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

Scene 4.

Enter Ease, Wanton, and Idle.

EAse.

There hath been such a Skirmish, or rather a Battel.

Idle.

How, and betwixt whom?

Ease.

Why, betwixt Grave Temperance and Mother Matron.

Idle.

What was the cause of their falling out.

Ease.

Why Mother Matron had a spic'd pot of Ale in her hand, so she set it to her mouth, and drank a hearty draught of it, and finding it very good and refreshing, drank another draught. By my faith, said she, this is a cheer∣ly cup indeed, and a comfortable drink, and with that drank another draught, and so long-winded she was, as she drank up all the Ale therein: Where∣upon, Grave Temperance rebuked her for drinking so much, saying, that though a little, as one draught, or so, might refresh the Spirits, yet a great quantity would make her drunk: Whereupon Mother Matron, who could not then suffer a reproof, in anger she flung the pot, which was still in her hand, at Grave Temperance's head.

Idle.

It was a sign she had drank all the good liquor out, or otherwise she would not have throvvn the pot avvay.

Ease.

It was a sign she was drunk, or else she would not have done so outragious an act, as to have broke Grave Temperances head.

Enter Mother Matron as half drunk, and scolding.

Matron.

Reprove me! teach me! Have not I liv'd long enough in the World to be able to govern my self, but Temperance must govern me? Am I a Child? am I a Novice, that I must be governed by Temperance? No,

no, let her go to Nunneries, and let her be the Lady Prioress to govern Nuns, for yfaith she shall not Prior me.

Idle.

Not Frier you, do you say?

Matron.

No nor Nunn me neither: for I will be neither Fryerd, nor Nunn'd.

Ease.

Why what will you be?

Matron.

Why what should I be, but as I am, a wise, sober, and discreet Governess to a company of young Ladies? Ladies that love the World better than Heaven, and hate a Nunnery worse than Death; and by my Faith they have reason, for liberty is the joy of life, and the World is the place of sensual pleasures, and sensual pleasures are substantial, and in being, when the pleasures aftee death are uncertain; but if they were certain, yet I had rather have a draught of Ale in this World, than a draught of Nectar in the next.

Idle.

This Ale hath heat her into a Poetical height.

Matron.

What do you say, into a pots head?

Idle.

No, I say your head is a pot, filled with the fume of Ale.

Matron.

What have you to do with my head?

Ease.

What had you to do with Grave Temperances head?

Matron.

I would Temperances grave head were in your throat, and then there would be two fools heads one within another.

Idle.

Come, let's leave her, or she will talk her self into a fit of mad∣nesse.

Ease and Idle go out

Matron alone.

Matron.

A couple of Gill-flirts, to heat me thus.

Exit.