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

ACT V.

Scene 33.

Enter Grave Temperance, Superbe, Bon' Esprit, Faction, Portrait.

TEmperance.

There is no behaviour so inconvenient, or so unfitting a wo∣man, especially a young beautiful Lady, as to be familiar: for that gives way and liberty for men to be rude and uncivil.

Portrait.

Why how would you have a young Lady to behave her self?

Temperance.

Modestly, reservedly, and civilly, which behaviour will keep men in order, and at a distance.

Superbe.

To seem very modest, is to appear simple; to be much reserved, is to be formal, which is only fit for State-Ladies; to be very civil, is to be too humble, and appears mean, and only fit for Country wives.

Temperance.

No Lady, for those that give no respect, will receive none; but those that are civil to others, others will be civil to them: for they will be ashamed to be rude to those that are civil: And as for Gravity, it puts Boldness out of countenance, and Modesty quenches unlawful desires, con∣verting the beholders to Purity, Love, and Esteem.

Faction.

There is no behaviour like to the French Mode, to be careless and free, to discourse in Raillery.

Temperance.

To be careless, is to be rude; to be free, is to be wanton; to raillery, is to reproach under the protection of wit, it is a reproachful Wit, and a wit of Reproach.

Bon' Esprit.

All wit is commendable.

Temperance.

No Lady, a Jesters wit is not fit for a grave Judge, or a great Prince, he may keep a Fool, or make a Fool to make him merry, and to laugh at their Jests and Gestures, but not to be a Buffoon or Jester him∣self.

Bon' Esprit.

Let me advise and counsel you, Temperance, which is, to con∣demn

no kind of Wit, but especially a Mode-Wit, lest you should be ac∣counted a foolish Judge.

Temperance.

Let me tell you, they will be the greatest Fools that judge the Judge.

Exeunt.

Scene 34.

Enter Monsieur Satyrical alone.

SAtyrical.

I am resolv'd, yet being a Criminal, how to address my Sute, I am in doubt: To ask pardon for my faults, were to make my faults seem greater than they are; to excuse them, were to make my judgment seem weaker than I think it is; to justifie them, were to condemn her. Well, I will neither ask pardon, nor make excuse, nor yet justifie them; but in plain language declare my pure Affections, honest Desires, and honourable Re∣quests; if she believes the first, approves the third, and consents to the se∣cond, I hope to be happy, if not, I must be content: for it is a folly to mourn, when it brings no remedy.

Exit.

Scene 35.

Enter Bon' Esprit, Portrait, Faction, Ambition, Superbe, Mother Matron,

FAction.

The Lady Variety, now she is a Widow, she tricks and dresses up her self in her Mourning, and is more fond of the company of men, than we that are Maids.

Bon' Esprit.

'Tis a sign she knows by Experience that the Masculine Sex are better, and more pleasurable company than any of her own Sex, which Maids do not know, by reason they are for the most part restrain'd.

Portrait.

Why should you find fault with Widows, when maried Wives indeavour by all the Arts they can to get the company of men, and do strive by inticements to allure them to Courtships, as much as Widows or Maids to lawful and honest Mariage?

Ambition.

One would think that maried women, by their neglect and dis∣respect to their Husbands, they loved not the company of men.

Superbe.

They may love the company of men, though not the company of one man, as their Husbands.

Matron.

Come, come, Ladies, Maids are always spiteful to Maried Women, because they be preferred in Mariage before them, and are jealous of Widows, for fear that they should get their Servants and Suters from them.

Faction.

I should sooner be jealous of a Widow, than spightful to a Ma∣ried Wife: for most Wives are in a condition to be pity'd rather than en∣vy'd;

but Widows have such a magnetick power, as one Widow will draw away the Servants and Suters from a dozen Maids.

Bon' Esprit.

Indeed Widows are very prevalent; for a poor widow shall have more Suters, and better Choice, than a rich Maid, and an ill-favour'd Widow, than a handsome Maid, an old Widow, than a young Virgin.

Ambition.

I wonder at it.

Faction.

Why should you wonder at it? since they know the humours, weaknesses, and strengths of men, better than Maids do, by which they know how to work and draw them to their bent and design.

Bon' Esprit.

No, that's not the Cause.

Faction.

What's the Cause then?

Bon' Esprit.

Why men think VVidows wiser than Maids, as being more known and experienc'd.

Portrait.

Indeed they have more knowledge than Maids, or else they have very ill luck.

Ambition.

VVhy, Maids are more desirous to marry VVidowers than Batchelours.

Superbe.

VVhat is the reason of that?

Bon' Esprit.

