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

ACT IV.

Scene. 19.

Enter Sir Fancie Poet, and the Lady Contemplation.

SIr Fan. Poet.

Lady, you smother your thoughts, and stifle your conce∣ption in the close Closet of Study.

Lady Contempl.

No Sir, I only keep them warm, being tender and weak.

Sir Fan. Poet.

They will grow stronger in the Air of Conversation; but when continually kept close in the Chamber of Contemplation, they will be apt to fall into many several diseases, as melancholy Opinions, and extrava∣gant Fancies, which may over-heat the minde, and sire the thoughts: where∣fore Lady let me give you Counsel.

Lady Contempl.

What Counsel would you give me? as a Lawyer, or Phy∣cian?

Sir Fan. Poet.

As a Physician.

Lady Contempl.

For the Body, or the Minde?

Sir Fan. Poet.

For the Minde.

Lady Contempl.

The Physicians for the Minde are Divine:

Sir Fan. Poet.

No, the best physicians for the Minde are Poets.

Lady Contempl.

How will you prove that?

Sir Fan. Poet.

By Example and Skill; for when the Minde is raging mad; Poets, with gentle perswasions, in smooth numbers, and soft musick, cure it; and when the Mind is despairing, Poets draw hopes into numbers, which beats out the doubtful Foe: And for Example.

David with his Poetical Inspirations, and Harpsical harmonious Musick, allay'd the ill Spirit, and raging passion of Saul; for Poets take from the sweet Spring of Nature, an Oil of Love, and from Heaven, the Balsom of Mercy, and pour them through golden numbers, and pipes of wit, into the fester'd wounds of despair, when oft-times Divines, in stead of suppling Oil, pour in corroding Vitriol, and in stead of healing Balsoms, pour in burning Sulphure, which are terrifying threats, and fearful menaces: where∣fore Lady, let me advise you as a Poetical Physician, to keep your minde cool, and your thoughts in equal temper; wherefore in order thereto, when the minde is wrapt in the mantle of Imagination, if it finds it self very hot therewith, let it lay that mantle by, and bathe it self in the fresh, clear, pure Rivers of Discourse.

Lady Contempl.

By your favour, Sir, for the most part, the Mind becomes hotter with the motion of the tongue, than the mantle of Imagination; for when the tongue hath liberty, it runs wildly about, and draggs the minde af∣ter it; and rather than I will have my minded dragg'd and hurried about by my unruly tongue, which will neither endure the bit of Reason, nor the bri∣dle of Discretion, but runs beyond all sense, I will tye up my tongue with the cords of silence, in the stable of the mouth, and pull down the Port-cullis of the teeth before it, and shut the doors of my lips upon it. Thus shall it be treble lock'd, and kept with the Key of Judgment, and the Authority of Prudence.

Exeunt.

Scene 20.

Enter the Lady Conversation, and a Grave Matron.

LAdy Conversat.

Did you hear him say he had layn with me?

Matron.

Yes, Madam.

Lady Conversat.

O the wicked, base vain-glory of men, to bely the pure chastity of a woman! But surely he did not plainly express so much in clear words, as by nods, winks, shrugs, dark sentences, or broken discourses?

Matron.

He said plainly, he had layn with you in an unlawful manner.

Lady Conversat.

Fates assist me in revenge; for it is no dishonour to be re∣veng'd of a base person, that hath maliciously slander'd me, or vain-glori∣ously injur'd me.

Matron.

Revenge is against the Laws of Honour, Madam.

Lady Conversat.

It may be against the Tenets of some particular Reli∣gion,

or religious Opinions. But a noble revenge is the ground or foundati∣on of Heroick Honour.

Matron.

But what do you call a Noble Revenge?

Lady Conversat.

First, to be an open Enemy, as to declare the enmity; next, to declare their endeavour to prosecute to the utmost of their power, either their Enemies Estate, Liberty, and Life; whereas a base Revenger is to dissemble, in professing they have forgotten and forgiven their injury, and pardon'd their Enemy, yet under-hand and disguisedly endeavour to do their Enemy a mischief. Not but an honourable Revenger may choose their time for executing their revenge; but they must declare they will be revenged be∣fore they execute their revenge, and let their Enemies stand upon their Guard.

