Five nevv playes, viz. The English moor, or the mock-marriage. The love-sick court, or the ambitious politique: Covent Garden weeded. The nevv academy, or the nevv exchange. The queen and concubine. / By Richard Brome.

ACT 2. SCENE 1.

Lucy. Phillis.

Lu.

Y'are the first Maid that ere I entertain'd Upon so small acquaintance. Yet y'are welcom, I like your hand and carriage.

Phi.

'Tis your favour. But love, they say sweet Mistriss, is receiv'd At the first sight, and why not service then, Which often brings more absolute returns Of the dear trust impos'd, and firmer faith By Servants then by lovers?

Lu.

Stay there Phillis. I may, by that, conjecture you have been Deceiv' by some false Lover.

Phi.

Who, I Mistriss? I hope I look too merrily for such a one, Somewhat too coursly too, to be belov'd; If I were sad and handsome, then it might Be thought I were a little love sick. Pray How long has this disease affected you; This melancholy, Mistriss? Not ever since You lost your father I hope.

Lu.

For the most part. Thou saidst, me thought, that love might be tane in At the first fight

Phi.

There 'tis. I find her. Love, Mistriss? yes, a Maid may take in more Love at one look, or at a little loop-hole, Then all the Doddy poles in Town can purge Out of her while she lives; she smothring it, And not make known her passion. There's the mischie▪

Lu.

Suppose she love an enemy to her house.

Phi.

An enemy! Put case the case were yours.

Lu.

But 'tis no case of mine; put by I pray thee.

Phi.

I'le put it to you though I miss your case. Suppose it were your house, and Master Arthur, Whose father was your fathers enemy, Were your belov'd—

Lu.

Pray thee no more.

Phi.

Now I have struck the vein. Suppose I say, All this were true; would you confound your self In smothering your love, which, in it self, Is pure and innocent, until it grow To a pernicious disease within you; And hide it in your bosom, till it work Your kindled heart to ashes?

Lu.

Thou hast won My patience to attention: Therefore tell me If thou canst find or think it honourable In me to take such an affection?

Phi.

Yes, and religious; most commendable, Could you but win his love into a marriage, To beget peace between your families. How many, and what great examples have we, From former ages, and of later times, Of strong dissentions between furious factions, That to their opposite houses have drawn in Eithers Allies and F••iends, whole Provinces, Yea, Kingdoms into deadly opposition; Till the wide wounds on both sides have sent forth Rivers of blood, which onely have been stop'd By the fost bands of love in marriages Of equal branches, sprung from the first roots Of all those Hell-bred hatreds!

Lu.

My good Maid—

Phi.

Yes, I have been a good one to my grief.

Lu.

Thou hast given me strength to tell thee, and I hope When it is told, I shall have yet more ease.

Phi.

I warrant you Mistriss. Therefore out with it.

Lu.

I love that worthy Gentleman; and am confident That in the time of our two fathers friendship He' affected me no less: But since that time I have not seen him, nor dare mention him To wrong my brothers patience, who is so passionate, That could he but suspect I bred a thought That favour'd him, I were for ever lost. For this sad cause, as well as for the loss Of my dear Father, I have sigh'd away Twelve Moons in silent sorrow; and have heard That Arthur too (but for what cause I know not) Has not been seen abroad; but spends his time In pensive solitude.

Phi.

Perhaps he grieves As much for the supposed loss of you, As of his Father too.

Lu.

The best construction, I make of his retiredness, is the blest Prevention (which I daily pray for) of A fatal meeting 'twixt him an•• my Brother, Which would be sure the death of one or both. And now that fear invades me, as it does alwayes, My Brother being abroad; and such an absence Has not been usual: I have not seen him Since yesterday—

Phi.

Fear nothing, Mistriss. Now you have eas'd your mind, Let me alone to comfort you. And see your Brother.

The.

How is it with you Sister?

Enter Theoph.

Phi.

Much better now then when you le••t me Brother, If no ill accident has happened you Since your departure; as I fear there has: Why look you else so sadly? speak, dear Brother. I hope you did not meet the man you hate. If you did, speak. If you have fought and slain him, I charge you tell, that I may know the worst Of fortune can befal me: I shall gain

Perhaps a death by't.

