Chapter XII: Prologue (3)

CAPT. FACE. And, good-man rogue,
See what good thing your kitchen-maid has left
For me to work upon; my barrow-guttlings grumble
And would have food: [_Exit Drawer._] Say now, the vintner's wife
Should bring me up a pheasant, partridge, quail;
A pleasant banquet, and extremely love me,
Desire me to eat, kiss, and protest,
I should pay nothing for it; say she should drink
Herself three-quarters drunk to win my love,
Then give me a chain worth some three score pounds;
Say 'twere worth but forty--say, but twenty,
For citizens do seldom in their wooing
Give above twenty pounds--say then, 'tis twenty,
I'll go sell some fifteen pounds' worth of the chain
To buy some clothes, and shift my lousy linen.
And wear the rest as a perpetual favour
About my arm in fashion of a bracelet.
Say then her husband should grow jealous,
I'd make him drunk, and then I'll cuckold him.
But then a vintner's wife, some rogue will say,
Which sits at bar for the receipt of custom,
That smells of chippings and of broken fish,
Is love to Captain Face; which to prevent,
I'll never come but when her best-stitch'd hat,
Her bugle-gown, and best-wrought smock is on;
Then does she neither smell of bread, of meat,
Or droppings of the tap; it shall be so.

_Enter_ BOUTCHER, WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS, _and_ CONSTANTIA.

BOUT. Now leave us, boy; bless you, Captain Face.

CAPT. FACE. I'll have no music[416].

W. SMALL. Foot, dost take us for fiddlers?

CAPT. FACE. Then turn straight. Drawer, run down the stairs,
And thank the gods a gave me that great patience
Not to strike you.

BOUT. Your patience, sir, is great:
For you dare seldom strike. Sirrah, they say,
You needs will wed the widow Taffata,
_Nolens volens?_

CAPT. FACE. Do not urge my patience,
Awake not fury new-rak'd up in embers!
I give you leave to live.

W. SMALL. Men say y'have tricks,
Y'are an admirable ape, and you can do
More feats than three baboons: we must have some.

CAPT. FACE. My patience yet is great; I say, begone,
My tricks are dangerous.

BOUT. That's nothing,
I have brought you furniture. Come, get up
Upon this table: do your feats,
Or I will whip you to them; do not I know
You are a lousy knave?

CAPT. FACE. How! lousy knave;
Are we not English bred?

BOUT. Y'are a coward rogue,
That dares not look a kitling in the face,
If she but stare or mew.

CAPT. FACE. My patience yet is great:
Do you bandy tropes? by Dis, I will be knight,
Wear a blue coat on great Saint George's day,[417]
And with my fellows drive you all from Paul's
For this attempt.

BOUT. Will you yet get up?
I must lash you to it.

CAPT. FACE. By Pluto, gentlemen,
To do you pleasure, and to make you sport,
I'll do't.

W. SMALL. Come, get up then quick.

BOUT. I'll dress you, sir.

CAPT. FACE. By Jove, 'tis not for fear,
But for a love I bear unto these tricks,
That I perform it.

BOUT. Hold up your snout, sir:
Sit handsomely; by heaven, sir, you must do it.
Come, boy.

W. SMALL. No, by this good light, I'll play
Him that goes with the motions.

DRAWER. Where's the captain, gentlemen?

W. SMALL. Stand back, boy, and be a spectator.
Gentlemen,
You shall see the strange nature of an outlandish beast,
That has but two legs, bearded like a man,
Nosed like a goose, and tongued like a woman,
Lately brought from the land of Cataia.[418]
A beast of much understanding, were it not given
Too much to the love of venery. Do I not do it well?

BOUT. Admirably!

W. SMALL. Remember, noble captain,
You skip, when I shall shake my whip. Now, sir,
What can you do for the great Turk?
What can you do for the Pope of Rome?
Hark! he stirreth not, he moveth not, he waggeth not;
What can you do for the town of Geneva, sirrah?

[_He holds up his hands instead of praying._

CON. Sure, this baboon is a great Puritan,

BOUT. Is not this strange?

W. SMALL. Not a whit; by this light
Banks[419] his horse and he were taught both in a stable.

DRAWER. O, rare!

CAPT. FACE. Zounds! I'll first be damn'd: shall [my] sport
Be laugh'd at? by Dis, by Pluto, and great Proserpine,
My fatal blade, once drawn, falls but with death:
Yet if you'll let me go, I vow, by Jove,
No widow, maid, wife, punk, or cockatrice,
Shall make me haunt your ghosts.

BOUT. 'Twill not serve, sir,
You must show more.

CAPT. FACE. I'll first be hang'd and damn'd.[420]

W. SMALL. Foot, can he jump so well?

BOUT. Is he so quick?
I hope the slave will haunt no more the widow.

W. SMALL. As for that take no care, for by this light
She'll not have thee.

BOUT. Not have me?

W. SMALL. No, not have thee.
By this hand, flesh, and blood, she is resolv'd
To make my father a most fearful cuckold,
And he's resolv'd to save his soul by her.

BOUT. How, by her?

W. SMALL. Thus: all old men, which marry
Young wives, shall questionless be sav'd,
For while they're young, they keep other men's wives,
And when they're old, they keep wives for other men,
And so by satisfaction procure salvation.
Why, thou dejected tail of a crab!
Does not the fair Constantia Sommerfield[421]
Doat on thy filthy face? and wilt thou wed
A wanton widow? what can'st thou see,
To doat on her?

BOUT. Only this--I love her.

W. SMALL. Dost love her? then take a purgation,
For love, I'll assure thee, is a binder.
Of all things under heaven, there's no fitter
Parallels than a drunkard and a lover;
For a drunkard loses his senses, so does your lover;
Your drunkard is quarrelsome, so is your lover;
Your drunkard will swear, lie, and speak great
Words--so will your lover; your drunkard is most
Desirous of his lechery, and so is your lover.
Well, the night grows old; farewell.
I am so much thy friend, that none shall bed thee,
While fair Constantia is resolv'd to wed thee. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS, _and others_.

T. SMALL. Foot, shall we let the wench go thus?
My masters, now show yourselves gentlemen,
And take away the lawyer's wife.
Foot, though I have no wit, yet I can
Love a wench, and choose a wife.

