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.

THE ENGLISH-MOOR or the Mock-Marriage.

Act. 1. Scene. 1.

Arthur. Dionysia.

Ar.

DEar Sister, bear with me.

Di.

I may not, brother. What! suffer you to pine, and peak away In your unnatural melancholy fits; Which have already turn'd your purer blood Into a toad-pool dye. I am asham'd (Upon my life) almost to call you brother But nature has her swing in me. I must. Therefore I crave you (as you are my brother) To shake this dull and muddy humor off, By visiting the streets, and quit your chamber, Which is a sickness to you.

Ar.

O my sister!

Di.

I can say, O my brother too, to shew you How it becomes you. I have the same cause Equally with your self, to spend my life In sollitary mourning; and would do it, Could it make good our loss: My honor'd Father!

A tear has scap'd me there: But that's by th'by, And more of anger 'gainst his enemy, And his for ever curs'd posterity, That rob'd us of a Father, then of sorrow For what we know is unrecoverable. But to sit grieving over his Memory In a resolved silence, as you do; Killing your own blood while a vein holds any Proceeding from the flesh, that drew out his, Is meerly idle. Mingle then your grief With thought of brave revenge: And do it not In private Meditation in your Chamber; But bear it out till it proceed to Action.

Ar.

By powring blood on blood?

Di.

By quenching fire Of high revenge, with base unmanly blood; By stopping of our Fathers cureless wounds (Which still bleed fresh in our vex'd memories) With the proud flesh of him that butcher'd ours.

Ar.

We know he lives not that has slain our Father: Or, if he lives, tis where I cannot reach him: He nere saw English harbour since his sword Unfortunately had the better of my father.

Di.

But his son lives.

Ar.

Good sister cool thy passion With reasonable means

Di.

O where's the spirit That my slain father had. Have you no part of't? Must I now play the Man, whilst you inherit Onely my Mothers puling disposition?

Ar.

I know thy drift, good sister Dionisia, Is not unto revenge, or blood; but to stir up Some motion in me, to prevent the danger A sad retiredness may bring upon me.

Di.

Bee't as you think it, so you will abroad; And make the house no longer dark with sighing.

Ent. Rafe

Now Sir the newes with you?

Ra.

Newes worth your hearing, Meerly to laugh at: Good for nothing else.

Di.

Is the old Ruffian tane, and hang'd, that slew My Father; or his son Brain-battered; or His Daughter made a prostitute to shame?

Ar.

How merciless are your wishes!

Ra.

Lady, no. But as I was hankring at an ordinary, In quest of a new Master (for this, here, Will never last to a new livory 'Less he were merrier) I heard the bravest noise Of Laughter at a wicked accident Of Marriage, that was chopt up this Morning.

Di.

What marriage? Quickly.

Ra.

Who do you think Has married fair Mistris Millicent?

Di.

Theophilus (I can name him, though his father Was fatal unto mine) was sure to her.

Ra.

Yes, but without a Priest. She has slipt his hold, And is made fast enough unto another, For which fine Mr. The. so whines and chafes, And hangs the head! More then he would do For's father, were he hanged, as you did wish For laughing newes eene now. Ther's sport for you.

Di.

It does me good to hear of any cross That may torment their family. I wish Joy to the man that did beguile him of her What ere he be.

Ar.

But who has married her?

Ra.

Thence springs the jest. Old Mr. Quicksands, Sir, The bottomless devourer of young Gentlemen; He that has liv'd, till past three-score, a batcheler, By three-score i'the hundred; he that has Undone by Mortgages and under-buyings So many Gentlemen, that they all despair'd

Of means to be reveng'd.

Ar.

But where's your Jest?

Ra.

The Jest is, that they now have found that means (As they suppose) by making of him Cuckold. They are laying their heads together in every corner, Contriving of his horns, and drinking healths To the success. And there were sport for you now, If you were any body.

Ar.

I'le abroad however.

Di.

That's nobly said. Take courage with you Brother.

Ar.

And yet me thinks I know not how to look The wide world in the face, thus on the sudden I would fain get abroad, yet be unknown.

Ra.

For that Sir (look you) I have here, by chance, A false beard which I borrowed, with a purpose To ha' worn't and put a jest upon your sadness.

Ar.

Does it do well with me?

Ar. puts on the beard.

Ra.

You'l never have One of your own so good: you look like Hector.

Ar.

Go fetch my sword and follow me.

Di.

Be sure you carry a strict eye o're his actions, And bring me a true account.

Ra.

I warrant you Mistriss.

Di.

Do, and I'le love thee everlastingly. Why, now you are my brother.

Ar.

Farewel Sister.

Exit. Ar. Ra.

Di.

I hope he has some stratagem a foot In our revenge to make his honour good: It is not grief can quit a fathers blood.

Exit.

ACT 1. SCENE 2.

Nathaniel. Phillis.

Nat.

Prithee be and answered, and hang off o'me, I ha' no more to say to you in the way

You wot on Phillis.

Phi.

Nor do I seek to you In that way which you wot on, wanton Sir, But to be honest, and to marry me. You have done too much the tother way already.

Nat.

I wish you were more thankful, Mrs. Phillis, To one has taught you a trade to live upon: You are not th'first by twenty I have taught it That thrive well i'the world.

Phi.

There are so many Such teachers in the world; and so few Reformers, that the world is grown so full Of female frailties, the poor Harlotries Can scarce already live by one another, And yet you would have me thrust in among'em.

Nat.

I do not urge you. Take what course you please, But look not after me: I am not mark'd For Matrimony, I thank my stars.

Phi.

Should I run evil courses, you are the cause; And may in time, curse your own act in it: You'l find th'undoing of an honest Maid Your heaviest sin upon your bed of sickness; T will cost your soul the deepest groan it fetches; And in that hope I leave you.

Exit.

Nat.

Farewel wag-tail. Marry thee quoth a! That's wise work indeed! If we should marry every Wench we lie with, 'T were after six a week with some of us. (Marry love forbid) when two is enough to hang one.

Vin.

Nat, we have sought diligently, for fear

Enter Vin∣cent and Edmond.

The news that is abroad should flie before us.

Nat.

What news? What flying fame do you labour with?

Ed.

News that makes all the Gallants i'the Town Fly out o'their little wits: They are so eager, Upon the joy. I mean such youthful Gallants As have, or sold, or mortgag'd; or been cheated

By the grave patron of Arch-cosonage, Whose sad misfortune we are come to sing: Shall I need to name him to thee?

Nat.

Who, the old Rascal Quicksands? speak good Vince, What! has he hangd himself? speak quickly prithe.

Ʋin.

Worse, worse by half man. Durst thou hear a news Whose mirth will hazzard cracking of a rib?

Nat.

I, and't be two. Here's hoopes enough besides To hold my drink in. Pray thee speak; what mischief Is come upon him.

Ed.

I pray thee guess again.

Nat.

Has somebody over-reach'd him in his way Of damnable extortion; and he cut his throat, Or swallowed poison?

Ʋin.

Ten times worse then that too.

Nat.

Is he then hoisted into the Star-Chamber For his notorious practises? or into The high Commission for his blacker arts?

Ed.

Worse then all this.

Nat.

Pax, keep it to your self then, If you can think it be too good for me. Why did you set me a longing? you cry worse And ten times worse; and know as well as I, The worse it is to him, the better wel-come Ever to me: And yet you tell me nothing.

Ʋin.

He has married a young wife.

Nat.

Has he Cadzooks?

Ed.

We bring you no comfort, we.

Nat.

Nere go fine sport, Ha, ha, ha. What is she? Would he had my wench, was here e••ne now, What is she he has married? quickly prithe.

Ʋin.

One much too good for him.

Ed.

The beauteous Millicent. Driven by the tempest of her Uncles will, Is like a pinnace forc'd against the Rock.

Nat.

But he will never split her, that's the b••st on't.

I hope she'le break his heart first. Gentlemen, I thank you for your news; and know what I Will presently go do.

Vin.

Pray stay a little.

Ed.

And take us with you. What will you go do?

Nat.

That which we can all at once, Do not hold me.

Vin.

We came to cast a plot w'ye.

Nat.

Cast a pudding—How long ha'they been mar∣ried?

Ed.

But this morning.

Nat.

You'l ha'me come too late. Ne're go 'tis a shame he was not Cuckolded 'Fore Dinner.

Vin.

That had been a fine first course At a wedding feast indeed. A little patience.

Nat.

Pray let me take my course 'fore supper yet.

Ed.

The business 'longs to us as much as you, He has wrong'd us all alike. He has cozened us As much as you.

Nat.

He has made me so poor That my poor whore eene now claim'd marriage of me.

Vin.

The case is ours. His wrongs are common to us, So shall his wife be, can we purchase her: Did we bring you the news for you to run And prevent us do you think?

Nat.

Pardon my zeal good Gentlemen; which onely Considered but the fitness of the Act, And that 'tis more then time 'twere done ifaith.

Enter The∣ophilus & Arnold.

Ed.

And see here comes a fourth man that has lost More on her part, then we upon the Bridegrooms.

Vin.

He's very sowre and sad. 'Tis crept upon him By this untoward accident.

Nat.

'Twould anger any man to be nos'd of such a match; But Ile remove his sorrow— Gentle Theophilus, you are well met, Your sorrow is familiar with us all In the large loss of your betrothed love;

But, sir, be comforted: you have our pitty And our revenge to ease you. Tis decreed Her husband shall be instantly a Cuckold.

The.

Most sinfully thou lyest; and all that give Breath to that foul opinion.

Draw and fight.

Nat.

What do you mean.

The.

Give me that thought from you; nay, from you all, Or I will rip you for't.

Nat:

Zooks what mean you.

Ʋin.

Hold, Sir, forbear.

The.

Ile have that thought out first.

Nat.

I say he does deserve to be a Cuckold; Let him be what he will, a pox upon him.

Ed. Ʋin.

So we say all.

The.

What's that to ill in her? I stand upon that point. Mans evil merit's No warrant for a womans dishonesty. I say had shee a man forty degrees Beneath his undeservings, twere more possible For him to deceive her with a good Life, Then shee him with a wicked.

Nat.

I say so too. But then I say again, The more's the pitty.

The.

Do and undoe.

He hurts him.

Nat.

Zookes now your bitch has bit me, I say he will be one, he shall be one; Il'e make him one my self.

Ent. Ar. in his fals beard he sides with Theoph. Ext. Na••. Vin. Ed.

Ed. Ʋin.

And weell both help him.

Arn.

Why here's trim stuff. Help ho, Murder, Murder.

Art.

This is oppression gentlemen; an unmanly one.

Nat.

What devils this rais'd? fall off, tis an ill busi∣ness.

Arn.

Have you no hurt Sir.

The.

No I'm confident.

Arn.

By your favour, I will see.

Arnold searche s Theoph.

Art.

What fortune's this, I fought 'gainst friends to save mine enemy,

But I hope neither know me. I desire To rest hid to my friends for my offence to them, And to mine enemy, till I make him dearer.

Exit.

The.

I told thee there was ••one.

Arn.

I'm glad it proves so.

The.

But wher's the Gentleman?

Arn.

Do you not know him sir?

The.

Not I, tis the first time that ere I saw him; To my remembrance; yet he fought for me. Beshrew thy idler care that made me lose him, What should he be that so could fight for me, Yet care not for my company? beshrew thy heart. Why should he use me thus? I shall be sick to think on't. I'm made beholding now to I know not whom; And I'm the worst to sue or seek to a man—

Arn.

That scurvy, between proud and bashful quality, You are famous for, as tother toy that haunts you.

The.

What's that?

Arn.

Why, to be deadly angry, sir, On least occasion, and friends as quickly. Hot and cold in a breath: you are angry now With him that fought for you I warrant you.

The.

In troth I am, and friends with them I fought with; He us'd me peevishly to leave me so, Ere I could thank him.

Arn.

So tis that I told you.

The.

But did you mark th'humanity of my Gentlemen, Cause shee's dispos'd by her self willed uncle On that unworthy Quick sands (Devil take him) They thought twould sound like musick in my ears To hear her disgrace sung; when her fair honour Is all I have to love, now shee's took from me: And that they'd go about to rob me of. Heaven grant me patience. O my slaughter'd father! I am thy son, and know by thy infirmity.

