'tis somewhere about the Earth.
Capt.
Ay, nigher the Earth than thou wot'st on.
Sir God.
For first, my Chain was rich, and no rich thing
shall enter into Heav'n, 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.
Sir God.
Thou say'st true, Nicholas, but he has put off
that now, that lyes by him.
Capt.
Faith, Knight, in few words, I presume so much
upon the Power of my Art, that I could warrant your Chain
again.
Sir God.
O dainty Captain!
Capt.
Marry, it will cost me much sweat, I were better
go to sixteen Hot-houses.
Sir God.
Ay, good Man, I warrant thee.
Capt.
Beside great Vexation of Kidney and Liver.
Nich.
O, 'twill tickle you hereabouts, Cousin, because
you have not been us'd to't.
Sir God.
No? have you not been us'd to't, Captain?
Capt.
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 God.
O it will, it will.
Capt.
What plunges he puts me to? Were not this Knight
a Fool, I had been twice spoil'd now; that Captain's worse
than accurst that has an Ass to his 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.
-- 3226 --
Sir God.
Tut, tut, I know thy meaning, thou wouldst
say thou'rt a Prisoner, I tell thee thou'rt none.
Capt.
How, none? why is not this the Marshalsea?
Sir God.
Will't 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 God.
Speak, is not this Man free?
Keep.
Yes, at his Pleasure, Sir, the Fees discharg'd.
Sir God.
Go, go, I'll discharge them, I.
Keep.
I thank your Worship.
[Exit Keeper.
Capt.
Now, trust me, you're a dear Knight; kindness unexpected!
O there's nothing to a free Gentleman,—
I will conjure for you, Sir, 'till Froth come through my
Buff-Jerkin.
Sir God.
Nay, then thou shalt not pass with so little a
Bounty, for at the first sight of my Chain again,—forty
five Angels shall appear unto thee.
Capt.
'Twill be a glorious show, i'faith, Knight, a very
fine show; but are all these of your own House? are you sure
of that, Sir?
Sir God.
Ay, ay; no, no; what's he yonder talking with
my wild Nephew, pray Heav'n he give him good Counsel.
Capt.
Who, he? he's a rare Friend of mine, an admirable
Fellow, Knight, the finest Fortune-teller.
Sir God.
O! 'tis he indeed, that came to my Lady Sister,
and foretold the loss 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 glimpse of you at
home, at my Sister's the Widow's, 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 God.
What is't? God send it a good one.
-- 3227 --
Edm.
O, 'tis a passing good one, Nuncle; for he says I
shall prove such an excellent Gamester in my time, that I
shall spend all faster than my Father got it.
Sir God.
There's a Fortune indeed.
Edm.
Nay, it hits my humor so pat.
Sir God.
Ay, 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; ay, ay, ay;
'twill, 'twill, 'twill.
Pye.
Stay, stay, stay.
[Pye-boord with an Almanack, and the Captain.
Capt.
Turn over, George.
Pye.
June, July; here, July, that's the Month, Sunday
thirteen, Yesterday fourteen, to Day fifteen.
Capt.
Look quickly for the fifteenth Day,—If within
the compass of these two Days there would be some boisterous
Storm or other, it would be the best, I'd defer him
off 'till then; some Tempest, and it be thy will.
Pye.
Here's the fifteenth Day,—hot and fair.
Capt.
Puh, would t'ad been, hot and foul.
Pye.
The sixteenth Day, that's to morrow; the Morning
for the most part, fair and pleasant.
Capt.
No luck.
Pye.
But about high-noon, Lightning and Thunder.
Capt.
Lightning and Thunder? admirable! best of all!
I'll conjure to morrow just at high-noon, George.
Pye.
Happen but true to morrow, Almanack, and I'll give
thee leave to lye all the Year after.
Capt.
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 t'other 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 God.
O, you shall be most welcome.
Capt.
And about noon, without fail, I purpose to conjure.
Sir God.
Mid-noon will be a fit time for you.
Edm.
Conjuring? do you mean to conjure at our House
to morrow, Sir?
Capt.
Marry do I, Sir; 'tis my intent, young Gentleman.
-- 3228 --
Edm.
By my troth, I'll love you while I live for't: O
rare! Nicholas, we shall have Conjuring to morrow.
Nich.
Puh I, I could ha told you of that.
Capt.
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 Mony of me, now I know you
can Conjure; but can you fetch any that is lost?
Capt.
On, any thing that's lost.
Edm.