GENT. Why, sir, what should you do with a wife, that are held
none of the wisest? you'll get none but fools.

T. SMALL. How! fools? why may not I, a fool, get a wise child,
as well as wise men get fools[422]; all lies but in the agility
of the woman. In troth, I think all fools are got when their
mothers sleep; therefore I'll never lie with my wife, but when
she is broad waking. Stand to't, honest friends; knock down the
lieutenant, and then hurry the wench to Fleet Street; there my
father and I will this morning be married.

_Enter_ BEARD _and_ FRANCES.

GENT. Stand close: they come.

BEARD. By Jove, the night grows dark, and Luna looks
As if this hour some fifty cuckolds were making.
Then let us trudge.

GENT. Down with 'em, down with 'em: away with her, Master
Small-shanks, to Fleet Street; go, the curate there stays for
you. [_Exeunt._

BEARD. And stays the curate?
What's here? knock'd down, and blood of men let out?
Must men in darkness bleed? then, Erebus, look big,
And, Boreas, blow the fire of all my rage
Into his nose. Night, thou art a whore,
Small-shanks a rogue; and is my wench took from me?
Sure, I am gull'd; this was no cockatrice.
I never saw her, before this daylight peep'd:
What, dropp'st thou, head? this surely is the heir,
And mad Will Small-shanks lay in ambuscado,
To get her now from me. Beard! Lieutenant Beard,
Thou art an ass; what a dull slave was I,
That all this while smelt not her honesty!
Pate, I do not pity thee: hadst thou brains,
Lieutenant Beard had got this wealthy heir
From all these rogues. Blood! to be thus o'er-reach'd,
In pate and wench! revenge! revenge! come up,
And with thy curled locks cling to my beard.
Small-shanks, I will betray thee. I will[423] trudge
To Saint John Street, to inform the Lady Sommerfield,
Where thou art; I will prevent the match.
Thou art to Fleet Street gone, revenge shall follow;
And my incensed wrath shall, like great thunder,
Disperse thy hopes and thy brave wife asunder. [_Exit._

_Enter_ LADY SOMMERFIELD _and_ JUSTICE TUTCHIN.

JUS. TUT. Say as I say, widow; the wench is gone,
But I know whither stol'n she is; well--
I know by whom; say as I say, widow.
I have been drinking hard--why, say so too,
Old men they can be fine with small ado.
The law is not offended. I had no punk;
Nor in an alehouse have I made me drunk.
The statute is not broke[424], I have the skill
To drink by law; then say as I say still.

LADY SOM. To what extremes doth this licentious time
Hurry unstayed youth! Nor gods nor laws,
Whose penal scourges are enough to save
Ev'n damn'd fiends, can in this looser age
Confine unbounded youth. Who durst presume
To steal my youth's delight, my age's hope,
Her father's heir and the last noble stem
Of all her ancestors? fear they or gods or laws?

JUS. TUT. I say as you say, sister; but for the laws,
There are so many, that men do stand in awe
Of none at all. Take heed they steal not you.
Who woos a widow with a fair full moon
Shall surely speed; beware of full moons, widow:
Will Small-shanks has your daughter--no word but mum?
My warrant you shall have, when time shall come.

LADY SOM. Your warrant?

JUS. TUT. Aye, my warrant, widow;
My warrant can stretch far; no more, but so,
'Twill serve to catch a knave or fetch a doe.

_Enter_ SERVING-MAN.

SERV.-MAN. Here's a gentleman much desirous to see you, madam.

LADY SOM. What is he for a man?

SERV.-MAN. Nothing for a man, but much for a beast.
I think him lunatic; for he demands
What plate of his is stirring i' the house!
He calls your men his butlers, cooks, and stewards:
Kisses your women, and makes exceeding much
Of your coachman's wife.

JUS. TUT. Then he's a gentleman, for 'tis a true note of a
gentleman to make much of other men's wives: bring him up. Ah,
sirrah, makes he much of your coachman's wife? This gear will
run a-wheels then shortly: a man may make much more of another
man's wife than he can do of's own.

LADY SOM. How much, brother?

JUS. TUT. A man may make with ease a punk, a child, a bastard,
a cuckold, of another man's wife all at a clap; and that is
much, I think.

_Enter_ SERVING-MAN _and_ THROAT.

SERV.-MAN. That's my lady.

THROAT. For that thou first hast brought me to her sight,
I here create thee clerk of the kitchen:
No man shall beg it from thee.

SERV.-MAN. Sure, the fellow's mad.

LADY SOM. What would you, sir? I guess your long profession[425]
By your scant suit; your habit seems to turn
Your inside outward to me; y'are, I think,
Some turner of the law.

THROAT. Law is my living,
And on that ancient mould I wear this outside:
Suit upon suit wastes some, yet makes me thrive,
First law, then gold, then love; and then we wive.

JUST. TUT. A man of form, like me. But what's your business?

LADY SOM. Be brief, good sir; what makes this bold intrusion?

THROAT. Intrude I do not, for I know the law;
It is the rule that squares out all our actions,
Those actions bring in coin, coin gets me friends,
Your son-in-law hath law at's fingers' ends.

LADY SOM. My son-in-law!

THROAT. Madam, your son-in-law.
Mother, I come (be glad I call you so),
To make a gentle breach into your favour,
And win your approbation of my choice:
Your cherry-ripe sweet daughter (so renown'd
For beauty, virtue and a wealthy dower)
I have espous'd.

LADY SOM. How? you espouse my daughter?

THROAT. _Noverint universi_, the laws of heaven,
Of nature, church, and chance, have made her mine;
Therefore deliver her by these presents.

JUST. TUT. How's this? made her yours, sir, _per quam regulam_?
Nay, we are letter'd, sir, as well as you,
_Redde rationem; per quam regulam?_

THROAT. _Fæminæ[426] ludificantur viros:_
By that same rule these lips have taken seizin:
Tut, I do all by statute-law and reason.

LADY SOM. Hence, you base knave! you petty-fogging groom!
Clad in old ends, and piec'd with brokery:
You wed my daughter!

JUST. TUT. You, sir Ambi-dexter!
A sumner's[427] son, and learn'd in Norfolk wiles:
Some common bail or counter-lawyer,
Marry my niece! your half-sleeves shall not carry her.

