Totenham Court A pleasant comedie: acted in the yeare MDCXXXIII. At the private house in Salisbury-Court. The author Thomas Nabbes.

Act. 1.

Scoen. 1.

Enter WORTHGOOD and BELLAMIE, as travailing together before day.

WORTHGOOD.

COme, my Delight; let not such painted griefes Presse downe thy soule: the darknesse but presents Shadowes of feare, which should secure us best From danger of pursuit.

Bella.

Would it were day: My apprehension is so full of horrour, I thinke each sound the ayre's light motion Makes in these thickets, is my Vncles voyce, Threatning our ruines.

Worth.

Let his rage persist To enterprise a vengeance; wee'l prevent it. Wrap't in the armes of night (that favours Lovers) We hitherto have scap'd his eager search, And are arriv'd neere London. Sure I heare The Bridges Catarracts, and such like murmures As night and sleepe yeeld from a populous number.

Bella.

But when will it be d••y? the light hath com••ort. 〈…〉〈…〉 s••nses being lost, The l••st are lesse delighted.

Worth.

Th'early Cocke Hath sung his summons to the dayes approach: 'Twill instantly appeare. Why, startled Bellamie!

Bella.

Did no amazing sounds arrive your eare? Pray listen.

Worth.

Come, come; 'Tis thy feare su••gest's Illusive fancies: under Loves protection We may presume of sa••etie.

Within.

Follow, follow, follow.

She startles from him.

Bel.

Ay me,'tis sure mine Vncle. Deare Love.

Worthgood.

Wor.

Astonishment gath seiz'd my faculties. My Love, my Bellamie. Ha!

Bella.

Dost thou forsake me Worthgood?

Exit, as loosing him,

Worth.

Where's my ••ove? Dart from thy silver Crescent one faire beame Through this black ayre thou Governesse of night, To shew me whither she is led by feare. Thou envious darknesse to assi••t us hither, And now prove fatall.

Within.

Follow, follow, follow.

Worth.

Silence your noyse, ye clamorous ministers Of this injustice. Bellamie is lost; Shee's lost to me. Nor her fierce Vncles rage Who whets your eagre aptnes to pursue me With threats or promises; nor his painted terrors Of lawes severity, could ever worke Vpon the temper of my resolute soule, To soften't into feare, till she was lo••t:

Hollow within.

Not all th'illusive horrors which the night Presents unto th'imagination T'affright a guilty conscience, could possesse me, Whilst I possest my Love: the dismall shrieks

Of fatall Owles, and groanes of dying Mandrakes, Whilst her sost palme warm'd mine, were musicke to me, And were this hand but once more clasp't in hers, This should resist th'assault, inspir'd by love With more then humane vigour.

Within.

Follow, follow, follow.

Worth.

Their light appeare's. No safety doth con••ist In passion or complaints. Night, let thine armes Againe receive me; and if no kinde minister Of better fate guide me to Bellamie; Be thou eternall.

Within.

Follow, follow, follow.

Scoene. 2.

Enter Vncle, servants and tenants with lights, as pursuing them.

Vnc.

Come, wing your hasts: I'le sweeten all your labours With large rewards: doe but recover them, I'le ease your rents; exact no costly customes; Quarrell no more about your commons title. Good neighbours forward: London's not farre off.

1 Ten.

'Tis so farre off, that I cannot see it.

Vncle.

The day will soone discover it.

2 Ten.

That day is sure a notable informer; yet I believe He spyes more bad then he mends.

Vncle.

Come, follow me this way.

Exit with his seruants.

1 Ten.

Yes, we will follow; but at some wiser distance: Stay neighbour let him goe. Shall wee rob our carcasses of sleepe all night, that have beene sufficiently tyr'd with the dayes toyles, for his reward? what will that be thinke you? a Christmas dinner; with a Chine of his great Oxe that dy'd at watering of the blayne.

2 Ten.

You say well neighbour:

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And a st••ale hare with a great pudding in her belly.

1 Ten.

And the discourse of his Worships hunting her: how many doubles shee made, and mock't his Wor••hips hope of a better dinner so long, till hee thought in his con∣ference she was a Lancashire Witch.

2 Ten

Yes neighbour, and a choller of Brawne that was fatten'd with stale porredge.

1 Ten.

And a goose that broke her necke, creeping through the hedge into the Parsons stubble.

