A vvoman is a vveather-cocke A new comedy, as it was acted before the King in White-Hall. And diuers times priuately at the White-Friers, by the Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Written by Nat: Field.

Actus 3

scen. Prima.

Enter Strange, knocking at a doore. Enter a Seruingman.

Stran.

I Yes Captaine Powts heere pray?

Ser.

Sir he does.

Stran.

I prethee tell him heere's a Gentleman Would speake with him.

Ser.

What may I call your name Sir?

Stra.

No matter for my name.

Ser.

Troth Sir, the Captaine is somewhat doubtfull of strangers; and being as most Captaines are, a little in debt, I know he will not speake with you, vnlesse you send your Name.

Stra.

Tell him my name is Strange, that I am come About that businesse he spake off to day.

Exit Seruant.

To haue sent a formall Challenge by a Gentleman, He being to choose his time, might peraduenture Haue made him shift himselfe the sooner ouer.

Enter Powts aboue.

Powts.

Sir, I know your businesse, you are come to serue a warrant, ot a Scitation, I will not speake with you: and get you gone quickly too, or I may happen send a Bullet through your Mazard.

Exit.

Stran.

Strange Crosse, past expectation: well Ile try, My other course may speed more happily.

Exit.

Musicke.

Enter with Table Napkins. Count, Worldly, Neuill, Pendant, Sir Innocent, Lady, Sir Abra∣ham, Seruants with wine, Plate, Tobacco and pipes.

World.

Sir, had you borne vs company to Church, You had beene the better welcome.

Count.

Faith you had, I must needs say so to.

Pen.

And I must needs say as my Lord saies.

Neu.

Sir Iohn I thanke you, and my honor'd Lord: But I am sorrie for this other Newes Concerning Mistris Kate, and my good friend.

World.

Tis certaine true: He keepes his word well too, He saide he would come to dinner.

Lady.

All we cannot get M. Katherine out of hir chamber.

World.

Oh good old woman, she is topshackeld.

Lady.

Tis pestlence Sacke, and cruell Clarret. Knight, stand to me Knight I say, vp, a cold stomacke; giue me my Aqua-vitae bottle.

Inno.

Oh Guiniuer, as I am a Iustice of peace and Co∣ram, t'were a good deed to commit thee, Fie, fie, fie.

Sir Abra.

Why alas, I cannot helpe this and I should bee hang'd, shee'le bee as drunke as a Porter: Ile tell you my Lorde, I haue seene her so bepisse the Rushes, as shee has danc'd at a Wedding: Her bellie, and that Aqua-vitae bottle, haue almost vndone my Father: VVell I thinke in Conscience, shee is not my naturall begotten Mother.

Om.

Ha, ha, ha.

Luce.

Well said my wise Sir Abraham.

Count.

Oh this Musicke and good Wine is the soule of all the world.

World.

Come, wil your Lordship make one at Primero, vntill your Bride come foorth.

Neu.

You can play well my Lord.

Count.

VVhol?

Pend.

VVho my Lord, the onelie player at Primero i'th Court.

Abra.

I'de rather play at Bowles.

Pen.

My Lords for you for that too: the onely, Bowler in London, that is not a Church warden.

Luce.

Can he fence well too M. Pendant?

Pen.

Who my Lord? the only Fencer in Christendom, hee'l hit you.

Luce.

He shall not hit me, I assure you now.

Neu.

Is he good at the exercise of drinking Sir?

Pen.

Who my Lord; the onely Drunkard i'th VVoild, drinker I would say.

Luci.

Godamercie for that.

Neu.

I would he heard him.

Neu,

Oh sie no, none so good as my Lord.

Pen,

Hardly, berladie, hardlie.

Count.

How now, whose this?

Enter Scudmore like a Seruingman, with a Letter.

World.

VVhat would you?

Scud.

I would speake with the Ladie Bellafront, From the young Ladie Lucie.