THROAT. These storms will be dissolv'd in tears of joy,
Mother, I doubt it not. Justice, to you,
That jerk at my half-sleeves, and yet yourself
Do never wear but buckram out of sight:
A flannel waist-coat or a canvas truss,
A shift of thrift, I use it: let's be friends,
You know the law has tricks--ka me, ka thee!
_Viderit utilitas_, the mot to these half-arms,
_Corpus cum causa_, need no bumbasting:
We wear small hair, yet have we tongue and wit,
Lawyers close-breech'd have bodies politic.

LADY SOM. Speak, answer me, sir Jack: stole you my daughter?

THROAT. Short tale to make, I fingered have your daughter:
I have ta'en livery and seisin of the wench.
Deliver her then: you know the statute-laws;
She's mine without exception, bar, or clause;
Come, come, restore.

LADY SOM. The fellow's mad, I think.

THROAT. I was not mad before I married;
But, _ipso facto_, what the act may make me,
That know I not.

JUST. TUT. Fellows, come in there.

_Enter two or three_ SERVANTS.

By this, sir, you confess you stole my niece,
And I attach you here of felony.
Lay hold on him! I'll make my mittimus,
And send him to the gaol; have we no bar
Nor clause to hamper you? away with him,
Those claws shall claw you to a bar of shame,
Where thou shalt show thy goll[428]. I'll bar your claim,
If I be Justice Tutchin.

THROAT. Hands off, you slaves!
O, favour my jerkin, though you tear my flesh.
I set more store by that: my _Audita_
_Querela_ shall be heard, and with a _Certiorari_
I'll fetch her from you with a pox.

_Enter_ BEARD.

BEARD. What's here to do? is all the world in arms?
More tumults, brawls, and insurrections?
Is blood the theme, whereon our time must treat?

THROAT. Here's Beard your butler: a rescue, Beard; draw.

BEARD. Draw I not so: my blade's as ominously drawn
Unto the death of nine or ten such grooms,
As is a knife unsheath'd, with th' hungry maw,
Threat'ning the ruin of a chine of beef:
But for the restless toil it took of late,
My blade shall sleep awhile.

THROAT. Help.

BEARD. Stop thy throat.
And hear me speak, whose bloody characters
Will show I have been scuffling. Briefly thus:
Thy wife, your daughter, and your lovely niece,
Is hurri'd now to Fleet Street: the damn'd crew
With glaves and clubs have rapt her from these arms.
Throat, thou art bobb'd; although thou bought'st the heir,
Yet hath the slave made a re-entry.

JUS. TUT. Sirrah, what are you?

THROAT. My lady's butler, sir.

BEARD. Not I, by heaven!

THROAT. By this good light, he swore it,
And for your daughter's love he ran away.

BEARD. By Jove, I gull'd thee, Throat.

JUS. TUT. More knavery yet?
Lay hands on him, pinion them both,
And guard them hence towards Fleet Street: come away!

BEARD. Must we be led like thieves, and pinion'd walk?
Spent I my blood for this? is this my hire?
Why then burn, rage: set Beard and Nose on fire.

JUS. TUT. On, on, I say.

THROAT. Justice, the law shall firk you.

FOOTNOTES:

[396] These are cant phrases for being intoxicated.

[397] The statute here referred to is the 4th of James the First, 1606, which directs that any persons convicted of being drunk shall pay five shillings, or be set in the stocks during the space of six hours for the first offence; and for the second be bound in a recognizance for his good behaviour.

[398] The word _fees_ was till now accidentally omitted, though inserted in both the old copies.--_Collier._

[399] These names, which are generally considered as synonymous, appear from this passage to signify different kinds of vehicles, or different sizes of the same. About this time they were come into general use. Dr Percy, in his Notes to the "Northumberland Household Book," p. 448, says, from Anderson's "Origin of Commerce," that coaches were introduced into England by Fitz-Alan, Earl of Arundel, A.D. 1580; but from the following passage in the works of Taylor the Water-Poet, 1630, p. 240, they appear to have been used some years earlier:--"For in the yeere 1564, one William Boonen, a Dutchman, brought first the use of coaches hither, and the said Boonen was Queene Elizabeth's coachman; for indeede a coach was a strange monster in those days, and the sight of them put both horse and man into amazement: some said it was a great crabshell brought out of China, and some imagin'd it to be one of the pagan temples, in which the cannibals adored the divell: but at last those doubts were cleared, and coach-making became a substantial trade: so that now all the world may see they are as common as whores, and may be hired as easie as knights of the post." Dr Percy observes, they were first drawn with two horses, and that it was the favourite Buckingham who, about 1619, began to draw with six horses which, Wilson tells us ("Life of King James," 1653, fol. p. 130), "was wondered at then as a novelty, and imputed to him as a mastering pride." About the same time, he introduced sedan chairs.

[400] [Edits., _ladies 'gin_.]

[401] The 4to of 1611 reads--

"Why their gross _souring_ husbands stink;"

which is perhaps right.--_Collier._

[402] _Bridal bowl_ is the reading of 1611, and not _bride alebowl_, as Mr Reed gave it.--_Collier._

[403] [Edits., _by_.]

[404] [_Lie_ is strictly a mixture of water and alkaline salt; see the "Merie Tales of Skelton," No. 2 (Old English Jest-Books ii. 6). But here it signifies the water of the _pot de chambre_.]

[405] St Paul's Cathedral, which at this period was open all day, and the resort of all the idle, profligate, or necessitous people in town.

Bishop Carleton tells us ("Thankful Deliverance," 1625, p. 101), that Babington'a and Ballard's Conspiracy was "conferred upon in Paul's Church."--_Gilchrist._

[406] [Back-yard.]

[407] See ["Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 71.]

[408] [Old copies, _I'll_.]

[409] _i.e._, Respectful. So, in "The Second Part of Amonio and Mellida," act iii. sc. 4--

"I give the noble duke _respective_ thankes."

In "Every Man out of his Humour," act v. sc. 4--

"I am bound to pledge it _respectively_, sir,"

and in "Cynthia's Revels"--

"Methinks he did not this _respectively_ enough."

[410] Meaning a bill announcing that the plague had occasioned forty deaths. During the plague, the theatres were closed; and, to a _new player_ such an event was doubly calamitous.--_Collier._

[411] It was formerly customary for the counters in London to receive the remains of the sheriffs' dinners, for the use of the prisoners confined there.--See Stow's "Survey," vol. i. b. iii. p. 51. edit. 1720.

