Act. 4. Scaen. 2.
Hei! the Sisters are ravisht, and we have holy kisses enough. I shall be as great among 'um as—Who's there? What, your Spouse, Pury?
She looks like Niobe on the moun∣tains top.
That Niobe, Dogrel, you have us'd worse then Phoebus did. Not a dog looks melancholy, but he's compar'd to Niobe. He beat a villanous Tapster t'other day, to make him look like Niobe.
Why 'faith that 's pretty odde, like one o' mine.
O, Sir, had you the vertuous impu∣dence to slander a poor maid thus?
Poor enough now indeed. I will not marry thee: thy portion was a condition of the Contract. I'll sooner marry a woman that sells Orenges with a face like Belins∣gate.
I scorn thee—I contracted to thee?
Wert not? Answer.
No, by heaven.
Bear witness, Gentlemen; these words are Ca•duus benedictus to me.
And what will you do now, fair Gammer Lucia, you that contemn'd the Co∣lonel? Will you knit for your living?
Or else weed gardens for six pence a day and bread.
This is unheard-of rudeness.
Nay let me ha' mine too; I ha' got a pat one for her. Or else turn Apple-wo∣man, live in a stall, and sell pippins for eight a peny.
What think ye, Gentlemen? she'll make a pretty Landress.
A Landress? hang her, she looks like a foul handkercher.
Pray let me go; I ha' business re∣quires me.
What? you're to meet some Gen∣tlemen? How is't? twelve pence a time, I warrant, in these cloathes.
Where do you set up? Nay, we are true strikers. What, is't in Covent-garden?
Or do you renew the decay'd credit of Turnbal-street?
Or honour the Mill-bank at West∣minster.
Or flee to Wapping, and engross the Sailors.
Or Moor-fields, and sell cakes.
Are all barbarous here?
Nay tell's; we shall be customers.
Enough, enough; give her a clap o'the breech, and let her go.
Well, fare thee well, girl; we shall finde you at the Play house i' the six-peny-room sometimes.
And d'ye hear, Lucia, Keep your self wholesome: your tub's a terrible thing.
Ha, ha, ha.
A pretty Scene i'faith. Now for the Captain; he'll entertain us like forraign Princes: we'll drink this half-yeer with him before we eat or sleep.
I'll drink like Gog-Magog himself, or the Spanish Tinker on a holy-day.
Leave your verses, Dogrel. I hate your verses, Dogrel, till I be drunk. 'Tis a glori∣ous Captain.
As free as Free-town in Germany▪ Here comes Ieronymo.
Act. 4. Scaen. 3.
The story says my neece is run away. The story is not bad. Now will I get the widow, turn off my old rascally companions, and live like an Emperour.
He says he will live like an Empe∣rour; ha, ha, ha, brave Captain.
Invincible Captain Priam.
Hei brave Captain!
What do you mean, Gentlemen? Are ye broke loose from Bedlam? Ha' you no other place to play your tricks in, but at my door? If you come here as Mummers, much may be done; haply you may have twelve-pence: or else depart; depart, if you be wise.
Why how now, Captain!
If you be not gone immediately, I'll ha' my men switch you further off—Here are saucy knaves indeed with all my heart—
By this light the Captain's drunk without us.
Prethee, Captain, thou art as hu∣morous as a bell-rope. Dost thou know me, man? I'm M. Puny.
Y' are a fool, an addle egge: there's nothing else but cobwebs i' your Page [unnumbered] head: The height of all thy knowledge is to find out the quarter day against thy rents come in, and thou couldst not finde out that, if 'twere not marke'd i'the Almanack with red letters. Yet you forsooth, because you see some Gentlemen and Poets of late, a little extravagant sometimes in their simi∣litudes; because they make a pretty kinde of sound to those that mark 'um not; make that your way of wit, and never speak with∣out comparisons. But never were compa∣risons so odious as thine are. And these two Rabbit-suckers, for a quart of wine extol thee, and cry good when thou speakest so.
The Captains raging mad like a Baker when his oven is over heated.
And that was one of um—
Come leave your humors, hang you, confound you, pox take you, Captain, we come to drink here.
Mine's no blind Ale-house, where you may roar and swagger with half a pipe of Tobacco in your mouth.
Do you know me, Captain?
I would I never had. Thou art one that sayest thou hast seen the wars, but thou liest basely; for if thou ever wast in a battle, i'm sure thou winkest there. Thou art one that liv'st like a Raven by provi∣dence and rapine: one that if thou shouldst chance to go to bed sober, thou wouldst put it down in thy Almanack for an unlucky day; sleep is not death's image with thee, unless thou beest dead-drunk.
He dares not abuse me thus.
Is't even so, Captain? Has your money exalted you?
