The Dutch Courtezan. As it was playd in the Blacke-Friars, by the Children of her Maiesties Reuels. Written By Iohn Marston. At London, Printed by T. P. for Iohn Hodgets, and are to be sould at his shop in Paules Church-yard. 1605. 4to. STORY OF THE PLAY. Young Freevill, being about to marry Beatrice, daughter to Sir Hubert Subboys, determines to break his connection with Franceschina, the Dutch Courtezan. He introduces to Franceschina his friend Malheureux. This gentleman, who had hitherto led a strict life, is violently inflamed with passion at first sight of Franceschina. She promises to gratify his passion on one condition,—that he kills Freevill. As proof that the deed has been accomplished, he is to bring her a ring that had been presented to Freevill by Beatrice. Malheureux discloses the plot to Freevill, who undertakes to help him out of his difficulty. At a masque given in honour of the approaching marriage, Malheureux pretends to pick a quarrel with Freevill, and retires with him as though to fight a duel. Freevill is to lie hid at the house of a jeweller, while Malheureux posts with the ring to Franceschina. She hastens to communicate the news to Freevill’s father and Beatrice, Freevill accompanying her in the disguise of a pander. Thereupon old Freevill and Sir Hubert Subboys, attended by officers, proceed to Franceschina’s lodging, conceal themselves behind the curtain, and await the arrival of Malheureux, who comes at the hour appointed by Franceschina. They hear from his own lips a confession of the murder, arrest him, and lead him away to prison. Malheureux protests his innocence, but, as Freevill has not been near the jeweller’s house, his protestations are disregarded and the day for his execution is fixed. At the last moment Freevill presents himself and begs forgiveness for the device that he had adopted in order to cure his friend’s passion. Franceschina is condemned to “the whip and jail;” and all ends happily. The play is enlivened by an underplot, which deals with the various tricks played by a clever knave called Cocledemoy on a vintner of Cheap, Master Mulligrub. PROLOGUE. Slight hasty labours in this easy play
Present not what you would, but what we may:
For this vouchsafe to know,—the only end
Of our now study is, not to offend.
Yet think not but, like others, rail we could
(Best art presents not what it can but should);
And if our pen in this seem over-slight,
We strive not to instruct, but to delight.
As for some few, we know of purpose here
To tax and scout, know firm art cannot fear 10
Vain rage; only the highest grace we pray
Is, you’ll not tax until you judge our play.
Think, and then speak: ’tis rashness, and not wit,
To speak what is in passion, and not judgment fit.
Sit then with fair expectance, and survey
Nothing but passionate man in his slight play,
Who hath this only ill, to some deem’d worst—
A modest diffidence, and self-mistrust. FabulÆ Argumentum. The difference betwixt the love of a courtezan and a wife is the full scope of the play, which, intermixed with the deceits of a witty city jester, fills up the comedy. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. Sir Lionel Freevill, and
Sir Hubert Subboys, two old knights.
Young Freevill, Sir Lionel’s son.
Malheureux, Young Freevill’s unhappy friend.
Tysefew, a blunt gallant.
Caqueteur, a prattling gull.
Cocledemoy, a knavishly witty City Companion.
Master Mulligrub, a vintner.
Master Burnish, a goldsmith.
Lionel, his man.
Holifernes Reinscure, a barbers boy. Beatrice, and
Crispinella, Sir Hubert’s daughters.
Putifer, their nurse.
Mistress Mulligrub.
Franceschina, a Dutch Courtezan.
Mary Faugh, an old woman.
Three Watchmen; Pages; Officers. Scene—London. THE DUTCH COURTEZAN.[1]
ACT I. SCENE I. A Street. Enter three Pages, with lights. Mulligrub, Freevill, Malheureux, Tysefew, and Caqueteur. Free. Nay, comfort, my good host Shark; my good Mulligrub. Mal. Advance thy snout; do not suffer thy sorrowful nose to drop on thy Spanish[2] leather jerkin, most hardly-honest Mulligrub. Free. What, cogging Cocledemoy is run away with a neast[3] of goblets? True, what then? they will be hammered out well enough, I warrant you.Mul. Sure, some wise man would find them out presently. 10 Free. Yes, sure, if we could find out some wise man presently. Mal. How was the plate lost? how did it vanish? Free. In most sincere prose, thus: that man of much money, some wit, but less honesty, cogging Cocledemoy, comes this night late into mine hostess Mulligrub’s tavern here; calls for a room; the house being full, Cocledemoy consorted with his movable chattel, his instrument of fornication, the bawd Mrs. Mary Faugh, are imparlour’d next the street; good poultry was their food, blackbird, lark, woodcock; and mine host here comes in, cries “God bless you!” and departs. A blind harper enters, craves audience, uncaseth, plays; the drawer, for female privateness’ sake, is nodded out, who knowing that whosoever will hit the mark of profit must, like those that shoot in stone-bows,[4] wink with one eye, grows blind o’ the right side, and departs. 27 Caq. He shall answer for that winking with one eye at the last day. Mal. Let him have day[5] till then, and he will wink with both his eyes. Free. Cocledemoy, perceiving none in the room but the blind harper (whose eyes Heaven had shut up from beholding wickedness), unclasps a casement to the street very patiently, pockets up three bowls unnaturally, thrusts his wench forth the window, and himself most preposterously, with his heels forward, follows: the unseeing harper plays on, bids the empty dishes and the treacherous candles much good do them. The drawer returns, but, out alas! not only the birds, but also the neast of goblets, were flown away. Laments are raised—— 42 Tys. Which did not pierce the heavens. Free. The drawers moan, mine host doth cry, the bowls are gone. Mul. Hic finis Priami! Mal. Nay, be not jaw-fall’n, my most sharking Mulligrub. Free. ’Tis your just affliction; remember the sins of the cellar, and repent, repent! 50 Mul. I am not jaw-fall’n, but I will hang the coney-catching Cocledemoy; and there’s an end of’t. [Exit. Caq. Is it a right stone? it shows well by candle-light. Free. So do many things that are counterfeit, but I assure you this is a right diamond. Caq. Might I borrow it of you? it will not a little grace my finger in visitation of my mistress. Free. Why, use it, most sweet Caqueteur, use it. Caq. Thanks, good sir; ’tis grown high night: gentles, rest to you. [Exit. Tys. A torch! Sound wench, soft sleep, and sanguine dreams to you both. On, boy! 62 Free. Let me bid you good rest. Mal. Not so, trust me, I must bring my friend home: I dare not give you up to your own company; I fear the warmth of wine and youth will draw you to some common house of lascivious entertainment. Free. Most necessary buildings, Malheureux; ever since my intention of marriage, I do pray for their continuance. 70 Mal. Loved sir, your reason? Free. Marry, lest my house should be made one. I would have married men love the stews as Englishmen loved the Low Countries: wish war should be maintain’d there, lest it should come home to their own doors. What, [not] suffer a man to have a hole to put his head in, though he go to the pillory for it! Youth and appetite are above the club of Hercules. Mal. This lust is a most deadly sin, sure. Free. Nay, ’tis a most lively sin, sure. 80 Mal. Well, I am sure, ’tis one of the head sins. Free. Nay, I am sure it is one of the middle sins. Mal. Pity ’tis grown a most daily vice. Free. But a more nightly vice, I assure you. Mal. Well, ’tis a sin. Free. Ay, or else few men would wish to go to heaven: and, not to disguise with my friend, I am now going the way of all flesh. Mal. Not to a courtezan? Free. A courteous one. 90 Mal. What, to a sinner? Free. A very publican. Mal. Dear, my loved friend, let me be full with you:
Know, sir, the strongest argument that speaks
Against the soul’s eternity is lust,
That wise man’s folly, and the fool’s wisdom:
But to grow wild in loose lasciviousness,
Given up to heat and sensual appetite,
Nay, to expose your health and strength and name,
Your precious time, and with that time the hope 100
Of due preferment, advantageous means,
Of any worthy end, to the stale use,
The common bosom of a money creature,
One that sells human flesh—a mangonist! Free. Alas, good creatures! what would you have them do? Would you have them get their living by the curse of man, the sweat of their brows? So they do: every man must follow his trade, and every woman her occupation. A poor decayed mechanical man’s wife, her husband is laid up, may not she lawfully be laid down, when her husband’s only rising is by his wife’s falling? A captain’s wife wants means; her commander lies in open fields abroad, may not she lie in civil arms at home? A waiting gentlewoman, that had wont to take say[6] to her lady, miscarries or so; the court misfortune throws her down; may not the city courtesy take her up? Do you know no alderman would pity such a woman’s case?[7] Why, is charity grown a sin, or relieving the poor and impotent an offence? You will say beasts take no money for their fleshly entertainment: true, because they are beasts, therefore beastly;[8] only men give to loose, because they are men, therefore manly: and indeed, wherein should they bestow their money better? In land, the title may be crack’d; in houses, they may be burnt; in apparel, ’twill wear; in wine, alas for our pity! our throat is but short: but employ your[9] money upon women, and a thousand to nothing, some one of them will bestow that on you which shall stick by you as long as you live; they are no ungrateful persons, they will give quid [10] for quo: do ye protest, they’ll swear; do you rise, they’ll fall; do you fall, they’ll rise; do you give them the French crown, they’ll give you the French—O justus justa justum! They sell their bodies: do not better persons sell their souls? nay, since all things have been sold, honour, justice, faith, nay, even God Himself, 136
Aye me, what base ignobleness is it
To sell the pleasure of a wanton bed!
Why do men scrape, why heap to full heaps join?
But for his mistress, who would care for coin?
For this I hold to be denied of no man,
All things are made for man, and man for woman.
Give me my fee. Mal. Of ill you merit well. My heart’s good friend,
Leave yet at length, at length; for know this ever,
’Tis no such sin to err, but to persever.Free. Beauty is woman’s virtue, love the life’s music, and woman the dainties, or second course of heaven’s curious workmanship. Since then beauty, love, and woman are good, how can the love of woman’s beauty be bad? and, Bonum, quo communius, eo melius: wilt then go with me? 152 Mal. Whither? Free. To a house of salvation. Mal. Salvation? Free. Yes, ’twill make thee repent. Wilt go to the family of love?[11] I will show thee my creature; a pretty nimble-ey’d Dutch tanakin;[12] an honest soft-hearted impropriation; a soft, plump, round-cheek’d froe,[13] that has beauty enough for her virtue, virtue enough for a woman, and woman enough for any reasonable man in my knowledge. Wilt pass along with me? 162 Mal. What, to a brothel?—to behold an impudent prostitution;[14] fie on’t, I shall hate the whole sex to see her. The most odious spectacle the earth can present is an immodest vulgar woman. Free. Good still; my brain shall keep’t. You must go as you love me.Mal. Well, I’ll go to make her loath the shame she’s in; The sight of vice augments the hate of sin. 170 Free. The sight of vice augments the hate of sin! Very fine, perdy! [Exeunt. SCENE II. A Brothel. Enter Cocledemoy and Mary Faugh. Coc. Mary, Mary Faugh. Mar. Hem.[15] Coc. Come, my worshipful rotten rough-bellied bawd! ha! my blue-tooth’d patroness of natural wickedness, give me the goblets. Mar. By yea and by nay, Master Cocledemoy, I fear you’ll play the knave, and restore them. Coc. No, by the lord, aunt,[16] restitution is catholic, and thou know’st we love—— Mar. What? 10 Coc. Oracles are ceased: tempus prÆteritum, doest hear, my worshipful glysterpipe, thou ungodly fire that burnt Diana’s temple?—doest hear, bawd? Mar. In very good truthness, you are the foulest-mouth’d, profane, railing brother, call a woman the most ungodly names: I must confess, we all eat of the forbidden fruit, and for mine own part, though I am one of the family of love, and, as they say, a bawd that covers the multitude of sins, yet I trust I am none of the wicked that eat fish o’ Fridays. 20 Coc. Hang toasts! I rail at thee, my worshipful organ-bellows that fills the pipes, my fine rattling fleamy cough o’ the lungs, and cold with a pox? I rail at thee? what, my right precious pandress, supportress of barber-surgeons, and enhanceress[17] of lotium[18] and diet-drink?[19] I rail at thee, necessary damnation? I’ll make an oration, I, in praise of thy most courtly in-fashion and most pleasureable function, I. Mar. Ay, prithee do, I love to hear myself praised, as well as any old lady, I. 30 Coc. List then:—a bawd; first for her profession or vocation, it is most worshipful of all the twelve companies; for, as that trade is most honourable that sells the best commodities—as the draper is more worshipful than the pointmaker, the silkman more worshipful than the draper, and the goldsmith more honourable than both, little Mary, so the bawd above all: her shop has the best ware; for where these sell but cloth, satins, and jewels, she sells divine virtues, as virginity, modesty, and such rare gems; and those not like a petty chapman, by retail, but like a great merchant, by wholesale; wa, ha, ho! And who are her customers? Not base corn-cutters or sowgelders, but most rare wealthy knights, and most rare bountiful lords, are her customers. Again, whereas no trade or vocation profiteth but by the loss and displeasure of another—as the merchant thrives not but by the licentiousness of giddy[20] and unsettled youth; the lawyer, but by the vexation of his client; the physician, but by the maladies of his patient—only my smooth-gumm’d bawd lives by others’ pleasure, and only grows rich by others’ rising. O merciful gain, O righteous in-come! So much for her vocation, trade, and life. As for their death, how can it be bad, since their wickedness is always before their eyes, and a death’s[21] head most commonly on their middle-finger? To conclude, ’tis most certain they must needs both live well and die well, since most commonly they live in Clerkenwell,[22] and die in Bride-well. Dixi, Mary. 158 Enter Freevill and Malheureux. Free. Come along, yonder’s the preface or exordium to my wench, the bawd. Fetch, fetch! What! Mr. Cocledemoy, is your knaveship yet stirring? Look to it, Mulligrub lies[23] for you. Enter Cocledemoy. Coc. The more fool he; I can lie for myself, worshipful friend. Hang toasts! I vanish. Ha! my fine boy, thou art a scholar, and hast read Tully’s Offices, my fine knave. Hang toasts! Free. The vintner will toast you, and he catch you. Coc. I will draw the vintner to the stoop, and when he runs low, tilt him. Ha! my fine knave, art going to thy recreation? 170 Free. Yes, my capricious rascal. Coc. Thou wilt look like a fool then, by and by. Free. Look like a fool, why? Coc. Why, according to the old saying: a beggar when he is lousing of himself, looks like a philosopher; a hard-bound philosopher, when he is on the stool, looks like a tyrant; and a wise man, when he is in his belly act, looks like a fool. God give your worship good rest! grace and mercy keep your syringe straight, and your lotium unspilt. 180 Enter Franceschina. Free. See, sir, this is she. Mal. This? Free. This. Mal. A courtezan?—Now, cold blood defend me! What a propension[24] afflicts me! O, mine aderliver[25] love, vat sall me do to requit dis your mush affection? Free. Marry, salute my friend, clip his neck, and kiss him welcome. A’ mine art, sir, you bin very velcome. 190 Free. Kiss her, man, with a more familiar affection, so. Come, what entertainment? go to your lute. [Exit Franceschina. And how dost approve my sometimes elected? She’s none of your ramping cannibals that devour man’s flesh, nor any of your Curtian gulfs that will never be satisfied until the best thing a man has be thrown into them. I loved her with my heart, until my soul showed me the imperfection of my body, and placed my affection on a lawful love, my modest Beatrice, which if this shortheels knew, there were no being for me with eyes before her face. But, faith, dost thou not somewhat excuse my sometimes incontinency, with her enforcive beauties? Speak. 203 Mal. Hah! she is a whore, is she not? Free. Whore? fie, whore! you may call her a courtezan, a cockatrice,[26] or (as that worthy spirit of an eternal happiness said) a suppository. But whore! fie, ’tis not in fashion to call things by their right names. Is a great merchant a cuckold, you must say he is one of the livery. Is a great lord a fool, you must say he is weak. Is a gallant pocky, you must say he has the court scab. Come, she’s your mistress or so. 212 Enter Franceschina, with her lute. Come, siren, your voice. Fra. Vill not you stay in mine bosom to-night, love? Free. By no means, sweet breast; this gentleman has vow’d to see me chastely laid. Fra. He shall have a bed too, if dat it please him. Free. Peace, you tender him offence; he is one of a professed abstinence. Siren, your voice and away. She sings to her Lute. THE SONG. The dark is my delight, 220
So ’tis the nightingale’s;
My music’s in the night,
So is the nightingale’s;
My body is but little,
So is the nightingale’s;
I love to sleep ’gainst prickle,
So doth the nightingale. Thanks; buss; so. The night grows old; good rest. Fra. Rest to mine dear love; rest, and no long absence. 230 Free. Believe me, not long. Fra. Sall ick not believe you long? [Exit Franceschina.Free. O yes, come, via![27]—away, boy—on! [Exit, his Page lighting him. Re-enter Freevill, and seems to overhear Malheureux. Mal. Is she unchaste—can such a one be damn’d?