[412] [Mistress Smell-smock advanced Frances the dress, the cost of which was to be repaid, and Frances says that she made up the money in six weeks.]

[413] Breeches. The term occurs in almost every writer of the times.

[414] In "Philocothonista," 1635, p. 46, it is said: "Of glasses to qnaffe in, the fashions and sizes be almost without number, some transported hither from _Venice_ and other places, some made in the Citie by strangers." The manufactory of glass at _Venice_ was then very considerable. See Howell's "Letters," 1754, p. 56.

[415] [See Nares, edit. 1859, p. 923.]

[416] Formerly there were a set of itinerant musicians who used to earn a scanty pittance by going about in winter evenings to taverns and inns, playing for the entertainment of the company they found there. Sir John Hawkins ("History of Music," v. 66) mentions a person who was an excellent performer, and yet submitted to get his living by this practice so late as the year 1735. It is said that some musicians attended the greater inns so constantly that they might in some sort be styled retainers to the houses. A very curious and rare tract, with the title of "The Actors Remonstrance or Complaint for the Silencing of their Profession," 1643, has the following apposite passage:--"Our Musike that was held so delectable and precious that they scorned to come to a Taverne under twenty shillings salary for two houres, now wander with their Instruments under their cloaks, I meane such as haue any, into all houses of good fellowship, saluting every roome where there is company with _Will you have any musike, Gentlemen?_" Such was one consequence of the severity of Puritan discipline.--_Collier._ [Hazlitt's "English Drama and Stage," 1869, p. 263.]

[417] I find _blue coats_ used to be worn on St George's day, but what order of people the fashion was confined to, I have not been able to discover. It is mentioned in epigram 33 of _Rubbe and a great cast. The second bowle, by Thomas Freeman_, 4to, 1614.

"With's coram nomine keeping greater sway,
Then a _court blue coat_ on _Saint George's day_."

[Blue coats were worn by beadles. See Dyce's Middleton, i. 485.]

[418] Both the old copies name this country Catita, but the change is probably right.--_Collier._

[419] See note to "The Parson's Wedding," act v. sc. 2.

[420] Here the Captain most likely jumped from the table, and made his escape; but we are left to infer it.--_Collier._

[421] The metre of this line was spoiled by the omission of the article in it, arising from a non-attention to the old copy.--_Collier._

[422] Till now it ran "Why may not I, a fool, get a wise child, as a wise man get fools," according to the corrupt reading of the copy of 1636.--_Collier._

[423] [Old copies, _now will_.]

[424] In the statute of 4 James I., cap. 5, sect. 4, is a penalty on any person continuing drinking or tippling in inns, victualling-houses, or ale-houses, &c.

[425] [Lawyers are still called gentlemen of the long-robe.]

[426] [Edits., _Femini_.]

[427] [Edits., _summer's_; but compare p. 378.]

[428] Hand.

ACTUS V., SCÆNA 1.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS.

W. SMALL. On this one hour depends my hopes and fortunes.
Foot, I must have this widow: what should my dad
Make with a wife that scarce can wipe his nose,
Untruss his points, or hold a chamber-pot
Steady, till he pisses? the doors are fast;
'Tis now the midst of night; yet shall this chain
Procure access, and conference with the widow.
What, though I cheat my father; all men have sins,
Though in their several kinds: all ends in this--
So they get gold, they care not whose it is.
Begging the court, use bears the city out,
Lawyers their quirks: thus goes the world about.
So that our villainies have but different shapes,
Th' effects all one, and poor men are but apes
To imitate their betters: this is the difference--
All great men's sins must still be humoured,
And poor men's vices largely punished.
The privilege that great men have in evil,
Is this, they go unpunish'd to the devil.
Therefore I'll in; this chain I know will move;
Gold and rich stones win coyest ladies' love. [_Knocks._

_Enter_ ADRIANA [_above_].

ADR. What would you, sir, that you do knock so boldly?

W. SMALL. I must come in to the widow.

ADR. How! come in?
The widow has no entrance for such mates.

W. SMALL. Dost hear, sweet chambermaid? by heaven, I come
With letters from my father; I have brought her stones,
Jewels and chains, which she must use to-morrow.

ADR. Y'are a needy knave, and will lie:
Your father has cashier'd you, nor will he trust you,
Be gone, lest I do wash you hence[429].

W. SMALL. Dost hear?
By this good night, my father and I are friends,
Take but this chain for token, give her that,
And tell her I have other things for her,
Which by my father's will I am commanded
To give to her own hands.

ADR. Say you so?
In troth, I think you'll prove an honest man,
Had you once got a beard; let me see the chain.

W. SMALL. Dost think I lie? By this light, Adriana,
I love her with my soul; here's letters
And other jewels sent her from my father.
Is she a-bed?

ADR. By my virginity,
She is uncas'd, and ready to slip in
Betwixt the sheets; but I will bear her this,
And tell her what you say. [_Exit._

W. SMALL. But make some haste.
Why so, 'twill take: heart! how a waiting-maid
Can shake a fellow up, that is cashier'd,
And has no money? Foot, should she keep the chain,
And not come down, I must turn citizen,
Be bankrout, and crave the king's protection.
But here she comes.

_Enter_ TAFFATA [_in her smock_] _and_ ADRIANA.

TAF. What would you, sir, with us,
That on the sudden and so late you come?

W. SMALL. I have some secrets to acquaint you with;
Please you to let the chamber-maid shake off,
And stand as sentinel.

TAF. It shall not need.
I hope I have not brought her up so ill,
But that she knows how to contain your secrets,
As well as I her mistress: therefore on.

W. SMALL. It is not fit, forsooth, that I should on,
Before she leave the room.

ADR. 'Tis not indeed,
Therefore I'll wait in the with-drawing room,
Until you call. [_Exit._

TAF. Now, sir, what's your will?

W. SMALL. Dear widow, pity the state of a young,
Poor, yet proper gentleman: by Venus' pap,
Upon my knees I'd creep unto your lap
For one small drop of favour: and though this face
Is not the finest face, yet t'as been prais'd
By ladies of good judgment in faces.

TAF. Are these your secrets?

W. SMALL. You shall have secrets
More pleasing: nay hear, sweet widow;
Some wantons do delight to see men creep,
And on their knees to woo them.