World.

You had best send in your Letter, shee is with∣drawne.

Scud.

My Ladie gaue me charge of the deliuery, And I must doo't my selfe, or cartie it backe.

World.

A trustie seruant, that way leads you to her.

Count.

This trust in Seruants is a Iewell; Come, Let vs to Bowles i'th Garden.

Exeunt

Scud.

Blessed fate.

Scudmore passeth one doore, and entereth the other, where Bellafront sits in a Chaire, vnder a Taffata Canopie,

Scud.

Oh thou, whose words and actions seemd to me, As innocent as this smooth sleepe, which hath Lockt vp thy powers: would thou hadst slept, when first Thou sent'st and proferredst me beautie and loue: I had bin ignorant then of such a losse, Happie's that wretch in my opinion, That neuer ownd scarse Iewels, or bright Somes, He can loose nothing but his constant wants: But speaklesse is his plague, that once had store, and from superfluous state fals to be poore: Such is my hell-bred hap, cou••d Nature make So faire a superficies, to enclose So false a heart; This is like gilded Tombes, Compacted of Iet Pillars, Marble stones,

Which hide from's stinking Flesh, and rotten bones. Pallas so sat (methinkes) in Hectors Tent; But time so precious and so dangerous Why do I loose thee? Madam, my Lady, Madam.

Bella.

Beleeue me my deare friend, I was enforcst: Ha, I had a Dreame as strange as thou art fellow, How cam'st thou hether? What's thy businesse?

Scud.

That Letter Madam tels you.

Bell.

Letter: Ha? What doost thou mocke me? Heere is nothing writ.

Scud.

Can you read any thing then in this face?

Bell.

Oh Basiliske, remooue thee from my sight, Or thy harts bloud shall pay thy rash attempt. Ho, Who attends vs there?

Scud.

Stirre not a foote, And stop your clamorous acclamations, Or by the bitternesse of my fresh wrongs, Ile send your Ladiship to the Deuill quicke; I know the hazard I do vndergo, and whatsoere after becomes of me, Ile make you sure first: I am come to speake, and speake I will freely, and to bring backe Your Letters, and such things you sent; and then, Ile nere see those deceiuing eyes agen.

Bell.

Oh, I am sicke of my corruption, For Godsake do not speake a word more to me.

Scud.

Not speake, yes woman, I will rore a lowd, Call thee the falsest faire that euer breath'd, Tell thee, that in this marriage, thou hast drown'd All vertue, left to credit thy weake sex, which being (as t'were) committed to thy trust, Thou traiterously hast betraid it thus. Did I intice, or euer send thee guists To allure thee, to reflect a beame on me? Nay, didst not thou thy selfe send and inuent Past humaine wit, our meanes of intercourse? Why dost thou then proue base vnto thy selfe,

Periur'd and impious, know the good thou hast lost In my opinion; doth outvalue farre The airy honors thou art married to.

Bell.

Oh peace, for you speake sharpnesse to my soule More torturous, then hels plagues to the damn'd, For loue sake heare me speake.

Scud.

For loues sake, no: Loue is my surfet, and is turn'd in me To a disease.

Bell.

Tyrant, my knees shall beg, Till they get liberty for my tongue to speake, Drown'd almost in the Riuers of mine eyes.

Scud.

What canst thou say, art thou not married?

Bell.

Alas I was enforst, first by the threats Of a seuere Father, that in his hand Did gripe my fortunes; next to that, the fame Of your neglect, and liberall tongue, Which bred my honour an eternall wrong.

Scud.

Pish, these are painted causes, till this Morne He liu'd not in this land, that durst accuse My intergritie, of such an ignorance. But take your Letters heere, your paper Vowes, Your Picture, and your Bracelets: and if euer I build againe vpon a womans faith, May sence forsake me: I will sooner trust Dice, or a reconciled enemy: Oh God, VVhat an internall ioy my heart has felt, Sitting at one of these same idle playes, When I haue seene a Maids inconstancie Presented to the life; how glad my eies Haue stole about me, fearing least my lookes Should tell the companie contented there, I had a Mistris free of all such faults.

