The hectors, or, The false challenge a comedy written in the year MDCLV, the scene, London.

ACT III. (Book 3)

SCENE I.

Enter Know-well.

SHee has an acute and handsome wit, a judgment too, not usuall in a woman, then which there is nothing doth more touch my fancy; and yet, Shee wants not that which we call Beauty, that most divine proportion, that doth so lively strike our souls.

Nay, I needs must say, this was the only thing which at the first put me to a stop, and would not let me pass her over, as other common things: But now, a more noble Idea doth so fully represent it self, that I scarce feel its force at all; Nor doth it move me, more then those trivial petty ends, which in my child••sh ignorance I have pursued, would now stirre me: Nor is this strange; for certainly, Beauty's chiefest (if not only) Empire, is at the first; but afterwards, it yeelds unto, and is regulated by what farther conversation doth produce. For, without doubt, had shee now all the deformity that age, or erring nature ever yet produced, I should make her my choice; and those impressions, that by the little acquaintance I have had with her, shee hath made in my mind, would so over-rule my fancy, that in despight of the world, I should account her faire.

Exit.

SCENE II.

Enter Had-land and Slurre.

Slur.

Stay; yonder he comes.

Had.

Come, shal we go meet him?

Enter Wel-bred: Hadland and Slurre meet him, and justle him.

Wel.

Why how now Sir? What is the matter?

Had.

— Do you ask questions?

Hadland Strikes Wel-bred.

Wel.

Was ever man thus abused? I will dye a thousand times ra∣ther then suffer this —you base uncivil villain. —

Drawes, and so doth Had land and Slurre, they fight a little while, and wound Wel-bred, and go away.

Wel.

They are gone, but yet they have left somewhat behind them; for I do bleed a pace; the heat they have put mee into, has bo••l'd my blood up unto that height, that it will all run over; well, I must goe get a Surgeon as soon as I can.—

Exit, and enters again.

It doth bleed more and more, and I begin to grow weak and faint;

The fatall hour doth certainly draw nigh; for me thinks I do begin to feel my life run out with my bloud. —

And now as when some impressions that the fancy doth by day receive, (other objects continually plying the sense) are not at all, or else but dully sensible, but at night appear more fresh then ever;

So, now me thinks, some odde kind of thoughts, which in the earnest pursuit of those things, my youth addicted me unto, I scarce did mark, (now I am going to my eternal rest) begin to stare upon me, and look somewhat strange. —

What a high piece of madnesse have I done, thus to lose my life about a trifle! I say, my life; that which is the chiefest good in nature, that to which all other goods are but subservient; nay, are not at all with∣out it? What competent end then can any man propose in hazarding of it, since in all reason that for which we hazard should be of more value then that we hazard?

What dishonour had it been to me, if by my wife declining I had gi∣ven some cause to think I had fear'd them, more then if in such case I had avoided a Beare or Oxe; for Honour, certainly, is nothing else but that respect and value that those things do draw, which buoy and prop one up in the world. Th••s Wealth, Authority, good Friends▪ and Knowledg, (furnishing us with those means by which the great••st actions are performed) must needs beget a reverence and esteeme: but the force of the body is (without doubt) the most inconsiderable thing possible; he that enjoyes the greatest share of it, how small a power doth he therby acquire? We see he must be subject to each petty Constable; nay, a dagger or a pistol makes the weakest equall to him: 'Tis true, those powerfuller arts of the more nobler part are to be honoured and admired. These many times with strange subtle∣ties unite into one commanding power particular strengths, and being united, with as much cunning obtain its rule and Masterie. These flights we see, do make even weak, decrepit age, often formidable to▪ and th••refore honoured by the world. —Had I this way imployed! —But oh!—

he faints. Enter two men.

1.

Help, help the Gentleman.

2.

What, is he dead?

1.

Almost, I think: look how he is wounded!

2.

Me thinks I should know him: I, certainly he is a customer of my Masters, and he lodges in Chancery-lane.

1.

We had best then to carry him thither.

2.

Pull out his hand-kercheife to help stop the blood.

He pulls it out, and withall pulls out the challenge La-gull gave him.