No, it has humbled me, and made me know my self and you, whom I shall study to forget hereafter.
Come, Captain, shall you and I drink hand to hand?
Oh, you're his Lansprizado, Sirrah, Trundle.
Let not thy wrath swell like the A∣drian Sea.
Thou that troublest thy self to be a fool; I will so beat thee, Trundle, that thou shalt hobble like one of thy own Rhyms. Therefore, if ever thou shewest that Poetical face of thine within my doors a∣gain, Ile use thee worse then thou didst me, when thou mad'st an Ode in commendation of me.
Then break thine oaten reed—
Fare ye well Gentlemen. I shall see thee Cutter a brave Tapster shortly; it must be so i'faith, Cutter; thou must like Bar∣dolph i'the play, the spiggot weild. Dogrel shall make and sell smal Pamphlets i'the play∣house, or else Tobacco, or else snuffe Can∣dles. As for Puny, his means will serve him to be cheated of these five or six yeers.
'Tis very well the times are so al∣ter'd.
Ye cannot want a living Gentlemen, as long as there are Whores, Bowling-allies, or Ordinaries; especially such able men as you are. There will be wars too shortly; never quake, Cutter; here's Dogrel, when his want has spun him out a little thinner, will serve you for a pike.
'Tis very well: pray God your mirth last, Captain.
When you're grown old, and your fingers then only nimble with the palsie, I'll provide an Hospital for you—Sedes ubi fata quietas — Fare ye well, Gallants; and pray be merry: Fare ye well heartily.
Poverty, the pox, an ill wife, and the Devil go with thee, Captain.
I vexed him, when I put that jest up∣on him, like a Baker when his oven's over∣heated.
If I don't compose a Satyre shall make him hang himself, may I never write verse more.
I would beat him like a Buck, but I shall be bound to the peace for't, and be affronted afterward by every one.
No, no, no—let me see—Besides my Satyre I have another way—let me see—His brother traffickt at Guiny.
Yes, but the Merchants there report him dead.
The more knaves they: he lives, and I am he.
How? How, Dogrel, thou the Mer∣chant man?
By this light, I either am, or will be.
How, Dogrel! Though thou be as thin and penetrable as a spirit, yet thou canst not assume dead bodies.
Prithee, Dog•el, hold thy peace; thou talkest like a hogs f•ce.
De•ide not Puny: if I be not more like then any of your similitudes, I'll be hang•d for't.
Thy face, indeed, will do exceed•ng well to represent one risen from the grave
By long conversation with the Ca¦ptain, I know all the passages between him and his brother; know what his humour, what his state and fortunes were, better then himself did when he lived.
I, but thou 'lt ne'er act him. Why, man, he was a thing more st•ange then any monster in Africk where he travell'd.
What was he, prithee?
I knew him well enough; he had lost his memory, and therefore either writ down every thing, and took his business with him in a scroll, or else trusted it to his man Iohn, whom he carried with him.
O I, that Iohn and he went perpetu∣ally together, like the blinde man and his dog.
Or a Tinker and his t•ull. But d'ye hear, gallants, let me do apple-Iohn: never was such a Iohn as I'll be, not Iohn a Gaunt himself, nor Iohn a Nook.
But Dogrel, how wilt thou be made like that Cinque-•ater?
Why we Poets can do any thing. First you may remember (unless you be like him) 'tis seven yeers since he went from hence; and time, you know, will alter men. I made an Ode upon that subject once: Time, that dost eat, and makst no Lent—
Pox take your Ode; go on i' your business, Dogrel.
Then I and my man Iohn (as simply as he stands here) will swarthy over our faces as if the Countrey had made us so: for if you remember my verses, In Africk they are black as coals—
The devil's i' thy verses. Prithee on.
Besides, we'll be attir'd in some strange habit of those Countries: I know not how; but you shall see't in Speed, Maps.
Why now I like thee, my little Ovid; go about thy Metamorphosis. I'm for Taby∣th•; she's taken, Dogrel,•elted like virgins wax. I ll to her presently, and tell her that the vision appeared to me last, and warn'd me to carry her to S. 〈◊〉; there will I have a Priest.
A Priest, Cutter?
A Minister, I mean; a holy, godly, zealous Minister: and she—You conceive me, Dogrel—
Well, let's be going then. Puny, take heed o' your wit when you act Iohn: I shall beat my servant Iohn, if he be witty.
That's the devil; I shall hardly ab∣stain.
And Dogrel, you must make no verses, Dogrel: let that be the first thing your memory fails you in.
Well, I'll follow you in a pissing-while.
Do so, good Iohn.
Now will I turn Iohn, as round as a Wedding-ring: and if that plot be cut of• by the nose—Ha? Here comes sententious Bias that walks gravely. I'll observe my young Laconian.
