Chapter XXVIII: Act IV: , Scene 1

_Enter_ WANTON, CAPTAIN, CARELESS, _and_ WILD.

WAN. By all that a longing bride hopes for, which I am not, I am better pleased with this revenge than mine own plot, which takes as I could wish. I have so anointed my high priest with sack, that he would have confuted Baal's priest; and now he does so slumber in his ale, and calls to bed already--swears the sun is set.

CAPT. Faith, wench, her abusing of me made me leave her for the reckoning.

CARE. Yes, faith, they have treated her upsey[254] whore, lain with her, told, and then pawned her.

WAN. Yes, yes, you are fine things: I wonder women can endure you; for me, I expect you worse, and am armed for't.

WILD. Faith, let's send and release her; the jest is gone far enough; as I live, I pity her.

WAN. Pity her! hang her, and rid the country of her. She is a thing wears out her limbs as fast as her clothes; one that never goes to bed at all, nor sleeps in a whole skin, but is taken to pieces like a motion, as if she were too long; she should be hanged for offering to be a whore.

CAPT. As I live, she's in the right. I peeped once to see what she did before she went to bed; by this light, her maids were dissecting her; and when they had done, they brought some of her to bed, and the rest they either pinned or hung up, and so she lay dismembered till morning; in which time her chamber was strewed all over, like an anatomy-school.

WAN. And when she travels anywhere, she is transported with as great a care and fear of spoiling, as a juggler's motion, when he removes from fair to fair.

CARE. She is a right broken gamester who, though she lacks wherewithal to play, yet loves to be looking on.

_Enter_ WANTON'S MAID.

BAWD. He is awake, and calls for you impatiently: he would fain be in bed; the company is all gone.

WAN. Are you instructed?

BAWD. Let me alone, I'll warrant you for my part.

WAN. Farewell then; you are all ready. Who plays master constable?

CAPT. I, I; and Ned Jolly the sumner.[255]

WAN. Farewell, farewell then.

[_Exit_ WANTON _and_ BAWD.

WILD. It is a delicate wench.

CARE. She has excellent flesh and a fine face. By this light, we must depose the captain from his reign here.

[_They whisper this._

WILD. I like her shrewdly; I hate a wench that is all whore and no company; this is a comedy all day and a fair[256] at night.

CARE. I hope to exalt the parson's horn here.

CAPT. And what think you? is it not a sweet sin, this lying with another man's wife?

WAN. Is Jolly come?

[WANTON _above_.

CAPT. No, but he'll be here instantly.

WILD. Is he abed?

WAN. Yes, yes; and he sleeps as if he had been put to bed by his sexton, with _dust to dust_, and _ashes to ashes_.

CAPT. And we'll wake him with that shall be as terrible to him as the latter day.

WAN. Let him sleep awhile, that he may be fresh, else the jest is spoiled; for it is his sense of his disgrace must work my ends.

WILD. I'll go home then, and get supper ready, and expect you.

CAPT. Do; our scene lies here.

[_Enter_ JOLLY.]

Who's there? Jolly?

JOLLY. Yes.

CAPT. Are you fitted?

JOLLY. Yes, I have got the Blackfriars music. I was fain to stay till the last act. And who do you think I saw there?

WILD. I know not.

JOLLY. Guess.

WILD. Prythee: I cannot guess.

JOLLY. Your aunt and Mistress Pleasant, and trusty Secret.

WILD. What, man?

JOLLY. The lovers only, so close in a box!

CAPT. It will be a match, and there's an end. Prythee, let them go to't: what is't to us? Let's mind our business now, and think on them hereafter.

WAN. A pox upon them, for a couple of stalk-hounds. Have they killed at last? Why, this is fool's fortune.[257] It would be long enough ere one that has wit got such a wife!

CAPT. No more of this now. Have you borrowed the watchmen's coats?

JOLLY. Yes, and bills, beards, and constable's staff and lantern; and let me alone to fit him for the sumner. But when this is done, I expect my fee, a tithe-night at least. Wanton, I will lie with thee for thy roguery. What! are you dumb? You will not refuse me, I hope?

WAN. Not if I thought you desiredst it; but I hate to have it desired indifferently, and but so-so done neither, when 'tis done.

JOLLY. I hope you will not disgrace my work, will you?

WAN. Faith, they say, thy pleasure lies in thy tongue, and therefore, though I do not give thee leave to lie with me, yet I will give thee as good a thing that will please thee as well.

JOLLY. Some [such] roguery I expected.

WAN. No, faith, I am serious: and because I will please you both, Master Wild shall lie here, and you shall have leave to say you do, which will please you as well.

JOLLY. Faith, and my part is some pleasure; else _I have loved, enjoyed, and told_, is mistook.

WAN. Ay, but never to love, seldom enjoy, and always tell--foh! it stinks, and stains worse than Shoreditch dirt; and women hate and dread men for't. Why, I, that am a whore professed, cannot see youth[258] digest it, though it be my profit and interest: for to be a private whore in this town starves in the nest like young birds, when the old one's killed.

