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.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
