As it hath bene sundry times Acted by the Children of the Kings Majesties Reuels.
LONDON. Imprinted by E. Allde, and are to bee solde by Arthur Iohnson, at the signe of the white Horse, nere the great North doore of Saint Paules Church. 1607.
The Actors names.
- The Olde Lord Nonsuch.
- Alderman Venter. A Marchant
- Sir Timothy Troublesome. a iealious Knight
- The Lady Troublesome. The iealious Knights wife
- Maister Correction. The Pedant
- Mistris Correction. The Midwife
- Peg. The Ladie Troublesomes Kinswoman
- Nan. Old Venters Daughter.
- Nucome. The Welch Courtier
- Boy. Nucomes Page
- The foure Schollers.
- The young Lord Nonsuch
- a Begging Soldier.
- aswaggering captaine.
- Maister Exhibition, The Ins•a•court man.
To his much honoured, beloued, respected, and iudiciall friend▪ Maister Robert Hayman.
SIR, I must needs discharge two Epistles vpō you the one the Readers, that should be like haile shot▪ that scatters and strikes a multitude, the other dedicatory, like a bul∣let, that aimes onely at your selfe: if either doe strike you, it shal bee at your choice, whether I shall hit you in the head, to let you vnderstand my meaning, or in the heart, to make you conceiue my loue: yet I must confesse, I had ra∣ther expresse my loue out of the flint, then my meaning in a∣ny part of the shot. I aime at you rather then the Reader, be∣cause since our trauailes I haue bene pregnant with desire to bring foorth something whereunto you may be witnesse, and now being brought a bed if you please to bee Godfather, I doubt not b•t this childe shal be wel maintained, seeing hee cannot liue aboue an houre with you, and therefore shall in∣treat you, when he is dead, he may be buried deepe enough in your good opinion, and he shall deserue this Epitaph:
Heere lies the Childe, who was borne in mirth, against the strict rules of all Childe-birth: and to be quit, I gaue him to my friend, Who laught him to death, and that was his end.
Yours while he is his owne: E: S
The Scene in London.
MY Lord, you know your selfe and I haue long liu'd friends, and shal we now with firme affection knit? tie fast our friend∣ship in our Of-springs loue, conuey our cares in one, our goods together, and our loues in them, and whiles the remnant of our aged daies doe last, lets do'ff all discontents, cast by the worldes incombers, and leaue the carefull burthen of keeping that, was care enough to get vppon the youthfull hope of their more able strength.
O Neighbour Venter, doe you not knowe that to marrie a Childe, is but to marre a man? for hee that cuts a tender twig in springing, both marres his length and spoiles his growing: my sonne shall first see twentie yeares of age, before my condesent shal once be giuen to make him father of a sonne: Besides, your daughter yet is very yong: and though in Womens sex 'tis alwaies seene, desire to mariage rides alwaies in post; yet in their Inne repen∣tance is their host: the fault of this is alwaies knowne to be, through foolish husbands: or such as are to young, for Children to their wiues are like fruite halfe ripe, they yeeld no taste, nor giue no sweete delight.
Beholde, heere comes my young Lord, the verye modell of your selfe, the Vigor of your youth, and strength of all your future hopes.
And hee is welcome, what suddaine gust (my Sonne) in hast hath blowne thee hither, and made thee leaue the Court, where so many earth-treading starres a∣dornes the sky of state? or as the summers speckled flowry garment is spread about the seate of Maiestie? what is the rea•on thou hast left this earthly Paradice, to visite vs be∣fore our expectation?
My loue deare Father (to your faire wife) Page [unnumbered] hath made my houres of absence from this place, seeme teadious yeares, I could not but returne from whence I came, as like to man, the which of clay was framde, at first did walke a while vpon the earth, but in the end return'd to dust; or like a Riuer, which through the earth doth drawe his life and spring from out the sea. Thus I that from you sprung, haue runne my course awhile, but now as to my sea, returne to you againe.
Thy answere with thy wisdome hath in∣rich'd thy welcome: deare friendes, I pray you set your handes to this my deed.
I doe my Lord, with all deuoted loue.
And I which hate my wife his mistris: his welcome home, will breede my ill at home, I breede my hornes as Children teeth, with sicknesse and with paine: and yet I will with as smoothe a face as my wife will giue me leaue, make showe of welcome. Sir, I much reioyce to see you, and doubt not, but ere long, youl'• come & see where my poore house doth stand.
Or else I were vnworthie of your loue if I neglect the visitation of so kinde friends as your selfe and my deare mistris.
Visitation! my wife's not sick, what visitation? Tis I am ill, tis the horne plague I haue, I am sure that's not Gods visitation, yet they are the Lords tokens, for hee hath sent them me: but marrie when you will, ile trie and you bee a Chandler, ile see if you'le take your owne tokens againe: wel, but in the mean time, I am marked for death, yet hee'l be in the pit before me. O that I should bee a Cuckold! a creature of the last edition, and yet of the olde print.
O sir, What make you heere, when there's a gallant Gentleman newly come from Court, talking with∣in with my Lady.
Ye• more Courtiers, more Gallants, more Gentle∣men? Page [unnumbered] now in a hūdred thousand horned diuils names, what makes a there? what is a gone to bed to your Lady? doth a Cuckold mee in mine own house, in mine own chamber? nay in mine owne Sheets? what he's come to visite her to, is a not, ha? But let me see, I haue now found out a tricke to know if my wife make me a Cuckold, I will geld my selfe, & then if my wife be with childe, I shal be sure I am a Cuc∣kold, that will do braue yfaith, God a mer•ie braine.
Sir, I am sorry that I cannot with that free scope of friendly entertainment, giue welcome to your worth, because a iealious spirit haunts my husband, which doth disturbe vs all, this diuill hath long vext h•m, and hee as long vext me, & were I not compos'd of more then of an ordinarie female spirit, the burthen of his wrongs would tyre me quite.
Sir, this is my husband.
I cry ye mercy sir, I did not see ye.
A man would thinke ye saw me, for I am sure yee haue hit me right enough.
I pray sir be not angrie, I haue not any way of∣fended you, nor would—
Nay, nay, though I be, ye may be friendes again with me in spite of my teeth, for looke ye sir: my wife and I are but one, and then though I fall out with you, you may fall in with her.
Sir, I come not to offend you, nor—
Nay, nay, ye may, ye may yfaith, ye may, my wife is charitable, and would bee glad by such a meanes to make vs friends.
Sir, then knowe, I scorne my eyes should stand as witnesses vnto your Ladies wrongs, and let you goe vnpu∣nished: slight see a sweet Lady abusde!
Sir you shall not touch him, husband you are to blame, your madnesse makes you much forget your man∣ners, and wronges my hi• birth, to make me the only can∣kerd, and worme eaten braunch that sprung out of my fa∣fathers Page [unnumbered] noble stocke. No, no, knowe that the tree from which I grew, brought foorth good fruite to all, not bad to you: but hence foorth ile shake handes with mirth; and entertaine a carelesse humor: for looke ye sir, the Diuell giues this iellousie to man, as nature doth a taile vnto a Ly∣on, which thinkes in heat to beate away the Flies, when he doth moste inrage himselfe with it: but come sir, will ye bee my seruant, my sipher, my shadowe, or indeede anye thing?
Your shadowe if you please, and you my sub∣stance.
With all my heart.
I, I warrant her with al her heart, and now must be doe as all shadowes doe, when night comes, creeps into the substance.
Say a doe, do'y heere husband, I heare doe vow be∣fore all the watchfull guard of heauen, that I haue liu'd as true vnto thy bed, & chaste vnto thy loue, as ere was Turtle to hir mate: but hence forrth cerimonious custome shall not curbe me of delight, let her be bridel'd by opinion, whose weake desires cannot break her rain•s: for my part, ile make you know my will is like a flint, smoothe and colde, but being hardly strooken, sparkles forth fire euen in the strikers eyes: I am a sham'd that I haue sa•id thus much, yet I may lawfully speake, for why? come sir, will ye walke? the prouerbe saies, giue loosers leaue to talke.
O wages, wages, O honest wages! what other Gal∣lants come to your Lady in my absence?
Truely sir, sometimes there comes a proper yong Gentleman one Maister Woodlie.
Would lie! with whome would he lie good Wa∣ges?
Why with my Lady sir, and he could get her good will: but he is a Gentleman I can assure yee sir, for he walkes alwaies in bootes, but in troth his gentility is some∣thing decaying, his bootes are on their death-bed, for their Page [unnumbered] soules are vpon parting, and I thinke he be a Souldier too, for his sword and his hangers are more worth then all his cloathes, and a is a verie proper man, for he is as tall as one of the Guard, and he wil come sometimes and take my La∣die by the hand, and pumpe for witte halfe an houre to∣gether.
How doost meane, pumpe, ha!
Why sir, thus he will take my Lady by the hand, and wring it halfe an houre together, and say no∣thing.
Is that pumping for wit?
O sir I, for he that wringes a faire Lady by the hand, and saies nothing, doth but pumpe for witte, that's certaine.
A moste wittie exposition, of what yeares.
Faith sir he's indeede a man of no eares, for a hath beene on the Pillarie.
But what makes the cropeard stallion with my wife then?
Alasse nothing but lies with her, and shee lies with him, would you haue any more?
More! no, too much by heauen, nay then twa's past suspisition, past doubt, past iealousie, is not my haires turnd all to hornes? am I not a monstrous and deformed Beast? my wife's a Goddesse (though not Diana) she can trans∣forme: I branch wages, I brāch, do I not? am not I a good∣ly screene for men to hang their hats vpon.
Why sir? ye are no Cuckold:
No? no Cuckold? he lies with your Ladie, and your Ladie lyes with him, yet I am no cuckold.
Why no, giue me but attention, and with a worde ile wipe away your hornes.
No, no, wordes are to weake to wipe them off, when deede haue put them on.
But heare me sir.
with open eares to swallow comfort.
I met my Ladie and he fast by the Garden wall, & asking for your iealious worship, they both replide you were not iealious, this spoke they both together: in this, you know they both did lie together, and yet made you no cuckold.
Ha! mean'st so?
Euen so indeede sir.
Nay, then I crie ye mercy wife, yfaith shee yet may chance be honest.
O sir, verie honest as a prettie Semsteris, or a poore waiting Gentlewoman.
Well Wages, if I be a Cuckold—
Why sir, what will ye doe if ye be?
What will I doe? ile make it knowne, for I will bee a Cittizen, and so be a Subiect for Poets, and a slaue to my owne wife, therefore followe mee Wages, I will doo't.
O griefe! how thou torment'st me, it dwels in mine eyes, feastes on my blood: swimmes in my teares, and lodges in my heart. O heauen! haue I deseru'd this plague? O Husband! why should'st thou vse mee thus? was not my behauiour vnto thee as soft as Downe, as smoothe as pollish'd christall, I and my loue as cleere? was I not like a hand-maide, euen obedient to thy verye thoughts? did not my nuptiall duetie like a shadowe fol∣lowe the verie turning of thine eye? Oh! thou once didst loue mee, but thy loue was too hot, and like to selfe consu∣ming fire, it burnt out, and how soone, tis turn'd to colde ashes, & therfore hencefoorth ile seeme iealious of him: for since all indeuours faile, ile now trye if Iealousie can driue out iealousie: and here is fit occation for to work vpon: Why how now Husband, wooing of another wife before my death, whence comes this? in my conscience tis a plague that Cupid hath laine vppon mee for sleeping Page [unnumbered] croslegd in your absence. What, are ye growne as wearie of your wife as of a foule shirt? must ye be changing?
Good madam be patient.
Patient! no, you are his patient, and he is your Phisi∣tian, a ministers to ye (with a Morbus Gallicus take ye both) I pray forsooth let mee bee your Butler, and scrape your Trenchers, since I am alreadye faine to liue of your lea∣uinges.
Woman, art Iellious?
Because you giue me cause: but man are you iealious?
Because thou giuest me cause.
True, false, thou hast beene false indeed, abusd my bed, infected euen my verrie blood, and made it growe to hard impostumes on my browes: hast thou not wantonly, chang'd naked imbracements with strangers? abus'd thy nuptial vowe? hath notthy vnsatiate womb, brought forth the bastardie of lust to call me father? but ile abandon thee, disclaime that, and hate ye both.
Do'y heare me sir, vpon my conscience you doe wrong your Ladie.
If I wrong her, youle doe her right, I beare a blow of yours, the which I neuer felt, you are like a mans Taylor that workes with open shop for the Husband, but if you chance to doe any thing for the wife, you must doe it in∣wards, inwards! you are a good workeman, I must needes say't: you haue fitted my wiues body, how sa'y wife, has anot?
Not, but you can euen in my sight cast amorous glances on others: you haue forsook my bed, abhorred my presence▪ and like a man past grace and shame, strout like a pimpe before a wanton feather waging minkes at hie noone: besides, did not I finde thee kissing of thy Maide?
Did not I finde thee in priuate conference with my horsegroome?
Didst thou not offer thy maide a new gowne, for a nights lodging?
Didst not thou giue a Diamond to the Butler?
Didst not thou send a bow'd Angel to thy Landres∣sse Daughter?
No tis false.
Yes, tis true, and then when I told thee on't, thou swarest twas out of charitie, because the Wench was poore, her Father a• honest man, and her Mother a pain∣ful woman: for these and these causes you were kinde vnto the Daughter, great whil'st I was contented to beleue, be∣cause I was vnwilling, like a faint harted Soldier to looke of myne owne wounds, vntill I saw thou daylie woundst my loue a new, and slew'st thine one reputation.
