Chapter XXVI: Act II: , Scene 1

_Enter_ JOLLY _and the old lady_ LOVEALL.

LOVE. Away, unworthy, false, ungrateful! with what brow dar'st thou come again into my sight, knowing how unworthy you have been, and how false to love?

JOLLY. No, 'tis you are unworthy, and deserve not those truths of love I have paid here; else you would not believe every report that envy brings, and condemn, without hearing me, whom you have so often tried and found faithful.

LOVE. Yes, till I, too credulous, had pity on your tears; till I had mercy, you durst not be false.

JOLLY. Nor am not yet.

LOVE. What dost thou call false? Is there a treachery beyond what thou hast done? When I had given my fame, my fortune, myself, and my husband's honour, all in one obligation, a sacrifice to that passion which thou seem'dst to labour with despair of, to tell and brag of a conquest o'er a woman, fooled by her passion, and lost in her love to thee? unworthy----

[_She turns away her head._

JOLLY. By this day, 'tis as false as he that said it. Hang him, son of a bachelor! a slave that, envying my fortune in such a happiness as your love and chaste embraces, took this way to ruin it. Come, dry your eyes, and let the guilty weep: if I were guilty, I durst as soon approach a constable drunk, as come here. You know I am your slave.

LOVE. You swore so, and honour made me leave to triumph over your miseries.

JOLLY. Do you repent that I am happy? if you do, command my death.

LOVE. Nay, never weep, or sit sadly: I am friends, so you will only talk and discourse; for 'tis your company I only covet.

JOLLY. No, you cannot forgive, because you have injur'd me: 'tis right woman's justice, accuse first; and harder to reconcile when they are guilty than when they are innocent; or else you would not turn from me thus.

LOVE. You know your youth hath a strong power over me: turn those bewitching eyes away; I cannot see them with safety of mine honour.

JOLLY. Come, you shall not hide your face: there's a charm in it against those that come burnt with unchaste fires; for let but your eyes or nose drop upon his heart, it would burn it up, or quench it straight.

LOVE. No cogging, you have injured me; and now, though my love plead, I must be deaf; my honour bids me; for you will not fear again to prove unworthy, when you find I am so easy to forgive. Why, you will not be uncivil?

[JOLLY _kisses her, and she shoves him away with her mouth_.

JOLLY. So, the storm is laid! I must have those pearls. She shoved me away with her mouth! I'll to her again.

[_Aside._]

LOVE. Where are you? what do you take me for? why, you will not be uncivil?

[_Still as he offers to touch her, she starts as if he
plucked up her coats._

JOLLY. Uncivil! by thy chaste self I cannot, chick: thou hast such a terror, such a guard in those eyes, I dare not approach thee, nor can I gaze upon so much fire. Prythee, sirrah, let me hide me from their power here.

LOVE. You presume upon the weakness of our sex. What shall I say or do, tyrant love?

JOLLY. There's a charm in those pearls! pull them off: if they have a frost in them, let me wear them, and then we are both safe.

LOVE. I would you had taken them sooner! I had then been innocent, and might with whiteness have worn my love, which I shall ne'er outlive.

JOLLY. Dear, do not too fast pour in my joys, lest I too soon reach my heaven.

LOVE. Begone, then, lest we prove (having gained that height) this sad truth in love, _The first minute after noon is night._

JOLLY. Part now? the gods forbid! take from me first this load of joys you have thrown upon me, for 'tis a burthen harder to bear than sadness. I was not born till now; this my first night, in which I reap true bliss.

LOVE. No, no, I would it had been your first night, then your falsehood had not given argument for these tears; and I hate myself to think I should be such a foolish fly thus again to approach your dangerous flame.

JOLLY. Come, divert these thoughts. I'll go see your closet.

LOVE. No, no, I swear you shall not.

JOLLY. You know I am going out of town for two days.

LOVE. When you return, I'll show it you; you will forget me else when you are gone, and at court.

JOLLY. Can your love endure delays; or shall business thee from thence remove? These were your own arguments. Come, you shall show it me.

LOVE. Nay, then I perceive what unworthy way your love would find. Ye gods, are all men false?

JOLLY. As I live, you shall. Stay: come, you ought to make me amends for slandering of me. Hang me, if ever I told; and he that reports it is the damnedst rogue in a country. Come, I say----

[_He pulls her bodkin, that is tied in a piece of black
bobbin._

LOVE. Ah! as I live, I will not, I have sworn. Do not pull me: I will not be damned, I have sworn.

[_He pulls her, and says this._

JOLLY. As I live I'll break your bodkin then. A weeping tyrant! Come, by this good day, you shall be merciful.

LOVE. Why, you will not be uncivil! You will not force me, will you? As I live, I will not.

JOLLY. Nay, an' you be wilful, I can be stubborn too.

[_He pulls still._

LOVE. Hang me, I'll call aloud. Why, Nan! Nay, you may force me; but, as I live, I'll do nothing.

[_Exeunt ambo._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

CAPT. A pox upon you, are you earthed? The rogue has got her necklace of pearl; but I hope he will leave the rope to hang me in. How the pox came they so great? I must have some trick to break his neck, else the young rogue will work me out. 'Tis an excellent old lady, but I dare not call her so: yet would she were young enough to bear, we might do some good for our heirs, by leaving such a charitable brood behind. She's a woman after the first kind; 'tis but going into her, and you may know her. Then she'll oblige so readily, and gives with greater thanks than others receive; takes it so kindly to be courted. I am now to oblige her (as she calls it) by professing young Wild's love, and desiring an assurance she's sensible of his sufferings; which though it be false and beyond my commission, yet the hopes of such a new young thing, that has the vogue of the town for handsomest, 'twill so tickle her age, and so blow up her vanity, to have it said he is in love with her, and so endear her to me for being the means, that the parson's malice will be able to take no root. She comes: I must not be seen.

_Enter_ LOVEALL _and_ JOLLY.

LOVE. Give me that letter; I'll swear you shall not read it.

JOLLY. Take it; I'll away. What time shall I call you? in the evening? There's a play at court to-night.

LOVE. I would willingly be there, but your ladies are so censorious and malicious to us young ladies in the town, especially to me, because the wits are pleased to afford me a visit or so: I could be content else to be seen at court. Pray, what humour is the queen of? The captain of her guard I know.