O love and beauty! ye two eldest seeds
Of the vast chaos, what strong right you have
Even in things divine—our very souls! Free. [aside.] Wha, ha, ho! come, bird, come. Stand, peace! Mal. Are strumpets then such things so delicate?
Can custom spoil what nature made so good? 240
Or is their custom bad? Beauty’s for use—
I never saw a sweet face vicious!
It might be proud, inconstant, wanton, nice,
But never tainted with unnatural vice.
Their worst is, their best art is love to win—
O that to love should be or shame, or sin! Free. [aside.] By the Lord! he’s caught! Laughter eternal! Mal. Soul, I must love her! Destiny is weak
To my affection.—A common love!—
Blush not, faint breast! 250
That which is ever loved of most is best.
Let colder eld the strong’st objections move,
No love’s without some lust, no life without some love. Free. Nay, come on, good sir; what, though the most odious spectacle the world can present be an immodest vulgar woman? yet, sir, for my sake—— Mal. Well, sir, for your sake, I’ll think better of them. Free. Do, good sir; and pardon me that have brought you in:
You know the sight of vice augments the hate of sin. Mal. Hah! will you go home, sir; ’tis high bedtime? 260 Free. With all my heart, sir; only do not chide me.
I must confess—— Mal. A wanton lover you have been. Free. O that to love should be or shame or sin! Mal. Say ye? Free. Let colder eld the strongest objections move! Mal. How’s this? Free. No love’s without some lust, no life without some love. Go your ways for an apostata! I believe my cast garment must be let out in the seams for you when all is done. 270 Of all the fools that would all man out-thrust,
He that ’gainst Nature would seem wise is worst. [Exeunt. ACT II. SCENE I. Outside Sir Hubert Subboy’s house, under Beatrice’s window. Enter Freevill, Pages with torches and Gentlemen with music. Free. The morn is yet but young. Here, gentlemen,
This is my Beatrice’ window—this the chamber
Of my betrothÈd dearest, whose chaste eyes,
Full of loved sweetness and clear cheerfulness,
Have gaged my soul to her enjoyings;
Shredding away all those weak under-branches
Of base affections and unfruitful heats.
Here bestow your music to my voice. [A song. Enter Beatrice above. Always a virtuous name to my chaste love! Bea. Loved sir, 10
The honour of your wish return to you.
I cannot with a mistress’ compliment,
ForcÈd discourses, or nice art of wit,
Give entertain to your dear-wishÈd presence:
But safely thus,—what hearty gratefulness,
Unsullen silence, unaffected modesty,
And an unignorant shamefastness can express,
Receive as your protested due. ’Faith, my heart,
I am your servant.
O let not my secure simplicity 20
Breed your mislike, as one quite void of skill;
’Tis grace enough in us not to be ill.
I can some good, and, faith, I mean no hurt;
Do not then, sweet, wrong sober ignorance.
I judge you all of virtue, and our vows
Should kill all fears that base distrust can move.
My soul, what say you—still you love? Free. Still!
My vow is up above me, and, like time,
Irrevocable: I am sworn all yours.
No beauty shall untwine our arms, no face 30
In my eyes can or shall seem fair;
And would to God only to me you might
Seem only fair! Let others disesteem
Your matchless graces, so might I safer seem;
Envy I covet not. Far, far be all ostent—
Vain boasts of beauties, soft joys, and the rest:
He that is wise pants on a private breast.
So could I live in desert most unknown,
Yourself to me enough were populous;[28]
Your eyes shall be my joys, my wine that still 40
Shall drown my often cares; your only voice
Shall cast a slumber on my list’ning sense;
You, with soft lip, shall only ope mine eyes
And suck their lids asunder; only you
Shall make me wish to live, and not fear death,
So on your cheeks I might yield latest breath.
O he that thus may live and thus shall die,
May well be envied of a deity.[29] Bea. Dear, my loved heart, be not so passionate;
Nothing extreme lives long. 50 Free. But not to be extreme[30]—nothing in love’s extreme—
My love receives no mean. Bea. I give you faith; and, prithee, since, poor soul!
I am so easy to believe thee, make it much more pity to deceive me!
Wear this slight favour in my remembrance. [Throweth down a ring to him. Free. Which, when I part from,
Hope, the best of life, ever part from me. Bea. I take you and your word, which may ever live your servant. See, day is quite broke up—the best of hours. 61 Free. Good morrow, graceful mistress: our nuptial day holds. Bea. With happy constancy a wishÈd day. [Exit. Free. Myself and all content rest with you. Enter Malheureux. Mal. The studious morn, with paler cheek, draws on
The day’s bold light. Hark how the free-born birds
Carol their unaffected passions! [The nightingales sing. Now sing they sonnets—thus they cry, We love!
O breath of heaven! thus they, harmless souls, 70
Give entertain to mutual affects.
They have no bawds, no mercenary beds,
No polite restraints, no artificial heats,
No faint dissemblings; no custom makes them blush,
No shame afflicts their name. O you happy beasts!
In whom an inborn heat is not held sin,
How far transcend you wretched, wretched man,
Whom national custom, tyrannous respects
Of slavish order, fetters, lames his power,
Calling that sin in us which in all things else 80
Is Nature’s highest virtue.
O miseri quorum gaudia crimen habent!
Sure Nature against virtue cross doth fall,
Or virtue’s self is oft unnatural.
That I should love a strumpet! I, a man of snow!
Now, shame forsake me—whither am I fallen!
A creature of a public use! my friend’s love, too!
To live to be a talk to men—a shame
To my professed virtue! O accursed reason,
How many eyes hast thou to see thy shame, 90
And yet how blind once to prevent defame! Free. Diaboli virtus in lumbis est! Morrow, my friend. Come, I could make a tedious scene of this now; but what——Pah! thou art in love with a courtezan! Why, sir, should we loathe all strumpets, some men should hate their own mothers or sisters: a sin against kind, I can tell you. Mal. May it beseem a wise man to be in love? Free. Let wise men alone, ’twill beseem thee and me well enough. 100 Mal. Shall I not offend the vowe[d] band of our friendship? Free. What, to affect that which thy friend affected? By Heaven, I resign her freely; the creature and I must grow off; by this time she has assure[d]ly heard of my resolved marriage, and no question swears “God’s sacrament, ten towsand divells.” I’ll resign, i’faith. Mal. I would but embrace her, hear her speak, and at the most, but kiss her. Free. O friend, he that could live with the smoke of roast-meat might live at a cheap rate! 111 Mal. I shall ne’er prove heartily received;
A kind of flat ungracious modesty,
An insufficient dulness stains my ’haviour. Free. No matter, sir; insufficiency and sottishness are much commendable in a most discommendable action: now could I swallow thee, thou hadst wont to be so harsh and cold: I’ll tell thee,—hell and the prodigies of angry Jove are not so fearful to a thinking mind as a man without affection. Why, friend, philosophy and nature are all one; love is the centre in which all lines close, the common bond of being. 122 Mal. O but a chaste reservÈd privateness,
A modest continence! Free. I’ll tell thee what, take this as firmest sense:—
Incontinence will force a continence;
Heat wasteth heat, light defaceth light,
Nothing is spoiled but by his proper might.
This is something too weighty for thy floor. Mal. But howsoe’er you shade it, the world’s eye 130
Shines hot and open on’t;
Lying, malice, envy, are held but slidings,
Errors of rage, when custom and the world
Calls lust a crime spotted with blackest terrors. Free. Where errors are held crimes, crimes are but errors. Along, sir, to her; she’s an arrant strumpet; and a strumpet is a sarpego, venom’d gonorrhy to man—things actually possessed [Offers to go out, and suddenly draws back]—yet since thou art in love,—and again, as good make use of a statue—a body without a soul, a carcass three months dead—yet since thou art in love—— Mal. Death, man! my destiny I cannot choose. 142 Free. Nay, I hope so. Again, they sell but only flesh,
No jot affection; so that even in the enjoying, Absentem marmoreamque putes.[31] Yet since you needs must love—— Mal. Unavoidable, though folly—worse than madness! Free. It’s true; but since you needs must love, you must know this,—
He that must love, a fool and he must kiss. Enter Cocledemoy. Master Cocledemoy, ut vales, Domine! 150 Coc. Ago tibi gratias, my worshipful friend, how does your friend? Free. Out, you rascal! Coc. Hang toasts, you are an ass; much o’ your worship’s brain lies in your calves; bread o’ god, boy, I was at supper last night with a new-wean’d bulchin; bread o’ god, drunk, horribly drunk—horribly drunk! there was a wench, one Frank Frailty, a punk, an honest polecat, of a clean instep, sound leg, smooth thigh, and the nimble devil in her buttock. Ah, feast o’ grace! when saw you, Tysefew, or Master Caqueteur, that prattling gallant of a good draught, common customs, fortunate impudence, and sound fart? 163 Free. Away, rogue! Coc. Hang toasts, my fine boy, my companion as worshipful. Mal. Yes, I hear you are taken up with scholars and churchmen. Enter Holifernes the barber. Coc. Quanquam[32] te, Marce, fili, my fine boy. Hol. Does[33] your worship want a barber-surgeon? 170 Free. Farewell, knave; beware the Mulligrubs. [Exeunt Freevill and Malhereux. Coc. Let the Mulligrubs beware the knave. What, a barber-surgeon, my delicate boy? Hol. Yes, sir, an apprentice to surgery. Coc.[34] ’Tis, my fine boy. To what bawdy-house doth your master belong? What’s thy name? Hol. Holifernes Reinscure. Coc. Reinscure! Good Master Holifernes, I desire your further acquaintance; nay, pray ye be covered, my fine boy: kill thy itch, and heal thy scabs. Is thy master rotten? 181 Hol. My father, forsooth, is dead—— Coc. And laid in his grave.
