Chapter V: Act I: SCENE I.--The Outside of a Village Alehouse

_Enter_ Wellborn, Tapwell, _and_ Froth, _from the House._

_Wellb._ No liquor? nor no credit?

_Tap._ None, sir, for you; Not the remainder of a single can, Left by a drunken porter.

_Froth._ Not the dropping of the tap for your morning's draught, sir: 'Tis verity, I assure you.

_Wellb._ Verity, you brach! The devil turn'd precisian! Rogue, what am I?

_Tap._ Troth! durst I trust you with a looking-glass, To let you see your trim shape, you would quit me, And take the name yourself.

_Wellb._ How? dog!

_Tap._ Even so, sir. And I must tell you, if you but advance a foot, There dwells, and within call (if it please your worship,) A potent monarch, call'd the constable, That does command a citadel, call'd the stocks; Such as with great dexterity will haul Your poor tatter'd----

_Wellb._ Rascal! slave!

_Froth._ No rage, sir.

_Tap._ At his own peril! Do not put yourself In too much heat; there being no water near To quench your thirst: and sure, for other liquor, I take it, You must no more remember; not in a dream, sir.

_Wellb._ Why, thou unthankful villain, dar'st thou talk thus? Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift?

_Tap._ I find it not in chalk; and Timothy Tapwell Does keep no other register.

_Wellb._ Am not I he Whose riots fed and cloth'd thee? Wert thou not Born on my father's land, and proud to be A drudge in his house?

_Tap._ What I was, sir, it skills not; What you are, is apparent. Now, for a farewell: Since you talk of father, in my hope it will torment you, I'll briefly tell your story. Your dead father, My quondam master, was a man of worship; Old Sir John Wellborn, justice of peace, and quorum; And stood fair to be custos rotulorum: Bore the whole sway of the shire; kept a great house: Reliev'd the poor, and so forth: but he dying, And the twelve hundred a-year coming to you, Late Mr. Francis, but now forlorn Wellborn----

_Wellb._ Slave, stop! or I shall lose myself.

_Froth._ Very hardly, You cannot be out of your way.

_Tap._ But to my story; I shall proceed, sir: You were then a lord of acres, the prime gallant, And I your under-butler: note the change now; You had a merry time of't: Hawks and hounds; With choice of running horses; mistresses, And other such extravagancies; Which your uncle, Sir Giles Overreach, observing, Resolving not to lose so fair an opportunity, On foolish mortgages, statutes, and bonds, For a while supplied your lavishness; and Having got your land, then left you. While I, honest Tim Tapwell, with a little stock, Some forty pounds or so, bought a small cottage; Humbled myself to marriage with my Froth here; Gave entertainment----

_Wellb._ Yes, to whores and pickpockets.

_Tap._ True; but they brought in profit; And had a gift to pay what they call'd for; And stuck not like your mastership. The poor income I glean'd from them, hath made me, in my parish, Thought worthy to be scavenger; and, in time, May rise to be overseer of the poor: Which if I do, on your petition, Wellborn, I may allow you thirteen-pence a quarter; And you shall thank my worship.

_Wellb._ Thus, you dog-bolt---- And thus---- [_Beats him._

_Tap._ Cry out for help!

_Wellb._ Stir, and thou diest: Your potent prince, the constable, shall not save you. Hear me, ungrateful hell-hound! Did not I Make purses for you? Then you lick'd my boots And thought your holiday coat too coarse to clean them. 'Twas I, that when I heard thee swear, if ever Thou couldst arrive at forty pounds, thou wouldst Live like an emperor; 'twas I that gave it, In ready gold. Deny this, wretch!

_Tap._ I cannot, sir.

_Wellb._ They are well rewarded That beggar themselves to make such rascals rich. Thou viper, thankless viper! But since you are grown forgetful, I will help Your memory, and beat thee into remembrance; Not leave one bone unbroken.

_Tap._ Oh!

_Enter_ Allworth.

_Allw._ Hold; for my sake, hold! Deny me, Frank? they are not worth your anger?

_Wellb._ For once thou hast redeem'd them from this sceptre: [_Shaking his Cudgel._ But let them vanish; For if they grumble, I revoke my pardon.