JOLLY. The queen! Who's that knocks at the back-door?

[_The_ CAPTAIN _knocks_.

LOVE. Smoothe my band; I know not. Go down that way, and look you be not false; if you should be false, I'll swear I should spoil myself with weeping.

JOLLY. Farewell! In the evening I'll call you.

[_Exit_ JOLLY.

LOVE. Who's there? Captain, where have you been all this while? I might sit alone, I see, for you, if I could not find conversation in books.

[_She takes a book in her hand, and sits down._

CAPT. Faith, madam, friends newly come to town engaged me; and my stay was civility rather than desire. What book's that?

LOVE. I'll swear he was a witch that writ it; for he speaks my thoughts, as if he had been within me: the original, they say, was French.

CAPT. O, I know it; 'tis the _Accomplished Woman_:[213] yourself he means by this, while you are yourself.

LOVE. Indeed, I confess, I am a great friend to conversation, if we could have it without suspicion; but the world's so apt to judge, that 'tis a prejudice to our honour now to salute a man.

CAPT. Innocence, madam, is above opinion, and your fame's too great to be shook with whispers.

LOVE. You are ever civil, and therefore welcome. Pray, what news is there now in town? for I am reclused here. Unless it be yours, I receive no visits; and I'll swear, I charged the wench to-day not to let you in: I wonder she let you come.

CAPT. Faith, madam, if it had been my own business, I should not have ventured so boldly; but the necessity that forces me to come concerns my friend, against whom if your mercy be now bounded with those strict ties of honour and cold thoughts which I have ever found guard your heart, my friend, a young and handsome man, is lost, is lost in his prime, and falls like early blossoms. But methinks you should not prove the envious frost to destroy this young man, this delicate young man, that has whole bundles of boys in his breeches: yet if you be cruel, he and they die, as useless as open-arses[214] gathered green.

[_She must be earnest in her looks all the time he speaks,
desirous to know who he speaks of._

LOVE. Good captain, out with the particular. What way can my charity assist him? You know by experience I cannot be cruel: remember how I fetched you out of a swoon, and laid you in my own bed.

CAPT. That act preserved a life that has always been laboured in your service, and, I dare say, your charity here will find as fruitful a gratitude.

LOVE. But I hope he will not be so uncivil as you were: I'll swear I could have hanged you for that rape, if I would have followed the law; but I forgave you upon condition you would do so again. But what's this young man you speak of?

CAPT. Such is my love to you and him, that I cannot prefer mine own particular before your content, else I'd have poisoned him, ere I'd have brought him to your house.

LOVE. Why, I pray?

CAPT. Because he's young, handsome, and of sound parts: that I am sure will ruin me here.

LOVE. His love may make all these beauties; else I have an honour will defend me against him, were he as handsome as young Wild.

CAPT. Why, ay, there it is: that one word has removed all my fears and jealousies with a despair; for that's the man whose love, life, and fortune lies at your feet; and, if you were single, by lawful means he would hope to reach what now he despairs of.

LOVE. Let him not despair; love is a powerful pleader, and youth and beauty will assist him; and if his love be noble, I can meet it, for there's none that sacrifices more to friendship-love than I.

CAPT. My friend's interest makes me rejoice at this. Dare you trust me to say this to him, though it be not usual! Pray, speak: nay, you are so long still a-resolving to be kind! Remember, charity is as great a virtue as chastity, and greater, if we will hear nature plead: for the one may make many maids, the other can but preserve one. But I know you will be persuaded; let it be my importunity that prevailed. Shall I bring him hither one evening?

LOVE. Why do you plead thus? Pray, be silent, and when you see him, tell him he has a seat here, and I----

[_She turns away._

CAPT. Out with it; what is't? Shall he call you mistress, and his Platonic?

LOVE. Away, away! Me?

CAPT. No niceness; is't a match?

LOVE. Lord, would I were as worthy as willing (pray tell him so): he shall find me one of the humblest mistresses that ever he was pleased to honour with his affections.

CAPT. Dare you write this to him, and honour me with bearing it? I confess I am such a friend to friendship-love too, that I would even bring him on my back to a midnight's meeting.

LOVE. If you will stay here, I'll go in and write it.

[_She's going out, he calls her._

CAPT. Madam, I forgot to ask your ladyship one question.

LOVE. What was't?

CAPT. There happened a business last night betwixt Master Wild and one Jolly, a courtier, that brags extremely of your favour. I swear, if it had not been for friends that interposed themselves, there had been mischief, for Master Wild was extreme zealous in your cause.

LOVE. Such a rascal I know. Villain, to bring my name upon the stage, for a subject of his quarrels! I'll have him cudgelled.

CAPT. And I'll answer he deserved it; for the quarrel ended in a bet of a buck-hunting-nag, that some time to-day he would bring a necklace and chain of pearl of yours (not stol'n, but freely given) to witness his power.

LOVE. Did the vain rascal promise that?

CAPT. Yes, but we laugh'd at it.

LOVE. So you might; and as I live, if the necklace were come from stringing, I'd send them both to Master Wild, to wear as a favour, to assure him I am his, and to put the vain slave out of countenance.

CAPT. Ay, marry, such a timely favour were worth a dozen letters, to assure him of your love, and remove all the doubts the other's discourse may put into his head: and, faith, I'd send him the chain now, and in my letter promise him the necklace: he'll deserve such a favour.

LOVE. I'll go in and fetch it immediately: will you favour me to deliver it?

CAPT. I'll wait upon your ladyship.

LOVE. I'll swear you shall not go in: you know I foreswore being alone with you.

[_She goes, and he follows her; she turns, and bids him stay._

CAPT. Hang me, I'll go in. Does my message deserve to wait an answer at the door.

LOVE. Ay, but you'll be naught.

CAPT. O, ne'er trust me if I break.

LOVE. If you break, some such forfeit you'll lose. Well, come in for once.

CAPT. You are so suspicious.

LOVE. I'll swear I have reason for't: you are such another man.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Enter_ WANTON _and_ BAWD.

WAN. Is he gone?

BAWD. Yes, he's gone to the old lady's, high with mischief.

WAN. Fare him well, easy fool: how the trout strove to be tickled! And how does this ring become me, ha! They are fine kind of things, these wedding-rings.