Act. 4. Scaen. 4.
'Siid I did not touch her. What would you ha' me say? would I were Iohn the Merchants man now.
I had rather be a pickl'd▪ Oister, then i'this case I am in now.
D'ye hear, Sir—by Heaven I lay with her, but we were contracted first—will you be pleas'd to hear me?
No, be gone.
Most willingly. Fare ye well hear∣tily, Sir; I wish you a good night-cap.
Act. 4. Scaen. 5.
I tell you, Captain, he's a stub∣born boy, a self-will'd hair-brain'd boy: he has his know-nots, and his wo'nots, and his may be's, when I speak. I have told him of his manner a hundred ti•es; nay I may say a thousand.
Pray take •y counsel for this once: though I be a souldier, yet I love not to do all things by force. Speak fairly to him.
Speak fairly to my son? I'll see him buried, I'll see his eyes out first.
I mean, desire him.
O, that's another matter. Well, for your perswasion, I'll do it: but if ever I speak fair to him—
I know his nature's such, that kind∣ness will sooner win him—Look you, he's here i'faith, as melancholy as an owl i' the day-time.
O, are you there, Jacksauce—
Nay, remember what I told you.
'Tis true indeed How now, son Dick? you're melancholy still, I see.
It best becomes my fortune, Sir, now you have cast me off.
I cast thee off? marry God for∣bid, Dick. How dost do, Dick? Thou lookst ill, Dick, in troth thou dost: I must have thee merry.
I see all kindness is against this dotards nature, he does so over-act it.
Wilt thou have a Physitian, Dick? Thou art my onely son, Dick, and I must have a care of thee: thou shouldst ride a∣broad sometimes, Dick, and be merry. We'll ha' a wife too for thee, Dick, a good wife, ha—
I thank you, Sir; but I know not—
I, now he's at his know-nots. I will make you leave those know-nots, boy—
Remember, M. Truman, what I told you.
'Tis true indeed. Your father's old now, Dick, you see, and would fain see a grandchilde: tis out of love to you, Dick, that I perswade you to't; you may be a com∣fort, Dick, to your father now.
You may comm•nd me.
Well said, Dick, I see thou lovest me now, Dick; dost thou want any money, Dick? or cloathes? or horses? You sh•uld tell me what you want, you shall have any thing —here's the Captain, a hearty friend of yours—where's your Daughter, Captain? there's a wench, Dick! ha you seen her?
And how do you like her, Dick? speak freely.
I know no cause why any should dislike her.
Why well said, Dick; keep thee o' that minde still, and God will bless thee.
Your father means, Mr. Truman, I suppose, how you like her for a wife.
I can tell my own meaning my self I hope, I'm old enough I'm sure.
Well, Sir, if you esteem her worth your choise, she shall be yours.
Why what should ayre him, Cap∣tain? He esteem her? Must he, forsooth, or I be Master pray? Captain Blade, you make him too saucy with such talk; never tell me, Captain Blade, I say it makes him too saucy, I marry does it, it does i'faith; must he be his own Carver? Come no more words, I•ll have you married presently: i'saith law, Captain, you make him too sau∣cy, that you do, you do i'faith, Sir; I can't abide when sons must come to esteem, he esteem her with a vengeance?
I desire time onely to consider—
I, why I told you this; 'tis such a another wilful, hair-braind Coxcomb, he's always a considering. Captain Blade, I could never keep him from his considering; but I shall so consider you—go get you in, Sir, I'll have it done when I please; get you in, Sir, I'll keep you from considering here∣after.
Act. 4. Scaen. 6.
What did you say your name was?
Well said, Iane; and as I told you, Iane, you shall have six pound a yeer, Iane, for your wages; and then my cloathes will serve you with a little alteration: There's a gown of my Cosens within will almost fit you, you're much about her height, you shall ha' that too. I had a Cousin here was a foolish thing god wot, 'tis well I'm rid of her—and d'ye hear—you must be very se∣cret and faithful to your Mistris; a wait∣ing womans place, is a place require, secrecy.
I shall ill deserve your favour else.
Nay, I dare trust thee, Iane, thou lookst ingenuously: didst thou ever live at Court?
O, you must learn the fashions of the Court: I'm already contracted to one Mr. Puny, though he little things of it; Take heed of speaking, Iane, you see I trust you. And when I'm married to him I'll live at Court: He's a simple thing God knows, but I'll have him knighted, and I like him the better for't: A wise woman you know will make the best use of a foolish husband. You know how to dress me, Iane, i'the Court fashion?
And you can lay me on a Fucus hansomly?
I hope I shall quickly learn it.
And when you see a friend with me, or so, that I would be private with; you can stay i'the next room, and see that no body come in, to interrupt us?
I shall not be deficient in my duty.
