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

Scen. 25.

Enter the Lord Title, and Roger Farmer, and Maudlin Huswife his Wife.

LOrd Title.

Honest Roger and Maudlin,* 1.1 I present you with a kind Good-morrow.

Roger.

Present me? Bless your Lordship, I should present you with a couple of Capons.

Lord Title.

'Tis a salutation when you salute; but how do you then?

Roger.

Very well, I thank your Honour: How do you?

Lord Title.

Well, enough of Complements, I am come with a Petition to you.

Roger.

What is that, is't please your Honour?

Lord Title.

A Sute.

Roger.

Byrlaken I have need of one, for I have but poor and bare cloath∣ing on.

Lord Title.

No, Roger, it is a request and desire I have you should grant.

Roger.

Grant, or to Farm let, no Sir, I will not part with my Lease.

Lord Title.

Roger, you understand me not, therefore let me speak with Maudlin your Wife.

Roger.

There she is Sir, spare her not, for she is good metal I'll warrant your Honour; wipe your lips Maudlin, and answer him every time that he moves thee, and give him as good as he brings: Maudlin, were he twenty Lords, hold up your head, Maudlin, be not hollow.

Maudlin.

I'll warrant you Husband, I'll satisfie him.

Lord Title.

Honest Maudlin.

Maudlin.

That's more than your Lordship knows.

Lord Title.

Why then Maudlin.

Maudlin.

That's my name indeed.

Lord Title.

You have a maid here in your house.

Maudlin.

I hope so forsooth; but I will not answer for no Virgin in this wicked world.

Roger.

Well said Maudlin; Nay your Honour will get nothing of my Maudlin, I'll warrant you.

Lord Title.

Well, this supposed Maid is Poor Virtue, that's her name, I de∣sire you will let her live with me, this Poor Virtue.

Maudlin.

God bless you Honour from her, it is not fit for a Lord, and a great Noble-man to meddle with Virtue, your Honour should not foul your fingers with her: Besides, she will never stay in a great mans house, neither is it fit she should; and your Honours servants will hate her like the Devil, for she will please no body as she should do, a very peevish, ill-natur'd girle forsooth she is.

Lord Title.

Why how doth she agree then with you?

Maudlin.

Alas forsooth, if it please your Honour, Virtue may live in a Cottage, when she will be whipt out of a Court, or a great Lords Palace; they may talk of her, but they will never give her leave to live and board with them: It may be they give their Chaplain leave to talk of her a Sun∣days, or so forsooth, but talk's but talk, for they forget her the six days after,

and never mind her; for indeed she is a very peevish girle, and not fit for Gentlefolks company, that's the truth of it, hardly for poor folks.

Lord Title.

VVhy you agree well with her?

Maudlin.

Nay by the faith of my body do I not; for I can hardly goe to Market, and be merry, as I use to be, and all long of her peevishnesse: nay I cannot goe to order one of our busie Thrashers, but she troubles me; or to speak with the Carter, but she whip, in presently, or discourse with the Plough-man about his plough-share, how he should order it for my advan∣tage, but she troubles me; or about our Husbandman, how and where he should sow his Seed, but she vexes me still: Such a life, the Gods help me, as I am e'en weary of my self. Speak Roger, is it not true?

Roger.

True Maudlin as steel, I never was merry since she vvas in my house, the May-pole is dovvn since she came.

Maudlin.

I Roger that 'tis, the more the pity.

Roger.

And the Towns Green is a Meadow, and the poor Big-pipers cheeks are fallen into a Consumption, hardly wind to speak vvithall; the Morris-dan∣cers bells are silenc'd, and their crosse garters held superstitious, idolatrous, and profane; the May-Lord and his Lady depos'd, and the Hobby-horse is forgotten; nay the Whitson-Lord and Lady are banish'd, Merry Wakes abo∣lish'd, and the poor Ale-wives beggar'd,

Maudlin.

I, I, and all since this melancholy girle Virtue came into our house.

She cries.

I cannot choose but cry.

Lord Title.

Thou art true Maudlin then.

Maudlin.

Yes, with small beer, that's the calamity of it; therefore blesse every good subject from so melancholy a thing as this girle Virtue is: But we have a Daughter, and it please your Honours worship, that will give you good content, and please most of your Houshold; for she is a lusty Wench, though I say't that should not say't: Did you but see her swim like a Tench on our Town-green, incircling the May-pole, and at the end of a Horn-pipe, when she is to be kiss'd, how modestly the wryes her head away, but so as to be civil; nay she hath been well Educated, my own natural Daughter, for in∣deed Roger, I was with Child with her before you maried me.

Roger.

Peace Maudlin, all Truths are not to be spoken of; for should that be, many a Worshipful Person would be very angry; but our Vicar made all well betwixt thee and me, Maudlin: But I beseech your Honour take my Daughter, for you will find her another manner of woman than Virtue is, for she is not like her ifaith, nor any thing that belongs to her, she is better blest than so.

Lord Title.

No, I will have Poor Virtue, or none.

Roger.

Faith if you have Virtue, you are sure to have her poor, for I never knew any of her Family rich, the Gods do not blesse them, I think, in this world; but if you will have her, take her, shall he not, Maudlin?

Maudlin.

Yes, Husband, and the house is well rid of her, and let us bless our selves for it; for now we shall be like our Neighbours again, we will not abate them an hair, the best in the Parish shall not live merryer than we will now for all Sports: Why, Vanity and Sin, Husband, is the Liberty of the Subject, and the seven Deadly Sins are the Fundamental Laws of the Kingdome, from the greatest to the least, if poor folks might have their right. Well, your Honour shall have her, but you will be as weary of her as we have been, the Gods bless your Honour, but alas you do not know what this

Girle Virtue is, Lords have no guess at her.

Lord Title.

Well Maudlin, let me have her, I desire no more.

Maudlin.

Nor we neither, if it pleases your Honour, and so the Gods give you good of her.

Roger.

Let me speak to his Honour, Maudlin.

Lord Title.

Do so Roger.

Roger.

I give yourdship many thanks.

Lord Title.

For what?

Roger.

For ridding our house of this troublesome Girl.

Lord Title,

And I thank you for it too.

Roger.

VVhen thanks on all sides happen, we are eas'd.

Lord Title.

And I with your Poor Virtue am well pleas'd.

The Lord goes out.

As they were going forth, Maudlin speaks.

Maudlin.

Mark the end of it, Roger.

Roger.

Yes Maudlin, the End Crowns the Work.

Exeunt.

Here ends my Lord Marquiss's Scene.

Notes

• * 1.1

  This Scene was written by the Lord Mar∣quiss of Newcastle.