_Froth._ This comes of your prating, husband! you presum'd On your ambling wit, and must use your glib tongue, Though you are beaten lame for't.

_Tap._ Patience, Froth, There's no law to cure our bruises.

[_They go off into the House._

_Wellb._ Sent for to your mother?

_Allw._ My lady, Frank! my patroness! my all! She's such a mourner for my father's death, And, in her love to him, so favours me, That I cannot pay too much observance to her. There are few such stepdames.

_Wellb._ 'Tis a noble widow, And keeps her reputation pure, and clear From the least taint. Pr'ythee, tell me Has she no suitors?

_Allw._ Even the best of the shire, Frank, My lord excepted: such as sue, and send, And send, and sue again; but to no purpose. Their frequent visits have not gain'd her presence; Yet, she's so far from sullenness and pride, That, I dare undertake, you shall meet from her A liberal entertainment.

_Wellb._ I doubt it not: but hear me, Allworth, And take from me good counsel, I am bound to give it.---- Thy father was my friend; and that affection I bore to him, in right descends to thee: Thou art a handsome, and a hopeful youth, Nor will I have the least affront stick on thee, If I with any danger can prevent it.

_Allw._ I thank your noble care; but, pray you, in what Do I run the hazard?

_Wellb._ Art thou not in love? Put it not off with wonder.

_Allw._ In love?

_Wellb._ You think you walk in clouds, but are transparent. I have heard all, and the choice that you have made; And with my finger, can point out the north star, By which the loadstone of your folly's guided. And, to confirm this true, what think you of Fair Margaret, the only child, and heir Of cormorant Overreach? Dost blush and start, To hear her only nam'd? Blush at your want Of wit and reason.

_Allw._ Howe'er you have discovered my intents, You know my aims are lawful; and if ever The queen of flowers, the glory of the Spring, The sweetest comfort to our smell, the rose, Sprang from an envious briar, I may infer, There's such disparity in their conditions, Between the goddess of my soul, the daughter, And the base churl her father.

_Wellb._ Grant this true, As I believe it; canst thou ever hope To enjoy a quiet bed with her, whose father Ruin'd thy state?

_Allw._ And yours, too.

_Wellb._ I confess it, Allworth. But, I must tell you as a friend, and freely, Where impossibilities are apparent. Canst thou imagine (let not self-love blind thee) That Sir Giles Overreach (that, to make her great In swelling titles, without touch of conscience, Will cut his neighbour's throat, and, I hope, his own too) Will e'er consent to make her thine? Give o'er, And think of some course suitable to thy rank, And prosper in it.

_Allw._ You have well advis'd me. But, in the meantime, you that are so studious Of my affairs, wholly neglect your own. Remember yourself, and in what plight you are.

_Wellb._ No matter! no matter!

_Allw._ Yes, 'tis much material: You know my fortune, and my means; yet something I can spare from myself, to help your wants.

_Wellb._ How's this?

_Allw._ Nay, be not angry. There's eight pieces To put you in better fashion.

_Wellb._ Money from thee? From a boy? a dependant? one that lives At the devotion of a step-mother, And the uncertain favour of a lord? I'll eat my arms first. Howsoe'er blind Fortune Hath spent the utmost of her malice on me; Though I am thrust out of an alehouse, And thus accoutred; know not where to eat, Or drink, or sleep, but underneath this canopy; Although I thank thee, I disdain thy offer. And as I, in my madness, broke my state, Without the assistance of another's brain, In my right wits I'll piece it. At the worst, Die thus, and be forgotten. [_Exeunt severally._

SCENE II.--_A Chamber in_ Lady Allworth's _House._

_Enter_ Furnace, Amble, Order, _and_ Watchall.

_Order._ Set all things right; or as my name is Order, Whoever misses in his function, For one whole week makes forfeiture of his breakfast, And privilege in the wine-cellar.

_Amble._ You are merry, Good master steward.

_Fur._ Let him; I'll be angry.

_Amble._ Why, fellow Furnace, 'tis not twelve o'clock yet, Nor dinner taking up: then 'tis allow'd, Cooks by their places, may be choleric.

_Fur._ You think you have spoken wisely, goodman Amble, My lady's go-before.

_Order._ Nay, nay, no wrangling.