CARE. Excellent girl! 'tis too true. Jolly, your tongue has kept many a woman honest.

WAN. Faith, 'tis a truth, this I shall say, you may all better your pleasures by, if you will observe it: I dare say, the fear of telling keeps more women honest than Bridewell hemp; and were you wise men and true lovers of liberty, now were the time to bring wenching to that perfection no age could ever have hoped. Now you may sow such seed of pleasure, you may be prayed for hereafter. Now, in this age of zeal and ignorance, would I have you four, in old clothes and demure looks, present a petition to both houses, and say you are men touched in conscience for your share in that wickedness which is known to their worships by the pleasure of adultery; and desire it may be death,[259] and that a law may be passed to that purpose. How the women will pray for you, and at their own charges rear statues in memory of their benefactors! The young and kind would then haunt your chambers, pray and present you, and court the sanguine youth for the sweet sin secured by such a law. None would lose an occasion, nor churlishly oppose kind nature, nor refuse to listen to her summons, when youth and passion calls for those forbidden sweets. When such security as your lives are at stake, who would fear to trust? With this law all oaths and protestations are cancelled. Letters and bawds would grow useless too: by instinct, the kind will find the kind, and, having one nature, become of one mind. Now we lose an age to observe and know a man's humour, ere we dare trust him; but get this law, then 'tis, like and enjoy. And whereas now, with expense of time and fortune you may glean some one mistress amongst your neighbours' wives, you shall reap women whole armfuls, as in the common field. There is one small town, wise only in this law; and I have heard them say that know it well, there has been but one execution this hundred years; yet the same party searched seven years, and could not find an honest woman in the town.

CARE. An excellent plot! Let's about it. Ink and paper, dear Wanton: we will draw the petition presently.

WAN. Will Master Jolly consent too? You must not then, as soon as a handsome woman is named, smile and stroke your beard; tell him that is next you, you have lain with her. Such a lie is as dangerous as a truth, and 'twere but justice to have thee hanged for a sin thou never committedst, for having defamed so many women.

JOLLY. If all those liars were hanged, I believe the scale would weigh down with the guilty.

WAN. One rogue, hanged for example, would make a thousand kind girls. If it take, it shall be called my law, Wanton's law: then we may go in petticoats again; for women grew imperious, and wore the breeches only to fright the poor cuckolds, and make the fools digest their horns. Are you all ready? Shall I open the door?

CAPT. Yes.

WILD. I'll expect you at my house.

[_Exit_ WILD _one way, and the rest of the company another_.

OMNES. We'll come, we'll come.

CAPT. So, knock louder.

[_They knock within, and the_ PARSON _discovered in his bed,
and the_ BAWD _with him_.

PAR. Who's there? What would you have?

CAPT. Here's his majesty's watch, and master constable's worship must come in. We have a warrant from the lords to search for a delinquent.

PAR. You come not here. I'll answer your warrant to-morrow.

JOLLY. Break open the door.

PAR. I would you durst.

BAWD. Lord, dear, what shall we do?

PAR. Why, sweet, I'll warrant you. Art thou not my wife, my rib, bone of my bone? I'll suffer anything ere one hair of thee shall be touched.

BAWD. Hark! they break open the door!

PAR. They dare not! Why dost thou tremble so? Alas, sweet innocence, how it shakes!

CAPT. Break open the door.

PAR. I'll complain to the bishop of this insolence.

BAWD. They come, they come, lamb!

PAR. No matter, sweet, they dare not touch thee. What would you have, master constable? You are very rude.

[_He delivers the warrant._

CAPT. Read our warrant, and our business will excuse us. Do you know any such person as you find there?

PAR. Yes, sir, but not by this name. Such a woman is my wife, and no Lindabrides.[260] We were married to-day, and I'll justify her my wife the next court-day. You have your answer, and may be gone.

JOLLY. We must take no notice of such excuses now. If she be your wife, make it appear in court, and she will be delivered unto you.

PAR. If she be my wife! Sir, I have wedded her and bedded her: what other ceremonies would you have? Be not afraid, sweetheart.

JOLLY. Sir, we can do no less than execute our warrant. We are but servants; and, master constable, I charge you in the king's name to do your duty. Behold the body of the delinquent.

PAR. Touch her that dares: I'll put my dagger in him. [_He takes his dagger._] Fear nothing, sweetheart. Master constable, you'll repent this insolence offered to a man of my coat.

BAWD. Help, my dearest, will you let me be haled[261] thus?

[_Here they strive to take her out._

PAR. Villains, what will you do? Murder! Rape!

CAPT. Yes, yes, 'tis likely: I look like a ravisher!

JOLLY. Hold him, and we'll do well enough with her.

[_As they go to pull her out of the bed, they discover the_
BAWD. _When they let him go, he turns to her and holds
her in his arms._

CAPT. What have we here, an old woman?

PAR. Let me go. Slaves and murderers!

CAPT. Let him go.

JOLLY. Do any of you know this woman? This is not she we looked for.