[_She plays with the wedding-ring upon her finger._

BAWD. Besides the good custom of putting so much gold in 'em,[215] they bring such conveniences along.

WAN. Why, ay; now I have but one to please, and if I please him, who dares offend me? and that wife's a fool that cannot make her husband one.

BAWD. Nay, I am absolutely of opinion it was fit for you to marry. But whether he be a good husband or no----

WAN. A pox of a good husband! give me a wise one; they only make the secure cuckolds, the cuckold in grain: for dye a husband that has wit but with an opinion thou art honest, and see who dares wash the colour out. Now your fool changes with every drop, doats with confidence in the morning, and at night jealous even to murder, and his love (Lord help us!) fades like my gredaline petticoat.[216]

BAWD. This is a new doctrine.

WAN. 'Tis a truth, wench, I have gained from my own observations, and the paradox will be maintained. Take wise men for cuckolds, and fools to make them: for your wise man draws eyes and suspicion with his visit, and begets jealous thoughts in the husband, that his wife may be overcome with his parts; when the fool is welcome to both, pleaseth both; laughs with the one, and lies with the other, and all without suspicion. I tell thee, a fool that has money is the man. The wits and the we's, which is a distinct parreal of wit bound by itself, and to be sold at Wit-hall, or at the sign of the King's-head in the butchery: these wise things will make twenty jealous, ere one man a cuckold, when the family of fools will head a parish, ere they are suspected.

BAWD. Well, I see one may live and learn: and if he be but as good at it now you are his own, as he was when he was your friend's friend (as they call it), you have got one of the best hiders of such a business in the town. Lord, how he would sister you at a play!

WAN. Faith, 'tis as he is used at first; if he gets the bridle in's teeth, he'll ride to the devil; but if thou be'st true, we'll make him amble ere we have done. The plot is here, and if it thrive I'll alter the proverb, _The parson gets the children_, to, _The parson fathers them_.

BAWD. Anything that may get rule: I love to wear the breeches.

WAN. So do we all, wench. Empire 'tis all our aim; and I'll put my ranting Roger in a cage but I'll tame him. He loves already, which is an excellent ring in a fool's nose, and thou shalt hear him sing--

_Happy only is that family that shows
A cock that's silent, and a hen that crows._

BAWD. Do this, I'll serve you for nothing: the impetuous slave had wont to taunt me for beating of my husband, and would sing that song in mockery of me.

WAN. In revenge of which, thou (if thou wilt be faithful) shalt make him sing,

_Happy is that family that shows
A cock that's silent, and a hen that crows._

[_Exeunt._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ PARSON, LOVEALL, _and_ FAITHFUL.

LOVE. Go, you are a naughty man. Do you come hither to rail against an honest gentleman? I have heard how you fell out: you may be ashamed on't, a man of your coat.

PAR. What! to speak truth, and perform my duty? The world cries out you are a scabbed sheep, and I am come to tar you; that is, give you notice how your fame suffers i' th' opinion of the world.

LOVE. My fame, sirrah! 'Tis purer than thy doctrine. Get thee out of my house.

FAITH. You uncivil fellow, you come hither to tell my lady of her faults, as if her own Levite could not discern 'em?

LOVE. My own Levite! I hope he's better bred than to tell me of my faults.

FAITH. He finds work enough to correct his dearly-beloved sinners.

PAR. And the right worshipful my lady and yourself, they mend at leisure.

LOVE. You are a saucy fellow, sirrah, to call me sinner in my own house. Get you gone with your _Madam, I hear_, and _Madam, I could advise, but I am loth to speak: take heed; the world talks_;--and thus with dark sentences put my innocence into a fright, with _You know what you know, good Mistress Faithful_: so do I, and the world shall know, too, thou hast married a whore.

PAR. Madam, a whore?

FAITH. No, sir, 'tis not so well as a madam-whore; 'tis a poor whore, a captain's cast whore.

LOVE. Now bless me, marry a whore! I wonder any man can endure those things. What kind of creatures are they?

PAR. They're like ladies, but that they are handsomer; and though you take a privilege to injure me, yet I would advise your woman to tie up her tongue, and not abuse my wife.

LOVE. Fie! art thou not ashamed to call a whore wife? Lord bless us, what will not these men do when God leaves them? but for a man of your coat to cast himself away upon a whore! Come, wench, let's go and leave him! I'll swear[217] 'tis strange the state doth not provide to have all whores hanged or drowned.

FAITH. Ay, and 'tis time they look into it; for they begin to spread so, that a man can scarce find an honest woman in a country. They say they're voted down now; 'twas moved by that charitable member that got an order to have it but five miles to Croydon, for ease of the market-women.

LOVE. Ay, ay, 'tis a blessed parliament.

[_Exeunt_ LOVEALL _and_ FAITHFUL.

PAR. That I have played the fool is visible. This comes of rashness. Something I must do to set this right, or else she'll hate, and he'll laugh at me. I must not lose him and my revenge too. Something that's mischief I am resolved to do.

[_Exit_ PARSON.

SCENE V.

_Enter_ WILD _and_ CARELESS.

WILD. Now is the parson's wife so contemptible?

CARE. No; but I'm so full of that resolution to dislike the sex, that I will allow none honest, none handsome. I tell thee, we must beat down the price with ourselves; court none of them, but let their maidenheads and their faces lie upon their hands, till they're weary of the commodity: then they'll haunt us to find proper chapmen to deal for their ware.

WILD. I like this, but 'twill be long adoing, and it may be, ere they be forced to sell, our bank will be exhausted, and we shall not be able to purchase.

CARE. Ay, but we'll keep a credit, and at three six months thou and the captain shall be my factors.

WILD. You had best have a partner, else such an undertaking would break a better back than yours.

CARE. No partners in such commodities: your factor that takes up maidenheads, 'tis upon his own account still.

WILD. But what course will you take to purchase this trade with women?

CARE. I am resolved to put on their own silence and modesty, answer _forsooth_, swear nothing but _God's nigs_, and hold arguments of their own cold tenets, as if I believed there were no true love below the line, then sigh when 'tis proper, and with forced studies betray the enemy who, seeing my eye fixed on her, her vanity thinks I am lost in admiration, calls and shakes me, ere I wake out of my design, and being collected, answer out of purpose, _Love, divinest? yes, who is it that is mortal and does not? or which amongst all the senate of the gods can gaze upon those eyes, and carry thence the power he brought?_ This will start her.