Why look you, Sir, I tell't you as a Friend and a
Conjurer; I should marry a Pothecary's Daughter, and 'twas
told me, she lost her Maiden-head at Stony-Stratford: Now
if you'll do but so much as Conjure for't, and make all
whole again—
Capt.
That I will, Sir.
Edm.
By my troth I thank you, la.
Capt.
A little merry with your Sister's Son, Sir.
Sir God.
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. Capt.
Troth, agreed, Sir.
Nich.
Kinsman—Scholar.
Pye.
Why now thou art a good Knave, worth a hundred
Brownists.
Nich.
Am I indeed, la; I thank you heartily, la.
[Exe.
ACT IV.
Enter Moll, and Sir John Penny-Dub.
Dub.
But I hope you will not serve a Knight so, Gentlewoman,
will you? to casheer him, and cast
him off at your Pleasure; what do you think I was dubb'd
for nothing, no by my Faith, Lady's Daughter.
Moll.
Pray Sir John Penny-Dub, let it be defer'd a-while,
I have a Heart to marry as you can have; but as the Fortune-teller
told me.
Dub.
Pax o'th' Fortune-teller, would Derrick had been
his Fortune seven Year ago, to cross my Love thus; did he
-- 3229 --
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.
Dub.
In Purgatory? why let him purge out his Heart
there, what have we to do 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 News of my Father's Death, and now—
Moll.
Thy Father's Death? is the old Farmer dead?
Dub.
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 Coachman?
Dub.
Ay faith.
Moll.
And two white Horses with black Feathers to
draw it?
Dub.
Too.
Moll.
A guarded Lackey to run befor't, and py'd Liveries
to come trashing after't.
Dub.
Thou shalt, Moll.
Moll.
And to let me have Mony in my Purse to go
whither I will.
Dub.
All this.
Moll.
Then come, whatsoe'er comes on't, we'll be made
sure together before the Maids o'th' Kitchen.
[Exit.
Enter Widow, Frances and Frailty.
Wid.
How now? where's my Brother Sir Godfrey? went
he forth this Morning?
Frail.
O no Madam, he's above at Breakfast, with Sir
Reverence a Conjurer.
Wid.
A Conjurer? what manner of Fellow is he?
Frail.
Oh, a wondrous rare Fellow, Mistress, very
strongly made upward, for he goes in a Buff-Jerkin; he
says he will fetch Sir Godfrey's Chain again, 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-brows.
-- 3230 --
Frail.
Foh—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'd take him to be a Christian.
Fran.
So fair, and yet so cunning, that's to be wondred
at, Mother.
Enter Sir Oliver Muckhill, and Sir Andrew Tipstaffe.
Muck.
Bless you, sweet Lady.
Tip.
And you, fair Mistress.
[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 Kiss;
Daughter, kiss the Gentleman for once.
Fran.
Yes Forsooth.
Tip.
I'm proud of such a Favour.
Wid.
Truly la, Sir Oliver, you're much too blame to come
again when you know my Mind so well delivered—as a
Widow could deliver a thing.
Muck.
But I expect 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 bears to
you—
Wid.
Go to, I'll 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 chuse; nay, I'll hold out
well.
Enter Frailty.
Frail.
O Madam, Madam.
Wid.
How now? what's the haste?
[In her Ear.
Tip.
Faith, Mistress Frances, I'll maintain you gallantly,
I'll 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 Monkey, your Parrot, your Muskat,
and your Piss, Piss, Piss.
Fran.
It will do very well.
-- 3231 --
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 i'th' Garden, to gather a Pink,
or a Gilly-flower.
Both.
With all our Hearts, Lady, and count us favour'd.
[Exeunt.
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, and Nicholas.
Cap.
O wonderful convenient.
Edm.
I can tell you, Captain, simply though it lies
here, 'tis the fairest Room in my Mother's House, as dainty
a room to Conjure in, methinks,—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 Business
roundly, the Fescue of the Dial is upon the Chriscross
of Noon; but oh, hear me, Captain, a qualm comes
o'er my Stomach.
Cap.
Why, what's the Matter, Sir?
Sir God.
Oh, how if the Devil should prove a Knave
and tear the Hangings.
Cap.
Fuh, I warrant you, Sir Godfrey.
Edm.
Ay, Nunkle, or spit Fire upo'th' Sealing.
Sir God.
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 God.
My Sister is very curious and dainty o'er 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.
-- 3232 --
Sir God.
