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

ACT III.

Scene 18.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and Monsieur Importunate.

IMportunate.

What? musing by your self, alone! May I question your oughts?

Capris.

If you do, you will not be resolved, for there is none at home, to give you an answer.

Importunate.

Why, where are they? wandring abroad?

Capris.

They like a brood of Birds, are flown out of their Neasts; for thoughts flies with swifter speed, than time can do, having large wings, of quick desire.

Importunate.

Faith, you are a great wit!

Capris.

You are a great trouble!

She offers to go forth, He stayes her; She is angry.

Capris.

What, you will not force me to stay against my will?

Importunate.

Yes, that I will; For your Father saith, you shall be my Wife, and then you will imbrace, and kiss me, as coy as you are now.

Capris.

Which if I do, I wish my arms, when they do wind about your waste, may sting as Serpents, and that my kisses may prove poyson to your lips.

Importunate.

What, are you seriously angry; Nay, then 'tis time to leave you.

Ex.

The Lady alone.

Capris.

I have heard, that gallant men are civil to our Sex, but I have met with none, but rough, rude, rugged natures, more cruel than wild Tygars.

Enter Monsieur Bon Compaignon.

Bon Compaignon.

Why do you complain of our Sex, Lady? what is it you would have?

Capris.

I would have a gray-headed wisdom, a middle-aged humour, a fresh mouthed wit, a new bloom'd youth, and a beauty that every one fan∣cies.

Bon Compaignon.

Why, so you have.

Capris.

Then I have what I desire.

She goes out.

Bon Compaignon.

O! She hath a sharp wit, it is vitral wit.

Ex.

Scene 19.

Enter Madamosel Solid, and Monsieur Comorade.

COmorade.

Lady, you have kill'd a Gentleman.

Solid.

Who, I! why, I never had the courage to kill a fly.

Comorade.

You have kill'd him with your disdain.

Solid.

I am sorry he had so weak a life, as so slight a cause, as a womans disdain, could destroy it; but for my part, I disdain no man, although I can∣not intimately love all men.

Comorade.

He is but one man, Lady.

Solid.

And I have but one particular love to give, or rather I may say, to be gain'd, for I cannot dispose of it; for it will be only disposed by it self, without my leave, so as I must be guided by that which will not be guided by me? I can lend my pity, but not give him my love.

Comorade.

I suppose you have given him some encouragement, and hopes, if not an assurance, by reason, he sayes, you have forsaken him.

Solid.

Not unless common civility, be an encouragement, and ordinary conversation gives hopes; as for an assurance, indeed I gave Monsieur Pro∣fession; For I did assure him, I could not love him, as he would have me love him, as Husband. But, O vain man! to brag of that he never had.

Comorade.

'Tis no brag, Lady, to confess he is forsaken.

Solid.

It is a brag, for in that he implyes, he hath been beloved, for the one must be, before the other.

Comorade.

Pray Madam, let me perswade you, to entertain his love, he is a Gentleman who hath worth, person and wealth, all which he offers you, as to his Goddesse, and a good offer is not to be refused, Lady, when it may lawfully be taken.

Solid.

You say true, Sir, and could I perswade my love, as easily as you can commend the man, 'tis likely I should not refuse him.

Comorade.

But you will be thought cruel, to let a Gentleman dye, for want of your love.

Solid.

Why, put the case I have other Lovers, as passionate, and worthy as he; how would you have me divide my self amongst them? Or can you

tell me how to please them; I cannot marry them all, the Laws forbids it, and to be the common Mistresse to them, all honour, and honesty forbids it; for though there is some excuse for men, who hath by custom their liberty in amours, because their amours obstructs not nature, so makes breach of honesty; but women are not only barr'd by nature, but custom of subjection, and modesty of education, wherefore, if they should take liberty to seve∣ral Lovers, or loves courtships, they would not only dishonour themselves, and their whole Sex, and their living friends; but their dishonour would out∣reach their Posterity, and run back to their Fore-fathers, that were dead long, long before they were born; for their unchaste lives, would be as marks of disgrace, and spots of infamie upon the Tombs of those dead Ancestors, and their ashes would be full'd with their stains, whereas, a chast woman, and a gallant man, obliges both the living, and the dead; for they give honour to their dead Ancestors in their Graves, and to those friends that are living in the World, and to those that shall succeed them; Besides, their exam∣ples of their vermes, for all Ages to take out patterns from.