Alas! what comfort shall Peggy then have![35] Hol. None but me, sir; that’s my mother’s son, I assure you. Coc. Mother’s son? A good witty boy, would live to read an homily well: and to whom are you going now?Hol. Marry, forsooth, to trim Master Mulligrub the vintner. 190 Coc. Do you know Master Mulligrub? Hol. My godfather, sir. Coc. Good boy: hold up thy chops. I pray thee do one thing for me: my name is Gudgeon. Hol. Good Master Gudgeon. Coc. Lend me thy basin, razor, and apron. Hol. O Lord, sir![36] Coc. Well spoken; good English. But what’s thy furniture worth? Hol. O Lord, sir, I know not. 200 Coc. Well spoken; a boy of a good wit: hold this pawn; where dost dwell? Hol. At the sign of the Three Razors, sir. Coc. A sign of good shaving, my catastrophonical fine boy. I have an odd jest to trim Master Mulligrub, for a wager; a jest, boy; a humour. I’ll return thy things presently. Hold! Hol. What mean you, good Master Gudgeon? Coc. Nothing, faith, but a jest, boy: drink that; I’ll recoil presently. 210 Hol. You’ll not stay long. Coc. As I am an honest man. The Three Razors? Hol. Ay, sir. [Exit Holifernes. Coc. Good; and if I shave not Master Mulligrub, my wit has no edge, and I may[37] go cack in my pewter. Let me see,—a barber: my scurvy tongue will discover me: must dissemble, must disguise; for my beard, my false hair; for my tongue—Spanish, Dutch or Welsh—no, a Northern barber; very good. Widow Reinscure’s man, well; newly entertain’d, right; so, hang toasts! all cards have white backs, and all knaves would seem to have white breasts: so proceed now, worshipful Cocledemoy. [Exit Cocledemoy, in his barber’s furniture. SCENE II. Franceschina’s lodging. Enter Mary Faugh, and Franceschina with her hair loose, chafing. Mar. Nay, good sweet daughter, do not swagger so; you hear your love is to be married, true; he does cast you off, right; he will leave you to the world,—what then? though blue and white, black and green, leave you, may not red and yellow entertain you? is there but one colour in the rainbow? Fra. Grand grincome[38] on your sentences! God’s sacrament, ten towsand divels take you!—you ha’ brought mine love, mine honour, mine body, all to noting! 10 Mar. To nothing! I’ll be sworn I have brought them to all the things I could; I ha’ made as much o’ your maidenhead—and you had been mine own daughter, I could not ha’ sold your maidenhead oft’ner than I ha’ done. I ha’ sworn for you, God forgive me! I have made you acquainted with the Spaniard, Don Skirtoll,—with the Italian, Messer Beieroane,—with the Irish lord, S. Patrick,—with the Dutch merchant, Haunce Herkin Glukin Skellam Flapdragon,—and specially with the greatest French, and now lastly with this English, yet, in my conscience, an honest gentleman. And am I now grown one of the accursed with you for my labour? Is this my reward? Am I call’d bawd? Well, Mary Faugh, go thy ways, Mary Faugh; thy kind heart will bring thee to the hospital. 25 Fra. Nay, good naunt, you’ll help me to an oder love, vil you not? Mar. Out, thou naughty belly! wouldst thou make me thy bawd?—thou’st best make me thy bawd. I ha’ kept counsel for thee: who paid the apothecary,—was’t not honest Mary Faugh? who redeem’d thy petticoat and mantle,—was’t not honest Mary Faugh? who helped thee to thy custom,—not swaggering Ireland captains, nor of two-shilling inns-o’-court men,—but with honest flat-caps,[39] wealthy flat-caps, that pay for their pleasure the best of any men in Europe, nay, which is more, in London? And dost thou defy me, vile creature? 37 Fra. Foutra[40] pon you,—vitch, bawd, polecat,—paugh! Did not you praise Freevill to mine love? Mar. I did praise, I confess, I did praise him; I said he was a fool, an unthrift, a true whoremaster, I confess; a constant drab-keeper, I confess: but what, the wind is turn’d! Fra. It is, it is, vile woman!—reprobate woman!—naughty woman! it is: vat sall become of mine poor flesh now? mine body must turn Turk for twopence. O Divela, life o’ mine art! ick sall be reveng’d!—do ten thousand hell damn me, ick sall have the rogue trote cut! and his love, and his friend, and all his affinity, sall smart! sall dye! sall hang! Now legion of devil seize him!—de gran pest, St. Anthony’s fire, and de hot Neapolitan poc, rot him! 52 Enter Freevill and Malheureux. Free. Franceschina! Fra. O mine seet, dear’st, kindest, mine loving! O mine towsand, ten towsand, delicated, petty[41] seet art! [Cantat GallicÈ. A[h] mine, a[h] dear leevest affection! Free. Why, monkey, no fashion in you! Give entertain to my friend. Fra. Ick sall make de most of you dat courtesy may. Aunt Mary, Mettre Faugh, stools, stools, for des gallants! Mine mettre sing non oder song,[42]—frolic, frolic, sir!— 61
but still complain me do her wrong. Lighten your heart, sir; for me did but kiss her,—for me did but kiss her—and so let go. Your friend is very heavy; ick sall ne’er like such sad company. Free. No, thou delightest only in light company. Fra. By mine trot, he been very sad; vat ail you, sir? Mal. A tooth-ache, lady, a paltry rheum. Fra. De diet is very goot for de rheum. Free. How far off dwells the house-surgeon, Mary Faugh? 71 Mar. You are a profane fellow, i’faith; I little thought to hear such ungodly terms come from your lips. Fra. Pre de now, ’tis but a toy, a very trifle. Free. I care not for the value, Frank, but i’faith—— Fra. I’fait, me must needs have it (dis is Beatrice’ ring, oh could I get it!); seet, pre de now, as ever you have embraced me with a hearty arm, a warm thought, or a pleasing touch, as ever you will profess to love me, as ever you do wish me life, give me dis ring, dis little ring. 81 Free. Prithee be not uncivilly importunate; sha’ not ha’t; faith, I care not for thee, nor thy jealousy; sha’ not ha’t, i’faith. Fra. You do not love me. I hear of Sir Hubert Subboys’ daughter, Mistress Beatrice. God’s sacrament, ick could scratch out her eyes, and suck the holes! Free. Go; y’ are grown a punk rampant! So, get thee gone; ne’er more behold min eyes, by thee made wretched! 90 Free. Mary Faugh, farewell!—farewell, Frank!Fra. Sall I not ha’ de ring? Free. No, by the Lord! Fra. By te Lord? Free. By the Lord! Fra. Go to your new blouze,—your unproved sluttery,—your modest mettre, forsooth! Free. Marry, will I, forsooth! Fra. Will you marry, forsooth? Free. Do not turn witch before thy time.— 100
With all my heart, sir, you will stay. Mal. I am no whit myself. Video meliora proboque,
But raging lust my fate all strong doth move;
The gods themselves cannot be wise and love. Free. Your wishes to you! [Exit Freevill. Mal. Beauty entirely choice— Fra. Pray ye prove a man of fashion, and neglect the neglected. Mal. Can such a rarity be neglected?—can there be measure or sin in loving such a creature? Fra. O min poor forsaken heart! 110 Mal. I cannot contain,—he saw thee not that left thee.
If there be wisdom, reason, honour, grace,
Of any foolishly-esteemÈd virtue,
In giving o’er possession of such beauty,
Let me be vicious, so I may be loved.
Passion, I am thy slave; sweet, it shall be my grace,
That I account thy love my only virtue:
Shall I swear I am thy most vowÈd servant? Fra. Mine vowed? Go! go! go! I cannot more of love. No! no! no! You bin all unconstant. O unfaithful men—tyrants—betrayers—de very enjoying us loseth us; and when you only ha’ made us hateful, you only hate us. O mine forsaken heart! 123 Mal. I must not rave. Silence and modesty two customary virtues. Will you be my mistress? Fra. Mettres? Ha! ha! ha! Mal. Will you lie with me? Fra. Lie with you? O no; you men will out-lie any woman; fait, me no more can love. Mal. No matter, let me enjoy your bed. 130 Fra. O! vile man, vat do you tinck on me? Do you take me to be a beast—a creature that for sense only will entertain love, and not only for love—love? O! brutish abomination! Mal. Why, then I pray thee love, and with thy love enjoy me—— Fra. Give me reason to affect you. Will you swear you love me? Mal. So seriously, that I protest no office so dangerous—no deed so unreasonable—no cost so heavy, but I vow to the utmost tentation of my best being to effect it. 141 Fra. Sall I, or can I trust again? O fool!
How natural ’tis for us to be abused!
Sall ick be sure that no satiety,
No enjoying,
Not time shall languish your affection? Mal. If there be ought in brain, heart, or hand,
Can make you doubtless, I am your vow’d servant. Fra. Will you do one ting for me?Mal. Can I do it? 150 Fra. Yes, yes; but ick do not love dis same Freevill. Mal. Well? Fra. Nay, I do hate him. Mal. So. Fra. By this kiss I hate him. Mal. I love to feel such oaths; swear again. Fra. No, no. Did you ever hear of any that loved at the first sight? Mal. A thing most proper. Fra. Now fait, I judge it all incredible until this hour I saw you: pretty fair-eyed yout, would you enjoy me? 162 Mal. Rather than my breath, even as my being. Fra. Vel! had ick not made a vow—— Mal. What vow? Fra. O let me forget it; it makes us both despair! Mal. Dear soul, what vow? Fra. Ha, good morrow, gentle sir; endeavour to forget me, as I must be enforced to forget all men. Sweet mind rest in you. 170 Mal. Stay, let not thy desire burst me. O my impatient heat endures no resistance—no protraction! there is no being for me but your sudden enjoying. Fra. I do not love Freevill. Mal. But what vow? what vow? Fra. So long as Freevill lives, I must not love. Mal. Then he— Fra. Must— Mal. Die! Fra. I [k]no[w] there is no such vehemence in your affects. 180
Would I were anything, so he were not! Mal. Will you be mine when he is not? Fra. Will I? Dear, dear breast, by this most zealous kiss! but I will not persuade you; but if you hate him that I loathe most deadly; yet as you please—I’ll persuade noting. Mal. Will you be only mine? Fra. Vill I? How hard ’tis for true love to dissemble.
I am only yours. Mal. ’Tis as irrevocable as breath: he dies. 190
Your love! Fra. My vow,—not until he be dead;
Which that I may be sure not to infringe,
Dis token of his death sall satisfy:
He has a ring, as dear as the air to him,
His new love’s gift; tat got and brought to me,
I shall assurÈd your professÈd rest. Mal. To kill a man? Fra. O! done safely; a quarrel sudden pick’d,
With an advantage strike—then bribe—a little coin,
All’s safe, dear soul; but I’ll not set you on. 200 Mal. Nay, he is gone—the ring! Well, come, little more liberal of thy love. Fra. Not yet; my vow. Mal. O Heaven! there is no hell but love’s prolongings.
Dear, farewell. Fra. Farewell.
Now does my heart swell high, for my revenge
Has birth and form; first friend sall kill his friend.
He dat survives I’ll hang; besides de chaste
Beatrice I’ll vex. Only de ring; 210
Dat got, the world sall know the worst of evils:
Woman corrupted is the worst of devils. [Exit Franceschina. Mal. To kill my friend! O ’tis to kill myself!
Yet man’s but man’s excrement—man breeding man
As he does worms; or this, to spoil this nothing. [He spits. The body of a man is of the self-same mould[43]
As ox or horse; no murder to kill these.
As for that only part which makes us man,
Murder wants power to touch’t. O wit, how vile!
How hellish art thou, when thou raisest nature 220
’Gainst sacred faith! Think more: to kill a friend
To gain a woman! to lose a virtuous self
For appetite and sensual end, whose very having
Loseth all appetite, and gives satiety!
That corporal end, remorse and inward blushings,
Forcing us loathe the steam of our own heats;
Whilst friendship closed in virtue, being spiritual,
Tastes no such languishings, and moments’ pleasure
With much repentance; but like rivers flow,
And further that they run they bigger grow. 230
Lord, how was I misgone! how easy ’tis to err,
When passion will not give us leave to think!
A learn’d, that is an honest man, may fear,
And lust, and rage, and malice,[44] and anything,
When he is taken uncollected suddenly:
’Tis sin of cold blood, mischief with waked eyes,
That is the damnÈd and the truly[45] vice;
Not he that’s passionless, but he ’bove passion’s wise.