PAR. No, rascal, that mistake shall not excuse you.

JOLLY. It is old Goodman What-d'ye-call-him his wife.

CAPT. Hold the candle, and let's see her face.

[_When they hold the candle, she lies in his bosom, and his
arms about her. She must be as nastily dressed as they
can dress her. When he sees her, he falls into amaze, and
shoves her from him._

JOLLY. What have we here, adultery? Take them both: here will be new matter.

PAR. Master constable, a little argument will persuade you to believe I am grossly abused. Sure, this does not look like a piece that a man would sin to enjoy: let that then move your pity and care of my reputation. Consider my calling, and do not bring me to a public shame for what you're sure I am not guilty of, but by plot of some villains.[262]

BAWD. Dear, will you disclaim me now?

PAR. O impudence!

JOLLY. Master constable, do your duty. Take them both away, as you will answer it.

CAPT. Give him his cassock to cover him.

[_They put on his cassock and her coat, and lead them away._

PAR. Why, gentlemen, whither will you carry me?

CAPT. To the next justice, I think it is Master Wild; he is newly come from travel. It will be a good way, neighbours, to express our respects to him.

PAR. No, faith, gentlemen, e'en go the next way to Tyburn, and despatch the business without ceremony, for you'll utterly disgrace me. This is that damned captain: my wife is abroad too; I fear she is of the plot.

JOLLY. Come, away with 'em.

BAWD. Whither will they lead us, dear?

PAR. O, O, impudence! Gentlemen, do not lead us together, I beseech you.

CAPT. Come, come, lead them together: no ceremonies. Your faults are both alike.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ WANTON _and_ WILD.

WAN. You had best brag now, and use me like my lady What-d'ye-call; but if you do, I care not.

WILD. Come, y' are a fool. I'll be a faithful friend, and make good conditions for thee before thy husband be quit.

[WILD _sits down with_ WANTON _in his lap_.

WAN. You must do it now or never.

WILD. Hark, hark! I hear them. What's the news?

_Enter_ CAPTAIN, JOLLY, WATCH, BAWD, _and_ PARSON.

CAPT. We have brought a couple of delinquents before your worship: they have committed a very foul fault.

JOLLY. And we have brought the fault along too, that your worship may see it. You will be the better able to judge of the offenders.

PAR. Ha! what do I see? My wife in master justice's lap!

WAN. What has the poor fellow done?

CAPT. Why, madam, he has been taken in bed with this woman, another man's wife.

WAN. In bed with her, and do you raise him to punish him? Master constable, if you would afflict him, command them to lie together again. Is not the man mad?

PAR. This is fine roguery! I find who rules the roost.

WILD. Well, to the business. You say he was taken in bed with another man's wife.

CAPT. Yes, and't like your worship.

WILD. Make his mittimus to the Hole at Newgate.

WAN. Sure, I have seen this fellow's face. Friend, have I never seen your face before?

PAR. If I mistake not, I have seen one very like your ladyship's too. She was a captain's cast whore in the town. I shall have a time to be revenged.

WILD. How now, sirrah, are you threatening? Away with him.

CAPT. I'll fetch a stronger watch, sir, and return presently.

WILD. Do, master constable; and give the poor woman something, and set her free; for I dare say 'twas his wickedness. She looks like one that ne'er thought on such a thing.

BAWD. God bless your worship, I am innocent. He never left making love till I consented.

_Enter_ CAPTAIN _in his own shape_.

PAR. O miserable, miserable!

CAPT. How now, what's the news here? My honoured friend and master parson, what makes you here at this time of night? why, I should have thought this a time to have envied you for your fair bride's embraces. Do you give these favours? Are these your bride-laces? It's a new way.

[_Plays with the cord that binds his arms._

PAR. Is it new to you?

WAN. How now, captain?

CAPT. Wanton, is this your plot to endear your husband to you?

PAR. No, 'tis thy plot, poor beaten captain; but I shall be revenged.

CAPT. Yes, faith, it was my plot, and I glory in't; to undermine my Machiavel, which so greedily swallowed that sweet bait that had this hook.

PAR. 'Tis well.

CAPT. But my anger ends not here. Remember the base language you gave me--son of a thousand fathers; captain of a tame band; and one that got my living by the longstaff-speeches--for which and thy former treacheries I'll ruin thee, slave. I'll have no more mercy on thee than old women on blind puppies. I'll bring you to your commendations in Latin epistles again, nor leave thee anything to live on--no, not bread--but what thou earn'st by raking gentlewomen's names in anagrams.[263] And, master justice, if ever you'll oblige me, stand to me now, that I may procure the whipping of him from the reverend bench.

PAR. I am undone.

WILD. I can do nothing but justice: you must excuse me. I shall only make it appear how fit it is to punish this kind of sin in that coat in time, and to crush such serpents in the shells.

PAR. Mercy, O, mercy!

WILD. Officers, away with him.

[_They pull him away._

PAR. No mercy?

WAN. Yes, upon conditions, there may be some mercy.