No, but a little Iealious like you, I will no longer mantaine thy, sanguine sin, sooth lust with patience, nor in broken singing language flatter thy folly, as sweet hart do not wāder: for I doe loue thee deare as doth a Goose her Gander: a Goose indeed for if ought but a Goose, I should a sought reuenge for wronges.
What art drunke?
No, for I haue sufficiēt reason, too much knowledge, and sence enough to feele my wronges: why should wee women bee slaues to your imperfections? haue wee not soules of one mettall, are we not as free borne as you? are we not all Adams Of-spring? did not you fall as well with him as wee, and shall wee bee still kept downe and you rise?
Doost heare? ye are a sort of vncertaine giddy wa∣uering, tottering tumbling creatures, your affections are like your selues, and yourselues like your affections, vp & downe, like the tuckes on your Petticotes, which you let fall and take vp as occasion serues: I haue seene of your sex fall in loue with a man, for wearing a hansome Rose on Page [unnumbered] his shoe: another fall into the passion of the heart, to see a man vntie his pointe, to make water: a third fall into the shaking Ague for eating a bodie cherry with two stones, and yet youl' be fellowes, euen with the verie image of your maker: but wilt let me alone, and yfaith ile be qui∣et.
A lone! faith no.
Then ile leaue thee, since I know tis folly beyond madnesse, to make her pleasure cause of my sadnesse.
Beleeue it Lady, this was well done, and like a La∣dy of a hie birth: make your husband know his aduaunce∣ment.
O shadow, shadowe, I would haue you knowe I would not wrong him for all the seas drown'd ritches: for if my heart of bloud should doe it as hee supposeth it doth, euen that bloud would like a traytor write my faultes with blushing redde vpon my cheekes: but because I (as all wo∣men and Courtyers doe) loue good cloathes which his eyes weare, yet hee abraides me, swearing tis to please the multitude, and that I spread gay raggs about mee like a nette to catch the hearts of strangers: if I goe poore, then hee sweares I am beastly, with a loath∣ed sluttishnesse: if I bee sad, then I grieue hee is so neare: if merrie, and with a modest wantonising kisse Imbrace his Loue, then are my twistings more dan∣gerous then a Snakes, my lust more vn•atiate then was Messal•nas: Yet this from Iealiousie doth alwaies growe. What moste they seeke they loth'st of all would knowe. But now to you deare Cousen, forgiuenesse let mee aske, and pardon for my •ained Iealousie, and take but thus much of my counsaile. Marrye not in hast, for she that takes the best of Husbands, puts but on a gouldē fetter, for husbands are but like to painted fruite, which promise much, but still deceaues vs when wee come to touch: if you match with a Courtier, heele haue a dozen mistresses at least, and repent his marriage within foure and Page [unnumbered] twentie houres at moste, swearing a wife is fit for none but an olde Iustice or a countrie Gentleman. If ye marry a Citizen (though ye liue neuer so honest) yet yee shall bee sure to haue a Cuckold to your Husband. If a Lawyer, the neatenesse of his Clarke will drawe in question the good carriage of his wife. If a Merchant, heele be ven∣turing abroad, when a might deale a great deale more safe at home: therfore come Cousen come, lets home, and this take of mee, That amongst the best there's none good, all ill: shee's marryed best that's: wedded to her will.
They say Cupid is a boy, yet I haue known him confute the oppinon of all your Phylosphers: for they hold euerie light thing tendes dyrectlye vp: but I thinke all knowe hee makes euerie light wench, fall directly downe. Well I am sure a hath knocked mee with his bird bolt, for the which Venus giue him cor∣rection; for I doe alreadie loue a Ladye of an imcompara∣ble delicacie, but shee's another mans, and will shutte her eares as close to keepe out charmes, as great men doe their gates, to keepe in almes. Yet I haue no reason to dis∣paire, for I haue kis'd her, and the French prouerbe saies, Fame baissee est demie ioyee, a woman kis'd is halfe inioyed: but I feare he meanes but the vpper halfe.
I haue heere a Letter must worke a strange thing, and yet no miracle, it must make a La•ie loue her friend better then her owne husband.
Saue ye my Lord.
O Wages! what Tennis-ball ha's fortune taken thee for, to tosse thee thus into my way?
I hope yee will not strike me into any hazard of my life though.
But what's the newes my Lad, what's the newes? how doth Sir Timothie Troublesome, that iellious knight thy Maister.
Why sir, a doth with his wife like a cowardly Cap∣taine in a towne of Garrison, feares euerie assault, trembles at the battery, and doubts moste, least the gates should bee opened, and his enemie let in at midnight.
Now in the name of destiny who feares a?
O sir▪ next to you self, none so much as your Cour∣tier, for euen with vennum'd Breath, a speaks of them: for saith he, haue but a suite to one of thē, & they are like Iour∣daines, which though ye open the Fludgates of your boun∣tie, and fill them to the verie brimme, yet theile alwaies stand gaping for more.
But doost thou thinke his Ladie honest?
As womans flesh may be.
But shee ha's beene a Courtier, and therfore know∣ing moste good, me thinkes she would commit least ill.
O sir, I will not but with sanctified and halowed thoughts, touch Sinthias brightest beames, whome all eyes doe adore, and hearts doe worship: where purest cha∣stitie doth shine in spotlesse robes of splendant maiestie, where nature emulating heauen to make her euen as faire as she is vertuous, but yet I well could wish, you know y•in the skie of Court are many starres, the which at midnight shoote and fall.
True, through moste of the twelue signes, for they shoote from their Husbands at Aries (which gouerns the head) and fall at Scorpio, and so indeede they shoot from top to taile: but honest Wages, will ye binde me to 'y.
I thinke sir twill not bee so much for your health, as if I should keepe you sollable.
I meane in courtesie good Wages.
O • the verie name of good Wages, wil make a Ser∣ningman doe any curtesie.
Then be friend me thus, deliuer this Letter to your Ladies owne hand, with as much secrecie as ye may, and Page [unnumbered] take this for your imployment.
As secret as shee that sel's complexion: none but the chamber-Maide shall know it.
YE haue your eyes like Sunne-glasses, catch'd the heate of my beautie, & cast it on your owne heart, and doth your sighes like bellowes, make it more inflambe? then spend your teares to quenchit, for my chaste blouds ho∣nour shall neuer doe it. Lust, it's like an ouer-swollen riuer, that breakes beyond all boundes: it's a Diuell bred in the blood, nurc'd in desire, & like a Sallamander liues in a continuall fire: it sprouteth larger then the Iuie, which imbraceth, twisteth and intangleth euerie one within his reach, & makes no choice betwixt the goodliest Caeder & the stinckingst Elder: it's a foule vsurper on the name of loue, and raignes with greater domination then an Empe∣ror: it's a verie leperous Itche, it staines, and leaues a fouler spot vppon the soule then teares can wash away: but my chaste thoughts shall watch mine honour: ile muster vp my prayers to fight against temptation: shall I that haue bin a commaunder of my selfe, now proue a slaue to sinne? No, no, my mounting thoughts doe soare too high a pitch to stoope to any strangers lure. Say that a pecuish Flye intangled were within my neuer-shorne tresses, should I to saue his life, cut and deforme me of so rich an ornament? What though the Lord Nonsuch within my loue intangled bee, must my honour now be clipt to set him free? No, no, my sawe is this and euer shall: he that on hope doth climbe doth often fall. But what shall I doe? a writes heere a will come: wit of a Woman now assist me, O aperne stringes be now auspitious, for here's my Husband, something I must doe: I ha't.
Now faire mistris: this is strange to finde you here alone:
Not alone, but inuiron'd and accompained.
With many heart-biting thoughts, which like Act∣teons houndes haue almoste slaine my selfe▪ yet now my constancie shall proue a glasse, in which your selfe shal see your own errors: the Lord Nonsuch which you haue long suspected, with vnrebated edge of lust, hath awaies sought, (I must confesse) to cut my verie reputations throate, & this night—
I this night, but heare me husband:
No no, cuckold me, kill me with griefe, doe, doe, & when I am deade marry him: a ha's made you a ioynter alredy of Breech downe: wel wife well, I marryed you out of the Countrie, but you haue learn'd the Cittie fashi∣ons already: I am a Cuckold, I am, but ignorance that I was to marry thee so young, not being able scarce to put thine owne apparell on.
I was the fitter for a Husband, ye might then a bin sure to haue taken me a bed at all times,
True, so might other men too.
No, ye are deceiu'd husband, other men neuer lie with a mans wife but when she is ready for them, but to the purpose: this night haue I promis'd the Lord Non∣such a shall inioy my loue, for which cause hee will send a certaine Pander before, for feare you stand a rocke in his way, on which all his hopes will suffer ship-wracke. Now this same Panderlie Pylate shall bee by you bribed to stād sentinell, and giue the watchword when a comes, that you may then punnish him, either with death or feare.
O snallowe and womannish inuention, as if he wold betray his maister.
Tut money often times corrupts a good, disposition and makes a knaue ride poast to hell.
But is this true? art honest indeede? come hither, doost loue me, doost? nay but tell me true, doost?
Or else in hatred let me euer liue.
Doe not flatter me, I scarce beleeue thee, thou ne∣uer kissest me but with such an affection, as a young wife doth an olde husband• wringing her lippes, and making a mouth as if she were taking a Potion.
You distast me much sir.
Dost not distats me too sometimes, tell me true?
Nothing but your Iealousie.
Well prethee forgiue mee and lets goe, but ile so swindge my Lord a h•r son otter, ile teach him fish in other mens ponds.
Did you deliuer my Letter?
To her selfe?
Her owne handes.
Made she any answer?
What other newes then rides on the back of report?
Why they say sit that mistris Correction the Mid∣wife is turn'd her Maphrodit.
Why sir, she is become a Midwife, for as your her∣maphrodit hath two members the one to beget, the other to bring foorth, so hath your Mid •ife too meanes, the one to bring you to beget, the other to bring it foorth when tis begotten: and looke you sir, heare shee appeares vpon her Q.
O prethee doe thou boord her as she passes by.
Who I boord her? by this light I dare not.
Then I will: fairely met faire Mistris.
Indeede forsooth I haue bin, by my truth I see he is a fine spoken man.
Where abouts is your house faire Lady?
Heere fast by sir, not aboue a couple of stones cast off.
What Gentlewomen haue ye at home?
O Maister Wages, how do'y? faith sir I haue no body at home but mistris Punckit, you knowe her well.
Truly sir a very courteous Gentlewomā, & she loues to act in as cleane linnen as any Gentlewoman of her fun∣ction about the towne, and truly that's the reason that your sincere puritanes cannot abide to weare a Surplesse, be∣cause they say tis made of the same thing that your villa∣nous sin is committed in, as your most prophane holland.
Pra'y when was Maister Wrastler of the Guard at your house?
Who he? in troth Mi. Punckit cannot abide him, she sweares a lookes for all the world like the Dominicall Letter in his red Coate: no Maister Wages no, I can tell ye I haue other manner of Guestes come to my house then •e: I haue Pentioners, and Gentlemen Vshers, Knights, Captaines and Commaunders, Lieftennants, and Antients, volluntary Gentlemen, I, & men y• weare their clokes linde through with veluet; I entertaine no Muttō eating Innes∣a court men, no halfe linde cloake Citizens: nor flat capt Prentises, no, the best come to my house, Maister New∣come the Courtier was there the other day, and truely he wold haue had some dealing with Mi. Punckit, but that he had no siller: and yet I must needes say't, a would a put her in verie good obscuritie, for a brought a Gentle∣man with him that wold a giuē his word in a consumpti∣on of twentie pound, that a should a paied her at next meeting, and truely but that her trade standes so much vp∣pon present payment, and partlie for mortallities sake, I thinke else she would a taken it, and yet before a went, I must needes say't, a shewde himselfe like an honest Gentle∣man and a Courtier, for a left his Perriwigge in pawne: but had you seene how a look'd, for all the world like an E∣stridges egge, with a face drawne of the one side.
What other guestes haue ye?
There comes maister Exhibition of the Innes a court verrie often, and Maister Angell-taker the coun∣seller comes sometimes, but Mistris Punckit dooth so iest with him, she swe•res to him as she hopes to be saued, and I may tell you sir, there's great hope on't, for truely shee v∣seth iust and vpright dealing with euerie man, but as I said, as shee hopes to bee saued, she would not marry him of all the men in the world.
Because she saies that Lawyers are like Trum∣peters, they sell their breath.
Shee's a foole tell her, the Lawyers are the pillars of the Realme.
Yes forsooth so I said but she said they were not onely the Pillers but the Polers also, but I pray you sir of what profession are you?
Faith of none Gentlewoman, onely a young gallant as you see.
A yong Gallant, say you lisaith, ile quickly try that by and by, do'y heare sir, do'y heare?
What say you Gentlewoman?
I pray can you giue me ten shillings for a peece of golde.
Yes that I can.
O sir, O sir, I perceiue you are no gallantifaith, it would goe deepe my friend, I may tell you for a young gallant to change three groates for a shilling, & twere great fish, I may tell you too, to Angle for in a gallants greate hose.
Hold mistresse, spend that for my sake, and it shall not be long ere I will come and visit your house.
I thank your worship, sir, ile bee so bold as to take my deliuerance out of your company.
God be with you mistresse Correction.
The like to you good Maister Wages, but doe you heare sir, I hope if your worship come to my house, if there be no body at home but my selfe, though I am an old woman, yet I hope your worship will not dispise age.