2 Ten.

No neighbour, let the young couple goe, and much joy go with them. Let us take up our rests in this thic∣ket, or the next house; for I am as sleepy as if I had eaten a Puppie.

1 Ten.

How, eat a Puppie▪

2 Ten.

Yes, a Puppie; I heard our Landlords Carter speake it last Whitsontide in a Play.

1 Ten.

And I am as drousie as a Constable at midnight.

2 Ten.

Why then resolv'd: 'twill be day presently: let's put ont the candle, and go to bed, and farewel Landlord.

Exeunt.

The third Scoene.

Enter BELLAMIE.

Bella.

The day begins to breake; and trembling light As if affrighted with this nights disaster, Steales through the farthest ayre, and by degrees Salutes my weary longings. Yet 'tis welcome, Though it betray me to the worst of fate Love and desire e're suffer'd. Oh my Worthgood, Thy presence would have check't these passions; And shot delight through all the mists of sadnesse, To guide my feare safe through the paths of danger: But thou art lost, and all my joyes are fled Not to returne without thee.

Singing within a farre off.

Bella.

New feares assault me. 'Tis a womans voyce. She sings; and in her mus••cks cheerefulnesse Seemes to expresse the freedome of a heart Not chain'd to any passions. Be propitious Thou regent o're my fate, and guide her hither Vnto my comfort.

The SONG within.

What a dainty life the milke-maid leads? When ov•••• the flowry meades She dabbles in the dewe, And sings to her Cowe; And feeles not the paine Of love or disdaine. She sleepes in the night, though she toyles in the day; And merrily passeth her time away.

Bella.

What a blest state is this? the minds content Sweeten's all sufferings of th'afflicted sense. Those that are bred in labour thinke it sport Aboue the soft delights which wanton appetite Begets ••or others, whom indulgent fortune Prefers in her degrees; though equall nature Made all alike. Oh, might I change my misery For such a shape of quiet.

The fourth Scoene.

To her CICELEY, as going to milking.

She comes this way. He venture to accost her.

Cice.

Ha! what silken butterfly's yonder! Shee looks not like one that had kept her selfe warme all night at the Brick-kils: yet silke petticoates many times are glad with worse lodging.

Bella.

Good morrow maid.

Cice.

Should I salute you so, 'twould bring my wit in question. Pray you what are you?

Bella.

A distrest maid.

••••ce.

A maid at your years, and so neere London; where the ••tate of one at 15. is as rate a•• a light wenches conversion. Never an early walking gallant to take you up this morning! The Parke here hath fine conveniences: or Totenham Court's close by: Tis suspected that fine Citie Ladies give away fine things to Court Lords for a Countrey Banquet there.

Bella.

I cannot const••ue it; my innocenc•• makes under∣standing uselesse. Good mayd, wife or widdow (for sure you are a woman) doe a courteous office to your sexe in me, and guide me to London.

Cice.

It seems you are a kinde Countrey Gentlewoman, that have bestow'd your Maidenhead on your Fathers ser∣vingman, and are come up to have a Citizen foder your brok••n ware. The pollicie is growne stale: 'twould hardly take ever since the Ballad curst the Carrier that brought her ••o towne.

Bella.

Y'are a bad woman sure: and from th'aboun∣dance of you owne foule ils suspect all others.

Cice.

The to, is angry, it would faine counterfeit some∣thing: perhaps to insinuate her selfe, and make me her a∣gent. But you are deceiv'd my pretty morfell of wanton∣nesse; my selfe and my Milke-paile are both honest: I have no disguis'd tone of Come, or three penny thrip to cloake a procure••se. I am not the Blades intelligence whether Franke or Moll remove their lodgings to scape the Constables search and Bridewell. I will to my Cowes, and leave you to the fate of the morning: despaire not of a customer; but be sure I catch you not napping; for if I doe, I have lesse mer∣cy then Prentices at Shrovetide. I hate hedge-coupling worse then fasting at Christmas, or a Puritans long Grace over short Commons.

Bella.

If you are good, pray stay and comfort me.

The sense of my 〈…〉〈…〉

Cice.

Why let but an honest 〈…〉〈…〉 in Middlesex) finde you not guilty of any thing that may make compassion deafe — ••las, she sownes; poo••e gen∣tlewoman, bee comforted. Should shee miscarry, I were in danger, having no witnesse to purge the suspition of being her murderesse.

Bella.

Worthgood farewell.

Cice.