Arn.

Me thinks, Sir, his example should allay you:

Impatience was his ruine.

The.

Push, we see Thieves daily hang'd for Robberies; yet some Go on still in the practice! What a fine Is set upon the head of foul Adultery, And yet our neighbours Wives can hardly scape us! There's Lawes against extortion, and sad penalties Set upon Bribes, Yet great mens hands ha'their fore-fathers itch! Prisons are fill'd with Banckrupts; yet we see How cra••ty Merchants often wrong their credits, And Lond••ners flie to live at Amsterdam! Nothing can banish Nature: That's the Moral.

Arn.

It was indeed your Fathers known infirmity, And ever incident to the noblest Natures. But of your Father, is there yet no hope Of better news?

The.

No, certainly he's slain.

Arn.

I have not heard a story of more wonder; That two such men, of such estates and years, Having liv'd alwayes friends and neighbours nearly, Should at the last fall out so mortally On a poor cast at bowles! Where wast they sought?

The.

It is uncertain. All we heard of'em Was, they rode sorth ('tis now a whole year past) Singly to end their quarrel: But to what Part of the kingdom, or the world they took, We can by no inquiry find or hear Of either of them. Sure they crost the Seas, And both are slain.

Arn.

You speak poor comfort Sir.

The.

I speak as my heart finds. She's gone for ever too; Her hearts desire be with her.

Arn.

Now he's there again.

The.

Then my poor Sisters sickness; that torments me, Never in health since our dear Father left us.

Arn.

And now there.

The.

How shall I do to see these men again? I shall not be at rest till I be friends with'em.

Arn.

Why here's the noble nature still. 'Twil shew it self.

The.

I'le seek'em out. Nathaniel alwayes lov'd me.

Exit.

Arn.

Here's an unsettled humor. In these fits Hel'e nere be mad, nor ever well in's wits.

Exit.

ACT 1. SCENE 3.

Testy. Quicksands. Millicent.

Tes.

Go to I say, go to; as y're my Neece, And hope t'inherit any thing that's mine: Shake off this Maiden peevishness. Do you whimper Upon your wedding day? Or, do you think You are not married yet? Did you not say I Millicent take Mandevill? A ha! Was it not so? Did not I give you too? I that have bred you from the cradle up To a fit growth to match with his fair years; And far more fair estate.

Mil.

I, there's the Match—

Tes.

Love him I charge you.

Mil.

Ile endeavour't Sir.

Tes.

You will endeavour't! Is't no further yet? Stand from her, Nephew! I'le so swinge her. Ha!

Quick.

Let me intreat your patience. She's my wife Sir.

Tes.

Dandle her in her humour, do; and spoyle her.

Quick.

'Tis but her modesty.

Tes.

Her sullen doggedness, I'le baste it out of her. You do not know her As I do, Nephew.

Quick.

I shall, Sir, before morning Better I doubt not. Come we shall agree.

Tes.

You will endeavour't! Come I'le see it done.

Marry a man first, and then endeavour To love him will you? Ha! Is it but so? I'le see you love him presently. So to bed.

Mil.

What before Supper?

Tes.

A posset and to bed, I'le see it done. And cause you are so nice (To bed I say) there I will see more done Then I will speak. Tell me of your endeavour!

Quick.

Be not so rough and stiffe with her, good Uncle, I know my supple tender dealing will Get more upon her love then all your chidings.

Tes.

Such tender dealers spoyle young Brides; and get Nothing of stubborness. Down with her I say Now in her wedding sheets: She will be naught else.

Mil.

Construe more charitably, I beseech you, My Virgin blushes.

Tes.

'Tis your sullenness; Would you have brided it so lumpishly With your spruce younker, that fine silken beggar, Whose Land lies in your Husbands counting house; Or the most part.

Mil.

O my Theophilus.

Quick.

Indeed the better half; not without hope To have the rest as he may want my money.

Tes.

Would you have whin'd and pul'd, had you had him, To bedward think you? yet to speak the truth, And that wherein she has vext me a thousand times, I never saw her laugh, nor heard her sing In all my life: yet she could both, I have heard, In company she lik'd.

Mil.

It has been' mong Maidens then. But honour'd Sir (I know what I will do) To let you see and hear, since you desire To have me shew a cheerfulness unto My reverend Husband: Look you Sir, I'le kiss him, Clap him, and stroke him: Ha, my Joe, ha, ha, ha, &c.

Tes.

H••y day.

Quick.

She'l make me blush anon I think.

Mil.

I'le sing him songs too.

Tes.

Whoop, how's this?

Mil.

That I will chick, old songs and over old ones, Old as thy reverend self, my Chick a bird.

Quic.

She cals me chick and bird: The common names With wives that Cuck••ld their old cravend husbands.

Mil.

(Shee sings)

She made him a bed of the thistle down soft, Shee laid her self under to bear him a loft, And ever she sung sweet turn thee to me, Wee'l make the new bed cry Jiggy Joggy.

Tes.

What impudence is this.

Quic.

Shee's gon as far Beyond it now as it was to't.

Mil.

Now may you answer.

(Shee sings)

Go to bed sweet heart I'le come to thee, Make thy bed fine and soft I'le lig with thee. Ha, ha, ha.

Quic.

Is this your bashful Neece.

Tes.

What canst thou mean by this? dos this become thee?

Mil.

Pray do not beat me o'my wedding might, but tell me How this and half a dozen chopping Children may Become an old mans wife some five years hence.

Quic.

O intollerabl!

Tes.

Is't possible thou canst do thus?

Mil.

Let women judge. Tis very possible That a young Iusty wife may have six Children By one at once in five years, Sir, and by One Father too. Ile make him young enough To Father mine.

Quic.

Shee'l make a youth of me.

Mil.

(She sings.)

There was a Lady lov'd a swine.

Honey, quoth she,

And wil•• thou be true love mine.

Hoogh, quoth he.

Tes.

Do you hear gentlewoman; are you i' your wits?

Mil.

Yes, and my own house I hope. I pray be civil. Shall we to bed, Sir, supperless? you need No stirring meats, it seems. I'm glad on'••. Come, biddy, come away, will you see Uncle How I will love him ••oed? come away.

Quic.

My edge is taken off. this impudence Of hers, has outfac'd my concupisence. Dasht all quite out o' Countenance! what a beast Was I to marry? Rather, what a beast Am I to be? * How now! O horrible.

A sowgelders horn blown.

Tes.

What hidious noise is this.

Buz.

I cannot help it.

Ent. Buzzard.

While I went forth for the half pint of Sack To make your prodigal posset; and the maid (Watching the Milk, for running ore) sorgot To shut the door, they all rush'd in.

Quic.

What they, what all?

Buz.

Vizarded people, Sir, and odly shap'd. You'l see anon. Their tuning o'their pipes, And swear they'll gi'ye a willy nilly dance Before you go to bed, tho'you stole your Marriage.

Quic.

Outragious Roysters.

Tes.

Call and raise the street.

Mil.

That were to let in violence indeed. These are some merry harmeless friends I warrant. I knew I could not be so ill belov'd Among the batchelers, but some would find Way to congratulate our honoured Marriage.

Quic.

What, with horn musick?

Tes.

A new kind of flourish.

Quic.

Tis a flat conspiracy. This is ••our bash••ul modest whimpring Neece.

Tes.

Then let'em in. If they wrong us to night, The Law to morrow shall af••ord us right.

Pray let's resolveto s••et. Here comes their Prologue.

flo••ish,

Mer

At a late Parliment held by the Gods,

Ent. Mercury.

Cupid and Hymen ••ell at bitter ods Upon an argument; wherein each did try T'advance his own 'bove tothers deity, Out of this question, which might happier prove Love without Marriage, or Marriage without love. By the effects the tryal must be made: So each from others Office drew his aid; Cupid no more of Hymens matches fram'd; Nor Hymen married those that love inflam'd. Now mark, the sad effects this strife begot, Cupid his fiery darts and arrows shot As thick as ere he did; and equal hearts He wounds with equal love. But Hymen parts Their forward hands (alas!) and joyneth none But those which his new match-Maker brings on, (Old greedy Avarice) who by his spells, In breasts of Parents and of guardians dwells, That force their tendelings to loathed beds; Which uncouth Policie to sorrow leads Thousands a thousand wayes, of which the least Is this with which we celebrate your feast.

Tes.

A special drove of horn beasts.

Enter four Masquers with horns on their heads: a Stag, a Ram, and Goa••, a a•• Ox followed by four persons, a Cour∣tier, a Captain, a Schollar and a But∣cher.

Mer.

These few are thought enough to shew how more Would appear horrible, the town hath store. The first's a Lawyer, who by strife prevail'd To wed a wife, that was by love in∣tail'd Unto that Courtier, who had the hap Soon after to adorn him with that cap. The next a country cormorant, whose great wealth,

By a bad fathers will, obtain'd by stealth That valiant Souldiers Mistress: ••or which matter The Enginier his sconse with Rams did batter. This an old Goatish Usure, that must Needs buy a wretches daughter to his lust; Doated, and married her without a groat, That Herald gave this crest unto his coat. And that's the Citizen, so broadly pated, Which this mad Butcher, cuckold antidated. Now by this dance let husband that doth wed Bride from her proper love to loathed bed Observe his fortune. Musick strike aloud The cuckolds joy, with merry pipe & crowd.

They dance to mu∣sick of Cornets & Violins.

The Daunce.

Exit, Masquers.

Tes.

How now! all vanisht! The devil take the hidmost.

Qui.

The foremost I say; and lay him a block For all the rest to break their necks upon.

Tes.

Who are they? Can you guesse.

Mil.

Truly, not I Sir. Some of my husbands friends perhaps, that came To warn him of his fortune.

Qui.

Well consider'd.

Mil.

Lock the doors after 'em, and let us to bed; And lock our selves up, chick, safe from all danger.

Qui.

We will to bed chick, since you'l have it so. This key shall be your guard: And here's another Shall secure me. My house has store of beds in't. I bring you not to an unfurnisht dwelling.

Mil.

Be not afraid to lie with me, good man, Ile so restore thee' gain with Cawdels and Cock-broths, So cuckle the up to morrow, thou shalt see—

Quic.

O immodestie.

Mil.

Thou hast good store of goid, and shalt not want it In Cullises: in every broth Ile boil

An angel at the least.

Qui.

Ile hang first.

Tes.

I am quite out of wits; and yet Ile counsel Thee, Nephew. Heark thee.

They whisper.

Buz.

Tis like to be mad counsel.

Mil.

But will you not lie with me then?

Tes.

No marry shall he not. Nephew, You shall not, till shee bride it modestly. Tis now too late, but Ile so rattle her up to morrow.

Buz.

Tis too late now, & yet he'•• do't to morrow! good!

Tes.

Will you to your lodging?

Mil.

Where be my bride-maids?

Tes.

They wait you in your chamber.

Buz.

The devil o'maid's i'chis but my fellow Madg the Kitching maid, and Malkin the Cat, or batchelor but my self, and an old Fox, that my master has kept a prentiship to palliate his palsie.

Mil.

Where be the maids, I say; and Batchelors To disappoint my husband.

Qui.

Mark you that?

Mil.

I mean, to take your points. But you have none. O thrifty age! My Bridegroom is so wise, In stead of points, to hazzard hooks and eyes.

Buz.

Shee means the eyes in's head, Ile hang else. My Master is like to make a blind match here.

Tes.

Take up the lights, sirrah.

Qui.

I hope she talks so idly, but for want Of sleep; and sleep she shall for me to night.

Tes.

And well said Nephew. Will you to your chamber, Mistress?—

Mil.

Hey ho, to bed, to bed, to bed. No Bride so glad—to keep her Maiden-head.

Exeunt omnes.

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.

ACT 3. SCENE 1.

Quick-sands. Buzzard. Madge.

Quic.

Out of my doors pernicious knave and harlot; Avaunt I say.

Buz.

Good Master.

Mad.

Pray you worship.

Quic.

You have all the wages you are like to have.

Buz.