Matron.

But a revengeful woman is not good.

Lady Conversat.

Why not, as well as a revengeful man? For why may not a woman revenge her scandaliz'd honour as well as a man? Is there any reason why it should be a dishonour for a man to pass by a disgrace, and for a woman to revenge her disgrace? Is it not as great a blemish to the honour of a woman, to be said to be unchaste, as for a man to be said to be a Cow∣ard? And shall a woman only sit and weep over her lost honour, whilest a man fights to regain his? And shall it be thought no dishonour for a man to pistol, or at least bastonade another man for an injury, or an affront re∣ceiv'd, and a fault for a woman to do, or cause to be done the like? Must women only sit down with foolish patience, and endure wrong, when men may execute revenge with fury? These were both injustice, and an unjust act of Education to our Sex; as also it would be an unjust sentence, not on∣ly from men, but from the Gods, since neither Gods nor men will suffer in∣jury, wrong, or dishonour, without revenge: But if Gods, Men, and Edu∣cation should be so unjust to our Sex, yet there is no Reason in Nature we should be so unjust to our selves: But for my part, as I am constant to an honest friend, and can easily forgive an honourable Enemy, so I can never forgive a malicious Foe, nor forget a vain-glorious bragging fool, or false slandring knave, but will persecute them to the utmost of my power, and the weight of my revenge should be according to the pressure of my injury, or dishonour.

Matron.

But let me tell you, Madam, those that brag are seldome be∣liev'd, and there is none that believe these vain bragging Ranters; for it's well known, that all Ranters are idle deboyst persons, and do usually belye the most Honourable and Chaste Ladies, for which all worthy persons hate them, and account them so base, as they will shun their companies; no man of honour will come near them, unless it be to beat them. But if you appear to the world as concerned, you may raise those doubts which would never have been raised, had you took no notice thereof.

Lady Conversat.

Indeed Disputes raise doubts; wherefore I will not bring it into a Dispute, but take your Counsel, and take no notice of it.

Matron.

You will do vvisely, Lady.

Exeunt.

Scene 21.

Enter Sir Golden Riches to Poor Virtue.

SIr Gold. Rich.

I vvish my tongue as smooth as oil, to make my vvords as soft as Air, that they may spread about your heart, there intermixd with your affection.

Poor Virtue.

Words cannot win my love, no more than wealth, nor is my heart subject to those infections.

Sir Gold. Rich.

I will build thee Palaces of burnish'd gold, where thou shalt be worshipd whilest thou livest, and when thou diest, I will erect a Mo∣nument more famous than Mausolus's was.

Poor Verrtue.

My Virtue shall build me a Monument far richer, and more lasting; for the materials with which it shall be built, shall be try'd Chasti∣ty, as pure Gold, and Innocency, as Marble white, and Constancy, as undis∣solving Diamonds, and Modesty, as Rubies red, Love shall the Altar be, and Piety, as Incense sweet, ascend to Heaven, Truth, as the Oil, shall feed the Lamp of Memory, whereby the flame of Fame shall never goe out.

Exit.

Sir Golden Riches alone.

Sir Gold. Rich.

And is She gone? are Riches of no force? Then I wil bu∣ry my self within the bowels of the Earth, so deep, that men shall never reach me, nor Light shall find me out.

Exit.

Scene 22.

Enter Mistris Messenger, and the Lady Amorous's woman, and Lord Courtship.

MIstris Messenger.

My Lord, my Lady, the Lady Amourous, remembers her Service to you, and sent me to tell you her Husband is gone out of Town, and She desires to have the happiness of your company.

Lord Courtship.

Pray present my Service in the humblest manner to your Lady, and pray her to excuse me; for though I cannot say I am sick, yet I am far from being well.

Mistris Messen.

I shall, my Lord.

Exeunt.

Scene 23.

