Playes written by the thrice noble, illustrious and excellent princess, the Lady Marchioness of Newcastle.

ACT II.

Scene 9.

Enter Madam la Mere, and her daughter Madamosel Caprisia.

Madam Mere.

Daughter, did you entertain the Lady Visit civilly?

Mad. Capris.

Yes Mother, extraordinary civilly, for I gave her leave to entertain herself with her own discourse.

Mad. Mere.

That was rudely.

Mad. Capris.

O no, for certainly it is the height of courtship to our sex, to let them talk all the talk themselves; for all women takes more delight to discourse themselves, than to hear another; and they are extreamly pleased, if any listens, or at lest seems to listen to them, For the truth is, that tal∣king is one of the most luxurious appetites women have; wherefore I could not be more civiller, than to bar and restrain the effeminate nature in my self, to give her tongue liberty.

Madam. Mere.

But you should have spoken a word now, and then, as giving her civilly some breathing rest for her discourse to lean upon.

Mad. Capris.

Her speech was so strong, and long-winded, as it run with a full speed, without stop or stay, it neither need spurre nor whip; the truth is it had been well, if it had been held in with the bridle of moderation, for it ran quite beyond the bounds of discretion, although sometimes it ran upon the uneven wayes of slander, other times upon the stony ground of censure, and sometimes in the soul wayes of immodesty, and often upon the furrows of non-sense; besides, it did usually skip over the hedges of Truth, and certainly, if the necessities of nature, and the separations of Neigh-bour∣hood, and the changes and inter-course of, and in the affairs of the VVorld, and men did not forcibly stop, sometimes a womans tongue, it would run as far as the confines of death.

Mad. Mere.

But let me tell you Daughter, your tongue is as sharp, as a Serpents sting, and will wound as cruelly and deadly where it bites.

Capris.

It proves my tongue a womans tongue.

Mad. Mere.

VVhy should a womans tongue have the effects of a Serpents sting.

Capris.

The reason is evident, for the great Serpent that tempted, and so perverted our Grandmother Eve in Paradise, had a monstrous sting, and our Grandmother whetted her tongue with his sting, and ever since, all her effe∣minate rase hath tongues that stings.

Ex.

Scene 10.

Enter Madamosel Doltche, and Monsieur Bon Compaignon.

BOn Compaignon.

Lady, Monsieur Nobilissimo is so in love with you, as he cannot be happy, untill you be his wife.

Doltche.

I wonder he should be in love with me, since I have neither beau∣ty to allure him, nor so much riches, as to intice him, nor wit to perswade him to marry me.

Bon Compaignon.

But Lady, you have vertue, good nature, sweet dispositi∣on, gracefull behaviour, which are sufficient Su••jects for love to settle on, did you want what you mentioned, out you have all, not only what any man can with or desire with a wife, but you have as much as you can wish and desire to have your self.

Doltche.

I will rather be so vain, as to strive to believe you, than rudely to contradict you.

Bon Compaignon.

It is neither erroneous, nor vain to believe a truth, Lady.

Doltche.

Nor civil to make a doubt, Sir; but I am obliged unto you for that, you help to cover my defects, and wants in nature, with your civil com∣mendation, and your kind estimation of me.

Ex.

Scene 11.

Enter Monsieur Importunate, and Madamosel Caprisia.

IMportunate.

My fair wit, you look as if you were angry with me.

Capris.

You dwell not so long in my mind, as to make me angry, my thoughts are strangers to your figures.

She offers to go away, and he holds her from going.

Importunate.

Nay faith, now I have you, I will keep you perforce, untill you pay me the kiss you owe me.

Capris.

Let me go, for I had rather my eyes were eternally seal'd up, my ears for ever stopt close from sound, than hear or see you.

I care not whether you hear, or see me, so you will kisse me.

Capris.

Let me go, or otherwise my lips shall curse you, and my words be∣ing whetted with injurie, are become so sharp, as they will wound you.

Importunate

I will keep you untill your words begs for mercy in the most humblest stile, and after the most mollifying manner.

Capris.

Hell take you, or Earth devoure you like a beast, never to rise.

Importunate.

Love strike your heart with shooting thorough your eyes.

Capris.

May you be blown up with pride, untill you burst into madnesse, may your thoughts be more troubled than rough waters, more raging than a tempest; may your senses feel no pleasure, your body find no rest, nor your life any peace.

Importunate.

May you love me with a doting affection; may I be the only man you will imbrace, and may you think me to be as handsome as Narcis∣sus did himself.