[_The_ PARSON _looks very dejected_.

WILD. And these they are: let the watch stay in t'other room. [_Exit_ WATCH.] First, your wife shall have her liberty, and you yours, as she reports of you; and when you bring her with you, you shall be welcome. Then you shall not be jealous; that's another point.

CAPT. That he shall have a cure for.

WAN. Yes, yes, I'll apply something to his eyes shall cure him of his doubt.

WILD. Then you shall ask the captain pardon, and your wife. To him you shall allow half your parsonage to maintain her. The deeds are ready within: if you'll sign them, and deliver your wife to our use, she shall discharge you.

PAR. I submit, sir; but I hope your worship will desire no witness to the use of my wife. The sumner, and the watch too, I hope your worship will enjoin them silence.

WAN. You shall not need to fear; I'll have a care of your credit. Call in the watch. Do you know these faces?

[_She discovers them._

PAR. Ha! abused.

JOLLY. Nay, no flinching: if you do, I betake me to master sumner again.

CAPT. And I become severe master constable in a trice.

PAR. No, no, I submit; and I hope we are all friends. I'm sure I have the hardest part to forgive.

WAN. And I, before all this company, promise to forget, and forgive thee, and am content to take thee again for my dear and mortal husband, now you are tame; but you must see you do so no more; and give yourself to be blind when it is not fit for you to see; and practise to be deaf, and learn to sleep in time, and find business to call you away, when gentlemen come that would be private.

CAPT. Why so; now things are as they should be; and when you will obey, you shall command; but when you would be imperious, then I betake me to my constable's staff till you subscribe, _Cedunt armis togæ_: and if it be false Latin, parson, you must pardon that too.

JOLLY. By this hand, I must have my tithe-night with thee, thou art such a wag. Say when? When wilt thou give me leave, ha?

WAN. Never.

JOLLY. Never!

WAN. No, never.

JOLLY. D'ye hear? I am none of them that work for charity. Either resolve to pay, or I kick down all my milk again.

WAN. What would you have?

JOLLY. Give me leave to lie with you.

WAN. No indeed.

JOLLY. No!

WAN. No; but rather than quarrel, as I said before, I will give you leave to say you have lain with me.

WILD. I am of opinion she owes you nothing now. So, Mistress Wanton, take your husband; and, to remove all doubts, this night I'll be at the charge of a wedding-supper.

PAR. This is better than Newgate-hole yet, Bridewell hemp, brown bread, and whipcord.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE III.

_Enter the_ WIDOW _and_ MISTRESS PLEASANT, MASTER SAD, _and_
MASTER CONSTANT.

WID. By my troth, it was a good play.

PLEA. And I'm glad I'm come home, for I am e'en a-weary with this walking. For God's sake, whereabouts does the pleasure of walking lie? I swear I have often sought it till I was weary, and yet I ne'er could find it.

SAD. What do these halberds at your door?

[_A_ WATCH _at the_ WIDOW'S _door_.

WID. Halberds! Where?

SAD. There, at your lodging.

CON. Friend, what would those watchmen have?

WATCH. The house is shut up for the sickness[264] this afternoon.

PLEA. The sickness!

WATCH. Yes, forsooth; there's a coachman dead, full of the tokens.

SAD. Where's the officer?

WATCH. He is gone to seek the lady of the house and some other company that dined here yesterday, to bring her in, or carry her to the pest-house.

WID. Ha! What shall we do, niece?

SAD. If you please to command our lodging.

PLEA. It will be too much trouble.

WID. Let's go to Loveall's.

PLEA. Not I, by my faith: it is scarce for our credits to let her come to us.

WID. Why, is she naught?

CON. Faith, madam, her reputation is not good.

WID. But what shall we do, then?

CON. Dare you adventure to oblige us?

WID. Thank you, sir? we'll go to my nephew's at Covent Garden: he may shift among his acquaintance.

PLEA. It was well thought on; the Piazza is hard by, too.

WID. We'll borrow your coach thither, and we'll send it you back again straight.

CON. We'll wait upon you, madam.

WID. This accident troubles me. I am heartily sorry for the poor fellow.

PLEA. I am sorry too: but pray, aunt, let us not forget ourselves in our grief. I am not ambitious of a red cross upon the door.[265]

CON. Mistress Pleasant is in the right; for if you stay, the officers will put you in.

WID. We shall trouble you, sir, for your coach.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE IV.

_Enter_ PARSON, CAPTAIN, WILD, WANTON, CARELESS, _and_ JOLLY.

PAR. I am reconciled, and will no longer be an uncharitable churchman. I think this sack is a cooler.

CAPT. What! does it make you to see your error?

PAR. Yes, and consider my man-of-war: nor will I again dispute his letters of mart, nor call them passes for pirates. I am free.

CAPT. And welcome. Anything but anger is sufferable, and all is jest, when you laugh; and I will hug thee for abusing me with thy eyes in their scabbards; but when you rail with drawn eyes, red and naked, threatening a Levite's second revenge[266] to all that touches your concubine, then I betake me to a dark lantern and a constable's staff; and by help of these fathers whom I cite, I prove my text: _Women that are kind ought to be free._

PAR. But, captain, is it not lawful for us shepherds to reclaim them?