Bell.

Oh! still retaine her, deare Scudmore heare me.

Scud.

Retaine thee so, it is impossible, Art thou not married? Tis impossible, Oh no! I do despise thee, and will flie

As far on earth as to the Antipodes, and by some learn'd Magitian, whose deepe art Can know thy residence on this Hemispheare; There Ile be placst, my seete iust against thine, To expresse the opposite Nature, which our hart•• Must henceforth hold.

Bell.

Oh rather shoot me friend, Then let me heare thee speake such bitternesse. Oh pitty me, redeeme from the hell That in this Marriage I am like to feele, Ile rather flye to barren wildernesses, and suffer all wants with thee Scudmore, then Liue with all plentie in this husbands armes, Thou shalt perceiue I am not such a woman, That is transported with vaine dignities, Oh thy deare words haue knockt at my harts gates, and entred: They haue pluckt the Diuels Vizard. (That did deforme this face, and blinde my soule) Off, and thy Bellafront presents her selfe, (Lau'd in a Bath of contrite Virginall teares,) Cloath'd in the Originall beautie that was thine: Now for thy loue to God, count this not done, Let time go backe, and be as when before it, Or from thy memorie race it for euer.

Scud.

Ha, ha, ha•• was there euer such strange creatures fram'd, Why dost thou speake such foolish sencelesse things? Can thy forsaking him redeeme thy fault? No, I will neuer mend an ill with worse. Why this example will make weomen false, When they shall heare it, that before were true, For after ill examples we do fly, But must be vow'd to deeds of piety: Oh woman, woman, woman, woman, woman, The cause of future and Originall sinne, How happy (had you not) should we haue beene, False where you kisse, but murthering in your ire, Loue all that woe, know all men you desire.

Vngratefull, yet most impudent craue, Torturous as hell, insatiate as the graue: Lustfull as Monkies, grinning in your ease, Whom if we make not Idols, we neare please. More vainly proud then fooles, as ignorant; Baser then Parasites, Witches that enchant And make vs sencelesse, to thinke death or life Is yours to giue, when onely our beleefe Doth make you able to deceiue vs so, Begot by Drunkards, to breed sin and wo. As many soule diseases hide your vaines, as there are mischiefes coin'd in your quicke braines; Not quicke in wit, fit to performe least good, But to subuert whole States, shed Seas of blood; Twice as deceitfull as are Crocodiles, For you betray both waies; with teares and smiles, Yet questionlesse there are as good, as bad: Hence, let me go.

Bell.

Heare me, and thou shalt go: I do confesse I do deserue all this, Haue wounded all the faith my sex doth owe, But will recouer it, or pay my life: Striue not to go, for you shall heare me first, I charge thee Scudmore, thou hard-hearted man, Vpon my knees: thou most implacable man, 〈…〉〈…〉 since penitence and satisfaction to, gets not thy pardon, I charge thee vse some meanes to set me free, Before the Reuels of this night haue end, Preuent my entering to this marriage bed; Or by the memorie of Lucretiaes knife, Ere Morne Ile die a Virgin, though a wise.

Exit.

Scud.

Pish do, the world will haue one mischiefe lesse.

Exit

Enter Sir Abraham throwing downe his Bowles.

Abra.

Bowle they that list, for I will Bowle no more, Cupid that lit••le Bowler in my brest

Rubs at my heart, and will not let me rest.

Rub, rub, within, flye, flye.

I, I, you may crie rub, flie to your Bowles, For you are free, loue troubles not your iowles, But from my head to heele; from heele to hat••, Behind, before, and round about I smart, Then in this Arbor sitting all alone, In dolefull Dittie, let me howle my mone. Oh Boy, leaue pricking for I vaile my Bonnet, Giue me but breath while I do write a Sonnet.