No, no, feare not that.
I thanke ye heartily sir.
With all my heart, Wages farwell, and bring but an answere of my letter; and I will be thy pay-maister, not thy debter.
I vnderstand so much by your name good Maister Nuecome.
And I am in grace too Lady, what my soules sweet secretarie! you are fairely met indeed, how doth old Ven∣ter thy father?
O how perfum'd your Courtiers phraisies are: I left him in health sir.
O I, they speake in print I can tell you, and though it be a sinne, to rob a man of his learning yet Courtiers are verie sildome blamde for getting out of any mens bookes.
Yet I haue knowne them steale out of them ere now.
Nay then youle make a Courtier a Theefe:
I, such a one as the good theefe was.
Masse I wonder what Country man that good theef was?
O, a was my countryman Lady, hee was a borderer on North wales, I can assure you.
Indeede and so I thinke, for not to flatter ye, manye of your Country men haue prooued good theeues euer since: but I pra'y tell me, is it the fashion of your north wales, to suffer your beards to grow vpwards thus, in spite of your nose?
Yes Lady, al of vs that are Courtiers: marrie before when we were poore countrie fellowes, wee suffered our Page [unnumbered] beardes careleslie to growe downeward, and then they growe into our mouths in spite of our teeth, now you know haire is but excrement, & for mine owne part, I had rather haue my excrement in my nose, then in my teeth.
I haue heard moste of your Country men are verry actiue men.
O Lady, I haue seene a youth of eighteene yeares in our Countrie, would a caper'd ye, thus hye!
'T as bin in a string then.
Is it possible?
Nay, beleeue it, a would haue done it with all his heart, but hee could not.
They say to, moste of your Countriemen are ve∣rie valiant
O I, they terrifie their enemies with patience.
O, we make the excellent'st Souldiers in the world.
I, but they say, they cannot presse a man to the warres though, in all your countrie.
To saue our Landed men at home.
I haue heard, moste of ye are great Trauailers.
I, for france Spaine and England, and such neigh∣bour countries, why I haue beene as farre as Win∣chester my selfe.
Indeede tis true, some of ye Trauaile so far abroad as ye come short home many times.
I haue heard ye are all Gentlemen.
Indeede I must confesse Lady, we haue few beg∣gers, and those we haue, we reward according, for if he bee a lustie Knaue, we giue him a Lawyers almes, tell him of the stature: if a poore and decrepit fellowe, we giue him a Citizens wiues charitie, cry God helpe him, God helpe him.
By your leaue Maister Nuecome, mee thinkes you haue a pr••tie lace on your band
A prettie slight court lace, all showe, all showe•
What's this, a shirt that ye weare? else tis a mock•∣begger with strips.
No, tis a shirt Lady.
What, did you make this Doublet new, or else ye new made it?
Yes I made it new Lady?
Beleeue me sir but the livings are olde.
Fie, they are greasie.
I thinke they are something sweatie indeede with hunting.
Hunting: why a man neede not hunt far for game, whats this?
O, a Sallamander Ladie, tis a Sallamander bredde with the continuall heate of sweating—
What's your breech made all of one stuffe Maister Nuecome?
Pray why doe you aske?
Because me thinkes the soile change's here behinde
I, and so doth the ayre as well as the soile I war∣rant ye.
What are these hose made of the newest fashion ye haue at Court?
Faith Lady for mine owne part I am no mans Ape, this is my fashion, and sometimes I stand in the pre∣sence with my cloake linde through, either with veluet or with Taffata, if with Veluet, I let him hang on my shoul∣der, making the greatest showe, carry my hat heere.
Now by the soule of chastitie I sweare, a is a proper man.
If any man passe by and salute me, I salute him a∣gaine, but if any Lady or Gentlewoman glide through the presence, and cast her eye on mee, as commonly they vse to doe on men, that makes any showe or glister as I alwaies doe.
Ye! alwaies making glisters, I holde my life he is a Portecarie, doe you neuer make no suppositors sir?
I keepe my place of standing, carry my bodye Page [unnumbered] stiffe and vpright, blush not, am impudent enough, when perchance the heate of the Ladies affection makes her take •place of standing, either against the hanginges or one of the bay windowes, and therewith a greedie eye feedes on my exteryors, which perceiuing, I drawe to her, kisse my hand, & accorst her thus.
I pra'y accorst her anon sir, and lets stand close and trouble not true iellousie in the picture of Hieronimo, in a little volume.
See, see how a lookes, doe you not perceiue his heart beate hither?
I, for all the world like the Denmarke Drummer.
Peace, heare what a saies.
Forgiuenesse wife: O how haue I wrong'd thee, O who would abuse your sex, which truely knowes ye?▪ O women were we not borne of ye? should we not then ho∣nour you? nurs'd by ye, and not regard ye? begotten on ye, and not loue yee? made for ye, and not seeke ye? and since we were made before yee, should we not loue and admire ye as the last? and therefore perfect'st work of nature, Mā was made when nature was but an apprentice, but woman when she was a skilfull Mistresse of her Arte, therefore curssed is he that doth not admire those Paragons, those Moddels of heauen, Angels on earth Goddesses in shape: by their loues we liue in double breath, euen in our Of∣spring after death. Are not all Vices masculine, and Vertues feminine? are not the Muses the loues of the lear∣ned? doe not all noble spi•rits followe the Graces because they are women, there's but one Phoenix and shee's a fe∣male: Is not the Princes and foundres of good artes Miner∣••, borne of the braine of highest Ioue, a woman? haue not these women, the face of loue the tongue of perswasion, the body of delight? O deuine perfectiō'd, women, whose prai∣ses no tongue can ful expresse, for that the matter doth ex∣ceede Page [unnumbered] the labour, O if to be a Woman bee so excellent, what is it then to be a woman inritch'd by nature, made excellent by education, noble by birth, chaste by vertue, adorn'd by beautie: A faire woman which is the ornament of heauen, the grace of earth, the ioy of life and the delight of all sence, euen the verie summum bonum of mans life.
O monstrous herresie, he will bee damb'd for that error.
Nay, let him alone, for he had like to bene burnt for that opinion ere now, had not a friend of mine pluckt the fire from the stake.
Come, lets breake out vppon him.
O no good sir, though it be a thing much giuen to your name, yet let not vs breake out, let vs not showe such childish partes.
Saue ye Knight.
And blesse ye Lady, O sirra, are you there? come ye hither, what's that strange Lady there?
I thinke it be mistris Babee sir, maister Nuecome's Mistresse, for she lookes like an Northerne Lasse, made of a strange fashion, something like a Lute, all bellie to the necke.
So, like a Lute, and you like a skilfull mu••tian haue bin fingring it.
How does your good Ladie Knight, how doth she?
Well I praise H•mē, and I adore my stars, she hath no acquaintance with such a female flie as you are.
What meanes he by that?
Why I thinke a meanes you are but a light huswife, but come let's leaue him.
Light Huswife, hang him dogged Cinicke.
Now the plague of Egipt light vppon you all, Lice deuour yetcomeye hether sirra, what's the cause you keep such villanous company?
I keepe their company moste sir for good vit∣tailes, Page [unnumbered] for you keepe such a villanous house, as if tweare alwaies Easter eue, wee still hope for better: and you know your Cooke is gone already sir, for feare a should forgette his occupation with you. Besides sir, if any man come to your house to dinner though he hop vppon one legge, yet euerie man saith a comes to fast, and for mine owne part sir, you haue giuen me nothing since I came vnto you.
O thou pampred lade! what wouldst thou haue? what wouldst thou feede on Quailes? art thou not Fat? is not thy neck brawne, thy leg calfe? thy head beefe, & yet thou wants meate.
No sir, but I would willingly haue some wages.
Well, ile thinke on't, and so goe call your mistresse.
Looke you sir, heere she comes without calling.
Saue your honesty then, and be gone without bid ding.
Do so: O my sweet wife, my selected spouse, the very vessel of chastitie, fild to the very btim with Hymen zeale & nuptial duetie: how haue I abus'd thee? but I haue washt repentance euen in teares, and in thy absence I haue dedica∣ted sacred sighes vnto thee to appease thy wrath: therfore tel me sweet wife, when comes this pāder, when comes he?
I muse he staies so long, he should a beene by pro∣mise here an houre since, and looke heere a comes?
O you are welcome Sir, welcome yfaith, but when comes your Lord? is he at hand, wi• a come?
My Lord sir, what Lord?
Nay, come, come, make not the matter strange mā, my wife hath told me all, you are an honest man, holde, holde, will ye but be friend mee now, and watch another dore vnto my h•use, and giue me notice whe• a comes, while I watch this.
O now I see the trick on't, his wife hath guld him with a lie & made him beleeue I am but a pore seruingmā onely to injoy my loue: O kinde woman! O sweet Lady! nay now I see she loues me.
O excellent wife, how trew she tolde me, what a beast haue I bin still to wrong her with suspect.
Faith sir I see ye are a verie worthy Gentleman, and for mine owne part I shall be glad to doe you any pleasure, for to tell you true, I thinke my Lord meanes to Cuckolde you indeede.
Why thats well saide, holde hear's one Angell more, and goe but with my wife, sheele show you the other dore while I watch this: and if a come, knocke him downe, kill him, and lay the fault on mee, ile please you for your paines, looke, here's a club will holde.
Giue me, giue me, come.
Goe wife, goe with him, see a stand stifly too't, and if occasion serue.
I warrant yee husband, feare it not, but ile doe my part.
Why thats well saide, and if a come to this dore, ile teach him come to tie his mare in my ground, but what a slaue haue I bin still thus to suspect my wife, I could neuer feele any hornes I had, and yet I knowe my scull is so thin that if my wife should a Cuckold me with the least thing in the world, yet my hornes would a growne through now am I for my Lord.
Now faire mistresse, this far through the mouth of danger am I come & made my passage euē through her life. deuoring Iawes to feaste mine eyes vppon this beautie, which makes mee thinke all danger's but a sport, so you receiue and wrap me in your loues imbracements, and take holde of this faire occation, for well you knowe your Hus∣bands Iealousie will turne this proffered time like for∣tunes wheele, and drowne our fairest hopes euen in dis∣paire, if you be tedious in our loues effectes, and therefore since your wi•te hath safely plotted my arriuall heere; proceed euen to the vtmost listes of my desire, and make me happie in the fruition of your long desired loue.
O my Lord, shal a smile, a good word, a little kind behauiour, or the title of deere seruant, make your hopes to swel into so greate a sea of lust, as presently to euer-flow and drowne the honour of your Mis•ris? O my Lord no, your iudgement much deceiues you of my disposition: besides, I sent not for yee, it was your leud vnbrideled will, that made you thus come gallop heither: yet by my meanes I must confesse as yet you are vnknowne, and in some sort I glad your beeing heere, onely to make you knowe, that neither fairest occasions nor greatest perswa∣sions shal euer make mee violate my faith to him I owe my loue; No my Lord I know I durst to trust my selfe against the moste of opportunitie and strength of all tempati∣on, and though my husband watch you at the doore, yet know within, my conscience watcheth mee though he be blinded with a tricke, yet the cleare all-light• giuers eyes doe see: therefore good my Lord be gone, you see my hus∣band is wilfull bent, and if he chance to know you, I much doubt your safetie.
But is this my paines requitall and my loues reward?
Alasse my Lord, what would you haue? my loue is not myne owne.
Well, farwel Lady, you may repent this yet ere lōg: yet peace fond breath, least threates my plots beguile: vē∣gence intended pollicie, must smile.
Are ye going sir, are ye going, what will not your Lord come•
I thinke not sir, his houre is past long since, some o∣ther businesse hinders him.
Gods my passion, what doe I see, this is hee, I see his chaine: nay but looke you sit, when will you come againe? by this light I see his signet ring.
Assure your selfe sir, ile bring you notice before my Lord come.
Nay, but will you sure? shall I trust to you? for looke ye sir, and if you should not come, pra'y stay a little, Page [unnumbered] me thinkes your band is torne.
It's no matter no matter.
No, tis not now I se•t, by this hand tis he, tis he, what should I doe, now if I should strike him, hee would be to hard for me, for he is better arm'd then I.
Well 〈◊〉 ile take my leaue of you, till your occasion shall neede my presence.
Fare ye well sir, I hope that shall be neuer: but haue not I spun a faire thred thinke you, to be a verry Baude, an arrant wittall, to giue them oportunitie, put them toge∣ther, Nay holde the dore the whil'st this is my wiues plot, by which I haue saild to Cuckolds hauen yet my saile was but asmocke, which shee her selfe hoist vp alas alas, Gentlemen doe you not knowe the Philosopher saith this world is but a stage: hodie mihi, cras tibi my part to day, it may be some of yours to morrowe •hy tis but matrimoni∣all chance, wee that are Cuckolds should be wissest men, for no men else doe knowe their endes, but wee knowe ours, for we are forked at both O thou powerfull and ce∣lestiall Ioue! strike downe from heauen some congealed boltes of thunder, that it may pierce the wombe of earth, and through it send thy lightning flames to make hell hot∣ter then it is, or with Egiptian dampes and rotten iawes re∣nouate thy eating plague of life, dissolue nature, consume earth, destroy hell, and dambe woman I beseech thee into a deeper dungeon then the Deuill. They fill men with diseases, and giue the wane-eyde Sunne of Heauen cause to smile to see our paines: shall the gaping of graues, the scritching of Ghostes, and cries of damned soules, yet longer bee defer'd? shall time incorporate with sinne, and beget more mischiefe? shall hell bee better fur∣nished with women then with Deuils? infernall Lucifer will muster vp his female soules against thy dietie, vn∣lesse thou doe abridge the course of sinne by cutting off the increase of women, and then wee shall haue no more cuckolds. Come ye hether wife, come ye hether, pra'y tell me one thing true.