My friend shall know it all. [Exit. SCENE III. A Tavern. Enter Master Mulligrub and Mistress Mulligrub, she with a bag of money. Mistress Mul. It is right, I assure you, just fifteen pounds. Mul. Well, Cocledemoy, ’tis thou putt’st me to this charge; but, and I catch thee, I’ll charge thee with as many irons. Well, is the barber come? I’ll be trimm’d, and then to Cheapside to buy a fair piece of plate, to furnish the loss. Is the barber come? Mistress Mul. Truth, husband, surely heaven is not pleased with our vocation. We do wink at the sins of our people. Our wines are protestants; and I speak it to my grief, and to the burthen of my conscience, we fry our fish with salt butter. 12 Mul. Go, look to your business; mend the matter, and score false with a vengeance. [Exit Mistress Mulligrub. Enter Cocledemoy like a barber.. Welcome, friend, whose man? Coc. Widow Reinscure’s man; and shall please your good worship, my name’s Andrew Shark. Mul. How does my godson, good Andrew? Coc. Very well, he’s gone to trim Master Quicquid, our parson. Hold up your head. 20 Mul. How long have you been a barber, Andrew? Coc. Not long, sir; this two year. Mul. What! and a good workman already. I dare scarce trust my head to thee. Coc. O, fear not; we ha’ poll’d better men than you; we learn the trade very quickly. Will your good worship be shaven or cut? Mul. As you will. What trade didst live by before thou turnedst barber, Andrew? Coc. I was a pedlar in Germany; but my countrymen thrive better by this trade. 31 Mul. What’s the news, barber? thou art sometimes at court. Coc. Sometimes poll a page or so, sir. Mul. And what’s the news? How do all my good lords and all my good ladies, and all the rest of my acquaintance?Coc. What an arrogant knave’s this! I’ll acquaintance ye! ’Tis cash!—[He spieth the bag.]—Say ye, sir? Mul. And what news—what news, good Andrew? 40 Coc. Marry, sir, you know the Conduit at Greenwich, and the under-holes that spouts up water? Mul. Very well; I was wash’d there one day, and so was my wife—you might have wrung her smock, i’faith! But what o’ those holes? Coc. Thus, sir. Out of those little holes, in the midst of the night, crawl’d out twenty-four huge, horrible, monstrous, fearful, devouring—— Mul. Bless us! 49 Coc. Serpents, which no sooner were beheld, but they turn’d to mastiffs, which howl’d; those mastiffs instantly turn’d to cocks, which crowed; those cocks, in a moment, were changed to bears, which roar’d; which bears are at this hour to be yet seen in Paris Garden, living upon nothing but toasted cheese and green onions. Mul. By the Lord! and this may be, my wife and I will go see them. This portends something. Coc. [aside.] Yes, worshipful fist,[46] thou’st feel what portends by and by. 59 Mul. And what more news? You shave the world—especially you barber-surgeons—you know the ground of many things. You are cunning privy searchers: by the mass, you scour all. What more news? Coc. They say, sir, that twenty-five couple of Spanish jennets are to be seen, hand in hand, dance the old measures,[47] whilst six goodly Flaunders mares play to them on a noise[48] of flutes. Mul. O monstrous! this is a lie o’ my word. Nay, and this be not a lie—I am no fool, I warrant—nay, make an ass of me once? 70 Coc. Shut your eyes close—wink; sure, sir, this ball will make you smart. Mul. I do wink. Coc. Your head will take cold; [Cocledemoy puts on a coxcomb on Mulligrub’s head.] I will put on your good worship’s nightcap whilst I shave you. So, mum, hang toasts! Faugh, via![49] sparrows must peck and Cocledemoy munch. 77 Mul. Ha, ha, ha! Twenty-five couple of Spanish jennets to dance the old measures. Andrew makes my worship laugh, i’faith. Dost take me for an ass, Andrew?—dost know one Cocledemoy in town? He made me an ass last night, but I’ll ass him! Art thou free, Andrew? Shave me well—I shall be one of the common council shortly—and then, Andrew—why, Andrew, Andrew, dost leave me in the suds? CANTAT. Why, Andrew, I shall be blind with winking. Ha! Andrew—wife—Andrew, what means this? Wife!—my money, wife! 88 Enter Mistress Mulligrub. Mistress Mul. What’s the noise with you? What ail you? Mul. Where’s the barber? Mistress Mul. Gone. I saw him depart long since. Why, are not you trimm’d? Mul. Trimm’d! O wife! I am shaved. Did you take hence the money? Mistress Mul. I touch’d it not, as I am religious. Mul. O Lord! I have wink’d fair. Enter Holifernes. Hol. I pray, godfather, give me your blessing. Mul. O Holifernes—O where’s thy mother’s Andrew? 100 Hol. Blessing, godfather! Mul. The devil choke thee! where’s Andrew, thy mother’s man? Hol. My mother hath none such, forsooth. Mul. My money—fifteen pounds—plague of all Andrews! who was’t trimm’d me? Hol. I know not, godfather; only one met me, as I was coming to you, and borrowed my furniture, as he said, for a jest’ sake. Mul. What kind of fellow? 110 Hol. A thick, elderly, stub-bearded fellow. Mul. Cocledemoy, Cocledemoy! Raise all the wise men in the street! I’ll hang him with mine own hands! O wife! some rosa solis.[50] Mistress Mul. Good husband, take comfort in the Lord; I’ll play the devil, but I’ll recover it. Have a good conscience, ’tis but a week’s cutting[51] in the term! Mul. O, wife! O, wife! O, Jack! how does thy mother? Is there any fiddlers in the house? Mistress Mul. Yes, Master Creak’s[52] noise? 120 Mul. Bid ’em play, laugh, make merry; cast up my accounts, for I’ll go hang myself presently. I will not curse, but a pox on Cocledemoy; he has poll’d and shaved me, he has trimm’d me! [Exeunt. ACT III. SCENE I. Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house. Enter Beatrice, Crispinella and Nurse Putifer. Put. Nay, good child o’ love, once more Master Freevill’s sonnet o’ the kiss you gave him. Bea. Sha’t, good nurse: [Sings. Purest lips, soft banks of blisses,
Self alone deserving kisses;
O give me leave to, &c. Cri. Pish! sister Beatrice, prithee read no more; my stomach o’ late stands against kissing extremely. Bea. Why, good Crispinella? 9 Cri. By the faith and trust I bear to my face, ’tis grown one of the most unsavoury ceremonies: body o’ beauty! ’tis one of the most unpleasing injurious customs to ladies: any fellow that has but one nose on his face, and standing collar and skirts also lined with taffety sarcenet, must salute us on the lips as familiarly—Soft skins save us! there was a stub-bearded John-a-Stile with a ployden’s face saluted me last day and struck his bristles through my lips; I ha’ spent ten shillings in pomatum since to skin them again. Marry, if a nobleman or a knight with one lock visit us, though his unclean goose-turd-green[53] teeth ha’ the palsy, his nostrils smell worse than a putrified marrowbone, and his loose beard drops into our bosom, yet we must kiss him with a cursy, a curse! for my part, I had as lieve they would break wind in my lips. 25 Bea. Fie, Crispinella, you speak too broad. Cri. No jot, sister; let’s ne’er be ashamed to speak what we be not ashamed to think: I dare as boldly speak venery as think venery. Bea. Faith, sister! I’ll begone if you speak so broad. Cri. Will you so? Now bashfulness seize you, we pronounce boldly, robbery, murder, treason, which deeds must needs be far more loathsome than an act which is so natural, just, and necessary, as that of procreation; you shall have an hypocritical vestal virgin speak that with close teeth publicly, which she will receive with open mouth privately; for my own part, I consider nature without apparel; without disguising of custom or compliment, I give thoughts words, and words truth, and truth boldness; she whose honest freeness makes it her virtue to speak what she thinks will make it her necessity to think what is good. I love no prohibited things, and yet I would have nothing prohibited by policy, but by virtue; for as in the fashion of time those books that are call’d in are most in sale and request,[54] so in nature those actions that are most prohibited are most desired. 47 Bea. Good quick sister, stay your pace; we are private, but the world would censure you, for truly severe modesty is women’s virtue. Cri. Fie, fie! virtue is a free, pleasant, buxom quality. I love a constant countenance well; but this froward ignorant coyness, sour austere lumpish uncivil privateness, that promises nothing but rough skins and hard stools; ha! fie on’t, good for nothing but for nothing. Well, nurse, and what do you conceive of all this? 57 Put. Nay, faith, my conceiving days be done. Marry for kissing, I’ll defend that; that’s within my compass; but for my own part, here’s Mistress Beatrice is to be married with the grace of God; a fine gentleman he is shall have her, and I warrant a strong; he has a leg like a post, a nose like a lion, a brow like a bull, and a beard of most fair expectation: this week you must marry him, and I now will read a lecture to you both, how you shall behave yourselves to your husbands the first month of your nuptial; I ha’ broke my skull about it, I can tell you, and there is much brain in it. Cri. Read it to my sister, good nurse, for I assure you I’ll ne’er marry. 70 Put. Marry, God forfend, what will you do then? Cri. Faith, strive against the flesh. Marry! no, faith, husbands are like lots in the lottery: you may draw forty blanks before you find one that has any prize in him. A husband generally is a careless, domineering thing, that grows like coral, which as long as it is under water is soft and tender, but as soon as it has got his branch above the waves is presently hard, stiff, not to be bowed but burst; so when your husband is a suitor and under your choice, Lord how supple he is, how obsequious, how at your service, sweet lady! Once married, got up his head above, a stiff, crooked, nobby, inflexible tyrannous creature he grows; then they turn like water, more you would embrace the less you hold. I’ll live my own woman, and if the worst come to the worst, I had rather prove a wag than a fool. 86 Bea. O, but a virtuous marriage. Cri. Virtuous marriage! there is no more affinity betwixt virtue and marriage than betwixt a man and his horse; indeed virtue gets up upon marriage sometimes, and manageth it in the right way; but marriage is of another piece, for as a horse may be without a man, and a man without a horse, so marriage, you know, is often without virtue, and virtue, I am sure, more oft without marriage. But thy match, sister—by my troth I think ’twill do well; he’s a well-shaped, clean-lipp’d gentleman, of a handsome, but not affected, fineness, a good faithful eye, and a well-humour’d cheek; would he did not stoop in the shoulders, for thy sake. See, here he is. Enter Freevill and Tysefew. Free. Good day, sweet! 100 Cri. Good morrow, brother! nay, you shall have my lip. Good morrow, servant! Tyse. Good morrow, sweet life! Cri. Life! dost call thy mistress life? Tyse. Life! yes, why not life? Cri. How many mistresses hast thou? Tyse. Some nine. Cri. Why then thou hast nine lives, like a cat. Tyse. Mew, you would be taken up for that. 109 Cri. Nay, good, let me still sit; we low statures love still to sit, lest when we stand we may be supposed to sit. Tyse. Dost not wear high cork shoes—chopines?[55] Cri. Monstrous ones: I am, as many other are, pieced above and pieced beneath. Tyse. Still the best part in the—— Cri. And yet all will scarce make me so high as one of the giants’[56] stilts that stalks before my Lord Mayor’s pageant:Tyse. By the Lord, so I thought ’twas for something Mistress Joyce jested at thy high insteps. 121 Cri. She might well enough, and long enough, before I would be ashamed of my shortness: what I made or can mend myself I may blush at; but what nature put upon me, let her be ashamed for me, I ha’ nothing to do with it. I forget my beauty. Tyse. Faith, Joyce is a foolish bitter creature. Cri. A pretty mildewed wench she is. Tyse. And fair—— Cri. As myself! 130 Tyse. O you forget your beauty now. Cri. Troth, I never remember my beauty, but as some men do religion,—for controversy’s sake. Bea. A motion,[57] sister. Cri. Nineveh,[58] Julius CÆsar, Jonas, or the destruction of Jerusalem. Bea. My love, hear. Cri. Prithee call him not love, ’tis the drab’s phrase: nor sweet honey, nor my coney, nor dear duckling, they[59] are citizen terms, but call him—— 140 Bea. What? Cri. Anything.—What’s the motion?Bea. You know this night our parents have intended solemnly to contract us, and my love, to grace the feast, hath promised a masque. Free. You’ll make one, Tysefew, and Caqueteur shall fill up a room. Tyse. ’Fore heaven, well-remember’d; he borrowed a diamond of me last night to grace his finger in your visitation. The lying creature will swear some strange thing on it now. 151 Enter Caqueteur. Cri. Peace, he’s here; stand close, lurk. Caq. Good morrow, most dear, and worthy to be most wise. How does my mistress? Cri. Morrow, sweet servant; you glister,—prithee, let’s see that stone. Caq. A toy, lady, I bought to please my finger. Cri. Why, I am more precious to you than your finger. Caq. Yes, or than all my body, I swear. 160 Cri. Why, then let it be bought to please me; come, I am no professed beggar. Caq. Troth, mistress! Zoons! Forsooth, I protest! Cri. Nay, if you turn Protestant for such a toy. Caq. In good deed, la; another time I’ll give you a—— Cri. Is this yours to give? Caq. O God! forsooth mine, quoth you; nay, as for that—— 170Cri. Now I remember, I ha’ seen this on my servant Tysefew’s finger. Caq. Such another. Cri. Nay, I am sure this is it. Caq. Troth, ’tis forsooth. The poor fellow wanted money to pay for supper last night, and so pawn’d it to me; ’tis a pawn, i’faith, or else you should have it. Tyse. Hark ye, thou base lying—How dares thy impudence hope to prosper? Were’t not for the privilege of this respected company, I would so bang thee. 180 Cri. Come hither, servant. What’s the matter betwixt you two? Caq. Nothing; but hark you, he did me some uncivil discourtesies last night; for which, because I should not call him to account, he desires to make me any satisfaction. The coward trembles at my very presence; but I ha’ him on the hip; I’ll take the forfeit on his ring. Tyse. What’s that you whisper to her? 189 Caq. Nothing, sir; but satisfy her that the ring was not pawn’d, but only lent by you to grace my finger; and so told her I craved pardon for being too familiar, or indeed over-bold with your reputation. Cri. Yes, indeed, he did. He said you desired to make him any satisfaction for an uncivil discourtesy you did him last night; but he said he had you o’ the hip, and would take the forfeit of your ring. Tyse. How now, ye base poltroon. Caq. Hold! hold! my mistress speaks by contraries. Tyse. Contraries! 200Caq. She jests—faith, only jests. Cri. Sir, I’ll no more o’ your service—you are a child—I’ll give you to my nurse. Put. And he come to me, I can tell you, as old as I am, what to do with him. Caq. I offer my service, forsooth. Tyse. Why, so: now, every dog has his bone to gnaw on. Free. The masque holds, Master Caqueteur. Caq. I am ready, sir. Mistress, I’ll dance with you, ne’er fear—I’ll grace you. 211 Put. I tell you, I can my singles and my doubles, and my trick o’ twenty[60]—my carantapace—my traverse forward—and my falling back, yet, i’faith. Bea. Mine! The provision for the night is ours. Much must be our care; till night we leave you; I am your servant, be not tyrannous. Your virtue won me; faith, my love’s not lust; Good, wrong me not; my most fault is much trust. Free. Until night only, my heart be with you. Farewell, sister. 221 Cri. Adieu, brother. Come on, sister, for these sweetmeats. Free. Let’s meet and practise presently. Tyse. Content; we’ll but fit our pumps. Come, ye pernicious vermin. [Exeunt all but Freevill. Enter Malheureux. Free. My friend, wished hours! What news from Babylon?