Nay, I dare take your word for that: you'l keep All moneys fast enough whose ere it be, If you but gripe it once.

Quic!

I am undone, And sham'd for ever by your negligence, Or malice rather: for how can it be She could depart my house without your knowledge.

Buz.

That cursed Mistris that ever she came here! If I know of her flight, Sir, may these hands Never be held up, but to curse you onely, If you cashier me thus: because you have lost your wife before she was well found, must we Poor innocents be guilty?

Mad.

For my part, Or ought I know she may as well be gone Out o'the the chimney top as out o'door.

Quic.

The door must be your way; and find her out, Or never find my door again. Be gone.

Buz.

Mad. O, you are a cruel Master.

Exit.

Quic.

So, so, so. These cries are laughter to me: Ha, ha, ha. I will be Master of my invention once, And now be bold to see how rich I am In my concealed wealth. Come, precious mark Of beauty and perfection, at which envy

Enter Milicent.

And lust aim all their ranckling poysonous arrowes. But Ile provide they nere shall touch thy blood.

Mil.

What, are your servants gone?

Quic.

Turn'd, turn'd away With blame enough for thy suppos'd escape: Which they will rumor so to my disgrace Abroad, that all my envious adversaries Will, betwixt joy of my conceiv'd misfortune In thy dear loss, and their vain hopes to find thee, Run frantick thorow the streets, while we at home Sit safe, and laugh at their defeated malice.

Mil.

But now for my disguise.

Quic.

I, that, that, that.

Be but so good and gentle to thy self, To hear me and be rul'd by me in that, A Queens felicity falls short of thine. Ile make thee Mistress of a Mine of treasure, Give me but peace the way that I desire it—

Mil.

Some horrible shape sure that he conjures so.

Quic.

That I may fool iniquity, and Triumph Over the lustful stallions of our time; Bed-bounders, and leap-Ladies (as they terme'em) Mount-Mistresses, diseases shackle'em, And spittles pick their bones.

Mil.

Come to the point. What's the disguise, I pray you.

Qui.

First know, my sweet, it was the quaint devise Of a Venetian Merchant, which I learnt In my young factorship.

Mil.

That of the Moor? The Backamore you spake of? Would you make An Negro of me.

Qui.

You have past your word, That if I urge not to infringe your vow (For keeping this moneth your virginity) You'l wear what shape I please. Now this shall both Kill vain attemps in me, and guard you safe From all that seek subversion of your honour. Ile fear no powder'd spirits to haunt my house, Rose-footed fiends, or fumigated Goblins After this tincture's laid upon thy face, 'Twil cool their kidnies and allay their heats.

A box of black paint∣ing.

Mil.

Bless me! you fright me, Sir. Can jealousie Creep into such a shape? Would you blot out Heavens workmanship?

Qui.

Why think'st thou, fearful Beauty, Has heaven no part in Aegypt? Pray thee tell me, Is not an Ethiopes face his workmanship As well as the fair'st Ladies? nay, more too.

Then hers, that daubs and makes adulterate beauty? Some can be pleas'd to lye in oyles and paste, At sins appointment, which is thrice more wicked. This (which is sacred) is for sins prevention. Illustrious persons, nay, even Queens themselves Have, for the glory of a nights presentment, To grace the work, suffered as much as this.

Mil.

Enough Sir, I am obedient.

Quic.

Now I thank thee. Be fearless love; this alters not thy beauty, Though, for a time obscures it from our eyes. Thou maist be, while at pleasure, like the Sun; Thou dost but case thy splendor in a cloud, To make the beam more precious in it shines. In stormy troubled weather no Sun's seen Sometimes a moneth together: 'Tis thy case now. But let the roaring tempest once be over, Shine out again and spare not.

Mil.

There's some comfort.

Quic.

Take pleasure in the scent first; smell to't fearlesly, And taste my care in that, how comfortable

He begins to paint her.

'Tis to the nostril, and no foe to feature. Now red and white those two united houses, Whence beauty takes her fair name and descent, Like peaceful Sisters under one Roof dwelling For a small time; farewel. Oh let me kiss ye Before I part with you—Now Jewels up Into your Ebon Casket. And those eyes, Those sparkling eyes, that send forth modest anger To sindge the hand of so unkind a Painter, And make me pull'c away and spoyle my work, They will look streight like Diamonds, set in lead, That yet retain their vertue and their value. What murder have I done upon a cheek there! But there's no pittying: 'Tis for peace and honour; And pleasure must give way. Hold, take the Tincture,

And perfect what's amiss now by your glass.

Mil.

Some humbler habit must be thought on too.

Quic.

Please your own fancy. Take my keys of all; In my pawn Wardrobe you shall find to fit you.

Mil.

And though I outwardly appear your Drudge, 'Tis fit I have a Maid for private service: My breeding has not been to serve my self.

Exit. Mil.

Quic.

Trust to my care for that. One knock. In; in. Is it to me your business?

Enter Phillis like a Cook-maid.

Phi.

Yea, if you Be Master Quick-sands Sir; the Masters worship Here o'the house.

Quic.

I am so. What's your business?

Phi.

'Tis upon that, Sir, I would speak Sir, hoping That you will pardon my presumptuousness, I am a Mother that do lack a service.

Quic.

You have said enough. I'le entertain no Mothers. A good Maid servant, knew I where to find one.

Phi.

He is a knave, and like your worship, that Dares say I am no Maid; and for a servant (It ill becomes poor folks to praise themselves, But) I were held a tydie one at home.

Quic.

O th'art a Norfolk woman (cry thee mercy) Where Maids are Mothers, and Mothers are Maids.

Phi.

I have friends i'th'City that will pass their words For my good bearing.

Quic.

Hast thou?

Phi.

Yes indeed, Sir. I have a Cousen that is a Retorney Of Lyons-Inn, that will not see me wrong'd; And an old Aunt in Muggle-street, a Mid-wife, That knows what's what as well's another woman.

Qui.

But where about in Norfolk wert thou bred?

Phi.

At Thripperstown Sir, near the City of Norwich.

Quick.

where they live much by spinning with the Rocks?

Phi.

Thripping they call it, Sir.

Quic.

Dost thou not know one Hulverhead that keeps An Innocent in's house.

Phi.

There are but few innocents i'the countrey Sr. They are given too much to law for that: what should That Hulverhead be a councellor, Sir.

Quic.

No a husband man.

Phi.

Truly I know none.

Quic.

I am glad she do's not. How knew'st thou I wanted A servant.

Phi.

At an old wives house in Bow-lane That places servants, where a maid came in You put away to day.

Quic.

All, and what said she?

Phi.

Truly to speak the best and worst, forsooth, She said her fault deserv'd her punishment For letting of her Mistress run away.

Quic.

The nevves goes current. I am glad o'that.

Phi.

And that you were a very strict hard man, But very just in all your promises. And such a master vvould I serve to chuse.

Quic.

This innocent countrey Mother takes me. Her looks speak Wholesomness; and that old vvoman That Bovv lane purveyor hath fitted me With serviceable ware these dozen years. I'le keep her at the least this Gander moneth, While my fair vvife lies in of her black face, And virgin vovv; in hope she's for my turn. Lust, vvhen it is restrained, the more tvvil burn.

Phi.

May I make bold to crave your ansvver, Sir?

Quic.

Come in, I'le talk vvith you.

Exit.

Phi.

Prosper novv my plot, And hulk, thou art tvvixt vvind and vva••••r shot.

Exit.

ACT 3. SCENE 2.

Nathaniel. Ʋincent. Edmond. Buzzard.

Boy.

Y'are welcome Gentlemen.

Nat.

Let's ha'good wine, Boy, that must be our welcome.

Boy.

You shall, you shall Sir. Within. Ambrose, Ambrose;

Boy.

Here, here, anon, anon, by and by, I come, I come.

Ex.

Jerom, Jerom, draw a quart of the best Canary into the Apollo.

Buz.

This is a language that I have not heard. You understand it, Gentlemen.

Ʋin.

So shall you anon master Buzzard.

Buz.

Your friend and Jonathan Buzzard kind gentlemen.

Nat.

What excellent luck had we, friend Buzzard, to meet with thee, just as thy Master cast thee off.

Buz.

Just Sir, as I was going I know not whither: And now I am arrived at just I know not where. Tis a rich room, this. Is it not Goldsmiths hall.

Nat.

It is a Tavern man—And here comes the wine. Fill boy—and her's to thee friend, a hearty draft to chear thee—fill again boy—There, drink it off.

Ed.

Off with it man—hang sorrow, chear thy heart.

Buz.

And truly ti's the best chear that ere I tasted.

Ʋin.

Come tast it better, her's another to thee.

Buz.

—And truly this was better then the first.

Ed.

Then try a third. That may be best of all.

Buz.

—And truly, so it is—how many sorts of wine May a vintner bring in one pot together?

Nat.

By Bacchus Mr. Buzzard, that's a subtil question.

Buz.

Bacchus! whose that I pray?

Ʋin.

A great friend of the vintners, and master of their company indeed.

Buz.

I was never in all my life so far in a tavern before. What comforts have I lost.

Ed.

Now he begins to talk.

Buz.

Nor ever was in all my two and twenty years under that Babilouian Tyrant Quicks ands, so far as a Vint∣ners bar but thrice.

Nat.

But thrice in all that time?

Buz.

Truly but thrice Sir. And the first time was to fetch a jill of sack for my Master, to make a friend of his drink, that joyned with him in a purchase of sixteen thou∣sand pound.

Ʋin.

I, there was thrist. More wine boy. A pottle and a beer bowl.

Buz.

The second time was for a penny pot of Musca∣dine, which he drank all himself with an egge upon his wedding morning.

Nat.

And to much purpose, it seem'd by his wives run∣ning away.

Buz.

The third and last time was for half a pint of sack upon his wedding night, of later memory; and I shall nere forget it, that riotous wedding night: when Hell broke loose, and all the devils danced at our house, which made my Master mad, whose raving made my mistriss run away, whose running away was the cause of my turn∣ing away. O me, poor masterless wretch that I am.—O—

Na.

Hang thy master, here's a full bowl to his con∣fusion.

Buz.

I thank you. Let it come Sir, ha, ha, ha.

Ʋin.

Think no more of Masters, friends are better then Masters.

Buz.

And you are all my friends kind gentlemen, I found it before in your money when my Master (whose confusion I have drunk) took your Mortgages; And now I find it in your wine. I thank you kind gentlemen still. O how I love kind Gentlemen.

Nat.

That shewes thou art of gentle blood thy self, friend Buzzard.

Buz.

Yes friend—Shall I call you friend?

All.

By all means, all of us.

Buz.

Why then, all friends, I am a gentleman, though spoild i'che breeding. The Buzzards are all gentlemen,

We came in with the Conqueror. Our name (as the French has it) is Beau desert; which signifies—Friends, what does it signifie?

Ʋin.

It signifies, that you deserv'd fairly at your ma∣sters hands, like a Gentleman, and a Buzzard as you were, and he turn'd you away most beastly like a swine, as he is. And now here is a health to him, that first finds his wife, and sends her home with a boun∣cing boy in her belly for him to father.

Buz.

Ha, ha, ha. Ile pledge that: and then Ile tell you a secret.

Nat.

Well said friend; up with tha••, and then out with thy secret.

Buz.

I will friend. And tother two friends, here's upon the same.

Ed.

I hope he will shew us a way, out of the bottom of his bowl to find his Mistresse.

Ʋin.

This fellow was happily found.

Buz.

This was an excellent draught.

Nat.

But the seeret, friend, out with that, you must keep no secrets amongst friends.

Buz.

It might prove a shrew'd matter against my mis∣chevious Master as it may be handled.

Nat.

Hang him cullion, that would turn thee away. Wee'l help thee to handle it, fear it not.

Buz.

Heark you then all friends. Shall I out with it?

Ʋin.

What else.

Buz.

Ile first take tother cup, and then out with't al∣together—And now it comes—If my Mistress do bring him home a bastard, she's but even with him.

Nat.

He has one I warrant. Has he cadzooks?

Buz.

That he has by this most delicate drink. But it is the Arsivarsiest Aufe that ever crept into the world. Sure some Goblin got it for him; or chang'd it in the neast, thats certain.