I know not, except it be the former reason.

Faction.

No, no, it is because it is said that VVidowers love their second wives better than the first.

Portrait.

And what their third wife?

Faction.

I suppose Love increaseth with the number.

Ambition.

But women, 'tis said, love their first husband better than the second.

Superbe.

That's only an excuse to marry a third, and so a fourth Hus∣band.

Bon' Esprit.

Indeed Death and Hymen are great friends to VVidows and VVidowers: for if once a woman buries her husband, or a man his wife, they never leave marying and burying, until they have had five or six husband and wives.

Faction.

If it were always so, I would I had been maried, and had buri∣ed my husband; O what a Gossipping life should I have had! Gossipping at my husbands Funerals, and Gossipping at my Maried Nuptials, besides the pleasure of being woo'd.

Bon' Esprit.

But you would have more trouble and vexation in the time between your Mariage-day and your Husbands Death, than pleasure betwixt your Husbands Death and Mariage-day.

Faction.

O no: for I suppose if Death be a friend, he will take away e∣very Husband as soon as that time is past they call Hony-moneth.

Enter Monsieur Inquisitive.

Inquisitive.

Ladies, I will tell you News.

Portrait.

What News?

Inquisitive.

The young Widow, the Lady Variety, hath the Small Pox.

Faction.

That's no Newes; for all sorts of Diseases are too frequent to be News; If they were, it would be happy for all animal creatures, if dis∣eases were strangers.

Inquisitive.

But it is News that she should have them.

Faction.

It is in respect of a new face, or otherwise not: for all mankind

in these parts of the World have that disease at one time or other, if they live to't.

Inquisitive.

Truly I pity her.

Ambition.

I hope she is not in such a condition to be pitied: for pity is a kin to scorn, as near as Cousin-germans, for reproach and shame are brother and sister, and scorn is the son of reproach, and pity is the daughter of shame: But although the Small Pox may set marks of deformity, they set none of dishonour; they only mark the Body, not the Soul; and that is only to be accounted shame, and to be asham'd of, as the infirmities of the Soul, for which they may be pitied.

Inquisitive.

That deserves scorn.

Ambition.

Baseness only deserves scorn, and not infirmities, loss, or mis∣fortunes; but there is a difference betwixt infirmities, losse, misfortunes, baseness, and wickedness. Infirmities proceed directly from Nature, Losse from Possession, Misfortunes from Interpositions, Baseness from that creature called Man, and Wickedness from Devils: The first is caused by the care∣lesness of Nature, the second by the lack of Power, the third by the ne∣cessity of Fate, the fourth by the corruption of Man, the last by the per∣swasion and temptation of the Devil. The first, second, and third are not to be avoided, the fourth not to be practised, the fifth not to be followed nor fostered. The first is to be pitied, the second to be grieved for, the third to be lamented for, the fourth to be scorned, and the fifth to be hated and ab∣horred. Thus we may grieve for the loss of her Beauty, but not pity her, having no natural defect in the Soul, which is the Understanding, and the Rational part.

Inquisitive.

But Sickness is a natural defect.

Ambition.

No, Sickness is no more a natural defect, than Time, or Death, Life, or Growth: for they are only Natural Effects, but not Natural De∣fects.

Exeunt.

Scene 36.

Enter Madamoiselle Pleasure, Wanton, Surfet, Idle, Excess, her Maids: They all weep.

ALl speak.

Pray turn us not out of your Service for one fault.

Pleasure.

Why you are the ground wherein all Mischief is sown, and whereon all Vice grows; besides, you are the only Bawds for Adul∣tery.

Wanton.

No indeed, the chief Bawds to Adultery, are publick Meetings of all kinds, either Divine, Customary, Triumphant, or Recreative: Also Bravery, whether Ceremonious Gallantry, or Magnificency: Likewise Beauty, Wit, Diligence, Observance, and rich Presents: besides Jealousie and Covetousness.

Pleasure.

No, Wanton, it is your glancing Eyes, simpering Countenance, and toyish Tricks.

Wanton.

Truly Madam, Idle and I are fitter to make Wenches than Bawds,

'tis your Ladyship that is the Lady of Pleasure, which perswades more to Adultery than we poor harmless creatures.

Pleasure.

Go get you out of my house, for I will not keep such bold rude Wenches as you are.

Temperance.

Pray Madam pardon them for this time.

Exeunt.

Scene 37.

Enter Madamoiselle Ambition, Superbe, Faction, Pleasure, Por∣trait, Monsieur Heroick, Monsieur Tranquillities Peace, Mon∣sieur Frisk, Monsieur Censure, Monsieur Inquisitive.

