Wife.
What will become of us? All will away:
My husband never ceases in expence,
Both to consume his credit and his house;
And 'tis set down by heaven's just decree,
That riot's child must needs be beggary.

Are these the virtues that his youth did promise?
Dice and voluptuous meetings, midnight revels,
Taking his bed with surfeits; ill beseeming
The antient honour of his house and name?
And this not all, but that which kills me most,
When he recounts his losses and false fortunes,
The weakness of his state so much dejected^{1 note}






,
Not as a man repentant, but half mad
His fortunes cannot answer his expence,
He sits, and sullenly locks up his arms;
Forgetting heaven, looks downward; which makes him
Appear so dreadful that he frights my heart:
Walks heavily, as if his soul were earth;
Not penitent for those his sins are past,
But vex'd his money cannot make them last:
A fearful melancholy, ungodly sorrow.
O, yonder he comes; now in despight of ills
I'll speak to him, and I will hear him speak,
And do my best to drive it from his heart. Enter Husband.

Hus.
Pox o' the last throw^{2 note}

Vanish from my sight. I am damn'd, I'm damn'd;
The angels have forsook me^{3 note}
. Nay it is
Certainly true; for he that has no coin
Is damn'd in this world; he is gone, he's gone.

Wife.
Dear husband.

Hus.
O! most punishment of all, I have a wife^{4 note}


.

Wife.
I do entreat you, as you love your soul,
Tell me the cause of this your discontent.

Hus.
A vengeance strip thee naked! thou art cause,
Effect, quality, property; thou, thou, thou^{5 note}

. [Exit.

Wife.
Bad turn'd to worse; both beggary of the soul
And of the body;—and so much unlike
Himself at first^{6 note}


, as if some vexed spirit
Had got his form upon him^{7 note}


. He comes again.

Re-enter Husband.
He says I am the cause: I never yet
Spoke less than words of duty and of love.

Hus.

If marriage be honourable, then cuckolds are honourable, for they cannot be made without marriage. Fool! what meant I to marry to get beggars^{8 note}
? Now must my eldest son be a knave or nothing; he cannot live upon the fool, for he will have no land to maintain him. That mortgage sits like a snaffle upon mine inheritance^{9 note}

, and makes me chew upon iron. My second son must be a promoter^{1 note}, and my third a thief, or an under-putter; a slave pander. Oh beggary, beggary, to what base uses dost thou put a man^{2 note}
! I think the devil scorns to be a bawd; he bears himself more proudly, has more care of his credit^{3 note}

.—Base, slavish, abject, filthy poverty!

Wife.
Good sir, by all our vows I do beseech you,
Show me the true cause of your discontent.

Hus.

Money, money, money; and thou must supply me.

Wife.
Alas, I am the least cause of your discontent;
Yet what is mine, either in rings or jewels,
Use to your own desire; but I beseech you,
As you are a gentleman by many bloods^{4 note}
,
Though I myself be out of your respect,
Think on the state of these three lovely boys^{5 note}

Hus.

Puh! bastards, bastards^{6 note}, bastards; begot in tricks, begot in tricks.

Wife.
Heaven knows how those words wrong me: but I may
Endure these griefs among a thousand more.
O call to mind your lands already mortgag'd,
Yourself wound into debts^{7 note}

Hus.
Have done, thou harlot,
Whom though for fashion-sake I married,
I never could abide. Think'st thou, thy words
Shall kill my pleasures? Fall off to thy friends;
Thou and thy bastards beg; I will not bate
A whit in humour. Midnight, still I love you^{8 note}
,
And revel in your company! Curb'd in,
Shall it be said in all societies,
That I broke custom^{9 note}

Wife.
Be it so.

Hus.
Nay I protest (and take that for an earnest) [Spurns her.
I will for ever hold thee in contempt,
And never touch the sheets that cover thee,
But be divorc'd in bed, till thou consent
Thy dowry shall be sold, to give new life
Unto those pleasures which I most affect.

Wife.
Sir, do but turn a gentle eye on me,
And what the law shall give me leave to do,
You shall command.

Hus.
Look it be done. Shall I want dust,

And like a slave wear nothing in my pockets [Holds his hands in his pockets.
But my bare hands, to fill them up with nails?
O much against my blood^{2 note}
! Let it be done;
I was never made to be a looker on,
A bawd to dice; I'll shake the drabs myself,
And make them yield: I say, look it be done.