Nat.

I vow thou utterest brave things. Is't a boy?

Buz.

It has gone for a boy in short coats and long coats this seaven and twenty years.

Ed.

An Idiote is it.

Buz.

Yes: A very natural; and goes a thissen; and looks as old as I do too. And I think if my beard were off, I could be like him: I have taken great pains to practise his speech and action to make my self merry with him in the countrey.

Nat.

Where is he kept, friend, where is he kept.

Buz.

In the further side of Norfolk, where you must never see him. Tis now a dozen years since his father saw him, and then he compounded for a sum of mony with an old man, one Hulverhead, to keep him for his life time; and he never to hear of him. But I saw him within these three moneths. We hearken after him, as land-sick heirs do after their fathers, in hope to hear of his end at last.

Ʋin.

But heark you, friend, if your beard were off, could you be like him think you? What if you cut it off, and to him for a father.

Nat.

Pray thee hold thy peace.

Buz.

My beard, friend, no: My beard's my honour. Hair is an ornament of honour upon man or woman.

Nat.

Come, come; I know what we will do with him. Mun, knock him down with the other cup. We'l lay him to sleep; but yet watch and keep him betwixt hawk and buzzard as he is, till we make excellent sport with him.

Buz.

Hey ho. I am very sleepy.

Nat.

See he jooks already. Boy shew us a private room.

Boy.

This way, Gentlemen.

Buz.

Down, Plumpton▪parke, &c.

They lead Buz. out, and he sings.

ACT. 3. SCENE. 3.

Lucy. Theophilus.

Lu.

Indeed you were unkind to turn away M•• maid (poor harmless maid) whose innocent mirth Was the best chear your house afforded me.

The.

I am sorry sister, trust me, truly sorry, And knew I which way to recover her With my best care I would. Yet, give me leave, I saw her overbold; and overheard her Say, she foresaw that Arthur my sole enemy Should be your husband. Ile marry you to death first.

Lu.

Now you fly out again.

The.

Your pardon again your sister, And for your satisfaction I will strive To oversway my passion. How now Arnold,

Ent. Arn.

Me thinks I read good newes upon thy face.

Ar.

The best, Sir, I can tell is, the old Jew Quicksands has lost his wife.

The.

She is not dead,

Ar.

Tis not so well for him: for if she were He then might overtake her though she were Gone to the devil. But she's run away: But to what corner of the earth, or under Whose bed to find her is not to be thought. It has rais'd such a laughter in the town Among the Gallants—!

The.

And do you laugh too?

Ar.

Yes; and if you do not out-laugh all men That hear the joyful newes, tis too good for you.

The.

I am too merciful, I kill thee not. Out of my doors, thou villain, reprobate.

He beats Arnold.

Ar.

Hold, Pray Sir, hold.

The.

Never while I have power to lift a hand Against thee, mischievous Villain.

Lucy

Is not this passion, brother?

The.

Forbear, sister. This is a cause turns patience into fury.

Lu.

Arnold, forbear his sight.

The.

And my house too. Or villain, look to die, oft as I see thee.

Ext, The. Lu.

Arn.

Turn'd out o•• doors! A dainty frantick humour In a young Master! Good enough for me though; Because tis proper to old serving-men To be so serv'd. What course now must I take? I am too old to seek out a new Master. I will not beg, because Ile crosse the proverb That runs upon old serving creatures; stealing I have no minde to: Tis a hanging matter. Wit and invention help me with some shift

He kneels.

To help a cast-off now at a dead lift. Sweet fortune hear my suit.

Ent. Nat. Vin. Edm.

Nat.

Why how now, Arnold! What, at thy devotion?

Ar.

Ile tell you in your ear, sir, I dare trust you.

Nat & Arnold whisper.

Vi.

Could earthly man have dreamt this Rafcal

Quick sands.

Whose Letchery, to all our thinking, was Nothing but greedy Avarice and cosonage, Could have been all this while a conceal'd whoremaster, To have a Bastard of so many years Nursled i'th' Countrey?

Ed.

Note the punishments That haunt the Miscreant for his black misdeeds; That his base off-spring proves a natural Ideot; Next that his wife, by whom he might had comfort In progeny, though of some others getting, Should with her light heels make him heavie-headed By running of her Countrey! And lastly that The blinded wretch should cast his servant off, Who was the cover of his villany,

To shew us (that can have no mercy on him) The way to plague him.

Ʋin.

Ha, ha, ha—

Ed.

What do'st laugh at?

Ʋin.

To think how nimble the poor uzzard is To be reveng'd on's Master; How he has Shap'd himself; Cut off his beard, and practis'd all the postures To act the Changeling bastard.

Ed.

Could we light Upon some quaint old fellow now, could match him To play the clown that brings him up to town, Our company were full, and we were ready To put our project into present action.

Nat.

Gentlemen, we are fitted: take this man w'ye He is the onely man I would have sought, To give our project life. I'le trust thee Arnold, And trust thou me, thou shalt get pieces by't; Besides, Ile piece thee to thy Master again.

Ar.

That clinches Sir.

Nat.

Go follow your directions.

Ʋin.

Come away then.

Ex. Ʋin. Ed. Arn.

Nat.

Sweet mirth thou art my Mistress. I could serve thee. And shake the thought off of all woman kind But that old wonts are hardly lest. A man That's enter'd in his youth, and throughly salted In documents of women, hardly leaves While reins or brains will last him: Tis my case. Yet mirth, when women fail, brings sweet incounters That tickle up a man above their sphear: They dull, but mirth revives a man: who's here,

En. Art.

The solitary musing man, cal'd Arthur, Posses'd with seriours vanity; Mirth to me! The world is full: I cannot peep my head forth But I meet mirth in every corner: Ha! Sure some old runt with a splay-foot has crost him! Hold up thy head man; what dost seek? thy grave? I would scarse trust you with a piece of earth

You would chuse to lye in though; if some plump Mistriss Or a deft Lass were set before your search.

Ar.

How vainly this man talks!

Nat.

Gid ye good den forsooth. How vainly this man talks! speak but truth now, Does not thy thought now run upon a Wench? I never look'd so but mine stood that way.

Ar.

'Tis all your glory that; and to make boast Of the variety that serves your lust: Yet not to know what woman you love best.

Nat.

Not I cadzooks, but all alike to me, Since I put off my Wench I kept at Livory: But of their use I think I have had my share, And have lov'd every one best of living women; A dead one I nere coveted, that's my comfort: But of all ages that are pressable; From sixteen unto sixty; and of all complections From the white flaxen to the tawney-Moor; And of all statures between Dwarf and Giants; Of all conditions, from the Doxie to the Dowsabel. Of all opinions, I will not say Religious: (For what make they with any?) and of all Features and shapes, from the huckle-back'd Bum-creeper, To the streight spiny Shop-maid in St. Martins. Briefly, all sorts and sizes I have tasted.

Ar.

And thinkst thou hast done well in't!

Nat.

As well as I could with the worst of'em tho'l say't. Few men come after me that mend my work.

Ar.

But thou nere thinkst of punishments to come; Thou dream'st not of diseases, poverty, The loss of sense or member, or the cross (Common to such loose livers) an ill marriage; A hell on earth to scourge thy conscience.

Nat.

Yes, when I marry, let me have a wife To have no mercy on me; let the fate Of a stale dovting Batchelor fall upon me;

Let me have Quicksands curse, to take a Wife Will run away next day, and prostitute Her self to all the world before her Husband.

Ar.

Nay, that will be too good: If I foresee Any thing in thy marriage destiny, 'Twil be to take a thing that has been common To th'world before, and live with thee perforce To thy perpetual torment.

Nat.

Close that point. I cannot marry. Will you be merry, Arthur? I have such things to tell thee.

Ar.

No, I cannot.

Nat.

Pray thee come closer to me. What has crost thee? Is thy suppos'd slain father come again, To dispossess thee for another life time? Or has thy valiant sister beaten thee? Tell me. It shall go no further.

Ar.

Let your valiant wit And jocound humor be suppos'd no warrant For you t'abuse your friends by.

Nat.

Why didst tell me of marrying then? But I Have done. And now pray speak what troubles you.

Ar.

I care not if I do: For 'twill be Town talk. My Sister on a private discontent Betwixt her self and me hath left my house.

Nat.

Gone quite away?

Ar.

Yes, And I know not whither.

Nat.

Beyond Sea sure to sight with th'Air, that took Her fathers last breath into't. Went she alone?

Ar.

No, No; My man's gone with her.

Nat.

Who, the fellow That brags on's back so; the stiff strong chin'd Rascal?

Ar.

Even he.

Nat.

The devil is in these young Tits, And wildfire in their Cruppers.

Ar.

Let me charm you,

By all our friendship, you nor speak nor hear An ill construction of her act in this, I know her thoughts are noble; and my wo Is swoln unto that fulness, that th' addition But of word in scorn would blow me up Into a cloud of wild distemper'd fury Over the heads of all whose looser breath Dare raise a wind to break me. Then I fall A sodain storm of ruin on you all.

Exit.

Nat.

I know not how to laugh at this: It comes So near my pitty. But ile to my Griggs Again; And there will find new mirth to stretch And laugh, like tickled wenches, hand ore head.

Exit.

ACT. 4. SCENE 1.

Dionysia in mans habit, Rafe.

Dio.

How does my habit and my arms become me?

Ra.

Too well to be a woman, manly Mistress.

Dio.

Wher's the pistol you provided for me.

Ra.

Here Mistress and a good one.

Dio.

Tis too long.

Ra.

No Lady would wish a shorter. If it were 'T would bear no charge, or carry nothing hotne.

Dio.

Ile try what I can do. Thou think'st me valiant. I'm sure I have often felt it.

Ra.

All the virago's that are found in story, Penthesilea and Symaramis Were no such handy strikers as your self: But they had another stroke, could you but find it, Then you were excellent. I could teach it you.

Dio.

I dare not understand thee yet. Be sure As you respect my honour, or your life That you continue constant to my trust, And so thou canst not know how much Ile love thee.

Ra.

There is a hope as good, now, as a promise.

Dio.

Here at this Inne abide, and wait my coming Be careful of my guildings: Be not seen Abroad for fear my brother may surprise you. Ther's money for you; and ere that be spent Tis like I shall return.

Exit.

Ra.

Best stars attend you, Mars arm thee all the day; and Venus light Thee home into these amorous arms at night.

Exit.

ACT. 4. SCENE. 2.

Quicksands. Millicent, her face black.

Quic.

Be chear'd my love; help to bear up the joy, That I conceive by thy concealed Beauty, Thy rich imprison'd beauty, whose in••ranchisement Is now at hand, and shall shine forth again In its admired glory. I am rapt Above the sphear of common joy and wonder In the effects of this our quaint complot.

Mil.

In the mean time, though you take pleasure in't, My name has dearly suffered.

Quic.

But thine honor Shall, in the vindication of thy name, When envy and detraction are struck dumb Gain an eternal memory with vertue; When the discountenanc'd wits of all my jierers Shall hang their heads, and fall like leaves in Autumn. O how I laugh to hear the cozen'd people As I pass on the streets abuse themselves By idle questions and false reports. As thus: good morrow Master Quicksands; pray How fares your beauteous bedfellow? says another I hear she's not at home. A third sayes no: He saw her yesterday at the still-yard

With such a Gallant, sowsing their dry'd tongues In Rhemish, Deal, and Back-rag: Then a fourth Sayes he knowes all her haunts and Meetings At Bridgfoot, Bear, the Tunnes, the Cats, the Squirels; Where, when, and in what company to find her, But that he scornes to do poor me the favour: Because a light piece is too good for me. While a fifth youth with counterfeit shew of pity, Meets, and bewails my case, and saies he knowes A Lord that must be nameless keeps my wife In an inchanted Castle two miles West Upon the River side: but all conclude—

Mil.

That you are a monstrous cuckold, and deserve it.

Quic.

Knowing my safety, then, and their foul errors, Have I not cause to laugh? Yes, in abundance. Now note my plot, the height of my invention I have already given out to some, That I have certain knowledge you are dead, And have had private burial in the countrey; At which my shame, not grief, forbad my presence: Yet some way to make known unto the world A husbands duty, I resolve to make A certain kind of feast, which shall advance My joy above the reach of spight or chance.