WILD. Yes, and make her think thee mad.

CARE. Why, that's my design; for then I start too, and rub my eyes as if I waked: then sigh and strangle a yawn, till I have wrung it into tears, with which I rise as if o'ercome with grief; then kiss her hands, and let fall those witnesses of faith and love, bribed for my design. This takes; for who would suspect such a devil as craft and youth to live together?

WILD. But what kind of women do you think this will take?

CARE. All kind of women. Those that think themselves handsome, it being probable, conclude it real; and those that are handsome in their opinion, that small number will believe it, because it agrees with their wishes.

WILD. And when you are gone, it may be they sigh, and their love breaks out into paper, and what then?

CARE. What then? why then I'll laugh, and show thee their letters, and teach the world how easy 'tis to win any woman.

WILD. This is the way: and be sure to dislike all but her you design for: be scarce civil to any of the sex besides.

CARE. That's my meaning; but to her that I mean my prey, all her slave: she shall be my deity, and her opinion my religion.

WILD. And while you sad it once to one, I'll talk freer than a privileged fool, and swear as unreasonably as losing gamesters, and abuse thee for thinking to reclaim a woman by thy love: call them all bowls thrown, that will run where they will run, and lovers like fools run after them, crying, _rub_ and _fly_ for me. I believe none fair, nor handsome, nor honest, but the kind.

CARE. We must make the captain of our plot, lest he betray us. This will gain us some revenge upon the lovers to whom I grudge the wenches, not that I believe they're worth half the cost they pay for them. And we may talk; but 'tis not our opinion can make them happier or more miserable.

_Enter_ JOLLY.

WILD. Jolly! Will, where hast thou been? We had such sport with the parson of our town: he's married this morning to Wanton.

JOLLY. Who? the captain's wench? he's in a good humour then. As you love mirth, let's find him: I have news to blow his rage with, and 'twill be mirth to us to see him divided betwixt the several causes of his anger, and lose himself in his rage, while he disputes which is the greater. Your opinion, gentlemen: is this or his wench the greater loss?

CARE. What hast thou there? pearl![218] they're false, I hope.

[_Here he pulls out the pearl._

JOLLY. Why do you hope so?

CARE. Because I am thy friend, and would be loth to have thee hanged for stealing.

JOLLY. I will not swear they are honestly come by: but I'll be sworn there's neither force nor theft in't.

WILD. Prythee, speak out of riddles: here's none but your friends.

JOLLY. Faith, take it. You have heard the captain brag of an old lady, which he thinks he keeps close in a box; but I know where hangs a key can let a friend in, or so. From her, my brace of worthies, whose wits are dulled with plenty this morning, with three good words and four good deeds I earned this toy.

CARE. The mirth yet we will all share. I am in pain till we find him, that we may vex his wit, that he presumes so much on.

WILD. Let's go, let's go. I will desire him to let me see his wench: I will not understand him if he says she's gone.

CARE. I'll beg of him, for old acquaintance' sake, to let me see his old lady.

JOLLY. Hark! I hear his voice.----

CAPT. [_Within._] Which way?

CARE. The game plays itself. Begin with him, Ned, while we talk as if we were busy: we'll take our cue.

WILD. When I put off my hat.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN.

CAPT. 'Sblood, I thought you had been sunk: I have been hunting you these four hours. Death! you might ha' left word where you went, and not put me to hunt like Tom Fool. 'Tis well you are at London, where you know the way home.

WILD. Why in choler? We have been all this while searching you. Come, this is put on to divert me from claiming your promise. I must see the wench.

CAPT. You cannot, adad: adad, you cannot.

WILD. I did not think you would have refused such a kindness.

CARE. What's that?

WILD. Nothing, a toy. He refuses to show me his wench!

CARE. The devil he does! What! have we been thus long comrades, and had all things in common, and must we now come to have common wenches particular? I say, thou shalt see her, and lie with her too, if thou wilt.

JOLLY. What! in thy dumps, brother? Call to thy aid two-edged wit. The captain sad! 'tis prophetic: I'd as lieve[219] have dreamt of pearl, or the loss of my teeth: yet if he be musty, I'll warrant thee, Ned, I'll help thee to a bout. I know his cloak, his long cloak that hides her: I am acquainted with the parson: he shall befriend thee.

CAPT. 'Tis very well, gentlemen; but none of you have seen her yet?

WILD. Yes, but we have, by thyself--by thy anger, which is now bigger than thou. By chance we crossed her coming from church, leading in her hand the parson, to whom she swore she was this day married.

JOLLY. And our friendships were now guiding us to find thee out, to comfort thee after the treachery of thy Levite.

CARE. Come, bear it like a man; there are more wenches. What hast thou spied?

[_He gives no answer, but peeps under_ Jolly's _hat_.

WILD. His pearl, I believe.

CAPT. Gentlemen, I see you are merry: I'll leave you. I must go a little way to inquire about a business.

WILD. H' has got a sore eye, I think.

CAPT. I will only ask one question, and return.

CARE. No, faith, stay, and be satisfied.

JOLLY. Do, good brother; for I believe there is no question that you now would ask, but here's an oracle can resolve you.

CAPT. Are those pearl true?

JOLLY. Yes.

CAPT. And did not you steal them?

JOLLY. No.

CARE. Nor he did not buy them with ready money, but took them upon mortgage of himself to an old lady.

JOLLY. Dwelling at the sign of the Buck in Broad Street. Are you satisfied, or must I play the oracle still?

CAPT. No, no; I am satisfied.

JOLLY. Like jealous men that take their wives at it, are you not?

CAPT. Well, very well: 'tis visible I am abused on all hands. But, gentlemen, why all against me?

CARE. To let you see your wit's mortal, and not proof against all.

WILD. The parson hath shot it through with a jest.

CAPT. Gentlemen, which of you, faith, had a hand in that?

JOLLY. Faith, none; only a general joy to find the captain overreached.

CAPT. But, do you go sharers in the profit as well as in the jest?

JOLLY. No, faith, the toy's mine own.

CAPT. They are very fine, and you may afford a good pennyworth. Will you sell them?

JOLLY. Sell them! ay, where's a chapman?