How does the woman of sin and natural concupiscence? Mal. The eldest child of nature ne’er beheld
So damn’d a creature. 230 Free. What! In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas?
Which way bears the tide? Mal. Dear loved sir, I find a mind courageously vicious may be put on a desperate security; but can never be blessed with a firm enjoying and self-satisfaction. Free. What passion is this, my dear Lindabrides?[61] Mal. ’Tis well; we both may jest; I ha’ been tempted to your death. Free. What, is the rampant cocatrice grown mad for the loss of her men? 241 Mal. Devilishly mad. Free. As most assured of my second love? Mal. Right. Free. She would have had this ring. Mal. Ay, and this heart; and in true proof you were slain, I should bring her this ring, from which she was assured
You would not part until from life you parted;
For which deed, and only for which deed, I should possess her sweetness. 251 Free. O! bloody villains! Nothing is defamed but by his proper self. Physicians abuse remedies; lawyers spoil the law; and women only shame women. You ha’ vow’d my death? Mal. My lust, not I, before my reason would; yet I must use her. That I, a man of sense, should conceive endless pleasure in a body whose soul I know to be so hideously black! 259 Free. That a man at twenty-three should cry, O sweet pleasure! and at forty-three should sigh, O sharp pox! But consider man furnished with omnipotence, and you overthrow him; thou must cool thy impatient appetite. ’Tis fate, ’tis fate! Mal. I do malign my creation that I am subject to passion. I must enjoy her. Free. I have it, mark. I give a masque to-night
To my love’s kindred; in that thou shalt go.
In that we two make show of falling out.
Give seeming challenge—instantly depart, 270
With some suspicion to present fight.
We will be seen as going to our swords;
And after meeting, this ring only lent,
I’ll lurk in some obscure place, till rumour
(The common bawd to loose suspicions)
Have feign’d me slain, which (in respect myself
Will not be found, and our late seeming quarrel)
Will quickly sound to all as earnest truth.
Then to thy wench; protest me surely dead;
Show her this ring, enjoy her, and, blood cold, 280
We’ll laugh at folly.Mal. O but think of it! Free. Think of it! come away; virtue, let sleep thy passions;
What old times held as crimes, are now but fashions. [Exeunt. SCENE II. House of Master Burnish, the jeweller. Enter Master Burnish[62] and Lionel. Master Mulligrub, with a standing cup in his hand, and an obligation[63] in the other. Cocledemoy stands at the other door, disguised like a French pedlar, and overhears them. Mul. I am not at this time furnish’d; but there’s my bond for your plate. Bur. Your bill had been sufficient: y’are a good[64] man. A standing cup parcel-gilt[65] of thirty-two ounces, eleven pounds seven shillings, the first of July. Good plate—good man—good day—good all. Mul. ’Tis my hard fortune; I will hang the knave. No, first he shall half rot in fetters in the dungeon—his conscience made despairful. I’ll hire a knave o’ purpose—shall assure him he is damn’d; and after see him with mine own eyes, hang’d without singing any psalm. Lord, that he has but one neck! 12 Bur. You are too tyrannous;—you’ll use me no further? Mul. No, sir; lend me your servant, only to carry the plate home. I have occasion of an hour’s absence. Bur. With easy consent, sir.—Haste and be careful. [Exit Burnish. Mul. Be very careful, I pray thee,—to my wife’s own hands. Lio. Secure yourself, sir. 20 Mul. To her own hand! Lio. Fear not, I have delivered greater things than this to a woman’s own hand. Coc. Mounsier, please you to buy a fine delicate ball, sweet ball—a camphor ball? Mul. Prithee, away! [Exit Lionel. Coc. Wun’[66] a ball to scour—a scouring ball—a ball to be shaved! Mul. For the love of God! talk not of shaving. I have been shaved—mischief and a thousand devils seize him!—I have been shaved! 31 [Exit Mulligrub. Coc. The fox grows fat when he is cursed—I’ll shave ye smoother yet. Turd on a tile stone! my lips have a kind of rheum at this bole. I’ll have’t—I’ll gargalise my throat with this vintner, and when I have done with him, spit him out. I’ll shark! Conscience does not repine. Were I to bite an honest gentleman, a poor grogaran poet, or a penurious parson that had but ten pigs’ tails in a twelvemonth, and, for want of learning, had but one good stool in a fortnight, I were damn’d beyond the works of supererogation; but to wring the withers of my gouty-barm’d spiggod-frigging jumbler of elements, Mulligrub, I hold it as lawful as sheep-shearing, taking eggs from hens, caudles from asses, or butter’d shrimps from horses—they make no use of them, were not provided for them. And, therefore, worshipful Cocledemoy, hang toasts! On, in grace and virtue to proceed, only beware, beware degrees. There be rounds in a ladder, and knots in a halter; ware carts, hang toasts, the common council has decreed it! I must draw a lot for the great goblet. [Exit. 51 SCENE III. A Tavern. Enter Mistress Mulligrub, and Lionel with a goblet. Mistress Mul. Nay, I pray you, stay and drink; and how does your mistress? I know her very well—I have been inward with her, and so has many more. She was ever a good, patient creature, i’faith! With all my heart, I’ll remember your master, an honest man. He knew me before I was married! An honest man he is, and a crafty. He comes forward in the world well, I warrant him; and his wife is a proper woman, that she is. Well, she has been as proper a woman as any in Cheap. She paints now, and yet she keeps her husband’s old customers to him still. In troth, a fine-faced wife, in a wainscot-carved seat,[67] is a worthy ornament to a tradesman’s shop, and an attractive, I warrant; her husband shall find it in the custom of his ware, I’ll assure him. God be with you, good youth; I acknowledge the receipt. [Exit Lionel.] I acknowledge all the receipt—sure, ’tis very well spoken—I acknowledge the receipt. Thus ’tis to have good education, and to be brought up in a tavern. I do keep as gallant and as good company, though I say it, as any she in London. Squires, gentlemen, and knights diet at my table, and I do lend some of them money; and full many fine men go upon my score, as simple as I stand here, and I trust them; and truly they very knightly and courtly promise fair, give me very good words, and a piece of flesh when time of year serves. Nay, though my husband be a citizen, and’s cap’s made of wool,[68] yet I ha’ wit, and can see my good as soon as another, for I have all the thanks; my silly husband, alas! he knows nothing of it; ’tis I that bear—’tis I that must bear a brain[69] for all. Enter Cocledemoy. Coc. Fair hour to you, mistress! 31 Mistress Mul. Fair hour!—fine term!—faith, I’ll score it up anon.—A beautiful thought to you, sir. Coc. Your husband, and my master, Mr. Burnish,[70] has sent you a jole of fresh salmon, and they both will come to dinner to season your new cup with the best wine, which cup your husband entreats you to send back by me, that his arms may be graved a’ the side, which he forgot before it was sent. Mistress Mul. By what token are you sent?—by no token? Nay, I have wit. 41 Coc. He sent me by the same token, that he was dry shaved this morning. Mistress Mul. A sad token, but true. Here, sir, I pray you commend me to your master, but especially to your mistress. Tell them they shall be most sincerely welcome. [Exit. Coc. Shall be most sincerely welcome! Worshipful Cocledemoy, lurk close. Hang toasts! Be not ashamed of thy quality! Every man’s turd smells well in’s own nose. Vanish, foyst! 51 [Exit. Re-enter Mistress Mulligrub, with servants and furniture for the table. Mistress Mul. Come, spread these table diaper napkins, and—do you hear—perfume this parlour; does so smell of profane tobacco. I could never endure this ungodly tobacco, since one of our elders assured me, upon his knowledge, tobacco was not used in the congregation of the family of love. Spread, spread handsomely—Lord? these boys do things arsy-versy—you show your bringing up. I was a gentlewoman by my sister’s side—I can tell ye so methodically. Methodically! I wonder where I got that word? O! Sir Aminadab Ruth bad me kiss him methodically!—I had it somewhere, and I had it indeed. 63 Enter Master Mulligrub. Mul. Mind, be not desperate; I’ll recover all.
All things with me shall seem honest that can be profitable,
He must ne’er winch, that would or thrive or save,
To be call’d niggard, cuckold, cut-throat, knave! Mistress Mul. Are they come, husband? Mul. Who?—what?—how now? What feast towards in my private parlour? 70 Mistress Mul. Pray leave your foolery! What, are they come? Mul. Come—who come? Mistress Mul. You need not make’t so strange! Mul. Strange? Mistress Mul. Ay, strange. You know no man that sent me word that he and his wife would come to dinner to me, and sent this jole of fresh salmon beforehand? Mul. Peace—not I—peace! The messenger hath mistaken the house; let’s eat it up quickly before it be inquired for. Sit to it—some vinegar—quick! Some good luck yet. Faith, I never tasted salmon relish better! Oh! when a man feeds at other men’s cost! 83 Mistress Mul. Other men’s cost! Why, did not you send this jole of salmon? Mul. No. Mistress Mul. By Master Burnish’[71] man? Mul. No. Mistress Mul. Sending me word that he and his wife would come to dinner to me? 90 Mul. No, no. Mistress Mul. To season my new bowl? Mul. Bowl! Mistress Mul. And withal will’d me to send the bowl back. Mul. Back! Mistress Mul. That you might have your arms graved on the side? Mul. Ha! Mistress Mul. By the same token you were dry-shaven this morning before you went forth. 101 Mul. Pah! how this salmon stinks! Mistress Mul. And thereupon sent the bowl back, prepar’d dinner—nay, and I bear not a brain. Mul. Wife, do not vex me! Is the bowl gone?—is it deliver’d? Mistress Mul. Deliver’d! Yes, sure, ’tis deliver’d.Mul. I will never more say my prayers. Do not make me mad; ’tis common. Let me not cry like a woman. Is it gone? 110 Mistress Mul. Gone? God is my witness, I deliver’d it with no more intention to be cozen’d on’t than the child new born; and yet—— Mul. Look to my house! I am haunted with evil spirits! Hear me; do hear me! If I have not my goblet again, heaven! I’ll to the devil,—I’ll to a conjurer. Look to my house! I’ll raise all the wise men i’ the street. [Exit. Mistress Mul. Deliver us! What words are these? I trust in God he is but drunk, sure. 120 Re-enter Cocledemoy. Coc. I must have the salmon too; worship[ful] Cocledemoy, now for the masterpiece. God bless thy neckpiece, and foutra!—Fair mistress, my master—— Mistress Mul. Have I caught you?—what, Roger? Coc. Peace, good mistress. I’ll tell you all. A jest; a very mere jest: your husband only took sport to fright you:—the bowl’s at my master’s; and there is your husband, who sent me in all haste lest you should be over-frighted with his feigning, to come to dinner to him. 130 Mistress Mul. Praise heaven it is no worse. Coc. And desired me to desire you to send the jole of salmon before, and yourself to come after to them; my mistress would be right glad to see you. Mistress Mul. I pray carry it. Now thank them entirely. Bless me, I was never so out of my skin in my life! pray thank your mistress most entirely. Coc. So now, figo! worshipful Mall Faugh and I will munch; cheaters and bawds go together like washing and wringing. 140 [Exit. Mistress Mul. Beshrew his heart for his labour, how everything about[72] me quivers. What, Christian! my hat and aporn:[73] here, take my sleeves. And how I tremble! so I’ll gossip it now for’t, that’s certain; here has been revolutions and false fires indeed. Enter Mulligrub. Mul. Whither now?—what’s the matter with you now?—whither are you a-gadding? Mistress Mul. Come, come, play the fool no more. Will you go? Mul. Whither, in the rank name of madness—whither? Mistress Mul. Whither?—why to Master Burnish,[74] to eat the jole of salmon. Lord, how strange you make it! 153 Mul. Why so?—why so? Mistress Mul. Why so? Why, did not you send the self-same fellow for the jole of salmon that had the cup? Mul. ’Tis well,—’tis very well. Mistress Mul. And will’d me to come and eat it with you at the goldsmith’s?Mul. O, ay, ay, ay,—art in thy right wits? 160 Mistress Mul. Do you hear?—make a fool of somebody else; and you make an ass of me, I’ll make an ox of you,—do ye see? Mul. Nay, wife, be patient; for, look you, I may be mad, or drunk, or so; for my own part, though you can bear more than I, yet I can do well. I will not curse nor cry,[75] but Heaven knows what I think. Come, let’s go hear some music; I will never more say my prayers. Let’s go hear some doleful music. Nay, if Heaven forget to prosper knaves, I’ll go no more to the synagogue. Now I am discontented, I’ll turn sectary; that is fashion. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house. Enter Sir Hubert Subboys, Sir Lionel Freevill, Crispinella; servants with lights. Sir Hub. More lights! Welcome, Sir Lionel Freevill! brother Freevill, shortly. Look to your lights! Serv. The masquers are at hand. Sir Lio. Call down our daughter. Hark! they are at hand: rank handsomely. Enter the Masquers; they dance. Enter Beatrice, Freevill, and Malheureux. Malheureux takes Beatrice from Freevill: they draw. Free. Know, sir, I have the advantage of the place;