The.

You speak as if you lov'd the man I hate, And that you fear I have kil'd him.

Phi.

Not for love Of him I assure you Sir; but of your self. Her fear in this case, Sir, is that the Law May take from her the comfort of her life In taking you from her, and so she were But a dead woman. We were speaking Of such a danger just as you came in; And truly, Sir, my heart even tremble-tremble-trembles, To think upon it yet. Pray, Sir, resolve her.

The.

Then 'twas your frivolous fear that wrought in her. Good Sister be at peace: for, by my love to you, (An oath I will not violate) I neither saw Nor sought him, I. But other thoughts perplex me.

Lu.

What, were you at the wedding, Brother?

The.

Whose wedding, Sister?

Lu.

Your lost love Millicents. Are you now sad After your last leave taking?

The.

What do you mean?

Lu.

There may be other matches, my good Brother—

The.

You wrong me shamefully, to think that I Can think of other then her memorie. Though she be lost and dead to me, can you Be so unnatural as to desire The separation of a thought of mine From her dear memorie; which is all the comfort My heart is married to, or I can live by.

Phi.

Surely good Sir, in my opinion, Sharp, eager stomacks may be better fed With a'ery smell of meat, then the bare thought Of the most curious dainties—

The.

What piece of impudence have you receiv'd Into my house?

Lu.

Pray Brother pardon me.

I took her, as I find her, for my comfort, She has by councel and discourse wrought much Ease and delight into my troubled thoughts.

The.

Good Maid forgive me; and my gentle Sister, I pray thee bear with my destractions.

Phi.

A good natur'd Gentleman for all his hasty flashes.

The.

And now I'le tell you Sister (do not chide me) I have a new affliction.

Lu.

What is it brother?

The.

I am ingag'd unto a Gentleman, (A noble valiant Gentleman) for my life, By hazarding his own, in my behalf.

Lu.

It was then against Arthur. What villain was't durst take your cause in hand Against that man?

The.

You wrong me beyond suffrance, And my dear fathers blood within your self, In seeming careful of that mans safety—

Phi.

His safety Sir? Alas! she means, he is A villain that would take the honor of His death out of your hands, if he must fall By sword of man.

The.

Again, I ask you pardon. But I had A quarrel yesterday, that drew strong odds Upon my single person; Three to one: When, at the instant, that brave Gentleman With his sword, sides me, puts'em all to flight—

Lu.

But how can that afflict you?

The.

How quick you are!

Lu.

Good Brother I ha'done.

The.

My affliction is, That I not know the man, to whom I am So much ingag'd, to give him thanks at least.

Enter Nath.

O Sir y'are welcome, though we parted somewhat Abruptly yesterday.

Nat.

I thank you Sir.

The.

Pray thee Nat. tell me, for I hope thou know'st him; What Gentleman was that came in betwixt us?

Nat.

If the devil know him no better, he will lose A part of his due I think. But to the purpose, I knew your wonted nature would be friends With me before I could come at you. However, I Have news for you that might deserve your love, Were you my deadly enemy.

The.

What is't pray thee?

Nat.

Sweet Mist••iss Lucy so long unsaluted?

Kiss.

Lu.

My Brother attends your news Sir.

Nat.

My Wench become her Chamber-maid! very pretty! How the Jade mumps for fear I should discover her.

The.

Your news good Nat? what is it ready made, Or are you now but coining it?

Nat.

No, it was coin'd last night, o'the right stamp, And passes current for your good. Now know, That I, and Mun, and Vince, with divers others Of our Comrades, were last night at the Bride-house.

The.

What mischief did you there?

Nat.

A Masque, a Masque lad, in which we presented The miseries of inforced Marriages So lively—Zooks, lay by your captious countenance, And hear me handsomely.

Lu.

Good brother do, it has a fine beginning.

Nat.

But mark what follows; This morning, early up we got again, And with our Fidlers made a fresh assault And battery 'gainst the bed-rid bride-grooms window, With an old song, a very wondrous old one, Of all the cares, vexations, fears and torments, That a decrepit, nasty, rotten Husband Meets in a youthful, beauteous, sprightly wife: So as the weak wretch will shortly be afraid, That his own feebler shadow makes him Cuckold.