CAPT. Here; I'll purchase them.

JOLLY. Thou! no, no, I have barred thee, bye and main,[220] for I am resolved not to fight for them: that excludes thy purchase by the sword; and thy wench has proved such a loss, in thy last adventure of wit, that I'm afraid it will spoil thy credit that way too.

CAPT. Gentlemen, as a friend, let me have the refusal: set your price.

WILD. He's serious.

CARE. Leave fooling.

JOLLY. Why, if thou couldst buy them, what wouldst thou do with them?

CAPT. They're very fair ones; let me see them: methinks they should match very well with these?

JOLLY. These! which?

OMNES. Which?

CARE. They are true.

CAPT. Yes, but not earned with a pair of stol'n verses, of, _I was not born till now, This my first night, And so forsooth_; nor given as a charm against lust.

CARE. What means all this?

JOLLY. What! why, 'tis truth, and it means to shame the devil. By this good day, he repeats the same words with which I gathered these pearls.

WILD. Why, then, we have two to laugh at.

CARE. And all friends hereafter. Let's fool all together.

CAPT. Gentlemen with the fine wits, and my very good friends, do you, or you, or he, think I'll keep you company to make you laugh, but that I draw my honey from you too?

CARE. Come, come, the captain's in the right.

CAPT. Yes, yes, the captain knows it, and dares tell you your wit, your fortune, and his face, are but my ploughs; and I would have my fine monsieur know, who, in spite of my counsel, will be finer than his mistress, and appears before her so curiously built, she dares not play with him for fear of spoiling him: and to let him know the truth I speak, to his fair hands I present this letter, but withal give him to understand the contents belong to me.

[_He reads the letter._

WILD. The pearl are sent to me.

CAPT. I deny that, unless you prove you sent me: for the letter begins, "Sir, this noble gentleman, the bearer, whom you are pleased to make the messenger of your love," and so forth. And now you should do well to inquire for that noble gentleman, and take an account of him how he has laid out your love; and it may be, he'll return you pearl for it. And now, gentlemen, I dare propose a peace, at least a cessation of wit (but what is defensive) till such time as the plot which is now in my head be effected, in which you have all your shares.

WILD. So she knows I have not the pearl, I am content.

CAPT. She'll quickly find that, when she sees you come not to-night according to my appointment, and hears I have sold the pearl.

JOLLY. Here then ceaseth our offensive war.

CAPT. I'll give you counsel worth two ropes of pearl.

CARE. But the wench--how came the parson to get her?

CAPT. Faith, 'tis hard to say which laboured most, he or I, to make that match; but the knave did well. There it is, if you assist, I mean to lay the scene of your mirth to-night; for I am not yet fully revenged upon the rogue: for that I know him miserable, is nothing, till he believe so too. Wanton and I have laid the plot.

JOLLY. Do you hold correspondence?

CAPT. Correspondence! I tell thee, the plots we laid to draw him on would make a comedy.

_Enter a_ SERVANT.

SER. Sir, the ladies stay dinner.

JOLLY. And as we go, I'll tell you all the story, and after dinner be free from all engagements, as we promised thee; and, follow but our[221] directions, I'll warrant you mirth and a pretty wench.

OMNES. Agreed; anything that breeds mirth is welcome.

JOLLY. Not a word at the widow's: let them go on quietly, and steal their wedding too.

CAPT. I heard a bird sing, as if it were concluded amongst the couples.

WILD. They have been long about: my coz is a girl deserves more haste to her bed. He has arrived there by carrier's journeys.

CARE. But that I hate wooing, by this good day, I like your aunt so well and her humour, she should scarce be thrown away upon pale-face, that has sighed her into a wedding-ring, and will but double her jointure.

CAPT. Why, ay, thus it should be. Pray let us make them the seat of the war all dinner, and continue united and true among ourselves; then we may defy all foreign danger.

Jolly. And with full bowls let us crown this peace, and sing, _Wit without war no mirth doth bring._

[_Exeunt._

SCENE VI.

_Enter_ PARSON _and_ WANTON.

WAN. Was she deaf to your report?

PAR. Yes, yes.

[_The_ PARSON _walks troubled up and down_.

WAN. And Ugly, her Abigail, she had her say too?

PAR. Yes, yes.

WAN. And do you walk here, biting your nails? do you think I'll be satisfied with such a way of righting me?

PAR. What wouldst have me do?

WAN. Have you no gall? be abused and laughed at by a dull captain, that a strict muster would turn fool! You had wit, and could rail when I offended you; and none so sudden, none so terrible, none so sure in his revenge, when I displease you.

PAR. Something I'll do.

WAN. Do it, then, or I shall curse that e'er I saw you. Death! let the sign of my lady, an out-of-fashion whore, that has paid for sin ever since yellow starch[222] and wheel fardingales were cried down, let her abuse me, and say nothing: if this passes----

PAR. As Christ bless me, but I did, sweet heart; and if it were not church livings are mortal, and they are always hitting me in the teeth with a man of my[223] coat, she should find I am no churchman within, nor Master Parson but in my coat. Come to dinner, and after dinner I'll do something.

WAN. I shall do something will vex somebody.

_Enter_ BAWD.

BAWD. Will you please to come to dinner? the company stays.

PAR. Come, let's go in.

WAN. No, I must walk a little to digest this breakfast; the guests else will wonder to see I am troubled.

PAR. Come, let this day pass in mirth, spite of mischief, for luck's sake.

[_Exit_ PARSON.

WAN. I'll follow you, and do what I can to be merry.

BAWD. Why, he stands already.

WAN. Peace, let me alone: I'll make him jostle like the miller's mare, and stand like the dun cow, till thou may'st milk him.

BAWD. Pray break him of his miserableness; it is one of the chief exceptions I have against him. He reared a puppy once, till it was ten days old, with three hap'worth of milk, and then with his own dagger slew it, and made me dress it: blessed myself to see him eat it, and he bid me beg the litter, and swore it was sweeter and wholesomer than sucking rabbits or London pigs, which he called Bellmen's issue.

PAR. [_Within._] Why, sweet heart!

WAN. Hark! he calls me. We must humour him a little, he'll rebel else.

SCENE VII.