Enter Pendant.

Pen.

I haue lost my monie, and Sir Abraham too, yon∣der he sits at his Muse by heauen, drownd in the Ocean of his loue, Lord how hee labours, like a hard bounde Poet, whose braines had a frost in em, now it comes.

Abra.

I die, I sigh.

Pend.

What after you are dead? Verie good,

Abra.

I die, I sigh, thou precious stonie Iewell.

Pen.

Good: because she is hard-hearted.

Abra.

I die.

Write.

Pen.

He has di'de three times, and come againe.

Abra.

I sigh thou precious stonie Iewell, Wearing of silke, why art thou still so cruell.

Write.

Pe.

Oh Newington conceit, and quieting el••e.

Abra.

Thy seruant Abraham sends this foolish Dittie.

Pen.

You say true intro••h Sir.

Abra.

Thy Seruant Abra. sends this foolish Dit

Write

Tie vnto thee, pittie both him and it.

Write

Pen.

Tie vnto thee: well, if shee do not pittie both, tis pittie she should liue.

Abra.

But if thou still 〈◊〉〈◊〉 poore Sir Abra: ••rump

Write

Come grim death come, heere giue thy mortall thumpe. So now Ile read it together. I die, I sigh, thou precious stonie Iewell, Oh wherefore wear'st thou Sulke, yet art so cruell: To thee thy Ninnie sends this foolish Dit— Tie, and 〈…〉〈…〉 pittie both him and it,

If thou denie, and still Sir Abraham frumpe, Come grim death come, heere giue thy mortall thumpe. Let mee see, who shall I get now, to set too a dumpish Note.

Pen.

In good faith I do•• not know, but Nobody that is wise, I am sure of that. It will be an excellent matter sung to the knacking of the tongues. But to my businesse, God saue the right Worthy and Woorshipfull Sir Abraham: what musing and writing: oh, this loue will vndoo vs all, and that made me preuent loue, and vndoo my selfe: but what newes of Mistris Lucida, ha, will shee not come off, not cannot you come on little Abraham.

Abra.

Faith, I haue courted her, and courted her: and she does as euerie bodie else does, laughes at all I can doo or say.

Pen.

Laughes, why that's a signe she is pleasd; doo you not know when a woman laughes, shees pleasd.

Ab.

I but she laughes most shamefully, & most scornfully.

Pend.

Scornfully, hang her, shees but a bable.

Abra.

Shees the fitter for my turne Sir, for they will not sticke to say, I am a foole for all I am a Knight.

Pen.

Loue has made you witty little Nab, but what a mad villaine art thou, a striker, a fiftieth part of Hercules, to get one VVench with Childe, and go a wooing to ano∣ther.

Abra.

With child, a good iest efaith, whom haue I got with child.

Pen.

Why Mistris Wagtaile is with childe, and will bee deposd as yours, she is my Kinswoman, and I wold be loth our house should suffer any disgrace in her, if there be law in England, which there should be, if wee may iudge by their Consciences, or if I haue any friendes, the VVench shall take no wrong, I cannot tell, I thinke my Lorde will sticke to me.

Abra.

De'e heare, talke not to me of Friends, Lawe, or Conscience, if your Kinswoman say she is with Childe by me, your Kinswoman is an arrant whore; Vds-will, haue

you no bodie to put your Guls vppon but Knights? That Wagtaile is a whore, and Ile stand to it.

Pend.

Nay, you haue stood to it alreadie; but to call my Cozen whore, you haue not a mind to haue your throat cut: ha you?

Abra.

Truth no great minde Sir.

Drawes his sword.

Pen.

Recant your words, or die.

Abra.

Recant, oh base; out sword, my honor keepe, Loue, thou hast made a Lyon of a Sheepe.

Pen.