Wife.
I take my leave: it shall. [Exit^{3 note}.

Hus.
Speedily, speedily.
I hate the very hour I chose a wife:
A trouble, trouble! Three children, like three evils,
Hang on me. Fie, fie, fie! Strumpet and bastards! Enter three Gentlemen.
Strumpet and bastards!

1 Gent.
Still do these loathsome thoughts jar on your tongue?
Yourself to stain the honour of your wife,
Nobly descended? Those whom men call mad,
Endanger others; but he's more than mad
That wounds himself; whose own words do proclaim
Scandals unjust, to soil his better name^{4 note}.
It is not fit; I pray, forsake it.

2 Gent.
Good sir, let modesty reprove you.

3 Gent.
Let honest kindness sway so much with you.

Hus.
Good den^{5 note}

Ser.

Only to certify you, sir, that my mistress was met by the way, by them who were sent for her up to London^{6 note} by her honourable uncle, your worship's late guardian.

Hus.
So, sir, then she is gone; and so may you be;
But let her look the thing be done she wots of,
Or hell will stand more pleasant than her house
At home. [Exit Servant. Enter a Gentleman.

Gent.
Well or ill met, I care not.

Hus.
No, nor I.

Gent.
I am come with confidence to chide you.

Hus.
Who? me?
Chide me? Do't finely then; let it not move me:
For if thou chid'st me angry, I shall strike^{7 note}

.

Gent.
Strike thine own follies, for 'tis they deserve
To be well beaten. We are now in private;

There's none but thou and I. Thou art fond and peevish^{8 note};
An unclean rioter; thy lands and credit
Lie now both sick^{9 note}


of a consumption:
I am sorry for thee. That man spends with shame,
That with his riches doth consume his name;
And such art thou.

Hus.
Peace.

Gent.
No, thou shalt hear me further.
Thy father's and fore-fathers' worthy honours,
Which were our country monuments, our grace,
Follies in thee begin now to deface.
The spring-time of thy youth did fairly promise^{1 note}

Such a most fruitful summer to thy friends,
It scarce can enter into men's beliefs,
Such dearth should hang upon thee. We that see it,
Are sorry to believe it. In thy change,
This voice into all places will be hurl'd—
Thou and the devil have deceiv'd the world.

Hus.
I'll not endure thee.

Gent.
But of all the worst,
Thy virtuous wife, right honourably allied,
Thou hast proclaim'd a strumpet.

Hus.
Nay then I know thee;
Thou art her champion, thou; her private friend;

The party you wot on^{2 note}.

Gent.
O ignoble thought!
I am past my patient blood. Shall I stand idle,
And see my reputation touch'd to death^{3 note}




?

Hus.
It has gall'd you, this; has it?

Gent.
No, monster; I will prove
My thoughts did only tend to virtuous love.

Hus.
Love of her virtues? there it goes.

Gent.
Base spirit,
To lay thy hate upon the fruitful honour
Of thine own bed! [They fight, and the Husband is hurt.

Hus.
Oh!

Gent.
Wilt thou yield it yet?

Hus.
Sir, sir, I have not done with you.

Gent.
I hope, nor ne'er shall do. [They fight again.

Hus.
Have you got tricks? Are you in cunning with me?

Gent.
No, plain and right:
He needs no cunning that for truth doth fight^{4 note}
. [Husband falls down.

Hus.
Hard fortune! am I levell'd with the ground?

Gent.
Now, sir, you lie at mercy.

Hus.
Ay, you slave.

Gent.
Alas, that hate should bring us to our grave^{5 note}

Hus.
Has the dog left me then,
After his tooth has left me^{6 note}
? O, my heart
Would fain leap after him. Revenge I say;
I'm mad to be reveng'd. My strumpet wife,
It is thy quarrel that rips thus my flesh,
And makes my breast spit blood^{7 note}

;—but thou shalt bleed.
Vanquish'd? got down? unable even to speak?
Surely 'tis want of money makes men weak:
Ay, 'twas that o'erthrew me^{8 note}
: I'd ne'er been down else. [Exit.

SCENE III. Another room in the same. Enter Wife* ^note, and a Servant.