Our Masque o're night begat a separation Betwixt'em before bed time: for we found Him at one window, coughing and spitting at us; She at another, laughing, and throwing money Down to the Fidlers, while her Uncle Testy, From a third Port-hole raves, denouncing Law, And thundring statutes 'gainst their Minstralsie.

Lucy.

Would he refuse his bride-bed the first night?

Phi.

Hang him.

Nat.

Our Horn-masque put him off it, (bless my in∣vention) For which, I think, you'l Judge she'le forsake him All nights and dayes hereafter. Here's a blessing Prepard now for you, if you have grace to follow it.

The.

Out of my house, that I may kill thee; Go: For here it were inhospitable. Hence, Thou busie vaillain, that with sugard malice Hast poyson'd all my hopes; ruin'd my comforts In that sweet soul for ever. Go, I say, That I may with the safety of my man-hood, Right me upon that mischievous head of thine.

Nat.

Is this your way of thanks for courtesies; Or is't our luck alwayes to meet good friends, And never part so? yet before I go, I will demand your reason (if you have any) Wherein our friendly care can prejudice you; Or poyson any hopes of yours in Millicent?

Lu.

Pray brother tell him.

The.

Yes: that he may die Satisfied, that I did but Justice on him, In killing him. That villain, old in mischief, (Hell take him) that has married her, conceives It was my plot (I know he does) and, for A sure revenge, will either work her death By poyson, or some other cruelty, Or keep her lock'd up in such misery,

That I shall never see her more.

Nat.

I answer—

The.

Not in a word, let me intreat you, go.

Nat.

Fair Mistriss Lucy—

The.

Neither shall she hear you.

Nat.

Her Maid shall then: or I'le not out to night.

Phil.

On what acquaintance Sir.

He takes her aside.

Nat.

Be not afraid: I take no notice o'thee, I like thy course, Wench, and will keep thy councel, And come sometimes, and bring thee a bit and th'wilt.

Phi.

I'le see you choak'd first.

Nat.

Thou art not the first Cast Wench that has made a good Chamber-maid.

Phi.

O you are base, and I could claw your eyes out.

Nat.

Pray tell your Master now: so fare you well Sir.

Exit.

Lu.

I thank you, Brother, that you promise me You will not follow him now, some other time Will be more fit. What said he to you, Phillis?

Phi.

Marry he said (help me good apron strings.)

The.

What was it that he said?

Phi.

I have it now. It was in answer, Sir, of your objections. First, that you fear'd the old man, wickedly, Would make away his wife: to which he saies, That is not to be fear'd, while she has so Much fear of Heaven before her eyes. And next, That he would lock her up from sight of man: To which he answers, she is so indued With wit of woman, that were she lock'd up, Or had locks hung upon her, locks upon locks; Locks of prevention, or security: Yet being a woman, she would have her will; And break those locks as easily as her Wedlock. Lastly, for your access unto her sight; If you have Land he saies to sell or Mortgage, He'le undertake his doors, his wife and all,

Shall fly wide open to you,

The.

He could not lay so.

Lu.

Troth, but tis like his wild way of expression.

Phi.

Yes; I knew that: my wit else had been puzzl'd.

The.

And now I find my self instructed by him; And friends with him again. Now, Arnold, any tidings.

Ar.

Not of the gentleman that sought for you. Ent. Arn. But I have other newes thats worth your knowledge. Your enemy, young Arthur, that has not Been seen abroad this twel'moneth is got forth In a disguise I hear, and weapon'd well. I have it from most sure inteligence. Look to your self, sir.

Lu.

My blood chills again.

The.

Pseugh, Ile not think of him. To dinner sister.

ACT. 2 SCENE. 2.

Quick-sands. Testy. Millicent.

Qui.

Here was a good night, and good morrow to Given by a crew of Devils.

Tes.

'Twas her plot, And let her smart ••or'c.

Mil.

Smart, Sir, did you say? I think 'twas smart enough for a young Bride To be made lye alone, and gnaw the sheets Upon her wedding.

Tes.

Rare impudence!

Mil.

But for your satisfaction, as I hope To gain your favour as you are my Uncle, I know not any acter in this business.

Ent. Buz. with a paper. Quick reads it.