1.

Look, what is that? you had best to read it.

2.

What is this? I think it is a challenge.

1.

A Challenge! Jesu bless us; then it seems this was some duell:

Will these Gentleman never leave off these same scurvy Duells? —

But wee had best to make haste whilst he hath any blood left in him.

They carry him out.

SCENE II.

Enter Know-well and Mrs. Crisis.

Know.

I heard, Lady, that with much earnestnesse, he seem'd to enquire for me at my lodging; and therefore because I think I heard you say he would be here about this time, I came hither to see what he would have with me.

Cris.

The truth of it is, he appointed to come hither, and goe to Hide Park with me; but since he hath sent his man to desire me to ex∣cuse him, because there was a businesse of consequence fallen out, that he was to go about.

Know.

Then all that I can say to it, is that he hath made me lose a little paines.

Cris.

And so truly he hath me, for I have been almost this houre a dressing myself, thinking to go with him.

Know.

That were a great deal of pity, Lady, that any paines you have taken should be in vaine; rather then so, if you will please to give me leave to wait upon you thither, although it be a place that I do but little frequent; yet Lady, upon this occasion, I shall not a little desire it.

Cris.

By no means Sir, I would not put you to that trouble.—

Know.

Nay, if that be the only obstacle.

Cris.

I beseech you Sir. —

Know.

Come Lady, it is the first request I ever made to you, and I will not be denied.

Cris.

Nay, if you will not, I cannot tell what to say to it.—

As they are going out, they meet her Father.

Old Cris.

And whither, and whither, I pray, in all this haste?

Cris.

Only a little way, Sir, with this Gentleman.

Old Cris.

A little way! And why am not I good enough to know?

Cris.

We were a going to Hide Park.

Old Cris.

To Hide Park? I thought it was some such place you were going to, you were so bedeck'd and trim'd up with all your Jin-com∣bobs; wil you never leave following of these idle fashions?— Come, stand out in the light a little. Hey da! What, powder'd and patch'd again? have not I time and time forbad you ever to do so? off with them, I say, those filthy blaines and scabs of pride, — off with them, or I will pull them off.

Know.

Nay, I beseech you Sir, with your pardon; I must needs say you are a little too severe, in not letting her please her fancy in these kind of things.

Old Cris.

Mr. Know-well, I ever have had that opinion of you, that I do not a little wonder, that you, of all men, should speak thus if you speak according to your Judgement.

Know.

Sir, for my part, I speak what I think; for certainly, you have little reason to blame her thus.

Old Cris.

Reason? though to her my will is reason sufficient; yet I would not have you believe that I speak without a cause. For do you think it doth become a sober, civil, modest Virgin, as I hope shee is, to follow all the several fashions, those fantastick changes, and whim∣sical dances led by the vain and emp••y part of the world?

Know.

Sir, for my part I could wish our habits were as constant as the course of nature, nor that we had more change of dress then birds or trees; but this I can but wish; for we see the generall humour of the world ever yet has been so set upon the contrary, that one can scarce discreetly hope it; nay, hee that would but a little strictly enquire and search into our natures, and mark how prone and apt they are for variety and change, might almost demonstrate its impossibility; for certainly, as long as in the world there are men of severall qualities and degrees, the inferiour, and more base will imitate the waies of those of better ranke, and strive to intrench upon, and gaine their customes; which being no sooner got by the one, but the other will despise them, and seek for new. Seeing then these alterations are so unavoidable, without doubt, it wil more become one in a moderate way to yeild unto, then vainely to oppose them. For whatsoever the riged do pretend, there is nothing can more argue a fan∣tastick humor, or self-conceited pride, then with ones single whimseys to oppose what is received by the generality.

Old Cris.

'Tis true Sir, I needs must yeeld thus far, for I should condemn her of the height of folly, should shee oppose the general use in things that are indifferent: but that I chiefly blame her is, for certaine knacks and fashions, which although in common use and custome, yet not being decent and comely in themselves, must needs be unlawfull.

Know.