But will you fight in this quarrell.

Abra.

I am resolu'd.

Pen.

Hart, I haue puld an olde house ouer my heade; heeres like to bee a tall fray, I perceiue a foole's valianter then a Knaue at all times, would I were well riddle of him, I had as liue meet Hector God knowes, if he dare fight at all: they are all one to mee, or to speake more modernly, with one of the Roaring Boyes.

Abra.

Haue you done your prayers?

Pen.

Pray giue me leaue Sir, put vp an't please you: are you sure my Cofsen Wagtaile is a Whore?

Abra.

With sword in hand I do it not recant.

Pen.

VVell, it shall neuer bee saide Iacke Peudant would venter his blood in a VVhores quarrell: but VVhore or no VVhore, she is most desperately in Loue with you, praises your head, your face, your nose, your eies, your mouth; the fire of her commendations, makes the potte of your good parts runne ouer; and to conclude, if the whore haue you not, I thinke the Pond at Islington, will bee her Bathing-tubbe, and giue an ende to mortall Miserie, but if shee belye you (pray put vppe Sir:) she is an arrant whore, and so let her go.

Abra.

Does she so loue me say you?

Pen.

Yes, yes, out of all question the whore does loue you abhominable.

Abra.

No more of these soule termes if she do loue me, That goes by fate, I know it by my selfe, Ile not denie but I haue dallied with her.

Pen.

I, but hang her who ore, dallying will get no Chil∣dren.

Abra.

Another whore, and draw; where is the Girle.

Pen.

Condouling her misfortune in the Gallery, Vpon the rushes, sitting all alone, and for Sir Abrahams loue venting her mone.

Abra.

I know not what to say, Fates aboue all, Come lets go ouer-heare her, be this true, Welcome my Wagtayle, scornfull Luce adue.

Exit.

Pen.

One way it takes yet, tis a Fooles condition, Whom none can loue: out of his penurie, To catch most greedily at any wench That giues way to his loue, or faignes herowne, First vnto him, and so Sir Abraham now I hope will buy the poole where I will Fish, Thus a quicke Knaue makes a fat foole his dish.

Exit.

Enter Powts.

Powts.

I haue plaide the melancholy Asse, and partlie the Knaue, in this last businesse, but as the Parson said that got the wench with child, Tis done now Sir, it cannot bee vndone, and my purse or I must smart for it.

Enter Seruant.

Ser.

Your Trunks are shipt, and rhe Tide fals out about twelue to night.

Powts.

Ile away, this Law is like the Basiliske, to see it first, is the death ont this night: and noble London fare∣well, I will neuer see thee more, till I be knighted for my Vertues. Let me see, when shall I returne; and yet I doo not thinke but there are a great manie dubd for their Ver∣tues; otherwise how could there be so many poor knights, what att thou? whats thy newes?

Enter Strange like a Souldier amazedly.

Stra.

Zoones, a man is faine to breake open doores, ere he can get in to you.

I would speake with a Generall sooner.

Cap.

Sir you may, hee owes lesse peraduenture: or if more, he is more able to pay't: What ar't?

Stran.

A Soldier, one that liues vpon this Busse Ierkin, t'was made of Fortunatus his pouch; and these are the points I stand vpon, I am a Soldier.

Cap.

A counterset Rogue you are.

Stra.

As true a Rogue as thy selfe: Thou wrong'st me, send your man away, go too, I haue strange and welcome businesse to impart, the Merchant is deade, for shame let's walke into the fields, send away your man.

Cap.

How?

Stra.

Heere is a Letter from the lusty Kate That tels you all, I must not giue it you But vpon some conditions. Let vs walke, and send away your man.

Cap.

Go Sirrha, and bespeake Supper at the Beare, and prouide Oares, Ile see Graues-end to night.

Exit.

Stra.

The Gentlewoman will run mad after you then, Ile tell you more, let's walke.

Exit.