CAPT. A mere mistake; for sin, like the sea, may be turned out, but will ne'er grow less: and though you should drain this Mistress Doll, yet the whore will find a place, and perhaps overflow some maid, till then honest; and so you prove the author of a new sin, and the defiler of a pure temple: therefore I say, while you live, let the whore alone, till she wears out; nor is it safe to vamp them, as you shall find. Read Ball the first and the second.[267]

WILD. No more discourse. Strike up, fiddlers.

CAPT. See who's that knocks?

[_A country-dance. When they are merry, singing catches and
drinking healths, the_ WIDOW, MISTRESS PLEASANT, _and the
two Lovers, knock at the door._

SER. Sir, 'tis Mistress Pleasant and the two gentlemen that dined there to-day.

WILD. My aunt and Mistress Pleasant!

JOLLY. What a pox makes them abroad at this time of night?

CAPT. It may be, they have been a-wenching.

SER. Sir, they were upon alighting out of the coach when I came up.

WILD. Quickly, Mistress Wanton; you and your husband to bed; there's the key. Master Parson, you know the way to the old chamber, and to it quickly; all is friends now.

PAR. Sweetheart, we'll steal away.

WAN. The devil on them, they have spoiled our mirth.

[_Exit_ PARSON.

WILD. Jack, get you and your company down the back-way into the kitchen, and stay there till we see what this visit means.

[_Exeunt_ FIDDLERS.

CAPT. Means! What should it mean? It is nothing but the mischievous nature all honest women are endued with, and naturally given to spoil sport. I wonder what fart blew them hither to-night.

WILD. Nay, have a little patience, captain, you and Master Jolly must sit quietly awhile within, till we know the cause.

CAPT. It is but deferring our mirth for an hour or so.

SER. Sir, here's my lady.

WILD. Quickly remove those things there. Captain, step in there----

_Enter_ WIDOW, PLEASANT, SAD, _and_ CONSTANT.

WID. Nephew, do you not wonder to see me here at this time of night?

WILD. I know it is not ordinary, therefore I believe 'tis some design. What is it, Mistress Pleasant? Shall I make one?

PLEA. As I live, sir, pure necessity. Neither mirth nor kindness hath begot this visit.

CARE. What! is your coach broke?

WID. Faith, nephew, the truth is, the sickness is in my house, and my coachman died since dinner.

WILD. The sickness!

PLEA. Ay, as I live: we have been walking since the play; and when we came home, we found the watch at the door, and the house shut up.

SAD. And a constable gone in search of all those that dined there to-day, with order to furnish us lodgings in the pest-house.

WID. Are you not afraid to receive us?

WILD. As I live, the accident troubles me; and I am sorry such a misfortune should beget me this favour; and I could wish myself free from the honour, if the cause were removed too.

PLEA. As I live, Master Wild, I must have been forced to have lain with my servant to-night, if you had not received me.

WILD. If I thought so, I would carry you out in my arms, I am so much Master Constant's friend.

PLEA. But are you more his friend than mine, Master Wild?

WILD. No; but I presume by this he has gained so much interest, as he would not be very displeasing to you.

CON. O, your humble servant, sir.

PLEA. If I had had a mind to that lodging, I had ne'er come hither; for when I have a mind to it, I'll marry without dispute, for I fear nobody so much as a husband; and when I can conquer that doubt, I'll marry at a minute's warning.

WID. No dispute now. Can you furnish us with a couple of beds?

WILD. Yes, yes.

WID. And have you e'er a woman in the house?

WILD. My sister's maid is here.

CARE. Madam, if you resolve to do us this honour, you shall find clean linen, and your beds quickly ready.

WID. But where will my nephew and you, sir, lie to-night?

CARE. O, madam, we have acquaintance enough in the town.

WID. Well, sir, we'll accept this courtesy; and when you come into Suffolk, you shall command my house.

WILD. Prythee, call Bess, and bid her bring sheets to make the bed. I'll go and fetch in a pallet, 'tis as good a bed as the other; and if you will stay the removing, we'll set up a bedstead.

PLEA. No, a pallet, pray. But what shall we do for night-clothes, aunt?

WILD. Why, what are those you bought, my sister?

WID. Is not that linen gone yet?

CARE. No, faith, madam, his man forgot it, till the carriers were gone last week.

WILD. Will that serve?

PLEA. Yes, yes, pray do us the favour to let us have it, 'tis but washing of it again.

WILD. Nay, it will serve: discourse no more; I'll fetch the bundle; and, prythee, fetch the combs and looking-glasses I bought the other day: for other necessaries that want a name the wench shall furnish you with.

WID. Nay, but where is she, nephew?

WILD. I'll call her, if she be not gone to bed. It is an ignorant young thing; I am to send her to my sister's in the country; I have had such ado to put her in the fashion.