Comorade.

Madam, you have answered so well, for your self, and Sex, as I can say no more in the behalf of my friend.

Ex.

Scene 20.

Enter Madam la Mere, and Madamosel Caprisia her daughter.

MEre.

Daughter, your tongue is so sharp, as it is not only poynted, but edged on both sides.

Capris.

Use, Mother, will blunt the poynt, and flat the edges.

Mere.

No, Daughter, the more 'tis used, the sharper it will be, for words and passions, are the whetstones to that Razor.

Capris.

As long as that Razor shaves no reputation, let it raze, or shave, what it will.

Ex.

Scene 21.

Enter Madamosel Solid, Madamosel Doltche, Madamosel Vo∣lante, and a Grave Matron.

MAtron.

Madamosel Solid, what say you to Monsieur Ralleries wit?

Solid.

I say of him, as I would of a wild or skittish jade, who hath only strength to kick and fling, but not to travel, or to bear any weight; so Rallerie, is antick postures, and laughing reproaches, not solid and judicious discourses, or continued speeches, the truth is, a ralleying wit, is like ob∣structed, or corrupted lungs, which causes difficult, and short breathing; So that wit, is short and pussing, spurting out words, questions and replyes; 'tis squib wit, or boys sport

Matron.

Madamosel Doltche, what say you of Monsieur Satericals wit?

Doltche.

As I would of frosty weather; his wit is sharp, but wholesome, and though he hath a frowning brow, yet he hath a clear soul.

Matron.

Madamosel Volante, What say you of Monsieur Pedants wit.

Volante.

As I would of Leeches; for as Leeches sucks bloud from the back parts of men, and spues it forth, when rubb'd with salt; so Monsieur Pedant sucks wit from other mens pens, and mouths, and then spues it sorth again; being rubb'd with the itch of prayse; But all the learned knows, the wit was no more his own, than the bloud that was suck'd, was the Lee∣ches.

Matron.

What say you of Monsieur Lyricks wit?

Volante.

As I would of a Bird, that chirps more than sings.

Matron.

Madamosel Doltche, What say you of Monsieur Tragedians wit?

Doltche.

As I would of Winter, wherein is more rain than Sun-shines, more storms than calms, more night than day; so his wit, hath more melan∣cholly than mirth, causing, or producing tears, sighs and sadnesse; the truth is, his wit dwels in the shades of death.

Matron.

Madamosel Solid, what say you to Monsieur Comicals wit?

Solid.

As I would of the Spring, which revives, and refreshes the life of every thing, it is lightsom and gay; So Monsieur Comicals wit is chearfull, pleasant, lively, natural and profitable, as being edifying.

Ex.

Scene 22.

Enter Madam la Mere, and Madamosel Caprisia, her Daughter

MERE.

Daughter, let me tell you, you have brought your Hogs to a fair Market.

Capris.

That is better, than to keep them in a foul stye, Mother.

Mere.

You cannot speak without crossing.

Capris.

Nor readily crosse without speaking.

Mere.

I am sure, your bitter discourses, and crosse answers, hath caused the Lady, namely, the Lady Hercules, to send a rayling message, by a Messen∣ger, to declare her anger for your abusive discourses against her.

Capris.

I never mentioned her in my discourse, in my life.

Mere.

But you speak against big, and tall women.

Capris.

I gave but my opinion of the size, and Sex, not of any particular, and I may speak freely, my opinion of the generalities.

Mere.

You may chance, by your opinion of the generalities, to be gene∣rally talk'd of.

Capris.

VVhy, then I shall live in discourse, although discourse were dead in me, and who had not rather live, although an ill life, than dye?

Mere.

But you might live so, as to gain every bodyes good opinion, if you would palliate your humour, and sweeten your discourse, and endeavour to please in conversation.

Capris.

Which do you mean, Mother! either to please my self, or the company?

Mere.

Why, the company.

Capris.