Ser.
'Faith, mistress, if it might not be presumption
In me to tell you so, for his excuse
You had small reason, knowing his abuse.

Wife.
I grant I had; but alas,
Why should our faults at home be spread abroad?
'Tis grief enough within doors. At first sight
Mine uncle could run o'er his prodigal life
As perfectly as if his serious eye
Had number'd all his follies:
Knew of his mortgag'd lands, his friends in bonds,
Himself wither'd with debts^{9 note}

; and in that minute
Had I added his usage and unkindness,
'Twould have confounded every thought of good:
Where now, fathering his riots on his youth,
Which time and tame experience will shake off,—
Guessing his kindness to me, (as I smooth'd him^{1 note}

Are in form uglier than an unshap'd bear^{2 note}

,)
He's ready to prefer him to some office
And place at court; a good and sure relief
To all his stooping fortunes. 'Twill be a means, I hope,
To make new league between us, and redeem
His virtues with his lands.

Ser.

I should think so, mistress. If he should not now be kind to you, and love you, and cherish you up, I should think the devil himself kept open house in him.

Wife.

I doubt not but he will. Now pr'ythee leave me; I think I hear him coming.

Ser.

I am gone.

Wife.
By this good means I shall preserve my lands,
And free my husband out of usurers' hands.
Now there's no need of sale; my uncle's kind:
I hope, if aught, this will content his mind.
Here comes my husband. Enter Husband.

Hus.

Now, are you come? Where's the money? Let's see the money. Is the rubbish sold? those wise-acres, your lands? Why when? The money? Where is it? Pour it down; down with it, down with it: I say pour't on the ground; let's see it, let's see it.

Wife.

Good sir, keep but in patience, and I hope my words shall like you well^{3 note}. I bring you better comfort than the sale of my dowry.

Hus.

Ha! What's that?

Wife.

Pray do not fright me, sir, but vouchsafe me hearing. My uncle, glad of your kindness to me

and mild usage (for so I made it to him), hath in pity of your declining fortunes, provided a place for you at court, of worth and credit; which so much overjoy'd me—

Hus.

Out on thee, filth! over and overjoy'd, when I'm in torment? [Spurns her.] Thou politick whore^{4 note}
, subtiler than nine devils, was this thy journey to nunck? to set down the history of me, of my state and fortunes? Shall I that dedicated myself to pleasure, be now confin'd in service? to crouch and stand^{5 note}

Wife.
O, heaven knows
That my complaints were praises, and best words,
Of you and your estate. Only, my friends
Knew of your mortgag'd lands, and were possess'd
Of every accident before I came.
If you suspect it but a plot in me,
To keep my dowry, or for mine own good,
Or my poor children's, (though it suits a mother
To show a natural care in their reliefs,)
Yet I'll forget myself to calm your blood:
Consume it, as your pleasure counsels you.

And all I wish even clemency affords;
Give me but pleasant looks* ^note, and modest words.

Hus.
Money, whore, money, or I'll— [Draws a dagger. Enter a Servant hastily.
What the devil! How now! thy hasty news^{7 note}
?

Ser.
May it please you, sir—

Hus.
What! may I not look upon my dagger?
Speak, villain, or I will execute the point on thee^{8 note}

:
Quick, short.

Ser.

Why, sir, a gentleman from the university stays below to speak with you.

Hus.

From the university? so; university:—that long word runs through me.

Wife.
Was ever wife so wretchedly beset?
Had not this news stepp'd in between, the point
Had offer'd violence unto my breast.
That which some women call great misery,
Would show but little here; would scarce be seen
Among my miseries. I may compare
For wretched fortunes, with all wives that are.
Nothing will please him, until all be nothing.
He calls it slavery to be preferr'd;
A place of credit, a base servitude.
What shall become of me, and my poor children,
Two here, and one at nurse? my pretty beggars!
I see how Ruin with a palsied hand
Begins to shake this ancient seat to dust^{9 note}

The heavy weight of sorrow draws my lids
Over my dankish eyes^{1 note}


: I can scarce see;
Thus grief will last* ^note;—it wakes and sleeps with me. [Exit. SCENE IV. Another apartment in the same. Enter Husband and the Master of a College.

Hus.

Please you draw near, sir; you're exceeding welcome.

Mast.