_Enter (at the windows) the_ WIDOW _and_ MASTER CARELESS,
MISTRESS PLEASANT _and_ MASTER WILD, CAPTAIN, MASTER SAD,
CONSTANT, JOLLY, SECRET: _a table and knives ready for
oysters_.

WID. You're welcome all, but especially Master Jolly. No reply with, _I thank your ladyship_.

PLEA. I beseech you, sir, let us never be better acquainted?

[_She speaks to_ MASTER JOLLY.

JOLLY. I shall endeavour, lady, and fail in nothing that is in my power to disoblige you; for there is none more ambitious of your ill opinion than I.

PLEA. I rejoice at it; for the less love, the better welcome still.

WID. And as ever you had an ounce of love for the widow, be not friends among yourselves.

WILD. Aunt, though we were at strife when we were alone, yet now we unite like a politic state against the common enemy.

PLEA. The common enemy! what is that?

WILD. Women, and lovers in general.

WID. Nay, then we have a party, niece: claim quickly, now is the time, according to the proverb, keep a thing seven years, and then if thou hast no use on't, throw't away.

PLEA. Agreed, let's challenge our servants: by the love they have professed, they cannot in honour refuse to join with us. And see where they come!

_Enter_ SAD _and_ CONSTANT, _and meet_ SECRET; _she whispers
this to_ SAD.

SEC. Sir, 'tis done.

SAD. Be secret and grave, I'll warrant our design will take as we can wish.

CON. Sweet Mistress Pleasant!

WID. Servant Sad.

SAD. Madam.

WID. We are threatened to have a war waged against us: will you not second us?

SAD. With these youths we'll do enough, madam.

WID. I'll swear my servant gave hit for hit this morning, as if he had been a master in the noble science of wit.

PLEA. Mine laid about him with spick and span[224] new arguments, not like the same man: his old sayings and precedents laid by.

WID. Thus armed, then, we'll stand and defy them.

WILD. Where's your points? sure, aunt, this should be your wedding-day, for you have taken the man for better for worse.

WID. No, nephew, this will not prove the day, that we shall either give or take a ring.

CARE. Hang me, if I know you can go back again with your honour.

WILD. Or in justice refuse him liberty that has served out his time: either marry him, or provide for him, for he is maimed in your service.

WID. Why, servant Sad, you'll arm? my nephew has thrown the first dart at you.

CAPT. Hast hit, hast hit?

WILD. No, captain; 'twas too wide.

CAPT. Too wide! marry, he's an ill marksman that shoots wider than a widow.

JOLLY. We are both in one hole, captain; but I was loth to venture my opinion, lest her ladyship should think I was angry, for I have a good mind to fall upon the widow.

PLEA. You're a constant man, Master Jolly; you have been in that mind this twelvemonth's day.

CON. You are in the right, madam; she has it to show under his hand, but she will not come in the list with him again: she threw him the last year.

WID. Come, shall we eat oysters? Who's there? Call for some wine. Master Jolly, you are not warm yet. Pray, be free, you are at home.

JOLLY. Your ladyship is merry.

WID. You do not take it ill to have me assure you, you are at home here?

WILD. Such another invitation (though in jest) will take away Master Sad's stomach.

[_Oysters not brought in yet._

SAD. No, faith, Ned, though she should take him, it will not take away my stomach: my love is so fixed, I may wish my wishes, but she shall never want them to wait upon hers.

PLEA. A traitor! bind him! has pulled down a side. Profess your love thus public?

JOLLY. Ay, by my faith, continue, Master Sad, [to] give it out you love; and call it a new love, a love never seen before; we'll all come to it as your friends.

SAD. Gentlemen, still I love: and if she to whom I thus sacrifice will not reward it, yet the worst malice can say is, I was unfortunate; and misfortune, not falsehood, made me so.

JOLLY. In what chapter shall we find this written, and what verse? you should preach with a method, Master Sad.

WID. Gentlemen, if ever he spoke so much dangerous sense before (either of love or reason), hang me.

SAD. Madam, my love is no news, where you are: know, your scorn has made it public; and though it could gain no return from you, yet others have esteemed me for the faith and constancy I have paid here.

PLEA. Did not I foretell you of his love? I foresaw this danger. Shall I never live to see wit and love dwell together?

CAPT. I am but a poor soldier, and yet never reached to the honour of being a lover; yet from my own observations, Master Sad, take a truth: 'tis a folly to believe any woman loves a man for being constant to another; they dissemble their hearts only, and hate a man in love worse than a wencher.

JOLLY. And they have reason; for if they have the grace to be kind, he that loves the sex may be theirs.

CARE. When your constant lover, if a woman have a mind to him, and be blessed with so much grace to discover it, he, out of the noble mistake of honour hates her for it, and tells it perchance, and preaches reason to her passion, and cries: Miserable beauty, to be so unfortunate as to inhabit in so much frailty!

CAPT. This counsel makes her hate him more than she loved before. These are troubles those that love are subject to; while we look on and laugh, to see both thus slaved, while we are free.

CARE. My prayers still shall be, Lord deliver me from love.

CAPT. 'Tis plague, pestilence, famine, sword, and sometimes sudden death.

SAD. Yet I love, I must love, I will love, and I do love.

CAPT. In the present tense.

WID. No more of this argument, for love's sake.

CAPT. By any means, madam, give him leave to love: and you are resolved to walk tied up in your own arms, with your love as visible in your face as your mistress's colours in your hat; that any porter at Charing Cross may take you like a letter at the carrier's, and having read the superscription, deliver Master Sad to the fair hands of Mistress or My Lady Such-a-one, lying at the sign of the Hard Heart.

PLEA. And she, if she has wit (as I believe she hath), will scarce pay the post for the packet.

WID. Treason! how now, niece? join with the enemy?

[_They give the_ CAPTAIN _wine_.

CAPT. A health, Ned: what shall I call it?

CARE. To Master Sad! he needs it that avows himself a lover.

SAD. Gentlemen, you have the advantage, the time, the place, the company; but we may meet when your wits shall not have such advantage as my love.

PLEA. No more of love, I am so sick on't.

CON. By your pardon, mistress, I must not leave love thus unguarded: I vow myself his follower.

JOLLY. Much good may love do him. Give me a glass of wine here. Will, let them keep company with the blind boy. Give us his mother, and let them preach again: Hear that will, he has good luck persuades me 'tis an ugly sin to lie with a handsome woman.