_Fur._ Twit me with the authority of the kitchen? At all hours, and at all places, I'll be angry: And, thus provok'd, when I am at my prayers I will be angry.

_Amble._ There was no hurt meant.

_Fur._ I am friends with thee, and yet I will be angry.

_Order._ With whom?

_Fur._ No matter whom: yet, now I think on't, I'm angry with my lady.

_Amble._ Heaven forbid, man!

_Order._ What cause has she given thee?

_Fur._ Cause enough, master steward: I was entertained by her to please her palate; And, till she foreswore eating, I perform'd it. Now, since our master, noble Allworth, died, Though I crack'd my brains to find out tempting sauces, And raise fortifications in the pastry, When I am three parts roasted, And the fourth part parboil'd, to prepare her viands, She keeps her chamber, dines with a panada, Or water-gruel, my skill never thought on.

_Order._ But your art is seen in the dining room.

_Fur._ By whom? By such as pretend to love her; but come To feed upon her. Yet, of all the harpies That do devour her, I am out of charity With none so much, as the thin-gutted squire, That's stolen into commission.

_Order._ Justice Greedy?

_Fur._ The same, the same. Meat's cast away upon him; It never thrives. He holds this paradox, Who eats not well, can ne'er do justice well. His stomach's as insatiate as the grave.

_Watch._ One knocks.

[Allworth _knocks, and enters._

_Order._ Our late young master.

_Amble._ Welcome, sir.

_Fur._ Your hand-- If you have a stomach, a cold bake-meat's ready. We are all your servants.

_All._ At once, my thanks to all: This is yet some comfort. Is my lady stirring?

_Enter_ Lady Allworth.

_Order._ Her presence answers for us.

_Lady A._ Sort those silks well. I'll take the air alone.

_Fur._ You air, and air; But will never taste but spoon meat more: To what use serve I?

_Lady A._ Pr'ythee, be not angry, I shall, ere long: i'th' mean time, there Is gold for thee.

_Fur._ I am appeas'd--and Furnace now grows cold.

_Lady A._ And, as I gave directions, if this morning I am visited by any, entertain them As heretofore: but say, in my excuse, I am indispos'd.

_Order._ I shall, madam.

_Lady A._ Do, and leave me.

[_Exeunt_ Order, Amble, Watchall _and_ Furnace.

Nay, stay you, Allworth.

_Allw._ I shall gladly grow here, To wait on your commands.

_Lady A._ So soon turn'd courtier?

_Allw._ Style not that courtship, madam, which is duty, Purchased on your part.

_Lady A._ Well, you shall o'ercome; I'll not contend in words. How is it With your noble master?

_Allw._ Ever like himself. No scruple lessen'd in the full weight of honour: He did command me (pardon my presumption), As his unworthy deputy, To kiss your ladyship's fair hands.

_Lady A._ I am honour'd in His favour to me. Does he hold his purpose For the Low Countries?

_Allw._ Constantly, good madam: But he will, in person, first present his service.

_Lady A._ And how approve you of his course? You are yet Like virgin parchment, capable of any Inscription, vitious or honourable. I will not force your will, but leave you free To your own election.

_Allw._ Any form you please I will put on: but might I make my choice, With humble emulation, I would follow The path my lord marks to me.

_Lady A._ 'Tis well answer'd, And I commend your spirit: you had a father, (Bless'd be his memory) that some few hours Before the will of Heaven took him from me, Did commend you, by the dearest ties Of perfect love between us, to my charge: And, therefore, what I speak, you are bound to hear With such respect, as if he liv'd in me.

_Allw._ I have found you, Most honour'd madam, the best mother to me; And with my utmost strength of care and service, Will labour that you never may repent Your bounties shower'd upon me.

_Lady A._ I much hope it. These were your father's words: If e'er my son Follow the war, tell him it is a school Where all the principles tending to honour Are taught, if truly follow'd: But for such As repair thither, as a place in which They do presume, they may with license practise Their lusts and riots, they shall never merit The noble name of soldiers. To dare boldly In a fair cause, and for the country's safety, To run upon the cannon's mouth undaunted; To obey their leaders, and shun mutinies; To bear with patience the winter's cold, And summer's scorching heat-- Are the essential parts make up a soldier; Not swearing, dice, or drinking.