Buz.

Sir, her's a letter thrown into the entry.

Tes.

It is some villanous libel then I warrant. Sawst thou not who convai'd it in?

Buz.

Not 1. I onely found it, Sr.

Qui.

Pray read it you. Not my own house free from'em! The devil ow'd me a spight; and when he has plow'd An old mans lust up, he sits grinning at him. Nay, I that have so many gallant enemies On fire, to do me mischief, or disgrace; That I must provide tinder for their sparks! The very thought bears weight enough to sink me.

Mil.

May I be worthy, Sir, to know your trouble?

Qui.

Do you know your self?

Mil.

Am I your trouble then?

Qui.

Tis sworn and written in that letter there Thou shalt be wicked. Hundreds have tane oaths To make thee false, and me a horned Monster.

Mil.

And does that trouble you?

Tes.

Does it not you?

Mil.

A dream has done much more. Pray, Sir, your pa∣tience, And now I will be serious, and endeavour To mend your faith in me. Is't in their power To destroy vertue, think you; or do you Suppose me false already; tis perhaps Their plot to drive you into that opinion. And so to make you cast me out amongst'em: You may do so upon the words of strangers; And if they tell you all, your gold is counterfeit, Throw that out after me.

Tes.

Now shee speaks woman.

Mil.

But since these men pretend, and you suppose'em To be my friends, that carry this presumption Over my will, Ile take charge of my self, And do fair justice, both on them and you: My honour is my own; and i'm no more Yours yet, on whom my Uncle has bestowed me, Then all the worlds (the ceremony off) And will remain so, free from them and you; Who, by the false light of their wild-fire flashes Have slighted and deprav'd me and your bride bed;

Till you recant your wilfull ignorance, And they their petulant folly.

Tes.

This sounds well.

Mil.

Both they and you trench on my Peace and Honor; Dearer then beauty, pleasure wealth and fortune; I would stand under the fall of my estate Most chearefully, and sing: For there be wayes To raise up fortunes ruines, were her towers Shattered in pieces, and the glorious ball Shee stands on cleft asunder: But for Peace Once ruin'd, there's no reparation; If Honour fall, which is the soul of life, Tis like the damned, it nere lifts the head Up to the light again.

Tes.

Neece, thou hast won mee; And Nephew, she's to good for you. I charge you Give her her will: Ile have her home again else.

Qui.

I know not what I can deny her now.

Mil.

I ask but this, that you will give me leave To keep a vow I made, which was last night Because you flighted me.

Tes.

Stay there a little. I'le lay the price of twenty Maidenheads Now, as the market goes, you get not hers This seav'night.

Mil.

My vow is for a moneth; and for so long I crave your faithful promise not to attempt me. In the mean time because I will be quit With my trim, forward Gentlemen, and secure you From their assaults; let it be given out, That you have sent me down into the countrey Or back unto my Uncles; whither you please.

Quic.

Or, tarry, tarry—stay, stay here a while.

Mil.

So I intend, Sir, Ile not leave your house, But be lock'd up in some convenient room Not to be seen by any, but your selfe▪

Or else to have the liberty of your house In some disguise, (if it were possible) Free from the least suspition of your servants.

Tes.

What needs all this? Do we not live in a well govern'd City? And have not I authority? Ile take The care and guard of you and of your house 'Gainst all outragious attempts; and clap Those Goatish Roarers up, fast as they come.

Quic.

I understand her drist, Sir, and applaud Her quaint devise. Twill put 'em to more trouble, And more expence in doubtful search of her, The best way to undo 'em is to foil'em At their own weapons. Tis not to be thought The'l seek, by violence to force her from me, But wit; In which wee'l overcome'em.

Tes.

Agree on't twixt your selves. I see y'are friends. I'le leave you to your selves. Heark hither Neece—Now I dare trust you with him: He is in yeares, tis true. But hear'st thou girl Old Foxes are best blades.

Mil.

I'm sure they stink most.

Tes.

Good keeping makes him bright and young a∣gain.

Mil.

But for how long.

Tes.

A year or two perhaps. Then, when he dies, his wealth makes thee a Countess.

Mil.

You speak much comfort, Sir.

Tes.