PLeasure.

How shall we pass our time to day?

Tranquill. Peace.

For us men we cannot pass our time better, or more pleasanter, than in the company of fair young Ladies.

Ambition.

To avoid tedious Complements and Discourses to particular cars, or the confusion of many Tongues speaking at once, let us sit and dis∣course in Dialogues.

Heroick.

Agreed; but shall we discourse in Rhime or in Prose?

Superbe.

In Rhimes by any means: for Rhimes many times hide and ob∣scure that Nonsence that would be discover'd in Prose.

Vain-glor.

Then it seems Rhime is a Veil to cover the face of Nonsense.

Superbe.

They are so: for one can never discover an ill Poem, until the Rhimes be dissolved into Prose, which shews whether there be Sense, Reason, Wit, or Fancy in them.

Ambition.

But to be turned into Prose, the Poems will lose the Elegance of the Style, and the Eloquence of the Language.

Faction.

Why, if a man should lose his Hat and Feather, and be stript of a fine and gay Suit of Cloaths, he would neither have the less brain nor blood, nor soul, nor body, beauty nor shape; and though gay and glorious Appa∣rel may allure the Eyes of a young Lady, or a Novice Gentleman, or may draw the ignorant vulgar to Admiration, and so to an Esteem and Respect; yet those that have clear Understandings, solid Judgments, quick Wits, and knowing Wisedoms, will be so far from admiring the man for the sake of his gay Cloaths, or esteeming him for his glorious Attire, as they will be apt to condemn him as a vain man.

Inquisitive.

Then you reject the cloathing of Poems in fine Language.

Faction.

No; but I despise those Poems that have nothing but Language and Rhimes.

Frisk.

Then it is a folly to write in Verse, if Rhymes be not account∣ed of.

Pleasure.

Verse is to be accounted of for the sake of Numbers, which is harmonious; yet neither Harmonious Numbers, nor Chyming Rhymes, nor Gay Rhetorick, is Reason, Wit, nor Fancy, which is the Ground, Body, or Soul of a good Poem.

Censure.

Yet no Poem is esteem'd, but condemn'd, that is not in gay and new-fashion'd cloathing.

Ambition.

Then Chaucers Poems, which are in plain and old-fashion'd

garments, which is Language, is to be despised, and his Wit condemned; but certainly Chaucers Witty Poems, and Lively Descriptions, in despig•• of their Old Language, as they have lasted in great Esteem and Admiration these three hundred years, so they may do Eternally amongst the Wise•••• every Age.

Heroick.

Gentlemen, leave off your Disputes, for the Ladies will be too hard for us: for they are always Conquerors in peace and war, both in the Schools and in the Fields, in the City and in the Court.

Portrait.

Pray leave off this particular Dispute, and let us discourse in ge∣neral.

Tranquill. Peace.

Agreed.

Superbe.

Begin.

Inquisitive.

Who shall begin?

Faction.

I will begin; for a womans Tongue hath priviledge and prehe∣minency in the first place.

The Dialogue-Discourses.

Faction.

Old brains are like to barren ground,

Censure.

Or like a wilderness forlorn,

Portrait.

Or like crack'd bells that have no sound,

Tranquill. Peace.

Or like a child Abortive born:

Ambition.

For Time the fire of Wit puts out,

Heroick.

And sills the brain with vapour cold,

Superbe.

And quenches Fancy without doubt,

Vain-glor.

For Wit is feeble when 'tis old.

Portrait.

Wit neither fails, weakens, decays, nor dies,

Inquisitive.

Though bred and born, as other creatures are,

Faction.

Only the Brain, the Womb wherein it lies:

Censure.

But when 'tis born, Fame nurses it with care,

Frisk.

And to Eternity doth it prefer.

Pleasure.

Wit makes the brain sick when it breeding is,

Tranquill.

And painful throws before, and at its birth;

Ambition.

But when 'tis born, if good, a Comfort 'tis,

Heroick.

The Parent Poetry creates with mirth,

Superbe.

He joys to see his Issue fairly spring,

Vain-glor.

And hopes with time in numbers may increase,

Portrait.

And being multiply'd may honours bring,

Frisk.

As a posterity that never cease.

Faction.

Wit, the Issue, and Off-spring of the Soul,

Censure

From which the Nature sublimely is Divine,

Pleasure.

Dimensions hath, and parts, yet in the whole,

Tranquill.

United is, of breaches there's no sign.

Ambition.

Wit, like the Soul is, which no body hath,

Heroick.

No latitude, yet hath a perfect form,

Superbe.