Mil.

May I partake, Sir, of your rich conceit?

Quic.

To morrow night expires your limited moneth Of vow'd virginity; It shall be such a night; In which I mean thy beauty shall break forth And dazle with amazement even to death Those my malicious enemies, that rejoyc'd In thy suppos'd escape, and my vexation. I will envite 'hem all to such a feast As shall fetch blushes from the boldest guest; I have the first course ready—

Mil.

And if I

A side, one knocks.

Fail in the second, blame my houswifery.

Qui.

Away, some body comes; I guess of them That have jeer'd me, whom I must jeer again.

Ex. Mil.

Gallants y'are welcom. I was sending for ye.

En. Nat.

Nat.

To give us that we come for?

Vin. Ed.

Qui.

What may that be?

Vin.

Trifles you have o•• ours.

Qui.

Of yours, my Masters?

Ed.

Yes, you have in mortgage Three-score pound Land of mine inheritance.

Vin.

And my Annuity of a hundred Marks.

Nat.

And Jewels, Watches, Plate, and cloaths of mine, Pawn'd for four hundred pound. Will you restore all?

Qui.

You know all these were forfeited long since, Yet I'le come roundly to you, Gentlemen. Ha'you brought my moneys, and my interest?

Nat.

No surely. But we'le come as roundly to you As moneyless Gentlemen can. You know Good Offices are ready money Sir.

Qui.

But have you Offices to sell, good Sirs.

Nat.

We mean to do you Offices worth your money.

Qui.

As how, I pray you.

Nat.

Marry, Sir, as thus; We'le help you to a man that has a friend—

Vin.

That knows a party, that can go to the house—

Ed.

Where a Gentleman dwelt, that knew a Scholar

Nat.

That was exceeding wel acquainted with a Traveler

Vi.

That made report of a great Magician beyond the Seas.

Ed.

That might ha'been as likely as any man in all the world.

Nat.

To have helpt you to your wife again.

Qui.

You are the merriest mates that ere I cop'd withal. But to be serious Gentlemen, I am satisfied Concerning my lost Wife. She has made even With me and all the World.

Nat.

What is she dead?

Qui.

Dead, Dead: And therefore as men use to mourn

For kind and loving wives, and call their friends Their choicest friends unto a solemn banquet Serv'd out with sighs and sadness, while the widowers Blubber, and bath in tears (which they do seem To wring out of their fingers ends and noses) And after all the demure ceremony. Are subject to be thought dissemblers, I (To avoid the scandal of Hypocresie, Because 'tis plain she lov'd me not) invite You and your like that lov'd her and not me, To see me in the pride of my rejoycings, You shall find entertainment worth your company, And that let me intreat to morrow night.

Nat.

You shall ha'mine.

Ʋin.

To morrow night say you.

Quic.

Yes gallants: fail not, as you wish to view Your mortgages and pawns again. Adieu.

Exit.

Nat.

We came to jear the Jew, and he jears us.

Ʋin.

How glad the raschal is for his Wives death.

Nat.

An honest man could not have had such luck.

Ed.

He has some further end in't, could we guess it, Then a meer merriment for his dead wives niddance.

Ʋin.

Perhaps he has got a new Wife, and intends To make a funeral and a Marriage feast In one to hedge in charges.

Ed.

He'il be hang'd rather then marry again.

Nat.

Zooks would he had some devilish jealous hilding, 'Twould be a rare addition to his mirth, For us to bring our antick in betwixt'em Of his changling Bastard.

Ʋin.

How ere we'll grace his feast with our presentment.

Nat.

When's the Buzzard?

Ʋin.

We left him with his foster father, Arnold, B••sy at rehearsal practising their parts.

Ed.

They shall be perfect by to morrow night.

Nat.

If not unto our profit, our delight.

Exeunt omnes.

ACT 4. SCENE 3.

Theophilus. Lucy.

Lu.

Brother be comforted.

The.

Let not the name Or empty sound of comfort mix with th'air That must invade these ears: They are not capable, Or, if they be, they dare not, for themselves, Give the conveyance of a sillable Into my heart, that speak not grief or sorrow.

Lu.

Be griev'd then, Ile grieve with you: For each sigh You waste for Millicents untimely death Ile spend a tear for your as fruitless sorrow.

The.

That's most unsutable; y'are no company For me to grieve with if you grieve for me; Take the same cause with me; you are no friend Or sister else of mine. It is enough To set the world a weeping!

Lu.

So it is; All but the stony part of't.

The.

Now you are right. Her husband's of that part; He cannot weep by nature: But Ile find A way by art in Chymistry to melt him. At least extract some drops. But do you weep Indeed for Millicent? What, all these tears?

Lu.

All for your love.

The.

She is my love indeed; and was my wife. But for the empty name of marriage onely, But now she's yours for ever. You enjoy her. In her fair blessed memory; in her goodness, And all that has prepar'd her way for glory.

The.

Let me embrace thee sister. How I reverence Any fair honour that is done to her,

Now thou shalt weep no more: Thou hast given me com∣fort In shewing me how she's mine. And tears indeed Are all too weak a sacrifice for her But such as the heart weeps.

Enter Page.

Lu.

Sit down brother. Sing boy the mornful song I bad you practise.

Song.

The.

Call you this mournful. Tis a wanton air. Go y'are a naughty child indeed, Ile whip you If you give voice unto such notes,

Lu.

I know not brother how you like the air, But in my mind the words are sad, Pray read'em.

The.

They are sad indeed▪ How now my boy, dost weep? I am not angry now.

Pa.

I do not weep, Sir, for my self. But ther's a youth without (A handsome youth) whose sorrow works in me: He sayes he wants a service, and seeks yours.

The.

Dost thou not know him▪

Pa.

No: but I pity him.

The.

O, good boy, that canst weep for a strangers misery! The sweetness of thy dear compassion Even melts me too. What does he say he is.

Pa.

Tis that Sir, that will grieve you when you hear it. He is a poor kinsman to the gentlewoman Lately deceas'd that you so lov'd and mourn for.

The.

And dost thou let him stay without so long? Merciless Villain! run and fetch him quickly.

Lu.

O brother—

The.

Sister, can I be too zealous In such a cause as this? For heark you, sister,

Enter Dionisia

Dio.

There was no way like this to get within'em, Now courage keep true touch with me. Ile vex Your cunning and unnatural purpose, brother,

If I do nothing else.

Pa.

Sir, here's the youth?

The.

A lovely one he is, and wondrous like her, O let me run and clasp him; hang about him, And yoak him to me with a thousand kisses! I shall be troublesome and heavy to thee, With the pleas'd waight of my incessant love. Youth of a happy kindred, which foreruns A happy fortune ever. Pray thee, sister, Is he not very like her?

Lu.

If I durst I would now say, this were the better beauty, For it resembles Arthurs.

The,

I'st not her face? you do not mind me sister:

Lu.

Hers was a good one once, and this is now.

The.

Why sister, you were wont to take delight In any comfort that belong'd to me; And help to carry my joyes sweetly: now You keep no constant course with me.

Dio.

This man Melts me—alas, Sir, I am a poor boy.

The.

What, and allied to her? impossible! Where ere thou liv'st her name's a fortune to thee. Her memory amongst good men sets thee up; It is a word that commands all in this house.

Dio.

This snare was not well laid. I fear my self.

The.

Live my companion; my especial sweet one, My brother and my bedfellow thou shalt be.

Dio.

By lakin but I must not, though I find But weak matter against it.—This my courage!

The.

She took from earth, how kind is heaven, how good To send me yet, a joy so near in blood! Good noble youth, if there be any more Distres'd of you, that claims aliance with her Though a far off; deal freely; let me know it, Give me their sad names; Ile seek'em out,

And like a good great man, in memory humble Nere cease until I plant'em all in fortunes, And see'em grow about me.

Dio.

I hear of none, my self excepted, Sir.

The.

Thou shalt have all my care then, all my love.

Dio.

What make I here? I shall undo my self.

The.

Yet note him sister.

Dio.

I ther's the mark my malice chiefly aims at; But then, he stands so near, I wound him too. I feel that must not be. Art must be shewen here.

The.

Come, you shall kiss him for me, and bid him welcome.

Lu.

You are most welcome, Sir, and were her name To which you are allied, a stranger here, Yet, Sir, believe me, you in those fair eyes Bring your own welcome with you.

Dio.

Never came Malice 'mong so sweet a people. It knowes not how to look, nor I on them.

Lu.

Let not your gentle modesty make you seem Ungentle to us, by turning so away.

The.

That's well said sister, but he will and shall Be bolder with us, ere we part.

Dio.

I shall too much I fear.—

The.

Come gentle blessing, Let not a misery be thought on here, (If ever any were so rude to touch thee) Between us we'll divide the comfort of thee.

Exeunt Omnes.

ACT. 4. SCENE. 4.

Millicent. Phillis.

Mil.

I have heard thy story often, and with pitty As often thought upon't, and that the father,

Of my best lov'd Theophilus, together with His, then, friend Master Meanwell (who have since Become each others deathsman astis thought) By suits in Law wrought the sad overthrow Of thy poor Fathers fortune; by which means, Poor Gentleman he was enforc'd to leave His native Country to seek forrain meanes To maintain life.

Phi.

Or rather to meet death. For since his traval, which is now six years, I never heard of him.

Mil.

Much pittiful!

Phi.

So is your story, Mistress unto me. But let us dry our eyes; and know we must not Stick in the mire of pitty; but with labour Work our delivery: yours is now at hand If you set will and brain to't. But my honor (If a poor wench may speak so) is so crack'd Within the ring, as 'twill be hardly solder'd By any art. If on that wicked fellow, That struck me into such a desperate hazard.

Mil.

He will be here to night, and all the crew And this must be the night of my delivery, I am prevented else for ever, wench.

Phi.

Be sure, among the guests, that you make choise Of the most civil one to be your convoy, And then let me alone to act your Mores part.

Mil.

Peace, he comes.

Enter Quic.

Phi.

Ile to my shift then.

Exit. Phi.

Quic.

Wher's my hidden beauty? That shall this night be glorious.

Mil.

I but wait the good hour For my deliverance out of this obscurity.

Quic.

Tis at hand. So are my guests. See some of'em are enter'd.

Enter Nat.

O my blith friend, Master Nathaniel, welcome.

Arthur.

And Master Arthur Meanwell as I take it.

Nat.

Yes, Sir, a Gentleman late posses'd with sadnes, Whom I had much a do to draw along To be partaker more of your mirth then chear. You say here shall be mirth. How now, what's that? Ha'vou a black coney berry in your house?

Quic.

Stay Catelina. Nay, she may be seen. For know, Sirs, I am mortified to beauty Since my wives death. I will not keep a face Better then this under my roof I ha'sworn.

Ar.

You were too rash, Sir, in that oath, if I Mav be allowed to speak.

Quic.

Tis done and past, Sir.

Nat.

If I be not taken with yon'd funeral face, And her two eyes the scutcheons, would I were whipt now.

Art.

Suppose your friends should wish you to a match Prosperous in wealth and honour.

Quic.

Ile hear of none, nor you if you speak so.

Art.

Sir, I ha'done.

Nat.

It is the handsom'st Rogue I have ere seen yet of a deed of darkness; Tawney and russet faces I have dealt with, But never came so deep in blackness yet.

Quic.

Come hither Catelyna. You shall see, Sir, What a brave wench she shall be made anon And when she dances how you shall admire her.

Art.

Will you have dancing here to night.

Quic.

Yes I have borrowed other Moors of Merchants That trade in Barbary, whence I had mine own here, And you shall see their way and skill in dancing.

Nat.

He keeps this Rie-loaf for his own white white tooth With confidence none will cheat him of a bit; Ile have a sliver though I loose my whittle.

Quic.

Here take this key, twill lead thee to those orna∣ments That deck'd thy mistress lately. Use her casket, And with the sparklingst of her jewels shine; Flame like a midnight beacon with that face,

Or a pitch'd ship a fire; the streamers glowing And the keel mourning, (how I shall rejoyce At these prepostrous splendours) get thee glorious; Be like a running fire-work in my house.