True: why husband, ile lye for no mans plea∣sure.
Yes, for his pleasure that is gone.
For his pleasure, why for his pleasure?
Because you are a Puncke wife, a puncke.
Now Ioue blesse me.
You are a Cockatrice wife, a cockatrice
Now heauens defend me.
You are a whore wife, a whore.
Sir, the man is mad.
I, horne mad, ah thou vile perfidious, detestable, las∣ciuious, vnsatiable, Luxurious and abhominable strumpet, was it not enough to be an Acteon, a cornuto, a cuckolde, but to make mee a Baude, a Pimpe, a Pander?
What Pimpe? what Pander?
What Pimpe? what Pander? why was not this the Lord Nonsuch? did I not see his chaine, nay prethee say twa's not he, nay sweare it too: ouer shooes ouer bootes, since yee haue waded to the bellie in sinne, nay now goe deeper euen to the breast and heart.
Pra'y heare me husband.
What vile excuses canst make, how canst thou hide thy lust? wouldst wrap thy sinne in periurie to muffell vp thy villany?
Nay good Husband for pittie sake hear me.
Talk not of pittie, pittie is deafe and cannot heare the poore mans crie, much lesse a strumpets.
For charitie heare me.
Charity is frosen and benumb'd with colde, it can∣not helpe thee, doost kneele? doost kneele? to the heauen's not to me yet they looke thy heart should stoope, and not the knee. Doost weepe dost? Rise, rise thou stumpet, go out of my sight, in, in.
I goe, Yet this my comfort, in the gall of life, Suspition neuer wrong'd a truer wife.
Come heather Wages, my olderesolution is come on me againe, and it shall make me doe much, for I will geld my selfe.
Alasse sir thats the onely way to make you doe lit∣tle.
Therefore goe fetch me the Opperator.
What's he sir?
O you meane the Sow-gelder.
O •he's an excellent fellow, he takes away the cause of a mans beastlie desires.
I, and of their manly performance too.
He makes a man not care a rush for a woman.
No, nor a Woman care a strawe for a man.
Doth not such a fellow deserue commendations?
Yes as a hangman doth, for cutting off the traitors that makes the flesh rebell.
Wages I doe now more doubt my wiues honestie then euer, therefore ile make him the touchstone of her re∣putation.
Faith sir ye might get easier touchstones then hee a great deale, theres many a Goldsmithes wife in Cheape∣side could helpe you to a better.
He deserue's much praise.
I, as your cockatrice doth for the dismembring of men.
If she be a punckit ile not be diuorc'd.
Why should ye? why ye cannot keepe more Gen∣tlema••ike company: besides, your puncke: is like your pollitition, for they both consume themselues, for the com∣mō people. And your punck of the two, is the better mem∣ber, Page [unnumbered] for she like a candell to light others's, burnes hir selfe.
Well wages, come follow me, for I am resoul'd to trie my wiues honestie.
Now some honest Gentleman passe by that I might sell him the maiden-head of my occupation for a halfe penny masse, heere a comes, a shall ha't, ye faith.
Worshipfull Gentleman, looke with your eye, and pitty with your hert the distresse of a martiall mā, I haue bene a man in my daies, and acquainted with better fortunes then I now see• time hath beene I haue borne armes, but now one's gone, and I can no longer write Gentleman: wher∣fore if you please to bestowe but one poore thistle of your bountie to pricke the blister of my pouertie, it would set my slender fortunes a flote, where they now lie beating on the goodwins of famine, I am none of these Lu•gations that beg for fourescore and ten poore men: my suite is on∣ly for my selfe.
Whome hast thou serued friend?
First I seru'd in Ireland, then in Holland, Braband, Zealand, Gelderland, Friesland and most of the seauenteen Prouinces, I was at the siedge of Bargon vp sone, carryed a pike at the entrance of Sluce, and was hurt in the gro•e entring the breche.
Who was thy Captaine?
I serued vnder the commaund of Captaine pipe.
Who, captaine Gregorie Pipe?
No sir, Captaine Tobacco Pipe.
O, I know him well indeede, hee is on the English nation, hath much imploiments.
I can assure your worship sir, I haue seene him in very hot seruice, and when some of vs his followers haue smok'd for't too: wherefore I beseech you sir, bestow• something on me, for the knowledge you had of my good Captaine.
Go to sirra, I feare ye are a counterf•ite Rogue.
How Rogue sir• though none of fortunes fauourites, nor great mens minions, yet perchances as good a man as your selfe: swoundes Roguel
Nay be not a•grie good friend for yf•ith I loue a Souldier with all my heart, for indeede I haue a Co•ssen is one, would giue thee something, but yfaith I haue no siller, yet I giue thee eighteene pence in conceite, and so farwell.
Well sir, in conceite I thanke ye then.
Ye Wages, come ye after like a Clog to the heeles of the olde Ape your Maister?
Wages, how many pounds goe to a stone of beefe?
Then I am lighter by sixeteene pound now then I was, I may now lie with any Ladie in Europe for any hurt I can doe her.
True sir, or good either.
I can cuckold no man,
Yet any man may cuckolde you.
What's he VVages?
Some poore Souldier sir, lately come out of the low countries.
I must not now beg lame, for feare I loose his ser∣uice Page [unnumbered] by it: I beseech yee good black Captaine bestowe something of a poore Sould••r, that hath serued his Prince both by Sea and land: if you bestowe but one poor penny of your liberalitie, whē the wheele off•te, turn•s, if •he bit•er frostes of pouer•e •oe not in the meane time nip my fortunes in the blossoms, I doubt not but to reciprocrate your curres•.
Hyda, what an excellent fellow this would make to d•ell in the exchange, •ow the R•gue prates?
VVhat 〈◊〉 a Sol•ier?
I haue bin one some few ye•es.
Why then thou art a Gen•leman by profession, and tis a 〈◊〉 Gentleman to beg.
So I thinke, for I haue Ge•tleman like qualiti•s e∣nough: for I had rather drinke drunke to purge, then take Phisicke: but will you giue me any thing sir?
No sir my 〈◊〉 do•h 〈…〉 to giue Gentlem•n money, for feare of 〈◊〉 them.
O, I crye you mercie good Maister Must•rd-Pot.
Mustard pot! Gods light, mustard Pot! and why Mustard pot?
Because thou art a sawce-box.
Goe to, be quiet Wages.
But will ye giue me any thing sir?
No not • penny.
Come th•n sir, will ye walke a turne or too?
〈◊〉 with th•e, why, art not lousie?
I neede not, I ha•e change enough, for I haue two paire of 〈◊〉
We• neuer in better fashion?
Yes, I haue borne the badge of honour in my daies.
I a •ath bin some Noblemans Footeman sure.
Was thy Father an Alcumist that thou art so poore?
Why doe you not knowe pouertie hath a Gentle∣man Vshers place, it goes bere before death.
Of what Religion art?
Faith I am yet cleane paper, yee may write on mee what ye will, either Puritane or Protestant.
Wilt thou serue me?
So you will giue me wages.
Yes that I will, and thou shalt weare my liuery too, ile giue it thee, thou shalt not buy't thy selfe.
I thanke ye sir.
O Mistris Correction •how doe you?
I thanke ye good Maister Wages, and how doth that goodly Gelding your Maister?
Because he hath both abus'd and accus'de one of the moste vertuous Ladies that euer frisseld her haire.
Peace, speake soft, that's he.
Is that he?
The verry same.
Now by my troth I am glad to see your worshippe in good health▪ and how doth your good Worship: Lord you looke ill, a bodie may see what griefe will doe: O had you had a good wife, your worship would looke twentie yeares younger then you doe, tis euen pittie of her life that would wrong such a sweete man: what an excellent com∣plexion your beard's off, and by my troth a keepes his coulour verry well.
What now you sawfie Companion you, what ayle you trowe?
You had an ill Midwife Mistresse, she hath not clos'd your mould well behinde.
Marry come vp Iacke an Apes father-in law, what can you tell?
I felt it by giuing my hand to bid it farwell.
O sir, that's signe ye are a clowne, if ye had bin a Gentleman ye would a kist it, and a taken your leaue on't, I pray maister Wages what's this fellowe?
A new man of my maisters, and I can assure you a tall Souldier too.
A tall Souldier say you? so me thinkes, his cloathes haue beene in shrode seruices, for they are verye dangerously wounded. Sir, and like your worship, this that you haue entertain'd is no man, tis some Scar-crowe, and you haue done verry ill to take him away: the Crowes wil eate vp the Corne now out of all measure, pray God wee haue not a deare yeare after it.
I know your husband wel Mistris Correction, and Mistris Punckit too, I heare she keepes her bed much, what is she not in health?
Haue you such a Gentlewoman lies at your house?
Yes indeede sir, a younger Brothers Daughter, a kins-woman of my Husbands.
It seemes he hath bene acquainted with her.
Who hee? no sir, she scornes to speake with him, vnlesse tweare by an Atturney.
Pra'y how doth your Husband good Mistris Cor∣rection.
The better your asking good Maister Wages.
Indeede her Husband is a verry honest painefull man sir.
O maister Wages, no, no, maister Wages, you are deceiu'd in him, there's neuer a morning but I am ready and abroad, an houre before hee's vp: and when he is vp, as I am a liuing woman▪ I can make him doe nothing for my life.
No, doth he not studdie?
Yes, like the Clarke of a great mans kitchin, what meate he shall haue for dinner.
Beleeue it but he is a good Scholler though▪ O hee Page [unnumbered] hath a passing head of his owne.
Hath he, I he hath indeed, if •e knew al, & I can tel ye he may thank me for't too, for he went to schoole to 〈◊〉 in my first husbāds time
Pra'y what was your first husbād
M. Seldome the preacher an't like your worship, he preach'd in two of his benefices in one day, & sure t'was the death of him, he neuer ioyed himselfe after hee so ouer∣strained his voice.
And then you married this man?
Yes forsooth, & truly afterwards bought him a be∣nefice, but he hath sold it again, & I may tell you though I am no Lady, yethe's cald sir Iohn euery word, & for all this now he makes no more account of me then your man Mai. Wages doth of an old shoe-clout which a neuer thinks off, but when a needs, and if he cannot finde it, why any other thing serues his turne, and so he deales by me, & truely M. Wages I may tell you, I meane to put him away.
Away I why ye cannot put him away for this.
Yes I warrāt ye, if you can finde in your heart to loue & marry me, let me alone for y•? ile keep ye like a mā al daies of your life• besides, if the stones of the street in y• ciue shold be too hot, for ye, & that ye dare not walk on them for feare the wicked vanities of the world shold catch hold of ye, as they haue done to the vtter ouerthrow & vndoing of many a good mā, yet I can get my liuing in the Suburbs, & what trade so euer go down, I doubt not but mine will hold vp as long as the kingdome yeeldes either souldiers or younger brothers, which wants maintenance to keep wiues of their own No M. Wages, my trade is a sweet trade, little doth any body know what cōmings in I haue daily, I keep 3. as good fetherbeds going winter & sūmer, as any sinner in the suburbs: besides, I warrant ye, I get aboue 20 poūd a yeare in Rennish wine, at the second hand.
Wel, aske my Ma•if he be willing, ye• shall finde me forward
And thats as much as any woman can aske truly: and please your worship I haue a suite to you.
Whatist Mi. Cor• for you are verye like to speede?
That I may haue your good wil to marry M. Wages.
VVhy you haue a husband aliue?
I, but I can be deuorc'd from him, and like your worship for three seuerall causes which I knowe well en∣nough, I warrant ye.
If he be willing, with all my hart.
I thanke your worship.
Hise fellow Wages, pray a word we, doost meane to haue her?
Well, goethy waies, I warrant thee a sound peece of her.
A peece, why a peece? didst thou euer shoot in her?
Who I, no: she recoiles too much in the discharging for me to meddle with, but doost heare, put her away a∣gaine as soone as thou can'st: if thou ke•pe her long, if she proue not like a commodity of wood, and s•ink in thy hāds then hang me.
Well Mistris Correction, I could wish you goe a∣bout this your affaires as soon as you may, & Slack, & Wa∣ges doe you two follow me.
Now by my chaste thoughts which I was mother of at nine yeres olde, I heere sweare, neuer to be in loue: yet Maister Nuecome the Courtier thinkes with the wearing of a neate boote, and a cleane band, to catch my loue nap∣ping as Morse catch this Mare, but Venus be my good speede, and Cupid send me good lucke, for my heart is very light, and I feare tis but like a Candle, burnt into the Socket, which lightens a litt•• before it goes out.
I moste feare tis like lightning before thunder, I pray haue a careyehold fast.
Come, thou hast such a running wit, tis like an Y∣rish foote boy• I feare twill rob thee of all thy 〈◊〉 and then runne from thee and leaue thee.
But I pray thee tell me one thing,
I will an't be a good thing?
Hast thou thy Maiden head yet?
My maiden-dead! faith••.
Come, prethee doe not lye, for they say tis lost ly∣ing and by the strength of my little vertue, I wonder (for mine own part) to see how this foolish virginity is esteem'd when there is such danger in the keeping it, for who dooth not knowe that the barren womb• is curst? and al know vir∣gins haue no children: besides, Women shall bee saued by •he bearing of Children, how think'st thou, are they?