Well said. And can you tell in pri∣vate such a Gentleman that you heard me speak in commendation of him, and that I dreamt of him last night? that will be in your way, Iane, such men will be grateful. And say that I was longing t'other day, for such a jewel or such a toy?
I hope you shall not finde me want∣ing in any service to you.
I beleeve thee, Iane. To morrow I'll teach thee more: I shall read to you eve∣ry day a lesson, til I see you perfect in the sci∣ence: 'tis requisite that you have a little of the Theory first. Go look out the pearle chain in the Cabinet within; and stay till I come to you.
The wench I see is docile, and will learn; but alas she must have time; she has a little to much City breeding, I see, by Court'sies and forsooths.
Act 4. Scaen. 7.
How now? all alone, Aurelia? you're eating soap and ashes here, I warrant you, without so much as saying grace for 'um.
I'd rather repent in ashes, Sir, then eat 'um
What would you think if I should marry now this very day?
I should think, Sir, you'd repent to morrow for•t.
And the widow too.
The widow? then you'll repent to night, Sir, I believe.
I woo'd her long ago, and now she sees there's an estate faln to me, faith she's content; and, to save charges, is willing to be married to day privately.
But I hope you are not so, Sir: why we shall have all the silenc'd Ministers hum∣ming and hawing thrice a week here; not a dish o' meat but will be longer a blessing then a rosting. I shall never hear my Virgi∣nals when I play upon 'um, for her daughter Tabytha's singing of Psalms. The first pious deed will be, to banish Shakespear and Ben. Iohnson out of the parlour, and to bring in their rooms Mar-prelate, and Pryns works. You'll ne'er endure 't, Sir You were wont to have a Sermon once a quarter at a good time; you shall have ten a day now.
Let me alone to deal with 'um. If any of her eating talking tribe shew their ears here, I will so use her tribe, that they shall free the Pope, and call me Antichrist here∣after: and the widow, I•ll warrant you, I'll convert: I'll carry her to Plays, in stead of Lectures: she shall see them, as well as the dancing o' the ropes, and the Puppet-play of Nineve. But this is not my business, girl: I have an husband too for you.
I could wish you would keep him, Sir, if you have him; I know not what to do with him my self.
Come, 'tis a man you'll like, I'm sure; I have heard you often commend him for his parts. 'Tis young M. Truman.
Truman, Sir? the melancholy cross-arm'd Gentleman that talks to trees and ri∣vers as he goes by 'um? We should sit all day together like pictures of man and wife, with our faces towards one another, and never speak I'll undertake, upon our Marriage-night he'll onely sigh a little, cry Cruel Fate, and then go sleep.
Never fear't. Come, thou shalt have him, girl: go quickly and dress your self; we'll both be married on a day. The humor is good, and it saves charges: there's the wi∣dows humour too.
You'll give me leave, Sir—
No, no, no; prithee go dress thy self: by heaven it must be as I say: the fates have ordain'd it.
Be pleas'd to hear me, Sir.
I would not hear thee, though thou wert an Angel. I'm as resolute as he that writ the Resolves. Come away, and adorn thy self.
Act. 4. Scaen. 8.
Me thinks. I look now like a two-peny apple pye, I know no• how.
Iohn, What's your name, Iohn? I have forgot your name, Iohn.
Do you mean the name that was given me at the Font?
Font? Font? I do not remember that Font. Let me see my scroll.
Your memory, Sir, 's as short as an Ephemerides.
Did not I warn you, Iohn, of such strange what-d'ye-call ums? Here's for that word.
Pox take you, Dogrel, you strike too hard.
Thou'dst act well, I see: we'll ha' thee to Golden-lane, and there thou shalt do Page [unnumbered] a King, or else some God in thine own cloathes.
Did not I warn you o' these what-d'ye-call-ums? 'Faith we'll be even, Ma∣ster.
Very well, Iohn; those be good Me∣morandums for your Master.
I should be angry with thee for it, but that I ha' quite forgot it.
Let's see your scroll.
Pish, if he pose me in any thing, my memory's weak, he knows; I h' forgot it quite.
And then your voice I fear; and then—
Pox take you, Cutter; a Casuist would not finde so many scruples.
The devil's in't, I shall never do this part; I know not how to speak and not be witty.
Well, look to't, gallants; if the Captain finde you out, he'll abuse you most unmercifully—I'm now for Tabytha.
The Captain abuse me? By this day, I'll jeer with him with my hands bound be∣hinde me. Come away, Master.
I, Iohn; but which way did we come?
Why this way, Master.
Then that way we must go. Is not this my house in Fleet street, Iohn I thought you had said t' had been in Fleet street.
Yes, so 'tis, Sir.
Truly I thought you said so. Come away, Iohn.