Ha! what said she? Worthgood! I have heard my Father often speake that name, and sigh after it. Alas, she is dead; her breath scarce moves.

The fifth Scoene.

To them Keeper and Slip.

Oh Father, you are come in time to see me undone: I met this Gentlewoman as I was going to milking, and shee is fallen dead. I shall be questioned.

Keep.

Why what is she?

Cice.

Nay that's as hard to tell, as the successe of my danger. She nam'd one Worthgood.

Keep.

That word strike's deepe amazement. Is shee quite dead!

Cice.

Dead as a herring Sir.

Slip.

And are not you in a pickle Cicely? She is not dead Sir; she breathes.

Keep.

She may be recover'd. Pull her by the nose.

Slip.

Pull it off: no matter for spoyling her face if shee be dead.

Keep.

Wring her by the little finger.

Slip.

Her little finger is ring'd; and I will wring it ••rom her.

Cice.

No robbing the dead Slip.

Slip.

Why should the dead partake of living ceremonies?

Keep.

Cast water on her face.

Slip.

Blow winde in her face. Can water make one alive that's dead? unlesse it be hot water.

Keep.

Her spirits are return'd; give her more ayre.

Slip.

A womans spirits? they are divellish sure: I had best conjure them backe againe.

Bella.

Where am I! what a pleasant vision Pleas'd my dead slumbers, and presented joyes. As I was passing through th'eternall shades Towards Elisium, one of fates Ministers Told me I should returne; and this same day Enjoy my Worthgood.

Keep.

What's he should own that name! wonder and doubt Have rais'd a warre within me, Looke up mistris: You shall not want what comfort we can give you.

Bella.

De••end me gentle powers: yet yee shall never O'retake my heart: thats still with Worthgood.

Keep.

For some blest Oracle to unfold the meaning Of this so oft repeated name.

Bella.

Ere you returne me to my angry Vncle. My soule shall ••lie and meet with his embraces.

Keep.

What meane you gentlewoman?

Bella.

You are murderers O•• that content in me goodnesse would cherish▪ You serve the purposes of a passionate man For base reward; and that shall render you Base to opinion.

Slip.

Pray sir, let mee conjure downe this Divell in her tongue; 'twill raise tempests else. Murderers, and base! Pray Gentlewoman, to whom speake you all this?

Bella.

To you, the injurers of my true love And Worthgoods.

Keep.

Mistris, we know you not; and all your words Appeare distraction: Nor can they satisfie Our yet amazement.

Bella.

If you are not such As my too fearefull apprehension thought you,

Pray, what are ye?

Keep.

Such as doe compassionate Your feeling sorrowes, and would comfort you.

Bella.

You'l then performe an act of piety Worthy record. Since my distresse hath made me The object of your pitty; pray conduct me To some neere house, for I am wondrous faint.

Keep.

Goe home with her daughter; use your best care in administring to her: we know not what fate depends upon it. When I have walkt the round I'le returne.

Exeunt.

Slip.

But pray Ciceley, withall, neglect not my break∣fast. Rising early and walking gets us good stomacks: yet I could be content to fast with such lac'd mutton and a good cullice more then hal••e a morning.

Keep.

What passions fight within me, that beget Severall constructions of this accident? But what my hope interprets cannot be. How apt is misery to dreame that blessings Are all immediate, and no underworkings Of meanes and counsell! I'le not sl••tter it; (Tis but th'eff••ct of passion) but returne To my delight of labour. Saw you the heard Last night sir••ah?

Slip.

Yes, sir.

Keep.

And how fed they?

Slip.

With their mouthes.

Keep.

You'l not leave your sawcie wit, untill it be bea∣ten out of you.

Slip.

'T would be but sawcily done of it to leave me so: but if it wil not keepe me from beating, I'le keepe it no lon∣ger; but be mannerly. The deare fed well sir, onely a mis∣chance. Some Cuckolds curre (for I saw him run towards London) had pull'd downe two or three young deare.

Keep.

And what did you with them?

Slip.

I sent a Fawne to a wanting poet, a friend of mine; who I presume will make profitable use of it. Dresse it in

some lamentable ••pitaph and dedicate to his ningle: whose c••mp••ssion to ••ounty must redeeme his lavender'd plush, and commend him againe to converse with s••cke and good company.

Keep.

You have surely glean'd from that Poet.

Slip.

Somthing to make people laugh at me.