Nat.

He sets me more a fire at her. Well old stick breech If I do chance to clap your Barbary buttock In all her bravery, and get a snatch In an odd corner, or the dark to night To mend your chear, and you hereafter hear on't, Say there are as good stomacks as your own, Hist, Negro, hist.

Mil.

No fee, O no, I darea notta.

Nat.

Why, why—pish—pox I love thee,

Mil.

O no de fine white Zentilmanna Cannot a love a the black a thing a.

Nat.

Cadzooks the best of all wench.

Mill.

O take—a heed—a my mastra see—a.

Nat.

When we are alone, then wilt thou.

Mil.

Then I shall speak a more a.

Nat.

And Ile not lose the Moor-a for more then I Will speak-a.

Quic.

I muse the rest of my invited Gallants Come not away.

Nat.

Zooks the old angry justice.

Enter Testy.

Tes.

How comes it Sir, to pass, that such a newes Is spread about the town? is my Neece dead, And you prepar'd to mirth Sir, hah? Is this the entertainment I must find To welcome me to town?

Quic.

She is not dead, Sir. But take you no notice You shall have instantly an entertainment, that Shall fill you all with wonder.

Tes.

Sure he is mad; Or do you understand his meaning sirs? Or how or where his wife died?

Nat.

I know nothing;

But give me leave to fear, by his wild humor, He's guilty of her death; therefore I hope Hee'l hang himself anon before us all To raise the mirth he speaks of.

Art.

Fie upon you. Yet trust me, sir, there have been large constructions, And strong presumptions, that the ill made match Betwixt her youthful beauty and his covetous age; Between her sweetness and his frowardness Was the unhappy means of her destruction; And you that gave strength to that ill tied knot Do suffer sharply in the worlds opinion, While she, sweet virgin, has its general pity.

Tes.

Pray what have you been to her? I nere found you Appear a suiter to her.

Art.

I nere saw her, Nor ever should have sought her, Sir; For she Was onely love to my sworne enemy, On whom yet (were she living and in my gift Rather a thousand times I would bestow her Then on that man that had, and could not know her.

Tes.

I have done ill; and wish I could redeem This act with half my estate.

Nat.

This Devels bird, This Moor runs more and more still in my mind.

Enter Ʋin. & Edm.

O are you come? And ha'you brought your scene Of Mirth along with you?

Ʋin.

Yes, and our actors Are here at hand: But we perceive much business First to be set a foot. Here's Revels towards.

Ed.

A daunce of furies or of Blackamores Is practising within;

Ʋin.

But first there is to be some odd collation In stead of supper.

Nat.

Cheap enough I warrant, But saw you not a Moor-hen there amongst'em.

Ed.

A pretty little Rogue, most richly deck'd

With pearls, chains and jewels. She is queen Of the Nights triumph.

Nat.

If you ••h••nce to spy me Take her aside, say nothing.

Ed.

Thou wilt filch Some of her jewels perhaps.

Nat.

Ile draw a lot

Enter Quicksands.

For the best jewel she wears. But mum my Masters.

Quic.

Enter the house pray Gentlemen: I am ready Now with your entertainment.

Exit.

Tes.

Wee'l follow you.

Nat.

N••w for six penny custards, a pipkin of bak'd Pears, three sawcers of stew'd prunes, a groats worth Of strong ale, and two peniworth of Gingerbread.

Ext. 3.

Tes.

If she does live (as he bears me in hand She is not dead) Ile tell you briefly, Sir, If all the law bodily and ghostly, And all the conscience too, that I can purchase With all the wealth I have can take her from him, I will recover her, and then bestow her (If you refuse her) on your so you speak of, (whose right she is indeed) rather then he Shall hold her longer. Now mine eyes are open'd. Will you walk in.

Ar.

I pray excuse me, Sir,

Exi••, Enter Mili. white. fac'd & in her ovvn habit.

I cannot fit my self to mirth.

Tes.

Your pleasure. Mil. Have I with patience waited for this ••ou••, And does fear check me now? I'le break through all, And trust my self with yon'd mildeGentleman. He cannot but be noble.

Art.

A goodly creature! The Rooms illumin'd with her; yet her look Sad, and cheek pale, as if a sorrow suck'd it. Hovv came she in? What is she? I am fear▪struck. Tis some unresting shaddow. Or, if not,

What makes a thing so glorious in this house, The master being an enemy to beauty? She modestly makes to me.

Mil.

Noble Sir,—

Art.

Speaks too.

Mil.

If ever you durst own a goodness, Now crown it by an act of honour and mercy.

Art.

Speak quickly; lose no time then: say, what are you? You look like one that should not be delai'd.

Mil.

I am th'unfortunate woman of this house, To all mens thoughts at rest. This is the face On which the Hell of jealousie abus'd The hand of Heaven, to fright the world withall.

Ar.

Were you the seeming Moor was here?

Mil.

The same; And onely to your secresie and pitty I have ventur'd to appear my self again.

Ar.

What's to be done? Pray speak, and tis perform'd.

Mil.

In trust and Manhood Sir, I would commit A great charge to you, even my life and honor To free me from this den of misery.

Art.

A blessed tasque! But when you are freed Lady—

Mil.

I would desire Sir, then to be convei'd.—

Ar.

Whither? to whom? speak quickly: why do you stoop?

Mil.

Pray let that rest. I will relieve your trouble When I am freed from hence, and use some others.

Art.

Nay, that were cruelty. As you love goodness tell me.

Mil.

Why dare you bear me Sir, to one you hate.

Art.

What's that, if you love? Tis your peace I wait on. I look upon your service, not mine own. Were he the mortall'st enemy flesh bred up To you I must be noble.

Mil.

You profess—

Ar.

By all that's good and gracious, I will die Ere I forsake you, and not set you safe Within those walls you seek.

Mil.

Then, as we pass Ile tell you where they stand, Sir.

Ar.

You shall grace me.

Exit.

ACT 4. SCENE 5.

Quick sands. Testy. Nath. Vincent. Edmond.

Qui.

Now to our Revels. Sit ye, sit ye gallants Whilst, Uncle, you shall see how I'le requite The masque they lent me on my wedding night. Twas but lent Gentlemen, your masque of horns, And all the private jears and publick scorns Y'have cast upon me since. Now you shall see How Ile return them; and remarried be.

Vin.

I hope he'l marry his Moor to anger us.

Nat.

Ile give her something with her, if I catch her, And't be but in the cole-house.

Florish enter Inductor like a Moor leading Phil∣lis (black and) gorge∣ously deck't with jewels.

Tes.

Attend Gentleman.

Ind.

The Queen of Ethiop dreampt upon a night Her black womb should bring forth a virgin white.

Ind.

She told her king; he told thereof his Peeres. Till this white dream fil'd their black heads with fears:

Nat.

A whorson blockheads.

Ind.

Blackheads I sai'd. Ile come to you anon

Tes.

He puts the blockheads on'hem grosly.

Quic.

Brave impudent rogue. He made the speeches last year Before my Lord Marquess of Fleet Conduit.

Ind.

Till this white dream fil'd their blackheads with fear, For tis no better then a Prodegy To have white children in a black countrey. So 'twas decreed that if the child prov'd white, It should be made away. O cruel spight! The Queen cry'd out, and was delivered

Of child black as you see: Yet Wizards sed That if this damsel liv'd married to be To a white man, she should be white as he.

Vin.

The moral is, If Quicksands marry her, Her face shall be white as his conscience.

Ind.

The careful Queen, conclusion for to try, Sent her to merry England charily (The fairest Nation man yet ever saw) To take a husband; such as I shall draw, Being an Aegyptian Prophet.

Ed.

Draw me, and ile hang thee.

Ind.

Now I come to you, Gentlemen.

He looks in Ed∣monds hand.

Qui.

Now mark my Jeeres.

Ind.

You must not have her: For I find by your hand You have forfeited the mortgage of your land.

Ed.

Pox o'your Palmistrie.

Ven.

Now me.

Ind.

Nor you: For here I plainly see

In Vin his hand.

You have sold and spent your lifes Annuity.

Vin.

The devil take him, made thee a soothsayer.

Nat.

I find from whence your skill comes. Yet take me For thy little Princess of darknesse, and if I rub her not as white as another can Let me be hung up with her for a new Sign of the labour in vain.

Ind.

Nor you, sir: For

In Nats hand.

T••e onely sute you wear smels of the chest That holds in Limbo Lavender all your rest.

Nat.

Would his brains were in thy belly that keeps the key on't.

Ind.

This is the worthy man, whose wealth and wit, To make a white one, must the black mark hit.

In Quic. hand

Qui.

Your jeers are answer'd, gallants. Now your dance.

Enter the rest of the Moors. They Dance an Antique in which they use action of Mockery and derision to the three Gentlemen.

Nat.

We applaud your devise, and you'l give me leave To take your black bride here, forth in a daunce.

Quic.

With all my heart, sir.

Nat.

Musick, play a Galliard, You know what you promised me, Bullis.

Phi.

But howa can ita be donea.

Nat.

How I am taken with the elevation of her nostrils.

Nat.

Play a little quicker—Heark you—if I lead you A dance to a couch or a bed side, will you follow me?

Phi.

I will doa my besta.

Nat. daunces vily. Quicks. & Tes. laughs & looks off.

Nat.

So, so; quick Musick, quick.

Qui.

O ougly! call you this dauncing; ha, ha, ha.

Nat.

Do you laugh at me.

Enter Arnold like a Countrey man, and Buz. like a changling, and as they enter, exit Nat. with Phil. the Musick still playing.

Arn.

By your leave Gentlefolks.

Buz.

O brave, o brave.

Quic.

How now.

Tes.

What are these?

Buz.

Hack ye there, hack ye there, O brave pipes. Hack ye there.

He sings and dan∣ces and spins with a Rock & spindle.

Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.

Qui.

What are you men or devils?

Arn.

You are advis'd enough: Sir, if you please But to be short, I'le shew you I am a Norfolk man, And my name is John Hulverhead.

Quic.

Hold thy peace.

Softly.

Arn.

You cannot hear o'chat side it seems.

Qui.

I know thee not, not I.

Arn.

But you know my brother Matthew Hulverhead

Deceas'd, with whom you plac'd this simple child of yours.

Qui.

I plac't no childe in Norfolk nor Suffolk nor any Folk I—say thou mistookst me: Ile reward thee. Go.

Arn.

I cannot hear o'that ear neither, sir.

Vin.

What's the matter, Mr. Quicksands?

Ed.

Ha'you any more jeeres to put upon us? what are these?

Buz.

Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.

Qui.

Get you out of my house.

Arn.

I may not till I be righted. I come for right, and I will have right, or the best of the Citie shall Hear on't.

Vin.

I swear the Rascals act it handsomly.

Tes.

What art thou fellow? What dost thou seek?

Vin.

Tell that Gentleman: He is an upright Majestrate And will see thee righted.

Arn.

I am a poor Norfolk man, sir. And I come to ease myself of a charge, by putting off a childe nat'ral to the natu••al father here.

Quic.

My child! Am I his father? Darst thou speak it.

Arn.

Be not asham'd on't, sir: You are not the first grave and wise Citizen that has got an ideot.

Tes.

Here's good stuff towards.

Buz.

Ha, ha, ha—with a Hay toodle loodle loodle loo.

Qui.

How should I get him. I was never married till this moneth.

Arn.

How does other bawdy Batchelors get children?

Buz

With a hay toodle loodle loodle loo, &c.

Tes.

Have you been a bastard-getter and marry my Neece.

Vin.

Now it works.

Tes.

I••e teach you to get a bastard, sirrah.

Arn.

He needs none o'your skill it seems.

Buz.

Hay toodle loodle, &c.

Qui.

Well, Gentlemen, to take your wonder off, I will lay truth before you. For a poor servant that I had, I undertook and paid For keeping of an ideot.

Ed.

Who, your man Buzzard?

Qui.

Even he.

Buz.

Hay toodle loodle, &c.

Qui.

'Tis like this is the child. But for a certain sum Which I did pay, 'twas articled, that I should nere be Troubled with it more.