Capris.

You appear to me in all the horrid shapes that fancy can in∣vent.

Enter Madam Mere.

Madam Mere.

Why, how now daughter, alwayes quarreling.

Capris.

Can you blame me, when I am beset with rudeness, and assaulted with uncivil actions.

Madam Mere.

Let her alone, Monsieur Importunate, for she is a very Shrew.

Importunate.

Well, go thy wayes, for all the Shrews that ever nature made, you are the cursest one.

Ex.

Scene 12.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and a Grave Matron.

Volante.

I am not of the humour; as most vvomen are, vvhich is, to please themselves vvith thinking, or rather believing, that all men that looks on them, are in love vvith them: But I take pleasure, that all men that I look on, should think I am in love vvith them; vvhich men vvill soon be∣lieve, being as self-conceited as vvomen are.

Matron.

But vvhere is the pleasure, Lady.

Volante.

Why, in seeing their phantastical garbs, their strutting postures, their smiling faces, and the jackanapesly actions, and then I laugh in my mind, to think vvhat fools they are, so as I make my self merry at their folly, and not at my own.

Matron.

But men vvill appear as much Jackanapeses, when they are in love vvith you, as if they thought you vvere in love vvith them, for all Lovers are apish, more or less.

Volante.

I grant all Lovers are, but those that think themselves beloved, ap∣pears more like the grave Babboon, than the skipping Iackanapes; for though their actions are as ridiculous, yet they are vvith more formality, as being more circumspectly foolish, or self-conceitedly vain.

Matron.

Well, for all your derisions and gesting at men, I shall see you at onetime or other, shot vvith Cupids arrovv.

Volante.

By deaths dart, you may; but never by loves arrovv; for death hath povver on me, though love hath none.

Matron.

There is an old saying, that time, importunity and opportunity, vvins the chastest She, vvhen those are joyned vvith vvealth and dignity; but

to yield to a lawfull love, neither requires much time, nor pleading, if the Sui∣ters have but Person, Title and Wealth, which women for the most part do prize, before valour, wisdom or honesty.

Volante.

Women hath reason to prefer certainties before uncertainties; for mens Persons, Titles and Wealths, are visible to their view and knowledge, but their Valours, Wisdoms and Honesties, doth rest upon Faith; for a coward may fight, and a fool may speak rationally, and act prudently some∣times, and a knave may appear an honest man.

Marrons.

They may so, but a valiant man, will never act the part of a cow∣ard; nor a wise man prove a fool, nor an honest man appear a knave.

Volante.

There can be no proof of any mans Valour, Wisdom or Ho∣nesty, but at the day of his death, in aged years, when as he hath past the danger in Wars, the tryals in Miseries, the malice of Fortune, the tempta∣tions of Pleasures, the inticements of Vice, the heights of Glory, the changes of Life, provokers of Passion, deluders of Senses, torments of Pain, or painfull Torments, and to chose a Husband that hath had the Tryals, and ex∣periences of all these, is to chose a Husband out of the Grave, and rather than I will marry death, I will live a maid, as long as I live, and when I dye, let death do what he will with me.

Ex.

Scene 13.

Enter Monsieur Profession in mourning; then enters his Friend, Monsieur Comorade.

MOnsieur Comorade.

Well met, I have travelled thorough all the Town, and have inquired of every one I could speak to, and could neither hear of thee, nor see thee.

Profession.

It were happy for me, if I had neither ears nor eyes.

Comorade.

Why, what is the matter, man?

He observes his mourning and then starts.

Gods-me! Now I perceive thou art in mourning: which of thy Friends is dead?

Profession.

The chiefest friend I had, which mas my heart; For that is dead, being kill'd with my Mistress cruelty, and buryed in her incon∣stancy.

Comorade.

I dare swear, not the whole heart; for every mans heart, is like a head of Garlick, which may be divided into many several cloves: Wherefore, cheer up, man; for it is but one clove, that death, or love, hath swallowed down into his Stomach, to cure him of the wind-cholick; and since thy heart hath so many cloves, thou mayst well spare him one, and be never the worse; But if it be buryed, as you say, in your Mistresses incon∣stancy; it is to be hop'd it will be converted into the same inconstant humour, and that will cure the other part of thy heart.

Profession.

O! She was the Saint of my thoughts, and the Goddesse of my soul.

Comorade.