Yet flies all sev'ral ways, yet keeps a path,

Vain-glor.

A path of Sense, which never turns therefrom.

Portrait.

But wondrous strange, and monstrous is Wit,

Inquisitive.

That all contrarieties in it do dwell:

Faction.

For it all Shapes, Imployments, Humours fit,

Censure.

Like Beasts, Men, Gods, or terrible Devils in Hell.

Temperance.

O fie, O fie, this discourse is like dancing the Hay, or dancing a Scotch Gig, which will put you out of breath strait.

Faction.

You would have us discourse in the measure of a Spanish Pavin.

Temperance.

No, but the measure of a French Galliard would do very well.

Censure.

For my part, Lady, I like Gigs best, and therefore, if you please, begin another Gig.

Faction.

The Spring is drest in buds and blossoms sweet:

Censure.

The Summer laughs until her Cheeks look red,

Pleasure.

The plenteous Autumn warm under our feet.

Tranquill. Peace.

The Winter shaking cold, is almost dead.

All speak.

Go on with the twelve Moneths.

Ambition.

Fierce furious March comes in with bended brows,

Heroick.

Commanding storms and tempests to arise,

Superbe.

Beating the trees and clouds, as if it meant

Vain-glory.

To make them subject to his tyrannies.

Portrait.

Then follows April, weeping for her buds,

Frisk.

For fear rude March had all her young destroy'd;

Faction.

But when she thought her tears might rise to floods,

Censure.

With Sun-beams dry'd her Eyes, his heat her joy'd.

Pleasure.

Then wanton May came full of Amorous Sports,

Tranquill. Peace.

Decking her self with gawdy Colours gay,

Ambition.

And entertaining Lovers of all sorts,

Heroick.

In pleasure she doth pass her time a way.

Superbe.

Then enters Iune with fair and full fat face,

Vain-glor.

Her Eyes are bright and clear as the Noon-Sun,

Portrait.

And in her carriage hath a Majestick grace,

Inquisitive.

In Equinoctial pace she walks, not run.

Faction.

But Iuly's sultry hot, Ambitious proud,

Censure.

And in a fiery Chariot she doth ride,

Pleasure.

When angry is, she thundring speaks aloud,

Tranquill. Peace.

Shoots Lightning through the clouds on every side.

Enter Monsieur Sensuality, and breaks off their Dialogue-Discourse.

Sensuality.

Iove bless us! what Designs have you Ladies and Gentlemen that you sit so gravely together in Councel.

Portrait.

Our chief Design is Wit.

Sensuality.

A witty Design: But really, what are you doing?

Temperance.

They are idly Rhyming.

Sensuality.

Hang idle Rhyming, give me Reason.

Ambition.

Although our Rhymes are not good, yet they are not foul, by reason they are made on fair and pure Subjects.

Sensuality.

Why, what are the Subjects they are made on?

Portrait.

They are made of the several Seasons and Moneths of the Year.

Sensuality.

By your favour, Lady, there be some of the Seasons and Months very foul.

Pleasure.

But we have Rhym'd of none but the fair Months as yet.

Sensuality.

Then let me advise you to stop your Poetical Vein: for if you go farther, you will meet with foul weather and rain.

They all speak.

Out, out of our company.

Faction.

Do you come here to rail at our Rhymes, and yet Rhyme your self, and worse than any of the company?

Sensuality.

I only Rhyme to make my self Free of the Company, though not of the Wits.

Inquisitive.

So you will call us fools by and by.

Sensuality.

No faith, your Rhymes have named you already, and so pre∣vented me.

Portrait.

Why this is worse and worse.

Faction.

Let us seek a revenge.

Ambition.

What revenge shall we take?

Pleasure.

We will tye him to an Asses head.

Superbe.

No, we will tye him to a Foxes tail.

Sensuality.

Ladies tye me to what you please, so you do not tye me to a Horn.

Faction.

Yes, to Altheas Horn, the Horn of plenty.

Sensuality.

'Tis a sign Althea is a Woman, that she gives her gifts in a Horn; but I had rather starve, than receive plenty in such a thing.

Exit.

Portrait.

Let us transform him as Acteon did.

Faction.

And follow him as his hounds did.

Temperance.

Young Ladies, be not so wilde and fierce, to be the hounds your selves to follow in pursuit.

Portrait.

No, no, we will be as Diana, that transformed him.

Temperance.

Then you must be liable to the same Censure, which is, to be thought cruel.

Superbe.

The more Cruel our Sex is, the more Chaste we are thought to be.

Exeunt.

FINIS.