That, Sir, is impossible; for custome is the very square and rule of what is decent, and what not; indecency being nothing else but that harsh discord that any thing doth make, if it doth chance to inter∣fere with the common course of things, and certainly, the soundest judg∣ments wil not hold any habit to be simply in its self unlawfull. Thus much, indeed, must be granted, that some attires, by being first used by (and therefore being reckoned for the badges of) the vainer and more fantastick sort, may from them acquire some accidentall scandall, which afterwards (they growing into use, with the sober and more staid) by the same reason they must needs mew and let fall.

Old Cris.

This Sir, is somewhat strange; for although I cannot tel to what narrow limits you may confine the word decency in its strictest notion, yet there is nothing more certain then that there are vain, light, &

immodest habits, of their proper nature abstracted from all those glosses that custome may fl••ng on them.

Know.

Truly Sir, I think not, nor I believe will you, if you but consider the businesse a little more; for vanity is nothing else but the affectati∣on of the signes of those things we really have not; as in attires, if the aged do usurp what doth belong to youth, the poor to the rich, the in∣feriour to the more N••ble. Now Sir, what is it that doth define to each of these their severall Characterizing Ga••bes, but use and arbitrary Custome? And so farre is any habit in it self from representing what is grave or light, that should it please Om∣nipotence, (as there is nothing impossible) but to invert the com∣mon course of Nature, make those the markes of age, which are now of youth; the smooth chin would then be as reverend, as is now the bald head; Then should you have the grave and venerable s••lver haires bee worne in amorous wanton Bracelets. Nay, nothing in this kinde, but as to these respects, would have its alte∣ration.

And as for Modesty; 'Tis true, although it bee a vertue alike re∣quisite in all; yet, what those things are wherein 'tis exercised, Custome doth onely determine: You see here that familiar with our coyest, nicest Dames, which, in some places, would scarce be done by the most notorious strumpets; nay, what many times with us is but necessary, how strangely would it looke in the other sex? And I would faine know that man could give me a solid reason of this difference besides common custome. I am sure there can bee no habit whatsoever fancied to be so immodest, as wee should now account none at all to bee; yet there are some that with no slight rea∣sons will maintaine our onely naturall dresse (were it but backed by a ••••nerall Custome) would bee the most innocent; and those desires which by restraint are now chiefly inflamed, would then grow cold and dull, as wee see some things which else-where are accounted a recompence sufficient for a stab, here through there facility are scarce valued; Nor was it said amisse of one who called clothes a meere device hatch'd in Madam Venus Clo∣set; — for surely they are the greatest stratagem by which her Em∣pire doth subsist.

Old Cris.

I must confesse, Sir, you do represent some things unto mee, which before I did not so cleerely marke; But yet (Sir) were it granted, that custome were the onely rule for what were to bee done in these kind of matters, yet those things for which I did find fault with her, have nor obtain'd a generall use; for if wee should goe presently into the stree••s, wee should see not one in forty use them.

Know.

Herein, Sir, doth lie the grand mistake; for as many se∣verall sorts of men, the various accidents of for••une doth produce; so many severall fashions doth common use alo••; nor is this more

then what hath beene provided for by publick lawes, in the best order'd Common-Wealths. Now Sir, If in my attire I do conforme myself to those of my degree, I never shall offend against the rule of decency; and for my part, I see nothing in her dresse, but what for some while hath generally been done by the civillest Ladies of her yeares and quality, especially in this place; for I must confesse, that may be star'd at in a Country towne, that here would bee but needfull. And this discourse, Sir, doth put me in mind of what I have known to have been the opinion of some Judicious men, that the dresse which of these late yeers hath been in request amongst us (what e're the aged out of their usuall vanity of magnifying their younger years wil say to the contrary) is the civillest, most comely, and less extravagant that hath been used for these many ages.

Old Cris.

Well daughter, Mr. Know-well hath so wel pleaded for you, that I am content that you shall follow your own humour, for this day at the least. — And if you doe go, you had best to goe presently, lest it be late before you come home, for I can tell, you the air is very sharp.

Know.

Your servant Sir. —

Old Cris.

God bu'ye, good Master Know.

Exeunt severall waies.

SCENE III.