Prethee let me be thy moral Tutor, to instruct thee in the know∣ledge of Truth, and to let thee know, that vertue is the true Goddesse, to which all men ought to bow to; and that youth, beauty and wealth, are sixt to be forsaken, when vertue comes in place; and vertue is constant, both to its principals and promises; Wherefore, if thy Mistresse be inconstant, she cannot be vertuous, wherefore let her go.

Monsieur Profession setches a great sigh, and goes out without speaking a word.

Comorade alone.

Comorade.

I think his heart is dead in good earnest; for it hath no sense of what I have said.

Ex.

Scene 14.

Enter Madamosel Mere, and her Daughter Madamosel Caprisia.

MERE.

Daughter, you have a sufficiency of wit and beauty, to get many Lovers to chose a Husband, if you had but patience to enter∣tain, and prudence to keep them; But your being crosse, will lose your Lo∣vers, as soon as your beauty hath taken them.

Capris.

It is no prize for a woman to have such Lovers, that hath amo∣rous natures; for it is their nature that drives them to her, and not the womans beauty or wit, that draws them to her; and there is less force required to drive, than to draw; but the truth is, that most men hath such threed-bare souls, as if the nap of their understanding were worn of; or indeed, their souls seems, as if there were never any woven thereon, as that nature hath made all their souls, thin and course, or as if time had Moath-eaten them, which makes me, although not to hate you, yet to despise that Sex; for men that should imitate the Gods, yet are they worse than Beasts, which makes me shun their beastly company.

Mere.

Daughter, you speak and judge passionately, and passion can never reason well; for how is it possible, for reason to exercise its function, when passion opposes, and is too strong for it.

Capris.

Truth may be delivered in passion, but not corrupted with passion; for truth is truth, howsoever it be divulged, or else it is no truth, but false∣hood.

Ex.

Scene 14.

Enter Monsieur Perfection, and Madamosel Solid, drest very fine.

PErfection.

You are wondrous fine, to day, Madam.

Solid.

If I seem fine, to day, I am obliged more to my fancie, than my wealth, for this finerie.

Perfection.

The truth is, you are so adjousted, so curiously accoutred, as I perceive, judgement and wit were joyned associates in your dressing.

Solid.

I had rather be commended, or applauded for judgement and wit, than for wealth and beauty; for I had rather have my soul commended, than my person, or fortunes.

Perfection.

Certainly, I believe you have a more rational soul, than any other of your Sex have.

Solid.

Alas? My soul is but a young soul, a meer Novice soul, it wants growth, or my soul is like a house, which time the architectour hath newly begun to build; and the senses, which are the Labourers, wants information and experience, which are the materiall for the rational soul to be built on, or with; but such materials as hath been brought in, I strive and endeavour to make the best, and most convenient use for a happy life.

Perfection.

How say you? the best use for a good Wife!

Solid.

No, that little reason I have, tells me, to be a Wife, is to be unhap∣py, for content seldom in marriage dwells, disturbance keeps possession.

Perfection.

If you disprayse marriage, you will destroy my hopes, and frustrate my honest design.

Solid.

VVhy? what is your design?

Perfection.

To be a Suiter to you.

Solid.

And what is your hopes?

Perfection.

To be your Husband.

Solid.

If I thought marriage were necessary, although unhappy, yet there would be required more wit and judgement in chosing a Husband than in dressing my self; wherefore it were requisite, that some of more wit and judgement than my self, should chose for me, otherwise I may be betray'd by flattery, outward garb, insinuations or false-hood, and through an unex∣perienced innocency, I may take words and shews, for worth and merit, which I pray the Gods I may not do; for to marry an unworthy man, were to me to be at the height of affliction, and marriage being unhappy in it self, needs no addition to make it worse.

Perfection.

Madam? Discretion forbids me to commend my self, although I am a Lover; For had I merits worthy great praises, it were unfit I should mention them; but there is not any man or woman, that is, or can be ex∣actly known, either by themselves or others; for nature is obscure, she ne∣ver divulges herself, neither to any creature, nor by, or through any creature; for the hides herself under infinite varieties, changes and chances; She dis∣guises herself with antick Vizards, she appears sometimes old, sometimes young, sometimes vaded and withered, sometimes green and flourishing, sometimes feeble and weak, sometimes strong and lusty, sometimes defor∣med, and sometimes beautifull; sometimes she appears with horrour, some∣times with delight, sometimes she appears in glimsing lights of knowledge,

then clouds herself with ignorance. But, Madam, since we are as ignorant of our souls, as of our fortunes, and as ignorant of our lives, as of our deaths; we cannot make any choice upon certainties, but upon uncertainties, and if we be good whilst we live, our deaths will be our witnesse to prove it; in the mean time, let our promises stand bound for us, which is the best ingagement we can give; although it may sail; and let our marriage be as the Bond of agreement, although we may forfeit the same, yet let us make it as sure as we can.