That's my good Girl. And Nephew, Love her, I find she deserves it; Be as benevolent to her as you can; Shew your good will at least. You do not know How the good will of an old man may work In a young wife. I must now take my journey Down to my countrey house. At your moneths end Ile visit you again. No ceremony Joy and content be with you.

Quic. Mil.

And a good journey to you.

Exit Test.

Quic.

You are content you say to be lock'd up Or put in some disguise, and have it said Y'are gone unto your Uncles. I have heard Of some Bridegrooms, that shortly after Marriage Have gone to see their Uncles, seldom Brides. I have thought of another course.

Mil.

Be't any way.

Quic.

What if it were given out y'are run away Out of a detestation of your match?

Mil.

'T would pull a blot upon my reputation.

Quic.

When they consider my unworthiness 'T will give it credit. They'l commend you for it.

Mil.

You speak well for your self.

Quic.

I speak as they'l speak.

Mil.

Well; let it be so then: I am content.

Quic.

Wee'l put this instantly in act. The rest, As for disguise, or privacy in my house, You'll leave to me.

Mil.

All, Sir, to your dispose, Provided still you urge not to infringe My vow concerning my virginity.

Quic.

Tis the least thing I think on, I will not offer at it till your time.

Mil.

Why here's a happiness in a husband now

exeunt.

ACT 2. SCENE 3.

Dionysia. Rafe.

Dio.

Thou tell'st me things, that truth never came near.

Ra.

Tis perfect truth: you may believe it. Lady.

Dio.

Maintain't but in one fillable more, Ile tear Thy mischievious tongue out.

Ra.

Fit reward for Tell-troths. But that's not the reward you promis'd me

For watching of your brothers actions; You said forsooth (if't please you to remember) That you would love me for it.

Dio.

Arrogant Rascal. I bad thee bring account of what he did Against his enemy; and thou reportst. He took his enemies danger on himself, And help't to rescue him whose bloody father Kild ours. Can truth or common reason claim A part in this report? My brother doe't! Or draw a sword to help Theophilus.

Ra.

Tis not for any spight I ow my Master, But for my itch at her that I do this. I am strangely taken. Such brave spirited women Have cherish'd strong back'd servingmen ere now.

Dio.

Why dost not get thee from my sight, false fellow?

Ra.

Ile be believed first. Therefore pray have patience To peruse that.

gives her a paper.

Dio.

My brothers charecter! Theophilus sisters name—The brighter Lucy So often written? nothing but her name— But change of attributes—one serves not twice. Blessed, divine, Illustrious, all perfection; And (so heaven bless me) powerful in one place. The worst thing I read yet, heap of all vertues— Bright shining, and all these ascrib'd to Lucy. O I could curse thee now for being so just Would thou had'st belied him still.

Ra.

I nere belied him, I.

Dio.

O mischief of affection! Monstrous! horrid. It shall not pass so quietly. Nay stay.

Ra.

Shee'l cut my throat I fear.

Dio.

Thou art a faithful servant.

Ra.

It may do yet: To you I am sweet Lady, and to my master In true construction: he is his friend I think

That finds his follies out to have them cur'd, Which you have onely the true spirit to do.

Dio.

How I do love thee now!

Ra.

And your love Mistress, (Brave sprightly Mistress) is the steeple top Or rather Weathercock o'top of that To which aspires my lifes ambition.

Dio.

How didst thou get this paper.

Ra.

Amongst many Of his rare twelve-moneths melancholy works, That lie in's study. Mistress tis apparent His melancholy all this while has been More for her Love, then for his fathers death.

Dio.

Thou hast my love for ever.

Ra.

Some small token In earnest of it. Mistress, would be felt,

He offers to kiss her, she strikes him.

Dio.

Take that in earnest then.

Ra.

It is a sure one. And the most feeling pledge she could have given: For she is a virago. And I have read That your viragoes use to strike all those They mean to lie with: And from thence tis taken That your brave active women are call'd strikers.

Dio.

Set me that chair.

Ra.

The warm touch of my flesh Already works in her. I shall be set To better work immediately. I am prevented. A way and be not seen. Be sure I love thee.

Enter Arthur.

Ra.

A ha! This clinches. Another time I'm, sure on'c.

Exit.