Tes.

Now what say you to that Sir?

Arn.

'Tis not denyed Sir, There was such agreement, But now he is another kind of charge.

Vin.

Why, he gets something towards his living me thinks.

Buzzard spinns.

Ar.

Yes, he has learn'd to thrip among the Mothers; But Sir, withal, to do more harm then good by't, And that's the charge I speak of: we are not bound To keep your child, and your childes children too.

Tes.

How's that?

Arn.

Sir, by his cunning at the Rock, And twirling of his spindle on the Thrip-skins, He has fetch'd up the bellies of sixteen Of his Thrip-sisters.

Buz.

Hay toodle, loodle, loodle, &c.

Tes.

Is't possible.

Arn.

So well he takes after his father here it seems.

Ed.

Take heed o'that friend: you heard him say it was his mans child.

Arn.

He sha'not fright me with that, though it be A great mans part to turn over his bastards To his servants. I am none of his hirelings, nor His Tenants I. But I know what I say; and I know What I come about; and not without advise; And you May know, that Norfolk is not without as knavish Councel, as another County may be. Let his man Buz. Be brought forth, and see what he will say to't.

Buz.

Hay toodle loodle, &c.

Qui.

Wretch that I was to put away that fellow!

But stay! where is my wife? my wife, my wife—

Vin.

What say you, Sir?

Qui.

My Moor I would say. Which way went my Moor?

Vin.

Your Ethiopian Princess.

Nat.

is gone to dance with her in private, because you laught him out of countenance here.

Qui.

Mischief on mischief! worse and worse I fear.

Tes.

What do you fear, why stare you? Are you frantick?

Qui.

I must have wits and fits, my fancies and fegaries.

Ed.

Your jeers upon poor Gallants.

Vin.

How do you feel your self.

Buz.

Hay toodle loodle, &c.

Arn.

Ask your father blessing Timsy.

Buz.

Hay toodle loodle, &c.

Arn.

Upon your knees man.

Buz.

Upon all my knees. A—ah. Hay toodle loodle.

Nat.

What was't to you, you slaves?

Enter Nat. & Phillis pul'd in by the Moors.

Must you be peeping.

Tes.

What's the matter now?

Nat.

What was't to you, ye Rascals?

Moor.

It is to us Sir, We were hir'd to dance and to speak speeches; and to do the Gentleman true service in his house: And we will not see his house made a baudy house, and make no speech o'that.

Tes.

What is the business?

Moor.

Marry Sir a naughty business. This Gentleman has committed a deed of darkness with your Moor, Sir; We all saw it.

Tes.

What deed of darkness? speak it plainly.

Moor.

Darkness or lightness; call it which you will. They have lyen together; made this same a baudy house; How will you have it?

Qui.

Undone, most wretched. O, I am confounded. I see no art can keep a woman honest.

Nat.

I love her, and will justifie my Act.

Phi.

And I the best of any man on earth.

Nat.

Thou speakest good English now.

Qui.

O Ruine, ruine, ruine—

Buz.

Hay toodle loodle, &c.

Vin.

Why take you on so, for an ougly feind?

Qui.

She is my wife, Gentlemen.

All.

How Sir, your wife.

Ed.

In conceit you mean.

Qui.

I say my lawful wife; your Neece; and so dis∣guis'd By me on purpose.

Tes.

I said he was mad before, ha, ha, ha.

Nat.

Now I applaud my act, 'twas sweet and brave.

Qui.

I'le be divorc'd before a Court in publique.

Tes.

Now will I use Authority and skill. Friends, guard the doors. None shall depart the house.

Nat.

Mun. Vin. Content, content.

Arn.

Shall I, Sir, and my charge stay too?

Qui.

Oh—

Tes.

Marry Sir, shall you.

Buz.

I fear we shall be smoak'd then.

Arn.

No, no, fear nothing.

Tes.

You know your Chamber huswife. I'le wait o'your Master To night. We will not part until to morrow day, Justice and Law lights every one his way.

Vin.

Is this your merry night, Sir?

Qui.

Oh—oh—oh—o—

Ed.

Why roar you so?

Nat.

It is the Cuckolds howle. A common cry about the City.

Qui.

Oh o—Buz. Hay toodle loodle, &c.

Exeunt omnes.

ACT. 5. SCENE. 1.

Meanwell. Rashly. Winlosse. Host.

Mea.

Now my good Host, since you have been our friend

And onely councel keeper in our absence, To you, before we visit our own houses We'le render a relation of our journey, And what the motive was that drew us forth. 'Tis true, we did pretend a deadly quarrel At a great bowling match upon Black-heath; Went off; took horse; and several wayes, forecast To meet at Dover, where we met good friends, And in one Barque past over into France: Here 'twas suppos'd to fight, like fashion followers That thither flie, as if no sand but theirs Could dry up English blood.

Host.

Now, by the way, Suppose that supposition had been true, And the supposed deaths of you, and you Had mov'd your sons to combate in earnest, And both been kil'd indeed, as you in jest, Where had been then your witty subtilty, My noble Meanwell, and my brave Rashly? Ha! have I twight ye there?

Rash.

Thou keepst thy humor still my running Host.

Host.

My humor was, nor is, nor must be lost: But, to the question, was it wisely done, When each of you might so have lost a son?

Rash.

We had no fear of that Sir, by the Rule, The common Rule o'th'world. Where do you find Sons that have lives and Lands, will venture both For their dead Fathers that are gone and car'd for?

Nor was it onely to make tryal of What husbands they would be; how spend, or save; How mannage, or destroy; how one or both Might play the Tyrants over their poor Tenants, Yet fall by Prodigality into th'Compters: And then the dead by pulling off a Beard, After a little chiding and some whyning,

To set the living on their legs again, And take 'em into favour; pish, old play-plots. No Sir, our business runs another course; Know you this Gentleman yet?

Host.

Nor yet, nor yet; Best wits may have bad memories; I forget.

Win.

It is my part to speak. Mine Host, y'have known me, My name is Winloss; a poor Gentleman, Yet richer, by my liberty, then I was For six years space, till these good Gentlemen In charity redeem'd me.

Host.

Master Winloss! I thought I could as soon forgot my Chriss-Cross, Yet (pardon me) you have been six years gone, And all of them in prison saving one, In Dunkerk as I weene.

Win.

It is most true; And that from thence these Gentlemen redeem'd me At their own charge, by paying five hundred pound, Which was my Ransom.

Host.

'Tis a rare example.

Win.

Worthy brass tables, and a pen of steel.

Mea.

No more good neighbour Winloss. What we did Was to discharge our conscience of a burden Got (and 'twas all we got) by your undoing, In a sad suit at Law.

Host.

I do remember; And, without ruine I'le tell you, That sad cause, In which you join'd against him, overthrew him And all his Family: But this worthy act Of yours in his enlargement, crowns your piety, And puts him in a way of better Fortune, Then his first tottering estate could promise.

Rash.

Shut up that point. You have heard no ill, you say, Among our sons and daughters in our absence.

Host.

Not any Sir at all. But, Mr. Winloss,

You that have past so many sorrows, can (I make no doubt) here one with manly patience.

Win.

Tis of my daughter Phillis! Is she dead?

Host.

Tis well and't be no worse with her: I fear She's gone the tother way of all flesh, do you hear?

Rash.

Why dost thou tell him this?

Host.

To have him right His daughters wrong upon that wicked beast That has seduc'd her.

Rash.

Who is't? canst thou tell?

Host.

Even the Ran••k-rider of the town, Sir, one Master Nathaniel Banelasse, if you know him.

Mea.

He has my sons acquaintance.

Rash.

And mine's too.

Host.

You may be proud on'••, if they scape his doctrine.

Win.

But does he keep my daughter to his lust?

Host.

No, Sir, tis worse then so. He has cast her off To the common, as tis fear'd.

Win.

Owretchedness!

Rash.

How cam'st thou by this knowledge.

Host.

Sir, Ile tell you. I have, i'th'house, a guest, was once your man, And serv'd your son, since you went ore I'm sure on'c, Though now he has got a young spark to his Master, That has a brace of gueldings in my stable; And lusty ones they are. That's by the way.

Rash.

But to the point, I pray thee.

Host.

Sir, the young gallant is abroad, the man Scults closs i'th'••ouse here, and has done these two dayes Spending his time with me in drink and talk. Most of his talk runs upon wenches mainly; And who loves who, and who keeps home, and so forth; And he told me the tale that I tell you Twixt Banelasse and your done and undone daughter.

Ra.

Mine host—cry mercy Gentlemen—

Enter Rafe.

Mea.

Nay, nay, come on.

Host.

I told you he was very shy to be seen.

Ra.

My old master alive again? and he that he kil'd too?

Mea.

Whom do you serve? was I so ill a master, That, in my absence, you forsook my children? Or how have they misus'd you? Why dost look So like an apprehended thief? I fear Thou serv'st some robber, or some murderer, Or art become thy self one. If the Devil Have so possess'd thee, strive to turn him out: He add my prayers to help thee. Whats the matter?

Ra.

O honor'd master! Ile keep nothing from you. There is an act of horror now on foot, Upon revenge of your supposed murder, Of which to stand and tell the circumstance, Would wast the time and hinder the prevention Of your sons murder, and your daughters ruin.

All.

O fearful!

Ra.

Let not your amazement drown Your reason in delay; your sudden hast Was never so requir'd as now. Stay not To ask my why, or whither. As ye go I shall inform ye.

Rash.

Go, we follow thee.

Exeunt omnes.

ACT. 5. SCENE 2.

Dionysia as before in mans habit, sword and pistol.

What a fierce conflict twixt revenge and love, Like an unnatural civil war, now rages In my perplexed breast. There, fight it out; To it Pel-mel my thoughts. The battel's hot. Now for the day! revenge begins to stagger, And her destracted Army at an instant R••uted and put to flight. All conquering love, Thou hast got the victory; and now I sue

(Like a rent kingdom by self-opposite thoughts) Unto thy soveraignty, to be the liege-right. Take me to thy protection, kingly love, And having captivated my revenge, O, play not now the Tyrant. A firm hope Perswades me no: But when I shall Reveal my self I shall obtain Theophilus love. Which now is ten times sweeter in my thought Then my revenge was, when 'twas first begot.

Ent. The. & Lucy.

The.

What, still alone? we have been seeking thee.

Dio.

O 'tis the service that I ow you Sir.

Lu.

Indeed you are too pensive: two whole dayes And nights among us, and no more familiar?

Ent. Ar. in his false beard, ••eading in Mil. veil'd. Pages they stand a∣loofe.

Pa.

May I crave your name, Sir?

Ar.

That's to little purpose, My business is the thing—yonder's the star! What young Gentleman is that your Mistris arm Appears so courteous too?

Pa.

One she thinks well on Sir, No matter for his name, as you said, neither.

Ar.

He seems some well grac'd suitor. 'Tis my fear, If he should now—I must be just however.

Pa.

Sir, a Gentleman desires to speak with you.

The.

Dost thou not know his name?

Pa.

He will not tell it Sir.

The.

You treacherous boy, do you bring you know not whom? O 'tis the Gentleman I was so bound to, Sister: The welcom'st man alive; Thanks my good boy. What's she he brings in veil'd, and this way leads?

Ar.

Sir, though I am still a stranger in my visit, To works of gentleness, I am partly known. There (if you chance t'enquire of me hereafter (When I shall more deserve your inquisition) I may be found, if not exact in service, A least a poor pretender in my wishes: And so presenting this white gift, (more modest

Then the most secret duty of mans friendship Can ever be) I take my leave—

The.

This man Would breed, at every time ht's seen, a wonder! Sir, leave me not thus lost: let me once know you, And what this mystery means? This bears a shape I may not entertain: I have set my vow Against all woman kinde, since Heaven was married To my first love; and must not willingly Discover a temptation with mine own hand.

Ar.

How shie and nice we are to meet our happinesse! Like dying wretches, '••raid to go to rest. Because you shall be guilty of no breach I'le ope the Casket for you.

He unveils her, & slips away.

The.

Blesse me, it is— Warm, so Love cherish me and comfortable.

Dio.

O death, my hopes are blasted.