Enter the Lord Title, and then enters a Servant to him.

SErvant.

My Lord, there is an old man without desires to speak with you.

Lord Title.

Direct him hither.

Servant goes out.

Enter Old Humanity.

Lord Title.

Old man, what have you to say to me?

Old Humanity.

I am come to desire your Lordship not to persecute a poor young Maid, one that is friendless, and your Lordship is powerful, and therefore dangerous.

Lord Title.

What poor Maid do you mean?

Old Human.

A Maid call'd Poor Virtue.

Lord Title.

Do you know her?

Old Human.

Yes.

Lord Title.

Are you her Father?

Old Human.

No, I am her servant, and have been maintain'd by her Noble Family these threescore years, and upwards.

Lord Title.

Ha, her Noble Family! what, or who is She?

Old Humanity.

She is a Lady, born from a Noble Stock, and hath been choisely bred, but ruin'd by misfortunes, which makes her poorly serve.

Lord Title.

Alas he weeps! Who were her Parents?

Old Human.

The Lord Morality, and the Lady Piety.

Lord Title.

Sure it cannot be: But why should I doubt? her Beauty, Wit, and sweet Demeanour, declares her Noble Pedigree: The Lord Morality was a Famous man, and was a great Commander, and wise in making Lawes, and prudent for the Common Good: He was a Staff and Prop un∣to the Common-wealth, til Civil Wars did throw it down, where he fell under it. But honest friend, how shall I know this for a truth?

Old Human.

Did not your Lordship hear he had a Child?

Lord Title.

Yes that I did, an only Daughter.

Old Human.

This is She I mention, and if Times mend, will have her Fa∣thers Estate, as being her Fathers Heir; but to prove it, and her Birth, I will bring all those servants that liv'd with her, and with her Father, and all his Tenants, that will witness the truth.

Lord Title.

When I consider, and bring her and her Actions to my minde, I cannot doubt the truth, and for the news, thou shalt be my Adopted Father, and my Bosome-friend; I'll be a staff for thy Old Age to lean upon, my shoulders shall give strength unto thy feeble limbs, and on my neck shalt lay thy restless head,

Old Human.

Heaven bless you, and I shall serve you as my Old Age will give me leave.

Exit Lord Title, leading him forth.

Scene 24.

Enter Lord Courtship, and the Lady VVard.

LOrd Courts.

Thou Celestial Creature, do not believe that I am so pre∣sumptuous to ask thy love, I only beg thy pardon, that when my body lies in the silent grave, you give my restless soul a pass, and leave to walk a∣mongst sad Lovers in dark and gloomy shades; and though I cannot weep to shew my penitence, yet I can bleed.

He offers her a Dagger.

Here, take this Instrument of Death, for only by your hands I wish to die.

Give me as many Wounds as Pores in skin, That I may bleed sufficient for my sin.

Lady VVard.

It seems strange to me, that you, a wise man, or at least ac∣counted so, should fall into such extreams, as one while to hate me to death, and now to profess to love me beyond life!

Lord Courts.

My Debaucheries blinded my Judgment, nor did I know thy worth, or my own errour, until thy wise wit gave the light to my dark understanding, and you have drawn my bad life, and all my unworthy acti∣ons therein, so naturally in your discourse, as now I view them, I do hate my self as much as you have cause to hate me.

Lady VVard.

I only hate your Crimes, but for those excellent Qualities, and true Virtues that dwell in your Soul, I love and honour; and if you think me worthy to make me your Wife, and will love me according as my honest life will deserve your affections, I shall be proud of the Honour, and thank Fortune or Heaven for the Gift.

Lord Courts.

Sure you cannot love me, and the World would condemn you if you should, and all your Sex will hate you.

Lady VVard.

The World many times condemns even Justice her self, and women, for the most part, hate that they should love and honour.

Lord Courts.

But can you love me?

Lady VVard.

I can, and do love you.

Lord Courts.

How happy am I, to enjoy a world of Beauty, Wit, Virtue, and sweet Graces.

Leads her forth.

Exeunt.

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.