_Allw._ There's no syllable You speak, but it is to me an oracle; Which but to doubt were impious.

_Lady A._ To conclude-- Beware ill company; for, often, men Are like to those with whom they do converse: And from one man I warn you, and that's Wellborn: Not cause he's poor, that rather claims your pity; But that he's in his manners so debauch'd, And hath to vitious courses sold himself. 'Tis true your father lov'd him, while he was Worthy the loving; but, if he had liv'd To have seen him as he is, he had cast him off, As you must do.

_Allw._ I shall obey in all things.

_Lady A._ Follow me to my chamber; you shall have gold To furnish you like my son, and still supplied As I hear from you. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.--_A Hall in Lady_ Allworth's _House._

_Enter_ Overreach, Greedy, Order, Amble, Furnace, Watchall, _and_ Marall.

_Greedy._ Not to be seen?

_Sir G._ Still cloister'd up?--Her reason, I hope, assures her, though she makes herself Close prisoner for ever for her husband's loss, 'Twill not recover him.

_Order._ Sir, it is her will: Which we, that are her servants, ought to serve, And not dispute. Howe'er, you are nobly welcome: And if you please to stay, that you may think so, There came, not six days since, from Hull, a pipe Of rich Canary; which shall spend itself For my lady's honour.

_Greedy._ Is it of the right race?

_Order._ Yes, Mr. Greedy.

_Amble._ How his mouth runs o'er!

_Fur._ I'll make it run, and run. 'Save your good worship!

_Greedy._ Honest Mr. Cook, thy hand; again!--How I love thee! Are the good dishes still in being? speak, boy.

_Fur._ If you have a mind to feed there is a chine Of beef, well season'd.

_Greedy._ Good.

_Fur._ A pheasant larded--

_Greedy._ That I might now give thanks for't!

_Fur._ Other kickshaws. Besides, there came last night, from the forest of Sherwood, The fattest stag I ever cook'd.

_Greedy._ A stag, man?

_Fur._ A stag, sir; part of it is prepar'd for dinner, And bak'd in puff-paste.

_Greedy._ Puff-paste too, Sir Giles! A ponderous chine of beef! a pheasant larded! And red deer too, Sir Giles, and bak'd in puff-paste! All business set aside, let us give thanks here.

_Sir G._ You know, we cannot.

_Mar._ Your worships are to sit on a commission, And if you fail to come, you lose the cause.

_Greedy_ Cause me no causes: I'll prove't, for such a dinner, We may put off a commission; you shall find it _Henrici decimo quarto_.

_Sir G._ Fie, Mr. Greedy! Will you lose me a thousand pounds for a dinner? No more, for shame! We must forget the belly, When we think of profit.

_Greedy_ Well, you shall o'er-rule me. I could even cry now. Do you hear, Mr. Cook? Send but a corner of that immortal pasty; And I, in thankfulness, will, by your boy, Send you a brace of three-pences.

_Fur._ Will you be so prodigal?

_Sir G._ Remember me to your lady.

_Enter_ Wellborn.

Who have we here?

_Wellb._ Don't you know me?

_Sir G._ I did once, but now I will not; Thou art no blood of mine. Avaunt, thou beggar! If ever thou presume to own me more, I'll have thee cag'd and whipt.

_Greedy._ I'll grant the warrant. [_Exit_ Marall. I do love thee, Furnace, E'en as I do malmsey in a morning. Think of pye-corner, Furnace!

[_Exeunt_ Sir Giles _and_ Greedy.

_Watch._ Will you out, sir? I wonder how you durst creep in.

_Order._ This is rudeness, And saucy impudence.

_Amble._ Cannot you stay To be serv'd among your fellows from the basket, But you must press into the hall?

_Fur._ Pr'ythee, vanish Into some outhouse, though it be the pigsty; My scullion shall come to thee.

_Enter_ Allworth.

_Wellb._ This is rare: Oh, here is Tom Allworth! Tom!

_Allw._ We must be strangers; Nor would I have seen you here for a million.

[_Exit._

_Wellb._ Better and better. He contemns me too.

_Enter_ Woman _and_ Chambermaid.

_Woman._ Oh! what a smell's here? What thing is this?