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'll tear two or
three Rosaries in pieces, and strew the Pieces about the
Chamber; Oh! the Devil 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 again; now, now, now! Captain.
Cap.
Rhumbos-ragdayon, pur, pur, colucundrion, Hois-Polis.
Sir God. through the Key-hole, within.]
Oh admirable Conjurer!
has fetcht Thunder already.
Pye.
Hark, hark, again Captain.
Cap.
Benjamino, gaspois-kay-gosgothoteron-umbrois.
Sir God.
Oh, I would the Devil would come away quickly,
he has no Conscience to put a Man to such Pain.
Pye.
Again.
Cap.
Flowste kak opumpos-dragone-leloomenos-hodge podge.
Pye.
Well said, Captain.
Sir God.
So long a coming? O would I had ne'er 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' Country.
Cap.
Gog de gog, hobgoblin, huncks, hounslow, hockley te
coome park.
Wid.
O Brother, Brother, what a Tempest's i'th' Garden,
sure there's some Conjuration abroad.
Sir God.
'Tis at home, Sister.
Pye.
By and by I'll 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?
-- 3233 --
Sir God.
O, the Devil, Sister, i'th' Dining-Chamber;
sing, Sister, I warrant you that will keep him out; quickly,
quickly.
[Goes in.
Pye.
So, so, so; I'll 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 Kidneys.
Cap.
Sirrah George, how was't, how was't? did I do't
well enough?
Pye.
Woult believe me, Captain, better than 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'd 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 than
a Whison Morris-dancer's.
Pye.
All's past now,—only to reveal that the
Chain's i'th' Garden, where, thou know'st, it has lain these
two Days.
Cap.
But I fear, that Fox Nicholas has reveal'd it already.
Pye.
Fear not, Captain, you must put to it th' venture
now: Nay 'tis time, call upon 'em, take pity on 'em, for I
believe some of 'em are in a pitiful Case by this time.
Cap.
Sir Godfrey, Nicholas, Kinsman,—'sfoot
they're fast at it still; George, Sir Godfrey?
Sir God.
Oh, is that the Devil's Voice? how comes he
to know my Name?
Cap.
Fear not, Sir Godfrey, all's quieted.
Sir God.
What, is he laid?
Cap.
Laid; and has newly dropt
Your Chain i'th' Garden.
Sir God.
I'th Garden! in our Garden?
Cap.
Your Garden.
Sir God.
O sweet Conjurer! whereabouts there?
Cap.
Look well about a Bank of Rosemary.
-- 3234 --
Sir God.
Sister, the Rosemary-bank, come, come; there's
my Chain, he says.
Wid.
Oh, happiness! run, run.
[Supposeth to go.
Edm.
Captain Conjurer?
[Edm. at key-hole.
Cap.
Who? Master Edmond?
Edm.
Ay, Master Edmond; may I come in safely without
Danger, think you?
Cap.
Puh, long ago, it is all as 'twas at first;
Fear nothing, pray come near,—how now, Man?
Edm.
Oh! this Room's mightily hot i'faith; '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, i'faith,
who 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, i'faith; 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 remember, I'll look whether he has
sindged 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 flourish my Wand
thrice o'er your Head, and charm you invisible.
Edm.
What you could not? make me walk invisible
Man? I should laugh at that i'faith; troth I'll requite 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?
-- 3235 --
Cap.
You see the Fortune-teller yonder at farther end
o'th' Chamber, go toward him, do what you will with him,
he shall ne'er find you.
Edm.
Say you so, I'll try that i'faith—
[Justles him.
Pye.
Hoe now Captain? who's 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 t'other day, and told Tales of me to
my Mother—Troth now I'm invisible, I'll hit him
a round whirrit a'th'ear, when he comes out a'th'garden,—
I may be reveng'd on him now finely.
Enter Sir Godfrey, Widow, Frances, Nicholas with the Chain.
Sir God.
I have my Chain again, my Chain's found
again.
[Edmond strikes him.
O sweet Captain, O admirable Conjurer.
O, 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 not you see me, when I did uncharm you?
Edm.
Not I, by my troth, Captain;
Then pray you pardon me, Uncle,
I thought I'd been invisible when I struck you.
Sir God.
So, you would do't? go,—you're a foolish Boy,
And were I not o'ercome with greater Joy,
I'd make you taste Correction.
Edm.
Correction, push—no, neither you nor my
Mother, shall think to whip me as you have done.
Sir God.