TAF. I am none of those;
Stand up, I more desire a man should stand,
Than cringe and creep, that means to win my love:
I say, stand up, and let me go, ye had best.

W. SMALL. For ever let me creep upon the ground,
Unless you hear my suit.

TAF. How now, sir sauce?
Would you be cap'ring in your father's saddle?
Away, you cashier'd younger brother, be gone!
Do not I know the fashions of you all?
When a poor woman has laid open all
Her thoughts to you, then you grow proud and coy;
But when wise maids dissemble, and keep close,
Then you poor snakes come creeping on your bellies,
And with all oiled looks prostrate yourselves
Before our beauties' sun where, once but warm,
Like hateful snakes you strike us with your stings,
And then forsake us. I know your tricks--be gone!

W. SMALL. Foot, I'll first be hang'd: nay, if you go,
You shall leave your smock behind you, widow;
Keep close your womanish weapon, hold your tongue,
Nor speak, cough, sneeze, or stamp; for, if you do,
By this good blade I'll cut your throat directly.
Peace! stir not, by heaven I'll cut your throat
If you but stir; speak not, stand still, go to,
I'll teach coy widows a new way to woe.
Come, you shall kiss; why so; I'll stab, by heaven,
If you but stir; now hear--first kiss again.
Why so; stir not. Now come I to the point.
My hopes are past, nor can my present state
Afford a single halfpenny: my father
Hates me deadly; to beg, my birth forbids;
To steal, the law, the hangman and the rope
With one consent deny: to go o'trust,
The city common-council has forbid it,
Therefore my state is desperate--stir not--
And I by much will rather choose to hang,
Than in a ditch or prison-hole to starve.
Resolve, wed me, and take me to your bed,
Or by my soul I'll straight cut off your head,
Then kill myself; for I had rather die,
Than in a street live poor and lousily.
You don't--I know, you cannot[430]--love my father?
A widow that has known the _quid_ of things,
To doat upon an old and crazed man,
That stinks at both ends worse than an elder-pipe!
Who, when his blood and spirit are at the height,
Hath not a member to his palsy body,
But is more limber than a King's-head pudding,
Took from the pot half-sod; do I not know this?
Have you not wealth enough to serve us both?
And am not I a pretty handsome fellow
To do your drudgery? Come, come, resolve.
For, by my blood, if you deny your bed,
I'll cut your throat without equivocation.
If you be pleas'd, hold up your finger; if not,
By heaven I'll gar my whinyard[431] through your womb!
Is't a match?

TAF. Hear me but speak.

W. SMALL. You'll prate too loud.

TAF. No.

W. SMALL. Nor speak one word against my honest suit?

TAF. No, by my worth.

W. SMALL. Kiss upon that, and speak.

TAF. I dare not wed; men say y'are naught, you'll cheat,
And you do keep a whore.

W. SMALL. That is a lie;
She keeps herself and me; yet I protest,
She's not dishonest.

TAF. How could she maintain you?

W. SMALL. Why, by her comings-in; a little thing
Her friends have left her, which with putting to best use,
And often turning, yields her a poor living.
But what of that? she's now shook off; to thee
I'll only cleave: I'll be thy merchant,
And to this wealthy fair I'll bring my ware,
And here set up my standing: therefore resolve.
Nought but my sword is left: if't be a match,
Clap hands, contract, and straight to bed:
If not, pray, forgive, and straight goes off your head.

TAF. I take thy love.

W. SMALL. Then straight let's both to bed.

TAF. I'll wed to-morrow.

W. SMALL. You shall not sleep upon't.
An honest contract is as good as marriage.
A bird in hand--you know the proverb, widow.

TAF. O[432], let me tell thee, I'll love thee, while I live,
For this attempt; give me that lusty lad,
That wins his widow with his well-drawn blade,
And not with oaths and words: a widow's wooing,
Not in bare words, but should consist in doing--
I take thee to my husband--

SMALL. I thee to wife.
Now to thy bed, and there we'll end this strife. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ SIR OLIVER _and Fiddlers_.

OLIVER. Warm blood, the young man's slave, the old man's god,
Makes me to stir thus soon; it stirs, i' faith,
And with a kind of itching pricks me on
To bid my bride _bon jour_; O, this desire
Is even another filch'd Promethean fire,
By which we old men live; performance, then,
Is that poor old men's bane, that in old men
Comes limping off more lame, God knows, than he
Which in a close, a hot, and dangerous fight,
Has been dismembered, and craves by letters patents.
Yet scarce a woman that considers this,
Women have tricks, firks and farthingales:
A generation are they full of subtlety,
And all most honest, where they want the means
To be otherwise. Therefore, I'll have an eye,
My widow goes not oft to visit kinsfolk:
By birth she is a Ninny; and that I know
Is not in London held the smallest kindred.
I must have wits and brains; come on, my friends.
Out with your tools, and to't! a strain of mirth,
And a pleasant song to wake the widow.

_Enter_ WILLIAM SMALL-SHANKS _above, in his shirt_.

W. SMALL. Musicians! minstrels! foot, rogues,
For God's love, leave your filthy squeaking noise,
And get you gone: the widow and myself
Will scamble out the shaking of the sheets[433]
Without music; we have no need of fiddlers
To our dancing. Foot, have you no manners?
Cannot a man take his natural rest
For your scraping? I shall wash your gut-strings,
If you but stay a while: yet, honest rascals,
If you'll let us have t'other crash,
The widow and I'll keep time; there's for your pains.

[_Throws them down money._

OLIVER. How's this? will the widow and you keep time?
What trick? what quiddit? what fegary is this?
My cashier'd son speak from the widow's chamber,
And in his shirt? ha! sure she is not there!
'Tis so; she has took him in for pity,
And now removes her chamber. I will home,
On with my neatest robes, perfume my beard,
Eat cloves, eringoes, and drink some _aqua vitæ_
To sweeten breath, and keep my weam from wambling;
Then, like the month of March, come blust'ring in,
Marry the widow, shake up this springal,
And then, as quiet as a sucking lamb,
Close by the widow will I rest all night[434].
As for my breath I have crotches and devices,
"Ladies' rank breaths are often help'd with spices."