_Cham._ Oh! a filthy creature! Let us hence, for love's sake, or I shall swoon!

_Woman._ I begin to faint, too. [_Exeunt._

_Watch._ Will you know your way?

_Amble._ Or shall we teach it you, By the head and shoulders?

_Wellb._ No; I will not stir: Do you mark, I will not. Let me see the wretch That dares attempt to force me. Why, you slaves Created only to make legs, and cringe; To carry in a dish, and shift a trencher; That have not souls to hope a blessing Beyond your master's leavings; you that were born Only to consume meat and drink; Who advances? Who shows me the way?

_Order._ Here comes my lady.

_Enter_ Lady Allworth.

_Lady A._ What noise is this?

_Wellb._ Madam, my designs bear me to you.

_Lady A._ To me?

_Wellb._ And though I have met with But ragged entertainment from your groom here, I hope from you to receive that noble usage, As may become the true friend of your husband; And then I shall forget these.

_Lady A._ I am amaz'd, To see and hear this rudeness. Dar'st thou think, Though sworn, that it can ever find belief, That I, who to the best men of this country Denied my presence since my husband's death, Can fall so low as to change words with thee?

_Wellb._ Scorn me not, good lady; But, as in form you are angelical, Imitate the heavenly natures, and vouchsafe At least awhile to hear me. You will grant, The blood that runs in this arm is as noble As that which fills your veins; your swelling titles, Equipage and fortune; your men's observance, And women's flattery, are in you no virtues; Nor these rags, with my poverty, in me vices. You have a fair fame, and, I know, deserve it; Yet, lady, I must say, in nothing more Than in the pious sorrow you have shown For your late noble husband.

_Order._ How she starts!

_Wellb._ That husband, madam, was once in his fortune, Almost as low as I. Want, debts, and quarrels, Lay heavy on him: let it not be thought A boast in me, though I say, I reliev'd him. 'Twas I that gave him fashion; mine the sword That did on all occasions second his; I brought him on and off with honour, lady: And when in all men's judgments he was sunk, And in his own hopes not to be buoyed up; I stepp'd unto him, took him by the hand, And brought him to the shore.

_Fur._ Are not we base rogues That could forget this?

_Wellb._ I confess you made him Master of your estate; nor could your friends. Though he brought no wealth with him, blame you for't: For he had a shape, and to that shape a mind Made up of all parts, either great or noble, So winning a behaviour, not to be Resisted, madam.

_Lady A._ 'Tis most true, he had.

_Wellb._ For his sake then, in that I was his friend, Do not contemn me.

_Lady A._ For what's past excuse me; I will redeem it. Order, give this gentleman an hundred pounds.

_Wellb._ Madam, on no terms: I will not beg nor borrow sixpence of you; But be supplied elsewhere, or want thus ever. Only one suit I make, which you deny not To strangers; and 'tis this: pray give me leave.

[_Whispers to her._

_Order._ [_Aside._] What means this, I trow?

_Fur._ Mischief to us, if he has malice To return our favour to him.

_Order._ Be still, and let us mark.

_Lady A._ Fie, nothing else?

_Wellb._ Nothing; unless you please to charge your servants To throw away a little respect upon me.

_Lady A._ What you demand is yours. If you have said all, When you please you may retire.

_Wellb._ I thank you, lady.

[_Exit_ Lady Allworth.

Now what can be wrought out of such a suit, Is yet in supposition. [Servants _bow_,] Nay, all's forgotten, all forgiven.

_All._ Good, dear, sweet, merry Mr. Wellborn!

_Exit_ Servants.

_Wellb._ 'Faith, a right worthy and a liberal lady, Who can, at once, so kindly meet my purposes, And brave the flouts of censure, to redeem Her husband's friend! When, by this honest plot, The world believes she means to heal my wants With her extensive wealth, each noisy creditor Will be struck mute, and I be left at large To practise on my uncle Overreach; Whose foul, rapacious spirit, (on the hearing Of my encouragement from this rich lady,) Again will court me to his house and patronage. Here I may work the measure to redeem My mortgag'd fortune, which he stripped me of, When youth and dissipation quell'd my reason. The fancy pleases--if the plot succeed, 'Tis a new way to pay old debts indeed!

[_Exit._