CAPT. A pox upon your nurse; she frighted me so, when I was young, with stories of the devil, I was almost fourteen ere I could prevail with reasons to unbind my reason, it was so slaved to faith and conscience. She made me believe wine was an evil spirit, and fornication, like the whore of Babylon, a fine face, but a dragon under her petticoats, and that made me have a mind to peep under all I met since.

WID. Fie, fie! for shame, do not talk so: are you not ashamed to glory in sin, as if variety of women were none?

JOLLY. Madam, we do not glory in fornication; and yet I thank God, I cannot live without a woman.

CAPT. Why, does your ladyship think it a sin to lie with variety of handsome women? If it be, would I were the wicked'st man in the company.

PLEA. You have been marked for an indifferent sinner that way, captain.

CAPT. Who, I? no, faith, I was a fool; but, and I were to begin again, I would not do as I have done. I kept one, but if ever I keep another, hang me; nor would I advise any friend of mine to do it.

JOLLY. Why, I am sure 'tis a provident and safe way: a man may always be provided and sound.

PLEA. Fie upon this discourse!

CAPT. Those considerations betrayed me: a pox! it is a dull sin to travel, like a carrier's horse, always one road.

WID. Fie, captain! repent for shame, and marry.

CAPT. Your ladyship would have said, marry and repent: no, though it be not the greatest pleasure, yet it is better than marrying; for when I am weary of her, my inconstancy is termed virtue, and I shall be said to turn to grace. Beware of women for better, for worse; for our wicked nature, when her sport is lawful, cloys straight: therefore, rather than marry, keep a wench.

JOLLY. Faith, he's in the right; for 'tis the same thing in number and kind, and then the sport is quickened, and made poignant with sin.

CAPT. Yet 'tis a fault, faith, and I'll persuade all my friends from it; especially here, where any innovation is dangerous. 'Twas the newness of the sin that made me suffer in the opinion of my friends, and I was condemned by all sorts of people; not that I sinned, but that I sinned no more.

CARE. Why, ay, hadst thou been wicked in fashion, and privily lain with everybody, their guilt would have made them protect thee: so that to be more wicked is to be innocent, at least safe. A wicked world, Lord help us!

CAPT. But being particular to her, and not in love, nor subject to it: taking an antidote every morning, before I venture into those infectious places where love and beauty dwell; this enraged the maiden beauties of the time, who thought it a prejudice to their beauties to see me careless, and securely pass by their conquering eyes, my name being found amongst none of those that decked their triumphs. But from this 'tis easy to be safe; for their pride will not let them love, nor my leisure me. Then the old ladies that pay for their pleasures,--they, upon the news, beheld me with their natural frowns, despairing when their money could not prevail; and hated me when they heard that I for my pleasure would pay as large as they.

JOLLY. Gentlemen, take warning: a fee from every man; for by this day, there's strange counsel in this confession.

WILD. Captain, you forgot to pledge Master Careless! Here, will you not drink a cup of wine? Who's there? Bring the oysters.

CAPT. Yes, madam, if you please.

WILD. Proceed, captain.

PLEA. Fie, Master Wild! are you not ashamed to encourage him to this filthy discourse?

CAPT. A glass of wine then, and I'll drink to all the new-married wives that grieve to think at what rate their fathers purchase a little husband. These, when they lie thirsting for the thing they paid so dear for----

_Enter a_ SERVANT _with oysters_.

CARE. These, methinks, should be thy friends, and point thee out as a man for them.

CAPT. Yes, till the faithful nurse cries; Alas, madam! he keeps such a one, he has enough at home. Then she swells with envy and rage against us both; calls my mistress ugly, common, unsafe, and me a weak secure fool.

JOLLY. These are strange truths, madam.

WID. Ay, ay; but those oysters are a better jest.

CAPT. But she's abused that will let such reason tame her desire, and a fool in love's-school; else she would not be ignorant that variety is such a friend to love, that he which rises a sunk coward from the lady's bed, would find new fires at her maid's: nor ever yet did the man want fire, if the woman would bring the fuel.

PLEA. For God's sake, leave this discourse.

WID. The captain has a mind we should eat no oysters.

WILD. Aunt, we came to be merry, and we will be merry, and you shall stay it out. Proceed, captain.

WID. Fie, captain, I am ashamed to hear you talk thus: marry, and then you'll have a better opinion of women.

CAPT. Marry! yes, this knowledge will invite me: it is a good encouragement, is it not, think you? What is your opinion? Were not these marriages made in heaven? By this good day, all the world is mad, and makes haste to be fooled, but we four: and I hope there's none of us believes there has any marriages been made in heaven since Adam.

JOLLY. By my faith, 'tis thought the devil gave the ring there too.

WID. Nephew, I'll swear I'll be gone.

CAPT. Hold her, Ned [_He points at_ SAD], she goes not yet; there's a fourth kind of women that concerns her more than all the rest--_ecce signum_! She is one of those who, clothed in purple, triumph over their dead husbands; these will be catched at first sight, and at first sight must be caught. 'Tis a bird that must be shot flying, for they never sit. If a man delay, they cool, and fall into considerations of jointure and friends' opinion; in which time, if she hears thou keep'st a wench, thou hadst better be a beggar in her opinion; for then her pride, it may be, would betray her to the vanity of setting up a proper man (as they call it); but for a wencher no argument prevails with your widow; for she believes they have spent too much that way to be able to pay her due benevolence.

WID. As I live, I'll be gone, if you speak one word more of this uncivil subject.

JOLLY. Captain, let me kiss thy cheek for that, widow. You understand this, widow? I say no more. Here, captain, here's to thee! As it goes down, a pox of care!

WID. Jesus! Master Jolly, have you no observations of the court, that are so affected with this of the town.

CON. Faith, they say, there's good sport there sometimes.

PLEA. Master Jolly is afraid to let us partake of his knowledge.

JOLLY. No, faith, madam.

CAPT. By this drink, if he stay till I have eaten a few more, I'll describe it.

JOLLY. What should I say? 'Tis certain the court is the bravest place in the kingdom for sport, if it were well looked to, and the game preserved fair; but, as 'tis, a man may sooner make a set in the Strand; and it will never be better whilst your divine lovers[225] inhabit there.