That is impossible, for in all company, there is diversities, and contrarieties of humours, passions, appetites, delights, pleasures, opinions, judgements, wits, understandings, and the like, and for talking, speaking and discoursing, they are inter-changing, inter-mixing, reasoning, arguing dispu∣ting, which causes contradictions, wherefore to agree in, and to every hu∣mour, passion, opinion, and discourse, is impossible; indeed one may seem∣ly, or truly agree, and approve of any one opinion or discourse; but not a diversity of discourses, opinions; also one may flatteringly applaud, or sooth any particular persons humour, but not diverse persons, diverse hu∣mours, but to flatter, is base, as to approve in their words, and disapprove in their thoughts, as to commend, or applaud that, or those, that is not praise-worthy: But howsoever, for the soothing of any bodies humour, I will ne∣ver take the pains, for why should I make my self a slave to the several hu∣mours of mankind, who is never in one humour two minutes, and why may not I think, or desire to be flattered, and humoured, as well as others, and when I am not flattered, and humoured, to be as much displeased at others, as others at me: VVherefore, good Mother, be not you displeased, that I chose rather to displease my self, than any body else, besides your self.

Mere.

You will follow your own wayes, Daughter.

Capris.

I cannot walk safer, than in my own ground, Mother.

Ex.

Scene 23.

Enter Monsieur Perfection, and Madamosel Solid.

SOlid.

Dear Mistress, I fear my absence hath made you forget me.

Solid.

No certainly, I cannot forget you, by reason my brain is hung about with the memory of your worthy nature, and meritorious actions; which my love doth admire, and takes delight for to view each several piece and part.

Perfection.

Do you love me?

Solid.

How can I chose but love, when in my infancy, such a number of words, in your praise, was thrown into my ears, like seeds into the Earth, which took root in my heart, from which love sprouted forth, and grew up with my years.

Perfection.

And will you be constant?

Solid.

As day is to the Sun!

Perfection.

Do you speak truth?

Solid.

Truly, I have been bred up so much, and so long, in the wayes of truth, as I know no tract of dissembling; and therefore, certainly, my words will ever keep within the compass of Truth, and my actions will alwaies turn, and run with that byas, but why do you seem to doubt, in making such questions.

Perfection.

I will truly confess, I have heard, that since I have been in the Countrey, you had entertained another Lover.

Solid.

It's false, but false reports, is like breathing upon a pure and clear Glasse, it dimns it for a time; but that malicious breath, soon vanishes, and leaves no stain behind it; so I hope your jealousie will do the like, it will vanish, and leave no doubt behind it.

Perfection.

I hope you are not angry with me, for telling you, or for being my self troubled, at what was reported.

Solid.

No, for innocency is never concern'd, it always lives in peace and quiet, having a satisfaction in it self, wherefore reports only siezes on the guilty, arresting them with an angry turbulency.

Perfection.

But, perchance you may be angry for my jealousie.

Solid.

No, for jealousie expresses love, as being affraid to lose, what it desires to keep.

Perfection.

Then, I hope you do not repent the love you have placed on me.

Solid.

Heaven may sooner repent of doing good, than I repent my love and choyce.

Perfection.

Dear Mistress, my mind is so full of joy, since it is clear'd of suspition, and assured of your love, as my thoughts doth fly about my brain, like birds in Sun-shine weather.

Ex.

Scene 24.

Enter Monsieur Nobilissimo, and Madamosel Doltche.

NObilissimo.

Sweet Lady, will you give me leave to be your Servant!

Doltche.

I wish I were a Mistress worthy of your service.

Nobiliss.

There is no man shall admire more your beauty, and wit, nor be more diligent to your youth, nor shall honour your merits, and love your vertue more than I.

Doltche.

Indeed, I had rather be honoured for my merit, than for my birth, for my breeding, than for my wealth, and I had rather be beloved for my vertue, than admired for my beauty; and I had rather be commended for my silence, than for my wit.

Nobilissimo.

It were pity you should bury your great wit in silence.

Doltche.

My wit is according to my years, tender and young.

Nobilissimo.

Your wit, Lady, may entertain the silver haired Sages.

Doltche.

No surely, for neither my years, nor my wit, are arrived to that degree, as to make a good companion, having had neither the experience of time, nor practice of speech; for I have been almost a mute hitherto, and a stranger to the VVorld.

Nobilissimo.

The VVorld is wide, and to travel in it, is both dangerous and difficult; wherefore, you being young, should take a guide, to protect and direct you, and there is no Guide nor Protector so honourable, and safe, as a Husband; what think you of marriage.

Doltche.

Marriage, and my thoughts, live at that distance, as they seldom meet.

Nobilissimo.

VVhy, I hope you have not made a vow, to live a single life.

Doltche.

No, for the Laws of Morality, and Divinity, are chains, which doth sufficiently restrain mankind, and tyes him into a narrow compasse; and though I will not break those chaining Laws, to get lose, and so become lawless; yet I will not tye nature harder with vain opinions, and unnecessary vows, than she is tyed already.