PLEA. What country is she? Prythee, Master Wild, let's see her.

WILD. I'll call her down.

[_Exit_ WILD.

SAD. Madam, now we see y' are safe, we'll kiss your hands, and wait upon you to-morrow.

WID. It must be early then, sir, for I shall borrow my nephew's coach, and be gone betimes into the country, to take a little fresh air, and prevent the search.

CON. Pray, madam, be pleased to command ours.

WILD. No, sir, I humbly thank you; my nephew's will hold our company.

CON. Your humble servant, Mistress Pleasant.

SAD. Your servant, madam.

PLEA. Good night, Master Constant.

WID. Sir, you'll excuse us, we have nobody here to light you down.

CARE. Madam, I am here your servant as much as those who wear your livery; and this house holds no other. We can be civil, madam, as well as extravagant.

WID. Your humble servant, Master Careless.

CARE. Gentlemen, if you'll wait on my lady to her chamber, then I'll wait upon you down.

SAD. You oblige us, sir.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE V.

_Enter_ WILD, CAPTAIN, WANTON, PARSON, _and_ JOLLY.

CAPT. The plague!

WILD. The plague, as I live; and all my relation is truth, every syllable. But, Mistress Wanton, now must you play your masterpiece: be sure to blush, and appear but simple enough, and all is well: thou wilt pass for as arrant a chambermaid as any in the parish.

PAR. Hum! new plots?

CAPT. Let me put on a petticoat and a muffler, and I'll so chambermaid it, and be so diligent with the clean smock and the chamber-pot.[268] Now would I give all the shoes in my shop to lie with 'em both.

WAN. Let me alone to fit them; I can make a scurvy curtsey naturally: remember, I am an Essex woman, if they ask.

WILD. Come, come quickly, take those sweetmeats; bring the great cake and knife, and napkins, for they have not supped; and, Captain, make some lemonade, and send it by the boy to my chamber; and, do you hear, Jolly, you must stay till we come, for we must lie with you to-night.

JOLLY. We'll stay, but make haste then.

CAPT. And bring our cloaks and swords out with you.

WILD. I will, I will; but be quiet all.

PAR. Master Wild, I hope there is no plot in this.

CAPT. There's no jealousy, Master Parson, 'tis all serious, upon my life. Come away with us.

[_Exeunt omnes._

SCENE VI.

_The tiring-room, curtains drawn, and they discourse. His
chamber, two beds, two tables, looking-glasses,
night-clothes, waistcoats, sweet-bags, sweetmeats, and
wine:_ WANTON _dressed like a chambermaid. All above, if
the scene can be so ordered._

_Enter_ WIDOW _and_ MISTRESS PLEASANT, WILD _and_ CARELESS:
_the_ WIDOW _and_ MISTRESS PLEASANT _salute_ WANTON.

WILD. Faith, aunt, 'tis the first time I have had the honour to see you in my house, and as a stranger I must salute you.

WID. As I live, nephew, I'm ashamed to put you to this trouble.

WILD. It is an obligation. Mistress Pleasant, I know you have not supped; I pray you, be pleased to taste these sweetmeats, they are of Sall's doing; but I understand not sweetmeats, the wine I'll answer for; and, in a word, you are welcome: you are Patrona,[269] and we are slaves.

CARE. Good rest and a pleasing dream your humble servant wishes you.

WID. Good night, nephew; good night, Master Careless.

PLEA. Good night, Master Careless; your humble servant, Master Wild.

[_Exeunt_ WILD _and_ CARELESS.

WID. Why, ay, here are men have some wit: by this good night, had we lain at my servant's, we should have found the laced cap and slippers that have been entailed upon the family these five descents, advanced upon the cupboard's head instead of plate.

[_They sit down to undress them._

PLEA. They are a couple of the readiest youths too; how they run and do all things with a thought! I love him for sending his sister's maid. A pretty wench.

WID. Pray, let's go to bed; I am weary.

PLEA. You will not go to bed with those windows open: sweetheart, prythee, shut them, and bring me hither--dost understand me? As I live, 'tis a great while since I went to the play.

WID. It has been one of the longest days; a year of them would be an age.

PLEA. O, do you grow weary? you'll break your covenant ere the year go out.

[_The curtains are closed._

WID. Prythee, shut the windows, and come pin up my hair.

SCENE VII.

_Enter_ WILD, JOLLY, CARELESS, CAPTAIN, PARSON, _and_
FIDDLERS, _and one with a torch, with their cloaks and
their swords, putting them on_. _Enter_ WILD'S _man_.

WILD. See you wait diligently, and let them want nothing they call for. Come, shall we go? 'tis very late.

CAPT. But how does Wanton carry it?

WILD. They saluted her; and Mistress Pleasant swore you might see the country simplicity in her face.

PAR. A pox upon her, crafty gipsy!

CAPT. Why, art not thou glad to see she can be honest when she will?

PAR. I'll show you all a trick for her within these few days, or I'll miss my aim.

JOLLY. Come, let's go.