You are not safe: I would deal even with you. Mal. So. [They exchange gloves as pledges. Free. So. Bea. I do beseech you, sweet, do not for me provoke your fortune. 11Sir Lio. What sudden flaw is risen? Sir Hub. From whence comes this? Free. An ulcer, long time lurking, now is burst. Sir Hub. Good sir, the time and your designs are soft. Bea. Ay, dear sir, counsel him, advise him; ’twill relish well
From your carving. Good my sweet, rest safe. Free. All’s well! all’s well!—this shall be ended straight. Sir Hub. The banquet stays;—there we’ll discourse more large. Free. Marriage must not make men cowards. Sir Lio. Nor rage fools. 19 Sir Hub. ’Tis valour not where heat but reason rules. [Exeunt; only Tysefew and Crispinella stay. Tyse. But do you hear, lady?—you proud ape, you! What was the jest you brake of me even now? Cris. Nothing. I only said you were all mettle;—that you had a brazen face, a leaden brain, and a copper beard. Tyse. Quicksilver,—thou little more than a dwarf, and something less than a woman. Cris. A wisp! a wisp! a wisp!—will you go to the banquet? Tyse. By the Lord, I think thou wilt marry shortly too; thou growest somewhat foolish already. 31 Cris. O, i’faith, ’tis a fair thing to be married, and a necessary. To hear this word must! If our husbands be proud, we must bear his contempt; if noisome, we must bear with the goat under his armholes; if a fool, we must bear his bable;[76] and, which is worse, if a loose liver, we must live upon unwholesome reversions; where, on the contrary side, our husbands—because they may, and we must—care not for us. Things hoped with fear, and got with strugglings, are men’s high pleasures, when duty palls and flats their appetite. 41 Tyse. What a tart monkey is this! By heaven! if thou hadst not so much wit, I could find in my heart to marry thee. Faith, bear with me for all this! Cris. Bear with thee? I wonder how thy mother could bear thee ten months in her belly, when I cannot endure thee two hours in mine eye. Tyse. Alas, for your sweet soul! By the Lord, you are grown a proud, scurvy, apish, idle, disdainful, scoffing—God’s foot! because you have read Euphues and his England,[77] Palmerin de Oliva,[78] and the Legend of Lies![79] 52 Cris. Why, i’faith, yet, servant, you of all others should bear with my known unmalicious humours: I have always in my heart given you your due respect. And Heaven may be sworn, I have privately given fair speech of you, and protested—— Tyse. Nay, look you; for my own part, if I have not as religiously vow’d my heart to you,—been drunk to your health, swallowed flap-dragons,[80] ate glasses, drunk urine,[81] stabb’d arms,[82] and done all the offices of protested gallantry for your sake; and yet you tell me I have a brazen face, a leaden brain, and a copper beard! Come, yet, and it please you. 64 Cris. No, no;—you do not love me. Tyse. By —— but I do now; and whosoever dares say that I do not love you, nay, honour you, and if you would vouchsafe to marry—— Cris. Nay, as for that, think on’t as you will, but God’s my record,—and my sister knows I have taken drink and slept upon’t,—that if ever I marry, it shall be you; and I will marry, and yet I hope I do not say it shall be you neither. 73 Tyse. By Heaven, I shall be as soon weary of health as of your enjoying!—Will you cast a smooth cheek upon me? Cris. I cannot tell. I have no crump’d shoulders, my back needs no mantle, and yet marriage is honourable. Do you think ye shall prove a cuckold? Tyse. No, by the Lord, not I! 80 Cris. Why, I thank you, i’faith. Heigho! I slept on my back this morning, and dreamt the strangest dreams. Good Lord! How things will come to pass! Will you go to the banquet? Tyse. If you will be mine, you shall be your own:—my purse, my body, my heart, is yours,—only be silent in my house, modest at my table, and wanton in my bed;—and the Empress of Europe cannot content, and shall not be contented, better. 89 Cris. Can any kind heart speak more discreetly affectionately? My father’s consent; and as for mine—— Tyse. Then thus, and thus, so Hymen should begin; Sometimes a falling out proves falling in. [Exeunt. SCENE II. Near Sir Hubert Subboys’ house. Enter Freevill, speaking to some within; Malheureux at the other door. Free. As you respect my virtue, give me leave
To satisfy my reason, though not blood.—
So all runs right; our feignÈd rage hath ta’en
To fullest life: they are much possess’d
Of force most, most all quarrel. Now, my right friend,
Resolve me with open breast, free and true heart;
Cannot thy virtue, having space to think
And fortify her weakened powers with reason,
Discourses, meditations, discipline,
Divine ejaculatories, and all those aids against devils,—
Cannot all these curb thy low appetite 11
And sensual fury? Mal. There is no God in blood, no reason in desire.
Shall I but live? Shall I not be forced to act
Some deed whose very name is hideous? Free. No. Mal. Then I must enjoy Franceschina. Free. You shall.
I’ll lend this ring: show it to that fair devil:
It will resolve me dead;
Which rumour, with my artificial absence,
Will make most firm: enjoy her suddenly. 20 Mal. But if report go strong that you are slain,
And that by me,—whereon I may be seized,—
Where shall I find your being? Free. At Master Shatewe’s the jeweller’s, to whose breast
I’ll trust our secret purpose. Mal. Ay, rest yourself;
Each man hath follies. Free. But those worst of all,
Who, with a willing eye, do seeing fall. Mal. ’Tis true, but truth seems folly in madness’ spectacles. I am not now myself, no man: farewell. Free. Farewell. 30 Mal. When woman’s in the heart, in the soul hell. [Exit Malheureux. Free. Now, repentance, the fool’s whip, seize thee;
Nay, if there be no means I’ll be thy friend,
But not thy vices’; and with greatest sense
I’ll force thee feel thy errors to the worst;
The wildest of dangers thou shalt sink into.
No jeweller shall see me; I will lurk
Where none shall know or think; close I’ll withdraw,
And leave thee with two friends—a whore and knave;
But is this virtue in me? No, not pure, 40
Nothing extremely best with us endures;
No use in simple purities; the elements
Are mix’d for use; silver without allay[83]
Is all too eager[84] to be wrought for use:
Nor precise virtues, ever purely good,
Holds useful size with temper of weak blood.
Then let my course be borne, though with side-wind;
The end being good, the means are well assign’d. [Exit. SCENE III. Franceschina’s lodging. Enter Franceschina melancholy, Cocledemoy leading her. Coc. Come, catafugo, Frank o’ Frank-hall! who, who ho! Excellent! Ha, here’s a plump-rump’d wench, with a breast softer than a courtier’s tongue, an old lady’s gums, or an old man’s mentula. My fine rogue—— Fra. Pah, you poltroon! Coc. Goody fist,[85] flumpum pumpum; ah, my fine wag-tail, thou art as false, as prostituted, and adulterate as some translated manuscript. Buss, fair whore, buss! Fra. God’s sacrament, pox! 10 Coc. Hadamoy key, dost thou frown, medianthon teukey? Nay, look here. Numeron key, silver blithefor cany, os cany goblet: us key ne moy blegefoy oteeston pox, on you gosling! Fra. By me fait, dis bin very fine langage; ick sall bush ye now; ha, be garzon, vare had you dat plate? Coc. Hedemoy key, get you gone, punk rampant, key, common up-tail! Enter Mary Faugh in haste. Mar. O daughter, cousin, niece, servant, mistress! Coc. Humpum, plumpum squat, I am gone. 20 [Exit Cocledemoy. Mar. There is one Master Malheureux at the door desires to see you. He says he must not be denied, for he hath sent this ring; and withal says ’tis done. Fra. Vat sall me do now, God’s sacrament! Tell him two hours hence he sall be most affectionately velcome; tell him (vat sall me do?), tel him ick am bin in my bate, and ick sall perfume my feets, mak a mine body so delicate for his arm, two hours hence. Mar. I shall satisfy him: two hours hence, well. 29 [Exit Mary. Fra. Now ick sall revange; hay, begar, me sal tartar de whole generation! Mine brain vork it. Freevill is dead, Malheureux sall hang; and mine rival, Beatrice, ick sall make run mad. Enter Mary Faugh. Mar. He’s gone, forsooth, to eat a caudle of cock-stones, and will return within this two hours. Fra. Verie vel, give monies to some fellow to squire me; ick sal go abroad. Mar. There’s a lusty bravo beneath, a stranger, but a good stale[86] rascal. He swears valiantly, kicks a bawd right virtuously, and protests with an empty pocket right desperately. He’ll squire you. 41 Fra. Very velcom; mine fan; ick sall retorn presantly. Now sal me be revange; ten tousant devla! der sall be no got in me but passion, no tought but rage, no mercy but bloud, no spirit but divla in me. Dere sal noting tought good for me, but dat is mischievous for others. [Exit. SCENE IV. Room in Sir Hubert Subboys’ house. Enter Sir Hubert, Sir Lionel, Beatrice, Crispinella, and Nurse, Tysefew following. Sir Lio. Did no one see him since?—pray God!—nay, all is well.
A little heat; what? he is but withdrawn;
And yet I would to God!—but fear you nothing. Bea. Pray God that all be well, or would I were not! Tyse. He’s not to be found, sir, anywhere. Sir Lio. You must not make a heavy face presage an ill event. I like your sister well, she’s quick and lively: would she would marry, faith.Cri. Marry, nay and I would marry, methinks an old man’s a quiet thing. 10 Sir Lio. Ha, mass! and so he is. Cri. You are a widower? Sir Lio. That I am, i’faith, fair Crisp; and I can tell you, would you affect me, I have it in me yet, i’faith. Cri. Troth I am in love; let me see your hand: would you cast yourself away upon me willingly? Sir Lio. Will I? Ay, by the—— Cri. Would you be a cuckold willingly? By my troth ’tis a comely, fine, and handsome sight, for one of my years to marry an old man; truth, ’tis restorative; what a comfortable thing it is to think of her husband, to hear his venerable cough o’ the everlastings, to feel his rough skin, his summer hands and winter legs, his almost no eyes, and assuredly no teeth; and then to think what she must dream of, when she considers others’ happiness and her own want! ’tis a worthy and notorious comfortable match. 27 Sir Lio. Pish, pish! will you have me? Cri. Will you assure me—— Sir Lio. Five hundred pound jointure? Cri. That you will die within this fortnight? Sir Lio. No, by my faith, Cris. Cri. Then Crisp by her faith assures you she’ll have none of you. Enter Young Freevill disguised like a pander, and Franceschina. Free. By’r leave, gentles and men of nightcaps, I would speak, but that here stands one is able to express her own tale best. Fra. Sir, mine speech is to you; you had a son, matre Freevill? Sir Lio. Had, ha! and have. 40 Fra. No point,[87] me am come to assure you dat one mestre Malheureux hath killed him. Bea. O me! wretched, wretched! Sir Hub. Look to our daughter. Sir Lio. How art thou inform’d? Fra. If dat it please you to go vid me, ick sall bring you where you sall hear Malheureux vid his own lips confess it, and dare ye may apprehend him, and revenge your and mine love’s blood. Sir Hub. Your love’s blood! mistress, was he your love? 51 Fra. He was so, sir; let your daughter hear it: do not veep, lady; de young man dat be slain did not love you, for he still lovit me ten tousant tousant times more dearly. Bea. O my heart, I will love you the better; I cannot hate what he affected. O passion, O my grief! which way wilt break, think, and consume! Cri. Peace! Bea. Dear woes cannot speak. 60 Fra. For look you, lady, dis your ring he gave me, vid most bitter jests at your scorn’d kindness.Bea. He did not ill not to love me, but sure he did not well to mock me: gentle minds will pity, though they cannot love; yet peace and my love sleep with him. Unlace, good nurse; alas! I was not so ambitious of so supreme an happiness, that he should only love me; ’twas joy enough for me, poor soul, that I only might only love him. Fra. O but to be abused, scorn’d, scoff’d at! O ten tousand divla, by such a one, and unto such a one! 71 Bea. I think you say not true, sister; shall we know one another in the other world? Cri. What means my sister? Bea. I would fain see him again! O my tortured mind!
Freevill is more than dead, he is unkind! [Exeunt Beatrice, Crispinella, and Nurse. Sir Hub. Convey her in, and so, sir, as you said, Set a strong watch. Sir Lio. Ay, sir, and so pass along with this same common woman; you must make it good. 80 Fra. Ick sall, or let me pay for his mine bloud. Sir Hub. Come, then, along all, with quiet speed. Sir Lio. O fate! Tyse. O sir, be wisely sorry, but not passionate. [Exeunt all but Young Freevill. Free. I will go and reveal myself! stay, no, no;
Grief endears love. Heaven! to have such a wife
Is happiness to breed pale envy in the saints.