_Enter_ ADRIANA _and another, strawing herbs_.[435]

ADR. Come, straw apace; Lord, shall I never live
To walk to church on flowers? O, 'tis fine,
To see a bride trip it to church so lightly,
As if her new chopines[436] would scorn to bruise
A silly flower: and now, I pr'ythee, tell me,
What flower thinkest thou is likest to a woman?

1ST WOMAN. A mary-gold, I think.

ADR. Why a mary-gold?

1ST WOMAN. Because a little heat makes it to spread,
And open wide his leaves.

ADR. Th'art quite wide:
A mary-gold doth open wide all day,
And shuts most close at night: I hope thou knowest
All wenches do the contrary: but, sirrah,
How does thy uncle the old doctor?
Dost think he'll be a bishop?

1ST WOMAN. O, questionless!
For h'as got him a young wife, and carried her
To court already: but now, I pr'ythee, say,
Why will the widow wed so old a knight?

ADR. Why? for his riches.

1ST WOMAN. For riches only?
Why, riches cannot give her her delight.

ADR. Riches, I hope, can soon procure her one
Shall give her her delight: that's the devil.
That's it, i'faith, makes us waiting-gentlewomen
Live maids so long.

1ST WOMAN. Think you so?

ADR. Yes, in faith.
Married women quite have spoiled the market,
By having secret friends besides their husbands;
For if these married wives would be content
To have but one a piece, I think, in troth,
There would be doings enough for us all;
And, till we get an act of parliament
For that, our states are desperate.

_Enter_ BOUTCHER _and_ CONSTANTIA.

Come, straw apace.

CON. So-ho-ho, master.

BOUT. Boy.

CON. In troth, I thought y' had been more fast asleep
Than a midwife or a Puritan tailor
At a Sunday evening's lecture: but, sir,
Why do you rise so soon?

BOUT. To see the widow.

CON. The weaker you; you are forbid a widow,
And 'tis the first thing you will fall into.
Me thinks a young clear-skinn'd country gentlewoman,
That never saw baboons, lions, or courtiers,
Might prove a handsome wife; or what do you say
To a citizen's daughter, that never was in love
With a player, that never learnt to dance,
That never dwelt near any inn-of-court--
Might not she in time prove an honest wife?
Faith, take a maid, and leave the widow, master:
Of all meats I love not a gaping oyster.

BOUT. God speed your works, fair maids.

ADR. You much mistake:
'Tis no work.

BOUT. What then?

ADR. A preparation
To a work, sir.

BOUT. What work, sweet ladies?

ADR. Why, to a marriage; that's a work, I think.

BOUT. How? a preparation to a marriage?
Of whom, kind maids, of whom?

ADR. And why kind maids?
I hope you have had no kindness at our hand
To make you say so: but, sir, understand
That Sir Oliver Small-shanks, the noble knight,
And Mistress Taffata, the rich widow,
Must this day be coupled, conjoined,
Married, espoused, wedded, contracted.
Or, as the Puritan says, put together;
And so, sir, to the shifting of our clean smocks
We leave you.

[_Exeunt_ ADRIANA _and the other women_.

BOUT. Married! and to-day?
Dissension, jealousy, hate, beggary,
With all the dire events which breed dislike
In nuptial beds, attend her bridal steps!
Can vows and oaths with such protesting action,
As if their hearts were spit forth with their words,
As if their souls were darted through their eyes,
Be of no more validity with women?
Have I for her contemn'd my fixéd fate,
Neglected my fair hopes, and scorn'd the love
Of beauteous, virtuous, and honour'd Constantia?

CON. Now works it with my wish: my hopes are full. [_Aside._

BOUT. And I engag'd my worth, and ventur'd life
On yonder buffling[437] face, to have men scorn,
And point at my disgrace? first will I leave to live!
There take my purse, live thou to better fate,
[BOUTCHER _hangs himself_.
Better thus die than live unfortunate.

CON. Ay me accurs'd! help, help, murther! murther!
Curs'd be the day and hour that gave me breath!
Murther, murther! if any gentleman
Can hear my plaints, come forth, and assist me.

W. SMALL.[438] _What out-cries call me from my naked bed?_
_Who calls Jeronimo?_ speak, here I am.

CON. Good sir, leave your struggling and acting,
And help to save the life of a distressed man;
O, help, if you be gentlemen!

W. SMALL. _What's here?_
_A man hang'd up, and all the murtherers gone,_
_And at my door, to lay the guilt on me?_
_This place was made to pleasure citizens' wives,_
And not to hang up honest gentlemen.

_Enter_ TAFFATA.

TAF. Where be these lazy knaves? some raise the house.
What meant the cry of murther? where's my love?

W. SMALL. _Come, Isabella, help me to lament,_
_For sighs are stopp'd, and all my tears are spent._
_These clothes I oft have seen, ay me, my friend!_
Pursue the murtherers, raise all the street.

CON. It shall not need; he stirs; give him breath.

W. SMALL. _Is there yet life? Horatio, my dear boy:_
_Horatio, Horatio, what hast thou misdone,_
_To lose thy life, when life was new-begun?_

BOUT. 'S heart! a man had as good be hang'd outright,
As to endure this clapping. Shame to thy sex,
Perfidious perjur'd woman, where's thy shame?
How can thy modesty forbear to blush,
And know'st I know thee an adulteress?
Have not thy vows made thee my lawful wife
Before the face of heaven? where is thy shame?
But why speak I of shame to thee, whose face
Is steel'd with custom'd sin; whose thoughts want grace,
The custom of thy sin so lulls thy sense.
Women ne'er blush, though ne'er so foul th' offence.
To break thy vow to me, and straight to wed
A doating stinkard!

W. SMALL. But hold your tongue,
Or by this light I'll truss you up again.
'Heart! rail on my wife! am I[439] a stinkard,
Or do I doat? speak such another word,
And up you truss again. Am I a stinkard?

BOUT. The knight your father is.

W. SMALL. Why, who denies it?
He supplanted[440] thee, and I supplanted him.
Come, come, you shall be friends: come, forgive her;
For by this light there is no remedy,
Unless you will betake you to my leavings.

CON. Rather than so, I'll help you to a wife,
Rich, well-born, and by some accounted fair;
And for the worth of her virginity,
I dare presume to pawn my honesty:
What say you to Constantia Sommerfield?