Nay, I cannot tell, you were best trie.
Indeede they say tis good to trie before one trust.
But I pray thee tell me one thing now,
And what's that?
The reason why thou art come runne away from thy Father, considering the forman of your Shop, mee thought was a good hansome fellow.
Tis true, so he was, but he had no leysure to keep me comp••y a workie daies for crying what doe you lacke, and a Holy daies hee would bee at stoole-ball among'st the boyes when I had moste neede of him: but to tell thee the true cause of my comming away; I should haue marry∣ed a young vnthriftie Lord, one that will giue his verrye soule to a faire woman, and faith sometimes though shee be neuer so foule, yet he will lend her his bodie: he had neuer a hayre on his beard this th•ee or foure 〈◊〉, but might a bin an vtter barrester, for they haue moulted all fiue or six times: he's like death, he spares none, yong nor olde, rich nor poore, faire nor foule, hee takes all.
Well Nan w•ll, thou art happy, thou wer't borne vnder a good Planet, thou hast store of sutes, but prethee looke, is there none heare's our counsaile?
No none, speake boldly lasse.
I thinke an ill starre raigned when I was borne, I cannot haue as much as suiter, this Maister Nuecome that you for sooth so much scorne: I could finde in my heart to pray •ine times to the Moone, and fost three Saint Annes eues, so that I might bee sure to haue him to my Page [unnumbered] husband.
I, thou wouldst haue him dreaming but not wa∣king I am sure.
Not waking yea & a 〈◊〉 too, for heere I vow euen by the chastest thoughts that ere was nur•'d within Dia∣naes brest and by those purple drops chaste Lucres spilt, and by the vnstainde coulloar of a maidens blush, that I will prooue as true vnto his bed, as ere did she that did V∣lisses wed.
Nay, since I haue refus'd a Lord, by this light I scorne to marry any vnder the degree of a Knight.
No, I would not haue a Knight if I might, for there are so many, as they are forgotten what they be.
Nay I then • see you are deceu'd, why woman, they haue moste of them taken an order that they wil neuer be forgotten, for they haue book'd themselues downe a purpose, I knowe aboue three & twentie in one Mercers bookes in Cheape side: th•n iudge thou how many are in al their bookes, and there is that will bee a witnesse I war∣rant you to after ages, what their fore•athers haue beene.
I, but that's but their faults, yet you knowe their calling is honourable though.
Faith thou saiest true, I must needes say, Knight∣hoode is like marriage know a daies, which thought be ho∣noarable amongst al men, yet it begg••lie with a great ma∣ny: but come shal's goe to dinner and see what stomacke I haue to my vittailes, for y faith i haue none to a husband: I would not taste a morsell of a men for any money.
O that's because thou art not hungrie.
Tis true indeed, a little bit would 〈◊〉 my bellie.
O my vnkinde husband, why doost reiect mee? if not on thee, where should I fix my loue to haue reward▪
Heere where you are, in deere and hie regard.
Yea, are ye vanished?
Why how now fellow Slacke, what is she gone?
S'life what should I doe now to stop this slaues ven∣nomed breath, for feare it infect my reputation with my newe maister? this time was ill taken, yet something I must doe fellowe Wages, how long hast thou been heere?
Euer since fortune denide thee wealth: all ill vppon h•r: but thou hast courage to defend her honour.
Slight he hath heard all.
Why man twa's my maister set me onely to trie her.
Nay, like enough, for I see he would willinglye proue an accessarie to the stealing of his owne goods.
True, and looke heere he comes, but I pray thee say nothing, let me tell him of it.
Who I? not a word, my mouth is as close as a faul∣coners pouch, or a countrie wenches placket.
She would neuer •nckold me, but that she hath some reason for't
True sir, there is nothing done, but there's reason for it, (if a man could finde it) for whats the reason your Citti∣zens wiues continually weare hats, but to show the desire they haue alwaies to be couered. Or why doe your Sem∣sters spend their time in pricking, and your Ladies in po∣king of ruffes; but onely to shew they doe as they would be don vnto? or why doe your Innes of court men lie with his Laundresse in a long vacation, but because hee hath no mo∣ny to go abroad? Or why doo your old iudges widdowes Page [unnumbered] alwaies marry young Gen•lemen, but to show that they loue execution better then iudgement.
O, but I wonder much she would not giue me leaue to make my first childe my selfe.
Foe: she knew you were but a prentice to the occu∣pation, and commonly Prentices spoile their first worke, and being vnskilfull, she was loath you should practise in a good Shop, and therefore she befriended you, because she would haue it well done: she ga•a better workemā to doe it for you. For whats the reason the younger bro∣thers (according to the olde wiues tailes) alwaies prooued the wisest men, but because the Fathers grewe more skil∣full at last then they were at the first? but I thinke your wiues eldest Sonne will proue an excellent fellow, because she had the helpe of so many in the making of it. For com∣monly if one haue a thing to be done, as a conueyance to be drawn, or a case in the law to be argued, a man would haue the helpe of as many good Lawyers as hee could get: now this case of making of children, and a case in the lawe, is something like, for as one Lawyer takes his fee, and deales in't, another Lawyer comes and argues the case more profoundly: but in the end wh•n all is done, leaues it to bee tryed by the Iury, in whome the right is, and so must you: when they and you and al haue done your best, yet in the end, must leaue it to be tryed by your wife, whose the childe is, for a womans knowledge in this case, is bet∣ter then twelue mens.
O Slacke, I hate worse then the worst sinne that is.
And I p•a'y which sinne doe you moste hate?
That which is moste like her, which if thou wilt repeate—
Ile tell their conditions.
And I, which is most like her.
Then the first is pride.
I would haue that sinne burnt for a witch, it chan∣ges men into so many shape.
The next is murther.
O! thats a thirstie sinne, for nought can quench it but blood.
What is Theft?
Faith the greatest fault that I can finde in that is, it cousens the Scriuners, for it borrowes monie without gi∣uing any obligation.
O! that's an excellent sinne, for to deale with, a that hath a loose bellie, for twill binde any man for ten grotes.
What is sloath then?
Faith Sloath is a good Maidenly Greenesicknesse sinne.
But leachery my Lady?
O thats the suckingst sinne that a man can bee ac∣qainted withall, it cannot endure to bee in company, it creepes into corners, and hides it selfe in the darke still.
What saist then to drunkennesse?
O that's a moste gentleman like sinne, it scornes to be beholding for what it receiues in a mans house, it com∣monly leaues it againe at his doore.
Nay, then lea•cherie scornes to be bebolding too, for I haue knowne what it hath receiu'd in a mans house, it hath sent home againe nine monthes after, and layen at his dore, and therefore the more Gentleman like sinne a great deale, because it takes the longer time of repaiment, but I pray sit now, which of all this is moste like your wife.
Murther, for nought can quench her thirst of lust, but now I soone shall finde hir villany, prais'd bee my vigilant care: which if I doe espie, ile turne her off.
Alas, alas sir, you haue no reason to be an∣grie, much lesse to de deuorced, although shee doe trans∣gresse, are you not cut? haue ye not giuen her cause, is it not out of meere necessitie she doth it? therefore if you follow my counsaile, mak• her amends with kindenesse, Page [unnumbered] and put not her away.
Beleeue me he speakes wisely, and good counsaile, like a Lady, is to be imbraced.
Not put her away, and if she wrong him. If hee doe not, I say he is one of the aranst blocks yt euer mā spurned on: why is he not a Gentleman, a Knight, hath a not seene fashion: sir, I would haue you beare a noble minde, put he• away and you list, tis no matter for cause, if she change but a treneher with the Groome of your stable, tis dealing e∣•ough to bee diuorced, Therefore put her away, and then you may haue another wife.
True, a gallant, and yet a modest Lady too, one that shall nourish no blood but your owne, tender your reputa∣tion as the apple of her eye, & honour euen your verie footsteps.
She shall goe, ile make her trusse vp her trinckets, oh faith she shall away.
Shall she away? if she doe, you doe you knowe not what, you draw a thousand thousand enemies about your eares, her kindred theill exclaime, no friends will seeke reuenge, and your enemies will growe euen fat with laughter at your folly. Besides: what Woman then will haue you, are you not gelded? assure your selfe that now there is none will loue you, moste will hate you▪ but all will scorne you, therefore by my aduice make much of her, and keepe her while you haue her.
Hah! now by the vertue of my hearing, he speakes but reason.
So, tis good to keepe her stil: dwell in the Subburbs to break down your owne glasse windowes, set some pickes vppon your hatch, and I pray professe to keepe a Baudy-house.
A Bawdie-house? no, ile die first, and if I see but any apparent shewe of her disloyaltie, ile euen be diuorced immediately.
Well, I see the substance of this slaue is villa∣nie.
But ile preuent him euen what I can,
Since none is worse then a Seruing honest man,
Why had I not a good legge? did I not alwaies weare cleane lining? was not my hand washed, my beard comb'd, my cloake brushed, and my shooes blacked, euery morning.
True, why the more viler strumpet shee to cuc∣kold you.
But how doo'st knowe she is with childe.
Knowe it, why shee's dayly troubled with water panges, and quakings ouer her stomacke.
Indeede I must needes say that's a great proofe, shee hath fild her bellie with something that stood against her stomacke, but doost not thinke tis my childe.
Your's! why how can't be your's: are you not circumcised to the quicke?
Yes, and the rememberance of it galles me.
Thats a signe ye are too patient, and like an Ass ein∣dure all without resistance.
Ha, ha, ha.
But why doe you laugh sir?
To thinke who the childe will be like.
Why you, who should it be like •lse?
Why tis none of mine man.
Why the more like you for that: why doe you not not knowe the Philosophers hold the childe is alwaies like the partie which the mother thinkes off in the concep∣tion: now she thought moste of you, for feare you should a come the whiles, and thats the reason so many Gentle∣mens sonnes are like your Cittizens, and calles them fathers too, for otherwise how could it bee Page [unnumbered] that a young Cockney being left fortie or fiftiie thousand pounds: spends all within so many monthes, but that some young gallant begat him, for you knowe the prouer be, Cat will after kinde. No, had the old Cittizen begotten him, he would a bit a Fig in two, to haue made iust weight, & haue had a pot wi•h a false bottom, rather then a solde too much measure, hee would haue done al things within meas•re as your olde Citizen did, and not a spend al beyond measure, as your young Gallants doe.
But were not I best goe home and vse her well, till the childe be borne, to see if it be like me, that I may bee sure tis none of mine.
O no, that were base, and as deceitfull as the Collick when it breakes out in winde, which leuels at a mans heele, and it strikes him in the nose, therefore neuer make a show of one thing, and doe an other, but put her away, rid your handes of h•r, and there's an end.
I thinke whoe's the father of the bastard?
Why who's the Father of a Punckes childe? ist not filius populi, it may haue two Fathers for any thing wee knowe.
Well Slacke, I doe verrie much mistrust Wages too, for he is growne verie familiar of late.
True sir, and takes her part too, and ye marke him
I marke him: no Slacke, no pray heauen a marke not me, but ile instantly sue out a di•orce, hap what hap shall, but ill's his hap whose wife lies down to all.
And why the Cutpursse?
Because he will trust no man, foe as soone as hee hath lone his worke, hee is sure to haue his money in his •and.
Nay then a lawyer is a better trade then that, for he Page [unnumbered] is sure of his money before hee doth his worke.
But I pray thee what's the newes ab•oad now?
Why they say the worlde is like a Byas bowle, and it runnes all on the rich mens sides: others say, tis like a Tennis-ball, and fortune keepes such a Racket with it, as it tosses it in to times hazzard, and that deuoures all, and for my part they say, twill shortly runne vppon wheeles with me, for my Maister sweares a will haue me car•ed, because a thinkes I haue layen with my Lady.
Nay then twill runne vpon wheeles with thee in∣deed, but peace foole peace, when thou art once marryed, that suspect will die.
Peace foole peace, saist thou when I am marryed? doost heare? I tell thee, there is no pece in marriage, vnlesse it bee with a dumbe woman, no nor but little comfort nei∣ther.
No way? why doth the Ballad say then, So sweete a thing is Loue, that rules both heart and minde, there is no comfort in the world, to women that are blinde.
Kinde (man) the Ballet saies.
Masse I thinke a be kinde indeed, yet blind's the bet∣ter of the two I thinke, for as thou saist, if shee be dumbe, I am sure sheele say nothing that shal offend her Husband: if blind, sheele see nothing that shall offend her, and where he nor shee's offended, there must needes be a peace: but besides this is there no peace thinkest thou in the marriage of a wife.
Yes by the mans, side like a Gentleman onely by the fathers side, but twill nere be any perfit peace.
Why, why wilt thou marry then?
Because I hope to haue some good behauio•r of my wife, for the peace I neuer looke for: but soft ye fellow Slacke, mee thinkes your sute is like a hard hearted Land∣lord, it begins to receiue great rents.
I, I would, my Maister had giuen me a suite of Buffe when he gaue me this.
Phoe, buffe is naught man, that hath bin out of re∣quest Page [unnumbered] quest euer since Souldiers haue bin out of date, and they poore men are now vsde like Almanackes of the last yeare, either clap-vp behinde the doore, or thrust cleane out of doore: but if thou wilt haue a suite that shall last indeed (lad) get thee a suite of lawe.