Thou worthy dove-like virgin without gall,
Cannot (that woman’s evil) jealousy,
Despite disgrace, nay, which is worse, contempt, 90
Once stir thy faith? O truth, how few sisters hast thou!
Dear memory!
With what a suffering sweetness, quiet modesty,
Yet deep affection, she received my death!
And then with what a patient, yet oppressed kindness,
She took my lewdly intimated wrongs!
O the dearest of heaven! were there but three
Such women in the world, two might be saved.
Well, I am great
With expectation to what devilish end 100
This woman of foul soul will drive her plots;
But Providence all wicked art o’ertops;
And impudence must know (tho’ stiff as ice),
That fortune doth not always dote on vice. [Exit. SCENE V. A Street. Enter Sir Hubert, Sir Lionel, Tysefew, Franceschina, and three with halberds. Sir Hub. Plant a watch there! be very careful, sirs; the rest with us. Tyse. The heavy night grows to her depth of quiet;
’Tis about mid-darkness.Fra. Mine shambre is hard by; ick sall bring you to it presantment. Sir Lio. Deep silence! On! [Exeunt. Coc. (within). Wa, ha, ho! Enter Mulligrub. Mul. It was his voice, ’tis he: he sups with his cupping-glasses. ’Tis late; he must pass this way: I’ll ha’ him—I’ll ha’ my fine boy, my worshipful Cocledemoy; I’ll moy him; he shall be hang’d in lousy linen; I’ll hire some sectary to make him an heretic before he die; and when he is dead I’ll piss on his grave. 15 Enter Cocledemoy. Coc. Ah, my fine punks, good night, Frank Frailty, Frail o’ Frail-hall! Bonus noches, my ubiquitari. Mul. Ware polling and shaving, sir. Coc. A wolf, a wolf, a wolf! [Exit Cocledemoy, leaving his cloak behind him. Mul. Here’s something yet, a cloak, a cloak! Yet I’ll after; he cannot ’scape the watch; I’ll hang him if I have any mercy. I’ll slice him. [Exit. Enter three Constables; to them Cocledemoy. 1st Con. Who goes there? Come before the constable. 24 Coc. Bread o’ God! constable, you are a watch for the devil. Honest men are robb’d under your nose; there’s a false knave in the habit of a vintner set upon me; he would have had my purse, but I took me to my heels: yet he got my cloak, a plain stuff cloak, poor, yet ’twill serve to hang him. ’Tis my loss, poor man that I am! 31 [Exit. Enter Mulligrub running with Cocledemoy’s cloak. 2d Con. Masters, we must watch better; is’t not strange that knaves, drunkards, and thieves should be abroad, and yet we of the watch, scriveners, smiths, and tailors, never stir? 1st Con. Hark, who goes there? Mul. An honest man and a citizen. 2d Con. Appear, appear; what are you? Mul. A simple vintner. 1st Con. A vintner ha! and simple; draw nearer, nearer; here’s the cloak. 41 2d Con. Ay, Master Vintner, we know you: a plain stuff cloak; ’tis it. 1st Con. Right, come! O thou varlet, dost not thou know that the wicked cannot ’scape the eyes of the constable? Mul. What means this violence? As I am an honest man I took the cloak—— 1st Con. As you are a knave, you took the cloak, we are your witnesses for that. 50 Mul. But, hear me, hear me! I’ll tell you what I am. 2d Con. A thief you are. Mul. I tell you my name is Mulligrub.1st Con. I will grub you. In with him to the stocks; there let him sit till to-morrow morning, that Justice Quodlibet may examine him. Mul. Why, but I tell thee—— 2d Con. Why, but I tell thee, we’ll tell thee now. Mul. Am I not mad? am I not an ass? Why, scabs, God’s-foot! let me out. 60 2d Con. Ay, ay, let him prate; he shall find matter in us scabs, I warrant: God’s-so, what good members of the commonwealth do we prove! 1st Con. Prithee, peace; let’s remember our duties, and let’s[88] go sleep, in the fear of God. [Exeunt, having left Mulligrub in the stocks. Mul. Who goes there? Illo, ho, ho: zounds, shall I run mad—lose my wits! Shall I be hang’d? Hark; who goes there? Do not fear to be poor, Mulligrub; thou hast a sure stock now. Re-enter Cocledemoy like a bellman. Coc. The night grows old, 70
And many a cuckold
Is now—Wha, ha, ha, ho!
Maids on their backs
Dream of sweet smacks,
And warm—Wo, ho, ho, ho! I must go comfort my venerable Mulligrub, I must fiddle him till he fist.[89] Fough! Maids in your night-rails,
Look well to your light—
Keep close your locks, 80
And down your smocks;
Keep a broad eye,
And a close thigh. Excellent, excellent! Who’s there? Now, Lord, Lord—Master Mulligrub—deliver us! what does your worship in the stocks? I pray come out, sir. Mul. Zounds, man, I tell thee I am lock’d! Coc. Lock’d! O world! O men! O time! O night! that canst not discern virtue and wisdom, and one of the common council! What is your worship in for? 90 Mul. For (a plague on’t) suspicion of felony. Coc. Nay, and it be such a trifle, Lord, I could weep, to see your good worship in this taking. Your worship has been a good friend to me, and tho’ you have forgot me, yet I knew your wife before she was married, and since I have found your worship’s door open, and I have knock’d, and God knows what I have saved: and do I live to see your worship stocked? Mul. Honest bellman, I perceive
Thou knowest me: I prithee call the watch. 100
Inform the constable of my reputation,
That I may no longer abide in this shameful habitation,
And hold thee all I have about me. [Gives him his purse. Coc. ’Tis more than I deserve, sir: let me alone for your delivery.Mul. Do, and then let me alone with Cocledemoy. I’ll moy him! Re-enter the Constables. Coc. Maids in your——
Master Constable, whose that ith’ stocks? 1st Con. One for a robbery: one Mulligrub, he calls himself. Mulligrub? Bellman, knowest thou him? 111 Coc. Know him! O, Master Constable, what good service have you done! Know him? He’s a strong thief; his house has been suspected for a bawdy tavern a great while, and a receipt for cut-purses, ’tis most certain. He has been long in the black book, and is he ta’en now? 2d Con. By’r lady, my masters, we’ll not trust the stocks with him, we’ll have him to the justices, get a mittimus to Newgate presently. Come, sir, come on, sir. 121 Mul. Ha! does your rascalship yet know my worship in the end? 1st Con. Ay, the end of your worship we know. Mul. Ha! goodman constable, here’s an honest fellow can tell you what I am? 2d Con. ’Tis true, sir; y’are a strong thief, he says, on his own knowledge. Bind fast, bind fast! we know you. We’ll trust no stocks with you. Away with him to the jail instantly. 130 Mul. Why, but dost hear? Bellman, rogue, rascal! God’s—why, but— [The Constables drag away Mulligrub.Coc. Why, but! wha, ha, ha! excellent, excellent! ha, my fine Cocledemoy, my vintner fists. I’ll make him fart crackers before I ha’ done with him; to-morrow is the day of judgment. Afore the Lord God, my knavery grows unperegall;[90] ’tis time to take a nap, until half an hour hence. God give your worship music, content, and rest. [Exit. ACT V. SCENE I. Franceschina’s lodging. Enter Franceschina, Sir Lionel, Tysefew, with Officers. Fra. You bin very velcom to mine shambra. Sir Lio. But, how know ye, how are ye assured,
Both of the deed, and of his sure return? Fra. O min-here, ick sall tell you. Metre Malheureux came all bretless running a my shambra, his sword all bloudy: he tel a me he had kil Freevill, and pred a me to conceal him. Ick flatter him, bid bring monies, he should live and lie vid me. He went, whilst ick (me hope vidout sins), out of mine mush love to Freevill, betray him. 10 Sir Lio. Fear not, ’tis well: good works get grace for sin. [She conceals them behind the curtain. Fra. Dere, peace, rest dere; so, softly, all go in.—
De net is lay, now sal ick be revenge.
If dat me knew a dog dat Freevill love,
Me would puisson him; for know de deepest hell
As a revenging woman’s naught so fell. Enter Mary Faugh. Mar. Ho! Cousin Frank, the party you wot of, Master Malheureux— Fra. Bid him come up, I prede. [Cantat saltatque cum cithara. Enter Malheureux. Fra. O min-here man, a dere liver love, 20
Mine ten tousant times velcom love!
Ha! by mine trat, you bin de just—vat sall me say?
Vat seet honie name sall I call you? Mal. Any from you
Is pleasure. Come, my loving prettiness,
Where’s thy chamber? I long to touch your sheets. Fra. No, no, not yet, mine seetest soft-lipp’d love,
You sall not gulp down all delights at once. Be min trat, dis all-fles-lovers, dis ravenous wenchers[91] dat sallow all down hole, vill have all at one bit; fie, fie, fie! be min fait, dey do eat comfets vid spoons. 31 No, no, I’ll make you chew your pleasure vit love;
De more degrees and steps, de more delight,
De more endearÈd is de pleasure height. Mal. What, you’re a learn’d wanton, and proceed by art? Fra. Go, little vag, pleasure should have a crane’s long neck, to relish de ambrosia of delight. And ick pre de tell me, for me loves to hear of manhood very mush, i’fait: ick prede—vat vas me a saying? Oh, ick prede tell a me how did you killa Metre Freevill? 40 Mal. Why, quarrelled o’ set purpose, drew him out,
Singled him, and, having the advantage
Of my sword and might, ran him through and through. Fra. Vat did you vid him van he was sticken? Mal. I dragg’d him by the heels to the next wharf,
And spurn’d him in the river. [Those in ambush rusheth forth and take him. Sir Lio. Seize, seize him!
O monstrous! O ruthless villain! Mal. What mean you, gentlemen? By heaven—— Tyse. Speak not of anything that’s good. 49 Mal. Your errors gives you passion: Freevill lives. Sir Lio. Thy own lips say thou liest. Mal. Let me die, if at Shatewe’s the jeweller he lives not safe untouch’d. Tyse. Meantime to strictest guard, to sharpest prison. Mal. No rudeness, gentlemen: I’ll go undragg’d.
O, wicked, wicked devil! [Exit. Sir Lio. Sir, the day of trial is this morn; let’s prosecute
The sharpest rigour and severest end:
Good men are cruel when they’re vice’s friend. Sir Hub. Woman, we thank thee with no empty hand;
Strumpets are fit[92] for something. Farewell. 61 [All save Young Freevill depart. Free. Ay, for hell!
O, thou unreprievable, beyond all
Measure of grace damn’d irremediably![93]
That things of beauty created for sweet use,
Soft comfort, as[94] the very music of life,
Custom should make so unutterably[95] hellish!
O, heaven!
What difference is in women and their life!
What man, but worthy name of man, would leave 70
The modest pleasures of a lawful bed—
The holy union of two equal hearts
Mutually holding either dear as health—
Th’ undoubted issues, joys of chaste sheets,
Th’ unfeign’d embrace of sober ignorance—
To twine th’ unhealthful loins of common loves,
The prostituted impudence of things,
Senseless like those by cataracts of Nile,
Their use so vile takes away sense! How vile
To love a creature made of blood and hell, 80
Whose use makes weak, whose company doth shame,
Whose bed doth beggar, issue doth defame! Re-enter Franceschina. Fra. Metre Freevill live? ha, ha, live at Mestre Shatewe’s! Mush[96] at Metre Shatewe’s! Freevill is dead, Malheureux sall hang: and, sweet divel, dat Beatrice would but run mad, dat she would but run mad! den me would dance and sing. Metre Don Dubon, me pre ye now go to Mestres Beatrice. Tell her Freevill is sure dead, and dat he curse herself especially, for dat he was sticked in her quarrel, swearing in his last gasp, dat if it had bin in mine quarrels ’twould never have grieved him. Free. I will. 92 Fra. Prede do, and say any ting dat vil vex her. Free. Let me alone to vex her. Fra. Vil you, vil you mak a her run mad? Here, take dis ring, see me scorn to wear anyting dat was hers or his. I prede torment her, ick cannot love her; she honest and virtuous, forsooth! Free. Is she so? O vile creature! then let me alone with her. 100 Fra. Vat, vil you mak a her mad? seet, by min trat, be pretta servan; bush,[97] ick sall go to bet now. [Exit. Free. Mischief, whither wilt thou? O thou tearless woman!
How monstrous is thy devil,
The end of hell as thee!
How miserable were it to be virtuous,
If thou couldst prosper!
I’ll to my love, the faithful Beatrice;
She has wept enough, and faith, dear soul, too much.
But yet how sweet is it to think how dear 110
One’s life was to his love: how mourn’d his death!
’Tis joy not to be express’d with breath:
But O let him that would such passion drink,
Be quiet of his speech, and only think! [Exit. SCENE II. Beatrice’s chamber. Enter Beatrice and Crispinella. Bea. Sister, cannot a woman kill herself? is it not lawful to die when we should not live? Cri. O sister, ’tis a question not for us; we must do what God will. Bea. What God will? Alas, can torment be His glory, or our grief His pleasure! Does not the nurse’s nipple, juiced over with wormwood, bid the child it should not suck? And does not Heaven, when it hath made our breath bitter unto us, say we should not live?
O my best sister, 10
To suffer wounds when one may ’scape this rod
Is against nature, that is against God! Cri. Good sister,
Do not make me weep; sure Freevill was not false.