W. SMALL. Dost know where she is, boy?

CON. I do; nay more,
If he but swear to embrace her constant love,
I'll fetch her to this place.

W. SMALL. He shall do it, boy.

_Enter_ Sir OLIVER _and fiddlers_.

He shall do it, go fetch her, boy. Foot, my father.
[_Exit_ CONSTANTIA.
Stand to't now, old wench, stand to't now.

OLIVER. Now fresh and youthful as the month of May,
I'll bid my bride good-morrow. Musicians, on:
Lightly, lightly; and by my knighthood-spurs,
This year you shall have my protection,
And yet not buy your livery coat yourselves.
Good morrow, bride, fresh[441] as the month of May,
I come to kiss thee on thy wedding-day.

W. SMALL. Saving your tale, sir, I'll show you how
April showers bring May flowers,
So merrily sings the cuckoo.
The truth is, I have laid my knife aboard.
The widow, sir, is wedded.

OLIVER. Ha!

W. SMALL. Bedded.

OLIVER. Ha!

W. SMALL. Why, my good father, what should you do with a wife?
Would you be crested? Will you needs thrust your head
In one of Vulcan's helmets? Will you perforce
Wear a city cap and a court feather?

OLIVER. Villain, slave, thou hast wrong'd my wife.

W. SMALL. Not so;
Speak, my good wench, have I not done thee right?

TAF. I find no fault; and I protest, Sir Oliver,
I'd not have lost the last two hours' sleep
I had by him for all the wealth you have.

OLIVER. Villain--slave, I'll hang thee by the statute;
Thou hast two wives.

W. SMALL. Be not so furious, sir.
I have but this: the other was my whore,
Which now is married to an honest lawyer.

OLIVER. Thou villain--slave, thou hast abus'd thy father.

BOUT. "Your son, i' faith, your very son, i' faith!
The villain-boy has one trick of his sire,
Has firk'd away the wench, has pierc'd the hogshead,
And knows by this the vintage."[442]

OLIVER. I am undone.

BOUT. You could not love the widow, but her wealth.

OLIVER. The devil take my soul, but I did love her.

TAF. That oath doth show you are a Northern knight,
And of all men alive, I'll never trust
A northern man in love.

OLIVER. And why, and why, slut?

TAF. Because the first word he speaks is, the devil
Take his soul; and who will give him trust,
That once has given his soul unto the devil?

W. SMALL. She says most true, father; the soul once gone,
The best part of man is gone.

TAF. And, i' faith,
If the best part of a man is gone,
The rest of the body is not worth a rush,
Though it be ne'er so handsome.

_Enter_ LADY SOMMERFIELD, THROAT _and_ BEARD
_bound, and_ JUSTICE TUTCHIN.

LADY SOM. Bring them away.

W. SMALL. How now?
My lawyer pinion'd! I begin to stink
Already.

LADY SOM. Cheater, my daughter!

W. SMALL. She's mad.

THROAT. My wife, sir, my wife!

W. SMALL. They're mad, stark mad:
I am sorry, sir, you have lost those happy wits,
By which you liv'd so well. The air grows cold:
Therefore I'll take my leave.

LADY SOM. So, stay him, officers.
Sir, 'tis not your tricks of wit can carry it.
Officers, attach him and this gentleman
For stealing away my heir.

W. SMALL. You do me wrong;
Heart! I never saw your heir.

THROAT. That's a lie:
You stole her, and by chance I married her.

W. SMALL. God give you joy, sir.

THROAT. Ask the butler else.
Therefore, widow, release me; for by no law,
Statute, or book-case of _Vicesimo_
_Edwardi secundi_, nor by the statute
Of _Tricesimo Henrici sexti_,
Nor by any book-case of _decimo_
Of the late queen, am I accessory,
Part, or party-confederate, abettor,
Helper, seconder, persuader, forwarder,
Principal, or maintainer of this late theft,
But by law. I forward, and she willing,
Clapp'd up the match, and by a good statute
Of _Decimo tertio Richardi quarti_,
She is my leeful, lawful, and my true
Married wife, _teste_ Lieutenant Beard.

W. SMALL. Who lives would think that you could prate so fast,
Your hands being bound behind you? foot, he talks
With as much ease, as if he were in's shirt.

OLIVER. I am witness thou hadst the heir.

JUS. TUT. So am I.

THROAT. And so is my man Dash.

BOUT. Hear me but speak;
Sit you as judges. Undo the lawyer's hands,
That he may freely act, and I'll be bound
That William Small-shanks shall put your throat to silence,
And overthrow him at his own weapon.

JUS. TUT. Agreed: take each his place, and hear the case
Argued betwixt them two.

OMNES. Agreed, agreed.

JUS. TUT. Now, Throat, or never, stretch yourself.

THROAT. Fear not.

W. SMALL. Here stand I for my client this gentleman.

THROAT. I for the widow.

W. SMALL. Begin.

THROAT. Right worshipful,
I say that William Small-shanks, madman,
Is by a statute made in Octavo
Of Richard Cordelion guilty to the law
Of felony for stealing this lady's heir.
That he stole her, the proof is most pregnant--
He brought her to my house, confessed himself
He made great means to steal her. I lik'd her,
And finding him a novice (truth to tell),
Married her myself, and (as I said),
By a statute Richardi Quarti,
She is my lawful wife.

W. SMALL. For my client
I say, the wench I brought unto your house
Was not the daughter to rich Sommerfield.

OLIVER. What proof of that?

W. SMALL. This gentleman.

THROAT. Tut, tut,
He is a party in the cause. But, sir,
If't were not the daughter to this good widow,
Who was it? answer that.

W. SMALL. An arrant whore,
Which you have married, and she is run
Away with all your jewels--this is true;
And this Lieutenant Beard can testify:
It was the wench I kept in Hosier Lane.

BEARD. What, was it she?

W. SMALL. The very same.

JUS. TUT. Speak, sirrah Beard, if all he says be true?

BEARD. She said she was a punk, a rampant whore,
Which in her time had been the cause of parting
Some fourteen bawds; he kept her in the suburbs.
Yet I do think this wench was not the same.

BOUT. The case is clear with me.

OMNES. O strange!

THROAT. Sir, sir.
This is not true: how liv'd you in the suburbs,
And scap'd so many searches?