O, I doe not like such suites, for commonly they that haue many of them goe almost naked for want of cloaths, yet I cannot denie but they are verrie lasting, but they are subiect to many discommodities: so if there bee any good∣nesse in one of them, your Lawyers like mothes, eat shroad holes to it, but your Countrie Atturneyes like l•ce ne∣ue• leaue wrighting and wrangling till they haue crep't in∣to it, but when it hath bin well worne and growne thrid bare, they euen like Lice drop off, and leaue it.
What saist thou by a suite at Courtthen?
I marry sir, I like that well, for commonly hee that hath but one suite when hee comes there, hath two erehe come away, for if hee sue by Petition, it lies so long in your Courtiers pocket, that it is another suite to get his Petition backe againe. There is none suddenlie dispatch∣ed of his suite there but a Taylor, marrie hee staies not at all, vnlesse his suite bee to haue mo•eye for his suite, and so hee makes his sute two sutes too ere hee goe. But come, shall wee goe see what followes after our Maisters new diuorce.
Why is a diuor'd?
I, I thinke by this time, for hee swore hee would bee presently. By my troth, I am sorry for it, for in my con∣science it is without cause, it grieues me to see him in these humors, for I thanke his VVorshippe he hath euer vsed mee well, I am bound to pray for his life.
And mee thinkes thats a strange thing, I see no reason for't that any seruingman should praye for his Maisters life, considering all that he haue, is in reuertion of him: but come, lets followe him, for if hee misse vs, heele fret like a grogram I, and fume like a stue pot.
And let him fume, O would his gal would burst with indignation, then should his tempe pr•create my blisse, and I 〈◊〉 that Saint incarnat: but what shall I doe, since base nor noble shape can win, a third ile trie.
Hee that a long waie voyage takes in hand, feares dangerous gustes at sea, and stormes:
At land conquering colde that cripels curssed age, and doubts least euerie cloud should proue a storme, & beat his weryed carkasse to the earth. But O, I wold to God my lon∣gest Iourney vnto death were to bee tane, for I d•e cast no doubts, hauing lost all comfort, My Sonne, I feare, is dead, The losse of him makes life to me but like a blister on my flesh, which grieues mee much, and nought can ease, vnlesse it breakes. O whilst hee liued his presēce was a force vnto my age, & gaue it such a luster as did inrich my ring of Life: for life is but a ring beginning in our weakenesse, going round, till vnto weaknes we returne again, then to the ground. The world it selfe is but a skilfull game at chesses, which beeing ended, Kinges and Queenes, Bishops and Knightes into one bags are throwne at last: So all of vs both poore and rich, shall in the end into the earth, as into a Bag be cast-Mans ••ife is like vnto a ship that crost by tempests and by tides, some thoughts of his like billowes swell him vp a loft, another strikes him downe, Thus man as on a sea is •oste, infa•est weather feares a sto•me, and in a storme the euent, but in the ende hee sinckes, when life is spent: griefe hath no boundes in teares, it ebbes and flowes.
Till it haue drowned life, and ended woes.
But Wages, is there no meanes (thinkest thou) to turne by it, nor to force backe his streame of wrath.
Yes ile warrant ye Madam, if youle be ruld by me, you shall see ile make him seeke to be friendes with you, & intreat me to speak for him too, but then I would haue you seeme a little strange: but you shall directly raile on him. Therfore I wold haue ye hide your selues here behinde the hangings, for twill not be long ere hee come this way, and then you shall come foorth and frame your behauiour ac∣cording as our discourse shall require.
Masse heere he come•, lets stand close.
Wee will, and heauen assist thy proiects.
Now Wages, what newes with you?
That which I thinke will helpe you from beeing diuorc'd.
Why your Lady is not with childe.
VVhy how should she, vnlesse some Hobgoblin, some Incubus or spirit of the butterie should beget it? why shee, since you were gelded, neuer saw a man but through a windowe: shee hath neuer trod her foote awry, for feare some ill construction should attend her steps, which like a boundlesse Ocean deepe inrag'd, would drowne her repu∣tation.
Not with childe saist thou?
Not of my word sir.
Wages I would thou wouldst but doe some charita∣ble offices•
What? make ye friendes againe?
But youle prooue fal•e, and breake that friend∣shippe?
Neuer, as I hope to be reconcil'd, therefore tell me, wil• thou doo't?
Hum: truely I would doe my good will, but I feare twill be but labour lost.
I pray thee doe but trie: I faith thou shalt not loose thy paines.
O lasse sir, you know I must feede on Quailes.
That was in my furie man, but wilt thou not doe it?
Pray sir, if you can get some other friend to speake in 't, do.
Well, thou wilt leaue me now then?
Alas Sir, what would you haue me doe? by my troth sir, I am asham'd to speake in't: haue yee not gelded and cut off al the content of marriage? why they that haue the full performance of it, tis as much as they can doe to please their Wiues, and you that want all abilitie, must not onely please her now, but make her amends for the wrong you haue done her heeretofore, and how haue I the face to promise that which I knowe you haue no meanes to performe it?
Alas man, ile doe my good will.
Doe your good wil, and thats much worth sure, yet since you haue bene my maister, the world shal not say but ile do •hat I can, ile perswade what I may, ye shal see there shall be no fault in me.
O• ile hide me here, and so I shall heare all what shee saies.
O this is excellent, come, come, come, and stand close, ye shall heare how ile speake for ye: and if ye heare your pardon graunted, come forth.
I warrant ye.
Morrow Mistris Nan.Page [unnumbered]〈1 page duplicate〉Page [unnumbered]〈1 page duplicate〉Page [unnumbered]〈1 page duplicate〉Page [unnumbered]〈1 page duplicate〉
The Fox is caught, his head is in the •ouse.
peace, speake soft, perswade, perswade.
Faith Madam I haue a sute vnto you, but I am halfe a sham'd to speede in't.
Slight, the rogue saies hee is a sham'd to speake for me, hist Wages, hist wages.
Madam, your man would make an ill suter, that is a∣shamde to speake in his sute.
What the Diuell aile you, what are you made youle be spide anon.
A pox on thee, art not ashamde to tell her that thou art a shamde to speake for me? hist, hist, Wages.
I thinke the Foole rides you, what will you haue?
Doost heare Wages, speake for me, and by this light ile mend thy Wages.
By how much?
Three pound, three pound.
Giue me your hand, ile do it
But what's your sute Wages?
That you would forgiue your Husband,
What and receiue his loue againe, you meane?
Marry there were aiest indeed, being as he is now, a Woman would be loath to turne him amongst her ducks: truely Wages I am ashamde in your behalfe, that a man of your discretion would vrge it, therefore prethe speake no more on't, ile tell thee what, I could finde• in my heart to speake for him my selfe, but that tis such a iealious foole, that if hee catch but a Flea in her bed, hee will be searching to see if it bee a male or a female, for feare a Page [unnumbered] comes to Cuckold him.
Well Wages well: to tell thee truely, I beare no malice, and if I wist hee would amend, I should forgiue and loue him with my heart againe.
Ye faith I will wife.
Why how now Wages, haue you betraide vs?
I, Madam, but tis into the handes of those that loue yee.
Well Wages well, I did not thinke you would haue vsde vs thus.
Is there honestie in this, to set a man behinde the hangings to euise-drop our wordes.
Be not angrie sweete wife, yfaith it was my plot, but you haue beene a heauie enemye of mine.
Twas more for my credit then to haue bene your light friend.
Be friendes with mee good wife, for here I doe conf•sse.
Your Iealousie sprung from your owne vnworthy∣nesse.
Then in hope youle kinder prooue, I am con∣tent, For this knowe, a VVomans heart will soone re∣lent.
La, la, la, la, la, they marched out manly by three, and by three, and the formoste in Battaile, was Mary Han∣brie. Will you heare of a Spanish Lady, how shee woed an Englishman: hum, hum, hum.
Is the Taylor gone?
Goe fetch me my doublet their,
I goe sir,
Hum, hum, hum, by the greatest terror to Gentili∣tie, which indeed is Creditors and Sergeants, this Roaguie Taylor came vppon me with such a bill as a man were better haue ten Constables and their Watches come vp•pon him with their billes: why good wordes, or a dozen of ale will please them, but nothing will stop this roagues mouthes but money: and yet yfaith I am greatly in his bookes, for though I misuse him neuer so much, yet the Rogue durst not crosse me.
The Taylor sir, intreates you to remember your day.
My day▪ Gods light, my day? why what dooth • take me for, I thinke?
A takes you for a Gentleman sir, I thinke.
A Gentleman, and remember my day, no, ile hold my life hee takes mee for some Marchant or Cittizen, but ile make him knowe my strength, e•e I leaue him, hee shall finde a second Sampson of mee. I can breake my bonds boy, I can, I can.
But come sir, will you trye your doublet first.
O I, come, come plucke, but take heede of my ruffe I pray thee• this doublet is too little, a pox in him.
Not now, hee is on sir.
No when he is off, I meane boy.
Beleeue it sir, but it becomes ye well though.
Doth it indeede? masse I thinke it doe, me thinkes I haue a reasonable good legge in't.
So you haue sir, but your heele is a little too short.
Yea, why too short?
Because your long heele sir doth alwaies best b•∣come your great Calfe.
Why? my Calfe is not verrie greate.
O sir yes, why a man shall not see a greater Calfe of your age, for I thinke you are not aboue twentie.
Not so much, but come helpe off my doublet now.
I will sir.
Come, ile see how twill looke heere, and goe thou and watch the doore, that no body come the whilst, hum, hum, hum, if I had a band for't.
Why that about your necke sir.
But what if any body should come the whilst?
Why doe not I keepe the doore?
Masse that's trew: hum, hum, hum.
O tis Maister Nuecome, I knowe him, a fine Gentleman yfaith ile salute him by and by as I passe. Maister Nue∣come I take it, I crie ye hartily mercy good Maister Nue∣come, I am glad to see you in good health sir, I shall intreat you to pardon mee, I protest I did not knowe you in that suite, you haue a verrie faire doubl•ton, the Gods giue you ioy sir: There is neuer a Lord in the Land may be asham'd to weare it sir, rap, rap, rap, rap.
Gods light carrie away my Doublet quickly, quickly, quicklie.
I warrant ye sir.
Gods pretious my Bande, what shall I doe now?
By yeur leaue sir, my •istris, mistris Peg sent to see how your worship doth.
I thanke her verry heartily, I pray commend me to her.
Ile doe your commendations sir, but I pray you bee couered sir, I pray yon be couered.
I thanke ye heartily, tis for mine ease, the weather is hot, hot, verie hot.
So it is indeede sir, well sir, by your leaue sir, ile be so bold sir as to carrye your commendations sir.
Doe so good friend, farwell, farwell.
What a beast was I to put off my band, yet the greiefs the lesse, because he came from Peg, which is a Wench I must confesse dotes on my exterior vertues, but I can by no meanes affect hir: onely, because the poore Wretch, in heate of her passion shall not melt her selfe away in teares, shee sometimes inforceth me to sweare and protest I af∣fect her, marry alwaies with mentall reseruations for my soules health, for you knowe that sometimes it is policie Courtiers and Statesmen should vse fallacy.
Giue charge vnto the cooke a make not too much haste with supper, for I hope your maister will be here to night, and looke you keepe fast the doore, let no man trou∣ble me.
I will Madam.
Now thankes gentle heauens, O bee you smiling stil on my designes, and let your influence poure down good fortunes, and be not angrie, nor no more maleuolent, but make my husbands reconcilement irreuocable.
Sir, I shall be shent for letting of you in.
Sblood I tell thee I will speake with her, what woldst thou barre my chance whē my whole fortunes lies on y• cast.
O heauens, stars, fates, Gods smile not like Sūmer on these Wasps no longer, that daly bussing come to sting my honnour.
Saue thee sweet Lady, I heare thy husband is from home, which makes me come to tender thee my persons loue.
Your parsons Loue (sir) is moste commonly a bene∣fice, O that I should bee troubled with this Asse now, doe you heare •ir, if my husband should come and finde you here we were both vndone.
Your husband, your husband is an asse, by this light and he should offer you but an ill look in my sight, tweare better he had no eyes: but tis your owne fault that would not ere now accept of the loue of a Souldiar, to haue kept the slaue in some awe.
O! how reprochfully the Captaine swaggers, ile a∣way, for feare he grow furious.
But doost heare me sweete Lady, I haue loued thee long, and must now inioy thee. Feare nothing: this warlike sword of mine shal defend thine honour, this Martial blade shall do'•: life it shall yfaith.
Hark, hark, my husband is come.
Your Husband, ha! where, where?
Tis not he? but ile trie my Captaines vallour nowe. O sir, my husband, what shall I doe now, he hath a Pistoll in his hand too, he will kill vs both.
A pistoll? cods my life, what shall I doe then? I pray hide me some where.
O no! as ye loue me, must inioy mee, and will defend my honour, draw forth this warlike sword: this is the mar∣tiall blade must doe it, therefore I beseech you good Cap∣taine now or neuer.
Gods pretious woman, he hath a pistoll, a sword no shield against a bullet.
〈2 pages missing〉Page [unnumbered] receiue, & then to haue, hold, manure & occupie in statu quo pri•s, that is in the state before & I do not doubt but your grant in this case will be good, for there is a case that proues this in quinto of Rich the th•rd: a patrō was seisd of an aduowsiō in fee, with two nuns appēdāt, & therūto pre∣sented a parsō, with a prouiso, y• if the incūbent shold alien grāt, demise, let, set, or otherwise put away the premises, or any part or parcell thereof▪ that then it should be lawful for the patron (or his assignes) in and vppon the whole to re∣enter. The incumbent aliend, the Patron entred, the Quare was, whether those two Nuns were any part of the premi∣ses, & by vertue of the prouiso subiect to y• reentrie: & after long dispute it was agreed by all the Court, that the entrie was good, as wel in the two Nūs, as in the rest of the premi∣ses. Thē much more in this case, where we are both lay mē.