I’ll gage my life that strumpet, out of craft
And some close second end, hath maliced[98] him. Bea. O sister! if he were not false, whom have I lost?
If he were, what grief to such unkindness!
From head to foot I am all misery;
Only in this, some justice I have found— 20
My grief is like my love, beyond all bound. Enter Nurse. Nur. My servant, Master Caqueteur, desires to visit you. Cri. For grief’s sake keep him out; his discourse is like the long word Honorificabilitudinitatibus,[99] a great deal of sound and no sense: his company is like a parenthesis to a discourse,—you may admit it, or leave it out, it makes no matter. Enter Freevill in his disguise. Free. By your leave, sweet creatures. Cri. Sir, all I can yet say of you is, you are uncivil. Free. You must deny it. By your sorrow’s leave, 31
I bring some music to make sweet your grief. Bea. Whate’er you please. O break my heart!
Canst thou yet pant? O dost thou yet survive?
Thou didst not love him if thou now canst live! Freevill sings.[100] O Love, how strangely sweet
Are thy weak passions!
That love and joy should meet
In self-same fashions!
O who can tell 40
The cause why this should move?
But only this,—
No reason ask of Love! [Beatrice swounds.[101] Cri. Hold, peace!—the gentlest soul is sownd. O my best sister! Free. Ha, get you gone, close the doors! My Beatrice! [Discovers himself. Cursed be my indiscreet trials! O my immeasurably loving— Cri. She stirs, give air, she breathes! Bea. Where am I? Ha! how have I slipp’d off life?
Am I in heaven? O my lord, though not loving, 51
By our eternal being, yet give me leave
To rest by thy dear[102] side! Am I not in heaven? Free. O eternally much loved,[103] recollect your spirits! Bea. Ha, you do speak! I do see you, I do live!
I would not die now: let me not burst with wonder. Free. Call up your blood; I live to honour you
As the admired glory of your sex.
Nor ever hath my love been false to you;
Only I presum’d to try your faith too much, 60
For which I most am grieved. Cri. Brother, I must be plain with you, you have wrong’d us. Free. I am not so covetous to deny it;
But yet, when my discourse hath stay’d your quaking,
You will be smoother lipp’d; and the delight
And satisfaction which we all have got,
Under these strange disguisings, when you know,
You will be mild and quiet, forget at last:
It is much joy to think on sorrows past. Bea. Do you then live? and are you not untrue? 70
Let me not die with joy; pleasure’s more extreme
Than grief; there’s nothing sweet to man but mean. Free. Heaven cannot be too gracious to such goodness.
I shall discourse to you the several chances;
But hark, I must yet rest disguis’d;
The sudden close of many drifts now meet:
Where pleasure hath some profit, art is sweet. Enter Tysefew. Tyse. News, news, news, news! Cri. Oysters, oysters, oysters, oysters! 79 Tyse. Why, is not this well now? Is not this better than louring and pouting and puling, which is hateful to the living and vain to the dead? Come, come, you must live by the quick, when all is done; and for my own part, let my wife laugh at me when I am dead, so she’ll smile upon me whilst I live: but to see a woman whine, and yet keep her eyes dry: mourn, and yet keep her cheeks fat: nay, to see a woman claw her husband by the feet when he is dead, that would have scratched him by the face when he was living—this now is somewhat ridiculous. 90 Cri. Lord, how you prate.Tyse. And yet I was afraid, i’faith, that I should ha’ seen a garland on this beauty’s hearse; but time, truth, experience, and variety, are great doers with women. Cri. But what’s the news?—the news, I pray you? Tyse. I pray you? ne’er pray me: for by your leave you may command me. This ’tis:
The public sessions, which this day is past,
Hath doom’d to death ill-fortuned Malheureux. Cri. But, sir, we heard he offer’d to make good, 100
That Freevill lived at Shatewe’s the jeweller’s—— Bea. And that ’twas but a plot betwixt them two. Tyse. O, ay, ay, he gaged his life with it; but know,
When all approach’d the test, Shatewe[104] denied
He saw or heard of any such complot,
Or of Freevill; so that his own defence
Appeared so false, that, like a madman’s sword,
He stroke his own heart; he hath the course of law,
And instantly must suffer. But the jest
(If hanging be a jest, as many make it) 110
Is to take notice of one Mulligrub,
A sharking vintner. Free. What of him, sir? Tyse. Nothing but hanging: the whoreson slave is mad before he hath lost his senses. Free. Was his fact[105] clear and made apparent, sir? Tyse. No, faith, suspicious; for ’twas thus protested:
A cloak was stol’n; that cloak he had; he had it,
Himself confess’d, by force; the rest of his defence
The choler of a justice wronged in wine, 120
Join’d with malignance of some hasty jurors,
Whose wit was lighted by the justice’ nose;
The knave was cast.
But, Lord, to hear his moan, his prayers, his wishes,
His zeal ill-timÈd, and his words unpitied,
Would make a dead man rise and smile,
Whilst he observed how fear can make men vile. Cri. Shall we go meet the execution? Bea. I shall be ruled by you. Tyse. By my troth, a rare motion;[106] you must haste,
For malefactors goes like the world, upon wheels. 130 Bea. Will you man us? You shall be our guide. [To[107] Freevill. Free. I am your servant. Tyse. Ha, servant? Zounds, I am no companion for panders! you’re best make him your love. Bea. So will I, sir; we must live by the quick, you say. Tyse. ’Sdeath o’ virtue! what a damn’d thing’s this!
Who’ll trust fair faces, tears, and vows? ’Sdeath! not I.
She is a woman,—that is,—she can lie. Cri. Come, come, turn not a man of time,[108] to make all ill
Whose goodness you conceive not, since the worst of chance 140
Is to crave grace for heedless ignorance. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Public Place. Enter Cocledemoy, like a sergeant. Coc. So, I ha’ lost my sergeant in an ecliptic mist, drunk! horrible drunk! he is fine. So now will I fit myself; I hope this habit will do me no harm; I am an honest man already. Fit, fit, fit, as a punk’s tail, that serves everybody. By this time my vintner thinks of nothing but hell and sulphur; he farts fire and brimstone already. Hang toasts! the execution approacheth. Enter Sir Lionel, Sir Hubert; Malheureux, pinioned; Tysefew, Beatrice, Freevill, Crispinella, Franceschina, and halberds. Mal. I do not blush, although condemned by laws;
No kind of death is shameful but the cause,
Which I do know is none; and yet my lust 10
Hath made the one (although not cause) most just.
May I not be reprieved? Freevill is but mislodg’d;
Some lethargy hath seiz’d him—no, much malice;
Do not lay blood upon your souls with good intents;
Men may do ill, and law sometime repents. [Cocledemoy picks Malheureux’ pocket of his purse. Sir Lio. Sir, sir, prepare; vain is all lewd defence. Mal. Conscience was law, but now law’s conscience.
My endless peace is made; and to the poor,—
My purse, my purse! Coc. Ay, sir; and it shall please you, the poor has your purse already. 21 Mal. You[109] are a wily[110] man.
—But now, thou source of devils, oh, how I loathe
The very memory of that I adored!
He that’s of fair blood, well mien’d, of good breeding,
Best famed, of sweet acquaintance, and true friends,
And would with desperate impudence lose all these,
And hazard landing at this fatal shore,—
Let him ne’er kill, nor steal, but love a whore. Fra. De man does rave; tinck a got, tinck a got, and bid de flesh, de world, and the dible, farewell. 31 Mal. Farewell! Free. Farewell! [Freevill discovers himself. Fra. Vat ist you see?—Hah! Free. Sir, your pardon, with my this defence:
Do not forget protested violence
Of your low affections: no requests,
No arguments of reason, no known danger,
No assured wicked bloodiness,
Could draw your heart from this damnation. 40 Mal. Why, stay! Fra. Unprosperous devil, vat sall me do now? Free. Therefore, to force you from the truer danger,
I wrought the feignÈd; suffering this fair devil
In shape of woman to make good her plot:
And, knowing that the hook was deeply fast,
I gave her line at will, till, with her own vain strivings,
See here she’s tired. O thou comely damnation!
Dost think that vice is not to be withstood?
O what is woman, merely made of blood! 50 Sir Lio. You maze us all; let us not be lost in darkness! Free. All shall be lighted; but this time and place
Forbids longer speech; only what you can think
Has been extremely ill, is only hers. Sir Lio. To severest prison with her! With what heart canst live—
What eyes behold a face? Fra. Ick vil not speak; torture, torture your fill,
For me am worse than hang’d; me ha’ lost my will. [Exit Franceschina with the guard. Sir Lio. To the extremest whip and jail. Free. Frolic, how is it, sirs? 60 Mal. I am myself. How long was’t ere I could
Persuade my passion to grow calm to you!
Rich sense makes good bad language, and a friend
Should weigh no action, but the action’s end.
I am now worthy yours; when before
The beast of man, loose blood, distemper’d us:
He that lust rules cannot be virtuous. Enter Mulligrub, Mistress Mulligrub, and Officers. Off. On afore there! room for the prisoners! Mul. I pray you do not lead me to execution through Cheapside. I owe Master Burnish, the goldsmith, money, and I fear he’ll set a sergeant on my back for it. Coc. Trouble not your sconce, my Christian brothers, but have an eye unto the main chance. I will warrant your shoulders; as for your neck, Plinius Secundus, or Marcus Tullius Cicero, or somebody it is, says that a threefold cord is hardly broken. 75 Mul. Well, I am not the first honest man that hath been cast away; and I hope shall not be the last. Coc. O, sir, have a good stomach and maws; you shall have a joyful supper. Mul. In troth I have no stomach to it; and it please you, take my trencher; I use to fast at nights. 81 Mistress Mul. O husband! I little thought you should have come to think on God thus soon;[111] nay, and you had been hang’d deservedly it would never have grieved me; I have known of many honest innocent men have been hang’d deservedly: but to be cast away for nothing! Coc. Good woman, hold your peace, your prittles and your prattles, your bibbles and your babbles; for I pray you hear me in private: I am a widower, and you are almost a widow; shall I be welcome to your houses, to your tables, and your other things? 92 Mistress Mul. I have a piece of mutton and a featherbed for you at all times; I pray make haste. Mul. I do here make my confession: if I owe any man anything, I do heartily forgive him; if any man owe me anything, let him pay my wife. Coc. I will look to your wife’s payment, I warrant you. Mul. And now, good yoke-fellow, leave thy poor Mulligrub. 101 Mistress Mul. Nay, then I were unkind; i’faith I will not leave you until I have seen you hang. Coc. But brother,[112] brother, you must think of your sins and iniquities; you have been a broacher of profane vessels; you have made us drink of the juice of the whore of Babylon: for whereas good ale, perrys, bragots,[113] cyders, and metheglins, was the true ancient British and Troyan drinks, you ha’ brought in Popish wines, Spanish wines, French wines, tam Marti quam Mercurio, both muscadine and malmsey, to the subversion, staggering, and sometimes overthrow of many a good Christian. You ha’ been a great jumbler; O remember the sins of your nights! for your night works ha’ been unsavoury in the taste of your customers. 115 Mul. I confess, I confess; and I forgive as I would be forgiven. Do you know one Cocledemoy? Coc. O very well. Know him!—an honest man he is, and a comely; an upright dealer with his neighbours, and their wives speak good things of him. 120 Mul. Well, wheresoe’er he is, or whatsoe’er he is, I’ll take it on my death he’s the cause of my hanging. I heartily forgive him, and if he would come forth he might save me; for he only knows the why and the wherefore. Coc. You do, from your hearts and midrifs and entrails, forgive him then? you will not let him rot in rusty irons, procure him to be hang’d in lousy linen without a song, and after he is dead piss on his grave? Mul. That hard heart of mine has procured all this; but I forgive as I would be forgiven. 131 Coc. [Discovering himself] Hang toasts, my worshipful Mulligrub. Behold thy Cocledemoy, my fine vintner; my castrophomical fine boy; behold and see! Tyse. Bliss o’ the blessed, who would but look for two knaves here? Coc. No knave, worshipful friend, no knave; for observe, honest Cocledemoy restores whatsoever he has got, to make you know that whatsoever he has done, has been only euphoniÆ gratia—for wit’s sake. I acquit this vintner, as he has acquitted me; all has been done for emphasis of wit, my fine boy, my worshipful friends. Tyse. Go, you are a flatt’ring knave. 143 Coc. I am so; ’tis a good thriving trade; it comes forward better than the seven liberal sciences, or the nine cardinal virtues; which may well appear in this, you shall never have flattering knave turn courtier. And yet I have read of many courtiers that have turned flattering knaves. Sir Hub. Was’t even but so? why, then all’s well. 150 Mul. I could even weep for joy.Mistress Mul. I could weep too, but God knows for what! Tyse. Here’s another tack to be given—your son and daughter. Sir Hub. Is’t possible? heart, ay, all my heart; will you be joined here? Tyse. Yes, faith, father; marriage and hanging are spun both in one hour. Coc. Why, then, my worshipful good friends, I bid myself most heartily welcome to your merry nuptials and wanton jigga-joggies.—And now, my very fine Heliconian gallants, and you, my worshipful friends in the middle region, 164
If with content our hurtless mirth hath been,
Let your pleased minds at our much care be seen;[114]
For he shall find, that slights such trivial wit,
’Tis easier to reprove than better it.
We scorn to fear, and yet we fear to swell;
We do not hope ’tis best,—’tis all, if well. [Exeunt. 170
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