That's my doubt; I fear I come not to be welcome.

Hus.

Yes, howsoever.

Mast.

'Tis not my fashion, sir, to dwell in long circumstance, but to be plain and effectual^{2 note}
; therefore to the purpose. The cause of my setting forth was piteous and lamentable. That hopeful young gentleman your brother, whose virtues we all love dearly, through your default and unnatural negligence

lies in bond executed for your debt,—a prisoner; all his studies amazed^{3 note}

Hus.

Umph, umph, umph!

Mast.

O you have kill'd the towardest hope of all our university: wherefore, without repentance and amends, expect ponderous and sudden judgments to fall grievously upon you. Your brother, a man who profited in his divine employments, and might have made ten thousand souls fit for heaven^{4 note}, is now by your careless courses cast into prison, which you must answer for; and assure your spirit it will come home at length.

Hus.

O God! oh!

Mast.

Wise men think ill of you; others speak ill of you; no man loves you: nay, even those whom honesty condemns, condemn you: And take this from the virtuous affection I bear your brother; never look for prosperous hour, good thoughts, quiet sleep^{5 note}

, contented walks, nor any thing that makes man perfect^{6 note}, till you redeem him. What is your

answer? How will you bestow him? Upon desperate misery, or better hopes?—I suffer till I hear your answer.

Hus.

Sir, you have much wrought with me; I feel you in my soul: you are your art's master^{7 note}. I never had sense till now; your syllables have cleft me^{8 note}

Hus.

Fill me a bowl of wine^{9 note}. [Exit Servant.] Alas, poor brother bruis'd with an execution for my sake!

Mast.

A bruise indeed makes many a mortal sore, Till the grave cure them.

Hus.

Sir, I begin to you; you've chid your welcome.

Mast.

I could have wish'd it better for your sake. I pledge you, sir:—To the kind man in prison.

Hus.

Let it be so. Now, sir, if you please to spend but a few minutes in a walk about my grounds below, my man here shall attend you. I doubt not but by that time to be furnish'd of a sufficient answer, and therein my brother fully satisfied.

Mast.

Good sir, in that the angels would be pleas'd,

And the world's murmurs calm'd; and I should say, I set forth then upon a lucky day.

Hus.

O thou confused man! Thy pleasant sins have undone thee^{1 note}

; thy damnation has beggar'd thee. That heaven should say we must not sin, and yet made women^{2 note}! give our senses way to find pleasure, which being found, confounds us! Why should we know those things so much misuse us? O, would virtue had been forbidden! We should then have prov'd all virtuous; for 'tis our blood to love what we are forbidden^{3 note}

Not able for to live, nor to redeem him!
Divines and dying men may talk of hell,
But in my heart her several torments dwell^{1 note}


;
Slavery and misery. Who, in this case,
Would not take up money upon his soul?
Pawn his salvation, live at interest?
I, that did ever in abundance dwell,
For me to want, exceeds the throes of hell^{2 note}




. Enter a little boy with a top and scourge.

Son.

What ail you, father? Are you not well? I cannot scourge my top as long as you stand so. You take up all the room with your wide legs. Puh! you cannot make me afraid with this; I fear no vizards, nor bugbears^{3 note}.

Hus.

Up, sir, for here thou hast no inheritance left* ^note.

Son.

O, what will you do, father? I am your white boy.

Hus.

Thou shalt be my red boy; take that.

Son.

O, you hurt me, father.

Hus.
My eldest beggar,
Thou shalt not live to ask an usurer bread^{4 note}

;
To cry at a great man's gate; or follow,
Good your honour, by a coach; no, nor your brother:
'Tis charity to brain you.

Son.
How shall I learn, now my head's broke^{5 note}?

Hus.
Bleed, bleed, [Stabs him.
Rather than beg. Be not thy name's disgrace:
Spurn thou thy fortunes first; if they be base,
Come view thy second brother's. Fates! My children's blood
Shall spin into your faces^{6 note}

; you shall see,
How confidently we scorn beggary! [Exit with his Son. SCENE V. A maid discovered with a child in her arms; the mother on a couch by her, asleep.

Maid.
Sleep, sweet babe; sorrow makes thy mother sleep:
It bodes small good when heaviness falls so deep.
Hush, pretty boy; thy hopes might have been better.
'Tis lost at dice, what ancient honour won:
Hard, when the father plays away the son!