[_They all offer to go._

CAPT. I have a mind to stay till Wanton comes.

WILD. Stay a little, then, for 'twill not be long ere they be abed.

CAPT. I hear Wanton's voice.

_Enter_ WANTON.

WILD. Are they abed?

WAN. Yes, and have so admired you and Master Careless, and abused the lovers! Well, gentlemen, you are the wits of the time; but if I might counsel--well, they might lie alone this night; but it should go hard if I lay not with one of them within a month.

CARE. Were they so taken with their lodging?

WAN. All that can be said, they said: you are the friendliest men, the readiest men, the handsomest men; men that had wit, and could tell when to be civil, and when to be wild; and Mistress What's-her-name, the younger, asked why Master Wild did not go a-wooing to some rich heir; upon her conscience, she said, you would speed.

CARE. Well, well, there's a time for all things: come, let's go.

[_They offer to depart._

WILD. Take a light. Good night, Wanton.

CAPT. D'ye hear, d'ye hear? let me speak with you.

[_They all come back again._

WILD. What's the business?

CAPT. I cannot get hence this night: but your good angels hang at your heels, and if I can prevail, you shall stay.

WILD. What to do?

CAPT. What to do? why I'll be hanged, if all this company do not guess.

JOLLY. Prythee, what should we stay for?

CAPT. For the widow and her niece. Are they worth the watching for a' night?

WILD. Yes, certainly.

CAPT. Then take my counsel, and let me give it out y' are married. You have new clothes come home this morning, and there's that you spoke of I'll fetch from the tailor's; and here's a parson shall rather give them his living than stay for a licence; the fiddlers, too, are ready to salute 'em.

CARE. But if they refuse?

JOLLY. Which, upon my conscience, they will.

CAPT. As you hope, else you are laughed at for missing the widow. Ned, follow my counsel; appear at her chamber-window in thy shirt, and salute all that passes by. Let me alone to give it out, and invite company, and provide dinner; then, when the business is known, and I have presented all your friends at court with ribands, she must consent, or her honour is lost, if you have but the grace to swear it, and keep your own counsel.

CARE. By this hand, he has reason, and I'll undertake the widow.

WILD. It will incense them, and precipitate the business, which is in a fair way now; and if they have wit, they must hate us for such a treachery.

CAPT. If they have wit, they will love you: beside, if it come to that, we two will swear we saw you married, and the parson shall be sworn he did it. Priest, will you not swear?

PAR. Yes, anything; what is't, Captain?

WILD. If this jest could do it, yet 'tis base to gain a wife so poorly. She came hither, too, for sanctuary; it would be an uncivil and an unhospitable thing, and look as if I had not merit enough to get a wife without stealing her from herself: then, 'tis in mine own house.

CAPT. The better; nay, now I think on't, why came she hither? How do you know the plague is there? all was well at dinner; I'll be hanged if it be not a plot: the lovers, too, whom you abused at dinner, are joined with them: a trick, a mere trick of wit to abuse us! and to-morrow, when the birds are flown, they'll laugh at you, and say, two country-ladies put themselves naked into the hands of three travelled city wits, and they durst not lay hold on them.

CARE. A pox upon these niceties!

WAN. If they have not some design upon you, hang me: why did they talk so freely before me else?

CARE. Let's but try; we are not now to begin to make the world talk; nor is it a new thing to them to hear we are mad fellows.

CAPT. If you get them, are they worth having?

WILD. Having? yes.

CAPT. If you miss them, the jest is good. Prythee, Ned, let me prevail; 'tis but a mad trick.

WILD. If we would, how shall we get into the chamber?

WAN. Let me alone for that; I'll put on my country simplicity, and carry in a chamber-pot; then, under pretence of bolting the back-door, I'll open it--and yet I grudge them the sport so honestly; for you wenchers make the best husbands: after you are once married, one never sees you.

CAPT. I warrant thee, wench.

WAN. No, faith, I have observed it, they are still the doating'st husbands, and then retreat and become justices of the peace, and none so violent upon the bench as they against us poor sinners. Yet I'll do it; for upon my conscience, the young gentlewoman will fall upon her back, and thank me.

[_Exit_ WANTON.

CAPT. Away, go then, and leave your fooling; and in the morning, Ned, get in, and plead naked with your hands in the bed.

PAR. And if they cry, put your lips in their mouths, and stop them.

CAPT. Why, look you, you have the authority of the church too.

WILD. Well, I am now resolved: go you about your part, and make the report strong.

CARE. And d'ye hear? be sure you set the cook at work, that if we miss, we may have a good dinner and good wine to drink down our grief.

CAPT. Miss! I warrant thee, 'twill thrive.

[_Exit_ CAPTAIN.

CARE. Nay, if I knock not down the widow, geld me, and come out to-morrow complete uncle, and salute the company with, You are welcome, gentlemen, and Good-morrow, nephew Ned.

WILD. Uncle Tom, good morrow, uncle Tom.

_Enter_ WANTON.