Sure this fellow thinkes he hath some right to me, & he hopes to win me by law, but what thinke yee: if my hus∣band should come and enter now vpon vs two, in what case were you?
Why wel enough, perchance he would complaine of me to the bench, and then I shold be put out of commons: that's the worst he could doe, & y•'s nothing; for I was once put out of cōmons before, for beating of the panyard man: and in againe within three daies after.
O Madam, madam, what will you doe? my maister is come as I am a liuing man.
O lasse sir, what shall I doe with you?
Why hide me some where, cannot ye hide me heere?
O no, no, no, he doth vse to search all the house still, to see if he can finde any bodie heere, but ile tell ye what ye shall doe, draw out your rapier and goe out against him, & whatsoeuer question he ask you▪ make him no answere, but onely say, ye doubt not for all this, but you shall meete him and be reuenged well enough in an other place, and leaue the rest to me.
I warrant ye.
Come out, come out man.
Slight woman your husband will see me.
Spretious man, that's all one, come out, come out, draw your sword, hold it in your hand, make some showe of re∣sistance.
Sblood woman he hath a pistoll.
He hath none, he hath none, by this hand I did but •est.
Nor no other weapon?
Nor no other weapon?
Why will ye not beleeue me▪ yfaith he hath not.
Well then, well, nay I care not if he had.
Why how now Wife, whats the matter? what stirre haue we heere?
Why husband did you not meet a man with a rapier drawne in his hand?
Yes, and heeres another.
Alas husband, he would a kild this poore Gentleman, but that he came and ranne in heere for shelter, and because I would not suffer him spoile him here in your house, he is gone in such a rage as you neuer saw.
My faith, and he swore indeede hee would be reuen∣ged in an other place: did he not Wages?
he did indeed sir.
Beleeue me, and he might easily haue slaine you sir, for he had a very long •apier.
True, I know my selfe he had the better weapon, or else I would •ere a stood so against him.
I, had I such a rapier, I would a made him run like an Irish Lackey.
I, to haue ouertaken ye.
Wel wife, beleue me, I thank ye for this: for I w•ld not for the wealth of all this towne he should a hurt him in my house, well sir you shall sup with mee: and after supper ile conduct you to your lodging my selfe, but feare nothing.
I thanke you sir.
Why did you not perceiue it?
Not, I protest.
O monstrous! why did she not say herselfe, she knew hee had the better weapō, for which cause she stood against him, meaning Bauderie, flat baudery, and yet you could not perceiue it: now by this light, had you slept but one foote lighter, ye had taken them in the verrie fact, but you goe dreaming hanging downe your head, that tis no ma•uell your wife makes you a Cuckold: for the husband being the wiues head, why when the head goes downe thus▪ the heeles must needes mount vp.
Ile neuer more heare of rcconcilement, but bee di∣•orced immediately.
Streight put her away, why you may haue 〈◊〉 e∣nough.
O wi•es too 〈◊〉
There's your 〈…〉 Peg, shee is faire, modest, honest, 〈…〉 dis∣creete and honorable.
And would a be acquainted with me fal'st?
The man thou speakest of.
Why I speake of none, I talke of a woman,
And haue all these good conditions.
I, why not?
Doost know her.
Harke then, rent a chamber, hang out her picture, take twelue pence a peece at the least,
Slight I thinke the man be madde, but 〈◊〉 yee not haue her sir?
Yes, if thou tell true, who would not haue her: but Page [unnumbered] first make winged speede to purchase my diuorce, holde heere's money, make hast, vse no delay,
I goe, and you shall bee diuorc'd or else my braine• shall swe•: for what your folly looseth, my wit shall get.
O Wages, ile tell thee newes, I haue sent for a diuorce, and what wilt thou say when I am marryed to a newe wife?
Then sir will I say as the prouerbe saies, marriage and hanging comes by destinie: but if ye be diuorced, & wil followe my counsaile you shal hang your selfe, rather then marrie againe.
No Wages, I doe not holde that so good: for sure, mar∣riage is better then hanging in some.
True, in some respect, and that onelye because you haue a longer time of repentance, but I pray sir, ist a christi∣an that you meane to marrie?
A Christian! I, why doost thinke I would marry a 〈◊〉?
I doe not 〈◊〉 that so well sir, because it is the fa∣shion amongst them to send Capons to their Godfathers for New yeares giftes, and vppon my life sir, sheele one time or other clap you vp in a basket, and send you away for good handsell: but I pray sir who is it?
Peg, is she not a fine Gentlewoman?
Hath she not a piercing eye?
And twere a Ferrit.
A delicate nose.
And it were a Mulberrie.
Teeth like two rowes of orient pearle.
But the string is broken & many of them are fal∣len out.
Hands as white as Pelops shoulder.
I, and as thicke too.
Goe to her, and measure by thy protestations the depth of my affections: tell her what I will bee to her, not what I haue bin to others: if she alleadge to thee her cousens presupposed wronges, tell •i•, I well could haue bene hood∣winck'd to her cousens faultes, so I had neuer seen her face.
But what shall I tell hir if she say you are gelded?
I there's it indeed, there is no excuse for that: yet thou maist tel her, I did it only to preserue my voice. Deliuer this Iewell to her hand, and with it euen my hearts affe∣ction.
I will sir, and if the Wenches close my proiectes carie, spite of mschan•ce you shall your owne wife marry.
Now must I be frolicke, learne to speake well, and woo with a good garbe: and now I thinke on't, I haue a pre∣tie conce•e of mine owne, I will tell her that the wooing of a young wench, is the felling of a tree, and the getting of her friends good wil, like the lopping of the tree, therefore first it behoues me to hew down the tree & then ile climbe with ease: but if at first to fell it I be not able, t' assay to climbe it shall be in vaine. Welcome, hast thou brought the diuorce.
Tis heere sir.
Come then, lets in, it ioyes mee much that thou so scone hast sped,
For houres seeme yeares, till it be published.
But tell mee good Madam, why are you so melan∣cholly?
To thinke vpon the sawsie importunitie of my Ser∣•ant Slacke: he is like a badge on a coate, he is neuer off, off my sleeu•, and yet I shun him like the pest.
And he followes you like infection.
Nay I would he did so by me, for I protest I loue him beyond my thoughts, I couet nothing like his company, and yet he hates me, lothes my sight, but then comes the welch∣man your loue, and he hanges on my lips like a Padlocke on a Pedlars Budget.
And hates me as much, for if I come but neare him, hee sweares I am like a Kybe, alwaies at his heeles.
Come Madam, doe not grieue at that which griefe can no way mend.
I would not, if I could mend that which doth cause my griefe.
You are diuorced.
Why ••uorced, why? ha, speake.
Nay, I cannot speake the cause Madam? but questi∣onles tis true, and mistris Peg, my maister nowe makes loue to you.
To thee, I to thee, go thy waies, thou shalt be a Lady, I euer thought thou wouldst come to some promotion, as the boy did that had a bag and a staffe and beg'd for him∣selfe, but how dost thou knowe he is in loue with her.
Know't why I haue seene him stand an houre to∣gither behinde an Oaken tree, calling it sweet mistris, kind Peg and making speeches to it.
As how? as how? prethee how?
Stand you for the tree, and ile speake for my Mai∣ster.
I will, and that moste stifly yfaith.
Then thus he begins: Deare mistris Peg I must con∣f•sse.
Nay then hee is a dead man already.
Why confesse and be hang'd euer.
O ho, but I meane he doth confesse shee's 〈◊〉▪
Thats all one, hee's but one man, and one witnesse can neuer proue her •act, but prethee on with thy speech.
Why then this faire Mistris I must confesse.
But he will not confesse before witnesse will he?
Push, did not I tell you he would speake to an Oke.
Nay, then that will bee a strong proofe indeed.
Proofe, Nay, if that be not proofe, how say by this token.
I marry sir, would wee had more such tokens of his loue.
This Mistris he hath sent to you.
Looke you Madam, your husband now makes loue to me.
Sir how peart thou art, why looke woman, your loue a• mad woes mee, and to me sent this ring.
And my man the man you so esteeme, spite of refu∣sall left with mee this cha•e.
This chaine: for euer may he lincked bee to woe, that hates my loue, and woes another so.
Well, lets in, and be but patient all a while, for if the worst doe fall, that euer did fall,
A plots in chace that shall out strip them al
Now if shee should refuse my Iewell and contemne my loue, or contemne my loue, and take my Iewell: what a •oole was I to send her a token till I had some token of her affection, as if women might be woed with giftes, for when we giue them those things which moste wee loue, they doe esteem we loue them better then those things we giue, when they poore fooles doe but deceiue themselues, for we doe •iue as Marchants venter, for a ••eble; again we send them •okens only to get thē and their portions. But there comes my persecutor.
Why doost thou haun• me like a Ghost, thou femall inner: thou hast not holy church in thy power with all hit Page [unnumbered] commaundements, to keepe mee from thy vnhallowed pre∣sence: how durst thou break the Edict pronounced by the mouth of holy Church Man? art thou not Diuorced? is not our separation blowne into the peoples eares, euen by Ieho∣•ahs chosen Trumpetter? First, thou didst breake thy vow to mee, and madest of euery Priapus a Trumpet; on which thou blowedst thine owne infamie: therefore auoide, thou leauend lumpe of sinfulnes, auoyd.
O my still beloued Husband, like filth or durt, doe not flea me like a Serpent, which comes to sting thy bosome; I come to kisse; Sweet let not suspect diuorce me from thy presence, though from thy bedde:
I flie, and hate thee like a Serpents hissing, which comes to sting me with pretence of kissing.
O faintie teares, and feeb•e handes, •or euer may you close, and neuer part till sharpest griefe haue cut the heart∣strings of my life. Or else let this same braine of mine dis∣solue to tea•es, and droppe it selfe euen drop by drop, vntill it make a Sea of woes, that therein I may drowne my w•••∣ched life.
Alas poore Ladie, I pittie your calamitie, and grieue to see you bruised by my Maisters iniurie, which makes your eyes like spunges drop these brinish teares, and spoyles a Face, such as was neuer better one framde by the skilfull hand of Nature.
Auoyd thou slaue, how durst thou woe mee? I am like a starre to thee; my O•b's aboue thee.
O! then my Loue is a most cleare and brightest starre: look not with a maleuolent Aspect vpon me, but let your eyes bright raise vp my life, and so extoll my thoughts
What shall I doe?
O! doe not turne away those Eyes, whose radiant beames first nursd my flame.
Auoyde thou vnresistable Torteror, more •ret∣ting to my thoughts then Cankars are to Mettalls. How often haue I tolde thee of my ha•red? For of this bee thou sure and still remembred: deepe hate (like loue) can hard∣ly be dissembled.
Oh here shee is; pray God my Band sit well. Faire Lady, may I presume with the Bee to sucke Hony from thy lippes, for I dream'd the last night.
Nay, I thought he would wooe me dreaming •ike a Welshman.
That I was transfigured, metamorphosd, or trans∣form'd into a flea in thy Bed.
But did I not kill yee then?
Me thoght you did did, but first I dream't I flung you.
Yet againe dreaming, ile talke no more, but be gon; for feare I wake him.
And then me thought, as I was skipping from your knee vnto your thigh, & so forth; you told a Gentleman of it, a friend of yours; who most courtly and softly putting in his hand to catch mee. Spretious shee's gone, sure t'is the acutenes of my ingenuitie, which makes my ieasts so stin∣ging, as she cannot endure them: I must needs eat some of your new court-water-gruell, to qualifie my my inuention.
Thou need'st not loue, speake what thou wilt, if gently thou doe speake, thy words to mee are much more Musicall then is a Syrens voyce. Orpheus himselfe could neuer straine his high stretch'd strings to such Melodious sounds, as when thy voyce doth pierce the •are.
T'is but for my wit she loues me: I sent her trickes alreadie: for Courtyers must aswell thriuing bee, Haue Noses to smell out, as Eyes to see.
Despis'de, and left alone, filde brim full of griefe, and no way to vnloade mee of my cares.
But through these running eyes, in streames of teares.
Whose teares like to a cleer, yet poysoned source, haue with their vapours through these eyes (the windowes to my heart) infected all my thoughts. Thy eyes do shoote forth glances like to starres, though seated in a moyste and rainie Skie, the which hath wounded euen my heart, and I must die; Lest Achilles launce-like, healed by your eye.
Here hath bene a Maze, a Round, a Whyrling in Loue,
Nay Madame, it must needes bee so, or else the Priest will neuer Marrie me.
And so you would haue vs all bee Marryed masked.
True, to which you all may easily perswade your Louers, telling them with my Marriage, will be with much the lesse suspect effected.
But say, who shall knowe vs, when our Faces ••e not seene?
The better; for then you shall appoint each one of them, to chuse you by theyr owne Tokens, which you within your selues shall chaunge: Mistris Peg shall weare Mistris Nans Ring, Mistris Nan your Chaine, and you Mi∣stris Pegs iewell.
But shall they neede to come naked too?
O I, by any meanes, onely for some priuate reasons vnto mee, in which perswasion if you will practise that you know, you will preuaile.
Ile doe my best most willingly.
Nominatiuo, hic, haec, hoc.
A Nowne is the name of a thing.