Keep.

Wh••t did you with the rest?

Slip.

A longing Lady in the strand had a pricket. Then I s••nt a soare to Ba••ber-Surgeons Hall. A little soare makes them a great feast.

Keep.

Well sirrah, round you the s••uth side oth'Parke; and meet me at the great Oake. I'le this way.

The sixth Scoene.

To them WORTHGOOD very pensive.

Slip.

Pray stay sir, who comes yonder?

Keep.

Hee seemes a discontented Gentl••man. S••me dueller perhaps.

Slip.

Some hot spur'd Gallant, that got a drunken fea∣ver last night, and must bleed this morning.

Keep.

Perhaps to revenge an affront done his Mistris.

Slip.

His common Mistris you m••ane sir.

Keep.

It needs no adjective the sense is common enough.

Slip.

So is the creature; a Cart take them. They have infected more honest Alehouses with bad names, then Cakes and Creame will ever restore againe. A wench is growne a necessary appendix to two pots at Totenham Court.

Keep.

To your walke sirrah. I'le observe him.

Slip.

And I'le home to observe how I can sleepe after early rising. If my master should catch me napping, 'tis but dreaming a lie to excuse it. I'le perswade him 'tis as true Prophecie as Bookers Almanacke.

Exit.

Worth.

After so many longings to sal••te The welcome light, it hath betray'd my sense

To worse affliction, then if sights privation Had made it uselesse; since it wants the object Can both delight and feed it, Back blushing morne To thy Mygdonian bed; there shake the dew From thy wet locks; and teach thy guilty shame To dye that red in an eternall black, Vnlesse it bring more comfort.

Keep.

Discontent Rides on his forehead; and doth seeme to trample Vpon his soules dejection. Would I knew him. Good morrow Sir.

Worth.

Ha! tis a faire salute. I doe returne your wish.

Keep.

Sir, you must pardon me If I seeme curious in some few demands. My office and this place are priviledge For more then questions. Pray Sir what are you?

Worth.

This sure is Marrowbone-Parke, and he the Keeper. A Gentleman that comes not to offend you. I spoyle no game: you see I am unfurnish'd Of instruments for such a wanton mischiefe.

Keep.

But Sir, without a better satisfaction I must suspect you still. Mere recreation To walke for health seldome invites young Gallants To leave their beds so early. I must have more.

Worth.

Must sawcie groome! can any patience Conster it manners? Your rude compulsion shall not Enforce me to expresse so weake a spirit, Whilst I have hands, and this.

Keep.

At that guard Sir? Then this must countercheck it. Either tell me Your name, condition, and your busines here; By my just anger for this foule provoking I shall not spare you else.

Worth.

How happie now Might this occasion make me, were she lost

Beyond that hope which whispers her yet safety! I must preserve my sel••e. Yo•••••• thou t••iumph'st In my submission, 'cause I had rather lose A little outward credit to prevent Wo••se mischiefe, know I can devise revenge, Shall be a faire example for b••se difference From the pretence of any borrowed power To overdoe it's duty. My name's Worthgood.

Keep.

Enough; that word hath power to check the force Of any passion, though the hottest rage Enslam'd it to be active.

Worth.

Heer's a change. Why sure my name's a sp••ll. How it hath calm'd The tempest of his fury!

Keep.

What black starre Was found th'ascendant in my crooked birth: That all my lifes sad accidents should be Such pregnant ils begetting one another! One suddaine ra••••nesse in a moment might Perhaps have min'd him my dutie honours: Making this hand a mover to his death, Whose life I ought to cherish.

Worth.

What would'st else?

Keep.

Nothing but pardon Sir; or if you please Th'occasion brought you hither. Lost you no company?

Worth.

It cannot sure be feare that makes me jealous. I dare the worst of fate. Be he an actor In my pursute, I'le venture all at once. I have lost a Gentlewoman, and doubt her safety: If any chance hath guided you to find her, Doe not delay my satisfaction.

Keep.

I joy that chance made me the instrument Of such a good. Please you to follow me. I'le guid you to this pensive one, that grieves More your fear'd losse then her owne misery. She nam'd you oft; when (by her fit transported)

Recovering from a sowne, she thought her selfe Surpriz'd by some that meant her injurie.

Worth.

Shall I give faith? my resolution's mad; Yet it shall trye th'event. Despaire my bring A good successe to an indifferent thing.

Exeunt.