WAN. All's done; the door is open, and they're as still as children's thoughts: 'tis time you made you ready, which is to put off your breeches, for 'tis almost day. And take my counsel, be sure to offer force enough, the less reason will serve: especially you, Master Wild, do not put a maid to the pain of saying, Ay.

WILD. I warrant thee, wench; let me alone.

CARE. We'll in and undress us, and come again, for we must go in at the back-door.

WILD. I'll meet you. Is the Captain gone?

[_Exeunt_ WILD _and_ CARELESS.

WAN. Yes, yes, he's gone.

JOLLY. Come, Master Parson, let us see the cook in readiness. Where are the fiddlers? What will become of our plot? for the coachman, Master Sad, and his friend, will stink of their jest if this thrive.

PAR. They have slept all night, on purpose to play all day.

JOLLY. When the ribands and points come from the Exchange, pray see the fiddlers have some; the rogues will play so out of tune all day else, they will spoil the dancing, if the plot do take.

_Enter_ WILD _and_ CARELESS _in their shirts, with drawers
under, nightgowns on, and in slippers_.

WAN. Let's see them in the chamber first, and then I shall go with some heart about the business. So, so, creep close and quietly: you know the way; the widow lies in the high bed, and the pallet is next the door.

[_They kneel at the door to go in; she shakes her coats over
them._

WILD. Must we creep?

WAN. Yes, yes, down upon your knees always, till you get a woman, and then stand up for the cause: stay, let me shake my smock over you for luck's sake.

JOLLY. Why so? I warrant you [I'll] thrive.

PAR. A pox take you, I'll pare your nails when I get you from this place once.

WAN. Sweetheart, sweetheart, off with your shoes.

PAR. Ay, with all my heart, there's an old shoe after you.[270] Would I gave all in my shop the rest were furnished with wives too!

JOLLY. Parson, the sun is rising; go send in the fiddlers, and set the cook on work; let him chop soundly.

PAR. I have a tithe-pig at home, I'll e'en sacrifice it to the wedding.

[_Exit_ PARSON.

WAN. They will find them in good posture, they may take privy marks, if they please; for they said it was so hot they could endure no clothes, and my simplicity was so diligent to lay them naked, and with such twists and turns fastened them to the feet, I'll answer for't they find not the way into them in an hour.

_Enter_ SERVANT _and_ PARSON.

JOLLY. Why, then, they may pull up their smocks, and hide their faces.

SER. Master Jolly, there was one without would speak with you.

JOLLY. Who was it?

SER. It is the lady that talks so well.

JOLLY. They say, indeed, she has an excellent tongue; I would she had changed it for a face; 'tis she that has been handsome.

PAR. Who? not the poetess we met at Master Sad's?

JOLLY. Yes, the same.

PAR. Sure, she's mad.

JOLLY. Prythee, tell her I am gone to bed.

SER. I have done as well, sir: I told her Mistress Wanton was here; at which discreetly, being touched with the guilt of her face, she threw out a curse or two, and retreated.

WAN. Who is this you speak of? I will know who 'tis.

PAR. Why, 'tis she that married the Genoa merchant; they cozened one another.

WAN. Who? Peg Driver, bugle-eyes?

JOLLY. The same, the same.

WAN. Why, she is ugly now?

PAR. Yes; but I have known her, by this hand, as fine a wench as ever sinned in town or suburbs. When I knew her first, she was the original of all the wainscoat chambermaids with brooms and barefoot madams you see sold at Temple Bar and the Exchange.

WAN. Ah, th' art a devil! how couldst thou find in thy heart to abuse her so? Thou lov'st antiquities too: the very memory that she had been handsome should have pleaded something.

JOLLY. _Was handsome_ signifies nothing to me.

WAN. But she's a wit, and a wench of an excellent discourse.

PAR. And as good company as any's i' th' town.

JOLLY. Company! for whom? Leather-ears, his majesty of Newgate watch? There her story will do well, while they louse themselves.

PAR. Well, you are curious now, but the time was when you skipped for a kiss.

JOLLY. Prythee, parson, no more of wit and _was handsome_; but let us keep to this text--[_He kisses_ WANTON]--and with joy think upon thy little Wanton here, that's kind, soft, sweet, and sound: these are epithets for a mistress, nor is there any elegancy in a woman like it. Give me such a naked scene to study night and day: I care not for her tongue, so her face be good. A whore dressed in verse and set speeches tempts me no more to that sweet sin, than the statute of whipping can keep me from it. This thing we talked on, which retains nothing but the name of what she was, is not only poetical in her discourse, but her tears and her love, her health, nay, her pleasure, were all fictions, and had scarce any live flesh about her, till I administered.

PAR. Indeed, 'tis time she sat out, and gave others leave to play; for a reverend whore is an unseemly sight: besides it makes the sin malicious, which is but venial else.

WAN. Sure, he'll make a case of conscience on't: you should do well (sweetheart) to recommend her case to your brethren that attend the committee of affection, that they may order her to be sound and young again, for the good of the commonwealth.