Enter Mrs. Pate in a Widows attire, and Iustice Quorum.

Iust.

Now Mrs. you have no more to doe, then to take out execu∣tion, for you have a judgment of 5310 pounds. — Believe mee, your adversary was like to have served you but a crafty Citizens trick of it, if I had not bestirred my self for you.

Pate.

He that doth command you to plead the cause of the Widow, Sir, I hope, will reward you. —

Iust.

But what was the reason, I pray Mrs. that your husband did intrust him with so great a sum?

Pate.

Sir, going to the late Warrs, and fearing what hazard hee might thereby runne, did thinke he might have relied upon this mans fidelity, (he being his very intimate friend) little imagining that hee would have proved such a wicked knave, as to have cozen'd me his poor wife. —

Shee Weeps.

Iust.

Peace, Mrs. for seeing the matter has succeded so well, you have little cause to weep.

Pate.

I Sir, 'Tis true: but whensoever I think of the good man, I cannot forbear, O! little did he think I should ever have been put to all this trouble and vexation.

Iust.

But the maine point now will be, whether this man be respon∣sible?

Pate.

O Sir, that is not to be questioned, for he is on•• you cannot look upon, but you must think of thousands, a fat, greasie Burgo-master, he commonly goeth in a ruffe, and a black pinked Satan doublet, you had as good doubt of my Lord Major, and all the Aldermen; the publick Faith would not take up so much upon the Exchange, as his word.

Iust.

'Tis well, if it be so. — But Mrs. where be those writings you sent for me to look upon?

Pate.

You shall see them presently Sir. —

Sue, bring me the little black Trunk in my Chamber. —.

Enter maid with a Trunke.

Here they be, Sir, some old writings of my husbands, I would bee glad to know what they meane. —

Su.

Forsooth, your brother is below with another Gent. they are newly come out of the Country.

Pate.

My brother!

Shee runs out hastily.

Iust.

But Hea••k you hither, sweet heart; do you remember what you promised me.

Su.

I▪ Sir, and if I durst, I could say somewhat.

Iust.

Durst? Why, what is the matter?

Su.

O Lord Sir, I am afraid she will be angry.

Iust.

Come, come, I'le warrant you: Here.

Gives her money.

Su.

O Sir, You are a Noble Gentleman, and for your sake, I will venture her displeasure. The truth of it is, Sir, (but I hope you will not say I said so.)

Iust.

No, no, do not fear.

Su.

Well, Sir, I dare swear shee loves you.

Iust.

Say you so? Stay, here is somewhat more for you.

Gives her more money.

Sue.

I, Sir, for shee doth nothing but talke what a grave, comely, old Gent. you are, and very like her first husband.

Iust.

Why, was her first husband an old man?

Sue.

O, I Sir▪ or else he never had had her, for I thinke there never was woman of so strange a humour as she is, in this world; for from her infancy, shee ever doted on old men; I have heard her say, that in these her late Law-troubles, it has been no small com∣fort to her, that still she hath been conversant with grave Counsellers & Sergeants, and what a happiness she has had to look somtimes an hour together upon the Judges. Shee will goe and walke a whole afternoone in Charter-house-Garden, on purpose to view the ancient Gentlemen there.

And if shee hear but of a man that is buried with as many old men following him, as he is years old, she wil go a mile to see it: There is an old beggar that uses to come hither somtimes that she wil talk with an

hour together: sometimes she will condole her self that she did not live before the floud, that she might have had one of those ancient Patriarks; the last year she was scarce perswaded, but that she would take a Journey into some of the far Northern Nations, where men do ordinarily live unto seven or eight score years of age. As we were coming by S. Dunstans not long ago, she spied the Picture of old Par, she needs would have the Coach stay until she had bought it, and since she has hung it up in her Closet, and will weep sometimes over it an hour together.

Iust.

Nay, if this be true, I cannot tell what to think of it.

Sue.

Sir, not long ago there was a young Gentleman here about the Town, who hearing of her Riches, and knowing this her humor, had almost got her, by counterfeiting himself to be an old man.

Iust.

I?

Sue.