Nobilissimo.

You shall need no Tutour, for you cannot only instruct your self, but teach others.

Doltche.

Alas, my brain is like unplanted ground, and my words like wild fruits, or like unprofitable grain, that yields no nourishing food to the understanding; Wherefore, if I should offer to speak, my speech must be to ask questions, not to give instructions.

Nobilissimo.

Certainly, Lady, nature did study the architectour of your form, and drew from herself the purest extractions, for your mind, and your soul, the essence or spirits of those extractions, or rather you appear to me, a miracle, something above nature, to be so young and beautifull, and yet so vertuous, witty and wise, grac'd with such civil behaviour; for many a grave beard, would have wagg'd with talking, lesse sense, with more words.

Doltche.

Youth and age, is subject to errors, one for want of time to get experience, the other through long time, wherein they lose their me∣mory.

Nobilissimo.

Pray let me get your affections, and then I shall not lose my hopes of a vertuous Lady to my wife.

Ex.

Scene 25.

Enter Madamosel Caprisia, and Monsieur Generosity.

GEnerosity.

Lady, are you walking studiously alone? may I not be thought rude, if I should ask what your studies are?

Capris.

I am studying, how some studies for pain, some pleasure, some dangers, some quarrels, some to be wicked, some to be learned, some to be ignorant, some to be foolish, some to be famous, but few to be wise.

Generosity.

Who studies to be wicked?

Capris.

Thieves, Murtherers, Adulterers, Lyers, and Extortioners.

Generosity.

Who studies to be learned?

Capris.

Linguists.

Generosity.

Who studies to be ignorant?

Capris.

Divines.

Generosity,

Who studies quarrels?

Capris.

Lawyers.

Generosity.

Who studies dangers?

Capris.

Souldiers.

Generosity.

VVho studies to be fools?

Capris.

Buffoones.

Generosity,

VVho studies fame?

Capris.

Poets.

Generosity.

VVho studies pleasure?

Capris.

Epicures.

Generosity.

VVho studies pain?

Capris.

Epicures.

Generosity.

Do Epicures study both for pain, and pleasure?

Capris.

Yes, for they that surfeit with pleasure, must endure pain; and Epicures studies the height of pleasure, which no sooner injoyed, but pain follows.

Generosity.

VVho studies to be wise?

Capris.

They that study Temperance, Prudence, Fortitude and Ju∣stice.

Generosity.

And, what study you?

Capris.

I study how I may avoid the company of mankind, also, to be quit of your Lordships presence.

He alone.

She goeth out.

Generosity.

She is so handsome, no humour can ill become her.

Ex.

Scene 26.

Enter Monsieur Profession, and Monsieur Comorade.

Comorade.

Thom. Give me leave to rejoyce with thee, for the resurrecti∣on of thy heart, that was kill'd with thy Mistresses cruelty, and buried in her constancy.

Profession.

VVell, well? make your self merry.

Comorade.

But prethee, in what plight is thy heart? I doubt it is lean, weak and pale, and in a puling condition, lying in the Grave of thy Mistresses in∣constancy.

Profession.

Faith, I cannot tell; the good Angel that brought into life, can give a better account of it, than I can.

Comorade.

VVhere shall I seek this good Angel? amongst the effeminate or masculine Sex: For I suppose, it is an Angel that is of one Sex, although I have heard, Angels are of neither Sex; but prethee, of which shall I in∣quire.

Profession.

Of the divine Sex, and the divinest of her Sex.

Comorade.

You may as well bid me inquire of that which is not to be found, for every particular man that is a Servant to any particular of these an∣gelical creatures, will prefer his own Mistress, to be the divinest, and so the most absolutest.

Profession.

All men that sees my Mistresse, and doth not adore her, as the only She, is damned in ignorance, and condemned to perpetual blindnesse.

Comorade.

Say you so, then I will not see her, for fear I should be one of the damned, and therefore I will give over that design, as the search of her, and go to a Tavern, and drink the good health of thy heart, and leave the in∣quiry after it, and if you will go with me, so.

Profession.

I cannot, without the breach of gratitude, deny thy kindnesse; wherefore, I will bear thee company.

Ex.

Scene 27.

Enter Doctor Freedom, and Madamosel Doltche, Madamosel Solid, Madamosel Volante.