Ar.

Sister! where are you? How now! not well or

(She sits.

Dio.

Sick brother—sick at heart, oh—(sleepy.

Ar.

Passion of heart! where are our servants now To run for doctors? ho—

Dio.

Pray stay and hear me. Her's no work for them. They'l find a master here Too powerful for the strength of all their knowledge.

Ar.

What at thy heart?

Dio.

Yes, brother, at my heart. Too scornful to be dispossest by them.

Ar.

What may that proud grief be? good sister name it.

Dio.

It grieves me more to name it, then to suffer't. Since I have endur'd the worst on't, and prov'd constant To sufferance and silence, twere a weakness Now to betray a sorrow, by a name, More fit to be severely felt then known.

Ar.

Indeed I'le know it.

Dio.

Rather let me die, Then so afflict your understanding, Sir.

Ar.

It shall not afflict me.

Dio.

I know you'l chide me for't.

Ar.

Indeed you wrong me now. Can I chide you?

Dio.

If you be true and honest you must do't, And hartily.

Ar.

You tax me nearly there.

Dio.

And that's the physick must help me or nothing:

Ar.

With grief I go about to cure a grief then. Now speak it boldly, Sister.

Dio.

Noble Physitian—It is—

Ar.

It is! what is it? If you love me, speak.

Dio.

Tis—love and I beseech thee spare me not.

Ar.

Alas dear sister, canst thou think that love Deserves a chiding in a gentle breast?

Dio.

Do you pitty me already. O faint man That tremblest but at opening of a wound! What hope is there of thee to search and dress it? But I am in thy hands, and forc'd to try thee. I love—Theophilus—

Ar.

Ha!

Dio.

Theophilus, brother; His son that slew our father. Ther's a love! O more then time 'twere look'd, for fear it festers.

Ar.

S••e has put me to't indeed. What must I do?

She has a violent spirit; so has he; And though I wish most seriously the match, Whereby to work mine own with his fair Sister, The danger yet, in the negotiation May quite destroy my course; spoyle all my hopes. Ile therefore put her off on't if I can.

Dio.

Can you be tender now?

Ar.

What! To undo you? I love you not so slightly. Pardon me. A rough hand must be us'd: For here's a wound Must not be gently touch'd; you perish then, Under a Brothers pitty. Pray sit quiet; For you must suffer all.

Dio.

I'le strive to do it.

Ar.

To love the Son of him that slew your Father! To say it shews unlovingness of nature; Forgetfulness in blood, were all but shallow To the great depth of danger your fault stands in. It rather justifies the act it self, And commends that down to posterity By your blood-cherishing embraces. Children, Born of your body, will, instead of tears, By your example, offer a thankful joy To the sad memory of their Gransiers slaughter. Quite contrary! How fearful 'tis to think on't! What may the world say too? There goes a daughter, Whose strange desire leap'd from her Fathers ruine; Death gave her to the Bride-groom; and the marriage Knit fast and cemented with blood. O Sister—

Dio.

O Brother.

Ar.

How! Well? And so quickly cur'd?

Dio.

Dissembler; foul dissembler.

Ar.

This is plain.

Dio.

Th'hast play'd with fire; and like a cunning fel∣low Bit in thy pain o'purpose to deceive Anothers tender touch. I know thy heart weeps

For what't has spoke against. Thou that darst love The daughter of that Feind that slew thy father, And plead against thy cause! unfeeling man, Can not thy own words melt thee? To that end I wrought and rais'd'em: 'T was to win thy health, That I was sick; I play'd thy disease to thee, That thou mightst see the loath'd complection on't, Far truer in another then ones self. And, if thou canst, after all this, tread wickedly, Thou art a Rebel to all natural love, And filial duty; dead to all just councel: And every word thou mock'dst with vehemence Will rise a wounded father in thy conscience, To scourge thy Judgement. There's thy Saint crost out, And all thy memory with her. I'le nere trust

She tears & throws the paper to him.

Revenge again with thee (so false is man∣hood) But take it now into mine own powerfully, And see what I can do with my life's hazard; Your purpose shall nere thrive. There I'le make sure work.

Exit.

Ar.

How wise and cunning is a womans malice; I never was so cozened.

Exit.