W. SMALL. I answer,
That most constables in our out-parishes
Are bawds themselves, by which we scap'd the searches.

OLIVER. This is most strange!

LADY SOM. What's become of this woman?

BEARD. That know not I. As I was squiring her
Along the street, Master Small-shanks set upon me,
Beat me down, and took away the maid,
Which I suppose was daughter to the widow.

W. SMALL. He lies; let me be hanged, if he lie not.

OLIVER. What confusion is this?

_Enter_ CONSTABLE.

CON. Bring them forward.

_Enter_ THOMAS SMALL-SHANKS _and_ FRANCES.

[443]God preserve your worship. [_To_ L. SOM.] And it like you, madam?
[_To_ SIR O.] We were commanded by your[443] deputy
That, if we took a woman in the watch,
To bring her straight to you: and hearing there
You were come hither, hither we brought them.

OLIVER. The one is my son; I do acknowledge him.
What woman's that?

T. SMALL. The widow's daughter, sir.

W. SMALL. Blood! is he gull'd too.

T. SMALL. My brother stole her first,
Throat cosen'd him, and I had cosen'd Throat,
Had not the constable took us in the watch.
She is the widow's daughter, had I had luck.

THROAT. And my espoused wife.

LADY SOM. Unmask her face.
My daughter? I defy her.

W. SMALL. Your worship's wife.

THROAT. I am gull'd and abus'd; and by a statute
Of _Tricesimo_ of the late Queen
I will star-chamber you all for cosenage,
And be by law divorc'd.

W. SMALL. Sir, 'twill not hold:
She's your leeful, lawful, and true-wedded wife,
_Teste_ Lieutenant Beard.

BEARD. Was't you that brake my head?

W. SMALL. But why shouldst think much to die a cuckold,
Being born a knave? As good lawyers as you
Scorn not horns.

THROAT. I am gull'd, ay me accurs'd!
Why should the harmless men be vex'd with horns,
When women most deserve them?

W. SMALL. I'll show you, sir:
The husband is the wife's head, and, I pray,
Where should the horns stand but upon the head?
Why, wert not thou begot (thou foolish knave)
By a poor sumner on a serjeant's widow?
Wert not thou a Puritan, and put in trust
To gather relief for the distress'd Geneva[ns]?
And didst not thou leave thy poor brethren,
And run away with all the money? Speak,
Was not that thy first rising? Go,
Y' are well-coupled: by Jove, ye are. She is
But a younger sister newly come to town:
She's current metal, not a penny the worse
For a little use: whole within the ring,
By my soul.

BEARD. Will he take her, think'st thou?

BOUT. Yes, faith upon her promise of amendment.

JUS. TUT. The lawyer is gull'd.

THROAT. Am I thus over-reach'd to have a wife,
And not of the best neither?

FRANCES. Good sir, be content,
A lawyer should make all things right and straight;
All lies but in the handling; I may prove
A wife that shall deserve your best of love.

OLIVER. Take her, Throat, you have a better jewel now
Than ever. Kiss her, kiss her, man; all friends.

LADY SOM. Yet, in this happy close, I still have lost
My only daughter.

W. SMALL. Where's thy page, Boutcher?

_Enter_ CONSTANTIA.

CON. Here I present the page: and that all doubt
May here be cleared, here in my proper shape,
That all your joys may be complete and full,
I must make one. With pardon, gentle mother,
Since all our friends so happily are met,
Here will I choose a husband: this be the man
Whom, since I left your house in shape of page,
I still have followed.

W. SMALL. Foot, would I had known so much,
I would have been bold to have lain with your page.

CON. Say, am I welcome?

BOUT. As is my life and soul.

LADY SOM. Heaven give you joy,
Since all so well succeeds, take my consent.

W. SMALL. Then are we all pair'd: I and my lass;
You and your wife; the lawyer and his wench;
And, father, fall you aboard of the widow:
But then my brother----

T. SMALL. Faith, I am a fool.

W. SMALL. That's all one: if God had not made
Some elder brothers fools, how should witty
Younger brothers be maintain'd?
Strike up, music; let's have an old song:
Since all my tricks have found so good success,
We'll sing, dance, dice, and drink down heaviness.

FOOTNOTES:

[429] [Meaning that she will throw something on his head.]

[430] [Edits., _Do not, I know you cannot._]

[431] Sword.

[432] [Edits., _To._]

[433] _The shaking of the sheets_ was a dance. A _double-entendre_ is designed here, and the same is often to be found in old plays. See "How to choose a good Wife from a bad," 1602; Massinger's "City Madam," act ii. sc. 1; "A Woman kill'd with Kindness," act i. sc. 1.

[434] The copy of 1636 makes nonsense of these two lines, thus--

"And then _lie_ as quiet as a sucking lamb,
Close by the widow _will I rest_ all night:"

and thus it stood till now.--_Collier._

[435] It was formerly a custom to strew herbs and flowers from the house where persons betrothed resided to the church where they were married. See ["Popular Antiquities of Great Britain," ii. 69, 70.]

[436] A _choppine_, or _chioppine_, was a high shoe worn by the Italians. Tom Coriate calls them _chapineys_, and gives the following account of them: "There is one thing used of the Venetian women, and some others dwelling in the cities and townes subject to the Signiory of Venice, that is not to be observed (I thinke) amongst any other women in Christendome; which is so common in Venice, that no woman whatsoever goeth without it, either in her house or abroad, _a thing made of wood, and covered with leather of sundry colors, some with white, some redde, some yellow. It is called a chapiney, which they wears under their shoes._ Many of them are curiously painted; some also I have seene fairly gilt; so uncomely a thing (in my opinion) that it is pitty this foolish custom is not cleane banished and exterminated out of the citie. _There are many of these chapineys of a great heighth, even half a yard high_, which maketh many of their women that are very short seeme much taller than the tallest women we have in England. Also I have heard that this is observed among them, that by how much the nobler a women is, by so much the higher are her chapineys. All their gentlewomen, and most of their wives and widowes that are of any wealth, are assisted and supported eyther by men or women when they walke abroad, to the end they may not fall. They are borne up most commonly by the left arme, otherwise they might quickly take a fall."--"Crudities," 1611, p. 262. See also Mr Steevens's note on "Hamlet," act ii. sc. 2, [and Hazlitt's "Venice," iv. 284.]

[437] [Edits., _buffolne_.]