Captain, my joy is such, I know not how to
thank you, let me embrace you, O my sweet Chain, gladness
e'en makes me giddy, rare Man; 'twas just i'th' Rosemary-bank,
as if one should ha laid it there,—O cunning,
cunning!
-- 3236 --
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'll have it so—
Enter Frailty.
Frail.
O Mistress, Gentlemen, there's the bravest Sight
coming along this way.
Wid.
What brave Sight?
Frail.
O, one going to burying, and another going to
Hanging.
Wid.
A rueful Sight.
Pye.
'Sfoot, Captain, I'll pawn my Life the Corporal's
Coffin'd, and old Skirmish the Soldier 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'll take upon me the Cure of him.
Enter the Coffin of the Corporal, the Soldier bound, and led by Officers, the Sheriff there.
Frail.
O here they come, here they come!
Pye.
Now must I close secretly with the Soldier, prevent
his impatience, or else all's discovered.
Wid.
O lamentable seeing, these were those Brothers,
that fought and bled before our door.
Sir God.
What, they were not, Sister?
Skir.
George, look to't, I'll 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 lyes cofin'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 cur'd and safe again, 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.
-- 3237 --
Sher.
How, Sir? recover a dead Man?
That were most strange of all.
[Frances comes to him.
Fran.
Sweet Sir, I love you dearly, and could wish my
best part yours,—O do not undertake such an impossible
venture.
Pye.
Love you me? then for your sweet sake I'll do't:
Let me entreat the Corps to be set down.
Sher.
Bearers, set down the Coffin,—this is wonderful,
and worthy Stow's Chronicle.
Pye.
I pray bestow the freedom of the Air upon our wholsome
Art,—Mass his Cheeks begin to receive natural
warmth: Nay, good Corporal, wake betime, or I shall have
a longer Sleep than 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,
than have the Rope like a Tetter run upon me, O—he
stirs—he stirs again—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.
Corp.
Zowns; where am I? cover'd with Snow? I
marvel?
Pye.
Nay, I knew he would Swear the first thing he did,
as soon as he came to Life again.
Corp.
'Sfoot, Hostess—some hot Porridge,—oh, ho, lay
on a dozen of Faggots in the Moon Parlour, there.
Pye.
Lady, you must needs take a little pity of him i'faith,
and send him into your Kitchen Fire.
Wid.
O, with all my Heart, Sir Nicholas and Frailty, help
to bear him in.
Nich.
Bear him in, quotha, pray call in the Maids, I shall
ne'er have the Heart to do't, indeed la.
Frail.
Nor I neither, I cannot abide to handle a Ghost,
of all Men.
Corp.
'Sloud, let me see, where was I drunk last Night?
hah—
Wid.
O, shall I bid you once again take him away?
Frail.
Why, we're as fearful as you, I warrant you—
oh—
-- 3238 --
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, whatsoe'er you are, I do more than 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 Christendom.
Sher.
Two of 'em, O wonderful: Officers, I discharge
you, set him free, all's in tune.
Sir God.
Ay, and a Banquet ready by this time, Master
Sheriff, 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 i'th'
white Sheet sit at upper end o'th' Table.
Sher.
Exlent, merry Man, i'faith.
[Exit.
Fran.
Well, seeing I am enjoin'd to love, and marry,
My foolish Vow thus I casheer to Air
Which first begot it,—now, Love, play thy part;
The Scholar reads his Lecture in my Heart.
[Exeunt.
ACT V.
SCENE I.
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.
Frail.
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 again.
-- 3239 --
Frail.
Here's run, run, run—
Edm.
But hark, Frailty.
Frail.
What, more yet?
Edm.
Have the Maids remembred to strew the way to the
Church.
Frail.
Foh, an hour ago I help'd 'em my self.
Edm.
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 Scholar, Master Pye-boord for my Sister Frances, that
will be Mistress Frances Pye-boord, Mistress Frances Pye-boord,
they'll keep a good Table, I warrant you: Now all the
Knights Noses are put out of joint, they may go to a Bone-setters
now.
Enter Captain, and Pye-boord.
Hark, hark; O who comes here with two Torches before 'em,
my sweet Captain, and my fine Scholar? O how bravely
they are shot up in one Night, they look like fine Britains
now methinks, here's a gallant change i'faith; 'slid, they
have hir'd Men and all by the Clock.
Capt.
Master Edmond, kind, honest, dainty Master Edmond.
Edm.
Foh, sweet Captain Father-in-law, a rare perfume
i'faith.
Pye.
What, are the Brides stirring? may we steal upon 'em,
think'st thou, Master Edmond?