O I shall never, I think, forget how he came in a white Perriwig and his false beard; I cannot almost but laugh, when I think how handsomely he carried the businesse, how he made as if his hands trembled, and his head shaked, how he seemed to be deaf, and have the Gou••, and twenty other Infirmities of age, insomuch that my Mi∣stris was extremely taken with him.

Iust.

And how came he to misse her?

Sue.

The strangeliest that ever you heard: for all things were a∣greed, the very Writings drawn, and when he came to seal them, be∣cause he set his name without using a pair of Spectacles, she would ne∣ver see him more.

Iust.

Nay, if she can love an old man so well.—

Sue.

But here she comes, Sir.

Exit Sue.

Enter Pate with Hadland and Slur.

Had.

Sister, I desire that you would entertain this Gentleman, Sir Thomas Cranfield, as my friend.

Slur.

Madam, I shall think it no small happinesse to be reckoned a∣mongst the number of your servants.

Pat.

Sir, for my brothers sake, I shall be glad of your farther ac∣quaintance.

Had.

Sister, I am loaden with a number of Services to you from your friends in the Country.

Pat.

How do they all, I pray? Sir Richard Howard, and my Lady Tanfield?—

But, Brother, have you brought up the money I wrote for, you know what occasions of expence I have had in this Law business.

Had.

I could not in so short a time, Sister, procure so much as you wrote for; but I have made a shift to get almost 200 l. though a∣mong your Tenants, the rest they will pay you when you come down, which your friends hope will not be long first; I promised them to bring you down with me.

Iust.

Ha! Tenants!

Aside.

Had.

But, Sister, I must speak a word to you in private.—

Slur.

Sir Iohn, I take my leave of you.

Had.

What are you going Sir Thomas? I will wait upon you anon at your Lodging.

Slur.

Madam, your most humble servant.

Exit.

Exeunt Hadland and Pate.

Iust.

Stay, what is here? A Mortgage of the Manor of Dove —

A Bond for seven hundred pounds —

A Bond in nine hundred pound to Iohn Tompkins of S. Clements Es∣quire. That was her husband sute.

Another Mortgage of Lands in Lincolneshire,—to him too. There is no end of her Wealth.—

And then the Land they talked of in the Country. —

Enter Sue

Iust.

How now, Sue? what newes now?

Sue.

What do you think?

Iust.

What, prethee?

Su.

Did not you see a gallant Gentleman come with my Mistris her brother?

Iust.

I, Sir Thomas, I think they called him: What of him?

Su.

I dare say, he comes to be a Suiter to my Mistris.— Some∣what I have over-heard —

If you will but step in here a little, I believe you may heare more.

Exeunt.

SCENE IV.

Enter Hadland and Pate, Iustice and Sue at the other door to over-hear them.

Had.

Sister, you see he is a proper Gentleman, and I can assure you he has almost seven thousand pounds per annum.

Pate.

Speak no more of him, brother, for I shall never think of him in that Nature.

Had.

Why? what is the reason, Sister?

Pat.

I desire that you would pardon me for that.

Had.

I hope you are engaged unto no body?

Pat.

No, not engaged.—But—

She weeps.

Had.

What is the matter, Sister? Come, let me be partaker of what ever troubles you. You do not use to be thus strange to me.

Pat.

I do not indeed, but now, me thinks, I have too much cause for me to appear strange unto my self.

Had.

Why? what is the matter?

Pat.

From you (dear brother) I cannot conceal any thing, yet I

could wish you could now guesse my thoughts, and look into my mind, and see what strange passions there have ruled of late, without forcing of me to straine my modesty.

Had.

What? are you in love with any body? Come, let me know the party, a brothers advice may do you no hurt.

Pat.

If I should tell, I know you would laugh at me; but truly I shal rather deserve your pity.—

Had.

Come, come, tell me; who is it?

Pat.

Did not you see an ancient Gentleman with me when you came in?

Had.

What, is it any son or kinsman of his?

Pat.

No, no.

She weeps.

Had.

Who then?

Pat.

I have told you.

Had.

Who, that feeble and decrepit piece of age?

Pat.