Nothing but Misery serves in this house^{7 note}
;
Ruin and Desolation. Oh! Enter Husband, with his son bleeding.

Hus.
Whore, give me that boy. [Strives with her for the child.

Maid.
O help, help! Out alas! murder, murder!

Hus.
Are you gossiping, you prating, sturdy quean?
I'll break your clamour with your neck. Down stairs;
Tumble, tumble, headlong. So:— [He throws her down, and stabs the child.
The surest way to charm a woman's tongue^{8 note},
Is—break her neck: a politician did it^{9 note}

^note

.”

When this book was republished for reasons of policy, in 1641, a metrical monologue called Leicester's Ghost, was appended to it, and there likewise the same fact is recorded. The following quotation is from a more perfect and ample Ms. copy of the same poem.

Lest it should be objected to the probability of Shakspeare's having written the Yorkshire Tragedy, that he would not, on account of his intimacy with the friend of Essex, have treated the memory of Leicester with so much freedom, let me add, that the former was executed in 1600, and our author was therefore left at full liberty to adopt the common sentiments relative to this great but profligate statesman.

The foregoing passage in the Yorkshire Tragedy has indeed always stood within the reach of illustration, Leicester's Commonwealth being a printed work, and consequently in many hands. As the satire however, or foundation of the following line in the Rape of the Lock has not the same advantage, I am tempted to desert my subject, and render a long note still longer, lest a fact should be forgotten which may afford gratification to innocent curiosity.

The fanciful person here alluded to, was Dr. Edward Pelling, one of the chaplains to K. Charles II. James II. William III. and Queen Anne. He held the livings of Great St. Helen's and Ludgate, a prebend of Westminster, &c. Having studied himself into the disorder of mind vulgarly called the hyp, (for he rarely quitted his study except during dinner-time,) between the age of forty and fifty he imagined himself to be pregnant, and forebore all manner of exercise, lest motion should prove injurious to his ideal burden. Nor did the whim evaporate till his wife had assured him she was really in his supposed condition. This lady was masculine and large-bon'd in the extreme; and our merry monarch Charles being told of the strange conceit adopted by his chaplain, desired to see her. He did; and, as she quitted his presence, he exclaimed with a good round oath, that “if any woman could get her husband with child, it must be Mrs. Pelling.” I received this narrative from one of the doctor's grandaughters, who is still alive, and remembers that the line of Pope already quoted, was always supposed to have reference to the story I have here intruded on the reader.

I may also add that Mr. Pope has adopted the merriment in the next line,

from the Loyal Subject of Beaumont and Fletcher, act iv. sc. 2:

Son.
Mother, mother; I am kill'd, mother^{1 note}
. [Wife awakes.

Wife.
Ha, who's that cry'd? O me! my children!
Both, both, bloody, bloody! [Catches up the youngest child.

Hus.
Strumpet, let go the boy; let go the beggar.

Wife.
O my sweet husband!

Hus.
Filth, harlot.

Wife.
O, what will you do, dear husband?

Hus.
Give me the bastard.

Wife.
Your own sweet boy—

Hus.
There are too many beggars.

Wife.
Good my husband—

Hus.
Dost thou prevent me still?

Wife.
O God!

Hus.
Have at his heart. [Stabs at the child in her arms.

Wife.
O, my dear boy!

Hus.
Brat, thou shalt not live to shame thy house—

Wife.
Oh heaven! [She is hurt, and sinks down.

Hus.
And perish!—Now be gone:
There's whores enough, and want would make thee one^{2 note}

. Enter a Servant^{3 note}

Ser.
O sir, what deeds are these?

Hus.
Base slave, my vassal!
Com'st thou between my fury to question me^{4 note}
?

Ser.
Were you the devil, I would hold you, sir.

Hus.
Hold me? Presumption! I'll undo thee for it.

Ser.
'Sblood, you have undone us all, sir.

Hus.
Tug at thy master?

Ser.
Tug at a monster.

Hus.
Have I no power? Shall my slave fetter me?

Ser.
Nay then the devil wrestles; I am thrown.

Hus.
O villain! now I'll tug thee, now I'll tear thee;

Set quick spurs to my vassal^{5 note}