Amo, amas, amaui, amare.
In speech be these eight parts.
I promise you sir, I had Dinde forth to day, but that you see the weather is Clowdie, and the Heauens lowre on my delights.
I pray you sir, whose Sonne is that bigger Boy?
It is Maister Parmisins sonne the Cheese-monger, and the next to him is Maister Cauetas sonne the Ferry∣man, Page [unnumbered] two very prettie sparks ile assure you. Tobias Parma∣sin, come hither Tobias, holde vp your head Tobias, and looke and you can see a penny in my browe: So, t'is well done; What part of speech is Mentula?
A nowne Adiectiue.
And why a nowne adiectiue?
Because it stands not by himselfe, but it requires an other word to be ioyned with it.
Marke you Syr, I teach both substance and mea∣ning; I doe not teach as your common people, d, o, b, a, b, b, bottles; Goe sit you downe againe Tobyas, Timothie, come yee hither Timothie: How construe you this verse Timothie? I am, iam, Tacturus, Sidera summa putes.
I am, iam, O Iohn, Iohn, putes, doe thou put, Sidera, summa, Syder in Summer, Tacturus, in Tankerds.
A very forward childe, I promise ye.
Goe sit you downe againe: Will you heare them all examined Syr?
Mosse willingly good good Maister Correction.
Yee shall sir; Syr, I haue taken as much paines with them, as anie Poet whatsoeuer could haue done, to make them answer vpon their Q. with good action, distin∣ction, & deliberation: ha, ha, ha, how many diuels are there?
Looke you Syr, there are an infinite number of Diuels: What is the Diuell?
A wicked Spirit.
What is the nature of that wicked spirit?
To worke mischiefe.
On whom doth it worke mischiefe?
On all mankinde.
When hath he most power to worke mischiefe?
When Man hath taken his liquor.
With what visitations then deludes he mankinde?
With strange Earthquakes.
What is the mans best comfort?
To sleepe and slumber.
Looke ye now sir, are they not pretty children?
Very prettie, and well taught, ile assu•e you sir.
Sir, I will tell you, notwithstanding all these paines I take with them, yet how vnkindely their Parents vse me: they suffer theyr younger Children to beray the Church∣porch: And no longer since then Munday last, came the Officiall, and there beeing angrie with mee about other matters, hee threwe that in my dish, as if I could haue hel∣ped it: but I answered him sufficiently: For I tolde him, they that did it, were but the Children and the youth, and youth would breake out in despite of his Nose; or the best mans Nose in the parish.
I thinke yee spend most of your time with your Schollers heere: yee keepe little other companie.
Yes sometimes sir, here was yesterday Maister Nu∣come the Courtier, doe you not knowe him sir?
O very well sir.
Hee is a fine Gentleman, a good Scholler, and an excellent Naturalist: and truly fell into a great disputation, (peace these Boyes there) and our Argument was, whether a Foole or a wiseman made the best Lawyer. He stood for the Wise man, and I most Scholastically, stoode for the Foole: and thus I began my Syllogisme, (peace these Boyes when I bid ye) your wiseman (said I) vseth few words, your Foole, much babling; your best Lawyers vse much bab∣ling. Ergo, your Fooles makes the best Lawyers.
And belieue me sir, t'was well prooued.
A flash, a flash, a foolish Schoole-point, a foolish Schole-point.
O I, and confuted mee too, onely by reason of a scuruie old Prouerbe which sayes, Children and Fooles doe alwayes tell true: but your best Lawyers doe not alwayes tell true: Ergò, your Fooles make not your best Lawyers, a most strong and strange Argument.
I pray Maister Correction, let mee intreat a Play∣day for your Schollers.
O Maister Wages, they do nothing else, they do nothing but play, nothing but play.
Nay good sir, do not deny me, for I haue some pri∣uate busines with you of 〈◊〉 importance.
Nay then sir you •hall preuaile indeed: you shall, yet I remember; Dyonisius ille Tyrānus, Scyciliae crudelissimus, crudelissimus Scici•iae Tyrannus ille Dyonisius: sayes to one of his Pupils: Hue ades, haec animo, concipe dictatuo. So I say vnto you all my Maisters, reuerere Maiores: plucke off your Hats to your betters, and looke yee giue the Woman the wall, and so goe your wayes.
Gratias: Gratias: Gratias: Gratias:
Morrow Mistris Correction.
Morrow good Wages.
Morrow sweet Wife, sweete Frisset, sweet Nuptiall.
O Maister Wages! how doth your good Maister, sir Timothie Troublesome? what, doth he thinke he is a Cuckold still?
An arrant Cuckold (Wife) belieue it.
Come, come, Husband, you are such ano∣ther; why doe you say so?
Because it is true, Wife.
Syr, Maister Correction you are mistaken, I thinke hee be no Cuckold.
Good Maister Wages talke no more of Cuc∣kolds; I would they were all in the Sea for my part.
Husband, can you swim?
No Wife, nor I desire not to learne.
I would haue you in any case appoint with my Husband that I may come masked.
Peace, that plot is already drawne, Maister Cor∣rection, I am sent vnto you from my maister, who cōmends his Loue vnto you, intreating you will giue your diligent attendance this Euening at the Church, because himselfe vpon his Diuorce, is priuately to be marryed to a new wife: three other couples he brings with him, they all come mas∣ked, yet I will giue you priuate notice what each one is: onely I must desire you not to saile.
Maister Wages, your Maister is the helme by which my labours are gouern'd: and tell him I will steare all the nauie of my actions by his directions: And so pray commend me backe to him.
Well sir then, till then Farewell.
The like to you sir. Come Wise, I hope that thou shalt thriue, for as all your Cockatrices maintaine sur∣gions by theyr issues: So doth the Priest and Midwife a∣gree: I set them together, they make worke for thee.
And truely Husband, ile come to their labours, be it at midnight, if they send for me.
Doth my Tyre sit well Nan?
Passing well, ile assure you Madame.
Prethee tell me too, how am I drest?
Why thou art very well drest too, but basted ad∣mirably: for the threedes sit in thy Gowne, Marrie thou wantst a little Cramming.
And that's pittie; for I can tell you, I am of my selfe a rare bit.
Nay then thou art for the Seruingmen, for your Gal∣lants (I can assure you) ride altogether with a snaffle.
Come, thou hast such a deale of wit.
Indeede I had, before I spent it amongst such vn∣thankfull persons as you are Peg; but I prethee pinne, my Gowne close before: for it.
That I will, but why then doest thou obscure thy Brauerie? this thy Petticoate is a great deale richer the• thy Gowne.
Faith I, I weare my cloathes as your Gallants we are their wits, the best side inwards, I scorne to show it.
But for all this Idle talke, I would we had appoin∣ted our marriage to morrowe morning.
Then the people would a stood gazing on vs, and be∣sides, we should haue bin like thee in dutch, subiect to euerie Coblers interpretation, but now being mar•yed in the eue∣ning, presentely bed time followes.
Phoe, but tis not the fashion.
Tut, hang fashion, I loue it in nothing but my cloa∣thes.
Why, thou knowst tis not the fashion in all places to lie with ones owne husband euerie night. Slight I had ra∣ther lie with a man, and neuer marrie him, then marrie a mā and neuer lie with him, come, come, I speake my minde freely, I am none of these simpering wenches that come at e∣uerie, word & saies I forsooth, & no forsooth, & blushes at the sight of a childe, it puts her in minde how twas made & cries faugh at a wanton lest in a plaie, and harkens to a bau∣die tale in her eare.
I, tis but dishonorable to marrie thus in hugger mug∣ger, men will say we are with childe, and are asham'd to shew our faces.
Our faces! why our faces I hope do: not show vs to be with childe, tis out bellies showes that, and I hope thou art quicke flesh and not dead fish, thou wilt not turne vp the white of thy belly, woo't? but prethee tell me, was I not marryed yesterday?
Yesterday, why doost aske?
Because, like a young marryed woman that's poiso∣ned before shee is baud, I begin to long alreadie.
For what I pray thee?
Faith to be a bed with my husband.
•alas woman, those that are past childe bearing, vse to long for that too.
Nay, but my longing yet me thinkes st•etches a great deale longer, for I long to be a Widdow, that I might haue a new Husband: yet not for any concupis•ent desires, that I haue in the world.
No, I thinke so too, but onely a desire thou hast to trie the difference of men, and therfore I thinke thou wert best next to marrie an olde man with a white head, because thou maiest sleep quiet & not be troubl•d a nights.
By this light I had as liue mar••e a Saint Dauis Leeke, no, no, take this of me, where euer thou seest the Snowe lye on the Mountaines, be assured there's no great heate in the vallie.
Let me see, I would be a—
A Priestes wife I warant ye, because thou wouldest fare costly, and liue lasily.
No Nan, then marrie a Londoner, for then thou shalt liue a life & twere a Lady, weare thy golde necklace, and goe in thy Veluet cap euerie day.
True, and then when thy husband is a broad in traf∣ficke for commodities, in other countries, why thou maist deale at home for ready money
No not a Londoner by no meanes.
Why if they haue but a plague amongst them one weeke they all crie out of a dead time streight, besides, if they receiue but a little losse at sea, they breake streight, and where the husband breakes, you knowe the wife can no longer hold out, she must downe too for want of mainte∣nance.
Nay then marrie a Souldier, for questionlesse most of them will vse their wiues wel, for they loue their punkes ex∣ceedingly.
O but they haue a vile sault too, for they alwaies be∣get their children by day, and then they be squint eyed, for when the Father lookes one way, and the mother another, •o see if any body come the whilst, how can the childe look right?
What saist thou by a Ciuilian Nan.
O no, by no meanes, for moste of their posteritie haue ill lucke, for what their fathers get by baudie courts, they commonly spend it all againe in baudie houses, No and euer • marry againe, ile marrie an Irish Marchant, because they all speake latine, and indeed are moste of them Philo∣sophers by fortune: Omnia mea mecum porto, for they carry all their ware in their breech: but come, let vs make hast Page [unnumbered] away, I feare out louers doe our comming stay.
You see maister Venter, the greatest comfort that is left me now, is onely in my neighbours loues, where are these knaues there?
What haue they sup'd within.
Not yet my Lord.
Why so, thou art an honest knaue, goe see that none want wine.
I will my Lord.
I would not haue the worst complaine of scar∣citie or want of any thing, for Maister Venter wee shall car∣rie nothing with vs, for naked we into the world came, with∣out that which we now possesse and haue, and without it we must vnto the graue.
I would desire a word in priuate with your ho∣nou.
With all my heart:
Harke you neighbour, Sir Iohn tels mee that to honnour me in this my predecessors still accustom'd feast, foure new marryed couples are heather come in a ma•ke, newlle from the church, their feete not yet since their nuptiall, haue kisd their owne thresholds.
Tis Signe ye are well belou'd my Lord.
I am indeede Maister Venter, I am indeede.
Gentlemen and Women, yee are all welcome euen with my heart, I with my heart yfaith. O neighbour Venter my Sonne and your Daughter now bee marryed, what a ioyfull maske would this haue bin.
Tis true my Lord, but they are fled beyond all hope of euer seeing them againe.
Tis trew, tis trew, yet though the frute gone be, my griefe you see, like leaues sticke 〈◊〉 vppon this tree. but come neighbour come, lets sit & look vpon this youth∣full dauncing mirth, for youth and mirth haue daunc'd themselues out at heeles with me.
Nay, pray Gentlemen vnmaske, that we may knowe to whome we shall be thankful for this honour, how now my Sonne?
Now may my blessiug raise thee from the ground.
And mine make thee both fruitfull, and a faithfull wife.
Why what are you?
Now by my conscience I am deceiu'd.
No, not a whit, for I will loue you euer.
O! I repent it not, this match is double made, and twice hath holy Hymens 〈…〉
Well, since tis thus hence foorth ile loue thee euer, for que sera, sera, gainst what plots so euer, but who is this, maister Correction?
A friend of yours.
O then sir tis a friend of yours.
Come ye away huswife, come ye from him, come.
Faith •ir no, why is he not my husband? did not you your selfe marrie me to him? but doe you heare, you were best be quiet and let me alone, if not, yfaith ile tell all.
Tell what thou canst, iustice my Lord Iustice, I beseech ye for Iustice.
Nay, I beseech your Lordship too, though I am but a weake vessell called a Woman, & therefore by reason of my bashfulnes vnable sir to set foorth mine owne tale, yet I doubt not, but I shal finde good hearing at your Lord ships hād, if ye wil but giue me leaue to opē mine own case.
Speake, what are your greeuances.
May it please your honour in few words, my husband hath foure wiues, and then I hope tis as lawfull for me to haue two husbands.
How doe you answere this Sir Iohn?
And like your honour, I thinke tis as lawfull for me to haue foure wiues, as tis for my parson to haue foure benefices, con•idering I vse them as he dooth his benefices, for I protest to your honour, I neere came neare none of them.
Will not this doe it Maister Wages?
No, you see he hath answerd it.
Nay then and it like your Lordship, I may bee diuorc'd for another thing, but that I am ashamd to speake on't.
Nay, you must tell what tis.
Truely I am halfe ashamde.
Come, come woman, neuer be a shamde to tell (true.
And I may be so bolde to tell your honour in priuate.
With all my heart.
Truely and like your honour, he hath not that a man should haue.
No, why what doth he want.
Nay pray your Lordshippe to spare me now, faith I am asham'd.
Nay good Mistris Correction, I must knowe what it is.
Why then sir I must needes tell: truely a hath neuer a beard.