Nay, brother.—

Had.

That sad effect of some threescore years and ten, that antick relick of the last Century?

Pat.

Nay, brother, I told you, you would serve me so.—

Had.

But, sister, prethee be a little serious. Dost thou love him indeed?

Pat.

Alas, dear brother, it is but too true.

Had.

It is impossible.

Pat.

One would think so indeed.

Had.

I grant, you may bear a reverence and regard, as you would to your fathers ashes, or your Grandfires Tomb.

Pat.

Witness all that are good and just, never a youth of two and twenty stirred more amorous desires then he hath done in me.

Iust.

I see now Sue, thou saist true.

Had.

Certainly the Villain hath bewitched her, could ever woman be thus mad else, to be in love with age and rottenness, to be in love with a withered carcass, whom its own soul being weary of, is rea∣dy to forsake and leave?

Pat.

Alas, brother, you know I never did affect those vain, though pleasing braveries of youth, but still have let my mind on the more nobler part of man, which Age doth more refine and elevate; then it doth depresse and sink this same contemptible clod.

Had.

Well, Sister, to morrow you shall go down with me into the Country; I'll warrant we shall find them there shall make you forget this same reverend Sir.

Pat.

O never, never.

Had.

Do but try.—

I have a Coach here in the Town, come, come, you shall go, I will p••e••ently go and ••ake order about things.

Exount.

En••er Iustice and Sue.

Sue.

Now you will believe me another time.

Iust.

I can scarce believe my self; but is it possible that she should so love me, and I could never perceive it all this while?

Sue.

Alas, Sir, she is so modest, that I dare swear, except it had been to her brother, she would have concealed this same passion until it had broke her very heart.

Iust.

But what had I best to do?

Sue.

Nay, Sir, you see your danger, if her brother should carry her into the Country to morrow, how they may work upon her easie na∣ture, I cannot tell.

Iust.

You say true.

Sue.

E'en strike while the iron is hot; for ought I know, if you let this night pass, you are gone for ever.

Iust.

Dost think she would marry me this night then?

Sue.

That would be somewhat sudden, I must confesse, but I dare swear you might perswade her unto any thing, if you do but take your opportunity when her Brother is gone.

Iust.

Well, I will try what may be done.—

But, Sweet-heart, They were just now talking of Tenants that she had, has she any Land too in the Country?

Sue.

I, Sir, for my part, came to her since she came to London, and therefore cannot speak any thing of mine own knowledge, but some∣what I believe I can guesse.

Iust.

Why, I pray?

Sue.

Sir, every now and then here comes a company of fellowes in letherne breeches with money to my Mistris, and here they keep a talk∣ing of Leases, and renewing of Leases, and Fines; a deuce take them for me, I am sure I am fain to clean our Dining-Room some four or five times a week after them.

Iust.

Say you so? Say you so?

Sue.

Then (Sir) for a month together about last Lady-day, we lived upon nothing but Capons that these fellowes sent us.

Iust.

You were shrewdly hurt, were you not?

Sue.

'Twas but the last week that one, she calls him her—Baily, I think.

Iust.

I, I, right, right; what of him?

Sue.

Why he sent her a Gammon of Bacon seasoned with pepper∣cornes, that were due to her, one from each Farm.

Iust.

I?

Su.

And when that fellow comes up to the Town, there is such a talk∣ing of Rents, Quit-rents, Reversions, Harriots, and I know not what all —

There are some other things she has, they use to talk much of, that I have quite forgot; Stay, —Mannals I think they call them.

Iust.

Manors, you meane.

Sue.

I, Manors, Manors, what are they (Sir?) any sort of cattle?

Iust.

No, no, you Cockney.—

How shall I wallow in Wealth! I shall never be able to ••ame my luxu∣riant bags.— I may found Hospitals, Colledges, or build Chur∣ches.

Sue.

Sir, and have them turned to Stables.

Iust.

Mas, thou saist true, Wench. I may make Causeways or build Bridges.—

Sue.

Well (Sir) you had not best to lose all, while you are a thinking of it.

Iust.

'Tis well said, I will go to her presently.

Exeunt.