Lu.

How is it with you, sir.

The.

Might a man credit his own sences now This were my Millicent. How think you, sister?

Mil.

Indeed I am so, my Theophilus.

Dio.

She lives, and he is lost to me for ever, I shall be straight discover'd too. False Love Thou hast dealt loosely with me; And Revenge I re-invoke thy nobler spirit: Now Possesse me wholly; let it not be thought I came and went off idly.

Lu.

Sir, something troubles you. See your kinswoman My brother stands intranc'd too; Brother, brother▪ Noble Lady, speak to him.

Mil.

I was in my discovery too sudden. Strong rapture of his joy transmutes him—Sir, Be not so wonder-struck; or, if you be, Let me conjure you by the love you bore me, R••turn unto your self again. Let not A wandring thought fly from you, to examine

From whence, or how I came: If I be welcome I am your own and Millicent.

The.

And in that So blest a treasure, that the wealth and strength Of all the world shall never purchace from me. Heaven may be pleas'd again to take thee, but Ile hold so fast, that wee'll go hand in hand; Besides, I hope his mercy will not part us. But where's the man now more desir'd then ever That brought you hither?

Mil.

You ask in vain for him. I can resolve you all; but for the present He will be known to none.

The.

This is a cruel goodness: To put thankfulness Out of all action. Sirah, how went he?

Pa.

I know not, Sir, he vanish'd sodainly.

The.

Vanish'd! good Lucy help to hold her fast She may not vanish too. Spirits are subtle.

Mil.

This was my fear. Will you have patience, And fit but in this chair while I relate my story.

The.

Ile be as calm in my extreamest deeps As is the couch where a sweet conscience sleeps.

Dio.

Tis now determinate as fate; and so At the whole cluster of'em. Bless me ha!

As Dionisia presents her pistol. Enter. Rash. Mean. Win. Rafe. Arthur.

My father living! Then the cause is dead Of my revenge.

Rash.

What is he kill'd out right. Or els but hurt? Theophilus! my boy! Dead, past recovery. Stay the murdress there. Look you, Sir, to her. I suspect your son too Is not without a hand in't by the hast We met him in.

Lu.

He is not hurt at all My honour'd father, as I desire your blessing, But stricken with an extasie of joy.

Rash.

Look up my boy. How dost?here's none but friends.

The.

Sure, sure w'are all then in Elisium Where all are friends and fill'd with equal joy. Earth can have no felicity like this. If thisbe any thing.

Rash.

Thou canst not see nothing, Look well about thee man.

The.

I see, I feel, I hear and know ye all: But who knowes what he knowes, sees, feels, or hears? Tis not an age for man to know himself in.

Rash.

He is not mad I know by that.

The.

If I know any thing, you are my father—

Rash.

Thou art a wise child.

The.

And I beseech your blessing.

Rash.

Thou hast it. Millicont, I have heard your story, And Lucy, you betwixt you sooth his fancy, He will be well anon. Keep'em company Arthur, And Lucy, bid him welcome.

Lu.

More then life, Sir.

Rash.

You Dionysia would be chid a little; But, Sir, let me intreat her parden••

Mea.

Dry your eyes: you have it. Go instantly resume your sexes habit, And with the rest be ready, if we call ye To Quicsands house. The rumour of our coming Already calls us thither to be assistant To justice Testy in a pondrous difference.

Kash.

How does he now?

Ar.

He's fallen into a slumber.

Rash.

In with him all I pray.

Ar. &c.

He shall have all our cares.

Exit with The. in the chair.

Rash.

Come my friend Meanwell. Now to Quick-sands cause, To keep it out of wrangling lawyers jawes. The face of danger is almost made clean And may conclude all in a comick scene.

Exit.

ACT. 5. SCENE 3.

Vincent. Edmond. Testy. Rashly. Meanwel.

Vin.

Come, we will hear this cause try'd.

Ed.

See the Judges Have tane their seats, while we stand here for evidence.

Tes.

My worthy friends, y'are come unto a cause As rare, as was your unexpected coming From the supposed grave—

Rash.

To th' point I pray.

Tes.

How quick you are! Good Mr. Rashly, know (Though I crav'd your assistance) onely I Supply the chief place in Authority.

Rash.

And much good do'c you. I have other business— Your Neece Sir was too good for my poor son.

Tes.

How's that?

Mea.

Nay Gentlemen, we came to end A business: Pray begin no new one first.

Rash.

Well Sir, I ha'done.

Mea.

Pray Sir fall to the question.

Test.

Bring in the parties.

Ent. Quic. Nat. Phil.

The first branch of the question rises here If Quicksands wife, my Neece, be dead or living Speak Gentlemen. What can you say to this?

Vin.

Quicksands affirm'd to us, that she was dead.

Edm.

Though, since in a destracted passion He sayes she lives.

Qui.

She lives, and is that strumpet, From whom I sue to be divorc'd.

Mea.

That Moor, there? Did you wed her since your fair wives decease?

Qui.

Tha•• same is she, and all the wives I had

That black is but an artificial tincture Laid by my jealousie upon her face.

Rash.

This is most strange.

Nat.

Braver and braver still, I aim'd but at a cloud and clasp'd a June, Will you be onely mine?

Phi.

I have sworn it ever.

Nat.

Then I am made for ever.

Test.

Remove her, and let instant tryal be made To take the blackness off.

Qui.

Then if her shame, And my firm truth appear not, punish me.

Tes.

However, your consent to be divorc'd From Millicent is irrecoverable.

Qui.

Before you all, Ile forfeit my estate If ere I re-accept her.

Rash.

Then she's free.

Tes.

Now Mr. Banelass—

Nat.

Now for the honour of Wenchers.

Tes.

Your fact is manifested and confest.

Nat.

In fewest words it is.

Tes.

Are you content To take this woman now in question, If she be found no Moor to be your Wife, In holy marriage to restore her honour?

Nat.

Or else, before you all, let me be torn To pieces; having first those dearest members, In which I have most delighted, daub'd with honey▪

Tes.

This protestation Is clear, without respect of portion, now, Or that she is my Neece: For you must know She is no Neece of mine that could transgress In that leane kind: Nor must she ever look For favour at my hands.

Nat.

I am content, to take her as she is, Not as your Neece, but as his counterfeit servant,

Hoping he'le give me with her all about her.

Qui.

My chains, and Jewels, worth a thousand pounds, I'le pay it for my folly.

Nat.

'Twil be twice The price of my pawn'd goods. I'le put the rest Up for your jeers past on my friends and me.

Mea.

You are agreed.

Nat.

To take her with all faults.

Enter Phi∣lis white.

Phi.

I take you at your word.

Qui.

Hah—

Nat.

Hell and her changes.

Phi.

Lead by the hope of justice, I am bold To fix here fast, here to repair my ruins.

Nat.

The devil looks ten times worse with a white face, Give me it black again.

Phi.

Are we not one, you know from the beginning?

Nat.

Get thee from me.

Tes.

Sirrah you have your suit and your desert, 'Tis your best part to pass it patiently.

Rash.

'Tis Winloss daughter; we have found the error.

Qui.

I am confounded here. Where is my Wife?

Tes.

I, that's the point must now be urg'd. The Law Asks her at your hands. Answer me, where is she?

Qui.

I am at my joys end, and my wits together.

Mea.

You have brought her fame in question: Tis re∣veng'd Now you are in both for her life and honour.

Tes.

S••eak villain, Murderer, where is my Neece?

Qui.

I have snar'd my self exceeding cunningly; That quean there knows.

Nat.

Take heed, Sir, what you say, If she must be my wife. Hands off I pray, These are my goods she wears. Give me'em, Phil. For fear he snatch, Ile put'em in my pockets.

Phi.

Sweet heart, my own will hold'em.

Nat.

Sweet heart already! we are soon familiar.

Phi.

You know we are no strangers.

Rash.

Well Mr. Quicksands: because you cannot answer (To put you by the fear of halter-stretching) Since y'have ingag'd your word and whole estate To be divorc'd: And you good Mr. Testy, I•• you'l be willing yet that my poor son To wed your Neece, as I shall find it lawful, Ile undertake her safe recovery.

Tes.

I have in heart given her your son already.

Rash.

And he has her already.

Ent. The. Mil. Ar. Lu. Dio. Winloss.

As for example, see Sir.

Qui.

See, see, the heaven that I am justly fallen from, O may I yet find favour.

Mil.

Never here. Hadst thou not given thy faith to a divorce, On forfeiture of thine estate, which thou Dost hold more precious; or couldst now redeem That great ingagement; and then multiply Thy past estate into a tenfold sum. Make me inheritrix of all; and last assure me To die within a week, Ile not re-marry thee: Adulterate beast, that brok'st thy former wedlock In thy base lust with that thy servant there.

Nat.

What a pox no, I tro—My wife that must be?

Phi.

'Twas your own doing, to put me to my shifts.

Nat.

The devil shift you, then you will be sure Of change enough.

Win.

O shame unto my blood.

Nat.

I will henceforward councel all my friends To wed their whores at first, before they go Out o'their hands.

Tes.

How can you answer this?

Qui.

I utterly deny't upon my oath.

Phi.

So do I, and safely for any act.

Nat.

That's well agen.

Phi.

It was but in attempt, I told my Mistriss, Had it been done, sure I should nere have spoke on't.

Nat.

Those are the councels women can onely keep.

Phi.

Nothing in act I assure you.

Mil.

In him 'twas foul enough though.

Mea.

O hateful vice in age.

Tes.

'Tis an old vice grown in him from his youth, Of which bring forth for proof his bastard there.

Buz.

I fear we shall be whipt for counterfeits;

Ent. Buz. Arn.

My long coats have a grudging of the lash.

Arn.

I see my old Masters face again, and I will Fear nothing.

Buz.

Then Ile bear up again— Hay diddy daddy, come play with the Baby Dindle dandle on thy knee, and give him a penny, And a new coat, o ho—

Qui.

My grief and shame is endless.

Vin.

Let not grief master you, Mr. Quicksands.

Ed.

We are your friends, and pitty your afflictions. What will you give us now and we'le release you For ever of this changling charge of yours?

Vin.

And prove he's not your bastard. Speak now roundly.

Qui.

I'le cancel both your mortgages.

Vin.

A match. Now look you Sir, your quandam servant, All but the beard he wore; for loss of which We'le recompence him.

Qui.

O Buzzard, Buzzard, Buzzard.

Buz.

O Master, Master, Master. Your servant and no bastard, Nor father of your Ideot in Norfolk, He's there, and well Sir, I heard lately of him.

Qui.

How couldst thou use me thus?

Buz.

How could you turn me away so?

Tes.

Ha, ha, ha. Come hither Buzzard. Thou shalt not want a M••ster.

Arn.

Nor I, I hope, while my old Master lives. Y'are welcome home Sir.

Rash.

And thou to me my good old servant Arnold.

Qui.

Well fare a misery of a mans own seeking;

A tough one too will hold him tack to's end, This comes with wiving at ••hreescore and three; Would doating fools were all serv'd so for me.

Tes.

To shut up all: Theophilus, take my Neece, We'll shortly find a Lawfull course to marry ye.

Rash.

I will take care for't. Arthur, take my daught••r well bestow'd. With a glad fathers blessing.

Mea.

And mine with it, wishing my daughter were as

Dio.

Sir take no thought for me, till my strict life (By making man, and the world meer strangers to me, In expiation of my late transgression Gainst maiden modesty) shall render me Some way deserving th'honour of a husband.

Rash.

Spoke like a good new woman.

Tes.

How now! do you look squemish on your fortune, Sir her's a Gentleman shall maintain her blood As worthy as your own till you defile it, Tis best you cleanse it again.

Nat.

Cadzooks I will— Forgiv'me for swearing, and turn Precisian, a••d pray I'che nose that all my brethren whoremasters spend no worse.

Phi.

My father—

Win.

O my child.

Nat.

Though Mr. Quickssands made a Mock-marriage with his English Moor, Ile not mock thee.

Tes.

Enough, euough. I hope all pleas'd at last But Master Quick-sands here.

Qui.

I yeeld to fortune with an humble knee, If you be pleas'd, your pleasure shall please me.