Solid.

O, you are welcome, Doctor Freedom.

Doctor.

If I be not welcome now, I shall never be welcome.

Volante.

Why, Doctor? what Present have you brought us? that can make you so acceptable, is it perpetual youth, or undeniable beauty, or ever∣lasting life? But prethee, Doctor, what is it that will make thee so wel∣come?

Doctor.

Why, my self; here being so many young Ladies together, and not a man amongst them.

Volante.

Thy self, Doctor! why, thou art not worth the dregs of an Uri∣nal, of a sick water, if it were not for our charity, and generosity, more than thy merit, ability or service, you would have but a cold entertainment, and a rule welcome.

Doctor.

Well, my young, wity, saterycal Patient, you will take a surfeit of fruit, milk, puddings, pyes, or sweet-meats, one of these dayes, and then you will flatter me.

Volante.

You say right, Doctor; but now I speak truth, and is not that better than to flatter, or dissemble; For there is none but sick, and deprav'd souls, that will deliver Truth with a quarter, half, or three quartred face, like Merchants, or mechanick, that would sell off their ill commodities, with a broken light, but a noble and healthfull soul, shews the full face of Truth, in a clear light; wherefore, the sick and base, will flatter, but the noble and free, will speak truth.

Doctor.

VVell, I am sure you think better of me in your thoughts, than your words expresses.

Volante.

Let me tell you, my words and thoughts, are so well acquainted, as they never dissemble, and there is such a friendship betwixt them, as they never move several wayes, but runs even together: But let me tell thee, Do∣ctor, I have such a spleen to thy Sex, as I desire to kill them, at least, to wound them with spitefull words; and I wish I had beauty enough for to damn them, causing them to be perjured, by forsaking other women, they were bound by sacred vows, and holy bonds.

Enter Monsieur Discretion.

Discretion.

It is well, Master Doctor, that you can be priviledg'd amongst the young Ladyes, at all times, when such as I, that have not your Profession, are oftentimes shut, and lockt out.

Doctor.

Faith, if you have no better entertainment, than I have had since I came, it were better you were from them, than with them, for their tongues are as sharp as needles.

Volante.

'Tis a sign we want work, when we are forc'd to stitch our wit upon you.

Discretion.

How dare you anger the Doctor, when your life lyes upon his skill.

Volante.

O! His skill lyes upon chance, and it is a chance, whether he kills, or cures, is it not, Doctor?

Doctor.

No, for I can kill my Patients, when I will, although not cure them, when I will.

Volante.

VVell, then, Doctor, when I would dye, I will send for you, but not when I would live.

Discretion.

Your Servant, Ladies.

Monsieur Discretion goeth out.

Doctor.

Good Lady Wit, follow Monsieur Discretion, he will make you a wise Lady, and make your wit discreet, as it should be.

Volante.

O Doctor! how you mistake, for wit cannot be made, it is a Creator, and not a Creature; for wit was the first Master, or Mistress of Arts; the first Husband-man, Granger, Gardiner, Carver, Painter, Graver, Caster and Moulder, Mason, Joyner Smith, Brasier, Glazier, the first Chand∣ler, Vintener, Brewer, Baker, Cook, Confectioner, the first Spinster, VVeaver, Knitter, Tayler, Shoo-maker, and millions the like; also wit was the first Navigator, Architector, Mathematician, Logitian, Geometrician, Cosmo∣grafir, Astronomer, Astrologer, Philosopher, Poet, Historian and Hearold; also wit made the first Common-wealth, invented Laws for Peace, Arms for VVars, Ceremonies for State and Religion; also musick, dancing, dressing, masking, playing for delight and pleasure; wit divides time, imployes time, prevents time, and provides for time; it makes Heavens, and Hells, Gods and Divels.

Doctor.

VVell, go thy wayes, for though thou hast a heavenly mind, and an angelical beauty, yet thou hast a devilish wit,

Volante.

It shall be sure to torment thee, Doctor, but do you hear, Doctor? pray present my service to Monsieur Discretion, and tell him, it was a signe he lik'd not our company, he made so short a stay.

Doctor.

He perceived by your usage of me, that if he stayd, you would beat him out of your company, with your two edged tongues; but I will tell him what a Rallery you are.

Volante.

I hope you will give me a good report, for I have fully charged you.

Doctor.

You have over-charged me, and therefore it is likely I shall break into exclamations.

Ex.