CARE. Let the king make me master of the game.[226]

CAPT. And admit us laity-lovers.

JOLLY. I would he would; for, as 'tis, there's no hopes amongst the ladies: besides, 'tis such an example to see a king and queen good husband and wife, that to be kind will grow out of fashion.

CAPT. Nay, that's not all; for the women grow malicious because they are not courted: nay, they bred all the last mischiefs, and called the king's chastity a neglect of them.

JOLLY. Thou art in the right. An Edward or a Harry, with seven queens in buckram, that haught[227] among the men, and stroked the women, are the monarchs they wish to bow to; they love no tame princes, but lions in the forest!

CAPT. Why, and those were properly called the fathers of their people, that were indeed akin to their nobility: now they wear out their youth and beauty, without hope of a monumental ballad, or trophy of a libel that shall hereafter point at such a lord, and cry, that is the royal son of such a one!

JOLLY. And these were the ways that made them powerful at home: for the city is a kind of tame beast; you may lead her by the horns any whither, if you but tickle them in the ear sometimes. Queen Bess, of famous memory, had the trick on't; and I have heard them say, in eighty-eight, ere I was born, as well as I can remember, she rode to Tilbury on that bonny beast, the mayor.

CAPT. I would I might counsel him, I'd so reform the court.

CARE. Never too soon; for now, when a stranger comes in, and spies a covey of beauties would make a falconer unhood, before he can draw his leash, he is warned that's a marked partridge; and that and every he has by their example a particular she.

WILD. By this light, the six fair maids stand like the working-days in the almanac; one with A scored upon her breast, that is as much as to say, I belong to such a lord; the next with B, for an elder brother; C, for such a knight; D, possessed with melancholy, and at her breast you may knock an hour ere you get an answer, and then she'll tell you there's no lodging there; she has a constant fellow-courtier that has taken up all her heart to his own use: in short, all are disposed of but the good mother, and she comes in like the Sabbath at the week's end; and I warrant her to make any one rest that comes at her.

CARE. Ay, marry, if she were like the Jews' Sabbath, it were somewhat; but this looks like a broken commandment, that has had more work done upon her than all the week besides.

CAPT. And what think you--is not this finely carried? you, that are about the king, counsel him, if he will have his sport fair, he must let the game be free, as it has been in former ages. Then a stranger that has wit, good means, and handsome clothes, no sooner enters the privy chamber, and beats about with three graceful legs,[228] but he springs a mistress that danced as well as he, sung better: as free as fair. Those at first sight could speak, for wit is always acquainted: these fools must be akin, ere they can speak. And now friends make the bargain, and they go to bed, ere they know why.

JOLLY. Faith, he's in the right: you shall have a buzzard now hover and beat after a pretty wench, till she is so weary of him she's forced to take her bed for covert, and find less danger in being trussed than in flying.

CAPT. And what becomes of all this pudder?[229] after he has made them sport for one night, to see him touze the quarry, he carries her into the country; and there they two fly at one another till they are weary.

CARE. And all this mischief comes of love and constancy. We shall never see better days till there be an act of parliament against it, enjoining husbands not to till their wives, but change and lay them fallow.

JOLLY. A pox, the women will never consent to it: they'll be tilled to death first.

WILD. Gentlemen, you are very bold with the sex.

CAPT. Faith, madam, it is our care of them. Why, you see they are married at fourteen, yield a crop and a half, and then die: 'tis merely their love that destroys 'em; for if they get a good husbandman, the poor things yield their very hearts.

PLEA. And do you blame their loves, gentlemen?

JOLLY. No, not their love, but their discretion; let them love, and do, a God's name, but let them do with discretion.

WILD. But how will you amend this?

JOLLY. Instead of two beds and a physician, I'd have the state prescribe two wives and a mistress.

WILD. Ho! it will never be granted: the state is made up of old men, and they find work enough with one.

JOLLY. We will petition the lower house; there are young men, and (if it were but to be factious) would pass it, if they thought the upper house would cross it; besides, they ought to do it. Death! they provide against cutting down old trees, and preserving highways and post-horses, and let pretty wenches run to decay.

CARE. Why may it not come within the statute of depopulation? As I live, the state ought to take care of those pretty creatures. Be you judge, madam: is't not a sad sight to see a rich young beauty, with all her innocence and blossoms on, subject to some rough rude fellow, that ploughs her, and esteems and uses her as a chattel, till she is so lean, a man may find as good grass upon the common, where it may be she'll sit coughing with sunk eyes, so weak that a boy (with a dog) that can but whistle, may keep a score of them?

WID. You are strangely charitable to our sex on a sudden!

CAPT. I know not what they are; but, for my part, I'll be a traitor, ere I'll look on and see beauty go thus to wreck. It is enough custom has made us suffer them to be enclosed. I am sure they were created common, and for the use of man, and not intended to be subject to jealousy and choler, or to be bought or sold, or let for term of lives or years, as they are now, or else sold at outcries:[230] _Oh yes! who'll give most, take her._

WID. Why do not some of you excellent men marry, and mend all these errors by your good example?

JOLLY. Because we want fortunes to buy rich wives or keep poor ones, and be loth to get beggars or whores, as well as I love 'em.

PLEA. Why, are all their children so that have no fortune, think you?

JOLLY. No, not all: I have heard of Whittington and his Cat,[231] and others, that have made fortunes by strange means, but I scarce believe my son would rise from _Hop, a halfpenny and a lamb's-skin_;[232] and the wenches, commonly having more wit and beauty than money, foreseeing small portions, grow sad and read romances, till their wit spy some unfortunate merit like their own, without money too; and they two sigh after one another till they grow mysterious in colours, and become a proverb for their constancy: and when their love has worn out the cause, marry in the end a new couple; then, grown ashamed of the knowledge they so long hunted, at length part by consent, and vanish into Abigail and governor.

WID. Well, gentlemen, excuse me for this one time; and if ever I invite you to dinner again, punish me with such another discourse. In the meantime, let's go in and dine; meat stays for us.

CAPT.[233] Faith, madam, we were resolved to be merry: we have not met these three years till to-day, and at the Bear we meant to have dined; and since your ladyship would have our company, you must pardon our humour. Here, Master[234] Sad, here's the widow's health to you.

[_Exeunt omnes._