Solid.

I will consider it, and then I will answer your request.

Perfection.

That is, to yield.

Solid.

It is like enough.

Ex.

Scene 16.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and Monsieur Importunate.

IMportunate.

My fair Shrew, are you walking alone.

Caprisia.

My thoughts are my best Companions.

Importunate.

Pray, let a thought of me be one of the company.

Capris.

When you enter into my mind, you do appear so mean, as my nobler thoughts, scorns that thought that bears your figure.

Importunate.

Thoughts are as notes, and the tongue is the Fiddle that makes the musick; but your words, as the cords, are out of tune.

Capris.

You say so, by reason they are not set to your humour, to sound your prayse.

Importunate.

I say you are very handsome, nature hath given you a surpas∣sing beauty, but pride and self-conceit, hath cast such a shadow, as it hath darkened it, as vaporous clowds doth the bright Sun.

Capris.

Your opinions are clowdy, and your tongue like thunder, strikes my ears with rude, uncivil words.

Ex.

He alone.

Importunate.

I perceive humility, dwels not with beauty, nor with; but is, as great a stranger, as with Riches and Titles.

Ex.

Scene 17.

Enter Madamosel Volante, and Monsieur Discretion.

DIscretion.

Madam, the same of your wit, drew me hither.

Volante.

I am sorry my wit hath a greater fame, than my worth, that my vain words should spread further than my vertuous actions, for noble fame is built on worthy deeds.

Discretion.

But it were pity you should bury your wit in silence; Besides, your discourse may profit the hearers, either with delight or instructi∣ons.

Volante.

O no, for discourses pleases according to the humour, or under∣standing of the hearers; Besides, it is the nature of mankind, to think each other fools, and none but themselves wise; Then why should I wast my life to no purpose, knowing times motion swift.

Discretion.

You do not wast your life through your words, if your words gets you a fame, and esteem of the VVorld.

Volante.

VVhat shall I be the better, in having the VVorlds esteem, nay, it is likely that prayses (whilst I live) may do me harm, creating vain and false opinions in my imaginations of self-conceit, of being wiser, or wittier, than really I am; which opinions may make me commit errors, and I had rather the VVorld should laugh at me, for want of wit, than scorn me for my follies.

Discretion.

But if witty discourses, will get you an esteem, what will your wise actions, and vertuous life; and prayse is the reward to all noble en∣deavours; beside, prayse is no burthen, but it often serves as a ballance, to make the life swim steady in Sea-faring VVorld: But yet, Lady, I would not have your wit out-run your prayse, which it will do, if you spur it too hard, for wit must be used like a strong spirited horse, it must be restraind with a bridle, not prick'd with the spur, least it should run away, and fling the Rider, which is, the Speaker, into a ditch of disgrace; neither must it run wildly about, but must be wrought, to obey the hand and the heel, which is, time and occasion, to stop, and to change, as when to speak, and to whom to speak, and on what to speak, and when to make a stop of silence, other∣wise, it will run out of the smooth paths of civility, or the clean wayes of modesty: Besides, wit must not only be taught, to amble in rhime, and to trot in prose, but to have a sure footing of sense, and a setled head of reason, least it should stumble in disputes, or fall into impertinent discourses; like∣wise, wit may be taught to go in aires of fancies, or low, upon the ground of proof.

Volante.

But Sir, you must consider, that women are no good managers of wit, for they spoyl all their tongue rides on, hackneys it out, untill it be∣comes a dull jade.

Discretion.

Least I should give an ill example of tyreing in our allego∣rical discourse, I shall kiss your hands, and take my leave for this time.

Ex.

Madamosel alone.

She fetches a great sigh.

Volante.

Monsieur Discretion is a handsom man, he hath a wise counte∣nance, and a manly garo; his discourse is rational and witty, sober and di∣fercet: But good Lord! how foolishly I talk to him? I never spake duller, nor so senselesly, since I was taught words, and he came purposely, as he told me, to hear me speak, and prove my wit; But it was a sign he heard none, for he grew soon a weary of my company, he staid so short a time: I am troubled often with prating fools, whose visits are as tedious, as their discour∣ses: But Lord! why do I condemn others, as fools, when this Gentleman, Monsieur Discretion, hath proved me one.

Ex.