Edm.
Faw, they're e'en upon readiness, I can assure you;
for they were at their Torch e'en now, by the same token I
tumbled down the Stairs.
Pye.
Alas, poor Master Edmond.
Enter Musicians.
Capt.
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.
-- 3240 --
Enter Sir John Penny-Dub, and Moll above lacing of her Cloaths.
Dub.
Whewh, Mistress Moll, Mistress Moll.
Moll.
Who's there?
Dub.
'Tis I.
Moll.
Who, Sir John Penny-Dub? O you're an early
Cock i'faith, who would have thought you to be so rare a
stirrer?
Dub.
Prethee, Moll, let me come up.
Moll.
No by my Faith, Sir John, I'll keep you down, for
you Knights are very dangerous, if once you get above.
Dub.
I'll not stay i'faith.
Moll.
I'faith you shall stay; for, Sir John, you must note
the nature of the Climates: Your Northern Wench in her
own Country 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.
Dub.
O thou'rt a mad Wench, Moll, but I prethee make
haste, for the Priest is gone before.
Moll.
Do you follow him, I'll not be long after.
[Exeunt.
Enter Sir Oliver Muck-hill, Sir Andrew Tipstaff, and old Skirmish talking.
Muck.
O monstrous unheard of Forgery!
Tip.
Knight, I never heard of such Villany in our own
Country, in my Life.
Muck.
Why, 'tis impossible, dare you maintain your
Words?
Skir.
Dare we? e'en to their wezen Pipes; we know all
their Plots, they cannot squander with us, they have knavishly
abus'd us, made only 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 kindness, as
he is to me, and therefore presume upon the payment of
his Tongue, and that he will lay out good words for me,
-- 3241 --
and to speak Truth, for such needful Occasions, I only preserve
him in Bond, and sometimes he may do me more
good here in the City by a free Word of his Mouth, than
if he had paid one half in Hand, and took Doomsday for
t'other.
Tip.
In troth, Sir, without soothing be it spoken, you
have publish'd much Judgment in these few Words.
Muck.
For you know, what such a Man utters will be
thought effectual, and to weighty purpose, and therefore
into his Mouth we'll put the approved Theme of their
Forgeries.
Skir.
And I'll maintain it, Knight, if she'll be true.
Enter a Servant.
Muck.
How now, Fellow.
Ser.
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'll relate all to him.
[Exeunt.
Enter the two Bridegrooms, Captain and Scholar. After them,
Sir Godfrey and Edmond, Widow chang'd in Apparel,
Mistress Frances led between two Knights: Sir John Penny-Dub
and Moll; there meets them a Nobleman, Sir Oliver
Muck-hill, and Sir Andrew Tipstaff.
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 Handful 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 only love you to undo you; and 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,
-- 3242 --
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
Bloods. An impudent Fellow best woes 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 deceitful Monsters,
that you have entertain'd for Bridegrooms.
Wid.
Deceitful—
Pye.
All will out.
Cap.
'Sfoot, who was blab'd, George? that foolish Nicholas.
Nob.
For what they have besotted your easie Blood withal,
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
Couzenage.
Wid.
O wonderful! indeed I wondred that my Husband
with all his Craft, could not keep himself out of Purgatory.
Sir God.
And I more wonder, that my Chain should be
gone, and my Taylor had none of it.
Moll.
And I wondred most of all, that I should be tied
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, reveal'd
all their Plot in anger.
Pye.
Base Soldier, 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 believ'd true?
Wid.
O, to my shame, I do.
Sir God.
But under favour, my Lord, my Chain was truly
lost, and strangely found again.
Nob.
Resolve him of that, Soldier.
-- 3243 --
Skir.
In few words, Knight, then thou wert the Arch-Gull
of all.
Sir God.
How, Sir?
Skir.
Nay I'll prove it: For the Chain was but hid in
the Rosemary-bank 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 God.
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 God.
O Villain! one of our Society,
Deem'd always Holy, Pure, Religious:
A Puritan, a Thief? when was't ever heard?
Sooner we'll kill a Man, than Steal, thou know'st.
Out Slave, I'll rend my Lion 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
pity, nay uncharity, 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 fruitful 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 woed you, and both with their Hearts and Wealth sincerely
love you.
Sir God.
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 does consent to't.
Wid.
I know not with what Face.
Nob.
Pah, pah, with your own Face, they desire no
other.
-- 3244 --
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 God.
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 Heav'n rejoice.
Come, enter in your Joys, 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.
